Could you do the same request but for a reader who's insecure about her big chest? It really isn't all that fun.
Yes! I knew this request was coming the moment I posted, and several others followed in suite. I do have a larger chest and most of the time I don't mind but there are moments where I wish it were different. I hope you and the other's who have requested this enjoy the read.
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Xavier:
You were barely three steps into the café before you felt it again. That familiar sting of eyes dragging across your chest like you were something on display. You crossed your arms, shoulders tightening as the irritation bubbled up.
Xavier noticed instantly, concerned about the shift in your mood.
“What happened, starlight?”
You sighed, refusing to look around. “I hate this. I hate that I can be fully covered and people still stare. I hate feeling like I’m being looked at instead of seen.”
His expression shifted. Calm, patient, but threaded with something darker. His evol flickered at his fingertips, a soft insistence of light he had not summoned intentionally.
“Who?” he asked quietly.
“It doesn’t matter,” you muttered. “It’s just exhausting. I’m tired of being objectified. I’m tired of feeling like my body is an invitation.”
He stepped in front of you, blocking your view of the room, gaze locked only on you. “You're not an invitation,” he affirmed, voice soft but edged with steel. “You're not something anyone is entitled to look at like that.”
You felt your throat tighten. “I just hate it. I hate being treated like I’m not even a person.”
Xavier reached for your hand, his touch grounding. “If someone makes you uncomfortable, you tell me,” he said. “I will make sure they never try again.”
You blinked. “Xavier.”
He worked his jaw, trying to calm himself. “I am not threatening anyone. I am promising that you are not alone. Not ever.”
A slow breath left your chest, and you smiled in response.
He squeezed your hand gently. “Walk with me, starlight. Let them look elsewhere. Your peace is mine to protect.”
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Zayne:
You sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at your hands. “Zayne, can I ask you something?”
He looked up from his notes immediately. “Of course.”
You hesitated. “I've been thinking about breast reduction surgery.”
His pen stopped moving. He placed it down carefully, giving you his full attention. “Tell me what brought this on.”
You exhaled. “My back hurts. My shoulders hurt. Clothes never fit right. People stare no matter what I wear. I just feel so tired of dealing with all of it.”
Zayne nodded slowly. “Those are valid concerns. Chronic pain alone is reason enough to consider it.”
You picked at a loose thread. “But…what if you don't find me attractive after?”
That made him pause. Not confused, but surprised you would even consider it. “Attractiveness is not determined by a single feature,” he said. “You are not defined by your chest. And my feelings are not dependent on its size.”
You looked down again. "“I just want to be comfortable in my own skin.”
“My job,” he said calmly, “is to advocate for your health. Physical and mental.”
He shifted closer, resting a hand gently on your thigh. “I want you to be comfortable in your body. I want you to live without pain. And I will support whatever choice helps you do that.”
Your eyes softened. “You mean that?”
“Yes.” He brushed a thumb over your knuckles. “Your body is already deserving of care. If surgery improves your quality of life, then it is worth considering. But don't ever make a decision based on fear of losing my attraction. You will not, it's impossible.”
You leaned into him, and his arms wrapped around you, steady and reassuring.
“You deserve relief,” he whispered. “And I will stand with you through every decision that brings you closer to it.”
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Rafayel:
You were already irritated before the third dressing room even closed.
“Why is everything either ugly or painful,” you muttered, glaring at the selection of bras hanging on the hook. “It is like designers think having a big chest means I want to wear something that looks like tactical gear.”
Rafayel lounged outside the curtain like he owned the boutique, legs crossed, expression relaxed. “Let me see.”
“No,” you groaned. “None of these fit right. They all hurt. And the cute ones are never made in my size.”
“Then show me,” he insisted, gentler this time.
You stepped out with the defeated slump of someone who had tried too many options. He took one look at the straps digging into your shoulders and stood immediately.
“Go change,” he said. “You are not wearing that.”
You rolled your eyes but retreated to change again. When you came out in the next one, he circled you thoughtfully. “Support is wrong. Band too tight. Cups too shallow. This is not your body’s fault.”
You sighed, staring at the mirror. “I just want something that fits. And maybe something that looks nice for once.”
Rafayel tapped his chin. “Then we will make it.”
You blinked. “Make it?”
“Yes.” He pulled out his sketchbook. “You tell me what you want. Shape. Color. Lace. Structure. Everything. I will design it myself and commission it from someone who actually respects you, and understands the human body.”
Your chest loosened in a way that had nothing to do with fabric. “Rafayel, that is so much work.”
“For you,” he said simply, “I am willing.”
You smiled, excitement brewing inside you as he began sketching.
“Let me build something beautiful for you,” he murmured. “Something worthy of you.”
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Sylus:
The impact of your punch echoed through the training room, but you hissed as soon as your stance shifted.
“Again?” he asked.
You frowned. “My chest hurts when I move like that. My back aches too. It throws my balance off. Having a big chest is annoying.”
Sylus stepped closer, reading your posture like a manual. “Turn around.”
You raised a brow. “Why?”
“Just do it.”
You turned, and his hands settled beneath your chest, lifting gently but firmly, redistributing the weight with startling precision.
You froze. “Sylus…you cannot hold me like this the entire session.”
“Watch me,” he said calmly.
Despite yourself, you laughed. “You cannot support my chest forever.”
He leaned in, voice quiet near your ear. “If it eases your pain, I will. But I can also adjust your routine, strengthen the right muscles, teach you ways to stabilize your frame. I'd do anything to make you comfortable, to make you happy, Kitten.”
Your breath caught. “Sometimes I just feel like my body limits me.”
“No.” His hands stayed steady, grounding you. “Your body is strong. It only needs support in different places. That's not a weakness.”
You turned slightly, meeting his crimson eyes. “You really think that?”
“I don't believe in faulty design,” he said. “Only in the wrong approach. And I will find every right one for you.”
His hands remained warm, steady, and you relaxed into his support without even realizing it.
“You do not have to endure pain alone,” he murmured. “Not when I can help carry it.”
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Caleb:
It happened again in the middle of the store. You tugged at your shirt, huffing as the fabric pulled in a way that made you instantly self conscious.
Caleb looked over from the cart. “Pips?”
You shook your head. “It's nothing. I just hate how my chest makes everything fit weird. I hate how noticeable it is. I feel like people stare.”
He frowned, walking over immediately. “Who stared?”
“No one! Not now anyway. I just feel…wrong in my own body sometimes.”
Caleb’s expression softened. “Come here.”
You knew that tone. One that was full of protection and concern. He tugged you gently into the aisle corner, shielding you with his body like he always had when you were kids.
“You know,” he said softly, “I have seen every version of you. Every stage. And this is still you. The you that makes me laugh. The you I want to come home to. Your chest does not change any of that.”
You exhaled shakily. “I just wish I felt comfortable.”
“Then we will find what makes you comfortable,” he said. “Different clothes. Different cuts. Whatever you need. And if anyone stares, they can deal with me.”
You raised a brow. “Caleb.”
He grinned. “What? I can be intimidating.” You smiled hesitantly, knowing he could be more than intimidating if needed.
He bumped his shoulder gently against yours. “You don't need to hide from me. You never have. You are safe with me, pips.”
As always, you believed him.