Ron
It starts the way it usually does.
Ron says something wrong on purpose. Tonight it was that Venomous Tentacula leaves are identifiable because of their leaf shape.
So Hermione corrects him, informing him that it is the red leaf of the plant and not the shape that identifies it. Following up with a reminder of the plant's dangerous teething phase.
And then Ron chuckles because he’s riled her up.
And she smiles because she knows he only said it to get her riled up.
And then he kisses her.
That’s how it starts.
He closes the distance between them on the couch and presses a long soft kiss to her lips, his hand pushing back her wild curls.
She smiles against his lips, the book she’d been trying to read forgotten.
Breaking away, Ron stands up from the couch and takes the book from her hands, pulling her up and against his chest.
“How do you have room in there for facts about Venomous Tentacula plants, Mione?” He presses a kiss to her forehead and retakes her hand, pulling her down the hall to their bedroom.
“I keep them right next to facts about the Chudley Cannons,” she teases, following him in and climbing onto his lap as soon as he sits on the end of their bed. It is a beautiful queen sized bed with soft cool sheets and too many pillows.
He wraps his hands around her waist and she presses her chest against his, knowing how much he enjoys her breasts.
“They’re playing Falmouth next month,” he reminds her.
Not wanting to talk about quidditch, she just nods, pulling at his striped shirt.
“Off, now,” she demands.
He lets her pull it over his head and she groans in satisfaction.
Ronald Weasley is a fine wine.
Better with time.
He’s grown into his height, his shoulders wide and muscled from work. And he’s matured into someone who is no longer quick to anger but rather manages his emotions. His emotional range now is more a ladle than a teaspoon. He thinks of her first and makes her feel loved and cared for.
She presses a quick kiss to the cluster of freckles on his shoulder as he helps her out of her own top.
She’d taken her bra off when she got home from work, so her breasts hang free.
“Up, please,” Ron says, caressing her underboob.
She gets off his lap and he shucks off his jeans and pants.
She follows suit, stepping out of her slacks and underwear.
The room is dark, with the hall fixtures the only source of light.
She climbs back on his lap after he lays down in the centre of the bed.
“You’re so beautiful,” he sighs, taking in every inch of her pale skin.
Hermione loves the way Ron speaks to her. He’s always so sweet.
“You’re not terrible looking yourself,” she leans over, her curls brushing over his face even as they kiss.
His hands cup her arse and she grinds down against him.
Ron laughs.
Hermione loves him for that.
He doesn’t take life too seriously. He found his way back to joy after everything they went through when they were growing up.
She reaches down and takes hold of his length, stroking it a couple of times, his precum slick between their skin.
Ron takes Hermione’s right nipple into his mouth, nipping and suckling gently at the sensitive skin.
She moans, letting the pleasure of it flow through her whole body.
“Are you?” Ron asks.
She shakes her head, knowing what he is asking.
His hands move to her hips and he flips her gently onto the bed.
Fingers moving over her skin in soft lines, down to her core, taking care with her.
She brings her own hands to her chest and runs cool fingers over her nipples, sighing and trying to be in the moment.
“Perfect,” Ron compliments, turning her to putty in his hands.
When he aligns himself and pushes into her, she is soaked and mewls in pleasure at the full feeling.
He kisses her neck and moves slowly at first, allowing her to adjust.
She arches and takes him deeper, clenching around his hard cock.
“Faster,” she cries, one hand tightening around his arm as it presses into the mattress, the other moving to his back to pull him closer.
Ron does as instructed and she can feel herself climbing towards an orgasm as he keeps moving.
“Yes,” she hisses.
He groans and speeds up and she knows he will finish quickly at this rate.
But Ron is incredible, so when he pulls out, she isn’t surprised.
His right hand snakes down to her clit and he rubs in quick stimulating circles.
Hermione digs her nails into his arm, bucking as he helps her over the hill first.
He moves quickly, slipping back inside her. He fucks her hard and fast until they are both coming, her for the second time as his cock hits that perfect spot again and again.
She’s loud and he’s breathless and the air around them is hot and heady.
“Gorgeous,” he exhales, his breath warm against her chest.
They stay like that for a moment, connected and taking in the lust in each other’s faces.
Moving off of her, he sits at her side and brushes his hand over her stomach to her hip so he can pull her close and kiss her deeply, his tongue slipping into her mouth.
When he pulls back she whines softly.
His hands move from her body leaving a trail of gooseflesh across her body.
Hermione sits up and runs her hands through her hair, pulling it away from the dampness at the nape of her neck.
Ron presses a kiss to her shoulder.
“I’m going to hop in the shower,” he mumbles.
Hermione nods, not quite finding her voice yet but sitting up to watch him walk away.
He disappears into the bathroom and she opens her legs, feeling his cum dripping down her thigh and likely staining their sheets.
The sex is fantastic with Ron.
He knows exactly how her body works, making her come alive again and again with just his long fingers.
After three years, they move in sync. She inhales when he exhales.
Ron takes care of Hermione, always putting her pleasure first. And he knows exactly what he is doing.
Flopping back onto the bed, Hermione stares at the ceiling and tries to push away the cloud that is trying to overshadow the bliss of their evening.
He’d made her cum twice. Called her gorgeous. Made her feel loved.
She hears the water flick on and traces her fingers over her stomach, up to her breast and finally resting her left hand against her throat.
Feels her heartbeat, still fast.
She takes a slow deep breath and asks what is wrong with her mind.
They’ve been together for three years.
She’s happy. Successful.
Is living a life she had dreamed for herself.
And yet, there is a tension in her chest that she can’t ignore.
It isn’t just a post-coital feeling.
She gets it at work, signing papers that slide across her desk.
And when they are eating dinner, Ron trying to master the chopsticks while sitting on their couch.
Sometimes when she is trying to fall asleep it creeps up her spine until she has to climb out of bed for a glass of water.
Something is missing in her life, and she is terrified of figuring out what it is.
Because she already has everything she is supposed to want.
Amazing job, loving partner, comfortable life.
The fear doesn’t stop her mind from hypothesising the thing that isn’t there.
There has only ever been Ron.
It’s an awful thought.
That he is the problem.
He shouldn’t be.
He is considerate, kind, and perfect.
Last week he brought home a beautiful bouquet of flowers just because he’d seen them and thought of her.
He did his share of the cooking and cleaning, which had come as a shock to her early on.
Ron never pressured her, but always helped push her towards her goals.
And again, the sex is good.
The water shuts off and she realises she should have joined him.
She’s sweaty and tired.
He’d have probably gotten her off again under the stream of the water.
“Alright?” Ron asks, a towel low around his hips.
Merlin, he’s gorgeous.
Tall and muscled with shoulders that had only become broader with age.
A combination of his intramural quidditch league and his job making bespoke racing brooms.
It was a career choice that oddly suited him. Early on in their relationship, Hermione had thought he would follow Harry into being an Auror. Or help George with the joke shop.
When he’d come home and told her he’d gotten an apprenticeship in the Alley, Hermione had been shocked. And thrilled for him.
“Just thinking,” she says, propping herself up on her elbows.
“Always,” Ron smiles. “Would you like me to run you a bath?”
He’s perfect.
Wonderful.
Everything a woman could ask for.
She sinks back down and huffs, like a petulant child.
“I’m too tired to move from this spot,” she declares.
Ron chuckles and comes to stand at her knees where they dangle off the end of their bed.
A calloused hand scrapes against the outside of her knee and she looks up at him.
“You just showered,” she points out, finding heat in his stare.
“But you didn’t. And you’ll be irritated later if you don’t bathe now,” he says before pulling her up into his arms and carrying her into the bathroom.
They have a beautifully tiled bathtub, with plenty of room for both of them. He sets her down on the side and reaches for the water nozzle.
“You are too good to me, Ronald Weasley,” Hermione teases, though there is an edge of truth in it.
“Don’t drown, alright? Want me to bring you a glass of wine?” He just brushes off her praise, pressing a soft kiss to her crown.
She yawns and nods.
“I could shower and then we could have one together,” she offers.
Ron smiles but shakes his head.
“You’ve been running yourself ragged all week. You deserve a bit of relaxation.”
Ron is incredible.
What is wrong with Hermione?
Why can’t she just let herself be happy?
“I love you,” she says as the water fills the tub.
Ron echoes the sentiment and helps her into the bath, even pulling out a washcloth and lighting the candles left on the edge from a romantic night a few weeks ago.
The water is hot and though it stings a bit, Hermione sinks deep into it, relishing the feel.
A few weeks later, they find themselves in much the same situation.
Ron gets her off three times, once with his tongue.
Tonight he’d mistakenly said that the application for adopting a Diracawl is six months. It is actually only three.
Hermione lays back on the cool sheets, out of breath and smiling brightly.
Ron is standing at the end of the bed, reaching for his robe.
“I’m going to fetch some water,” he tells her.
She just nods, still blissed out from the multiple orgasms he’d just given her.
Ron knows exactly what he is doing in the bedroom.
His long fingers and calloused palms run over her ankle, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
They’d spent most of their morning in bed together, and Hermione couldn’t find it in herself to regret missing the intramural league Ron and Harry had joined to stay in shape.
Ron returns with two glasses in his hands and hands one of them to Hermione.
“Thank you,” she takes it and drinks deeply.
Ron settles on the bed beside her.
She is sitting there, sipping her water, relishing the tired feeling in her muscles when Ron lets out a long sigh.
“Something wrong?” She asks, setting the cup down.
“We don’t talk to each other.”
“What?” She asks, shocked by his statement.
They talk all the time. It’s impossible not to, given they spend every day together.
“What I mean to say is that we don’t talk about anything… important?” He cringes at his own words.
She raises a brow.
“We talk about what to eat, and when we’ll be home from work. We talk about what to bring to my mother’s house or what Ministry events we are willing to make an appearance at. But we don’t actually… talk,” he runs out of steam and his shoulders shrug like he isn’t sure of his point but at least he’d reached the end of a sentence.
“What would you like us to talk about?” She asks, confused.
“I’m not sure. Mione, part of me worries that we’re all talked out. That we’ve been through so much and shared everything there is to share. That there’s nothing left.”
“You don’t think there is anything left between us?”
“To talk about.”
“You keep saying that, Ron. I don’t understand what you mean.”
“I- I mean, well I’m not putting it the right way. I just think that you and I should take a break. Before we get married. Before either one of us feels stuck.”
“You feel stuck?”
“No. I don’t. I love you. But, Mione, you might. After things settle and time passes, you might feel stuck.”
She wants to say no. Wants to assure him that she could never feel stuck with him because they love each other.
“Ron,” she sighs instead, “What do you expect me to do?”
“I’m not sure. I just- you see me. I know you do. You pushed me to find my own path. To do something apart from my family and Harry. You made sure that I never doubted my value. Well, I see you too. I can see that you need more than just me-”
“Just you?” She asks, upset. Here he is saying everything she feels but it sounds awful.
She doesn’t want him to be saying any of it.
Doesn’t want him to be right.
“Hermione, I just think that you should do more. See more.”
“More of what?” She sounds a bit hysterical now. Because she agrees.
But she doesn’t know the answer to her own question.
There is something that her life is lacking but she doesn’t know what it is.
“I’m not breaking up with you. I’m not saying we shouldn’t end up together. But I think we should take some time apart.”
Hermione can’t believe this is happening.
“I love you,” she chokes out, not realising that there are tears in her eyes.
“I know, Mione. I love you too. This won’t change that. I promise.”