#tw omo

[your-darling-angel]

Holding in my pee because you forced me to sit on your lap, but you lovingly massage and rub my belly, teasing me until I cant take it anymore and wet myself all over you

[deerinurheadlights]

her making me drink a lot of water and then telling me i’m not allowed to use the bathroom until i cum x amount of times and struggling trying my best to hold it while she overstims me.

[freakquine]

u guys i actually peed myself earlier cuz i had to go so bad. someone make this sexy b4 i die of embarrassment /NF

[honeyroots]

ok guys hear me out. germaphobe bubbles who has such an issue with public restrooms n whenever they’re out n about, she’s always telling frank “i don’t have to go!”

[reebbit]

Subby puppy thoughts

tw omo

I want to fuck mommy while her bladder is full and make her feel really good but also really want to be able to see the piss leaking down her thighs, see it dripping on the towel. Puppy loves piss so much, need to see mommy leaking while she feels good. Puppy already can feel the piss some when touching mommy when he’s really leaking but puppy wants to see it dripping.

Puppy wants to feel it hit his hand hard. Puppy wants to fuck mommy while seeing the piss leak out in spurts as mommy’s face contorts and she praises puppy for being so good and doing so good fucking mommy. Puppy wants it so much. Puppy needs to see mommy leak. Puppy doesn’t just want to feel it. Mommy got piss on the bed today cause she leaked a lot of his bladder and through two towels onto my comforter but I couldn’t care less.

I am such a happy pup, I wanted mommy to feel good and puppy loves when mommy feels good with a full bladder and leaks everywhere. Puppy wouldn’t care if mommy drenched all his clothes in piss if mommy wanted to grind on his leg or if mommy accidentally sprayed onto puppy. Puppy would be so turned on puppy wouldn’t be able to think.

Puppy needs to see mommy leak. Puppy needs it so much. Puppy wants to fuck mommy now but puppy isn’t allowed to touch himself cause mommy said so and puppy can only get off by using mommy to get off. Feel so pathetic and puppy loves that mommy is finally being mean. Mommy feels unsure about domming and this is very good. Very very good. Enough puppy rambles for now.

[pomefiore-visitor]

note:

1. this is of Netflix!Jaskier and Radovid, not any other source. I definitely want to write for Book!Dandelion or Game!Dandelion eventually. But this is not that fic lol

2. i actually might make this into a fully fleshed out fic, just because i really liked this concept. i am not very into piss at all, so i went in a little blind writing for the kink. I would love some feedback on this <3.

FtM Radovid/Jaskier urophilia ficlet cw for piss (of course)

i do not consent to minor interaction, minors dni

Radovid was good at ignoring the signs his body would throw at him.

So good, in fact, that he would get stuck with the itching, crawling urge to piss. He ignored his desires in favor of addressing his court, playing house while his brother was away.

Of course the need to urinate was always on the back of his mind.

The young prince limped through lavish hallways, heels of his shoes clicking unevenly against beautiful marble floors, and yet still did not yield. “I’ll go after talking to Dandelion.” He promised to himself as his knees tightened waiting for the bard to arrive. Figures of importance came in and out, a stream of arrogant, pompous royalty that Radovid could not be bothered to entertain because Jaskier was still yet to arrive God damn it.

And yet he still did not yield. He would flash a smile and rub his hands down the front of his plush breeches, fingers digging into the fabric there. He was much too stubborn to go. Much too stubborn to miss his bards arrival as they discussed the fate of the lion cub of Cintra.

Pressure built in his abdomen like boiling water in a black kettle, and for the first time in several hours — Radovid yielded. He stepped out of the room and ran into a stuttered sprint towards the chamber pot. The young prince was full to bursting — piss dribbling out of his cunt and down his thighs, hardly noticeable on the outside of his clothes. It was almost as though Radovid could feel his urethra flutter with every movement, the weight of each step inched his bladder closer to release. Pebbles of pressure on his lower abdomen strung a cord tight, ready to coil and break at any moment as he made a beeline towards sweet release.

And then he walks straight first into Jaskier.

That is the incident that triggers a chain reaction. Walking smack first into his chest was the pair of shears that cut the taut wire. A beautiful, caring, and fiercely loyal pair of shears (not a spoon or a hammer, he was a proper pair thank you very much) — but shears all the same. Radovid grips onto the sleeves of Dandelion’s doublet like a vice, hot piss streaming down his legs. It’s painful, and the feeling of relief comes in bursts as Radovid whimpers against the bard’s chest (who was now cooing and comforting the prince by rubbing circles into his back, clearly unfazed by the humiliating display). It ruins the fine fabric of his clothes; expensive, handmade material soiled by the sticky stream of the prince’s urine.

As Radovid finishes pissing he sobs, finally relieved from stringing that line all day. He catches his breath, the acrid smell of urine in crushed velvet making his nostrils flair.

“You ought to take better care of yourself, Prince.” Jaskier begins above him, still holding him in his arms where Radovid slumped against his chest.

But he does not listen as Jaskier tangents off into how he will have to cover for the prince and bring him back to his chambers, how he should have been taking better care of himself and to listen to the signs that your body is giving you, Spoiled Highness. But Radovid is dazed, Princess Cirilla didn’t matter to him, his toy court didn’t matter to him. He shifted his sticky, syrupy thighs together and gripped at the fabric at Jaskier’s lapels. He needed to get used to yielding.

[plush-rabbit]

Ultra Gold

Warnings: Dubcon, Noncon, Omorashi, Implied Yandere, Implied Kidnapping

Word Count: 5.1K

A/N: It’s here!! I hope you all like it!!

-

He may be cruel and weird, but at least he isn’t starving you. He walks in- in what you would assume is a scheduled time but you wouldn’t know with the lack of clock and boarded up windows that don’t provide any sort of shadows or sun position to at least let you know how long you’ve been here. He’ll come in with a bottle of water and a bowl of fruit or some odd food that’s been sold by a street vendor you once visited before you’ve entered your current predicament. 

Tomura Shigaraki- a man who has committed many crimes that now include kidnapping. You frown. No, he’s kidnapped before so you aren’t even his first in that regard. You’ve been kidnapped by an already established villain for reasons that you are still unsure of. Perhaps you were too nice when you had met him. All you had done is talk to a lonely looking man on the train home, iced coffee in hand that had given you an odd boost of energy and confidence. After that fateful day, you had begun to see more of him, always secluded, never with another person and always seeking you out, making sure that you are alone. You can’t really recall any other time that had given him the wrong idea that you were interested in him romantically. Sure, he was cute with soft blue hair and an almost dangerous smile that was completely snuffed out when he spoke about his interests in gaming and comics. He had the looks of a delinquent and the personality of a soft-spoken nerd. Maybe if he were someone else, you would have grown a crush on him. If he weren’t so creepy, you could have actually fallen for him in a way that counted. 

For now, you rest on a worn bed, clean pink sheets that can barely fit the bed and an old horror manga that leaves you feeling sick in the stomach. The room is neat and empty. Not a single piece of trash that litters the cold floor and only a few books that fill a box in the corner of the room. It was empty when you arrived and the only reason it was filled with something that could entertain you was because you had called him by his name when he asked of you. Tomura. The name makes acid rise in your throat, an odd bubble that makes your mouth burn. 

He’s cruel and weird. He lingers too close to you when you sleep, watching as you eat and drink the things he offers. He touches you experimentally, watching your face twist into a mask of pain and horror to cover the pleasure that courses through your veins when he happens to circle your clit. He doesn’t do anything further than touch you through your underwear and hump your leg like a dog. He pants in your ear and calls your name, twists your nipples until you're crying and begging him to be gentle. He forces you to eat, drenching the soft candy in the water he brings you and stuffing it into your mouth when it has grown soggy enough. 

You tried to fight him in the beginning. You managed a hunger strike and slept the pain away but when he threatened to spit into your mouth like a fletching, you gave in and ate the soft fruit that only made you feel sick late into the night. 

Shadows appear under the door, the voices are muffled and you can hear the snarky laughter of one that’s silenced by a bang against the door. You flinch at the sound and scoot to the corner of the bed, knees pulled to your chest and arms wrapped tight around your legs. The shadows disappear until one is left and like a dog, your mouth salivates and stomach grumbles as the door creaks open. 

Shigaraki walks in with a bowl of fruit in one hand, a water bottle placed meticulously above it. He greets you with a smile, ignoring the look you give him, and sets the food on the floor, the water bottle placed beside it. You wonder if he’s actually interested in you romantically- or sexually- or if he’s just seeing you as some sort of pet. 

“Come on,” he gestures with a hand. “Eat up. I know you’re hungry.” His smile is terrifying, stretching past any reasonable smile you’ve seen before, twisted and wide like it’s been pinned with needles in the corners of his lips. You refuse to move. There’s still a bit of fight left inside of you. His smile falls. “Eat. It’s been a long day for me and if you try to disobey me, I will make you regret it.” His threat is enough for you to scramble into a quick crawl and sit with your legs crossed. 

You hold the bowl in your hands. Watermelon. A bright red color, seedless and huge chunks filling the bowl. Your mouth waters at the sight. It isn’t filling- mostly water-weight, but it’s something. You keep your head low, eyes glued onto the fruit. “Thank you,” you whisper in a low breath. He clears his throat and red sneakers come into your field of vision. “Thank you, Tomura.”

“Of course-” you can hear the smile- “anything for you.” He sits in a mirrored position to you. Legs crossed, hands covered in half-covering gloves as he watches you eat. “Maybe tomorrow I can bring you something a bit more filling.”

Your stomach churns at the word. You have no doubt he would bring you something filling, but you worry what he’ll place inside of the food. You still do. “No.” Your answer is hesitant, and you can feel his eyes on you. “Fruit is fine.” You force a smile to appear on your face as you look up at him. “Really,” you reassure, trying to soften your smile into something more genuine. For emphasis, you stab your fork into the sweet watermelon and bite it with vigor, humming at the taste on your tongue. 

It’s quiet afterwards. Tense and awkward and you want to bury your face into the mattress. Thoughts start to spiral in your head, until you’re gripping the plastic fork in your hand. The bowl is empty. A red-tinged watered resting in place where the watermelon was once plentiful. Your hands shake as you place the bowl down, your breathing taking a sharp inhale as it clacks against the floor. The bottle cap is twisted tightly onto the bottle and you are unable to open it, the sharp grooves digging into your skin. You are unable to open the water bottle. You lower your head and pull the bottle close to you. 

“Can you-”

“Do you-” 

Words are mixed with each other and you clamp your mouth shut. You allow him to continue and watch him with wide eyes. 

You know- you just know- that he’s reading into the words, into the fact that you both spoke at the same time. You know, because if you were in his position, you’d do the same thing. You’d over analyze and then rationalize to avoid hurting your own feelings. But when he has the ball in his court, when he is able to mold what you can and have to say, he is able to read as much as he wants into the shared moment no matter how small. 

When it’s clear that you allow him to speak first, he clears his throat. “Do you want me to open the bottle?” You swallow whatever spit has formed in your mouth- thick and sweet, something that you have to force to go down. 

“Yes, please.” You hold the bottle towards him and his finger grazes your bare skin. And it burns. You try not to pull away too fast, holding the finger close to the palm of your hand, rubbing the pad of your finger over the knuckle that he touched, trying to rid yourself of his touch. The bottle clicks open and he hands it towards you, cap loosened. You take it slowly avoiding touching him with as much ease and grace that you can muster. “Thank you,” you hesitate, the rim of the bottle against your lips, “Tomura.” You close your eyes and drink the water, gulping it down until the bottle thins as the air and water are sucked out of it. An inch of it remains and you lower the bottle, holding it in your hands carefully, running your thumbs over the ridges of the bottle. It’s tense and awkward- always has been and always will be. 

“Do you need any other books? I think I can find a DVD player somewhere and try to find a movie or something for you?” He actually sounds hopeful and you feel so tired, your eyes growing heavy and emptiness overtaking any energy you once had.

“You know what I want,” you murmur under your breath. “I want to go home.” you emphasis the last word and stare at the words on the plastic wrapping of the water bottle. “You can’t keep me here forever.” He doesn’t answer and you take it as a sign to push forward. “Please Tomura,” your voice cracks, “I miss my friends and family.”

“But you belong to me.” Your shoulders fall at his words, a hand sliding upwards, twisting and untwisting the bottle cap. “I found you and saved you from the horrors of the world, I don’t understand why you can’t see that. You're safe with me. You know that.” The bottle cap twists off and you shut your eyes as you take the final swig from the bottle.

You hold the empty bottle in your hand and he takes it from you. “No.” You swallow an anxiety that you have and force yourself to replace it with false confidence. “You stole me. You took me away from the people that I love.” Your eyes waver as they stare at his. “I want to go home Tomura.”

“No.” He answers simply. 

You gawk at him, disbelief written on your face as you stare at him. “That isn’t fair!” You shout, smacking your thighs with the flat of your hands. “I’m allowed to be a free person. You can’t just keep me here because… because you have this sick obsession with me!” Your hands wave in the air and you take in a deep breath, chest light of air. “You can’t act like some-” you turn to look at the sides as if the answer lies there- “like some child!”

His hands grab roughly at the bottle of water and he crushes it in his hand, the plastic crinkling in a harsh sound that reverbs through the empty room. You swallow what little spit there is in your mouth and stare at the bottle as it is flung towards the wall, bouncing with a thud and landing on the floor. You suck in your bottom lip, your breathing stopping as you refuse to look at him. 

You fail to notice the finger that scratches at the plastic, a long, uncut nail creating a tear in the paper.. “I am not a child,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Yes, you are!” You shout, eyes watering as you stare at him. “You can’t just steal me because you’re doing something you-” you point a finger at him- “think that whatever the hell this is is right. You’re just some bratty little kid. For fuck’s sake!” You slam your hands on the floor and he narrows his eyes at you. “I want to go home!”

It’s silent for a moment, the room only filled with your heavy breathing from the yelling- from the emotions that have piled up, from the solitude that you’ve been forced to endure because of some inept weirdo who wanted to save you as if he were the very thing that he hated. “You’re being a brat,” he says in a condescending voice. It’s like he’s speaking to a child, a dotting smile on his face as he lowers himself to the ground. A hand grabs at your chin and forces you to look at him, fabric scratching at your skin and nails sharp on you. His smile is soft, eyes scrunched up as the corners of his lips push upwards. “Don’t forget who’s in charge here.” His eyes widen expectantly, his smile now forced and thin. “Okay?” You don't answer, and instead bite the inside of your cheeks. His smile falls and the grip on your face tightens. “I don’t want to repeat myself.”

“You’re in charge,” you mutter through squished lips. “I’m sorry, Tomura.” His smile returns and he releases your face. You force yourself to not soothe over the burning sensation where he touched you. 

“Good girl,” he tells you. He leans towards you and kisses your temple, pulling away with a serious look on his face. “Don’t make the mistake again.” He grabs the fruit bowl and stands, letting out a breath. He turns on his heel, walking away from you, in a steady stride. 

Your brows furrow and your mouth falls in a frown. “Wait,” it comes out in a soft whisper, you turn and sit on your knees and shuffle towards him. “Wait,” you call out again, “Tomura?” he stops in his tracks and turns his head to the side, a scarlet eye glinting under the light. He hums in a question, and waits for you to speak. “What- What about-” the question sounds embarrassing spoken out loud but you’re sure that it’s another tortuous method of his. What about- you know?” Your eyes glance to the side and you clear your throat. “The- The bathroom break?”

He turns around to face you, head tilted to the side and he sighs. “This is just to make sure that you remember your place next time.” Your eyes widen and as if like it was just waiting to appear at the worst moment possible, you can start to feel the urge to relieve yourself. “Try not to make a mess.” The door closes with a soft click as it always has and you’re left alone.

It starts off as a small build-up. A pressure against your lower stomach that makes your legs start to bounce in a nervous tick. He hasn’t been back. You don’t know how long it’s been but you start to fear he won’t be back. But that’s ridiculous. He wouldn’t ignore you for so long. Not when both of you are so dependent on one another. Attention, the warmth of another, and for you, the source of food. He gives you life, gives you the attention that you have missed for so long, he touches you with rough hands, and gives you a pleasure that you deny yourself in fear that he has cameras hidden in the room that was made- or rather saved- for you. 

The pressure grows, something heavy and throbbing. You lie on the mattress, curled on your side, hands held and arms stretched so it rests between your legs. You whine and furrow your brows. Your body shakes and you try to remember the “hack” that your friend had once told you to in order to stop yourself from the feeling of urination. 

You breath harshly, biting your bottom lip and letting it go once your teeth dig into the soft flesh. You suck in the inside of your cheeks, your molars biting down on the soft flesh. You feel full, a swelling tummy full of water, and it’s painful. It pushes against your lower belly, your heat throbbing the further you keep yourself in this personal hell. 

He might be cruel and perverted, but he’s never withheld something like this from you. You always thought it was some sort of pride on his end, to lead you around the hideout like some sort of ant, walls much too similar for you to make any sense, eyes then covered once he saw your flickering eyes and that’s when you were sure that he kept spinning you around in circles. But now, with his silent goodbye, and lack of checking in on you in who-knows-how-long, you were starting to worry that you wouldn’t be free to go to the bathroom anytime soon.

You are still above the bed, slowly moving a leg outwards only to stop and whine when a dribble of urine rushes out. You suck in a harsh breath and dig your nails into your thighs. You try to ignore the feeling, trying to steady your breath as everything begins to twist in it’s feelings. The pain is replaced by something more pleasurable, a throbbing against your cunt and your eyes water, a high-pitched gasp escaping past your lips. You rock yourself against your forearms, the friction relieving your mind from the unbearable pain that strained against you seconds ago. It’s pathetic, rocking yourself against your arms, finding pleasure in this humiliating experience where he has metaphorically held your bladder hostage. You let out another gasp, high and broken, biting on your lower lip to silence the noises.

The door creaks open as you hump yourself on your arms, eyes shut tight and breathy moans filling the room. You are unaware of the eyes watching you, the soft click of the door that matched the one done so long ago. Your toes curl and your nails press deeper into your skin. The friction burns well, sick gratification coursing through your veins.

“I never took you for having a piss kink,” he mutters, a knee pressed down against the mattress. You freeze in place, cunt tightened as if that would prevent urine to leak. “Don’t stop. It’s actually interesting. I’ve never seen you actually pleasure yourself. And with a full bladder? You really are some sort of degenerate.” You can hear the smile in his voice as he speaks and you can feel your face burn in humiliation, your heart races and pulses in your neck, a heavy pounding that makes your ears throb. 

“I-” you lick your lips- “I need to pee, Tomura,” you croak out, pinching your eyes tight until colors and shapeless forms start to hover in your vision. “Please.” You open your eyes and and breathe heavily, your chest rising and heaving, nipples rigid and poking through the thin of your shirt. A tingle spreads from your cunt, making you tighten your legs, clit throbbing and your sex weakening. 

The bed creaks and you suck in a deep breath through pursed lips. Urine leaks out in small dribbles and you remove your arms, clamping your legs tight. You turn on your back and can feel a slick slide down. 

Heavy hands lay on your ankles and your vision clouds with tears. You yelp as your ankles are gripped and you’re pulled down the bed until your legs are bent over the bed. “It’s a heavy feel against you, throbbing and awful, pleasurable and you place your hand over your mouth, your knuckles touching your cheek. Hands slide up your legs and you release a bit more, your underwear growing wet and sticking to your skin. You bite on the skin exposed to you, pain flaring in sharp tingles.

Clothes are pulled from your skin and you lay bare on the bed, your underwear around your ankles. “A wet spot,” he hums. “Are you aroused or are you just pissing yourself like some filthy whore?” You bite deeper on your skin and whine loudly, trying to close your legs only to be paused by a hand that meets at your inner thigh. 

You cannot answer and instead choose to stay silent out of necessity, biting down on your skin. Your legs are bent upwards and rest on the edge of the bed; your underwear slowly peeled off and placed somewhere unknown. Your legs are spread and unwillingly, you spill further onto yourself, the urine smelling strong of acid and wetting the bed underneath you. 

You release your wrist from your mouth and speak through gathered saliva. “I’m sorry,” you sob, tears slipping down your cheeks, trying to cross your legs. “I need to pee, Tomura,” you cry, chest stuttering and hands moving to cover your face awkwardly. “Please,” you beg, clenching tightly on yourself to avoid any further leaking. Your lower half grows wet and uncomfortable and you can feel a heavy gaze on your sex. 

"If you do, you'll dirty the bed. I'm angry enough that I won't get you another." His nose touches against your inner thigh, a soft graze of his skin in yours that makes you flinch. "You'll have to sleep in your own piss.” You can feel your clit twitch, a spasm that shudders through your body and makes goosebumps rise and prick on your skin. “It would teach you to learn some manners.” You can feel his fingers crawl upwards towards your legs, thin and nimble fingers that touch and pull quickly against your soft flesh, the warmth of your skin burning under his touch. His nails drag against your skin and leave faint scratches. 

The pressure builds, tightening that coils around your stomach, squeezing taut, unforgiving and warm, much too hot for you to feel comfortable. His finger grazes at your labia and warmth floods out and drips onto his finger. You choke down your sob, covering your eyes and pinching your thighs together only to meet the sides of his head. Heat floods throughout your body. He’s seen you nude before, pawed at your skin like a ravenous man- like a lonely one. He’s kissed at your bare skin until you’ve cried, rough hands that jumped at contact with your sex. He’s seen it up close, pressed his face close until your scent had filled his lungs- “sweet and acidic” as he called it- but he’s never held himself so close to you when you were on the verge of leaking. 

“Such a sweet cunt-” you press the heels of your palms harsh against your mouth, stifling a groan when his tongue pushes forward and slips between your lips- “even when filled with piss.”

Your teeth gnaw on your bottom lip, the tip of your tongue lapping at the sore, tender spot left by your teeth. Your heart races, pumping loudly in your chest and pulsing deep within your cunt, “You’re being mean.” Your words are muffled and tears sting behind your closed eyelids. “Tomura-” You let out a stifled mewl, clenching your thighs tight around his head. His tongue swirls around your pulsing bud, the throbbing heat intense and feeling like an actual heartbeat as he presses his face close to your sex. 

You feel hot, warmth burning in your entire body, the tight coil held so tightly that you can imagine the seams ripping. You can’t allow yourself the mortification of relieving yourself on his face. You’re sure that he would derive some sort of twisted pleasure from seeing you in such a horrid situation. 

His chapped lips kiss your sex, lips moving open and closed, pulling against your gummy flesh, his tongue peeking in and scooping up the arousal that drips from you. His mouth leaves you cold and empty, your breathing slowing into deeper gasps for air, your hands curling and twisting the bed sheet under. His name is a broken chant on your tongue, body twisting as he pushes himself inside of you. Your walls hugging him tightly, pulling on his shaft and molding to his shape. 

He’s ruthless. Using you only as a living sex doll, fucking you slowly and without care, watching as your eyes grow wide, mouth parting open and your breasts swinging as he moves you on his cock. He fills you well, the pressure on your tummy heavier and you are unable to keep a tight grip on it, a spittle of piss spilling out onto him, drenching your burning skin. He leans over you, his breath fanning across your face and your eyes grow a distant look onto them. 

“Nothing but a fucking slut,” he says through gritted teeth. “You deserve this. Everything that has happened to you is all your fault,” he spits at you. A hand wraps around your throat, pressure against the side of your neck, making your pulse point stutter. “All you had to do was love me. All you had to do was be a good, little girl and instead you spit on me.” His hand tightens and his voice grows into an echo. “You’re lucky I care for you so much.” His canine shines and glowing red eyes are all that you see in a growing pit of darkness and hate. A thick glob of spit meets your cheekbone and you are too out of it to wipe it away. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be alone.” He leaves close to you, red eyes that stare into yours, full of hate and hurt, voice in a low snarl as he speaks. “No one will ever love you like I do.”

Your orgasm washes out in waves, cascading around his cock and keeping him there as you ride your orgasm. It’s unforgiving and harsh, your body shaking and tense, head tilted back and neck exposed, the fabric scratching underneath your nails. His cock pulls out, wet and sliding between the sandwiched folds, leaving you empty and twitching. Your twitching bud feels hot as your urine flows out, an acidic scent filling the air. Your face is flushed, eyes wet with tears and mouth open in a silent scream as you wet yourself. Your legs shake, heavy and sporadic as something wet fills the bed and stains your thighs. Your sex pulses like a heart beat, tears falling down the curve of your face. You are distant from the world, sobbing and closing your legs together, shaking your head repetitively. 

The bed squeaks and you are unknown to it. Dips fall between your body, a heavy heat moving from the curve of your stomach to the valley between your breasts,  a sticky leak trailing against you. A heated tip presses against your lower lip, your tongue sliding out in a curve. Something thick slides down the back of your throat. It’s salty and acidic, your face scrunching up and something thick fills your mouth, the girth of his cock unexpected and your eyes widen, tears catching on your lashes like dew on an early morning. 

A man filled with negative emotions, he takes it out on you. He claims to love, the perverted twist on it nothing more than a questionable attachment. He buries himself in you, cares nothing for you when you gag and choke, a wet sounding cough that vibrates on his swollen cock. He is pressed flush against you, your nose buried in a thick coil of his pubic hair. Your arms move on their own, moving to grip onto his thighs, the sharp “pat’ sound on his package slapping against your chin. Your jaw hurts, minded clouded with your post-orgasm and the humiliation that has begun to settle within you. Your body is tired, pushed beyond any limits that you thought you had. Somewhere deep in your mind, you register that this is your fault. You should have just asked for a coloring book.

Tomura curses obscenities into the room, your name mingled with foul language that makes you wince. He’s rough and terrifying. You should have realized that this wasn’t some lovesick fool; this was a grown man who has grown and festered in a wicked environment and now you must care for him as if he were a lover or suffer this fate again.

Tears slide down your eyes and you sob. You choke against him, your nails dragging against his pale skin and leaving red lines in its wake. He grunts like a mad man, words long gone, the pronunciation and control of tongue something that had slipped away from him when you began to cry. He cries your name, and you can picture the mess that he looks now- pale hair that sticks to his face, a red flushed face and drool that drips from his lips.

Spit stains both you and him and through a mouth full of cock, you call his name. It’s nowhere near filled with grace or with hate, a sore jaw that has grown tired from being pried open and fucked. “Tomura,” you call him in a muffled voice, weak vibrations that tremble from him cockhead to the base where your nose remains buried only to be pulled away.

Thick ropes shoot onto your face, the heaviness of his semen catching on your tongue and you look up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “You have a real lewd face on you right now.” His smile is stretched wide, eyes raised in a sick sense of humor. “Pretty fucking hot, if I have to be honest.” His head tilts and in his hand he holds a softening cock. “Do you want to know why I won’t let you go? Why I’m so certain that you’ll never run for help?” His cock is pressed into your mouth; the once hard flesh, soft and lingering with a salty aftertaste. “Because you have such a big mouth that I doubt you’d ever keep it a secret that you let a villain fuck and piss in your mouth.” Your bottom lip lip trembles and the flat of your tongue holds the bottom of his cock, the once prominent vein now soft. 

It’s much worse than you could have ever imagined. It’s worse than his own seed, something so thin and potent all at once. It’s acidic, burning as it goes down your throat in heavy waves. It swells your belly, your cunt throbbing in reaction, your hands clutching at your chest, nails imbedded deep in your fat. It hits harshly against you, a dull push against the back of your throat, dribbling into salty droplets on your tongue. His cock pulls away from you, limping out and dragging against your swollen lips in a tender kiss, drips of acid sparkling against your parted lips.

You lay one the soiled bed- wet, warm and sticky. Your clit still pulses, harsh and heavy, chest rising and falling in heavy heaves. The urine dries quickly, a heavy acidic scent that fills the room and sticks to your skin like an awful perfume. Sticky hands grab yours and you’re pulled upwards into a solid chest. Your knees buckle and your hands scratch at the abdomen. 

“Let’s go clean you up.” A kiss is placed on the crown of your head, a hand sliding down and leaving goosebumps in its wake as it rests on your lower back. “A nice shower will make you feel better.” The taste of him lingers on your tongue, your mouth dry from the abuse.

[deerinurheadlights]

to have sex with me you must first defeat my seven evil kinks