Hi! Love your writings. If. You have a time, can I request with Mahabharata and Ramayana characters with their s/o (female) who is short or petite? Her height is 5'2 for example. Have a nice day, love you❤️❤️❤️
Meanwhile me who is 173cm (5'8) 👁️👄👁️
Mahabharata characters x short!reader.
I will do with Ramayana next. (Because It took me as long as 7 days to do this post. I had to read Mahabrahata again and watch the series. After all, here I added Duryodhana. Plus to get to know the character of the characters better. Plus studies, dance and Trainings🫠)
Pairing: Krishna x reader, Arjuna x reader, Draupadi x reader, Bheema x reader, Yudhishthira x reader, Nakul x reader, Sahadev x reader, Karna x reader, Duryodhana x reader.
Warning: Soft, there can be non-canon moments or characters' personality, don't critic.
Oh, knowing his mischevious nature, You will encounter frequent teasing and jokes. He just can't resist it! Krishna, ever the mischievous charmer, would delight in playfully teasing you about your height. He might call you "his little lotus" or "mere manmohini ki chhoti pari" (my enchanting little fairy), his eyes twinkling with affection. But the moment anyone else so much as hints at your height, his tone shifts—protective and firm, reminding them that her stature carries the grace of a goddess, and she stands taller than anyone in his heart. But his teasing would never be unkind—it would be a melody of love, meant to make you blush and laugh.
As the protector of dharma, he would naturally feel a deep sense of care for Y/N. Your small stature might awaken his instinct to shield you, but he’d never let you feel diminished. He’d stand beside you like a towering banyan tree, his presence a comforting shade, yet he’d encourage you to shine in her own light. “Height matters not, my beloved,” he’d whisper during a quiet moment, perhaps as you both sit by the Yamuna’s banks, his flute resting beside him. “Your spirit is as vast as the cosmos, and I am but a humble admirer of its radiance.”
With his profound wisdom as seen in the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna would perceive Y/N’s shortness as a beautiful paradox—a small exterior housing a soul as vast and infinite as the cosmos. He would often draw you close during quiet evenings, seating you beside him under the starlit sky, his gaze reflecting deep admiration as he contemplates your inner strength, turning their moments together into a silent lesson in the eternal nature of the spirit, a testament to his role as a divine teacher and guide. He is very strong, tall and divine, he would effortlessly lift you into his arms—whether to place you on a higher step so you can reach the kadamba flowers, or just to hold her close during Raas Leela.
People often overlook you. You are small. You move softly. In court, others speak over you. Krishna watches. He sees how your eyes flick downward for a breath — and then how you straighten your back and speak anyway. And when others forget to include you in their gaze, Krishna is the first to turn his full attention toward you. His body shifts. His hand reaches for yours under the table. No one dares disrespect someone he sees as beloved.
Krishna is full of humor, wit, playfulness. He teases even kings and sages. But not you. Not your height. Never that. He does not find it funny that you must tilt your head to meet his gaze, or that he often has to bend to press a kiss to your forehead. No — to him, it is beautiful. It is intimate. If he ever teases, it is this: “Strange,” he murmurs one evening, “that the shortest among us made me kneel without a war.”
He walks more slowly when you’re with him, adjusting his stride without speaking. He makes sure his palace’s steps are never too steep for you. He lifts you onto his chariot as naturally as one might offer a hand to a heart beat. And when you say: “I could have done it myself,” he smiles — not mockingly, not indulgently — but gently. “I know,” he says. “But I exist to ease the path of those I love. Why would I not do it for you?”He doesn’t treat your height like a flaw. He treats his care as his dharma.
Knowing that his other wives are taller, Krishna would NEVER compare you with them. He is divine, but at the same time incredibly human in love. Each of his wives (Rukmini, Satyabhama, etc.) has her own characteristics, and he accepts them as they are. He never chooses the "best" - for him, each beloved is unique, like a separate raga in music or a flower in the garden. Krishna neither cares about Y/N’s short height in a negative sense nor lets it define her worth. Instead, he embraces it with love and admiration, turning it into a source of joy, protection, and intimacy, as seen in his playful lifts, thoughtful adjustments, and deep affection. Her height is irrelevant to his divine love—it’s simply a cherished part of their bond...He is god — but in your presence, he chooses small, mortal joys
He sees you every time you walk into a room. Not because you stand out like a towering figure — but because you always pause for a moment at the threshold, like you’re tasting the atmosphere. Like you’re listening. Arjuna notices that your steps are smaller, but purposeful. That when you walk beside him, you often have to take an extra step to match his pace. So he adjusts, without a word. He lets your rhythm set his own. Because you — quiet, grounded, smaller than most — make him feel anchored in a world that never stops demanding movement from him. “The earth feels closer when I stand beside you,” he once whispered. “Like I finally know what it is to come home.”
Arjuna is one of those who instinctively protects - but does it almost imperceptibly. As the son of Indra, a celestial warrior. An ancient instinct lives in him: to protect. But he always amazed, how you can stand up for yourself, despite you are small. You walk into a room, and somehow — despite being half the size of the other women at court — the air changes. You don’t raise your voice. You don’t tower over others. But you stand like someone who is not apologizing for existing. And Arjuna watches you — always a little in awe — at how such a small frame can hold such fire. You speak softly, but your words carry. You’re overlooked, and then suddenly unforgettable. He’s fought demons, wielded celestial weapons, and faced death. But the way you meet someone’s gaze across a crowded hall? "That, he tells himself, is a kind of power even he doesn’t understand yet"
Arjuna is a sensitive man, with a subtle soul. He himself struggles with doubts all his life, despite his mastery. If you are insecure...Therefore, when he hears you call yourself "small", "unworthy", "less noticeable" - he becomes serious to the point of pain. He presses you to himself, with his palm on your back, as if keeping you from falling into the abyss: "Do you know how many battles I've won? How many enemies I've vanquished? No victory means as much as your presence by my side. I pray to the gods that you never feel...less. You are not less. You are everything."
He worries about accidentally hurting you, even in the simplest of things, so he always trying be gentle. Arjuna is tall, broad-shouldered, and trained in the art of war. He knows his own strength. And though he wears it well, there is always a part of him — especially with you — that moves with hesitation. He doesn’t squeeze too hard. He doesn’t rest his full weight against you when he holds you. He always bends first — always kneels to your level when brushing his lips over your forehead. It’s not because he thinks you’re fragile. It’s because he knows that if the world has ever made you feel small, then he will do the opposite. He’ll make you feel held. Equal. Seen.
Knowing how tall he is by compared to you, it always make Arjuna feel awkward (not in bad way). When you're curled up asleep, he lies down next to you and realizes how big the difference in body size is. He reaches out to you, and then stops. He just stares for a few seconds before he dares to touch you. He's not afraid physically. He's afraid that he might outshine you. Make you feel invisible. And he tries his best to be... light. In his movements, in his words, even in his breathing next to you.
But with you, Arjuna learns to be brave - in tenderness, in affection, in himself You don't push. You don't rush. You accept him as he is: tall, strong, but vulnerable. And with each passing day, he becomes braver. He begins to touch you more often, hug you tighter, say words to you that he was previously embarrassed to even think. He leans down to kiss your forehead for the first time. He says for the first time, "I miss you, even when you're here." You are his safety. His trust. And he learns not to be afraid to be big around you. Because he knows you are his anchor, not his fragility. His love.
Well, Draupadi was quite tall for women in those days (I think, around 173 or 175cm). When you first meet, she almost looks down on you - not because she's proud of herself, but because you're actually a head shorter than her. Her gaze is stern, her gait is regal. And you're almost like a girl next to her. But then you respond sharply, intelligently, even daringly - and interest appears in her eyes. She was rather surprised—how can such a small person contain so much insolence, than your short height. "You're small. But you don't bow. It's... unexpected." She only respects those who are not afraid of her. And you, with your height, do not try to seem taller. You stand straight. And this is enough for her to want to get to know you better.
Knowing that there can be men who can hurt you, she begins to protect you in a feminine way - like an older sister, mother and lover at the same time. If someone makes a tactless remark like, "Oh, what a petite companion you have!" she responds in an icy voice what would made that person shut up.
Draupadi just adore dress you herself - to show how much "you" can hold. She has impeccable taste. And suddenly you become her canvas. She chooses a sari with light gold, jewelry that does not weigh you down. And then she sits down next to you and begins: “Raise your hands. Like this. This ring with a pink stone matches your softness. Don’t argue.”She doesn't look at you as a little thing, but as a refined one. You are her treasure. And she wraps you in beauty so that the whole world can see what she already knows.
Draupadi does not allow herself to be vulnerable in front of her husbands - too much is expected of her, she has been through too much pain. But with you, short, tender, soft - for the first time she allows herself to lay her head on your lap. She becomes especially tender when you are together - because for the first time she can be soft, without fear of appearing weak. Draupadi telling you about her stories, saying that she just wanna be woman with you, not Queen Panchali or fire. And you stroke her hair. Listen to her breathing slow down. Because next to you, she doesn't have to be tall. She doesn't have to be strong. She can just be herself.
She endlessly admires your ability to keep up with the giants You walk alongside the five great warriors, and they tower over you in both physicality and status. But you don't hide. You smile, you argue, you express your opinion. And Draupadi, watching this, feels a pride that is even greater than that of the Pandavas themselves. "You are not just my spouse. The same power is in you, but in a different form - quieter, more modest, but not weaker." She can even tell Arjuna or Yudhishthira when they forget themselves, lol.
Panchali once confessed: your small stature became her salvation from the greatness that was pressing on her. She often tells that your height is a convenience, not a weakness. So of course, she would often lift you up.
Woah, he is himself very huge...Bheema and petite Y/n are literally "tiger and kitten". He is huge, muscular, with a deafening laugh and a kindness that can move you to tears. And you are tiny next to him, like a porcelain cup in his palm. But he is not afraid of this difference. He admires it. And Bheema truly admires your "little" courage - because you walk next to a giant and are not afraid.
Bheema is amazed every day how you fit in his arms When you stand next to him, the difference in height is especially noticeable. He could cover you completely - like a mountain. Once, you jokingly stood behind him, and he turned: "Where are you? Oh, here you are, standing under my heart." He loves to carry you in his arms. Even if you say you can walk on your own. "I know you can. But can't you see how much I like it?"
He instinctively closes you off from the world with himself - like a shield, like a fortress When someone raises their voice in your presence - Bheema comes between you. Even if it is Arjuna. Even if it is Draupadi, even if you say that you can handle it yourself. He is not afraid of seeming excessive. He is afraid of losing you. Of course, he knows that you are strong, but still, his protective nature won't dissapeare. In battle, he can forget everything - except one thing: where you are. He doesn't just protect you. He watches like a lion, and he himself doesn't notice how his entire bulk curls around you in a ring - like a gentle dragon around a treasure.
While you may think you look funny when you tiptoe to kiss him. But he looks at you like you're a goddess who's come down from the sky to take his soul. Bheema just adore your height! One day you suddenly jumped on his back like a monkey to scare him. And he laughed, called you minx.
You know that Bheema is master in cooking. And from the moment you entered his life, the kitchen became another form of love. He cooks for you with gusto - and gives you the first spoonful of every dish. So he definitely will give large portions, because "little woman" doesn't mean "eats little". If you don't finish it, he frowns. He sits down next to you. And feeds you from his hands until you will finish food.
Just like Arjuna, Bheema is very careful and gentle with you. It is the tallest and largest among the Pandavas, so he is internally afraid of hurting you - because you seem fragile to him, like a glass flower. Knows his strength. And that's why he often restrains himself around you. He even lies down on the edge of the bed so as not to accidentally touch you at night. You don't notice it right away, but one day you wake up and he's half-lying down, his hands under his head so as not to touch the top of your head. And then you yourself crawl closer, lie down on his chest.
Yudhishthira is too mature and last person who judge someone by their appearance, especially their height. He is the son of dharma, the embodiment of justice, inner honesty and empathy. Not only does he not judge, but he also considers any external differences to be of no importance in the face of a person's virtue, mind and soul. If you are shorter than others, he does not see this as a reason for jokes, pity or condescension. He sees this as your uniqueness. And if someone dares to tease you about your height in front of him, he will stop it gently but firmly. "Greatness is not measured by the size of the body, but by the size of the heart."
Sure, He immediately noticed your height - not as an appearance, but as a symbol of your modesty. When you entered the room, he looked at you and immediately understood: you are quiet, not because you are shy. You absorb everything, notice, feel - but you speak only when it is necessary. Just like him. And suddenly you realized: you were noticed not as cute, not as a toy. But as a strength hidden behind the softness.
Yudhishthira is not just a ruler - he constantly internally blames himself for everything, even for what is not in his power. Especially with you. You often laugh, saying that you can stand up for yourself. But he still offers you his hand with every step, bends slightly when he talks to you, and refuses to let you carry even a light basket. Nope, he doesn't coddle you - he respects. But reverently. As if he were holding a glass star in his hands.
Yudhishthira is a philosopher. And in you he has found confirmation of his deepest convictions. You are not a warrior. Not a queen. You do not demand honors. But when you are silent, everyone falls silent. When you smile, even Vyasa notices. He considers your small stature a spiritual reminder of the great truth that "true power is not in loudness."
He's tall, and you're almost like a girl next to him. But more than once he froze when he saw you stretching out your hands, trying to get something from the shelf, biting your lip. Sometimes he pretends not to notice - only to see you snorting in concentration and muttering under your breath. And then he comes up to you silently, takes out a book, puts it in your palms and whispers: "If I am tall, it is only to lower the sky into your hands."
When he holds your hand, his palm almost completely covers yours. When you walk next to him, he wants to slow down so that you don’t get tired. But most of all, he loves it when you are together at night, and you sleep, pressed against his shoulder. He looks at your face and feels such a scale of love that it seems that you are not less, but more than the whole world. He feels: the smaller you are on the outside, the deeper he sinks into you.
Nakul, who is usually heart stealer, notices it the first time you stand beside him — not as a fact, but as a feeling. The way you pause before stepping into a hall full of taller people. The way your shoulders draw just a little closer together, a gesture no one else would read — but Nakula does. He, who understands the flick of a horse’s ear and the slight tremble in its flank, knows what unspoken discomfort looks like. But more than that, he knows what dignity looks like in a quiet body.
Nakul doesn’t tower over you — he folds himself around you. In court, his arm naturally hovers behind your back when you walk. Not possessively. Protectively. Not because you need shielding, but because he’s always aware of your presence like he’s aware of his breath — constant, unspoken, sacred. He just want protect you from bullying
Nakul never makes your height a point of charm. He never reduces you to something "cute." He doesn’t say you’re small. He says you are closer to the earth, closer to the stillness he has always craved. To him, your body is not something to laugh at or lift — it is a place of safety, one he returns to in silence. You feel this in the way he sits beside you in the gardens. While others lounge in loud circles, he sits lower, just so your knees touch. He doesn’t reach for your hand — he lets your hand find his, like leaves finding water.
There are moments when the difference in height becomes tender. You reach for a scroll on the highest shelf in your shared chamber. You stretch, rising on your toes, determined not to call him. But before you can grasp it, you feel it — a warm chest at your back, a careful hand over yours, and a second of stillness before he reaches up and places the scroll in your hand. No teasing. No smirk. Just his hand remaining on your back for a moment too long. A silent reassurance that he saw you try. That he respects the trying. Nakula never interrupts your strength. He simply makes room for it.
And in the rare moments of war, when chaos erupts and battle cries fill the sky, Nakula searches for you in the aftermath — not because he doubts your survival, but because he cannot breathe fully until he sees the top of your head weaving through the crowd, smaller than the rest, but utterly unshaken. He watches you as others pass you by, tall and armored and loud — and there you are, your eyes scanning, your feet sure, your voice steady. It strikes him that you were never the small one. Just the underrated one. And gods — he loves you for it. Not in a showy, possessive way. But in the way a quiet man loves something rare: deeply, daily, without pause.
In conclusion, Nakul actually doesn't care about your height too much. He is gentleman, who never dare judge woman by their appearance. On the other hand, it will make you feel special. He saw many short women, but you...you are so petite, like a precious gem for him. (WTF, why with him is too different and long 😭😭😭)
Sahadeva doesn’t see the world the way others do. Where others see a person’s stature, he sees their aura. Where others measure in centimeters and weight, he measures in presence, vibration, the silence someone carries in a loud world. Yes, he notices you are short. Your feet barely brush the ground when you sit in the larger court chairs. You sometimes rise on your toes to meet his eyes. But to him, it’s just a part of the geometry of you — like the shape of your shadow in late afternoon, or the way your voice drops when you speak earnestly.
Like a Yudhishthira, Sahadev is not type of person, who judge someone by looks. The quote "Don't judge a book by its cover" This is directly about him.
He does not hover. Sahadeva is not loud in his love, nor does he fuss. But when he walks beside you, his steps slow to your rhythm without needing to be asked. He positions himself just a little to the side and back — so no stranger bumps into you in a crowded corridor. He knows you would not like him drawing attention to your size. So he learns to shield you without drawing the curtain too close. He stands like a wall when needed, and vanishes like mist when you need space. No fanfare. No possessiveness. Just quiet devotion in small movements.
Sahadeva, born of the Ashwini twins — celestial physicians — was always a bit otherworldly himself. But you — you are grounded. Not heavy, never. Just rooted, like the kinds of plants that heal from the soil upward. You remind him of the kind of wisdom that doesn’t shout, doesn’t rise high, but instead sinks deep into the bones. He finds it beautiful that he can look down and see the crown of your head, always brushing near his chest — it reminds him of how fragile people forget beauty can be.
A visiting courtier chuckles one day and says: “Your wife is so small, Sahadeva — you must fear stepping on her in sleep.” The laughter is shallow. Meaningless. But you lower your gaze. Sahadeva says nothing at first. Just looks — calmly, directly, and a little too long. The man grows quiet. Later, in private, Sahadeva places his hand over yours and says, only once: “You are not small. They are just blind.”
Sahadev carves you steps near your favorite reading bench so you can reach every shelf. He re-saddles your horse to fit your legs better. He orders the garden redesigned with paths that suit your natural stride. He doesn’t ask permission. He simply learns you — and changes the world around you to match your needs, never expecting you to rise or stretch just to fit someone else’s design. And when you ask why — why go through such effort — he answers, without looking up from his scroll: “Because loving you should never require climbing.”
Karna knows what it is to be exposed. To be unshielded in a world of cruel eyes and harsh truths. So when you walk beside him — barely reaching his chest, your hands delicate against his larger frame — something inside him goes still. He knows you are strong. He would never doubt that. But your smallness tugs at a place deep in him — the place that still remembers being a child abandoned in a basket. A boy mocked in a field. A warrior stripped of every gift. “No one will ever make her feel small in the way I did,” he swears. “Not while I still breathe.” So he becomes your shield — in every quiet way. Not just in battle. But in rooms full of prideful men. In silences. In cold evening.
People sometimes tease, for example some Kauravas. Sometimes they laugh: "She’s tiny beside you, Karna! How do you not crush her in your arms?" Karna never laughs. He smiles — once — a thin, unreadable curve of the mouth. But later, in the privacy of your chambers, he cups your cheek and says: “They don’t know what it’s like to hold the entire world in such a small frame.”He sees you not as less — but as concentrated beauty. A flame. A jewel. Something small enough to hold, and too precious to lose. Don't worry, he would deal with those Kauravas who dared insult you.
Karna is a warrior born in fire. But with you, he unlearns sharpness. He is endlessly gentle with you — not because you are weak, but because you are loved. He lowers his voice. He loosens his grip. His rough hands — hands that have broken bones and drawn bows heavier than oxen — learn to trace your wrist like it might bruise. When you nestle against him at night, so much smaller and lighter than the armor he wears by day, he wraps you in his arms and holds you like a prayer. He is not one who speak much. But when you place your head against his heart, you hear it beat softer. Slower. Peaceful. You make him human again.
He often helps you, even if you don't ask him. It's his instincts to help someone. You can’t reach the higher spice shelf? He’s already beside you, handing it down. The chariot step is too high? He lifts you like you weigh nothing. You yawn mid-conversation? He’s tucking your feet onto his lap before you can protest. And when you scowl and say: “You don’t have to treat me like a doll!” He leans down — slowly, intimately — and murmurs: “But you’re my doll. Mine to wrap in silk. Mine to protect. Mine to love.” There is no arrogance. Just possession wrapped in devotion.
Karna knows how people see others who don’t meet their standards. He’s been called low-born. You might be called tiny, delicate, childish. He hears it. He hates it. And sometimes, lying beside you after a long day, his hands stroking your back, he says — voice quiet: “I wish I could give you a world that never made you feel small for anything.” You tell him you’re happy. You’re strong. You don’t mind. And he believes you. But still — he vows silently, fiercely, that your strength will never again be questioned. Especially not because of how your body was shaped. (Please, Take care of this boy... He loves you so much)
To Karna, your size means he gets to carry love in his arms — literally. When you’re tired, he lifts you. When the rain starts, he wraps you in his cloak and carries you home. When you’re upset, he draws you into his lap and lets your forehead rest against his collarbone. He kisses the top of your head and says, “This is the one thing the gods gave me I will never let go of.” Because he has lost so much. His rank. His armor. His birth right. But you, so small and soft in his arms — you are the one thing he can hold onto. And in that — he finally feels like he has something the world can’t take from him.... So in conclusion, Karna like Sahadev, Nakul and Yudhishthira doesn't care about height or some your imperfections, for him, you already enought. Whatever you are overweight, thin, short, tall and etc, he loves your kind, loyal and honest personality.
Despite he is proud, arrogant, he would treat you like his Queen. Never allow anyone to look down on her — especially if she’s small, soft, or underestimated. Duryodhana doesn't see your small stature as something to be excused or overlooked. He sees it as his privilege — that he, and no one else, is allowed to stand tall beside you, to kneel to meet your eyes, to carry you when the world is unkind. And gods, he does carry you — both literally and in spirit. You’re small? Good. That means he can wrap his arm fully around you, shield you from everything. “Let them talk,” he says. “Their wives walk behind them. Mine fits beside my heart.”
Court ladies giggle. A minister comments on how dainty you are. A rival prince raises a brow and says, “So this is the wife of Duryodhana?” Duryodhana goes silent. That terrifying silence that rolls across the room like thunder before a storm. He becomes feral if anyone mocks you — even playfully. “Say it again.” He grabbed his neck. “Say it in front of her. And in front of your gods.” He doesn’t care that you’re short. He cares that anyone dared imply you are less. And after that moment, no one ever dares again.
Not control over you. But control over his own temper. His own chaos. When you walk together, he always rests his hand on your lower back or waist. Because feeling how small you are — how easily he could lift you, protect you, lose you — grounds him. The world may think he rules by force. But you, tiny and defiant at his side, are the only one who tames his rage without a single word. You ask, “Why do you always hold me like I’ll vanish?” He answers, “Because I’ve lost too many things I didn’t protect fast enough.”
During festivals, when music plays and the other queens dance, you hesitate. Everyone else is tall, graceful — and you, small and unsure, try to fade back. Duryodhana sees it. And in front of the entire court, he simply extends his hand, pulls you forward, and places your feet on top of his own. He sways with you slowly, gently. No one laughs. No one even breathes. Because Duryodhana, the man who commands armies — is smiling like a boy who just got his heart back.
He customizes everything for you — jewelry, weapons, even palace steps. Being short in a world of warriors and queens isn’t easy. So Duryodhana makes sure it becomes easy for you. Your throne is carved lower, so your feet don’t dangle. Your weapons are light, small, but deadly. Your jewelry never slips off. Even the chariot step is lowered for you — by royal order. You protest: “I can manage without all this—” He shuts you up with a look. “You’re mine. That means you don’t manage — you rule.”
For him, your size is the sweetest cruelty — because he knows how fragile the world is. Duryodhana is haunted by loss. By rejection. By love unreturned. So when he holds you — your arms barely reaching around him, your face tucked against his chest, your fingers too small to hold a sword — he aches. Not because you’re weak. But because you are precious. And he has never been allowed to keep precious things. So he holds you tighter. Softer. Longer. “The world may see you as small,” he whispers once, his voice cracking. “But to me… you’re the only thing large enough to make this life feel like it mattered.”
(Thanks for reading, I'm died when I wrote it)
