You were getting ready for a party at the tower; a gala that You’d convinced Tony to throw in order to keep the Avengers in good light.
They had almost demolished the pyramid of Giza on their last assignment and you had flipped your shit and pulled all of the strings you had in your back pocket, the ones you’d worked very hard to acquire, in order to keep them in the woods good graces. Ruining PR for those son of a bitches was never going to get any easier.
You were only half ready; your hair fell in long(or short, if you’re a reader with short hair) bouncy curls from the rollers that had held them for the last hour and your makeup was smokey and polished to perfection, but you were still only in a hair of high waisted black lacy panties and a black push up bra that was sent to you by God himself. All you had to do was slip on the floor length black satin wrap dress and you’d be good to go. You’re walking from the bathroom to your closet when you stop in front of your vanity mirror to asses yourself.
The vanity lighting could make anyone look good, but they way it reflected off of your S/C skin and made you look like you were glowing from the inside. You pushed the leopard print robe you had on open more, the fabric slipping down your shoulder, so you could get a better view of yourself.
“God damn, ma” you say out loud as you admire the was your curves jut proudly. Spinning at different angles, getting different views of your round ass and perked up breasts.
You looked like a coke bottle, like some sort of pin up model, a wet dream.
Your makeup, which had taken you years(an hour) to make perfect had you looking pouty and sexy. Your eyebrows arched and filled in, your cou tour blended. Your highlighter bright enough to blind.
You felt good, you thought about grabbing your phone so that you could take some sexy pictures to torment Bucky with later…
You hadn’t noticed the set of heavy eyes on you until then, you’d been so caught up admiring yourself in the mirror that you’d been oblivious when the tall man had entered the room.
You make eye contact with him in the corner of your mirror.
He was leaning against the wall behind you dressed in his onyx two price suit, his arms folded over his chest, an amused grin wide on his lips.
“Hey” you greet, trying to sound nonchalant like you hadn’t just been giving yourself a peep show “How long have you been standing there?…” You fluff you hair in an attempt to mask the slight embarrassment you feel.
Bucky barks out a small, gruff laugh and pushes himself off the wall, coming behind you and wrapping his arms around your middle, resting his chin on your shoulder, his scruff scratching the bare, vulnerable skin there. “Long enough, doll-face” he presses a kiss to the base of your neck, your hair tickling his face.
Good god, you smell so fucking good. Fresh out of the shower, covered in lotions and perfumes. His mouth almost salivates and he has the urge to bite into your soft skin. “I could just eat you up, you know that?”
You smile at that, leaning into his kisses “Oh yeah?”
“Mhmm, you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen” there’s no lie in his tone “A gem. How’d I get so lucky?”
“I don’t know, good karma maybe” you tease, basking in not only his praise, but your own. He chuckles but shakes his head.
He doesn’t think he has any of that, but he has you and that’s enough. When Bucky’s hands start to roam, dipping under your robe and inching towards your breast you wiggle free of his grip.
“Uh uh, Buck, We have a party to host and I need to get dressed, not have you undress me!” Your tone is stern because if not, you know where it will lead and you’d worked to damn hard on this masterpiece for him to make you a sweaty shaking mess.
He holds up his hands in mock surrender “Okay miss ma'am”
To stand on your tippy toes so that you can reach his ear “If you’re on your best behavior tonight, I’ll give you a reward”
He swallows hard, Addams Apple bobbing and you fight the urge to lick it.
“Oh yeah? What will that be?” He wonders, his voice is raspy and excited.
“Be good and find out” You press a quick peck to his lips pulling away when he tries to make it something deeper.
He pouts at you, his big eyes questioning why you won’t let him at least kiss you.
“You’ll ruin my lipstick” Duh, you tell him, before hurrying off to put your dress on before he can grab you in his vice arms again. He stands there for a moment, shaking his head when and letting a breath out through his nose.
“Little minx” Bucky mutters before he follows you, the least you can do is let him watch you shimmy into that dress.
Because not all plus size women are meek and self conscious all of the time. Check your self out, admire that fat ass! Spend time getting ready and feeling like a goddess because sexy doesn’t have a size babes, it’s a state of mind. Love yourselves!💘
“What, are you worried about stretchmarks? Women who don’t want children are just so vain...”
I’ve seen waaay too many young mums with fake eyelashes, fake tans and fake breasts to let this one slide.
Physical vanity has very little to do with whether you’re a parent or not.
We’re all vain - whether that manifests in the childfree woman who gets her hair cut and coloured the way she likes, or the mum who makes sure her children are clean, neatly-ironed-uniforms and shiny-shoes before they leave for school. They’re a reflection of her. It’s all still vanity.
And is it a crime? Taking care in your physical appearance doesn’t harm anyone else.
Vanity isn’t a major factor for me in childfree, but if I met somebody for whom it was a big deal, I wouldn’t judge them. You only get one body. It’s cool to care about it - rather than blindly turn it into a mere conduit for other bodies to enter the world.
Weird, how two completely polar stereotypes exist about childfree women: first, the vain and pampered winkle-free forty-something who has a different set of acrylic nails every week, and winces snobbishly at the mere thought of stretchmarks or vomit stains; and second, the sad and frumpy childfree spinster who spends her day peering narrow-eyed through her net curtains at the children outside, beige clothes and bird nest hair, oblivious to how undesirable and strange she is.
And for the record, I’ve got stretchmarks. They’re not some kind of noble badge of honour bestowed only upon mothers.