Recharge

Miguel O'Hara SFW Alphabet

Affectionate:

Miguel is not a fan of pda, but all his affection and love for his s/o is saved for behind closed doors. It's the little things, like checking up on you throughout the day, making sure you've eaten, bringing you gifts that he knows you've wanted or pointed out before. He can tend to be forgetful with his mind always racing, but you know it's because he's Spiderman and he will always protect you.

Best friend:

He acts like he does not give a single fuck but he really does care. He acts frustrated when his friends do something stupid or life threatening, but it's only his concern.

Cuddles:

He LOVES cuddles. After a long day, he comes home completely slumped and just wants to crawl into bed with you and cuddle. He'll grab you by your waist and pull you into him, your heartbeat calming him. Or even if it's been a slow day, he just wants to be in your arms and melt into you.

Domestic:

Of course he wants this!! He wants a family, he wants kids and he wants to love but he's so scared of losing it all. Once he finds out his s/o is pregnant (I headcannon he found out before you through his superhearing), he's so happy that he cries. He loves taking care of his baby, letting you sleep in after countless nights of cramps and the baby kicking you from the inside. Needless to say, he'd be a great dad.

Ending:

It would definitely happen because you almost died. He tried to be happy but this life isn't for someone so kind. He didn't want to face you so after you woke up, you found a note saying he won't be seeing you anymore because he wants to protect you. It was hard and he did cry, but he would rather risk himself than anyone he loves.

Fiancé:

He's the type to make it special. He takes your wants into deep consideration, whether it's a public proposal at a fancy restaurant or something in private with just the two of you. He buys the ring a year in advance because he knew the moment he wanted to marry you, he would not let you go. After you've said yes, he kisses you and spends all night admiring and loving the person he's going to spend the rest of his life with.

Gentle:

He's a gentle person physically, but emotionally? He's hard-headed and believes that being so vulnerable in this world never brings any good.

Hugs:

This man is HUGE! His hugs are always warm and inviting, especially since he basically envelopes you into him. In public, he rests his hand on your hip and your side is against his side. When you visit him and surprise him with a hug from behind, he immediately calms down and a soft smile graces his features.

I Love You:

He doesn't say it lightly. Once he realized it, he held it in for awhile. He didn't understand if you were in that deep with him yet, and oh it felt so dangerous not knowing. He waited until you said it, completely catching him by surprise but felt the warmth fill his heart.

"Te amo, mi reina."

Jealousy:

He knows you'd never cheat on him, but he's territorial. He doesn't know if it's from the experiments or if he's naturally this way, but God help the person who looks at you too long. Anyone's flirting with you? He stares them down as he grabs your hand, kisses the side of your head, and says "Miguel" and just takes you and leaves.

Kisses:

His kisses are always deep and passionate. It's never just a quick peck and he's off. He knows his life is dangerous and incase today might be his last, he wants to feel your lips on his before he goes. He cups your face in his hands too, bringing you in and sometimes you just want to say "fuck this" and makeout because GOD DAMN he's a good kisser. Especially if you run your fingers through his hair, then oh boy he's done for.

Little ones:

He definitely has a resting bitch face, so normally kids steer clear of him unless they know him. But he does want kids. His only fear is that your kids will inherit his powers, and the venom would be the worst of it. Other than that, he would be a great father and very doting. I picture him as a girl dad, wearing tiaras and playing tea party. And if anyone says anything, he will kill them.

Mornings:

He's definitely not a morning person. He stays up late most nights, and unless it's you waking him up, he will bite someone.

Nights:

Coming home late, you're usually asleep on the couch. You try to wait up for him but end up falling asleep. He picks you up, and lays you down in your shared bed before changing and laying down with you. He pulls you into his chest, his arm around you and one above you.

Open:

He's very hesitant and guarded. He isn't one to reveal anything about himself until he's one thousand percent sure that you're trustworthy. He starts to slowly tell his s/o things, almost gaging their reaction to what he says. It's a slow process.

Patience:

Patient? Him?? Fuck no.

Remember:

His favorite moment with you was when you slept over for the first time. It was late, raining really bad, and he didn't want you to drive. He insisted on sleeping on the couch but you dragged him to bed. It was the first cuddle and first time you fell asleep in his arms. It was one of the few times he felt like he could truly keep you close.

Security:

He's watched countless Spiderman die or lose loved ones. Of course, he's protective. Even when you're just running some errands, he's trailing close behind and watching on top of buildings.

Try:

When it comes to someone he loves, he's making sure everything is perfect. Even if it's a small picnic date on the roof, he will watch the fucking weather for WEEKS to make sure it's perfect. Nothing he does is without effort.

Vanity:

He's definitely had some bad days where he looks like actual ass, but other than that, he makes sure to look presentable.

Whole:

He would feel like a piece of him is missing if you weren't there.

Xtra:

You caught him following you one time and he felt so embarrassed. You lectured him, but it only made him more careful.

Yuck:

He doesn't tolerate a mess. He's definitely the type to not want a lazy partner, or someone who leaves a mess.

A Guide to Sex with the FFXV Boys: You’re Welcome

Me and yunicon spent the last four hours doing this so I hope it brings you some vague relief from your sexual tension regarding the boys in black.

We’ve also kept it gender neutral so everyone can enjoy c;

This shit ain’t exactly safe for work so tread carefully. 

Keep reading

Heya! I've recently found your writing and I've got to say I love your writing style sm <33! Also I'd like to request some headcanons about Ominous and Sebastian (separate please) about cuddling for the first time with the reader, if you are ok with it of course, also I'm planning on sending more requests in the future so can I be known as crow anon? Anyways have a good day or night :D and don't forget to stay hydrated!

Hi crow anon! I love this request, i was planning on writing something like this anyways!! 🤭🤭

Cuddling Headcanons! (Sebastian, ominis)

(Art not mine!) (p.s look at ominis he's snoozing 😭❤️)

Summary - cuddling for the first time with Sebastian and ominis! All fluff <3

Sebastian Sallow ⭐️

He's not necessarily nervous when asking you to cuddle for the first time

Naturally, he's flirty so he kinda just asks you honestly.

"Can you come here?" *yoink*

Obviously he will ask if you're ok with anything, but he just loves being able to hold onto you in any way

Somehow the most aggressive cuddler ever though 💀

"Get over here!!!" *pulls you aggressively to his side* (in a loving way)

Like for real man calm down I'm not going anywhere 😭

After you sit/lay with him he calms down quite a bit though

Immediately melts in your arms and becomes a baby

He loves to hold you, but more importantly, you hold him

It brings him so much comfort

Your body heat and the smell of your perfume/cologne is enough to send him to sleep

And he totally does by the way

He's out like a light within the first 5 minutes

The most adorably stupid sleeper ever

He's not cute or elegant by any means- sebastian will be snoring and drooling while he's sprawled out on top of you

Sorry bae, you're not leaving any time soon

And if you do have to go for any reason he's whining like a baby and begging you to come back to the comfort of his arms

He is the cutest thing ever in the stupidest way- he's such a dork 💀

Ominis Gaunt 🐍

Unlike sebastian, he's very nervous to ask you for cuddles

He's laying on the couch in the undercroft and Says "can... Can I hold you? I mean- can we.. Cuddle?"

He feels you sit down and immediately grabs on to you

He wraps his arms around your waist and puts his face in your neck, inhaling your scent

Slowly pulls you down with him

HE'S SO CUTE

You're laying on top of his chest and you can hear his heartbeat going wild

He'll whisper in your ear how much he love you and he'll run his fingers through your hair

Like sebastian, he's out

Immediately he's fallen asleep

Unlike sebastian, he's a very elegant sleeper

He looks majestic honestly

He's breathing softly, eyes closed and mouth slightly parted

He always wants to hold you, but occasionally you can be the big spoon

It makes him feel safe

He's so in love with you, he always wants physical contact so cuddling is the best option 😭❤️

A/n - THIS IS THE CUTEST THING I HAVE EVER WRITTEN OMGGGGG I AM SO IN LOVE WITH THEM

ty for the request crow anon!! Excited to see more!!! (P.s maybe you can tag the end of your requests with '-🦅' or a bird emoji :D only if u want ofc!)

Tags: [mdni][girldad Roy][enemies to lovers][mlw][his tragedy of a life is not comically accurate][soft tragedy][fingering][unprotected p in v][creampie][rough sex, I think?][vibrator][Baker Street by Gerry Rafferty][squirting][slight dacryphilia][watersports mention][pronebone][mating press][spit]

"Who comes to a dick appointment without condoms?" Roy hisses, muscular arms crossed over his broad chest, the fabric of his tank top stretched so tightly that you're half-expecting it to start ripping in front of your eyes.

You push past Roy, stepping into his apartment and you look around at the state.

It's not untidy.... It's... Lived in. Disarranged throw pillows, a few crumpled papers tossed around the small trashcan that's located just beside the large, flat screen TV. There's a few scattered toys, a Barbie doll without it's shoe and it's....

Oddly reminding you of yourself whenever you do this.

"What kind of man doesn't have his own condoms?" You spit back, picking up the doll and dropping down on the sofa, grabbing the nearest thing with bristles, and combing through the long, blonde hair.

"The kind of man who— you can braid hair?" Roy questions, his brows knitting into a contemplative expression and you nod your head, as your manicured fingers card through the plastic strands, twisting hair over hair. A fishtail braid.

"Can you braid my kid's hair?"

The question is.... A surprise, more than anything, and your hands falter, before you look up at Roy, your eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Sure." You shrug, dismissing it before you set the doll on the coffee table before lifting yourself from the seat, before staring at Roy with narrowed eyes.

"Take your pants off."

"Shit, at least romance me.." Roy grumbles, mock-offense lacing his rugged features before he scoops you up, a muscular forearm bracketing your ass and a scarred finger hooks around your chain, tugging you closer into a kiss.

Roy's lips are the furthest thing from moisturized, a prominent crack down the centre of his bottom lip that occasionally catches on your own lip and you smile into the kiss, the ticklish feeling making you laugh into the kiss.

"Bitch, don't you own Vaseline?"

Roy smiles into the kiss, dimples in his cheeks deepening and his hand pushes open his bedroom door. "No," he hums, before tossing you on his bed, the springs creek just a bit as you bounce on the mattress, and his hands reach for the edge of his shirt, tugging it up his torso.

Very unceremoniously, might I add.

"But I've got lube." Grabbing an unlabelled bottle from the top of his dresser, and tossing it in your direction, ignoring the thud of the hard plastic hitting your forehead, as well as your cursing.

"This doesn't even have a label!" You hiss, one hand holding the bottle of lube and the other, rubbing your forehead with the heel of your palm.

"Gas station said it was lube." Roy shrugs his broad shoulders, before he crawls over the messy nest of sheets and bedding, grabbing your hips and tugging your basketball shorts from your hips.

Leaving you in your—

"Do you have to wear granny panties every time you come see me?" Roy groans, his leafy pools locked on the pale blue panties you're wearing. A white lace trim, and daisies dotted over the fabric that leaves far too much to the imagination.

"Do you have to be named Roy every time I see you?" You say his name like some kind of slur, a tone that isn't missed on him as he hooks his fingers into your panties.

"Oh, fuck off." He rolls his eyes, and you huff, lifting your hips just enough for him to pull the cotton down your ass. "I was named after my uncle."

"What was his name? Roy Rogers McFreely?" You snort, and you barely get to laugh at your own joke before you're roughly tossed onto your stomach, with your legs spread obscenely and a painful swat lands on your ass, before Roy's rough palm smooths over the stinging burn.

"Very funny." Roy huffs. "Now give me the lube."

"You're not using gas station lube on me." You deadpan, looking over your shoulder with a scowl. Your brows knitted and perfect lips tugged into a frown that just made him wanna kiss them.

Of course not now.

Roy's calloused fingers are occupied with a more interesting pair of lips that didn't call him a soulless ginger on missions, and his middle finger circles your clit in a way that makes your back arch just a bit sluttier.

"It's got an expiration date." Roy groans in frustration.

As though an expiration date makes it better.

You flip the bottle over in your hand, looking for the date.

"This says June." You state. "And what month are we in?" Roy hums, his fingers still circling your clit as he leans over you, inspecting the bottle with you.

"January." You deadpan. "Of three years after this bottle's expiration year."

"You know, I don't appreciate being spoken to like I'm some kind of idiot." Roy scowls at you, gingery brows knitted into a scowl, his pinkish upper lip curled in distaste at your tone.

"Well maybe next time, don't be an id—" Your voice cracks and a shaky gasp leaves you when two fingers begin to fuck into your gooey cunt. And Roy hums, resting his chin on your shoulder and he tips his head to look at you.

A cocky grin on his face and it seems like all your energy goes into placing a hand on his face, and pushing him lightly.

"Nice try." Roy mocks. "I'm entirely sober. I'm basically Superman."

"If he—... lacked a soul."

"Say I have a soul."

Roy has your knees forced apart by his muscular thighs, fingers fucking into your cunt while his free hand holds a wand vibrator to your throbbing clit. Your legs shake, puffy pussy glistening with his spit and your wetness, combined into a slick mess that trilled down your messy folds.

"I—I'm... 'm not a liar..." You whine, your hands fisting at the sheets, the edge of your T-shirt between your teeth, your cheeks flushed and messy with tears that had threatened to spill from one too many ruined orgasms.

Roy tuts you, moving away the vibrator away from you and pulling his fingers out of you roughly. And he takes the time, the corners of his mouth twitching, before pulling into a devious grin at the sight of your hole spasming around nothing.

And those glistening fingers make their way to your mouth, pressing down on your tongue and those eyes alone.

Perfect, pretty emerald eyes.

Fanned by pretty, Disney ass lashes, thick brows and the lightest flickers of blue in his eyes. And you suck on his fingers.

Savouring the taste of his fingertips that seem to constantly taste like the feathery end of an arrow, mixed with his spit and your cum, and you whine around his knuckles. You slobber. You whine, you cry.

Your toes curl when that vibrator meets your needy clit, tracing up and down your slick slit, and you barely notice that you're biting down on Roy's fingers when your head tips back. And you squirt.

Soaking Roy from his chest, to his boxers, and the sheets below you. Roy doesn't register your teeth digging into his fingers, only focusing on the messy cum that trickles down the creases of your ass and he hums, pulling his fingers out of your mouth.

And inspecting the teeth indentations.

"Good thing we've never sixty-nined." He mumbles, almost to himself, before his hand, soaked with your spit, slaps your pussy.

Your body rocks, your tummy dipping inward with each flinch of pleasure-pain, whimpers slipping past your kiss-swollen lips. All red from Roy sucking on them while ruining your orgasms and he leans forward, pressing a kiss against your temple.

A soft, gentle action that anchors you in this moment, but before you can say anything, anything at all, your thighs are in a long distance relationship and you're tasked with holding that vibrator to your throbbing clit while Roy pushes into you.

It's a sensation that's painfully familiar.

That almost burn that makes your toes curl and your back arch into the mattress to get away from him, and then, that slow, painful pulling out that has your hips lifting to take more of him.

And you glance down at where Roy slowly feeds your pussy. Inch by inch, as he carefully takes the vibrator from your hand, resting it where he thinks it needs to be.

And God, is he right.

Not directly on your clit, but shy of it, to the right and your lashes flutter, the back of your head resting against the headboard and Roy groans, his hips bumping against yours in the slowest, deepest rhythm.

For someone who makes you squirt with how rough he is, honestly, he doesn't even fuck.

Roy makes love.

90's, R&B, silk shirt and crying in the rain type of love. His hips don't stutter, don't falter, all that he's focused on is taking you to pound town on a safe journey and getting you home in time to feed your turtle.

"Don't close your legs, don't close your legs." He breathes out, switching off the vibrator and setting it aside, before angling his hips.

The blunt, rosy tip of his cock nudges against a spot that makes your kiss-swollen lips form the cutest 'o' shape, eyes nearly crossing and that's the spot.

And Roy begins to fuck.

Hard, messy thrusts that leave a creamy ring around the base of him, his palm coming to rest just above your mound and pressure begins to build like a fucking wildfire. And you babble, eyes welling up with tears as each stroke brings you closer to that precipice of pleasure that makes you believe that Roy might be God's favourite.

Because no fucking way ANYONE would have dick this good.

Unless maybe, Batman.

And Roy leans forward, a hand roughly grasping your chin, and he forces his thumb between your lips, watching the way your eyes glaze over when he presses down on your tongue. That mind-numbing sensation of his cock stilling and twitching against your gummy walls makes your brain fuzzy and all you do is stick your tongue out, catching the spit that leaves his stupidly perfect mouth.

And Roy smears his messy, wet hand across your face, before grabbing your chin again, fingers digging into your cheeks and he leans forward.

Pressing a sloppy, hard kiss to your lips, tasting your spit and cum on your lips and he groans, his hips pistoning in and out of you with no fucking warning.

The headboard hits against the wall, the sheets rustle and the loudest sound is the messy squelch of your sopping pussy as he fucks you into oblivion.

"You're so fucking perfect." Roy pants, kissing you like there's no fucking tomorrow and god, your blood is rushing in your ears and the sound is deafening.

Especially when you feel those skilled fingertips sinking to your hair, your walls fluttering and spasming as you gush, pushing his cock out of you and he places the most gentle kiss against your forehead.

You don't drink enough water to be able to push out liquids like this. But that's not your problem or even the mildest concern.

Not when your face is pushed into the pillow that smells like his musk and cologne, not to mention that tiniest hint of sweat. And definitely not when he's reaching over you, muscular and scarred hands gripping the headboard tightly, as he slowly slips into you.

Gushy walls swallowing him whole, and Roy's chest presses against your back, his face buried in the curve of your neck and he presses the sweetest kiss against your pulse.

Sucking marks into your skin, his hand coming to wrap around your throat just a bit, fingertips digging into the slight plush and his hips fucking roll.

Cock pummeling into you at that slow, passionate pace and Roy hums quietly. "You like it? I've been taking a— hah— a Spanish dance class with Jason."

And you let out a laugh, a breathy giggle and you whine as he nudges at your cervix.

"N—not enough words to say how gay that is." You mock, your hands clawing and gripping at the sheets, your brain fuzzy and your tongue lolling just a bit.

And Roy laughs. A low, raspy chuckle.

"Oh, you're really gonna get it now." And he lifts, just a bit, his fingers curling into your scalp and tugging your hair back, enough to expose your throat.

"Now... 'm gonna fuck you 'til you piss yourself."

some drawings of jason i did from twt<3333

Broody (not)bat

“WHEN YOU’RE LOST IN THE DARKNESS, LOOK FOR THE LIGHT — dick grayson.

PAIRING dick grayson 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS he was completely frustrating. him with his cheeky grins and perfect teeth. maybe that’s why it didn’t anger you when he took an interest in you WORD COUNT 5.6k WARNINGS / TAGS artist!reader, cursing, mention of reader’s hair, unedited NOTES yes the title is inspired by tlou & yes i compared dick to a blue jay. i decided to mix 2 different reqs ( req 1 & req 2 ) because they worked well together for me soo i hope it’s okay! © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

IN ART, WHAT WE WANT IS THE CERTAINTY THAT ONE SPARK OF ORIGINAL GENIUS SHALL NOT BE EXTINGUISHED.

Said Mary Cassatt, and her words had echoed in your mind for as long as you could remember. There was something comforting in the idea that creativity—pure, untouched, and entirely your own—could endure even such cruel punishment as darkness. Darkness was a language you understood well, especially living in Gotham, where shadows devoured the city inch by inch until there was nothing but colorless void. The darkness wrapped itself around you, slowly seeping in to claim your soul as well, like the chill of a cold winter night creeping into your bones.

But even in a city this unfair, you believed there was still some beacon of light. Hidden, of course, but not extinct.

And so, you painted. You drew. You created. Every stroke of your brush and pencil felt infinite. Art was the closest thing you felt to immortality, and you clung to that belief like a child did to innocence.

Your small apartment was more than just a simple place where you lived. Every inch of the space bore a trace of you and of your determination to carve something special into the world. The walls, once peeling and beige, were now alive with color. A breath of life you granted the old home. It wasn’t much, your apartment, but it was yours.

The darkness couldn’t quite reach you there, and the light found you within your search for it.

It was late past midnight when you met him. The hour of the night was silent despite the fact you were living on one of the most dangerous streets of Gotham. Silent, but far from safe. The full moon hung high in the sky, its pale light struggling to pierce through the dark clouds that blanketed the whole night. Every so often, the moonlight would break free and shimmered a silver beam that barely softened the shadows.

You sat curled up on your old, beaten couch in your living room, aching legs tucked beneath you. The thrifted mustard-yellow couch sat beneath a gallery wall you’d arranged with so much focus you were unmistakably proud of the piece. The light from the fairy lights strung above the paintings softened the sharp edges of your apartment.

The pencil between your fingers moved along the paper with practiced movements of an artist as you clutched the sketchbook close to you with your free hand. You brought the drawing of a blue jay to life. Its small, delicate body was perched on the middle of the page, its head tilted slightly to the side as if caught mid-movement. The blue jay’s wings began to take a lively form beneath your hands.

You loved sketching birds—the way they had an open opinion of freedom in their feathers, how they could fly away from the weight of everything below on earth.

The quiet was broken by a dull thump.

Your pencil stilled, the sharp tip pressing into the delicate beak of the blue jay as you tilted your head towards the sound. It came again, heavier this time, right outside on the fire escape under your living room window. Living in Gotham meant you knew better than to ignore suspicious and strange sounds, especially at this hour.

Setting the sketchbook down on the coffee table, you slid off the couch with a pounding heart and bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor. The window was already cracked open, letting in a cold breeze of night air. It prickled at your skin and sent a wave of goosebumps down your spine.

You moved with an intention to investigate, your hand gripping the window frame when you leaned forward slightly to catch a glimpse of the intruder. Before you could fully stick your head through the opening, something shifted — a flash of movement so sudden that you instinctively took a step back to avoid bumping your head. Then, just as quickly, a figure shot up from the darkness surrounding your fire escape and you watched as his top half leaned against the window frame with effortless grace.

Anyone could recognize the symbol gracing his chest.

Nightwing was on your fire escape, practically with one of his halves in your apartment.

You blinked at him, startled at the unexpected visit from Gotham's (wait, wasn’t he supposed to be in Blüdhaven?) acrobatic vigilante. He stared back without shame. His face was partially illuminated by the soft glow of your fairy lights and his forehead, plus the top of his eyes, were hidden beneath the dark strands of his hair. Damp with sweat and light spray of rain. The black domino mask was doing little to hide the attractiveness of his handsome face, although it did not tell you his identity. Or the color of his eyes. The white lenses didn’t show any signs of life, it would be almost unsettling if it wasn’t for the other features of his face.

His jaw was sharp, the bone ready to cut through glass, and his lips held a shadowy grin in them. His chest heaved as if he’d just ran a marathon, or in his case, as if he’d just been in a chase. And his suit—a sleek, midnight black with that striking blue emblem—was marred by faint fabric tears and streaks of grime.

When he spoke up after a minute of analyzing you, his voice was breathless but warm, like he hadn’t just scared the life out of you by his entrance. “Hey. Sorry about the dramatics. Mind if I, uh, come in?” He glanced over his shoulder briefly, as though checking to see if someone had followed him.

You swallowed the lump that formed in the back of your throat, fingers still gripping onto the windowsill. You were pretty sure the surprise and disbelief etched into your face could be completely seen. “What? You’re joking, right?” those small words stumbled past your lips in a sharper tone than you intended. “You can’t just—“ gesturing vaguely to the fire escape he was standing on, you trailed off for him to finish the sentence himself.

But instead of an answer, Nightwing simply offered a grin, all perfect teeth. It was the kind that felt like it was meant to disarm you and melt you into a puddle at his feet. A swooning, pretty puddle.

“Technically, I can. But I’d prefer not to freeze out here while we debate it.”

Your reply to his cheeky comment died in your throat the moment you heard it—an angry bellow from somewhere below, followed by the unmistakable sound of boots thumping against the wet pavement. The voices were low and animalistic, only growing louder by seconds. Whoever they were, it didn’t take a genius to figure out who they were looking for.

Shooting him a pointed look with one of your eyebrows raised, you realized it was useless as he was already halfway through the window, ducking inside easily. He didn’t so much as flinch when his heavy boots hit the floor with a faint thud. You could only watch the trail of dirt and grime he was leaving behind himself. The sounds from outside faded into muffled whispers when he closed the window, and effectively scanned the room with a quick glance.

“You really have a way of making an entrance,” you mumbled under your breath as you gave him space and moved back towards the sofa. The sarcasm wasn’t meant to reach his ears but with the way one corner of his lips tugged up, you knew he heard every single word. Did this guy have super hearing?

The faintest glint of amusement danced on his features, despite the lack of emotion in his hidden eyes. You could tell by the way his eyebrows furrowed and his lips quirked up. “It’s part of the job description,” he replied to your remark casually, as if crashing into strangers’ apartments was just another Tuesday for him.

With a sigh, you shook your head and leaned back against the arm of the couch, watching him move around the living room. He didn’t sit, didn’t relax, didn’t even pause long enough to breathe out the weight of his situation. Instead, his gaze grazed over everything in clear sight — your paintings on the wall, the cluttered coffee table and its content, the pencils scattered across your notepad.

He was strange.

“What are you doing?”

“Just checking,” his response came quickly, he was probably distracted by the hand brushing against the edge of the window frame as he double-checked the latch.

You watched him carefully and tried to not let his presence throw you off. There was something unbelievable about seeing him there, in the heart of your apartment of all places, where every inch of the space was yours. Technically, he was in your territory now.

“Don’t worry,” Nightwing added with humor etching his voice when you didn’t say anything. “I’ll be gone before you know it.”

“Take your time,” the dripping sarcasm got out the exact same reaction from him just like before, and you watched as he smirked at you, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in a way that told you he was far too used to getting under people’s skin. Cheeky bastard.

This inspection of his lasted for a few more minutes before his pacing slowed down and his masked eyes landed on your beaten couch. The faint amusement in his features shifted, softening into something more thoughtful as he approached you. You stiffened when he got close enough. The light scent of cologne hit your nose from the proximity.

Gloved hand reached for your notepad, and you watched him again when he started tracing the soft pencil lines of your sketches. You seemed to watch him a lot tonight, but you didn’t dare to interrupt him. He was still a stranger and you lived alone. The vigilante could take you down without breaking a sweat, no comment.

The blue jays stared back at him from the page with their wings outstretched mid-flight, the faint smudge of pencil giving them a sense of movement, like they could lift off the paper and fly toward their freedom at any moment.

“You drew these?” the question slipped before he could think of it and the raw quietness of his tone surprised you.

You hesitated before you gave him the answer. “Yeah, I did. What, are you secretly an art critic, too?”

His lips twitched, but his eyes stayed on the sketches. “Blue jays,” the murmur was more to himself than to you. “They’re nice.”

“Nice?” you echoed back at him, a small smile ghosting your lips upon hearing his praise. “That’s your verdict? Nice?”

This time, his wide grin returned as he glanced at you from your artwork. You decided on the spot that you liked this look on him. He could be all sharp edges and rough words, but the genuine smiles and clever remarks were a part of him, too. “Hey, I don’t know the first thing about art. But they’re good. Really good. Why blue jays though?”

You shrugged your shoulders, crossing your arms around yourself tightly. His clear interest in your work made you feel strangely exposed. “They’re . . . free. They can leave whenever they want, fly away from everything. I guess I like the idea of that.”

Nightwing was quiet for a moment, his masked gaze flicking back to the page like he was seeing something more between the colors and lines you’d drawn. He really was strange. “Makes sense,” he said finally. “They’re tough, too. Survivors.”

For a man who’d just come crashing through your window, being chased by a bunch of angry goons, he suddenly seemed relaxed. The birds meant more to him than he was letting on.

“Guess that explains why you like them.”

“What, you think I’m a blue jay now?”

A smirk made its way to your lips, and you felt a slight hint of satisfaction brewing inside you. You finally got him. “You said it yourself. Tough. Survivors. Seems fitting.”

It was a strange image, seeing someone who carried so much weight on his shoulders standing here, in your little apartment, admiring a simple sketch of a bird. Most people assumed he was a machine under the suit, someone who did their job because it had to be done. But you saw the life in his smile and heard the feelings in his voice. Red flooded his system like any other human being possessed. A beating heart and marred skin. He was human, even under all that armor.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, effectively breaking the silence that followed your cheeky remark. “I’m glad my art could distract you from the mad mob outside.”

That earned you a genuine laugh, low and rich. You noted he had a nice laugh. Everything about him was nice, though. Maybe it was because it was the first time seeing him from up close or maybe it was simply that he got your attention.

⋆.˚ 𓅆 . . .

The next few days were rather busy. You had more work on your shoulders and your family kept pressing about your upcoming visit (spoiler alert; you didn’t really plan on visiting them). Your family members lived far from Gotham, which you were particularly glad for. One boring and busy day went after the other, and so did you with your life. You weren’t going to admit it, but you missed the sudden excitement the cocky vigilante brought with him. It was something new, something that wasn’t boring.

The wind carried a chill that nipped at the exposed skin of your face, numbing your cheeks in the process. The streets of Gotham were alive despite the coldness the new day brought with itself—the city never really stopped, even when it probably should have. Your tea sat untouched beside your half-eaten croissant, warm steam curling lazily above the porcelain cup, while your hand moved steadily across the pages of your sketchbook.

You were drawing another blue jay. This one was perched on a thin branch, its head cocked slightly with ruffled feathers as if caught in the same breeze that howled right now. The pencil lines of your drawing were sharper this time, more confident, though you weren’t sure why.

Maybe it was because you couldn’t stop thinking about them—the blue jays.

It wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before, your thoughts fixating on a subject, but this time it felt different. Ever since that night, when Nightwing had stood in the heart of your living room and held your sketch like it was something worth admiring, you’d been thinking about them more and more often. Birds had always represented freedom to you. A fleeting kind of beauty, one that wouldn’t last long. But now they carried something else. Something more.

You found yourself replaying his words in your mind while you shaded the curve of the blue jay’s wing, your pencil working instinctively as the low conversations and local sounds of the café faded into a hushed whisper. The bird began to take shape, its tiny body beaming with life.

The next thing you knew, the chair you were sitting on rocked slightly and your bag was violently jerked from the edge of the table.

It took you a second to process what had happened. One second, your purse was there, sitting by your side, and the next, it was gone. Snatched by a blur of unidentified movement. Your heart skipped an uncomfortable beat as you whipped your head towards the stranger, catching sight of the thief bolting through the crowded street.

Panic started to settle in. Your bag. Gone. It was gone. Everything was in there—your money, your keys, your ID. The grip of your fingers on the pencil in your grasp tightened while adrenaline surged through your veins. Without having any second thoughts, you shot to your feet. The chair scraped loudly against the floor and you bolted after him.

“Hey! Stop!”

The thief was already halfway down the block when you finally pushed past the crowd with alarming speed. Your boots moved without any more thinking. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he was quick on his feet, his figure darting between pedestrians who shouted in surprise and yelped in confusion when he pushed into them to clear his path. Your lungs burned as you tried to push against your limits and keep up with him. The strap of your bag was swinging wildly in his grip.

“Stop!” you shouted again, although you doubted he would listen. He wouldn’t. People around turned to look at the chaos, but no one made a move to help. It was Gotham, after all — everyone looked after their own self.

The thief rounded a corner, successfully disappearing into an alley, and you felt a pinch of dread forming in your stomach. You didn’t know this part of the city well, and the narrow alleyway clothed in shadows sent a wave of goosebumps down your spine. Hesitation brewed in you for a moment before you made up your mind. Fuck it. You didn’t care that chasing him was reckless. You didn’t care that you had no plan for what you’d do if you actually managed to catch up to him. All you knew was that he had your bag—your life—and you weren’t about to let him get away with it.

Whoosh!

You barely registered the sound at first. Your focus was entirely on your thief, the dark shade of his jacket disappearing deeper and deeper, just beyond your reach. The puffs of air left your lips in a sharp shape and the cold air didn’t help much. But you didn’t stop running. You couldn’t stop.

Then, out of nowhere, a dark blur descended from above, landing right in your path.

“Whoa, hold it!”

The familiar drawl of his voice ringed in your ears before you saw him. You skidded to a halt, nearly losing your balance as his figure stepped into the sight. His arms were outstretched to block your way, and you felt a sudden burst of frustration upon his appearance. After all, you still had a bad guy to catch.

“Move,” moving to the side, you tried to sidestep him and start your chase again. Key word—tried. He shifted smoothly, following your movements like a mirror.

“Not happening,” he interrupted you firmly. “You can’t go running after some guy who might be armed. You don’t know what you’re walking into.”

“I don’t care. He has my purse—my money, my keys, everything! I have to—“

“You have to stay here,” Nightwing cut you off again, and you pushed the urge to strangle him away. His presence was infuriating, even though you could see every muscle in his jawline tightening and tensing. He was holding back, that much was evident.

“I don’t need your help.”

His hands shot out the moment you tried to brush past him again, gloves catching your biceps in a firm hold. It wasn’t painful, nor would leave any marks in the form of bruising, but he held you in a grounding manner. Almost as if he wanted to calm you down.

“Yes, you do,” the glint of seriousness in his gaze made you halt in your argument. He meant every single word. “Look, I get it. You’re pissed, you’re scared, and you feel like you have to do something. But this guy could have a knife, or worse, and you’re completely unarmed. He’s probably long gone by now, too. I’ll track him down and get your stuff. That’s a promise, Blue.”

You swallowed hard as the fire that fueled your intentions died a little bit. He was right, even though you didn’t want to admit it.

“Fine, but you better catch him.”

A small, reassuring nod and a gentle squeeze was all you received from the masked vigilante before he released you and took off after the thief. A moment later, you realized he gave you a nickname.

Blue.

⋆.˚ 𓅆 . . .

The thick steam from your earlier shower still lingered in the bathroom, curling faintly in the air and clinging along the tiles and the edges of the mirror as you massaged moisturizer into your skin like you did every night. It was a routine by now. One you were excited to participate in. Your favorite playlist hummed softly from the phone propped up on the counter near the sink, the melody blending with the occasional rustle of the city outside your window.

Gotham was quiet tonight. No sirens. No shouts. Just silence.

You signed and leaned against the counter as you let the coolness of the white cream soothe your skin. The events of this day were rather . . . unpleasant. Your purse was gone, and the thought of all the things you’d lost still made your chest ache. Your keys, your ID, even your favorite pen you always kept in the front pocket—all gone, snatched in a moment. But at least you were safe. Nightwing had made sure you didn’t dive head first into what could have been a disaster.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him, either. The way he’d swooped in like some kind of a movie hero. For a man who lived his life surrounded by constant danger, he’d had this unmistakably calmness about him, like no problem was big enough to not handle.

Reaching for a soft towel, you patted your face dry with it when you finished the last step of your nighttime routine. A moment of realization hit you like a ton of bricks.

Your sketchbook.

Your heart sank deeply in your chest, and you froze, gripping the towel tightly. You’d left it at the café. It must’ve been sitting there on the table, untouched, while you chased after that thief like a reckless idiot. You would be lucky if you found it where you’d left it lying as there was a possibility of a tired barista throwing it away.

That notepad wasn’t just another notebook to you. It held weeks, months, of drawings—ideas, experiments, half-finished sketches that no one but you had seen. And the blue jays he praised . . .

The day’s exhaustion weighed heavily on your tense shoulders as you finally made your way to your bedroom. You switched off the light in the hallway, plunging your apartment into darkness save for the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the cracks in the blinds.

A dark shadow caught your eyes the second you stepped into the room and your heart nearly leaped out of your chest. There, casually perched on your windowsill was Nightwing, dressed in shadows.

His grin was the first thing you recognized on him, the wide stretch of his lips almost haunting in the darkness. His teeth appeared almost sharp, like canines of a predator. But he wasn’t here to hunt tonight. One gloved hand held your bag, dangling it from his fingers as if presenting you a beloved prize.

“Miss me, Blue?”

“Are you insane?” hissing, your palm resting against your beating heart. “You can’t just show up like that!”

A delighted laugh rumbled deep in his chest as he stepped inside like he didn’t invade your personal space and almost gave you a heart attack. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

He tossed your stolen (now found) bag on your bed with a flick of his wrist. It took you a moment to process what you were seeing but when you did, your panic gave away to stunned disbelief. “You got it back?”

“Of course. I promised you.”

The smug look on his face softened after those words left his throat. You crossed the room in quick steps, rushing to get your hand on your belongings. Once it was in your hold, you rummaged through the inside. Everything was still there—your keys, your wallet, even the blue pen you favored so much. Relief flooded your system and you finally felt your shoulders relaxing. It was all returned.

You glanced at him from the bag, suddenly feeling somehow embarrassed. “I—I don’t even know what to say.”

“How about ‘thank you, Nightwing, for saving the day’? That would do,” the arch of his eyebrows told you he was enjoying this, if only a little. Smug bastard.

Rolling your eyes, you felt your lips tugging into a smile anyway. “Thank you for getting me my bag back. Happy?”

“It’s exactly what I wanted but yeah, very.”

A minute of silence stretched between you, one that wasn’t entirely comfortable but during that time, you studied him. He was leaning against the edge of your bed, just shy away from your side.

“You’ve been drawing them a lot, huh?”

“What?”

“The blue jays,” Nightwing gestured towards your desk with his free hand, the other behind his back. He looked strange, amusing even, but you didn’t dare to point it out. You followed his movements, eyes sliding toward your desk full of stray papers. He was right, the wooden space was filled with your recent works, and among them were multiple pieces of those blue birds. “You were working on them that night. At the café, too.”

Your lips parted slightly to voice your confusion, but the words didn’t come. He had noticed? And kept track of it? You didn’t know if you should feel creeped out or honored.

You didn’t get to react much before he perked up. “Oh, almost forgot,” pulling the occupied hand from behind his back, you noticed he held a small book in it.

Not just any book, though. Your sketchbook.

“You went back for it?” the disbelief dripped from the tone of your voice as you reached for the notepad. Your fingertips brushed against his gloves when you did so, and a spark of light crossed through you at the faint touch.

“Figured you’d want it back,” he tried to act nonchalant, shrugging his shoulders without a care in the world, but even if you knew him for such a short period of time, you could tell he was just acting. The subtle tone of his voice betrayed him, along with the rosy dust painting his cheeks. Your thumb traced the broken spine of the notepad. The thought of him chasing down your thief, retrieving your stolen stuff, and then returning for your more personal thing left you speechless. He didn’t have to, but he did—again.

He was so close to you now that the faint scent of rain and city clung to him, mixing with his natural fragrance. You could inhale it all while you saw everything, too—the sharp line of the bone in his jaw, the slight furrow of his brows like he was constantly deep in his mind, and even the way the moonlight caught on the pink dusting the top of his ears.

His pose shifted lightly, in a way that made the space between the two of you feel almost nonexistent. Your instinct told you to move, but your feet didn’t move.

“You’re . . . really something, you know that?”

Your heart beat against the bones protecting your ribs so loud you swore he could hear it. The white lenses of his black mask flickered all over your face, almost like he wanted to memorize every delicate detail, like he wanted to count every lash on your eye individually.

“You barely know me.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, “but I think I’m starting to.”

No response made its way past your lips. It died at the base of your throat, and no one could rip it out of you.

His hand reached out in your peripheral vision, slowly, like he was giving you an option to stop him whenever you felt like. There was no force between you, just purity of the actions. When you didn’t stop him, he moved bolder and louder, long fingers tracing the curve of your cheek before brushing against the damp strands of your hair. He pushed it back behind your ear, his touch lingering even there.

You could feel his breath mingling with yours, becoming one.

And then, just as you felt the unmistakable pull towards him, Nightwing pulled away. He took a step back like he remembered who he was.

“Take care of that,” he nodded towards your hold that clutched your sketchbook.

You opened your to say something, anything because what the fuck was he doing when he jumped out of the bedroom window, leaving behind the what ifs if he stayed with you.

⋆.˚ 𓅆 . . .

The rooftop had become your favorite spot to disappear from your responsibilities. The view was magnificent with how the city stretched out in every direction and you could see everything. The chaos was muted up here, replaced by singing of the birds and occasional flutter of wings. This place was comforting.

You sat cross-legged on the concrete with your sketchbook propped in your lap, pencil in hand and mind open to new ideas. But the paper brewed alive with yet another drawing of a blue jay. Something about them had rooted itself in your head.

Pausing in your work to glance up at the sky, you were greeted by the most remarkable sight. Caught by the horizon where the sun dipped lower, brushing its streaks across the rooftop in a golden orange. The light breeze tugged at your hair, and you reached up to tuck it behind your ear. You managed to smudge a piece of graphite along your cheek upon the gesture. Your sketch was coming along slowly today; your mind kept wandering off and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched.

Which you were correct about.

“Nice view,” a familiar voice drawled.

You flinched upon the sound, nearly dropping the tools on your knees as you whipped your head toward the source. There he was, perched on the edge of the rooftop, the sunset behind him painting him like some sort of an angel. Nightwing.

“Seriously? Do you ever not sneak up on people?”

The cheeky smirk made its usual appearance on his lips when he hopped down from his spot, taking slow steps towards you. It was impossible to stay annoyed at him, with that face and easy charisma. “Where’s the fun in that?”

With a roll of your eyes, you couldn’t help but smile a little. “What are you even doing here?”

“Patrolling,” he replied casually to your question, just like he did the night he came to return your bag. Trying to act all nonchalant, but deep down he cares. You know that. He’s acting again. You could tell by the experience and by the tone of his voice. It suggested otherwise from his answer. His masked eyes shifted to your knees, noting the open book. “Another blue jay?”

“I’m trying to capture the way they look when flying. It’s harder than it seems.”

You watched him while he watched your drawings. The vigilante crouched down beside you, his knee bumping against yours softly, almost as in unsaid greeting. He was saying hello while you responded hi back. “You’re getting better.”

Silence draped over the two of you after that sentence left his throat, this one much more comfortable than the one you experienced the week before in your apartment. His elbows were resting on his knees, which bumped into yours from time to time in a silent gesture. Your eyes found the white lenses behind the domino mask.

“You’re not gonna disappear this time, are you?”

“No.”

Your sketchbook lay forgotten in your lap as you gazed into the void of his eyes. You couldn’t read the emotion in them but you somehow could tell every single feeling brewing inside him. It was written across his face, open like a book.

“You’re staring,” you whispered.

“So are you,” his reply was quick, like he knew exactly what to say the moment you spoke up.

A faintest tug at your lips brought the corners up in a smile, but it faltered the moment he leaned in, taking up your personal space inch by inch. He was moving slowly, giving you the opportunity to pull away, to reject him and his touch if you wanted to. But you didn’t.

His palm hovered near the curve of your cheekbone close enough to feel the warmth seeping through the glove. He cocked his head slightly to the side, as if silently asking you a question he was too caught up in to say aloud.

“You’ve got graphite on your cheek.”

“Do I?”

He brushed his thumb across the smudge, wiping it away. He didn’t pull away once your skin was clean.

You noticed the way his eyes briefly dropped to your lips before flicking back to meet yours, searching for an answer he so desperately wanted to hear.

If you didn’t want this, he’d pull back. You knew he would.

But you didn’t want him to.

Leaning in, you closed the little distance between you, and that was all the answer he needed. His lips met yours firmly, pressing against yours like a puzzle, like they belonged there. Your hands gripped at him, fingers moving to the base of his neck to grab a handful of his black hair and pulling slightly to deliver a message.

Although the darkness around you enveloped you, clothing the day in dark, you felt a spark of light every time his lips pressed against yours more urgently, licking and biting his way inside to get a taste of you. You felt it when his gloved hands tangled in your hair, tugging you impossibly close to make you his.

His forehead came to rest against yours when you eventually had to pull away for a fresh breath of air, both his and your breaths uneven.

“Tell me I’m not gonna regret this.”

“You won’t.” That was a promise.

Because when you’re lost in the darkness, you should look for the light.

nsfw alphabet - george weasley

a is for aftercare - whats their aftercare like?

george is quick to clean up his partner & order take-out after a long night. he’s so gentle & kind with you while pulling you out of your subspace, or just pleasureful state of mind, but the minute you’re back with him he’s joking, tickling the marks he left & making jokes about the night

however, if george subbed that night, he needs you in his arms immediately. he clings to you as you try to clean him up & use the restroom. he just wants to be by you & suffocate you in affection, he’s so thankful & grateful for you. but playing with his hair ALWAYS pulls him out of that state of mind, especially if you’re telling him how good he was while racking your hands through his hair

b is for body part - whats their favorite part of their own body? what’s their favorite part of their own body?

george adores his partner’s thighs. fred definitely asked him one day if he prefers boobs or bum & he just blushed & mumbled ass, but he was thinking about thighs the whole conversation. all shapes & sizes of thighs, george adores them. he could bury his face in your thighs, or in between your thighs, for the rest of his life

his favorite part of his own body is his hands. he prides himself on how soft his hands are compared to his other sibling’s & despite his usual insecure nature, he really likes how his hands look.

c is for cum - anything having to do with cum

george adores cumming on your thighs. he usually has you sit back on your heels when you suck him off so he can pull out of your mouth & cum on your thighs, which he proceeds to lick afterwards

he also cums A LOT

he adores when you cum on his fingers. you think it has to do with the fact that he’s confident in his hands, but he gets flustered anytime you bring it up. just the image of your cum all over his fingers, spilling down his hands, gets him going for round 2

d is for dirty secret - whats a dirty secret of theirs?

he really wants to have sex in fred’s bed. i mean REALLY wants to have sex in fred’s bed. he brought it up to you & you thought he was joking, but no. if you were down, he’d get so excited. you two would go for so many rounds, him wanting to milk out the experience as much as he could. especially if you were domming. the idea of you taking over in his brothers bed sends his mind whirling

e is for experience - how experienced are they?

when you two get together george is a virgin. i think he’s probably messed around a couple times, but it was all awkward & vanilla. he’s a teenager & he’s still trying to find his sexual preferences, but he’s happy to experiment with yoh & sees no problem in you being more experienced than him

f is for favorite position - whats their favorite position?

when you’re first starting to have sex, he sticks to missionary. he likes to see your face & missionary is easy for both of you. but as things progress, he loves taking you against a wall. he can still see you & it’s a little more risky & he has more control, with your thighs wrapped around his waist as he holds you up.

if he’s subbing, he loves watching you ride him. like i said, he likes to see you & he can feel your thighs on his hips & it drives him crazy.

g is for goofy - how goofy are they in the moment?

you’ll literally go from laughing about a joke george was mumbling in your ear to one of your screaming out in pleasure. there’s so many little jokes & bumps & accidents in yalls sex life that you two don’t process until the after care. but half of your sex is you two laughing

h is for hair - how well groomed are they? do the carpets match the drapes? etc.

i think george keeps it manageable, but he has some stubble. i mean he’s young & doesn’t really see the reason in looking porn star perfect, but he doesn’t like when it gets too hairy.

now whether or not your shave, george doesn’t care. but he does love when your pubic hair grows out a little more. whether you’re just keeping your normal amount of hair or you just forgot to shave, he thinks there’s something more risky about you having more hair down there. he admits, it doesn’t make much sense, but he loves it

i is for intimacy - how intimate are they? how romantic?

the first time you two are having sex it’s very intimate. he brings out the candles (which are all different scents so it smells awful & you two both end up with a migraine) & is so so intimate & romantic. but honestly, after that most of the romance is found in the aftercare. of course, he’s praising you & complimenting you, but it’s so much more intimate afterwards

j is for jack off - masturbation headcanons

he used to jack off a lot. like a lot. but then you two started having sex & now he usually comes & finds you instead. of course, there are some nights where you don’t want to have sex or you’re apart & he ends up masturbating, but usually things work out in his favor

if you ever tell him that he feels better than when you masturbate, he’d go feral. first of all, now he’s imagining you masturbating. second of all, he knows he’s pleasuring you

k is for kink - one or two kinks of theirs

he likes sitting back & watching you please yourself. whether he’s punishing you or you’re punishing him, he loves the way you’re moaning over your own fingers, legs wide for him to watch

he’s not a spanker, but he loves slapping your thighs. oh my god the red handprint on your thighs & watching them jiggle. especially if he can see your juices from your pussy on them. he loves it.

i feel like he might be into public sex ?? idk

l is for location - where’s their favorite place to do it

fred’s bed. he brings it up all the time

but, when it’s too risky, he loves taking you in the store. literally anywhere in the store, but he’d probably stick to his office at first. but he prefers having you sub when you’re in the shop. something about you being all his in the shop he built up from the ground fills him with so much pride

m is for motivation - what turns them on?

you. he’s never had someone entrance him as much as you do. especially after the first time, he gets so turned on & needy by literally everything you do. he’s very easily turned on

n is for no - what is something they absolutely will not try?

threesomes. honestly, he gets overstimulated easily & a threesome would quickly turn into him just being overwhelmed

he’s also not interested in knife or gun play. he might rack his wand up & down your body, but it holds no threat. the first time he heard fred talking about knife play & saw how you flinched at the mere idea, he knew he would never do it. if you had that reaction just to talking about it he knew he never wanted to make you feel that way in bed.

o is for oral - are they a receiver or giver? what’s their skills like? etc.

it depends on the day whether or not he’s giving or receiving. he really loves when you suck him off & he adores cumming on your thighs, but he also wouldn’t want to push you too far. he’s a very soft dom. but he also adores being between your thighs & you gripping at his hair. it really just depends on how the two of you feel. both turn him on a lot

he’s honestly really awkward about oral at first. his bucking his hips & cums really quickly the first time you give him a blowjob. & the first time he goes to eat you out you have to gently direct him, which he really appreciated. but the more he does it the better he gets & eventually he can have you cumming in what seems like seconds

p is for pace - are they fast & rough? or slow & sensual?

he likes to go slow & deep. the idea of going fast scares him & he thinks he’ll hurt you. but he likes to be deep inside you. it took some experimenting, but george found the perfect pace

but he does adore when you ride him fast & hard, watching your boobs bounce & hearing your thighs slap his hips. he could just never go that pace himself

q is for quickie - their opinion on quickies

he was initiating quickies every five seconds after you two first started having sex. it seemed like between every class he was trying to get in between your legs. but, after his initial neediness calmed down, he usually only goes for quickies when you need them or after a quidditch game. now, he prefers to take his time with you. but there was that time after your first time where he was just too needy not to take you anywhere & everywhere, all the time.

r is for risk - are they game to experiment? do they take risks?

george wants to try everything at least once. he thinks it’s the true way to find out what he likes in sex & so there are many nights where he tries a new thing with you, no matter how weird it sounds.

he does take risks, but he doesn’t really process how risky they are. he just thinks they’re fun. sometimes you have to explain how risky what he’s suggesting is

s is for stamina - how many rounds can they go? how long do they last?

at first, george could only last a short amount of time, & you as well, both of you being somewhat new to all this.

but now he can go for 20-35 minutes unless there some edging involved.

but george has always been one for multiple rounds. he gets so hard again so quickly & all he wants to do is go again & again until you two are too tired to move. he calls it the best exercise

t is for toys - do they own toys? do they use them on themselves or their partner?

he owns a vibrator for you, but he doesn’t use it a lot. he prefers getting you off himself, but if he’s teasing or edging you he’ll use his vibrator

he’s tried to use a cockring before but he just doesn’t prefer it. he’d much rather you get him off on your own

u is for unfair - how much do they tease

he tries. he really does. but usually you two end up laughing at his antics. like george, everything your partner does turns you on. you don’t need him to act a certain way to get you going. & so when he tries to be teasing & scandalous, you can’t take him seriously. you both end yo laughing

it’s when neither of you are trying that you actually tease each other. george will rub your thigh absentmindedly or accidentally pull your hair & it’ll get you riled up all day. but he doesn’t know what he’s doing until you tell him & then he’s so turned on hearing you tell him that he wants to go right then & there

it’s these little things that tease george too. you’ll play with his fingers or sit on his lap & he’ll get all teased & horny. you didn’t mean to. but here we are

v is for volume - how loud are they? what do they sound like? etc.

george is pretty vocal. but he’s talking. he’s telling you how good you’re doing & how good he feels & literally everything else that comes into his mind. if you’re feeling really dominant you’ll tell him he can’t make noise & he’ll go feral

he loves hearing you. you’re more one to whine than to talk lowly the way he does, but when he’s being dominant he lives for your whining. he won’t move until you can tell him exactly what you want, which is so hard for you when you can hardly form a sentence

w is for wild card - self explanatory

he got super nervous telling you he was a virgin. ginny & fred always made fun of him about it & he didn’t think he cared until he actually had to admit it. when you said you didn’t care he literally almost cried. if you were also a virgin he felt so much better about himself, like he wasn’t alone in that aspect

x is for x-ray - let’s see what’s under those clothes

his body in general is toned. he never misses a quidditch practice & is always running around with fred so you can imagine the surprising, wiry muscles he has. he prides himself a lot in the way he can carry you around

as far as his dick goes, he’s not very thick, but he’s definitely long & a bit of a grower. he’s got around 7 inches soft, which is pretty long for his age. there’s also a slight curve that gets him right at your g spot. george really has the best cock you’ve ever seen

y is for yearning - how high is their sex drive

he’s so needy. no matter if he’s a dom or sub in that scene, he’s so so needy. his sex drive is so high, but he makes sure it’s not all about sex all the time

z is for zzzz - how fast do they fall asleep afterwards

he usually falls asleep after food. there are some particularly rough nights where he falls asleep before take out gets there, but typically he’ll eat & talk with you about the scene before heading to bed. but the second his head hits the pillow he’s out. he tries to make you go to bed before him but he really can’t help it some days. but you don’t mind

Holy shit. 342 likes?

MC: Let me help you fill out this form, I ask, you tell.

Sebastian: *lay on his bed* Got it.

MC: Full name?

Sebastian: Sebastian Bartholomew Sallow.

MC: Cute~ I didnt know that was your middle name.

Sebastian: Shut up *chuckles* next..

MC: Sex?

Sebastian: *wiggles brows and looks over at MC* ooOoooh Yes please..

MC: *tries not to giggle* Sebastian, come on..

~