Outnumbered // Weasley Twins x Reader

Gold and Honey Colored Speckles

Fred always woke up earlier than George. That was the way things had always been.

Their mum often joked about how, despite George being the more chaotic twin, Fred was the one who made her question her competence as a mother. He simply never slept. Even as a baby, all he'd wanted was to lay on Molly's chest and stare right into her eyes.

Some things never change, he supposed, because he wanted the same now.

Fred stirred early the next morning after having crawled into bed with you and George late the night before. The hearth had died some hours ago and he could see his breath flowing across your back as he remained tucked against you.

He reluctantly pulled himself to his feet and searched through the lazily packed duffle bags for a jumper and pair of thick sweatpants. There were logs outside he could set aflame in order to warm the cabin, but for now... he stood there. Just off the edge of the king sized mattress, Fred watched as his brother rolled around to pull you tighter to his chest. He watched as you sank against skin identical to his, seemingly quelled from whatever nightmares you might've been having by George's presence. He watched as everything finally, steadily fell into place.

As much as Fred had always craved your attention, he knew that George had, too. Seeing his other half receive such long awaited affection was almost as satisfying as receiving it himself.

So, like he used to with Molly, Fred simply stared. With tired eyes and a heart so full it could burst, he admired the two of you finding comfort in each other on this cold winter morning.

Then, the hearth.

Fred accio'd a couple of logs into the cottage and stacked them in the fireplace before making his way to the kitchen. He'd never been much of a chef, and even less of one these days. The quick success of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had granted him and George a type of lifestyle that it felt they were destined to live; a large home surrounded by pearlescent gates, butlers and maids that were paid well enough to actually enjoy their jobs, and a chef that prepared almost every meal for them throughout the week.

Surely he could scramble up a few quail eggs though, or whisk together the batter for some pancakes. That was his fleeting thought in the moments prior to the kitchen being filled with smoke.

Fred tossed open the window above the stove and began coughing into the neck of his jumper. He worked hard to waft the smoke out into the forest before one of his siblings could come down the hall and mock him for becoming so spoiled in his years since leaving The Burrow.

Instead, the only reprimand he received was your gentle hand sliding across his lower back. Fred glanced beside him and saw your eyes still mostly glassed over with sleep, hair tossed up into a mess on the crown of your head, and a pouty expression you often wore after having just woken up sitting on your face. You'd tugged a blanket over your shoulders before moseying to the front of the house, somehow finding yourself in a pair of his pajama pants in the process.

"Adorable," he thought to himself, "absolutely fucking adorable."

"Maybe we should wait for the others and just grab breakfast in town," you mumbled, and that was alright by him.

Fred scraped the eggs down the drain before guiding you back to the living room. He planted himself down in the plush, overstuffed chair next to the fireplace, cradling you in his lap with your legs draped over the arm.

"What'cha doin' up so early, love? Did I wake you?"

"Mhm," you hummed, face buried against his chest. "Thought you'd come back to bed, but you didn't... Missed you, Freddie."