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animasola86 · 11 months ago

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Peace and Comfort

Notes: This is a continuation of Scars, but can be read individually.

Pairing: Aesop Sharp x f!reader (with a face scar)

Genre: Fluff/Smut // Words: 4.5k // [READ ON AO3]

Synopsis: A much-needed massage turns into something much more sensual.

WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Size difference. Age gap. Established student/teacher relationship. Edging. Fingering. Oral sex (m!receiving). Vaginal sex.

Peace and Comfort

Your mewls rang in his ears, those needy little whimpers, so distracting he'd been reading the same sentence for the fifth time now. Licking his lips, he lowered the book and watched your small body undulating against his leg, your thighs tight around it, your arousal staining the fabric of his trousers as you kept rubbing your centre against his knee while your small hands worked their magic into the sore muscles of his thigh.

Leaning against the headboard of his bed, he inhaled deeply, his eyes roaming your naked form, taking in the concentrated look on your beautiful face, how your lips were parted and trembling, the way your small breasts were squished between your arms as you leaned onto them to massage his leg.

You were so focused, teetering on the edge for what felt like hours now, that you barely noticed when he extended his hand and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. When he cupped your cheek, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip, you finally looked up, your eyes glazed over and your vision blurred, but you still managed to smile at him.

He smiled back, in his own gruff way, as he slid his fingers into your hair and hooked them around your head, gently but firmly pulling you closer. Your rear lifted off his knee, your weight pushing into his thigh as you arched your neck until you were able to bring your face close to his. His dark eyes bored into yours, causing goosebumps to ripple over your skin.

Your hands closed around his upper thigh as you balanced yourself on it, the pressure coaxing a deep grunt to slip from his throat. You watched him closely, despite your haze attentive and careful, you wanted to help ease his pain, not cause him more. He admired your aptitude, his heart swelling at your efforts to please him. When he pulled you closer, his nose nuzzled yours before you felt his hot breath on your tingling lips.

He saw you licking them, and the motion was enough for him to close the distance and claim your pretty mouth for a heated kiss. His hold on your hair tightened when you shifted on his stiff leg, but the dull throbbing didn't stop him from closing his lips around yours hungrily.

You moaned softly into his mouth as his tongue invaded yours, quickly met by your own as he deepened the kiss with a sensual groan that made you shiver deeply. His bearded chin rubbed against the soft skin of yours, the sound even more enticing to you, enough to make your strained thighs tremble.

Eventually, he eased his grip on your head and leaned back, almost as breathless as you. You gave him another quick peck and a coy smile before you resumed your position on his leg, fingers digging into his sore muscles while his knee pressed against your warm sex. Looking at him, you started grinding on him again, the fabric of his trousers chafing your sensitive skin, but you kept going, whimpering softly.

He clenched his jaw, seeing you like that was blissful torture. If he'd been younger, he'd have you pinned under him in no time as he straddled you, before he'd plough his throbbing cock into your tight cunt. But he wasn't, he could barely move most days, yet he was grateful you indulged him like this, very grateful, so grateful his erection strained against his tight clothes.

And it wasn't as if he couldn't do anything (although he felt quite comfortable in his sitting position while you took care of him), and he wanted to reward you, so he extended his hand again and slipped it between your strained arms and right under you. You lifted your hips slightly as you watched him with a soft gasp falling from your lips.

His large hand cupped your entire mound, fingers reaching far to the cleft between your bum cheeks, palm pressed against your wet folds, and his thumb rubbed that sweet little bud with expert precision, making you keen loudly. He watched your eyes roll back as you melted into his touch, your whole weight resting on his hand as he kept caressing your heated centre.

But you grew impatient and started gyrating against his fingers, desperate for release, and he indulged you by bending his long fingers before pushing two of them against your waiting entrance. They sank into you easily, your wetness creating a deep squelching sound that made you hiss through your teeth as you dug your fingers into his thigh.

He knew some sounds embarrassed you, and he saw the blush creeping over your skin as you averted your eyes, but he kept going, moving his fingers in and out, small little thrusts that made your wet cunt sing. He felt your warmth coating his digits, and he worked them deeper, knuckle after knuckle, as deep as he could reach. You squirmed on his hand, more mewls escaping you while your walls tightened around him, and when he curled his fingers inside you, he pressed against that sweet spot with fervour, and you cried out on command, throwing your head back as you convulsed on top of his leg.

More wetness seeped onto his palm, and he kept moving his fingers in and out, curling and stretching them, even spreading them as your muscles contracted violently. Your moans were loud, and they got even louder when he moved his thumb in tantalizing circles over your clit until you were a whimpering mess, limbs twitching, body convulsing, chest heaving, small breasts bouncing as you rode out your orgasms. Plural. Because he kept going, holding you in that heightened state until his fingers started cramping.

Eventually, you collapsed against his thigh, face buried in his hip as your body spasmed, rear raised, thighs strained and twitching, your pussy fluttering around his digits. He pulled them out slowly, dragging your wetness over your skin, softly rubbing your folds. His middle finger teased your puckered hole, but only to wake you from your climax induced rigour.

A squeak escaped you as he pressed the pad of his finger against the tight ring of muscles, and you rose up, sinking your nails into his sore thigh as you looked at him darkly. He gave you a deep chuckle and withdrew his hand, dragging it over your mound up your stomach towards your breasts. He could envelop them with one hand, but he chose to extend his other hand as well, gently cupping your soft mounds, rough palms rubbing over sensitive nipples. They hardened immediately, and you mewled again.

Your breaths were still ragged, so that your chest moved against his touch in a fast rhythm, the pert little buds scraping over his calloused skin before he moved his fingers over them, squeezing them between them, rolling them between his fingertips. Your noises filled the room and his mind, fuelling the desire that was burning deep within him. While he kneaded your breasts, you kneaded his thigh, pressing your thumbs deep into the sore tissue, warming the muscles, easing the pain.

A deep sigh escaped him as he rolled his neck, relaxing under your ministrations. You watched him intently, chewing on the inside of your cheek. His hands lowered slowly, his forearms burning, and you mewled at the loss of his touch but noticed the strain on his weathered face. He rested his fingers on your waist, curling them around your curves, rough fingertips digging into your soft skin. You continued your massage, moving up and down his thigh with deliberate force, and when you reached his inner thigh you diverted your attention to something else.

Climbing off his leg, leaving behind wet fabric and burning muscles, you settled between his legs on your knees, your hands gently pushing up his untucked shirt before he felt your hands gliding over his hard stomach and up to his chest. You slid your body over his like a snake would, rolling your shoulders, extending your arms, raising your rear. Your fingers moved under his shirt until they came out at his collar, teasing at his neck, before you moved back in the same undulating motion, scraping your fingernails over his skin on the way down.

There you started fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt. But he shook his head and tilted it towards the chair next to his bed. You turned to it, holding his gaze before you looked at what he wanted to show you. His wand lay on a pile of books stacked on another pile of folded clothes. A sly smirk crept onto your full lips, and you quickly grabbed it, and with a concentrated look on your pretty face, you focused your magic and moved his wand in the pattern he'd shown you, and he felt a soft breeze, and then his clothes were gone, re-materializing inside his open wardrobe.

You leaned back with a happy smile, cradling his wand between your small fingers. “Good girl,” he said in his gruff voice and gave you a nod of approval, and you beamed at him, your cheeks flushed and your eyes twinkling.

Returning his wand to the chair, you quickly focused on his now exposed body. It had taken him a long while to be able to show himself to you fully, knowing the sight wouldn't work in his favour. But it had been different with you, you weren't repulsed by the scars and deformations of his skin, you didn't pity him, you were happy he would trust you enough to let you see him this vulnerable, as happy as he was when you had first allowed him to touch your own scar.

His hand moved up to tuck your hair back behind your ear before his thumb followed the ragged lines on your cheek up to your eyebrow. He felt you shiver under his touch, your breath quickening as you bit your lip nervously. It was a shame you felt so insecure with these lines on your face when you had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. You were beautiful, inside and out, and he never grew tired of telling you so.

It only occurred to him then that he had been quite the hypocrite, telling you you shouldn't let your scar define who you were, when he, himself, hadn't felt comfortable showing you the state of his own body. So he had decided to be open to you, because you had shown him that you could be trusted, that you wouldn't judge him. And he hadn't been wrong. When you had first seen him completely naked, you had mapped his body with your small hands, tender fingers running over scars and burns, rough edges and soft flesh, and then you had even offered to try out these massages you had read about that would ease sore muscles.

He hadn't been hopeful that your touch would suddenly heal him, but it had felt good for the moment, and he was grateful for every minute he didn't have to spend in crippling pain. And every minute spent with you was utter bliss, and he had grown so fond of you, he needed you with him whenever your or his busy schedule allowed it. He had coaxed you with the offer of helping you prepare for your NEWTs, but in reality you hadn't needed that incentive, you enjoyed being with him, helping him ease his pain, showing him how much you truly cared about him, despite all his scars and battle wounds and gruff demeanour.

You were a blessing he had not expected, and the thought of eventually letting you go when you would graduate pained him more than his blasted leg. But he forced himself not to think about that yet, forced himself to enjoy the moment while it lasted. It was all he could do anyway.

A sudden grunt escaped him when your hands closed around his hard member, dragging him out of his dark thoughts and back into the here and now, where you looked up at him from between his legs, a soft smile on your lips that lit up your entire face. His lips curled into a strained smirk, and seeing his dark expression, your own happy demeanour faltered. He hated himself for pulling you down like that sometimes, but you often assured him that he shouldn't worry so much.

As you did now as you moved your hands up his torso, grabbed his shoulders and pulled your body up until your chest pressed against his, warm skin against warm skin, your hard nipples rubbing over his coarse chest hair. Your hands found his hard face, and you cupped it gently, bringing your own closer until you were able to plant soft kisses on his cheek, humming as your lips dragged over his stubbled jaw.

He held you close, large hands on your back, pressing you to him while you felt his cock twitch against your stomach. You rubbed your cheek against his, the scraping sound of his beard against your soft skin causing goosebumps to ripple over your body. A quiet moan escaped you as you closed your eyes, leaning against him, savouring his warmth and the hardness of his body melting into yours.

His heart swelled whenever you just lay with him like this, pressed against each other, tightly embracing the other, a peaceful comfort in a world that wasn't peaceful. He never took a moment like this for granted, for he knew he didn't deserve a single second of it, he didn't deserve a beautiful girl like you, and he always wondered why you had looked at him so hopefully when you had met for the first time, why you had kept close to him, why you wanted to help him in the first place.

Why he had let you help him.

That must have been the biggest change for him. He did everything to not appear weak, despite the crippled state of his body, and he never showed weakness, not even to you, but you saw through him right away, and without communicating it, without dissecting the problem, you had just offered your assistance in the most nonchalant way possible. Not to judge him, belittle him, pity him, just to be there for him, because he had made you feel comfortable in your own skin by showing you how to wear a scar with pride and not shame.

You were still a long way away from accepting the deformation of your face fully, but you'd learned to live with it, and he had helped you understand that there was no use fighting it. And once that message had sunk into your mind, you had told him the same thing. When your fingers would trace over the various lines on his body, you would tell him how strong he was, how brave, how inspiring. And as your lips would move along those wretched scars, leaving a trail of warmth and wetness on his skin, he learned to believe what you told him.

Exhaling loudly, he held you in his strong arms, closing his eyes, trying to focus on the moment. You felt so tiny in his embrace, so fragile. Your voice was a soft breeze against his cheek as you whispered: “Are you comfortable?”

He grunted his affirmation, a deep rumble in his chest as he shifted against the pillows in his back. You pressed your lips to his for a moment, relishing in his warm touch, before you slipped from his embrace and moved down again, planting gentle kisses along his chest and on his abdomen, until you were settled between his legs again, your hands gliding along his body until they carefully picked up his heavy erection resting against his lower stomach.

He felt your small fingers closing around his girth, barely fitting around it, before you moved your hands up and down his shaft slowly, pushing his tight skin over his hardened core. Leaning back, he crossed his arms behind his head and relaxed into your expert touches. He taught you well, he could never get over how quickly you had adjusted to him, not just how to please him, how to touch him without causing more pain, but how to accommodate him despite your small frame.

You were using your entire body as you took care of his arousal, your hands squeezing and rubbing and stroking, your chest hovering over him as you worked him, the warmth of your skin adding to the sensations you created, and then you leaned down and moved your tongue along his heated flesh, circling his tip, licking along its soft edges before closing your lips around them to gently suck on it.

Deep groans slipped from his parted lips, and you looked up at him curiously, big eyes meeting his hooded gaze. You blushed under the intensity he threw at you, the hunger and desire that burned within the darkness of his eyes. Taking a deep breath, you lowered your head and parted your lips wide, trying your best to fit his tip into your small mouth. Your jaw strained but you endured, gently hollowing your cheeks to suck him in deeper. Bobbing your head a few times to coat his tip with your saliva as you pressed your tongue against it, you then leaned back and licked along his slit, tasting those drops you always seemed to enjoy so much.

He watched you through half-closed eyes, his breaths growing quicker under your ministrations. You moved your tongue along his shaft now, your hands sliding down to squeeze his base and fondle his balls, while you licked up and down the sensitive underside of his cock, feeling those bulging veins pulsing against your touch. He shivered slightly when you hummed into his skin, licking and nibbling and kissing his hot flesh with a passion he was always astounded by.

You never hesitated to touch him, to taste him, to move your hands, your tongue, your lips over his exposed skin. And he never knew how to show his appreciation for these selfless acts. All he could do was touch you back, rub his calloused fingers over your soft skin, feel every bump and hollow of your body, hoping you'd enjoy it as much as he did, and when you mewled under the pressure of his hands, he knew he was doing something right. Every sound that came out of your perfect little mouth was like a song to him, noises only he could hear, that lulled the throbbing pain inside him, that warmed his dark heart.

And when you eventually took his length deeper into your mouth, he moaned softly at the sound of the wet slurping that came from you as you bobbed your head up and down, swirling your tongue around him, sucking on him, guiding him towards your throat. You weren't always able to do that, not without gagging violently, but you were a quick learner and practice made perfect, and you were very eager to master whatever he taught you. Both inside and outside his classroom.

He felt you breathing roughly through your nose as you lowered your head further and his tip scraped against the back of your throat, pushing deeper. A shudder rushed through your tiny body, your hands tightening around his base and balls as you forced yourself not to gag, and he saw tears streaming past your lashes, but you held him there, right at the entrance to your throat until you relaxed your muscles, took a deep breath through your nose, and then descended onto him until your nose was buried in his curly hair, his balls pressed against your chin and his cock was lodged deep inside your throat.

The tight fit coaxed deep grunts out of him as he forced himself to remain still and not start jerking his hips against your face. Your tears dropped down your chin onto his hot skin, and with a deep gasp of air you leaned back and released him with a wet pop, strands of saliva connecting your lips with his stiff member. Your breaths were erratic, but it didn't stop you from diving down on him again, taking him just as deep and holding him there until he groaned and threw his head back.

You released him again, panting as you continued to stroke his wet shaft with your small hands, eager to bring him over the edge. To his own surprise, he grabbed your wrist and stopped you, and you looked up out of bloodshot eyes, your lips glistening. He motioned you to scoot back and you did, your limbs shaking from the exertion and lack of air, and he sat up more before he shifted his large body to stretch fully on the bed.

You quickly understood and crawled into his arms as he lay on his side and pulled you closer, engulfing your small frame wholly as he kissed the top of your head. Your hands found his chest as you rubbed it softly, your chin tilted up to meet his gaze. He leaned down to kiss you gently, tasting himself on your lips and inside your mouth. You were leaning into the tender but deep kiss, probably content with just lying like this with him, but then he parted from you and rolled you onto your other side until your back was pressed against his chest.

He felt you trembling when he moved one hand down your front and between your legs, and you were still wet, wet enough to create that sweet squelching sound when he sank a finger into your quivering cunt. You whimpered softly, squirming against his touch. Pushing his finger in and out slowly, he nudged your leg with his elbow and made you lift it up, before he pulled his finger out and grabbed your thigh with his large hand, holding the leg up as he positioned himself behind you, his throbbing erection slapping eagerly against your wet folds.

You inhaled sharply, your hands moving down to lather his cock with your wetness before you helped guide it to your entrance, and with a soft jerk of his hips he slipped into you, your walls clenching around him, and after a few tantalizing thrusts he managed to fit his entire length into your tight sheath, his tip firmly planted right against your cervix. He felt you tensing up against him as you adjusted to his deep intrusion, filled to the brim.

He moved his free hand under your body and down to caress your soft stomach, and he could feel his girth bulging your belly from within. Holding you pressed against his pelvis for a long moment, he kissed your shoulder until you turned your head to him and met his lips. His tongue tangled with yours in a lazy rhythm, and he felt as if he could fall asleep like this, seated deep within your tight body, lulled to sleep by your soft kisses, but he wanted to finish this for you, to give you the reward you deserved for always being there for him.

He felt his sore leg aching slightly, but the muscles were warm and soothed from your deep massage and it helped in angling it slightly as he shifted behind you. Holding your leg, he started to gently move his hips back, slipping from your warmth, your walls clinging to him needily, before he plunged back in at the same pace, slow and gentle, and he repeated that rhythm for as long as he could, or until you started moaning into his mouth, which didn't take too long.

Pressing his forehead against yours, his dark eyes looking right into your soul, he picked up the pace slightly, and you met the movement of his hips with a steady motion of your own, your combined efforts quickly creating a wet warmth within you that seeped past your connection, adding to the soft mewls you made and the deep grunts he issued, and soon the slapping of skin against skin and the wet squelching was all he heard as he pounded into you faster and harder, always deep enough to hit your cervix which made you flinch and squeak softly as your hands held onto anything they could find, his hand on your stomach, the sheets around you, your own leg as it swayed with every inwards thrust.

Your head moved away as you pressed your chin to your chest, curling in on yourself as your body started convulsing against him, and he held you close, secure, tightly in his embrace, his lips pressed to your back, his own breaths ragged and raw as your moans filled his ears like a song he could keep listening to forever. You cried out softly when you came, your walls clamping down on him hard, your body rocking against his, your wetness coating his cock as it continued to plunge in and out fast, again and again, until he felt his balls tightening as they kept slamming against your cushioned rear.

With a loud rumble from deep within his chest, he wrapped both arms around your small body and pulled you towards him as he gave you that final deep thrust that made you cry out loudly as he bruised your cervix before he coated it with his hot seed, calming the ache and painting your insides with his warmth. You whimpered and spasmed against him for a moment before you went limp in his tight embrace, your breaths loud and raw, your heart beating hard in your chest.

He stilled inside you, holding you to his chest, your limbs twitching and boneless as you slowly relaxed against him, a soft exhale falling from your trembling lips. Leaning his rough cheek against your soft shoulder, he closed his eyes, savouring the burn of his muscles and the warmth that radiated from your tiny form. When he moved his hips back eventually, he slipped effortlessly from your wet depths, coaxing a disappointed mewl out of you. He chuckled and indulged you, pressing his softened member back between your folds, pushing his seed back into you before it seeped out of your clenching hole.

The squelching sound made you shudder against his chest, but then you moaned contently when he slipped back in fully, stretching your walls despite his spent state. He noticed you clenching around him deliberately because you knew he'd become hard again if you did, but he grabbed your body and held it close to him, spooning you, his larger frame enveloping yours so much you could barely move, but he knew you didn't want to.

While your hands rested on top his bigger ones, you relaxed in his embrace, calmed by his strong arms around you, your eyes closed, your face serene, your hair deliciously dishevelled. He pressed his lips to the back of your head and breathed in your scent. Soon he closed his eyes as well, not even bothering to cover your bodies as the cold air of the room settled on your sweat slick skins. He had you to warm him, and you had him, and it was all either of you needed.

Peace and comfort.

NEXT PART: A DEMONSTRATION OF POWER AND SUPPORT

End notes: Even though nobody asked for this (because you probably all follow me for Sebastian content), I feel very inspired to write even more little adventures of Daddy Sharp and his little teacher's pet. He's grown on me, his fate (and how he handles it) is just too intriguing not to write about.

Thanks for joining me on this little detour!

[ MORE SHARP SMUT ] [ MASTERLIST ] [ AO3 ]

#aesop sharp #aesop sharp smut #aesop sharp x reader #aesop sharp x mc #reader insert #fem reader #female reader #hogwarts legacy smut #mysmut #professor sharp #professor sharp smut #professor sharp x mc #professor sharp x reader #fluff #smut #daddy sharp #professor aesop sharp

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moonmaiden1996 · 2 years ago

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Tender Loving Care

Read and Review! Requests welcome

18 plus smut

Aesop was not a lecherous man by nature; even in his youth, he was far too focused on his work as an Auror to be troubled but such frivolous things. That was until the new nurse started in the hospital wing.

It is hard to fathom how he ended up in his current situation. He blamed that cod-brained fifth year. If he hadn’t needed to save the boy, he wouldn’t have been confined to his room to recuperate with you as his devoted nurse.

‘’You don’t have to do this,’’ he gritted out, staring up at you as you ground against him.

‘’What sort of nurse would I be if I didn’t look after all the needs of my patient.’’ You sighed as you sunk at him. Hissing as you stretched around him.

Callous handheld your hip still as a grunted snarl ripped from his chest.

Merlin. He felt good.

You fluttered around him, straining to adjust to his cock. You let your head fall forward, gazing at where you were joined. The pressure was immense, and your legs shook in need to move, but the ex-aurors grip was unrelenting, holding you firmly against him.

His eyes were almost completely black, and a line of thick stubble made his pale skin look almost otherworldly; his whole body vibrated almost primally, sending a wave of pleasure jolting right through your core to that sweet spot. You cried out weakly, falling against his hairy chest.

You looked at him with pleading eyes, ‘’Move…. please…you feel so good.” You whimpered as your rocked gently into him.

A feral growl rumbled across his chest as his rough hands travelled across your skin, wrapping around your waist and locking you against his chest as he rutted up. Pulling out steadily, his cock dragged against your sensitive walls before his thick member slammed back into you with an obscene sound of wetness ringing out through the room.

A jagged silent scream ripped from your throat as you stared wide-eyed at the potion’s master.

‘’I am going to ruin you.’’ He growled, rutting back into you.

#hogwarts legacy #aesop sharp #aesop sharp x reader #professor sharp #professor sharp x reader

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snootysnoots · 2 years ago

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-Flowers For My One & Only (IDV x Reader)-

-Luca Balsa-

Giving Luca flowers would make him flustered. He never really received flowers before and getting them from you made him so happy. He had such a silly smile on his face.

He made sure to put them in a vase with water. And each time he stared at the flowers, he couldn’t help but smile.

He made sure to get you something too, whether it was a batch of flowers or some jewelry.

-Aesop Carl-

Giving Aesop flowers left him confused. To him, flowers were given to those who were deceased or their family. So he was very confused when given the flowers. Aesop knew he hadn't lost anyone recently and knew he wasn't dead, so what were these for?

After you told him why you gave him the flowers, he kind of just paused and stared. He was grateful but unsure of what to do, he never really received a gift before, or flowers for that matter.

But that didn't stop him from taking care of the flowers until death made them depart. He assembled a funeral for them when they fully died.

-Mike Morton-

He was jumping up and down when you gave them to him, he just couldn't stop smiling. He kissed you all over your face and said thank you after each kiss.

He made sure to give you flowers as well, he wanted his significant other to feel appreciated too. He probably made you a flower crown.

If he had the skin "Cunning" on, he probably took his top hat off and reached inside to give you a batch of colorful flowers. He has been waiting for this moment, the flowers were starting to wither so you knew he has been waiting to give you them.

-”Nightmare”-

He low-key would try to eat them. You had to pull the flowers away from him and explain to him that they are a gift.

He was grateful, but he probably still tried to eat them. It took a few more tries before he stopped trying to eat them. You had to wrestle the big bitch to make him stop.

He did put them in a vase...but he probably didn't put water in it so the flowers died pretty fast.

He did write you a poem though as a form of thank you, he even nuzzled with you.

It has been so long since I’ve posted and I’ve been meaning to write for my boys. Originally I wasn’t gonna add “Nightmare” or Mike, but I thought it would be funny and I had ideas so I went for it. Have a nice day/night/afternoon!

#identity v luca x reader #luca balsa x reader #identity v prisoner x reader #prisoner x reader #aesop carl x reader #nightmare x reader #x reader #acrobat x reader #mike morton x reader

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aesopsharpmybeloved · 1 year ago

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In the Light of Care

The Aftermath of In The Shadow Of the Study. Aesop Sharp finds the new fifth-year half unconscious in the Slytherin dungeons following an adventure gone wrong.

Shout out to my ever-fabulous partner in crime @tea-withjamandbread

I have a love-hate relationship with Sebastian, on one hand, I love him, on the other, he is an irresponsible blinded hot-headed dumbass.

And then I have a love-love relationship with Aesop, who despite knowing you are going to give him a heart attack one of these days is never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you.

In the Light of Care (5.7k words)

tw: descriptions of pain, vomiting

You felt godawful all over. Ominis and Sebastian left you alone a while ago. You put up a brave face for them, but truth be told, you've never felt this terrible before. Your vision was blurry and all of your muscles were still cramping up with a pain that burned so much, you were certain it was burning your veins, dissolving you from the inside like acid. It was only when you were alone in that blasted corridor that you allowed yourself to fall down onto your bum, tears escaping your eyes and falling down freely. You tried to stretch as if that would help. You felt your body was inflamed, fever settling into your skin. You were sweating like mad and it took everything within you not to scream, not to sob, not to let your dinner travel up from your stomach and out of your mouth.

You were glad not to have learned the Cruciatus curse when Sebastian offered to teach you. However, you supposed, that even if you had learnt it, you would never ever use it. Even though the poachers, the goblins, and the dark wizards you've often engaged in combat were absolute scum, nobody deserved to have this cast on them. It was terribly unfair, terribly cruel. This wasn't offence-defence, it wasn't about prowess, or skill, or just plain luck. It was terror. There wasn't a right side of the wand to be on when it came to this. Both sides were horrible.

You curled in onto yourself. Even after you broke down and onto your knees before the boys, Sebastian seemed to disregard it, being only interested in that blasted scriptorium. He was your friend and you loved him, but at that moment... At that moment you hated him, at that moment he was your tormentor. And he didn't even feel bad about it. You wanted to shake his stupid head, to scream at him, to tell him that he was going to find nothing in the scriptorium but more dark magic, more pain. Salazar Slytherin was a vain and cruel man, why on earth would he have made a cure for something, when it was only agony he wanted to create? It was pointless, and foolish and dangerous to have come here and you regretted it dearly as you tried to bury your pain, keep your tears contained.

Yet, at the same time, you were glad that you went with them. Because if you hadn't, either Ominis or Sebastian would be forced to cast the curse on one another. And Ominis wouldn't, you knew now. And Merlin knows what would've happened to their friendship then if Ominis' best friend cast that curse on him, the very curse because of which he now had no family. So you chose to power through it, you put up a brave face.

It almost crumbled immediately after. Sebastian looked like a child on Christmas, looking at everything in the scriptorium, while you were still cowering on the floor. A warm hand landed on your shoulder. On any other occasion, you might have welcomed it, but now the hand burned you, made the already aching muscles hurt even more, and you winced. "Are you alright?" Ominis asked, sounding just as close to crying as you were. And though you were still in agony, you did what felt like an Herculean feat, and put your own hand on top of his and squeezed. "Alright," you said simply. You really should stop lying to your friends.

You felt horrible for making Ominis go through this. When he asked the two of you to swear to never ever engage with dark magic after that endeavour was done, you agreed with him wholeheartedly. Mentally, that is, as you couldn't speak by then. You knew you had to apologise to him later, make it up to him.

You wondered who would lose first, your consciousness or your stomach. What were you to do? You didn't bring any Wiggenweld potion with you, because you didn't think you might need it. You envied the boys now for being Slytherins, the comfort of their common room so close, while yours was so many flights of stairs away. There was no way you'd be able to crawl all the way there. There was no way you'd be able to crawl anywhere, not Ravenclaw Tower, not the Room of Requirement, not the Hospital wing. Now that you thought of it, you really shouldn't go to the Hospital wing anyway, the questions Nurse Blainey would have would only get yourself and your friends in more trouble.

As you sat and thought, your stomach finally lost its battle. You keeled over and promptly emptied your stomach on the stony floor. You felt the bile burn your throat, your eyes were losing focus. A voice came from somewhere far away. Annoyed at first, but as it got closer, you heard genuine concern. You were dry-heaving when a hand - larger than Ominis' - grasped your shoulder and forced you to turn. It didn't help your nausea at the very least, but seeing as you've already vomited all of the contents of your stomach out, you thankfully didn't throw up into the potions master's face. His striking dark eyes were panicked, his jaw hard, and he was kneeling next to you, which most likely did nothing for his leg. You would've attempted to speak, but your vision got dark and it dragged you down into the abyss.

You fell in and out of consciousness for a while. At one point, you looked down, professor Sharp still at your side but something was different. The smell of vomit was gone. You looked down at your robes and they were entirely clean. So was the floor. It was dark again. You saw professor Sharp's face, the underside of it, to be exact. He looked worried to bits. You felt movement and saw the surroundings change around Sharp's head. You felt strong arms underneath your back and legs. You wanted to comfort him, to tell him you were fine, that he needn't worry for you. Everything went black again before you managed to do so. Before the darkness consumed you, you felt the prickle of his chin on your index.

You woke on a bed after, and this time you stayed awake. You weren't in the Hospital wing, that was for sure. You weren't in your dorm or the Room of Requirement either, however, and you felt rather disoriented by that. Where else would you be, where else was a cot you'd use? When your eyes began focusing once more and your brain regained control of higher functions, you actually took in your surroundings. The air was cool, chilly almost, and it felt like heaven on your still feverish skin. There were shelves around the room, and in the middle of it stood a slightly curved desk. You were in professor Sharp's office.

The door to your left opened and the man in question came into focus. "I am very cross with you," he said, though his voice lacked any actual cut. He sat on your cot, and you now noticed he had a phial in his hand. It contained some dark liquid, still bubbling and looking utterly awful. "Drink," he said as he pushed a hand under the nape of your neck and lifted your head. He brought the phial to your lips and poured it into your mouth. You wanted to resist, the potion being foul enough to cause a dangerous churn in your stomach again, but you were so tired and the professor was unyielding.

You panted heavily after you swallowed the last drop, your body trying to bring it up again, but then you began to feel... Comfort. The pain was being flushed from your body. You didn't notice when professor Sharp grabbed your hand, but you felt his thumb stroking the back of it now. You looked up at him and regretted it immediately. He looked so tired. Once more, you unknowingly reached to touch his cheek. He startled when you did, yet almost right away closed one of his hands around your own.

"You know, I often say that the students will make me go grey prematurely, but I swear, you will make me go bald before you graduate," he said humourlessly. "Either you or your dear friends, Mr Sallow and Mr Gaunt. They told me what happened. Not everything, but the main gist of it. I've half a mind to give them both detention for the rest of their time here for leaving you the way they did. I've half a mind to give you detention as well for getting your stupid self into this, for not speaking up that you're unwell," he paused, his voice quivering slightly, "so clever, the lot of you, yet so incredibly stupid.”

The professor sighed then: “Look, I think I’m really starting to think I understand who you are - a good person who’s always willing to help her friends, which is, of course, noble of you. However, someone should finally tell you that you don’t have to insert yourself into every potentially life-threatening situation for them. In fact, as a Ravenclaw, you should be, and I believe you are, clever enough to talk them out of entering such situations themselves, which is just as good.”

You wanted to tell him that quite the number of these situations you didn't expect to be as dangerous as they turned out to be, and you were literally thrust into many of them. Not to mention there were simply some things you had to do…

But you didn’t say a single word. Not only did Professor Fig specifically ask you to keep quiet about your ancient magic abilities (which were the reason you got into these situations in the first place), but you knew that if professor Sharp knew… Well, he’d most likely try to get you to stop. Something that was absolutely unthinkable.

Sharp was watching you like a hawk, obviously trying to see if he could find an answer to at least one of his no doubt plenty of questions fleetingly appearing in your eyes. The feeling of comfort the potion he gave you turned into mild dizziness again, and you felt a sudden need to sit up. The potions master seemed to have anticipated as such because he was helping you into a sitting position not a second later, his strong hands having no problem lifting your upper body up from the cot. You were glad for his help, as you honestly felt like you were suddenly made of solid lead.

"Could you kindly enlighten me as to why you mad lot would even enter such a place?" He asked after the dizzy spell went away again. You still felt exhausted, but decided it was easier to answer his questions now, especially if he let you off the hook afterwards.

"Sebastian's sister… She's ill. Well, cursed. But you probably know that sir," you rasped out, wrapping your arms around you to battle the coolness of his office. "Indeed I do," answered the professor, "truly awful what happened to her."

He actually sounded remorseful, but also appeared to have lost himself in his head a little bit: "So what, were you searching for a cure down there? I can assure you, you will find no cures to any ailments under Salazar Slytherin's name, it's not one of the things he was famous for… And unless Mungo Bohnam himself left a little scriptorium of his own here, I am afraid you won't find Miss Sallow's cure in these corridors at all."

The teacher suddenly looked ten years older than he usually looked. You didn't know just how old he was, your guess was perhaps mid-forties, but then again, this and his previous job may have caused him to age prematurely. You realised that he and Anne were in quite similar situations, and seeing as he, an adult, and an experienced former auror was not able to find a cure for his leg, he didn't give Anne too many chances either.

It was all rather horrible, you thought. You've only met Anne for a while, but she seemed like a genuinely sweet person you could see yourself being friends with. And professor Sharp? Well, he was very different from the teachers you used to have before you came to Hogwarts. In the best way possible. He was strict, like they were, but also fair. He was tough and looked like a man not to be messed with. He administered both criticism and praise where they were due, and was very honest and open about everything. You had to admit that you enjoyed both the potion class, and his extra lessons to help you catch up to your classmates.

It was a little alarming to see a man who normally radiated authority so… down.

"I think," you said after several minutes, "I think Sebastian is trying to find… the curse itself. Because when he does, finding a cure should be easier…"

"His sister was cursed by a goblin though, no? What makes you think you'd find something about goblin curses down there?"

"I don't… I don't know. I just wanted to help Sebastian."

The potions master sighed heavily, tapping his healthy foot on the stone floor, and you thought you heard him utter something about you being 'so bloody loyal, it’s a wonder you’re not a Hufflepuff.'

"And did you find anything?" He asked after a while, once more fixing you with an intense expression.

"No, not a thing, sir. Some old books and scrolls, half-eaten by rats and other vermin, some egocentric busts and statues of Slytherin himself, a goblet of something I almost drank after… after the torturing curse, because I was so thirsty, but then I realised that the cup's been sitting there for maybe 900 years at least and it might not be wise."

"See, Miss (L/N), you're learning the art of 'not dying' quickly. Indeed, you should not drink anything that's been standing in a cup for 900 years," Sharp said in a deeply sarcastic voice, and he looked like he wanted to throw his hands up in the air. He calmed himself down with several deep breaths: "And that's it?"

"That's it."

Hold on… Something was amiss. What was it? There was one book that wasn't eaten away by any creepy crawlies, wasn't there? A book…

"Are you perfectly certain?" the teacher asked once more, watching you intently.

Should you tell him about the spellbook Sebastian picked up? Did he and Ominis tell him about it? Sharp wouldn't be asking you if you found anything of interest if he knew about the spellbook, would he? It was at the tip of your tongue when you remembered:

'It’s a personal spellbook of one of the founders of Hogwarts! There’s got to be something in there that will let me reverse the curse! Anne will be cured!'

Sebastian sounded like a child on Christmas when he said that, all the while Ominis was pale as a ghost and you were trying not to tremble too much from Crucio’s pain. In the brunet’s voice was something that was just so absolutely convinced that he was right. And what is he was? What if he could really cure his sister with some counter-curse from the book? Maybe then you could also use it and help heal Sharp. What if Sharp took it away in fear that you may use the book for wrong, or that the book itself had a curse put on it?

Should you tell him?

Your mouth opened and you took a deep breath. A feeling in your chest was telling you that you were signing a deal with the devil, but the 'yes' that rolled from your lips sounded perfectly calm and sincere.

And there it was. You lied to a teacher who told you explicitly that he hated it when somebody lied to him. But you decided you were doing so out of good intentions. Like when you kept your mouth shut about ancient magic.

He sighed once more: "Alright then… I hardly think that you'd tell me if your goal was to become a dark witch, so I suppose this will have to do."

"I can assure you, sir, that's not the case," you replied weakly before you could stop yourself, "I hate those."

"Oh," Sharp asked, his interest seemingly peaked again, "meet many dark witches?" You cursed yourself inwardly, the last thing you needed was for him to probe at you even more: "I've met a few, sir. But it was enough for me to decide that I hated them…"

The professor's eyes were as sharp as his name, and you felt his gaze burning holes into you. Finally, he sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, deep in thought. And then he spoke again, his voice softer this time: "What is it you're not telling me? What is it that causes the bruises and the cuts on your face I see each time you come back from 'a visit to Hogsmeade'? And do not try telling me that you crashed into a shrub or fell off your broom, this excuse can only work on me so many times…"

The professor looked genuinely concerned. He was the first professor to question your occasionally banged appearance, the only one who insisted you tell him over and over again. "Are you in any kind of trouble?" He continued, "Because if you are, just tell me, and I promise I'll do my best to help you."

You put your hands on your face.

"Why can't you tell me?"

You did not answer. You didn't even take your hands away. The office was overtaken by silence. It must have been after curfew, as you heard no sounds from the corridors beyond the potion classroom. After what felt like hours, Sharp sighed once more. "Despite what some students may say about me, I am actually not some heartless monster. I won't make you tell me by force. But please, please, Miss (L/N), can you promise me one thing?"

It took a while, but you cautiously lowered your hands to look at him. He looked tired once more, but he didn't drop his gaze from you for a single second: "If you start feeling you're in over your head, if you feel like you need help, be it anything you're dealing with, please... Come to me. Even if it's just for a phial of Skele-Gro…"

Aesop Sharp was a good man, you decided, and a minute later, you found yourself nodding your head.

"Good," he said.

"May I be dismissed, sir?"

"Dismissed? Lass, the only place you're leaving here for is the Hospital wing! And given the nature of the curse that was cast on you, and the caster, I rather think that you wouldn't like that, would you?" You grimaced. Damn. You truly did not need more attention drawn to your little adventure into Slytherin's scriptorium. Obviously having no other options, you carefully lowered yourself until you were lying down again.

"Do you need anything? Food, water, are you warm enough?" Asked the teacher then, his voice softer once more. "I'm alright, thank you, sir," you replied and closed your eyes. They were so heavy, you felt like you might not open them again.

"Sleep, Miss (L/N)."

—

When you woke up, you felt disoriented once more, and it took you a few seconds to realise where you were, and what sort of events led up to this situation. Looking around the office, illuminated by the faint morning light coming from the window behind professor Sharp’s desk, you saw the man himself sitting in his chair, sound asleep. His hands were loosely folded in his lap, his leg was propped up on a little footstool he must’ve conjured up for himself, as you’ve never seen it there before (could teachers, unlike students, conjure things in Hogwarts outside of the Room of Requirement? Most likely, how else would he have gotten your cot in here?), and his head was hanging to the side. The silence of the room was occasionally cut through by a snore from the teacher.

He looked quite a few years younger while he slept, the line between his eyebrows gone, his face relaxed and open, much softer than it normally was. You supposed he was not at all bad-looking when he wasn’t currently giving Garreth Weasley the snarl of Chimaera.

You lay there, panic slowly creeping in. Was he going to tell the Headmaster about your little adventure to the Scriptorium? Maybe professor Weasley? Fig? Has he already told them? Were you in trouble?

You shortly considered sneaking past the professor and away into your dorm. You were itching to have a nice hot bath and change into a different set of robes. You fainty remembered that Sharp cast a cleaning charm on them, yet they still felt grimy on your body, because what you remembered perfectly was the pain you went through in them. At that moment when Sebastian cast Crucio on you, it felt like your very clothes were choking and burning you, like they were covered in salt and your skin under them was scratched and cut up. You decided to burn them the first chance you got and get a new set from Mr Hill.

Once more you thought about making an attempt to leave but ultimately decided against it. The man was an ex-Auror for crying out loud, there’s no way he wouldn’t wake up if you as much as made a single step from the bed. He probably put a ward on it to alert him were you to get up. Not to mention it would solve absolutely nothing. He knew of the Scriptorium, and he knew of the Cruciatus curse. The only thing you’d achieve if you tried to sneak past him would probably be angering him.

And so you stayed put, reclining on the cot. It was quite comfortable, which was something you couldn’t appreciate much most mornings. Even when you didn’t have classes to attend, you rarely allowed yourself to indulge in sleeping in, much less just lazying around in bed after you woke up. There was always something to do, somebody to help, someone to run an errand for, a beast to rescue, a potion to brew, a plant in need of fertilising or harvesting, a hot spot of ancient magic, or a Merlin trial to solve. You were a busy woman, you didn’t have time to lie around. And yet, as you did, you had to admit that you felt more well-rested than you had in weeks.

Professor Sharp on the other hand you thought couldn’t be very comfortable. You were never able to fall asleep sitting up, even during long hours spent on the train when you and your family went for a holiday to St Ives, and the first class coupe you used had seating that was much more comfortable than his chair seemed. But then again, maybe there was some sort of cushioning charm placed on it to make it comfier.

But then again, maybe not, you thought as a quiet but obviously pained groan replaced the professor’s snore suddenly. “Oh, Merlin’s saggy left-...” growled professor Sharp, his lips forming into a thin line and and the wrinkle returning to between his brows. His hand disappeared into the insides of his robes and searched around in the breast pocket for a bit, before resurfacing with a vial of green liquid. He pulled the cork out with his teeth and gulped the potion down in a single swallow, breathing heavily before his muscles finally relaxed once more.

The potions master opened his eyes, dark circles underneath them indicating that he himself didn’t rest quite as well as you. “Miss (L/N),” he said his voice rough from his slumber, “please know that I hope that you won’t get yourself into such a situation again not for only your sake, but for my own as well. I am entirely too old and too tired for sleeping arrangements like these.” Your quiet apology went unanswered.

A few minutes passed with the teacher having closed his eyes once more, and you would’ve thought that he had fallen asleep again, had his hand not been slowly tapping on the armrest. “How do you feel?” he asked without opening his eyes, and you were actually quite glad for that. “Much better, sir,” was your answer, “thank you… For taking care of me.” His dark eyes opened and bore into your own, their intensity nearly enough to make a chill run down your spine: “That’s not what you’re supposed to thank me for. Or did you think I’d just leave you there, half collapsed in your own sick? Is that what you think of me?” You cringed, your eyes screwing shut.

After a few moments of silence, Sharp sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “I suppose I am a bit… grumpier than usual because of my aching body. And while I wouldn’t have to suffer the consequences of sleeping in a chair were it not for your little suicidal adventure, it is not your fault that I am an old man…” “You’re not old… sir,” you replied, not really knowing why, you just… you just didn’t like seeing him so resigned. You respected the professor a lot, and you were confident that despite his bad leg, he was very much a force to be reckoned with.

He sighed again: “Be that as it may, know that I would not leave you there. I’m responsible for each and every one of my students. The official job description is teaching you lot the art of potion-making, but every member of staff is sworn to do everything in their power to protect the students. Yesterday evening’s events mean that we have failed in this aspect. And while failure is undoubtedly a part of the learning process, I certainly do not take it very well.

“Now, you shouldn’t be grateful to me because I took care of you, as absolutely any and every one of your professors would’ve done the same. What you should, however, be grateful for is the fact that I kept your little adventure to myself. And I am still not convinced I am doing the right thing doing so. The fact that Mr Sallow used the Cruciatus curse on you is very concerning. The fact he even knows the curse is concerning! However, as he used it to get all of you out of that place, I might be able to forgive it. I plan to have a long talk with him about it, however. Being friends with Mr Gaunt, he should know better than to meddle with dark arts. He’s a bright young man, I don’t want him to end up in Azkaban because of youthful stupidity. You’re all terribly clever, it’d be an awful waste to lose you because you decided to bite off more than you can chew. And entering a place built by a man who was a single Unforgivable away from being considered a dark wizard is absolutely more than a fifth-year can chew, no matter how capable.

“That said, I offer you a deal - you tell me all about this excursion of yours, beginning with the location of the entrance, so that I can later make sure it is no longer accessible to anyone, followed by a detailed description of the events that transpired so that I can make a clearer picture about the whole situation, and I in return keep it all to myself. Mind, you and your friends will be scrubbing cauldrons by hand for the following few evenings so that I can make sure you’re staying out of trouble and not, for whatever reason, doing something as insane as going back.” You opened your mouth to protest, but before you had the chance to even take a breath, the professor spoke again: “You were mad enough to go there in the first place, how do I know you’re not mad enough to return, even with all that happened?

“Well, Miss, what do you say? Do we have a deal?”

And so you told him. You told him about Ominis’ aunt and her disappearance within the centuries-old Scriptorium. You told him about a passage that could only be opened by one who can speak the tongue of snakes, therefore making the very first of the rooms a certain deathtrap for anyone and everyone who is not of Slytherin’s descent. You told him of statues that would strike as real snakes would if one took too much time solving their riddles. And finally, about learning of Noctua’s heart-wrenching and untimely demise at the hands of Salazar’s cruel trial. You then described the Scriptorium itself in length, leaving out the part where you found Slytherin’s spellbook.

“So there is another entrance?” asked Sharp, his arms crossed over his chest. He was listening to you attentively, only occasionally asking you to specify or fill in a few things. “Yes, professor,” you replied, “however, I don’t know whether it can be accessed from outside as well.” The potions master thought for a bit: “It would be good to retrieve the poor woman’s remains from there so that she can be given a proper burial, but I do not want to distress Mr Gaunt even more than he already was when I spoke with him yesterday by asking him to go back with me, not to mention bearing witness to yet another instance of the Cruciatus curse, so it would be convenient if the room could be accessed from the other side.”

You bit at your lip nervously. “With all due respect, professor Sharp,” you spoke then, your voice quiet, “Ominis said his aunt and the rest of his family weren’t exactly on the best of terms. I’m not sure if they would give her a proper funeral.” “They may not, but your friend Ominis might… Well, best not to trouble the young man even more now, he seems to have a lot on his mind as is.”

“Will you… will you keep this whole thing to yourself, sir?”

“I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep, Miss (L/N). You told me everything I wanted to know, and I will keep my end of the bargain. I must, however, still discuss with Mr Sallow about his knowledge and uses of Unforgivable curses. There are some curses whose usage could perhaps be excused in some cases, but when we start to do so with the Unforgivables, we’re on our merry way back into the Dark Ages, when wizards and witches would calmly cast the Imperius curse at anyone who was merely mildly inconveniencing them. These curses were outlawed for a reason. Please, tell me that your classmate didn’t teach it to you…”

You squirmed in your seat. Sebastian did offer to teach it to you, but you said no. Should you tell Sharp? No, no… Best not to, Seb was in enough trouble as it was, no need to make it worse.

“He did not. And after I felt what it can do, I know it’s for the best… Nobody should know a spell like that! It’s so… unfair. It’s like… It’s like bringing a rifle into a sword fight.”

“That is a very good comparison, Miss,” said the potions master, “and you best never forget that. These spells are like poison, they’re unnatural, and each one tears away at your very humanity. I know that you wish to remain loyal to your friends, and I, once more, praise you for that. But I implore you to discourage your classmate from using such a spell again, even if it’s for a ‘good thing’. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

You nodded solemnly. You truly hoped there never came a time in which you’d have to once more witness the foul spell, or any of the other two Unforgivables. Sebastian wasn’t that kind of boy - yes, he did teach you one unsanctioned spell once before, but it wasn’t exactly a dark spell. If you were honest, you used it more during Merlin trials than against adversaries.

You hoped you were doing the right thing still, not bringing up the book your friend your friend left the Scriptorium with.

Aesop Sharp watched you intently, possibly hoping that you’d perhaps shed some more light on the situation, but when several minutes passed in absolute silence, he cleared his throat, stretching himself once more. “Now…” he said, “I don’t know how about you, Miss, but I could eat a Hippogriff right now.” Despite yourself, and despite the dark thoughts swirling about in your head, you actually giggled: “If you do, sir, make sure it’s not white with orange eyes, that one’s a friend of mine.”

The professor scoffed: “Friends with a Hippogriff, all the travelling merchants around the Highlands, and two of Slytherin’s three biggest troublemakers. I will need to keep a closer eye on you. This isn’t a joke, by the way, I do intend to keep an eye on you - the things Fig tells me combined with what all I hear about you doing is quite concerning.”

You gulped. You knew he’d find out about everything, sooner or later. After all, even professor Weasley was more than a little suspicious about your activities, but you managed to evade her questions by performing brilliantly in class and helping everybody you encountered. Professor Sharp, a former Auror, would certainly have no problem finding out the truth in the end.

There was only one solution. You had to work faster and harder, You had to carry on with the Keepers’ trials, and you had to stop Ranrok from opening war upon the Wizarding world. And ideally not die in the process. And, hopefully, then Sharp would understand. Maybe he’d even forgive you for the secrecy and the lies.

The teacher sighed and ran his hand over his face.

“What I said yesterday stands. If you need help, you know where to find me. I won’t turn you away. I promise…”

He stood then, towering over your form, still reclining upon the cot.

“Come on, you’ll tag along with me to the Great Hall, so I can make sure your encounter yesterday didn’t leave any lasting effects. In case it has, perhaps your fellow students will find the sight of you limping next to me amusing.”

You grinned. Despite everything, you truly appreciated Sharp’s sense of humour: “Very well, sir.”

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed the story. As always, you can find this fic and all of my other works over on my AO3

I am always very grateful for feedback 🥰

#fanfiction #hogwarts legacy #aesop sharp #aesop sharp and reader #aesop sharp x reader #protective aesop sharp #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #hurt/comfort #ravenclaw reader #aesop sharp and mc #aesop sharp is a good teacher #reader instert

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dreamii-krybaby · 4 months ago

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I fully understand if people don’t like Aesop or even hate him to due to his actions, but I hope y’all also are aware that Aesop is also a victim, literally being groomed by his foster father to become a mercy killer serial killer. And reminded that Aesop had to deal with his mother’s death and be taken cared off by Jerry Carl since he was a kid.

Also if any of you come here and tell me aesop deserves the bulling he got as a kid in his ONCE skin (which depicts him as a school student getting bullied) yall are insane, genuinely DNI me. Aesop was literally bullied as a kid not because he killed ppl but because of his Autism and possibly other undiagnosed conditions.

Aesop as an adult isn’t the best person, but he was raised into becoming one.

Also Aesop as a kid can have my heart HE DID NOT DESERVE ANY OF THAT

#identity v #idv

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death-in-a-handbasket · 2 months ago

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This kinda falls into the line of (nonsexual, but he's a little freaky about it) somno and (consensual, but nevertheless) drugging so warning for that for all who will read this BUT

Something truly fascinating to me is if you willingly allowed yourself to become his puppet for him to study, everyone seems to be easily able to access drugs within the manor so it makes it all the easier for you to lie still and practically dead on his table as he studies you.

It's professional, of course, at first— gloved hands skirting around your carotid and femoral artery, the dip of the column of your throat, and the soft bend of your elbows and tracing along your veins. Treating you just as delicately, if not more, than the corpses that have graced his table, the only difference is the feeling of your slow heartbeat practically reverberating through his own body, but it's not like you would be able to tell if his hands had a tremble when normally steady. It's nearly far too intimate despite the countless bare corpses that have met the cool blade of his scalpel.

His hands shake a little harder as he pulls down the white sheet, not from lust per se but from a sunken desire to feel your skin and map every plane of your body, the veins that show themselves, every little mole and imperfection that is otherwise hidden by clothing. His gloves are bare by that point, stark cold as they trace gingerly over your stomach and across your collarbones, lips bitten raw as he sees the skin rise with goosebumps and a reminder that you are still alive and allowing him access to your body. i need that man dry heaving and panting ouhhvhuuiiyhhg

THE WAY IVE HAD THIS EXACT SCENARIO IN MIND THOUGH

I've planned to draw/write something of this nature for a while now with him and historian, historian especially enjoys being in a half lucid daze and would love being on drugs, plus I think this coupled with Aesop's need for control over the situation to remain calm, he would do very well with having someone at least under mild drug influence.

I feel like overall he isn't especially moved by nudity, he's seen a LOT of dead bodies on his table over the years, however, it feels different when they're still alive, there's a greater more taboo feeling surrounding it and I think that flusters him a bit, not to mention the fact that he has an attachment to the body in question on his table, makes things feel way different when you're not embalming someone in a meditative, higher purpose serving way, but rather exploring the body of another person out of raw curiosity, I 100% agree that man is rife with feelings and certainly shaking a little, he's so excited and simultaneously so anxious about what he's getting to do he's practically condensed adrenaline, but oh does he take such great care to be gentle, after all, he can't damage you too severely, that would ruin his exploration

on an aside that is semi-related, I once discussed with a friend the concept of him autopsying historian while they're still lucid but all the pain just gets transferred from them to him, so while he's slowly cutting open their midsection he's also sweaty and shaking as he feels the sharpness of his own knife despite not being the one cut into huehehuehehue but that's self indulgent because I think he would be really pretty while in pain

#discount confessional #fuckass crow house #idv #aesop carl #idv embalmer #idv x reader #identity v

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coffeeandmagicaltales · 3 months ago

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The Auror&The Devil part 25

AesopSharpXAdultMC

DISCLAIMER: ANGST, spicy vocabulary

Aesop slowly opened his eyes, and though his body seemed to need time to fully awaken and his muscles ached slightly from the evening's "activities," his mind felt exceptionally calm and refreshed. The flickering flames in the wood stove crackled pleasantly, blending with the cozy, gentle drumming of rain against the tent's fabric. A pleasant shiver ran through him as he burrowed into the blanket, leaving only the part of his head from his nose upward exposed. The material wrapped around him, and beneath it... hmm... There was a source of warmth he edged closer to, careful not to wake it. Reaching out, his hand found the disheveled, naked body of the deeply sleeping Morana. Somehow, his touch landed on her foot... She was lying in an odd position, as if she'd pressed her feet against his bare thighs during the night to warm them. He stroked them tenderly, then briefly extended his hand from under the blanket to grab his wand, casting a spell to conjure thick socks for her. Feeling them now, he was certain she wouldn’t be cold.

He closed his eyes again, letting his thoughts drift back to the previous night... Merlin... A shiver ran through him at the mere memory of how soft her skin had felt under his fingers, how her body arched under each of his kisses. And he felt... pride? It had been so long since he’d made love to anyone that he was certain he’d forgotten how. Even though it was their first time together and many things might not have been perfect... it was wonderful. Yes. He wanted to caress Morana and make her lose herself under his touch for the rest of his days, if only she would want it too.

What she had done to him in turn—how she had stirred his senses, how she ignited his body—Sweet Salazar... For that, he possessed her. Loved her. Worshiped her. Savored her. He had let her ride him, bite him, lick him, caress him... He was entirely hers.

Unconsciously, his fingers found a strand of her hair that tickled his hand, and he began to twirl it, wrapping it around his thumb. He sighed deeply at the thought that just a few days ago, he was lonely and unhappy, and now he had woken up beside the woman he loved—whom, secretly, in his heart, he already called his "future wife."

The thought that she had once been his student still irked him, like a fly buzzing in his ear. But she had only been his student briefly, and now she was a fully grown woman... Besides, if not for her kindness, rebellious courage, intelligence, empathy, and humor... he likely would have forgotten her existence right after the summer holidays, as he usually did with most students. Or she would have meant as little to him as Galatea Flint. Maybe it was fate? Perhaps if he had stayed an Auror and Morana remained at Hogwarts... Merlin, it dawned on him that they might never have met. Then again, would they? He wanted to believe they were meant for each other.

Morana murmured something under her breath and turned to her side, immediately nestling into his arms.

A blissful "O-oh..." escaped his lips as he suddenly felt her firm breasts pressed against his chest and her hips snug against his groin. He trembled, wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in the intoxicating, malty scent of her hair. His manhood stirred, like a kitten seeking attention—he shielded it with his hand, realizing that now wasn’t the best time—he was still utterly sore from yesterday, unaccustomed to... certain movements other than swimming. He knew that soon, with a bit of practice, he'd be back to normal, and it wouldn’t feel like such an effort anymore.

Morana murmured something again. He knew she was awake, only pretending and exaggerating. He stroked her head. “Silly Bird, time to get up…” he whispered, stifling a laugh as she hugged him tighter. “Yeah,” added Tertius, descending from a thread above their heads. “You copulated. Bite his head off.” Morana looked at the spider with pity, while Aesop snorted with laughter, quickly disguising it with a cough as he buried his face in her hair. “Tertius, maybe you’d like to go hunt something?” she suggested, suppressing a giggle. “Wet. I don’t like it.” He cut the thread. He wasn’t light, and both Aesop and Morana groaned as they felt several kilograms land on their bodies. The spider perched, staring expectantly at Aesop. The man furrowed his brows, recognizing that the creature had some business with him. “Ugh…” He rolled his eyes, displeased that he’d have to leave the bed. “Let me guess... bacon?” “GIVE”

Morana hid her head under the blanket so Tertius wouldn’t see her shaking with laughter. She patted Aesop’s thigh, her gesture clearly saying, “You brought this on yourself.” Sharp was slowly coming to the realization that this must be what having children is like.

Grumbling, he crawled out from under the blanket. He hissed at the cold as the chilly air nipped at his skin and hunched his shoulders as he moved toward the stove to light a fire.

Morana peeked out from under the covers, savoring the sight of his slender, naked body. Warmth crept onto her cheeks, her heart beat a little faster, and she wondered how long the sight of him would affect her like this… Would it ever grow ordinary? She sighed softly, a little saddened by the thought, hoping it wouldn’t.

His shapely buttocks tempted her to pinch or bite them, and his clumsy movements did nothing to detract from his beauty. She wanted to trace her hands over his body, kiss it, caress it, and give him pleasure—to hear every tiny sound that escaped his lips: the moans, groans, and sighs...

“This is a strange feeling…” he said, not turning toward her as he busied himself with breakfast preparations. “You watching me… I’m not used to it.”

Morana uncovered herself, looking at him apologetically, which he noticed from the corner of his eye. “Oh, don’t make that face. You’re not doing anything wrong… If I didn’t want you to, I’d have told you. I certainly wouldn’t be parading around naked in front of you.”

He turned around, waiting for the pan to heat, and leaned against the empty picture frame, gazing at the naked Morana lying there—a sight more beautiful than any work of art. Wonderfully imperfect, with dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep, marked here and there with the occasional bruise from his playful bites, disheveled, her makeup smudged on her face—also his doing, the result of his greedy kisses and impatient hands exploring her body.

His gaze lingered on her body, pausing slightly longer around her hips, neck, and breasts. Enchanted and filled with love, he initially stood tense, arms crossed over his chest, unsure. But seeing the admiration in her eyes, he raised one arm to rest it casually on the frame (purely 'coincidentally' flexing his well-toned biceps) while the other rested on his hip.

It was an innocent contrapposto—one he’d seen in art books or sculpted statues during a mission in Greece. He wasn’t sure why it came to mind—maybe�� Maybe he just wanted to feel attractive. Her eyes sparkled with appreciation, and the sight immediately gave him a jolt of satisfaction and confidence. Smiling as he admired her, he leaned his head on the frame and confessed softly: “I-I think I like it when you look at me like that.” “Like what?” she asked in a teasing, slightly provocative tone that made his heart race and his breath quicken. That sly smile on her lips… the melody of her voice stirred his stomach with love and arousal. And it showed, as Morana bit her lip, glancing toward his groin.

Snapping out of his daze, Aesop chuckled, trying to steady himself. “Lustfully… hmm… it excites me, which… you can probably see… ehhh… I’m just rambling nonsense now…”

Both of them flinched as the kettle began to whistle loudly, startling them. Aesop rushed to its rescue, pulling it off the fire. “Sweet Salazar, I used to have such a peaceful life…” he muttered dramatically under his breath as he placed toast in the pan. “Then you had to put this devil in my path—a devil who does whatever she pleases with me, who isn’t fazed by my sternest looks, and worst of all, thinks I—scarred, crippled me—am handsome and, heaven forbid, finds my jokes funny… because she knows perfectly well she’s wrapped me around her little finger, that I feel no shame around her, and that my old heart belongs only to her… tsk tsk tsk.”

Leaving some bacon for Tertius, he took breakfast to bed and sat beside Morana.

He loved watching her eat. At those moments, nothing else seemed to matter to her—not Dark Wizards, Ranrok, or even Merlin himself. It was all about the symphony of flavors on her plate. He adored the faraway look in her eyes and the blissful smile on her puffed cheeks, stuffed to the brim, and the sweet little murmurs of contentment.

He wiped the butter smudged on her lips with his thumb. She furrowed her brows, signaling for him not to bother her, which amused him instantly.

Taking a bite of his toast, he grabbed his wand and summoned a fresh bandage, herbs, and ointment from his pocket, beginning to tend to the wounds on his knee. They didn’t look good today… He frowned, concentrating on the task, under the watchful gaze of Mora. She put her food aside and knelt on the floor in front of him so abruptly that he startled, jumping slightly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as she closely examined his scars, her gaze growing increasingly wide in silence and focus. “They often look like this; don’t worry, Bird…” he reassured her, stroking her head gently. She nodded quickly as if she hadn’t heard him at all.

“Isidora, are you there?” she asked, slightly tilting her head toward the blank canvas. A timid “Mhm” answered her, and Morganach appeared, covering her eyes with her hands. “Oh,” said Aesop and Mora in unison. Instantly, with a flick of his wand, clothing materialized on them.

“Good day, Professor Morganach…” Aesop greeted awkwardly, blushing as he tied his tie as tightly as possible, acutely aware that she must have heard a lot from the previous night. She merely waved a hand dismissively.

“Professor Sharp…” she greeted warmly with a bow.

Mora rolled up his pant leg, revealing the spot where the curse had struck, her brows knitting together in concern. “These… These are the same runes…” she whispered, tracing the scars with her finger.

Aesop didn’t fully grasp what she meant and glanced at the intertwining grooves marking his leg with curiosity. He didn’t see anything unusual—nothing that caught his eye or triggered his sixth sense for symbols or signs associated with dark magic artifacts, especially the ones Morana saw in her dreams. To him, they were just scars.

“Look,” Mora pointed to one mark, tracing it with her finger to form a symbol, then another, and another. Aesop’s eyes widened as, amidst the crisscrossed cuts on his skin, he began to see what the witch saw. The symbols were incredibly subtle—no wonder no one had noticed them for years. Anxiety bubbled in his chest, his heartbeat quickening. What did it all mean? He looked at her expectantly, waiting for any kind of explanation.

Gripping her staff, Mora tapped it lightly on the floor and drew a series of glyphs in the air, mirroring those she’d found among Aesop’s wounds.

A tense silence fell. Morana studied the glyphs with deep focus.

“Are these… are these what you saw?” Aesop asked. “Are you certain?” Isidora scrutinized them as well, and when Morana nodded, she shook her head. “That’s strange… But these—these are glyphs of ancient healing spells. Perhaps… Perhaps one of your healers used them?…”

Aesop shook his head, confused.

“The artifact used also bore these markings, and…” Mora trailed off. Her eyes widened in realization. “Merlin’s beard! Aesop, you were right—the line between potion and poison is barely a breath apart…”

Everything started falling into place.

"We know the artifact was used to extract the magical essence from creatures… So if it took it, it had to store it somewhere… or place it somewhere else." Morana’s breathing quickened as she nervously gripped her staff, her thoughts racing. She glanced at Aesop, whose wide, glassy eyes stared at her, lips slightly parted in astonishment. She could see the fear in his gaze—Ancient Magic went beyond his knowledge.

She gently stroked his cheek, and he immediately leaned into her touch, seeking comfort. “Aesop… will you let me use Ancient Magic to find out what we’re dealing with?” she asked hesitantly. He gave her immediate permission, but she frowned and quickly added, “It might hurt. I don’t know what will happen…”

“Do what you need to—I trust you,” he whispered, lying on his back and clasping his hands nervously over his chest, trying to focus on the sound of rain drumming against the tent roof. He trembled at the memory of old pain.

Morana took a deep breath and glanced at Isidora, who nodded in agreement with Aesop’s words. This was uncharted territory for her as well.

Morana tapped her staff against the floor.

The room filled with dark shadows, slithering like tendrils from Aesop’s scars. He writhed in agony, tears streaming down his cheeks, but the dark presence seemed to devour all sound. His screams were completely muffled. Stunned, Morana could hear only eerie noises—squeals, growls, inhuman sounds that no man could produce.

The cloud of magic surrounded her, enveloping her from all sides, swirling faintly. She could feel pain, sorrow… a scent she recognized all too well. But it wasn’t Aesop’s. These emotions were animalistic—simple, primal, driven by instinct and the will to survive.

The squeals morphed into whimpering, growing louder and louder until they became a piercing wail of despair, so agonizing and terrifying that Morana covered her ears and began to sob. Enough—it had to end. She had learned what she needed, and prolonging this would be cruelty.

She lifted the spell, and the darkness receded, leaving only Aesop’s hoarse voice crying out in pain. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” she whispered, immediately cradling him in her arms, trying to soothe him with kisses and holding him close to her chest.

“It hurts so much… Mo…” he repeated deliriously, clutching her forearms tightly as she offered him a Wiggenweld potion. She waited anxiously for it to take effect, embracing him and kissing his tear-streaked cheeks. To her relief, Aesop’s grip soon loosened, his breathing steadied, and his crying subsided.

He coughed and wiped his tears with the back of his hand. “Ugh… that was awful,” he muttered, still trembling. Sitting up with some effort, he leaned on his arm, the lingering discomfort in his leg—a terrible buzzing sensation—still gnawing at him. “Could you get me some tea, darling? … Thank you,” he said, taking the cup from her hands. After a sip, he exhaled deeply and licked his chapped lips before continuing. “What… what just happened?”

Morana sat beside him on the edge of the bed and exchanged a concerned glance with Isidora. “It’s not a curse—it’s a living being,” she said somberly, brushing her damp curls from her face and setting her staff aside. She picked up Aesop’s ointments and gently applied them to his wounds, wrapping them carefully in bandages.

“It’s bound to you forever. Ancient rituals used to require mutual consent—human and magical being coexisting symbiotically. I think I wrote to you about this in a letter once… In ancient times, this magic was used in cases like a sickly child being born. People would ask dragons, for example, to share a part of their strength—sometimes even a piece of their heart. Other times, a dying magical being might agree to merge with a dying human through magic. They would become one and live together many years in health, dependent on each other. I believe someone turned this magic into a weapon. Deliberately or not, they didn’t account for the lack of mutual consent. Without it, the magical essence of the creature becomes a parasite, a curse. The pain you feel—it’s not really yours. It’s creature's... And I think it could be anything—a vampire, a unicorn, even a Niffler—a wounded being suffering terribly because it’s bound to you forever against its will.”

Aesop listened attentively, nodding slowly, his eyes wide and seeking reassurance. “There’s no cure for this, is there?” he whispered, his voice trembling, filled with such sadness and hopelessness that Morana’s heart ached.

She cupped his cheek, kissed his lips tenderly, and looked deep into his eyes before admitting with a heavy heart, “I don’t know.”

“We were looking in the wrong places,” Isidora admitted, disappointed that they hadn’t figured it out sooner.

“There’s just one thing that puzzles me…” Aesop said softly, clearing his throat before continuing. “If this curse has been on me for years, why haven’t the ones who created it revealed themselves before now? It’s a powerful weapon… valuable…”

“Maybe because of the goblins?” Morana suggested. “They’ve been the main threat recently…”

“Well… yes, but one doesn’t exclude the other. If it’s something other than their magic, no dark wizard would take a break just because Ranrok was up to something. They’d have kept working—judging by the number of magical creatures killed—on perfecting these rituals, artifacts, Merlin knows what else…”

“Maybe they were afraid of the goblins? Since they were roaming the area searching for sources of Ancient Magic for their own purposes…” Morana continued.

“Goblins are magical creatures; they’d be a goldmine for someone like that. If anything, they’d lure them here and wipe them out—or him, or them… I still think one wizard isn't powerful enough to do it by himself...” Isidora interjected, settling comfortably on her conjured chair.

Aesop nodded in agreement, adding, “Following goblin's trail, they could’ve found the repository themselves and hoarded the magic. Then we’d have had a much bigger problem than Ranrok. None of this adds up… Either someone’s acting randomly (which I doubt), or they’re highly calculated and have a plan… one we haven’t uncovered yet. But I think we’re getting close.”

He stroked Morana’s face and gave her a faint smile. “I think you threw a wrench in their plan when you impersonated them and cut off the forest. One Forbidden Forest can’t hold two Devils. Now we wait for their next move, another clue. It might take some time… Would you like to trade this tent for my house in Aranshire? Or at least pitch it in my garden if you’re so fond of it? You really don’t need to camp out here, Mo. My home is yours—you know that.”

“NO, Miss Longbottom, leave that alone… NO, do not stir so vigorously, but slowly, in circular motions. MR. GOYLE, MINUS 10 POINTS!”

Aesop smirked, hearing the distant commotion—a sudden explosion followed by Mr. Weasley’s raised voice echoing off the stone walls of the corridor leading to the Potions classroom.

Sharp limped slowly, savoring the chaos the boy had stumbled into. He felt a twinge of pity for him but far more amusement, struggling to suppress the mischievous curl at the corners of his lips, trying and failing to adopt a serious expression. Finally, he leaned against the doorframe.

The familiar smells reached his nose, and the sight of the smoke-filled, dimly lit classroom, one he had left only a few days prior, was like a balm to his soul. He felt as if he’d returned home, to a place where he belonged, where he felt content. A tear of emotion welled up in his eye, which he quickly wiped away.

Mr. Weasley, oblivious to his presence, was engrossed in sketching out the steps for brewing a Sweet Sleep potion on the blackboard. He was explaining carefully, trying to prevent another explosion.

Aesop stifled a chuckle, silently applauding Garreth’s earnest effort while karma worked its magic. Watching the boy, he couldn’t help but acknowledge how well he was handling it.

Garreth wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand and pushed back his unruly red hair before announcing that the lesson was over. As the tired young man watched the line of students file out, his gaze landed on the figure standing in the doorway.

“P-Professor! Y-You’re back!” Garreth choked out, leaping from his place and practically sprinting toward Sharp.

“Good afternoon, Mr. We—” Aesop’s words were cut off as the boy threw himself into his arms with such force that the air was knocked from his lungs. Garreth clung to him, sobbing incoherently. From his rambling, Aesop managed to catch, “It’s so good to have you back!”

Awkwardly, Aesop patted his back. Once the boy let go, he adjusted his coat, cleared his throat, and donned a stern expression.

“Mr. Weasley, you’ve done an excellent job… Thank you.”

“R-Really?” Garreth’s eyes welled with tears again.

“I’ll write a commendation about you to the Ministry. With such a document, securing a teaching position will be much easier. What do you say to that?”

Garreth burst into tears again.

“I-I don’t think I want to be one… It’s… it’s a horrible job! The tests, the parents, the complaints, I… I don’t know how to manage a class!”

Aesop nodded in understanding, all while silently laughing inside. The boy spoke as though he had worked 30 years, not one week. “Poor thing, oh dear… burned out already.”

“There, there… Good references will serve you well, even if you change your mind in a few years.”

The two men shook hands, and Garreth gathered his belongings before leaving the classroom.

Aesop stood in the middle of his dungeon, arms crossed over his chest.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, feeling a lightness in his heart he hadn’t experienced in years.

A single drop of liquid fell onto his forehead, pulling him from his reverie.

Looking up, he spotted a cauldron lodged in the ceiling. That was it. He burst into laughter, a laugh so genuine, so cathartic, that it echoed through the classroom. The more he laughed, the funnier it became—he couldn’t remember laughing this hard in ages. Holding his aching stomach, he briefly wondered if a drop of Alihosty Draught had landed on him. No. The explanation was much simpler.

He loved this job.

Morana felt strange walking through the halls of Hogwarts again.

Students watched her with curiosity, slightly intimidated by her "ominous" appearance—disheveled hair, a long black dress, and a staff whose steady tapping echoed off the stone corridor walls. The sound silenced conversations, drawing eyes in her direction. Suppressed gasps reached her ears—clearly, the kids were scared of her.

She lowered her gaze, feeling uncomfortable, and trudged behind Professor Weasley, who was grinning from ear to ear.

"This is such a peculiar feeling," Weasley admitted after a moment of silence. "Just a few years ago, I was escorting you to your common room. And now… Merlin… To the Faculty Tower, as the new Professor."

She slowed her pace, falling into step with Morana, clearly concerned by her silence.

"Well… You’re not the girl I met back then. In fact… I didn’t even recognize you when Professor Black introduced you at the meeting today. I wasn’t the only one..."

Morana smirked at the memory.

Phineas Black had no idea who she was; even her name didn’t jog his memory. He hadn’t read her references and hired her on the spot, eager to avoid another year of teaching himself. Aside from Professor Sharp, who had nearly burst with pride listening to her discuss her work and plans (he was a hair’s breadth from shouting how brilliant, intelligent, and irreplaceable she was), the other teachers were stunned by the mysterious, tattooed woman leaning on a staff—a figure out of Muggle children’s dark fairy tales.

"Morana? That Morana?" they whispered, exchanging baffled looks before finally greeting her warmly.

"Professor Sharp knew, didn’t he?" Matilda suddenly asked pulling Morana out of her thoughts. Young woman flushed, clearing her throat as she confirmed it. She was wary now, certain Weasley was aware of her relationship with Aesop. She decided to get ahead of any questions, avoiding mistakes she’d made in the past—like with Professor Fig.

"Professor Weasley…"

"Matilda," Weasley corrected her warmly. "We’re colleagues now, Morana."

"Matilda…" Morana began hesitantly. "Professor Sharp… um… Aesop and I… well, we’re a couple. We can both assure you that we won’t let it affect our work or behave inappropriately."

"I know. I suspected as much a long time ago," Weasley replied with a reassuring smile. "It’s an unusual situation for me, but I trust Aesop completely as an educator. I know there was no grooming involved, and that his feelings for you are genuine. Likewise, I believe you—that this isn’t just a passing infatuation and that you won’t hurt my best friend."

She paused as they reached the Faculty Tower’s door, her hand resting on the handle as she hesitated.

"I’m happy you found love, even if it might not be easy. People love to gossip..."

"If Aesop faces any issues because of my presence here, I’ll leave," Morana replied firmly.

Weasley looked at her, startled.

"What? Don’t you dare. I won’t allow it." She grumbled. "I’d stir up the entire Ministry before letting you just walk away. You’re not getting off that easily. Merlin help me, you are now one of the Hogwarts' BEST and BRIGHTEST, period!" and suddenly she frowned adding: "Another Slytherin for the collection… ugh."

With that, she swung the door open and stepped inside.

"Your quarters are next to Mirabel’s," she gestured toward the door near Morana’s neatly stacked luggage. "Be warned—apparently, she snores, and it’s loud enough to hear through the walls. I suggest a Silencing Charm. Abraham sings in the bath, so aim to shower before 7am. Mudiwa and Satyavati usually argue whenever they pass each other—ignore the theatrical insults if they throw any your way. And Aesop…" she rolled her eyes. "Well, I was going to tell you to avoid him, but that’ll be impossible since he’s bound to follow you everywhere. Honestly, even if he’d never met you before, you’d have caught his eye anyway. He’s always had a soft spot for rebellious, intelligent women. You wouldn’t have stood a chance."

Her mischievous grin softened as she asked, "Do you have everything? Schedule, syllabus, duty list?"

"Yes, I do. Thank you," Morana replied warmly, placing a hand on Weasley’s arm.

Weasley opened her mouth to say goodbye but was interrupted by the familiar sound of footsteps descending the stairs. Aesop approached hesitantly, rubbing his hands together nervously.

"Good evening," he greeted them, his tone uncharacteristically shy.

"Aesop," Weasley said with a knowing smirk. "Help Morana with her room. It’s been unused for a while, so I’m not sure of its condition." Turning back to Morana, she explained, "Because of Peeves, the house-elves are afraid to clean our tower. He’s been hiding traps filled with paint and confetti—an absolute menace. Oh, and if you find a gift addressed to you among your things, don’t open it. Well, I must be off. Good night!"

Once Weasley was out of sight, Aesop placed a light kiss on Morana’s lips, which she returned, stroking his cheek.

"Are you sure about this?" he murmured, his concern evident.

"We’ve talked about this, Aesop. If teaching isn’t for me, I’ll find something else," she replied with a shrug before frowning. "Ah, Fig’s room..."

"Mhm," Aesop murmured, his mood darkening. "I haven’t set foot in it since years… back when we’d share a drink every Friday."

Morana pressed the handle, and the door creaked open. A stifling wave of musty air hit her, the smell of damp, stale perfume, spoiled food, and dust enveloping the room. Darkness shrouded most of it, except where the faint light from the hall revealed a clutter of forgotten objects buried under thick layers of dust.

"Dear Merlin…" Aesop coughed, his nose wrinkling at the mix of decay and cobwebs glittering in the faint light. Both of them were struck with an aching sense of loss.

"Do piči… Why didn’t anyone clean this up?" Morana muttered, slamming the door shut.

"You know, Fig was well-loved. I don’t think anyone had the heart to disturb his room after he passed. He had no family left except Miriam… Hey, wait, where are you going?" Aesop called after her as she turned and began walking briskly toward the exit.

"I’m going back to my tent. I’ll set it up in the Room of Requirement..."

"Wait, wait…" He caught her hand, gently pulling her back. Brushing a stray lock from her face, he shook his head with mock disapproval. "No need to get upset. Come on."

With a flick of his wand, her luggage vanished, and, holding her hand, he led her upstairs. Morana couldn’t help but smile, already guessing where he was taking her.

In the familiar red-wallpapered room, the crackling fireplace flickered cheerfully, its flames casting a warm, welcoming glow. The space was immaculately clean—no stray clothing on the floor, no stains marring its polished surfaces. It was as though Sharp had foreseen the predicament with Morana’s room and prepared accordingly. Smirking slyly, he blushed slightly as he flicked his wand to summon her luggage, which promptly arranged itself inside a new wardrobe—a recent addition to the decor.

"Perhaps you’d like to change into something more comfortable, darling?" he teased, noting how pleased she seemed as she surveyed the room, still dressed in her fitted gown. With a tap of his wand, he transformed his usual suit into striped satin pajamas, then conjured a steaming bathtub filled with fragrant oils in the middle of the bedroom. With a slight limp, he made his way to the adjoining living room, making it clear he wouldn’t intrude on her bath.

"I avoid the Prefects’ pool," he quipped over his shoulder. "The idea of splashing around where a gaggle of teenagers has been? No, thank you. I doubt any of the professors would willingly dip a toe in there." He chuckled, averting his gaze as she began undressing, though it amused her. He’d seen her naked several times before, yet his gallant modesty remained steadfast. So proper. So chivalrous. So... silly. Rolling her eyes, she sank into the warm, bubbly water with a contented sigh.

After scrubbing herself clean, she slipped into a soft, cloud-white silk nightgown and layered it with a floor-length floral robe. Fresh and relaxed, she followed Aesop into the living room.

He was standing by the fireplace, where a hidden passage to his workshop lay concealed. The flames painted his figure in golden hues, their light softening the deep lines etched into his cheeks.

"Would you like some tea?" he asked, his tone so sweet and gentle it made her knees feel weak.

The firelight danced across his face, emphasizing his slight stoop, the unruly strands of his hair, and—oh, Merlin—those eyes. His gaze, brimming with love and tenderness, was her undoing. She would give anything for that look.

She moved closer, her bare feet silent on the dark wooden floor. Each graceful sway of her hips caused her robe to flutter, accompanied by the soft chime of her gold jewelry. Aesop was sure she’d bewitched him again, Veela-like in her allure. She stopped just a breath away, their proximity electric.

Aesop murmured in satisfaction, a memory surfacing.

"I remember... the first time you came here. You brought Hranolka with you. I rarely had visitors, and then suddenly, there you were in my life." His fingers brushed against hers, sending a pleasant shiver through her as their hands intertwined. "I remember how you looked at me then, sitting by the fire—those big, blue eyes of yours, with the flames reflected in them. Ochres and umbers danced on your olive skin like painted strokes..." His brow furrowed, and his expression darkened slightly. "You were so troubled by your dreams, by what happened to the Thestrals. It broke my heart not knowing how to help you."

"But you did help," she reassured him. "You always helped. You’re so wise, so kind, so sweet..." Her grip tightened as she leaned into him. A soft "oh" escaped his lips as he wrapped her in his arms, his fingers threading through her hair. He gazed into her blue eyes, finding solace in their depths.

The room was quiet, save for the occasional gust of wind down the corridor or the sharper crack of a log in the fire. The tranquil atmosphere stirred memories of their earliest moments together—innocent touches and fleeting connections. All those "accidental" interactions, once brushed aside, now felt destined. Their bodies had known long before their hearts did. Smiling at the thought, Morana traced her fingers along the scar on his cheek.

"It’s beautiful, you know," she said softly. "I’ve always liked it. The first time we sat by the fire in your other room, I wanted to touch it, but I held back." Her light laugh made Sharp flush and avert his eyes, unaccustomed to such compliments. "It gives you... character. Honestly, you can be a bit intimidating when you frown and put on that stern look. But that time—when you held my face and looked at my scar... "she continued, a playful glint in her eye. "Merlin, your hands were so co—old, oh..."

Sharp leaned in, his hand finding her chin, as it had that day. Just as cold. Morana giggled, nuzzling her cheek into his palm, warming his icy fingers. His thumb grazed the intricate scars on her skin, and he bent closer, his breath shallow. She felt his warm exhale and caught the faintest scent of him.

"Your scar," he murmured, "looks like a charming, delectable shrimp." He barely managed the words, his voice thick with longing. Unable to resist, he pressed a wet, fervent kiss to the jagged marks on her cheek, his stubble tickling her skin. Morana squealed, giggling at the sensation but leaning into him all the same. Sharp wiped her cheek with the back of his hand, grinning broadly.

"I have no idea when exactly I fell in love with you," he admitted. "Back then, it was just camaraderie, a connection—a thread of understanding. You were always as radiant as a Veela and as wise as Merlin himself, but... it wasn’t that, not yet..." He paused, his thoughts deep. Even her kiss against his Adam’s apple couldn’t distract him.

"But it wasn’t long after that I started giving in," he continued. "And before I knew it... I couldn’t live without you."

His tongue teased her soft lips, pleading for entry into the sweetness of her mouth. He didn’t have to wait long—she wanted it just as much as he did, and the realization only heightened his satisfaction and desire.

“Mmm,” he moaned as their tongues intertwined, wrapping around one another, caressing and exploring with fervor. Their hands roamed each other's bodies, gripping hips and shoulders with increasing intensity.

“We’re at school, Aesop...” she managed to gasp, her body overwhelmed by the growing heat as his firmness pressed insistently against her through the fabric of her nightgown. Bending his knees slightly, he adjusted his posture so that his hips gently stimulated her intimate places. Mora trembled as he found a particularly sensitive spot, a rush of arousal clouding her mind and leaving her resistance faltering. She whispered his name softly, her voice igniting flames in his veins, a heat surging through him like boiling water.

He nipped at her neck and collarbone, trailing lower until his tongue slid between her breasts. Like a ravenous animal, he devoured her, savoring every moan, gasp, and shiver she gave in response.

“Aesop... we’re at school... hmm...” she tried one last time to regain control, a single rational thought flaring up in her mind. Yet she cursed herself inwardly for interrupting the ecstasy of the moment—especially when, with her eyes closed, she heard the faint click of her nightgown’s buttons coming undone. Aesop’s warm, wet mouth enveloped one of her nipples, sucking and nibbling with greedy intensity.

“Hmm?” he murmured, his voice dazed and incomprehensible, utterly intoxicated by her scent. It suddenly struck him that he had no idea when his hand had slipped beneath her nightgown, traveling up her soft thigh and delving between her legs. His fingers slid along her folds, teasing every sensitive spot with maddening precision. She was so warm, so wet, and her hips moved in circular motions, responding to his every touch, driving him to the brink of madness.

A proud smirk spread across his face as he reached for his waistband, loosening the strings of his pants. He yearned to enter her, to take her breath away, to see her eyes light up with a fiery glow. Yet every second of delay felt like an eternity—the stubborn strings tangled, and the fabric refused to cooperate.

“Shhh!” Mora suddenly hissed, freezing them both in place.

They sprang apart at the sound of noise in the corridor, hastily fixing their clothes, smoothing their hair, and wiping sweat from their faces in a frantic attempt to look as though "nothing had happened."

Aesop scowled, muttering a curse under his breath, furious at the interruption. Of course, such “activities” should have been reserved for the privacy of Aranshire. Alas, this was the reality of school life.

“Peeves?” Morana asked as they moved toward the door. Aesop pressed his ear against it, listening carefully before replying silently, “A student.”

Before he could stop her, Morana growled in frustration and burst out onto the landing like a storm.

“That had better not be a student I hear lurking about!” she roared.

Aesop, hobbling after her with his wand drawn, paused, stunned by her commanding tone.

“She really is the one,” he thought, dazed, as he flicked his wand, revealing a student skulking near the stairs.

“Well, well, well... Mr. Longbottom. I should have guessed. Sneaking up to the Faculty Tower, no doubt to prove your bravery to your friends... Gryffindor loses points.” Sharp’s tone was a low growl, but the boy seemed more startled than chastened.

Longbottom’s wide eyes darted between Sharp and Morana, his expression one of utter shock. It didn’t take long for the gears in his mind to click into place—his gaze flicked toward Sharp’s door, comprehension dawning.

“Bloody hell,” Sharp muttered, realizing the boy had deduced the presence of a woman in the unmarried professor’s quarters—a clear sign of a romantic entanglement. Rolling his eyes, Aesop raised his wand.

“Obliviate.”

The boy blinked, confused, before collapsing to the floor in a snoring heap.

“AESOP!” Morana scolded, aghast.

“He shouldn’t have been where he didn’t belong,” Aesop said with a shrug and levitated the unconscious Gryffindor up the staircase and toward Madam Blainey’s office.

Morana was barely visible behind the towering stacks of parchment that rose like the spires of San Gimignano on her desk. If not for the scratching of her quill and the muttered curses escaping her lips, one might think that the classroom—once belonging to Professor Fig and now empty save for a single student correcting a test in the corner—was entirely abandoned.

Aesop smirked to himself as he rounded the corner, limping slowly toward Morana. He leaned on his cane, less self-conscious about using it around her or the students and staff of the school—it had found a purpose in his life.

Stopping briefly, he glanced at his watch and noted the student should have finished their corrections five minutes ago. Without even looking at the boy, he began tapping the tip of his cane rhythmically against the stone floor, each tap punctuating another second ticking away. Patiently, he waited.

The student shifted nervously in his seat and scribbled furiously, trying to buy a few more moments to fix his errors—until his quill snapped.

Perfect, thought Aesop, and with a swift flick of his wand, he sent the Ravenclaw’s parchment flying to Morana’s desk. The student hastily gathered his belongings and scurried out of the room, nearly in tears.

Finally, Aesop smirked with satisfaction.

“You've traumatized my student… again,” Morana muttered, which only broadened his grin. Limping closer, he peered over the stacks of papers to find her.

“There you are…” he murmured, feigning surprise as he leaned his hip against the desk, easing the pressure off his left leg. “I couldn’t find you.” Her dark eyes glared at him from beneath a curtain of black curls. “What? Did you assign tests to every class at once?”

“Yes,” she replied with a tearful sniffle, glancing helplessly at the mountain of work awaiting her. Aesop didn’t hesitate. With one swift motion, he scooped her up from her seat, settled into her chair, and placed her on his lap, holding her tightly.

“Oh, Silly Bird, mistakes happen… You’ve only been teaching here for a month. I brought you something nice.” He pressed a neatly wrapped package smelling of blueberry muffins into her hands. “There now, don’t cry. You’re doing wonderfully.”

Morana calmed as the warm food filled her empty stomach, soothing her frayed nerves. Aesop, meanwhile, kept her nestled on his lap as he pulled out the latest Daily Prophet from his pocket, along with some unopened letters.

Frowning at the headline, he read aloud:

“SCANDAL! WIZARDS’ CONSPIRACY WITH GOBLINS: Several former Aurors, confessed during questioning that in retaliation for losing their positions they had collaborated with goblins on the dark magic artifacts they were creating. Responsible for chaos last month in the Forbidden Forest, they were executed three days ago in Azkaban by Dementor’s Kiss. Full story on page six...”

Aesop leaned his head against Morana’s shoulder, disheartened.

“So, either we dreamed what we witnessed, or this is a completely different case from what the Ministry is handling...”

“Fromm did say he wanted to sweep some things under the rug for the press... but did he really change everything?” Morana added softly, astonished at the extent of the fabrication.

Aesop’s response was a low growl of disgust.

“Vincent knows how to manipulate facts... He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing; I’ve told you before,” Aesop muttered, his voice bitter and dark. “Oh, he planned this well. Witnesses gone in a flash, before they could spill anything more than what the Ministry wanted out—Aurors accepting bribes. And his interrogation methods…” He trailed off, voice laced with venom. “They’d make even the most innocent confess to heinous crimes, just to avoid another second under Fromm’s ‘methods.’”

Morana stroked the arm wrapped around her waist, torn between skepticism and unease. She couldn’t always tell if Aesop exaggerated when it came to Vincent, or if it was all true.

“I’m not defending Fromm…” she whispered into his ear. “But even so, they’d likely have faced the death penalty. The Ministry probably decided to spin this into a story about goblin conspiracies to avoid panic—goblins causing trouble is nothing new. They’ve likely calculated that it’s better to not introduce a new enemy while they still don’t understand what they’re dealing with…” She hesitated, voice dropping. “I think Fromm suspects it’s ancient magic… That’s probably why he’s letting me scour the Forbidden Forest—any lead I find would be a gold mine for him.”

“Heh,” Aesop huffed. “I told you—every word of his is calculated. There’s rarely any ‘goodwill’ behind his actions.” He shifted, his tone softening. “Still, since your little stir-up, things have been quieter… Maybe the increase in Auror patrols has made it harder to craft dark artifacts.”

As he opened the letters in his hand, he quickly skimmed through them: a few pleading notes from parents, nonsense from Professor Black requesting yet another boil cure, dull notices from Matilda about upcoming Halloween festivities, and—

A pink envelope. A familiar handwriting style.

He pulled it free and read aloud:

“Dear Aesop, Thankfully, I’ve managed to cover for a pregnant Auror and taken over her office duties. I’m mostly sorting case documents and filing them in the archives... By sheer chance, I came across the files from your last case. I thought it was resolved, but... the witnesses were never even interrogated, just sentenced straight to death in Azkaban. It’s unusual—normally the Wizengamot would decide their fate. I’m not sure who handled this or why the Minister approved it... To be honest, it’s a mess here. Chief Constable has been on leave for some time now, and I haven’t seen him...

I’ll keep digging while he’s away. I’m sure both you and Miss Dimm will be interested. Sending warm regards, Galatea Flint"

Morana felt a pang of jealousy at the mention of her name. For a brief moment, an image of Galatea—a striking woman in a ball gown adorned with enchanted butterflies—flashed through her mind. Even though she was the one sitting on Aesop’s lap, she couldn’t help but feel envious. Scolding herself internally, she kept quiet.

Aesop noticed the tension in her body and cleared his throat, brushing his hand over her arm.

“Galatea made her mistakes, and she wronged me… but I think she genuinely regrets it,” he said softly, knowing Morana didn’t like her. He breathed deeply upon hearing that she hadn’t commented on his words, probably a little sulking. "Morana, forgiving someone for the harm they've caused us is important. I know what it feels like to act like a jerk and regret it afterward… To end up alone without friends… Maybe you’d be willing to invite her for tea one day?" When she didn’t reply, he chuckled and kissed her neck playfully. “Hey, Silly Bird… People change. Some need a curse to the knee…” His voice dropped as his lips brushed her skin. “Others… need to be saved from an enraged werewolf by a naked, even wilder witch…”

His hand lightly gripped the soft curve of her waist.

“I’ll think about it,” Morana grumbled, rolling her eyes.

“If you’re not comfortable, that’s fine,” Aesop assured her, not wanting her to feel forced and uncomfortable. His attention returned to the remaining letters until he reached the last one—a pitch-black envelope sealed with a silver hourglass crest.

His heart skipped a beat. Black envelopes meant death notices. For a moment, fear gripped him—could it be his father? Or someone from family?

Morana noticed his reaction, her expression growing somber. Their eyes met as Aesop broke the seal with trembling hands and read aloud:

“Dear Professor Aesop Sharp, With deep sorrow, we inform you of the passing of our beloved wife and mother, Ingrid Isabella Sharp-Fromm. She passed away peacefully, surrounded by love and care, leaving an emptiness in our hearts.

Her farewell will take place this Saturday at 11:00 AM at our family village chapel (Floo Network details attached). Ingrid will join our ancestors in Helheim Realm, embraced by the loving arms of the goddess Hel.

With respect, The grieving family: Jörð, Sága, and Vincent Fromm.”

Aesop sighed heavily.

“I was sure she still had years left...” he admitted. “If I’d known how bad it was... maybe there was something I could’ve done...”

Morana nodded sadly. She now recalled Vincent’s reaction when she’d wished his wife good health and offered her help. He must have known then that her time was short. Feeling a pang of guilt, she stroked Aesop’s cheek and pressed a gentle kiss to it. It barely eased his sorrow as bitterness washed over him.

“I was a terrible cousin,” he murmured. “At least I can see her off on her final journey.”

Aesop felt strangely uneasy as he stepped into the chapel adorned with black roses, where the scrutinizing gazes of aunts, uncles, and cousins turned toward him. He hadn’t seen most of them since his time working at the Ministry. Practically the entire Sharp family had gathered, except for his father, who in recent times had despised everything and everyone, embroiled in countless feuds over the family fortune. A coldness had begun to permeate this family—almost as frigid as the Gaunts. Why? Well, their ambition had grown insatiable.

After Aesop’s "fall from grace"—once the rising star of the family—other Sharps suddenly felt emboldened, hoping the scales of fame and fortune might tip from Aesop and Aristotle’s side to theirs: the Irish Sharps, Sharps from Greenwitch, Sharps from France... Aesop, the sole heir to the fabulous wealth of the miserly Aristotle, ceased to be a threat the moment he stepped aboard a ship in Scarborough. Indeed, unofficially but decisively, they had erased him from the list of heirs. In their eyes, his branch of the family ended there. Period.

Imagine their shock—and indignation—when Aesop, limping heavily and leaning on a cane, dared to appear at the funeral accompanied by a stunning woman. Though they couldn’t place her name, they recognized her from the front page of The Prophet, which had featured her as the deputy headmistress of Durmstrang. That alone was enough to make their ears burn with jealousy and their blood boil. How?! A cripple?! He was supposed to live out his days alone, quietly teaching at Hogwarts, not courting a woman, and—heaven forbid—possibly fathering children with her in the future! The Sharps ground their teeth at the very thought, clinging to the hope that she was merely a mistress, dragged here reluctantly or for money.

Yet their delusions crumbled with every affectionate gesture from Morana: the gentle way she held his arm, the soft caresses she occasionally gave it, and the way she matched her pace to his. It defied all their expectations.

Yes, it was clear—Morana loved Aesop. It showed. And he, in turn, sealed their bond with every glance and small gesture. Their love was blossoming.

Vincent Fromm watched them discreetly. Morana caught sight of him among the mourners and noted his faint, warm smile, despite the sorrow that reddened his eyes. Odd. It was as though he saw something familiar, something close to his heart. Perhaps himself and Ingrid? Even though his own love had died with Mrs. Fromm, he seemed to recognize that same goodness taking root in Morana and his old friend.

The procession moved from the chapel toward the shore.

Morana marveled at the calmness outside, the pleasant atmosphere surrounding them. The blue-green waves, woven with strands of seaweed, glimmered in the gentle light of the sun, hanging high in a steel-gray sky scattered with fluffy clouds carried by the icy wind. The mourners’ soft, haunting hymn blended with the wind and the light tapping of heels on the rocky, pale shore. Morana and Aesop stayed toward the back of the procession, which was led by Vincent Fromm, flanked by his twin daughters clinging tightly to his hands.

Despite the considerable number of guests from both families and the Ministry, the Fromms seemed profoundly alone. It was as though only they had come to truly say goodbye to a beloved person, their intentions genuine. It was a truly somber sight. Morana couldn’t help but feel pity for Constable and the girls. Caring for an ailing loved one must have demanded so much strength and sacrifice—something most of their family could likely never understand.

“…Ingrid was like a plant…” floated to her ears, heightened by her Animagus senses and a drop of "Sharp Translating Oil." From another conversation, she caught: “…She was in such bad shape last time I visited. It’s good that it’s finally over…”

Morana hissed under her breath, outraged by the inappropriateness of such comments. She wanted to confront the speakers, but... what was the point? Why cause a scene with people incapable of understanding?

The procession reached the shoreline.

On the water’s surface, Fromm conjured a wooden boat adorned with intricate carvings and an inscription of eternal love written in Elder Futhark. Resting on a bed of thousands of flowers, Mrs. Fromm’s body lay dressed in white. The boat drifted slowly away, guided toward the open sea.

"Deyr fé, deyja frændr…" (“Cattle die, friends die”) Fromm began, his voice trembling. The twins joined him, their thin, tearful voices echoing: “…deyr sjálfr it sama; ek veit einn at aldri deyr: dómr um dauðan hvern.” (“and the same with you; but I know of something that never dies: the deeds of the departed.”)

From his raised wand, flaming sparks shot forth, striking the boat with precision. It caught fire instantly, consumed in a blaze that reduced it to ashes.

Aesop had no intention of staying for the wake at Fromm’s large red house. He knew it would involve intrusive and undoubtedly rude questions. He had overheard enough while tossing flowers into the sea and was thoroughly done with the volatile mix of Sharps, Fromms, and former Ministry colleagues.

“Funeral? What a joke. They’ve turned it into a Ministry chit-chat session, for Merlin’s sake—it’s sickening,” he muttered to Morana as he passed her, adding, “I’m off for a loo break. Let’s pay our respects and get out of here.” He disappeared into the crowd, pretending to be cross-eyed and deaf, ensuring no one could approach him.

Left alone under a barrage of curious stares, Morana slipped out of the house and into the nearby woods to collect herself, overwhelmed by the sheer number of people.

“…I’m so sorry for everything I’ve done…” a quiet voice reached her ears. Intrigued, she froze, straining to hear more. “…I know it’s not enough. I can’t turn back time or undo the foolish, selfish decisions I made when I was young and arrogant…”

Peeking through dense branches, she saw him—Vincent Fromm, speaking to no one in particular, gazing toward the sea, leaning against a metal bench. She felt a sharp pang in her chest, realizing this was likely a deeply personal monologue to Ingrid. Embarrassed to witness such an intimate farewell, she wanted to withdraw, but feared any movement might give her away. She decided to wait for the right moment to transform into a raven and slip away unnoticed.

“I’m not worthy of being a father or a husband…” his voice cracked, and he sobbed quietly—a heart-wrenching sound, full of pain. His shoulders hunched as if his chest were burning with grief. Though Morana didn’t know him well, the sight made her eyes sting with tears. He wasn’t a bad father, nor a bad husband—everyone, even Aesop, knew that. Could his self-esteem be as low as Aesop’s?

Taking a deep breath, his voice choking on his tears, he continued, “I wanted so badly for everything to end well, but… I failed. I don't know why some people lead simple and happy lives, while everything around me always has to fall apart, even though I do everything I can to fix it, to protect everyone… Maybe I am cursed, maybe I bring misfortune to others?… I'm sorry… I'm truly sorry, my dear… I did what I could… I-I couldn't do anything more, I couldn't think of anything smarter… What's the use of magic, if there's nothing left to fix?… I'm so pathetic…” He slumped onto the bench, burying his face in his hands, repeating the last sentence softly. He sat there, curled up and helpless, his quiet sobs occasionally carried toward Morana by the icy breeze.

She didn’t know what to do. She wanted to help, to comfort him, to tell him everything would be okay. But deep down, she knew this wasn’t the right moment. Silently, she stepped back and shifted into a raven, flying away.

"My dear… How can I make it up to you?…" The last words, spoken in a velvet tone, reached her, and she was already high above the grove.

Aesop, practically ready to leave, sat on a sofa in the foyer, far from the guests whose muffled conversations were just a hum through the door. On either side of him were the twins, nestled into his arms, soaking his sleeves with their tears. He cast a pleading look at Morana, silently begging for help. She smiled faintly, amused by how he was a magnet for children, destined for their company.

“How are you two feeling?” she asked gently, approaching them.

“Awful…” one of them confessed, bursting into sobs, which eased slightly when Aesop’s large hand stroked her golden hair.

“Mama said she’d leave soon, that it was her time, but…” the other choked, unable to finish.

“…You didn’t think it would happen so fast, did you?” Aesop added, wiping her tears. She nodded, and Morana caressed her cheek. "Why are you sitting here, all alone?" she asked. "I wanted to hide here with Jörð from Aunt Gudrid…" "…she looks after us when Dad's not around, but she's not nice. She often punishes us for no reason because she prefers us to stand in a corner or sit locked in a room rather than bother her…" Jörð grumbled, wiping her nose. "…She says that girls should be quiet and play with dolls, ridiculous… Mom thought differently, she argued with her about it, but… when she felt worse, she mostly slept, and Auntie ran the house…" Sága confessed, furrowing her brow. "Dad said we should handle things 'diplomatically' and talk to Auntie, not hide from her…" Jörð added. "Ah… so that's why you're sitting here?" Morana smiled. "We diplomatically withdrew, not finding Auntie on our level for a conversation…" Jörð shrugged. "Oh, my…" Aesop sighed, horrified by the girls' eloquence. He shuddered at the thought that their entire generation might be as articulate, and he dreaded the thought of what would happen when they flooded the Hogwarts classes. But then again, they were Auror's daughters, who was involved in politics, so what else could he expect… "Aunt Gudrid tries her best, but she doesn't always understand how Ingrid and I raised the children…" Morana and Aesop turned their heads toward Fromm, who had quietly appeared in the doorway.

He looked terrible. Gaunt, exhausted… In his tear-filled eyes, the flame of life seemed to have faded, leaving only a dark abyss full of pain and longing. He extended his hands, and the twins immediately jumped off the couch, grabbing his hands and clinging tightly to him. "Thank you for being here at the funeral…" he said very quietly, his voice weak but full of warmth and gratitude. He slightly bowed his head in farewell and led his daughters to the living room, now filled with guests. Aesop grew sad, still tormented by feelings of guilt from loosing his best friend, and froze in place, as if forgetting it was time to go home. Morana gently tugged at his sleeve. "When Fromm extended his hands... Did you notice the scars on his forearms?" she asked Aesop, curioused. "Hm? No... not really? Aurors usually have tons of scars..." "Yes, but those looked like... well... long ago he tried to cut his veins..."

Aesop didn't know what to say; he didn't remember Vincent ever trying to hurt himself, and Morana stopped thinking about it. "How about we stop by Sirona's?" she asked, also feeling an uncomfortable weight on her heart, and Sharp smiled widely. They both linked hands and disapparated.

End of part 25, thanks for reading

#professor sharp #aesop sharp #hogwarts legacy #professor aesop sharp #hogwarts legacy oc #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy meme #aesop sharp smut #aesop sharp x mc

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eastofurban · 24 days ago

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I really wish this stabbing pain in my left lower back would stop. We're kinda snowed in for a few days and I really don't want to see the piss poor urgent care facilities that we have anyway.

The last couple of times we went in, the doctors *did not* listen to us in the slightest and at least one of the times, that lack of listening led to a dangerous misdiagnosis ("just poison ivy rash" compared to the rapidly growing bacterial skin infection in an area that could easily spread to the blood stream.) I'm grateful for my autistic skepticism and experience with patient advocacy.

So yeah, trekking out in the snow to see some incompetent and arrogant asshole employed by private equity just isn't that appealing to me.

From everything I've read online, I suspect it's a kidney stone though. It doesn't quite fit the profile, but it fits more than a kidney infection because my pain isn't consistently there. It's a periodic stabbing pain instead of a constant aching pain.

🤷 I dunno, I know I should see a doctor, I'm just really frustrated with the state of medical care in the US. It's always been somewhat bad, but lately it's just gotten laughable.

It's like, even if you can afford care, the care sucks now. Or, like, sucks extra bad?

Fuck, man. My back hurts.

#Spotify

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kohabielnin · 1 year ago

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Truth & Inference headcanons working together

It's been a while since I wanted to put down on paper all the knowledge I have about the Truth & Inference universe, so… here it is

D.M/Désire Mélodis

• As a famous nobleman and art teacher, in front of others he treats you well and pleasantly, not so much when behind closed doors,

• He often sends you on missions with Noir or simply to come if Gatto is okay,

• Even though it doesn't seem like much, he actually cares about you, always teasing you and things like that,

• If you stay in the same environment as him, Noir and Tuberose, the only one who will defend you will be Noir because both Tuberose and D.M will provoke you,

• D.M is like a devil in human skin, but anyway he thinks you are a very important person in his life and will take care of you,

• He often likes to show you off as his, even though you are just an employee at his service, he is very proud of the little mouse he has in his hands

Gatto/Aesop Carl

• Gatto is by no means a person who enjoys company other than four-legged furry ones, but after so long he has learned not to care so much about you,

• Cat and the other kitties seem to just love you, so it makes Gatto feel a little better around you,

• Both you and him share the fear of being left alone with Tuberose,

• As you have a degree in chemistry, he usually asks for your help when he has some difficulty in an experiment,

• Usually trusts you to make his coffee and look after Cat while he's away,

• You are the only person he trusts to tell you that he has been leaking information about D.M to Sir Inference and you don't really care about it, but you still promised to keep it secret from the others for the safety of the Silent Rebel

Tuberose/Jack

• As soon as D.M told him that you would be his partner, be sure he held back a lot until the day he could have your confidence to tease you,

• Generally he likes to talk about Lady Rosemary and you can be sure that this conversation only ends when you end up sleeping,

• Even though he is an idiotic provocateur, he is very kind when he wants to be,

• As I said, he has his moments of kindness, presenting you with flowers, but then he goes back to teasing you again if he sees your face flushed,

• Pray you never have him and D.M in the same room, they both love to tease you,

• We all know that Tuberose is a hot man, and he clearly knows that so the normal tease he uses on you is just how you look at his six-pack on display.

Noir/Saphir Mélodis

• You and him always worked together because you both wanted to, not at D.M's request,

• Since you've known each other since you were children, it's as if you two can read each other's minds and that helps a lot when it comes to getting your hands dirty,

• It's not just him who has a certain affection for you, Leon your falcon also likes you a lot and likes to receive affection from you,

• D.M lets the two of you stay together because he says Noir is happy in his company and performs great on missions when he's by his side,

• Of course, not everything is a bed of roses, after all, there isn't a day that goes by that Tuberose doesn't tease you because of his childhood relationship with Noir,

• In the same way that Tuberose provokes you, Noir always appears at the right times to save you, of course, not before giving beautiful answers to Tuberose

Lady Truth/Emma Woods

• You, her and Mr. Inferece met at the orphanage and have been together ever since.

• She is very affectionate and dedicated to her two childhood friends, so there won't be a day that goes by that you are sad that she doesn't try to make a smile appear on your face,

• Unlike Mr. Inference, she is not as serious and is more relaxed, trying her best to make the agency's atmosphere light,

• She loves to surprise you with her favorite snack at least one day a week, it only changes when it's your birthday week which is every day and on your birthday she throws a surprise party for you,

• When it comes to investigations, she relies heavily on her deductive potential, so while she looks for clues, she usually lets you come up with the line of reasoning to solve the case,

• Once a month she changes the flowers in the vase on her table, always to her favorite flowers.

Mr. Inference/Naib Subedar

• He always saw you as a little brother/sister,

• Even with his serious demeanor, he cares a lot about you and often asks if you're okay,

• When the two of you are alone, he often shares his concerns about D.M.

• Usually you, him and Lady Truth go to events as guests and you can be sure that you are the only person who can calm him down when they meet D.M,

• D.M, in turn, really likes to provoke the detective and you, which clearly doesn't come very cheaply to the count,

• As your relationship with him is long-standing, you understand each other without needing words and he also trusts your deduction a lot.

White/Saphir Mélodis

• He is always extremely affectionate with you,

• You two haven't known each other long, but you feel like you've known each other for a long time,

• His owl also loves to sit on his shoulder and receive affection,

• He usually sleeps at work, according to him it's a nap to work better, but he usually keeps muttering things like "I really like your company" and things like that while he calls your name in his sleep,

• On his days off he loves going out with you to a park and being able to sleep under a tree on your lap, according to him it's a moment of peace for him,

• There's no denying that he's extremely cute, and sometimes he uses that to his advantage to get your attention.

#aesop carl x reader #eli clark x reader #Joseph desaulnier x reader #naib subedar x reader #emma woods x reader #jack idv x reader #joseph desaulnier d.m #aesop carl gatto #eli clark white #eli clark noir #naib subedar sir inference #emma woods lady truth #jack the ripper tuberose #identity v x reader #identity v truth & inference #saphir mélodis x reader #désire mélodis x reader

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cursedonyx · 1 year ago

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Could you write one where the professors have been drinking. There is an attraction between Aesop and Mirabel that has been growing for some time. With the help of alcohol they pick up the courage to act on it. One of them makes the first move and it goes on from there ... It can be quiet explicit 🫣 (it's of course consensual. No one is too drunk to make things they do not want to)

Thank you :)))

Well, this was fun to write! Hope this is what you wanted, enjoy!

Word count – 3.5k

Warnings – Smut (🔞 MDNI), PiV, Oral F!Receiving, M!Receiving, alcohol, consensual mutual longing fulfilled

The Christmas holidays arrived not a moment too soon, and Aesop Sharp sat comfortably in the company of his fellow professors in the Three Broomsticks, sipping slowly from a tankard of butterbeer, listening as Abraham regaled them all with a hilarious tale about a Hippogriff and a Centaur.

Though it was tradition for the professors to get together at the end of each term to drink away their stress, this year’s gathering was somewhat more forced than those previous.

Some student or three, clearly overtaken with festive joy and embodying the spirit of Peeves, had decided to plant several hundred Dungbombs throughout the entire school and set them off simultaneously. Aesop had a very good idea who the culprits were, though without proof, there was little he could do other than glare at the Sallow twins and their Gaunt friend as they left the castle for Feldcroft, the three of them in fits of laughter.

The stench had permeated the castle, causing a mass evacuation. Only Mr Moon remained behind, armed with the Bubble-Head charm and a mop to clean up the mess. The stampede of students had almost caused injury, and it was fortunate that only a handful of students were staying over the Christmas break. The kindly villagers of Hogsmeade had happily agreed to house the professors and students for the night, and the professors were rooming in the Three Broomsticks.

Aesop glanced across the table, his eyes lighting on the lithe Mirabel Garlick, barely twenty and giggling as Abraham finished his tale with gusto, arms flung wide to emphasise the punchline. Aesop chuckled politely, but if he was being honest with himself, his attention had not been on the Charms Professor at all.

Over and over through the night, his gaze had been drawn to the young Herbology Professor. She had rid herself of her usual green robes and wide-brimmed hat, wearing instead a beautiful little number of peach and cream that complimented her skin and hair beautifully. And Merlin… her hair. Down to her hips and a luscious, almost fiery red, she’d taken it out of her traditional plaits and wound it into an elegant braid that wove around her head, thin tendrils escaping as the night wore on to frame her face prettily.

Aesop caught himself staring and busied himself with his tankard as his fellow professors continued laughing at Abraham’s tale. He shouldn’t feel this way. Mirabel had been his student three years ago, for Merlin’s sake! Even then, her graceful movements and measured, gentle speech had caught his attention, and he’d had to take special care to be as gruff and stoic with her as he was with all his students. Perhaps moreso than usual.

But she wasn’t a student any more. She was a woman, a beautiful, elegant woman, passionate about her subject and fearless in the face of deadly plants. He’d known women like her before when he was an Auror, quietly confident and full of vigour, until the demands of the job left them haggard, insane, injured or dead.

No such dangers presented themselves to a Herbology Professor. Aesop raised his tankard to his lips, irritated to find it empty. He waved to Sirona for a refill, his gaze landing on Mirabel again.

Merlin… she was enchanting. But he was twice her age, scarred and limping, grumpy and irritable. Though their brief conversations over breakfast or in the hallways indicated that they were nothing more than friendly colleagues, he couldn’t help but wonder if such a beauty would ever look at him in any other way than simply contemporaries.

He winced, accepting the tankard Sirona handed him. He shouldn’t think like that. She was too young, too pure, too beautiful for the likes of him. But all the same, images slid into his mind. Images of her amongst her plants, images of her carrying a basket of ingredients to his classroom, images of her doing so wearing absolutely nothing at all.

“Well, this has been delightful as always,” Matilda said, jerking him out of his musings. “However, I feel I must retire, I have a long journey ahead of me tomorrow.”

“Ah, the famous Weasley family Christmas,” Abraham chortled. “Do give Garreth my fond regards, he’s certainly been inventive with his charms this year.”

“Inventive is definitely a word for it,” Aesop muttered, remembering the six melted cauldrons and eighteen explosions the Gryffindor had caused in this term alone.

Matilda chuckled, raising a hand in farewell as she made for the stairs. Beside him, Chiyo Kogawa stretched and yawned.

“It is getting late,” she said. “I don’t really want to be hungover for my flight tomorrow.” With a wave, she rose and followed Matilda.

One by one, the other professors finished their drinks and made their way up to their rooms, until it was only Aesop and Mirabel left. She nursed her gillywater, nibbling her lip, before casting a shy glance his way.

“I suppose we should get to bed too,” she said.

Aesop nodded, trying hard not to picture her lying naked in the long grass of the fields just outside Hogsmeade, her form highlighted in silver moonlight. “I’ll be here a little longer. Don’t stay on my account.”

A smile touched her lips. “I’d like to,” she said. “I have to say, I don’t really want to go up yet. I’ve been enjoying the conversation.”

Aesop tightened his grip on his tankard. Now he wanted to think of a topic, a conversation starter, something that would keep her here with him. But what could he say? What would she find interesting? He barely knew a thing about the young professor, much less anything that would keep her here, sitting opposite him in the dimly lit tavern. As if she’d be interested in an old cripple like him.

Mirabel drained her gillywater and passed him a shy smile, before rising and heading to the bar. Aesop cursed under his breath. He mustn’t think the way he’d been thinking all evening, she was too young, too sweet, too pure for him to do all the things he wanted to. She wouldn’t even be interested. She would be entranced by some young buck her age, someone fresh and eager and wholly inexperienced.

But then… perhaps he’d imagined it, but the way she’d look at him sometimes, the soft, lingering glances she passed him in the Great Hall, the shy smiles she’d gifted him when she brought him ingredients from her greenhouses… perhaps he was reading too much into it. A man his age shouldn’t indulge in fancies of the mind. He should know better.

Mirabel returned with two generous glasses of firewhiskey, grinning a little. Aesop raised a brow as she set them on the table.

“I guessed you might like this,” she said, sliding one over to him, bending over and gifting him a generous glance of her cleavage. She’d guessed right. He was surprised. He was even more surprised when she didn’t take her seat again, but elected to squidge up beside him on the bench, despite there being several empty chairs around the scrubbed wooden table. Aesop’s breath caught as her slender thigh bumped up against his own, and she turned to him.

“Sorry,” she said. “That’s your bad leg, isn’t it? I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

“It’s fine,” he managed. “Thank you for the drink.”

“It’s a favourite of mine,” she said, picking up her whiskey. “I try not to indulge too much, but it’s the holidays. Why not?”

“Why not indeed?” he said. Merlin, she was incredibly close, her leg resting against his, her shoulder rubbing against his arm as she set her glass back on the table. He turned his head, inhaling subtly. Her hair smelled of roses and fresh earth. He caught himself and turned away, busying himself with his drink.

Silence bloomed between them, their hands wrapped around their glasses, a slow tension gathering in the air around them.

“Forgive me,” Mirabel said, her voice so low it was almost lost in the chatter of the pub. “I… I feel like if I don’t say something, I’ll burst.”

Aesop swallowed. “What would you like to talk about? My knowledge of plants is limited to their uses in potions, I’m afraid.”

She loosed a soft laugh. “Not that,” she said. “Not work. Although… I suppose it’s related to work, in a way.”

“Trouble with students?” Aesop said. He felt he knew where the conversation was headed, and a part of him pushed out, eager for it to continue, keen for her to say what he needed to hear. The other, larger part tried to be sensible, telling him not to get his hopes up, to stop mooning after her like a lovestruck diricawl, that it could never happen, it shouldn’t happen, it was impossible-

“I like you,” Mirabel said, softly. “As more than a colleague. More than a friend. I have for a while, now.” She glanced at her glass. “It’s just a shame it’s taken until now for me to find the courage to say it.”

Aesop sat stunned. He’d been right. The glances and smiles and lingering looks hadn’t been his imagination. She liked him. Another vision of her naked before him rose in his mind, only this time, she was writhing under his hands, caught and wailing in ecstasy on his cock. He shook himself. Merlin, she was so young and beautiful, he’d almost forgotten what suppleness a youthful body had…

“Aesop?” she shifted, turning to him. He’d been silent for nearly half a minute. “I… I’m sorry, if I’ve made things awkward, I didn’t mean to. I-I’m sure I can get over this, it’s just a crush, I don’t want to be unprofessional, or-”

Aesop set his glass down on the table with a thunk. His hand moved from the glass to her cheek, turning her face to his. Her darkly green eyes went wide as the pads of his fingers slipped behind her ear, the corner of her jaw, sliding into her hair.

His lips parted, a storm of words fighting to be let free, to stumble over his tongue and entrance her, but they jumbled and jammed behind his teeth, rendering him mute. With nothing else to do, he leaned in and kissed her.

It was soft, it was hesitant, and it was perfect. Her lips were pillowy and firm, curving around his, lighting a fire in his belly that he hadn’t felt since he was her age. But he pulled back, acutely aware of the stubble on his jaw, wishing he’d shaved, cringing inside at how scratchy and uncomfortable it must be for her.

Then her hands were winding into his hair and she was pulling him close again, kissing him passionately. He loosed a soft sigh, his hand dropping to her hip, feeling the soft cotton of her dress, the heat of her skin beneath it as her breath rushed over her lips.

“Oh… Aesop…” she whispered. “I hadn’t dared to hope… I-I’ve liked you for so long…”

He couldn’t speak. If a wand had been held to his throat, he couldn’t conjure a single word to say. He let his actions speak for him, drawing her close to kiss her again, elated by the gentle sigh she released, his hands roving over her back, her hips, her legs, legs that parted as she leaned into him, her hand digging into his hair, his neck, her fingers slipping under his collar.

“N-not here,” she whispered. “Aesop… upstairs, quickly.”

With the speed of a much younger man, he was on his feet, drawing her up, a hand at her waist, drinking in the sight of her flushed skin, her wide, bright eyes, her parted, perfect lips.

“Are you certain?” he asked.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” she replied, gazing at him with such longing that he almost bent her over the table right then and there. “Please, Aesop, I want you.”

He set his jaw and took her hand, leading her to the stairs, bounding up them with an energy he didn’t know he could possess. Even his leg didn’t seem to pain him, the only sensation he was aware of being her hand in his, her delicate fingers wrapped around his.

They tumbled into his tiny room, with space enough only for a narrow bed, a wardrobe and a miniscule beside cabinet.

“Mirabel…” he whispered as she wound her arms around his neck, the word a song, a sonnet, a perfect poem he couldn’t have versed without her there before him. “We shouldn’t.”

He kissed her fiercely, his words contrasting sharply with his exploring hands, feeling each tender curve of her figure, flying over her hips, her back, and Merlin, her breasts. Small and perfect, barely fitting in his hands. He tightened the curve of his palms, and she moaned softly.

Aesop shivered, his lips insistent against hers as she melted under his touch, and he didn’t think he could stop if he tried. All the same, he tried to resist, tried to remind himself of her inexperience, her youth. All was lost as he was captivated by her beauty, her grace, her elegance, and her complete and total need for him.

Her hands were in his hair again, kissing him with a near desperation, pressing her body against his.

“I want to,” she almost whined. “Aesop, please, I’ve wanted you for so long.”

With a low growl, he walked her back to the bed, his hands catching her as her knees hit the mattress and she lost her balance with a squeak, clutching his shoulders. He laid her down, climbing atop her, staring down at her stunning form, breathless and needy beneath him. Her hands rose, scrabbling at his shirt collar, his waistcoat, his suit jacket. He shed these last two and tossed them aside, unable to keep his hands off her for more than a moment.

She whimpered softly as he brushed his hands over her breasts again, her hair coming loose from its braid, her nipples stiffening even through the cotton. Giving himself over to temptation, Aesop took hold of the boddice of her dress and tore it apart, revealing the perfect rosebuds to the cold winter air, flushed and red at their tips. He didn’t wait, but bent his head to her breasts, taking each of the soft peaks into his mouth, winding his tongue around them as her back arched, a symphony of eager sounds rising from her throat.

He fought a low groan as she gasped and writhed under him, trying to ignore the insistent hardness growing in his trousers, begging to be attended to as she whined and bucked under him, her hands in his hair again, holding him against her breasts. But that wasn’t all he wanted from her. If this was going to happen, if he was going to cross the boundary between colleagues that should never be crossed, he shouldn’t just dip his feet in the water. He should throw himself body and soul over the threshold, and damn the consequences.

He raised his head, finding her lips again and pressing his chest to hers, kissing her desperately as her legs fell apart, her hips tucking up to him as she fought with his shirt buttons.

“Aesop… Aesop… please, I need you…”

The words were music, a spell, a captivation. He tore his shirt from his frame, and her hands fell to his chest, digging into his flesh as she explored over the dark hair spreading over his muscle, flickering over his nipples and dipping down to his stomach, losing some definition with his age, but tensing all the same.

Merlin, what was he doing? Kissing an eager young woman that wanted him, some scarred and limping ex-Auror, as if she truly wanted what he was giving her, and not acting out of some cruel joke. He gritted his teeth as her hand found its way into his trousers, gracing along his length and sending sharp lines of fire over his back. His hips flexed instinctively, pushing into her hand as his breath rushed over her neck, and he bit at her soft skin, drawing it into his mouth and sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Mirabel gasped, her grip tightening on his cock as he slavered over her neck.

It wasn’t enough. He had to show her he was better than any of those inept louts that might seek her affection. He tugged at the skirt of her dress, drawing it up over her hips, revealing slender, pale legs, perfectly shaped, encased in luscious, white stockings that almost sent him into a stupor.

Growling under his breath, Aesop took hold of her white, cotton underwear and pulled it down, revealing velvety folds almost hidden by soft brown curls, darker than her long plaits, but hiding a fire nonetheless. Mirabel gasped and whimpered, pushing her hips up.

“Aesop, please…” she whined. “Please, touch me, I need it, I need you.”

He was only too happy to oblige her. He’d fantasised about it for most of the last calendar year after all. He brushed his fingers over the silken folds, gently pushing them back to expose her clit, already engorged and begging for attention. No young wizard, wet behind he ears and thinking with his cock could do this for her. He dipped his fingers over the slick at her entrance and drew it over her nub, easing the soft swirls his fingers made against her.

And Merlin, the sounds she made as he pleased her. Mirabel threw her head back to the pillow, her mouth agape as she gasped and moaned, and Aesop allowed himself a small grin. She hadn’t seen anything yet.

He lowered his head between her quivering thighs as he slid two fingers into her dripping entrance, sealing his lips against her clit as he curled his fingers up, pressing against the place he knew would give her the most pleasure.

Mirabel almost screamed, her hips jerking up to meet him as Aesop thrust his fingers inside her, his tongue working over her clit, captured and held prisoner between his lips.

“Aesop… Aesop… Aesop!” she gasped, her voice rising in pitch and urgency as she rutted against his lips and fingers, her delicate hands gripping fistfuls of the bedsheets, and his name on her lips lit the fiercest fire in his chest, his own need for her almost overwhelming until she howled, her whole body tensing under his ministrations, clenching around his fingers.

She fell back, gasping as he rose to her, his stubble slick with her pleasure as she kissed him.

“Let me…” she panted, a hand braced against his chest, turning him, lying him down. “Please, let me.”

A sudden nervousness rose in him as she laid him down, her bright eyes clouded with lingering bliss. Her hands fumbled at his belt, and he was reminded of her youth, her inexperience, her…

Aesop gasped as she drew his cock out and dived down, wrapping her plump lips around the head of him. Merlin, she’d either sucked a thousand cocks or read enough books to give her the same experience, for each movement against him was glory personified, each swipe of her tongue a jolt of electricity, each gentle suck and breath enough to drive every coherent thought from his head. He sank back to the pillow, his eyes rolling back, his hand finding the silken strands of her glorious hair as she drew sounds he never knew he could make from his throat.

He tightened his fingers in her hair, drawing her back up to his face, his cock sliding from her lips with a gentle pop. He kissed her ferociously, winding his arms around her, turning so she was on her back, pushing her beautiful legs apart. He had to fuck her. He had to make her his, now. Nothing could stop him, not fire, not snow, not even Merlin himself.

He tucked an arm under her head, gracing her with eager, passionate kisses as he aligned himself.

“Are you sure?” he whispered.

“Merlin, yes,” Mirabel whined. “Aesop, I need you.”

He didn’t dare stop to think. He slammed his hips forward, entering a heaven of fire and sodden satin that sent his mind scattering to a place he had no hope of pulling it back from. Aesop thrust into her, encouraged by her soft yelps and exclamations, taking care to angle up, hitting every core inside her as his own pleasure built, each pump of his cock sending thrills rushing over his stomach and chest, drawing together and condensing in his balls as he slapped them against her perfect arse.

His orgasm was sudden and intense, driving the breath from him as Mirabel wailed and writhed under him, her hips slamming up to meet him as she tightened around his cock, increasing his pleasure as they came together, his face in her hair, her nails digging into his back.

He shuddered and crumpled atop her, trying to control his breathing as Mirabel whimpered and gasped in his ear, her arms locked around him.

“Aesop… oh, Aesop, that was…” she let loose a soft laugh. “Oh, Merlin, that was everything I ever hoped it would be.”

He raised his head, grinning a little as he graced her soft lips with a gentle kiss.

“That was only the beginning,” he murmured. “We have the rest of the year yet, my dear.”

#hogwarts legacy #aesop sharp #professor sharp #mirabel garlick #professor garlick #professor sharp x professor garlick #smut #aesop sharp smut #mirabel garlick smut

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