Joseph Quinn At The Opening For Tokyo Comic Con

It’s like one of those pet sweaters- if he tries to move he just tips over. 🌽

hello!! im such a big fan of your work, your joe fics makes me feel soft and loved 🥺 i was wondering if i i could please maybe request something about him dating a shy reader who has a stutter and tends to get frustrated about her stutters when she's trying to talk or tell a story? i'll be starting therapy for my stutter next week and i'm feeling a bit nervous 😅 thank you so much! i hope you have the loveliest day ! 😄💖

aaa baby thank u so much i love u :(( good luck with the therapy next week! sending kisses mwah mwah!!

the gentle dialogue from the low volume of the tv makes him laugh, though you think he only he does that because there's this obnoxious laugh track that follows after a lame joke. albeit you smile at the sound of his baritone giggle, closing the door gently behind you.

you see his head pop up from the couch, the vibrant abstract of his happy socks padding across the floor once he sees you. he smiles brightly, opening his arms, and you meet him halfway.

he grunts when you gently tackle him with a hug, your arms around his torso, swaying gently. he presses his lips on the crown of your head, his warmth radiating through your cold body.

"hey, baby," joseph greets softly, pulling away but keeps his hands on your biceps. "how are you? how's your day?"

you swallow thickly, the words at the tip of your tongue. "i- it-it was good! um- uh, it was a bit b-boring and–"

his eyebrows raise. a silent go on.

you try to speak again. "um- they– were g- this is stupid,"

"hey, baby, no!" joseph bends down lightly, lips twisted into an empathetic pout. "come on, baby. it's not stupid. tell me, come on."

the words refuse to cooperate with your mouth, apparently. your lips clamp shut, hands clenching into a fist and bunches up his shirt. joseph senses your frustration and slowly brings his hands to your shoulders; eyes sympathetic rather than pitying, his lips into a frown.

when you sigh in irritation, removing a hand to place your wrist against your forehead, he speaks up. "you can do this, love. just rehearse it in your mind, yeah? gotta speak slowly so you can enunciate it better. can you try for me, baby?"

you refuse to meet his eyes, suddenly nervous with your cheeks burning in embarrassment. you stare at the button of his nose instead, focusing on the feeling of his hands that move to cup your jaw, and wonder how he's got this very long patience for you.

joseph's always too kind to you. and although he's like this with everyone, it leaves you lovestruck. it's a silly feeling that makes your belly swarm with butterflies to see how patient he is to hear you speak, how bright and happy he gets when you get through your stutter and tell him something that gets him just as excited as you are.

"i..." you look up at him, see his raised eyebrows, the curves on his forehead and the anticipation across his face that makes your heart warm. "my day was o-okay. i saw- i saw a stray dog outside. he- he's so cute, joey. he s-saw me, and his tail star- started wagging, right? a-and he made thes- these small whines and i j-just felt so bad not being a-able to give- give them some food,"

"uhuh,"

"and i w-was gonna ask if it's o-okay with you if w-we– we can take out some food for- for him?"

joseph smiles proudly, leaning in to press a kiss on your forehead; a long, doting one that singes beautifully against your skin. "atta baby. did well for me, yeah?" you giggle. "we can take food out for him, honey. give me your bag and i'll get my shoes, 'kay? then we can go visit the dog."

your heart aches, feeling proud of yourself for the success of finishing a sentence. but mostly because joseph's thrilled. his kiss tingles against your skin. and when he comes back from the bathroom, your bag gone and a pair of shoes that contrasts rather horrifyingly against his socks, your can't help but smile.

"let's go feed that dog, yeah?" he slings an arm around your shoulder, pressing his lips against your hair and pulling you closer to him. hips flush against one another. "now, why don't you go tell me more."

Seeing Joseph Quinn wearing glasses made me think of a typical father, opening Christmas presents in a warm jumper. So maybe Joe is spending Christmas with the reader and their little girl, who has drawn her daddy a picture of their whole family or some other sweet gift? Generally lots of sweets, fluff, cuddling together by the fireplace, watching movies, a blanket and kissing under the mistletoe. I'm already in the mood and I'm sure Joseph would make this Christmas even more wonderful ❤️🥹

Stop this is a total fucking mood and I'm living for it

I went for a Christmas Eve scenario, I hope it's what you wanted 😚 thank you for your request x

🎅🎄 Christmassy Daddy Joey it is

"Daddy, daddy! Look what I got!" Joe moved to watch from across the room, stood in the doorway looking upon his little girl receiving her Christmas Eve box especially sent by Santa Claus himself.

He pretended to look surprised, folding his arms, mouth gaping open. "What's that my darling?"

"Santa sent it for me so I'm all ready for the morning mummy said!"

You sat on the sofa looking back at your husband, totally excited that this is the first of the holiday's you'd spent as a family where your little girl truly understood the magic of Christmas. It made everything so much more special.

"Shall we take a look inside?" you smiled, Joe joining you on the sofa, he snaked his arm around your shoulder and you leaned into him, admiring her open her gift.

Inside were brand new pyjamas, slippers, a certificate which confirmed she had been put on Santa's nice list and a small Candy Cane patterned teddy bear for her to take to bed.

"Oh my goodness!" You both shouted in unison as your daughter's sweet brown eyes sparkled shooting looks at the two of you, just the way Joe's did when he happy. It brought an enamoured ache to your heart, watching your 4 year old practically cheering with pride at her new things.

"Shall we go put them on?" You offered and she quickly ran over, passing the teddy to Joe to hold and grabbed your hand to pull you up out of your seat and into the hallway. "Come on then." you sighed contently.

When you returned, Joe was just putting on her favourite Christmas movie, as promised you would all watch it together before she went to bed. A small bowl of popcorn lay on the coffee table with a a glass of chocolate milk each and a bigger bowl for both of you to share. "Look at my beautiful little angel, all ready for Santa coming."

"Where's Bear Quinn?" she moved along the room, searching for her stuffed toy.

"Bear Quinn?" Joe barked a laugh at her, pointing in the direction of the middle of the sofa, there it was snuggled up under a blanket waiting for her arrival.

"Yes he's part of the family now, so he needs my last name." She showed Joe what only could be described as a teenage death stare, as if he was supposed to know that.

"Of course, silly me." Joe nodded slowly, smirking, his eyes twinkling between you and Y/D/N, their bond was something phenomenal.

Joe sat one side and you sat the other of her, she pushed the blanket over for you all to share and Joe started the movie. The living space had never felt so cosy, the lights were dimmed, the fireplace provided the welcoming heat with your named stockings hung above it, keeping the cold outside where it belonged.

"Daddy, I almost forgot what me and mummy did together for you today, can I show you?" She didn't even wait for his reply instead she escaped from the middle of you, racing to the dining table to collect the piece of paper, a chaotic little busy body, again just like her dad.

She came scooting back in, edging herself between the tight space in-between you. "Close your eyes." she braced herself as she placed a drawing of the 3 of you on his lap. "You can open them now."

Joe looked down, a hitch in his breath as he fell in love with it instantly. "Oh my goodness, look at this! My talented girl" Joe flashed a wink at you and placed a kiss down onto Y/D/N's cheek, she blushed a little looking so proud of herself and fell straight into his side snuggling down into him, her legs laid flatly across your lap, he placed his arm around her and found your hand to intertwine his fingers with. No matter how far apart you were placed, he'd always find a way to caress you one way or the other. Touch was absolutely his love language and it was hers.

You watched half of the movie in complete silence, looking down you noticed she was dropping to sleep, you figured now would be a good time to end the pleasant evening and get her up to bed so you could begin to prepare for tomorrow. You shot a look at Joe and his eyes fell straight down to her. Joe picked her up in his arms, cradling her as if she was still a new born baby and stood up to take her upstairs.

She stirred, waking up slightly when you both got half way up. "Daddy." she let out a huge yawn in-between her words.

"Yes princess?"

"We forgot to do milk and cookies for Santa and a carrot for Rudolph."

"Oh no! Well we must do that before you get your beauty sleep mustn't we." Joe halted onto the stairs, nodding for you to head back down.

He put her down onto her steps that huddled against the countertop so she had enough height to help do her duties. You handed her the carrot and cookies to set out onto a plate and Joe helped her pour a glass of milk into a small cup. She took the plate into the living room and set it beside the tree, Joe placed the milk onto the top of the fireplace which was beginning to burn out.

"There, now he'll have something to keep him going on his long journey." He nodded in acceptance at her and she beamed a sleepy smile so bright. Joe offered his hand back to your daughter as she rubbed her eyes.

"Mummy, will you come up and tuck me in with daddy please?"

"Yes of course I will." you smiled down at her, she reached her other hand to yours so you were both holding one side. A happy family.

You put her to bed, wishing her the sweetest of dreams, stroking her hair and singing her the same lullaby your mum sang to you as a child. Joe watched in complete awe, his heart could burst at any given second with the beautiful view in front of him, you two were his life, his happiness and he felt so lucky, more than ever right in this moment. Both of you kissing her goodnight, you closed the door and headed back downstairs.

"How long shall we give it?" Joe asked, obviously too eager to get the presents downstairs.

"We'll check on her in a little bit Joey. I can't wait to see her face in the morning."

"Me neither. But for now I've got something for us to enjoy."

"What's that?" You scrunched your face up, a little smile rising onto your features.

Joe ran into the kitchen himself just as your daughter had done to bring him her drawing, hiding the object behind his back he mimicked the words your little girl had said to him earlier. "Close your eyes, my love."

You closed them and Joe hung his arm in the air, giving you the all clear to open them once more. You did, taking your gaze from his face up his arm and what was being held above the two of you. Mistletoe.

"Merry Christmas, here's to the best one yet, my perfect wife."

"Merry Christmas, my most amazing husband."

You slowly moved towards one another, closing the gap when your lips magnified together. A slow and impeccably sweet kiss beneath the mistletoe was shared, just like in the movies, this Christmas Eve was joyful and bright and you couldn't wait for the day ahead.

Santa was on his way.

robin: you need a hobby.

eddie: i have a hobby.

dustin: staring at steve’s face isn’t a hobby.

eddie: you’re right. it’s a profession and i excel at my job.

Everyone jokes about Steve being the babysitter or the mom friend, but no one actually appreciates everything he does until he gets sick. Steve is the epitome of a doting parent; sure, he's only twenty and the seven kids he's adopted aren't actually his in any legal way, but those kids are his pride and fucking joy. Anyone who sees Steve with those kids can tell that he loves them deeply, which is why Steve is the only person in the Party that can convince their parents to allow anything- their parents KNOW that their kids will not only be well looked after, but they'll be genuinely enjoying themselves too.

Because he's a single mom except he's actually just barely out of his teenage years with no kids, he gets a lot of shit from everyone about it; he's known almost exclusively to the Party as Mama Steve (when he isn't in earshot of course). That's all fine by Steve, he always wanted a big family and now he has it. The problems start to appear when the Party realizes that Steve Harrington flat out ignores his own needs until they're so pressing that he's physically unable to do anything.

It all starts when Robin is told by Keith, of all people, that Steve has called in sick. Robin, of course, panics and calls him, and when he doesn't answer she calls Eddie to check on him. He and Steve had gotten closer since spring break, so it wasn't unusual for a member of the party to call either Eddie or Steve to check in on the other.

Eddie checks in to find Steve Harrington, badass warrior prince incarnate, sobbing from a blanket mountain on the couch in his living room. No one has ever actually seen Steve cry before, so Eddie freaks out, but it's just the result of a high fever and watching Old Yeller by himself. After calming the sick man, Eddie managed to coax some medicine into him and call Family Video to let Robin know that, yes, Steve is alive and no, he wasn't going to die of fever, but he only manages to get Steve to sleep by reading to him (Eddie finds it disgustingly adorable, even more so later when Nancy mentions that Steve loves stories but struggles with what he calls "moving letters"). And for the next two weeks, Steve is down for the count. Joyce and Claudia Henderson take turns making sure Steve is alright (Joyce because Steve is one of Her Kids, and Claudia because Steve is the Older Son she never had) while Eddie, Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin all try to take his place.

By the end of the first day, Nancy calls it quits: Mike is a bullheaded terror who only ever seems to like Will, El, or Eddie, and even then he doesn't always listen to them, so the Wheeler siblings fight even more ferociously than usual. She can't get El or Erica to listen, either; Erica is a force to be reckoned with, and El will only nod passively before doing what she wants anyway. By the end of day three, Jonathan is out. He won't say what happened, but he told Max to be nicer to the Party one time and, ten minutes later, he was tearfully saying that the kids were little monsters.

Robin lasts longer, almost an entire week, by chattering at the kids until they give up and listen to her. She meets her match when Dustin and Erica try to commandeer the Family Video computer again: Dusting sneaks past and almost breaks the computer just trying to get to it while Erica does Erica and argues until Robin the Rambler runs out of words. The morning of day seven is very dark for her.

Eddie, through what he believes to be the universe's acknowledgement of the depth of his affection for Steve and also sheer force of will, lasts the whole two weeks, but just barely. Mike argues over everything, no matter what; Will is skittish at the best of times and disappears constantly (thankfully, not like his Upside Down episodes - the boy just can't stop getting distracted and wandering away from the group), only to reappear directly behind Eddie and scaring him into an early grave; Lucas gets frustrated easily and can never seem to find the right words to communicate his thoughts and feelings, so he snarks and lashes out before awkwardly trying to mend the situation; Erica is so completely herself that it can be dizzying when the full force of that hurricane is directed towards Eddie; Dustin practically follows Eddie around like a little duckling, demanding updates on Steve or ranting about one of his many interests; El spends most of her time with the Party learning about how girls her age act through Max or practicing her braiding on Eddie. The worst of them all, though, is Max. Despite having healed up, she's still in physical therapy to rebuild her muscle strength and dexterity, and her eyesight is bad enough now that there's talk of her getting a service animal. It isn't that she needs a little extra attention that makes her the worst, though: it's that somehow, she still chases the most mischief. Eddie has only narrowly managed to keep her from assaulting no less that nine people in the two weeks that Steve is sick, and he knows she's definitely tried to commit arson at least twice that often.

Finally, after two weeks, Steve feels better enough to return to his usual activity, and Eddie begs him to never get sick again.

Just a little thought for your sweet Sunday prompt, don’t worry if it’s not the sort of thing you want. Kind, soft old fashioned gentleman Steve looking after the reader when she’s having a particularly bad time of the month. I love that man so much and I adore how you write him.😍

Fair warning: this gets sweet but sooooooooo deep after the feels. I went overboard on the semi-angst because periods and (my) life sucks. Steve's just so magical, that bastard....

Hour seven of cramping and you contemplate just giving up and heading to bed. You look over to the clock.

20:23

No way. Too early. You can wait one hour more until another dose of painkiller.

Except now you're out of snacks and either have to watch only half a movie or search for a TV show.

There's a knock at the door, and why someone checking on you makes you want to cry is beyond you. You just do want to cry. You don't want to explain WWIII in your uterus; you want ice cream, dammit.

"I bought three kinds," Steve announces, using his foot to close up behind him, arms covered in grocery bags like a pack mule. "Four if you count the sandwiches."

When he finally looks up, he stalls seeing you curled into the couch, covered in thick blankets, a pillow squished harshly to your chest, and tears brimming in your eyes.

His eyes soften. "Hun," he whines, dropping his arms, "you could have texted me."

You shake your head before tucking it into the pillow. "Not gonna bother you," you mumble through fabric.

"That bad, huh?"

Steve doesn't need an answer though. He's speedy in the kitchen while you scroll absently through Netflix. You still have no clue what to watch.

He returns to your side with a bowl: one scoop of every flavor capped with an entire ice cream sandwich...minus one bite.

"Sorry," he winks, "boyfriend tax."

Steve's cute when he's cheeky, and he knows it.

"That's a big bite, mister."

He shrugs, simply adding, "inflation."

Another sharp pang hits you above the hip, one so brutal and deep you hiss. He asks about medicine, if you'd like hot tea or chocolate, and what else he can do. There's nothing. Just another pang before the other even recedes.

Concern falls off his face suddenly, and Steve holds up a finger before hurtling over the back of the couch.

He comes back but sits on the floor with his hand out. "Foot, please," he adds, brandishing a pair of your fuzziest socks.

"One sec," you groan and clutch the bowl tighter. You can't lift your leg until the cramp stops. You watch Steve school his face with patience instead of sadness.

Some months are worse than others, and Steve doesn't like unpredictable things. Even though he's patient. Even though he rolls with the punches. He will never get used to seeing his best girl in pain, and so most of the time, you hide it from him. You've trained yourself to play it off like it's nothing more than a temporary stomach ache, but this one is bad. You cannot play off this month.

You drank as much water as you could handle. You peed every twenty minutes and cleaned up every time as if it would matter. You want to shower every hour, but that would be just as useless. You'll feel gross and bloated no matter what.

You should feel so pampered and loved when Steve gently slips the soft sock over your heel. You should be happy beneath his gorgeous, blue, adoring gaze. You should not start crying into your confection. It's not salted caramel, for christ's sake. Get it together.

Which, of course, you can't do.

You can't stop any of it, and then you're happy you can't stop it because then he might stop. Somehow Steve only becomes more doting as you shovel ice cream in like air. He sneaks another bite of sandwich to make you smile. Somehow smiling makes the tears come faster. He peels away some blankets and the pillow, politely waiting until the spoon clinks against empty china. Somehow he wrestles you into his lap and hugs.

The firm grip he puts you in is soothing like a weighted blanket, tighter than you can wrap against your own gut, and it feels so good. He curls around you as you were curled in the cushions, a universal pressure, a universal peace.

"You want to watch a comedy or a nature documentary?" His voice rumbles against your back.

"Neither."

His chin pokes your cheek with a questioning hum.

"Tell me about your day," you reply, sighing, letting your whole self lean into Steve even though you feel swollen and grumpy.

He squeezes a little firmer around you, waiting to feel more tension drain from you. "Well, Sam complained that I was heavy again."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, he had to lift me ten stories higher between buildings."

You scoff. "My god, how hard can it be?"

"I know, I know," he mutters, "I'm light as a feather. Practically lean."

"Yeah," you finally smile. "Go on. Have another ice cream sandwich, you skinny boy."

His chuckle rattles behind you. "Only if we can share...then I'm thinking a hot bath and more of this--" he cuddles up closer "--if you're game."

"Just a minute longer," you beg in a whisper before adding with more strength, "you still haven't told me about Sam and Bucky's latest tiff."

I love you Joe Keery. Thank you.

A chubby reader who's super self conscious of her belly and bust? Like she's strong and stuff, comes with the higher weight, but just....

Cant really wear anything unless it's sweats and a sweater, or a t-shirt. Almost never goes out.

And one day Bucky comes to the compound. Reader immediately gets a crush, and has major anxiety over it, like "leaving the room when he comes near" anxiety. Bucky thinks it's his fault, that he's done something wrong and talks to you about it.

He decides to talk to you about it, crying ensues because insecurities, and then the fluff.

Sorry this ask is so long, I'm kinda scrambled XP

hi, lovely! 💫

first of all, don't apologize for bringing this beautiful request into my world! i was beyond excited to have the chance to bring this idea to life, and i hope the direction i took with it does justice to what you had in mind!

second of all, i am so sorry this took me so long to put out, this request is so lovely and i really wanted to make it the best i could.

i hope you enjoy!

matches

pairing: bucky barnes x midsize!reader

word count: 3974

warnings: insecurities and self consciousness, mild body image issues, brief self depreciating thoughts, angst, mutual pining, fluff, swearing, allusions to mature themes, let me know if i missed anything!

please do not read this if you're not comfortable with any of the above topics. while they are not heavily focused on, they are the main theme of this fic

a/n: big thanks to @buckylattes for reading this and catching some of the dumb ass mistakes i made lmao

《《《《 ♡ 》》》》

Being part of the Rescue and Reconnaissance division of Stark Industries wasn't the most glamorous job, but you loved it. You got to work nearly hand in hand with field agents every day, formulating plans for raids, rescues, infiltrations, or general takedown missions to make sure all those involved worked as safely and efficiently as possible. 

You were the one they turned to when a new plan was needed; when they were at risk. There were a few agents who refused to listen to anyone other than you when it came to these times - specifically asking for you to help them through. 

Agent Barnes was one of these people, and though you could never voice it, he was your favourite to deal with. He was always kind and courteous, understanding in the fact that despite not being in the same rankings as him, you damn well knew what you were doing. And, well, it didn't hurt that he always found a moment to be a charming little flirt. 

You have no idea why he had such faith in you. Maybe it was because you always took what he suggested into consideration when calculating next steps. Maybe it was because your ideas were as crazy as his sometimes. Maybe it was simply because he liked the sound of your voice. 

You never knew. 

You never actually met him.

All your dealings with field agents were done from the safety of your control room. You never minded it, though. It was nice, in a way. You absolutely loved doing what you do, but you would never be able to handle being around field agents all the time. Not when they look the way they do, and you…. well, you're you. 

Your thighs touch when you walk, your belly shakes when you laugh, your arms jiggle when you move. You have to painstakingly pick out the right kinds of shirts, otherwise your chest will make it seem like you're three times as big as you really are. 

You were the chubby girl who always hid in the shadows, too afraid to let the world see how bright you truly shine - you were a flame ready to ignite, but no one around you ever offered you a match. 

You were used to it. You made peace with it a long time ago, finding solace in your own company instead of relying on other people to enjoy your time with. It still bothered you from time to time, and you let yourself have days where you wallowed in it, wishing things were different, wishing you looked different. Though, for the most part, it stopped bothering you so much the older you got. 

Until the day you finally met Bucky. 

It was a strange day, being sent to the compound. You've never been sent anywhere before, always planted in your seat while talking to field agents across the world. Yet here you were, being requested by Tony Stark himself. 

You must have spent hours trying to find the right outfit. One that showed off your curves without accentuating the extra pudge around your middle. One that complimented your chest without highlighting the size. One that showed off your ass without making it look massive. One that carefully hid your arms. One that you felt comfortable in. 

It felt like your heart was in your throat the whole time. The butterflies in your stomach turned into a full on frenzy, and you had to take deep breaths every few seconds to stay calm; and to not throw up. 

You barely heard it when Tony said he wanted you working under him. You could hardly process it when he said he created a job just for you. You didn't quite understand it when he told you there was space for you at the compound, and he wanted you here full time. 

All you could do was dumbly nod your head, trying to focus on what he was saying instead of the fact that Bucky Barnes was just outside the conference room. 

By the time the meeting was over, you felt lightheaded. You clutched the contract you were given against your chest and took a final deep breath before leaving the room, hoping to get by unnoticed. It's not like he even knew who you really were, right? 

A gentle calling of your name told you that you were very, very wrong. 

Your feet became rooted in place as you squeezed your eyes shut, focusing all you could on calming your nerves before turning around. And jesus christ, nothing could have prepared you for how beautiful this man actually was in person. 

"Hi," you breathed out, a tiny shy smile gracing your lips. 

"Hi," he said, unintentionally mimicking you. 

His eyes travelled over your face before taking their time roaming your body; you shifted uncomfortably and clutched the contract a little tighter as he stayed fixed on you. A smirk graced his lips, but it was gone before you could really focus on it. 

"It's, uh-... it's nice to finally meet you, Agent Barnes," you muttered sheepishly, hesitantly offering him your hand. 

"You can call me Bucky," he said, smiling warmly as he took your hand in his, sending fire throughout your whole body. "I'd like to say thank you for saving my ass as often as you do, but thank you doesn't seem like enough."

You chuckled, feeling your face flush under his gaze. "'Thank you' suffices just fine, Bucky. I've only been doing my job."

"Speaking of," he started, tilting his head a little as he eyed the contract you held. "You gonna take it?" he asked curiously, his eyes snapping back to yours. 

"What?" you asked, caught off guard by his question.

"The job," he said, gesturing between the contract in your hands and the conference room you just occupied. "You gonna say yes?" 

"How do you know about that?" you asked curiously.

"I know things," he said passively, shrugging his shoulders. "How 'bout I show you around? You can see the place before you decide anything."

You wanted to say no. You wanted to run away and retreat into yourself once more. Though something about the way he was looking at you made it hard to do so. 

So, you agreed. 

And that's how everything started. 

You took the job, moving into the compound a few days after that. You quickly made friends with the girls, and they became your support group; they would help you when it came to shopping for clothes or finding the right outfit for events. They offered to go for walks with you or do yoga - anything you felt like doing, really. You still felt inferior to them from time to time, but not because they made you feel that way; no one at the compound did. 

Only yourself. 

When it came to the boys, it was more or less the same thing. You felt comfortable around them, and you never minded close contact or them seeing you in tighter fitting clothes. 

Everyone was family, and it never felt awkward or uncomfortable around them. 

Except for when it came to Bucky. 

You still grew closer to him over the months of you living at the compound so far, but it hasn't been easy. It was a constant challenge, and it grew harder for you day after day.

When it came to you working alongside him on his missions, everything was great. Nothing with him changed, aside from him throwing out a few more flirty comments. And, since you still had the safety net of being behind comms, you threw some right back at him. 

Once the missions were over, though, it was hard to be around him. You wanted to be around him, but it was nearly impossible. Your feelings for him grew, and the stronger your feelings were, the more distant you became. 

You were careful to only wear sweaters or loose tees paired with sweatpants around him, making sure he would never catch sight of the extra weight you carried around. You quit eating around him; it's not like you had bad eating habits, but you couldn't shake the panic that he would somehow be disgusted, that he would think the reason you're so chubby was because of your diet. You stopped sitting near him during movie nights, and you never hugged him. No matter how much you itched to wrap your arms around him when he came home safe from missions, you couldn't risk him feeling the rolls your body carried, or how soft and pudgy you were. 

It was driving Bucky crazy.

From the minute he finally set his eyes on you, he couldn't get you out of his head. He was beyond thrilled when you agreed to Stark's offer, and he couldn't wait to take the opportunity to get to know you - which was a massive step for him. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling he did something to upset you. 

He grew more confused every day. When it came to conversing over the comms during missions, you two were like a well oiled machine; giggles and flirting and jokes of previous missions. No one would ever know something was amiss. 

Yet when everyone would return home, it was like a switch was flipped. You greeted everyone with hugs and smiles and affection, and Bucky always waited patiently for his turn: but it never came. Instead, you turned to him with an awkward smile and shining eyes and gave him the traditional "welcome home, soldier" that, despite everything, always pulled a smile from his lips. 

He racked his brain every night trying to figure out if he did something, if he said something, but he could never come up with anything. He could never find a reason for the way you would some days leave the room as soon as he entered, for why you always hid away from him when he would catch you off guard in workout clothes or formal attire. He could never come up with an explanation and it was eating him alive. 

The final straw came for him on the night of Pepper’s birthday party. 

He didn’t want to go, he never wanted to go to these things, but ever since you came around he found himself more willing to at least make an appearance; if only to see you. However, he wasn’t even positive if you were going to show up this time, given the way you’ve been so distant lately - and that made him not want to go at all. So he was biding his time, sitting in the kitchen and emptying a bottle of whiskey, trying to not make it obvious that he was waiting to see if you’d wander out of your room before he slipped away to the party.

You stood in front of your mirror for what felt like hours, never before feeling more diffident as you assessed your reflection. You’ve been to some of Tony’s parties before, but this was for Pepper - it was the most grandiose one you’ve attended to date. You weren’t left much choice but to dress your fanciest, and you felt so unfamiliar with your own body as your hands trailed down the fabric of your dress. It was form fitting, hugging every curve you had and accentuating your figure in a way you weren’t used to seeing. The straps were small and the cut was low, it travelled midcalf and had a small slit up the side, showing way more of your leg than you wanted. You had a burning desire to change, but Nat insisted you looked incredible, and Wanda already applied a touch of makeup to match the dress - not to mention you were already running late as it was. 

With one last heavy sigh, you steeled yourself before slipping on your heels and marching out of your room. You thought of anything and everything you could as you marched down the hall, doing your best to pay no mind to the way you felt the fabric clinging to your body with every move you made. God, you really should have put on shapewear. 

Bucky heard you before he saw you, your footfalls echoing through the floor in the same pattern he came to memorize in the months you’ve been here. He took a deep breath, prepared for the fact that you would most likely brush him off once more. He was not prepared, though, for the sight of you as you rounded the corner. 

You were not prepared to see him sitting there, clad in a pressed suit, or for him to quite literally choke on the drink he was nursing as he took in your presence. 

“Jesus, Bucky. Are you alright?” you inquired, conflicted between staying where you stood and approaching him. 

A dismissive wave of his hand had you staying in place, your arms wrapping around your middle as you began to feel exposed to him. 

“I’m fine, I’m good,” he coughed out, refilling his glass as if nothing happened. 

You stood there quietly, completely unsure of what to do next. The silence was becoming louder and louder but you didn’t want to draw his attention to you. Not when you were looking like this. Not when he’d be able to see every curve and divot of your body, the protrusion of your stomach, the ample raise of your chest. You were really starting to regret not changing. 

“Are you gonna stand there and stare all night or head to the party?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the glass before him. His tone was playful, but his voice had a rasp to it that sent a shiver down your spine. 

“Oh, uh - sorry,” you muttered, clearing your throat as you slowly advanced in his direction. “Are, um-… are you gonna join the party?” 

He huffed a small laugh, his eyes finally raising to meet yours only to find that you were looking almost everywhere but at him, effectively wiping the small smile from his face. 

“I’m not so sure,” he said lowly, downing the contents of his glass as he kept his eyes on you. 

You hummed, looking down at your hands before chancing a glance at him; his gaze on you so intense that you immediately looked away again. 

“Well, I- I hope to see you there,” you said sincerely, wringing your fingers together. “You look really nice, Buck” you added quietly, looking up at him just long enough to flash him a warm smile before continuing through the kitchen. 

“Did I do something wrong?” he called after you, the hurt in his voice impossible to miss. 

“What?” you asked in confusion, turning to glance in his direction. 

“Did I do something wrong?” he repeated, leaning back in his chair. “Because ever since you moved in here, it’s like you can’t stand the sight of me.” 

You couldn’t help the nervous chuckle that left you, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s not true.” 

“No?” he asked, his tone taking on a new edge. “Are you sure? ‘Cause you can’t even fucking look at me right now. You practically run from me when I enter the same room, you do everything you can to avoid me, and let’s not forget the fact that I’m the only one around here who you don’t hug after getting back from missions.”

“Bucky-” you tried to explain, but the lump forming in your throat stopped you short. 

“I just wanna know what I did,” he carried on, voice softer this time. “I don’t know if you’re angry with me or- or if you’re scared of me-” 

“I am not scared of you,” you interrupted, finally meeting his gaze. “Please don’t think that.”

“What else am I supposed to think?” he asked quietly. “Everything is fine when I’m out on the field, we- I get along with you better than anyone. But then I come home, and it’s not the same.”

“It’s not-... it’s not like that, Bucky,” you whispered sadly, unintentionally looking away from him again. 

“Yeah, if you say so,” he said curtly, sighing in defeat as he filled his glass again. “Just enjoy the party, okay?”

“You’re not coming?” you asked, unable to keep the disappointment from your voice. 

“Well, you’re just gonna avoid me anyway. Might as well make it easier for you and stay here,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the twirling glass in his hands. 

“I don’t want you to think like that,” you admitted softly. “I- I don’t mean to do the things I do.”

“Then why do they happen?” he inquired, his eyes meeting yours and displaying a painful mix of hurt and confusion. 

“Because,” you started, feeling your bottom lip quiver. “I mean, look at me, Buck,” you finished, as if that was explanation enough. 

“Believe me, I’m looking,” he said gently. “And you look-... well, I wanna say you look beautiful, but that implies you don’t always look beautiful, so, I- I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” he added, his voice so low he may as well have been speaking to himself, but you heard every word he muttered. 

“...What?” you breathed out, staring over at him. 

“What?” he questioned, glancing up to catch your eye.

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat but it just kept on growing, forcing you to choke on your words. 

“Hey, wait, don’t-... okay, now I really said something wrong, right?” he asked quickly, starting to panic as he watched your eyes fill with tears. 

Shaking your head vehemently, you delicately wiped your eyes, hoping not to smudge the work that Wanda did for you. “No, you- I just didn’t expect you to say that. I-... I'm not used to hearing that." 

"You're not?" he asked, genuinely surprised. 

You almost laughed, and you probably would have if it wasn't such an embarrassing thing to admit. "No. I'm… guys don't really call girls who look like me beautiful." 

He fell silent for a minute, eyeing you carefully before shifting in his seat, resting his arms on the table.

"You know, I've been alive for a pretty long time now," he said conversationally, as if you weren't on the cusp of a breakdown. "And I've also been quite literally around the whole world in that time. Some of it I remember, some of it… not so much. But even so, do you know what the one thing I can say with complete certainty is?" 

You waited for him to go on for a moment before realizing he was actually looking for an answer. "No, what?" you manage to croak out. 

He smiled softly, relaxing in his seat again. "I have, quite literally, never met anyone as beautiful as you. And I mean in both appearance and personality." 

"But I- I'm not… I don't have the kind of body like the other women around here," you murmured, casting your gaze downwards as if you were ashamed of your words. 

"So?" he asked incredulously. "Do you seriously think that you're automatically not beautiful just because you aren't the same size as them?" 

"No, it- you can't- I'm not-" you tried to argue, but all you could get out were a few utterances before you had to choke back a sob, completely lost on how to express yourself. 

"Is this why you've been avoiding me? Have I done something to make you uncomfortable?" he asked anxiously, fighting the urge to approach you. 

"Yes. I mean no, I-" you cut yourself off with a sigh, taking a moment to consider your answer. "I've been too embarrassed to be around you. I-... I was afraid you'd be repulsed by me and that I'd lose you." 

"Repulsed by you? A woman who puts fucking goddesses to shame?" he asked in disbelief. "Did me choking on my drink earlier not prove how taken by you I am?" 

"Is that what that was?" you wondered, letting out a watery laugh. 

"Yeah, that's what that was," he confirmed with a soft chuckle. "A guy does a real life spit take when he sees the girl of his dreams looking like the focus of a goddamn renaissance painting and she doesn't even realize it," he mumbled in exasperation, yet his eyes carried a playful sparkle. 

"The girl of your dreams?" you repeated in shock, your voice a nervous whisper. 

"Was that too cliché?" he questioned, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

"Maybe a little," you said playfully, sniffling quietly. 

"I know how it feels, you know," he said softly. "To feel uncomfortable in your own body. But if you'd let me, I'll spend every day proving to you that I see you as nothing short of perfect." 

You could only nod, giving him a weak smile as you fought back a wave of tears. "Yeah, I-... I could do that, too," you agreed quietly. 

He grinned softly, greedily taking in your appearance once more before tearing his eyes away. "Come on," he urged, downing his drink before standing up. "You owe me about seven dances." 

"Where does that number come from?" you asked with a laugh, watching as he approached you. 

"For how many parties you snubbed me at so far," he replied casually, stopping as he stood before you. 

"I never snubbed you," you grumbled, peering up at him. 

"Sure you didn't," he teased, carefully wiping the tears from your face. 

"Do I still look okay?" you asked nervously, fidgiting slightly under his touch. 

"Gorgeous as ever," he replied sincerely. 

You couldn't help but grin, laughing a little anxiously. "Okay. Come on, or else we won't have enough time for all those dances." 

Bucky laughed happily, taking your hand and rushing to join the party, having you giggling in his wake as you did your best to keep up. 

You let him whisk you away for the rest of the night, leading you through all the dances you owed him; and a few more, for good measure, as Bucky put it. 

He stayed true to his word, and there wasn't a second that you spent with him where you didn't feel like the most ravishing woman to walk the earth.

Especially when he took his precious time in the dark of the night to memorize and worship every inch of your body over and over again.

So as you sat here now, watching from across the room as he danced with the crowd, you couldn't help but feel foolish. Foolish for letting your thoughts take away the extra time you could have had with him, foolish for ever thinking this incredible man would ever judge you for something so trivial. Foolish, foolish, foolish. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" you heard from beside you, ripping you from your reverie.  

You turned your head, grinning as you saw the very man himself had taken up the seat to your left. "What, get tired of dancing already, old man?" 

He gasped, feigning offense as he took in your words. "I'd watch who you're calling old, sweetheart," he warned playfully. 

"I'd watch who you're calling sweetheart. I happen to be a married woman now, you know," you replied jovially.

"Married, huh? Should've known I didn't stand a chance," he lamented, shaking his head. "How about a pity dance?" he suggested with a grin, holding his hand out to you. 

You giggled softly, taking his hand with a grin of your own. "Lead the way, Mr. Barnes." 

"Anything for you, Mrs. Barnes," he replied with a wink, leading you to the dance floor. 

And just like he did three years ago, he whisked you away and led you through a whole seven dances; and a few more, for good measure. 

You were a flame, finally ignited, and Bucky was your match.