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headphones aren't enough. i need the song to stab me in the chest
I feel like it would definitely be them lol🤧
: ̗̀➛ Hit Me Up | JJK | Masterlist
synopsis: for a while now, weverse has allowed fans to ‘dm’ their favourite idols. it’s controlled, it’s monitored, it’s all very pc… until you come along one drunken night and break the rules. what is supposed to be a harmless act of communication quickly spirals into much, much more and begs the question, how far should communication between a fan and an idol really go?
genre: jjk x reader (fem), smau mini-series, fluff, smut, delulu, crack
rating: 18+ | minors, dni
a/n: hi! before we get started, a few quick things ♡
Fred F*cking Weasley! | F.W
summary: For those that knew him, they wondered what he'd done again this time. For the rare few who didn’t, asked who Fred was—and why was he always fucking Weasley. It wasn't hard to get the whole school talking when you'd be declaring his name down the corridors like you were waging a war. But in reality? You were just the favorite person whose skin Fred Weasley loved to get under the most.
c/w: hogwarts au where they have a university, aged up characters above twenty, playful teasing, reader hits fred but not to cause harm, annoyance as flirting, fred and reader bickering, getting scolded by a professor
w/c: 2.7k
Ever since you'd started attending Hogwarts, you knew your favorite pastime would be the independent study periods, even as a first year whose bag was bigger than your own body.
It did, however, bum you out greatly when you found out it wasn't without supervision. Snape or McGonagall would always be stalking between tables, looming over students' shoulders to make sure they were properly getting their work done or seeing to it that nobody lost their finger to a stray jinx. But when you weren't partnering up to practice counter-curses or calculating teeth-grating grids for Astronomy, you'd be socializing with other fellow students both in upper and lower years.
Not much had changed as time went by. You now sat in your second year of Advanced Studies, contentedly wrapping up a game of charmed Gobstones — ones that don't blow smelly fumes into your faces if you lose — with a student a year below you.
"Good game, Brocklehurst," you praised, chucking her the tied bag of stones. "Beat me fair and square. I'm impressed."
She chuckled, shoving it back into her bag. "Or you've gotten a bit rusty."
"Oh, shush. S'just been a while, that's all."
"If a while meant three days, then... yeah. Definitely enough time to grow a bit 'stiff'."
You pointed an accusing finger at her, squinting your eyes playfully. "You're gonna be praying for me to go easy on you next time, Hurst. A rematch is in order."
“You’ve got yourself a deal, Rusty. Wouldn't be much of a game anyway, right?" She firmly shook your hand in a truce before getting up from the spot beside you where she'd cozied up for the game, and walked off to join her friends at another table.
You rolled your eyes, not minding the nickname before turning your attention back to your own work — your unfinished Transfiguration chart. It was right around the moment Snape came gliding back into the hall, his dark robes bellowing and eyes immediately scanning the room like a kneazle eyeing a nest of mice, when you thankfully drifted back into the groove of your coursework. A few sharp rustlings of parchment behind you told you not everyone was so lucky to escape his eerily keen senses.
You kept your head low in focus, eyebrows knitted and occasionally twitching when you'd hit a particularly confusing section in the notes you'd hastily written during class.
It wasn't long before a presence slid in beside you, warm and unmistakeable, bumping her shoulder against yours. You flinched, immediately snapping your head toward whoever it was.
"Ginny!" you breathed, staring at her with a small, surprised smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "You scared me."
She chuckled, placing her Arithmancy book down on the table with a hard thud before flicking her gaze toward you with a grin. "Happy to see you too, Y/n."
"Hey, never said I wasn't," you laughed lightly, nudging her with your shoulder. "I missed you."
"I've missed you too. Harry's been keeping me a bit... busy," she explained, shrugging to try and play off the faint flush creeping up her cheeks. "It's exhausting keeping up with him, really."
You smirked, tilting your head to tease her. "I'm guessing you both have been getting it on..." you trailed, pausing long enough for her to look at you as if she'd been caught.
"Wh—"
"...Quite well?" you finished, snorting as she clamped her mouth shut.
She blinked, shaking her head as if the question were absurd. "Of course we are. How could we not?"
"We're not fifth-years anymore, Ginny. He's a total catch — I don't blame you," you reassured with a knowing wink.
"Not to mention he's The Chosen One," she added with a dramatic flourish. You both laughed, leaning into each other like you were sixteen again. It was a miracle Snape hadn't docked points from either of you at that point.
"So, what's been going on with you? Anything juicy I should know about?" she asked, twirling her wand casually in her fingers while she waited for your answer.
You frowned, looking off to the side in thought.
"Well, I did just have my—"
FWIP!
The abrupt feeling of your ledger being taken from under you caught you off guard. Turns out Snape wasn't the only one stalking between tables and snatching things from behind students' shoulders.
You whipped around just in time to see an obnoxious mop of ginger hair hurriedly retreating toward the exit, your ledger in his hand like a prize, probably screaming “Bloody Mary!"
Your eyes snapped around the room for Snape — eventually finding him back at his desk with his nose buried in a book. Figured why he didn't catch that boy.
Slowly, you turned your head back to Ginny, who looked just as unimpressed as you did.
"I tried to tell him, y/n," she reasoned, her voice comically sincere. "But the idiot wouldn't listen. Even when I bribed him, promising I wouldn't tell Mum about the detentions he'd gotten last week."
You bit your lip, pondering for a second, before straightening up and leaning toward Ginny. "You think Snape would notice if I...?" You motioned to the door with your head. Ginny immediately understood what you meant — and what was about to go down. Again. She had you and her older brother's bickering memorized like the back of her hand.
She leaned into you, her gaze scanning the room, that same mischievous spark you could never seem to escape from glinting in her eyes. "If you're stupidly quiet, I think you have a running shot."
"I'll take my chances," you whispered, cautiously slinging your legs over the bench. "I'm getting my ledger back."
"Give him a good one for me," Ginny encouraged, raising a silent fist. "He should seriously get off your back. It's been going on for how long now?"
"Too long. Wish me luck — I'll see you at lunch." You saluted her with two fingers, grabbing your essays before crouching low enough to weave between the tables, slipping out of the hall with your heart lodged in your throat.
Once all was clear, you stomped down the corridor, glaring ahead of you like you were staring down the ghost of him.
"Fred!" you called out, your frustrated voice echoing down the hallway, drawing the attention of a few scattered students.
"Where are you, you insufferable—" You paused, swallowing hard before any more profanities could spill out of you.
With your head on a swivel, you continued hunting for the six-foot-two, ginger lamppost.
It always started with a simple "Fred!"
But today, it was followed by a "Give me my ledger back, or I swear!"
And finally, when his silence made you snap — a heavy huff escaped your nose before "FRED FUCKING WEASLEY!" came barreling out of your mouth.
The infamous call of Hogwarts' morning bird. You.
A couple of first-years lining the hall who had witnessed the whole thing began to whisper among themselves, wagering bets on who would win today's "war," and what Fred Weasley had done to royally tick you off this time.
You stopped in front of the group and crossed your arms. Their whispers faded as they slowly turned their heads to look up at you. Unless Fred jumped out a window and magically survived, you were certain he'd gone this way — maybe even passing the same kids on his way down.
"I don't have time for games or questions — where is he?" you said, giving them a weary look.
One of the students pointed to the door of an empty classroom while the other mumbled the location nervously. Nodding in satisfaction, you took out your wand, charming a couple of sweets into your hand and passed it over with gentle pats on their heads.
"Neither of you repeat what I called Fred Weasley earlier, okay?" you whispered, earning a symphony of nods before heading straight for the room.
You swung the heavy door open, the sound of its rusty hinges bouncing off the stone wall, only to be met with the sight of a dusty, vacant space.
Bastard.
Peeping your head out the doorway, you saw a few more doors lining the hall like some twisted game show you never signed up for.
But to hell with it if it meant finding him. Merlin knows what he'd do with your ledger carrying a term's worth of revision material in it. The thought alone was enough to make you cry.
The next door you hurriedly pushed open revealed nothing, much to your disappointment. The next had other university students using it as a hangout spot, and the one after that was, to your surprise, a quaint little break room for the elf staff.
With each opened door, you grew more restless. Your arms began to strain from having to force open each heavy slab of wood, only to reveal anything and everything except for what you wanted.
The very last of the seemingly endless doors in the corridor sat nestled ominously in a dark corner. You doubted he was in there, but you were willing to bet on it — though you'd look pretty daft if he wasn't, having actually believed the words of a couple of eleven-year-olds.
You stood in front of the looming entrance, its wood withered and peeling, the metal bolts so old they'd spook anyone away.
Clutching the rolled-up parchment tightly in your hand, you pressed your palm against the surface and gave it a cautious push. The dim room made way to the sight of two figures, illuminated only by the late-morning sunlight streaming through cracked windows perched in the stone like gargoyles. The pair were lazing by a table in the center of the space, one leaning against it with an amused grin while the other seemed to be hunched over something — clearly invested, and very clearly reading a ledger. Your ledger.
George's eyes flicked to you immediately, but you were quicker — marching over to the slouched figure you clocked as Fred — and whacked the back of his head with your rolled-up essays before George could warn him.
You didn't give either of them a chance to speak, let alone react, as you skillfully snatched your ledger from the table and trudged out of the room without another word.
Before you could even make it five steps into the corridor, however, you were pulled back abruptly by your jumper, your back hitting the cool stone before you could yell out his name in protest.
He propped one arm over your head, leaning in close like this wasn't the most scandalous thing those poor first-years would ever get to see in their young lives. You glared up at him, more done with his antics than angry, which only served to stretch his already insufferable smirk wider.
"A right shame you had to come and take it back so soon, L/n. I was finally getting to the good part," he drawled, staring down at you.
Admittedly, having his gaze so intently locked on you made you feel warm in places you didn't even know could feel that way — but you couldn't afford to let your guard down. At least not right now.
You raised an eyebrow. "What're you playing at? Surely you enjoyed reading about Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration while my ledger was in your hands."
"Oh, life-changing," he said smoothly. "But what really caught my attention was that one passage about you going into the boys’ loo, and—"
You clapped a hand over his mouth, mortified before he could even finish the sentence. You were sure your face would be burning scarlet forever.
"How did you—" You stopped yourself, realizing just how loud you were being compared to Fred, if you could believe it.
Taking hold of his terribly done tie, you yanked him closer. You reeled at the feeling of him grinning right through your palm.
"You'd best keep your mouth shut, Weasley, because—"
"Fifty points from Gryffindor, Mister Weasley," McGonagall's chilling voice interrupted from behind Fred, causing you both to freeze. You even caught a glimpse of Fred's eyes widening the slightest bit before relaxing like nothing had happened.
The two of you, still frozen in place, slowly turned your heads to look at McGonagall.
"And fifty from your house as well, Miss L/n," she added, audibly disappointed, as if docking a hefty amount of points was just another ordinary Tuesday for her.
You squeezed your eyes shut, dropping your hand from Fred's mouth when it hit you just how "intimate" the two of you looked. You really couldn't blame anyone for misunderstanding.
"For university students — especially you, Miss L/n — I would have expected far better decorum. There are children wandering these halls, I hope you realize."
"This corridor's practically abandoned, Professor," Fred cut in, not looking the least bit ashamed. "Hardly anyone saw—"
"Another ten points. I don't entertain cock-and-bull excuses, Mister Weasley — as I believe you, of all students, given how long you've been here, should very well know."
Fred wisely shut his mouth and moved off you — but not completely. Just enough for you to see McGonagall properly, though you weren't sure if that made the situation better or worse. Her expression hovered somewhere near severe scorn and judgement, but pure disappointment easily took the lead.
"Professor, I—" you tried to reason, but just as you expected, she cut you off.
"What do you have to say for yourselves? And during school hours, no less? Mister Weasley, a letter will be sent to your mother for such... ludicrous behaviour. As will your own parents receive one, Miss L/n."
You frowned, a pit forming in your stomach causing you to subconsciously grab onto Fred's arms. "Sorry, professor. Lover's quarrel. You know how stubborn he can be."
McGonagall raised an eyebrow, eyeing the two of you sternly. "If I so much as see any more of this unseemly behaviour, it will be far worse than detention for the both of you."
"Yes, professor," you and Fred chorused.
She pursed her lips, giving you one last lingering look before walking off, her robes flowing dramatically behind her in usual McGonagall fashion.
The moment her footsteps faded, Fred turned his full attention back to you, casually leaning his arm against the stone and effectively trapping you between him and the wall again.
Even with her gone, you still couldn't relax.
"Hope you're bloody happy," you grumbled, dropping your hands from his sleeves and looking off to the side. You knew that if you saw his face right now, it would set you off by tenfold.
"Happy? I just lost my house sixty points, and she's about to write a letter to my Mum," he retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm a dead man on the school papers by tomorrow. The least you can do is let me enjoy my final moments."
You looked up, only to find him smiling down at you, infuriatingly smug.
"You're actually unbelievable. How are you not petrified by what just happened?"
He snorted, leaning in just a fraction closer. The distance only levelled up his teasing, if that were even possible.
"You really think little ol' 'Gonagall's gonna be enough to scare me?"
You shrugged, pressing your back into the wall. "Yeah? She's literally Vice Headmistress, Fred. She could run us both out of the castle if she fancied."
He shook his head. "She wouldn't," he replied simply.
"She would. And I don't like how sure you sound."
"S'cause I am, darling."
"Honestly — push off, Weasley, or they'll think we actually like each other."
He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "You rather I singe your eyebrows green then? Would that be convincing enough?"
You sighed, rolling your eyes. "You are a headache."
"A handsome one, mind you," he chirped, taking a strand of your hair, twirling it between his fingers and flicking it at your cheek, but you didn't so much as blink at him. "But tell me something, would you? I'm deadly curious now."
"Curious about what?" you snapped.
"Lover's quarrel, was it...?" he began, and you suddenly felt like merging into the wall behind you.
"Don't even—that was the only excuse I could think of, okay!" you defended, trying to act like the picture of composure. Though your flustered self told him otherwise.
He chuckled, low and genuinely amused. "Didn't take you for the type to think so far ahead. I haven't even taken you out to dinner yet."
You froze, furrowing your brows. "Are you threatening me?"
"With a good time, yeah."
Ahhh my favourite drink 🍷 the og post (Ig?)
