Tooth-rotting fluff, angst, and then fluff again. Like some sort of bittersweet sandwich.
Basically a chubby!Vincent appreciation post... Also I wanted this to be Gn!reader (so if you’re not a girl shhh don’t think too hard, just pretend queer ppl could get married in the '50s), and you're a stay-at-home wife/husband/spouse
Summary: You and Vincent come home from your honeymoon, but he gets insecure once he realizes he's put on a little weight. Obviously, it's your job to comfort your husband and remind him how hot he is.
You'd been together for just over a year, when Vincent (finally!) got down on one knee and proposed to you, with a 20-karat gold ring. Obviously, enthusiastically, you said - no, screamed - Yes!
You were engaged for just a couple of weeks before you got married. And just a few weeks after the wedding, summer came, and the latest season of your husband's talk-show came to a close. Well! Since you two had nothing but free time from now all the way until his next season, you took advantage of your break and had a four-month honeymoon on an all-inclusive Caribbean cruise.
(Hey, he could afford it, so why the heck not? Besides, Vincent had actively begged for you to choose the cruise option, because, you know, he was hoping to see some sharks while on the boat. All he found was one dorsal fin, and it turned out to be attached to a dolphin, and he was pretty upset about that.)
Though it was such a long honeymoon, neither of you were ready to come back home. But you had to, now that Vincent's season premiere was coming up fast.
"I never thought I'd say this," he sighed on the night you'd returned, "But I don't wanna go back on TV tomorrow."
"Oh, no?" you asked, coy amusement in your voice as you parked the luggage in the living room. "Why's that?"
He came up behind you, his hands settling on and squeezing your shoulders. "'Cause I wanna be back on that cruuuiiise," he whined, pushing his cheek against the side of your neck. You giggled at the ticklish sensation he gave you, and you tilted your head back.
"Just you and me," he reminisced, "No hard work. Just waves and sunsets..." his voice trailed off as his hands slid down your arms, and then folded over your torso, so that he was spooning you.
"And moonlit nights," you chimed in. You started to sway subtly from left to right. "Dancing."
He smiled, reached for your hand, and spun you around in a circle. "And the fireworks," he added, once you were back in his arms.
"Yeah," you said, "And the candlelit dinners."
"Ugh, God, all that food was fuckin' amazing," he groaned. "I might even have to cut back a little now."
True, your boyfriend... Your husband had gained a few pounds since the start of the trip. But there hadn't been any reason to point it out to him, since it was far from being unhealthy or worrisome. In fact, it may have even been healthy, seeing him step back from the pressures of always being on camera. So you decided against saying anything at all, as Vincent had a tendency to be a perfectionist who could take any commentary the wrong way.
Now, you simply chuckled at his remark and pecked him. He beamed childishly at the fact you'd kissed him for no reason, and you reached up to adjust his square glasses. "Hey, how about one final night of uninterrupted romance before we go back to reality, hm? What do you think?"
He interlaced his hand with yours. "Yeah! I'm thinkinggg... We cuddle, stay on the couch, spoon, watch some I Love Lucy, snuggle under a blanket, kiss... Who knows, maybe all that leads to something more inappropriate."
"Sounds about perfect," you hummed. As he set up the show on the TV, you set up the couch by rearranging the pillows and then fetching the extra blanket from the closet. When you came back, Vincent had taken off his glasses and laid down, his body splayed out across the length of the couch.
While he was distracted by the TV, you took a quick second to observe him; his naturally squared face had gained some roundness, especially in the cheeks. You could see that his tummy was slightly bigger than before, though his tacky Hawaiian shirt was hiding it pretty well. His shorts, however, couldn't hide that his thighs were a little thicker. And you could tell that there was certainly less space available for you on the couch.
In honesty, you were relieved to see that he wasn't being as hard on himself as he usually was. Holding onto the folded blanket, you crawled onto and laid down on the slim, vacant spot in front of your husband. He absent-mindedly settled his hand on your back, his gaze fully glued to the sitcom on the screen.
You pressed a kiss to his cheek - Chu! - Yes, his face was definitely a bit fuller now. You couldn't resist pressing your face deeper, nuzzling his cheek before you chomped on it.
"Ouch!" Vincent jerked back, eyes flicking back to you. "Hey, that hurts, Y/n," he muttered, taking his hand off of you to rub at the bitemark you'd left behind.
"Sorry," you smiled. "I meant that affectionately."
He narrowed his eyes. "M-hm. Sure." You leaned forward to kiss him again, but he pulled away. "No biting!"
"I won't, I won't," you promised, still trying to reach him. "I'll kiss it better."
"Mm... Okay." Hesitating, he took his hand away, like he wasn't certain he trusted you. But you kept your word, and showered his cheek in kisses.
He instantly lit up, and he started giggling. “Alright, you’re forgiven- Enough, it tickles!” He draped one arm across your body, quite possessively. “Just come here,” he said, pulling you closer so your head was below his. He moved one leg up and rested it over both of yours, and you noticed he felt unmistakably heavier. You smirked, snuggling up to the new squishiness of his body.
"Sho shoft," you mumbled.
He nestled his face against the crook of your neck. "Hm? What did you say, m'love?"
Though he'd made it known that he was aware he'd gained weight, you knew he'd still probably feel bad if you brought it up.
"Oh, nothing. Just that this is my favorite place," you answered as you spread the blanket over the both of you. You settled your gaze on the TV.
Vincent made a little noise, a scoff between confused and mocking. "The... Couch?"
"No, silly," you snickered. "In your arms."
"Pfft- Oh," he laughed, and he pulled you in tighter. "Mine, too, then," he added. He slid his foot across your calf, his fuzzy shark sock making you squirm from how it tickled your skin. Your reaction made him smile, and he rubbed his nose against the back of your head, and he kissed your nape. Against your neck, he mumbled softly, almost soft enough that you didn't hear him, "My darling."
The truth was, all the spooning and kissing didn't lead to anything "inappropriate." You both were exhausted from the travel, and neither one of you even made it halfway through an episode before passing out.
You woke up to sleepy words muttered in your ear. "In your neck of the woods... Seventy-one degrees..."
You cracked open your eyes, found daylight spilling in from between the curtains of the living room window, and realized that you and Vincent had accidentally spent the entire night on the couch.
"Partly cloudy, no chance of rain... Leave your umbrellas..."
Upon recognizing that he was reporting in his sleep, you burst into a fit of suppressed giggles. You shimmied out from under his arm and sat up. "Hey, weather-boy. It's morning."
"That's it for today... Trust us..."
You shook him. "Vinny, wake up!"
"With your weather!" he jerked his head off the couch as you pulled him out of his sleep. You couldn't help snickering... He was a sight to behold; peppered hair in a dire bedhead, a bit of drool on one cheek, one eye half-closed as he owl-blinked at you. "What do you want?"
You combed your fingers through your husband's thick, spiky hair. "It's morning."
"Mmmph," he responded, closing his eyes again and setting his head back down. "Honey, I already explained to you, honeymoons are meant for sleeping in, okay."
You kissed his temple and ruffled his hair. "Honeymoon's over, my love."
This time, both his eyes shot wide open. "Fuck!" he hissed, jolting upright. He looked past you and squinted at the clock on the wall. "What time does that say? Where are my glasses?"
You reached over to the table beside you and carefully handed him his lenses. "It's 9:30."
"9:30?! I should've been ready half an hour ago!" He snatched his glasses from you, pushed them on, jumped off the couch, tripped over himself, and finally darted to the bedroom.
You calmly followed him, and by the time you got to the room, you saw that he'd already shed yesterday's clothes and left them lying chaotically on the floor. You rolled your eyes and picked them up. You placed them in the laundry bin, then peeked in the bathroom to find Vincent already wearing new pairs of boxers and socks, as he frantically brushed his teeth.
You smirked. "That was fast. Hey, do you want breakfast before you go?"
He took a moment to spit in the sink. "Uh, yeah, just make it quick."
"Noted," you said, as he dashed past you and to the closet. He pulled out a pair of brown corduroy slacks and slid them on- And struggled. He jumped up and down, trying to pull them up as fast as he could. He did get them up, but once he started to zip them, you could clearly see that the zipper had absolutely no intention of budging over the little roll circling your husband's waist.
Vincent's eyes widened. His face paled. "No- No way- There's no way that I actually-" He began pulling furiously at the zipper. "Oh, no, no, no- Fuck me..."
You bit your lip, unsure of how to approach him. "Everything okay, sweetheart?"
He looked up at you, his blanched face quickly flushing to pink, from shock to embarrassment. He shifted his body away from you and hid his zipper with one hand. "Yeah. Great. So great. Why don't you get started on breakfast?"
Hesitantly, you left the room. You went to the kitchen, reheated some leftovers from the cruise (you had absolutely nothing in the fridge since you were gone for so many months), and placed the makeshift breakfast on the table.
A loud thud against the wall was heard, followed by a "Shit!"
Your heart sank as you started to worry. "Vincent?" you called. There was no response.
Cautiously, you went back to the bedroom and lingered in the doorway. Nothing. You checked the bathroom, and found your husband gaping at himself in the mirror, both hands deep in his hair as he breathed shakily. On the floor behind him were two other pairs of pants and button-down shirts.
"Vince?" you asked softly.
He turned to you, and you saw that he was wearing white pants and a matching button-down. These pants, like the other pair you’d watched him put on, could only get about halfway-zipped before refusing to move further. As for his shirt, it was totally unbuttoned.
"I-I can't get the shirt closed," he admitted, total panic and shame written on his face. He looked so helpless. "Can you please try?"
He almost never, ever asked for help, for anything; he was clearly freaking out. You wanted to help, but you winced as you stared at the outfit. "Vince… That isn't going to-"
You hated disappointing him, so you reluctantly gave it a try. You took hold of both sides of the shirt and tried pulling them towards each other. The sides almost met- But didn't. You could feel Vincent cringe silently as you tugged harder.
You very nearly got the middle button through its designated hole, but there was still a centimeter of space that separated them. You probably could have pulled it through, but it definitely would have ended up popping off. You gave up, and apologetically clasped your hands. "Sorry, honey, but you're a little too big for this to fit you anymore."
He gulped. "I'm… I'm what?" His voice immediately turned raspy, like he might cry. "But- But I can't fit into any of my other formal wear- And my show's almost starting- What am I gonna do?"
Your mind raced for a good answer while Vincent looked like he was on the verge of a catastrophic meltdown.
"Okay. I can go to the store, buy you a suit a few sizes bigger, and be back in twenty-five minutes-"
He shook his head, his hands flying back into his hair. "Twenty-five..? No, no, forget it. I'm already late. Oh, God, I've fucked up..."
You tried to calm him down. "Well, you do own the network, dearest. It’s gonna be fine, I mean, it’s not like you can get fired for being late to a show that you own."
"No, that's not the problem- I'm the problem- I mean, I've got this perfect image to uphold- And they'll take one look at me, and my ratings are... Gonna..." he trailed off. He looked back in the mirror, his hands sliding down from his hair to grip the sides of his face. "I won't go on TV ever again..."
You didn't mean to, but you nearly smirked. Your husband could be so very dramatic. "Ever? Hun, don't you think you're overreacting just a little tiny bit?"
But he wasn't listening to you. "Fuck- What the hell did I do to myself?"
Your almost-smirk faded. Oh, boy. "Vinny?"
"How could I let this happen to me?"
A pang of guilt suddenly struck you. Maybe if you'd said something more encouraging before, he wouldn't be panicking, wouldn't be thinking that he was 'imperfect' now.
You could see in his face, he was beginning to turn to anger. He left the bathroom and headed for the bedroom, tugging off his button-down as he did. "Fuckin' dumbass is what I am," he said, crumpling the shirt into a ball. "All-inclusive, for months- I mean, am I stupid? What did I think was gonna happen?" He threw the shirt onto the bed. "I'm such an idiot!"
Carefully, you came up behind him, and touched a hand to his back. He didn't move.
"Sweetheart?" you asked. When he still didn't respond, you circled around to his front. His head was hanging low, and his eyes were wet. He reached his fingers under his glasses and rubbed his eyes before the tears could come out.
"I've really fucked it all up this time..."
"What, your entire career? Because of one little trip?"
"Well just look at what it did to me," he huffed. He took his glasses off and properly wiped his face. "I can't even fit in my goddamn clothes."
"So you need new clothes," you said, gingerly taking his glasses from him. "So what."
"Are you kidding me? So what?" he snapped. "So I'm gonna be the laughing stock of the talk-show hosts! Believe me, Pudgy-Whittman is gonna be every comedian's headline by this time tomorrow! And everyone will be watching that, 'cause they won't wanna watch me, 'cause I only get views 'cause I'm eye-candy! 'Cause God knows my content isn't fucking good enough!"
Your heart broke for him a little. Never mind how you were mentally congratulating him earlier for not being so tough on himself.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a slow breath. "I'm not hot anymore, and I'm gonna lose half my audience, and every rating I've scraped for is gonna tank..."
You took his hand off his face. "No, baby, no. You've got everything all wrong." You sat him down on the edge of the bed, seating yourself beside him. A tear finally made it down his cheek, and before he could turn his face to hide it from you, you reached over and wiped it away. "Audiences watch you because you're good at what you do. You won't lose views because of this. Trust me."
He looked at you with those big, mismatched eyes of his. "You promise?"
"I do," you said, caressing his cheek. "And anyway... You are still just as hot, you know."
Slowly, he leaned down to rest his head against your shoulder. "You promise?" he asked again.
You broke into a smile, and you kissed his forehead. "I promise, baby." You interwove your fingers with his. "You're way too hard on yourself, Vincent. I wish you'd lighten up."
Your husband made a quiet whimper as he nestled into the crook of your neck. "Just... Tell me I'm good enough."
You leaned your face against his. "Well, of course you are."
He sighed in relief. He made a little sniffle, and then bashfully pulled his arm around you. "Where would I be without you?"
You chuckled. "I dunno. Losing your shit, probably."
He made a tiny scoff. God, he was so precious. If any of his viewers out there really wouldn't be able to see that, they'd have to be insane.
"Listen," you said, "I can get you something to wear for tomorrow, but today, you're already really late, and I can't get you anything before your show. And I don't want you up there performing your devil-may-care act anyway, when you're not in a solid emotional state. So why don't I call and tell them you won't be able to make it?"
He didn't respond. "Hm? Vinny, my love? We'll just take the day off. We can actually have that last-hurrah of romance we wanted last night. Only this time we don't fall asleep."
He huffed, reluctantly taking his head off your shoulder. "Okay."
You made the three-minute call out in the living room, and came back to find Vincent lying face-down on the bed. This time, you really did smirk.
"Vinny," you snickered, hopping onto the bed and kneeling beside his face. "Aw, my darling husband." You ran your fingers through his hair. You gently tugged at a zig-zagging, silver cowlick that stood out in the wrong direction, towards the back of his head.
You had always absolutely loved his hair, you found it fascinating to look at. Back when you met him, he’d been insecure about his gray hairs, but you’d been able to convince him it was beautiful. Maybe you'd be able to convince him he was beautiful now, too.
"Your darling husband feels like trash," he mumbled into the mattress.
You chuckled at his third-person narrative. "Poor baby… Does he need kisses?"
He turned his face to the left, and that was obviously supposed to be an invitation for you to kiss him. You couldn’t hide your smile.
You kissed his temple, then his cheek, then his jawline, then the corner of his mouth. He blinked a little, like that had tickled him.
You patted your lap. “Come here.”
He sighed, and he pulled his head up to rest it on your thighs. He settled in your lap, his cheek smushed up against your leg. You ran your finger down his shoulder, gently, like you were petting a dove. “What’s bothering you?”
He squeezed your knee. “I just… I just really liked being hot. I don’t wanna be chubby.”
“But you can be both, darling.”
“M-mm. The world won’t agree with you when I go on tomorrow.” He groaned softly. “I know they're gonna tear me to shreds for this. I know they are.”
“No, they’re not,” you said. “But if anyone does- I’ll just kill them. Okay? How's that sound?”
His eyes widened. He turned his face so that he was looking up at you. “Really? You would do that for me?”
You pushed back the brown strands of hair that hung above his eyebrows. “Of course, sweetheart. They badmouth you one time, and I promise you'll be reading their obituary in two days.”
His green eye was contrasting brilliantly with his blue, in the light of the morning sunshine. A small, crooked smile appeared on his face. "That's so sweet of you."
"You know me," you hummed cheerfully. You kissed his forehead.
Thoughtfully, he turned his head so that his cheek was resting against your leg again. "Hm. I guess they can say whatever they want about me if it means they’ll end up six feet under.”
“That’s the spirit, Vinny.”
“Can I pick where to bury them?”
Hey guys, hope you liked it! Btw, to those who voted for the chubby!Vox fic instead, it's here in case you missed it :3
