#my inner bratty sub be awakening for him

[ravensmadreads]

The Crucible

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader

Rating: E (SMUT, 18+ only)

Word Count: 9.6k 

Warnings: BDSM, BDSM/fetish clubs, ROUGH spanking (with a belt), mentions of collars and collaring, mentions of a cage, restraints, guys this is a BDSM club lots of kinky stuff is going to be mentioned here, unprotected PIV sex (this is fantasy! Don’t do this in real life!) Let me know if I missed anything, this whole fic is a blur.

Summary: Marcus Pike’s latest case takes him undercover to a BDSM club. When he’s called to participate as a dom in a scene with an unattached sub, will he be able to keep his focus on the task at hand?

A/N: “I will prioritize finishing HTKAI” is a little lie I like to tell myself, apparently. I was on track and then I got THIS ASK which derailed me for a WEEK, but it was one of those GLORIOUS weeks where I could simply not stop writing. This is dedicated to the anon (I know who you are, but IDK if you wanted to be uhhhh exposed like that) and also to @katareyoudrilling and @just-here-for-the-moment who have listened to me scream about this idea all week and gave me some DELICIOUS ideas.

Main Masterlist

Marcus Pike takes a sip from his latte as his eyes scan the newest case file to cross his desk for what seems like the hundredth time that week.

Fifteen paintings had been stolen from the Takoma Art Gallery–which had seemed like an unusually high number until they were informed that the canvases are all miniatures, each depicting a different hyper-realistic koi painting. 

The works are so stunning, that after visiting the gallery earlier that week, Marcus had purchased one for himself. He likes to do that–purchase one work from each gallery the team has to visit in the line of work. It seems like the least he can do, since every gallery he visits has just gone through an expensive and intrusive ordeal–police tape, countless interviews, security camera footage seizures, contractors to fix broken glass, unplanned closings, revenue loss, et cetera.

Not to mention the pain of having something the artist put hours of time and effort into, a little piece of themselves that they’ve pulled out and translated onto a canvas, vanished into thin air. If Marcus can recoup just a fraction of that mental loss by showing his appreciation for their art, he’s happy to do so.

Plus, it fills his home with color.

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[2kiran]

hiii hihihi 🫶🏽 got two things

first off, your blog was like my whole reason. honestly. idek how to put it, your writing is immaculate and if i’m gonna be completely honest i joined tumblr cuz of you lol, i don’t think that there’s like any better top male reader blog than yours icl. ‘preciate your writings a lot 🩶

second, if you can i do have a request; harddom!m!reader is asleep but wakes up to sub!keegan weakly bouncing on and cockwarming the reader, with some overstim + a lottt of orgasm denial, so much that keegan passes out and they both fall back asleep together. oh yeah, and the amount of times he’s denied orgasm we carve tallies into him (knife kink omfffhg). pretty much it !

may i also be ⛓️‍💥 anon?

2knote. hello?? thank you so much. I’m very honored, you’re wayy too kind for this. and yeah, absolutely. ⌖ RATED XPLICIT 18+

Awakening to a familiar heat, snug and slick, it has blood rush south of your body and thicken your cock with veritable, unadulterated desire—Wait, what?

You jolt, the action met with a breathless whimper and calloused palms land on your chest. The veil of tranquil slumber lifted, rapidly clearing the murk which had formed in your brain. Your eyes snap wide open, a ragged gasp tearing itself from your throat.

“What the—” You inhale, gaze adjusting to the darkness and soon trailing to the area in between Keegan’s thighs. His hips never paused, lacking strength in his grinds that are too weak to be proper bounces, to be anything. “—fuck are you doing?”

The male in question, Keegan, shamefully mewled upon registering the scratchy rumble of your hoarse voice. He clenched, pornography-worthy in how he’s so fucking tight, and he knows it. He takes advantage of the sweet, promising grip of his hole to greedily take all of you in for his own pleasure.

“I’m sorry,” Keegan whines, rolling forward, your tip nudging his prostate. “Ngh, I n-need you, I–”

He’s interrupted by his own moan, husky and wanton. He breathes out, slowly, his hole peppering kisses along the bulging veins of your cock in abrupt, wet squeezes. His thighs tremble from having to keep himself upright, legs aching as he raises his ass to ride you, only for you to bottom out when his knees buckle.

“Stop.”

He stiffens, his puzzled brain glueing the missing scraps of his intellect together as he fumbled to submit. Keegan’s pupils dilated, pinkish hue dusting his cheeks pretty, and he anticipated with bated breath. His mouth fell agape, senses consumed by the primal function to take what you offer him.

The sensitive head of his cock sobbed with lust, the entire length glistening with arousal. “You’re not cumming ‘till I say you can,” you announce with a hum, shifting to reach for the knife by the nightstand. It was originally intended for precaution, though it wasn’t necessary when you’re entirely protected by the man drunk off your dick.

But with the newfound alternative, it’s used more than it should be. “You got it?”

Keegan had the urge to cry out in frustration. He’s been so good for you, so patient. You should—no, you have to give him what he wants. He doesn’t have an ounce of true brattiness left in him to tell you that, his response a simple nod.

His eyes catch onto the swift movement of you twisting the handle in your grip, the known material like daily clothing now. “Answer.”

He gasps in surprise, goosebumps lapping feverishly at his skin. The warning is immediate, a press of the side of the blade against his bare thigh, the steel freezing and sinister. “Y-yes.”

Yes, but, a train of thoughts driven by desperation begins to rule his mind, I’m so fucking close. I need you to fuck me, not this. Damn it. Outwardly, his eyebrows are drawn together in an angered line.

You hum a light tune, Keegan’s expressions—ones of filthy nature—are comprehensible notes you can play even if you aren’t a musician. Unceremoniously, the knife is angled to the inner side of his thigh and you plunge it in without further consideration. It eagerly breaks skin, his leg jerks and he yelps in surprise, causing the weapon to draw a blood-dotted slash.

“Ahhng- fuck! Wh..what?” Keegan cries out, the pain a suffocating bandage that seizes his form within a death-guaranteed clutch. It hurts, overriding the separator of agony and rapture. You thrust into him, effectively quieting him down to a gasp. “Shut up and fuck yourself on me, yeah?”

His bottom lip quivers, his hands cautiously roam your build until they curl around the framing of your shoulders. God, the emotions stirring in his marathon-beating heart makes it all too easy for him to obey, to have him move his hips like a mutt.

Keegan leans forward, and you tilt your head off the side to offer him access. He takes it, nuzzling his cheek against your neck. The puff of breath he releases is shaky, wobbly as though he was willing himself not to cry.

Mustering up the vitality, he rises until his entrance is swallowing the very tip of your dick. Something heated crimps in the depths of his guts, twisting in compressed knots that threaten to unwind.

It intensifies as he flings himself down, dragging out a raspy moan of “Hmmng-!” with letters of your name added in-between pathetic grunts. He greedily takes in your length, his sudden clenching earns him a long groan. “C’mon... do it. Ride my cock, Kee.”

That was a threat. He whimpers, his head swinging side to side, “I’m, I’m gonna cum. Please, fuck.”

Whick!

Beside the new wound, you swing the knife along the pure skin. The cut is deeper, and he nearly screams.

Thick, red fluid oozes out, gruesome beads sticking to the steel. Pre-cum drips from Keegan’s slit, his hips grinding forward to maintain the contact, the friction burning away the discomfort. “What did I tell you?” You wrench a hand into his hair, yanking him back. Your teeth descend into a particularly sensitive area on his throat, sucking in an angry marking.

His hole reacts to your borderline aggressiveness in rhythmical spasms, ones that tell you he’ll tip over the edge. It wasn’t his fault he was close to bursting any second. You’re too mean, never allotting him the time that’ll grant him recovery.

And he has too many blood that he’ll let you waste.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

“Hagh... nnmm...”

There’s a feeble ringing in Keegan’s head, the deprivation of flowing life pumping inside of him drowning out anything ever-rational. Your own legs were tainted with a rather disgusting combination.

Harsh lines were indented into the strong layer of his inner thigh, sticky fluid pooling beneath him. A barrier of haze was trapped in his brain, resulting in him losing track of the amount of cuts you’ve inflicted on him.

Has it been four? Six? Perhaps nine?

A mortified wave sweeps across his features. He feels like a cheap, good-for-two-dollars whore.

Yet it feels so fucking good. The risk, the hefty lust blanketing the both of you—all of it. Your release steadily leaked out, a creamy sheen surrounding the base of your length.

A weak moan is what he’s only able to free when the blade sinks into him again, inches dividing the weapon from his core. He’s aching to the point he’s past pleasure, tears streaming down his cheeks as he falls limp against you.

Keegan has been wrapped around your thick cock for longer than he ever has, and he hasn’t cum once - until your rough hand coils to squeeze his shaft, wrist working up and down into slow, calculated strokes that rush him to completion. “Fu-uck, thank you, nfghh shit, t-thank you.” He groans, long and almost a desperate growl. Arousal zaps up his muscled, scarred back lightning-quick.

Hot, blinding white clasps its iron-grip on his wet dick, pearly strands finally, finally shooting out and his rim clenches down tight around you. But you don’t relent. Not yet.

You tug and tug and tug him through his high, forcing him to choke on a split whimper. “Too...” he exhales, torn between rocking into your palm or shoving himself away, “t-too, hfmm, much.”

It aches. His body tightens, tension hinged at his joints and locks until he’s aching. This time, he doesn’t anticipate it when it arrives. He quakes violently against your form, eyes rolling back into his skull, soft sobs echoing throughout the space separating the two of you. “Take it. You can handle this much, can’t you?”

He whines, the sound weak in volume. Your palm is continuously coated with slickness, smearing the wetness each time your stroke reaches the narrow entrance, pressing on it firm enough to reward yourself with his almost-pained grunt. Keegan squirms, attempting to worm his way free from your intoxicating grasp.

God, fuck, his dick is so sore from your torture. Darkness dots the corners of his eyes, his vision beginning to swim. The sensation of your hand clenching around his length fades, disappearing into the void of his blank-state mind. He faintly senses himself twitching, cum splattering on his thighs and on you. With one last exhausted whimper, dreamless fog consumes him entirely.

You set aside the knife, the item in your hand replaced by a towel. Your thumb circles mindless patterns on his nape, rocking him to sleep. Wiping him off, he stirs slightly.

“Hmmm?” He mutters, consciousness slipping into him again.

“Go back to sleep.” You shush, cleaning yourself up before you toss the dirtied rag away and gently lay him next to you.

Keegan nods, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulls you close to him. A tired, gentle smile rests on his lips before he whispers; “G’night.”