Summary: Fuelled by confidence and assumed luck on the morning of his first ever quidditch match as Gryffindor keeper, Ron decides to tell you something, and it might just be the one thing you’ve always wanted to hear him say. Based on the prompt: “what are you smiling about?”
If anyone knew the feeling of nerves that threatened to choke your heart and make your stomach churn with fear, it was Ron Weasley on the morning of his first-ever Quidditch match. He didn’t think he would be this nervous when he got out of bed this morning and slipped on his quidditch uniform, maroon and gold to match Gryffindors colours, but as soon as he entered the Great Hall and looked over the gaggle of school kids wolfing down breakfast and his friends sitting in their matching Quidditch uniforms, the fear suddenly kicked in; a big thump in the stomach that sent his insides spiralling and made his knees weak.
He walked slowly over to where Harry, Hermione and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team were sitting, plates of food in front of them and brooms resting on benches, and he tried to let out a smile at them; one he was sure looked instead like a pained grimace. Hermione pushed over a full plate of food towards him after he sat down, and the ginger-haired boy just looked down at the food, not making any moves to wolf it down like he normally would.
“C’mon Ronald, you need to eat something before you play. You’ll need your strength and energy.” Hermione was pushing the plate towards him again, urging the boy to eat, all the while Harry just let out a sigh and took a sip from his goblet, looking at his friend.
“She’s right, Ron. If you wanna be at your best, you need a full stomach. I don’t want my keeper falling off his broom just because he hasn’t had a decent breakfast.” Harry lifted the jug of pumpkin juice and poured some into the goblet in front of Ron, and then after making sure no one was watching, poured a few drops of goldish liquid into the cup. He passed it to Ron, even as Hermione looked at the blacked hair boy in utter bewilderment and horror. But before Hermione could scold Harry or snatch the cup out of Ron’s hand, Ron was swallowing it all, nerves cooling slightly now he finally had something in his stomach.
“Harry, did you just do what I think you did?” Hermione clutched Harry’s arm as the boy picked up a piece of toast, Ron ignoring the two of them as he finally started eating, cutting up some bacon.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Hermione. What did I do?” Hermione was glaring at Harry as he bit down on his toast and crossed her arms in front of her chest in frustration.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about Harry! You put some liquid luck in Ron’s drink!” Ron stopped eating then, mouth hanging open as he stared at Harry and Hermione in bewilderment as they bickered quietly.
“No way! I don’t know what you saw, ‘Mione but I didn’t put anything in Ron’s drink, and there’s no way I would even think about cheating!”
“But I saw you add something!” Hermione’s voice was rising as Ron watched his two best friends, and although he was interested in the conversation, suddenly, his nerves vanished, and he looked up at his mates with an excited smile on his face as he pushed away his empty plate.
“Well, whatever he did, Hermione, it doesn’t matter. Harry and I have got a match to win.” Ron stood up then, collected his broom and ran a hand through his hair. “But first, I’ve just gotta stop by the dorm. I forgot my gloves.” He sauntered away then, broom over his shoulder and a bright smile on his face.
“I swear Harry if you gave him any of that liquid luck-.” Hermione was cut off though, with Harry pulling out the bottle from his pocket and showing it to her, still full with the stopper wax sealed.
“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t be that stupid, I just wanted Ron to think I did so he wouldn’t be so damn nervous. And so, he would finally have the courage to go tell someone something.” Hermione looked at him quizzically, but then let out a sigh and shrugged, watching Ron walk out the Great Hall.
“Um, Harry, Ron said he was going to go get his gloves, right?”
“Yeah, Hermione?”
“Does he not know he’s wearing them?”
Ron didn’t need to travel far to find what he was searching for, only a couple flights of stairs and down the long corridor to the library, entering quietly and searching the large room for the one person he wanted right now.
He found you in the Herbology section, head ducked down into a book and quill gliding across a piece of parchment as you worked desperately to finish the assignment that Professor Sprout had set. You didn’t hear the Gryffindor keeper approach until you heard someone clear their throat and saw a figure lean against the table, arms covered in gold and maroon knit with leather quidditch gloves covering their hands.
“Hey Weasley, if you’re here to ask me about the History of Magic assignment that’s due next week, don’t bother. I haven’t started it yet.” Ron let out a laugh at your statement, warm and light with a loud ring to it that made your heart swell and skin warm.
“No, for once I’m not here to bother you about homework, Y/N.” You looked up at him, watching as he shook his head and his ginger hair glistened in the sunlight that streamed through the window near the both of you.
Everyone knew the both of you had the largest crushes on each other, falling head over heels for the other near the end of the fourth year, and even though it seemed so blatantly obvious to your friends and housemates, you still believed that Ron had no interest in you. He only liked you as a friend and desk mate in some of his classes, and for now, that was fine with you.
Yet, for Ronald Weasley, the youngest ginger-haired boy in his family and newly appointed Gryffindor keeper, he, after nearly 2 years of liking you, came to the realisation that morning that he was done being friends with you; instead he wanted something else.
“Then what is it, Ron?” You put your quill down and watched the boy that apparently could not stop smiling, and before you knew it, the question he wanted to ask was spilling out of his mouth.
“I wanted to know if you were coming to watch the match.” You blinked at him, waiting for whatever he was going to say next, but instead, he just stood there, hoping you would respond. Ron knew you had no interest in quidditch, and he also knew that you were always going to jump at the chance of studying in the library while it was empty and quiet; like it always was on a match day, so you narrowed your eyes and shifted in your seat.
“I wasn’t planning on it, no. Why?” Ron rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he took in your words, looking at you with hope in his eyes.
“No reason, I was just hoping to see you cheering for me in the stands, that’s all.” Your gaze shot up to his face as he spoke, and suddenly, pieces were falling into place, and he was stepping closer to you until his frame was leaning over yours and your essay was pushed to the side and forgotten about.
“I’m sure…I’m sure you’ll have plenty of people cheering you on, everyone wants to see Gryffindor win against Slytherin.” Voice shaky and quiet, you sucked in a breath after you spoke, but Ron only leaned in closer to hear you, resting a hand on the back of your chair, boxing you in against the wall but not in a way that made you feel uncomfortable but instead safe.
“I know but…you’re the only face I want to see in that crowd, to hear cheering me on.” Ron stopped talking, cheeks turning pink as he realised what he was saying, but then once again, he was smiling, a face splitting smile that went from ear to ear and made the whole room glow.
“Ron, what are you smiling about?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but he heard you all the same, and as he pulled away and grabbed the handle of his broom, he gazed at you one final time before uttering words that both took your breath away and made you question your whole reality.
“I’m smiling because I am insanely in love with you and I think you’re the most beautiful thing in this world. And I know it’s sudden and I’m probably sounding insane, but I needed to finally tell you and Merlin, I don’t even care if you don’t love me back. I just needed you to know.” The words came out in a rush, giving you hardly any time to fully understand what he had said. And then another voice was calling out across the library, and Harry Potter was standing near the doorway, waiting for Ron.
“Oi, Ron. Do you wanna go play some quidditch and make Slytherin wish they never got out of bed this morning?” Ron glanced over at him, sending him a smirk before looking back at you.
“I guess that’s my signal to go, I think Harry might drag me out of here if I don’t leave now. I’ll see you later, yeah? At the after-party?” He picked up his broom and sent you one last grin and walked away, moving towards Harry in a flurry of gold and maroon.
“Wait, Ron!” You stood up, nearly knocking over your chair in your haste to catch his attention, but he turned around and blinked at you from the other side of the library. “Good luck!” He chuckled at your flurry, and nodded back to you, smiling wide as he waved and left the library with Harry.
And you, well you sat down in a wave of shock and joy, your mind solely on the ginger-haired boy and his bright smile, and for a moment, all you could do was sit there in silence, grinning to yourself as you thought over his words. He loved you…and Merlin did you love him too.
Fictober: Day 21 Someone Else’s Bed | Mulder x Scully
MSR | Morning after | Angst + fluff |
SUMMARY: When Mulder wakes up in a bed that's not his own, he starts to overthink. Until Scully walks into the room wearing his shirt. Based on the prompt: “Hey, have you seen my shirt?”
When Mulder wakes, it isn’t on his old leather couch, legs sticking over the armrest and feeling like he’s only fallen asleep seconds ago to the sound of whatever crappy comedy show is on the T.V. Instead, he’s lying in a bed, head on a soft pillow and wrapped in sheets that are fresh and smell like lemons, chest bare and hair ruffled like someone had put their fingers through it recently.
He doesn’t move for a while, head spinning through all the events of last night, Scully and Mulder crashing through Scully’s bedroom door, lips against skin, hands against hips and chests and soft moans that made Mulder’s heart swell as he pulled them from Scully’s mouth. He shuts his eyes again for a moment and sucks in a long breath before breathing out slowly, fingers clenching the twisted sheets and listening to the sound of a stovetop kettle being turned on.
Mulder didn’t know what to do, how to react in a situation he swore to himself would never happen; that he would never land in the same bed as his work partner, his best friend and only confidant. He swore he would never put either of them in this position where they suddenly have to rewrite the rules of their six-year relationship as if the night before had ruined everything.
Yet, he was jumping to conclusions, scenarios running through his head of all the things to come, the pained silences between two people who didn’t know what they were to the other, the sleepless nights in crappy hotel rooms wishing Scully could be lying beside him even though he knew it was wrong, the days forward where she wouldn’t make eye contact with him or avoid speaking to him as much as she could because she felt uncomfortable and violated and…he had to get out of there, out of that room and away from the mess he had made.
The FBI agent stumbled away from the bed, still half tangled in the soft covers, desperately looking around for his jeans and shirt, the shoes he kicked into the corner of the room and his keys and wallet. He found those things easy enough, in a pile at the end of the bed, nearly matching a pile of Scully’s clothes; skirt, blouse, blazer, stockings and underwear, all heaped together and forgotten about. And just for a moment he stopped, looking down at the discarded clothes and thought to himself; he was the one that pulled off those garments from her body, ripped the blouse away so aggressively in his haste that the small white buttons went flying and Scully laughed against his skin at his eagerness to get her bare before him.
Mulder had his shoes and jeans on, keys and wallet stuffed into his pockets, but he couldn’t find his damn shirt. It wasn’t on the floor, hanging off a piece of furniture, under the bed or even in the bathroom connected to Scully’s bedroom, and suddenly his escape plan was foiled, his recklessly planned departure no longer feasible.
Scully stepped into her bedroom then, two cups of coffee in her hands and her mouth opening gently in a yawn, watching Mulder stagger around for something. Her lips formed an amused smile, and she walked over to her side of the bed, placing the two cups of coffee on the side table and rubbing her eyes to rid them of the left over sleep. She knew that Mulder had heard her come in, because he stopped moving for a moment to glance over at her quickly before searching the room again, but she also knew that he was distracted and even possibly scared, because his mouth was pinched shut, a picture of anxiety and his hands on his bare hips with his fingers tapping against his skin told her everything she needed to know.
“Hey, have you seen my shirt?” Mulder’s voice was thick with something that Scully couldn’t pick up, and he wouldn’t turn to look at her as he zipped up his jeans and buckled his belt. So, she waited, took a sip from her coffee and sat on the bed, knees curled up underneath her and shirt falling over her thighs. “I just…I can’t find it and I’ve looked every for it and I know you probably want me out of here so we can pretend this never happened but-.”
“Mulder, look at me.” Scully’s voice made him jump, but he turned around nonetheless and when he saw what was in front of him, his mouth opened and shut, and opened again like a fish gasping for air, speechless and nearly in a trance.
Scully was wearing his shirt…Scully was wearing his shirt that probably smelt like him from the day before and had an ink stain on the front and had a hole in the sleeve from constant wear and…Mulder nearly lost all sense. He stepped closer until he was nearly falling against the bed, forgetting that it was in between him and Scully, and she smiled at him in a nervous and worried way that made his eyes go wide.
“I don’t want you to leave, Mulder. And I don’t want to act as if what we did last night didn’t happen, because it did. There’s no getting around that, you know that.” Mulder hung his head in response to Scully’s statement, and with a sigh, sat down on the bed next to her. “Look, if you want to leave, then that’s fine but…”
“But what, Scully?” He turned to the red-haired woman, watched as she looked up at him with her wide eyes and then glanced away, focusing on the brown liquid in her cup, the steam rising to warm her face.
“I want you to stay, Mulder. I really, really want you to stay here, in my apartment, in my bed. Even if it’s just for this morning or even the rest of our lives, I just want you to stay. Please…” Scully’s words were soft and quiet, muffled with emotion and said in a way that pierced right through Mulder’s heart, made his skin feel warm and like for once in his god damn life, he was loved, he was wanted, he was needed. And Mulder didn’t feel those things often.
The brown-haired agent collapsed into Scully, twisting his arms around her hips and pulling her into him, nearly knocking the cup of coffee to the ground in the process. But he had Scully grinning brightly, a gentle hum escaping from her lips as she pressed her lips to his jaw with his fingers crawling up under the shirt to press against her waist.
“Then I’ll stay, Scully. For as long as you want me, as long as you’ll have me.” Mulder kissed her then, kissed her like he had wanted to the whole six years they had been partners, with so much love and need and want and passion that it made Scully’s toes curl and her hair stand up on end, made her cheeks go pink and her fingers clench into the skin of his shoulder, warm and tight underneath her grip.
The two of them stayed in that bed for the rest of the day, only leaving their place of peace and safety to get more coffee and the pizza Scully ordered for dinner. And for once, neither felt like running, neither felt like they needed to escape before they were trapped in something they couldn’t handle. They were together, wrapped up in each other and the sheets of Scully’s bed, and everything for a small moment in their chaotic lives was perfect.
