#tw: thin shaming

[fatphobiabusters]

[Image ID: Text that reads “’Thin privilege’ is constantly being accused of having an ED because you’re naturally thin even though you are well within a healthy BMI and eat healthy.”]

This fatphobe has apparently blocked this blog, so I can’t reblog their post. So instead, I will write my response to their post here:

Thin privilege is having an eating disorder be cared about and not encouraged by your family, friends, doctors, and society as a whole. Thin privilege is actually being able to be considered anorexic and not labeled with “atypical anorexia” just because you’re not thin.

Thin privilege is living in a world that caters everything to your body, from clothing to exercise equipment to chairs all designed to fit you and no one bigger. Thin privilege is not having to pay extra for the same goods and services. Thin privilege is actually being seen as beautiful by general society and not being told your body is only capable of being loved as a fetish.

Thin privilege is not being constantly subjected to medical neglect. Thin privilege is a doctor actually doing tests on you to find a tumor instead of telling you to lose weight for years until someone finally listens and finds the tumor when you only have two days left to live.

Thin privilege is being represented in every single piece of media. Thin privilege is not having your body relegated to only villains, ugly characters, and characters who symbolize evil things.

Thin privilege is being able to go to the grocery store and put a melon in your cart without someone else taking it out with a “You don’t need all that sugar, I’m doing you a favor.” Thin privilege is being able to eat in public without scrutiny.

Thin privilege is not having your children taken away from you and put into the foster care system purely for their weight. Thin privilege is not being kept from adopting children because the adoption agency thinks your weight is a sign of bad parenting.

Thin privilege is automatically being viewed as healthy and thus not facing the social repercussions of the opposite. Thin privilege is having your problems taken seriously. Thin privilege is being able to go to your elementary school’s swimming lessons in 4th grade as an 8 year old instead of willingly choosing to do the written assignment to keep others from seeing your ostracized body. Thin privilege is being 5 years old and not comparing your body to your smaller friend who has the same name as you and you pretend to be twins with but know that you will never be the same as her.

Thin privilege is not being recommended to starve by every person on this planet. Thin privilege is being able to find clothes in any store and not cry in a dressing room. Thin privilege is being allowed to go trick or treating. Thin privilege is even being able to find a costume in your size to go in the first place. Thin privilege is being allowed to eat as much as you want on Thanksgiving.

Thin privilege is not being put on diets as early as 8 years old. Thin privilege is not being categorized as a disease. Thin privilege is not having the government wage a war on your body. Thin privilege is not having the first lady consider your body an epidemic and make ridding the country of you her goal during her husband’s presidency.

Thin privilege is not having everyone refer to your body with a literal slur. Thin privilege is not having the most basic word for your body type treated as a taboo insult to the point that being called that word is most people’s greatest fear.

Thin privilege is being chosen over fat people for everything. Thin privilege is not facing a wage gap for your body type. Thin privilege is not facing workplace harassment and job discrimination. Thin privilege is not being harassed in a Discord server for suggesting the developers of a supposedly diverse video game make more than one character out of thirty have your body type.

Thin privilege is everyone learning how to draw your body from the get-go and not forcing themselves to learn how to draw you years later after they’ve already learned how to draw everything else. Thin privilege is being represented in more than one of the three hundred works on someone’s art blog.

Thin privilege is being allowed to participate in society and culture. Thin privilege is not having to learn how to sew in order to have any clothes to wear. Thin privilege is not having people smaller than you take clothing in your size from a thrift store and make it into a full outfit, severely depleting the miniscule amount of clothing that poor people with your body type have available to them.

Thin privilege is being able to be successful without everyone and their mother constantly commenting on how unhealthy they think you are. Thin privilege is not having your mother put a sign that reads “Nothing tastes better than how skinny feels” on the refrigerator that you’re forced to see whenever you want to nourish your body.

Thin privilege is not having your rape dismissed by not just society but even the actual judge of your case because “You should be grateful someone wanted to have sex with a body like yours for once.” Thin privilege is getting to be the prom queen. Thin privilege is not being controversial when Disney makes a two minute animation of someone with your body type in a neutral way.

Thin privilege is actually being able to see people who look like you while you grow up who are not ridiculed or cast to the side. Thin privilege is having every aesthetic blog on Tumblr feature only your body type. Thin privilege is not having to scavenge for representation and rely on a handful of blogs to find pictures of people with your body. Thin privilege is not having to use a euphemism for your body type when searching for pictures of people like you online because not doing so will only give you bigoted and fetishistic search results.

Thin privilege is being able to have a blog that isn’t constantly followed by thinspo people so they can use you as inspiration to throw up and starve, so they can find other people like you to abuse, so they can send you hate, so they can steal your selfies to post and laugh at with their friends. Thin privilege is not being screenshot and put on the Reddit thread r/fatlogic. Thin privilege is not having documentaries made about children who look like you and how them existing is a problem. Thin privilege is people not then using those documentaries as starvation porn when they want something to watch instead of eat dinner.

Thin privilege is being able to fly on a plane. Thin privilege is being able to go on any amusement park ride and know that it was made to fit you. Thin privilege is not having to use an app to figure out if a place is accessible to you. Thin privilege is not enduring barrages of hate on YouTube for simply posting a video of you trying on clothes. Thin privilege is people making videos about your struggles and not having enormous amounts of downvotes on those videos because they “promote ob*sity.”

Thin privilege is being able to post a picture of yourself without being hassled for it by strangers, friends, and even family. Thin privilege is being able to see your parents who have your same body type not hate themselves and constantly try to make themselves smaller throughout your childhood and the rest of your life. Thin privilege is not having invasive, deadly surgeries pressured on you and oftentimes even forced on you to be able to receive actual life-saving healthcare.

Thin privilege is not having the worth of your life debated in a pandemic. Thin privilege is not having the worth of giving you an organ transplant debated. Thin privilege is not having to change your weight in order to transition because things like top surgery are not gatekept from you and your body type is seen as inherently performative of whatever gender you transition to.

Thin privilege is not being forced to top and be dominant. Thin privilege is not having your asexuality, aromanticism, and any other queer identity dismissed because “You’re only that identity because men/no one want to be with you.” Thin privilege is not being misgendered and degendered because people with your body type are seen as “real women” and are not forced into masculinity. Thin privilege is not being gatekept from even androgyny and thus not leaving you with a body that is more of a thing than a person.

Thin privilege is not fearing PE in school. Thin privilege is not being turned away from a gymnastics club because they don’t believe people with your body type are capable of doing sports. Thin privilege is having your disabilities taken seriously and being able to use a mobility aid without being ridiculed even more than other disabled people are.

And thin privilege is so much more.

-Mod Worthy

[iwanttobekidnappedandtakenaway]

I want to be so skinny that my bones fracture and break from one single touch.

I wish I had an eating disorder so bad rn.

[ribbonpinky-art]

want to cry!!!!!! fatphobia makes me want to cry so hard

a cute pic of Seiran and chubby Ringo, then boom next panel Seiran is making Ringo do situps whilst poking her belly. stabbed straight into my heart

[sweetssoul]

Hii its been a while....here's an update:

Note: I am bloated bc i drank ALOT of water

[ohtobeskinnyandtiny]

Not having a scale and not being able to know how much i weight is driving me crazy!!!!!! It’s stressing me out so much i NEED to know how much I weight RIGHT NOW

The last time i weighted myself was last year💀 help

[silverangelbox]

B r u h??? On this account???

[venusatnight]

Have you ever noticed how things are "so relatable" when you're skinny, but when you're plus sized, it's always because you're "too fat."

Example 1: acne

When you have acne as a skinny person, it is because you're stressed or on your period. And that's so relatable.

As a plus sized person, it's always been because I eat too much of this or that, and I don't drink enough water. Like, actually, no, I just get really bad stress acne, too, because I'm always so stressed out. But like, that's not acceptable, it's just because I'm fat.

Example 2: clothing

When you're skinny and you don't like shopping at a store, it's relatable, you know that style isn't for you, I get that.

I don't like shopping somewhere, and I'm made fun of because "I couldn't shop there even if I wanted to" because I'm fat.

And people wonder why I have such bad body dysmorphia. Even at my lowest weight, people were constantly telling me I would look better if I lost more.

[sorabunbuns]

im sorry but like, i just finished my first fast from to my 5pm today. i feel so proud.

Had two slices of pizza, a sandwich, icecream sandwich n small pieces of candy (2)

ik it sounds like a lot, but not eating all day and stuff.. it was hard on my body honestly. but like, this helps to not create a binge later. Ill fast from now to 5pm tomorrow also or at least til 12-1pm cuz my mum makes me eat. And im going going going party.

[azoraahai]

it’s always so disappointing whenever i meet with my arab relatives and one of the first conversations they start with are about someone’s weight,,, and they wonder why i and so many others in the family struggle with body image issues and having eating disorders

[trixieneedzmorepounds]

If you ever need anything to trigger your ed, look no further than Twitter

[wawhii]

I don't quite know if this is acceptable to say but like. The more I learn about fat liberation, the more that thin and super super thin people become fucking grotesque to me

[tacticalprincess]

tw dubcon, somno

napping on pervy boyfriend!könig … he’s surprised you fell asleep with how fast his heart was thumping against your ear, your head pressed to his chest as you watched a movie. he was too distracted by the feeling of your soft body against his hard muscles to even recall the plot, and he’s relieved that he can finally stop pretending to pay attention when he registers your breathing begin to slow, soft snores slipping from your slightly agape mouth.

you’re so cute like this, all pliant, relaxed, and vulnerable. one of your legs hiked up his broad lap, where his cock is quickly starting to fill in his pants. he’s hyperaware of every sensation from you — the feeling of your supple breasts and puffy nipples pressed to his stomach through your shirt nearly forces a whine from his throat. his hands, awkwardly gripping the couch, itch to feel you. he grazes his calloused fingers gingerly along the smooth skin of your bare leg, testing the waters. once he reaches the trim of your thin, skimpy, sleep shorts, he curses under his breath, uncomfortable from how hard his cock is.

slowly, he lays a hand over your ass, struggling to refrain from bucking into the heat of your thighs. he can’t help himself, though, guilt churning in his stomach as he slips a hand inside the waistband of your shorts, shocked to feel your ass completely bare of any panties. you make it so easy for him, liebling, it’s like you planned this…

he checks that you’re still sleeping before he reaches in further, his fingers featherlight against the fat, puffy folds of your cute mound. fuck, you’re so wet, even in your sleep :( that’s the last straw for him, shamelessly rutting his solid boner against your pudgy thigh as his fingers spread your pussy lips and bare your glossy hole to his eyes, gritting his teeth so his moans don’t wake you up. you’re making content little noises in your slumber, which only further pushes him off the edge. he cums embarrassingly quickly, making a sticky, pearly mess in his pants.

he’s about to pull his hand out in shame, only to be stopped by your syrupy, sleepy voice. “keep going.”

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - mentions of kidnapping/imprisonment, implied alcohol consumption, and reader referred to as 'mother'/'mom' but otherwise gender-neutral.

You let yourself into Arlecchino’s study exactly four strokes after midnight. Even from the doorway, she could see the crimson stain of wine on your lips, the tell-tale lilt to your posture. Clearly, your chosen habitat that night had been the House of the Hearth’s wine cellar – a not completely unusual pastime of yours, on its own. The fact that you were coming to her after drinking your fill was more notable.

She allowed you to stumble from the doorway to her desk before ever glancing up from the correspondence she was attempting to will herself to finish. Whichever one of her vintages you’d favored, it must’ve given you the strength to withstand the weight of the gaze you were always so quick to shy away from, the courage to all-but lay yourself across the crowded tabletop. Despite your new dauntlessness, your expression was sullen, your eyes glassy with tears yet to flow over. It was a face she was used to seeing in the confines of her chambers, or better yet, on the edge of her knee as she kept you perched in her lap through an otherwise dull meeting. Familiarity alone might’ve been enough to soften her, had she had any idea as to the source of your apparent distress.

 You didn’t speak until you were settled. Arlecchino remained patient, limiting herself to a slight smile and the melodic drumming of pointed nails against polished mahogany. “Peruere,” you drawled, her given name a honey-sweet slur on your tongue. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“I see.” It took every ounce of her impressive self-restraint not to laugh aloud. “What a shame. Remind me exactly what it is we can’t do, love?”

“I can’t do this.” You gave a sweeping gesture, nearly violent enough to knock yourself off-balance. “It’s not you—I mean, it is you, with the kidnapping and imprisonment and all, but aside from that, I just—” A deep, shuddering breath, followed shortly by a pitchy, almost keening noise. “I’m just not ready to be a mother.”

This time, Arlecchino couldn’t stop herself – a single, breathy chuckle slipping past her lips. Your frowned deepened, and she did her best to sober quickly. “I’m sorry, I—” She steepled her fingers in front of her, leaning forward to rest her chin on the point of intersection. “I suppose I wasn’t aware you were going to be.”

If you heard, you clearly weren’t listening. Rather unceremoniously, the glass splintered; your thin veneer of composure falling away as the first tear broke free, shortly followed by a second, then a third. She lost count somewhere around the dozenth. “It’s not that I don’t love your children,” you started, your voice cracking as you struggled to wipe at your eyes between words. “I mean, I love them all in spite of them being yours, which is actually really impressive because I find you so unbearably off-putting to be around, but— I’m sorry, I’m just not ready for this level of responsibility. There’s… how many? Fifty of them? Two hundred?”

“My love.” She pushed herself to her feet, dulling her voice into the softest, smoothest possible coo. “Isn’t it about time for you to retire for the night?”

“How could you possibly want to go to sleep at a time like this?” You were sobbing now, rather unabashedly. All attempts to maintain your dignity had been laid aside in favor of burying your face in your palms and hanging your head almost pitifully low. “I have five hundred kids to take care of!”

Whether you were too distracted to notice her arms wrapping around you or simply too panicked to care, it would’ve been impossible to say. You failed to protest as she pulled you against her chest, only sniffling miserably and burying your face in her coat. “You seem to have forgotten that ‘Father’ is only a title,” she murmured as gently as she could, letting her lips brush against the top of your head, then your tear-stained cheek. “Most of my children have already grown out of the need for a true mother and father, and I doubt those who haven’t view either of us in a very paternal light. Do you understand?”

There was a delay, but she felt you nod against her chest. Arlecchino could only sigh, already moving to exit her study. “Let’s get you to bed, dear.”

~

You were still unconscious by the time she rose the next morning, no doubt putting off the inevitable hangover. She left you where you lied and, after making sure a pitcher of water would be waiting for you when you woke up, went about her obligations.

It was only a few hours later that, during a conversation with Lyney, he seemed to pause, to glance to either side. Whatever he’d planned to say was quickly forgotten in favor of a new tangent. “I don’t think I’ve seen mom yet, today.”

At that, Arlecchino perked up. “Mom?”

He caught himself quickly, straightening. “Mother, I mean. (Y/n). My apologies, Lynette's disregard must be rubbing off on me.”

She took a moment to purse her lips, to do what she often did best and consider the information that’d been laid at her feet. “Lyney,” she said, eventually, when she’d made up her mind.

“Next time you use that name, make sure your mother is within earshot.”

[konigsblog]

*rifles through bag* I have no money but i have two marbles, a Mcdonald's bop it, and a tiny blue plastic stegosaurus i shall spiritually give to you for homewrecking stepdaughter reader and her stepdad könig

TW: STEPCEST, INFIDELITY. MDNI 18+

König should've known better than to trust you; a sneaky and seductive little thing looking for trouble.

Your stepfather could see it in the way your eyes would glisten and gleam, that playful and mischievous smirk plastered on your smug face. The sides of your mouth curl into a soft grin as you pressed your smaller hand against König's larger, muscular thigh. Your touch left his slick, bulbous cock aching and longing for the comfort of your smooth, velvety walls. It twitched and throbbed inside of the tight confines of his boxers, growing with the sweet tone of your voice.

“Don’t,” König hissed out, shooting you a daring glare, “You know better than that.” he continued, averting his gaze from you. He adjusted himself in his seat, feeling your soft hand wander, the thought becoming almost irresistible and uncontrollable.

He avoided your eyes like the plague, gritting his teeth as he attempted to hold himself back from the tempting, mouth-watering sight. Your breasts were practically on display as they peaked from your thin, transparent t-shirt. Your nipples quickly hardened, becoming perky as you pinched them from beneath your t-shirt, toying with them in a teasing manner, all while giggling softly with your head rested against his shoulder innocently. Your chest was soft and supple, a delectable sight that was too difficult for König to resist.

Although, it wouldn't take long for König to give in. His meaty cock craved your young hole, to feel his stepdaughter in ways like this. He pushed you onto your back, holding you down as he struggled with his belt. He grunted and growled aggressively, the depraved thoughts inside of his corrupted mind becoming animalistic. Guilt formed and bloomed inside of König's chest, but once he laid eyes on your tight, sloppy cunt, he knew he wouldn't be able to control himself.

He ripped your adorable panties from your figure, already shoving his stiff boner into your tight walls without warning or preparation. He enjoyed the way you squealed and twitched, the way your limbs would tremble at the growing sensation. The pain throbbed between your legs at your stepfather's aggressive, ruthless pace. He couldn't help himself. He'd been fantasising about you, and you knew exactly what you were doing wearing those see-through shirts and tiny panties. Each thrust earned him another loud, pleased, and pained moan. You became a little toy for König. He'd treat you like one. You asked for this.

The shame follows König, especially when he meets your eyes once again. But, the memory becomes a hypnotising and unforgettable moment for the deranged pervert who begins to seek you out, yearning for your sensual touch.

[youryanderedaddy]

Yandere! Crazy ex boyfriend

tw: female reader, non - con, heavy degradation, slut-shaming, abuse/violence, mockery of depression, suicidal ideation, obsessive behavior, death threats, dark

It's 2 a.m. and you can't sleep - you keep turning and burying your head into the soft, warm pillow, but something is off. The moon is too bright, coming in from the gap between your heavy curtains. The crickets outside are too loud, playing around and singing the same old melody over and over again. The static silence of the old radio tucked under the drawers is too repetitive, too predictable. All in all, you can feel it in your bones; something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

You hear the steps next. That sinister laughter - getting louder and louder, someone screaming at the top of their lungs, the echo flooding through the thin walls of your small shared flat. Someone's fist is gripping the lock with uneccessary cruelty as if trying to knock it out of the handle. The key falls down in one sharp motion, and your heart stops completely once the door opens with a squeaky, familiar bang - it still makes you jump even after all those months.

"Aww, baby!" The man exclaims, leaning against the door. You're not sure if you are hallucinating due to the countless hours of lost sleep, or there is actually smoke coming out of his old black trenchcoat. You're not even sure if he's trully here, or if this is yet another nightmare. "You didn't bother with locks this time!" He continues, smiling with childlike glee - but you know him too well. He's never peaceful. He's never cheerful. Any indication of happiness the monster exhibits is meant to confuse and trick his prey, and you're not falling for his tricks again. You already got burnt one too many times.

"Does that mean you missed me?" He tilts his head, almost pouting at you. He's all disheveled - a total wreck. The curly, unruly hair you once loved to caress and play with now just seems shaggy and unkept, sticking out like an explosion. His eyes are dark, well, darker, bloodshot, barely recognizable from the warm pots of honey that used to make you melt against him. He's lost weight, yet weirdly enough seems to have gained some muscle. You can't help, but think that it simply looks weird, unnatural even. Adam, the one you remember, was never strong - he was never threatening, never even raised his voice at you. But that was years ago in the sweet, distant dreams of the past, and that boy had died the moment you two moved in together. That's when your hell trully began.

"Were you trying to give me easy access, baby? Hm?" He smirks, interrupting your stream of consciousness. If you were unsure of his physicallity, of his existence, it's bright clear now - because you can never mistake that taunting, humiliating curve to his voice, the one he only uses when he's mad. Really, really mad. "Knew I would be back?"

You take a deep breath, slowly nodding along - maybe if you play nice, he'd just go away. Maybe this time you won't end up in cuts and bruises, all memories, good or bad, completely wiped off your drugged out hazy brain.

"Of course you did." Your ex boyfriend humms in satisfaction, taking a single step towards you - and it makes you tremble all over, no matter how much you wish you could remain calm and collected at the face of Death himself. "Because I told you so, no?" He clenches his teeth, raising his head so his eyes would meet yours. You feel like a deer caught before a trigger guard with an unstable trigger, one second away from being shot in the heart. "I told you-" He steps closer. "That I'll be back-" Another step. "Didn't I, princess?"

You nod again, unable to produce a sound. You almost wish he brought his gun so this little torture session would end quicker. Almost.

"Aww, look at you trying so hard to please me. It's adorable, baby." The man coos, his knee sliding across the edge of your bed. Fear takes a hold of your lungs, squeezing them in until you feel like you're seeing stars - and then Adam climbs on top of you. It all happens so quickly - one moment he's far away, and then he's towering over you, his hot breath ghosting over your sweaty neck, baby hairs sticking out with shivers. You can't shake the terrifying, unescapable feeling that you've been here before. That you somehow always end up underneath him, begging for your life - for mercy he won't ever grant you.

"I wonder where all that enthusiasm was when you decided to run on me." The white part of his eyes suddenly illuminates, brows raised together - he looks deranged. "Huh?" He looks at you, expecting an answer, yet you can't think of one. Your brain is turning to mush, consumed by raw panic - but why does it matter? Whatever you say he'll find a way to use against you. "Answer me, you fucking bitch!" He hisses, voice dropping to a diabolical whisper as his fist snaps around your throat like a metal collar. This seems to break off your stupor, and you open your mouth, ready to yell at whoever is still awake.

"Don't you dare fucking scream, cunt." Adam grips your jaw with one hand, crushing your cheeks into each other. "If I hear a single word come out of that filthy little mouth of yours, I am going to slit your fucking throat." His lips twist in a big sadistic grin you would have wanted to punch had you had the strength to move your arm around. Instead you whimper, defeated. Even after everything, your stupid self preservation instinct won't let you die - so it sacrifices the only thing you have left, your dignity. "And then in the morning your little friends will find you drowning in your own blood." He lowers his face, cold dead lips tracing the rough lines of your collarbone.

"A pretty picture for sure." He bites his lower lip, imagining it for just a second. "Bu-ut I know that even a depressed, suicidal little attention whore like you wouldn't want her friends to be sad." The man adds teasingly, and you can feel the bile back up into your stomach, burning and acidic. You may actually throw up all over him if you're not careful. And then he'd kill you for sure. "I mean, you seem to care for these pesky bugs oh-so much. It'd be a pity to force them to clean up your remains-"

"N-no, that's not true. I don't care about them, I only care about you!" You lie through your teeth, hot, salty tears pricking your eyes as you deny the love you have for the only people who care about you - the ones who basically saved you from a life of abuse and suffering. But apparently nothing good lasts, not when it comes to you. "Adam, I only love y-"

He backhands you - the slap echoes through the roof. Ouch.

"Don't say-" Your ex boyfriend grunts, roughly shoving you down. You take a shallow breath, letting the sting settle in. It's going to leave a red ugly handprint all over your cheek - and yet you stupidly thought your little confession was going to make him happy. Your anchors, the straws that used to buy you time, howerer rare and far in between, are all gone now. You used them up. You've run out of time, out of trick, out of will to keep fighting.

But you know he'll never make good on his threats. He'd never actually kill you - he doesn't love you enough to rid you of this miserable obsession that ties you together. And yet you tremble every time you feel the graze of his knife against your skin - you cower whenever he raises his hand. And you break down when he holds you close, hoping, praying that this time his embrace would prove just suffocating enough for you to stop breathing all together. It never does.

"Don't say you love me. You don't love me." Adam hisses in your ear, venom dripping off each word. "And I don't even care if you love me." He turns you around, pushing your face into your pillow - muffling your cries into weak, hiccuping sobs. "You're nothing." He swallows, averting his gaze to your lower body - yanking your shorts down with little concern as to whether they'd rip or not. "You amount to nothing, you're lower than dirt. You're just a fucked up little bitch." The man keeps mouthing off, and you can't decide what hurts more - his nails digging into your hips, or the razor sharp insults. " I never want you to forget that you deserve everything I give you."

You cry out as his massive length enters you with absolutely no preparation. It hurts - you're dry and it chaffs against your walls with nothing to make it slide freely, bruising your cervix. Your muscles are trying to push the foregin object out, but it keeps pushing in and out of you in forceful uniform thrusts. Between the waves of sharp and stinging-hot pain you manage to form a coherent thought - and you're surprised. Surprised that the man is even able to stay hard when all he feels right now is anger. Not love or affection, not even lust. Just anger. Surprised your body is still going even after your mind has given up. Surprised that, even despite all your protests and agony, you are growing used to this.

"I gave you everything." Adam start off again, picking up the pace of his thrusts. "Everything - but you're too much of a selfish whore to see." He pulls your hair back so you'd face him from beneath - then he slaps you with all force. "I want to mess up that pretty little face of yours." His hand connects to your cheek once again. You know you'll wake up all puffy and blue tomorrow morning - if you even wake up. "I want you so goddamn ugly no one wants you anymore." He pulls you in by your shirt, smashing his lips against yours with a brutal force - as if he's trying to become one with you, and break your face at the same time. "I want you so ruined-" He kisses you again, teeth running into teeth - yet he's the one to bite you first. "And lonely that you have no one else to turn to."

"I want you broken." He pulls away just to stare into your empty eyes, voice now back to a whisper. "As broken as me."

[acapelladitty]

bereft of grace

Summary: Defeated by Messmer, you find that his plans for you, a mongrel tarnished, are far different than what you might expect.

(tw: non-con, humiliation, forced stripping, restraints, mild tit torment, rough sex, size difference, stretching, vaginal fingering, creampie, overstimulation, pain)

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

You feel the infernal chill of his helm pressing against the side of your face as he lowers his head to your own. His words, soft-spoken and laced with cruelty, brush across your ears as your naked back remains pinned to his chest - restrained by both the strength of his arm pulling tightly across your stomach and the unshakeable wrap of the snakes which lace across your wrists to keep your hands useless and pinned against your sides.

"Mongrel tarnished." He growls the words like a slur, silken hatred pairing with the predatory knowledge that you were truly helpless in his arms. "Thy kind are good for naught."

A serpentine tongue slips free of his lips to stroke a languid line across your neck, tasting the sweat of your battle and the fear that had long since laced your skin since he had deprived you of your torn clothing; the shredded materials laying in a discarded pile below your suspended frame. His tongue is warm, wet and the sensation of it brushing along the sensitive skin of your throat is as arousing as it is repulsive.

"Stripped of gold."

Thin fingers force their way between your legs, widening your thighs as they push at and grope the skin there so roughly that you know small, circular bruises will be left in their wake. His hand slides further, your breath hitching with despair as he presses against your most private flesh; lengthy digits stroking along your slit to test the skin there as they tease your slightly-wet hole before slipping up to graze across the ultra-sensitive nub of your clit.

"Stripped of grace."

Gasping as he pushes two of his fingers within you with little preamble, the sudden stretch of the intrusion burns like hellfire and you cry out as he starts to pump them inside your walls. Your body responds despite itself, his long digits stroking areas which were quick to ignite a warmth in your cunt that made your brain feel fuzzy despite the hollowing discomfort.

"Stripped even of thy paltry linens."

The heat is oppressive, the flames which he was able to conjure in an instant making his body feel like a furnace where it touches your own - even through his armour - and it pairs with the shameful warmth which rolls from your own body as you find yourself pressing down into his hand like a bitch in heat.

As soon as he had robbed you of your weapon, you assumed death was to swiftly follow and a genuine fear of being impaled like so many of the corpses which littered the road to the Shadow Keep immediately made you compliant to his commands. You had dropped to the floor and awaited a swift death which was not to come as his hand had stayed, something almost like amusement playing in his drawn face as he noted the instant submission and ordered you to approach him.

He had ripped your clothing from you, tearing it with a demigods strength as you shivered and ignored the hot shame which paired with the fear in your heart. His snakes followed their masters will without verbal instruction, the infernal heat of them as they slid across your skin making you gasp as forked tongues tasted their way across your shuddering frame to lock your hands in place.

After that, it didn't take long for Messmer to make his move. His gaze, split between hues of gold and the abyssal void, had taken its time in your appraisal - peering into your anguish and fear-laced expression before roving across your ample breasts and lower half. A rail-thin hand had struck like one of his many serpents, harshly gripping at your upper arm to spin you in place and allowing him to scoop you close as inhumane strength lifted you from the floor as though you weighed nothing.

Nothing in the face of a demigod.

Thoughts snapping back into the moment as a third finger breaches your hole, a pained howl slips free of your lips as you writhe in place - attempting to pull away from the pleasurable pain with a futile struggle. Sex and bodily pleasure wasn't unknown to you, but the sheer power which rolled from the demigod who seemed determined to amuse himself with your flesh made it difficult to focus on anything outside of the humid air and the sensations he was forcing upon you.

"Thy kind are fit for use as a fleshly pleasure. No more. Strip all thoughts of lordship from thy desires before my hand is pushed to strip thy skin from such soft flesh."

Fresh snakes slither across your chest, the thin bodies wrapping around the globes of your breasts and tightenening to the point of true discomfort - the rope-like restraints making a wicked pressure quickly build up in your abused chest. Sinking their fangs into the sensitive skin just below your chest, the snakes showed no sign of letting up their firm hold and you almost sob with relief as Messmer's thick fingers pull free of your cunt.

It's a short-lived peace though, as his slickened fingers are quick to establish how tight the hold his snakes have achieved and a guttural cry breaks free of your throat as his large hands move to pinch at your chest roughly. Nipples perked due to the pressure and arousal which is rolling through your stimulated frame, he's careful to snatch the sensitive nubs between his fingers, one at time, until fresh tears spring into your eyes and your back arches violently into his chest while your lips form a constant stream of pleas and whines.

"For one so cursed and devoid of all, thy voice is surprisingly sweet." And although you cannot see his face, you can hear the predatory arousal which accompanies the words.

He was enjoying himself, attempting to force you to do the same.

"You are the cursed one."

Finding your voice, you yelp out the words like an accusation - arousal, shame, and mild horror sparking a momentary boldness which you immediately regret as his body stiffens and a sharp chill replaces the cruel warmth of his earlier tones.

"True, little tarnished. My curse is borne in the void of the abyssal serpent. Naught more than a monster, I will force thee to embrace thy oblivion and know such suffering."

Something blunted presses against your hole and your panicked struggle renews as you feel just how big he is, the girth making genuine fear lance your spine as you realise that his earlier rough treatment with his fingers was a necessity more than anything else. Aside from the stretch which his fingers provided, you were horrified to feel just how wet you were as his cock grazed along your slit; collecting your arousal to ensure an easier entry as he forced himself inside such a tight-fit space.

The noise that slips free of your throat is inhumane, guttural and raw, as the head of his cock breaches past your hole. It feels like it's going to split you apart and the sheer burning ache of the merciless stretch instantly overpowers any other feeling in your body - your toes curling as a wracked sob shakes your trembling frame.

"Please! Please, st-stop." The words are a babble, stuttered and broken, as you try to force yourself to relax around him, to adjust to his infernal size. "My lord, please."

The unexpected use of his title earns a rumble of approval and his lips are hot against your neck once more as his sharpened teeth graze across the sensitive flesh while he considers the plea with a low hum.

"Thy slickened folds tell of a differing desire, little tarnished." Messmer growls, keeping his cock still as he allows himself to acclimatise to his gripping tightness of your spasming cunt. "But I am not a rutting beast, devoid of all mercies. Ask it of me and I shall see to thy own pleasures."

Fresh shame flushed through your frame, adding another layer of heat to the already sweat-slicked skin as you listen to his offer. He would force you to ask this of him. To make you accomplice to your own unmaking. A cruel mercy, but a mercy which you would take him on as the alternative seemed impossible to bear.

"I beg you, my- my lord. Please, use me."

His chuckle is victorious and wicked in its joy as Messmer pulls you lower on to his cock, forcing another two inches of him within your aching hole. However, true to his word, his free arm, the one not pinning you to his chest, slips down between your legs and you gasp as his finger circles itself at the top of your cunt, seeking out your most sensitive flesh.

He knows he has found it when you jerk in his arms, an electric bolt of pleasure arcing across your skin as his calloused finger grazes your swollen clit. It sparks him to pick up a slow pace, his cock breaching your hole until it presses flush against your cervix before pulling free until only the head remains. A slow pace, but a brutal one as every thrust makes it feel like he is pulling your walls free with him - the friction immediately sending your body into overdrive.

His finger never lets up the pressure on your clit; alternating between grazing along it directly and gently thumbing circles around it as the dual manipulations forced your legs wider, your body seeking more pleasure to offset the ache of the stretch. Pain and pleasure, both sensations at war within your tortured flesh until his thumb presses just a little too roughly against your nub and you came undone.

Clenching around his cock, your release brings with it a low scream as waves of pleasure roll across your body. Messmer seems to appreciate the forced pleasure, if the growing pace of his cock is anything to go by, but the continued stimulation of his thrusts only serves to make your orgasm draw out until your body twitches from the aftershocks.

"So easily pleasured. Were it not for thy warriors garb and weaponry, I would have assumed thee a courtesan. A temptress, well-versed in the pleasures of men."

Messmer grunts the insult as he continues to fuck you without mercy but his humiliating words barely register within your overstimulated mind as your whimpers fill the large room. His voice is full of excitement and you can hear the slight gasps which exist between the words and how they speak of his own coming release.

His cock having ruined your most sensitive walls, the dull ache of the stretch now only serves to enhance the pleasure and you cannot help but clench around him, pulling him to his finish as his cock twitches within you.

The arm around your stomach tightens, as do the snakes which remain bound across your suffering frame and you feel the heat of his release as it scorches you from the inside out, much hotter than any man you had been with before. Seeking his own pleasure, Messmer pulls you tight, forcing his cock up hard against your battered cervix as his mouth buries itself into your neck - teeth and tongue making a mess of your skin as he marks the territory like a beast.

It all proves too much and you come again, your cunt fluttering and squeezing his cock as low, animalistic noises break free of your lips. Your strength leaves you in an instant after the initial high and the loose limbs of your frame are only supported by his arm and snakes as he keeps you suspended like a puppet until he's finished with you.

His cock pulls out, the movement slow and certain, and the moment his cockhead slips free you feel the heat of his release trickle down your thighs as a gaping emptiness seems to fill the space between your legs. Despite the heat, you feel cold and you whimper anew as his snakes unlatch themselves from your chest and retreat back to their master.

Messmer's breathing is heavy and his chest feels as hot as ever against your naked back, even his armour having lost its metallic chill, as he continues to hold you in place. Aching, twitching, and thoroughly fucked you lay passively in his arm, your entire body feeling loose and untrustworthy.

After a minute has passed, Messmer speaks once more and his hoarse words are delivered to your ear as he lifts you slightly higher.

"My vague amusement with thee requires further consideration." As silken as before, you shudder at the close proximity as you rub your mess-slickened thighs together. "And so my offer is thus: remain in the Shadow Keep as a personal courtesan to myself, a role in which no other man nor beast shall lay hand on thee, or choose to return to ash and I shall grant thee a swift death until thy body is restored by the grace of gold which thee are unworthy of."

Your breath hitches, both options relaying in your mind as you recover from the shock of the unexpected offer. Messmer, however, did not appear to be a patient man and his arm jostled you slightly as he instsntly pushed for a response.

"Well, little tarnished, what is thy choice?"