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shirohige-pirates · 1 month ago

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Solicitude

Victorian AU - inspired heavily by @/hannahbarberra162's Hysteria series.

Marco/Reader

Summary: You meet Marco Edward during your debutante ball when you're 17, and marry him shortly after your 18th birthday. Agreements are reached in writing, but you realize quickly how much space exists within the lines. Will you be able to bend within the lines you drew yourself? Or will you break against edges you never imagined?

CW: Dark dark content. Misogyny, age gap, power struggle, dub con, non con, coercion, yandere, kidnapping, abuse, group sex, abuse of power, bondage, rough sex, oral, kink, bdsm dungeon, impact play, degradation, praise, gags, humiliation, you kind of unknowingly sign yourself over for free use and don't realize it until it's too late, mdni, DEAD DOVE YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Chapter 12: Celebration

Marco took you for hours, making you beg for him until you were covered in tears, snot and sweat. You lost count of how many times you came against him.

How many times he filled you up.

He fed you by hand afterward. Cleaned your sore and aching body, and soothed sore muscles with a firm massaging grip that nearly sent you drifting off to sleep a few times before all was said and done. His voice was like a beating heart against your ear, praising you, instructing you to eat, to drink, to relax as he moved your body again.

The tender cadence slipped over your skin and nuzzled against your cheek, leaving soft kisses on your memories even as the evening itself was hazy. The next morning his kindness was just as strong.

You woke to Marco still in bed with you. He hummed questions softly in the early morning, making sure you felt well enough to work. He insisted on breakfast in bed, and helped you get ready for the day himself.

It was embarrassing, in the bright light of the morning, compared to the fuzzy comfort of the evening, pleasure no longer taking away the sharp clarity of impropriety. Marco gave you the illusion of efficiency, but you could feel his eyes focused on you. The tender touch of his fingers against bruised skin and toothy welts. The way his fingers grazed your skin as he buttoned your dress up for you.

Tender, warm knuckles dragging along the back of your neck as he skillfully pulls your hair up into a simple coiffed bun. He catches your gaze in the mirror, smiling softly while he explains that he often did his sisters’ hair, and even a few of his brothers, who had favored long locks in their younger days. With so many siblings, most of them were pretty good at such things.

When you reached the sanatorium, Marco left you to your work. He did check in a couple times more than he usually did, but your new research space, and it’s superior lighting, meant you were doing well. He’d steal a kiss if no one else was around, and while you’d tut about your agreement - no hanky panky at work - you did so with a smile.

He took the teasing in stride, apologizing even as he kissed your cheek. It left you feeling as though you were a normal couple. Perhaps, aside from his appetites and your contract, you weren’t too far off from that. There was no malice in how he treated you, and his praise of your work was neither empty nor placating.

You hadn’t believed that he was truly enamored with you when he first told you. More than that you believed him when he said he wanted to utilize your education. But you’d felt he was adamant about it being you instead of your sister because he was already aggravated by the years between you.

But that night he took you so sweetly. Kissing the marks on your skin and rubbing his hands against the aches in your body. His lips were nestled against your neck, murmuring soft praises into your ear as you shivered in orgasm, cumming against his cock a moment before you felt him fill you up. The way his hands engulfed you, teasing your breasts and holding you against his body, was grounding and comforting.

The next morning he assisted you in getting ready again, though you had breakfast in the dining room this time. You weren’t sure if he was doing so as an apology for the rough treatment a couple of days ago, or if it was going to be your new normal.

But by the third morning, you had to ask.

Marco had finished buttoning you up, and had left his now expected kiss upon the back of your neck. When you turn toward him, you can see a knowing smirk on his lips and feel your face flush despite yourself.

“I can always tell,” he hums gently, brushing his knuckles against your cheek softly. “What’s on your mind, sweet dove?”

“Is… Has Miss Tate resigned?” You question.

A worried expression crosses his face. “She has not. I just wanted you to myself the past few mornings, is that so bad?”

You shake your head. “I was worried that maybe I had offended her somehow.”

He laughs, short and clipped, squeezing your shoulder gently. “If such was the case you wouldn’t be uncertain.” He assures you. “But no, I have simply been greedy the past few days.”

Greedy to serve you? That seemed unlikely, but that’s what he had been doing in place of Tate, going beyond even what she did for you. You didn’t require Tate’s assistance, while most of your clothes were designed under the assumption you would have assistance, it wasn’t impossible for you to manage on your own. You did appreciate her, however, and the simple fact that Marco cared enough to pay someone to support you through the day.

Later that day at the sanatorium Tate had come and spoke to you, reassuring you and teasing Marco in the same breath.

“I’d been so busy here I hadn’t even thought to say something,” Tate hums, smiling as she sits beside you, taking a quick break. “He’s so twitterpated it’s almost pathetic.”

It wasn’t love, it was lust. Not that you were going to say as much, it was better for the perception to be a positive one, and if other people saw things how Tate did, it worked better for both of you. Everything he did was for the sake of perception. Whether it was everyone else’s, or yours, but you weren’t going to do anything to ruin that work.

Perceptions could still make or break a family in this day and age more than their finances and capabilities. The days of nobles marrying for duty and honor were fading away, and most marriages, even those that were arranged, were considerate of the ideal of love. Even your parents had hoped for it for you. So it was better overall if society believed you loved one another.

Even if that love might take a while longer to truly take root, since you hadn’t had much time prior to your wedding.

You reminded yourself that you were grateful for the things Marco allowed you. Whether he did it simply to keep the peace, or because he was truly supportive didn’t really matter. Whichever it was would be brought to light soon enough.

You were almost done with your work.

It took a couple more weeks of research, and admittedly you took some extra time to be extra sure since it was your first official job. After that you built your presentation and then laid out everything for Marco and the area leaders that supported him within the sanatorium. What few scoffs were had at the start were silent by the middle of your presentation, and nodding in agreement by the end.

You had practice in minding your tone, and word choice. In such a way that allowed you to educate while seeming to defer to those gathered. A skill your mother and father had both instilled in you, since a large part of the world often cared little for what a young lady had to say, no matter how objectively correct she was, or was not.

A week later, you learned just how well you did.

“You’re certain you cannot see?” Marco questions, holding onto your hand as you smile.

“I have even closed my eyes,” you assure him. “I am in your care, husband.”

“Perfect.” He purrs the word before guiding you. It’s not much different than when you walk with him through the garden. Marco guides you well whether you can see or not. Today it’s just a blindfold, but you’re being led to your reward for a job well done for the sanatorium.

“I assumed you would be more comfortable here, than at the sanatorium,” he says idly while you walk down the hall. “So it took me a few days to get everything I needed.”

You hear a door open and assume you’re stopped in front of your destination.

“Everything you needed?”

“For your reward, sweet doveling.” He says, his voice by your ear as his hands are on your shoulders. “Go on, take a few steps forward, I’m right here.”

You walk forward carefully, taking what you assume are enough steps to enter the room. Listening for Marco to urge you forward or tell you to stop you only take another step or two before you hear the door close. There’s a sense of something else in the room with you, but there’s a long few moments of relative silence.

You think you can hear the shift of clothing, but you’re unnerved about being blindfolded and aren’t sure if you’re hearing things or not.

“Marco?” The question leaves your lips with only a small amount of concern. You’re quite certain he’s in the room with you.

“Please, call me Dr. Edward.” He instructs in the same professional tone you’ve heard him use at the sanatorium. The blindfold comes off and he’s standing before you, his white doctor’s coat over his clothes.

You feel your heart quicken, blood rushing to your face. “I, sorry, doctor?”

Marco smiles, and then gestures, causing you to look around. The room was rearranged. Everything that was normally in it was pushed to the sides, covered in white sheets, and in the middle of the room was an exam table.

Just like the ones at the sanatorium.

The metal table was heavy, with thick leather pads for the patient’s comfort. Heavy duty stirrups were bolted to either side, with restraints hanging from them. There was a an adjustable sort of cup for where your head went, and more restraints. The padded cuffs were familiar to you not just because of your work, but also because Tate used similar items to help you with your flexibility training.

Marco was already unbuttoning the back of your dress.

“You wanted to know what it felt like, didn’t you?” He urges you firmly. “I don’t mind incorporating a bit of my work into things if it’s a reward for you.”

You can’t help the shiver that runs through you. Faced with the table all you can see is the fierce woman who had been strapped to it. He could strap you down and never let you back up and you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

Even as part of you shivered in fear, part of you throbbed with need and curiosity.

“Will you… will you stop when I ask?” You question, turning toward him as he pulls your dress down your arms. You had nothing on under it save what you needed to be decent, having long since stopped wearing anything deemed unnecessary. “Since it’s a reward?”

The smile on his face seems tight, but he nods. “Let me know when you’re satisfied, doveling, and I’ll compromise with you. But I ask you endure at least one hour, it was quite the ordeal to set this up. I’d hate to see the staff’s hard work go to waste.” Marco’s hand caresses your face as he talks, his thumb slipping over your lips lightly.

“Y-yes, of course.” You agree, trying not to think about how many people in the house knew what you and your husband got up to behind closed doors after hauling all of this in here.

He helps you strip, placing soft kisses against your skin and running his fingers over less sensitive places. The hum that rolls in your chest when his fingers slip down your spine is genuinely relaxed. Every time he does it you can feel the aches and tension in your body fade.

Marco helps you up onto the examination table, getting you centered and then assists you in laying back.

“Normally, at least two orderlies assist at this point,” he explains, that professional tone dripping from his words. “Even for patients that have accepted the treatments.” He smiles as he looks down at you, taking a hand and putting it into a cuff that was held snug to the side of the table. “It’s faster that way.”

He puts a strap across your chest, above your breasts and against your shoulders, and another across your stomach, just below your breasts. Stepping around he adjusts the head rest, making sure you’re comfortable before he leans down and kisses your forehead.

“To answer the question I’m sure you have,” he continues, taking the strap laid across your shoulders and pulling it snug against you. “We do restrain even willing patients, because sometimes the effects of the treatment can cause them to thrash.” He takes the other strap and pulls it snug as well, effectively pinning your upper body to the table. You could wriggle free if you struggled enough, at least until he put your other wrist in the padded cuff on that side of the table.

The angle put only a little pressure on your arms, limiting the leverage you had when you tried to move them. It was better for a long term situation compared to having them over your head, which could cause issues in your shoulders, or folded behind your back, which could result in blood flow concerns. Such things weren’t as risky when Marco could check in with you throughout a session, but this equipment had different uses, and Marco needed to focus on the treatment itself.

Not the effect of the restraints.

That much you had learned from your time at the sanatorium.

When Marco lifts your leg, putting it into the padded stirrup, you feel the blood rush through you. There’s a slight smirk on his face despite his efforts, while he buckles your leg into place, either because he saw you flush, or because he knows you’ll be embarrassed with your legs held open. He doesn’t say anything, turning to your other leg and putting it in the other stirrup quietly. You can’t stop your fingers and toes from flexing as the straps hold your other leg in place.

You’re stuck. The stirrups aren’t set very far apart, so it almost feels like your legs are closed, but you know it won’t last. You’ve seen one of these tables with the legs set much wider. While you have an agreement with Marco to not deny him, there’s something different between that and this.

As though some illusion of possible control has been wrested fully from you.

Marco’s hands grip your toes and you flinch, your whole body tensing for a second. You can definitely see the smirk on his face, the weight of a moment’s pause before he rubs the balls of your feet.

“It’s a reward, doveling,” he assures you. “Not a punishment.”

You relax, a little at least, even as your feet squirm in the hot grip. “Of… of course, doctor.” You manage, swallowing hard before you could finish your sentence.

Marco smiles. “Very good,” he praises, letting go of your feet and pushing the stirrups open. There were gears that caught them as they spread open, the soft clicks the only sound aside from your pounding heart as he spreads your legs apart, click by click.

When they’re wide enough he can stand between them he looks down at you. “You’ve been working on flexibility with Tate, how’s that been progressing?”

“Well, I think.” You answer honestly and Marco pushes your legs open another click.

“More?”

“I… I can, yes.” Hesitant as your answer is, Marco pushes them both two clicks. Three more and you’ll practically be in a full split. Not impossible for you at this point, but you don’t think you could hold it for as long as he’s inferred this will last.

You just aren’t sure how to express that.

“No complaints then? We’ll leave you here.” He says, effectively answering his own inquiry.

He drags his fingers over the insides of your thighs, the heat of his fingers making you sigh softly. The hot tips of his fingers trace almost idle lines along your skin, following some pattern you can’t discern beyond the sweet pleasure it provides.

“Normally, I would wear gloves.” Marco’s words sink into you as his fingers press against your skin a little more. Heated palms caress your thighs as his fingers sneak toward your hips. “Even for the sake of the treatment, it wouldn’t do to touch someone so directly.”

“But you,” the words slip from his lips like a sigh, the tone of the doctor escaping him for a moment as his gaze pulls away from your exposed body, moving up to your eyes. “Are all mine, yoi.” He clears his throat, muddling the verbal tick you’ve come to expect from him during these times.

You aren’t sure why it only crops up when you’re at his mercy like this, but you never hear it from him otherwise. You mean to ask, but he currently has your labia parted with his thumbs, his eyes no longer on yours. The attention to your pussy is embarrassing, even after this many months, but the look in his eyes causes a coil to tighten in your stomach.

At first it was just embarrassment, and then a mix of that and fear, but at some point there was an effect that was neither fear nor embarrassment. The way he looked at you. The weight of the desire in his gaze was disorienting, but also flattering. Reassuring, perhaps.

It made you feel wanted, instead of simply needed for the sake of your families.

Whatever was behind the emotion in his eyes, you were becoming certain that you were the only person he would look at this way. Whether that meant good fortune for you or not, you weren’t yet sure.

“Please,” you whisper the word, barely even meaning to say it.

“Of course,” he says, releasing his hold on your labia and looking back up at you. The professional tone is back in his voice. “We must begin your treatment, Mrs. Edward.”

Marco’s middle finger slips down your slit and plunges into your vagina before you even whimper from the start of his touch. The loud wet sound as he pushes in easily has you wishing you could turn your head away, but the table doesn’t let you move much.

“Seems the preliminary assessment won’t take long.” Marco muses, pushing a second finger inside you, watching your face as your sopping cunt accepts the intrusion easily.

Placing his other hand just below your belly button, he brushes his thumb over your clit seemingly at random while his fingers move inside you. He’s fingered you before, to get you ready to take him, but this was different. He wasn’t scissoring his fingers, or working to get a third inside of you, instead he focused on a particular spot.

The hand on your stomach pushes down just a little, and you can feel the pressure on his fingers inside you. A strange jolt rolls through you and it’s so strong it almost makes you feel ill.

“No,” you gasp as the second jolt makes your body tense, your eyes watering. “T-too much!”

“It can be intense for those in need of it,” Marco says reassuringly, sending a third jolt through you. This doesn’t make you feel ill, but the rush is like almost orgasming. There’s no steady built like you’re used to. “For someone like you, I imagine it’s even more intense.”

You shudder within your restraints, trying madly to get away from the overwhelming pleasure. Marco’s hands are holding your hips and the table is doing the rest. You can’t possibly get away from him, and he has a lot of practice with this particular action.

“I feel like I’m going to pee!” You cry out desperately, having lost count of the jolts his fingers are commanding.

“It’s alright if you do, yoi.” He assures you, and his fingers move again.

This time they don’t stop.

He’d been brushing that spot inside you and then going still, giving you a moment to recover between the surge of sensation that assailed you, but now that was done. The steady rhythm has you shivering against the restraints, tears slipping down your cheeks as you struggle to speak.

“No please! Please!” You beg, knowing it won’t do any good. Reward or not, you had agreed to at least an hour and it hadn’t been a quarter of one yet. Even counting the time it took him to strap you down.

“Don’t fight it.” He commands, his thumb pressing against your clit, rolling it without stopping.

“No, no, no, I can’t - I can’t stop it!” You nearly wail the words as you cum hard. Your body can’t shake the pleasure, you’re strapped down too securely. Bucking against the small bit of movement you have available to you, you lose control of everything for a moment. Your world goes fuzzy, an odd sound coming from you as your taut body fights against your need to scream from the intense pleasure.

Something gives, but you don’t have sense enough to be sure what it is.

“I knew I’d get you to squirt.” Marco says to himself. You’re too far gone to really hear him right now.

Pulling his fingers out of you, he shakes the excess away idly. There would be other times to indulge, right now he needed to check in on you. The hazy look in your eyes has him painfully hard, and he wipes the tears from your cheeks.

“Being restrained really gets to you, doesn’t it?” He muses, rubbing the space between your breasts with a couple fingers. The warmth seems to help you come back around, and you squirm in the binds as you look away from him. “You did nothing wrong.” He promises you, his idle hand shifting over your chest and brushing over your stiff nipple.

You sigh from the pleasure. You can feel his eyes on you and shift your gaze to look back at him.

“Everything you do is by my will while you’re on this table.” He explains, the professional tone in his voice muddling the lines between procedure and session. “So don’t bother fighting it.”

Simultaneously reassuring and terrifying. You weren’t responsible for anything your body did while you were strapped down to this table, but you weren’t in control of anything either. Your body wriggles at the idea of being here for a punishment, instead of a reward.

You hadn’t been punished as yet. A few tense moments here and there, a few rough learning sessions, but the last time you’d endured anything close to a punishment it was before you were married. When Marco had you bend over so he could swat your rear a couple times.

“Normally, I would either induce hysterical paroxysm a number of times until the patient calmed, or I would deny it for several hours.” He explains, leaning against the table casually to play with your nipples while he spoke. “Hysterical paroxysm, is a fancy way of saying female orgasm. There’s a misguided belief that women can’t orgasm, and that hysterical paroxysm only occurs in those with hysteria.

“Ah, but I digress. You’re not here for a medical lesson, or a cultural one, yoi.” His tone shifts. He applies more pressure to your stiff nipples until you moan. “At least thirty more minutes, doveling, you’re doing so good. However, this next action is not part of the process.”

Marco steps away from your side, standing between your legs again. You aren’t sure what he’s going to do until he gets down on his knees and you lose sight of him. Between the binds, and the brace your head is in, you can’t see much below your knees, and even then you can only see your knees because they’re up in the stirrups.

His hot breath is cold against your wet folds and you flinch from the sensation.

“Sweet bound bird,” he hums, his voice barely making it to your ears. “So sensitive like this.” His tongue licks up your slit and you moan. “I want to take my time learning all the things that you don’t even yet know you love. But at the same time I wish I already knew it all.”

Marco’s fingers slip between yours, holding your hands and restraining you even more as his tongue slips into your cunt. You moan and gasp, his tongue plunging in deep, lips pressing heavy into yours, his nose bullying against your clit. Your body tenses and shifts in the restraints that won’t let it move, fingers flexing against his.

The sound is killing you almost more than the actual sensation. Wet, messy, lewd, you can practically feel his tongue licking your entire body it sounds so sloppy between your thighs. The mewling sounds that leave your lips are a mix of pleasure and embarrassment and when you feel the inevitable build up his hands move. Letting go of your fingers his large hands engulf your breasts, kneading them for a moment before he begins to tease your nipples again.

The combination of sensation, added to the heighten state of being bound, is too much. The pleasure in your nipples is harsh, even if Marco’s touch is tender, the sharp zings of euphoria causing your breath to catch as they crackle through your body and down to your cunt. It’s not the same intensity as before, his tongue can’t go deep enough to mimic his long fingers, but it’s close.

“Nnnnnngh-no, no no no no,” you babble the word knowing it’s pointless right now, it’s not going to halt anything. You aren’t even sure you want it to, but you can feel what little control you thought you had slipping from you. “Please, gods,” your body tenses within the restraints, sweat breaking out on your brow as your fingers and toes flex.

“Oh god, oh god,” the repeated phrase bubbles past your tongue and drips off your neck. You didn’t realize how much freedom you had, pinned beneath Marco most nights. How much you could move even if you couldn’t escape his hold. How much you could shiver and shake off as overwhelming euphoria threatened to take you. Even though it hadn’t been an actual escape, right now you had so much less.

Sucking in a big breath in anticipation of the orgasm about to crash into you, for a split second you worry Marco means to deny you, his tongue abandoning your pussy. His fingers pinch your nipples roughly as his lips suck and suckle on your clit. The harsh shift in stimulation on the edge of the orgasm vaults you over the edge and you scream.

A mix of mostly pleasure, with surprise on the edges and pain prickling through the nervous shivering cry that follows. You know you squirted again, and this time it was all over the good doctor’s chest.

“Marco, please!” You cry out, shivering in the binds, pleasure snapping at your senses because he hasn’t stopped. His tongue and lips aren’t leaving your throbbing clit. His fingers aren’t being as harsh with your nipples, but he hasn’t released them, and the soft touch is torture. You’re so sensitive that each motion is like a needle jab, painful, but pleasurable.

Maddening.

“Please, I can’t take it, this is too much, too much, oh god, please, please, hnnnngh.” Your whine turns to something more like a growl as you clench your fists against the pleasure you can’t control. “D-Doctor Edward!” You cry out, and Marco finally relents.

His fingers leave your breasts, easing between your own fingers and easing the tension as he weaves his fingers between yours. He licks your inner thigh, hot and heavy and slow. It feels good, but it’s not the same harsh rush of earlier.

“Bear with me a moment longer,” he husks against your skin and you can feel him smile. “And soon I’ll bare with you.”

Marco holds your hands as he sets about the business of licking you clean. It feels good, and it’s relaxing. He’s taking his time, and isn’t trying to bring you to the brink again, so even when his tongue slips over your clit it’s brief. The heavy lap against your labia pushes into your folds but he doesn’t linger.

The tense, nervous whines that fell from your lips when he first started had become deeper, heavier sounds. A mix of relaxation and reluctant need. You were warm, dappled in sweat, twitching from the fading remnants of your latest orgasm, and squirming against the binds because you needed it again.

When did that happen, you wonder briefly. A need for something you weren’t even fully sure you liked. Something that made you nervous because you lost control to the pleasure, and despite your position and gender you had generally been in control. But not during that. Not during this.

Not with Marco.

He stands up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in nearly the same motion that he sheds the hospital jacket. Tossing it aside he steps closer, pressing the bulge of his pants against your wet slit while he begins to undo his vest’s buttons.

I want to break her. The thoughts race through Marco’s mind and he struggles to keep them contained. I want to fuck her until she froths at the mouth. Until there’s no scream or plea left that she has the energy to give me. I want to keep her strapped to this table for the rest of her life. The perfect cage for my perfect bird.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he nearly growls the words, tossing the last of his tops aside and baring his tattooed chest again. “You’ve ruined my shirt, and now my pants.” It’s amusement that lifts his voice, there’s no actual accusation being levied at you.

And yet you’re compelled to play along.

“M-my apologies, doctor.” The words are coated in coy lies, your hips shifting into his bulge.

“Look at you, getting into your role.” The weight of his words presses into you, but you don’t have time to consider them before his cock fills you in one swift motion.

Your breath catches.

There’s no pain, you’re dripping and Marco hadn’t left you any time to tense when he thrust in. The stretch is sudden and nearly enough to make you cry out, instead you tense in your binds, moaning deep in your chest.

“You made it the hour,” he says, already setting a decent pace, the weight of his thrusts shifting your tits since nothing else is free to move because of the table and the restraints. “But I’m not done rewarding you, pretty bird.”

“Please,” you sigh, shifting your hips as much as you can to meet one of his thrusts.

The wicked smile that slips across his lips doesn’t linger, replaced by something softer and more controlled. “Please what, sweet doveling? Ask for it the way I like, yoi.”

Heat rushes to your face and you close your eyes. There’s a sharp pain as Marco grips your nipples tightly.

“Look at me, yoi.” He commands, letting go of his harsh grip when you look at him.

“Please fuck me… doctor.”

Marco leans back, thumb against your clit as he braces himself with his other hand. “Who am I to deny you when you ask so sweetly.”

He shifts, slowing and roaming around inside you with his cock until your body tenses against your will. Your eyes meet and you can immediately feel tears welling up.

“Here,” Marco says the word flatly, but he rubs the tip of his cock in the same place his fingers had been at the start. “Mmm,” his tongue slips over his lips. “I could bully you right here and tease your clit and I bet you’d cum so hard you’d vomit.”

Tears slip down your cheeks quietly. You can’t beg him not to, you can’t beg him to do it. You don’t want him to, this is meant to be a reward and the idea of vomiting during an orgasm sounds absolutely horrid. But the look in his eyes is hungry in a way you know better than to deny.

Or encourage.

The feral hunger fades and he shifts again, returning to his previous motion and pace, brushing the sensitive places inside you without focusing on them. Letting the pleasure of his thumb against your clit, and the bindings holding you in place, do most of the work.

“Another time, sweet doveling. It would be rude of me to mess you up that much when it’s your reward.” He reassures you.

You can feel some part of you relax even as the building pleasure makes your toes flex and your legs tighten in a useless attempt to close. The tension in your thighs as you fail to close your legs sends a thrill right into your depths, and it makes the sensation of Marco’s cock feel even better.

You know it, in the back of your mind, that he’s going to mess you up so completely some day that they’ll be no going back. It won’t be you accepting his hunger and his depravity because of the contract. You’ll have your own hunger, and no one else will be able to sate it but him.

Maybe you need to try and leave before that. If you explained things to your parents they would be understanding. It would be a scandal, no matter how the news broke, and some part of you would rather bend to his appetites to avoid risking your family’s name. Marco was no fool and your word against his would leave your father in a tricky position, even with your family’s reputation and comparative longevity.

Marco provided for you, but he still paid you for your work at the sanatorium, leaving it to be separate from the house’s expenses. A few more projects and you could leave without involving your parents.

Your breath is hot, riding on the edges of shivered whimpers as Marco brings you close to the peak. Tears slip down your cheeks from the weight of it all. The pleasure, the bindings, the knowledge of how easily he could disregard all your wishes and leave you bound for the rest of your days.

The fear that you would come to truly love it. That he would corrupt you to your very bones.

Which would happen faster? Your descent, or your escape?

“There you go, yoi.” Marco hums, his voice dripping against your skin as he bullies that spot inside you now that you’re so close.

“Ha-nnnNNNGH!!!” The table shivers as your body pulls taut, shuddering so hard against the bindings that they’re sure to leave marks on your skin, despite being designed to avoid just that. You’ve never sworn in your life, but if you could even hope to speak you would be right now. The euphoric feeling scratches the edges of pain, your lungs ache from your inability to draw breath against the violence of the orgasm pulling at your muscles.

Marco shows you no mercy, fucking you through the pleasure, teasing your clit even as you feel the hot rush of his own orgasm fill you up. It isn’t until your body nearly gives out, too exhausted to maintain tension, too needy for air to revel in the euphoria. When you can finally breathe, shaky and desperate, he stops before you can begin to beg him for mercy.

It’s your reward, after all.

#x reader #reader insert #marco the phoenix #mdni #dead dove #mind the tags #Solicitude

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shirohige-pirates · 1 month ago

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working on a marco for my besties birthdaaayyy

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shirohige-pirates · 1 month ago

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Touch-Starved Trouble

A teasing bet with Marco to avoid touching each other for 24 hours turns into a slow, chaotic game of tension and stolen glances—until he breaks first in the most heated way imaginable.

Marco the phoenix x reader | ONE SHOT

tags: fluff, sfw

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe and akward

word count: 840

masterlist | ko-fi

“You’re clingy,” you said with a grin, poking Marco in the chest.

He arched a golden brow at you from his perch on the railing of the Moby Dick, sipping from a glass of juice like he wasn’t practically sitting in your lap just minutes earlier.

“And you’re warm-yoi” he replied smoothly, smirking over the rim. “You can’t blame a man for seeking comfort.”

“Oh, comfort is that what you call face-nuzzling and grabbing my ass every time I walk past?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “You never complain-yoi.”

You mock-gasped. “Bet you can’t go a day without touching me.”

His eyes sparked with challenge. “Wanna test that, hot stuff?”

“Gladly.”

It was childish. Dumb. A dare born from too much sun, too many lazy days at sea, and way too much unresolved tension between you and the First Division Commander.

No touching for 24 hours.

Simple. Easy. Harmless.

Except you should’ve remembered who you were messing with.

Marco had patience. Experience. Smugness that could kill a lesser person.

You, on the other hand?

You had none of that. Just a desperate craving for his warmth, his mouth, his fingers on your hips—his everything.

But you weren’t about to back down first. Hell no.

You were going to win this.

…or die trying.

Hour 1 – Torture Begins

It started innocent enough.

You lounged beside Marco at the breakfast table, far enough apart that your legs didn’t touch. He didn’t even look at you.

Oh no, he just breathed.

Existed.

Perfectly tanned skin, messy blond hair, lips wrapped around a piece of fruit as he chewed slowly.

His fingers glistened with juice, and you were far too aware of how often those hands had touched you just yesterday. Brushed your jaw. Traced circles on your thighs under the table. Slid under your shirt when he thought no one was looking.

You gulped down your coffee.

Across from you, Marco’s mouth twitched.

Smug bastard.

Hour 1.5 – Petty Warfare

You retaliated in the only way you knew how: wardrobe sabotage.

You walked across the deck in the tightest shirt you owned—Marco’s, actually, slightly oversized but cropped just enough to show off a sliver of your waist. His scent clung to it.

You watched him nearly choke on his drink.

But the phoenix was strong. Too strong. He looked away, muttered something about the weather, and retreated to the lookout post like a coward.

You chased after him thirty minutes later with a tray of freshly sliced mango.

“Hungry, hot stuff?” you cooed.

He didn’t look at you. Just smirked, plucked a slice off the tray, and sucked the juice from his fingers with purpose.

You almost dropped the tray.

“…You’re evil.”

He smiled. “Still not touching you, though.”

Hour 2 – Meltdown

You were done.

Two hours in and you were vibrating with tension. You missed the way Marco absentmindedly tangled his fingers with yours, the way he’d lean his forehead against your temple during lulls in the day.

You were touch-starved. Desperate. Thirsty.

You were pacing across the infirmary muttering to yourself when the door opened and Marco stepped in, looking far too pleased.

“Can’t do it, huh?” he drawled.

You froze. “I’m fine.”

“You’re twitching like Ace off sugar withdrawal-yoi”

“Shut up,” you snapped, spinning to face him. “You’re suffering too. I see it. You miss me.”

He stepped forward slowly. Deliberately.

Your back hit the wall.

You cursed.

He caged you in with his arms on either side of your head, leaning close—so close.

“I do miss you-yoi,” he murmured, voice like velvet. “You gonna do something about that...hmm?”

Your breath hitched.

“I’m not touching you.”

He smirked. “That’s fine.”

And then he leaned in.

He didn’t even start with your lips.

No—Marco pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your cheekbone first. Then your jaw. Then just under your ear.

You whimpered. Actually whimpered.

He chuckled against your skin. “Still not touching me-yoi?”

“I’m hanging on by a damn thread.”

He moved closer. You could feel the heat of him, the teasing curl of his breath.

“You’re adorable when you’re stubborn,” he whispered.

Then he finally—finally—kissed you full on the mouth.

It was hot. Hungry. Frustrated.

His hand slid into your hair, tilting your head, and you parted your lips for him automatically. His tongue slid against yours with a low, pleased noise, like he was savoring every second.

You clutched his shirt, yanking him closer, fingers digging into muscle.

He broke first.

He always would.

But you were already too gone to care.

Ten minutes later, you were curled up in Marco’s lap on the infirmary cot, flushed and breathless.

“That was cheating,” you muttered.

He grinned, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You said no touching. I didn’t.”

“You started this bet.”

“And I ended it. With style-yoi”

You smacked his chest half-heartedly.

He caught your hand and kissed your knuckles.

“No more dumb bets,” you said.

Marco leaned in, brushing his nose against yours.

“Mm...no more distance,” he whispered. “Ever.”

You melted. Again.

Touch-starved, after all.

#an adorable Drabble #x reader #reader insert #marco the phoenix

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shirohige-pirates · 2 months ago

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It's getting warm finally 😏 Prepare your pineapples!

#marco the phoenix

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shirohige-pirates · 2 months ago

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A Serenade Woven by the Tempest #01

I let out an exaggerated sigh while glaring at the TV. The meteorologist was explaining the projected path of an approaching massive typhoon, his animated gestures emphasizing the urgency of his repeated warnings to stay indoors. Through the window, I could already hear the wind beginning to howl, its mournful sound matching my mood perfectly. The warnings meant nothing to me now. My plans were already in ruins. "Well, we can try to make time in autumn or winter," Marco's calm voice came through my phone's speaker. Despite his attempt at casualness, I could hear the mix of apology and resignation in his tone. It was the voice he used when trying to be the mature one, the responsible one. "I was really looking forward to this..." The words came out smaller than I intended, more vulnerable than I wanted to sound.

The record-breaking typhoon's approach had forced the cancellation of our flights, and with them, our planned hot springs getaway this weekend. We'd just made that decision moments ago, and something heavy settled in my chest, right where excitement had bubbled just hours before. Marco lives about an hour away by train. Since starting his own business, our time together had become precious and rare - we hadn't seen each other in two months. This weekend was supposed to be special: a room with a private bath, just the two of us. I'd spent the past month juggling work commitments and even stepped up my skincare routine so I could confidently go makeup-free at the inn. And now, of all times, a typhoon had chosen to make its appearance. The universe, it seemed, had a cruel sense of timing. "Looks like we'll get strong winds here too. You should probably stock up on about three days' worth of food at the supermarket today," Marco said, already shifting into practical mode. "You're moving on too quickly. Hey, aren't you sad about this at all?" I couldn't keep the slight accusation out of my voice. "Of course I'm disappointed-yoi. But can't exactly complain to the weather, can we?" His voice carried that gentle teasing tone that usually made me smile. Today, it just highlighted the distance between us. "You're so mature..." I muttered, earning a soft chuckle that, despite everything, warmed something inside me. "What are you doing this weekend?" I asked hopefully, clinging to the possibility of at least spending time at one of our places. But— "With this weather, our clients are in chaos. I'll probably be dealing with that the whole time." The words came with a weary sigh that told me he wished it were different. He was still working weekends, as usual. Since going independent, his life had become an endless stream of client meetings and emergency responses. Another hope disappeared with his words, dissolving like sugar in rain. "I see. Don't overwork yourself, okay?" I tried to inject cheerfulness into my voice, though the words felt hollow. "Yeah. I'll let you know when I have time to grab dinner or something. See you." Marco was older than me, more experienced in navigating life's disappointments. While we'd avoided cancellation fees, the loss of our precious time together stung sharply. I felt childish for being the only one so affected, for not being able to brush it off with his easy grace.

After hanging up, I stared blankly at the TV, the weather map's swirling patterns blurring before my eyes. Marco's practical advice eventually penetrated my gloom, and I grabbed my umbrella and keys. The supermarket wouldn't wait forever. Outside, though the typhoon was still days away, heavy rain was already falling, fat drops that seemed eager to announce the coming storm. Strong gusts fought with my umbrella, threatening to turn it inside out with each gust. Not feeling like cooking, I loaded up on frozen foods, beer, and ice cream - the holy trinity of cancelled plans and disappointment. Despite my large umbrella, my lower half was thoroughly soaked by the time I made it home.

A hot shower helped wash away the chill but not the disappointment. I dressed in my comfort clothes - just a camisole and shorts - and grabbed a beer from the fridge. The sound of the can opening echoed strangely in the quiet room, like a lonely punctuation mark. The clock showed 7 PM. In another reality, I would have been happily packing right now, checking and double-checking my bags with excited anticipation. Instead, here I was, nursing a beer and staring at a mindless variety show while rain drummed against my windows with increasing intensity. The sudden chime of the intercom cut through my melancholy like a knife through butter. "Huh?" I blinked in confusion. Had I ordered something online and forgotten about it? The intercom rarely rang except for deliveries. Puzzled, I checked the entrance monitor, and my heart stopped. There stood Marco, his coat dark with rain, his usually neat hair charmingly disheveled. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

"What— Marco!?" I pressed the response button with trembling fingers, my heart performing an elaborate gymnastics routine in my chest. "Surprise!" he said playfully, like the lead in a romantic drama, his bright voice seemingly immune to the weather's gloom. "What about work?" "Already finished. It's cold, let me in already-yoi." I unlocked the auto-lock, and watched him disappear from the monitor. One minute. That's how long it would take him to reach my door from the elevator. I launched into frantic motion, pulling on a T-shirt and sweatpants, clearing away the laundry scattered across my bed like fallen leaves. My heart refused to slow its excited dance. When I opened the door, Marco was just turning the corner into my hallway. The sight of him, real and present after so long, drew an involuntary smile to my face. My tiny apartment hallway suddenly felt like the most perfect place in the world. "Did I surprise you?" Marco's smile held a touch of shyness, an endearing contrast to his usual confidence. The expression made my heart flutter in my chest. "Of course you did! You should have told me you were coming. I don't have anything prepared." "You've got plenty of beer though, right?" His knowing grin made me blush. "Well... obviously." He laughed and raised a cheerfully colored bag to my face level. I could see how carefully he'd protected it from the rain, holding it close to his body under his coat. "Ah!" "I got takeout from that place we liked." Inside was a box bearing the logo of our special Italian restaurant, the one where we'd had our third date, where we'd first held hands under the table like teenagers. Marco leaned his wet umbrella against the hallway wall, entered, and placed his car keys on top of the shoe cabinet. Then he kissed me, his lips soft and slightly cool from the rain. "Mm..." The familiar sensation made me realize just how much I'd missed him. Though we'd been busy before, this was our first two-month separation. Seeing his face up close after so long was intoxicating - had his eyes always been this intense? My heart performed another acrobatic routine. "You're cold. You should take a shower first." "Thanks, I think I will." "I'll set out the food. Beer for you too, right?" "Yeah, thanks." I did an internal victory dance. If he was drinking despite driving here, that meant he was staying the night. "Wow, this looks delicious!" The box revealed carefully packaged dishes, each one a colorful artwork of our favorite foods. I took plates from the shelf and began plating with extra care. Though the rain was getting stronger outside, battering my windows like an impatient visitor, the room felt wrapped in a cocoon of peace. I poured beer into glasses and sat down, timing it with Marco finishing drying his hair. He sat across from me, also dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants. Though I usually saw him in impeccable suits, this casual look stirred something warm in my chest. It felt intimate, like a glimpse of a side of him few others got to see. Despite our regular calls and messages, being together in person unleashed a flood of conversation. We talked about everything and nothing - his work challenges, my recent adventures, the neighbor's new cat, the way the convenience store had rearranged their shelves. Every topic felt fascinating simply because we were sharing it face to face.

After dinner, while Marco was washing dishes (insisting despite my protests), I took out the whiskey he'd taught me to appreciate. "It's best straight," he'd said months ago, and I'd learned to love it that way, though perhaps partly because it reminded me of him. I poured a little whiskey into two glasses and placed them on the bedroom's low table. My tiny 1DK apartment suddenly felt like the coziest place in Tokyo. The kitchen-dining area with its table for two (three if you're really friendly), the bedroom-slash-living room with its TV, low table, and bed (upgraded to double size after Marco came into my life, though still barely adequate). I'd always thought about adding some large plants for decoration, but space was at a premium. With Marco's tall, athletic frame, the room grew even smaller. Tonight, though, that smallness felt like a blessing, keeping us close. Fresh from cleaning up, Marco sat beside me on the bed, bringing with him the clean scent of soap and something uniquely him. "Thank you." "Yeah." Our shoulders nearly touched, sending my pulse racing again. I grabbed the remote, needing something to do with my hands. "Want to watch a movie or something?" "...No, that's okay." Marco contemplated his whiskey for a moment, then set it carefully on the table. His large hand covered mine, warm and slightly calloused. "Hey, want to live together-yoi?" The question caught me completely off guard. I'd been preparing myself for more intimate advances, but this emotional intimacy struck deeper than any physical touch. When I didn't respond immediately, Marco leaned in, his "Hey" soft and uncertain. His eyes held a vulnerability I rarely saw, a mix of hope and fear that made my heart ache. "Are... are you serious?" "Why are you so surprised? We've been together for about a year now." "Yeah, but... Marco..." I swallowed the words "I thought you didn't like that kind of thing." I didn't want to risk changing his mind. But seeing his serious expression, the raw honesty in his eyes, I realized that worry was unnecessary. "I'm happy. I've been thinking about it too." The admission felt like releasing a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. "Then you should have said so earlier." His relief was palpable, transforming his face with a boyish grin. As he spoke, his hand slipped under my T-shirt, warm against my skin. "Hey, wait—" I protested weakly, but my body was already leaning into his touch. "We can discuss the details later," he murmured, grinning against my lips. Outside, the typhoon continued its approach, but in my small apartment, we'd found our own perfect shelter from the storm.

#marco the phoenix #reader insert #gnawing through the bars of my enclosure #I am so well fed you have no idea

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shirohige-pirates · 2 months ago

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He seems like the type who’s pretty serious about grooming—bet he shaves everything but his jaw every morning. Also kinda want him to just help himself to my lotion without saying anything.🧴

Image 1 Marco (thinking): Lately my skin’s been feeling really dry. Image 2

(left): E-Emulsion...? What even is that...? (note: 🌸’s skincare)

(top right): Part of being a well-groomed man... (spray sound) Pshhh...

(bottom right): Y/N: Press it gently into your skin like this… If you ever want tips, just let me know anytime.♡ 　Marco: ...I’ve been caught using it in the next room…

#marco the phoenix #thank you so much for all the joy you bring

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shirohige-pirates · 2 months ago

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I’m losing my mind over Y/N as a Marine getting messed up by the Phoenix—rough and sweet in turns.

Marco: “Heh… Getting fucked by a pirate—does it feel so good it’s making you cry?”

Y/N: “I… I don’t want to die…” Marco: “Ohh… so that’s your little act of defiance for tonight, huh?”

#marco the phoenix #reader insert #I am in love with this artist 🥰

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shirohige-pirates · 2 months ago

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part one | wc: 2.4k | suggestive content

“Please,” Nami pleads, stuffing a shirt into her duffel bag. “It’s just one night and it’s really good money.”

“I don’t know,” you say, shoulders practically up to your ears from how nervous the mere thought makes you.

“Come on, it’s just a few line dances. The real simple ones, I swear,” she says, hands together in prayer as she turns to face you. It’s hard saying no to her. She knows it. She abuses it. “You know how to line dance, right?”

You do, but you haven’t in years. Since you were a child. “Well yeah.”

“Perfect!” She claps in delight. “Be at Whitebeard’s by eight and ask for Marco.”

“Wait!” But she’s already hopping into the driver’s seat of her car, slamming the door and music blaring so loudly the vehicle begins vibrating.

“I didn’t actually agree to cover you.” You say to the cloud of dirt that now stands where Nami once stood. “Fucking great.”

You pull into Whitebeard’s before the clock strikes eight. And it’s so busy you fear the sandwich you had for lunch is going to make a less than ideal reappearance. Nami owes you big time for this. You shut the door of your grandpa’s cherry red pickup truck with enough force you’re surprised it doesn’t fall off its rusty hinges– the thing is older than you after all– before making your way into the establishment.

It’s your standard honky tonk. The music is loud, the dance floor is large, and the bar covers the length of an entire wall. Whitebeard’s tugs at a distant memory in your mind. One that you had long forgotten since it’s been decades since you last stepped foot in this small town. But you don’t have much time to ruminate in nostalgia when you hear your name called out over the music in the direction of the bar.

“Hi?” You question as you lean against the bartop to better hear the bartender.

“You’re covering for Nami tonight, right?”

“Unfortunately,” you nod, your gut twisting with anxiety. But he laughs, goodnaturedly. He seems kind, you deduce.

“I’m Marco,” he introduces, holding out a hand for you to shake. “I bartend on Friday nights when I’m free just to help the old man out.”

You shake his hand. And you wonder why the hell everyone in this town speaks to you as if you didn’t just show up a few weeks ago. The town is so small of course everyone knows everyone. And of course everyone knows you. You’re new. Shiny. Interesting.

“That’s nice of you,” you say, trying your hardest to plaster a friendly smile on your face.

“We do what we can.” Marco smiles in return, much brighter and friendlier than you know yours to be. “Speaking of, first lesson starts at 8:30. If you go to the DJ, he’ll let you know what’s on the setlist for tonight.”

He points to a booth that’s elevated to the right of the dancefloor. You don’t see anyone there, but when you turn around to point that out to Marco his figure has already disappeared behind a swinging door. What is up with these people and their tendency to just vanish?

Either way, you walk up to the booth, climbing the few steps to peer in when you see a familiar head of curly hair kneeling on the ground wrangling some knotted cords.

“Usopp?”

His head bangs on the table when he hears his name. The sound table jostles from the impact and he lets out a pathetic yelp before rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head.

“Oh, hey! What’re you doin’ here?” He’s standing on unsteady feet still clutching the back of his head.

You were just with Usopp a few hours ago at the dance studio. He teaches hip hop and is also the informal IT guy whenever Robin can’t figure something out. She claims it’s because of her age, but really you know she can’t be bothered to find a solution if it’s not in a book.

“Nami couldn’t make it,” you shrug, trying not to convey how nervous you really are. But that doesn’t last long when you look at Usopp and his eyes are like saucers and his jaw is dropped.

“So she stuck the Friday crowd on you?!”

“That bad?” Your heart kicks rapidly in your chest.

“Nami’s a real piece of work,” he sighs before grabbing a sheet of paper from his bag. It’s the setlist for the evening. “Good luck. Let me know if you need any help.”

And before you can begin to form the question that’s in your head with your lips, he jumps out of the other end of the booth to talk with someone on the far side of the dance floor. You might actually murder someone tonight if they keep this up.

“And if I did need any help what good would you be,” you mutter under your breath as you scan over the list of songs for the evening. You’re familiar with some of them, especially the early slots but the others don’t ring a bell. You’re officially fucked.

“You’re not gonna get any help with that attitude.” There’s a playful note to the man’s voice. A man you’re not familiar with. So regardless of the intent, the comment agitates you. But when you look up to convey your irritation with him, the words sort of just die in your throat. You aren’t expecting the man attached to the voice to be so… hot. He’s wearing a cowboy hat with chunky dark curls sticking out around his neck. He’s got freckles sprayed across his cheeks perfectly, like someone drew them on. They make him look almost cute. But the cuteness ends there. He’s broad, built in a way that indicates he works a laborious job. And he’s holding two cases of beer in one arm like it’s nothing. Where the hell did he come from?

“Sorry,” you say, the apology rushing out with an exasperated sigh. “I’ve just never taught line dancing before so…”

“Nami flaked again,” he says with a full laugh, you feel it run down your body. But when his words register your eyes widen.

“What do you mean again?” You ask, making your way down the steps quickly and with urgency. “How often does she do this?!”

“Not often, but enough for it to be a bit of a problem,” he laughs again, somehow fuller than the last one.

“Right, ok.” You nod to try and cover up the bile that’s threatening to claw its way up your throat. Come Monday you and her are gonna have to have a very serious discussion.

“I’m sure you’ll do great,” he says, very clearly noticing the wreck you are and trying to salvage whatever confidence you might still have.

“Ace!” His head turns to the bar where Marco is standing and waving a towel at him to get his attention. “Stop flirting with the new girl and bring me those beers. We already got customers.”

Your cheeks start to burn. Heads have turned your way and you feel yourself start to wilt under the attention. Especially since you weren’t flirting. At least, you really don’t think so.

“Don’t pay him any mind,” Ace says, clapping you on the shoulder. “Just let me know if ya need anything.”

And he, like everyone else, just walks away. Unprompted and without a word from you. And if you’re being completely honest, the southern hospitality is really starting to gnaw at your patience. Not because you think it’s insincere. But because you just don’t believe it. Maybe you’re cynical.

“Take this,” Usopp says, finally back from wherever he went and he’s tossing you a headset. You catch it sloppily, off guard.

“What’s this for?”

“Five minutes til show time.” He waves at the growing crowd. “Giddy up.”

You slip the headset on. Feeling very Britney Spears circa 2001 as you step onto the floor. You shove your nerves to the side. You’ve been in front of audiences before. It used to be home to you. Not so much anymore, though.

“How’s everyone feelin’ tonight?” That’s Usopp yelling into a mic above. And you’re not doing so hot. But everyone else seems to be just fine as screams resonate through the building. “We got a newbie in the house tonight, so y’all take it easy on her.”

You send him a playful glare from your place in front of the crowd. There’s some familiar faces. Robin is here with her husband and she tips her beer bottle at you in greeting as she sends you a reassuring wink. There’s some parents that you recognize as well since you teach their kids twice a week in your jazz class. This is definitely a popular way to spend a Friday night and you quickly realize you're in way over your head.

“Alright, everybody, we ready?” There is a chorus of yeahs and whistles. The energy is infectious, it’s hard not to feel the rush of adrenaline thrum beneath your skin. “We’re keeping it classic for this first one. How do we feel about the cowboy hustle?”

The first lesson goes well. It’s a line dance you know well enough to teach, so your confidence surges, even though you’ve never taught such a rowdy bunch before. The lesson only lasts about ten minutes before Usopp moves on and an hour flies by and you find yourself instructing the second lesson of the night.

You’re not as comfortable. A little shakier and it’s because the crowd practically doubled in size. You don’t know how Nami does this. You can barely hear your own instruction over the noise and you have a mic strapped to your head.

“Here.” A chilled vodka shot with a lemon wedge slides in front of you. “I had Marco whip this up for you.”

You glance between the shot and Ace. He’s leaning against the bartop with his forearm and his biceps look like they’re about to rip the seams of his white t-shirt. “You look like you need it.”

“Are you saying I’m stiff?” You’re insulted to say the least. If he can tell you’re off your usual game, then everyone else can probably sense it too.

“A little,” he says, a cheeky smile pulling at his lips. “But don’t feel too bad. Nami usually downs about four shots before she even sets foot on that dance floor.”

You groan, contemplating even taking the shot before you grip the small glass and mutter, “ fuck it, fine.”

It burns on the way down, but the lemon you bite down on helps. You already feel your muscles start to loosen, but it’s not quite enough.

“One more?” Ace asks, holding up a finger and smirking down at you. Getting drunk around him is probably a bad judgment call on your part. He has a face you can’t really say no to. But you nod, accepting the fact that cowboy is apparently your new type.

The night escapes you. It’s 12:30am. You’re three more shots deep. And dancing has never been easier. You’re on the final line dance of the night.

“Ok, I’m thinkin’ we should slow it down for this last one,” you say, pointing at Usopp who sends you an eager thumbs up. The song starts, the melody is languid and sensual.

“Everyone who knows it to the front.” You gesture to where you were previously standing as you make your way through the crowd. “Everyone else? Behind me.”

This is a popular one. So mostly everyone is familiar with the steps. And if you’re not it’s easy enough to jump in and catch on. Your hips swivel during a forward step as you kick into a turn to face a new direction. You’re lost in the music. And so you’re not expecting to look up and see a pair of eyes dead set on you. They’re burning as they drag over your body, pausing as you roll your hips in the opposite direction. The feeling is clearly mutual with Ace. And for the first time in a while the sticky sensation of desire slithers low in your gut.

****

“Ya know, you never gave me your name,” Ace calls out to you in the nearly empty parking lot. You flinch in place a bit because you were distracted counting how much you made. Three hundred fucking dollars. For four hours of work. Maybe you forgive Nami just a tiny bit.

“I’m sure you got it when Usopp yelled it over the speakers several times in a row,” you laugh, leaning your back against your truck as you face him.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, hands in his pockets as he steps closer to you, “but I wanna hear how you say it.”

“Right,” you say sarcastically, barely suppressing your eye roll when you smile at him. He’s good. And it’s working. So you say your name for him. Only because he asked so nicely.

“Pretty,” he grins.

“Thanks,” you lick across your teeth, “I got it for my birthday.”

“And funny.” He takes another step closer to you. The toes of your boots nearly touch. “But I was talking about you. Your name is very pretty, though.”

“Does this usually work for you?” You drop your head back to rest against your truck, it makes it easier to look at him.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs again, the distance between your shoes closing when he shuffles forward. “You tell me.”

You reach up, brushing your fingers over the silver chain that sits on Ace’s collarbone. Then, still fueled by the last traces of alcohol in your system, you hook your forefinger around the cool metal and tug him down. Until his nose is just a breath away from yours. This isn’t like you. You’ve never done anything like this. You live a regimented life. You don’t decide to hook up with random cowboys you just met.

But this cowboy is handsome. And charming. And it’s not like you’ll see him all the time considering this is the first time you’ve seen him in the last month and a half that you’ve lived here. So, fuck it. Tonight he’s yours.

“Maybe a little bit,” you say coyly, rising on your toes so that your nose nuzzles his.

“Mmm,” he hums, and you notice the way his eyes drift closed. It makes your heart thump heavily against your sternum. “Before I kiss you, though, I have to admit something.”

Your heart drops into your stomach in anticipation. Your mind jumps to conclusions it has no business jumping to. “What?”

“This never works.” He smiles into the kiss. Sparks light behind your eyes. And tomorrow, you’ll decide if you regret this. For now? You’ll save a horse and ride a cowboy.

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shirohige-pirates · 2 months ago

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Fell For It Marco X Reader _|

"Ace, you're not gonna get me to admit any of my feelings for Marco you fuckin' dumbass." You slurred, speaking without a single thought for what words came out of your mouth. Ace made some sort of screech-laugh, clapping his hands before pointing at you while laughing hysterically...

tags~ fluff, gn!reader, confessions, Ace lives and is a terror (affectionate) w/c~ 2.3k a/n~ getting back into the groove of things again <3. thank you again for the ask @quinloki !! believe me, ive found it a slight bit easier to write if it is for someone right now =￣ω￣= bless @mandiemegatron for being my beta reader, i dont know what i would do without you ;o; 💜

Drinks could never just be drinks on the Moby Dick. When a celebration was on, it was on hard; no corner of the ship being quiet or safe from rowdy behaviour. That was the beauty of it all though, and you made your space in the least occupied corner you could find. That corner was at the stern of the ship where Marco, Ace, and a couple others gathered, and you instantly felt like you could breathe again. The atmosphere here was much calmer; something you needed at the moment.

"Yo, I hope you don't mind if I join you here." You spoke up as you approached.

"Not at all. You can sit here, if you'd like." Marco offered, sliding over to make room for you.

"Don't mind if I do~" You hummed, sitting yourself down next to him. This was where you heard giggles coming from where Ace sat, the dark haired man snickering like a drunken fool when you looked over at him. "Oi, what's so funny, match stick?"

"Nothing, nothing~" He insisted through restrained laughter.

"Lightweight." You huffed, assuming he'd already had a few drinks by now.

"He's plenty drunk already, but he'll be fine." Marco chimed in, amused by the look you gave Ace.

"Are you sure he's not already a lost cause?" You snorted, finishing what was in your own tankard.

"Oi!" Ace scoffed. "I'm sitting right here!"

You only stuck your tongue out at him in response, earning some laughter from around the group. Ace stuck a flaming middle finger up at you, getting a good laugh from you and the others before someone suggested to play a card game, easing the energy and distracting Ace from his temporary offense. You always picked on each other, but he was being particularly childish with his teasing tonight, most certainly aided by the liquor he had consumed. The lot of you had settled on blackjack as your game of choice, so it would only be a matter of minutes until Ace lost so many times he'd whine about it. He often did.

A member of the crew had gotten up to grab said cards, and returned with some refills, yours included. With a fresh tankard of ale before you again, you thanked the young man as he quickly got into dealing cards after electing himself as the house. The rest of you gather in a little half circle around him. It wasn't often that you denied the chance for friendly competition.

"Not a single head went unturned. You're all a bunch of gambling fiends." You chuckled.

"You are part of this circle too-yoi." Marco commented with a smirk.

"And?" You countered. "Now, what are we betting? Surely not any treasure here."

"My dignity." Ace snorted.

"You have none." You quipped back with a smirk of your own.

"Rude!!" He huffed in mock offense, earning laughter from all nearby.

Amidst the laughter, it was announced the next round would be dealt, and your crew member did so with chuckles laced between his words. Eventually you all just slipped into the game for the fun of it; no bets made beyond the promise to tease the one with the worst luck. It was always fun in good company, even when you all lost to the house. At some point, you decided to allow the winner to dish out drinks to whoever they wanted, which lead to Ace finding out just how good you were at blackjack, ending up plastered within five rounds. He was losing hard; but you were about to feel the consequences of giving all your winning drinks to him.

"I win again~" You hummed, laying down your cards that totaled to 21. "You know what that means Ace~"

"Again?! Man, if only your crush was on me instead. Then maybe you wouldn't be so mean." Ace pouted as he threw back the remaining sips of his drink.

"Excuse me? Did you just imply I have a crush??" You sputtered, bringing the conversation back to his drunken ramblings.

"Not implying, stating." He responded with a sloppy smirk. "I know you have a crush, and I know who it iiis~"

Ace's teases earned some "oooo!"s from your fellow crewmates. He really wanted to start this, and you were just tipsy enough to go against your better judgement and engage with the fool.

"I don't get crushes, Ace. Admiring someone deeply isn't automatically a crush." You sighed with a roll of your eyes.

"So you admit it then! You admire someone here~" Ace continued to tease, playfully, punching your shoulder.

"Ace!" You warned, getting visibly flustered.

"Oi oi, c'mon now, ease up on them Ace. They're gonna kill you some day-yoi." Marco intervened.

"OoOoO are you defending the shy weenie~?" Ace persisted.

"Ace."

Hearing Marco state his name and nothing else had a different effect than when you did. He shut his mouth this time, sulking a bit has he reached behind himself to grab a bottle of something; he didn't care what it was, delighted to have picked up some soju.

"Thank you, Marco." You huffed.

"Thank yew Marcoooo~" Ace mimicked while sipping on his fresh bottle.

Anyone nearby started to chuckle when they heard Ace's foolish words, leaving you to put your head in your hands while you waited for your next hand to be dealt. Even Marco admitted defeat for a moment, impressed by Ace's unrelenting desire to pick on you.

Only a couple more rounds went by before mumblings of you being in total denial of having a crush could be heard circulating, mostly coming from Ace of course. The childish banter got to you eventually, and you huffed at him, smacking him with your cards.

"Would you shush? I don't have any crushes!" You hissed, finishing the drink you had in your other hand.

"Oh come on. We all know you admire someone here." Ace slurred, leaning into one of his buddies.

"What makes you think it's someone here??"

"You've been acting so flustered lately. Just spit it out already- tell us who you admire here~" He insisted, nearly falling over from how drunk he was.

"Ace, you're not gonna get me to admit any of my feelings for Marco you fuckin' dumbass." You slurred, speaking without a single thought for what words came out of your mouth.

Ace made some sort of screech-laugh, clapping his hands before pointing at you while laughing hysterically. Low chuckles came from those around, including Marco because of how you just went blank. Then, you stiffly put your cards down and stood up, staring straight forward.

"I can't believe I fell for that shit. I… Need a refill. Bye." You stated, walking off towards the ale cellar.

Ace was still losing it, laughing up a storm with his friends at his successful attempt to get you to crack. Marco just shook his head, only finding it mildly funny because of how cute you looked when you were flustered. When you didn't return after roughly five minutes though, he got a bit worried. With a deep sigh, he stood himself up as well, heading off towards the ale cellar to find you.

"Oi! Where are you going?" Ace called out, too nosey for his own good.

"To go and find my dear friend that you've scared off-yoi." He answered simply.

"Oh, my bad." The drunken young man slurred, finally face planting into the deck with a muted thud.

"You're hopeless-yoi." He huffed to himself before leaving his foolish younger comrade there.

Marco then set off to find you, which truly wasn't hard to do. Upon entering the ale cellar, he found you seated on the ground in front of your favourite brew, pouring yourself out what he hoped was only your second top up at most. When you heard the door open and saw him standing there, you sighed, looking back at the keg.

"Sorry. If I embarrassed you, I mean." You said flatly as you took a sip. "Lord knows I'm embarrassed as all hell."

"Well, no." Marco stated, halting your frazzled thoughts. "I was more relieved if anything."

You abruptly stopped drinking and looked back at him. "Wait… Why?" You then asked, sounding confused.

"Hey, I've got my own little secrets too." He chuckled with a shrug, coming closer to you. "I've admired you for a while now myself, if that's how you'd prefer it to be phrased."

"A-ah… That is a relief, at least…" You spoke shyly, looking back down into the golden liquid within your tankard.

"You had a certain way you wanted to tell me, right?" He guessed, watching how your fingers fidgeted with the handle of your tankard as you nodded. "Mmm, well then, why not give it a shot right now? I'm curious to hear how you wanted to confess your admirations to me."

Marco knelt down next to you, and you tried not to shy away from him and that devious smirk of his.

"Tsk, I bet you just wanna hear me sweet talk you." You huffed, rolling your eyes at him.

"So? I can do the same for you if that'll help, little love bird." He hummed.

"That's not-… Fair." you huffed, feeling his warm shoulder lean against yours. "Fine. If you must know my innermost thoughts on you: I wanted to catch you alone on a warm enough evening so I could tell you how… how much I admire you and all you do. You have kindness that knows no bounds and the ability to save lives; how am I not supposed to fall in love with you??"

The way you illustrated your confession to him made him finally laugh, leaning into you more. "Would you have said it to me just like that?"

"God no. There was a question I was going to ask you but… I kind of know the answer already." You mumbled. "You gave it away."

"Oh really?" He hummed sweetly. "Ask anyway. Please?"

You felt like a living space heater at this point, but gave in and humoured him anyway.

"… I think I'm in love with you, Marco. Do you feel the same?" You asked him with burning cheeks, shyly glancing up at him only once.

"I do feel the same." He nodded. "But let me remind you in a special way, if you don't mind."

His hand cupped your cheek, earning a soft gasp from you through slightly parted lips. He closed the gap between you, pressing his smooth, warm lips to yours; an almost stolen kiss, but not quite stolen at all with how you gave it to him so willingly. Your heart threatened to beat out of your chest as he drew you into his faint blue glow, all but melting as you returned his sweet kiss, having craved it for so long. He was so gentle; as gentle as he spoke to you when trying to coax your confession from your lips.

You did not regret giving in, not one bit.

When you parted from each other, you shyly kept your gaze down, only looking back up when you heard his soft chuckle. He gave you a cheeky little smile, and you were oh so frustrated at how it flustered you.

"You look so incredibly adorable when you're flustered~" Marco teased. "I don't get to see this part of you that often."

"I-it's the ale…" You mumbled; a lame excuse.

"Little love bird, we both know you have much higher drinking limits." He chuckled.

"… Damn."

You both laughed for a bit, leaning your cheek into his palm. The silence was nice, but only brief, as he had much more to say.

It was his turn to do some teasing.

"You know, I may have to thank Ace for teasing you enough to get you to confess to me-yoi." Marco hummed.

"Tsk, you can thank him after I kick his ass and send him to your infirmary." You grumbled, still carrying some ill feelings towards the young man.

"Heheh, you're still mad, hey? Well, on the bright side, I no longer have to keep waiting to tell you how much I adore you." He mused.

"Oh? Have you been waiting long?" You asked out of genuine curiosity.

"Mm, not too long…"

"You silly bird. Why didn't you say anything?" You huffed.

"Ah, I suppose the same reason as you." He offers. "… But it was also quite fun to watch Ace tease you from time to time."

"Marco!" You scolded, smacking his shoulder gently.

He laughed joyously, kissing your forehead to make it up to you. When you gave him a pout, he leaned in again to press another kiss to your cheek, and then another to your lips. You hummed at his gestures, pleased with what he chose to do.

It was peaceful, at least until you noticed Ace standing outside the door making kissy faces through the window. The sight of him made you audibly growl.

"I swear I'm gonna throw that kid overboard." You muttered.

"Now now, be nice to the young commander~" Marco encouraged half-jokingly.

"I'll be nice if he shuts up."

"Would you do it if I said please?"

"Tsk… Fine."

"Good, my little love bird." He hummed. "He'll ease off eventually."

"Or I'll ease him into your infirmary."

"Love."

He used that same voice he used with Ace, but with a little more sweetness. Combined with that name, all hostile thoughts came to a halt.

"… Yes?"

He smirked. "Let's continue the evening by ourselves. We don't have to go back to them."

"I'd like that."

"Then let's go somewhere private, love." He nodded, reaching for a bottle of wine.

You didn't say anything, only watched as he stood with the wine in one hand, offering the other to you. You took it, allowing him to pull you up and against his side. You felt so warm, being loved by someone so patient and sweet. You silently lamented that maybe it wasn't exactly so bad that you fell for Ace's little teases.

That drunken little cupid shit.

#x reader #reader insert #marco the phoenix #sheerxfiction

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