- ᴀ ᴅʀᴀᴄᴏ ᴍᴀʟғᴏʏ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ
Draco lifts his head up, shooting a glance towards his left to the witch staring shamelessly at him, his pale eyes settling on her, grunting irritably,
"Do you ever mind your own business?"
Oonagh pondered silently, tuc...
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Warning : Mature Chapter — skipping this chapter will not effect the story line.
𝕿here's only one word Oonagh could use describe his lips. Apocalyptic.
She sighs softly at the feeling, having missed his kisses, and the way they have the ability to destroy everything in existence. Especially with the fire still coursing through his veins, sparking from their previous heated words. He's not wholly softening up for her, there's still some punishing he needs to do, he makes that distinctly clear when he bites at her lower lip mercilessly.
Not that she minds, he has free rein to do whatever he wants with her, to her, Oonagh is in no position to deny him. She probably couldn't anyway, internally he makes her invincible, externally weak. She's weak at the knees. He groans gutturally when their tongues slide together, sending feeling back into her socked toes, having been numb from the wet and cold.
Draco's hunching over, more than usual with her lack of shoes — though her awful boots never add much height to her anyway. He likes it this way though, likes how when he wants to tease, he only has to straighten himself up so she has to jump on to her tiptoes quickly to get back down to business, slotting their mouths together again after a disapproving whine.
His palms glide upwards, from her sides right to her dripping tresses, smoothing the stubborn clinging pieces back off her face, giving the ends a playful tug when she licks his lips, steering clear of his tongue desperate for more, hungry for more. Oonagh chuckles at her herself, obviously believing herself to be very funny, earning an eye roll from the Slytherin.
"Gobshite" He mumbles, using her own words against her, mouth attaching to her jaw instead as she breathes a sigh of half pleasure, half amusement. The insult sounds wrong coming from him, his posh, aristocratic accent pronouncing it far differently than her County Kerry one. Hilarious all the same though.
Oonagh falls into him, hands tangling in his fair hair, reminding herself to breathe. He's kissed her neck before, marked her throat, but there's something about this time that feels different, like their souls have bonded further, gained an understanding between them that no one else could even begin to interpret or disintegrate. He sucks and nips in all the right places, the sweet spots left damp from the raindrops.
She barely realises that they're moving, away from the edge and into the shelter of the tower until she feels the hard stone of the wall against her spine, compelling her to arch into him, murmuring throatily,
"Draco..."
He hums, mouth curving into a smile against her pulse after she shivers against him in result of the vibrations from him. She tastes heavenly, like the botanic gardens God created himself, filled with banana trees and sunflowers, skies of blue. Unbroken sunshine. Her hands lower, fingers fiddling at the buckle of his belt, leaving his breath to catch in his tight throat. This girl was going to be the end of him.
