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violettduchess · 2 years

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Hi! Omg I was wondering if you could do a plus size mc headcanon (similar to the Curvy/chubby mc headcanon that was done for the new princes) but with Chevalier, Jin, Licht and Nokto instead?

A/N: Here you go, Anon!

Slightly NSFW

@queengiuliettafirstlady: This request overlaps with yours so you get your own post with Luke and Leon!

Writing after the cut!

Chevalier Michel:

He ignores you. Pointedly. You try to be friendly, to smile, to make some kind of connection with Prince Chevalier Michel, if only because it is your duty as Belle but whenever you try, his response is the snap of scissors, threads of communication cut short before they can even unspool.

Your first substantial interaction with him is an accident. Literally. Late-night foraging for something to read brings you to the library, your dressing gown wrapped around your curvy body like Aphrodite’s silken garments. By candlelight you search for something romantic and fantastical and most importantly, happy. The beautiful book ladder of carved mahogany and gold inlay calls to you and you ascend, hoping to find the perfect night’s companion in the upper shelves.

Chevalier enters, his immediate annoyance at you being in his domain evident in the bark of his voice, the flash of lightning in those midsummer eyes. You choose to pointedly ignore him much the way he has you. And then you spot the perfect book.

You stretch your body in a way the pulls fabric across curves. He is startled, the way one is when sleep claims you by day and you awake to a starlit sky. Confusion, revelation, denial.

Your fingers grip the embossed spine and you lean toward it: Just….a….little….more…..Triumphantly you pinch it between grasping fingers, pull it toward you. And gravity laughs at your arrogance.

You fall from the book ladder, prize clutched to your ample chest, dimly hoping the wooden floor won’t retaliate too callously. But you never make it there. You land in the safety net of strong arms, a broad chest, eyes the color of lazurite.

Chevalier’s handsome face momentarily loses its mask of indifference, his sculpted lips parted in surprise. Heart fluttering like book pages in the wind, you notice the strength in his hands. One against the small of your back. The other gripping the soft skin under your thighs. You realize then that your dressing gown twisted itself askew during the short fall, the bottom hiked up so that his skin is touching yours. His fingers unconsciously flex and heat paints your neck and cheeks a blushing pink.

It is the shortest of moments, a breath in the night, but you see something in his expression, feel it in the movement of his fingers, the glint in his eyes. Holding you like this, your soft body cradled against him, isn’t repulsive. In fact…..

He sets you on your feet abruptly with a stern warning, expression gone cold, mask back in place. Clutching the book to your chest, you hurry from the library, closing the door behind you, unaware of how he remains once you’ve gone, the fingers of his hand curled inward as if holding onto the softness they so unexpectedly encountered.

Nokto Klein:

You step into the ballroom and self-consciously pull on the neckline of your gown, fingers brushing against the soft, dark amethyst velvet. You can feel the way your chest fills it, how very, very visible the soft curves of your breasts are, despite the layered necklaces you wear to try and hide them. The rest of the gown flows like water over your body, rounding curves, revealing so much while still keeping its secrets. All you see are the beautiful people around you, glittering like fae, shining like stars, and you know you need a drink if you are going to make it through the evening.

His eyes spotted you the moment you walked in, watched as you hurriedly found a shaded corner, a shrinking violet hiding from the sun. But he sees you. He sees the way your gaze assesses the room, intelligence shining in your eyes. He sees the way you keep pulling on your gown, forever self conscious, forever comparing yourself to others.

He notices the expression of longing on your face as you try to mentally map out a path through the extravagant gowns and elegant suits to where drinks are flowing. He is clever and he is faster, sliding between people as an otter through a stream.

He approaches you, champagne glass in hand and you smile in gratitude. You take the glass and steal his breath in the same instant. He marvels that you aren't aware of your own beauty, the radiance that you exude, a smile that outshines every jewel in the room.

He touches you, just a guiding hand on the small of your back, and yet he instantly knows it isn't enough. He wants more. He helps you navigate the room, heading toward the balcony, an escape, a place with vivifying fresh air, with shadows and alcoves. His breath hitches at the possibilities those shadowy places offer, at the very idea of you wrapped in near-darkness, your body flushed and waiting for him. Nokto knows that no part of him will be satisfied until he has run his hands over the mountains and valleys of your terrain, has discovered the secrets your gown keeps coyly hidden, until the only sound you can make is the gasp of his name, until that smile is for him and him alone.

Licht Klein:

For a man whose name means “light”, Licht keeps to the shadows. Indeed his very heart is plagued by them. Maybe that’s why he is so drawn to you. He watches you from under his long lashes, the way you laugh, the sound full and vivacious, sunshine chasing at the winged demons inside him.

You laugh with your whole body, not the tittering, practiced sound of the court’s noblewomen, but a ringing bell of sincerity and warmth. You scrunch up your eyes, dip your head, allow the delight to ripple outwards. It reaches him, those golden waves of sound, blanketing him in the joy of your heart, even if its only a moment.

Heat rushes to his cheeks when he thinks of the other reasons he loves your laughter, the way your body moves, your chest rising and falling in a motion so enticing, so mesmeric that he can’t pull his gaze away. As the bee is drawn to a flower’s vibrant color, so is he drawn to you. All of you.

You are on the terrace, Sariel’s lesson for the day spread out in front of you in the form of far too many books and scrolls. Forehead in hand, you sigh, the weight of information crushing. Licht watches you from behind a pillar, shadow once more. He longs to stride over with square-shouldered confidence and gather all you, every divine curve and delectable bit of skin, to him. To kiss you back into confidence as his hand runs down your spine. To lift the cloud of burden from your face and bring the sunshine of your smile back.

Jin Grandet:

If he had to construct the perfect woman, it would be you. From the fall of your hair to the curves of your body to the alluring way you bite your lower lip while thinking, Jin is convinced there is no one as enticing. You were ripped straight out of every carnal dream he’s ever had and put on this earth to drive him insane.

It is a surprisingly blustery day and you are blown into the palace by an impatient gust of cold wind, shivering as you hurry into the nearest drawing room where a fire would be lit. Jin is napping when you enter, your teeth chattering, seeking the fire’s warmth. The thin cotton gown you wore was a poor shield against the plucking fingers of wind and tempestuous bursts of rain that caught you on your way back from the market. Jin wakes to the sound of the door closing and your hurried apology as you stand by the fireplace, hands held out to its warmth. You prattle on about weather and sneaky rainclouds but honestly, he doesn’t hear you. He isn’t listening.

He’s dry-mouthed, as he takes in your form, suddenly so visible through the clingy, damp cotton. It sticks to your breasts, the dip at your waist, the slope of your hips. It reveals the strength of your thighs and calves. There is so much to take in and he has to pinch himself to make sure he isn’t still dreaming.

You are unaware of the way he unfolds his long limbs from the divan, rising from it like a predatory feline from tall grass. He crosses the room until he is in front of you and the fire has nothing on the heat in his dark russet eyes.

One finger runs across the sensitive skin of your collarbone, his voice crackling with desire as he explains that he could do a better job than any fire at warming you up. His finger trails downwards, dipping into the intimate valley between your breasts, sending a cascade of goosebumps down your arms. He toys with the first button of your soaked gown, head tilted in question, eyes burning with entreaty. Say yes, say yes, heavenly creature. Let him cross the threshold, through the gates of heaven, and into the sanctity of your kiss, your touch, your taste on his lips. Please, please say….

“Yes.”

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @atelieredux @alixennial @alexxavicry @rhodolitesroseforclavis @somekidnamedkai @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @ikehoe @redheadkittys @themysticalbeing @queen-dahlia @moonstruck-writing

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