LissyBlossom

Ronarry fanfic~

Prompt: Finding the other wearing their clothes

The Maroon Jumper

Harry had never been one to buy clothes. He’d grown up wearing his cousin’s cast-offs; at Hogwarts he lived in his uniform and the jumpers Mrs Weasley knitted for him every year.

At work he wore an uniform as well, and sometimes Ron would get him a few things, knowing what he was like.

He had enough decent clothes to go out, so he never really cared to get more.

But when his bump started to grow, there wasn’t much that fit anymore. His jumpers were already a bit tight by the fifth month, and by the sixth they’d ride up and show skin.

Ron found it unbearably endearing every single time.

One afternoon they were heading to the Burrow — Mrs Weasley had invited them for dinner. Ron was waiting in the sitting room when he saw Harry coming down the stairs, wrapped up in one of the maroon jumpers his mum had made for him.

The sleeves were a bit long on Harry, but it covered everything — including his very pregnant belly.

Ron blinked, surprised. He looked adorable.

“Love… I think I’ve decided I like maroon,” Ron said, the moment he saw him.

“Nothing fits me anymore. The only thing that covered me properly was one of your jumpers… you don’t mind, do you?”

“Oh, darling, you look so sweet! Help yourself to anything you like. Besides, I like how it looks on you… makes you look like you’re mine,” Ron said, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Harry laughed.

“I am yours, love. And what do you think this ring is?” Harry lifted his left hand, showing his wedding band.

“I know, I know… but still. I love seeing you in my clothes, carrying our baby. You’re adorable.”

“Oh yeah? You don’t find me sexy?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Far too much — but if I start thinking about that, we won’t make it to the Burrow, and we don’t want Mum coming to drag us by the ears. But I promise, when we get back tonight, I’ll show you,” Ron said, winking and kissing the tip of his nose.

Since they couldn’t Apparate because of Harry’s pregnancy, they used the fireplace and arrived at the Burrow through the Floo Network.

In the middle of dinner, the chatter was nonstop, but halfway through dessert — a delicious treacle tart made to satisfy one of Harry’s cravings — things quieted a little, and Ginny snorted.

“Isn’t that Ron’s jumper?”

“Of course not,” Harry replied a bit too quickly.

“Course it is,” Fred laughed, looking him over. “It’s maroon — of course it’s Ron’s.”

“Oh! Fine, it is my husband’s,” Harry said, resigned, lifting his chin. “So what? Nothing fits me anymore!”

“Well, you are massive.”

“Oh, Harry dear, if you needed a bigger jumper you could’ve just told me,” Mrs Weasley said gently.

“It’s alright, Mrs Weasley… I like… wearing Ron’s,” Harry said, blushing after realising what he’d just admitted. That earned a round of laughter from everyone.

“Oi, leave my husband alone! My clothes suit him — and besides, maroon brings out those eyes,” Ron said, staring at Harry fondly until Ginny started wolf-whistling.

“Oh, honestly, Ginny!” Mrs Weasley scolded, while Ginny and the twins snickered under their breath.

Ron slipped an arm around Harry’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to his temple. Harry was a bit flushed himself, but he was smiling.

They returned home with generous portions of treacle tart to eat later. Harry put them away and was standing at the sink washing his hands when he felt his husband’s long arms wrap around his rounded torso. Ron pressed a kiss to Harry’s neck.

“I need to tell you,” he kissed him again, “to show you,” another kiss, “how much I like how that jumper looks on you.”

Harry leaned into his touch, letting out a soft, pleased sound, and that was enough for Ron to lift him into his arms and carry him upstairs to their bed. Another time they might’ve stayed right there in the kitchen, or wherever they happened to be, but with Harry as he was, they couldn’t quite indulge like that.

That night, Ron made it more than clear that seeing Harry in his jumpers had made it into the top ten of his favourite things. He wanted him wearing them today, tomorrow, every day.

Though for that night, that jumper looked much better on the floor.

Ronarry fanfic: Broken

Prompt: sharing bed

Three weeks had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts. The dead had been buried, the wounded had been tended to, and the castle was already under reconstruction.

Hermione had left immediately after the funerals to retrieve her parents from Australia. She and Harry exchanged letters often, keeping each other updated.

Harry had stayed with the Weasleys all that time. It was the least he could do after the devastating loss of Fred.

Molly and Arthur were inconsolable, but they remained strong for the rest of their children. Percy had come back home, Charlie and Bill came and went, and Ginny stayed by her mother’s side, comforting her as best she could.

George didn’t speak. He was always pale, barely sleeping, barely moving. He only ate because the rest of the family hovered over him, coaxing him through it.

But there was someone else in the shadows — someone Harry noticed wasn’t eating, wasn’t sleeping, and hardly spoke either.

It was Ron.

According to Hermione, Ron was in a sort of shock. At any moment he might come back to himself — and perhaps not in the best way. Harry feared that moment, and at the same time, he wanted it. He didn’t care how it came — he just wanted to see something, anything, from his best friend again.

Ron hadn’t cried at Fred’s funeral. Since then, he’d been nothing more than a ghost of himself. The boy who used to laugh, who joked about everything. The boy Harry had, at some point, fallen in love with — something Ron himself didn’t know.

A month had passed, and even George had begun to improve. He spoke, ate without being prompted, and Harry could’ve sworn he’d seen him smile more than once.

Ron, however, wasn’t getting any better — and that had everyone deeply worried.

Mrs Weasley tried to get him to talk, cooked all his favourite meals, even polished his broom in the hope he might feel like flying. Nothing worked.

Harry was beside himself with worry. Would Ron ever be the same again?

One night, Harry heard Ron bolt upright in bed. His eyes were wide, his mouth set in a thin line, his face paler than ever.

Even in the darkness, without his glasses, Harry could see Ron’s chest rising and falling far too quickly.

Harry jumped out of his bed, shoved his glasses on, and sat beside him at once.

“Ron! Ron, mate! Come on, breathe with me — you’re hyperventilating!” He wrapped an arm around his back, rubbing his chest with the other, trying to calm him, Ron’s heart was pounding so fast Harry thought he might faint. His face was flushing red, his eyes glassy.

Then suddenly, Ron gasped for air as if he’d just come up from underwater — and let out the most piercing scream Harry had heard in a long time, as though it had been torn straight from his core. Violent sobs followed, his legs moving restlessly, caught in the grip of a panic attack, while Harry held him tightly.

“That’s it… let it out, let it out. I’m here. You’re safe. We’re okay.”

The door burst open, and the Weasleys, in their pyjamas, stood there in alarm. Harry gestured that he had it handled, and Mr Weasley immediately understood — urging the others to step back and give Ron space.

Ron’s breakdown lasted over half an hour — harsh sobs, endless tears, broken, incoherent words. Harry didn’t let go once.

When the sobs finally softened into small, shaky breaths, Harry lay back on the bed, still holding him, and Ron went down with him. Harry’s right arm stayed wrapped around his chest, grounding him, while his left rested over him, steady and reassuring.

“You did so well… you’re going to be alright, Ron. You’re going to be alright,” he murmured against his copper hair.

Ron didn’t reply — but he tightened his grip on Harry’s hand, and for him, that was enough.

That night was the first time they shared a bed.

From then on, they decided they wouldn’t sleep apart again.

Ron’s recovery came slowly, surrounded by his family — and especially by Harry. The mind healer had explained that it was a mix of shock, grief, and war-induced trauma that had left him in that state.

He wouldn’t be fully better right away — perhaps not for a long time — but it was something that would take time and care.

Something Harry had plenty of.

And something he would do anything to see through.

That’s why he decided to take Ron to Grimmauld Place. Mrs Weasley hadn’t agreed at first, but Mr Weasley made her see that, for Ron, it might be what he needed. A quieter place to heal. The Burrow held too many memories.

Harry led him to Sirius’s old room — the one they would now share — and Ron stopped short when he saw a new bed placed at the centre.

A large bed.

“Where did that come from?” he asked, his voice rough from lack of use.

“I had it brought in… for both of us.”

“It’s huge.”

“Have you seen how massive you are, Weasley?” Harry replied, grinning.

And for the first time in a while, Harry caught a flicker in those blue eyes he loved so much.

They would be alright.

Not now. Not tomorrow.

But they would be.

Fanfic: To make you feel better.

Prompt: forehead or cheek kisses

Harry’s fifth year at Hogwarts hadn’t started well at all. His summer had been miserable after everything that had happened in fourth year. Most of the wizarding world didn’t believe Voldemort had returned, and to make matters worse — he was sure of it — Dumbledore was ignoring him.

Ron and Hermione tried to help, and he could tell they were treating him with a certain —carefulness. It wasn’t unwarranted. He knew his temper flared up at the slightest thing, and he’d snapped at them more than once.

Harry tried to cope, but between the nightmares, Umbridge, Umbridge’s detentions, and the constant pain in his scar, it felt like he was on the verge of going mad.

One night, after a horrendous detention with Umbridge, Harry lay asleep — if it could even be called sleep — tossing and turning restlessly without waking. Ron heard him and knew he was probably having a nightmare.

He got out of his four-poster bed, pulled back Harry’s curtains, and found him drenched in sweat, twisting in pain.

“Harry… Harry, c’mon mate, wake up,” he said, shaking him gently, trying not to startle him further. After a moment, Harry jolted awake, drawing in a sharp breath as if he’d just come up from the lake.

Ron watched as Harry sat up abruptly and immediately pressed a hand to his scar, eyes squeezed shut, a small sob escaping him.

“Does it hurt badly, Harry? Let’s go to the hospital wing… I’m sure Madam—”

“No, no… I’ll be alright. It’ll pass,” Harry cut him off.

Ron sighed. Why did his best friend have to be so stubborn? He handed him a glass of cold water, which Harry accepted, and with a flick of his wand dried his damp nightshirt.

“Thanks,” Harry murmured, exhausted.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Ron asked, worried.

“Uh… yeah, but… could you…er… stay?” Harry didn’t look at him, his face flushed red.

“Course, mate.”

Harry made space for him on the bed, and Ron slipped under the covers. Almost automatically, he draped an arm over Harry. It wasn’t the first time they’d slept in the same bed, but they didn’t usually curl up like this, so Harry tensed for a moment — then relaxed when he realised it felt… right.

Ron watched him closely. He could see the pulse beating at Harry’s temple, knew he was in pain. His gaze settled on the pale lightning-shaped scar, and slowly, carefully, he leaned in and pressed his lips to it. One of his hands moved gently through Harry’s unruly hair, soothing him.

Harry didn’t know what to feel. His heart fluttered wildly, and suddenly he was overwhelmed by a rush of emotions.

No one had ever kissed his forehead before.

He didn’t even notice when he started crying — at first quietly, then until it became full, shaking sobs.

“Hey, hey… what’s wrong?” Ron asked softly, pulling him closer. “What is it, Harry?”

Harry couldn’t answer. He was drowning in it all. Instead, he clutched Ron’s nightshirt in his fist as if he were afraid Ron might pull away.

Ron kept holding him, murmuring softly, until the sobs eased and Harry’s breathing steadied again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ron asked carefully.

“It’s just… no one’s ever done that for me before,” Harry admitted, embarrassed. They didn’t usually talk about things like that.

Ron’s heart broke. Sometimes he forgot just how little love Harry had grown up with — the person he cared about most in the world.

“I’ve got you,” Ron said, and kissed his forehead again, then his cheeks. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I won’t ever let you go,” Harry said, pulling back just enough to look at him — and then, without thinking, he kissed him…

On the lips.

Fanfic: Red Strands

Notes: I found an image of fluff prompts on pinterest so I decided to write a ronarry fanfic for each prompt. This one is "Having their hair washed by the other". I hope you like it, oh and I included a small quick sketch I did for it ^^

Harry and Ron were Head Aurors at the Ministry. Everyone knew they’d been joined at the hip from the very beginning, so it was always Harry and Ron or Ron and Harry — never one without the other.

Naturally, it wasn’t a secret that they shared more than friendship or work.

They were together.

And ever since Harry pulled Ron out of the lake in fourth year, both had known.

Contrary to what many had assumed when they first joined the Aurors, working together wasn’t a distraction. If anything, they were better for it — inseparable, watching each other’s backs, balancing Harry’s gallantry with Ron’s strategy.

They lived together at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, in a space they had made their own — somewhere they could be themselves and show each other all the love they carried. Something they didn’t often do in public.

Pet names like “love”, “darling”, or “sweetheart” stayed within the walls and corners of their home — just between them, and no one else. Not even Hermione.

Only Harry was allowed to touch and kiss the scars on Ron’s arms.

Only Ron could press a kiss to Harry’s forehead and rest there, against the lightning-shaped scar.

An intimacy they hadn’t found until after they’d left school.

Ron had let his hair grow after the months they spent on the run hunting Horcruxes. It fell nearly to his waist now — something that drove Harry completely mad, thank you very much.

He loved waking in the mornings to find Ron by the window, copper hair falling in soft waves down his freckled back. It looked almost divine.

Ron would never admit it, but he took far more care of his hair than he let on. Harry had caught him more than once with muggle products promising shine and silkiness.

As if he needed them. He was perfect as he was.

Sometimes he wore it braided down his back or tied into a low ponytail. Loose only at home — often spilling over Harry’s lap while he threaded his fingers through it.

At the end of that week, the two of them found themselves pulled into an important mission — and a difficult one. As complex as it could be, with a high risk of going wrong.

It didn’t.

But they didn’t come out of it unscathed.

All the bones in Ron’s arm had been vanished, and Harry knew all too well how painful it was to have them regrown.

He stayed with Ron the entire night, keeping him pressed against his chest, trying to soothe him through the agonising process of bone regeneration.

“Harry… how did you endure this at twelve?” Ron murmured, his voice strained with pain. He was sweating despite the coolness of the night.

“I dunno, love. We put up with a lot at that age,” Harry replied, fanning Ron’s forehead with a small charm from his wand. “Come on, try to sleep. It’ll pass quickly.”

Ron’s bones had fully regrown by the next day, and they were able to return home, where he’d been instructed to rest. Things were calm — but something was clearly bothering Ron.

“Love, what is it?” Harry asked, handing a cup of tea to his good hand.

“Promise you won’t laugh.”

“‘Course I won’t. What’s wrong?”

Ron sighed.

“I feel… uncomfortable because of… my hair.” He gestured to the messy bun perched on top of his head — slightly matted, tangled. “I haven’t been able to wash it, you know, because of my arm.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“And why would I laugh at that? C’mon, let’s go — I’ll do it for you,” he said, standing up.

“It’s not that… Well, yes, I need help, but… it’s not just washing it…” Ron’s ears had gone red.

“What? Putting on all those Muggle products you use?” Harry snorted. “Love, I’ve known for ages you use a whole bunch of things. You don’t have to be embarrassed about it.”

“You knew?”

“Well, you should’ve told Hermione to keep it a secret when you asked her to help you buy them from a Muggle shop.”

“Ugh, I’ll be having words with her!” Ron said — but he was smiling. “Alright then… let’s go.”

They went upstairs to the main bathroom, the one they had redone with beautiful jade-coloured tiles. There was a clawfoot tub with golden fittings, large enough for both of them — a place where they had spent more than one night surrounded by candles and firewhisky.

With a flick of his wand, Ron removed the glamour from part of the bathroom cabinet, and Harry finally saw the full extent of his hair routine: jars, glass bottles with droppers, sprays — and if he wasn’t mistaken, at least seven different combs.

“You use all that?” Harry asked, surprised.

“Don’t be daft, I don’t use it all at once. Today we’ll just…” Ron began, selecting a few items with his wand and floating them closer to the tub. “These… I’ll tell you how to use them.”

Harry felt slightly nervous — but he could manage. He filled the tub with warm water and set a charm to keep it clean. They both undressed and slipped in together, Ron sitting with his back to Harry, his tangled hair falling loose down his back.

Harry picked up the handheld shower and dampened it, watching as the copper strands deepened in colour. Ron guided him through each step, telling him what to apply. Everything smelled rather nice, Harry admitted — recognising scents he’d caught more than once in his boyfriend’s hair.

He washed it carefully, several times, until it was clean, then spread something creamy along the full length of the red hair.

“That’s conditioner. You should try it sometime, love.”

“Oi, shut it, Weasley. I was born with this hair — nothing tames it!” Harry shot back, laughing, though he was curious. Ron’s hair had become so soft that it was easy to run a comb through it without pulling or hurting him.

While Ron stayed turned away, Harry worked a bit of the same product into his own hair and kept tending to the red strands.

“You’ve got the most beautiful hair in the world,” Harry said suddenly, once they were done and simply enjoying the warmth of the water, Ron leaning back against his chest.

“Aww… thanks, darling,” Ron replied, turning to kiss him. After a soft peck on the lips, Ron pulled back, opened his eyes — and snorted loudly right in Harry’s face. “Merlin, what happened to you?!” he burst out laughing.

The sight was ridiculous. Harry’s hair, softened by the conditioner, was plastered flat to his head like never before.

“What?!” Harry summoned a mirror with his wand — and that was it.

They both burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the bathroom, surrounded by coloured bubbles, warm water and Harry swearing he won’t touch that creamy bloody stuff ever again.