chatgpt and other ai platforms have plagued the fanfiction writing industry. me immediately catching onto something that has clearly been altered by ai should be a superpower at this point.
like omfg the man is 6'4, over 200lbs and he's got his head thrown back literally whining bc ur riding him?? and hes probably so nervous so u literally have to put his hands on your waist for him??? and hes rambling to himself trying so hard not to cum because he wants you to cum first but literally u clench around him once and hes pulled out of u and cumming on his chest. n like he's so red and embarrassed and hes just like "oh gosh im so sorry honey i didnt mean to... can i make it up to you" and it doesnt even matter that he came fast because his hands are huge and he's a quick learner
my corner store guy is a 50 year old man who's my best friend in the world and recently he was like "you're too pretty to be single I have some nephews you should meet. very handsome!" and I was like "a niece might be more up my alley" and he just got more excited and said "ah even better! I was overselling my nephews but my nieces are very beautiful"
I’m so fucking mad about the utter mind fucking lack of Dexter fics in this place. no way this man was the original sexy crash out sociopath sk and none of yall have written a single thing about him. I can’t do it all myself pLEASE.
Day 5 of Kinktober 2025 - dacryphilia, finger sucking // find my Kinktober masterlist here
There’s a bad feeling inside as soon as you look at the door.
The Scary Closet as you call it. On the top shelf inside is a plastic container full of AA batteries you need to replace the dead ones in your remote. You can’t bring yourself to step inside for even a moment to grab the fucking things. It radiates a horrific energy, full of something dreadful and entirely wrong. Maybe even evil.
“Roman!” you call out, hoping your voice reaches down the hall where he’s at. “Roman, come help.”
Roman groans loudly, but the distance only allows you to hear it faintly. “What did you fuckin’ sign me up for now?” he grumbles, holding onto the doorway as his body hangs into the hall, swinging his other arm.
“The batteries in the closet. I need them.”
“So…then get them?” Roman scoffs and makes a face.
“Roman, I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
You frown at him. Nothing in this world scares you the way the Scary Closet does. At one point it was full of…god, you don’t even want to think about it. Somebody’s heroin kit and bloody clothes, and there were scratches made by somebody’s fingernails all over the walls. Pencil writings dating back through the sixties, and a bag full of home videos that you’ve never felt brave enough to watch. There’s a big peephole that looks into the garage that you keep covered with a table, and there’s a crawlspace filled with wolf spiders. You hate it. You fucking hate this closet. Whatever happened - or happens - in here is fucking bad, and you know it.
You’re not spiritual or religious by any means, but you know there’s something truly horrible lurking in there. Its invisibility doesn’t make it any less legitimate. Roman thinks you’re full of it, that your fear is all just leftover trauma bullshit from when he’d lock you in there as a child. He’s not afraid of it at all. But you swear you felt something grab you, and you swear that it was cold.
Roman rolls his eyes. “Cool, this fuckin’ bullshit again. Yeah, no. You can get the batteries yourself. You’re too old to be bitching out like this, Sissy. Go do it yourself.”
“Rome–”
“No - grow up and do it yourself. I’m not - not fucking enabling this.”
You whine in both disappointment and anxiety, pouting as Roman heads back for his room. Your voice stops him. “Wait - can you just - can you just be in there with me, then? Please?”
Roman inhales and exhales deeply. “Fine,” he deadpans, approaching you. “I will stand there and watch you, you fucking pussy. You’re grabbing the batteries yourself.”
Roman waits with his arms crossed over his chest and his head resting against the wall for you to open the door, something so little that you don’t even like to do. He huffs at your hesitation and puts your hand on the doorknob himself, motioning for you to just fucking open it already. “Go,” Roman snaps, “move,” pushing you into the dark, awful closet with his hand on the small of your back. He tugs on the chain of a dangling light, and he’s amused when it doesn’t turn on. “Huh. Doesn’t that just fuckin’ figure.”
You look at Roman worriedly as he leans against the doorframe, then carefully lift yourself onto the table. “Do you have your phone?”
“Yes,” he answers.
“Can you turn on the flashlight for me?”
“No.” Roman smiles with his lips pressed together and tilts his head, and crosses one foot over the other. Could he be the bigger person and alleviate your anxiety by turning on the light? Sure. But where’s the fun in that, right? There’s a certain satisfaction one can only achieve by deliberately fucking with their younger sister and well, it’s Roman’s feeling that it’d be a shame to waste that, frankly.
As you feel around for the batteries in the low light, Roman quietly reaches for the closet door with his foot, then kicks it into the doorframe, slamming it loudly. You scream immediately in the complete darkness, now unable to see a single fucking thing. You wobble as you get off of the table and leap for the door, running right into Roman’s body as you start to sob. It’s awful in here, all the claustrophobic nothingness. You hardly even register Roman as your brother - and really, can you trust that he is? For all you know, he could be the same horrible thing that fucking grabbed you. “Get the fuck off!” you wail.
“Hey, hey. It’s me. It’s just me,” Roman says softly, all too calm as he grips either of your biceps. You can hear the smile shaping his voice, and you can feel his body shake with his laughter.
“Let me out, Roman. Let me out, I’m scared.”
“You’re fine, you fucking crybaby. It’s just a little exposure therapy. Now go get your batteries, Sissy. It’ll be fine.”
“No, I need–” your sobs cut you off from finishing the rest of your sentence, the words of which Roman could guess anyway. It’s just fucking awful in here. You know you and Roman aren’t the only two energies in the small, dank closet. You shriek when you think you feel something touch your leg and desperately try to find the door handle, only to be blocked by Roman. Your eyes still haven’t adjusted fully. It’s still endlessly dark, dark to the point that you couldn’t see your own palm in front of your face. It’s utterly suffocating, completely fucking terrifying. You don’t know if the breathing you hear is your own, Roman’s, or something else entirely. And you don’t know how Roman doesn’t seem to fear it himself. “I need you to let me out, Romey,” you beg, “please.”
“No. You’re being fucking pathetic. Forget the batteries. C’mon–” Roman walks you backward, his shirt dampening under your sweaty palms. You cling to him tightly, gasping when the backs of your thighs hit the edge of the table. Roman sits you there, his hands sliding down your body as he reaches for the edge of your pants.
He’s wanted to do this to you for a long time, truthfully, but it’s difficult to even get you in its proximity. You’ll avoid the Scary Closet at all costs, won’t even fucking look at it. But your guard was down - or lowered, at least, and Roman’s not sure why that was, and he doesn’t bother questioning it. He simply takes advantage, the thing he does best.
“I think - think we’re gonna try to have a little breakthrough today, alright? Positive associations, I don’t fuckin’ know. New rule. I’ll let you out when you cum for me.” Roman’s fingers slip under the waistband and he pulls the fabric down and off completely, then spreads your thighs. He fits himself between them and reaches for your cunt, finding it slick already. You’ll always be fucking wet when you’re scared.
“No, don’t - don’t fucking touch me, Romey.”
“I’ll touch you when I want, Sissy. I know you want it. C’mon, give it up. The quicker you cum the quicker it’s over, right?”
“I don’t want–”
“You do. Hey - shut the fuck up and listen. You do want it, alright? You do want it. Because you’re going to cum, or I will fucking hurt you. Okay? I mean it. I’ll give you something real to be scared of. Now spread your fucking legs. Go - open them.”
You’re so pliant when you’re afraid, Roman’s found. Nice and pliant and wet. He drags his fingers up and down the seam of your slippery and swollen cunt, then brings them to his lips and sucks them clean, humming at your taste. Roman pushes those two fingers into you, right down to the knuckle, and begins stroking.
You’re still crying, stupid little scared sobs slipping past your lips as Roman fucks you on his long, dextrous fingers. Your eyes have adjusted at this point, and if you squint, you can kind of make out the shapes of his face. His forehead vein, his big eyes. But Roman looks scary in all these shadows, mean. Can you know if it’s even his face, really?
You whimper and cry and moan, wrapping yourself tighter around Roman’s body, trembling in fear. You hold his shoulders tightly and bury your face into his neck, where hot tears wet his skin. “R-Romey,” you gurgle, the last syllable of his nickname turning into a moan as he fucks you where it’s most sensitive.
“Shhhh, shh, shh, shh,” Roman hushes you. “You’re doin’ good, yeah?” You make a noise when he pulls back from you, only to be quieted when he pushes his pointer finger into your mouth. When you were really little, you’d teeth on him, and when you were older than that, you’d suck his finger to comfort yourself. Roman would bounce you on his lap as you drooled down his palm, kissing your soft hair. You’d suck on that finger well into later childhood, when you’d have nightmares of Courage the Cowardly Dog or Roman himself and sneak into his bed for comfort. And so, you allow yourself to be comforted by his finger in this moment, by that same warm body and person, despite yet another betrayal and shattering of trust. You’ll forgive Roman like you always do, and the cycle will continue, and continue, and continue. Nobody hurts you like your brother does, but nobody loves you like him, either.
You suck hard on Roman’s finger as he fucks you with the others, curling his joints as he circles your clit with his thumb. Humming, moaning, crying, clenching around his digits in irregular pulses as your orgasm nears. “Gonna cum for big brother, Sissy? Gonna cum in the Scary Closet?” he taunts, and you feel his cold arms wrap around you tightly as he works you.
As if you have much of a choice. Roman winces as you clench with both your cunt and your jaw, the pleasure he forced from your body now rushing through you. It’s terrifying, cumming in the complete dark like this. Roman strokes your back as you climax, and kisses the side of your head. “You did it, huh? Look at you. Not so bad, huh?”
“Fuck you,” you sniffle.
As release subsides, you wrap your arms around Roman’s middle, drying your eyes into his t-shirt. “You never fuckin’ hug me,” he murmurs, amused, pulling his fingers from both sets of your lips so he can hug you back.
But you thought Roman’s arms were already around you.
succession shouldve had an episode where kendall gets therapy and is predictably insufferable about it like he keeps talking about his "mother wound" and using incomprehensible tiktok therapyspeak to try and win arguments and at the end of the episode it turns out the therapist wasn't even a therapist he was just some guy that roman bribed to pretend to be a therapist because he thought it would be funny
literally obsessed with the idea of every time Clark flirts with you / kisses you / etc while dressed as Superman, going "umm... I have a boyfriend..." or "my boyfriend wouldn't like this..." and pretending like you need to be convinced to cheat on your boyfriend. with your boyfriend.
THISSS ANONNN this. this will do it for me everyyy timeeee. he kinda goes crazy for it, leans into it. curls his whole body around you while he stoops to be eye level with you, “yeah?” he asks, kinda through his teeth, getting all excited as he presses your body to his. lifts you up so you squeal and clutch onto him, “your boyfriend wouldn’t like this?” while he’s kissing n biting on your neck. “what’s he gonna do? i’m superman.” and you’re trying to push him off and your squealing w delight trying to scold him and get him off you bcos you’re still in semi public, and what’re people gonna think when they find you like this with superman?? he licks n sucks on your pulse point n ends it with, “he doesn’t have to know anything—i wont tell him…”
would u ever consider writing for dexter again…. 💔 PLSPLSPLSPLSPLS
getting wine drunk with dexter who’s finally letting his guard down. you’re on the balcony in his two flimsy lawn chairs, just laughing about stupid shit. he’s man spreading and you’re sitting cross legged, like a child. salivating and licking your lips when he pushes his hips up to adjust, back digging into the wire of the chair. you flush, bringing your eyes up to look at the sky and missing the smirk on his face.
“s’mthin interesting up there?” you can hear the amusement in his voice, it does nothing to stop the slick pooling in your panties. what excuse can you make up so you can go home and fuck your fingers to the sound of his voicemail?
“asked you a question, bun.” shit shit! why does he sound like that, so sexy, so dark. is he getting off on this? he is, but you can’t read his mind to know that. you turn to answer him, albeit a little too quickly.
you don’t notice how close he is, not until your lips brush when your head turns to answer. you both pause, a gasp leaving your lips and a groan leaving his. you can’t even apologize before he’s pulling you in again, not even giving you a chance to breathe before forcing his tongue in. there’s no fight for dominance, only him, all consuming and everywhere.
he leads you up to stand, hand on the bottom of your ass. Dexter taps twice, trying to give you the hint to jump. you don’t notice, too drunk, not from the wine, no. but from him, the taste, the smell, the very essence of him. “jump, right now. i got you” his words murmur against your lips, and you listen, obviously. who are you to deny him what he wants?
I’m so fucking mad about the utter mind fucking lack of Dexter fics in this place. no way this man was the original sexy crash out sociopath sk and none of yall have written a single thing about him. I can’t do it all myself pLEASE.
blakekathryn
janainaart
tangentwithtanner
germansingergirl
kaledo-art
