NSFW Kyoraku Shunsui X Fem!Reader - Sudden Lovers

Imagine yandere Elrond helping you get over your hangover and lying to you about what you did last night because you made out with him and Elrond did not want you to be embarrassed

(and also wanted to preserve your innocence of him because you knew he would not get drunk due to the meating he had in the morning and plus you knew if you did make out with him he SHOULD’ve pushed you away the first time you kissed him so you would know that elrond egged you on)

I have another idea!

Snape x student!reader in which the reader gets a arm broken during a quidditch match and gets helps from the professor?

Broken Bones - Severus Snape

A/N: Hey! Thanks for waiting so long for this request! Hope it turned out alright <3

It was such a tight match. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, 60-63, respectively. Harry, your best friend, was an amazing chaser, you have to admit. But you were, too. Hogwarts knew it would be a good game every time the two of you were against each other. The match had been going on for a few hours now, and everyone was growing tired. This was the longest match in a while and some of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had made their way back inside the castle at this point.

You were several thousand feet in the air, scanning over the field for the small golden snitch. Harry was closer to the ground, scanning the area around him. And then he took off, fast as he could towards the south side of the court. You didn’t hesitate to go after him. The closer you got, the clearer you could see the small golden object. It was almost as if it was taunting you, flying just out of reach of you and Harry. It was leading you over to the tower where Hogwarts’ staff was seated.

What you couldn’t see, however, was the bludger that had been hit towards you. It was too fast for you to dodge at the last second, and it knocked you forward and off of your broom. You were sent flying forward, crashing into rows of empty seats where the teachers were supposed to be but had jumped out of your way. You landed with a gruesome crack as you landed shoulder first and rolled until your back collided with a row of seats.

You choked on a cry of pain as your hand loosened its grip, revealing the snitch clutched in your hand.

“Y/N has the snitch!” you heard over the intercom. “Slytherin wins!” Cheers erupted from your house at the news, causing your ears to ring. You’d be happy, except you were in extreme pain and it dominated all of your other senses and emotions.

You felt a hand on your back, and someone gently pulled the snitch from your hand. “Where does it hurt?” Their hand brushed against your injured arm and you screamed. “Alright, you’re alright.” You opened your eyes to see your Head of House sitting behind you. His black eyes weren’t soft, to say, but they weren’t hard, either. You could tell he was trying to be comforting.

Snape snaked an arm under your knees and picked you up gently. The movement caused you to cry out in pain, and then whimper a soft, “I can walk.”

Snape glared down at you for a moment, but it wasn’t harsh. It was almost teasing. “Not with the chance you may have injured your back. I will take you to the infirmary.”

Professor Snape made sure you made it back to your dorm room safely before leaving you be. He may not seem caring and comforting, but if you were being honest, he was the reason you weren’t caught in a panic attack when you were being treated, or even making your way to see Madam Pomfrey. Your professor’s calm demeanor kept you calm as well, and you made a note to thank him once you were feeling better.

The Bitter Taste of Dittany

Aesop Sharp x Reader

18+

You were his favorite student, destined for great things. But one day you disappeared off the face of the planet, only to reemerge six years later to sit in for Professor Garlick.

AN: Here it is, the first part of three. All 12691 words of it. I was hesitant to put this up because I am not good at continuing things. but anyways this took me like 4 days to write. 2 of those were all day writing marathons. I will now be continuing on the second half of this. Wish me luck. Tag list: @misswildfire @theboesgirl

Aesop used to think that if perhaps he had paid a little more attention, if he had noticed just how much you were hurting, then he could have convinced you to stay. But he hadn't and so you left, halfway through your sixth year. One day you were there, the next rumors of you dropping out spread until they reached the doors of his classroom. He was surprised to hear of it. You had been doing just fine, there had been nothing to warn him of your impending departure.

It seemed that no one knew, Ominis Gaunt and Poppy Sweeting had cornered him, asking questions he just didn't have the answer to. Where had you gone? Why had you left?

When Aesop asked why they thought that he would have any clue on what was going on, it was Poppy that gave him a look of incredulity.

"Professor, she spent all her time here. With you."

It seems that if anyone was to know why you would have left, it was supposed to have been him. How terrible he felt in that moment, realizing too late why you had taken to spending as much time as possible in his classroom, in his presence.

In him, had you found some sort of comfort, some sort of mentor or father figure that you had been missing in your life, now more than ever since having lost Professor Fig? In him were you trying to find what you had lost with Fig? How was he supposed to know when you refused to tell him? When you had closed yourself off and refused to let anyone in?

How he had wished in that moment that he could have all the answers, that he could look into Poppy's expectant eyes and tell her anything. He wished he knew where you were, if you were safe, if you were even alive.

But he had none of that, and all he could do was tell them he would look into it, would speak to the Headmaster and try to find out before sending them on their way.

No one had any answers. No one knew what happened, why'd you left. You just folded your uniform on top of your bed and simply vanished not long after your Eighteenth birthday.

He heard how your friends had organized a search party, how there were posters being put up all over the towns surrounding Hogwarts. Soon enough that turned into a Vigil in the center of Hogsmeade. It was easier, it seemed, to mourn a loss than believe that you had simply decided to disappear. People craved relief, they didn't want to carry around pain.

He had been there, though he didn't believe for a single moment that you were dead. You couldn't be. He'd seen the magic you wielded, the strength of your very soul. You, who used to slip out of the school grounds in the dead of night to rid the forest of Poachers seemingly for fun, dead? It was a preposterous thought. You were too young, too smart to let death trap you. But he still showed up, and he told himself it was in solidarity, in support of all those that you had left behind. However he knew that the real reason he stood in the middle of Hogsmeade that Winter night was because he wanted closure. He wanted to stop feeling guilty for your disappearance, for not noticing the signs, for not being able to help you.

That same night he had ripped one of your poster's off the side of The Three Broomsticks, and had folded it up until he could no longer and stuck it deep in the back of his desk.

He had intended to forget about it, to move on and let time heal the wound that you left him with, the one that caused more pain than the curse on his leg did.

Time supposedly heals all wounds, but as the years passed, as your friends graduated and left and new students came and went, as the world slowly kept going, he was left with an incurable ache deep inside him. It wasn't constant, it wasn't strong but it was always there. He could never seem to let go, could never seem to want to forget. It just was.

Then, six years later Phineas Nigellus Black stands at the podium, telling the students that Professor Garlick has taken her Maternity leave and there was to be a temporary Professor for Herbology.

This, he already knew. What Aesop could never have come to anticipate was the name that came out of his mouth.

Your name.

A name he's been so diligently avoiding, suppressing.

In that moment, as you stand from the opposite side of the High Table and nod at the sea of students, he feels that pain he's been carrying for so long coalesce with a sudden wave of anger until he's physically shaking, his hand gripping the table so hard that he felt splinters bite into his palm.

How dare you? How dare you waltz back in after all this time? After all the people you hurt, you abandoned without an explanation, how could you be so bold as to show your face as if nothing had happened?

Aesop barely makes it through the whole meal, his food untouched as he lets his mind work itself through every emotion known to man. He's hyper aware of your presence, of the way you simply sit there, your food going cold as you stare at it.

The minute the meal is over and students begin to leave he stands, uncaring of the way his chair scrapes against the floor. He's beyond angry as he makes his way towards you, his hands shaking even as he rolls them into fists. There's a part of him that wants to hurt you like you hurt him. He wants to gather every single second he spent mourning your loss, wants to turn it into fuel and somehow cause you just as much pain.

However, the moment his hand comes down on your shoulder, and the touch ignites his skin in a way that he wasn't prepared for, he finds that he can't follow through with that anger. Then you turn to look at him and he feels like he's going to be sick.

It's as if his body is fighting itself. One part of him is still holding onto that anger, while the other is struggling to come to terms that you are truly here. That you're alive and well and finally, finally back.

He's unsure of what to say, of what to do. He can't keep staring at you forever, even though it's all he seems to want to do.

"Let go of me." you say, and suddenly his anger wins.

His voice is a measure of control as his fingers unhook themselves from your coat. "You owe me an explanation, coming back here as if nothing ever happened."

For a second there's a flash of pain in your eyes, but its gone so fast that he's sure that he's imagined it.

"What entitlement. I don't owe you anything." The way you say it, with so much venom and contempt makes Aesop feel like he's been stabbed in the chest.

"Do you know what I've been through all these years? What pain you've caused?"

Your mouth twists down into a frown and its then that he notices the scar that cuts through your lips and across the right of your jaw. "I don't care what you've been through," you say coldly and Aesop feels like you've stabbed him through the chest.

The person sitting in front of him might have your face but she is not you. He lets you stand, lets you walk past him without another word.

Aesop wonders if perhaps you had died after all.

He decides that it's best if he goes straight to his room, the thought of stepping foot inside his classroom and having the possibility of being reminded of the person you once were is too much for him.

Right now he can deal with the anger, with the pain, but the difference between the person that you were in his memories and the woman he had just talked too are too different for him to try to bridge the gap.

That ache in his heart that he had managed to control is suddenly too much for him to bare. It sinks into his bones and forces him to struggle with every step he takes. It makes him tired, makes him want to just find his bed and sleep. He wants to wake up and find you smiling at him like you used to, blabbering on and on with questions that sunk into the deepest layer of his skin and made him wish that he could somehow create a charm that would shut you up.

He wants to wake up and find himself six years younger, realizing that the reason you had stopped trying wasn't because you were a rebelling teen, but because you had given up on life itself.

He could see the signs now, could see the many ways he could have reached out and helped and prevented you from turning into the person he had just met.

What good does it do to dwell on what could have been? Aesop thinks to himself as he reaches the top of the stairs. He doesn't expect to find you there, standing at the door besides the one that leads to his own private quarters, talking to Black.

The conversation between the both of you stops as his eyes meet yours. There's a coldness to them that has him looking away as he limps towards his room. He thinks that perhaps this is the world taunting him, giving you the room besides his.

He unlocks the door with shaky hands, wondering if he's imagining the fact that he can still feel your eyes on his, even as he shuts the door behind himself.

The walls of the faculty tower are almost paper thin, and Aesop can hear every single noise you make.

It keeps him awake, lying in the dark of the night.

He heard you enter your room not long after he did, he heard the lock on your luggage open, heard you sink into your bed.

He tried to ignore it, thought about casting the Muffliato Charm against the wall separating the rooms and was about to do it, his wand in his hand until he heard you start to cry.

For some reason he has the sudden need to press his ear against the wall, to really make sure that what he hears is true. He has enough self control not to.

He just stands there, in the middle of his bedroom, listening to the wet hiccupping noises you make.

"I'm scared." you whisper, almost as if you're talking to someone. "I don't know if I can do this."

Aesop waits for someone to answer, for someone to tell you that its okay, that you're okay. But no one does and he thinks that maybe he should have been the one to say so. But it's too late. He hears you sniff a few times, then absolute silence.

For a few minutes Aesop simply stands there, wondering if maybe the ice in your heart is simply a wall you've put up, a façade to protect yourself from the world.

As he crawls into bed, he can't help but think that perhaps he's not too late. That perhaps this isn't a punishment, but a way to finally be able to hold his hand out to you.

This time, he wouldn't let you slip away.

You have nightmares.

Ones that have you mumbling incoherently, one's that wake you up at ungodly hours of the night gasping and begging for it to stop. The first time he noticed one he had been awake grading papers, his desk pressed against the wall separating your room from his.

It had scared him, had him worried that something was going on in there as you began whimpering, began to make tiny pained noises. But then it stopped, and he found himself unable to go back to his work.

You were still distant, even as the weeks passed and he tried his best to be kind to you. Some days were better than others. There were times when he would look at you and find himself back at Hogsmeade, standing in that candlelight vigil, watching as your friends mourned you. Those days he found that it was best to stay as far away from you as possible.

He was still angry, still wanted you to explain yourself.

Then there were days when he looked at you, looked at the bruising under your eyes and the way you almost cowered into yourself and he knew that you also had your own pain you were struggling with. You had to have had your reasons for leaving, he just wished you would talk to him.

Rarely, there were days when he could just about make out the girl that you had been in your fifth year. Those days your nightmares would be violent.

You would cry, you would beg for it to stop, then when you woke you would leave your room and he had a suspicion you stayed out all night, too scared to go back to sleep, to be alone.

Tonight was one of those nights, and tonight he refused to let you be alone.

He doesn't know why he decided that following you was somehow the better idea. It would have been so simple to knock at your door and talk to you. But he's convinced himself that if he found out where it was that you ran off to then everything would simply come into place. That somehow it would help him better understand you.

He's silent as he follows you all the way down to the Library Annex, his leg screaming in protest at the way he forces himself not to lose sight of you. But it's getting harder and harder to keep up with you as his leg tenses, as the pain becomes unbearable. So when you turn a corner to quickly he curses under his breath and tries to follow before you get too far away.

He should have known that you were aware of his presence, but he's caught off guard when you suddenly push him against the wall the minute he turns down the same hallway. You're strong, the action knocking the air from his lungs.

"What are you doing?" you hiss, and he can see the swelling around your eyes, the red underneath them as if you've been wiping at them with too much force. The scar on your mouth looks agitated, like it isn't quite done healing. "Why are you following me?"

Aesop thinks that it's incredibly odd how at one point you had been his student. Small, vulnerable, and always looking up to him for guidance. And now, you were towering over him, your voice sharp and your eyes challenging, your hands wrapped tightly around the front of his shirt, holding him in place. "I wanted to make sure you're okay," he says, trying to keep his voice level.

"You think following me around like some sort of stalker is somehow going to make me okay?"

He brings his hands to yours, trying to force them off of him, that same burning sensation from the first time he touched you sets his nerves on fire, makes him feel like he's being electrocuted. But you don't let go, instead, you tighten your grip, and for a moment, Aesop feels like he's trapped, unable to move or breathe.

"Let go of me," he says firmly, trying to sound authoritative but his voice comes out shaky.

You don't release him, but let your grip loosen just a bit, and you lean in closer, your voice low and dangerous. "Whatever it is you think you're going to fix, whatever you have convinced yourself you can do, just stop."

He's so tired of you. Tired of your anger, of the way you push him away. His hands grip your wrist tightly and he doesn't care that you wince, that you finally let go of him. He wants you to hurt, he wants you to feel what he's feeling. "You abandoned everyone." he growls, "You left your friends, let them worry about you. They thought you were dead, that something had happened to you."

He finds the ache in his heart and zips it open, lets it consume him. "They searched for you. Poppy, Ominis, Natsai, Sebastian, Amit. Do they mean anything to you, you selfish brat? Did you even care about how they felt?" You're struggling, trying to pull your wrists free from his hold but he tightens his grip, ignores the whimper of pain you let out. "Six years." he says, his voice raising. "Six fucking years I mourned you, and you think you get to show up again and act like you didn't destroy my life?"

You keep struggling and he pulls you closer, your hands pressed tightly against his chest, your face so close to his that his nose brushes against yours. This close he can see the way your pupils are blown wide in fear.

For a moment, Aesop sees his reflection in your eyes, the anger and pain twisting his features into something unrecognizable. He hates himself for it, hates that he's causing you this much pain. But he can't stop, not when he's so close to finally getting the answers he's been searching for.

"You don't get to run away from this," he says, his voice low and harsh. "You owe me an explanation."

You're still struggling, but he doesn't let go, doesn't loosen his grip on you. His heart is racing in his chest, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He wants to know what happened to you, wants to understand why you left without a word. But most of all, he wants you to feel his pain, to understand just how much he's suffered without you.

He doesn't know how long they stand there, locked in that tense embrace, but eventually you open your mouth and speak.

"You have no idea what I went through, what sort of pain I was dealing with."

Aesop's grip on your wrists loosens slightly, but he doesn't let go. "Then tell me," he says, his voice softer now, the anger replaced by a hint of desperation. "Please, just tell me."

Finally, it seems that he got through to you, your walls coming down just enough so that he can see the tiredness in your eyes, the pain you've been carrying all these years.

"No one cared that I was sixteen, that I was a child. They just placed a wand in my hand and told me to kill." Your eyes begin to well up and Aesop feels a pang of guilt in his chest. "They told me that no one else could do it, that it was my responsibility. Stop the Rebellion, save the world. But at what cost? Why did I have to sacrifice everything? Why did no one stand by me? I was so scared."

Aesop finally lets you go, lets you move away from him. He sees the bruises forming around your wrists, and he feels a wave of shame wash over him. You had suffered through so much, and here he was, forcing you to live through it all in order for him to satisfy his own selfish needs. It's too late now to tell you to stop, to tell you that you don't have to tell him.

Your tears are falling as you touch your wrists, taking a step away from him. "No one cared how many lives I was forced to take. They didn't care that they were sending me on a path that could have taken my own life. Because they didn't see me as the terrified girl that I was, they just saw the magic I could wield and somehow that made me their hero. The one they could manipulate into doing their bidding. Otherwise it would be my fault that Wizardkind fell."

You're starting to hyperventilate, slipping into your memories. "The one person that was there for me, the only one who seemed to care died because of me. I couldn't save the one person that truly mattered to me."

Aesop knows that you're talking about Fig, but right now, he can't bring himself to say anything. He feels like he's suffocating, like he's the one who's trapped in a nightmare. He watches you as you break down in front of him, your body shaking with sobs.

"Then I was just expected to move on, to live as if none of that had ever happened. But I couldn't. I couldn't forget, I couldn't stay anymore. I could see all the people I killed, all the things I was forced to endure. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't escape the nightmares." You're wiping at your face with the heel of your hand, and slowly Aesop reaches out, pulling your hands down before you rub your skin raw.

"I'm sorry I hurt you, that I hurt everyone." you whisper, your voice cracking. "I just couldn't take it anymore. I wanted to disappear. In that moment I wanted so badly to die and get rid of the pain. I tried. I tried to do it but-." your voice breaks and you cover your face with your hands, letting out a sob.

Aesop feels his heart break as he takes you into your arms, his hand coming to rest at the back of your neck, holding him against him.

He had no idea what sort of pain you have been carrying, what sort of trauma you had endured. To suddenly have you tell him that you had considered taking your own life, that you went as far as to attempt to, it made him feel like someone had cast Crucio against him. "I'm sorry," he whispers against the side of your head, slowly rubbing circles against your back. "I'm sorry you had to go through all this alone, that you felt like you couldn't come to anyone for help. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you... that I didn't see how much pain you've been suffering through."

He feels your hands grab at him, pulling him closer as you sniff and let out a shaky breath. He feels that electricity again as you lift your head and your cheek rubs against the stubble on his own. "I don't want you to apologize." you say in a small voice. "You didn't know. And I didn't know how to ask for help. I didn't even realize how much I needed it until it was almost too late."

Aesop lets his forehead fall against yours, lets that current of painful warmth that seeps from your skin burn him if it means he can touch you for a second more. In that moment, with his arms wrapped around yours and your fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, he feels the overwhelming need to kiss you, to seal himself to you.

Instead he closes his eyes and holds you there against him.

"You don't have to be alone," he whispers against your skin. "Let me be here for you. Let me help you carry that pain."

Aesop wonders, as you sit across from him in his study, if perhaps he had managed to break down your walls that night. Or if, like him, you also felt that almost suffocating need to be around him, to feel his presence, to breathe the same air as him.

He wasn't sure what happened to him that night. Why he was suddenly wracked with the need to see you, to touch you, to feel your arms wrapped around him. That night alone with you in the corridor had awoken something in him, a part of him that had been laying dormant all these years, waiting until the moment you would return and set it aflame.

It terrified him at the same time it excited him. It was as if he was seeing you in a new light, discovering facets of your personality that he had never noticed before.

Gone was the child that would sit in his class, soaking up all that he could give her. The woman that now sat across from him was hardened from life, reclusive, yet he could see in your eyes that underneath the pain you carried, underneath the cold front you put up to keep people away; there was still the same warmth, the same kindhearted soul that wouldn't think twice about helping someone in need.

You never deserved to be thrust into the chaos of war at such a young age. You should have been protected, not expected to save the world. You were forced to grow up fast, to face the harsh realities of life and death, to make difficult decisions that no child should ever have to make.

Thinking about it now, did you perhaps clear the Forest of poachers because you wanted to? Or did you feel an obligation to do so, knowing that no one else would do a thing?

Aesop looks at you, looks at the way that you sit so rigidly in the chair across from his, and wonders if perhaps the people around you were to blame for you having dropped of the face of the Earth. Did they ask too much of you? Did he himself ask too much of you? He had always seen your potential, your bravery, your intelligence. He had pushed you to be your best, to strive for greatness. But had he also unknowingly burdened you with too much?

What he would give, to go back in time and undo some of the damage he had caused. He had always prided himself on being a wise and experienced teacher, but looking at you now, he couldn't help but wonder if he had failed you in some way. If he had been too focused on your potential and not enough on your well-being.

He remembers seeing you fight Ranrok in the catacombs of the school, remembers how they all had stood there watching, waiting for you to bring down the evil that threatened them all. No one had lifted their wand, no one had ran to your side to help.

Sure, you possessed a power that was rare and remarkable, but that didn't mean you should have been left to face such a dangerous foe alone.

If he had raised his wand, if he had stood besides you then, would you still have abandoned everyone? Abandoned him?

With a slow shake of his head, Aesop pulls himself from his thoughts. Pushing away the memories before he slips too far into them. He needs to focus on the now, on the fact that you're sitting here in front of him, waiting for him to speak.

He wants to reach across his desk and take your hands in his, instead he leans his elbows on the table and sets his chin on his hands. He knows that if he's not careful he could end up losing you. He had to pace himself, let you be the one to reach across the metaphorical table for him.

So he smiles at you, pushes the way you make his heartbeat faster to the back of his mind and focuses on being professional, focuses on the list of ingredients he needs you to grow for him.

He almost forgot that this was temporary. That one day Mirabel was going to return and you would have to leave and he would never see you again. He had convinced himself that this was forever, that he finally had you back and there was nothing that would take you away from him.

But reality is cruel.

Mirabel sits across from you in the room, holding her baby in her arms. She's all smiles, talking to you and Matilda. He should be happy for her, should go over and congratulate her but his eyes are glued onto you. You're smiling but he can tell its forced, can see the way your hand grips your arm under the table, your nails digging into the fabric of you sleeve.

Aesop knows that you understand what this means, that you know that your time here was coming to an end. He stands, casually makes his way to the empty seat next to you. This close he can hear Mirabel thank you for taking her place, for making sure that the students still had a teacher while she had to be away.

"Oh, I just can't wait to come back!" She says with so much excitement.

Aesop makes sure that when he reaches for you, that when his hand finds yours under the table and his fingers gently pry yours open, its a subtle gesture only you would notice. He doesn't say anything, doesn't need to. You both know what's happening, what's about to come. His thumb strokes the back of your hand, promising not to let you go, not to let you face this alone.

You don't look at him but your fingers squeeze his and he can feel the tension in your grip, the uncertainty in your touch. He knows you're scared. He wishes he could make it all go away, make it so that you could stay here forever with him.

"When will you be coming back?" you ask softly and your grip tightens, almost as if you're using him to fuel your strength.

Mirabel looks from her baby to you, her smile growing. "Sirona managed to find someone willing to run the bar with her, so she's taking up the responsibility of caring for the baby. I should be back by the end of the month."

Under the table you let go of his hand, smiling at Mirabel. "I'm sure your students are going to be so excited to have you back."

Aesop feels like he's the only one not smiling in the room, the only one that can feel the sadness that radiates off of you. He wants to protest, to tell Mirabel that he's not ready for you to leave yet, but he knows he can't. He nods along with the conversation, trying to push down the feeling of dread that's creeping up on him.

But the baby begins to cry and Mirabel gives a sheepish smile, saying that its time for her to go. Everyone stands, wishes her safe travels. Aesop lingers in the back of the room, wanting to talk to you. But you're standing by the door, holding one of Mirabel's hand in yours. He wonders why you torture yourself so much, why you don't seem to ever be selfish.

You just take the pain with a smile, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. He wants to be mad, truly. But who is there to be mad at? It's not Mirabel's fault, it's not yours. This is just how the world works, and he knows that all too well.

He takes a step towards you, but Phineas gets to you first. "Let's head on up to my office, there's no need to wait until the end of the month to start on your transition out of the position."

Aesop watches as you nod, your eyes seeking his out. He can see the desperation, the heartbreak, and the unspoken plea for help in your gaze. He wants to reach out to you, to offer some sort of comfort or solace, but Phineas places his hand on your back and leads you through the double doors of the room.

Fate may be capricious, but you bear its cruel blows with grace and poise, leaving Aesop to contemplate the unfairness of it all as he stands alone in the room.

Aesop thought about following you up to the Headmasters office and waiting by the Gargoyle until you were done. But he knew that it would be a bit too intrusive, and he didn't want to add any more stress to your already difficult situation. So he keeps himself busy, finds work that he has to do, ingredient bottles that need to be refilled, lesson plans that need to be fleshed out. Anything that he can do to keep the anxiety at bay, to stop himself from dwelling on the fact that you're about to be ripped away from him, he does with intense concentration.

He wants to find a way for you to stay, for you to never have to leave him, but no matter how hard he thinks; he cant come up with anything. All the positions are filled, Black has an intense dislike of hiring on assistants, calls them a waste of time. Aesop would not see you stuck at some mundane shop in Hogsmeade, wasting the talents you have.

He could leave... could go with you. He could pack his bags and follow you anywhere, could he not? Aesop considers the thought, imagining himself leaving everything behind and starting a new life with you. Would you have him though? Would you allow him to stay besides you until the end?

It's idealistic, he knows that. Running away from responsibilities and obligations, leaving behind everything he's built in his career and personal life. But the thought of being with you, of never having to let go, is tempting.

How he wishes life could be that simple, that there would be no repercussions to simply uprooting the life he's made for himself. If he left Hogwarts then he would be leaving behind a chance to cure his leg, leaving behind the endless ingredients and potions that made the pain bearable. He would be leaving behind the students he's grown to care for, the friends he's made, and the sense of purpose he's found within the walls of the castle.

Someone knocks against the doors to his class and he snaps a quill in half from the sudden noise, ink splattering against his hand, on the table and the student's parchment he should have been grading.

He curses under his breath, pulling a handkerchief from the pocket in his vest and wiping his hand. "It's open" he says loudly, knowing that he will have to give the student an Outstanding grade for having ruined his essay.

"Is it a bad time?" you ask him, and he almost breaks his neck when he looks up at you. You give him a small smile, deciding to stand by the door.

"No, no of course not. Please," he points with his hand to a chair besides him. "Come in."

You walk over and take the seat, watching as he tries to compose himself. He's nervous, doesn't have a clue on what to say, but it seems like you already know what you want to talk about.

"It's all been settled, I'll be leaving on the first of the month."

Aesop nods, not quite sure what to say. He knew how Black could be, how he wasn't the time to waste time. Still he had hoped that he would keep you around, that there was a position that had miraculously opened up and no one but you could fill it. Wishful thinking that would do him no good.

"I see," he finally manages to say, his voice sounding hollow even to his own ears.

You nod slowly, the corners of your lips falling.

"Do you... Do you know where you'll go next?" he asks.

"I think I might go to America."

Aesop nods again, trying to hide the disappointment that's creeping up on him. America was far away, too far for him to visit without a good reason, without revealing the way he was starting to feel about you.

You smile weakly at him, and there's a dark cloud of silence that stretches between them. He feels like he's losing you, like this will be his last chance to speak to you, to tell you how he truly feels. But he can't find the right words, can't find the courage to speak them aloud.

"I'm going to miss you," he finally manages to say, and it feels inadequate.

"I'll miss you too, Aesop. I'm... I am so glad that I got to see you again." Your lip is trembling and he can't stand it any longer. He doesn't want to lose you.

"Let me go with you." he blurts out, watching as your eyes go wide.

"Let me stay by your side, let me follow you to the ends of the earth. I can't bear the thought of not being with you, of a future without you in it. I already lost you once, please don't force me to go through that pain again. I will do anything to keep you beside me, to show you how much you mean to me every day." His hands are shaking as he bares his heart to you, as he awaits your response. "Please, ask me to go with you."

There are tears in your eyes, but you blink them back. "You would leave your life behind for me?" you whisper.

"You are my life." Aesop replies without hesitation. "I'm in love with you."

You inhale, letting out a quivering breath of a laugh. "Why? I've done nothing but hurt you, what have I done to deserve your love?"

Aesop leans out of his chair, moving closer to you. "Don't look for excuses, don't look for reasons to push me away. Just let me love you. Let me give you a love that never grows old, that never tires, let me show you what true peace feels like." He'll get down on his knees and beg if he had to, just to prove to you how much he wants to be with you, needs to be with you.

You let out a shaky sob, your hands coming up to cup his face. You're trembling, your fingers running through the stubble on his cheeks, and finally Aesop realizes that the burning he feels every time he touches you doesn't actually hurt, it never did. It feels like a warm and comforting flame that ignites every time he is near you, reminding him of the depth of his love and desire for you. He wants to wrap that love around you like a warm blanket, to protect you from the cold world and keep you safe. His hand come up to hold yours, to steady the trembling in your body. "I love you." he repeats before your lips meet his.

There are no fireworks, there's no explosion of desire as you kiss him. Instead he feels like all his life he's been drowning and finally, finally he just broke through the waves. It feels like breathing for the first time, like coming home. He groans against your lips, lets his hands fall to your shoulders, softly pulling you closer. Your lips are soft, pliable and as he flicks his tongue against them you let out a soft moan, opening your mouth.

He wants to slip his tongue inside, wants to devour you but he needs to know that you feel the same, that you want this as much as he does. Slowly he pulls away, one of his hands finding the nape of your neck and rubbing circles against the skin. "I don't want this to be a mistake." he says, his voice husky. "I don't want you to feel like you have to."

He likes how easily your lips seem to bruise, how easily they swell.

Your eyes open and there's an emotion in them he can't quite place. You look scared, but of what?

"I want to." you whisper, your fingers coming to trace the scar down his face. It makes him shiver, makes him close his eyes and savor the feeling of you touching him.

"I want you, Aesop." you breathe against his lips, kissing him again. He lets you take charge, let's you worry his lip with your teeth, your tongue warm against his lip, teasing him. "I've always wanted you." you say.

His hand against your neck is trembling as he holds himself together. He needs to hear you say its okay, say that it's okay if he touches you, if he loses himself in you. He needs your permission, your consent. His thumb strokes your skin, as he pulls away from your mouth. "Tell me you want this as much as I do." He groans, letting the blunt end of his nails scratch as your skin, "Tell me its okay, that you want me to touch you, to kiss you, to make love to you." he almost begs, his forehead falling against yours. "I need to hear you say it."

He hears the tiny gasp you make, feels the way you shiver underneath him. Please, he thinks, say yes. His body feels like its been set on fire, desire running in his veins as his cock aches in his trousers. He wants so badly to take you, to feel you around him. He wants to bind his soul to yours, to make you his forever.

You nod slowly, your hand sliding down his chest, to the swell of his cock, squeezing it lightly. "I want this Aesop," you breathe. "I need you... please... please take me."

The lust in your voice is not lost to him as he stands and brings you with him, his hands moving to grip your waist, pulling your lower body flush against his, his cock pressed against your hip. He wants to fuck you, wants to push you against the desk and spread your legs and take you with such force that you scream his name. But you deserve to be loved, to be savored.

"I love you." he repeats, working the buttons of your skirt, letting it fall to the ground before moving to unbutton your blouse from the bottom up.

Your hands are tangled with his as you work to undress him, as you undo his vest and slip his tie from his neck, pulling it free at the same time he pushes the blouse from your shoulders. Undressed like this, he can see the full extent of your scar, as it wraps down your neck and across your shoulder. His eyes are glued to it and you freeze, going cold under his touch.

"I...I can keep it on if you prefer."

There's so much shame in your voice that he feels anger flare at the back of his throat. "No," he says firmly, his voice low and steady. "Never hide who you are, or what makes you who you are, from me. Your scar is a part of you, and it's beautiful." He leans in to press a soft kiss against the scar, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulls back to look at you. "You're beautiful."

He wants to know who made you feel as if you have to hide, who shamed you into believing your body wasn't spun from gold, but he doesn't want to ruin the moment. He would rather show you how much you deserve to be worshipped. He's gentle when he slips the shirt from your arms, gentle as he pulls you flush against him and kisses you once more, his fingers trailing up your back and unclasping your bra.

When he pulls back you have a tentative smile on your face. "It's... been a long time." you say shyly, as he lets the underwear fall to the floor.

"We can go slow." he whispers, finding your lips once more, his hands cupping your breasts. "We don't have to go all the way." he says, even though his cock is aching for release, weeping already at the feeling of your hardened nipples against his fingertips.

"I don't want slow." you groan, letting your head fall back as his lips trail their way down to your chest, his tongue flicking against your nipple and making you cry out. "I'm tired of waiting, of holding back." Your fingers knot themselves in his hair, pulling him closer as he sucks the hardened nub inside his mouth, his tongue working around it slowly. "I- Ah!- I want all of you Aesop." you whimper, digging your nails into his scalp.

He pulls back, lets your nipple slip out of his mouth and your hands fall to his shoulders. His hands trail down your back, into the waistband of your underwear and slowly he pulls them down, feeling the curve of your ass, fingers slipping between your thighs, finding your soaked cunt. He lets out a groan, his cock twitching, begging to be let out as he strokes you, coating his fingers with your wetness.

He rather likes the way you tremble around his hand, the way your fingers dig into his shoulder, the way you moan his name when he finally slides a finger inside of your cunt, his thumb grazing your clit. "You're so tight." he moans, adding another fingers and slowly pumping them in and out, savoring the way you clench around him.

"Please Aesop!" you whine, riding his hand, trying to make him go faster. But his pace stays languid, his fingers stroking your walls, finding every sensitive spot inside. He watches as you tremble around him, as your eyes fall shut and your back arches. He wants to make you cum, wants your body to become addicted to him. He leans forward, his fingers curling inside of you, and kisses the valley between your breasts, feeling your thunderous heartbeat against his chest.

If he was younger, if he hadn't any experience perhaps he would have come inside his trousers as you reach down and grab his wrist, forcing his fingers deeper, begging him to make you come. His palm is flat against your sex and he can feel the way you're chasing your orgasm on his hand, your clit dragging against the heel of his hand. He feels you soak his hand and it takes all the strength he can muster to deny you your release, to pull his hand away and leave you empty, your eyes opening in- confusion? Anger? He isn't quite sure, but it makes him smirk, knowing that he has such control over you.

Aesop wanted to make this last, wanted to spend all night exploring your body, finding every sensitive spot, every sweet spot that would make you moan and writhe under his touch. He didn't want to rush it, didn't want it to be over too quickly. He wanted to take his time and make every moment count.

But he's at his limit. His cock hurts and he wants so badly to seat himself inside of you, to have you milk every single drop of his seed. His movements are jerky as he unbuckles his pants and shoves them down alongside his briefs. He doesn't look away from you as his cock springs free, watching as your eyes go wide, as your mouth falls open.

He's been blessed with a sizeable cock, and he doesn't have to look down to know that its red and weeping pre-cum already. There's a curve at the base of his cock and its there that he wraps his fingers around himself, slowly working his hand upwards, coating himself in your juices. He lets out a moan as he squeezes the head, pushing more pre-cum from the tip, his eyes never leaving your face.

"On the table." he orders, voice husky. He would have wanted the first time to take place somewhere more romantic, but this would do for now. He would taint the sacredness of his classroom with your bodies entwined, with the sounds of your moans and the scent of sex filling the air. He wanted to be unable to think of you every time he stepped foot inside his class, every time he graded a student's parchment on the very desk you sat against, spreading your legs.

The sight of your swollen cunt, dripping sticky juices against your thighs has him squeezing his cock again, his thumb running along the vein, making him shiver. One day he would ask you to play with yourself, to sink your own fingers deep into your cunt and let him watch as you pleasure yourself. Not tonight, tonight he would take you, coat you in his seed and make you his.

It takes a bit of maneuvering to have you comfortably laying on his desk, his badge clattering to the ground among other things. It takes a bit more to have himself properly lined up with your cunt, one leg on his shoulder as he licks, nips, and kisses your thigh. The other one hangs off of the crook of his elbow, his fingertips caressing your skin softly.

He's stroking his cock in rhythm to your moaning; slow, lazy strokes he can feel in the pit of his belly. His eyes are closed as he kisses your skin, his tongue following every kiss.

"Aesop..." you whimper and he feels you shift, feels you raise yourself onto your elbows. "You're teasing." you're breathless, watching him fuck his hand.

"Savoring." he corrects, finally opening his eyes. "I've dreamt of this, your sweet cunt wrapped around my cock." he confesses, his hand still stroking himself. "I want to make it last, want to make you feel every inch of me, every stroke, every thrust."

You moan at his words, reaching between your spread legs to wrap your fingers around the tip of his cock. "Make it a reality, Aesop. I want you inside me." you plead.

With a groan he pushes your hand away, watches as you bring it up to your mouth and trail your tongue across your fingers, tasting him.

He bites down on your thigh, making you cry out in pain. You're absolutely wonderful, everything he's ever been looking for. He takes a step forward, lets his cock bump against your clit before wrapping his hand around the base and with excruciating slowness he trails his cock along your cunt, spreading your lips and collecting every last drop of your juices. You're panting, pleading for him to stop teasing but he ignores you, his eyes glued to the way your cunt looks with his cock atop it.

He wants to have that image imprinted in the back of his mind until he dies. Your lips wrapped around his cock, the very slit of his cock dripping against your clit. He's absolutely mesmerized, has never seen anything so beautiful, so-

You reach down and with a bit of shifting, push him deep inside of your cunt.

Aesop lets out an ungodly loud moan as he sinks inside of you. Your cunt is tight, hot, and he can feel you pulsing around him, your legs trembling against him. He's momentarily stunned, the feeling of being inside you overwhelming his senses but he hears you moan his name, hears you fall back against the desk and beg him to move, and who is he to deny you your pleasure?

He moves with a hiss, in and out, savoring the way your cunt grips him, refuses to let go. He leans over you, his lips trailing kisses along your collarbone and up to your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive flesh. You tilt your head back, giving him better access, and he takes advantage of it, his mouth latching onto the pulse point of your neck, leaving a dark mark in its wake. Your hands are all over him, tracing the muscles of his back and gripping his hair, pulling him closer to you.

"Harder-" you moan as he grips your waist and pulls you further off the edge of the desk. Your chanting his name, squeezing his cock in tandem and he feels his control slip.

"You're so good" he groans against you, his hips snapping against you as he picks up speed. "So good for me." You're so wet and every time he pushes himself inside he can hear you cunt slurping around him, pulling him back in. He's never felt anything like this, has never been so consumed by a woman. He can feel his own orgasm building, coiling tightly in his gut and he knows he's not going to last much longer. He shifts, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he gives you exactly what you're begging for, driving his cock into you with wild abandonment.

You're a mess of moans and cries as he drills into you, hitting all the right spots with each thrust. Your eyes are squeezed shut, your nails digging into his back as he takes you higher and higher. You can feel your orgasm building, your muscles tightening around him as he pounds into you relentlessly.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he grunts, his hips slamming against yours with increasing force. "I can feel you squeezing me, trying to milk me dry."

You whimper in response, your body trembling with need. You need him to take you over the edge, to push you to the brink of ecstasy and beyond. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside of you as he continues to pound into you with a primal intensity.

He leans down, his mouth hot against your ear. "You're mine," he growls, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. "Say it. Say you're mine."

"I'm yours," you moan, your words lost in a haze of pleasure.

He lets out a guttural moan, his pace getting sloppy. "I'm so close, love," he licks at your earlobe and when you shiver your cunt tightens even more. "I'm going to come. I'm going to fill you with my seed, mark you as mine." He pulls back just enough to look at you, to look at the lust filled haze in your eyes, your mouth twisted open in pleasure. He leans down, kisses your scar and suddenly you're screaming his name, your body thrashing before going rigid underneath him.

It takes everything he has and more to not come right then and there as your pussy spasms around him, tightening and tightening until he's hissing and gasping for breath. His hips continue to pump against you, chasing his own release as you writhe beneath him. With a final thrust, he buries himself deep inside you and fills you with his seed. Rope after rope of hot, sticky cum shoots into your cunt, coating your walls and filling you up until he can feel it dripping out of you and down his spent balls. He pushes himself into you deeper, refusing to let it go to waste. You let out a throaty moan, hips coming up to meet his thrust.

His pants mix with yours as he collapses on top of you, his head resting between your breasts as he tries to catch his breath. He's still buried deep inside you, both of you feeling the aftershocks of your intense orgasm. He plants soft kisses on your skin, his hands running up and down your sides, caressing you gently.

Slowly he rises and slips out of you, making you whimper at the sudden loss of his warmth. He stands up straight, pulling his trousers back up and hisses in pain as his leg locks up, forcing him to sit down.

You're quick to sit up, looking at him with worry. "Are you okay?" you say, voice raw.

He nods, massaging his thigh. "I'm fine... just pushed myself too much." With such an intense release, his leg feels like its burning, the scar that runs down his leg throbbing. "I just need a second." he groans.

You stand, legs shaky as you slip your blouse on, kneeling in front of him. He's wary as you try to slip his trousers off, his hand coming to grip your wrist.

"I might need a minute if you still want to keep going."

You shoot him a look of disbelief and he can't help but chuckle, not missing the lightness in your eyes, the way you no longer seem so afraid.

"Next time, just let me get on top." you whisper, tugging at his pants again but he's afraid of you looking at the scar on his leg, of you seeing just how bad it is, so he pulls your hand away, brings it to his lips.

"I'm okay, this happens often enough."

You look at him skeptically, but he gives you a reassuring smile.

With a sigh you lay your head against his good knee. "I..." you swallow and he watches as you lick your lips. "That was good."

Aesop scoffs playfully, letting his fingers slip through your hair. "Good? Are you sure that's the word you want to use?"

"It was... Mind Blowing." you sigh, "Devine." you look up at him. "The best sex of my life. Thank you."

He hums, "I don't think that's something you should thank me for, my love."

He feels you tense just a bit, and suddenly he's afraid that perhaps he's done something wrong. But you let out a soft laugh, the tension melting away.

"I love you too, you know? Always have, now and forever." you whisper, raising your head, you looked at him as if you had more to say, as if there was suddenly so many things you could say but instead of opening your mouth, instead of talking to him you simply smiled and stood, used his right knee as leverage.

He's quick to reach for you, quick to wrap his fingers around your wrist and gently tug, making you take a step closer. "I meant every word I said." there's a seriousness in his voice that makes your lip tremble. "I want to go with you."

"I'm not that selfish Aesop... I won't have you throw away your life for me."

It's odd, having such a conversation with you as you stand in front of him naked except the thin blouse that you haven't bothered buttoning up. It makes his heart fall to the pit of his stomach at the same time his cock stirs.

He has to concentrate, his thumb gently moving against your wrist. "For you, I will do anything."

"Not this." you say firmly.

"Then don't go." Desperation makes his grip on you tighten. "Stay here with me, I'll get us a home somewhere. You like Hogsmeade don't you? Or do you prefer BrocBurrow?" He pulls again, and you move closer. "Name a place and I'll make it happen."

You let out a wet laugh, and Aesop wonders if you're going to cry, but you don't, instead you lean down and touch his scar.

"What if you get tired of me? What if you realize that you've made a mistake and-"

He hushes you with a kiss. "Choosing you will never be a mistake."

"But-"

"Enough." he pulls you down onto his lap, lets your body mold against his. "Stop searching for excuses, stop trying to run away. I won't let you go. I will always want you, I will always stay by your side. Whether that's in America, or in a hamlet or cove somewhere here."

He can't help himself, his hand sliding between your thighs, slowly spreading them apart, his fingers trailing up, up, up until he can feel the heat of your cunt and your breath hitches.

"Say you'll stay." he nips at your neck, placing his hand flat against you, "Tell me that you can't live without me." He adds pressure, dips a knuckle into your sex and he can feel his thick cum still inside of you. "Please." he groans.

"Aesop-"

His finger slides in to the next knuckle. "Say it."

"I-"

"I'll buy you any home, I'll cherish you, worship you." His finger is all the way inside of you and he curls it, strokes against that place that has you seeing stars, your head falling back against his shoulder. " I will never make you cry, I will never let you hurt." He keeps stroking, pushing his cum further into you, even as it drips down to his wrist. "You just have to stay with me, beloved. You. Just. Have. To. Stay." He slips another finger inside of you as he talks and every word is punctuated with a slow deliberate thrust. He knows its unfair; even as you reach down and grab his arm, your hips slowly rocking against him, but right now he doesn't want fair. Right now he's afraid that you will say no, that even though he's bared his heart and begged for you, you will leave him.

He won't let that happen, he simply can't. He can feel his cock harden as you grind your ass on his lap and he leans in and kisses your shoulder, making you whimper.

"Okay..Ah!-"

His fingers still, his whole body going stiff.

"I-I'll stay." you finish, your voice breathless as you lean back against him, feeling his hard length pressing against your back.

Relief floods through him and he pulls his fingers out of you, grabbing your chin and turning your head so that you're facing him. He doesn't care that he's smearing cum on your face, that his beard is scratching your skin. all that matters is that you're staying, that you want him as much as he wants you.

"Promise me." he breathes against your lips, "Promise me that you aren't just saying this because I forced you."

You kiss him, and he can taste himself on you. "I don't think I can stay away from you anymore, Aesop."

He bites your lip softly, kissing you again and again until he's light headed and you've melted against him.

"I want to be with you, Aesop. Forever."

He wants to laugh, wants to cry, his heart swelling inside of his chest that its almost painful. He settles for reaching between your legs, pushing them open with his knee, his hand easily taking his cock out of his briefs and lining it up with your cunt. "Forever." he agrees, pushing himself into you.

You fell asleep atop him. Rather, he fucked you to the point that you passed out. It had scared him at first, the way your body convulsed so violently that you had milked his orgasm straight out of him, your cunt gripping him with such an intensity that he could still feel it. You had started crying, moaning his name until you mixed the two and he couldn't make out what you were saying. Then you had fell against him in a boneless heap.

If it were anywhere else he would let you sleep, would let himself gloat on the fact that he could fuck you unconscious. But the chair was getting uncomfortable and his leg was at its limit, the pain unbearable. He couldn't get you off of him, not like this.

He calls your name, gently rubbing your hair, trying to wake you. If he could just get you up and take a Wiggenweld potion for the pain, then he could Disapparate into his room, into his bed where it would be a lot more comfortable to hold you.

You stir above him and when you move your hips he hisses in pain, grabbing your hip with a bit too much force. He's still inside of you and he's very sensitive.

"I need you to get up, love. Can you do that for me?" His voice is gentle, but urgent, as he tries to rouse you.

You groan in protest, not fully awake, but when you hear the way he makes a pained noise, your eyes fly open. He can see that you're still a little disoriented as you blink a few times.

"I need you to get up." He repeats, letting go of you.

You move slowly, making a soft mewling noise when he finally slips out of you, his cock limp and coated in both of your juices. He watches you stand, turning around to face him.

"Are you okay?" You sound exhausted.

He nods, carefully placing himself back inside of his pants. "This was not the most well-thought-out plan, my love. I should have considered the consequences of taking you in this chair."

Even through the pain, when you sleepily laugh at his words he can't help but smile back, until he feels the pain flaring and he winces. "Would you mind if we move this up to my quarters?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you." You say, nervously tugging at the buttons on your blouse.

Aesop can't help the look of disbelief he makes, wondering why on Merlin's name you were apologizing. "You didn't," he says, mustering whatever was left of his strength to stand, using the back of the chair to steady himself. "I know my limits and I was foolish enough to push them."

You open your mouth but he shoots you a look that has you automatically closing it, opting instead to slip into your skirt. "I don't regret it, my love. Could you...?" He points over to his wand, dropped onto the ground. He hasn't the strength to do it himself.

You bend and grab it and much to his horror, he can feel a burning deep in his belly, asking him to take you again. Where was this sudden urge coming from? When did his body decide to revert back to its youthful need to constantly stick his dick into a woman? He takes the wand from you, wonders if the smell of sex clings to his classroom with the same intensity it clings to you and him.

He casts Scourgify on the room, alongside Reparo, watching all the tiny little jars fix themselves back onto his desk. He didn't realize that you left his side until he's startled by the sound of a door closing, seeing you standing by his office, a bottle of Wiggenweld in your hand.

"I'm not sure where you keep the stronger stuff. Will this help?"

He holds his hand out, raising an eyebrow at you. "I see you're still in the habit of sneaking around places you shouldn't be," he teases, a smirk forming on his lips, knowing full well that the door had been locked all day.

You roll your eyes, but can't help but smile as you make your way back towards him, holding the potion out. "Old habits die hard, I suppose."

He chuckles, taking the bottle from your hand. "Thank you. And to answer your question, the stronger potions are kept in a secured vault. You won't be able to sneak in there, I'm afraid."

You pout playfully. "Spoilsport."

He's quick to unstop the bottle, bringing it to his lips and probably drinking more than he should. While it wouldn't cure him, as he often wished it would every time he had to take the blasted potion, it eased the pain well enough. His eyes were on you as you finished getting dressed, slipping your shoes back on carefully.

Maybe it was the sex, or perhaps it had to do with the way they both had spilled their hearts to one another; but you seemed a whole lot more comfortable. Soft, pliable. In this moment he didn't feel like he had to be on his toes around you, worried about what kind of mindset you were in.

No, as he looked at you, you looked happy. As if, for the time being, you weren't carrying years of pain with you. Not that he had any problem with your usual broody demeanor, this was just... nice. A piece of you that he could have all to himself.

He took another sip, smaller this time, and slid the cork back into place, pocketing the potion for later. He really should make it a habit of keeping one on his body. "Come." He says, holding his hand out for you.

When you place your fingers on his, he's quick too wrap them around you and pull you towards him. It'll be a few more seconds before the pain in his leg would subside enough that he wouldn't have to lean on the chair or you for support. That was more than enough time to lean down and capture your lips in a kiss.

It's short, but enough to sate him for the time being.

"Would you care to spend the night?" He asks, running his thumb across your scar. "I've got quite the comfortable bed."

"I don't think I can go for another round." You whisper, his thumb still on your lip and he swears that he can see you blush. "Plus... I should probably clean myself off. I'm pretty sure I can feel your..." you trail off, as if you were too embarrassed to say it.

He hums, kisses you on the forehead and lets you go. There's a bit of disappointment, but he knows that there will be plenty of opportunities to have you spend the night wrapped up in his arms. A bath does sound plenty tempting. "Alright." he says, stealing another kiss.

"There's a favor I need to ask of you, if that's alright." You say, tugging at his collar.

You could ask him to go into Black's room and replace his extensive collection of Mustache wax with ones tainted with the Calvorio curse and he would do it in a heartbeat. "What do you need?"

"I was- sorry this is really embarrassing-" you inhaled, tugging again at his collar and making him laugh. He's never seen you quite this nervous before. "Would it be possible to have you brew a Contraceptive Potion?"

Aesop's initial reaction is a slow nod, even as he feels his face warm slightly. He knew from the beginning that he would have to brew one for you the moment he first filled you, perhaps enough to have a ready supply of it on hand. The relationship was just getting off the ground, he couldn't risk impregnating you. Not without your direct approval. He clears his throat, trying to push away the rather unsavory thoughts that popped into his mind.

"Of course, I will have that ready for you before your first class in the morning."

"Thank you... Are you feeling any better?"

He flexes his leg, and there's no stabbing pain shooting through his muscles. None more than the usual at least. "I am, thank you. Would you let me take you to your Chambers?"

You nod, looking up at him. "Do you need me to fetch you your walking stick?"

He shakes his head, letting you move away from him. "I should be fine."

"Should be?"

"I'll be fine, honestly. We'll travel by Floo, how's that sound?"

"A whole lot better." you smile at him.

He lets out a grunt, finally letting go of the chair and carefully distributing his weight onto his leg. "Let's get you to your room, then."

Aesop had taken that bath shortly after he kissed you goodbye at your door. Then he had made sure to brew a very large batch of the Contraceptive potion, deciding that there was no possible way he was to fall asleep anytime soon; not with the way his mind wanted to think about nothing but you. Your voice, your body, the way you seemed to shine when you smiled with meaning.

He was absolutely smitten, and he wanted nothing more than to be by your side again. The fact that you had accepted his offer, that you would stay with him after your time at Hogwarts came to an end, well it left him reeling. He was scared, afraid that perhaps he wouldn't be able to provide everything he'd promised you. But that fear paled in comparison to the overwhelming joy he felt knowing that you weren't going anywhere, that he would have a chance to wake with you besides him, to share his life with you.

He knew that his request was toying dangerously close to being a proposal. But he couldn't bring himself to worry about that. There was no doubt in his mind that he would marry you. If that was to happen now, he had no complaints. He would have you bound to him forever, in anyway he could.

He did fear that he had forced you, that perhaps he had rushed you into a future that you weren't prepared for. He had no second thoughts about how you felt about him. When you had told him that you felt the same way, that you love him, there hadn't been anything but sincerity in your voice, in your eyes. He believed you. But he knew that you still carried your past in your heart, had a suspicion that in those six years you were gone, there was much you had gone through. He knew the scar wasn't from you were a student, that the way you seemed to carry yourself with both confidence and caution hinted at something deeper.

Aesop wanted to know, he wanted you to be comfortable in telling him. He didn't want to force you to open up like he did before, with brute force and insensitivity. No matter how hurt he was, how he had acted had been a mistake and it was a miracle that you had forgiven him, that you hadn't pushed him further away.

The cauldron in front of him bubble's and hisses at the same time he yawns. He let's it boil for exactly fifteen more seconds before the color changes to a pale, streak less ivory. He moves it away from the fire, glad that its finished just as he starts to feel fatigue drag his strength. It's a bit past midnight and he knows that there's no possible way you will still be awake, so his two options are to give it to you in the morning during Breakfast or leave it at your door for you to find when you wake up.

He decides that it will be better to leave it for you. There would be less eyes watching, less of a chance of someone growing a little too curious and asking questions that Aesop has no intentions of answering.

He makes quick work of pouring the liquid into the rounded vials, making sure that each of them get the exact necessary amount to actually be effective. When he's done, he conjures a chest and carefully places them away, enchanting the lock just in case one of his...more troublesome students finds it and gets curious.

He leaves out two, one for you and the other one he will keep in his room just in case the need for it ever... arises. It would be a lot better than to have to come all the way down to his classroom. Perhaps he will have to find a better place to put them. He yawns again and decides that it will be a problem for another day. One were he isn't so exhausted and craving the warmth of his bed.

Making sure that the chest is well hidden in his office, and that the door is locked, he disapparates in a crack of lightning. He's a little shaky as he apparates in front of your door, quietly placing the vial he had slipped into a velvet bag on the handle of the door. He's tempted to knock, to see if you're truly asleep but he doesn't chance it, turning and taking the four steps until he's at his door.

He has to start the fire again, his room too cold for him to ignore it. A simple cast of Incendio over fresh logs is all it takes for the warmth to start spreading as he changes into his nightwear.

When he finally gets into bed, his thoughts are on you, on the way that he wishes there wasn't a wall separating them.

Some Like It Sharp

You and professor Sharp became very close after the events of your fifth year at Hogwarts. Just how close is unspoken for a long time. Until it isn’t.

I know I should be writing father Paul, but I started playing Hogwarts Legacy and became a little addicted. And then I went to potions class. I saw professor Sharp, in all his limping scarred glory and immediately thought ‘Oh. Oh no…’ And that was that.

EDIT: I MANAGED TO ADD SOME VOICELINES ON AO3

tw: age difference (reader is 17-18, which is of age in the wizarding world), student-teacher relationship, mentions of trauma (emotional and physical)

Some Like It Sharp 

(8.6k words)

You sighed deeply as your brow furrowed in concentration. Six finely crushed snake fangs soon disappeared in your cauldron. Momentarily, you lifted your eyes and gazed longingly at the person across the room from you. Professor Aesop Sharp was sitting at his round desk, a quill in his hand and a stack of third years’ essays in front of him. Every now and then, you could hear him utter a soft ‘tsk’, his dark hair bouncing as he shook his head. Even in his annoyance he was beautiful, you thought. Despite being a Slytherin, he reminded you of a lion, so strong and proud, not even his obvious limp was able to tarnish the image.

“Miss (L/N).” sounded right next to your ear, making you jump and turn your head towards the voice. Your wide startled eyes connected with professor Sharp’s own intense dark orbs. ‘When did he move?’ you thought, your heart in your throat.

Keep reading

I'm not hungry, I'm never hungry, I don't get hungry.

why don't you put the fork down, this is your chance to ACHIEVE something in your pathetic little life. do you really want to stay fat and undisciplined, you'd have to be an idiot to refuse skinny. think of all your bullies and enemies seeing you, watching you get fatter and fatter. i promise you we all see the calories and fat in the form of gelatinous yellow visceral fat around your thighs and waist.

There will come a ruler

Whose brow is laid in thorn

Smeared with oil like David's boy

my ao3

Oh, oh! Delirious + Tenjiro fluff with injured/sick reader for the prompt thing? Please and thank you~!

No thoughts, just Tenjiro dropping his tough guy flirting bc he loves reader that much.

Tenjiro Kirinji + Delirious + Fluff

You feel a finger digging into your forehead.

“Sure they weren’t just tryin’ to get rid of you,” the jerk says. “That Quincy shouldn’t of been able to land so many hits if you were, uh...tough as you’re always braggin’ about.”

Everything hurts too much for you to retaliate meaningfully. The finger dips to the side of your mouth and you snap at it, teeth clicking as they miss.

“Hmm. Maybe just too bratty for ‘em down there, then?”

His thighs pressed against your hip and fingers drawing circles at your neck are liberties he shouldn’t be indulging in. You’re glad he is.

His other hand isn’t even wrapping you in soaked bandages like he should be, though. And that’s annoying, considering everything hurts.

“Aren’t you supposed to be healing me, Tenjiro?”

His lips press against your forehead, “aren’t you supposed to be taking care of yourself out there?”

You don’t know what to say, so you turn your head as his fingers leave your neck and watch him resume wrapping your mangled arm.

It’s boring to watch. Your eyes stray to the messy pompadour that stretches past his head, making him look like a fluffy garden hoe. Ha. You’re gonna use that after the hot springs have melted the worst of your injuries away.

Silence compels your eyes shut and each cool strip of cloth wound around your limbs and middle reminds you how exhausted you are.

You only realize you’ve slept when you wake. Your head is resting against damp skin and not a pillow.

The pain killers you’d swallowed before being bandaged had left their delightful souvenirs of a cotton-dry mouth and woozy head.

At least the water feels nice. You flex your arm and don’t grit your teeth.

“Thanks,” you say, putting your hands over the long, wirey arms at your waist.

“Only doing what I’m supposed to.”

His voice is clipped and humorless and you turn with a frown.

“What?”

His arms twist you back, to facing away from him. “Don’t pick fights you can’t finish. When that punk, Retsu, hauled you up here...you’re lucky it hurt, y’know?”

On instinct, you open your mouth, ready to defend your decision. Sometimes you forgot your job wasn’t protecting other shinigami anymore. You could admit you lost sight of that. Even if it was hard to swallow, you did with a nod.

“I won’t, again. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize...I’m sorry I worried you,” you said, squeezing his hand.

“‘Course you worried me,” he sighs, sinking further into the water and dragging you with him. “I ain’t out here seducing every newcomer that pays me a visit. Just your sorry ass.”

The thought of Tenjiro delirious with worry makes your eyes sting. Him liking you hadn’t been a secret for some time. But all the back and forth made it hard to decipher if he really...cared.

Warm from the water and his admission, you rest your head against his arm.

“Thanks, Tenjiro.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

babe? get out the good dishes for our guests

 I don’t mind if he sends me to Azkaban

Pleaaase how do people have such amazing ideaaaas I'm gonna have a heart attack

saw ur masturbation headcanons and was sad as hell that there wasnt itto included :c pls write for itto too!

OH NO OH NO IM SORRY ITTO MY LOVE

ofc i'll do itto!! i havent done general hcs w itto, so that'll be what this kinda is!! except the nsfw will be your request bc we can forget about our grand arataki itto <3

Itto hcs and scenarios!!

warning(s): nsfw!!

favorite places to kiss you are your wrists, ears, thighs, and omg your back idk he would absolutely kiss your shoulders down your spine and AHDJKkjasjfkaw

^^ after youve had a long day or just need to relax in general, he'd totally totally give you a massage and trace his kisses all over your back in doing so

^^^^ ORRR OR when you two are taking a bubble bath together, youre laying in between his legs and leaning against him, his fingers tracing your back and running the bubble suds down your body... god god and he just will occasionally kiss spots on your back and UGDGSHd

he is so perfect. protect baby at all costs <3

HE'D PAINT UR NAILS AND YOU'D PAINT HIS

this ones random but but when he cooks for you he would totally wear the dumbass "kiss the cook" apron EXCEPT it would say "kiss the oni" and he'd make you kiss him LDAMSKDK

when you hang out with him and his arataki gang, yall would just all do dumb shit together and god it would be so so much fun i wanna hang out with the arataki gang too

^^^ FUCKKCSDSJ HE'D BE SO MEAN AND FUNNY AND TOUGH WITH YOU AND HE'D DO WRESTLING MATCHES WITH YOU AND THE GANG WOULD CHEER YOU ON he'd feel so betrayed by his friends cuz they want him to lose sobs

i can imagine him constantly taking you to inazuma in late nights to take you on ramen dates. ahh itto baby❤️❤️

HE SNORES SO DAMN LOUD LMAO he could wake up a whole damn castle with his loud ass snoring

this is so random but he'd totally play dress-up and run around with the kids in inazuma for their and your entertainment (thats canon bc i said so)

with aratki duties comes not-so fun times,,, when he gets hurt, youre usually the one to tend to his wounds

^^ CAN U IMAGINE THIS MEAL OF A MAN GAZING AT YOU LOVINGLY AS YOU STICH UP HIS WOUNDS?? A SIDE SMIRK CUZ HE THINKS YOURE BEAUTIFUL AND APPRECIATES YOUR GENTLENESS WITH HIM, WHILST YOURE CHIDING HIM AND TELLING HIM TO BE MORE CAREFUL

"You're dazzling, (Y/N). Did you know that, lovely?"

this is kinda gross,, but you'd always find nasty shit in his hair (bugs, dirt, etc) 😭

^^ then you proceed to yell at him for being gross and helping clean him up constantly

he adores you so much oh my god

i feel like itto would yell at you a lot, but like playfully yk? he knows when and when not to raise his voice jokingly depending on the situation

he'd constantly bring you brownies ?? LMAO LIKE ODDLY SPECIFIC DESSERT, I COULD JUST SEE HIM BRINGING YOU EITHER BROWNIES (fudge brownies only, they are superior) OR RAW COOKIE DOUGH😭

nsfw:

i always see people saying like "oh kazuha could break the bed" or "oh childe would totally break the bed" and i kindly disagree,,,, CUZ ITTO?? TOTALLY WOULD???

one of the fucking bed legs on the frame would just snap and homeboy would just stop and laugh about it with you (and then do absolutely nothing about it and continue)

as i said in the ceo itto hcs, there's a good balance of rough sex, gentle, etc etc

its never fucking vanilla sex though...

^^kinky, hot, sweaty...... good god im going straight to hell for writing this

he'd throw your legs on his shoulders and would just go absolutely mad on your-

sorry. god hes so hes so so so

SUCH A WHINER WTF

when he masturbates and thinks of you stop stop he’d be so rough on himself and would just wish you were there to help him

HES SO DAMN LOUD- gorou could probably hear him masturbating from a fucking mile away😭 AND HES PROBABLY YELLING UR NAME TOO SO GOROU WOULD JUST FREAK OUT AND GET SUPER UNCOMFORTABLE LMFAO

hes ABSOLUTELY into face sitting. he loves it so much, he could let you sit on his face for hours if you wanted tbh (me next pls)

this is random, but i think in a way he'd kinda be into roleplaying?? but like within that when he's more dominant he'd wanna see you with a blindfold on.

^^ i think he just finds pleasure in your expression, knowing that youre not sure what hes gonna do next? and you'd find thrill in the unknown cuz itto is so random so you wouldnt know what to prepare yourself for? you know what i mean? hes so baby girl

"Oh? You like it when I run my fingers right there, hm? Tell me."

oh my god when you two are in the moment he'd have one hand gripping your hip, and the other would be in your hair jerking it everytime he goes in,,, FJIAHFJKASBFUKASHFIK

sorry.

hes so kinky help- i couldnt say like his FAVORITE thing but i think ONE of his favorite things to do to you would be choking

yall yall hes such a heavy breather and grunter its so hot

i think afterwards hes such a big baby. loves sleeping with his face nuzzled in your chest, ear against your chest to feel your heartbeats bc it relaxes him so much

ITTO<333333