Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Trainwreck	By : MegaCurious Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 2257 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not make any money off of this work.

Chapter List
- 1-Trainwreck
- 1
Author's Notes: A BIG thanks to IdiotDreamer and SlytherinJunkie for the great Beta work!! This was written for a prompt at the Dysfuncentine festival on LiveJournal. Putting the fun in dysfunctional relationships :)

Ron was completely and utterly sloshed. But it was okay, because it was Valentine's Day and he certainly deserved one drink...or eight. “Weasley can save anything,” He sang under his breath. His voice rose slightly, echoing the bitterness he felt as he continued “He never leaves a single ring.” Except for the ring he left at home. The ring he wanted to propose to Hermione with-that was, before he found her in bed with Luna Lovegood.

Stumbling over his own feet, he leaned against the nearest building with a self depreciating laugh. “That's why Gryffindors all sing.” Ron turned the corner, cutting down a dark alley commonly used for apparating. “Weasley is our...”

A loud moan caught Ron’s attention. He stumbled again before slowly leaning forward and squinting his eyes. It was hard to miss the form of a woman, scantily clad and sprawled indelicately across the ground halfway up the path. Ron stumbled forward and fell to his knees, his head spinning as he tried to focus and assess her condition. She reeked of liquor and sickness. He had to hold back his own nausea when he realized she was probably lying in it. He reached out a tentative hand and shook her shoulder, jarring her from her semi-conscious state.

“Nah, uh, weasy?” Her speech was slurred, but she must have recognized his red hair and features if she had identified him as a Weasley. Ron sat next to the woman, waiting for his head to stop spinning. With his vision finally stabilized, he took in the woman's features. Short black hair cut just below the chin, a small nose, a face he might have described as “pug-like” in his youth...dear Merlin it was Pansy Parkinson!

“Pansy? Can you sit up?”

Ron felt more and more sober as he took in the absurdity of the situation. Pansy Parkinson, the leader of Slytherin girls both in and out of Hogwarts, the glorified mistress of Draco Malfoy, was lying in a pool of her own sick in the middle of London. And Ron just had to be the one to find her. He clumsily helped to pull her into a sitting position, half dragging her a few feet so she could rest her back against the nearest brick wall.

“Pansy? Where's Draco?” He needed to get her home. There had once been a time when he would have found the whole situation humorous and funny. But now older and more mature, Ron knew that he could never leave a woman passed out on the street with a clear conscience. It was simply bad manners.

“Dracoooo” she slurred. He couldn't quite figure out if the choking sound that followed was a laugh or a cry. “He's home wi' his wifey wifey wife.” Ron's eyebrows lifted. So Draco had reconciled with his wife? How on Earth he managed that after a year-long affair with one of her closest friends was beyond him.

“Pansy? I need to get you home. Where do you live?”

“No, no home.” She started to slump to the side. “your home, my ho uh home.”

Ron stifled a groan, she was too drunk to make any sense, and to be honest he was too sleepy to continue trying. “Ok Pansy, I'll take you home” he soothed, pulling out a small box he kept in his pocket. He took a hold of her hand and placed it with his on the small key inside. The portkey instantly deposited them on his living room floor. And Pansy instantly hunched over and threw up.

The following morning Ron learned that Draco had kicked Pansy out. He put the flat they had shared together on the market and went back home to his wife, Astoria. For the first time in Ron's life he watched Pansy cry. She was a mess. A beautiful mess who needed him in her life. He didn't have the heart to kick her back on the street so she stayed for another night, promising to look for a new place, a new job, and a new life in the morning.

Nights stretched into weeks and weeks into months. Before he knew it, Ron had a new roommate who drank all his liquor and ate all his food. But still, Ron was compassionate. He had gone through a rough spell not 6 months before when the supposed love of his life left him for another woman. If anything, he believed his recent experiences would help him to help her. Perhaps he could fix this beautiful mess of a woman, and have another chance at happiness.

On St. Patrick's Day, a month after he found her, he dragged her out of the apartment and down to an Irish-themed pub nearby. Hoping the exciting festivities would bring back some light in her eyes, he encouraged her to drink and make merry with the fellow patrons. He even encouraged her to sing along to the bawdy limericks when he saw that they made her laugh. The rest of the night passed in a drunken haze, and the next morning Ron had hazy memories of drunken kisses and fevered thrusting. He saw Pansy's naked limbs entwined with his own and smiled softly. She looked so beautiful when she smiled in her sleep.

Over the next few weeks they settled into an unspoken routine. He would take her out once or twice a week, and in a drunken haze they would find comfort in each other's arms. Until one night he slipped the word “girlfriend” into the conversation and she just smiled hesitantly and looked away.

The following night he took her out to a nice dinner. She drank a lot of wine, but flirted and batted her eyelashes so prettily that he brushed aside the familiar feeling of concern. When they returned home she pulled him against her, dragging his hands to her breasts. They shed their clothing quickly, Pansy nibbling on Ron’s lips, his neck, his nipples. She pulled him over to the bed and he drank in her kisses, only pulling back when her teeth began to bite harder.

“Oh, Oh, Ron, I need...I need...” Her hips were undulating underneath his and he smiled in anticipation. “I know love, I need to feel you too.” Ron reached down, placing himself at to her entrance.

Pansy groaned. “No, no...” she protested. “I need...harder”

Ron chuckled. “I'm not even inside you yet.”

She groaned again. “No Ron, your kisses, your grip, I need more..more pressure, more passion. I need you to take me, to make me yours.” At his puzzled look, she continued. “Be forceful, hit me even, slap me, bite me, just do something.”

Ron pulled back, startled at her request. He had always resisted being rough with a woman, believing that a man should always be gentle. “What?”

Pansy locked her legs around his hips, flipping him onto his back and straddling his waist. Her dark hair swung around her shoulders, spilling into her face. Yet the hair couldn’t conceal the dark gleam that entered her eyes. He could see a hunger-a desperation that hadn't been there before. Then out of nowhere, her hand connected with his face, jerking his head to the side. A sharp, slapping sound echoed throughout the room again as her opposite hand connected with his other cheek. In the back of his mind, Ron recognized and appreciated the resulting swing of her breasts as they bounced and swayed from the force.

Pansy lifted her hand again to continue but Ron caught her wrists and rolled her back beneath him again.

“You little...” His cheeks stung, and his anger was starting to seep to the surface. Ron lifted his hand and stopped it moments before it connected with her cheek. “No...no...it's not right.” He rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed. What was she trying to do?

In the end Pansy acquiesced. She apologized, saying that she shouldn't have pushed him. They made love-even more gentle than usual for Ron, but he noticed that Pansy’s mind wandered away and her enthusiasm diminished.

Over the next week he found her away from the flat nearly every night, always returning drunk and slipping past his door to her own room. Ron was losing her, and he didn't want that. He knew he would have to find a way to keep her interested.

Several weeks later, both Ron and Pansy worked out a sort of compromise. It was in the beginning of May that Ron began to feel comfortable with his new-found adventurous side. Pansy had explained her desire to be restrained, and after a couple weeks of goading, Ron no longer considered it an odd request. A few weeks later, Pansy was tied to the bed in a spread eagle position. Her stocking-clad legs were strained against the bonds and Ron slid the tip of a feather down the length of her torso. For the first time in his life, Ron was able to experiment with the kinkier side of sex. The more he tried, the more addicted he became.

The sight of Pansy, tied up, wearing nothing but a corset with matching garter and stockings nearly made him lose control and come in his pants. Ran was very happy that he practiced his self-restraint on a regular basis. What started off as soft lingerie expanded to blindfolds, furry handcuffs, and eventually thick ropes and ball gags.

For Pansy, Ron learning how to tease and torture her with effective foreplay and orgasm denial was almost enough to stave off her addiction. But the more Ron gave, the more she needed, and she began to beg for more.

A couple of months later and Pansy soon got the fulfilment she craved and Ron began to react in new and intense ways.

The first time he began to initiate new ideas was when he demanded her assistance around the house. He worked all day to support them, and the least she could do was keep the flat clean and orderly for when he returned home. Pansy had laughed in his face, goading him again and again to do something about it. And he did.

Ron bent Pansy over his knees and used his hand to spank her upturned bottom. As he watched her skin redden under his hand he felt a primal urge to mark her. By the end of the spanking she was moaning and writhing against his leg, promising to clean and be productive while he was away. . Ron was so turned-on by the experience that he didn't even think twice about his next actions. “I want you to get on your knees and show me how sorry you are.”

He saw the surprise flit across her face, before it was replaced by the familiar dark look of desire. In the beginning, he used to worry about that look, feeling as though it reflected an inner darkness and depravity that he couldn’t control. But now he craved it. He sought to inspire it-just as he craved her mouth around at that very moment.

Pansy slid eagerly between his legs. Ron was surprised to not feel a stab of guilt at the soft wince of pain that passed across her face as she knelt before him. He knew it was wrong. Suddenly a small glimmer of conscience flashed deep within him. It was wrong to take pleasure in her pain, wrong to coax and guilt and punish her into fulfilling his needs. And it was most definitely wrong to imagine her throat constricting as she choked on his length.

But just as suddenly as that feeling arose, it was dashed away by the warm, wet, suction of his lover's mouth as she took the length of his arousal to the back of her throat. She was rewarding him-rewarding him for his forcefulness, for his new attitude. Ron didn't even pause this time, as he reached his hand down and pushed firmly on the back of her head.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A few months later Ron and Pansy attended the Ministry Halloween party. It was their first public appearance as a couple. Even in their costumes, and underneath their masks, their identities were obvious, and the news spread like wildfire throughout the party.

Pansy was laughing as Ron shoved her against the wall of their flat. “Did you see the looks on their faces?” She laughed. Ron loved her laugh, but he loved her moans even more. He dug his fingers into her hair, forcing her to look up at him. “Yes.” he groaned, seeing her smeared lipstick and mussed hair. “Yes, but now all I see is yours.”

One hand locked in the hair at the nape of her neck. He kept her face tilted upward and used the other to quickly hike up her dress and grind against her. Oh Merlin, she hadn’t worn a thing underneath the entire evening. Pansy stopped laughing now, but she still smiled hungrily at him. Ron wanted to wipe that smile off her face. He wanted to fuck her against the wall so hard she would scream his name-not Draco's as she had the night before.

Of course, Draco had been at the Ball that night, all tailored up with his patented sneer permanently glued to his face. Ron remembered Draco’s laugh when he and Pansy were announced as a couple at the entrance. Draco obviously thought they were absurd together, probably thought Ron couldn't keep up with Pansy. But Ron would show that pureblood asshole-He would show them all just how happy he could make Pansy. Even at the high price of his ideals.

Pansy was silent now, her neck and back arching. Ron drew his hand to the front of her neck. He cupped it firmly, lightly closing her airway to remind her who was in control. Her eyes were dark again, with the same sick gleam that he grew addicted to. Her eyes continued to dare him-so he continued to squeeze. .

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A couple of months later, after the Weasleys and former Order members had time to grudgingly accept their relationship, Molly Weasley floo’d to insist that they attend the annual Weasley Christmas celebration. Ron was hesitant but he accepted nonetheless. He had stopped all correspondence with his family and friends shortly after Halloween. They were all bothering him, wanting to talk about his “moodiness” and his “temper” over the past several months. They blamed Pansy; said she was a bad influence, toxic. Ron didn't want to hear it. Pansy was the best thing to ever happen to him. She opened his eyes to a world of pleasure and pain that made him feel alive, more alive than he had felt in years.

But if Molly insisted, he figured he would give them one last chance to accept them as a couple. After all, Pansy was important to him and his family needed to understand that.

Of course, a night of Pansy with 20 or so odd Gryffindors was pretty much doomed before it started. After dinner was splattered across the wall, wands drawn, hexes flying, Ron stormed out dragging Pansy behind him. She had insulted his mother and sister, referenced blood traitors, and even threw a cup of tea at Harry's head.

Ron was furious. He shoved her into the apartment, and she fell forward banging her head into the wall. “You little Bitch!” He grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled her head back. For once, the look in Pansy's eyes reflected fear, but the dark gleam of desire was still there, he was sure of it. “How dare you treat my family like that!” He kicked the back of her legs, shoving and pushing her to walk forward into the living room where he pushed her against the back of the couch.

“Your cunt of a mother pretty much called me a whore!” It was true, Ron admitted to himself. His family had been less than welcoming, constantly shooting disparaging and insulting remarks in her direction when they thought his back was turned. It was a miracle she hadn't struck out at them before dinner was served.

“I don't fucking give a shit. You are a whore!” He was screaming in her face. Pansy's kicked back and shoved him off of her.

“If I'm a whore then I'm your whore! What does that make you?”

“Your cuckolded boyfriend apparently since you’ve been seeing Blaise behind my back! Blaise? You’re fucking Blaise?” Harry had mentioned casually over dinner that she must be needing a lot of medical advice for all the time she was spending with the Healer Blaise at the Three Broomsticks.

Ron barely managed to dodge the vase as she hurled it at his head. “I'm not fucking Blaise! He's a friend. I'm only fucking you, you ungrateful little-” Pansy screamed in frustration as Ron tackled her onto the floor.

“That's right Bitch! You only fuck me!” He ripped open her shirt, pulling the folds apart roughly before grasping one of her breasts. “I'm the only one who gets to touch you. You're mine!”

Ron wasted no time taking out his arousal and shoving it deep into Pansy. She winced in pain, thrusting her hips up into his and feeling his arousal. “I'm yours, only yours.”

Ron started to lose momentum, switching from rough thrusts to more gentle ones. He leaned in to kiss her neck, but Pansy struggled and made a sound of impatience. She grasped his head and pulled it down to hers. She spit in his face and slapped him.

Ron's face grew red with anger. ‘Well if she wanted it rough I’ll give it to her.’

He pulled out of her and took off his tie. Roughly tying her hands behind her back, he pushed her onto her stomach. “If you're going to act like an errant child, I'm going to treat you like one.” Ron pulled her up and all but dragged her to the couch where he bent her over the back. He pulled away for a quick moment to pull the paddle out from under the couch. He traced the paddle down her back as he hiked up her skirt.

A loud whack resounded throughout the room when he struck her with it, followed by several more in short succession. Pansy moaned in pain, begging him to stop. Yet in the same breath, she called him a push over and a pathetic excuse for a man.

Ron had had enough. Reaching forward he pulled her bound body up and placed an arm around her neck, effectively cutting off her airflow. His other hand slipped down to finger her sex. She was impossibly wet, and his fingers slipped easily in and out of her. “You like that, you little slut?”

Pansy couldn't breathe, and Ron knew she couldn't moan with his arm around her neck. Wanting to hear her cries, he lightened the pressure and shoved her forward over the sofa again. Pansy moaned loudly, waving her ass back and forth in front of him as she attempted to gain friction against her sex and the couch. “Yes, yes-please more!” she moaned.

“Tell me what you are?” Ron demanded, roughly pulling her hips back to meet his thrusts.

“I'm yours. Your slut.” Her voice was muffled in the couch cushion, but he could clearly hear her moans as he thrust roughly into her body. Every thrust made her clit grind into the couch, bringing her closer and closer to climax. “Oh, fuck me. Fuck me.” Pansy cried.

“Oh, I'll fuck you, you little whore.” He dug his nails into her hips, knowing she would bruise. “I'll fuck you, and if you ever talk to my family like that again I'll kill you.”

Pansy moaned and he could feel her inner muscles clenching around his cock. The sensation made Ron lose control. He climaxed, bucking hard into her, pumping every last drop of his cum into her quivering sex. “Oh yeah, take it all, little slut...”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sometimes, Ron wondered how everything became so fucking complicated. It was a year ago today, Valentine's Day, that he’d found Pansy Parkinson lying drunk and disordered in the middle of a dark and dingy alley. Ron took her under his wing, saved her life, and she left him for Blaise of all people. She said she just “couldn't do it anymore,” and actually had the nerve to tell him that he needed help.

Ron took another shot of fire whiskey and motioned for the bartender to set up another. The little bitch actually told him that he had a problem. Granted, perhaps he went a bit far the week before with the knife play. But when he saw the blood seeping from the cuts he painted along her body, he couldn't resist making more. It's not like they didn't use a salve after to completely heal them, so what was she complaining about? Her perfect body still held no scars, except the few she said Draco gave her and refused to remove.

He knocked back another two shots in succession and cursed himself. He should have confined her to the house, the little slut. He knew she would jump at any man with a bigger paycheck given the opportunity. Simply put, Pansy was a whore. Ron knew that in order to keep her all along, he should have kept her tied up during the day to keep her out of trouble.

‘I should have never gotten emotionally involved,’ he mused. ‘Women are only good for one thing, and one thing only.’ Pansy taught him that. He looked across the bar and saw another little slut in a tight skirt. She smiled at him and he stood up to approach her. The little tart was just begging for it. He'd love to hear her begging him tonight, though whether it was for more or to stop he no longer cared.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lavender had a great girl's night celebration for Valentine's Day. Somehow, being single didn't bother her this year, as it allowed her ample opportunities to flirt and have a great time. She started down the familiar alley way and stopped when she saw a familiar mop of red hair in the middle. Ron was sloshed with a broken nose and a black eye. He lay sprawled across the alley. He looked a mess.

Lavender ran forward and knelt beside him. She couldn't blame him really. Everyone knew what Pansy had done to him. She used him, broke him, and then dumped him as soon as she emptied his Gringotts account and found someone she considered “better.” Lavender sighed, pushing the hair out of Ron's face. She muttered a few quick healing charms and a scourgify.

Really, he was quite beautiful in the light of the moon without the blood and bruises all over his face. She knew he was a mess emotionally, but somehow he seemed such a beautiful mess. “Come on,” she said, “I'll take you home.”

“Lav...der...” Ron groaned and attempted to focus his vision. She could see something different his eyes, something dark and dangerous. Lavender felt her heart flutter. She couldn't tell if the feeling was from nervousness or...something else. But why on earth should she be nervous? This is Ron, he is a nice guy after all.
- 1
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Trainwreck