#anyways i think fatphobia is one of the worst things to ever happen | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

letstalkaboutfandomsbaby · 2 years

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scum of the earth

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ʚ Naoya Zen'in x chubby fem reader ɞ

Part 1 ♥︎ Part 2 ♥︎ Part 3 ♥︎ Part 4 ♥︎ Part 5

❥ Word count: 6.6k

❥ CW: fatphobia, bullying, "dyke" used as an insult, misogyny, sexism, just Naoya being an asshole in general, smut, male masturbation, breeding kink, noncon/dubcon, multiple orgasms, no aftercare

❥ A/N: heyyyy sksksk, sooooo guess who finally finished this!! Took me long enough. ANYWAYS, i hope you enjoy this and yes, there will be a part 2 and 3 and they will be linked once they are complete :)

The two of you were, quite possibly, archnemeses.

That statement was not as exaggerated as a stranger may believe. Naoya had been a problem for you since the first day you became neighbors. The constant noise emitting from his apartment was likely to send you to an early grave: the TV, radio, his own stomping. That wasn’t even to mention the always changing women that came in and out of his life just to yell at him for infidelities that he claimed never were infidelities because he was never dating these women in the first place, which then led to an hour long cacophony of screaming and objects being broken in his apartment. He was, quite possibly, the worst neighbor that had ever existed. You’ve met cockroaches that made better companions than he did.

But that doesn’t even begin to cover the absolute scumbag that was Naoya Zen’in. Not only was he a shitty neighbor, but he was an even worse human being in general, always looking down on you whether it be for your weight or your gender. You’d heard him click his tongue in disgust far too many times as you passed him by the mailboxes, an unkind word about your size muttered under his breath. You once confronted him about it, turning back and politely asking he repeat himself.

“I said that dress wasn’t made for you. You should wear something more modest or lose a few pounds.” He had turned away from you, walking up the stairs without another word or even a glance in your direction. You were so stunned by his bluntness that you stared at the spot he was in for a full minute, mouth agape as you tried to process what just happened. You didn’t think he’d actually have the balls to say something like that to your face. You looked down at the sundress you wore, the flowy skirt stopping at your knees, the neckline barely giving a peek at your cleavage. You had scoffed, glaring in the direction he had been before turning on your heel and leaving the apartment complex, swearing to yourself that you’d never fall for a man so heinous and rude.

Knowing all this, it wasn’t a stretch to consider the arrogant man to be your enemy. You hated him so fiercely that you were certain you had received a few wrinkles due to creasing your brow so often because of him. He was trash, the worst of the worst, the scum of the Earth. Your shit was more valuable than him. You wanted nothing to do with him and avoided him at all costs.

But of course the universe loves doing the exact opposite of what you wish it would.

Naoya was an absolute menace, his actions somehow increasing in volume whenever you needed peace and quiet. You wondered if he had a sixth sense for these things, somehow knowing that you needed to wake up early and deciding that, in return, he would keep his television on full blast up until 3am. Regardless, you found yourself awake far later than you desired and you loathed him for it.

You tried being polite, honestly you did, gently asking him in the hall to please keep down the volume. He was never receptive, always sneering at you, always slamming cupboards and doors just as you were about to doze off. It was like living next door to a demon, one whose sole purpose was to ruin your life.

It was no wonder that one day you finally snapped.

It was a Tuesday evening—well, technically Wednesday morning at that point—when you decided you’d had enough. Naoya had been stomping around his apartment for three days straight, yelling at someone on the phone about God knows what. He would have a long shouting session before blasting rap music for a good hour or two, then transitioning to watching television until well past midnight. You had kindly asked him yesterday to please keep the volume down since you had to work early shifts the entire week. Either he didn’t hear you or he didn’t care because the noise was just as loud as it had been the last several nights, perhaps even louder.

Alright, you thought to yourself after glaring at the ceiling for an hour. If that’s how he’s going to be, then so be it. I’ll be the bitch he wants me to be.

You threw off the covers, not bothering to put on anything over your pajamas as you left your apartment, stalking towards his. You could hear boisterous laughter coming from the TV inside, making your scowl deepen before you started hitting his door. You banged your fist on his door continuously, not stopping until Naoya shouted, stompimg across the apartment before swinging the door open.

“What the hell is—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, jabbing your finger into his chest. “Don’t you fucking dare give me an attitude when you’re the one being a complete jackass. Turn your fucking television down or I’m gonna file a complaint first thing in the morning.” Naoya scoffed, returning your icy glare.

“You little—”

“Shut up,” you barked, grabbing a handful of his t-shirt and yanking him towards you, forcing him to come face to face with you. “If you do not turn your shit down, I will not hesitate to call the police and have them throw you out of this apartment building. You have kept me awake way too late for far too long.” You inched closer, your breath fanning over his shocked expression. “Don’t fuck with me.”

You released him with a shove, not caring about consequences as you trudged back to your room, sending him one more deadly glare before slamming your door shut. You double checked the locks before you marched into the living room, grabbing a pillow with shaky hands and shoving your face in the cushion, screaming as loud as you could. You could already hear the threats that he would hurl your way tomorrow, throwing out similar insults like “pig” and “dyke” while he warned you about how his dad was a very powerful man and could easily kick a worthless fat woman like you out on the street—

The TV was turned off. You paused, raising your head from the pillow as tears started to pool in your eyes, your gaze falling on the wall you shared with your chaotic neighbor. You waited, wondering if it was all a ruse, if he would turn on the television at full volume just as your head hit your pillow. Several minutes passed in almost silence: you could hear him walking around his apartment, but besides the standard sounds of doors closing and faucets running (and your heart pounding in your ears), you couldn’t hear another peep. It felt too good to be true as you went back to your bedroom and curled under your covers, tucking them under your chin as you snuggled up to your pillow. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you sunk down into the sheets, the adrenaline in your system dying off, sending you into the deepest slumber you’d had in weeks.

“Stupid fucking bitch.”

Naoya hated you, fervently, passionately, far too eagerly. You were just so easy to dislike, so easy to look down on and ridicule and despise. From your body to your independence, there was so much for him to pick out and criticize. It was almost like a game at this point, coming up with insults to see how angry you would get, to see if you would finally snap at him. A part of him longed for the moment you snarled at him, baring your teeth and claws, proving that you were just as awful as he assumed you were.

What he didn’t expect was for your eventual outburst to kindle something within him.

It didn’t make sense: here you were, a small, round, unintimidating thing that suddenly grew horns and fought back against the matador that kept poking it. He thought you’d be more like a kitten hissing up at a stranger, but instead you growled like a full-fledged lion. Seeing you practically fuming on his doorstep made something within him bubble and boil. He still couldn’t believe that you yelled at him, that your small hand grabbed his designer shirt so forcefully and pulled him towards the hideous scowl painting your pretty plump features—

And therein lied the problem. He realized that you were “pretty”, not conventionally like the usual women he surrounded himself with, but in your own unique way. From the puff of your cheeks to the swell of your ass, you were gorgeous in a way that he had never considered before, at least not consciously. But now, after you had unleashed your anger out on him, he was fully aware of his attraction for you.

And he hated it.

How dare you make him feel this way? How dare you make his cock stir at the thought of your skimpy little outfit that you wore that night, your shorts far too short to be acceptable, your nightshirt not covering the way your nipples hardened in the cool evening air? He couldn’t stop thinking about how the perky buds looked on your sizeable breasts, coarse and rough against what he could only imagine was the soft, warm expanse of the rest of your chest. He wished he had grabbed your wrist before you could run back to your room, pulling up your shirt, exposing your gorgeous tits, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucki—

No. No, this wasn’t normal, Naoya hated you, why was he thinking things like this? Why was his mind wandering to your plush frame late at night, his hands trailing over his form, cursing himself for thinking about a lowly creature such as yourself in that way?

He indulged himself the first night, jerking off to the memory of your plump body, hoping it would expel all thoughts and feelings about you by the next day. It had to have been a fluke: Naoya didn’t actually like you! No, he was just tired and horny and hadn’t fucked anyone in quite a while so it was only natural that he was feeling attraction for someone he clearly wasn’t interested in. Why would someone like him ever be interested in someone like you, someone so fat and plump, someone who must’ve been so soft under those clothes, fabric that could barely contain your voluptuous curves? He could practically imagine the stitching of your clothing straining against your form, threatening to break and reveal yourself to him—

He was doing it again, thinking about you at the most inopportune times. It wasn’t enough that he thought about you every time he went to the mailboxes downstairs, loitering as he shifted lazily through his mail, subconsciously hoping that you would arrive and walk up the stairs before him so he could get a peek at the temptatious peach of your ass. No, he also had to think about you in his free time as well, wondering what you were doing, who you were talking to, why you weren’t at his apartment instead, draped over several cushions, eating fruit and barely clad by a sheet.

These thoughts had been haunting him for weeks, leaving him to literally take matters into his own hands. He’d been jerking off far too often for his liking, but what else could he do? It’s not like a quick hookup could quell his desires. All of the female contacts in his phone were for slim women, swimsuit models and social media stars whose hip bones would poke into him and ruin the entire illusion of fucking you. No, they simply wouldn’t do. He would never be able to imagine you in their place, their bony features a stark contrast against your squishy frame. He could never imagine how soft and plump you were if he fucked one of them, couldn’t accurately imagine how his fingers would dig into the pulp of your waist as he held you in place, how your ass would bounce against his hips with each sharp thrust. Not even their moans could make his cock twitch the way yours probably would, their high pitched exaggerated sounds falling from injected lips that looked unnaturally large and unrealistic. No, he’d much rather hear the pretty gasps and whines you’d let out from your soft-looking mouth, rose petals pushed into a perfect pout as he denied your orgasm for the nth time that night, promising that he’d let you cum if you would let him fill you up the way he’s been dreaming for the last month—

There he was doing it again, thinking about you in the dead of night, cock throbbing without having even been touched. Naoya groaned gutturally, kicking off his sheets like an angry child, palming his hard cock through his boxers. What was this, the fourth night in a row that he’d been unable to fall asleep without jerking himself off thinking about you? It was pitiful, really, the fact that he couldn’t keep his mind off of you, your thick legs and plump waist and ample breasts—

“Stupid fucking bitch,” he repeated, hissing in a breath as he smeared his precum along the head of his cock, gingerly creating a ring around it with his forefinger and thumb, giving his dick a few quick jerks. “Can’t fucking believe… of all the pretentious cunts to wanna fuck…”

He bit his tongue, throwing his head back into the sheets and moaning softly. A shiver ran up from his tailbone to the base of his skull, making his limbs twitch before stretching out. Would you be able to cause that same response in him? Perhaps, if you dragged your nails along his back, marking up his perfect pale skin, laying claim to him as he did the same to your cunt. He usually hated when women left their mark on him, always scolding them afterwards, but he thinks he could make an exception if he was able to ruin your pussy for any other man.

“That’s it… just like that,” he mumbled under his breath, imagining your body sinking down on his cock, taking him in inch by inch. “Go on… show me how bad you want it.”

He started moving his hand more earnestly, stroking the entire length in a fluid motion, mimicking what he hoped your body would feel like. He reached down between his thighs, cupping his balls, moaning as he massaged them in his hands.

“Ya feel that, princess? Feel how full they are?” A low groan left him as he squeezed his shaft, visualizing how your cunt would clench around him in delight, eyes sparkling with desire and need. “Betcha want me to fill you up, huh? Is that what you want, Y/N? Does my little cock slut want me to fill up her pretty little cunt?”

He could practically hear the needy whine you’d give as a response. He huffed out a laugh, picking up speed again, licking his lips.

“There you go, that’s my girl. Ride daddy’s cock just like that and I’ll give you my cum. That’s what you want, right, Y/N? You want me to fill you up with my seed, don’t you? Fuck, I’m gonna get you fucking pregnant, you annoying little—shit!”

His hips started lifting off the bed, feet planted to allow him to thrust up into his hand. What he wouldn’t give for it to be you instead, for you to be bouncing on his cock and crying and moaning his name, begging for him to cum inside you and make you a mommy.

“C’mon, that’s it, I know you’re close you stupid whore. Squirt all over this dick so I can breed you like the bitch you—”

There was a pounding at Naoya’s front door, causing him to jump. He stayed still, furrowing his brow as he listened closely. He started stroking his cock again a minute later after not hearing anything, taking a deep breath so he would relax—and the person at his door knocked again. He snarled, glancing at the clock by the side of his bed, wondering who the hell could be at his door at almost midnight.

“Fuck off!” he shouted across the apartment, hoping whatever asshole was at his door would leave soon after. But of course they didn’t: of course they just started banging on his door with their whole fist repeatedly. Naoya groaned loudly, punching his bed before throwing his legs off of it, pulling up his boxers as he stomped to his door. He didn’t care if he was still hard: he hoped whatever pathetic asswipe that was here knew they had interrupted him at the worst possible time. The knocking was still going as he reached the entrance of his apartment, unlocking the door clumsily in the dark before practically pulling it off its hinges.

“What the fu—” He froze, all anger draining from his form as he came face to face with the nuisance that had interrupted him.

It was you, barely dressed in a cropped tank top and high waisted sleep shorts, the cotton material hugging your frame so deliciously that Naoya briefly worried he would drool. You crossed your arms, pushing up your breasts in the process, accentuating your already apparent cleavage. Naoya ignored your displeased look, letting his eyes trail over you, his cock twitching in its confines. Fuck. It was hard to remember why he hated you when you came to his door looking like a gift waiting to be unwrapped. Nonetheless, he swallowed down his desire, saving face.

“What do you want?” he spat, leaning against the doorframe, scowling down at you. You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

“You’re kidding, right? You know these walls aren’t as thick as you think they are. I could hear you moaning my name like a little bitch in heat from the other side.”

Ah. That was why he didn’t like you. If only you didn’t have such a nasty mouth on yourself, you’d probably be such a perfect little cocksleeve.

“You should be flattered,” he yawned, scratching the back of his head, acting as unbothered as possible. “I’m sure it’s rare for someone as handsome as me to show an interest in a fat bitch like yourself.” He could see your eyebrow twitch in the dim light of the hallway, and all it did was make him want to insult you more.

“Pretty bold words coming from the guy who was jerking off to the thought of me not even five minutes ago. Sounded to me like you were more than a little interested in this ‘fat bitch’.” Naoya’s smirk faltered slightly, but he kept his ground, if anything jutting his chest out to make himself look bigger.

“So what? You think because I was jerking off to you means that you’re anything more than a worthless pig?” Your lip trembled ever so slightly, his words cutting deeper than you were willing to admit. You swallowed your rage, stepping forward, your chest millimeters from his own. You wondered if he could feel your wrath emanating from your burning skin.

“Doesn’t change the fact that you wanna fuck your ‘worthless pig’ neighbor.” He whistled low, snickering as he shook his head.

“God, you’re insufferable—”

“I’m insufferable?! Me?” Your hands found safe haven on your hips, pinching in your waist ever so slightly, causing Naoya's eyes to flick there briefly. “Ever look in a mirror? Because you’re the one who’s insufferable here!”

“Oh please,” he groaned with a roll of his eyes, trying his best to ignore the throbbing between his legs. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Oh my God, you’re insane—”

“Now look who’s talking—”

“You,” you hissed, jabbing a finger in his chest, very similar to the way you had not too long ago, “are the most entitled, privileged, stuck up jerk I have ever met!”

“As if you’re any better, ‘Ms. Independent’, strutting around as if you’re somehow better than any man—”

“Oh, here we go. Another sexist rant from the misogynistic head honcho himself—”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Naoya growled, grabbing your face forcefully, squeezing your cheeks together harshly. Your eyes widened, hands coming up to claw at his own, struggling to free yourself as he continued. “You’re nothing but a pathetic woman who wastes her time working when she should be married with kids by now. You could’ve made a wonderful wife, but no, you insist on fending for yourself just like every other stupid feminist in this goddamn country.”

“Naoya—”

“You think you’re sooo great, working and providing for yourself. You must be so proud, flaunting your achievements and curves, trying to prove yourself. Well it’s never going to work. Nobody is going to look at you and see you as anything more than a fat whore who’s wasted the prime of her life on a job when you should be waiting at home for a real man like me and spreading your legs whenever I please.”

His fingers dug further into your plump cheeks, forcing your lips into a pout and making you squeak in pain. You could feel tears begin to well from the ache, your fight leaving you as you gazed helplessly up at your captor, silently begging him to let go. Naoya blinked, feeling his heartbeat in his fingertips as he stared, suddenly forgetting why he was so mad at a poor little doe like you.

“You… you’re so annoying… and useless… why can’t you just… just…”

His grip loosened ever so slightly, his thumb slipping towards your mouth, running over your lips. Fuck¸ they really were as soft as they looked, like freshly picked tulips. He could suddenly hear how hard he was breathing, his eyes darting over your face as he pushed his thumb past your lips, forcing it into your mouth. You keened in surprise, your tongue instinctively moving to investigate the intruding digit, causing him to sigh in response. He pried your mouth open, staring at his thumb pressing down on your tongue, watching the pink muscle squirm against him as you struggled to speak. He suddenly imagined a similar scenario but with your eyes hooded and crossed, his cum threatening to spill from your mouth—

“God damn it.”

Naoya dove down towards you, smashing his lips against yours, forcing his tongue into your mouth. You squeaked, smacking at his torso instinctually, wriggling in his grasp.

No way, no fucking way. Your mind raced, hands scrambling for purchase, trying to grab onto him and pull him away. His mouth worked all the while, tongue curling around yours as he groaned into your mouth, impatient and hungry. His hands wandered too, fingertips slipping beneath your top and digging into your plush skin, making your thighs squeeze shut.

“Mmm—w-wait!” you hurried as you finally pulled yourself away from him. He clicked his tongue, leaning in to try and follow your lips, but you blocked him by holding up your hands. “W-What are you doing?!”

“Don’t play dumb.” Naoya’s hands traveled further, one moving farther up your tank top while the other moved down to palm at your ass. You squeaked in surprise, trying to arch yourself away from his hands but only succeeding in pushing your body up against his. “What do you think I'm doing?” You gasped when he squeezed your ass roughly, his fingers dipping beneath the frilly hem.

“I don’t know! Being a creep?! Trying to take advantage of me—”

“Oh, come on. You’re a big girl; you’re strong enough to push me away.” The hand under your shirt moved to your chest, squeezing your breast, forcing you to bite back a whine. “If you really hate what I’m doing, then by all means, push my hands off and run back to your apartment. But…” His voice lowered as he leaned in towards your ear, dragging his nose along your neck. “If you want me to continue, I’ll happily oblige. I’ve got plenty of experience pleasing women.”

You pressed your hands to his shoulders, pushing him back so you could stare at him incredulously. You couldn’t find the usual coldness behind his eyes, and there didn’t seem to be a hint of deception in his expression. Regardless, your walls were still up, your body rigid and stern despite the heat pooling between your legs. You shook your head lightly, unblinking, unwavering.

“You’re trying to trick me. You’re gonna play some sick joke where you make fun of me for thinking you’d ever be attracted to me—”

“Do you really think so low of me?” he asked with a tilt of his head. You stayed silent, your jaw set as the two of you stared each other down. Naoya eventually sighed, rolling his eyes. “I don’t just fuck anybody. I have standards. If I’m not interested in someone, I reject them.”

You weren’t convinced, not in the slightest, but his thumb had started circling your nipple and you were finding it hard to refuse his offer. It wasn’t that you necessarily wanted to fuck the man who had insulted you not even ten minutes ago and bullied you relentlessly for the entirety of your time living next to each other, but you were horny and couldn’t deny that he was conventionally attractive.

God, what are you thinking, Y/N?? This guy is an asshole, literal trash. You’d be better off going home and using your toys to get off.

And yet, as he pinched your nipple between his fingers and tugged oh so gently, you found your resolve breaking. You took a deep breath, splaying your hands out on his chest.

“Do you… do you have condoms?” Naoya’s hooded eyes bore into you, lips tilting at the edges.

“Course I do, princess. I’ve got plen—”

“Good,” you muttered, balling his shirt in your fists and pulling him into his apartment. “I’m not fucking you without protection.” You ignored the victorious smirk that grew on his face as he shut the door behind the two of you.

“Fine by me.”

Naoya grabbed your hand, leading you through his living room. Your eyes unfocused as you reached his bedroom, mind wandering.

Alright, here’s what you’ll do: you’ll have sex with him, you’ll make the most of it and cum, and once you’re done then you’ll leave and never do this ever again. This is only going to happen once. You’ll get yourself off and that’ll be the end of it. It was a solid enough plan, one that you weren’t too ashamed of indulging in. Everyone has urges: you might as well take advantage of the situation while you can.

“So,” Naoya started, turning to face you, “what do you—oof!”

You pushed him on the bed before he could say anything to make you regret your decision. He scoffed a moment after landing, propping himself up on his elbows. He prepared himself to scold you for acting so rashly, but he fell silent once he saw you pull your top over your head. He watched your tits bounce back into place, his cock throbbing at the sight.

“Don’t just stare,” you grumbled, pushing down your shorts. “Take your clothes off.” Naoya frowned, huffing as he slipped his shirt off.

“So pushy. Are you like this with everyone you have sex with or am I just special?”

“You talk too much,” you muttered, stepping out of your shorts and closer to the bed, trying not to stare at his surprisingly chiseled physique. You planted your hands on your hips, looking down at him expectantly. “Well? Condoms?”

“Top drawer,” he replied, nodding to his nightstand. You wasted no time opening the drawer, pulling out the box of Trojan Magnun XL condoms and snorting.

“Oh my god. You’re really confident in yourself, huh?”

“Excuse me?” You shook the box before taking out one of the foil packages.

“XL condoms? Please. You probably look like that Danny Devito meme—”

You flinched when his boxers landed on your arm. You scrunched your face in disgust, shaking off the material, turning to snap at him—

Your eyes landed on his hips, his cock standing at attention, much larger than you imagined. You always thought he was overcompensating for something by being a complete asshole—his dick had to have been the size of your thumb, what with him acting so pathetically rude every chance he got. Oh how wrong you were…

“What was that about being confident?” Your cheeks burned. You huffed, chucking the condom his way.

“Just hurry up and put it on.”

“Yes sir,” he said sarcastically, ripping the foil with his teeth, rolling the latex over his shaft. You watched as the condom slipped over his thick cock, wondering why his ego had to be as large as dick. He reached the base, smirking up at you. “There. Happy? Now, why don’t you get over here and ride my cock already?”

“You’re annoying,” you huffed as you approached the bed again, pushing against his shoulder urging him to move.

“Right back at you,” he mumbled, scooting back on his bed, hands finding your thighs and squeezing. “At least you’ve got a nice ass.”

“Stop talking,” you sighed, bringing your hips down to meet his, grinding your pussy against the length of his cock. You bit back a moan as Naoya hissed, pawing at your hips to move them forward, helping you coat your slick along his shaft.

“Shit, you’re so wet already. Don’t need to prep you at all, huh?”

“I said shut up.” You hated to admit it, but you were ridiculously wet already. You blamed it on the fact that you had started leaking the moment you heard him moan your name on the other side of your wall. It wasn’t because of him per say; it was just a natural reaction to someone being sexually attracted to you.

The head of his cock bumped against your clit, causing you to let out a soft moan. You repeated the action, shutting your eyes as you focused on the pleasure building from hitting that sweet bundle of nerves over and over. Naoya squeezed your ass as you kept grinding you hips, eyes darting from your face to your breasts to your bountiful hips, hips that he couldn’t hold entirely. Just the sight of your plump flesh spilling over his fingers made his cock twitch, aching to fill you up.

“Hurry up already,” he breathed, pushing his hips up to meet yours. “I don’t have all day.”

“Fuck off,” you groaned, lifting your hips and grabbing his cock. He bit his cheek at your touch, swallowing a moan as you lined the head up to your entrance, bringing your hands back to his chest as you began to sink down onto his cock.

“Shit,” he cursed softly, eyes stuck on the sight of your fat cunt engulfing him inch by inch. How did you feel so soft? It didn’t make sense how gentle and plush your pussy felt around him, but he sure as hell wasn’t complaining, especially not when your hips finally met and you let out the cutest whine. He smirked, thumbs rubbing circles into your love handles.

“Feeling okay, princess? I know it’s a lot—shit!”

You didn’t let him finish his teasing: you lifted your hips, slamming them back down to his and beginning a fast pace. You wanted to get this over with; the sooner the two of you came, the sooner you could leave and pretend like this never happened.

“Holy fuck, Y/N… didn’t know you—shit—wanted this so bad—”

You shushed him, eyes squeezing tight as you focused on bouncing on his cock. You targeted the soft, spongey mass inside you that you knew far too well, making sure the head of his cock bumped against your g-spot with each thrust, making you keen.

You hated how good it felt, but Naoya wasn’t faring much better. You were going faster than he expected, and he was surprisingly turned on by you taking the lead. Usually he liked his women submissive and docile in bed, but there was something exhilarating about you pushing him down and taking what you wanted from him. It made him want to break you down even more.

“Fuck, baby. You’re squeezing me so tight. Do you like my cock that much? Huh?”

“I told you to—ah—shut up.” He scoffed, licking over his lips.

“Figures that a brat like you has such a sweet little cunt on her. If only your wet, tight pussy could make up for that disgusting mouth—mm!”

You grabbed the nape of his neck, pushing him up and into your chest, effectively silencing him. Naoya moaned between your breasts, moving his hand up to squeeze one of them, his mouth moving to the other. His mouth found your nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue around the bud. You struggled to hold back a moan. You hated how good his mouth felt, but it was much better than hearing his dirty talk and feeling yourself clench around him with each word.

A particularly harsh suck and pull of your nipples shot a wave of pleasure straight to your cunt, urging you closer to your orgasm. You slipped a hand between your legs, pushing apart your lips to rub at your clit, a whine slipping out of you as you felt your climax draw nearer. Naoya noticed the change in your demeanor, eyes darting up to watch your face scrunch in pleasure. He’d never been overly fond of women’s “O” faces—he could honestly take them or leave them depending on how they looked—but he had to admit that you looked adorable as you got closer to your peak. Your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyes squeezed shut, cheeks puffed up as you struggled not to moan. If you were anyone else, he would’ve openly found your expression absolutely precious.

You gasped at a particularly deep thrust, head thrown back, eyes fluttering open to stare at the ceiling. You could feel the pressure in your cunt building, your pleasure growing more and more. You could tell your orgasm wouldn’t be anything overwhelming—perhaps you would’ve felt something more if your partner wasn’t a complete dirtbag—but it was better than nothing. An orgasm was an orgasm; at least you were going to cum.

You briefly wondered if Naoya ever bothered to satisfy his previous partners before you gently tumbled over the edge, your body shuddering slightly as you came. You were right: it wasn’t anything spectacular, but it felt good nonetheless and you could feel how sensitive your cunt was after—

You gasped as Naoya thrust up into you hard, your body almost thrown off of him if it wasn’t for the hand that found the back of your neck, holding you tightly in place as he planted his feet and started fucking you in earnest. You choked on a moan, hands scrambling for purchase, finding a spot on either side of his head and curling into the sheets.

“N-Naoya, wait—” He shushed you gently, smoothly a hand over your ass before giving it a rough squeeze.

“You had your fun. Be a good girl and take it, yeah?” His pace increased, his hips moving much faster than yours had just a moment ago. His thrusts were making your head spin, your mushy cunt still too sensitive to handle the sudden barrage of attention.

“Fuck, wait, ‘s too m-much, hah!”

“It’s t-too m-m-much,” he mocked in a high pitched tone. He pulled away his hand and landed it hard on your ass, making you jolt and clench down on him, causing him to groan. “Quit whining. I let you cum, now it’s my turn.” He smacked your ass again, his cock railing into your sweet spot over and over, causing that same pressure you just felt to build again, only much faster.

“W-Wait, Naoya, n-no—”

“Can’t believe you’ve got such a tight fucking cunt. Not fucking fair. Why’s a bitch like you gotta feel so fucking good?” He slowed momentarily, readjusting before thrusting again, going much faster than before. You couldn’t hold back your moans anymore. You hated how good it felt as he fucked you; you hated how thick his cock was and how it filled you so well and hit just the right spots and how his pace made your head spin.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he hissed, removing his hand from your hip, hurriedly bringing it between your legs so he could quickly rub your clit. “Hurry up and cum for me again, princess. Wanna feel that tight little pussy cream on my cock one more time before I fill you up.”

You were overwhelmed beyond belief. Your cunt was spasming out of control, your heart pounding in your ears as you struggled to breathe. You just needed a break, just a small break to compose yourself so you wouldn’t—

It was too late. You were already cumming on his cock, letting out a strangled mix of a moan and a wail. Your hips twitched pathetically, trying to meet his as you rode out your high. Naoya groaned at the sensation, both hands holding onto your hips for dear life as he continued to thrust up into you.

“Fuck! Yes yes yes, oh fuck yes!”

A few pumps later and he was cumming with a deep moan, pushing his hips flush against yours, spilling his seed into his condom. He gritted his teeth, thrusting shallowly a couple more times before pressing his hips to yours, lowering both of you down to the bed. The two of you were panting, struggling to catch your breath as you lay on top of him, eyebrows furrowed as you stared away from him, eyes searching for an answer that clearly wasn’t there. You gave yourself a minute to compose yourself, soon pushing yourself up into a seated position.

“You okay?” Naoya asked, a tinge of sincerity behind his usual snarky façade. “I’m sure that was a lot for you—”

You lifted your hips off of him without a word, swinging your legs off of his hips and scooting to the edge of the bed. You wobbled slightly as you stood, eyebrows still scrunched together in thought as you retrieved your clothes.

“Hey, where are you going?” Naoya asked breathily, propping himself on his elbows as he watched you start to get dressed. “You don’t have to leave yet. I could put on a movie or—hey!” You walked out of his bedroom, ignoring his shouting behind you as you hurried to the front of his apartment. “At least lock the door before you le—”

The front door was opened and shut before he could finish, leaving him alone in his room, cock still steaming and wet. He cursed under his breath, sitting up and removing the messy condom. He tied off the end, tossing it in the nearby wastebin before grabbing some tissues, cleaning himself up.

“Stupid bitch,” he grumbled under his breath as he wiped up his cum and your slick. “No wonder she’s fucking single: can’t even stay around after sex.”

He didn’t know why he was so pissed off at you for leaving right after. He blamed it on the principle of the thing, how it would be rude for anybody to leave a sex partner right after they came. It wasn’t because he actually enjoyed having you on top of him or feeling your soft weight against him, and it definitely wasn’t because he was expecting you to cuddle up to him, pressing your chubby cheek against his chest and sweetly asking if you could sleep over.

No… it definitely wasn’t that.

#smut #chubby reader #fem reader #chubby fem reader #naoya zen'in #naoya zenin #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zen'in x reader #naoya zenin x chubby reader #naoya zenin x fem reader #☀️ fics #☀️ scum of the earth au

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tobesobri · 4 years

Text

Bust | Part Three: Carve (5.5k)

content warning: body image, fatphobia

She wasn’t sure what gave her the boost of confidence to trek up goddamned Justice Hill for the second time today, but she was here. And she was glancing through the windows to find Harry up at his front desk. His cup set aside while he focused on a mound of clay in front of him that roughly took the shape of some humanoid object.

Without giving herself time to second guess, she pushed through the front door and got his attention immediately.

He sat up a little straighter, opened his mouth and then closed it. Loosened the knot between his brows and then tightened it. All while she just stood at the back of the room catching her breath and just staring at him.

“Wh-” He started but it was too late.

She turned right back around and left again.

In which Y/N is an annoyance in Harry’s sculpting class.

story masterlist | my masterlist

She already regretted letting her doubts and her nerves get the best of her while she sat in front of Rose and wished it was Harry instead. Maybe he would have said yes. It was just coffee and she knew he drank it. Nothing had to happen from there. She even could have invited him to come with her and Rose, to make it a little less stressful on herself. But she just… did nothing.

“Hey I guess great minds think alike.” Rose commented, glancing over Y/N’s head. And when she turned to follow her gaze it was like the universe was giving her a second chance.

Harry stood in line behind an older couple, his white jumpsuit a thing of the past as he now wore a pair of joggers and a long-sleeve t-shirt with tour dates printed on the back of some band she’d never heard of. She wondered if he took a spare change of clothes with him to the studio. If sometimes he stayed late and had them just in case. If he stayed late, fixing her sculpture in his spare comfy clothes while playing his music throughout the empty studio.

“I’m going to ask him to join us.” Rose was gone before Y/N could protest, not that she really wanted to anyways. She wanted Harry to pull up a third chair at their little round table. She wanted to hear his voice again up close. Feel the heat radiating off of him. Compare her hands to his while he gripped his own cup of coffee. She just wanted him around in general.

And that was so very not typical of her. To care so much about someone.

So when Rose returned without Harry trailing her, she was a little disappointed at first.

“He said he’d come over for a bit once he orders.” She reassured then and it was all sunflowers and daisies in Y/N’s head again. She just hated that Rose had to be the one to ask him because she was too much of a coward to do it herself.

Rose made room and Y/N flipped her head around when he got close, pulling the chair out Rose had readied for him. He sat down with a smile and his cup in hand, placing a little bag on the table in front of him.

“Do you guys want some?” He asked, noticing both girl’s preoccupation with what was in the bag, “It’s a blueberry scone.”

In unison, they gave two completely different answers. Rose agreed eagerly while Y/N politely declined. And the second he pushed the bag towards Rose and watched her pull the delicious little pastry out of it, Y/N regretted a second thing that night.

“So do you like, stay late at the studio or something?” Rose started, making casual conversation with him in a way Y/N wished she was capable of.

He nodded, “Sometimes, if I’m working on something.”

“And are you?”

He stared at the table and blinked a couple times before shrugging, “Sort of, I guess.”

Rose looked up at him confused, “How do you sort of work on something?”

He laughed at himself and sat back against his chair after having been hunched over the table, “Well I don’t really know if it’s going to turn out. So I don’t like to get my hopes up.”

“What is it? If you don’t mind me asking.”

And maybe she just imagined it, but Y/N swore she saw him glance at her. It was brief, barely even a second that he looked her way.

What the fuck did that mean?

“Um,” he coughed into his hand and cleared his throat, “well I sculpt a lot of figures of women so… it’s that.”

“Anyone in particular or do you just make them up?”

“Depends. This one’s in particular.” He explained quietly and for some reason it made Y/N’s heart fucking burst through the roof. Like Harry would ever make a fucking piece of art after her likeness.

“Well, that’s cool! Will we ever get to see it?”

He shook his head abruptly, “They take me at least a month to complete, and we only have two and a half more weeks.”

“Oh… well do you have social media where you post them when you’re done?” Rose asked and Y/N hid her face instantly behind her coffee cup, pretending to genuinely be thirsty when she really just wanted to avoid the topic of her already being fully aware of Harry’s Instagram.

“Yeah, um, I have Instagram.”

“What is it?” Rose picked her phone up from the table, readying herself to search his username when he gave it to her. And Y/N could sense the bit of reluctance just before he did, like he either didn't give it out often or didn’t really want Rose to know about it.

“This one?” She asked, pointing at the top of a list of potential Harry accounts and he nodded.

They both watched as Rose scrolled through his photos in a way Y/N had already done. Harry was sitting in a pit of nerves because he never really enjoyed being in front of someone while they saw his work for the first time. He had no idea what she would think of it or why he even cared. But he did. He always cared. And Y/N, well, she just hoped Rose wouldn’t notice that Harry already followed her.

She wasn’t sure if there was a way to easily see that on Instagram, but if there was, she prayed Rose didn’t know about it either.

Instead, Rose tilted her head to the side, looking a little confused. “Oh… you do um…”

Both Y/N and Harry leaned in a little to see the photo Rose had clicked on. It was one of his sculptures. One of the female figures that was most definitely not skinny. Y/N bit the insides of her mouth and prepared for the worst.

“Plus sized women…”

Y/N didn’t move a single inch. Not even to blink. The connotation laced in Rose’s words said everything and she had no prior clue that Rose was so bothered by fat people before.

“Well, I do different body types, yeah.” Harry corrected. He did sculpt plus sized women, but not in the sort of light Rose was making it out to be.

“Sorry,” she glanced between the both of them, “I just didn’t realize.”

“Is there something wrong with that?” Y/N finally spoke. Finally did something other than sit in her fear and anger.

“No. I mean… it kind of glorifies like… being overweight don’t you think?”

Y/N thought she was going insane. How did she manage to have a friend who thought that way? How did she go all this time not realizing Rose felt that kind of hatred towards Y/N’s own body? She couldn’t help but feel a wave of embarrassment and panic.

Harry scrunched his face and sat away from her again. “No.” He stated bluntly. “Too many times in art thin bodies are glorified as some sort of ideal.” He argued and Y/N fell madly and deeply in love with him right on the spot because he wasn’t just speaking out of his ass. He wasn’t just blindly following some trend. He poured all his love into his work and he meant every word. “That’s more damaging than the small selection of art focused on trying to correct the way we view beauty… don’t you think?”

Y/N wanted to bow down to him. To sing his fucking praises. To get down on her knees and kiss his fucking shoes.

Rose stared at him a bit stunned for a moment before she glanced at Y/N like her friend might help dig her out of the hole she was in with Harry. But Y/N did no such thing. So, Rose shrugged and put her phone down.

“Guess I never thought of it like that.”

“Right, um…” Harry started gathering himself and it was the first time within the past couple minutes he did something Y/N didn’t approve of. “Thanks for the chat. I’ll see you guys on Saturday.”

When he left, it was awkward between the two like some real truths had finally come out. Y/N didn’t blame Rose for what she said, she probably just genuinely didn’t understand it. She didn’t get what it was like. And frankly, neither did Harry. But at least he made an effort.

“Think he despises me now.” Rose downed the last bits of her coffee in one go.

“No. He doesn’t really seem the type to hate anyone.”

Rose rolled her eyes, “Well after I made a complete ass of myself, I’m sure he’s willing to learn.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, just a little. Because Rose did, in fact, make an ass of herself and Y/N was just glad she was painfully self-aware.

“You ready to go?” Rose asked, pulling her jacket from the back of her chair.

“Um, actually I’ll catch up with you later. I’m going to hang out here a little while longer.”

“You sure? It’s not safe walking home alone once it gets dark.”

Y/N nodded anyways even if Rose scared her a little with that harsh reality. “Yeah. I’ll text you when I get home.”

“Okay well, be safe. I’ll be home trying not to murder myself.” Rose stood, looking genuinely disappointed in herself as she tugged her jacket on. Y/N didn’t really know what to say, so she just said goodbye and left it at that.

Although, within about five minutes of Y/N being alone in the cafe, she was leaving too. Tossing her nearly emptied cup into the bin on her way out of the cafe and then fast walking her ass up the hill again until she reached the studio.

Without giving herself time to second guess, she pushed through the front door and got his attention immediately.

“Wh-” He started but it was too late.

She turned right back around and left again.

He pushed away from his chair and followed her this time, and went right back outside without a jacket and without his shoes on until he caught up to her before she fast-walked her cowardly ass back down the hill.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he grabbed her arm once he was close enough, luckily not having strayed too far off from the studio so that the lights on inside still illuminated her face when she turned around. “What was all that?”

She stared blankly at him. She had no clue what it was. She had a million things on her mind and the second she was alone with him it was like everything that wanted to come out just completely ditched her. Her head went empty and she panicked.

“I, um… thank you.”

He was even more confused. “For what?”

She blinked, shivering when the cold breeze got to her, “For what you said back there.”

He easily glanced right over her head, down the hill at the little coffee shop, wondering what had happened to Rose and why Y/N was alone now.

She took a deep breath and got his attention again, “I uh… to be honest,” she stared at her feet, trying not to distract her train of thought by his lack of shoes, “when I first saw your sculptures they made me feel… seen. If that makes any sense at all.”

“It does.”

She glanced up at him quickly, “Right well, um… I just wanted to say thank you.”

“I know… you told me that already.”

She nodded like she had more to say but never got around to it.

“What happened to your friend?”

Y/N twisted around slightly, glancing down the hill, “She went home. Which is what I’m going to do now… because I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one night.” She cringed at her own rambling even though it made Harry smile.

He grabbed her hand when she turned to walk away from him however. “Actually um… would you mind if I walked you home? It’s not really safe, you know?”

She didn't even think twice before nodding. There was no way she could disagree to spending more time with him, especially not with the way he was smiling at her now.

“Okay, well, give me like two minutes to get ready… you can come in.” He walked backwards and grabbed the door of the studio, pulling it open for her. It was profound character development when he didn't cut in front of her like the last time he held the door open. Instead, they just shared loved-up smiles as she walked past him and into the warmth of the studio.

He walked up to the front of the room while she stayed in the back and quickly slid his feet back into his shoes. She watched him the entire time, too, while he grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and pulled his fingers through his hair as he grabbed a set of keys from the top drawer of his desk.

When he returned to her end of the studio, it was with that same old smile, “Ready, then?”

After flipping the Open sign and turning off the lights, he locked the front door and they made their ways down Justice Hill together. It was just past eight-thirty now, and definitely a time of night she didn’t like walking alone in, no matter how much she tried to convince others she could handle it.

His knuckles brushed hers when they reached the bottom of the hill and when she glanced at him, he pulled his hands into the pockets of his jacket. She was reading way too much into things again. He’s your instructor, she reminded herself, he’s just being nice.

Even so, all the words they’d exchanged the day Rose had the flu flashed through her head again. Surely he didn’t talk to other students the way he had with her. He didn’t follow them on Instagram and slide into their DM’s, did he?

She sighed and wrapped her arms around herself when they turned the corner onto Main Street, their backs facing the ocean as the temperature dropped.

She kept her eyes on the cement beneath her shoes and didn’t notice he was pulling himself out of his jacket until it was too late.

“Here,” he handed it to her, leaving him in just his long-sleeve.

“Oh… I’m alright. You’ll get cold.”

He shook his head and insisted, “I’ll be fine.”

Reluctantly, she took it from him. It was a brown suede jacket that clashed horrendously with her outfit, but she wasn't too worried about that. Not as much as she was worried about it even fitting her. Swallowing and hoping for the best, she swung it around her shoulders while they walked and, by some miracle, fit her arms into it.

All the times she refused jackets from men because of her fears were a total waste.

He smiled and buried his hands into the pockets of his joggers, not exactly convincing her that he was, in fact, fine, but she wasn’t quite done obsessing over the scent of his cologne overwhelming her senses.

“So, um,” she started, fiddling with the zipper on his jacket as she desperately racked her brain for something to say after her mouth had opened without her being fully prepared to spark a conversation. When something finally came to mind, she praised jesus. “How long have you been sculpting?”

He chuckled and she swore she heard his teeth clattering. If she didn’t know he would refuse to take his jacket back, she would have already returned it. “Um… well professionally since I was nineteen.”

“And before that?”

“I apprenticed in a studio where we made pots and plates and stuff like that.”

“Isn’t that professional?”

He tilted his head, “Not really. I was still learning. I did traditional art before getting into sculpting when I was thirteen, and I was really bad at it for a long time.”

She was quiet for a moment, thoughtful, which he appreciated. He’d never really known her to think about what she was going to say first before she opened her mouth. “What made you want to make things?”

It was a good question, and one he never really thought about much. He hummed as they continued down Main Street, passing all the little shops that were just beginning to close for the night. “I don’t know really. Just liked making things I thought were beautiful, I suppose.”

That made her heart flutter. All the plus-sized women, according to Rose, he sculpted were things he considered beautiful. Maybe he didn’t actually plan on dating someone who wasn’t thin, but it was the thought that mattered.

“I guess um,” he continued when she was silent, “I got into sculpting people about three years ago. My first attempts were worse than yours so I gave up on it. But then…” he trailed off and right when she glanced at him to ask him to continue, he did, “I met this girl and I fell in love with her and she convinced me to try it again.” He smiled at the memory. “I made her model for me and taught myself by watching videos so I could get her face just right.”

“Are you still together?”

His smile faded, “She…” he huffed, his eyes dropping to the ground and Y/N prepared for the worst when he opened his mouth again, “she had cancer.”

There was a sharp pain in her chest, like someone dug their fingers in and slowly ripped her heart from its cage. She didn’t know what to say and ended up saying the most useless thing to say to someone in his situation.

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, “It’s alright. But I think what I make now… it’s because of her.”

Y/N nodded and then mumbled about them needing to cross the street at the next light.

Once they were on the other side of the road and headed into her neighborhood on Saltwater Avenue, he changed the subject. “So what do you do for a living?”

She sighed, “I work in marketing.”

“Sounds like you hate it.”

Shrugging, she became very much aware again that she was wearing his jacket and that they were only three houses away from her house and she didn't want Harry to leave yet. “Sometimes… I just really hate capitalism, you know?”

He laughed, the sound of it echoing through the quiet neighborhood and making her shiver, not because she was cold, though, but because it was the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard, even more so than the other times she’d made him laugh.

“I do know what you mean, yeah.” He agreed, pulling his hands from his pockets and crossing his arms over his chest, “Why stay, then?”

“Well… I kind of have a marketing degree…”

He nodded, “So? A degree just means you’re educated. You can do what you want with it.”

She wasn't sure he knew how degrees worked, but it didn’t matter when she saw her front door fast approaching, “This is me.”

He stopped just as she did in front of the little beach house with white paneling and a bright red door. It was cute and the second thing he noticed after the door, was the barking from the other side of it.

“Think Max was missing you.” He said, just seconds before he realized what knowing her dog’s name implied. He didn’t even know why he said it, either. But he’d gone through one too many photos of her mini Australian shepherd that the dog almost seemed like his now too.

“See someone’s been stalking my instagram.” She lifted an accusatory brow while slipping out of his jacket as they stood in front of her picket-gate.

“S’only fair.” He retorted, bringing up the ghosts of her past that made her internally cringe again.

Handing his jacket back, she rolled her eyes, “Touché.”

He took it, folding it over his arm as a quiet moment passed between them. Then finally, he glanced up at her front door and then back to her, “Well, um, it was nice talking. I’ll see you Wednesday?”

He glanced at her lips while she nodded, while she pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and bit down on it. It would be the most cliche way to kiss her, if he even had the guts to do that. He had to repeatedly remind himself that… well… nothing. He had no reason not to kiss her, he supposed. Other than her not wanting him to. And he didn’t have the guts to ask her if she would want that.

“Yeah, Wednesday.” She confirmed, giving him a polite smile before reaching around to open her gate and step into her small front yard. She glanced at him before turning away to walk up the short path to her front door and then once more when she waved at him just before disappearing into her house. He waited until she locked her door before he left.

* * *

She fell into the trap of his Instagram again once she was in bed. It wasn’t to check if he’d posted anything new, though, it was to go back even further in his feed to see if he’d ever posted the sculpture he made of his ex-girlfriend. And it took quite a lot of digging, in fact, when she found herself at the very end of his posts. But it wasn’t in vain when she spotted the sculpted face amongst a bunch of old posts about vases and bowls.

Pulling the photo up, it was clear she’d found what she was looking for. Except, there was more than one photo. The first was of his completed sculpture, and according to his caption, his ex-girlfriend, Juliana, had already passed. She swiped left on the photo and was met with one of him and her. She had a beanie on, but it was still obvious Juliana had cancer. The thing that stuck out the most, however was that Juliana was not, in fact, thin. She was beautiful and had the same kind of body Y/N had and Harry loved her enough to sculpt her out of something he could keep forever.

Max jumped up on her bed then and pulled her out of her thoughts. Just the mere possibility of being Harry’s type filled her head with way too much hope. She clicked her phone off and set it on her bedside table. He had all the time in the world just now to make any sort of move and he didn’t. And there was a reason for it, she was sure. It crossed her mind a few times since he’d said what had happened that maybe… Harry was one of those guys that never moved on. She wouldn’t blame him, everyone grieved in their own way. She just felt horrible herself for hoping she had a chance with him when he’d been through something like that and probably wasn’t even emotionally available.

He hid it quite well if he wasn’t. Either way, as she pet Max while he curled up beside her, she completely convinced herself to give Harry some space.

* * *

Rose switched seats for the day to sit beside Julian, who she’d apparently been getting to know quite well the past week without Y/N’s knowledge. So that left Y/N on her own with the few others that sat in the very back of the studio. She leaned on her elbow and doodled on a scrap piece of paper while Harry gave another lesson. Most everyone was at the point of adding limbs to their bodies but Y/N had a really hard time focusing when all she could think about was Harry. And it didn’t help that the only voice she heard was his too.

Frankly, she’d feel like a complete bitch for telling him how she felt after learning about his previous relationship. Even if he had moved on and grieved, it still didn’t feel right. It felt like she’d be taking advantage of something. And with Harry in no hurry to tell her if he even liked her, she was stuck. And it hurt more than she’d like to admit.

She continued doodling while everyone listened, while she glanced at Harry, found him already looking at her, and then went right back to her piece of scrap paper again. She didn’t look up from it either, not when he dismissed everyone to get to work and not when he made a bee line, as nonchalantly as he could, to her table.

“So your friend has a boyfriend now?”

Y/N lifted her head just enough to glance Rose’s way and then retreated to her doodles without giving Harry any attention of his own, “Were you interested?”

His brows furrowed as he watched her, something so completely different about her than the last time they’d been together but he couldn’t figure out what. His eyes scanned down her arm and watched while she drew literal scribbles that he couldn’t make out into any solid thing. “No I was just… making an observation.”

She nodded absentmindedly and he grew frustrated.

He glanced to the people sitting beside her, making sure they were fully engrossed in their projects before he leaned in and whispered just for her to hear, “Are you mad at me?”

That finally pulled her eyes from the desk and onto him where she immediately shook her head, “No,” she said genuinely, hating that he’d gotten that impression. She didn’t want him to think she was mad. He hadn’t done anything. “Why would I be mad at you?”

He blinked a couple times and then opened his mouth but no words ever got the chance to come out.

“Harry! Can you help me please?” Another student shouted from the middle of the class and he turned around to assure that he’d be right there. And when he faced Y/N again, she was back to scribbling.

“If you’re not going to do anything here,” he began, “maybe you should go home.”

She stopped when he walked away. Her entire body immobile. He wanted her to leave. She wanted to leave. She hated that she was upset over what she was upset about and seeing Harry only made her hatred for herself that much worse.

While he preoccupied himself, she packed up her things and left. On her way down Justice Hill, she texted Rose that she wasn’t feeling well.

* * *

It was just past eight-thirty when there her doorbell rang and while she sat on the couch as Max jumped up to bark at the noise, she checked her phone to see if she’d missed a text from Rose saying she was coming over. With her phone empty of any notifications, however, she proceeded with caution.

She picked Max up, mid-bark, and opened her door after unlocking it to find Harry standing on her front porch looking at her with his brows furrowed as he ripped his fingers through his hair nervously.

“Harry what are you--?”

“I’m sorry,” he cut her off, “I’m not sure what I did to upset you, but I’m sorry that I did.”

She glanced down at his feet, finding his same old white vans that he’d recently cleaned all the scuff marks off of, before she faced him again, sighing. “You didn’t do anything, it’s just…” She paused, hesitating. When his eyebrow tilted curiously, she sighed and just came out with it. “I like you. And after what you said yesterday, I just felt stupid for thinking you were into me if you’re still dealing with that.”

He was stunned into silence for an entire five seconds until he cleared his head, “I’m not.” When he saw the way her face fell in disappointment, he clarified, “Still dealing with it, I mean. I’ve had another girlfriend since then. It was hard, but I did move on.”

“Oh.” She readjusted Max in her grip.

“And I am… into you.” He assured. “I was when I first saw you, but then… you opened your mouth.” He laughed optimistically and even though she pretended to be insulted, she couldn’t help but be embarrassed by her past self.

“God, I’m sorry for being so annoying. It was nothing personal, I just--”

He stepped forward and, to Max’s dismay, grabbed her face between his hands and kissed her. Without talking himself out of it this time, but he just didn’t want to listen to her be self-deprecating for one more second. She kissed him back once she was out of the initial shock, and brought her free hand up to the back of his neck to pull him in.

She took a couple backward steps until he was fully in her house and he closed the door shut behind him. Pulling apart for less than five seconds, they never took their eyes off each other as she put Max on the ground finally and then came crashing right back into Harry. The only sound apart from Harry’s moan around her lips as she pressed him into the door, was Max’s nails as he walked across the hardwoods to his spot on the couch again.

He broke away first, a few moments later, with his hands still on either side of her face, pushing her back and giggling when she pouted at him for doing so.

“Sorry, I just wanted you to stop talking,” he whispered while tucking her hair behind her ear softly, so much that just feeling the tip of his fingers on her skin like that gave her goosebumps.

“Well, you’re welcome to shut me up anytime you’d like if that’s how you go about it.” His forehead fell onto hers while he laughed and she did too, breathlessly like Harry had taken all of the air out of her lungs when he kissed her.

“I, um…” He mumbled once they were done laughing and then lifted his head again and began removing his hands from her, “I didn’t close up the studio so I have to go back.”

“Oh,” Y/N nodded, taking a step away from him, “Yeah, you should go do that. I have work in the morning anyway.”

“Can I see you sometime… before Saturday I mean?” He asked and her heart fluttered at just the mere prospect of seeing Harry outside of their regularly scheduled meetings. She’d gotten into the habit of looking forward to her Wednesdays and Saturdays because of him, and it was overwhelming to think of seeing him on a Thursday or a Friday.

“I get off for lunch tomorrow at eleven-thirty to twelve-thirty.” She offered, knowing she’d want to see him again before she was off of work at five. And then she rambled on about why that was her only free time. “I have meetings on Thursdays after work and then I’m too tired to do anyth—“

He cut her off again.

It was quick this time though, but when he pulled his lips from her it didn’t matter, because she stopped. “Eleven-thirty’s fine.”

“Okay.” Was all she said, even though in hindsight she probably should have kept rambling just to get him to kiss her again instead of what he did next.

Which was, reaching behind himself to grab the handle and ease her front door open.

“I’ll slide into your DMs later then…” he stepped aside and pulled the door open just enough to be able to fit himself out of and she stepped back to give him room to do so even if it made her heart ache to see him leaving. And when she seemed confused about why he’d be in her DMs, he clarified. “About where we’ll meet.”

“Oh, yeah. Okay.” She smiled at him finally and stepped closer again to grab the door from him while he stood in the space between it and her small front porch. They stared at each other for a brief moment, her looking up into his eyes while everything that just happened finally began sinking in and him, glancing at her lips before leaning down to kiss her one last time before he ran off.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #sculptor!harry

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ohfiendangelical · 5 years

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first of all, i want to clarify that this is not a callout post. it’s more of a personal catharsis thing — i don’t really have any ‘receipts’, though i do have numerous other witnesses and victims. ive been intentionally vague about this for about 5 years now, trying to keep the peace and avoid any unnecessary drama.

the story i originally gave when miranda and i parted ways was that we were simply incompatible; i implied that we were both good people who ultimately brought out the worst in each other. that is partially true — we were incompatible, and we did bring out the worst in each other. however, there’s a bit more to it than that.

i met miranda through the tumblr rpc in the early days of this particular blog. i was a young teenager. miranda was older than me, though also a teenager at the time; either a junior or senior in high school. she seemed sweet at the time, though shy and insecure. she also seemed sad a lot. we bonded over a love of the film moulin rouge and writing dark subject matter. we had our characters interact, and she quickly grew attached to both zero and i.

she quickly began to exibhit strange behavior. she would pressure me to do plots i wasn’t keen on and get extremely upset if i was hesitant. she was fiercely jealous and she would use her character, abra, to vent her personal grudges and vendettas against other writers and characters i interacted with. she accused a great deal of people in our circles of plagiarism (admittedly, there were a few cases of her suspicions proving to be true) and would bully them relentlessly, sometimes to the point of chasing them off the platform. she decided she didn’t like people seemingly at random and became hostile if i continued to speak to them.

she began to refer to me as her best friend within a few months of our knowing each other. i was not comfortable with this. i didn’t think i wanted to get very close to her, even if i had fun writing with her. however, she persisted relentlessly and pressured me into saying it back, and eventually i trained myself into believing it was true.

she forced the zero and abra ship. that may come as a surprise to people who knew us back then. i didn’t want to do it, but she would have a full-blown breakdown any time i said i didn’t see the two characters ending up together — so eventually i caved and engaged fully. this was another thing i had to learn to enjoy.

any time i made a decision for myself, she would be unhappy with me. this started out as rp- and character-based decisions only, but soon upgraded to any decision regarding real life as well. she didn’t like it when i came up with my own plot ideas and would fight with me. she didn’t like it if i talked to other writers, save for the few she deemed acceptable (until she inevitably had a falling out with them and i was not allowed to speak to them anymore). she didn’t like it if i wasn’t accessable 24/7. she became hostile if she found out i had plans or was not at my computer. she would become irritated if i talked about people in my life that she didn’t already know.

eventually, it got to the point where i rarely ever left my house, afraid of the reaction i would get. due to my mental health, i began to do homeschooling in the middle of my teen years (this was not related to her), which gave her unreserved access to me. i ended up losing contact with more than half my real-life friends. this lasted about 3 or 4 years — most of my formative teen years.

where i wasn’t allowed to have other friends, engage with other writers, have other ships, leave my house, or generally have any life experience, she was. if i brought up this contradiction i would be shamed and berated for being a bad friend. if i was worried about any of the decisions she was making — self-destructive habits, engaging with dangerous people in her real life, handling her money recklessly — i would be even further shamed. she kept me from her other friends, refusing to let me speak to any of them. she publicly played up her popularity with these friends, as well as her “fans” on her personal blog, while rarely ever mentioning me. if she wanted to prove a point, she would ignore me entirely to keep me in my place while championing and publicly lauding these other people. of course, if i spoke to almost anyone other than my few rp friends (which, again, were mostly selected by her whims), there would be absolute hell to pay.

she was fairly popular on her personal blog, and became regarded as an authority and critic on social issues. a great deal of her “hot takes” were extremely damaging, or not thoroughly researched. half the time she did not know what she was talking about. if anyone disagreed with her on anything — even mundane, small things that had nothing to do with social issues — they were deemed either racist or misogynistic or both. (miranda is a latinx woman, so she has had to deal with institutional racism. i want to make it clear she wasn’t a white girl crying racism — all of this is bad enough without misleading claims.) if she were informed she could not be an authority on the plight of demographics she did not fit into, she would throw a fit and talk in circles until she came up with something to make the other person, sometimes a member of the demographic she was representing falsely, appear in the wrong.

she had a great deal of internalized homophobia that offended me (i’m bisexual), and when i called her out on it, she grew highly emotional and guilted me relentlessly. i never brought it up again. after we parted ways, she came out as a lesbian. this was after years of her throwing a fit if i so much as said i’d kiss her in a playful context — though she sexted me once. she became distressed or annoyed if i ever mentioned it, which left me feeling rather dirty and used, especially since i was 17.

the body positively movement was gaining traction around this time, so she latched onto that, “reclaiming thickness”. the problem with that is that she was rather thin with slight curves. i, however, am heavyset — and was made to feel ugly by her for it while she also talked over me about thickness, fatphobia, and body shaming to further her own personal agenda.

i underwent extreme personality changes with miranda controlling my life. i was an outgoing and confident teenager, if not a bit obnoxious, before i met her; now, to this day, i am rather reserved and shy. i have trouble befriending people. certain typing patterns make me anxious (miranda had a distinct textual tone when she was upset). my self esteem isn’t what it used to be. i have to triple check my own perceptions of things — even now, writing this, i have to wonder if everything really happened the way i remember it, or if i am just melodramatic and oversensitive.

i have countless horror stories, fragmented anecdotes. examples of her behavior.

she once claimed to have taken a bunch of pills in a suicide attempt, then immediately backtracked when i, worried sick, was preparing to call someone, saying that she threw them all up and was fine. she went to bed immediately after, making it clear she was irritated at me for responding to what i can only assume now were theatrics.

when the older boy i thought i was in love with molested me, and i — young, confused, and upset, with only a few hours having passed — considered speaking to him again, she berated me and threatened to cut all contact, saying that she “didn’t think she could be friends with someone who would do that”. (she also berated me when i expressed concern that she was still in contact with someone who abused her.)

a few months after my brother, who i loved more than anyone in the world, died unexpectedly, she expressed the news had upset her because she “knew it would change things between us” — in her mind, my grief took a backseat to the inconvenience of my attention being elsewhere.

when one of my friends expressed interest in one of my characters she was especially attached to, she came at me in violent hysterics, saying “HE’S MINE”, as though he were a real person. this fight escalated to literal life threatening perportions when my friend became hospitalized, the violent bullying and gaslighting from miranda being a factor.

when i began to hang out with my real life friends again once a week after years of isolation, she claimed that i didn’t care about our relationship and that we weren’t “working out”, and she may not want to be friends with me anymore.

i have a lot more, but i think we’ve gone dark enough for now.

i also want to bring up the way i behaved. the relationship did bring out the worst in me. i began to think like her in a lot of ways. there were times when i was cruel and manipulative and selfish. there were times when i was mean to other people. there were times when i would react to something in a melodramatic, irrational way when it didn’t have to be that way. i think that i became a really bad person for a while. there are still some habits that i’m trying to unlearn — like not saying what i mean and then getting upset with people for not knowing anyway, or being harshly critical and judgmental of those undeserving, or seeking out affection through ridiculously convoluted ways. i’m working on it. (honestly, i’m deathly afraid of turning into her.) a lot of it has been worked out of my system after five years, but there are relapses from time to time.

when i began to tell one of my friends about what i was experiencing, i slowly came to realize it wasn’t normal. i came to terms that it was abusive. eventually, i reached a point where i felt brave enough to disconnect. i told her that i couldn’t do it anymore, and then said goodbye. she tried every trick in the book into getting me to stay, but i managed.

i will still get the occasional message from her every six or so months that proves she hasn’t changed and has no intention of changing. the messages range from hostile to desperate to sad and asking for forgiveness.

based on what ive heard from other people, she’s only gotten worse.

there are currently 6 other people i can think of off the top of my head who also had traumatic experiences with miranda. and that’s just the few i know of.

so, there you go — that person i wrote with for years and years and seemed so happy with was basically keeping me hostage. i know that may come as a shock to some, and not to others. i hope anyone else who has been hurt by her is also brought some relief by the truth finally coming out: no, you weren’t crazy!

if anyone else would like to come forward, too, i’m always listening. it may help to talk about it.

#i'm not doing any formatting on this post because it feels needlessly vain to worry about aesthetics when this is kinda serious #anyway give this a read #if you want to reblog it that's okay too #it felt very cathartic to write this out! but also stressful #☆ offscreen .

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callsignbaphomet · 5 years

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I'M SORRY! THERE'S NO READ MORE ON THE APP BUT THIS IS JUST ENDGAME NONSENSE I NEED TO GET OFF MY CHEST BEFORE I EXPLODE SO THIS IS JUST A WARNING IN CASE YOU DON'T WANNA GET SPOILED AND NO I'M NOT TAGGING BECAUSE I DON'T WANT THIS FOUND. IT'S MORE OF A I JUST NEED TO SAY THIS AND THE LAST THING I WANT IS HARDCORE FANS COMING INTO A POST AND STARTING FIGHTS THAT NO ONE INVITED THEN INTO.

"You took everything from me!" That line should've by all rights come from Thor's mouth. All Scarlett Witch lost was a hastily put together romance that no one asked for or even liked.

Thor on the other hand--judging by the few Asgardians in Norway--helplessly struggled to save as many of his people as he could but it wasn't enough. The man also watched Thanos kill a life long friend and the only "link" let's say to normality and his old life and worst of all watched his brother die after he tried to help.

Small detour. I absolutely hate how the Russo bitches completely undid all the development that was done for Loki. Bitch, how fucking amazing would it have been to see Loki, Scarlet Witch and Doctor Strange using their abilities in such a grand fight. And we were deprived of that because some halfassed edgelord idea of "let's just keep him evil hurr hurr".

C'mon. Thor and Loki fighting side by side in perfect synchronization, basically putting in 110% into their skills and abilities. How fucking badass would that have been?

But no, they decided to treat Thor like a joke. They legit thought it was a good idea to put a fat suit on Hemsworth, make his hair matted and discolored and make his beard long and messed up. Hello??? No???? Also they thought it was a grand idea to laugh at the man who basically lost the only family he had left, turned to alcohol to numb the rage and depression and became unhinged???

Hell no! Uh uh! The fatphobia alone was disgusting and the disrespect towards the character pissed me the fuck off. Yes, I realize I'm biased in my rage because for as long as I can remember Thor and Black Panther have been my favorite Avengers and to see that character treated as a joke pretty much feels like a slap to the face and hurt for personal reasons that I won't get into. Also killing BP in the first movie when he had had his debut movie that same year? Bitch ass move. Honestly it feels like those bitches just wanted to jab at the directors of those movies. Honestly it does.

That's another thing. I see people blaming Waititi because Ragnarok was quirky and funny. Have you ever picked up a Thor comic before? You get two kinds of Thors depending on the writer: the walking, living and breathing physical manifestation of what cis straight men think is the definition of manliness with Thor being unrealistically violent, unreasonable and surrounded by skinny, white, hot women that he's clearly fucking for days on end. Then you have normal Thor who's misunderstanding of human norms lands him in awkward situations which to the reader is both quirky and funny but he's a very quick learner and smart. The quirks don't just come from or happen to him, the other Asgardians also have quirks. Loki's obsession with milkshakes and breakfast sausages? No, I ain't looking for panels. Google is free, bitch. So no, it fucking ain't Waititi's fault. It was all on those two petty bitches.

Most painful part is, to my understanding, that we won't see Thor in the MCU anymore so there won't be someone else who can retcon that bullshit.

Man, I went from loving Endgame (except for that part) to completely hating it. I haven't stopped thinking about all this shit since I saw that shit fest and I'm just getting angrier and angrier. Anyway, sorry for the rant and long post.

#werewolf howls at dusk

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fatphobiabusters · 6 years

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Content warning: Pro Anorexia, Pro Bulimia, Weight Loss, Eating Disorders, Thinspo

I wouldn’t normally post what someone sent us in a fanmail, but this made me angry enough that I feel it should be addressed here.

I’m sure this person was well-intentioned, but I need to discuss this with you all because there is something you really need to understand, something this person didn’t.

I am sick and tired of the way that, whenever we call out the hatefulness and dangerousness that is the pro-ana mentality, whenever we call out people who just happen to have anorexia for their fatphobia, whenever we call out rhetoric that pushes eating disorders onto others and tries to conflate restricted eating or starving with some kind of glamorous, healthy, wonderful weight loss diet that will make you oh so beautiful, etc., someone always has to scream at us for supposedly hating anorexic people or not understanding what anorexia is.

I’m fed up, honestly.

Recently, I made a post explaining that fitspo and pro-ana are connected, and that is why I don’t like fitspo. Fitspo isn’t about being healthy and fit; it’s about damaging your body and taking on dangerous exercise regimens while not nourishing your body or even starving yourself. And like pro-ana, fitspo pushes the idea that having body fat is a horrible, horrible thing, that it is shameful, that it is a failure on your part, etc., and that you should be willing to go to any length, to even die, to get rid of all your body fat. Which, for the record, is literally impossible, and this pursuit really can kill you.

And in the post, I said, “You can check our other posts on pro ana to fully understand the mindset behind these blogs and see what kinds of things they say and post.” And I said that because every single time we talk about pro ana, people don’t understand how it’s different from just being anorexic, take what we said as some kind of attack against or blanket statement about all anorexic people, and start massive fights and spread rumors about how much we “hate” people with eating disorders.

Which, by the way, anti fat acceptance people use against us to try to show people with eating disorders that fat people are their enemy (completely ignoring you can be fat with an eating disorder) and that they should become fatphobic and anti fat acceptance too. And it works. And for many people with eating disorders, that is extremely dangerous, because if you see fat people as a bad thing, you will see fatness as a bad thing, and then it only becomes harder to recover and to take care of your body because you become more and more desperate to not be fat.

Obviously, eating disorders aren’t always about not being fat- but it would be ignorant and false to say that that is never a factor, or that weight is never a massive concern for people with anorexia, bulimia, and the like.

So I wanted to make the point right away: if you don’t know what pro ana is, you can look it up on our blog and see it for yourself. That way, there should be very little misunderstandings here.

We have many posts about how people with anorexia are not the enemy, how people with anorexia deserve help, love, and support, etc., but how using anorexic people as a tool in your anti-fat rhetoric or promoting a pro-ana mentality is not okay. We have stated many times that we don’t have a problem with people with anorexia unless they treat us poorly for our weight- which, despite what you might want to believe, happens. We don’t treat them differently from anyone else in that sense.

We aren’t going to give someone a free pass on being hateful and fatphobic just because of a factor of their identity, and that shouldn’t be seen as unreasonable. It’s not that we are judging them for their mental illness; it’s that we are holding them accountable for how their behavior and words hurt other people. The same thing we do with anyone else of any size or mental health status or whatever else.

Hating pro ana is not about hating people with anorexia. It is about hating a specific mindset that tells people that starving is better than being fat.

I have literally seen the words “Better dead than fat” on these blogs. So this is not an exaggeration of what they are doing.

So, onto this fanmail that bothered me so much.

Hi. I read your recent post on fitspo/eating disorders, and I agree with almost everything. I hate pro-ana blogs with a burning passion, and have blocked a ton of related tags, including fitspo.

This is how the message started. And I want to believe the person meant it, that they understand how these blogs are hurtful and dangerous to a variety of people, that they get why we hate them so strongly. But I’m not convinced, and that’s because of what they said in the rest of their message.

I do want to say, though, that some of the language you used to describe anorexia felt… surprising. The stuff about “eagerly starv[ing]” and anorexia being about hating fat people… it upset me a little

Except I never described anorexia in the post. I never talked about anorexia in general in the post. I talked only about pro ana blogs, about pro mia blogs, about fitspo blogs.

And pro ana blogs, pro mia blogs, and fitspo blogs often promote the hatred of fatness, of being fat, of looking fat, of fat people. We’ve talked about it before here, and if this person had actually gone through our other posts on the topic, they’d know what I mean. Many of these blogs hate reblog pictures of fat people to use them as examples of what “ugly” looks like and to motivate themselves not to be fat. They leave mean, horrid comments on these pictures. They describe fatness like it’s a moral failure. Again, they say it’s better to be dead than fat. They bully fat people, they say awful things about fat people, they attack others for not hating fat people... I mean, it’s impossible to deny that much of what they are doing is about their hatred of fatness and their fear and disgust of the idea of being fat themselves.

And they are proud of their starvation. They show it off like a badge of honor. They don’t feel like they are hurting themselves. They, in fact, brag about how much they are bettering themselves by losing weight. They flaunt it, and encourage others to starve themselves. They are always eager to learn new unhealthy quick methods of weight loss to combine with the starvation. They post selfies of their progress, partially to fish for compliments from others who share the same mindset, and partially in hopes of getting insulted to keep motivated to keep starving. That is pro ana! This is not anorexia in general!

And I know that, which is why the post was only about pro ana.

The whole point of the post was to answer a question we keep getting in our inbox: “How can you possibly hate fitspo/fitspiration?” And so I answered it, by first explaining pro ana and second by drawing the connection between the two.

The post was never talking about anorexia. Hell, some people who run pro ana blogs don’t even meet the medical requirements of anorexia or even atypical anorexia, because you don’t necessarily have to starve yourself in order to encourage others to starve themselves and say that being fat is the worst thing ever! So although uncommon, not all of these blogs are run by anorexic people! Many fitspo blogs, for example, are not!

Anyway, the fanmail went on from there to talk about the sender’s own anorexia... again, completely missing the part about how this isn’t about anorexia in general. And the best part was that they felt the need to “educate” me on how anorexia is often about control... something I already know, because every time people scream and insult us for “attacking” anorexic people, they feel the need to tell us this.

And never once did the sender consider that maybe we at this blog have more experience with eating disorders than they think. They spent the whole time “teaching” us about them, assuming none of us have ever struggled with one.

Sender, maybe you should check our “atypical anorexia” tag and see all the drama we have caused in the past by pointing out fat people with eating disorders exist- including fat people who restrict their eating or starve themselves. Why? Because you may find out that making assumptions about the mods is a shitty thing to do.

My eating disorder isn’t because I hate fat people. I’d wager that most eating disorders don’t stem from that, even if they look like it.

No one was talking about you, though, sender! If you are not a pro ana blog, our posts calling out pro ana are not about you!

And for the record, not everyone who hates fatness and fat people realizes they do! Fatphobia is one of those things that, like many other prejudices, you can have without even realizing!

Also, being fatphobic against yourself still counts as being fatphobic! And surprise, there are a lot of people out there who claim to never hate fat people but sure do hate themselves for being too fat or for being too much “like” a fat person (i.e. eating too much, not caring about their weight as much as they “should,” typical fat people stereotypes like that)! And that still hurts other fat people even if you don’t want to believe it!

Yeah, I know this person meant well, but I am angry. I am tired of having these conversations over and over again.

Pro-ana is disgusting and should be banned from Tumblr, but anorexic people, and people with other EDs, are human too, and we suffer in ways which are certainly not as superficial as they might seem at first glance.

Yes, I know this. Still doesn’t change that pro ana is fatphobic and dangerous and that I am allowed to call it out. Which is all I did. Seriously.

Please y’all, read our posts carefully before you “critique” them next time? And don’t make shitty assumptions about our mods or our opinions and viewpoints when you do?

- Mod Bella

#Bella Blogs #Weight Loss TW #Death TW #Pro Ana TW #Pro Mia TW #Eating Disorder TW #Body Shaming #Fat Shaming #Fatphobia #Healthism #Sizeism #Weight Bigotry #Weight Discrimination #Discrimination Against Fat People

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thebluelemontree · 6 years

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Ever since the 1st book Sansa was faced with the true/fake knight dichotomy: the KG beat her and her Knight of Flowers wasn't that honorable either (his mare trick). For some people that is one of the reasons why Harry is a good partner for her - he's honest and dislikes false courtesy (much like Sandor). But I fail to see how being honest about your dishonor makes you the TRUE KNIGHT. To me he's just as fake as all the others unlike Sandor who didn't give any vows to break. What's your opinion?

I guess we’re talking about a “good partner” in theory because I really don’t think the signs look all that great for Harry living much longer. If he shows up at the tourney joust on a red stallion, stick a fork in him. He’s done. Besides that, should we honestly expect a marriage option arranged by Littlefinger to turn out good for Sansa? When has any of his arrangements for her worked out in her favor?

Just so we’re being fair and this isn’t just about rooting for my OTP above other options, Sandor is also bluntly honest about some of the horrible things he has done too. Not taking vows is him making a protest statement against the institution, but he can sometimes use it to deflect attention from his own bad acts onto the hypocrisy of knights instead. It’s Sandor’s moments of choosing to be protective and helpful that make us see his potential for true knighthood. Not his cynical stance on the subject. He’s full of shit too sometimes. But as I’ve said before, we have very good reason to believe that Sandor is continuing his trajectory toward true knighthood at his death scene and on the QI serving under a former knight.

Not being a liar is good, but it’s a pretty low bar to pass. No one deserves a medal for this. Harry needs to show us way more than that if I were to believe he could actually be a “good partner.” I wouldn’t say he dislikes false courtesy. He’s thoroughly of the Vale and the conservative culture is all about appearances, pedigree, adherence to tradition and chivalric culture, which includes courtesy. He’s just plain rude is all. It’s not on principle against courtesy. He dislikes low born bastards who have the audacity to consider themselves worthy to seek the next Lord of the Eyrie for a marriage prospect. And he resents that circumstances have forced him to interact with Littlefinger’s bastard in particular. Obviously he doesn’t mind consorting with low born girls and may fancy himself in love with them at times, but there’s no indication he plans on marrying one of them. He’s a Hardyng, a minor landed knight house, that through dumb luck finds himself Robert’s heir. He wants a good marriage to a highborn and trueborn to shore up his pedigree. That’s why his shield is quartered with the Waynwood and Arryn sigils too. To emphasize his more prestigious relations. If he knew she was Sansa Stark he’d be treating her very differently, which was Sansa’s realization about her Loras fantasy. No Tyrell would ever love a bastard girl, no matter what. It always comes down to her claim, not her.

I don’t hate Harry and I don’t think he is the worst person ever, just as Loras isn’t a terrible person for cheating at a tournament. We’ve seen what truly terrible looks like. You can’t really get on Loras for cheating at a stupid joust and think that highly about Harry “earning” his knighthood in a tournament rigged for him to win. TWOW tourney is probably just as rigged. If Harry doesn’t realize the win was handed to him and that he’s being wooed for influence by Yohn and LF because he’s the next high lord, then he’s monumentally stupid. Accepting the knighthood when you know you didn’t actually do anything to earn it is just as false and shitty as what Loras did.

Hey, at least you can say Loras knew how to be faithful to his partner even after Renly died. I don’t think Harry would be abusive to Sansa, but he’s going to litter the Vale and probably the North too with his bastards and used and discarded women. It wasn’t “different with Saffron.” After Harry dumps Cissy for gaining pregnancy weight, Lady Anya arranged for her to be married off to one of her household guards. How did Cissy feel about that? Probably not good, but the dishonorable behavior got tidied up for Harry, didn’t it? Saffron is going to be left pregnant and dishonored too, after all of the words of love he probably gave her. If you look at the entire Alayne sample chapter there’s a running theme of used, dishonored, and discarded women beginning, middle and end.

Mya Stone arrives in Robert’s bedchamber with hay in her hair and a “scowl” on her face. Sansa knows Mychel Redfort is around. Poor Mya loved Mychel, thought he loved her, and had dreams of marrying him. She’s broken hearted and still longing to be with him, but the tumble in the hay makes her feel worse, not closer to him. She’s left with nothing but shattered dreams, a soiled reputation, and reminded that tumbles in the hay are all a bastard girl is good for.

Alayne sharply corrects Robert when he insists he can keep Alayne as his mistress if he can’t marry her. He’s still a little boy and only partially understands what he’s saying, but she’s giving him good parenting here. Just because he’s Lord of the Eyrie doesn’t mean he can treat women any type of way, even low born bastards. He’s not entitled to Alayne just because he wants her or has feelings for her.

Myranda Royce is slut shamed by her own father because her late husband died of an apparent heart attack while having sex with her, some of which she has internalized. I don’t think it was the dowry that Lady Waynwood found that unsuitable, because even cadet Royces are an ancient house that also have Stark blood. There’s more than dowry to think about. Lady Anya isn’t going to make the mistake of betrothing Harry to a girl he would find unpleasant (dowry or not) and sour a relationship with her future high lord. IMO, Harry might have rejected the match between them as well because she’s a heavier girl when you consider his intense fatphobia. Myranda is also not a traditional Vale lady either. She’s very forward, highly intelligent, sexy, funny, and self-confident as well as competent at running a household. She would be a joy of a wife for many a man and she’s rejected for the most shallow and judgemental reasons. It’s hurtful because she knows her own worth.

Then we end on learning about Harry’s character, Cissy’s fate, and what will probably happen to Saffron too. God forbid Sansa have his child and put on a few pounds. That doesn’t scream “good partner” to me. So even if he keeps his mistresses and bastards out of sight, he can still be shallow AF about a woman’s looks, which inevitably change over time. He already doesn’t think she’s that attractive anyway. Also if he finds out she’s really Sansa Stark and he suddenly starts treating her much better, that doesn’t say anything good either. This match is theoretically all good for Harry, but I fail to see how it works out that great for Sansa.

The chapter can’t be structured this way for nothing. George is giving us much to contemplate on about the treatment of women in relationships. How the stakes are so much higher for them in giving their hearts, bodies, hopes, and dreams to a guy that would be careless with them. Most of it happens before she even talks to Harry and gets to know him better. And Sansa is being faced with putting her trust and hope to go home on him and having to give up her body, her dreams, and allow him power over her in return for that gamble. If that doesn’t happen, she’s stuck in a loveless, faithless marriage in Eyrie, which she hates. As of right now, it’s the only option that she knows of. It also shows Sansa isn’t just thinking of what marrying Harry means for her, but she can also place herself in the shoes of other women and the bastard children. Society will not be kind to them, while men have their fun and make promises they can’t/won’t keep.

While George might be playing with some aspects of the Loras/Sandor dichotomy in Harry, Harry himself is a poor imitation of either. Loras could be faithful and his deep, abiding love for Renly is one for the ages. Sandor cares nothing for her claim and it was never her appearance that drew her to him. In fact, her highborn status is a frustrating problem that kept him from being closer to her. Harry is somewhat more like Robert Baratheon without the martial talent, easily attracted to the next shiny new thing. So there might be some playing with the Robert/Lyanna dynamic thrown in as well, because there’s no reason to suggest that however charmed he might be by Alayne now that the feeling will last.

The being said, it would be interesting to see if Harry ends up doing something true knight-ish before he goes down. (I’m 90% sure he is going down.) If it is the case that Harry has a bit of hero in him, it’s still a tragedy of wasted youth and potential, arrogant and douchey though it may be. I wouldn’t be shocked if Sansa mourned Harry a bit, because that’s just who she is. Maybe that kind of ending to his story will allow us to think of Harry a little more fondly rather than see the reality of what marriage to Sansa would be like a few years in. We didn’t think that highly of Waymar Royce at first, but when it mattered most, the guy went down with real courage. I’m sad about Loras’s potential fate in Dance, cheating at a tourney be damned. All these guys have their arrogance and failings, but they could also rise to the occasion too.

#sansa stark #harrold hardyng #harry the heir #loras tyrell #sandor clegane #twow spec #misogyny in asoiaf #Anonymous #sansa stark meta

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