Excuse Me

Yes, absolutely yes. 

Oscar Isaac + Kissing

Star Wars Episode IX (2019) || Scenes From A Marrige (2021) || The Card Counter (2021) || A Most Violent Year (2014)

Taglist: @the-little-ewok @fisforfulcrum @mypedrom @prettylilhalforc

Oh no... how terrible...

🤩Spin the wheel!😨

This character is now OBSESSED with you.

Oscar Isaac as Poe Dameron

The Last Jedi (2017)

Omg this is perfect! Cecil is such a little shit but how can you possibly say no to him??? Practise makes perfect!

Waiting and Waiting

Cecil Dennis x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

This was written for the @the-oscar-isaac-collective Coffee and Cream NSFW Zine, which you can download (for free!) here!

There are so many amazing stories and fanworks that such talented people made <3

Summary: Cecil forgets to fill up the car, leaving you both stranded.

Warnings: Kissing, swearing, oral sex (reader receiving), car sex, p in v sex, cream pie, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 2107

“Ugh, I’m so bored.” Cecil groaned, dragging out the last word as dramatically as possible.

You turn and pull a face at him where he’s lying down all over the back seat. “And who’s fault is that?”

He pouts, “Yeah, I mean, sure.” He shifts a little, leaning up on his elbows so he can look at you properly. “But that was an accident and-”

“How is forgetting to fill up the tank-”

“I said I was sorry.” He pouts even more, poking out his bottom lip and frowning. “And I am sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“Uh huh.” You say unimpressed, turning back around.

Cecil had been driving when the gas ran out in the middle of fucking nowhere. You’d just about managed to call Harry before your phone's signal completely disappeared, telling him where you were and what had happened. He’d headed out to get to you both, with a spare can of gas, twenty minutes ago. But you both still had at least another hour to wait.

Cecil was also being partially whiny because he didn’t have any weed.

He sighed again, checking his jeans and jacket pockets for the twentieth time, “can’t believe I don’t have anything. Not even a half a joint, you know?”

You glare at him in the mirror.

He pauses, biting his lip before he sits up and inches forward, resting his chin on the back of your seat. “I’m sorry.” He says sweetly, trying his best to worm his way back into your good graces.

You stay quiet and seethe.

“I could… make it up to you, you know?”

When you continue to ignore him he lightly touches your shoulder and you flinch, giving him a glare.

“What?” He blinks rapidly at you, trying his best to give you a Puss in Boots stare.

You put your hand on his face and gently push him back, “Fuck off Cecil.” 

“Awwwww,” he whines, “That’s not fair, I’m trying to be nice.”

“Uh huh.”

“And you’re still pissed off at me.”

“I am.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“Can’t always get your own way.” You keep facing ahead and cross your arms, but there’s a hint of amusement in your voice.

“I’m not trying to get my own way,” He leans forward again, pressing his cheek against your shoulder softly and nuzzling when you don’t push him away. “I’m just trying to be nice.”

“Cecil.”

“Friendly.” He nudges his nose against your neck.

“Cecil.”

“Helping you to pass the time.” The faux innocence in his voice is cut off as he tries to press a kiss to your jaw.

You slide in the other direction at the last moment so he misses.

He lets out a deep groan of frustration and bumps his face into your headrest as he mumbles your name.

You wait a beat before you answer. “What?”

“Please, just come back here and sit on my face so I can apologise properly.”

You turn to look at him painfully slowly. “No.”

He whines exasperatedly, smacking his knuckles lightly on the back of your chair. “Why?”

“I don’t have to give you a reason.”

He moans, sulking and you grin wickedly. “I think you just like seeing me upset.”

“I do.” You nod.

He tuts. “That’s not nice.” “I’m not trying to be nice.”

He sits up, leaning close like an obedient dog. “I’m really good at it.”

“Good at what?”

He groans at your tease, “You know, eating pussy? I’m really good at it.”

“How many stars have you got on Yelp?”

He laughs then scowls, trying to stay serious, “I’m being honest you know?”

“Sure.”

“I am.”

“Okay.”

“Look,” He shuffles closer again, “I’ve had many happy, erm, Pussy Owners who enjoyed-”

You burst out laughing, “Pussy owners?”

“Yeah, all of them said-”

“You know saying you’ve performed a lot of oral sex isn’t the positive you think it is, it  just makes me think you must have a lot of STIs.”

“Hey,” He playfully shoves you in the arm and laughs despite his efforts at fake outrage. “I do not.”

“Sure.” “I got tested.”

“When?”

“Last week!” He folds his arms, raising his chin in self triumphantance.

You can’t help but chuckle, “Have to get those a lot, huh?”

He gives you a mock scowl, “I like to be safe.”

“Sure.”

“And also it’s good to if I wanna give blood.” He shrugs, looking down.

The look shouldn’t get to you, how he nervously plays with his fingers when he speaks. The little flame of affection you have for him warms your chest.

“So how come you’re so good at it.” You say, giving him a little nudge with your shoulder and smile.

He grins back at you, bright eyed. “Practice.”

“Uh huh.” You laugh and he nods enthusiastically.

“It makes perfect.”

You snort.

“Plus, I really like it, which helps because I wanna do it a lot, so that means I get a lot of practice without it feeling like practice or anything, cause it feels like a treat,” He leans closer, practically sitting between the driver and passenger seat at the most awkward angle. “You know, like the treat you would get for doing the practice.”

“Say practice one more time, please.” You tease.

Cecil huffs playfully, “You’re so mean, you know that?”

“I am not.” You laugh.

“You are. Always mean to me.” He sits back, crossing his arms over his chest and you turn around fully in your seat, sitting on your knees to look at him.

“No.”

“Yes.”

You giggle, “Okay, maybe sometimes.”

“All the time.”

“Only a little.”

“A lot!” He bites his lips together to stop himself from grinning, “I think you should come and apologise to me actually.”

“Oh,” you nod sarcastically, “do you?”

He nods back, “I do.”

“And how do you want me to apologise to you then?” You tease, expecting him to demand (beg) for a six-pack of beers, or a burrito when you were back home. So what comes out of his mouth next is a little unexpected.

“You should come back here and let me fuck you.” He swallows, the bob of his throat betraying his nervousness despite the certainty and self-assuredness of his words.

You pause, both of you letting his words hang in the air for a moment before you slowly turn back.

He stays quiet, but you hear the smallest hitch of his breath as you retreat. You don’t stay still for long though.

Before you can lose your nerve, you open the passenger side door and get out. You close the door firmly, letting the sound ring out, before opening the back one.

Cecil gulps, the action clicking in his throat, and slides along the seat quickly, giving you space to join him.

You put your hands in your lap as you sit, getting comfortable before you look up at him, “So-”

“Lay back.” He says softly, his eyes dark.

You swallow and do as he says. He moves to the side, lifting your legs up onto the backseat and kneeling between them.

He leans over you, lightly placing his hands on your side before he traces them down and slides under your sweatpants. He bites his lip, whining softly when you lift your hips to help him pull them down. He’s a little more unceremonious with your shoes, but gets them off quick enough so that he can rid you completely of your trousers. 

Your heart thuds in your chest, echos in your neck as he runs his hands over your thighs, staring at your underwear with his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Fuck, you’re…” he lightly presses his fingers over the damp patch of your panties and your hips buck of their own volition. He groans quietly, his eyebrows pinched together as he rubs the tip of his fore and middle finger up and down. 

Pleasure sparks up your spine at his touch, pooling in your belly like liquid ore. You shudder, a small moan escaping your lips and Cecil whines loudly, diving forward and pressing his mouth against you. 

You gasp, arching up as he groans and licks you over your panties, sucking the cotton into his mouth and grinding the bridge of his nose against your clit. 

His fingers dig firmly into your legs, keeping you spread without causing any pain as his stubble scrapes deliciously against your inner thighs. He laps at you, moaning and soaking your underwear with his salvia. 

You gasp as he sucks at your clit, the friction of the cotton sending shivers up your spine. The sound you make is so high pitched it almost doesn’t seem like it could come from your mouth. 

All thoughts of this being a bad idea rapidly fall out of your head as he continues his onslaught, pressing closer and only pulling back for a fraction of a second so that he can pull your soaked underwear to the side and dive back in. 

“Fuck!” You whine, your hips moving on their own, chasing the pleasure of his mouth as you finally feel his tongue on you. You didn’t expect him to be so good with his mouth, had taken his previous words as false bravado, and now you were sure you could fall apart after barely a second. 

He laps at your folds with boards swipes of his tongue, moaning pornographically as he does, his eyes rolling back in his head as he latches onto your clit and sucks just hard enough to pull you to the edge of madness before releasing you and starting all over again. 

“Cecil,” you thread your hand into his hair to ground yourself, “fuck, god, that’s, that’s so fucking good.”

He groans at your praise, desperate to please you. He moves his mouth back for the smallest moment, giving your clit a quick kiss, “you taste so fucking good.” 

You don’t get a chance to reply, your words lost as he sucks your clit into his mouth once more, swirling the very top of his tongue against you in tight, soft circles that have you screaming. 

You come in a blinding rush, your body throwing you headfirst into the sensations and letting you drown in them as pleasure sweeps over you and leaves you weightless. 

Cecil whines as the flood of fresh wetness hits his tongue, greedily drinks it down and looks up at you with large lust blown eyes as you come undone for him. 

You breathe hard, just about getting your bearings as he quickly sits up and unbuckles his belt. 

The zip of his fly opening brings you back to reality for a second and then the hot, leaking head of his cock is pressing against your entrance. 

“Cecil,” you gasp, he's still got your underwear pulled to the side haphazardly, one hand pressed firmly against your thigh as he pushes in. 

“Oh fuuuuuuck,” he groans, low and deep as he sinks into your heat. “Wow, oh fucking god, knew you’d feel good, but this, Jesus, fuck.” He swallows harshly, cutting off his own words with a cry as he sheaths himself fully inside. “Not gonna last more than thirty seconds, I’m sorry.” All his words run together as he shallowly thrusts, experimentally pulling out a fraction to sink back in. 

He feels good, hard and hot and stretching you in the most perfect way. You moan softly, moving with him and he groans loudly, snapping his hips into you like a man possessed. He moves in a rush, so overcome with sensations that he barely has time to remember to breathe. 

“Oh god, you’re so pretty, you know that? So beautiful? I wanted to kiss you for the longest time, wanted to taste you and make you come and,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut as he gets lost in the pleasure of your heat. “I’m sorry, I can’t, I’m gonna…” 

He whines, his thrusts uneven and sloppy as he shudders, stutters and then moans. His back bowing as he comes deep. 

He looks so beautiful as his face screws up in pleasure, his mouth open and neck taut. 

You barely have a moment to enjoy the view before he's pulling out roughly and yanking your panties off your legs. 

“Cecil,” you chuckle, “what are you doing?” 

He grins up at you as he pushes back between your legs and runs his tongue through your folds. 

You gasp and shiver at the spark of heat that ignites again. 

“I made a mess, gotta clean it up.” He gives you a cheeky smile and wink before he dives back in and groans. 

Thank you for reading!

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a spoonful of sugar

summary: marc's not very good at taking his medicine.

(I was the worst at drinking this stuff as a kid so I need validation)

cw: fluff, sickfic, marc is a little baby

You knew it was coming. Even as he flapped his hand and rolled his eyes and laughed allergies, baby, you knew. When it was eight in the morning and your early bird boyfriend hadn't even stirred, you knew. That rumbling cough wasn't an annual pollen allergy.

There was a pot of tea on the stove before he woke. You'd prepped the supplies - tissues, a damp towel, some anti-inflammatory, and were in the middle of making food when his croaky voice broke the silence. You knelt by his bed and pulled the blankets away from his sweaty face.

"Help," he rasped, "I'm -cough- dying..."

The desperate display of obvious dramatics made you grin. He was always such a tough guy; scoffing at band-aids and ice packs. It was tempting to tease but his puppy eyes were too much.

"Come on, big guy, let's get some food in you." You gently pulled the covers down to help him up, but he harrumphed and yanked them right back.

"Sod off," came Steven's weary voice from under the comforter. "Marc's being a toff and making me deal with the sore throat." A pitiful sniffle and a hacking cough erupted from his broad shoulders. The blankets shuddered as Steven raked in a breath.

"Marc, come on," you cooed, rubbing his back. "Leave poor Steven alone. I've got some stuff for you, you'll feel better."

A pause, then some grumbling as he sat up. "Poor Steven? Wha' bou' me?"

His whining was choked up by the pressure in his throat. You could see the blockage in his sinuses as he struggled to keep his eyes open. A whistling sigh left his lips. He was definitely sick. Deliriously, Marc dragged a hand through his wild, sweaty hair. He reminded you of a scruffy ragdoll cat dragged in from the rain.

With a fussy Marc in tow, you fixed a cup of herbal tea and some food. So far he just seemed congested but he needed some food to handle the medicine. He miserably blew at the steaming mug, swaying on his feet. You held him against you sympathetically. He greedily drank in the attention, sniffing louder to earn a few forehead kisses.

Marc didn't get sick very often. He was pretty good at eating well, getting sleep when he could, and exercising regularly. Usually he could sleep it off and be totally fine. Every once in a while though, he'd get kicked on his ass for a while.

The kitchen island had every box of decongestant and cough syrup you could find splayed out in a heap. You weren't sure which one he preferred, so you'd let him pick. Not one of them seemed to be opened.

He had finished half of the tea, grimacing after every sip. Marc much preferred coffee, said his beseeching glance at the coffeemaker.

"Caffeine won't help," you chided gently, standing in front of the alluring machine. He sent you a sour look and folded his arms, shivering at another wracking cough. You reminded yourself to be gentle - Marc didn't like feeling weak.

Letting him go about grabbing water and wolfing down more toast, you examined the available medicines.

He'd need some ibuprofen, and probably a decongestant. You'd give it to him now so he could take a hot shower while you changed the sheets. Airing out the flat would clear the germy air well enough.

Marc approached you warily, eyeing the pharmaceutical stash you had amassed.

"Whassat?" he asked hoarsely, ducking his chin against your neck. Petting his cheek absently, you continued your perusing.

"We need to get you some meds, honey. Do want the grape stuff or no flavor? Haven't got anything better, looks like."

You felt his lips frown against your skin. "I'll just take a shower, don't neeb all tha' stuff." he coughed again, wincing at the blockage in his nose. His breath was hot. You frowned, pressing your palm against his head.

"You're feverish, Marc, you need something more than a shower. You can take one after." Filling a glass with water, you handed him a tablet and nodded. "Take that."

Muttering, he knocked it back and slugged down the water. Sliding behind you, he made his way towards the bathroom but you tugged his sleeve back.

"Hang on, one more." You slowly measured out a dose of decongestant. The garish red syrup glug-glugged quietly, an acrid smell of medicinal berry coating your nose. Blegh, you winced. It was baffling how nobody had thought to make it a tasteless pill. Drinking ounces of disgusting syrup was your least favorite way to knock out a cold.

Turning, you carefully handed Marc the little cup. "Drink that and another glass of water, then you can shower. I'll address the sheets."

You made sure to adjust the thermostat on your way to the bedroom. Once his fever dropped he'd want some warmth to sleep in. The window let in a cooling breeze, washing away the stuffy scent of sick. London's quiet din rumbled outside, providing a soundtrack for your relaxed cleaning.

Bundling the sheets and towels into your arms, you made your way to the washroom. You paused.

Marc was hunched over the counter, glaring at something.

"Marc?"

A flicker of embarrassment, then he curled his body away and grumbled a response. Frowning, you tossed the sheets in the hamper and crossed to him.

"What've you been doing? I gave that to you a while ago."

He nodded, still scowling at the viscous berry medicine. A pause. you tilted your head.

"...You okay?"

Marc didn't respond. That little serving of medicine continued to endure his baleful wrath, practically trembling on the countertop. The spell was broken by an enormous sneeze. Marc reeled from the sound, shaking the fuzz from his head.

"I think you've intimidated it enough," you joked softly, rubbing his shoulder. "But really, honey, you need to drink that."

A familiar pair of wide brown eyes blinked sorrowfully at you. "But...it tastes foul," Steven whined, sticking his lip out for emphasis. You raised your eyebrow and poked his side.

"Spector, stop shoving off to Steven. You're the one who wanted to sleep with a window open in November, you gotta suffer the consequences."

A moment of twitching and he was back, bleary and disgruntled. Ears pink with Steven's admission, Marc hedged away from you again and tried to escape to the bathroom. His clumsy feet shuffled along the creaky baseboards. You let him have his way for a moment, but soon enough was enough.

"Marc, you've literally drunk the most disgusting alcohol ever without a second thought."

He looked at you reproachfully, trying to work Steven's angle of adorable petulance. His grumpy frown did make your heart fawn, but the wracking cough and guttural sneeze overran the knee-jerk reaction.

Irritated that his tactics weren't working, Marc slumped onto your shoulder. Chuckling, you rubbed his back, rocking him side to side. His hands were insistent, tugging you backwards. You realized, almost too late, that he was trying to angle himself closer to an escape path.

"Spector-"

Before you could grab him, he had disappeared into the bathroom and turned on the tap.

You sighed. At least he was showering.

The laundry was done, and the apartment sufficiently sanitized by the time Marc reappeared, damp hair curling around his ears. He looked a little brighter. His eyes were clear and his cheeks a healthier ruddiness rather than feverish.

And, just like before, the little cup of syrup lay sitting on the counter for him. He was visibly bothered when you hadn't forgotten.

"Meds," you said firmly when he moved in for a kiss. The comment offended him, and he tried to peck you anyway. You put a hand over his mouth and pushed gently, handing him the cup.

"I don't wan' to," he rasped, lip curling. "It tastes like lighter fluid - cough - and I don't feel better anyway."

"How would you know, you haven't taken it?"

Marc huffed, dramatically folding his arms and turning his nose up.

"Marc."

Your tone made him duck his head. It was funny to watch him squirm; his reluctance almost reminded you of Steven. Usually he would bite the bullet and do anything that made him uncomfortable with nothing but a shrug. Hell, you'd seen him clean Steven's sick off the toilet after a night out with less of a reaction.

Sympathizing a little bit, you poured a glass of orange juice and slid it over.

"If you drink the medicine really fast, you can wash it down with juice."

Marc grumbled, still wrinkling his nose.

"Does that work?"

"Hmmm no," he huffed, folding his arms tighter. "I thin' you should gib me a kiss 'cause you're bein' meab," he garbled, voice strangled around the congestion. You bit down a laugh, trying to seem sincere.

"You can't even talk, Marc, I am not gonna kiss you."

The admission made his head snap up, eyes terrified. You worked this new angle, putting your hands up and backing away. "I don't want your germs."

He protested quietly, hands reaching out.

"Hug?"

"Meds."

"But-"

"No buts," you said, tone gentle again, "come on. Just a second. It'll take like two seconds and then you can drink some juice and go lay down. Yes, I'll lay with you," you acquiesced at his narrowed gaze.

He was stubbornly refused. "Marc," you sighed, dragging a hand over your face. "You'd be done with this by now if you just drank it."

"I don' like it," he bit out. Unbelievable. You stared at each other for a moment, disdainfully scowling at the situation.

"You know what, fine," you griped, taking the cup in your hand. "Pick a number between one and five."

He blinked, but relented. "F...four," he wheezed, wiping his nose with his sleeve. You held up four fingers.

"I will give you four kisses if you drink this."

He brightened. "snfff- wait, I meant fibe."

You leaned forward and nudged his nose. He tried to grab you for a kiss but you ducked back, taking the opportunity to grab his jaw gently. Eyes hazy and loving, he smiled at you.

"Open," you said softly, tapping his lips and winking.

Marc obeyed, clearly expecting a kiss. Instead, you gently tipped the medicine to his lips. Marc yelped at the sharp taste. He fussed and balked, struggling not to choke. You shushed him, tipping the cup until it had all dribbled past his lips.

"Drink it quick, honey, there you go, all done-" You shoved him the glass of juice, coaxing him to finish the dose. Marc spluttered and gagged, wincing at the taste. Eyes watering, he glared at you.

"Tha' was rude," he pouted. You cuddled him up and kissed his forehead.

"Yeah, but now you can go snuggle into bed." This outcome placated him greatly, nuzzling into your shoulder as you situated the bed. Marc jabbed your side insistently and you paused to give him a kiss.

Wrinkling your nose, you nodded. "Wow. Yeah, I can taste that. It's pretty shit."

He threw his hands up, rolling his eyes as you giggled. "Sorry for torturing you," you teased, peppering his cheek with light kisses.

"Fuggin' waterboarded me with that," he grouched, supressing a grin at your doting affection.

The blankets, still warm from the dryer, were tucked high around his drowsy face. You lay as close as you could, draping your arm over his side. Marc snuffled and coughed for a few moments but was asleep soon, breath puffing hot against your neck. You monitored him for a while, hands gently stroking his hair before succumbing to your own nap.

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asylum

oscar isaac in moon knight: episode 5

More Moon Knight for the tl.

This one was a challenge, the face was complicated and the shadows were very strong which is a bit hard to do with tempera , and to top it all off i had the brilliant idea to paint it in my sketchbook which has pretty thin pages. So it was an adventure what can i say. I donno if i really caught his face that well but i tried my best.