Redraw Of An Old Piece

Redraw of an old piece 🐉

I remember y’all being thirsty over this a little while ago...

harry: say cheese :D

draco: why cheese?

harry: draco, just say it!

okay, so this is another drarry picrew. i really love this one. it’s supposed to be female and male again, but it works really well with male and male too. the style is very cute!

let’s say, they took this picture at their house. they are boyfriends or maybe.. husbands? it looks like they’re wearing couple clothes, but harry is actually wearing draco’s jumper, that’s why it’s too big for him. harry loves stealing draco’s clothes because they smells like draco. of course draco allows harry to do so, because draco will do anything for his harry ;)

mornings ☕️

Congrats on your follower count omg! For a prompt: vampire Malfoy, Harry falling in love with him without realising? Or anything vampirey really!

OH HELL YEAH, we love an italicized oh in this house!! Thank you! <3 wc: 703

When Harry found out Draco had been turned during the War, the only physical difference he noticed was Draco’s teeth.

They were just teeth, of course, but they were different: straighter, a brilliant white. It wasn’t his teeth that looked sharper, necessarily. It was his smile—which was still a rare occurrence, these days.

Harry could count the number of times he’d seen Draco smile this year on one hand, but he was proud to know that he’d been the cause of every single one. The first had been thanks to Harry calling him Draco for the first time: it had pulled Draco’s full, pink lips, seemingly without his knowledge, into something incredibly charming, and a little dangerous—those grey eyes sparkling softer than the first snow, with a wicked, blinding grin, sharper than cut crystal.

Even now, as Harry found him alone on the balcony, avoiding the crowd of the Ministry’s holiday party and staring out over the city, he felt his stomach flutter with excitement at the possibility of seeing it again, adding another to his mental collection.

Draco stiffened when Harry closed the French doors behind him, isolating them from the noise of their coworkers. His crisp suit carved a severe silhouette against the glittering London skyline, all knife-edged black with a glint of silky, white-blond hair falling over his shoulders, his slim, pale hands gripping the stone bannister. He didn’t look up.

“Potter.”

“Draco,” Harry returned. Draco only called him Potter, these days, when he wanted to be alone. When he felt too much like the outcast he was.

Creature, he’d called himself, once, storming out of a bar, which carried nothing he could drink anyway.

Draco slowly turned to face him, wary and guarded, and Harry froze, listening carefully, watching him, as he always did—

Draco was holding his breath, again. He always seemed to do that around Harry.

Harry hated it.

He approached Draco casually, watching his pale face strain further. Draco stepped back, away from him, and Harry paused again as something horrible washed through him, like a tightening coil of barbed wire around his heart.

It hurt, when Draco pulled away from him, when all he wanted was closer. Harry was drawn inexplicably to those sharp edges, like the spindle of a spinning wheel—he didn’t care that it would prick his finger, that it could destroy his life, he wanted to touch, wanted to feel the inevitable softness beneath the sculpted marble exterior—

Oh, fuck, Harry, you’ve really done it this time.

Of course he did. He couldn’t help it, he never could stay away from Draco. He took another step, and another, closing the space between them, even as Draco backed himself against the balustrade.

A breeze whipped up Draco’s long, sleek hair; a lock of it tickled Harry’s face. All this time, Harry had been too busy noticing Draco, to notice the effects Draco had on him.

“Breathe,” Harry said.

“No.”

Harry pressed closer, their chests brushing, Harry’s nose gracing Draco’s cold cheek. He could feel Draco shaking, could hear the sound of his own heartbeat racing in his ears, and he knew Draco would be able to hear it, too. Harry’s hands came up to rest tentatively on his chest, and Draco let out a soft whimper.

“Breathe,” Harry repeated, and Draco broke, releasing a shuddering breath. Strong arms locked around Harry’s waist, pulling him flush against Draco’s hard body. Harry’s hands fisted in his lapel as Draco buried his face in Harry’s neck, his cold nose tracing the line of Harry’s pulsing artery, inhaling deeply. 

Above them, fine flakes of unhurried snow began to fall.

“I hate you,” Draco whined, his hands trembling where they held the back of Harry’s jacket. His lips parted over Harry’s skin, his breaths hard and desperate. Harry’s hand slid to the back of Draco’s neck, into that silky hair, so much softer than he’d imagined it would be.

“I know,” Harry replied, his other hand quickly palming his wand, forcefully apparating them both to Grimmauld Place.

Hours later, Harry would add another smile to his collection: something sated and satisfied, affectionate and anxious, that incisive curl of Draco’s lips somehow softer with piercing, blood-stained teeth behind it.

Harry: I don’t want to be small anymore,

Draco: Uhm yes you do

Harry: Why’s that then?

Draco: Kids eat free at the restaurant down the road, I’m sure you could pass for one.

Harry:

Harry: I hate you