Fat Reader crying because theyre insecure about their weight, and when Simon, the man Reader's been pining on for months confesses to them, they think its a cheap joke, and degrade themselves, saying "You can't even pick me up!"
Simon somehow gets Reader's number (Reader did NOT give it) and sends a video of Simon hip thrusting double Reader's weight with sweet groans, the outline of his bulge straining, clearly imagining Reader was on top of him.
summary : The boys are at a pub celebrating, when a few drunken words have your stomach twisting to knots.
cw : mentions of insecurities regarding female genitalia, short reader, petite reader, talk of low self esteem, eventual smut, virgin reader, bit angsty but fluffy in the other part (pt 2 in the making)
authors note : very self indulgent btw. (this is my first fic in a while, be nice)
There’s only one word that could describe the state you’re in:
buzzed.
Incredibly fucking buzzed.
So buzzed that you’re already nursing your fourth beer, head propped against the wall, trying to make out some words from the conversation everyone’s having… though mostly, you’re tuning out.
I mean, it’s just guy talk, after all.
After another very successful mission, the boys and you, are getting drunk. The drunkest of all, as always, is Johnny.
He seemed to have had a one-night stand a couple days ago, and he’s drunk enough to amuse everyone with the story.
Long black hair, somewhat curvy, with a tiny waist and perky tits. Your nose wrinkles in disgust as he keeps talking about his out-of-body experience with the girl, almost eight years younger than him. You roll your eyes sometimes, annoyed, yes, but also secretly happy he’s happy.
“I cannae get over it! The lass had a wee waist, she did! Could wrap both me hands round it an’ still feel like I’ve got room tae spare.”
He keeps babbling, hands in the air for comparison, as if he’s actually holding it while he speaks. You roll your eyes for what feels like the tenth time. The guys just keep laughing and shaking their heads, not really taking him seriously.
Then… the description gets a little more lewd.
“‘Er figure was somethin’ else. Daftly perky n’ proud tits, all natural, pretty lil’ cunnie… Christ, I cudn’t look away.”
Now, it’s different when it’s only the guys, but with you listening… the tension shifts. Price’s eyes flick from you to Soap to his beer. Everyone else sighs, rubs at their temples. You try to act like you’re not listening, scrolling on your phone, staring somewhere else but more than his lewd words, your stomach drops for a different reason.
Ever since you can remember, you’ve felt insecure. Height, body, hair… everything. It felt like you were “girling” wrong your entire life, growing up chubby, still trying to get in your ideal shape. You fought to become a soldier, despite everyone saying you were too short or incompetent. It was hard, but you were trying to prove something.
Now, at 23, still a virgin because of your insecurities, you hardly ever feel bad about it. Between work and exhaustion, there’s little space in your mind for anything else. But there are rare moments like this, where someone’s words make you question if you’ll ever end up with someone at all.
Because, however annoyed the guys sound, Johnny’s description is clearly doing something. Price loosens his collar every so often. Simon swallows. Hard. Even inside his mask, Gaz is listening carefully, looking a bit spaced out. And you’ve never seen Johnny’s eyes spark like this before. And it kills you.
Not only are you still somewhat chubby, your heavy tits slightly sagged, your outie visible, asymmetrical. You can barely look at yourself, let alone let anyone else see. Words like Johnny’s are exactly why you can’t.
The thought of sex makes you melt, smile, dimples showing. Someone looking into your eyes as they fill you up. Kisses everywhere, their body warm against yours, sweet words whispered in your ear… All the things you crave but would never reach.
Johnny, as drunk as he is, turns to you.
“‘Ave y’ ever had sex, lass?”
You swallow, caught off guard. Shake your head. Take another sip of beer before putting it down and fiddling with your hands.
Johnny groans in disappointment.
“Why the hell no? Ye’re a bonnie lass, an’ it feels bleedin’ amazin’.”
You sigh.
“Jus’ haven’t had the time,”
You mutter. You know it doesn’t sound convincing.
It doesn’t.
Johnny snorts. “Ah’m no buyin’ that. C’mon, tell us.”
“Mactavish,” Simon’s voice rumbles almost immediately, silencing him.
Johnny communicates with Simon with just his eyes, it doesn’t take much skill. Right now, he’s saying two things: drop it.
Johnny nods and takes another sip, while you sit red and embarrassed in your seat.
You stay red in your seat, skinning your fingers alive and trying to make yourself small. The laughter and chatter around you continue, but it all blurs together. You feel the weight of everyone’s eyes, or maybe it’s just the way Johnny’s words linger in your head.
You take a slow sip of your beer, trying to focus on the cold liquid rather than the heat climbing your neck. You hear Johnny muttering something else, but you can’t catch it. You don’t want to.
Finally, you clear your throat, summoning as much composure as you can. “Well… it’s shit like the ones you were just saying that gets me scared,” you mutter, your voice quieter than you’d like, but firm enough. You put the empty cup down, standing before anyone can reply.
Johnny frowns, blinking at you through his drunken haze. “Scared? Wha—”
You cut him off with a small shake of your head. “I’m… I’m gonna head back to base,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. You pull your jacket closer around you and step away from the group, feeling the heat of embarrassment and a sting of frustration all at once.
The others start to murmur behind you, but you don’t wait for explanations or apologies. You just walk, boots clicking on the floor, trying not to cry or yell at yourself for feeling weak.
By the time you reach your room, the door shuts behind you with a solid click, and the noise of the world fades to nothing. You slump onto the bed, pulling the covers over yourself. The anger, the embarrassment, the longing…it’s all tangled together.
You stare at the ceiling, letting your thoughts drift. Johnny was drunk. That’s all. It’s nothing personal. But even so, the words he said… the way everyone reacted… it gnaws at you. You try to push it away, tell yourself it’s just another night of drinking and talking, but your heart keeps racing, reminding you how alone and unseen you feel sometimes.
You sink into the pillows, hugging yourself tight, wishing for comfort that isn’t there. Tomorrow, it’ll be work, routines, training…but tonight, it’s just you, the embarrassment, and the quiet ache of wanting something you’re not sure you can have.
After giving birth to your baby, you notice some changes about your body making you feel self conscious. But, your husbands know exactly how to comfort you 🥺
Nanami ❤︎ stretch marks
The room is quiet except for the soft rustle of fabric as you fold laundry, movements slower than they used to be. When you catch your reflection in the mirror, your hands still.
Faint lines stretch across your stomach, pale but unmistakable. Evidence of months spent growing someone else’s heartbeat inside you. Some days you can accept them. Today isn’t one of those days.
Nanami comes up behind you, instinctively reaching to pull you into his chest.
You tense and gently push his arm away.
“I’m sorry,” you say quickly. “I just… I don’t feel comfortable right now.”
He pauses. “Did I do something wrong?”
You shake your head, eyes burning. “My body doesn’t look or feel the same. I feel disgusting.”
Nanami turns you to face him fully, expression firm but gentle.
“Don’t say that.”
His voice is steady, certain.
“This body carried our child. It endured everything so they could live. That is not something to hide from.”
He doesn’t touch you again only looks at you like this truth is unshakable.
“You are beautiful because of what you’ve done. Especially because of it.”
Geto ❤︎ body acne
The bathroom mirror fogs as the shower warms, and you slip your shirt off slowly, turning your back toward the glass. Red marks scatter across your shoulders and down your chest, stubborn and sore.
You hesitate.
Geto leans against the doorway, towel slung over his shoulder.
“You starting without me?”
You shake your head, already reaching for another shirt. “I—I’ll be a minute.”
His eyes soften. “What’s wrong?”
You avoid his gaze. “My skin looks bad. I don’t want you to see it.”
Geto steps closer, voice calm, almost amused not mocking, just gentle.
“You mean the skin that’s healing? The skin that’s been through stress, hormones, recovery?”
He tilts his head.
“That’s not something I find ugly.”
You swallow.
“And if you still want privacy,” he adds easily, “I’ll wait. But don’t think for a second that this changes how I see you.”
Gojo ❤︎ small butt
You were supposed to be excited.
It’s your first real night out together since the baby just dinner, just the two of you. The dress Gojo picked hangs neatly on the hanger, expensive and pretty.
You slip it on… and frown.
Turning sideways, then back again, you sigh under your breath.
“Ugh. I look so flat.”
Gojo appears in the doorway, hands in his pockets.
“Flat where?”
You gesture vaguely. “Everywhere. This dress doesn’t help.”
He blinks, then grins like he’s genuinely confused.
“You’re kidding, right?”
You cross your arms. “I’m serious.”
Gojo walks over, stopping right in front of you.
“You survived pregnancy. You grew an entire human. And this is what you’re worried about?”
Then, softer but still confident:
“You look amazing because you’re you. Not because of curves. Not because of whatever trend your brain is bullying you with.”
He flashes a smile.
“Now come on. I didn’t book reservations just to lose to a mirror.”
Toji ❤︎ flat chest
You pull the top over your head and stare at yourself, jaw tightening.
It fits. Technically.
But it doesn’t sit right, doesn’t fill out the way it’s clearly meant to.
You step out of the bedroom. “Toji… this makes me look like a kid.”
Toji looks up from the couch, eyes sweeping over you once—slow, unapologetic.
“…You serious?”
He stands, hands in his pockets, smirk already forming.
“Come on, ma.”
Your face heats. “I’m being honest.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice.
“You don’t look like a kid. You look like the woman who carried my kid and still turns heads without trying.”
He tugs lightly at the fabric.
“And if this top doesn’t flatter you the way it should, that’s the top’s problem. Not yours.”
Then, smug grin fully back in place:
“But don’t worry. I’ll make sure the next one drives me crazy.”
Sukuna ❤︎ plus size
You and sukuna were working out when you paused mid-movement, breath catching as you straighten up. Your muscles ache faster these days, body heavier than it used to be.
“I should stop,” you mutter. “I don’t want to be too much.”
Sukuna scoffs immediately.
“Too much?”
He looks you over, arms crossed, expression almost offended.
“You carried life in this body. And now you think it’s fragile?”
You hesitate. “I don’t want to crush anyone.”
That earns a sharp grin.
“Please,” he says. “If anything, it proves you’re strong enough to handle more than before.”
He steps closer, voice low and confident.
“Don’t shrink yourself just because you’ve changed.”
Then, smug as ever:
“I’d be disappointed if you did.”
Summary: You'd thought that everything was fine, until one overheard conversation shattered the illusion, your rose-tinted glasses fading to black. The words cut deeper than anything you've ever heard, and suddenly, you're re-evaluating everything: your relationship, your body, your worth. Now, the man you love with everything you have exists peacefully beside you, as if nothing's changed, while you slowly unravel in silence. You're left wondering if he's already halfway out the door, and you're just the last to know.
Warnings: disordered eating, fainting, body image issues, insecure!reader, misunderstandings, female reader (no y/n)
word count: 4,059
A/N: it's a few days late cause i kept procrastinating on making the banner, whoops | prompt fill for day 30 of @juneofdoom | "This is it isn't it" | Doubt | Crying
{Read on A03} | what i'm listening to
“I don’t know what to do anymore, Sam.”
Bucky’s voice carries across the room and into the hallway, voice laced with mild exasperation. Sam, sitting across from him with an unimpressed look on his face, takes a sip of his coffee. You smile at the sight of Sam, his presence a welcome, if not completely unexpected, surprise at the start of your morning. He must have gotten home early from the mission he was on.
“She’s just so clingy,” Bucky says. “She literally won’t leave me alone. It’s almost annoying at this point.”
You freeze in the doorway, smile slipping off your face in an instant. His words tear through your heart, leaving a hollow ache in their wake.
“That just means she really likes you,” Sam says, shrugging his shoulders.
Bucky huffs, rubbing a hand down his face. “You don’t understand, man. It’s bad, like really bad. I can barely get any of my shit done with her begging for my attention twenty-four seven. I just need some damn space to breathe sometimes.”
You didn’t think you were that bad. Sure, you really liked to drag him away from his work for cuddles—but that was only because you thought he needed the breaks. You know that he used to run himself dry, never letting himself rest until he practically passed out from exhaustion. You didn’t want that cycle to continue. It wasn’t like you forced him to do anything. He could always say no to you. In fact, he has said no to you a few times before—when the work was too important to shove aside for later. All those times he allowed himself to be pulled away, reluctant as he was—how many of those times had he been covertly annoyed with your insistence? How many times did he wish you would just leave him alone?
Your stomach twisted, guilt looming over you. He struggled socially, ran on a limited battery when it came to social interactions—why did you think it would be any different with you? Why did you think you were special? Of course, Bucky is sick of you. When’s the last time that Bucky had some time to himself without you bombarding him with affection and small talk?
“She’s spoiled, that’s what she is,” Bucky grunts, shaking his head. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes. Spoiled? Is that what he really thinks of you? How could he say such a thing? And to Sam, nonetheless. “She eats way too damn much. She’s been gaining so much weight recently; it’s honestly a problem. She ain’t gonna lose it any time soon either with how fucking lazy she is.”
Sam snorts. “Sounds like someone needs to go on a diet.”
“Tell me about it,” Bucky huffs before taking a sip of coffee.
A wave of mortification crashes over you, tears gathering in your eyes. Heart pounding, you take a shaky step back, determined to run back to your room before either of them catches you eavesdropping.
You race back to your shared room, tears blurring the hallway beyond recognition. Once in the safety of your room, you sink down to the floor, back pressed heavy against the door. Your breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps as you press a hand over your mouth—as if that alone could muffle the sobs wracking your body. The betrayal is sharp, sinking its claws into your chest and twisting deep inside of you. How could they say those things about you? How could Bucky say those things about you?
You weren’t that clingy, were you? You just liked being close to him, liked the warmth of his presence, the way he always made you feel safe. And sure, maybe you indulged a little too much lately, but had it really made that much of a difference? Have you clung so much that Bucky has started to resent you for it?
The words replay in your head, each repetition hitting harder, sinking deeper. He sounded so frustrated—so tired of you. Like he was already pulling away, one step from slipping through your fingers completely.
And could you even blame him?
You’ve seen the women he works alongside, the kind of people who seem like they belong in the world. Strong, confident, beautiful. Not needy. Not desperate. Not… you. Maybe he was just now realising what you had known all along—that you weren’t enough. That you never had been.
A fresh wave of tears burns your eyes, but you swallow hard, forcing them back down. You wouldn’t let this be the end.
You could fix this.
You could give him space—stop clinging, stop being so needy. You could take up less room, be less of a burden. And if you skipped a few meals, if you pushed yourself harder, maybe you could be someone he actually wanted again. Someone he’d be proud to love, instead of someone he merely put up with.
You just had to be better.
You would be better.
When you emerged from the bedroom for the second time that day, you made sure to make your arrival audible lest you walk in on them still talking about you and your shortcomings. Whilst you couldn’t stomach any breakfast, you needed your caffeine fix. Bucky greeted you with a wide, beautiful smile and a kiss on the forehead.
It almost made you sick—the way he was able to talk about you like you were the dirt underneath his shoe, only to turn around and play the role of your sweet lover. How could he act like everything was okay when he clearly held resentment against you? It almost makes you wonder how long he’d put up with you for the sake of maintaining this relationship—how long since he’d noticed your defects and realised that he deserved better. You almost feel selfish for keeping him tied to you. Now that the secret is out, there’s no point in dancing around the subject. And yet… here you are. In a kitchen you share with a man who doesn’t love you like he used to, and the man he entrusted with his troubles over you.
Just a little longer, you pleaded. You just need a chance to prove your worth. Bucky won’t have to worry about your overbearing clinginess. He won’t have to be embarrassed to be dating someone of your stature. Bucky deserves the best after everything that he’s been through; you were determined to be that for him in whatever way it took.
You startle out of your thoughts from the movement at your feet. A white ball of fluff looks up at you, meowing incessantly. You reach down to scritch between Alpine’s ears. “Hey, sweetheart,” you coo at her, abandoning your quest for coffee in lieu of holding your baby girl. At least Alpine appreciated your affliction for affection.
You don’t miss the look that passes between Bucky and Sam.
Stomach churning, you suddenly don’t feel the desire to make your coffee anymore. In fact, you don’t even want to be in this room anymore. “I’m going to go over to Nat’s,” you say, hoping that Nat isn’t too busy today.
Bucky’s brow furrows. “Weren’t we going to see that movie today?”
Shoot. You had completely forgotten about that. “We can go later, Nat wanted me to come over right away in the morning.”
“Let me make you your coffee before you go.”
“That’s okay, I’m stopping to get some for Nat and me,” you say, dismissal clear in your tone. It would have made you feel bad to act this way before—before his cruel words effectively tore your heart and spirit to shreds. You gave your baby Alpine a kiss on the top of her head, promising her that you’d be back soon before seeing her back on the ground. You grabbed your purse and sped out of the door without even saying goodbye to the two men.
You spent the majority of the day with Natasha, dread curling around your insides every time you thought about going back home, back to Bucky.
You had promised him that you’d be back to see the movie; however, so, too soon for your liking, you say goodbye to Nat and walk back to your apartment.
There’s a vase of your favourite flowers sitting on the counter when you enter. You frown at the sight, not sure why he would bother when he’s obviously upset with you.
You walk into the living space to see Alpine curled up on Bucky’s lap, his work laptop abandoned on the coffee table. Bucky greets you with a smile, setting a protesting Alpine aside to stand up and give you a welcome home kiss.
“What time were you thinking of for the movie?” He asks, arms resting around your waist.
Frustration begins to creep into your chest. If he had a problem with your clinginess, why is he initiating contact? That’s not fair. How are you supposed to leave him alone when he does stuff like this? “Doesn’t matter to me,” you shrug, not able to meet his eyes.
“There’s a showing in an hour, how does that sound? We can go get dinner afterwards.”
“Sounds great,” you replied.
The movie would have been great if you hadn’t sat there stewing in your own anxiety the entire film. Afterwards, Bucky took you to your favourite restaurant where you ordered a salad with the dressing on the side. Bucky’s brows furrowed at your unusual choice, but he didn’t say anything. The dinner was stilted and awkward, both of you running out of things to talk about sooner than usual.
For the next few weeks, you successfully distanced yourself from your boyfriend. You ignored the way your heart ached every time you saw Bucky alone on the couch, wishing you could go over and snuggle up to his warmth. You learned to ignore the hunger pangs, the way your stomach felt like it was eating itself. Your head split open with the force of the headaches pounding against your skull, vision swimming every time you stood up too quickly.
It’s fine, you told yourself. Who really needed breakfast anyway? Why eat lunch when you could have a few snacks? Bucky was right, you really did eat too much. You could survive on one meal a day, snacks thrown in when your hunger got the best of you, or your hands began to shake too much. You were getting better for him, though, so it didn’t matter. You were eating less, clinging less—just like Bucky had wanted; so why wasn’t he happy yet?
The bed felt colder than usual.
You used to sleep tangled up in Bucky’s arms, leeching off of Bucky’s furnace of a body. You used to tuck your perpetually cold feet against his legs, laughing off his grumbling about how your toes felt like icicles.
Now, you curl up at the farthest edge of the mattress, not willing to accidentally touch him when he clearly wants to be left alone.
You used to look forward to getting home from work, ready to melt into your supersoldier’s arms at the end of a long, tiring day.
Now, you’re filled with dread, wondering if this time will finally be the last.
You used to love the shared dinners at the worn table you had found at a thrift store long ago. Bucky and you would take turns choosing what meal to prepare—you had been on a mission to introduce him to the world of flavour the 21st century had to offer; he always used to say the best part of the ordeal was watching your expectant face as he tried the first bite.
Now your stomach twisted at the mere thought of eating in front of him. His words echoed through your brain with each bite you took—it was enough to make you sick.
Bucky had grown short and snappy with everyone (except you) lately; Natasha had complained ad nauseum about your grumpy boyfriend the last few times you’d hung out. You couldn’t help but think that all of those weeks of your overbearing clinginess were finally catching up to him, as if talking to Sam had opened the floodgates. He has finally realised what his problem was: you.
You really were too late to fix this. No amount of distance could fix what damage had been done. Bucky had a foot out the door for a long time now, and you had been too oblivious to notice.
It was a typical Tuesday when Bucky sent you a text that shattered any hope of repairing your relationship.
>>>Hey, after work, can you come straight home?
>>>We really need to talk.
The cursor blinked steadily even as your hand shook. Tears quickly blurred the damning texts beyond recognition—not that you’d ever forget those words; the words that signified the end of the best thing to happen to you.
After crying in the bathroom for the entirety of your lunch break, you passed through the rest of the day in a haze. Your coworkers knew something was wrong, of course, they did, but you didn’t offer up any explanation.
You felt something press against your throat as you slid the key into the lock, suffocating you with every step you took towards him. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable any further. You wouldn’t continue to drag Bucky down.
The vase of flowers was still sitting on the counter—he’d been buying you a new batch every time they started to wilt. Was he cheating on you? Was that why he was getting you flowers so much more often? The thought was something you’d have previously thought inconceivable, but now you weren’t so sure.
Breaking you from your thoughts, Bucky called out your name from the living room. You forced your gaze away from the flowers and to the living room.
Bucky was sitting on the sofa, hands clasped in between his knees and head hanging low. Your stomach swirled at the sight. This was it, wasn’t it? He was going to cut his losses—cut you from his life.
You crossed your arms, tucking your hands out of sight to hide the way they trembled. You waited for him to say something, not willing to be the person to instigate the conversation.
“Could you sit down?” Bucky asks, sounding so small as he gestures to the armchair. You walk over to the chair, despite wanting to stay as close to the exit as possible—ready to run away as soon as his words cut through you like a knife.
Bucky sighs deeply, his hands running over his face. You almost reach out for him, wanting to comfort him, wanting to kiss those lines away from his forehead. Stopping yourself, you remind yourself that it’s not your place, not anymore, and it hasn’t been for a while now.
“This isn’t working anymore, doll,” Bucky says, not even able to look at you. You saw it coming a mile away, and yet it doesn’t take away the anguish those words bring you.
You know you should say something, but words seem to escape you as soon as you open your mouth. Instead, a hot ball of grief and shame lodges in your throat. Tears spring to your eyes, despite telling yourself that you would not let him see you cry over this. It’s for the best, you try to tell yourself. You were but a stepping stone to Bucky’s recovery. You should be grateful that a man like him even offered you a second glance. Despite the way things ended, you know that you’ll look back on all the memories you made together and smile. Because, for once in your life, you knew what it was like to be loved so wholly. You knew what it was like to have a man who cared so deeply, loved so openly, and gave you enough devotion to last a lifetime.
“Yeah,” you agree with him for the sake of things. You hope he won’t look too deeply into your unshed tears, the way your voice wobbled and the way your body trembled. “I… I should go.”
“Doll-”
You cut him off before he can get another word in. “No, just… let me-”
Standing up to run away from this awful conversation, you feel the world sway around you. Black fades in at the edges of your vision as you stumble forward. You think you hear Bucky calling out your name under the sharp ringing in your ears. Clenching your eyes shut, you brace yourself for the hardwood floor.
—
“Doll?”
You groan as something prods your side. Just five more minutes, you think, burying your face into the warmth surrounding you.
“Sweetheart, please!”
Is that Bucky? Why does he sound so worried?
Blinking up at your boyfriend, you find that you’re both in the living room. Bucky’s clenching onto your body like a lifeline. “What’s wrong, Bucky?”
He stares blankly at you for a few seconds. “Doll… you just passed out.”
“Oh,” you eloquently respond.
The fog covering your brain begins to lift bit by bit. You were both sitting down… Bucky was… he was breaking up with you.
Jolting, you scramble out of Bucky’s arms, pushing him away, away, away.
“I’m sorry,” you say, covering your heated face in shame. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”
“Don’t be sorry, honey.” He scoots closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” you say, despite knowing full well that ever since you started skipping meals, you’ve been prone to blacking out if you stand up too fast.
Bucky frowns at you, eyebrows furrowed. “I feel like you aren’t telling the truth right now.”
“It doesn’t matter, Bucky.”
“Like hell it doesn’t matter! You just fainted. If I hadn’t been there to catch you, you’d have cut your head open on the side of the table. Tell me what’s going on!” Never before had you heard Bucky sound so worried.
“Why do you care so much?”
“Why do I–Why do I care?” Bucky scoffs in disbelief. “You did not just ask me that.”
“You’re finally breaking up with me, you don’t have to pretend to care about me anymore,” you shoot back, venom lacing your words as you extricate yourself from under his arm.
“Breaking… I wasn’t going to break up with you,” Bucky says as if the idea alone was unimaginable.
“Bullshit! I know that you’ve been wanting to break up with me for weeks—months even!”
“Where the hell would you get an idea like that from?”
“I heard you talking to Sam last month. You told him that I was clingy and lazy and fat.”
Bucky looks positively bewildered at your words. “I would never say any of that crap!”
“But you did.” You cross your arms, daring him to continue lying to you.
“Why the hell would I ever say that? I sure as hell don’t think any of that-”
“Oh, give it up, Barnes. Who else would you have been talking about? Who else is such a spoiled, lazy, clingy, fat-”
“Oh my god,” Bucky interrupts you. “Are you talking about that time I was complaining about Alpine?”
Your heart stops in your chest. “What?”
“I was telling Sam about how annoying it was trying to work from home. She’d always sit on my damn laptop and yowl in my face until I payed attention to her.” Bucky shakes his head—his bemusement is quick to fade, however. “You seriously thought that I was talking about you?”
Sniffling back tears, you nodded your head.
“Oh, Jesus, doll. Why didn’t you say something?” Bucky wraps his arms around you. “Hell, if I ever said something like that, I’d expect at least a slap to the face.”
“But I was too clingy, always cuddling you and giving you kisses-”
“Is that why you haven’t so much as touched me the last few weeks?”
“I thought you wanted me to stop,”
Bucky squeezes you tighter. “Never. I’d never want you to stop. Doll, I thought you were mad at me. I kept buying you flowers and making your favourite dinners to try and get you to forgive me. But you didn’t even give them a second glance, and half the time you’d already eaten or you’d just push the food around on your plate.”
You melt into his embrace, his reassurances a balm over the lingering anxiety of being too much for him. “I was just trying to make you like me again.”
“Doll,” Bucky pulls away from you, sounding completely gutted. “You should never change yourself to make someone like you more. I love how clingy you are—I missed you so damn much.”
“What about…” No, you can’t ask that—you don’t want to hear his answer. “Never mind.”
And Bucky, damn him, doesn’t let it go. “What about what?”
“It’s nothing,” you say, pulling away from him.
“Doll, please don’t shut me out,” Bucky pleads, using those sad eyes that always make you fold.
“It’s just… You never… Do you have a problem with what I look like?”
Bucky’s frown deepens. “Of course, not. Doll, you are so damn beautiful-”
“But I could be thinner. Lots of other girls are prettier and skinnier,” you interrupt him. You freeze at the way his face hardens.
“I love you just the way you are, sweetheart. You don’t have to change a god damn thing about you. You want to know who drives me crazy? You. You want to know who I want to spend the rest of my life looking at? You. When I fell in love with you, I fell in love with all of you. It’s always going to be you. I don’t want no one else, got it?”
“I…” You stumble over your words, tears burning in your waterline. “I started skipping meals again. That’s why I passed out.”
Bucky’s face turns ashen. “You… you stopped eating because of me?”
“I didn’t completely stop eating! I had snacks and dinner most days. It’s not that big-”
“So help me god if you were about to say that it’s not that big of a deal,” Bucky interrupts you, voice sharp. “You need to eat, doll. This beautiful body cannot live without food.”
“I just thought… I thought if I started skipping meals and working out more, I’d look more like Nat or Sharon or-”
“If I wanted someone that looked like them, I’d ask them out. You wanna know why I asked you out? It’s because I thought you were hot. It’s because you’re as gorgeous on the outside as you are on the inside. I don’t want you to look like Nat, I don’t want you to look like Sharon. I want you to look like you.”
Bucky says it with such conviction, you can’t help but allow the tears to fall down your face. “You really mean that?”
“Of course, babydoll. You’re it for me. Don’t want no one else.” Bucky pulls you back into his arms, nuzzling his face into the junction between your neck and shoulder. “Call off of work tomorrow.”
“What? I can’t-” You screech as he lifts you into his arms. Clinging to him like a koala as he makes his way to your bedroom, you protest every step of the way.
“Hush,” he says, laying you down on the bed. “I have been deprived of your cuddles for too damn long. We’re gonna order whatever you want, and snuggle all night long. Then tomorrow, I’m going to make you a giant breakfast and we can go on a picnic for lunch.”
“I don’t ever want my best girl doubting my love for her again, got it?” Bucky asks, leaning over you.
You huff at his antics, rolling your eyes. He pinches your side, only the hint of a grin belying his angered expression. “Got it?” Bucky asks again.
“Yes! Okay, I got it!”
“I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you know just how loved you are,” he says as a promise before leaning in and kissing your lips.
That night, as you snuggle into his warmth, you endeavour to never let a misunderstanding like this tear you apart again.
Hello, I hope you are doing well!! May I request the li's reacting with a reader who's insecure about having a small chest? Thank you and I hope you have a wonderful day / night! <3
Hello! Thank you so much for the request! I am a big proponent of body positivity, and I think it's important to note that every body is beautiful. I'm really excited to write this one.
Please enjoy!
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Xavier:
“Xavier?” Your voice broke the comfortable silence between you. “Can I ask you something?”
He turned quickly, attention settling fully on you. “Always, starlight.”
You hesitated, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. “Do you ever wish I looked…different?”
The question had him hesitate, and a look of confusion overtook him. “What made you ask that?”
You shrugged, gaze dropping and hands fluttering awkwardly over your chest. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t have enough. Like there’s something missing.”
Xavier didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stood and crossed the room, dimming the lights until the space softened into shadow. When he returned, his light evol flickered to life, gentle and warm.
Your silhouette appeared on the wall.
He stepped behind you, hands resting lightly at your waist. “Look,” he murmured. “That’s how I see you.”
The outline was unmistakably yours, familiar curves, soft lines. Xavier traced the shadow with his fingers, slowly, as though he was memorizing it.
“There’s nothing unfinished here,” he said quietly. “Nothing lacking.”
You swallowed. “It doesn’t feel like enough sometimes.”
He tightened his hold slightly. “You don’t need to be more,” he said. “You already are my everything.”
Xavier pressed a kiss to your temple, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t love an idea of you,” he added softly. “I love this. Exactly as you exist.”
You leaned back into him, letting the glow surround you, enjoying the warmth of his body against yours.
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Zayne:
Zayne noticed your quiet immediately.
You sat beside him on the couch, close enough for you to feel his warmth, but far enough to feel distant, eyes unfocused. After a while, you finally spoke. “Do you ever think bodies are designed unfairly?”
He paused, tea halfway to his lips. “That depends.”
You shrugged. “I just feel wrong sometimes. Like I don’t really measure up.”
He set his cup down carefully, considering your words deeply and measuring his response. “Come here,” he said, gently.
You hesitated but shifted closer, and he adjusted instinctively, one arm settling around you.
“There’s nothing wrong with your body,” he said calmly. “Medically, functionally, or otherwise.”
You huffed. “Very comforting, doctor.”
His mouth twitched. “Smaller chests actually make exams easier. Changes are easier to detect. There’s less strain overall.”
You glanced up at him. “I think if I ever found a lump I'd have to go up a bra size.”
He blinked. “…That’s not how that works.”
You smiled faintly, but the insecurity lingered. Zayne tightened his hold around you.
“I don’t see you the way you see yourself,” he said quietly. “I see someone healthy. Balanced. Beautiful.”
You leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “You don’t think I’m lacking?”
“No,” he said immediately. “I think you’re exactly as you should be.”
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Rafayel
You lingered beside the sculpture longer than usual.
“It’s beautiful,” you said softly. “The curves. The way everything fits together.”
Rafayel glanced over, curious. “What do you like about it?”
You considered. “It doesn’t exaggerate anything. It feels…real.”
He smiled, pleased, and set his tools down. “Good.”
You frowned. “Good?”
“That means I did it right.”
You laughed. “Did what right?"
"Captured your beauty."
You shook your head in disbelief and he got up quickly.
“Stand still,” he said, already grabbing a measuring tape.
You watched skeptically as he measured, your shoulders, your waist, the sculpture beside you. Again. And again. The numbers matched.
Your breath caught. “You’re serious.”
“Of course I am,” he said lightly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
You stared at the sculpture, realization sinking in. “You really see me like this?”
Rafayel stepped closer, voice softening. “I see you as art,” he said. “Every line. Every proportion.”
He bumped your shoulder gently. “You don’t need to be different to be worth admiring.”
You smiled, feeling comfortable in your own skin for the first time in a long time. “You’re too much, you know?”
“And you,” he replied, “are perfect.”
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Sylus:
You lingered in the doorway longer than necessary, the lingerie bag heavy in your hands.
“Sylus,” you said quietly. “If this is another thing that doesn’t fit...”
“Try it,” he interrupted calmly. “Then decide.”
You disappeared into the bedroom, heart racing as you changed. You expected the usual: straps that fell down, fabric that assumed more than you had. But when you looked in the mirror, you froze.
It fit. Perfectly.
No awkward pulling. No empty space. Just fabric that followed your body like it had been made for you alone. For a moment, you simply stared, unsure what to do with the unfamiliar feeling settling in your chest.
When you stepped back out, Sylus looked up, he couldn't help but stare.
“I’ve never had anything fit like this,” you admitted softly. “Usually lingerie, everything really, just reminds me of what I don’t have.”
He stood, crossing the room slowly, gaze steady and intense. “Clothing sizes are arbitrary,” he said flatly. “Designed without care. Built for averages, not people.”
You laughed faintly. “That’s one way to put it.”
He stopped in front of you, lifting your chin gently. “Your body isn’t wrong,” he said. “The standard is.”
You looked into his crimson eyes. “You really believe that?”
“I don’t deal in illusions,” he replied. “You are precise. Balanced. Exactly as you are meant to be.”
His hand settled at your waist, possessive in a way that felt protective rather than demanding. “Nothing about you is too little or improperly sized,” he added quietly.
You leaned into him, leaning into the gentle kisses he placed on your neck.
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Caleb:
You didn’t mean to say it out loud. It slipped out between breaths, barely more than a thought.
“I wish I looked different.”
Caleb stopped immediately, turning toward you. “Pips,” he said gently. “What’s that about?”
You shrugged, suddenly very interested in the floor. “I just feel inadequate sometimes. Like I don’t really measure up.”
You thought he was going to tease you, making a joke about you being a pipsqueak, but he stepped closer instead, pulling you into his arms like it was instinct.
“You’ve always fit right here,” he said quietly.
You rested against his chest, familiar and steady, the sound of his heartbeat comforting you. Growing up, this had always been where you ended up, after scraped knees, after bad days, after everything.
“I don’t think about you in parts,” he continued, voice low. “Never have. You’re just…you.”
You let out a small breath. “You’re really bad at letting me spiral.”
He smiled into your hair. “Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta stop you.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him. “You don’t wish I was different?”
Caleb shook his head without hesitation. “No. I just wish you could see yourself the way I do.”
He tightened his hold, resting his chin on your head. You stayed like that longer for what felt like forever, wrapped up in his warmth and comfort.
pairings: remus lupin x reader; warnings: insecure reader, self deprecation; word count: 3,1k
au: hihi angels, sorry I have been gone for so long, I have been suffering with writers block for months, but hopefully I am back for good and I could buy your forgiveness with this one shot?
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It started with a knot in your chest every time Remus looked at you for just a moment too long.
And Merlin, how you hated yourself for it.
You were in love with Remus Lupin. Entirely, hopelessly, heartbreakingly in love with him. The way his hands always shook a little when he was nervous, the way his smile was crooked but so full of warmth, the way he carried so much weight and still tried to make everyone else feel lighter, he was everything.
But you were you.
And that was never enough.
So, after a particularly painful evening of laughing with him in the library and catching yourself staring at his lips more than the page in front of you, you confessed it all to Lily.
Lily was sitting cross-legged on her bed, polishing her nails a soft blush pink when you finally blurted it out.
“I think I’m going to… avoid him.”
Her head snapped up so fast the bottle almost slipped out of her hand.
“Absolutely not.”
You fidgeted with the drawstring of your hoodie, staring at the floor.
“I mean, not forever. Just for a week. Or two. Or, just until I stop feeling so…”
You waved your hands vaguely.
“All… like this.”
Lily blinked slowly. “Like what?”
“Like I’m in love with him,” you whispered.
She froze, a nail polish brush in mid-air. “Well, yes, that part was obvious.”
Your face heated. “It’s not funny, Lily. I can’t— I can’t keep doing this.”
“Doing what?” she asked, softer now.
You dropped onto her rug and leaned your head back against her mattress.
“Being around him. Looking at him. Feeling like this and knowing he doesn’t, he wouldn’t, feel that way. He deserves someone who isn’t…”
Your voice cracked.
“…me.”
Lily’s expression crumpled. “Oh, sweetheart.” She slid off the bed and sat beside you. “That’s not true.”
“It is,” you insisted, tugging your sleeves over your hands. “He’s Remus. He’s kind and brilliant and patient and so, just, him. And I’m…”
You laugh, but it’s humorless.
“I’m a mess. A walking insecurity with a pulse.”
“You’re not,” Lily said firmly.
You kept going like you hadn’t heard her. “He’d never see me like that. He’s never looked at me like that. Not once.”
Lily opened her mouth to disagree, then stopped.
Her eyes softened with something almost sad.
“He has,” she murmured.
You shook your head hard. “No. He hasn’t. And I can’t keep falling for someone who doesn’t choose me. No one ever has, Lily. Not really.” You buried your face in your hands. “I just need to make it stop.”
“Love doesn’t stop because you decide to take the scenic route around one boy,” Lily said quietly.
“Maybe not.” You dragged in a shaky breath. “But maybe it’ll hurt less.”
“Or maybe,” Lily countered, leaning closer, “you’ll break his heart without realizing it.”
That made your stomach twist.
“He’ll be fine. He won’t… notice.”
Lily let out a laugh, short, incredulous.
“Oh, he’ll notice, alright.”
You stared at her.
But Lily only shook her head and sighed, brushing your hair gently from your cheek.
“Listen to me,” she said. “Avoiding him is a terrible idea.”
“Maybe,” you whispered. “But it’s better than loving him out loud and getting nothing back.”
Lily touched your hand, squeezing.
“Please don’t do this to yourself.”
You squeezed back once, then pulled your hand away.
“I think it’s the only way.”
Lily’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Then you’re going to break both your hearts.”
But you were already standing up, pulling your hoodie tighter around yourself, your decision settling like a stone in your chest.
“Better mine than his,” you murmured.
Lily watched you with helpless worry, but she didn’t try to stop you again.
Because she knew, you’d already closed the door on the possibility before Remus ever had the chance to open it
It was torture, watching him from across the Great Hall, ducking your head whenever he caught your eye, pretending you hadn’t heard him when he called your name in the corridor. He’d looked hurt, confused, but you told yourself it was better this way. Maybe, if you starved the feeling, it would fade.
It didn’t.
You didn’t plan for it to become a pattern.
Not at first.
It was supposed to be one skipped breakfast, one missed walk to class, one excuse about studying with Lily. But then the universe did what it always does when you’re trying to avoid someone: it delivered him to you every time you didn’t want to see him.
Monday morning, you slipped into the Great Hall late, hoping he’d already eaten with the boys.
Your heart sank the second you saw him sitting alone, scanning the entrance like he was waiting for someone.
You spun on your heel so fast you nearly ran straight into McGonagall.
Later, on the staircase between classes, you heard him before you saw him, his familiar, soft voice echoing off the stone.
“Hey, have you seen—?”
You didn’t stay to hear the rest.
You ducked behind a group of Hufflepuffs and took a different staircase entirely, pulse thudding in your ears.
It kept happening.
In Charms, he slid into the seat beside yours out of habit, then stopped short when he realized you’d taken the one next to Marlene instead. His face fell before he caught himself, offering you the smallest smile, like he was trying to pretend it didn’t sting.
You stared straight ahead until he sat with Peter.
During free period, you picked the farthest possible table in the courtyard, pulling your hood up even though the sky was clear. The breeze carried faint laughter from across the stone path, James, Sirius, Peter… and Remus.
Every time Remus’s laugh drifted over, your book blurred.
Then his shadow flickered at the edge of your vision.
He stared towards your table like he was deciding whether to walk over.
Your stomach dropped.
You buried your face deeper in your book and didn’t move until his footsteps faded away.
Eventually, he stopped trying to approach you directly.
But that only made it worse.
Because now he watched you. Not in an intrusive way, Remus never could be intrusive, but with the helpless confusion of someone trying to solve a puzzle that suddenly rearranged itself overnight.
In the corridor before Potions, you felt his eyes on you from down the hall. You kept your gaze fixed on the floor tiles, but you could sense his frown, gentle and worried. Like he was asking a question you refused to hear.
At lunch, he sat with the boys, but you caught him glancing toward the end of the Gryffindor table every few minutes, as if checking to see whether you’d finally sit beside him again.
You never did.
Lily elbowed you once.
“He looks like a kicked puppy,” she whispered.
You shrugged, pretending your throat wasn’t tightening.
The worst part came on a quiet evening in the library. You hadn’t realized he was there until you turned down the Transfiguration aisle and nearly collided with him, his warm wool sweater, ink-smudged fingers, tired amber eyes widening as if you’d shocked him.
For one suspended second, neither of you moved. Remus’s lips parted like he was about to say your name. But before he could, you did one of the most logical thing you could think of. You bolted. Books clutched to your chest, breath shaking, you left him standing there in the dim library light like you’d just slapped him. You didn’t see how long he stayed frozen in place.
But the next morning, you saw the evidence:
a tightness around his eyes, a heaviness in his shoulders, the way he didn’t even bother picking the seat beside yours anymore.
But you told yourself it was better this way.
If you avoided him long enough, maybe your heart would quiet down.
Maybe the feelings would settle.
Maybe you’d stop aching whenever he smiled.
You kept telling yourself that. Even as your chest twisted every time he walked into a room. Even as you felt his gaze follow you like a word half-spoken. Even as the distance you created felt like a cliff you couldn’t cross back over. Because Remus Lupin deserved someone confident. Someone beautiful. Someone certain. Someone who wasn’t you.
Late one night, you and Lily sat curled up in the Gryffindor common room, Marlene sprawled across the rug with a stolen blanket. The fire was low, crackling lazily, shadows flickering on the walls. You were laughing about something silly, James trying to impress McGonagall that morning, when Marlene suddenly sat up, eyes sharp with mischief.
“So,” she said. “Are we going to talk about how you’re obviously in love with Remus Lupin, or are we pretending it isn’t the most obvious thing in the bloody castle?”
You froze.
Lily’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Told you she’d say it.”
Your heart stopped. “I—I’m not—”
“Oh, come off it,” Marlene said, throwing a pillow at you. “You get all glassy-eyed when he so much as breathes in your direction.”
You felt your face burning. “I don’t— I can’t—”
The laughter caught in your throat, broke into something else entirely. The words burst out before you could stop them.
“Fine!” you burst out, louder than you meant to.
Lily froze, eyes wide, but you couldn’t stop now—not when everything inside you was finally spilling over.
“Yes,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Yes, I like him. God, I love him.” Your breath hitched, a trembling exhale leaving you as you pressed your fingers to your temples.
“But it doesn’t matter,” you continued, softer now but somehow heavier, each word cracking open in your throat. “It doesn’t matter because I’m not… I’m not enough.”
Lily’s face twisted, like the words physically hurt her.
You didn’t look at her. You stared at the floor, your vision blurring as tears gathered.
“Remus deserves someone brilliant,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “Someone beautiful. Someone that… shines when they walk into a room.” You swallowed hard. “Not me. Never me.” You sniffed, quickly wiping at your cheek even though another tear fell right after it.
“I ruin things, Lily.” The confession left your mouth in a small, broken rush.
“I overthink everything, and I get scared, and I shut down and he deserves someone who makes him better, not someone who… drags him down with all my insecurity and nonsense.”
“That’s not true,” Lily breathed, reaching for your hand, but you gently pulled away, too afraid you’d fall apart completely if someone touched you.
You shook your head, staring at a spot on the carpet like you needed something solid to focus on.
“He deserves someone he could actually want,” you whispered, voice cracking again. “Not someone he feels obligated to be nice to. Not someone who panics if a pretty girl even looks at him.” A small, humorless laugh escaped you, sharp and sad. “Just someone… better.”
Lily looked heartbroken.
You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to hold in the ache swelling in your chest.
“And I’d rather…” you began, but your voice wavered too much to finish. You took a shaky breath. “I’d rather have him as my friend than ruin everything by wanting something more.” That’s when the tears finally spilled over, quiet and warm on your cheeks.
“I’d rather lose the possibility than lose him,” you whispered.
The silence that followed was deafening. Your chest heaved, shame pressing down so heavy it hurt. Lily’s hand reached for yours, her expression soft and aching, while Marlene looked like she wanted to march out right then and hex Remus into loving you.
But before either of them could speak, a voice came from behind you.
Low. Shaky. Familiar.
“That’s not true.”
You spun, stomach plummeting. Remus stood at the bottom of the boys’ staircase, pale in the firelight, his eyes wide and stunned like he’d just stepped into a dream. Or a nightmare.
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he said quickly, his gaze locked on yours, “but you’re wrong. About all of it.”
You tried to swallow, but your throat was tight. “Remus, I—”
“You’re not unlovable,” he said, louder now, firmer. His fists clenched at his sides like he was holding himself together. “You’re the opposite. You make everything brighter just by being in the room. I don’t deserve you, not the other way around.”
The world tilted. “What—?”
He took a step closer, the firelight catching in his tired eyes, warm and trembling with something that looked a lot like hope.
“I’ve been in love with you for a long time,” he whispered. “And if you’d rather have me as only a friend, I’ll take it. Gladly. But I need you to know that you’re already everything I want.”
The room was utterly still, even the fire seemed to quiet. Lily squeezed your hand once before standing, dragging Marlene with her toward the girls’ dormitory, both of them smirking like they’d planned this all along.
And then it was just you and Remus. You, with your heart breaking open. And him, waiting, afraid, but looking at you like you were the only thing worth looking at in the whole world. You couldn’t breathe. His words hung in the air, like impossible and so unreal.
“Don’t,” you whispered, shaking your head. “Don’t say that, Remus. Please.”
He blinked, startled. “Why not?”
“Because it’s not true.” The words tumbled out, your throat tight with tears. “You think you mean it, but you don’t. You don’t know what you’re saying. I’m—I’m nothing compared to you. You’re smart, you’re kind, you’re brave. And I’m just…” Your hands curled into fists in your lap. “I’m broken. I’m a mess half the time. I’m not beautiful like Lily or confident like Marlene. I’m just me, and that’s not enough. Not for you.”
His face softened, but his voice was steady, firm. “Don’t you dare say that about yourself.”
You looked up, startled by the steel in his tone.
Remus moved closer, kneeling in front of you so you had no choice but to see the way his eyes shone, raw and unguarded. “Do you think I don’t know what it’s like to feel unworthy? To feel like you don’t deserve love? Merlin, I live with that every single day.” His jaw clenched, his breath shaky. “But you—you’ve never made me feel like a monster. You’ve never looked at me like I was less. You’re the only person who makes me feel like I’m enough. And now you’re trying to tell me you’re not?”
“Remus…”
“No,” he interrupted softly, shaking his head. His hands hovered over yours before he finally took them, tentative but warm. “I need you to hear this. You are the most extraordinary person I’ve ever known. You laugh at my terrible jokes, you listen when no one else does, you care so deeply it hurts sometimes. You’re kind, and brave, and you make me feel like I matter. You’re not unlovable—you’re the reason I even know what love feels like.”
Your chest ached, torn between wanting to believe him and the heavy, ugly voice inside you that hissed otherwise. “But what if I ruin it?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “What if you realize I’m too much, or not enough, or—”
“I won’t,” he said, fierce now. His grip on your hands tightened, grounding you. “I’ve already seen you at your best and your worst. Nothing you could do would make me stop caring. Nothing.”
Tears spilled down your cheeks, and you hated how easily you broke in front of him. “I don’t know how to believe you.”
“That’s okay,” Remus murmured, reaching up to brush the tears from your cheek with the gentlest touch. “Then let me believe enough for both of us. Let me prove it to you, every day, until you see yourself the way I see you.”
You stared at him, at the boy who carried so much pain and still offered you this kind of tenderness. And for the first time in weeks, the voice inside you faltered.
“Remus…” You swallowed hard, whispering his name like a secret. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t,” he promised, his forehead resting lightly against yours. His breath was shaky, but his words were steady, absolute. “You couldn’t lose me even if you tried.”
For a moment, there was nothing else, just his warmth, his presence and the comforting sound of the fire crackling in the background. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself hope. Your breath caught when his forehead brushed against yours. You could feel every tremor in him, every unspoken word in the silence between you.
“I’m scared,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Scared you’ll wake up one day and regret this. Regret me.”
Remus shook his head slowly, his thumb tracing gentle circles over the back of your hand. “I’ve had plenty of regrets in my life,” he said quietly, “but loving you won’t ever be one of them.”
The words shattered something inside you, the walls you have been building, being brought down with the words of a boy, something hard and jagged you’d been carrying for years. Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time they weren’t just from pain.
Remus’s gaze dropped briefly to your lips before flicking back to your eyes, uncertain, as if asking permission. “Can I…?”
You hesitated, heart pounding so hard you thought he must hear it. A thousand fears crowded your mind, but beneath them was something stronger, something warm, pulling you toward him. So you nodded. Just barely.
And then his lips touched yours.
It wasn’t a fireworks kind of kiss. It was soft, hesitant, trembling, like he was afraid you might vanish, and you were afraid he might change his mind. But the gentleness of it, the way he kissed you like you were something precious, undid you completely.
You gasped when he pulled back just an inch, his eyes searching yours. “Still scared?” he murmured.
“Yes,” you admitted, breathless. “But… maybe not as much.”
A small smile curved his lips, the kind that made your chest ache. “Then I’ll keep kissing you until you’re not scared at all.”
And when he leaned in again, you let yourself believe him.
For once, you didn’t listen to the voice telling you that you weren’t enough. You just listened to Remus, to the steady thrum of his heart against yours, and the quiet truth in the way he held you, like he had no intention of ever letting go.
you, who always covers your face during sex. always having your hands or a pillow covering your face insecure about making unsexy faces :( but he’s so desperate to see how good he’s making you feel, needing to see your pretty face rips your hands away or throws the pillow somewhere across the room making you panic a little and close your eyes shut not wanting to meet his gaze
“come on baby stop hiding I wanna see that pretty face”
You’re feeling a bit insecure, you wonder does he even love you?
Includes: Gojo, Nanami, Megumi, Sukuna, Toji
Hip Dips: Gojo
You stand in the mirror running your hands over your hips. You were wearing the most stunning dress ever, it was red with sparkles and glitter and wrapped around your body snug. But you couldn’t shake this feeling.
“Babbbbbbyyyyyyyy, are you ready yet?” The cheerful voice of your gorgeous husband echoed through the room. Gojo leaned against the door jaw to the floor. “w-wow, you look so gorgeous” he stutters as he speaks.
A smile creeps onto your face “thanks… ‘jo do I look stupid in this dress” you watch his face intently for an answer. “Pfffffft, NO why would you think that” he walks over wrapping his arms around your waist.
“My hip dips make this look bad” your voice is quieter, more vulnerable. Gojo pauses for a second, “hip dips? Are they the dips in your hips?” His breath tickling your ear. You nod.
“I always thought they looked nice, why don’t you like them?” He hugs you a bit tighter. “I don’t know, I just— never like…. liked them. No one growing up had them and sometimes people would make fun of me” your voice cracks.
Gojo frowns he caresses your cheek. “My sweet baby” he kiss your cheek. “They’re all lying, I know a lot of people with waist dips— no butt dips what are they called?”.
“Hip dips, they’re called hip dips”
“Sorry, I’m pretty sure a lot people have them” he pulls out his phone showing you pictures of models and celebrities.
“Even though they’re not as pretty as you, they still have hip dips”. He smilies. That makes you smile. It is so contagious. “Thanks love, I think I’m ready to go know”.
“Come on let’s go” his hand intertwines with yours guiding you away.
Thick thighs: Nanami
Nanami has always been a huge softie. He never raised his voice, his hand or anything of that matter.
It’s late at night rain is pouring outside, the soft trickle streaks your windows, the thunder rumbles. Your snuggles up next to Nanami, his hands resting on your thighs. A blanket covering you both.
“Sweetheart you’re shivering, I’ll go get another blanket” Nanami grabs you another blanket wrapping you like a burrito, pulling you onto his lap.
“Those tiny shorts aren’t helping your case love, You’ll get cold.” His voice is gentle and soothing you could dive into it. “Stop looking at my legs like that” a faint blush appearing on your cheeks, as you try and push his face away.
“I was just looking….” His hand gently squeezes one of your thighs. Your thighs were thick, you hated them but he absolutely LOVED them, sometimes squeezing them or laying his head onto your lap.
“I really like your thighs they’re my favourite” he smiles into the back of your neck. “Why though? You always say that Ken, but..” you sigh, great you ruined another happy moment with him.
“Because I love you, and I really like them they’re soft and squishy and they smell like you. I don’t know why you don’t like them” his voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. A lump starts forming in your throat. “b-but they’re thicker than your head, it’s so gross” you let out a chocked sob, covering your face woth your hands.
He squeezes you tight into a hug. “Don’t say that about my wife. Shes beautiful. I love thick thighs. Thicker than my head? Even better” his hand tans along your hair while the other tracing soft circles on your back.
You stop crying, looking up at him. He smiles kissing your forehead. “Say it with me; i love my thighs” that makes you smile. “I love my thighs” your voice soft. He squeezes you tight, nuzzling his face into your neck. “See my wife IS beautiful”.
Thin body type: Megumi
Megumi never talked much around others, he opened up to you a bit but he preferred to listen to you ramble on. He’d watch the way your mouth moves, your eyebrows going crazy and hands flying aeound as you gesture. It was his favourite.
You were showing him some pictures from when you were a teenager. “This is when I went to the mall with my friends, it was really fun. It was the first time I had gone anywhere alone without like an adult” you countinue showing him all the pictures.
He nodded along. Eventually you put your phone down and snuggle up to him. “My teenage years were nice. But I swear I look the same”. Your voice is quiet, a strange type of quiet.
“hmm, You look different to me” you look up at Megumi. “You’re taller, stronger and healthier, and isnt that what matters?”. He asks softly, wanting an answer, waiting for you to say something back. All the air in your lung gets caught in your throat.
“I- I guess” thats all you can choke out — a quiet stutter. “You guess? Is there something else that your thinking off” his voice is soft, it was so calm and just unforgettable.
You sigh. “I’m just feeling a bit sad, or more insecure” it felt weird saying it out loud it kinda made you cringe, nothing could get you use to the feeling of talking about how you were feeling. “I was always so skinny and it made me feel ugly, everyone aeound me had curves, thighs, and they looked strong and healthy like they could defend themselves or do hard things. Then there was just me.”
Megumi sits up and pulls you onto his lap. He Higgs you tight. “Please don’t say that. Your not ugly, your the most beautiful person ever. A lot of people don’t like that they have curves, did you know that?”. His voice is gentle and caring lile he wants you to know.
“Why would anyone want that?”
“Because they find it beautiful. Like how I find you beautiful”
You smile.
“I love the way you look, the sound of your voice and your smile. That’s why I always watch you”.
You giggle “You sound creepy”.
Megumi shrugs a bit, his usually stoic face fading, the outer corner of his lips turning upwards.
“I’ll accept that. But seriously y/n, i dont want you to feel like your ugly, your beautiful— the prettiest person ever even if you think your not, believe me you most definitely are”.
Small Ass: Sukuna
Sukuna was mean, though hus words were all bark no bite. On rare occasions he would be soft and gentle. But during se—. Okay anyway, you guys had a good relationship.
Sukuna is sprawled on the couch playing video games, your scrolling on your phone. You’re just going through your own insta story.
You zoom in on a photo of you, it’s full body your standing next to sukuna smiling tilited sideways. You think uo yourself, why don’t I have an ass? Sukuna glances at you.
“Watcha doin, brat”
“Looking at my instagram”
He pauses his game looks over at the photo. “Thats when we went to the beach.”
You nod. “Do you like this photo?” Let’s see if Sukuna says anything.
“Yeh it’s a good photo, why?” He stares you down intently. “I know why”. He pulls you close. “Why do you have to think like this doll”.
Sukuna senses it, it quite creepy to be honest.
You stiffen, not knowing what to do or say. “Im sorry I—“ he cuts you off.
“Don’t be”.
He holds you close to his chest, dragging his finger across the side of your body. The heat of his body bundling you up. It was comforting and safe.
“So you gonna tell me, hm”. There’s comfortable silence for a minute.
“I just don’t like how my butt looks”. Your voice is quiet, if there was a clock ticking he couldn’t have heard it.
“Your ass looks fine doll, I don’t know why you’re so worried. Plus you cant even see it, I look at your ass all day and I think it looks perfect.”
A small chuckle escapes your lips. “It looks weird in photos”.
“Weird it looks normal to me, your eyes are to critical”. He sighs. “You need to love yourself more doll. I will always always love you but you gotta love yourself more doll”.
“I’ll try”.
“Atta girl” he kisses the top of your forehead.
Small chest: Toji
Toji was complicated. He wouldn’t say he loved you, but he sure as hell showed it. Every chance he got he would wrap his arms around your waste and one hand traveled up to your boobs to squeeze them. It was his thing.
You were finishing up, putting the plates at the table. Today by far was the worst day ever, you got your period and stained another white bedsheet. You broke your favourite mug. Your phones dead and the charger is broken. Couldn’t get worse from there.
You heard the door click and unlock. “I’m home” Toji walks in, your sitting at the table. “Dinners ready”. Toji grins walking up to you, gently tugging at your cheeks. “Awwww happened a bad day?” He teases you. You smack his hand away. “Sit an eat”.
He shakes his head. Anger boiling inside you, you are going to explode. “I SAID TO SIT AND EAT STOP BOTHERING ME” you stand from your chair it skidding on the floor. Toji’s smile doesnt falter. “Whi do you think you are yelling at me hm?” He leans in close. “You dont sound that loud when im pounding int—“ you cover his mouth. His hand sneaks up the side of your body.
“Toji stop”.
“Awww why?” He leans in closed his hand not moving any higher. “Whats wrong?” He teases.
You push his face away from mine, as you turn away. “Just stop”.
“You never cared before, hm”. He’s smiling his stupid smile. Hus hands continue moving up, as they pass over your boobs he gives them a squeeze and the countinue up to your jaw. He tilts your chin up to look at him.
“Come on don’t hide love”.
“Just stop” your try and push him away. He picks you up , sitting on a chair and pulling you onto his lap. “Whats wrong? You don’t seem happy, hmm” his hot breath tickling your ear.
“Just had a bad day……”
“Don’t lie, theres more too it”.
You hated how he could read you like a book.
“Nothing”.
“Come on don’t be like that”.
Silent pause.
“Fine, Just don’t feel good” he listens silently. You explain how your day was just bad, and you were feeling just a bit insecure about your boobs. I mean looking at other peoples boobs all day didn’t help.
“They’re just small” you can feel your eyes FOING glossy as you say that.
“Theyre squishy and nice. Perfect. Idk what your tlaking about” he snuggles into the back of your neck.
“Let’s have dinner”
A/n: hope u guys like it, I tried my best. I am taking requests and any tips. BAIIIII
