This little ficlet, originally written for Romione Smut (romionesmut . tumblr . com), is all about (if you couldn't guess from the title) Ron's penis and was inspired by several silly Twitter conversations, including one about the perks of being an Australian man, & therefore dedicated to all of you who have helped keep me entertained online. You guys are awesome! (You know who you are.)
FYI, this is meant as lighthearted fun & not meant to be taken seriously. Enjoy!
PLEASE NOTE: This is merely a sample of the story. To read this oneshot in its entirety, you may do so at AO3 where explicit content is actually welcome, the direct link to which may be found in my author's profile at this site.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise and am making no money from writing this. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warnings: Contains adult content and language. Read at your own risk.
Ron Weasley & the Penis Mightier
It all started as an experiment. A right stupid experiment that he should've had the common sense to say "no" to from the get-go.
When Ron Weasley, rather unfortunately, as it turned out, agreed to test George's latest product in WWW's line of adult products on himself, he was assured repeatedly that the potion in question would simply…increase his stamina, give his lady "pleasures untold," and delay his—
"Ron, are you coming?" His wife's voice, a typical huff of impatience, sounded from the other side of the door to the guest toilet of George and Angelina's little countryside cottage.
No, he definitely wasn't "coming." Or cumming, to be more precise. Although he rather wished he was. "Just a sec, love!" he called out in as normal a tone as he could muster, cringing at the rather high-pitched sound of his voice.
Fuck, he was in an arseload of trouble. When Hermione found out he'd done something so idiotic and mental as to voluntarily test one of George's in-the-works inventions on himself, she was sure to give him a verbal lashing that'd put his mother to shame.
Not to mention the no-sex thing. Hermione always held out on the sex when she was hacked off at him. Evidently, getting him all riled up physically and then not offering up the goods was her favorite way of torturing him.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He couldn't tear his eyes away the sight in the full-length mirror on the back of the door: It looked like his cock, but it was…bigger. Much bigger, actually. As in, at least three inches longer, and it was thick. Not that Ron Weasley wasn't naturally gifted in the size department, but this—this was just plain ridiculous. The thing was a sodding monster, and, to top it off…
It was vibrating. Yep. He had an erection the size of a small giant's, and it was actually bloody vibrating.
And he was so bleedin' horny that if he didn't cum soon he might just explode. Literally. Which would be more than a bit embarrassing, seeing as how he hadn't creamed his pants since he was fifteen and little more than a hard-on with legs and a brain that's sole purpose seemed to have been to prevent him from humping Hermione's leg at D.A. meetings.
"Ron! Rose is getting fussy, and we need to go!"
"Bloody hell, woman, I'm busy! Just…give me five minutes, okay?"
Why in the name of Merlin's saggy, ancient bollocks hadn't he just waited 'til they'd gotten home and gotten the baby to sleep before trying the potion? Or, better yet, why hadn't he simply not let his arsehole brother talk him into trying it in the first place? It was like he was five years old again, being talked into climbing on the roof by George or Fred to look for the "candy fairy" or some other made-up entity invented for the sole purpose of torturing his gullible self…
Although, as Ron stood over the toilet and grasped his throbbing, vibrating monstrosity of a dick, knowing what he needed to do to both relieve himself and to counteract the potion, he couldn't help but wonder how she'd react to seeing him…well, like this. After all, birds in pornos seemed to like 'em this size. Not that he'd ever compare his gorgeous, brilliant wife to some magically enhanced, completely hairless bimbo in a magazine, but still…
He'd just begun stroking himself, imagining his wife's tight pussy, always so juicy and slick just for him, and her beautiful tits, the way they bounced when he fucked her, when suddenly—
"RONALD WEASLEY, DID YOU HEAR ME? Why is it that it's always me who's on baby duty whenever we visit anyone? Because I'm the woman, I suppose? As I vividly recall, you contributed—"
Her voice was so loud and astonishingly near that Ron whipped around just as her tirade went skidding to an abrupt halt, the monstrosity that was his cock still grasped firmly in his hand while he guiltily faced his wife, who'd apparently decided to Apparate into the room: Her hair was crackling with angry electricity, her chest was heaving, and she was now staring in evident shock at his dick, her mouth opening and closing comically.
"Ron, w-what…? What in the name of Merlin…?"
"Oh, hey, Hermione!" he said a bit too cheerfully, and he would've laughed at the humor of the situation if he hadn't been waiting for her to either tear his head off—although precisely which head was in more danger, he wasn't entirely certain—or attack him in a passionate frenzy of desire.
Her often baffling contradictions and unpredictability certainly kept their marriage interesting.
"George?" she finally said, her meaning obvious, as she indicated his engorged, vibrating dick with a nod.
"It's…um…it's vibrating." She licked her lips and visibly swallowed.
As if in answer, his dick hummed.
Unexpectedly and a bit madly, that story from the Muggle children's book that he'd once read to Rosie—and which he'd decided afterward was entirely too scary for children—about the wolf pretending to be the young girl's grandmother popped into his head, and Ron had to fight the strongest urge to say, "The better to please you with, my dear." For his own sake, however, and for the sake of his manhood, he just managed to restrain himself.
"Is—Is it supposed to do that? And what about the—the size…?"
Was it his imagination, or did she seem just as excited as she seemed intimidated?
"Er…pretty much all normal, yeah." This was anything but normal. "He's calling it 'the Penis Mightier.' Geddit? Like, 'the pen is mightier…'"
She merely licked her plump lips, seeming to not even hear his nonsensical ramblings as her eyes continued to stay locked on his ludicrously bloated knob—which for some reason he hadn't even bothered to stow away in his trousers. (Not that it would fit in this unnatural state, but still...) He studied her reactions, noting the way her chest inflated and deflated in an exaggerated manner, and how flushed her cheeks were…
His time as an Auror had taught him how to read people, and the way she was looking at him now…or, it, rather…he couldn't help but feel a bit like a piece of meat on display. And he found that he rather liked being looked at like he was about to be devoured. In fact, he could've sworn he felt his subtly vibrating cock increase its speed in direct response to her response: He knew the notion was mental, but it was like it could sense her, and it could sense her reactions to it… Fucking hell, his dick had always had a mind of its own, but this was just plain ridiculous.
On that thought, Ron's eyes fell to her chest, and he could clearly see her nipples through the thin, cotton dress she'd chosen that morning, hardened either because she was cold or else because she was hot for him. Maybe both. Fuck, he wanted to fuck her with the ridiculous thing between his legs. Right here. Right now.
"And, uh, how long until the effects wear off?" Hermione finally breathed, a hitch in her voice that he recognized, after five years of marriage and three years of dating before that, as meaning that she, without a fucking doubt, wanted him.
Hell. Fucking. Yeah.
Since Rosie's birth six months ago, it seemed that every wanker with a wand and a propensity for evil had decided to quit sitting around and twiddling his or her respective thumbs, and therefore Ron had had no choice but to spend entirely too many hours away from his family. And because of Rosie's stubborn refusal to accept that nighttime was for sleeping, Hermione was usually (understandably) too tired for sex when Ron was actually at home.
As a result, their intimate encounters were few and far between these days, and Ron leapt at every opportunity for sex with his wife.
Making an attempt at a casual shrug, as if it were an everyday occurrence that his cock grew to grossly disproportionate size and began to vibrate, he took a predatory step closer to her. "Just until I…y'know, cum, I think."
He could literally see the gears whirring in her head as she seemed to come to some sort of decision. And then, as unceremoniously as if she were putting on the tea kettle, she reached beneath her dress and pushed the flimsy lace of her knickers down her legs, sashaying her hips as she went, before hastily stepping out of them. "Let's get to it, then. Angie's rocking Rosie, but I told her I'd only be a moment."
Ron stared at her for a single heartbeat, feeling floored that his wife was seriously suggesting a quickie in his brother's house—but since the majority of his blood was centered in the nether regions of his anatomy, he was operating almost entirely on instinct: He was therefore on Hermione like the ugly on a Blast-Ended Skrewt, backing her up against the counter aggressively as he snogged her senseless, sucking her tongue and nipping her lips; his hands cupped and kneaded her fan-fucking-tastic arse beneath her dress as he lifted her onto the very edge and stepped between her splayed thighs...
A/N: If you like what you've read so far & wish to read the story in its entirety, you may do so at AO3 where explicit content is actually welcome. For reader convenience, I posted the direct link to the fic in my author's profile at this site. (Note: It is NOT a requirement to have an account at AO3 in order to access or review the stories.)
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