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unlikephoenix · 5 days ago

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LADS Men With a Plus Size Reader

Warnings: None! This is actually very fluffy! Maybe PG13 at most! (OMG NCS, no smut?!😲😲😲) A/N: Finally, got around to writing one of the promised headcanons! Now, allow me to be clear here. The amount of customization the game allows is incredible but MC is a little bit on the smaller side, and I would have loved to see an option for a more robust body build. The same way there are naturally thin and petite women, there are also bigger and more rounded women as well and I think there was an opportunity lost there. Anyone that tries to hate on this will be blocked immediately.

Zayne:

Zayne’s large hand envelopes yours as you walk to the cafe he’d recommended. You knew it was popular amongst the hospital staff and weren’t surprised to see familiar faces; one of the tables was completely occupied by some of Zayne’s surgical nurses.

“Why don’t you get a table?” Zayne brushes a kiss on top of your hair. “And I’ll get the food. Do you still want a hazelnut latte with your cake?”

“Yes please!” Zayne’s eyes fill with warmth as he squeezes your hand before walking towards the cashier. You wander over and pick a table near the nurses. You take out your phone and start to browse Instagram when a snide voice is heard from the table behind you.

“Gross.”

You freeze but don’t dare turn around. Maybe it wasn’t directed at you.

“That’s Dr. Zayne’s girlfriend?”

Shit it was.

“Why is he with that porker?”

“You’d think a man like that would have better taste.”

“I heard that they were childhood friends. He’s probably dating her out of pity.”

Even as your blood rages, you feel tears pricking the backs of your eyes. Were they aware you could hear them? And they had just said your worst fears out loud; that Zayne was dating you as a favor, not because he was actually into you. It was an old insecurity you hadn’t really grown out of. You startle slightly as Zayne suddenly sits down opposite you, food and beverages in hand. He sets down your coffee and cake while taking his own plate and tea off the tray.

“Why are you so upset?” He immediately observes the distress on your face and the way your eyes are glistening. You shake your head and dab at your eyes with a napkin, Zayne watching you intently. The cute slice of cake he’s gotten for you sits temptingly in line with your vision but right now it might as well be a lump of clay, all appetite for it gone.

Zayne’s eyes flick to the cake and back to you. “Did I get the wrong one?”

You’re about to shake your head no when the conversation at the table behind you picks up again. Clearly, they hadn’t noticed Zayne sitting down.

“He deserves so much more than that blob. There are so many attractive women at the hospital.”

“I agree. He could get anyone he wanted. Someone who actually takes care of their health and watches their figure.”

Shame fills you and you’re unable to look at Zayne in the eyes, knowing he had heard them, even though you know it was far from the truth. You ate all your vegetables and exercised frequently. But your body just refused to slim down no matter what you did. No matter how much you tried to lose weight, the weight just didn’t want to lose you. You’re about to get up and leave when Zayne speaks up, loud and clear, in a scathing tone.

“Right, because weight is the only indicator of a person’s health, isn’t it?” Zayne’s words drip with sarcasm.

The entire nurses’ table jumps at his voice, turning around to look at him.

“Oh, Dr. Zayne! We weren’t-”

“I don’t care what you weren’t doing. Do not talk about anyone that way, patient or not. Were you not taught compassion as part of your medical training? Or is it reserved for people who look a certain way?” His eyes are narrowed and the table looks tense. One by one the nurses start to get up, quietly murmuring apologies to him as they exit the cafe.

Zayne watches them go, anger still visible in his eyes before turning his attention back to you. His hand covers yours on top of the table. “Are you all right?”

You sniff. “I try. You know I try. I cook all my meals. I exercise. We work out together. But I can’t get the weight to go away.”

“No sweetheart. I know how much you take care of yourself.” Zayne reaches across the table to wipe your tears. “You do not have to lose any weight. You’re perfectly healthy, and as long as that’s clear, nothing else matters.”

“You’re not dating me out of pity?” You look at him uncertainly.

“Pity?” Zayne chuckles in disbelief. “Darling when you first started coming to my office I was sure you were out of my league.” His thumb strokes your hand reassuringly.

“You’re so amazing. Talented, compassionate, considerate. And all those things will always matter more to me than anything else.”

He looks at your neglected slice of cake. “Now don’t take out your sadness on the dessert. If you don’t finish it in 5 minutes, it’s mine.”

Rafayel:

You grip your wrap firmly around your shoulders, stepping with grace into the dazzling venue. You never missed Rafayel’s shows if you could help it but this time around, you had a skin in the game. Literally.

One night after a round of passionate lovemaking, you had woken to find Rafayel painting, and when you saw what he was working on, you’d blushed and smacked him on the shoulder.

There, in the brush strokes, he had painted you sleeping on his bed, your hair in disarray as it cascaded down your back, your face buried into the pillow and not quite visible. The sheets covered you modestly but the wide curve of your hips, the pudges of fat at your side, and the bra rolls under your arms were all painted with clarity and you found you couldn’t look at it. A feeling of unease had settled in your stomach. Was this the way your boyfriend viewed you?

You had brought it up to Rafayel in a small voice. “Do you think I’m fat?”

Your heart sank as Rafayel’s face, which had been so soft, a curve in his lips as he had painted, changed into a mask of dismay. “Fat?” he had asked, looking quite upset. “Where in this painting have I made you look fat?”

“Here. And here.” You point out the areas and Rafayel pulls you against him, holding you fiercely.

“Cutie, I swear to God I’m just painting you as you are. I don’t think you look fat at all. I’m just painting my beautiful girlfriend in all her glory.” Crushed against his chest, you try to talk.

“But, most women in paintings don’t look like that, they have smaller hips and thighs and mine look so…ugly.”

You thought Rafayel’s heart might have broken as he heard your word of choice. “There’s nothing about you that’s ugly. None of this is ugly. It’s a body. Your body. And baby I love every inch of it exactly as it is. I didn’t mean to make you sad while I painted all the pretty little pieces of you that make you whole.” His hands trace your sides, squeezing you reassuringly.

“There’s so much beauty in you baby. That’s all I see in this painting. You’ll always be the biggest masterpiece in my life.”

Knowing he held you in such high esteem had done wonders for your confidence, which was what you were trying to emulate as you walked into the gallery. Rafayel had hesitantly asked for your permission to showcase that painting for this show, promising he’d never use it without your consent. Nervous as you were, part of you was actually thrilled that it was going to be used. It was difficult to make out who the subject in the portrait was since your face wasn’t entirely visible.

Still, it felt like an out-of-body experience as you approached the hung canvas, observing the crowd that flocked to it. Some people nodded at it quietly before moving on, others commented under their breath that Rafayel should have chosen a more appropriate model.

“Can you imagine this woman being naked in his bed?” One of them asked and her friends snickered sycophantically. “He must have been drunk or something.”

“And why is that?” You turn in time to see Rafayel, dressed sharply in a couture outfit approach you and pull you to his side, his hand resting possessively on the jut of your hip. The woman backpedals.

“Mr. Rafayel! I mean, obviously, your work is unique but I can’t help but wonder what you might have been trying to convey when you painted someone with such a…heavy structure.”

Rafayel pretends to consider her words. “I suppose…people have different views on what beauty is. All I was trying to convey was how much I loved the person in the painting. Anyone that doesn’t see the beauty in this particular painting, well I’m afraid they have poor taste.”

Grinning at the affronted look on her face, Rafayel whisks you away, but not before you throw her a smug smirk over your shoulder.

Sylus:

Who knew underground mafia bosses loved their parties as much as their money? As strange as it was, the cliques had started becoming familiar with you hanging around. Anytime Sylus was invited to a gathering, it was expected that you were his plus one. While most of the men entertained polite conversation with you, it was no secret how coveted Sylus was by the women in the N109 zone.

They wrinkled their noses as you walked by, your head held high, knowing you shouldn’t let their words get to you but it was hard. You tell the bartender your order and put a $100 bill into the tip jar. After all, you couldn’t embarrass Sylus by handing out a miserly tip when he was supposed to be the richest man here.

You knew you looked good enough to kill; Sylus had chosen the gown you were wearing himself, even hiring a personal tailor to fit the dress to flaunt your best assets and a thick choker of diamonds glittered on your neck. The plunging V-line of the dress showed off a tempting display of creamy cleavage, the bodice of the dress pushing up your impressive bosom. The material crept over your belly and hips, your fupa visible a little more than you would have liked but Sylus had refused to hear otherwise. You remember the way his hands had caressed the bulge of fat after helping you zip up the gown, his low, contented, purr ringing in your ears.

“Kitten, you’re going to be every man’s envy tonight. How delightful that I get to flaunt you as mine.”

A group of women, all model-thin and gorgeous, approach the bar, their cold eyes fixed on you, wearing smiles that could cut glass. Your fingers drum nervously on the counter as you try to ignore them. One of the women spies the tip you had put in and jerks her chin at you, her lips twisting into what looks like a sneer.

“So Sylus has the money to let you throw around $100 bills into tip jars. I wonder…” She pauses and the group draws collectively closer like a cackle of hyenas. “Wouldn’t his finances be more wisely spent on other avenues?”

“Such as?” You ask carefully.

“A good plastic surgeon perhaps? Lord knows you could use some liposuction in more places than one.” Her entourage leers at you while covering their mouths to stifle their laughter.

Your back stiffens and your eyes widen in shock. You resist the urge to cover your middle. You knew you should have pushed harder to have the gown loosened. Your fupa, the soft squidge that bulged under the material of the dress…it was a mistake thinking you could attend a party with it showing up so obviously.

A million retorts form in your head but they all die weakly on your tongue. You had no defense, and you felt pathetic that you were sitting here and taking their abuse but your mind felt frozen, like you couldn’t plan your next move.

“How did you ever think that someone like you could pull off a dress like that?” The woman presses, her eyes boring into yours. Your pulse quickens as you try to find a way to escape.

“You’re right, she can’t pull off a dress like that.” A rich, deep voice answers the woman who pales as she sees Sylus drape his arm possessively around your shoulders. “It’ll wrinkle. That’s why I’ll be pulling it off for her as soon as we get home.”

His eyes flash scarlet as he signals to the bartender, who immediately starts pouring him a drink and expediting your cocktail, setting both glasses on coasters in front of you. You flush but try not to look too pleased as you take a sip, feeling the alcohol loosen you.

“Mr. Sylus.” The woman’s voice changes immediately and she steps back. “We were just talking about fashion.” she fibs hastily, trying to cover up her reason for using the word ‘dress’.

“Fashion?” Sylus looks at her patronizingly. “Do tell.”

Caught, she wets her lips before saying, “Oh we were talking about jeans and how they never fit or have pockets-”

“Hmm. I can understand these problems. After all, jeans without pockets are like women without curves…there’s nowhere to put your hands.” His broad hand shifts to your hip, his fingers subtly signaling it is time for you to go. You pick up your glass and Sylus holds onto you firmly as you walk back to the crowd.

Xavier:

You’re sweaty as you and Xavier walk back from the office gym to the locker rooms. Xavier drinks from his water bottle, swallowing zealously. “I think we’ve exercised enough for a whole week,” he says as you walk. You laugh and shake your head.

“We only did a half hour of cardio!”

“Yeah, but we lifted all those weights too! In fact, my muscles already feel stronger.” Xavier flexes his arm and a visible bicep forms, making you grin.

“Oh so strong,” you say as you reach out to squeeze. Xavier winces slightly and you quickly withdraw. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok. I’m a little sore.” You reach the locker rooms.“I’ll wait for you outside.”

You nod and he disappears into the men's locker room. You wander into the women’s, undo the lock, and retrieve your bag, finding a stall to change your clothes. You peel off your damp leggings which stick to your plushy thighs and you drag them down, sighing in relief as the skin jiggles freely in the cool air after being stuffed in the heat of polyester for so long.

The skin on your butt and stomach are dimpled, something you’d come to terms with. You recall how nervous you’d been to let Xavier see you in a bathing suit at the pool but now you barely glance at them.

“It’s like your skin is smiling at me when I kiss it.”

That’s what Xavier had said as he kissed the soft flesh lovingly. Who could possibly feel self-conscious after that analogy? As you fold away the sweaty clothes into a garment bag, you hear several of the other changing room doors open and a group of voices fills the locker room as you change. You normally wouldn’t have paid attention but you freeze when you hear Xavier’s name.

“Why do you think Xavier works out with her of all people?”

“I know! They workout together like almost everyday and she hasn’t lost any weight!”

“She probably lacks the discipline to go on a real diet. It doesn’t matter how much she exercises, that fat isn’t going to go away if she doesn’t eat healthier.”

“Xavier really needs to find a better workout buddy. She only slows him down.”

Your heart clenches in your chest as you hear the cruel commentary. How dare these women talk about your body like it was a source of entertainment for them? Both rage and sorrow fills you as you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. Suddenly all you can see are the flaws.

How cute, to call cellulite ‘dimpled skin’ like it was something to be adored. You stare at the lumpy skin, at the way your stomach and arms have stretch marks everywhere, the way your skin bulges over the band of your bra. You wait in silence as the women finish their chat and you hear them exit the locker room.

After what seemed like ages, you finally finish dressing and leave the changing room feeling humiliated. The post-workout glow had all but vanished from your system and you couldn’t shake off the feeling of being perceived like a huge, hulking, ogre; built big and lumberingly, not at all cute like the princess Xavier claimed you were. You leave the dressing room, then stare in disbelief as the same group of women crowd around Xavier as he waits for you. You lurk, not wanting to be seen, then one of the women speaks up.

“Xavier, if you’re looking for another workout buddy I’d be happy to tag along.” One of them chirps perkily.

Xavier chuckles politely and shakes his head. “Thank you, but no. I have a workout buddy.”

“Oh cmon Xavier, don’t you think you need someone who can challenge you a little more?”

“I do actually. That’s why I work out with her.”

“Does she really challenge you?”

“I think she challenges me more than you. Didn't you finish last in the company relay race?” The woman’s face falls and your heart skips a beat.

“And you,” Xavier says as he turns to face another woman. “Forgive me if I’m wrong but you struggle to push anything more than 75 pounds. My workout buddy does 150 easily. She’s very strong. Perhaps you might benefit from training with her.” The second woman looks offended even as she’s being chastised.

Feeling your confidence soar, you skip over to Xavier feeling as light as a feather. Xavier’s eyes light up as you approach. “Ladies,” you say smugly to their scandalized faces before pulling Xavier away from them, holding his arm as you walk away.

#zayne x reader #sylus x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #curvy reader #female reader

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unlikephoenix · 16 days ago

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The best hugger in town - Aomine Daiki x Reader

for @shoulmate

“Tetsu-kun gives the best hugs,” Satsuki points out.

“I disagree,” you tell her calmly, not looking up from your book.

“But-!”

“Uhuh,” you shake your head, not losing your spot. “You’re just saying that because you’re into him. But as someone who’s not biased, I give him a five out of ten. He’s straight middle field.”

On your right, Daiki snorts under his breath. You lose your spot, furrowing your brows as you try to find it again. What sentence were you reading again?

“But-” Satsuki’s looking for the right words. “Wait, wait… what about the others then? I bet he’s better at hugging as the rest. Right?”

“He’s better than Midorima,” you agree, your brows relaxing. “He’s way too stiff.”

“When did you hug Midorima?” Daiki asks, turning. His left foot knocks against yours, throwing you off your spot in the page yet again. With a huff, you close your book. It’s no use, it seems.

“A few months ago,” you recall. “Appartenly Oha Asa called for it.”

“Bullshit,” Daiki spits out, sitting up straighter. “I bet he just wanted to know how it feels like and he’s too afraid of Satsuki to ask her.”

“Maybe.” You shrug. “But I give him a three out of ten.”

“See,” Satsuki nods. “Tetsu-kun’s hugs are better than-”

“Sorry,” you interrupt her again, your whole focus on her now. “But don’t forget about Kise. And Murasakibara. Or Akashi.”

Daiki’s glaring holes into your head as Satsuki’s face falls.

“Don’t tell me,” she starts, cutting herself off as you nod.

“Kise gets a seven out of ten. He’s too eager and too careless at the same time. He hit my chin with his shoulder. I almost lost a tooth to it.”

“And Mursakibara?”

“Eight.” You nod solemnly. “I would have bumped it up if not for the fact that he left crumbs in my hair. He’s really warm. And tall.”

Daiki’s turned rigid. Satsuki must have noticed, but she keeps on asking.

“And Akashi?”

“It’s Akashi,” you tell her simply. “He’s perfect.”

“A ten?” Daiki asks, his voice doing something weird.

“Oh, no. He’s a nine.” You shake your head, biting your tongue. “I am into taller guys, you know.”

Satsuki huffs and leans back, missing the way Daiki’s eyes widen. But you don’t miss it. You’ve been looking for it.

His shoe knocks against yours. You knock back.

“Doesn’t matter,” Satsuki declares, oblivious to what’s going on around her. “Tetsu-kun’s the best hugger to me.”

“You should tell him that,” you offer and she nods, getting up.

“You’re totally right. I’m going to tell him right now.”

Maybe you should have pointed out that she still needed to pay her drink, but you don’t really mind her leaving early. After all, a warm hand has grabbed yours under the table, rubbing anxious circles into your skin.

Daiki’s not saying it. So you don’t mention it either.

Eventually he pays, pulls you up by your hand and stuffs your book into his bag, knowing full well your purse can’t contain the monstrosity of a book you’ve decided to read this week.

You’re halfway down the road when he speaks up again.

“So…”

“So?”

“What’s my rating?”

“Do I really have to tell you that?” You ask, “Mr. No one can beat me but me?”

“Heh,” he grins, his confidence shining through. “Don’t tell me I’m a ten out of ten.”

“I don’t think I could possibly rate you,” you admit. “I’m pretty biased, after all.”

Daiki pouts. “Come on. You can’t just rate everyone and not me. Also, how did you get to hug so many of us?”

“I just asked. Most people don’t mind a hug.”

“You… You asked? You asked Akashi if you could hug him?”

“Well, Akashi was a little different. I told him I was in love with you. He hugged me as a kind of consolation. I think he wanted me to do better.”

Daiki’s face is frozen in a mix of bewilderment and indignation as you laugh.

“What do you mean, do better? How could you do better than me?”

You snort. “Oh, Daiki, you’re so full of yourself.”

“Deserved.”

“You lost to Tetsu! Again. And Kagami, cause, you know, they’re both on the same team.”

“No way in hell is Kagami better for you than I am! Does he even read?”

You swing your joined hands up and kiss the back of his, reveling in the way his eyes widen. Even though he doesn’t blush, the signs are always there, you just have to look for them.

“Easy there, tiger. I already love you.”

“You better.” He grumbles, before looking both ways and pulling you down a beaten path into a park, past swingsets, and a Basketball court.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere private,” he tells you over his shoulder, turning left and stopping just short of a group of trees, falling into a slower walk.

“Are you going to murder me now?” You joke. “For hugging Akashi?”

“I should, shouldn’t I? Hugging him before you hugged me.”

“You could have hugged me whenever,” you tell him, “All you needed to do was ask.”

“What? Like, can I hug you?”

“Sure,” you step closer and wrap your arms around him.

For a second, he’s tense, as if you caught him by surprise.

But then, just like always, he softens.

For someone so tall and so full of raw power, Daiki can melt into your embrace in seconds, sinking into your hold while keeping you safe at the same time.

If you would have to describe it, you wouldn’t have words.

He’s incredibly warm, his heat present even through the jacket he’s wearing.

His head sinks against your shoulder, his nose sniffing at your neck.

“What are you doing?” You giggle, curling your fingertips into his shoulders.

“You smell really good,” he drawls out, as if he’s not the one who buys expensive Cologne, who’s probably the best smelling out of all his friends - well, except Akashi maybe, but his Cologne isn’t really your type.

“Next time, when Satsuki asks,” he points out, voice low and gravely, “tell her I’m the best hugger.”

“She won’t believe me.”

“Don’t care.” His lips brush against your skin and you shiver. “I need to hear you say it.”

“You’re so cocky.”

He pulls on a strand of your hair, swaying you from left to right.

You’re not getting out of here anytime soon.

Not that you’re complaining.

“Ah, come here.” Kagami leans down for a hug, pulling you in before you have time to complain. He’s tall and broad, but just like Kise, he doesn’t account for the difference in size, knocking your head back with his shoulder.

“Ouch,” you say, sensing Daiki’s laughter before you hear it.

“Not a ten out of ten,” he jokes, pulling you to his side. Quieter, he whispers “No one can beat me but you.”

#daiki aomine x reader

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