#the attention and is still a child so why are these grown adults telling you this?? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

punkpandapatrixk · 18 days

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❤️‍🩹I Just Want to be Loved ♦︎ Timeless Pick A Card

We attract terrible loves for various reasons; so many lessons; but now sorrow has got to lessen. Let’s reveal patterns by exhuming roots. We’ve got to stop this cycle of disappointments. Done being made to feel as if we’re hard to love.

We’re not hard to love. Many of us were simply denied love, warmth and affection as we were growing up… Don’t know how to love self; don’t know how to love others; basically don’t know how to even receive Love… Who’s to blame now?

Why the hell were so many children denied love, warmth, affection…?

What are you going to do with yourself when you were denied love, warmth and affection as you were growing up?

☆♪°・.

‘The child who isn’t embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth.’ – an African proverb

People denied warmth and affection tend to fall into a desperate loop of fishing for attention as a result of love-deficiency, right? Some learn to lick love off a knife; some pursue success (whatever that means) all too frantically; some…shoot complete strangers in broad daylight; and some who ain’t got the guts to murder complete strangers in public places go instead for antagonising strangers on social media… Gosh, that is desperate.

But you know what, not all hope is lost because there’s still plenty of us who are blessed with this incredibly RARE thing called self-awareness. There are plenty of us who will take our traumas to the graveyard than pass them down the next generations.

You, don’t deserve to have your sanity and your Life ruined by some psychos who didn’t know how to love you. Reclaim lost pieces of yourself by understanding THREE Houses in your natal chart, babe:

4th House: your roots; tells you what was lacking in your home; explains your erratic 10th House ambitions

8th House: your marriage or your desire for a bond like it; this the House where trauma manifests itself in full spectrum

11th House: your wish fulfilment; where you connect with people who support your visions; breeds a healthy sense of connection, even community

SONG: Emptiness by BoA

MOVIE: Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961)

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 2] [Part 3]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings]

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 1 – Because I Can’t Even Trust Myself

VIBE: Trust by Hamasaki Ayumi

lost pieces (pertaining to 4th House) – Ace of Pentacles Rx

It’s clear your childhood didn’t offer a sense of stability or security—the physical kind that children usually need. It could be that a grownup left early or it could be that you moved around a lot, so you easily lost contact with new friends you’d just made. In essence, it feels like you grew up feeling ‘everything disappears eventually; everyone leaves eventually’.

Some of you might’ve grown up not having a lot of material resources, but for the majority of you tuning into this Pile, it was more a feeling of a lack of warmth. For children, the pain of neglect and a lack of emotional connection do really affect our physical health more severely. You might’ve grown up poor and sickly due to all the grownups around you being inattentive, unaffectionate, and just…unreliable at best.

Because of this awareness, from a young age you realised you would have to do everything yourself. You wanted to grow up quickly and do your own things your own ways. It’s not like you had to grow up fast, you wanted to grow up fast to have your freedom and power! It was…hard to trust adults. It was hard to trust the world at large.

growing pains (pertaining to 8th House) – 8 of Pentacles

On the path of growing up, I think you became a hard worker of sort? This is very nuanced though—there are layers to your developing yourself to become a hardworking person. In many ways, you grew up responsible because you didn’t want to become like the adults who had disappointed you. But since this sense of ‘responsibility’ is a product of neglect and trauma…this is coming off as your feeling responsible for everything. Everything!

Some of you could’ve been too hard on yourself, expecting way too much for your age. You’ve felt like you’re always the one with everything to prove. It’s hard living like that. It feels like you’ve put so much effort into keeping everything together, and yet, nobody sees how much you care. Nobody truly understands the fear in your mind and pain you carry in your heart.

In matters of relationship, you cling extra hard to friends or lovers, too; because deep down you’re afraid of losing things and people, again and again. This unhealthy attachment—and to some extent, controlling behaviour—is truly your wounded inner child attempting frantically to keep your Reality from falling apart…

reclamation (pertaining to 11th House) – 4 of Cups

I’m very sure that at some point in Life, your Higher Self and team of Spirit Guides are going to kick in and meddle with your Earthly business. For some people, it’s possible you could lose contact with everybody you’ve ever known in Life and go into a hermit mode to find yourself again. For some, it could be that your whole Life is simply flipped, without necessarily losing key people in your Life, for you to look at Life and human connections from a very different point of view.

It’s going to be hard, of course. Emotionally, it could be devastating. Themes of abandonment and betrayal are big in your incarnation. But you know, ultimately, all of these challenges serve to remind you that the Cup of Love and Affection you’ve been looking for has always been right inside of you. You’ve had a bitter time with a lot of people because deep down you couldn’t trust them. You couldn’t trust other people’s loyalty because you didn’t even believe that you’re worthy of that Love and Loyalty you yearn for.

Your Spirit Guides are saying, that although at some point in Life things are going to get really tough, know that when you’ve graduated those lessons, you’re going to be rewarded with the most beautiful Soulmate-shit friendships, familyship and relationship. Truth be told, part of your Soul’s scenario in this incarnation is to find your Soul Tribe; and find your Tribe you shall~

A L O N E🔻💗

ALL of you – Red Alchemist (John Dee)

becoming ONE and whole – Priestess of Healing

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 2 – Misled by My Own Compassion

VIBE: Cry Me A River by Julie London

lost pieces (pertaining to 4th House) – Knight of Cups

It’s very likely your 4th House is in a Water sign, but if not, you’re still very much a Water-y person; perhaps your Ascendant or Moon is in a Water sign, or that you have Neptune/Moon near/in your 4th, 7th or 11th House. All of this generally makes you a deeply compassionate person. No matter what outer appearances give, you strive to look deeper into a person’s Soul. You have so much empathy and you want to believe in the good of people.

Alas! This rotten world doesn’t make it too easy. This world is not a world where kindness and compassion are truly rewarded, if we don’t learn to be a tad cruel ourselves. You’re not in the wrong for being so genuinely good and compassionate; it’s this world that’s the wrong world. You know that? Therefore, it is paramount you learn to be a bitchilante! But I’m getting ahead of myself.

In spite of this PAC’s intro, I sense the majority of you tuning into this Pile actually grew up quite well. Many of you actually grew up in loving homes and that’s why it’s been quite challenging for you to grapple with the realness of the ugliness of the world outside of your loving home. Really…people in the real world…are monsters! And you were taken aback!

But some of you instead most likely grew up in chaotic, battlefield-esque homes and that’s why you’ve striven to be so good to a point of detriment.

growing pains (pertaining to 8th House) – 0 The Fool Rx

Be that as it may, you being you… Well, you do put in the effort to try and understand what makes monsters the way that they are, right? It’s all good and wonderful, until you get yourself in deep trouble where nobody can save you but your own monstrosity. Depending on your age when reading this, this could be something that’s happened in the past or will happen; where you will be forced to grow up in the sense of seeing the world as it is and get firm with assholes!

Dr Jordan Peterson has this gold shit to summarise this spiritual lesson you will be taking at some point in Life: ‘You should be a monster, an absolute monster, and then you should learn to control it.’ Well, that’s male speech. In female speech, we just say: ‘you gotta grow up and be a bitchilante!’

Be a bitch only to those who deserve it. How would you protect yourself from monsters if you don’t have the strength to fight them at their own game, darling? If you’re harmless, weak as a fawn, if anything, the real monsters in the world are going to toy with your sanity: ‘I saw my “crazy” side once and decided I wouldn’t be involved with anyone that would take me out of my peace like that ever again.’

Be a bitchilante. That whole concept of ‘good, harmless, love and light, positivity-only’ bullshit was put out there not to really make you good but to weaken you against the truly monstrous ones. WAKE UP, BITCH!

reclamation (pertaining to 11th House) – 4 of Pentacles

So? So what if you’re selective with your affection? Not everybody deserves your compassion. That’s for sure. There are many people in the world and you can’t be nice to all of them. One at point or another, you’re gonna be a villain in someone’s story—so what? Everybody else is the main character of their own Stories; that, you can’t control.

Be careful that you’re not falling victim to your own narcissism in wanting to be praised in everybody’s Story, yeah? So then, pertaining to your 11th House, weirdly enough, your wish fulfilment is in the form of a psychological liberation from your own idea of yourself in the minds of others. I sense that if you’re East Asian this is gonna resonate much harder and louder LOL

Anyway, I want to assure you that once you’ve graduated from your spiritual lessons, you will be met with unique, courageous, rebellious weirdos who will be just as clear as you are about what it truly means to be a good person in a world that’s often very bad. How good should a person be to truly be considered a good person?

‘If I offended you, cry me a river. I’ll bring snacks and a raft. I will literally float down your tears eating chips and working on my tan.’ – Fuckology

A L O N E🔻💚

ALL of you – Green Geographer (Gerardus Mercator)

becoming ONE and whole – Priestess of Success

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – Lights Out; I’m Out to Find Myself

VIBE: To. X by Taeyeon

lost pieces (pertaining to 4th House) – Ace of Cups Rx

I’ve to preface this Pile by saying this the pile that gets a little violent…

You were originally such a positive, happy-go-lucky kid, but quite early on, this world gave you so much darkness. So many reasons to be sad. It’s not been a very kind life, to be honest. Defo many of you have tragical placements here—your 4th or 5th House could start or end in Scorpio; have Lilith/Pluto/Chiron/Saturn there or in the sign of Cancer/Pisces; or it could be that your Venus/Moon is imprisoned in the 8th or 12th House and harshly aspected, too...

If your childhood has been violent or mightily confusing, it’s a group thing, OK? You can think like that. It’s not your fault. Know that practically everybody who has these harsh placements has gone through very similar things as you. So you’re really not the only one who’s failing—whatever that means. You’ve been gaslit a lot into believing there’s something wrong with you, but it was your environment that was just filled with totally terrible Human beings. That much I’d like to assure you.

It wasn’t natural how you were abused psychologically and emotionally. The people around you drew a parallel to Cinderella’s stepsisters in the Disney classic. It’s ridiculous like that. I think you grew up terribly lonely and created comfort characters in your head to console your sorrows? It’s very likely that your comfort characters were in actuality a mirror fragment of your Soul Family’s existence locked in your memory bank.

growing pains (pertaining to 8th House) – XIV Temperance Rx

Life, unfortunately, isn’t a Disney movie. As a result of the psychological and emotional abuse you’ve endured in childhood, your friendships and relationships might’ve been quite turbulent, at times even violent. Juuust a small number of you could’ve dealt with being called a violent kid, or you could’ve struggled with anger management and have terrible tantrums. All of these have made human connections quite difficult to navigate.

It’s not like you want to be a nasty person, right? Many times, you couldn’t help the way you react/respond to what’s being said and unsaid because, somehow, there are many things that people do and say that trigger a trauma response in you. There’s a very difficult Mars thingy going on here. I think many of you resonating with this Pile have some difficult Mars (ruler of Scorpio) placements/aspects that affect the way you manifest human connections in your Life.

Speaking in terms of synastry, it could be that you’ve attracted a great deal of people whose Mars aspected badly in your natal chart—consequently triggering bad traumas and manifesting violent outbursts in your connections. Ultimately though, these negative experiences with other people could’ve enforced your belief about how unlovable you are, which, really, is a false belief…

reclamation (pertaining to 11th House) – 5 of Wands

It is a false Reality that you’re unlovable or unworthy of a healthy relationship. That bullshit was implanted in you through the creation of a harsh environment that caused you a great deal of rage. Of course, you’re accountable for how you behave towards other people, but your foundation was never quite healthy or peaceful or harmonious, so… How about we put it all behind us and focus on healing? After all, it’s not like the people you’ve had a beef with were completely innocent? XP

It's kinda selfish to think like that, but you can depend on your own discernment to distinguish who amongst the people you’ve hurt or had a beef with to apologise to. Remember: sometimes apologies only make you weaker and looking at the unique bullshit astrological placements you were born with… apologising to the wrong fucker would only get you gaslit even more! So, don’t. Don’t apologise for the distress you experienced under other people’s lack of support.

Burn that bridge and detach yourself from that old stinking world. With your sheer willpower, you have it in you to rebuild your own little world of love and peace. After all, those harsh placements you were born with, are you aware of just how much power they bestow you? These placements come with a lot of turbulences but once you graduate your first Saturn Return, they also give you a burst of power unlike any other!

Lights out. Not entertaining aenergies that seek to nip your power at the bud anymore. Burn, baby, burn strong! Burn the whole Tower and find yourself on new lands~!

A L O N E🔻💜

ALL of you – Gold Alchemist (Roger Bacon)

becoming ONE and whole – Priestess of Solitude

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 2] [Part 3]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings]

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cupid-styles · 2 months

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lucky* (single dadrry x art teacher!yn check-in)

word count: 2.6k

content warnings: kids/family talk, fluffy smut (grinding, mentions of m receiving oral), not ramadan friendly!

based on this one-shot

. . .

From: Harry

Riley asked if he could tag along tonight. I was able to distract him with dino nuggets, but that kid has the memory of a full grown adult, I swear.

To: Harry

lmao. he can come hang with us, you know he’s always welcome here

From: Harry

And let him take all of your attention after I haven’t seen you all week? Yeah, right.

I’ll be there at 7.

To: Harry

is now a good time to tell you that i think your kid is way cooler than you are?

From: Harry

Come over and do the bedtime routine with us and you’ll think differently. x

Y/N bites away the smile edging at her lips as she looks up from her phone. She couldn’t help it — she always noticed the rush of happiness that swarmed through her body whenever she spoke to her boyfriend, especially about the prospects of plans.

Her boyfriend.

She can’t believe that Harry is officially her boyfriend. Even though it happened a few weeks ago, she still finds herself in pockets of disbelief, mostly when they’re spending time together. She’ll glance over at him and take in his side profile, or remember that day when he came in, so angry at her for allowing Riley’s hair to be soaked with paint, and flush with the realization that somehow that turned into a real, loving relationship. One with mutual respect and care, one that was handled carefully, especially given the fact that there was a child involved. Y/N hadn’t ever dated someone who already had a kid, so she and Harry had multiple conversations regarding expectations and the changes this may incur on Riley’s life.

Ultimately, they chose to keep most of the relationship away from Riley until things got more serious. She and Harry had every intention of being in the long haul together, but they both knew it wouldn’t be helpful to any of them if they threw in Riley’s comfort and mental stability. For now, all he knew was that his dad had a new friend who he liked very much, and sometimes he went to go see her and spend time with her. So far, it was working well.

Tonight, however, was the first night that she and Harry had decided they’d have a sleepover. It sounded ridiculous and childish, but Harry always struggled with leaving Y/N’s place early enough to catch Riley before he went to bed. He beat himself up when he got home and he was already tucked in and snoozing. So Y/N suggested having a scheduled night that they dedicated just to them: He’d get to put Riley to bed himself and do his entire winddown routine with him (dinner, a bath, reading him multiple books since Harry was a sucker and couldn’t say no, and finally planting a kiss to his cheek when his sleepy eyes finally began to close), the babysitter would stay the night, and Harry would shuffle off to Y/N’s.

It was a good plan.

Except… well, except that they hadn’t slept in the same bed together yet, and their touching hadn’t gone past kissing and heavy petting. It was difficult — it had nothing to do with their attraction for one another, they were busy, and it wasn’t exactly optimal to jerk your boyfriend off when he was disappointed at himself for missing his son’s bedtime.

But Y/N and Harry are grown adults, and they’re aware of the underlying meaning of tonight. She knows it’s a big deal for him to place his trust in her after putting his own happiness and love life on the backburner for so long.

It’s why she’s spent the day scampering around her townhouse, sweeping, mopping, doing laundry, and doing everything she can to make the place as comfortable as possible for him. He’s spent many evenings here — he often comes over for dinner after work since his days at the office run longer than hers at the art studio — but it’s different when you spend an entire night somewhere new. She wants her blankets and pillows to smell cozy and feel even fluffier; her bedroom a calm oasis so even if he begins to worry — whether it be about Riley, or other subject matters — he won’t feel as overwhelmed and nervous.

When 7 finally ticks along, Harry, as usual, appears at her front door, prompt and anxious. He hasn’t voluntarily left RIley alone for an entire night unless it was for a business trip. But the second Y/N answers the door with that pretty smile he adores, his nerves melt just a tad. She almost immediately pulls him in for a hug, a chuckle vibrating through his chest as he leans down to press a kiss to her hair.

“Miss me that much?” he teases. He sets his duffel bag down in the entryway of her home and she kicks the front door closed. Through flushed cheeks, she grins.

“It’s been ages,” she pouts, standing on her tippy-toes to lightly peck his lips, “And I’ve never gotten you for the night. I’m excited.”

Harry’s chest contracts slightly at her words. He doesn’t know how, but she has a way of making even the scariest things seem approachable, and it makes him want to smother her with kisses until she’s pushing him away. Keeping a grasp on his hand, she guides him into the townhouse he’s grown familiar with. He notices that her kitchen is free from its typical small messes — half-empty glasses, crumbs from late night snacks — and she has a new candle burning on the coffee table in the living room.

“Did you clean for me?” Harry asks with a smirk. Again, she blushes before turning to face him.

“I just wanted you to be comfortable,” she explains, sucking on her bottom lip, “It’s a big deal. Y’know?”

“It is a big deal.” he agrees as he issues her hand a small squeeze, “And I wouldn’t want to take this step with anyone else. I hope you know that.”

A wide grin covers her face.

She doesn’t know how she got so lucky with him.

. . .

Y/N’s tucked into Harry’s side as their third romantic comedy of the night plays on TV. Glancing down at the warm, dead weight curled around his form, he smiles gently when he sees her eyes batting closed. He nudges her lightly.

“Wanna go to bed, baby?”

She hums tiredly and sits up slightly, pressing her chin to his chest to look up at him.

“What time is it?” she asks, covering her mouth with her hand as a yawn struggles to strain free. He unlocks his phone, his screen glowing to life with a picture of a smiling Riley holding up a painting he did in Y/N’s class.

“Just past midnight,” he replies, stretching his arms out. His tee-shirt rises up a bit to reveal a bit of his inked hips and it makes Y/N swallow.

“Sorry this wasn’t a super fun evening,” she replies with a pout. She stands from the couch and leans over to grab their empty glasses — they’d each had a serving of wine each, but the minor buzz was long gone by now, despite Y/N being ever the lightweight. “Maybe next time we’ll plan something big, like… I dunno. Something good.”

She’s chattering sleepily and it makes Harry chuckle. He follows her into the kitchen, hugging her from behind as she rinses the cups in the sink.

“This has been perfect,” he murmurs lowly before pressing a kiss to her temple. “We don’t need to plan anything for it to be fun. I just like being in your presence.”

She warms as she dries the freshly cleaned glasses, gently placing them in the rack on the counter.

“You’re too sweet.” she mumbles. She shuts the water off and turns in his grasp to face him, lurching forward to bury her head in his neck. “C’mon then, let’s go to bed. You almost fell asleep on the couch.”

He snorts at her joke and rolls his eyes when she looks up at him with that dumb, cheeky grin she loves to flash at him. With their fingers intertwined, he bends down to grab his bag before following her to her bedroom.

He’s been in here several times before — on evenings when she’s particularly exhausted, he’ll help her wind down for bed, pecking her lips before driving home. One time, when Harry had an awful day at work, Y/N ran him a warm shower, complete with fancy lavender-scented steam that he’s been meaning to ask her about ever since. Despite being semi-familiar with the space, their more intimate time was often being cut short for fears of Harry missing bedtime with Riley, or Y/N needing to wake up early the following morning.

This time, however, there was nothing stopping them. No deadlines, no places to be. The knowledge made them both buzz with excitement and nerves.

Her bedroom is dim as they quietly shuffle around, changing out of their clothes and into pajamas. Harry’s the first to crawl into her cozy bed, nibbling on his bottom lip as he scrolls on his phone. Y/N flicks the single lamp off and allows the moonlight to seep through the curtains of her window, yawning once more as she climbs in next to him.

“Everything alright?” she asks softly. Harry hums, moving his arm to wrap around her shoulders and pull her closer.

“Yeah. Just wanted to make sure I didn’t miss anything from the babysitter.”

“Mm,” Y/N nods. She purses her lips, forming a gentle kiss at his jawline. “You still feel okay about staying overnight?”

A smile cracks at the edges of his lips. He locks his phone and places it on the nightstand before flipping onto his side to face her.

“I’d be lying if I said a piece of my heart wasn’t still at my own place with Riley, but I’m so happy to be here with you. I promise.”

She swallows as she reaches out to thumb at his bottom lip. “You’re cute.”

“Am I?”

She giggles, “You are, and you know it.”

His eyes flutter shut as she begins to trace his features. With featherlight strokes of her fingertips, she ghosts over his lips, his chin, down to his throat and collarbones. He hums softly at the feeling, her other hand hovering over the hem of his tee-shirt as she silently waits for permission to push the fabric up.

“What’re you doing?” he whispers out, eyes flickering open as she curls her fingers around the bottom of his shirt.

“Is it okay if I make you feel good?”

He pauses. Swallows, and she removes her hands from his form.

“You can say no,” she quickly tacks on, “Please say no if you’re not 100%. I need you to be comfortable.”

His throat bobs. “It’s just… you know.”

She nods. They haven’t spoken about Harry’s anxiety surrounding physical intimacy since their first date, but she hasn’t forgotten about it. It’s been an active decision to move slowly and she would never want to do anything to push him past his limits.

“We can just go to sleep,” she murmurs, “It’s okay. I promise.”

He catches her wrist in a gentle grasp, lips parting as if he’s surprised by his own bravery. Slowly, he guides her down to his crotch, where he’s tenting in his sweatpants. Y/N bites her lip before allowing her mouth to form around a small oh in fear of making him feel self-conscious.

“I need to know that you’re sure,” she whispers in the darkness of her bedroom. Despite the limited light, she can still recognize his facial expressions, watching as a small wrinkle carves itself between his eyebrows. He’s nervous, that much she can tell. The rest is a mystery.

“I just need you to be slow,” he rasps. “It’s been… it’s been a long time, Y/N.”

She nearly coos out a response, wanting nothing more than to love and take care of the man that lays beside her. When he lets go of her hand, she cups him softly through the material of his bottoms, slightly surprised at how hard he feels.

“You can trust me. I promise.”

He nods, and it’s a flurry of shaky, hesitant movements and constant asks of reassurance from there. Everytime she pushes her foot on the gas, she reminds herself to stop and make sure he’s comfortable. He doesn’t ask to stop; not when she’s pulling down his sweatpants or mouthing at him through the fabric of his briefs, not when she’s drooling onto the ruddy head of his length or pressing her fingernails into his laurel-inked hips.

Harry is louder in bed than she had anticipated, or maybe it’s because it’s just been so long for him. He allows strained moans and curses to fall from his plush lips when she guides him into his mouth, and he even tangles a fist in her hair when the tip of his cock bumps down her throat. She thinks he’ll cum when she swallows around him, feeling his balls tighten in her free hand but he stops himself. She knows he does because he tips her head back and stares down at her with rounded eyes, taking her chin between his fingers and gently urges her up the length of his body. She obeys wordlessly, allowing him to move her however he deems fit.

“I wanna see you when I cum,” he eventually explains breathily. She nods, ignores the way her heart feels like it grows another size in her chest, and straddles his hips.

“Is it okay if I grind on you? Or do you want me to just use my hand?”

“You can grind on me,” he replies with a nod, tongue peeking out to moisten his lips. And when she rolls her hips down against his, it’s magic — the wetness between them emits a dirty, slushy sound (admittedly, Y/N is half to blame, since she couldn’t possibly go down on her boyfriend without making a sticky mess between her own legs). Harry pants loudly beneath her and his hands find purchase on her thighs as she moves, allowing his length to slick between her pussy lips.

It doesn’t take much for him to finish after that — especially not with his sleepy-eyed girlfriend on top of him, whimpering softly at the sensation of his tip bumping against her clit. When he comes, it’s a lot, and it’s messy, but Y/N can’t find it in her to care much as she leans down to smother Harry’s face in kisses; the pride in her chest for him growing to a point where it can’t be kept inside anymore.

“‘M so proud of you,” she mumbles. Harry laughs and wrinkles his nose as he wraps an arm around her waist, guiding her onto her side.

“Jesus, it’s not like I have erectile dysfunction,” he jokes, and Y/N rolls her eyes. "And you didn't come, either."

“This wasn't about me— and you know what I mean, Harry. I know this means a lot. For you, for both of us.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his face turning serious. “I didn’t know if I would ever find someone as caring or genuine as you. You’re so… gentle with me, it’s almost like I’m dreaming.”

Y/N smiles and reaches out to cup his cheek with her hand. “I’m in this for the long haul.”

“I know you are,” he says, taking her hand into his and pressing kisses to her knuckles, “And I’m so lucky for that.”

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fl3shm4id3n · 10 months

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𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝'𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝.

ᴊᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴜʟʟʏ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ! ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ), ꜱᴜʟʟʏ ᴋɪᴅꜱ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ! ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ),ᴍɪʟᴇꜱ 'ꜱᴘɪᴅᴇʀ' ꜱᴏᴄᴏʀʀᴏ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ)

ꜱᴏɴɢ: ᴍɪᴛꜱᴋɪ- ᴡᴀꜱʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴀᴄʜɪɴᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ

Tw: abandonment, Oldest Child Syndrome, angst, sadness

Masterlist

It was you and your dad, after your mom had left you both, it was just the two of you. That changed when you both went to Pandora, it was suppose to be your uncle Tommy, but he was killed in an armed robbery. Your dad had fallen for a na'vi and had basically betrayed the whole human race and so on, after the war he decided to stay, and so did you, thinking that he was going to remain to his promise about never leaving you, regardless of what happens.

Then your half brother Neteyam was born, you've never seen your father so proud about having a son. It made you wonder if that's was his same expression when he had you in his arms. He was happy and you were happy seen him happy. That was when things began to change, as much as you wanted to spend time with baby Neteyam, your so called step mother seemed like she didn't want you to be near her son. It confused you since your dad had allowed you to be with him occasionally, but not Neytiri, she'd often tell you to stay away from him or to not go near him. It must have been the new mother instinct or something.

Next they adopted Kiri, a baby born from Grace's avatar, no one knows where she came from, she was some kind of miracle baby, that was when things began to change. You notice the look on your father's face, how his eyes would lit up when he'd see his baby girl, you remember when he used to look at you with those same eyes, not anymore. It was as if Kiri had become his new Baby Girl, he stopped calling you that a few weeks after Kiri and Neteyam's first communication with Eywa ceremony, he'd only refer to you by Kid or by your name, something you're not used to. But as time passed you got used to it.

Lastly came Lo'ak and Tuk, they had a total of four kids, well, Jake had a total of five, but he had basically stopped interacting with you, specially since you were already grown. It was as if he as waiting for you to turn to a full grown adult so that he could ignore you with the excuse that you were already grown and didn't need him. Despite being a grown up, you still needed your dad. While your younger siblings got both his and their mother's attention, you were basically ignored. You understood, they're much younger than you, but you already wanted the slight bit of attention too.

You weren't really alone, their was Spider, a kid who was stuck here as well. You both lacked the kind of attention you wished. He had lost both his parents, even though your dad was still alive, he was busy with leader duties and his family. You were both like outcasts, Spider had considered you her sister the moment you both met, and you considered him your brother. Despite everything, Spider really liked interacting with the Sully kids, even though your step mother did not like him, he didn't care.

Meanwhile, you barely spent any time with your siblings. They didn't even know you were their older sister until later on, they thought you were a friend of their dad, but when they found out the truth, they were confused on why you were never really around them. As much as you wanted to be around them, you never couldn't, you were always pushed a side by Neytiri and your dad. They always had the excuse that they were busy with the kids, but you'd watch them have fun at the lake without you, when you had brought it up with your dad, about wanting to spend time with your family, he'd often 'forget' about you, yeah right.

Lo'ak and Kiri loved the idea of having a human sister, specially since you both shared the same features about having the same amount of fingers and toes. They'd spent most of their time with you and Spider, then Tuk began to tag along with Spider. You were all basically a small group, always together, except for Neteyam. He was busy training on being the next leader of the Omaticaya and stuff, you didn't really know him much due to him being busy and always pressured by your father and his all of a sudden high expectations. He didn't have high expectations with you, so what was the change in plan?

Even though you'd spend time with your siblings, by the end of the day, they'd always go back to their home, with their family while you'd go back to the lab, on your own. Sometimes you wished that you were born a na'vi or have an avatar body so that you could at least be seen by your dad, by this time your dad had become a stranger, he no longer spoke to you, only when necessary, he'd just give you a 'Hey Kid' or not even look at you at all, as if he no longer thought you there. You had given up trying to have that relationship with your father like you did many years back, whenever you tried talking with him it was as if you were talking to a wall or talking by yourself, so why bother trying to interact with him. You were basically a spare child of Jake's.

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#jake sully x daughter reader (platonic)#jake sully x reader (platonic)#the sully kids x reader (platonic)#the sully kids x sister reader (platonic)#platonic #platonic relationships #platonic fics #angst fic #female reader #female y/n #human reader #human y/n #sister reader #daughter reader #aphrodite's writing #cereza's writing #cereza's angst

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h0r0gur4mu · 8 months

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everyone who writes and supports miles smut can block me, that includes 42 btw.

PLEASE SHARE THIS TO ANYONE WHO SUPPORTS AGED UP MINORS (SPECIFICALLY MILES MORALES)

TW: BELOW THE CUT IS DISCUSSION OF P//DO, UNDERAGE CONTENT. (I don’t go too far into detail but I know some people have been affected by it).

elaboration on why aging up (for sexual purposes) is bad

miles is canonically 15 and dont even pull that “he’s aged up” shit with me cause you know damn well on aged up fanfics they use pictures of CANON MILES. so its pretty obvious u have the teen in your mind. and you know what the ones that are around his age are annoying too but it doesnt put nearly of a bad taste in my mouth as the GROWN ASS ADULTS who make that shit.

and btw dont go and say “oh, it’s hormones and plus miles has hormones” and to that i have to say:

1. if you are a child who likes miles like that, fine, deal with that shit in private tho. you posting s*xual content of a minor is catering to creepy adults online

2. if you’re an adult saying that shit then i can say nothing less that you have the mindset of a groomer. You’re not very far from the mfs who say that “teenage girls are at their ripe age at 16.” you as an adult SHOULD NOT be using teenagers having hormones to your advantage and excuse. That’s disgusting.

“they’re just a fictional character” 😟 can you get a grip? go outside. Miles is a fictional character who is BUILT and DESIGNED to look like a teenager. And astv aint that unrealistic that you can say he’s ambiguous. He’s not. And even if he was he does activities that I do as a teen—I go to high school, I’m nervous about my future—miles is literally a relatable teen, as he was designed to be.

“Then stop looking for the smut posts.” I DONT NEED TO! It infiltrates my ASTV tag and at times the Hobie Brown tags too. You act like your tags aren’t public. If someone wanted to read a Miles fic that was normal fluff they would have to scroll through some smut too!

anyway thats all and dont even both coming up in my comments and reposts throwing a hissy fit you niggas r weird asf and can block me. maybe then id see less weird shit on my tag page. do us all a favor and log off.

+ Update: His ages from any other media isn’t a valid excuse. If you were clearly writing for canon adult miles you wouldn’t have astv miles as the icons and astv as the tag.

+ Update: Miles is CANONICALLY 15 in the first movie, and somewhere in the last movie he was YOUNGER. As mentioned above, mentioning other media as an excuse is bs when in the movies your writing for (itsv, atsv) he’s clearly a minor.

+ The thing that pisses me off the most is how ya’ll act like the people who are uncomfortable are weird. Are you not writing s*xual content about a 15 year old on a daily basis? please.

+ Fiction DOES affect reality. Why do you think people have nightmares after horror? Why does a sad film make people cry? Why does a deep movie change perspective?

+ In the scene where Miles argues with his parents, he says something along the lines of “I’m 15!!!” So if you think he’s not underage, you either didn’t pay attention or don’t have google. Plus what 18 year old discusses college that late? (without any other discussions prior?)

+ if you like little boys stop tryna hide that you like little boys it makes you even more manipulative and gross. no but in all seriousness telling minors that behavior is okay has gotta be SOME form of grooming on a more subtle scale. sorry if that’s too bold for ya’ll but as someone who’s been tricked into thinking content like this was okay when I was younger, I can confirm that this isn’t okay.

+ If to prove character that’s canonically a minor isn’t one you have to pull up seven different source materials that barely correlate to the one you write for, that character is still a fucking minor! It’s giving “she’s actually 3000!!!” when she looks 8.

yeah. kay bye!!!

#astv x reader #miles morales x reader #42!miles x reader #42!miles morales x reader #earth 1610 miles x you #aged up miles #hobie brown x reader #miles is 15 #miles morales smut

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sailoryooons · 6 months

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Shadow | myg x pjm (m)

❀ Pairing: Faerie!Guard Yoongi x Faerie!Prince Jimin

❀ Summary: Yoongi’s life has been sworn to Jimin’s since the moment he was born. He was bred, crafted and trained to be Jimin’s shadow, his greatest protector. Jimin loves just how much Yoongi can never refuse him.

❀ Word Count: 6,539

❀ Genre: Dark fantasy

❀ Rating: 18+ anyone discovered to be interacting with this content under 18 will be immediately blocked from this blog.

❀ Warnings: Explicit language, toxic relationship, allusions to abuse, references to Jimin hurting Yoongi multiple times in the past, references to Yoongi only existing for Jimin, references to Jimin’s masochism, power dynamics, predator/prey, chasing, sadism/masochism relationship, rough sex in the literal dirt, Yoongi being referred to/treated like an object, blood play, biting/licking, spit play, humiliation, pain play, orgasm control, unprotected anal sex, fingering, dom/sub dynamics, bottom Yoongi/top Jimin, Jimin threatens various types of bodily harm to Yoongi, Yoongi Has Zero Self Preservation sometimes, there is reference to Jimin cutting a chunk out of Yoongi previously Ed Gein style, allusions to subspace and subdrop if you really really squint, zero aftercare. This content is marked as Dead Dove.

❀ Published: August 20, 2023 (originally)

❀ A/N: This is a repost from Hali After Dark that was done as a filled request and is a part of merging the few selected items I had there, over here. I will not make a habit of moving any other mem x mem works over to this blog, but because this was a requested item from a mutual, I didn't want it to vanish when I deleted HAD. I DO NOT DO TAG LISTS FOR DD CONTENT.

❀ A/N 2: If mem x mem isn't your thing - literally just don't read it. It is that easy. This is not me being a shipper - it is fiction and I do not believe in shipping people in a real-life setting. Thanks.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

| Masterlist | Ask | Tag List |

Yoongi doesn’t want to be here. The breeze has an icy bite to it, filling the boughs of the trees with wind as it sweeps through the forest. He pulls his cloak tighter, dragging his gaze around the shadowed wood. This late in the evening, everything is cast in an eerie black-green light. There’s no sign of anything worth hunting, which Yoongi told Jimin several times.

There’s no telling Jimin no. The prince is as stubborn as he is vindictive, a lethal combination for Yoongi who has grown up at his side. The more Yoongi says no, the more Jimin says yes. The more Yoongi tries to use reverse psychology, the worse Jimin makes it.

Jimin is a prince with gluttonous tastes. He likes to take but never give, to force but never ask. As a child, Yoongi often wondered what had to have been wrong with Jimin to make him this way. As an adult, Yoongi knows that Jimin is far more complex and haunted than the prince would ever reveal.

Still, nights like tonight remind Yoongi that he is often the subject of Jimin’s attention. Being sworn to him has always meant that Yoongi’s life was Jimin’s to own and command. He just didn’t expect the prince to enjoy it so much.

“You’re mad at me,” Jimin sighs, looking over at Yoongi. “Why are you mad at me, Shadow?”

Yoongi grinds his teeth. Jimin is the only person who manages to get under Yoongi’s skin. As Jimin’s personal guard, it’s his duty to protect the prince at every moment, against every enemy, and at any cost, including his life. What he had not anticipated was most of the threats made to his well-being came from Jimin himself.

He looks Jimin up and down. He’s in all black this evening, his clothes tight-fitted for hunting. There’s a spiked, silver necklace around Jimin’s neck, the only sign that he’s of renown in the Court of Thorns. His dark hair is damp from riding through heavy mists when leaving the castle, hanging limp in his beautiful face.

Jimin has always been the most beautiful faerie Yoongi has ever seen. He has high cheekbones and an angular jaw, his siren eyes dark and gaze heady. With lips like pillows and rounded cheeks, Jimin shifts between looking sweet and lethal on command, wielding his unearthly face to his advantage.

Countless fae have fallen to that face. There’s no one who can say no to Jimin, especially when he purrs in their ear in his velvet soft voice, the smell of his honey and mint irresistible. Even Yoongi has a hard time saying no at that point, which delights Jimin more than anything else.

“I’m not mad,” Yoongi finally says. He chooses each word carefully, each conversation with Jimin a well-choreographed dance. “We’ve been out here a long time and I did not rest well last night.”

“Hmm, I should report back to Namjoon to let him know the palace’s most prized guard is tired.” Yoongi’s face remains impassive. Jimin isn’t going to report Yoongi to the head soldier and he knows that Jimin knows Yoongi isn’t tired. “Perhaps they’ll whip you for your inability to perform your best.”

“As they should.”

“Would you like that, Shadow?” Yoongi’s hands squeeze the reins of his horse at the nickname. Jimin has called him that since they were boys in school together, rubbing it in Yoongi’s face that his sole purpose in life was to be Jimin’s shadow and protector, nothing more. “Want to be whipped in front of your peers?”

“If it’s what I deserve.”

Jimin stops his horse. Yoongi sighs and pulls on the reins, stopping so that he’s in front of Jimin and facing him. The prince’s bottom lip juts out and he bats his lashes as he crosses his arms. Yoongi’s eye twitches in annoyance. Jimin does look cute when he makes that face, but Yoongi knows better.

“You’re being annoying.”

Yoongi bows his head. “I apologize, my prince.”

A scowl contorts Jimin’s face. In a flash he’s gone from pleading prince to twisted faerie, his eyes darkening and jaw ticking as he regards Yoongi. Jimin remains silent and Yoongi can almost see the wheels turning in Jimin’s mind. This is when Jimin is most dangerous. Yoongi knows he’s coming up with his next move, wavering between violence and jesting.

For his entire life, Jimin has been unpredictable. He has killed in the middle of telling a joke, he has kissed Yoongi square on the mouth in the middle of punishing him, and he has laughed in the middle of crying. He is made up of conflicting emotions, two sides trying to gain the upper hand. It’s often a tossup of which side will win, but after a hundred years together, Yoongi can usually predict which Jimin he is going to get.

Today, Jimin has driven Yoongi out into the cold evening, demanding a hunt. He wasn’t playful about it, commanding the guard with the steel that the prince so rarely uses. The ride from the castle, through the briars, and into the wood was silent, Jimin’s mood dark and hard to read.

Yoongi thinks about the day before, when Jimin returned from a meeting with the king and queen, a laceration still healing near his eye. Today, it’s pink and nearly gone, a shallow wound for what is sure to be a shallow reason. The queen's desire for pain is not like Jimin’s. There are no rules to her indulgence in pain and violence, no laws by which she operates.

Now, as Yoongi watches Jimin, he sees a twitch in the prince's mouth. Yoongi’s stomach flips, knowing that his neutrality to Jimin’s mood has pushed the prince from sour to angry, and angry to sadistic.

“You didn’t want to come hunting today, Yoongi?” Yoongi grimaces. The use of his formal name sets off alarms. Yoongi licks his lips, trying to think on his feet, trying to work out the right answer. He doesn’t know where Jimin is going with this, but he can see the cunning in the prince’s face. “Speak, guard.”

“There is nothing to hunt, my prince. Anything worth hunting is in hibernation.”

“Get off your horse.”

Yoongi pauses. “What?”

“Get off your horse.”

Heavy with trepidation, Yoongi slowly dismounts. The leather of the saddle squeaks under the shifting of his weight and his horse chews on the metal bit, the sound of grinding loud in Yoongi’s ears. He lets go of the mare and then steps away from it, looking up at Jimin.

“There.” Jimin points at Yoongi with a slash of a grin. Yoongi doesn’t understand, furrowing his brows and shrugging as if to ask what Jimin means. The prince’s grin spreads and the hairs on Yoongi’s arm rise, a tingle spreading down them. “Something worth hunting.”

Fuck. Yoongi realizes his mistake, clenching and unclenching his fists as Jimin drops the hand pointing at him, pulling the heavy crossbow from the saddle. Jimin sets the weapon across his lap and pats the top of it happily, looking up at Yoongi with his brows raised.

“Well,” Jimin urges. “I’ll give you ten minutes. Go on.”

Swearing under his breath, Yoongi pulls his cloak off and tosses it on the horse. Jimin laughs as Yoongi tucks his silver necklaces into the collar of his shirt to dampen the noise as he throws Jimin a scathing look before taking off. Jimin gives a shout of glee as he watches Yoongi tear off to the west, moving toward the castle at a diagonal angle.

Yoongi’s mind jumps into action as he runs. He’s fast. It’s colder now as evening turns into night. The air he breathes in is winter-sharp and the mist has made the ground damp and slippery beneath his feet. Yoongi can easily run over a mile in ten minutes. They’re at least seven miles from the briar wall, which Yoongi would reach faster if he ran straight back the way they came.

Jimin will surely catch him if he goes straight back, though. Yoongi’s goal is to put as much distance between him and Jimin as possible. Jimin, of course, has horses. Distance doesn’t mean much when Yoongi is at such a disadvantage, but the west of the woods is filled with gullies and dells, much harder to navigate on horseback.

As he runs, Yoongi is careful not to leave tracks. He is light-footed, even for a faerie. Most of his life was spent learning weapons skills, behavioral analysis, and court politics. He’s not much for espionage or assassin business, but Yoongi was trained by Hoseok for enough years to develop skills in the art of not being found, and for being hard to trace.

Every one of those skills comes back to him now. He’s careful not to let the fabric of his clothes snag on trees. When he approaches dips in the land, he pauses to walk down them instead of sliding. He knows this eats away at his time to escape, but the evidence of his direction is worse than precious seconds lost to carefully picking his way downward.

There is also the possibility it’s all for nothing. Jimin is one of the finest hunters in the court. His lack of interest in scanning their surroundings as they rode and not following hunting trails should have been the first sign that Jimin was off today. Yoongi had been so focused on trying to ignore Jimin’s prickly mood that he hadn’t gleaned Jimin’s purpose.

Ten minutes pass. Yoongi is well into his run, lungs full of cold air, mind focused only on getting to the briar wall. Jimin, of course, has not said when this chase ends. There is no guarantee that Yoongi will be safe once he reaches the briars, but Jimin’s games always have rules.

The most important rule is that he doesn’t do this to Yoongi in public. Above all else, the prince is smart. It does him a disservice to embarrass his personal guard in front of anyone, lest they think Yoongi is weak and by association, Jimin.

Power is what makes the world go round in the Court of Thorns. Everyone Jimin comes in contact with is a reflection of the prince, who should be like a thorn: beautiful, but deadly. Yoongi must be fatal and strong. It serves Jimin no purpose to subject Yoongi to his madness where eyes can see, so the prince keeps these deviances in the shadows.

It’s this most important rule that Yoongi clings to as he runs for the briars, which are visible from the castle towers. By now, Jimin has begun his chase. Yoongi feels Jimin’s aura like iron pressing down on his senses, burning and eating away at his magic the more he thinks about the prince.

Minutes tick by. Yoongi is not yet tired, driven by adrenaline and a little bit of a thrill. Hot energy courses through him. He wonders if he can outrun Jimin and get out of the woods before the prince finds him. He smiles thinking about Jimin’s face if he beats him.

What bothers Jimin most in the world is losing to Yoongi. In the rare instances that Yoongi outsmarts Jimin or slips from his snare, the prince is venomous for days. It’s worse when Jimin fails to get a rise from the guard, no matter how much the prince goads him. Yoongi’s apathy has earned him more pain and rage-laced pleasure from Jimin than anything else he does.

“Run faster, Shadow!” Jimin’s shrill voice echoes in the wind.

Yoongi pulls up short, turning to look over his shoulder. He has perfect vision, even at night, but Jimin is nowhere to be found. He slows his breathing and closes his eyes, focusing on the sounds of the forest. He can make out normal sounds of crickets chirping and rabbits scampering back to their nests, but there’s no sound of hoofbeats.

A metallic click followed by whistling catches his ears. Yoongi inhales sharply and manages to step back just in time as a bolt fired from the dark of the forest whistles by him and hits the tree behind him. The arrow doesn’t go in far, which means Jimin took the shot from a distance. It also means Jimin is on his feet, and difficult terrain means nothing now.

Cursing, Yoongi takes off again. Jimin’s laughter seems to echo around him, chilling him to the bone. He loses his grip on fear as he moves north instead of northwest at an angle. He no longer cares about tripping Jimin up. Yoongi needs the path of least resistance, jumping over fallen trees as a frantic energy thrums through him.

He doesn’t know what the rules of this game are. He doesn’t know what limitations are on the table, if Jimin is willing to maim him or kill him. Yoongi never knows, and it makes it all the more terrifying when he can’t come up with a sure answer. All he knows is that Jimin hasn’t killed him yet.

Yet.

As if sensing his thoughts, he hears Jimin fire the crossbow again. Yoongi ducks as the arrow shoots wide and over his head, vanishing in the misty night. He swallows, sensing that the arrow had been aimed to kill. Anger flares through him and he tamps it down. No matter how angry he gets, Yoongi doesn’t fight back. Not earnestly anyway. And at least he knows a new rule: killing and maiming are possible.

Yoongi’s life shouldn’t be this. The thought slips in between his focus on running and sliding under fallen trees. He’s one of the best fighters in the Court of Thorns and he is unnaturally intelligent. He should have a higher position at court than being the shield to a bloodthirsty brat, but Yoongi has bent and broken to the whims of Jimin for years now.

What’s another hunt through the woods in the face of hundreds of other games?

Part of him loves it. If Yoongi wanted to turn around and let Jimin pick him off, he could. He flirts with the idea of pausing his run. Of stopping in his tracks and waiting to see if it’ll happen, if Jimin will put the arrow through an eye socket.

Yet he keeps running because he knows that Jimin will keep chasing. Jimin has always chased Yoongi, a cat who can’t leave and let its dinner die yet. Jimin gives Yoongi special attention, and it makes Yoongi preen. No one else gets this. No one else is the sole object of Jimin’s ruthless attention.

When they were younger, the queen thought that it was unseemly for the prince to be so obsessed with his guard. Jimin couldn’t leave Yoongi alone, pinching him on the soft of his thighs, cornering him and demanding to teach Jimin how to kiss, ordering Yoongi to stand outside of Jimin’s chambers while he fucked other courtiers, learning the arts of the bedroom, murdering anyone who so much as brushed an arm against Yoongi.

It keeps Yoongi guessing. He never knows what the day will bring, the Jimin who covets him or the Jimin who tortures him. Sometimes, it’s a mix of both, which is Yoongi’s personal preference.

An arrow whistles. Yoongi steps to the side, but just barely. He feels the sting of the arrowhead grace his cheek, opening up a shallow cut. It doesn’t hurt much, but it does startle him. His foot catches a root and Yoongi shouts as he trips, sliding downhill into a dell as he goes.

Leaves and damp earth make his descent fast. As soon as he falls, he’s at the bottom, buried in leaves and surrounded by the scene of earth and pine. The ground is cold, leaching him of his warmth as he gets up to his knees. He could use magic to warm himself, but it makes him easier to find, his energy light a beacon to the magic-sensitive prince hunting him.

The crank of the crossbow makes Yoongi freeze mid-recovery. He looks up the hill to where Jimin stands at the top, weapon aimed at him. Yoongi’s heart pounds in his chest. Jimin is small and built like a panther, all sleek angles and muscles. He doesn’t blink, staring down at Yoongi, a small finger on the trigger.

This is what the god of death looks like, Yoongi thinks. Jimin is in all black, a terrible cruelty on his face. Suddenly Yoongi feels like the ant underneath Jimin’s boot. He only knows fear in moments like this, where Jimin’s eyes are so black that Yoongi thinks he will fall into Jimin’s gaze and let it swallow him whole.

Yoongi thinks he’s going to do it. It was always going to end like this anyway. Yoongi knew it would always be Jimin who killed him when Yoongi lost one of Jimin’s games or finally failed to entertain the prince. This tortuous cycle has a shelf life, and every road leads to Jimin finally doing it, finally pushing Yoongi over the edge.

Instead of firing the crossbow, Jimin grins wickedly and lowers it, tossing it to the side. The weapon clatters heavily. No sooner than Jimin disarms himself is Yoongi running away. The prince snarls and takes off after him, swearing.

“You little bitch!” Jimin seethes, sliding down into the dell behind Yoongi. “I’ll put you down like a fucking dog!”

Jimin is not heavy or large like Namjoon, but he’s fast and strong. When he tackles Yoongi at the waist, Yoongi feels a bone crack. He doesn’t know where in his body the break is, but pain makes his vision flash as they slam to the ground, Jimin moving to pin him immediately. As delicate as Jimin looks, he’s still a warrior with years of training with Namjoon, a beautiful weapon but lethal all the same.

Yoongi goes down face first. The shock of the pain makes his ears ring, the air leaving his lungs. He gasps and gets all leaves and dirt into his mouth as he maneuvers his arms from under him, intending to push upward to throw Jimin off. Jimin growls and digs his knee into Yoongi’s back, pressing down right on the spine as he reaches forward to pin both of Yoongi’s hands to the ground.

Rearing his head back, Yoongi connects with Jimin’s face. The prince lets out a loud noise and Yoongi grins, wriggling under Jimin in hopes that the pain blinds him long enough for Yoongi to work a hand free.

Jimin’s nails dig into the top of Yoongi’s hands, biting sharply into his skin. “Cease, Shadow. You’ve lost.”

The fight leaves Yoongi immediately. He’s entirely boneless, a puppet waiting for its master to pull his string. Jimin puts all of his weight on the knee pressing on Yoongi’s back, making the guard wince. Jimin’s kneecap is agony against Yoongi’s spine, pressing the air out of him slowly as Jimin lets Yoongi suffer against the ground.

Finally, his weight shifts. Jimin straddles Yoongi’s waist, still holding Yoongi’s wrists to the ground as he lowers his face, panting against the side of Yoongi’s face. The guard feels a shiver go through him, Jimin’s breath is hot as his tongue snakes out to brush against the shell of Yoongi’s ear.

“Much better than a stag,” Jimin whispers, voice like velvet and smoke. He nips at Yoongi’s lobe, teeth sharp against the soft skin. “What should I do with my prize, hmm?”

One of Jimin’s hands lets go of Yoongi’s wrist. Jimin’s touch is delicate and slow, dragging his fingers up Yoongi’s sleeved arm. Even through the fabric, Yoongi can feel Jimin’s hot touch, chasing away the cold of the ground. He squirms and Jimin bites Yoongi’s cheek hard. He goes still and Jimin licks the fresh teeth marks, the ache in Yoongi’s cheek immediate.

“Should I take your body and mount you on the wall?” Jimin’s hand reaches Yoongi’s shoulder and dips down to grab his face, turning him to the side. Yoongi looks at Jimin from the corner of his eye, but he can only see dark hair as Jimin presses his lips to the corner of Yoongi’s mouth and asks, “Or should I just… mount you?”

Yoongi trembles as the prince’s tongue snakes out to lick messily from the corner of Yoongi’s mouth towards the bleeding, burning cut on his cheek. Jimin tsks, running his tongue over the cut. Yoongi wines, the rough drag of Jimin’s done making it burn more. Jimin ignores him, tongue laving back and forth over the wound, the tip of his tongue prodding.

“Did I hurt you?” Jimin coos. He speaks with his mouth pressed to Yoongi’s skin, smearing spit and blood. The switch from threatening to endearing makes Yoongi’s head spin. He is no longer a lethal guard of the Court of Thorns. He’s Jimin’s plaything. “I’m sorry, Shadow. Your face is so pretty, I shouldn’t do anything to harm it.”

“It’s not deep.”

“Hmmm.” Jimin presses sloppy, spit-slick kisses down Yoongi’s jaw. Yoongi closes his eyes, letting the prince do what he wants. All instinct to fight has left, leaving only a blank canvas for Jimin to paint. “You’re right, Shadow. It’s a very shallow wound. You can take so much more pain than that, can’t you?”

Yoongi nods. “Speak, Shadow,” Jimin commands.

“Yes, my prince. I can take more than that.”

“Of course you can. You’re made for me. Designed for me. You can take what I give you, can’t you?”

“Yes.”

Jimin bites Yoongi’s jaw, his sharp canines pinching soft skin. Yoongi’s fingers dig into the soft ground. “You bleed when I want you to, you take it when I want you to.”

Jimin’s scent makes Yoongi too dizzy to reply. His body blazes as Jimin pulls at Yoongi’s clothes, his hands greedy. Jimin mouths at Yoongi’s neck, his jaw. Yoongi’s breathing is unsteady, unable to string together enough thought to help Jimin take Yoongi’s shirt off.

The craving to be pinned down and marked over and over until his skin can’t take it and until there is nothing left swells. The shame of Yoongi letting himself be used like this is white-hot, but the pride of being Jimin’s prized possession soothes the burn.

“Mine,” Jimin growls as he reaches into Yoongi’s pants, gripping Yoongi’s already hard and throbbing cock. He bites Yoongi’s shoulder hard enough to draw blood. Yoongi succumbs to the pleasure, his hips canting in the dirt, the pain shooting him into deliria as Jimin continues to tongue at him. “My Shadow.”

Jimin’s hands aren’t gentle. He squeezes the base of Yoongi’s shaft firmly, slowly stroking upward. The friction between Yoongi’s stomach and the ground isn’t pleasant but isn’t terrible as Jimin sucks at Yoongi’s neck, mouth taking whatever the prince wants.

“Get up on your knees,” Jimin whispers, removing his hand from Yoongi’s cock. He gets off of Yoongi, giving the guard space to move.

Every limb feels like lead as he does. It feels like the world has flipped upside down, making Yoongi unsteady as he gets on his hands and knees. Cool air kisses his skin, making the laceration on his cheek and bite on his shoulder burn. The pain only spurs the pleasure further.

“Take your pants off,” Jimin says. He doesn’t touch Yoongi, happy to watch the guard fumble on unbalanced limbs. “Do it right or I’ll skin you like a fucking bear and bring you back to the seamstress to fashion myself a new coat.”

Yoongi can’t tell if the threat is empty or not. He thinks about the time that Jimin cut a small rectangle out of Yoongi’s thigh to give to the tanners to turn it into a small coin pouch. The coin pouch is probably still tied to Jimin’s belt now as Yoongi sits up high on his knees and unbuckles his breeches, taking them down with trembling hands.

Free of his pants, he dares a look over his shoulder at Jimin. The prince is shirtless, his perfect skin gleaming in the haunting moonlight filtering through the trees. Jimin is a testament to his father’s heritage from the Court of Moons, an ethereal creature stitched with moonbeam threads and filled with shadow watercolors.

Beautiful. Cruel. Hateful. Affectionate.

Yoongi can’t ever recall where it felt like Jimin loved him. Cherished him and admired him like a beautiful piece of porcelain, perhaps. Mistified and awed, even, when he could break Yoongi down and mold him into any shape he wanted, like clay.

Now, his gaze is thunderous. His pupils are blown wide, and when a cloud reveals the moon in full, Jimin looks like a demon from the worst of Yoongi’s nightmares. Still, Yoongi doesn’t run. He turns to face forward, slowly bending over until his elbows are on the cool earth, his ass up in the air.

Yoongi’s cock is heavy between his legs. The first time Jimin worked him up like this, Yoongi had been a shell of himself for days. Didn’t know what to do with the knowledge that being broken and split open into something that felt less than sentient made his arousal swell.

Jimin’s nails scrape against the curves of Yoongi’s ass. He sucks in a sharp breath. Goosebumps spread on his skin, his entire spine tingling as Jimin’s nails turn to claws, prying him open and digging into the softness of him.

Cool wind makes Yoongi clench. Jimin tuts and shuffles closer to Yoongi. The heat of his body is against the back of Yoongi’s thighs, the contrast of hot and cold making Yoongi spin. When cool spit hits the edge of Yoongi’s rim, he moans audibly. He feels the slide of Jimin’s saliva drip further down his ass. Yoongi’s breath comes out in pants and Jimin’s nails dig in.

“This is mine,” Jimin mutters. Yoongi can barely hear him over the beating of his own heart and the roaring of blood in his ears. He scarcely notices the way his cock aches, beads of precum oozing from the tip as Jimin blows air onto the thigh ring of muscles. “Hmm. You’re all tight, Shadow. You gonna let me in, huh?”

Yoongi nods. His head drops and presses against the earth. He smells damp leaves, sweat and Jimin’s honeysuckle scent, too sweet for the demon it belongs to. “Yes, my prince.”

Jimin spits in Yoongi’s hole again. Yoongi bites his bottom lip, trying to control himself. All he wants to do is press his hips back. If he does that, he won’t get fucked at all. He has to be the perfect little puppet, only doing what Jimin asks, speaking only when told.

One of Jimin’s hands dips between Yoongi’s cheeks. He tries not to sigh when Jimin presses a finger against his rim, the pressure so good. Jimin plays with Yoongi’s asshole, tracing the edge before pressing his finger in just a little. It’s both heaven and hell, the intrusion such a relief that Yoongi doesn’t hear what Jimin asks him.

He immediately regrets letting himself drift too far. Jimin bites Yoongi’s ass cheek so hard that Yoongi screams, rearing back his head. In Yoongi’s experience, there are two levels of pain he receives at the hands of Jimin: good pain and scary pain. Jimin’s bite verges on the edge of scary pain, punishment for not answering and a warning that next time, he’ll take flesh.

“I said,” Jimin growls. “To lay all the way down with your hands out in front of you.”

Yoongi complies immediately. Gone is the guard who commands Jimin’s entire personal security team. The sword-wielding warrior who has killed in wars, in protection for Jimin, and for petty squabbles is nowhere to be found.

In his place is a pliable medium. Pressed entirely flat on the ground, knees high, face in the dirt. He lays his hands out in front of him, clasping them there. It’s comforting to hold onto something, even if it’s just his own hands.

Pleasure expands in Yoongi’s stomach as Jimin begins to work his fingers in properly. The stretch makes the eyes roll back in Yoongi’s head. He tries not to get too lost in the feeling, remembering to be on edge for Jimin asking a question or telling him to do something. It keeps Yoongi right on the cusp of insanity, a difficult and rewarding task as he fights succumbing to the way blood rushes through him.

Fuck he wants to cum. Yoongi bites the inside of his cheek, drawing blood as Jimin works his fingers in Yoongi's ass, the press so good. Jimin firmly brushes up against Yoongi’s prostate, making him go dumb. Yoongi’s mouth is slack as he pants, knees and thighs trembling, keeping his ass in the same exact spot for Jimin.

“Look at you,” Jimin coos. “What would everyone think if they knew my personal guard was such a little fuck toy? If they knew he was incapable of doing anything but submitting?”

The question is rhetorical. Yoongi always plays a guessing game of when Jimin wants a response, but this one, he knows.

Jimin fucks Yoongi with his fingers harder, stretching him open. Yoongi whines, feels pleasure cresting to an unbearable amount as Jimin hammers Yoongi’s prostate. The prince laughs, not giving Yoongi the command to come, but rather watching the guard fight it instead. Yoongi’s muscles lock up as he resists the urge to squirm. He stops breathing, squeezing his eyes shut, jaw clenched as he fights it, trying to think of anything but the fact that he’s so close to his orgasm he could die.

If Jimin keeps going, Yoongi’s going to come. If Yoongi comes without Jimin explicitly telling him to, Yoongi is going to experience the scary pain.

Every nerve in Yoongi’s body feels on fire. It feels like he’s burning, burning, burning, like he’s never going to stop. He tastes the iron and salt of blood in his mouth as he bites through his cheek, feels the way his heart hammers in his ribcage, and starts to shake so much that Yoongi thinks he’s going to come out of his skin.

Yoongi realizes Jimin isn’t going to give him permission. The weight of reality crushes him. Yoongi begins to sob into the dirt, trying to hang on to any shred of control he has. Jimin wants him to come without permission, wants to unleash hell on him. Yoongi claws at the dirt, desperately trying not to cave, to let Jimin milk it out of him.

Jimin’s warm mouth presses to the back of Yoongi’s neck. He puts his weight on Yoongi, smothering him, keeping him still. Yoongi thinks this is it, this is when he lets go. He prepares for the oncoming violence like a storm in the distance.

And then Jimin tells him to come. Yoongi’s brows scrunch together. He opens his eyes, trying to look at Jimin. He can’t see the prince’s face, but Jimin must sense Yoongi’s confusion. “Don’t make me tell you again,” Jimin murmurs against Yoongi’s neck.

It’s like a damn breaking. Yoongi shatters, coming hard. His entire body seizes up, the sound coming out of his throat guttural and loud. His vision pulses black on the edges and he closes his eyes, squeezing them hard as an explosion of colors flashes behind his eyelids.

He can’t think. He can’t breathe. He succumbs to the sensation, pins and needles taking over as he shakes through the last of his orgasm. He is somewhat aware of Jimin behind him, pulling his fingers out and running his cockhead against Yoongi’s hole. He mewls, not ready for another orgasm. Jimin doesn’t care, pushing past the clenching muscles and pressing into Yoongi.

The stretch and pressure pull Yoongi from his drooling daze. If he was sensitive before, it’s nothing compared to now. He’s flayed open and raw to every stroke of Jimin’s cock pulling him apart. Oversensitive. Exposed, sparking wires.

Yoongi hurts. The bite in his shoulder throbs, his cock hurts where it’s squeezed between his stomach and the ground, his cheek stings, bones ache, wet hole throbs as Jimin bottoms out, spearing Yoongi all the way through.

It makes him vibrate, eyes fluttering as Jimin begins to snap his hips, hands gripping Yoongi’s waist and slamming him back. Every thrust threatens to break him in half, his face and body dragging against the ground.

Jimin rakes his nails up Yoongi’s back, breaking the skin. Yoongi keens, toes curling at the biting feeling, sinking further into the heady mix in his head and gut. Jimin’s fingers wrap in the sweaty hair at the back of Yoongi’s neck. He knows what’s coming next but he still yelps when Jimin yanks, lifting Yoongi from the forest floor to his knees.

Everything feels off-kilter. Yoongi gasps for air. Jimin claws Yoongi’s scalp, making his eyes water as Jimin fucks up into him. Jimin pulls Yoongi’s neck back painfully, holding him by the hair, and presses his lips to Yoongi’s cheek. It’s more teeth and tongue as Jimin continues to abuse Yoongi’s hole.

He bites Yoongi’s cheek and laughs. “Such soft cheeks,” Jimin hisses, punctuating his words with the snap of his hips. “Such a soft fucking boy, huh? So delicate, so breakable.”

“Yes,” Yoongi agrees because it’s true. Yoongi feels made to shatter. Feels better when broken under the small hands of the prince. Feels whole when he’s splintered. “Yes.”

“Can’t even speak right.” Jimin slides a hand around the front of Yoongi’s throat and squeezes. Yoongi’s air supply is cut short. He feels the slow drip of the bleeding welts on his back, stinging as Jimin’s sweaty front rubs against the wounds. “What are you good for?”

“Only you,” Yoongi chokes out.

Jimin’s grip tightens. “Don’t be smart, Shadow. I won’t go any easier on you for flattery.”

Yoongi knows this. He wasn’t saying it for Jimin’s benefit. Because that’s the thing about whatever this violence between them is. It makes Yoongi feel whole, makes it feel like as long as he and Jimin have this between them, he’s made for something.

Without it, Yoongi doesn’t know what he is. A faerie bred by two warriors to give the king and queen’s child a protector to grow with. Whose only reason for existing is to serve. Who has no goals of his own, who has no life outside of the prince. Without it, he’s not Yoongi. He isn’t Jimin’s.

So Yoongi doesn’t say it for his benefit. He knows Jimin won’t go easier. Won’t fuck him softer or let go of his throat. He says it because he means it and he doesn’t want Jimin to let up anyway. He could die like this, no air in his lungs, mind detaching from his body.

Between the pain and the feeling of Jimin’s cockhead pressing up against his prostate, Yoongi loses himself. He becomes a thing made only for Jimin’s pleasure. He becomes no one and nothing, suspended somewhere between life and death, only alive for Jimin to use.

This is where Yoongi loves being most. Here, he doesn’t have to worry about protecting Jimin’s life every hour of the day. He doesn’t have to worry about navigating Jimin’s moods. He doesn’t have to calculate every word out of his mouth at court, doesn’t have to wonder what waits for him if - if Jimin ever tires of him, if he ever loses his position, if he ever becomes anything other than Jimin’s, if he dies.

If haunts Yoongi so often that he wants nothing to do with it. Nothing to do with anything outside of this, as Jimin lets Yoongi’s throat go, Yoongi’s lungs filling with air so quickly that it’s too much, snapping him right out of subspace to the present, where Jimin grabs Yoongi’s head and slams him forward again.

Yoongi’s hips collapse this time. He’s prone under Jimin as the prince chases his own orgasm, feral and rough. It hurts, but Yoongi comes dry anyway when Jimin tells him to, feels the helpless snap of pleasure inside of him. He loses the reality of it for a moment, feels the world run between his fingers like blood.

When Yoongi comes back from wherever it is his mind goes in moments like these, he sees stars. The night is a watercolor of blue-black and lights above him. He hurts everywhere he can imagine. It burns his throat to breathe and his skin is chafed and irritated, covered in dirt and cum and blood. He feels bruised like aged fruit, and the puffy rim of his asshole feels ruined and swollen.

A shadow blots out the sky. Yoongi blinks a few times, realizing it’s Jimin leaning over him. Demon. God. Prince of the Court of Thorns. His dark hair is damp with sweat, pushed back out of his face to reveal dark, alien eyes. There is clarity in them Yoongi only sees after Jimin’s fucked or killed, the calm after a storm.

Tilting his head to the side, Jimin studies Yoongi like a gardener would inspect an insect. Suddenly, Yoongi feels too exposed and soft all over, breaking eye contact as he chooses to stare at the boughs of the shadow trees instead. He feels the water leaking from his eyes, the tears that come sometimes during. After.

Jimin brushes a thumb across Yoongi’s cheek. The guard flinches on instinct, but Jimin ignores it. “Get up.” The command is soft, but Yoongi will find no comfort here as he struggles to keep up with the turmoil inside of him. “I want to go to bed.”

Nodding, Yoongi tries to sit up. His limbs are still shaking and he feels disoriented. Jimin doesn’t help him, already fully dressed in black as he looks up at the night sky. Brushing himself off, Yoongi slowly pulls himself together. Slides back into The Guard, hides away just Yoongi.

Jimin doesn’t rush him. Doesn’t jeer or lash out at him. He allows Yoongi this time of quiet to glue together what Jimin has shattered.

When Yoongi is standing, albeit unevenly on his feet, Jimin turns to look at him. His face is impassive and beautiful. “You broke easy today,” Jimin notes. No reprimand. Just a sheer fact. Yoongi hesitates before nodding. “We’ll fix that, Shadow.”

Yoongi’s mouth twitches at the corner a bit as he nods and follows Jimin as the prince heads back to the horses. Yoongi keeps close, his footsteps mimicking the prince’s, forever his shadow.

#yoonmin smut #yoongi smut #jimin smut #yoonmin fic #bts mem x mem #bts smut #bts fic #bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic #jimin fanfic #yoongi x jimin #jimin x yoongi #minors dni #minors do not interact

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echantedtoon · 4 months

Text

What If: Hantengu Bros Edition

(Just picture what your quadruplets look like as in the pic below. I don't know the artist or anything else I found image on Pinterest.

DISCLAIMER: THIS WORK IS IN ABSOLUTELY NO WAY CANNON TO DEMON BRIDE AND IS NOT AN ENDING. IT IS A WHAT IF IDEA THAT I THOUGHT WOULD BE FUN TO WRITE. PLEASE KEEP THAT IN MIND GOING FORWARD.

Warnings: Karaku IS his own warning. Possibly some innuendos.

************************************************

Chaos. Noise. Loudness. About as much destruction as you could imagine with four noise makers running around everywhere.

And no. It wasn't them this time.

"Grandpa, tell us again how Papa Sekido got his head stuck in the vase!"

"That story again? You make him retell it ALL THE TIME!!"

You could only sit there and watch amused at the unknown chaos unfolding. But then again that was the regular thing for this family of yours. You barely paid attention to the red eyed boy shooting a scowl to his nearly identical brother. Really the only difference was their attitudes and their eye color matching their colored kimonos. Your eyes only briefly looked up from the kimono you were attempting to sew back together, the tears accidentally left by Urogi's talons from rough housing with the boys again.

"Kido." Said red eyed boy looked at you. "If Kara wants to hear the story again then let him tell it. You don't have to listen if you don't want to."

Said eight year old pouted as his green eyed brother smirked in triumph. "That's not fair! How come Kara always gets to pick what we have to hear!? I want a turn to pick a story!"

You sighed again feeling a familiar fight bubble up but luckily the older man stopped any fight. "S-Stop fighting both of you. I won't t-tell if that's how you're g-g-gonna be about it."

That got both children to quickly shut up despite Kido pouting and crossing his arms. Well at least one problem was solved.

"He has a dam point! Why do you always have to hear about my embarrassment!?" Aaand here we go again as the older version of Kido glared angrily. "Why don't you ask him to explain how Karaku kept breaking things with his dam wind?! Or when Urogi kept crashing into a tree!? Something other than me!"

"Aw. C'mon, Sekido. It's just funnier when you're embarrassed.~"

"NO ONE ASKED YOU, KARAKU!!"

You again groaned and turned to two of the grown children. Sekido was glaring at Karaku from his place sitting as Karaku only smirked in a teasing manner no doubt amused by his daily task of filing up Sekido again. Gee. And you wondered where your kids got their dynamics from?

"Will you four keep it down? Rogi's,still napping and you four are gonna wake him up again."

You were getting really tired of their bickering now. It was getting really annoying and the stirring body slumped against your side gave you more of a reason. A third child identical to the first two slept soundly against your back exhausted from the amount of playtime initiated by Urogi earlier that day. Only difference between him and the first two was the yellow eyes hidden by the closed eyelids. It was a miracle your son hadn't woken up by the yelling from earlier. Either Rogi was a deep sleeper or he was so used by now to his fathers' and brothers' bickering that he could just sleep through it at this point. But you'd rather not have anymore yelling because of the upcoming headache that was threatening to make you rain your wrath upon the bickering adults.

"You're not having to live through the embarrassment daily-"

"You're giving me a headache, Sekido. So help me I'll wring you out like laundry and hang you up on the coat wrack." The red eyed man quickly shut up as you glared at him.

"A-All of you stop fighting. Y-Y-You're all scaring me with your fighting." Said older demon raised a shaking hand up to rub his head.

"Sorry, Mr. Hantengu."

Said protest seemed to end any and all arguments between Sekido, Karaku, and their little mini mes as Rogi just continued to snore away noisily at your side blissfully unaware of the daily arguments between your kids and their fathers. Sigh. You definitely had your hands full didn't you? Speaking of which..You were wondering where your other two children and their fathers were? Urogi and Aizetsu had taken Zetsu out for some quiet time away from his other rowdy brothers and they had been gone for a few decent hours. Rui was still out too so you were starting to wonder where he was too. As if the universe answered your questioning thoughts, the sliding door opened making all six of your heads turn to the door except for Rogi who still slept away.

"Heeeyy! Guess Who's Back! Did you miss us?," sang a familiar voice as none other than a harpy walked through the door. He waved one taloned hand at you while he held your fourth and final child in his arms clinging to him.

Aizetsu walked in right behind Urogi and silently closed the door behind him. Your brow rose not seeing Rui among them. Where was your oldest? "Where's Rui?"

"He and Zoha decided to train some more. They'll be back later," Urogi waved you off with a shrug before spotting the sleeping yellow kimono wearing child leaning against you. "There's my boy!"

Aizetsu blinked as Zetsu was quickly handed over to him and Urogi excited dove for Rogi- Only to land flat on his face when you quickly scooped up the sleeping boy away from him. Immediately two children and Karaku started cackling at the sight of Urogi dazedly looking up. Rogi being suddenly jostled tiredly blinked his yellow eyes open with a yawn.

"Urogi, be careful!", you scolded the harpy that looked up at you with a kicked puppy look. "You need to be careful with your talons! You could accidentally hurt him!" You cradled the boy in your arms. Seeing your face, Rogi opted to slot himself against your shoulder shuffling against you before tiredly closing his eyes again. You sighed. "You keep forgetting that."

"I only wanted to hold him," Urogi whined sitting up and pouting. "I would've been careful! I always am!" Your rose your brow at him. "...Ok. I'm careful MOST of the time!"

"Debatable."

"Mama!" A blue eyed boy quickly wriggled around until Aizetsu placed him down. Zetsu immediately ran over and threw his arms around your right side which you welcomed with a smile. "Did you miss me?"

"Yes I did." You smiled wider. "I'm also almost done patching up your kimono. You should have it back soon."

Blue eyes lit up at you in excited. "Really?!"

"Hey, Zetsu! Come sit!" Zetsu turned to where his brother beckoned him to join them. "Grandpa's gonna tell us a story!"

"Is it the one where Papa Sekido gets his head stuck in a vase again?"

"WHY CAN'T ANYONE JUST LET THE PAST LIE!? IT WAS ONE TIME!! JUST. ONE. TIME!!"

You only sighed as you felt another fight coming on.

#demon bride lost bits #karaku x reader #Karaku #urogi #urogi x reader #aizetsu x reader #aizetsu #sekido x reader #sekido #hantengu clones #hantengu x reader #hantengu #demon slayer #kimetsu gakuen #kimetsu no yaiba

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homunculus-argument · 1 year

Text

The thing about cultures is that babies really are the same everywhere, and the act of raising an adult who can function in this specific society is cultivating the natural skills this specific individual already had potential for, and minimising the natural and instinctive behaviours they are prone to which this specific culture considers undesirable. Sure, people have their own distinct tempers and personalities from birth, but functional adults are still shaped and formed by carving away from that block of Baby, like you're making a sculpture, whether the starting material is marble or granite.

Because of this, different cultures have different ideas of what sort of behaviour is "acting like a toddler" or "this is what people do", and seeing a fully grown adult person openly and shamelessly behaving in a way that was nipped in the bud in you when you were five years old and embarrassing your family can be shocking. In the past few centuries white westerners have been quick to label peoples of other cultures as "child-like" due to their own egocentric and childish assumption that their own way of living is the only objectively correct one, and not even entertaining the idea that different cultures simply have different outlines of what is, and is not, appropriate adult behaviour.

This is why it's so hard to explain the difference between introvert cultures and extrovert cultures to people who grew up in extrovert cultures. I am going to assume that children of both types are born equally in every people - just as children of different tempers and personalities are born in every other way - but the distinction is in what kind of behaviour is considered mature and is encouraged, and what's considered a personality flaw one should work on.

In extrovert cultures it's polite and good manners to be open and talk to people at every opportunity - they invented the term "small talk" for filler talk you're supposed to fill the air with when neither of you have anything important to say - and it's considered rude to dislike being talked at. In introvert cultures, it's rude to assume that someone wants to be bothered with your chatter. Assuming that a stranger wants to talk would be just as weird and rude as walking up to a stranger's car sitting at the red lights, opening the door and sitting in the passenger's seat, completely unprompted and uninvited.

People from extrovert cultures see introvert culture behaviour as weird, stunted and childish - if you don't know what someone else is thinking, why not just use your words and ask them? Forcing someone to communicate isn't considered abusive, but refusing to comply to these demands somehow is. The idea that someone could just ~intuitively know~ that there is something going on, but never ask what it is, because it's none of your business, sounds absurd.

In introvert cultures, people are expected to have at least some level of sense when and whether their attention, opinions and questions are welcome. It's no different from physical touch - if you can't tell whether someone happily consents to being touched like that, or is simply reluctantly enduring you, you just shouldn't be trusted to be around people at all. Someone demanding open communication is just as absurd and childish as a toddler throwing a tantrum because they want to eat that very one specific piece of food that someone else just put into their own mouth.

And then being more upset when what you forced them to spit out wasn't as nice as what you wanted it to be.

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ataraxiaspainting · 2 months

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May I please request Yandere Machi, Pakunoda, and Shizuku? (separate)

Here's the scenario: They haven't seen their s/o in a decade, ever since they got put in prison. The rest of Troupe managed to break them out, and they go on the search for their s/o.

However, they encounter their son/daughter—who was eight the last time they saw them—now an adult and full-pledged hunter. Their child tells them that they'll defeat them and put them back into prison in the name of justice, which is sad because before they were captured and put into prison, they used to be very close.

Yan Machi + Yan Shizuku + Yan Pakunoda / Having a Hunter Child.

Warnings: The reader uses she/her pronouns respectfully, implied dub-con, manipulation, unhealthy relationships, and threats/mentions of violence.

Word Count: 900.

*~*~*~*

Machi

Eyes the color of a cloudless sky meet those dissimilar to them yet all too familiar at the same time for as many reasons as there are stars during the time of midnight. The young man’s eyes share the same hue as yours, yet have the same type of glare Machi used to always use on you to keep you in line, to prevent you from doing anything stupid.

“Komacine. I shall strike you down if it is the last thing I ever do.”

Machi is not scared, just disappointed, in both her son and you.

“Oh?” But she is also happy because, for the first time in nearly ten years, she can see the image of her son and you, both within her grasp where you both belong. “You don’t mean that, do you?”

Her words made the young man’s sword be held up even higher, but she was still not afraid.

“I shall, Spider, that is a promise.” But deep within those eyes, there is regret and sorrow, Machi thinks.

“Is that any way to talk to your mother?”

Her son merely snarls like a wild animal, still having his weapon raised high. “You aren’t my mother. You’re just yet another piece of evidence of all the wrongs there are to be righted in this world.”

From the corner of her eye, Machi sees you wearing a pink apron through the window, seeming to be humming to something while peeling some potatoes, carrots, and onions. She would have made her way into your home by now, if your son hadn’t at that exact moment opened the front door, which had immediately set off his Nen detection.

“Am I not? You look just like the little boy I used to take to the playground all the time, all those years ago. The games we used to play, your favorite one being… hmm…” She put her thumb and pointer finger under her chin, pinching it lightly.

“That was then and this is now, Komacine. I will kill you for what you did, all the people you hurt and murdered in cold blood.”

Choosing not to pay any clear attention to the threat, Machi simply thinks back to all the past moments, so bittersweet like her favorite tea blend.

“Ah… it was hide and seek, wasn’t it?” From the sound of silence, she knows she is right. “Shall we play that one now? …Would you like that?”

No answer is to be heard.

Shizuku

Shizuku turns her head to the side, confused.

“Why are you attacking me?” Did she do something wrong? “Why do you think? I know you have a bad memory, but try to use that brain of yours, Spider. For your good.” This man looks familiar, but from where?

Then she realizes, as the moonlight shines on the tops of both of their heads, showing the eerily similar hues of ink black. She smiles, and the moonlight also shows how wide it is, much to the horror of the young man.

“Ah! You’re my son, all grown up! Gosh… the years have flown by, haven’t they?”

She chuckles as she reminisces about old times, full of sentimentality.

“We should have a game night, just like those times! Oh, to see your mother again as she plays with us… it would feel like a dream, wouldn’t it?” To see how you have matured too, just like your son, both from the inside and outside, is a sight that would make Shizuku’s heart burst with love. Even though you are all ten years older, she is sure that you are still as beautiful as ever.

It feels and sounds like a threat, but is it? Shizuku does not lie, and her threats are always nonexistent, anyway.

He prepares to run just in case it is and is real, though.

Pakunoda

In an instant, she gets closer than he can blink and puts a finger to his lips.

“Shush. Calm down, please. I love you both, and I always will.”

Little by little, the sword lowers, as small as the change is.

But she notices. She has always been observant, which only proves to be more amplified during her ten-year-long search for you.

“You’re a Spider, you hurt us, you hurt more than us. Why would I-” Another interruption.

“I missed you plenty, you know. You and your mother were the lights of my world all those years ago. You both still are. Did you miss me too? Either of you?” It is not an odd question, but without physical touch, it may as well be. Her Nen can only work when she has her hand or arm on someone, after all. However, even without using it, she can still detect when someone is lying. The slight quiver of the corner of the lips.

He can’t move. He can feel his soul sinking, far beneath the ground.

“No.” There is only one word, but the lie is still apparent.

“Shall we go in? We have a lot to discuss, your mother and I. We can also chat about old times if you want to.” She smiles as she walks up the steps, slowly with her hands raised. Her son lets her.

#yandere #yandere x reader #aya abstractions #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #yandere hxh x reader #yandere machi #yandere machi x reader #yandere shizuku #yandere shizuku x reader #yandere pakunoda #yandere pakunoda x reader #200 followers event #yandere hunter x hunter x reader

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stealingyourbones · 6 months

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Submitted Prompts #135

I know I tend to send in DPxDC prompts, but today I had A Thought.

I've been playing Warframe again, lately, and I've been grinding for the Operator Affiny things (thank you Zenurik Focus, for blessing me with boundless Energy with which to commit chaos :D )

And a thought struck me: Operators use Transference to pilot a Warframe. It comes from their Void powers, granted to them in an accident, where their ship was about to dimension-jump into the Void. This overlapping of dimensions made the Tenno into something Other (hilariously, they're called Tenno because they were from the Zariman 10-0. Ten-Zero. Ten-O. Tenno) with extra-dimensional powers, among which is a beam of energy from said dimension. Sound familiar?

What I'm getting at here is: Immortal Danny finds himself transported into the Zariman after the tragedy that befell it, and since The Void and the Infinite Realms are neighbouring extra-dimensional planes of existence, he feels right at home with the survivors (canonically, the adults all went insane, while the more adaptable children survived with powers) and helps them with their powers.

Eventually the Orokin find them, as in canon, and take them in as their Tenno Warrior caste. Their Praetorian Guard, of sorts, and build the Prime Warframes for the children to inhabit and pilot.

Danny goes along with it, because hey cool space bio-armor that he can power with his abundance ecto-energy. Maybe Pandora and frostbite might want to take a look, too.

His Warframe? Banshee Prime

Shit happens, as one might say, and as the Tenno are put into cryo-sleep by the the Lotus (Space Mom!!!!) Danny goes back to the Realms, after his vacation is done.

Eons later, the Tenno rise again, to a shattered and warring Solar System.

They reestablish their Relays, and their presence once more brings order and peace to the System. And as the Order once again grows, as more and more Tenno wake up, Teshin, the Last of the Orokin Dax (the Royal Guard) tells them of Banshee Prime, and her incredible powers over sound and voice.

As the Tenno pilots reawaken in their stasis pods in Lua, one remains missing. Tenno across the System all wonder where everyone's favorite older brother went, and what happened to his Banshee Prime Warframe that he always lovingly maintained and repaired himself.

One, the Harrow pilot, peers into the Void, as he typically does, and finds a trace leading to another dimension other than the Void where the Moon had been hidden, with their pods in it.

Essentially, a whole legion of high school murder-inclined feral teens go on a trip to the Ghost Zone to bring back their older brother, so he can once again tell them of the stars and their meanings. They think he would like to have words with some people, and the Main Character has spotted the Lotus look to the stars with grief in her eyes as she wonders on her wayward child's whereabouts.

Danny, for his part, has grown up into his Fenton Brickhouse genes (not being in a stasis pod will do that to you) and is ruling the Realms along with his Council of Ancient, and generally getting his new powers as the Ancient of Space under control, like he's done before with his basic ghost abilities, and later his ice.

What he didn't expect, was for his old siblings to knock down the doors to his Throne room and crowd him, all screeching about how come he grew up when they're all stuck as kids still, and why dies he look so different, and so many questions that he gets a little overwhelmed.

When Clockwork (grandpa), Pandora (mom) and Frostbite (dad) turn to him and his baby siblings, and say Danny really should take a break "for your own health, Your Highness. You're overdue a vacation!"...let's just say the System was ready for the Tenno. Alad V was ready to face them in battle and experiment with their Warframes (the Valkyr lore is horrifying if you pay attention to it).

No one was ready for Phantom and Banshee Prime to take the System by storm, leading an army of feral children with murder-hobo inclinations

#bones submissions #DPxWarframe #wild though hours #it grabbed me by the throat and wouldnt let go #so i had to write it #hope there's some Warframe players that will enjoy this #I can imagine the Lotus almost kills hin again by squeezing GDanny unti he can't breathe #fortunately he doesn't need to #he'll Have Words with Tyl Regor and the Grineer Queens for their shitty cloning processes #Alad V facing Valkyr's pod: why do i hear boss music?#hi bones here. i dont know a damn thing about this Warframe but this do be neat

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seravphs · 1 year

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prologue.

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GOJO x FEM READER

There is before-Getou and after-Getou. In both spaces, Gojo exists.

wc — 845

tags — title from The Belladonna of Sadness by Sally Wen Mao

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You’re born just two months before Gojo is. That measly timeframe is enough to chain you to his side for the rest of your lives.

He’s born wailing for attention, a premonition of what your future will be. If he wasn’t the heir, he might’ve been ignored, left to cry until he had no strength left to cry anymore. Because he’s the only son of the head of the Gojo clan, he’s worshiped.

This all before he’s even discovered to possess the Six Eyes. A series of mistakes involved with Gojo’s birth prompt his nursemaids to catch it nearly hours afterwards. Later, his mother will laugh and fondly say this is why he turned out so perfectly: he used up all his bad luck the minute he was born.

It’s tradition for the mistress of the house to give birth in her own rooms, separated from regular clan members and servants. Gojo’s mother never made it back. She collapsed in the gardens and was taken to the medical wing. On a white cot with white sheets, she gives birth like all the other women of the household. She holds her son the moment he arrives. Then, she sleeps.

They let Gojo stay in the infirmary while she rests, not wanting to separate mother and child so early. Another break from tradition. For the first time in centuries, the Gojo heir isn’t immediately swaddled in silk and given to the shrine maidens to be blessed. He’s allowed to lay on a simple cot, surrounded by children he will rule over in the future.

All these transgressions are minor deviations in the correct path. It alters the trajectory of Gojo’s life degree by minuscule degree, hardly worth much. It might not have changed anything.

But it does.

There’s a peculiar air to him, even fresh out of the womb. His mother’s midwife notes that his eyes scare the other children. They keep away, even the older ones. As adults, sorcerers refine their cursed energy. They learn to use techniques and domains, to distill that power into something purer. Toddlers can’t manipulate their cursed energy yet. Like animals, they’re possessed by instinct and driven on years of biological conditioning. They see what Gojo’s attendants can’t.

When prey smell predators, they hide.

His attendants may not be able to tell Gojo has the Six Eyes right away, but they can recognize something is wrong from the other children’s reactions. They don’t mean to leave him alone, but a second to tend to his mother while she wakes is enough. However strange her progeny is, the lady of the house comes first.

While they’re occupied, a child crawls into Gojo’s bed. He’s irate, at first. Born knowing his own importance, the little tyrant prepares to shriek, but your eyes are hypnotizing. He stops, entranced. Finding a comfortable position, you lay beside him. Those quiet eyes bore into his, so intense they would make any grown man uncomfortable, but he stares back. Two bodies curl around each other like parentheses.

Gojo’s mother was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was nothing more than a coincidence.

But a coincidence is enough.

From that day forth, Gojo is inseparable from you. They try to pry you from each other at first. You resist silently, eyes wide and unblinking. A preternatural stillness about you mildly horrifies the nurses, but it’s Gojo that kicks up the fuss.

The first time he uses his Six Eyes, it’s for you.

The attendant freezes as his eyes run over her; the helpless, sticky feeling of panic crawling through her veins like treacle. She can’t move, can’t breathe for fear of attracting even more attention from the monster in front of her. He only relents when his mother gently indents the mattress with her hand so he’s forced to roll away down the newly formed slope, breaking eye contact. She scoops him into her arms.

“Well,” the mistress of the Gojo household says. “They’ve bonded.”

Bonded is too light a term for what you have.

Like every other precedent set before him, Gojo shatters the tradition of having another similarly high born child become his retainer. He does this with all the relish of a child who doesn’t understand the consequences of his actions. No matter how clever or talented, his brain is too underdeveloped to understand things like ‘long-term’ or ‘future’. All he knows is he wants, and he wants it now.

When Lady Gojo assigns you to be Gojo’s playmate (you come to know this means shadow, confidante, and caretaker all in one neat package), your own mother dares not refuse. In many ways, it’s an honor.

No servant of the Gojo household would live in squalor, that would be a disgrace. But not everyone has wealth or rank. Suddenly, your family is elevated to a place of honor standing at the side of the main family. It’s a Cinderella story, if Cinderella’s prince was an evil brat that had to be kept on a tight leash.

You’re not Cinderella. You’re the leash.

(青春) —

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader

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jimmyspades · 2 months

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Sad Boston Legal analysis at 9 am sorry

Season 3 Alan sees Vanessa in that pretty yellow dress and he can’t stop staring, he tells her why it affects him so deeply:

When I was a sophomore in high school I attended my very first dance. There was this girl, standing across the dance floor, wearing a yellow dress. She was so beautiful. I didn't have the courage to ask her to dance, perhaps for fear of the long lonely walk back across the gym floor after being refused. I finally willed myself to go ask, and then suddenly she was gone, in a fleeting second she must have left. I began to imagine what she must have been like. Her laugh. Certainly her kiss. I still know exactly what that feels like, though l've never felt it. She's been a figment for 29 years. An imagined standard by which all other women seem to have fallen terribly short.

He said it was a sophomore dance so he was probably 14-15, which means he had already been assaulted by his neighbor (s4 ep4: “I was 14, Denny. It was statutory rape. You’re the first person I’ve ever told that to.”) but he hadn’t yet been abused by his best friend Paul’s mom Victoria (explored in The Practice s8 eps 13-15: “Victoria, I was 16. Can a boy even be capable of love? … How many teenagers had you been with?”)

So there’s teenage Alan at the dance, at a very strange, confusing time in his life—

—his parents aren’t there for him, his father doesn’t like him, his mother never hugs him, but recently other adults have started showing him affection; grown women want him and use him sexually, and he thinks he’s flattered by the attention because he’s a stupid horny teenage boy!, of course he should want this!, he’s never been touched and suddenly everyone wants to touch him, even Denny makes a joke of it decades later when Alan finally calls it rape, but he’s still just a child. He’s 14!!!! Suddenly he’s “experienced” and treated like an adult and has a reputation—

—but tonight he’s shyly leaning up against the gymnasium wall, alone, wishing he had the confidence to ask this beautiful girl in his class, his own age, to dance. She was so pretty and safe to him—making up a harmless, idealized girl who would never hurt him at a time when he was being abused and tossed around and confused beyond belief—that for the next 30 years (and beyond) Alan used the idea of her to protect himself.

The idea of her kept his standards so high he could always walk away, he never had to be hurt—because any woman who hurt him clearly wasn’t her, so of course she’d disappoint. He expected this.

Of course Tara broke up with him. Of course Sally wouldn’t stay. Of course the women who had sex with him as a teenager lost interest. Of course he and Gloria would never work out. Of course Phoebe (and several other ex gfs) came back to use him then leave again. Of course his wife died. They weren’t the girl in the yellow dress, they were always going to let him down. “I’ve never met the girl in the yellow dress.” He’s still waiting to find her.

#why the fuck would I write this. oh my gd alan #boston legal #alanalysis

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meshlasolus · 2 years

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Obi and I

Part 1 of the Obi and Little One Miniseries

Summary: You are not as well versed in the Grammar of galactic basic as you would think your are, and Obi-Wan playfully teaches you to make the small corrections.

Warnings: there will probably never be warnings in these that are actual warnings it’s all just so fluffy and sweet-

A/n: i am getting back into my groove for them, and dude- i finished HoM not even a month ago but i missed them so much I’m just glad to be back and writing for them (btw this is an actual memory from my DR, some parts are written differently for the sake of I cannot remember the entire event as it happened… but like cmon gimme credit i was six)

It had been a rough day. Standing at the age of six and a half, it was very intimidating to join the class of nine year old younglings in the temple. You would have been fine to go about the training session with Master Yoda, but in between the lessons, there were break times that socialization was allowed while Yoda spoke with whomever had come for his attention and wisdom. Why was this such a conundrum? Well, said nine year old younglings were not fond of having a younger classmate among them, rather, a younger classmate who’s power outweighs their own. Children, as funny as it would seem, are more prone to dark side tendencies than fully grown adult Jedi. Children had innocence, but they also lacked knowledge of right from wrong, or more importantly, the difference between them.

You didn’t understand it, the instant and sad way they shunned you from the start. It wasn’t your fault, you had done no wrong, and you tried to be friends. You’d been shoved to the ground and belittled, before being laughed at and embarrassed. Your anger and humiliation bubbled to the surface, just as Master Yoda and Mace Windu were coming to examine the class. You couldn’t help it, you stood to your feet and used the force to knock one boy into another, letting them all fall over like dominos. Mace Windu saw the smile you wore after it, and had mistranslated it as being one of malicious intent. You’d been reprimanded soon after, and taken for a time out in the hallway, a random Padawan was assigned to watch over you until the council was done deciding what to do with your behavior.

You were scared, but the second you saw a familiar face walking down the hallway to greet you, the fear began the melt away, and it was replaced with joy and excitement.

“Obi!” You jumped from your cross legged position against the wall, and ran straight into his legs, grabbing onto them tightly to keep him from continuing down the hallway. “I knew you’d come to see me.”

“Hello, little one,” he beamed, not expecting to run into your excited little self, but glad he did all the same. In truth he hadn’t been looking for you, but he hadn’t spent any time with you since he returned from the last mission dispute with Qui-Gon. “What are you doing all the way in the council sector, I thought you were starting new lessons today?”

You reached up and shook your arms slightly, and he took the hint, rolling his eyes as he bent down and scooped you up, bringing you to eye level and waiting for your answer. Though you were small, you were still just as intelligent as a child much older than yourself. You liked being able to look someone straight in the face when you spoke to them, it made you feel dignified, like an adult. Obi-Wan never minded, he thought it was sweet that you wanted to hold a proper conversation like that.

“The other younglings in the class were being mean to me, Obi.”

“I see, did you tell Master Yoda?”

The look in your eyes faded and you shook your head to tell him that you didn’t. He sighed, brushing some hair away from your forehead and out of your eyes. Your wild mane was never tamed, and he wondered why the Masters who took care of you would never tie it back to help you. Perhaps he’d do it once and see if it helped you.

“Why don’t we talk to him together? You can explain to him what happened,” he suggested, but again your head shook back and forth, your eyes widening and telling him you were probably scared to do so. “Why not?”

“Because he and Master Windu think I was the one being mean.”

Well, now he was confused. How had this mix up even happened? He wondered the contents of the situation but feared to ask you about them, thinking that perhaps it could make you sad or angry. He decided to take a different approach.

“Were you being mean to the other younglings?” He asked quizzically, and your dramatic heave of a breath began your telling of events.

“No, I was trying to make them stop laughing at me,” you left out the part where you knocked them all to the ground, because your dear friend Obi-Wan, though much older and wiser than you, did not need to have all the intricate details.

He knew you’d probably let your anger get the better of you, and you must have reacted badly to the teasing of the older children. He was never sure why they had moved you from your old class anyways. You had been doing so well where you were. Sure, you were far passed the teachings that the others your age were receiving, but they could have arranged a different lesson plan for you, instead of putting you somewhere that you didn’t belong. Obi-Wan in his mind was betting on only a few weeks until they put you back in the class you needed to be in.

“Little one, we must not repay wrong doings with wrong doings. Whatever happened, you must continue to show the light of a Jedi, and hope that they can learn from your example,” he sighed, realizing that even over all this nonsense, you were still a child, and your heightened mind did not change the fact that you were young and sometimes lacked the self control needed. “Treat them as you would treat yourself, and maybe they will begin to return that kindness.”

You nodded like you understood, but it was still such a wild concept for you to take in. Why should you treat those that hurt you with respect? Why should you be kind to them when all they have done is humiliate you? They deserved what they got, and you weren’t sorry, but you needed to be, and that’s what you couldn’t comprehend.

“What if they push me down again?”

Obi-Wan frowned.

“They pushed you down? What for?” He was beginning to think that you were only defending yourself now, as it seemed there was more to the story than he originally gathered. He should have just asked you what happened in the first place.

“I tried to stand next to them in our break time, I don’t think they liked me very much at all,” your explanation was heartbreaking. You were only trying to make friends, even though it must have been intimidating and they were all a few years older than you, you still were brave enough to try, and they were only cruel to you. Obi-Wan absolutely would not stand for that.

The council meeting had adjourned, and out poured the members of the committee, strolling through the hallway and leaving Master Windu to deal with the very person they had discussed, you.

“Padawan Kenobi, I did not expect to see you here,” the tall man spoke, coming closer to inspect the scene before him. Qui Gin Jinn was a Jedi Master, infamous for having attachments that shouldn’t be allowed, but seeing as he was a brilliant fighter and a strong and wise man, the council would never have enough grounds to expel him, nor would they want to. Master Windu however found it unnecessary that he teach his Padawan to do the same. It was all too fond, the way Kenobi treated you, with his favoritism and protection, even when you may not deserve it. Just as right this moment, you were supposed to be punished, not coddled, and Obi-Wan was doing just that.

“I didn’t think I would be still, but I noticed she was here and wondered what was wrong?” He asked indirectly to the Jedi Master, his brow furrowing as if he was confused and you hadn’t just told him the story.

“I’m afraid she’s done some things today that have put her in the wrong. We were just discussing what form of discipline to issue for her actions.”

Just as you had explained, accept for Obi-Wan believed you over Master Windu, however young you were, he knew you’d never lied to him in the last few years he’d known you. Being the first person to ever truly treat you with kindness and respect as a human being, and not as a slave, you quickly formed a bond with him, and felt as though you could open up and tell him things, completely in an honest sense.

“I hope the punishment doesn’t last long, we were only just discussing my promise to show her the meditation room, weren’t we?” He looked to you, and though you were surprised, you looked back to Master Windu and nodded rapidly with a smile. Master Windu could admit, when Kenobi was around you, you were far more tame and in control. Perhaps a form of reprimanding wouldn’t be necessary just this once, and hopefully spending more time with Kenobi will make you a better behaved child. “And I am a man of my word.”

Mace sighed, looking down to the ground before back to Kenobi with a look that said ‘this is the only time I’ll look the other way.’

“The meditation rooms are a good place to learn peace, perhaps you should introduce her to the concept,” Mace said, as if it were a warning, then turned heel, walking away with a slouched posture. It had been a long day for the Grand Master.

You waited for him to be out of the hallway before you hugged Obi-Wan extra tight around the neck, squealing like a shriek hawk in his ear. He leaned away with a small chuckle, too relieved at the small victory to be annoyed by your loud, shrill voice.

“That was a close one!” You whisper shouted, and he nodded, turning back to you, and shaking his head. He didn’t know why he put himself on the line like that for a kid sometimes, but then he saw your giddy smile, and he understood. You needed him as your protector, because no one else would take the job. You trusted him, and being a man of his word, he would never want to betray that trust, even if you were only six and a half.

“Indeed it was, little one.”

You were very calm now, walking the halls alongside Obi-Wan, head held high in the air with a pleasant and sophisticated look on your face as you passed through the halls to find your youngling group in the common area. He would look down and smile every few minutes at how mature you were trying to act. He supposed it was because of your massive success in the meditation room, where you were finally able to let your mind fill the room, and you could be one with your surroundings. He was proud to have been there when you figured it out, feeling even the tiniest shred of joy that he was somewhat able to help you achieve that state of mind. It was the first time he was able to really feel your signature as a developed, personal force. You were always strongly connected with it, the force, but never did you have your own identity through it, and he thinks that perhaps today, you may have achieved it.

The soft green embers of the waves in your signature, emanating off of you even now, told him what he knew to be true long ago. You were a consular. Strong with the force, and wise beyond what wisdom can be. You were powerful already, and were going to grow to be even more-so by the time you reached the age of padawancy.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when walking into the large room, spotting your group. You’d stopped in your tracks and kept hold of his hand, telling him without words that you didn’t want to go any further. He understood, as he followed your line of sight to see the younglings, all conversing together, exchanging different gestures the likes of which you were not made aware of. Obi-Wan sighed, looking down to you and kneeling to meet your eyes.

“I’m sure you don’t have to go back right away,” he mentioned, and you looked at him with a frightened look in your eye, which was slowly melting away as he spoke to you. You seemed to be rather calmed by his voice. “Come sit with my Master and I.”

The way your face immediately lit up, and your sense of sophistication returned, with your head nodding once before taking his hand again and following him to where his Master was, it made Obi-Wan happy, simply just because you were happy.

Going to sit down in a chair that was far too big for you, you heaved yourself over the front of it, scooting back into the backrest and making yourself comfortable, your legs barely hanging off the end of the seat. Master Qui Gon turned his attention from his holo-pad, an amused smile crawling across his face as he crossed his arms in the direction of his Padawan, who had to help nudge to the last of the way into your seat, after which he took his own seat right beside you.

“What do we have here?” Qui Gon chuckled, and you looked to him with that cheesy sophisticated smile, folding your hands and holding them over your lap ass if you were an adult.

“Me and Obi went to the meditation room today,” you said matter of factly, and both men chuckled, the younger of the two leaning closer to you and helping your grammar.

“Obi and I, little one,” he reminded you, but you were not bothered by it, continuing on to tell your story while Qui Gon listened on and asked questions with great interest.

“Well we did, and,-and” you stuttered a bit in your excitement, and they both found it very endearing. “I meditated, for real.”

“Did you now?” The Jedi Master turned to his own apprentice, and raised a brow, surprised.

“She did, I felt her energy reaching out.”

Qui Gon was not only happy for you, but proud of Obi-Wan, for being a good mentor to you, and even at your age, a good friend. From what he understood, you were treated as rather more of an asset than a human being, and whenever you did something to act like a human, they weren’t exactly accepting of it. He was glad you had someone you could trust, someone you could talk to, because he doubted you would open up to anyone else to allow them your thoughts.

“I really did! And then me and Obi came here to tell you,” you informed him, and the Master nodded his head, though he was ready to look over the small mistake in your speech, his padawan was not the same, leaning closer again to tell you.

“Obi and I,” he said this time, but in a quicker manner, almost as if to poke fun at you. You turned to him and reached your hand up, putting your sweaty little palm over the entirety of his mouth.

“Shhh,” you told him impatiently, and turned back to Qui Gon to finish your story. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but laugh, and it took everything in his Master not to do the same. He would say there was never a dull moment having Kenobi as his Padawan, constantly cracking jokes, being witty and sarcastic and all the things that made up his personality. He was sometimes rather arrogant, but as of lately, and having you around to put him in his place, he seemed to be mellowing out.

By the time you were finished with your story, and Qui Gon had learned about all the events of the day, it was at last the time when you would need to return to your group. He bid you a farewell and Obi-Wan walked you back to your group, your quick little steps trying to keep up with Obi-Wan’s even stride as you always did when reaching up to hold his hand.

When Obi-Wan returned, his Master shook his head, standing up and beginning to walk with the young man towards the halls, ready to retire to their apartment for the evening.

“You shouldn’t tease her like that,” he somewhat scolded his student, but leaving it open ended enough that it wasn’t a real reproach. “She looks up to you, you may as well be her greatest admiration.”

“You used to tease me the same way,” Obi-Wan countered, and knowing that Qui Gon was his greatest admiration, he seemed to think it perfectly fair.

“She’s six,” Qui Gon told him, turning to see the souring expression of Kenobi’s face. “She may not understand, and think you’re really making fun of her.”

“I don’t think so, she’s quite brilliant for her age.”

“Even still. If you want to be her Master one day, you must think about your approaches to teaching her. You’re nearing the completion of your own training, you know,” it was the first time it had been brought up among them, but in the past, they both had been feeling their several years of long spent time coming to and end, one way or another. If Obi-Wan was going to be a Jedi Knight soon, then that would mean separating himself from his own Master, to form an identity of his own, perhaps one as your Master.

“I understand. You must forgive me, Master. It’s not my place to disagree with you.”

Qui Gon was a gentle and compassionate man, built for many great endeavors, and most of all being a Jedi. He was wise and strong, and there had never been another person in the galaxy that Obi-Wan would have picked to be his Master over the one he had. He only hoped that in the future, he could do enough right by you that you could feel the same way.

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#obi wan kenobi #obi wan series #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x padawan #ewan mcgregor #obi wan kenobi x padawan!reader

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