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macbethsymphony · 3 months

Note

charlou my love! I'm about to invade your askbox with all my horny thoughts. Dont' you dare answer them all at the same time, I know you're busy <3

Ok so! As you know I'm rewatching Wano and you know that gif of Marco's mouth? (sent it to you I don't know how many times). Anyways it sent my mind spiraling into what if Marco was angry with you and it just made him snap? My pretty usually composed bird just losing it? I bet he'd fuck good hehe

love ya! -M✨

Millie bb!!!!! I was gonna keep this one really short but you made it spiral out into something almost complete!!!! How dare you?! (jk love you for it)

It's this gif, right? ngl it sends my mind spiraling into unholy territory too

You're infuriating

Marco x fem!Reader

Summary: You’re angry at Marco and he’s angry at you and you fuck. It’s that simple ;)

tw: MDNI, 18+, nsfw, rough-ish angry sex, fingering, p in v sex

wc: 3.2k

It was a well-known fact that the first commander of the Whitebeard Pirates was nearly impossible to anger, notoriously difficult to rile up. Countless people had tried and failed to provoke him. But you? You didn’t even have to try, didn’t have to lift a single finger to bring him to the edge of madness.

"Do you even realize the risk you took back there, yoi?" Marco's voice thundered through the narrow corridor leading to the infirmary, every word laced with barely contained fury.

The stomps of your footsteps against the wooden floor echoed loudly, matching the volume of your voices and punctuating the escalating tension between you. Each of your step left a small imprint of blood, the pain in your leg raging but ignored as wrath blinded your senses.

"I had everything under control," you shot back, your own tone rising in defiance. "Until you—" Abruptly, you halted, turning around and jabbing your index finger into his chest with force. "Until YOU decided to fucking swoop in."

Marco's eyes blazed, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles twitched visibly. "Under control? You call that under control?" he retorted, his voice dangerously low. "You were inches away from becoming sea king feed, and you think that's control?"

The infirmary doors loomed ahead, your destination within reach but forgotten, the tension between you crackling like electricity. "I sure as hell didn't need your heroics," you spat, words dripping with bitterness. "I had it perfectly laid out, and you ruined it."

“Ruined it?” Marco scoffed, his expression darkening. "Your plan nearly got you killed. Again." His statement hung heavy in the air, the weight of his frustration palpable. “When are you going to learn to fucking listen to me, yoi?”

Listen to him? That made you see red. "Listen to you, Marco?" You stepped closer, and he instinctively stepped back, his eyes widening at the pure rage in yours. "You are not MY commander. Ace is." You looked him up and down, a sneer twisting your lips. "I don’t have to listen to a single word you say, pretty bird." The usually playful nickname was now laced with venom as you spat it out.

He regained his footing, stepping forward as you stepped back, the anger in his gaze blazing harsher than you'd ever seen. He started to speak, but you turned on your heel, determined to make your point, your quick steps leading you toward the sanctuary of the infirmary.

"Oi, get back here," he yelled after you. "I’m not done, yoi."

"Oh, fuck you, Marco." You shouted. "As I said, I don’t have to listen to you."

Marco's frustration boiled over. With a swift motion, he grabbed your wrist, yanking you back to face him. The sudden movement brought you chest to chest, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.

“You will listen to me, yoi,” he growled, his voice low and threatening, his breath hot against your lips.

You laughed in his face, a rich, bitter sound. Fucking asshole. With your free hand, you unclasped the holster at your side, expertly cocking one of your guns and pointing it right at his face.

“Unhand me right now, pretty bird, or I swear I’ll fucking shoot.”

His grip on your wrist tightened, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. A manic smile broke on his lips. "You wouldn't dare," he whispered, his voice a mix of challenge and something darker, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your finger twitched on the trigger, but you didn’t pull it. He took a step forward, then another, and another, until he had you flush against the wall. His free hand shot over your shoulder, and he leaned close, effectively trapping you in.

“You will listen to me, yoi,” he repeated, his lips brushing yours.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of anger and something you’d never admit to.

Fucking asshole.

The adrenaline still surged through your veins, the proximity, the heat of his body, the intensity in his eyes—it all combined to create a heady, intoxicating tension that made it hard to breathe.

“You think you can intimidate me, first commander?” you whispered, your voice full of insolence. You cocked your head back, looking down at him from your low vantage point. You slid the nozzle of your gun against his neck, across his chest, pointing it at his crotch. “It’s your last warning, pretty bird.”

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved, the air between you charged and electric. Then, with a sudden, desperate urgency, he crashed his lips against yours.

It was a violent collision of emotions, a raw, unfiltered exchange that left you breathless. Marco's lips were demanding, his grip on your wrist unyielding as he poured all his pent-up anger and passion into you. And you responded in kind, matching his intensity with your own, all teeth and tongue, clashing and almost snarling into it.

For a moment, everything else drifted away—the battle, your argument, the constant push and pull between you. Your hand fell to your side, gun forgotten and all that remained was the heat of his body pressed against yours, the taste of his lips, and the desperate need to assert your own power in the midst of his.

But you were nothing if not defiant. With a sharp twist, you broke free of his grip, shoving him back hard enough to make him stumble. Your eyes were blazing as you leveled the gun at him once more, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

"Don't think for a second that you can just kiss me to shut me up," you snapped, your voice trembling with fury.

Marco wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving yours. There was a wild, dangerous light in them, a reflection of your own intensity. "And don't think for a second that I won't do it again, yoi," he shot back, his voice low and rough, a deadly promise that shattered the careful balance between the two of you. Slowly he stepped towards you.

Fucking asshole.

You retreated, each step a painful reminder of the battle that had just ensued, leaving smears of blood on the wooden floor that turned into dark smudges on the sterile tiles of the infirmary. Marco's deliberate footsteps echoed behind you as he closed the door, the latch clicking ominously in the small, quiet space.

Locked in a silent standoff, your eyes defiantly held his, the air thick with a volatile mix of anger and desire that pulsed between you. You leaned heavily against the cool surface of a nearby medical cabinet, swallowing hard against the rising tide of pain. The throbbing ache in your wounded leg grew more insistent, a stark contrast to the adrenaline high still coursing through your veins.

Gun held steady, your aim unwavering over his heart, Marco advanced with a dangerous calmness that belied the tension in the room.

“Put the gun down, yoi,” Marco growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble that ignited a primal response deep within you. “I know you won’t shoot.”

Your narrowed gaze bore into his, finger twitching with a tantalizing urge to prove him wrong.

“Not a fucking chance, pretty bird,” you shot back, words edged with defiance. “Not until you fuck off.”

As the barrel of your gun hit his chest, you could see light blue flames grazing his skin.

You scoffed.

Fucking asshole.

He wasn’t taking any chances, huh?

“You won’t shoot, yoi,” he commanded this time. There was an unusual sharpness in his gaze, condescension thick in his tone as he emphasized each word.

And you hated it.

"You don’t get to order me around." Your finger tensed against the trigger, and as his hand moved to the barrel to push your gun away, you squeezed it.

It all blurred together. Bullets streaked through the air, passing through the haze of blue flames, burying themselves in the wall behind. In a swift motion, he disarmed you, gun falling with a loud clang on the tile. His grip on your wrist was so tight you felt the bruises forming, his other hand tangled in your hair, wrenching you back, your own fingers shooting to his forearm to keep your balance. Your body arched against the cabinet, and he closed in, looming over you, his ragged breaths brushing against your brazen smile.

Fucking asshole.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, drowning out the chaos of your mind as Marco pinned you against the medical cabinet with a ferocity that you didn’t know he possessed. You liked that look in his eyes. Unbridled fury suited him well.

“You fucking shot me, yoi,” he shouted in your face in bewilderment.

“I wish they’d been seastone bullets, you asshole,” you snarled.

He didn’t flinch at the harshness of your tone. Instead his lips curled into a predatory smile. As the shock subsided, amusement and lust swirled and mixed with the anger plaguing his features.

His tongue met your lower lip, then his teeth, taking all the time in the world, relishing the power he held over you in the moment.

His hand in your hair gripped harder, pulling you back further, nails dragging against your scalp. He wasn’t kind and the pain made you gasp, and he didn’t waste the opportunity. Your eyes fluttered close as his lips found yours and his tongue darted in, dominating yours.

The heat of his mouth melded with the anger still simmering beneath your skin, igniting a firestorm of desire that you fought to suppress. But resistance proved futile against the raw intensity of his touch, the taste of him searing into your senses.

Fuck.

Your legs felt weak and not because of the gaping wound on your thigh. The familiar dizziness of lust was starting to overtake the edges of your mind. A muffled groan escaped your throat, half defiance, half surrender as he deepened the kiss, devouring your response with a relentless hunger. His body pressed into yours, every line and angle hard against your own, a testament to the storm of emotions raging between you.

His hand left your wrist, and slid down your side, hairs rising in the trail of his touch. You struggled against the overwhelming pull of him, the magnetic force that drew you closer even as you fought to regain your composure. His fingers found the hem of your shirt, tracing upwards with a deliberate slowness that set your nerves alight.

As his touch grazed the curve of your breast, you let out a low, involuntary moan, the sound mingling with your ragged breaths. Your hands, no longer restrained, buried themselves in his open shirt, nails digging into fabric, pulling him somehow closer still.

He moved your head back, exposing your throat and his lips trailed along your skin. His hand roamed down to your hip, then to the front of your pants, fingers deftly undoing the buttons. He stopped at the lace of your underwear.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, a plea whispered against your skin, his breath hot and tantalizing. The grip on your hair loosened and you slacked against him slightly. "Tell me to stop, yoi, and I will."

“Oh, fuck you, Marco,” you mewled into him, words muffled as your lips found his again.

With a growl of approval, he pressed himself closer, his hand slipping past the edge of your underwear. You bucked against his touch, a dangerous need driving you forward.

He took his time, tips of his fingers dragging up your slit, gathering your arousal. He teased and relished the desperation slowly etching on your features.

As you opened your mouth to complain, his fingers found their mark, and you let out a broken cry, the sensation sending shockwaves through you. Marco's touch was skilled, knowing exactly how to unravel you with each deliberate movement.

"Fuck, Marco," you gasped against his lips, your hips moving in time with his rhythm. You felt his fingers enter you, his palm delightfully dragging along your clit.

Oh gods. You felt your legs start to shake, the sweet promise of rapture so near.

He drank in your whines and mewls, lips moving lazily against yours, his focus entirely on you, fingers working you closer and closer to the edge. His gaze seared in the image of pleasure twisting your features into his mind. So pretty under him.

The world suddenly ceased to exist, the only reality the heat and intensity of his touch, the way he made you feel alive and on fire all at once. A sharp cry escaped you as you came, leaving you breathless and trembling in his arms.

He quickly turned you around, the edge of the cabinet digging uncomfortably into your abdomen. You dimly heard the rattle of glass bottles and whatever instruments were locked in there, but it didn’t matter. He rolled his hips against yours and you could feel how hard he was against your rear. Suddenly you were ready to go at it again, craving to feel him inside you and you needed it now.

"Fuck me already," you demanded, impatience lacing your voice as you turned to face him. The sight that greeted you made you instantly regret it. His lazy grin of victory made your legs into jelly, and the satisfaction in his eyes ignited a desperate longing within you, making you want to moan his name.

Marco's grin widened, and he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Always so impatient, yoi,” he murmured, his voice dripping with smug amusement.

You glared at him, trying to maintain your defiance despite the tremor in your legs and the pool of arousal he’d just left in your underwear. "Just shut up and do it already," you snapped, words wavering slightly.

He hummed, considering.

His hand trailed up and down your back, dragging your shirt, fingers brushing over your skin with deliberate slowness. Every touch sent a growing need to your core, heightening your anticipation. You let out a frustrated growl, your body aching for more. "I swear, Marco, if you don't—"

“If I don’t what?” His hands played with the waistband of your pants, still stuck against the curve of your hips. He let them pool at your feet and as he dragged down your lacy underwear, his lips traveled along your neck. “There’s nothing you can do to me little feather.”

You weren’t aware of when he’d undone his own trousers, but you could feel his tip against your folds, your slick coating his length. Your hand shot to the edge of the cabinet for balance, a shaky moan escaping your lips as he pressed against your clit, against your entrance. Maybe it was the fact that you couldn’t see him, but he felt so big between your thighs and so frustratingly good.

You tried to back into him but he stopped you with a bruising hold on your hip. “Didn’t say ya could do that, did I?” he said as his hand tangled in your hair once again, pushing you forward, lifting your hips until you stood on tippy toes.

“I can do whatever I fuckin—” he started to enter you tortuously slowly. “Ah,” you gasped, he was stretching you so fucking much. “F-fuck.” Your thighs trembled and your knuckles went white as you gripped the edge of the cabinet with all your might. It was so fucking much.

“Ya can take it,” he grunted in your ear the strain of restraint evident in his voice. “Fuck that’s it. Be good for me, yoi.”

Once he was fully sheathed inside you, he stopped, recentering himself.

You could barely hear the soft unsteady laugh that escaped his lips through your own pants. His hand trailed from your ass to the curve of your spine, firing an electric shock to your core and your cunt twitching around him.

“So fucking wet, and warm and tight.” You could feel the satisfaction in his voice. “Who knew you could be so obedient, yoi?” He punctuated his statement with a slap to your ass that sent you positively keening under him.

You felt some of your slick drip down your thigh and your cheeks heated. You ached to feel him move. “Just fuck me already, Marco,” you pleaded.

He leisurely slid out of you, teasingly unhurried and you felt the absence of him, the growing need to feel him fill you again. He let out a low chuckle as he sensed you spasm against his tip, your body telling all you stubbornly kept to yourself, begging for him in your stead.

“Look at you, yoi.” He palmed your ass roughly, making you wait. “You’re dripping to the floor.”

He slowly pushed back in, the friction against your walls making the world around you go blurry. You were grateful for his hold on you as his pace gradually picked up, entirely unable to trust your own legs. You shook beneath him, completely claimed, your moans sticking at the back of your throat, but he still frustratingly teetered right at the edge, never enough to allow your orgasm to build.

“Please, Marco,” you keened, your voice a high pitch cry you didn’t recognize. “More.”

He snapped his hips at your demand, turning his pace hard and brutal and it was suddenly too much. Every drag of his cock made you see stars, shattered your breath. You sobbed out his name in a desperate plea but instead he brought his fingers to your clit.

The moan you let out was obscene, only enhanced by the squelching noises and Marco’s forceful grunts. You were certain that something had broken in the cabinet, the sound of glass loud but it was evident neither of you cared as he somehow increased his pace.

Your body sought to curl upon itself but you were trapped and it was all too much. You were aware he was almost just as close as you, his erratic thrusts and the way he bit into your shoulder clear indicators.

The world seemed to fade around you and you were suddenly lost in the moment. Every sensation was amplified, the intensity of the waves of pleasure washing over you consuming you. As the tension built to a breaking point, you cried out his name, your body trembling with rapture.

Marco followed soon after, his own climax a fierce, shuddering release that left him breathless and spent. He held you close, his forehead resting against the damp skin of your neck, both of you struggling to catch your breath.

"You're infuriating, you know that?" Marco muttered, his voice a mix of exasperation and amusement.

He placed a kiss on your shoulder before backing off. You whined as you felt him pull out, felt his seed along your thigh. Your legs gave out and he quickly pulled you into his arms before you could hit the floor.

“Real infuriating, yoi,” he repeated, bringing you to one of the infirmary beds.

You smiled as he sat you down and as he made to retreat, you dragged him to you by his shirt. "Right back at you, pretty bird," you replied as you kissed him softly.

It was tender this time around and he cupped your cheek, thumb tracing soothing circles.

“Let me clean that for you,” he murmured, eyes looking at the wound on your thigh. “Wouldn’t want it to get infected, yoi.”

Masterlist

#one piece marco #fushichou marco #marco the phoenix #marco x reader #one piece x reader #marco x you #charlou writes

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captain-hawks · 4 months

Note

Band AU Jean banging it out (not on the guitar) in the green room before a show

🥹

-mojogojocasahouse

this was supposed to be a tiny drabble and the plot exploded everywhere against my will!!!!! (band au jean is my weakness, sue me)

jean kirstein x f!reader

It’s probably a bad idea, kneeling on the floor with your brother’s best friend’s dick in your hands. No, it’s definitely a fucking terrible idea, actually. Because you’ve known Jean nearly half of your life, and now you’re about to give him a hand job in the green room twenty minutes before his band is due to take the stage.

wc: 1.7k

content: 18+, smut, band au!jean, pining, handjob, unprotected sex

In the laundry list of bad ideas you’ve indulged in throughout the course of your life, this one skirts around the edges near the top, an array of sirens going off in your head as the man before you falls back onto the couch cushion you just unceremoniously shoved him onto, lips parted as he stares up at you with a slightly mystified expression.

The man in question being Jean fucking Kirstein.

“Are you su—”

“Jean, please just shut the fuck up,” you plead in a clipped tone, impressed by the way your fingers hardly shake as you undo the button of his jeans and begin to slide down the zipper.

It’s probably a bad idea, kneeling on the floor with your brother’s best friend’s dick in your hands.

No, it’s definitely a fucking terrible idea, actually. Because you’ve known Jean nearly half of your life, and now you’re about to give him a hand job in the green room twenty minutes before his band is due to take the stage.

But for all of Jean’s unwavering confidence and swagger, he’s been uncharacteristically anxious for days on end, which is no surprise—given that a rep from Shiganshina Records will be at tonight’s show to watch the band’s set and make a final decision on their potential record deal. You can’t blame him.

The last straw was ten minutes ago, when Jean broke a guitar string in frustration and managed to mix up every chord of the opening song as the band ran through their setlist in the green room across the hall.

Ymir was two seconds from calling Eren to fill in, a threatening look in her eyes as Jean balked in indignation, when you unceremoniously grabbed him by the collar of his black t-shirt and dragged him out the door, searching for an empty room.

Jean had laughed when you told him what you were going to do, a sound that promptly died on his lips when you didn’t join in, mouth twitching downward in a frown as you studiously pointed toward the faded blue couch.

“Reiner wasn’t wrong when he told you to go fuck it out of your system yesterday,” you had shrugged, ignoring the voice of reason fruitlessly screaming to no avail inside of you. The band's drummer had, indeed, smacked Jean upside the head when he managed to mix up the words to the chorus of a song that he wrote, growling that he’d better find a way to calm the hell down in the next twenty four hours.

Clearly, he hadn’t.

You can do this—in like a, detached, haven’t been harboring a secret crush on this devastatingly handsome idiot forever kind of way.

It’s fine.

It’s totally fine.

“Jesus fu—” Jean chokes out when you spit in the palm of your hand, wasting no time in sliding your grip down his thick length. “Marco’s gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

He’s got one hand tossed over his eyes, head leaning against the back of the couch, but he’s stealing a glance down at you, chest heaving slightly as he fights the urge to buck upward into your touch.

“Marco doesn’t need to know,” you shoot back, ignoring the vague threat of your brother's existence and trying to act cool about the fact that Jean’s big ass dick is somehow even bigger than the sneaking suspicions that have haunted many a filthy dream for you over the years.

(You’ve heard the way his exes have talked about him—even if you didn’t want to.)

Jean groans, dragging a hand through his hair, and despite the fact that you’re literally holding his cock, you’re even more thrown off kilter by the gratuitous peek at his tattooed stomach as the hem of his shirt gets caught on his watch band.

You can be cool about this.

You can be so cool about this.

Jean accidentally saw your boobs once in college, and the two of you joked about it later.

You even may have sort of drunkenly half kissed him on New Year’s Eve last year.

So what’s a helpful handjob between friends to calm down the overly keyed up frontman before he’s about to play a very important set?

“Can I—” Jean’s voice is rough as he leans forward slightly, hand hovering in the air in an aborted gesture.

And nothing can prepare you for what he’s about to say next.

“Can I kiss you?”

It’s more than a little ridiculous, the way your heart suddenly skips a beat in your chest over the earnest look in his eyes.

“You…what?” You ask dumbly, nearly sobering to the ridiculousness of this entire situation as your sentence is punctuated by the slick squelch of his cock sliding against the wet skin of your palm.

“It just…feels better that way,” he trails off, scratching the back of his head, breath catching in his throat when you drag your hand upward toward his shaft’s flushed, leaking head.

Making a split second decision—and accepting that in the grand scheme of things, kissing is almost forgettable compared to a handjob (yeah fucking right)—you climb up beside Jean on the couch in an awkward tangle of limbs.

Except it’s not awkward, not when one of his hands comes up to cup the side of your face, years of calluses from guitar strings leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake as his fingertips slide along the curve of your jaw.

Not when the familiar scent of his cologne hits you, warm cedar and citrus invading your senses, the mint flavor of his favorite gum on his lips as his mouth finds yours.

(You nearly forget that you’re supposed to be jerking him off, too caught up in the wrecked way Jean breathes out your name against your lips before licking his way back into your mouth.)

Not even when his length is tugged from your grip as he pulls you into his lap until you’re fully straddling him, the skirt of your sun dress bunched up around your thighs.

One of your hands is tangled in Jean’s brown hair, and his breath is hot against your skin as he leans into your chest, breathing hard as his lips press into your sternum, one strap of your dress halfway off your shoulder.

“You have no idea,” he breathes out, low and rough, “how long I’ve wanted this. Wanted you.”

He—

Oh.

Heat flares in your abdomen, the rapidly dampening slick between your legs a beacon alongside the trembling of your thighs.

Jean slides the strap down the rest of the way, mouthing at the swell of your breasts as the material gives.

“Marco’s gonna kill me, but I don’t care anymore,” he groans, and you gasp as he takes one of your pert nipples between his hot, wet lips.

Of all the wet dreams about this stupidly attractive man, nothing compares to this—his lust blown pupils as he looks up at you, one thumb dragging across your nipple, his cock achingly hard as it presses insistently up against your arousal-soaked panties

The moan that rumbles through his broad chest and up his throat as you grind down against him.

“I don’t care either,” you murmur, tightening your grip on his hair and tugging his head back, reveling in the filthy groan of arousal he rewards you with as you whisper against his full lips, “Now fuck me, Jean.”

“If you say that again, I’m gonna come,” Jean grunts, one hand squeezing the base of his dick for emphasis as he lets out a ragged breath.

“Didn’t take you for a premature kind of guy,” you tease, pulling aside your underwear and notching the head of his cock at your entrance.

“No...it's because of how many times I’ve come to the thought of this, sweetheart.” Jean’s hand curls around the side of your neck, his thumb stroking your earlobe as he leans in and rasps, “And how many girls I’ve fucking pretended were you.”

You hardly have time to register the depth of what he’s saying before white-hot pleasure sears through your body as he thrusts his thick cock into your tight, needy channel.

“Jean,” you keen as he kisses you again, heart drumming an erratic beat in your chest, though it’s rivaled by the pace of the quick, repeated snap of Jean’s hips as he thrusts upward into you.

“‘m gonna take my time with you later,” he promises, pausing to take your bottom lip between his teeth, both of you far too aware of the minutes steadily ticking by on the clock mounted above the door, his set time now dangerously close. “If you’ll let me.”

You moan, a line of spit caught between your lips as Jean’s mouth parts from yours, his face a sinful portrait of arousal as he watches you ride his cock like you were made for it, made for him, made for the way he fills you so fucking deeply you can hardly breath.

“Anything, Jean,” you whimper as he leans in to mouth at your breasts again, pleasure sparking and flaring inside of you wildly. “Anything you want.”

Jean’s next thrust steals all the breath from your lungs, your pussy throbbing as his cock punches inside of you, splitting you open with so much pleasure, tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes.

There’s something almost possessive in the way his hands curl around your hips, his grip tight as he fucks up into you, and the taste of his saliva is dizzying as he murmurs slowly against your mouth, “What I want is to hear every pretty sound these lips can make.”

And then you’re coming hard, your entire body trembling with a torrential downpour of scorching, gushing pleasure as your cunt spasms and contracts around Jean’s shaft.

“Holy fuck,” Jean exhales when you come all over his cock, as you moan and whine while he fucks you through an orgasm so intense, you’re halfway to blacking out.

He follows suit a moment later, pulling his shaft from your wet heat and rapidly stroking himself a few more times until hot, thick ropes of cum spurt all over his fist and your thigh.

You have all of ten seconds to come down from the high of your climaxes when you’re interrupted by aggressive knocking on the door as Ymir shouts, “Kirstein, put your stupid dick away and come get your guitar. Profess your undying love on stage with all those sappy ass songs you wrote. We’re on in five, motherfucker.”

Those songs…are about you?

Jean clocks the dumbfounded look on your face as the two of you frantically try to clean up as quickly as you can. He takes your face in his hands, kissing you pointedly before quietly murmuring, “Yeah, they’re all about you. Every goddamn one."

#jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirschstein #jean kirschtein x reader #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #dee writes #spicy sleepover with captain-hawks #band!au jean

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formulapookie · 19 days

Note

Beznaia and 16 <3

16. accidental “I love you” during sex

Bez feels caged between the mattress and Pecco’s body, he’s short of breath with the way they’ve been kissing for the past minutes, and for Pecco getting hard against his thigh.

The hold he has on Bez’s mind is something Bez would very much like to study, because he may be doing whatever, but if Pecco calls him, or if they find themselves at a house party, and Pecco takes him by the hand to drag him in a secluded room Bez answers, rapid, complies to Pecco’s every request, which for the majority of the times is just to be pretty for him and get fucked.

And he loves it.

But he also loves Pecco and Pecco very clearly doesn’t reciprocate the feelings, he’s not one to bond, but Bez is lucky enough to have something that obviously goes beyond normal friendship.

He gets to have Pecco’s hot mouth pressed against his, the desperate whines of the older man moaning in his ears when he’s close, the harsh pace of his thrusts and the kind aftercare.

He gets to have his jealousy, his lust and need.

He gets to have Pecco be nice and soft or absolutely rough and sharp when he needs one of the two versions of him.

He gets to moan Pecco’s name covered by the sheets of his bed, gets to scream his name when they’re far from everyone and they can do this not caring about who can hear them.

Gets also to be like this, back against the soft mattress in a random hotel room they got just to fuck and Pecco biting at his neck, slowly making his way down to his pierced nipple.

Pecco likes teasing him he found out, especially about that fucking jewel.

“Pecco ah - just fuck me”

“And where would the fun be in that? I wouldn’t hear your pretty little whimpers when I do this”

And the bastard picks at the nipple with his teeth, making Bez cry out a moan and cover his mouth with a hand.

“No Bez no covering your sounds you know it, I want to hear you desperate for me”

“Then get on with it and fuck me”

“Oh feeling entitled are we? I’ll have to fuck the attitude out of you then yes?”

Pecco sucks at his nipple, the feeling of metal sliding against the back of his teeth present and heavy.

“Ah fuck you”

“Other way around Marco”

Pecco takes off Bez’s boxers, lifting one of his legs up in the meantime, seeing how affected he already is.

Precum smeared all over his dick, which is hard and of a soft red.

“Pretty”

Bez tries not to see this as a confirmation of feelings, tries so hard to keep his love at bay.

He blinks once and there’s two fingers in front of his mouth, waiting for him to act on his need.

He takes the in, coating them with spit, saliva and arousal.

“Your mouth is made to do this Marco you know? I always have to fight myself not to cum the second i start fucking it”

Once Pecco deems the fingers to be wet enough he takes them out Bez’s mouth and quickly gets them close to his hole.

“Come on”

Pecco pushes in, two fingers, no sweetness in this.

They kiss again, charged with lust, as Pecco fingers him open quick and precise.

The soft whimpers coming from Bez are like a drug to Pecco’s brain, he wants to hear more, always more when it’s Bez.

More kisses, more sex, more touch, more time, more love.

When he adds a third finger they both know it’s not gonna be long before Pecco will finally thrust into Bez and have him moan his name.

“Fu-uck there yes”

Bez is always so sensitive once Pecco has him pinned down, no matter if he hasn’t been fucked in weeks or hours, when he holds him down like this it’s over.

Pecco gets to kiss at the juncture of his neck, demanding, rude.

“Let me- let me ride you” and Bez knows he’s asking for the right thing, Pecco is always so horny for him when he does it, hands running up his waist and hips, mouth against his chest leaving pretty dark bruises all over it.

Pecco lets go of Bez and finds a comfortable position, the other is quick to go sit on his lap, making out messy and rushed, cocks brushing against each other.

“Don’t tease Marco”

“You like it when I tease you”

“I like it when you ride me until you’re stupid from it”

And fuck that shit is hot.

Pecco talking, it’s always been Bez’s favourite thing. Well ok maybe after actually getting fucked stupid by him, but it’s a very strong second place.

He wastes no time in aligning himself with Pecco’s dick and sinking down on it, biting his lower lip to try and quieten down a bit.

But when he feels a strong grip on his jaw and meets Pecco’s eyes, charged with lust, he lets go, letting out the sweet moans Pecco loves so much.

“Look how well you take me”

And Bez just looses it, starts bouncing on his cock moaning louder and louder, he wants Pecco to think only about him, always, like he does.

Wants Pecco to be so desperate for him to go and drag him away from conversations just to fuck him.

“ah it’s so good Pecco fuck so good”

“Don’t stop don’t stop”

And Bez has no intention of doing that, he’s far too horny for this to be over so quickly, and he enjoys seeing Pecco helpless and needy so much.

Pecco’s hands begin to wonder on his hips, drawing imaginary patterns on them, as Bez keeps on with his rhythm and little moans.

As always, Pecco is quick to bury his face in Bez’s chest, kissing and biting at the skin there, leaving a mark just above the pierced nipple he loves to tease so much and moving to suck a hickey on the lower part of Bez’s neck.

It’s the closest thing he got to love, the marking, the claiming.

It’s not the gentle type of love he wishes for but it’s all he got.

“You should see yourself right now Marco, you look so pretty for me, feel so good”

“Tell me again fuck tell me again I’m good please”

Pecco leans in closer to Bez’s ear, sucking another bruise under his jaw.

“You’re so good for me, so fucking good Marco, my good boy”

Bez moans out loud, his movements becoming more irregular as the minutes pass, Pecco knows he’s close now.

It’s a moment of weakness, one second where his brain turns off, just pure pleasure taking over, and he says it, so close to his orgasm it hurts.

“I love you”

Pecco lets go of his neck, Bez can feel his body freezing.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck he ruined it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t - I’m sorry Pecco don’t hate me please I-“

“Say it again”

“What?”

“Say it again, what you said just now”

“I love you?”

There’s a moment of silence, calculations, which to Bez seems to last hours.

Then Pecco’s lips are on his, in a messy but sweet kiss, his hand moving from his hip to Bez’s dick, stroking it fast as Pecco moves to fuck into him that much he needs to come with a grunt inside him, and keeps jerking Bez off until he lets out a high pitched moan and comes over Pecco’s fist, still kissing him.

When Pecco breaks the kiss to get some oxygen his eyes meet those of a confused and surprised Bez, who’s just staring at him with deer-like eyes.

“Why did you - Pecco what does it mean?”

“It means we’re both really fucking stupid and have been really fucking stupid for a while”

“I don’t get it Pecco why did you do that?”

“Ok you’re the stupidest one between in two then, got it”

There’s another moment of pause, Bez is still looking at him helplessly.

“You said you loved me yes?”

“Yeah” Bez blushes up to his ears, a little something Pecco finds incredibly cute.

“And then I kissed you right?”

“I uh yeah you did”

“So?”

“I don’t kno- ooooooh”

Pecco can actually see Bez’s brain working to get the answer out.

“You- Pecco you love me too?”

“Have been doing that for more than a year”

“Mora than a - God we’re stupid”

“I like my men stupid”

Bez blushes again, then tentatively closes the gap between them two.

This time the kiss is soft, not charged or anything, it’s just for them, reassurance, it tastes like a new day.

“Marco”

“Mh?”

“I love you”

And Bez smiles so brightly Pecco could be blinded by it, but he doesn’t care, he just wants to hold and kiss this boy for eternity.

SMUT PROMPTS

#alice journal of asks #anon🩷#ASK GAME #alice writes #beznaia

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falcemartello · 9 months

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Santo Stefano fu il primo martire, colui che al terzo giorno di festa e bagordi osò dire a sua nonna :

"Mangio solo un'insalata"

Marco Noel

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doctorbunny · 9 months

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(Part 2) MILGRAM x AVOIT bluetooth earphones collab: Haruka and Yuno voice lines

[Brief context: On 28th December 2023 a crossover was announced for bluetooth earphones featuring original voicelines from MILGRAM characters. Website]

PRISON.001 [I think they meant prisoner but they wrote 'Prison' so....] Haruka Sakurai Vertical text = 人を不幸にすることだけは得意なんです = I've only ever been good at bringing misfortune to others [From his third intro voice line]

Voice Guidance: 電源を入れます...＝Power switched on... 電源を切りますね…＝Power's turned off... あ、接続成功したんですね…＝ah- the connection was successful... 接続解除します…＝Connection ended... ペアリング？中らしいです…＝Pair-ing? Seems to be in progress... ペアリング、成功しました＝The pairing, was successful ペアリング失敗....ごめんなさい…＝Pairing failed.... I'm sorry.... あ、バッテリーありません…＝Ah- there's no battery left... ノイズキャンセリング、オン＝Noise cancelling, On アンビエントマイク、オン＝ Ambient Mic, On ノーマルモード＝Normal Mode

Random Voice: ばかでごめんなさい＝I'm sorry for being an idiot 看守さん、いや、なんでもないです＝Guard-san, -wait no, its nothing な、何、聴いてるですか＝W-what, are you listening to? [as in music] ア、アマネちゃん....ごめんなさい…＝A-Amane-chan... I'm sorry.... ムウさんは、��母さんなんです＝Muu-san is, definitely my mother ミ、ミコトさんは、いい人ですよ＝Mi-Mikoto-san is, a good person y'know ….どうしました？僕、なにか変ですか？= ....Is something wrong? Is there something strange about, me? ミルグラム、とても楽しいです。＝ MILGRAM, is really fun.

PRISON.002 Yuno Kashiki Vertical text = そうだ、千円で膝枕してあげるよ = I know! I’ll give you a lap pillow for 1000 yen! [from her third introductory voice line]

Voice Guidance: 電源を入れるよ＝Powering on 電源を切るよ～＝Powering off~ やったね、リンク成功＝Yippee! Linked successfully リンク外したよ＝Link removed 繋げてるからちょっと待ってね＝Connecting, so wait a sec ちゃーんと繋がったよ＝Fu~lly Connected おっとと、繋がらなかったみたい＝Suddenly, its like it disconnected ほら、そろそろ充電しょ？＝Hey! Lets charge it soon, ok? ノイズキャンセリングをオンにするよ？＝[Shall I] Turn on noise cancelling? アンビエントマイク、オン＝ Ambient Mic, On ノーマルモードだよ＝It's Normal Mode

Random Voice: 看守さん、ちゃんと私のこと暖かくしてよね？＝Guard-san, warm me up properly ok? 看守さん、おーい。返事してみて～＝Guard-san, heeey. Please try responding~ いいね、今の曲。あたしも好きかも＝Nice, the song on just now. I think I also like it. ん？ハルカ。なに、ニヤニヤしてんの？＝hm? Haruka. what, what's with the smiling? マヒルさんって、なんかほっとけないんだよねぇ＝Mahiru-san can't just be left on her own, right? ムウお嬢様は今日も楽しそうで羨ましいね＝Looks like Little Miss Muu's having fun today too, I'm jealous [Yuno's use of ojousama is her implying that Muu's never suffered any kind of hardship, lol get rekt muu] ....何？看守さんちょっとしつこくない？＝...What? Guard-san, aren't you being a bit too persistant? あたしが欲しい人、ここまでおいで＝If you want me, come marco, I'll polo/Person I want, come here [lyric from Teardrop]

This is PART TWO of 6 Jackalope and Es, Haruka and Yuno [You are here], Fuuta and Muu, Shidou and Mahiru, Kazui and Amane, Mikoto and Kotoko

#haruka sakurai #yuno kashiki #milgram #ミルグラム #milgram translation

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ilcaoselastelladanzante · 3 months

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Indignatevi per i vivi.

Trent’anni senza vederli

di Fabrizio Tesseri

Facile indignarsi per i morti. Al massimo dura fino al funerale, poi tutto come prima.

Bisognerebbe indignarsi per i vivi.

Ma noi non li vediamo, i vivi. Letteralmente.

A volte non li vediamo al punto da travolgerli di notte sulle strade di campagna, scaraventandoli nelle scoline con le loro biciclette, quando va bene. Quando li vediamo è perché indossano quei gilet catarifrangenti che noi abbiamo in macchina in caso di incidente. Quando li vediamo è, appunto, un caso, un incidente.

Però non è che li abbiamo rimossi, propio non li abbiamo mai considerati.

Eppure sono decenni che sono qui, almeno tre decenni. Trent'anni fa, per esempio, alcuni singalesi e indiani, molto giovani, erano ospitati in un piccolo hotel fuori mano, trasformato da allora in una sorta di residenza per stranieri. È in campagna, ma era appiccicato ad un paio di grandi industrie, allora.

Da anni, al posto della più grande, la Goodyear, è rimasto un rudere e, con ogni probabilità, amianto e altri rifiuti sepolti sotto terra e sotto una memoria labile che ha cancellato i morti e i disoccupati.

È rimasta la fabbrica di alluminio, la sola piscina da 25 metri sul territorio e quel vecchio hotel malandato.

Beh, trent'anni fa, un misto di delinquenti e fascistelli (si lo so, è ridondante, sono sinonimi) andarono a picchiare i rifugiati in quel vecchio alberghetto. Per la verità, le presero per bene.

Ci fu tensione, venne organizzata una manifestazione di solidarietà, la polizia schierata in forze manco fosse un derby di quella che era la serie D del tempo, riuscì a picchiare chi manifestava solidarietà e il risultato fu che tutti ci distraemmo. Quasi tutti.

Alcuni da anni seguono e denunciano le condizioni dei migranti nella Pianura Pontina, su tutti Marco Omizzolo.

La maggior parte di noi però, semplicemente, non li ha mai visti.

Eppure sono tanti, lavorano nelle serre, nelle campagne, quasi tutti maschi, dormono in vecchie case o stalle, quando va bene. A decine, tutti insieme.

Qualcuno però ha fatto il salto sociale e ha aperto un negozietto oppure è stato fortunato e non solo è sopravvissuto, ma ha trovato anche un buon datore di lavoro, non un padrone, e ha messo su famiglia.

E allora vivono per lo più nei centri più o meno storici e ci sono i ragazzi nelle nostre scuole e per la quasi totalità dei nostri figli sono loro compagni, senza aggettivi o caratterizzazioni. Loro li vedono.

Noi queste famiglie, non gli altri, le vediamo solo perché vivono accanto a noi. Più colorati nei vestiti, odori diversi, magari più confusione, e in alcuni quartieri quelle donne e quegli uomini arrivati da lontano sono i soli a parlare con i "nostri" vecchi, soli dietro le persiane accostate al sole. Sono gli unici che si affacciano a vedere come mai la signora oggi non si è vista e magari sta male e ha bisogno.

Però, gli altri non li vediamo.

Ma vediamo il prodotto della loro esistenza.

Vediamo i prezzi della frutta e verdura in offerta sui banchi dei supermercati. Compriamo contenti il Sottocosto. Ammiriamo la villa e la fuoriserie dei loro Padroni.

Questi, spesso ma non sempre, hanno cognomi tronchi, che finiscono per enne, si tratta di famiglie che hanno avuto la terra nel ventennio, pezzi di famiglie del nord smembrate e portate a colonizzare la terra redenta. Coloni. Ma di cosa? Qui ci vivevano i Volsci, forse anche avanguardie di Etruschi e i Romani, di sicuro, che hanno lasciato il loro segno e la Regina Viarum. Coloni di cosa, dunque?

Gente che ha conosciuto la povertà, la fame, la guerra, la malaria, i lutti, la fatica indicibile.

Uno si aspetterebbe che se uno ha vissuto questo, mai farebbe vivere lo stesso o di peggio ad altri esseri umani e invece...ma allora, come è possibile? Perché?

Forse perché abbiamo dimenticato. Forse perché negli ultimi trent'anni abbiamo buttato nell'indifferenziato il concetto di comunità.

Abbiamo smesso di vedere l'altro ma solo quello che l'altro ha. E abbiamo voluto arricchirci o almeno illuderci di farlo. Abbiamo smesso di dare valore e iniziato a dare un prezzo, a tutto.

E quando dai un prezzo a qualsiasi cosa vuol dire che sei in competizione e la competizione porta a voler prevalere e finisce che bari pure con te stesso quando fai i solitari.

E tutti siamo contenti di comprare le zucchine a 0,99 euro al chilo e il Padrone compra un altro ettaro e abbassa la paga da 4,50 euro l'ora a 4 euro, preserva il margine di profitto, la grande distribuzione apre nuovi scintillanti ipermercati, noi oltre le zucchine compriamo i pomodori maturi, si fa per dire, a marzo.

È una magia!

Qualcosa di inspiegabile. Qualcosa di invisibile.

Tranne che ogni tanto.

Quando sotto una macchina non finisce una volpe ma un ventenne troppo stanco da scordare il gilet catarifrangente.

Tranne che ogni tanto, per un incidente sul lavoro o una rissa tra disperati.

Ma dura poco, meno della pubblicità tra il TG e i Talk Show della sera.

C'è il volantino delle offerte nella cassetta postale, sabato si fa spesa.

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