Novel & Cerita Draco Malfoy Tattoos

Unfortunately, it only managed to make things worse. On his eighteenth birthday, he was gifted with a large back tattoo. It was a dragon. It took up his entire back and one of the mythical creature’s claws extended on the back of his neck. He loved it. It was powerful and sexy, and he felt as mythical and untouchable as that dragon himself. His father told him that it was the symbol of their family. He didn’t understand what that meant then. And what it would mean for him in the future. ***

Draco's deathly aura when he entered the van indicated he was in one of his worst moods, which was very surprising considering he had been with the lady boss just a few moments ago. Let's face it, Draco had finally been showing human emotions these past few weeks ever since he met Miss Jones. The man was previously like a robot who, apart from his deathly glares and his signature frigid scowl that always adorned his face, showed no emotion that could tell you what he was thinking or feeling inside.

Draco admitted truthfully. "What's your name, little one?" Draco asked him. "Finn," Finlay said pointing his finger at himself as he looked at Draco with keen interest. Little toddler's eyes zeroed at Draco's tattoos and he watched them with sheer curiosity. Draco watched as the kid let his guard down and gaped at his inky skin. "You can touch if you want," He murmured and the kid looked at him but didn't make any move. Draco gave him a small reassuring smile which caused his eyes to widen and he slowly yet hesitantly stepped closer before lightly poking the ink on his arm.

Doughy from good living and laziness. Drakon is carved from granite. His chest is a landscape of muscle and violence. A jagged white scar runs from his collarbone to his ribs—a knife wound, old and deep. Another scar, a bullet graze, marks his side. But it’s the ink that holds me. A massive tattoo covers his torso. Wolves. A pack of them, snarling, fighting, running. They wrap around his ribs and disappear onto his back. It’s a masterpiece of shadow and ink.

As they entered the final courtyard, three figures rushed toward Adrian, but they were swiftly subdued by the Draco Force and collapsed to the ground. The seventh-grade men knelt before Adrian, trembling uncontrollably, unable to move or speak. "It appears to be you three," Adrian remarked, lifting the constraints on them. "What brings you to our establishment?" inquired the leader. The man’s upper body was exposed, revealing a black dragon tattoo adorning his back. Unlike the vibrant tattoos on Thalia, this one appeared crude and cheap.

The large tattoo of a black bird etched on his chest as he lay on the floor bare and cold that day made her heart ache the most. It was shortly after her sixteenth birthday that Draco got the tattoo, right over his heart. The image of a Raven, the bird she was named after. He never admitted to anyone why he got the tattoo or what it meant but he didn’t really need to, it was clear for everyone to see— He marked his heart with her name. What else could it mean? She sighs and rolls out of her bed, her eyes red, heavy and burning. She reaches underneath her bed and pulls out a small box.

However, his body size and his face filled with dark scars and scary tattoos did not look that friendly, and he too knew it. Nevertheless, he liked the tattoos on his body and the fact that people were scared of him because of that. “Mr, Zacob, hello,” Roy answered with a rather polite smile. He immediately cut off the call, but that too did not look suspicious. Malfoy knew there was something suspicious about that phone call but he had nothing to point it out to. There was no evidence that he could use to catch the man red-handed. ‘His men are simply too good!’ Malfoy chuckled inwardly but said nothing as he maintained the usual neutral expression on his face. He had known that the four men

Their top halves were bare, leaving every inch of carved muscle and porcelain skin on display. Azrael’s shifting tattoos stood out brightly against his skin. As for Draco and Orion, they had soft whorls of silver painted along their broad chests and shoulders. Pushing all the lovely, terrible things I wanted to do to them aside, I forced my lips into a pout. “How come they don’t have to wear silk thongs?” Azrael pulled me into his chest with a lopsided grin, “Just say the word, little wolf. We both know my ass would look phenomenal in a thong.”

The men gasped at the sight, now realizing that Draco’s curse wasn’t just a rumor like everyone had thought. The scholar Draco had contacted concerning his other form had said he was a Wraithling, while another called him a beast because of how scary and huge he was. Unlike every other lycan, Draco’s was bigger and towering with wings as wide as a Dragon’s. He had scales on his face with long fangs and claws that could spell death for someone upon a single graze. Two horns jut out from his temple, curved with ridges. Draco’s beast was powerful, horrid, and fast. It had an uncontrollable hunger for blood.

The leather shimmered briefly, then the journal practically sighed, opening to reveal pages I had never seen before. “Oh, you little devil,” I whispered. The inscriptions shimmered in black ink, letters and symbols weaving together in a pattern that almost felt alive. I read, slowly at first, then faster as my heartbeat picked up. Draco’s history sprawled across the pages like a dark map. An orphan from a village where witches had been burned. His sister killed alongside him. Rage had become his inheritance, shaping him into the man he was today. The journal was clinical, cruel in its precision, detailing how he had experimented with bloodlines, experimented with people, always seeking perfe