A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
Although he tries to be a man more concerned with aftercare, he really finds it a bit difficult to adjust to the idea of intimacy beyond sex. He might be a little slower because, after so long without action, his leg would be bothering him like never before, but he does his best so that you both end up comfortable and relaxed, without worrying about anything.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
His body part? His hands. He can touch you and he knows where to do it; he likes feeling the texture of your skin under his hands, touching even the deepest parts of your body. From hidden folds to the most visible parts. He just wants to touch you whenever he can, wherever you give him permission to do so.
Your body part? Your breasts. Not in a creepy way. But his gaze often wanders there when you're not looking him in the eyes. When your eyes are on his, he'll be the most respectful man and won't break eye contact for anything in the world, but if you dare to lean over his desk slightly, showing off your cleavage, you lose him. Forget about wearing a corset; he won't be able to stop thinking about you for the rest of the day.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
When he was younger and reckless? Inside. Inside. INSIDE. Nothing would matter more to him than seeing his cum coming out from inside you, from whatever hole, just name it and he'll have you filled. And god, hearing you choke on his cock while you try to swallow his cum, drops falling from the corner of your mouth, will be music to his ears.
Now that he's older? He still likes the idea of seeing you covered in him, seeing you stained with his seed. But it's not as dirty as before; your stomach is his favorite place. Seeing you with his cum on your stomach after he's left you wrecked and given you the best fuck of your life? It will be an image that stays with him for the rest of the day like fire in his mind. Never, under any circumstances, will he refuse to finish inside. In fact, even when you're riding him, he can't resist and will ask you if he can cum inside, especially after watching your breasts bounce so sensually for so long.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
He wants to watch you masturbate. For him, the female body has always been more than interesting, and watching you masturbate has always been in the back of his mind. No, he doesn't want to do it himself (although he's done it thousands of times before); he wants to see you in his bed, your leg between your thighs, whispering his name until you come thinking about him.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
He has a crazy amount of experience. Maybe not with a huge number of women – he can count the ones he's slept with on the fingers of one hand – but he has given each one much more than expected. Mainly because the man listens. He doesn't ask many questions, but just hearing it once: "go deeper," he won't forget it for the rest of the night until you ask him to stop (which you don't).
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
When he could still use his leg properly? He could go for hours and hours in various positions, but missionary was his particular favorite. He could see your face making expressions and feel you writhing beneath him.
Now with his bad leg and being a bit older? He'll play it somewhat safe, fewer positions, but now he'll go for doggy style with great enthusiasm. Watching your ass bounce and being able to feel your waist in his hands while he fucks you like a wild animal.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
He's too serious of a man to be able to make jokes in the middle of a good fuck; he thinks it ruins the mood. For Aesop, sex is more than just in and out, he wants passion and intimacy. If you want some jokes or a lighthearted atmosphere, it will be difficult for him to get to that point, but he'll be able to after a while... a long while.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
He doesn't like his hair to grow longer than it should; he keeps it quite short, nothing crazy, and gets it cut regularly. He might let it go if he doesn't have a steady partner, but never more than a week.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Aesop is unexpectedly tender beneath his serious exterior. He may struggle with words and vulnerability, but his actions speak volumes—the way his hands explore every part of you with reverent attention, memorizing the texture of your skin as if you're something precious. Though aftercare doesn't come naturally, he tries anyway to make sure you're both comfortable and warm afterward, even if he's awkward about it. When your eyes meet his, he holds your gaze like nothing else exists, refusing to break that connection until you do. He listens to every breath, every whisper of his name, and carries those moments with him long after.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
Alone: Aesop isn't the type to rush through it. Whether younger or older, he treats it with the same focused intensity he brings to everything else. When he was more reckless, his mind would drift to specific images. Now that he’s older, he's methodical, quiet, and when he finishes, it's with your image burned behind his eyes. He wouldn't be embarrassed about it, but it's private—not something he'd readily admit to unless you asked.
Together: This is where he truly comes alive. As established, he *wants* to watch you. Asking you to masturbate for him isn't just a fantasy—it's something he'd request with that subtle, serious tone, probably slipping it into conversation like, "I want to watch you fall apart for me." He'd sit back, fully clothed or not, and observe every movement, every expression, every sound. His hands might stay on you—gripping your thigh, brushing your hair back—or he might keep them to himself, simply taking you in. When it's his turn, he'd want your eyes on him too. He's not performative, but knowing you're watching, thinking of him? That undoes him. And if you're both touching yourselves together, it becomes another form of intimacy—vulnerable, intense, and deeply connecting without a single joke needed.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
He likes you to demand what you want. He's a former Auror, he's used to following orders from his superiors. Maybe at the beginning it bewildered him and even irritated him when he was bossed around, but in bed? Tell him to jump and he won't even care how high. Maybe he won't let it show at first, or he'll ask you in more subtle ways. Probably during one of your aftersex conversations, a "Sweetheart, tell me what you want me to do to you" just slipped out, and when you scream at him what you want him to do, you'll have it.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
In his bed, there's no better place to take you in so many ways and more. The mattress knows the weight of your bodies pressed together, the sheets have witnessed every expression you've made beneath him, and the pillows have caught your whispers of his name. It's his sanctuary.
But if he's feeling daring? If that quiet intensity in him sparks into something bolder? He'll let himself go just a little and take you on his office desk. Legs spread open, him standing between your thighs, the cool wood against your skin a sharp contrast to his warmth. The professional space that holds his potions, his papers, his serious exterior becomes the stage for something far more intimate. He'd still be quiet, still focused, but there's something about claiming you in a place so distinctly his that brings out a different edge: controlled, deliberate..
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
Look at him sensually, give him a small smirk, and you'll have him at your feet. That serious, composed exterior? It crumbles the moment you challenge him with just a glance. He might hold your gaze, refusing to break it first, but you'll see the shift—the way his jaw tightens slightly, how his attention narrows entirely to you. He's yours at that moment.
But if there's one thing that makes him completely abandon his professional composure? Your hand on his thigh. It leaves him bewildered and ignited in zero seconds flat. Whether you're sitting across from him during a quiet moment, beside him in bed, or gods forbid, under his desk at work—the moment your fingers graze that spot, his mind goes blank. All that Auror discipline, all that control, evaporates. He won't beg, not verbally, but his hand will cover yours, pressing it firmer.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Hit you? Degrade you? Absolutely not. He's far too much of a gentleman to ever do anything of that sort, no matter how much you might ask. That line is drawn firmly and will never be crossed. His need to protect, to cherish—it runs too deep, woven into every part of who he is as a man.
The most he'll ever give in to are smaller things. Maybe tying your hands to the headboard, but gently, with your consent, and only so he can take his time worshiping every inch of you while you're helpless beneath his attention. Maybe a spank, but never hard enough to truly hurt—just enough to make you gasp, to watch your skin flush under his palm. Beyond that? Completely, entirely off limits. He needs you to feel safe, to feel treasured, even in the most passionate moments.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Again, the man has a fetish for your breasts, and what better way to admire them than between your thighs? Whether you're riding his face or lying back in his bed while he eats you out, he has the perfect view—your chest moving with each breath, each shudder, each wave of pleasure he pulls from you. Your sweet taste mixed with his saliva? For him, that's the finest delicacy.
Let it not be misunderstood: he used to love receiving. Younger Sharp would happily take and take, hungry for his own pleasure. But with age has come wisdom, a shift toward something more deliberate. He's learned to be gentler, more appreciative of giving rather than just taking. Now? Your pleasure comes first. Your taste lingers on his lips long after, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
This man is sensual and slow, taking his time to savor every moment, every touch, every sound he pulls from you. He's the type to explore your body like he's memorizing a map, fingers trailing, lips following, building pleasure with deliberate patience until you're trembling beneath him without even being taken yet. Why rush when he can watch you fall apart piece by piece?
That is, unless you've been playing with him all day. A lingering touch here, a smirk there, your hand brushing his thigh under the table—by the time he finally has you, the beast unleashes. All that careful control snaps, and he fucks you carelessly and fast, as much as his body will allow. The man who was slow and reverent minutes ago now grips your waist, drives into you with urgent need, chasing the release you've been teasing out of him for hours. But once that urgency fades? He returns to slow, to committed, to making sure you're left completely satisfied in his arms.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
He doesn't like them much. Maybe if you're really in the mood and time is working against you both, he'll give in—but otherwise, it's an unconditional no. Quickies feel rushed to him, lacking the intimacy and connection he needs from sex. Why settle for hurried when he could have you properly?
When he does agree to a quickie, they tend to last just a few minutes, enough to take the edge off, to satisfy the immediate need. But it leaves him wanting—not just physically, but emotionally. He much prefers having you in his bed, taking his time with you, stretching out every moment until you're both completely spent and satisfied. No clocks, no distractions, just you and him and all the time in the world.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
When he was young? He didn't care about anything—he was a reckless little demon. He'd have fucked you in a broom closet just steps away from the Chief of Aurors if you'd let him. The risk, the danger, the thrill of nearly getting caught? It only made it hotter. Younger Sharp took what he wanted when he wanted, consequences be damned.
But now? He's a professor. A professional. And on top of that, he's over thirty. His reputation matters, his position matters, and more than that, you matter too much to risk reducing your intimacy to something stolen and hurried in a hallway. Now he prefers that his private life stays private, full stop. What happens between you belongs in his bed, behind closed doors, away from prying eyes and wandering students. Not because he's ashamed—but because what you share deserves better than a broom closet.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Again, young Sharp would have fucked you for hours if he had the chance—maybe a ten-minute break every two rounds to catch his breath, grab some water, then right back to it. Endless stamina, reckless energy, no concept of slowing down until you were both completely wrecked and the sun was coming up.
But adult Aesop? He doesn't have the stamina he used to. His body won't let him go for hours anymore, his leg reminding him of its limits long before his mind is ready to stop. But here's the thing: he's just as passionate, just as devoted to your pleasure, and he'll definitely make you come the same number of times but just in less time. He's learned efficiency. He knows exactly where to touch, how to move, what to say (or not say) to unravel you completely. Those younger years weren't wasted; they taught him everything he now uses to leave you trembling and satisfied in a fraction of the time. Quality over quantity, and with Aesop, the quality is devastating.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Toys? Absolutely not. 1800s "toys" were terrifying, they looked more like can openers than actual sex toys, and they definitely terrified him too. The idea of putting one of those contraptions anywhere near you or himself? He'd rather not.
That said, if you somehow got your hands on something from the modern world? Something safe, something designed for actual pleasure? He might be curious. Reluctant at first, watching with those intense eyes as you show him how it works on yourself. But using it on you? Possibly. Slowly, carefully, making sure you're enjoying every moment. But the man's hands are his favorite tools—he'd always rather touch you himself.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
He is criminal with how much he teases, but so subtly you almost don't realize it's happening until you're already worked up. A hand resting on your lower back just a second too long. His thumb brushing your wrist when you pass him a quill. That low "mmhmm" in response to something you said, when you know he's looking at your lips. He doesn't smirk, doesn't acknowledge it—that's what makes it so unbearable. He'll tease you all day if he can, building that tension until you're the one snapping and demanding he do something about it. And when you finally do? That slight raise of his eyebrow, that almost-imperceptible hint of satisfaction? He knew exactly what he was doing.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Quiet. So frustratingly, beautifully quiet. He's not a moaner, not a talker during sex, at least not loudly. What you get instead are small, devastating sounds that feel almost accidental. A sharp intake of breath when you touch him just right. A low, guttural groan buried against your neck when he's close. The sound of his breathing growing heavier, more ragged, as he loses control. His "fuck" whispered hoarsely into your skin. You have to listen carefully, but that's the point—those sounds are for you alone, not for anyone else to hear. When he does speak, it's low and direct: "Look at me." "Touch yourself." "Come for me." And his voice alone is enough to undo you.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
He keeps a small, worn notebook in his nightstand drawer. It's not a journal—it's a record of you. Things you've mentioned liking in passing. The exact spot on your neck that makes you gasp. How you take your tea. The way you like to be touched when you're tired versus when you're wanting more. He's not writing poetry; he's learning you, systematically and completely, because that's how his Auror-trained mind shows love. He'd never admit it exists, would probably be embarrassed if you found it. But every so often, when you mention something you once said months ago and he remembers, that's why. He wrote it down.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
He's big. Aesop is a large man—tall, broad-shouldered, solid in a way that makes you feel small (in the best way) when he stands close. His hands are big, his chest is big, his presence fills whatever room he's in. And what he carries between his legs? Equally large. Proportionate to the rest of him.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Under control. Always under control. That's how he presents himself. But the truth? His drive is a constant, low hum beneath everything he does. He wants you more often than he shows—during a quiet moment in his classroom, watching you laugh across the Great Hall, feeling your hand brush his during a meal. He's simply learned, with age, to master the wanting rather than letting it master him. Young Sharp would have acted on every impulse; adult Aesop channels that energy into restraint, into building anticipation, into making sure that when he finally does have you, it matters. But if you were to initiate? To slip your hand into his, to press close and whisper what you want? That control? Gone. The yearning is always there, just beneath the surface, waiting for your permission.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Not quickly. Never quickly. Even after his body is spent, even with his leg aching and his breathing slowly steadying, Aesop doesn't just roll over and sleep. He stays present. His hand will trace lazy patterns on your skin, fingers dragging softly along your spine, your hip, your arm. He'll press occasional kisses to your shoulder, your hair, wherever he can reach without disturbing the quiet.
