The apartment was quiet, the soft hum of the city outside mixing with the faint music drifting from the stereo. You were sprawled across Christian’s bed, oversized hoodie swallowing you, legs tangled under you. Your fingers toyed nervously with the hem, heart twisting as you watched him move around; shirtless, toned, effortless. Every muscle glinting in the light, every step making your chest flutter.

You let out a small, insecure sigh. “Ugh… I don’t even get how you’d wanna look at me when you look like that.” You muttered, barely loud enough for him to hear.

Christian froze mid-step, smirk spreading across his face like he’d just caught you saying the cutest thing ever. “Wait… You think I’d rather have abs than you?” He said, crouching in front of you. His hands slid onto your thighs, thumbs brushing softly over your skin, and your breath hitched. “Baby… You don’t even know what you do to me.”

Before you could respond, his lips found the curve of your tummy. Light, teasing, but the heat in his eyes told you he wanted more. Your chest rose and fell as he pressed lingering kisses along the stretch marks you’d always hated. “These?” he murmured against your skin. “You call them stretch marks, I call them proofs you’re real. Perfect. Mine.”

His hands roamed over your sides, thumbs tracing every curve. “And this softness of your tummy's… It's literally my favorite pillow.” He said lowly, gliding over your hips. “God… I could worship you all day.”

Your cheeks flushed as his hands slid up to the hem of your hoodie, nudging it higher until he could feel your bare skin. His lips followed his hands, pressing kisses to your ribs, your tummy, lingering over your hip dips. Each touch made a shiver run through you, the warmth pooling low in your belly.

“You’re gorgeous.” He murmured, voice thick, almost rough with need. “You're soft, you're real… Everything I can’t stop wanting.”

He leaned closer, lips brushing yours in a feather-light kiss before dipping lower, nipping along your collarbone, trailing down your chest, making your breath come in shaky gasps. His hands cupped you firmly, thumbs teasing over sensitive spots, worshipping the curves you’d spent years doubting.

“You don’t get it, do you?” He murmured against your skin, sliding his lips over your thighs now, making you whimper softly. “I don’t want perfection. I want you. Every stretched line, every chubby curve… Every inch.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair as he kissed and teased, worshipping, driving you wild with need and warmth. Every insecurity melted under his touch; the way he looked at you made your chest ache in the best way, like every soft curve of yours was his personal obsession.

When he finally kissed you again, deep and hungry, your body arched toward him instinctively, every soft, real part of you claiming his attention. And in that moment, you realized the truth: he didn’t just love you, he craved you.

Christian’s hands roamed freely, lips and mouth and teeth teasing, worshipping, making you melt in the best way possible. And as he pressed his body against yours, you finally understood: your softness wasn’t just accepted… It was desired, every curve adored, every line kissed, every inch of you his favorite thing in the world.