Round #2, June 2021
Jun. 6th, 2021 11:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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magicianskinkmemeRules:
1. Golden rule: YKINMKATO.
2. Book spoilers must be clearly tagged in post titles.
3. All comments must be anonymous.
4. Please title your prompt posts. All prompts are welcome, from fluff to angst to smut.
5. Fills must be posted as a response to the original prompt (links to AO3 etc are allowed) & must have "FILL" in the title.
6. Multiple fills for the same prompt are allowed and welcomed.
7. Content warnings will not be enforced but are appreciated.
8. Please wait until the next round to repost a prompt.
Is it a zombie apocalypse? Perhaps a Season 5 resurrection AU? No, it's the revival of the Magicians Kinkmeme -- we're back for Round #2, baby!
Please hop over to the mod post if you have any questions. When you fill a prompt, please feel free to link to it in the fills post so that others can easily find it.
Have fun, get weird and be kind to each other!
Margo/Quentin, pegging
Date: 2021-06-07 02:54 am (UTC)Re: Margo/Quentin, pegging
Date: 2021-06-07 04:08 am (UTC)FILL: Margo/Quentin, pegging
Date: 2021-06-09 09:59 pm (UTC)He’s doing his level best to blend into the wallpaper in the far corner of the common room, eyes casting around for friends who must have abandoned him to go dance, chin-length hair falling in front of his terrified face. For all his wariness, he doesn’t notice her approaching, and he jumps about a foot when she puts a hand softly on his shoulder to get his attention.
“Welcome to the Physical Kids Cottage,” she says with a liquid smile. “First time?”
He immediately looks behind her, an instinctive reaction, trying to spot the hot, mean girl’s gaggle of hot, mean friends who might be waiting around the corner to point and laugh at him if he tries anything. Not finding any, he relaxes just enough to actually speak. “Um, yeah. It’s— kind of wild.”
His name is a ridiculous mouthful, but Q will do just fine as something to scream, should he prove worthy of that. She initially turns on the charm, but then backs off when that makes him shut down, mumble embarrassed answers into his half-empty solo cup. Interesting. This one needs a different angle of approach. This one is, truly, one of the quiet ones. That’s fine, though; the quiet ones are always the most fun.
On another night, she’d actually be interested in continuing the discussion they end up in about film adaptations of fantasy novels. She briefly considers leaving him with a friendly smile, looking elsewhere, so she can track him down some afternoon and make him understand just how very wrong he is about Game of Thrones. But he’s too delicious, with his fluttery hands and his wide brown eyes and the perfect pout of his lower lip, to waste this opportunity. So she waits hungrily until the moment is right, and then, in that tiny window where he’s finished a thought but hasn’t yet started feeling awkward about the lull in the conversation, she hooks the collar of his t-shirt with one finger and pulls him in to kiss him.
She feels him make a little surprised noise against her mouth. Based on his — well, everything — she’s expecting him to freeze up, to need some coaxing — but his lips part just a little, tentative but interested. He lets her lead the kiss, doesn’t drown her in spit or grab for her tits, all good signs. And when she hums with approval and grazes her teeth across his lip, he shudders.
Damn, does she know how to pick ‘em.
When she pulls back, he looks slightly shell-shocked, which is exactly what Margo was going for. She lets the corner of her mouth curl up in a devastating smirk, her eyes drift down the length of his body. He shudders again. He doesn’t even seem to realize he’s doing it.
She has a feeling that pure, unadulterated honesty is going to be the way to go here, so: “I’m in the mood to fuck someone. You game?”
Panic sparks in his eyes, and he looks around again for the posse of snickering friends, the hidden cameras. She waits it out patiently. “Uh,” he stammers. “Yeah?”
She offers a hand and leads him through the crowd and up to her room.
He’s not too tall, which is perfect — tall guys are such a pain to maneuver, she thinks as she grabs him by the front of his shirt and pivots neatly on her heel to send him sprawling backwards onto her bed. He looks stunned, almost confused. It’s adorable. Dear Penthouse: I never believed it could happen to me…
“Have you done this before?” she asks while he’s catching his breath between kisses.
His eyebrows dip together as he frowns. “Yeah? I’m not a virgin.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She stretches over him, her breasts brushing his face, and snags her harness from its ready place on the bedside table. He gapes at the nylon straps dangling from her hand, the sleek rounded jut of her favorite beginner toy. “I did say I was in the mood to fuck someone.”
He can’t take his eyes off it. Margo waits, waits, reminds herself to trust in her instincts. It could all fall apart here, and she’ll have to start tonight’s hunt over again. But she doesn’t think it’s going to.
“I thought you, uh— you meant…” he says absently. “I mean, the word fuck is used a lot of different ways by different people, so.” His hand is drifting, floating, his body fully aware of its own curiosity even if his mind hasn’t quite gotten up to speed yet. When his fingertips brush the silicone, he jolts like it electrocuted him.
Margo waits.
“I, uh, haven’t,” he says finally, running his thumb down the length of the toy. “So if that’s like, a problem—”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Margo purrs, the thrill of success singing in her veins, “that’s the opposite of a problem.”
He’s tense, jittery. Margo’s an expert in taking apart pretty little nervous things, though; she knows the difference between bad I don’t really want this tension and good I had no idea I wanted this tension, and Quentin’s full of the good kind, not a hint of the bad. She can read it in the light trace of his hands up her sides as he works her dress over her head, in the eagerness with which he mouths over her neck. It’s plain as day in the stutter of his hips when she palms him through his boxers. Even when she takes him in hand, strokes him, it only winds him up tighter.
Okay, then. A tricky case. Easy to get into bed; not so easy to loosen up. She keeps stroking him — his cock is solidly in the “good enough to get the job done” camp, a pint-sized treat to go with his pint-sized everything else — while she kisses his chest, flicks her tongue across a nipple to hear him squeak. She looks at his face: flushed and starting to sweat up by his hairline, teeth sunk into his lower lip.
“Penny for your thoughts?” she asks as she crawls up over him, kisses the indent where his teeth were a second ago.
He arches his neck to kiss her, open and needy. “Um,” he pants — her hand hasn’t stopped moving on his cock, her thumb smearing a bead of precome around his tip. “You— you like it, right? It’s good for you?”
Oh, Margo could just eat him up. “Don’t worry about me, baby. I know what I want.” She sits back on her haunches so she can show him the little vibrator built into the base of the toy. That eases about a third of the tension out of his shoulders. She flicks her fingers in a simple tut, turning the toy on to a low buzz, then flips it around to press the vibrating part to the head of his cock; he yelps and clutches at her thighs and when she pulls it away he relaxes even further. She holds back a slightly mean giggle. These fucking first years, especially the boys — they’re all so caught up in their need to prove themselves. Give them the slightest hint of permission to let go of all that, and they melt into putty.
Margo runs her hands down his chest, nails angled to draw faint pink lines all the way to his hips, then while he’s distracted she does the simplest loosen-up spell she knows. His mouth falls open, a low moan punching out of him. “What— oh—?”
“It’s gonna feel even better when I’m actually inside you,” she promises. She doesn’t need to ask if the spell feels good. She’s used it on herself before, it definitely does, and anyway she can see shocked pleasure written all over his face. When she rolls off of him to pull on the harness, his knees splay out wide, and he reaches a hand down — not to his cock, but lower, fingers trembling like he’s scared of what he’ll find. “Oh,” he says again, nearly reverent.
Margo watches his shoulders curl off the bed as he reaches, tries to get enough reach to push a fingertip inside. If Margo were in a different mood, this could easily be the main attraction: getting a sweet boy loose and uninhibited enough to play with himself in a way he’s never tried before, watching him explore, maybe encouraging him along.
But that’s a game for another night. She pushes his hand out of the way, smacks him on the hip. “Hands and knees, honey.” He’s smart: he grabs her pillows and piles them under his chest to collapse onto if he needs to. “You sure you haven’t done this before?” she asks, amused.
“I mean, I’ve been on the other side of it,” he grumbles.
“Oh yeah?” His ass is shockingly nice. She’s made very good choices tonight, picking him. She tuts the vibrator to a medium setting and lines up. Tension ripples up his spine again when he feels her against his entrance. She smooths a palm up between his shoulder blades. “Let’s see which side you like better.”
He makes a short, choked noise when she starts to push in. He’s not hurting, the spell made sure of that. He’s just still surprised — that this is happening, that it’s in him, that he likes it. That he really likes it, she amends, as she eases in a little more and he moans out loud, his head dropping forward, a shiver running over his skin.
When her hips are flush with his, she takes a moment to grind hard against him, readjust the angle until the vibrator sits just right against her cunt. He whimpers, his hands scrabbling a little against the bedspread, finally managing to get enough purchase to push back against her. She laughs breathlessly and starts to fuck him.
Every stroke is poetry: the shockwave of force that flows from her body into his, the desperate little unh noise he makes, seemingly involuntarily, the pulse of pleasure in her cunt, heating up her core. It takes about two seconds for his arms to give out, and once his face hits the mattress it’s like the last dam breaking on his inhibitions. He moans wantonly, his voice muffled but still loud enough to be music to her ears. She grips his waist harder, shifts her angle and grins when it changes the pitch of his moaning.
“Talk to me, baby,” she says, when she knows he can’t, he’s too blissed out on it. “How’s it feel?”
“M-Mar— Margoh fuck—”
“That good, hm? You still hard for me?”
“Nngood— yeah—”
“You think you can come like this?” He lets out a needy whine. “Not just from this,” she amends, “but if you jerk off while I’m fucking you?”
He tries to shift his weight to move his arm. It would probably be polite for her to ease off for a second to let him readjust. She doesn’t feel like being polite. The vibrator rumbles steadily against her cunt, building her up and up to what’s going to be a truly world-shattering orgasm, and she doesn’t want to falter. His skin glistens with sweat, his long hair sticking a little to the back of his neck. He whimpers and groans and with a Herculean effort shoves up onto his elbows, then onto his hands. Carefully, like a baby gazelle on shaky legs, he balances on one hand — she fucks him rhythmically, unstopping, full of curiosity about what he’ll do next — and shouts when he gets a hand on his cock, immediately collapsing forward again, smashing his face into the pillows.
He accomplished his goal, though. His arm works frantically, shudders rippling through his body. She can imagine what his cute little face looks like right now: eyes shut tight, pretty mouth open in a wet O. His whole body tenses by degrees. She fucks him harder.
She’s so focused on the euphoria of taking him apart that her orgasm sneaks up on her — one second she’s pounding savagely away, watching her toy disappear so smoothly into his stretched little hole, and the next she’s at that oh-god-too-good place where every press of vibration into her body makes lightning shoot up her spine and then she’s coming, throwing her head back and screaming out in wild pleasure.
She’s fucking fabulous, so of course she doesn’t lose her rhythm, just keeps fucking him while she rides it out, and — oh, sweet boy, good little wannabe feminist, it seems like that really does it for him, makes him make all sorts of beautiful moans in response. She wonders how often he’s heard a girl actually come. This could be a few different firsts all in one night. The muscles in his arm bulge as he jerks off as fast as he physically can, and his back is arching — good instincts, this one, it’s like he was fucking made for this — and he chokes, gasps, yells into the pillows and she keeps fucking him hard even as she can feel him shake apart under the tight grip of her hands.
When he’s almost done, a few last quivers running through him, she pushes all the way in and holds there, shoving her cunt hard into the vibrating base of the toy — he yelps out a broken-sounding moan — folds her body forward and grinds in like that and shouts against the trembling muscles of his upper back as she comes a second time.
He manages to stay up on his knees until she sits up and starts to pull out, and it’s only then that he collapses in a panting heap. God, she made excellent choices tonight. She smacks the meat of his thigh approvingly. “So, what do you think now?”
He rolls gingerly over onto his back. His stomach is a mess of sweat and come, so her bedspread is too. Occupational hazard. She tuts out a quick clean-up charm. “Huh?” he asks, his eyes glassy but still tracking the motions of her fingers.
“Are you a fan of that side of getting fucked?” She stretches out a kink in her back, then digs in her dresser for a robe.
“I think I am?”
She raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you asking me or telling me?”
His face is still hazy with post-orgasmic bliss, so he doesn’t get nervous about the teasing. “Telling. I just, um.” He licks his lips. “I didn’t know I would be.”
“What’s grad school for if not for learning new things?” She snags his jeans and shirt off the floor, tosses them his way. His reflexes are sluggish; they hit him in the chest. “You’re welcome to chill for a minute, but if I start snoring, you gotta clear out. Mama doesn’t do bed-sharing.”
He looks a little hurt, but he takes it in stride. That’s good. It’s such a pain when they get clingy. “Fair. Um.” He runs a hand through his hair, wincing as he hits tangles. “I feel like I should say thank you?”
His uncertainty touches something inside her that she doesn’t often let loose, a pool of well-guarded tenderness. She steps over to where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed and grabs the back of his neck -- firm, not too nice, not sweet about it -- and kisses him slow and messy.
He’s only limping a little bit when he leaves the room. Quick recovery, that’s good. He really is just perfect, in more ways than she’d realized when she decided to take him upstairs. He was perfect for this mood she was in tonight, but those eager kisses, the deer-in-headlights eyes, his objectively incorrect but surprisingly well-considered opinions about Ned Stark — he could be good for nights, too. Or days. For other moods.
Margo settles satisfied into bed, rubbing absently at the insides of her thighs, and decides then and there that this won’t be the last she sees of Quentin Coldwater.
Re: FILL: Margo/Quentin, pegging
Date: 2021-06-09 10:19 pm (UTC)Re: FILL: Margo/Quentin, pegging
Date: 2021-06-09 10:47 pm (UTC)god, yes.... this was wonderful top to (heh) bottom
Re: FILL: Margo/Quentin, pegging
Date: 2021-06-10 04:45 am (UTC)Re: FILL: Margo/Quentin, pegging
Date: 2021-06-11 01:42 am (UTC)Re: FILL: Margo/Quentin, pegging
Date: 2021-06-15 11:45 pm (UTC)