CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS // UNDERAGE Prompts Post // October 1-15

[tfw_ftw]

This post is for ANY AND ALL UNDERAGE PROMPTS. This means any pairing where one or both persons are under the age of 18.
PROMPTS AND FILLS MENTIONING REAL PERSONS CURRENTLY UNDER THE AGE OF 18 ARE BANNED.
They can not be aged up or mentioned in passing. Use OCs or someone else to fill the void.

ART DEPICTING UNDERAGED PERSONS IN ANY SITUATION IS

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Filled: I am a God 6/?

[lovemelikesatan]

Jensen shudders, and it makes Jared ache. He wishes he could just freeze frame this mess and call Jensen into a huddle, wrap his warm, heavy corded arms around Jensen’s small, shaking frame, kiss his hair, ask him what he’s so afraid of and promise to protect him from it. But Jensen won’t meet his gaze again, and the Lithian’s are still singing, and Yevlyn is still speaking.

“For the life you bring, we give you life. For the seed you raise, we give you gift to spill your seed.”

A blush spreads prettily over Jensen’s cheeks. The sight eases the ache in Jared’s chest but not in his groin, not in his tongue, that’s heavy and hot in his mouth and more than ready to taste the blood hot pink of Jensen’s flush.

“For the earth you save, we give you gift to ruin.”

Jensen’s blush deepens, but Jared isn’t as lost in the spread of twilight rose over Jensen’s lush skin as he is in Yevlyn’s words.

Ruin? He’s not going to ruin Jensen, and he knows the Lithian’s know what ruin means. One of the pups that run through the village tore his shirt, ruined it, and Jared had thrown the teensiest, eeniest little hissy fit about it. That shirt had been torn to shreds. Jared’s not - they can’t possibly think he’s going to do that to Jensen?

Maybe they think Jensen will be impure after Jared fucks him. That fucking will ruin his innocence. Or. Or something. Something that makes more sense than the clan believing Jared would do to this precious, sweeter than honey wine boy what a wild dog did to his designer shirt.

“Our gift,” Yevlyn says as she reaches for Jensen’s hand. Jared kind of wants to snap and grab it instead. He doesn’t.

“M-my…my mother,” Jensen stutters. His voice doesn’t sound anything like it did when he was basically telling Jared to shut the fuck up so his mom could get them hitched already. His voice is watery and weak, like nothing Jared has ever heard from his strong, delicate, perfect little consort. Jensen’s voice is always low and soft but firm. There is no room for sorrow or terror in it.

Then Jensen’s hand starts to shake so wildly Yevlyn begins to shake as well.

“Hey,” Jared murmurs as soothingly as he can.

He moves to rub his palm over Jensen’s bare shoulder, rub comfort into cream flesh as he learns the slope of Jensen’s body, but Jensen flinches as he sees Jared’s hand moving towards him. He flinches violently, as if he’s trying to yank himself so far away Jared will never be able to touch him. It hurts, hurts in a place that is quiet and tender and deep inside.

“Jensen,” he says, voice breaking. He tries to smile, the deep, dimpled smile that always coaxes a shy grin from his beautiful consort, but Jensen only bites his lip as his eyes wide simmer with tears. Feeling strangely helpless, hopeless, Jared pleads, “Jen, hey. It’s just - it’s just me.”

“My mother,” Jensen says quickly, tearing his eyes from Jared’s and squeezing Yevlyn’s hand. “I h-hope to honor you as the consort of our god. My people. I hope to honor you as the consort of our god. M-my, my god. I am honor to be the consort of our god.”

He speaks in a heart heavy rush. His eyes are squeezed shut and red is blooming on Yevlyn’s skin from how hard he’s gripping her hand.

“Our gift.”

Jensen doesn’t move.

Jared glances through the sea of faces, hoping to find even a flicker of concern. There is confusion among some, a few bewildered looks exchanged, but everyone’s eyes are on Jensen, as if they’re waiting for more. More words, more terrible promises.

“Wait - ” Jared starts.

“Our gift,” Yevlyn says, more firmly this time, and uncurls her fingers from Jensen’s hand. She places her free hand on Jensen’s arm, urging him to turn. Urging him away from her, even as he shakes, even as he stares into her eyes with that wide, tearful, fearful gaze.

“Wait,” Jared says again, more loudly.

But then Jensen is turning to face the crowd.

“My people,” he whispers weakly. There are real tears now, full and fat and hot, welling in the corners of Jensen’s eyes, and Jared’s had e-fucking-nough of this noise. Jensen is obviously terrified of something, a breath away from sobbing, and Jared isn’t moving a second forward until he calms his consort’s fear.

“Jensen.”

Jared’s whisper is drowned by the resurgence of heavenly voices.