#multifandom kinktober

[letternotekisses]

Kinktober 2025: Day 4 - Dryhumping with The Intruder

cw: the intruder, probably ooc and bad cuz it’s my first time writing for ninah, dub-con, blackmail

You’d become familiar with him.

The tall stranger with arms too long and pale skin just a little too…loose.

Always lingering just outside the window, waiting for you to pull open the blinds and cast your gaze over him. If you knew any better, you’d think he was preening under your attention, always inching ever closer the following day.

You wondered if he enjoyed torturing you.

Did he find sick joy in keeping you up with the piercing fear that he may finally give up this game and come smashing through the thin glass separating you both? Or was he just there to flavour his food with terror until you offered yourself up willingly?

You found that he always came to the door not long after FEMA snatched another of your residents, perhaps to soak up your misery, maybe to revel in your fear of being alone.

And when they took the last one?

He was there.

His knock shallow and empty of a tune, not a single shred of human creation behind the sound.

The door hangs open, limp and swinging until he stops the fragile wood with his foot, a tilt on his head and an unsettling smile stretched wide on his thin lips.

“Are you giving up?”

His smile doesn’t fade, nor does his head right itself. Your head is bowed, waiting. Now all on your lonesome, you know what comes next.

“Get it over with.” You spit, gun falling pathetically to the floor beside you, his eyes tracking the movements joyfully. “I’m alone, am I not?”

He bends down slowly to meet your eyes, his spine contorting in an inhuman manner. The action dragged out, probably just to frighten you.

“I am here, dear homeowner.” He drawls, watching your face intently, “Do you not enjoy my visits?”

Your breath staggers as you try to bark out a no, his long, gangly arms surrounding you from behind and forcing you ever closer into his presence. His fingers, dexterous and lengthy, sink their grip into the soft and tender flesh of your inner thighs, parting them and bringing you to meet his pelvis. And worse?

You let him.

“It appears otherwise…” He breathes, heavy and excited just below the lobe of your ear, admiring that human warmth between your legs. “Pretty.”

He shifts, eyes rolling up into his skull and a ragged noise of delight leaving him. You’re taunted by the tent in his jeans, splattered with blood as it begins to transfer between your thighs.

You shudder, hands coming to rest upon his own, “Are you going to kill me?”

He pauses all movement, peering down at you with perfect teeth revealed.

“Entertain me.” He croons, grip tightening around you. “And I may choose differently.”

[letternotekisses]

Kinktober 2025: Day 16 - Voyeurism with The Intruder

cw: voyeurism, stalking, ‘wooing’, descriptions of murder and gore, the intruder, probably ooc. I’ve already done voyeurism but fuck it have another :p

You’d gotten used to him outside your home.

Always watching, always waiting. You'd fallen into tandem with him, constantly dancing around that one little question when he eventually showed up at your front door instead of outside the window mere metres away. And yet, his smile no longer dropped when you told him the same old, same old.

"No, I'm not alone."

It was almost like he knew. That he showed up just for the sake of seeing you in person rather than through a pane of glass, grinning and leering, latching on to every word that fell from your warm, very much human lips.

As if he liked you. As if he'd grown fond of the little human guarding their homestead and the weary townsfolk hiding inside it. As if he took joy and pleasure out of making your skin crawl.

For weeks the pale man had tried to woo you, propping up dead and bloodied FEMA soldiers for you to see - including the small squadron that had taken your neighbours little girl away from you.

You'd cried for days, worried sick about her. And that's exactly when they'd started to appear. Heads on fences, bodies in bits and blood streaking the dirt, their corpses soon burning into nothingness when morning came. The flowers he'd sewn into them crumpled and tainted with the smell of singed meat.

You felt sick. And so, you stopped answering him.

His knock was ever so distinct, heavy and flat, as if he was using the palm of his gigantic hand rather than a curled fist.

And sometimes, he'd stand there all night. Scaring any potential humans or visitors away from your door simply by lurking on the porch, a petty action, just to get you to open the door.

It's on the sixth week that he finally stops. You listen out for him, ears tuned and chest tight with trapped breaths, and yet, he doesn't come. Perhaps the pale man had grown bored of you, leaving you fully alone for the first time in over a month.

It's why you chance it.

Everyone else is asleep and you hadn't touched yourself in...forever.

Pleasures of the flesh long forgotten once the sun burning had taken over the world, but now, there's a moment of peace. A stirring between your legs as you sink onto soft mattress, a gap of moonlight illuminating the room as you kick your underwear away. It's perfect.

The action is almost tentative, if you'd forgotten what to do after all this time. But when your fingers meet flesh, excitement leads you through. Eyes rolling back into your head when you find yourself so slick, so ready, fingers dipping inside and emerging even wetter than before. It's slow, meditated, just for you and nobody else.

Which is why your heart stops flat when something taps against your window.

Heavy, flat, like an open palm rather than a curled fist.

And there he is, in all his glory. Thin lips stretched obscenely wide over his blaringly white teeth, his gigantic form crowded against your window - hunched over so he can see every little inch of you. You should have known better than to ever think that he left. Merely relocated somewhere closer. Closer to you.

You're frozen, still pulsing around your own fingers as the pale man's excited breathing fogs up the window. He's playing, because both of you know the strength he possessed, the ability to shatter the thin pane of glass separating you and take what he wants the most. In his eyes, you see the quiet rage - he wasn't happy about your ignorance, but it could be dealt with later.

All he could do now was think about how much better he could do. He was bigger than you. Fingers longer, thicker. He could give you exactly what you needed.

A much better gift, leagues better than another FEMA agent's head.

[letternotekisses]

Kinktober 2025: Day 8 - Size Difference with Mauga

cw: nsfw towards the end, size difference, sparring, domination, afab reader, bad writing D:

It was no secret that Mauga was a large man.

You’d seen it with your own two eyes. Watched him squeeze through doorways, make chairs creak like haunted houses when he sits down, watched him haul those heavy chain guns around like it was nothing. Truthfully, you were a little smitten.

It’s a good thing he liked throwing you around.

You’re always so happy to spar with him, so eager to offer yourself up when no one else will get in that ring with a man thrice their size. Everyone always scuttles out of the room in fear of watching him pop you like a grape, new recruits always so squeamish and fearful. A little thing like you? You wouldn’t survive a minute with Mauga.

…Or so they thought.

Having the training room to yourselves so often led to more than just sparring, the extra privacy almost just a little too enticing. It was thrilling to never know which one of you would be outmatched, giving one another a run for your money more often than not. But it all usually ended in a similar way.

If you won, you got to run things your way.

Usually having Mauga flat on his back on the mat, belt askew and trousers bunched around his powerful thighs as you lower yourself down onto him at a torturous pace, velvet walls squeezing his fat cock and making him throb deep inside.

There’s something so gratifying about watching his muscles flex below you, knowing that you have a powerhouse like him at your mercy. The thrill of knowing that both you and Mauga know what he’s capable of, but he doesn’t dare stop you. Letting you enjoy yourself with nothing but a sharp grin on his face - all teeth.

And when he wins? He always intends to bury the thoughts of what he can do to you deep inside that pretty head of yours.

Bending you into positions that has your head melting, making you drool into the mat as your teeth make indents into the thick material, trying not to scream loud enough to attract the attention of the rookies outside.

Mauga makes a point. Letting you know that whatever control you think you had is gone, forcing whines and gasps from your lips with each heavy impaction of his balls against your ass, slick coating his cock from your umpteenth orgasm. Each time is different, a challenge to see what pathetic plea he can pull out of you this time.

His favourite is when he gets you into a prone bone, unable to escape the aching stretch of his monstrous cock between your legs. Pretty, overstimulated tears glimmering in those eyes when he hooks a beefy arm under your delicate throat to keep you from slouching. Growling past kisses into your skin, murmuring mocking praises against your bruised and tender body.

It’s safe to say that your routine is tiring, but it’s all worth it in the end to see the awed faces of the trainees when you make it out of the training room alive, sporting nothing but a limp and a few bruises.

They whisper as you walk past, rumouring, all the while you’re heading for the showers, knowing a certain Samoan is following close behind.

[letternotekisses]

Kinktober 2025: Day 10 - Forced Marriage with Eddie Gluskin

cw: afab reader, it’s outlast so tread carefully, dub-con, forced marriage, slight size difference, bad writing D:

The same hands that stitched the fabric were also the very ones ripping it apart.

His craftsmanship was beautiful, elegant white fabric layered perfectly, complimented with a sweetheart neckline and white lace sleeves. Modest, beautiful, unbeknownst to anyone where he’d gotten the materials. As if he’d spent all the time in the world creating it for you. And in a mind like his, he probably had.

Your wedding was brief, his suit splattered with what seemed to be the blood of the reporter who’d tried to save you, who’d ended up down an elevator shaft for the result of his efforts. But Eddie was still smiling, all teeth bared sharply on display as his wife came sniffling down the aisle, a lamb destined to the slaughter.

Not at all like what you had dreamed for yourself as a little girl.

But he’d made an effort. Tried to make you feel pretty, and happy. Practically dragging the corners of your lips up to form a smile, claiming that you’d cheer up once the evening rolled around and the joys of marriage settled in. His hands heavy and intimate as they trailed down your arms in the mirror, tracking the detailing of the pure lace covering your flesh.

But all you could see was the trail of death that followed him. The blood matted into old scraps of wedding dresses crumpled into corners. A looming sense of dread hanging over your head in case you stepped out of line. Now that you were ‘married’, how easily would he turn on you?

In comparison to your husband, you felt almost fragile. His grasp around your hip, your wrist, all fully loaded with the capability of breaking bone.

But what scared you the most is the fact it never came.

His touch was fluid, gentle. Fingers dragging themselves up your skin to marvel at you, as if he’d finally got all he wanted in the world. You couldn’t help but feel a little appreciated, fear and arousal looping themselves into knots in your brain as Eddie’s touch dropped lower, and lower. His hands sinking into silk garters, lascivious noises tumbling from his mouth as if it were the most sinful thing in the world.

He palms at your flesh without the intent of delivering harm. Hand coming to cup the entirety of your cunt under your dress, pulling at the stitching that separated him from his prize. His work, falling gently to the floor in tattered rags all because of you.

An evil man, your husband. How you tried fruitlessly to remind yourself, how terrible and depraved he was.

How he’d forced you into this dress, shuffled you up the alter and squeezed this ring onto your finger.

But yet, it all came crashing down the moment his head fell between your legs, intent on preparing you for the consummation of your blessed union.

To start the family, he’d always wanted.

[letternotekisses]

Kinktober 2025: Day 3 - Breeding & The Trapper

cw: breeding kink/talk, mention of blood, slight size difference, penis description? idk what this is I was just really horny for trapper

He was coated in it, from his fingertips to his elbows.

You watched Evan with dutiful eyes, admitting the way his thick fingers cracked open heavy metal jaws and the way his biceps flexed in tandem to memory.

You should feel shameful, really.

The stains coating him were from your friends, maimed and hurting, he positively reeked of their fear - their agony.

And all you could do was marvel at the nice protective layer of fat stretched over all that muscle on him. Something light and fuzzy swimming around in that brain of yours, plush thighs coming together instinctively.

You want him. No, you need him. And he’s all too happy to deliver.

His hand comes to guide you, thick fingers splayed wide on your waist, dirtying your soft flesh with blood and grime.

“Finally come to your senses, little birdie?”

He can smell it on you. All those hormones primed and ready, inviting him in like a delicious scent on the wind. You stink of a bitch in heat, offering your belly up to the bear the first chance you get.

“Gonna let me breed that pretty cunt?”

Your answer is simple, whining and grinding against him with such needy fervour that makes Evan snarl, hot and heavy against the inside of his jagged mask as he fishes his cock free from its confines. The heat of it against your skin so intense you can’t help but sneak a glance over your shoulder.

It’s big.

Undeniably thick with a nice juicy vein running up the underside, dipping under its own weight and drooling viscous pre cum onto the cold floor below you both. You shudder as he pulls your cheeks apart, the fat tip kissing your wet hole before he squeezes himself inside, head swimming when his weighty balls settle themselves fully against your backside.

You can’t help but let your eyes roll, cheek pressed against the dirty surface of his workbench. Stuffed full, Evan gives the plush meat of your ass a hefty slap, the noise resounding loudly in the basement and making you jolt back against his cock.

“Better show me just how much you want it, mama.”

[letternotekisses]

Kinktober 2025: Day 6 - Sex Pollen with Moira

cw: sex pollen/aphrodisiac, restraints, dub-con, mildly nsfw, afab reader, assistant reader mentioned!!!

You trusted Moira.

And sometimes, you wonder if that’s a bad idea.

Like now, for instance, with your hands strapped down to the chair by thick leather bands and your back pressed firm against comfy white cushions. Her lab was pristine like always, and she’d made an effort to at least make you comfortable, even if she was tightening the straps a little too hard.

Her experiments weren’t always harmless, but she’d promised that this one was, always ever so eager to get you under her knife. You’d only ever agreed to this one because you were doubly curious about the new concoction she’d whipped up, and out of plants, no less!

You try your best to stay calm and still as she fusses over a table behind you, your heart running in your chest like a frantic little rabbit. But you’re immediately deflated when all she produces is what looks like a perfume bottle, smooth, pink and complete with a little ornate handle that controlled the amount dispensed.

Love her or hate her, she was admittedly good at her craft.

“Now,” She purrs, giving your restraints one last firm tug, “This won’t hurt one bit.”

You’re about to hurriedly take back your agreement when she suddenly spritzes a plume of the pink dust into your face. It’s almost wickedly sweet, coating your tongue, lips and nostrils and undoubtedly filling them with its saccharine scent. You can’t help but lick your lips, the taste even sweeter.

“Are you sure this is safe?” You cough, skin growing warm and clammy and Moira’s presence becoming ever…enticing.

“Of course,” She drawls, perfectly manicured nails trailing down your belly, like a wolf gutting a rabbit. “I’d never harm our favourite secretary.”

Moira smiles, all teeth, and you whine.

“There we go.” She praises, delight glimmering in her eyes. “Feeling cozy?”

Your immediate response is to pull at the straps, just as she predicted, your hair sticking to your sweat slicked skin as you ache for freedom, ache to be able to touch yourself.

“Now, now.” She chastises, dipping her fingers below the band of your skirt, swiping the pads across the gusset of your panties, withdrawing just as you begin to arch, crying out for more of her touch. Her fingers are coated in your arousal, like sugary syrup from a juicy fig.

“How delightful.” Moira muses, scrutinising each symptom you seemed to present - all of which to her liking.

“P-please, Moira.” You pant, squirming as if trying wriggle your way out of your binds. “Please just—“

She slips her hand back beneath the tight band of your pencil skirt, silencing your cries by softly circling your clit. A torturous pace, your wrists flexing and pulling at the leather binding you.

Her eyes remained locked tightly on your face, waiting for an expression, a sound, anything. And when you cum in mere seconds, shiny, overstimulated tears falling down your cheeks, her eyes glimmer with interest and just a smidgen of delight.

She grins, wolfish and mean, her finger finally slipping inside your slick, twitchy hole.

“Let’s see if we can pull one more from you, hm?”

…You had a feeling you’d be here a while.

[letternotekisses]

Kinktober 2025: Day 14 - Panty Stealing with Sigma

cw: panty stealing/sniffing, slight creepy behaviours, older man/younger woman, bad writing D:

He feels desperate like this.

Unable to help himself, clinging onto scraps of your scent, holding onto the way your hair tickled his nose when you squeezed past him in the hall like the memory might slip through his fingers should he let it go.

Siebren knew that it was bad, what he was doing. Sifting through your laundry until he found the one thing he wanted, the scent of your detergent still clinging to his fingertips as he ducks out of your room, breast pocket considerably fuller.

He’s sick.

Plagued with the one thing a doctor like him couldn’t cure, perversion creeping into his mind and sinking its claws in deep until he couldn’t do anything but ache with want. A deep seated need, for you. The little lab assistant he knew he couldn’t have.

So soft, so smart and so diligent. He couldn’t ruin you, couldn’t open you up to what a perverted old man your mentor was. He’d never forgive himself.

The lace rubs softly against his fingers, thumbing the material as his cock strains against his thigh. A soft, debauched groan leaving his lips when he brings the fabric to his nose, the sweet white peach of your detergent filling his nose, a hint of your scent clinging to the fabric that sends Siebren dizzy.

He wants you. Over the desk. Over his lap. Against any wall in this fucking lab. He wants it bad and he can’t fucking have it.

He glances at the clock, only a short time frame until you’d come back with tea for you both. A bright, brilliant smile on your beautiful face.

A slim window where you could catch him with his pants round his ankles, spilling his load into your panties and whispering your name like a god given solace as he tugs the soaked material around his spent cock, milking himself for all he’s worth.

You’d think him dirty. Think old, perverse. A shudder running through him when you step through the door mere minutes after he’d stuffed your cum streaked underwear back into his pocket. His eyes tracking your every movement, as if you could smell the want on him, fingers brushing as you pass him over his tea.

What a shame it would be to lose such an assistant over his inability to control himself.

[letternotekisses]

Kinktober 2025: Day 11 - Wireplay With Zenyatta

cw: more fluff than anything, tiny spicy at the end, slight religious guilt? I got stuck :(

You and Zenyatta were close, both figuratively and literally.

You meditated together, walked together. He would accompany you while you ate and watch over you when you slept. It was peaceful, intimate, like you’d been alongside each other all your lives and it was second nature to you both.

It had people rumouring, guessing as to which point the dynamic of mentor and student had been blurred over.

You were always curious of Zenyatta, how his presence put you at ease, your mind physically unable to resist the temptation of his harmony orbs lulling you into a blanketed state of comfort. And he, on the other hand, had developed a strange fondness for you.

A devotion, some would even say.

He wanted your utmost trust, craved for you to fall between his fingers willingly without the instance of his magic. Give yourself up to him, and gain him in full return. The honest threads of your souls, bound together like twine.

Which is why it felt so dirty, so unpure to have you like this on monastery grounds. Your fragile human flesh indented from the intensity of his grasp, soft sighs emanating into the lamplight as your fingers pull deftly at the wiring in his hips.

Zenyatta’s voice is gentle, a debauched, melodic groan leaving him when his fingers glide down between your thighs, feeling warmth, wetness.

Shared bliss, all that he ever wanted from you.