#reader x ron

But what you didn’t notice was how his smile lingered a little too long after your words—or how his gaze dropped thoughtfully to your hands as you tugged your sleeves over your knuckles, looking almost wistful.

You’d forgotten the comment by the next morning.

But Ron… hadn’t.

⸻

A few weeks later, you came back to the common room after a long day of classes, ready to collapse into your usual spot by the fire. But as soon as you stepped inside, something felt different.

Ron was there—standing by the fireplace, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, his cheeks flushed pink. His eyes locked onto yours the moment you walked in, and he stiffened, gripping something behind his back like he was hiding a weapon.

“Hey,” you greeted, raising a curious brow, sensing the nerves rolling off him in waves. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m—fine,” he said quickly, clearing his throat. “Just… uh… actually—wait.” He took a deep breath and stepped forward, pulling something out from behind his back and holding it up between you.

It was a sweater.

A big, chunky, obviously handmade sweater.

Your heart actually skipped.

It wasn’t perfect—in fact, it was hilariously imperfect. The stitching was uneven, the sleeves looked slightly mismatched in length, and the maroon wool had random streaks of mustard yellow running through it. But there, front and center, were your initials—crooked but unmistakable—stitched right onto the front.

You stared, mouth falling open.

“Ron…” you said softly, reaching out to take it from him, “is this—did you…?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, staring determinedly at the floor. “I mean, yeah. I did. Well—Mum helped a bit with the… magic bits. But I—I did most of it. Thought you deserved your own Weasley jumper if you were serious about wanting one.” He glanced up quickly, eyes flicking to yours, then back down just as fast. “It’s not… y’know, perfect or anything.”

Your heart swelled in your chest.

“It’s perfect,” you said, barely getting the words out before you were tugging it over your head. It was huge, hanging past your hips, and the sleeves were way too long. But it was warm and smelled faintly of cinnamon and woodsmoke, and you honestly couldn’t have loved anything more in that moment.

You stretched out your arms, grinning. “How do I look?”

Ron’s grin bloomed, wide and proud, his freckles practically glowing with how red his face got. “Like a—like a proper Weasley,” he said, his voice a bit hoarse.

You laughed, stepping closer, wrapping your arms around his middle and squeezing tight. You felt him freeze for a second in surprise before he melted into the hug, his arms coming around you with that same awkward, sweet gentleness that was so him.

You pulled back just enough to kiss his cheek—soft and lingering—and when you stepped away, he looked completely stunned, blinking down at you like you’d just set off a firework between you.

“Best gift I’ve ever gotten,” you said, resting your chin on his chest and beaming up at him.

He gave a breathless little laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah? Well… good. I’ve got years of practice ahead if you’re gonna keep asking for stuff like that.”

“Careful,” you teased, leaning into him again. “I might start making demands.”

Ron chuckled, tightening his arms around you as he pressed his nose into your hair, warm and content. “Anything you want,” he mumbled against your temple, voice low and sincere. “You’re worth it.”

And as you stood there, wrapped in both his sweater and his arms, you couldn’t help but think you’d never felt cozier—or more loved—in your entire life.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰