My Baby (Sun/Moon x Reader)

Learn and Unlearn

So, when the bowl of soup in their hands slipped, they couldn't help but shriek in fear— not of the burning contact, but rather the shock of electricity that's to come after they make a mess. The glass broke in a sickeningly loud CRACK— The soup burned their arm as they recoiled back, hearing you move closer and—

No! No no no! It was a simple mistake! Why must it be so much a big problem!? Sun didn't understand the motives of those who harmed him and his counterpart. You had promised it wasn't their responsibility to understand others, but the question of "Why?!" still lingered.

Sun cried out, pressing himself against the lower cupboards. His crutch falls leaving them barely hanging there over the edge. The tears blurred their vision, very hot and fast like waterfalls down his cheeks.

He hadn't meant to! It just slipped. He was sorry! He promises he is! It wasn't fair to be punished for a mistake!

Their breath quickened, hands fumbling to clutch the front of their sweater, feeling their heart hammer against their sternum in terror.

He was sorry— "I'm s-sorry!" He didn't want to be hurt— "P-Please don't h-hurt me..." He hadn't meant to— "I d-didn't mean to—" They wouldn't listen, they never do. Their punishment will always come.

But the electricity of a taser never came, the screaming of their counterpart in their head didn't either. What did come was the sudden feel of something cold on their arm making them yelp, opening red eyes to look over.

You had a wet towel over their skin, rinsing their arm from the burning soup with lukewarm water.

Moon was more awake in the back of their headspace soon after, alarmed at the sudden feeling of pain surging through them. They pressed forward, at the ready to take control if things went south. Though, the panic in their mind made it hard to think— their thoughts buzzing overwhelmingly around in raged fear.

A hand on their shoulder to support their shaking body made them recoil, but Sun doesn't register this, they barely see the cold water running over their arm— barely feel it. The face looking at them was of a person they so dearly feared. The hot tears felt freezing, their breath coming in short gasps. The image before them did not matter, the voices neither did— not the outside ones, at least. Their head was loud, heart hammering in their chest and against their sternum. It hurt a lot.

A voice seemed to call, pressing against heavy cotton of panic was almost heard, but it stays far away.

The vivid visions from the back of their mind thrusted in, screaming and yelling and crying— it was too much— too much! They had to make it stop! It hurt and they couldn't breathe well! Why doesn't it stop?!

But, oh, who are they to make anything stop? They never were able to stop it before, so how could they stop it now? They learned to submit in hope it may become less harsh— the punishment that always comes. The shocks and whips and yells.

And now they made a mistake— not only did they dropped the bowl and broke it, they also made a mess. A mess! How could they dirty something and ruin it? How could they cry about it and beg for mercy when it was their fault? No, no. It wasn't fair, now, is it? They deserve this punishment for misbehaving. Of course they do. Breaking the rules is bad! And every rule-breaker needs to learn a lesson. Including them.

Even if it hurt. Even if it left their body trembling for hours afterward. Even if the tears would leave them breathless and feverish and so, so weak.

But it hurt— it hurt so much. It surges through their body leaving them in silent agony, unable to scream.

It hurt. It hurt. It hurt.

They want it to stop— "P-Please make it st-stop...!" Make the pain go away— soothe them into a slumber where dreams of peace and gentle rocking are all they feel.