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angel-calypso · 7 days ago

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What the Night knows

Summary: The reader lives a lie — a respected officer by day, a calculating killer by night. Her methods are clean, her rituals perfect, her secrets buried under the polished badge she wears so convincingly. No one suspects the monster hunting among them. But then comes the Ice Truck Killer, tearing open a case too close to her own darkness, and a prosthetics specialist named Rudy Cooper whose practiced charm hides something dangerous. When Y/N begins receiving messages from an unknown number — someone claiming to see her, to know her — everything starts to crack.

Notes: This is my first time publishing a series. I honestly will make up things as I write. I usually write a 4am, so don't expect this to make a lot of sense.

Also English is not my first language, so I apologize for some mistakes!

Im not sure how many chapters there will be, but i am so excited about this and I dont want this to end haha

Enjoy! ;3

This is for all the 10 Brian fans that are still out there xx

Word Count: 5,7k

Warnings: blood, smut, explicit language, slow burn, female serial killer, masturbation, brian moser :D, stalking

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CHAPTER ONE

The light above your head was buzzing, casting a dim light on you and the table. Your chest rising and falling from that post kill high.

What could be better that this?

You inhale. The air immediately hits you. The smell of metal, blood and sweat. You wipe your gloved hands on the towel that’s already streaked with red, with blood. You toss the towel on the floor and turn around. You get the black back that’s sitting on another table, waiting. Waiting to be filled up with the body parts that you just cut up, separated. With such care and joy.

Craftsmanship. That’s what you call this. Because in a way — it is.

You open the bag up and carefully take the dead man’s left arm and slide it into the bag making a thud as it falls in. You seal the bag up, carefully pressing out the air before tying a neat knot. Precise and clean. Just as always.

You put the bag down and reach for the label you’d prepared earlier — a small, crisp tag with your own neat handwriting that reveals what kind of body part is in this bag.

Then you take a new bag, where you put another body part — the right arm. Repeating the same process all over again. This might seem like a lot of work, but honestly? This is relaxing to you.

You reach for the legs next, severed at the knee. Another bag, another label. Before putting the right leg into the bag, you lift it up and admire it. It’s clean, a neat cut, no sharp edges, nothing sloppy. You smile at yourself and put the leg into the bag.

The head you leave for last. Always. There’s something about it that feels final, like the punctuation at the end of a perfect sentence. You cradle it for a moment, studying the slack features, the frozen expression of shock that still clings to what’s left on the face. It’s almost funny, how they all look surprised in the end.

You put the head down and reach for another bag. A different kind of bag, not the cheap plastic ones you’d used for the limbs, but a thicker, darker vinyl. Sturdier. Special. This one deserved a different treatment. You spread the bag open with a certain reverence, almost like laying out a burial shroud. With careful hands, you lower the head inside, arranging it so the face stares upward, as if still witnessing your work. You pause, letting the moment settle. You smile and then seal the bag shut, putting on the last label, that’s revealing that there’s a head inside.

After this, you always leave the body parts in different locations. It’s part of the ritual, part of the fun. A breadcrumb trail only you know how to follow. The left arm might end up half-buried on a quiet stretch of beach, the right leg stuffed behind a trash bin in a supermarket parking lot. Sometimes you leave a piece in the park — right where children might stumble over it.

And the best part about this — you’re with the police. You can watch it all unfold. You stand behind the crime scene tape with your badge clipped to your belt. You watch and nod, how your colleagues are speculating all this, voices shaky, theories pathetic.

You take notes, look for footprints, blood patterns. They think you’re brilliant. They bring you photos, evidence. And you nod, tilt your head, say something smart like “precision like this suggests planning, maybe even experience.” And everyone scribbles it down like gospel.

You take off your gloves and flex your fingers. You check the time, it’s already 3:47AM. You wipe down the table, spraying bleach in steady, practiced lines, making sure every drop of blood is scrubbed away. You can’t leave mistakes behind. Not in your work. Not in your life.

Once everything is back in order, you slip out of the room, flicking the light off behind you. The place sinks into darkness, silent except for the echo of your footsteps as you leave. By sunrise, you’ll be Detective Y/N again, coffee in hand, badge on your hip, greeting your colleagues with a tired smile. They’ll see a dedicated cop working herself half to death chasing this so-called monster. And you’ll play along.

You get into your car, putting the last bag into your trunk. The night is thick and quiet. You pull away from the warehouse with your windows rolled down. The city is starting to wake up again. A flicker of life in the distance. Miami never really sleeps, true, but it’s calmer at night. And that is the best time for you to move.

After you finish disposing bodies, you check the time again. 5:32AM. Enough to go home, shower, and change. You smooth a hand over your hair, catching a faint trace of bleach on your sleeve, then start the car. The dull thrum of the engine feels almost comforting.

You drive home, shower, scrub the scent of bleach and blood from your skin. Dress in a tailored navy blazer. Let your hair out. Apply just enough concealer under your eyes to hide the late night.

You look at yourself in the mirror and smile. It’s almost unsettling how normal you appear — polished, composed, the picture of a hardworking detective ready to chase monsters. Monsters just like you. You slip your badge into place, check the holster on your belt, and smooth down your blazer. By the time you walk out the door, there’s no trace of what you were hours ago. No blood, no fear, no evidence.

By the time you reach the station, the place is already in chaos. Phones ringing, uniforms pacing, voices tense. You catch Debra’s frantic silhouette at the edge of your vision, waving you down.

“Y/N!” she calls. “We gotta go — Tucci’s awake.”

The name cuts through your thoughts. You’d read the case file, of course. The Ice Truck Killer had left him alive, missing limbs but alive. Messy. Strange. Unlike what you would have done — you would have finished him.

You fell into step with Debra, keeping your voice steady. “What’s he saying?”

“He’s rattled, but talking,” Deb replied, keys jangling as she pulled you toward the car. “They’re getting him a prosthetic today, trying to keep him stable. Some guy from Miami Central Prosthetics is already there.”

You nodded, tucking that detail away. Prosthetics, you thought. Someone who puts people back together. It almost made you laugh.

“You sleep okay? You look fucking tired.” Debra asks as she opens the driver’s side of the door.

You laugh at her putting on your sunglasses. “You know me, Deb. Sleep is overrated.”

Deb snorts. “You and me both.” She drops into the driver’s seat, coffee sloshing dangerously in the paper cup. “Captain wants us in there before the shrink scrambles Tucci’s head even more. See if he remembers anything.”

You nod, sliding into the passenger side, steadying your badge as it bumps against your hip. The engine rumbles to life, vibrating through your bones, grounding you in a weird, welcome way. As Deb pulls away from the station, you stare out the window, letting the city blur past. Neon signs dying in the morning light, wet asphalt streaked with red brake lights.

“Hey,” Deb suddenly speaks up making you glance at her. “You think he saw the guy?”

“We better hope he did.”

Deb huffed, shaking her head. “Yeah, well, part of me hopes he didn’t. You see the look on his face? He’s wrecked.”

You gave a noncommittal shrug, eyes drifting back to the sunrise slicing between buildings. “If he saw him, maybe we’ll finally have something to go on.”

She sighed, pressing harder on the gas. “I just don’t want him to break down. He’s our best shot.”

You nodded faintly, but your mind was elsewhere — on the clean, deliberate amputations, the patience it took to leave someone alive. It was a message, you were sure of it. But what kind?

Your jaw tightened. If it had been you, there’d be no message left behind. No voice to talk, no victim to piece together. Only silence.

The hospital finally came into view, its glass walls reflecting the pale Miami dawn. Deb pulled up to the curb and threw the car into park. You noticed Masuka’s car already there.

“You good?” she asked, giving you a searching look.

“Yeah,” you replied easily, adjusting your blazer. “Let’s get this over with.”

The hospital air was cold, antiseptic. Familiar in its own way. You moved through the lobby, scanning every face, every uniform, looking for any sign of weakness. Debra led you to Tucci’s room, her boots squeaking on the polished floor. Inside, Tony Tucci looked like a broken doll, propped up on hospital white sheets, eyes wide and glassy. And next to him, crouched and steady, working to fit a prosthetic with the calm of someone who’d done it a hundred times before — was a man you didn’t know.

He looked up when you entered, polite, careful.

“Detectives?” he greeted, voice warm. “I’m Rudy Cooper, here from Miami Central.”

You stepped forward, holding out your hand. “Detective L/N. This is Detective Morgan.”

He shook your hand and then shook Debras hand.

“And I’m Masuka, ” Vince chimed in behind you, earning a small, amused glance from Rudy. “Forensics. Don’t mind me, I’m just here for the blood.”

“Pleasure,” Rudy chuckled politely

“We’re here to talk to Tony? Think he’s up to it?” Debra asks as she shakes his hand giving him a smile

“He’s a little shaken, but he’s strong,” Rudy replied, giving Debra an encouraging nod. “He should be able to answer a few questions.”

You watched the way Debra’s cheeks colored faintly when he looked at her. Noticed the small shift in her shoulders, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear. It was subtle, but you caught it instantly.

Interesting. You let a small smile flicker across your face, pretending not to notice, pretending to focus on Tucci. You watch Rudy now going back to Tucci, adjusting the prefab prosthetic.

“We’ll start you off with a temporary prefab,” Rudy explained in that warm, careful tone, “and then make adjustments as we go.”

Tucci tried a smile. It trembled, but held. “Rudy here’s gonna put me back together again, good as new.”

“Half the battle is attitude,” Rudy agreed, then smiled at Tucci. “And you have a great one.”

Tucci laughed weakly. “Well, I’m alive. Didn’t see that happening, but here I am.”

Masuka leaned closer with a grin. “Yo, pretty boy, you’re stealing my thunder, and I got a hottie waiting on me, so I might have to fight you for this one.”

Tucci smirked, weak but good natured. “We’ll arm wrestle later.”

You folded your arms, eyes on Rudy. “He seems like he’s in good hands.”

Rudy offered a polite smile.

Debra chuckled. “Watch out for this guy,” she teased Rudy, tilting her head toward Masuka, “he’s a dog.”

“Guilty as charged,” Masuka shot back, giving a mock bow.

You sighed, shifting your notebook in one hand. “Alright, Tony,” you began evenly, slipping right back into detective mode, “can you tell us anything? Anything at all about the man who took you?”

Tucci swallowed hard, fingers twitching against the stiff hospital sheet. “I didn’t see much,” he admitted, voice small. “He came up on me from behind. Put a mask on me when he... made me put the things on ice.”

You narrowed your eyes but kept scribbling stuff in your notebook.

Debra leaned forward, gentle but focused. “Did you hear anything, Tony? An accent maybe?”

Tucci’s eyes darted around the room, scared. “He didn’t talk much. And when he did… it was a whisper.”

Masuka piped up, trying to break the tension. “Any idea if he was white, Black, Latino? Anything?”

Tony hesitated. “White, I think. Average height. Not fat, not skinny. Just… average.”

You leaned in, voice calm. “When he started working on you, you were blindfolded?”

Tony nodded quickly, shivering. “Yeah. And there were rats, you know? Crawling up on the bed. I had to shake them off.”

Your pen stilled for half a second. Rats. A cruel detail. Purposeful.

Debra softened her tone. “You’re doing good, Tony. You’ve given us a lot.”

Tony laughed, a sad, shaky laugh. “Yeah? Feels like nothing.”

Debra offered a warm smile. “Hey, sometimes when I’m trying to remember something, I close my eyes. Maybe even a blindfold—”

But Tony flinched, shaking his head. “No. I’m tired. I just… I just want to rest.”

You nodded, stepping back. “That’s fair. We’ll check back later.”

Tucci sank into the pillows, relief and exhaustion washing over his battered face.

Rudy gave Tucci’s shoulder a reassuring pat, then stood up, catching Debra’s gaze with a quiet steadiness that made her cheeks flush all over again. You couldn’t help but clock it — the softness in her eyes, the way she leaned in his direction even unconsciously.

“Thanks for making this easier,” Rudy told her with a warm, polite smile, like he was born to play the hero.

“Yeah,” Debra said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “you’re, uh, really good with him.”

He shrugged modestly, flashing that charming grin. “Just part of the job.”

Masuka clapped his hands together awkwardly, breaking the moment. “Well, I’m gonna go check out the, uh… evidence samples,” he announced, backing toward the door with a grin that was half nervous, half inappropriate. “Catch you guys later.”

You watched Masuka go, then turned your focus back on Tucci, who was already slipping into uneasy sleep, his bandaged stumps twitching slightly as if even his dreams wouldn’t let him forget

You walked out of the room, letting the door close quietly behind you, the faint click of the latch somehow too loud in the sterile hallway. The air outside felt cooler, easier to breathe without the mix of antiseptic and fear that clung to Tucci’s hospital bed.

Deb was still in there, hovering close, drawn to Rudy like a moth to a porch light. You knew that look on her face. You’d seen it before, in other places, on other people. That soft, subtle tilt of her body. The eyes that wanted to trust. It made something in your chest tighten, but you smoothed it away with a breath.

You started down the corridor, passing nurses who nodded politely, the sharp scent of hospital cleaner biting at your nose. Halfway to the elevators, you paused, glancing back toward Tucci’s room. A small window in the door gave you a glimpse — Rudy leaning in toward Deb, that practiced, gentle charm on his face, and Deb laughing at something he said.

The elevator chimed, snapping you out of your thoughts. You stepped inside, pressing the button for the lobby, and watched the doors slide shut. As they did, your own reflection caught your eye in the mirrored panel — polished, professional, a hero to everyone who didn’t know better.

A hero. That word felt almost comedic, considering what your hands had done only hours ago. You tilted your head at your own reflection, studying the smooth skin, the calm, clear eyes. No one would ever suspect. You’d built the illusion too well.

The elevator hummed, descending floor by floor, and for a moment, you let your mind drift back to the warehouse — to the careful cuts, the steady rhythm of your breathing as you dismembered a man like a puzzle you’d solved a hundred times before. That was the place you felt honest, real. Here, you were only an echo of yourself, a role you played to perfection.

Once the door to elevator opened, you headed straight out of the hospital to the car. You waited outside for Deb. You leaned against the side of the car, letting the soft dawn air touch your skin.

Finally, you saw Deb emerge. She was talking to Rudy, her face soft, open, more vulnerable than you’d seen her in months. She laughed at something he said, then tucked her hair behind her ear, that same little tell. Your eyes narrowed just a touch, then you smoothed it away with a shallow breath.

She gave Rudy a wave before jogging over to you, keys jangling. “Sorry,” she said, catching her breath. “Had to get his contact info, in case Tucci needs more help.”

You raised an eyebrow. “His contact info, huh?”

Deb gave you a playful shove. “Shut up.”

As she fired up the engine, you let your eyes drift out the window again, the city’s morning glare making you squint.

“Where to?” she asked, glancing over.

You flipped open your notebook. “Back to the station. I want to look over Tucci’s statement again. There’s something about the blindfold, the rats — doesn’t feel right.”

Deb nodded, pulling away from the curb, leaving the hospital and Rudy Cooper behind.

Later that night after work, you walked into your apartment. You kicked off your shoes, flexing your toes against the hardwood floor before massaging your aching feet for a moment. The silence wrapped around you like a familiar blanket.

You stepped into the kitchen, reaching for a glass from the cabinet, the movement almost automatic. The water from the tap ran cold, leaving condensation trailing down your knuckles as you filled the glass.

You took a slow sip, letting the chill settle in your chest. It was grounding, in a way — something human, something simple. You leaned against the counter, staring into the darkened room. The faint hum of your fridge was the only sound.

Outside, the city was moving on without you, streetlights blinking, engines rumbling, lives being lived. And you stood here, alone, a glass of water in your hand and blood still on your mind.

A run. That’s what you need right now. Maybe a run to the beach.

You set the glass down with a faint clink on the countertop. You went to your room, grabbed your leggings and a t-shirt. You pulled your hair back into a quick tie, grabbed a pair of worn running shoes by the door and slipped them on. You tied the laces tight, almost relishing the bite of the fabric against your fingers. It felt like a ritual: armor, in its own small way. You stepped outside, locking the door behind you with a quiet click, and drew in a deep breath of the night air.

The street was calmer now, shadows stretching long beneath the flickering streetlights. You took off at an easy pace, letting your muscles warm, the steady rhythm of your footfalls syncing with your heartbeat.

Block after block, the city fell away, the chatter, the sirens, the lights, until you reached the beach, where the sand was cool and the ocean whispered against the shore. You stopped and took of your shoes, grabbing them in one hand and letting your feet sink into the damp sand, breathing deep. Out here, the world felt distant, as if the waves could wash away every sin you’d ever committed.

You looked around you and started to undress. You took of your shirt, then your leggings. For a while you just stood there like that. Letting the wind hug your body, giving you goosebumps. Then you took off your bra and your panties.

Then you stepped forward, toes sinking into the cold sand, your muscles tense as you approached the water. The surf lapped against your ankles first, a shock that made you shiver, then deeper, up to your knees, thighs, until you plunged forward and let it swallow you whole. The ocean wrapped around you, bracing, heavy. You kicked out, strong strokes carrying you past the break, letting the waves knock against your shoulders. Every nerve felt awake. You floated for a moment, letting the current pull at you, the salt stinging your lips.

You broke the surface again with a gasp, hair slicked back, water streaming down your face. The night sky stretched overhead, vast and uncaring, a canvas of stars blinking far away from your tiny world. You treaded water, feeling the steady pull of the current wanting to take you somewhere, anywhere.

Then you turned and started swimming back to the shore with decisive strokes. When your feet finally found the sand again, you stood up. Goosebumps rose instantly as the night breeze cut across you, but you didn’t rush. You took a moment to look back at the dark ocean, letting its rhythmic sounds calm the echo of violence still humming somewhere in the back of your mind. You stepped onto the beach, gathering your scattered clothes, tugging them on one piece at a time, still dripping. Each movement was methodical, deliberate.

“Detective?” a voice called making you freeze with your damp shirt hallway over your head.

You yanked it down quickly, heart pounding, scanning the empty stretch of beach until you spotted a man. You couldn’t quite figure out who it was at first. Then it hit you. It’s the prosthetics guy. Rudy or Rider Cooper. You couldn’t remember and you didn’t even try to.

“You’re the prosthetics guy from earlier,” you took a breath.

He smiled taking a step closer to you, hands tucked into the pockets of his pants. Sleeves rolled up.

“Rudy Cooper, that’s me.” he clarified.

You let out a breath, your shoulders stiff. “What are you doing here?”

Rudy lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug, as if he’d just wandered onto your private moment by accident. “Couldn’t sleep,” he said smoothly. “I come here sometimes to clear my head.” His eyes flicked to the ocean, then back to you, lingering. “Didn’t expect to see you, though.”

You crossed your arms, the damp fabric of your shirt clinging to your forearms, cold now that the breeze was cutting through it. “Yeah, well. Long day,” you muttered.

He tilted his head, studying you with that same steady calm you’d seen in Tucci’s hospital room. “Rough case,” he said lightly, like an invitation.

You stared back, guarded, trying to read him. His smile didn’t falter.

“Yeah,” you finally answered. “Something like that.”

“You come here often?” he looked at you and then looked behind you at the beach

You hesitated, following his glance back to the dark, rolling surf. The beach at night was your secret place, a place no one was supposed to see.

“Sometimes,” you admitted, voice carefully neutral. “Helps clear my head.”

Rudy nodded thoughtfully, as if that made perfect sense to him. His eyes lingered on you just a beat too long, like he was picking apart the edges of your words.

“It’s a good spot,” he said, shifting his weight in the sand. “Quiet. Private.”

“Yeah,” you agreed slowly. “That’s the point.”

Rudy’s lips curved just a little, a knowing sort of smile that somehow made your pulse hitch. He didn’t look away from you, even as the breeze tugged at his rolled-up sleeves.

“I should get going.” You slowly leaned down to take your shoes that were lying in the sand.

“Let me walk with you,” he started giving you a soft smile. “It’s not safe for a woman to be alone in times like these.”

His words made you pause, your fingers curling around your shoes, sand sticking to your damp skin. You looked up at him, meeting that calm, pleasant face, so polite, so careful, but there was something beneath it that felt off, like a blade hidden in velvet.

“I can handle myself,” you said evenly, slipping one shoe on, then the other.

Rudy’s smile didn’t budge. “I don’t doubt that,” he replied smoothly, voice warm. “But still.”

He took a half-step closer, hands still in his pockets, studying you with that steady, unblinking gaze. “Humor me?”

A muscle twitched in your jaw, but you forced a shrug. If he wants to walk, let him walk, you reasoned. Better to keep him in sight than have him lingering behind you in the dark.

“Fine,” you sighed, brushing a strand of damp hair out of your face. “Let’s go.”

He nodded once, almost pleased, and fell into step beside you as you began walking up the beach.

For a while, you walked in silence, the distant roar of the ocean filling the gaps. Rudy watched the horizon, as if he were content just existing in your presence, but you could feel the subtle tension there, the sense that he was studying you, cataloguing you.

And you tried to study him too. The thought startled you, hot and electric, cutting through the cool night air. You pictured him on the table, those calm, polite eyes gone wide with panic, his measured voice cracking as he pleaded. You wondered how easily his skin would come apart beneath your blade, how neatly you could separate the practiced steadiness from the raw, honest terror underneath.

The thought almost made you smile, but you didn’t.

“Beautiful night,” Rudy commented, breaking the moment.

You nodded stiffly, trying to steady your voice. “Yeah,” you managed, even as your thoughts still played at the edges of violence.

You both fell into the same silence again. The only sound coming from cars, sirens and your shoes crunching across the scattered shells and sand. The breeze whipped a strand of your hair into your mouth, and you brushed it away with a tense, deliberate motion.

“This is me,” you both stopped at a random building. You don’t live here, of course you don’t

Rudy paused beside you, studying the doorway with a polite, unreadable expression. “Nice place,” he remarked, like he believed you, or at least chose to pretend he did.

“Yeah,” you replied, smoothing the lie without missing a beat. “Thanks for walking me.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, like he was trying to see past the calm, past the surface you wore so carefully. Then he smiled — soft, reassuring, practiced. “Anytime, Detective.”

You nodded, heart still thudding with a strange rush of adrenaline. “Goodnight, Rudy.”

“Goodnight,” he echoed, turning back toward the city with that same unhurried ease.

You waited until he was out of sight, until the darkness swallowed him completely, before you stepped away from the fake doorway and moved toward where you actually live.

You moved quickly once he was gone, cutting across side streets and alleys until you reached your real building. The key scraped against the lock, your hands still faintly trembling from the encounter, though you’d never admit that.

Inside, the familiar smell of your home hit you. You took off your shoes and stay by the door, immediately took of your damp clothes leaving you in just your underwear. You headed straight to the bathroom.

Hot water hammered against your skin in the shower, steam wrapping around you. You stood there for a long time, letting the water drum over your scalp, willing it to wash away the night, the memories, even the phantom touch of Rudy’s polite smile.

He is interesting, and you’re interested to find out what his insides look like.

Would he beg?

Would he fight?

Or would he stay calm all the way to the end?

You shut the water off and stepped out, steam clinging to your skin. As you toweled off, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror — clean, polished, composed.

You went to your bedroom and turned on the dim light by your bed. You took your phone a saw a notification from an unknown number.

‘You looked beautiful in the ocean’

Your fingers hovered over the screen, then tightened around the phone until the casing creaked. A chill bled through your freshly showered skin, sinking into your bones. A thousand scenarios ran through your head, each one sharper than the last. Rudy? Some creep on the beach? Or worse — someone who knew you?

Slowly, carefully, you typed out a reply.

‘Who is this?’

The message sat there, blue bubble against black screen, taunting you. You watched the typing dots blink on and off, your breath caught in your chest.

Then the reply came.

‘Just a fan.’

You took a deep breath, feeling your pulse thrum in your throat. A fan? The word felt oily, wrong, sticking to your skin in a way that made you itch. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, mind racing, trying to dissect every possibility. Was it a joke? A mistake? Or something much, much darker?

You swallowed, forcing your breathing to steady, then typed, slow and measured:

‘Do I know you?’

A pause. The typing dots reappeared, vanished, reappeared again.

Come on, you thought, tension ratcheting tighter in your shoulders.

Then, finally, the screen lit up with another message:

‘I think you’d like to.’

Your skin went cold, a shiver crawling down your spine. You exhaled, slow, steady and typed back a reply:

‘That’s not an answer, sweetheart.’

You stared hard at the screen, jaw tight, but a small smile playing on your lips. Excitement?

‘Patience. I’ll make it worth your while.’

Your pulse jumped, sharp and eager, even as something darker twisted in your gut.

‘And how do you plan to do that?’

A pause.

‘By showing you how perfectly I understand you. How perfectly we match.’

You typed, slow and deliberate:

‘You think you know me?’

The reply came quicker than you expected, like they’d been waiting for the question:

‘I do know you. I know what’s under the badge. I know what you crave when the city goes quiet. I know what you dream about when no one’s watching.’

Another message came:

‘I know you dreamt about slicing up that pretty boy walking you home today.’

So maybe it’s not Rudy. But you can never be too sure.

‘And you look beautiful wrapped in that towel right now.’

You froze for a second. The fuck? And you started typing:

‘Then maybe you should knock on my door instead of spying on me through my window.’

There was no reply at first. Just the hollow, ringing silence of your own breath as you turned, almost against your will, to glance at the window, the curtains half-drawn, the night pressing close.

‘Maybe I will. But where’s the fun in that?’

You swallowed hard. You should feel fear, but instead you feel excitement. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, breathing shallow, pulse thrumming like a drumbeat inside your throat.

You took a steadying breath, letting the tension coil through you, sharp and electric. The excitement burned through the thin veil of logic like acid. You should block the number, report it, lock the windows, but that part of you, the part that understood the thrill of the hunt, leaned closer instead.

Your thumbs moved carefully, deliberate:

‘Is this a game to you?’

A pause. The typing dots teased you, flickering in and out.

‘Only if you want it to be.’

Your chest tightened, heart pounding hard enough to make you feel dizzy. You drew the towel tighter around yourself, a shiver racing down your spine.

‘What do you want?’

There was no hesitation this time.

‘I want you to see me. The way I see you.’

Another chill slid under your skin.

‘Look out the window.’

Your throat clenched. Slowly, pulse roaring in your ears, you turned toward the half-drawn curtains, the night beyond suddenly a thousand times darker.

You stepped closer to the window, the towel clinging damply to your skin, heart hammering in your chest. One part of you screamed to stop, to pull the curtains shut and call it in, but another part, the part that thrived on danger, needed to know.

You inched the curtain aside, peering into the night. The street below was nearly empty, just a few parked cars and the dull glow of the streetlights. Nothing moved. Nothing obvious. But you could feel it — someone watching, patient, hidden, seeing you.

Your phone buzzed in your hand, and you nearly dropped it. A new message.

‘Perfect. Stay right there.’

Your breath hitched, a strange thrill pulsing through your veins, sharp and dangerous.

‘What do you mean?’ you typed, fingers trembling but steady enough.

A pause.

‘I want to watch you. Unwrap yourself.’

A flush burned through you, your mind a blur of warnings, wants, and something that felt like a dare.

‘And if I don’t?’

Another pause, longer this time, the typing dots appearing and disappearing.

‘Then I come in.’

Your pulse spiked so hard it hurt. You swallowed, eyes scanning the dark, searching for any sign of movement.

And then you slowly loosened the knot of your towel, the fabric falling apart, your body bared to the shadows, to whoever was out there.

Your phone buzzed again, so quiet it almost seemed apologetic.

‘Beautiful.’

A shiver crawled over your skin, half from the night air sneaking through the window, half from the message itself. Beautiful. The word sank into you like a needle, threading something dark and electric through your veins.

You swallowed hard, breathing slow, forcing the pounding of your heart to steady. You refused to flinch, refused to pull the towel back around yourself. Instead, you stepped closer to the glass, letting the night see you.

Your phone buzzed once more, breaking the hush.

‘Do you feel powerful, detective?’

A small, dangerous smile tugged at your mouth, even as your chest tightened with something more complicated, more primal. You raised the phone, thumbs steady, and typed:

‘Maybe. Do you?’

Seconds passed. Long enough to make you wonder if he was gone, if you’d called his bluff, but then:

‘We could be gods together.’

Your lips parted, breath catching on that word ‘gods’. Something twisted inside you, hungry and hot.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you wrote back:

‘Prove it.’

The reply came instantly, as if he’d been waiting:

‘Soon.’

You let the phone fall to your side, your other hand resting against the glass, eyes locked on the dark outside. The city was still moving beyond you — cars, sirens, lives being lived, but none of it mattered. Only this did.

You closed the blinds slowly, a smirk playing on your lips. You moved away from the window, still naked. You went to your closer for some pajama and got into the bed.

You still felt that adrenaline, excitement in your chest. You wanted more, you needed more. And you couldn’t decide if you want this person on your table, or if you want to play with him more.

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angel-calypso · 2 months ago

Text

10 things i hate about you || f.w.

summary: rumor has it that you and fred weasley are going out. being the instigators you two are, you decide to play into said rumors. but just how far could you go before you lose sight of the line between fiction and reality?

words: ~7.9k LMFAO I REALLY WENT OVERBOARD HERE

warnings: cheesiness, cliche 10 things i hate about you vibes, both y/n and fred being oblivious idiots. what’s more to love

a/n: you thought i’d avoid writing another fake dating fic? with fred? NEVER. ik there r some fake dating fred fics out there but i swear we need MORE bc this is the best trope ever idc. also made up a name for the school paper cs i forgot if it was a thing in the books/movies lol. reader is an implied gryffindor/ravenclaw but can technically be in whatever house you’d like : )

add yourself to my hp taglist here!

The problem with Hogwarts was that rumors spread through its halls like fiendfyre.

It all started during the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Harry had narrowly caught the Snitch after a Dementor false alarm and carried the team to victory, causing the stadium to explode into ground-shaking cheers. Waves of deep crimson and gold were pouring onto the field and you almost got trampled in the midst of it until someone pulled you into the center.

“There you are—I was looking all over for you,” Fred beamed. “You were watching, right?”

“I was sitting front row…you literally saw me, Fred,” you stated plainly.

“I know, but I wanted to make sure,” he winked at you, sidelining you into a hug. “You look very pretty, by the way. I think my hat looks better on you than me.”

“Anddd there’s the woman of the hour! He couldn’t stop staring at you—almost crashed into the teachers’ section ‘cause of that,” Lee came over and clasped your shoulder.

“That’s what that was all about? Freddie, you need to get it together!”

“Can’t help when you’re as alluring as a Veela,” the compliment rolled effortlessly off his tongue. He then tilted his chin down to kiss your forehead, and you didn’t bother pushing him away despite the fact that he was all sweaty after being up in the air.

A bright flash of light pulled you out of Fred’s embrace, and you blinked to see Colin standing there with a wide grin on his face, camera in hand.

“Just capturing the moment,” the younger Gryffindor said excitedly. “This is gonna be a good one!”

You thought nothing of it until you went down to the Great Hall for breakfast the following morning. You went over to find your Ravenclaw friends, who seemed to be huddled around something, staring at it intensely.

“Oh, hey Y/N!” Cho beamed brightly at you, moving over to make room for you to sit next to her. “Have you seen the latest school newsletter?”

You filled your plate and took a copy of the Hogwarts Daily Digest that Padma gave you. “No…what’s it all about?”

“Check page 3,” she told you. You took a bite of your toast first, pausing as you scanned over the page. At the front and center was a moving picture of you and Fred embracing, him pressing a kiss to your temple, smiles of pure bliss on both your faces. You had to admit that Colin had a way with pictures; so much so that you almost would’ve believed you and Fred were a true couple just by looking at the article.

“So we’re going out, apparently,” you said, taking another bite of your food, “...Interesting.”

“Several students were interviewed about it, and they’re wondering if you guys are,” Cho explained. “With the way he kept looking over at you during the game, and how he was searching for you after it ended.”

“I—I’ve ought to talk to Fred himself, see what he thinks about this—” you spluttered, feeling hot all of a sudden. “I just—we’re not even—”

“But you would be very cute together,” your best friend added. “I mean, you have known each other for how long now? It wouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone if you were.”

At the end of the day, you went to the library to squeeze in some quiet alone time for reading, curling up on one of the plushy sofas near the bookshelves. You were deep into a mythical book that Hermione recommended, fully zoned in for what felt like forever until the cushion sank a bit, indicating that someone had sat down next to you.

“What do you want, Fred,” you sighed without even looking up from your book. “Come to bother me again?”

He took the book from your hands in response and closed it.

“Hey, I was reading that—” you began.

“I wanted to ask you about the article,” he stated, “don’t you think Creevey’s quite the photographer?”

You scoffed. “If this is about us being a couple, you know we’re not.”

“I was going to suggest something else.”

“And what is that?”

“Given that half the school is talking about us already,” he referred to the whispers in the halls that followed you from class to class, “why not play into the rumors a bit?”

“So you’re suggesting that, what?”

“That we say we’re a couple.”

“...you want to pretend that we’re going out?”

“Why not?”

“That’s insane,” you shot him a glare. “What do either of us get out of it?”

“Practice, of course,” Fred had a proud look on, “but also, why not have some fun with it?”

You stopped and thought about it for a second. He was right—who were you to not want to have a bit of fun? After all, it was just Fred; it couldn’t be that hard to fake-date someone, especially when you had no real feelings for them.

“Fine, but only on one condition.”

“What’s that, love?”

“Promise not to fall in love with me?” You stuck your hand out towards him.

Fred took it and gave it a firm shake, his signature mischievous grin making its appearance. “As long as you don’t fall for me either.”

“Dream on.”

He leans forward, voice dropping to a low whisper. “10 galleons says you’ll fall in love with me first.”

“Oh, please. 20 says you won’t even last half as long.”

“You’re on.”

So it began—settling into the whole routine was surprisingly easy. But of course, it was probably easier since you had money on the line; asides from George, you and Fred were the most competitive people in the entire school. You’d do anything for extra money, glory, and infinite bragging rights.

Making it a point to one-up each other, you began to brainstorm ways to really play up the whole “fake girlfriend” thing.

i. the pda competition, part 1

Monday afternoon’s Potions lesson proceeded as always, with Snape’s annoying, drawling voice instructing you on what to do.

Today’s class was boring but ended early, the only downside being that you were assigned a hefty load of homework.

“By the beginning of Wednesday’s class, you shall turn in to me two feet of parchment on the history of Strengthening Solution and its’ properties…” Snape ordered, “...for now, follow the instructions on the board. Ingredients are in the back. I expect the utmost perfection and accuracy…those who fail shall not be tolerated.”

Groaning internally, you headed to the back of the classroom towards the supply cabinets, Fred following close behind. Either Snape was out to get you both or it was sheer luck that had you paired together for this assignment.

“Wait, you forgot something,” Fred called out as you were about to walk away.

You turned around, a snarky reply ready. “What is—”

You didn’t even have the chance to finish your sentence when he grabbed you by the wrist and tugged you into his chest, kissing you square on the lips. You were completely taken by surprise and had no time to react whatsoever.

Low wolf-whistles and “ooohs” reverbrated throughout the entire classroom as you broke apart.

“What was that for?” you hissed.

There was a devilish grin on his face, and you so desperately wanted to wipe it right off him. “Just trying to be a good fake boyfriend, of course,” he whispered into your ear.

“Touch me again without warning and I’ll break your nose,” you said in a low tone, ignoring the heat rising up your cheeks.

“Miss Y/L/N…Mr. Weasley…” Snape said lowly, “...back to your seats, both of you. This is a classroom, not a bedroom. Get to work.”

Several students giggled at this and you huffed, heading back to your seat. You didn’t speak more than a few sentences to Fred for the remainder of the lesson, face still flushed from the sudden incident. He kept stealing glances at you as you worked in silence, adding the ingredients into your bubbling cauldron with careful, precise movements.

“That’s 1-0 to me,” he reminded you. “Better hurry and catch up, or I’m winning those Galleons.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you muttered, uncapping the bottle in front of you and pouring some of the liquid in.

ii. the pda competition, part 2

After Fred had kissed you in the middle of a packed classroom, you were determined to get back at him, racking your brain for ideas.

You sat under a sprawling tree by the Great Lake with Cedric, Cho, Padma, Ernie, and several other Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students. Somehow, you got lucky and all had matching free periods today, taking the opportunity to have a picnic by the water together.

“A little birdie told me that you and a special someone were going out,” Cedric pointed a finger at you, the other arm slung around Cho’s shoulders. “Now what’s going on?”

“They’ve always been mad about each other, only took them a million years to see it,” Ernie butted in. “Isn’t it obvious? One would think they’re already married at this point, though.”

“Who’s married to who?” you heard someone ask from behind you.

“Speak of the devil,” Ernie said, “there he is!”

“Was going to check on you—see you at supper?” Fred lightly touched your cheek. You nodded blindly, the skin of his hand hot on your face.

“Okay, I’ll meet you there.”

You turned back around to see everyone smirking at you knowingly.

“What?” you questioned, adjusting the collar of your shirt as if nothing had happened.

“Aren’t you two the cutest,” Cho laughed breathily, “Ernie was right. It’s like you’re married.”

“Oh shut up, we’re still much too young for that.”

“Not for long!”

Of course the only empty seat at the Gryffindor table that evening was next to Fred, and he made sure that you were sitting as close to him as humanly possible. All it would take was an extra few inches and you’d fully be sitting on his lap. You shook off the embarrassment and snapped back into it, determined to win the bet.

“I missed you all day, you know,” he admitted, placing a dinner roll onto your plate for you. “Where have you been?”

“By the lakes,” you said matter-of-factly. “Where else would I be?”

“With me, obviously.”

“I’d rather be anywhere else.”

“Well that hurt,” he pretended to look hurt. “I thought I was your favorite.”

“Second to last,” you joked. “Hey, wait—there’s something on your mouth.”

“Where?” he tried motioning around with his fingers but to no avail.

“Right…here…” you murmured, gently grasping his chin and pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his lip, tasting a hint of the sweet cranberry sauce he’d been eating on the tip of your tongue. Loud gasps erupted through the Great Hall at the sudden private but public display.

Fred inhaled sharply—he knew you were bold, but like this? For once, the jokester had nothing sarcastic to counter you with and was at a loss for words.

When you pulled away, both yours and his faces were a shade of deep scarlet.

“Cat got your tongue?” you smirked, discreetly slipping a sheet of paper into his back pocket. “That’s 1-1 now, Fred.”

Again, Fred was left speechless.

“I feel like I’m interrupting something very…” Ron coughed, damn near choking on his chicken leg. “Intimate. Scandalous. Very—”

“Shut it, Ronald,” you cut him off. “Can’t a girl snog her boyfriend when she wants?”

More jaws dropped at your reply, and you simply continued eating, a victorious grin on your face. Fred looked down and fished the note out of his pocket, unfolding the smooth parchment to reveal your tidy penmanship.

Now who’s the flustered one? you know where to find me if you need me xx

You were so going to win.

iii. the serenade

You found yourself sitting on the bench watching the Gryffindor Quidditch team practice—it was Fred’s idea to show up to as many of them as possible to really sell the whole “fake dating” thing. You didn’t mind all that much, as you got bored easily and liked to have a change of scenery every so often while you were studying.

A loud, abrupt screech caused you to look up from your textbook and you winced, covering your ears.

“You’re just too good to be true…can’t take my eyes off of you…” a melodic voice began flowing across the stadium. Confused, you set your book down and stood up, looking around for the source of the noise.

“You’d be like Heaven to touch, I wanna hold you so much…at long last love has arrived…”

Fred suddenly appeared from the commentator’s box, holding a microphone. He casually leaned against the pole before sliding down and hitting the bleachers, gracefully making his way down the steps.

“...And I thank God I’m alive…” his eyes remained focused on you, blazing gold and green. “You’re just too good to be true…”

“What the—”

He spun around and pointed at you, the corners of his lips quirking up in a childish grin, “...Can’t take my eyes off of you.”

“HIT IT, WOOD!” you heard someone (was that Lee?) yell, and music began blasting from the speakers.

Your friends were eyeing you with delight, fully entertained by the fact that you had absolutely no clue what was happening. Fred continued singing while he sauntered down the bleachers with a grace that you had never seen.

“I love you, baby, and if it's quite alright

I need you, baby, to warm the lonely night

I love you, baby, trust in me when I say

Oh, pretty baby, don't bring me down, I pray

Oh, pretty baby, now that I found you, stay

And let me love you, baby, let me love you”

A blush coated your cheeks as he finally approached you, taking one of your hands in his and twirling you around. He held your gaze the entire time, eyes alight with what looked like genuine joy and passion. The rest of your classmates joined in as they crowded around you, joining together in one voice.

It was impossible to hold back the smile creeping up your face as Fred continued to sing—he was undeniably charming, and you had to admit, this was well worth suffering a brief loss for.

“Oh pretty baby, trust in me when I say…” the final lyrics left his mouth and everyone burst into applause. He made a show of bowing dramatically and kissing your hand in an exaggerated motion.

You rolled your eyes at the overly extravagant gesture. But deep down, you had enjoyed every second of the impromptu serenade.

Within minutes after it ended, Fred’s musical spectacle was the talk of the school. Students nudged each other in the corridors as you passed by, whispering words of encouragement, saying how they wished for a relationship like yours, and wondering where they could possibly find someone like Fred.

You felt him slip something into your robe’s pocket. Fred had sidled up next to you as you headed up the stairs to the common room, still grinning widely.

“2-1,” he reminded you, kissing your cheek before turning to the Fat Lady and uttering the password. He stepped through the portrait hole and turned back to wait for you, then walked all the way inside. “Better continue that game of catch up, I might just steal the title of ‘best fake partner ever’ from you.”

There’s that beautiful smile, the note read. Keep it on for me, will you?

iv. the nightmare

Your body seemed to have a mind of its own, because it was 3:27 a.m. and you were wide awake after barely squeezing in a few hours of sleep.

Nothing you did worked; even the Potion for Dreamless Sleep had failed to keep the nightmares at bay. You didn’t last long before jolting awake, beads of sweat forming at your forehead and chest heaving with raggedy, jagged breaths.

After several minutes of tossing and turning you gave up, quietly tiptoeing down the stairs to the common room. The fireplace was on, indicating that someone was already there—

“Y/N?” Fred turned around from his spot on the couch to look at you. “What’re you doing up at this hour?”

You yawned, “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Finishing an assignment,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. Sheets of parchment, a vial of ink, and several books were spread out on the coffee table. “You?”

“Nothing,” you lied, sitting down next to him. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He didn’t miss the hoarse tone in your voice nor your tear-stained face, stopping what he was doing to fully focus on you. “Now I know that’s not true. What’s bothering you, really?”

“I said I’m fine, just can’t sleep.” You let out a shuddering sigh and attempted to will the tears away, but your vision began to blur. “Go finish your work—”

“Hey.” Fred’s voice was soft. “Come here.”

His arms gingerly wrapped around your trembling frame to envelop you into a tight hug. He reached one hand up to smooth out your hair as you shook with silent sobs, your hands curling into the fabric of his robes as if holding onto him would keep you from slipping away and losing yourself again.

Fred was never one to be patient, but he knew that you just needed this moment free of chaos. So he waited, laying there with you as he continued murmuring soothing words into your ear, gently rubbing your back; he’d wait for as long as he’d need to.

You didn’t know how much time passed until the tears ran themselves dry and your throat felt like it had been scraped raw.

“Want to tell me what happened?” he suggested. “But only if you’re comfortable, that is.”

You hesitated, wondering if it was a good idea to tell him. Maybe he’d think you were strange…but seeing how he looked so genuine in that moment changed your mind.

“I lost you…I lost everyone. I watched you die, Fred.” Your voice was cracked and raw, which sent a pang through his chest. The image of Fred’s lifeless body trapped between the rubble flashed across your vision, feeling as if it was wrapping its cold fingers around your throat. “I watched you all die and I couldn’t save you.”

“But I’m alive and well right now, aren’t I?” he assured you calmly, “I’ll be here for as long as you want me around. You’ll have to fight to the death to get rid of me.”

Managing a broken laugh, you looked up at him. “Really?”

“Really. What are fake boyfriends for, anyway?” His hand found its place against your cheek, fingers gently skimming across your skin. You leaned into his touch and let out a sigh, lips just barely brushing over his palm.

“No one’s here, Fred…you don’t need to pretend.”

“I know I don’t.” Any and all traces of half-witted sarcasm were gone; wiped clean off his face. Instead, his eyes were glossed over with concern as they raked over yours. “Figured I could keep you company? Since I didn’t want you to be alone in your head like this.”

“I’d like that.”

He then passed a familiar folded square to you, and you opened it with a smile.

I’m here, whenever you need - F.W

v. the hospital wing run-in

“For Godric’s sake, how many more times will I have to see you in here?” Madam Pomfrey demanded as she hurried around, setting a metal tray by your bedside. “This is the third time this month.”

“Sorry,” you winced as you shifted your injured leg onto the pillow she’d set out.

“What is it this time?”

“I broke my ankle.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

Pursing your lips, you elected to tell her the modified version of the story, which was the one where you had tripped while going down the stairs, not the one that included running down the Astronomy Tower after sneaking up there for a dare (the twins’ doing).

She shook her head in disbelief, glancing over the cuts on your face and fixing the bandages around your foot. “You’ll be in here for a few days. We’ll have to regrow the bones in your foot and ankle…my, how someone can break this many bones just from missing a step, I can’t seem to understand…what are all of you doing here?”

You followed her gaze to where Hermione, Ginny, Cho, and Fred were standing by the hospital wing’s entrance, alight with excitement upon seeing that you were awake.

“Guys—”

“Miss Granger, Miss Weasley, and Mr. Weasley, need I remind you that no visitors are allowed at this time! I advise that you all head back,” Madam Pomfrey ordered sharply.

“But we haven’t seen her all last night and this morning! Can we just stay for a minute,” Hermione begged. “Please?”

The older woman sighed as she scanned your friends (and fake? boyfriend’s) desperate, pleading faces. “...Alright, then. Don’t stay too long and for Godric’s sake, let her breathe.”

They immediately crowded around your bed and Fred walked over to your side, crouching down so that you were eye level with him.

“There’s my princess,” his charming persona was back in full force, and he smoothly brushed a few stray hairs out of your face. For what felt like the eleventh time, he was swooping in to kiss your cheek. Not that you were counting. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better now that you’re here,” you winked as you attempted to prop yourself into an upright position, but failed, giving up and flopping back down. “Ow. My foot.”

Ginny pretended to throw up on Hermione, who then elbowed her in the stomach. “Ow!” she yelped. “What was that for?”

“Let’s leave the happy couple alone,” she hissed, and they slowly backed away to give you some space.

Fred pulled up a chair next to your bedside, propping his chin in his hand to stare at you. “I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean for you to end up with five broken bones.”

“And a concussion, a killer headache, and not to mention dozens of sore muscles,” you grimaced, but felt a slight ache in your chest when you realized he looked genuinely guilty. “I don’t blame you, really. I mean, I was just as stupid and reckless. I definitely could’ve been more careful but I wasn’t.”

“I’m supposed to mess up your lipstick,” he groaned, “not your bones.”

“Someone took ‘public displays of affection’ the wrong way,” you said sarcastically, and then there was a brief moment of silence before you both burst into laughter.

“Damn right he di—OW, Hermione!”

“Gin, let’s go!” With that, the two girls left the hospital wing, leaving the two of you alone.

“Why are you here, anyway? Hermione and Ginny are because they’re my friends, and you’re my—”

“—lovely, charming, undeniably handsome boyfriend, of course. Why wouldn’t I be here?” Fred finished your sentence for you.

“Right,” your voice was dripping with sarcasm, “I just can’t seem to get rid of you, can I? It seems like you’re always around.”

“And yet, you don’t push me away,” a smile tugged at his lips. “Which clearly means that I’m just that irresistible. I don’t need a charm or some silly love potion to reel you in.”

“Don’t think that because I’m incapacitated, this game is over,” you warned him. “I will beat your arse to a pulp, and you’ll be twenty Galleons lighter. I bet you’re madly in love with me already.”

“Believe what you want, my darling,” he sing-songed, twirling his wand between his fingers. “But we all know I’ve already won this game.”

“Yeah, right. We’re tied now, by the way. That’s for getting me injured.”

“Oi! You can’t just—”

“Shh…don’t come crying to me ‘till you lose.”

He ended up staying overnight.

You didn’t protest at all.

Neither did Madam Pomfrey later that evening after seeing him slumped over on your bed, fast asleep, one hand clutching yours like you were the only thing he had left to lose.

vi. the howler

For once you managed to get to the Great Hall before Fred did. The bloke was always criminally late or ridiculously early to everything; it was almost laughable how there was no in between for him.

He finally showed up just ten minutes before breakfast was supposed to end, breathing hard with his hair all messed up.

“What’d I miss?” he asked you.

“Nothing,” you responded. “Just another ordinary day…”

A gust of wind suddenly swept through the hallway causing the napkins to flutter in the air. A giant grey owl came swooping down onto the table and landed straight in front of Fred, clutching an envelope in its curved talons.

“What’s Errol doing here? We’re not supposed to get our daily mail til’ tomorrow,” Ron gawked, “surprised that he’s here given the number of times he’s collapsed mid-delivery—oh blimey Fred, you must be in trouble! You’ve got a Howler!”

Several Gryffindors around you giggled at this.

With a slight look of confusion and fear, Fred carefully removed the seal on the bright red envelope. Molly Weasley’s booming voice immediately came bursting from the pages.

“FRED WEASLEY, HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME THAT YOU WERE DATING MY FUTURE DAUGHTER-IN-LAW! I AM DISAPPOINTED IN YOU—Y/N dear, if you’re hearing this, I’m very happy for you and hope to see you at the Burrow soon, I’ll make sure to whip up some homemade custard for you—YOU OUGHT TO TREAT HER RIGHT, BOY, OR ELSE! I BROUGHT YOU INTO THIS WORLD AND I SURE AS MERLIN CAN TAKE YOU RIGHT OUT!”

A silence fell over the entire Great Hall and Fred sat there, in shock. The red envelope folded itself up and then burst into flames, its ashes crumbling to the floor.

“I’ve never seen him turn that red,” George sniggered. “You’re bloody brilliant, Y/N.”

“Y-you did this?” Fred spluttered.

“Can’t say I didn’t,” you hummed, patting his head affectionately. “Your mum was bound to find out, one way or another.”

“And you thought this was the best idea?”

“Aww, is little Freddie all embarrassed?” you teased. “Never thought I’d live to see that day.”

“Quit gloating,” the redhead grumbled. “You haven’t won yet. Better sleep with one eye open tonight.”

vii. the pda competition, part ∞

As it turned out, continuing to slip into your fake relationship only became more fun as the days and weeks dragged on. And being competitive only added to the fun, as you were scrambling to one-up each other.

You often opted to hold his hand when walking from place to place, which wasn’t difficult given that you were almost always with him now and had to sell the idea that you really were together. His hands were rough and calloused from all those hours working on joke shop prototypes, but they were still surprisingly comforting. A way to keep you grounded when your head got stuck in the clouds.

Fred’s signature move was, of course, dropping random kisses on your cheek when you didn’t expect it. Sometimes, when he was feeling bolder than usual, that would change to the tender spot between your ear and jaw, your shoulder, or your nose. And each of those times he made sure they were extra drawn-out and that you were in a crowded area so others would see it. The courtyard. The Quidditch pitch. The classroom (two of those incidents were in Potions, much to Snape’s dismay. He didn’t even bother taking points off due to being too disgusted).

“I have a massive exam today,” he declared loudly to you as you stood in front of his upcoming class together. “I think I’m going to need a kiss.”

“Why?” you scoffed. “What do you need that for?”

“For good luck,” Fred said, “it’s kind of a tradition, isn’t it?”

“You…want a kiss for good luck?” you started.

“I’m waiting…” he sang, face turned slightly in an invitation. You sighed and went up on your tiptoes, doing as he asked. “Thank you. But you have terrible aim…you missed.”

“I fear you’re having way too much fun with this,” you muttered. “Don’t make excuses. My lips are not going near yours unless they absolutely need to now.”

“Oh come on, you know you’re having loads of fun too,” he called out as he walked into the classroom. “Catch you later, sweetheart!”

viii. the butterbeer (alt: the pda competition, part ∞)

It was the day of another Hogsmeade outing and you were hand-in-hand with Fred as you walked down the cobblestone streets together. You had planned to spend the day alone for the most part and join Cho for a meal, but Fred had cornered you at breakfast and insisted you go on a date with him.

“To keep up the façade,” he insisted. “Wouldn’t people find it odd if the castle’s favorite couple wasn’t together?”

You nodded and didn’t protest further; you had no energy to do so anyway. It was far too cold for your taste; you had been dragged out without having time to grab your gloves, blowing hot hair into your hands that were steadily growing numb.

“Love,” he called for you as he took your hands in his, “oh, your fingers feel like ice.”

“No…shit…” your teeth chattered as you attempted to respond steadily. “Might lose ‘em if we don’t hurry up and get inside—”

“Wait one second,” Fred said as you two stopped right outside the Three Broomsticks, wasting no more time in taking his gloves off and handing them to you to put on, while he wrapped his house scarf around your neck. “There. Let’s head in.”

“But—”

“Boyfriend duties, remember?” he winked at you as he pushed the door open, holding it for you to step inside first. “Come on. I think a butterbeer or two’ll warm you up.”

Fred’s hand remained on the small of your back, pressing in gently to lead you to a cozy booth in the back. The added warmth felt quite nice, you thought, but you also wondered how he managed to stay like a human furnace when it the weather outside was so dreadfully cold.

It was hard not to stare at him; catching his gaze every so often while sipping your drink. His hair was all tousled from the frigid winds; you took notice of the way it slightly curled out at the ends, glowing under the hazy yellow bar lights. It was annoyingly endearing how he could look so flawless without any effort and even more so that you didn’t have anything snarky to say.

“Fred, I think we’re being followed…” you whispered as you scanned the near vicinity, fingers brushing against the rim of your mug. There in the far opposite corner sat Padma, Ernie, Cedric, and Cho, attempting to look nonchalant as if they weren’t half-stalking you but they were doing a rather terrible job at it. You quickly looked away.

“So? Isn’t that what we want—for people to see us?” he countered with a tone of confidence. His voice dropped low as he continued to speak to you. “Why don’t we give them a show? No need to be so private.”

Your face burned. “What do you—”

“Not like that,” he chuckled lowly, “what did you think I meant?”

“I…”

Fred paused, then raised his hand and brushed something off your cheek with his thumb. “You’ve got something on your face.”

“Oh, so we’re playing that game now, are we?”

“Indeed, my lady.”

You scoffed quietly and imitated his motion, reaching up to smooth out the crease that had formed between his brows. “Put a smile on your face, why don’t you? You look better that way.”

“I always look good, though.”

“I look better than your greasy arse.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Oh yeah?” you challenged. “I’d like to see you tr—”

Before you could say anything else and before he could stop himself from what he was doing, Fred placed a hand on the nape of you neck and pulled you in, kissing you without another word. All protests left behind flew right out the window (along with your morals, too, you thought) and for a split second, it almost didn’t feel like you were pretending at all.

When you broke apart eventually, breaths a little heavy, neither of you needed to look over to see that your friends were gaping in shock, mouths dropped wide open. Sure, Fred was confident and cocky and you were equally so, but both of you would be lying if you said this didn’t take you by surprise.

“You still keeping track?” His voice still had that low, almost husky tone to it. He was cupping your cheek now, and you let him keep doing so. “There can only be one victor, right?”

“Wouldn’t forget it,” you exhaled. “You think we look convincing enough right now?”

“Without a shadow of a doubt.”

ix. the thunderstorm

The day’s exciting Care of Magical Creatures lesson was cut thirty minutes short due to the heavy downpour that had suddenly came crashing down, bringing with it a booming thunderstorm and soaking all your clothes within minutes.

“Well, that’s it fer today, everyone,” Hagrid announced, “now let’s head back inside, don’ want yeh to catch a cold, we’ll continue when the weather lets up…”

You wrapped your cloak tighter around yourself and flipped the hood on over your head, eyes narrowing as you stared up at the suddenly stormy grey sky. It just had to be on the one day you got to go outside and do something exciting, damn it….

It was freezing, nearly as horrible as that one day in Hogsmeade, and you wanted nothing more in that moment than to simply curl up by the fireplace with Hermione, the Patil twins, and Cho, and talk all evening long. If you could even make it back to the castle in one, unfrozen piece, maybe you’d at least get your hands on some hot chocolate from the kitchens…

A warm hand found yours amidst the strong winds, and all of a sudden you didn’t feel so cold anymore.

As if he had read your mind, Fred said, “how about we sneak into the kitchens and grab something to drink? Hot chocolate, perhaps?”

“Sounds perfect,” you smiled and he draped an arm over your shoulders, bringing you into his side. It felt so natural now, like this wasn’t part of some long-standing bet to fool the whole school; as if you were just two best friends trying to keep warm in subpar temperatures. And it was almost too easy to get used to it.

“Oblivious idiots. I told them for years that they’d be perfect together and it’s only this year that they start going out,” George exclaimed from several yards behind, walking side-by-side with Lee Jordan. “Dunno why it took them so long.”

“Love takes time, obviously,” said Lee as he watched Fred lean into your ear and say something, and you giggled lightly in response, “and now, what matters is that I finally have an excuse to make fun of them during Quidditch matches.”

“Oh—good point.”

“And you’ve noticed that he stopped pranking her? Unlike him, isn’t it?”

“Wait…” George paused as he took in Lee’s questions. His mouth formed an ‘o’ in realization. “He’s utterly whipped, that git.”

“What happens when boyfriend duties overcome prankster duties…this is perfect. Professor Flitwick owes me 2 galleons. I called it that he’d fall first!”

“You bet on them?” George squawked. “With Flitwick?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t either,” Lee laughed, “I know you did too.”

The expression on George’s face shifted into one of defeat. “I lost,” he muttered, “I owe McGonagall 3 galleons.”

x. verum exeat (let the truth come out)

The Gryffindor common room was alight with chatter once again. After a long, grueling week of exam revisions, Quidditch practice, and a brutal match to be remembered, Lee and the twins decided that a small celebration was in order. They had originally planned on inviting half the damn school but after arguing with Hermione, had to shrink the party down to just their smaller, usual friend group (they swore up and down that they’d clean up and not get detention like last time, but she wouldn’t buy it).

But you knew that if things had the Weasley twins’ names pasted next to them, they’d be far from peaceful; as far as you could possibly get—no matter how big or small.

“Oh, there you are,” you heard someone say from behind, and turned around to see that it was Hermione.

“Not drinking?”

“Someone’s got to take care of the boys after they go wild, right?” she explained. “Besides…I can’t stand the taste of firewhisky. It burns.”

You offered a tired half-smile and agreed. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Hermione seemed to be deep in thought for a moment until she told you, “You’re very lucky, you know.”

“What are you talking about?”

“To have Fred, that is. To find someone who’s that in love with you, it’s quite rare.”

“Oh, please,” you tried to suppress a laugh, “I told you why we’re doing what we’re doing.”

“And?” Hermione raised an eyebrow at you, “feelings change. Bet or no bet, he cares about you and anyone would be crazy not to see that. Ronald is half-blind and he can tell, too. You can’t possibly tell me that everything you’ve done up to this point has been a lie.”

“It’s meant nothing to me,” you said bitterly. “I hate him.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do. And it doesn’t help that he’s everywhere,” you stopped to take a swig of firewhisky, “and I can’t stand it!”

“Do you not, really?”

“I do, but I—”

“You what?”

“I just hate him!”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you think? I hate everything about him!” you exclaimed, exasperated. “I hate the way he always tries to compete with me, I hate the way he doesn’t take things seriously, I hate that stupid, annoying little smirk he has on his face half the time I see him—”

You inhaled quickly; it felt like you’d just drank an entire vital of Veritaserum with the way that words were tumbling out of your mouth. Hermione gave you a look that seemed to say ‘Go on,’ so you did, “—I hate the way he walks down to the Great Hall every morning with his annoyingly perfect messy hair, I hate the way he risks freezing his arse off to give me his favorite gloves so that I don’t get hypothermia, I hate the way it’s so easy for him to kiss—borderline snog me like it’s nothing, I hate how this is all just supposed to be a game of pretend, and—and most of all, I hate the way he made me fall in love with him without even trying. I hate the way I don't actually hate him. Not even close, not even a little bit…not even at all…”

“You…really mean that?”

You whirled around to see that Fred was standing right behind you with his hands behind his back, eyes hopeful, and you felt your heart drop down to your stomach. “Fred—”

“Y/N, I—”

Suddenly it seemed like the walls were closing in on you from all sides, the room spinning; and then, everything around you jumbled into one chaotic mess of noise and color. Without looking to see either his or Hermione’s reactions, without caring that half the room had stopped to see what was going on, you pushed past your friends and quickly clambered out of the portrait hole.

“What was that about?” Ron’s nose crinkled in confusion. “So much for being a cute couple. Now this is just sad.”

“Will you shut it, Ronald,” Hermione whacked him on the shoulder.

“OW—”

“Stop being so dramatic! Don’t let me catch you drinking even one more shot or I will drag your arse back to bed,” she snapped.

“Pleeeease do, I would lov—ow, ow, OW! OKAY!” Ron exclaimed as she pinched his ear and began dragging him away. “Okay! I’ll leave them alone, I’ll stop…”

Chest heaving and vision blurring with tears, you rushed outside, desperate for a breath of fresh air. It was quiet in the courtyard asides from the faint trickling of water but that did little to calm you down; it was still too loud, too chaotic, too much. Sitting down at the marbled edge of one of the fountains, you tried to catch your breath and balance, but the world still kept spinning…it felt like it wouldn’t stop spinning; for Merlin’s sake. All you wanted to do was crawl into a hole and disappear forever, or jump off the Astronomy tower and fly off to a distant land. You didn’t want to have to worry about how you poured your entire damn heart out in the middle of the common room about your fake boyfriend.

Your fake boyfriend that you realized, with horror, you had begun to develop not-fake feelings for.

A chill ran through you at that moment and you shivered.

Then the feeling of something warm—a thick coat—being draped over your shoulders shook you out of your trance. You instinctively slid it tighter around yourself.

“Thought I might find you out here,” said Fred. You opened your mouth, ready to ask how in Godric’s name he knew where you were at all times when he didn’t even have the Maurader’s Map anymore, but stopped. This was Fred Weasley, and you had spent an unhealthy amount of time around each other over the past several months that he had to have picked up on your little habits. He was more observant than he let on.

“What are you doing out here?” You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him.

“I couldn’t leave you alone outside to freeze, could I?” he asked, sitting down next to you. “What kind of boyfriend would that make me?”

“Please, just…” you inhaled sharply, “I can’t do this. You won. I lost. The game’s over, Weasley.”

“On a last-name basis now, are we? Ouch,” he said jokingly, but dropped the teasing lilt in his voice when he noticed your eyes starting to water. “Talk to me, Y/N.”

“It just isn’t fair,” you whispered, looking down at your feet.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not fair,’” your voice faltered, “you’re not supposed to do that. To do this.”

“Do what?”

“To sabotage the bet. To make me lose track of the scores.”

“Well, I stopped counting, you know,” Fred admitted, tucking a hair behind your hair. “There’s no need to keep track anymore, I think we’ve done enough convincing, don’t you think?”

“But that’s the problem!” your voice cracked as you finally turned to look at him. “It isn’t that I’m probably going to be dozens of Galleons poorer after this. It’s that I’m feeling something I shouldn’t, that…that you made me fall in love with you—”

“Y/N—”

“—I hate the way I care about you far more than I should,” you continued on, “and I hate myself even more for even wishing what we had was real. Because it was all fake, Fred, and you know it. We were faking it, and—”

“Y/N,” he repeated more sternly this time, causing you to stop mid sentence. “Look, I already told you I stopped keeping track. After that night in the common room….that’s when I realized I couldn’t. Lee damn near had to hit me over the head and force-feed me Veritaserum to admit that I was in deep. Galleons and glory be damned, I didn’t care about any of that anymore; it was easy for me to pretend when I was already in love with you.”

“But we weren’t supposed to fall in love, that was the rule,” you sniffed, wiping a tear from your cheek, “I thought we were supposed to follow the rules.”

Fred’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Well, I think some rules are made to be broken.”

And then, he was closing the gap and connecting your lips in a deep kiss. The gentle motion cut through the chilly evening air, washing over you in a blazing heat that had you melting into a haze of firewhisky, adrenaline, and something that smelled distinctly like a crackling log fire and cinnamon.

You had kissed him multiple times before this, but this one felt different than all the rest. It didn’t feel like you were doing it for show in the slightest; it felt genuine and warm and so real.

And the biggest difference was that you never wanted it to come to an end.

“So?” The grin on his face was palpable; contagious, as you broke apart, “What do you say, we stop faking it?”

“Are you fake breaking up with me?” you gasped and pretended to look surprised. “Way to ruin the moment.”

“I’m asking to real-date you, darling,” he said.

“There’s no money on the line this time?”

“No,” he hummed as he leaned forward to kiss you a second time and pretended to think for a second, “but there might be something else on the line instead.”

“And what is that ‘something else?’”

“You’ll have to wait a few years and see.”

xi. the promise

—FOUR YEARS LATER—

Fred was a great planner, of course. “Brilliant,” Harry would say, “absolutely brilliant.” He might’ve been a jokester, but he was a very organized jokester. He always knew what he was going to do and when.

So when it came to you, he thought he had a plan. He thought he had it planned for years; he was thinking fireworks, extravagant displays in the sky, taking you on a sunset ride across Romania on one of Charlie’s dragons. Something to match your free and daring spirit.

But, the moment ended up presenting itself on its own.

It was an ordinary night with yours and Hermione’s families joining the Weasleys for a quiet weekend at the Burrow. Mr. Weasley was listening intently as Mr. Granger and Harry explained the function of rubber ducks and the Internet in great detail, and the rest of you chatted with your parents, Mrs. Weasley, and Mrs. Granger by the kitchen counter about post-graduation plans.

Mrs. Granger had made an off-hand, passing comment about how lovely your silver bracelet—the one with charms of yours’ and Fred’s initials and Patronuses dangling from it—looked on your wrist. And then Fred was saying, “I know something else that would look great on her,” and taking a small box out of his pocket and flipping it open, revealing a blinding bright, silvery diamond ring.

Even as shouts of realization and cheers of joy rose up from around the kitchen, the world seemed to fade away into complete silence when he put the ring on your finger and encircled his arms around your torso, kissing your cheek and whispering into your ear,

“I told you there was something else, didn’t I?”

tags: @xhanthexzoria @arkofblake @fictionalsimp449 @polar-myst @katelikeslaughs @lmllsl @schlattandcompany

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