Short Toby with tall fem reader, we tower over him and he’s at chest level and he’s almost always looking straight at them wanting to lay on or grab them (wether or not there’s anything there), little spoon Toby, him never wanting to ask ppl for help but always asking us to grab things high up for him, reader getting cuteness aggression when Toby looks up with big animal eyes at us when he doesn’t feel like craning his head up to look. Him stealing and wearing our clothes when he’s on a mission cuz he likes oversized/long clothes anyway, and it smells like us? Bingo
tall Toby with tall fem reader, sharing clothes still except they do/almost fit each other and each having a subtle possessiveness knowing that the other person is wearing the other’s clothes but everyone else not knowing (unless yall got dif aesthetics)
Ima stop before I go on a full list again (this is coming from someone who’s six foot and always changes the height of reader to be taller, imagines myself shorter, or makes every character 7-8ft cuz it’s kinda funny lol, 9 ft EJ is always fun to imagine him never fitting in some rooms or him being almost the same height as slender)
He's right at boobie height so he randomly motorboats you and acts like it was a total accident, "I-I I'M SORRY, I didn't mean to put m-my face .. there ..." Knowing damn well it was on purpose and him having a shit eating grin afterwards doesn't help his case
Can't get this scene outta my head so I gotta write it down. Written entirely on my phone so apologies in advance!
Lloyd Hansen x Tall Reader
Your pants legs were riding up, exposing the off color socks you wore. You try to keep these things hidden for the sake of company dress code but, like most women's clothing, your pants are often too short to do so. These ones seem to slowly ride up throughout the day, every movement causing the hems of your pants to climb up your legs.
Finally getting to a stopping point with your work you stand up and head to the bathroom so you can force the legs back down. Unfortunately, you almost run into Mr. Hansen, CEO and certified asshole.
"Woah there basketball player," he snarks.
"Sorry, Mr. Hansen," you say, keeping your head down as you try to move past him.
"The fuck is going on with your clothes? Did you shop in the kids section?"
You sigh, "women's clothing my size costs a fortune and men's clothing doesn't fit my hips right. Can I go now?"
"Not yet, I'm having fun," he smirks. "Not often I get to gaze at a woman's boobs without developing a crick in my neck."
Crossing your arms you bite back, "I'm not interested in being looked at. Now please let me past you."
"I have to warn you, if you do that I'm smacking your ass."
"Why are you even on this floor, Me. Hansen? Shouldn't you be watching porn in your office?"
"I like to walk around and look for a new toy to play with," he shrugs.
"I'd say I should be beneath your notice but considering I'm taller than you, I guess that's not true."
He laughs. "You're going to be a fun one."
"I'll make sure to be extra boring from now on, Mr. Hansen."
i couldn't stop thinking about holding onto Loki's corn while riding him.
think about it too....
he would be the type to say nasty stuff in your ears while you try not to fall off his lap, from how hard you're riding him. hopelessly holding the corns of his helmet to keep yourself steady. moving you hips up and down on his cock at an an unforgiving pace to reach that high. you're lowkey using him like a dildo, but he doesn't care. the only thing that matter right now is your pleasure.
<Thinking about König who has a thing for taller women>
König, the poor thing, has a type. One he’ll of course never get to have. A taller woman. Long slim legs and he’s wagging his tail like a dog. Oh and if those heels bump them up to make them the same height or taller than him he’s quivering in his boots. It’s an obsession, a guilty pleasure he’d never let slip from past his midnight wet dreams. They’d stay forever in his bedroom.
Maybe it’s the way they walk when they’re feeling confident, their hips popping out each time both shoes are on the floor for a split second or maybe the way they can grab him by his collar to get his attention- that… that sounded hot. He’s unsure but he loves the idea of it. And a woman that’s taller than him…? he could only beg the Gods above to send him one from the heavens because Of course, that’s not realistic. König wouldn’t even care about the way the rest of her looked, slim or curvy, pale or dark, mean or nice he just wanted someone tall, someone he didn’t have to strain his neck to kiss, someone who could make him feel just a little more normal.
König knows he stands at 196cm tall. Six foot five. Dreaming about a woman taller than him… hell even wishing for a woman that was just six foot was rare and unrealistic. Yet he daydreamed, fantasised and continued to look at his comrades in biting jealousy because his hight has always been the damn issue with all his problems.
you’re not small enough to disappear beside him, and that’s the point.
when you stand next to mingyu, there’s no visual joke. no exaggerated bend of his spine, no teasing awe from strangers about how he “dwarfs” you. instead, people do a double take. two long silhouettes. shoulders almost level. strides that naturally match. a tall power couple without trying.
mingyu notices it first in reflections. shop windows. elevator mirrors. the way your height aligns with his without effort. he likes that he doesn’t have to crane his neck down to meet your eyes. likes that when you look at him, it’s straight on. equal. steady.
dating him means existing in his space without shrinking yourself. you don’t tuck into his chest like something fragile. you fit there. your arms wrap around his waist properly. his chin doesn’t rest on your head so much as near it. when he hugs you, it’s full body, solid, grounding. like two pillars leaning into each other.
there’s something soft about how he reacts to it.
mingyu is confident, loud when he laughs, all limbs and warmth. but with you, there’s a quiet pride that settles in his chest. the kind he doesn’t announce. the kind that shows in how he places a hand on your lower back in public, fingers spread, claiming space for both of you.
photos are his favorite. not because he’s the tallest in frame, but because you stand next to him without angles. no tiptoes. no slouching. you lean into him, shoulder to shoulder, and it looks natural. balanced. like the world didn’t design one of you to overshadow the other.
sometimes fans whisper about it.
“they’re both so tall.”
“they look unreal together.”
“that’s actually insane.”
mingyu pretends not to hear, but later he brings it up casually, like it didn’t matter. like he didn’t replay it in his head.
“they said we look… strong,” he’ll say, amused, eyes bright.
and you’ll shrug, smile a little. “we are.”
domestically, your height shows up in small, intimate ways. you reach the top shelves together. when you cook, you bump hips easily, neither of you folding around the other. when you argue, you stand your ground literally and emotionally. mingyu doesn’t tower over you when voices rise. he has to meet you where you are.
and he does.
when you’re tired, leaning against the counter or the wall, he presses in close, forehead against yours, murmuring instead of teasing. he knows you don’t need to be handled gently like glass. you need to be held like something solid that’s had a long day.
in bed, there’s a comfortable sprawl. legs tangled without one of you completely overtaking the space. mingyu loves how your body fits his without him feeling like he has to curl around you. sometimes you’re the one pulling him closer. sometimes you’re the one pinning him down with your presence alone, smiling when he raises his brows like, oh. okay.
he brags about you in the most mingyu way possible.
not directly. not “my partner is tall and hot.” it’s more subtle.
“yeah, we borrowed the same coat size.”
“they keep stealing my hoodies, but they actually fit them.”
“standing concerts are great. we can both see.”
the guys clock it immediately.
seungkwan complains about feeling short when you’re both around.
wonwoo just hums, amused, says nothing.
vernon once calls you a final boss couple and mingyu beams for the rest of the day.
when mingyu kisses you in public, it’s unhurried. no awkward bending. no rushed peck. he steps in, hands framing your waist, and kisses you like you’re meant to be met at eye level. like he doesn’t have to compromise his posture or his affection.
at night, when it’s just the two of you, he traces the lines of you with reverence. long legs. familiar angles. strength he recognizes. there’s something grounding about loving someone who physically matches his presence in the world.
“i like that you don’t disappear,” he tells you once, quiet, honest.
you don’t ask him to explain. you don’t need to.
you stand beside him. always have.
headcanons
mingyu loves when you wear platforms or boots that make you exactly his height.
you share clothes constantly. jackets. hoodies. sweaters. nothing looks oversized on either of you, which secretly delights him
slow dancing is elite. foreheads touching. arms resting naturally. no strain
he instinctively reaches for your hand in crowds, not to guide you, but to stay aligned😏
photos of the two of you standing back to back live rent free in his phone
when someone jokes about your height difference being “small,” mingyu smiles proudly and says, “yeah. perfect, right?”
Team Levi x tall reader || how the main scouts act when their GN partner is unusually tall
being tall in the scouts is its own kind of language. it changes the cadence of hands, the angle of eyes, the jokes people dare to make. it means you notice things sooner and other people notice you faster. it also means every pocket of affection begins with someone looking up.
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levi
levi notices you first in the mess hall, when you duck to slide past him with your arms brushing his. he freezes, looks you up and down, then looks up at you like he used to look at a stubborn corner that needed cleaning.
“you hit my elbow,” you say, voice teasing.
“keep your elbows to yourself,” levi answers, but his tone has gone soft around the edges. he reaches for the strap on your harness and fumbles like he never does when he’s alone. you watch his fingers, the way he hesitates on your shoulder as if memorizing the slope.
later, after practice, when the sky is bruised and everyone else has drifted away, you sit on the low wall while he cleans blades. his stool is too small for him to be comfortable beside you. he doesn’t seem to mind.
“you’re taller than me,” he states like it’s an observation he’s been meaning to log. his voice has a crack in it that makes you smile.
“yes,” you say. “and?”
he snorts. “you’re clumsy with the vacuum.”
you laugh and lean down, elbows on your knees so your face is closer to his. he looks up at you. it’s intimate in a new way, that tilt of his chin meeting the space between your eyes.
“stand still,” he says suddenly. you do. he steps in close enough that you can feel his breath. then he presses the corner of a mouthful of hair behind your ear, steady and small-handed.
“don’t get used to me being soft,” he mutters, but he rests his forehead against yours, and for a long moment you both exist only in the tiny space where your heights meet.
when titans come and the air is all teeth and panic, it is your reach that drags him to safe ground more than once. afterward, when everyone else is shaking, he stays wrapped around you like a small, stubborn knot. you hold him the way someone holds a small animal: protective, gentle, precise. he lets himself be held.
“i thought i hated being small,” he confesses once, voice muffled against your chest. “i don’t when you’re around.”
you kiss the top of his head. “you can be whatever size you want with me.”
erwin
erwin treats your height like the most practical thing in the world. he maps it into strategy and then into the spaces between you.
you stand at the edge of the war room while he explains a plan. he keeps glancing up at you, and when he gestures he often points to where you will stand. later, he comes to you with a cloak and a quiet, official look.
“you should stand forward on the ridge,” he says. “you’ll be the signal.” his hand rests on your shoulder, warm and deliberate. when he talks, the world listens, but when he touches you, something quieter unfolds.
“i don’t want the attention,” you admit, voice smaller than you feel.
“attention keeps people alive,” he replies. then, softer, like something not meant for the room, he says, “and sometimes attention keeps me less lonely.”
that line surprises you both into silence. you slip an arm through his and guide him to a bench. you sit behind him and let him fold into you, taller frame leaning into your center of gravity. he hums, a small sound you came to associate with relief.
“if you ever doubt the use of your size,” erwin murmurs, “remember you make the horizon easier to read.”
you kiss his temple. “i’ll be your horizon.”
he smiles, which is all the concession you need that he feels something besides duty.
hange
hange is a storm of noise and affection. they treat your height like their favorite toy.
“let me measure your reach,” they declare while ransacking the supply room. before you can answer, they’re up on your shoulders, arms wrapped around your neck, chattering about leverage and titan vitals as if you were a lab table.
“hange, get down,” you protest, amused and indulgent.
“only if you promise to teach me how you balance so well,” they say with breathless excitement.
you sit on a crate and let them drape across you like a scarf. they tell you everything in excited stutters. you answer with long, patient sentences and the occasional kiss to the curve where their cheek meets your collarbone. they squeal when you lift them higher so they can look over a barricade. later, when the town is quiet and the adrenaline is gone, hange curls into you and becomes small.
“you don’t know how steady you are,” they say, voice gone low. “i forget that sometimes.”
you stroke their hair. “then i’ll remind you.”
they lift their face to yours and places a messy, earnest kiss on your lips. it’s loud and gloriously real. you laugh when they pull back, eyes bright.
“you taste like victory and stew,” hange breathes. “and i like both.”
you smile and let them nuzzle you until sleep claims them, your arms an obvious scaffold.
mikasa
with mikasa everything is quiet and inevitable. she is not demonstrative with words, but the way she exists beside you is a prayer.
you train at dawn. the two of you move as a pair, a tall shadow and a compact, fierce presence. sometimes you slow for her, not from pity, but because the two of you have found a rhythm. she appreciates it in the way her shoulder brushes yours and in the way she rests her head against your arm when breaks come.
“you make a good shield,” she says once, cutting a grapefruit and offering you a slice.
“you don’t need me as a shield,” you answer.
“i like both,” she says simply. then she reaches up, fingers knotting in the back of your collar to pull you down into a small, precise kiss. it’s short, devastating in the best way.
on missions, she positions herself near you, compact and ready. people expect her to be protective; you expect her to be protective. after, she washes your hair with deliberation, fingers gentle and methodical. she hums without thinking, a wonder of contentment on her face.
“when you stand tall,” she murmurs, “it makes me stand taller.”
you rest your head on hers. it’s a small, perfect balance: her chin on your shoulder, your cheek on the crown of her head. words are not necessary.
jean
jean’s first words about your height are awkward and accidental.
“you know,” he starts, fidgeting, “you’re like a lighthouse. or at least a very tall barn.”
you snort. “a barn?”
“a very romantic barn,” he corrects quickly. he’s blushing and you like him all the more for it.
he walks with you everywhere, the comfort of your height a new kind of anchor. he gets flustered when you lean down to kiss him, and you make a show of pretending to adjust your height just to tease him. he retaliates with sweaty, ridiculous jokes and the occasional clumsy, earnest kiss.
“i hate that you make me feel small,” he confesses one night, truth slipping past his embarrassment. then he looks at you, eyes bright. “not literally. i mean—i like how safe it feels.”
you thumb the side of his face and pull him in. “then be honest. say it.”
he grins, relieved. “i love you,” he says, low and sure.
you laugh softly and kiss him like you mean it. he melts like someone who’s finally learned how to fall without breaking.
armin
armin studies you like he studies maps. he has a scholar’s awe and a small person’s practical concerns.
“does your height make the air feel different?” he asks one evening, notebook in hand, eyes wide with curiosity.
“no,” you tell him, amused. “just less dust in my nose sometimes.”
he writes it down anyway. later, when he’s too nervous to lead, he leans into you, seeking the kind of comfort only your presence gives. you wrap an arm around his shoulders and let him tuck his face into your chest.
“you make me feel braver,” he whispers into your shirt. “even when the plan fails, i remember you.”
“then we’ll make more plans,” you say. “and i’ll carry the tall parts.”
he kisses your side, earnest and full of small promise. you hold him close and hum a tune that steadies his breath.
sasha
sasha is unabashed devotion. she treats your height like the best part of your personality.
“you can get the top shelf!” she exclaims every week. she plants one foot on a crate and demands you reach whatever snack she cannot. she steals kisses that are loud and messy. she laughs when you lift her just to twirl her until her braid is a halo.
“you’re my personal ladder,” she tells you constantly, and she means it like a sacred title.
late at night she sleeps curled against your ribs, breath warm and full of contentment. you drape an arm over her and feel the steady rhythm of her sleep.
“i like being close to you,” she murmurs half-asleep. “your arms are like a tall, warm fence.”
you grin and kiss her hair. “i’ll keep you inside my fence.”
she sighs happily and slides deeper into your hold, as if you were the safest place on a battlefield.
connie
connie’s relationship to your height is constant, jokey, and completely sincere.
“hey tall person,” he calls, hopping onto your back in the middle of training. “can you see my future? is there pizza?”
“i see pizza in your future,” you tell him, and he whoops.
he uses you as leverage, as a step, as his favorite listener. when he’s scared, he becomes small and stubborn, and you sit with him until his bravado returns.
“promise me you’ll never shrink,” he whispers one night, serious for the first time.
you cup his face. “i promise i will always be tall for you.”
he smacks your chest like it’s a punch, then tightens his arms around your waist. you feel the effortless way he leans into your height, trusting it as much as a shield.
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Happy Scouting!
You and fatgum go out for dinner, and he tells you he loves you.
Tall female reader x fat gum, sfw
........
The ambient lighting on the rooftop patio was the color of aged honey, washing over the carefully arranged bonsai trees and the low, comfortable seating. The city lights of Musutafu glittered below, a sprawling, vibrant canvas that Taishiro Toyomitsu—Fat Gum—found strangely calming.
He wasn't usually one for 'calm.' His life was loud, sticky, and often punctuated by the frantic sounds of villain battles and the incessant chewing of high-calorie snacks. But tonight, everything felt different. Tonight, he was across a low wooden table from you.
"These skewers are ridiculously good," he mumbled contentedly, wiping a trace of sauce from the corner of his cheek with a pinkie that was thicker than most people’s thumbs. He was in his hero form, his massive, round silhouette comfortably filling the space, yet somehow, he didn't feel imposing to you.
You, at six feet of sleek, composed elegance, simply smiled, leaning back slightly in your chair. Your height had always been a distinguishing feature, one that often made others feel dwarfed. But with Taishiro, the dynamic shifted. You were tall, yes, but he was huge, a gentle, protective mountain of a man.
"I knew you'd like the katsu glaze here," you replied, picking up your glass of iced green tea. "It’s got that hidden tang you always look for."
"You know my palate better than my own gut knows it," he chuckled, the sound deep and warm.
The conversation drifted easily for a few more minutes—a comfortable loop of hero agency gossip mixed with genuine curiosity about your professional life. But as the waiter cleared their empty plates, leaving behind only the soft flicker of the table lantern, the atmosphere thickened. The easy camaraderie they always shared started giving way to something tender and quiet.
Taishiro shifted, pulling his large hands into his lap. He felt a nervous flutter in his chest, a sensation he hadn't experienced since his first solo patrol. Being a hero required confidence; confessing your true feelings felt like jumping off a skyscraper without his Quirk.
He looked at you. In the soft light, your features were sharp and striking, yet your eyes held a kindness that always melted his heroic intensity. You were physically impressive, but it was your quiet strength—the way you handled your business and navigated the world with unwavering grace—that had truly absorbed him.
"Alright," he started, his voice a little lower and rougher than usual. He took a slow breath, deciding that holding back was a disservice to how much he truly cared. "I asked you out tonight because... because I needed to be honest with you, [ Name]."
You tilted your head slightly, a small gesture of encouragement. You could practically see the adrenaline building behind his usually cheerful eyes.
"You and me," he continued, gesturing vaguely between the two of you, "we've been friends for a long time. We work well together, we laugh, and honestly, you're the only person who doesn't bat an eye when I order dessert for three and then eat it all myself."
A soft laugh escaped you, easing some of his tension.
"But it’s more than that now, isn't it?" His expansive shoulders seemed to tense. "Every time I have a bad day, fighting some C-lister who gave me a nasty bruise, it’s not the hospital bed that I want to run to. It's your apartment. Every time I get a big win, you’re the first person I want to call."
He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, suddenly looking earnest and vulnerable rather than enormous.
"I know I’m a lot. I take up space, I’m loud, and I have a job that means I might not always come home smelling like roses—or even coming home at all sometimes," he admitted. He paused, looking down at his hands, finding the courage for the final push.
"But you, [Name]. You look at me like I'm just Taishiro, not Fat Gum. You make me feel grounded and capable, even when I'm doubting myself. And yes, you're the only person I have to genuinely look slightly up to when we hug," he added, a nervous smile tugging at his mouth, acknowledging your impressive height with affection, "but I love that about you. I love all of you. I love the way you’re built, the way you think, and your quiet dedication."
He lifted his gaze, his bright yellow eyes fixed entirely on yours. The confession was simple, heartfelt, and utterly terrifying for him.
"I love you, [Name]. I want more than just these dinners. I want everything."
A profound silence descended, broken only by the distant hum of traffic. You didn’t need to think about your answer. You reached across the small table, covering one of his massive hands with your own. The warmth of his skin was reassuring.
"Taishiro," you said, your voice ringing clear and steady, the romantic mood intensifying with the sincerity of your tone. "I'm a fairly reserved person. It takes a lot for me to let someone in, especially someone whose life is as chaotic as yours. But you’ve been in it for a long time."
You squeezed his hand gently. "I love your warmth, I love your heart, and I love that you see past my height to who I actually am. I love you too,Taishiro."
A wave of relief washed over him, making his whole body slump in a deeply satisfying way. He looked like he wanted to jump up and cheer, but he contained himself, opting instead for a private, profound look of joy.
"Seriously?" he whispered, his eyes shining.
"Seriously," you confirmed, leaning slightly lower across the table, pulling his hand closer.
He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. The city lights seemed a little brighter, the air a little sweeter. Taishiro Toyomitsu knew this was the start of the quiet, beautiful life he never knew he needed.
