Freckles- Fred Weasley
Tags: [mlw] [established relationship] [lazy morning] [mild teasing] [flirty] [drabble]
Word count: 1,064
Having a boyfriend is the human equivalent of having a particularly mischievous cat.
He steals your food, claims your bed as his own, gets into places he shouldn’t, and—on occasion—demands attention at the most inconvenient hours.
The nice thing about having Fred Weasley, however, is that he’s just as good at receiving attention as he is at demanding it.
Which is precisely why you’re currently shifting beneath the sheets, warm morning light streaming in through the Burrow’s curtains, illuminating the freckles that map his bare shoulders like constellations.
Fred sleeps on his stomach, arms folded beneath the pillow, ginger hair a mess of tousled strands, his mouth slightly parted. His back rises and falls with each steady breath, broad shoulders relaxed, and one leg kicked out, knee bent lazily like he owns the bed (which, to be fair, he mostly does).
Your fingers twitch.
It’s a terrible idea.
But then again, Fred Weasley has never shied away from terrible ideas.
You trail a slow fingertip down his spine, featherlight, tracing along each dip and ridge until you reach the small of his back. He stirs, shifting slightly, but doesn’t wake.
Emboldened, you press a soft kiss to his shoulder, then another, trailing warmth along his freckled skin. He hums in his sleep, one arm flexing briefly before relaxing again.
It’s the kind of morning where everything is slow and golden, where the air is thick with warmth, and the only sound is the rustling of the sheets as you move closer, pressing against his side.
You let your lips ghost along his jawline now, feeling the faintest prickle of stubble, and he exhales deeply, shifting onto his back, blinking sluggishly at the ceiling.
A smirk tugs at his lips before his eyes even open.
"Thought I was dreaming for a moment," he murmurs, voice thick with sleep, accent rough around the edges.
You grin against his skin, pressing a kiss just below his ear. “Dreaming about what?”
He finally turns his head, gaze still heavy with sleep but wickedly amused.
“Dunno,” he muses, stretching lazily, muscles flexing beneath freckled skin. “Something about a very lovely, very distracting person who likes to wake me up in the best ways.”
You roll your eyes, resting your chin on his chest. “And here I thought you liked your beauty sleep.”
Fred huffs a laugh, eyes slipping shut again. “Oh, I do. But I like you more.”
A warm silence settles between you, his fingers finding your waist beneath the blankets, tracing mindless patterns against your skin.
After a beat, he cracks one eye open. “You’re staring.”
You hum, fingers drumming lightly against his chest. “Just admiring my work.”
His brows lift in amusement. “Your work?”
You tap your lips against his collarbone. “Mhm. Someone’s gotta keep you humble.”
Fred grins, quick and lopsided. “Love, if you wanted to keep me humble, you wouldn’t be in my bed, looking at me like that.”
You open your mouth to retort, but he moves faster—flipping you onto your back with an effortless shift, caging you beneath him, his weight warm and solid.
“See, now you’ve gone and made it unfair,” you complain, laughing breathlessly as his lips hover just over yours.
“Unfair?” Fred echoes, tilting his head. “I’ll have you know, I’m a firm believer in equal opportunity.”
And then he kisses you, slow and lazy, like he has all the time in the world.
And maybe he does.