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You held the computer mouse so tight your knuckles were white. You still weren’t sure if you were ready to get back on the website, why you’d even thought it was a good idea. That last rejection had really hurt, more than you cared to admit. You were tired of being rejected over and over and over again by men who took one look at you and turned away, refusing to look past your weight to the woman inside.
Your whole life you’d been ridiculed for being overweight. It had taken you years to accept yourself the way you were, full-figured and beautiful, despite what people might have thought or even said. While your self-confidence was a definite plus, it didn’t change some people’s opinion of you. You just wanted people to get to know the real you, instead of judging you for your looks.
So, you’d joined the online dating site - Get to Know Me First - a site where photos were not posted, instead, the goal was to get to know a person first, find out if you had anything in common, find out if you were compatible, essentially, build a relationship before you saw the other person. But, your first - and only - date with someone you’d met on the dating sight hadn’t gone so well.
You arrived at the coffee shop you’d picked earlier, hoping to get a good table away from nosy people. Your date’s name was Malcolm, he was a couple of years older than you, and according to your conversations over the last two weeks, you had a lot in common. You were excited to meet him.
The coffee shop was empty, only a few other customers, so you grabbed a table for two near the door, foot tapping impatiently as you waited for Malcolm to arrive.
He blew through the door ten minutes late, eyes scouring every inch of the coffee shop before finally settling on you. You waved and gave him a shy smile. A frown briefly crossed his face before he hurried over.
“Y/N?” he asked.
“You must be Malcolm,” you said, rising to your feet and holding out your hand.
His eyes roamed over your body, the frown returning. He cleared his throat, yanked his hand out of yours a little too quickly, and sat down. He pushed his chair away from the table, putting some distance between the two of you, and folded his hands in his lap.
“So, um...it’s nice to finally meet you,” you said.
“Yeah, yeah, same,” Malcolm replied, staring at something just over your shoulder.
You spent the next few minutes trying to make small talk with Malcolm, receiving nothing but grunts and nods in return. You were growing more and more frustrated with every minute that passed. When you couldn’t take Malcolm’s near silence any longer, you leaned over the table and cleared your throat, drawing his attention to you.
“Is there a problem, Malcolm?” you asked. You were one hundred percent convinced you already knew what his problem was.
“I just...you’re not quite…I, uh,” he stammered.
“Spit it out,” you muttered through gritted teeth.
“I’m sorry, but you’re...well, you’re just too big,” he shrugged.
You shoved away from the table, the cup of coffee you’d been drinking tipping over and hitting the floor. You fought back the tears threatening to fall as you gathered your belongings.
“The only thing I’m too big for is your narrow mind,” you spat before stomping out the door.
A beep from your computer pulled you free of the memory. You had a message - what the website called an “Inquiry” - waiting for you. You moved the mouse, hovering over it, wondering if it was even worth it. After a few seconds, you clicked it.
“You’re kidding right?” you typed.
“No, I’m dead serious,” he replied.
You put your hands over your face, shaking your head and laughing. Steve always made you laugh, he was unbelievably sweet, unbelievably adorable, and unbelievably perfect. In fact, he was just unbelievable, too good to be true.
The two of you had been talking on the computer for weeks, almost everyday, for hours on end. He understood you in a way you’d never thought anyone could. You found yourself rushing home at the end of your work day to talk to him, to spend your evenings with Steve. You’d even missed him when he took a trip out of the country and was unable to reach you.
The possibility of meeting had come up several times, but somehow there was always a reason not to, usually a reason you came up with rather than Steve. You’d been very honest with him, telling him everything about yourself. Everything .
He hadn’t seem to care, brushing aside your self-deprecating comments, scolding you for being too hard on yourself.
“Everyone is imperfect in their own way,” he said. “You should meet some of my friends.”
“I’d love to meet them,” you laughed.
“Well, you have to meet me first,” Steve replied. “Speaking of which…”
Steve’s comment turned the conversation back to the possibility of the two of you meeting again. Since you were out of reasons to postpone it, again, you agreed, reluctantly. But Steve seemed so excited that you couldn’t help but be glad that you were finally going through with it.
“So, tomorrow?” Steve asked.
“Tomorrow,” you agreed.
Steve had picked the place, some little family owned ice cream parlor in Brooklyn that had been around for more than eighty years - May’s Ice Cream Shoppe. He said it was a favorite, that he’d been going there since he was a kid. You were supposed to look for someone wearing a baseball cap and aviators, sitting in the back of the shop.
You opened the door, the little bell overhead jingling pleasantly. The shop was cute, painted in bright colors, a counter with stools dominating the room and a few tables scattered around. Rows and rows of ice cream dominated the cold case, every flavor imaginable. You hoped this date lasted long enough for you to try a couple of flavors.
You found Steve in the very back of the shop, facing the entrance, his back against the wall, his fingers drumming nervously on the table. He jumped to his feet as soon as you stopped in front of him.
“Y/N?” he asked.
You nodded, smiling. But your smile faded as soon as he removed his glasses and tipped the hat back on his head.
“Y-you...you’re...C-Captain America,” you stuttered, falling back a step.
“I am,” Steve blushed.
“Holy shit,” you gasped, immediately slapping your hand over your mouth. “Sorry,” you mumbled. “I just...I didn’t expect...well, you.”
“Is that a bad thing?” he asked, his cheeks flushing even pinker.
“No, no, of course not,” you said, shaking your head so hard your hair flew around your face. “It’s, uh, well, I wasn’t expecting freaking Captain America.”
“Steve,” he grinned. “Please call me Steve.” He pointed to the chair opposite him. “Please, sit.”
You eased into the chair across from him, your stomach fluttering with nerves, your hands shaking. “You can go if you want to,” you murmured.
“What?” Steve said, his head tipping to one side in confusion.
“I understand if you want to go,” you shrugged. “I’m probably not the kind of girl you were expecting. My feelings won’t be hurt.”
“I don’t have any intention of going anywhere, Y/N,” Steve said, shaking his head. “This is where I want to be. Look, I’m going to get us some ice cream. Promise me you’ll be here when I get back?”
“I-I will,” you nodded.
Steve squeezed your hand before rising to his feet. “Vanilla’s your favorite, right?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you murmured. You couldn’t believe he’d remembered.
You pinched yourself as soon as he had his back turned to you. This couldn’t be real, you couldn’t be sitting at a table with Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, you couldn’t be on a date with him. You were nothing, nobody, and certainly not worthy of a man like him. He deserved better.
“There you go,” Steve said, sliding a dish of vanilla ice cream in front of you a few minutes later.
“Thanks.” You shifted uneasily in your chair and looked toward the door.
“Y/N, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing -”
“Something must be wrong,” he mumbled. “You look like you want to bolt.” He set his spoon down beside his bowl and leaned over the table. “Don’t you want to be here?”
“I do want to be here,” you sighed. “I’m just...look, Steve, I was already afraid to come here, afraid of another rejection because I’m not the conventional beauty people expect, because I’m fat -”
“Y/N,” Steve interrupted.
“Let me finish,” you said. “This is too crazy, too weird to be real life, you know. I mean, people like me don’t end up with people like you. I’m always the fat friend sitting on the sidelines. And I’ll understand if you get up and walk out right now. No hard feelings, I promise.”
Steve reached across the table and took your hands in his, holding them tight. He leaned forward, his blue eyes piercing, as if he was staring straight into your soul.
“Do you know why I was on that website, Y/N?” he asked.
“No,” you whispered.
“Because I wanted to find someone that would like me for me . I wanted someone who wants the boy from Brooklyn, not the guy in the suit with the shield. I thought, well, I kind of thought, kind of hoped , that might be you,” Steve explained.
“Really?” you gasped. “Me?”
“We get along great, always have a lot to talk about, we like a lot of the same things -”
“Old movies,” you giggled. “That you probably saw in the theater.”
Steve laughed and shook his head. “Seriously, though, Y/N, please don’t go. Give me a chance. Give yourself a chance. I think you’re beautiful. Stunning.”
“Don’t lie to me,” you mumbled.
“Hey, Captain America doesn’t lie,” Steve smirked.
“You can’t use that if you just want to be the boy from Brooklyn,” you grinned.
Steve eased around the table and slipped into the chair beside you. Your heart was pounding and your palms were sweating, and you kind of felt like you might throw up as he leaned closer and brushed a kiss across your cheek.
“Is that okay?” he asked.
“Better than okay,” you whispered.