#neutral x dwarf reader

[heavenbarnes]

Can we please get a blurb of big dick Hotch (who knows it’s big) making it fit? Reader thinks they can’t take it but Hotch just knoooows they can. Hehe thank you!

You say it’s big but you take it

Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader

Warnings/contains: reader is gender neutral with no mentions of genitals, oral sex, edging, penetrative sex, no protection, finger sucking, swearing, dirty talk, light face slapping, probably a size kink

I’m so grateful for this ask because I only explored this a little in my last Hotch fic and it deserved more

He’d had his mouth between your legs for the better part of an hour, his tongue working over your entrance as his fingers gently worked their way in.

That, that was already doing your head in. His thick fingers stretched you enough to have your toes curling, fingers threading into his hair.

You’d been on the precipice of an orgasm from the beginning too, every time you’d get close enough he’d slow you right back down to work you up again.

Pathetic. You looked truly pathetic, utterly debauched and completely fucked out- already.

Stripped naked, Hotch had pulled every last article of clothing off you before he’d pushed you back on the bed. Of course, he’d only shed his suit jacket and loosened his tie. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt but he was still nearly entirely covered.

That was another way he commanded total power over you. Leaving you so exposed to him whilst you had to fight for a glimpse at him.

Drove you fucking crazy.

You couldn’t help the whimpering as you felt him move away from you, hands stretching out to catch him but he quieted you quickly.

“Stop it- you’re being greedy.”

Lip jutting out, pouting like a child- he was completely correct but you made no effort to stop. “I need you.”

Kneeling back, you watched his big hands start to loosen his belt, pulling down his pants and briefs just enough to free himself.

“You’ll get me, when have I ever let you down?”

He had a point, you couldn’t imagine a world where Hotch didn’t leave you satisfied. But he was right, you were greedy and your patience was wearing thin.

You watched through hooded eyes as he reached into his boxers, pulling out his cock before giving it a languid stroke. It nearly made your eyes roll back, not even his large palm dwarfing the size of it.

He placed that same palm in front of you, giving you a quick nod that you understood immediately. Tilting your head, you spat into his hand before he wrapped it back around himself.

As he slowly jerked himself off before you, his other hand came back to keep rubbing the wetness from his mouth around your entrance.

His eyes flickered to yours, knowing he was being watched. He knew you well enough to know what you’d say next.

“It’s so big.”

It wasn’t even to stroke his ego, and the way you whined when you said it painted it more as a protest. Aaron Hotchner was hung, there was no denying it.

Every time with him felt like the first.

That’s why the prep went for so long, that’s why there was very seldom a quickie, that’s why you always woke with a burn between your legs.

“I know it’s big, sweetheart,” He cooed, rubbing his hand over the tip. “But you always take it so well, yeah?”

Your mouth dropped open with a cry, bucking your hips into the touch of his fingers. This was how it went, he’d work it into you with a lot of patience and a heap of praise.

The blunt tip was nudging against you, breaching the tight grasp of you as he slowly slid himself in. Your eyes screwed up tight until you felt Hotch grasping your chin, four fingers and thumb on either side as your lips puckered.

“Watch me,” His breath was clipped as he continued to ease his hips. “Watch it go in.”

His grip tightened slightly as he tilted your head down, eyes falling on the sight before you. His thick cock, stretching you around him as another inch of him disappeared.

“Fuck- s’too big-“

His grip loosened enough to lay a quick and gentle slap to your cheek, shutting you up in an instant.

“I don’t want to hear you unless you’re telling me to fuck you harder.”

Your stomach tightened up, a surge of pleasure hitting your straight on as he spoke. The burn was beginning to ease the closer he got to being hip deep.

Once he’s fully sunk in, he stilled enough for you to get fully adjusted. The moment he heard a deep moan from the pit of your chest, he knew that was his sign to start moving.

“That’s it, so good for me,” His fingers slipped across your lip before he dipped his thumb in your mouth. “We’ll always make it fit.”

[neteyamsilly]

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 5

summary ;; What could Jake do? How was he supposed to fight when he had no concrete opponent? PART 4 | PART 6 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; jake is so depressing here. i also took liberty with his character and the reasonings for his decisions in atwow, sorry in case if thats not how you see him LMAO happy reading 💞 please excuse my mistakes if you see any! ‼ I DONT TAKE TAG REQUESTS ANYMORE ‼

“One chance, Jakesuli. You will only have one chance. Use it well. Our Great Mother favors you, that we know. But this favor hasn’t been granted to you. It has been granted to my granddaughter.”

“I won’t fail.” Not again. 

“What does failing mean, I wonder. Would you fail if you take her soul back from her happiest? Or would you fail if you let her have the peace our Great Mother has laid her into?” 

“I will get my daughter back. This isn’t her time. If Eywa has given me this chance, then she thinks the same as me.”

“You will take that honor from her, then?” Mo’at was being cryptic, but Jake saw through the exterior of the neutral Tsahik into an exhausted, mourning grandmother. “She was the daughter of Toruk Makto, and he was her last shadow.”

It came back to Jake in a gut-churning realization, it was his shadow that had fallen over you from the light of the torches on the walls as you’d given your last breath. It was his shadow. “No,” he refused, adamantly. “She will get to achieve greater honors of her own than that. I won’t be the one defining her ending.” The last bead of your songcord having his name, Toruk Makto’s name, was supremely wrong to him. He would not accept this fate for you. 

“Very well, then.” Secretly, she was pleased with him. With his answer. “Get going. As I said. One chance.”  

Jake would never be able to get used to the magnificence that was Vitraya Ramunong, or, the Tree of Souls. To him, Pandora itself was a marvel already too good to be true that he’d fallen in love with, and abandoned his own race for, there was no getting used to the beauty for a human like him who’d only found it once in neon lights, ever. He could reach the end of his natural lifespan in this body and still there would be much left to discover. That’s why Jake was more vulnerable to one of the beating hearts of Eywa in the shape of a giant, glowing willow tree. 

No Na’vi was immune to the soul-purifying, all-consuming, yet being-dwarfing peace enveloping one’s very spirit, in a cradling hug as if they were nothing but a newborn in their mother’s arms. In here, only one fact mattered: they were childrens of Eywa, all of them dear, all of them seen, all of them safe and sound, including him, once alien to Eywa the way Earth was related to Pandora. Everything spoke to him here in a language he didn’t understand, but could respond to, again, in a language he didn’t understand, his soul doing the communicating. 

Jake was also a child here, Eywa’s chosen child. 

And he had come to her door for the most difficult request of his life, feeling like he was asking his mother for money right after he had crashed their car, unable to look her in the eye and expecting the biggest of scoldings for his shamelessness. 

This was nothing like asking for her assistance against the sky people, back then, he had agency, power, the clans backing him up, Toruk. If Eywa didn’t hear him, he would fight until the last drop of blood in his body was spent anyway, he was ready.

Now, he had nothing. 

Nothing to offer in return, not one concrete reason as to why he should have his daughter back other than being a desperate father with nowhere to return to other than the mercy of the Great Mother. He just wanted his child. Nothing mattered. 

Not how and why Quaritch had spawned right under his nose with an avatar body, not how they could even slither in without detection, not the threat of what the sky people could bring upon their heads with that — nothing, not now. Nothing mattered until he saw this through. 

Jake had found the will to quite literally tear himself from your side like nail from flesh only when you’d stabilized enough. Stabilized, as in, the faintest rise and fall of your ribcage Neteyam had to stare from where he was sitting like a sentinel for a full minute to spot, a tideless, still ocean only moving with whiffs of wind, his own breathing unnoticeable — to match yours, or to silence the sounds in his own body to hear better, Jake didn’t know. 

No sky person was allowed to take over from Mo’at and Kiri. Norm had told Jake none of this made sense, if the bullet had nicked the bowels enough and the dirt leaked into the bloodstream, the possibility of sepsis was eventual, and if it didn’t, you had bled too much anyway, a blood transfusion was necessary, and the internal organs... — Christ, the amount of bad end scenarios Jake had been subjected to was as if they were telling him to open a grave for you anyway. Tsahik had scoffed into their faces. The way of healing was something none of them would see, she had scoffed. Now ally, or not. You can’t fill a cup that’s already full. Jake was in a hopeless need for water into wine kind of miracle, and honestly, he wasn’t complaining. 

Leaving High Camp behind to set off on a journey calling for only him was one of the hardest things he’d done yet, the silhouette of you lying motionless, his family scattered around the tent, shadowed in their own mourning, folded into themselves was burned into his mind, glimpses of their pain visible from eclipses of light occasionally falling on their faces. A sight he never wanted to see again in his life if he could help it. It was a frosted, iron-thorned hand squishing his heart into ground meat. 

Tuk, ever the stingy monopolizer, had brought her favorite toys to scatter around you because she thought they’d comfort you the way they comforted her, had tried snuggling with your unconscious body and was warned by Kiri only to hold your hand instead. She had taken to playing with your fingers, the depressive gloom of years beyond her age crooked on her. Jake couldn’t stand the sight of the little girl telling you bedtime stories he and Neytiri used to, for a moment only, he could pretend you were just going along with your sister’s whims and smiling with your eyes closed as you listened. 

Kiri, buzzing around to change the bandage-leaves that soaked up some sort of sickly black colored puss every couple hours, had explained to him the salve they used on you was getting the infection and the splinters of the bullet they couldn’t get out of your body, which had turned the color of your blood into that — but the thing was, given the dwelling of the woodsprite in your mouth, they couldn’t feed you the porridge-like mix to speed up the process of blood production in the bone marrow, and she was exerting herself looking for some other way. 

Before he’d left the tent for good, she had handed him the bullet— or, the biggest piece of it they’d taken out of your body, it was a mere pursed and shriveled, tiny metal. The exhausted girl had stammered when explaining that whatever they’d hit you with, had broken into shards inside you upon impact, creating severe lacerations and lethal hemorrhage that they’d worked tirelessly to pick out.

Jake had stared hollowly at it for the longest time. This small thing. It was such a small thing that took you from him. 

The sentence that sent you away was also as small, and damning as this bullet. ‘Go.’   

Kiri had seen it sink in his face, closing her five-fingered hand on his palm, on the bullet. “You should get going, dad,” she’d said. “We’re okay here.”

Jake had taken one last look. At Neytiri wiping your body to clean all the congealed blood. At Tuk holding your hand. At Kiri trying to fill in shoes bigger than her feet. At you lying down with trinkets surrounding you like funeral flowers. And forced his body to keep moving when all he wanted to do was stay. 

He’d then heard Lo’ak complaining to his older brother outside the tent, “How can he be so cold?” The heaviness was getting to the boy, agitated and misapprehending. But he was always this way, if something was out of his control, the inability to act to change it manifested as frustration, blind anger. “Why is he so… unresponsive? Emotionless?”

Jake would have let it slide had it been about something else, but his children running their mouths not knowing he was a hair's breadth away from going clinically insane had gotten to him. He was burning alive. 

“You think I don’t care, boy?” He emerged from the tent like some last boss, initially not caring he’d scared the brothers. “You think I don’t feel at all? My own child dying in the same arms I used to hold her as a baby — you think that doesn’t faze me?”

Neteyam, the mediator, or rather, the blame-taker, ran to his little brother’s rescue, the latter too flabbergasted to form any words yet. “Dad, he doesn’t mean—”

“I know exactly what he means.” When the anger subsided, Jake sighed with the weariness of an ancient man. The flames had died before they could climb, he was too exhausted for it. Honesty and trust, as Neytiri had said. 

Having lost everything, having nothing to lose, and having a lot to lose were somehow simultaneously the same thing to Jake in the predicament he’d found himself in. “I know how you see me. You only know me as the person I want to show you.” 

Lo’ak’s go-to answer was presented to Jake on a silver platter. “Sorry, sir.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear at all. Jake wasn’t trying to get Lo’ak to bow his head. “Don’t apologize—” He cut himself short, licking his chapped lips, and after rubbing his face, he’d put his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Lo’ak. Son. I feel this, alright? Of course I do. I’m your father.” He shook him gently, feeling the words weren’t reaching him, who was just staring at something on the ground off to the side. “There’s no greater pain a parent can go through in life than losing his child. You can’t understand what this means right now—what it’s doing to me. You will only know when you become a father yourself.” He gently tapped Lo’ak on the chin so he would raise his head and look at him in the eye already. And when he did, Jake said what he said slowly, hoarsely. “But know this. Know I will lose myself if I lose you, or any of your siblings.” He turned to Neteyam as well, who was watching in full alert mode. “I’m fighting not to lose my sanity as we speak.”

Lo’ak swallowed, unsure and weirded out to hear something like this for the first time in his life. Jake didn’t blame him. He was never emotionally upfront or honest before, not even used to it, more awkward with it than his boys were. But none of that mattered. Not anymore, after what happened to you because of his shortcomings. “You just look so composed—“

“I have to be.” Jake shook his head, eyelids hanging heavy, his whole head was heavy. “I just can’t crumble under it, do you understand? I have to be strong. I can’t lose myself in it. Your sister needs me. You need me. To be strong.” He took his hands off the boy’s shoulders, putting a palm on his cheek and patting a few, fatherly times before backing off altogether. “Never say that I don’t care. Never. I might not show it—and it’s a father’s duty not to show it, so my family will have a stable anchor. Get what I’m saying?” 

Lo’ak looked reassured, lighter. So that’s what Neytiri had meant. “How… how can I help?”

His youngest son’s inclination to get to the root of the problem and pump out solutions was in consanguineous with his inability to stop and wait, uncomfortable in his skin when he couldn’t do anything to improve the situation and was confronted with the intimacy of having to feel, always wanting to act. Lo’ak was like Jake in that way. Awkward when it came to communication. Dishonest with themselves.  

“Stay here.” Jake said, right from his heart. “Stay safe. I don’t wish for anything else in this world.”

Lo’ak’s eyes softened, and as the father, Jake felt the renewal of the bond between them, saw the understanding in his youngest son, saw something else than the guilt and regret over being caught after mischief, for once. “I’m sorry, dad.”

“Don’t apologize.” He shared a meaningful look with him, trying to convey, again, his apology wasn’t what he wanted. Yet, his sons were defaulted to saying sorry half the time they spoke to him nowadays. Jake was understanding the severity of it, too much too late. Lo’ak nodded, ears tipped down slightly.

Then he turned to the eldest. “Neteyam—”

But he opened his mouth before Jake could say anything else. Ready. Always on his feet. “Yes, I will—”

Jake clicked his tongue. “Rest.”

Neteyam was about to say yes to whatever he was told to do, as always, but stopped right in the middle of it, voice catching in his throat, eyes blinking in confusion. “What?”

“Rest.” 

“But—”

“Rest, Neteyam, I won’t tell you again.”

God knows he needed it. Neteyam looked like he’d been having night terrors for days, accumulated anxiety making him jumpy. “Sorry, sir.”

“Stop—“ Jake caught himself before he could raise his voice. “Why are you apologizing?”

Neteyam didn’t talk for a while. But when he did, he was looking up at him underneath his lashes, unable to keep eye contact for more than two seconds. “It’s my fault.”

“Bro,” Lo’ak said, a pitiful objection.

Jake knew where this was going. “What is?” 

“I should have been there.” He pressed his mouth into a thin line before furrowing his brow, closing his eyes. Jake knew what he was seeing, repeated over and over again in his mind. “I should have known right away when I couldn’t catch up to her. I could have prevented it. It’s my responsibility.” One tear slipped by as he hung his head. “My fault.”

There it is.

Jake had told him before. “You’re the older brother, you gotta act like it.” — even though you and him were more like affable twins than older brother and younger sister that he never had to explicitly be a guardian to you like he was to Lo’ak, he had to be thinking this was his biggest failure. Neteyam was just reflecting what he’d been taught, the standards his father was holding him up to. Of course the boy had been overthinking it to the point where he was the catalyst to the event by not predicting your fakeout. 

“No,” Jake rasped, after a beat. “This is on me first, and the sky people who got to her second. And that’s the end of the story.”

Neteyam, up until this point, had to bear half the blame, if not the rest of it, for the consequences of his siblings’ actions. Upon receiving this kind of answer, he startled with an incredulous gasp and full stare at Jake. “But I—”

“It’s not about you, Neteyam,” Jake explained, although the words were harsh, he had done his best to soften the impact. “I did this. Blame me, okay?”

‘How could I?’ was written in neon letters over the boy’s head even if he didn’t say anything. Too good-natured. He idolized Jake a lot more than the man deserved. “Mother was… she was… She is grieving, she doesn’t mean it.”

“You gotta stop making excuses for people, boy. Especially when they’re in the right.” A smile pulled on his lips, but died as it was born. “I pushed and pushed until we reached the edge, thinking there was never an edge at all. I should have known better. I should have been better. This is between me and your sister, and that’s why it is me who has to go to the Tree of Souls.” 

And he’d left, but not before pulling his boys into his chest, cradling the back of their heads against himself, the smell of home repulsing instead of comforting. Prickles on his skin was the comfort he got from being able to hug his children when you were absent. It didn’t feel right. 

He missed you dearly, an aching, gaping hole in his very being that only grew larger as he saw what you left behind half-completed or messy like you’d stood up and gone off for a minute to come back to it later — 

The unmade pallet from the night of your Iknimaya argument that Jake had shed tears on when he’d seen the state of it, having the signs of someone getting up from it like you would be returning to go back to sleep any second.

The unfinished bark plate you had set aside to eat later and fought Lo’ak not to touch it. a squabble Jake had to break before you started wasting food by throwing it at each other. 

The stack of fruits you’d gathered that you never shared except for Neytiri sometimes. 

The half-carved cup you were working on because the regular cups weren’t big enough for your water needs and you didn’t like to refill it about three times until you were satisfied. 

The incomplete anklet you were making out of rainbow beads for Tuk that was confidential to everyone but Jake, who knew from observing you, of course — you were missing a couple colors that you just couldn’t seem to find, nagging his head off to just let you roam around farther and there was no danger as the sky people couldn’t get in the vortex.  

The little animal doodles you scratched at your side of the tent when you couldn’t sleep at nights, waking Jake up in the process every single time to listen until your breathing evened out as sleep retook you in its arms again, because he was bodily programmed to startle awake at one single rustle in his living quarters from his Marine days and fell into old habits after the return of the sky people, he knew you had developed insomnia from being uncomfortable at High Camp, longing for your hammock cocooned in the safety and comfort of the forest.

And the dumb romance novels you had taken from the humans that you, Kiri and Tuk giggled about at girl’s nights reading out loud, Spider invited as an honorary guest at times, just so you could tease Kiri about him and annoy your brothers that they weren’t allowed in, but the human boy was. 

All of them had no owner now. Neither of your family members could look at them, your ghost would appear in precious memories beside your belongings if they looked too much. He didn't need to concentrate for a phantom of you to appear, you were everywhere he looked, and even now, as the gently pulsating lavender humming, a song from Eywa herself, right underneath the veinlike, labyrinthine roots was the cool summer rain on Jake’s sizzling skin, all he could see was your first communion with Eywa in his arms while Neytiri formed the tsaheylu, the clan spread all around them in celebration. 

“You’ve called, and I’ve answered,” he greeted in positivity. “I think this is the most direct you’ve been with me in a long while.”

He didn’t know if it was Eywa or you he was saying this to. He genuinely didn’t know. 

Kneeling, and putting his arms on the mossy, thick root, he looked up to see the woodsprites swaying and floating in the air. He reached for his braid, letting the squirming nerve-endings coil around the white-cored lavender thread closest to him, taking in the presence of Eywa, all around yet nowhere at all, but listening. No sign of you. Was he supposed to talk like this? Just like this? Was he not allowed to see you? 

Jake had to admit he had been harboring the tiniest expectation of meeting you somehow, or hearing your voice through the connection like he did with a Tree of Voices when Mo’at had cryptically informed him of his chance. But this was it? 

If he failed, this would be it. 

“I guess this isn’t all that different,” he said out loud, instead of thinking inwards where the confusion flew. “It’s been like this for a while now, you and I. You talk, I don’t hear you. I talk, you don’t hear me. We throw the same ball at each other only for it to bounce back. Monologuing to a tree is the same thing, except it doesn’t talk back like you do.” 

He looked up and around, there was nothing else to do. The air was the same as it always was in here. Always accommodating to what each Na’vi found comforting. “The last time I came here like this was to ask for Eywa’s help in the last stand against sky people. I told her I would fight either way, I knew that’s why she’d chosen me. All my life, all I’ve done was fight. Even when I wasn’t able to, I was fighting lesser battles with the excuse of not having anything to fight for. It’s all I’ve known. All I’ve ever done. It’s what I was best at.” His brow twitched, and Jake tried to keep his composure, not because he didn’t want anybody to see, no, it was to keep his shit together so he didn’t fuck this up. He had to be honest. His pride was the last thing he needed in his way at the moment. 

“You were born to a different man. To a changed man. To a father who could let go because he thought his family was safe. You got to meet the man I used to be when my reason for fighting came back from my star. I know you don’t like that person — you can’t — couldn’t get used to him. I know.” 

From the discomfort, his fingers dug into the moss first, and found the bark of the root, his fist curling on it next. “But I had to keep fighting.” He softly brought his fist back on the root. “The strong prey on the weak, that’s just how things are. That’s how I had it on my star. And my kids — you, you are weak, and it’s not an insult — it’s not me criticizing, Jesus, you are just children, and there’s a war on your damn heads. That’s what I mean. That’s what I’ve always meant. It’s natural that you are weak, Eywa was kind enough to let you be soft. Not Earth, though, never Earth.” 

Jake had to clench his teeth and bite the anger into the inside of his mouth to not be boiled alive — not to let it reach to your side. He let out a soundless snarl. “You would never be ready for the cruelty of Earth, I would never wish that upon any of you. But it was brought to you. Right at your doorstep. I couldn’t protect you from it by hugs and kisses. You wouldn’t be safe from a gun extended to you by extending a branch in return. No.” 

He reached and caressed the glowing thread, brows furrowed. “I did what I thought was right to prepare you. Every single one of you. I was making you tough. I had to. To protect you. And of course there would be clashing along the way, it’s what happens between parent and child. We fight. We fight like cats and dogs for dominance. You try me to show strength. I stand my ground to let you know you gotta do better.” 

He had fired those sentences with incoherent speed, and when he got to the end of it, Jake got choked up. Stopped for a moment, took a breath. Blinking several times, his tone became vulnerable, he didn’t have anyone in front of him, but he tore away his gaze anyway. “Somewhere along the way, things just… Without me noticing, everything…” He sighed through his nose, his voice nothing but a whisper. “I fought more battles than I fought for my family. I thought I was doing my job as a father when I didn’t even know shit about being a father.” 

A couple seconds floated by, and his gaze was stolen by a lone woodsprite descending down until it staggered on the fist he had against the root. The shine of it reflected from the mistiness of his eyes. His lower lip slightly trembled at the thought of it being you. This little woodsprite. You? 

“The thing is, I’m lost, sweetheart,” he admitted quietly, small, shaky, not taking his eyes off the woodsprite. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I sit here, I look back, and think why I keep fighting. We could have migrated. Looked for a new Hometree. Another forest. Left the humans alone. Or made peace. A treaty. Something. None of your lives had to be sullied by war. Yet I chose this. I chose to fight, as I ‘ve always done, because now I had something to fight for. And the fighting wasn’t limited to them, I fought Neteyam, I fought Lo’ak, I fought you, my own kids, and I didn’t even know.” 

He reached for it with his other hand, tentatively, scared that it would fly away with the slightest contact. But he was able to touch the top of the woodsprite ever so slightly, the little zap making all the hair on his body stand up. Jake swallowed thickly, his whole head on fire. “I don’t know what to do. I just miss you. I miss you so much, sweet girl. I wish you would scream at me. Say you hate me for all I care. Anything. Hate me until the day you die, but do it with all of your family surrounding you in old age, in peace. I would be content knowing you are under the same sky as me. But I’m forgetting your voice already, and I—” He held back a violent sob, hissed to not let it out, and groaned, getting angry at himself for the emotions. He shut his eyes tightly, willing away the tears. “I wish I could say these to your face. I wish I could see you one last time, smiling at me.”

Having everything to lose. Having lost everything. Having nothing to lose. Three different meanings had coiled around each other like snakes to become one singular outcome in linear relation of cause-and-effect through you. It wasn’t a cycle.

Having something to fight for. Having nothing left to fight for. Having nothing to fight for. You were everything. Everything. What could Jake do? How was he supposed to fight when he had no concrete opponent? 

“I see you.”

The voice — your voice, albeit much, much younger, almost made him jump. When his eyes shot open, Jake was in a different location. He knew this place. The creek away from the village he and his family often frequented. 

The twilight penumbra of the eclipse dimmed the shadows embracing the forest, but the ethereally glowing lights of all colors illuminated and got reflected from the water as if it was a mirror. Above and all around him were lazily dancing fireflies — or, rather, bioluminescent bugs he didn’t know the names of, tiny stars floating in the air like glitter. It was magical.

Jake realized with aching melancholy that this was the first time he’d taken you out on an eclipse to show you the beauty of the forest on a special father-daughter date. The exact memory.  

The breath that left him was shaky as he felt the presence sitting right beside him, in the corner of his vision, he saw the ripples on the shining water made by swinging legs. 

Jake froze for a second. Unmoving. Not looking at all — because if this was a dream, or a hallucination, he wouldn’t be able to bear it. His breathing got louder, more labored, the log underneath his hands was so realistically textured and damp. If he looked. If he looked, you would disappear. That’s how he felt. 

He was supposed to talk. But now, his ribcage was holding the words hostage, burning with the strain of the pile-up. 

“But I’m sad you don’t see me,” you said, and he was shaken by hearing your voice yet again, remembering the moment he found himself here, how he’d heard — ‘I see you’. “You don’t even want to look at me.”

So much hurt and vulnerability in that sentence that it left him breathless. 

It all happened in a matter of seconds. Him launched into his own turmoil racking his brain about how Quaritch was back as an avatar, ignoring to look at you to protect his composure and just trying to think, think — think, of a plan, of a how, of what to do. You calling after him once Neytiri, you and he arrived at High Camp after dodging Quaritch’s men. Him purposefully walking away because he needed to cool off and not to explode on you right there and there.  

That whole time, Jake hadn’t looked at you. If he did, he would have seen you needed help.

He shattered, all of his walls crumbling down, stripped down to bare despair. 

“Oh sweetheart.” Before he knew it, he had wrapped his arms around you in a crushing hug, basically snatching you off from where you were sitting and on his lap, and your warmth, your pulse, your tangible existence wrenched a shiver out of him — and he buried his face to the little crook of your neck, taking your scent in, hiding his trembling face and the quiver of his arms by holding you tight. You were here. As your younger self, no older than eight, but he had you. Not bloody and battered in his arms, but alive, so alive. “Oh sweet girl, my sweet girl… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He kissed the side of your head, felt the real tickle of your hair against his face, blessed with the soothe of his child’s smell. “I see you. Of course I see you. I’ve always seen you.” 

The snowflake-frail snivel followed by your sobbing sniffle broke his heart into pieces. “You’re a liar.” He shook his head, hugging you tighter. “You’re mean to me. You’re so mean to me.”

“I’m sorry.” That was all he could say. All he could do with his thrashing soul smoldering at the wetness of your tears on his shoulder. “I am mean. I’m sorry… You’re right, I’m sorry.” 

“It hurt so much.” You wailed. “It hurt a lot.” 

Jake began to caress your head with an awkward, clumsy, panicked hand, disturbed as to if you meant the moment of your death — at him pressing on the wound with all he had to stop the bleeding, or he and your strained relationship in general. “I know, sweetheart,” he said anyway, a stone clogging his throat. He didn’t try to explain, or tell you why, didn’t argue that it wasn’t what he meant to do. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He had you in his arms. “I know. I know.” 

You wouldn’t get to be younger than this. And maybe, he would never get to see you be older, either. The thought crumpled his face like some piece of paper. Jake just wanted to hold you. And when you wrapped your little arms around him too, freely crying in his arms, a couple tears escaped his eyes as well, he didn’t know what kind of face he was making, perhaps it was better that you didn’t see him crumble. 

In the middle of it somewhere, he realized that you were younger because it was your inner child that needed this, she was more honest — more open with Jake. It caused him to sway with you back and forth, ribcage hurting with each breath. And you let it all out, clinging to him. 

“I love you, always,” he whispered, watching the bioluminescent bugs, when you were calmer and had fallen silent on his chest, not wanting to let him go and just listening to his heartbeat. “Even if I don’t show it — especially when I don’t show it. You are loved, my sweet girl, more than you know. More than you’ll ever know. More than I can show.” He looked down at the top of your head, agonized. “But I want to try. I want to show you more, moving forward.”

Knowing what he was insinuating, “But it’s nice here,” you said, voice thick and coarse from crying. You still didn’t pull back to look at him. Both of you, from the start of this, never looked at one another. Not once. Embarrassed and shameful to be honest, Jake thought. That pride you two shared. “You’re not mean to me here.”

But he needed to see you. You needed to be seen. So, as gently as he could, he unwrapped your arms around him, and took your baby cheeks in his hands, and looked you in the eyes. Another tear slipped from him. “You been listenin’ to me, right sweetheart? From the start?” You nodded adorably. You wouldn’t have said oel ngati kameie and accepted to let him see you if you hadn’t felt his true intentions and heart through him pouring it all out at the Tree of Souls. “I’m hiding a lot of things. But I want to be open with you. You wanna know the secret why I’m… mean?” You nodded again, more reluctant this time. “It’s because I’m scared.”

You gasped, genuinely lost and shocked, and he tried not to smile at the purity, the innocence. “You? You’re scared?”

“All the damn time,” he whispered, landing a kiss on your temple, his opposite thumb tracing a loving line on your other temple. “Every day. Every night.”

“But you’re Toruk Makto. You’re never scared.”

“I’m also a dad,” he said sorrowfully, as if he was giving out a secret. “And it’s precisely why I’m scared. I’m scared for you. For your siblings. Of losing you. It turns into anger. Anger turns into irreparable damage. Things I can’t take back.”

In the blink of an eye, you were back to your real age. For some reason he couldn’t quite grasp, you had shed the exterior of your childhood. But he didn’t mind, didn’t let you off his lap. 

“Don’t be scared, I’m here,” you said, putting your own small palm on his cheek, upset by the fact that he was feeling like that in the first place rather than whatever explanation he had. Your response was also childish, but he leaned into your touch anyway, comforted regardless, even if you were already gone — for this moment, he could ignore that no, you weren’t here at all. “If you told us, we would have been more careful not to make you sad.” 

Ah, he was being lectured on communication by his kid. It had a certain flavor of humbleness to it. Jake adored it nonetheless. “I know,” he said, “I’m sorry. I won’t be mean anymore.”

“That’s a lie.”

Jake couldn’t stop the laugh, though it was tottering. “Yeah, it is. But I promise you that I’ll never hurt you again.”

“That’s a lie too. Wasn’t it you who said not to make promises you can’t keep?”

“Alright, smartypants, let me rephrase it then,” the little glimpses of your brash self made him happy. “I will never intentionally hurt you, and if I end up doing so, unknowingly, I will always make it up to you. No exceptions.” 

You were acting uninterested, but stole intrigued glances at him. “How are you gonna make it up to me?”

“I’ll let you choose, how does that sound?” Jake tapped your nose. “In return, if I don’t know and haven’t taken the first step, you’ll have to tell me outright what I did.”

You deadpanned. “But I always do.”

“No, you don’t.” He raised one of his eyebrows. “You become passive-aggressive when you’re annoyed and pick fights with me.”

“That’s not—”

“Sweetheart.” 

“Okay, fine.” You huffed. The normalcy had made him forget just what he was doing here. “But you get angry.”

“What I get angry at is—” He cut himself off with a tongue click. “Not important. I do get angry. But at sincere honesty, us just talking it out, I could never get angry at that. Is the difference clear?”

“I think it is.” You were apprehensive about something, your fingers on his neck flexing as if you wanted to pull them back and break the hug. “But you have to promise.”

“I promise.” And then, Jake remembered, a new fire hardening his face, not in anger, but determination. “And speaking of which. I would never. Ever. Not in a million years would get angry or blame you for getting hurt to that degree — for others, humans, avatars, whoever and whatever the hell they are, hurting you, I could never get mad at you for it. Do you understand me? Your safety is the most important to me. I could never hate you for it.” His voice dropped down to a softer, gentler tone just above a whisper. “There is nothing in this world that’ll make me hate you. Nothing. I will love you through the most heinous crimes and in inexcusable deeds, you will find forgiveness in me even if there’s nobody left, that’s a father’s heart. Forever and always, I am with you.” He touched his forehead, and then yours. “I see you.”

You avoided eye contact. 

Ah, yes, the famous emotional awkwardness. He was sort of aware his feelings had reached you, you just didn’t know what to say. Jake hadn’t been like this with you for the longest time. So, he decided to make you more comfortable. “Yes I will get mad at you for breaking curfew, and yes, we might stop talking for a while and beef about the dumbest things if the fight is too intense — but always, always come to me when something is wrong. I will drop everything without hesitation.” He leaned in a bit to catch your wayward stare. “Got it?”

You murmured. “Okay.”

“Are we clear?”

You murmured once more. “Yeah.”

“Repeat it, then.”

There was something between cringing and unwillingness on your face, but at his pointed look, you sighed, giving in. “Always come to you if something’s wrong even if we’re fighting.”

“That’s right,” he affirmed, encouraging to let you know this wasn’t embarrassing. “What else?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Dad will always love you.” He nudged you, noting the flick of your ears in happiness when he’d said it. “Come on, say it.”

You didn’t look at him when you said it, but your voice was light. “Dad will always love me…”

“Dad will never hate you.”

Sheepishness took over, making Jake smile. “Dad will never hate me.”

“And. Come talk to me about it if I’ve ever hurt you without noticing so I can make it up to you.”

“Always go to you if I’m hurt and you’re unaware of it.”

“That’s right,” in this form as well, he gave your temple another kiss, heart soaring at your beautiful smile he had been dying to see. “Good girl.”

“You’re giving me a lot of power.” 

“Nothing my mighty hunter can’t handle.” 

The smile on your face died down. It came to Jake right away what had gone wrong. “Sweetheart—” “I didn’t mean that. You know—” But you didn’t know. Jake had to stop trying to make it easier on himself. “I’m proud of you. I’m so proud of you. About everything. About the ikran, I’m so goddamn proud. I said it, and I can’t take that back, I was angry and I was trying reverse psychology — you know what, it doesn’t matter. But you are my mighty hunter. Will always be.”

You got confident a bit, but were still testing the waters. “Well I proved I am.”

“Yes, you did,” he rejoiced, no rejection or doubt whatsoever. “Message received, Lima Charlie.”

You giggled freely, joyfully at the recognition, and Jake ached again remembering how much he’d missed that carefree, precious thing, he swore pixie dust was in it. You slipped from his lap to sit crossed-legged beside him, and he instantly missed being able to hold you close. “Wish you were there to see me.”

“Me too, sweet girl.” Your Iknimaya was a disaster. A long-passed, sacred tradition broken wasn’t as important to him as it was to Neytiri — but he knew she longed to see you complete it, by your side, as eagerly as he did. And you had been alone in your pride, when he knew from a very young age, you had been the most excited for it. Everything had been ruined and there was nothing he could do to undo it. “Will you tell me about it?”

The phantom of pensiveness on his face hadn’t quite registered with you yet, getting excited to tell him all about it like nothing had happened the moment you knew Jake wanted to know. As if you weren’t dead. As if nothing was wrong. “Well first of all, I broke Neteyam’s record.”

A mournful smile tugged on his lips. “Did you now?”

“Hell yeah!” You started gesturing with your arms. “It took, like, two minutes? One minute? Too easy.”

“You know easy means the ikran didn’t give you much of a fight, right?”

“Or, or.” One finger was raised up at him to raise another option. “I was too skilled.” 

“The ikran might have been meh about you.” Jake teased. “You sure it chose you? Or did you just chase it down and it was stuck with you?”

“That’s so wrong!” He threw his head back to laugh at your outburst. “He was watching me get there the whole time! Like, from the start. His eye was on me, I just know it. You’re just jealous you didn’t get Bob like I got Jack. I was badass.”

That made him pause. “Jack?”

“Yeah, his name’s Jack.”

He couldn’t imagine Neytiri’s reaction to the blandest name imaginable, oh god. “Why?”

“Named him after you.” You tipped your head at him, raising your brows. “It’s healing, you know. He listens to me without questioning. He’s also very sweet. Unlike a certain someone.” 

“Oh you little shit—” 

“I didn’t say anything.” Raising your hands in defense first, you crossed your arms on your chest next. “Certain someone can mean anyone. It can mean Lo’jack—”

“Lo’jack, really? Really?” Jake half-snorted, half-scoffed. “This a new one after Lovak?”

“Jackiri—”

“Jackiri is pretty sweet, c’mon now,” he gave a blank stare. “Hope you’re not gonna say Jackeyam.”

“Jacktirey?” You asked, undecided. “She’s an anklebiter.”

“Oh, for sure.” 

“Could be Jack the Ripper, Bojack Horseman, Jack-in-a-box. Jack-o-lantern.”

“All people, of course.”

“Yeah, all people.” You snapped your fingers in mock-remembrance. “Hit the road Jack.” 

“Oh wow, even him?” Jake lowered his voice, leaning towards you, mocking astonishment. “Legendary figure, that guy.”

“Jack of All Trades.”

“Well, that ikran really seems to be one to me.”

“I know, right?” You stopped, and he saw that thought process, and before he could open his mouth, you blurted it out. “Unlike a certain someone I know.”

“You punk.” Jake pushed you lightly by your shoulder. “You’re pushin’ it.”

You smiled with all your teeth at him, with hands on your calves, leaning down to act cute, and Jake could pretend this was normal. That he’d fixed everything. And all was right in the world now that you were laughing with him — he’d made you smile. . 

But suddenly you looked scared, looking at something over his shoulder, shrunken pupils focusing on him and whatever it was rapidly. It kicked him awake from his delusion. He tensed, tail jumping upwards, straight as a rod. “What is it, sweetheart? What’s wrong?”

Your breath hitched, and the next thing he knew, you had pushed him away, and he was falling towards the water. The last thing he saw was only a blur of you — the bioluminescent bugs became shooting stars with a thread of glow left behind them, the whole world tilted, but he didn’t hit the water, instead, he rolled down the small slope he had to climb to reach the tree. 

Disoriented, he saw the root was almost split in half — bullet marks, a cloud of splinters and debris was flying around where he used to be sitting. 

A lone avatar just ahead. Having made it all the way to the Tree of Souls. He didn’t know where this man had come from. 

Heart picking up and roaring in his ears, all Jake could think about was, One chance. 

He hadn’t even spoken to you properly yet, hadn’t said all the things he wanted to, hadn't even gotten your word, and this man — this son of a bitch — humans had taken you once again. 

Once again. 

You will only have one chance. 

“Lucky asshole,” the man looked at him behind the barrel of the long assault rifle. “Gonna make you pay for what you pulled yesterday.”

Your ethereal smile going up in smokes at the back of his head, Jake saw red.  

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[distantdarlings]

CHIME IN // t. nott

RATING: R / 2.1K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Reader Insert (No gender-specific details)

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* After being assigned to an assignment together, you and Theo begin to take an interest in each other. When the two of you finally get together, an interruption occurs right in the middle of it.

+ WARNINGS - IMPLIED SMUT! Making out, language, they start to have sex but don't actually get there, gender-neutral reader, Mattheo interrupts, dirty talking, not proof-read (lmk if I missed any)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Agora Hills - Doja Cat

---

It was close to midnight. That was about all you knew, though, as Theo slammed you against the wall just outside the boys’ dormitories.

He pressed his lips back against yours roughly, his tongue breaking through the barrier of your mouth quickly. You moaned against him at the sensation of him taking his full way with you.

“Ah-ah, baby, gotta stay quiet for me,” he mumbled against your lips. “You can scream for me once we’re back in my room.”

You gasped into his mouth as he slipped his hands around the curve of your ass and gripped hard.

You didn’t know what it was, but there was something about Theodore Nott that was just so intoxicating. You’d been watching him for months until today when you’d finally pursued him.

The two of you had been trying to sneak some late-night studying in the library, knowing that both of you had a huge project coming up due within the next week. As soon as you’d been paired with him for the project, you knew you had to have him. He was just so confidently sweet, and absolutely fucking gorgeous. He was just perfect.

And so, finally, tonight, you’d decided to make a move. The two of you had been huddled together side-by-side, searching through a very lengthy book on the history of the Disarming charm. The librarian was bound to come searching your area soon, so you were going as fast as possible.

His shoulders had been bumping yours, his thigh was pressed tightly against yours, his breath was hot on your neck, and his eyes were roving endlessly—up and down the pages of the book and perhaps even past it. 

You weren’t exactly sure what had happened. The pulse hammering in your brain had practically beat all of the memory of the moment from your head, but you remembered him asking if you wanted to take the book back to his room, your agreeing, his eyes glancing at your lips, then the two of you were…well, here. The book had been all but forgotten back on the table at the library.

Your fingers curled into his honeyed hair, forcing him closer to you. He sighed against you, his body bracing you to the wall. His knee slipped between your thighs, his leg gently rubbing against your core. Another small moan left you.

“What if someone sees?” you gasped into him. He pressed another rough squeeze to your ass before pulling away. He grabbed your hand and began to yank you down the hall.

“We’re not supposed to be awake, remember? It’s likely nobody else is.” He gave you a sly smirk, his eyes flickering up and down your body. The way he looked at you made you feel as though you were being devoured alive. You could hardly stand it. Fuck whoever may see.

You pressed another demanding kiss to his lips, framing his face with your hands. He groaned into the kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist. The feeling of him holding you like he was was so refreshing. His enormous height positively dwarfed you.

“Patience, darling,” he said, pulling away again. “Back to the room.”

“I’ve no patience left, Theo,” you whined. “I’ve been waiting for months.” He began peppering rough kisses along your neck. 

“Yeah, baby? Do you want me that bad? Bet this sweet thing is just dripping for me,” he growled against your flesh, cupping your core within his hand. Your eyes clenched, and your lips parted in a silent scream. You adored how dominant he was.

He pressed you to the wall again, his hand sliding behind your head to keep it from hitting the hard stone. Your lips were against his once more, biting and licking and sucking. There was something about him that made it seem impossible to let go of him. All you wanted was more, more, more. 

Your arms slid around his neck, pulling him closer to you. His breaths were fanning over your face in short, fast huffs. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d taken a breath. 

“Back to the room, darling,” he groaned against you, tearing his lips from yours. He grasped your hand tightly within his and pulled you toward his dormitory. Theo had promised all of his roommates were out for the night doing whatever, but you still felt a little nervous at the thought of one of his friends seeing the two of you. If anyone had paid attention to both of you while working on this project, they’d likely have been able to see the obvious sexual tension floating between you. Even if they hadn’t been paying attention, they could’ve seen it. Any time Theo was around, you became the definition of ‘flustered.’

As you reached the door to his dorm, you felt him swing you toward the entrance and push you through. You shuffled over the threshold, attempting to let your eyes adjust to the darkness surrounding you. 

His hands gripped the sides of your face and pressed you back to his lips. Fuck, he tasted so good. Was it normal for someone to taste good? You didn’t know. You moaned into his mouth, shoving your hands against the buttons running down his shirt. Your shaking fingers made quick work of those pesky things—each one undone revealed more and more of his perfect chest. 

You pressed your cold hands against his flesh, reveling in the biting groan that poured from his lips. 

“Fuck, baby, on the bed,” he whispered fervently against your lips. He pushed you back against his bed. The backs of your thighs collided with the mattress, tipping your body over onto the soft comforters. You descended into mountains of green satin that smelled just like Theo. His scent overwhelmed your senses, pushing your conscience even further to the back of your mind. Your finger gripped the material of his blankets. 

Your lidded eyes found his as he got to work on his clothing, the way he stood above you reminiscent of a god. Your legs parted slowly, preparing for the weight that would soon settle between them.

“You ready for me, baby?” he breathed, yanking his shirt over his shoulders. You bit your lips at the full picture of his bare abdomen glaring back at you. The hard muscle rippling over his stomach caught each glimpse of the moonlight above you. You nodded pathetically, your legs bending at the knee. You didn’t want to wait any longer. All you wanted was him. 

“Say it for me,” he commanded, slipping his fingers along his belt. “I want to hear it. Tell me exactly what you want.”

“I want you, Teddy, so bad,” you whined, feeling the heat building between your thighs. “I want to feel you over me—want to feel you make me all yours.”

“All mine, baby?” he asked, smirking widely. His belt popped open, showing off the large bulge beneath his dark briefs. You gulped at the sight, bracing yourself against his bed. He was bigger than you had anticipated—bigger than anyone you’d had before, that was for sure. 

He dropped himself onto the bed at your feet, pressing his muscular arms on either side of you. The added weight to the mattress tipped your body toward his as he slowly inched up the length of it. His knees slid along the slick duvet until one came to rest beneath your legs. It inched yours farther apart, claiming him a verified spot within you. Your head rolled back at the intoxicating display of dominance. 

At the movement, he quickly slid his face in between your shoulder and jawline, pressing rough kisses along the flesh there. If he weren’t careful, he’d leave marks, though you figured that’s what his goal was. His teeth cut along your throat, painting you with his claim. You now belonged to him, and the whole school would know that soon. What belonged to Theodore Nott was not challenged. 

“Theo, baby,” you whined. He hummed against your neck, asking what you needed. “I need you right now.”

“Yeah, sweetheart? I’ve got you,” he said, his hot breath fanning across your clothed chest. His fingers slipped down between the slit of your shirt, caressing against your pulse point. You shuddered at the feeling, barely able to take a deep breath. 

“Fuck, I’ve been thinking about this for months,” he groaned, his voice nearing a growl, as he ripped your shirt apart. You couldn’t force yourself to make a comment on him tearing your uniform. All you could think about right now was feeling him within you. 

He gripped the waistband of your bottoms and tore them down your legs with the same intensity as your shirt. You whined at the aggressive loss of your clothing, the cold air hitting your bare flesh like water. 

Once you were bare before him, his lips quickly replaced the absence of heat along your skin. His tongue painted every part of you, starting from the bottom of your stomach to the top of your chest. His mouth was mean and aggressive, bruising you as much as he could. You gasped at his rough sex. 

“Ever been with a Slytherin before?” he smirked, his fingers hooking slowly beneath the band of your underwear. You sighed aloud at the sensation. 

“You’re the first,” you responded breathlessly. He chuckled darkly as he pressed a rough kiss to your hipbone when he pulled your underwear to your knees. He moaned aloud at the reveal of your entire body. 

“You’re fucking perfect,” he whined, his hand slipping beneath the split of his pants. You braced yourself for what was soon to come. 

The air in the room was hot and smelled of Theo. The pale light that spilled through the window in the corner illuminated the gorgeous body before you with each new inch that was revealed. His hands slid his pants down his hips. Strong legs kept yours pressed apart. Your hands reached out, begging to feel his bare flesh against yours. He laughed mockingly. 

“Perfect, desperate baby….” His hands gently pressed his hot core against the inside of your thigh. You gasped sharply at the sensation, knowing he was soon to tear your body apart. Your hands tangled in the sheets, your eyes clenched shut, your lips parted, your words needy and begging. The tip of him touched against your entrance—

“I’m guessing you guys need the room to yourself?”

You and Theo screamed at the sudden words. The two of you shot up from your current positions before realizing your unfortunate nudity. Theo pushed you back down amongst the sheets and collapsed next to you. He yanked the comforters over you. 

Mattheo Riddle was set comfortably in the bed just opposite Theo’s. He wore a soft gray tee shirt and unkempt hair. He was settled beneath the covers with a book in hand and a small threaded bookmark slipped between the pages. It looked as if the two of you had just interrupted a sort of peaceful moment for him.

“What the hell, man?” Theo demanded, his tone becoming quite angry. You clenched the satin blankets over you, trying to keep your head as tucked as possible. You didn’t really want Mattheo Riddle to see you like this. “Why the fuck wouldn’t you say something?”

“I’m sorry. When was I supposed to make a mention that I was here? Was that before or after you asked them if they’d ever had Slytherin dick?” he asked. Smart-ass. You giggled a bit at his comment. Theo glanced at you with an annoyed expression. You stopped, whispering a brief apology, yet unable to drop the smile on your lips. To be fair, Mattheo had made a good point. In the midst of your…movement with Theo, there hadn’t really been a good time for him to chime in. 

“Whatever, man,” Theo sighed and rolled his eyes. No one spoke for a moment.

“So, did you want me to go or…?”

“Yes!” The both of you agreed aloud. The dark-haired boy nodded his head and, collecting his books and other various items, made his way toward the door. 

Just before he exited, he paused and turned toward you. Theo seemed to be avoiding eye contact with him, but you looked straight at him. His dark eyes traveled over you briefly.

“Well, when you’re done with him and you’d like some real Slytherin dick—”

“Riddle, get the fuck out!” Theo shouted, sending a pillow hurtling towards him. With an evil laugh, Mattheo quickly dodged the flying object and slipped through the dormitory door. Theo groaned and pressed his fingers to his face. 

“Use protection!” 

*Tag List: @mypolicemanharryyy, @angelfrombeneth, @clairesjointshurt, @bunbunbl0gs, @acornacreacure, @thestarlithideout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw, @yhiiil, @ravenclawprincess33, @xxrougefangxx, @thatblackthorn, @robinyx (If you would like to be added to the tag list for any future works, please comment on this post, dm me, or send me a message in my inbox. Thanks!)

[mooooonnnzz]

hiii, saw request is still open and just finished reading forwards beckon rebound and bawled my eyes out.

so i was wondering if you could maybe make something with ford having a kid (reader) who's like really young when he got pushed into the portal and stanley raising reader and reader reminds stanley so much of ford when they were younger and is a nerd like their old man it hurts stanley so much to see the resemblance.

Dream About Me

Platonic!Stanley Pines x Child!Reader

ᰔ 1,8k words!

ᰔ MULLET STANLEYY!!!

ᰔ slight angst? or heavy angst? it's just overall sad really depends on the person

ᰔ gender neutral reader!

ᰔ request are open!

𐒘𝛠 When Stan took you in, he never thought how painful it would be to see all Ford’s quirks and traits shine in you. Seeing his smile on your face made it really hard for him to continue on with his day without breaking down into violent sobs, especially freshly after Stan had accidentally pushed Ford into the portal. Another wound to the heart was the additional finger on each of your hands. He hadn’t noticed until one day during dinner when you were sitting in front of him, coloring within the lines of the coloring book he had gotten you days prior. Your hand was splayed across the page, hand pressing down on the other side of the page to keep it from closing it on you. His eyes brushed past your hand, disregarding the six finger, just like he always did with Ford when his eyes shot back to your fingers, eyes widening upon seeing the extra appendage. He would’ve choked on his food if he didn’t swallow it moments before. 

𐒘𝛠 “Are you looking at my extra finger?” Your fingers curled inwards on instinct, nuzzling them into your palm. “Dad told me to never be ashamed of my extra finger.” You tell him, which sounded more of you trying to reassure yourself than anything. “Did he really?” A wistful smile pulls at his lips, his eyes distantly looking down at his plate. “Yeah. He said that it’s a gift. We both shared our weirdness together.” Your other hand that was holding the crayon was now wrapped in your other hand, the crayon discarded on top of the unfinished page. Stan’s teeth snagged on his bottom lip. This was harder than he thought. “And you-you should treat it like one, k-kid. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” He had tried coming off as stern, but the way he fumbled over his words and how his voice cracked in all the wrong places made it lose its whole empowering purpose. But you managed to get the message. A smile all too similar for Stan’s liking shown on your face. “Do you have an extra finger, Uncle Stan?” You brought your six fingered hand in front of his face, wiggling them wildly. “Unfortunately, I do not.” He pressed his palm against yours, his large hand completely dwarfing yours. “Ah! Five fingers!” You retract your hand away from Stan’s, wide eyes never leaving his five fingers. “I have actually never seen five fingers before!” You comment, flicking his fingers. “Have ya never seen another person that isn’t your dad?” Stan initially meant it as a lighthearted joke, but the way you sheepishly looked down to the ground told him very clearly that Ford had never taken you out of this house. ”Maybe once or twice when I was a baby?” You shrug. “He’s been so busy with everything else he left me to myself.” Sounds just like Ford. He hopes you don’t inhabit that from him. 

𐒘𝛠 Your insatiable curiosity was full force. Everything always needs to have a reason or explanation, and if not, you would forge a plausible reasoning that ties your question into a nice little answer. Seeing this in a different perspective really rattled through Stan. He had found this side of Ford when they were younger plenty annoying, always wondering why his brother couldn’t leave things be, but seeing you do it was a messy mix of bittersweet and gut churning. Hearing you ask all the same questions Ford had asked them when they were younger sent him in for a loop. How could you be so eerily alike to him? Even the passionate twinkle in his eye had passed down onto you. “Uncle Stan!” You padded over to him, book in hand with messy scrambles of your writing. “Look what I discovered!” Stan forced a smile onto his face, stomach twisting into vicious knots. “What did ya find, kiddo?” You eagerly nod your head as you spoke with the same vigor and passion Ford had all those years ago and shoved your book into his lap. Looking down at your book had some semblance of Ford’s cursive writing, but it had seemed that it was a mix of his and Ford’s. “This is really nice, kiddo.” He strained out, rapidly blinking away the tears that were threatening to fall out. “So you believe me? You believe my theories?” You rambled out, oblivious to Stan’s fighting battle with his emotions. “Yes, kiddo.” He pushes himself off the couch, running a hand through his hair. “I need a m-moment. Gotta check on this mullet.” He leaves with that and you’re left wondering what you did wrong. 

𐒘𝛠 When you were about twelve years old, Stan had caught you squinting at him from afar, the same way Ford would look at him without his glasses—he didn’t mean to draw everything back to Ford, you just were an exact carbon copy of him, unfortunately for him. So he conducted an at home experiment where he stood far away from you, holding up a sign with words that looked like a blended mush to you. That was enough to prove to Stan and you that you needed glasses. Getting a pair of frames sent Stan in for a loop. As if you didn’t act enough like Ford, now you had glasses that made Stan’s stomach drop whenever he looked at you. “How do I look?” You smile at Stan, the comically large glasses sliding down your nose. “Maybe we should get smaller ones?” Stan suggested, plucking the frames off your face and setting them back on the display stand. His eyes abruptly landed on ones that looked exactly like Ford’s glasses when he was about your age. He cleared his throat, shaking him out of that weird trance and ambling on to more of the display cabinets with glasses. “What about these!” He turns around and when his eyes lock on you, his mouth runs dry. “A-Are ya sure you want those?” You scamper over to the mirror, a small gasp leaving you. “I look like Dad.” You whisper. Confliction swimming in your eyes. “You don’t have to keep em—“ You wave him off. “It’s okay, Uncle Stan. I-I think it keeps his memory alive, right?” Stan swallows, nodding slowly. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

𐒘𝛠 Staring at yourself in the mirror, you flickered your eyes back and forth to a polaroid photo of Ford to yourself in the mirror. There was some resemblance. Especially with you wearing your glasses. It made sense why Stan couldn’t really keep a straight face whenever he talked or even looked at you. You internally fought with yourself, jumping back and forth to liking the fact that you looked like Ford or to hating the fact that you do. You had his eye shape, his nose, his smile, the extra finger, even the stupid need to have glasses. You have his mannerisms, the way you speak is a lot like how he talked when he was your age–told to you by Stan, and so much more that you couldn’t dwell into before you’d burst out into tears. It was both a blessing and a curse. A worn out sigh leaves you, brain spinning and pounding harshly against your skull. This wasn’t going to lead you anywhere. Picking at your features and wishing that you didn’t have them wasn’t going to be beneficial for anyone. You pocket the photo and swing the door open to see Stan right in front of you currently in the process of opening the door. “Oh!” You step back and Stan jolts up. “I didn’t know you were in there, kiddo. I’m sorry.” A sheepish hand rubs his neck. “It’s okay. I was leaving anyway.” You sadly smiled at him, stepping out of the bathroom. Stan raises an eyebrow, catching the melancholy look in your eyes. “You doin’ alright?” You stop in your tracks, hand ghosting the pocket where the photo of Ford was in. “I-,.” The words die in your throat when you notice the concerned look in his eyes. You didn’t want to put any more weight onto his shoulders.  “I’m alright. Thanks Uncle Stan.” Stan looks at you hesitantly before nodding to himself, bidding you a quick goodbye. “You can tell me anything, just lettin’ ya know.” He lastly says, closing the door, leaving you to your thoughts in the silent hallway. You weren’t sure if you were ever going to get the guts to truly tell Stan how you feel. 

𐒘𝛠 As the years go by, Stan had found himself breaking out of his habits of relating you to Ford and saw you as your own person. But there would be times where he would slip up back into his old ways and meddle in his mind. You had adopted a few of Ford’s mannerisms, from the way he spoke to how he fidgeted, you had it all. He’d catch glimpses of Ford whenever he would see your pinched concentrated face. Sometimes you’d walk into the lab to show him all the theories you thought of to fix the portal and Stan would just look at you, guilt and despair heavy on his expression. You would have to awkwardly bring him back and repeat everything you had just said to him. “I’m sorry that I keep reminding you of him.” You fidget with your spinny chair, softly swaying from side to side to ease your anxiety. “It’s not your fault. I promise.” He kneels down beside you, patting your shoulder reassuringly. A moment of silence passes before you turn your head over to look at him. “Sometimes I think you’re going to up and leave because I act like him sometimes.” Stan has had hard times coming to terms with you being so alike to his lost twin. Nights he’d spent crying on his bed, wondering if this is all worth the struggle. There’s times where he couldn’t even look at you without being choked up in his own cries. He wasn’t emotionally stable enough for this and he was doubting his capabilities of taking care of you. But alongside pain, you also brought him joy, you gave him a reason to wake up in the mornings, to smile, to laugh. Stan takes a shaky breath in. “Kid, I’m gonna be honest with ya. It’s been hard, extremely hard. I’m not gonna sit here and tell ya that it’s been all sunshine and rainbows, because it hasn’t. But what I can say is that I have been getting better, with the whole Ford thing. Sometimes it comes back like a slap on the face and I’m left scramblin’ but, at the end of the day, you have shined so brightly and shown me how incredible you are, just as yourself. And no matter how hard it gets, I’ma stay right by your side.” Wrapping him in a bone tight hug, you let out a relieved sob. “Thank you,” you cry out. Stan pats your back soothingly. “You’re also my kid now. Forever imprinted on me. I’m not goin’ anywhere.” 

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just wanted to share that i had the worst food poisoning ever these past few days

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Downed

A/N: I got the cut scene of Astarion imitating Halsin in the middle of drafting a drabble, and this is the result. Please enjoy. Tags: Baldur's Gate 3, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x OC, Astarion x Half-drow!Reader, gender neutral reader, BG3, TDU!Reader, BG3 Astarion WARNINGS: hallucinations, canon-typical violence. Summary: You get hit by a fear spell while in the Underdark and hallucinate shadows in anticipation of fighting the Shadow Curse, Astarion is angry and it's all Halsin's fault. Apparently.

Word count: 1.6k+

(GIF Credit to @iplann)

All Astarion remembered was seeing you go down. 

It was an ambush by two rogue Duergar as you crept through the Underdark. Originally, the pair of you had been on an unimportant quest for you to retrieve some bioluminescent mushrooms to make lanterns; Astarion doesn’t understand the appeal but is also unable to say no to any of your requests. 

He regrets being a pushover at that moment, as it’s landed you both in this one.

After you fell, he had lunged across the field and sunk his teeth into the neck of the Duergar casting spells. He refuses to provide the sorcerer a painless death by draining, instead tearing at the flesh with his teeth. A sick gurgling echoes through the grassy hollow you’d been attacked in, and Astarion releases the dwarf. He stumbles for a moment, clutching at the missing area of flesh on his neck before falling face first into the grass. 

The other blue-skinned creature freezes at the realization they're fighting a vampire, and Astarion wastes exactly zero time thrusting a rapier directly into her heart.

The vampire instantly changes pace from attack to healing as he dashes towards you and leaves the bodies behind. You’re laid out a few metres away, curled into the fetal position and muttering nonsensical words into the humid air. A putrid green film coats your armor, and Astarion wrinkles his nose at the spell. 

“Tav, can you hear me?”

Your eyes find him, familiar but distant and darting about all over the cavern. Astarion recognizes the after effects of a Fear spell, and the Ray of Sickness’ grotesque slime. He was fairly certain the sorcerer had struck you with a bout of sickness while you were paralyzed by fear, hallucinating figures of great evil and unstoppable power. 

“...’starion?” 

“Fortunately for you, yes.” He quips, trying not to let his voice quiver. “If only I was a Cleric.”

Your eyes search his face, landing quickly on his mouth. Astarion freezes as you tense. “V-Vampire.”

His first instinct is to frown, concealing his fangs from your warped mental state. “All the better to keep you safe. Now come on, we need to make haste back to camp so our resident Cleric-”

You clutch at his collar, a wheeze escaping you. Your frenzied eyes have moved away from his fangs to something in the distance, apparently deciding he was less of a threat. “It’s coming. ‘Starion, please, please, get me out of here.”

Astarion recognizes the delusional panic lacing your voice and chooses to hush you softly instead of turning around. He’s determined not to feed the plague gnawing at your mind, and not to let it invade his. You’re the first thing that’s motivated him, loved him for two centuries and he is terrified to see you in such a state. Every other wound has been bandaged or healed shortly thereafter by Shadowheart, but this is different. He couldn’t cover this with gauze, and nothing in his repertoire includes healing of the mind. Rest and comfort will be the best cure for you. 

“It’s a spell, darling.” He coaxes you into looking back at him. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

There’s no stopping the feral gleam in your gaze and Astarion knows you need to get somewhere safe to rest, to be rid of this ailment. He ignores the stink of your gear and scoops you into his arms, immediately angered by the tremors wracking your body. Your arms wrap tight around his statuesque neck and shoulders. 

“They’re everywhere.” You whimper into his collar, pointing towards the Duergar’s bodies. 

Curiosity gets the best of him. “What’s everywhere?” 

“The sh-shadows.” You manage, fingers swiping through half-dried blood on his face. “They’re coming.”

Astarion curses Halsin under his breath. The camp’s talks of making it through the Shadow-Cursed lands had been a hot topic as of late, brought to them by Halsin’s tales of suffocating darkness and misery. It was true you had to navigate through them, but Astarion had his own qualms with wasting their time trying to fix it in order to please the Druid. Especially since said Druid had been eyeing you up as if he were starving each time you saunter across camp.

“There’s too many of your glowing mushrooms here to be any threatening shadows, dear.”

Astarion trudges further into the hollow, finding a small secluded cove to one side. It’s as if the Gods were anticipating someone making a camp out of it - the small opening is no more than a metre wide, and damp lichen hangs in wisps from overhead. Fungi of numerous colors and brightness glow around you both, and there’s a moment of worry that they've stumbled into a transportation circle. The last thing he needs is to be unwittingly thrust to the surface in the Hag’s putrid swamp or a Gnoll’s den. A few fleeting taps with his toes stir no magic in the foliage, and Astarion feels comfortable enough to set you down.

He digs through both your backpacks for supplies, coming up with two bedrolls and enough wood to stack for a half-ass campfire. It takes only a couple minutes  to get your outer layer of clothes off and your body settled on a bedroll before Astarion moves onto the fire. 

Dancing flames have your rapt attention when they spring up from the wood. “No shadows.”

The child-like tone you carry in your confusion tugs at Astarion’s dead heart. “Correct, my sweet. No shadows here. Just a vampire and a very, very confused monk.”

You seem to settle in between bouts of coughing. Astarion sheds his armor to lessen the smell of sickness and looks through his pack once again, coming up empty for any elixir to remedy your fear. He instead stands to peek out of your makeshift camp, confident that as you settle your condition may improve. 

“N-No!” You burst out into a fit as the vampire moves away, one hand clutching his boot. “You can’t leave me here.”

Any intention of looking out is forgotten as you begin to cry. Astarion hushes you like a scared animal, pulling the bed rolls together and joining you on the floor. He indulges you in a rare moment of gentility, pulling you into his side and whispering into your hair. These moments back at camp are rare, saved for when your mates are asleep or out of sight. 

It isn’t until you pull away from the crook of his neck that he notices your eyes are sharper, no longer darting about or hazed over with artificial fear. Despite this, tears still leak from them. 

“Tav? Are you all right?”

You sniff softly. “I’m so tired, Astarion. And I feel terrified… like something’s watching me. But something in me knows it’s not real.”

He nods, tongue running along his fangs. “Damned sorcerer that ambushed us struck you with a Fear spell.”

“I had a dream that we were near Moonrise Towers.” You flounder for a moment, “There were shadows everywhere.” 

“Not a dream, I’m afraid. More a hallucination than anything.” Astarion explains, “A real drag to bring along after the fight, you were.”

His teasing is welcome, chasing away the worst tendrils of darkness licking at your mind. “Cheeky… But I’ve never taken the blow from a Fear spell before. This is awful.”

Astarion can tell your mind is still fearful despite breaking through the confusion, parasite reaching out to his in flashes of white hot panic and terror. Your heart is racing, the ever-so-tempting vein in your neck throbbing in sync. It’s a juxtaposition against your determined face, trying so hard to remain strong. 

“Afraid so… I’ll be speaking with Halsin about his persistence in this shadow curse solution. No need for it to plague you like this. Especially seeing as we haven’t even trudged our way through the Underdark yet.” Astarion’s voice is sharp and surprisingly protective. 

“Astarion, I do feel obligated-”

“You should feel obligated to do nothing. You already play peacemaker for these morons, no need for them to dump all their hopes and dreams on you. Especially when your mind uses them to terrify you.”

A weak chuckle escapes you, and your fingers toy with the fabric of his undershirt. “I think the effects of the spell were to blame for my terror.”

“The effects of the spell are determined by the worries in your mind. In other words, the man of the forest can take them all elsewhere.”

You snort at his distaste towards Halsin, as it’s not the first time you’ve noticed. 

A particularly loud drip of water somewhere in the hollow causes you to jolt into Astarion, adrenaline still coursing like fire through your body. “Gods. How long am I going to feel like a mouse?”

Astarion grips you a little tighter, “Until you rest, most likely.”

“Are you going to meditate?” You ask, curling into his side. 

“I’ll be keeping watch. You need to sleep. Heal your mind from this wretched curse.” Astarion’s words are a little too aggressive, his own nervous mind still concerned for your wellbeing above all else. 

You’re familiar with the tone, and can only smile softly at the vampire’s inability to express concern without placing blame. Perhaps all this talk of a Shadow Curse had caused you to be plagued by such figures in the depths of the spell, but you don’t place blame on Halsin. 

Though, you were certain Astarion would never see it that way. 

He’s taken a moment to relax now, laying on his back with an arm behind his head. You’re curled into his side, one leg hooked over his. Astarion’s other hand traces patterns onto yours, lazy circles that lull your mind into a quiet sense of security. The terror subsides ever so slowly, intensity halved while lying in his arms. 

“Astarion?”

“Hm?” 

“I’m okay, you know.”

A huff answers, and a brief rush of words. “I’m still blaming the Druid.”

“Of course you are.”

_______________________________________

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[shirefantasies]

Hello! I would like to request a little prompt if you'd want to do it. Kili/Reader where Kili is insecure about not looking "dwarfish" enough; hard time growing a beard, and being seen as too young for stuff. The reader has to comfort him, maybe with some hair braiding and fluff. I just wanna see my little boy getting the love he deserves. If you'd be comfortable with it could the reader be male presenting, otherwise gender-neutral is cool too. Hope you have a good day :)

Bro sorry this is so late but hope you enjoy friend 🥰

Warnings: one suggestive joke

See Me- Kili x GN!Reader

Sometimes it simply shocked you how beautiful Kili was. Your One, the apple of your eye, he whose smile alone lit up your eyes like the whole of the stars. The way his long black locks tumbled effortlessly over his shoulders. Looks of focus that overcame his handsome features as he took a shot or when he attempted whittling.

It would have never occurred to you to think he'd never be enough. In fact, you had to suppress a laugh when he first expressed this concern, not out of finding his struggles humorous but simply a sound of pure incredulity, the same reaction you'd have had to as blatant a lie as someone telling you the sky was green.

Kili had been sitting by your side on watch, only you two awake for the chill wind of the night as the rest of the company stayed wrapped up in their bedrolls. Wistful in the breeze, he'd been thanking you for caring about him so much as he leaned back on his log, one leg crossed over the other and one hand fidgeting with the edge of his boot to match the nervous downward shift of his gaze.

"It's hard sometimes being the extra brother, you know? The one the future king's always standing up for."

"You are one of the strongest people I know," you gaped, "And I have no doubt you would do the same for him. And what is this of being the spare brother? Fili and you are nothing alike. Both of you are blessings to your family. Both of you are kind, strong, and selfless, yes, but you are bright and daring and dare I say fun in a way that he is not. There is no comparison."

"That's just it, I guess. Being the fun one doesn't help them always thinking I'm still a kid," he replied, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Fireglow flickered around his handsome profile, illuminating the vulnerable shine in those deep brown eyes you so loved. For once, all the confidence, the bravado he was always able to summon in the company's presence, had melted away. Kili was no child, but you could see the helpless boy within making his slight emergence. No matter, though. Who could see this dwarf man, this one who made you feel so strong and so safe and made jokes that never failed to flare warmth beneath your skin, and see a boy?

"Your mother?" You asked, leaning closer and resting your hand upon his arm.

"Everyone," he shrugged, looking up and giving a small smile to your contact, "They tell me I'm tall for my age or ask what is wrong with me that I haven't a full beard. They see my brother, proud and golden-haired with those great dangling braids and say there goes the future king. Then comes me, the princeling who gets to have fun, the one lucky to live in so many great leaders' shadow."

"I love my brother," he hastily amended, waving his hands, "None of it is his fault and I do not want his life, his possible throne. Moreso it's the way they expect me not to care, not to have a bother in this world. So I guess I grew into giving them what they want. Acting like just that. Suppose that's part of why I rush into things so. Some part of me hoping I'll prove myself this time. Make up for the times Fili had to rush to my defense from some bully picking on me before I vowed to show them."

As Kili's words trailed off, you shook your head, eyes still shining into his with purest disbelief. "If only you could see what I see. See not only your beauty, but your heart. A beard doesn't make a man, after all, a heart does. And yours is bold, resilient, and would do anything for those it loves. In turn it loves freely and acts courageously, even when the world would have it falter."

A smile crept its way back onto Kili's lips at your words, his dark gaze going a bit bashful. Firelight overtook more of it as he shyly swiveled back away.

"A real man defends those he cares about and those who cannot defend themselves. He knows who he is and fights just as strongly for that. Just like you when you stood up to those imbeciles who mocked your archery and became an expert with a bow. When I look to what being a man means, Kili, I look to you. Now come here. Turn around."

Looking a bit puzzled, Kili obliged, rotating in his seat to face totally away from you, that flickering glow glistening off the long black locks that now faced you. You ran a hand through them, relishing in their softness despite the bristling pine needles that fell from them and dirt that had surely caught there. Running your fingers again and again, you combed carefully through it all.

"You take such good care of us. Of your mother, who gifted you a beautiful promise to return to her arms. Now let me care for you."

Wordlessly he nodded, melting into your touch as your fingers caressed his scalp, running through his hair one final time before you began separating the flowing locks and braiding them.

"Great dangling braids, you say? Great dangling braids you shall have, and I daresay they'll be more than a mite longer than Fili's."

"Not the only thing of mine longer than his," Kili shoots back, turning his head enough to give you a wink.

Smiling and giggling, you swatted his shoulder and shook your head. Deflection or not, your heart was warmed for the return of Kili's humor. You would do anything it took, you reflected as your hands worked at weaving his hair, to keep his smile present. After all, you knew he would always do the same.

Your rock, your strength, your heart, your One. Words you spoke to him over and over that night until they stuck, and if they never did, well, you would be right there to speak them again. To be Kili's eyes and see him for all the beautiful things that he was.

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[mynameismckenziemae]

Underestimated

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x You/Reader/OFC

Summary: Being mistreated isn’t uncommon for a woman working in a male-dominated field, but Bob isn’t going to let it slide when he witnesses it happen to you.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Smut, oral (m receiving), p in v, military/mechanical inaccuracies (I’m assuming), misogyny, etc.

——————————————————————————

For as long as you can remember, people (men) have underestimated you. Starting with your older brothers thinking you were an easy target, though they quickly learned that wasn’t the case. Next, your math teacher overlooked your intelligence because you were female. Your guidance counselor tried to persuade you away from the Navy after graduation because you weren’t tough enough for the military. The RDC laughed in your face the first day of boot camp, saying someone of your stature would never make it through; it sure felt good to see the smile fall from his face when you received ‘Outstanding’ marks in your physical readiness test.

But just because you were used to being underestimated; doesn’t mean it doesn’t get old.

It’s been two months since relocating to your hometown to be the lead aviation structural mechanic of North Island and none of the men you oversee have warmed up to you. The look of disappointment on your crew’s faces when you were introduced was obvious; your name was gender-neutral so they were counting on a male. You hadn’t expected them to befriend you, but you did expect respect; which was definitely lacking.

“A little help over here,” you call out, struggling to not lose your grip on the intake part you were trying to replace.

“Hello? Can someone help me?” You ask again a few minutes later, muscles trembling as it slides further off your shoulder. Not only would it hurt like a bitch if it lands on you, but it’s also not a cheap part if it bends or breaks.

“Equal pay for equal work, sweetheart. You can’t do the work yourself, you shouldn’t be here,” Jackson, the smug asshole, replies while the others chuckle in agreement.

“Fuck,” you grit out, trying not to panic as it begins to fall. But strong hands are helping you guide it into place. The same hands that have been on your mind since he dwarfed yours when he shook it on your first day.

Your attraction to the rest of him has only grown in the time since, along with your feelings; you adore his sweet, quiet demeanor. Natasha keeps telling you he feels the same way about you, but you haven’t built up the nerve yet to make a move.

“I’ll hold it here while you attach it,” Bob says softly near your ear. Your heart races as you do so, getting close enough that you can smell his signature leather and clean laundry scent.

Bob’s brows furrow as he watches your arms shake from the exertion. “How long were you holding this up?”

“About 5 minutes,” you reply, catching him shaking his head from the corner of your eye.

You’re done a moment later, sighing in relief when you put your arms down.

“Thanks,” you say as you set down your screwdriver and wipe your hands. You can’t help but notice how good he looks in his flight suit.

“No problem. Why didn’t you ask for help?” He asks as he wipes off his own.

“I did,” you sigh. “The boys here uh…aren’t too fond of me being their supervisor.”

“Why not?” He asks, perplexed.

“Because I’m a woman,” you reply with a shrug. “They don’t think I’m right for the job because I ask for help with lifting sometimes. Among other thing so I’m sure.”

His expression quickly turns angry.

“What’s up, Floyd?” Jackson says, smacking Bob on the shoulder. “If you need something worked on, you’re better off coming to me.”

“Why’s that?” Bob asks, shrugging his hand off and turning around.

“Come on, you know a woman’s place is in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant,” Jackson jokes.

But you’re not laughing. Neither is Bob.

“A woman’s place is wherever the hell she wants it to be, Jackson. I know you’re an idiot but I can’t believe you’re dumb enough to say something like that in front of me, but also your female commanding officer. I haven’t been impressed with the way you,” he stops and looks at the rest of the guys that have gathered around, “any of you have been treating her since she started but refusing to help her is going against direct orders. Not only could she have been injured, but the part she was holding costs more than a year’s salary for you.”

He steps closer to Jackson as he continues. “I’ll leave it up to her if she wants to report it, but if I ever see you disrespect her again, you’ll have to deal with me.”

You’re suddenly feeling hot and flustered as the crush you’ve been harboring intensifies as sweet, shy Bob defends your honor.

Jackson visibly gulps, nodding before he looks at you.

“Go home for the day,” you say with a glance at the clock before you begin to clean up your bay. “All of you are dismissed.”

“Look, I’m sorry-“ Jackson starts but you cut him off.

“Save it, Jackson,” you sigh. “I’m not going to report you, but I will if it happens again.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replies before scurrying away.

Bob follows you as you wash your hands in the sink, scrubbing the grease off. “Sorry, if I overstepped. I know you’re more than capable of standing up for yourself. I just can’t-“ he starts but you interrupt him as you dry your hands.

“You didn’t overstep. I appreciate it,” you assure him as you look over his shoulder to make sure everyone’s gone.

You take a step closer, bringing a hand up to play with the zipper of his flight suit.

“Thank you,” you murmur as you pull him to you for a kiss.

He freezes as your lips touch his, but only for a moment before he kisses you back; the tension that’s been building snapping in an instant.

“I’ve wanted this since the moment I laid eyes on you,” he breathes as you kiss down his neck, groaning as you nip his collarbone.

“Me too,” you murmur against his neck before pulling back to take his hand. “Come on.”

You lead him to the parts room, unlocking the door and pushing him against it once closed, gasping into the kiss when you feel his thick erection pressing against your stomach.

He groans when your hand finds him next, palming him through his flight suit. You shiver before pulling down the zipper, wanting more of those delicious sounds.

“What are-oh God,” he sighs when you fall to your knees, flicking your tongue over the wet spot on his boxerbriefs to taste the precum.

“Wanna taste you,” you say, hands pausing by the waistband of his briefs. “Can I?”

You continue when he nods, gulping when his size is revealed to you. “So big,” you murmur, meeting his eyes as you lean forward to lick the precum beading.

“Fuck,” he whispers before his head falls back against the door with a thump and his hands fist at his sides when you suck him into your mouth.

You bring a hand up to stroke what can’t fit in your mouth and unzip your own coveralls with the other, slipping inside and between your legs to give yourself some relief. Your eyes fall close with a moan as you circle your clit.

“Oh-oh my God,” he gasps when you moan, his eyes zeroing in on what your hand is doing. “Are you touching yourself?”

Your eyes open and take in his wrecked expression before you hum around him.

“Ah…w-wait,” he pants, guiding you off him and to your feet. “I almost-I don’t wanna cum yet.”

You smile as he spins you, pressing you to the door. You shiver as he leaves wet kisses down your neck and whimper when he sucks your nipple through the thin material of your sports bra.

“Next time,” you promise, stopping him as he starts to kneel. “Right now I want you inside me.”

He inhales sharply at your words and nods as he reaches for his wallet, pulling out a condom.

“What are you doing?” You ask with a giggle as he puts it under the light while you slip your coveralls off.

“Making sure it’s not expired,” he replies with a chuckle. “It’s been in my wallet for a few years. It’s good for a few more months yet.”

“Good,” you reply, watching as he rolls it on.

You wrap your legs around his waist when he lifts you and lines himself up to your entrance.

Your mouth finds his as he pushes inside you, and you whimper at the sweet stretch.

“You feel like heaven” he whispers before trailing kisses to your shoulder as you adjust, withdrawing to push back in when you’re ready.

Now it’s your head that thunks against the door as he fucks into you at a steady pace, grunting softly into your neck with each deep thrust.

He pulls back to watch you through lust-heavy eyes as he wets his ring and pointer fingertips before sliding them between you to circle your clit. “Feel good?” He asks, voice husky.

“So good,” you moan, clenching around him as your release starts to build.

“Good,” he nods, “I want you to cum for me, can you do that?”

“Y-yes! Fuck, I’m close,” you whine, your hands scrambling to find purchase on his shoulders as your orgasm rapidly approaches.

He leans in for another kiss and the change of the angle is all it takes for you to fall over the edge with a throaty moan.

Bob’s hips stutter and he fills the condom with a deep groan when you clench rhythmically around him.

He sets you down gently once you’ve caught your breath, making sure you’re steady on your feet before removing the condom. You pull your underwear back on while he zips up his suit.

“What are you doing tonight?” He asks as he kneels, helping you step back into your uniform.

“I have a date with a load of laundry,” you joke. “Why, what’s up?”

“Think it’d be upset if you rescheduled?” He asks, leaning forward to press a kiss just above your bare knee, then halfway up your thigh as he pulls up the fabric. “You said I could do this,” he places a wet kiss to your clit through your underwear before continuing to rise, “next time. So I was thinking I could pick up takeout and we could have ‘next time’ tonight?”

“I like the way you think,” you reply with a smile, leading the way out of the hangar.

——————————————————————————

A/N: Thank you @lexixstewart for the idea (again!) You have such good ideas! I hope you like it!

As always, any interaction is appreciated but I love hearing what you think in comments/reblogs!

Sorry if you’re not a Bob girly, but I’ll add my taglist here:

@mamamaystbr

@its-the-pilot

@dizzybee03

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@shanimallina87

@blindedbythelightt

@getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth

@phoenix-rising-starbird-one

@mrsrobertfloyd5

@charmedkim

@k-k0129

@bellaireland1981

@hookslove1592

@amiets2

@nero4te

@eli2447

@atarmychick007

@vixenobrian

@86laura11

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@dempy

@angelbabyyy99

@buckysteveloki-me

@djs8891

@mizzzpink

@daggerspare-standingby

@mrsevans90

@littlezee80

@emma8895eb

@jessicab1991

@devil-angel-winchester

[lady-adaneth]

Romantic Inclination

To whoever finds this, hello friend! I’m super excited to be sharing my first ever fan fic with you! What an incredible thing that we’ve found each other on this vast platform. I’m looking to improve my writing, so if you have a moment I’d be very grateful if you shared any criticisms or requests. I hope that this little one-shot brings some tranquility to your day!

Synopsis:

You and your betrothed sneak away from the wedding festivities for a romantic moment alone.

Legolas x gender-neutral elf!reader

No use of y/n

One-Shot (but if you’d like more don’t hesitate to send a request)

Meleth Nin = My Love

Content Warnings:

Spice scale: Mild kinda smoky salsa

Physical/romantic touch

Word Count:

500+ words

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧‧₊˚ ✩°｡

The forests of Mirkwood were fabled for the ghastly creatures that lurked beneath its thick canopy. The treacherous floor remaining untouched by the glow of stars nor the suns kiss; the darkness teeming with monstrous spiders and unforgiving elves…

The centuries old fable had kept your elfling self from wandering at night, much to your father’s relief. If only he could see you now, dancing amongst the Mirkwood elves in their sacred forest; marrying a Mirkwood elf under thousands of glimmering stars.

Your steps faltered as your mind wandered to your betrothed; and your dance partner took notice. Gimli and you had fought side-by-side against Sauron and his hoard. Combat was a dance in itself, and Gimli’s ax was a perfect complement to your blades. So it’s no surprise that he was privy to what troubled you.

“You’ve suddenly got lousy footwork for an elf, what’s on your mind lassie?” A smile graced Gimli’s face, however his eyes betrayed true concern. Your mind had been wandering to Legolas ever since the ceremony. Tradition mandated that both of you greet and dance with as many guests as possible, reuniting hours later for a final dance. However, as much as you enjoyed the company of others you couldn’t help but scan the motley crowd for his circlet-adorned hair.

“Well,” you began, eyes still searching.

“I have so many more guests to thank…” Gimli cut you off in an explosion of laughter.

“Screw tradition, I’ll keep these unruly guests in check. You go find that damned elf, wherever he may be,” before you could muster a retort, Gimli twirled you in a surprisingly artful spin, abruptly letting go of your hand and launching you into the open. You opened your eyes, searching for any sign of your beloved dwarf friend amongst the crowd, to no avail. Rolling your eyes, you took stock of your immediate surroundings. To the left, the merriment continued; with Pippin and Gandalf leading a rather humorous waltz that had everyone hollering. To the right, you found yourself flanked by the seemingly endless Mirkwood forest.

Suddenly, a set of encompassing arms wound their way around your waist.

“Meleth Nin,”

The whispers warm air lingered by your ear, a firm chest pressed up against your back. Despite his choice of words, you could recognize his intoxicating scent of fir and amber anywhere.

“And who might you be?” You say coyly. “Are you my savior, prince?” Legolas chuckled, his voice inches from your ear.

“I’m here to rescue you from the endless dancing and idle chatter, my princess,” you spun to face him, a mischievous smile on his saintly face. Heavens, that face. You could feel his heart rate accelerate with your own as your hand found his jawline. His arms still encompassed your body. You felt yourself melting as he gently leaned down to meet your lips. The rhythm of the kiss was gentle-familiar, and you melted farther into his touch. His arms tightened around your figure as the kiss deepened. His teeth gently grazed your lip, sending a chill down your spine. You pushed farther into his chest in an almost primal effort to meld into one. Your heart rates grew louder, your shared breath drowning out any sound. His right hand ascended to rest in your hair, carefully grasping the roots. Suddenly, you pulled away, gasping for air as the sounds of merriment returned to you. His eyes found yours, a combination of adoration and worry; searching yours for any sign of injury.

“What are your thoughts…” your forehead found his as he held you tightly. “On taking our leave from the festivities, only for a moment of course?” His reverence shone brightly in his eyes.

“I’d be honored to steal you away for the night, Meleth Nin,” he smirked, pulling you hand-in-hand through the glistening forest of Mirkwood…

—————

Thank you for reading! If you have any criticisms or would like a part 2 please let me know!

[sunshinescribes]

Tomorrow

Pairing: Donquixote “Corazón” Rosinante x Fem!Reader (can be read as gender neutral!)

Rating: NONE

Summary: Rosinante is no fool, no matter what his brother or the family might think. He knows pain when he sees it, and he hates that he’s the cause of yours.

Warnings: ANGST, established relationship, fluff, comfort (I just wanted to write something bittersweet y’all), Pre-Rosinante and Law

You know you don’t have much time.

It slips by far too fast, precious hours reduced to what feels like mere minutes when Rosinante is with you.

You try to cherish them, to swallow the plea that wants to crawl up your throat in the silent hours when you’re wrapped in his arms. You try to find solace in the fact that he’s safe. For another hour, he’s safe from his brother—from the world that despises his celestial blood.

Here with you, he can let down his shield and smile as if tomorrow might not be his last. It’s a small comfort, but it’s enough to stop you from being selfish.

You want him to stay.

You always want him to stay.

It’s torture—months spent without him. Your world stands still, grows so quiet that all you hear is the beat of your heart ringing in your ears, ticking away like a timebomb. You wait for the explosion, for the day that Rosinante doesn’t come back, and you finally shatter.

But today isn’t that day, so you cling to him a little tighter. Speak to him a little softer.

You know that kindness is not something Rosinante finds in his brother nor the company that he keeps. He tends to his bleeding heart well and masks himself in silence so as not to draw their attention to his true motives. It’s a dangerous game, one you’re terrified he'll lose.

Rosinante had told you what Doflamingo did to their father—an ill-fated, tender-hearted man whom his oldest son could not forgive. The image of Rosinante at the end of his brother’s gun has haunted you ever since.

"You’re shaking."

Amber eyes stare down at you, concern clear in them as they take you in.

You hadn’t noticed your hands trembling against him or the subtle shake of your chest. You don’t even notice the tears turning your vision blurry until they fall.

"I’m fine," you lie, but it does nothing to assuage his worry. He cradles your jaw in his hand, tilting your head upward as he uses his other hand to wipe away your tears—he knows.

Rosinante is no fool, no matter what his brother or the family might think. He knows pain when he sees it, and he hates that he’s the cause of yours. Rosinante would stop coming back if he knew which was less cruel—letting you go or staying with you for as long as he’s able, even if he can’t promise you tomorrow, or the next day, or the next.

He can put on a good act, though, for your sake.

"Don’t worry about me sweetheart," Rosinante grins, sitting up in bed. His blonde curls are disheveled, making him look gentle and boyish and so different from the man he calls brother. "Those fools don’t suspect anything. It won’t be long now before we catch them."

You try to smile. You want to believe him. You know he’s doing everything right—everything he possibly can. It’s Doflamingo who worries you the most. He won’t spare his baby brother if he finds out, and you know Rosinante won’t fight him.

"My act has them completely foole—" Rosinante's voice trails off as he tips over the edge of the bed, falling to the ground with a soft thud.

You laugh lightly despite yourself, crawling over to the edge to glance down at him. Rosinante stares up at you with his lips caught in a soft grin.

"See? I fooled you too."

You snort and roll your eyes as he shifts to his knees. Even while on the floor, his height is imposing, forcing you to sit up just so he doesn’t dwarf you.

"There’s that smile," he sighs, leaning close enough that you feel his breath fan over your lips. "Still the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen…"

Your heart flutters as his lips find yours. His kiss is tender, a soft declaration of love as he holds you close. Rosinante never rushes. Never takes more than he needs.

Your nature is different.

You thread your fingers through his golden tresses, pulling him closer. You tilt your head, kissing him with a kind of desperation that leaves you both breathless when you pull away.

"I…don’t want to lose you, Rosi."

You don’t look at Rosinante as the words pass your lips, barely above a whisper.

You hear the wind blowing outside your window and the crickets chirping to the pale moon. You are both so still, frozen in a moment that feels like eternity.

Rosinante stirs suddenly. He reaches for your trembling hands, bringing them close to his lips. Your eyes finally lift to his as he brushes his lips across your knuckles tenderly, trying to soothe the ache in your soul.

"Okay," he says. Then again, and again, and again.

Each kiss is an oath, a declaration that he has every intention of returning to you.

"Just a little while more," he promises.

You nod. You let the promise settle in your heart, allowing yourself to be hopeful.

Rosinante shuffles back into bed with little grace, drawing you close once more. You lean into his warmth and listen to the soft patter of his tender heart. You try to fight sleep—try to hold on to him for as long as you can. You know when you wake up in the morning, he will be gone, back to doing the bidding of his older brother.

Rosinante whispers something you can’t quite make out as fatigue finally finds you, and you sink further and further way.

At least you dream a pleasant, calm dream of a tomorrow where he stays.

[live-laugh-legolas]

Hello! So happy to see people writing for LOTR ^-^

Could you please write something about Aragorn, Boromir and Eomer with a badass muscular reader who's also really short? You can decide whether to make the reader female or gender neutral, but I have the idea of them meeting this really badass muscular reader who's like a full foot shorter than them. Maybe she runs a forge and works as a smith or is a shieldmaiden, or maybe even both, but I just love the idea of them with a little reader who can also pick them up if they really wanted to. Thanks so so much, keep up the good work!

I love your blog and Ik this won’t compare to your writing but I’ll do my best!

I unfortunately don’t really know Eomer enough as a character to write for him, I’m so sorry, I’ll work on it

Aragorn and Boromir x small but strong! Reader

Aragorn:

-You met him while he was working as a bladesmith during his time as a ranger to make a little coin

-He was looking for work and showed up at your forge asking for work

-Asks a man who works you that looks like he probably is the boss, but is then directed to the actual boss, you

-Covered in grime, wiping the sweat from your forehead, you confidently walk up to him to ask what he needs

-He’s a very polite man and is good at keeping his reactions in check

-So you don’t notice his shock at this little human lady that is built like the Hulk

-Major respect for you, probably a little scared

-One day he gets a fire going way too big; listen he’s talented but accidents happen

-But you grab him and basically throw him out of the way so you can deal with the fire while then giving him a lecture lesson on proper technique

-His brain is rebooting though so he honestly had no idea what you are saying

-His feet left the floor…doesn’t know how to feel about that

-He probably is convinced you must be part dwarf because of your size and strength

Boromir:

-You are a smith in Minas Tirith so he has seen you around plenty of times

-You have a reputation of being scary

-Short, strong, and major RBF

-When he goes into your shop to ask for a fix on his sword he is honestly scared

-But pleasantly surprised at your chill demeanor

-Does he go to his room and flex his muscles in the mirror…that’s none of your business

-It’s just that you have muscles in your arms that he didn’t even know existed

-Seriously what are all those extra bumps?

-Wants you to be a shieldmaiden and will personally train you himself if he has to

-However you may not be an experienced fighter, but you are stupidly strong so he still gets the snot beaten out of him

-You use your height to your advantage and flip him over you so he lands flat on his back

-Reconsidering his life choices, but also laughing because he doesn’t know why he didn’t expect it

-Whether or not you continue with training he has no concerns that you can fully defend yourself

[bad4amficideas]

I CAN'T ANYMORE!!!, I HAVE TO ASK IT!!!, I'M SORRY FOR THE SPAM IN THE X READER TAG

Why do you make characters like Miguel or Miles call the Reader "mami"? Is it something Latin American I'm missing? is because I saw the movies in spanish? Anyway, thats NOT the problem, the problem is... DO YOU ONLY KNOW THAT WORD OF ENDEARMENT???

I know what it means. I am Spanish (but, from Spain, specifically). I SPEAK SPANISH. But you will never hear anyone in Spain call someone affectionately mommy or daddy... UNLESS they are married and have children.

Side note, none of you are as bad as you think with Spanish, but you may have problems with the gender of words (understandable, English is more gender neutral one of the few things I like about it, but in Spanish, the masculine form OR ENDING IN "O" it is Usually generalized as neutral too, but not always).

Cariño = all genders (dear)

Cariña = congrats, Inhabitant of a Latin American town, not to be confused with carina.

cielo = literally sky (yo never sais "ciela")

Bolita= small ball (is cute, to chubby, rounded people, BOLITO, is NOT a word, bolita goes for any gender)

churri (I don't know how to define this, but it's affectionate, something old-fashioned)

amor= love

bicho= bug (to be fair, you can say bichito, bichita, aca little bug)

caramelito= little sweet

bombon= bonbon

With gender (for those who are interested, first male, then female)

querido, querida (dear)

canijo, canija (something like a dwarf, little one but affectionately)

principe, princesa (prince, princess)

rey, reina (king, queen)

guapo, guapa (beautiful)

lindo, linda (cute)

nene, nena (baby, coloquial)

pitufo, pitufa/pitufina (Smurf/smurfette, more familiar appellation, but it is said and yes both word works in female)

muñeco, muñeca (doll, the last one also means wrist)

Almost always add "mi" (my) to power it up

[cyberapid]

Happy (?) Reunions

ROTB Mirage x Cybertronian! Reader

Reader is gender neutral but described as larger than Mirage. :)

—•—•—

His face plate is smooth, yet uneven under your servos. The ridges a reminder of the rough living you’ve all had, scrapes and dents that just couldn’t be buffed from his plate yet the familiarity after years of separation sends you into a giddy laugh which he returns in kinda as his vents let out a low thrum you can feel within your chassis with how close both your chest plates are pushed together. His servos slide on top of yours to lock your digits together with a soft click, gently cradling the mechanism. 

The bliss of the moment is short lived as his excitement is quickly replaced by worry as the small mechanics that make up his face plate shift into a nervous grimace below your digits, which he quickly removed from his helm instead opting to hold them in between the two of you, 

“Listen. You can’t be mad. Prime is gonna be pissed enough so you gotta be with me babe- hear me out, ok?” 

His smile is nervous and slightly desperate as he looks up to you, anxiously fidgeting with your digits that dwarf his. His head turns just off to the side, turning your head the same and you’re met with a human, frightened and gripping a metal pipe so tight that his servos— Hands— have turned white. 

       “Mirage. You didn’t,” you breath as your vents audibly shudder, you might stall out this time. 

All excitement from the reunion is lost, releasing your grip on his servos as your attention is turned towards the human man who’s taken to pointing the pipe at you. Turning your frame towards him you dwarf not only your Conjunx but the human he’s stown away. 

“You had one job- To stay hidden and you couldn’t handle that? Is your processor malfunctioning or have you not bothered to use it at all?” 

The words come out harsher than intended as his servos quickly grasp for your own. An attempt to greedily pull your gaze back to him even with its disappointment, but something twinges in your spark as his optical ridges shift with worry- almost pleading-

He’s placating you and it’s working, slag.

 “In my defense he wasn’t supposed to be there! Broke in and just happened to hear Prime-,” 

Here comes the excuses, out of his perfect yet immature intake,

 “—So in a sense it’s Primes fault? I didn’t announce myself. I played it cool, as always. Primes just got a big mouth- intake. Whatever,” 

His preference for the humans words starts to irritate a petty part of your processor that’s already agitated with him, truthfully his enjoyment of the whole culture grinds your gears-

Rumbling outside interrupts any thoughts or complaints you might have had, but leaves your conjunx in a further panic along with the human who turns the pipe now towards the entrance where the others drive through,

 “Better start thinking of a better excuse, Sweetspark,” you hum to him, leaving to approach the team you haven’t seen in years with an apprehensive excitement.

[norel-ravenclaw]

Into My Web

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Featured characters: Zestial x gn reader, Alastor

Rating: sfw

Word count: 1300

Description: A soul out of time, you arrive in Hell and make friends with Alastor, who introduces you to the oldest Overlord in the Pride ring - Zestial.

WARNINGS: | gender neutral reader | mentions of murder and brief gore | the plague! no?! yes!! | am I delighted to use my old English knowledge from years of bible study to write for a deeply impure hell show? fuck yes I am -> will used instead of wilt throughout, iykyk |

A walk through the sketchiest part of town means little with the Radio Demon on your arm. Or so you thought, until even he suddenly becomes tense.

A stranger steps into your path, denizens and low ranking overlords fleeing in terror from the glimpse of virulent green flashing beneath his cloak. Tall and slender, a mysterious aura of a sort of passive menace emanating from him.

When he speaks, his low voice and old English pique your curiosity. “Good morrow, Alastor.”

“Ah! Zestial, what a pleasure to see you again.”

The demons incline their heads in a gesture of elegant politeness lost to older eras, stark contrast to the chaos their combined presence is creating on the street.

“Likewise.” Six fathomless eyes emitting a faint neon glow fix on you in a distinctly predatory appraisement. “And who might this creature be who hast gained thine attention?”

Alastor’s smile takes on even more of a strained tint. “Of course.” He introduces you politely, then adding, “And this is Zestial Morde, the most ancient overlord in the Pride ring.”

Having somewhat of an old fashioned personality is what made Alastor choose your company over the other residents of the hotel in the first place, so it’s no difficulty leaning into that here. You dip your head and half bow while still holding Alasor’s arm. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Zestial hums low in his throat. “What year didst thou die, sinner?”

“This year, sir.”

Alastor gestures animatedly with his cane. “Why only just recently! They arrived in quite the state, which I was most pleased to have the privilege of witnessing~”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, biting your cheek at the memory.

Zestial’s eyes narrow in interest. “I am most intrigued. Thou must relay to me the story.”

Alastor glances further up the road. “Alas, I have a meeting in a few minutes on behalf of the princess, but I’m certain my friend would love to entertain you.”

“Excellent.” Moving with quick grace, Zestial moves to your side and captures your arm. “Do convey my well wishes to Carmilla.”

“But of course.” Alastor bows to the both of you with a flourish before leaving you alone with… a demon even he seems wary of.

His presence at your side dwarfs you, hiding you from the meagre light of the hellish sky in his shadow. “Come, I will make thee a drink.”

“If you like.”

You pointedly ignore the scattering demons as he leads you to a warehouse-like building, bowing gallantly for you to enter the elevator first. Once inside, the scenery changes as dramatically as you could imagine.

Heavy stone and sconces mimicking torches line the walls of the opulent space. Dark green velvet curtains, ancient looking Persian rugs, and moth eaten tapestries transform a simple office into a medieval palace.

One of the tapestries catches your eye, your feet stopping as the faded scene captures your attention.

A dark haired man in a green cape holds a long sword in one hand, and a scale overflowing with gold coins in the other. At his feet is a slain dragon in a pool of toxic green blood. The heroic scene is overlaid a classic four square shield-shaped crest, its faint contrast symbols nearly lost to time beneath a layer of deeply ingrained soot, the bottom corner burned away completely as though it was barely rescued from a fire.

Zestial stops with you, making a small sound of surprise. “Ah, my hearaldric portrait… Mm, not even Carmilla has ever asked about these.”

“It sounds as though you are friends with her?”

“Just so. She died in the Spanish old west, a powerful figure already. One of the few to arrive in hell with child.” He trails off in front of another tapestry, this one in an even worse state than the first.

A simple artist’s rendition of a noble family stares somberly from the ancient weave. A young looking woman holds a baby with a tall man behind her. To each side are knights in different regalia.

“…There is something in thy nature that nearly reminds me of her. Though in truth I hardly knew her before the plague arrived.” His monstrous eyes consider you with a melancholic look before he ushers you down the hall. “Forgive mine ramblings, how uncouth,” he half mutters.

“Not at all. If anything, I’d love to hear your stories.” You chuckle wryly. “There’s sure to be more interesting than mine.”

He flicks on the light in the parlour, allowing you a brief glimpse of the smile on his lips. “Well, perhaps I shall accept thine offer. But first, coffee or tea?”

“Tea is fine, thank you.”

He sets to work at the bar while you settle in a well-worn armchair. This room is decorated with weapons and skulls, clearly where he usually entertains, (see: intimidate).

You watch as he uses his power to heat the teapot, then brings the cups over.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Of course. Now, pray tell me the tale of thy arrival.” He smirks knowingly.

You laugh and rub the back of your neck. “Ah, well… When I first, er, manifested here, two cannibals immediately attacked me. I still hardly know how I managed to fight them, much less win. I stole their clothes and… took one of their arms as a makeshift weapon. Alastor found me trying to catch my breath after running all the way from there to the hotel.”

Zestial laughs heartily. “Ah, I see why the fiend wast amused. I am impressed by thy strength and reason in the midst of unfathomable new circumstances.”

You blink in surprise at his easy praise, saluting you with a raised teacup. You smile bashfully and return the gesture. “…Thank you.”

“Tell me, dost thou posses Sinner Powers, by chance?”

The blood drains from your face. Shit… Of all your talents, lying is not one of them.

The air suddenly grows cold as the demon sets down his teacup. You hardly manage to do the same before he is leaning over you threateningly.

You sink back into the chair, not wanting to meet his eye. “…It’s hardly anything that could be exploited.”

A long clawed finger comes to your chin, deceptively gentle as he lifts your face to look at him. “Thou will show me.”

In the quiet room, your panicked heartbeat is the only thing that can be heard. His many green eyes pin you to the spot, his dark face the only place of reprieve in your line of sight as his outstretched arms reveal the full neon display of his inner cloak.

He stares you down patiently, his power and threat made even more intimidating with his silence. The absoluteness of his authority and inevitably of your compliance a certainty in both your minds.

Unable to look away, you raise a hand and show him a small ball of power coalescing on your trembling palm.

He removes his hand from your chin to tease at it with his claws. “Good. Mm, it seems thy power is not strong. But that can be changed. Thou will return here every week to train. In return for my assistance, you will-”

A visceral emotion rips through you, and you push a hand against his chest. “I’m not going to become a soldier for you! I didn’t survive all this just to fight someone else’s battles!”

He reflexively traps your hand against his chest, his narrowed eyes searching you as he keeps you pinned. “Mm, such fire~”

Your heart clenches painfully as he leans closer, terrified of what he will do. Practically holding your breath as his own caresses your neck… soon followed by his claws.

“Thou will choose to stand by me, in the end. Mark mine words. Thy fire shall be in my hands.” You gasp as his hand trails down your collarbone over your chest. “And so shall thy heart.”

His low voice in your ear makes you shiver, and he chuckles. “Already thou hast willingly walked into mine web, my dear~ Do not look at me with such fear. Mine is precisely the poison you crave, is it not?”

Thank you for reading! I am motivated by interaction, so if you want more content from me, please let me know! I’ll probably post the Angel Dust fic tomorrow. Stay tuned in a few minutes for a poll!

[soapyghost]

i need to give könig a smooch RIGHT NOW or i will DIE. he deserves THE WORLD. i need to HOLD HIM and SMOOCH HIS FOREHEAD and TELL HIM HE IS LOVED (may i have könig x gender neutral reader fluff blease??? i just know that he is so sweet and so adorable. he is my sweet cheese, my babygirl and there is so little content for him)

ABSOLUTELY! König makes my whole life better. UGH I love him.

Pure fluff coming up-

It’s been a week since you found that crumpled note under your pillow. You could tell instantly by the terrible, yet somewhat cute, handwriting that it was Königs penmanship.

Will you go to the mall with me on Saturday to buy me civvy clothes?

-König

The sound of your blood rushes to your ears. Is this him asking you on a date? Or was this just an invitation because he was to nervous to go on his own? Your heart flutters at the thought of walking around the mall with König by your side. You fold the note and tuck it safely into your breast pocket, smiling to yourself.

Saturday seems to take eons. You’re mind wanders during every meeting and debrief. The only thing in your mind during every moment of every day is your date with König. When Saturday finally rolls around you can’t get to the parking lot fast enough to meet him. You see him far before he sees you, and you’re surprised that he isn’t in his mask. Instead opting for a black baseball cap and a surgical mask, which with the ongoing pandemic made it look normal. His clothes on the other hand look liked they had been picked out of the trash from a Goodwill. His cargo pants were much too large and his black t-shirt was way too small, but it did show off his muscles.

“Hey big guy! You ready?” You shout to him across the parking lot. The sound of your voice puts him at ease almost immediately. His eyes light up and he rushes over to you. He’s different with you, softer, which you would never expect from a 6’9” German man. “You all ready to go?” He asks with such excitement he can barely contain himself. The entire ride to the mall you and König don’t stop talking, laughing and singing terribly to the songs on the radio.

But the moment you two step out of the car he freezes, car door still open. You can see the terror in his face as he sees the people lingering outside the mall. You rush over to the other side and put an arm on his bicep, “hey hey. It’s ok. I’m right here” you whisper as you look into his eyes. “It’s gonna be ok, I promise.” You grab onto his hand and that finally softens him. He comes back to you and to earth. “Ok. I believe you” he murmurs, looking back into your eyes and squeezes your hand.

As the two of you walk through the sliding glass doors into the noisy mall you can feel Königs grip tighten on yours. People begin to turn and see this hulking giant of a man and whisper to each other. You know König has some pretty severe anxiety, “hey. Anytime you need to leave we can leave” you say. He simply shakes his head, “No. I want to do this. With you” he whispers, eyes sinking to the floor. You cup his chin and raise his eyes back to yours “I want to do this with you too” you smile, “how about this, anytime you feel anxious you squeeze my hand and we’ll stop whatever it is we’re doing and I’ll tell you a joke?” “I don’t want to hurt you” he replies, gesturing at how his hand dwarfs yours. “Dont worry about it big guy, I can handle it”

You make your way through the stores, laughing at the outfits he tries to pick out for himself. König may be one of the best soldiers out there but he has the fashion sense of a dead snail. You help him choose some basic clothes, jeans, T-shirts that actually fit, and a new pair of sneakers. Surprisingly, he only squeezes your hand a few times the whole time you’re in the mall with him. You’re so proud. Once your shopping trip is over you take him to the food court to treat him to a soft pretzel and some boba.

As he bites into the pretzel his face twists into disgust. “This is your idea of a pretzel?” He mutters, spitting it out into a napkin. You can help but burst out laughing at the look of horror on his face. “Mother would be so dissapointed in this… abomination”. “Oh I am so sorry our food does not live up to your expectations my King” you retort. He laughs. A big hearty laugh you only hear when you’re alone, never ever in public. He takes a sip of the boba tea, fully expecting to hate it, but it takes him by surprise how much he loves it. “We should get this back on base” he says inbetween sips. “Indeed” you agree, seeing him so happy and worry free stirs something inside you. You want him to feel like this every day, all day. You promise yourself then and there that you would do everything possible to make sure that becomes reality. “I really had a great time today, König. Thank you for taking me” you declare.

“I would like to take you on more dates in the future” he responds. Eyes full of hope that you will agree.

“Nothing in this world would make me happier.” You smile, taking his hand in both of yours.

[itsfeckinwimdy]

Of Feelings And Fancy

Fili x Reader

Reader pronouns: she/her.

Summary: Balin and the reader just being sort of found family feels. With: "You're plotting something." "What makes you say that?" "You're always plotting something."

Word Count: 567 words

Warnings: n/a

LOTR + TH Masterlist

Published: 12/02/2023

“You’re plotting something.”

The ranger paused in her movements, lowering the spoonful back into the bowl. She looked up at the older dwarf sitting across the fire from her before she squinted her eyes at him.

“What makes you say that?” she replied back, keeping the tone of her voice as neutral as possible, not wanting to lead him on in any way, shape, or form.

Balin raised his eyebrows in disbelief as if to say that he didn't believe her, to which he was within his rights to do so and was as true as the sun rising in the east each morning. That was the only thing she hated about the old man. His ability to tell whenever she was up to something.

Or maybe it was because she was terrible at keeping secrets.

"You’re always plotting something," Balin spoke back, eating another mouthful of food before speaking again, "I don't suppose it has anything to do with leaving me here in favour of your gold hair-prince by chance?"

She choked on the food causing herself to swallow it to breathe again. Although she was used to the teasing from Kili and other dwarrow she knew, it hadn't occurred to her that she would face the same from Balin. But then again, it was Balin.

"You do understand why you couldn't travel with him?"

The pointed look he gave her was all she need to know.

It was a topic that came up constantly surrounding her betrothal to Fili. A lot of the dwarves in the mountain believed that their relationship was moving too fast, especially for the young people they were. Dis had tried to advocate for them and had Balin at the time, knowing what it was like when you met your one, but lots of the older traditional dwarrow couldn't be budged on their opinions. And so it meant the two had to be chaperoned a lot more than they previously were.

So when it came to the journey to Hobbiton, she wasn't surprised when it was requested she travels with Balin rather than unchaperoned with the two Durin brothers.

The white-haired dwarf saw how she deflated in on herself, subconsciously making herself appear smaller as thoughts plagued her mind. Blain internally sighed. It hadn't been his intent to cause her any pain or sorrow, so the only thing he supposed he should offer the lass was comfort and the thoughts of what was to come.

He rose from the ground, trudging over to her side of the campfire and sitting ever so graceless next to her.

"Just think, in a few days, you'll be able to see him again," he teased, "and to think he'll be glad to see you still have that dagger of his."

She considered his words carefully, trying not to blush but regrettably failing at the mention of the dagger Fili had gifted her. It was part of his courting gift to her, alongside the braid in her hair that she knew he would be itching to re-do upon seeing her again.

She smiled, remembering the day he gifted them to her as if it was yesterday. The way Fili's eyes shone with the love he held for her; how fingers carefully caressed through her hair, braiding strands together and clasping a bead into the end.

Her heart swelled at the thought of Fili doing that again.

[atom-writings]

Can you do small scenario about ivan and short s/o (like below 160 cm that's me for sure)

I think he will help and tease at the same time (and others nation will joke about RIP s/o pelvis 💀)

(HWS Russia X Reader) Short S/O!

(Gender Neutral) Headcanons ~ A/N all my fellow short kings / queens we are in this together. We can unionize against the Talls (also again for reference whenever i write ivan i have him as 6 8 )

Trigger Warning: Suggestive implications in the last bit, but that's it.

Anon, you’re so right.

On one hand, he loves lording his height over you. Constantly patting you on your head, picking you up like you weigh nothing… he’s very infantilizing. He’d infantilize any S/O he has, but if you’re short, he can’t stop himself! I mean, your head barely meets his shoulder. He almost has to kneel down on the ground to kiss you. (Which he will do if he needs to, by the way. He is not embarrassed about it either.)

He will absolutely make your life just that little bit more frustrating because you’re short. If you live with him, his house has been modified over the years to fit his massive frame, so many completely normal tasks have that extra annoying step. Literally. He permanently has a step ladder in his kitchen for you. (Although sometimes he’ll misplace it, just so you have to ask him for assistance-) 

The first night you two stay together at his home, he considers buying you your own pair of pyjamas. But then you walk in wearing his shirt, which hangs out your short frame like a robe, he knows that he can never allow that to happen. Almost nothing in the entire world is a happier sight than you, wearing his clothes. Items that cling to his chest uncomfortably, but drape over you loosely, more a blanket than anything else. He’d do anything to protect that sight.

One of his favourite things to do with you is compare hands. Even if you’re muscley or plus size, his hands will still dwarf yours.

“Darling. Look at me, please?”

You turn around in your office chair, looking up at him curiously. He looms over you, his broad shoulders giving the appearance of a statue. But he quickly gets down on his knees, so his eyes meet yours. He smiles softly, looking at you like nothing else exists.

“Put up your hand,” He commands, but you know it’s a question. But nonetheless, you obey, sighing and bringing one of your hands up, realising he’s just fulfilling his routine.

Slowly, he brings his hand up as well, pressing it against yours. His palm is cold, but it’s inviting as always. At first, the rough texture of his calloused fingers made you shiver, but it soon became smooth like silk to your own.

He hums softly, “Just as small as last time.” His hands shake for a second, looking at you in surprise as you giggle at his stupid comment. The sound of your joy makes him shiver, his heart beginning to run a mile a minute.

Before you can realise what he’s doing, he’s intertwined your fingers, wrapping his large hand around yours. He pulls your hand towards him as he leans forward slowly, watching your reaction intently.

“What? I-” You start to say before being cut off by his lips crashing against yours. For just a second, you stare at him in shock, before succumbing to the intoxicating sensation of his body against yours.

A moment later, he pulls away, grinning like he’s a kid again. He lets go of your hand, preferring instead you wrap his arms around you, pulling you against him tightly. Too tightly.

“Vanya- I love you but uh- please let go.” You mumble against his chest, which had engulfed you easily.

“Hm, what was that? I could not hear you because you are simply so short and small in my arms!” 

“VANYA-”

But yeah, he will be incredibly protective of you also. He may have never been small physically, but he knows what it’s like to be intimidated by those who are bigger and stronger than yourself. But now, since he is the big and strong one doing the intimidating, he always makes sure you’re safe. If anyone EVER tries to pressure you or makes you uncomfortable at all… he always inserts himself into the situation. (“Oh, you want to creep on my precious little S/O? I will crush your head in my fist,” is all he can think of saying. Please remove both you and him from the situation as soon as possible. He is serious.)

And if you ever need to leave a situation as soon as possible, he has been known to grab you and carry you out against your will. Very embarrassing in the moment, but it usually ends up being the right decision in the long run.

If anyone ever mistook you two for father and child because of the height difference, he would be SO freaked out. Like he’s already insecure about looking like a creep, especially considering the thousand year age gap, and now people are thinking you two are RELATED? Horrifying. He needs to go home right then and cry in your arms for reassurance that he isn’t making you uncomfortable.

He really does love how short you are though. You perfectly fit cuddled up against him, like a puzzle piece. And he’s never letting go.

Oh, and yeah. Everyone is definitely gonna make that joke. I mean, they’re right. It’d probably be real uncomfortable the first time. Russia is the biggest country in the world, after all. Lucky for you, he’s also one of the gentlest. Unlucky for you, he really doesn’t understand that blood not being in the body is a problem, regardless of circumstance.