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sintember · 2 years

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Sintember 2022 Prompts

Here are the prompts for Sintember 2022! If the image is unreadable, I deeply apologize. Luckily, all of the prompts are listed (with little blurbs!) under the cut. All of the Free Day Friday prompts are designed to be much vaguer than the other prompts.

Obsession - Love? Hate? Lust? Fear? Worship? Whatever the case, it’s all they can think about.

Free Day Friday: Phobia - Pick your favourite (or perhaps even least favourite) fear and go wild with it.

Coercion - Subtle application of threat, the brute force of physicality, or could it be someone’s will itself working into their brain?

Intoxication - Drugs, alcohol, hormones running rampant and space sex pollen, the senses are not quite lost, but the will to struggle is gone.

“Well, the usual methods didn’t work, so...” - An escalation. What do those above want from the one below, and what will they do to get it?

Life must go on - If there is one thing to be said about life, it is that it comes at the expense of others’.

Power imbalance - So many ways for one to have advantages over the other.

The tables have turned - And so many ways for those advantages to slip from their grasp. Is it revenge or fear that motivates what comes next, or was it an act all along?

Free Day Friday: Blorbo - Is there a character (or more than one) you just need to do something to? Now’s the time to do it. This can be a character from anywhere, including your own head!

Eldritch Horrors - Twisting minds, twisting depths, slithery limbs that shift and grasp and pull you deeper into the madness.

Transformation - Becoming comes with pain, with loss. What skin do you shed, and what steps into new moonlight?

Captivity - How long has it been? Does the sound of your captor getting closer bring fear or hope. Has it been long enough to become joy?

Possession - To belong to someone, to have them wash over you, erasing you, becoming you. Did you ask for this? Does it matter?

Taboo - Polite, civilised people don’t do these sorts of things. But some choose not to care.

“You didn’t think I was going to touch you, did you...?” - Is that contempt you hear, pity? Or the threat of something else out of sight? Don’t they know how cruel it is to play with your emotions?

Free Day Friday: Philia - Got a kink or a paraphilia? Is there never enough content for it? You know what to do.

Lost and ‘Alone’ - You could die out here if you can’t find humans soon. Maybe that would be better.

Heaven and Hell - The rapture of being utterly known, utterly loved. The exquisite torture of the very same.

It was an accident! - You swear you didn’t mean to do it. Some might even believe you.

“That’ll teach you where to put your fucking fingers” - Consequences, a touch unwanted, a thief, a rebellion. Teach them better.

No one will believe you - There’s no one to help, no one to trust, do you even believe yourself?

Make a mess - There won’t be anything left pretty after this.

Free Day Friday: Creature - Monsters, beasts, cryptids galore. We can’t let those humans think they run the show.

Overwhelmed - There’s too much, too much. You can’t scream, you can’t think. you can’t breathe. When will it be over?

You got yourself into this mess - It is your fault, but did you deserve this? Could anyone?

Death - A simple thing, in the end.

Disgust - Things that slither and ooze, the constant decay of the earth beneath your feet. The things that make us sick, so we turn our heads and do our best to forget.

Why did nobody listen? - A threat ignored, the devastation wrought. Will you survive it alone, to remember their folly? Or will it consume you as well?

Healing, or so they say - Why did it hurt to be fixed. Did they make you perfect just to ruin you again?

Free Day Friday: True Freedom - Write anything you want! Anything.

#sintember #sintember 2022 #sintember prompts #sintember prompts 2022

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knot-ilus · 2 years

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Maternal Obsession

The first piece of fiction I've sat down to write and finish in years, and my first written piece for @sintember 's month of delightfully sinful prompts ^^ !

Day 1: Obsession - Love? Hate? Lust? Fear? Worship? Whatever the case, it’s all they can think about.

Featuring: original characters, a mother/underaged son pairing. Word count: 1k

Warnings: explicit sexual content, incest, (extremely) underage, medical neglect, rape, infantalization, fantasizing about cannibalism, descriptions of being pregnant and complications while giving birth.

This work isn't for everyone and contains material that may be upsetting, so please be careful if you decide to read it and let me know if there's any other warnings I need to add. Thank you! –🪢

———

These days, nothing ever seems to be enough for her.

It isn't enough to hold him close, the peak of her breast held in his mouth while his prick prods against her hip. It isn't enough to feel joined at the place he came from, either, to know that at least part of him had returned to her– she wants more. She wants him to climb back into her warmth, to be a part of her again... It's cruel that the two of them had ever been seperated in the first place, she thinks with a forlorn sigh.

"Mama?" Her baby's voice stirs her from her thoughts and she smiles, cupping his cheek as she meets his sleepy gaze. He gives her a small, concerned frown as he continues, "you looked sad just now."

"I was just thinking about something silly," she dismisses, kissing his forehead and letting her hand drift down to stroke along his spine. She's a firm believer that skin-on-skin contact is just as important six years into a child's life as it was on day one. And she takes every precaution she can to make sure no one has the opportunity to tell her otherwise. "...do you remember the story of how you were born, baby?"

"Uh-huh," he says with a little grin, having heard it a million times but seeming to enjoy retelling it as much she does. "I grew really big in your belly, because you didn't want me to leave, and I didn't, either."

"They had to take you out of me by force," she continues the story, her eyes misting a bit as she hugs him closer. It didn't matter how many times they went over the story together, the memory would never fail to make her emotional. "That's how much we loved being together. That's how close we still are, baby..."

He hugs her back, and her heart aches at the size and strength of his arms. He's always growing bigger, always soaring past milestones that make him less dependant on her– the quacks at the pediatrician clinic had said that he was actually behind his peers in terms of development, but she stopped taking him there. She's going to cling to every last bit of the baby in her baby boy, thank you very much. She'll never let go, never–

"Mama," he whispers, soft but still enough to ground her again. Her precious little anchor, her everything... He pecks her lips, holding her face in his chubby fingers. "Do you want me to go back in?"

She wants to cry at his thoughtfulness, at how he always seems to know just what she wants. Right on cue, he kisses her mouth again, holding still for her to kiss back and sob a bit into it.

"Yes, baby," she manages, smiling as she nuzzles his cheek and rearranges them so that his hips are slotted between her thighs. He purses his lips into that cute little pout he always makes when he's focusing, and already she feels the feeling of desperate need begin to ebb. The tension in her muscles melts further as the tip of his cock nudges against her opening, and she coos, "Right where you belong..."

She spreads her lips, guiding him forward by his buttocks to slip right inside of her, and he whimpers at the sensation of being engulfed by her warmth. She wraps her legs and arms around him, wriggling her hips to feel him press against her inner walls. A tiny squeak leaves his lips at the movement, and she relishes in the way he presses even closer, closer still...

She misses how he used to press against her from the inside, his tiny feet playfully exploring the walls of her womb. She misses being able to hold one hand to her ever-extending tummy, the other on her clit, while imagining he could feel all the pleasure that she could. She wasn't exaggerating when she said the hospital staff had forced him out of her– they'd graciously kept it off of her files, chalking it up to the delirious urges of a single mother giving birth alone, but nobody in the roomed missed it when she reached down and tried to keep her baby from crowning.

What wouldn't she do to keep him as close as possible? Every year he's bound to grow more independent, more eager to leave her side... She unconsciously digs her fingers into his soft, perfect skin as she contemplates making sure he can never leave. She could eat him bit by bit until his body becomes part of hers once more... She'd swallow him whole if she could, if only to feel her stomach bulge outward at the size of him again, the two of them becoming as inseperable as the day he first formed within her womb--

Her baby cums with his prick buried as deeply inside of her warmth as it can reach, his cry of pleasure muffled against her skin. The intimacy of the act tips her over the edge she'd already been narrowly balanced on, having become excited by her ever-spiraling fantasies. She groans softly in satisfaction, kissing the side of his head and ear over and over again until he squirms from overstimulation, releasing him with a chuckle.

"Mama, it's all wet, now," he gasps with a giggle, caught between wanting to pull his cock away from the intense stimulation of her cunt and wanting to hide it away from the cooler air of their bedroom.

"I'll keep it warm while I get the bath ready, okay?" She promises, gently cupping his crotch as she lifts him up and into her arms-- her perfect baby is still small enough to carry, she notes with glee. "After that, it's time for breakfast and then we'll continue your lessons."

"Okay!" He lets her carry him as always, taking a moment to affectionately press his cheek against her collarbone, and her heart melts.

The world might do everything in its power to seperate them, hell– time itself seems to be an enemy of what they have together. But for now her sweet baby is just as eager to be close to her as she is to him, and she'll cherish every second of it.

#sintember 2022 #first prompt done ^^ !!#wr🪢ting #Cw within post

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primed-and-prompt · 2 years

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A submission for @sintember Day #2! Focusing on my favorite little sharpshooter, Prompto! It's a bit tame, but I had fun writing this little fic.

#fanfic #ao3 #ffxv fanfic #ffxv #ffxv prompto #sintember 2022 #prompt fill #final fantasy xv #prompto argentum #ficlet

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highonmarvel · 8 months

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The Other Side

Searching for your Stephen, you find another, and he won’t let you go this time.

An entry for Day 4 of the exciting @sintember challenge!

Prompt: The Other Side, ft Sinister Dr Strange of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Dr Strange in the Multiverse of Madness (2022).

Warnings: DUB-CON!, possessive behaviour, developing Stockholm Syndrome. 18+! [And I haven’t watched Dr Strange in so long, please pretend I know what I’m doing.]

You had lost Stephen and America, and you were now left in a crumbling world, a universe broken, with no way to get home. Based on the wrecked state of the world, you thought there wasn’t a Dr Strange here, that he had been defeated and his opponent left ruin. Though he wasn’t your Stephen, the thought still deeply upset you, that Stephen could be defeated, and maybe yours would be.

You push open the door of the Sanctum, you want to call out to him but you know there’s no point. The heavy door falls shut behind you. All the antiques and strange paintings and ornaments that once decorated the foyer have been shattered, some are deteriorating, and a dark mist floats through the cold temple, enveloping you, nearly strangling you, you feel.

Upstairs. You know you have to head to the Window of the Worlds.

You walk to the window, engraved with the Seal of Vishanti. It’s cracked, black lines not belong to the symbol run in all directions across the glass, that has a purple tint, nearly a faint violet glow. You want to touch it, when you hear your name whispered.

You spin, and there stands Stephen. Not your Stephen. This Stephen is… different: he looks older, streaks of grey paint his dark hair, with sunken eyes.

“Stephen!” you call, taking a step forward, “Or, Dr Strange, I need your help, please.”

“You’re here,” he murmurs, slowly walking towards you.

“I- I am,” you sputter, a little confused and off put by his trance-like demeanour, as his curious eyes never leave you, “I lost Stephen—my Stephen—and I need to get back.”

“I am your Stephen.” his voice is so low, so low you wouldn’t have heard it were you even a notch below the level of hyper-awareness he’s activated in you.

He steps into the light, and you gasp and take a step back. Visually, he’s not much different to the average person, but his eyes are dark, a familiar blue you once knew sealed up in an endless black; you can’t read them as he continues to walk towards you. You still.

He stops in front of you, and raises shaky hands to cup your face, his lips parted slightly as his foreign dark gaze analyses every inch of your face. His fingers are cold, ice cold, so cold they burn, like dry ice; you wince at the contact but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“No,” you whisper, “No, I’m not yours, and you’re not my…”

You raise your hands to gently grasp his wrists, and freeze when you see it. His fingertips are darkened, stained with a black so profound, so dangerous in sheer aura that you know what it’s from.

“Stephen?”

He’s been tampering with the Dark Hold, the book of sins so evil you barely know of it, just the name elicits chills; Stephen, your Stephen, barely discussed it, he never did until he found out about the Scarlet Witch’s use, and even still he said very little; you got the feeling that though his knowledge seemed limitless, he knew little here, and very deliberately he kept himself in the dark, because if he knew, he’d indulge.

And indulge he has, this sinister Stephen holding your face gently in his hands, as if these hands haven’t caused unfathomable destruction. You should have known—you knew—that Dr Strange could not be defeated. He wasn’t conquered, never could he be: he conquered.

“That’s me,” he smiles and reassures you. Though his eyes and fingers are stained, that boyish smile you know to be yours is the same as ever.

“What did you do?” is all you can muster in a shaky breath, a tear slipping down your cheek, he watches it fall.

“I did what was necessary, and you…” he strains his voice to prevent himself from choking on his words and he smooths a calloused finger over your skin, wiping away the single tear that had spilt, “You were gone.”

His eyes soften, and, despite the cold of his hands, they’re warm, his eyes, his body too, you notice, noting he’s much closer to you than you realised, and definitely too close for comfort. You don’t even know if you can call him insane, mad with power, and furthermore, you can’t tell what he meant by…

A cold hand snakes over your shoulder and his fingers grasps the back of your neck, pulling you towards him. When he kisses you, you stiffen, but, really, for barely a second, because his lips, they feel so familiar. This man is like your Stephen, you can feel it, but you see a different image; he’s like your Stephen if he had no self control, or even just a little less than he has now.

The thought hits you: you could never deny Stephen. Even if you could, say, by the grace of some higher power, even if you could walk away, Stephen always gets what he wants. There isn’t even a higher power you can turn to: there is no power higher than Stephen.

“You’ve come back to me.”

What can you even say? You’re sure he isn’t delusional, you’re sure he knows you’re not his, and you’re sure he doesn’t care. You nearly resign to your fate, but the thought burns you so hot you hurriedly blurt out,

“What happened to her?”

To you. Did he…?

He doesn’t answer, he stays gazing into your eyes, a sombre-looking but relieved smile on his face, like he’s reconciling the fact that he was wrong; he’s never wrong, but he never thought he would see you again. He simply repeats, “You’ve come back to me.”

“Stephen, no,” you state, firmly, yanking his hands off your face and holding his wrists down between you two. He seems mildly shocked, you’re sure he would have been able to overpower you if he you didn’t catch him slightly off guard. But no, you should know you could never be apart from him, whether you want to or not.

Magic ropes wrap around your wrists, tying a knot and pulling them close together, so tight you wouldn’t be surprised if they sliced your hands off. Stephen’s magic is golden, pure, this man—you don’t even want to call him Stephen—his magic is corrupt; purple, with black shadows swirling the violet pulses emitting from the shapes he draws.

You panic, forcing your head down to look at your bound wrists and then snapping your head back up to him. You open your mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a shrill little squeal as you’re lifted a few centimetres off the ground. The same purple and black vines wrap around your ankles, forcing them together.

You notice this is the first time you’ve been above him, floating just high enough for him to have to raise his chin to study you. You always thought this would give you some kind of dominance (fleeting and artificial as it may be), to be over him, but no, you never stood a fucking chance.

You barely struggle, afraid that if you shift around too much you’ll drop to the ground, so all you can do is be still as he circles you, examining you. Another thing; he doesn’t seem to just look at you, he studies you, like looking for flaws in a sculpture. What happens if he finds them?

“You know,” he finally speaks after several minutes of inspecting you, “All this…” he turns you towards the window. There’s a rift in the sky, with seemingly everything in it, everything in existence, it’s overwhelming, “I did for you, honey.”

He’s lying, he must be; though you can imagine yourself getting a little carried away now and then, in no universe could you ever see a version of yourself prepared to bring about mass destruction, the ends of literally infinite lives, no; you may be imperfect, but the collapse of an entire universe? He’s either lying or being intentionally ambiguous. Maybe he’s not lying, just misleading.

“You didn’t; you did it for her,” you half-lie; while it’s true he could only have done this for a different version of you, you doubt she would have authorised that, but you use her as sort of a scapegoat anyway.

He flicks his fingers and you spin to face him. He lowers you just enough so you’re at eye level, and despite your best efforts, you genuinely can not read his gaze; you can’t find any hint of what he may be feeling, it’s just a void, but it’s not, it’s not a void; you know there’s something there, something you’re missing.

You’re sure he’s going to say something, maybe continue his little game of pretending you’re his, but just as you anticipate the opening of his mouth, you violently spin again, this time towards the door, with a shriek. He walks in front you, and you follow behind, like you’re being pulled by a rope, like a dog on a leash who’s trying to play with something when the owner is fed up and wants to go home.

His bedroom door slams shut behind you and you’re lowered onto bed with a gentleness the human touch could never give, his magic softly laying you like you’re the most precious thing, and based on the look he’s giving you, you damn well might be.

Your soft rest hazes your mind for a moment, but you’re snapped back to the cold of the Sanctum when you feel him hover over you.

“I’ve missed you…” he whispers.

You don’t know when your pants came off, but you feel him run a practiced finger over your clothed slit. Oh, God, he feels exactly like your Stephen; the foreignness of his eyes and slight change in demeanour don’t seem to mean anything when he still feels exactly the same, it’s fucking with your mind.

You love your Stephen, more than anything, and you know this isn’t him. You try to push him off but when he slips a finger inside of you, you can’t help the shudder that vibrates through you.

Can I get Stockholm Syndrome so easy? you wonder to yourself, more berate yourself, as you try desperately to ignore the feeling of his fingers inside of you, moving in and out just the way you like, he knows what you like, he knows your body just the way Stephen does.

Because he is Stephen.

#sintember 2023 #sinister strange x reader #dark! dr strange x reader #dark!dr strange x reader #dark!doctor strange #dark stephen strange #dark!stephen strange #dr strange smut

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sasusc · 2 years

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Decided to write a little quick something for Sintember 2022.

Title: Mine

Author: Sasusc

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Pairing: Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene

Rating: M

Summary: Written for Sintember 2022, Prompt Day 13 "Possession". Pure smut, PWP. Beth Greene belongs to Daryl and everyone will know it now.

#sintember 2022 #bethyl #beth and daryl #daryl dixon #bethyl fanfic #beth greene #team delusional #beth lives #shameless smut

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elsecrytt · 2 years

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Elsey's Bingo Card of Darkness

I already posted this on twitter, and this is (mooostly) for a bunch of writer mutuals I have on there who are too busy to commit to the whole kinktober thing, but DO like the prompt lists.

However!! I do know a lot of great writers on here! So I might as well throw it out here! Anyone can participate ofc, it's just that the prizes are there to motivate my beloved mutuals sdkfgjhkljhsg

As the name suggests - this prompt list contains some really dark themes! It's not quite for everyone! I don't expect many people to participate - but I'll be happy if they do~

Here are the two promptlists that I pulled the prompts from! Check them out because they are absolutely AMAZING!

Sintember:

Kinktober:

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yandere-sins · 2 years

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so i found this year's kinktober list and fell absolutely, completely, irrevocably in love so thats what im doing until the end of october i guess.

HOWEVER... right afterwards someone linked me this "sintember" list which i dont have TIME for bc kinktober but kdjhflkshdgfhdsg OH MY GOOOOOD THE PROMPTS OH MY GOD THE PROOOOMPTS

https://sintember.tumblr.com/post/693029747505184768/sintember-2022-prompts

Elseyyyyyyyyyyyy what did you dooooooooo??????? D:

I wanted to make my own list again this year but this one is so good, how am I supposed to top it????

Today? You brought me disaster. Tomorrow? Who knows. Hotel? Trivago.

#Admin #hrhrhrhhrrhhrrh it's so good tho?????#Not sure if the creator intended so much yan possibility but ho boi #i love it #imma kiss it #and imma kiss you elsey for showing me it #now...#give me the kinktober list too #i want all the prompts #pretty please?

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highonmarvel · 8 months

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You didn’t need that, did you?

Steve Kemp: You meet a man at the bar who loves your thighs.

An entry for Day 3 of the exciting @sintember challenge!

Prompt: You didn’t need that, did you?, ft Steve Kemp, Fresh (2022).

Warnings: Complete filth; very subtle cannibalistic tendencies; implied surgical mutilation. 18+!

An hour you had been sitting on an uncomfortable barstool, slowly sipping on drinks. You don’t even know why you came, maybe you thought it would be fun, maybe you thought you’d meet someone; neither of those was the case.

You drop your head on your shoulder, face to the right at the stool that had been empty seconds ago, you could have sworn. You startle slightly at the sight, though you’re not unpleasantly surprised; a man with odd cerulean eyes, a sharp jawline and a debonair smirk has his head tilted your way.

“Did I scare you?”

He asks. It seems lighthearted, you know it is, but really deep in your stomach you feel a twist of some kind, barely, though, your senses hyper focused on how he’s making you feel with his hungry gaze. Hungry.

“A little,” you admit with a small smile, taking the last sip of your drink.

He lets out a breathy laugh and offers, “Can I buy you another?”

Steve, is his name, and for the rest of the night, he’s absolutely magnetic as he speaks, but you can barely comprehend what he’s saying, trying desperately to keep the conversation going when there’s just this burning between your legs. You shift uncomfortably, trying to get some form of friction, subtly. He had to have noticed.

You hadn’t even noticed how close he was until he brushes his fingers over your knee, just under the hem of your dress, and your sentence is cut off with a choked gasp; you can tell by the amused smirk on his face he’s having fun with this, but you can’t even find it in you to spew a witty remark when all you can think about is how good he would feel.

You shift once more a little closer to him, trying to get his hands to budge up a little further. He smooths his palms over the sides of your knees and up your thighs; hooking his fingers under your flesh, he rubs soothing circles with his thumbs.

“You’re burning up,” he notes, maybe more to himself than to you, yet steel blue eyes holding you hostage with that heated gaze; you swear his pupils have dilated.

You can’t respond, afraid if you open your mouth it’ll only be a pathetic whimper that comes out, but you don’t need to.

He changes his circular movements to the opposite direction. He leans in so close it scares you how little self control you’re working on right now.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says. Maybe that fact it didn’t even sound like a question should have you hearing faint alarm bells, but all you can hear is your own heartbeat and his low voice.

You’re nodding in earnest before he’s even finished his sentence, and soon you’re both rushing out the bar. You slide into the passenger seat of an expensive looking car you can’t care to name as you wonder how on earth you’re gonna control yourself on the drive.

You give him your address and soon he’s got you up against your bedroom wall, harsh breaths being exchanged between heated kisses as his hands roam your body.

He practically throws you onto the bed and you giggle, bouncing once before he’s pulled you by your ankles, legs hanging over the edge of the bed as he rests his head between your thighs.

He runs his palms over your thighs, admiring them like they’re perfectly sculpted.

“Fuck, you’re so soft…” he drawls as he presses kisses to your inner thighs, rubbing his cheeks across your supple flesh. He bites you and you jerk, hands flying to his hair and tugging, just trying to get his mouth to where it needs to be, you’re fucking soaked.

He runs his hands up and then down your sides and grips your hips harsh enough to leave half moon dents in your skin you’re sure you’ll see the marks of tomorrow, as he pulls your heat closer to him.

“I know you taste good…”

…

The next morning you wake up sore; an ache between your legs was to be expected, but this was a dull throbbing from the top of your right leg. You reach a hand down to feel it, but running your hand down you stop short, your fingers falling to a mattress—a mattress that had to have been thinner than yours—your leg ending much sooner than you expected, much soon that it should.

You gasp and sit up with much effort, throwing a thin white sheet off of you to get a look at your right thigh.

At the sound of a shifting chair your head snaps up; Steve is seated by a door, leaning forward towards you.

“You didn’t need that, did you?”

♯

#sintember 2023 #steve kemp x reader #dark steve kemp x reader #dark steve kemp x you #dark!steve kemp #dark steve kemp #steve kemp x y/n #dark!steve kemp x reader #steve kemp smut

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