shattered | f.w, d.m

eighteen

Fred.

February, 1998.

—

"Fred, I'm going to murder you."

Fred's mouth gaped at Keziah's mortified and enraged face. "You look so gorgeous today, ang—"

"Stop with the flattery and the flirts. Explain before I throw you down the moving steps and watch you splat into a million pieces."

"Well, you see." He cleared his throat and held a hand out to the many people talking and moving around in their common room. "For your birthday, I thought we could play a fun little game."

"I told you I didn't want to do anything for my birthday, Fred." Her voice harshened in a whisper towards him. A frustrated scowl tightened her features. "I'm going to fucking punch you."

"Okay, but not in the face." He blocked his face with his hand and held out his firm bicep for her to punch.

Standing at the entrance of their common room, she looked beyond furious. "I hate you," she hissed, and shoved him harshly. "Fuck you, Fred. I told you not to do anything."

"Kez." He held her shoulders securely, so she couldn't run or hit him. "It's nothing big, I swear. It's just a small game with some people from all the houses. Think of it as a game and not a birthday event."

"Am I allowed to hurt you during the game?"

His lips parted, slightly startled. "Uh— well— it depends," he said warily.

"On?" She was eerily calm now.

"Let me just explain the game, okay?" His hands fell from her shoulders, a soft look in his golden eyes. "Then you can decide if you want to attack me."

"I've already decided."

He nodded and bit the inside of his cheeks. "I had that coming," he allowed, and slid a hand to her lower back. He ushered her into the common room, where everyone else talked amongst themselves. "Just play the game, okay?"

"And then can we have sex? Birthday sex for me?" Her priorities made him snort a laugh that he had to play off as a cough.

"Yes," he said gently in her hair, pushing an ardent kiss into her head. He shouldn't have kissed her head, but it was muscle memory. "Then we can have sex for your birthday."

"I get to choose what kind."

"Sure."

"And how many rounds."

"Mhm."

"And where."

"Alright."

"And with what."

"Always."

She smiled up at him, pleased.

"Let me take your photo first." He reached for the camera on the table. "Stand here."

"Why?" She stared blankly at him.

His eyes rolled as he held the camera up and looked through the lens. "Can you smile at least?"

She did not smile, but she didn't need to. She had that resting-bitch face that looked sexy and fierce and beautiful all at once. The camera flashed as he took her photo and the polaroid rolled out from the camera. He plucked the polaroid by the corner and let the photo develop as he set the camera down.

"What's it for?" she asked, perplexed. "Why do you have photos of everyone? That's a bit weird if you ask me."

"I didn't ask you."