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#salome pls hold my hand
mepheesto · 3 years
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BLACK NOT MY COLOR QUITTING AEON UNLESS NICER UNIFORMS
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ezrasbirdie · 3 years
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Katee, help me pls I'm in a daddy mood and i would like to ask u if you would please write some daddy Marcus for me 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 THANKIE LOVE OF MY LIFE
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ahhahahaah please enjoy some smut, baby girl. also i needed some resolution to daddy!marcus and i loved this too much.
~~
know better
a/n: SMUT, daddy kink, fluid transfers, big ass age gap; unbetaed, flinging shit out bc i'm a horny bitch; marcus might be a little OOC here
word count: ~1600
pairing: marcus pike x fem reader
read on ao3
~~
He shouldn’t be doing this.
He really, really shouldn’t be doing this.
What the fuck is he thinking?
He shouldn’t have you stretched out over his thigh, your little skirt bouncing as he rocks your hips back and forth, your drenched panties moving over the rough material of his slacks. He sits in his office chair behind his large oak desk, your pretty legs clamped onto each side of the thigh he’d lowered you onto when you leaned over to kiss him, unwilling to listen to him bullshit you anymore.
His fingers shouldn’t be digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises tomorrow. He shouldn’t be shirtless in his office. Marcus knows better than this, is better than this, but your open mouth emits whimpers that drain all thought and reason from him. He’s drunk off of you.
And you’re so young. So willing and pliant and soft. He should’ve had you transferred months ago before it went this far. Before you came to him in his office a week ago and offered him something.
To his credit, he declined at first. Said he didn’t think it would be a good idea. You are so bright and shiny and new, and his exhaustion from work, from dating, from life has settled itself in his bones. Your quick, witty flirtations make him feel young, but he can’t be that guy. Right?
You’d walked out looking so sad and embarrassed, and it broke him. He’d pretended he wouldn’t go home and spill himself all over his own stomach as he remembered you telling him you wanted him. He watches you now. Lost in your own pleasure, your clit pressed hard into his muscled thigh.
He watches your tits bounce, both pebbled nipples showing beautifully through your knit blouse. Before he can stop himself, he leans forward and bites one, eliciting a whimpered moan.
“Fuck, baby,” he says, biting the other and lifting your shirt up to suck on them. “Taste so fuckin’ good. Your tits are so fuckin’ pretty.”
You rock against him with your eyes closed, high off of the praise.
“I lied,” he says, gripping your hips again, moving you faster.
“I know you did,” you whisper.
“Sweetheart, you don’t know what you do to me. You make me feel so out of control,” he admits, pulling you close to him so he can kiss your neck. His lips glide over your smooth skin and he inhales sharply as your thigh brushes against his length. His cock strains against his zipper and he bucks against you, desperate for some kind of friction.
“Why, Mr. Pike?” You breathe. Your voice is high, breathy, girlish—he growls.
“You know you can’t just—you know why—you’re doing this on purpose—”
He snarls into your neck, trying to keep himself under control.
“You’ve done this before, right?” Marcus asks.
“Yes, a few times,” you pant. His heart lurches. He stops you then, trying to ignore your whine of protest that makes him dizzy.
“Sweetheart,” he starts, “you...don’t have to do this. I don’t know if you’re ready for what I want to give you, and I don’t think I can hold back. I don’t want to do anything to—”
But you stop him with a kiss and wrap your little fingers around his wrist, pulling his hand to your soaked panties. He doesn’t resist—how could he? He pulls your panties aside and dips his fingers into your folds—how are you so fucking wet?
“You won’t hurt me if you get me ready,” you whisper in his ear. He snaps, then. His mind turns off, and something primal inside of him takes over. He’d take care of you, get you ready, he’d take you right here. He’d keep you.
He throws you over the desk and rips your panties off of you, positions himself in between your legs and dives into your cunt like you’re his last meal.
“Beautiful little girl,” he murmurs into your folds.
You gasp, reaching into his hair. None of the boys you’d fucked had done this before. You think of the times you were alone, pretending, wishing that the pillow between your legs or your own hand was any part of him. Of the times you’d make yourself come over and over thinking of him, his name tumbling off of your lips, and that darkest, most secret desire—that word you wanted to call him; the one you could barely admit to and had only whispered allowed when you’d exhausted yourself enough to relax into it.
But his tongue feels so much better than what you do to yourself. It’s hard to keep anything in. It’s late and no one else in the office, but you throw your hand over your mouth to keep anything from spilling out. Marcus licks and sucks and bites any bit of skin he can get to. He slides one thick finger inside of you, and even that fills you up. He groans into you, and you feel his arm jerking at his side in quick strides, the sound of his first moving around his cock.
“You taste so good, honey,” he says. You tense up because you feel that string about to snap and he moves his finger inside of you, hitting a spot that sends a wave of tingles through your body and you shudder. The flat of his tongue presses, and you let go—
“Daddy,” you breathe. It just comes out and your legs are shaking and you are so much wetter than you remember being before. You hope he didn’t hear it. You’re half humiliated and half thrilled.
Marcus stops. He stops touching himself and removes his face from your pretty cunt. You’ve thrown your arms over your eyes, trying to hide your face, cheeks burning. There’s a flurry of movement and two big hands wrench your arms down by your side, pinning you on the desk and caging you in. You open your eyes and he’s staring down at you, his lips and facial hair still wet with your slick. You cannot read his face.
“What did you say?” He asks. You can’t read his voice, either.
Marcus’s breath comes in shudders—he has to pull himself back, has to stop himself from fucking you into the desk, but he needs to know—what did you call him? And can you call him that again? And if you call him that again, can he fuck you until you cry for him? Can he do it again and again; can he make you his baby? His heart beats wildly, waiting for your response. Your voice comes out small.
“Daddy,” you say.
“Say it again,” he snarls.
“Daddy, please,” you whine.
“That’s my good little girl. That’s right, baby, you listen so well,” he says, smoothing his thumb, wet with his pre-come, over your bottom lip. He jams his thumb into your mouth and you can taste the salt and musk of him, and something guttural comes from you.
“You like that, baby girl? Sweet girl,” he coos. He rubs the tip of his cock some more and smears it over your mouth. “You like how Daddy tastes?”
You writhe underneath him. You’ve never been at anyone’s mercy like this, and you wonder, for a moment, if you should be more afraid, when he leans down to kiss you softly and puts his lips on your ear.
“Tell me if you want to stop this right now, sweetheart. Please,” he says, and he sounds like Marcus again—patient and sincere. He waits for you to answer with soft eyes, stroking your cheek.
“Please—no, I don’t want to stop this. I want you to ruin me, Daddy,” you whimper.
You’re so lovely, spread underneath him, and he’s going to ruin you.
He brushes his cock against your folds and fucks into you without warning. He gives you no time to get used to it, and he’s so fucking big it stings. Marcus hauls you up to him so you can hold on to him and you dig your fingernails into his skin.
“Tell Daddy if it gets to be too much, baby,” he says into your ear. You can’t speak, so overwhelmed are your senses. He stops inside of you and grabs your chin.
“Answer me,” he says.
“Okay, Daddy.”
Satisfied, he sets the most brutal pace you’ve ever experienced.
“H-how long have you wa-anted this, little girl?” he asks.
“Since—the—beginning,” you say. He fucks you like a ragdoll, holding you up, enjoying your helplessness.
“God, you’re so fucking innocent,” he says, and you reply with a long whine. He reaches between your legs and plays with your clit, pressing and circling. “Come for me, baby girl. Come around my cock. Soak Daddy’s cock.”
It’s hard to resist that order. Your orgasm is softer this time, but it still grasps his cock and he groans into your mouth.
“Oh—oh—oh,” you whimper, and he can’t stop now. He fucks into you, harder and faster, his hips snapping into you.
“Come in me, Daddy,” you say. He slows a little. “I’m safe.”
He shouldn’t.
But he does.
His hips stutter and he bites your tits again as his warmth fills you, whispering that you’re a good girl.
“So good for me, so wet for Daddy, such a good fucking girl,” he murmurs as you stroke his hair. You let out a contented sigh, sticky with his come. He drops to his knees and licks himself out of you.
“Marcus,” you sigh.
He’s at your side in seconds.
“Is everything okay? I didn’t hurt you?” He asks, and his sweet brown eyes grow wide.
“No,” you say, carding your hand through his hair. “We made a mess of your desk.”
“Yeah,” he says. “That’s okay. Come home with me.”
Your eyebrows lift in surprise.
“I wanna...wanna take care of you tonight. And maybe a few other nights. If you’ll have me,” he says, pressing light kisses to your jaw. “Let me take care of you, little girl.”
You close your eyes and sigh into his lips as he covers your mouth with his own. That didn’t sound so bad.
tags:  @cannedsoupsucks @thewayofthemandalorian @i-ship-it-ironically @sergeantbannerbarnes @greeneyedblondie44 @phoenixhalliwell @dindaddy @bootyliciousbilbo @sleep-tight1 @autumnleaves1991-blog @northernpunk @salome-c @agentwhiskeypussyindulgence @thirstworldproblemss @thepoisonofgod @starlightmornings @yespolkadotkitty @keeper0fthestars @songsformonkeys @sarahjkl82-blog @simsiddy @pedro-pastel @toomanystoriessolittletime @mothandpidgeon @silverwolf319 @generalfoolish @notabotiswear @foli-vora @the-witty-pen-name @pedrobsessed @leaiorganas @doin-stuff @wyn-dixie @kesskirata @janebby @julesorwhatever @221bshrlocked   @mad-girl-without-a-box @danniburgh @maharani-radha @starlightmornings @ladytrashbird @charnelhouse @jaime1110 @dihra-vesa @riddikulus-obsessions 
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shootybangbang · 5 years
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(mostly posting this for future reference)
having lots of thoughts about salome today, namely the version for the oscar wilde play.
couple things that stand out to me:
- the emphasis on things that are virginal and incorruptible (jokanaan, the moon), and how these things are destroyed/transformed (the beheading, the eclipse)
- the violent switch between love and hatred we see with salome re: jokanaan (i am amorous of thy body vs thy body is hideous)
- the parody of consummation between salome and jokanaan, a kiss between the living and the dead, and the taste of blood on her lips, as seen in the following quote:
“Ah! I have kissed thy mouth, Jokanaan, I have kissed thy mouth. There was a bitter taste on thy lips. Was it the taste of blood?... But perchance it is the taste of love.... They say that love hath a bitter taste.... But what of that? what of that? I have kissed thy mouth, Jokanaan.”
And my thought is not necessarily focused on salome’s want for jokanaan as a sensual, carnal thing, but rather the very nature of wanting something which is fundamentally unobtainable and incompatible with one’s self. To want something to the point of one’s own ruin, and the satisfaction in the attaining of it, even if its gain confers no real benefit.
You’ve done this terrible thing and you hold in your hands the result of your efforts, this torn and desecrated relic covered with blood, and you press your mouth to it in adoration. Can you see the gristle and bone? Can you see the grotesquerie of it all, or has even that been transfigured into something holy in your eyes?
Why ask for jokanaan’s death? Because she is not in love with the man himself, but rather the act of transgression. Here is a man of god, as holy and incorruptible and unreachable as the moon, and she wishes to render all which is out of man’s physical reach to a tangible thing. And render it she does, with all the grace of an auroch into meat, reducing it to a shell of itself, empty of that which defined it before.
- the theme of desire as a corrupting influence. Virginity in this sense is not something physical, but rather a state of ignorance. Like Adam and Eve before the fall, having tasted something approaching divinity, salome herself is changed.
“What shall I do now, Jokanaan? Neither the floods nor the great waters can quench my passion. I was a princess, and thou didst scorn me. I was a virgin, and thou didst take my virginity from me. I was chaste, and thou didst fill my veins with fire....”
Anyway. It’s just more fun stuff that relates to the theme of sin = knowledge and general transgression of man against that which he is not meant to grasp, etc that I’ve been playing around with in my weird experimental fic. If anybody has any critiques of my analysis or thoughts on it, pls feel free to leave a message or something.
If you feel like reading Salome, Project Gutenberg has the version illustrated by Aubrey Beardsley for free online [here].
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