#emilywrites

[s-n-a-k-e-p-i-t]

draco x hermione blurb

no beta, apologies for drunken mistakes

-------

A kiss. 

A short one, but a kiss. Filled with the wanting, the persistence, the feeling of years and years and years of hatred. The realization, that despite it all, they had always been drawn to each other. That something had always been nagging at the back of their minds to find one another. Always competing. Always disputing. Always longing. The feeling that it’s too late, they had their time, and it has passed, much to both of their despairs.

They break apart. 

They stare at one another across a lit flame. 

The silence creeps in. She exhales. 

“I won’t go if you don’t,” he whispers, his voice a distant sound, full of the need that she so desperately shares. Her ears have heard much too much of the battle to even comprehend.

She gasps and looks at him. The paleness of his skin, his hair, the depth of his grey eyes, taking her prisoner. She almost wasn’t sure she heard it. She waits, for the confirmation she knows he won’t give her. 

“Draco-”

“No, I’m serious Hermione, I won’t-”

Tears threaten to fall down her cheeks, knowing what he promises her. Her heart swells, knowing what this means for him. For her. She feels a spark, as his hand ghosts over her fingers. 

“I’m serious,” he says again. Promising, she hopes. 

She gasps, unsure of the future, unsure of who they’ll be together. Once everything comes to an end. The corridor halls lit by the single flame between them. 

“I just-”

He cuts her off, “I know what you think of me, of my family, but I’m telling you. This is fear. This isn’t me. This isn’t who I want to be. It never was. It was all just-”

“Hermione!”

It’s Ron, over Draco’s shoulder she knows his gait, his hair, his appearance. Ashy and wounded, running towards her. Wand at the ready. He lifts it, a spell she knows all too well.

“Run,” she urges him. 

He begs her, pleads, fear soaked into his face. 

“Go,” she whispers, “I will find you.”

“Hermione, move!” He’s closer now.

“No,” Draco pleads, “I came back for you.”

She huffs a laugh, despite the agony around them, “And being the more sensible of us both, you need to go.”

He pulls her in, his long fingers wrapping around her wrist, his other arm cradling her back. He presses a kiss to her lips.

As they break apart, the sounds of the battle rush in. People screaming, curses flying, the forcefield of Hogwarts shattering. She sucks in a breath and he stares at her, as if she holds the ground he walks on. 

“Go,” she pleads. 

“You’ll know where to find me,” he responds. He apparates in front of her eyes. 

Ron has caught up to her now. “You?-”

He reads the sadness in her eyes. The desperation, the sadness. And yet he is lost, confused, unsure of whatever took her over. 

“Ron, I-”

“Never mind, we’ll talk about whatever that was later,” he huffs, jealousy dripping from his tongue, “We have much bigger problems.”

And despite her need for confirmation, despite the swelling in her chest threatening to eat her from the inside out. Despite the blood electrifying her body, the thoughts in her head, the need to know what had just transpired. She follows the ginger haired boy she’d always known, to help the other boy who was her best friend. 

Knowing, in her heart, that some way somehow, she’d find him. The boy who had no choice. 

[coepisse-blog]

prompt idea: erejean, band au, rated M

Jean tried to look away from the sweat that dripped from Eren’s fringe, down the bridge of his freckled and sunkissed nose, along the column of his throat. Jean’s fingers clenched the microphone, knuckles turning white, and he wished every word he was singing wasn’t about Eren.

Eren’s hair was tied back from his face in a half pony with longer strands sticking to his heat dampened neck. Jean wanted to run his fingers through, pull until Eren’s head was tipped back and he could lick along his jawline.

His voice dropped as his need grew— he could see Ymir and Sasha smirking at each other in his peripheral. His gaze left Eren. He glared at the wall before him. Eren hadn’t seen a thing. Too swept into the music as he drummed, knuckles bruised and scabbed from a fight that Jean had started with some motorist and Eren had ended.

Jean— barely able to breathe— closed his eyes. He could remember the feeling of Eren’s calloused fingertips running along the bruised skin of his eye; Jean had hissed, sneered at the other boy. Eren had just laughed, loud and unbothered.

He had been more drunk than Jean; that was the only excuse Jean could think of for why when Eren’s laughter had died down. He’d stepped forward into Jean’s space, smelling of whiskey and cigarette smoke and laundry detergent, and had pressed his lips so fucking tenderly to Jean’s temple, just brushing where the swelling of his eye began.

All he heard was Eren’s beat behind him, effortlessly matching his singing; his voice had gone scratchy. It always did when his want for Eren grew too much inside of him— to the point where he lost all control. It’d been a long, lonely time for Jean.

It was a strange state of mind being in love with Eren Jaeger.

Silence rang. Jean opened his eyes. Everyone was staring. Even Eren, with his head tilted to the side as he considered Jean, pushing back the hair stuck to his forehead. Jean shivered. He knew Eren knew. Sasha knew. Ymir knew. Fuck, even Ymir’s tiny blonde girlfriend knew.

“You stopped singing, man.” Eren leaned forward on his set, chin propped in his palm. Jean scratched a hand through his overgrown undercut.

“I did?” His nerves, this weird, tightening fear, came out in his voice— he sounded like he was about to cry.

Eren’s brow furrowed.

“I think it’s time for a break. I, for one, am exhausted. And parched as a motherfucker.” Eren stretched his arms out in front of him as he spoke, arching an eyebrow, mouth spreading into a grin that bordered on cocky.

Ymir sighed. Jean didn’t blame her. They had a show tomorrow. They couldn’t really afford an extra break. But that other side of him— the pathetic, love sick one— warmed and sizzled for Eren was doing this for him.

Ymir and Sasha shrugged, but Ymir still looked frustrated.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” Ymir said, her hand already gripping Sasha’s wrist. Her eyes were focused on Jean, but he knew she was speaking to Eren when she said, “Fix him.”

And then the two girls were gone, the door slamming behind them. Jean still stood before the microphone. His grip on it desperate.

Jean’s head was pounding— loving Eren came in waves, and it was drowning him.

He must not have heard Eren get up, because the next thing Jean knew, those hands— big and strong and so capable of damage, damage Jean had seen them wreck up close— closed around his fists, loosening his hold on the microphone, twining their fingers together once Jean freed it.

“C’mon, man. Don’t do this.”

Do what? Jean wanted to ask. He didn’t. He kept his eyes on the floor, vision blurring as he focused on the tip of Eren’s Docs.

“Jean, breathe.”

His chest burned as he gasped, sucking in air. When had he stopped breathing? Eren’s scent overwhelmed him; Jean took stepped forward until he could drop his head onto Eren’s shoulder. Eren’s hands let go of his, coming to rest on the small of his back for a moment, burning through Jean’s shirt, before he wrapped his arms completely around Jean’s waist.

“I thought I had this sorted out.” He choked on the words.

Eren chuckled.

“You can’t compartmentalize love, dude. Things go wrong sometimes, you can’t let it freak you out.” Eren’s fingers dug into skin between Jean’s ribs.

“If I don’t have you by me, I’ll— God— I’ll die.” Jean brushed his nose along the side of Eren’s neck, lips coming to rest beneath his jaw as he spoke.

“You’re the one who asked me for a break,” Eren reminded him.

Jean snorted, lips twisting in a pout.  “I didn’t expect you to agree.”

“Jean, I’m so fucking in love with you. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you. And I may have been drunk, and on the cusp of an orgasm when I first said it— which is what led to you going all Jean-y on it. But it’s true.” Eren’s voice was barely a whisper.

Jean shivered.  “Fuck you.”

He met Eren’s eyes— too close together as they both went a bit crossed eyed. Their noses grazed, lips meeting just so.

“Tell me you love me back, you bottle blonde,” Eren said, their lips brushing with his every word. “So we can finish practice and then go fuck. I’ve missed your ass. And my pillow doesn’t smell like your cheap apple shampoo anymore. It’s fucked up.”

“Eren Jaeger, I love you— even more than I hate you.” Jean nipped at Eren’s bottom lip as the other boy laughed and reached to grasp the back of Jean’s neck, pulling him in closer, kissing him now, for the first time in weeks.

Clapping reverberated through the room— the acoustics making it more pronounced. When had the door opened? Jean let their lips linger for a second, turning his gaze behind Eren’s shoulder where Ymir and Sasha stood, hands clasped dramatically over their hearts.

“Finally, I thought my tits would sag to my hips before you two confessed to each other,” Ymir said around a mouthful of nutter butter cookies.

“Especially with you two fucking every other day. You guys have basically been dating for months already.” Sasha sounded genuinely happy for them. Jean’s eyes sharpened into a glare.

Eren nipped at the skin of Jean’s neck before stepping back, hands falling from where they had been holding onto Jean. “Let’s go, blondie, we got a song to finish.”

Jean knocked his shoulder into Eren’s as the boy walked off to his drum set, his usual sneer replaced with a wide grin that had Sasha fake swooning into Ymir’s arms. Eren simply winked as he settled down into his seat.

Maybe being in love with Eren Jaeger wasn’t as absurd and tragic as Jean had made it out to be.

[niall-is-my-dream]

Playing Hard to Get - Part 1 (on Wattpad) https://my.w.tt/MesdnPDYyN Charlotte is independent, bold and sarcastic. Disastrous dates are plentiful, but when she meets her best friend Willie's cousin things change.

[emilywrites185]

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[anewdirection-ff]

I need your opinions on something.

I’m thinking of doing something I’ve seen Emilywriter do for her SYOC tumblr, which is dedicating three days to an OC each week. So you’d be encouraged to ask questions about that OC (I’d still accept general questions). Is that something you guys think would be fun?

If so, who do you think I should do first? 

PS. Laiquahen is my personal blog, which is why that one replied on this post.

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[writinginthemidwest]

Sunday 12:16

My Dad kept saying, “I’m so gourded. I’m so high!”

He wanted to keep performing at the end of his life. He wanted to be sober and keep his mind and wits about him. But he couldn’t. His liver and kidneys were failing- quickly- and the morphine was building up in his blood. Every dose just added to the cocktail in his system.

It’s perhaps a karmic coincidence that he spent a good deal of his life chasing the high. Drinking to excess throughout his childhood and early adulthood. Acid, cocaine, occasional narcotics, cigarettes and weed after he quit drinking.

He was so disappointed that he didn’t get the hardcore drugs sooner. And the diagnosis of impending death sooner. Because he kept trying to take as little of his oxy as possible so he wouldn’t have to deal with “the junkie itch” when he got better and didn’t have to take the medicines anymore for pain. He wanted to save them up for ‘fun’. He wanted to wait until he was healthy and his tolerance was lowered to have a good time.

Modern opiates effectively and acutely numb out the pain center of your brain. So it’s no wonder that we like it. The thought that you can, if only for a moment, feel nothing. Feel empty. Or conversely, feel full. Feel contentedly and comfortably full. I wonder which one you prefer. I have always liked the ability to feel calm, in the face of anything, that opiates give me. It’s not that nothing hurts, it’s that it no longer matters what hurts or doesn’t hurt.

Generationally, I see why that’s popular. Everything has hurt for a while in our culture. There’s been far away wars and economic strife and class based segregation. We’ve been fucking up for a long, long time. To feel that pain and guilt acutely is a display of the empathy that we have tried to create over time. But it’s incredibly uncomfortable.

On top of that, the increase in rigid gender roles enforced on children has created a new type of man- the man that has been shown GI Joe with massive biceps and told by his parents and grandparents that he’s got it so much better than they had, don’t be a pansy, real men don’t show emotions. Of course those men want to feel empty and free for a moment.

The women have to be everything to everyone. Trying to dedicate to their families like their grandmothers did while having the careers their grandfathers did in a world where their parents destroyed the economy. Wanting to be fit, healthy, thin, accomplished professionally and personally, and to be freed from the burden of aging. Perpetually 25 and successful and attractive. Make the bacon, bring it home, fry it up in a pan, never let you forget you’re a man.

Anyone in between or outside of that spectrum, having the pain of being told that your most basic identity isn’t real, authentic, or acceptable.

Of course you want to shut off all that pain. All that pressure. All that overwhelming anxiety. The tension in your back, releasing. Your jaw, unclenched. Your thoughts no longer racing with all the worries of the world.

But I don’t want you to die with the delusions my father did. I don’t want you to miss the pain because it seems easier. I want you to love, and be loved. And that means pain, without a doubt. It means anxiety and fear. It means being real uncomfortable, for a payout. Not one that leaves you looking leaner or feeling younger, inherently. Instead one that allows you to nourish yourself for the sake of something more than yourself. That allows you to know that you can and will have someone there when you die. Or that you’ll watch die.

The intimacy of sharing a life, a death, and a body with another person. Knowing what it’s like to take control of another person’s body when you make them cum. When they laugh. Or cry. When they’re sick. When they die.

The intimacy of all the terrifying and gross stuff that having a body and living in a body and watching that body decay and humiliate you but also carry you and give you strength and the ability to accomplish great deeds.

I think that’s one of the reasons I love nasty sex. It’s so intimate. Licking another person’s asshole. It’s fucking disgusting and pleasurable and strange and perhaps a little degrading for both parties, but it’s novel. And it’s intimate. It floods you with neurochemicals that make you feel oh-so-good, if only for a minute. I love sex with bruises and crying and blood. Deriving pleasure from scary functions that we’ve been taught to avoid at all costs. Intimacy.

The best and the worst things you can do with your life are uncomfortable. Feel that. Sit in it.

I’m begging you not to try to turn it off. Because you deserve so, so, SO much more than a life that you’ve fast forwarded through. You deserve to feel fulfilled and authentic in every moment because you are truly beautiful and special. Just like everyone else.

Death will come for you. You will feel like it’s too soon, no matter when it is. Don’t spend too much time numb, or you will regret it.

[s-n-a-k-e-p-i-t]

Don’t Go // draco x hermione

A/N: You already know what it is

WARNINGS: some cursing i think, steamy but not spicy

Fluffy as heck !!

Premise: Hermione has decided to join Harry and Ron in the hunt for horcruxes and someone isn’t thrilled. 

**For drabble’s sake Draco isn’t a death eater and did not kill dumbledore, someone else did.**

Word Count: 1.1k

(also idk who made this picture so credit to them!! definitely going to cry about it later)

“I don’t see why you have such an opinion, Malfoy,” she had used his last name to dig at him and from his pained expression, it had worked, “Besides, you made it perfectly clear to me last week that you don’t care about anyone other than yourself!” They had met up just outside Hogsmead, as they had for months prior all throughout the summer. 

His hands were fists and he was working hard to control his emotions, and keep his volume low so that no one undesirable would overhear. “Yes, but that was before you decided to mindlessly run off into Britain without even the slightest plan to defeat the Dark Lord, not to mention your chosen companions of Potter and Weaslebe. Sorry if I’m not entirely on board with this one.” He paused, “I swear idiocy is a Gryffindor’s biggest flaw.”

She grimaced, anger seething from her body, “You know as well as anyone that I can carry myself just fine!”

He rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the words he was trying to say. “I know you’re perfectly capable of it, you’re brilliant,” He dropped his voice again, “But this is the most dangerous dark wizard in history we’re talking about!” 

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “And you think that I don’t know that?”

“No, I don’t think you do!” He shouted back, “Because if you did, you’d rethink this dumb idea.”

She took a step towards him, her eyes didn’t even dare to look away from his. She set her shoulders, he braced himself. “Sorry to hear you think so low of me then, because I’m going and whether you want me to or-”

He grabbed her wrist, suddenly, but still gentle, and cut her off with the fire in his eyes. “No, you’re not,” he spat through gritted teeth. They were face to face. The way he held her arm had pulled her into his chest, her nose thrust into his scent. He was everything she could hear, smell, touch, and hear.

“Can you just let me go,” she panted. But he had a feeling she wasn’t talking about his grip on her.

“No,” his voice was almost a whisper now. He wasn’t either.

She tried to wiggle her arm free, “And why not then?”

He opened his mouth. He froze. She shook her head, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to say it. That’s why they had ended things last week, he couldn’t vocalize what he wanted, he couldn’t even reassure her that he gave some inkling of a crap about her. And he knew that she knew it; so this time, when she wiggled her arm, he let her go. 

“That’s what I thought, Malfoy.”

She pushed past him and he listened as her steps echoed away, each footfall slicing deeper into his heart. His hands shook, in anger and fear. His mind was racing. A split second decision was made. 

“Granger, wait!” He could barely process what he was saying before he said it. Her footsteps came to a halt, and he heard her turn around. 

“What?”

“I-, I just, please, think about this.”

“I don’t have time for this, I’ve already thought about it! And quite frankly, I don’t know where all of this is coming from. It’s not fair to me. You think I haven’t thought of the people I’m leaving behind? Do you really think this was an easy decision for me? That I’m not terrified of what will happen if we fail? I’m doing this for the people I care about and for the people who care about me, because I want them to have a good future. Because I want them to have a future.” She was about two seconds from losing it, “And I will not put their lives in jeopardy because of someone who refuses to care about anything or anyone else!”

Something inside him was set off. “But I do bloody care!” 

She froze and he stalked towards her, spitting out sentence after sentence. 

“Of course I care, I’m just a mess. You know this about me. I have cared about you since before,” he paused and shook his head, “Since before I can even remember. And I’m really sorry if you think I’m being condescending, but if I think you’re going on suicide mission without any resistance from anyone, I’m going to try to convince you otherwise because, shocker, I very well do care.” He tried to gather his thoughts, but his emotions were taking hold of him, “I just don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to care about people. I don’t know how to even manage getting close to people! And above all else, I certainly don’t know how to keep the people I love alive.”

Her eyes popped open and she gasped. The words came out before he could stop them. He silently cursed to himself, running his hands through his hair. He hadn’t meant to say it like that. 

“Draco,” she whispered and he shook his head, not meeting her gaze. His chest was rising and falling faster than she had ever seen before. She reached up and put her hand to his cheek. He pressed into her touch, still refusing to meet her eyes. Her thumb traced his cheek in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. 

“Draco, please look at me.”

He shook his head again and so she took her other hand and held his face in front of hers so that he had no choice but to look at her now. His eyes pleaded with her and she bit her lip, suddenly guilty for the anguish she could see written across his features. She swallowed. He waited, his eyes drifting down to her mouth. And then, ever so softly, she brushed her lips against his. 

He seemed to relax almost instantly. His body awoke and his hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer to him. She deepened the kiss and he gasped. It had been a long week, he had missed her. And if she was really going to go through with this god awful plan, he was about to miss her a hell of a lot more. He held onto her as if he’d never hold her again and she tangled her fingers in his hair. They moaned and gasped against each other’s lips as his hands raced over every inch of her body, as if attempting to memorize her forever. 

She pulled away from him only a second and he felt his body immediately follow her, wanting more of her, wanting nothing else than to be as close to her as possible. 

“Wait, Hermio-” She rested her forehead against his, shutting him up rather quickly. She searched his eyes waiting for a blessing that would never come. She closed her eyes and kissed him again, softly, slower.

“I love you, Draco,” she murmured against his lips, pushing their foreheads together once again. “But you have to let me go.” 

He fought off the urge to cry and squeezed his eyes closed, feeling her forehead against his. “No,” he begged, “Please. Don’t leave me. Please just don’t-” 

She kissed him again and he cupped her face. He slid his tongue on her bottom lip and she gasped quietly. She dug her nails into his shoulders, holding him tight to her body. But just as quickly as he’d been overwhelmed by her presence, he felt the absence of her mouth on his. 

He couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. 

“Please,” he begged, his voice cracking. “I love-”

He felt a shift in the air and slowly opened his eyes. 

“You, too.”

He stood alone. 

[niall-is-my-dream]

Niall One shots - Stay until the morning (on Wattpad) https://my.w.tt/Hou9EX9zON A collection on Niall Horan one shots and blurbs. Some contain smut and sexual references. These will be indicated with *** Some are just Niall fluff. https://www.tumblr.com/blog/niall-is-my-dream Follow me on tumblr. Em x

[ithinkmynameisemily]

To my writers:

Don't write your exes into your stories by name. I get it. Their name fits with your other characters. I don't care. You won't be able to read it. You'll give yourself panic attacks. You'll make yourself sick. Don't do it.

[emilypaints-blog]

con ligereza de pies las rodillas empolvadas no se necesita nada mas que el cuerpo como compás trazando un círculo en el piso y ya tienes una cancha piedra, papel o tijera y el juego comienza no importa nada la bola rebota el polvo se eleva la sonrisa se ensancha se va y se corre con pies ligeros pero el corazón bien lleno que una cascarita te deja un jueves cualquiera y entonces sólo quieres que por favor nunca crezcan

[helllohartbig]

Now I only hear you In hummed lyrics of a song. Like the way I loved you; Quietly.

Quiet Love

[projectblognorway]

Getting some stories up

It took me a while to get all my pictures from my phone and camera onto my laptop (sorry!). I'm trying to post some with the stories I've connected to them- again, might take a while. I've been back in the States for about 2 weeks now. Norway seems like so long ago! I came right back to some New England snow, but its not nearly as much as Norway. I definitely will not be jumping off any roofs here. Sometimes I still think about Norway and just kind of grin. It was the best trip I've ever been on by far. Everyone was so welcoming, and I get that not everyone finds a foreign country as homey as I did. Words cannot describe how grateful I am to the Norwegians for this. Tromsø is a third home to me- I've got Seattle, school, and now a Norwegian city on that list ❤

[passion-of-a-different-kind]

Pep Talk (G)

Title: Pep Talk

Author: Passion

Rating: G

Word Count: 839

Warnings: old writing and shitty head canon?

Summary: Set in a decades time, the new, new, New Directions need a pep talk when they're feeling down at Nationals. Mr Schue uses the original New Directions to lift their spirits. Future!fic. Mentions of the ND, but only Mr Schue makes an appearance. Plot bunny

The atmosphere in the green room was solemn and constricting, pushing in on the thirteen teenagers dotted around the room. The Show Choir Nationals Competition was here ― hell, they were there ― and the kids of New Directions were giving up. After watching the monsoon of talent that were the Whistling Suns, not a single one of the kids believed they could win.

They'd come all the way from Lima, Ohio to New Orleans, Louisiana just to lose.

"No. No, guys, we can beat them!" William Schuester exclaimed as he sprung up from his stone-hard armchair, and spinning to face his kids. "We've made it this far, guys. We got passed the Melodies at Sectionals; we stormed the Mockingbirds at Regionals―"

"And now we proceed to become mere particles under the monarchic feet of the rival Suns. The laws of the universe dictate this so."

Everyone in the room turned towards Aaron Wills ― or, Apollo, as he attempted to get everyone to call him, since "names are powerful things, you nonbelievers!". The dark-haired boy just continued to stand calmly in the corner, as everyone's attentions were drawn back to their teacher.

". . . yes, thank you Aar―Apollo."

Apollo nodded.

"Save your spooky mumbo-jumbo crap, Wills," an orange-skinned girl (spray tan gone wrong, but that was a different story) scowled from by the door. "I say, one of us should fake an injury and all of us, as loving, compassionate friends, refuse to perform without him―or her―" her glower directed towards Ellie-Rose did not go unnoticed. "―and, boom! Problem solved."

"Good idea, Joanna. I vote Mary."

"Oi!" Mary Buchwald exclaimed in her Australian accent, smacking her boyfriend, Parson, over the back of the head.

Will shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts. Suddenly he grinned, his eyes lighting up. "You can't win."

Natalie leant over to whisper in Georgia's ear, "Pep talk of the year, award."

"No, nononono. Guys, uh . . ." Mr Schue bit his lip, before snapping his fingers in replacement for the light bulb above his curly head. "You all know the picture in the choir room?"

"How could we forget?" Isaac laughed. "McKinley's best glee club."

"Yeah," Mr Schue smiled at the memories. "They were the original New Directions. Are you going to let them down by saying that you can't win?"

"Mr Schue," Joanna sighed, "we get what yous is tryin' to do, but they're the original New Directions. Like we could ever live up to them."

Will laughed. "Rachel Berry. Favourite show?"

"'Quick-Kind', Sondheim, '16," the petite Sarah Rowe announced instantly.

Katie rolled her eyes, "Pah-lease. 'STAR' was by far her best."

"You're just biased because you've only seen 'STAR' and not the wonder that is 'Quick-Kind'."

"Yeah, but the wonderful Miss Berry wrote 'STAR'."

"Co-wrote."

"Wrote."

Will interrupted Mary and Katie before they began to tear each other apart. "Kurt Hummel?"

Ellie-Rose hugged her Hummel™ jacket. She'd managed to get it cheap in a thrift store. The owner had no idea it was a 2021 original Hummel. If he had he could have sold it for thousands on EBay or even millions if he released it to the NYC Institute of Fashion. They were always looking to display designs from one of the world's greatest designer.

"Mike Chang."

Almost immediately, all of the teenagers in the room began doing their version of the Grimmson ― the dance that had originally wow-ed the crowds of Carnegie Hall and shocked managers, as Chang had defied his managers and danced the dance that he wanted to.

"MerCEDES."

"La-la-la. La-la-la. La-la-la lady fab-ou-lous!"

"You can't even hit those notes, Kevin."

"I attempted to."

"Well you shouldn't have."

William cast a fond eye around at his kids, spying two hidden in the background. He smiled, saying the name he knew would get the final two into action. "Blaine Anderson."

Dominic and Emily's head's shot up at the name. Dominic pulled Emily close, holding her tightly. They both had Mr Anderson to thank for them being together. After World War Two and a Half, Blaine Anderson had made it possible for Emily ― or more accurately, Ethan ― to be able to live his life as a Trans, legalizing adoption and anti-homophobia rights across the Northern Hemisphere.

"They were all in the position you are, right now. I remember sitting in the green room in LA with no set-list, no costumes and two performers down. And they never once said that they would lose. It was the senior year for some of the greatest stars you kids have ever known, and they barge through it. We have costumes. We have all of our best performers primed and ready and we have a kick-butt set-list!" Will looked out around at the new New Directions and grinned. "Now who wants to get out there and show them what we've got!"

"NEW DIRECTIONS!"

[s-n-a-k-e-p-i-t]

Hermione Granger’s Guide to Shooting Your Shot || hermione x draco

A/N: This is for @weasleysflowr‘s writing challenge. I’ve never done one of these before, and to be honest I haven’t creatively written for myself in a really long time, but I’m slowly getting back into it and it’s making me feel so alive!! So I hope you guys enjoy

Notes: I’m not quite sure of the time of when this is taking place. I’m inclined to think 6th year or 7th because they are drinking and with that being said, I wrote this with the idea in mind that Voldy didn’t come back and Hogwarts is just vibing without the threat of him and there’s just the usual Slytherin/Gryffindor rivalry.

Warnings: Alcohol, fluff maybe the tiniest bit of steam

Prompt: “I might have had a few shots” 

Hermione bit her lip and smiled and that was just the right amount to send him barreling over the edge. His control was surrendered, she essentially held his soul in the palm of her hand. However, she hadn’t the slightest idea of the power she held as she stood across the room doing shot after shot with her newly arrived friends. Dancing to the music slightly when the younger ginger walked over to give her a hug. Oh she had no idea, that in that moment he had accepted that he was hers entirely. 

A scoff of a shoe next to him brought him out of his daze. The party was picking up and the fire whiskey was flowing, which luckily meant less people were asking why he was there. Not to mention the crowd was building, so it was much easier to blend despite the green tones only he and his companion adorned. However, this meant the temperature of The Three Broomsticks, with its smaller, more compact quarters and multiplied occupants didn’t stand a chance. He was happy he hadn’t worn a jacket, despite the December night he had to walk through to get there.  

Her teeth released her bottom lip as her mouth pulled into a wide smile and it sucked him in all over again. A mop of blonde hair handed her a messy red and gold wrapped present and he couldn’t help smile at how she held the package. Like it was the most beautiful thing in the world, despite being the most hideous wrapping job he had ever seen. Lost in the beauty of her, he almost missed the jabbing elbow in his side. 

“Earth to Draco.”

Blaise. Blaise had also been invited to the Golden Trio’s annual Christmas party. Why he even bothered to show, was beyond Draco’s imagination. In fact, he noted people, the Gryffindor majority in particular, actually seemed to be more surprised that his friend was present than himself. 

“What,” he scowled, his eyes not daring the tear away from her. 

“I’m gonna grab another drink, do you want anything. I’ve asked you at least five times.”

Draco looked down at the drink in his hand, he swirled it around and raised an eyebrow to his friend. Blaise turned on his heel and walked to the bar. Draco brought the glass to his lips, welcoming the bitter liquid in. Over the brim of the cup, he watched her as her eyes slowly wandered until they met his. Her skin, already flushed from the alcohol she had consumed, blushed even more and he reveled in the idea that he had such an effect on her. She whispered a word or two to the other thirds of her trio, hugged the blonde girl, and then broke away. She slowly sauntered towards him. Her step was off, he assumed due to the liquor. 

“Malfoy,” she smiled her eyes darting around to see who else had noticed his presence, “I didn’t think you’d make it,” she nearly whispered. He picked up on the slight slur of her words. 

“And why’s that?” 

She shrugged and pouted. He licked his lips as he watched hers. “Project’s over, we don’t have an excuse to be seen together anymore.”

He clicked his tongue and nodded. His eyebrows jerked up in amusement. “You invited me, Granger, so I came.”

She giggled and covered her lips with her fingers. He stared at her, remembering only the start of the term when she had been thrown into a group with him and Blaise for an Astronomy project, much to all of their annoyance. 

And then one week into working together when they had gotten into a screaming match over what month to complete the chart. He had quidditch tryouts and practices littered throughout the autumn, she had an immense amount of studying that only would build up the closer to Christmas they got. And they had gone back and forth, eventually getting personal, eventually getting in each others faces. And as he stared down at her and she stared up at him and their breath hit one another’s faces and both sets of eyes held their ground, neither to be betrayed or look away first, he had kissed her and as if something had finally snapped after six years of being sworn enemies and hell had frozen over, she kissed him back. And of course all of this has happened right when Blaise had returned from the bathroom, causing them to break apart, who told them he wouldn’t tell anyone as long as they did all the work so he could go off and do whatever it is Blaise Zabini does when he’s alone.

And then of course, they fought over who kissed who first, deciding to leave it at nothing more than a stressful time, a misunderstanding, and downright stupidity.

And then a month later, it happened again, only this time she initiated it. He had gotten an owl from his father, saying that his mother had been hit with an unidentified hex. And though Draco had practiced time and time again to not show his emotions, she still managed to break through and dig up what was wrong. And after that, the feeling of another person genuinely caring for him, who didn’t try to tell him how to feel or think or behave, he felt his mask slip away. And when she caught glimpse of the boy underneath the facade, she had kissed him, short, soft, and sweet.

And then mid October came around. And they’d finally picked a day to chart. And once they’d finished, those same fingers covering her giggle, had ended up tangled in his hair. He thought of the way her skin had glowed in the moonlight, the way she had looked at him, the way he had kissed her, the way she fearlessly kissed him back. And how they had done all their work that day, but told no one they were done just so they could keep seeing each other. They’d read, they’d talk, they’d spend the rest of the duration of the project period memorizing each other’s bodies and picking apart the other’s mind.

And then to three days ago when they handed in the project. 

And then he remembered the way they had parted, high marks on the project and agreeing that what had happened was to be kept a secret. Her friends would give her hell and he was pretty positive his father would disown him. The solution was to keep it a secret. To glance, to pass a note or two, to meet in dark corners and under isolated trees. 

And as he had laid in bed last night, he wondered if she was laying awake too, coming to find that this solution was not much of a solution at all. 

He blinked, suddenly, and pulled himself back into the present, swaying slightly. His eyes bore into hers, unsure of what to say next, hoping his quick trip down memory lane hadn’t brought any unwanted attention their way. And she studied him as if she could see into the depths of his mind and knew exactly what he was thinking about. He felt... vulnerable and though he also felt the comfort of her she provided whenever nearby, he also felt.. nervous? He struggled to find his bearings and he struggled with not being in control. He hadn’t even realized she had slipped her hand into his, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles slowly bringing him back. He looked down, smiling at the sight of their hands together.

When he looked back up, she was biting her lip again. 

He felt himself slip, the mask he wore around his schoolmates faltered. She caught it, he knew she would. But then she did something he didn’t predict. She cupped his face, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him gently. Smack dab on the mouth. In the middle of the bar. At the Gryffindor Christmas party.

She pulled away, hesitantly, nervous that he hadn’t been thinking what she had been thinking for the past 24 hours. 

His eyes searched her face. He wasn’t complaining, he was just shocked. “Hermione, all of our stupid friends are her- I thought, but what about the plan to keep it secret?”

Her smile brightened at his use of her first name. “I might have had a few shots,” she giggled, standing up taller so her lips were hovering just below his. “And I also might have realized that solution was kind of dumb, I want to be able to celebrate Christmas with my boyfriend.”

A mistletoe appeared above them, causing them both to laugh. She smiled at him and he felt his smile reach his eyes. Softly, he reached out and tilted her chin up. 

And despite the fact that practically everyone was looking at them in utter shock, despite the chorus of gasps, and despite the countless “is that Malfoy and Hermione?”s

Despite all that, when she kissed him this time, he kissed her back.

[s-n-a-k-e-p-i-t]

simple questions / draco x hermione

A/N: coming @ you with some more dramione things that just live in my head rent free until they get moved to tumblr rent free

Warnings: mention of alcohol

Premise: After getting his task from Voldemort, Draco is coming to terms with the fact that once he kills Dumbledore, his life will no longer be his own. Overwhelmed with feelings he decides to do one last thing for himself.

Word count: 2k ish

- - - - - -

It was ridiculous, really, for him to be be so concerned with trivial things, the Christmas ball no doubt. But, he supposed it was a part of his acceptance. Acceptance that after this year his life would never be the same. That from that point forward he would either live forever in fear or be forever feared by others, and if he was being perfectly honest with himself, neither of those lifestyles appealed to him much at all. 

He had never really wanted people to fear him, it was just easier that way. Love was complicated, but fear, oh fear was very simple and it had served him for the time being. But the fear he was used to had always been instigated by a couple of harsh words he didn’t really mean or maybe a scowl, and the new fear he would come to be controlled by would follow murder...

He’d have to take life from another human being... when he’d never even squished a bug. 

And so he sat, alone in the Slytherin common room while everyone else was at dinner, thinking about all the things he could do while his life was still his, before he’d have to murder dear ol’ Dumbledore, and his path would change forever. 

He scoffed. Tad dramatic. 

He knew he’d still have his friends after carrying out his task. After all, most of their parents were Death Eaters. One life taken by him was nothing compared to what their parents had all done. They'd be hesitant at first, but eventually would come around, especially once they took their Marks. 

A face flashed behind his eyelids and he pinched the bridge of his nose. A sinking feeling filled his stomach and he took a deep breath. That face would surely never come around, not that she thought much of him to begin with. No, he’d definitely never come back from this one with her. These last few months were all he had left with her, better make the most of it. 

She had always intrigued him and he had found it hard to ignore her. She was smart, sharp, and she challenged him in ways no one else really had the guts for. They were similar in many ways and he had come to find that he actually really enjoyed being around her. And though she had what his father had always referred to as, “dirty blood” he had found himself caring less and less about it over the past six years of knowing her. He’d even stopped using that awful word their second year after seeing how upset it had made her. He had always wondered that if things were different, if they would’ve stood a chance. And now, with this given assignment, he was sure they never would. 

His stare bored into the fire as the gears in his mind continued to turn. The reflection of the flames danced on his face and he pressed his knuckles against his lips. He took a deep breath in and a deep breath out and made a decision. “Now or never,” he breathed. And with that he stood up rather quickly, and slipped into the corridor to make his way to the Great Hall. 

- - - - - - -

Hermione had just said goodnight to Harry and Ron, who were turning in early in preparation for tomorrow’s quidditch match. Tired, but not quite ready for bed, she had decided to hang back at dinner. Ginny and Neville were carrying on a friendly, but heated debate, but even they eventually wore each other out and retired for the evening. Hermione stood to leave with them, but as they exited the Great Hall, she stopped and turned to the courtyard. It was a clear night and she enjoyed catching constellations when she got a chance. 

Draco rounded the corner, managing to keep his pace calm and his appearance normal despite the fact his nerves were eating him alive. As he made his way towards the Great Hall, assuming she’d still be at the table talking with her glued-at-the-hip companions, a slight movement caught his eye. There she was, looking up at the night sky and completely oblivious to him approaching. He swallowed hard, his nerves threatening to suffocate him.

“Granger,” he whispered. No response. She was completely mesmerized. He inched closer, as quiet as possible as to not scare her. 

“Granger!” 

She yelped, clearly startled and he instantly felt a twinge of guilt for freaking her out that badly. When she regained her composure, she raised a skeptical eyebrow to him. 

“What do you want, Malfoy?” She asked, her voice almost tired of having to ask that question. 

He licked his lips. His adrenaline had gotten him to her, but he still hadn’t quite planned out what exactly he was going to say. He opened and closed his mouth. He suddenly felt extremely foolish for thinking she would actually say yes to him.

“Right,” she sighed, “Well, when you think of whatever insult you want to throw my way, you know where to find me.”

She took a step, in an attempt to walk around him, but he moved to his right, blocking her path. He looked down into her eyes, feeling her breath hit his face. They were closer than they’d ever been and she was not having it. 

“Malfoy, seriously,” she said through gritted teeth. 

“Granger, please, just-” he stammered.

She took a step back and he immediately felt the absence of her presence. She crossed her arms across her chest, waiting for him to get to the point. 

“I know I haven’t been the nicest guy in the world-”

Hermione laughed. Out loud. In fact, it echoed off the stone surrounding them. The sound completely engulfed him. He closed his eyes and waited for her to be done. He deserved it and he knew it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but are you trying to apologize to me? Has Hell frozen over? Are you ill?”

His hands balled to fists. “If you’d let me finish, you’d know what I was trying to say,” he clipped back. 

The amusement in her eyes returned, “Right of course, carry on.” She was mocking him. 

“Granger. I know this sounds ridiculous, believe me, I'm surprised too..” he took a step towards her. “..but, the truth is, you have always interested me.”

Hermione sucked in a breath. That was not what she had been expecting to hear.

“You challenge me in skill, you actually stand up to me when I’m, well, myself and well you’re, um,” he struggled to find the words, ”actually not too hard on the eyes either.” 

Neither was he. She banished the thought almost immediately.

“Gee, thanks, Malfoy. Can I go to bed now?” 

He rolled his eyes. “Granger, please just listen to me.” 

“Let me think about it,” she said, tapping her chin three times before replying with a short, “No.” And then she went to step around him again and he went to block her again, grabbing her wrist. Her eyes met his, they held the gaze, neither one of them daring to back down. When he blinked, she use the excuse to sweep her eyes over his face, noticing how his jawbone stood out more than usual and his eyes seemed to ache for the comfort of sleep. He slowly let go of his hold on her. Maybe he was falling ill.

“Granger. Look everything is going to hell, I’m just hoping for a glimpse of heaven, before you-you,” his voice faltered, “Before you hate me forever.”

She laughed under her breathe and muttered, “Little late for that.” And then louder, “Now if you’ll excuse me, as much as I’d like to pretend you haven’t chugged a flask of fire whiskey and there’s actually a point to this conversation, I’m going to bed.” 

She saw the hurt flash in his eyes and decided to use that to her advantage.  This time when she stepped around him, he didn’t block her. He was grasping at straws. Admitting feelings? Not something his father had prepared him for. Asking a long time enemy to a ball? Not covered in Bellatrix’s teachings. 

“Look, Gra- Hermione please just hear me out,” he tried one more time. 

She heard her first name and turned swiftly around. Curiosity danced in her eyes as she took in the sight of him. Vulnerable, pleading, honest...? She almost didn’t recognize the boy in front of her, almost. Luckily, over the past few years, she had seen this version of him a handful of times. Times when his mask slipped and she saw who the real Draco Malfoy was. Not the hard outer shell reinforced by Lucius time and time again, but someone who overcame a great deal of expectations and was tired of playing the part. She would never admit it out loud, but had he been like that all the time, she believed they could’ve been, at the very least, friendly. Her curiosity had the best of her. “What?”

He closed his eyes, another deep breath. She watched him carefully, her walls coming down, but still guarded. His eyes betrayed his normally calm demeanor. She stood, anxious in anticipation.

“Will you go to the Christmas ball with me?” He hadn’t meant to say the words so fast, but his nerves had gotten the best of him. He felt his cheeks immediately heat up, his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

The words hung in the air between them. She certainly hadn’t expected him to say that. Hermione didn’t even realize her mouth had fallen open, shock written all over her face. She shook her head, as if to gather her thoughts and then took a step towards him. 

The silence was painful for Draco. His eyes remained glued to her every move as she scanned the courtyard. 

“Please?” He added with a shrug, his voice small, sounding very not like himself at all. 

Her face changed suddenly, and she spoke. “Look Malfoy, I don’t know what kind of sick joke this is, but I refuse to be the punchline.” 

His face twisted into confusion, hurt littering his features, “No, that’s not what-”

“Ha ha! So funny! Go ahead run back to report to your little friends and collect your winnings.” She fought hard to keep her voice steady, but her emotions were threatening to break out. She was embarrassed not just from what he had asked her, but for what admiring him just moments before. She threw her walls back up. 

“Granger, please, I just, let me prove it to you, just listen-”

“No, you listen. If this is seriously your idea of entertainment, count me out. I’ve heard enough from you and I will not continue to put up with this garbage. I refuse to play along with this stupid little act. Now if you don’t mind, I really will be going now.”

She stalked away and he let her go, watching her disappear into the darkness of the castle. 

When he was finally alone, he let out a big sigh. Perhaps he deserved this, no scratch that, he knew he did. He felt incredibly stupid thinking she would ever even entertain the idea of agreeing to go with him. He hadn’t even stopped to think about how she would take it. And now she had seen him like this. He’d really dug quite the hole for himself. 

The bells rang out on the hour and he headed back in. As he made his way towards the edge of the courtyard, he noticed a rose bush. The flowers seemed to have a soft glow under the moon and starlight. He cut a few off of the bush with his wand and stuffed them in his robes before retiring into the castle for the night. 

- - - - - - -

She laid in bed that night, tossing and turning. Sleep would not come easily. Had that really happened? Had Draco Malfoy asked her to an event? As his date? She thought of his face, giving way to his real personality. Who he was without his gang of friends, without his father, without his tyrannical leader. She had always thought he had a nice face. And though she could go without the douche personality, she did enjoy his mind as well, how he too seemed to know all the answers and how, without fail, he always managed to be the one to finish her sentences in classes. She remembered glances they’d shared, off character things he had said, and a smile she’d managed to catch a few times over the past few years. 

She thought about it all night. 

- - - -

The light peaked through her window, slowly stirring her from her deep, dreamless sleep. No one else in the room had woken up yet and so she decided to head out early and get a jump start on some reading. She threw on her uniform and quietly made her way down into the common room. 

As she sat on the couch, a new object at one of the tables caught her attention. Timidly, she tiptoed over to the table to find a single rose laying on the warm wooden surface. A small piece of parchment was attached. She picked it up, inspecting it closely, blinking several times to ensure she was in fact, not dreaming.

Just let me prove it to you. 

-DM

She put the rose into her bag, careful not to scrunch it up and sighed before exiting the common room in pursuit of the library.