#trash kink

[digenerate-trash]

fear play is so funny like "bro you wanna hold a fake knife and scare the hell out of me while we fuck??" this is some haunted house shit.

[horneyandsleepy]

obsessed with the idea of filling a condom with trash and sticking it up my cunt

[kacievvbbbb]

I think it’d be funny if at some point Mihawk and Perona actually tried making their own wine and it was so terrible and Mihawk just won’t talk about it

Next time Shanks, as they are drinking, jokingly brings up the idea that Mihawk should probably make his own wine since he’s gone full farmer core and Mihawk, almost combusting in shame, attempts to drown him with alcohol to avoide the question

[arminsumi]

the tall boys, the big boys, the beefy-armed boys, the broad-shouldered boys... with a size kink inspired by their tiny gf

🔞 mdnr/i / smutty / 18+ content

"you're so tiny..." he chuckles, looking down at your body as you sit in his lap. you feel an unmistakable lustful excitement in his breath.

he's so playful about the size difference between the two of you; always pointing out your tiny hands, your tiny shoulders, your tiny neck, your tiny legs, your tiny feet, your tiny everything... it's super cute that he compares his big, beefy, muscular physique to yours, right? he's just doing that because he's a cute, wholesome boyfriend, right?

yeah... well, actually in his mind he's thinking, "i wonder how tiny she'll look when she's bouncing on my dick..."

— aki // eren // gojo // geto

[eat-more-till-you-drop]

You are not a real slob until you have garbage piled up on your bed. Not only just there, but absolutely everywhere!

Empty plates stacked on top of each other. USING TRASH BAGS AS A PILLOW! Don’t they feel nice against your fat? Feel that garbage constantly on you. Let it entomb you. Let it cover you.

Keep adding to the pile, keep it festering, make your whole room look like a dumpster. Keep living like that as you grow, piggy.

[rei-is-hiding]

all that railing man

[baby-trapped-boywife]

I keep fantasizing about, now that I’m finally comfortably passing, starting to forget my weekly T shots. I hook up with my fwb, this older guy who lives alone in a rundown trailer park a little outside my city. Neither of us think about using protection bc we haven’t had an issue yet. Until I get knocked up. I never wanted to be a father and now I’m carrying the bastard of some fucking divorced drunk. And, yet, it feels oddly right.

We talk options and I make my choice, which is surprisingly our choice. My baby daddy says he wants us to parent our baby together. It’s unexpected, but we decide to make it official and move in together. There’s not an expectation of a relationship, we’ll just be roommates and parents to the child growing inside me. I didn’t think my life would go like this. Truth be told, I’m struggling in the early months of pregnancy. I feel dysphoric and resent having to delay my transition.

He treats me like a queen, though, and I leave my full time warehouse job to work part time as a receptionist at his brother’s garage. Me and my baby daddy start spending a lot more time together because of this and because of living together. I start to think I might be lucky.

As I get further along, I find it hard to find clothes that fit my growing curves. I’ve gotten fatter and my chest has gotten more sensitive. My hips are definitely wider. I decide to try dressing slightly more femininely, it will make the whole ordeal easier. Doctors and nurses are frequently asking me if I’m excited to be a mommy and most people I talk to at work think I’m a tomboy who smoked a few too packs before letting herself get knocked up by a greasy old drunk who hasn’t even given her a ring.

‘I must be stupid if I’m carrying this man’s three babies without a band on my finger,’ I think the week we find out I’m carrying triplets. It’s a blessing, especially considering I wasn’t even supposed to be fertile. Or, so I’d heard. Maybe it was the missed shots. I’d been Icarus flying too close to the sun, only instead I fall to my knees in front of my new fiancé that night with a big garish heart-shaped shimmery ring on my finger.

With me spending every possible moment with my fiancé in his bedroom, I move out of my room in our trailer and start converting it to a nursery. My hair is a cute bob and I’m really enjoying giving into playing my new role as trailer whore. It’s not really me, just a sorta drag performance I’ve decided to lean into for the duration of my pregnancy. My fiancé finds it hot: me in a pair of flip flops, Daisy Dukes, and a tank top with no binder or bra as I answer the rarely ringing shop phone. I sit on his lap when we host over his friends and don’t object to the idea of being his bride.

I end up in a chic boho-style flowy dress that shows off my swollen tits and baby bump. As my husband takes me as his wife for the first time, I feel something shift inside me. I wasn’t playing some caricature anymore. I was officially the wife of trailer trash and that made me trailer trash too. If this was my life now, then I was going to have fun with it.

I keep growing out my hair, dye it blonde like my husband says he wants, and stop wearing any undergarments. I’m kinda a feminist that way, by freeing the nipple. These days milk is often leaking through my tiny tops. I still get spray tans bc my salon lady says it’s okay and hubby likes when I look sun-kissed orange. Before I know it, I’ve got a tramp stamp and hubby’s name tattooed on my crotch. Both were done by one of hubby’s friends in our living room. I’ll get more once I finally give birth.

Weirdly, the sex gets better as I lean more into looking like my husband’s dream girl. I find that I want to be whatever he wants me to be. Knowing that I’m his forever and free from ever making a decision again. I love what he’s done to me, how he controls me in every way. My old life is completely erased. Getting knocked up was the best thing a misguided girl like me could have done.

I basically had the best life ever. My man was obsessed with me and always giving me gifts of cute clothes and jewelry, watching me paint my fingers and toes at work when it was quiet, contorted to reach around my massive baby bump. I always giggle when I notice him watching me from across the shop, my hubby’s such a horndog and I’m the luckiest bitch in the world.

[digenerate-trash]

Giving head???

Nah. This isn't a gift. This is an oral stim and I've decided to objectify you. Drop your pants.

[horneyandsleepy]

can someone PLEASE turn me into to their trash can??

[adagiodummy]

Cigarettes make me so fucking horny. I grew up a teacher's daughter and now I'm a dean's list honors student who can't even break rules that I disagree with. My weakness will forever be bad boys and dropouts who blow smoke in my face and get me nervous and threaten to beat me up and and and

Literally just be freer than I ever could imagine and corrupt me and shut my brain off and put me in my place and I'm all yours

[bucknastysbabe]

Kink Bingo - Praise Kink

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1, 765

Tags: Dead dove, WHUMP?, Hydra Trash Party, Mentioned rape, Dub-con, confused WS murder meow meow, hydra!handler!reader, praise kink, touch starved Buck, hand jobs, He’s Just Super Sensitive Blame The Serum, crying what’s new, she loves him in the worst way possible

A/N: I haven’t really written something dark like this in awhile so WARNING! The one Russian translation is thanks commander. Poor Bucky but he gets petted and praised by an insane Soviet for a little bit. Subtle Steeb reference at the end. Listened to gimme danger the entire time.

You leaned back in the stiff leather chair, waiting for your delivery. Strike team was bringing the asset to your office at some point. Your mouth pinched at the thought— they played too rough with the poor thing. Soldat was the fist of Hydra, not a common whore. You didn’t like the Americans very much, but Karpov had sent you along with the asset to get adjusted to being under Alexander Pierce’s control.

So you handled your precious boy until the Americans grew tired of you. They’d already beaten the little life the asset had left into a pulp. He was even more quiet and confused than in Siberia. You’d give him some peace before being discarded, hopefully by the greatest creation of Hydra.

The door opened, the young agent Rumlow shoving the asset inside with an irritated noise. You raised a brow at Soldat’s state— bloodied and bruised moreso than the average mission. Rumlow barked, “He didn’t listen, stupid fuck needs to get wiped again. Got punished, so stop looking at me like that Komandir.”

“Fuck off,” you hissed.

Rumlow slammed the door with a scoff. Your precious soldat stumbled forward dazedly. He knew the drill even between countless wipes, come report to the handler after a mission. Soldat limped forward and kneeled between your legs, wide blues looking up blankly. His nose was bruised, one of his eyes bloodshot and blackened.

You frowned and carded a gentle hand through his thick brown locks, sighing softly. His jaw twitched, throat bobbed. You stated, “Status report.”

His robotic reply came quickly, “Fractured left orbital, nasal fracture, broken anterior ribs nine and ten. Palatal Petechiae, anal fissure.”

You almost hissed at the last part. The strike team was a bunch of mongrel deviants, using the asset to sate their primal urges. With a coo you placed both hands on his cheeks, carefully thumbing over his black eye.

“Baby, poor baby,” you simpered. His wide eyes searched your face, glassing over with tears. You lied, “Those strike team boys are dogs. You’re just so pretty they can’t help themselves.” Soldat whined sadly through his swollen nose, guilty gaze flicking to the ground.

“I didn’t listen- I- I need maintenance,” he said.

He thought he deserved it. He probably didn’t, they just searched for ways to inflict torture. Nasty American pigs. You would make soldat feel better in the meantime. He loved praise and petting, baby was so touch starved. Vasily had taught you that about the asset. Said it makes him more obedient in close quarters because he gets so overstimulated and needy.

“Soldier,” you sweetly said, “You’ll get your maintenance soon. Let your handler take care of her precious star.”

You moved your hands to gently scratch at his scalp, frowning at the pieces that were obviously ripped out using force. You murmured, “How did they use you?” Soldat had to open his hazy eyes, almost purring at your ministrations.

“They used my anus and throat. Multiple members of Strike team Alpha,” he rasped oh-so-quiet. You bit back another hiss, focusing on untangling his dark locks.

You liked the way his English sounded. Your accent was thick and guttural. The asset’s English was soft-spoken, lilting, pretty. You knew it was his native tongue long ago. Pierce told you to stop speaking Russian with Soldat, who currently leaned into your touch, quivering muscles settling down. His injuries would be slowly knitting up— the bruises would be a couple of days, the broken bones a couple more.

Soldat was perfect like that. You ordered, “Just relax precious, if you can.” He nodded obediently, stable hands clasped behind. You worked on the multiple buckles and zips caging in his finely tuned body. Soldat’s titanium arm clicked and clacked in the quiet room, the only noise besides the hum of the A/C.

You peeled off the tight leather from his torso, sucking in a breath at the bruising. You sighed again, “My poor baby, they did a number hm?” He nodded slowly, lips trembling. You rubbed at the knots in his thick shoulders, the asset moaning softly. He never got very loud, but the cries and sniffles when he came were divine.

“Such a pretty angel baby, I know you did great, you always do.”

He vaguely nodded, a half-assed jerk of his pretty jaw. The soldier whimpered, “C-commander please.” His swollen red lips still pouted and shook, sobs threatening to rip out of his sore throat. You purred, “Do you want a reward soldier? Sweet baby.”

“Mhm,” he croaked.

You eyed his peaked nipples and straining bulge in his cargo pants. He had a pretty cock, flushed and thick, just huge, like the rest of him. You unbuckled his belt easily, sliding the pants down strong thighs. They even quivered under your attentions. You couldn’t help the quirk of your lips at soldat gasping when his swollen cock slapped his toned stomach.

You pressed soft kisses to his neck and jaw, wandering hands paying mind to the broken parts of his body. Awkwardly you ushered the naked asset up, leading him forward to sit on your desk. His thighs tantalizingly spread out when he sat down with a wince. You apologized, “So sorry sweet boy, I’ll make it better then you’ll get some rest.”

“спасибо командир,” he murmured.

You chided, lips ghosting over his own, “No Russian, remember baby? I know the Americans are confusing.”

His lips puckered eagerly, waiting for a kiss. You closed the distance, winding a hand into his long locks. You rubbed soothing circles while sharing his lips in slowed smacks. The asset liked everything slow, you figured it kept him relaxed. Nothing like the jackhammering cocks of the disgusting strike team.

He whined happily into your mouth, arching into your body. You smiled, sweet thing wanted his tits touched but wouldn’t dare to ask. So you did it for him, “You want me to play with your tits baby? My needy star.” He nodded frantically, chasing your lips to crash back against his.

You slid the hand from his hair and hip to rub wide circles on his built pecs.

Then you ran your thumbs in tight motions on his dusky nubs, so fucking gentle like your super-soldier pet would break. You knew he would if he could. The asset shivered, a thin whine of ‘commandeeerrr’ elicited instead. You clenched your thighs to dull the ache. You never fucked the asset. Just played with him until he got his sweet release.

You weren’t like the thugs here taking and taking. Soldat needed you like the oxygen in the air. He needed some sort of twisted love in his lonely life. You sucked on his tongue to abate the pang in your chest from the thought of abandoning your sweet boy.

Soldat’s arm shifted and whined in random intervals— signals just as overwhelmed as the rest of him. You kept up the assault on his nipples, the poor thing’s drool making your kiss grow sloppier and wetter. He mewled into the lazy movements, hands trembling. You murmured, “You can touch baby boy.”

You almost squeaked at the feeling of his big hands groping your ass. He tried to be gentle but soldat rarely knew his own strength. You’d cherish the usual mottling of your skin afterward. He brokenly panted, “Commander, feels…s’good. Thank you.” His dark lashes fluttered when you pinched his now swollen peaks, full lips hanging wide open in ecstasy.

“No need to thank me precious, I know my perfect boy needs it. Do you want me to play with your pretty cock?”

He let out a mournful noise— huge arms pulling you even closer. Soldat would probably latch onto you like a puppy if he didn’t have orders. He pled, “Will you, pl-please please.” The asset flushed and winced, expecting a slap for asking questions. You pressed your lips to his slick mouth and hummed, “I’ve got you, my star has such manners.”

You pulled back, his brows furrowing in distress at the absence of your mouth. You let your collected drool drip into your palm and wrapped it around engorged flesh. He cried out and bit down to stop the noise.

“Don’t hide your sweet sounds from me, I want to hear my precious boy.”

A choppy exhale of breath was your answer. He squirmed and sniffled as you methodically fucked your fist on his cock. Slow, slow, a rough twist on the head and your prize was trembling like a virgin. He rested his forehead on your shoulder, puffing hot breath on the thin cloth of your top. The asset babbled random words in different languages interspersed with the most breathtaking little sobs.

You slid your thumb around the extra sensitive frenulum, the sweet thing sniffling and wetting your shoulder with tears. He tried to speak, “K-Ko- hah, haaah, mmh, fuck!” Your other hand— once tight in his perfect hair slid down to cup his overfull sac. You squeezed at the heated flesh. Soldat muffled his wail, hands scrabbling at your body.

His back was painfully arched, you ordering him to relax some. He did with a pitiful mewl, soaking more tears into your turtleneck. You grinned at the tell-tale little sobs. He’d get so pitchy you felt bad for your simple little weapon, his throat probably hurt even more from the high sounds. You husked in his ear, “That’s it my good boy, singing so pretty for your commander, you needed it baby.”

He was rutting into your fist with abandon, the left arm going off with buzzing signals. You dug your thumb into his weeping slit, guided a gentle finger holding his balls to that loose skin behind. You pressed up and gasped when Soldat almost crushed you with his arms, shaking and coming apart at the seams. The asset couldn’t catch his breath, aborted tiny cries leaving his swollen throat.

He wept openly now— flushed member shooting rope after rope of white cum. He stained your already ruined top and flooded your fist. You pumped Soldat through the climax until he mewled and shied away. He seized your lips again passionately, pouring singleminded need into the action. You kissed the perfect asset back, pressing your tits against his broad chest. You wanted to steal him away in the moment, leave with the priceless thing and start anew somewhere.

But that wouldn’t happen. He’d realize you’re just as tainted as the rest of Hydra and probably kill you as his brain inevitably cleared up. So you’d enjoy your pliant, perfect toy for now. You mumbled against insistent lips, “Baby did so good, Commander loves you. Precious star.” He teared up again— not sure where he remembered another voice telling the asset that he was loved.

[vildo]

[crybaby-bkg]

Can we hear about what unsettling kinks gojo has 😝🤭

omg this made me sit and think for so long LOL

as mentioned in the original post I def this campus weirdo gojo has some kind of incest roleplay, fear, and even a cumflation kink???

but the other ones I considered were:

a spitting kink perhaps??? not in the way of him spitting in your mouth or just simply swapping spit, but being covered in it. really, you covering him in it—dragging your tongue all over his face; his white pubes soaked to the bone from you gagging on it; the silvery gleam of it in the mirror when you cover him with sloppy kisses.

a crush kink/fetish!!!!! on one hand, he likes fear play, likes to be in control and watch that terrified look on your face when he finally catches you. but on the other hand, he does like your feet all prettied and dolled up when you step on him. likes the standard black stockings paired with a heel that crushes his windpipe when he won’t shut his mouth after telling him to.

similar to the fear kink, I def think he likes predator / prey!!!! not that the kink itself is unsettling, but the mf just can’t be normal about anything, can he? he likes to get into the whole idea of it; that you’re helpless, that he’s some big bad wolf ready to devour you, that you cry for him even when he bites a little too harshly.

also scent marking!!!! unsettling in the way that he damn near begs for you to dab just a bit of his cum behind your ear, just so that the scent lingers throughout the day when other people talk to you. definitely finds himself curling around you just to inhale your scent every second that he can.

[digenerate-trash]

bit my lip so hard while jerking off that I started to bleed and came too early.

weak bitch syndrome

[malfunctioningmeatsuit]

"puppygirl" "bimbo" "girlcock" "DDLG" "hentai" "big booba" "force-fem" "girly" "diaper girl" "futa" "blahaj" "sissy" "frottage" "skirt go spinny" "collared" SHUT UP

These dudes deny that autogynephilia is real and get mad when called AGPs while reducing womanhood to the state of being a thoughtless hyper feminine cock-worshiping bimbo.

All these accounts are run by pornsick men who need to get their asses off pornhub and seek a fucking therapist. Seeing womanhood reduced to "skirt go spinny" DDD cup anime girls peaked me.

I will never respect the "womanhood" of anyone that acts like this.

[chubunited]

Poor hungry fella…