#smitten draco

[lyrablack1883]

To dance with you.

An illustration I did to celebrate 2k on Twitter :D. Ahaha no one is leading the dance, they just hold hands, swinging around and Draco desperately holding Harry so he doesn’t fall, while Harry having the time of his life. look at Draco, he’s just helplessly falling deeper in love.

[apriicat]

SMITTEN (click to see it on ao3)

Drawing nº2 I did for @hdowlpost for @keyflight790 <3 

Had a lot of fun drawing all the knick knacks (is that how you write it? idk) in the background! And their facial expressions :))

[rockingrobin69]

Worth It

A little 1.4k rom-com for you with all the clichés. Pardon my French (really though, it’s super rusty). Artist Harry, smitten Draco, the works. 

Draco must have spent at least fifteen minutes frozen in place, and it had nothing to do with the statue. The hordes of people roaming the museum seemed to care for it a great deal – and yes, it was impressive, Draco knew. Considering it was so ancient, too, it truly was a feat. But – but. It just didn’t hold a candle to the real work of art standing right next to it.

Just, oof. Draco didn’t realize he had a type until this marvel wandered into his world. Big, strong arms, large hands with deft fingers, ceaselessly sketching. Wide neck tilted just so. Dark skin showing down to the first button of his crisp shirt; big glasses framing what had to have been the most handsome face in the world. And the eyes, when they glanced up at the statue, were emerald green.

Draco wasn’t a poet, but he’d write a poem about him. He’d write a dozen. It never even occurred to him to actually approach, though – it was art, after all. You’re not meant to harass the pieces in a museum.

Thankfully, the man had a different idea. “Tourist?” he asked, in English with a hint of an accent, and Draco was instantly enchanted.

“Erm, yes. How did – how did you know?”

“I heard you talk to your friend before,” the Vision smiled, and damn it, his smile!

“Oh.” Draco had completely forgotten about Pansy. Pansy who, after at least five minutes of bitching, had simply left him be and muttered herself someplace else. He didn’t really care, to be honest. He was utterly absorbed. Isn’t that why people go to museums in the first place?

“So, you like sculptures?” The man asked, his voice low and deeply, concerningly alluring. 

“I – yes. I like the, erm, yes.” Usually Draco was quite eloquent. Usually. “Y-yourself?”

“Oui. I have to like them, you know. I am a sculpturer.”

Of course he had to be an artist. Of course. It only made sense, because Draco was already smitten to pieces, so. “You make – uh. What sort of statues do you...?" he cleared his throat in mortal embarrassment. Keep it together, Malfoy. “I’d love to see your art, I mean.”

The smile again, shit. “Maybe.” He tilted his head like he did before, and Draco felt weak. “Did you see much of the city?”

“Erm. Not much, no. We’ve just arrived last night, and then, this is mostly a, er, study trip. I’m finishing my masters in history of art, and I thought – the Louvre –” when did he pick up the habit of blabbering, exactly?

“Ah. That is a shame. There is more to Paris than a museum.” This could be purely in his imagination, but he saw a sparkle in the green eyes. Draco didn’t even know where the words came from when he stammered:

“Maybe you can, erm, show me?” Fuck. Fuck. fu-

“I would love to.”

Oh. “All – all right. I’m free tonight.”

“Fantastique. Here,” the man jotted something down on his sketchbook then tore the paper, placing it in Draco’s sweaty, nervous hand. And then – god almighty – he bent down to kiss Draco’s cheek. “Meet me in this address? Seven o’clock?”

“Yes,” Draco breathed, which meant anything, please.

*

This wasn’t him. Draco was much more a cynic than a sap, for crying out loud. He wasn’t a simpering, chattering fool, swayed by things like bright eyes and sweet smiles and whatever the fuck this was. He didn’t do clichés. He didn’t do ‘fall in love with a mysterious stranger in bloody Paris’. This stood against everything he believed in, prided himself on, knew about himself. Still, he went. How could he not? Have you seen those arms?

The address led him to a little café, in a charming little street, because fucking hell. Draco’s Masterpiece was already there wearing a white button-down, the tightest black jeans, and a delicate maroon scarf. Damn, damn, damn. He looked so handsome, Draco thought he’d melt.

He didn’t even know his name. That didn’t stop his mystery man from ordering them wine (red, strong, perfect), and telling Draco all about the art scene in Paris in that deep voice of his. After dinner he took them on a walk near the river, bright even in the dim light. He was so gorgeous, it took a while before Draco could even catch on to what he was saying. When he did, he wished he hadn’t; the bastard dared to be funny, fuck him. And clever. And nameless. Could it be more romantic? Draco felt sick to his stomach. Just as he came to that nauseating conclusion, it started to rain.

He was doomed to die by cliché. Draco gave it precisely one thought before he focused on more important things, like those arms, wrapped all around him. 

*

The studio was in a handsomely-shabby building in another little street. The Vision opened his door after a few rings, checkered shirt unbuttoned, black trousers somehow tighter than they were last night. Draco felt ill.

Draco was not the kind of guy to get so flustered, honest. He was usually very cool and collected. But this mysterious, hunky, charming stranger – he did something to him. Something hot and squishy and terrifying and heady. Something… which made him fight with Pansy to ‘just calm down, you cow’ and ignore things like he’s a stranger, and I might get murdered today as he headed towards the studio the following afternoon. She could go back to the Louvre for more studying or whatever. He’d fill in what he missed on online.

Last night, after the wettest kiss in Draco’s life, the Piece De Resistance gave Draco his home address. He fondled his arse a little under the arch as they waited for the rain to stop, laughing and kissing and faffing about like horny teenagers. But he didn’t take him home that night, because he said he wanted to treasure it. Because he adored, revered and cherished Draco. God fucking help him. 

“Oh, merde, I’m sorry, I –“ there was paint on his chest. On his arms, revealed, sleeves rolled. A dot of it on his nose. Draco thought he could scream.

“It’s all right,” he said through parched throat. “I’m sorry for coming unannounced. You said I could – sorry. You were working, I take it?”

“Ah, oui,” he smiled (damn him to all hell!) “A new sculpture. I got inspired.”

Draco’s pants felt awfully tight. “That’s very. Cool.”

“Cool,” the man laughed, then repeated again, “cool. You are like American. Cool.”

“Have you had many Americans?” Draco choked, “in your – studio, I mean?”

“No. Never. You are the only tourist.” Don’t ask him why, but Draco believed that. The big eyes were very candidly green. 

“So, are you going to invite me in, or…?”

The Marvel did, and then Draco was inside, and hot damn. There was art all around him, so much to see and admire. A pair of arms drew his attention immediately, but they were most unfortunately not modeled after his Vision’s. “What’s that?”

“Oh, these are for the Venus. I want to give her arms, so she can shoot a – how you say? Arrow. Like in Le Roman de la Rose.”

Poetry, grand, just what Draco needed right now. “Right, I see. Is that why you… by the statue? That’s what you were sketching?”

There was a shy element to the green of his eyes now, and Draco thought he’d already melted. “Uh, no. This is old. I…this is another work. I call it, le ciel de nuit.”

Of course he did. “May I see it?”

“I… ok.” Was that a blush on his cheeks? Then his Masterpiece shoved a sketchbook under his nose, the same one from the museum, and it took a second for Draco to catch on that –

“Hey, that’s me!”

A moment of stressful silence. “Oui. You. Draco, you said.”

“I…”

“Your face,” the man continued slowly, growing closer. Then his hand was on Draco, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. “The symmetry. The… je n’sais pas. Very beautiful, my Draco.”

The gasp was inevitable. “I don’t even know – I don’t know what to call you.”

“Hmm?” he was too busy running fingers down Draco’s sides to pay attention.

“Will you ever tell me your name?”

“Pardon?”

“You haven’t – yet.”

“Oh,” the Vision laughed, warm and guttural and Draco wanted to swim in it. “I’m sorry. I got very… distracted with you. My name is Henri.”

Draco wondered if a crush this hard could actually kill you. Perhaps falling in love with a nameless (now named) stranger in Paris was worth it. Then Henri kissed him again, and Draco got his answer. 

[fantalfart]

Criminal

Criminal

by @the-sinking-ship

83.499 words

Things were going just fine for Draco Malfoy. He successfully conned and counted cards across Europe and America, amassing a small fortune, along with a lengthy rap sheet. That was until he made the grave mistake of returning to England for a high stakes card game and got himself caught – by Harry Potter no less. Now, Draco is stuck in England under Auror Potter’s guard with no friends, no distractions, and no escape. How the hell will he pass the time? And since when did Potter get so bloody fit?

What is this? Perfection. Draco Malfoy is the most smitten, cute, funny, sassy, blabber, endearing boy ever and I can't get over him. Also, I don't think I've ever connected so deeply with Harry as in this story, for some reason I can't put my finger on. This is the cutest, so sexy and fluffy I want to read it all over again.

[fluffypieceoffloof]

Drarry Fanfic

Title: Clothes (And Draco’s Drooling over Harry when not in them)

Word count: 1752

So Draco had had enough. Enough, he says.

It all started when he had walked into Harry Potter on his way to the shower.

Harry Potter with pleasantly tanned, golden, soft looking skin. Beads of water were running all down along with soap suds.

Draco stopped in his tracks. So he might have a low-key crush on him. Very low-key. And he might also want Harry to fuck the living daylights out of him. So what!

On returning to his Eight Year of Hogwarts, Headmistress McGonagall had made all the twenty returning students live in a separate tower, together, with a common common room and all the works. Which had incidentally led to this moment where although things were mostly tense he could now hold a legit conversation with Pansy, Potter and Granger. Try as he might(honestly, who was he kidding, he didn’t even try) being in the same room as Weasley without going back to his old ways was constant challenge. The feeling was, but of course, mutual. Things with Blaise, as always, were too complicated to decipher.

But he could talk to Potter-no, Harry now, and he could touch him. Light touches on his forearms, his thighs, his shoulder. It didn’t seem like much, however Draco’s rapidly evolving crush was growing in a geometric way. He didn’t even know how it started. One day he was barely saying Potter and nodding and the next he was having long conversations under the stars on top of the astronomy tower with a blanket and everything. He was just so animated, his hands moved when he was describing something, his hair flopped forward, his smile reached his eyes and his laugh rid Draco of all nightmares. It was horribly cheesy and he couldn’t control his heart so shut up.

And here he was, watching as Harry’s abs rippled and his biceps flexed. Where was all this hiding normally?

“Oh hey, Draco!” he said when he saw Draco standing like a statue. “Everything okay?” Harry’s eyebrows frowned.

“Uh, I.. er… I just… um.. shower and..- I er,” stuttered Draco, knowing his cheeks were bright red. He blushed and then scrapping up what little dignity he had left fled the showers.

Well no point in beating himself up for spilt milk. What’s done was done. Thankfully Harry hadn’t commented on his weird behaviour at all and things had moved on smoothly.

Well mostly.

Draco had opted to sit on an armchair rather than the sofa he had started to share with Harry. Granger had narrowed her eyes and Harry had given him an oddly hurt look but didn’t comment. Draco bit his lips and averted his eyes. No way could he share such a space with Potter without touching him, putting his hands in Harry’s interlocking them, kissing them fingers.

Draco, no, he thought to himself. He was becoming a very sappy twelve year old girl and it would just not do. And besides, Harry was straight and never look at Draco that way. Even if he was their past would catch up to them. Pining for Potter would only lead to heartbreak and well…

But where were them muscles, those smooth abs, rippling with every move, those sold forearms, and slight biceps; that very hard hard chest and extremely cute butt. Where, Draco asks, where? He could practically fantasize being held in his strong embrace. But out here, in the common room, surrounded by various eight years, there was absolutely no sight of the golden smooth skin.

Harry was lounging on the sofa, the Transfiguration book in his lap, looking very cute, biting his lips, a quill resting on his cheek. He wore some ghastly large T-shirt with another ghastly plaid red shirt over him. It looked at least ten years old, cuts and frayed around the edges. Stains were all over it. Draco wrinkled his nose. Now that he knew what was underneath them, he hated those clothes with a passion. He had on some baggy Jeans, held on tight with a ratty looking belt.

So Draco had had enough. Enough,he says.

So he jumps from his armchair, wand in hand and stalks towards Harry, looking admittedly deranged. Honestly, he would just love to tear off the garments from Harry’s skin in the common room itself. But the last few years have taught Draco patience, so he wont. For now. He could see Granger snap her book shut and Weasley on his feet wand out.

But Draco has already cast the measurement taking spell and was on his way out of the common room leaving behind a bewildered Harry.

He had a trip to make.

Hogsmeade admittedly had some very nice shops for fashion. Custom made shirts and suits could wait, Draco was here on an emergency mission. Entering a shop, he held his breath. Only the best would  do for Harry but he couldn’t splurge. It wouldn't look good. So he selected three shirts, as sea green (hoping it would make his eyes stand out), a classic black, and a light grey( cause grey). He chose some T-shirts, and some denims jeans. These were kind of a recent additions in light of the war, but Harry should love them. Next he picked a cream coloured trousers, just because it looked pretty and Draco wanted to look at nice bums. He wasn’t altruistic in any way, c’mon. Then he made his way back to Hogwarts. He would have bought more but he settled for some funky mufflers and socks (with huge polka dots, and outlandish orange colour, and one in baby pink). Draco was sure he was a compulsive shopper; but he just couldn't stop.

As he trudged up the stairs, he though he might have gone overboard. But no matter he bought lots of tacos from a new shop so he was pretty confident he could distract them if need be.

“What have you done?” asked Harry looking at the selection of clothes around him.

They were up in the dorm room, and Draco was looking impatient.

“Yes, yes, I am sure you have never seen clothes. Now strip.”

“Did you go shopping at this time, on a weekday!” exclaimed Harry.

Poor Harry, he really doesn’t have his priorities sorted, Draco thought as he took another bite of his taco. They were a huge success. Harry had already wolfed down two and was more open to suggestions.

“Harry, I have all night.So there no point trying to get out of it.”

“You just want to see me naked,” and he grinned, and oh he had dimples. Draco was pretty sure he melted just a little.

“Only a little bit,” he mumbled.

“What was that?” Harry titled his head, and regarded Draco with his deep eyes.

Draco was sure he was blushing a bright red. “Just shut and try them on.”

Harry started pulling his shirt over his head. “I am just saying you didn’t have to buy me clothes just to see me naked. You just had to ask.” Then he unzipped his trousers to pull off his trousers.

Draco had to fan himself. He didn’t even care that Harry could see him. All that creamy skin!

Now it was Harry’s turn to blush under Draco’s heavy lidded gaze. He turned and quickly put on the dark blue jeans he had brought. He stopped and turned when he heard a sharp intake of breath. Draco was flushed bright right down to his throat. His plump lips were parted just a bit and his eyes were lidded.He had somehow messed up his hair so it looked ruffled up.

Without meaning to he blurted out, “Can I kiss you now?”

Draco looked startled, and a bit hopeful, he bit his lips and whispered a little yes.

Well that was all the signal he needed. He surged forward and gently tipped Draco’s face up with his fingers. His eyes were so bright, and there was a small smile playing on his lips. Harry closed the distance between them and kissed him. A strangled groan was released and he didn’t know who had made it. All he knew was that Draco had the softest lips possible. They were utterly pliable under him and moved against him really well. A soft moan escaped him and he knew without doubt that he was well and truly fucked. Draco Malfoy, who would have thought. He smiled against the kiss and parted his lips. Draco took the opportunity to slip his tongue between his and started slowly prodding-

The door banged open. And then Ron let out a very shrill cry, “Mione they are kissing! Oh my, bloody hell!”

Harry groaned. Draco separated from him in an instant and Harry already missed the warm plaint mount. “Ron!”

“Yeah yeah, sorry,no cock blocking,” grumbled Ron, then realising what he had said, “Aww hell no, Mione! You were right! Mate?!”

“Ron!’’ groaned Harry, leave it to best friends to be utter prats.

“Fine, fine!” Ron held up his hands, “I am going! Enjoy the… whatever you are doing!” They he closed the door and went back down. Well at least the whole of eighth year knew now.

Harry looked back at Draco. He was standing uncertainly, biting his swollen lips. “So..” he trailed off.

“Can we please go back to what we were doing?” He took a step forward.

“Wait,”  Draco held up a hand. “What are we doing?”

He looked like a lost puppy and Harry just wanted to cuddle him up. “Well, I thought, a couple of kisses, and a couple of dates and we’ll see how I goes?”

“Yeah?” asked Draco, something like hope glinting in his eyes. “You sure?”

“Absolutely!”

And then Draco gave him the brightest smile and kissed him deeply. All clothes forgotten.

Harry wrapped his hands around his waist and pulled him in hard.