Plus Size Reader/WlW Imagines

Jason who supports everything you do, even being a witch

Jason who sits and watches you cleanse your shared apartment so that no negative energy enters the home and invades his dreams. “I don’t need all this, just lay next to me and all the nightmares disappear.” he grabbed your waist and pulls you down towards the bed.

Jason who brings you random crystals he saw at the store (he just wants to be supportive) “I got you this pink one, the label said it had to do with love or something.” he shrugs sheepishly.

Jason, who gently takes interest in all your witchy activity “Wait so what does this crystal mean again?”

Jason who in every situation suggests you just hex everyone. Someone bumped into you? Hex ‘em. Damian snuck into your house again? Hex him. “Babe, i’m telling you just hex him he deserves it.” “I am not hexing your little brother Jason”

Jason who carries the charm of protection you made for him on every mission and every patrol

Jason who has gained a few habits from being with you “Jason! Let me in i’m bleeding out!” Tim clutches his side as he stands outside of your apartment building “Not until i smudge you! Now hold still!” no one was bringing bad energy into his house.

Jason who lets you do tarot card readings for him. “Haha Death card, been there done that.” he smirks and crosses his arms You just roll your eyes and smile “You’re such a dork”

Jason who leaves you alone during a full moon because he knows you have rituals to do. Instead he takes longer during patrol or sleepovers at the manor.

Jason who lights protection candles before he leaves for patrol so you stay protected

Jason who found a piece of paper with his name on in your socks. He didn’t question it and carried on doing the laundry

Jason who does an egg cleanse with you every month to see if anyone put evil eye on either of you

Jason who has become very intentional with his words after he started dating you “Tomorrow is gonna suck-” “Jason! Intentions!” he sighs before correcting himself “Tomorrow i will prosper, i will have fun and i will be happy.”

Jason who loves you more than anything

“You alright, doll?” You heard Dana from behind you. “South 15 certainly is a screamer.”

You leaned back onto the counter of the nurses station, letting your head fall, trying to find energy to go and face the music. “Yeah, he always was.”

Dana cocked an eyebrow, “You know him? Seems like a nice guy.”

You let out a small laugh. Nice guy. That's what he used to say after putting you down ‘I’m only saying this to be kind, I’m a nice guy.’ “Yeah, he’s a real class act.”

You didn't wait for her to respond as you made your way over to South 15. Although you did allow yourself a final second of calm before you entered the room with a fake smile and sarcasm dripping from every word “Jason, what brings you here today? Broke another leg playing golf did we?”

“Well, look, someone’s gotten cocky. How are you, sugar? Miss me already.” His smug tone didn’t match the look of surprise on his face. He looked you up and down, and his gaze made your skin crawl. “Besides, I’m the victim here. I was attacked.”

“You started a bar fight. At 2 p.m. You are not the victim.” Dr Park scoffed, before turning to you and Jesse “He has a broken nose, and possibly a fractured rib where he fell onto the sidewalk. I’ll need to check it, though.”

Jason looked offended at Brendon’s words, although he kept his gaze on you. “I wouldn’t have started the fight if that bitch of a bartender would’ve given me another drink like a good girl. Although, you know nothing about that either, you never listened to me and now look at you. You think you got it made. You’re nothing; you’re just some doctor’s gopher- Ow! What the fuck-”

“Just checking the ribs. Hold still” Brendon did not look apologetic as he poked and assessed Jason’s ribs, grip much firmer than what could be considered necessary. “All good here. Jesse, stay with our patient here. Keep him in line.”

As he stepped away from the patient bed, Brendon gently grabbed your arm and brought you out with him. “What the fuck was that.”

“That was Jason. My ex. He is not my biggest fan.” You kept your voice straight. You weren't ashamed, not anymore.

Brendon looked at you in surprise, he couldn’t imagine someone as bright and happy as you with an asshole like him. Unfortunately, the shock of it all didn’t help stop him from saying that out loud. “You, seriously? You can do so much better than that jackass."

You nodded, but didn't say anything, listening out to Jesse telling Jason to behave or he will be sedated. You were definitely on Team Sedation, not that you would admit that aloud. 

After a moment, you finally spoke. “As you can tell, Jason wasn’t the best boyfriend. He didn’t like that I had a more successful career than him. He wouldn’t accept that someone like me was a doctor. He would tell people I was just a receptionist. Not that there is anything wrong with-”

“I know, honey, but still.” Brendon rubbed the back of his neck, trying to pick his words carefully, “You didn’t deserve that.”

“I know. I left him six months ago. I moved here, I got a cat. All is good. I’m good.” You tried to reassure him, but the look on Brendon’s face was not reassuring. “It’s in the past. I’m moving past all the things he said.”

“What did he say?”

“Do you want it alphabetically or chronologically?” You then tried to joke, but it didn't land. “Just drop it, Brendon, please, for me?”

And he did. 

For now.

He watched you slip away into the chaos that was the ED, glad that you’re not working one-on-one with this Jason. He would be the buffer between you and him all day if he had too. He would do anything for you in a heartbeat. Always.

Masterlist

you could only gulp in response.

then, he’s rising above you, broad, muscular shoulders boxing you in as he settles between your thighs. the heavy heat of his dick presses against your sensitive, aching entrance, his incandescent gaze dragging over your face like he’s trying to memorize every expression, every shaky inhale.

mapping out your features in his mind with perfect, painful precision.

the realization that had struck him back at the temple as he looked at every mural, every worn painting and towering statue of the air nomads. they all looked like his people. familiar faces, familiar smiles, familiar eyes, familiar powers.

but none of them resembled you.

none carried the curve of your lashes or the little furrow in your brow when you worried. none had your laugh, the unique slope of your nose, your warmth, your favor for sour over sweet, your gentleness for children and particular bugs. and suddenly, the grief that sat in his chest for years changed shape entirely. because what would be the point of preserving the world he lost if, in doing so, he lost every trace of the person he loved most within it?

“this—this isn’t about me reviving airbenders or a duty to save my dying culture. this isn’t about avatar sonam or tagah or monk gyatso or anything that has to do with bending. this is about you and me and me wanting to start a family with you,” he states with that heavy, solid avatar voice of his. firm and sure, thumb brushing along your jaw, “this is about me making sure that a part of you will always exist in a world where the avatar exists. that your lips, your eyes, your soul. . . live on for eternity. so that every time i look into this world through the eyes of the new avatar, i can still see you. see you in our grandchildren, in our great-great grandchildren, in the people that will come to exist because we loved each other. . . to know that you’ll always be in my life someway, somehow.”

“aang. . .”

“i realize now that there will come a day when airbending returns, whether in our lifetime or long after we’re gone.” he presses his forehead against yours, tone softer despite the ache in his words. “i know that i’ll get to see that vision through the eyes of the avatars who will come after me. and if i keep chasing impossible answers, impossible resolves— if i keep throwing myself at a future i can’t force into existence— i’ll lose you in the process. i’ll waste the little time we’re given together. with our friends. with our children. the thought of losing you to time. . .”

it killed him.

you feel it. the shift in him. the sincerity behind every broken word, every trembling breath. the sheer despair that claws through him at the thought of you leaving nothing behind of yourself, of the love the two of you share. the regret he’d forever live with if he only prioritized the revival of air-bending or the kids that would inherit it. and the fact that he still hasn’t left the avatar state only makes it worse, every emotion stripped raw and vulnerable beneath glowing eyes and tattoos and shaking hands.

“so i vow now that i will never neglect your life or your culture for the sake of mine. whether we have airbending children or not. . . that is up to the universe.”

his hands cup your cheeks gently as he leans in, drawing you into a slow, sloppy kiss. you could only gasp softly when his tongue slips past your lips, kissing you like he’s trying to seal his fate with yours.

he slowly pulls away, thick fingers easing you open as he makes room for himself. “i can live without other airbenders. i can make due with the acolyte family we’ve founded. what i cannot live without is you. what i cannot imagine not ingrained in this world beyond my lifetime is you.”

aang smiles for the first time tonight, like the image in his mind was far more beautiful than anything he could’ve ever imagined. he sinks inside, massive and overwhelming, drawing a raspy breath from your lungs at the sheer stretch of him. still, you pull him closer, wanting nothing more than to feel the slow, heavy drag of him inside you.

“so for now,” he whispers, breath warm against your lips as he begins moving slowly, in and out, “all i want is a child with you. one that embodies everything that you are. one that will carry on your memory, your curiosity, your strength, your traits.” gone was the glow of the avatar state, the white fading slowly from his eyes until they were simply his again, fixed on yours with a tenderness so deep it was almost unbearable. “so i’m begging you. . . give me a baby that looks just like you.”

you cry out helplessly as he buries his face into your throat, holding you impossibly close. every stroke is long and deliberate, driven far less by hunger and more by an emotion too large for words. the slick of your arousal coats his balls as you helplessly grind against him, cunt fluttering around the girthiness of his base. you could feel all the veins that line him, tracing your walls as he fucked you like he needed you to breathe.

you blink back the tears threatening to spill. “b-but i do want our baby to be like you. i do want to help you—”

he shakes his head fervently, fingers tightening around you like he’s afraid you still don’t understand. “no. no,” he rasps, “i don’t want this to be some duty you carry for me. i want this because it’s us. because it’s the life we chose together. no obligations. no sacrifices.”

you feel the dampness at the corner of his eyes as he clings to you, hands roaming your body in a worship-like trance, as though he was reassuring himself that you were real and here and present and his. to have and to hold and to sink himself into when the world is in chaos.

“please,” he croaks hoarsely into your neck, voice cracking around the word, and the raw vulnerability in it makes your chest ache more than anything else ever could. “say you’ll give me a baby, sweetheart. say you’ll give me this one thing. even if they come without air-bending.”

a broken sound leaves your throat as you cling to his shoulders, nodding desperately against him, back arching into his warmth. “yes,” you breathe out shakily, fingers curling around his nape. “yes, yes, yes. of course, i will.”

the words—your defining proclamation—undo him entirely. he groans into the curve of your neck, holding you so tightly it almost hurts, every breath hot, cold, then hot again against your skin. he cums in thick, long spurts, coating your insides pearly white as you cream on his cock, legs caging him in. his tattoos begin to faintly glow once more as he shivers, hips still pumping his seed into you, forehead pressed beneath your jaw, as though he can’t bear even an inch of distance between you.

when he finally pulls back, his eyes have returned to their natural state, shining with something far softer than desire.

devotion, perhaps. a need to always keep you safe. to give you—and your children—a world that offers everything and takes nothing in return.

“i love you,” he murmurs softly, brushing the damp strands of your hair from your face. he rests his forehead against yours again, eyes slipping closed as his heart, for once, is at ease. “thank you.”

your lips tremble into a tired smile, fingers curling weakly around his head. “you never have to thank me for loving you.”

though your words alone could never truly capture the depth of everything you’ve given him.

In his planet, or rather culture, female Yautja have a naturally larger and masculine build: muscular thighs, fit hands that’ll be thrown at anybody, and a good athletic build. But, since the day he saw you and touched you? He died at the second, and swore to protect you to all the Gods. And ensuring, you’d be his by the end of the night. 

To get it easy — he sees no issue with your size. Generally sees you as a ‘plushy’ and more huggable, there’s nothing wrong with that. 

But if he senses you being sad over your weight, he clicks in annoyance. How dare you insult yourself like that? Within seconds, he hikes you up on his shoulders by one hand, showing you that weight doesn’t mean a thing to him, so nor should you care. 

It’s no surprise that Yautja’s love heat, and your beloved mate sees you as a heat source. He has to be touching you at every given moment, muzzling his face deeper into your belly rolls as you two sleep in. 

Finds your stretch marks remarkable. Scars are a symbol of strength, and are praised highly in the culture and with your lovely Yautja, he views them as a form of scars. 

Handsy to a capitalized H, and doesn’t know a thing of personal space. Your skin is so warm and soft, his paws squishing and handling you is his favorite hobby. Adores the scent you have, and uses your thighs as pillows. 

Generally would love for you to go naked in the house. Nudity isn’t a source of shame in yautja culture, so he’d be confused if he sees you embarrassed. In all, he admires and wishes for the day to come; imagining himself pulling your clothes off, chirping and clicking in excitement as his hand covers your hips and addicting curves. 

Very protective, and whilst that’s guaranteed with his aggressive stance, it’s mustered up a bit because of how gorgeous you are. He’s convinced that if any other ‘ooman, or yautja, sees you – they might get attracted and try to steal you away. He’s ready to fight and tear off limbs if must. Possessive to its finest. 

Treats you with the finest things he can find and cook. He cooks you amazing food, ones that leave your mouth salivating, and wakes you up with breakfast in bed; admiring your sleep figure and messy hair from awakening. 

Loves to dress you up in clothes, especially if it’s in pelts that he hunted for you. Admires looking at you from behind, smiling like he’s made the day, and stares you down like a mad-man. You’re just so cute, ‘ooman.

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