Hello, I had an order idea, although if it's a uncomfortable topic for you can ignore it, no problem! I had the idea of a scenario with the Gachiakuta men's and Girl's (if you want) with a female Reader who has an insecurity about her broad shoulders and hips dips, or rather an inverted triangular body, thinking that's make them look less feminine or attractive.
Pd: I always like reading your scenarios and writings about the Gachiakuta characters!💕
𝐠𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐭𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲!
⤷ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬.ᐟ- after they notice how you treat your body—how you hide it, overreact about it, and feel upset with it—they comfort you through all of it. what you don’t know is that they secretly love you just the way you are, and they always reassure you that you look perfect in their eyes!!
⤷ 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠.ᐟ- rudo ৴ enjin ৴ tamsy ৴ zanka ৴ august ৴ riyo ৴ semiu ৴ gris ৴ follo ৴ zodyl ৴ jabber
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ rudo surebrec
you had always been painfully aware of your broad shoulders and the soft dip of your hips. ever since you were younger, people made careless comments, and those comments stuck. so you learned little habits—pulling your jacket forward when you walked, wearing oversized shirts, choosing clothes that swallowed your shape just so no one would look too closely.
most days, you didn’t even realize you were doing it. it was automatic. you’d fold your arms over your stomach, tug at your sleeves, hunch your shoulders just a little to make them seem smaller.
but rudo saw every single thing.
at first, he didn’t understand why you kept hiding yourself. but the more he watched you—quietly, from the corner of his eye—the more he realized it wasn’t just a habit. it was insecurity. deep, silent, heavy insecurity.
the strange part was… he couldn’t understand it. not even a little.
because everything you tried to hide was everything he loved looking at.
your broad shoulders? he found them beautiful. they made you look strong without even trying, like someone who could stand next to him without fear. he liked the way your shirts sat on them, the way they framed you.
and your hip dips? god, they made his heart race more than he liked to admit. they were a gentle, natural curve that he found pretty in a way he couldn’t put into words. sometimes when you walked ahead of him, he had to look away just so he wouldn’t stare too long.
but he never said anything—he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. still, it bothered him seeing you shrink yourself like you did.
one afternoon, he found you standing alone, tugging your jacket forward again like you were trying to hide your whole body from the world. something in him tightened.
he walked toward you slowly, hands in his pockets, trying to look casual even though his heart was thudding harder than it should’ve.
“you don’t need to cover up… you know,” he said, his voice low and rough, like he wasn’t used to talking about things like this.
you looked up, startled. “what do you mean?”
rudo paused. he wasn’t good with soft words—he never had been. but he couldn’t stay silent anymore. he rubbed the back of his neck, looking off to the side as a faint blush crept across his cheeks.
“i mean… you look good,” he muttered. “really good.”
you stared, unsure whether to laugh or deny it. “rudo… i don’t. my shoulders are too big. my hips look weird—”
“stop.” he said it so quickly you froze. he stepped closer, his expression serious but gentle.
his hands hovered near your arms, asking permission without touching. “listen. your shoulders aren’t ‘too big.’ they’re… they’re beautiful.”
the word felt heavy coming from him—he wasn’t someone who said it lightly.
“and your hips?” he continued, glancing down then quickly back up, flustered. “those… i—” he swallowed, face heating up, “i really like them. a lot.”
you blinked, stunned. “but… why?”
he let out a soft breath, eyes softening in a way that made your chest tighten. “because they’re part of you. and everything that’s part of you is something i like.”
his fingertip brushed your sleeve, barely a touch but enough to send warmth across your skin.
“i wish you could see yourself how i see you,” he murmured. “you wouldn’t hide anymore.”
your throat tightened, emotion swelling too fast to speak. rudo noticed, and his expression softened even more.
he stepped closer, slow and careful, like approaching something fragile.
“it’s okay,” he said quietly. “i’ll remind you as many times as it takes. i don’t mind.”
he hesitated, then whispered, “you’re perfect the way you are.”
and for once, you didn’t pull your jacket forward. you let his words sit on your skin like something warm, something healing—something you had needed for a long time.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ enjin
you always thought enjin had a type.
curvy. confident. independent. the kind of woman who walked like she owned every room she stepped into. the kind of woman who didn’t cling, didn’t get shy, didn’t stumble over her words.
you weren’t like that. not even close.
so every time he joked about his “type,” you laughed along with him, pretending it didn’t sting. but deep down, you always compared yourself to some imaginary woman he’d fall in love with one day—someone that definitely wasn’t you.
he, of course, had no idea you’d interpreted it that way. not until he caught you staring at yourself in the mirror one day, pulling at your shirt, flattening it against your body like you were trying to force yourself into a shape that wasn’t yours.
“…what are you doing?”
his voice made you jump. you turned and forced a smile. “nothing. just—fixing my clothes.”
enjin narrowed his eyes. he was lazy about almost everything… except noticing you. especially when something was bothering you.
“you’ve been weird all day,” he said, stepping closer. “and i don’t like it.” you tried to brush past him, but he gently caught your wrist—not hard, just enough to stop you.
“talk,” he said. “what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” you hesitated, chewing at your lip. “…you have a type. and i’m not it.”
his face changed instantly. confusion. disbelief. then annoyance—but not at you.
“who told you that?” he demanded.
“you did,” you muttered, embarrassed. “you always joke about liking confident girls with big curves and—i don’t know. not someone like me.”
you expected him to tease you for being insecure.
instead, he stared at you like you had just said the dumbest thing in the world.
“…you think i wasn’t talking about you?”
you froze. “n…no?”
he let out the most dramatic groan, dragging his hand down his face. “you’re killing me.”
before you could protest, he stepped right in front of you, close enough that his breath warmed your cheek.
“i don’t say stuff like that for fun,” he said. “i say it because it reminds me of you.”
your heartbeat stuttered.
but he wasn’t done.
“your body?” his eyes dragged down your figure with a slow, appreciative sweep that made your cheeks burn. “it drives me crazy. you have no idea how sexy you are.”
you swallowed. “you don’t have to—”
he cut you off. “i’m not being nice. i’m being honest.”
his fingers brushed your hip gently, not grabbing, just enough to show where his attention always went when you walked by.
“your curves? perfect.” “your shape? perfect.” “you? absolutely perfect.”
then he smirked, leaning closer with that mischievous confidence he always had.
“if i could, i’d devour you just to prove it.”
your face erupted in heat. “e-enjin!”
he laughed—not mocking, but warm and delighted that he got that reaction from you.
“see? adorable,” he said, tapping your forehead with his finger. “and before your brain starts lying to you again…”
he rested his forehead gently against yours, voice quieting.
“you’re my type. all of you. exactly as you are.”
you felt something warm uncoil in your chest. his words, though flirty and bold, were honest in a way that left no space for doubt. and when he pulled back, his expression softened into something rare—something tender.
“so stop trying to change,” he said. “you’re already everything i want.”
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ tamsy caines
tamsy wasn’t the kind of person who pried. he didn’t push, didn’t demand, didn’t hover.
but he noticed.
he always noticed.
you had been acting different lately—pulling your shirt down every few minutes, adjusting your jacket like you were trying to hide your entire body. you avoided tight clothes, fitted clothes, anything that showed your shape. and tamsy watched it all quietly, his eyes soft but full of concern.
one day, you were standing in front of a mirror, tugging at your clothes with frustration. he paused in the doorway, silent, simply observing you for a moment.
then he spoke—soft, steady, just loud enough for you to hear.
“…you’re doing it again.” you jumped a little. “doing what?” he took a few slow steps toward you, hands in his pockets, expression calm but serious.
“hiding yourself,” he murmured. “like there’s something wrong.”
you looked away, embarrassed. “i just… don’t like how i look. my shoulders are too wide, and my hip dips make everything look weird—”
tamsy didn’t let you finish.
“no,” he said gently, but with a firmness that surprised you. “that’s not true.” your breath caught. he rarely disagreed so directly. it made you pause.
he moved to stand beside you, eyes on your reflection rather than your face.
“your broad shoulders…” he started slowly, “…they’re beautiful.”
the word sounded heavy coming from him—careful, sincere.
“and your hip dips?” he hesitated, a faint warmth creeping into his cheeks. “…i love them.”
you blinked, confused. “you… do?”
tamsy nodded once, still looking at your reflection like he was studying something precious.
“it’s natural,” he said. “pretty. soft. real.” his voice dropped even quieter. “and they suit you.” you felt your heart warm at his words, but your insecurity still lingered. “i don’t know… i still think—”
he stepped closer, gently touching the fabric of your sleeve to stop you. “don’t talk about yourself like you’re something to hide,” he said softly. “you’re not.”
you swallowed hard, overwhelmed by how calm and certain he sounded. tamsy let his hand drop, but stayed close, just enough that you could feel the warmth of him.
“you should wear clothes you like,” he murmured, “not clothes that hide you.” you gave him a doubtful look. “but… i don’t want people staring.” his lips twitched—just the smallest hint of a smile.
“let them stare,” he said. “i want them to see what i have that they don’t.”
your face heated instantly. “t-tamsy!”
“i mean it,” he said, completely serious, completely unbothered by your fluster. “i’m proud of you. of how you look. of who you are.” his eyes softened, a warm light flickering in them.
“i want you to feel that way, too.” you didn’t know what to say, so he stepped in front of you and gently tucked a finger under your chin, lifting your head just a little.
“wear what makes you happy,” he whispered. “i’ll be here to remind you how beautiful you are… as many times as you need.”
and for the first time in a long time… you didn’t feel like hiding.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ zanka nijiku
zanka always teased you. that was normal for him—sarcasm, smug comments, little jabs he thought were harmless. that was his way of showing he liked you. he liked getting reactions out of you.
but tonight… something felt different.
the cleaners were getting ready for a party, and everyone was changing into nicer clothes. you had picked a dress—something you wanted to feel confident in—but the moment you slipped it on, your stomach sank.
your hip dips felt too obvious. your shoulders felt too wide. the dress sat in all the places you always tried to hide.
you stood in front of the mirror, staring, tugging at the fabric, shifting your weight like the mirror might suddenly show someone else if you just moved the right way.
you didn’t hear zanka walk in.
he had been about to make some snarky remark—something like, “you better not take forever, i’m not babysitting you tonight”—but the words died on his tongue when he saw your face in the mirror.
you weren’t adjusting your dress to look good. you were adjusting it to disappear.
zanka’s smirk faded instantly.
“…hey,” he said lightly, but there was a seriousness underneath it. “you look like you wanna fight the mirror.”
you flinched, startled. “zanka—I didn’t hear you.”
he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, pretending to look casual. but his eyes? they were fixed on you, scanning every detail like he was solving a puzzle.
“what’s with your vibe?” he asked, tone softer than usual. “you look… off.”
you looked down, embarrassed. “it’s nothing. the dress just looks weird on me.”
he raised an eyebrow. “weird?”
you huffed, trying to laugh it off. “yeah. it shows too much. my hip dips look bad. my shoulders look huge. everything is just—”
“wrong?” he finished for you.
you hesitated, then nodded quietly.
he pushed off the doorframe and walked toward you, his footsteps slow, controlled. zanka wasn’t usually gentle, but right now his movements were careful—like he was afraid to make you shrink even more.
he stood behind you, his reflection appearing over your shoulder in the mirror.
“okay,” he said softly. “tell me exactly what part looks bad.”
you blinked. “…all of it.”
he clicked his tongue. “yeah, that’s what i thought.”
you frowned. “what’s that supposed to mean?” he leaned forward, eyes meeting yours in the mirror. “it means your brain is lying to you again.” you froze.
zanka didn’t look away. “you think your hip dips look bad?” he asked, voice low. “i think they look hot.” you choked. “w-what?”
he smirked—just a little. “yeah. hot. you know, attractive? appealing? can’t-take-my-eyes-off-you kind of hot.”
your face warmed instantly, but he wasn’t done.
“and your shoulders?” he said, tilting his head. “strong. elegant. you look like you can knock someone out and still look good doing it.”
you bit your lip. “you’re just teasing—”
“i’m not.” his tone was sharp enough to make you stop.
he stepped closer, his hands slipping gently—gently—to your upper arms, guiding you so you faced the mirror fully.
you tensed, but he didn’t pull you in. he just held you steady.
“look,” he said quietly. “really look.”
you swallowed. “i don’t see anything special.”
zanka sighed softly, leaning closer so his chin almost brushed your shoulder.
“yeah,” he murmured, “that’s the problem.” his eyes softened—rare, but undeniably real. “you don’t have to like every part of yourself yet,” he said. “but don’t pretend you’re ugly. especially not in front of me.”
your breath caught.
because he said it so naturally, like it was obvious. “you look good,” he added. “really good. and this dress? it fits you better than anything i’ve seen you wear.”
you turned your head slightly toward him. “you… think so?” he rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“if i didn’t think so, i wouldn’t say it.” then he nudged your arm lightly. “i tease you because it’s fun, not because i think you look bad.”
silence settled between you.
warm. soft. comforting.
then he stepped back, tapping your shoulder gently before walking toward the door.
“come on,” he said. “let’s go show everyone how good you look.” you blinked. “you mean… show off?” he smirked. “of course. what’s the point of having you around if i can’t brag a little?”
your face heated again. “zanka!” he shrugged, turning away—but his ears were red. “just hurry up,” he muttered. “before i start complimenting you again.”
and you realized then— for all his teasing, sarcasm, and snark…
zanka never let you feel alone in your insecurities.
not even for a second.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ august stilza
august was many things—brilliant, dramatic, chaotic, loud, and way too enthusiastic when it came to designing clothes. especially clothes for you.
you didn’t even know when it started. one day he just… shoved a sketchbook in your face, shouting, “HEY‑HEY‑HEY, I GOT AN IDEA FOR YOU!” and before you could blink, he was wrapping measuring tape around your waist and scribbling notes at lightning speed.
every few days, he’d burst into the room with a new outfit, practically vibrating with excitement.
but there was another issue.
august’s designs were… tight. like, tight-tight. cling-to-every-curve tight. dangerously-flattering tight.
and that was not great for your insecurities.
you loved him, but sometimes you wanted to crawl into a hole when he zipped something up and it hugged every part of your body you usually hid.
today was one of those days.
you stood in front of the mirror, wearing a fitted top he made and pants that hugged your hips way more than you expected. august was behind you, bouncing on his heels like a puppy waiting for praise.
“SO?? WHAT DO YOU THINK?? BE HONEST! NO—WAIT, ONLY BE HONEST IF YOU LOVE IT!”
you tugged at the hem of the top, feeling the fabric hug your shoulders, your hip dips clearly outlined. your throat tightened.
“i… august, i don’t know. it’s… tight.” the room went quiet for two whole seconds—an eternity for august.
then:
“WHAT?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT’S TIGHT?! IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE TIGHT!” he threw his hands up dramatically, spinning in a full circle like he was in a fashion show meltdown. “YOU HAVE THE PERFECT BODY FOR THIS. IT’S LIKE HEAVEN GAVE ME A CHEAT CODE AND SAID ‘HERE, MAKE HER SEXY.’”
you winced, hugging your arms over yourself. “it’s not that. i just… don’t like how it shows my shoulders. and my hip dips. and—”
before you could finish, august slapped a hand over his chest like he was having a heart attack.
“STOP. PAUSE. NO.” he marched right up to you, pointing aggressively at your reflection. “WHAT YOU’RE LOOKING AT—” he waved his arms wildly at your body, “—IS A MASTERPIECE.”
you blinked. “…august—” he leaned in close, his eyes intense, his voice dropping an octave. and for once, he wasn’t joking.
“i made this outfit for your body. every stitch, every line, every curve it hugs—i did that on purpose.” then he grinned, loud, cocky. “because your body is sexy as hell.”
your cheeks burned instantly. “august!”
he clapped, stamping his foot. “YES! YOU ARE! DO YOU THINK I SPEND HOURS MAKING THESE FOR FUN? NO! I’M SHOWING OFF WHAT EVERYONE ELSE WISHES THEY HAD!”
he circled you like a dramatic fashion designer inspecting the world’s most precious model. “your shoulders? BEAUTIFUL.” he poked them. “strong, bold, elegant—like you could punch me and i’d say thank you.”
you snorted, but he continued.
“your hip dips?” he pointed, shaking his head like he was scolding the universe. “GORGEOUS. DELICIOUS. STUNNING. I’D—” he stopped, catching himself, then lowered his voice with a mischievous grin, “—i’d show you exactly how much i love them, but that’s for later.”
“august!” you squeaked again, utterly flustered. he laughed—loud, energetic, delighted that he flustered you. then suddenly, he grabbed your hands, bouncing excitedly.
“LISTEN TO ME.” he leaned in until your noses almost touched. “you look so good i could scream.”
then he did scream.
not a quiet scream. not a little yell. a full, theatrical, dramatic:
“AAAAAAAHHHHH SHE LOOKS SO GOOD—!!!”
you covered your face. “august please—people can hear—”
“GOOD.” he threw open the window. “HEY! EVERYONE! LOOK AT HER! LOOK AT MY GIRL, SHE’S SO—”
you dragged him away from the window, mortified. “STOP—STOP—STOP—!!”
he was laughing so hard tears formed in his eyes.
“WHY? IT’S TRUE! I’D SHOW THE WHOLE WORLD IF I COULD!” and then, quieter, softer, warm, “…you’re mine. and i want everyone to know i got lucky.”
you froze.
august smiled at you—not teasing, not exaggerated—just sincere.
“wear the clothes i make for you. not because they’re tight.” he traced a finger along your arm, gentle, grounding. “but because they’re made for you. and i want people to see what i see every day.”
your breath caught.
“and what’s that?” you whispered.
he grinned, leaning in, loud but full of love.
“the most beautiful woman in any room.”
and for once… you didn’t tug at the fabric. you didn’t hide. you just breathed. free.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ riyo reaper
riyo could read you the way she read the weather — fast, loud, and always right. she didn’t need you to talk; she just had to watch the way you pulled at your shirt or avoided mirrors, and she instantly knew something was weighing on you. being a girl herself, she always said she had “premium-level insecurity radar,” and honestly, she wasn’t wrong.
that night, you were standing in front of the mirror, staring at your body like it had personally betrayed you. nothing felt right. nothing looked right. every angle made you sigh, and every shift made you want to hide.
that’s when riyo barged in like she’d been summoned by pure emotional distress.
“hey,” she said, loud but gentle. “stop looking at yourself like that. seriously. it pisses me off.”
you tried to straighten up. “i’m fine.”
riyo scoffed. “liiies. big lies. you’re giving ‘i hate my reflection’ energy right now.”
you swallowed and looked away. “i just… don’t like how anything fits. i feel stupid in everything.”
riyo threw her hands up dramatically. “nope. nope. we’re not doing this self-hate episode today. grab your shoes. we’re going.”
“going where??”
“out,” she said, already grabbing your wrist. “i’m taking you out, and i’m gonna make you look so good people will have to file a complaint because you’re too gorgeous.”
before you could complain, she dragged you into her room, flung her closet open like she was revealing a treasure chest, and started throwing clothes everywhere.
crop tops? tossed onto the bed. skirts? stacked in a pile. jackets? inspected with dramatic flair.
you kept trying to stop her.
“riyo, that’s too tight—” “riyo, that won’t look good on me—” “riyo, none of these are—”
she froze, whipped around, and pointed at you like she was calling out a crime.
“how dare you underestimate yourself in my presence?”
you blinked. “what?”
riyo marched right up to you. “i’m your friend. i know how you look. i know what fits you. and you’re hot. like stupidly hot. like ‘i should start charging people to look at you’ levels of hot.”
your cheeks warmed instantly.
she smirked and held up a dress you would’ve never picked for yourself. “this one. wear it.”
somehow, you trusted her.
when you walked out wearing it, riyo gasped so loudly you almost panicked. “oh my god,” she said, grabbing your shoulders. “you look amazing. no — dangerous. you look like you could ruin someone’s life.”
“riyo, stop—”
“no,” she said, shaking her head. “i refuse to stop hyping you. i’m taking you out, and everyone’s gonna see how gorgeous you are. i’m showing you off so hard people will think i’m proposing.”
she grabbed your hand, lacing her fingers with yours, her grin infectious and bright.
“come on,” she said. “i’m not letting you hide tonight. i want the whole world to see what i see every day.”
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ semiu grier
semiu adored your body more than anything — genuinely, openly, effortlessly. she never doubted how beautiful you were, not for a second. to her, every curve, every line, every dip was its own kind of art. she’d trace your silhouette with her eyes the way someone admired a painting they could never get tired of.
but sometimes you didn’t feel that way.
those were the moments when you tugged your shirt down, pulled your sleeves forward, crossed your arms, or angled your body away like you were trying to hide pieces of yourself. semiu noticed immediately — she always did.
one evening, she found you standing by the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around your torso, quietly picking apart your reflection in your head. your shoulders tensed, your hips shifted like you wished you could shrink them, and your expression dimmed.
semiu walked in softly, her voice warm like honey.
“hey… why are you covering yourself?”
you shrugged, staring at the floor. “i don’t know. i just… don’t like how i look right now.”
she stepped closer, her expression falling into gentle concern — not annoyed, not frustrated, just deeply caring.
“you’re hiding from me?” she asked, a little pout in her tone.
“i just don’t want you to see me like this,” you murmured. “i feel weird. not pretty. not… enough.”
semiu didn’t hesitate. she wrapped her arms around you from behind, pressing your back into her chest, her hands drifting slowly to your hips. she held you like she was protecting something precious.
“don’t say that,” she whispered against your shoulder.
her palms smoothed over the curves you tried so hard to hide — the dip of your waist, the shape of your hips, the softness you always second-guessed. she touched you with such care it almost made your throat tighten.
“i love your body,” she said softly, her voice full of sincerity. “like… every bit of it. you have no idea how much.”
you exhaled shakily. “semiu…”
she rested her chin on your shoulder, giving you a calm, grounding squeeze.
“it’s okay to feel insecure,” she murmured. “but i don’t ever want you thinking you’re anything less than beautiful.”
her hands glided along your sides again, slow and reassuring, tracing every line she adored.
“these curves?” she whispered, “they’re gorgeous to me. you’re gorgeous to me.”
you leaned back into her without even realizing it, your tense shoulders loosening under her warmth.
semiu smiled softly, kissing the side of your head.
“don’t cover yourself from me. if you’re hiding, let me be the one who reminds you what you really are.”
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ gris rubion
gris wasn’t the loudest or the easiest to read, but he was observant — painfully observant. he noticed things most people didn’t, especially when it came to you.
he saw the way your fingers kept tugging at the hem of your shirt. the way you’d smooth your hands over your hips like you were trying to erase them. the way your eyes lingered too long on the mirror, searching for something wrong, something broken.
you didn’t even realize he was watching you one day when you were standing in front of the mirror again, biting your lip, your expression tight with insecurity. your hands kept fidgeting, adjusting, pulling, hiding.
gris finally approached, quiet footsteps carrying him to your side.
“you’re doing it again,” he said gently.
you jumped a little. “doing what?”
“looking at yourself like you’re the enemy.”
you sighed, shoulders drooping. “gris… be honest with me. is my body as bad as i think it is? because sometimes it just feels like… there’s something wrong with it. with me.”
gris froze for a moment — not because he didn’t know the answer, but because hearing you say something like that made something painful twist in his chest.
then he stepped closer, turning you gently so you faced him instead of the mirror.
“no,” he said firmly. “not even close.”
you swallowed. “but look at me—”
“i do,” he cut in softly. “i look at you all the time.”
his voice dropped lower, more emotional. “and i love what i see. all of it.”
your breath caught, but gris wasn’t done.
he lifted a hand, brushing his fingers along your arm, then your waist, tracing you with a tenderness he rarely showed.
“your body isn’t bad. it isn’t wrong. it isn’t anything you’re afraid it is.” he leaned in slightly, eyes steady on yours. “it’s beautiful. you’re beautiful.”
you looked away, unconvinced — until he gently caught your chin and made you meet his gaze again.
“i’m serious,” he whispered. “i would die for you. i’d kill for you. i’d do anything for you.”
a soft, rare smile tugged at his lips. “so believe me when i say this — your body is perfect to me.”
he pulled you into his arms, holding you like he never wanted to let go.
“if you can’t see your beauty right now,” he murmured into your shoulder, “then let me see it for you until you can.”
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ follo tunito
follo wasn’t good with serious emotions — everyone knew that. he is shy and is trying to make everyone he knows proud of him. but when it came to you, everything changed. he noticed things. he cared in a way that surprised even him.
so when he heard you talking badly about your body again — mumbling to yourself about how you hated this part, or how that part looked weird, or how nothing ever looked good on you — follo froze mid-step.
his smile dropped, his ears twitched, and something tight hit his chest.
“hey…” he said softly, which was rare for him. “don’t say stuff like that.”
you sighed, staring down. “i’m just being honest, follo.”
he shook his head hard, stepping closer. “nope. nope. rejected. worst opinion of the year. i’m not accepting that.”
you blinked at him. “follo—”
he held up his hand dramatically. “shhhh. let me be serious for once. i’m trying.”
and he was trying. you could see it in the way he kept shifting, like he didn't know what to do with his hands or words or face.
he stepped closer again, reaching out to gently touch your waist, your shoulder, the spot you’d just complained about. when you tensed, he frowned.
“please don’t hate this,” he said quietly. “i love all of it.”
your breath hitched.
follo leaned in and pressed a small, slow kiss to the part of your body you’d been hiding — soft and careful, like he didn’t want to scare you away.
“see this?” he murmured against your skin. “i love it.”
then another kiss.
and another.
every insecurity you tried to hide, follo kissed like it was something precious.
“i don’t like hearing you talk bad about yourself,” he said, voice low and surprisingly steady. “it makes my chest hurt. like… actually hurt.”
you looked at him, and he scratched the back of his head, cheeks pink.
“i know i suck at comforting,” he said. “i know i dont talk too much and i’m not… poetic or whatever.”
he reached out again, cupping your face in both hands.
“but i love your body. i love you. and i don’t ever want you thinking you’re anything less than amazing.”
his expression softened even more — which was rare, gentle, and so real.
“and also…”
he pulled a bag out from behind him like he was doing a magic trick.
“i bought you snacks,” he said proudly. “your favorites. because if words don’t fix it, food will.”
you burst out laughing, and follo grinned wide, relieved.
he wrapped his arms around you, warm and tight.
“just… don’t ever talk bad about yourself around me again,” he murmured into your hair. “i won’t let you.”
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ zodyl typhon
zodyl wasn’t emotional. he wasn’t warm. he wasn’t the type to coddle or ask if something was wrong. but he wasn’t stupid — he noticed every shift, every detail, every small change in you.
and lately… there were a lot.
you stared at your body longer in the mirror, eyes sharp and unhappy.
your hands tugged at your clothes like you were trying to disappear inside them.
you’d pull your jacket tighter, angle yourself away, pretend nothing was wrong — but he saw it.
you talked less.
and that was the first red flag.
because you always talked. you filled the silence around him, and he pretended it annoyed him, but the truth was… he loved it. your voice made the coldness in him feel less empty.
and then you stopped clinging to him.
that was the final clue.
you always grabbed his arm, his sleeve, his hand — you always found some way to touch him, even lightly. he acted like it didn’t matter, but now that it was gone, he found himself missing it. badly.
one evening, he found you sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at your reflection again, pulling your shirt forward like you could hide yourself from yourself.
zodyl leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
“you’re doing it again,” he said quietly. you jumped. “doing what?”
“hating yourself.” simple. blunt. zodyl-style.
you looked down. “i’m just… not happy with how i look.” he walked toward you, slow and deliberate. “that’s obvious.” you frowned. “you don’t have to say it like that.”
“i do.” he stopped right in front of you. “because you’re lying to yourself.”
your breath stalled. “i’m not lying, zodyl. my body—”
“is fine,” he interrupted. “it’s more than fine.”
you stared at him, shocked, because he never said things like that. he wasn’t the affectionate type. but right now, his voice was low, serious, almost angry — not at you, but at whatever was hurting you.
zodyl crouched in front of you, lifting your chin with two fingers so you had to look at him.
“you’ve been hiding from me,” he said softly. “and i don’t like it.”
your eyes widened.
“you talk less. you cling less. you avoid me.” his tone dipped lower. “i don’t want that.”
you swallowed hard. “i just… don’t feel good in my body lately.”
he stared at you for a long moment, cold eyes softening just slightly — the way they only ever did for you.
then he reached for you, sliding his hands around your waist and pulling you gently toward him.
“come here.” you did, and he wrapped his arms around you, strong and steady, holding you tightly against his chest. he wasn’t warm, but his touch was grounding — protective in a way he never admitted out loud.
“there’s nothing wrong with your body,” he murmured against your hair. “nothing.”
you exhaled shakily, melting into him.
“you don’t see yourself the way i do,” he added quietly. “and that’s the problem.”
you rested your forehead against him. “how do you see me?”
he hesitated — just a second — then answered honestly:
“beautiful.”
his arms tightened.
“and mine.” your breath hitched.
“don’t pull away from me again,” he said, voice almost pleading under the coldness. “i miss you.”
you clung to him, finally, and zodyl let out a slow breath like he’d been holding it for days.
“good,” he whispered. “stay right here.”
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ jabber wonger
jabber wasn’t dumb. chaotic? yes. loud? absolutely. annoying in the way only he could be? definitely.
but dumb? no. well sometimes.
he’d been noticing things for a while — the way you pulled your shirt down, the way you angled your body away from him, the way your smile got smaller whenever you caught your reflection in something.
but he didn’t say anything. not because he didn’t care, but because you weren’t the type to open up easily, and he didn’t want to ruin your mood by calling it out.
he figured you’d tell him when you were ready.
but one night, he heard you mumble under your breath, voice small and frustrated,
“i hate this… i look stupid… why can’t my body just—”
jabber froze mid–stretch, head snapping around so fast he almost hurt himself.
“whoa, whoa, whoa— hold on.” he was at your side in two steps. “girl… what are you talkin’ about?”
you stiffened. “it’s nothing—”
“nah,” he cut in, grabbing your hand gently. “don’t do that. i heard you.”
you swallowed hard, eyes dropping to the floor. “i just… don’t like how i look, okay? my body just feels wrong.”
jabber stared at you for a second like you’d just spoken a language he couldn’t understand.
“wrong?” he repeated, almost offended. “mamas… what part of that body is wrong? tell me. i’ll wait.”
you stayed silent.
and that’s when jabber stepped in close — closer than usual — lifting your chin so you had to look at him.
“girl,” he said softly, “i WORSHIP you.” your breath caught.
and he wasn’t done.
he slid his hands along your sides, slow, reverent, tracing every spot you’d been criticizing. the dips, the curves, the softness — he touched them all like they were sacred.
“these hips right here?” he murmured, kissing the dip gently. “they’re perfect, mamas. perfect.”
another kiss.
then another.
“your shoulders?” he brushed his lips against them. “sexy as hell.”
your cheeks burned, and jabber smirked because he loved that reaction.
“you don’t get it,” he said, pulling you closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “i could spend HOURS worshiping your body. i could write a whole scripture about how fine you are.”
you let out a shaky exhale.
jabber pressed his forehead to yours, his hands sliding around your waist.
“you hate your body?” he whispered. “fine. then i’ll love it twice as hard for both of us.”
your knees almost gave out.
he caught you easily, chuckling softly. “c’mere, girl.”
jabber lifted you onto his lap like you weighed nothing, holding you tight against him.
“don’t hide from me,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “you’re the prettiest thing i’ve ever seen. swear on my whole damn life.”
he kissed your shoulder again, slow and deliberate.
“now let me worship every inch until you believe it too, mamas.”
「©valentinesxoxo˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ 」
