#dubcon m -

[moechies]

oh please more bunny reader and toji they’re so cutesy. maybeeeee reader has really sensitive tail/ears and toji really takes advantage of that?

tamer! toji who’s the roughest with his little client bunny. well, your previous owner is to blame. he claims that you’re the pickiest, messiest, neediest bunny that needs to be put in her place ; with none other but a little bit of force.

tamer! toji who doesn’t really like rodents , but he assumes he could make an exception for you; since you’re cute and fluffy. just this once though , bunny !

tamer! toji who doesn’t let your brat antics slip past him, and makes sure that you know your place at the end of the day. he can’t let your owners tedious cash payment go to waste !

“d-don’t touch my ears !” you whine, soft sobs spilling from your pouty lips. the man has both your ears in a strong, unforgiving grip, looking to teach you a lesson for sneaking into his washroom for a peek.

the thin, white towel he has around his waist hangs dangerously low and not to mention, loose, and your wandering eyes can’t help but notice the fat chub that shows through the fabric.

“fuckin’ perverted bunny. ya need a whoopin’ to learn yer place ?” he sneers, lowering his face to face yours. you paw at his hand, thumb slipping against his burly fingers, “hn— no— it hurts ! w-was an accident , swear ! i got lost !”

toji can’t help but grin at your limpid lies; he can see right through you, little bunny.

y’r gonna learn not to lie t’me ever again tonight, bunny.”

tamer! toji who carries you towards his bed as you writhe in his grip, ignoring your little mewls and complaints about your sensitive ears as you rub incessantly at the sore flesh.

tamer! toji who bends you over in the grossest arch against his towel-clad lap, feeling his warm skin against yours as the towels knot grows weaker and threatens to slip. he tugs off your soft shorts, revealing that soft, chubby bunny butt.

tamer! toji who’s surprised when he sees how fluffy your little cottontail is, twitching nervously under his gaze.

tamer! toji who even more surprised when he takes a sneak peek at your bunny cunt , just to see how slicked up your chubby folds are, soft hole throbbing with your carnal needs. what a pervert.

“no ! d-don’t look there !” you squeal, frantic paws attempting to scurry away from the man’s grasp.

his hand comes down unexpectedly with a hard smack across your ass, the soft flesh growing raw to the touch. your throat elicits a small gasp of shock, falling pliant against the man’s lap. you’re quick to burst into tears, even if you don’t want to; but it truly hurts so bad!

“bad bunnies need t’learn.” toji coos, kneading at the raw skin. it makes you flinch against his touch. “bad, perverted bunnies.” he whispers against your soft ears, making them twitch.

he tugs at the soft tuft of your cottontail, exposing your puckered asshole soft to the touch.

“n-no!” your tail twitches against his hold, shaky hand coming behind to cover yourself.

“hey.” he spits, a rough hand grappling at the chub of your ass almost like a threat, “y’think y’r in any place to tell me no right now ?”

his hand slaps down against your plush ass once again, the sting inevitable as he holds you firmly. your hands ball into fists that shoot up to your eyes, furiously wiping away at your newfound tears, soft hiccups that accompany your cries.

“that’s it, y’r learning.” you submit helplessly below him, watching intently at your softened ears pliant against the cushion. “y’know what you need to do?”

“m—m sorry. ‘m sorry mister…!” you burst into tears once again, little toe pads curled up into ‘c’s in a fear of feeling his punishing hand on the hot burn of your ass yet again. you don’t know if he’d punish you for your loud cries yet, but you simply can’t hold back. he’s breaking your little bunny heart.

“oh..” he sighs, he feels a tad bit bad; he supposes. he watches as your forearm slaps across your face to hide your expression, your other hand in an attempt to protect your burning cheek. “hey.”

you peek up at him with a tiny stare, hiccups still reverberating through your body causing you to bounce against his lap. you ignore the fat chub that pokes at the side of your tummy, flaunting shamelessly through the fabric of toji’s pants.

“come to this room t’ night after yer duties. y’took yer punishment well.” toji grimes, and he adores the way your eyes light up like diamonds. his friend down below seems to adore it just as much as he does, too.

tamer! toji who sees you peek in half of your head at the designated time that he asked you to come, nervously treading along the glazed floors with a glint of fear that he’ll continue his punishment.

don’t think of him so lowly, bunny. he really isn’t that mean!

tamer! toji who takes care of you that night; after a bit of coercing and getting you on your tummy, ripping your frilly panties from your bruised butt and pressing in a thick plug. he thinks the pink diamond is terribly gorgeous in contrast to your soft tail, twitching with pain at the unfamiliar feeling.

tamer! toji who preps you briefly, leaning down to block your view of his hefty fingers slipping in between your chubby folds. “s—sir!” it’s not like you don’t feel it, but he loves to make a little face at you that makes you look crazy!

tamer! toji who fucks you brutally against his soft matress that night, relentlessly humping into the depths of your gushy cunt. he can’t get enough, truly. you’re one damn bunny.

he watches you skillfully, the little plug snug in your ass squeezing against his cock from the inside. he feels the hard metal that bulges from the other side of your soft walls, grunting at the tightness.

tamer! toji who can’t help but cum fat loads in your cunt when he hears your little cries, sweet yelps for your ‘mister’ to come and save you. it’s even better when they slowly grow to cute moans and pleads to cum all over. don’t worry, bunny. your new mister will be sure to tug at your cottontail and rub your clit, just to ensure his bunny a good time.

[littlepuddingsworld]

Okay, this is going to sound insane, but please hear me out.

In the 19th century, there were doctors who specialised in curing "female hysteria", which was often just misdiagnosed sexual frustration (Whenever women were too out of control for men to handle, it was diagnosed as hysteria. So it was basically anything, sexual frustration included...). The cure was fingering...yeah. It was relatively normalised to, as a doctor, finger someone's wife...quite a way to make a living. There was basically a handbook written in Latin about how you do it (oil up your hand, insert here, there will be muscle contraction, the lady in question will breathe heavily before ultimately having a hysteria paroxysm (this is a former medical term for orgasms btw)). Obviously, there were mixed opinions about giving another man's wife an orgasm, however, the Catholic doctors concluded that it cannot have been sexual, since there was no penetration. "It's our duty as doctors to cure these poor women of their hysteria, Sir 🫡"

FUN FACT: Since some doctors would experience wrist pain from the...hard manual labour, they invented a device that does it for them: The vibrator. When the vibrator was first used in pornography, the doctors said NOPE and left their profession behind. In 2011, there was a period romcom made about this called Hysteria. It's not even that bad, unironically. Oh and by the way, the name hysteria is derived from the Greek word hystera, meaning uterus, hence why only women were diagnosed with hysteria.

Anyway, getting to my point:

Imagine a yandere thinking that you're being incredibly hysterical, emotional, out of control and then proceeding to sit you down and curing you of your hysteria the old-fashioned way...

They either do it knowingly, or are just too oblivious to even realise that what they are doing is...not quite the correct solution for the problems they caused you in the first place...

Just wanted to share this with someone...take it as you will...

,,, to be honest, I knew about the hysteria, but I didn't know about the fact that a vibrator was created that way,,,, sexy big brain<3333 i love your words so much, mercury kissed you at birth,,,, very brainy, very many cerebral convolutions, I love it,,, come here to kith kith pretty pie—

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

your husband is so sweet, so adorable — especially when he's on his knees in front of you, purring something about how he should help you, as if it's not his personal fault that you feel like this.

... ♡ unhealthy relationship, misconception of the century / time, hierarchical society, mild sexism? (more classism?), mild maledom elements, mention of religion, forced marriage implied, male pregnancy mentioned because no pregnant reader, unethical treatment methods?; doctor!noble!husband x darling!reader

dubious consent (dubcon) -> consensual sex, crying, mild sadism/masochism, mention of degradation (g.), hair pulling (g.), oral sex (r.), mild fingering (r.), praise (r.)

If THEODORE had been told that he was "mistreating his darling spouse", he would have

agreed.

It was logical: if he treated you well, then would you enter into a frenzy of emotions, scream and look as if you were about to faint before falling at a table made of pleasantly smelling wood, — Theodore knew that you love this variety; almost all tables, chairs and other wooden utensils was of this sort, — completely exhausted, unable even to drive away your narrow-minded husband, only waving a fragile palm in his direction, as if desperate, while he took your fan, straight from the hands of the best chinese craftsmen, and gently fanned you, letting you hang head? Of course not.

You, his breathtaking spouse, were so touching and gentle, full of spring charm and a few drops of exquisite, expensive coquetry, like the first flowers in spring — delicate, almost transparent, not at all like the luxury of scarlet roses that gardeners grow every season, or the exuberant scent of lilac and juniper, especially in July. Not at all. Your charm was subtle, unique, corresponding to the rumbling of the first rivers or the first drop falling from the roofs after the melting of the snow. You have never been a socialite — never; parents were rich enough to support you and your siblings, but not rich enough to live in idleness and not worry about money.

You were introduced at the first ball and attended others from time to time, but most of the time you couldn't afford to walk around with "old dresses", not wanting to be considered poor or shame family by not being able to buy new clothes. Theodore understood perfectly well — being from a not-so-rich family, somehow coping with this whole world, you simply could not afford to live bohemian, expensive and shameless out of fear that money was too little, as if you did not even think that you could just marry someone rich and sponsor with their help your family. Theodore didn't blame, having heard about you for the first time from the mouths of other dandies who follow every new "coquette fan", more than an eloquent sign of finding a partner, though; "too conscientious and didn't understand how this world works" or just a prude,

but now, he understands that you just knew your worth and waited for someone like

him.

After all, in a world where divorce can only happen after death, and infidelity is punished by an enraged spouse with a knife, how could you easily marry someone? You were so alluring, like ripe peaches filled with juice — naturally, not everyone can and should touch your delicate, perfumed hands and caress skin so soft that no overseas silk can compare.

Theodore was sure that there were words about you: "If the cost of their kiss was hell, // then I will kiss their lips, // so that in hell I can brag to the devils // that I was in heaven without even entering it." Because you were paradise, it didn't matter if you smiled, cried or screamed — or were "not a couple who deserved," but only because you could have become the monarch's spouse right away, but he found you earlier.

He had no doubt that you were special — definitely to him. Therefore, he did not think long before he came to your parents to take you to his estate, in the sweetly itchy haste of first and only love, kissing your hands and touching the slightly trembling fan with thin fingers while you looked down in frightened amazement, while your parents confusedly exchanged glances, not understanding why he came to "court you". Theodore did not ask if you had someone — after all, if you had, you would rather slit your throat than let another touch your thin fingers, because he would have done exactly the same in your place if he were still a dependent young man (now, of course, he was not — having studied at a very prestigious university, where his parents also studied, he was more than an enviable independent bachelor and knew it). And if earlier he was afraid that, what if!, was not "normal", then when saw you, he knew that he had been waiting for you all this time — and you were undoubtedly waiting for him too.

If, in order to be with you, he had to refuse the sky, the sun and the moon, he would do it without hesitation. This is love — Theodore had no doubt that you yourself understand this.

Your parents, however, soon dispelled his prejudices. You didn't just "didn't understand it" — you weren't like that, but Theodore, hesitating only for a few seconds, realized that you just weren't like everyone else. While others were blinded by love, like him, you couldn't be like that — you just didn't understand it, didn't feel like that, and your parents were only afraid that your "defect" in the marriage market would make you lonely for the rest of days.

Theodore, however, did not think so: you were the same age as him, he was childless, unmarried, rich and educated, had an estate with intelligent and trained servants, good sources of income, a lot of free time, did not have the habit of drinking a lot of alcohol or tobacco, — and the fact that you were allegedly "not sensual enough" was, of course, stupidity. He wasn't going to use the fact that you can't pick up a knife to kill an unfaithful spouse! And I wasn't going to cheat! He won't do any harm! Yes, you may be a little... very very little defective-ish, but isn't love blind? He will accept you at any cost, even with such a... 'setback'.

... Of course, it is wrong and even abnormal that you cannot kill someone who is cheating on you, and are not ready to die just to be with someone you love, and that it is wild for you to give up everything for your beloved... But Theodore understands that you are already too perfect, and it's okay to have flaws. He's not thirteen anymore.

As long as this is not passed on to children, everything will be fine, please, don't worry, ma joie, — he gently whispers to you, touching gloved fingers, stroking fingers gently, looking into your very happy face ? — I'll accept you for who you are, even with this. With everything. Because you and I, being whole by ourselves, become more than just "ourselves" together.

And it was true, don't get him wrong! His pedigree was good, he was, uh, "thoroughbred," and his family tree was beautiful, worthy of your hand. Theodore was not self-confident, but he was confident, buying everything you want, not walking through salons and entertainment houses and not being in any dubious circles, his entourage was only intelligent people who had an education and could both write and read, and not in two languages, and there was no one in his circle someone of the same gender, and he wasn't squeamish or suspicious. After all, what else can you worry about? But you were worried. Over time, it's even a little noisy.

You shouted, sometimes threw yourself, behaved strangely, as if he was not a refined learned man who was your shadow and wrote poetry to you, not forcing you to do anything even after your approved marriage, but a brute or an invader. Did he take you away without permission? Perhaps using his status in society to a little and influence your parents with children who have not yet appeared to the beau monde, and used a little influence to convince these people that he will help your siblings in the future to find a better match than they can now count on — but then why does he need it: status, influence, reputation, — if he can't even convince his love to stay with him? Otherwise, you can't blame—

... Oh wait.

You can.

Theodore realizes with annoyance, sitting hs office with a book in hands, writing notes in diary, and adjusts his glasses: he had completely forgotten — you're "not like that." You're different. Your parents told him. You understand love differently, you look at your partner differently, you cannot understand the concept of love itself... Theodore used to think that they just raised you wrong, but now he understands what they meant: that the feelings that ordinary people spend on a partner, you leave inside, letting them accumulate, and when you realize that you can no longer, you emotionally explode and behave as if something is wrong with him or you — it's obvious! You just can't do it any other way! Of course, why else would you be unhappy with your situation? After all, it's natural that your family hardly communicates with you or that you can't spend a lot of time outside the house — everyone lives like that, except the unmarried! You just don't understand it!

Because you are so emotional, so sensitive, so responsive, that, naturally, you need special care and care, and not a sidelong glance from your husband, who behaved so coldly, only supporting, but not helping you in any way! After all, he studied at the best university, was one of the best students, even had an internship and, of course, corresponded with his comrades, learning new ways to deal with diseases and disorders. After all, what kind of "good husband" is he if he can't even help his gentle, easily excitable spouse cope with their, he's not afraid of that word, illness?

You just don't understand...

“... Darling, we need to make one thing.”

You are gentle, soft, not submissive — both in clothes and under them, and although you may consider him a little pathetic when he whispers it to you, burying cold nose in your thigh like a lost dog, but after shouting and throwing things, you are no longer so full of destructive energy. Holding him tightly by the hair, you look down with pursed lips, but do not answer anything — and in expensive clothes, with jewelry, sleek and clearly not deprived of the love and affection of a bohemian husband, you look like a deity that descended from heaven.

Theodore knows that he must decontaminate for sure, but what can a spouse hide from a spouse, right? After all, you are more than a "single whole", especially when he is sitting on his lap, no problem as long as you are sitting on a chair made of your favorite wood, soft and comfortable enough, allowing him to carefully get rid of excess clothes without disgrace, looking at how thin lips touch your skin in a respectfully pious way.

Even your heavy breathing from the outburst of emotions sounds like music that should be played in the church if they want the heavenly ambassadors to descend.

Is he too "sugary"?

No, he's just a realist.

“Darling, please...”

You don't push away even when fingers gently touch your thighs like feathers, just frowning a little harder. But not by pushing it away. You are smart, you always have been, and, of course, you yourself understand that you are sick, and only he, as your husband and doctor, can help you. It's natural. Why do you need another men- or women- another doctor? How dare someone else touch you? Only you can touch him and only he can touch you. He's yours — a husband, a doctor, anyone. As soon as you become healthier, he will definitely be your lover — and maybe one day you will take a child or will he carry it. After all, how dare he sleep with you and use you, so gentle and airy, like a messenger from heaven, while you are so deeply ill, not even really knowing what love is and how to react to it?

“Darling... It's just a little help. Just say the word and we'll stop anytime. I don't want to harm my spouse, you know... Besides, you can always stop me by force.”

You yourself spread your warm, soft, almost plush thighs while he meekly looks up from the bottom, trying to unobtrusively encourage you to let him just look a little. Theodore was not an expert on issues related to sex life or the influence of genitals on human behavior, — although, undoubtedly!, it was important, but he preferred less dirty things, — but now, kneeling in front of you on a soft carpet, stroking your skin, it did not seem something vile or dirty, animal, but for some reason pleasant and... airy-natural; the very sight made him want not to wince and turn away, but not to look away, even when you pull his hair harder, frowning, clearly not too willing to continue this, but it's better than if he drags you to someone else.

You knew yourself that your husband sometimes got too involved with the human body in a not too, uh, "harmless" sense, but it was never dangerous or illegal, unless against the law of god, so you let him correspond with 'friends' and 'colleagues', studying new diseases and learning more about experience and practice. But if you knew that one day you would be the subject of research, you would definitely throw his ink and letters into the fireplace — along with other things.

“Mi único... I want to help... Do you know what hysteria is? This is when a darling behaves very much... emotionally because of the internal tension. And so we have recently come up with a... new way to deal with similar diseases. It can help our marriage... Te quaeso?”

Theodore is not an idiot; rather, he feels like a trainer or a tamer, gently pushing and touching, without making any sudden movements while you look at him, gradually relaxing the tense body, letting his fingers, slightly slippery from oil and disinfectants, touch the delicate skin of the inner thigh, massaging and stroking, not hurrying. He doesn't have much experience — practically none, you never shared a bed even after the "wedding night", — but there is enough theory and ideas how to use it, especially when thin, slightly cool fingers slowly touch the skin under stomach, stroke as lightly as possible along a sensitive line, kissing with warmed lips the skin. If he could, he'd love to just open his mouth and eat you, or at least nibble — but he's not the type who eats his darling and then walks around saddened widowers and widows without the opportunity to remarry, he's a more sophisticated type and definitely not that creepy, even if the way you are you pull his hair as fingers gently circle around, rubbing and stroking, using precum for better contact, makes his eyes water and his mouth open slightly, breathing, feeling too ambiguous even for a "husband", let alone the role of the "doctor" in which he was.

“Please... d-darling...” He chirps something slightly hoarsely, stroking, caressing, breathing every other time, as if you are holding not by the hair, but by the throat; when his fingers tremble slightly, you hiss, making him blush slightly shamefacedly, as if from your swearing, — but he tries not to break the rhythm, ignoring, as befits a refined well-mannered husband. Do well-mannered husbands use their fingers on their spouses? Theodore doesn't have that much experience to respond, especially when you flinch slightly, curling your toes, — and he wants to bite just to remove this strange shameful, almost perverted feeling of a mixture of lust and guilt inside, clearly not too approved by religion, but when you start breathing shallowly and harder, closing your eyes, Theodore moves his fingers faster, watching your face.

Is that right? You don't hold him so tightly, but don't take your hand away, and his fingers are so slippery and wet that he's almost ashamed, as if it's all his juices, and he definitely should at least look away, but this is scientific curiosity, just curiosity, even when he changes his position, sinking lower shamelessly, feeling himself for a moment, it really was some kind of fallen man from entertainment houses, with an implicit gurgling feeling in the lower abdomen, listening only to your breathing and slightly squelching sounds. Theodore hardly breathes, looking at his fingers, trying for a moment to distract himself with the fleeting thought "good that cut nails" — but when your... your bare foot touches his shoulder, it seems so perversely seeing your calves that he does not know where to look — freezing for a moment, his eyes are drawn only to you, even if it looks so... sweetly vulgar, completely wrong, — but you're already married, so it's okay even if you're not like that, right? It's okay when he sees something below your neck and bare arms, it's okay when you squeeze his hair tightly again, it's okay when he hears your hot, loud breathing, as if you're breathing directly into his red ears, although he can't even look up from the way you're holding him.

Your fingers are strong, dexterous, squeezing his strands so hard that he can't move anywhere, but for some reason he is too pleased with this than he should be, even when Theodore feels like you are pushing him even closer shamelessly, as if he is not your, actually, noble and high-minded husband, who is now plays the role of your doctor, helping you with your "hysteria", but some kind of fun boy!

Outrageous!

“D-darl-!~”

You hiss something, almost growl — and pull too hard, forcing Theodore to briefly let out a distant sigh without resistance — and obediently open his mouth, hastily removing his fingers so as not to interfere before he finds a new, more comfortable place. His eyes are slightly watering from the mild pain, but when he does not see a shadow of the old irritation or anger in your face, he obediently sticks out the tip of his red tongue, not trying to shirk his doctoral duties — or is this already a marital duty? Theodore doesn't know, he's not sure, — especially when you hold him even tighter, not listening to what he says, knowing that if he really was "against it", he would have already got out, and not looked at you like a fawn at a hunter, as if it wasn't because of him that you were here, with legs spread apart and heavy breathing from the heaviness in the lower abdomen.

Is this really what he was taught at university?

A boy for fun.

The corners of your husband's eyes turn red, but he does not try to say anything or justify himself, — why should he? — making inarticulate sounds, but only moving his head, hesitantly holding your hips as much as he could do it respectfully and unobtrusively; after all, he is a learned man, even if he was kneeling like some kind of animal or a slave.

When Theodore awkwardly, clumsily moves his tongue, trying to make sure that you feel good, for some reason the world feels much brighter and sharper, — especially when the heat gets stronger, making you tremble slightly, feeling a wide tongue and thin flexible fingers, as if they are perfect only for this, but there is less air in your lungs than you need to continue dirty deservedly whisper to him how low he has sunk, from his 'writing letters to the best doctors he studied with' to kneeling in front of his spouse.

It's not that you're going to stop him or let him change his position, of course, but just force him to continue doing what he's good for, while he's almost meowing, almost purring, not trying to pull away anymore.

... It's not that he's wrong, though.

You definitely feel better after a little therapy.

[cryptid-cave]

I’m gonna be cringe for a moment and muse about my silly little a/b/o AU, specifically about an all-alpha tf141 being real weird and pushy with the resident analyst (who’s a beta, not that you’d know it from how the 141 act)

I have literally no plot to go with it, but basically beta!reader starts unintentionally developing omega characteristics simply because the alphas won’t leave them alone and it’s wreaking havoc on their hormones (I hate to call it bitching but like…..it’s bitching. sorry ://)

[intestinalemphasis]

Brain rotting to this mpreg thing,

Twink is possibly pregnant, so he goes to the doc to confirm. He flirts with him the whole time, getting hot and bothered on the table, and eventually the doc gives in and fucks him outright, then and there. If he wasn't pregnant before, he is now.

When he shows up next, he acts naive and unaware. As though he has no idea who the doc is or what they did together. The doc seems surprised at first, until the twink exclaims that he gets super horny sometimes and forgets everything that happens afterwards once he is.

"I'm just such a forgetful bunny," he exclaims, "it's a wonder how I've only been knocked up with one!"

Soon enough, the doc figures out his secret. He learns what shuts off his brain, and what makes him a horny, forgetful mess. He uses it to his advantage, ravishing him in the doctors office each time he shows up, and putting another baby in that fertile womb of his. Every time he comes back for another scheduled "check-up", he's a little rounder, full of his doctor's growing spawn.

[polterrrgeist]

Ask Team Phantom part 13: pitch pearl edition

[ihonestlycanttellyou]

Choose your fighter:

Evil Bimbo Whitney digging her sharp acrylics into your scalp as she drags you by the hair to force you between her thighs in the middle of the hallway.

OR

Aggressive Tomboy Whitney getting you on the ground and pressing her beat-up sneaker into your chest until you beg her to let you between her thighs while her friends watch.

[arithmonym]

Been thinking about your ace cam fic where she initiates and is like hm yes i am good at being a scientist. And then is like YIKES WAIT NVM. Bc ive lived that experience several times lmao and you wrote it super well in a way that i feel like fits them. It Stuck with me.

Anyway Im reading this autostraddle article you reblogged and looking at the consent chart (screenshot included) and Im curious about where you feel she falls on that chart. I interpreted it as “willing consent (when i care about you even though i dont desire you right now)” but yeah im curious about your meta on it

(fic link, for context.)

that’s a difficult question!! i don’t think there’s a straightforward answer; and camilla is an unreliable narrator in this fic, so that confounds the issue.

the way she narrates the encounter prior to her withdrawal, i think “willing consent” is the closest approximation: she doesn’t desire palamedes, but she’s making the choice to have sex with him because she cares about him, and they’re both hurting in the wake of dulcinea’s rejection. she doesn’t expect to get anything out of it except the reassurance that she and palamedes are still bound tightly together, but she doesn’t expect to be harmed by it, either (…so long as she can stop herself from thinking about how it might affect their necro-cav dynamic, which she prioritizes more than any romantic or sexual relationship they could have).

from a meta perspective, the setting of chapter two is very intentional: it’s where camilla trained as a child (first for her own benefit, then for his), and it’s where she first started to internalize the societal messaging that her autonomy was less important than her his.

(i took gymnastics for a few years as a kid, and the rope climb made me cry sometimes. i could do the other skills fine, but i struggled with the coordination required—not to mention the attention of my peers as i failed. this is camilla, ashamed she wasn’t better (at a task that objectively means nothing vis-a-vis “being a good cavalier”), because she’s grown to a point where she bases her self-worth on being useful to him.)

(then, at the end, she’s lying on her back on the mat, staring up at the bell, exactly like she’s just fallen off the rope. again. introjected conditions of worth go brrrrrr.)

the paragraph under that chart clotheslined me, because whoops, been there, done that, and i think it rings truer to what’s actually happening with cam in this fic:

even as she refuses to acknowledge it, camilla knows that she’s making a mistake. she doesn’t want to desire palamedes. she doesn’t want this to become a part of their dynamic, she wants this to be a one-off that they never speak of again (because she doesn’t really want it to happen in the first place)—but she’s also terrified of losing him. her decision to initiate rather than pull away is 100% informed by the fact that dulcinea has just rejected palamedes, and cam perceives something as simple as prioritizing her own wants/needs as a rejection, on a day when that’s a very sensitive subject. this tips the scale more towards the “unwilling” side, IMO, but it’s a huge grey area (badum-tsss, sixth house pun).

TL;DR: i think consent gets tricky in the context of cavaliers and necromancers and how all-encompassing that relationship can be!! i love all interpretations of campal, but i thought this one was worth exploring (especially as this fic is also me processing that i’m on the ace spectrum, and it reflects the struggle to work out my own boundaries with sex).

bonus: screenshot from when i first brought this fic up with my friends.

[caesarsprincess-selfship]

[Content warning: noncon/dubcon]

Waking up to a pinkish-purple cloud of clinical-scented gas all around me... mmmm, I love it. That wooshing sound other people find annoying is like music to my ears. But when it goes into me - trough one or more orifices - the feeling becomes unexplainable. It's so pleasurable it's almost dangerous. It's not even a dick thrusting into me - it's Caesar Clown, his entire body, and he's forcing me to breathe him. And the feeling of pleasure is all over my body, It's like my entire body is as sensitive as down there when he's inside of me. He can make me float, even. That's the Gas Gas Fruit.

The first couple of times it happened, I was screaming and shrieking in terror, thinking I was gonna die from that feeling. It was actual ear piercing screaming. It has toned down since, and I'm not scared of it happening anymore. Still, he finds it fun to just do it at random times at night. I wake up with him about to go inside me. Sometimes I'm begging him to stop, since even if I find it pleasurable, I can't help but beg for him to stop. It's just become a habit. And he never respects it. Doesn't matter though. I love him, which means I accept anything, really.

But even though his full-body penetration is definitely unbeatable, I still get the urge to just "do it" the normal way. If only he wasn't so goddamn tall.

[polterrrgeist]

Ask Team Phantom part 11

[sinfulmuses]

*Forced Barbie to bend over before lifting her dress and taking her cunt without any warning*

barbie squealed in surprise as he bent her over. her dress rode up, and the stranger pushed it the rest of the way before barbie realized he started to fuck her.

"y-you-- you could've ask-asked--" she said, speech broken as he pounded into her and her body shook with the forceful thrusts.

[the-wayside]

After the great fail of OneDrive, I've not been up to having rewrite work I've already done once before so I started a writing exercise. Write some words for any concept that I'd like to tackle. In true Way fashion, it has...grown.

So, here is about 700 words of about 5k. M for language and implications of future dubcon (A/B/O dynamics [A!K and O!P]). Marriage of convenience. Just for interest, in this universe, the wolves do descend from Gaelic roots as wolves as we know them don't exist in Thailand and hence the familiarity with (summer) Beltane (and Bel) as well as the hunt (Cernunnos). Not that it matters at all as it's more the basis for events rather than a huge mythos piece.

Porsche has been dreading his last wedding celebration with an itch in his canines to rip into everyone and everything. A marriage of convenience, they said. Whose? Definitely not his. Not his husband who comes home smelling of other more obliging omegas. Despite coming so far into the 21st century, some wolves refuse to let go of their traditions and their base instincts. Families bred for power over a true desire to bond. No, this was a marriage of necessity. One he instigated but the further it progresses the more he understands how poor a decision that was.

“We’ll drive out to the campsite before sunset,” Kinn tells him in the sunroom downstairs over coffee and an assortment of breakfast foods.

The only comfort he has is the sickening twist that Kinn looks just as uncomfortable as he feels. All the preparations, the parties and the egregious handholding, were scheduled so that their last feast and hunt would fall on the first day of May, coinciding with their prayers to their ancestral gods Bel and Cernunnos for a hearty bounty in the coming year. Since his new husband doesn’t farm, the bounty they wish for is for a healthy pup inside him. All things befitting a marriage not as doomed as theirs.

Fuck if I let him touch me. Porsche grunts and pushes melon around his plate with a fork. Kinn folds up his napkin and puts it over the top of his plate, pushing back his chair to stand and rebutton his suit jacket. Today’s is different from yesterday's and the days before that. Porsche is sure Kinn has more suits than he has underwear.

“One more night and we can be done with each other,” Kinn says quietly.

“You can be done with me,” Porsche says as he tips his head up to look at Kinn, “You can do whatever you want. Me, I’m stuck with you.”

Kinn searches his face and Porsche fights to keep his face passive and not scowl. In another time, another world, he might have found Kinn attractive.

“You’ve made that clear.”

Porsche narrows his eyes because he doesn’t understand the tone, “Am I wrong?”

It’s the one concession he can make. The day Kinn put the gold wedding band on his finger, he should have placed a corresponding bite on his nape…but he didn’t. The moment he does, Porsche’s future dies with him. All Porsche’s heats are Kinn’s heats; his children are Kinn’s. Less than a slave, he’s a vessel for someone else’s desires.

“You know where the door is,” Kinn stares at him, giving him a hard look and Porsche sighs and leans back in his chair. Everything his family received; the money, the protection, the status in the pack, all disappears.

“Don’t expect me to slick my asshole for you,” Porsche knows he’s being vulgar and Kinn flinches in the way Porsche has come to know him to. His face doesn’t move but his eyes flicker, almost as if his wolf answers Porsche’s anger rather than the man. “Don’t expect to get anywhere near me.”

Porsche realizes that maybe he has pushed too far because Kinn leans down, hand on the table, “If you really thought you stood a chance, you’d have stopped taking those extra strong suppressants.”

Just because he realizes, doesn’t mean he can stop himself: “Sorry if I don’t want the stench of you following me around while I’m trying to eat.”

Kinn leans back and stands up again, “Pretend all you want. You signed yourself up for the task and refused the exit. Your asshole, anyway it comes, is mine.”

Porsche is practically seething and Kinn adjusts his cufflinks, "You'll prepare yourself as you're expected to and we will act out this farce."

"Why are you doing this?" Porsche can't help but ask.

"You asked for my help, not my reasoning," Kinn turns and proceeds to the dining room door before disappearing. Porsche watches him go and sighs, with relief or frustration, he isn't sure.

Marriage of convenience, marriage of the borderline insane, he decides and spears a piece of melon onto his fork before popping it into his mouth. What's done is done and Kinn, despite Porsche's recalcitrance, is right. Porsche chose this repeatedly in the last few weeks and now he has to pony up and deliver.

[darkdoverpseeker]

hiii 21+, wanting a discord OCxOC MxFTM dark (and dead dove 🕊️?) fantasy royalty m & his ftm consort plot, where i will play the cis king / ruler! he's a bored old god whose only entertainment comes from the "sacrificed bride" he takes from his brainwashed cityfolk! kinks will include breeding, possible dubcon, power dynamics, abuse of various kinds, degrading language, and eventual mindbreak. bonus if your ftm is prudish and has to be "broken in" to like things! like for a dm!

like if interested!

[polterrrgeist]

Ask Team Phantom part 10