‎ᗢ✪ ON HIATUS ✪ᗢ‎

The makers of Kinktober 2025 are back again with a brand new list! The graphics are once again created by latte-cucumber. Check out our AO3 collection, or keep reading for more information.

More information

Kinktober is a kinky October prompt challenge that’s been running in one form or another since 2016. There are three prompts for each day in October, and the challenge is to use one (or more!) of the prompts to create something for that day. If you don’t want to use any of the three daily prompts, you can swap them out for the bonus prompts at the bottom of the prompt list.

If you have any questions, check our FAQs. Unfortunately, due to personal commitments, we won't be opening our askbox for questions this year. We've made it as rules-light as possible, though, so if your question is "Can I do this?", the answer is almost certainly yes!

Prompts

Condoms – Bratting – Watersports

Orgy – Embarrassment – Bestiality

Hate Sex – Suspension Bondage – Mind Control

Body Writing – Subspace – Master/Slave

Glory Hole – Cloning/Selfcest – Body Modification

Held Down – Riding Crops – Feeding/Stuffing

Dirty Talk – Cockwarming – Aphrodisiacs

Face Sitting – Switching – Scat

Orgasm Delay/Denial – Discipline – Whips

Gentle Sex – Chains – Noncon

Age Gap – Breathplay – Religion Kink

Phone Sex – Findom – Edgeplay

Frottage – Temperature Play – Emetophilia

Strength Kink – Roleplay – Vore

Corsets – Power Imbalance – Human Furniture

Nipple Play – Conditioning – Predator/Prey

Rough Sex – Begging – Furry

Deepthroating – Rope Bondage – Transformation

Public Sex – Daddy/Mommy Kink – Cigars/Cigarettes

One Night Stand – Pain Play – Snuff

Coregasm – Overstimulation – Predicament Bondage

Sharing – Boot Worship – Lactation

Vibrators – Caught In The Act – ABDL

Leather/Lace/Latex – Spreader Bar – Drugging

First Time – Non-Sexual BDSM – Knifeplay

Swallowing – Collars – Fuck Or Die

Spanking – Feminization/Masculinization – Inflation

Strap-On – Safewords – Torture

Quickie – Pet Play – Wet And Messy

Licking – Clamps – Oviposition

Fingering – Micro/Macro – Writer’s Choice

Bonus prompts:

Kink Discovery

Stripping

Coming In Pants

Omegaverse (Non-Traditional Dynamics)

Pornography

Sub/Dom Drop

Your dad’s best friend. Your dad’s best friend—the one who’s been around your whole life. The one who used to ruffle your hair and call you “kid.” The one who now has his arm wrapped around you like it belongs there. Like you belong there.

“…You okay?” Steve’s voice is low, careful, like he doesn’t want to break whatever this is.

You hum softly, cheek pressed against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat—steady, strong… except it stutters every time you shift closer. “I should go,” you whisper, even as your fingers curl tighter into his t-shirt.

He doesn’t let go. “Yeah,” he murmurs, but his hand drifts up your back anyway, slow, absent-minded, like he’s memorizing you. “You probably should.”

Neither of you move.

The silence stretches… heavy, full of everything neither of you have said out loud yet.

You tilt your head just enough to look at him. His face is softer like this—no armor, no shield, just Steve. Just a man who looks like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” you ask quietly.

His jaw tightens. “Because I didn’t want to,” he admits. Honest. Always honest. That’s what makes this worse. Or better.

You don’t even know anymore. Your hand drifts up without thinking, brushing along his collarbone, tracing the line of it. He inhales sharply, like even that tiny touch does something to him. “Stevie…”

“Don’t,” he breathes, eyes closing for a second. “If you say my name like that, I’m not gonna be able to pretend this isn’t happening.”

Your heart stumbles. “Then don’t pretend.”

That does it. His eyes snap open, searching your face like he’s looking for hesitation—an out, an excuse, something to stop this before it goes too far.

But you don’t give him one.

“I’ve tried,” he says, voice rougher now. “God, you don’t think I’ve tried? You’re—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “You’re off-limits. You always have been.”

“And you’ve always looked at me like I’m not,” you whisper. That hits. You can see it in the way his expression cracks, just a little.

Because it’s true. It’s been building—quiet glances, lingering touches, the way he started looking at you like you weren’t a kid anymore… like you were something he had to fight not to want.

“I shouldn’t love you,” he says finally, the words like they cost him something.

Your breath catches. “…But you do.”

His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek so gently it almost hurts. “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

The world kind of… stops. No hesitation. No taking it back. Just truth. Raw and terrifying and yours. Your eyes sting, and you laugh softly—because of course it had to be him. Of course the one person you weren’t supposed to fall for is the one who feels like home.

“Good,” you whisper, leaning into his touch. “Because I don’t think I know how to stop.”

Something in him finally gives.

He pulls you closer, like he’s done fighting it—like he’s been waiting for permission he was never going to give himself. Your head tucks under his chin, his arms wrapping around you fully now, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip. “You’re gonna get me in a lot of trouble,” he murmurs into your hair.

You smile against his chest. “Yeah,” you mumble. “But you’re not letting go.”

You round the corner. And stop. Tony is halfway out of the Iron Man suit, the chest plate peeled open like something cracked apart. No shirt. No warning. Just bare skin, arc reactor glowing through the center of his chest like a second heartbeat.

Your brain… completely stalls. Because yeah—you’ve seen him before. Missions, press, the occasional post-battle patch-up. But not like this. Not close. Not real. There’s grease along his ribs. A faint sheen of sweat across his shoulders. His hair’s a mess, pushed back like he’s been running his hands through it for hours.

“Don’t touch that—” he starts, turning slightly as you step in, “—panel unless you—”

He sees you. Pauses. There’s a flicker. Quick. Sharp. Calculating. And then—smug. “…Oh,” Tony says slowly. “Didn’t realize I had an audience.”

Your throat goes dry. “You could wear a shirt.”

He snorts, bracing a hand against the workbench as he yanks the gauntlet free with a metallic clang. “I could also stop building life-saving technology and take up knitting,” he says. “But here we are.”

You turn your face—try to turn your face—because looking feels like a mistake. Feels like something he’ll notice.

“You needed something?” he prompts.

You blink. Right. The mission. Words. Speaking. “Steve—uh—briefing. Ten minutes.”

Tony hums, like he’s only half-listening. But when you risk a glance back— He’s watching you. Not the door. Not the suit. You. “…I’ll be there,” he says.

You nod too fast and leave. You don’t notice the way he doesn’t reach for a shirt until long after you’re gone.

You can’t sleep. It happens sometimes—after missions, after adrenaline, after everything. The Tower feels too big, too quiet, like it’s holding its breath. So you wander. Kitchen. Hallway. Back again.

And then the common area. Dim lights. City stretching endlessly beyond the glass. And Tony. He’s on the couch. Shirtless again—because apparently that’s just a thing now—and tangled in a blanket he clearly didn’t mean to use properly.

One arm is thrown over his eyes. The other rests on his chest. Arc reactor dim. Soft. Steady.

For once, he’s not moving. No talking, no sarcastic comments throw out into the air. No talking. No quips. No constant motion like if he stops, something might catch up to him. He just looks…Tired.

You linger in the doorway. This feels wrong. Private. But then he shifts, brow tightening like even sleep doesn’t let him rest easy. And something in your chest pulls. You step closer. Carefully. Quietly.

The blanket is barely covering him. You reach down, gently pulling it up over his shoulders—

Your fingers brush his skin. Warm. Real.

Tony exhales, tension easing just slightly. “…FRIDAY,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, “remind me to—upgrade—security…”

You bite back a laugh. “Yeah,” you whisper. “That’s definitely the problem.” You turn to go.

“…You always sneak into people’s rooms at night?” he mumbles.

You freeze. Slowly look back.

His arm hasn’t moved. But there’s a hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

“You were asleep.”

“Mm,” he hums. “Convincing, wasn’t it?”

You cross your arms. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet,” Tony says, voice quieter now, not opening his eyes, “you stayed.”

Your breath catches. He doesn’t say anything else. Neither do you. But when you leave this time, You know. That wasn’t an accident.

The mission goes sideways. Not catastrophic. Not world-ending. Just messy enough that Tony takes a hit he shouldn’t have. By the time you’re back in the Tower, he’s already halfway to the lab, brushing off concern like it’s a habit.

“I’m fine,” he insists for the third time.

“You got slammed through a concrete wall.”

“Light exercise.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“Adds character.”

You grab his arm before he can disappear again. “Tony.”

He stops. Looks at you. Really looks this time. Something flickers behind his usual expression—something quieter. Heavier. “…Lab,” he says finally.

You follow. This time, you don’t hesitate when the armor comes off. You help him. Piece by piece. Metal clatters to the floor. Systems power down. The world narrows to just the two of you and the steady glow in his chest.

And when the last of it falls away, there he is. Shirtless. Again. But this isn’t like before. There’s bruising along his ribs already. A shallow cut near his shoulder. You can see where the impact landed, where it hurt. Your hands are steadier than you expect as you reach for the med kit.

Tony watches you the whole time. No jokes. No deflection. Just… watching.

“You gonna keep staring,” you mutter, focusing on cleaning the cut, “or are you gonna pretend you’re not in pain?”

“I’m not—”

You press just slightly.

He winces. “…in that much pain,” he corrects.

You roll your eyes. But your touch softens. Careful. Gentle. Your fingers brush just under the arc reactor, avoiding the worst of the bruising—Tony goes still. Not tense. Not pulling away. Just… still.

“Funny,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“I’ve been injured before.”

You glance up. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“No,” he says, softer now. “I mean like this.”

You pause. “…And?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “You’re the first one who makes it feel like I should stay still.”

Your heart stumbles. “That’s because if you move, I’m gonna make it worse.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. But he doesn’t look away. “Right,” Tony says. “That’s definitely it.” 

Silence settles. Not uncomfortable. Just… full.

“You always this stubborn?” he asks after a moment.

“Only with people who need it.”

His expression shifts again. Something cracks open. Just a little. “…Stay,” he says. It’s not a joke. Not a deflection. Not Tony Stark, genius billionaire, hiding behind sarcasm. Just Tony. Asking. 

Your chest tightens. “…Yeah,” you say softly. “I’ll stay.” And this time, You don’t look away.

You’re starting to notice a pattern. It takes you longer than it should. But still. Pattern. Late nights. Open doors. Strategic lack of shirts. Lingering looks. The way Tony always seems to be exactly where you are—like FRIDAY’s not the only one tracking movement in the Tower.

So this time, you test it. You walk into the lab without knocking. Again. “Tony?”

No answer. You step further in. And there he is. Back to you. Shirtless. Leaning over a workbench like he’s posing for a magazine shoot titled Genius at Work, Also Abs.

You don’t even hesitate this time. “…You’re doing this on purpose.”

He doesn’t turn around. “Doing what?”

“This.” You gesture vaguely. “The—lack of clothing. The—convenient timing. The—”

“Wow,” Tony interrupts, straightening slowly, finally turning to face you, “and here I thought you just kept accidentally walking in on me.”

You narrow your eyes. “You knew.”

He shrugs. “I suspected.”

“You—” you stop, recalibrating, “—you’re unbelievable.”

“And yet,” he says, stepping closer now, slow, deliberate, “you keep coming back.”

Your breath catches. 

He’s close. Too close. Close enough that you can see the faint fading bruise from the mission. The steady glow in his chest. The way his expression has shifted—less teasing now. More… intent. “You could’ve told me to stop,” he says quietly.

“You could’ve worn a shirt.”

He smiles. Soft this time. Not smug. Not sharp. Just… him. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Your heart is pounding now, loud enough you’re sure he can hear it. “Tony—”

“Stay,” he says.

Not a question this time. Not hesitant. Certain. Like he already knows the answer. And maybe, That’s what gets you. Because he does know. You step closer. Close the distance.

“…Yeah,” you whisper.