rarepair_shorts | WISHLISTS: Oculus Reparo (Percy/Hermione)

Author:

amorette
Recipient:

too_dle_oo
Title: Oculus Reparo
Pairing: Percy Weasley/Hermione Granger
Request/Prompt: breaking glasses
Rating: R
Word Count: 570
Summary: Hermione and Percy share a private evening at home.
Author's Notes: I hope you enjoy this, dearest!

She cast Oculus Reparo on the delicate gold-wire frames. Gone were the horned glasses, replaced long ago with this sleek, modern pair that complemented Percy’s masculine features; his strong jawline and straight nose. His thin lips wore a perpetual frown.

Severe, was the word that came to mind for her.

Hermione had never thought she’d have the patience, really. She was fussy enough on her own. She had always been the “bossy” one. But there was something about Percy Weasley that made her weak at the knees. It sometimes infuriated her how he could get her so hot, so ready, with just a stern look.

Hermione walked over to him where he sat in his favorite armchair by the fireplace. Percy was not someone that could be described as relaxed; he liked everything just so, down to the minutest detail. He liked routine. He didn’t like people touching his things. Like his chair.

Hermione never sat in his chair.

But she did occasionally sit on his lap. She slung both legs over his, perching sideways so she could look at him. With great care, she placed the glasses on the bridge of his nose and tucked the arms behind his ears, smoothing out a peachy curl as she drew her hand back.

“Thank you, my love,” he said, and even though he didn’t smile, it warmed her from the inside.

It wasn’t a favor she’d done him. It was her job. When something of Percy’s broke—should his jumper unravel at the seam or his robes rip—it was Hermione’s job to fix it.

“Did you make the tea?”

“The pot is on.”

“Good.”

It was also Hermione’s job to make Percy’s tea. He took a cup of tea in the evening to unwind. A chamomile blend with soothing lavender notes, brewed for exactly three minutes— no more, no less—and a splash of whole milk, just for colour. She had memorized it by now, and when Hermione made it, she lost herself in the ritual.

His hand slid up her bare thigh, thumb pressing into her skin just hard enough to edge on painful, and he snaked his fingers underneath the hem of her skirt. Hermione held her breath.

He raised his eyebrows at her, and, heart thumping, she did as was expected of her whenever he touched her there. She spread her thighs, letting him in.

He rubbed his fingers against her smooth skin.

Finally, the corners of his lips curled upward. “You were always good at following directions.”

She wasn’t to wear knickers in the evenings when she was home with him, and she was always to keep herself shaved.

Her breath left her as he dipped his fingers deeper, slicking them in her wetness, pushing two fingers into her. He finger fucked her slowly and methodically, his face as impartial and collected as ever. And it drove Hermione absolutely mad; she couldn’t even feel a hardon in his lap. Sometimes she wondered if he just played with her occasionally just to prove that he could. Just because she was supposed to let him.

It produced the deepest lust Hermione had ever, ever experienced.

Her world was soon a blur of desire and moans and Percy’s fingers slipping in and out of her. She let herself be lost in it, she let herself go over the edge.

From the kitchen, the teapot shrieked as it reached it’s boiling point.