rusty_kink | Prompt Post: The Magnus Archives #1

Prompt Post: The Magnus Archives #1

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I sort of lost energy before getting to the murder, but here we go!
([strong]RAPE, MUTILATION, CANNIBALISM [/strong])

Jonah could not help but notice a certain… resemblance… between himself and the renter whose hands Mordechai had tied to a loop in a wall installed for that purpose, positioned just so that he was forced to kneel on the hard floor.

He quirked an eyebrow at his sometimes lover. “Are you so desperate for me to have a cock?” he asked, not even trying to hide his own interest in the young man.

The renter—his name was, supposedly, Virgil—pulled at his ropes, bare chest slick with water from where Mordechai had doused him to wake him up from his previous stupor.

“This is not what you paid for,” Virgil said, weakly. His dark hair hung over his face. “Please, I’ll do anything, just—”

“I knew I should have gagged him,” Mordechai said blandly, resting his hand on Virgil’s throat. “If I wanted to pay someone for this, I can more than afford it.” He smirked at Jonah. “I know someone who would do it, even.”

Jonah colored and shook his head. “Absolutely not,” he said.

“He has quite the passion for rare books. We’ve known each other for, how long, sixty years?”

Jonah glared at him, which Mordechai took as an affirmation.

“He has never been independent of my wealth in all those years. Isn’t that funny, Virgil?”

Virgil’s glare did, admittedly, look a great deal like Jonah’s, though with none of the bite to it. He was, presumably, ignoring the time span given, seeing as it was impossible.

“You didn’t answer my original question,” Jonah said, trying desperately to regain some of his composure. He would, he thought, dance on Mordechai’s bones, and damn his wife and middle-aged children.

“What was it?” Mordechai asked. “Ah, yes.” He pressed the toe of his boot between Virgil’s spread legs. “I’m just feeding your self-obsession, my dear boy.” He tilted his dead and looked at Virgil’s eyes, making the renter duck his head. “Would you rather be gagged or blindfolded?”

“E-excuse me?”

Mordechai huffed out an irritated breath. “The question is rather obvious, I should think. Would you rather be gagged or blindfolded?”

“Why is that a choice?”

Ah, Jonah thought. Virgil was mouthy. Brat.

Mordechai chuckled. “Simple. If I gag you, I will not cut out your tongue, and if I blindfold you, I will not gouge out your eyes and feed them to our friend. Understood?”

What on earth would he do with the tongue, then, Jonah wondered.
Virgil’s eyes widened and he was finally properly afraid.

“He really ought to thank me,” Mordechai told Jonah, conversationally. “This poor little Molly’s house was raided, and my clutches are so much more pleasant than the police’s. Now.” He grabbed Virgil under the chin. “Choose.”

“B-blindfold,” Virgil said, hurriedly. Jonah sighed in disappointment. “Please, just—”

Mordechai kicked him between the legs, causing him to put more weight on his bonds and let out a loud, animal wail.

“Excellent choice,” Mordechai said. “Jonah, cover his eyes.”

“I won’t forgive you for this,” Jonah told Virgil, and tied the strip of black fabric around his head.

The knife Mordechai pulled from his coat wasn’t particularly wicked looking. Virgil tried to close his mouth against the intrusion of Mordechai’s fingers, but there was only so much he could do against supernatural strength holding his jaw open.

Handing the knife back to Jonah, he knelt in front of Virgil, still tightly holding his jaw. Grabbing the mostly severed tongue in his teeth, he yanked his head back and swallowed the raw, still-bleeding flesh in one horrible gulp.

“And that was for…?” Jonah asked, looking at the knife in his hand. Nowhere had Mordechai said that Virgil’s eyes would never be removed.

“Making room,” Mordechai said. He stood, letting Virgil thrash and ululate uselessly. “Oh, I know you are horribly displeased with me,” he said.
Jonah rolled his eyes and pulled Mordechai down to kiss him, sucking in blood from his mouth.

“Parasite,” Mordechai said, fondly.

“Monster,” Jonah said, letting himself feel just as fond. “How many times have you wanted to eat my tongue?”

“Never,” Mordechai breathed. “Your voice is much prettier than his could ever be.”

Virgil was much too distracted to be insulted.

“His cock is quite nice,” Jonah said, when they parted. “You have good taste.” He said this grudgingly.

“You can keep it in your mouth when I fuck him,” Mordechai said. “Assuming I don’t get in your way.”

Jonah grunted, and shoved uselessly at Mordechai’s chest. “I’ll make do.”
Mordechai didn’t try to hide the sound of his footsteps as he approached Virgil, but the renter still let out a startled yelp as his head was grabbed. Forcing his cock into Virgil’s mouth, Mordechai grinned viciously as he felt the renter choke and gag.

He felt, more than saw, Jon crawl between his legs. He was not quite sure what he was doing to Virgil, but from the way he shook under Mordechai’s hands, it was probably more than interesting enough.

OP here, oh, poor Virgil! Jonah and Mordechai were so brutal with the poor thing, I love it. Love the Jonah/Mordechai interaction too, they should be morbid fucks.

(this is my first time posting here - i hope you enjoy it!

plus an ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24598984)

---

It all started with a deep v-neck shirt. It was a lovely, soft fabric, a shade of pink that bordered on purple, fading gently into white at the hem. It caught Jon’s attention while they were out, and after five entire minutes of pressing the fabric between his fingers, Martin had smiled and suggested he buy it.

But Jon hated when his binder was visible, and the neckline was too deep, and he said all this to Martin even as he remained standing there, clutching it with both hands.

Martin double-checked the price tag and pulled it off the shiny metal pole. “Well, maybe you’ll still want to try it someday?” he asked very gently, and his eyes gave Jon one last chance to insist on leaving the shirt behind. Jon answered his silent question with a frown of consideration. They left with the shirt in a plain paper bag.

---

For two weeks, Jon thought about the shirt. He would sometimes stand in his closet and run his fingers along the inner seam at the hem, inspect the long sleeves. The fabric was thin and cool, it was soft and had a nice amount of stretch, and Jon wondered how it would feel against his skin, and he wanted desperately to wear it, and he glared at the neckline and tried to count his breathes. Tried to take stock of his desires and figure out what to do with them.

---

One morning, when Jon is kissing Martin, encouraging the lazy roll of his hips against Jon’s, Jon pulls back and mumbles, “You can take off my shirt, too. If you’d like.”

“Hm? But- but you take your binder off before bed.”

“Yes.”

“So…?”

“I’m saying it’s fine, Martin.”

His eyes are very close, wide and dark. Jon feels Martin’s hand on his waist already, fingers inching up past the hem. “Are you sure?”

The thing is that Jon isn’t sure, which he sees as being the problem. Martin frowns at his hesitance, and before Jon can insist, Martin’s hand comes up to graze his chest. He feels a thumb slowly outline the gentle curve of one breast, very lightly. Jon whimpers breathlessly. Martin asks, “How about just this, for now? Is this okay?”

“Touch- try touching them,” Jon whispers. Martin lets his hand envelop Jon’s left breast, and Jon expects to feel the usual self-consciousness, the jarring sense of having something be too much, having it feel extraneous. But instead he just thinks that Martin’s hand is very warm against him, and that he himself seems quite soft beneath the callouses of Martin’s palm. Martin kisses Jon’s neck as he lets a thumb roll over one nipple, making Jon wiggle a bit, making his breath catch, and he thinks maybe this can work. Maybe he can do this.

---

Over the next few weeks, Jon does his best to keep the momentum going. He lets Martin rub against his chest over his binder during the day, when they steal quick, heated kisses from each other. At night or in the morning, while they’re still in bed, Jon sometimes takes his shirt off and lets Martin look, touch. Martin starts to admire them verbally, and Jon lets him do that, too, even if he feels so overwhelmed he might burst at the seams from the man’s gentle praises.

“They’re so soft,” he’ll say, or “Your nipples are cute, they perk up so quickly!”

One day, when Jon is sitting in Martin’s lap, rutting against his thigh, letting him plant little kisses on Jon’s chest, Martin groans against Jon’s collarbone, “Ah, I really love your tits.”

The word sets something off in Jon’s head, some spark that shoots a current all the way through his body, until he’s making a truly embarrassing, desperate sound against Martin’s shoulder as he shudders and comes.

---

All of which finds them here, about a month later. Jon is wearing the shirt. He’s wearing a bra, too, which is not quite as welcome, but Martin had insisted it would look good. And the thing is? It does look good. Jon had looked at himself in the mirror before coming into the bedroom and letting his hands be tied behind his back. He’d never enjoyed wearing bras like this one, the cups holding his chest, the straps snug on his shoulders and back. They actively defined his chest, giving it a bit more lift and curve than he would otherwise tolerate. But then he’d put on the shirt, and the bra had mostly disappeared, only a faint outline beneath the fabric. All that was left was Jon’s small swell of cleavage, framed by the sharp neckline.

Martin had actually, literally cooed at him when Jon left the bathroom. As Jon had gotten more comfortable letting him see and touch his chest, Martin gradually developed the habit of fawning over it. Sometimes it was a bit- not annoying, exactly, but just sort of embarrassing. It made Jon aware of them too, which he usually hated, and sometimes he still did. But he was beginning to realize Martin enjoyed them just about as much as he enjoyed any other part of Jon’s body. He didn’t really spend any more time admiring his chest than he did Jon’s neck or shoulders or wrists, it was just that this was allowed, now. This was new, and a little exciting. It could, at times, be fun in ways that Jon hadn’t anticipated.

So he doesn’t begrudge Martin when he openly stares and tells Jon he looks cute, only glares half-heartedly and grumbles a little. Jon still lets himself get tied up, still lets Martin settle him on his knees on their bed. Jon’s hair is pulled back into a high pony tail, neck and shoulders fully exposed, cleavage practically on display.

Martin sits in front of him, legs on either side of Jon, caging him between Martin’s knees. A warm hand comes up to Jon’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss, even as Martin’s other hand sneaks up to cup at one breast. Jon feels his face burn. He makes himself focus on kissing back, letting Martin feel him up, the nail of Martin’s thumb searching for Jon’s nipple through two layers of fabric. Jon feels it graze him, and the sensation is dulled, but still enough to make him shiver.

“Do you like that?” Martin asks as he pulls away.

Jon can’t speak, can only nod. Martin smirks, and Jon knows this is it. They’re really doing this.

“You like it that much?” Martin asks in a soft, dangerous voice, one that makes Jon so very, very excited for how this will go. “I’ve barely touched you. Do you like really having your tits played with so much?”

That word. A part of Jon has always hated it, found it vulgar and objectifying, and the idea of applying it to himself has always felt terribly jarring. But here, now, with Martin saying it, it lights up his body like nothing else. Martin’s application of the term makes Jon’s chest feel both totally separate from him and very much a part of him, which doesn’t really make any sense, and Jon knows this, and he wonders if the internal conflict is partly what makes it so arousing. He feels like he has his wires crossed, sending unwarranted surges of electricity throughout his body at random, and soon it’ll all be to much and he won’t even be able to think.

He hasn’t answered Martin’s question, but he doesn’t really need to. Martin smiles and starts pulling up Jon’s shirt. “Well then, if you like it so much, let’s get this out of the way.”

Part of Jon doesn’t want to take the shirt off even a little, and finds it’s a shame when Martin pushes it up to his collarbone. But he doesn’t want to stretch it, so pulling the neckline down wasn’t an option. Once Jon’s bra is revealed, Martin wastes no time letting his hands slide along the wings until his fingers find clasps. Martin kisses Jon soundly as he unhooks them.

Then his hands are back to Jon’s- to Jon’s tits, groping them outright, then pinching his nipples until Jon moans. Martin swallows each and every sound. He’s unrelenting, fondling Jon until the man is an overheated mess, struggling against his bonds. Part of him wishes he could pull his arms forward, cross them over his chest to save them from Martin’s lovely torment. But more of him is losing the last of his sense entirely. “More,” he gasps between kisses. “P-please, I want-”

Martin’s mouth finds his throat, sucking cruelly as he twists one of Jon’s nipples between his fingers. It’s just hard enough to hurt, a deliberate pinching that sends jolts of pain to Jon’s stomach. He whimpers and struggles against his bonds once more.

“Good?” Martin asks under his breath as he pushes aside Jon’s loosened bra, mouth traveling downward. His breathe is hot and Jon can feel it on his chest.

“Good, good,” he gasps, resting his chin on Martin’s crown as he feels the man take a nipple into his mouth. This is- this is still pretty new, the hot, wet feeling of Martin’s tongue and teeth. He suckles; the texture of his tongue is delightful against Jon’s nipple and it makes him moan again, makes him squirm.

One of Martin’s arms is wrapped around his waist, keeping him close. Slowly, it travels up his back until Martin is pulling Jon’s shirt over his head. Releasing Jon’s breast with a wet pop, Martin leans back so he could pull the shirt down to tangle with Jon’s wrists. There will be no removing it, not totally, while he was bound like this. Jon realizes the bra, though unclasped, will also have to remain. It makes him feel debauched, especially with the way Martin is looking at him now.

“You know what I would like?” Martin says aloud, not really directing the question to Jon. “I think I would like to press those pretty tits of yours together and fuck them.”

“O-oh?” Jon- he knew this, he knew what they’d discussed, planned, agreed on. So why did hearing Martin say it like that make him feel so utterly wrecked? He started breathing a little faster - from merely nerves or anticipation, he wasn’t sure. Maybe both. The heavy breathes make his chest heave, enough for him to notice, and a prickle of something tense and heavy sits on the back of his neck.

As if seeing this, Martin reacts, taking Jon by the back of the neck and kissing him soundly on the lips. As he feels Jon relax beneath him, Martin gently guides him to lie on his back. It’s a bit awkward with his wrists, but that’s sort of the point - Jon likes the ache in his shoulders, the way his knuckles dig into the small of his back.

Jon tries to catch his breath as Martin pulls away to remove his pants, his underwear. Then he’s back, settling his weight carefully atop Jon. His cock is heavy and dripping on the bra. Martin moves the garment aside as much as he can while Jon makes pitiful noises of nervous arousal.

Martin’s large, warm hands rest against Jon’s ribs. Then, slowly, his palms brand a burning path up along his skin until he’s pushing Jon’s breasts together. From where he lies, Jon’s view is mostly taken up by his own cleavage. He can’t help tilting his head away, closing his eyes, trying to breathe evenly even as Martin bends down to nip and lick and torture him all over again.

After a few moments, when Jon’s more concerned with the wetness between his legs than his chest, Martin repositions himself. His shaft looks quite nice against Jon’s darker complexion, he thinks. Jon likes the weight of it between his breasts, even as Martin pushes them together again, more this time, trying to cover as much of himself as he can with Jon.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Martin mumbles to himself, though Jon hears it. Jon wiggles beneath him carefully, adjusting his knees so that his thighs are against Martin’s back. He can’t help bucking his hips futility, wishing for some friction. But that’s not what this is about, and Martin only chuckles at his impatience.

Then he starts fucking Jon’s chest, and Jon can only watch and let himself feel it. Martin sets an easy rhythm, precome smearing his cleavage whenever the man pulls back. With his head propped on a pillow, Jon is close enough to mouth at the head of Martin’s cock with each forward thrust. Above him, Martin makes lovely noises. His hips jerk and speed up. Jon wishes he could do anything with his hands, wishes he could touch himself, or maybe even hold his tits close together for Martin. Maybe then Martin could hold him back, put those fingers in Jon’s hair, or his mouth.

Instead Martin rubs roughly at Jon’s nipples as he fucks his chest. “I’m worried your tits are going to be sore after this,” Martin pants, smiling, then moaning as Jon deliberately sucks at him at the peak of his thrust. “Ah, I think- I’m close, Jon. D’you-?”

“Please, please-”

“Want me to make a mess of your tits?”

“Please, Martin,” Jon begs and writhes.

It doesn’t take long after that. Just a few more decisive thrusts and Martin is coming, spilling white deliberately across Jon’s chest.

Then, while Jon is dirty and still restrained, Martin shoves his hand down Jon’s pants and spreads him with his fingers. Shoves three inside without any issue and wrings out an orgasm in only a few seconds.

---

A few days later, Jon wears the shirt again. And the bra, but only because it really does make his cleavage look excellent.

Oliver: not that repayment is ever going to be relevant given the vast power differential but thanks for the dead avatars I guess
Martin: wait what this was just benefitting the End?
Jon: …
Martin: wait what vast power differential

I’m just— transfixed by the concept of Martin not really having realized that Jon’s the scariest thing in the world at this point, Oliver having taken Jon not killing him and also killing other people as… not a message exactly but…, and, I don’t know, accidental success at flirting…?

tl;dr Jon’s scary and it’s hot, Martin and Oliver are suffering but end up using this suffering productively one way or another

OP lol whoops I literally just noticed the prompt above mine. amazing…

Martin thinks he's prepared to date someone with a radically different sex drive. He's not... especially because neither he nor Jon have the communication skills they need for this.

Martin didn't actually think that the disparity would, or should be difficult for him, and is horrified to discover that it is. He struggles with his existing issues (feeling unattractive, shame around his sexuality, self-hatred) and develops some new ones (guilt for wanting to have sex with Jon). He's too ashamed of himself and afraid of pressuring Jon to speak up. Eventually, it comes to a head.

I'd be content with a breakup, a communication breakthrough where Martin manages to talk some of his feelings out with Jon, Jon and Martin deciding to open their relationship--however you think it would go down. Jon and Martin can completely fuck it all up or they can live happily ever after.

Things I don't want:
- Jon having sex with Martin, especially not as a resolution to Martin's angst--the entire point of this prompt is that That Isn't Going To Happen
- Noncon, dubcon, or Martin pressuring Jon for sex in any way
- Jon suddenly develops an interest in sex
- Martin conveniently becomes less sexual
- Martin being shitty about Jon's asexuality
- "I love you's", etc. papering over Jon and Martin's differing needs and desires within the relationship

What I do want:
- For Martin's happiness & fulfillment in the relationship to be treated as equally important to Jon's by the narrative
- Martin decides to take his own feelings about sex seriously and treat his needs and desires as valid (this is the emotional core of the prompt)
- Acknowledgment that, while Martin is in love with Jon, that doesn't give him a magical ability to Stop Finding Sex Important

Optional, depending on your take: Jon explains that yes, actually, he would like Martin to feel positively about his sexuality, and he doesn't want to see him hurting.

here's a quick little fill, cause this one caught my attention.

There are hands on Jon's thighs, his waist, his chest. They climb up his body like the legs on a centipede, all leading back to the same man. If Jared hopworth is still human enough to be called a man, that is.

Jon is laying on his back. His shirt is off, and under him, he can feel the awful, tacky carpet of Helen's hallways scratching his shoulder blades. Jared is above him, his main set of legs kneeling around Jon's waist. There's a leering grin on his face, attention focused entirely on Jon's chest. Rather, the soft swell of it beneath his fingers.

"Gotta say," Jared says, and the low rumble of his voice is even harder to parse pressed so close to him. Beside his ear, Jon watches the outline of what may have once been a lung shudder in Jared's calf.

"These tits are cute. Small, though. Sure you want me to take 'em? I could give you a little more, no charge." He squeezes, and Jon winces. Jared's hands are large and many-fingered. They feel like thick, fleshy spiders as they creep and clutch their way across his torso.

"I'm sure," Jon bites out through clenched teeth, body gone rigid in something between horror and excitement. "Just- just get on with it. Please."

Jared chuckles. The reverberation of it thrums through him and into Jon like a passing shudder.

"Impatient." he tuts. One of the hands on Jon's chest withdraws, but not before giving his nipple one last, rude twist. The hand recedes into Jared's abdomen- a twisting mass of coiling flesh, strange shapes forming and dissolving behind his skin. It sinks into some fold too subtle for Jon to parse and takes hold of the thing inside, drawing it back out in one slow motion.

The cock that emerges is larger than any Jon's ever seen. The shaft itself is the length of his forearm, and about as thick. Behind its foreskin, tge fat and swollen like a plum. At the very tip, precum is already beginning to bead.

Jared drags his prick along the center line of Jon's chest, leaving a small trail in its wake. It comes to a halt between his breasts. Jon can almost feel the thing through his skin, laying flat on his sternum.

Jared lurches slightly, his cock sliding forward. Jon braces himself… but nothing happens. He glances up warily, and Jared's grin widens.

"Kiss it." he says.

"What?" Jon demands, indignant.

"I said," Jared growls, "kiss it. Prove I should leave you with your mouth."

"That wasn't part of the deal," says, Jon, throat dry.

"Is now." Jared answers simply.

Jon looks back at the cock in front of him, the fat, dripping head just a few inches away, and bites his tongue. Hesitantly, he leans forwards and brushes his lips against it.

It tastes like skin. Not raw meat, or blood, or any other ghoulish thing Jon had been expecting- just skin. Salty with sweat and an unmistakable, animal musk.

Just as he begins to pull away, Jared thrusts his hips. In a second, Jon's mouth is pried open and filled, the tip popping in past his teeth and flattening his tongue. Jon grunts in alarm. His head hits the floor as he tries, futilely, to lean back.

After a few suffocating moments, Jared pulls back. Jon gasps for breath as his mouth is freed, choking down the precome that'd begun to drip down into his throat. Above him, Jared laughs. Jon glares back at him, wiping away a string of spittle with the back of his hand.

"Just giving you some help," Jared says.

"How generous," Jon hisses. "Now, if you're done, done- molesting me, let's get this over with."

"Dunno." Jared goads. "'S fun. Maybe if you ask nicely."

Jon grits his teeth. "Please."

"Touch 'em for me." says Jared, hands leaving Jon's chest.

Jon sighs. He brings his hands up and cups himself, one on either side. Jared was right- Jon's chest is small, barely big enough for what they'd agreed to.

But there's still something almost exciting about squeezing them together in front of Jared's cock. Of watching Jared take himself in hand and push the head between Jon's breasts, slicking a path for himself.

"Good enough," Jared says.

He looms from above, arms framing the carpet over Jon's head as he braces himself. His hips slam forward, shaft sliding into the valley between Jon's breasts and coming out the other side, stopping just short enough for the tip to brush Jon's chin.

The first thrust is the hardest. It's a struggle to hold still, Jon’s body rocked by Jared's momentum, but he manages. His fingers dig hard into the soft, supple flesh, his nails little pinpricks of pain among the strange sparks of breathless exhilaration.

It’s an odd sensation, but not at all like Jon had thought it’d be. Jared’s prick is as hot as a burning iron, and firm in a way that makes him think there must be more than just muscle inside. It feels nice against his skin, wonderfully heavy. A grounding weight. It satisfies something deep inside Jon, some kind of physical craving he hadn’t even known he possessed.

It‘s over too quickly. Jared’s cock glides back through the passage of Jon’s hold and slips out. Jon makes a questioning noise- and then he realises what’s happening, and it turns into a moan.

Jon’s eyes widen in time to watch Jared come. The entirety of his body stiffens, tensing like a taut wire. Every hand clenches, including the two mismatched fists stroking his cock. One squeezes the base while the other tilts the tip, aiming straight for Jon’s chest. It hits its mark- come splattering onto Jon’s tits in three long sputters.

Jared rolls off him a second later, gazing down at his handiwork with unrestrained smugness.

There’s something handsome about him, Jon thinks suddenly. Rather, there was at some point. Under all the… meat.

It would’ve been nice- if Jon cared about that kind of thing, maybe. It certainly didn’t hurt the flush creeping down Jon’s body, the warmth in his stomach.

Closing his eyes and biting his lip, Jon slips one hand beneath the fabric of his trousers and palms himself through his boxers without even bothering to try cleaning up.

this is extremely my jam and I am working on a fill for it atm :D

“Martin,” Jon says. “Do you remember when you—pulled me back. With Jude.”

Jude was some time ago. Time doesn't work here, not anymore, but between now and Jude was the endless loop of the recorder, the silence, the house. Letting the fog in. The muddled, swimming mess of Martin's mind and the lingering chill in his bones even after he pulled himself out long enough that Jon could find him again. Jude feels like a distant echo. A hazy memory.

“What about Jude?” he asks.

“When you slapped me,” Jon says, his fingers still entwined with Martin's. He stares straight ahead, into the endless stretch of rooms and hallways in the hotel they are winding through. It's not Helen's domain, but it's not far off. Another space touched by the Distortion.

Martin's pulse kicks up a notch. He remembers now. Of course he does. In the moment it was lost in the searing heat of the flames and the burning in his lungs, the weight of it all pressing down on him so heavy he couldn't focus on anything else, but.

He remembers the way Jon's eyes closed. The way that, just for a moment, Jon's whole body went limp and swayed towards him. The absolute surrender of it.

“Yeah,” he says. His voice is rough.

“I want you to do it again,” Jon says.

*

“Are you sure?” Martin asks.

Jon sits at the edge of the bed, the whole room faintly off-kilter, swaying just enough that Martin would be seasick if he focused on it too long. Jon is looking up at him, with a gentle, small smile, his face upturned. Expectant. Martin hasn't done this in years. He's always liked it, of course, even with the little knot in his chest about how he shouldn't like it so much, but—it's Jon. Jon, who he loves. Who knows every part of him. Who has been through so much pain already and yet is here, asking for more.

“You're not—all of them,” Jon says, his burned hand reaching out to twist in the fabric of Martin's jumper. “You hurting me is... it's safe. I know you love me, and I know what you want. Take it.”

“Yeah,” Martin breathes out, cupping Jon's face with his hand. “Yeah, alright.”

He pulls his hand back and slaps Jon across the face. Light at first, barely enough to leave a mark, and Jon's whole body relaxes all at once. He nods, and Martin can barely think over the pounding of his own heart as he draws back and hits Jon again. Harder this time. It startles a noise out of Jon, a soft, surprised exhalation of breath, and Martin's eyes are drawn to the faint redness of his cheek, the mark he's leaving on Jon. He rubs a thumb hard over the darkest of it and Jon leans into the touch, pushing his cheek against Martin's hand, and Martin's higher thoughts fuzz out into static. Into the desperate, wild need for more.

A third strike, and this time, Jon moans.

“God, you like this so much,” Martin says, slapping Jon's other cheek hard enough that his palm stings. “Such a slut for it. Do you want me to hit you harder?” His own face flushes at his words, but Jon doesn't tell him to stop. Pushes into the touch, his whole body curving with it.

“Anything you want,” Jon says, and his voice is laced with the static of power, so strong it makes the whole room waver. “More.”

He snakes a hand down between his legs, palm pressing against himself, and Martin grabs his wrist to still him.

“Am I going to have to tie you up? Fuck, Jon. I haven't even touched you and here you are gagging for it,” Martin says, slipping into the headspace for this, other hand winding hard into Jon's hair to pull him into a kiss, hard and biting, catching Jon's lip between his teeth and sinking in enough to let the spark of pain pulse through Jon. “Are you always like this? Ready to spread your legs for anyone who wants to hurt you? No wonder you've got all these scars.”

He twists his fingers in Jon's hair hard enough that tears spring up at the corners of Jon's eyes, and Jon moans again, a high and reedy thing, full of desperation. He's such a mess. Martin wants him so badly his whole body aches with it. He lets go long enough to tug Jon's shirt up and over his head, leaving it tangled around his wrists, and then sets to work winding it tighter. Jon's hips move against nothing, and Martin pauses for a moment in his work long enough to slap him hard across the face again.

“Hold still,” he says, low, and Jon shudders so nicely Martin just has to hit him again. His cheeks are stained a bright, lingering red, his pupils blown wide, and his chest heaves with the quick, shaky breaths he's trying to catch. His chest is bony, with a strange dip where his missing ribs should be, and when Martin digs his fingernails hard into his side he whimpers with it and squirms in place. He sounds so good when he's hurting. There are so many ways Martin hasn't hurt him yet. So many options to explore.

“You'd take anything I gave you right now, wouldn't you,” Martin says, pushing Jon back onto the mattress, his bound hands trapped underneath him. He leans down and sinks his teeth into the crook of Jon's neck, savoring the weak little noise Jon makes, struggling ineffectually below him, and sucks hard enough to leave a bright, vivid mark behind.

“Yes,” Jon says, opening his eyes. They glow a bright, vivid green in the darkness of the room. “I, I want--”

“I know what you want,” Martin says, shifting down the bed to take one of Jon's nipples into his mouth and bite down, and Jon arches up into it. They only register pain sensations anymore, but that's alright. That's what Jon needs. The peak stiffens under his mouth, and he licks over the point of it, relishing how responsive Jon is to every touch. Every place he sinks his teeth or his fingernails into, Jon pushes into.

Martin fits his fingers under the waistband of Jon's trousers and tugs down hard, hard enough that the fabric scrapes against Jon's skin as he goes, and he leaves them bunched around Jon's ankles, trapping his legs as Martin slips a hand between Jon's legs, spreading the slickness around.

“God, you're wet for it,” Martin breathes, thumbing at his cock. “Such a slut, look at you. Look at how hard this little thing is.”

Jon's face flushes a deeper red, but he pushes into the touch as Martin presses down harder on his cock. “Oh,” Martin says, grinning. “You like hearing how little it is, huh.”

A small, plaintive noise escapes Jon and his hips rise to meet Martin's hand. He nods, face going redder still as he hears the slick sounds the movement of Martin's fingers make, twisting against his makeshift bonds as his whole body struggles to take more.

“Not—inside, there,” Jon manages, as Martin's fingers threaten against his entrance, and Martin pauses.

“Oh?” Martin says. “Where?” He shifts forward, brushing against Jon's hole instead, and Jon makes a wild noise as Martin starts to press one finger inside, easing the way with Jon's own slick. “Here?”

He pulls his finger out and flips Jon over, and Jon is so small, so light, that he goes easily, hands and feet still bound, unable to do anything but allow it. He doesn't have much of an ass, but it's still lovely, and as Martin slides a hand down his back he arches, face pressed into the pillow and hips up, an invitation. Martin slaps him, watching the way it reddens, the faint quiver of flesh, and then again, and Jon moans into the pillow, half-muffled.

He keeps hitting Jon, until the moans break off into hitched, sniffling noises and the brown of his skin is turning deep red and purple, mottled with bruises, but even then, Jon rocks into every strike, hips working. He stills all at once, visibly twitching, and Martin realizes all at once that Jon just came, untouched, from nothing but the pain.

“Hurts,” Jon says, his voice a wavery mess, but he doesn't say stop. Martin smooths a hand over his sore, abused ass, and he pushes into it.

“More?” Martin asks, and Jon nods. Martin grabs his cheeks with both hands, digging in hard to the bruises, and licks over his hole, and Jon's hips arch up higher, his spine curving. His bound hands clench and unclench, fingernails digging into his palms, and he presses his face harder into the pillow, trying to muffle the noises he makes as Martin loosens him up enough to press his tongue into him properly, his hole wet with spit as Martin starts to fuck him with his tongue.

“I'm—I. Martin,” Jon manages, squirming, and this time, Martin can feel it when he comes, the way Jon's hole clenches around his tongue. He doesn't stop, slicking up his fingers and then pressing in two all at once alongside his tongue, feeling the unbearable tight heat of Jon around them, and Jon is crying for real this time as Martin starts to fuck him in earnest, both fingers pushing in and out hard. It has to hurt, Martin fucking him like this so soon after he's just come, but he's not pulling away. Not saying stop. Martin's other hand digs in harder, fingers pressing into the bruises, and he gets a rhythm going, watching his fingers sink into Jon's body. He wants more, his whole body alight with it, but—not until Jon asks.

“Martin,” Jon says, plaintive, and Martin pulls his fingers out, sits back enough to yank his jumper up and over his head and throw it aside, unbutton his trousers, finally allowing himself some relief.

“Hmm?” Martin asks, shoving his trousers down around his hips and shifting forward, his cock sliding against Jon's skin, leaving slick trails behind. “Was there something you needed?”

“I.” Jon starts and then breaks off in a yelp as Martin slaps his ass hard again. “I need--”

“Tell me,” Martin says. He smooths his fingers over the bruises, making sure to dig his fingernails in to the darkest of them, and Jon whimpers.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

Jon turns his head enough to look at Martin, and his face is absolutely crimson, tear-stained and reddened from humiliation and Martin's hands. “Please fuck my arse,” he manages, all in a rush, and Martin's cock throbs with it.

“Alright,” Martin says, teasing over his hole with the head of his cock. “Wouldn't want to deny a slut like you what you need. If you want your arse fucked so badly I can do it. ”

He presses in all at once, sinking in in one smooth motion, and Jon makes a wild, high noise, squirming, trying to adjust to the cock he's stuck on, and Martin grips his hips tight and holds him in place, fingernails digging in. Making him take all of it. He doesn't give Jon time to adjust, drawing out nearly all the way and then fucking back in hard and fast, and Jon digs his fingernails into his own palms and moans as Martin sets up a punishing rhythm, hips slapping against Jon's, pressing against the reddened, bruised skin of his ass with every movement.

Martin reaches between them and thumbs over Jon's cock, and it only takes two quick strokes before Jon is coming, shuddering around him. He grins, sinking in all the way and then holding there for a moment as the aftershocks pulse through Jon's body, before drawing out and then giving Jon the full length of him again, loving the way Jon squirms and twitches and shifts, his body instinctively trying to get away from the overstimulation, but he doesn't tell Martin to stop. Doesn't protest as Martin holds him in place tighter, making him take everything Martin is giving him.

Martin presses in deep before he comes, filling Jon up, and Jon comes again, a weak, shuddery thing.

“Okay?” Martin asks, after a moment, and Jon huffs out a laugh.

“Yeah,” he says. “Definitely okay.”

Martin pulls out and settles beside Jon on the bed, a hand curved over his sore, bruised ass, and he knows Jon can feel the smile in it when he presses a kiss to the back of Jon's neck.

“Love you,” Martin says, and he lets his eyes close, just for a moment, as Jon murmurs the words back. This isn't a place they can stay, not for long, but for now, Jon is warm and soft against him. He can rest for a moment.

also on ao3, if you prefer: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24693946

OP here
FUCKING EXQUISITE BUDDY

OP here, this is fantastic.

Someone rapes Tim. Unfortunately for Tim, his reputation precedes him: he’s easy. No one believes that Tim was raped, because honestly, who would believe that someone had to force Tim into sex?

Writing the non-con scene is welcome, but not necessary. What I want to see is the aftermath.

+Rapist was Elias (or Peter), or a male OC who works at the Institute
+The rape occurred at/after some sort of work function e.g. a Christmas party. Tim was drunk and flirting with the person in front of people and from the outside it looks like his normal method of picking people up.
+Internalised victim blaming where Tim tries to play off that it wasn't really that bad and he’s reluctant to tell people that he was raped because he doesn’t think they’ll believe him.
+(Most) People don’t believe Tim was raped until Jon (accidentally?) compels it out of either Tim or his rapist.

DNW Jon or Martin as the rapist

This is so sweet and hot at the same time oh no

people tend to assume martin's submissive in bed, since he's just so nervous and eager to please. in actuality, he's a huge dom. there are various reasons for it- mostly the sense of control, of being trusted completely. unfortunately, he doesn't exactly get many opportunities to indulge in it, and when he does, it tends not to be as... intense as he really wants.

then someone finds out- if the "any" is Jon, maybe he accidentally compels martin or something. whoever it is, they decide they want to make his secret bdsm fantasy a reality.

added bonuses
+any bondage- ropes, handcuffs, ect
++extended degradation/submission
+++his partner has a sub awakening during
++++martin's fantasy requires an awkward pre-sex shopping trip for props/materials/costumes/ect

no dnws!

WARNING: noncon groping, dubcon aftermath

Based on a manga I read! Martin gets groped by Jon on a train (whether he be sexual or just wants to "see what happens" is up to the writer) at one point, and Martin gets anxious that it'll happen again ...

But it doesn't. And Martin feels terrible about it, because it was the one time he's ever felt truly wanted. And one day, Martin sees Jon and recognises him / his hands / his voice / something about him that makes him confront Jon. After the two find a private place, Martin either begs or blackmails Jon into touching him again.

Any other additions or details welcome! I'd think they'd be strangers in this AU but if you want it to be closer to canon and have them know each other, that's fine too!

Why is the idea of Jon groping Martin on the train so fucking hot? You are a genius.

This is great.

Because Martin being wanted is sexy af and so is dark Jon showing that Martin is wanted in less than acceptable ways ;) But seriously I was reading this manga and was like - dang this dude got molested on a train and his first thought was "I WANT TO BE WANTED LIKE THIS AGAIN" and my mind immediately went to Martin (pre-character development)

THIS! WAS! AMAZING!!! I hope you put this on AO3 :O

Jon doesn’t necessarily have anything against the idea of sex, but he’s figured out from experience that it’s not worth bothering; he’s both ace and anorgasmic, and people who thought they were okay with the lack of sexual attraction have by and large been less okay with having a partner who doesn’t and won’t orgasm. So at this point it’s not on his radar at all, really. Which is fine!

Your choice for what disrupts this and how consensual it is or isn’t: awkward sex conversation after he and Martin get together surfaces that Martin is actively fine with sex where Jon’s side of things is “nice sensory experience” without the traditional endpoint/goal? Elias determined to show him an interesting time? Sex to prove a point or as a means to an end? Or just someone’s decided to use Jon’s body to get themself off and he’s along for the ride? (More than one person?) Who knows!

Either way, the corollary is: turns out he’s also incredibly sensitive (naturally, as a monster thing, or both; bonus for both masochism and weirder options on top of the default erogenous zones — so yes genitals, chest, thighs, and all that, but... hands? Various scars? Eyelids?) and blindsided by this. Without the social anxiety aspect of there being a person involved who’s trying to get him off the sensory aspect is completely overwhelming. His partner (or partners!) thinks that’s an upside, and one way or another by the time they’re done Jon’s an overstimulated mess.

Cis or trans Jon (or anyone else!) is fine with me; slight preference toward trans if anything but go where your heart leads you. Please no “magically, this fixed it and he orgasms”, but if you want to go for a climax I can see (intentional or less than) Beholding workarounds here — either in terms of Jon compelling the details out of his non-anorgasmic partner and experiencing it vicariously, or Elias doing the memory thing — that could be... interesting, to say the least.

Martin Blackwood is rapidly becoming a problem.

Peter mostly meets two kinds of problems these days: people he doesn't like, and people he does like. He's very used to making both of these disappear.

But Martin, while being firmly in the second category, is also the center of his bet with Elias, so Peter can't just send him to the Lonely. He has to teach him. To talk to him. It's not looking at him that's the problem, not even listening to him. Martin looks very nice in a soft way, and he's quite clever too. But all this time Martin is looking at him too, and no. It won't do. Peter fears that it counts as politeness for Eye people, though.

So even if Martin is totally the kind of boy Peter would like to bend over a desk, to see more of that nice round ass and less of those prying eyes, he's not sure he's ready to be involved with someone he sees almost every day of the week. That's the best feature of Elias and Peter's marriage, really. It's been a while since they saw each other more than once in a month.

Elias is kind of a problem too, but Peter is used to it. They've agreed to it, trying to thwart each other all the time - it's not the first time, just the first one with such big stakes, life and death, the whole fate of the world. Well, according to Elias. Peter still blames Gertrude, thinks secretly that maybe his ritual would have worked.

Maybe he can just solve one of the problems with another.

***

Elias is not poor, but he wields secrets more easily than money. It's all about his god, really. It sounds exhausting. Peter only needs a few handfuls of bills to have Elias in a hotel room for a night, even with actual presentable clothes. It's all for show; the clothes will disappear soon.

"Peter," Elias says with a haughty smile. Like he knows everything; but of course, you don't need powers to guess who was behind this particular kidnapping, so he wants glory for something very small.

"Hello, Elias," Peter answers, sounding bored. "How much do you want to be fucked?"

"Your brand of romance is astonishingly bad, Peter," Elias answers, but he still tilts his head and stretches his body on the sofa, in a way that indicates he's not opposed to being convinced.

"You know, with all the work you handed down to me, I don't have time for most things these days. But that's why I have an assistant."

Of course, Elias probably knew Martin was here the whole time. Martin is barely good enough to hide in the Lonely, even from a human. But it's time for him to make progress! And today is the right day for it. Martin manages to show at the right moment, instead of staying in the Lonely out of pure embarrassment, which is good of him. Elias looks him up and down.

"You will assist me in fucking him, won't you?" Peter asks. He gets up, goes around back of the sofa, and takes hold of Elias' hair with a possessive grip. He can feel Martin's unease, and to be honest, it doesn't bother him. They talked about it, and he knows the boy is just always embarrassed, but he's brave. It won't stop him following through.

Of course Elias is not surprised, but he sneers.

"What's the problem?" Peter asks, playing with his hair. "You made it clear more than once that you like big men, don't you?"

Elias doesn’t answer, probably sulking. Peter can tell Elias doesn't like being given a taste of his own medicine and having his private preferences commented on. But it won’t stop Peter from sharing. Even when he was still James Wright, Elias had quite an interest in Peter's tall body and wide shoulders.

"Don't tell me you're still underestimating him after he put you in prison," Peter keeps going, twisting the knife. "Martin, my boy, don't mind him, he's always like this. I'm sure he'd like for you to fuck him. He's just being proud about it."

Martin steps forward, and Peter steps back, politely giving him access to Elias, even nodding for him to grab Elias' pretty hair in his place. Martin takes a deep breath and slaps Elias.

"Undress," he demands.

Elias turns his head, to show that the lascivious smile on his lips is directed at Peter only. He still obeys, though, very slowly, folding his clothes and putting them on the nearest chair. Peter suspects they didn't feed him well in prison. He was always slender, but now he looks almost skinny.

"Open my trousers and suck my cock," Martin orders.

Peter would like to open his own trousers. Not now, he thinks, as he slowly rubs his hardening cock through his clothes. Oh, it's good to look at people having sex, without need of being noticed, without expectations. It's an opinion he and Elias share, though for very different reasons.

"Really?" Elias asks in a provocative voice. "What have you done to make me..."

Martin's hand touches Elias' cheek. It's not a slap. It could even be tender, without the possessiveness, without the cold wind that comes with it.

Elias moans, Martin glares at him, and Peter smiles.

***

"But, sex," Martin is saying. "It's intimate. It's... I mean, it doesn't have to be, I guess there's anonymous sex and all. But with someone you know, it has to be."

"My parents knew how to make conjugal sex the loneliest thing," Peter objects.

Martin makes a face. Peter knows this one: it means he's embarrassed. Is it because Peter talked about sex? He thought that was behind them. Ah, no, it's about parents having sex! Yes, that makes sense.

"After, you mean?" Martin suggests. "When the person leaves and you're all alone and you just want to be held and you don't know if it'll happen again."

"Better!" Peter joyfully comments. "But even while it happens, even before, you can make people feel like you don't care. Like they're nothing to you. You haven't left yet, but they know it will happen, and actually, they almost hope for the moment you'll stop pretending. At the same time, they still desperately want the touch of your skin, just because they're afraid of the cold. That feeling, it belongs to us."

Martin doesn't seem to understand, and Peter is so close to offering to show him. But he doesn't - he wants Martin to like him. Or maybe he likes Martin a bit too much already for this?

He has a brief fantasy of Martin doing it to his Archivist, making him understand how lonely he actually is. But it's too risky. Martin still has too many complicated feelings for him. Peter hopes it's not for long.

"What about Elias?" he asks.

Martin looks at him, in deep confusion.

"You could fuck Elias! You don't even like him. I'll teach you the ways, you can use it on him!"

Elias will hate it, or rather, he will pretend he hates it, and Peter can't wait. Also, he'll get to see Martin fuck, which is quite of interest to him.

***

It seems Martin did understannd how it works. Elias is now looking at Peter, hoping for his help, and it proves he's desperate. He understands quite fast that it's useless, so finally he opens Martin's trousers, lowers them entirely with the underwear, striking his full hips and calves, so desperate as he is for human contact, then kissing the skin of his thighs while his mouth goes up again.

Peter takes his time to enjoy Martin's half-hard cock, already remarkably big. Casually, he takes a few steps to appreciate the view of his pretty fat ass too. Martin probably imagined staying dressed, with only his cock out, but he seems quite satisfied with the effect he has on Elias. He finishes kicking his trousers away, then grabs Elias' hair. Elias can't help leaning into the touch. Really, Martin is a natural.

"What did I say about my cock?" Martin asks in a severe voice.

Elias would normally snark at this. Peter can see him hesitate; he knows him well. But he's too eager, and he starts sucking at Martin's dick. It's fully hard now, and quite a sight. It will probably disappear into Elias' throat soon, but not before Peter can commit it to memory.

Peter never used this kind of trick on Elias. He could have, but the Eye has quite harsh... tricks too, and Elias is the resentful type. It would have been a mutually assured destruction situation. But Martin is under the protection of Peter's bet, so it's alright... of course, it's a betrayal, but Peter wants to kill Elias and Elias wants to destroy the world, so really, this is behind them. All is good.

Except that Peter himself feels more jealous than he should.

He had planned to watch, and masturbate while Martin fucked Elias. He likes masturbating. But right now, he also wants to take advantage of Elias' situation fully. And forget that he left the initiative to Martin and it's not the time to take advantage of him.

He just slaps Elias' ass. It's impersonal, it could be a joke. The way Elias moans makes his blood boil.

It's not about him, he reminds himself. It's about the need to be touched. So really, he can play with Elias and it can stay Lonely. He can hit him again and again, making his ass red.

"Do you mind if I fuck his ass?" he asks Martin.

Martin is currently very busy being edged by Elias, who wants him, who desperately touches his hairy torso under his opened shirt; but also knows that if Martin comes he will leave him bereft and alone. Martin, lost in pleasure, can only give Peter a half-nod.

It's not even like Peter needed his agreement. But that's the problem. He likes talking to Martin. Not long, of course. But one sentence, from time to time. He even likes talking about Martin. Simon teased him mercilessly about this.

He spits on his fingers and enters Elias with one, slowly. Too slowly for Elias's tastes, it seems, as he arches against him like the eager slut he is. He's also tight, so Peter puts a second finger and opens him up Oh, he's gonna be so comfortable inside him...

"You see what I meant?" he asks Martin. "Nothing about human connection here. Only our Master."

No answer. It's better that way. Peter grabs Elias's hips to put them in the best position for being fucked, then enters him, slowly, but without stopping for any of his reactions. Elias twists against him, eager for his hands. Peter almost wants to keep them in his pockets, just to please him less, but it would make his own thrusts far less enjoyable for him. So he gives Elias what he loves - in addition to bruises on his hips, that he probably didn't want.

***

Elias loves to worship Peter's cock. Which is very pleasant, both because he knows how to deepthroat or ride one, and also because there is no pretense that Peter's personality plays any role in it at all. Elias doesn't mind whether Peter just lies down and lets him do all the work, or whether he grabs his hips and forces a rhythm. All he wants is to be ripped open by a huge cock, and Peter suspects he started his initial courtship only because of what his God had shown him of Peter's anatomy. And, of course, for the money.

After they come - and Elias is damn good at synchronized orgasm when he wants to be - Elias rolls over and starts to gaze at Peter, and make eye contact the way he hates. So Peter closes his eyes and pretends to sleep.

"I have something to talk to you about," Elias explains, knowing very well Peter is pretending, and not accepting it.

A few minutes later, Peter is no longer pretending and is even looking back at him. Elias explains what he wants to do for his ritual, point by point. It's insane. It makes a frightening amount of sense.

"Of course, I'll need to ask you to help, when the time comes for his Lonely mark."

"What if I don't want to?" Peter asks.

"I'm not sure I was clear," Elias keeps going. "We would all win. You would win. You would rule over your own small domain, and the members of your family would each have one of their own, and you would never have to see them again."

This part is tempting, but Peter is obstinate. "Winning doesn't count when you don't win alone." It's even an eternal second place, shared with everyone, worse than if he never wins at all.

"I see. We'll have to get you interested. We could have a bet about it."

"What would you bet against the whole world?" Peter asks.

"My life, of course."

Of course, because Elias only does this because he doesn't want to die. Peter can't win this. Or rather, if he wins, he will lose Elias, and get terribly Lonely, but isn't that what he wants?

He kisses him as he accepts, rubbing his beard against his cheek. Then he bites him, and Elias almost purrs.

***

Elias is outrageously flexible. His spine looks like it undulates, as he's doing his best to pleasure both Peter and Martin, as if the upper half and the lower half of his slender body were two eager small animals. It's a wonder to look at.

Peter doesn't even touch Elias' cock, red and burning while he rubs against the sofa, but Elias is such a slut that he finally comes anyway, moaning against Martin's cock. He almost neglects it for a time, lost in his pleasure - Martin won't let himself be forgotten and starts to fuck Elias' throat more actively. He comes soon. He was very close.

Elias seems free of Martin's spell when their bodies are pulled apart - you can't ask too much of the boy, he's still a beginner - and Peter is glad he waited so long. It's the best part, as Elias remembers he didn't exactly want this.

Well, he didn't exactly mind either.

Martin is putting his clothes back on, clearly not in the mood for any kind of sweet comforting. "That's perfect," Peter comments. "You see, you don't have to consider his existence at all."

Peter senses Elias tense. He wants to comment, but whatever he says at this point would only be an example of what Peter just said, so he stays quiet, except for small overstimulated moans. He starts to writhe in circles against Peter's cock, in the most delightful way. Peter comes, both from the sensation, and the pleasure of feeling that Elias is tired of it and wants him gone.

He certainly won't hold him or talk to him when Martin did so well, but he leaves a last slap on his bruised, used ass.

He asks Martin to send the prerecorded message on his phone, for the prison guys to take Elias back. Maybe he'll even put his clothes back in the meantime. Depends how much he wants to display how much of a slut he is. Peter wouldn't dare to interfere in his personal religious practice.

Peter hopes it's not the last time they see each other. He also hopes the next time is in at least two months.

"It's a good kind of power, isn't it?" he asks Martin. He doesn't answer, which means he doesn't deny it, and Peter bathes in this silence.

OP Ah, this was delightful! I love the amount it ends up being a Peter character study, I never would’ve expected that in specific and I like him and it so much. (And of course Elias is a size king...)

I'm glad! Thank you!
I reposted it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24718210

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Page 75 of 139

Prompt Post: The Magnus Archives #1

FILL

Re: FILL

Fill: trans!Jon/Martin, chest-fucking, nipple play

Prompt: Jon/Martin, Jon/Oliver, + threesome? Spooky threesome?

Re: Prompt: Jon/Martin, Jon/Oliver, + threesome? Spooky threesome?

Prompt: Jon/Martin, sexual incompatibility, Martin's personal growth

Fill: Jared/Jon, titfucking

Re: Prompt:Jon/Martin, BDSM, slapping

FILL (1/?) Jon/Martin, BDSM, slapping

Re: FILL (2/2) Jon/Martin, BDSM, slapping

Re: FILL (2/2) Jon/Martin, BDSM, slapping

Re: FILL (2/2) Jon/Martin, BDSM, slapping

Re: Fill: Jared/Jon, titfucking

Prompt: Tim/Male character, non-con, victim blaming

Re: FILL (2/2) Jon/Martin, BDSM, slapping

Prompt: Martin/any, first time domming

Prompt: Jon/Martin, dark!Jon, low self worth!Martin, train molestation

Re: Prompt: Jon/Martin, dark!Jon, low self worth!Martin, train molestation

Re: Prompt: Tim/Male character, non-con, victim blaming

OP

Re: Fill: Jon/Martin, belly kink 5/5

Prompt: Jon/any male character, anorgasmia, overstimulation

Fill: Peter/Elias/Martin, Elias gets topped by two bears

Re: Fill: Peter/Elias/Martin, Elias gets topped by two bears

Re: Fill: Peter/Elias/Martin, Elias gets topped by two bears