óðinsdagr: Kink

[doreyg.livejournal.com]

Good morning! I remain doreyg and today's theme is Kink. Prompts today can be any sort of kink, from the negotiation to the outright consummation. Remember, the hotter the better!

Also, I hate do this here, but please try to avoid kink/fandom/pairing shaming. If you really don't like a prompt, it's best to just scroll on and keep any judgement to yourself. This is a safe place. And, while I'm sure it probably doesn't need saying, I don't want people to be made to feel ashamed for the things they like.

Just a few rules:
No more than five prompts in a row.
No more than three prompts in the same fandom.
Use the character's full names and fandom's full name for ease adding to the Lonely Prompts spreadsheet.
No spoilers in prompts for a month after airing, or use the spoiler cut option found here.
If your fill contains spoilers, warn and leave plenty of space, or use the above mentioned spoiler cut.

Prompts should be formatted as follows: [Use the character's full names and fandom's full name]
Fandom, Character +/ Character, Prompt

Some kinky examples...
+ Fantastic Four (comics), Johnny Storm/Ben Grimm, being a lump of rock dating a guy that’s on fire means that their relationship is basically nothing but kink
+ Green Lantern (comics), Thaal Sinestro/Hal Jordan, bloodplay
+ Marvel, Wade Wilson/Peter Parker, web bondage

We are now using AO3 to bookmark filled prompts. If you fill a prompt and post it to AO3 please add it to the Bite Sized Bits of Fic from 2016 collection. See further notes on this new option here.

Not feeling any of today’s prompts? Check out the just created Lonely Prompts Spreadsheet. For more recent prompts to write, you can also use LJ’s advanced search options to limit keyword results to only comments in this community.

While the Lonely Prompts Spreadsheet and LJ's advanced search options are available, bookmarking the links of prompts you like might work better for searching for in the future.

Thank you, and have fun!

tag=kink

Comments

[doreyg.livejournal.com]

Green Lantern (comics), Thaal Sinestro/Hal Jordan, bloodplay

filled

[oh-mcgee.livejournal.com]

Sinestro's drawn to it. The color, a rich, dark crimson dripping down Jordan's chin. The scent of it, iron and copper, metallic and earthy, is nothing short of intoxicating.

Hal wipes the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, sneers at him. "Is that all you got? One lousy sucker punch? I could do better with my --"

Sinestro shoves him up against the wall, uses constructs to bind Hal's wrists to it so he can' move. He considers putting something over his mouth as well, but changes his mind at the last second.

"What the fuck are you..." Hal starts, squirms and thrashes when Sinestro takes him forcefully by the chin, then goes stock still when Sinestro leans in and licks the remnants of blood from his bottom lip. "What --"

"You bleed for me," Sinestro says. "So beautifully, Jordan."

"Oh yeah?" Hal asks, voice gone raw. "So make me do it again."

[doreyg.livejournal.com]

Kingsman: the secret Service, Eggsy Unwin/Merlin, voyeurism

[doreyg.livejournal.com]

Marvel, Wade Wilson/Peter Parker, web bondage

[doreyg.livejournal.com]

Supergirl (TV), Maxwell Lord/Kara Danvers, hate sex

[doreyg.livejournal.com]

Fantastic Four (comics), Johnny Storm/Ben Grimm, being a lump of rock dating a guy that’s on fire means that their relationship is basically nothing but kink

[oh-mcgee.livejournal.com]

Green Lantern, Hal Jordan/Thaal Sinestro + Hal Jordan/Bruce Wayne, somewhere along the line he developed a thing for being choked

[creepy_shetan]

Star Wars, Poe Dameron/any, his partner's into his voice and his weakness is his hair

[creepy_shetan]

Star Wars, General Hux/Kylo Ren, surprisingly slow and sensual (and switchable!)

[creepy_shetan]

Kingsman: The Secret Service, Merlin/Galahad (Harry Hart), Eggsy only catches them because they want to be caught


(Fine, I cave. >:P Besides, this pair is my less painful Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy AU.)

[creepy_shetan]

author's choice, any, snark is more than flirting -- it's foreplay

Fill: Stargate Atlantis - John Sheppard/Rodney McKay

[nagi-schwarz.livejournal.com]

Evan Lorne knew that everyone thought John Sheppard and Rodney McKay were the heroes of the Atlantis Expedition: Sheppard protected McKay's brilliance and buffered his temper; McKay's genius pushed Sheppard's antics into the level of heroics. Truth was, Evan was the one who managed both of them. He took care of the pesky admin duties that rightfully belonged to the military commander of Atlantis but Sheppard didn't have time for or didn't like. (In Sheppard's defense, he was always up to date on essential issues, like requisitions and discipline.) Evan also took care of a good chunk of the science department despite that being wildly outside of his purview or even his expertise, except Evan was an expert at people. He'd had to be one, growing up on a hippie artist's commune as the only boy interested in being a soldier and flying airplanes. So he soothed the scientists' egos when McKay flew off the handle at them and green-lit their illicit side-projects that allowed them to safely and productively blow off steam (the engineers' alcohol still, the botanists' not-really-weed, the anthropologists' frighteningly intricate game of D&D involving pretty much all of the key personnel in Atlantis as NPCs).

Being stuck on a city exploration mission with both Sheppard and McKay at what-the-hell-o'clock on the morning of what should have been his day off because one of the marines who McKay had screamed at last week was conveniently suffering from a cold was, Evan thought, going above and beyond the call of duty.

Listening to Sheppard and McKay bicker incessantly and not murdering either of them was, Evan thought, the act of a saint.

"If your IQ were bigger than the height of your hair, you would understand–"

"I understand just fine," Sheppard snapped, "but if you would use your eyes instead of your abnormally-sized brain, you would notice that this hallway isn't as big as the map says it should be." He jabbed at the datapad McKay was carrying.

McKay actually turned up his nose. "It's well-established fact that the Ancients were the Gate Builders, not the Map Makers, and also terrible at useful signage. The inaccuracy of the map does not make up for your own lack of–"

Sheppard crowded closer to him, tangled his hand's with McKay's for control of the datapad. "Rodney, look. Out that window, that corridor matches the dimensions on the map. Out the opposite window, that corridor matches the dimensions on the map. What are the odds, then, that this corridor, where we are looking for something special, does not match the dimensions on the map?"

McKay tried to wrestle the datapad away from Sheppard so he could clutch it against his chest like an outraged Victorian maiden. "You were almost in MENSA. You calculate the odds."

Sheppard threw his hands up in exasperation and nearly hit Evan in the face. Evan dodged neatly.

"I'm saying that when dimensions on a map don't reflect reality, it means that there's probably something hidden behind the wall where the extra space should be. Like, say, the super secret special medical lab we're looking for."

"As if the Ancients would make the hiding place so obvious," McKay snapped. "They're not as stupid as you are."

Sheppard attempted to wrestle the datapad away from McKay again. "This map isn't the kind the Ancients would have used day-to-day to get around the city. It was their city. They didn't need a map. This is the kind of thing city engineers would have used. This hiding place wouldn't have been obvious to anyone who walked here day after day. Atlantis isn't precisely symmetrical, so uneven corridor length was no big deal."

"Not to idiots like you, maybe."

"Apparently it's too subtle for geniuses like you."

Enough was enough. Evan cleared his throat. "With all due respect sir, Dr. McKay, stop pulling each other's pigtails and make a decision. Either get a room, or try to open the door to the super secret medical lab."

He was surprised as all hell when an unholy gleeful expression crossed McKay's face and McKay grabbed Sheppard by his tac vest, and hauled him into the nearest transporter. Evan was going to assume Sheppard's muffled "oomph!" was surprise and not the sound of him being thoroughly kissed.

[strg8g33k.livejournal.com]

Stargate SG-1, Jack O'Neill/Thor, Asgard sex toy.

[oh-mcgee.livejournal.com]

Green Lantern, Hal Jordan/Bruce Wayne, semi-public sex

[brumeier.livejournal.com]

Hawaii Five-0, Steve McGarrett/Danny Williams, bound by words instead of rope/handcuffs

[brumeier.livejournal.com]

Any, Any, Sensory stimulation

Not a fill

[nagi-schwarz.livejournal.com]

You bet I have a fill, and it's in the Foxtrot 'verse, but it took me all day to write, and it's too long to post here, and I am well past my bedtime, so I will post it sometime tomorrow.

[blythechild.livejournal.com]

Criminal Minds, Hotch/Reid, silence is a big kink for Hotch

Fill: In the Silence, Hotch/Reid

[brumeier.livejournal.com]

(First time writing in this fandom, I hope I didn't screw it up!)

Aaron Hotchner was taciturn by nature, a personality trait that had served him well in the BAU. People, especially those with something to hide, often reacted to his stony silence with an outpouring of words: angry words, defensive words, and sometimes damning words.

Ironic, then, that he found himself in a relationship with Reid. The man could talk the ears off a snake. Some of it was nerves, but most of it was just that Reid had so much information stuffed into his head he couldn’t keep it contained. At the slightest provocation he could launch into a history of treatments for asthma, or recite whole passages of text from his favorite books. In French.

Perhaps they’d been drawn to each other because they were so disparate. Reid could be a challenge at times. He remembered everything, questioned everything, asked questions that Hotch didn’t want to answer because Reid had a drive to know. For the most part, Hotch was okay with the chatter. He was attracted to Reid on levels he didn’t quite understand, but he wanted all of them.

Sometimes, though. Sometimes he needed the silence. And Reid, who was so open, understood that when the black silk sash came out it wasn’t a censure against him. Quite the opposite, in fact, and his eyes would darken with desire at the sight of it.

Hotch kissed him, deep and full of the passion he kept so tightly under wraps most of the time. And then he tied the sash carefully, loosely, around Reid’s head and over his mouth. Not a proper gag, just a reminder for Reid that this time there didn’t need to be any words between them.

In many ways, the silence enhanced the physicality of the sex act for Hotch. He didn’t need dirty talk to get off, or love declarations, or meaningless words. Instead he heard Reid’s every ragged breath, every sharp inhale, every rumbling moan of pleasure. No distractions, nothing between them but skin and bone and sweat. Hotch could question with a touch, receive a shift of hips in reply. It hadn’t been so smooth back in the beginning, but now they knew each other so well that words were unnecessary. In this, at least.

The silk scarf puffed up and in with Reid’s breaths, sometimes outlining his lips, as Hotch stroked into him, as he laid biting kisses to Reid’s bare flesh, as Reid reciprocated with dexterous fingers. Nothing between them but the sounds of flesh moving against flesh, Reid’s breath stuttering and hitching as he came, and Hotch’s grunting, triumphant completion.

Afterwards there would be more kissing, and drowsy cuddling, and quite often Reid would drift off to sleep without saying a word, a smile lingering on his lips.

[blythechild.livejournal.com]

Criminal Minds, Reid/Prentiss, his glasses

[blythechild.livejournal.com]

Hannibal, Will/Hannibal, he only truly wants him when he's about to die

[blythechild.livejournal.com]

Person of Interest, Reese/Finch, suit fetish

Fill

[aunt-zelda.livejournal.com]

It isn’t just the sight John Reese in a suit. It’s that, and so much more.

John Reese does cut a very attractive figure in a well-tailored suit. That much is obvious from the very beginning. And Finch isn’t the only one to notice either. John Reese in a suit turns heads on the street, earns admiring open stares from women and, this being New York, plenty of men.

It isn’t simply John Reese in a suit – stretching after a mission, sprawling on a couch in the library, perched on a rooftop, chasing after a target. Though the creases of fabric over his broad shoulders, the tightness of his trousers over his ass, the openness of his shirt collar from the lack of a tie … those are all welcome and appreciated views.

What it truly is, Finch has realized, after lengthy musings on the subject, is not that John Reese is wearing a suit. It’s the fact that John Reese is wearing a suit for him.

While they have no uniform, no insignias, no badges, there is the fact that John Reese dresses himself, comports himself, behaves himself, by taking his cues from Finch. Oh, they have their disagreements, their debates, their ultimatums. But John Reese does, overall, allow Finch to lead him.

And Finch, in return, cares for John Reese. He protects him, monitors him from a respectful but reasonable distance, provides for him everything he desires (which is very little.) Which includes supplying him with his suits.

It isn’t just the sight John Reese in a suit. It’s that, and so much more.

[lynne-monstr.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Eliot Spencer/Parker/Alec Hardison, undercover at a bdsm club

Filled 1/2

[truthwritaslies.livejournal.com]

When it was put on the table that they would be going undercover at a BDSM club where their bad guy was the owner who liked to "break" Dominants, Hardison's first thought was who was going to be the Dominant.

Nathan and Sophie already had an in as a rich married couple with possible interest in partial ownership who were willing to bring in other rich couples with similar interests.

Parker couldn't be the Dominant in the club because, and he said this with deepest love in his heart, she was just too socially inept for it. Now Hardison wasn't saying that he didn't think she could do it in the privacy of their own bedroom, but at a club where people were expected to follow rules and have a certain amount of discipline to their domination, no.

Hardison knew he could do it, though it wasn't something he'd done for years but it was Elliot's reaction that would matter. There were lines of gender bias that Elliot regularly crossed without a second thought and then there was submitting to a person he could break in half with his pinky, something not a lot of guys with the ability to fight the way Elliot did would dare think of let alone submit to.

Hardison turns to look at Elliot just as Elliot stands and glowers down at him. It's always intimidating when Elliot does this even though Hardison knows his lover would never purposely hurt him (except for certain case-related purposes). In response Hardison straightens his back, tilts his chin up and raises an unimpressed eyebrow at Elliot (and if he ever meets Mr. Nimoy, he's going to thank him for Spock having such a cool and useful look that Hardison had definitely NOT spent hours practicing in front of the bathroom mirror).

Elliot considers Hardison a moment longer before gracefully sinking to his knees beside him, hands held behind his back. Elliot's posture so purely screamed submission that Hardison could practically see the collar around his neck already.

When they get to the club Parker is a classic bratty sub, attracting all kinds of attention until she's had her spanking and is cuddled up in his lap, her lacy underthings barely giving her any coverage.

Elliot is kneeled next to Hardison's opposite knee, clearly ignoring Parker's antics even when she had tried to engage him. The muscles and scars on display between collar and soft dark blue cotton pants attract even more attention. His scowling countenance is more of a bonus than a deterrent to his admirers.

Hardison can tell that more than one is wondering how someone like him got two such prizes. It doesn't take long before the bravest start to make their way closer.

Most of them are polite: making clear their interest in one or both of Hardison's Subs but Hardison brushes them off with vague promises to consider it for another day.

One though... one rude asshole has the nerve to bypass Hardison entirely and grab Elliot's hair like he has the right. Hardison can't tell what the dude is whispering but he knows it's ugly. He can see Elliot's muscles tense, mostly from holding himself back from breaking the dude's wrist but partially because his scalp is so sensitive and he has issues with people (other than Parker, Hardison and very occasionally for a case Sophie) touching his hair at all.

"Go ahead." Hardison says, voice lazy like he doesn't care at all. "Gently, though."

That's all the warning the asshole gets before he's pinned to the floor. He's still got Elliot's hair clenched in his fist but if the way Elliot's slowly twisting the guy's arm is any indication he's gonna have to let go or risk more then some bruising.

He lets go, the first smart thing he's done since he walked up and within moments his arm is tucked up behind him. Hardison waves off security, climbs down from the couch to sit next to Elliot and gently stroke his back until the tension leaves him. Parker is kissing Elliot's head and leaving lipstick in his hair, which he'll bitch about when they all get home.

"See, man, you made several mistakes. First of all, you didn't introduce yourself. Not to me. Not to my sub. Not even to my best girl." Hardison explains voice pitched to carry.

[lynne-monstr.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Eliot Spencer/Quinn, sensory deprivation

Fill: Safety

[aunt-zelda.livejournal.com]

Quinn doesn’t know where he is, or what time it is.

He knows where he was, what time it was.

It hasn’t been days, he knows that much. His mouth is dry, but not that dry. His limbs ache, but not so badly that he’s been kept here for very long.

It’s disorienting. He could be anywhere. There’s planes now that can take you anywhere in the world in a matter of hours. Six feet away could be a door that leads to Antarctica, to Moscow, to Death Valley, to Times Square.

Not that he could see, even if there was a door. Multiple layers of soft, dense, dark fabric have been wrapped around his head, keeping his vision black. He’s not certain but he thinks there’s some kind of gauze over his eyelids too, keeping them shut underneath the fabric. There could be a spotlight on him now, a fire in the corner flickering, or he could be in a windowless cell, and he wouldn’t know.

Screaming, or calling out, just to test the echo of the space in which he’s confined, has served him well in the past. Quinn would attempt it if his mouth had not been gagged. It’s not a ballgag, it’s some kind of latex material over his lips, bound around his head tightly, but not painfully. He can’t scream, he can’t speak, he can’t even whimper.

He can’t hear anything either. No running water, no music, no voices muffled or otherwise. There’s the faintest of holds around his ears. Headphones, the heavy-duty kind used by people operating heavy machinery, and earplugs too. A bomb could go off nearby and he wouldn’t hear it. A dog could growl and he wouldn’t hear it. A gun could click and he wouldn’t hear it.

Quinn’s breath hitches.

Touch, hot as a brand, presses against his shoulder. Fingers, a hand, squeezing just hard enough to ground him.

Then, just as suddenly as it was there, it’s gone.

Quinn can’t hear the person’s footsteps, can’t hear their breath. He can’t tell if they’re excited, or impassive, or afraid, or angry.

Struggling for something, anything tangible, he tries to reach out with his remaining senses. He can’t see, he can’t hear, he doesn’t know where or when he is …

His hands have been encased in thick, immobile gloves. Each finger is separated and steady. Except for the soft interior of the gloves against each of his fingertips, he can’t feel anything with his hands. Quinn isn’t sure, but chains or ropes have his wrists bound, so he can’t even explore the space he’s in.

Temperature could be a clue, but the room is at such a level it’s barely perceptible.

Beginning to panic, Quinn starts to take deep breaths through his nose. He can’t smell anything, nothing chemical, nothing rotting, nothing familiar or unfamiliar. His head aches as he breathes faster, shallower.

The hand returns, lays against his shoulder again. Another hand, the same size as the first, rests on Quinn’s other shoulder. Both squeeze, rooting Quinn in place, binding him to this moment, the pressure that lingers on the edge of pain.

If Quinn has a voice, he would whimper. If he had his hands, he would reach. If he could see, he would crane his neck to look up.

As it is, he only … exists. Steady, calm, in darkness, helpless but safe, protected.

This, he decides, is trust. More than their previous games, with knives, and ropes, and guns. More than cons all over the world with dangerous people. More than hopping in and out of beds.

Quinn trusts Eliot Spencer now.

[lynne-monstr.livejournal.com]

The Librarians, Eve Baird/Flynn Carsen/Moriarty, sometimes she just wants to gag them both

Fill: Lesson Plan

[aunt-zelda.livejournal.com]

Eve barely has to ask, to suggest even, before they're pulling out the toys themselves. Flynn practically handcuffs himself he's so excited, tripping in his haste. She has to yank him back, put him into the proper positions for this afternoon.

Moriarty is a bit more reserved, patient. He kneels when she tells him to, holds his wrists behind his back when he commands it. At her praise, he flashes a self-satisfied smirk, all delicious promises for her and smug satisfaction for Flynn. Moriarty wants to be the best in the room, gets off on outdoing Flynn, just as Flynn gets off on outdoing Moriarty.

The smirk inspires a snarky quip from Flynn, which sets off a spat between them.

Eve lets it continue as she gets ready, changing into more comfortable clothes, letting her hair down around her shoulders. When she emerges from behind the folding screen, they both stop mid-word, staring at her in open admiration and lust. She holds their brilliant minds for a brief moment, and then the moment passes and they're right back to sniping at each other.

"Playtime's over, boys," she chastises, opening up her toolbox. "Time for your lessons."

"Lessons in what, Duchess?" Moriarty is faster on the uptake than Flynn, at least in these matters.

Eve holds up two ballgags. "Silence."

Flynn whines. Moriarty licks his lips.

[tigriswolf]

RPF, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, safewording out for the first time

[4bdnsn0wflake.livejournal.com]

FILL

Sorry, OP! I'm sure this isn't what you had in mind, but it's what my brain came up with. Hope it amuses you anyway.



“Wait!”

Harry recoiled and shot to the other corner of the bed faster than most people could blink.

Louis hesitated. “So, am I supposed to…?”

“No!” Harry shook his head. “I mean…I forget the word…just, stop.”

Harry’s voice was a little shaky, which made Louis feel even more confused.

“But…I haven’t touched you yet.”

“This was a bad idea,” Harry yanked his robe off the nightstand and pulled it on.

“But…it was your idea.”

“I know. I just…can’t. I changed my mind.” Harry sounded as miserable as he did embarrassed. He twisted the sash of his dressing gown round his hand over and over.

Harry wasn’t looking at him, but Louis noticed Harry’s eyes were moist.

Louis came round the bed and sat next to Harry, who continued not to make eye contact.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Louis asked gently.

Harry shook his head again.

“I was afraid - ”

“Harry, you know I’d never -”

“I was afraid of you getting bored with me.” He was pulling so tightly on the sash his knuckles had turned white.

Louis stayed Harry’s fidgeting hands. “That would never happen. Harry.” He waited until Harry looked up and into his eyes. “That won’t happen.”

Harry let out a shaky breath, but he seemed reassured.

“I’m sorry I ruined things.”

“That’s all right. I really wasn’t that into it, anyway.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Louis shrugged.

“I was trying to be supportive of your perversions.”

They both laughed. Harry hiccupped.

“Well, maybe we can try something else.”

“I’ve got an idea.” Louis unwound the sash from Harry’s hand and pulled the fabric so that Harry’s robe fell open. He moved closer and ran his hand over Harry’s chest. “How about a nice, vanilla blowjob?”

[dreammaidenn.livejournal.com]

Any, Any, Voice fetishization.

fill: the sound of your voice, han/leia, star wars NSFWish

[hanorganaas.livejournal.com]

TAKES PLACE IN MY LEGENDARY HEROINE VERSE (http://archiveofourown.org/series/392704)

Sure, Leia had definitely changed with Age. She isn't as boney as she was before she had the kids. She is more plump and big breasted [more for his hands to play with right?]. But the thing Han seemed to love the most was the sound of her voice.

It was deeper, much rougher than it was when he last saw her all those years ago. Slightly scratchy. It would send a jolt down Han's spine everytime she uttered a word.

There were moments like now, when he would slip into the kitchen as she was making tea. He would sneak up behind her, wrap his long arms around her and press a kiss to her neck. His wife would moan and he would purr.

"Give me a moment to breathe hotshot," Leia whispered, trying to catch her breath, "we just had a round ten minutes ago I know we have pleanty of catching up to do."

Han only chuckled against her skin placing a line of kisses down her neck. She pulled her robe slightly off her shoulders exposing her skin. He pressed his lips against the slope of her shoulder. Leia closed her eyes and the sound she made sent a warmth down his spine to his lower stomach.

"Forgive me," He hummed making little nips on his wife's skin with his teeth, "I just like hearing the sound of your voice, its deep rough....and beautiful."

Leia closed her eyes and slipped her hand in Han's hair. Grayish brown, yet still as soft and fluffy as it ever was. She tilted her head to the side leaving Han access to ravish her neck and shoulder.

"Well hotshot if you want to make me purr," Leia said with a grin, "show me what you got."

Han only chuckled and slipped his fingers between her folds. When he pressed down on her clit, the sound she made, something between a scratchy moan and a whimper was enough to send pleasureful shockwaves to his groin.

"Perfect," Was all he could mutter

[dreammaidenn.livejournal.com]

Marvel comics, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, wall sex.

[dreammaidenn.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Dean Winchester/Castiel, somnophilia.