hi!! Could you please write a fluffy Bucky fic where chubby!reader doesn’t really dress up too often, so the first time they go to someone’s wedding together, she wears a pink girly dress and feels self conscious about it? I’m literally in this situation and I would love if I had someone who could reassure me about it😭
You don’t dress up often.
Comfort has always been your thing—soft sweaters, high-waisted jeans, oversized hoodies that swallow you whole. You like feeling tucked in, hidden. Safe. And Bucky’s never once complained. If anything, he’s always tugging you closer when you’re wrapped up in something cozy, pressing his face into your shoulder like you’re his favorite blanket.
But tonight is different.
Tonight is a wedding.
And for reasons you’re still not entirely sure about, you’d picked the pink dress.
It’s soft and flowy, the kind of pink that feels almost too sweet—blush, with little flutter sleeves and a cinched waist that shows off your curves instead of hiding them. When you saw it on the hanger, you thought maybe it would feel romantic. Girly. Different.
Now, standing in front of your mirror, it just feels… loud.
You smooth your hands down your hips, over the swell of your stomach, the curve of your thighs. The fabric clings in places. It doesn’t hide the softness you usually try to blur out.
Your chest tightens.
“What was I thinking?” you murmur to your reflection. “I look ridiculous.”
From the bedroom doorway, Bucky’s voice drifts in, warm and curious. “You ready, doll?”
You hesitate.
He steps into view — dark slacks, crisp button-up, sleeves rolled to his forearms. He looks unfairly handsome, like he stepped straight out of some old Hollywood movie. His hair’s pushed back, jaw clean-shaven, eyes soft the second they land on you.
And then he just… stops.
His breath catches.
You immediately cross your arms over your middle. “It’s stupid, right? I never wear stuff like this. I should’ve just stuck to black or something. I don’t know why I thought I could pull off pink.”
He blinks, like your words don’t compute.
“Stupid?” he repeats quietly.
You shrug, eyes darting away. “It’s clingy. And bright. And I feel like everyone’s just gonna stare and think I’m trying too hard.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then Bucky moves.
He crosses the room like he’s approaching something fragile, like he’s afraid you might shatter if he moves too fast. His hands come up, gently wrapping around your wrists and guiding your arms down from where you’ve folded yourself closed.
“Don’t,” he murmurs.
You swallow. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t hide from me.”
His metal hand rests warm against your waist, his other cupping your cheek, tilting your face so you have to look at him.
His expression isn’t teasing. It isn’t distracted.
It’s reverent.
“Do you have any idea,” he says softly, “what I thought when I saw you just now?”
You shake your head.
“I thought I was the luckiest man in the room. And we’re not even there yet.”
Your throat tightens.
“Buck…”
“You walked out in that dress and I forgot how to breathe,” he continues, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “Pink suits you. It makes you look soft and glowing and—” he huffs out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. “Sweetheart, you look like the damn love interest in a romance movie.”
You try to smile, but insecurity still claws at you. “You don’t have to say that just because I’m spiraling.”
“I’m not saying it because you’re spiraling,” he says gently. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”
His hands slide down to your hips, fingers spreading wide, squeezing like he’s grounding himself.
“I love this,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to your waist. “I love how this dress shows you. All of you.”
Heat floods your face. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
He looks up sharply. “Why?”
“Because it shows everything.”
“Good.”
You blink. “Good?”
“Yeah,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Why would I want the world to miss out on seeing how beautiful you are?”
You laugh weakly. “That’s not—”
“Listen to me.” His voice softens again. “You think I fell in love with you in spite of your body?”
The words hit you square in the chest.
“No,” you whisper.
“I fell in love with all of you,” he says firmly. “Your laugh. The way you snort when something’s really funny. The way you curl into me when you’re half-asleep.” His hands squeeze your hips again. “And yeah. These curves? This softness? I adore it. I love having something to hold onto. I love the way you feel against me.”
Your eyes sting.
“I just…” Your voice wobbles. “I don’t look like the girls who usually wear dresses like this.”
Bucky’s expression shifts to a protective gleam.
“You look like you,” he says. “And that’s more than enough.”
He steps back just enough to look at you fully, eyes roaming over you slowly to admire.
“You look radiant,” he says quietly. “You look happy. You look like you trusted yourself enough to try something new.”
His gaze lifts back to yours.
“And if anyone in that room looks at you and sees anything other than how stunning you are, that’s their problem. Not yours.”
Your lip trembles. “You really think I look okay?”
His mouth drops open in disbelief.
“Okay?” he echoes. Then he shakes his head and leans in, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your shoulder. “You look breathtaking.”
He pulls back just enough to murmur against your skin, “I’m gonna spend the whole night trying not to glare at anyone who looks at you too long.”
That makes you laugh for real.
“There she is,” he says softly, smiling when you do. “That’s my girl.”
He offers you his arm.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go show off my beautiful date.”
You hesitate for half a second—then you slide your hand into the crook of his elbow.
And when you catch your reflection one last time before leaving, you still see softness. You still see curves.
But now, layered over it, you see something else.
You see the way he looks at you.
And for the first time all evening, you think maybe—just maybe—that’s enough.
Ahhh I luv your work! Can you pls do a plus sized reader x finnick where reader is a bit self conscious due to maybe something another victor said or how the capitol people were
thank you!! and thanks for requesting <3 i love this so so so so so so much!
victor!finnick odair x plus sized!victor!fem!reader
tw: body insecurity!! don't read if you are uncomfortable please
"Is something wrong?" Finnick said, his voice deep and uncharacteristically quiet. His face looked raw as he stared at you, silently pleading with you to tell him something. Anything.
You forced a smile. "Nothing's wrong," you replied, averting your eyes from his heavy gaze and focusing on the mirror in front of you.
They were right, you thought. You were ugly. Too ugly to be with Finnick, anyway. He was skinny where you were curvy, he had muscles where you had rolls of fat. He had a pretty face and you had a chubby one. You were nothing special.
He tilted his head, unbelieving. "Honey," he murmured. "Please."
The elevator doors opened and you stepped out, away from him and his piercing look. You glanced back, and the hurt on his face was evident as you turned around again. "There's nothing wrong," you whispered.
Later, you lay face down on your bed, head shoved into your pillow. Your tears were silent, but even if they were loud, they would have been muffled anyway.
You heard a knock on the door. Finnick. "Can I come in?" he asked, too good for his own good.
Knowing he wouldn't stop until he found out what was wrong, you relented, a sigh so heavy he could hear it from outside the room.
He pushed open the door softly, his head peeking out from behind the frame. Spotting you on the bed, he immediately crouched down by your side, pulling you to face him with ease.
Finnick's gaze softened at the tear tracks on your face. "Oh, sweetheart," he crooned, his voice oozing with honey. "You gotta tell me what's wrong."
He cupped your cheeks in his warm palms, nothing in his eyes but care and concern. "I don't know," you whimpered, and his heart shattered. "They were just-"
His face hardened, his body becoming almost unresponsive except for the occasional thumbing away of your tears. "They? Who's they, honey?"
You sobbed, and he climbed into the bed with you, wrapping his arms around you. "It's okay," he cooed, "you're okay, baby."
Once you felt okay to speak, he pulled away from you, just slightly. "Some of the victors," you said, hesitating slightly. He motioned for you to keep going. "They were telling me awful things. About how I didn't deserve you. How I was fat, and ugly, and-"
Finnick cut you off with a finger to your lips. "And you believed them?" he asked, incredulous. "Honey, you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen." He pressed a kiss to your forehead, tightening his hold around you. "You're absolutely gorgeous, alright? Just the way you are."
"Really?" you murmured, your voice barely audible.
"Really. And if anyone tells you otherwise, I'll kill them myself."
You giggled wetly, pressing your face into his chest. "By the way," he said, "I'm just curious. Who said this to you?"
"I'm not sure," you admitted, wiping the remaining tears away from your cheeks. "I think they were the two from District Three. Why?"
So as you all know, I am today very wise and mature woman; I say smart things, and I have good opinions. However, there was a time when I was but a wee child, with no insight, but I still had opinions. And insecurities, like all female children, I was worried about my looks.
One of the things I was upset about, was the appearance of my legs. Women's legs were shown in media as the main attraction back in the early 90s, when I was consuming movies and cartoons. Even in animation, a signal that a beautiful woman was behind the corner, was a dainty, curvy leg being shown from behind the wall, to distract and lure an unsuspecting character. My leg was not curvy or dainty. My legs looked muscular. They were also very hairy. I would look at them and feel like maybe I am not a girl enough, maybe I got too many traits passed down from my father, and now I didn't look like a girl, and I wouldn't count as one, and I could never pass a successful female cartoon character, a thing that was very important back in the day.
It's also, when you're a teen, you're convinced that any visual flaw you have is the reason why nobody will ever love you. It's funny now, but when you're 14 it feels real. So I believed I would be left behind by the world, because my legs were so unsightly and I shouldn't ever allow anyone to look at them, the disgrace. The shame.
I have since lived a fair bit of my life, and found that my legs, not only look muscular, they're very strong. They give me immensely good balance, because my feet are also large, and my thighs hold a lot of weight, so my center of balance is very low. Nobody can push me and have me topple over, I stand still. I rarely fall down because of how naturally good my balance is. I was able to go running, even after being sick for months, and I could do it for half an hour without training, just because of how naturally strong my legs are. I can do leg exercises without any issues, even without being consistent with it. Now I'm mad that my arms are so weak and I can't lift things as well as I can use my legs. My ability to walk, run, keep balance, climb, exercise, have been invaluable to my life. I'm never looking at my legs with anything but admiration because they're a powerful asset to me.
Another thing I had felt a bit bad about, was the size of my nose. I thought it was too big for my face, and it wasn't really. It was too much media with tiny nosed women that have swayed my opinion of how big women's noses are allowed to be. But, I thought I'd look better with a smaller nose, and that it was making my face be ugly, so it was a reason to drown in sorrow. (I say this jokingly. I only felt a little bad).
I look at the mirror now, and I'm laughing because this nose is big so I could breathe really well! I really thought as a teen that I would do better with a smaller nose? That's where my breathing goes trough! My lungs are, blessed and healthy, and this means I am not struggling to breathe, I am able to fall asleep breathing trough my nose easily, I can blow a lot of phlegm when I'm sick all at once, and clear my nostrils easily, this is a very functional and good nose to have! And it's the correct size for my face, I would look ridiculous with any other nose than my own.
A lot of my opinions have changed, because I've aged and experienced life, I've met a lot of people who didn't have what I had. A pair of healthy legs, a good functional nose. I've befriended people who had something wrong with their leg, or had one missing. People who struggled with breathing. I've met older people who had trouble with their hips, arms, shoulders, back, eyes, skin. I sadly, got some parts of me non-functional too, so now I can't run or walk as I used to, and I experience problems and pain on almost daily basis. So now it feels very silly to be critical of appearance of perfectly good, functioning, healthy and helpful body parts; they're giving me great joy and ability to do whatever I want with them!
And I also believe I never would think to feel shame about the appearance of my nose, or my legs, if I hadn't been exposed to media that was very particular about how women, or female characters could look. It was like being told 'this is whats expected of you', and I couldn't reach it. I was a teen, and teens are more sensitive to appearance than any other demographic. It made me distressed. There was nothing I could do but feel like something is wrong with me, and I would be proclaimed ugly because of this severe flaw. Somehow males were never subjected to standards that harsh; they would receive onscreen representation love regardless of the muscles in their legs, or sizes of their noses, I wonder why is that.
It would have been so nice to see hairy, muscular, big nosed women in the media when I was a kid! Then I would look at my legs and nose and think 'yes, I am just like that female superhero, I am going to kick ass when I grow up'. Wouldn't that have been nice to grow up with?
I didn’t see if your request are open or not, and if they aren’t I am sorry.
But if they are..
Chubby Fem reader x Secondo?
Blessed Be 🧿 🪬
Secondo x plus size f! reader. Body insecurity, comfort, fluff, many Secondo kissies.
Secondo sits upon a plush couch, his legs crossed. He adjusts his cuff and lays a hand upon his knee, dark sunglasses shield his eyes even while inside the boutique, and his expression remains stoic as always. Salespeople hover around nervously, unsure whether to offer him anything, or remain silent as he waits for the woman he came in with to come out of the changing room.
It's so quiet, one could almost imagine crickets, and Secondo strains to make out even the softest shuffle from within the room you were currently confined. A worker to his right glances from him to the closed changing room door several times, her feet bouncing in place before she takes a step forward. Secondo holds up his hand, silently, and the woman stops, her face pale.
He gets up, gloved fingers adjusting his waistcoat, and he steps toward the door, knuckles rapping against the wood. "Amore," his voice is quiet, a gentle rasp. "My eyes are bereft of you. Will you not come out?"
There's a beat of silence, and then the door opens with a creak, your face peering out, brow furrowed. Your cheeks are hot with embarrassment. "Nothing is working...," you murmur.
"What is not working, my dove?"
"Everything," your voice is exasperated, pained as you hide your form behind the half open door. "This isn't the store for me."
Secondo arches a brow, his sunglasses subtly lifting. "Ah, then we shall go elsewhere, sì? Do not feel as if you must pretend to like the selection for my benefit."
"The selection is fine. These just aren't clothes for someone like me..."
"I am not understanding." Secondo attempts to push the door wider and you stop it. The quickness with which you attempt to shield yourself from him, the widening of your eyes, the shame in them, they stop Secondo cold.
"No," he says. It is not in protest to you, and it is inflected with devastation, worry, love. He pushes through the door, and you make a noise as you're crowded into the small space, the door firmly closing behind him.
Secondo takes off his sunglasses, his eyes moving over your form. You're wearing a dress, a lovely shade of green, and it is form fitting. The skin under your arms spill over the cut of the sleeve, breasts filling all available space, and every roll and bump is accentuated, your belly stretching the material. He can see the outline of your belly button. And then his eyes return to your face, and you look so sad. But the way your shoulders are curved inward, and you try so hard to not look at him, he can see you're steeling yourself. Waiting for an unkind word. Waiting to be told that you are too fat, too ugly. And his heart is in agony.
"Amore. Amore mio," he coos, stepping closer. "Look at your Papa." His hand cradles your jaw, turning you so carefully to face him, and it takes a moment, but your rapidly wettening eyes meet his. "Ah, sì. There she is. My most beautiful one." His fingers brush along your skin.
You open your mouth to protest, to pull away, but he only holds firmer, his other hand falling to your waist. "No, my dove. This is when we talk. We promised to be honest with each other, you remember, hmm? When I was so stubborn, too much of a cold man. But you have kept me warm by the fires of your heart, no?" His thumb wipes away a stray tear from your cheek. "Let me be your hearth."
"I should be doing more," you say, voice hushed and thick with tears. "I should look my best for you. You take me to these nice places, and I don't want to disappoint you."
"Amore. I have never wanted you to be more than yourself. I take you to nice places because I want to spoil you, but you must tell me when you feel uncomfortable." His hand drops from your face to join his other at your waist, slowly exploring your curves, curling underneath your belly, squeezing at the plushness of your bottom, gliding over the thickness of your thighs. "There is more than one definition of healthy. What I am concerned about, is that you feel confident, not only in what you are wearing, but what you are eating. I want you to have that extra treat than deny yourself because you think it fits some outdated notion that I have no interest in. And if you want to explore different habits, I am with you. Your journey is mine, no matter what form it takes."
You let out a breath, eyes straying to the ceiling as you try and reign in your emotion. But it's so hard not to cry, so hard to just...let it all go even though you want to fall into the sweetness of his words. The gentle reverence of his touch. "I just...want you to be proud of who is on your arm."
Secondo steps forward, leg between your thighs in order to press you against the wall. You squeak in surprise, and he smiles, tilting his head to ghost his lips over yours, his breath hot against your skin. "I am proud. So proud, amore mio. This Papa does not deserve the blessing of your presence. The deliciously sinful sensation of your body pressed against his own." His fingers unzip the dress, closing the distance with a quick kiss when you sigh in relief as he pulls the tight material from your body. "I wish to drown in the beauty of you. Lose myself within the softness of your skin. You see, amore? Can you not see? I am undeserving."
His lips press featherlight to your neck, and then he bites, revelling in the way you arch against him. "You are so beautiful. Oh, my dove. Sì, sì, così perfetto per me..." The dress falls from you, pooling onto the floor, and he wraps his arms fully around you, hands flat against your back as he presses you against him with a desperate fervor, bodies melting against each other when he finally takes your lips in a passionate, deep kiss. Secondo licks into your mouth, swallowing any sound you make. His hand presses against your stomach, and he grabs at your flesh, kneading and caressing, worshipping you with hands that have overseen powerful rituals in Lucifer's name.
To Secondo, this is the most potent magic of all.
Secondo pulls away very slowly to brush his nose against yours, peppering tiny kisses to your cheeks. You take a shaky breath, fingers clinging to his jacket. "I love you," you tell him, lips pink and puffy and so perfect, he has to take another taste.
"And I love you. All of you. You are mine, hmm? You understand your Papa?" He looks deeply into your eyes, pinning you with a stare, that one that reminds you that Papa Emeritus II is just under the surface. It thrills you.
"I understand," you confirm, a smile finally crossing your features, one that he mirrors as his thumb once more strokes over your cheek.
"Good girl," he whispers.
Secondo picks up the dress and tosses it to the side, giving you space to change back into your clothes. He takes the edge of your shirt and helps you bring it down, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind as he continues to rain kisses upon every inch of your face he can reach from this position. It makes you giggle, so he does it more.
When the two of you leave the changing room, the workers are at the front, and thankfully say nothing as Secondo makes no effort to return his sunglasses to his face, that white eye rooting them to the spot as he guides you from the store. Will it be much of a surprise Monday morning when the manager receives an email from corporate about including plus sizes?
Secondo spends the entire ride home touching you in some manner, kissing you, lavishing you in the attention you rightfully deserve. Because your body is his temple, and he plans to worship it for the rest of his life.
You are more than worthy. You are perfect. You are his home.
Body and voice insecurities fucking suck because you just want to enjoy videos/photos of ye good old days and every single one is RUINED by the fact that you stick out like a sore thumb with the sheer putridity of your ugly ahh mug and your annoying fucking voice
Sometimes, you forget that you are beautiful for other people, and you need to be reminded of it. That's what happened to Lucas not too long ago, poor boy couldn't find anything attractive about himself, thinking Zack was the handsome one in the couple. Zack had to remind him of how much he loves him and how much he finds him attractive.
