#oscar isaac hands down

[p1anether]

oscar isaac is so good looking it makes me wanna throw up

[rosemaryannethyme]

Ooohhh FUCK YEAH

Netflix said let’s do it for the hoes

[fake-bleach]

all mine | miguel o'hara x reader

summary: You have an unspoken rule with Miguel O’Hara. He takes care of you, he provides for you, and in return, you let him take what he wants.

word count: 2.2k

warnings/disclaimers: (18+ only!) fem!afab!reader (no use of y/n), literally porn no plot, unprotected piv sex, implications of free use but also not rly, slight choking, dirty talk, roughish sex, no foreplay (straighttt to it), use of pet names (honey, baby, sweetheart, girl, etc), coming inside, i think that's it lolll, !no atsv spoilers!

i know this isn't p but i watched spiderverse last night and had to get him out of my system + i adore oscar isaac <3 working on two joel fics rn so expect those :)

ao3 link | masterlist

The ruffling of your sheets weren't nearly enough to wake you from your sleep. But, the pressure of Miguel's body on yours was.

It always was.

"Hey, baby.. It's me," he whispers in your ear, his hands and arms practically consuming you as they roam across your entire body. With you laying flat on your stomach, his hips and chest press so tightly against you.

It runs chills down your spine; the force of his pent up cock in his rigid suit as the sultry voice fills your hazy mind, barely wakening from your deep slumber. His lips plant desperate kisses on the back of your neck, lowering the more he lifts your flimsy pajama shirt up and up and up.

He never did really like you wearing anything to sleep.

Your sluggish murmurs barely register to him, a soft, “Mmphf," and "Miguel.." making him almost instinctively say the same words he always does when he comes to you.

"Yeah.. Missed you too, cariño." He mutters out, his hands already reaching for your shorts to lower them along with your panties, not taking a single second to waste. The small kisses he plants on your lower back never slow, giving you that bit of reassurance which almost sends a surge of energy through you.

He was always so needy with you; never putting much effort to make any small talk. He was here for a reason and you knew that.

But, you didn't mind it one bit.

The cool air from the sudden exposure on your skin sends shivers throughout your entire body, making you tremble just enough to force a faint laugh out of Miguel's throat.

It's that same laugh that makes you crave him; the deep, heavy tone of it making your eyes flutter open with need already soaring through you and your core.

His fingers trail down to your inner thighs, almost teasing you with the gentle glide of the tips, wanting to force those little noises out of your mouth, which he successfully does. Your faint whines just make him grin, knowing that you need him.. just as much as he needs you.

He drifts them over your soft folds, nearly hissing out at how wet you already were. It makes him chuckle, your whimpers growing louder the more he touches you. "Already soaked for me, honey? Bet you were just waitin' for me to come see you.." He whispers out lowly, his lustful eyes fixed onto your glistening cunt.

His fingers take their time, faintly pressing against your entrance and swiping through your lips, gathering the wet slick that you were so graciously providing for him.

It always makes this so much easier for him.

You moan out, turning your head just enough to catch a glimpse of his body and the movement of his free hand releasing his cock from his suit, and the sight makes your mouth water.

He desperately guides the tip of it through your folds, getting ready to indulge himself into your warm heat. The feeling of his cock pressing into you makes you groan, gripping onto the sheets as butterflies flow through your stomach and core, hole clenching around nothing.

You needed him so bad already, just like you always did.

Mouth falling open, you whimper out, "please.." and all it does is make him laugh, smirking as he glances up at you. "Need me that bad, baby? Barely getting started.." He rasps out, nearly pressing the head of his cock into your cunt, but just enough to get him a taste of you.

He groans out, his hands now moving up to squeeze your ass eagerly before slapping it. The harsh sound and the sting of it makes you cry out, thrusting your hips against the sheets in attempt to get some kind of friction.

"Fuck, missed this pretty pussy.. Gonna cherish it.. fuck it.. just like you need, honey." He lets out with a faint hiss, taking his time to start pushing his cock inside of your tight hole. The girth of him makes your walls constrict around him, gripping onto him tightly as he presses himself into you, each inch making your jaw fall wider and wider.

You've been at this too many times with him, but you never get used to the feeling of him inside of you.

It doesn't take too long until his hips are flush against your ass, the tip of his cock piercing so deeply inside of you and filling you up to the brim. It has you letting out small pants, eyes almost rolling all the way to the back of your head at how heavy the air feels around you, how full you feel.

Your face lays on the bed, the side of your cheek pressed against your pillow as your eyes gaze onto Miguel's hips and large body nearly covering you entirely. He licks his drying lips, staring up at you for a moment to look at your face.

He coos at you, almost patronizingly. "Too much?" he teases, "Fucked you so many times, baby.. n' your cunt's still so tight around me."

His head tilts down to stare at the sight of your walls wrapped around him and slightly pulls out as he lifts your thigh up a bit, just enough to see you clench around him involuntarily. It makes him groan; the feeling of your warm pussy enough to wash all of his problems away.

That's why he was here, anyway.

His hips begin to create an unrelenting pace, slowly yet surely making your entire body push and pull into the mattress over and over again, every force of his cock hitting you harder each time.

The echoing smack of his hips slapping against your ass and thighs fill the room entirely, along with your moans growing louder with each thrust. The recurring sting of his skin leaves you breathless, letting out small gasps as you grip onto the sheets tighter.

Miguel doesn't take a second to rest, making sure he slams his cock into your cunt to the brim, using every inch of your hole as if it were only his to use.

He lets out short, hoarse moans each time he enters you. The squelching noises your soaked pussy gives out makes him smack your ass, your slick coating his cock and nearly running down your thighs.

The sounds make your cheeks burn, his mocking laugh forcing a groan out of you as he moves his body forward to lay his chest on your back now, the weight of him keeping your waist and stomach flush into the bed.

The pressure of him feels intoxicating, your breath hitching as he leans his mouth towards your ear. His grunts are the only thing that you can hear now, along with the faint sounds of the constant slaps of his hips against you. It's so filthy, yet you crave it every time with him.

His grunts now turn into whispers; faint, heavy breaths that you can barely process from how full and fucked out you felt.

It's almost like you're going in and out of consciousness, hardly registering what he was saying, until you hear, "Good fucking girl.. Lettin' me use you like this, fuck, taking such good care of me.."

You whimper out in response, his words making that heat in your stomach and core rise. The praise, yet degrading things that Miguel tells you always leave you wanting more.

His hips begin to slow down now, instead taking his time to pull his cock out of you, letting the tip of it rest against your entrance. Lifting his head from your shoulder, his eyes travel from your bare skin back to your ass. He shoves himself back into you, harder with each thrust so you can feel every inch of him, taking you completely.

You cry out at the intrusion, the harsh force making your eyes roll back as you whine out his name. The push of his cock reaches that spot deep inside of you, forcing your eyes wide open at the overwhelming sensation.

His name on your tongue drives him insane, lifting one of his hands from your ass to reach underneath the weight of your head, wrapping his fingers around your throat. He feels your heart pounding beneath his fingertips, his grip on you tightening just to see you gasp with his eyes fixed on your face now.

He moans your name, his coarse voice making you tighten around him, "There we go, sweetheart.. Think I hit a spot, yeah?" He murmurs out, your groans giving him the answer he needed. The repetitive movement of his thrusts never relent, Miguel making sure that the pace and aim of his cock stay the same.

Your body shudders at the feeling, sending waves of pleasure through your core as you feel him buried to the hilt. You breathe out, desperation seething out through your teeth, "Yeah, Miguel, s-shit, yeah..", feeling your orgasm build up the more he fucks you.

"That's it, honey, let me hear you say it.. Who's fuckin' you this good? Who's gonna make you come, baby?" He pants, thrusts growing faster as he chases his own release, needing to come with you.

Another smack of his large hand on your ass makes you gasp out, eyes shutting tightly as you force the words out of your lips, "You, Miguel, fuck, s'always you.. no one else.."

Your confession goes straight to Miguel's cock, pride growing at the knowledge that you give yourself to him and only him. He grits his teeth, groans slipping out of his mouth while he reaches between your stomach connected to the bed, pressing his fingers against your clit.

"Yeah, baby? I'm the only one who can fuck this pretty pussy, that right?" He urges out of you, hardly processing his thoughts before he can speak them, "You're mine to use? Mine to fuck when I want, huh?"

His words mixed with the pressure of his fingertips on your clit, pressing small, tight circles on it has you moaning out spurs of nonsense; mindless, fucked out noises, with the way his cock slams inside of you over and over again. You feel so full, the heat and coiling inside of your stomach and core increasing.

You whine out, biting your swollen lips, "F-Fuck! Yeah, yeah, m' yours Miguel, all fucking yours.." you breathe out, "Yours to fuck, whenever you want.. Yours to use; whatever you want, Miguel.."

Admitting that shouldn't have felt as good as it did.

You never thought you'd be able to speak like that, much less degrade yourself in such a way; not until he came into your life.

Not until he ruined you for everyone else.

His chest presses tightly against your back, lips back in your ear as he grunts into it, "That's my girl.. knowing your fuckin' place, that's right.." His hands press into the small of your back, forcing your stomach into the bed. You didn't think it was possible for you to feel even more full, but the way he buries his cock to the hilt has you seeing stars.

The quick circles on your clit with the force of his hips has your stomach tightening, coiling up as your walls constrict around his cock, making you come without any warning at all.

Your head lifts, pants and moans escaping your throat with your eyes shut. Miguel's voice encourages you, his fingers on your clit slowing, though his hips never let up. He lifts his chest off from your back to gain better leverage now, hands gripping onto your ass as he pounds himself into you.

The pressure of his cock into your sensitive, spent cunt has you wailing out, whining at the overstimulation. Miguel just uses you and your abused hole, chasing his own release as his cock twitches. "Shit, honey, gonna come, gonna fill you up, fuck," he groans out in rushed breaths.

You clench around him involuntarily, the spasms of your pussy and orgasm hardly to your own control, letting out, "Fill me up, baby, ruin me, please.."

Your words were enough to push Miguel right to the edge, the sudden halt of his thrusts making you gasp out as he buries himself deep inside of you, painting your walls with hot, thick streams of come. He lets himself fall against you, chest pressed into your back with his hips up to the hilt of your hole.

The mix of your heavy breaths and his pants fill your ears and the entire room, the air filled with the scent of sex as you both fall from your highs. Your chest fills with air, heaving up and down with each breath you take as you stare at Miguel, taking in his figure entirely.

You could never truly allow yourself to actually feel for him; you knew that would never be wise, but you can't help the words that escape your mouth.

"Stay tonight?"

Miguel just lifts his head to look into your eyes, giving you a small, tired smile. "Yeah, honey.. Thank you..” he breathes with a press of his lips to your shoulder, “I needed this.”

"I know."

-

a/n: idek if this made any sense bc i wrote it so quick but idgaf i need him <3

-

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[romana-after-dark]

Keep Running, Little Bunny!

Dark!Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Masterlist

Buy Me A Coffee : Kofi : Go Fund Me

Summary: Logan takes you, but gives you a chance to escape... what isn't he telling you?

Warnings: NON CON DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!!! Logan is a masochist and a bit of a sadist but def more into the pain. Feral!Logan, primal kink, THIS IS NON NON, READER AND LOGAN GET SLICED UP! I'm not listing everything here, just please read with caution! Physical and sexual violence! Somno!

Immersivity: Reader is fem, afab, able bodied

A/N: first time writing Logan!!! Im obssed with him after deadpool wolverine but the only other Wolverine movie ive seen was that really bad one in like japan or something lmfao. I do wanna watch them all now (Oscar Isaac is in apocalypse!) This may not be the most correct but I'm trying. Lemme know if you wan more Logan!

Divider by @xxbimbobunnyxx

Im late but I wanted to do the manspreading for the manspreading olympics by @toxicanonymity

"You're a hard girl to get a hold of, princess."

Logan is sitting across from the bed you've woken up in, in a chair with his legs spread wide. You can see the bulge in his pants from how he touched you, caressing your sleeping body as you slowly woke up from whatever you were given. His hands slid up your loose shorts, a single finger slipping in and out of your hole, making sure the first words you woke up to were, "Are you always this wet?" with his hot breath fluttering on your skin.

Slowly, the memories began to come to you: how you fought and kicked and screamed as Logan tried to drag you away, him shoving the chloroformed rag in your mouth until you passed out gagging... 

Now here you were, watching him as he palmed his hardness in front of you.

"i thought X-men were good guys." You spit, arms crossed over your chest as you watch him touch himself.

He shrugs with a little smirk on the right side of his face. "I wouldn't call myself a good guy. Never have. Saving the world is one thing... but I think I'm owed a little something on the side."

You laugh at that, a bark of a laugh that signals the disbelief that he's actually speaking to you right now, saying such things. "I don't owe you shit!"

"Maybe not. Doesn't matter though, because I'm gonna let you go." Logan groans, stroking a long, hard drag down the line of his cock in his pants.

This makes you narrow your eyes, suspicious. "What do you mean?"

"I'm gonna let you go. Gonna let you make a run for it. Here." He tosses a knife to the bed, making you flinch but then you quickly grab it, eyeing him. He's still touching himself, but with an agonized sigh he lets go. You wonder if he was close... Logan stands up, opening the door to the small, one room cabin and letting you see the trees outside. "Half a mile west there's a road. Not used a whole lot but someone is bound to come by, pick you up. I'll give you a head start, and you can use that knife on me. You can kill me if you try hard enough. Little fighter like you, might even be able to get the slip on me."

You blink. This can't be real. "This is a trick, isn't it... you're gonna punish me for running, or, or for stabbing you..."

Logan shakes his head, gesturing out to where the sun was setting fast. "Nope, won't punish you for that. Just like a challenge, that's all."

"There's... there a catch, isn't there... something you aren't telling me."

For a moment his face is still, like he's trying to put on a poker face. Then, a smile breaks. "I've never been a good lair. yeah, there's something I'm not tell'n yuh, bub, but really, what choice do you have?"

As you rise from the bed, he stands back. You hold out the knife, and he keeps his hands up, palms towards you... his face was almost condescending... but what choice did you have. Once you back away several steps, you turn around and make a run for it. You weren't exactly sure his powers, but given his name was wolverine you were fairly certain speed was one of them.

"I'll count down from 100!" Logan calls after you, his voice starting to sound distant. "100... 99...98... keep running little bunny! 97... 96..."  You faintly hear the 95 before you're out of earshot, running as fast as your legs can take you through the woods. Jumping over logs and stumbling down hills, you run more than you have since your high school made you do a mile, your out of shape body struggling to take in oxygen. Tree branches smacked your face, leaves wet with dew, the little sticks drawing blood on your cheek but you don't dare stop, not for a second. 

Something zooms past you nearby, a rustling of bushes an the faint sound of '10' in your ear, before all goes still again. You're close, you have to be.

'5'

Shit, shit. You grip the knife in your fist as you try to pick up speed, tired legs carrying you as fast as they'll go but it's not enough.

Logan is in front of you, a broad smile on his face and hands gripping your shoulders to stop you. "One." 

You scream, stabbing him in the rib cage expecting him to shout in pain but instead he moans in pleasure. No time to process this, you kick him in the dick and shove him over, making a run for it again, but Logan grabs your foot, causing you to fall face first into the dirt and grass. Strong arms yank you, despite crawling as nothing, and suddenly you are under him. 

"No!" You try to get away, but he's too strong, too quick, pinning your hands down and he looms over you.

"Pretty little bunny... running so fast..." Logan cocks his head to the side. "Not quite fast enough, eh?" Leaning down, Logan licks a stripe up your cheek, tasting the blood on your face. "Tasty little bunny..."

Your hand with the knife continues to be pinned down, Logan bracing his entire weight on your wrist while he undoes his pants, freeing his cock from the restraints. The throbbing member lay heavy against your thigh, a size you can only guess from the feeling and for a moment you think he's going to take off your shorts the same way. Then, Logan placed his knuckles at the base of your shorts and suddenly there's a stinging, sharp pain running up your leg and to your waist.

"Fuck!!!" No one is around to hear you screaming, no one except Logan who thrust his fist out, tearing your shorts and underwear to literal shreds.

When cock is thrust into you, you can't even scream anymore as the sounds get lodged into your throat, trapped in there just as you are now, his body caging you.

"Fuck'n tight there, princess. Is that fear, or is that all you?" You respond with a slap to his face which only makes him fuck you harder. "Aha, I think that's all you, baby doll, you were soaking my fingers earlier. Creamy little pussy ready to squirt on a strangers hands."

"FUCK YOU!"

"You want me dead?"

"Yes!"

He releases your sore hand, but the knife still lays next to it. "Take your shot, why dontcha?"

Thinking fast, you grab the handle again and with a scream, you plunge it into his neck.

To your surprise he just grins broadly. What the fuck is wrong with him.

Again, again, again, you stab the knife into different parts of his body as he stabs between your legs, fucking with more more intensity, with loud moans, closer and closer to his release. His gruff pants in your ear mirror your screams, listening to Logan moan and groan and whimper as he ravages your helpless body when you realize... he likes it. He likes it and the wounds are healing as fast as you can cut him. 

"Pretty bunny..." He chuckles lowly, his hand gripping your sides so hard it feels like a pinch, your fragile non-mutant body nothing but a plaything for him. With a loud growl, Logan cums inside you, filling you up as he continues to fuck him cum inside you, streams of hot cum flooding inside you. How was he still hard? Movements begin to slow, but your exhaustion begins to take it's toll on you, giving up harming him and simply taking it. "That's it... that's my good girl. Give in to me, little bunny. Let me have you... I can make it so good." Logan thrusts up into you, hitting something so devastating and deep no one has before, his rough hand sliding to your center to caress your bud.

"I don't want it to be good..." You cry weakly, even as pleasure builds down in you.

"Sure yuh do... c'mon, pretty girl you can give it to me... don't fight it, it's useless. You're mine now, my bunny... cum for me..." Logan's demeanor changes, suddenly indulgent and begging, his facial hair tickling your skin as he nuzzles your neck. "Wanna feel it... Wanna feel my sweet bunny coming on my cock... becoming mine..." You can't fight it anymore, the thick stretch on him, his skilled hands, the sleepiness clouding your rational... and he feels it too. "There we go... that's my girl, all mine, huh? You're mine now my pet... yeah... all mine..." It was painfully delicious, the way he made you feel, how his hands seemed to know you so intimately... 

Then that chloroformed clothe was on your mouth again, his cock still buried hard inside you. You didn't fight this time, letting the release of sleep take you. 

Slowly, Logan began to grind his hips into your body again, his hands claw extending again as they slipped under your shirt. No cuts this time, only a few nicks before he shredded your shirt now, leaving you in tattered clothes as he felt you up. Logan's mouth was at your ear. "Can't have you fighting me this time, little bunny. I'm gonna get to know this sweet body, I'm gonna lean everything it likes..." He cups your breasts, tweaking at a bare nipple. "Gonna take good care of you."

As you fall asleep, you can hear a car driving nearby.

THANK YOU!!!!!

I am so excited to try out a new character!!!!!!

Unfortunetly, after I made the go fund me listed above my car's fucking starter went bad ;-; that'll be like $800. I'm struggling to get by. Please please pease consider making a donation or donating o my ko-fi or biy me a coffee all linked above!. If not, thats totally okay! Theres no presure.

If you are inclinded, please consider reblogging this post with my go fund me.

Likes, comments and reblogs are sooooo appriciated!!!

I knew I'm new to logan but if you like OScar Isaac or Pedro PAscal characters, consider checking out my other work!! thanks!!!

Tagging those who expressed interest or who i thought might like?

No presure if its not your thing! Comment if you want more dark logan!

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @reveric @wolverineswaifu @birbita @multiversed-daydreamer

love yuh!

[judysxnd]

The lie detector interview

Okay so I made this a while ago (like everything I do it takes me months before publishing 🤭) . There is going to be a second part that I will post eventually, depends on how this one will do!

Y/n = your name

m/n = middle name

L/n = last name

Y/b/c = your birth city

————————————————————————

“Okay, the camera’s rolling” an off voice said to you as you were being attached to what felt like a thousand of wires.

Today you were doing a lie detector test for Vanity fair, with Pedro. Your new short movie just came out, and as you and Pedro were the main characters, you were on tour for many interviews for the past month. You were excited to do this one. You’ve seen many interviews with a lie detector and was curious about it. Not going to lie, you were also a little bit nervous about the question you would get. Thank god Pedro was with you.

“Okay so now that you are all set up, Pedro is going to ask you a few basic questions for like calibration and then you’ll get the real questions” a woman said off camera. You looked at Pedro, nervously smiling. He was reading the questions he had on his paper and couldn’t stop smiling.

“It’s making me so nervous” you admitted.

“Oh it’s going to fu-un” Pedro said as he read all the questions before staring at the camera laughing.

“Oh god. That’s it I’m legit scared” you said, looking at the camera than at the lady who was behind the detector.

“Okay, so basic questions first they said.” Pedro started. “Is y/n m/n l/n your real name?”

“Yes it is.” You said, looking at the lady. “I’m waiting for her reaction like I don’t know my name” you laughed. “Im already sweating”

“Don’t be so nervous” Pedro joked

“Wait until you’re in my seat mister” you both laughed.

“Were you born in y/b/c?”

“Almost wasn’t but yes it is true” you said looking at Pedro

“Now that one is good” Pedro suddenly said staring at the paper.

“Wait already? Oh my god I’m so not ready” you nervously said, moving your sweaty hands, looking at the camera.

“Is it true that you didn’t know who Oscar Isaac was before meeting him on set of Star Wars?” Pedro said with a big smile.

“What? No!” You immediately said. Pedro was laughing and looked at the lady.

“That’s a lie”

“Wait no, that’s not- well-” you tried to justify yourself

“Just tell the truth”

“I recognized the name but m- but yeah I actually didn’t know who he was” you admitted, looking down. “I’m sorry”

“We teased her a lot when we knew” Pedro said looking at the camera

“Yeah, by the way that’s not fair at all! I told you that as a secret and you told everyone!”

“It was only fair, you did reveal how we first met”

“It was accidental!”

“Moving on!” Pedro said trying to change the subject. You laughed. “Do you think I’m a better actor than Oscar?”

“Is it a real question?” You both laughed. “I’m going to get killed. Whatever the answer” Pedro nodded to the camera. “I’ve seen most of Pedro’s movies and he is- hm, but I also have seen Oscar acting real close and.. Oh god” you looked at the ceiling. “I’ll say you” you stared at each other for a few seconds, before Pedro turned his head towards the lady.

“It’s true” she said looking at him

“Nice one” Pedro said. You mouthed a “thank god”, nervously looking at the camera

“Is it true that you met Hayden Christensen?”

“Oh yes! I fangirled way too much, it was so embarrassing. It was so long ago, I think if I remember correctly that it was when he was filming Jumper, I simply bumped into him not far from his set” you said, facing the lady to have confirmation

“That is true”

“Yeah okay” you smiled, proudly.

“Are you single?” Pedro asked, staring into your eyes, knowing the answer. No one knew, but you’ve been dating for a few months. You’ve known each other for a few years, since you met Oscar on set actually, but filming this movie together brought you very close, creating an undeniable chemistry. So it was understandable when Pedro saw you blush, a lot.

“No” you simply admitted. He was surprised by the answer. He’d expect a lie. Neither of you looked at the lady for confirmation. You just looked at each other, smiling.

“Have you ever lied about yourself to get a role?” You laughed

“I may have exaggerated some skills but no, I never lied” you said. You both turned simultaneously towards the lady.

“True”

“Why do you seem surprised about that one?” You said laughing at Pedro’s expression. He couldn’t stop laughing.

“I am not surprised, but I also never saw you ice skating”

“I-” you thought for a second. “Oh yeah I did say that when I auditioned for- oh wait I can’t say” you shamefully said to the camera. “But I do know how to ice skate”

“Sure sure”

“Is it true that you had your first kiss on screen when you were 23?”

“Oh my god” you said looking down. “How did you guys had this information?” You said looking around. You were red like a tomato. “Yes” you said avoid eye contact

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of”

“Yeah sure like it’s not embarrassing that I was 23?”

“No” you rolled your eyes

“Okay last question”

“Thank god” you had your hands on the table.

“Did you lie during the interview but we didn’t get you?” You both playfully looked at each other.

“No” you looked at the lady.

“And that’s true”

“Finally! Get me out of this!” You started to move your arms, getting impatient. Pedro was laughing. “Yeah, keep laughing, you’re next”

“I have nothing to hide” he said standing up.

“We’ll see about that” Pedro stared at the camera, scared.

[lauraneedstochill]

Confess the longing you are dreaming of

summary: Aemond thinks the woman he has to marry is the most impudent and unsufferable he’s ever met. He’s also never wanted anyone so badly. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Martell!reader (third person, no mention of Y/N) warnings: bantering and teasing, mentions of unpleasant sexual experience, praise kink (guess who’s got it), a dollop of softness, mild smut (... for starters ;) author’s note: couldn’t get the idea out of my head and spent a few sleepless nights writing this. I imagine her brothers as Pedro Pascal and Oscar Isaac ✨ words: ~8000 song inspo: Hozier — Better love

>>> Aemond isn’t present when the idea is voiced the first time — he has a hunch that his grandsire is to blame for that. No doubt, Otto was the one to plan it out, come up with arguments served with his persuasive tone. He’s always loved to make arrangements and strike deals, each one of them to play into his hands, and Aemond hates the thought of being just another pawn of his.

He is blindsided at the breakfast but it’s made sound carelessly mundane — as Otto puts down his cup, he throws him the proposal, the way one would leniently throw alms to the poor. And Aemond thinks he must’ve heard him wrong.

“Marry me to... Who?” the prince asks, hardly covering his surprise.

His grandsire directs his gaze at him, the old man’s mouth twitching into a condescending smile. Since Otto isn’t keen on idle talk, he tells him plainly:

“You’ve long been of age, Aemond, you know that,” his knife scratches the plate as he cuts the meat, his eyes not moving from the prince. “House Martell holds power, and we’ll be fortunate to have such allies. Besides,” he pauses to take a bite, and Aemond gets annoyed at waiting; Otto chews, then adds, “I’ve only heard good things about your bride-to-be. Wouldn’t you confirm, Ser Criston?”

The mention of the knight is unexpected to them both — Aemond turns his head to meet Ser Criston’s puzzled look. But the brunet effortlessly copes with his emotions:

“We met when she was just a kid. But I knew she’d grow into a fine lady,” he easily agrees. Mayhaps, too easily for Aemond’s liking so he makes a note to talk about it later on.

His grandsire only lets out a pleased hum. “Well, I’m under the impression she will make a good match for our prince,” and Aemond feels that Otto carefully picks each word, “She’s said to be both beautiful and smart, and known for being quite independent,” he’s usually so stingy with his praise, it’s worth its weight in gold.

But that is not what Aemond hears. The choice was made for him, and his rejection of it makes him paint a portrait less alluring — a pompous wayward woman raised in the traditions that are starkly different from his; and yet, it is expected of him to accept it freely. His wounded ego simmers at the thought.

“I’d add another word to that,” Aegon chimes in, half-drunk already, “Everyone knows the Martells to also be promisc—”

“Look who’s talking,” Otto glares at him, and Aegon shuts his mouth.

The word is left unsaid, only the meaning of it isn’t hard to guess, and Aemond feels embarrassment creeping up his cheeks and weighting down his chest. He deems himself an educated man, well-read and eager to put his knowledge to the test, but he has yet to learn of carnal pleasures. A memory is clawing out: him, ten-and-three and plied with wine, laid on a bed that smelled of sweat, a naked woman next to him. Despite her tireless attempts, he wanted none of it, and the repulsion made him sick — and then it made him hate the act itself.

He did go to the brothel through the years, tried watching, touching, looked at bodies of all sorts, only it felt like putting paint over a rotten wall. He felt constrained, and lacking in some way (perhaps, in many), and more so awfully incomplete. Not once he sensed a spark, a pleasure he would crave, and no amount of effort could help him fill the emptiness inside.

He quells the feeling, pushes in indifference instead, and glances briefly at his mother. She meets his eye but only grants him a faint smile, her own gaze lacking any protest.

“Her brothers wrote that they would visit in a fortnight,” Alicent peacefully explains. “It is our duty to ensure a royal welcome.”

“Brothers?” Helaena blithely chirps. “How many does she have?”

“Four but only two of them are coming,” Otto tells her softly, then looks at Aemond, adding in a voice more wily. “I am convinced they really want to see whom their dear sister is about to marry.”

He doesn’t spell it out but the implication can’t be clearer — Aemond must play the part and make a good impression. As if impressing just one stranger wasn’t tedious enough.

As if he isn’t vexed already by how unsuitable he finds her.

>>> Frustration grows in Aemond with each day, takes roots, and clogs up all his thoughts. Some other man would’ve been glad — he often heard that the Martells are quite the lovers. He can’t admit it to himself how much he’s bothered by his own misfortunes on the love field.

He bottles his emotions up and doesn’t utter any word of discontent, nor does he ever speak of the awaited visit. Although he makes just one exception.

“My grandsire mentioned that you knew her,” he reminds Ser Criston one day after training.

The knight nods. “I crossed paths with Quentyn, he’s the oldest. She used to come to watch us train.”

“What was she like?” Aemond carefully wonders.

Ser Criston ponders for a minute, polishing his sword. “She was a quiet little girl, kept to herself. A lot of boys were always chasing after her, and she paid them all no mind,” he smiles at the memory. “But I remember one of them who was... particularly pesky. His charms didn’t work on her so he got offended, rude, followed her around. She tolerated him for over a month. One morning, he was hassling her in the training yard, and she just took a spear laying nearby — and smacked him with no warning,” he shakes his head but it’s apparent that he isn’t judging. “She didn’t use the pointy end but she got him good. And then she told him that next time he would think twice about his actions. She was impressive for a ten-year-old,” he muses and puts the sword away, then turns to Aemond, giving him a wistful stare. “Frankly, I think that you will like her.”

He does, for just a second, as his mind rushes to paint the image of a fearless little girl; and then he mercilessly wipes that image off. Maybe in other circumstances, he could’ve found amusement in that story, but Aemond only huffs and thinks back to the list of all her traits he prematurely made up. He adds “rebellious” to that list, and his self-doubt is a venom that clouds his judgment. He’s in no rush to find a cure.

>>> Their ship arrives a few hours earlier than planned — and after the dock watchers break the news, the bustle begins. Maids, servants, guards all run and faff about the castle, the dining hall gets filled with smells and noises, plates and dishes clanking.

Aemond is not excited in the slightest.

He dresses up reluctantly, each piece of clothes only dampening his mood that’s been already sour for the past two weeks. He all but drags his feet into the dining hall and by the time he reaches it, he looks so grim that one may think the prince’s preparing for his death, no less.

The minutes fly too quickly for his liking — they barely have time to sit, his mother nervously toying with the tablecloth already, and then the guards rush to announce the guests. Surprisingly, she’s not among them. The prince thinks he should be relieved; deep down, there is a splash of worry fizzling in him.

Her brothers walk in calmly in a cloud of servants bearing gifts. Their kinship is immediately clear — both tall, broad-shouldered, and dark-haired, self-confidence subsisting in their every step. The oldest is distinguished by a touch of gray in his short beard, his gaze more focused, a slight smile plastered on his face. The other one shamelessly stares at every maid his eyes can catch.

“Your grace, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Quentyn reaches their table first, and Alicent walks down to greet them. He keeps his distance and his smile, his tone is measured. “We were so sad to learn that the King has fallen sick. But I can tell the Kingdom is in great hands. And —”

“Women’s hands do have a healing touch,” Oberyn smoothly interrupts, his accent a bit thicker, his voice honeyed. “I will prefer a Queen over a King at any given day. Unless, of course, your husband can compete with you in beauty... I somehow doubt that.”

A shade of disapproval grazes Quentyn’s face but Alicent is too amazed to notice. The compliment may come off as blunt but she still takes it well, her smile embarrassed yet sincere.

“I hope you will enjoy your stay,” she tells them humbly, then looks over the crowd. “But may I ask where is the lady we’ve been waiting for?”

“She made a stop on our way to catch up with an old friend,” Quentyn answers, ready to explain, “It’s been years since we’ve met Ser —”

“Still can’t believe he is the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” Oberyn chuckles. “I think it’s all the armor that makes it look like he poses a threat. But you may reconsider if you see him in the nude.”

This time, the older brother glares at him with warning, and there’s a lull in their conversation, while Aemond’s struggling to hear what made his mother’s cheeks so red, his mind nervously preoccupied with someone else —

her laughter enters first.

It’s bright and joyful, a sound so lovely it might be enough to crack up his restraint. But then he spots her, and it feels like his whole body flares up at the sight.

She’s walking with her hand under Ser Criston’s arm, and Aemond’s never seen a dress that covers so much but hides so little. It’s muted orange, floor-length, made of sumptuous silk, with two long slits along the sides, curves of her thighs beguilingly seen through. Her neck and arms aren’t covered, and the material is intricately stitched around her waist to show a few more glimpses of her sun-kissed skin. The waves of her long hair fall on her shoulders and frame her face, each feature of it striking but her lips stand out the most — full, plump, and reddish. Not once before Aemond found the thought of being kissed so tempting.

She doesn’t even turn her head to look at him. She’s talking to Ser Criston quietly, and he’s engaged in conversation, unusually relaxed. Their difference in age is obvious, and the knight seems like just another relative of hers, but an uneasy feeling still leaves a bite on Aemond’s chest. He can’t imagine her so carefree — so beaming and compliant — by his side. His jealousy tastes bitter like a stale wine.

He hears his brother let out a short laugh. “It’s not like they were fucking,” Aegon carelessly notes. “Please ease your outrage before she runs away.”

“I don’t remember asking for advice,” Aemond snarls.

“You do look like you need it,” the blond comments, then goes back to drinking.

She gracefully approaches them, her voice melodic like a murmur of a river. “Forgive me, your grace, for being late, I haven’t seen Ser Criston in some time,” she tells his mother. “He was once a dear friend of mine.”

“I only helped to shush away a few of your admirers,” the knight cackles, earning a smile from her.

“I hope you are making use of all his talents,” she says to the Queen, making her face flush right away.

She delicately moves on to another topic. “It is a pleasure to have you here, you must be tired from taking such a long trip.”

“We found it quite enjoyable,” Quentyn remarks politely. “The beautiful sights along the way are worth the journey, and your city has some great views too.”

“Can’t say I’ve heard great things about your food,” Oberyn grins. “Hence why we took the liberty to bring some of our own,” he signals to the nearest servant, who runs to open one of the trunks they carried. “The dornish fruits are also my sister’s weak spot.”

“As if you don’t gorge yourself on them!” she jests, letting go of Ser Criston’s arm at last. “My brother is a glutton, your grace, please excuse his manners in advance.”

“You can call me Alicent,” his mother corrects her warmly. “Only seems fair to continue this discussion at the table,” she slightly moves away to let the girl go first.

Aemond unintentionally stiffens and only when he stands up from his chair to greet her, she finally does look at him. In contrast to her countenance, her gaze is dark and piercing, and the prince is staggered by how unreadable it is. Her brothers glance at Aemond briefly — Quentyn is pensive, while Oberyn looks like he wants to bite his head off; neither says a word.

She’s seated to his right, and she leaves behind a trail of scent — apples and plums, and he can’t help but catch the movement of her hips under the flowing dress. The words all mash and fall apart, and he can’t pick a single one to strike up a conversation.

Aegon is sitting next to her, and his patience only lasts a minute. “Never knew Ser Criston was such a ladies' man.”

“I’m sure he succeeded on that front but we are merely good friends,” she answers calmly, keeping her eyes on servants bringing fruits — blood oranges and pomegranates, robust grapes, and ripened cherries.

“You two seemed more than friendly,” Aegon presses, his tone evidently taunting.

She picks a golden apricot and runs her thumb over its fragrant surface. “Maybe it’s the wine that makes you see things,” she rebuts and takes a bite out of the fruit, a drop of juice risking to escape her mouth but she wipes it swiftly with her finger. She catches Aemond looking, and his cheeks heat up.

“We’ve never seen him in the company of a woman,” the older prince points out, filling up his cup once more.

She takes out the kernel and eats up the fruit, her mouth glistens. “Aren’t the knights of the Kingsguard forbidden to marry?”

“Never stopped them from bedding whoever they like,” Aegon remarks crudely, and Aemond is thankful that their mother is too preoccupied with Oberyn’s tireless chatting.

“Maybe some men have the decency to follow orders,” she responds, unbothered, taking a cherry and clasping it with her lips. Aegon doesn’t seem to notice and only gulps the wine and rolls his eyes. Aemond can’t look away.

“Aren’t you Martells known for not following the rules? I thought unruly was in your house’s motto,” Aegon argues, a corner of his mouth curled in a smirk.

She takes another cherry, the third in a row, her lips already stained with juice. “I think you keep getting your facts wrong,” she brushes him off, and Aegon goes to object some more but spills the wine right on his shirt. The displeased cry brings Aemond out of his trance.

“He tends to do that when he’s drunk,” the one-eyed prince coolly interjects.

Her eyes flicker to him, then she fully turns her head. “So you can actually talk,” her teasing comes off soft but her gaze still burns. “It’s good to know.”

“You seemed preoccupied with someone else,” he musters an excuse.

“Do you expect your wife to never speak to other men?” her voice almost betrays her disenchantment.

“No,” Aemond quickly answers, caught unawares by how strained his thinking process is. “She— you are free to choose your friends, of course.”

“I’m flattered,” her tone suggesting otherwise, “Not that I would ask for anyone’s approval,” she reaches for a plum; he closes his eye with a sigh.

Aegon comes to stand in between them on the pretext of needing another carafe of wine: “I didn’t mean to interrupt your friendly bickering, please continue.”

“It seems like Aemond isn’t in the mood for talking,” she doesn’t look at him, the tip of her tongue darting to lick her finger. “And I am never in the mood for begging.”

“My brother’s hospitality leaves much to be desired,” Aegon takes a sip. “So I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer,” his hand falls on her chair. “But if you ever wish to be... well satisfied, all you have to do is ask me”.

It’s hard to tell if Aegon’s actually that drunk or merely provoking (or if he’s got a death wish, Aemond wonders).

She replies without much thought. “Well, if I ever find myself in need of...,” she trails off with a smile but her gaze gets harsh — her words then follow, “My choice won’t fall on you,” the smirk falls off Aegon’s face, and she glances straight at Aemond, adding, “I like them taller.”

But her straightforwardness is met with his resistance, with the deep-rooted unacceptance of his lurking needs. He adds “indecent” to the list, and they speak no more.

>>> Her boldness doesn’t pose a problem to anyone but him. To his surprise (or more so to his shock), his mother gives in first.

The morning can’t come fast enough for Aemond after he spends the night tossing and turning. A few hours later he rushes to the garden for a walk, overwhelmed by restlessness his training didn’t help him cope with. That’s when he sees it — a spot of yellow shining through the trees. He somehow knows it’s her without further confirmation but still, his feet carry him on.

Her dress is vivid like a field of marigolds, her hair plaited, wrists adorned with golden bracelets. He slackens pace and peers into her — and he wants nothing more than to drink her up, her whole appearance is the sweetest nectar... Until he hears another sound and realizes she is not alone, and it’s his mother sitting by her side, wrapped in her favorite green and, unexpectedly, in glee. He can’t remember when he saw her laugh like this — out loud, giggling, tears at the corners of her eyes are not from sadness but from joy.

“My dear, that is so improper! Did he apologize at least?” Alicent inquires with a smile.

“Oberyn rarely does,” she tells her serenely. “His lover looked way more ashamed. I hope each of your rooms has locks, gods know I don’t want to walk in on him again.”

Unlike his mother who is covered by the shade of trees, she’s bathing in the sun, the soft light caressing her skin, and Aemond’s eye greedily follows every ray. In barely a minute he feels warm all over.

“I hope that Aemond’s chambers got locks too,” she adds all of a sudden, a bit louder, and his chest is splashed with cold.

His eye moves to her face, and she’s already looking at him, direct and daring. He knows he’s hidden by the trees but there’s no hiding from her gaze.

Aemond turns away and steps back in haste, his abashment mixed with grievance at her implication. He believes someone like her would never lust for him, and her jokes at his expense not only hurt but prompt his resentment to grow stronger. He adds “deceptive” to the portrait of her he is so adamantly set on painting.

>>> She wins Helaena’s heart with ease. His sister fondly compliments her brooch — a little poppy made out of gold — and she gifts it to Helaena the same day. The silver-haired princess grabs at chance to show her own collection, and they spend the day looking through the jewels spread over the floor, sitting right there and equally amused.

And that’s how Aemond finds them. He only planned to see his nephews but hearing her voice coming from Helaena’s chambers makes him slow his step.

“... And this one he gave me for my latest name day,” Helaena babbles cheerfully.

“Aemond clearly spoils you,” she laughs without a shade of envy. “As he should!”

“He is very kind at heart,” Helaena eagerly assures her. “You will be happy with him, I am certain of it.”

There is a pause that makes him feel uneasy, makes him sneak up closer to the room.

“I do believe he’s not an evil man,” she finally says, “Maybe he just wasn’t made for marriage.”

Surely she can’t see him through the door but he can swear that he feels her gaze, like a silent challenge, a hidden mocking. He barges in without a knock.

Helaena beams. “We were just talking about you!”

His sister’s dress is milky blue, modestly pretty, and loosely fitted. It’s also treacherously pale compared to the liquid gold the Martell girl is dressed in. She’s sitting with her feet under her thighs, the bending of her back is bare and in plain sight. He should’ve walked away the second he heard the sound of her voice because not looking at her seems impossible.

“Oh, you came to see the twins? They are with Aegon but I can call— No, I will bring them back myself,” Helaena springs to her feet, rosy-cheeked and smiley, and leaves the room before Aemond can protest. And then it’s just the two of them.

He takes a breath and makes an effort, with his jaw tense and his blood rising, to drag his eye away from her. It feels as pointless as ignoring sunlight in an open field on a summer day. Only her beauty is more brazen — and so is her wit.

“I take it, gold isn’t your favorite color,” she speaks up with an impish tone. “Would be a bad idea to wear it on our wedding then.”

She never comes too close, always just a little out of reach, and yet he feels as if her presence grips him, weakening his will. He doesn’t want to be with her until he is — and then he has no wish to leave.

It scares Aemond as much as it spikes his anger.

“Why did you agree to come?” he bristles.

“You are not asking about your sister’s chambers, are you?” she clarifies, and he hears her smiling.

He tells himself he only needs to cast a glance to check.

He does — he meets her gaze — her earrings catch the sunlight and cast a trail of glares — the scattering of specks play on her skin, her neck and collarbones, sneak to her upper chest — his own is heaving. His struggle only lasts a moment but it leaves him short of breath. He isn’t looking anymore, his eye trying to discern the pattern on the drapes behind her.

“Our marriage, how do you benefit from it?” he hates how hard it is to control his voice.

And how she watches him intently without giving him a clue of what’s on her mind.

“I plan on visiting my family a couple of times a year. It will be easier to do on dragon back,” she doesn’t sound spiteful when she says it but her words still sting.

He can’t stop an image flashing through his mind: her on top of Vhagar, lungs full of air, pressed to him. It’s tempting — to have her in his hands, and yet the vision is too intangible to cling to. Instead, he thinks that in just three days she learned to play him like a harp, his years' worth of self-control is merely a sand castle against the tide of her sharp tongue.

He only snickers dryly at her reply, then they both hear the sound of running footsteps. Jaehaera and Jaehaerys rush to greet him — but almost instantly abandon, the kids' attention drawn to the shining golden dress.

He thinks “unruly” suits her better than does “pompous”. He comes up with a fake excuse to leave; the image of her stays with him.

>>> He picks more adjectives as the week goes on — she’s audacious, disobedient, wanton. She moves around the castle as if she owns every room she’s in. She wears less, and even on rare occasions when she doesn’t, her defiance more than compensates for it. She never shies away from a deep neckline, nor does she feel the need to hold back her resounding laughs. Her jewelry clinks, each of her dresses is brighter than the other, but it’s her wicked mouth his eye always falls on first.

More times than not, Aemond can’t tear his gaze away, each meal for him now both a torture and a feast.

He watches as she parts her lips, puts them around a luscious grape, a cherry, or a peach, she swipes her tongue to lick up every running drop, savoring its tang — and keeps eye contact with him. He barely can taste the food he’s eating, and no wine can quench his thirst, his body flooding with a feeling he can’t define, his heart adrift.

He tries to fight it off with all our strength. He scratches off “unruly” to write down “unabashed” instead.

But then the dinner comes, and even though he’s never had a taste for sweets, he thinks he’d eat them from her lips (deep down, he wants to). The lies he tells himself are brittle like the flesh of fruits under her teeth.

>>> He comes to think “insufferable” fits her the best. That thought rings in his head while he is standing in the stable, his eye on anything but her. He was informed she wished to pick a horse, and he begrudgingly agreed to come, only to keep up the pretense.

What turns out to be much harder is for him to keep restraint. The dress she’s wearing might as well be a chemise — it’s just as light and white, and much to his discomfort, it also tirelessly risks hiking up to expose more of her legs.

Discomfort, mayhaps, isn’t the right word for it.

He stays out of her way but, unsurprisingly, he ends up looking — at how she walks, spring in her step, swinging her hips. She gives each horse a piece of apple and feeds them by hand, strokes their muzzles, and then she mounts and rides them, one by one. She grabs the reins, her foot easily finds the stirrup, and as she swings her leg over the saddle, her dress slips up, showing a few inches of her skin.

He swallows thickly, glances more intently — over her dainty ankles, bending of her knees, he notes how smooth her skin is, soaking up the sun. Her dress then billows slightly, and his eye glides higher, hungry, follows up the contour of her thighs that bounce a little as the horse gallops.

He feels it blooming — a sensation with no name that travels from the lower chest down to his very navel, then spreads and tightens all that’s underneath.

He is so deep in his enthrallment, he doesn’t hear the steps approaching until there’s someone standing next to him. Quentyn stays silent for a minute, throwing him a sideways glance.

“My sister’s always been terribly picky,” the man says out of the blue, “And usually it’s hard to meet all of her demands,” — it doesn’t seem like it’s the horses he is talking of. The vagueness of it makes Aemond focus as he takes his eye off her but Quentyn doesn’t elaborate, giving him a smile instead. “I do admit, your patience is commendable. Some other man would’ve already interfered just to wrap the process up.”

“I was under the impression she doesn’t need anyone’s help,” Aemond replies evasively.

“You guessed it right,” Quentyn titters, his tone veiled with the same unclear meaning when he adds, “The only thing left for us all is to accept it,” and with that, he goes to join his sister.

When Aemond — tamely, almost yielding — takes a peek at her, his gaze collides with Oberyn’s who clearly watched them talk. Unlike his older brother, he prefers to stay away, but the mischief in him pairs really well with danger. He grants Aemond a nod, switching attention back to her, his threats unspoken for the meantime.

For just a second, it gives Aemond pause as he finds it odd that no one brings up their wedding, and no announcements have been made ever since she came. He doesn’t mull over it for long because her laughter interrupts his thoughts (or maybe he just yearns for any chance to look at her). She rides around the yard, her hair floating in the wind, a little breathless but breathtaking, her lips enticing and her curves making his throat dry.

He tries to ground himself, to look for explanations, for some reprieve from the entrancing spell he’s under — he’s never been so close to losing reason —

out of the corner of his eye, he sees a couple of guards dropping their gaze in poor attempts to stop themselves from gawking; it reins his passion, bringing back his jealousy instead. He’s way too used to seeing himself unworthy to even entertain the thought of having her, and his denial prickles. He wants to burn his feelings out, and anger helps with that — it breaks out and engulfs him fast, hardening both his heart and gaze.

“Quentyn is the friendliest of the two, and you couldn’t hold a conversation?” Aegon appears out of nowhere, seemingly displeased despite the bottle in his hand. “Must you always be so gruff? I stayed behind in hopes you’d make it work!” he waves at Oberyn then glares at Aemond, waiting for a reply. “Are you pretending to be deaf or...?”

“Must she test my patience?” Aemond mutters, his tone not jealous but exasperated, his eye boring into her, “Putting herself out like that for all the men to see.”

Aegon being speechless is a rare sight. He cannot fathom it at first, looking from Aemond back to her, confusion sobering him up. And then he grins, realization creeping up on him; there are some things he’s always quick to notice.

“It’s funny that you say that,” he leans in to tell him and catches Aemond’s gaze, “Since it’s just you who’s staring,” Aegon pats him on the back and leaves to greet her brothers.

Aemond tries to choke it down — his irritation and his shame combined, but it’s too much for him to handle, his head and heart clearly in conflict. He doesn’t wait for her to make a choice, retiring without sparing her a glance (a fear nibs at him that if he looks at her once more, he will stay rooted to the ground).

He doesn’t leave his chambers for the remainder of the day, dining all alone and fuming all the same. He’s usually good at curbing his emotions but he is having trouble understanding them, wanting nothing more than to erase all memories of her. But even in his solitude, he catches himself thinking — about her cunning smile and swaying hips, her eyes on him, his hands wanting to roam and touch and —

Aemond shoves unwanted thoughts away and goes to bed earlier than usual. He remains steadfast in his resolve to find some peace, he makes a conscious effort to shift his focus to all the boring, random things his mind can come up with until he is too tired to care.

But then he falls asleep, and his subconscious welcomes her. He sees her right before his eye in that obscenely short white dress, there are no people in the yard, her tantalizing moves all meant for him. She hops off her black horse and walks to him without a single word — anticipation makes him drop his guard and hold his breath — and then he feels her lips on his, her body pressing into him, his hunger for her ruining his self-control, the kiss is searing, suffocating, driving him insane, his fingers pulling up her dress —

he wakes up painfully aroused.

He lays in bed, his heartbeat rushing, his breathing ragged, and vision blurred. While he’s still grasping for the remnants of his dream, he sneaks his hand into his breeches, wishing he could rip her dress off and sheath himself inside her, spread her on his bed, and drink every salacious sound she makes... It only takes him a few strokes to spill over his fingers; he can’t remember if he’s ever reached his peak so fast.

And only then, as he comes down from his high, it hits him, like lightning in the dark — in spite of her remarks, her audacity, her dresses, and every cruel adjective he’s found for her, he’s never wanted anyone so badly. Aemond sits up abruptly, his sleep gone, giving way to stubbornness that comes hand in hand with reticence. He persuades himself that he’ll suppress this — the spark, the pleasure that he craves, and he won’t be a slave to his desires.

He’ll rid himself of feelings, of this lust. Inevitably it will wane.

>>> It doesn’t.

Desire is a guest that never leaves, unwanted but demanding space, attention, time. It slips into his thoughts the moment he wakes up, it whispers in his ears, never giving up, it’s layered in between his clothes and his skin. He hides it well from everyone; it lodges deeper into him.

Desire is a cherry in her mouth, each fruit she bites in, savors, drinks the juice from. He doesn’t want to watch — he can’t take his eye off her, caught in his fervor like in undertow, the flavor of her lips the only one he truly yearns for.

Desire bruises more than does a hit, cuts deeper than a blade, and there’s no weapon he can fight it off with. His training brings him no relief, and he can’t sweat it out or wash it off him, and even while he soaking in a bath, it feels like longing only rises back with steam.

Desire waits for him at night, stands by his bed, slides right under the covers with him. He dreams of her, and in those dreams, her body sings under his every touch, trembles from his praise, his hands and mouth paint her with marks and kisses. He wakes up with his chest aflame and out of breath, and then it takes all of his willpower not to crawl to her.

It staggering how much he really wants her, and he hates himself for it.

>>> It’s been three weeks and they have barely shared a word. He does his best to cut down their encounters and avoid her, he doesn’t argue and takes no offense, he hopes that if he pulls back just enough she will give up and let him be.

Aemond spends his evenings in the study, his table piled with books, and for a couple of hours, it does help to take his mind off things. The night already steals in while he’s searching through the shelves for scrolls, too caught up in the process to pick up the creaking of his door.

Her gaze nearly scalds him. He only looks up out of surprise — and then he freezes at the spot, his heart a stone that plummets to his stomach.

Out of everything she’s worn, this dress might be the one to bring him to his knees — the cutting out the front so low, his eye falls in the hollow between her breasts; he envies fervently the golden chain that rests there. He takes in her whole body, bare arms, and flaunting forms, all clad in deep dark green. He’s never seen her pick that color (and he can’t help but think she put it on for him).

He’s brought back from his stupor when their eyes meet — and startled by the determination in her gaze.

“Ser Criston told me that you missed your training,” she stately starts walking toward him, “Quite a few times this week.”

“I found myself preoccupied with other things,” he clears his throat and clasps his hands behind his back, the scrolls forgotten.

“With reading, I assume?” she almost sounds aggrieved (he wants to ask what else she’d rather have him do) but then her tone gets jaunty. “Would you mind if I join?”

“Actually, I would,” Aemond takes his eye off her, his coldness feigned. “I’d like to avoid distractions.”

And more than anything, he would like for her to leave; she’s not the one to give up so easily. “Maybe we can learn some things together?” she nonchalantly insists, and that ambiguity — deliberate or not — leaves his face suffused with pink.

“I highly doubt you take interest in the things I study,” he manages, his crudeness biting his own tongue.

She only sneers, already nearing his table. “You surely rush to judgment.”

“And I am never wrong.” (Although he’s been wrong once before.)

“That’s very humble of you.” (And she’s tenacious with her intent to prove him wrong again.)

“I am surprised you know that word,” he replies too hastily — and instantly regrets his outburst.

And his attempts to get away from her could’ve been valiant, but only left him feeling like a coward.

She’s got enough courage to spare. “Oh, my apologies, did I strike a nerve?” her hip grazes a stack of books. “You sound so displeased with my behavior,” she puts her hands right on his table, her cleavage in full view.

“You interrupted my studies,” he’s looking only at her face.

“Just this one time,” she clears up, her sly smile is a dare, “Sounds like you have quite a few complaints.”

Damned be her dress and the day he laid his eye on her. “It’s clear as day that we have nothing in common,” he hisses, her persistence molding his anger. “From your bawdy humor to your reckless behavior and your...,” he struggles to push the word through his mouth, “vulgar dresses — everything suggests that we will never make a good couple.”

He catches a gleam in her gaze but it’s not threatening nor hurt — and when the corners of her mouth curl up, her face expression actually looks amused. “I didn’t realize my presence tormented you that much,” she crosses arms over her chest, her hands under her breasts; he looks away that very instant. “So will it please you if I take my vulgar dresses and go back home and leave you be?”

He wants to say it will — he’s thought of it for days — but now he isn’t sure. The dreams he has of her will hardly be enough as every image he collected has got nothing on the real form.

“Is there anything that does?” she asks him suddenly and takes a step in his direction, and then another one.

Belatedly, he realizes that he’s backed against the wall. The air in the room heats up, and Aemond moves back to his table, fingers holding to its edge to find some balance. “...Does what?”

“Please you,” she swiftly clarifies, now standing at arm’s length.

“That isn’t any of your concern,” he wants to glance away and yet, his eye is drawn to her.

“I am inclined to disagree,” her lips stretch into a smile. “Shouldn’t a wife know how to make her husband feel good?”

“We are not married yet,” he tries to argue weakly.

“I’d like to learn beforehand,” but her assertiveness works quicker than his doubts.

The time is still, and seconds drag like hours. His heart leaps at the thought of being all alone with her, his concentration crumbling, his self-restraint already hanging by a thread.

“The way you look at me suggests you aren’t averse to the idea,” she tells him in a low voice, her eyes two glowing embers. Aemond gulps, she deftly rounds the table. “You act so cold and so collected,” she muses, coming closer, and he helplessly steps back. “But I am yet to meet a man who would deny himself the pleasure of laying with a woman,” her voice is warm and warming; his legs bump into the chair, prompting him to sit.

He hesitates for barely a moment but his quick reaction fails him because the next thing he knows, she’s standing next to him, her golden chain casting a blinding glint — he blinks — and then she’s straddling him, her thighs on either side of his.

Aemond’s mouth falls slack as he becomes aware: to lift her he will have to touch her. He glances down at her legs that sneaked out through the long slits of her dress, all bare to the very hips before him.

“I wonder if you are too spoiled by the attention of the ladies? Mayhaps you’ve got so satiated, the intimacy doesn’t bring you any joy,” she runs her fingers up his chest.

He only finds it in himself to shake his head. She isn’t satisfied with that reaction. “Or do you simply find it boring and have a taste for something else?”

Objection bubbles in his throat but he gets no chance to voice it — he barely registers a clinking sound before he feels cold steel pressed under his chin, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of his own dagger. He meant to leave it at the training yard but it completely slipped his mind.

“Does this work better? I’ve heard that you Targaryens have peculiar tastes,” her other hand lands on his shoulder, his chest is stirring with emotions he can’t read.

“That’s not— No,” he mumbles, his voice raw, the weight and feeling of her body overwhelming.

She cocks her brow at him in disbelief. “No? So it’s just plain old satiation then?” she makes no attempt to press the blade but her questions do get pushy. “Must be so hard when women throw themselves at you ever since you were... What was it, ten? Twelve years of age?”

He would expect her to sound teasing — instead, he hears disappointment. That’s the reaction he is used to getting.

“My brother took me to a pleasure house when I was ten-and-three. He said it’s time to get it wet,” he forces out, “And it was...,” awful and humiliating, something he wishes to forget, “...Not what you are describing.”

Her face expression changes — first surprised, then splashed with sadness, and her every feature softens. Aemond sees her opening her mouth to speak but he averts his gaze, abasement scrabbling at him. His eye falls closed, and he keeps thinking that now she will get up and leave, and there won’t be any wedding, and he’s got no reason to get so overly upset already, and —

she sheathes his dagger without a word, the unexpected movement making him breathe out.

And then she dips her head down, and her lips fall on his jaw. Aemond inhales sharply. Her mouth feels softer than it was in all his dreams, and she plants kisses down his throat, moving to the part of it the blade was pressed to. He doesn’t know where to put his hands while hers lock nimbly around his neck.

She pulls back slowly, and he dares to look at her again, trying to catch the merest shadow of pretense but there is none.

“I am truly sorry that you had to go through that,” she tells him quietly. “Have you tried some more since then?”

“I did,” his answer comes off hurried, blank, “I... I am aware of how the act is done.”

“How the act is done? Aemond, that doesn’t sound enjoyable at all,” she pouts, then gently caresses his face, her voice a tender whisper when she adds, “But it should be.”

He stiffens, waiting for the discomfort to wake up, for the aversion to coil his guts, to trigger the jarring need to move away. None of that happens. Instead, he feels her fingers running through his hair, a calming motion bringing only comfort, her every touch relieving tightness in his chest.

“You seem too tense... We have to work on that,” she joyfully murmurs. “Unless, of course, my worry causes you distress,” her fingers stop, “Do you want me to leave, my prince?”

“No,” he rasps, he almost pleads, “D-don’t.”

She hums with satisfaction, bringing her hands down to unclasp his leather doublet, knowing she won’t meet any resistance. He should resent her for this but he doesn’t (he didn’t and he won’t). The air lays cold over his shirt, and Aemond shivers; she moves her fingers down his firm chest with an unspoken admiration.

“Tell me how it usually goes,” she inquires, one of her hands finding its way back to his silver locks. “Do you find pleasure in undressing them?”

Her warmth envelopes him, scented with cinnamon and peaches. “They come without much clothes,” Aemond blurts out, earning another hum from her.

“And what about you?” she glances curiously at him.

“I don’t... I don’t like them touching me,” he timidly avows, and saying it to her does bring somewhat of a relief.

With both of her hands, she cradles his face, thumbs gently contouring his cheeks — he all but melts into her palms. “And yet you are so responsive to the touch,” her voice praises, “So pretty.”

She leans in again, leaving a kiss at the hollow of his throat — and then her mouth travels up, ardent and steady, and he squirms in place. Not out of discomfort.

“You are not supposed to rush it if you want it to feel good,” she whispers in his ear and moves back to catch his gaze. “You never rush into fighting so why love making should be any different?”

Astonishment brightens his face, and she chuckles lightly. “I must confess, I did enjoy watching you train, even though you never noticed. The way you move and twirl your sword,” she’s recollecting breathy, “You are so lithe and fast and so resistant... An infatuating sight.”

She holds his gaze and lifts her hand — he follows it, unblinking, until it finds one of the straps — she hooks it with her fingers. “Fairly soon it made me wonder how would your hands feel... on me,” his heart jolts at her words.

Slowly, she moves the strap aside, baring her breast for him; Aemond’s breathing hitches. She takes his hand in hers, planting a kiss over his knuckles — and then lets his fingers graze her naked skin.

“It was so cruel of you to rob me of my pleasure,” she laments, but he can barely hear a thing, his eye wide as he fixes on the soft swell of her breast, on how her nipple peaks so eagerly under his touch.

She guides his hand over her chest, down to her ribs and waist, letting him brush her every curve, placing his fingers firmly on her hip. And then she reaches for his other hand and lowers the other strap; his body trembles. The layers of his reticence are all peeled at once, leaving his desire raw and undisguised, unshackled. He’s drawn to fondle, clutch at her plump breasts but her grip is tight and taunting, not letting his fingers roam free.

Still, when both his hands sink into her hips, he realizes that he’s getting harder by the second.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by her. With a controlled, torturously slow move she drags her clothed core over his straining cock. His mouth stays closed but there’s a sound — a muffled moan caught in his throat.

“Doesn’t this feel good?” she teases, lightly tugging on his hair, her lips reaching the column of his neck. “With how much you read, I hoped you’d be more generous with words,” each of her kisses weightless like a drop of rain but then her mouth finds a spot below his ear and suckles at it, pulling a whimper from his chest.

He thinks he should... his mind goes blank after another movement of her hips, and she picks up the pace, merciless and sensuous. He tries biting down his moans but only hurts his mouth. She notices, her rapt eyes on him, and puts her finger on his lower lip:

“Please, don’t be shy with me,” she coos, her gentle touch soothing his bitten flesh, “Our desires coincide,” she earnestly affirms him — and the spark erupts and drags him into pure bliss.

He feels that his arousal leaks, his breeches way too tight to hide it, his fingers dig into her supple skin, but she gives no complaints. He watches breathlessly through his hooded eyelid as she grinds against him, then looks over her bouncing breasts, her nipples pebbled, and the pressure curls somewhere down his spine. She peppers him with kisses — the angles of his face, neck, everything that she can reach, except for his desirous mouth. And yet the softness of her lips and hands, her skin that’s draped with the redolent scent, the rhythm of her hips all bring him closer to the edge.

Her forehead is pressed to his, their lips an inch away but never fully touching. “Let go for me,” she says against his mouth, “My handsome, fierce dragon.”

That does it for him. He harshly presses her to him, then shudders with a strangled moan and comes undone, his eye squeezed shut as her name quivers in his mouth. The pleasure whirls him in and leaves him drained and stunned, a little bit light-headed.

It takes Aemond a minute to recover before he finds her gaze again — and in another minute he discerns her shallow breaths, her parted lips, brows slightly furrowed. He wants to ask her if she reached her peak, if he can help her with it —

but she pulls back.

She stands up and only briefly grabs his shoulder, steadying herself, then promptly puts the straps back on, fixing her dress. He wants to lend a hand but she moves it away, leaning in to lightly caress his face. “No, you don’t get to have me yet. I want you to admit it first, to say that you want me,” her words are laced with dignity but cooling to his mind.

She steps back, cruelly fast, the only consolation is her naughty tone. “Until then, I have to satisfy myself some other way. But I will think of you while doing it, my dear prince,” she promises, a ghost of a smile on her lips, and then walks out without looking back.

The silence feels unwelcome in the room and hangs over the ceiling like a cloud, but Aemond he is too dazed to move, spent and perplexed to wrap his head around it.

Desire, it seems, has come to stay.

But it’s not the only thing he’s feeling.

✧... YES, there will be a second part, it’s already in the works! ✧ and yes, I didn’t bother to rename Pedro’s character 'cause I adore Oberyn sue me

✧ just to clarify, I usually age Aemond up to 20 (or however old Ewan looks to you ;) ✧ I got inspired after watching the video for ROSALÍA’s “La Fama” (give it a watch, she is soooo 🥵) but I only found it because of this gorgeous gifset so shout-out to OP for giving me inspiration

✧ my recent fic (couples who kill together, stay together 🔥) ✧ my masterlist

thank you @amiraisgoingthruit for letting me tag you in every silly story of mine, hope you’ll like this one (if anyone else wants to be tagged, don’t be shy)

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

[notjustjavierpena]

I have recently watched scenes from a marriage with oscar isaac and my mind which connects everything with hubby javi immediately went to this:

imagine wife’s and javi’s friends are going through a divorce, there’s cheating m, miscommunication etc and just a very hard time.

I feel like Javi and Wife would have a conversation about this due to the proximity of it happening to their friends. One about trust and if they’re happy. It’s not about insecurity or anything just them both communicating effectively and giving the other reassurance that this is not on the cards for them.

I just value their relationship so much.

Reassess

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Hiya anon! I hope it’s okay that I tweaked your request slightly to fit my version of hubby and wife. Enjoy ❤️ Thanks so much for proofreading, @angelofsmalldeath-codeine !!!

Summary: You and Javier’s friends are going through a divorce, and it suddenly makes you wonder about your own marriage.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18, talk about divorce, talk about cheating, brief descriptions of piv sex with creampie, hurt/comfort, love!, mention of pregnancy and pregnant reader, cuddling, kisses, Javier is a great husband and you are anxious

Word count: 1.6k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54352768

Reassess

Jonathan and Mira are getting a divorce. The news had been announced to you by Javier when he entered the dimly lit living room on a Thursday night, looking paler than a ghost after what you had wrongly assumed to be a same-as-always phone conversation about football, work and going out for a beer in the near future. 

“No!” You had instinctively covered your mouth with your hand to suppress an animated gasp. Apparently, Mira had come clean about seeing another man a few days earlier and it only took shy of two days for their whole marriage to crumble. The thought was and is terrifying. 

It seems to dampen the mood between you and your husband significantly. There are more pregnant silences, longer stares, more hurried kisses, and worried faces in the middle of your daily routines that become opportunities for reflection when doing something mundane as folding laundry. However, the elephant in the room becomes most unbearable when Javier rolls off of you after making love to you a week after the news hit. 

He stares up at the ceiling and pants as he tries coming down from his high, reaching up to run his fingers through his slightly sweaty hair. You shift on your side of the bed to turn your body towards him, and gently lay a hand on his chest, “That was really good.”

“Hm? What?” He replies, “Oh right, yeah.”

“Honey,” you furrow your brow, “I don’t think I particularly like having sex with you if you’re not here with me.” 

“Lo siento (I’m sorry),” his eyes find yours, his voice is genuine, “I can’t stop thinking about Jon and Mira.”

Your eyes soften at that. It is nice to know that he is as shaken by this happening as you are, and in such close proximity to your own marriage too even if it technically has nothing to do with you. It suddenly hits why it has been so hard to start up a conversation about it. 

“Me either,” you sigh and scratch his chest gently with your nails and lay your head on his shoulder. He takes hold of your wrist and rubs the back of your hand with his thumb in soothing circles, “I can’t believe they ended up like that, who would have thought?”

“And Ava?” Javier sounds devastated and turns his head toward yours so he can rest his lips in your hair. 

“She must be so confused,” you mumble back, lost in thought. Ava is Mira and Jonathan’s daughter who sometimes has play dates with Inés, and to think that she has to deal with her parents not being able to work as a couple, especially since Mira apparently had to go sleep with someone else, is a scenario that you find nauseating when your brain automatically starts imagining your own children in the same scenario. You don’t think Lucas would ever forgive you if you caused that much hurt to his father, “I don’t know what Mira was thinking. Ava has to deal with her mom having hurt her dad. Why would she put her through that?”

“Jonathan said she’s in love with this new guy,” Javier argues. 

“I suppose sometimes you just fall in love with someone else,” you say without any emotion in your voice except for maybe a hint of disgust. 

“Are you happy? With me?” The question has been looming over the both of you since the news hit. It was only a matter of time before one of you would start reassessing your own marriage. 

You lift your head up to look Javier straight in the eyes, and even if you knew it was coming, you still feel taken aback by how much it makes your guts turn to even be told to consider it. The answer is so clear, “What? I—“

“That’s not an immediate yes,” he furrows his brow in concern. 

“Don’t be absurd,” you say back, “I love you so much it’s ridiculous.”

“But do you ever worry about us?” He continues. 

“This is the part where you say you love me too,” you joke without much humor in your voice. 

“Are you kidding? I’m nothing without you,” he lifts the hand you still have on his chest to kiss your palm, “Te amo tanto (I love you so much) but I need you to answer the question.”

“I don’t ever worry about us, no,” you answer truthfully and Javier visibly relaxes, “I know you. I trust you. It doesn’t even occur to me that I could have anything different in my life, you know? It feels like I would always have found you somewhere else if not here.”

“Perhaps they looked for something else when things became routine,” he suggests, resting your hand against his cheek.

“It’s never routine for me to tell you I love you,” you tell him with a little smile, “There’s no going back to the way things were before you.” 

“The idea of having anything else but this,” he trails off for a second, weighing his words and reaching out for you with his free hand. He cups the back of your knee to pull your leg over his naked body, “It’s just not in the cards for me. I’ll never love anyone the way that I love you.”

“Is this code for you’re stuck with me?” You crawl closer to kiss him on the mouth and tighten the leg around him, “Hm?”

“Sí (yes), you’re stuck with me, baby,” he says against your lips. 

“Do you promise that?” You whisper after pulling back a little, smiling softly as you look down at his mouth. He initiates another kiss after nodding. 

You kiss for a while without rushing it, deeply until you share each breath in your intense embrace. Despite just having had sex with him fifteen minutes ago, you want him again in a way that has him as hard as when you first got together. He fucks you open slowly with you on your back, makes you come on his cock with an almost pained tone in your whimper. He is everywhere on you, soaking you in love. The way he gasps along with you as he comes inside of you has your heart pounding in your chest. 

“No quiero a nadie más que a ti (I don’t want anyone else other than you),” he says when basking in the afterglow. However, you have already gotten out of bed to get cleaned up in the bathroom. In contrast to your husband, your afterglow is replaced by anxiety that you have just promised isn’t there. 

“I don’t want to end up like that,” you say while peeing with the door open. Javier moves on the bed to be able to look at you. 

“We won’t, te lo prometo (I promise you that),” he is quick to answer. You try to give him a smile but he notices the way you falter, “Anything you want to talk about? Anything on your mind?"

“They used to be so happy,” you sigh deeply and get up after finishing your business. You move to the sink and start washing your hands, your back suddenly towards him, “Makes me wonder if we're strong enough to weather anything.”

You hear the weight of him shift on the mattress and a second later, the soft pads of his feet across the tiled bathroom floor. He is behind you, looking at you in the mirror. You feel grateful for the sincerity in his eyes.

“Baby,” he tuts, wrapping his strong arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder. One of his hands goes down to lay on your stomach right below your belly button. You have just started to show, and the both of you have already talked about how early it is that your belly has started protruding but none of you have any clue why yet as you haven’t had your first scan. 

Javier kisses your bare shoulder, “This is my life, and I love it, and I would never hurt you… I trust you not to hurt me too.”

You silently turn off the tap to dry your hands but Javier doesn’t let you move. He lifts your chin so he can stare at you in the mirror, “I need you to trust me when I say that ten years with you have only made me want ten, twenty, thirty more. I love you. I choose you every day. Jonathan and Mira didn’t choose each other. We’re not them.”

“I love you too,” you shake your hands dry instead and then turn in your husband’s arms. You hug him close and he walks you out of the bathroom whilst still holding you tightly. 

“Three kids so far,” he reminds you whilst guiding you back to bed, “A decade down the line. We must be doing something right.”

“But what if—“

“You worry too much, mi vida (my life),” he says and smacks your ass as you crawl back into your bed. You glare back at him but he just snickers while crawling in too, “Get comfortable and go to sleep.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you say truthfully.

“Of course, you can,” Javier joins you under the covers. He lays down close to you and without saying a word, reaches out to gently and repeatedly stroke his hand over your hair. The warmth of his palm soothes your worry, each caress easing away the weight in your chest. 

You wonder if Mira left because Jonathan didn’t do this sort of thing anymore. Javier has done it for ten years. This fact makes sleep find you easily.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[odetodilfs]

How they like to get railed...

Oscar Isaac characters

A/N: This is just filth, as well as the Oscar Isaac obsession hitting me hard. Anyway, these are a bunch of Oscar Isaac characters and headcanons on how they like to be fucked, enjoy!! Characters in this list: Steven Grant, Marc Spector, Jake Lockley, Poe Dameron, Santiago García and Miguel O'Hara.

This is obviously nsfw.

Top male reader. Sub or dom depending on the character.

Steven Grant

Steven’s preferences depend on what you want, he’ll do anything you want.

He loves it when you go gentle on him, treating him like he’s made of glass, running your hands through his hair.

You two can last hours like this, indulging on each other’s bodies, biting at each other softly.

These sessions tend to also be filled with some soft laughter and many, many praises, it’s your way of letting Steven know how much you love him, how pretty you think he is…

He whimpers a lot, he’s still unused to the amount of love you give him during these moments and every kiss is electrifying.

It’s not unusual to end up with faint scratches on your back after a session like this, he always apologizes profusely the day after but you honestly love how you make your man feel so amazing that he digs his nails into your back.

His favorite position is the good old missionary, he just loves how he gets a close look at you.

Sometimes though, he wants it rough and you give it to him. 

Here, he doesn’t whimper, instead he moans and sometimes even screams. 

As for where he wants you to cum, inside him is the go to place, he feels completely yours when you do that and loves feeling it leak out of him.

Marc Spector 

Marc is a bit of a different story, he’s more dominant over you. 

He’d love edging you with his hole, he knows how much you want to cum and he doesn’t let you, he’s slightly sadistic. 

You’re his best stress reliever, a service top is all Marc’s ever wanted. 

He’d definitely call you a “good boy” while he rides you, if you’re lucky, he lets you hold his waist. 

He looks you in the eyes a lot and very intensely, it's to assert further control on you.

His favorite position would be riding, it’s the way he can have control over you. 

But sometimes, he just wants to be fucked hard just like Steven, to fuck every thought out of his pretty little head, only this time the scratches on your back are deeper, more noticeable and redder, which is still hot…

He’s not much for foreplay, he prefers to get right into the action, he’s stressed a lot of the time and only more anticipation for him doesn’t help at all, give the man some dick please. 

He grunts a lot during sex, "Fuck yeah" he'd grunt while you pound deeply into him, knowing it's best not to stop.

He also likes sucking you off… which makes sense, considering he loves you cumming on his face while he looks at you with the most dominant and intense eyes.

Jake Lockley 

The most feral, deranged and dominant out of all the moon boys by far.

It’s not unusual for Jake to tie you up and edge you for literal hours, surrendering to him as you fill his sadistic urges.

He gets off on your begging, the fact that your cock borderline aches. 

Sometimes he doesn’t even cum, he just likes to see you weak.

Other times, all he wants to do is use you. 

His favorite position is where he rides you and he bounces furiously up and down your cock, normally with tied hands, he likes to have you vulnerable.

He wants to ride you, cum first, then you cum inside him and he leaves.

However, a lot of the time when he gets up he kisses your temple and says “good boy” before he leaves, cum running down his legs.

It makes you feel so used, like a toy almost, and you can’t act like you don’t like it. 

Poe Dameron 

Poe is the term “power bottom” personified.

He knows everything that he has to do to break you, and so he can use you for his pleasure.

That cocky little grin of his… not even while getting fucked he doesn’t have it on him.

The way he’d throw his head back and he’d say “Ahh.. fuck yeah…” while riding you.

He’s a huge fan of riding you, but sometimes he lets you fuck yourself dumb with his ass in mating press, pumping load after load into the man.

He wants to hear your pretty whimpers, nothing turns on Poe more than his top whimpering.

He’d let you indulge yourself with his body, licking and sucking everywhere, he especially loves it when you play with his nipples while he rides you.

He uses the term “good boy” for you a lot during sex. He knows it can make you crazy and submit even further to him.

He just has such an effect on you that gets you craving him, and the craving gets so pent up you have no hope of dominating the man, considering you get so subby as soon as his walls wrap around your cock.

He’d want you to cum inside him, as a sign that he owns you, a subtle reminder that even if you’re the top in the relationship.. you’re his bitch.

Santiago García 

He’s a huge switch, sex between you two is improvised, you decide who’s dominant when the time comes, normally you just fall into whatever role is natural in that specific time.

Unlike Marc, he’s all up for foreplay, he loves sex to last as long as humanly possible between you two.

He speaks Spanish if he's really needy for you, "Por favor.. por favor" and if he has an amazing orgasm, he'll scream "¡Te amo!" sometimes.

His weak spot is the scar on his neck, it’s the one spot that when you kiss makes him instantly yours.

It’s amazing for him, for some time, he can let go of everything haunting him and he can focus on just you and your dick in him.

He used to be very big on doggystyle but his knees have gotten worse with the years, so it’s only a rare occurrence, but he’s found a new muse: cuddlefucking. 

His orgasms are always so strong when he’s with you, and he clenches so tightly around you. 

When he decides to be dominant, he almost talks you through it and he gives you a look that makes you only more and more obedient with each thrust…

When he decides to be submissive, he has a similar air to Steven, it’s very touchy sex where you wrap your arms around him.

His neck is the best place to kiss while you fuck him, and the vibration of his whimpers on you just tops it off, you love making your man feel good.

The cuddling normally gets you too lazy to pull out, so you cum inside, however sometimes he likes to swallow your load.

Miguel O’Hara 

(I know he’s not REALLY an Oscar Isaac character, but he’s voiced by him and Oscar seems to like him a lot so I guess he’s part of the gang now)

Poor little baby needs his stress to be pounded out of his pretty head.

He’s the biggest fan of rough sex, it’s rare you two have a soft session the whole time. But not like you mind, you love seeing him weak while you fuck him into oblivion.

Miguel’s prostate is extremely sensitive, which leads to him grunting loudly and screaming if you’re in private. 

He’s submissive most of the time, having someone else have to take control is a stress reliever for him, but he can power bottom sometimes.

It’s not hard to make him go cock drunk, especially after heavy teasing. He just wants to be mercilessly pounded by you.

He’s very sensitive in his nipples too, he can cum from stimulation there alone…

His favorite position is mating press, you just overpower him so gracefully.

When he’s a power bottom, he rides you in reverse cowgirl, he knows how crazy you are for his ass and feeds into that.

He loves it when you cum inside him, he feels like he’s yours when you do that. Sometimes, he even plugs his ass so he can keep inside of him.

[moonpascaltoo]

steven grant / marc spector / jake lockley

MASTERLIST • OSCAR ISAAC CHARACTERS • 05/26/24

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs two

moon knight one three

𑣲 building love I @laaundromat

Steven has unconsciously set himself up on a date with his crush.

𑣲 how things are I @storiesforallfandoms

now that they’ve learned how to share the body, they must come to terms with the fact that they also have to share their wife

𑣲 uncomplicated I @little-worm-grant

Deep down you knew Jake wouldn’t be calling if he didn’t think he needed you. Or maybe that’s what you told yourself to make it more tolerable to be out of your warm bed at this hour.

𑣲 just a touch of your hand part 2 part 3 I @mccn-bcys

when you turn eighteen, an ink stain appears on your skin wherever your soulmate touches you for the first time. the boys each are dealing with their stain in their own way.

𑣲 sensual pleasure? I @/mccn-bcys

your friends take you to the museum but you never were interested in the history. Until your friend introduces you to a cute gift-shoppist who gives you little history lessons. Suddenly, a ring sparks becomes a little more than a cool item he showed you.

𑣲 open my eyes I @missdictatorme

Jake and Steven were more than happy when you agreed to be in a relationship with them, but Marc barely fronts when you're near. Will he warm up to you over time?

𑣲 third ones the charm part 2 I @/missdictatrome

Jake Lockley was fine. Really. Marc and Steven are happy with their girlfriend and he's okay staying in the shadows. He's used to staying in the shadows. He managed to stay hidden from the boys for years, but lately something makes him take control more and more. Or rather, someone makes him take control more and more.

𑣲 the thin line I @/missdictatrome

Steven and Marc are literally glowing with happiness since they were in a relationship with you. Jake is mostly annoyed and is constantly trying to make you leave. Marc and Steven are having none of it.

𑣲 forget me not I @/missdictatrome

You and the boys (uhm…) decided to break up after the fights became more and more frequent in your relationship. Marc was mostly disappointed, Steven was sad and Jake… Jake was bitter. And angry. So when you send them a text weeks after the break up to ask them to collect their remaining stuff from your apartment, maybe Jake isn’t happy when he sees you might have moved on.

𑣲 our little thing I @wysteria-clad

you have a specific thing with each of them. It's not like you don't do it with other two, but you do enjoy a little act of intimacy that is special to each of them.

𑣲 the already over series I @m00nsbaby

𑣲 weightless I @/m00nsbaby

The feeling of being trapped goes beyond the ankle bracelet that keeps him tied to the bed.

𑣲 canonic jar I @bruhstories

marc is exasperated by you, but he needs to behave because you're steven's girlfriend.

𑣲 formal wear I @eyelessfaces

𑣲 the jake problem part 2 I @bensolosbluesaber

Jake hates you. Like really hates you, which wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t dating Steven and Marc. But maybe, just maybe, Jake doesn’t hate you.

𑣲 talk deity to me I @starryeyedstories

You’re an Egyptologist invited to the museum to give a talk to a group of school kids, and Steven might have a bit of a crush on you.

𑣲 dozing I @juneknight

A man falls asleep on you during your bus ride to work. 

𑣲 i should have been there I @januaryembrs

Marc had always carried her with him, since they were small kids playing pirates in the yard, before things got messed up by grown up feelings and burdens. It's not until he sees her twenty years later, he realizes he should have saved her.

𑣲 sleeping beauty I @redeyerhaenyra

After having sex with Jake, you both fall asleep in your flat. Only, it's not Jake that wakes up, it's Steven.

𑣲 shadow of a doubt I @writefightandflightclub

marc was first. steven was second. khonshu’s never going to love you. …and you’re wondering if jake will ever get there at all.

𑣲 no fish were harmed in the making of this meet cute I @/writefightandflightclub

You have a dilemma. You don’t want to sell the man any more fish. But you do want him to keep coming back to your shop

𑣲 chocolate I @bits-and-babs

After weeks of pining for your coworker Steven Grant, sharing chocolate over a late shift causes sparks to fly.

𑣲 bumpy ride I @/bits-and-babs

The handsome man who you see on your commute to work every day is always on your mind.

𑣲 cake I @spctrsgf

𑣲 a night at the museum I @thatsthewrongwallcraig

After asking you out, Steven invites you to a private tour of the National Art Gallery.

𑣲 on the mat I @thatredheadwriter

You’re Marc and Steven’s ‘guy in the chair’ for lack of a better term, helping them with all things techy. When you get injured trying to help on a mission, Marc decides you need to learn how to take care of yourself so it doesn’t happen again. Gym training with Marc turns into something else entirely.

𑣲 mine I @/thatredheadwriter

The suit, the suit is amazing. Honestly it is. But you can’t help but be the slightest bit annoyed when it erases the marks you leave all over him. Lucky for you, Steven’s more than happy to let you have another go.

𑣲 outnumbered I @/thatredheadwriter

You’re Layla’s adoptive sister, and Marc’s former lover. Being reunited with both of them stirs up some old feelings, but that gets pushed to the backburner when you’re severely injured during a fight. But things tend to boil over when they’re left too long, so what happens when you have some time alone with Marc.

𑣲 spectre series I @ivystoryweaver

Marc Spector and his alters Steven and Jake have lost the love of their lives. They each try to move on, in their own way, but getting over you is the hardest thing they've ever faced. Marc starts to see you everywhere - he's haunted by your memory. No, literally, why are you sitting on the end of his bed? He believes in ancient deities, seeing how Jake still serves one as Moon Knight. But ghosts?

𑣲 first kiss I @asimplearchivist

there was no possible way that you could have romantic feelings for steven. right?

𑣲 sad ending I @/asimplearchivist

you and jake enjoy having movie nights, but he has the habit of spoiling the endings for you. this time is different, though.

𑣲 speed dating I @/asimplearchivist

you're down in the dumps about the disheartening lack of prospective romantic partners interested in initiating a long-term relationship with you. your ever-helpful coworker amy decides to give you (and a highly interested would-be suitor) a nudge in the right direction—just not in the way you might expect.

𑣲 is that my shirt? I @/asimplearchivist

you and the boys have a set of rules. jake doesn’t like it when you break them.

𑣲 stop looking at me like that part 2 I @luc-k-y

𑣲 anything for you I @/luc-k-y

𑣲 insomnia I @campingwiththecharmings

Steven can't sleep and you, uh, help him out.

𑣲 each time you fall in love I @peterthepark

you play mercenaries with marc. you play lovers with jake. you play house with steven. you suppose romance comes in all forms of their differing love for you.

𑣲 to the rescue I @ofstarsandvibranium

showing up on Stevens date from the first episode

𑣲 unexpected addition I @oddballwriter

Steven and Marc know about Jake's existence and they have been trying to get used to him and get to know him, and during a mission where they need help they found out Jake has been having like a long term relationship with the reader (who is Sekhmet's avatar)

𑣲 hospital bed confessions I @sailorkamino

As long as Jake can remember he's only had Marc and Steven to protect - then you came into the picture. Jake is scared to admit just how much you mean to him until you're injured, then he can no longer hide his feelings.

𑣲 a rose under the moon I @angel-of-the-moons

You've waited your whole life to meet your soulmate. You just didn't know your soulmate was so close by, all this time. But...How the hell can you handle being thrown into a world full of gods and magic? You're just a shopkeeper! Why is your heart being tugged by three different threads?

𑣲 stuck I @psithurista

You stop by Steven’s place one night after work. Somebody else answers his door.

𑣲 the coffee incident part 2 part 3 I @reallyrallyauthor

No coffee in the morning leads to a mystery for Marc, an apology from Jake, and guilt from Steven.

𑣲 paying your debt I @/reallyrallyauthor

Moon Knight saved your life, and now you're Marc Spector's glorified assistant. But when you pick him up one night after a fight, you get to feel the suit first hand, and what he keeps underneath it.

𑣲 free lunch I @/reallyrallyauthor

You're teaching Steven how to drive, but he’s so tense that you absolutely have to get him to relax first

𑣲 cupcake man I @/reallyrallyauthor

Jake helps his favorite bartender out w/ a problem they can’t solve themselves (which I like to imagine is Jake’s #1 all-time favorite hobby)

𑣲 bad girl I @/reallyrallyauthor

Jake has a smoking kink, and a way for you to indulge him without consequences.

𑣲 a friend I @/reallyrallyauthor

You and Marc Spector have a purely physical relationship. Both operating in society’s gray area, you try to avoid conflicts of interest. But when you’re hired to steal an artifact from a London museum, you wonder if even Marc himself knows all of his secrets.

𑣲 museum date I @/reallyrallyauthor

Marc gets set up on a blind date at an art museum

𑣲 slow songs I @/reallyrallyauthor

Your friend, Marc, pretends to be your boyfriend at a wedding, but is it pretend?

𑣲 here we go series I @/reallyrallyauthor

𑣲 the shape of youniverse I @bit-dodgy-innit

A full blown AU of forging a life and family with a post-Khonshu Moon Boys that’s as heartfelt as it is filth.

𑣲 tilt part 2 part 3 part 4 I @the-little-ewok

Steven Grant wants to tell you the truth about why he missed your date, but it isn't Steven you meet... 

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Do you think any of the OI characters could be convinced to put on a sexy nurse outfit, while taking care of their sick partner?

I am giggling! (I really tried not to just be like YES to all of them, but I am a weak, weak person.)

oscar isaac charcters x GN!Reader • Rating: 18+ •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• ko-fi • ask-travaganza masterlist •

Warnings: silliness, references to sexy times

Word Count: 465

_____________________________________

Steven: Giggles the whole time, and puts on a fantastically over the top accent to go with the new character he’s created. You have to kiss him to shut him up when he starts quoting Carry On, Doctor.

Marc: Will put on the outfit and make you take your medicine and go to sleep. “I’m taking care of you, so you feel better, why did you want something else?” Is a little shit about it until you beg him for kisses.

Jake: No sooner than the words are out of your mouth, he’s already scrambling to get changed. Nurse Lockley is here with medicine (his dick) and to take care of you (fuck your brains out if you’re up to it.) 

Nathan: Nathan ‘I’m not putting that fucking thing on’ Bateman. Getting all grumpy and muttering under his breath. The second you are out of the room though and (preferably) laying down, he’s knocking on the door in the most outrageous outfit you’ve ever seen and telling you he’s ‘been hired by Dr Bateman to take care of you’.

Anselm: You never have to even bring up the idea, because Anselm has already dressed up for you in a nurse’s outfit many times. (He has several for different occasions, but tends to prefer a custom made latex one that is skin tight and crotchless.) 

Cecil: Thinks the idea is hilarious and gets a little too into character. Tries to wear a pair of very high heels and you just about manage to convince him to take them off before he falls over and gives himself a concussion. 

Club!Blue: Doesn’t mind dressing up at all and is far too into it. (If a guard knocks on his office door, he will be answering it in full costume and with his cock out.)

Orderly!Blue: Please do not encourage this man. 

Jack: Has a disturbingly realistic outfit with blood stains that you do NOT want to ask where they came from. 

Santiago: Takes some convincing because it makes him feel a little self conscious, but he wants to try to not only cheer you up but also to get over some insecurities and he knows he’s safe with you.

Shimmer!Kane: Puts it on without a second thought, clothes are clothes, right? However he does like that it makes you happy. 

King John: Even though this is not historically time period accurate, I can’t help myself - he’s gonna fuck you in a plague doctor mask. I’m sorry.

Rydal: Will be a brat about it, because he wants you to spank him in the outfit.

Laurent: Starts going on about how he’s a ‘wet nurse’ and keeps shoving his boobs in your face.

Poe: As if this man doesn’t have 400 outfits on hand at all times.

_________________

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh

@romanarose @strangerhands @saturn-rings-writes ho

@steven-grants-world  @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie

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@alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr @spxctorsslxt @novarosewood 

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If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[luvrxbunny]

God I feel so dirty requesting this off anon lmao- may I have some titty worship with the moon boys? Any one of them will do, I don't mind :) I hope this request is ok!!!

a/n: im sorry this took so long bb also idk if this is what u wanted I'm sorry i tried!!

hershey's kisses

pairing: Steven Grant x f!reader and Marc Spector x f!reader

summary: You stumble upon a wonderful secret

warnings: 18+ MDNI, cum in pants, oral (m receiving), nipple play(?)

wc: 1.4k

a/n: it's called hershey's kisses cus that's what oscar isaacs nipples remind me of also sorry abt the gumdrop thing lmao

Steven Grant - 0.8k

You have him laid out on the couch, whatever movie that was playing is long forgotten about and he’s whining your name beautifully, a little symphony just for your ears as you suck his sensitive bud into your mouth. “Sto- The movie, baby. We-” His head falls back again as you scrape your teeth over the skin gently. 

You were just playing with the hem of his shirt when this all started, but Steven had to go and be all squirmy about it so of course you ventured further. You trailed your hand up his abs, listening to how his breathing sped up the closer you got to his pecks. He let out the most satisfying moan when you pinched his nipples between your fingers. So obviously you had to up the sensations. You backed him up until he was laying down for you and being the good boy he is, his legs instantly spread to make room for you between them. You shimmied yourself up his body until his chocolate kisses were level with your eager lips. 

His back arched beautifully, pushing his chest further into your lips as he tried to hold his moans in. “Stop it, get-- get off.” You pause for a moment looking up. His fingers are digging into the fabric of the couch as you kiss all over him. Your hand comes up to make sure both nipples are getting enough attention before diverting your gaze to his face. 

His eyes are shut tight but you can tell they’re rolled back behind his lids. His hips are thrusting ever so slightly, gaining ghostlike friction for his rapidly hardening cock. You’re sat between his legs but not close enough for him to grind against you and it's the most annoying thing he’s ever experienced. “Please I can’t--” He cuts himself off with another gasp and his hands come to grip your shoulders, a warning of sorts but he does nothing to pull you away. You bite and suck at his nipple like you’re trying to leave a hickey over it. 

“More--” His voice is broken, every word coming out as a raspy gasp. You stop your assault and look up at him with a deviously innocent smile. “What, baby?” You ask him with the sweetest voice you can conjure. “What do you need?” You watch his adam’s apple bob as he tries to hold in his whines of frustration. 

“I need more.” He sounds like he could cry, so after watching him squirm, you give in. Your hand comes to cup the bulge in his pants and he reacts instantly. A pathetic moan slips from his lips as his hips press themselves into your hand as roughly as he can, shaking and whimpering as he does. 

You admire the sight for a bit before bringing your attention back to his nipples, earning yourself a cut of moan of “Oh! F--” His hips stutter against your palm in their pace. His lips are pursed shut, giving you ragged little hums of what his moans should be and you have to bring your other hand up to grab his jaw, force his mouth open to hear them. They come pouring out of his mouth, more debauched than before, they’re barely moans at this point, more like shouts of pleasure. 

You feel bad for assaulting him like this. He’s probably never had anyone pay this much attention to his nipples before but they're so soft, smooth, perfect in your mouth, and you get the bonus of hearing his angelic sounds above you, so why would you stop? 

You have to pull your mouth away from him within the next minute because one of his hands grabs your wrist that's holding his jaw in a way that's more than a little warning, it's a frantic and desperate grip. You look up instantly, worried that maybe you were gripping him too tightly but when your eyes land on his face you're met with someone you hadn’t even considered. 

His eyes are rolled back, deep into his head, his mouth is open wide, his plush lips trembling as he moans silently and his hips bucking gently into your hand as he fills his pants. His eyebrows pull tauter the longer he’s cumming, it’s knocked all the breath from his lungs and his face is turning a bit red. You’ve been entranced with him since you laid your eyes on his beautiful face but now you’re getting a little worried. 

You lean into his ear and whisper gently, not wanting to startle him. “Breathe, baby” and thankfully that seems to do the trick, all his groans and whines shoot from his mouth as his eyes come forward and shut tightly, he leans into you for comfort and you instantly wrap all your free limbs around him, and your hand still massaging his spent cock as he shakes in your hold. 

Marc Spector - 0.6k

You’ve been on your knees in front of Marc for around fifteen minutes and your knees are starting to hurt. He’s groaning gently above you but it doesn't sound like he's anywhere near close. It sounds like he’s just soaking in the pleasure your mouth is giving him, relishing it, losing himself in it, but the carpet is digging into your skin, and your jaw is getting so sore you're afraid it’ll be stuck open by the time he’s done. So you start roaming your hands around his body, scratching his thighs lightly and feeling them jump. You’re trying to figure out anything you can do to speed up this process.

His sounds get a bit more frequent, a little more breathy as you work your way to his hips, just admiring his body, his smooth, soft skin. Your hands can feel his stomach tensing as you slide up to his chest. His moans have died down a bit, sounding more like they're stuck in his throat as you rub over his body. His hips are beginning to grind further into your mouth, nudging down your throat as you reach his pecs. 

His mouth finally opens again and a gasp flies out as your fingers pinch down on his nipples gently. You meant it as a playful little gesture, something he does when he's going down on you but the gasp is telling as to how he feels about the action. 

Your thumbs press into his nipples a little roughly to get his hips to buck again. “S- Baby--!” You can hear him struggling above you, choking on air and your eyes open to see his hands clutching the bedsheets like his life depends on it. His cock is twitching more frantically in your mouth the longer you tease his gumdrops. 

Marc is losing his mind above you. He’s never ventured over his body like this, whenever he’s getting himself off, all he needs is the thought of you, he doesn’t need all this. But of course, you’d be the one to give it to him. His eyes are shut as tightly as he can, his fingers digging into the mattress as he tries not to melt into your mouth. All his thoughts are clouding, he can’t think about anything aside from how perfectly you're touching him. How when you saw the stress in his face, you instantly got on your knees to make him feel better. Fuck. 

He wants to last and relish in the romance of how you’ll serve him but you know him too well. You haven’t stopped assaulting his nipples since you found them. He can feel you please hums over his cock and heat is pooling at the base of his stomach, sliding down and warming his balls as he feels your lips pull into a small smirk. 

He can’t help the broken whimper that falls from his lips and his entire body seizes as his dick explodes down your throat. His entire body flashes with heat and all he can see is white. He feels all the hairs on his body stand, alert to every sensation you're giving him. He can hear your moans over his cock, he can imagine that beautiful look of bliss you always have when his balls feed you like this. When he floods your mouth for so long you have no choice but to drink it all, he can feel himself shaking in your grasp, your thumbs still dutifully circling his chest in a way that has him arching into you embarrassingly, trying to prolong the immense pleasure you elicit.

thank you so much for reading!! please please please give any feedback you may have! I want it all! also if you liked it please take a look at my masterlist or send me some motivation here!!

[miguel-ohara-lover]

Coming Undone

CW: feral, rapture side effects, I know rapture isn’t actually like this so maybe AU(?), no prep, GN reader, p*rn no plot, no dialogue

Note: HI?? Omg it’s been awhile since I’ve written well anything really. But I wanted to write something short and simple since it is a special time of year for a lot of people including me. I tried to make reader as non-descriptive as I could, like I didn’t even describe clothes or anything so I hope that worked? I got random struck with inspiration to write, maybe it’s all the love on my old stuff which by the way THANK YOU??? My love for Oscar Isaac was recently resparked so maybe that’s another reason lol. Anyway- I hope you like this merry Christmas and happy holidays, and if you don’t celebrate anything I hope you had a wonderful year and here’s to many more wonderful years to come.

You felt Miguel’s hot breath against your neck, his large, strong hangs pinning yours against the wall. His chest pressed into your back. God, he was feral…

He did briefly explain some side effects of Rapture when you first got together, but maybe you weren’t listening fully. You remember clearly now, exactly what he said. How it can make him feel, how dangerous he can truly get at times.

Miguel’s fangs grazed the skin of your neck. One bite and you’d be paralyzed. He was smarter than that. He had at least enough control to stop himself from causing real harm, though the temptation was there. He so badly wanted to sink his teeth into your flesh… perhaps another time he can ask if you’d like to try that.

You felt trapped, but not helpless. And trapped wasn’t necessary a bad thing. Feeling caged in by his large towering body was kind of hot. The way his frame made you feel small. His right hand moved off of yours and down to your waist. He shoved the fabric down until it bunched around your knees.

He could practically smell the arousal dripping from you, all his senses heightened and on overload. It was overwhelming. Miguel quickened his pace, letting his holographic suit dissolve away, leaving him bare behind you.

Miguel is very large, he’s aware, and you’re aware. And he’s impatient. The thought of prep does briefly cross his mind, but only that. No, he can’t wait, not anymore.

Taking barely any time to line up, he’s suddenly buried deep inside you. You cry out as he stretched your unpressed hole, but the pain quickly melts into pleasure as you feel his slow and deep movements.

For being so impatient just seconds ago, he is steady with his thrusts. He wants you to feel it deep within you, every curve, every vein. He is savoring the feeling of you around him, and for someone who is usually in control, he can already feel himself coming undone.

Miguel is big, so big you remember the first time doubting if he’d fit. Oh, he made it fit. He made sure you felt every last inch. You couldn’t walk straight for a week. Deja vu is hitting you like a stack of bricks, but it’s not a terrible feeling.

His other hand, that had been holding you against the wall, joined his right at your waist, using the control to bounce you along his length as he thrusted. Your moans grew louder as his pace quickened, the room filled with your noise and the sound of skin slapping against skin.

That combined with the smell, your smell, your touch, the sight of you… it drove him crazy. You felt his claws pricking at your skin, surely he wouldn’t actually pierce you with them, but man is he close to. The thought is there, he so badly wants to, the urge to sink his claws and teeth into you, use his webs to tie you up and just ravage you. He’s aware of how dangerous he is, and he does his best to keep it under control.

You know he’s close when his hips stutter, he gets more desperate in his movements, if that’s even possible right now. He also starts to pant, like a needy dog. This is the one stage in your… fun where he isn’t the dangerous leader of the spider society. Panting and even letting out little whines as he ruts into you.

It isn’t long before you feel the familiar warmth of his seed filling you up, and you soon join him. You let out a final moan and reaching back to tangle your fingers his hair. He remains buried in you for a moment while you both ride out your orgasms, panting as he nuzzles into your neck where his teeth were previously threatening to mark up.

He held you against his strong chest, keeping you up knowing you’d slip if he didn’t have a grip on you. He mumbled some quiet thanks against your skin, and you simply smiled as your fingers tangled in his slightly dampened hair. A shower sounds like a good idea, now that he isn’t overwhelmed by senses and feelings.

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

I am better

Poe Dameron x fem!Reader

A/N: I kinda roasted Rey at the end. I can't help it, I hate her. The only reason I tortured myself with the sequels was literally only because Oscar Isaac as Poe lol.

Quick summary: At a conversation between you, Finn and Poe about the old Clone Wars, you spoke faster than thinking, saying Anakin Skywalker is the best pilot in the Galaxy. Poe did not like that.

Dead dove do not eat - you'll get exactly what's in the tags!

Tags: nsfw, PinV, dom Poe, punishment, cockwarming, kind of dark Poe, jealous Poe.

A/N 2: Just realized the pic looks perfect. Finn is like: "Girl, you better run..." and Poe looks like: "Excuse me? What did you just say?!"

Sometimes it's better to think before speaking. It all started harmless, Finn, Poe and you were talking about the Clone Wars. Poe was worshipping the Clones, wishing they would be still around, Finn was drooling over Ahsoka Tano...and you? You were all over Anakin Skywalker, admiring everything about him.

"Anakin Skywalker? Come on, that's overkill!" Finn snorted, looking down at the Dejarik round they were playing.

"Why? Just because you're worshipping Ahsoka?" You chuckled, watching Finns dejarik player getting slamdunked.

"Ugh, you and your crushes..." Poe scoffed and leaned forward, preparing his round.

"Atleast we have one individual we love and not millions." you backfired at him, grinning cheekily.

"I think Poe chooses the Clones because all the other ladies are ugly and Ahsoka is the only sexy looking one." Finn nudged Poe, making him give a confused expression.

"Poe, how about Obi Wan?" you asked.

"Nah. He's way too noble, way too jedi-like..." he retorted with an disgusted expression.

"Wait! What about Bo Katan? Isn't she someone you'd be into, mate?" Finn suggested.

"I would even arrange the date between you two." You chuckled.

Poe just looked at you two, surprised but uncaring "You two are absolutely unfair, you know that?"

You three kept playing dejarik for a bit before Finn spoke up again.

"Hey, but what about you? Why Anakin Skywalker? Is it because he turned bad and you're kinda into bad boys?" Finn grinned at you.

"No!" you smiled, turning your head to hide the slight red on your cheeks.

"Don't be shy! Come on, spill it." Poe teased, giving you a cocky grin.

"Alright, alright, you won. I like him because he was the best in everything. Best at fighting, strong in the force." you leaned back in your seat.

"Wait, nothing else? Really?" Poe asked curiously.

"He invented the spinning." Finn joked.

You laughed hard. "And he's the best pilot in the Galaxy." you retorted but gulped as realization hit you.

You looked back up at Finn and Poe, Finn had his hand on his chin, trying to suppress the laughter threatening to come out of him. At this point you were glad at sitting opposite from them as you saw Poe's jaw tensing.

"Pheww, okay guys, I gotta go to Chewie and talk with him about something." Finn broke the silence, preparing to stand up.

"Wait, Finn! We didn't even finish our dejarik round!" You gave him an almost pleading look.

"I- uhh, I'm sure you and Poe can finish it just fine, right mate?" Finn chuckled nervously, giving Poe a pat on the shoulder.

"Yeah, we will get this over with and see who's the better one." Poe gave you a scowl.

"See? That's why I chose Ahsoka!" Finn grinned, finding the situation amusing.

"Anaking was Ahsoka's master!" you retorted, seeing Poe giving you a warning glance.

"See you guys later!" Finn waved and stood up, walking off, leaving only Poe and you alone.

"Poe...listen, I didn't mean to--" You got cut off by Poe, who stood up and made his way to you.

"I'll teach you better." he grabbed your arm and lead you out of the Millennium Falcon, leading you towards a small freighter nearby. Once inside and ensurring they were alone, he lead you to the cargohold and locked the entrance of the ship.

-----

Now you were on Poe's lap, his cock buried deep inside you, he held you firmly in place, not moving a little bit.

"Repeat what you said." Poe demanded lowly.

You squirmed, desperately trying to get atleast some friction "I-I'm sorry..."

"No, no, no, tell me. I wanna hear it coming out of your mouth again."

"Anakin-... is the b-best pilot in the Galaxy-..." you tried to move again but Poe had an iron grip that made it impossible.

"But is he really? Or is there someone better, hm?" Poe asked, holding you in place.

"Yes, you." you replied, making Poe's hips move a little bit before stopping once more. The little friction he gave felt so good, causing you to whimper after he stopped.

"So you admit I am the best and Skywalker is nothing compared to me?" he asked again.

"Poeee, please move. It's killing me..." you begged, feeling how slippy everything down there is.

"Answer." he tutted.

"Anakin is nothing compared to you. You're the best, Poe. Only you." you whimpered needily.

Poe chuckled, "See? It wasn't that hard now, was it?" he started moving slowly, only enough to make you crave for more.

Your eyes lulled back, you wanted Poe to move faster "Please faster."

"Is there something else you might tell me about Skywalker?" Poe asked, his pace increased slightly.

You knew exactly why he asked you that, he knew your mind was clouded with pleasure and thinking wasn't your speciality rightnow.

"He's handsome.." you slipped out.

"Handsome, huh?" Poe repeated, his hips stopped again.

"No- I mean- you-you're handsome. Anakin's not." You stuttered, trying to correct yourself.

"Damn right I am." he started moving again.

"If you ever say someone is better than me again, I will make sure to fuck you so hard you will forget all their names and only remember mine. Now enjoy the ride, honey."

Poe's thrusts increased even more, moving you up and down simutaniously.

Your orgasm approached so fast, it was only mere minutes before it ripped through your body. Poe's orgasm came right after yours. He grabbed a rag and cleaned both of you up while you put your clothes back on.

Poe and you left the freighter, walking back to the Millennium Falcon as Finn approached

"Heyy, did you two finally got an agreement?" Finn asked, looking at you two.

"Yep. We uh- we came to an agreement that Anakin is better at..." you trailed off, looking at Poe who was looking back at you expectantly.

"He is better with his lightsaber than Rey. I mean- come on, Anakin got training and Rey didn't, right? Having powers without getting trained is no right to call themselves a Jedi, right?" You chuckled nervously, your eyes flicking towards Poe for a split second.

"Damn, girl, you're really into the mood to fight anyone today, eh?" Finn laughed.

You glanced back to Poe, seeing him inhale heavily and closing his eyes briefly.

Noticing this, you quickly nudged Finn's shoulder, "Hey Finn, wanna finish our Dejarik round? I beat Poe, but the others are still in it." you urged him.

"Alright. Let's do this." Finn agreed casually and started walking.

You walked closely beside him, looking over your shoulder to see Poe shooting you another warning and his expression turning dark.

Oh no...

[theoutcastrogue]

Ballads of the Hanged: Swinging from the Gallows Tree

A mixtape of execution ballads and assorted tales of guilt, wrath, terror, and defiance on the gallows, where all men are brothers.

[on spotify]

21 tracks, 1h 15min in full (spotify lacks one song)

I teased this many moons ago, and I finally finished it. No booklet in PDF form (too much hassle), but I got extensive liner notes, which you can also read here, for more pictures and a wider format. Enjoy!

LINER NOTES

1. Hans Zimmer - Hoist The Colours

Heave ho thieves and beggars never shall we die

What a heartbreaking thing to say on the scaffold. But we have to start with theatrics and a drum roll, and our introduction needs no introduction.

2007, from Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End OST lyrics: Ted Elliott & Terry Rossio music: Hans Zimmer & Gore Verbinski

2. Shirley Collins - Tyburn Tree (Since Laws Were Made)

Next stop, Tyburn: England's most notorious gallows. In The Beggar's Opera, the highwayman Macheath (later also known as Mack the Knife) observes that if they hanged rich criminals like they hang the poor ones, "'twould thin the land". Shirley Jackson subtly changed this to the better.

Since laws were made for ev'ry degree to curb vice in others as well as me, I wonder there's no better company on Tyburn Tree.

But since gold from laws can take out the sting, and if rich men like us were to swing, it would rid the land their numbers to see upon Tyburn Tree.

recorded 1966, released 2002 in Within Sound lyrics: John Gay, from The Beggar's Opera, 1728 music: traditional ("Greensleeves"), 16th century

3. Joan Baez - Long Black Veil

A country ballad about a man falsely accused of murder, who lets himself get dragged to the gallows because he won't reveal his alibi: an affair with his best friend's wife. It's been covered by a million people, here's Baez live.

The scaffold is high, eternity near, She stands in the crowd, she sheds not a tear, But sometimes at night, when the cold winds moan, In a long black veil she cries o'er my bones.

1963, from In Concert Part 2 lyrics & music: Lefty Frizzell, 1959

4. Oscar Isaac with Punch Brothers & Secret Sisters - Hang Me, Oh Hang Me

A poor boy who got "so damn hungry he could hide behind a straw", made his last stand with a rifle and a dagger, and has been all around this world, and is positively done with it.

They put the rope around my neck, they hung me up so high Last words I heard 'em say, won't be long now 'fore you die Hand me, oh hang me, and I'll be dead and gone Wouldn't mind the hanging, but the laying in the grave so long

2015, from Another Day, Another Time: Celebrating the Music of "Inside Llewyn Davis", after Oscar Isaac's rendition in Inside Llewyn Davis, 2013, in turn after Dave Van Ronk's rendition in Folksinger, 1962 lyrics & music: traditional American/unclear origin, folk song with various titles (I've Been All Around This World, The Gambler, My Father Was a Gambler, The New Railroad), first recorded by Justis Begley, 1937

5. Chapel Hill - Seven Curses

Cover of a Bob Dylan song, telling us the dark tale of a judge who's about to send a man to the gallows for stealing a horse, promises his daughter he'll show clemency if she agrees to sleep with him, and then reneges on his promise.

The next morning she had awoken to know that the judge had never spoken she saw that hanging branch a-bending she saw her father's body broken These be seven curses for a judge so cruel

2013, from One For The Birds lyrics inspired by Judy Collins's "Anathea" (1963), in turn inspired by the traditional Hungarian ballad "Feher Anna", who curses the judge "thirteen years may be lie bleeding" lyrics & music: Bob Dylan, recorded 1963, released 1991 in The Bootleg Series

6. Ewan MacColl - Go Down Ye Murderers

A song about Timothy Evans, a man accused of murdering his wife and child, which he denied until his last breath. They convicted him and hanged him in 1950. He was 25 years old. Three years later the real murderer, his neighbour John Christie, confessed, and the case played a major role in abolishing capital punishment in the UK.

The rope was fixed around his neck, and the washer behind his ear And the prison bell was tolling but Tim Evans did not hear Sayin' go down, you murderer, go down

They sent Tim Evans to the drop for a crime he didn't do It was Christy was the murderer, and the judge and jury too Sayin' go down, you murderers, go down

1956, from Bad Lads and Hard Cases: British Ballads Of Crime And Criminals lyrics & music: Ewan MacColl

7. Jennifer Lawrence - The Hanging Tree

One of the stranger things that can happen at the hanging tree is camaraderie. "On the gallows tree, all men are brothers", to quote A Feast for Crows, and when the state murders, then in defiance, an execution ballad can become a protest song. Many have in real life, this one is fiction, from The Hunger Games. Wisely, the director asked the composer for a simple tune, nothing elaborate, something that could be "sung by one person or by a thousand people".

Are you, are you coming to the tree? Wear a necklace of rope side by side with me Strange things have happened here, no stranger would it be If we met at midnight in the hanging tree

2014, from The Hunger Games: Mockingjay – Part 1 OST lyrics: Suzanne Collins music: James Newton Howard

8. Let's Play Dead - Heaven and Hell

A fairly traditional execution ballad written recently for the series Harlots. Margaret Wells sings it to herself for consolation and courage, as she sits alone in a cell, waiting to get dragged to the gallows.

I'm no more a sinner than any man here I'm no less a saint than the priest at god's ear But now I am snared, they will punish me well With a ladder to heaven and a rope down to hell

2018, from the single Heaven and Hell, for Harlots Season 2 Episode 7 lyrics & music: Let's Play Dead

9. Odetta - Gallows Pole

Probably the most well-known execution ballad of the 20th century, thanks to several iconic renditions. This one remains my favourite.

Hangman, hangman, slack your rope, slack it for a while I think I see my father coming, riding many a mile Papa did you bring me silver, did you bring me gold? Or did you come to see me hanging by the gallows pole?

1960, from At Carnegie Hall lyrics & music: traditional (Child 95 / Roud 144), known under many other titles ("Hangman", "The Maid freed From the Gallows", "The Prickle-Holly Bush"); this version is directly influenced by Lead Belly's "Gallis Pole" (1930s), and they both informed Led Zeppelin's 1970 version

10. Johnny Cash - 25 Minutes to Go

Peak gallows humour, uproariously funny and defiant, and somehow still conveying the terror of a man who's about to die and emphatically doesn't want to. Performed live at Folsom Prison.

Then the sheriff said boy I'm gonna watch you die, 19 minutes to go So I laughed in his face and I spit in his eye, 18 minutes to go Now here comes the preacher for to save my soul, 13 minutes to go And he's talking about burning but I'm so cold, 12 minutes to go

1968, from At Folsom Prison lyrics & music: Shel Silverstein, from his 1962 album Inside Folk Songs

11. Johnny Cash - Sam Hall

A classic execution ballad with many versions (see here for its complicated history), some of which are stoic and dignified, and others humorous. But this one brims with rage. Sam Hall will not be repenting on the gallows, and he'll see you all in hell.

My name it is Sam Hall and I hate you one and all And I hate you one and all, damn your eyes

2002, from American IV: The Man Comes Around lyrics & music: : traditional, 18th century broadside ballad, Roud 369

12. Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - Up Jumped the Devil

A song about a man doomed from the start to play the villain’s part, and the origin of this blog’s #swinging from the gallows tree tag.

Who's that hanging from the gallow tree? His eyes are hollow but he looks like me Who's that swinging from the gallow tree? Up jumped the Devil and he took my soul from me

1999, from Tender Prey lyrics: Nick Cave music: Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

13. NOT ON SPOTIFY: Dead Rat Orchestra - The Black Procession

This ballad imagines a sinister procession of 20 criminals (black tradesmen brought up in hell!), each with their own specialty (it's mostly thieves of some sort), on the way to the gallows. The last and worst of them is the thief-catcher, and if one of them is innocent, they'll all go free. But of course none of them are. It's written in thieves' cant (lyrics and more context here), and the chorus means: "Look well, listen well, see where they are dragged, up to the gallows where they are hanged."

Toure you well; hark you well, see where they are rubb’d, Up to the nubbing cheat where they are nubb’d.

2015, from Tyburnia: A Radical History Of 600 Years Of Public Execution lyrics: from The Triumph of Wit by J. Shirley, 1688 music: Robin Alderton, Daniel Merrill & Nathaniel Robin Mann

14. John Harle & Marc Almond - The Tyburn Tree

And where does the Black Procession lead? To Tyburn, of course. The dark gothic side of Marc Almond.

The Tyburn Tree, I weep for thee, blood in the roots 'Tis not a tree with bark and leaves of spring awakening 'Tis not a tree with blossom and fruit, 'tis not a tree No boughs to bend beneath the unruly breath of winter No memories of woods warmed by spring's sweet touch 'Tis not a tree — take a ride to Tyburn and dance the last jig

2014, from The Tyburn Tree (Dark London) lyrics: Marc Almond music: John Harle

15. CocoRosie - Gallows

Speaking of dark and gothic.

They took him to the gallows, he fought them all the way though And when they asked us how we knew his name We died just before him, our eyes are in the flowers Our hands are in the branches, our voices in the breezes And our screaming is in his screaming

2010, from Grey Oceans lyrics & music: Sierra Rose Casady & Bianca Leilani Casady

16. The Tiger Lillies - Hang Tomorrow

In their Two Penny Opera, the pioneers of dark cabaret reimagine Brecht’s Threepenny Opera, and take all the suaveness out of Mack the Knife. Here they also take all the fight out of him. What's even left? A pathetic empty husk, a bastard (let's not forget that Brecht's MacHeath is no rogue with a heart of gold, he's a horrible man) who can't even be intriguing. How disturbingly pedestrian.

So here I am in jail again, oh god it stinks of piss I've been in here since I was young, so I can reminisce It's looking rather grim this time, it's looking rather bad But if I swing tomorrow in some ways I'll be glad

2001, from Two Penny Opera lyrics & music: Martyn Jacques

17. Tom Hollander - Ballad In Which MacHeath Begs All Mens' Forgiveness

In The Threepenny Opera, Mack the Knife stands on the scaffold and asks for pity. No point being judgmental now, that he's about to die. He morbidly describes how his dead body will end up, and then he lashes out at everyone, cops and criminals (same difference), while still begging them all for forgiveness. Very VERY sarcastically. The ballad's concept is borrowed from François Villon (see below), and this translation is unusually bold (honorific, see here and here for other translations and context).

You crooked cops with your Mercedes, your mobile phones, your trendy jackets, your cuts from drugs and dice and ladies, your Scotland Yard protection rackets.

Let heaven smash your fucking faces, slash you and let the blood run free and break you in a thousand places. I've pardoned you. You pardon me.

1994, from The Threepenny Opera - Donmar Warehouse Original Cast lyrics: Bertolt Brecht 1928, loosely inspired by François Villon's "Ballad of the Hanged" c. 1489, translated by Jeremy Sams 1994 music: Kurt Weill 1928

18. Saga de Ragnar Lodbrock - Ballade des pendus

And here's the OG Ballad of the Hanged, written in the 15th century by the OG poète maudit, François Villon (translation here). It paints an indelible picture of strung up corpses swaying in the wind, decaying, pecked by birds, ravaged by the elements and time. And crucially, it's in the first person. The hanged speak, begging their fellow-humans for pity, and god for forgiveness.

Frères humains, qui après nous vivez, N'ayez les cœurs contre nous endurcis, Car, si pitié de nous pauvres avez, Dieu en aura plus tôt de vous mercis. Vous nous voyez ci attachés, cinq, six: Quant à la chair, que trop avons nourrie, Elle est piéça dévorée et pourrie, Et nous, les os, devenons cendre et poudre. De notre mal personne ne s'en rie; Mais priez Dieu que tous nous veuille absoudre!

recorded 1979, released 1999 in the Saga de Ragnar Lodbrock reissue lyrics: François Villon, c. 1489 music: Saga de Ragnar Lodbrock

19. Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - The Mercy Seat

Honorary inclusion, a song not about hanging: the mercy seat is the electric chair. But the lyrics are a punch and this is a torrent of a song, a whirlwind, a masterpiece, a 7-minute cynic snarl. So it couldn't possibly get left out of this compilation.

And the mercy seat is awaiting, and I think my head is burning And in a way I'm yearning to be done with all this measuring of proof An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth (a life for a life and a truth for a truth) And anyway I told the truth, and I'm not afraid to die (and I'm afraid I told a lie)

1999, from Tender Prey lyrics & music: Nick Cave

20. Graveyard Train - Ballad For Beelzebub

And after? Welcome to Hell, ladies and gents, and bards. (Bards are rogues, too.) The Graveyard Train play a kind of Southern Gothic (but very southern, they're Australian), and here they entertain the thought of a band that ends up in hell and has to keep playing, without end, for an audience that can't hear. What a bleak prospect.

Well the air on the stage is burning our lungs And we're all going deaf from the beating drums And you can't see a thing for all the blood and the sweat in our eyes

Well we played till we died, and now we're all dead But the Man says we got to get up there again And you can't come down till the brimstone turns to ice

2008, from The Serpent And The Crow lyrics & music: Graveyard Train

21. Samuel Kim feat. Colm R. McGuinness - Hoist the Colours

Yo ho, all together Hoist the colours high Heave ho, thieves and beggars

But we won't end in hell. The only acceptable ending to this compilation is the triumphant version (wait for it) of its beginning: a pirate's end. Traditionally the gibbet, yes, but also the ghost ship that still sails, the ripple that still travels, and the story that still gets told.

Did I stutter the first time?

NEVER SHALL WE DIE

[eyelessfaces]

he'll be gone in the morning

llewyn davis x reader

summary: you wish he would stay. he never does.

alternatively, two times llewyn is gone when you wake up, one time he's not yet.

warnings: there's honestly more smut than plot lol this was an excuse to write llewyn smut; unprotected piv sex (this man never learns), tipsy sex where both parts consent and are aware of what's happening, creampie, oral f receiving, praise kink, both parts are desperate, plot is based on angst, fear of abandonment i guess?, self doubt from both parts, a bit of self sabotaging from llewyn because is it really an oscar isaac character if he's not self destructive

tags: friends to ??lovers I guess, f!reader, unspoken feelings, reader has hair that's long enough to brush away from her face, fluff, yearning

word count: 2.8k

I haven't been sane about llewyn for the past few days. again. it usually takes me weeks to write smut because it makes me go insane but I wrote this in like eight hours so...... yeah. not sane about this man at all.

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog @eyelessupdates

It’s the same as always; he slept there last night, on your worn out couch, too old for him not to get a sore back after a whole night on it. You remember looking back at him as he tucked a pillow behind his head, a soft smile over his lips when he looked over at you before you turned the light off and reluctantly disappeared through the hallway to go to your room, by yourself.

He’s gone now, his own blanket you had gifted him on his most recent birthday messily folded and put back where it usually rests. If it wasn’t for the unfinished cup of coffee and the ashtray gathering a few cigarette butts sitting over your coffee table, it would be like he was never there in the first place.

He almost always disappears before you can join him and tell him good morning, always escapes before you get the opportunity to ask him to stay for one more night, to get him to be sure he has a place to stay at the end of the day.

He never writes notes anymore the way he used to the first few times you let him crash at your place, like he’s now used to your kindness; you don’t mind, you’re glad he feels comfortable staying here to the point where he doesn’t have to apologize when he knocks at your door anymore.

You don’t mind, it’s the whole opposite actually; you just wished he would stay.

—

Your cheeks are hot from the booze, or maybe – no, most definitely – from Llewyn’s mouth on your neck. 

His beard is softly tickling your sensitive skin as he kisses and nips at it, forcing a – treacherous – almost silent whimper out of your mouth at the same time you sink your head into the pillows to grant him more access. It makes him laugh, it fucking makes him laugh smugly to see how he’s turning you into putty in his hands. Your hand instinctively buries in his hair to get a grasp onto something, and he gets a taste of his own little game when you softly tug on his thick curls and earn a small moan from him. Good to know.

Your body only feels warmer when his hands roam along the sides of it, slowly but surely stripping you of your layers until your top half is completely bare as he continues his assault over your neck, biting and sucking on it, making sure there will be visible proof that he went there for the guys staring at you too intensely at the bar to see. 

Then his mouth trails down, again and again. He takes his precious time kissing your collarbone, the top of each breast, from your sternum down to your stomach. You cup the back of his neck as his curls softly tickle your skin and as he brings a special attention to your lower stomach, not giving in what he knows you need, teasing as his fingers press onto your hips before they eventually curl into the hem of your underwear as he continues leaving small, warm kisses to your stomach, sliding the piece of clothing off your hips and down your legs before he tosses it away. 

When he finally moves and spreads your legs apart, it’s not to slide his warm tongue over your cunt like you would expect or hope for, it’s to gently kiss your left thigh and run his hand over your skin burning in the feverish heat of anticipation; the prickle of his beard softly teases the ticklish inside of your thigh, his warm mouth just inches away from where you truly want him, the sensations increased tenfold by the booze. Each trail of his hands and mouth leaves you more sensitive, head spinning already when he’s not even giving you what he knows you truly want from him yet. 

When his mouth shifts again, it’s to give your other thigh the same treatment; soft nibbles while his hand gently caresses your warm skin before he runs the tip of his nose from the inside of your thigh up to your knee, looking back up at you desperately waiting for him to do anything concrete. 

“Llewyn please” you whine needily, throwing your head back into the cushions of your bed as he chuckles and slowly makes his way down to the inside of your thigh again, hot breath teasingly fanning there.

“Tell me what you need, angel” he demands, murmuring close to where you want him as his thumb softly brushes your bare thigh. His eyes dart back to you, raising an eyebrow when you only whine his name as a response.

“You” you slur out, fingers wrapping around his forearm to get something to hold onto. His warm, half lidded eyes make something flutter inside your stomach, his mouth and hot breath close to your soaking slit making your breath halt. “Please”

You softly gasp as both of his hands squeeze the flesh of your ass, firmly grabbing onto it to pull your body closer towards him, no longer intent on teasing you or making you wait; he'd make you beg longer if he wasn't so damn eager to taste you. 

He dives in and presses his flattened tongue against your folds, and you feel the same way you did earlier when you got to your feet after a few drinks; your head spins, your lower stomach burns just the way it did when drinking that whiskey. 

It's a bit messy, a bit rushed and maybe even desperate but not even close to being unpleasant as his tongue laps at your slit, beard harshly rubbing against your sensitive skin. 

He hums to himself as his lips close around your clit, sucking and pulling weak moans out of you, looking up at your through half lidded eyes when his middle finger slowly and carefully pushes inside your slick channel, his free hand stroking along your thigh caging his head. 

He’d praise you more if his mouth wasn’t so damn busy, if your reactions weren’t so damn attractive as he mouthed at you pussy and wouldn't dare stopping, because you look so fucking pretty like this. Disheveled, high on pleasure for him, twitching under his tongue and clenching around the finger inside you.

His ring finger is quick to join alongside the other, stroking your tight walls until he meets the spot that makes your back arch and your breath run short.

He’s barely satisfied until he makes you come on his mouth and fingers twice, until his name and your weak moans and whines are all that can come out of your mouth, until your legs are shaking around his head, until you have to ask him to ease up.

Your chest heaves heavily, your whole body burning and seeming to melt into the mattress from the couple orgasms Llewyn just gave you. You smile dazedly when you look back down at him in between your legs, his cheek mushed against your thigh, his eyes closing contentedly when you run your fingers through his dark locks.

You feel your heart thump hard inside your chest again when he crawls back up to you, his mouth pressing against yours before it opens to let his tongue slip inside.

Your movements are hurried as you fiddle with the buttons of his shirt, impatiently blindly progressively getting it open before you’re finally able to slide it off his shoulders.

You hum a soft, reluctant groan into his mouth when you realize he’s wearing an undershirt, meaning that you’ll have to pull apart from his mouth to get it off. He takes care of the task, stripping himself off the tshirt before throwing it across the room, and quickly links your mouths again when he hovers over you, letting out a deep groan when you cup and feel him through his pants. 

You can't help but smile into the kiss when he chases your touch, all but humping your hand before you pull it away to undo his pants, his tongue desperately licking into your mouth when he hurriedly – and a bit messily – strips himself naked. You’re pulled away from his mouth as he looks down when your hand closes around him and pumps his cock, his breath halting, hips thrusting to meet your movements.

Your leg snakes behind him to pull him closer, your chest burning again with anticipation when he takes his cock in hand and aligns with your entrance. You both let out a synchronized groan as he carefully pushes inside, easily sliding in, your sensitive channel slick from your previous orgasms, but still tight around him. 

He’s gentle as he starts to thrust in, hand firmly planted besides your head, teeth sunk into his bottom lip in concentration. His vision sways from the alcohol; it was way less noticeable when he had his face in between your legs, when he didn’t have to use the rest of his body, when he didn’t have to rely on balance.

His eyes close when your hand cups his cheek, fingers softly scratching his beard while you whisper praises he’s far too gone to truly take into account, too lost in the feeling of your cunt softly contracting around him. His thrusts grow more and more desperate as he goes, less precise, the muscles of his thighs twitching as the familiar feeling quickly starts to gather inside his stomach, exhaling moans like laying in bed with you is a one time opportunity, like it’s the last time he’s ever gonna do this.

“Not gonna last long,” he mumbles dazedly between breaths before you quickly assure him that it’s okay, your hand cupping the back of his neck to pull his face close to yours again.

His tongue mingles with yours in a heated, desperate kiss before he pulls away and sinks his head against your shoulder, huffing out a loud breath when he feels himself getting close, trying not to tip over the edge before you do.

“Come on dove, come on” he begs you, his warm breath fanning over your neck when one of his hands gently holds onto your waist.

He feels like a lucky bastard that you come just seconds before he does; you let a soft cry out as your last orgasm hits you, this one softer than the two previous ones, feeling like a warmth washing through you as Llewyn stills when he reaches his end and spills inside you, eyes rolling back as a soft groan escapes his lips.

His body crumbles over yours as he lets out a loud sigh, pressing small kisses to your cheek, fingers softly running along your arm.

You want to give the affection back to him, want to kiss him until he's out of breath, but all your body does is close your eyes; Llewyn has drawn all the energy out of you, he has loved you until you became numb.

You instinctively know it's early in the morning when your mind awakes, an unpleasant heaviness clouding your head from the alcohol, and a soft ache between your thighs. You hum softly in your still half asleep state, turning around and changing positions to get more comfortable, reaching for the man you spent the night with, hoping you could snuggle to him.

Your eyes are still shut as you reach for Llewyn, your hand only passing along the ruffles and creases of the fitted sheets of your bed.

Your eyes eventually open when you know you have to come to terms with the fact that he’s gone, he’s fucking gone again.

— 

You don’t know how it has happened again when you only wanted to address the issue at first, still mad at him when he knocked and when you opened the door, still mad that he had left like you were just a meaningless one night stand the other night, someone he would never see or hear about again.

But then he seemed so exhausted, so out of it and so crushed by every responsibility resting over his shoulders that you figured it would be better to bother him with the question later instead of overburdening him now.

Then things slipped, again. So fast and so casually at once, like it was simultaneously the right and wrong thing to do. 

You don’t know why he’s in your bed again, but maybe on your part you do, because you will have to one day just admit that you love him.

You can’t help but feel like you’re missing something regarding him. Why is he in your bed again, sober, head resting over your chest and arms tightly wrapped around your waist if it was all the alcohol’s fault that you stepped further into your relationship the other night? Why is he in your bed again if he regretted it last time and felt he had to run away, again?

You swallow thickly as those questions overwhelmingly cloud your mind, trying to chase them away when you continue to absentmindedly run your fingers through his soft, long curls. It’d be a damn mood breaker to trap him into questions like while you’re still enjoying your respective post-high haze, and you would pass as too fucking ungrateful after the things you have just done, but you have to know why he acts like this, why he runs away but somehow always comes back.

“Llewyn,” his name weakly comes out of your mouth, your fingers stopping in their trail. You can hear your own breathing when you await his response, which eventually never comes. 

He's sound asleep; it'll wait, again.

—

You had almost forgotten Llewyn had been there last night when you wake up to the sound of ruffling around the bedroom.

The only source of light in your room is the full moon light seeping through your window, faint but present enough to make you aware of your surroundings.

Llewyn is standing on the other side of the room, gathering his clothes scattered around the room that you so carelessly threw aside when in a hurry last night.

“What’re you doing” you mumble sleepily as you roll over his side of the bed, arm extending as if to reach for him. He looks over at you like a deer caught in headlights, stopping as his pants are already halfway slid up his thighs.

“I uh, I have to head out” he replies in a low mutter as he resumes his action, approaching and shoving in his pocket the pack of cigarettes laying on the bedside table.

“Don’t,” his gaze darts back at you as you speak, stopping in his movements, in fear that he might have heard it wrong. “Stay” you demand, almost beg as you look up at him, almost all ready to go and leave you hanging like always. He exhales softly and sits down over the edge of the bed, hand reaching out to you to brush your hair back from your face. “Please.” you add, tiredly blinking.

“Okay.” he simply declares in a soft whisper, fingers gently tracing your face. Your eyes close as you lean into his touch, sleep still holding a tight grasp over you.

“Why do you keep leaving” you monotonically, weakly ask, your tone successfully translating the hurt you feel. “All the time” 

He halts and pulls away from you, like your reproach suddenly makes him undeserving of touching you. He takes some time before answering, and you're almost lulled back to sleep before the sound of his voice brings you back to reality and makes you open your eyes again. “I don't want you to think I'm doing all this just for a bed to sleep in” he explains, lips pinching skeptically.

You huff out softly, nuzzling against your arm. “It makes me think you're doing this just for a vagina to stick your dick in, Llewyn.”

“Shit, yeah. I'm sorry” he scoffs and sighs, looking out the window in reflection before looking back at you. “It's just– It's the whole opposite. I care about you. I don't wanna fuck this up” he declares, his hand coming to rest over your extended arm. “I didn't start right, I know. I’m sorry angel.” he pauses, softly chewing on his bottom lip. “I thought it was the right thing to do.”

You exhale, somehow ironically relieved that it's only this, that you're not the main part of the problem, that he actually wants you as much as you do. Your stomach flutters at the feeling of his thumb softly rubbing your bare skin, and you weakly but softly smile when you finally look back up at him.

“I only ever wanted you to stay” you mutter, hand reaching to cover his over your arm.

He tiredly smiles back at you, at last erasing the conflicted frown over his face.

“I only ever wanted to stay.”

—

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[hoedamn-eron]

oscar isaac characters with an s/o who subtly paints the furniture

Saw this on Insta and thought it was really cute so have some blurbs 😊

If there is any I have missed that you would like to see, let me know (but bear in mind I have not seen all of Oscar's performances so may turn some down!)

Steven Grant

Once he saw it, he was confused as to where it came from, because he doesn't remember it being there before

But then he catches you painting another flower on the skirting board one slow Sunday afternoon

Thinks it's the cutest fucking thing he's ever seen

It brings a bit of brightness into the flat

When he approaches you about it you’re immediately apologising since you actually only spend half your time at the flat

“Don’t be silly, I want to know if I can join you?”

Marc Spector

Noticed at the same time as Steven

Was also confused because he couldn't remember if it was there before or not

Feels like he's losing the plot a little because more small paintings keep popping up but he isn't sure where they're coming from

Finally notices it's you when you've left your paints out on the coffee table one afternoon when you've had to rush to work

And it all just clicks in his mind

Goes out and buys you all the paint you want because he wants all your artwork on the walls

Jake Lockley

Honestly, he spotted you the first time you did it, like immediately

Loves that you do it, thinks it's cute

But he also thinks it hilarious to add onto your artwork and not tell you

So much so that you think you're losing the plot, because "you do not remember painting a duck with those flowers?"

He plays ignorant, obviously

But you catch him one day painting and wordlessly join him

Now it's become a weekly thing you do together

Llewyn Davis

Poor baby doesn't have furniture

But he crashes as yours quite a bit and he's noticed the small pieces dotted around your apartment

He likes them, he thinks they're cute

He was out auditioning one night when he noticed his guitar, there was a bunch of daisies painted on the back

His guitar is his pride and joy, and if it were anyone else he'd be fuming

But he's not

He feels warm, like a piece of you is with him wherever he goes

Now every gig he does, he comes to you, and asks you to do another painting, "for luck"

Blue Jones

This one is a bit risky

Because there isn't an awful lot of recreation in the asylum, so you bribed some orderlies to get you some paint

And you got a total of three colours, but that's fine, you can make it work

Brings a bit of brightness to the asylum, since everything is grey

Blue is pissed and wants to know who is doing them

You, somehow, manage to break into Blue's office and - essentially - throw up a middle finger at him, and do a bunch of paintings around his office, in really obvious places

He catches you in the act since he comes back from lunch early

You're fucked

He has you on your hands and knees, scrubbing at each painting in his office, then he puts you in solitary for two weeks and has your paints disposed of

However, he notices a small painting of lavender under his desk that was missed in the clean up

He keeps it there

Nathan Bateman

You wouldn't dare, his coffee table alone costs more than your rent does in a year

Richard Alonso Muñoz

You already have your paintings up in the house so he loves whatever artwork you do

Honestly, I don't think you'd hide it from Richard, he probably told you to go nuts when you moved in

Takes photos of your work all the time to show his buddies at the prison

Some of the prisoners have asked if you can come in and do an art class for them, which you are happy to do on a weekend when you have more free time

Richard has put in the request but it hasn't been approved yet

Richard starts buying the seeds/bulbs for flowers you paint, to go in the front garden

Learns all about them in books, and how to take care of them

Now and then requests you to paint a flower he's seen in said books

Poe Dameron

Like Blue, gets confused on who is painting across the base, but obviously isn't pissed about it

Gets seriously confused when he finds one of the paintings in his personal room

He asks BB-8 but he hasn't a clue either

Until one day, BB-8 comes to Poe with a small little painting of Poe, of all things, on him

But BB-8 is so amused about it that he doesn't tell Poe

He catches you when you're painting something on his X-Wing

Scares the living daylights out of you when he calls you and asks what you're doing

You apologise, and tell him you'll take it off as soon as

But he tells you not to bother, because it's a - albeit crude because of the size - little portrait of you, and him, and BB-8

He refuses to wash it off and if it ever fades, instantly asks you to redo it

When you get married, he paints on wedding rings

Santiago Garcia

You're his roommate since you worked together in the forces

He had no idea you could paint

Strangely doesn't catch you for the longest time

He thinks it's Benny playing a trick on him, or Frankie

Grills them for the longest time until you finally admit it was you

You tell him it helps with the nightmares, that it calms your mind

After that, Santi doesn't bother you with it

When he sees you painting on his dining table leg, he makes you a coffee and just sits next to you and watches silently

Now every time you tell him you're going to paint, he comes and just sits, watching you

It's therapeutic for you both