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do you have any interest in writing any alan rickman character experimenting with sex toys?

i think that different characters would choose different toys... (imo lionel prefers a vibrator but sinclair might like a cock ring LOL)

as always, i love your writing and am patiently waiting for the next one 🙈

Aww, that's very sweet of you! I'm so happy you enjoy my writing; it really means a lot to me for you to say that! Admittedly, I was rather nervous to try to write headcanons for these characters. For most characters, I don’t really have hard-set headcanons for them (for example, I could probably argue several favorite toys for each of AR’s characters and make myself believe it in the process, too, lol). Anyway, I know this place is a safe space, and I’ve chosen to interpret these as short prompts. I’m also expanding the prompt to include equipment, not just toys. I’m totally open to doing more for other characters or doing different toys with the same characters! My asks are wide open too, lol, so please feel free to send in more requests! This is my first time writing both Lionel and Judge Turpin, so please be kind!

Alan Rickman Characters & Their Favorite Toys

Character(s): Severus Snape (x GN Reader), Lionel Shabandar (x Female Reader), Sinclair Bryant (x GN Reader), David Friedman, and Judge Turpin (x Female Reader)

Word Count: 1.5k

Warning(s)‼️: Sex Toys/Bondage Equipment. Masturbation. Sex. Erectile Dysfunction/Premature Ejaculation. Self-Flagellation.

Severus Snape - Collar

Severus Snape stalked the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, black cloak billowing in the dungeon’s characteristic darkness. Under the restrictive clothing he wore — layers of formal teaching robes doused in protective spells and held tightly closed with row after row of buttons — no one would have guessed the sour professor wore a thick band of leather — a collar. It was a present from his betrothed, a promise of their faithfulness given in addition to a traditional band for the fourth digit of his hand. The collar was a deep green, nearly black, embroidered with gold trim. The title “Prince” written in gold cursive attached to the front of the collar with a gold chain, almost like a necklace. Being owned, pulled between two different men, two different sides for decades might have made a collar onerous, taxing for some men, but for Severus, it was a relief. Warm relief that tasted ambrosial to belong to someone with only his interests at heart rather than their own or the entire world’s. The metal tag magically pulsed, a soft command for his presence. His cock twitched at what might, what he silently prayed, awaited him on your shared bed in your dungeon quarters.

[Author’s Note: I fully realize a more restrained Snape might not wear a BDSM-style collar. And, in that case, a more restrained Snape likely wouldn’t go for sex toys either. I think he would be very attached to his wedding ring—-perhaps his partner took the time to engrave the inside with their initials and the date—-or other items given to him by them.]

Lionel Shabandar - Your Vibrator

Lionel Shabandar did not share. So when he discovered a black heavy piece of plastic, bulbous head attached to a straight shaft with numerous buttons next to a half-empty bottle of lube buried in the covers of your side of the bed, he immediately grew suspicious. In other words, the great Lionel Shabandar, champion seducer and media tycoon, immediately grew jealous of six inches of battery-powered plastic. He knew damn well what it was before he sat on the bed and pushed the power button. A vibrator, not just a single woman’s best friend, but apparently a married woman’s as well. Did he not pleasure you enough? You always came at least once when he fucked you in bed at night…unless…unless that was pretend. A lie. What was so special about the damn toy that every woman desired one? He thought, trousers already unfastened at his ankles, black briefs pulled to his knees. He brought the massive head of the machine against the seam of his ballsack, an involuntary moan slipping from his parted lips. He dragged the toy from the root of his cock to the edge of his frenulum, grip slipping on the black silicone when the vibrations hit the sensitive skin with an intensity he was not at all prepared for. He bucked his hips, thick thumb hitting another button, the pulse of the long toy ratcheting up in its aggression. He passed the black bulbous head to his frenulum once more, a low grunt escaping from his soul as rope after rope of white cum shot from his girthy cock. The vibrator dropped from his hand, the pulses becoming immediately overwhelming post-climax. And that was how you found the proud lion later that afternoon…trousers and pants pulled down, dried cum staining satin sheets, black vibrator long dead between thick spread legs… and snore after snore slipping from a satiated Lionel Shabandar’s mouth. Somehow, the insufferable, prideful man made a mess look regal. Delicious.

Sinclair Bryant - Cock Ring

Sex after Natalie had never been pleasurable, nor simple, at least, not until you came along. Sinclair Bryant was a man often too deep inside his own head, focused five steps past the task at hand. He was forever grateful for you reminding him that sex didn’t have to be anxiety-inducing, didn’t have to be all nerves and trembling limbs. It did not keep his cock from obeying, however. He wasn’t the only man in the country who suffered from premature ejaculation, but the fact was little comfort when he could feel his erection start to soften and his balls begin to tighten while buried in your warmth to the hilt. Cock rings had been a godsend, like manna fallen from the sky. You’d ordered his first from one of the sex shops you frequented, a present gifted for his birthday night. He pulled the black silicone ring over the head of his weak erection, down his velvety flesh to the base of his shaft. Seconds later, he could feel his penis stiffen, feel the blood in his member sanctioned off from the rest of his body. Each thrust into you was that of a broken man made whole, each thrust taking him further from the failures of the past. Minutes later, you had already orgasmed, entire body shuddering, toes curling at the end of the sheets. Sinclair peeled the black silicone off his engorged member, the denied flesh purple, release overtaking him in one thrust into your warm hole. The dirty blond fell against your side, body drained, a smile of pure bliss still spread across his lips as sleep rapidly overtook him. And you couldn’t wait to order a vibrating cock ring for your anniversary.

David Friedman - Handcuffs

The first time it was an accident. The detective was desperately reaching for a bottle of lube in the bedside table drawer, only a small lamp providing a source of illumination amidst the dim room. His hand bumped into a pile of metal, a crackling noise echoing across the darkened room. He’d just locked himself in handcuffs. The handcuffs he normally kept buried deep in his suit jacket pocket. And he had no idea where the key was. David Friedman considered himself a logical man, but when a man’s been semi-hard since lunchtime and his sheets long devoid of another body, logic tended to quickly evaporate. The lube was found moments after his imprisonment, as if the object were quietly mocking him. Cold liquid soon became warm as his locked hands rubbed together, the ritual familiar for a heavily-anticipated Friday night. Jerking off was anything but familiar. His wrist couldn’t freely turn, couldn’t properly grasp his length from root to tip in one fluid motion. The metal cuffs ended up bumping into his bare belly and spread thighs. He couldn’t keep his mind from thinking how wrong this was, how dirty, how naughty. And that was where his enjoyment, his pleasure, came from that evening as he spilled himself onto fraying, stained sheets. He found the keys to his bonds the following morning on top of his bedside table, a plan for that evening already starting to be tossed around in his head. He smiled.

Judge Turpin - Cat O’ Nine Tails

Guilt settled deep within the old judge’s chest. It was not proper, it was not moral to lust after London’s new pretty, new perfect resident. You were all golden curls, narrow hips, and bursting chest—the sort of sight that often left him breathless. Wanting. And his wanting, his desire, often bred wanton thoughts. The kind that did not just leave his chest aching in the dead of night, but also a certain member of his anatomy. His cock, buried beneath the thick fabric of his trousers, throbbed against his leg. Relieving himself would likely be the easiest, the most prudent course of action. He removed the evening jacket spanning the breadth of his shoulders, shrugged out of the thin linen shirt beneath. White-haired chest now bared to the room, he swiped an object off his dark wooden bookshelf. A cat o’ nine tails, the queen of all whips and floggers available, the chosen instrument for his self-flagellation. Each thread, each strand crafted by his own hand. His hand slipped under his trousers, fingers wrapping around the flesh of his aroused penis, liquid already bubbling out the head’s thin slit. His thoughts immediately turned to you as he began his desperate strokes, the white-hot crest of pleasure the destination he hurriedly sought. The crack of the whip echoed about the empty house, his grunt of pain bit back with practiced ease. He thought of what your thighs might look like—milky white flesh he’d love to mark surrounding a slitted center he would very much like to—the whip struck the space between his shoulder blades, liquid beginning to drip down the spine of his back. His erection throbbed against his leg once more, the flesh pulsing, already so close to satisfaction, to bone-shattering pleasure. With a few more pumps of his hand, wetness painted the inside of his trousers, the familiar smell of his release filling the sitting room. He eyed the painting on the wall, stared at the scene of the woman’s flogging, the handle of the whip absentmindedly twirling between his fingers. He flicked his wrist, braided ends tearing a new gash into the scarred flesh of his lower back.

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