A Little Bit Of Dress-Up?
Pairing: husband! Percy Weasley x reader
Tags: Reader POV, gn!reader, established relationship, no use of y/n, playful teasing, mischievous reader, neck kisses, mildly suggestive themes, it’s not smut but Percy’s arse does get a quick squeeze, domestic fluff, mentions of a broken finger, you are this man's one and onlyyy.
Summary: You’re used to working later than this. No complaints, a little R&R sounds like exactly what you need. But it seems you aren’t the only one who’s home early?
A/N: Told you I was a slow writerrrr. ANYWAY! I started working on this in February but between the lead up to the wedding, remodeling the office at work and starting an actual multi-chapter fic, I had to play this as a lower priority. But it's here!
I like writing for Percy. Idunno what it is, but this guy do be vibing inside my brain. I usually write past tense but I thought I’d try something a little different out. I think I write it really awkwardly so maybe it’ll just come down to practice haha
There is nothing better to you than watching him pretend he doesn't care for fashion.
Percy Weasley is many things. A perfectionist, a hard worker, opinionated. He appreciates neat corners and freshly cut quill nibs and loathes people who ask questions that can easily be answered by taking a minute or two to actually read the department’s bulletin board.
But what you’ve also come to know in your time together is that your husband can be very vain. Most of the time it didn't matter too much. It didn't impact your lives in any hugely dramatic way. Though from time to time it can be it's own odd little obstacle to the comings and goings of daily life.
For example, when he’d broken his finger and a simple Episkey couldn’t fix it. And instead of allowing you to simply apparate the both of you to St. Mungo’s like any reasonable man would, he'd insisted that you help him get his tie on first.
…It would have seemed less ridiculous if his lip hadn’t been wobbling while complaining on and on about the impropriety of it all. But he’d refused to budge. So you’d helped him with the stupid tie.
This doesn’t mean there aren’t bonuses, however.
Another such example being… today.
Work was finished up a lot faster than you’d originally expected it to. You were expecting to get off work late, meet Percy near Madame Maulkin's, and get some shopping done along the alley. Treats for Hermes, some new drapes, complain about rising prices, that sort of thing.
So you were highly anticipating a little rest and relaxation in your newfound extra hours in the day. Maybe get a head start on dinner if you feel like it afterwards? Lounging around in your house clothes was also looking very inviting.
Instead, you've come home to the bedroom door slightly ajar, a weekend’s worth of clothes neatly piled around your bedroom and the thoroughly amusing, frankly adorable sight of your husband meticulously coordinating an outfit.
The floor-length mirror placed inside the bedroom had been yours before you'd both moved in together. And for the most part, you’re the one who uses it most. But when you peer in through the open door, Percy’s there in the mirror’s reflection. Turning this way and that in the new waistcoat he’d bought a few days ago.
‘It’s important to dress the part.’
That’s what Percy had claimed when he’d started overexplaining his reasoning in the shop. Off on a tangent in the corner of some upper middle-end suit shop, and you knew he’d been trying to convince himself just as much as he’d been trying to convince you. His justifications for a purchase you’d already easily agreed he should buy if he liked it so much.
He’d gone back and forth twice more before having it rung up at the till.
Now in front of you, he twists another way and looks very happy with said purchase. His palms smoothing the new material with a satisfied gleam in his eye. He spares a glance to his reflection over his shoulder, you watch his brow furrow as he reviews the shape of himself. A myriad of fabrics of varying shades and colors decorating his shoulders, as well as the furniture around him. An assortment of ties that usually live in his top drawer in neatly placed rolls.
One in a dark mauve that he’d bought after graduation because, at the time, he’d thought it made him look grown. Another in a deep turquoise that you think pops very nicely against his copper-colored hair. And another very familiar one, recognizable to you as a highly cherished silk tie in a shade of sky blue. Percy’s "secret" favourite.
He lifts a hand, aiming to adjust his glasses that sit a little lower than usual. And just as he presses them back up his nose bridge, it's plainly visible on his face.
The exact moment Percy finally finds you in the mirror's reflection.
His shoulders hike up to his ears, swiveling around to face you, ties flinging around. They swat him across the face in a consequence of Newton’s First Law.
First and foremost, he looks caught out. For some reason.
Percy looks to you more like he’s been caught doing something shocking or naughty, rather than...playing a bit of dress-up in the comfort of his own flat.
You bite the inside of your lip; a laugh threatening to bubble up and out from between your lips at his reaction, but you swallow it with no small amount of effort.
After all, YOU thought it was adorable. But you also knew Percy better than anyone, and the man would combust in a caustic mixture of embarrassment and shame if you laughed without making it clear first that you weren't actually making fun of him. The switch from Preening Percy to Propriety Percy happens in real time before your very eyes.
His voice is a bit taut. He makes a great deal of clearing his throat when it fails him the first time.
“You're home? Er—" His eyes triangulate, recognizing how that could come across. He shifts his weight to something you think is intending to be a little less of what he views as flippant.
“What I meant was to say, welcome home.” Percy heralds, very pointedly not looking at the rest of the room.
The amendment itself isn’t too different from the way muggles slap duct tape over a leaking aquarium.
Which was to say poorly considering he was your husband and not, say, a butler graciously welcoming home the lord or lady of the manor.
His hands clumsily start at settling the neckties back into their proper position from where they’ve flung about around his person. Or he was trying anyway.
“This was… This w—that. I was...I’m trying a few things on. Is all–” Percy’s eyes are intensely glued to the tidying work near his left collarbone, though they dart up to check on you every half second.
“—That I am…Doing.” He probably didn’t need to say that. Percy probably didn’t need to be doing a lot of what he was doing.
You open your mouth to tell him this, but he finally gestures sparingly toward the sets of neatly pressed trousers, button-ups, and pocket squares that were splayed about the end of the bed.
"I wasn't expecting you home yet." The bumbling quality of his voice was starting to wear off and you give him a little reassuring smile.
His hands rest on his hips like he's giving a report no one asked for on his comings and goings for a department that doesn’t exist. There’s something about it that you just can’t help but admire.
The outfit, of course. Though Percy's exposition is going at a rate that’s pretty impressive all on its own.
Your eyes rove over the current fit Percy's selected. And finally leaving your hidden post, you push off of the doorframe to join him. You circle around him with an appreciative nod and you look like you're appraising the carved lines of a sculpture in a museum before giving your verdict.
He pauses, his expression transforming instantly at the single word. Confusion, understanding, and then polite reproach. His finger rises in a correction, as if to stop you from advancing, verbally or otherwise.
"Er…no. Handsome.” He’s acting as if the distinction were on equal footing to that of his proper job title. The amendment made with all the attitude of a man who probably assumes 'that will be that!', and he sets a coral necktie off to the side in a proud manner. The motion itself was a bit overly dignified and the formality of it stirs a huff of amusement out of you.
The bedroom the two of you share is modest. Comfortable, sure, but nothing fancy. The space is a perfect blend of the two of you. Neat but lived in, with accents borrowed from both. The regular scent of bergamot, the sound of parchment, and an overcast sky that sheds a comfortable amount of natural light into the flat.
There’s also very little clutter in your flat, which Percy often makes doubly sure of. It’s not that you’re necessarily a cluttered person. But like clockwork upon the anticipation of company, Percy cleans every room like he expects guests to whip out magnifying glasses and start grading dust marks on the ceiling fan.
That same overcast sky is acting as a lovely backlight. Catching the edges of Percy’s face as you step closer and giving the room a diffused cozy sort of feeling. Inspecting the menagerie of colorful fabric that’s been left hanging around his shoulders like a sort of silk blend garland. Your fingers come up to get a feel, and despite the minute way his shoulders stiffen, Percy isn't stopping you from making the appraisal.
Making a show of thought as you hold up a navy blue, paisley-patterned tie against the smooth of Percy’s cheek, you start a little game he really should recognize by now. An attentive hum from your lips draws Percy’s brows together in an anticipation that knits tighter every second you keep him waiting. Blinking once or twice, cornflower-blue eyes follow each movement of yours, however slight.
He was…a little confused? But not enough to deviate from his post as your model. So he stays dutifully still, just for you.
You click your tongue as you let the moment lengthen just a little longer, and just like that, Percy’s attempt to seem unbothered is ruined by the way he perks at the contemplative sound like a nosy little bird.
“No?” you determine with an air of overly serious deliberation. ”No, I think you’re pretty.”
His brow re-furrows at your statement, a very familiar but minor indignation arrives on his face. And his hands settle back onto his hips in a way that always makes your lips curl in a warm, affectionate sort of amusement.
“And–” Going one step further, you swipe the length of fabric off his shoulders with a short tug, and the swish of fabric makes Percy’s eyes scrunch shut at the slithering feeling along his neck. His eyes pop back open just a second later to see you holding it aloft, as if it were an article in court.
“..Is this your dad’s tie?”
With a squawk of offense, Percy snatches the tie back, clutching it to his chest. Safe again from your clutches, for now.
“No. It Isn’t. It’s my own tie, thank you very much.” Percy takes the time to smooth out any invisible and imaginary wrinkles. Checking it next to a pocket square and holding it up against the light. Meticulously busy-bodying himself in an attempt to keep up appearances.
A short huff sprouts from his lips, presumably meant to give him the stern appearance of a Bothered Husband. But he can never quite pull it off, and you know him too well to see anything but a cute little pout.
He lowers his glasses down his nose for a moment, squinting at the fabric and pointedly avoiding looking in your direction. But he cracks all too soon when you smile and he flicks it onto the bed to join its salmon companion with an unceremonious toss, a wry smile revealed.
“.......It was my granddad's."
Laughter bubbles out of you almost immediately at the confession, and he crosses his arms disapprovingly.
“I- Are you laughing at me??”
Unfortunately for Percy, that was exactly the case. The whole silly expanse of today’s unique situation is taking its toll at last.
“I can't—" You slap a palm against the air, waving a dismissal as your giggling fit forces you to turn away. “I can’t help it! You’re so cute.”
Percy’s lip twitches, but he swats the pocket square against your arm. Fabric tapping the side of you, feather-light.
“Stop laughing!” He scolds, "Do you really think a man wearing his grandfather’s necktie and size ten shoes can be classified as cute?”
The bubbling quality in his voice was giving him away far too easily.
Drawing him in by the waist just as easily, he obliges the movement without a second thought.
You move like your intending to check the fit of his trousers. But threading your fingers around him, you snag your thumbs into his back belt loops, effectively trapping him against you. The "stern reprimand" from moments before, that neither one of you had believed, softens off of his face as his shoulders lower from where his arms were still floating in surprise at the sudden capture.
“Oh yeah.” You insisted. The pale, freckled skin of your husband’s neck peeks out above the stiff collar of his button-up, and how could anyone resist? You nuzzle your face forward against it, resting your chin atop the white fabric.
“Adorable.” This was never up for debate in the first place.
And with the height and brightness of an oddly red lighthouse, a red flush starts to swallow Percy’s skin, starting at his neck and climbing steadily up past his hairline. The sky blue tie still hooked over his left shoulder looks fantastic now against it's Percy-coloured backdrop.
“oh……Hush.” He’s fidgeting with his knuckles behind your back, but once again he can’t muster a single hint of actual irritation. The slow brush of his jaw, shifting until it rests against your hair as though he were compelled to it by a higher power.
Percy’s eyes shut, mind a little fuzzy as he catches the scent of your shampoo. You feel his ribs expand against your own as he inhales the scent of you. He settles inside the embrace, and a warm hand perches against your back just a moment later.
His voice is accompanied by the warmth of his breath against your scalp. Your own hands are still travelling the small of his back, feeling the thin material.
“Hm?” You hum softly, the shirt fabric soft under your fingers. It’s a good one, you decide absently.
Percy clears his throat. Softly, as though he was worried about bothering you with the sound and feeling of it when you were both pressed so closely together.
“...You….You’re getting handsy.” The warning was mild in nature, very much so, and completely undermined by the way he was curling a strand of your hair around his finger.
With all the fake fuss this man puts up, you’re beginning to think he might simply like the drama of it all.
“Just testing the material. That’s all.” You answer, speaking little puffs of air into the crook of his neck, each word a hot brush of air against skin. It was a lucky fortune having him encircled in your arms, because you feel it the instant he tries to suppress a ghostly spine-crawling shiver by locking himself up as rigidly as he can.
“Gotta get the full—” You slide your hands down the small of his back, fabric smoothing underneath your palms with each inch lower.
Lower until you’re grabbing two perfect handfuls of Percy’s arse.
“—Scope of it all…ya know?”
A slightly strangled and surprised sound squeaks out of the accosted ginger, but it quickly melts into a conflicted bumble of almost-words the instant you start peppering sweet little kisses onto him.
“I- that-…Your hands. Love—” He’s leaning further into you gradually.
Teasing this man always made your day. One part because the mischievous nature in you craves seeing him all flustered up like this (and he flusters so easily), and another part because you know he likes it just as much.
“What? I’m appreciating good craftsmanship. The tailoring on this is so–”
“I Want To Take You To Dinner Tonight.”
The words seem to explode out of him in a rush of air and finally make you pause the onslaught.
He’d only managed to get it out because he’d exhaled all the words in one go, just a tad louder than what was probably necessary. But it worked. He has your attention just enough to stop you from continuing teasing him, for a moment.
Which is fine. He’ll only need a second.
If he can get the words out again. Which, knowing your husband in times like these, is a fifty-fifty odd.
"...What?" You can feel his pulse still kicking against your lips.
He pulls back, just enough. Just enough so he can meet your eyes with his face lit scarlet, and his will bravely hanging on by a thread.
Percy clears his throat again, still soft because the room is so quiet and any louder might crush the moment. He settles his hands around your waist. Thumb rubbing in a soothing caress that was just as much for your benefit as it was for his.
An unrelenting focus paints the cornflower blue of his eyes as they hold onto yours, his forehead dipping down until it rests upon your own. Gently even now, as though he were ensuring consideration of every touch you share. Every moment allowed near you a resolute choice of tender attention and meticulous care.
He’s close enough that you could count each and every freckle upon his face.
Percy stares back, and all at once it’s like the two of you are walking hand in hand through the botanical gardens all over again.
Watching him stop ‘just for a moment!' Because Percy’s shoelace just happened to unravel alongside a very beautiful wisteria, on a very beautiful afternoon on what happened to be ‘the most beautiful month of the year,' according to a magazine you had found on Percy’s desk a week earlier.
Only this time his palms are moderately less sweaty, and he’s not wincing due to a very red sunburn across his forehead.
“I took the day off. And I didn’t tell you, please forgive me, because I’d wanted…” He falters if for only a moment. The need to be honest warring with his need to commit to the plan.
For a passing second, the world consisted of a shared breath, the tick of a clock, and the mild scent of his aftershave. His eyes continue to dip downwards and return with every other march of the clock.
Percy swallows. He blinks. And then he opens his mouth.
“...I was getting dressed to take you to dinner. I wanted- Or I'd hoped to um…to surprise you.”
Percy could be very vain. And opinionated, and a hard worker and also the world's biggest perfectionist.
He was also very in love with you.
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