Day 198: We all wanted Lionel to turn around and - let’s just admit it…. Too bad he knew we‘re all pervs and had his favorite plushie to thwart our naughty shenanigans. 😅
I've completed my An Awfully Big Adventure collection. Had to have O'Hara's theme and the soundtrack CD was the only way to find it.
The book explains so much missing context and so does the CD! I won't mention how because spoilers, but there's still so much I didn't catch from watching the film over 30 times already after watching it for the first time this year.
Let me know if I should attempt to share the entire soundtrack on my YouTube since it ceases to exist online (I'd share it elsewhere but I'm not tech savvy)
Hi I loved your teacher pet fic. Can you make another one but with a softer Severus?
Hi Anon!! Of course!! Though I was wondering if you wanted the same concept of jealous Severus. So I hope this one is to your liking!
He never understood the idea of younger women being attracted to older men. He pondered the question every day while actively wishing to pull his hair out when some girl somehow managed to gain courage to say to his face indecent propositions. To him. A teacher. He deemed this generation doomed for their lack of respect to their elders and the sexualization of both genders to an extreme extent.
But you weren’t like that. At least not that he ever saw you behaving like one of those reckless brats. And that’s why he preferred you. He adored the quiet times with you, despite the fact that you’re his student. Some people are better than others, and you happen to be better than almost every other student in the whole school. In his eyes.
Could it be possible that he saw you as a friend?
He was conflicted. You were a very notorious, but shy girl. You couldn’t see him in that light, right? It broke his heart. The only one who he could actually sit down to talk to, whom he never needed to hold back his smiles and the need to laugh his stomach out with, was someone young enough to be his daughter. To try anything would be a one way ticket to Azkaban. And he wouldn’t disrespect you that way.
You meant too much to him.
So when he noticed a boy was trying to constantly get your attention, with his heart in his hand to see someone who wasn’t even near good enough to deserve you trying to get with you, he took a step back. But not too far.
“Mr. Thompson, Miss [+].”
“Hello, Professor!” You greeted him with a smile from cheek to cheek, he blinked and gently nodded at you
“Is there something we can assist you with, Professor?” The boy asked and Snape felt a rush of irritation cross through him. But he did realized he was just standing there staring at you
“Yes, your books are on the floor, Thompson.” He said, holding eye contact with you.
“What? My books aren’t-” just in time as Severus’ hand came down and slammed all of the boy’s books to the floor “Well shit.”
“You kiss your mother with that mouth, Thompson?” He rolled his eyes and fixed his posture “Would you willing to help me organize some things in the classroom tonight? I know you would probably like…the peace and quiet.” He looked for a split second to the boy who clumsily clutched his books
“I would love to.” You whispered back, tired of the boys’ exhaustive attempts. “I’ll meet you there.”
He nodded and walked off, brushing by the kid with a bit too much force and almost making him drop his books again “Watch where you are going, Thompson!” He yelled at him before rounding the corner and dissapearing
“Sorry, sir!” He responded, confused.
~
They sat in the messy classroom, sharing a cup of tea. “So what do you think?”
“About what?” He responded
“Thompson.” You said with a smile “It doesn’t seem you like him at all. And you’re my friend, I value your opinion.”
Friend.
“Well…he’s dimwitted.”
“Professor.”
“You asked, young lady. I’m being honest.” He shrugged “I don’t believe he is good enough for you. You are a brilliant young witch and you deserve someone who meets you where you are. Forgive me, my dear, but this boy is not it.”
“You may be right…”
“But if he’s what you want…I would respect it, though deeply disencourage him because he sucks.” You both laughed “Respectfully to you, of course.”
You made eye contact with him “Are you jealous?” With a little smile you asked
“Of him?” He said after taking a sip of his tea and swallowing “Jealousy is a strong word for me to express about you.”
“It’s just us. You can be honest.”
“Still hardly appropriate.”
“Come on!”
“What!” He says lowly “What do you want me to say? I can’t say I’m jealous, I am your teacher and despite our bond it would be deeply inappropriate. I am an older figure of power, and I could very well lose my job.”
“What if I said he asked if I wanted to go to Hogsmeade with him this weekend?”
“You are openly provoking me, little girl.” He smiles “That would hardly change anything of the situation.” It would change everything.
“I am trying to get you to be honest with me.” You sigh “Because it sounds to me that you’re trying to convince yourself more than trying to convince me. What if you weren’t my teacher? Would that change the situation?”
“It is also the matter of your age-”
“Severus!”
“I am no pervert, woman!”
“Just…hypotetically then.”
“Hypotetically?”
“Yes, hypotetically.”
“Well…let’s say if hypotetically you said he invited you out to Hogsmeade…as more than friends…I would be a bit jealous. But all hypotetical of course. I hold you very dearly to me and I would hate for another man, or boy…to steal your attention from me. Or hurt you. Or use you. I feel really protective of you.”
“It is silly to believe anyone could steal my attention from you.” Silence fell between you two, and he stared at you for a few seconds before you two felt the pull between you
“It is getting late…you should get going.” He stood up, helping you up “Thank you for helping me tonight… I’ll just finish this myself.”
“I just want you to know, Professor…” he looked at you “No other man could ever make me leave you.”
No other man could ever make me leave you…
That sentence haunted him for weeks. And despite his words to you about no being jealous, he lied. He was jealous. He felt protective of you. And he knew that boy had anything but good intentions. And his silence about it was broken when he saw the same kid grabbing your forcefully as you tried to leave the Three Broomsticks.
“Is it because of that old git? That’s why you won’t even let me kiss you?”
“You are out of your mind.”
“No, you are. Obviously that man sees you with other eyes, [+]! He’s trying to get in your pants!”
“For your information, Thomas!” You burst out “Professor Snape has been the most respectful, endearing and gentle man I have ever met in this whole school.” You sigh “And he was absolutely right about this. You are an asshole.”
“So what? Are you two a thing? Are you fucking him, you slut?”
“Oh, fuck you! Grow up!”
“Is everything in order here?” The voice of the man himself came from behind you, and the color drained from Thompson’s face before turning a bright red from anger “Let go of the lady, Thompson.”
“Well look who decided to show up!”
“You are making a scene, Mr. Thompson, I would strongly encourage you pull yourself together. You are humilliating a female classmate and I will not stand here and watch you do so.”
“Of course YOU of all people would say that about her!” He maniatically said “The man who’s fucking her!”
“Excuse me?” His tone fell flat, oh how many mistakes can this human being make in one breath?
“You heard me, man! Everybody believes so!”
“Go inside, [+].” He told you lowly while Thomas kept sputtering
“I won’t leave you with him-” you turn to look at him, but his eyes were staring straight at the boy with eyes as hard as bricks
“Now.”
He watched you scoff and hurry back inside the establishment, staying alone with the boy.
“We’re gonna solve this like men, yeah Snape?” Snape smiled slowly
“No no.” He shook his head “I don’t see any other man here, Thompson, you made that clear when you decided to open that mouth of yours against her.”
“Oh please. You’re going to verbally attack me?”
“Let’s walk.” Grabbed the boy from the upper arm and dragged him to a deserted alley “I’ll educate you, because it appears that your parents did an inexistent effort in doing so.” His wand sliding from under his sleeve and into his hand “We do not insult women.”
“She-”
“We don’t call them names, and we do not grab them against their will.”
“This is ridiculous.” He tried to turn away but Snape grabbed him by the bicep and pulled him back with force, slamming him against the wall
“You will forget every small detail about her existence for the rest of your life.” the tip of his wand lit up infront of the boys’ eyes, fear igniting in them “Right, there is the fear. Took you long enough.”
“You wouldn’t…”
“I would. And I will, in fact. You messed with the wrong person by bothering her because I’m the one who answers for her, and now you gotta go through me.”
“I just wanted to have a good time with a pretty girl, Snape. you’re a man, you get it.” The third mistake was compairing himself to him. Because in all the years he’s known her, she’s been respected in every aspect. And despite how he might’ve felt towards her, he knew his boundaries, where to stop, what to not say. Because to him, her trust in him mattered more than simply getting your dick wet.
“I’ve had enough of your incessant nonsense chatter, Thompson-”
“Wait wait!”
“I want to apologize for everything I said to you, [+]. You did not deserve that. You are a great girl and I should’ve never thought I had a chance with you. Please forgive me for all the things I said and for grabbing you. I am inmature and need to grow up, and I see it now.” You should’ve seen it a long fucking while ago, pal.
“…” you look at Snape who stood behind him, and he gave the boy a swat in the back
“A-and I will pay for whatever you get tonight.”
“For a month, right, Thompson? You’ll get the lady whatever she wishes?”
The boy nodded quickly before scurrying off
“What did you do?” You ask lowly, as you head back to the castle
“What I should’ve done the moment he set his eye on you.” He answered just as low
“You didn’t need to do that…”
“I know.” His head turned to look at you “But I’m your jealous friend, remember?”
Your throat dried up and you nodded. Your confession will wait a little longer…
Hi! I love how descriptive your smut is, especially when describing the Rickman characters'... assets, ahehe. I love it when the descriptions get deep into how'd they look and react to the Reader's touch. Absolutely delicious!
I would love to see more Lionel works! I have a feeling he'd have a thing for legacies, hence, a breeding or impregnation kink. Hell, knowing how prideful he is, I bet he'd also have a ball worship kink. I would so, so love to see you write with these ideas in mind. 👉🏻👈🏻
Author's Note: Aww, I'm so glad you enjoy my smut! (I particularly relish describing the Rickman characters'...assets). Sometimes it is difficult keeping smut new and not falling deep into repetitive pits---there are only so many synonyms one can cycle through, lol. Thank you for reading my works!
We'll see more of Lionel during Rickation, don't you worry! Yes, he does strike me as the type who would very much desire an heir, and therefore be into both breeding/impregnation kinks and even ball worship kink. I hope you like what I came up with!
This is the last of my requests in my inbox. From now on, I will be working on Rickation drafts. If you have a request, feel free to send it in; just know it likely will not be answered until mid-August at the earliest.
His Nightly Vow 🌙
Summary: Each night, Lionel promises to fill you with his future heir. Tonight, his promise seems----different, somehow. Heavier. More emphatic. Perhaps this night is the moment that his promise is made true.
Lionel Shabandar sighed, the day’s chaos finally at an end. The backseat of his limousine felt lonely. Vacant. Abandoned. You were missing from his side, a fact imprinted on his mind all throughout the party’s lukewarm festivities.
His feet ached—toes uncomfortably pressed against the sides of his rigid black Oxfords. It took him everything in his power not to unlace and free his tender soles from their imprisonment. Lionel groaned, idly scrolling through open tabs on his phone, his interest wavering. A text from you fluttered across the screen, a slight smirk raising the corner of his lips.
“Bedroom in five?”
Yes, he was certainly amenable to that.
“Darling.” He dramatically lifted your hand to his lips, making a show of kissing you—like a prince from a long-forgotten fairytale. Your heart stuttered at Lionel’s dramatic entrance, the brisk English night breeze unrelenting, tangling your hair. Lionel seemed untouched; not a lock of white hair seemed out of place—whether due to luck or the expensive, excessive amount of product he used, you did not know, did not bother to guess.
“I could take you,” he pressed you up against the stone railing of the balcony, grip tight around your hips, “I could take you right here, right now, only the stars and the slumbering sheep, my witness.” His breath was warm on your ear, heat creeping up to your cheeks, skin ablaze with the kindling of pure, persistent, romantic arousal.
Lionel slipped a hand up your nightdress, exploring the seam of your panties, moaning when he discovered they were crotchless. “You left me—cruelly left me, to deal with that miserable lot,” his cock leapt at the discovery of the wetness coating your exposed slit, and he suddenly felt light-headed at the thought of what was to come.
“You managed,” you sarcastically answered, an even check to Lionel’s theatrics, for there was no malice coating his accusing words.
“Barely,” he pressed a finger into your folds, teasing his way through your dampness, a hiss that was your own breaking the night’s silence at his plundering of your pleasure center. He mercilessly stirred his index finger in circles around the small nub, your nerves alight with something like fire, something like magma. And those nerves continued to both build and burn with a fury unmatched.
Lionel’s head rested against your shoulder, heavily, thin lips sloppily kissing your neck, peppered with the occasional groan. His cock pressed against your bum through his trousers—-unabashedly aroused, as prideful as the man attached to the stiff organ.
“I’m going to fuck our child into you tonight, darling,” he softly growled into your flesh, each syllable percussive. Meaningful. Tickling your neck, causing you to shiver in the crisp air. “I can feel it,” Lionel murmured, baritone voice like steel. Your stomach flopped, core feeling as if it would combust with Lionel’s threat revealed, alongside his insistent touch.
“You say that every night, dearest,” you muttered, despite wanting the promise to come true. Real.
“That doesn’t mean I don’t mean it every fucking time.”
The next few moments were an incoherent blur—Lionel harshly dragging you by the wrist to the bed in his lustful enthusiasm, pushing you down onto the mountainous pile of pillows near the headboard. The lights in the room were all extinguished; the stars and crescent moon the only source of illumination, the only witnesses as Lionel began to fulfill his vow.
He didn’t bother to undress all the way—-only ditching his trousers and Oxfords—climbing onto the bed like a man possessed, his designer suit jacket doing nothing to hide the sizable bulge threatening to escape from his plain black briefs. Lionel’s knees straddled your middle, underwear that left virtually nothing to the imagination inches from your face. The air was frigid, yet brimming with unfulfilled sexual tension.
“Kiss the cock—-kiss the bollocks of the man who will make you a mother.” His command whipped at something buried deep inside—something instinctual tugging at your chest—that desire to leave something lasting in the world. That primal urge overtook your senses that night. You lifted Lionel’s waistband away from his body, all eight inches of his erection springing free—casting an imposing shadow onto the bedroom wall. His testicles hung low, the full sack nearly double the size of your hand, the soft orbs lightly bouncing in place.
You worshipped the man’s balls first—lapping at the sagging flesh, suckling on each plum, each small melon, really, with overwhelming devotion. Lionel grounded out an unsteady, “Fuck,” the headboard shuddering from his tight grip on either side of your body. You felt each orb pulse around your lips, suddenly struck with the notion that this is where the cum that would soon paint your insides, hopefully soon plant the seed for a child to grow, currently lay—-safely nestled against the tip of your tongue. It was intimate in a way Lionel seldom allowed himself to be—for there was little time in his nook of the world for vulnerability and sentimentality to coexist beside the table of business.
His erection sat plastered across your forward, precum drooling from the large slit at the head, sliding down your cheek like teardrops. You finally released his heavy bollocks, gasping for breath that was soon interrupted by his spongy tip working past your lips, battling your tongue for claim—for dominance—-of your mouth. His pre was thick today, and particularly salty, yet the stream’s continual flow never ebbed, never subsided.
Lionel growled animalistically, hips thrusting himself down your throat, balls slamming into your chin. You had forgotten just how big he was as you adjusted to the large intrusion encroaching along the walls of your windpipe. Breath was hard to acquire, your nostrils pressed up against Lionel’s elegantly trimmed bush—the air you took in a thick musk—and purely him.
Lionel grew impatient, his pelvis shallowly stuttering, ever-so inching him forward and falling back, in-and-out of your wet warmth. You moaned, feeling his length twitch against you, feeling the vein that crawled down the side of his shaft throb. It was almost as teasing as your throat was for Lionel. Almost.
Anticipation for what was to come began to build in the air as soon as Lionel’s shaft was halfway departing from your bruised lips, a string mixed of salty precum and your own saliva stretching before the connection ultimately broke, the viscous string hanging from your chin in midair. Lionel wiped the string away with the cuff of his jacket, the cufflink like ice upon your heated skin. He smirked, but the cruelty—the cruelty he only reserved for those indebted to him and those who intended to bog him in a flurry of frivolous lawsuits—that cruelty was absent. A smile slipped onto your lips, Lionel’s careful fingers still tenderly stroking along your cheeks, pausing to tuck an errant lock of hair behind your ear.
“Ready for me to make you a mother?” Your face reddened, like your favorite shade of lipstick.
“God, yes.”
“Hold up your nightgown—Daddy would hate to make a mess.”
The soft, thin fabric of your gown lay safely grasped in your trembling hands, the white-ruffled hem tucked in several rolls of gathered material. Lionel roughly pulled down your panties, the lace tearing in his eagerness. “Lionel! Those are my best pair!” The man looming above you, idling pumping his hefty cock one-handed, only bemusedly tutted.
“I’ll purchase you one in every color if it means I get to fuck you right at my desk, at my leisure.” The threat sent a rapid chill down your spine—-the thought of Lionel having you at his massive office desk, inside his massive office made entirely of massive glass panel windows only made the arousal in your stomach soar, your folds covered in a thick coat of your slickness.
Lionel lined himself up with your entrance, plunging inside with ease, the torn panties uselessly dangling from your ankles in his hastiness. He met you for a kiss, his tongue tackling yours with expert ease, the taste of his salty precum making the vein running down his shaft throb. You broke apart, panting for oxygen, Lionel’s stubble scratchy against your cheeks. “I’m going to fuck my heir into you,” he spoke matter-of-fact, hazel eyes piercing, the large palm of his hand hot upon your uncovered belly. “And I want to stand beside my wife at every party, at every press conference, her pregnant belly obvious—I want all the hawks eyeing my accounts to know that child is mine, and my child’ll receive everything they’ve only ever fantasized of owning.”
Lionel had made his earnest desire for an heir known to you for years, but this was the most desperate, the most raw, he had ever sounded to your naked ears. This was a man who knew time was piling up against him—the deck was stacked—the buzzer would be quick to blare. Fire burned across his eyes, his promise to ensure his child’s future, even at the expense—the final revenge of his enemies—brought a wave of emotion crashing into your taut heartstrings. What could you say to his plea of desperation? To the intensity of emotion that screamed directly at you through steely hazel eyes. “Please, fuck me, Lionel.”
Lionel pursued your lips—your tongue—once more, beginning to rock his hips, the pressure building in your core returning full force. He pressed tender little kisses all along your neckline, his thrusts finding a steady rhythm, if demanding. His eight-inches were consistently hitting the back of your walls every time—heavy balls landing hard against your soaked entrance every time. The fire in your belly leapt as the pad of his thick forefinger found your clit, working the button in circles, knowing just where to touch every time.
Lionel knew he would not be lasting much longer—his bollocks were beginning to draw up close to his body—the tension in his chest, in his stomach, reaching the point where it felt as if it would snap. “I’m going to cum,” he growled, his baritone coarse, like gravel—the smooth, businessman-like tone vanquished. Still, his efforts did not cease, his cockhead landing deep with every consistent thrust.
You pressed a kiss alongside his temple. “Then cum.”
His control snapped—his hips reckless and frantic, two fingers feverishly working your clit. Orgasm hit you like a runaway train—hard, fast, and unexpected—the contracting of your walls encouraging Lionel to finally spill. He sheathed himself to the hilt with a sharp cry, balls nearly joining his cock inside, the tip snug against your womb, spewing an ongoing torrent of hot, white cum. Lionel moaned into your neck, hips shifting, his erection angled deeper, balls pulsing with each jet of semen. It felt like more than he had ever released before, a vindication of his desperation.
The aftershocks of pleasure from your own orgasm continued, gradually growing softer with each wave, your belly still tingling from the good, fluttery feeling. Lionel sweatily huffed into your neck, cock falling limp within you, body going slack from sheer exhaustion. “Fuck,” he moaned, the palm of his hand cradling your stomach for a second time that evening. He fell against you, wordless, for once in his life, his soft snores teasing the little curls of hair draped across your neck.
Whether it was Lionel’s efforts that evening, or in previous or future evenings, or even during his escapades during the daytime, it was to your combined great, relieving joy, when one morning, your pregnancy test turned out positive. As did the next, and the three after that, for good measure. It was the happiest you had ever seen your husband—his hard eyes sparkling like starlight, his smile neither forced nor cruel. Lionel’s vow was finally fulfilled, each evening during your pregnancy accompanied by future promises made under the moonlight, namely, the promise to try again when all was over, to try for a little girl. And whatever Lionel Shabandar promised, he saw to utter completion.
