rusty_kink | Prompt Post: The Magnus Archives #1

Rules

1. All comments to the meme must be anonymous. Linking to fills on AO3/Tumblr/website of your choice is allowed, but comments here must still be posted anon.
2. Concrit is welcome if the author requests it, but character bashing, kink shaming, and hijacking threads by derailing prompts with contrary comments or asking for additions to the prompt are not allowed.
3. Warning for spoilers and subjects such as non-con, incest, underage, character death and worms is highly recommended, but not mandatory.
4. Crossover prompts between Rusty Quill Gaming and The Magnus Archives may be posted to both posts.
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7. While it should go without saying (kink meme and all) please be advised that much of the content here may not be appropriate for individuals under 18.
8. Update: All prompts can be filled by more than one person. Two cakes (or three, or four) are always appreciated.

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<div tabindex="-1"><b>spoiler title</b><div>Some spoilery content.</div></div>

Prompting Guidelines

1. The prompt should begin with "Prompt:"
2. The fill should begin with "Fill:". Otherwise there should be no change to the title.
2. Include the names of the character(s) or pairing(s) in the title, followed by the kink or trope if applicable. Pairings should be formatted A/B(/C/D).
3. If you would like to provide warnings, please put them in the first line of the comment to prevent the titles from getting too long.

And example title: Prompt: Jon/Plant monster, sex pollen

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From: (Anonymous)

Tim doesn't hear the door creak open.

"Assistant," a bright, staticky voice says, and he sighs, putting down his fork. He's already alone in his flat, listening to angry music, eating a microwaved dinner. Isn't his life pathetic enough without--this?

"What do you want," he asks, flat. "Here to terrorize me again? Give me another field trip in your corridors? Didn't have enough fun last time?" He takes a weary bite of mediocre chicken breast and waits.

"You're interesting, Assistant," Michael says, and Tim chews on his sad chicken and doesn't respond.

Michael drapes himself over Tim's shoulders like a fucked-up sharp blanket, hands like knives crossing above his chest, and hums a tune of nothing in particular into his hair.

"I want you," Michael says, one finger digging in enough to draw blood. "I've seen what you do here in your flat. I want to try that."

Tim blinks. "You--oh, Christ. Are you saying you want to have sex with me?"

"It seems interesting," Michael says, beaming. "Do you want to try?"

Tim sighs. Against his better judgement, a large part of him is going oh why not. Why not. He's already a dead man walking. Might as well add 'banged a monster' to his checkered resume.

"Sure," he sighs. "Let me finish my dinner, and then sure."

Michael's long, knife-like fingers swipe out and grab a bit of microwaved mashed potato and bring it to his mouth. "It's not very good," he says, looking down at Tim.

"It's food, and I need that to live," Tim says. He doesn't have much of a defense beyond that.

"You know," Michael says as he runs a hand down Tim's side, shredding the shirt he's wearing, "if you wanted more exciting food I could help you."

"I'd rather not feed off the terror of the week, thanks," Tim snorts. "Also, I liked that shirt."

"Sorry," Michael says, but he doesn't sound sorry at all.

From: (Anonymous)

Tim finishes his chicken. Michael looms above him the entire time, watching intently as he continues to take unsatisfying bites, and finally he sighs and sits back.

"Okay. So normally what we'd do is move to my room now. And get naked. You can be naked, right?"

Michael has a soft black jumper and jeans with holes worn into the knees--not artfully distressed, just old--and he looks down at them critically for a moment.

"I think so," he offers after a moment. "You may not want to look when I do."

"I've probably seen worse," Tim offers. Michael isn't full of worms. That's already a significant improvement from his last run-in with an avatar. Michael shrugs and suddenly is--different. No clothes. No coherent human form below the neck. He's a mess of neon, spiraling patterns.

"Right," Tim says, trying to shake his permanent state of weariness. "Bedroom. Let's."

Halfway to his bedroom he turns and presses himself against Michael, lips against what he assumes is still a face, and Michael makes a strange growling noise and kisses him back. His tongue is longer than a human tongue should be, and every fraction of contact makes Tim's blood go neon. He moans, pressing his lips harder to Michael's, trying to shove the dizziness aside as his hips press against a form that won't stay stable.

"This is nice," Michael says, entirely calm, and Tim huffs out a breath. He can do better than this.

"Right," he says. "What do you want?"

"I want to understand," Michael tells him, one sharp hand stroking down his bare back and leaving hairline cuts behind. "Just like you do. The Eye wants you to have this knowledge."

"Fuck the Eye," Tim growls, pinning Michael harder against the wall. "I don't care about feeding it. I never signed up for that."

"Oh, but you did, though," Michael says, delighted, pulling Tim harder against himself, and Tim can't help but push up into the pressure. "I don't think the Eye cares about willing."

"No shit," Tim says, and kisses Michael again. He's not good at it. The sensation makes his head swim and he's lost to arousal as Michael's tongue strokes against his own, but objectively, Michael's mouth is clumsy. He nips at Tim's bottom lip and cuts in deep enough to bleed, and Tim yelps, trying to not let the arousal of it get to him. He doesn't want to be into this. Doesn't want to be this kind of person. But here he is.

"Bed," Tim says, sounding more confident than he feels.

From: (Anonymous)

Michael doesn't know what he's doing. That much is clear. They make it as far as the bed and then Michael is pressing him down into the sheets and then just--stays there, still, Tim's head swimming but no movement of his hips.

"You should probably move," Tim offers. "Or fuck me, if you're into that. Or something."

"I--do not actually know how to "fuck you," Michael says, after a long moment. "What parts do I need?"

"You just need a part that you can stick in me," Tim sighs. Michael takes a long moment to focus, looking down at the twisting patterns of the sheets around Tim's body, and he can see Michael stop to think for a moment.

The 'part' Michael arrives at is--probably not workable. It's thin and pronged and looks sharp, like it would cut up Tim's insides, and he sighs.

"Not that."

"This is a part I can stick in you," Michael insists, looking down at it.

"I'm okay with bleeding, but not there. Just model it after what I've got."

Michael looks down at Tim's dick, traitorously hard despite how fucking weird all of this is, eyes narrowing. "That's rounder."

"Yes," Tim sighs. "If you don't want to horribly injure me, it should be rounder."

Michael pauses for a moment, looking between the shape he's created and Tim. "Fine," he says finally, and the twisting shape between his legs rounds out at the tip. Still two-pronged. Bigger than Tim is really prepared to take. Good enough to make it work, though.

Tim wraps a hand around it and guides it towards his hole. "Just go slowly, okay?" he asks, as the head of it threatens to press in.

"Slowly?" Michael asks, a facsimile of hips pressing forwards in a sudden movement that shoves the head of its--something into Tim, and Tim huffs out a startled breath.

"Slowly," he repeats. "Please."

It takes at least ten minutes for Michael to sink into him. Ten minutes of awkward pauses and slow, inorexibly forward penetration, and Tim shouldn't be half as into this as he is, but something about touching Michael makes his skin crawl in a way that only gets him harder. Probably something in his time at the Institute has started to wire him wrong.

Michael forces himself in all the way and then just--stops.

"Uh," Tim says.

"I am inside you, Assistant," Michael tells him, sounding very pleased. He stares at the twisting mess of sheets again for a long moment.

"Yes," Tim says. "Do--um. You know what you're supposed to do now, right?"

"No," Michael says cheerily. "This is what sex is, right?"

Well.

"Sort of," Tim offers. "Uh. Generally you want to--move your hips. In and out."

"In and out?" Michael asks, sounding fascinated, and he pulls out almost all the way before shoving deep into Tim's body again, and Tim can't hold back the cry he lets out, loud enough to make his mouth water.

"Like that," he chokes. "Just keep doing that."

"Hmm." Michael still sounds skeptical, but he does it again, and again, the head of the something that is not a dick at all sinking deep enough to make Tim squirm over and over again, and Tim burns with it, rocking back onto the impossible length. It's good. It shouldn't be good, but something about touching Michael's skin makes his blood sing and so he closes his eyes and gives himself over to it.

"Closing your eyes is a good idea," Michael says, form wavering, the humanity of the cherub face and blond curls blurring out and Tim takes what he's given, fucking himself hard on the length inside him, a hand snaking down his stomach to wrap around his own dick to stroke it frantically.

"Keep going," he says, barely able to form words.

"What happens if I do?" Michael asks, stilling completely and staring down at him, and after a long moment Tim opens his eyes.

"Then I'm going to come. Christ. I thought you'd implied you watched me do this before."

"The person you were with did not do that."

Tim's face goes red. One unsuccessful hookup and it informs everything else apparently.

"It's supposed to," he manages after a moment. "Just keep moving."

Michael keeps moving. He thrusts in again and again, hard enough that it knocks the breath out of Tim entirely, slick head moving inside him and then drawing out enough to make him feel the stretch.

He comes with a shout, Michael sunk deep inside him, and Michael makes a curious, questioning noise before Tim feels something cold rush up into himself, Michael holding deep.

Made a monster come, he mentally checks off his checklist.

"Was that how it's supposed to work?" Michael asks after a moment, while Tim is still getting his breath back, and against his better judgement Tim grins.

"Basically, yeah."

*

Michael is a cuddler, after. He didn't expect that.

He has five sharp, bloody lines drawn into his bare chest, and as Michael's form settles against him they bleed sluggishly onto the sheets below them.

It's good, though. God help him, it's good.

From: (Anonymous)

This is absolutely fucking delightful, it was everything I wanted it to be and many things I didn’t know I wanted until you wrote them besides

(The predominant emotion is “that’s— cute??” but also: hot.)

From: (Anonymous)

OP here, and this waS WONDERFUL! That perfect sweet spot between eldritch and uncomfortably cute that Michael always seems to occupy - he's just so infuriatingly lovable when he's being Bizarre? I love Michael not being certain of the mechanics but being intent on moving blandly onward. Thanks so much, Anon!