#rosie is a great professor & her students would die for her.

[rosieoctavius]

rosie teaches a few classes part-time at college ( aside from being otto's assistant ) and is well loved by her students. the passion for her own subject ( literature, specifically poetry ) is very contagious and she has a sway over her students with the way she teaches. her classes are always full in a matter of seconds.

don't be mistaken into thinking she's too lax, though. she requires her students to do their reading & will notice when they have not. her exams are no joke but not absolute hell either.

on top she's a very reasonable professor & has no trouble with extending deadlines when valid reasons are provided or if any other troubles arise. she even offers tutoring as well when it comes to literature in general.

it is also very well known on campus how utterly besotted professor ashworth-octavius is with her husband, as otto has been around to pick her up for lunch etc.

[lordofwaffless]

Three: Maths

“Hello, Stewart.” The somewhat mocking speaker was a raven-haired boy sitting at the bench of an old-fashioned wooden desk with a sketchbook open in front of him. “Are we still meeting at the cafe this afternoon?” 

“Y-yeah,” stammered Stu. He hadn’t yet really recovered from Ezra’s teasing, and now, faced with the cause of it, was very seriously considering the possibility of his face being tomato-coloured for the rest of his life. 

“You’re bright red. Are you ok?” 

“I hit my face. On the wall. Which is why it’s red. My face is red because I hit my face on the wall, not because I’m blushing because I like you because you’re pretty,” mumbled the satyr with such impressive rapidity that it sounded more like 

“myfaceisredbecauseIhitmyfaceonthewallnotbecauseI’mblushingbecauseIlikeyoubecauseyou’rep retty.” 

The boy laughed. “I have no idea what you just said.” 

His name was Wesley, and Stu was quite stupidly smitten. 

Wesley took a second to look him over before continuing. “Cool shirt. Personally, I found the animation to be pretty mediocre, but I did like the character design, and the plot was great, especially the-” 

“I haven’t seen it.” At this point, Stu just wanted to tunnel into the ground and die. “It’s my aunt’s shirt. Most of my shirts are my aunt’s shirts, actually.” 

“Oh. Well, your aunt has good taste, then. Maybe we could-” 

“Stewart, if you would do us all the honour of sitting your little goat behind down, that would be absolutely wonderful,” interrupted the tall blonde at the front of the room. Stu turned around, shocked. “Yes, Professor Willow,” he mumbled, taking his seat with an injured expression on his rosy face. 

Wesley leaned over. “Are teachers allowed to say things like that?” 

“Witches can say anything. My aunt Ezra calls me stupid all the time,” he pouted. “I am stupid, though.” 

“You are not, you’re just exceptionally terrible at maths. At any rate, I happen to like your little goat arse,” his deskmate declared with a smirk. Any ordinary person (not that Wesley happened to be one) would have some measure of embarrassment attached to making such a

brazen statement at eight in the morning, but as the comment was aimed at Stu, I suppose he had enough embarrassment for the both of them. 

“I heard that, Mr. Clarke. If you could please refrain from hitting on your classmates until my class has concluded, that would also be extremely pleasing.” Professor Willow (surname Witch, surnames for witches being more a designation than an identifier) was an otherwise bubbly (if perhaps overly fond of the sound of her own voice) young woman. Much like Ezra, however, she was at something of a disadvantage when faced with teenagers so early in the morning. She’d been previously employed as a professor of chemistry in one of the local universities, but had been let go over circumstances relating to her habit of being excessively frank with her students.

As many of the witches she’d been teaching had had, like Prof. Willow herself, an affinity for flame, there were simply too many occasions where an inappropriate comment relating to a student’s work had led to half of the lab being set on fire. Teaching arithmetic in a high school of mostly boys and non-witches provided, at the very least, few opportunities to enrage students to the point of indeliberate magical explosions. 

“She didn’t say arse,” mumbled Stu into his bag, which was sitting open in front of him at his desk, “she said behind.” 

“Alright, students, if you would all please quickly open your textbooks to last night’s homework chapter and retrieve, from wherever they may be found, the completed problems that should be in your notebooks, I might be persuaded to end class early enough for Mr. Clarke (and anybody else who feels so inclined) to make a few more advances towards Mr. Marloweson.” 

All of the usual ooh-ing followed this statement. There was a significant increase in noise as the students dug through their bags in search of their homework. Wesley, for his part, looked as unconcerned as someone could possibly look when surrounded by people pointing and giggling at them; next to him at their desk, however, Stu’s eyes were glistening more than usual as he buried his face in his textbook and tried to hide his sniffling. 

“Hey,” said Wesley, tapping Stu on the head, before asking again, “You ok?” 

“M’fine,” was the barely intelligible response. The satyr could not for the life of him figure out why Wesley paid any attention to him. Not only was he short and trouser-averse, most people thought he was kind of a weirdo, and he was used as an example of how not to simplify an equation nearly every day in class.

“I doubt that. Well, I was going to ask you to come over sometime this week before Professor Willow made you sit down, but since that probably qualifies as ‘making advances’, I’ll have to ask you after class.” 

Stu lifted his head up from Advanced Algebra for Magic Users, vol. II to look at the boy smirking at him. The satyr’s eyebrows were raised, his cheeks retained all of their tomato-esque hue, and he looked, quite generally, like someone had just asked him to define a particularly difficult word without looking at a dictionary. “You- what?” 

Wesley laughed; it was a lovely, melodic sound which was closer to the feeling of sunlight dancing through the trees than it was to the cackle one would have expected from him. Stu was pleased to be the cause of his mirth, even though he wished people laughed at him less.“Later. Did you do the homework?” 

He blinked. “I- yes. I did the homework. I didn’t understand it, and I’m pretty sure I got all of the questions wrong, but I did do the homework.” 

“How the hell did you get into this class, anyway?” 

Stu pouted. “You sound like my aunt Ezra.” 

Wesley looked his deskmate in the eye and raised a brow. “Is she the one whose shirts you wear?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

“That’s fine then. She seems cool.” 

“She’s very cool.” 

“Are you implying that I’m cool, Stewart?” Wesley said with a smirk. 

Stu buried his head in his textbook again, which earned him another laugh. “You’re very cool,” he mumbled. 

“You’re pretty cool too, you know,” replied his deskmate. 

“Mmph.” 

“You are, although you didn’t answer my question. How did you get into this class?” Stu glared at him. Seeing as he looked like a Cabbage Patch Kid, it wasn’t a particularly effective glare. “I took two maths classes last year.” 

“How did you pass two maths classes last year?” 

“There was a lot of tutoring involved,” Stu mumbled, blushing.

“Oh, so the same way you’re passing this class, then,” said Wesley, comprehension dawning on his elvin features. He was not an elf (at least, not entirely), but he was uncommonly pretty; at least, Stu and most other people his age certainly seemed to think so, considering the way they fawned over him continuously even though he could be kind of an arse. 

“Hmph,” replied the satyr. The two boys stopped talking for a while then as the teacher’s eyes turned to glare at them. Stu found, with more than a bit of relief, that he and Ezra had gotten almost all of the questions right; the only ones he’d missed had been the ones he’d solved himself, which wasn’t great, but it was still an improvement. He was at least glad that he wouldn’t have to stay for extra lessons at the end of the week. Well, assuming he made it to the end of the week. He was feeling more hopeful than usual, though. After all, how could he not get the rest of assignments done properly when he had such a pretty tutor?

[butwhyduh]

Work Calls

Kyle Rayner x batsis!reader

Summary: their date is interrupted by what else but superhero duty. No warning. It’s fluffy.

Kyle grinned as you swung from a grappling hook across the city. There was no way he’d ever tell Batman but the man kinda went off on grappling hooks. He flew with the ring, easily keeping up with you. You gave him a glare with no heat and started to show off a little. Flipping and dipping in a way that had Kyle staying close for fear of you actually falling. On the last building, you swung low and landed on the ground, hoping you looked graceful.

“I could have given you a lift,” he said landing beside you. “But then I’d miss the show.”

You laughed. “That would have been tragic. Come on. This is my favorite coffee shop.”

The coffee shop owner with tiny purple dreads barely blinked at two masked people entering her store. The atmosphere was like a good witch’s shop in a children’s movie. People that ranged from soccer moms to witches to distinguished professors and college students sat around on mismatched chairs and bean bags. Large shelves that reached ceiling high had clear glass jars full of coffees and teas and spices. Each one was carefully labeled and organized. The counter beneath them housed multiple hot water and coffee making instruments. The whole place smelled warm. Pretty perfect for almost constantly cold Gotham.

You walked up to the counter and ordered your favorite coffee/tea. The lady behind the counter used a stool to reach in the needed jars to get what she needed for your drink. She took Kyle’s drink order next.

“Large black coffee,” he said and she started making it without hesitation but you turned to look at him.

“Really,” you said with a grin. “You even order coffee like a cop.”

“Not really. I order coffee like,” he looked around as if you didn’t already make sure you were both out of listening distance from everyone. It was cute. “My day job.”

“Which is?” You prompted. He looked around again and used his ring to make a writing pad. That’s how he was going to tell you so no one could overhear? Bruce would be proud of that level of paranoia.

“An artist,” he said drawing the cup in your hand in a rough sketch and showing you. “Usually comics. And freelance too.”

“Nice picture. That’s an interesting day job,” you said, genuinely surprised by his answer as his coffee was handed to him.

“You?”

“Philanthropy,” you answered as you pulled him to a tiny far table where no one could hear you and you had a good view of the exists. Gotham wasn’t safe, even for a vigilante and green lantern.

“That’s a job? You’re like wealthy then,” he kinda stammered. That was even cuter.

“I mean, you do know who my father is. I run a bunch of charities with his money. It’s the least I could do, you know?” You said with a shrug.

“Not really. I barely make enough to give to charity,” he said with a very awkward laugh, playing with the stem of the coffee cup. “I’m making myself look really great on this date.”

“This is a date?” You teased and his eyes widened a little and you laughed before he could start talking. “I’m just teasing. You’ll have to show me more of your work. You know, I’ve been needing a logo for a benefit coming up and I don’t really know any artists...” that was a lie but who cares?

“Really?” Kyle said taking a drink of his coffee.

“Hmm yep, but I need to know how that plain black coffee is,” you said and he smiled at you. He had a cute smile.

“It’s good. There’s this place in New York that’s better,” Kyle said and you laughed, leaning across the table a little towards him.

“I take you to the best coffee place in Gotham and you tell me that New York is better. I should leave you in one of Gotham’s streets without your ring for that,” you said and Kyle leaned more towards you. There was barely a foot between you both.

“I’d probably die. Or get poisoned. Or kidnapped for no reason. Definitely mugged,” Kyle said in a conspiring whisper. You nodded.

“Definitely mugged. You’re in that suit and kids could probably still take your wallet. Good for a lantern but you’d make a terrible bat,” you whispered back. Kyle reached a hand across the table to run his fingers across the back of yours.

“You’re really pretty. Even in a mask,” he told you and you flushed. Innuendos and playful flirting you could do all day. Outright saying what you thought was not a strong suit for you. Kinda par for the course of being raised by Batman and all. Kyle noted how flustered you looked and thought it was cute. Tough bat thrown off by one little compliment.

He held your hand in his and leaned even closer to where you were almost kissing. You couldn’t help but look at his lips. Slightly full and rosy next to his tan skin and looking soft. Just as you were about to close the distance between you both, some sort of alert system went off for him. He groaned and pulled back.

“Work calls,” he said with a grimace. “Sorry,” Kyle said handing you a green rose created by his ring.

“I know this will disappear the second you stop thinking about me,” you said.

“Then it’ll be there all day,” Kyle said with a sly grin. You smiled despite yourself. “Thanks for the coffee. Call me,” he said and numbers searing into the flower above your hand.

“Sure,” you answered, watching him go.

[fantasyandromancelover]

Candyman AU

This is a favor for someone who’s planning on writing this fic in September and I’m just helping develop hype for it by writing out the plot.

Charlie Magne is a graduate student in journalism who is constantly belittled, taken advantage of, and pushed around by a number of people in her life including her mentor Professor Pentious, her boss Katie a reporter who is the definition of yellow journalism and her perverted camera man Tom, even her fiance Seviathan Von Eldritch who's also a professor. Only her friend Vaggie treats her with any kind of respect or decency.

One day Charlie learns of several murders in downtown New Orleans and decides to do a report on them with Vaggie. They question some of the residents but the only one who seems to know anything is Anthony "Angel Dust" a private drug dealer who reveals to the ladies (In exchange for a little money of course) that the one responsible for the killings was "The Deer Demon" a blood thirsty apparition that can only be summoned by saying his name five times while playing his favorite song Come Sweet Death on the radio and once he arrives he kills those who have summoned him. Though both doubt him, Vaggie is frightened by this while Charlie is strangely intrigued. Angel then tells them to talk to local tendent Rosie Crawford because she was a neighbor to one of the victims.

They interview Rosie who's the single mother of a baby son and she tells them that she only heard the murder, that she didn't see anything. However she warns them both not to meddle in things they don't understand which makes Charlie suspect that Rosie knows more than she's letting on.

 After this Vaggie suggests that they find a different topic but Charlie remains determined and decides to try to summon the Deer Demon to prove to her scared friend and Angel that he's not real. She plays Come Sweet Death on her radio and calls out Deer Demon five times. Nothing happens thus convincing Vaggie and Angel he's not real.

But the next day when Charlie is on her way to meet Professor Pentious the Deer Demon appears, he tells her how angry and upset he is with her for trying to disprove his existence. Charlie is afraid but at the same time entranced and for some reason tearful at the sight of him. For some reason though he chooses not to kill her like he normally does with those who call his name but instead makes her faint and kills Pentious. When he confronts her again he reveals to her that her punishment will not be death but guilt as he intends to kill people in her life, telling her that they would be alive if only she had not trifled with him. At that moment Vaggie arrives to check on Charlie and the Deer Demon prepares to make her his next victim.

Charlie pleads with him to spare her and promises to do anything to make up for what she's done. He then strikes a deal with her, he tells her the reason he does not want his legend destroyed is because it's the only thing keeping him from moving on to the afterlife and he refuses to cross over until he reclaims what was stolen from him in life. So the deal is if Charlie can figure out what was stolen from him and bring it back to him then he'll ceases his blood shedding ways. But until then he will continue killing and if she fails then he will save Vaggie for last.

So Charlie starts to dig into the Deer Demon’s past to find out what he lost as one by one he murders the people she knows which is pretty much everyone who's mistreated her so far. Upon doing her research she learns of his tragic backstory.

 In life the Deer Demon a.k.a  Alastor Le Rouge was the son of a white man and a slave woman. He had an interesting talent as a hunter, this lead to him being a Taxidermist to make trophies for the highest bidder. One day he was commissioned by a very wealthy landowner to make a trophy out of a prize lion he killed in Africa, but the wealthy landowner wasn’t alone. He had a daughter the most beautiful young woman in all of New Orleans. Of course, they fell deeply in love and she became pregnant. The father executed a terrible revenge on the taxidermist, he paid a bunch of drunken hooligans to do the job. They chased him just outside of New Orleans where they pinned him down, cut off his right hand with a rusty blade, and replaced it with a deer antler. But his torment wasn’t over yet, a pack of hungry wolves came to him and tore the flesh from his bones with their sharp teeth as he bled in agony. No one came to his aid except for the young woman he loved who screamed and cried for him slowly dying while looking at her eyes. He died for love.

This causes Charlie’s fear of Alastor to slowly vanish and in it’s place feel a deep compassion for him. This allows Alastor to seduce Charlie as she finds herself becoming more and more drawn to him for reasons she cannot understand. This desire only grows as Seviathan continues to belittle her and suddenly neglects her. Leaving the Deer Demon to ensnare her insecure and under appreciated heart with sweet words of admiring her beauty and cherishing her goodness forever.

Later she learns from Angel that Rosie's son is missing and she is quick to figure out that it was Alastor who took him. She asks him about stealing the baby but he replies that he is only reclaiming what should have been his. When she questions what he means by that, he merely chuckles that she'll figure it out soon enough. She goes back to Rosie's apartment to tell her what happened and to her surprise not only does Rosie believe her but she reveals to Charlie that Alastor Le Rouge was in fact her great, great, great, great, great, great, grandfather. She shows her some old pictures of him from when he was alive along with her other ancestors and Charlie notices that the young woman he was involved with bears a striking resemblance to her.

Charlie goes to confront Alastor in his makeshift lair where she finds more pictures of the landowner’s daughter underneath a carved phrase "It was always you Charlie." She then realizes that she's the reincarnation of Alastor's lover and he appears to tell her that when she died her soul did not meet him in the afterlife so he had to sustain himself on earth until she came back to him. He tells Charlie that he cannot move on until he has the wife and child that was stolen from him in life. That he wants Charlie and his infant descendant to join him in death as a family. He tells her that he loves her, urges her to accept that she loves him, and to come with him. Charlie is horrified but can no longer deny the truth so she confesses that she loves him even after all he's done. That she loves him now as much as she did in her past life. But she refuses to die with him because she feels that she can't leave this life and that she also loves Seviathan. Alastor angrily tells her she is not happy with this life, that she's been living in denial of her misery, and that Seviathan could never truly love her. She is not convinced and pleads with him to give back Rosie's child. But he just silently vanishes.

Confused and not sure what she wants, she goes to visit Seviathan only to find him having an affair with one of his students. Charlie finally let's loose the inner rage that has been built up by the years of being pushed around and starts to wreck his apartment. He calls the police and has her committed to a psychiatric hospital. When the doctors prepare to use shock therapy on her she calls for Alastor who appears to kill the doctors and cut her restraints. She flees from the hospital with the police following her and manages to evade them by going downtown.

She hears crying coming from a junk pile and discovers that's where Alastor has hidden Rosie's son. She goes inside to retrieve him but the residents assume that she's the Deer Demon so they set fire to the junk pile. Angel, Vaggie, and Rosie realize that Charlie is in there and try desperately to stop the bonfire but no one can hear them over the cheering. With Rosie's son safe in her arms, Charlie attempts to crawl out of the burning pile but suffers many burns and can barely move. Alastor appears one last time to push Charlie out of the flames while apologizing for hurting her for all he ever wanted was to be with her again and promises to cease to exist after this. Charlie manages to reach her arms out of the pile and hand the child to Rosie but then chooses to die in the fire with her love. Vaggie and Angel frantically try to pull her back out but by the time they reach her she has already died from her severe burns.

Seviathan gets a call confirming Charlie’s death, becoming grief-stricken and guilt-ridden he listens to Charlie's favorite song on the radio and says her name five times. Charlie and Alastor's vengeful spirits both appear for one last "hunt" and kill Seviathan, leaving his body to be found by his student lover.

Afterward, Angel, Vaggie, Rosie, and the remorseful residents all pay their respects at her funeral and gratitude for riding them of the Deer Demon by helping Alastor find peace at last. When the funeral was over everybody leaves except for Vaggie who stays behind a little bit longer to say her final goodbye to her dear best friend by calling her name five times as well. Charlie’s spirit appears to her but only to say goodbye as she has now been reunited with the spirit of her long suffering lover and daughter. Vaggie then tearfully watches the family ascend into heaven together and is left with comfort.

[weighty-ghosts]

‘Lion-Hearted’

Lion-Hearted, by weightyghosts

“Minerva McGonagall was as shocked as the rest of Hogwarts when a member of the House of Black was sorted into Gryffindor, not Slytherin, for the first time in their family’s long history. When young Sirius came to her with doubts and a fear of his parents’ wrath, Minerva had to assure him of where he truly belonged.”

Rating: General

Word count: 1501

Pairing: None

Published: March 6, 2021

Warnings: Allusions to abusive family

 https://archiveofourown.org/works/29872218

   It was September 1st, 1971, and Minerva McGonagall was standing in the Great Hall, a scroll of parchment in hand, and the newest students of Hogwarts gathered in front of her, waiting to be sorted into their Houses.

She looked at the next name on her list, and called out, “Black, Sirius.”

An onyx-haired boy with steel-grey eyes, expensive robes, and perfect posture made his way through the throng of first years that quickly parted for him. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he carried himself with the air of someone born into opulence, who had been told from birth that the world was his to take.

Curiously, the closer Sirius Black got to the stool where the Sorting Hat rested, the more his arrogance seemed to slip into apprehension. He climbed the three short steps, then hesitated, his hand hovering an inch away from the Hat, before he plucked it up and placed it on his head, perching gracefully on the edge of the stool.

Minerva checked her list again, getting the next name ready on her lips, assuming the Hat was about to cry, “Slytherin!”

It did not.

Chatter had picked up in the Hall when she’d called Black’s name (it wasn’t all that exciting when you already knew where a student would go), but it started to die down as the seconds dragged on.

Minerva glanced at the Slytherin table, where they had no doubt been preparing to welcome their newest member, but heads were now turning in confusion. Bellatrix Black was leaning in to whisper something to her younger sister, Narcissa, who pursed her lips together like she’d tasted something sour. The middle sister, Andromeda, peered nervously between the two of them and their little cousin.

A minute had gone by and the entire Hall seemed to be holding their collective breath.

Minerva looked down at the boy on the stool, wondering what sort of conversation could have been going on in there, when the Hat suddenly opened the slit near it’s brim and roared-

“Gryffindor!”

Silence swept over the room. Minerva tried not to show her surprise, but she was as frozen in shock as everyone else.

Sirius slowly removed the Hat from his head, as he slid off the stool, and turned around to carefully set it down. He seemed uncertain of what to do next, and Minerva instinctively reached out to place a hand on his shoulder.

Sirius met her gaze, and for the briefest of seconds she thought she saw fear in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came. He spun around to face the rest of the school, and Minerva was filled with immense pride for his courage. She began to clap enthusiastically, the professors behind her following suit, and then all of Gryffindor stood and erupted in raucous cheers. Minerva had to suppress an eye roll as they jeered and threw smug looks towards the Slytherins on the opposite side of the room.

Sirius finally broke out into a wide grin as he sauntered over to his new House table, finding a seat in the midst of scarlet and gold.

As she continued with the ceremony, Minerva peeked back at Sirius and watched as his eyes tentatively raised to the far table, locking with the other faces that looked so much like his own. His smile faltered, then dropped altogether as the colour drained from his previously rosy cheeks.

She followed his line of sight, and a chill went down her spine. The rest of the Slytherins looked murderous enough, but something about Bellatrix and Narcissa’s expressions unnerved her; it wasn’t shock or anger that she was seeing, it was disgust. Andromeda’s face was as pale as Sirius’, though her eyes were full of pity and worry.

When Minerva glanced back at Sirius, he looked ill, with his head bowed and mouth in a thin line, gazing desolately at the empty gold plate in front of him.  

* * *

The following morning, the Great Hall was full of nervous first and second year students, anxious about being late on their first day, and keen to start the year off well. The older students would be along soon, the novelty of waking up early having worn off long ago.

Minerva had just finished breakfast when her eyes landed on the Black boy, and she was content to see that he seemed happier than yesterday, talking animatedly to his dorm-mates: Potter, Pettigrew, and Lupin. She was particularly pleased to see Sirius engaging with Remus; when she had met the young werewolf in her office last night, before bringing him to the hospital wing to meet Poppy, she’d had the impression that he planned on keeping to himself as much as possible and not making friends because of his condition. Minerva had been worried about him, but perhaps she didn’t need to be.

She smiled to herself before standing to make her way to her office to gather what she needed for the day, exiting the Great Hall as the owls flew overhead to deliver the morning post.

She’d barely had a chance to review her first lesson plan when there was a knock at her door.

“Professor McGonagall?”

“Mr. Black,” she greeted from her desk, waving Sirius inside. Her movement faltered as she took in the hollow expression on his face and the heaviness weighing down his shoulders, a stark contrast from how he’d appeared a few minutes before. “Please have a seat. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, thank you,” he replied automatically, and sat down in one of the chairs in front of her, sitting up rigidly.

“What can I help you with, then?” Minerva asked, clasping her hands on the desk.

Sirius hesitated, clenching and unclenching one of his fists, hard enough to leave imprints in his palm from his fingernails. “Professor,” he started slowly, “I was wondering… Has anyone ever switched Houses after the Sorting?”

Minerva blinked at him in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“Is it possible…for a student to switch Houses from the one they were sorted into?”

“No, Mr. Black,” she replied in a measured tone, “It is not possible and no one has ever done it before. Why do you ask?”

Sirius nodded slightly, sticking his hand in his pocket to fiddle with something that made a rustling noise.

“Are you unhappy with the Sorting Hat’s choice?” Minerva inquired, unable to hide the slight bite to her question. She hoped Sirius hadn’t come to tell her that Slytherin was somehow a better House and that’s where he wanted to be.

Sirius’ head whipped up, his eyes wide. “No, Professor!” He hastened to say, “I love being in Gryffindor!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he looked panic-stricken and guilty, like he’d said something terribly wrong.

“Mr. Black, the Hat knows a person’s innermost thoughts and wishes; it is rarely wrong.”

“But it has been wrong before?” He questioned, desperation laced into his voice.

Minerva sat back in her chair and gazed thoughtfully at the boy in front of her, wondering what had happened at breakfast to cause his distress. “Sirius,” she broached, ignoring his surprise at hearing his first name, “Did you receive a letter from your parents this morning?”

She knew straight away from his reaction that she was correct.

“They aren’t happy with me,” Sirius whispered after a moment, his eyes on his knees.

“Sirius,” she repeated, waiting until he looked up at her, “It is perfectly normal for one to diverge from their family’s House history. It was bound to happen at some point in the Black family, and I’m very glad that it was you.” Sirius bit his lip to keep it from wobbling, his eyes as big as saucers, and Minerva thought he looked years younger than the boy who had swaggered into Hogwarts only yesterday.

“I am quite proud of my House,” she continued, “and I am very proud of you for knowing where your place truly lies in this school. Gryffindor is undoubtedly lucky to have you.”

Minerva’s heart almost broke as she watched Sirius’ eyes fill with tears. He wiped furiously at them, blushing faintly.

“Now, I don’t want to hear any more talk about switching Houses. Your cousins will have me to answer to, should they cause trouble. The same goes for your parents. You and I are Gryffindors for a reason, Mr. Black; lion-hearted, courageous, daring. Don’t you ever forget that.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Sirius sniffed.

“Off you go now,” Minerva instructed with a smile, receiving a watery one in return as Sirius stood up. She watched him swiftly exit the room, and her smile faded as his steps grew fainter.

She felt a fierce wave of emotion and knew she would do everything she could to protect this child from the storm that would surely be coming for him. No Slytherin, current or former, would intimidate or bully one of her students.

Minerva braced herself for a memorable new year at Hogwarts.

*

[geminiwritten]

i like you more ; draco malfoy

fandom: hp

pairing: draco x reader

summary: you’ve been ‘seeing’ blaise (and draco isn’t too happy about it) but you’re a little distracted by someone else and it turns out blaise is gross, so draco swoops (much to your delight)

notes: my first fic! sorry if it sucks, i’m a bit out of practice, but let me know what you think!

word count: 3285 (i’m sorry)

This morning truly wasn’t unfolding in your favour. You’d slept in, you had no clean tights, your dormmate’s overweight cat, Muffin, had shredded your Potions homework, and your shoelace had dared to trip you as you scrambled out of the dungeons with only a sliver of hope that you hadn’t missed breakfast.

Though of course, you had missed it, and your rumbling stomach decided to protest about it for the whole first half of the day. Which was exactly why Hermione couldn’t concentrate on the wriggly vine in front of her that she was supposed to be letting suckle on an unusually small bottle of grey milk that definitely hadn’t come from a cow.

“Are you alright?” she asked, earning a stern glare from Professor Sprout as she tried to seize the spindly vine between her fingertips.

“Yeah,” you replied, “Sorry, I slept in and it’s been a rough morning.”

She handed you the tiny bottle of milk, silently asking you to try feeding the arrogant little plant while she scribbled a quick diagram of it onto a piece of parchment.

“Were you up all night with Blaise, huh?” she teased, smirking up at you from beneath her long lashes.

Your cheeks flushed, “No, why on Earth would you think that?”

Hermione giggled, “Apparently the two of you are a real thing now.”

The little green plant finally began suckling on the tip of the milk bottle, to which Professor Sprout offered you a commending smile.

“We are not a thing,” you said, eyes flickering toward the boy in question sitting at the other side of the greenhouse, “We’ve only been on two dates, and I’m not even sure if like him like that.”

“Well, you better tell him that,” she nudged her head in Blaise’s direction, “Because he’s been telling everyone that you’re going to the Yule Ball together.”

“Excuse me?” this time, you weren’t even the slightest bit subtle about shooting a look his way, “He hasn’t even asked me!”

Hermione did the best to stifle her laughter in the shoulder of her robe as Professor Sprout called the class to an end. A few seventh-year students filtered through the greenhouse to take the plants away and remove the equipment while everyone else scattered off toward their respective next classes.

“Hey gorgeous,” Blaise greeted, falling into step beside you on your way to Care of Magical Creatures. Hermione staggered her steps and waited until she could start walking with Cho.

You kept your eyes glued to the ground, “Blaise.”

“Do you fancy roses by any chance?” he produced a blood red rose from behind his back, “Because I nicked this one from Sprout’s desk, just for you.”

The bud of the flower looked fairly normal, but the stem was abnormally thick and dark with what looked like blisters in the place of thorns. “That’s a Blooming Akhlys; those bubbles contain poisonous gas and if you inhale enough of it, you die.”

Blaise shrieked and dropped the flower, “Gross!”

You stopped short and rolled your eyes, gathering the hem of your robe to carefully retrieve the flower, “You can’t just leave it here.”

Before he could speak, you turned sharply and hurried back toward the greenhouses. Professor Sprout was relieved to see it returned, and more than a little embarrassed about leaving it unattended on her desk. She wrote you a short letter to pardon your tardiness to your next class and sent it fluttering in the form of a small bird toward Hagrid’s hut.

You set off once again across the grassy grounds, watching your scuffed shoes one after the other until a second pair appeared beside them. You startled a little, looking up to find familiar grey eyes above a cheeky smile, “Far out, Draco, don’t sneak up on people like that.”

He chuckled, “I wasn’t sneaking, you just happen to be particularly imperceptive.”

You rolled your eyes, “Why are you late for class, anyway?”

“Flitwick kept me back,” he replied, “Just wanted to congratulate me on being the most incredible student he’s ever had.”

His grin was making you blush, so you turned your attention back to your feet as you scoffed, “You’re so full of it, Draco.”

He definitely didn’t miss the rosy colour that blossomed in your cheeks, and he felt pretty proud that it was his doing, “Maybe so, but you-”

“Y/N!” Blaise’s holler echoed from further down the hill, interrupting Draco and dissolving his once charming smirk into a disgusted sneer. “I guess I’ll see you later then,” He muttered, and before you could respond his long legs picked up their pace and left you behind.

Blaise was oblivious to the look that Draco gave him as he brushed past, but you still noticed it. “Hey,” you said, “What are you doing? You’ll be late for class.”

Blaise shrugged, “Worth it if I get to spend a little extra time with you.”

He offered his hand, at which you stared with confusion before realising that it was for you to hold. You tried to hide your surprise as you met it with your own, shuddering at the feeling of his sweaty palm.

Through the trees and into a small clearing, Hagrid was organising the class into small groups for the first project of the term. He turned to you and grinned, waving Professor Sprout’s note in the air before turning to Blaise, “An’ why might you be late, Mr. Zabini?”

It was odd to hear Hagrid speak with the slightest bit of formality.

“I was with Y/N.”

Hagrid’s brows rose, “Not accordin’ to Professor Sprout’s letter.”

Blaise looked at you with pleading eyes, and though a part of you really didn’t want to save his ass, you spoke up, “Sorry, Hagrid, Blaise had waited outside the greenhouse just to make sure I got to class okay.”

Hagrid looked between you and Blaise, his gaze falling on your interlocked hands before sighing, “Alrigh’ then, you two can join Mr. Malfoy and Miss. Parkinson.”

Your stomach sank so low you worried for a moment if it was going to fall out of your arse.

Draco was half-sitting on a huge boulder, his long arms wrapped around the furry textbook that was nestled against his chest. His green tie was loose and lopsided, allowing for a few extra shirt buttons to be undone and exposing his milky-white skin beneath. How the hell did this boy manage to constantly look like an off-duty model?

The intrusion of ghastly pink nail polish in the perfect picture that was Draco Malfoy brought your reverie to a bitter end. Pansy was huddled beside him, talking no less than a hundred miles an hour while toying flirtatiously with the lapel of his robe. With the other hand, she twirled a piece of mousy brown hair and as soon as you met her gaze, she winked.

“Well, isn’t this lucky?” Blaise spoke first, “Not often that we get grouped with everyone from the same house.”

Draco’s eyes were trained on the ground, remaining there even as Pansy moved close enough to nearly bump him off the boulder, “How exciting!”

“Great,” you said, trying to force a smile through your half-assed tone of enthusiasm.

Just as Hagrid called the class to order, Draco peered up from beneath his lashes. His eyes were soft, and you could have sworn his pink lips were pouting. You wanted to ask what was wrong but before you could, Crabbe and Goyle appeared and Draco morphed back into his usual, cocky persona.

Hagrid started excitedly explaining the aim of the group projects while the class found various rocks and trees to lean against. Around the border of the clearing was a short brick wall, on which you took a seat seconds before Draco, who decided to sit unnecessarily close. Blaise quickly occupied your other side and slung an arm around your waist. It made you stiffen, and you felt a little uncomfortable but as you put your hand down to grip the edge of the brick wall, your pinkie met another’s. Warm tingles wriggled from your little finger up your arm, lighting a warm fire on that side of your body.

You kept your hand there for the rest of the class, and to your surprise, so did Draco.

“So,” Blaise said as you began your walk back to the castle, “The Yule Ball?”

You shrugged, “What about it?”

“We’ll go together, yeah?” he didn’t seem nervous in the slightest, which kind of annoyed you.

“Is that you asking me to go with you, Blaise?”

He chuckled, “Well, obviously.”

A part of your heart ached as you replied, “Then I suppose I’ll say yes.”

“I knew you would,” he said, wrapping his arms around you and planting a sloppy kiss on your cheek. You wanted to pull away but you couldn’t bring yourself to embarrass him like that. “What do you say we go back to my dorm to celebrate, hm?”

You couldn’t hide your surprise this time, “W-What do you mean?”

“You know,” he smirked, “Practice the kind of dancing we’re going to be doing after the ball.”

Your stomach lurched and you were suddenly glad that you hadn’t had breakfast, “Um, sorry Blaise but I have to get some study done before afternoon classes.”

As you hurried away you couldn’t have cared less about what Blaise might’ve felt from your rejection. You had no idea that he was so disgusting and pushy; he’d always seemed like a good enough gentleman until now.

Once inside the castle you swept through the Great Hall to get some food before setting course for the library. You knew you could find a friend in there to help you study and you figured that it would be the least likely place for Blaise to go.

Sure enough, Hermione was nestled at a table beneath one of the tall windows. “Hey,” you said, setting your books down.

“Hey,” she perked up as soon as she saw you, “I heard Blaise finally asked you to the ball.”

You sat down and sighed, “I guess you could say that.”

“Oh, no,” she shut her book, “What happened?”

You vaguely explained what went down on the walk back from Care of Magical Creatures and watched as her face slowly morphed into an expression of disgust.

“Oh, what a vile little git!” she hissed, dampening her angry voice for the sake of the library, “How dare he even suggest something like that, you’ve hardly been on any real dates let alone decided if you even want to be a couple!”

Tears threatened to fall, but you blinked them back and chalked the emotion up to how exhausting your morning had been. “I don’t know,” you toyed with cap of Hermione’s ink pot, “I want to like him, but something just doesn’t feel right.”

Something being Draco, of course.

“It’ll be okay,” she said as she packed her things back into her bookbag, “Just remember who you are and don’t let anyone tell you what decisions to make.”

Her smile was warm and for the second time that day, you felt comfort overwhelm the uneasiness that Blaise had bled into your body. “Thanks, ‘mione.”

She bid you goodbye to go meet Harry and Ron for lunch, so you opened your Herbology textbook and started idly flipping through pages.

For some reason – though you knew exactly what reason, you just chose to ignore it – you couldn’t get Draco’s soft, grey eyes out of your head. You’d always been good friends with him, not too close but definitely more than acquaintances, and you’d always had a crush on him, but recently it’s felt different.

About a month ago when Blaise first asked you out, you were ecstatic. Your crush on Draco started to dwindle and you found a new hope for love in the form of Blaise’s plentiful compliments and warm brown eyes. Though it all started feeling strange when Draco seemed to vanish from your day-to-day life. It hurt, actually; you never wanted to lose him, and he was still an important person in your life, but week by week he floated further away. You’d hardly seen him until he surprised you today outside of the greenhouses.

“Seat taken?” a familiar voice asked, startling you.

The devil himself stood beside you, grey eyes on full effect with the usual smirk quirking the corner of his pink lips.

“Um, no, y-you can sit,” you wanted to kick yourself as you tripped over your own words, hearing him chuckle softly as he took the seat.

He opened his Herbology textbook and laid out a fresh piece of parchment, “So- uh, I heard that you’re going with Blaise to the Yule Ball.”

Once again, your stomach sank, “Um, yeah, I am.”

“You don’t sound too excited about it?” the little crease between his brows was almost laughably adorable.

“Oh, I am, but you know,” you shrugged, “Blaise doesn’t want to make it a big deal.”

Draco had to suppress his smile, because he knew you weren’t excited about going with Blaise and that gave him an inkling of hope. “Oh, okay, that makes sense.”

A beat of silence swept over the two of you before you spoke again, “Who are you going with?”

“Where?”

“The ball?”

His heart skipped, “Um, I haven’t asked anyone yet.”

“Oh,” you were rather happy with that response, because you knew that the alternative answer would have enraged the green-eyed monster that lived in your belly.

An easy silence settled once again, only interrupted by the intermittent scratching of quill on paper or the turn of a page.

Slowly, Draco let his legs relax and the one closest to you bumped your bare knee. “What happened to your uniform today, hm?” he teased.

You blushed, “I didn’t have any clean tights.”

“And what about your tie?”

You gasped, fearing you’d forgotten it until you felt the silky material beneath your fingertips. You frowned, “I didn’t forget it.”

“No,” he chuckled, “But you clearly don’t know how to tie it properly.”

“You ought to talk,” you scoffed.

He rolled his eyes as he swivelled sideways in his seat, leaning dangerously close and bringing his slender fingers up to the lazy knot at your collarbone. Your breath hitched and got stuck in your throat, making a soft noise that brought a cheeky grin to his lips.

He wasn’t close enough, though. The smell of peppermint and fresh linen numbed your senses; you could feel yourself falling toward him but didn’t have the strength to stop. His fingers worked effortlessly on the tie around your neck despite his eyes staying locked on yours, hope filling them as he let his gaze stray toward your lips.

The unexpected sound of a book falling on the floor scared the both of you, making you jump apart and turn toward the aisle of books on the far side of the window. Then you heard a giggle and a grunt.

“What the hell?” Draco stood and strode over to see the other side of the stack, though he regretted it almost instantly.

You followed him, “What is- Oh.”

Between the bookshelves was a pair of dishevelled Slytherins. Blaise was struggling to pull his trousers back up to his hips while Pansy didn’t seem too concerned about her open blouse that exposed her lacy bra to the whole library.

“Y/N, I-”

“Um, no,” you raised your hand to silence him, “I don’t really care about an explanation.”

“But, Y/N, I swear-”

“Blaise,” you stepped back as he stepped forward, “I really don’t give a fuck.”

Draco snickered and Pansy looked utterly offended, finally deciding to button her shirt up. You turned sharply and grabbed the sleeve of Draco’s robe, tugging him alongside you as you left the stacks and hurriedly collected your belongings from the table. Once you slung your bookbag over your shoulder, the two of you left the library.

You sighed, feeling a strange sense of relief, “I honestly thought that the last place I would run into Blaise would be the library.”

Draco chuckled softly, “He frequents it more than you’d think.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he said quickly, “That was really insensitive.”

“You definitely don’t have to be sorry, Draco,” you stopped at the top of the stairs that led down toward the dungeons, “I didn’t really like him anyway.”

Draco stopped only a step lower than you, making him just about the same height, “Really?”

“Yeah, he’s a bit of a jerk.”

Draco chuckled, “More than a bit.”

“Do you think Hagrid will let us change groups for our Care of Magical Creatures project?” you wondered aloud.

“I bloody hope so,” Draco mumbled.

A short moment of silence washed over you before you spoke again, “So,” you tugged on your half-knotted tie, “Would you mind fixing this before class, because I’ve already lost my homework and I don’t want to give Snape another reason to give me detention.”

The corridors were just about empty. Most students were still at lunch or studying for the remainder of the midday break; it was just you and Draco.

“Oh, of course,” he dropped his bookbag by his foot and started untangling your tie.

Once again he was close enough to completely overwhelm your senses, and you simply couldn’t stop yourself from speaking, “Hey Draco, since I don’t have a date and you don’t have a date, do you want to go to the Yule Ball alone together?”

Shades of pink flooded his pale cheeks, “Alone together?”

His eyes were focused on your tie while yours watched his tongue dart across his bottom lip. You swallowed thickly and nodded, “Yeah, alone together.”

Finally, he looked up, “Well, why don’t we just go together?”

Your heart skipped and you could feel the heat rushing from your neck to the tips of your ears. You couldn’t help but giggle, “Did Draco Malfoy just ask me out?”

He nodded, revelling in the soft sound of your laughter, “Is that a yes?”

“Definitely.”

Tightening his grip on the knot he’d just created, he pulled you close and pressed his lips to yours. Warmth and electricity spread through you, making your legs so numb you were worried you’d collapse, but all too soon, he pulled away.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he said, chuckling quietly to himself.

You rolled your eyes, “Trust me, I do.”

He couldn’t help feeling giddy when you pecked his lips again. You laced your fingers with his and began moving down the stairs, but he tugged on your arm to stop you. “What if we don’t go to Potions?”

“Why?” you frowned.

“I’m just thinking, since you don’t have your homework and I would much rather not have this moment ruined by Snape, maybe we could just… go for a walk?”

“A walk?” you echoed, “Draco, there are many things I would rather be doing instead of Potions class, but a walk is hardly near the top of that list.”

“There’s a list?” he asked, smirking.

You nodded, “And it’s very long, so we’d better get started.”

The two of you began walking away from the dungeons. “Should we start with number one, then?” he offered.

“Hm, maybe not,” you replied, “I think we should save number one for a special night when no one will bother us.”

The red in your cheeks was enough to give your thoughts away, and Draco was almost embarrassed about how fast his heart began to race.

“I like that idea,” he said, pulling you closer and planting a kiss on your forehead.

You giggled, “I like you.”

“I like you more.”

END.

[artificialqueens]

Extra Credit: Part 1 (Shalaska) - Rosie

A/N: Dedicated to @alaskasthighs’ blog and that one anon’s ask that inspired me to write a three parter!

Summary: University professor Sharon Needles hooks up with a slamming hot blonde at a bar who may or may not be one of her students. 4.3k words.

Tilting her head back and holding the glass to her lips, Sharon drained the final drop of her beer. She placed the glass back onto the counter, motioning to the bartender for another and ignoring the fact that the room was slightly spinning.

She exhaled deeply. Just one day of the semester was done and dusted, and yet here she was again; at the bar, PBR in hand, her entire career on her mind.

She knew she was being dramatic. It was just post holiday blues. But as she spoke in front of her new cohort of students this morning, presenting the same lecture material as previous years, Sharon couldn’t help but wonder – was this all there was?

A feeling of guilt washed over her at the ungrateful thought. She loved her career, and she had earned her place there. After working her ass off for years in high school, she topped her grade and became the first in her family to get into university. She worked ten times harder there and graduated with Distinction before walking into a full time position at a marketing firm, a rarity to end up with a job in her chosen field.

After years of experience, Sharon had decided to go back to university, adding to her qualifications before becoming a Senior Marketing Lecturer. She had a solid career, a gorgeous office, an even more beautiful apartment, friends, family.

So what was with the constant feeling of emptiness?

Maybe she was stagnant and needed to move up the career ladder, but she was already a Senior Lecturer. In her business faculty, Senior Public Relations Lecturer Bianca Del Rio was also the faculty coordinator and Chad Michaels was the Executive Dean. One of them would have to die before Sharon could move up the ranks. While it could be argued Michaels wasn’t far off, Sharon knew a promotion wasn’t coming anytime soon.

She sipped her PBR, the familiar taste a small comfort as she sat alone in the bar. She had stumbled upon the place almost a year ago and kicked herself for not discovering it sooner. Living close to campus meant the usual places were more often than not packed with students.

But this little nondescript bar with its authentic ambience, mood lighting and pockets of seating areas had drawn Sharon here time and time again. Plus, it wasn’t full of overly energetic university students bragging about how cool they were for not being at a normal club.

The door of the bar opened. Sharon raised her gaze from the glass before her to the mirrored splash back of the bar, her mouth parting at the sight of the blonde haired woman who had just entered.

*

Alaska walked across the bar and took a seat, motioning to the bartender who promptly took her order.

With her cocktail before her, Alaska stirred the straw around her beverage, the thoughts in her mind swirling in the same fashion.

She had only finished the first day of the new semester, but already the expected career crisis she had ignored all break was in full swing.

She had to bite her tongue and swallow the lump in her throat this morning when Courtney gushed about how amazing the marketing internship she completed during the break was.

Courtney meant well, but when she turned to Alaska and asked how her break was, Alaska now wondered what would have happened if she said the truth – I did fuck all in my break and now we’re in our final year and I have no experience to prepare me for getting a job in a career I’m not even sure I want to pursue.

“Great!” Alaska had said, thankful the lecturer had started their class so she didn’t have to know more about how Courtney had gained ‘valuable insight’ by ‘networking’ with ‘industry professionals’.

And that was when she saw her, standing at the front of the class with her silvery blonde hair and her dark lipstick framing her perfect teeth.  

Alaska’s professor was an actual goddess.

Alaska was both enthralled in what she was saying and barely took any notes, completely distracted by the sheer beauty and charisma of her professor.

She was immediately a woman Alaska idolised: intelligent, savvy, engaging, funny, understanding, stylish, fucking gorgeous.

For the first time in a long time, Alaska saw a flicker of hope in her degree. If people like Professor Sharon Needles were drawn to the same field of work, than maybe she was heading in the right direction.

But the flicker of hope soon extinguished when she accepted her professor wasn’t a sign to keep going, but just another one of Alaska’s crushes.

Alaska brought her pink cocktail to her lips and took a sip from the black straw before someone tapped her on the shoulder.

She turned around, the glass almost slipping from her grasp as she saw who it was.

“Hey,” said the woman, “can I buy you another drink? You’re almost dry.”

It was her professor, Sharon Needles.

Sharon Needles, the woman who had given the lecture this morning, the woman who Alaska idolised at first sight, was now standing in front of Alaska, offering to buy her a drink.

Sharon Needles, her lecturer, was hitting on her.

With her standing so close, Alaska took in how perfect Sharon’s makeup was. As she breathed in, she caught a hint of Sharon’s perfume. Her heart thudded in her chest and her walls instinctively clenched.  

Alaska’s brain finally got the message to reply, and she nodded her head ever so slightly, her lips parted and her eyes locked with Sharon’s.

“Can I get two more?” Sharon asked the bartender, who started concocting more of the pink cocktail Alaska had finished. “Mind if I sit?”

Alaska nodded, almost too eagerly at first, before she finally managed to become verbal.

“Sure, yeah of course,” she said. The situation didn’t seem real.

But it was real. Sharon was now sitting next to her at the bar, in the same dress she had worn this morning. Tight, black, long sleeved, plunging v-neck. Her silhouette had been burned into Alaska’s mind.

Although, surely Alaska would have remembered if Sharon had this amount of cleavage out in the lecture hall this morning. She must have adjusted her dress, and the thought of it made Alaska squeeze her thighs together.

“I’m Sharon, by the way. What’s your name?” Sharon said, and Alaska smiled politely and nodded, as if this was brand new information.

In reality, her mind was on fire as Sharon confirmed that indeed yes; this was her professor, Sharon fucking Needles, from this morning.

“My name’s yours, what’s Alask- I mean, fuck,” Alaska started, stopping herself too late.

Sharon’s eyes crinkled as she laughed, and seeing her perfect teeth on full display so close up made Alaska’s heart race.

“I’m Alaska,” she finally managed out. Sharon smiled again.

“That’s a pretty name,” she said.

As she spoke, Alaska felt Sharon’s breath dance across her skin, and it was only then she realised how close they were sitting, and how they had both leaned into each other as they talked.

Then Alaska realised the situation as a whole. Sharon was her professor. Alaska was her student. Alaska knew this – but Sharon didn’t. Was she meant to tell her? Was she meant to keep this going? Up until this morning it would have been different, but was there a boundary now?

Their drinks arrived and Sharon pulled away, only to pick hers up and clink it against Alaska’s.

“Cheers,” she said, a small twinkle in her eye as she looked at the other blonde.

That single gesture made up Alaska’s mind for her.

The night was a swift fall down the rabbit hole from there. The conversation flowed from one topic to another, all of Alaska’s nerves dissipating as she relaxed in Sharon’s presence.

There was only one moment where Alaska almost stumbled.

“I’m in marketing,” Sharon had said when Alaska asked her what she did for work.

How conveniently vague, Alaska thought as she smiled into her cocktail.

“What about you?” Sharon had asked her back.

“I’m a st-“ Alaska stopped, quickly coughing to cover for herself. “I’m, a hairdresser.”

Courtney had always wanted to be a hairdresser when they were in high school. She could adopt her best friends old aspiration for the night.

“I’ll get your advice then,” Sharon had said, fooled by Alaska’s fake career. “Should I stay this colour? Or go more blonde?”

“No! Keep it, it’s gorgeous,” Alaska said earnestly. She had been admiring Sharon’s hair all night. It was long, framed her face beautifully and had been styled into soft curls that had fallen throughout the day.

With her head still in her thoughts, Alaska reached out and ran her fingers through the ends of Sharon’s soft hair.

Sharon stared at her. Alaska ripped her hand away.

“But you’re so beautiful that you’d look amazing in any shade, you know? So it’s up to you,” Alaska said quickly.

A smile played on Sharon’s lips as she leaned towards Alaska.

“I think I’ll keep it this colour then,” she said before she placed her hand on Alaska’s knee and slid it a small way up her thigh.

Alaska’s breath hitched ever so slightly through her parted lips and her chest gently rose, her heart now beating so hard she feared Sharon could hear it.

Her eyes trailed from Sharon’s cleavage up to her lips before meeting her eyes. Then they both leaned in, their lips met and Alaska’s mind exploded as she felt the warmth of Sharon’s mouth on hers.

Their lips moved together effortlessly. Alaska’s fingers automatically brushed against Sharon’s defined jaw. She wanted to rise off her stool, hitch up her tight skirt and straddle Sharon’s lap right there at the bar.

As if almost reading her mind, the older woman pulled away before taking Alaska’s hand.  

And then they were walking through the dimly lit bar, hurrying down a narrow corridor and into another room. Sharon pulled her into the empty stall at the far end of the bar’s bathroom, locking the door behind them before pushing Alaska up against the tiled wall.

Her lips were immediately back on Alaska’s and her hands captured either side of the other blonde’s face, holding her in place and being fully in control.  

Alaska’s hands found their way to Sharon’s waist, sliding up her sides before cupping and squeezing her breasts.

Sharon moaned long and low into their kiss, and the sound made Alaska throb. She wanted to make Sharon moan all night.

Sharon began to leave a trail of kisses on Alaska’s neck, distracting her while her hands snaked down and pulled up the hem of her tight black skirt. Alaska gasped at the rough action as her soft, slender thighs were suddenly exposed.

Sharon kneeled down, her mouth practically salivating as she became eye level to Alaska’s crotch, her lacey white thong the only thing separating them.

Alaska instantly spread her thighs, her fingers intertwining in Sharon’s hair as she bit her lip and pulled her closer.

Sharon leaned forward at a painstakingly slow rate, her eyes locked with Alaska’s as her tongue gradually moved out between her parted lips. She flattened her tongue before licking a long, leisurely stroke up Alaska’s clothed pussy.

“Ah, fuck,” Alaska’s legs almost buckled, and it was ridiculous because they had only just started and she was still wearing underwear but Sharon’s breath was just so hot against her pulsing skin. Sharon continued, the pretty white lace damp from her tongue and Alaska’s wetness.

“May I?” Sharon asked, her fingers already hooking around the thin straps of the thong near the other blonde’s hips. Alaska nodded feverishly, and a small moan escaped Sharon’s lips when the white material clung to Alaska’s soaked folds for a moment as she pulled it down passed her knees.

And then Sharon’s tongue and lips were on her skin, her nose pressed up against her neatly trimmed hair and Alaska was left wondering just how many patrons in the bar heard her scream when Sharon buried herself between her thighs.

All notions of teasing were gone. Sharon’s tongue was hot and slick against her wet folds and she moaned around the bud above Alaska’s entrance, the vibrations making Alaska’s eyes roll back in her head. Her fingers tangled in the other blonde’s hair and her hips thrusted forward until she was grinding herself against Sharon.

She whimpered when Sharon pulled away, but gasped when she slid a finger inside, which was almost instantly joined by another. Sharon curled her fingers forward, hitting the spot that made Alaska’s legs almost give out as she withered against the tiled bathroom wall. With her fingers still working Alaska, Sharon stood up and kissed her, her lips slick with the taste of the other girl.

“Can you taste that?” Sharon asked, her voice raspy. “You taste so good baby.”

Alaska’s response was cut off by a strangled moan as Sharon’s thumb started to rub her sensitive nub. She pulled Sharon in for a kiss, and everything was heightened as her eyes fluttered shut.

All she could hear was the muffled thumping of the bar music, all she could feel was Sharon’s tongue in her mouth and her fingers inside her. Alaska reveled at the thought of someone seeing them, throwing open the bathroom stall door and seeing her naked, parted thighs, with Sharon’s hand between them and their mouths connected.

She imagined someone from university seeing them. Other students, other staff.

Her parents.

And finally Alaska came, her slick walls spasming and clenching around Sharon’s fingers while her legs shook and tears prickled in her eyes as the moment completely overwhelmed her.

“That’s right, come for me,” Sharon whispered hotly against Alaska’s ear as her fingers worked her through her orgasm, her other arm wrapped firmly around the younger girl’s slim waist, holding her shuddering frame against her body.

Sharon’s thumb continued to rub Alaska’s oversensitive bud, which caused jolts of pleasure to ripple through her veins even as her climax faded.

Alaska’s lips found Sharon’s and her limbs felt like they were practically melting as she relaxed into the older woman’s embrace. Her mind was cloudy and warm, but she was instantly alert at Sharon’s words.

“Let’s go back to mine.”

*

They stumbled through Sharon’s apartment in the dark, a jumble of blonde, tipsiness, heels and lust.

It was a flurry of hands grasping at zippers and tugging down skirts before they were naked and rolling on Sharon’s expensive white sheets. Alaska found herself on top and she cupped Sharon’s breasts in her hands before leaning down to suck on her right nipple.

Sharon’s back arched up against the bed as she gasped, and she wondered why she rarely brought people home if this was what it was like. But then she realised this was Alaska, and not everyone was Alaska and not everyone made her feel like this.

Alaska moved down Sharon’s body, planting kisses on her ribs and stomach and just above her pussy before ghosting over that area completely and instead slowly kissing her inner thighs. Her long, straight blonde hair tickled Sharon’s naked body, and Sharon parted her thighs wider as Alaska settled between them.

She thrusted up at Alaska, who smiled and teased her by pushing down on her thighs to spread her wider.

“Look at you, all spread out for me, so wet for me,” Alaska said as her lips lightly kissed Sharon’s inner thighs. Sharon propped herself up on her elbows and bit her bottom lip. She wasn’t accustomed to being submissive, to having to wait and beg and be teased.

“Tell me what you want,” Alaska asked softly, her mouth dangerously close to Sharon’s crotch but not close enough.

Sharon threw her head back, laughing and whining and failing to thrust her hips up under Alaska’s hold.

She looked Alaska dead in the eyes, her blonde hair a mess around her and her pale skin glowing in the dim lighting.

“I want you to fuck my pussy,” Sharon whispered, and Alaska saw her clench at her own words.

Alaska didn’t know where this dominant role came from within her, or why Sharon brought it out in her. But she needed Sharon to feel as good as Sharon made her feel in the bathroom earlier.

“Say please,” Alaska said, knowing it would tip Sharon over the edge.

It did.

“Fuck, please,” Sharon begged, her body withering with lust and anticipation, “fuck my pussy Alaska, please.”

Alaska finally gave in and leaned down, her tongue licking over and between Sharon’s drenched folds.

Sharon’s moans echoed around her bedroom and throughout her apartment as her hands grasped at the white bed sheets.

Alaska wrapped her lips around Sharon’s throbbing clit, showering her in a mix of sucking and teeth grazing and moaning. She felt a hand run through her hair and was pushed towards Sharon even more, the other woman pulling her closer and grinding into her touch.

Alaska matched her rhythm, her mouth and chin soaked and she moved herself against Sharon.

“Ah, fuck, right, there,” Sharon gasped, holding Alaska close as her toes curled and her orgasm shuddered through her body. She came, and what Alaska didn’t catch in her mouth dripped down her neck.

“Fuck,” Sharon gasped, her breathing ragged and her heart racing. She moved to pull Alaska up, but Alaska wasn’t finished. She leaned down once more, her mouth on Sharon to again suck, lick and moan against the soft, sensitive flesh.

Sharon squeezed her eyes shut, every sensation heightened as Alaska continued.

“Ah, so good, so good baby,” Sharon babbled, her hairline damp and chest heaving as the familiar, hot feeling yet again coiled itself in her stomach.

Alaska’s right hand moved from massaging Sharon’s thigh to snaking between her legs before one finger slid into Sharon’s opening.

Alaska moaned around Sharon, vibrations rippling throughout the other woman’s body as she stretched her out. She added another finger, and then another, and Sharon’s slick walls grasped around Alaska’s touch.

Sharon couldn’t remember the last time someone had reduced her to the crying, desperate mess she was now, if ever. Tears built at the corners of her eyes and an incoherent stream of gasps, moans, pleas and praise poured out of her mouth. Her whole body vibrated as Alaska continued to hum around her clit, her lips slick with Sharon’s wetness as her fingers expertly thrusted in and out of her opening.

Sharon felt herself slipping away, her mind fogging up as the sensations of the moment overpowered her. She closed her eyes, and for a moment the world was just her and Alaska.

And suddenly she was gone, climaxing yet again under Alaska’s touch, her walls spasming and her nerves going into overdrive as she completely unraveled.  

When she was finally coming down from her high, Alaska was making her way up her body, kissing every part of Sharon she could reach as she climbed over her.

Alaska leaned down and her lips met Sharon’s. Alaska was so distracted she didn’t realise Sharon rolled them over so she was on top, Alaska now the one pinned to the bed.

No words were said as Sharon parted her thighs and settled herself down between Alaska’s spread legs. Their limbs interlocked, and then Sharon was rolling her hips, grinding herself down onto Alaska, their swollen folds rubbing against each other and their wetness mixing.

Alaska almost came at the sight of Sharon, whose eyes fluttered shut as she grinded herself down on Alaska, her plump lips parted as she lost herself in the sensation.

Alaska’s breath hitched, and Sharon opened her eyes before moving to lean over her. She grabbed Alaska’s hand and their fingers intertwined. Leaning down, she captured Alaska’s lips between her own. It was a sweet gesture, and Alaska squeezed her hand as Sharon picked up the pace, her hips rolling faster as she grinded down harder into Alaska.

Alaska thrusted her hips up and they instantly fell into a rhythm, as if they had done this a thousand times before, their bodies moving to the same beat.

There was a pressure building in Alaska’s abdomen as Sharon repeatedly moved herself against the right spot, her pace get faster and more frantic as time went on.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” Alaska breathed, unable to tear her eyes away from where her body met Sharon’s and how beautiful Sharon’s breasts looked when she moved and how her back was arched and all Alaska could think about in time with Sharon’s thrusts was Sharon, Sharon, Sharon.

And then her mind was blank. The only thing she was aware of was the shooting feeling of pleasure coursing throughout her body as she was finally pushed to the edge, coming apart underneath the other woman. With her head thrown back against the pillows and her eyes shut, she could only feel Sharon riding her through her orgasm.

Sharon’s movements become erratic, and then the other blonde was coming above her, squeezing Alaska’s hand as her body shuddered.

Collapsing on top of her, the last thing Sharon remembered was the taste of Alaska’s lips on hers as the steady beat of the other woman’s heart lulled her to sleep.

*

Sharon woke up to morning light flooding her bedroom as a gentle breeze blew against her white curtains. With her eyes fluttering open, the situation came into focus. While her surroundings were familiar, her state of being was completely foreign.

For the first time in years, Sharon had woken up refreshed.

Maybe refreshed was an understatement. She felt completely recharged, energized, reinvigorated.

The room looked brighter and the air seemed cleaner. Rolling onto her back, Sharon stretched her relaxed morning limbs, enjoying the satisfying burn as she woke her muscles up.

She rolled onto her other side and laid there for a moment, looking at the empty side of her spacious bed.

Then she remembered.

Alaska.

The memories of the previous night came flooding back at once. She remembered the bar, and the blonde entering. Then the conversations over pink cocktails.

Then she remembered the bathroom, and how she had sunk to her knees and pulled Alaska’s lacey white thong off, how she had held her shuddering body, how she had taken her home.

She felt herself pulse as the images of last night came back in full force. The gasps, the clutching of the sheets and the touches seemed so vivid it was like she was experiencing them for a second time.

Sharon rolled onto her stomach as she remembered how mind blowing it felt when Alaska had pushed her to the very edge, and then done it again, and again.

Where was Alaska?

Sharon glanced at both of her bedside tables, then at her floor. Alaska’s purse was gone, and so were her clothes and shoes. Sharon listened and failed to hear anyone pottering around her apartment.

There was no trace of Alaska to the point where Sharon almost thought she dreamt the whole thing. But the pleasurable ache between her thighs and the love bites scattered across her stomach told another story.

As Sharon dragged herself out of bed and started her morning, and in the process confirming Alaska wasn’t around, a thought nagged at her mind.

Alaska had left, which was fine. That was normal for young people. Alaska was younger than her, and Sharon experienced her fair share of walk’s of shame home, half dressed and filled with embarrassment and regret—

Was Alaska filled with embarrassment and regret?

Sharon shook her head slightly as she poured herself a cup of coffee, physically wanting to shake the thought away. She didn’t want to taint the reality of last night by over analysing. Alaska probably had work. When did hairdressers usually start work?

After padding around her apartment and uploading content onto the virtual classroom for her students, Sharon got ready for her afternoon lecture.

As she showered, she ghosted her fingers over her curves and imagined the touches were coming from Alaska, which wasn’t too hard.

Her good mood followed her all the way into the lecture hall later in the day. The room was buzzing and the students continued to flow in, settling in their seats and setting up the orchard of illuminated Apple laptops.

Sharon began, and after last night she felt more on top of her game than ever. As she clicked onto her third slide, the old wooden door at the back of the lecture hall creaked open.

Sharon continued as a late arrival struggled to find a spare seat to sit in. The lecture hall was packed, and out of the corner of Sharon’s eye she noticed the late student slowly making their way down the aisle.

“I know you’re probably thinking, how am I supposed to refer to all these concepts in the assignment?” Sharon asked, facing her class and seeing the late student settle into a spare seat in the front row.

“Well you’re not supposed to include all of them, just pick the two most relevant for—“

It felt like the world had tipped on its axis.

Nothing mattered anymore.

Everything left Sharon as she stared at the sight in front of her.

There sat a student, their head down and a crimson flush creeping up their neck as they stared intently at their unopened notebook, failing to meet Sharon’s eye.

It was Alaska.