It's early April.
Is she rushing this?
Mavi can't tell. She doesn't know why she's suddenly okay with the thought of sex — and the high of it drives her to a club with Nezryn one Friday night.
I've healed, she thinks as she dances beside her best friend, grins plastered on both their faces. I've finally healed.
She's tripping over her own feet, loud with laughter as Nezryn leaves to get them some more drinks. Everything feels new and joyous and she feels strong. She feels proud of herself.
And then someone grips her hips from behind — a quick glance behind her tells her it's a cute redhead, freckles splattered over his face. This is okay too. She can like this.
On and on, to the music they sway — and when he leans down to whisper in her ear, she nods. She nods because she's healed and she doesn't have to be treated with velvet gloves anymore, right? Easton is long-gone and so is the trauma he inflicted on her body.
And then the redhead is kissing her in an alley behind the club, hands gripping her waist — and this is nice too. He's a good kisser. Not as good as Draco — but good. She can like this too.
But then he reaches for the button of her jeans — and suddenly, all at once, with no warning at all, there are sirens going off in Mavi's head and panic sets in.
She jolts, gasping and pressing her hands flat against his chest, shrinking back against the wall to put distance between them. He's tall and strong and doesn't budge, blinking down at her with confusion on his face — and all she can think about is the fact that he won't move. He won't move and he'll tell her to relax and he'll kiss her some more and she'll make some sort of weak protest but he'll hush her and say no one will catch them here, she has nothing to worry about and he'll slip his hand into her jeans and—
The redhead steps back, taking with him the taste of vodka and the smell of pomegranates.
"Is everything okay?"
His hands are off her. He's not touching her. He's not advancing towards her.
"I..." She can't seem to draw enough breath in through her lungs. "I don't think I want to go any further."
He watches her, puzzled, and says, "Okay. But are you sure you're alright? You look like you need a moment."
"Just..." She can't form a sentence.
"Do you want me to wait out here with you?"
She shakes her head, still trying to process what's happening, her head still reeling and he backs away further, heading for the door that they'd stumbled out of ten minutes earlier.
"I'll be inside if you want to come find me again." He gives her a smile and disappears inside, leaving her along in the alleyway.
It's early April when Mavi realises she can say no.
———
Draco watches the reporters gather outside the gates to Malfoy Manor and reaches for his wand.
———
"What the fuck?"
It's the first thing out of her mouth as she Apparates right into a crowd of reporters, all chattering and lying in wait, turned towards Malfoy Manor.
They pause when they see her — and then pounce like jackals, flashbulbs going off in her face, shouting questions at her, as if she can even process a single one of them.
"Miss Sultan, how long have you been staying at Malfoy Manor?"
"Is it true you're the mystery girl that Mr. Malfoy danced with at last year's
Gala?"
"If you're a Healer, what are you doing at Malfoy Manor?"
Mavi blinks, shell-shocked. "I—"
Another reporter shoves her way forward. "Did Astoria Malfoy really die of just natural causes?"
Mavi's throat clogs up.
"Do not speak of my late wife."
Draco's voice is quiet — but it sweeps through the crowd, as if amplified. Mavi can do nothing but blink in shock as all the focus is diverted towards him, standing on the other side of the gates.
"Mr. Malfoy, is it—"
"I will not be taking any questions." Each word ripples with power. Even the cameras stop going off. "Miss Sultan. Come."
Mavi tries to squeeze herself between the reporters, muttering apologies but they barely budge, grumbling to themselves. "Sorry. Can you just—let me through—"
One of the reporters gives her a light shove, scowling at her — and suddenly, there's a loud crack that resounds through the air.
All Mavi does is blink — and Draco has Apparated to right in front of her, tall and imposing in the sea of people. And in front of all the cameras and all those eager quills itching to get a story, he wraps his hand around the throat of the reporter who pushed her and squeezes.
"When she tells you to move," Draco growls and Mavi's blood runs cold at the raw danger lurking in his voice, "you fucking move. You hear me?"
The reporter is clawing at Draco's hands, babbling and nodding frantically — but he only releases him a long moment later before turning and striding back through the crowd, heading for the gates once more.
Mavi follows, keeping in his wake as the crowd parts for him. When they reach the gates, he holds out his arm and she latches on, silently.
They Apparate a split second later, ending up right in the foyer of Malfoy Manor. Mavi releases him immediately before she can find a reason to touch him more.
"What the fuck was that?" she says, incredulously, casting a glance over her shoulder at the front door.
Draco's already striding for the stairs, barely sparing her a glance. "Someone leaked information. That you're living here."
She blinks, surprised. "Who?"
He pauses, one foot on the first step, one hand on the railing before he turns to look at her. "It's a leak. You think I know?"
She flushes. "Right. But—why would they care about me? Why would they care if I'm living here?"
Draco's eyes flicker and she can't read what's in them. "It wasn't just about you staying here."
She frowns. "Then?"
He doesn't want to say it. She can read that much on his face. "It's unimportant."
"Draco." She stops him in his tracks once more. "Tell me."
His shoulders tense — but then loosen as he gives in. "An affair," he says, his voice rough. "Whoever gave out this information claims you and I are having an affair."
———
It's plastered all of the newspapers the next morning.
Not just frivolous tabloid headlines about the two of them — but serious accusations. Whether Mavi got rid of Astoria Malfoy so she could swoop in and steal her husband.
Draco hates seeing them. He burned the lot before she could wake up and read them — and there's a constant ache in his chest. She doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve any of this.
———
He burns the newspapers. She knows he does — but she still manages to convince Radley to sneak her a copy.
The headlines are savage and brutal — and they cut through her with each printed letter. With shaking hands, she balls up the paper and tosses it in the basket across the room.
Let them say what they want. She knows the truth.
———
"Is there someone else?"
Draco squints as he watches his stone skip across the water of the Malfoy lake, doing six before disappearing beneath the surface. "Why would you think there is?"
Daphne sighs, throwing her own stone. She gets four before it sinks. "You know, questions are meant to be answered—not replied to with another question."
"They are?"
She sighs, glaring at him before throwing another stone. "Is there or is there not, Malfoy?"
"Why does it even matter?"
"It doesn't. If you've forgotten, I don't want to get married to you either. I'm just asking because of how adamant you are about it."
Draco pauses, tossing his next stone up in the air before catching it without looking. He thinks of cinnamon.
"No," he says finally, flicking his wrist and skipping the stone. It makes seven jumps. "There's no one else."
———
"London?"
Mavi frowns at the wall in the basement, absent-mindedly rubbing the burn on her wrist where she'd scalded herself while brewing this morning.
Draco is sprawled on the sofa, feet propped up on the coffee table, one hand stroking Guppy beside him, the other clutching Aumutage's file. "Hm."
"That's new," she says, frowning and cocking her head. "When did they spot him?"
"Last night," he replies, his voice bored and she hears the flip of a page in the file. "By the time we got to the motel where they'd seen him, he was gone."
Mavi shuts her eyes, exhaling a long breath. This case is taking more out of her than she thought. "I can't believe we've hit a dead end."
"Not really a dead end."
She turns, ignoring his tone. Like he'd rather she leaves. "I was supposed to help."
"You did." He doesn't look up, scratching Guppy's ear. "Venna Lakes was the closest we've gotten to him."
"But he still got away," she says, annoyed. Can he look at her? "And there's nothing else I've been able to do."
"Good. Lie low and stay here." He shuts the file and abruptly stands, tossing it onto the table. Guppy gives a meow of protest, stretching her paws out towards him in an attempt to keep him there. "I'll be back in the evening."
Mavi watches him stride for the stairs as he fixes his cuff links, still pointedly ignoring her existence. The anger that flares in her is red-hot and explosive.
"So that's it?" she demands, her voice wavering. "This is what it comes down to?"
Draco pauses, one hand wrapped around the railing and looks at her over his shoulder for the first time. "I don't know what you mean."
She nearly stomps her foot. "You know exactly what I mean, you arrogant twat. You only care about me when there's something you can get out of me, hmm? Is that it?"
Draco goes deathly still. And turns. His blank stare only riles her up further.
"It's all 'You deserve this' and 'You deserve that' until you can't get anything out of me. It's all kind, caring Draco, worrying about me, doting on me — until there's nothing romantic you can get out of this, right?"
She's shaking at the frustration she feels, welling up in her and making her feel like her skin is pulled tight over her bones.
He says nothing. Just looks at her, no emotion on his face. Like a stone wall.
"That's what it is with men, isn't it?" She laughs with a shake of her head. "Only nice to you when they think they can have you. Otherwise, it's good fucking riddance."
"You have no idea what you're talking about," Draco says, quiet and deadly, and she can tell her accusations have bothered him. "So I'd warn you from going any further."
Mavi sees red and marches up to him, getting as close as she can without wanting to grab him and snog him. "You," she hisses, pointing an accusing finger at him, "don't get to treat me like a fucking conquest. You don't get to only treat me like a person when you think I'll shag you for it. You don't get to act like you care about me just to get sex out of me and then forget all about me when you can't get it."
Draco blinks — and then laughs, so cold it skitters across her bones. "Gods, you can't be that clueless."
Mavi is taken aback by his composure. "Don't—"
"You're right. My advances were a lot more obvious before. But are you forgetting you're the one who kept insisting we couldn't do this because of your boyfriend? Are you forgetting you're the one who stopped us every time because you felt guilty?" He steps forward, looking down at her, his height intimidating.
"You have been the one pulling away," he tells her, coldly. "Every single fucking time. And that's fine. But you had me under the impression that the only thing making you hesitate was your stupid oaf of a boyfriend. You had me under the impression that you wanted me—not in just a sexual way—but because of your boyfriend, it couldn't happen. That was what I was living with. Some star-crossed lovers bullshit. "
Her voice is weak. "That's not—"
"And then, what do I find out?" He shakes his head, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh, you've actually broken up with your boyfriend months prior. In January — and it's currently April, if you hadn't noticed — and you've suddenly decided I am no longer what you want. Now that you can have me, I'm no longer desirable."
Mavi can feel her pulse pounding as he steps closer, silver eyes searching her face. She doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to tell him he's got this all wrong.
Draco's face softens, some of that icy expression filtering away. He raises a hand and gently brushes his knuckle across her cheek, making her breath hitch.
She waits with bated breath, hanging onto his every word.
"This isn't me treating you like a conquest," he murmurs, so deathly quiet in the silence of the basement. "This is you treating me like one."
He doesn't linger. Turns and leaves without another word.
Mavi opens her mouth to call him back — but no sound comes out.
———
Draco collapses onto the armchair in the backroom of Nadia and Idris' apothecary, picking at a thread on his thin sweater.
"Careful," Nadia scolds from where she rummages through one of the cartons. "That thing is fragile."
"I know," he grumbles, his head somewhere far off.
"What's wrong with you?" Idris asks as he steps into the backroom, Deiji close behind. "You might as well be walking around with a storm cloud over your head."
"He's been like this for a week now," Deiji tells them, taking a seat on a bench lining the wall, kicking an empty carton away. "Already tried to get it out of him so don't bother."
"I will definitely be bothering," Idris responds, quirking an eyebrow at Draco as he leans against the wall. "What's going on, mate?"
"Where is that damned Draught?" Nadia mutters under her breath, still searching through the carton.
"Just Accio it," Deiji tells her.
"Absolutely not. Last time I did that, the vial smacked into the wall and spilled everywhere. It smelled like rotten eggs for weeks."
"Months," Idris amends, crinkling his nose. "Now, can we get back to the topic at hand?"
"No," Draco says as Nadia says, "Good luck getting him to talk."
Idris rolls his eyes but turns back to Draco, tilting his head, a curl falling into his eye. "This doesn't have anything to do with the headlines, does it?"
Deiji makes a sound of frustration, kicking the empty carton away. "Those fuckers at the Daily Prophet will be getting a very detailed Howler from me this week."
"Vera will never allow it," Draco drawls, kicking his feet up onto a sealed carton. "You know how she is about keeping a good image."
"Aren't you guys supposed to uphold justice and integrity or some hogwash like that?" Nadia responds, sitting back on her haunches, adjusting the scarf covering her head. "I think it's justice to march over there and hex them all until they can't breathe."
"For fearing of ending up in prison, let's not do that." Idris shoots her a glare.
"Well, then they shouldn't be spreading rumours about Mavi."
"There's quite literally nothing we can do," Deiji puts in, grumpily. "Whoever leaked that blasted rumour deserves to be thrown in Azkaban."
Draco props his arms behind his head. "The press have been all over the property. I've had to put up extra Wards just to keep them out."
"Mavi isn't bothered by them?" Nadia inquires, worry flickering on her face.
"I don't know," he answers, slowly. "Even if she was, you know she'd tell herself to just bear it. Always the fucking martyr."
"Hey," Idris warns and Draco shrugs.
"I'll say it to her face if it makes you feel better," Draco says to him. "Regardless, even if the reporters are driving her insane, she won't say it until it breaks her."
"Poor Mavi," Deiji murmurs, shaking her head. "She's been dragged into this entire mess—Aumutage, these rumours...Can you believe they're accusing her of murdering Astoria?"
Nadia flinches at the mention of their friend. Draco feels the ache too. Astoria should be here, sitting on the bench next to Deiji, swinging her legs and laughing with that delicate, tinkling laugh she always had.
She hadn't deserved to die. Not so slowly. Not so painstakingly. He can only thank Mavi for easing some of her distress in those last nine months.
"A-ha!" Nadia holds up the little vial, triumphantly. "Finally found—"
"They want to marry me off to Daphne Greengrass." He doesn't know why he says it or where it comes from.
The vial slips and shatters on the floor.
Deiji stares at him, mouth agape, and even Idris is stunned into silence. Nadia quickly siphons up the spilled Draught, mending the vial — but the smell of Herbroot lingers in the air.
"What?" Idris demands, pushing off the wall like he wants to march right over to the Greengrasses and force them to change their mind. "You can't be serious."
"That's ridiculous!" Nadia says, scrambling to her feet. "You—Isn't there some sort of moral code—"
"Against what?" Draco interjects, raising an eyebrow. "Marrying my dead wife's sister? You know that's not how Purebloods work."
"Merlin." Deiji blows out a frustrated breath, a crease between her brows. "I fucking hate Purebloods."
"Likewise," Idris mutters. "Does Mavi know about this?"
There's something in his tone that makes Draco narrow his eyes — and by the way Deiji suddenly begins to study the ceiling and Nadia turns back to look through another carton, he knows there's been some conversation that he hasn't been a part of. "What does that have to do with anything?"
Nadia glances at Deiji. "Does this guy ever give a straight answer to a question?"
Deiji only shrugs. "It's an Auror thing."
"Does she?" Idris prods, raising his eyebrows and pushing his curls out of his eyes. "She's one of us too, you know."
"As a matter of fact, she does know," Draco muses, remembering the instance he'd caught her eavesdropping a couple days ago.
"And?" Nadia urges, cocking her head, expectantly.
"And nothing."
"Oh, come on!" Deiji slams her palm down on the bench beside her. "When are you just going to admit it? We've only been waiting for months!"
Draco blinks, opening his mouth to respond but Idris cuts him off with a rueful smile. "It's pretty damn obvious, mate. We know you better than that."
"And besides," Nadia adds, "even if we didn't, Mavi's an open book."
"Damn right." Deiji nods her agreement. "I asked her what she thinks of Draco the other day and she nearly tripped over her own feet, trying to come up with something that didn't involve sinfully handsome and drop-dead gorgeous, I imagine."
"You think I'm sinfully handsome?" Draco smirks at her and she glares at him.
"I think you're repulsive," she responds with a bat of her eyelashes. "And an utter idiot for not telling your best fucking friends how much you like your Healer."
"I'm not obliged to tell you anything actually."
Idris smacks the back of his head, earning a glare from him. "Cut the superiority act. When were you going to tell us you're into Mavi?"
"I'm not into Mavi." Blatant lie — and his friends know it.
"Right." Nadia snorts. "And I'm not the smartest one in the room. Drop it, Draco."
"You are not the smartest in the room," Idris retorts, getting side-tracked.
"I figured it out first, didn't I? You two would still be stumbling around in the dark if I hadn't told you."
"Not true," both Deiji and Idris put in — and Draco can't help but smile at their bickering. This is how it's always been between them — and when Astoria was around, it'd been her job to diffuse it all.
"Right." He rises from the armchair, checking his watch. "I hate to break this up but Mother's summoned me for tea. To goad me into this marriage, no doubt."
Idris huffs as Draco heads for the door. "So what are you going to do?"
"You're not going to let them go through with this, are you?" Deiji says, glaring at him. "You said—"
"I," Draco drawls, unfazed, "am going to do something ridiculously Draco Malfoy."
"Oh, no," Nadia groans, pressing a hand to her forehead. "What are you going to do?"
He flashes them a wicked smirk. "I'm going to use it to my advantage."
———
Mavi sits cross-legged in the gazebo when Draco returns.
It's late — around eleven — and there's a light drizzle coming down, moonlight lighting up the grounds. She hears the telltale crack of Apparition, followed by his familiar frame striding up the long, gravel driveway.
She watches him for a moment before getting to her feet, finishing off one of the small apple tarts Radley had made for tea.
Draco hears her just as he reaches the front door and turns halfway to look at her walking across the grass towards him.
"In the rain?" he asks as a way of greeting as lightning flashes behind the clouds, followed by the deep rumble of thunder.
"Therapeutic," she responds as she steps up to the door, shielding herself from the rain. "You're back late."
"Paperwork." His eyes drag down her body — the thin blue sundress reaching her calves, dotted with rain drops but not soaked through.
"Nothing new?" she inquires, tilting her head at him as lightning flashes behind her again, illuminating the sharp features of his face.
"On Aumutage? He's been surprisingly quiet for a while now. I don't know why—but I don't like it."
She hums her agreement and a beat of silence passes between them before she swallows down her pride and asks, "Were you with Daphne?"
Silver eyes flicker — but he gives the barest of nods. "The Greengrasses called us for dinner."
She's not usually a jealous individual — Mavi's always prided herself on that — but the nauseating sensation that rises in her chest can only be linked to the image of Draco and Daphne together. "And?"
"And what?" He cocks his head at her. He's dressed in that navy blue sweater over a white shirt, the collar of which is folded over the sweater and black trousers. She hates that Daphne got to see him in that sweater.
"I assume there was some development in the situation." Her voice is hard — but on the inside, she knows this is out of his hands. That she can't blame him.
His eyes glitter, almost predatory. "I'm afraid I don't know which situation you're alluding to."
Mavi glares at him, crossing her arms over her chest. She doesn't fail to catch the way his eyes skate across her collarbones, the thin spaghetti straps of her sundress. "The engagement."
Draco pauses — and his eyes drag up to hers. "Ah."
"Indeed," she responds, raising an eyebrow. "Well?"
He surveys her for a long time, enough to make her self-conscious. Even when she feels like she has the upper hand, he shows her she doesn't.
"We're getting engaged," he says finally with a loud exhale, running a hand through his hair. "Next week."
The rain seems to stop. The lightning seems to quit flashing, the thunder ceasing its rumble. Even the birds seem to stop twittering in the treetops.
Next week. Next week.
Has she really lost her chance after all?
"I thought..." She's struggling to form words. "I thought you didn't want—"
"I don't." He shrugs, awfully nonchalant about this. "But it's not my call—and I have too much on my plate to fight my parents on this."
There's a terrible feeling in Mavi's chest — something akin to dread. "I see."
Draco watches her for a long moment, grey eyes contemplative. "Is something wrong?"
He's playing dumb. She knows he is. And she doesn't want to take his bait.
"No," she says, breezing past him to open the door. "Just thinking of what dress I'll wear to the wedding."
His answering chuckle echoes in the foyer.
———
If there's one thing Draco's good at, it's trapping people.
And he can swear, by his name and his magic, that he's successfully ensnared Mavi Ilayda Sultan.
———
She paces in her room, frustrated and upset.
He's getting engaged. When he likes her. When she likes him. And even though she knows it's a façade, he's so dreadfully cool about the whole thing that it has her nerves spiking.
Will he really go through with it? Does he really even have a choice? Mavi may not be a Pureblood but she's been living at Malfoy Manor for over two years now. She's seen their mannerisms, even in Astoria who wouldn't even hurt a fly. They're sticklers for tradition and honour — and heirs. Gods, Mavi has even seen the glint in Draco's eye when it comes to heirs.
A pack of wolves. That's what the whole lot of them are — yet she's fallen head over heels for one herself. For the one with the sharpest teeth, in fact.
She really needs to work on her taste in men.
Mavi yanks open her bedroom door, storming up the stairs, not caring how much noise she makes. This isn't fair. And she'll be damned if she stands by and lets it happen.
Floorboards creak underneath her bare feet as she marches up to Draco's room and raps on the door, loud and clear. She hopes she inspires some sort of nervousness in him at the sound.
But when he opens the door, it's to his usual unfazed face, a strand or two of his hair falling forward into his eyes. "Yes?"
For a second, Mavi is rendered speechless — because even though it's been an hour since she last saw him outside the front door of Malfoy Manor, he's still dressed in that navy blue sweater and white shirt underneath and those black trousers. Still looks unblemished and put together and beautiful.
She scowls at him, frustrated and nervous and all manners of confused — but he only raises his eyebrows at the expression, leaning his head against the side of the door, his hand resting on the top of it.
"Is there a reason you're glowering at me like a second year who missed dessert?"
She barely hears him as she jabs her finger into his chest, conscious of how firm it is. "You're getting engaged."
"Really, Mavi." He sighs but there's a twitch to his lips. "I thought we established that an hour ago."
"Yes," she breathes, her head spinning. "We did. And I don't like it."
"Couldn't pick a dress for the wedding?"
She glares at him and he chuckles, low and deep. "I don't like it because you're going to be betrothed next week."
Some of that amusement flickers off his face as she steps closer, keeping her hand on his chest and pushing him back a step. "I am."
"And..." She takes another step forward, inching him back at the same time. He releases the door, letting her back him into the room. "You're a loyal man."
"I am," he breathes, his eyes alight, flicking between hers. She revels at the fact that he seems caught off-guard.
"So..." she continues, feeling breathless herself, her heart trying to worm its way out through her throat. "This can never happen again."
"What can't?" The rough tone of his voice betrays how much he understands — how much he knows where this is going.
She pushes him back that last step.
"This," Mavi whispers just as the back of his legs hits the bed and he falls onto it, fingers twisting into the bed sheets, as she climbs on top of him.
He sits up as she gets comfortable, straddling his hips, her dress riding up to her knees — but his hands stay pressed flat against the sheets, rings gleaming.
Mavi tilts her head, hands gripping his shoulders as she brings her lips just an inch from his, feeling her stomach flip when he tenses.
"Yes?" she asks, her uncertainty bleeding into her voice. He could kick her out.
But Draco only smirks, one corner of his lips lifting. "Not even going to close the door?"
Her heart stutters and she glances over her shoulder to see she's left the door wide open behind her. If any of the house elves were to pass by, they'd get a very unfortunate view.
Mavi groans, beginning to move off him — but Draco laughs, flicking two fingers and shutting it himself with that impressive use of wandless magic.
"Sorry," he drawls, hands finally sliding up her thighs, taking her dress with it, warm and firm. "You were saying?"
"I hate you," she murmurs but she can't help the smile on her face as she leans forward again, hands locking behind his neck.
"Hmm." He tilts his head up, nose brushing hers and her eyes flutter shut. "Let's revisit that statement later, yeah?"
Then he kisses her — gently at first — and then firmer, one hand sliding to brace against her lower back, the other still resting on her thigh. Mavi melts against him, moulding her chest against his, wrapping her arms around his neck and losing her fingers in the soft strands of his hair.
He makes a sound in his throat when she presses down against him and her breathing hitches as he pulls back, eyes searching her face.
"Yes," she says before he can even ask. "Yes but—slow."
"I had no intention of rushing this," he purrs, nudging his lips against hers again and one hand finds its way into her hair, gripping the strands between his fingers. "Tell me to stop whenever."
Mavi's astonished at the thought that she doesn't want him to — but she can't trust herself with this completely yet and so she only nods.
With that, he flips them over, laying her down beneath him and the breath is knocked out of her as she lies on those soft sheets, blinking up at him.
Draco settles over her and she can't tame the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Can't tame the way her nerves spark when he drags a hand up her bare arm, fingers hooking underneath the thin spaghetti strap of her blue sundress.
"This is a nice dress," he muses, kissing her collarbone and then the skin along her shoulder as he drags the strap down her arm.
"Thank you," she gasps out, head spinning as he kisses her again, tasting like coffee. "You can take it off if you'd like."
He pauses, drawing back, studying her face for a moment. She gives him a shy smile and pulls him down to kiss him again, drunk on the taste of him.
"Please," she whispers against his mouth and he shudders, as if the word awakens something in him.
"Told you you'd beg," he murmurs — but he's as eager as she is, hand working to drag down the other strap.
She silently thanks herself for having worn a loose, thin sundress today because it slides down her torso easily. She can't even think to be self-conscious because Draco is already kissing her neck, making shivers dance down her spine.
Her vision goes white for a split second when he nips at her pulsepoint, flicking his tongue over it a second later. She can't speak as he continues lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her collarbones before making his way down the centre of her chest.
"Mavi," he murmurs against her chest and she opens her eyes to look at him, her blood rushing in her ears. "Is this okay?"
She nods, sliding her hands into his hair, thrumming with need — but he clicks his tongue and draws back, pressing a gentle kiss against her nose.
"Say it," he tells her, his eyes dark. "So I know."
For a second, Mavi's thrown off balance, her mind struggling to remember how to speak. And then she can't help herself from asking, can't help the way her throat tightens.
"And if I say no?" Her voice is small, her hands covering her chest where he'd exposed it, her skin cooling without the heat of his mouth there to warm it.
"Then you'll have to give me a minute," he says, amused, "but then we can do whatever you want. Sleep, work, sit out in the rain."
He kisses her cheek. "I hear that last option is especially therapeutic."
And the way he says it — with no malice, no threat, no expectation —
Mavi fights back her tears and curls her fingers into his hair, tugging him back down. He's still waiting, patiently — like he always has.
"I want you," she says, surprised at her own fierceness, "to fuck me."
His eyebrows raise — and she's glad he's taken aback because her heart is racing and she feels like she might start floating at any second and it's only fair that he feels something too.
"I don't know what I did to deserve this," Draco says slowly, lips curving in a smirk. "But remind me to ask you later. So I can do it again."
Mavi doesn't know how to tell him asking for her consent was the sexiest thing he ever could've done — so she lets him chase her nerves away by kissing her, his mouth hot and talented as he trails down to her chest where he'd last stopped.
He tugs her dress down lower and her heart is beating so hard, she's sure he can feel it against his lips as he kisses her chest. As he finally exposes her completely and kisses the soft skin of her breast. Then the other.
Mavi's lungs seem to give out as his eyes flick up to meet hers, maintaining eye contact as he flicks his tongue over her nipple, making her jolt. She can feel his smile as her head tips back to stare at the ceiling, her chest heaving.
When he does it again, she gasps, digging her nails into his scalp and he groans, a low sound that shoots straight to her stomach. "Easy—or this will end far quicker than I want it to."
She shivers as he sucks, lightly, electricity writhing through her veins. Her chest is small — has always been — and although it never really bothered her, she can't help but feel a little self-conscious right now.
The witches he's slept with — If they're anything like Astoria and Daphne, Mavi's a significant downgrade.
But she can't voice it — can't voice that small insecure voice in her head. She's always wanted to be that confident, fiery type who knows what she wants and knows she can get it. But somehow, she's wound up being the mild people-pleaser who'll trip over her own two feet to make sure other people are comfortable.
"Didn't anyone tell you it's rude to overthink when there's a man worshipping you?" Draco pauses and she blinks, coming back to reality.
"I..." She licks her lips, finding her throat dry. She's not even his type. There's no way in hell he's worshipping her. "I'd hardly call this worshipping."
His smirk is wicked as he pulls her dress down lower, down her stomach and down over her hips. "Believe me," he purrs, sliding down her body, kissing along a line down to her bellybutton. "This is worshipping."
She nearly mewls in protest when he skips over the only part still covered by her dress bunched up around her hips — but immediately finds the sound wrenched from her throat when his lips skim the inside of her thigh, making their way down.
He kisses the inside of her knee, hands trailing along the outside of her legs as he shifts down her body. Kisses her calf. Her ankle.
Until he can lower himself to the floor beside the bed, kneeling there. Looking at her with tousled pale waves and silver eyes dark with desire.
"Still not an act of worship for you?" He smirks, skilled hands sliding up her calves, hooking behind them to spread her legs. "I'm on my knees, Sultan."
She finds she quite likes the sight — but any comeback she could've come up with flies from her mind as he pulls her to the end of the bed in one smooth motion.
When his eyes meet hers once more — more solemn this time — she nods. He quirks an eyebrow and she remembers his request.
"Yes." She vocalises it, propping herself up on her elbows. "I think I'm ready to be thoroughly worshipped."
He huffs out a breathless laugh and then slides a teasing finger beneath the edge of her underwear. "Then," he muses, a wicked glint in his eyes, "let me show you just how easy it is to make a woman come."
———
Draco wastes no time.
He'd like to tease her and draw this out and make her beg — but frankly, he feels like he's been starved his entire life and this is his only chance to taste the sweetest fruit known to man.
As soon as he lowers his head between her thighs, having discarded any garment in between them, save for her dress which is still gathered around her hips, he can tell she's the sensitive kind.
Even the first tentative passes of his tongue have her squirming, her fingers squeezing the sheets tight between them. He smirks again. This'll be a lot easier than he thought.
But it's only when he lays his tongue flat against her and licks that he realises he might just come from the taste of her.
Mavi gives a cut gasp and he pins her thighs down as she twitches, her bare chest heaving.
"Stay still," he growls, sliding one hand up to palm her breast, her own hand coming up to cover his. "And let me enjoy."
"You—?" He's already reduced her to disjointed phrases. He spreads her open with his free hand, the other still keeping her thigh pressed down against the bed and drags his tongue through her again, his own eyes shutting at the way she tastes on his tongue. "Fuck—"
"In a minute," he purrs, licking up her again before flicking his tongue against her clit. That gets a loud whimper out of her and her back arches off the sheets for a moment.
"Draco," she whimpers when he does it again. There it is. He's always wanted to hear her say his name like that. "Please—"
"Want me to stop?" He doesn't know how he manages to retreat an inch, focusing on her face rather than the delicious remnants of her on his tongue.
"No," she pants, forcing his head back down and he nearly comes at just the dominance in that motion. "Gods, no."
So he gets back to work, licking and tasting and bringing her to the edge of pleasure, watching her carefully whenever he tries something new. When he tries to slip a finger in, she gasps — not in a good way — and he retreats immediately, finding her too tight anyway.
"Relax," he murmurs, spreading her open again with his thumbs before he drags his tongue up her again. "It's only me."
"Only you?" she chokes out as he presses the pad of his thumb onto her clit.
He chuckles against her — and the sound makes her keen. "Believe me, darling, you haven't even seen the half of it."
It takes a couple more minutes — of slow, gentle teasing, of showing her he wants her to be comfortable. A couple seconds after he sucks hard on her clit — and this time, when he slides a finger into her, she's ready for him.
Her little gasp makes his stomach clench — the sounds she's made have been prettier than he'd imagined — and he's quickly losing himself to her. And he's pretty sure she enjoys when he talks to her — because he can feel her muscles tense whenever he does.
"Pretty girl. Is this what you wanted?"
Her face is flushed, chest rising and falling fast, thighs quivering underneath his palms. Gods, she's beautiful. He could look at her for all of forever and never get tired of her.
She shatters without warning, spasming around his fingers and he groans against her as she does, her whimpers filling the room as her nails cut into his scalp, back arching off the sheets.
Her hand comes down on her mouth to stifle her sounds, her eyes squeezing shut as she writhes and Draco draws back, wanting to watch her come down from it.
When she does, he's already sidled up beside her, resting on his side, tracing a thumb across her lower lip. She blinks up at him, dazed, still pink in the face, her thighs still quivering against his.
"Up to standard?" He smirks down at her and she rolls her eyes, reaching up to kiss him. He's surprised at the delicate way she does it — like a thank you.
"I hope we're not done," she whispers against his lips, fingers dragging through his hair and he can't suppress the way his blood heats at the sound of her voice.
"Can't get enough already?" He's keenly aware of her hand sliding down his chest, going straight for his belt buckle.
She smiles — and his world tilts for a moment. "Forgive me. Is making me come twice too much of a challenge for you?"
Draco growls low in his throat, unable to refuse the bait and draws back, rising to his feet. In an instant, he's reaching over his head to grip his sweater and pull it up over his head, messing his hair up further in the process.
His shirt rides up and he sees her gaze go straight to his stomach before he tosses his sweater aside and gets started on the buttons.
Mavi sits up, seeming to recover, and slips out of her dress, tossing it away. His fingers falter where they're halfway done with undoing his shirt because he can't fathom for the life of him how she's sitting naked in his bed.
"It's rude to make a lady wait." She leans back on her forearms — and something primal surfaces within him when she spreads her legs for him to see.
Somehow, he manages to keep his composure, shrugging out of his shirt. "Forgive me. I was only appreciating the view."
Colour spreads up her neck as she watches him undo his belt and toss it aside. He pauses then, fingers undoing the button of his trousers.
"You're sure?"
"More than I've ever been," she breathes, eyes bright as she gazes at him.
He murmurs a prayer to whatever entity allowed him to experience this and it's only seconds later that he's settled over her again, one hand dragging up the side of her thigh as he joins their lips once more.
"How do you like it?" He sinks his teeth into her lower lip, earning a whimper from her.
"I don't know," she says, quietly, meekly — and he stops where he was nudging her legs apart so he could get to where he wanted to go.
"At the risk of sounding arrogant," he drawls, brushing her hair from her face before he sweeps down to kiss her hard on the mouth, "I'm sure you'll know after we're done here."
She laughs — and it's embarrassing how the sound soothes him. She's definitely more comfortable now. "I don't think you're even going to fit."
"Good witch," he purrs, finding that spot underneath her ear that makes her gasp. "I might keep you around. You do marvelous things for my ego."
Her arms drape over his shoulders and she spreads her legs of her own accord then, allowing him to nestle between them. Almost every inch of their bare skin is touching now — and Draco can feel his pulse pounding in his neck.
"How do you like it?" she inquires — and Gods, the way she looks so eager to learn — He's going to come on the spot.
"Inside you," is all he says and is rewarded with another one of those laughs that makes his blood sing.
"Then, by all means," she says, lifting her head to kiss him. He nearly loses himself in just the feel of her lips on his. "I think it's time you get your reward."
Thrills sweep through him and he looks down to where they're nearly joined. Shifting his hips, he drags the head through her arousal and she gasps when it bumps against her clit.
"Watch," he says, roughly, his voice dark — and when she doesn't, he slides a hand under her head, knotting his fingers in her hair. He pushes towards himself, lifting her head off the bed, forcing her to look as he slips into her.
They both gasp at the first sensation and Draco quickly realises three things.
One: He's not going to last.
Two: Neither is she.
Three: This might be the worst idea they've ever had because now that he's got a taste, there's no fucking way he can go back.
"Fuck," he groans, pushing into her another inch. She feels divine — hot and wet — and he's barely even in yet.
Her nails cut crescents into his back as she tries to haul him further into her, her lips parted with the sensation. He releases her head, letting it fall back onto the bed and sits back on his haunches, pulling her towards him so her legs spread around his hips but he's kneeling on the bed.
Slowly, gently, he works his way into her, pulling and pushing, giving and taking until it's easier and the discomfort on her face vanishes. When she tips her head back, fingers twisted in the sheets, and whimpers his name to the ceiling, he has no choice but to slide home, her arse resting against his knees.
"Perfect." He can't stop the words tumbling from his mouth, his mind and body lost somewhere. "Gods, you're so fucking perfect. So godsdamned—"
"Move," she moans, gripping his forearms to try and pull him back down to her. But if he settles back on top of her, he's going to make love to her — and he's never made love to anybody in his life.
And frankly, he's not sure he's ready to bare that part of himself — not even to Mavi. Not even when she's the only one who's invoked such strong feelings within him.
So he stands, still inside her, keeping her at the edge of the bed. Holds her legs together and props them up on his shoulder.
"Really?" She's still breathless but manages to raise an eyebrow at him. "Scared of intimacy, Malfoy?"
He kisses her ankle and moves within her, earning a gasp from her. "Scared of coming too fast."
Partial lie — but he doesn't even care as he begins to move in and out of her. The room fills with the sounds of their joining — her pretty moans, his curses, the slide of their skin against one another's. He's glad he had the foresight to keep a permanent Silencing Charm over his bedroom.
He pounds into her until she's crying out, biting into her hand to try and stifle her sounds — but eventually, he can't take it anymore himself and he lets her legs fall open around his hips again.
She grasps onto his shoulders, eagerly, as he leans over to kiss her, his head reeling. Every push into her has his breath sawing in and out of him. He feels like he can't breathe — that's how good she feels wrapped around him.
She groans in protest when he pulls back, aiming on settling back into a standing position so he can fuck her. "Don't go," she whines, tugging him down so she can kiss him again. "I want to kiss you."
He can't even deny her — and so he settles over her once more, only for her to flip them as soon as he does.
Her grin is triumphant as she pins him down into the mattress, rolling her hips and he chokes on his own saliva at the shifting sensations.
"Fucking hell." He hisses a breath out through his teeth as she moves on top of him, her hands placed on his chest for balance. "Mavi—"
She kisses her name from his mouth, tongue brushing his and he groans, hands gripping her soft arse as she continues to tear him apart. "I think I like having you underneath me, Malfoy."
"Cheeky little witch." He presses her closer, their pelvises meeting and her eyes shut as he takes her breast into his mouth, taking advantage of this position. When she clenches around him, he releases a strangled noise. "You're going to make me come."
"I believe that's the point," she retorts, panting. She begins to lift and lower herself on him and his head falls back against the headboard, his mouth opening as pleasure jolts through his body.
"Faster," he gasps out and she obliges, squeezing tight around him whenever she slides back down. He can feel she's close and slides his hand to where they meet, rubbing her clit with his thumb. "Gonna come again, are you?"
Her teeth sink into her lower lip and he can't help but sit up to kiss her, freeing it and replacing her teeth with his own. "Pretty witch. Knew you'd look this pretty while I fuck you."
"I think I'm fucking you." She emphasises her point by clenching tight around him, her speed picking up.
He grips her hips, sure to leave bruises, barely able to think. "That can be amended."
She squeaks out her surprise when he flips them, manhandling her until she's facedown on the sheets, her arse in the air.
"Fuck," he bites out, nudging against her entrance again. "I think I quite like you like this."
When he slides back into her, they both moan and he can tell he's balancing on the precipice. By the way her muscles flutter around him, she is too.
"Hold on," he murmurs to her — and just when her fingers curl around the edge of the bed, fisting the sheets, he begins to pound into her, hands gripping her hips.
She's so much more vocal this way — his thrusts force the sounds out of her even when she tries to stifle them — and he can't think around the raw pleasure coursing through his blood. Past the little whimpers and moans that only fuel him on more, her glittering blue nails digging into the sheets as he pushes and pulls, dragging her pleasure out of her.
He breaks first, wrapping a hand around her throat to turn her head and kiss her just as he spills into her, hips nestled tight against her arse. She tries to kiss him back although she's trembling, her breathing heavy.
"Fuck," he breathes, shudders jolting down his spine as he finishes, his head spinning. "I want to feel you."
"I..." She drops her forehead against the sheets as he slips a hand between them, finding her clit. "Oh, fuck, Draco."
It only takes a couple seconds — and she cries out, biting into the sheets as he brings her over the edge, feeling her tighten and release around his length still inside her. He groans, kissing along her shoulder as she comes, warm and wet around him.
"That's it." He drags his teeth along the shell of her ear as she gasps and whimpers into the sheets. "Good girl."
When he pulls out of her and she begins to move, he halts her with a hand to her spine before shuffling back so he can get a good look at her.
"Gods." He spreads her open, watching his come leak out of her. Maybe he's more a Malfoy than he thought because all he can think about is getting her pregnant. "I could get you off again."
Mavi makes some sort of tired sound, seemingly content in her position. "Highly doubt that."
So he holds her open and gets down behind her, pressing his tongue into her and showing her how much of a high achiever Draco Malfoy really is.
———
Mavi wakes up sore.
But this time — unlike the last two times they shared a bed — she's not alone.
Draco is already awake, one arm curved around her, fingertips drifting up and down her arm, the other tucked behind his head as he stares at some spot above the door.
She's lying on her side nestled against him, her cheek pressed against his shoulder. The light streaming in through the sheer curtains throws shafts of sunlight over their bodies.
He sees she's awoken — and Mavi blinks, taken aback by how pretty he looks, even first thing in the morning.
"You're a heavy fucking sleeper," he says as way of greeting. "Storm nearly brought the entire house down and you didn't so much as twitch."
Mavi shivers in the cold air — why is his room so damn cold? — and buries deeper underneath the sheets. "I am."
He notices and rolls over, pinning her down underneath his body weight, burying his head in her neck and simultaneously sharing body heat. "Better?"
"Oh, lots. Except now I'll die of suffocation, as opposed to frostbite."
His laugh is muffled in her neck and her entire body relaxes at the sound. He shifts off her — and she can feel him hard against her thigh.
Her blood heats.
"Not now, you seductive little witch." He smacks her hand away as it traverses down his stomach. "I've got to be at work in an hour."
"You can't take the day off?" She pouts as he kisses the side of her head before sliding out from underneath her, leaving her alone in that enormous bed.
"If Aumutage doesn't take a day off, I don't get to either," he says, summoning his clothes from the closet along with a towel.
She crinkles her nose. "I don't want to talk about Aumutage when we're naked. Also, I'm pretty sure he takes days off."
Draco sends her a smirk, heading for the bathroom. "I'll see you after work, Miss Sultan."
"Sure," she responds, lightly. "Let me know if there's any development with Daphne. You know, since you're getting engaged to her next week."
She gives him an innocent smile when he turns but his gaze has already darkened. As if he remembers how little time they actually have left.
Draco glances at the clock and then tosses his clothes onto the armchair, heading straight for her. "I can spare ten minutes."
"Just ten?" she purrs as he yanks her to the edge of the bed, a smirk playing at his lips.
He holds her legs open and spits right between them, sending her a wink. "Maybe fifteen if you're lucky."
———
horny mfs. we love two switches
writing smut makes me icky, i literally had to take breaks bc i was cringing
btw, if anyone was wondering, i picture aumutage as haymitch from the hunger games??? idk why he just popped up in my head lol
lmk ur thoughts! (hope u kept two hands on the phone at all times, people)
kisses!
nyx