#aesop sharp x reader

[dreambender96]

Took You a While

Aesop Sharp x professor!reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, angst, fluff, MDNI

Summary: Aesop Sharp is bad at expressing his feelings and students can be little pricks.

A/N: This is my first fic ever, so please be gentle with me 🥺

As the leaves fall off the trees surrounding Hogwarts and the grounds, I find myself thinking back fondly on my time as a professor so far. My five years at Hogwarts as the Muggle Studies Professor have been immensely enjoyable. I have learned as much from the students as they have from me. The importance of knowing how to interact with muggles and understanding their technology could help prevent mishaps in the future. Over the years I have developed a comfortable relationship with the grumpy potion’s professor. Many lunches and after class tea dates between the two of us have established his classroom as a place of comfort for me. He always has a cup of tea ready for me and smiles each day I walk into his room. Just thinking about it makes me blush. We have both spent many years studying muggle medicine in hopes of finding a cure for Aesop’s leg. Though we hadn’t made any progress, the two of us had only grown closer with each try.

The fall wind had begun picking up as I sat lost in thought, clearly distracted from finishing my lesson plans for the week. I heard a shuffle and looked up to see Aesop standing nonchalantly in the doorway.

“Good morning.” He says with a smile. “Do you have a minute? I need your thoughts on something I am working on.”

“Of course!” I returned his smile and put down my quill.

“Well, I’m working on a potion. It’s a love potion. It is supposed to make someone fall in love with the maker.”

“Isn’t that just Amortentia?” I stand up and walk over towards him, clearly confused as to why he would be making a new love potion.

“Not quite. This potion does not cause addiction or withdrawal symptoms like Amortentia. However, it is an extremely potent aphrodisiac.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “And how would you like me to help with this?”

“I was hoping you could test the effects of the potion on yourself. Just one sip will do.” Aesop says in a completely calm and nonchalant manner. My mouth drops open and I stare at him dumbfounded.

“That…That’s a little inappropriate, don’t you think?” My voice shakes a little as I speak. He pushes off the door frame and walks further into the room.

“Why wouldn’t you want to try the potion?”

“Because you just said It makes you fall in love with someone!” I shout unable to hide how shocked I am at having this conversation.

“Well, what if I drank it?” He frowns at me.

“Wouldn’t you just fall in love with yourself?” I let out a loud sigh and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Aesop, if you wanted to ask me out on a date, you could have just asked.” I giggle at his flustered expression. I can’t believe I just said that.

“Well, I didn’t know if you thought of me like that.” He shuffled uncomfortably and I wondered where all his normal confidence went today, this didn’t seem like normal Aesop.

“You seem awfully forward today.” I question him hoping he will tell me it’s a joke or have a good explanation.

“I am feeling pretty excited right now. The potion really does make me feel alive.” I gasped at him.

“You took it already?”

“No! I mean yes, but not that much, it is still brewing.”

“Damn it, Sharp!” I grabbed his arm and dragged him out of my office and towards his classroom. “Why would try a new potion alone without knowing what could happen?” His behavior is concerning me, he isn’t being careful at all and certainly not acting like himself.

He mumbles at me like a child begin punished. “Oh, don’t get mad at me. The potion made me forget everything except how much I like you.” My cheeks heat up and turn red and I do my best to hide my face from him as we enter his classroom and I start looking around for something to stop the potion.

“No, you don’t. You’re just saying that because you drank that stupid potion.” I huffed at him over my shoulder.

“You’re wrong. This isn’t just the potion. We’ve been friends for years and I know what I want.” I turn harshly to face him and speak in a stern tone.

“Aesop Sharp, if you really care for me then you will confess your feelings without a love potion.”

“But I can’t help myself, I do care for you. If we spend some more time together…maybe, we could fall in love.” His voice is steady, but it just doesn’t sound like him. I shake my head and drag him into his small office and sit him down in his chair.

“How long do the effects of the potion last?”

“About an hour or so.” He says staring up at me like a lovesick student.” I groan.

“And when did you take the potion?”

“About 15 minutes ago.”

“Alright, then you’re going to stay there for the next hour, and I’ll be back to let you out.” I slam the door to his office and lock it. My heart is racing, and my mind is going crazy. Does he really feel that way? I suppose I have been feeling that way for a few years now. I shake my and tidy up the room. No, it’s just the stupid potion, I’m sure once he’s clear headed he’ll explain all of this. I continue to fumble around his classroom looking at his notes, waiting for an hour to pass. I hear the clock tower chime and let out a sigh. I walk over to his office door and open it up. Aesop walks out of his office past me like nothing even happened.

“So, are you feeling any better?” I ask gently.

“Yes. Thank you for being patient with me. I suppose there could have been better ways to tell you how I feel.” He says, turning to face me. I gasp, feeling a little overwhelmed.

“Do you remember everything you said to me?” His face turns a light shade of pink.

“Yes, I remember everything I said. I’m sorry if I came off too strong.” He starts walking towards me reaching out to grab my hands in his. My face lights up with heat again and I take a step back.

“Oh! I… I didn’t know you felt so strongly about me.”

“Why would you think otherwise?” He chuckles.

“Because you don’t show your emotions well, Aesop.”

“Maybe I should change that” he says letting out another chuckle. I enjoy the sound, but it doesn’t feel right, something is still off about him. I start to feel suddenly very hot and overwhelmed with emotions.

“I think I need some time to think this over.” I rush out of his classroom and back to my desk, leaving Aesop standing there with a silly smile on his face. I started to pace around my office. This isn’t him. Maybe it’s the lingering affects of the potion? He hardly laughs. My thoughts are racing when I hear a knock at my door.

“Can I come in.” It’s Aesop, of course its Aesop.

“When I said I needed some time, I didn’t mean five minutes.” I shout at him through the door when he casually opens it and walks inside. I shoot him a glare. He chuckles again.

“I’m sorry I just can’t help myself with you.” He chuckles and walks towards me.

“What in Merlin’s name has gotten into you today?”

He shrugs and sits at my desk, on my chair. “I’m just being honest.”

“There has to be a spell on you or something, this is not how you act!”

“Maybe there is.” He smiles at me mischievously. “I wouldn’t tell you about it now, would I?” My mouth falls open again.

“Who have you interacted with today?” I start interrogating him and he blushes at my aggression.

“I answered some students questions earlier today, they were working on homework.”

“Who!” I give him my best teachers glare, treating him like a child.

“Just some six years.” He mumbles.

“And they didn’t cast anything? Mumble any spells?”

“No!” He stands up quickly not even wincing in pain at his leg, which certainly informs me he is under a spell.

“Take me to them, right now.” He grumbles and starts walking towards the transfiguration courtyard. Mumbling under his breath the entire time about how it’s no big deal and I’m overreacting. We reach a group of students whispering and giggling to each other as they see Sharp enter the courtyard. I stomp towards then.

“Are you students that spoke with Professor Sharp today?”

“Yes. Is something wrong?” They ask innocently but the young man who spoke had a slight quiver in his voice.

“Did you cast a love charm on him?” I say, my stare uncompromising. They share nervous glances and one of them speaks up.

“No. No of course not.”

“I will give you ten seconds to tell me the truth or I am taking all of you to the headmaster’s office right now.” They look at each other nervously as I start to count down from ten. I hit eight and they all started talking at once telling me what happened. I listen intently and shake my head.

“Of all the stupid things to do. Keep your pranks to yourselves or next time I will have all of you expelled!” They gasped in shock and started pleading with me. “Remove the charm right now.” The young redhead mumbles under his breath and walks over to Sharp, releasing the love charm he placed on him. Sharp takes a moment to collect his thoughts and then looks down at the student. His brown eyes are filled with fury.

“All of you leave now, I will discuss your punishment later.” They scramble away as fast as they can as I slowly walk over to Sharp.

“Please tell me you are feeling like yourself again.” He grumbles and nods.

“Would you…I mean…do you need some time to think?” I ask uncomfortably and I feel myself blushing again.

“No. I don’t want to go through all this again. I’d like to discuss this with you now.” His eyes lock with mine and there is so much emotion locked up in them. Embarrassment, fear, and longing. I gave him a nod and we walked back inside the castle. He heads towards the faculty tower and towards his chambers. We typically have our teatime in front of his fireplace, enjoying a little gossip about students. I walk into his room, the feeling in the air is much different than our normal carefree meetings here. I head towards my normal chair and plop down into it. He walks up towards the fire and stands next to me, putting his hand on the back of my chair.

“Why didn’t you tell me how you felt…” I ask shyly, staring into the flames wishing they would swallow me whole.

“It was embarrassing and shameful.” He speaks coldly.

“Shameful?” I asked in shock. He feels shame about caring for me. That’s so cruel. I started to feel angry and turned to look at him.

“That’s part of it, however there were other reasons too.” I try to hold back my anger at his comments and listen to what he says.

“I’m a crippled old man, Y/N. I can hardly walk without proper assistant and pain potions. I can offer you no future outside of Hogwarts, you deserve better than me.” I cut him off by standing up and staring directly into his eyes, our faces are awfully close together.

“Aesop, we have been friends for years, when have I ever complained about your limp?” I put my hands on my hips to emphasize my point. His eyes dart from the fire to my hips and then into my eyes. There is more longing in them now than fear. Why can’t he just accept that someone can love him, that I love him.

“Please don’t think badly of me…” I can’t help a tear that runs down my face as I’m overwhelmed with my emotions. He reaches up to wipe it away. I grab onto his arm, gripping his sleeve harshly.

I grab onto his arm, gripping his sleeve harshly. “I’ve loved you for years, but you kept pushing me away.”

He grabs both of my hands in his and whispers, “I’m sorry.”.

I look down at our hands and gently pull mine away. “I think I need some time alone.” I walk out of his room and gently close the door behind me. Aesop watches me walk out of the room but doesn’t say a word. I spent the entire night thinking about what he said and trying to figure out my feelings. Why did he wait so long to tell me! Every year there was a new excuse, a new reason to avoid his feelings. I ask myself so many questions about the situation that I eventually fall asleep. The next week passes quickly, and I avoid Aesop as much as possible. I just was not ready to face this situation. When Friday rolls around and I have successfully avoided seeing him, I pack up my things ready to spend my weekend alone. I place the last book in my bag and hear his familiar shuffle. I look up to see him standing once again in my doorway.

“Do you want to talk?” he asks gently.

I leaned back against my desk and put my bag on the floor. “I guess.”

He takes a couple steps forward, testing the water.

“So, how was your weekend?” He asks, looking at the ground between us.

I stared up at him and raised my eyebrows. “You’re going to ask me about my weekend?”

“Yes...” he says quietly, taking a few more steps towards me.

“It was alright, I had a lot to think about.” I say staring at the ground, wanting to avoid this conversation. He doesn’t say anything as he takes a few more steps, ending up right in front of me. I can feel his stare on the top of my head.

“What did you think about?”

“You.” I whisper.

“I can’t stop think about you either.” He whispers back.

I don’t speak. I just continue to stare down at the floor.

“Look at me please.” He breathes out. His voice is thick with fear and need. I slowly look up and catch his gaze.

“I love you.” I gasped at him and pushed myself off the desk. I wrap my arms around his neck, and he grabs my waist. He pulls me even closer to him and leans down to whisper in my ear.

“I’ve never felt this way before.” He pulls back and stares down at me. I trace one of my fingers gently over his scar, and cup his cheek.

“I love you too.” A smile creeps onto his lips and he squeezes my hips ever so gently.

“You’re so beautiful.” I giggle at him, “Oh just kiss me already.” He leans down and captures my lips in a gentle but passionate kiss. I can feel all the pent up emotions, all the years of hidden feelings. He’s not just giving me a kiss; he’s fully conquering my lips. Clearly desperate to make up for lost time. I reach up and thread my fingers through his hair, returning the kiss with as much passion as I can. He wraps his arms around my waist pressing me harshly against his body. I reach down to grab my wand and flick my wrist, closing the door to my classroom. He pulls back for air, smiling down at me. I chuckle at him and take in how he looks. His hair is a mess, and his lips are red and swollen from our kissing. He chuckles softly and moves his head towards my neck, starting to leave a trail of kisses towards my collarbone. I whimper and start to feel myself heating up, his kisses going directly to my core. He starts caressing my hips and moving his hands down my thighs, slowly bunching up my skirts. I tremble under his movements, and he recaptures my lips, biting at them gently and sliding his tongue into my mouth. I moan into his mouth loudly as he pushes me back up against my desk. He pulls away slightly and whispers, “I don’t think we should continue this here.” He smirks at me, knowing damn well I am now all hot and bothered. I grab his collar and breathe out my command “then take me to your chambers.” He growls and pulls me forward.

We walk through the halls quickly and as nonchalantly as possible. Thank Merlin, it was Friday night, and all the students were out doing who knows what. We make it to his chambers and hurry into the room. The second the door is closed his in on me again, crushing his lips into mine and backing me up towards his bedroom. By the time I come up for air my knees are hitting the bed and he grabs my waist lowering me down gently. I giggle and he crawls up the bed on top of me, looking like a predator about to eat his prey. He gives me a mischievous smile and attacks my neck with his mouth, biting and sucking, leaving all kinds of marks that I know I will have to cover up tomorrow. I tangle my hands in his hair and he grinds his hips against me. I hum in bliss and tug against his shirt. He chuckles and releases my neck, leaning back so he can take off his layers of clothing.

After an excruciatingly long time we are both finally shed of our clothing and seeing each other bare for the first time. I can’t help but blush and squirm under his intense stare.

“You’re so beautiful.” He says in the sweetest tone that nearly melts my heart. I’m blushing profusely taking in his compliment when he suddenly growls and yanks my legs apart. I yelp and look down at him, as he pulls me to the edge of the bed and kneels down in front of my soaking slit. He holds my thighs in a tight grip and starts kissing them, his beard leaving little scratches against my skin. He continues all the way up towards where I’m dying for him to place his mouth. He gets closer and closer and suddenly stops. Breathing hot puffs onto my aching pussy. I hear him chuckle, “you’re so wet for me already, my naughty little witch.” I whine and tangle my hands in his hair, trying to push him forward onto me. He chuckles some more kissing right next to my slit but ignoring it completely. I begin to whine and thrash. His hands on my thighs hold me still as he growls at me, “be still my little witch, or I won’t give you what you want.” I stop moving and bite my lip looking down at him, he is staring at me with his chocolate brown eyes, full of lust and hunger. His lips wrap around my sensitive nub, and he starts sucking and lapping at it. I throw my head back, moaning in pleasure.

He eats my pussy like he’s been starved for years. I am a moaning mess underneath him, and he slowly slides in two fingers. I gasp and let out the most obscene noises, feeling completely full. He starts to suck harder on my click and moves his fingers in a come hither motion, hitting the perfect spot.

“Let go, Y/N. Cum for me.” I lost control at his words and my orgasm hits me hard. I cum all over his face as he removes his fingers, licking up ever last drop. He smirks at me with his beard covered in my slick and crawls up towards me. He suffocates me in another passionate kiss as I feel his tip pressing against my entrance. I moaned into his mouth and pushed his chest back.

“Please, Aesop. I can’t take it anymore, I need you.” I beg. He chuckles and reaches down to line himself up and slowly pushes his cock into me, inch by inch. I grasp his arms and claw into his skin, feeling all of him enter me, stretching me to my max. He slides in easily because of his earlier work. He grabs my legs putting them over his shoulders and begins to pound into me mercilessly. He grunts loudly as I become a moaning puddle, melting into him. I feel so full, so completely in bliss and he thrusts harder and harder hitting the perfect spot every time. The room is filled with the sounds of our moaning and slopping wet noises. Aesop looks down and growls at me. I stared up at him, getting lost in the power of his eyes. “You’re mine.” He growls with a particularly pronounced thrust. I gasped and grabbed his neck, pulling him down towards me. I stare into his eyes and say seductively, “I’m yours”.

His thrusts start to become more erratic as he reaches down and rubs my clit, bringing me close to my climax as well. He grunts and growls into my ear “release for me my little witch, I want to feel you cum around my cock.” Once again, his words take me over the edge and I’m seeing stars. I feel him pound into me harder as my walls squeeze him into his own release. He groans and I feel him release his hot seed deep into me. He gives it a few more thrusts before stopping and resting his forehead against mine. I take a moment to recover from my shattering orgasm and he slowly pulls out of me and lays down on the bed next to me. He turns to face me with a cocky grin on his face. I chuckle and he pulls me to his side, caging me with his arms. I move to wrap my leg around his and feel his seed dripping out of me like water from a broken faucet. I shudder and he places kisses on my forehead.

We lay there in silence for a while as I traced my fingers gently over his chest. Aesop places gentle kisses on my cheek. “That feels nice.” He says in bliss. I giggle and look up at him, “I’m glad you confessed to me today.” He blushes, “well, I have been wanting to confess to you for a while now.” I scoff at him, “well you sure took your time.” He chuckles and holds me tighter, knowing now he will never have to let me go.

“You were worth the wait.”

[mrs-sharp]

Everytime you realise your favourite fictional character is... fictional.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

professor sharp x star student reader with a praise kink.

reader takes sharp up on some after class advanced potions lessons && sexual tension/ teasing ensues when he figures out how she feels.

Office Hours | Aesop Sharp x Reader

WHOAAA ANON. NEVER WRITTEN SOMETHING LIKE THIS BEFORE. BUT I DID MY BEST. I HOPE THIS IS WHAT U WERE LOOKING FOR <3

Words: ~4,300

Tags: Smut-Adjacent, Praise Kink, Age Gap, Teacher/Student, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Pining, Angst

You linger as the rest of the class files out, quills and parchment rustling, chairs scraping against the stone floor as your classmates shuffle toward the door. Their voices fade into the corridor, leaving only the steady sound of footsteps as Sharp moves about the room, putting things away.

This has become a routine. Your routine.

At the start of the year, you were the only one who ever stayed behind for office hours, a habit born out of ambition—a desire to hone your craft under the guidance of someone who truly understood it. Not just a professor, but a Master: Professor Aesop Sharp.

In the beginning, your motives were purely academic. His knowledge was unparalleled, his methods rigorous, and his feedback unforgivingly honest. You wanted to learn. You wanted to impress him.

You don’t know when it happened—when the careful admiration turned into something dangerous. Perhaps it was the way he’d lean over your cauldron, sleeves rolled to his forearms, his voice low as he corrected your technique. Or maybe it was the rare instances when he praised you, voice edged with the kind of approval that left your pulse hammering in your throat.

Not that you ever let him see. It’s inappropriate. Unthinkable. You tell yourself this every single time you sit here, waiting for him like a fool.

Tonight, though, you have an actual excuse to be here beyond your fascination with him and need to impress—your essay.

Sharp had handed them back during class today, and you hadn’t gotten the grade you expected. Not bad, but lower than what you knew was your best. It had bothered you enough that you planned to bring it up tonight, to discuss it with him, as was expected of a student striving for excellence.

Sharp moves through the room with practiced ease, methodical, silent but aware, and you remain quiet, waiting—just the way he likes.

A few minutes pass before he flicks his wand toward the door, and with a deep thud, it swings shut, the lock clicking into place. The sound is enough to send a faint, ridiculous shiver down your spine.

He turns to you, finally acknowledging your presence, and something in his sharp gaze says he’s already decided what tonight’s lesson will be.

“Tonight,” he says, voice smooth and commanding, “you’re brewing the Draught of Living Death.” His eyes linger on you for a moment longer than necessary. “Think you can handle that?”

Your breath catches, but you force yourself to nod. "Of course, Professor."

His lips twitch—just the faintest ghost of approval, gone as quickly as it came. "Good."

That single word should not send heat curling through your stomach the way it does. But you push it down, focusing instead on the way he moves toward the supply cabinet, pulling down ingredients with his usual efficient precision.

"But first, you had something on your mind," he remarks, not even looking at you. "Tell me."

Of course, he noticed. Sharp notices everything.

"My essay," you say carefully, rising from your seat and stepping toward him. "I was hoping to discuss my grade."

He turns then, eyeing the parchment in your hands before meeting your gaze. His dark eyes hold no sympathy—they never do. But they hold something else tonight. Interest, maybe. Curiosity.

"Did you think I was unfair in my assessment?" he asks, stepping aside to give you room as he sets a small vial onto the worktable.

"No," you answer quickly. Too quickly. You take a breath. "I just—I want to understand what I could improve."

His head tilts, watching you for a beat too long. Then, he gestures for you to set the parchment down on his desk.

"Let's have a look, then."

You place the parchment down beside the vial, smoothing out the edges as though the act alone might steady the rapid beat of your pulse.

Sharp steps in beside you, his presence a weight you feel more than see, and he leans over your essay, scanning the lines with a critical gaze. The sleeves of his robes are pushed back just enough to reveal the corded strength in his forearms. His hands, scarred but steady, move over the parchment with the same precision he uses when handling delicate potions.

The subtle scent of clove and worn leather lingers in the air between you, mixing with the faint traces of crushed valerian and asphodel still clinging to his robes. You shouldn’t find it intoxicating, but you do. It is entirely unfair for a man like him to be this distracting.

"You argue your points well," he murmurs, causing your heart to stutter. "But you lost clarity here—" he taps against a line of your writing, and your stomach tightens at the briefest brush of his knuckle against your wrist, unintentional but devastating. "There was a lack of specificity in your discussion of infusion times."

You swallow. "I—right. I see that now."

His eyes flick to yours, sharp and assessing. He leans back then, finally stepping away, and the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding leaves you in a slow exhale.

"You’ve proven yourself capable of better," he says simply, his voice low, even. "I marked you down because I expect more from you. And you expect more from yourself, don’t you?"

You nod, feeling strangely like you’re being examined in a way that has nothing to do with academics.

His mouth curves into the ghost of a smirk. It’s barely there, but you see it. "Then prove it," he says. "Brew the Draught of Living Death. If it’s flawless, I’ll reconsider your grade."

A challenge. A trap.

The Draught of Living Death is advanced, a potion that requires an unshakable hand, patience, and mastery of technique. One wrong move, one miscalculation in the number of stirs, the precision of slicing the sopophorous bean, and the entire brew will be ruined.

But hesitation is not an option. Not when he’s looking at you like that. Not when the air between you is thick with something dangerous, something that curls beneath your skin and settles low in your stomach.

“I’ll do it,” you say, and your voice does not waver.

Sharp holds your gaze for a beat longer—like he’s searching for something. Then, with the faintest nod, he steps back toward the supply cabinet.

"Good."

It should be nothing. A simple word of acknowledgment, an approval of your determination. But the way he says it—low, slow, deliberate—makes heat lick up your spine.

You take a slow breath, steadying yourself before setting into motion. You need to focus—really focus—because if you let your mind wander, if you let yourself think too much about the way he's watching you, you’ll slip. And you can’t afford to slip.

So you fall into routine.

You move to the side table first, methodical, tying your hair back to keep it from falling into your face. You push your sleeves up next, rolling them neatly to your elbows. Every movement is practical, part of a process you’ve done countless times before. But still—you feel him watching.

You don’t look up. You don’t dare. But you know.

He hasn’t moved far, standing just a few paces behind you, arms crossed, silent, patient, present.

You want to impress him. You want to please him.

You flip open your textbook with, letting your fingers brush across the instructions. You don’t need them—not really. You know this potion. You know what to do. But having them open gives you something to ground yourself, something to look at instead of the weight of his gaze.

Still, you pretend to read, taking a moment to steady yourself before moving toward the cauldron, lighting the burner beneath it with a flick of your wand. The soft whoosh of the flame should settle you. It doesn’t. Not when you can feel the weight of Sharp’s gaze, steady, assessing.

You ignore it. Or, at least, you try.

Instead, you move. Measure. Pour. Stir.

The first ingredient is Infusion of Wormwood, followed by Powdered Root of Asphodel. Your fingers are steady as you measure it, dusting it in with careful precision, watching as the mixture thickens slightly, deepening in color.

Good. Perfect.

You force yourself to ignore the fact that Sharp's eyes are still on you. Your movement is measured as you reach for your spoon and stir twice clockwise. The liquid shimmers, turning a beautiful lilac, exactly as it should. You should feel satisfied, but it’s not enough.

Not yet.

You move to the sloth brain next. The texture is viscous, slightly gelatinous, and you add it swiftly before stepping back.

Then, the Sopophorous Bean.

You reach for your knife, ready to cut—

You hesitate. A memory flickers in the back of your mind—crushing the bean releases more juice. It’s not in the textbook, not something he taught in class, but you remember reading it somewhere, a theory proposed in an old alchemical manuscript.

Sharp notices.

“You paused,” he remarks. “Why?”

His voice is smooth, laced with something unreadable. A test.

You lick your lips, shifting your grip on the bean. “Crushing releases more juice than cutting,” you say evenly, flipping your silver knife on its side.

There’s a beat of silence. Then—

“Hm.”

It’s not praise. Not exactly. But it’s not dismissal, either.

You press down firmly, and the bean gives under the pressure, splitting and releasing its juice. Carefully, you let it drip into the cauldron, watching as the potion’s color begins to shift.

Then, the final step.

You reach for the spoon, feeling the weight of it in your hand, and stir—seven times anti-clockwise.

Each movement is deliberate, controlled, and with every pass of the spoon, the potion begins to transform, taking on that deep, endless black hue—the unmistakable, perfected shade of the Draught of Living Death.

And yet, you hesitate. Your hands remain steady, but inside, everything is tight, coiled—waiting. Because you aren’t just waiting for his assessment.

You’re waiting for his approval.

Sharp moves then, slow and measured as he steps toward the cauldron. He looks first at the potion itself, then at you, expression unreadable, his presence a force in the quiet tension of the room.

You should step back. But you don’t.

He reaches for a clean glass vial and dips the edge into the potion, watching as it glides into the container with the exact viscosity expected of a successful brew. His gaze flicks briefly to you before he lifts it to eye level, tilting it against the dim torchlight, assessing.

You know it’s perfect, but his silence is unbearable.

Finally, he sets the vial down with a soft clink and steps back, arms crossing over his chest.

“Near perfect,” he muses.

Near. Not entirely.

You don’t allow the disappointment to show, but you feel it, sharp and hot. A quiet frustration that tightens in your ribs, not at him, but at yourself. You should have been flawless.

His smirk is subtle, almost imperceptible—but it’s there. Amused. Calculating. “You hesitated before crushing the bean,” he says.

It isn’t a question, but you answer anyway. “I was considering my options.”

A pause. Then, he tilts his head slightly, watching you. Too closely.

“And do you often hesitate when making decisions?”

Your fingers flex slightly at your sides. “Not often.”

Another moment of silence.

“Then why did you?”

Your pulse stumbles. It’s not an academic question. Not really. There is something else in his voice, something threading just beneath the words. You feel it, but you step forward anyway.

“I wanted to make the right choice,” you say carefully.

Sharp doesn’t move, doesn’t break his gaze from yours, but something shifts in the air between you.

“You like proving yourself,” he murmurs.

It’s not a question.

Your breath catches in your throat, the heat crawling up the back of your neck before you can stop it. Your heartbeat is suddenly too loud, your skin too warm.

“I like to be accurate,” you answer, voice even.

His gaze lifts, slow and knowing.

“Hm.”

Sharp is still watching you. You can feel it in the weight of his silence, in the slow tap of his fingers against his forearm where his arms remain crossed.

Then, he turns slightly—just enough to angle his head toward the small potted plant resting on the windowsill.

"Fetch a leaf," he says. "We’ll test the potion."

It is an easy request. Simple. A task so unimportant that your stomach shouldn’t be tightening the way it does.

And yet your stomach does tighten.

Because he is standing right beside the plant. His hands are right there—steady, capable, within reach of the leaves. He could pluck one himself, could test the potion himself.

But he doesn’t. Because he wants you to do it. Because he wants to see you obey.

You swallow hard, heart rattling in your ribs as you step forward, keeping your movements measured, controlled—deliberate. You do not hesitate, because hesitation would reveal too much. You do not rush, because that would betray your nerves.

The moment you come close, you reach out. Your fingers brush against the edge of the plant, the surface of the leaves soft under your touch. You pluck one with careful precision, just as he instructed, your pulse knocking violently in your throat as you straighten and turn—

Only to find yourself impossibly near him.

Sharp hasn’t moved back. Hasn’t stepped away. His presence presses into you without ever touching, the nearness enough to send a pulse of electric tension licking down your spine.

Your throat tightens, breath shallow as you force yourself to meet his gaze. “The leaf,” you murmur, holding it out for him.

Sharp does not take it.

Instead, his gaze flickers—just briefly—to your hand, to the careful way you offer it to him. There is something unreadable in his expression, something quiet, something entirely too knowing.

And then, finally, he moves. Not to take the leaf from your hand, but to take your wrist. It is nothing, barely a touch. Just his fingers closing over your skin with the lightest amount of pressure, steady and warm.

A slow inhale catches in your chest, unsteady.

Sharp turns your hand slightly, adjusting the angle, his fingertips grazing along the inside of your wrist before he guides your hand over the potion vial.

The moment stretches too long, something slow and sharp unfurling in the air between you. The quiet tension that has been building all year, all those lessons, all those moments of careful restraint, now concentrated down to this single point of contact.

Then, just when the air grows too thick to breathe, just when your pulse thrums too loudly in your ears, he releases you.

“Drop it in,” Sharp says smoothly, his voice entirely too composed.

You blink, still feeling the ghost of his grip on your wrist. Then, as though forcing yourself out of some terrible, exquisite haze, you drop the leaf into the vial.

The potion reacts immediately, the liquid swirling and darkening before settling back into stillness.

Sharp studies it for a moment, then exhales, satisfied.

"Flawless."

It's just an assessment. A passing remark. A professor's acknowledgment of his student's skill. But the moment it leaves his lips, heat licks up your spine, curling at the base of your stomach.

Because it's not just the words. It’s the way he says them. Slow. Deliberate. Measured. And you—fool that you are—want to hear him say it again.

"So," you say over the lump in your throat. "My essay?"

A beat of silence.

Sharp’s gaze lingers on the potion for a fraction of a second longer, then, with his usual methodical grace, he steps back nd gestures toward the parchment still resting on his desk.

"Right." His voice is smooth, even. Almost mocking in its composure. "Your essay."

Sharp leans against the desk, arms folded as he studies your parchment with an air of measured ease—too relaxed, too composed. Too aware.

"I’ll admit," he says, dragging the words out just enough that something coils low in your stomach, "you did very well."

There’s an infuriating, calculated slowness to the way he drags a fingertip along the margin of the parchment, tracing one of his own red ink marks, as though considering something deeply.

"You constructed a strong argument," he muses, tilting his head just slightly. "Your thesis was compelling."

A flicker of something too warm coils low in your stomach.

"Your phrasing—" he pauses, exhaling through his nose, as though considering, as though drawing this out intentionally. "—was refined. Articulate."

You swallow hard. "Thank you, Professor."

His mouth curves, the barest hint of something smug. "But what I found most compelling," he continues, "was your attention to detail."

The air pulls tight. Because the way he says it does not feel like an academic critique. It does not feel like anything that belongs in a student-teacher discussion.

"That’s something I’ve noticed about you," he goes on, and his voice is quieter now, softer in a way that steals the breath from your lungs. "You don’t just do the work. You perfect it."

The words should make you proud. Instead, they make you burn.

You force yourself to breathe, to steady your voice. "I—I appreciate that, Professor."

Sharp hums, low and considering. "You're thorough," he murmurs, tilting his head slightly. "Diligent."

Your pulse stumbles.

"Precise."

Your breath catches.

"And," he exhales, his voice dropping to something dangerous, something just this side of indulgent, "you take feedback well."

The words knock the breath out of you. Your heart is a frantic, stuttering thing in your ribs. You hate how warm you feel, how obvious it must be, how your body betrays you.

And then, Sharp moves, the space between you disappearing, inch by inch, until the heat of his presence is nearly brushing against you.

Until he is looming over you.

The breath leaves your lungs too sharply, and you force yourself not to step back. You won’t. Because that would be a retreat. That would be acknowledging whatever this is. And you can’t do that. Not when he’s watching you like this.

"That’s why I expect so much from you," he murmurs, his voice smooth as honey. "Because I know you’ll meet my expectations."

He leans down, just slightly, enough that his breath is almost brushing the side of your temple.

"Won’t you?"

You can’t breathe. Can’t think.

You fight the way your body betrays you—the way heat licks at the back of your neck, the way your pulse pounds in your ears, but Merlin, the space between you is almost nonexistent. His presence is a force pressing against you, the warmth of him just shy of touching, and it’s unbearable.

Your fingers flex against the hem of your sleeves. You swallow, but your throat is dry. “Of course, Professor,” you manage, but it’s too soft. Too breathless.

Sharp hums. Approving. Amused. Knowing.

He leans back just slightly—just enough to allow air to exist between you again, but the absence of his nearness is almost worse than the proximity.

"In fact," he says smoothly, the deep timbre of his voice sinking into your skin. "You very often exceed my expectations."

Your throat closes. Your fingers twitch against the hem of your sleeve, gripping the fabric too tightly, willing yourself to breathe—to recover—to not completely fall apart at the single, devastating utterance of those words in his voice.

“I do my best,” you say, feigning composure, feigning detachment.

Sharp watches you for a beat too long. Then his mouth curves, just slightly. A smirk. Small. Subtle. Infuriating.

“I know. You're such a good girl."

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Heat licks up your spine, sinking deep, pooling low in your stomach—too much, too hot, too consuming. Your breath stutters, your lips part. You need to say something, anything—

"Th—Thank you, Professor."

Sharp smirks. Smirks like he’s just uncovered something dangerous. Something vital. Something he has every intention of using against you.

And you?

You’re drowning.

Your pulse is a frantic, stuttering thing, hammering against your ribs, surging so loudly in your ears that you almost miss the way his gaze lingers, the way he watches you like he’s just confirmed a theory.

Your fingers tremble at your sides, and you force them still, desperate to regain some shred of composure, to steady your breath, to not completely fall apart beneath the weight of his attention.

Because he knows. He knows about your desperate need for his praise and you are completely fucked.

You need to say something. To do something. Anything to break the tension, to reclaim some semblance of control, to pretend that his words didn’t just shatter you.

But you can’t.

Your mouth is dry. Your brain isn’t working.

Because he said it. Because he called you a good girl and you loved it.

Sharp exhales slowly, as if savoring your reaction. "You're welcome," he muses, deliberately slow, watching you the way one watches an experiment unfold.

Then he steps closer.

Not much. Just enough. Enough that his presence is all-consuming, pressing in from all sides, boxing you in—until the edge of the desk digs into the small of your back, an unyielding barrier that he has deliberately backed you into.

Fuck.

Sharp tilts his head slightly, considering. Calculating. His gaze drinks you in, moving from your flushed face to the subtle tremor in your breath, down to the hands you are desperately trying to keep still.

"Something wrong?" he asks, voice smooth as velvet. Mocking.

You swallow hard. “No, Professor.”

Sharp hums. His gaze flickers over your features, sharp and assessing, before settling back on your eyes. “I find that hard to believe.”

Your fingers tighten at your sides. “I assure you, I’m fine.”

Sharp smirks again, tilting his head slightly, as if to study you from a different angle. "Hmm. If that were true, then you wouldn't be holding your breath right now."

Your lips part—sharply exhaling, realizing too late that he’s right.

Shit.

Sharp watches your breath stutter out of you, and the slight twitch of his smirk tells you everything. He shifts again, placing his palm on the desk beside your hip. The shift is subtle but absolutely calculated, because now, he has you caged in.

"You know," he muses, voice low and smooth, "you really are a remarkable student. Dedicated, hardworking..."

Your breath is too shallow.

"And so obedient."

The word is like a spell cast directly into your bloodstream, molten and devastating.

Sharp leans in, his breath a ghost against your temple, the space between you nonexistent. "Tell me," he murmurs, voice like silk, smooth and slow. Dangerous. "Is that how you are in all things? Or does this particular brand of obedience—" his gaze flickers down, then back up, dark and knowing—"only extend to Potions?"

Your brain short-circuits. Every thought, every coherent response, every ounce of reason, completely evaporates. Your lips part, a sound barely escaping—not quite a breath, not quite a whimper—and Sharp catches it.

Of course he does.

He sees it all. Sees the way your pulse pounds visibly at your throat, the way your chest rises and falls too sharply, the way your fingers twitch at your sides as though resisting the urge to reach for him, to cling to him.

His fingers tap once against the desk, measured. Patient. Waiting for you to say something. To answer.

But you can’t.

Because your mind is mush. Because you want him to keep talking. Because you need more. Because every praising syllable out of his mouth does something to you, something ruinous, something you can’t name but don’t even care to fight anymore.

The moment your breath shudders out of you, the moment your lashes flutter just slightly, the moment your knees almost buckle, his smirk deepens.

“You’re not answering,” he observes, voice low, velvet-smooth.

Your lips part. “I—I…”

Sharp exhales—mocking, amused. “Hmm.” His gaze lazily drags down your body, assessing, lingering on the subtle tremor in your fingers, the sharp, uneven rise and fall of your breath.

“I think,” he murmurs, “that means I already have my answer.”

A sharp, impossible sound gets caught in your throat. Your fingers grip the desk now, white-knuckled as Sharp leans in even further, just slightly, just enough for his breath to ghost across your cheek, for his presence to press down on you, for his voice to sink into your skin .

“You really do like being told how good you are, don’t you?”

Your breath hitches—

That’s it.

That’s the breaking point.

Because he’s right. You do. You do. You would do anything—anything—just to hear him tell you again how good you are.

Sharp sees it. He feels it. And he knows you would. Because the moment your lashes flutter, the moment your breath stutters, the moment your grip on the desk tightens, he grins. A slow, devastating, entirely too pleased.

“I thought so.”

Your whole body burns. You can’t breathe. You can’t do anything except stand there, trembling, helpless under his gaze.

Sharp watches you for a beat too long, drinking in the wreckage he’s made of you. Then—

Mercilessly, cruelly—

He steps back.

The loss is staggering.

Your knees almost buckle from the sudden absence of his warmth, of his presence demanding every part of you. But Sharp? He exhales, slow and composed, as if none of this ever happened. As if he didn’t just ruin you. As if he didn’t just unravel you to your very core.

Then, with infuriating calm, he turns toward his desk and picks up a piece of parchment, flicking his gaze back to you as though this is just another day.

“You’ll have your next assignment by Friday,” he says, voice smooth, mockingly casual.

And you? You can’t speak. You can’t do anything but stand there, barely holding yourself together, every inch of your body burning from the inside out.

Because he knows. Because he saw. Because he made you fall apart.

And worst of all?

You want him to do it again.

[caffeineaddictwriter]

Imagine Aesop Sharp dating a herbology professor, when she brings him ingredients the students tease him.

Cauldrons bubbling surrounded the room as students stressed hoping that there potion wouldn’t explode. Expept Gareth Weasley who prayed that his would explode with colour. There professor sat hunched over a pile of paperwork as his desk listening out for any shouts or explosions that he’d have to get up to deal with, although with the pains in his leg today he’d rather not be dealing with his students messiness.

About half way into the class the door to the potions class creaks open. Aesop is quick to look up expecting to see a student coming in or trying to make a run for it, instead he sees you carrying a tray filled with herbs from the castles greenhouses. The students all begin whispering among eachother and smiling as you walk past them towards Aesop.

“My class are sitting a test with Mirabels class so I thought I’d bring these down to you” you say placing the tray down on his desk smiling away. Aesop smiles to himself watching with glee, not at the ingredients but at the fact he knew it was your excuse to come see him during class time. “Thank you professor L/N, that’s very kind of you” the potions master can feel his heart pounding as he watches you smile as you list of each herb. He doesn’t even listen just mesmerised by you.

That is until he spots Gareth and his friends in the background making kissy faces behind you. He’s quick to give them the death glare “mr Weasley I presume you are finished” Gareth tenses up as his friends laugh “no sir” he mumbles, you turn looking confused watching the boy run back to his cauldron. “Everything okay?” You ask him but he just nods. “I’ll see you tonight at dinner” you say giving the professor your signature sweet smile as you leave the classroom leaving a love struck professor behind.

He sighs lovingly before frowning turning to Gareth who is turned away from his professor but doesn’t speak quietly “did you see professor sharp with his googly eyes he tots has a thing for professor L/N” he says before growing confused as his friends don’t laugh along with him, instead they all look down as a tall shadow suffocates the ginger. “detention with me after school on Thursday mr Weasley”

[ashisgreedy]

Aesop Sharp x F!Char

Smutober - Oct 6: Bathtub

Tags: Smut 18+ | All chars over 18+ |Bath Together| Fingering | Orgasm Control | Married |

WC: 2,700

Winding down for the evening, the couple drew a bath together, adding bubbles to the hot water and a scoop of lavender bath salts. The aroma of the bathroom mixed with the steamy air was already making her tight muscles relax.

“Go ahead and get in.” She urged her husband.

Aesop had already disrobed and was pulling out two large fluffy white towels from the cabinet for when they were done. He kissed the top of her head and tested the water with his hand.

“It might be a bit too hot for you.” He said, knowing how she preferred the temperature after all these years together.

“I’ll…” She reached in to test the water herself. “Oh, I’ll be fine. I just need to get in slowly.”

Aesop gave her a small smile. “Stubborn as always.”

She sent him a playful wink and pushed on his back. “Go on, get in already.”

As he stepped into the tub, he turned off the running faucet and settled in with his back against the far side. The bubble bath solution had multiplied so much that his sudden movement made puffs of bubbles detach and float around the room.

She pulled all her hair to one side and peered into the tub. Aesop patted the water in front of him. “Ready when you are.”

She took a deep breath and stuck her foot into the water. It wasn’t as hot as she thought it would be, but she definitely couldn’t just dive in like her husband had. Slowly she put her weight on her foot and then added the second one. He held her hips while she held onto the side of the tub, slowly dipping into the heated water. She hissed when she sank chest-deep below the bubbles.

“Not too bad?” Aesop asked, moving so she could relax against his chest comfortably. Despite his height, they both fit snugly into the warm bath together.

“No, it’s perfect.” She sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. She looked up and caught his eye as he gazed down at her.

Sharp moved his arms from resting on the side of the tub to wrap around her smaller frame. He kissed the top of her head and they stayed like that for a long moment.

The bubble bath foam crackled and fizzed around them as steam rose from the tub. He gave her one last squeeze with his arms then rested his head back against the wall.

“You know,” She started to speak, pushing some of the bubbles against her chest. “Every time we bathe like this, I always have the best sleep after.”

Aesop hums in acknowledgment. He runs his wet hands through his hair, wetting the dark strands. “That’s why I suggested it tonight. You’ve been tossing and turning lately.”

She smiles, nodding slightly. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

He was already rubbing her arm with his large hand, comforting her. “It’s alright. I know you have trouble sleeping sometimes.”

Her heavy sigh made several bubbles burst in the wake of the gust. “Lately I've been waking up in the middle of the night and not being able to go back to sleep for hours.”

Sharp adjusted his legs, bending the good one until his knee poked out of the water. “Is there something on your mind?”

She was quiet for a long moment. “Not any one thing in particular…”

“Is it your job again?” Aesop asks, fingers playing with a lock of her hair that hadn’t been soaked by the tub.

“Kinda…” She looked back at him. His brow was cocked like he didn’t fully believe her. “Okay fine, yes. It’s work. They've been… just insufferable lately. My only reprieve has been those books your sister brought me to read.”

“Escaping the problem is one way to handle it, but.” His right hand finds hers resting at the bottom of the tub. He twines his fingers with hers and pulls her hand up to kiss along her knuckles. “You could just quit.”

“But… what would I do with my day?” Her voice was quiet. Was he really suggesting she leave her job? They had absolutely no money troubles and she mostly worked to fill her days so it wasn't that much of a shock to know he didn't mind her leaving her job. 

Aesop chuckled. “Whatever you want to do. Eventually, if you get bored again, you can find something to do part of the time.”

She nodded. “I will think about it.”

He leaned down close to her ear. “I know you will.” He kissed the side of her head and ran his hands up and down her arms. “I support whatever decision you make.”

She knew he would always support her. A small smile crept up on her face. There was a solution to her restless nights and hope filled her chest for the first time in months. She rested her head back and allowed his hands to continue their exploration of her body under the surface of the water.

He rested his head against hers and used his fingertips to run along her skin. His hands moved over her torso and down to her legs. He went as far as he could reach then moved back up to touch her chest. He rested his palms on her breasts and his wife relaxed back fully onto him.

The mood began to shift as his hands focused on her chest, lingering for a long moment. His chest rose as he took in a deep breath. “You’re beautiful.” He whispered in a low voice.

She took in a deep breath herself, allowing her muscles to relax in the heated water. “Thank you.”

Aesop’s hands slowly rubbed circles over her breasts, fingertips grazing her nipples. Her soft gasps egged him on to focus more of his attention on the soft peaks. He kissed down to her ear, leaning forward to make his way to kiss her neck. He bit down lightly while his pointing finger and thumb pinched down on her nipples and rolled the bud between them.

She moaned at his touch, breathing deep and filling her lungs with the steamy lavender-scented air. Sharp’s lips trailed to her shoulder, nipping the skin, before moving back up to lick the cuff of her ear.

“I want you to relax. Let me take care of you.” Aesop whispers into her ear, his deep voice sending chilled bumps down her arm despite the heated water they were dipped in.

She focused on the sound of his breathing in her ear and the intermittent drip from the faucet. His left hand slid over her torso, moving to cup her between the legs.

Slowly, she parted her legs farther for him and he hummed in approval. His middle finger ran up her slit, circled her clit, then ran back down to her entrance. He did this over and over until she felt her body come alive.

“Focus… just- right there.” She asked when his finger centered on her clit.

“Let me play.” Was all Aesop said before using a second finger to delve deeper into her folds.

Two fingers prodded her entrance, teasing their way in and out incrementally. She sighed, loving the stretching sensation.

He moved his digits back to her clit, finally focusing on the swelling nub. Her hips jerked when he pressed down, causing water to ripple beneath the layer of fizzing bubbles.

“Relax, and enjoy yourself,” Sharp said, lips finding the crook of her neck. His stubble poked at her skin, adding to the sensation of his soft lips.

It wasn’t long before her quiet sounds turned to moans, echoing off the tile walls of the bathroom. His fingers circled just right, the way he had learned long ago that she liked. His fingers moved with dizzying accuracy. She rocked her hips in kind with his movements, adding the extra layer of pleasure that was needed to take her to the edge.

“Not yet,” Aesop teased as he whispered in her ear. “Can you hold it for a bit longer?”

She gulped, flexing her abdominal muscles hard, holding off on the release that was just on the cusp. “Yes.” She gripped his thigh, squeezing the longer his finger swirled.

It was going to happen and come crashing down on her any second, but she held off the orgasm for a bit longer at his request. She pressed her head back into his firm chest, feeling her thighs start to tingle.

“Please…” She whispered, not sure how much longer she could stave it off.

“Not yet.” His usual rough tone sounded amused in her ear.

She bit her bottom lip and squeezed her eyes shut. Her legs began to tremble while his fingers rubbed her clit in exactly the perfect way to make her pop.

"Please! I don't think I can hold off much longer." She admitted, hands balling into fists.

The low chuckle that fell from his lips made her stomach flip. "I'll let you cum-"

"Oh thank you!"

"-In just a few more seconds." His lips trailed her neck.

"Please…" Whimpers started to escape her. She rocked her hips in a way that would try to remove his fingers from her sensitive spot. Aesop wasn't having any of that. He used his free arm to anchor her torso in place against his body.

Her abdominal muscles began to ache the longer she held back. "I can't wait any longer…" Her heart throbbed in her ears.

"Count backward from three." He spoke in a low sultry voice.

"What?!" She gasped.

"Count backward. Three." He started

"Th-three" Her legs trembled.

"Two."

"Two!" She moaned.

He paused for a long moment. "...one."

"One."

"Cum for me." He commanded.

She relaxed her abdominal muscles and took in a deep breath. A wash of pleasure rushed over her, pulsing from her core all the way out to her extremities. The sensation buzzed in her head, and she felt slickness build between her legs.

"Thank you thank you thank you" The words rushed out of her while the pleasure continued.

He hadn't let up one bit. The pressure from his two fingers continued in a circular motion throughout her entire orgasm.

She hummed and finally relaxed her head back against his chest. She reached down to push on his hand to indicate her release was done. Sharp's fingers travel down her slit and slowly pressed inside of her.

"Mmm.." She vocalized. Her body prepared itself to come back down to baseline, but the way his fingers were pressing into her and sliding over her G-spot kept her heart rate up at a rapid pace. "Oh gods… I'm so-"

"Sensitive?" His forehead pressed against the side of her face while his lips ghosted over the shell of her ear. "That's what I was hoping for."

She let out a long moan as his two fingers delved deeper. His erection strained against her back, pressing against her spine. He neglected himself, though, pumping his fingers right against her sweet spot again and again.

At this point, most of the bubbles had burst in the bath, leaving a small film of tiny translucent bubbles floating on the surface. With this view, she could watch as her husband's arm flexed and moved while he fingered her.

She rocked her body and turned her head enough to angle toward him. Sharp took the opportunity to give her a slow simmering kiss on the lips. His jaw flexed as he kissed her, tongue darting out to tease the seam of her mouth. The faster he pumped his fingers the more the water sloshed around.

He used his free hand to capture her chin, holding her face steady while they shared a passionate kiss. His tongue delved passed her lips just as he pressed a third finger into her pussy. The moan she let out was muffled by their kiss.

Whisps of his hair tickled her skin. He leaned into the kiss more, sloshing a bit of water out of the tub and onto the floor.

She pressed her feet to the far side of the tub and used the leverage to ride his fingers. Sharp groaned into her mouth. While her hips gyrated, her back rubbed against his hard cock making him moan. Despite all the commotion, Aesop's fingers steadily fingered her at the same pace consistently.

A rush washed over her and she felt the telltale sign of her release just on the horizon. "Oh GODS! Aesop!" She moaned his name, breaking their kiss to toss her head back.

He hummed, finally pumping his fingers into her faster. "I love the way your face looks when you're about to cum."

The muscles in her abdomen clenched and her cunt pulsed on his fingers. She arched back while pleasure radiated through her body once again.

His lips were on her neck again, keeping his fingers deep inside her. He kissed and licked at her skin while his wife came down from her high.

"Wow…" She finally spoke a coherent word.

"Ready to get out?" Aesop asked.

She realized just how cool the water had gotten and how little bubbles there were left. The water still smelled lovely of lavender from the salts.

"Let me catch my breath" She smiled back at him.

He kept his fingers inside her, keeping her stretched and full. She could feel just how wet she was despite the water mixing with her slick. They stayed like that for a long moment, both breathing deeply.

After a while, he kissed her on the cheek. "Hold tight." He instructed her. He gently moved her forward and slowly stood from the tub. Water rushed off him, dripping down his chest to his thighs. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around himself then unfolded the other one. "Alright, come here. I'll dry you off."

She smiled at him and did as she was told, standing from the cooling water and walking right into the towel. He braced his hip against the countertop and began rubbing the towel over her arms and torso. He then wrapped it around her and aimed her at the door.

"Go ahead and get into bed, I'll drain the tub and wipe down the floor." He said.

She almost protested but he raised his brows. Her lips were sealed as she made her way to the bed, knowing an argument with him was fruitless. She heard the water drain and the cabinet door open.

She settled under the covers, dropping her towel onto the floor. After several minutes, Sharp turned the light off in the bathroom and made his way over to the bed without his towel. She eyed his nude body, watching him make his way to his usual side of the bed. With a click of the string, he turned the side table lamp off.

Sliding under the covers, he pulled her into an embrace. Their lips met in a gentle kiss that slowly grew more heated. She wrapped her leg around his waist and felt his still hard erection pressing against her.

Without a word, he angled his cock to enter inside her. She was already fully prepped and he slid inside easily. She inhaled while he wrapped his arms around her, pushing her to lay on her back.

"I don't want you waking me up again tonight." He stated, starting to slowly pump into her. "No more tossing and turning this way and that. I'm going to wear you out and you're going to be too exhausted to wake up in the middle of the night."

She gives him a breathless chuckle. "Is that your evil plan?" She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders.

"Oh, yes." He teased. "It was quite a sinister plan." 

"How will I ever forgive you?" She played along. He gave her a sultry smile before kissing her deeply. 

Tangled together, he did as he said he would. She was absolutely exhausted from the events of the night. After they had sex on the bed, she was properly tuckered out. He had started by soothing her at the beginning of the night and thoroughly exhausted her to where she couldn't even keep her eyes open by the end. They slept through the entire night in each other's arms, her resting her head on his chest. She didn't wake until the sun had risen the next morning, her first good night of sleep in weeks. 

[midniqhtt]

hogwarts legacy fic recs

masterlist

sebastian sallow

ominis gaunt

garreth weasley

multi- hl boys

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The TriWizard Tournament was a tournament that promised glory, but also a tournament with a death toll so high, just surviving it would be the accomplishment of a lifetime. Your significant other had begged you not to put your name in the Goblet of Fire. You told him you wouldn’t, but you've done so anyway in secret. These are the reactions of Garreth, Ominis, and Sebastian when they not only realize you put your name in behind their back, but that you’ve also been chosen as the Hogwarts Champion.

aesop sharp

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Aesop has been stopping by your classroom during lunch lately.

𑣲 wounds of the past I @aesopsharpmybeloved

A week following his and his young lover's little getaway in pursuit of tenderness, Aesop Sharp finds the pain in his leg, the one that he'd been used to for more than ten years now, lessening...

[sweetsreverie]

Lunch Visitor

Pairing: Aesop Sharp x Professor!Reader Requested? Nope, this is a little self-indulgent piece tbh Plot: Aesop has been stopping by your classroom during lunch lately.

Aesop started coming to your classroom during lunch a week ago. He didn't stop by every day, but every few days or so. It was curious, and you were wondering why he suddenly had free time to visit you. During lunch, he normally tended to his duties in the classroom while the students were away for a while.

The first time he came by, he asked you about a potential new potion he was thinking about teaching to his students. You gave him your opinion of course, but instead of leaving after getting an answer, he stayed and sat with you for the remainder of lunchtime.

Today when he stopped by, you were sipping on some tea made from a tea blend that Mirabel had given you, and munching on some custard tarts while you worked on grading the arithmancy homework your students had turned in.

"Did you come by to help me grade this homework?" You call out when you hear the door open, because although your back was turned to it, you knew it was Aesop.

"There's a reason I chose to teach potions and not arithmancy," Aesop replies as he approaches the table you're working at, and you can't help but grin at his words. Normally that's the closest thing to humor you're going to get out of him.

You turn to look up at him as he sits down, and you offer him a soft smile before you motion to the tea pot that was sitting nearby.

"Tea?" You ask, and he gives you a silent nod before you begin to pour him a cup, and you slide it and the saucer over to him. "Mirabel made the blend for me. It's delightful," You tell him as you lean back in your seat, and watch him take a drink from his cup. He looks pleased with it.

"You know, you always tell your students that you're too busy to speak when class isn't in session. But you have time to sit here with me?" You ask him more as a joke, but you could swear you heard him chuckle.

"Perhaps I'd rather spend my free time with you than entertaining their questions that I've answered countless times," He tells you with a slight raise of his eyebrows, and you were just hoping he would miss the blush that rose to your cheeks.

"What are you trying to tell me, Aesop?" You ask him, hoping you would be able to get more out of him.

He actually chuckles then, and he takes another drink of his tea before he sets down the little cup. By now he has an... affectionate look in his eyes.

"I'm trying to tell you that I'd like to see you outside of work, Y/N. Let me take you out one day,"

While you were hoping for this response from him, you couldn't help but still feel surprised by it. You send him a little nod, and he smirks slightly before he leans forward and snags a tart from your plate.

"Splendid. And I'm going to take one of these since you depleted my stash of toffees that were in my desk," He tells you, and your eyes widen slightly; you didn't think he would notice that you would take one... or a few when you would stop by the potions classroom.

[myveryownfanfiction]

SharpMarch day 27: Howler

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @iobsessoverfictionalmen, @illiana-mystery

warnings: swearing, teenage love

Aesop and I stared at the red envelope sitting on my desk. He squeezed my hand before waving his wand at it. I winced as it unfurled.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)!” I edged behind Aesop as he wrapped and arm around me. “How dare you go behind our backs and date that dreadful sharp boy. You know that fucking family is capable of.” Aesop winced as the howler got louder.

“Rude.” Aesop muttered.

“you have two choices. End things with that bastard or find a new place to live. Just because you are of age does not mean you can go against the family. Well know your decision at the end of term. Don’t bother to write back or ask for money.” The howler ripped itself up. I looked at Aesop who took a deep breath.

“that wasn’t really fair…” he mused, brushing a hand through his hair. “But in the end…” Aesop turned towards me and opened his mouth.

“no. Don’t you dare Aesop sharp.” I pointed at him. “I don’t care what my family says about you or your family. I don’t need them. I already have that job lined up and im moving in with Noreen soon too.” Aesop nodded, chewing on his lip as he listened.

“my family loves you.” He added.

“exactly. What do I need those no good snobs for?” I asked, throwing my hands up. “I can do without them and their backwards views. Fuck them all.” I turned back to Aesop and wrapped my arms around his neck. “We can do this right?” I whispered. Aesop nodded, wrapping his arms around my waist.

“we’ve got this.” He assured me, kissing me softly. “Whatever comes our way.”

[marauder-misprint]

In that case i would like to request numbers 36 and 48 from your celebration prompts for an Sharp x fellow professor reader ☺️

First time writing for Sharp so sorry if it's bad 😬

lil disclaimer: reader is a fairly new Ancient Runes professor after working as a traveling runes researcher for years.

Nightcap

Professor Sharp x Professor!reader

1.5k words

cw: drinking, fluff

You were finishing up your nightly rounds when light from a cracked open door catches your eye. It’s coming from the Potions classroom so your immediate thought is a student is up far too late brewing. You have your wand at the ready, fully prepared to tell off the pupil and remind them that they aren’t to be out of bed after curfew. You hold your breath as you ease the door open quietly. You scan the classroom. There’s no student in sight and all the stations are clean and empty. 

“Huh,” you breathe, noticing the light is coming from the open office.

So not only was a student out of bed, they were in a professor’s office, likely stealing from Professor Sharp’s personal stores. 

“You know, it’s quite late,” you say as you enter the office expecting to see a student caught red-handed.

There was no student. Again, but worse.

A sigh.

“I suppose it is…” Professor Sharp says, looking up from the pile of essays on his desk.

“So sorry, Professor!” you say quickly, eyes wide. “I thought a student was in here.”

“No, it’s just me.” He looks you over. “Finishing your rounds, I assume?”

You nod. He sighs again, sending worry coursing through you. Were you annoying him by simply being in his office? You really had thought a student was in here.

“I think I will finish these tomorrow,” he says, adjusting the stack of paper and moving it to the side. Then he looks back at you. “Would you care for a nightcap? 

The offer takes you by surprise. Yes, you were coworkers, but Sharp usually kept his distance from the professors. When you started, Professor Garlick described him as a bit harsh and standoffish. Yet, here he was offering you a drink after you interrupted his grading. He could have easily just dismissed you, kicking you out of his office and claiming he was going straight to bed himself. The offer hangs in the air as all of this runs through your mind. You’re not sure if Sharp notices your delay in answer, having stood up to retrieve the alcohol and cups from a cupboard.

“If you’re pouring,” you say, taking a step into the office. 

You remove some things off of a barrel and move it closer to his desk. When Sharp turns around with the drinks, he lets out a low laugh; it’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh all term.

“You could’ve conjured a chair, you know,” he tells you and you blush.

You look down at the barrel you’re perched on. “Bit late for that now…”

He sets the drink down in front of you before bringing over his own barrel. 

“Also, you needn’t call me Professor. Aesop is fine.”

“I’m still getting used to being a professor myself, that’s all,” you say, reaching for one of the cups. “Being back here, even after years of being in the field, I feel like a student again.”

“I remember that feeling. At least it wasn’t injury that brought you here.”

You snort a laugh, realizing that it was probably an insensitive response since Sharp’s leg was why he was teaching rather than still being an auror. 

“Yay for needing financial stability,” you say before taking a sip, hoping it will prevent you from putting your foot in your mouth again. 

“You’re still doing what you’re passionate about though, aren’t you?”

“It’s more consulting and writing about ancient runes. I really liked getting to travel and seeing where they are inscribed, discovering new artifacts. That’s a bigger thrill than standing in front of students and lecturing.”

“Better than me. Closest thing I have is tracking down which student had the gall to ‘borrow’ from my personal stores,” he says, using air quotes. 

You lean toward him. “Has someone been stealing?”

“Not recently,” he says, giving you an amused smile. “Hoping to show off some detective skills?”

“Goodness, I don’t know if I would actually be any help with that. More your department of expertise,” you say with a shake of your head. “I had thought I was catching a student red-handed when I came in.”

“Must’ve been a disappointment to find me,” he says, looking away from you.

Your eyes widen slightly. 

“No. No! It’s better I found you… I’m glad I found you… Trust me… Although, I didn’t mean to interrupt your grading.”

“It’s good you interrupted. I was probably giving Acceptable work O’s.”

“And we can’t be having that,” you say with a small laugh. 

Sharp looks over you again, a smile playing at his lips. It’s an unfamiliar look on his face, but you like it. You think you’d like to see him genuinely smile more often.

“Besides the name thing, are you adjusting to Hogwarts well?”

“Oh, I think so. I do enjoy not having to sleep in a tent.” You debate your next words. “It’s also nice to share a drink with someone.”

Sharp gives you a disbelieving look. “I find it difficult to believe that someone as beautiful as you didn’t have someone to drink with.”

“You flatter me, Pro-... Aesop,” you say, correcting yourself as you almost called him Professor Sharp. “But it’s true. I usually drank alone, unless a friend was visiting or I was collaborating on a project.” You take a sip of your drink. “I’m fairly convinced that I’m difficult to approach.”

“Some people are scared of a beautiful woman who exudes confidence,” Sharp says.

With the drink in your system, you feel a bit more confident, which you’re appreciative of.

“Are you, Aesop, scared of beautiful women who exude confidence?” you ask, leaning forward again, your elbows digging into your knees.

Sharp clears his throat. He’s scanning your face, trying to get a proper read of your intentions. When he offered a nightcap, he hadn’t expected the conversation to take this turn, not that he was complaining. He just wanted to be sure. He smirks at you.

“Don’t get my hopes up, darling, if you’re just going to leave like everyone else.”

You raise an eyebrow with your head cocked to the side. 

“Leave like everyone else?” you repeat, unsure of who had all left him. 

He sighs but his expression toward you is soft. “Being an auror isn’t kind on one’s relationships.”

“Neither is being a traveling researcher,” you say with a smile. “But you’re retired and I’m stationary.”

“Those are… both true.” 

“And I have no intentions of leaving.”

Sharp was looking at you with an intense look on his face. One that was begging you to be serious and sincere. His internal thoughts were asking how he ended up in this situation, with the temptation of you in front of him, saying things he had only dreamed of. Since his auror partner died, he had avoided getting close and forming real relationships with anyone. But something about you had him offering you a drink. Something about you got his hopes up that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to be so closed off to the rest of the world.

You finish your drink and set the cup on his desk. He’s still staring at you. It’s obvious he’s lost in his thoughts of uncertainty. 

“Aesop, just kiss me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice by the beautiful woman in front of him who exudes confidence. He sets his own cup down next to yours before leaning forward toward you. One of his hands gently holds your face as he brings his near. His eyes hesitantly search yours, half expecting you to say “Sike” and pull away. You don’t. You’re waiting patiently for him to close the space between you. 

When he does, you can’t stop yourself from smiling. The kiss was a little too forceful, but he quickly eases the pressure. It shifts into something far more gentle in nature than you thought Sharp had in him. You deepen the kiss, one hand going to hold his arm and the other finding his knee. Your lips move in sync. 

You feel breathless when he pulls away. There’s a nervous smile on his face that gains confidence as he sees your own smile. There air between you is charged with unsaid emotions and the uncertainty of where this left you.

“This is probably my favorite way to end nightly rounds,” you say with a nervous laugh. 

“With a nightcap?” he asks, earning a light shove from you.

“Aesop,” you say, a lightness in your voice. 

“Well, um, if it was late when you first got here…” His voice trails off.

You laugh, “It certainly is late now.”

You stand up and walk to the door, ready to say good night. Sharp follows you, but the confidence in his walk is hindered by the development in your relationship. 

He clears his throat. “So this was a one-night thing?”

You shake your head, going on your tiptoes so you can press a kiss to his cheek.  “There’s no way this was just a one-night thing.”

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

Sharp March 2025 - 16. Room of Requirement

Aesop finds his sweetheart quite busy in her little workspace.

Just a simple little fluffy slice of life 😁

16. Room of Requirement (1.6k)

“Before you go, Miss Onai,” Professor Sharp spoke just loud enough for the Gryffindor to hear him. He waited for her to approach his desk.

“Yes, Professor?” She asked with a smile.

Aesop cleared his throat: “You wouldn't happen to know where I could find Miss (L/N) at this moment, would you?”

Her smile got wider.

“She mentioned to me that she'll be gathering some ingredients and checking up on the beasts, though I haven't seen her actually go out,” the Ugandan said.

Sharp nodded and thanked her before dismissing the young woman.

He knew exactly where to look for his sweetheart. Since he had two free periods before another class, he decided to stretch his (recently healed) leg a little and climb all the way to the Seventh Floor corridor, where the wall opposite of Barnabas the Barmy concealed a brilliant little secret. 

It wasn't that easy - while the curse on his leg had been put under control, having limped for over a decade has led to Aesop having to learn to walk normally once more, but the potions master gritted his teeth and began to climb, one step at a time.

Still, he made an alright progress, and, before he knew it, the door leading to what the young woman told him was called ‘The Room of Requirement’ materialised upon the otherwise empty wall. 

He entered, and the cosiness of the large room immediately rushed over him. It was as if the chamber was bathed in moonlight from a full moon on the clearest night.

He could see the plants on the potting tables in the main room had recently been harvested and tended to, and there was no bubbling of a brewing potion to be heard from the second room to the left. Aesop thought for a while that the young woman must be currently caring for the beasts in one of the vivariums, when he just so happened to turn his head.

And lo and behold, there she was. 

It was a little seating area, with a few armchairs and a large, comfortable looking sofa, and, right upon it, huddled up in a blanket, lay his beloved. 

A smile stretched on Aesop's face, and he came a little closer.

Darling girl. 

To this day, Aesop had no idea how she managed to spend her entire fifth year the way she did - always running around the school and the Highlands, chasing adventures and answers, running errands, day and night, and yet her academic results have not suffered because of it. 

Things have calmed down quite a bit since then - no more Ranrok and Rookwood, less poachers everywhere. 

His sweetheart had more free time now, which she, fairly, divided between herself, her friends, and, of course Aesop, but she was still quite a busybody. Having proved herself to be a force of nature, a most skilled and talented witch with courage even Gryffindors could envy, every now and then, she received an owl asking for help with this and that, and, being herself, she always rushed to the sender’s aid.

Aesop admired her skill and boldness, he was proud of her willingness to offer a helping hand, yet he couldn't stop worrying every time she told him she'd be going off to help someone with something. But, he supposed, that's just how it goes when you love someone, you worry. She was, indeed, skilled and always emerged victorious from every battle, but Aesop, well… 

Aesop knew that sometimes all it takes is a single bad decision, a single night, and even the previously undefeated can be snuffed out, just like that.

So he always implored her to be careful, not take any unnecessary risk, and, if she wasn’t entirely sure about her ability to handle some situation she knew she'd be getting into, to Floo him right away, day or night, and he'd be there in seconds.

He sighed and carefully kneeled before her. 

As if on its own accord, his hand went to gently caress her warm cheek, fingers pushing a few strands of hair away from her lovely face. Unconsciously, she leaned into his touch and slowly breathed out. 

Aesop leaned down then, and very carefully brushed his lips against her in the lightest of kisses, not wanting to wake her, not when she seemed to really need the sleep.

However, he was quite unsuccessful. 

After a few more butterfly kisses, her hand mirrored his own and stroked across his bearded cheek before slipping further back into his hair. Aesop pulled away slowly.

“Hello,” she said, sleep colouring her voice, a tired little smile on her lips.

“Hello, dear - so sorry to have woken you.”

“It's alright,” she breathed and stretched a little where she was lying, “I don't mind being woken up this way.”

“Still, is there anything I can do to redeem myself?” Aesop offered with a small smile: “Tea, perhaps? Something sweet?”

The young woman thought of his offer for a moment, before her smile widened into a sleepy little grin. “Actually,” she said, “maybe you could get up here and hold me for a while? I tend to sleep better when you're close…”

“So do I,” Aesop grinned as well, but made no move to climb behind her just yet. “I need to leave in two hours, however - I’ve got Fourth years for double potions. Also, what about Desk?”

“You needn't worry about Deek,” The girl smiled and scooted closer to the edge to make some space for the professor behind her, “I told him I planned on taking a nap once I was done with the plants and the beasts, and he was so kind as to dim the room a little and leave me to it. And don't worry - I too have a class later, so I'll make sure both of us are where needed when the time comes.”

“Well, when you put it like that-” Aesop said and rose to his feet. He took off his coat and jacket, and laid it over one of the armchairs. Then, after discarding his tie, he bent in order to unbuckle his heavy boots. Once he deemed his state of dress comfortable enough, he carefully moved to climb behind his sweetheart upon the sofa. It was quite large, so they fit just fine.

His arms slipped around her waist, and he squeezed her nice and close to him, while she reached behind to throw half of her blanket over him.

Once they settled, the girl turned her head as much as she was able to, silently offering her lips for him to claim, and Aesop needn't be asked twice. Their mouths connected once more, and this time she reciprocated the slow, loving kisses. They remained chaste and sweet, and Aesop slowly pulled away when he noticed the young woman growing drowsier once more.

Pressing one final kiss to her cheek, he got comfortable behind her and closed his eyes. He let the sound of her rhythmic breathing and her heart beating slowly lull him into slumber…

—

He groaned when a loud sound woke him, opened his eyes, and groggily looked around for the culprit. What he saw was his beloved hand blindly swatting in the air in front of her, until her hand made contact with something metallic. The something got knocked to the ground and the annoying sound stopped.

It took a few moments for Aesop to realise where he was and what just happened. After releasing a mighty yawn, he finally spoke: “Was that bloody alarm clock there when I came in?”

She replied with a yawn of her own and turned around to face him, burying her face in his neck: “No, I don't think so. But both of us needed to get up at 3 o’clock, and, well, the Room provides…”

Aesop grumbled something unintelligible under his breath and closed his eyes for a few more seconds, not exactly willing to leave his sweetheart's warmth. She seemed similarly unwilling to leave his.

However, just as he felt his consciousness starting to slip once more, the horrid loud sound ripped through the silence of the room once more. This time, both of them groaned. Opening his eyes, Aesop saw that there was another alarm clock on the small table in front of the sofa, this one bigger and positively louder.

He reached for his wand under the blanket, and set the annoying thing flying with a Depulso making it shatter against the wall.

“Cheeky bloody room,” he muttered.

“You know it'll just keep making more of them, right? Besides, we really do need to get up…” She mumbled, but was still clinging onto him. Aesop sighed.

Then, out of a corner of his eye, he saw another of those diabolical things materialising out of thin air.

“Fine, fine, we're getting up,” he growled, not certain if he directed his words at the alarm clock or at the Room itself. Unhappily, the two of them began to untangle themselves from their position on the sofa.

“Don't worry,” his young lover said in a placating manner after she stretched and released another yawn, while Aesop went to retrieve his boots and outer clothes, “I'll come around your chambers in the evening. Right after dinner, if you'd like - I've no more responsibilities after my classes today.”

“I'd like that,” Aesop smiled softly at her. 

Once they were both presentable once more, they shared one more slow kiss. However, just as Aesop wanted to deepen in, that damn ringing started again.

He turned around and tried to cast yet another Depulso on the most annoying object, only, the alarm clock seemed to have grown four little legs, and managed to scatter away from his spell just in time. While the professor frowned morosely, the girl actually giggled.

“Come on, then, before more of them conjure themselves up,” she offered, and he couldn't refuse.

“I'll be counting the minutes till the evening,” he said once they exited the room, and, after looking around, allowed himself to kiss her for the last time.

---

Hello! Thank you for reading. if you'd like, you can check out this story and all of my other stories over on AO3 😁

[bountydroid]

Gnomes, Sunflowers, and Broken Men

Aesop Sharp x Professor!reader

Description: There is a new Muggle Studies Professor at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Her bubbly personality was nearly the opposite of Sharp's own, but little did he know, she has a soft spot for men like him.

Part 2

Notes:

(f/c) = favorite color

L/n = last name

"I can't wait to see Y/n again!" Mirabel Garlick squeals in excitement. Y/n and Mirabel were close during school, always sneaking into the greenhouses together to tend to their favorite plants.

Y/n, however, was not sneaking in for the magical plants, but the sunflower she convinced the herbology professor to let her grow. "Sunflowers may not be anything special," Y/n always said, "but they are my favorite."

Headmaster Black didn't hesitate to make his distaste for her excitement known. "Settle down before I change my mind about hiring her." He sneered.

Mirabel quieted down, but her excitement had her buzzing in her seat as she saw Y/n bust through the door, determined not to be late for the housing ceremony.

The housing ceremony was eventful thanks to the dramatic entrance of Professor Fig and the new 5th-year student, a student Y/n was most excited to meet. Not too long after it quieted down to a regular welcome feast. Now that the important things were out of the way, Y/n made her rounds to all the professors, introducing herself and making small talk with each of them.

Aesop was not particularly interested in small talk with Y/n, but that didn't stop her from having the biggest smile on her face as she took the hint and moved on to the next person. This caught his attention, "what a strange woman," he thought to himself.

Once the feast was over, all the professors retreated to their classrooms, making sure everything was ready for classes to start in the morning. Aesop was finishing up when he heard a knock on his door. He looked over to see a familiar face. Y/n was there with her signature smile and something obviously hidden behind her back.

"Can I help you with something?" Aesop asked, eyeing her suspiciously as she shuffled her way to his desk.

"I have a gift for you," Y/n said. Aesop couldn't help the warmth crawl up his face at her words.

"A gift?" He scoffed out, eyes wide in surprise.

She excitedly pulled out the object behind her back—a small gnome statue with a yellow hat. "Gnomes make me happy, so I thought you might also like one. It would be nice to see you smile. You have a reputation of being grumpy." she giggled as she held it out before her.

Aesop stared at her as his face when from surprise to confusion. "Is she serious?" he thought to himself as he searched her face for any sign that she was joking, but all he found was her bright smile and hopefulness in her eyes. He hesitantly reached out and grabbed it from her, studying the object in front of him. "Why do you care?" he asked her.

"As I said, it would be nice to see you smile." She repeated, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. "Do you like it?"

Aesop stood there quietly, unsure of what to say as he stared at her face, again looking for signs that it was all a joke. It wasn't. "I guess," he muttered, fidgeting with the statue.

"That is wonderful! I hope you will put it somewhere nice," she exclaimed happily before heading back out the door. Right before she completely disappeared, she stuck her head back in the classroom and gave him a wink and a small giggle at the flabbergasted look on his face.

-

"Where were you? I was waiting for you to come visit!" Mirabel said as her friend entered the greenhouse.

"Visiting Professor Sharp," Y/n said nonchalantly as she took her place next to Mirabel, who nearly dropped her potted mandrake at Y/n's statement.

Mirabel laughed as she placed the pot back down, "You did what? Why?"

"I gave him a gnome. To make him smile." Y/n said as she propped herself up on the potting table.

"You always loved gnomes." Mirabel chirped. "Gnomes, sunflowers, and broken men." She said smirking at her friend.

"Yea," Y/n said giggling as the blush covered her cheeks.

-

The first week was uneventful. Students were not particularly interested in Muggle Studies, especially compared to the other classes. Muggle Studies is arguably the most boring class in Hogwarts to the students, but she tried her best to make it fun for them. When she was in school she always appreciated the fun professors, and she wanted to be that person now that it was her turn to teach.

On the other hand, Aesop was obviously avoiding Y/n, and she was starting to feel bad. Y/n knew she could sometimes come across as a little strong, but she didn't mean to make him feel uncomfortable around her. She was determined to make up for it. Face-to-face may be too much for him, so this time she thought she might write him a letter. She sat down at her desk and started writing,

Aesop,

I am very sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable the other week. I know I can come across a little strong, but I truly just wanted to make you smile. I hope we can still be friends.

Sincerely,

Y/n L/n

She sighed as she folded up the letter and put it in an envelope. She shoved it in her pocket as she wandered the halls. It was late, and most everyone was asleep so she thought she would slip it under his door and be done with it. Her (f/c) sleep dress dragged along the floor while the pitter-patter of her feet echoed in the empty halls as she finally reached her destination. After slipping the note under the door, she slowly returned to her sleeping quarters, ready for a full night's sleep.

That morning Aesop noticed a letter on the floor of the classroom. He slowly reached down and picked it up, inspecting the envelope. "Professor Aesop Sharp," It read on the outside. He ran his thumb over the writing, recognizing it as Y/n's.

He made his way into his office and sat at his desk as he slowly started to open it. He felt bad as he read the letter. "I have upset her." He thought to himself. That was not his goal at all. He only avoided her so he could avoid his own feelings. Feelings that were foreign to him. He looked down at the gnome on his desk, "I need to make it up to her."

-

"Professor Garlick, I have a question for you." Aesop said as he slowly made his way down the greenhouse steps.

"Of course Professor, how may I help you?" Mirabel asked in surprise. He had never visited the greenhouse as long as she had been there.

"You are close friends with Y/n, yes?" He asked quietly, obviously unsure of trusting her with this. "I am afraid I may have upset her. I of course want a good relationship with ALL of my coworkers." He added hastily at the end.

Mirabel smirked as she watched his nervous state. "Sunflowers. She likes sunflowers. I believe there is a field near Hogsmeade."

-

"What on earth has gotten into me?" Aesop wonders as he stares at the flowers in his hand. He wrapped them in a yellow cloth he bought at Gladrag's Wizardwear for this very purpose, tying the bouquet together gently with some twine. He wonders if he should even do this, if this would be too much, if Mirabel was wrong. Before he can psych himself out of it, he slowly starts making his way to her classroom.

"Have a wonderful weekend, everyone!" Y/n shouts as her students rush out the door, nearly knocking the flowers out of Aesop's hands. When Y/n notices the professor, she breaks out into the biggest smile, "Professor Sharp!".

"Professor L/n." He responds as he makes his way to where she is standing.

She looks down and notices the bouquet and gasps. "Those are beautiful! Who is the lucky lady?" She giggles.

"I-" he stutters, "I wanted to apologize." He says, "I didn't mean to be rude."

"Rude? Never!" She says as she gently takes the flowers from his hands, face red with embarrassment. "I will put these in water immediately."

Aesop finds himself at a loss for words as he looks down at her smiling face, the blush evident on her cheeks. "She looks beautiful." He can't help but think to himself.

"The gnome." He chokes out.

"What about it?” She asks hesitantly, afraid he will say that he hates it.

"It does make me smile." He says to her with a slight grin on his face.

tag list: @mothgirl-is-tired

[op1umeyes]

— Give Me A Reason

synopsis. You want to be an Auror. As one of his favorite and brightest students, Aesop tries to convince you to not put your life on the line for a job. warnings. Making out. Age gap. Student/teacher. Self deprecation. Reader is the hero of hogwarts. R is in seventh year (aged 18). Mutual pining. Idiots. “In all seven years of my student-ing,” you said abruptly, drawing Professor Sharp’s attention from the essays he graded. “I’ve only heard you bring up your Auror days twice. May I go as far as to ask why?”

The man leaned back in his chair, watching the student he had grown to care for as… Professor Sharp watched you keep a careful eye on your Vertiserum as you organized potion ingredients on his shelves. “There isn’t much to speak about anymore. It was dangerous, and even when it wasn’t… there was never a moment in my life I wouldn’t look over my shoulder at every snap of a twig.”

“But…?” You prompted, knowing the potion’s master had more to tell you: he just liked to torture you.

“But the job has it’s… rewards. The pay is good. I hated the paperwork though.”

“Ew,” you agreed, moving onto the next shelf after adjusting the temperature of the fire below the cauldron.

A seed of fear suddenly bloomed in Aesop’s mind. “Is there a reason you’re asking about Aurors?”

You nodded. “It’s one of the only jobs I’m interested in. I have the grades for it, the experience,” you bit your lip, a rush of memories crossing your brain as you thought about all the escapades you pulled off in your first (fifth) year at Hogwarts. “It’s… the only job I see myself doing.”

Professor Sharp felt his stomach drop. No. There was no way he was sending in one of the brightest students he’d ever taught into a system that would likely kill her. “The paperwork is what you’d be stuck doing most of the time,” the man lied.

You looked surprised. “Oh.”

Aesop felt a flush of hope in his chest, hoping desperately to persuade you away from the career of an Auror. Anything but that.

“I’d still do it,” you said finally, a determined tone in your voice.

The hope died. “I see,” Aesop murmured disapprovingly.

“Why do I get a feeling you aren’t thrilled about my career choice?” You asked, finishing the second shelf.

“I was wondering when you’d catch on. Points to (your house),” Aesop wittly replied. His small smile disappeared. “Miss y/l/n, to be quite frank with you, the job will take a toll on you- mentally and physically. Not only will you undergo numerous field injuries, there is always the chance you would… die. This job is dangerous, isolating, and overall not a very enviable job.”

You just nodded. “I understand that risk, Professor. But I have a reason for wanting the job. I have a reason to put my life on the line for others. A reason for… for my own life to be sacrificed for others to live peacefully, should the time come. I’ve already thought this through.”

“Then tell me your reason. Give me a reason why your life is not as important as others’s?” Professor asked, sharp eyes watching your rigid form slowly turn to him.

“I’ve nothing keeping me here. I have the talent, and you cannot deny it. This- This is the only thing I’ll have after graduation! I- Professor, please don’t talk me out of this,” you pleaded, eyes glinting in the dim light of the classroom.

Now you’ve done it, old man. But he pressed on. “‘Nothing keeping you here’?!” The man stood up, furious, disappointed, and… surprisingly sad. “This isn’t a joke, y/l/n. You have plenty of things ‘keeping you here’! Your little Sallow friend, that Sweeting girl, the blind boy you sit by,” Aesop listed angrily, unconsciously stalking towards you. “Merlin, you have-“ he cut himself off abruptly, realizing the word he was going to say after. Me. Me, y/n, you have me. A part of Aesop scoffed: idiot, you are; only a fool would want an old cripple like you and everyone knows y/n isn’t a fool- besides, she’s a student. Date a student and people are going to wonder if you were given special treatment.

”Who else, Professor?” You asked, tilting your head to look at the man you had been crushing on for the last few years. Please, you thought, say it.

You took the smallest step forward, making Aesop realize how close he was to you. Your intense gaze held him there, refusing to move. He knew what you wanted, and he knew it would be disastrous if he gave in. But, truly, he was only a man. Standing in fromt of an intelligent, talented, beautiful, and witty woman. “Me,” the man whispered, tearing his gaze away from you.

“Give me a reason not to, Aesop. Give me a reason to st-“ you hadn’t finished your sentance before Aesop’s shaking hands grasped your side and pulled, forcing your body against his. He kept one hand on your nack, lightly holding onto him in case you suddenly fled for the door and moved one callused hand to your face. He brushed away a stray hair and his eyes flickered between your lips and your eyes.

“Tell me to stop,” Aesop whispered. His voice, low and gravely, made you shudder against his body.

Your eyelashed fluttered as you struggled to stay calm in his overwhelming presence. “Kiss me.”

Aesop’s lips locked onto yours, a low groan bubbling out of his mouth and being swallowed by yours as you kissed back with the same passion as he. Aesop cursed himself, knowing you could easily realize who you were making out with and run off, taking Aesop’s heart with you.

But maybe you needed this as much as he did. Your small gasps and whimpers surely fanned the flames of Aesop’s hope that you wanted him. Your hand slid up Aesop’s wide back and threaded into his hair, tangling. He groaned at your actions.

You pulled away abruptly, resting your forhead on Aesop’s shoulder. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-“

“Was that good enough of a reason?” Aesop asked, knowing full well you were still probably imagining yourself as an Auror.

“Kiss me again and I’ll see if it was truly satisfactory,” you joked, looking up at the man who’s heart was currently in your unknowing hands.

“Y/n,” Aesop finally murmured, hand still on the small of your back. “Promise me you’ll be safe.”

”What?”

“Promise me when you’re on the field… promise me that you’ll be safe.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I promise. Sir, what-“

“I can’t damage your reputation by being in public with you like this. As much as I wish, it cannot be. At least, not in the near future,” he whispered, resting his chin on your head.

“I know.”

Silence fell over the pair: you not wanting to move from Aesop’s comforting arms and Aesop not wanting you to go.

“I think your Veritaserum is done,” Aesop said.

You laughed, still clinging to Aesop.

[animasola86]

A Demonstration of Power and Support

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

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

Genre: Fluff/Smut // Words: 6.3k // [READ ON AO3]

Synopsis: He gave you confidence, you gave him a bad case of jealousy.

WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Size difference. Age gap. Established student/teacher relationship. Jealousy. Rough sex.

A Demonstration of Power and Support

There it was again. That giggle that made his blood boil and his trousers tighten. Looking up from his desk, he saw you laughing with the boys you shared a potion station with. You were happy, smiling, giggling, enjoying yourself, and seeing you like that should make him happy too, but it wasn't you he was glaring at, it was those boys who kept engaging with you, smirking, joking, flirting.

He knew there'd be a downside to your newly acquired confidence. Others would notice it too. And even though he was proud of you for wearing your scar with so much pride now, it pained him to see you with other men, other boys, who would look at you the same way he looked at you, and he hated them and he hated himself for not being able to control his emotions better.

He called you out by your name, the formal way he hadn't called you in so long. You stiffened immediately, the giggle dying in your throat as you turned around to him, a deep blush on your cheeks. “Focus on your potion!” he told you sternly, his gaze dark, his usual demeanour, really, but it made your stomach turn because he was never like that with you. Never, not even before you were more than student and teacher.

You lowered your head, and he saw your lips quivering. “Yes, professor,” you said docilely. “I'm sorry, professor.”

His heart broke a little when he saw you so defeated, the happiness wiped straight from your beautiful face as you returned to your cauldron, staring into it, as you forced yourself not to get too emotional over his unexpected outburst.

You even ignored the boys around you now. Despite feeling bad for calling you out publicly, he watched with grim satisfaction how his students returned to their work. There was no more giggling.

After class, he sat at his desk, sunken over essays and other papers, when he heard quiet footsteps echo through the empty classroom. “No office hours today,” he said gruffly without looking up. He was definitely not in the mood to deal with any stupid questions right now.

“I'm sorry,” a timid voice replied, and he looked up quickly to see you standing a few feet away from the table, your hands clenched in front of you, your eyes glued to the floor. You were about to turn around again, your face sunken, hurt by his rejection, but he quickly extended a hand towards you.

“Wait...” he called with a heavy sigh, hating himself even more for being... who he was.

You looked up at him, biting your lip before you slowly walked closer, staring at his hand. Your eyes finally met his, dark and intimidating, and you hesitated before you placed your small hand into his larger one.

He quickly closed his fingers around it and pulled you towards him. A gasp escaped you, and your eyes widened slightly. You stopped next to his chair, shoulders still slumped, as you awaited another lecture.

But he just squeezed your hand gently, his dark gaze wandering over your face. He was tempted to raise his other hand and caress your flushed cheek and your scars, but he was well aware that his classroom might be empty, yet the door was open, and despite wanting to show everyone who you belonged to, he couldn't. He never could, not here, not anywhere in public.

And that was what hurt the most.

“I'm sorry,” you said again, your voice so quiet and fragile. “I didn't mean to... disrupt your class...”

He groaned, rubbing his tired eyes. “Please, forget about that. I shouldn't have called you out like that. I'm sorry,” he added, looking up at you from his seat as his thumb rubbed over the back of your hand. “I suppose I'm just... grumpy today,” he added, a twinkle in his eyes as he recited the word you had called him before, in good fun though.

You weren't always this meek around him, especially when the two of you were alone. And he loved that about you. You were never intimidated by his gruff nature, you even teased him about it on occasion. But when you were in his classroom, you were just another student, and he admired you for it, admired the shift when everyone else poured out and you were finally alone with him.

When nobody was watching, you couldn't stop yourself from touching him, throwing your arms around him, pressing yourself against him, your tiny body moulding to his bigger one.

But now you were different, barely able to look at him as you stared at your hand in his. He saw the struggle on your face, and he sighed.

“Do you... still want me to come over tonight?” you whispered timidly, your voice shaking.

He grabbed your other hand then and made you look at him in surprise. “Of course, sweetheart,” he said softly, frowning at you. “I'm always looking forward to seeing you.” He exhaled loudly again, cradling both of your hands between his long fingers. “Don't let the gruff exterior fool you.”

He saw your lips twitching before you smiled shyly at him, your cheeks bright red.

A sudden noise from the door made him turn his head, and when he noticed the boy standing there, waiting for you apparently, he slowly, inconspicuously, let go of your hands and leaned back, clearing his throat.

“That'll be all,” he said loudly, throwing you a gaze you hopefully didn't interpret as another scowl, and you turned your head away for a moment, then nodded in understanding.

“Thank you, professor,” you played along, and he gave you the hint of a wink as he watched you go, his eyes roaming your small form, before you joined your classmate and were gone from his view.

Feeling his stomach tightening at the sight, he sighed deeply and rubbed his bearded chin. He really should have known better than to allow himself to be this affected by a student...

‎

When you sneaked into his quarters after dinner, he was waiting in the large armchair by the fireplace. As soon as the door opened and closed by invisible hands, he stood with a deep groan and slowly walked towards your disillusioned form. You had barely lifted the charm, when he grabbed your shoulders and pulled you against his broad chest.

You gasped but were quick to wrap your arms around his waist and press your cheek against him. He held you close and kissed the top of your head.

“Thanks for coming,” he growled quietly, making you lean back enough to tilt your chin up and look at him, a confused frown on your beautiful face.

“Of course,” you whispered, your eyes scanning his hard face. You were about to raise a hand and touch his rough jaw, when he closed his hand around your wrist and took a step back.

“Come with me,” he said and pulled you along to the large fireplace.

You looked towards the entryway to his bedroom, then up at him in confusion. “No massage tonight?” you asked quietly.

“No,” he grunted. “I've taken my potions, I'm fine...” He knew he didn't look fine, face tense, deep shadows under his dark eyes, jaw clenched. But unlike you, he knew he was tense for a different reason, and he could no longer wait to relieve that growing tightness.

He stopped in front of the fireplace and put his wand to the stone ornament in the middle of the mantelpiece, and with a low rumble, the secret passage behind it opened. He extinguished the fire and bent down slightly to traverse the tight space, holding out his hand to you.

You grabbed it, a mixture of confusion and excitement grazing your delicate features. Once you were on the other side of the fireplace, you noticed the staircase in front of you. “What is this?” you asked curiously, but he just dragged you after him, up the stairs, surprisingly fast despite his limping walk.

You reached a small room, and for a moment, you just stared. There were easels all around, with drawings and sketches of landscapes and buildings, charcoal, quills, brushes and other drawing equipment lying on all kinds of surfaces, bookcases and shelves lined the walls, and the spaces between them were filled with murals of mythical creatures. There were wooden dummies standing and sitting on the furniture, and a wood carving station at the other end of the room. But the most prominent feature was the large, sturdy looking table in the middle, long and wide like a small bed, and it was completely empty.

But not for long. While you still looked around the small space in awe, so many questions on your mind, he had stepped behind you and picked you up on his arms, and you shriek-laughed in surprise. You knew he was strong, despite the state of his body, but he had never carried you like this before. There was a certain warmth pooling in your cheeks, and elsewhere.

To be fair he didn't walk long before he set you down on the edge of the large table. For a moment he stood there, towering over you, his eyes dark and his face set, and you looked up at him with your heart racing and your lips trembling, and (shamefully) your core throbbing.

He licked his lips then and stepped closer, his hands gently prying your thighs apart as he stepped between them, pushing your skirt up tantalisingly slow. His calloused fingers glided over your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

You felt dizzy when they reached your centre. His fingertips teased against the fabric of your undergarments, poking and prodding, and he hummed deeply when he felt a wet patch forming. “Excited, aren't you?” he whispered and leaned over you until his breath ghosted your flushed cheeks. Not sure if he wanted an answer or not, you just nodded, chewing on your lips nervously.

He gave you a dark grimace, lowering his head, and when you felt his fingers pushing the thick fabric of your underwear deeper between your folds, he pressed his lips to yours for a heated kiss that quickly left you breathless for multiple reasons. Your heart was racing as your eyelids fluttered shut, his tongue very demanding tonight as it slipped into your mouth and tangled with yours.

You moaned against his lips as he started rubbing the pad of his finger between your still cloth covered lower lips, teasing against your entrance and brushing against your clit. More mewls left you when his free hand grabbed the back of your head, gripping your hair and pulling you closer to him as he kissed you like he might have never kissed you before. He barely left you the chance to breathe, and in his iron grip, you couldn't turn your head away.

Feeling light-headed, you just succumbed to the sensation, kissing him back with as much fervour as you could muster, while he kept moving his finger against your throbbing centre, the chafing fabric creating a friction that burned deliciously. A deep whimper escaped your throat, and he finally leaned away, his lips looking as swollen as yours felt. Licking them, you looked up at him, the blush from your face quickly spreading all over your body.

He straightened up fully, in all his intimidating glory as he glowered down at you. His eyes remained on yours as his hands slipped under the waistband of your underwear and slowly pushed down, and you almost didn't notice the small tug when he asked you to lift your rear. You did, your shaking hands clawing at the edge of the table as you watched him pull your bloomers down your legs before they were unceremoniously tossed aside.

Your chest rose and fell quicker when he spread your legs even further with his hands firmly on your upper thighs, his fingers almost completely circling them while his thumbs rubbed against your sensitive skin. A cold breeze wafted over your exposed mound, your clit throbbing in anticipation. He tilted his head when he looked down, his eyes roaming your body.

You almost shrieked when he suddenly pulled a stool closer, the scraping sound cutting through your tense nerves like a stab to the heart. Pressing your lips together to keep your noises down, you watched him sitting down on the stool, and now he was really looking at you. His elbows pressed your legs apart as he stared at your sex, fully on display for him.

Squirming slightly, you felt a little uncomfortable with him inspecting you like that, not that he hadn't seen it before, but never with such intensity. You let out a little squeal when he moved one of his hands to gently cup your mound, his whole palm pressed to it, covering it, and when he looked up at you, the familiar warmth was back in his eyes. You breathed a little easier when he reached his other hand up and caressed your cheek with the back of his fingers, coaxing a shy smile from you.

He loved seeing you like that, confused, embarrassed, submissive, and highly aroused. Holding your gaze for another moment, he rubbed his hand over your wet folds, gathering your slick on his palm. When he finally bent a finger and slipped it between your lower lips, he watched you closely, and as a soft squelching sound rang in his ears, he saw you writhing in discomfort, frowning slightly, but it made him smile at you, and your embarrassment was quickly forgotten.

His finger moved between your folds before he dipped it gently into your entrance, and you accepted him easily with how wet you were. A soft moan escaped you, and he saw how you tightened your grip on the table, your knuckles turning white. He pushed the finger in as far as it would go, feeling your walls clenching around it, then withdrew it and added another finger. Your breath hitched at the slight stretch, but he kept going, slowly pumping his fingers in and out of you, twisting and turning them until he curled them in a come hither motion – and caused you to yelp and squirm against his hand.

With a dark smile, he pressed against that sensitive spot again and again, watching you twitch on the table, your lips parted and trembling, soft little mewls falling from them. And then he pushed his thumb against your clit, hitting your pleasure points in tandem, and you lost it, thrashing your head back, your thighs convulsing against him, your noises tumbling out of you without control. He stood then, his hand still gripping your cunt tightly as he leaned in to capture your mouth, swallowing your moans and cries as you climaxed hard around his fingers.

Your release coated his hand, and he slowly eased his grip, rubbing your insides softly while you came down from your high. Kissing you gently, he watched you with eager eyes, taking in every single twitch, and when he leaned away, you were breathing hard and shaking badly. He pulled his fingers out of your clenching cunt and raised them to your face.

Despite your haze, you slowly unclenched your trembling hands from around the edge of the table and cradled his wet fingers between them before you brought them to your mouth, and when you started licking your slick off his skin, you held his gaze, and the hunger within your eyes made his erection strain against his trousers.

His breath hitched as he watched (and felt) your small tongue flicking around his long fingers, licking up every single drop of wetness, you even put them into your mouth, hollowed your cheeks and sucked on them hard, and he was tempted to press them deeper, watch you really lose control when you would gag around them, struggling to breathe, but instead he tugged at them and you released them with a wet pop. You almost sighed in disappointment when he lowered his hand that was glistening in your saliva.

He wiped it on his leg and licked his lips, slowly tilting his head before he nodded at you, a simple, curt nod, and when his eyes left yours to look down at where his groin pressed against the table, holding your spread legs wide open, you nodded back and moved your small hands towards the buttons of his trousers. You were quick as usual, and when his hard erection sprang free from its confines, he saw your eyes widening slightly as you blushed even deeper.

The same way that he had inspected your cunt earlier, you were now looking at his cock, taking in every single detail, from the springy darkened head to the bulging veins and impressive length and girth of it, and you felt a new wave of moisture seeping out of your waiting hole. The sheer necessity to have him inside you made you squirm on the table, needy little mewls escaping your throat. His desire to be inside of you was equally high, but he only let out a deep grunt when your hands closed around his shaft and stroked it almost roughly.

You writhed on the edge, slowly scooting closer, eager to connect with him finally, but he grabbed your wrist and stopped you. Looking up at him with your lips parted in surprise, he took in your youthful face, the innocence edged into your soft features, but your eyes and the way your lips quivered told a different story. And he could have stared at you for a very long time, despite the throbbing need resting in your hands, but in the end the carnal lust won.

He pried your hands from his cock and grabbed your waist, and without much effort he flipped you on the table, made you lie down on your stomach with your legs hanging off, your surprised yelp squeezed out of you as he gripped your hair and pressed your cheek into the cold wooden surface. Then he grabbed your ankles and brought your knees up, causing your rear to rise in front of him, your skirt bunched up on your lower back, exposing every glistening fold to his viewing pleasure.

You were barely able to adjust to the new position when you felt his hard member slapping against your wetness. Your hands found the opposite side of the table just in time when he pressed his tip against your entrance. Bracing yourself, you felt him pushing in, slowly, carefully, but as soon as your walls clenched around his head and pulled him in more, he snapped his hips against you hard and buried his entire length inside you. The deep thrust pushed you over the table and the sudden stretch coaxed a shrill shriek out of you.

He held onto your ankles, his body flush with the edge of the table, caging you in, holding you in place, as he started pulling out and pushing back in, out and in, in and out, slow and deliberate, over and over again, and you mewled under the constant friction, your body melting into the table. Once he found his rhythm, his big hands wandered to your tiny waist, closing around it, his long fingers grazing your stomach, and then he really started to pound into you.

Your noises grew louder, as did the wet squelching sounds as your pussy fluttered around him, muscles clenching, a burning warmth gathering inside you. You sank your nails into the old wood, holding on for dear life as his pelvis smacked against your cushioned arse in quick succession. His own grunts filled your ears, adding to the tension building up in your belly, those deep vibrations pushing you right over the edge.

You cried out when your walls clamped around him, that tight coil within exploding into a thousand tiny lights that made your entire body convulse against him. He felt your orgasmic contractions, and despite the soreness in his leg, he kept fucking you through your release, your juices helping in easing your tight passage, but he still strained to keep his rhythm. His fingers dug into your soft skin, and he felt a bead of sweat running along his temple.

He might have overdone it tonight, adding that certain potion to the many others he had to take on the daily to soothe the pain, but his desire to dominate you properly had been too strong. Seeing you with those boys had made him incredibly jealous, not that he would ever admit to it or even tell you so, but he had felt it in his gut, and the moment you had stepped over his threshold, he had known he had to show you that you'd never need anyone but him.

At least for as long as you were blessed with each other's presence.

Closing his eyes, he continued his relentless assault on your clenching cunt, your moans and whimpers giving him the necessary strength to move even faster and harder and deeper, and each time he smacked against your cervix, you would yelp and mewl and convulse in his iron grip on your waist.

It didn't take long for you to come once more, your limbs twitching uncontrollably as your juices gushed past the tight grip of your walls while his cock kept pistoning in and out, squeezed by your orgasm, and finally he felt his balls tighten, that painful tension in his stomach easing when he gave you one last deep thrust before he came inside you, painting your insides with his seed, marking you as his.

He groaned and stilled against you, holding you pressed to his pelvis as he leaned over you slightly, his weight making your knees quake before they slipped from beneath you, and you slumped to the table, legs hanging off bonelessly, gasping for air as his body pushed heavy on yours, his cock gliding even deeper, twitching and throbbing inside you.

You felt dizzy and were still seeing stars when he eventually leaned back, easing the vice-like grip of his fingers on your bruised waist. You didn't care. You felt more bruises blooming in and on your body, so it didn't matter either way. The releases he allowed you were worth the rough handling.

And apparently he wasn't done yet. While he slipped out of your tight cunt, with your combined juices seeping out of you and down your legs, you admired his stamina and wondered how he was able to even stand so straight and tall after the unusual exertion. He almost never took you like this, you usually found positions that wouldn't strain his stiff leg, but he had been weird the whole day, and as long as he seemed fine with this, you couldn't care less.

Your mind was spinning, the sensations still whirling in your head (and throbbing in your sex), and they jumbled about even more when he suddenly flipped you onto your back again, your limp legs flopping over the edge of the table as you blinked up at him.

He stood tall and intimidating between your twitching thighs, his hands rubbing along your hips as his dark eyes roamed your face and body. While you tried to sit up, leaning on your elbows despite the shudders crushing through your body, he didn't wait long to continue your adventure. Your eyes snapped to his still erect cock, and you blinked in confusion. He had just emptied himself inside you, how was he still that hard?

It didn't matter in the end when he grabbed his length and pressed it against your entrance once more, easily slipping inside, the loud squelching noise as he pushed his seed back into you causing goosebumps to ripple over your bare legs. The stretch made you inhale sharply, but you quickly adjusted, and not a moment too soon as he started grinding his hips into you, every slam hitting your bruised cervix.

You let out a pained whimper every time he did, but the more he moved inside you, the more pleasure you felt in the motion. Your whole body was on fire, and you wished you wouldn't wear all these layers of your uniform as sweat coated your skin and drenched your clothes. You felt him moving slower until he stopped completely, deeply buried within your warmth.

When you looked up at him, his already very dark eyes were so black and intense, you felt cold shivers running down your spine. Swallowing hard, you tried to sit up more, your hands propped up behind you, but you wanted to touch him, feel the tension in his muscles, the strength in his grip. Ease the darkness away that seemed to grip him tightly tonight.

But you couldn't move, couldn't say anything, you felt like a bunny cornered by the big bad wolf, pinned down by his big paws (and massive cock), rendered unable to even breathe as he stared down at you. A meek little whine escaped you as he suddenly leaned over you, one arm propped on the table next to you, the other hand extended to brush his thumb against your cheek as his fingers slid into your hair. You felt the rough pad following the protruding lines of your scar all the way over your eye to your split eyebrow, and you quickly closed your eyes to allow him the motion.

He moved it back down, the touch gentle but also firm, and when he gripped your hair, you yelped and your eyes flew open again. He held you in place like that, staring straight into your soul, and you felt yourself melting into his gaze.

Seeing you so submissive, surrendering to him so completely, made his heart race. There was a dark shadow creeping around the edge of his vision and deeper into his very being. He had never felt this possessive before, never this demanding. He'd never been this rough to you, either, and by watching your lips trembling, your hair clinging to your sweaty forehead, your whole body quaking against and around him, he knew he had been a little too rough.

And still he was far from regretting anything. He couldn't. He wasn't done yet.

His hand tightened around your head and pulled you closer to him, and as soon as the strained mewl left your throat, he had claimed your mouth and kissed you deeply. You hummed against him, despite everything kissing him back with fervour, your hands finding his arm as you held onto him while he gripped your hair.

As he slipped his tongue between your lips, he started moving within you again, slow, deliberate thrusts, and your cunt replied in full when it started clenching around him. He swallowed your moans and whimpers before he let you catch your breath and kissed your cheek, then your scar, licking up the sweat from your temple, until he pulled your earlobe between his teeth and nibbled on it, his stubble scraping over your soft skin. Your breaths were loud in his ear, and a deep shudder crashed through him as a particularly sensual mewl slipped from your swollen lips.

A grunt escaped him, and he bit your ear playfully before leaning back fully, staring down at you darkly. “Get your tits out,” he commanded roughly, still rolling his hips into you as you scrambled to prop yourself up on your elbows after he had let you go rather unceremoniously.

Despite the vulgar tone you had never heard him use before, you quickly fumbled with the buttons of your shirt, your fingers shaking badly, but eventually you pushed all those layers aside and freed your small breasts.

His big hands closed around them, kneaded them anything but gently, and you whimpered quietly, squirming on the table. He rolled your nipples between his fingers, then pinched them so hard you let out a surprised yelp.

His gaze was dark, jaw clenched and eyebrows furrowed. After a few moments of groping your soft mounds, he let them go and grabbed your hands and placed them on your chest. “Play with them,” he ordered, and you did, fondling them much more carefully, easing the aching his touch had left.

He watched you grimly, his hands moving back to your waist, fingers digging into the bunched up fabric of your skirt, before he slammed his hips against your pulsing centre in harder motions again. You cried out when his cock pushed against your battered cervix, but he kept going, giving you those slow but powerful thrusts that went deep and left you breathless.

Your fingers clawed at your breasts in support, your breaths as erratic as your heartbeat, as he pushed you up and down the table, your bare bottom scraping over the wooden surface every time he pulled you into the snap of his hips.

You wanted to watch him, observe the strain on his weathered face, how his eyebrows furrowed in dark concentration, how he gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw, the deep rumbles escaping his throat the only audible sign of his exertion, but you soon succumbed to his pounding strokes as your eyes rolled back and you sank your fingernails into your own soft mounds while you clenched tighter around him.

He looked at you, your tiny body so fragile before him, the state of it absolutely feral with your open shirt, your small hands holding onto your breasts, your hair stuck to your sweaty skin, your lips raw and quivering, your eyelids fluttering, while he slammed his cock into your spluttering wetness, your legs limp and boneless as they bounced against him with every rough impact.

Despite the immense pleasure this brought him, he felt horrible, for the way he treated you, for how he spoke to you, for his own stupid jealousy. As if it was your fault that those pesky boys suddenly noticed you, if anything, it was his fault for giving you the confidence to walk about proudly, with no care in the world, especially not about those lines that grazed your cheek.

The worst part was that you didn't give him any reason to be jealous. You had come to him after class, with your head hanging, confused by his bad mood, afraid of his rejection. And you still wanted to see him, spend the night with him, be with him despite everything. And all he wanted was to prove to you that he was the only one you'd ever need, when in reality you seemed to already know that.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he stilled inside you, eased his rapid rhythm, and when he looked at you again, you were still barely able to meet his gaze. He moved his large hands around your limp body and lifted you up, pressed you to his chest, held you close, save and protected, before he started moving again, slow and gentle, not as deep so he wouldn't hurt you any more, and not as fast so he wouldn't overwhelm you.

You slowly came to in his arms, fingers clawing at the front of his waistcoat as you tilted your chin to look up at him. Your eyes were glazed over and your pupils dilated, you looked utterly spent already. He leaned down and kissed your sweaty forehead, and you smiled softly at the gentle touch. Another reason why he absolutely did not deserve such a sweet little girl: you were too forgiving (and not a girl per se, not anymore, he had made sure of that).

He shifted you in his hold, one hand under your rear, the other flat on your back, fingers curling around your shoulder. The new position seemed to wake you up more again, and you slowly wrapped your legs around his hips, holding onto him, trying to take some of your weight off his arms, not that you weighed anything in his eyes, you were a mere doll in his hands.

Still you gripped his broad shoulders and started moving your hips against him, meeting his gentle thrusts with more fervour than he would have expected of you in your somewhat battered state. He couldn't help but underestimate you sometimes, given your age and size, though that usually made him admire you even more when you proved him wrong, because you were more resilient than he thought, stronger, braver, and needier.

And by how tight your cunt clenched around his cock, you were very needy at the moment. Together you found a fast rhythm, as you bounced against him and he snapped his hips upwards, he was so focused he didn't even notice the dull ache in his leg, and when you started mewling again, he closed his eyes and smiled, savouring the sweet sounds as he drove you closer to the edge.

You and himself, to be exact, because when you suddenly convulsed against him, your legs holding him in a death grip while you sank your fingernails into the thick layers of his clothes, you grabbed him by the cravat and pulled him right along into the blissful abyss.

Crying out loudly, you came around him hard, your muscles contracting, squeezing him, and he twitched with you, embracing you tightly as he groaned and grunted, his hips giving you jerky little stabs before he pushed deep and stopped, pressing your tiny body against his, holding you in place as he erupted inside you, filling you with his hot seed once more. You moaned into his chest as you spasmed against him.

He felt his strength waning and collapsed onto the stool next to the table with a pained growl, your frame still cradled on his lap, still impaled by his softening length. You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned against him, both of you slowly coming down from the high that made your head spin and his heart race.

“Are you okay?” He was the first to speak, even though his voice sounded raw and gruffer than usual.

“I wanted to ask you the same thing,” you whispered back, slowly looking up at him, your cheek resting against his shoulder.

His dark eyes met yours. “I'll be fine,” he said, too tired to smile. “Did I hurt you?” he then added, not too tired to frown at you.

You shook your head. You'd be sore tomorrow, for sure, but you usually were when you'd been with him, and you'd become quite used to it. Maybe you even liked it (a lot, you liked it a lot). It was a constant reminder that this big strong man had accepted and invited you into his life, and you'd do anything to keep it that way for as long as possible.

He watched you closely, definitely doubting your reply. But he didn't press it, he only pressed you, closer to his chest. You inhaled deeply and smiled at him, slowly raising a hand to move your fingertips over his strong jaw up along the ragged lines of his scar and back down again. The sound of his beard scraping against your skin sent shivers down your spine and made you clench around him.

Shifting beneath you, he exhaled loudly. Despite your weak state (and the growing desire to do it all over again), you noticed the strain in his movements. He was in pain, that much was clear. And you felt guilty for not seeing it earlier. Before he could move, you loosened your limbs around him, grabbed his shoulders and stood on shaking limbs before you lifted yourself off him. Your walls protested, clinging to him, but then he slipped out of you, and you sighed deeply at the loss.

Leaning against the table (because you'd fall over otherwise), you held out your hands to him, and even though he usually refused that gesture out of pride, he grabbed them and let you help him pull himself to his feet. As soon as he stood, you wrapped your arms around his midriff and held him close (and steady). He rubbed his hand over your back, his other arm propped on the table for support.

While he tried to find his bearings, you quickly tucked his spent cock away again and buttoned his trousers. You didn't care how you looked, though, so you left your shirt wide open. The cold breeze on your heated skin felt nice, and you were sure he didn't mind the view.

You remained close to him when he started walking, slow and careful, each step coaxing a quiet groan out of him. You knew you weren't of much help, he couldn't really lean on you with how tiny you were compared to him, but you still steadied him, and even if he would never admit to it, he was grateful that you did these things so nonchalantly. There was no pity, just support, unwavering support. He held onto you as you both left the hidden room and descended the many steps down to his quarters where he knew you'd take good care of him after he had taken so good care of you.

“By the way, what is that room?” you asked quietly, curious eyes looking up at him.

“My... hobby room,” he replied hesitantly, his voice rough and low, vibrating through him (and you). “But I haven't been up there in a while,” he added, his dark eyes boring into yours.

“Found a new hobby, eh?” you concluded with a smirk that warmed your cheeks – and surprisingly so: his too.

His arm tightened around you, his lips twitching slightly. “Possibly.”

NEXT PART: A Demonstration of Pride and Pain

End notes: In the end, our grumpy old man is just another ambitious, possessive Slytherin that struggles with his jealousy, right?

(Also to clear things up because I tend to be really vague about these things in my writing: he "enhanced" himself (via an unnamed potion) that night to last longer to show her that she doesn't need those young boys who might be better suited for her, she only needs him, and of course, she already knows that, but still adores it when he dominates her like that. Because who wouldn't...)

And on another note: his secret hobby room, right? I just can't see him walking up all those stairs, or even crouching through the fireplace, but then again he has to brave all of Hogwarts' staircases too, so what's one more or two or three? And I know the room might just be an Easter egg like display for some concept art or whatnot, but I can totally see him drawing and sketching and whittling away in there, just sitting and working with his hands, because what else can he do, hm?

Seriously, the more I write for him, the better I get his character, and it intrigues me more and more, and I feel I've only scratched the surface still.

Edit: I have now written a fourth part (see link above!), and I am thinking about more (and maybe you could do that too? I am open for ideas/requests!). So stay tuned, and thank you so much for reading my little Sexy Times with Sharp Series.

[ MORE SHARP SMUT ] [ MASTERLIST ] [ AO3 ]

[mrs-sharp]

The moment I (first) fell for Sharp was during the battle for the final repository when he suddenly fights alongside mc and says: "Now, Professor Fig, aren't you going to leave some for the Rest of us?" and I want to believe that he addresses to mc, too.

[julietpricee]

MC being deep: I usually solve problems by letting them devour me

Horny Aesop: From now on call me ‘Problems’

[girl-named-matty]

You send the picture of your kid/their grandchild - Modern AU

You send them a photo of their kid/their grandchild. A pt.2 of this post. Tags: Fluff, very very slight angst. Parings: Aesop x reader, Professor Fig & Adult!Child reader. .

Decided to add aesop as a romantic read for this one for my sharpie people <33 And ofc we had to have grandpa fig.

a/n: short and sweet :)