randomcreator-09

[randomcreator-09]

These were fun XD

enjoy some erik shitposts

And Bobby and Erik together, ofc. You cant separate the two of them; that would be blasphemy

[randomcreator-09]

Had to repost for those followers into men being a dork for them.

And those who have watched Final Destination: Bloodlines and loved Erik like I did XD.

Enjoy this masterpiece 🫶

Always for you

I’ve had this scene playing in my mind ever since I first saw the movie. Bear with me.

Story: Best friends to lovers but make it filthy — horror movie nights, shared hoodies, slow-burn tension finally snapping into messy kisses, pierced boys with soft hearts, and the kind of “i love you” that wrecks you in the best way. they were always meant to fall—just didn’t know how hard. also yeah... his tongue piercing did things.

⚠️ Warning: smut. filthy smut. soft emotions. language. horny best friend energy. 18+ only.

You and Erik? Best friends. Ride-or-die. You dated other guys, sure—but it never got serious. Every time things started getting real, you’d just... shut down. In your head, none of it mattered. You had Erik. And he was everything you ever needed in a man. Soft cuddles. Horror movie nights (he lived for horror, the weirdo). Endless 2 a.m. conversations until the sun crept through the windows. Family dinners. And those little, forbidden touches—so casual, no one ever questioned them. A hand on your hip to steady you at a concert. Fingers laced with yours when anxiety threatened to spiral.

It made your heart stutter. But say something? Risk this? Ruin what you had for a few traitorous butterflies? Hell no.

You’d ruffle his hair, place your hand on the back of his neck every time he said something so stupidly cute it made you forget he was this pierced-up, inked-to-hell bad boy (and yeah, you knew about that piercing too). You had feelings, no doubt. But cuddling into his chest on a Friday night felt safer than risking it all.

And then there was her. Brina. That smug, plastic little heart-shredder. After she broke him, you were the one who picked up the pieces. Three straight months of late-night crying and way too much whiskey. You. Always you.

It started as a regular night at the Campbells'. You were playing Until Dawn—again. Legs thrown over Erik’s lap. Comfortable. Familiar.

“GO FASTER! ERIK—PRESS THE DAMN TRIANGLE!”

“I’M TRYING! This thing’s broken, I swear—”

You grabbed the controller, definitely not thinking about how big and inked his hands were. Nope. Not even a little.

“Give me that! You play like a twat—Wendigo’s about to eat Jessica and Matt, and you're over here flailing like a grandma on Wii Sports!”

You beat the level—barely—and smirked. “Matt’s too hot to die.”

Erik laughed, that deep, throaty sound that always got under your skin. “Jessica’s hotter. She deserves to live.”

“You only say that because she looks like fucking Brenda.”

“Brina, Y/N. Brina.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you almost sprained something. “Whatever. Save the game. We need to get ready for Jessica’s birthday before your mom kills us.”

You stood up—or tried to. A firm hand yanked you back onto the couch. Erik was on top of you, hovering close. Too close.

“Where do you think you're going after calling me a twat?” His smirk was dangerous—pure sin. Your brain screamed do not soak your panties, but it was a losing battle.

“Get off. I’m already sweating.”

His eyes darkened. That look. You hadn't seen it since he punched your ex for slapping you in public—and yeah, that trip to the police station was worth every second.

“Kiki?” you asked, voice low. If he kept looking at you like that...

His leg slid between yours. His breath was minty. His lips soft. The space between you? Non-existent.

“Y/N—”

“HAS ANYONE SEEN PACO?! I’M STARTING TO PANIC!” Bobby barged in like the goddamn Kool-Aid Man, derailing the moment with all the grace of a freight train.

Erik groaned, helping you sit up. “Come on, Foxy. Let’s get dressed.”

“Yeah. In a minute.” You watched him walk away, heart thudding, panties—yep, soaked. Fantastic.

“Paco’s in the fridge, Bobby. Delicious side dish.” Erik smirked.

“Oh thank God. Then who the hell did I put in his cage?” Cue: beef jerky in a lizard tank. You wheezed.

Later that night, after Jessica’s party, all the siblings were crammed in the car. You offered to Uber to avoid the chaos.

“Don’t be stupid. Y/N can sit on my lap,” Erik said, hand resting on your shoulder.

“Promise I won’t get a boner,” he whispered, his palm sliding to your waist.

“Yeah? Bet.”

The car ride was quiet. Parents up front. Bobby passed out. Jessica glued to her phone.

You? Tortured.

Short skirt. G-string. Erik’s lap. Worst. Decision. Ever.

“Remember when we first heard this song?” he asked as House of Balloons played.

You leaned back against his chest, fingers intertwining with his on your thigh. “Yeah. Then someone ruined it by playing it on loop for 24 hours.”

He chuckled. “Only because I couldn’t stop thinking about you that day.”

Your breath caught. His hand tilted your chin to face him. Eyes locked. Lips close.

“You looked beautiful tonight, Peach.”

You kissed his cheek, squeezing his hand the way you do during panic attacks—the silent I’m okay now, because of you.

“Can I stay over tonight?” you asked, voice louder so his parents could hear.

“Of course, sweetheart,” his mom replied. “Erik, be nice this time.”

You squeezed his hand again, drawing his attention back. “Yeah, Mom. I’ll be nice.”

The last 10 minutes of the ride were spent with Erik softly kissing your cheek, hand creeping dangerously high on your thigh. Your hips shifted. His bulge pressed against you.

“You lost the bet,” you whispered.

“You’re such a brat sometimes,” he murmured, draping his jacket over your lap, hand slipping under.

“What are you—”

Hot. His hand on your panties. Soaked.

“Fuck, Erik—”

“All that for me? Maybe you’re a good girl after all, Peach.”

You were melting. You needed more. More of him. More of his everything.

“It was always for you,” you whispered. His eyes widened, the smugness replaced by something softer. Real.

“We’re home!” his dad called. “Let’s go!”

Erik helped you out of the car. You both avoided each other for the next 40 minutes. Separate showers. Awkward silences. Doubt creeping in.

Did you mess it up?

Later, lying in his bed, backs turned, dim light casting long shadows—you couldn’t take it anymore.

You climbed out of bed and straddled him, waking him up.

“Kiki…”

“Peach? You okay, love?”

Love. That did it.

“I love you,” you blurted out, palm flat against his tattooed chest.

Silence. Your brain screamed. Panic. Regret.

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same,” you babbled. “I just had to say it. And if it ruins things, I’m sorry, I’ll drop it, we can go back—”

You didn’t finish.

Because Erik kissed you like his life depended on it.

Tongues,, desperation.His fingers tangled in your hair. Yours clawed at his back.

“Do best friends kiss like this?” he murmured, breathless.

He kissed your collarbone, biting down just enough to leave a mark.

“I’ve been in love with you since you tripped and made me slam my head on the concrete in third grade, my Peach.”

“Erik… kiss me.”

And he did.

Your mind was spiraling. Is this really happening? You forgot how to breathe. His lips—soft, warm, sinful—had you melting into the moment.

“What took us so long?” he murmured against your mouth between fevered kisses.

“I don’t know,” you whispered, breathless. “But god, ... I need you. Don’t hold back. Please.”

You paused just long enough to meet his gaze—and there it was. That dark, dangerous glint in his eyes. The one you’d secretly begged for in a hundred quiet fantasies.

The devil had finally answered.

With a growl deep in his throat, Erik grabbed your thighs and flipped you onto the bed like you weighed nothing. Your back hit the mattress with a soft thud, and before you could even blink, his lips were back on yours—hot, greedy, possessive.

He kissed you like a starving man, like he'd waited years for this moment. And you? You surrendered to it, every single part of you burning for more.

You could feel his bulge growing, hard and heavy against your thigh. His hands slipped beneath your—his—shirt, cupping your breasts like they belonged to him. Like they’d always been his to touch, to hold. The way his palms fit you was almost unfair.

Your moans—soft, breathy, desperate—drove him over the edge. He couldn’t hold back anymore.

In one slow, deliberate motion, he slid your panties down your legs, his eyes never leaving you. He paused, gaze devouring the sight of you in his shirt, laid out on his bed, wrapped up in his arms.

Exactly where you were meant to be.

He could count the times he had imagined this moment. You, exactly like this. But now it was real—and for once, there was no guilt weighing him down. Just you, and the way you looked at him like he was your whole world.

“Gorgeous,” he breathed, voice low and reverent. “And mine.”

His hand trailed down your body, fingers brushing your heat—light touches that made your hips jerk and your breath hitch. You were trembling under him, your body aching, begging.

“Please, baby... touch me,” you whispered, your voice cracked and breathless. Was that really you? Desperate, pleading for the thing you’d craved for so long.

He didn’t tease you this time.

He pushed one thick finger inside, and you nearly came undone—your body arched, a choked moan slipping past your lips as pleasure took over.

“Oh God—” you gasped, trying to muffle your cries with your hand, terrified the whole neighborhood might hear.

But he just smirked, dark and wicked, the devil in human form.

“God’s not here, Peach,” he growled. “Beg for me, not Him.”

And then he slid the shirt up, exposing your chest. One hand still working you mercilessly, the other grabbing your breast, fingers rough and hungry. His mouth followed, lips wrapping around your nipple, tongue teasing, sucking—claiming.

Every part of you was unraveling.

I need you to stop covering your moans, baby,” he pleaded, his voice husky, strained with need. “I need to hear your voice. Don’t hide from me.”

The way he said it—don’t hide from me—it cracked something open inside you. You were already blushing so hard you could barely remember your own name. But the way he looked at you, like your pleasure was the only thing that mattered in the world, made you want to give him everything.

“Erik… please,” you whispered, breath hitching, eyes glassy with heat and emotion.

Your hands fell away from your mouth, lips parted, chest rising with each shallow breath. And when his fingers moved again—slower this time, deeper—you let the moan out. Loud, raw, unfiltered.

And Erik? He looked like a man finally tasting heaven.

He took his time, working his fingers inside you with maddening control—first one, then two. Each thrust stretched and filled you in ways that made your back arch off the bed, every nerve begging for more. You bit your lip hard, trying not to scream his name, but the tension building in your core was impossible to hide.

Then he moved lower. You barely had time to breathe before his mouth was on you, tongue stroking your most sensitive spot, licking you like a man possessed. Holy hell— he wasn’t just good at this. He was lethal.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, trembling. “I’m so glad you got that tongue piercing—fuck—”

That comment alone could’ve made his ego break the ceiling, if it hadn’t already. He glanced up at you, smug but focused, eyes locked on your every breath, every twitch, every flutter of your lashes as he pulled you closer and closer to that edge.

“I’m gonna cum if you keep going like that,” you warned, voice cracking.

But he didn’t stop. He devoured you—slow, deep, hungry licks that sent shivers through your entire body. And every time that cold metal barbell rolled against your clit, it sent a jolt straight through your spine. You were burning, unraveling, teetering on the edge of total destruction—

Then he stopped.

Your breath caught. “Why—?”

Before you could even finish the question, he was above you, thick and hard in his hand, the head of his cock glistening as he rubbed it against your entrance—ready. Perfect. Dangerous in the best possible way.

You couldn’t look away. Sure, you’d caught glimpses before—quick peeks in the bathroom when he forgot to lock the door—but now? Now it was right in front of you in all its gorgeous, pierced glory.

“Like what you see, princess?” he smirked, cocky and damn well knowing the answer.

You didn’t reply. Couldn’t. You were soaked—drenched—just from looking at him.

He leaned down, kissed you hard, rough and claiming, before his mouth moved to your breasts again, lavishing attention like they were sacred. But his hands? Gentle. Careful. Like you were something rare.

“Tell me if it hurts, okay?” he whispered, that flicker of worry in his eyes—because you knew, no matter how wild this got, he cared. So much.

You reached up, placing your palm on his cheek. He kissed it softly.

“I love you,” you whispered, brushing your lips to his. “But I really need you right now.”

And that was all it took.

His eyes darkened, something primal overtaking him, and then he was inside you—deep, raw, thick.

The first thrust knocked the breath from your lungs. He moved like a man losing control, hips snapping forward with power and purpose—but still kissing you softly, like he needed you to know this was more than lust. This was everything.

Your nails dug into his shoulders as he filled you over and over, his pace brutal, the stretch intoxicating. The friction. The heat. The way he whispered your name in your ear like it was a sacred prayer.

You came undone—hard and fast—your whole body shaking as the climax ripped through you like a tidal wave.

He followed right after, a guttural moan tearing from his throat as he buried himself to the hilt, coming deep inside you with one final, shattering thrust.

And then—for a moment—there was only silence. The sound of your breathing, tangled limbs, and the weight of years of want finally fulfilled.

He pulled you into his arms, bodies still tangled in warmth, your fingers laced tightly together. His eyes—stormy, glowing like stars—locked onto yours as if he couldn’t believe you were real.

“I can’t believe we actually did that,” he murmured, breathless, voice low with disbelief and something softer—something real.

You giggled, brushing the sweaty strands of hair out of his eyes. “Believe it, Campbell.”

His gaze stayed fixed on you like you were something sacred. “I love you, Y/N. Please, please let this not be another one of my horny-ass dreams or I swear to—”

You silenced him with a slow, lingering kiss, your lips smiling against his. “It’s not, you dork. But if you’re still not sure…” You winked. “We could go one more round—just to really make it sink in.”

That was all it took.

With a mischievous grin, he scooped you back into his lap, hands firm on your hips like he never wanted to let you go. He stared at you in total awe—Erik Campbell, pierced and inked and bruised by life, finally letting himself feel love, not just lust.

And you saw it written all over his face.

“I love you too, dork,” you whispered, nuzzling into the curve of his neck.

Within moments, you drifted off, curled against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek. And Erik?

He held you like you were everything.

Because to him, you were.

[randomcreator-09]

Hello,

This won't be a long message but to cut it short, I'll be quitting on writing.

FOR A WHILE.

I suddenly feel the writers block for a long time and I am in the midst of trying to find a job, while I'm still in my 3rd year in college.

It's mentally and physically draining. So I hope you guys understand.

I'll be back though... Just not now.

Thank you for everything and I'll keep my "likes" open for you to see I'm still kinda active as a reader :"3.

Until we meet again~

[randomcreator-09]

I need help... Not money wise or something serious but... Just help deciding 😅

My mom wants to travel somewhere and she wants to go to Georgia... But its expensive asf. Although she's open to other places... I just can't decide what to suggest to her.

Anywhere that is gonna snow in December.

Help? :"D

[randomcreator-09]

HELP I’m scared, desperate, and overwhelmed. I really don’t want to have to sell my tablet just to pay rent. I had unexpected medical expenses, and I don’t know what else to do. Every day the late fees keep adding up. I need $400 and I’m offering art commissions for $30 each. I’m doing my best to deliver quality work, even while working a job and taking care of my child. If anyone can help, it would mean the world to me. my paypal : catitoart@outlook.com

I made a goal on Ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com

[randomcreator-09]

BRO HIS THIGHS!!!!!

If Snape ever flirted—Girls on Top (1985) was the prototype, and you will fall.

Alan Rickman didn’t play a scammer. He redefined ‘dangerously sexy manipulator’ and then crawled it into your bloodstream.

[randomcreator-09]

Ah~ the smell of fresh books can always sooth any illness - v-

source

[randomcreator-09]

Ok... I know I haven't published two fics yet... But I got locked in another series aha~

Hilda Furacao

As you can see from my latest reblogs :"3

I'm planning to write a lot of things from this series but idk where to start 😭

I shall finish the Freddie Mays first ack I am so sorry for the delay :"3

[randomcreator-09]

I want his wife XD

Rodrigo Santoro as Saint Malthus

Hilda Furacão (1998)

[randomcreator-09]

FR XD

[randomcreator-09]

Hilda Furacao Core XD

[randomcreator-09]

AAAAARGGHHH SKFHDLGNSLFNDN

This piece was giving me such Hilda/Malthus vibes in that one scene I had to draw it

[inprnt | RB]

[randomcreator-09]

BRO! THIS REMINDS ME OF GOOD OMENS SO BAD 😭

UNPUNISHABLE—soldier boy boarding school au! x catholic boy

find part two here ⤷ part two

“i’m sorry,” you whispered hoarsely, your voice breaking. “God, ‘m sorry, i’m sorry.” but the words were hollow, meaningless, drowned out by the frantic beating of your heart and the unbearable ache in your body.

he cut you off with a hand on your wrist, his grip firm but not unkind. “feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours. the heat in his gaze made your stomach twist, your cock twitch in your hand. “bet you’ve been pent up for weeks, huh? poor fuckin’ thing...”

warnings; religious guilt and themes , power dynamics , getting off to underwear , degradation and humiliation kink , voyeuristic elements (mirror use) , handjobs , use of the words “filthy” , and “pervert”. wc: 5.4k

benjamin had been at this boarding school long enough to know exactly how it worked. the social hierarchy, the petty squabbles, the hazing rituals—they were as predictable as the smell of old books and stale coffee in the library. he didn’t care about most of it. he played his part: good grades, a cocky smile, and enough charm to skate by without making any real enemies. but the start of a new term always brought fresh blood, and benjamin had a sixth sense for spotting the ones who wouldn’t last.

and then, there was you.

you arrived late to the term, which was already a death sentence. the first few weeks were critical—the time when the hierarchy solidified, alliances were formed, and survival strategies were locked in. worse, you might as well have walked in with a neon sign flashing fresh meat. everything about you screamed out-of-place: the polished shoes that gleamed a little too much, the perfectly ironed shirt tucked with military precision, the rigid way you carried yourself, like you were bracing for a slap. you walked into the dining hall that first evening with your tray balanced so carefully it might as well have been a Eucharist offering, eyes darting around the room like you were waiting for someone to shove you back out the door. you didn’t even have to open your mouth for everyone to know: Catholic boarding school.

it didn’t take long for the other boys to catch on. they had a nose for blood, and you reeked of it. whispers followed you during study hall; cruel nicknames were hurled across the lacrosse field. someone replaced the water in your sports bottle with holy water one afternoon, which left you blinking back tears while everyone howled with laughter.

benjamin wasn’t sure why he noticed you, exactly. maybe it was the way you always seemed to be clutching a rosary in your pocket, running the beads through your fingers like a lifeline. maybe it was the way your cheeks flushed red every time someone snickered “Father” as you walked past. or maybe it was just boredom.

whatever it was, he found himself jogging after you one afternoon, his golden hair catching the sunlight like a halo as he called out, “hey!”

you stopped abruptly, startled, and clutched your books like they might shield you from whatever this was. “uh, hi?”

“you’re the new guy, right?” he asked, all casual confidence as he fell into step beside you.

“i’m not—”

“you are,” he cut you off smoothly, flashing an easy smile. “trust me, i’ve been here long enough to know. you’ve got that ‘lost lamb’ look.”

for a moment, you just blinked at him. his smile didn’t falter, though. Instead, he slung an arm around your shoulders like you were already old friends. “look, this place is a jungle,” he said, steering you toward the courtyard. “and you’re walking around with a target painted on your back. but lucky for you, i’m feeling charitable today.”

you hesitated, your whole body stiffening under his touch. “thanks, but i’m fine.”

“no, you’re not,” he said bluntly, his grin widening. “you’re fresh out of Catholic school, right? i can tell. you’ve got that whole... thing about you. like you’re waiting for a nun to materialize and slap you for breathing too loud.”

that earned him a faint flush of red creeping up your neck. you straightened your shoulders, clearly bristling, but instead of shoving him off, you sighed and let some of the tension drain from your frame. “yeah, well, i’m used to it.”

“doesn’t mean you have to suffer through it alone.”

from that moment on, things changed. benjamin took you under his wing—not that he’d ever admit to something so noble-sounding. it started small: little tips like which table to avoid during meals (definitely not the one near the windows, unless you wanted to end up as the debate team’s entertainment) or how to cut through the north courtyard to bypass the rugby team’s hazing gauntlet. when he noticed you sitting alone in the dining hall, bent over your tray like you were saying grace, he’d saunter over and drop into the seat across from you, grinning like you were his favorite person in the world.

“you’re not gonna survive this place with just prayer, you know,” he teased one evening, stealing a fry off your plate before you could stop him.

your ears burned, but you still muttered, “i don’t need your help.”

“sure you don’t,” he replied easily, resting his chin in his hand as he watched you squirm. “but humor me.”

you weren’t blind to the whispers that followed after that.

“never seen ben hang out with someone like him before.”

“you think they’re...?”

“no way. ben’s just bored. or maybe it’s, like, charity work.”

their words stung, but less than you’d expected. maybe it was because benjamin never seemed to notice—or care—what anyone else thought. he had a way of brushing off insults with that cocky grin of his, and slowly, you found yourself learning to do the same.

but for all his charm, benjamin was infuriating. he’d swipe your homework to “check something” and then return it with a smirk. he’d drag you into conversations you didn’t want to have, poking fun at your strict upbringing and coaxing stories out of you about priests, penance, and purgatory. he was relentless, and you hated that it made you feel a little less like the walls were closing in.

benjamin was everywhere. his laughter echoed in the halls, his golden hair glinting like sunlight, his voice as smooth and warm as honey. it didn’t matter where you were or what you were doing; he was inescapable. and at first, you didn’t mind. at first, you liked the way he looked at you, like you weren’t invisible. the way his arm slung so easily around your shoulders, the way he’d steal your fries or lean in too close just to watch you squirm. he made it look so easy, weaving you into his world with a smirk and a casual confidence you could never hope to emulate. he defended you from the worst of the hazing, diffused the cruel jokes with a well-timed barb or a cutting smile, and made sure you were never left sitting alone in the dining hall.

but then it started to change.

you started to change.

at first, it was subtle: a quickening in your chest when he leaned over your desk, close enough for his cologne to fog your senses. a tightness in your throat when his hand lingered on your shoulder, his thumb brushing the edge of your collar. he didn’t notice the way you froze when he stood behind you, leaning in to murmur some joke meant just for you. it was in the way he sat beside you during study hall, his long legs stretched out like he owned the space, his golden hair catching the light in a way that made your chest ache. it was in the way he teased you, his voice low and warm, always managing to say just enough to make you blush but never enough to cross a line. it was in the way he looked at you sometimes, his emerald eyes lingering just a moment too long, like he was searching for something in you that you didn’t even understand yourself. but you noticed.

you noticed everything.

the curve of his jaw. the warmth of his touch. the way his lips parted when he laughed, his head tilting back, throat exposed like an offering. it felt like blasphemy to see him this way, to want what you shouldn’t want. It felt like the serpent in the garden, whispering in your ear, coaxing you to look a little too long, to want what was forbidden.

and that’s when the shame began to take root.

it crept into your thoughts like a sickness, coiling around your heart. you began to see sin in every glance, every touch, every laugh that left you breathless. you couldn’t stop yourself from imagining things—things you couldn’t say, couldn’t even think without bile rising in your throat.

you prayed. oh, God, how you prayed. every night, you knelt beside your bed, fingers clutching the rosary so tightly they left indentations on your palms. you begged for forgiveness, begged God to deliver you from this sickness of the soul. you whispered Hail Marys into the dark, choking on the words as you begged the Blessed Virgin to intercede for you, to make you pure again. but your prayers felt hollow, empty. each whispered plea was drowned out by the memory of benjamin’s voice, the sound of his laughter, the way he had looked at you that day in the courtyard, sunlight haloing his head like a saint in a fresco.

you told yourself it wasn’t his fault. how could it be? he was just being benjamin, just being kind. he didn’t know what it did to you when he leaned in close, breath warm against your ear. he didn’t know about the nights you lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, the air between your beds a chasm you longed to cross but never would.

the fault was yours alone. your weakness. your sin.

and yet, no matter how many times you dragged the blade of guilt across your soul, the feelings wouldn’t go away. they festered, spreading like rot, turning your prayers into cries of anguish. you thought of the words of Matthew: “if your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away. for it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body be thrown into hell.” and yet your eyes lingered on him still.

you began to pull back. at first, it was subtle: excuses to leave study sessions early, mumbling about assignments or the need to pray. you avoided his gaze, kept your hands clasped tightly in your lap when he reached out to touch your shoulder. you stopped laughing at his jokes, stopped letting him get too close, stopped letting him into the cracks of your armor.

but it was impossible to escape him. he was always there—leaning against your desk, lounging on his bed, sprawled out in the dining hall, his smile a temptation you couldn’t resist. you tried to flee from him, but he followed you everywhere, even in your thoughts. his voice was there when you knelt before the crucifix, his laughter echoing in the back of your mind as you begged God to cleanse you.

and the worst part was that he noticed. of course he noticed. the worst part was that you wanted him to. some small, desperate part of you wanted him to press, to dig, to uncover the thing rotting in your soul and absolve you of it.

“hey, what’s going on with you?” he asked one evening, lounging on his bed with one arm tucked behind his head. his shirt was rumpled, the top few buttons undone, and you hated the way your eyes were drawn to the hollow of his throat.

you couldn’t look at him. couldn’t bear to see the hurt in his green eyes, the confusion on his face, you couldn’t tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that it was your own weakness, your own sin. you couldn’t tell him that his mere existence was unraveling you, that every time he touched you, it felt like temptation made flesh. “nothing,” you said quickly, focusing on the textbook in your lap as if the words on the page could save you.

“bullshit,” he said, sitting up, his sharp green eyes piercing through your feeble lies. “you’ve been acting weird all week. did i do something?”

you flinched, the weight of his concern pressing down on you. you could feel the truth clawing at the back of your throat, desperate to be let out, but you couldn’t speak it. to confess was to condemn yourself. “no,” you said quickly, too quickly.

“then what is it?” his voice softened, but the hurt had already started to seep into it. you wanted to shove him away, to tell him to stop caring, to stop looking at you like that. stop making me feel this way. “you’re not... you’re not letting those assholes get to you, are you? ‘cause if someone’s giving you shit, i’ll—”

“it’s not that,” you snapped, harsher than you intended, your shame turning sharp as a blade. his expression faltered, and guilt twisted in your chest like a thorn. you dropped your gaze, your hands trembling as they gripped the edge of your book. “i just... i need space, okay?”

“space,” he repeated, the word flat and unfamiliar in his mouth. “from me?” he didn’t understand. how could he? to him, you were just the awkward Catholic boy he’d taken under his wing. he didn’t know about the fire consuming you from the inside out, the way his very presence felt like a test of faith you were doomed to fail.

the silence stretched out, suffocating. you could feel him staring at you, searching for something—an answer, a crack in your armor, anything that would make sense of this. finally, he exhaled sharply, the sound like a wound opening. “fine,” he said, standing abruptly. the bed creaked under his movement, the sound echoing in the quiet room. his voice was colder than you had ever heard it, laced with a bitterness that made your chest ache. “whatever you want, Father.”

the door clicked shut behind him, and you were alone. alone with the shame, the guilt, the terrible longing that refused to let you go. you pressed your hands together, the rosary dangling between your fingers like a lifeline, but even as you tried to pray, all you could think of was him.

but the distance didn’t help. if anything, it made things worse.

benjamin was always there, in your mind, no matter how hard you tried to shut him out. the memory of his smile haunted you during morning prayers. the sound of his voice echoed in your ears as you tried to focus on your studies. at night, in the dim light of your dorm room, you could hear him breathing in the bed across from yours, and it felt like a cruel reminder of everything you couldn’t have.

you hated him for it. you hated yourself more.

you had always been devout, a faithful son of the church. your rosary was your shield, your Bible your sword, your faith the fortress that had kept you safe from the temptations of the world. you clung to the Word of God like a drowning man clings to driftwood, trusting it to keep you pure, to keep you upright. but benjamin made you falter. benjamin made you doubt.

and worst of all, benjamin made you want.

the dreams had come slowly at first, creeping into your mind like thieves in the night. they were innocuous, almost innocent: his laugh ringing out like church bells, his hand brushing yours by accident. but they grew darker, heavier, like a storm gathering on the horizon. you began to dream of his hand lingering too long on your shoulder, sliding down your arm, his fingers warm, deliberate. you dreamed of his lips—pink, soft, sinful—hovering too close to yours, his breath ghosting against your skin. you dreamed of his hand, sure and unrelenting, sliding down your stomach, your cock throbbing under his touch as his name fell from your lips like a prayer you’d never dare to speak aloud.

you always woke from those dreams shaking, drenched in sweat and shame. your body betrayed you, your cock hard, insistent, as if it hadn’t just condemned you. the guilt came in waves, crashing over you, dragging you under. you’d fumble for your rosary in the dark, clutching it tightly, the beads biting into your palms like thorns. you’d sink to your knees on the cold, unyielding floor, whispering, “forgive me, Father, for i have sinned.”

your voice trembled, cracked, as you poured yourself out to a God who surely couldn’t love you anymore. you recited the Psalms until your throat was raw, until the words blurred into each other and the ache in your chest grew unbearable. you told yourself you were strong enough to resist, that the dreams meant nothing, that they were merely a test of your faith.

but the dreams kept coming.

and worse, some dark, treacherous part of you didn’t want them to stop.

one night, long after benjamin had left for the evening, you found yourself restless, the shame coiled tightly in your chest, suffocating. you paced the small dorm room, your rosary clutched in one hand, muttering prayers under your breath like a desperate incantation. but they didn’t help. they couldn’t stop the image of him from searing itself into your mind: benjamin sprawled out on his bed, his shirt half undone, his laugh warm and unguarded, his scent—clean, sharp, him—lingering in the air like incense.

you told yourself to stop, to look away, to think of anything else, but the pull was too strong. you walked into the bathroom, hoping the cold tile and harsh light would cleanse you, give you some clarity. but then you saw them.

benjamin’s boxers were draped carelessly over the counter, a remnant of his presence that felt like a physical blow. your heart lurched, your breath catching in your throat. you froze, your breath catching in your throat, shame flooding you before you’d even moved. you shouldn’t touch them. you knew you shouldn’t. this was wrong, disgusting, unforgivable. but before you could stop yourself, your hand was reaching out, trembling as it closed around the fabric.

they were still warm.

you brought them to your face, your chest heaving as his scent hit you like a blow. it was intoxicating, maddening, him. you inhaled deeply, the cotton brushing against your lips, and you could feel your body reacting, your cock straining against the confines of your jeans.

a strangled sound escaped your throat, half-sob, half-moan. you were shaking, trembling under the weight of your sin, but you couldn’t stop. the shame rose in you, thick and choking, but it only seemed to fuel the fire burning inside you.

your free hand slid down to the bulge in your jeans, your fingers fumbling with the zipper as you gasped for breath. “i’m sorry,” you whispered hoarsely, your voice breaking. “God, ‘m sorry, i’m sorry.” but the words were hollow, meaningless, drowned out by the frantic beating of your heart and the unbearable ache in your body.

your hand slipped into your boxers, your cock hot and throbbing in your palm. the fabric of benjamin’s boxers pressed against your face as you stroked yourself, the sensation overwhelming, sickeningly good. you bit down on your lip to stifle a moan, tears streaming down your face as the guilt clawed at you, sharp and unrelenting.

you hated yourself for this.

you hated how much you needed it.

each stroke felt like a lash against your soul, each gasp a plea for forgiveness you didn’t deserve. you thought of the saints, their eyes turned heavenward, their bodies pierced and broken for their faith, and you wondered if they would weep for you or turn away in disgust. you thought of the thorns pressed into Christ’s brow, of the spear that pierced His side, and you felt like you were driving it in deeper with every desperate, shameful motion.

you were drowning in sin.

the rosary clutched in your hand felt heavier than ever, its beads digging into your skin like penance, a crown of thorns wrapped around your fist. each bead you touched felt like a tally mark against your soul, a reminder of the countless sins you’d committed in thought, in word, and now—oh, God forgive me—in deed.

benjamin’s scent clung to the fabric pressed to your face, clean and sharp, with that faint musk of sweat and skin that was undeniably him. you could taste it on your tongue, could feel it seeping into your lungs like incense burned in offering. it filled you, overwhelmed you, until you couldn’t think of anything else.

your body betrayed you.

your cock throbbed in your hand, slick with the evidence of your shame. the other gripped the rosary so tightly that the crucifix bit into your palm, the tiny Christ pressed there like a mute witness to your depravity. tears streaked down your face, hot and bitter, dripping from your chin onto your bare chest. you felt split open, like the veil of the temple torn in two, laid bare before God and man.

“i’m sorry,” you gasped, the words breaking on your lips, no more than a breathless whisper. “fuck, ‘m so sorry.”

but even as you prayed, even as you begged for forgiveness, your hips jerked forward, thrusting into your fist. the friction was maddening, too much and not enough all at once. you couldn’t stop. you didn’t want to stop.

the shame was suffocating, thick as smoke, but it only seemed to fuel the fire raging in you. the boxers in your hand felt like a relic, a profane artifact that held power over you. you buried your face in them, inhaling deeply, and a strangled moan escaped your lips.

your fingers tightened around your cock, stroking faster, harder, desperate to chase the release you knew would damn you. you bit your lip, hard enough to draw blood, trying to stifle the sounds rising in your throat. they escaped anyway, broken gasps and half-sobs that echoed off the tile walls like confessions shouted in a cathedral.

the bathroom door creaked open.

you froze.

your heart stopped, then slammed back to life, pounding so loudly you thought it might burst. slowly, your eyes flicked toward the doorway, and there he was.

ben.

his green eyes were wide, his brows drawn together in confusion and concern as he stepped inside. “hey, are you—” he stopped mid-sentence, his gaze dropping to the scene before him.

your cock in your hand, hard and aching. his boxers clutched in the other, pressed to your face. the rosary tangled in your fingers, beads slipping between them like the blood of your guilt.

“fuck,” he breathed, his voice low and rough. his eyes darted back up to your face, and you could see the realization dawn in them. the pieces clicking into place.

the shame was instant, white-hot, burning through you like fire and brimstone. you dropped the boxers as if they’d scorched you, scrambling to cover yourself. words tumbled from your lips, incoherent and panicked. “i—i’m sorry, i didn’t—”

benjamin stepped closer, his movements deliberate, measured. his expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—curiosity? amusement? want?

your breath hitched as he crouched in front of you, his hand reaching out. you flinched, expecting anger, rejection, disgust. but instead, his fingers brushed against yours, prying the rosary from your trembling grip.

“hey,” he said softly, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. “relax.”

you shook your head, tears spilling over again. “i can’t—i’m so sorry. i shouldn’t—”

he cut you off with a hand on your wrist, his grip firm but not unkind. “feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours. the heat in his gaze made your stomach twist, your cock twitch in your hand. “bet you’ve been pent up for weeks, huh? poor fuckin’ thing...”

you wanted to protest, to tell him to stop, to push him away. but your body betrayed you again, leaning into his touch, your breath hitching as his fingers wrapped around your own.

“let me help,” he said, his voice low and rough, almost horse. you didn’t respond. you couldn’t.

he guided your hand, his grip firm and sure, stroking you in a rhythm that made your head spin. his other hand picked up the boxers from the floor, holding them to your face once more. “go on,” he murmured. “you want it, don’t you?”

a sob tore from your throat as you inhaled deeply, the scent of him filling your lungs. it felt wrong, filthy, perfect.

benjamin’s hand gripped your cock with a firm, unrelenting pressure, his fingers curling around your length as though he’d done this a thousand times before. the confidence in his touch was maddening, a sharp contrast to your trembling body and fractured thoughts. his palm was warm and sure, his movements measured, deliberate—stroking you with a pace that was just slow enough to make you ache, to keep you teetering on the edge of sanity.

“shhh,” benjamin murmured, his voice low, soothing, a sharp contrast to the roughness of his hand. his lips brushed the shell of your ear as he spoke, his breath warm and unbearably intimate. “you don’t want anyone else to hear, do you? just me. just us.”

you whimpered, a helpless sound that only made his smirk widen. the way his fingers curled around your cock, stroking upward with just enough pressure to make your thighs tense, sent bolts of heat racing through you. his thumb grazed the sensitive tip, spreading the slick pre-cum there with an unhurried, almost lazy motion that had your hips bucking forward without your permission.

“desperate already?” he asked, his tone mocking but soft, as if he was speaking to something fragile. he pressed the heel of his palm against the base of your cock, applying just enough pressure to make you ache, to keep you right on the precipice of pleasure without tumbling over. “you’re gonna have to work for it, sweetheart.”

the bathroom was suffocating, steam and guilt mingling in the stagnant air. ben’s grip on your wrist tightened, steadying your trembling body as he tugged you upward, his strength unyielding. you stumbled to your feet, barely able to think, barely able to breathe as he guided you toward the sink.

"look at yourself," he murmured, his voice a low growl that reverberated through the tiles. his hand cupped your chin, forcing your head up, making you confront the reflection in the mirror.

your face was a mess: tear-streaked, flushed, mouth parted in desperate gasps. your chest heaved, sweat glistening on your skin. and below, the evidence of your shame—your cock, swollen and slick, gripped tight in ben’s firm, unforgiving hand.

"god, look at you," he rasped, the words rough and dripping with derision, yet tinged with something darker, something hotter. his green eyes burned as they flicked between your reflection and the reality of you standing before him, shaking, broken. "so filthy."

you whimpered, your knees threatening to buckle under the weight of his gaze, of his words. "how do you think God would feel, huh?" he asked, his tone mocking, cruel in its softness. his lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, the contact sending shivers down your spine. "seeing you like this? crying and moaning like a fuckin’ sinner. bet the saints are turning away right now."

“stop,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, hoarse from the tears and the shame that choked you. but you didn’t pull away. you couldn’t.

benjamin’s hand tightened around your cock, stroking it with slow, deliberate precision. he watched your reflection, studying every flinch, every gasp, every broken sound that escaped your lips. "stop?" he echoed, his smirk deepening. "you don’t want me to stop." he tilted his head, his eyes locking onto yours in the mirror. "look at yourself. you’re loving this. bet you’ve been dreaming about me, haven’t you? thinking about my hands on you, my mouth on you..."

your knees buckled at the insinuation, and his arm shot out, catching you around the waist, holding you upright. you tried to shake your head, to deny it, but your body betrayed you. your hips jerked forward again, seeking the friction his hand so cruelly denied you. “please,” you gasped, though you didn’t know what you were begging for—for him to stop, for him to continue, for absolution, for release.

he chuckled, low and throaty, the sound rumbling through your chest. "poor thing," he murmured, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. "all those prayers, and this is where they got you. on your knees, jerking off with my fuckin’ boxers like a desperate little pervert."

your stomach twisted, shame coiling tighter, but the heat in his voice, the weight of his words—it ignited something inside you, something primal and unbearable.

benjamin leaned closer, his breath warm against your neck. his lips brushed your shoulder, soft at first, then firmer as his teeth grazed your skin. he nipped at you, not enough to break the skin but enough to make you gasp, your cock twitching helplessly in his hand. "fuck, you’re so easy," he hissed, his tone laced with contempt and fascination. his free hand slid up your chest, his fingers ghosting over the line of your throat before gripping your jaw. he forced your gaze to stay fixed on the mirror, his green eyes burning into yours through the glass. "look at yourself," he demanded, his grip tightening on your chin just enough to keep you compliant. "take a good, long look."

your eyes flicked to the mirror, and the sight made your stomach churn. your face was flushed, your eyes glassy and wet from unshed tears. sweat clung to your skin, your hair disheveled, and your lips swollen from where you'd bitten them raw. your cock was still hard, leaking against your stomach, throbbing with need as benjamin stood behind you, as he pumped you in slow, devastating strokes “does this feel good?” he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. his voice dripped with mockery, sending a jolt of humiliation through you. "getting all hard for me, like some filthy little pervert? huh?"

your hips jerked forward involuntarily, chasing the friction of his touch, and a broken moan tore from your throat. the sound echoed in the small bathroom, a damning confession of your weakness. benjamin smirked, his grip on your jaw tightening just enough to keep you in place. "that’s what i thought."

your knuckles turned white as you gripped the edge of the sink, the cold porcelain biting into your palms. you tried to look away, shame prickling your every nerve, but benjamin’s grip was unrelenting. he tilted your chin higher, forcing your gaze to stay fixed on the mirror. “don’t you fucking look away,” it was a command, sure, but also quiet request, one you couldn’t bring yourself to refuse. “i want you to see exactly what you are. a filthy, desperate pervert, getting off to the thought of me. say it.”

your breath hitched, a broken moan tearing from your lips as your hips jerked forward, chasing the friction of his touch. the sound seemed to please him, his smirk widening as his other hand moved to your waist, holding you steady against the sink. “say it,” benjamin murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. his hand on your cock moved faster now, his strokes rough and unrelenting, dragging you closer to the edge. “say what you are.”

“i—i can’t,” you gasped, your voice cracking under the weight of your shame.

“yes, you can.” his tone softened just enough to make your chest tighten, to make you hate how much you wanted to give in. “say it, or i’ll stop.”

your head snapped up, panic flaring in your chest as you met his eyes in the mirror. he smirked at your reaction, his grip on you tightening just enough to remind you who was in control. “you don’t want me to stop, do you?” he teased, his voice a low purr as his fingers wrapped around your cock, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur. “you like this too much.”

“i’m a filthy pervert,” you finally choked out, the words burning like acid on your tongue.

“good boy.” benjamin’s smirk deepened, his hand moving faster now, dragging you toward the precipice. “now tell me what you want.”

“i—” your chest heaved, your hands gripping the edge of the sink so tightly your knuckles turned white. “i want you.” the confession tore free like a prayer, desperate and raw. “I want you to touch me, to—to make me cum—”

benjamin chuckled, the sound low and satisfied as he pressed his lips to your neck. “that’s more like it,” he murmured, his voice dripping with approval. “go on. let go for me. i want to feel you come apart in my hand.”

his words were your undoing. your body arched against him, trembling as the pleasure surged through you like a wave crashing against the shore. benjamin’s grip was firm, steady, grounding you as you came with a shuddering cry, your release splattering against the mirror in thick, messy streaks.

“fuck,” ben breathed out, his tone heavy with awe as he watched your reflection. his hand didn’t stop, coaxing every last drop from you, his strokes slow and deliberate now, like he was savoring the way you unraveled beneath his touch.

when it was over, you sagged against the sink, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. ben’s hand lingered on your cock, his fingers slick with your release as he pulled away, his smirk softening into something almost tender. “look at that,” he murmured, his hand sliding up to grip your chin, tilting your head back so your eyes met his in the mirror. “such a pretty mess.”

you swallowed hard, the shame creeping back in like a tide, but ben’s thumb brushed against your jaw, grounding you. “you okay?” he asked softly, his voice lacking the teasing edge it had carried before. you nodded weakly, your throat too tight to speak.

“good.” his smirk returned, softer now, but no less infuriating. he leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “because you owe me a clean mirror.”

© 𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐰𝐭𝐟’𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐲! 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋!

[randomcreator-09]

A new addiction of mine

Save me Brazilian catholic guilt

[randomcreator-09]

Another fic I wanna binge read :3

Completed.

Title: Sharp Tongues, Soft Hearts (Severus Snape x Female!Reader)

Summary: You were chaos wrapped in lip gloss. He was the quiet boy in the corner until you pulled him into your glittery world of mayhem. Years after Hogwarts, fate reunites you and Severus Snape at the castle—but time hasn’t dulled the tension between you. Not even close. Now both professors, old memories clash with new emotions in a story full of sharp banter, aching glances, unsent letters, and the slow unraveling of everything you never said.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Part 17

Part 18

Tales of the Glitter-stained Years coming soon❤️

[randomcreator-09]

Another masterpiece read.... LOVED IT

Emotionally break severus. Thats my only need.

He can cum as a treat. But i need to see him crumble like a wet sandcastle.

I feel like this is the best ‘ask’ to fit with what’s been written for this first chapter… ask and you shall receive 🤭

18+ smuuuuuuutty, denial, emotional, and more smut

6.4k+ words

Severus Snape and the Human Condition

Chapter one:

No Complaining, Just Compliance

“This can't be happening,” … “Surely not…” … “Not to me.” were just some of the muffled words she could hear through the thin gap from his door not being closed properly.

Professor Snape didn't usually leave his chamber door open, not even a little crack, so this was a rarity. She knew he would've never done this on purpose. She knew he wasn't acting his usual self in there, and most importantly, she knew how he would react if he knew she was watching. She squinted her eyes slightly when she heard him groan, “I can't…”, followed by placing his head in his hands and exhaling loudly, almost angrily. She moved herself closer to the chamber door to try and get a better view of what was happening and attempt to hear what he was mumbling into his hands. She watched closely and intently as he paced about the room with his face still covered, growing more and more visibly distressed. He stopped suddenly and exhaled loudly, but when he brought his hands away from his face, their eyes met. In that split second, she witnessed him see red. Pure, humiliated, furious, red.

Eleanor quickly moved her head and flattened her back against the wall, breathing heavily. She listened carefully and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to work out if she could hear Snape’s footsteps coming toward the door. Part of her wanted to admit that she had been listening to and watching him, but part of her also wanted to run. She knew he knew that she had been there. She felt a little anxious, or even excited, perhaps, of how he was about to react.

She swallowed hard and nervously pressed her fingertips into the stone when his footsteps came closer to the door. She watched out of the corner of her eye as the door creaked open further, her heart beating madly in anticipation for his reaction.

“Miss Eleanor, I do not know why you would wait outside my classroom door and not enter it,” Professor Snape spoke in an eerily calm tone, “Perhaps you’d like to come inside and… offer an explanation.”

“I…” Eleanor looked up at him with wide eyes.

“I think you will.” He spoke in a firmer tone, pushing the door open and holding it for her to walk through.

Eleanor inhaled sharply and walked inside, slightly uneasy from the placid way he was acting; although they had been seeing each other a little while, even intimately on occasion, he still didn't strike her as someone who would be willing to show that kind of emotion that she had just witnessed.

“Is everything alright, Severus?” She asked, watching him cautiously as he walked over to his desk.

Severus remained silent with his back to her, grasping the edge of his desk ask he rolled up onto his tiptoes a couple of times. Eleanor continued to approach him and placed a hand upon his bicep, speaking softly, “Severus?”

“How… dare.. you…” He muttered lowly.

“I’m sorry?” Eleanor spoke nervously, squeezing his arm.

“How dare you?!” Severus bellowed this time, spinning around and unlatching her hand from him in the process.

Eleanor stumbled back slightly and widened her eyes, gazing upon his furious face. He was breathing heavily and his face was crimson with rage, hands now behind him on his desk. Eleanor blinked hard, afraid steam was about to start coming out from his ears.

“I’m sorry?” Eleanor repeated, though this time even more timidly.

“No, you aren't,” Severus glared, “If you were, you would not have continued snooping.”

“I can't… wasn't…” She struggled with her wording, afraid of saying the wrong thing at this point.

“Do not lie to me, Miss Eleanor.” Severus snapped.

“Then, tell me what it was that I was snooping on!” Eleanor suddenly exclaimed the words faster than her brain could process.

“Excuse me?!” Severus stepped forward, his nostrils flaring in anger, “You have no right!”

“To what?” She tried to act less scared than she was, “Ask why the man who I have been spending the majority of my evenings with why he looked so distressed?!”

���Eleanor, I am warning you…” He raised his hand, pointing his finger as his hands trembled in anger.

“Severus, please,” Eleanor narrowed her eyebrows, exhaling shakily, “Tell me…”

“I owe you nothing.” Severus responded coldly.

“We can talk about what I saw, Severus.” Eleanor attempted.

“You saw nothing.” Severus snarled.

“You were-!” Eleanor protested.

“Nothing!” Severus exclaimed.

“Why is it that I can share your bed but not your thoughts?” Eleanor sighed in frustration.

“Just because you open your legs so willingly for me, it does not mean that I open my mouth so willingly for you.” Severus spoke in a cruel tone, though his expression not changing.

Eleanor’s eyes widened and she inhaled deeply, genuinely taken back by the harshness of Severus’ comment. The minute she even attempted to open her mouth, he began to advance toward her, wand now in hand with a ferocious look on his face.

“I invited you in here to make sure you do not snoop again, and that what you saw or heard did not happen.”

Eleanor looked up at him, “But it did happen, Severus,” She spoke flatly, “And every time it does happen, every time you break that stiff exterior, you refuse to acknowledge it! Will you ever tell me?” She narrowed her eyebrows, “I just don't understand how we can be that close in the dark, and yet you cannot tell me…”

“Listen to me!” Severus towered over her, gritting his teeth. Eleanor’s heart was beating madly; both from having the nerve to question him and also being mildly afraid of how he was about to react, “There is nothing to tell.”

She could feel his breath against her face from how close their faces now were and she played with her fingers nervously, daring herself to look up at him. She was growing sick of him acting like this. Every time she tried to encourage him to open up, he would grow tirelessly defensive.

“Severus, I saw—!”

“Obli—!” Severus raised his wand before being thrown off as Eleanor quickly ducked and darted to the other side of his classroom.

“What the fuck, Severus?!” Eleanor gasped, placing one hand over her mouth and one hand over her chest, her eyes wide.

“I… I—” Severus blinked quickly, his back still to her.

‘What the hell were you thinking?! What have you done…’ were just the start of the thoughts now rushing through Severus’ mind. Usually confident in his outbursts, he now found himself speechless at his own actions. He could hear Eleanor’s heavy breathing from across the room, shocked that she was even still in there, actually.

Slowly, he turned around. His wand was still shaking in his hand and he quickly slipped it into his pocket once their eyes met, swallowing hard as his breath hitched in his throat.

“Did you…” Eleanor paused to inhale deeply, “Did you just try to obliviate me?!”

“You… I had to!” Severus narrowed his eyebrows, “You weren't supposed to see what you saw! You weren't supposed to hear-!”

“Hang on, are you blaming me?!” Eleanor’s jaw dropped, scoffing in disbelief as Severus attempted to ramble a response;

“You don't get to see that, Eleanor! Nobody gets to see what's inside!” His voice raised marginally, “Not what goes on inside here!” He pointed to his temple, face now flushed red again.

“Then, don't leave your fucking classroom door open!” Eleanor shouted back.

“It was not open, it was ajar, and it did not hold an open invitation for someone to come spying on a situation which was not meant for them!” Severus was seething, barely able to control his breathing at this point.

“By which you mean to resolve by obliviating me?!” Eleanor scowled in disbelief.

“How the hell else was I supposed to stop you from telling anyone?!” Severus’ fists clenched by his sides.

“By trusting me?!” Eleanor spoke in a loud, obvious tone, “By telling me what it is that is bothering you? What made you so emotional in the first place?!” She opened her mouth again before he even had a chance to respond, “You let me into your bed but not into your head, let me help you, Severus!”

“This is exactly why I tried to do it…” he mumbled quietly, closing his eyes and huffing loudly before dipping his head and feeling his lip twitch as he tried to muster as much concentration as possible.

“Severus, if you are doing what I think you are doing…” Eleanor tilted her head, raising her eyebrows, “I know far too well that you are skilled enough to cast a spell without the use of your wand.”

“Agh, you are making me do it!” Severus bellowed as he lifted his head, spitting with anger as his black eyes pierced through the greasy curtains of hair now hanging over his face, “Look what you've done!”

“What I have done?!” Eleanor scoffed in disbelief, “I am done with this, Severus,” she shook her head and stormed toward the door, turning back to look over her shoulder and speaking as she placed her hand on the handle, “I don't know how you expect us to go any further if you think that the only way to deal with me witnessing your insecurities is to wipe them from my memory completely. Through all that hard, cold exterior, I thought you were better than that. Thank you for proving me wrong.”

“Even more proof that you should not have been spying on me in the first place!” He shouted as she left his classroom, his voice bouncing off the stone walls, “Finally, you step foot in my classroom and actually learn a lesson!”

But she didn't even give him the benefit of turning back around.

Severus was frantic. Back to pacing around his room. Humiliated. Angry. But with Eleanor or himself? He immediately hated himself the moment he tried to obliviate her.

‘What a toxic reflex.’ he thought to himself.

He stormed to the other side of his classroom and rested his hands upon the desk, hanging his head forward as his hair fell over his face again. The self-hatred was raging through him, internally scolding himself for the way he had just acted and repeatedly asking himself why. Why couldn't he just be honest with her and admit that he did have insecurities and that he was afraid of losing her within his self-loathing?

‘Why do you always strive to fuck things up?!’ he spoke to himself, though he already knew the answer; he had spent so long convincing himself that he wasn't worthy of affection, the moment he was presented with it his first instinct was to push it away. It was a control thing; if he was in control of the affection drifting away, it hurt less than them leaving of their own accord.

Teaching his potions class for the rest of the afternoon would have usually taken his mind off his bad decisions, but the memory of Eleanor’s face when he raised his wand would not leave his head. Once his final class was dismissed, he had convinced himself that he had no choice but to go and speak to her — though he had already convinced himself that she wouldn't want to hear any of what he wanted to say.

‘Sorry I attempted to obliviate you, but you really should not have been snooping outside my door.’ he practiced inside his head as he marched down the corridor of the castle — though his confident walk was not reflective of how he was feeling about the situation.

His heart sank when he arrived at her chamber door and his fists clenched as he built up the courage to knock. He would make the excuse that he was rehearsing what to say, but the truth was he didn't even know where to start. Put his pride aside for the sake of a girl who saw him for who he was and still showed some sort of interest in him? Here goes nothing.

The first knock was weak — barely even a sound made as his knuckles brushed against the surface. His fist tightened and he knocked more firmly. He took one step back and held his hands behind his back, glancing briefly over his shoulder to make sure no one was around.

He felt nauseous as the door handle turned and wondered for a brief moment whether it would be better to just run. Before he even had chance to decide, however, the door was open, and there she was; staring at him half in shock, half dismissive.

“Good evening, Miss Eleanor,” He avoided eye contact, “I think we need to discuss your sneaking around.”

“Ah,” Eleanor raised her eyebrows, unfazed, “And there I was, thinking you were here to apologise.”

He swallowed hard and paused briefly, “Perhaps we can have this discussion inside…”

“So, not only do you turn up unannounced and play the victim, but now you're inviting yourself in?” Eleanor sighed quietly, “And who said romance was dead…”

“You never know who could be listening to your conversations,” Severus shrugged, following her into her chamber and muttering under his breath as he closed the door, “Or spying on them.”

“Oh, can you just drop it?!” Eleanor sighed, “You’re starting to sound like a spy yourself with a guilty conscience.” she rolled her eyes.

“I don't appreciate that tone.” Severus skipped over her comment.

“Well, after the way you spoke to me earlier, it's the only tone I've got.” she shrugged.

Severus’ lip twitched but he remained silent.

“You know, to say you turned up at my door saying that we needing to talk, you’re not doing a lot of it,” Eleanor broke the silence, “What do you want from me, Severus?”

“I…” was all he managed to say before his brain kicked into overdrive and what he really wanted to say.

“What, you now suddenly have nothing to say to your verbal punch bag?” Eleanor arched a brow.

Severus’ breath hitched. That hurt. Verbal punch bag? Is that really how she thought he viewed her? He stepped closer to her with all intentions of saying something, but once again remained silent as his black eyes gazed down at her.

“Congratulations, you've made yourself speechless,” Eleanor widened her eyes dramatically, “But if you have nothing else to say, I'm sure you don't want to waste your evening with a person who just ‘snoops’ on you for fun, so—”

Severus had hundreds of emotions coursing through him right now; guilt, anger, and confusion to name a few. He had a split decision to make; keep her intrigued in his next move or walk. When she tilted her head up to look at him, his split decision was made. He leaned down to kiss her, cutting her off from telling him to leave.

Eleanor stumbled backward a couple of steps with a scowl of confusion, half shocked, half angry.

“What was that?” She asked, blinking hard as she brought her hand to her lips; this was very out of character for him, he would hardly ever make the first move.

“I am sorry, I will, uh…” He shuffled awkwardly, cursing himself as he turned toward the door.

“Severus, tell me why you can give yourself to me like that but not verbally,” Eleanor attempted the pressing question one last time, “Usually you are against spontaneous physical affection, but when to comes to choosing between that and talking about what is bothering you…”

“You don't want to know…” he spoke quietly.

“No, you don't want to tell.” Eleanor stood with her hands on her hips.

To be called out like this lit the flame of anger in Severus’ stomach quicker than anything. It was his place to be the one with the sharp, cold tongue, not hers.

“Correct.” Severus glanced to her lips and then the floor.

“Then, you shall depart my chamber un-kissed.” Eleanor responded simply.

‘It’s only what I deserve’, Severus thought to himself and turned to the door again, though this time feeling as if his feet were glued to the floor.

“Severus,” Eleanor spoke softly, placing a hand on his shoulder and feeling him tense immediately; she was like a comforting hand and an icy razor blade all at once. “Please.”

“Please… what?” Severus spoke quietly, hanging his head forward and away from her.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you want to go because you don't feel something for me.” Eleanor replied, gently pressing her fingertips into his shoulder.

Severus’ lip twitched and he spun around in one motion, gazing down at her with glazed over eyes but remaining silent. The moment their eyes met, Eleanor reached up with one of her hands and touched the back of her fingers to his cheek, this time allowing the kiss more than she did a few moments ago. Severus inhaled shakily, almost as if he was about to burst into tears.

“Look me…” Eleanor kissed him again, cupping his cheeks in her hands, “In the eyes…” She guided him back into the centre of the room, “And tell m—”

“No.” Severus shivered against her lips, his hands finding her waist.

“No?” Eleanor’s hands slid to the nape of his neck.

“The way I feel about you is what has gotten me into this state in the first place.” Severus spoke faster than his brain could prevent him from admitting.

“We’re getting somewhere…” Eleanor whispered, soothingly scratching the nape of his neck.

“All my life…” Severus started to speak and then paused, fighting with the voice in his head telling him that he shouldn't allow himself to be so vulnerable.

“Look at me,” Eleanor said softly, gazing up at him as her thumbs lightly brushed back and forth over his cheeks, “Your words will never leave this room.”

He looked down into her eyes and felt a lump form in his throat. He had never seen an expression so genuine. He had to tell her now, his armour was already cracked.

“All my life, through one event or another, I have had this endless weight of being undeserving.” Severus spoke quietly.

“Undeserving?” Eleanor arched a brow, “Of?”

“Anything.” he sighed quietly, shrugging in defeat.

“Could you be a little more specific?” she asked, narrowing her eyebrows

“To receive…” he inhaled shakily, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Its okay, Severus,” she smiled kindly when his eyes opened again, “What do you think you are undeserving of?”

“You.” Severus’ gaze met hers again, chewing the inside of his lip.

“Enough of that mindset, Severus,” she shook her head, leaning up to peck his lips again, “Is that why you were—”

“I’m just so, so afraid of… putting a foot wrong…” he pinched the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb, “When I've already convinced myself that I am undeserving of you in the first place.”

“Please stop saying you are undeserving…” Eleanor frowned, now reaching for his hands, “I wouldn't be standing here right now if I didn't think you were worth my time. Especially after today’s events.”

Severus stayed silent, staring at his feet with an ashamed expression on his face.

“Self sabotage is not the right way to deal with receiving affection that you wrongly believe you do not deserve.” Eleanor squeezed booth of his hands.

“I’ve played my life like this for so long now, I don't know how to be anyone else.” Severus admitted, a tinge of regret in his tone.

Eleanor felt her own eyes start to tear up from his confession and her heart genuinely ached for him, silently wishing that he would just allow himself to be happy, but knowing that it just wasn't that easy.

“Come here,” She spoke softly, leaning up on her tiptoes and pressing their lips together tenderly.

“I like that…” Severus whispered against her lips, barely even audible and his hands now upon her waist again as he kissed her back.

“It’s okay to like it, you know,” Eleanor’s lips lingered longer this time, “Allowing someone to show you how they like you.”

Severus brought her closer to him and kissed her slightly harder, his hands now on the small of her back. He felt her smile against his lips as their heads tilted and it wasn't long before her tongue was timidly requesting to push past his lips. Severus felt his heartbeat speed up slightly but parted his lips, the tips of their tongues immediately touching.

Sure, they had been intimate with one another before, but this felt different. All the other times he had held her at arms length; just sex with no questions asked. This time, however, with his feelings and honesty out in the open, it felt even more intimate.

Eleanor stumbled back slightly and pushed his cloak off his shoulders before grasping his shirt and unbuttoning the top two buttons. Severus was going with the flow, enjoying the feeling of being wanted like this was their first time. Once the buttons on his shirt were undone, he reached for the zip on her dress, trying his best to pull it down with his shaky hands

“I— I’d like to see you,” he broke the kiss momentarily, “please.”

“Since you asked so nicely.” Eleanor winked, placing her hand over his and helping him pull the zip down properly.

Severus’ lip quivered as Eleanor’s dress pooled to the floor, feeling his crotch becoming even more restricted when she stepped out of it. She glanced up at him with a smirk and reached forward, pulling him further toward her by the part of his shirt that had already been unbuttoned and continued to unbutton the rest of it as she backed him into her bedroom. Their lips crashed back together, teeth almost colliding from the urgency.

“Mm, what's this?” she whispered against his lips, her hand moving to cup the bulge in the front of his pants once his shirt had been tossed to the floor.

“The effect of you.” Severus breathed against her lips, pushing against the palm of her hand and making a soft grunt when he felt himself back up against her dresser.

“You flatter me.” Eleanor grinned, unzipping his trousers properly and massaging her hand against the protrusion in the front of his underwear.

“Mmmh…” he let out a heavy groan against her lips from the feeling.

Severus gently pulled at her bottom lip between his teeth and moaned softly as she applied a little more pressure with her hand, placing his own hands on the dresser behind him. Eleanor tapped the tip of her index finger against the head of his cock through the material of his underwear and giggled from his reaction before pulling his trousers and underwear down all in one go. Severus gasped through clenched teeth as his hardened cock sprung out and slapped against his lower stomach so aggressively that it caused a gas of wind. Severus’ hands soon lifted off the dresser and he reached behind her to unclasp her bra, dropping it to the floor before grasping the waistband of her underwear with his shaky hands.

“How can you claim to be so inexperienced when your hands always know exactly where to go…” Eleanor whispered between clumsy kisses as Severus physically ripped her underwear off and threw it to the side.

“Perhaps all my expertise just revolves around you…” Severus spoke in a slow, gruff tone.

Eleanor inhaled sharply from his response and placed one hand against his chest, pushing his bare bottom onto the dresser. Severus’ hands gripped her securely to bring him with her and kissed her harshly, narrowing his eyebrows with a grunt once her hand had found his cock again. Their tongues tangled back together and their eyes fell shut, both of Eleanor’s hands now skilfully stroking up and down his entire length. Severus shivered from the long awaited touch and parted his legs a little further, cupping her face in his hands and running his fingers through her hair.

“Fuck…” he spoke breathily against her lips, “I need you… need you…”

“What, now?” her thumb circled around the tip of his cock, smirking against his lips.

“Now…” Severus broke the kiss in order to catch his breath.

Eleanor kissed him harshly once more before pulling away completely and taking a step back, her eyes taking a walk up and down his body several times and vice versa. After a few moments, she bit her lip seductively and turned around.

“Wh-what are you…” Severus narrowed his eyebrows when her back was to him, widening his eyes when she reached behind and placed her hands on his thighs, pulling him forward so that instead of his legs being dangled over the dresser, the tips of his toes were now on the floor, “d-doing…”

Eleanor raised herself up onto her tiptoes, too, and pushed her bottom backward, Severus’ engorged cock now resting between her legs, “Is this how it feels to have a huge cock?”

Severus opened his mouth to try and respond, his face flushing deep red, but remained silent. She placed her hands upon his thighs and lightly glided herself back and forth over his length, biting her lip and letting out a high pitched sigh each time the head of his cock brushed right there.

“Mm-mm, Eleanor…” Severus’ eyes rolled back in pleasure from the gentle brushing motions, feeling himself throbbing with want as she sickened his length with her own arousal, “Please…”

“You mean…” she raised herself a little higher and teased the head of his cock around her entrance, biting her lip as she gazed over her shoulder. She watched with wide, lustful eyes as his expression changed, eyes still closed with his mouth wide open and eyebrows knitted together.

“Ugh, yes…” he nodded shakily, squeezing his eyes shut tighter as she sat over him completely, “Fuck, yes…”

“Mm, Severus, your cock…” her words trailed off as she adjusted to the size of him.

Severus leaned back on his hands and parted his lips, feeling himself going light headed already as she began to move over him. He let out jittery moans and allowed his eyes to fall shut again, trying to keep himself upright as her movements sped up.

“Oh, that’s nice,” he whimpered, raising one of his hands and bringing it in front of Eleanor, starting to massage his fingertips between her legs each time she bounced over him, his other hand kneading one of her breasts.

“Mmmhh… so is that…” Eleanor tilted her head back, her hair tickling his chest briefly before Severus lifted his head again to press his lips to her temple.

Eleanor bit her lip and moaned out his name several times, earning multiple throbs from his cock in response to how much more it turned him on. After a few long moments, she turned her head to press their lips together, both of them reuniting in a desperately urgent kiss.

The room soon became full with the sound of their bodies repeatedly slotting together and grunting and groaning into each other’s mouthes over the noise of her dresser slamming against the stone wall. Severus felt his eyes rolling back in pleasure and their kisses becoming even more sloppy as a result; though still not allowing his fingers to stop moving against her as she bounced over his length.

Severus’ shoulder blades could've cracked the glass in the mirror on her dresser from the intensity of their motions and he felt his body becoming sticky with sweat, not even caring that his hand was hurting from his consistent motions or that his calves were burning from the way he was trying to hold himself up. He knew his self-control wasn't the best in regards to trying to hold off his climax for as long as he hoped, but something about this position mixed with the knowing that he was also making her feel good was taking him to another level. He could hear the blood pulsating in his ears, let alone his cock. If it wasn't for his pride, he would just lean back and let himself come apart right there and then.

“Mm, carry on like that and you're gonna make me…” his sentence ended with a moan rather than words, feeling the fire in his stomach flickering like crazy.

“Make you?” Eleanor smirked, kissing him harshly once more and grinding over him in harder movements.

“Cum, fuck!” He gasped, his thighs tensing as his cock throbbed madly from her sudden changed in speed.

“Mm-mm,” she shook her head and broke away from the kiss completely. As much as she could have happily stayed enjoying his surprisingly expert fingers, she also reached down and pulled his hand away before hopping off him all together, “No.”

“N…No?!” Severus’ eyes opened immediately, his face completely flushed as he remained slouched against the dresser with an aching, slippery cock pointing toward his navel, “What do you mean ’no’?! What did I do?!” he asked frantically and out of breath — it was taking everything in him not to reach down to finish himself off with his own hand, not even caring if the sticky result ended all over her floor or himself.

”I want you to take a long, hard,” her eyes flickered to his angrily pulsating cock, “think about how you spoke to me earlier.” she sat down on the bed and leaned back on her hands, trailing her eyes up and down his body.

“Oh, what?” Severus narrowed his eyebrows, groaning slightly.

“Don’t ‘what’ me, Severus Snape,” Eleanor shot him a stern look, trying to mask the devil underneath, “You know what you did, what you said… and now you just expect me to forgive you and let you cum? I don't think so.”

Severus dropped to his knees in front of the dresser and winced, half in pain from his knees hitting the floor and half in pain from his throbbing, uncared for arousal, “What… do I have to do?” he asked in a desperate whimper.

“An apology would be nice…” Eleanor shrugged casually, leaning back on her hands and crossing her legs.

“I’m sorry!” he responded immediately, his eyes falling down to her bare legs.

“How sorry?” Eleanor smirked, enjoying now having the upper hand.

“So sorry…” Severus pleaded, literally crawling on his hands and knees, sweaty black hair hanging over his face, cock bouncing against his stomach, “So, so sorry.”

“Mm… and?” Eleanor uncrossed her legs and licked her bottom lip, parting them.

“It won't happen again.” Severus’ voice jittered, raising himself up on his knees and losing his breath from the sight of her nude body this close; much to his request the majority of their intimate moments had previously been spent in the dark because he was so ashamed and self conscious about his body.

He leaned forward and placed a hand on either of her knees, leaning in and brushing his lips against her parted thighs. Eleanor let out a soft moan and tilted her head back, lacing her fingers in his hair and tugging at it lightly each time his lips moved higher. Severus felt his cock aching for some attention and reached down with one of his hands, loosely jerking it up and down. He thought he was being subtle, but the muffled moan he let out against her inner thigh blew his cover.

“Mm, what are you doing down there?” Eleanor asked lazily, enjoying the feeling of his lips against her bare skin, “That’s nice, Professor…”

“I…” he felt his cheeks burning up again, pausing against her skin momentarily to speak, “I need something, too…” he admitted, feeling his length twitch in his grip.

“You better not be touching yourself, Severus.” Eleanor spoke with her head still tilted back.

“N…no…” Severus’ voice came out more strangled and less convincing.

“Come up here,” she finally raised her head, dropping her arms by her sides and having to tear her eyes away from his moving hand, “Don’t lie to me, Severus,” she arched a brow as their eyes met, “I know what you sound like.”

“Wh—what I sound like?” Severus questioned, gazing up at her.

“When you're about to lose it,” she leaned down to peck his lips, “and bust.”

“But I need to…” Severus groaned, raising himself up properly and kissing her back.

“No, you need to learn that your actions,” she said, guiding him onto the bed and onto his back with a hand pushing his chest, “have consequences.”

“My what,” he blinked hard, watching in awe as she climbed on top of him, “have what?”

“You heard me.” she smirked, teasing a fingertip all the way up the underside of his cock and lingering with a little more pressure underneath the head.

“Oh, for fuck…” he began to complain before the index finger on her other hand pressed against his lips.

“No complaining,” she shook her head, taunting the tip of his cock with her finger now by stretching out a string of precum, “just compliance.”

Severus shivered, his cock almost having a mind of its own at this point as it jolted against her finger.

“Understood?” she tilted her head, bringing her finger away from his lips.

“Understood.” he nodded quickly, staring up at her with wide, wanting eyes.

“Good,” she smiled sweetly and lifted his cock up completely, “then you won't mind if I do this.”

Severus’ eyes rolled back in pleasure as she sat over him again, placing her hands against his chest. Eleanor watched him for a few moments as she started to move, but then her own eyes soon closed from the sought after feeling. She pressed down on his chest a little harder as her movements sped up, narrowing her eyebrows and moaning in sync with him.

“Fucking Christ, that feels good…” Severus’ mouth hung open, pushing his hips up slightly in an attempt to feel even more.

“Mm, stop pushing,” Eleanor prodded his chest gently, “I tell you when you can let go.”

Severus whined, though he was in far too much pleasure to complain about it. He had gone from always having to be in control, to being controlled — and loving absolutely every second of it.

Eleanor leaned down and pressed their lips together, still circling her hips over him.

“Am I allowed to touch?” Severus asked against her lips, his hands itching to move from his sides.

Eleanor kissed him deeply for a few more moments before speaking softly, “You may.”

Severus’ fingertips immediately traced down her back and then gripped onto her bottom, moaning out her name several times as the kiss grew more and more passionate.

“I…. I can't…” Severus panted against her lips, his hands trembling against her bottom.

“Mm, you can, Severus,” Eleanor breathed out seductively, finding it hard to hold back her own moans at this point, “Remember that self control, hm?”

“No,” Severus responded quickly, feeling his black, greasy hair now sticking to his forehead as the flames of bliss climbed his body faster than his brain could compute, “No!” his eyebrows narrowed, having to pause the kiss momentarily as he let out a loud moan, “Oh, fuck, please let me…!”

“Mmmmh, Professor Snape begging to cum?” Eleanor nearly lost it herself from just the thought, “I never thought I'd see the day…” she pressed a harsh kiss to his lips before whispering, “or night.”

Severus’ eyes automatically opened when he felt her body raise up off his chest and he watched her breasts bouncing, tempted and longing to reach up and touch them but knowing that he didn't have the strength to do anything right now — it was like she was controlling every inch of him. Eleanor’s nails scratched down his chest, her head tilting back in pleasure and eventually raising her arms behind her with her eyes tightly shut. Severus’ back arched slightly, unsure how long he could hold back before groaning loudly as Eleanor purposely slowed down her hips, smirking widely to herself as she felt his body react beneath her immediately.

“No, stop!” he pleaded, red in the face.

“What, you want me to stop completely?” Eleanor asked, playing dumb.

“No!” he groaned in frustration, “stop… stopping!”

“Oh, you want me to… move?” she asked, gazing down at him as she began to circle her hips again.

“Yes…” he growled from the back of his throat, feeling his body relax again as she began to bounce over him properly, “Yes, like that!”

Eleanor’s head hung back in pleasure and Severus just about managed to rest his hands upon her thighs, rubbing them up and down shakily as his own started to tense. His eyes squeezed shut and rolled back, feeling the point of no return growing even closer.

“Fuck, Severus…” Eleanor gasped, her hands now flat against his chest again as she felt herself tensing around his continuously pulsing cock, “C—Cum for me, Severus, because I’m…”

“Agh! Fuck! Eleanor!” Severus bellowed in three separate exclamations, his back arching fully as his taunted climax shot out of him in hot, stringy spurts.

“Mmh!” Eleanor continued to bounce over him, riding out her own orgasm as their moans filled the room.

The two of them writhed together, panting heavily and making the bed almost have a life of its own beneath them. Eleanor’s hands reached down to briefly brush against Severus’ still against her thighs and they both gradually opened their eyes, sighing softly.

“Mmm… thank you….” were the only words Severus could muster at that moment.

“What for?” Eleanor tilted her head to the side, enjoying seeing him in this afterglow state.

“Letting me…” he grunted, trying to gesture with his hands instead of saying the words.

“Letting you…?” Eleanor bit her lip to hide a grin.

“You know.” Severus’ lip twitched, finding it hard, perhaps even embarrassing, to say the words.

“Cum?” she arched a brow, enjoying this a little too much.

“M…hm.” Severus nodded once, not even being able to look at her.

“What, once you've had your way all the dirty talk goes out of the window?” she teased, rolling off him and trying to brush her hair back into place with her hands.

“Don’t…” he shot her an unamused look, feeling the sweat glistening on the front of his body.

“Well, if you've really gone back to being so prude already, then I guess you won't mind if I go and shower…” she shrugged casually getting off the bed.

Severus glanced over, out of breath and still feeling too physically weak to do anything else, watching as she stepped toward her bathroom and her voice then being the only thing left in the room as she said, “Unless you would care to join? You know, save on the water and all that.”

-

Thank you so much for reading this first instalment of 'Severus Snape and the Human Condition'! I am aware I haven't written Snape properly since last Christmas, so I hope it was worth the wait 🤣 I'm so looking forward to this little ongoing project and exploring different sides to our beloved Professor 🫶 please let me know what you think, and if you have any ideas please feel free to comment or submit them! ♥️

MASSIVE shoutout and thank you to @fafodill for giving me the boost in confidence I needed whenever I didn’t think I was getting anywhere with this story — your help has not gone unnoticed! 🫶

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@benedict-cbe @bratty-tingz @speedycupcakepaper @hamiltonstann (continued in comments 🥰)

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