#cecil dennis/reader

[apesarecuul]

How different Oscar Isaac Characters hold you while you’re riding NSFW

Just had a few thoughts

Steven:

Steven is a tits guy. Guy or girl he’s sitting up so his face is buried in your chest using both hands to push your pecks/breasts closer to his face. He’s messy. Spit is everywhere and you’re both going to need a bath later. You will have to do most of the work because this man is too lost in the sauce to do anything other than mouth at your chest and tell you how pretty he thinks you are.

Jake:

He differentiates between two options, both hands on your hips or one hand on your hip and the other gripping your neck. He sits up so he can stare at all your little expressions. He likes to have leverage so he can hit that spot that makes your eyes flutter.

Marc:

If you two are testing the waters or just not emotionally intimate he definitely has both hands on your thighs while he’s laying down. Once he’s comfortable however…. He’s trying to be as close as possible. One arm hooking under yours so he can grip your shoulder and the other on your thigh. He’s honestly just taking whatever skin he can reach.

Blue:

Orderly!Blue lives to see you ride. Club Owner!Blue however needs a lot of convincing. They both gravitate towards whatever soft bit of skin they can reach though. They grip onto the soft skin on your neck, hips, thighs, they especially love the meaty bit between the neck and the shoulder. He needs to sink his teeth into it.

Anselm:

He’s a lot like Blue and Marc in the way that he will hold onto any skin he can reach. He’s not as desperate though. He’s patient. He likes to sit against the headboard and just watch. Caressing your body oh so gently. That is until you start slowing down. Then he grips the meat of your hips telling you that you can do better than that. Oxygen tank is nearby.

Cecil Dennis:

We all love him. We’ve all come to accept that he isn’t the best at the whole ‘god in bed’ thing but I’ll be damned if he can’t make it up with desperation. He has one hand behind him and the other on your chest. Looking up at you and hoping you like it. He ruts into as fast as he can until you tell him to slow down. He cries if your pace is too slow for him.

I wish they had more colors

Johnathan Levy:

He does his best to be calm and collected. He starts with just two hands lightly holding onto your hips but he can’t keep it up for long. It starts with him sitting up planting his feet to rock into you. Eventually devolves into him holding you so he can just move your hips into a slow grind before he begins slamming his hips into yours. Similar to Anselm he keeps his inhaler nearby because our man has asthma.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

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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[female-hysterics]

Cecil waking up in the middle of the night to you dry humping his thigh in your sleep. That's it. that's the prompt.

He would be groggy, watching you in confusion as he tries to figure out what’s going on and what woke him up, and he sees you grinding against him and whimpering. Cecil would just sleepily roll over onto his back and take you with him before pulling down his boxers.

“Could’ve woken me up, sunshine,” he slurs, still half asleep, into the hair on top of your head as he pumps himself until he’s hard and you are blinking awake groggily against his chest in confusion as you’re dragged from sleep. 

Then he’s pulling your panties to the side and pushing into you and you’re suddenly wide awake. You whimper loudly as he groans at how wet you are as he snaps his hips, sliding his thick girth into you with laughable ease, and you scramble weakly so you are bracing your hands on his chest so you can ride him properly. The new position lets him move deeper inside you and the fragments of your wet dream slip out of your mind as you roll your hips against Cecil. He rests his hand on your thighs and watches you sleepily while you squeeze your eyes shut and take your pleasure from him.

“That’s it, kitten. Just like that. Take what you need,” he murmurs and you nearly sob as you stop bouncing on his lap to grind against him in a slow dirty roll that had you seeing stars.

It wasn’t long before your orgasm washed over you, stealing your breath and locking your muscles, and Cecil was right behind you with a deep groan and a stuttering jerk of his hips. You collapse against him panting like you just ran a marathon, whining softly as he jerked his hips a few more times to ride out his own orgasm, and then he fell limp against the bed panting as well. Eventually you made to roll over next to him, but he made a small noise of protest, and kept you anchored to his chest and kept his cock nestled deep inside you.

“In case you need me again,” he said sweetly, a goofy grin on his lips, and you snorted out a laugh before placing a kiss on his chest over his heart.

“I always need you, Cecil,” you replied with a yawn, rolling your eyes at his answering coo, but then you settled quickly into a peaceful slumber with his soft snores lulling you to sleep.

[ominoose]

𝐂𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐥 𝐃𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐬 - 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐇𝐂'𝐬

Made my own little Valentines alphabet thingy!! I know I'm so smart and stuff. Anyway Cecil is a hyper little puppy on Valentines, do not change my mind 💞

V - Vase (What flowers he gets you)

Whatever flowers are the cheapest and red looking at the closest Walmart. Not that he doesn't care, but the man is borderline broke and only knows three flowers. That said, if there are several bouquets with the same price, he's spending at minimum an hour contemplating each option at length and calling his cousin for a second opinion.

He makes sure whatever bouquet he picks has roses, because that's the Valentines flower and it's not Valentines bouquet if it doesn't have roses.

A - Affectionate (How openly affectionate is he?)

Extremely. From 12am on February 14th till probably 4am the next day he is envisioning a day of just you and him, declining any other plans at all, even if it's a doctor's appointment, thinking it's gob-smacking to be expected to be parted from you on the day of love.

His vision of Valentines is a montage with falling petals, a grainy filter and still frames of you both giggling on a swing.

L - Love Language

Physical Touch.

Cecil needs to be touching you at all times and doesn't even realise it. He'll drape his legs across yours on the couch, entwine your fingers together even if it's an awkward position, wrap his leg around your own under a table. It's an automatic instinct he isn't aware he does until you move and leave him whining with wet puppy eyes.

Valentines only amps this up, any time you cruelly peel away from Cecil he's gasping in shock and crying out about how 'It's Valentines! We're meant to be all over each other, don't you love me?!'. Cecil also expects tons of kisses.

E - Eat (Where and how does he dine you?)

Some run down diner close by, probably the regular one you both go to every other night, one with peeling wallpaper and water stains on the tiles. In his mind, you've been before, and you like it, so why wouldn't he pick it? Truly, he thinks any dining out is a 'good' night out.

On the plus side, he insists you both share a dessert (a luxury usually skipped) and pays for the whole bill. He even makes you a special blunt for the drive home if you're partial.

N - Nicknames (What nicknames do you share?)

Baby is the usual default, and it doesn't disappear during the holiday, but he likes the excuse to throw in some overly sweet ones too.

Sweetness, sugarplum, honeybun, snookums, pookie, anything of the cheesy romcom sort.

You can also get him to do absolutely anything if you call him something cheesy too, his knees physically bend.

T - Tacky (How cliche is he?)

Extremely. Cecil always takes every holiday very seriously, but especially so when it relates to his significant other (his relationship is half his personality).

He's gotten you a Walmart card with a handwritten poem scrawled on the inside. It isn't groundbreaking, but he did write it himself, and includes a whole sentence about how much he loves your ass. Besides the mandatory bouquet of flowers, he's used a red velvet store-bought cake mix and cut it into a heart too, something sweet to start the day with.

One Valentines he tried to sprinkle petals over the bed for a romantic night of love making but winded up discovering a new allergy that left him covered in hives.

I - Innovate (How did he fix a Valentines gone wrong?)

If you're working on Valentines (god forbid, the man nearly dies of horror) and come home with the weight of a bad shift on your shoulders, Cecil is probably the best at quickly coming up with Valentines themed solution.

Crappy takeout from your favourite place is ordered, Netflix's top romantic movie is already on the TV with ten tealight candles littered around the table next to your flowers. You'll get the biggest slice of cake too, because feeling sad on Valentine's Day (or any day really) should be illegal in Cecil's mind.

N - Naughty

To Cecil, Valentines isn't complete until you've both given each oral at least once, preferably the moment you both wake up. There's no hint to where this tradition came from in his mind, but it's stuck.

One of his favourite Valentines memories is of you on the splayed on the couch with his curls nestled between your thighs as The Notebook plays on the TV. He spent half the movie there and has no idea what happened, but he swears it's his favourite romcom anyway.

E - Ending (How does he wrap up Valentines day?)

Curled up in bed (with no petals), spooning with some sappy love songs playing softly in the background as you both catch your breath. Every limb feels syrupy and all that's left to do is fall asleep nestled under messy blankets after a marathon of good sex.

S - Song

If you need to take the deathtrap he calls a car out on Valentines, this is the first song he plays, every year.

[ierofrnkk]

Summer’s Over

merman!Cecil Dennis x reader (~5.6k)

Summary: Someone, or, something washed ashore when you went to the beach. You bring him home, and you realize that things are much more complicated than you would have anticipated.

Content: gn!reader, reader is fine getting their hair wet, Cecil is literally a mermaid, angst, he gets homesick, medium burn, it’s my mythology I make the rules

a/n: blacked out and wrote 4k of this in one day. merman!cecil has completely captivated me

-

It was early when you headed out to the beach to go fishing, something you’d picked up over the course of the summer. The sun has barely begun to rise in the sky, the entire scene completely serene and comfortable.

Making your way down to the shore, you let your eyes drift over the horizon, making note of the few small fishing boats that have already set off for their daily routine, far off in the distance.

When you get closer to the water’s edge, though, you see someone lying still in the sand. Your heart jumps in your throat, immediately worrying that a surfer had gone out to catch early waves and had washed ashore unconscious.

As you approach, though, you realize it’s a much more complicated situation.

—

The man, who you now wonder if you can even call him that, is lying on his side in the sand, definitely unconscious. Your concern is waylaid by the fact that in place of where his legs would be, is a tail.

Deep green and blue, with a large fin at the end where his feet would be and a few smaller fins on either side of the tail.

This isn’t at all how you expected your morning to go.

There’s a mermaid—merman?—washed up on the shore where you fish.

Your mind flips through about a million potential scenarios, most of which being some variation of you being still asleep in bed and dreaming this; you know it’s not true, though, and you realize that you have to come up with a plan.

You can’t leave him here, out cold on the beach where the early crowd will soon come, finding him and probably killing him to mount on their wall.

For some insane, absurd reason, you decide the next course of action is to take him home until he wakes up and you can bring him back.

Fishing can wait for another day. Or maybe never again.

—

With great difficulty, you manage to drag him back up the beach and get him situated in the back of your car.

There’s a mer-fish-person in the back of my car, you think to yourself on the drive home, trying your hardest to rationalize it. That’s fine. This is definitely something normal that happens.

After the painfully long drive home, you panic for about three seconds as you try to think of exactly where you’re going to put him.

Eventually, you decide on your bathtub. Where else are you going to keep a semi-aquatic creature?

You run the tap, letting the water warm to a temperature that’s close enough to the sea, and you manage to get him into the tub with a bit more effort. He’s still unconscious, or at the very least, asleep, but he stirs when you get him in the water.

It’s only after you’re done getting him settled that you really take a good look at him.

The deep green-blue scales of his tail stop somewhere around his midsection, just above his hips, where that beautiful color transitions into his human half. The skin of his abdomen is tanned, just a little bit soft but still toned—from all the swimming, is what you assume.

He’s got a little bit of scruff on his jaw, something you didn’t expect from your limited knowledge of merfolk, mostly spanning from poorly-made 80’s movies, but he’s handsome. He has a prominent nose and pretty, dark eyelashes; his hair is shorter, but a dark brown and slightly curly on top.

You’re staring, but you can’t really be blamed for it.

—

He wakes up a half hour later, clearly confused as to why he’s in your house and not on the shore. You’re sitting on a chair beside the tub, having been watching him with untamed curiosity.

“What the fuck?”

Not what you expected, but alright. It takes you a beat longer than you’d like to come to your senses and give him something reminiscent of an answer.

“You were unconscious on the beach, I, uh—“You shift uncomfortably in your seat, trying to find the right words.

“—didn’t want you getting hurt, so..”

“So you brought me home,” he interjects, and you nod.

He shifts in the water, tail flicking slightly as he presumably tries to get used to the new situation.

After a few beats of heavy, uncomfortable silence, he speaks up again.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.”

You give him a polite smile, unable to take your eyes off of those stunning blue-green scales.

He splashes you, getting you out of your head.

“You’re staring at me.”

Your face flushes, and you suddenly can’t bring yourself to look at him at all.

“Sorry, I just—“

He cuts you off before you can continue, chuckling softly. You swear you’ve never heard a more beautiful sound.

“You’ve never seen someone like me. I get it. You can look.”

And you do.

“I’ll bring you back tomorrow morning, early. I don’t want anyone seeing you, I can’t—“ You take a breath, shaking your head briefly at the thought of what might happen to someone as remarkable as him if you let someone else get their hands on him.

“I can’t let anything happen to you. If someone else saw you, they’d probably, y’know.”

You make a vague gesture with one hand, allowing him to fill in the blanks; he nods in understanding.

He doesn’t seem as bothered about his current situation as you thought he might be, probably grateful that you’d saved him from certain doom.

“What’s your name?”

“Cecil,” he answers, simply.

You don’t know what you were expecting, but his name being Cecil was definitely not it.

“Cecil?” You echo, a bit incredulous.

He laughs again, nodding in the affirmative.

“What, you expected something more fantastical?”

Yes.

“I guess I just…didn’t expect you to have, like, a normal name.”

“Can I have your name?”

You tell him, and he repeats the word like he’s trying to imprint it in his memory.

You decide that you like the way your name sounds coming from his mouth.

—

The two of you spend a good part of the morning just talking.

He tells you about where he’s from, a city deep beneath the sea, about how it’s not much different from any other city, it’s just…underwater. You find that interesting, and express your interest in seeing it someday.

He agrees with the sentiment—he’d love to show you if you one day develop gills.

You listen with slight surprise as he admits that he’s never seen a human before; he’s never gotten close enough. He’s baffled by your legs and asks—with a sincerity you can’t even laugh at—how you manage to swim with them.

You answer him honestly, that you don’t swim much, so you don’t really use your legs for that. He plays up his surprise at the notion that you don’t swim that much.

You ask him with the same sincerity how he can breathe under the sea without any visible gills. He tells you that he just can.

A part of you doesn’t want him to leave.

—

Living a short drive from the coast has a few upsides, one of which being your ease of access to fresh seafood—something he expressed that he does, in fact, eat.

So, you went out and picked up some crabs, cooking a few for yourself, while he insisted that you keep his raw. You made a face, but obliged.

It makes sense, but it’s still odd in your mind.

The two of you are seated across from each other, a plate in your lap and resting on the edge of the tub where he resides in the water.

You pick at your cooked crabs, watching as he eats his raw with something you can only describe as morbid fascination.

This isn’t exactly a conventional situation, so you can decide that you can ignore him eating raw seafood.

—

You don’t want to leave him alone, in some odd mix of curiosity and politeness, so you accommodate him, just for the night.

You bring a few extra blankets into the bathroom, setting them down on the floor beside the bathtub in an attempt to make the hard tile floor somewhat comfortable. It’s not the best, but it’s manageable for one night.

He seems grateful for the company, especially spending the night in such a foreign place, so far from home.

You planned on just going to sleep, but as you lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling of the darkened room, you can’t fight that curiosity, eager to fill the dead air.

“What’s it like, being so far away from the rest of the world?”

You can hear him shift, the water making a noise as he moves, presumably thinking about your question for a moment.

“It’s different, I guess,” he starts, pausing for an extended period before eventually continuing.

“That’s my world down there, y’know? So I’m not really far away from anything, but I know what you mean,” he clears his throat, and you can hear his tail making noise in the water.

“It’s hard being away from it, but it’s interesting seeing what’s up here. I’ve never really—ever—gone up to the shore.”

You listen intently as he explains that to you, and you can’t help but feel the slightest bit guilty about taking him home with you.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve just—“

“No,” he interjects before you can even finish that thought.

“I would’ve died if I stayed out there. Much worse people would’ve found me and probably had me mounted on their wall by the afternoon.”

The air is a little heavier now, more tense with the seriousness of the conversation. He seems comfortable with this topic, so you leave it for the time being.

“You saved my life,” he tells you, voice as sincere as you’ve heard it in the short time you’ve known him.

“I can’t thank you enough for that, seriously. I’ll find some way to repay you.”

You want to tell him no, that he doesn’t need to do that, but it feels rude to interrupt when he’s being so genuine and open with you.

This is probably the most honest, intimate conversation you’ve ever had with somebody, and they’re not even of the same species.

That part of you that doesn’t want him to leave gets a little bigger.

You didn’t even realize you had been getting so into your own thoughts, and it’s only when you feel another splash of warm water on you.

“Cecil, what—“

“You’re being too quiet. I just made this whole speech and everything and you’re not saying anything.”

You quickly realize he’s teasing you. Teasing you.

You can’t stop yourself from laughing at his choice of words, and he laughs along with you. When he smiles, you take note of the slight sharpness of his teeth, and that doesn’t deter you nearly as much as you thought it would.

You’re starting to really like his company, and that’s not good.

—

The two of you end up falling asleep not long after that, and you find yourself getting very used to the sound of his tail flicking in the water every now and then as he sleeps; clearly, he’s not built to exist in your bathtub.

It’s a constant reminder of the fact that he can’t stay here. You have to bring him home eventually.

You wake up before him, and spend this time bringing the bedding back into your bedroom, before ending up in your kitchen to decide on something for breakfast.

You settle on toast and coffee, and bring a small dish up to him with some leftover tuna from the other night.

He’s awake by the time you make it back up the stairs, the upper half of his body draped dramatically over the edge of the tub. He’s got a pout on his face, and giving a look you can only describe as puppy-dog eyes.

“What?” You ask, a laugh breaking through the word.

“Woke up and you were gone,” he starts, tone overly pitiful and sad.

“Thought you’d completely abandoned me here.”

You roll your eyes and hand him his plate. He accepts it eagerly.

“No you didn’t, you big baby,” you reply, your tone nothing but playful.

He makes a face of mock-surprise, and the next thing you know, his tail is flicking in the water and you’ve been splashed. Again.

“Maybe I should’ve left you on that beach,” you joke, and he snorts, starting to pick at the piece of fish you’d brought to him.

“I would’ve been better off, and unfortunately I can’t drown you.”

That gets a good laugh out of him, and you’re grateful that he’s taking this lightly—the last thing you’d want to do is offend him or cross a line.

You’re quickly realizing that he probably doesn’t even have a line to be crossed.

“Maybe in another life, I’ll come back as a human so that you can drown me,” he muses, joking as he finishes up his plate.

You can’t deny the feeling of warmth that blooms in your chest when he says that.

You don’t want him to leave.

He doesn’t seem to want to leave, either, because he agrees to stay an extra day. For your convenience, he tells you. You don’t know how to feel about that.

—

Since Cecil’s now going to be staying longer than anticipated—not that you anticipated him staying at all—you decide to stay by him to try and keep him somewhat entertained, since he can’t really explore your home, and you’re not strong enough to carry him around for long periods of time.

He very quickly finds a way for the two of you to pass the time, asking about different things that he can see from his vantage point, which you happily explain to him.

He asks about your hair dryer, and you demonstrate what it does by turning it on a low setting and letting him feel the warm air—it completely fascinates him, but you put it away before he inevitably dries himself out with it.

You watch with quiet amusement as he grabs the fork from your lunch plate, insisting that he knows what this is. It takes everything in you not to laugh when he brushes the tines of said fork through his curls, and after letting him carry on for a few moments, you gently take the utensil away from him.

He blushes a pretty shade of pink when you tell him the actual purpose of it, and you find yourself staring at him—not his tail, for once—for a few beats too long.

You have a few questions of your own for him, most of which involve his lifestyle under the sea, which he graciously answers for you.

“It’s just like how I assume life is up here,” he tells you, clearly very interested in talking about his home.

“It’s a city—we have shops and jobs, a governing body, the whole like,” he laughs softly, reverently.

“It’s a lot nicer than you’re probably thinking it is. I’d love to take you there, someday. Show you my home properly.”

That warmth blooms and blossoms in your chest.

“I’d love to visit,” you manage, barely able to keep your voice steady, taken aback by the sincerity of his offer, a contrast to his playful, sarcastic tone.

He grins, so wide that you’d swear he’s just heard the best news of his life.

—

You play him some of your favorite music, and you’re surprised that he actually enjoys some of it.

He likes the vibrations that your speaker makes when it’s playing, so you let him hold it as you choose the next song to play.

Good thing it’s waterproof.

He laments that he isn’t able to show you his favorite songs. Not in the way they’re meant to be heard, at least.

“Sound works differently when you’re that deep underwater,” he explains, trying to find the best words to describe the phenomenon.

“So music is a lot different; it’s beautiful. I’m sure you’ve heard whale songs before?”

You nod. Of course you have.

“It’s like that,” he smiles, and you can detect a bit of sadness in it. Longing.

“It’s so beautiful. The music back home is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.”

You reach over and take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. He returns the gesture, and you notice that his eyes have gone glassy.

He clears his throat after a beat, using the back of his other hand to quickly wipe away any tears that have surfaced.

“Sorry, I’m, uh—not trying to get all emotional. Just a little homesick, I guess.”

Your heart breaks a little when he says that, and you decide with absolute certainty that he’s going back home first thing tomorrow morning.

“Don’t apologize,” you insist gently, tone soft.

“If I was far away from home and in a completely new place, I’d be pretty homesick, too.”

He squeezes your hand gently, and you continue.

“This has been really fun, and an unbelievable experience, but I’m bringing you home tomorrow.”

He nods appreciatively, and you watch him as he smiles.

It’s bittersweet.

He doesn’t want to leave either.

—

A sort of strange air lingers between the two of you after that.

You both know that this has to end. It’s not right for you to keep him away from his home to live an unfulfilling life in your bathtub, but you’ve grown fond of him in the short time you’ve known him.

He’s silly, but he’s so well-spoken. He’s seen things that you’ve only ever dreamed of or seen in a nature documentary. He’s lived a life so different from your own, and that’s exactly the problem.

You’ve moved your chair closer to the bathtub, sitting beside it and facing him, instead of sitting on the opposite side of the room as him.

You play more music for him, and let him bring your speaker underneath the water with him so he can hear it the way he’s used to. He smiles so wide that you can’t take your eyes away from him.

You keep your eyes on him as much as you can—you know that this is probably the last time you’ll see him, so you’re absorbing as much as you can.

There’s one more thing you really want to do, and when he resurfaces, you build up what little nerve you have left to just ask.

“Can I touch your tail?” You ask him, and immediately cringe, knowing you sound like a little kid at a petting zoo.

He doesn’t seem to feel that same awkwardness, thankfully, and that smile returns—softer, now.

“Sure.”

Before you can think to respond or reach out for yourself, he takes your wrist in his grip, pulling you closer until the palm of your hand rests at about where his thigh would be.

You feel your face go hot, but thankfully he isn’t looking at you—he’s focused on the slow, gentle movement of your hand on his tail. It doesn’t take you long to notice there’s the slightest flush to his cheeks as well.

The texture of it is different than you expected—his scales are smooth, and he feels more like a snake than he does a traditional fish. He keeps your wrist in his grip, bringing your hand down to where his knees would be.

To accommodate for the slight change in angle, you move in your seat, and this inadvertently brings your face a lot closer to his.

He raises his head to look at you, and clearly wasn’t prepared for the decreased proximity between the two of you, his breath hitching in his chest.

“Was that—“ he starts, clearing his throat before he continues. You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker down to your lips for the briefest of seconds.

“Was that okay?”

You can’t do this. You shouldn’t, at the very least. You can feel the warmth of his scales under your palm, the slight tremble of his fingers around your wrist.

You don’t kiss him, even though you know how badly you want to, you don’t. To answer his question, you nod, your eyes never leaving his.

“That was perfect,” you murmur, voice a bit too soft.

You know that you’re going to regret not kissing him, but you can’t set yourself up for that kind of false hope. Nothing could ever come from this sort of lingering attraction between you and the merman you found washed up on the beach.

“Perfect,” he echoes, and it takes a Herculean amount of strength to keep yourself from kissing him right there.

You shut your eyes for a moment, trying to gather what little amount of strength you have left to pull your hand away from his.

You figure that it doesn’t hurt to continue being honest with him, especially now, after something like that.

“I’m going to miss you.”

You swear his eyes have never been wider.

After what feels like an eternity of silence, he manages to get a few words out.

“I’m going to miss you, too.”

The knowledge that he’s leaving early tomorrow morning makes your heart ache that much more.

He shifts in the water, clearly going through the same thought process that you are in that moment. The feeling reminds you of when your favorite family member has to go back home after busing for the holidays. It’s inevitable, but you hate that it has to happen.

“Can I have something to remember you?” He eventually asks, the question catching you a little off guard.

Immediately, your mind flashes through every single thing you’ve ever owned in your life.

You nod in agreement, already having decided on what you’re going to give him.

Standing, you rush into your bedroom to grab his keepsake—a thin, silver bracelet—when it catches the sunlight, it gleams, reflecting the light so beautifully.

You bring it back to him, and when you sit back in your chair beside him, you hand him the bracelet sheepishly.

It’s simple, and maybe a little tacky to be giving him a bracelet, but the way his eyes light up when he sees it is a pretty fair indicator that you’ve made a good choice.

Immediately, he slips the cuff on, admiring the way that the silver catches the light coming through the window in your bathroom.

After a few beats of watching him dumbly, you manage to ask him the same question.

“Can I have something to remember you?”

You don’t expect him to give you something—he didn’t exactly come with anything, but he nods, and immediately you start to wonder what he could possibly give you.

The racing thoughts are quickly silenced when he shifts in the water, bending his knees and reaching down near the base of his tail, where his main tailfin begins. You watch as he takes hold of and plucks a scale from the end of his tail.

He hands you the scale, and you hold it like it’s the most fragile thing in the world. It fits perfectly in your palm, no bigger than a half-dollar coin.

It shimmers in the light—a beautiful mix of blues and greens, the hues shifting as you move it slightly.

“Are you sure?” Is the first thing you manage to ask him, completely floored by the fact that he’s literally given you a piece of himself.

His voice is soft when he replies, his eyes holding a depth to them that you’ve yet to see from him.

“They grow back,” he insists.

“I didn’t want you to forget me.”

Your heart twists and knots in your chest.

You’re holding him in your hands, literally. You can’t think of anything else besides the very definite fact that you’re going to hold onto this scale for the rest of your life.

“I could never forget you.”

You swear that he stops breathing for a moment when you say that.

The next thing you know, he’s sinking down beneath the surface of the water, evidently very flustered by this exchange and needing a moment to compose himself.

When he finally resurfaces, you watch the way his curls stick to his skin, damp and darkened by the water.

“I’ll visit you. I’ll come back.”

Now it’s your turn to stop breathing.

You trace your thumb over the surface of the scale, trying to wrap your head around the implications of this all, and the fact that there’s clearly now something between the two of you that’s hard for you to believe developed at all.

You nod.

“Okay.”

—

The tension between you and Cecil has simultaneously been broken and built up even more. You want nothing more than to kiss him senseless, to feel the way his curls feel in your hands, but you resist.

You’re not going to torture yourself, dangling the carrot on the stick in front of yourself like that, knowing that you’ll never be able to truly have him.

You feel okay, though. His scale fits perfectly in a locket that you’d yet to find a use for, so now it lives in the pendant around your neck—a memory that you’re never going to forget for as long as you live.

He’s wearing the bracelet you gave him. It’s silver, so it’ll never rust when he’s back home.

You share a plate with him when you have dinner that night. One side of the fish has pieces of raw salmon that you’d gotten just for him, and the other has a few pieces of the same fish, cooked.

His hand brushes yours “accidentally” a few times as you eat, and every time, your heart jumps in your throat.

—

The sun’s set now, and you’ve turned off the harsh, artificial light in the bathroom, leaving you two in darkness besides the night light plugged in on the opposite side of the room.

You’ve abandoned your chair by this point, having settled yourself onto the ledge of your bathtub. He’s resting his head on his arms, settled onto that same edge, right beside your legs.

He’s looking at you like you’re the one that hung the stars in the sky.

These are two paths that never should’ve crossed. Two lives that never should have met.

You can barely make out his features in the dim light, but you see him so clearly. You want to kiss him so badly it hurts.

His hand moves to rest on your knee, fingers tracing gentle, aimless shapes and circles against your skin, just below the hem of your shorts.

The feeling between you—some sick twist of desire and longing that knots in the pit of your stomach—is near unbearable.

Your hand comes up to rest in his hair, your fingers brushing lightly through his curls. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you for a moment, completely enamored by you and everything that you do.

You swear you’ve never felt such intimacy before in your life.

He’s leaving first thing tomorrow morning; you’re going to drive him back to the beach and bring him right to the water.

He’ll swim away, and that’ll be that.

The pendant weighs heavily around your neck.

You watch him as he shifts, bringing himself closer to you. One of his arms rests lamely in his lap, while his other moves to allow him to continue touching you. His hand has shifted to your calf, still tracing those gentle shapes against your skin.

Now, he’s resting his head on your knee as your hand continues to brush lightly through his hair.

You want to say something to him; you feel like you should.

A goodbye, or a sappy speech, or a hasty, uncoordinated expression of the feelings for him that have developed over these two days.

You decide against any of it. It’d ruin the moment, anyway.

The room remains quiet, save for your breathing, and the soft sound of the motion of the water as he shifts, the confined space of your bathtub clearly becoming too much for him to handle.

He’ll be out of here tomorrow, you remind yourself.

His hair is soft beneath your fingertips, and you wish you could remember the way it feels forever. You feel the way his hand traces up and down your calf, the motion repetitive and soothing all at the same time.

It’s like he’s trying to memorize the feel of your skin in his touch.

He doesn’t touch you any more than that, and you’re equal parts grateful and disappointed.

Eventually, you move to sit on the floor, leaning up against the tub. You miss the feeling of his hand on you, of his head in your lap, but this is just as nice.

The two of you assume a similar position, arms settled on the edge of the tub, with your heads resting on your forearms.

It doesn’t take you long to fall asleep, so close to him like this.

—

You wake up before him, the slightest bit of dread beginning to sink into the pit of your stomach when you register that today’s the day. He’s going home.

The sun hasn’t risen yet, so you take this time to get your things ready to bring him back to the shore—bottles of water, the bag you use to hold your beach towels—and get it all packed into your car.

By the time you return, he’s awake, and you give him a soft, reluctant smile. His expression mirrors yours.

“Time for me to take you home.”

The smile on his face falters for a moment, but he nods. You both knew this day was coming. It was inevitable.

It’s a bit of a struggle, but you manage to get him out of the water, and carry him back down the stairs through your home.

He’s looking everywhere, trying to absorb as much information about your life as he can gather from your decor.

Though your muscles protest, you walk a little slower, just to give him more time.

Eventually, you get him settled in your car. It’s not a very long drive to the beach, and there’s no traffic so early in the morning, so he agrees to sit in the front seat with you.

There’s a towel laid out on the seat, and you’ve given him a few bottles of water to pour over himself if he gets too dry; you don’t care about your car at all right now.

He takes in the sights of your city as you drive, all the little beachfront shops and tacky tourist attractions, the surplus of hotels for summer visitors, and everything else wedged in between.

The drive to the beach is quiet, but you manage to get there quicker than you would’ve liked to.

The sun has barely begun to rise in the sky, the sunrise reminiscent of the one you’d seen the morning when you’d first found him on the shore.

Once you park and gather your things, you begin carrying him down from the dunes, all the way to the shore.

Your muscles ache, carrying him wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, but you didn’t have much in the way of options.

You know that you can’t just leave him on the shore again and hope he’ll work himself back into the sea, so when you reach the line where the water meets the sand, you kick off your shoes and keep walking.

The water is surprisingly warm, especially since it’s so early in the morning, and you continue to walk.

You can feel the nervous tension, the conflict that lives within him—he’s eager to get back in the sea, you know that, but as you carry him, he clings to you a little tighter.

Your clothes are getting wet. You don’t even care anymore.

When you get to around waist-deep in the sea, you lower him into the water, and he adjusts to being back in a proper body of water—his home.

This is goodbye. You know it is. It has to be.

He gives you that soft, crooked smile, the one that says more than any words ever could, and he disappears beneath the waves.

It’s not a few seconds later that you feel his hand in yours, pulling you along with him. You gasp, taking a quick breath as you’re brought under the water.

You don’t have time to process what he’s done, because before you can think, he’s put his hands on either side of your face and pulled you in for a kiss.

His lips are pressed to yours, his fingers curling around the back of your neck as he pulls you closer. Your hands manage to find their way into his hair, holding him close as you kiss him.

Your lungs burn in protest, desperate for air as he holds you beneath the water to kiss you. He must be able to sense it, because through some process beyond your realm of understanding, he passes breath to you, filling your lungs with air as he continues to kiss you the way you’ve wanted him to from the moment he met you.

It feels like an eternity later when he finally pulls away, and you manage to open your eyes to look at him.

He grins at you, wide and crooked, before he turns and swims away.

You watch him for as long as you can, until you finally have to resurface for air.

You wear that pendant every single day until he returns to visit you.

—

tags: @silvernight-m , @midgardian-witch , @femmeanonymelives , @faretheeoscar , @reallyrallyauthor , @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

[boredzillenial]

Day three of @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction ’s Kinktober

Cecil isn’t gonna let a little whiskey dick stop him from making a point

railroad sentences as I was unable to edit much 😭

“Bullshit!” You bark out a laugh taking another shot.

“Youdon’t think I can?” Cecil teases with a lopsided grin.

“Finish a woman, in less than 5 minutes with no foreplay?” You scoff “you really think your dick is that magic huh?”

“Cock, mouth, hand. Just one of those and I’ve got ‘em in a puddle in no time.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “Bet me I can’t”

You look around for a test subject, but as you poke out from the booth in the far back of the bar you see the only people left are a bunch of drunken young guys watching a match of some sort on the tvs at the front.

“Don’tsee any girls for you to prove yourself.” You turn back to see he’s scooted closer to you.

“What, ya chicken?” He smiles and rubs across his groin.

You burst out into laughter “No way you’re getting that up after everything we drank!”

Cecil stumbles from the booth and hold out his hand to you, “Come on, gimme a shot at least.”

Liquid courage has you surging forward, clapping his hand with yours and stumbling with him to the single person bathroom.

A combination of giggles echo in the bathroom as you lock the door. “Alright, lets see this majestic cock then.”

He grins wider, pulling out his flaccid length and tries to stroke it to life. Heat rises in you as you watch. Though he is technically failing to rouse himself, seeing him like this was even more intoxicating. “Sonofabitch.” He grumbles.

“Looks like you loseeeeee.” You tease, hoping on the edge of the counter.

He stops his minstrations to look up at you, “Fuck that - alright.” His hands settle on his hips, limp cock still out as he tries to think through the liquid haze.

“Plan B - gimme your pants.” Cecil walks forward, undoing your jeans and clumsily trying to pull them down.

“What are you doing- “ you shimmy your hips as best you can, quickly sobering up as your bare ass touches the cold counter.

“Winning.” Cecil pushes your legs apart and kneels infront of you. His expression shifts to something more serious as he hands you his phone, “Set a timer.”

You fumble a bit but manage to get the timer set. “Alright -“ His breath fans across your exposed cunt sending a shiver through you “3, 2, 1, gooooo-“

Fingers fly forward into his curls as he dives into your heat. He wastes no time lapping and sucking, even nibbling at your inner thigh every now and then. “Fucksake-“ you shake, as his hand gropes up your leg to your already quaking pussy.

He looks up at you, lips glossy with your juices, “Fingers alright?” You nod down at him. In a slow stroke two of his fingers work into your heat and curl forward, that tried and true come hither motion gliding across your g-spot.

His fingers work deftly, coming out slowly only to twist and curl back in. Your head lolls back as he adds his tongue back to your aching clit. Soft whimpers and squelching fills the echoey space. “H-only shit-“ your hips rock in tandem with his movements.

Tension curls low in your belly as he works, your hips rock quicker to meet his fingers and all at once you’re on the edge. With a quick look at the open screen you realize there’s still 2:35 on the timer. He’s gonna win…

Fighting through the haze of pleasure and liquor you stare at the wall ahead. Focusing on the mystery stains and cracks to keep your release at bay. You manage to start to take deeper breathes, anchoring yourself to the distraction ahead before he realizes what’s happening.

“No ya don’t” he breathes against your pussy before looking up at the timer 1:20 remaining. “Fuck-“ He pumps faster, pulling a gasp as your gaze snaps to his.

He chuckles, the humming only adding to push to you the edge. “What’re you laughin’ at.” You huff.

He adjusts, burying his face against you and all at once sending lightning through your nerves as he sucks on your clit.

“Sonofabitch!” Your legs convulse around his head as your orgasm threatens to crash over you. You just had to hold out a little longer….

This little perverted game of tug of war continues as you cling to the edge of your sanity, boring a hole at the timer: 9, 8, 7…

The sound of him spitting brings you back to look down at him as he picks up the pace, this time slipping his pinky into your puckered hole along with pumping the other two into your quivering heat while his tongues relentless barrage on your clit. “Shit!” Is all you manage to grit out as you come crashing down, the sound or the timer dinging somewhere in the distance while you spasm around him.

His movements slow, easing you down from your high before he looks up at you with the biggest told you so grin.

“Congratulations, you lose-“ you chuckle breathlessly.

“Bullshit!” He swipes his dry hand across his chin and stands, cock now semi hard.

“You said cock, hand or mouth.” Your voice goes low “You used hand and mouth.” You tsk.

“You’re gonna try to take this from me on a technicality - really?” Cecil’s chuckles as he cuts on the water in the sink beside you to wash his hands.

You hop down from the counter and pull your pants back on “A win is a win.” You shrug.

Once he finishes he pulls your chin to turn you around to face him. A mischievous grin grows and his eyes are filled with determination. A firm prodding at your thigh tells you he’s finally managed to rouse himself, “Fine - double or nothing.”

—————————

Taglist: @melodygatesauthor @ominoose @romana-after-dark @lunar-ghoulie @flowercrownonapegion @howellatme @mooksmouse @ahookedheroespureheart @beezusvreeland @auntiegigi @moonkxight-blog @faretheeoscar @queerponcho @for-a-longlongtime @silvernight-m @ierofrnkk

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

Okay, I fell in love Cecil Dennis the other day after watching Revenge for Jolly… and I fell down the fanfic rabbit hole of him. Sooooooo maybe something with Cecil and a fem!reader where they are just high and hornyyyyyyyy- 😗👉👈

This is what I do with virtually every character I get brain rot of, so you're not alone!

Until Sobriety

Cecil Dennis x fem!reader

Content: Innuendo, reader and Cecil are drunk, implied smut.

"Cecil-" you scold him softly, your cheeks starting to flush while Cecil pulled you close, kissing your neck with his hand starting to trail up your leg.

"What?" Cecil smirked against your skin, making no effort to stop.

"People might see us." Your eyes trailed around the half empty bar, making sure no one sees you two almost getting ready to do a number.

Thankfully the booth you sat at, was realtively safe but that wouldn't include noise.

"Then they get a show to enjoy."

You chuckled. "You're so–" before you could finish speaking, Cecil's hand on your leg reached the inside of your thigh, brushing against your clothed core.

"Fu-uck!" You gasped, nearly jumping from the surprise.

"Let's get out of here, beautiful." Cecil said, getting up, almost stumbling from how indoxicated he was and extended his hand for you to take.

As you took his hand, Cecil had a goofy grin on his face, swiftly pulling you up and guiding you out of the bar.

While walking, Cecil almost pressed his lips to your ear, lowering his voice so it was only audible for you.

"I'm solid hard right now, baby."

His words made you blush even more and if it wouldn't be for you being drunk, your legs would have gone so limb, you would forget how to walk even one more step.

Cecil wrapped his arm around your shoulder, keeping you close and occasionally bumping into each other.

As soon as you reached Cecil's place, he immediately got you into the bedroom, wasting not a single second to stand still, and trying to unzip his pants.

You watched, trying to suppress a laughter while also feeling yourself making a mess of your panties from seeing Cecil's bulge.

"Shit, do you have any idea what you did to me at that bar?" Cecil spoke, having his pants undone and walking up to you, gently pushing you back down on the bed.

"No, what?" you giggle.

Cecil placed both hands on either side of your head, leaning so close, his nose almost brushed against yours.

He pushed your legs apart with his thigh,pressing himself against you, his hard cock poking your core.

"This," without another word, Cecil kissed you, grinding himself against you which had you moaning.

When he pulled away, panting slightly, one of his hands made its way down between your bodies.

"What do you say we fuck until we both are sober again?" he grinned.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tags:

@nekoyin @steven-grants-world @iolaussharpe-24 @krakenkitty @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

@silvernight-m @alexxavicry @mooksmouse @heavydirtysoulsblog @xcherryxmilkx

@libblesdoodles

Wanna get tagged?

[casinocarpediem]

This meme is funny but like

Words cannot describe how much I want to **** cecil in the *** and then **** his ***** until he **** and **** *** ******* ** ***** ******

[writefightandflightclub]

“Yes man” (Cecil Dennis {fuck me, how did I get here} x fem!reader)

Summary: Blurby McBlurbFace. Mainly chat, slight fluff, smut, pining / friends to lovers vibes.

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

Warnings: alcohol consumption; drug use mentions (weed); smoking; dumbification of Cecil, I guess. Mommy kink if you squint. Public erections / handjob sorta, premature ejaculation / cum in pants. Mentions of dead fish but no fish were harmed. Actually, a surprising number of animal metaphors. Oops. Rimming I’m sorry that one snuck in very last minute Omg.

A/n: having a shitty mental health day (boo) and this Cecil blurb (whilst not my best) is my self-care ☺️ I don’t remember his character well aside from wet bloody cat boy, but I’m damn sure not rewatching that again so this will have to do 😅. Feedback appreciated! 🧡 (Is the rimming too much? 🙈) Not proofed and I’m almost positive autocorrect will have screwed me over.

Also totally inspired by @my-secret-shame’s meme and @foxilayde’s amazing blurb. I will not pretend to have had an original idea! 🧡

“Come onnnn, Cecil,” you whine, poking him in his soft belly with your index finger. He giggles lightly, almost like a hiccough. “It’s always me coming up with the ideas. What do you wanna do next?”

He turns his head as though in slow motion. Moves as if he’s underwater, this one - at least when he’s got food and several beers in him (which is most of the time). He looks up. Blinks at you; dumbly. “What do you mean?”

Eh. You’d really thought your statement had been quite clear.

You resist the urge to pinch his cheek and tell him It’s a good job you’re pretty.

“I mean, that I suggest things, and you go along with them.”

He blinks again. It’s like everything is just a little slower in Cecil’s world. Takes a little longer to filter through. It’s refreshing, in a way. He’s in no rush, and it encourages you to slow down too. To smell the roses.

Cecil is beyond easy-going, come to think of it. Goes with the flow like a dead fish. You’re pretty sure, in fact, that he’d go along with just about anything. With just about anybody’s hare-brained schemes, without once thinking through a single one of the potential consequences.

Scratch that - he probably already has done just that; which would explain a lot of the trouble he’s routinely gotten himself into since you’ve known him.

Though, you suppose, in a way that’s refreshing too. You always did worry too much.

Besides, he always seems to muddle through, somehow. Though quite how has you stumped. It’s hardly due to his charm or his smarts, now, is it? Even so, despite whatever attributes he is lacking in, you can’t deny that he must be doing something right. Trouble simply seems to slide right off the man’s back. Like water off a… well. A dead fish, you guess. What a versatile metaphor.

He blinks at you again. Maybe those big pretty cow eyes help, just a teency bit, to get him out of trouble, you would wager.

Look at him though. You’ve never seen anyone more relaxed. Practically horizontal as he’s hunkered down in the booth, seated next to you in the corner of your usual dive bar. Maybe there’s something to be said for all the pot and seedy hotel room fucks he indulges in. You bet his shoulders are inordinately loose. Maybe he really does have it all figured out, despite appearances.

As you ponder this, Cecil -eventually- makes a non-committal noise, before his bloodshot, glassy eyes flick back to the TV hung up on the wall. He is barely even watching it. Just letting it happen to him, like he does with most everything else.

That’s probably why you’ve never fucked him, you realise, like a bolt out of the blue. He’s pretty, sure. But you wouldn’t.

You don’t mind control - that’s not it. You don’t mind taking charge. But with Cecil? You think he’d take it lying down - a little too literally. If you’d ever suggested you and he fool around, you’d never know for sure. Never know if it really was his idea - a thought or desire he’d ever had before - or if he was simply far too agreeable and opportunistic to decline. So agreeable, that he’d let you ease your vagina up and down on his cock until you came on him. You were intrigued by the thought, sure. But you refused to go there simply because Cecil couldn’t come up with anything better to do.

You look at him, and immediately bat that thought - the vagina all over cock one - away though, as you regard his complete lack of gumption. It’s tangible. Look at him now, for example. He’d seemed to like the way the air from his non-committal noise had filtered over the neck of his bottle, tucked under his folded chin. Indeed, he is now pursing his full, curvy lips, and blowing over the mouth of it until a soft series of “hoots” fill your booth.

You fold your arms and sigh.

You reckon that will amuse him for the next ten minutes at least, so clearly, once again, Cecil’s not the one coming up with a plan for the remainder of this evening.

It’s not that you ever really have to do anything with Cecil to have a good time. It’s just that, tonight, you’re antsy, and it’s making your thoughts wander in directions. Down below his zipper directions, so help you.

“Beer’s empty,” Cecil states flatly, finally noticing after sucking on the bottle for a mo, poking his wet pink tongue around the rim like the little wet cat boy he is. Cute though. Does things to you.

Anyway. You register his statement, but you observe that no action follows. He doesn’t look at all like he plans to do a damn thing about it.

You decide to test your theory, then. Your theory that Cecil’s simply a dead fish swept along in your river. That maybe he doesn’t even want to be here at all. Never did. That you are just another something that happened to happen to him.

“Do you wanna go get Mexican?” you offer, with ulterior motives Cecil is not shrewd enough to pick up on.

His eyes tick back from the captivating, shifting lights of the TV. “Sure,” he smiles softly at you, perfectly content, it seems - and yet, you are less than satisfied.

“See!” You smack the palms of your hands together in triumph, and he jumps. Pushes himself up a little straighter in the seat, his palms disappearing into the worn, lumpy upholstery. “See what I mean?”

He blinks at you blankly. Again.

Clearly not, then?

“You just go along with anything I say. We ate two hours ago, Cecil,” you complain, recalling the all you can eat Chinese buffet you and he had gorged on with two coupons you’d cut out of the newspaper. You drop your hands to your lap, dejectedly. You’re getting agitated with him, which surprises you, in truth. And still… there Cecil is. Unflappable. Calm. Constant. There are pros to his cons, for sure. “I just… I never know if you actually like what we’re doing, you know?”

“But. You always suggest things I like. So why would I say no?” He shrugs a little. “Tacos are good. I like tacos. I like…” he hoots into his bottle again as he says the word. “You-ooooooh.”

You hate to admit it, but his answer has you stumped for a moment. Cecil’s statements may generally be simple. Uncomplicated. But they can be oddly profound at times.

Christ. Maybe… Does the man actually have a valid point? Or, perhaps you’re looking too hard for meaning in his words - it’s possible. You feel like you’ve spent a lot of time lately looking hard at Cecil, perhaps to justify your bizarre and inexplicable feelings.

Possibly you’re even projecting. His seeming lack of independent willpower would certainly make that easy enough to do.

Maybe the man has a point though. Maybe he’s not as “easy-going” as you think he is. Maybe you’re just coincidentally so attuned to his desires that he’s never had cause to deny you. Maybe you are aligned with his desires. One and the same. “What if I asked you to do something you didn’t like, then?”

You slurp up the dregs of melted ice through your straw and Cecil blinks again as though it’s taking all of his processing power. Damn, though. You’re surprised that the fanning of those endlessly long cow lashes didn’t cause the curtains behind you to billow in the breeze they threw up. “Like what?”

You shake your head. Touch his arm to placate him. “Never mind, Cecil.” Christ. If he can’t even think of a single Thing He Wouldn’t Like, maybe you can safely stick to your dead fish hypothesis. It’s all the same to him. Just happening to him. He’s not choosing you.

That particular thought, when it arrives, niggles you more than expected, but you quash the growing agitation which rides in alongside it.

Meanwhile, Cecil looks around, quite visibly thinking. “I wouldn’t get up outta this seat,” he states adamantly, his voice croaked from all the blunts he’s worked through today. “I wouldn’t like that.”

You believe him. He’s practically sliding down to become a puddle on the floor. Dissolving into the bar furniture; becoming one with the upholstery.

Your lips curl up into a tender smile, remembering one particularly ridiculous night at Cecil’s. The night involving a 3am bong sesh, culminating in him genuinely believing he had merged with the couch, becoming a half-human half-upholstery monstrosity. He had waved the two huge, puffy couch cushions around as though they were his arms, and he’d grabbed you up in the middle of them like a grilled cheese, sandwiching you and taking you down to the floor where the two of you had rolled and laughed until you’d cried.

When the laughter had subsided to only the odd titter here and there, and you had lain on his disgusting rug almost nose to nose? That’s the first time you’d wanted to kiss him, and it turned out not to have been the last.

Fuck. You are rather fond of this idiot, aren’t you? How the fuck did that happen?

Engaged fully now though - slightly more lucid than your fond memory- Cecil sits up. Still slouched but this time over the table, his forearms bracing him against the surface. As he moves, you get a waft of his layered, stale cigarette smell. It’s… confusing, in its appeal. Should be off-putting, but you find, in fact, that it’s a comfort.

“No? You don’t wanna?”

With a rush of affection you link your arm through Cecil’s, and he slumps his head on to your shoulder as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You weren’t ready for the way his knotted curls brush your cheek, and it inspires a similarly dense and tangled knot to form in your middle.

“No.” It’s the most sure you’ve ever heard him sound. “I don’t wanna get up.”

“A minute ago we were going for Mexican food, Cecil.” There’s a beat. “That kinda involves movement, you realise?

He swivels his head towards you then, gaze all doe-eyed and pathetic, and the proximity of him parroting on your shoulder knocks you for six. “You mad at me or something, Hottie from Walmart?”

You snort. He doesn’t always pull out that nickname for you - how you’d been known to him before you had been known to him - but it always makes you sentimental when he does.

He shifts from you then, tilting his body towards you. Scrutinising you with apprehension in his sweet face.

Fuck him actually, and fuck his pouty beautiful kissable lips most of all.

You sigh, and you deliberately soften your face. He’s easy-going, sure, but he’s sensitive. Trouble slides off of his back, but other things… other things don’t slip off quite so well, and he often gets like this. Like he’s done something wrong, when he hasn’t.

You actively resist the urge to coddle him. To tenderly rake his somewhat grimy but beautiful curls off of his forehead.

You hardly want to examine the fact he brings out your… motherly instincts; but it doesn’t escape your attention that he always seems like he’s craving just a little nurturing. You want to take your thumb and smooth out the creases in his troubled brow.

“No, Cecil. I’m not mad at you. I’d tell you if I was and we’d talk about it.”

He nods.

You’re not mad at him. Really. And so, you take pause to wonder why this happy-go-lucky trait of his is particularly irking you today. “It’s mostly a good thing, I promise.”

“It is?”

“Yeah.”

He looks pleased for a minute and then: “Wait. What’s a good thing?”

You want to kiss his stupid mouth until he can’t think. Which you don’t think would take long at all, actually.

“That…” You think about how to phrase it, and it quickly occurs to you. “That. You’re my ‘yes man’.” He is expressionless for a moment, and you wait for comprehension to slowly crawl over him. “I mean, Cecil,” you take his clammy hand in yours. “That it’s always fun with you. I mean that you never shoot down my ideas. Even when you probably should.”

His face splits with a brief - goofy, but wholly endearing - smile. “You have fun with me?”

His big cow eyes go all soft and wet.

Oh boy. This idiot. If you didn’t have fun with him, even just sitting on his grotty couch, what other reason could you possibly have to hang out with him, huh?

You open your mouth to say as much before thinking better of it, but for once Cecil beats you to it.

“I have fun with you too, Hottie.”

It’s another one of those moments of levity that you’ve experienced surprisingly often with Cecil. One of those moments where everything feels a just little more profound. A little more magical. Sometimes, Cecil gets you in the gut just a little harder than expected.

Great. And now you’re thinking of Cecil all up in your guts.

“I should think so - I’m awesome. But, right now? All I’m saying is…” You tap your noggin. “Tank empty. No ideas. It’s your turn to decide what we do tonight? Okay?”

You search his eyes. His big, beautiful, sincere and secretless eyes. You silently ask the true question you want to ask him. I want to know what you want.

You’re not yet ready to admit the questions buried right beneath that one: do you want me back? Could you? Would you, Cecil?

“Yeah?” Cecil responds, unsure, and you immediately worry that you have, in fact, given him too much responsibility. His expression compresses in a frown of deep, deep concentration. Like he’s really wrestling with this.

You watch with bated breath, dying to see what he comes up with - if anything at all.

And then - aha - he finally has it.

“I could jerk off.”

“Wha-?” You playfully bat him in the arm, aghast. “Cecil!!”

“What?” A surprised, contrite laugh bobs in his throat.

“I mean.” You swallow. “How is that an idea for both of us?”

Oh that’s your problem with his idea?

That it’s not participatory enough?

“You could help.”

Your jaw drops open. “Cecil! I’m not gonna-” you switch to a loud whisper “-jerk you off!”

He blinks again, his eyes glinting with a gentle - ever so gentle - flicker of amusement. “You’re not a yes man,” he complains softly, his curly lips sneaking up into a curly smile. “Always shooting down my ideas.”

He bats his lashes at you and oh boy - even Cecil must be starting to figure out that you’re a sucker for those big, pretty brown eyes. Your one true weakness.

“That’s really what you want?” you ask, trying to keep things light. To keep your tone jokey and jovial, like always, despite the rising tremor in your voice. “It would involve getting up, you realise?”

He winks at you - a gesture which seems entirely unlike him and yet somehow works - and smirks down at his crotch. “Already am.”

“If you’re really so uncontrollably horny, why don’t you get someone else around here to help you, huh?” Your heart skips a beat. “Why me?”

He’s looking at you like he wants you but… he’s an opportunistic guy. Goes with the flow. That’s how things come to him; he’ll take his cigarettes and beers and fucks wherever and whenever he can get them.

He unceremoniously pulls out a rolled blunt and lights it up, the filter end pressed between his plush pink lips.

“No.” It bobs as he talks and he takes little, peppered drags to get the burn going.

“No?”

You blink at him dumbly now.

“No. I only want you.”

Correction. That’s the most sure of anything you’ve ever heard him.

He slips forward, exhaling his smoke into your mouth as his lips caress yours. “Come on,” he encourages. “Get going. Before my penis turns into a couch cushion.”

He kisses your laugh, and as his tongue slides hungrily against yours suddenly it isn’t quite so funny. Suddenly, you feel like maybe Cecil has the best ideas.

“Right here?” You reach down, and you smooth your palm over the clothed bulge at his crotch. “In the booth?”

“I’m already barred. Heh. What are they gonna do?”

You smile at him, licking your lips as Cecil bucks up into your hand, his head lolling back against the lip of his seat, and his pretty eyes fluttering closed.

He groans, as your fingers snake to tease open the button at his fly.

“Oops,” Cecil whispers contritely, almost immediately, his cheeks and his ears darkening with a deep crimson flush as he looks over to you. “I just… I…”

Oh God. He just came in his pants, didn’t he? Oh Lord that makes you inexplicably hot.

His big, pretty eyes are wet with apology. “Are you mad?”

“No, Cecil.” Poor baby. “I just think I should take you home and get you cleaned up, hmm?” You next words all run into one, as you struggle to get your new genius plan out of your mouth. “Mayberimyoualittlewhatdoyousay?”

Did you actually just suggest that you take him home to rim him? Good Lord.

He blinks rapidly, the colour in his cheeks flowering more, like a beautiful rose unfurling. “Y-Yes. I say yes.”

It’s a hare-brained plan, for sure, but you decide that for once,

you might as well just…

go with the flow.

It certainly works for Cecil.

[blue-sadie]

The Revengeful

Cecil Dennis x Birthday Girl Reader

Series Masterlist

Prt 8 of the Different Versions Series

Summary: waking up on yours and your doppelgangers shared birthday and getting the best gift ever

Warning: table sex

Yn/3rd person pov

I woke up to the soft voices and illuminating glow of the TV, I shifted further back into the couch clutching the blankets tightly as I yawned blinking the sleep away my eyes drifted towards the uncovered window up to the dark stary sky.

I stretched out my arm to grab the phone that was on the table groaning as the brightness blurred my eyea it was 00:47 "what the fuck is wrong with me" I whined slowly sitting up yawning one last time I looked around the room it was a connecting lounge that had the dining room and kitchen on either side.

I stared dead ahead at the TV a boring horror was playing, I perked up hearing a car door shut was it in the movie or outside, it couldn't be in the movie because they were in the sewers and the sound effects didn't suit it "princesa".

I turned my head to the voice hearing keys jiggle and the door unlock "I got you presents" my eyebrows frowned but softened as I saw him walk down the corridor with a small box in one hand and in the other a take away back that looked to be from a mexican restaurant.

"Happy birthday" he smiled stopping a few feet away from me, my lips twitched as I snatched the phone from the table looking at the date "we all share a birthday" I whispered I quickly shook my head before turning to him smiling up at him "thank you" I murmured, he quickly came over placing the food on the small table and gave the box to me the smell of cheap beer and cigarette smoke filled my nose makingit crinkle a bit.

I took it carefully admiring the large bow that was settled on top a little note on it 'love you my birthday girl, love cecil', my mind wondered back to the boys my eyes fluttered shut as I breathed in deeply would they even remember my heart ached as I thought about it "hey what's got my birthday girl down" he murmured wrapping his arm around me as he sat next to me.

I turned my gaze to him smiling sadly "nothing just thinking" I said, he nodded and smiled again as he gestured to the gift "open it" I slowly slipped off the bow before turning off the gift to peel off the tape each time I got closer to the gift he got more excited his knee bouncing in anticipation, I took off the wrapping paper placing it beside me and stared at the black box.

I held it by the sides before flipping the lid up, my breath caught in my throat as I came face to face with a beautiful full necklace that sparkled in the dim glow of the TV "w-wow" I was amazed by the gift my finger tips glazed over the jems my eyes moved between the necklace and him "I don't know what to say" I paused "thank you" I smiled and he smiled back.

"I'll do anything for my birthday girl to be happy" he murmured moving a bit closer "but I'll ask just for a kiss for a thank you" he grinned leaning towards me, I rolled my eyes playfully before leaning in as well intil our lips met in a calm yet passionate kiss my hands slowly moved to his shoulders and his to my waist as I moved to straddle him, my legs settling on either side of him.

"But I could take something else as well" he said pulling back as his eyes slowly moved his way up my body only stopping when our eyes meet "could see it as interest or an early pay on your next gift" I laughed making him raise his eyebrow "what I think that's a great idea" he chuckled as he moved his hand to the curve of my ass.

He moaned into my mouth as his hands tightened their hold on me slightly pushing my bearly covered core against his bulge "maybe this can be your second gift" he groaned moving his lips to my neck his cainies slightly grazing my skin as he sucked on it surely leave a hickie or two "fuck Cecil" I groaned my hands slightly into his clothed shoulders.

"That's it birthday girl say my name" he grinned nipping at my skin making me gasp and turn my head to the side giving him more access to my neck "that's it" he growled as his hands slightly massaged my ass inching down my pj shorts his finger tips dragging themselves down my bare skin of my ass as he guided the shorts down my thighs.

"Even though I fucking love this position I think we need to get our clothes off" I whispered pulling my neck away from his lips he sighed deeply and bit his lips as he stared at the marks he made on my neck, his hands linked under my thighs as he stood up forcing me to lock my legs around him "fuck I don't think we can make it to the bedroom" he groaned pressing his bulging cock into my pussy.

He slide me onto the table and stood back, his hands pulled off my shorts and tank leaving me bare against the cold wood, a shakey breathe Leaving my lips as a shiver run up my spine and my hand clasped the edge of the table my eyes watching his hands drop my clothes to the floor before removing his own.

He slide off his shirt with ease dropping it onto the pile "you love watching me don't you" he grinned as he slowly slid his hands down his chest his nails slightly digging into his skin leaving a light red trail down intill it came into contact with his belt, his eyes stared at me as he undid his belt and pulled it out with a powerful pull he stared at the belt his eyes flickering to mine and a big smile pasted onto his lips as he shook his head placing onto the table beside me.

"I'll save that for another day" he said quietly as he slide off his pants and boxers kicking them off and into the pile, "now where were we" he murmured and stepping back in between my thighs his hands gripping them tightly "I think your about to fuck me" I grinned leaning forward and pressing my lips to his, he chuckled against my lips as one of his hands left my thigh and grabbed his cock running its head up and down my slight.

A wavering moan left my lips as he slowly pushed the head inside he clenched my thighs and pushed in further my hands went to grip his arms as we moaned, he slowly pulled out and pushed back in his thrusts slowly increased as I got used to his size "fuck baby" he groaned dipping his head down to my chest his lips latching around my perky nipples giving them a few licks and sucks before moving onto the other one giving them each a term.

"You are so good for me" Cecil muttered breathlessly as he threw his head back, his thrusts sending jerks through my body, I moaned out my hands tightening their hold on his arms "c-cecil" I whined clenching around him fueling his thrusts "keep doing that for me" Cecil muttered.

My eyes slowly went cross eyed as I slowly layed back down onto the wooden surface the coldness of the wood making me quiver I could feel myself getting closer to the edge "fuck" I cried my thigh muscles tensing as I felt the knot inside me break, my pussy clenched around him hard making it harder for him to do his final thrusts before cumming, he yelled out in pleasure buring himself deep inside.

"Fuck fuck fuck" he groaned as he slowly pulled out and leaned down to watch his cum leak out as sleep started to take over me I felt him dip his hands underneath me picking me up and pushing me against his chest my head laying in the crook of his neck as he slowly walked his way back to the couch my eyes slowly fluttering shut.

"If I get this as I thank you I'll make sure to get you a Dimond ring next time, I love you my pretty baby I hope you had the best birthday ever and remember it's not over yet"

[apesarecuul]

Oscar Isaac characters and video games/gamer!reader

Anselm one was inspired by @reallyrallyauthor

Steven Grant:

I know what you’re going to say. Cliche but he 100% plays animal crossing. It’s cliche but it is RIGHT. He loves digging up little artifacts and seeing them in the little museum. You will have to try hard to get him to play anything else. He’s not much of an action game guy. One night he’s watching you play Red Dead Redemption 2 and decides to give it a try. HE LOVES IT. Does he make any progress? absolutely not. Does he make you watch him play? absolutely.

Marc Spector:

Believe it or not I don’t see Marc as a first person shooter guy. He’s seen more guns and death than you can imagine. Why would he play a game about something he’s already seen first hand? I do think that once he finally gets comfortable he’ll secretly play games like Stardew Valley or Firewatch. He likes experiencing lives he hasn’t had. He won’t tell you that’s the reason for it. He is going to tell you that he plays them ironically. That’s why he romanced every character in Stardew…. To be ironic.

Jake Lockley:

We all know that Jake is an old man on the inside. He’s never been able to indulge in anything that really takes time. So when you got him a tablet for Christmas he didn’t really know what he was supposed to do with it. It was ok at searching up things but not as convenient as his phone, you couldn’t use it to call people but it was good for searching up cooking tutorials behind your back. Once when you got bored on a long car ride you borrowed his tablet and downloaded a few of those games that are riddled with ads. Merge Mansion, Candy Crush, Dragon City, etc. Once he gets it back he’s like ‘what the hell is this?’ And now he’s addicted like an iPad kid. Congratulations. I bet you feel proud of yourself 😠

Anselm Vogelweide:

(NSFW)

He’s not exactly a ‘gamer’. Sure he has all the fancy equipment, VR, PC, haptic suit, tracking, etc. He bought it for you before you two even really started dating because you mentioned wanting a VR headset one day. He doesn’t deny that he was attempting to seduce you and you don’t deny that it worked. What made him start using it however was when you mentioned something called virtual reality porn. Look at what you’ve done. He now has access to even more porn. As if he didn’t have enough. When you’re gone for more than a day he pulls it out and tries to pretend it’s you. He wanted you to make a VR porn game just for him. You had to break it to him that you had no idea how that would even work. Don’t you worry. He will find a way.

Cecil Dennis:

Call of Duty. He has a ratty taped up controller that his cousin through against the wall. He loves the Story mode way better than online. He doesn’t like online because he enjoys the plot more than the competition. (he’s bad at the game and gets bullied) He doesn’t rage. He cries when he dies too many times on a hard segment of the game and either makes to sit in his lap while he tries to get past that segment or he flat out lays ontop of you. Face buried in your neck sniffling.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Hello my all mighty Fen!

I was wondering if I could request smut headcanons for OI characters when they fuck their pregnant partner that is in the horny phase of the pregnancy 😩

This has DESTROYED me (positive) Thank you <3

Masterlist • ao3 • want to be tagged? • Requests Info • buy me a coffee? •

Steven: Absolutely delighted, part of him was worried that you wouldn’t be so into him when you got pregnant (he’s not sure where the insecurity comes from) so when you want to jump his bones he’s more than willing.

Marc: He’s making awful jokes, “Shall we turn this baby into twins? Triplets?” Does it. Every. Single. Time. Pulls the most sincere face you have ever seen while he says it, which never fails to make you laugh. 

Jake: Takes his duty very seriously. “We got you into this situation amor, so we got to make it perfect for you.” Will literally do whatever you want, even when you remind him that the pregnancy is planned.

Nathan: Likes the horney sex very much, because A: sex and B: it helps him to calm down and stop panicking about being a dad soon.

Anselm: The second your pregnant you’re never getting off his cock, so this is fine. “What about your meetings Anselm?” “You will be on my lap with me inside you, of course.” 

Cecil: “What if I hurt the baby?”🥺 Nothing you can say can convince him otherwise. (Books, videos, doctors, he’s all like, “I don’t know…”) Instead he eats you out for hours.

Club!Blue: Insists you’re on top. Says it’s because he’s lazy. But you can see how he looks at you that’s not right. One time he accidentally blurts out that he doesn’t want to hurt you in any way and wants you to just take whatever you want from him.

Santiago: Is super into it, and then has an intrusive thought while doing the deed and blurts out, “Do you think it feels like a roller coaster for the kid?” He looks so embarrassed the second he says it, and you burst out laughing, which makes him laugh. “It’s a good thing the baby will get your brains, because obviously all mine have been fucked out of me.” 

Shimmer!Kane: Somehow knows you’re going to get horny the second before you do and appears at your side ready to push you up against every service. 

Jonathan: I swear this man is addicted to getting married and having kids, so he will go this happily. However, I think it’s best if you make him work for it first.

Laurent: This man is horny 24/7 so, not much will change from normal.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist 1:

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[female-hysterics]

Masterlist

Travis "Trapper" Beasley

Herr Köing

Adam Barrett/Frank

1

Prince Adam/The Beast

Sir Lancelot

David Collins

Aemond Targaryen

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7

Dan Stevens Group Reference

1

Steven Grant

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10- 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15

Marc Spector

1 - 2

Jake Lockley

1 - 2

Moonboys

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9

Poe Dameron

1 - 2 - 3

Cecil Dennis

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 -16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20

Jonathan Levy

1 - 2 - 3 - 4

Jonathan Levy/Reader/Mira Phillips

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5

Duke Leto Atreides

1 - 2

Santiago "Pope" Garcia

1

[ominoose]

Out of curiosity, which Oscar characters do you think would like to be with a short s/o? (And which ones do you think would like a tall s/o?)

𝐎𝐬𝐜 𝐈𝐬𝐜 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐒/𝐎

*rubs hands together in 5'1* I'm writing this with the s/o being somewhere under 5'2. Ty for the ask!!!

Characters: Cecil Dennis, Jack Jackson, Jake Lockley Warnings: None

𝐂𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐥 𝐃𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐬

Will be condescending about it and not mean it. Goes "Awww" when you do things because you're so small and condensed and adorable, even if you're angry, he gets a form of cuteness aggression.

Adores spooning you, squeezing you into him with his arms around your torso like you're his teddy bear. Also loves you spooning him and does call you his "little backpack".

Loves to have you across his lap sideways when watching tv and rests his head against you in some way.

If you stand on your tiptoes to kiss him he'll swoon.

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧

Will be condescending about it and mean it. Chuckles and teases you when you can't reach something and have to ask him for help, but he won't admit he puts things on the high shelf on purpose every now and again.

His teasing is in fun, because he refuses to actually underestimate you. If you're staying at his trailer, you're trusted with the same tasks of tending to the homestead that he does if you're physically capable. Your height isn't a hold back to him, its just as another attribute just like your hair length, albeit one he finds particularly cute.

It does give him an ego boost to have height on you and he does dearly love to bend down and give you a cheeky kiss.

𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐲

He takes on a traditional role in relationships, in a chivalrous, gentleman kind of way. He absolutely does not seek stereo-typically submissive partners, nor even feminine or female ones, but if you have a shorter height than him it will make him melt.

Won't grab things for you if its out of reach unless you ask, he refuses to make you feel lesser when you're there and capable yourself. When you're not there, you'll wake up to your favourite mug down and set for you, or a vase you'd mentioned wanting to get down from the top shelf is now on the counter, newly washed and filled with flowers.

Picks you up to take you over any puddles or even place you in the car. Picks you up to put you into bed. Picks you up to put you in a bath he ran for you. Picks you up to kiss you.

He will make a few little comments about it, with a smirk. He's sassy, he can't help it.

[ierofrnkk]

Taking Cecil to a craft store or some other shop with lots of colorful stuff to get excited about. What aisle does he get lost in, and what does he ask you to buy him?

Ohhhh you are speaking so deeply to my soul right now ily.

Cecil, my darling boy, would absolutely have a time in Michael’s or Hobby Lobby. I’d definitely have to go in to get a new sketchbook or some paint, and he would immediately wander off to the model car/toy section of the store.

You look away for five minutes to decide on a new pack of markers and he’s halfway across the store sitting on the ground looking at Gundam and those big tubes full of plastic animals.

A kid in a candy store would have more control than Cecil would in a craft store.

I headcanon Cecil to be the type of guy to be too shy to ask you for something, so he’ll just slip it into the shopping cart and hope you don’t notice.

As for what he’s getting….

He’d definitely try to convince you to buy him one of those model cars or build-it-yourself action figures, but when you see the absolutely absurd price of them, he agrees to find something else.

Cecil is definitely very hands-on, but he likely doesn’t have the patience for something like jewelry or sculpting.

So, shrinky-dinks are the way to go.

Cecil goes nuts over them.

He sits at the kitchen table when you get home, materials strewn all over the place as he doodles and colors in designs on the material, before cutting it out and sticking them all in the toaster oven to bake.

He makes you earrings (or tries to. You’ll have to attach some hooks to them later), he doodles little versions of him and yourself, eagerly watching the oven as the plastic shrinks and hardens.

Before you know it, he’s used up all his materials, and he’s pawing at your arm like a lost puppy, begging you to take him back to the store to get some more stuff.

And you can’t say no to him, so you oblige.

For his birthday, you get him a whole bunch of shrinky-dinks, all different colors and new markers and everything else along with it.

-

I’m kissing him I’m kissing him I’m kissing him

Thank you so much!!

Tags: @ominoose @winniethewife @faretheeoscar @midgardian-witch @reallyrallyauthor @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

[soulreader05]

Y/N : Yesterday, I overheard Cecil saying ‘are you sure this is a good idea?’ And Zaria replying ‘trust me’.

Y/N : I have never moved from one room to another so quickly in my entire life.