#possessive behaviour

[imagine-darksiders]

What about Bowser and a preggo Y/N?

And why not? :)

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The frantic sound of bare feet slapping unevenly against cold, unforgiving stone echoes down the hallway, ricocheting off vast, stone walls and filling the oppressive space with the proof of your desperate escape.

Lungs heaving like a set of billows, you try your utmost to focus on throwing one foot out after the other, clutching an arm around your swollen belly in some futile attempt not to jostle the tiny life growing inside it as you lurch down the corridor, wincing with every step that pounds against the unforgiving stone beneath you.

Somewhere far behind you, from deep in the bowels of the fortress, a thunderous roar erupts into the air, chasing you through the doors that you've left swinging in your wake.

“Well-!” you puff down to your stomach, skidding around a corner and lumbering towards another set of enormous, stone doors, “He had to wake up eventually.”

It's always dark in the Dark Lands, but the lack of activity in the twisting hallways clues you in to the fact that night must have settled its oppressive weight over the fortress, driving the koopas into their barracks to sleep. You'd only dared to make this escape attempt hours after their ruler laid his mighty head down and filled his chambers with the deep, rolling melody of snores.

If anything, you're lucky to have made it this far, to have put as much distance between you and your captor as you already have. Any extra progress you happen to make is a delightful bonus.

It's been six months since you fell pregnant, and only two months since you fell into Bowser's clutches. Two gruelling months of trying to hide the growing bump beneath your dress's garlands. Two months of escape attempts, all in an effort to get your unborn child to safety.

So long as you're still here, in the fortress of a tyrant, the baby is at risk.

Every day since Bowser discovered he'd kidnapped a pregnant human, your future offspring seems less of a blessing, and more of a ticking time bomb sitting in your womb.

They're leverage. They could be used to control you.

Worse still, they could be hurt.

At the back of your mind, a tiny voice reasons that your assumptions are, so far, utterly baseless.

Much as it stings your pride to admit, you've yet to come under any fire from Bowser, or his troops. You're only too aware that a Koopa of his stature and power could have done far, far worse than keeping you here under lock and key, although that in itself you consider an unforgivable crime.

In actual fact, if you were questioned under extreme duress, you'd have to concede that he's been infuriatingly accommodating.

Even more-so after he finally used his brain and realised that you weren't diving into the bathroom to throw up because he'd accidentally over-salted the food he brought you.

If you thought he was overbearing in the first few months of your imprisonment, you were rather unpleasantly surprised to discover that he could get a whole Hell of a lot worse...

Another roar shakes through the corridor, powerful enough to nearly send you toppling off your wobbly feet.

There are plenty of aspects about Bowser you find troubling.

His unchecked jealousy, for one. The possessive rigidity of his hand when it's wrapped around your wrist. How he stubbornly deafens himself to reason and rationality if it doesn't align with his interests.

But there's one trait of his – one terrible, frightening quirk in his biology – that turns your blood to ice inside your veins.

It's that very same 'trait' that's chasing you through the endless hallways right now.

You know you only have yourself to blame for drawing him out.

The giant.

You can picture it now – Bowser, laying in his chambers, curling his tail up to feel the open air around it where once a warm body had been occupying the space. He must have woken to find you missing from his side and promptly lost what little self-control he's already barely in possession of.

You can feel it in the way his fortress quivers around all you now, as if afraid of its own king.

You once thought Bowser was already indomitable enough.

Then you saw what he can become, what he's capable of turning into with enough rage and power feeding into his temper.

You've only seen it happen once, and ever since, you've hoped with everything in you that you wouldn't have to see it again.

Yet judging from the way the ground trembles and the distant 'boom,' 'boom,' 'boom,' of gargantuan footfalls begins to draw closer, you fear you're about to be reacquainted with the very worst aspect of the self-proclaimed King.

Swollen and sore, your feet hum with a heat that stings at their soles, but still you push forwards, gasping for air that wheezes too thinly down your throat.

You won't let him take back to that room.

To that... that detestable nest.

Not least because you can't bear the humiliation of being fawned over and coddled for another, mortifying moment. At least before your pregnancy was discovered, you'd been allowed the illusion of privacy.

You were given your own bed chambers, you could sleep without the weight of the King pressing in around you like a slumbering mountain. You had time to yourself, albeit a few hours, where you could be free from Bowser's boundless attention.

Then, of course, you were found out.

Within less than a moment, what little 'freedom' you were so graciously handed was swiftly snatched back.

Much to your chagrin, you were removed from your chambers and moved straight into the King's.

Instead of simply watching you eat your meals with that daft, adoring grin stretching his muzzle, he started trying to feed you directly. The silver spoon always looked so ridiculous clutched inside his meaty paw. His big, bottom lip would stick out childishly each and every time you snatched the spoon away from him and reminded him sternly that you're only pregnant. You're not bed-ridden.

A sudden agony swells in your stomach and ripples outwards along each of your limbs, slowing you to a gasping stagger, as if your tiny passenger has finally decided to take umbrage with your lumbering motions.

Before you can gather your wits, you've opened your mouth to release a strangled cry, nearly falling to your knees as you grasp feverishly at your belly, eyes bulging in their sockets.

So much for only pregnant....

“Ah! Shit!” you hiss, stumbling sideways until your shoulder collides painfully with the solid, stone wall, “Gah! Not now, kid.”

Raking a hand through sweat-soaked hair, you grind your teeth together and suck a hissing breath between them, glancing at the path ahead of you through eyes bleary with tears. Another towering, stone doorway stands in front of you, large and tempting. You have no idea where it leads – this wing of the castle looks much the same as all the others that Bowser has tried to show off to you – but right now, forwards is vastly preferable to backwards.

You have to press on, even though your ligaments feel as though they're being wrung out, even though there's an invisible knife twisting into your side and causing you to cringe away from nothing, you have to press on.

Escape could be just behind those doors. Today could finally be the day you slip between Bowser's grasping fingers and reclaim your freedom. You might see Captain Skip again. She's loyal, oftentimes to a fault. Surely, surely she's still waiting for you on the docks, hatching a daring rescue attempt, knowing her. It's been one of the most troubling prospects that's been on your mind daily since you were first brought here. To see Skip storm Bowser's fortress with her crew, only to be cut down by the vastly superior numbers of troops heaving behind the walls.

You sailed across vast oceans with Skip and those sailors for months. They're good people with families and loved ones waiting for them back home in your kingdom. You'd do anything to spare them the fate that awaits them here, even if it means invoking the wrath of Bowser's colossal counterpart by trying to rescue yourself.

Setting your jaw with a firm click of teeth, you suck down a long, noisy breath and shove yourself upright off the wall, tottering forwards on your bare feet until you reach the door and slap both hands around the silver handles.

Shoulders braced, you move to throw the doors open, itching to get to the other side-

'WHAM!'

There isn't enough self-restraint in the galaxy that could have kept the startled yelp from bursting out of your lungs. It's only half a second later that you cram a hand over your mouth, as if to stuff the sound back down into your chest.

A swell of scorching, hot air surges into the corridor behind you, reaching you in a terrifying matter of moments and rolling up the nape of your neck.

Blind terror seizes your mobility away from you and turns your feet to lead.

You're still facing the doorway just in front of you, stiff-necked and bug-eyed with one hand clenched like a vice around the handle.

In the reflection, a huge, distorted shape raises its fiery head.

Eyes of fire blaze hot within the cool, silver surface.

There's something inherently paralysing in realising you've been spotted in a game of cat and mouse. The tendency to freeze overwhelms you for a few, crucial seconds where you hold perfectly still, bound by some misguided hope that if you don't make a single movement, the predator behind you won't be enticed to pounce.

You don't remember how to turn and glance over your shoulder.

You know what you'll find if you look.

You can tell by the crashing bellow that rattles your brain in its skull that you're out of luck. There are no more barriers between you and your pursuer.

You'd moved too slowly...

The walls around you begin to tremble in a fast, unsteady rhythm, and the ground shudders under your feet, and still it feels as though someone has turned a key in your spine and locked your limbs up tight.

It's only when the shadow of two, pointed horns fall upon you and rise up the door that you finally burst back to life.

Kicking off the lead weights attached to your ankles, you tug at the doors with all your might. But stone is heavy. Heavier than you recall it being.

The doors scrape open an inch, and all of a sudden, they're struck from above with the force of a siege machine as something huge smashes into them, wrenching the handles from your grasp and scaring a strangled yelp out of you.

An all-too familiar burst of moist air breathes down on top of your head, billowing at the collar of your night dress. The moisture from his maw mingles horribly with the sweat that trickles down the nape of your neck.

Swallowing thickly, you crank your neck back, shoulders hunched, until your eyes land upon the underside of a mammoth wrist, bedecked with a silver-spiked cuff that glints menacingly when its points catch the meagre firelight.

Attached to the wrist is a mountainous hand sporting its own set of spikes. These however, occur naturally, in the form of terrible, foot-long claws that perch at the end of each monstrous fingers.

The palm is taller than you are, and sits flat against the stone doors, sealing them shut so firmly that nothing short of an explosion could ever hope to shift them.

God... You can hear his almighty chest heaving raggedly overhead, immense lungs straining to pull in enough air just to refill them with the oxygen he'd expelled hunting you down.

It's him.

Bowser, but not quite. A King who has temporarily sacrificed what little brain he possesses to give himself a massive boost in brawn.

Despite the inherent need to see the rest of the titan bearing down upon you, you lower your gaze to the stone at your feet with a shaky gulp and keep your belly pressed to the door, curling around it with a fierce if futile determination to put yourself between the baby and any supposed danger.

As if a few, scant inches of flesh could stop the King from getting to them if he really wanted to.

Regardless of your noble effort, a second paw – equally as enormous as the first - presses urgently in around you. Claws almost as long as your forearm slip around the front of your night dress, and with a hesitant care that you don't notice in the ensuing fright, you're carefully eased away from the doors.

You immediately have something to say about it. Predominantly, “No!”

It hurts you to twist and wriggle, but you do your best to try and slip free of Bowser's fingers as they curl around your legs and torso, leaving your arms and fists free to beat uselessly at the hard, yellow scales on his knuckles. “Put me down!” you spit in an attempt to sound authoritative, dismayed that the crack in your tone belies the effort.

As if in direct defiance of your demand, the monstrous King instead lifts you up, twisting his wrist around slowly until, at last, that massive, protruding maw rises into view, swallowing up the world around you with its inescapable vastness.

Slitted nostrils flare open and closed at a frantic pace, pulling and pushing at the sweat-dampened hair sticking to your forehead. Without skipping a beat, the colossus leans his snout in close, bringing you towards the sharp fangs that are too large for his maw to contain.

Your eyes flash down to them as your pulse starts to thrash, pounding at the walls of your skin as if your heart itself is trying to abandon ship.

Bowser has never hurt you...

Yet...

It's that 'yet' that flashes through your mind as you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself for whatever punishment the King has in mind.

Surely he's reached the end of his fuse. Surely you've pushed him over the edge and he's at last going to do something so terrible, so painful, all of your misgivings about him will be justified.

So it comes as a shock, when, rather than fire or jaws, you feel the soft press of a snout against your cheek.

You'd open your mouth to gasp if it wasn't also being smothered by Bowser's thick, rubbery lips as he begins to snuffle gently at your face, checking you over for injuries...

Secured in his surrounding grasp, you toss your head from left to right, trying to escape the hot breaths that are puffed out across your head. All for nought, of course. The gigantic snout follows your thrashing and gives your mouth a last, hearty sniff before suddenly, it starts to move south, skirting over your dress until it comes to hover just inches from your belly.

Gradually, like the bars of a cage being pried open, his fingers uncurl from around you and he tips his hand back so that you're left laying prone in the cup of his palm, your feet just barely dangling over the edge.

All at once, you freeze in place, your eyes growing wide and round with alarm.

No... Not them... They don't deserve to be punished because of what you did... You'll take his retribution on any other part of your body, if he'll just leave your stomach alone.

“Please,” you whisper, wetting your lips and swallowing the acrid taste that builds on your tongue at the abhorrence of begging for the creature's mercy, “Please, it's not their fault I ran... Don't... don't hurt them... Leave them alone.”

The King gives you a look, then, his blood-red eyes flicking up from your belly to squint at you, brows of flaming orange drawing into a tight, indignant line across his forehead.

Bowser doesn't talk when he's like this. His vocal chords have been twisted and stretched out of shape, but he doesn't need the ability to speak to convey his message quite clearly through expression alone.

He's offended. That you'd... what? Assume that your kidnapper might be angry enough to make you face retribution for your actions?

Hell, the baby's own father had smacked you dizzy for the mere crime of expressing a desire to keep the poor child. How can Bowser think it's such a stretch for you to expect similar from the Koopa who took you captive?

Like a mountain pressing in all around you, the titanic turtle closes the distance between your belly and his nose. For a second, the alarm of having a jaw so large approach the baby growing inside you is enough to make you raise your hands as if you could stop him.

And then, with a care that doesn't at all befit his size, Bowser slowly lets his eyes slip shut and presses the very tip of his snout against your swollen stomach, the barest pressure, the lightest touch, warm and soft and entirely careful, as if he's aware of his size and knows the damage he could inadvertently cause with the tiniest effort.

“What... are you doing?” Bewildered, you can only gape up at him as you blink away the stinging behind your eyelids, brows twisted up in disbelief.

This behaviour is... a far cry from what you'd been expecting after he caught up to you.

Ever so gradually, the King's chest stops rising and falling like a maddened bull, his bristling mane flattens down slightly and his shoulders slump in apparent relief.

After a long, silent minute spent in apprehensive silence, the Koopa peels his eyes open once more and draws his snout away from your stomach, tipping it up towards your face instead.

Heavy-lidded, his smouldering gaze holds yours for some time whilst you busy yourself trying to catch your breath, hating how much your body is already relishing the rest.

Regarding you from beneath softly drooping eyelids, the King's dark pupils expand like apertures. A rumble works its way up from the bottom of his throat, more of an exhale than a growl, though the deepness of it still sends quakes through the hand you're laying in, sending tingles all the way up your spine.

You nearly jump out of your skin when the Koopa abruptly raises his head.

“Ah!” you exclaim as the world around you rocks, though it soon occurs to you that he's only turning himself around, a motion so mundane to him, but for you, standing a fraction of his height, even the most casual movement is dialled up to eleven.

Throwing out an arm, you reflexively grab onto one of his scaly knuckles, though he's quick to curl each finger securely over you once more, tucking you securely against his chest as he plods down the corridor, rattling the overhead chandeliers with every, thunderous step he takes.

It isn't long before the giant Koopa is shouldering his way through the doors to his bed chambers again, which have since become less of a chamber and more of a nest.

The silly sod must have gathered every pillow and blanket available in the castle and plopped them all down in an ever-growing pile at the centre of the room.

The worrier in you can't help but wonder if his koopa troops have been left with enough for themselves.

The King's bed, meanwhile, has been shoved to one side of the room, apparently no longer serving as an adequate resting place. You can barely see a solitary inch of floor beneath the mass of cushions and soft beddings.

This is where you've been holed up for the last month or so...

You can't rightly say you know how long it's been, you stopped counting the days after a while...

Your leaden heart sinks down to the soles of your feet at the sight of the colourful mess welcoming you back once more.

“Home sweet home,” you grumble under your breath.

Issuing a heavy grunt, Bowser drops like a lead weight onto one forearm, watching carefully as he lowers you down into the centre of the cushions and blankets, sliding you from his palm with a wordless croon of contentment.

“You're impossible,” you complain wearily, throwing a sharp glare at the King as he pulls back and settles onto his hands, a pleased smile stretching his maw, “Just how long are you going to keep me in this stupid den?”

Predictably, Bowser ignores your grousing and instead lowers his snout to nose at some of the pillows, those that have escaped from the greater mass, nudging them back towards the centre, towards you.

Rolling your eyes, you lay a hand over your belly and sink back into the nest, feeling the mountain of cushions shift and dip under Bowser's weight as he snuffles around the pile, ensuring everything has been placed back in its correct position before he finally pulls away, sitting back on his bulky haunches and giving the nest a last once-over, bobbing his head in a decisive nod that bounces his mane like fire in the wind.

Lifting his gaze to you once more, he chuffs at you, something firm and strict, drawing his thick, bushy brows into a frown.

The message is clear.

'Stay.'

“Like I'd be able to get anywhere now, even if I wanted to,” you mutter bitterly, wincing at a pulse of pain that rocks across the balls of your feet.

For a moment, Bower's furrowed brow eases apart and he casts a look at your face. You know he must see the weariness settled there, judging by the gentle croon he emits in your direction, bulbous shoulders slumping despondently.

Several times, he casts glances between you and the door, enough that you furrow your brow, tilting your head to one side and wondering why he isn't trying to lay down on the nest himself to resume your previous arrangement, the one you'd had before making a break for it.

At last, with a final groan in your direction, Bowser heaves himself about and hurries from the room as best as his cumbersome legs will allow, his spikes scraping chunks from the door's stony frame as he leaves.

At once, you perk up, staring agog at the open entrance.

Your heart nearly leaps in anticipation, astounded that the possessive koopa has just presented you with yet another chance to escape so soon after he's plopped you back inside his nest.

Thumping footfalls trail swiftly away from the room, but never quite disappear entirely.

You're torn, anxious. Your feet hurt something fierce.

“It can't be that easy...” you murmur aloud.

… Can it?

Despite your body's feverous protest, you grit your teeth and start to drag yourself laboriously across the cushions, inch by tantalising inch, never once taking your eyes off the door.

Sadly, you've only just managed to scoot yourself a few yards closer to the edge by the time you feel those pulse-jumping footfalls approaching the room again.

Heaving a defeated sigh, you slump into the blankets around you, your heart sinking like lead in water as Bowser comes thudding back into his chambers. This time, however, when he pokes his enormous head through the doors, you're taken aback by the sight of a very sleepy Junior dangling by the tail from his father's gentle maw.

“Oh, come now,” you cluck before you can catch your tongue, “You didn't need to wake the poor boy. He's had a busy day.”

Bowser merely huffs while the koopaling in question rubs at his eyes with a pudgy, little fist as his father slowly bends down and deposits him into the bed of pillows at your side.

“You tried to run again, didn't you?” he yawns, wriggling around on his belly until his head is pointed in your direction, blinking lazily up at you.

Grumbling under your breath, you retort, “And nothing to show for it but aching feet...”

“Maybe you outght'a stop runnin' then,” he suggests, and had it been anyone else, you might not have been able to bite back a sharp reply. As it is, Junior... Well. He's not a bad kid. You wouldn't be stuck here in his father's fortress if it weren't for him, of course, but you can't bear grudges against children, especially not those who are the product of their upbringing. You can't imagine Bowser has ever taught him that kidnapping is inherently wrong, after all. It took you many, many years to shake the 'lessons' your own father had tried to instil in you. By that time, you were older and wiser than Junior is now.

In time, he'll learn... You hope.

Before you can offer up a protest, the youngster grabs a fistful of your silk skirts and tugs himself towards you, dropping his round, yellow chin in your lap with a huff.

The bitter expression on your face contrasts the gentle hand you lay upon Junior's head, idly rubbing at the scales between his stubby horns.

“Still,” you add, softer, “At least I got some exercise at last, hmm?”

A soft whuff of air ruffles against your leg, all the response Junior provides before he promptly buries his face into your dress and devolves into an exhausted, clingy lump of koopa.

“Tired?” you hum.

There's a long pause before he huffs out a muffled reply. “No.”

Bowser must have plucked him out of a very good sleep. And, you suppose, it is the middle of the night... You'd have to be heartless to try and remove the boy now...

An almighty presence rumbles at your back, and the bed of pillows shifts as Bowser lowers himself onto his belly, curling his neck and head around to your right whilst his tail coils to your left, enclosing you in a semicircle of living, breathing scales.

Like the flip of a switch, the softer expression you reserve for his son hardens to something stern and unamused as you toss a withering glare up at the giant.

He's peering back at you through heavy-lidded eyes, and to your dismay, his nose is scooting closer and closer over the pillows, pausing every few seconds as if you'll conveniently forget to notice what he's up to. With Junior still settled in your lap, you can't rightly move away.

“Well,” you sigh, blinking over the expanse of the King's snout to meet his gaze, “I suppose you must be very pleased with yourself.”

As is typical when he's like this, the Koopa doesn't reply with words.

Instead, he softly bridges the gap between you both by pressing his doughy nose into your side, forcing you to raise your arm to grant him better access lest it become trapped against your body. Appeased, Bowser lets out a contented rumble, rustling the cushions and blankets underneath you.

Pulling a face, you mutter, “You're lucky your son is here to stop me from moving.”

You can't be certain, but you think you hear the quietest snicker emerge from the koopaling in your lap.

Then again, it could have been nothing but a snore...

#Bowser #Bowser x Reader #mario #super mario bros #Pregnant reader #fluff #mentions of abuse #pregnancy pains #Literally can't be mad at Junior it's impossible #kidnapping #possessive behaviour #giga bowser #human reader

[myfandomprompts]

𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐞 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟕

Warning: Slight explicitness Masterlist (Part 6 - Part 8)

Summary: You find your old habits in the Red Keep, although war times are making your life quite difficult as Aemond possesses the most fire power.

A/N: This story will be spoiler free of the Dance for now on, as I have not read the books.

You woke up with the news. Aemond and Aegon were to fly off to war within the day, to join the army that had been sent in advance to the Riverlands where the Black Queen tried to surround the Crownlands.

So you were up early, having dressed up alone and your feet leading you to the training grounds, an old habit you had while growing up in King's Landing. You would always venture to where Aemond was at the time, eager to see him spar, excelling at him as he grew stronger and fiercer. It had been a pleasure of yours once. 

And today did not disappoint.

At last you saw him, and this for the first time since your arrival from Storm's End, his silver hair flowing around him as he swung his sword at three men he kept yelling at, evidently very upset. You wondered what made him so angry as you watched him strike blow after blow, a way of externalising his anger, you thought. But seeing him like this, chest heaving as he got the upper hand on his opponents, was enticing, and you couldn't help but think about the night you spent with him at Storm’s End.

Since this night, your sleeps have been restless, overcome by dreams of his touch, the sensations he gave your skin, and by the way he made you see stars, only to wake up in your bed alone and feel empty again. You realised that you missed his presence dearly. During those sleepless nights, you had even tried to reproduce what he so easily managed to do to you back in the stormy chambers, but it wasn't enough. He was. So you grew more frustrated as the days passed, unable to focus on a mere task. And now he was there.

From your position on the balcony above the training ground, you thought yourself far enough not to draw attention to you, but you ended up being quite wrong.

Aemond, like attracted to something he couldn't see, had raised his gaze up toward you and froze on the spot for a while, giving one of his opponent’s the opportunity to strike. Aemond managed to block the blow swiftly at the last moment and send the man on the ground with a grunt.

You swallowed nervously as you now saw him throw his sword away and take great strides toward you, locking his eye with yours as he reached the stairs. Seconds after that, he was facing you, his gaze so murderous that you felt forced to take a few steps back. 

He came very close to your body as murmurs started to rise from the fighting pit at the Prince's sudden departure. Now inches from you, his wide eye frantically searching yours, your throat felt dry, unable to say a single word.

"I've been looking for you, my Lady. Sent for you. But no responses," he said, tone dangerously low. "Do you find it funny in some way? Hiding from me like you did?"

You found this unfair. Not being able to see him was not entirely your fault, as you did go to your usual places around the castle, without mentioning your father's refusal and the fact that Aemond was rather busy in meetings and war preparation. But you were certainly not ready to say that to him, as his body currently screamed for violence, his breathing still heavy from his fight.

"I did not know where to find you, my Prince," you lied. "And no urgency led me to seek an audience with you of late," you managed to say without a flicker in your voice.

This was less of a lie, but you couldn't exactly reveal that you were aching for his presence every single day you walked on this earth. And most concerningly, every single night.

Aemond inhaled sharply at your answer. It was like you had slapped him, and you had no choice but to stand your ground as he took a step closer.

"And what of my urgency? Are you telling me that you are indifferent to it?" he whispered, his breath on your cheek.

Flashes of him between your parted legs and your own failed attempts during your lonely nights came through your mind and you closed your eyes briefly to chase the image. He didn't miss the shiver that roamed your entire body and when you opened your eyes again, you saw his devilish grin appear.

"Ah... Here we are," he said mischievously, and you were sure that something in your eyes shifted, the sign of both your shame and desire.

You sensed a presence near you and you remembered that you were not alone. Two nobles had walked past you on the balcony, glaring at the both of you. Aemond seemed to remember himself as well as he reluctantly put distance between you, waited for them to disappear and gently pushed at your waist.

"Walk with me," he commanded, looking around at the crowd below in the training ground as if he desired nothing but to annihilate all of them.

So you followed, walking side by side at a respectful distance until you reached the gardens at the seaside. The walk was silent, Aemond looking straight ahead, tensed, and you felt compelled to talk, at least to ease the evident tension.

"I've visited Helaena recently, and the children," you announced. "They grew up fast, I even found them to be looking up to their father as they demanded his attention quite sweetly."

At this moment you thought about telling him the reasons you had left all of these months ago to Dragonstone, on false pretences, that now you believed him. You wanted to apologise about not trusting him, in not thinking the twins weren't his, and that it was why you had abandoned him. But you found it unwise at the moment, watching his jaw clench at the mention of Aegon.

"Am I to understand that you saw my brother of late?" he asked.

"Yes I did," you replied, happy to make him say something, anything. "He even showed interest in my stay in the Storm's Lands."

You didn't know why you would say that to him but it seemed to have an unexpected effect.

"I don't want you to be near Aegon again," he deadpanned.

"I beg your pardon? I can't possibly promise you th-"

"Since he became King, he tends to be rather discourteous and forgets himself easily. Even more so than before. It would be unfortunate if I was to be labelled a Kingslayer as well as a Kinslayer."

At this moment you understood that he had chosen to own it. The death of Lucerys. Even though you knew of the guilt he had confessed to you at Storm’s End, here in King's Landing, this incident was viewed as the inevitable consequences of Aemond's short temper and cause of the ongoing conflict. The realisation made you pity him. You never imagined how much Aemond was concealing to the court, to his family.

But for the moment, you sent frantic looks around you, concerned at anyone who could have heard him.

"Aemond! Don't say things like that!" you scolded, glancing around as you entered a more secluded area, and you were surprised to discover an amused look on his face, apparently finding your panicked state quite funny.

"Always so careful," his smile grew wider as he pulled you further into the ivy-covered ruins you were in and before you knew it, his lips had crashed on yours, one hand cupping your cheek and the other on your waist, the kiss surprisingly soft considering the many moods he demonstrated since he left the training grounds.

You put your hands on his chest as you gasped for air, looking up at him.

"We shouldn't do that... Not right before you are to leave me, flying straight into battle." You gave him a desperate look. He only sighed and started to play with your necklace.

"It'll only be for several hours," he told you. "Vhagar is the mightiest dragon there is, I will be back before you know it."

"But I'll still worry. This is only the beginning and none of us has seen war yet. So many things can go wrong and I cannot stand the thought of you not coming back," you admitted, unsure of why you were so honest at this moment. You felt one of his fingers graze your cheek.

"Then trust me. Have faith in Vhagar, have faith in me," he said with watchful eyes. "No harm will come to me as I promised no harm will come to you."

You nodded weakly, wanting so dearly to believe him as he put his forehead against yours softly.

"And I find your worry rather appealing my Lady," he continued, amusement filling his voice again. "Is it that you are so enthralled with me that you don't want me to leave your side?" he said jokingly, but you didn't enjoy it as much as him, images of Cassandra flashing through your mind, the woman that ought to be at his side one day.

"Do not jest about that Aemond please," you answered, but he was half listening, taking hold of your hips and bringing you closer in a swift movement.

"And as for this..." he said before pulling you into a kiss once more, his hand taking hold of your chin softly. "I would do it at any moment, even if I'm flying into battle, as you put it."

His confidence made you forget the thought of Cassandra and you were soon lost in his gaze, the lilac of his eye casting a sort of longing you’ve never seen in Aemond before. But the moment passed as he kissed your forehead in goodbyes and turned away, watching him leave the gardens, believing that it was not, indeed, the last time you saw him.

You spent the afternoon between the library and your father's office, until you decided that you should do something about the stress your body was suffering from. Vhagar and Sunfyre had gone since noon, and dread was now your constant companion. So you decided to visit someone who would share your anguish, and went to Helaena's.

On your way there, you heard muffled crying coming from another corridor. Following the noise, you found a boy, no more than ten years of age, crouching on the floor, head in his hand, hiccups escaping him as he cried.

"There my child, why are you crying?" you said as you extended your hand to his shoulder tenderly, making him look up at you.

"It's- my doll," he stuttered through sobs. "Another boy hid it because he thought it was funny, and when I went to look for it I-, I got lost."

"What is your name?" you asked, smiling sweetly at him. He reminded you of your brother, even if he seemed much younger than him.

"Hugo," he replied. "I am Hugo Vance of Atranta."

"Well Hugo, do not worry, I've lived here most of my life and I know my way around better than the maids. We will find your doll and you'll be returning to your family in no time, agreed?"

Your warm smile seems to soothe him as he looked at you like you were the saviour he was looking for. He nodded, stood up and took your hand as you led him through a well-known hiding place where you used to hide Aegon's belongings with Aemond when he was insufferable to him as a child. You were sure that the hiding spot was still quite popular among the next generation.

And you were right. The doll was found and Hugo, in his happiness, talked all the way to the guest wing where he resided. He thanked you and gave you a warm goodbye before disappearing.

Thanks to him, you had managed to take Aemond off your mind, but it came back quickly as you walked towards the Queen's apartments once again, only to find them quite crowded.

Helaena welcomed you warmly, happy to see you, while intendants and maids were faring around the room, the twins playing with the nurses on the ground. You went to sit next to your friend to greet her, only then noticing the Dowager Queen, Alicent Hightower, looking out of the window, clearly anxious and waiting for her sons to return. You tried not to acknowledge her as the intendants kept bothering her with matters you had no interest in, staying near Helaena the whole time and attempting to escape the uneasiness you both felt considering the circumstances. It worked quite well until you felt the presence of the older Queen coming to sit across from you.

During your childhood, Queen Alicent seemed quite happy with the friendship you had with her children, surely content that they were spending time with others rather than with Rhaenyra's children. But it has been years since she smiled at you, her newly found religious faith and duties making her more and more distant. And now you felt troubled as she gave you side glances that you found it difficult to ignore.

"Do you pray, Lady Y/N?" she asked you, surprisingly taking interest in you.

"I do your Grace. Especially now," you answered simply.

"It is a hard time indeed, my sons are out there fighting, and all that we women can do is pray for their safe return and hope that what we have accomplished is enough," she said religiously. "Is it not quite unfair to be limited by our position when we surely could do much more?"

You nodded, rather agreeing with her, but staying silent before the Queen's strong gaze, however, until an intendant came and requested her attention.

"Your Grace, we have received the list of items requested by Lord Baratheon, regarding the wedding of his daughter to Prince Aemond." he said, presenting a piece of parchment. "You are asked to review it before we may begin preparation soon."

Alicent sighed and took the paper, but you didn't miss the way she glanced at you, analysing your reaction. You let nothing appear as your heart began to beat faster in your chest.

Soon, Aemond will be married to a pretty black-haired girl, and there was nothing you could do about it, more than you already had against your own accord in fact. The thought made you so infuriated that at this moment you feared the Queen would see, but nothing happened.

You wondered if she had got wind of the rumours that emanated from Storm's Land about you and her son, if she believed them. But you said nothing else of all of the afternoon, avoiding the Queen's gaze before retiring to your chambers for the night, more lost at your feelings than you thought you would ever be.

Whatever feelings you were harbouring for him, for the man who would soon marry to a woman who will give him sons, they were meaningless. You would not stand to be the girl who was infatuated with a married man, to your childhood friend, you owed it to the realm. However, the pain you felt in your heart at the realisation told you that you were incapable to suppress those feelings any more, you were in too deep, years of affections now shifting into more and hitting you like waves. Escaping, like you did all of those months ago with Dragonstone, would not work. Nothing would work. So you were doomed to suffer in silence, and keep your head high as you would watch him being pulled away from you.

It was the next day, after an agitated night filled with dreams of Aemond falling in battle that you learned of his return.

You were having tea with other ladies of the court when your father entered and informed you of the dragons' return. You stood up immediately in relief and excitement but the tensed feature of your lord father made you stop: Aegon had been injured, and was now under the close care of his family and the maesters. It appeared that the Greens' army had been victorious, however, but all that mattered to you is the relief you felt at their return.

But you didn't see Aemond for another whole day, only hearing rumours of Aegon being out of danger as he slowly recovered, but you grew more frustrated as no new information reached you. You didn't even have the details of his predicament, only that he could not make any public appearances of yet.

Another day passed, and you became more upset, unable to admit to yourself why. Aemond surely was not prevented from making public appearances, and yet he was nowhere to be seen.

One night you saw Vhagar flying around the castle briefly and disappearing behind a cliff along the coast. You wondered if Aemond was with her at that moment. It didn't soothe you in the slightest.

On the third day, you heard that a feast was to be held, in honour of the recent victory in the Riverlands and to the renewed health of the King. You were apprehensive for the festivities to take place.

"If I may, my Lady!"

You were on your way to the Weirwood Tree when you heard someone call you. When you turned you saw a young man walking toward you, tall, black-haired and green-eyed. He was easy on the eyes, you thought as he levelled with you in the corridor.

"My name is Addam, Addam Vance," he said as he bowed slightly. "I am glad to finally meet you, as I heard much about you. I believe you have met my brother."

You stayed silent, taken aback by the sudden encounter.

"Hugo," he continued as you said nothing. "You helped him find his doll?" he smiled.

"Oh yes! My apologies." You now saw the resemblance between the two brothers and were relieved that the one before you did not take your silence as ill-mannered. "He is a sweet boy, I could not have let him in this state," you assured warmly.

"Of course, I did not doubt your kind character when he told me that "a beautiful nice maiden" had helped him during my absence," he said with a grin. You felt your cheeks warm up a little at that. He kept on.

"My apologies but, even as I know of your virtues, I do not know your name," he said kindly.

"Oh, I am Y/N, Y/N of House Lydden," you bowed gracefully as you introduced yourself, and he stared at you, not missing a beat of your movement. When you straightened up again, you were curious.

"You said you were absent. Were you in the Riverlands perhaps?" you asked, titling your head to the side.

"I was, my Lady. My father in his loyalty and that of my House, came to fight for the King, and so did I. We've only just returned this morning after days of march."

"By the gods you must be exhausted!' you exclaimed. "I am glad you returned unharmed, my Lord. I'm sure you are looking forward to the victory feast tomorrow as well."

"It will be rewarding for sure, but only a brief distraction, as the war is not over unfortunately. I fear that all of this could have been avoided, but here we are, our only solace is in hoping that all that bloodshed will soon be over." He stated wisely. You smiled, agreeing with him, impressed by his maturity.

Seconds passed where neither of you spoke, only gazing at each other before Addam eventually broke the silence.

"I will leave you be my Lady, as I do not wish to keep you with boring stories of war," he shyly laughed as he took your hand and kissed the back of it. "But I hope to cross your path again soon."

And he left. You did not know what it was, but there was a shift in the atmosphere you did not notice until he was gone. You breathed and resumed your walk, thinking about House Vance.

Aemond finally landed, Vhagar roaring under him as she lowered her wings on the ground.

It has been days since the battle in the Riverlands and yet he did not have a moment of peace. Upon his return and due to Aegon's injury, it was decided that watching the ship movements between the Gullet and King's Landing was of the utmost importance. And because he was the only one able to fly now, he had been sent above the Bay, surveilling the waters and soaring through the sky. The few times he was back in the Red Keep, it was only for his mother to drown him under matters he did not care about, her worried state always growing more and more now that Aegon was injured. As much as he liked his mother and the war councils, he wished that he could all send them to hell and do as he liked, as he was the only one that could, in his mind, do what it takes to win this war, the only one capable.

But Aemond understood the meaning of duty, and like his mother, understood that he was to do his best to protect his family and the realm.

 So he indulged them, even agreeing to this ridiculous marriage arrangement. If ever the Baratheons were stupid enough to stand along the side the Blacks, Aemond would have burned Storm's End right away, and be done with it. But it was not the way his family planned things. Instead he would wed, in exchange for loyalty. If there was one thing Aemond was familiar with, it was sacrifice, having experienced it first hand when he was ten. But as more time passed, the more he told himself that this marriage was the last thing he wanted. 

Because it would mean that he could not have you completely.

-0- Part 8

@let-love-bleeds-red @crazylokonugget @jeyramarie @ephemeralninon @mrswhitethornbelikov @dudfahsn @missusnora @queenofterrasen418 @honeytrapsblogp-graham @heathclifftragedyy @discowizard88 @ivartheblessed @xceafh @bubbletae7 @omgkatherine97 @tzipora-art @signyvenetia

#saemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond kinslayer #aemond x oc #aemond x female original character #aemond x original character #aemond x you #house targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond #vhagar #possessive behaviour #ywawm

[obsessiveragdoll]

Just want a possessive sweetheart to make me stay at home where I’m safe from the outside work - make me quit my job and depend entirely on you.

The world is a scary place and I’m rather fragile - I need you to keep me safe 🥺❤️

Bonus points if you kidnapped me first 🥰

#yandere #darlingcore #irl yandere #my dependant personality go brrrrr #irlyandere #actually yandere #yandere community #yandere thoughts #yandere vent #possessive behaviour #possesive love #actually obsessive #obsessive love

[herzgeist-writes]

Hii! I hope I'm not bother you but I just wanted to tell you that your friend hirsheyskisses suggested me to check your page and I love it! I'm a huge Law fan and i really love how you write about him! I find it so canon like 🥺✨️

If you don't mind i have a request for you, but only if you have time and if you're not already working on other things of course!

Pairing: Law x fem!reader | Word count: 3.2k | Warnings: suggestive, slightly possessive Law, a hint of angst

Synopsis: After the Heart Pirates met up with the Straw Hats, the journey once more embarks, roaming the wonderous lands of Wano Kuni. The nights however grow colder from each day passing and the two joined forced decided to take rest at an onsen they happend to cross in the majestic mountains surrounding the flower capital. You decided to let yourself go and enjoy a relaxing evening in the hot springs. Turns out your ally, the Surgeon, had the same idea and 'vaguely' shows his interest in you.

A/N: A little 'from fluff to spice' OneShot for dear Kurage to enjoy! Thank you for your request, that was a delight to write! Really hope you like it ఌ

Dividers by cafekitsune ~

You sneeze. The cold of night got the better of you. Shivering, you rub your arms in attempt to keep yourself warm, but in vain. Usopp walks up beside you and tilts his head in concern: "Woah there! Want my jacket? You don't look so good." - "Thanks Usopp, I'm go-" Another sneeze interrupts you mid-sentence, leaving you disgruntled.

The curly hair hands over a tissue to you, giving you an ecouraging pat on your back. It helps for perhaps five minutes, until you hear Trafalgar call out to the group, that the next upcoming village is two hours footwalk in distance.

Completely knackered, your shoulders drop to that annoucement and you stop in place to take a breather. The others walk the path without noticing your backlash, growing smaller the more further they go. Yet only one person realises your absence, Sanji.

Practically running back to you, he shows his overdramatic worry for your fatigue: "(Y/n) my sweet! Are you alright?" As a reply, you smile meakly at him, thanking him for his kindness. Offering his arm for support, you gladly hook yours onto it.

After you catch up with everyone again, the man leading the group at front, gazes at you over his shoulder. Law, it appears, isn't very pleased with how the cook snuggles up against you, obviously courting you and boasting with his chivalry. Why does the sudden urge to swap that delusional blonde's heart with a slimey green old toad grow so vacant in his mind? Well, the Surgeon was rather close in doing so, but decided not to in the end.

"Ow guys! Check this out!", Franky calls and points at a wooden pathfinder, indicating a way up the mountains. Usopp reads out aloud: "To the Glowing Petal Onsen." Doesn't that sound inviting? A break in a warm and relaxing onsen would be a perfect opportunity to regain your energy again.

Luckily, it's only a thirty minutes hike up the makeshift cobblestone stairs. "Oi Tora-o, we've been marching for hours now. Wouldn't it be better to take a break and continue tomorrow morning?", Sanji turns to Law, still aiding you to walk steadily on your wobbly legs. The aloof man recognises the weariness in everybody, especially you, and agrees to the cook's term.

"We'll head to the capital, first thing in the morning. Let's rest to gather our strength.", your ally states, taking the stairs to the mysterious onsen. The others follow suit, including Sanji and you in tow. Tired, you hum with high hopes: "Can't wait to take a warm bath tonight!" - "You deserve it my dear! If only I could prepare a meal for you, I promise I could have made you feel better!"

The man beside you pouts and inches closer to you, helping you step up each uneven level. Wano Kuni is even more breathtaking from this height, a display of majestic mountains, an omnious city glowing in the valley's midst and the stars shining above, adorning the scene graciously.

The higher you go, the colder it gets. Not something you anticipate to say the least, but the onsen shouldn't be all too far away now. Hearing Usopp shout, he waves at you from afar: "Guys! I can see the hot springs! We're almost there!" About to approve is ignition with a content cheer, your knees give in due to a loose cobblestone beneath your feet and you tumble, face foward.

Ready for impact, you squeeze your eyes shut. Though you await pain in the next upcoming second, it doesn't happen to your wonder. Tender hands around your waist hold you in place, for the cook has caught you just in time: "Be careful my love, you're already in bad shape." - "I- thank you, Sanji."

It's the faint blush spreading over your cheeks, that lets him hum in delight, little rose coloured hearts practically visible above his head. You are aware, this man is utterly infatuated with every woman he sees, however you appreciate his courteous manners, yet not in all situations. At times they are driven to excess to your dismay.

Law attends you a few steps further, shooting an uplifted gaze at the blonde next to you: "Don't fall too far behind. I'd rather arrive before sunrise." This tells you he must have witnessed your slip a few moments ago. How embarrassing. Only one long stairway left, you proceed to the greatly awaited warm waters.

At first glance, the establishment insinuates to better leave this place, for the cottage's facade crumbles and peels off and the windows are bleak and damp. The rest however, a garden greets you with a wondrous diversity of flora and a water fountain splashes timidly by the entrance. In it's basin swim a dozen colourful and dazzling koi fish, floating towards you in curiousity, as soon as you walk past their pool.

All of you contemplate the view for a split second, fore you enter the remarkable hut. Following behind Sanji, a hefty grip hinders you mid-way, it's nobody else than the Surgeon, holding onto your wrist. You look up at the tall man. As he speaks, he lets you go: "I told you to wear warmer clothes. Do you even listen when I talk to you, (Y/n)-ya?"

The corners of your mouth tug upwards by hearing a trace of compassion in his voice. It pulls on your heartstrings, to think a haughty supernova like him cares about you. "Perhaps I forgot my jacket on purpose," the words purr out of you, a soft smile grazes your cherry lips as you brush your fingertips over his black lined chest, "to meet my favorite doctor again tonight, one on one."

Too proud to shy away from your silken fingers, gliding over his bare torso, he shudders, defying your appeal, yet futile. Enticed, he watches you walk up to the building. Almost inside, you look over your shoulder to enjoy how you achieved the utmost impossible, the Captain of the Heart pirates is flustered, shielding off the red radiance on his face with the brim of his hat.

With you finally gone, Law mutters to himself, shaking his head to your despicable behaviour: "That's what I get for letting my guard down. This woman . ." Don't get him wrong, his heart, just as much as his thoughts are racing, occupied with you and your irritating cuteness. What a nuisance.

The evening phases out calmly. Everyone obtained a room to sleep in and enjoys a relaxing bath in the hot springs at the back, soaking in the marvelous view. In all it's might and glory, the flower capital towers up in the plains below, close yet so far it seems. Lanterns in all colours and sizes enlighten the area around you, unrhythmic flickers of the flames warming up the already gorgeous ambience.

After you washed and wrapped yourself up in a comfortable white towel, you dunk a toe into the steaming water in the stone basin. Slow and steady you sink in and a low sigh escapes you by the hot sensation crawling up your body. Lucky for you, there are no other women visiting the onsen, so you are all by yourself. 

The neighboring springs however are fully settled, reserved for men, quite obvious, as you hear Franky and Usopp bickering for utterly ridiculous reasons: "Oh my god, Franky! Can't you wear something more decent?" - "Watcha talkin' about, this is trendy!"

It tickles you, listening to those oafs. Leaning at the pool's edge to fully induldge the picture underneath, you feel your eyelids growing heavier with each deep inhale, becoming drowsy and completely unwinded. This is where you nod off quietly, your breath calm and even.

Reluctantly, Law puts his hat aside, storing it in a locker and heads over to the washing rooms with a white towel in hand. Grumbling something incohorrently, while scratching the back of his neck, he promptly reconsiders his choice of how to spend his evening very quickly. Recognising Sanji, sitting on one of the bathing stools, he opts to leave immediately, but it's too late. The cook greets him with an indifferent: "Tora-o."

Mirroring the blonde with a condescending: "Black-Leg-ya", Law takes a seat beside him, deftly ignoring the dark aura emitting from the Straw Hat. As if it takes his ultimate focus to clean his hands, the Surgeon fixates on the towel scrubbing his skin, avoiding Sanji at all costs, who stares Trafalgar down unrelentlessly. "If you dare to put your filthy grabbers on my sweet (Y/n), I'll stamp a boot mark on your oblivious male nurse's ass!" - "Can't you see I'm cleaning them at the moment? And dare I say they are capable of far more than just to 'grab'."

Outraged, the cook gets off his seat and towers over Law, who throws a cunning sneer at the now fuming man standing next to him. Thus the doctor speaks: "Listen, not that it should concern you, but if my knowledge about urology doesn't abandon me, you should check out your-" - "Oh go to hell, Tora-o! Just don't touch (Y/n) you creep! That's all I'm saying." Storming out the washrooms, Sanji slams the door shut behind him, leaving the supernova chuckling inwardly in triumph.

One of the oldest tricks in the book for Law. Nobody likes their health issues pointed out, especially men with a certain 'ego'. Finally alone, the Surgeon carries on with the clean up and drops by the hot springs, intending to ease the tension of his sore muscles.

On the way, he meets Franky, with Usopp in tow, apparently both of them are finished with their soak: "Oi Tora-o, you're late to the party." - "I prefer to settle in for the night by myself, Robo-ya." Respecting his space, the two Straw Hats wish him a good night and head off to their rooms. They're not always as troublesome as Law thought them to be, it is refreshing and reassuring to know.

The host, an old lady enters the women's hot springs, checking in on you: "Don't fall asleep on me, dearie! I'm not a trained life guard you know." She jests, snickering while tiding up the area. Torn out of your nap you yawn, assuring her with bashful grin. As the friendly woman leaves again, you stretch and shuffle in place, the ripples of the hot water tickling your skin.

Peace and quiet welcomes the exhausted doctor, inviting him over to the basin. Truly, the sight is mesmerizing, the cold of night visible due to the thick steam wafting over the waters. This wasn't such a bad idea, Law admitted.

Voices from the other side of the wooden fence catch his attention. It's the hostess and you. Interesting. Until he realises, that you're alone again, he hears your sighs of relief and water splashing only meters away from him. You are close.

Trafalgar recalls you saying, or better implying, that you'd like to see your 'favorite doctor' again tonight. One on one. As a matter of fact, he'd be lying, if he wouldn't want to see you on a lovely night like this as well. Hence, his loosend hand hovers before him from his stretched out arm, air whirling underneath his palm. 'Room' uttered in a low manner, follows his bidding and the light blue globe expands.

Back to snoozing, your eyes heavy and fluttered shut, you feel odd for some reason, the air shifts and the water splatters around you. You look up, only to find yourself seated in a different position, but the view is, almost, all the same. The stones of the pool took another shape and there are other plants surrounding the place.

Hold on. Spinning around you see Law standing at the springs edge, with only a white towel hanging loosely from his hips. Utterly dumbfounded you let of a tiny squeak and turn back around, believing this is presumably just a fever dream. Are you actually catching a cold? Your palm slams onto your forehead, trying to approve your thesis, however it could be arguable, if it's a fever or fluster heating you up from within.

Once more you face the other way, only to find yourself caged in from two long arms on each of your sides, propped against the stones. A broad and tattooed chest straight in your face, a deep chuckle emitting from it: "There I thought I'll have to drag your sorry behind to the springs myself. At least you know, what you have to do against an incoming cold, I'm proud of you." - "Spare me your hipocrisy, Trafalgar."

Not able to move, you stare into those steel grey eyes, which narrow at you. If it weren't for you, you'd say there is a hint of fervor hiding in his gaze, but that might only be your wishful thinking. Despite that, his face inches terribly close to yours, contradicting your recent theory. Law huffs in amusement: "I believe you wanted to see me, yet you seem perfectly fine. Want me to reschedule our little one on one?"

"Wasn't it you, who warped me over here? If you ask me, it's YOU who wanted to see me.", you give this tall figure a shove, to grant yourself some space to breathe. In response he hums sheepishly, teasing you to his heart's content. There is no need to counter your sassy backtalk, for Law drowns in your adorable demeanor, fully self assured he is the one calling the shots. He sits beside you, resting an ellbow on the edge of the pool and takes in the picturesque scenery.

You do the same, supporting your head by cupping your cheeks in your palms, on propped up arms. It is hard to stay quiet, the silence enhancing your nervosity, coming to realise who you're seated next to, practically naked. "It's beautiful, isn't it?", you mutter, stuck in your absentmindedness. Looking at you from the side, the corner of his lip turns upwards, hiding his truth from you with a wary 'Indeed'.

Though he doesn't face you, he adores your beauty, as much as he can muster, not wanting to discomfort you by all means. Nonetheless, he curses you and your womanly charms, as he occassionally sees your body unfold in ways he only dares to dream about, and even those are kept at strict limits.

Subtly, he shifts closer to you and his hand glides up your spine, pressing you into his frame. As you turn to him, you are met with a pair of hazed eyes. The water ripples strongly from the forceful pull. "What are you doing?", you question his sudden approach and his gaze switches between your lips and your deep e/c irises: "When the alliance between us ends, all of this . . you and I . . it simply cannot be anymore. But I fear I cannot accept it so easily."

The heart in your chest beats rapidly, competing a marathon. He is close, so much so you can feel his warm breath on your now shivering skin.  Gently, his large hand drifts up and down your back, highly pensive, motioning you to listen to his vulnerable thoughts. Again, he draws you nearer, his cheek nuzzling against yours: "I can't bear the thought of you being with another. Though I . ." Law swallows the upcoming words, uncertain if he should proceed.

He trusts you to the fullest and the emotions you coax out of him are nothing but new and extraordinary to him. Giving it another go, he continues: "Though I cannot call you mine-" Interrupted by your hand on his jaw, your lips brush faintly against his as you straighten yourself to face him. It silences him and his worries, for you understand where he intends to direct this conversation.

"But I am already yours, Law.", you mumble into the kiss, letting your desire guide your hands along his neck and up his damp raven hair. Insecurity lets the man before you tremble, yet slowly but surely confidence grows, now fully comprehending the situation. Hitched breath brings his chest to heave irregularly and a sigh of relief escapes him in between lip locks.

His tongue finds a way through your puckered lips, longing to intensify and deepen your roiling passion for eachother. In a swift motion, you entangle you leg over his thigh, craving his closeness and warmth. Law fails to keep in a needy whimper as you accidentally glide over his arousal, animating you to encourage him further  with your own lustfilled moans and whispers of sweet nothings.

Now straddling his lap, your fingers play with his golden earrings, rattling from the fine touches of your tips. Breaking the fervency, the doctor coos: "We are on mutual terms, if I'm not mistaken. Glad you agree with me." - "A simple 'I love you' will suffice, you arrogant fool . ." His low rumble reverberates through your body, the both of you smile into the kiss, drunk on eachothers love.

And for a moment you freeze up, as he pulls away for a second, staring deeply into your eyes before induldging himself into you again: "I adore you." Those words were barebly audible, setting your heart ablaze. Down and down you go, into the pit of lust and yearning, but the slam of a wooden door makes you shoot up immediately, straightening your posture and hopping off his lap.

If anyone ever witnessed this, they would have told you this could have been straight out of a romance novel. However, the one who actually spectates the scenario before him, can't believe his eyes. "Oh great heavens (Y-Y/n) what are you doi- TORA-O! HANDS OFF MY PRINCESS! You . . you-", it is Sanji, who loses his mind, catching you red handed, or rather red footed, as his leg begins to burn up in a bright red flame, about to attack the Surgeon. Law takes a stand before you, shielding you from the peering gawks of the perverted cook. "Are you blind? Not only my hands, my lips were on her as well. You should get your eyes checked, Black-Leg-ya.", provoking Sanji with his trademark smirk, he prepares his fighting stance, ready to defend any incoming rash assaults.

"I'll grind you to dust!", you hear your fellow Straw Hat yell at your lover. Trafalgar looks over his shoulder and reassures you with a mellow expression: "I apologize, but there is something I must clarify first with this dumbass. We will continue our little 'one on one' session another time, my heart."

The world changes around you, finding yourself in the women's hot springs again. You are overwhelmed by his genuine care and tenderness towards you, seeing those steel orbs soften, as soon as you enter the frame. Love incites your every fibre, hiding your face in your palms and squealing out of sheer disbelief.

Besides you having a heart attack, war breaks lose on the other side of the fence, hearing Sanji throw evil curses at Law, who deftly counters in sarcastic comments and arrogant notes.

What a night. Nonetheless you can't help but ponder, what would have happend if you weren't disturbed by Sanji? Oh what a night this could have been. And perhaps your darling doctor is devoted to continue where you left off?

Better be prepared, the nights in Wano Kuni grow colder with each day passing.

#one piece #one piece law #one piece trafalgar law #law x fem!reader #law x y/n #law x female reader #x reader #fanfiction #fanfic fluff #slightly suggestive #light angst #possessive behaviour #+18 #one piece request #one piece requests #Wano Kuni Nights

[bowiebond]

Between Dusk and Dawn and Dawn and Dusk, You Are Mine | Harringrove | Demon Steve

He’s not even hiding them. His collar loose and open, the hickies trailing down his chest. He’s showing them off to him like he’s supposed to care, and Billy is waiting. Waiting for him to say something.

The blonds temper fires up when there is no reaction at all. Billy hates being ignored more than anything else.

“Why won’t you bring it up?” Billy snapped and Steve slowly dragged his eyes from the playboy magazine to look at the scowling blond. He dipped his gaze back to the busty blonde and smirked. He’d lick her sweet pussy open any day. Especially if she’s married. It makes the pot all that more sweeter.

Billy snatched the magazine from his hands.

“Hey!” He looked up at him, offended, hands out in a ‘what was that for?’ gesture.

“Stop looking at them and look at me!” Billy glared at him with the heat of the seven rings of hell combined. Steve rolled his eyes, flickering them black as he tasted the jealousy and greed in the air. Billy was such a glutton for pleasure and violence. He really was transparent to the demon.

“I apologise, my love, whatever may I do for you?” Steve drawled, his thin, scaly tail slipping from his waistband to sway and curl as he placed his chin in hand. The perfect picture of a bored demon looking to play.

“You can stop licking your lips to my fucking porno mags, to begin with.” Billy tossed it into his drawer and slammed it shut. Steve gave it a longing look, sighing like a lonely maiden. It only made Billy scowl harder, crossing his arms.

“Apologise, but you haven’t exactly attempted to satiate my desires, baby.” Steve dragged his eyes over Billy’s body, fixated on the little red and purple bruises. He wondered if Billy had done that thing where he grabbed his hair and gotten all whimpery over each suck and bite. He wondered if Billy had taken it good or been bratty for his little side piece. He probably moaned when he came, but he wouldn’t have cried. Only Steve made him cry, and nothing made the demon harder than Billy’s fucked out, tear stained face.

A mix of guilt and anger filled the room the longer Steve stared and Steve’s skin buzzed with it, his snake like tongue peeking out to really taste it before it transformed back into his humanoid tongue.

“Why aren’t you angry? It’s pissing me off.”

“Why should I be angry?” Steve tilted his head.

“Because I’m your boyfriend.” Billy hissed and Steve hummed.

“And?”

“I had sex with someone else! I let them fuck me and mark me, and why aren’t you angry?” Billy glowered, hurt bleeding through and Steve watched him carefully.

“Why did you fuck someone else?”

“Because you keep trying to fuck Nancy Wheeler! For your corruption bullshit!” Billy was seething and Steve laughed.

“I’m not gonna fuck her. I’m just opening her up to her sexuality so she’ll fuck someone else easier.” Nancy was too much of a classic to bother with. A demon got bored with the same old ‘virgin good girl’ after centuries of it.

“You still flirt with her and touch her and—“

“What is this really about, Billy?”

“It’s about monogamy, Steve!” Billy burst out and Steve was up on his knees in a flash, shoving the blond down into the pillows.

“Oh, you don’t care about monogamy!” Steve snapped back with a scowl before his lips twitched into a mirthful smile. “You’re just upset I’m not jealous over your little rendezvous.”

Billy was breathing in deeply, trying to stifle the rage that flushed his skin as Steve leaned in closer, picking at the collar of his shirt idly.

“Do whatever you want. Fuck whoever you please.” Steve shrugged, his expression showing not an ounce of care or discomfort at the idea.

“Because everytime…” His voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned in close, breathing in the scent of Billy’s aftershave with a flutter of his lashes. “…you come back to me,” He grinned, slow and devilishly. “I will feast on your guilt.”Billy’s breath shuddered in as he shivered, Steve nosing at his pulse. “On your sins.”

He pressed a delicate kiss to his hot skin.

“And I will thrive regardless, whether you indulge in me or other.” Steve nipped at the sensitive skin and Billy gasped softly, tilting his head back ever so slightly as the heat of his anger pooled into his gut to transform into arousal. Just as fiery and impulsive as his rage.

“You will always come back, Billy.” Steve said knowingly, smugly, and Billy clenched his teeth at the urge to refute. He knew it would be a lie though, and the demon could sniff them out like a blood hound. “And you will always be…mine.”

He closed his lips over a hickey and sucked hard, the tender skin darkening further as Billy whimpered, hands finding their way into his hair as he did it again. And again. And again.

He could feel Billy’s hard cock pressing against his hip and he laughed softly. He drank in the scent of arousal, desperate and heavy in the air. So thick he could choke on it. Steve pulled his lips apart to sink his teeth into the thick muscle of his neck, Billy whining loudly, voice cracking around it.

“You’re right. You are my boyfriend.” Steve breathed against his skin, dragging his tongue along the metallic taste of blood that beaded from the teeth marks. “I know how to pleasure you better than any mortal man could. So have your vengeful escapades if it makes you feel better.” He grabbed his chin and curled his tail around the blonds thigh, squeezing it tightly as his black eyes returned to brown.

“From the dusk to the dawn and from the dawn to the dusk, you are mine. Even when another touches you, you will still be mine. We made a deal, Billy, and when you die…I will own you entirely, for eternity. You. Are. Mine.”

Billy’s breath hitched and shuddered out with a moan as Steve sealed his lips over his.

The deal had begun with a kiss, and it would end with one. No matter what Billy did, he could never drive him away. Billy was his, since the first kiss, to the last kiss, and beyond the presence of his living body.

His soul was his, and his alone.

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #demon steve au #demon au #minor lemon #tw cheating #possessive behaviour #:) #demon!steve

[dapperstein]

Taming The Wolf - Part 3

Words: ~2200

A/N: Also on AO3 under the alias rainy_mind_games. Warnings for possessive behaviour, accidental self-injury.

If there was any one thing about Chase that bothered Marvin... well he hadn't figured it out yet.

Despite his puppy's many attempts at getting his new collar off, and the lack of regard for both their safety if it did happen to become unstuck, Marvin still loved him, wolf and all.

The wolf of which was now trapped behind the enchantment he'd placed on the collar, still existing as part of his wonderful boyfriend, but in a much more tame form that he could call out, interact with, or tone down whenever he pleased.

Chase was obviously not sure what all the fuss was about whenever he touched the collar--to have Marvin basically jump on him and shout was an entirely new experience that he didn't particularly enjoy.

And it wasn't that he was even getting more attention than usual for Marvin to notice every time he so much as laid a finger against the leather, but he did once again, just to test it.

Marvin had gone outside. He was gardening, while at the same time strengthening his magical abilities.

The plants he needed for dinner grew before his very eyes, a squash and some carrots, and some beets for extra colour. Chase could make a nice soup with these, he thought, just before his throat constricted and he ran back inside.

"Don't touch it!" he called for what felt like the hundredth time, carrying the vegetables to the sink to use for later.

Soft footsteps followed him, and arms wrapped around his chest from behind. "Don't touch what?" Chase asked innocently, then pinched Marvin's collarbone. "You didn't even look at me that time, what the hell did you do?"

Marvin frowned and rubbed at the tender spot as he turned. "I told you not to worry about that, and not to touch the collar. Those are the only two things I'm asking of you, are they so hard?"

His frown deepened as Chase's expression hardened into a glare. "Why must you be so difficult?"

"I think I'm allowed to be difficult. I'm the one that saved you, aren't I?"

"Don't you dare use that against me," Chase hissed. "I didn't ask for any of this!" Once again he lifted his hand to the collar buckle and pulled. "Get this thing off of me!"

The magician swallowed against the blockage in his throat and wrestled Chase's hand away from his body.

It took a minute but when the dust finally settled, Marvin was the one in a bind, arm behind his back while Chase held him against the counter. Face to face, Chase took a good look at him.

Aside from the tiredness he'd noticed on his face this morning, there was a magic crazed look in those deep as an ocean eyes as well. All those nights figuring out whatever spells Chase knew he'd been working on had caught up to him. But he couldn't hold that against him. Right?

Sighing, he let go of Marvin and sunk into one of the chairs at their small breakfast table.

"God dammit, Marv."

Marvin made his way to the chair across from him and sat with his hands out for Chase to grab onto. For a moment Chase sat there, dumbfounded, before making the effort to close the gap, joining their hands.

He looked up into Marvin's eyes and, fuck, that was a bad idea.

A rainbow of colours and more swirled in his once solid midnight irises and Chase didn't know what to make of it. He followed the red around before it morphed into orange, then yellow, and so on.

"You're not actually mad at me, are you, Chase?" Marvin mumbled, earning an automatic shake of his boyfriend's head. "Good... now, will you please be a good boy and stop trying to remove your collar, our safety? You understand the concept of safety. It's why you hid your secret from me in the first place."

Was it? Chase recalled thinking only of Marvin's safety for the past several moons, but he didn't remember why.

Marvin could handle himself, he didn't need Chase to protect him, which is why he gave him this wonderful gift. It all made sense. It all made... perfect sense.

If he focused he could almost feel the anger of the wolf wanting to break free, but Marvin was calling his attention back and he's known and trusted Marvin so much longer.

He looked back into his eyes, back to that same midnight colour he'd grown to love.

Dark as the skies at the deepest hour of night, and that deepness was as deep as his love for Marvin went. When he brought his hand up to the collar again, it wasn't to try and undo it, but to touch it gently, lovingly. Marvin smiled.

A few hours later, Chase was cutting the veggies Marvin had picked for dinner. He watched him outside of the window, shooting spells into the sky like fireworks. Man, he missed fireworks.

The spell of hypnosis had worn off and he was angrier than ever, yet there was still that underlying feeling of wrongness when the wolf's anger didn't match the intensity. Of course, the worry lessened now he felt it at all once again, but that didn't null the fact that his wolf could always outdo his human sized anger any day of the week.

Especially when it came to Marvin.

It seemed his magician boyfriend was a special case for the magical wolf inside him, able to decrease his mood just by Chase and Marvin being in the same room.

Chase recalled something about a dog's intuition about a person being unusually correct for something non-magical, so he could only assume that intuition was amplified in something like a were-creature.

Yet, sadly, he hadn't listened before, and now he was stuck, practically chained like a dog.

There had to be some way to get out of this collar without alerting Marvin.

Maybe without touching it? No, because the buckle was at the back and even if he turned it, it'd take two hands to pry the stuck metal open.

That only left one option: cutting it. So long as the spell enchanting it reacted only to human contact, then a pair of scissors would cut the gift off nicely, surely.

It just so happened he had a pair of kitchen shears right next to him. Now if he could only slink away without getting Marvin's guard up...

Marvin looked at the window and smiled after showing off a particularly difficult spell he'd been trying to master. He watched Chase throw up his hands in a double thumbs up motion, before motioning the sign for toilet right after.

"Okay!" Marvin shouted, earning a grin and another thumbs up as he headed off.

The scissors were in his pocket and he had a locked door to hide behind. If this didn't work, then Chase had no ideas left. If this didn't work, he might not be able to come up with more, either, depending on Marvin's state of mind.

He stared into the mirror with the scissors in his hand, and placed the blades against the leather.

No immediate busting down of doors was heard. Was he actually safe?

He tightened his grip and made the first dent. A small sound as the leather tore apart, before he reached a snag.

He hadn't accounted enough cutting space for the other adjustment holes, and cut right into one of the little metal circles, getting the scissors successfully stuck and without being able to touch the collar, trying to pry them back open was useless.

Just as he was about to give up and do it, a knock sounded on the door.

"Chase? You're taking an awful long time in there, love. Is everything okay?" Marvin called.

His hand slipped and the scissors were upside down against his neck, stuck in the metal button, the tip of the other side pressing into his sensitive skin.

"Fine," he tried to respond, but yelped when the scissors all but cut his artery open.

Immediately, magic surrounded his side of the locked doorknob and unlocked it before Marvin swept in, watching as Chase backed away. Blood trailed in several conjoined rivers down the side of his neck.

They stood in silence for a solid 30 seconds before Chase collapsed into a sobbing heap on the bathroom floor, just making the scissors cut into him more.

"Baby..." Marvin cooed, sliding down to the floor next to him and making the scissors vanish.

That still left the triplet trails of blood draining from a spot directly behind the collar, but he chose to ignore it for the time being--as long as Chase wasn't actively bleeding to death.

"I'm... sorry," Chase hiccupped between sobs. "It's all my fault, I'm a screw-up."

Marvin's silence permeated the air in a suffocating way, until finally, "You're not a screw-up, Chase. It's my fault."

Another loud hiccup, and Chase could feel through his distress the wolf's anger kicking back up. He buried his head in his knees and sobbed, allowing Marvin to put an arm around him and rock him.

As he calmed down within a few minutes, Marvin's words still rang in his head. He sniffed and wiped his nose with some toilet paper he'd grabbed. His neck felt stiff.

"How do you figure it's your fault?" he asked quietly. Marvin hummed but let him continue. "It's not like you bit me. Or gave me off to you know who. My own bad decisions led me to those places. You really did save me, Marv."

The wolf settled as a pit in the bottom of Chase's heart.

At the same time, his stomach twisted as he watched Marvin slowly turn to him from the corner of his eye.

"You're right..." he muttered, tilting his head and looking at Chase with those deep, dark eyes. Chase swallowed, muscles tensing like he was about to bolt. "And really, you should thank me again for saving you just now."

"Thank you, truly," Chase spoke quickly, teeth clenched. "And I'm sorry I tried to take off the collar again."

Marvin grinned. "Well, that one's a much unexpected surprise." He leaned in closer. "I'm afraid I can't accept it, though. You've tried too many times today to ruin my gift of freedom to you. That's not really fair, is it?"

"Freedom?" Chase laughed without thinking, pulling away to get to his feet. He backed away again, toward the door this time. "Like hell you know what that's even like."

"Pray tell?" Marvin stayed seated on the floor, as if he was waiting for Chase to rejoin him.

"I'm not falling for another one of your fucking traps," Chase shot back.

And he meant it. Avoiding all eye contact, and not answering a single question Marvin was shooting at him that would give him power like some fae wannabe.

He spun to get out the door, feeling the blood drip, drip, drip down his chest. Marvin's footsteps sounded behind him, appearing just in time to catch him before he fell facefirst down the stairs. He cradled him, even as Chase fought to get away, suddenly ten times stronger than before.

"Let me go, you asshole!"

"Asshole, huh?"

"You- you moron!"

"Keep 'em coming, I'm patient."

"Freak!"

"Ooh, that stings a bit, but the answer is still no. I've given you way too many chances today, no more." Chase froze in his fight but didn't dare look Marvin in the eye. His breath caught in his throat. "I have to clean you up anyway, so you really want to find out what happens if you were to take this off?"

He tugged at the collar gently from the back, and Chase went limp, just letting him.

Now he wasn't so sure about all of this; his rebellions were really just him getting his frustrations out, but Marvin was spiteful. He knew whatever happened, he was not going to like.

Marvin pulled him back up by his arm and dragged him back to the bathroom by the ring of his collar.

Pushing his shoulders down to make him sit on the edge of the tub, he grabbed a washcloth and started soaking it in the tap, before reaching toward Chase's neck and twisting the collar buckle to the front.

Chase watched him hold his breath before he started to undo it; he wanted to fight, but he'd already fought way too much for this.

The leather loop fell out of the metal bit holding the collar closed and Chase felt a rush of adrenaline course through his veins as the still-cool leather left his skin. The adrenaline made him feel warm, like a fresh transformation, and he stood, realising, all of a sudden, he was towering over Marvin.

Marvin let out his breath, a fine purplish mist escaping his mouth with the exhale, and Chase had no choice but to breathe it in, falling backward into the tub dizzily.

As the world spun around Chase, Marvin got to cleaning him up. There was no fur growing in just yet, but it wouldn't be long, and he wanted to get the collar back on before that happened, or before Chase regained himself. Or worse, the wolf did.

#trickshot #ego shipping #egoshipping #dapperstein writes #possessive behaviour #werewolf au #wrote this in one fell swoop when i was super tired this morning lol mind any mistakes if you see them :]

[bespectacled-bookwyrm]

It is the nature of dragons to be possessive. He’s had to learn that quickly when Iris became Champion. Therefore, Grimsley isn’t too surprised by how clingy Reshiram - currently taking on the form of a white ring - is towards Colress. But now it’s getting worrisome.

Colress used to wear the ring occasionally, hidden beneath his gloves. Nowadays, he doesn’t even remove it to sleep. Not long ago, Grimsley had held the hand adorned by the ring. Reshiram must've taken offence, because he's still treating the burn that tears across his palm.

Apparently, they don’t need to physically speak to communicate. It’s probably why Colress has become more closed off; to a casual observer, it looks like he’s daydreaming as he runs his thumb along the smooth gem that serves as the ring's centrepiece. But Grimsley knows. His lover is deep in conversation with the White Dragon. So deep, that he’s neglecting himself.

He brings it up with N, whose ring serves as the counterpart to Colress’. The young man doesn’t seem too worried, so that’s good, right?

‘They should settle down soon.' N reassures, gently touching his black ring. It emits a faint, almost happy, hum at the contact.

Grimsley isn’t entirely convinced - Colress is looking worse and worse each day, and Reshiram's possessiveness is to the point where he can’t even touch Colress without the ring heating up in warning - but he trusts N to know what he’s talking about; after all, he is Zekrom's chosen.

Somehow, he’s managed to embrace Colress without Reshiram's objection. The scientist practically melts into his arms, resting his chin on his shoulder and letting out a content hum when Grimsley threads his fingers through the man's long, unkempt hair.

But it’s too good to last.

Grimsley finds himself thrown back by an intense blast of heat. Reshiram looms over them. Their eyes are wild, and locked onto Colress. They cocoon the scientist in their wings. Their lips pull back into a snarl. They snort out a plume of smoke.

The message is clear, to the point where one doesn’t require N’s gift to understand.

MINE

I might clean up the story here and expand it into a proper fanfic.

I also wanted to explore the nature of dragons, with their possessive nature and desire to hoard being the centre point. Dragons are often used as physical representations of greed, and I wanted to experiment a bit with that.

Also, since Reshiram and Zekrom are fragments of a greater being, don’t you think it’s possible that they’re broken as well? Not as obviously as Kyurem, but do you get my meaning?

Perhaps that’s why they latch onto specific people: they’re trying to fill in the cracks the only way they know how.

Thoughts? :)

#My art #my writing #Grimsley #Colress #Reshiram #N Harmonia #Ring Legends AU #Pokemon AU #falsepretensesshipping #possessive behaviour

[kimium]

Chapters: 1/1 Summary:

One shot. Bad Timeline AU. Soft Rewrite of my fic "Blood and Lavender".

"Reaching outward, Byakuran pressed bloodied fingers to his face, lightly smearing some blood along his jawline. His hands were covered in blood and the Sky Mare ring’s usual orange glow was hidden under red.

If any one asked, which no one would but if they did, Byakuran would happily tell the tale of how they deserved it. Mafia ties were fickle with relations either deeply entrenched in the very foundations of the organization or as tenuous as gossamer stretching between thin tree branches."

Sometimes a work day can include killing your allies because (you think) they looked at your beloved the Wrong Way. (Or: Byakuran loves Shouichi with a love that's just slightly off kilter.)

~

Hello everyone! Last night I said I wanted to rewrite an old KHR fic so I picked one of my oldest KHR fics, Blood and Lavender. I hope you like this rewrite. Also, reading the old fic is not necessary to understand this, but if you want to read it, I left a link in the author’s note of this fic.

Please let me know if you enjoyed this fic! (Also I rated this fic M just to be safe.)

#personal #writing #one shot #katekyo hitman reborn #khr #10051 #byakuran/shouichi #bad timeline #possessive behaviour #unhealthy relationship #established relationship #mention of murder and blood #fic rewrite #more tags in the fic

[desastre-gay]

I put a spell on you (and now you're mine) Chapter 9: Not just yours, ours

It’s only been a few hours. It’s only been a few hours. And yet, Phil can feel that something is wrong. Of course, this isn’t because he has left his new son, his baby boy, with Techno for not even a day. He trusts his eldest, the right amount of trust he should have in his skills to look after an infant anyway. 

He just cannot shake the feeling of paranoia creeping up on him, crawling up his shoulder to whisper words of doubt and feed his already frantic mind. Abruptly, he stops where he stands and turns to his son, who can easily recognise the look on his face - it’s a look he's seen a million times before, and this time wouldn't be the last. 

“You want to go home, don’t you?” He sighs, but it’s in fondness and he shakes his head with a grin set upon his face. A slight chuckle escapes him before he turns back to the way they came from and swiftly grips onto his father’s arm, “Don’t worry, I wanted to go home the moment we stepped outside.” A cheeky grin replaces his fond one as he begins to joyfully skip along the pavement, Phil following at a barely restrained pace (he’s definitely not excited). 

With the excitement flooding through both their veins the journey home is much shorter and passes by in a flash, the door appearing in front of them within ten minutes before it’s frantically unlocked with the keys jingling. As soon as they enter the living room, the resounding silence is not a good sign. An abundance of noise wouldn’t have been a good sign either, but the fact not even a murmur can be heard is extremely concerning, especially to Phil’s heightened state. 

Wilbur softly closes the door behind himself, the click of the lock following, as he moves to the kitchen and spots the mess left behind from Techno’s impromptu lunch. Sparks ignite around him and begin to clean up and put away the utensils as he himself walks back to the living room, just in time to see Phil ascend the stairs two at a time. His steps are heavy and harsh as they land on the creaking wood, before fading away as he gets further down the hallway. 

The blond can feel his heart in his throat, constricting his breathing as he throws open each door and scans the rooms behind them, ultimately coming to a dead end. He stands slightly hunched over outside the open door to Technoblade’s room, panting heavily with a manic glint in his eyes. Wilbur comes to stand behind him, a look of concern seeping into his own gaze as he too looks into the room. There’s no one there. 

Panic sets in deeper, laboured breathing all that can be heard between the father-son duo, and hope that the two other Soot sons were ok is quickly fading. That is until the elder witch feels a brush of magic against his fingertips, familiar yet not his own. 

“He’s here.” 

The brunet beside him chokes in shock, turning towards his father with wide eyes in disbelief, “Dad, I don’t know if you’re hallucinating right now or what, but I can see with my own two eyes that the room in front of me is empty.” He double checks again, just in case he missed a trick of the light or a vague shadow in the corner, but finds absolutely nothing out of place. 

Phil lifts his hand in a placating gesture before replying, “No, no. I can feel him.” He steps into the room and feels a shift in the air as he comes closer to the furthest corner from the door. Tentatively he moves his raised hand closer to the corner, half of it disappearing once he came into contact with the wall. Seeing this he steps even further and enters Techno’s private altar room, stopping himself from walking any further into the room upon spotting his sons. 

His eldest has his back to the desk, facing Phil head on although he isn’t looking at him - he’s looking through him. A thousand mile stare is all that greets the blond, Technoblade completely zoned out whilst gently rocking back and forth. As the older witch takes another step forwards he spots a small bundle held close to the pink haired man’s chest, enclosed in soft white shapes. 

Wings. 

It’s all his mind can register for a moment, the word echoing around his mind whilst his vision hones in on the arch of little baby Theseus’ wings, which flutter every few seconds. The babe is peacefully asleep, a heavy contrast to the tense atmosphere in the altar room. 

Although Technoblade’s eyes are vacant he’s never been more alert in his life - his senses are heightened, goosebumps trailing along his arms as he identifies a threat. Not to him, but to the sleeping infant he holds so close. The voices, once hushed, come to life with a fierce protective streak.

‘Protect the child.’

‘Don’t let them take him.’

‘He’s only just flourished, he’s helpless.’ 

‘Don’t let them take him.’ 

A blue gaze comes up to meet a dark crimson. Instantly a snarl flashes onto the younger witch’s face, eyes falling into a glare and nostrils flaring outwards. The blond on the receiving end of such hostility takes a step back, his own wings ruffling in agitation at the clear display. He ducks his head back into the bedroom behind him, the rest of his body remaining in the altar dimension.

“Will, can you come in here please?” Hearing his father’s call the brunet follows him into Techno’s altar room, stepping carefully once he registers the scene in front of him. The presence of another intruder sets the largest man off even further, causing him to grunt and pull the babe even closer to himself, rousing him in the process. 

Tommy can’t remember much, only the feeling of his own blistering sweat and the agonising pain that ran up and down his back, so waking up to what seems to be a stand off between the three witches who kidnapped him was - unexpected, to say the least. 

Phil and Wilbur seemed wary, which was the first sign that he should be worried. The second sign was the rumbling he could feel against his side. 

‘Okay, what the fuck is going on.’ 

He watches as Wilbur wearily steps forward again, stopping himself when Technoblade’s rumbles become louder and continuing again once they die down. He eventually reaches his twin, coming toe to toe with him and crouching down. The pink haired man backs up further into the desk, causing it to scrape against the floor as his weight pushes it backwards. 

“Hey, Tech…” Moving to his knees, the brunet holds out his palm, facing upwards, as if to invite his brother to make contact rather than force it. Said man’s eyes skirt along the smooth palm presented to him, flicking back and forth as he comes to a decision. 

In the next second, Wilbur is grabbed with a firm grip and tugged into the pink haired witch’s side, being held almost as protectively as the little one in his other arm. A brief chuckle escapes the brunet as he turns in to face his twin, leaning his forehead against the side of his face in a show of affection. 

“Hi, Techno. Everything’s ok, no one wants to hurt him.” Phil has taken the opportunity to lower himself to the floor and sit cross-legged as to appear non-threatening, which seems to be working. Facing no perceivable threats in his own domain allows Technoblade to calm himself, shoulders and jaw loosening before his glare softens. 

Tommy is in awe, disbelief even, at the display in front of him. How had they calmed the beast of a man so quickly? The only time he has ever seen anger quelled in the same fashion was whenever Schlatt got his hand on a bottle of the cheapest alcohol available after an outburst. 

“Mine.” Hearing the softly spoken word the eldest in the room straightens up and calls out, “Ah, ah. Not just yours, ours.” The slight rumble that follows is short-lived as the brunet beside him burrows further into his embrace. 

“Can I see him for a minute?” Shifting alerted the brunet to the answer to his question, as he is handed the now fussy babe. He cradles Theseus gently, accommodating for his wriggling wings and nuzzling their noses together. 

“Hi little man! Oh, I missed you little one.” Sheer admiration coats his high pitched words and a spark ignites in his eyes, tickling the tummy in front of him. 

‘I did not miss you, weirdo.’ 

Seeing the interaction between his three sons, the blond sitting across from them feels jealousy flood him, along with the relief from all of them getting along in such an endearing display. He scoots closer to his family, coming up to invite himself to the cuddle pile. 

It’s a heartwarming scene to stumble across, three members of a family coming together to appreciate the fourth and newest addition - surrounding him with love and protection. Warm feelings erupt in Theseus (Theseus sounds much better don’t you think?) which settles him down to bask in the loving nature of those around him. 

‘Okay…maybe this is nice, but you guys are still fucking weird. I’m not a baby and certainly not yours!’ 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“...’M sorry…” The silence encapsulating the serene moment is broken as Techno speaks for the first time in almost an hour, and it’s a welcomed interruption. The pink haired man looks ashamed of himself, head lowered with braids shielding his eyes from the others.

“It’s ok mate. Honestly, I’m proud of you and your instincts to protect Theseus.” Phil gently holds his son’s cheek and turns him to see eye to eye, giving a genuine warm smile and getting a small one in return. He caresses a particular scar lining his cheek before letting go, gesturing for Will to hand over the baby. 

Once Theseus is safely in the ancient witch’s grasp, the small family begin to leave the pocket dimension and all move down towards the living room. They all begin to seat themselves on the old furniture, finally allowing themselves to relax as the twins lay on each other - Techno acting as a pillow - and Phil holds onto his youngest. 

It’s somehow normal. Just a normal family, enjoying a normal evening, on a normal day. The two older brothers fall asleep, shown by their rhythmic breathing and relaxed stances. Spotting this, the blond stands and places the babe onto his play mat, so that he can place a blanket over the two brothers, ruffling Techno’s hair and smoothing his hand over Will’s shoulder. 

He steps back and reaches back down to the play mat in the centre of the room, lifting the infant to his shoulder, before ascending the stairs to locate his bedroom and get ready for a well deserved nap.

And as the sun descends from the sky, everything’s okay. 

#sbi au #sbi family dynamic #dark sbi #magic au #dream smp #sbi fanfic #inspired by hocus pocus #possessive behaviour #possessive sbi #philza minecraft #technoblade #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #found family

[imagine-darksiders]

The Lovelorn King.

Bowser X Reader - Chapter 1

Summary: As a royal hailing from lands far removed from the Mushroom Kingdom, you find yourself alighting upon the shores of Princess Peach's city, there to answer her request to enter into an alliance that will unite your realms. But you arrive to a suspiciously empty port-side town and go searching for the inhabitants, much to the ship Captain's chagrin.

It doesn't take you long to stumble upon somebody the likes of whom you've never seen before. He calls himself, 'Bowser Junior.' Upon learning of his failure to procure his beloved 'Papa' the perfect birthday present, you invite the boy back to your galleon, hoping that he might find something among the treasures there to give his father. If only you knew that there was one thing on that ship more valuable to the Koopaling than pretty gems and valuable objects...

Tags: Bowser X Reader, Royal Reader, Female Reader, Bowser Jr, Kidnapping, Fluff, Angst, Unrequited Love, Infatuation at first sight, Lonely Bowser, Protective Bowser, Slow-Burn, Big himbo energy, Friendship, Developing friendships, Bowser is BIG okay? Koopa Troopas.

--------------

As far as welcomes go, you've definitely had warmer.

This, of course, you deign to keep to yourself as nothing more than a closely-guarded thought, never to be voiced aloud, though you can tell from the look on the ship Captain's face that you aren't the only one who has been caught off-guard by the notably empty port.

With a generous spin of her oak-wood wheel, The Bonhomous turns her bow to the east of the port, cutting a path through the placid waters as her crew scuttles about on deck in preparation of a seamless landing. The ship's oaken bowsprit juts out over the sea and seems almost afire, burning orange and gold in the dawn light.

Up on the stern with the Captain, you stand with your hands clasped loosely at your back, drawing in a long, crisp breath that fills your lungs and clears your sleep-fogged brain, blinking salty residue from the corners of your eyes, whilst below you, down on the deck, an authoritative bellow from the Quartermaster booms out across the ship, heard well above the screaming sea birds that soar overhead on updrafts of sun-warmed air.

“DROP ANCHOR!”

Positively music to your ears...

The clattering rattle of a chain stirs the air as the anchor is released from its holdings and goes plunging down into the frigid waters.

It seems a long time coming, the sight of dry land and civilisation after several months spent traversing the vast and oftentimes indomitable ocean. To have finally arrived here in the rich and vibrant Mushroom Kingdom is as much of a relief as spring sunshine after the winter frost, empty port or no...

The last letter you'd received from the monarch of this kingdom – one Princess Peach – had requested your personal presence here in order to solidify and sign into this newfound alliance. She'd also made mention that you'd be received as if you were an old friend, which, you suppose, isn't such an embellishment of the truth. Your kingdom and her own have been corresponding and trading for well over a year now. This is just the first time a member of your Royal Household has made the perilous journey to the Mushroom Kingdom.

You and the Princess had struck up something of an accord through your numerous letters after you took the plunge and reached out, explaining to her how your home is small and secular, but you've been working tirelessly to try and rebuild the connections that your tyrannical father had torn down before his passing.

Her lineage never did have dealings with yours, which may be why she seemed more open than others to extend the hand of friendship back your way.

And now, here you are – as your kingdom's sole surviving ruler with a ship stuffed to the gunnels with supplies and treasures from your homeland, all intended as a show of your good faith and willingness to establish a long-term alliance with the Toad people.

The only thing amiss is that the welcoming committee you'd been anticipating is... nowhere to be found.

There's a sudden and muffled thud as the anchor's flukes collide with the sea bed, followed by a troubled hum from the Captain, shifting on her feet at the helm beside you.

“Not sure what to make of this, Ma'am,” she announces warily, casting her flint-grey eyes out at the bizarre structures lining the port.

Buildings, you venture, fashioned from gigantic toadstools.

Ingenious! When Princess Peach included an illustrated encyclopedia with one of her letters, you'd been enchanted by everything inside it, enough that you felt inadequate as you packaged off the history of your own kingdom, dull and grey and lifeless comparatively.

Even now, your restless fingers begin to fidget with the fabric of your travel dress, eager to begin exploring this unfamiliar world.

The Captain's suspicious grumblings do little to dampen your spirit of adventure.

“It is only dawn, Captain,” you reason, watching the crew hoist the mainsails and drop the wooden gangplank onto the dock, effectively bridging the gap between your vessel and solid ground. “Perhaps their customs differ from ours. They might be a little later to rise, for instance.”

Her weather-beaten brow furrows beneath her hat, forging deep crevices across the dark expanse of skin.

She hardly looks reassured by your words.

Inevitably, her own trepidation only feeds yours like billows to a dying fire, causing an apprehensive bubble to burst in your stomach. It... really is quiet out here...

“Still... you don't suppose....” Trailing off, you turn to hide your lips from a crew that have spent years honing an ability to read their Captain's lips when they can't hear her over a howling storm. “Supposing it's an ambush?” you finish softly.

If the crew is already on edge about sailing into a seemingly abandoned port, you don't want to put their backs up by voicing their concerns out loud and giving them traction.

The Captain sniffs, stepping away from the wheel and circling to face the stern of her ship alongside you. “Not likely,” she huffs, jerking her head towards the enormous mushrooms, “See the chimneys?”

Flicking your gaze up to the line of unconventional 'roofs,' you quirk a brow at the thin trails of smoke drifting out of the aforementioned chimneys, blown inland by a stiff, ocean breeze. “Smoke,” you hum in understanding, “People are at home...”

The Captain's broad hat dips as she nods. “Mm, seen a couple of shapes moving behind the windows too. Nobody'd be daft enough to attack a galleon with her starboard cannons aimed at their settlement. Not when they're hiding out in the buildings. She's armed to the teeth.”

… Sound logic, you muse. There's a reason you restored her title as the Bonhomous's Captain the moment you had the authority to do so. One of the biggest mistakes your father ever made was to give Captain Skip the boot.

Her words serve to ease your nerves a little, and soon you find the trepidation has moved aside to allow a healthy dose of curiosity to settle in your chest.

“Perhaps they're just painfully shy,” you excuse at last as you turn to head for the ornate stairs leading from the stern down onto the deck, “Regardless, we should be concerning ourselves with making our own first impression, not theirs.”

Lifting the hem of your dress up so as to avoid catching splinters in the fine silk, you take the stairs one brisk step at a time, though you only manage to make it halfway down before the Captain's voice halts you in your tracks.

“With respect, ma'am, I hope you're not heading for that gangplank...”

You have to bite down hard on the vulgar word the crew taught you last week, instead plastering on a demure smile and twisting your head to peer innocently up at the Captain over your shoulder, past the ruffles festooning your neck.

“I'm afraid I don't know what a gang plank is, Captain. I'm just going to stretch my legs.”

Her eyes narrow dangerously until they resemble little more than thin, dark slits, shadowed by the brim of her hat.

“Pardon my language, Your Majesty, but you know bloody well what a gangplank is. Don't go near it.” Then, for added measure, she squares her shoulders and adds, “Captain's orders.”

Ever polite, you dip your chin at her out of genuine respect, your voice solemn when you reply, “I am well aware of Maritime Law, and your absolute authority on this ship. Rest assured, Captain, I will not be going near that gang plank.”

From the flare of her nostrils to the tightening of her angular jaw, you know she can see right through you as if you're made of the flimsiest glass. But just as she takes a step in your direction, mouth falling open with a sharp word or two doubtlessly hanging off her tongue, she's interrupted by the familiar call of her Quartermaster.

“Captain!” the short, portly man lumbers across the deck, beckoning her down from her perch on the stern, “A word?”

Her head snaps towards him, crow-like, but you don't stick around to waste this perfect opportunity. Trotting deftly down the rest of the steps, you duck underneath the arm of one sailor who's hauling a bucket of soapy water on his shoulder and turn your shoes towards the ship's bow, where there are lines of rope dangling from the foremast, those that have yet to tie its sail back.

No. You won't go near the gangplank. Your word is solid, and you endeavour to keep it whenever you can. But you never said you wouldn't find an alternative way to leave the ship.

The Captain should have learned by now that you've spent far longer playing the game than she has, having growing up in the company of nobility and the aristocracy, who use their words as weapons, and who honed their language into a powerful tool that could be used to their advantage.

When Captain Skip goes ballistic at you – which she inevitably will once she realises you've disembarked without an escort – you'll remind her that she only told you to stay away from the gangplank, not that you were forbidden from leaving The Bonhomous at all.

Oh, you imagine she'll spit and hiss and fume like an over-boiled kettle, but she won't have a leg to stand on.

You smile wryly as you hoist yourself up onto the woven shrouds and curl your fingers around a piece of dangling rope, tugging on it to test its give.

She fails to realise, that for as much as she believes you to be under her protection, she is just as much - if not more so – under yours.

They all are - Everyone man and woman on this ship, and those that have remained back home. You're their ruler. Those in charge are supposed to take care of their people.

If there is something untoward going on in this strange, fungi-infested town, then you'd much rather be the one to encounter it first. The Bonhomous and her crew are here at your behest, after all. If you've lead them into a trap, then you must be the one to spring it.

The loose rigging line sits sturdy in your hands, and it's well-affixed to the reef tackles high over your head. Behind you, a sailor clicks their tongue whilst another hesitantly asks what you think you're doing.

You only pause long enough to shoot a fleeting grin over your shoulder at them, catching the eye of a few, weary crewmen, all of whom seem resigned to your imminent departure. And then, in a most unladylike fashion, you hoist your skirts up over your knees with one hand and use the rigging to haul yourself up onto the side of the hull, peering out over the water.

The gap between ship and shore is hardly substantial. With a good run up, you could make it without the rope, but as it is...

You take a flying leap out over the water and feel the rope go tight as it catches your weight and swings you gracefully across to the pale, stone dock, revelling in the blast of cool wind that blows through your hair.

As your shoes touch down on the other side, you release the rope and swallow a giddy whoop to maintain your dignity.

“Oh, at last,” you gush instead, clasping your hands together, “Dry land!”

Sticking out your chest, you allow a tiny ounce of pride to lift your cheeks into a grin.

Already, you've trodden further afield than your father ever went in his life.

“Now then,” you muse to yourself as you swivel your head up and down the port, “To solve the mystery of the missing townsfolk...”

Before the Captain can register your absence, you take off at a brisk stride, stealing away from the docks and heading towards the town proper.

------------

Every corner you turn, you only find more of the same gigantic mushrooms that have been painstakingly fashioned into homes, shops and cafes, dotted along every cobblestone street. And yet for the sheer number of them, all you seem to be able to find are more boarded up doorways, shadowy figures flitting past window panes and the all too familiar prickle at the back of your neck that alerts you to eyes watching your every move.

Letting out a disconcerted hum, you try to recall whether Princess Peach had ever made mention of the Toads being particularly skittish or wary....

Rounding the corner of yet another mushroom, you find yourself venturing out of a narrow street and onto a pretty town plaza with a row of homes surrounding its perimeter and a large, glittering fountain taking centre stage, spurting out torrents of water that sparkles brilliantly in the golden sunrise.

It momentarily causes your step to falter, gazing up at the resplendence in the architecture.

Aside from yourself, the plaza appears just as empty as the rest of the town, much to your dismay.

As you start to consider simply going up to one of the tiny, wooden doors and knocking on it until somebody answers, an altogether new sound catches your ear, vastly different from the brush of leaves across stone, or the ocean waves lapping at a distant shoreline.

All at once, you hone in on the sound, whipping your head around fast enough to leave a twinge in your neck.

It sounded like... a horribly desolate sigh.

Curiosity piqued, you start towards the fountain, casting your gaze about until your shoes come to an abrupt halt on the cobblestone.

There, slumped upon one of the wooden benches set up to face the watery spectacle, you spy a figure, one that sports a startling shock of fiery red hair.

Relieved to have at last stumbled upon another person, you approach the back of the bench, and once you draw close enough to confirm that, yes, that's definitely a person sitting there, you raise a fist and clear your throat, making your presence known.

“Ahem, excuse me-”

Whatever you'd intended to say afterwards is sadly drowned out by a deafening yelp as the person on the bench leaps from their seat, and in their haste to spin around, they end up toppling over backwards and landing on the ground with an audible, bone-crunching 'smack!'

Aghast at yourself, you inhale sharply and dash around the bench, apologies tumbling off your lips in quick succession. “Oh my-! I am so sorry! I can't apologise enough! I-I thought you heard me. Are you all right?!”

As soon as your eyes land upon the stranger, you suck in another, tiny gasp as your jaw falls open, briefly overcome with awe and wonder.

This person is quite unlike anybody you've ever come across in your life, and you unwittingly pause mid-stride, taken aback for a time.

Floundering around on the cobblestone between the bench and the fountain on their back, apparently stuck, is somebody who reminds you at once of some kind of overturned turtle.

They've landed right on top of their shell – a green, spiked dome that covers the expanse of their back. Grunts of frustration fill the air as stocky little legs kick madly in an effort to right themselves, and a disproportionately large head attempts to lift itself off the ground to glare at you.

Within less than a second, you blink away your surprise and drop down onto your knees, grasping a pair of thickset, yellow wrists and hauling the unfortunate person back onto their feet.

'Cripes!' you think to yourself. They're heavy, whoever they are. But after struggling for several, awkward seconds, you manage to heave them up without putting your back out, and as soon as they're upright, you release their arms and flop back to sit on your heels, finally taking proper stock of your unwitting victim.

“HEY! What's the big idea!?” they – he? - shouts at you, balling his pudgy, three-fingered hands into fists and tearing backwards as if he means to get as far away from you as possible before the wall of the fountain obstructs his retreat.

He's squat and round, standing only half as tall as you with tiny eyes as black as pitch and entirely featureless as they glare up at you hotly. Beady, but still expressive.

Frankly, you have no idea what he is, but his voice, stature and the large, white bandana slung around his neck all lend to the impression of someone very young.

And if that's the case, then what in the world is he doing out here alone at this ungodly hour, in the middle of such a suspiciously quiet town?

Shoving speculation aside, you remain there before him, the knees of your dress gathering dirt from the ground as a trickle of shame pools in your stomach.

“Again, I can't apologise enough,” you gush, wringing your hands together in your lap, “This is... not the first impression I was hoping to make... Are you hurt?”

One of his hands has reached behind his head to probe at a spot near his fiery ponytail whilst he grumbles under his breath, pulling a face that exposes the large, gleaming tusk jutting out from beneath his upper lip.

Without thinking too hard on it, you click your tongue and reach a hand out for him again, murmuring, “Here, let me see...”

You feel him flinch underneath your fingers as they alight gently on his chubby, yellow cheek. But rather than wrenching himself away from you, his whole body stiffens in an instant and his eyes bulge out when you turn his head to one side and lean forwards, inspecting the dome of his skull.

To your relief, the only sign of damage is a small patch of grit sticking to his scales, picked up from the dusty, stone ground.

Tutting to yourself, you pull the sleeve of your dress down over a thumb and wet it with your tongue before returning your free hand to the back of his head. “Hold still,” you instruct him, though the request seems redundant in hindsight, given that he's as rigid as the stone underfoot.

Careful as can be, you sweep your thumb over the grit and wipe it away to reveal the tiny, thankfully unbroken scales beneath.

Satisfied, you draw away and return your hands to your lap, offering the stunned stranger your most amicable smile. “There. No scrapes or bumps in sight. I think you'll survive.”

Thick, auburn eyebrows twist up in confusion as he turns to face you again, cocking his head and regarding you as if you've sprouted an extra pair of arms.

Even kneeling, you're still an inch or so taller than he is standing up.

Before you can utter another word, you find a clawed fingertip jabbing at the air just in front of your nose, his little tail held high and alert.

“Just who the heck do you think you are, lady!?” he demands in a shrill, raucous voice, “You can't go around sneaking up on people like that! I could'a blasted you!”

Caught off guard, but pleased that he seems fine, you lean away from his finger and splay your hand across your chest, feigning an impressed look. “Goodness! I suppose I should be counting my lucky stars, then.”

“Yeah! You should!” he readily harrumphs, withdrawing his arm and folding both of them across his chest, turning his snout away from you again.

Apparently snubbed, you muscle down a grin for the sake of his pride. You must have startled him more than he'd care to admit, if the embarrassed pinch of his lips is any indication.

After a few seconds, he shifts his nose towards you once more, his dark eyes flitting up and down as he gives you a quick once-over.

“Who are you anyway?” he demands, “I don't recognise you.”

Amused by his informality, you offer him a patient smile and reply, “I'd be surprised if you did. I'm afraid I'm not a frequenter of the Mushroom Kingdom. This is my first visit, in fact. I've sailed here from across the ocean.”

At that, his brows quirk up in intrigue and he drops his arms to his sides. “Sailed across the ocean?” he asks with the barest hint of awe softening his tone. Then, all at once, his eyes grow exceptionally wide and he excitedly blurts, “Are you a pirate!”

Letting out a good-natured laugh, you say, “Sadly, no. No. Piracy is not in my job description, I'm afraid.”

To your surprise, he looks downcast at the admission, but in the next moment, he perks up again and points at you, his claw once again hovering just inches from your nose. “What's your name!?” he all but barks.

Dimly, you wonder if anyone has told him that it's rude to point...

Clearing your throat, you reply, “My name is Y/n.” Then, after a pause, you offer him a sweep of your hand. “And you are...?”

In response, he sticks out his chest and plants one hand firmly on his hip, jamming the opposite thumb against his sternum, striking a dignified pose.

“Name's Junior!” he declares with all the confidence of a venerated dignitary, “Bowser Junior!”

'Junior... What a charming title,' you muse, 'I wonder if he's named after anybody.'

“Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Bowser Junior,” you tell him earnestly, tipping your head to him in a gesture of respect.

For reasons unbeknownst to you however, your response seems to knock some of the wind from his sails. Two, thickset shoulders slump dejectedly and he squints up at you, slowly reiterating, “The Bowser Junior...?”

…. You start to wonder if he'd be offended that you haven't, in fact, heard of 'The Bowser Junior...'

When you don't respond, his posture droops even further and he gapes at you, borderline desperate. “You know. After King Bowser? As in, King of the Koopas!?”

Well... That little tidbit of information is quick to grab your attention, though you've never heard of this King either.

“King Bowser?” you echo, drawing your brows together to form a pensive frown, “I... Forgive me but I was under the impression that Princess Peach is the reigning monarch here.”

Blowing a haughty scoff through his fangs, Junior turns his soft, round snout skywards and barks, “Nu-uh! She's just ruler of the Mushroom Kingdom. But someday, my Papa's gonna rule the whole world!”

And just like that, your frown recedes along with your trepidation.

Of course... You ought to have guessed that this child is only doing as children often do.

Gone are the days when you used to whittle away the long, lonely days playing pretend by yourself in the castle grounds.

'King of the world indeed,' you smile to yourself. You're beginning to like this kid.

“And your... 'Papa,” you say aloud, “He and this King Bowser are one in the same, I presume?”

“Sure are!” he exclaims proudly, “He's the best Papa in the entire galaxy! Not every kid can say their dad is a King!”

“Mm, that's quite the accomplishment,” you quip, smiling brightly when he juts his chin high into the air, “But... does your father know you're out here by yourself?”

In a blink, Junior's broad grin vanishes and he lowers his eyes to glower at you. “Hey! I'm no baby! I can take care of myself, lady!”

“I never said you couldn't,” you hastily return, holding your hands up to placate him, “I only wondered if he was nearby.” Swallowing thickly, you turn to cast a searching look over the plaza and murmur, “It'd be nice to know that someone else is around. This town seems rather... vacant, at the moment.”

Bowser Junior's muzzle curls around a snort, his slitted nostrils flaring as he follows your eye and shoots a dark glare at the nearby houses. “You're tellin' me,” he gripes.

Silence sits between the pair of you for several, uncertain moments before he abruptly breaks it by puffing out his cheeks and raising a hand to scratch at the green scales that sit just beneath his ponytail. “Well.. Sorry to disappoint you, but my Papa's not here. He was still asleep when I left.”

“Ugh. Jealous.”

“He always has a lie-in on his birthday.”

“Oh, is it his birthday today?” you ask, carefully adding, “In that case, shouldn't you be at home too, ready to wish him a happy birthday when he wakes up? Won't he be worried when he finds you gone?”

For a few more moments, the boy doesn't offer a reply until, to your dismay, his hard expression promptly crumples like a brittle bone and he heaves another sigh, trudging around you to make for the bench you'd startled him from.

Puzzled at this abrupt shift in his demeanour, you quirk a brow after him and rise to your feet, turning to watch as he hoists himself onto the seat and slouches down in it, letting out a soft, petulant huff.

“That's the problem,” he mutters, glowering at the fountain over his crossed arms, “I wanna be there to wish him happy birthday, but I can't be!”

Stretching your lips into a thin line, you take a tentative seat beside him and ask, “Why not?”

“Cause I haven't found him the perfect present yet!” he barks as if it should be entirely obvious.

Should it? You couldn't rightly say.

“I see...” Regardless, you give a nod of understanding, puckering your forehead thoughtfully. “And so, you're here to look for something in the shops?”

You have to recoil a few inches to avoid his arms when he throws them out wide and exclaims, “Exactly! I've been lookin' all over this stupid island! But I can't find anything good enough! So, I came here! But none of these Toads'll open their doors!” Snatching his hands back, he tucks them securely under his armpits with a grumble. “M'not even tryin' to steal anythin' this time.”

Setting aside the worrying mention of 'this time,' you duck your head and try to catch his gaze, reasoning softly, “Perhaps it's just too early? Their shops might not even be open yet.”

You find yourself cut off by an abrupt scoff.

“Nah, they just hate me,” he pouts, “Even though I brought my allowance and everything, they still won't even let me look for somethin' to get Papa. I wouldn't have come here if it wasn't an emergency! But all those Toads wanna do is hide in their mushrooms and tell me to 'go away!”

Now, that is definitely odd. 'Surely,' you think, jaw set, 'Surely these townsfolk aren't barricading themselves inside their homes because of one, little kid?'

Aloud, you say, “What makes you think they're hiding from you?”

Sparing you an exasperated look, Junior retorts, “I told you, cause they don't like me. And they especially don't like my Papa.”

Deep within the cavern of your ribcage, indignation begins to raise its sleepy head... How often have you been spurned by those around you because of your heritage?

“Why on earth don't they like you?” you blurt, incredulous and frankly irked on his behalf, “You seem perfectly likeable to me!”

Turning to aim a disdainful glance at some of the mushroom houses across the plaza, you miss the bewildered look Junior is sending your way, his lower jaw hanging slightly agape.

It's an absurd idea, if it's true. An entire town wouldn't shun a rambunctious kid like this...

But if it is true....? Well...

“More fool them, I say,” you huff to yourself.

At your side, Junior perks up at your words and his wide mouth stretches into a smirk.

“Hey, yeah!” he bobs his head decisively, leaping to stand up precariously on the bench and thrust an arm into the air, “Yeah! They are fools!”

The wood below you creaks and groans in protest when he stomps his foot on the seat enthusiastically.

Overcome with the urge to disguise your laughter, you cover your mouth with a few fingertips and send him a playful frown. “I don't think that's quite what I said, but I'll let it slide... because I've just had a brainwave.”

Junior stills, tipping his head sideways curiously. “Huh?”

“Well,” you start, “It just so happens that the ship I came here on has quite a few treasures stored in her hold. I'm sure nobody would mind if you picked something out to give to your father.”

Princess Peach won't miss what she doesn't know is missing, after all.

And besides, the sun has risen considerably higher since you set off from the Bonhomous. You should really have returned well before now.

The boy next to you leaps down off the bench before whirling to face you again, his eyes sparkling like a pair of obsidian gemstones. “Woah! Seriously? You're just gonna let me take your pirate treasure!?” he shouts just a little too close to your ear.

Suppressing a wince, you get to your feet and gesture in the direction of the docks. “Again, I'm afraid it isn't pirate treasure. Everything we've brought with us, we came by honestly. But there's all sorts in that hull. Hopefully something is bound to catch your fancy. Come, I'll show you.”

Though his legs are squat and stocky, Junior is surprisingly nimble on his feet as he bounds after you with an eager chirp, keeping up easily with your longer, more languid stride.

--------

As you make your way back towards port, you quickly discover that, like most children, your newfound tagalong has a seemingly bottomless well of questions that never runs the risk of drying up.

“Are there any blasters on your ship!?” he asks, hopping along the cobblestone pavement whilst taking great care to avoid any cracks – a game which you yourself can recall playing during your youth. “What about diamonds!? Giant hammers? Oh! Oh! You got any comic books in there!?”

You're having a tough yet admittedly fun time keeping up with his runaway trains of thought as he jumps from one extreme to another.

Sparing him a knowing glance from the corner of an eye, you drawl, “Oh? Does your father enjoy reading comic books?”

The boy's game is put on pause as he lands on a wide slab ahead of you, balanced on one leg with his shoulders hunched. “Uhhh...” he falters, only briefly. Soon enough though, his confidence comes charging back full-force. “Uh, yeah! Yeah, he loves 'em! But they gotta be really, really cool ones. He's a collector!”

“A collector? I see... It sounds as though your, ah, father has impeccable taste,” you remark, striding past him and pretending not to notice the way his stumpy, little tail begins to wag from side to side. “Well,” you continue, “While there aren't any comics stored in the cargo hold, I do have some from my own, personal collection. You're welcome to peruse those, if you like.”

As you stroll on ahead of a now stationary Junior, his jaw drops open, gawking in disbelief.

“Wait a second!” he blares, “You read comic books!?”

Nonchalant, you swing your hands behind your back and clasp them together, replying, “Of course. Don't you?”

Without missing a beat, he barks, “You bet I do!” only to cut himself off when he seems to remember something, quickly lowering his voice to add, “I-I mean, not as much as my Papa does though. He goes nuts for 'em! Kind of embarrassin' huh?”

“I don't think it's embarrassing at all,” you reply in earnest, “He shouldn't be ashamed to partake in things that make him happy.”

It seems that all too soon, the Bonhomous's towering masts come into view over the roofs of the mushroom houses, drawing the discussion to an end once Junior catches sight of the ship.

“I thought you said it wasn't a pirate ship!?” he demands, pointing an accusing claw down the length of the docks and glaring up at you as if you've somehow betrayed him.

You almost let out an undignified snort, reeling it in just in time before it escapes. For a child, you suppose that a galleon and a pirate ship aren't leagues apart, after all.

“Technically, I said that we aren't pirates,” you correct him gently, gesturing to yourself, “I never said that we didn't sail here on a pirate ship.”

The way his face lights up makes your guilt at calling the noble Bonhomous a mere 'pirate ship' worth it. Such a term hardly encapsulates her splendour.

As you near the ship herself, you cast your gaze to the land beside her and immediately feel your stomach clench when you spy the group of sailors standing dockside by the gangplank, accompanied by their Captain, whose wild hand gestures imply that she's either sending search parties off in different directions to look for their wayward monarch, or she's telling her crew where to bury the pieces of you she's about to tear off. Even from here, you can see that some of the men are paler in the face than usual, evidence that she'd given them a verbal lashing for letting you slip away unnoticed.

You're not especially keen to lead Junior into air that's undoubtedly been turned blue by now, so you cup a hand around your mouth and call, “Captain! Over here!”

The speed at which her head snaps in your direction is frightening and almost dislodges her hat from atop her head. Even dozens of yards away, you can make out her expression fight to settle between unmitigated fury and palpable relief.

Yet there's dangerous rigidity in her jaw as she begins to stalk in your direction, slow and calculated like a predator.

Subconsciously on your part, you draw to a halt and take a subtle, sideways step in front of Junior, who offers up a sound of confusion from the back of his throat, but otherwise remains silent behind your guarding stance, staring up at you in surprise.

“You!” the Captain hollers, lowering her head, wolflike, whereas you raise your chin to meet her glare, undeterred – not because she doesn't scare you, which she absolutely does despite your station - but because you know that your premature disembarking was justified and you're prepared to argue the point.

She slithers to a stop only when the toes of her boots are scant inches away from colliding with yours, glaring down her nose at you and bristling like an alley cat.

For a moment, her jaw remains clenched tighter than a vice as the air around you grows thick with her exasperation until she finally pries her teeth apart to speak. But before she can utter a single word, you beat her to the punch.

“Captain Skip, I'd like to introduce you to someone.”

She hardly even seems to register your words, too incensed in her broiling concern.

“If I may speak freely, ma'am,” she hisses dangerously, “You are as slippery as an eel. I turn my back not five seconds and you're gone!”

“Captain-” you try again.

“Without an escort! You're askin' for trouble, you are! What if somebody nabbed you!? I told you not to leave the ship!”

One corner of your mouth quivers. “If you recall, Captain,” you say coolly, “You asked me not to go near the gangplank. I can assure you, I stayed well clear of it when I left the ship.”

As expected, her cheeks instantly puff out as she only just manages to trap some unpleasant words behind her tongue. Hot air gushes from the fire in her lungs up into her mouth, swirling behind her clenched teeth where it stays for a few more seconds before she releases it all in a noisy sigh that blasts your hair away from your face.

“Semantics...” she grinds out, raising a hand to massage at the bridge of her nose, eyes pressed firmly shut, “Of course... I knew - I knew I should've-...”

Juxtaposed against her fiery outburst, the Captain suddenly trails off and goes still, her eyes drifting down to peer at your side at a glacial pace.

“... Ma'am...?”

“Captain?” you return lightly.

“... Been makin' friends, have you?” She jerks her chin down at the pudgy snout that's poking out from behind your leg.

Plastering on a winning smile, you twist yourself sideways to reveal Junior, who is busy glaring up at the Captain with a mixture of suspicion and awe gleaming in his eyes.

She shoots you a frosty glare and shakes her head. “Why am I not surprised...?”

Junior flinches when your hand comes down delicately on his shoulder, but he stands his ground, flicking his eyes between you and the other human as you fall into introductions.

“Bowser Junior, I'd like you to meet the venerable Captain Skip - the finest captain I've ever sailed with.”

“I'm the only captain you've ever sailed with,” she grunts, rolling her gaze heavenwards.

Flashing her a wink, you add, “And here's hoping you'll be the last.”

“At the rate you're going Ma'am, I likely will be.”

Ignoring her jab at your longevity, you gesture politely down at your new acquaintance. “Captain, this fine young gentleman is Mr Bowser Junior.”

The boy's round chin juts proudly at the introduction whilst the Captain appraises him from beneath hooded eyelids.

“Huh, a Koopa, eh?” she observes, taking you by surprise, “Been a fair old while since I've seen one of your ilk, lad.”

“You're familiar with his species?” you ask.

Still regarding Junior, she hums pensively, “Mm, to a degree. Though never one this young. And we seldom cross paths with 'em on the water. Their kind have mastered travelling by air.”

“How remarkable!”

Your line of inquiry is cut short when a clawed hand curls into the garland of your dress and gives it a few, firm tugs. Blinking, you tip your head down to see Junior's hand clasping the fabric.

“Hey! When m'I gonna get to see the treasure!?” he all but whinges, reminding you that you're dealing with an impatient youngster who has been promised his pick from a boat-load of valuables.

Not only that, you muse, he's more than likely anxious to choose his father's birthday present and return home before the sun has fully risen into the sky.

“Oh, yes! Yes, of course,” you reply, catching an icy sideways glare from the Captain, “Junior here is in a bit of a predicament and I offered to help him out. Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

Behind you, Junior huffs disdainfully through his nostrils. “Why d'you need to ask for permission?”

The Captain is still subjecting you to her withering glare, but you expertly ignore it and reply, “Old maritime law, I think... And it's just good manners.”

He pulls a face at that, but doesn't otherwise react beyond sending the Captain an expectant look, one, flaming eyebrow raised high on his head.

Predictably, her stare remains immoveable and hard, boring into you like a mining drill. Child or no, you can't imagine she's happy to have a perfect stranger poking about on her ship. And yet after a long moment, she pushes out a weary sigh and tuts as her posture deflates. “Permission granted, Ma'am,” she offers thinly.

You give her a subtle nod of gratitude before turning to the koopa and sweeping an arm out towards the gangplank. “Well? After you.”

It's as if whatever restraints have been reining him in go slack.

Like a cannonball fired from its barrel, Junior hurtles off for the Bonhomous with a whoop, cackling loudly when he almost bowls over the sailors gathered on the dock.

The wooden platform buckles under his weight as he lumbers up and onto the ship's deck, swiftly disappearing from view.

“... Brazen little bugger, in't he?” The Captain spares you a slow blink when several yelps and shouts of alarm drift down to you from on board.

“He's certainly lively,” you return, “I think he might be growing on me.”

“Mmm, like a fungal infection.”

“Captain!” Your scolding tone is entirely ruined by a preceding laugh. Strutting past her to board the ship yourself, you clear your throat and say, “Actually, I have to say I'm impressed with your restraint. It looks like there are several, far less civil things you'd like to say to me.”

“Nothing your pretty, little ears would find polite,” she grumbles as she moves to follow you up the gangplank. Then comes the inevitable. “Ma'am, are you sure you've thought this through? We don't know this lad. And you're letting him into the trove?”

“It's the least I could do after scaring the poor boy off his bench.” Hopping down onto the deck, you traipse after the trail of overturned buckets and startled crew members until you come to the steps of the cargo hold.

Stuck fast to your side, the Captain sends you a quizzical glance, to which you add, “Long story... He told me he's been trying to find his father a birthday present, but so far he hasn't had much success. And I thought... Well...”

You wave a hand in the vague direction that Junior had disappeared.

“You thought you'd give him pick of the cache,” she finishes with a sigh, “You know, for a monarch, you're not nearly ruthless enough. You'll never be like your father.”

Your smile grows tenfold as you splay a hand across your chest, touched. “Why, Captain, I think that's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me.”

Some of the frost in her expression melts away under the warmth of your sunny grin and she shakes her head at you, doing a terrible job of hiding the fond twitch of her lips.

At the bottom of the steps, down in the belly of the ship, you're not at all surprised to find the Quartermaster standing with his hands fisted into his grey, thinning hair as he gapes at Junior, who appears to be getting quite familiar with the crates and boxes filled to bursting with valuables from your kingdom.

“C-Cap'n!” the man stammers when you both stop beside him, “He – he just! He just started-!”

“It's all right, Mr Cabot,” she interrupts reassuringly, clapping a strong hand down on his shoulder, “He's here by royal invite.”

His sweeping, silver eyebrows launch themselves up his forehead and he splutters something incomprehensible until you address him, coughing softly into your fist as you move to join the young Koopa just as he shoves his nose deep into a sack of rare opals. “Abe, I wonder if you'd be so kind as to fetch a selection of comics from my cabin?”

At once, the Quartermaster's mouth snaps shut and there's a shuffle of feet behind you, followed by a gruff, “A-Aye, Ma'am,” before Abe begins to make for the steps, leaving you with Junior and the Captain.

Turning your attention onto your guest, you call out, “Have a good look around. I hope there's at least something in here that'll suffice.”

Junior's head pops out of the sack and he flashes you an impish grin that shows off his prominent fang. “Uh, all of it?!” he exclaims, “In fact – what's to stop me from makin' off with everything on this ship?”

Leant up against a wooden pillar near the staircase, Captain Skip lifts the brim of her hat and levels a dangerous glare at him, whereas you simply laugh at the absurdity of his notion, seeing nothing before you but an exuberant child with an extraordinary imagination.

“Nothing, I suppose,” you reply amicably, “But I would be very sad if you did. Especially since you're the first friend I've made in this kingdom.”

Just like that, his childish grin falters, shrinking at the corners of his mouth until his smile is altogether lacklustre, eventually dropping off his face entirely. “Huh... Right...” he says, far too softly to suit the young Koopa you've been chatting with all morning.

Lowering the sackful of opals, he gazes down into its depths, his forehead crinkling with a frown as he fiddles idly with the sack's drawstring, tail tucked close around one leg.

The shift is certainly jarring, but just as you open your mouth to ask him if something is wrong, Abe's voice cuts across the dark hold, calling out to you from the entrance. “Here they are, Ma'am.”

You twist yourself about to greet him as he makes his way over to you and places a stack of your treasured novels neatly in your upturned palms, all the while keeping his wary eye trained on Junior.

“Thank you, Mr Cabot. That'll be all,” you hum.

“Ma'am.” He lifts a hand and tips his cap to you politely, though you note he doesn't offer the same platitude to your guest. Then, spinning about on his heel, he meets the Captain's eye, lowering his voice. “Ah, Cap'n... Might I have another word?”

None too subtly, he twists his head over one shoulder to shoot a glance at Junior, and if the young Koopa could see the look he's being subjected to – mistrustful and cold – you'd be inclined to reprimand Abe for his attitude towards your guest. But luckily for Cabot, Junior's eyes are still fixed on the inside of the sack, staring at its contents, but barely seeing them.

With a grunt, Captain Skip pushes herself from the beam, standing upright once more. She raises a circumspect brow, first at you to get your attention, then at Junior - a far more surreptitious method of conveying her own message to you.

Abe, with a mere look, had told you that he's extremely unhappy to have Junior on board. The Captain however, is asking a question in her glance. 'Will you be all right on your own?'

'He's just a boy,' you want to tell her. A boy who only wants to find his father the perfect birthday present. What you wouldn't give to have been able to do the same when you were his age. What you wouldn't give to have had a father you could be proud of too, one who didn't look upon a kind gesture as something to be scoffed at and dismissed... who didn't rebuff your 'childish' attempts at affection.

If you can help Junior find his Papa the perfect birthday present, then you damn well ought to.

“Go ahead, Captain,” you tell her, waving her off with a flick of your wrist, “Junior and I may be occupied down here for some time.”

She grumbles unintelligibly, fixes Junior with a final glare of warning, and then, with a swish of her coat tails, she sweeps away from you, following the Quartermaster up the stairs and out of the cargo hold.

Alone with Junior in the groaning underbelly of the ship, you find yourself clutching the stack of comic books a little more tightly against your chest.

You slowly grow aware of his gleaming eyes that shine out at you under the flickering light of the hold's lanterns. He's watching you closely, at least until you begin traipsing back over to him, flashing the young Koopa a smile, which prompts him to tear his gaze away from you and focus instead on the dusty, wooden floorboards creaking under his feet.

Gone is the levity you'd felt upon your approach to the Bonhomous.

“Junior?” you utter tentatively, wondering as to the cause of his inexplicable change in mood, “Is everything all right?”

The only response you garner lays in the furrow of his fiery brows as he continues to regard the floor with such a look of consternation, you'd think the ship herself had just insulted him.

It's actually unnerving, in a way. He seems older in the dark, more of a stranger than a potential friend.

Of course, as soon as the thought occurs to you, you ruthlessly strike it back into the recesses of your psyche, reminding yourself that he's a child, and you'll not be easily swayed by the suspicion of the Captain and her crew.

Chewing absently on your bottom lip for a second, you glance down at the comics in your hands, eyeing the one right at the top. From the cover, a gallant gentleman cocks his shining grin back at you, dressed in colourful armour and holding an almighty sword aloft in victory.

This one has always been among your favourites. An unreliable narrator, a protagonist turned antagonist, and a lonely monster who ends up saving the world in spite of how it treats him.

Brushing a fond thumb over its spine, you dart your eyes up to Junior for just a moment, taking note of his slouching shoulders and the confusion darkening his downturned face. Then, steeling your resolve, you work your clenched jaw loose and peel the comic from the top of the stack, presenting it to the Koopa and giving it a gentle shake to flutter the pages until he raises his head and blinks owlishly at the proffered gift.

“Here,” you coax, carefully pressing the copy into his chest so that his arms shoot up to catch it, “Consider this my gift to your father. You're still free to take something, I mean. I just... I have a feeling he might enjoy this one.”

Very slowly, Junior lowers his gaze from your face, dropping it to the comic book now clutched between his bruising fingers. “I don't get it,” he murmurs, his brows hanging so low that his eyes are half obscured as he glowers down at the cover.

“Oh? Well, it's quite a simple story, really,” you pipe up, reaching forwards to tap your fingertip on one of the little, illustrated characters, “This man here, he's a traveller from across the stars, and he finds this -”

You find your explanation interrupted as Junior suddenly shifts backwards with a brisk shake of his head, pulling himself away from you and blurting, “No! I mean... I don't get it. I don't get you!”

Bewildered, you find yourself helpless to reply beyond uttering a small, “What?”

“Why're you being so nice to me?”

Your mind judders to a halt. What a bizarre question, especially coming from a child. It's clear he means it to be an accusation, as if you're expected to be unkind. As if you're supposed to be, but you're defying his expectations at every turn.

Holding a palm helplessly towards the ceiling, you ask, “Is there a particular reason I shouldn't be nice to you? Isn't being nice just... part of making friends?”

Something flits rapidly across his expression, surprise in the blink of his wide eyes, confusion in the way his jaw unclenches and flops open and closed a few times before he manages to get his tongue to push out a hesitant question. “You said 'friends,' again?” he echoes softly, pulling a claw from the comic and hesitantly pointing at himself, “You... wanna be friends?”

Then, after a little pause... “With me?”

Why would he think otherwise? Building connections is the whole point of your visit, be those connections with the ruler of the kingdom, or a child you met by a fountain. “Of course I do,” you huff with a tinny laugh, resolute in your words.

It's gradual, but the pinch of his brows begins to ease and he adds, “But.. you're not a Koopa. I didn't think anyone who wasn't a Koopa would want-...”

The youngling trails off, lapsing into a meek silence that you're hesitant to break. But the bewilderment in his face compels you to speak up and quietly tell him, “Junior. I understand that you don't know me at all, really. But if there's one thing I'd like you to remember about me, it's that I would never choose a friend based on species. Nobody should.”

He remains quiet for some time, his eyes averted. But then, to your relief, you start to make out the tiny, hesitant smile that tries to worm its way across his face.

“So.. .so, if we're friends,” he starts slowly, as if he's attempting to make sense of something grand and unknowable, “Then could we... like... hang out together?”

Surprised, yet pleased that you haven't inadvertently driven a wedge between you and the Koopa, you nod. “Naturally.”

“And... you could read me comic books!”

“Sounds like fun,” comes your agreeable laugh.

“And we'd go on cool adventures together.” As he speaks, Junior grows more and more animated, staring off into the distance as if he's concocting an elaborate plan in his head.

Gradual as the sunrise, his jaw lifts into a hopeful grin and he stares up at you, standing on his toes. “And.. Would you wanna be friends with my Papa too?”

“I don't see why not,” you shrug.

At first, he seems a little skeptical, squinting up at you through narrowed eyelids, but when you only continue to hold his stare with unflinching sincerity, he finally blinks, drawing his head back and giving you a hum from the base of his throat, sounding pleased, of all things.

“My Papa's got all kinds treasure like these,” Junior murmurs softly as he gazes about at the cargo hold, eventually letting his eyes drift back over to you where they sharpen with sudden, alarming focus, “But I don't think he's ever had a real friend before. Not one as nice as you!”

Little flatterer, you smirk to yourself, raising a hand and covering your cheek with a palm. “Well, I don't know about-”

You aren't given the chance to finish your sentence.

Without a whiff of warning, Junior moves faster than you can blink, dropping down onto all-fours and sweeping his tail beneath your legs.

A bleat of alarm jumps from your throat as you topple over sideways and instinctively drop your armful of comic books, clenching your eyes shut as the ground rushes up to meet you. The impact however, is far more gentle than you'd expected. With a startled 'ooph!' your back hits a soft, warm appendage that snakes around you and effectively pins your arms to your sides. In seamless tandem, a second hand catches you under the knees and prevents your backside from colliding painfully with the floor boards.

“Wha-! Junior!” you yelp indignantly, shocked that a boy half your height has the strength to hold you aloft just enough that your kicking feet can't gain purchase on the ground. “What are you doing!?”

The Koopa's grin has returned full-force, wide and mischievous. Try as you might to struggle from his grasp, you're immensely disconcerted by Junior's unexpected show of strength. You can feel the muscles in his arms bulging underneath you as he hoists you higher into his hold, leaving the skirts of your dress to drag across the floor boards.

For the first time since you met the young Koopa, you feel your stomach twist itself nearly inside out when tendrils of cold, dawning horror begin to coil and writhe in your gut.

Perhaps he deserved the crew's suspicion after all...

He turns towards the hull and steps over your comic books that now lay scattered across the floor.

“Junior!” you raise your voice to something like a yelp, “This is absolutely unacceptable! Put me down at once!”

Dust rains on top of your heads and into your hair as heavy footsteps start to pound in the direction of the hold, igniting a hot spark of hope in your chest.

“Don't worry!” Junior chirps brightly, stepping right up to the ship's wooden wall, “I'm gonna take you home! Papa's real nice, once you get to know him. Me n'him'll take good care of you - you'll see!”

Your quivering heart lurches, the horror of the sudden development shifting across the scales and entering into the realm of terror.

He can't be serious! This is no longer a child playing pretend, this is a child who is evidently prepared to commit a serious offence to get what he wants.

Boots thunder down the steps behind you and you almost weep with relief when the familiar voice of your loyal Captain hollers, “Release her, boy! 'Fore I blast that shell right off your back!”

“Skip!?” you cry out, still trying to wrench your arms from his iron-clad grasp when you hear a sound that fills you simultaneously with equal parts fear and hope.

.. The cocking of the Captain's trusty pistol.

Junior hears it as well, instinctively rounding on the Captain and letting out a vicious snarl, allowing you to catch the briefest glimpse of Skip standing at the head of a group of sailors, her stance wide and her lips peeled back over her teeth of match Junior's warning growl with unparalleled ferocity.

The Koopa's eyes alight on the gun and he suddenly gasps, whipping about and curling himself over you, putting his sturdy shell between you and the weapon.

A burning heat ignites in his chest – you can feel it searing against your side, travelling up the Koopa's sternum and into his throat.

The crew are shouting at the top of their lungs.

Your eyes fling open wide and fix themselves upon the fiery glow emanating between Junior's fangs.

“Leave us alone!” he bellows, letting tendrils of red-hot flames spill from his maw.

Mouth agape, you cringe away from the heat, squeezing your eyes shut again as the fire grows bright enough to sear right through your eyelids.

Junior's jaws open wide and he aims his snout at the wall of the ship whilst a molten ball of fire builds at the back of his throat.

“NO!” the Captain cries hoarsely.

But the time to act has already passed her by, and she hasn't even realised it.

Anything else she might have wanted to shout is suddenly drowned out by a deafening explosion that rocks the ship on her moorings. Junior's entire body gives a sudden jolt as a boiling ball of fire erupts out of his mouth like a bullet fired from a gun, hitting the Bonhomous's hull with a resounding and devastating 'BOOM!'

Strong, solid oak is blasted from its fixtures. Nails fly in every direction like shrapnel, and a plume of smoke engulfs the cargo hold, wrenching the air from your lungs.

The sailors begin to cough and splutter, picking themselves up off the ground from where they'd tossed themselves behind barrels and crates for cover.

Dim sunlight pours into the ship and when you dare to pry your eyelids apart to look, your jaw drops open, leaving you gaping at an enormous, jagged hole that's been blown right out of the Bonhomous's side.

“.... Wh... What have you done?” you breathe, balling your hands into fists and dragging your eyes up to stare at the underside of Junior's yellow chin.

Ignoring the chaos and confusion of the crew at his back, the Koopa cocks a grin at the hole, satisfied with his work as he hops up into the gap, balancing on the splintered edge of a half-destroyed hull.

Urgency pushes you through the shock that stalls your systems and you find yourself struggling anew, choking out, “Junior, please, you don't have to do this!”

The boy's smile gives no indication that he's even heard you.

For a fleeting moment, he twists his head over a shoulder to peer back at the smoke.

There, silhouetted against he indigo haze, the Captain emerges like a vengeful phantom, striding towards you both with murderous fire burning in her dark, grey eyes. In one bloodied hand, she raises her pistol, the shining barrel glinting dangerously in the sunlight that filters through her ship's new cavity.

“Stop,” she croaks hoarsely, her throat burning from the smoke, “Or I'll put you down. Child or no.”

But Junior, although he may be young, is certainly no fool.

He knows a bluff when he sees one. He can all but smell the reluctance rolling off the Captain in waves.

She won't risk firing at him, not while you're being held so closely to his chest.

His mouth twitches and he flashes her a triumphant grin, revelling in the defeat that flickers momentarily behind her eyelids.

The Koopaling is wholly aware of his new friend fighting to get out of his all-encompassing grasp, but he's far stronger than his size suggests, and merely keeps his arms locked tight around your shoulders and legs like a pair of bear traps.

Though you might not be the most conventional birthday present, Junior can't deny that you were the best option on the whole ship, a rare gem hidden amongst the pearls and rubies and, yes, even the comic books. Taking a moment to lament the latter's loss, he leaps from the ship and lands heavily on the dock, taking care not to jostle you too greatly as he scampers between a pair of buildings, leaving the Bonhomous and her crew behind in the dust.

Jewels and riches are nice enough, but Junior isn't blind to the plight that's been afflicting his father for some time now - a plight that can't be fixed by shiny things, sadly.

As brave and strong as his Papa has been in the face of never-ending rebuttal from Princess Peach, Junior can tell that his almighty resolve has at last been chipped down to the bone.

Bowser has been... quieter lately. And every breath that heaves out of his massive lungs seems more and more like an affected sigh.

Junior had overheard Kamek speaking to the King only a few short nights ago, when the youngling was expected to be sound asleep in bed, not sneaking into the kitchens for a midnight snack.

“I think this loneliness is heavier than even your mighty shoulders can bear, my King, “the old Magikoopa had bravely pointed out, though what he might have said before that is unknown to Junior.

Naturally, Bowser had promptly lost his temper and roared Kamek from the throne room. But the seed of suspicion had already been planted in Junior's brain.

His Papa... lonely?

He supposes if anyone would be able to tell, it would be their brainy advisor, Kamek.

As Junior bounds away from the Toads' Capital with a new friend tucked safely in his arms, he allows himself a moment to feel triumphant in his capture.

You may not be a princess, like Peach, but his Papa is still sure to like you. He's often watched the King get tongue-tied around ladies in dresses.

You're afraid now, yes, struggling fruitlessly against him and demanding that he let you go, but he's sure you'll change your tune once you see how well his Papa will treat you.

Friends of the Koopa Troop are friends for life, and you've already said you wanted to be friends with he and the King.

Junior's stubby tail waggles back and forth as he dashes through the outskirts of town, heading for the mushroom forest where he's stashed his clown car.

All he has to do now is get back before his Papa wakes up to find him missing...

--------------

To say that the Bowser Castle is in a state of disarray would be the understatement of the century.

If one were to look at it from outside the towering, stone walls, one might assume that the trembling spires and quivering parapets are afflicted by a localised earthquake.

But on the inside, vulnerable to the wrath of their King, the Koopas on duty find themselves wishing they only had an earthquake to deal with.

“WHERE IS HE!?”

Kamek's thick, round glasses rattle on the edge of his beak as he plasters himself to the door of Junior's bedroom, helpless to do anything other than play silent witness to the young Koopa's father – King Bowser himself – tearing open the boy's closet and sticking his immense bulk into the dark, cramped space, bellowing, “JUNIOR!?” at the top of his lungs.

If Kamek didn't know the king as well as he does, he'd mistake this behaviour for outrage and aggression. But as it is, he's spent too long as Bowser's advisor to be fooled.

Suffice it to say, Junior's inexplicable absence has worried the living daylights out of his father. It's just a shame that the king's worry is almost an exact mimic of his anger, and so often the two are lumped together by his critics.

And yet, for all the ferocity with which Bowser appears to be ripping his son's bedroom asunder in his mad search, it doesn't escape Kamek's notice that not a single thing inside has actually sustained any damage.

With a snarl of frustration, Bowser wrenches his nose from the closet and lumbers across the room to his son's bed, pinching the soft blankets and covers between his claws and peeling them back as if Junior might have managed to sneak back into the room when his father's back was turned.

Every attempt to calm the worked-up king down has thus far been met with belligerence and aggravated growls. Still, Kamek Koopa is nothing if not persistent.

“Sire, please, remember your blood pressure,” he calls chidingly, “I'm sure the young master will turn up soon!”

Bowser's tremendous jaws snap together with the force of a thunderclap and he shoots Kamek a molten glare. “Junior ALWAYS wakes me up on my birthday!” he seethes, his powerful fists compressing a pillow until it threatens to explode and spray feathers all over the room, “Not only did he not wake me this morning, now, I can't find him ANYWHERE!”

The last word is bellowed loudly enough to be heard from the deepest dungeon to the tallest spire.

Kamek's eyes squeeze shut behind his glasses, wincing in discomfort until his ears stop ringing and the quivering chandelier overhead falls still.

“Sire,” he sighs, pushing his spectacles further up on his beak, “The boy is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. You raised him, after all! Besides, he has his communicator with him, no? He'll call if he runs into any trouble.”

All at once, Bowser peels his lips back and lets out a low, guttural rumble that spills from his chest, dropping the pillow and instead snatching something up from the corner of Junior's bed. “Oh really,” he utters dangerously, holding a small, rectangular object between his thumb and forefinger and raising it into the air for the Magikoopa to see, “Then tell me, Kamek, how Junior is supposed to contact me when he left his communicator UNDER HIS PILLOW!?”

“... Ah...” Kamek is starting to get the sense that his King's threadbare patience is reaching its end. It's unusual for the boy to go anywhere without his communicator, but it's possible that he simply forgot it.

He's just about to concede and suggest that they send a troop out to search for Junior, if only to keep the King from spiralling into an all-out tantrum when all of a sudden, from somewhere beyond the bedroom door, the rapid approach of footsteps catches their attention, followed by a familiar voice calling out, “PAPA!”

'Oh thank goodness,' Kamek sighs to himself.

At once, Bowser's colossal frame sags like a balloon losing air, leaving him immeasurably smaller somehow, without all that agitation swelling his chest.

“Junior!” he shouts back, trying very hard to sound stern, but incapable of hiding every ounce of his relief.

Kamek only just manages to shuffle away from the doors before they suddenly burst open so violently that their brass knobs smash into the walls and their hinges give an almighty squeal, and there behind them stands the previously mislaid Bowser Junior, sporting a grin so wide that his cheeks are doubled in size.

“PAPA!” he cries again, barrelling towards Bowser like a tiny, green and yellow torpedo. Immediately, the King thumps down onto one knee, though whether from instinct or habit, Kamek is hard-pressed to say.

A pair of tremendous arms spread open to catch Junior mid-leap, sweeping the boy up into his father's grasp and all but crushing him against a broad, scaly chest.

“Happy birthday!” The Koopaling's shout is muffled by the thick wall of of flesh he's being squashed into.

Kamek politely averts his gaze to the floor of Junior's room, falling into the familiar routine of visually categorising all the things he'll need to clean up off the boy's messy floor, giving the pair of them a moment to themselves as father and son.

Hunched over his child, Bowser permits himself just a few seconds to let an intoxicating relief roll over his shoulders and cool the fire raging in his belly.

“Son,” he rumbles, peeling Junior off his chest and holding the Koopaling up in front of his snout, drawing his brows together until they almost meet in the centre of his forehead. “Where have you been!?”

Junior at least has the decency to cower slightly into his shell, peeking out at his father with a hesitant grin pulling on the edges of his mouth. “I'm sorry. But you won't believe what I-!”

“You didn't wake me up!” Bowser simply bulldozes over his son's explanation, puffing out a stream of smoke through his flaring nostrils, “You always wake me up! And then I come in here, and I find you gone!”

“I-I know, but I had to-”

“You didn't even leave a note! You left your communicator! I've been tearing this castle apart trying to find you! What if something happened!?”

Uncomfortable with being the focus his father's unwavering glare, Junior begins to wriggle, embarrassed. “M'sorry, Papa,” he mutters, “I was just tryin' to find you the perfect birthday present...”

Slowly, something in Bowser's fearsome expression turns soft – Well... as soft as a ruthless, oversized Koopa's expression can turn.

For all that Bowser is as gruff and ornery as a dragon with a headache, when it comes to Junior, he's a total pushover.

The King grumbles something quietly under his breath and he pulls a face, squinting sharply at his son for several, gruelling moments before at last, his maw twists up into a grin.

“The perfect present... Haha!” A low chuckle rolls out of his throat, deep and resonant like faraway brontide, “Tryn'a impress your old man, eh? Well, guess I can't stay mad at you for bein' thoughtful.”

He gently lowers the Koopaling to the floor and ruffles his hair with one, meaty paw. Junior makes an indignant noise of complaint at the back of his throat and ducks out from under his father's palm, reaching up to fix his tousled ponytail.

“Yeah, yeah. Quit bein' embarrassin' and come see what I got you!” he huffs, snagging one of Bowser's immense fingers and tugging him urgently towards the bedroom door, “C'mon, c'mon!”

The King's heavy footsteps plod steadily down the long corridor in the wake of his son, who continues to try and drag the colossal Koopa along faster. Exhaling warmly through his nostrils, Bowser allows himself to be lead to the throne room doors, whereupon Junior finally lets go of his hand and bounds towards them, calling over his shoulder, “She's in here!”

It takes Bowser a moment to register what his son had said, but once he does, his smile wavers and he blunders, “Wait. She?!”

The boy disregards his father in favour of grabbing the doorknobs and wrenching them open, scampering inside. As soon as the towering doors swing aside, Bowser's sensitive nose is hit with a gentle aroma, far lighter and fresher than the musty, old throne room.

'Perfume?' he muses, incredulous.

And then, he raises his head, tearing his eyes off Junior and fixing his gaze upon a gaggle of Koopa Troopa guards who have gathered together in a circle at the centre of the room, their spears raised and trained on the same target.

'What in the world did Junior bring home this time?'

“OW! Hey! Would you mind watching where you point those spears?” a voice cries out sharply, unfamiliar to Bowser's well-trained ears, “This dress took my seamstress months to make! If you tear it, she'll tan my sorry hide!”

Beyond curious now, Bowser raises his snout higher into the air to peer over the Koopas as he stomps towards them with enough force to shake the guards in their boots.

“Hey!” Junior barks, “I told you guys not to hurt her!”

His father, meanwhile, has lost what little he has of patience. Swinging his meaty fist out, he grabs the shoulder of the closest guard and shoves him aside with a curt grunt, at last revealing what they'd been obscuring from sight.

The King blinks once, then twice, and then suddenly, his mighty heart skips a couple of beats and his jaw promptly drops.

------

The moment you feel the heat of a warm, wet breath sliding over the nape of your neck, you freeze, your mouth stuck halfway open in the middle of demanding that these guards tell you where in the world you are.

There's a presence behind you, a shadow utterly dwarfing your own that's been cast by overhead chandeliers.

You don't whirl around right away, somehow sensing that you're in the company of someone much, much bigger than you, stronger than you, and you'd rather avoid provoking it with any unexpected movements.

The Koopas around you have lifted their eyes to stare agog at a spot right above your head, slowly lowering their weapons as they begin edging backwards. Though whether that's out of deference or terror, you have no idea.

In spite of your own fear, you attempt to remain poised as you continue to turn until you gradually come face to face with a massive expanse of flaxen skin.

'That's a chest!' your brain helpfully supplies. 'Broad as a barn and twice as sturdy...' You swallow, reluctantly dragging your eyes up the length of that mammoth chest until your gaze inevitably comes to a stop on a gruesome face.

You're not quite fast enough to stop a gasp from slipping in between your parted lips.

Before you looms a veritable mountain of a creature – a Goliath in every sense of the word. Dragon-scale skin stretches taut over bulging muscles and just one of his limbs looks as though it would weigh the same as a full-grown man.

His head alone dwarfs yours. He boasts a robust and square jaw from which protrude the largest fangs you've ever seen outside of a prehistoric museum...

The spiked shell sitting on his back is equally as massive as its wearer, and heavy-bodied too. You don't doubt that bearing its weight for so long must have contributed to this giant's powerful physique.

In rather striking contrast to his body's colouration, a mane of thick, crimson hair sweeps back from the top of his skull, right between a pair of upturned horns that jut from either side of his head.

It's by that hair and the bushy, red brows that you draw a logical conclusion – This can only be Junior's father.

'This is Papa!?'

You're suddenly left feeling very helpless under his smouldering stare.

However, unbeknownst to you, Bowser's mind is running along a very similar track.

Of all the 'gifts' he'd been expecting his son to get him, the very last thing he would have guessed was to come face to face with a tiny, human woman.

His almighty heart gives a pulsing throb when you tip your head back and he sees your eyes for the first time, blinking up at him in what he'd like to imagine must be awe and wonder.

He can smell the subtle traces of your perfume lingering on your soft, delicate skin, tantalisingly sweet and decadent. Expensive too, he'd wager. The silk of your dress is exquisite and shines prettily in the light of the candelabras – a fine material typically only afforded by nobility. Within seconds, he deduces that wherever you've come from, it's a place of opulence and refinement.

You're certainly a pretty package, all wrapped up in finery... The perfect birthday present indeed...

Just like that, Bowser finds himself rendered very helpless, even jelly-limbed under your scrutiny.

“Isn't she pretty, Papa?” Junior pipes up, breaking the spell that had fallen over the King and the stranger in their midst.

Bowser blinks, and, realising that his lower jaw is hanging slack, he snaps it shut with a click of his fangs.

Right.. Right, yes. First impressions... Stars, he hasn't even waxed his shell today! Is his hair still sticking out at odd angles from where he'd slept on it?

Feeling oddly light in the chest, Bowser clears his throat – a resonant sound that makes you recoil a step – and he extends one colossal paw, deftly catching your dainty, little hand between his thumb and forefinger, and applying just the barest amount of pressure to keep you from reclaiming your appendage.

He expertly ignores how your expression screws up tightly with trepidation as he begins to lower his head, bending at his sizeable waist and swinging an arm backwards to rest on his shell in a perfectly controlled bow.

“Enchanté,” he rumbles smoothly, raising your hand to his mouth. You turn rigid in his grip, but he's quick to alleviate a modicum of your fear by giving your knuckles the gentlest brush of his rubbery lips, hardly pressing down enough to be felt. Never once does he break eye contact.

Your eyelids spring open wide in shock, staring hard at the gleaming fangs that protrude from his maw, all too mindful of the fact that they could bite your appendage clean off with just a sniff of effort.

“And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking, hm?” His voice alone is powerful enough to thrum deeply inside your chest like a second heartbeat. It terrifies you, the unrestrained brawn that shifts below the surface of his scales.

He wants to know your name? The first question he asks, and it's to inquire after your name?

In hindsight, you suppose it isn't such an outlandish query after all.

More to the point though, how is such a brutish behemoth speaking so eloquently?

Almost at once, a stab of rancid shame demands a spot inside your chest. Who are you to assume how he should and shouldn't be able to speak?

Blinking absently, you flit your gaze from the colossal snout smiling in front of your face to the clawed thumb resting delicately against the back of your hand.

It hits you like a sack of bricks.

He's bowing to you.

'… Well,' you suppose, 'he may look the part of the Dragon who kidnapped the Princess, but his demeanour is that of a polished patrician... at least thus far.'

Throat bobbing as you swallow thickly, you dare to hope that he, unlike his son, can be reasoned with. Hell, for all you know, this is all just a big misunderstanding. He'll reprimand Junior for kidnapping you, and you'll be allowed to go on your merry way. If anything, he deserves the benefit of your doubt. Just once.

It takes a tremendous effort to gulp your heart back down into its proper place behind your ribs.

Clearing your throat, you almost tell him precisely who you are, status and all. But a tiny inkling of doubt stays your tongue.

Is it really so sensible to be telling him your regal status? Especially given that you're utterly alone here, a stranger in a strange land, treading unknown territory without any sort of phalanx...

“My name,” you start to croak, almost losing your nerve when his face lights up with a hopeful grin, “You may call me, Y/n...”

The breath he exhales over your face is slow and gentle, barely strong enough to disturb the hairs on your head.

“Y/n,” he murmurs, rolling the name off his tongue as if he were tasting a fine wine.

Hesitant, you give your captured hand a testing pull, and this time, he allows you to withdraw it and tuck it protectively against your chest as you back away from him. “A-and, you must be Junior's father,” you say falteringly, shooting the boy a withering look as you do.

In much the same manner as his son did when you asked for his name, Bowser swells with unabashed pride, pushing out his prodigious chest and pointing his nose at the ceiling. If you didn't know he was Junior's father before, you'd certainly be able to tell now.

“Name's Bowser!” he announces, flicking his gleaming, red eyes down to flash you, of all things, a wink, “King Bowser.”

And 'oh good lord,' you realise as your stomach bottoms out, 'Junior wasn't playing pretend at all.'

#super mario bros movie #mario bros movie #bowser #bowser x reader #bowser junior #bowser jr #kidnapping #infatuation #Bowser likes pretty things #Jr is a good son #Bowser is a good dad #possessive behaviour #slow burn

[proudfreakmetarusonniku]

Day 12: What Could Go Wrong?

A version of Inconsolable Differences where Dream doesn’t burn the “discs”. Only realising on his final breath the depths of Dream's obsession with Tommy, Wilbur leaves Tommy trapped with the man who ruined his life and a broken promise. Dream, however, is eager to have his favourite punching bag back, and makes a promise he intends on following through with. Warnings for suicide, loss of a family member, fairly graphic depictions of violence and death, dehumanisation, manipulation, self hatred, extreme possessive behaviour, vomiting, broken bones, self victim blaming, abuse, infantilisation, and forced family dynamics.

AO3 link, if you’d prefer.

“Wil! Wil, how could you do this, Wil?”

Tommy begged and screamed and cried, desperately holding onto Wilbur’s coat jacket in the desperate hope he could drag him away. Wil- he promised, he promised, everything was gonna be okay, he’d get his discs back, nothing would go wrong, yet he stood there holding a bucket of lava, grinning and ready to ignite himself.

Dream was still staring directly at Tommy, and Tommy knew- he knew that fucking grin under his mask. The one he always had on around Tommy, less cruel and more like a toddler with their favourite fucking rag doll to pull apart. “He’s bluffing. He’s bluffing!”

“I’m not- try me, bitch!” Wilbur’s voice was loud, echoing throughout the lobby, and it made Tommy wince. “One, zero!”

Dream held the discs in his hand, unburnt. “I’ll take that bet.”

Wilbur roughly shoved Tommy as far away from him as he could before setting himself alight.

“WILBUR! WIL, NO!” Tommy sobbed and screeched, desperately trying to run towards the burning figure of his brother, the sickening smell of flesh alike and whimpers of pain yet that damned satisfied smirk still on his fucking face, but tight arms wrapped around him, restraining him yet forcing him to watch as he screamed until his throat was bloody and raw.

Tommy scrunched his eyes shut, desperate to try and avoid seeing the horrible sight, but sharp nails dug into his stomach as he struggled, and he opened them instinctively. He tried to look at anything but Wilbur burning, his flesh turning red to black to completely dissolved, the grin on his face turning more and more strained as he collapsed, but he couldn’t focus on the obsidian walls, on the blank nothingness of everything but the only family he had left killing himself in front of him again.

Screaming turned to wailing turned to desperate, quiet sobbing.

Wheezing laughter filled the air at that, as Tommy was unceremoniously released and collapsed under his own weight, landing painfully on the hard floor and curling up into as tight a ball as possible. The sound of footsteps was deafening, along with the rattling gurgles of someone just about clinging to life, ones Tommy was familiar with from himself.

“I should thank you, really.” Dream’s voice was sickeningly sweet. “You come into my house, gift me three of my favourite things, then dispose of yourself? All it took was playing along, and I got everything I ever wanted.”

Wilbur’s voice was raspy, barely audible through his final breaths. “I- what? No, you were meant to…”

The silence was more deafening than anything else.

It hurt to cry so hard. Tommy’s chest constricted hard, and it felt impossible to breathe, like a million tons lay on top of him. But more than that, it hurt to think. Hurt to think of a life without Wilbur. Hurt to think about being alone and trapped with Dream. It felt like he was being forced through the same agony he’d broken under before again and again and again. The idea of freedom seemed like a joke, happiness an impossibility.

He didn’t want to think anymore.

It could have been an eternity or a second before he felt something other than the cold floor, the wetness of his tears and the agony of breathing. Roughly, with the enthusiastic lack of care of a child opening their presents on Christmas morning, he was pulled into a tight embrace that knocked what little wind he had out of him, leaving him collapsed and compliant in a way that he hated.

“It’s okay, now, Tommy, it’s okay, I’m here,” Dream repeated, and Tommy wasn’t sure if the mocking tone in his voice was really there or something his terrified brain was adding to try and make sense of the whole thing. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now, you don’t need to cry.”

Tommy hated how Dream still pulled that friend card, like it had any weight at all after what he’d done to him. It was worse than if he’d just tortured and beaten and berated him. It made him feel less wiggly inside. His stomach was already doing flips after seeing Wilbur… seeing him go, but the faux-kindness tipped him over the edge, and he really was sick, right onto Dream’s shoulder.

Dream let go of him again at that, and that slight bit of freedom felt like the only light in the world. Tommy wasn’t sure whether to treasure it, not knowing when he’d get another chance, or to ignore his own selfish whims. It wasn’t like he’d ever somehow undamn himself, but no matter how sinful and wretched beyond repair he was, he still wanted to do right by the Primes, and that required respect. He didn’t know. His head was all flooded and wobbly and shit.

“Ugh,” Dream said, unequipping his chestplate. “Well, it has been a while. I suppose I can’t blame you for regressing from time away from me, after all. I’ll let you off this once, because I’m feeling generous today.”

Tommy tuned out Dream’s self-important bullshit the best he could, only focused on the fact Dream was vulnerable, for once, a hole in the armour he otherwise wore, a straight shot. He’d dropped his sword while sobbing, but it had to be close. His eyes scanned for the sight of silver-blue diamond, and the second he managed to glance that shine, he desperately made a lunge, scrambling for it.

He’d barely wrapped his fingers around the smooth hilt before a crashing weight came down on his hands, and he could hear his bones breaking, a sickeningly loud crunch almost drowning out the waves of pain. He’d always been sensitive since revival, but the sudden agony burst through him like it was brand new, and bright, burning colours etched themself over his eyelids as he scrunched them shut tight. No noise came out as he tried hard to scream, only rough, body-shaking coughs.

A swift kick to his stomach cut off even that, leaving him wheezing and sobbing, and he flinched violently when he felt a hand on his cheek, expecting more agony. Instead, there was only a soft chuckle he could barely hear over his own heartbeat, and claws gently wiping aside his tears. That was worse than whatever pain he could picture- the monstrous side of Dream, the one who beat him and killed his friends, was easy to hate, while the one who said kind words that dug at his core and held him tight after berating him into tears felt so easy to adore.

Maybe he fucking deserved it if he kept wanting to crawl back for more.

“I thought I could trust you, Tommy. I thought we were friends.” Dream didn’t even sound mad, just disappointed and genuinely hurt, and Tommy hated how it made him feel guilty. “I suppose it’s what I should expect, with you going back to them. It’s not your fault, is it? You’re just a kid.”

Maybe if Tommy was in any other situation, he’d avoid that bait, but with pain and grief clouding every part of him, he bit. “I-I’m not-“ His words were quiet and scratchy, and talking felt like swallowing razor blades, but if his voice was the only weapon he had left, he’d go down swinging. “I’m eighteen. Not a child.”

“Huh, could have fooled me.” Dream pinched Tommy’s cheeks hard enough it made him start whimpering again. “You’ve still got your baby fat, y’know? Actually, I don’t think you’ve changed a bit since the prison. Guess that makes you a child forever, huh?”

If looks could kill, the look Tommy gave Dream would have been the most deadly force on the planet. Instead, it just made Dream laugh, the same tone one would have seeing a small animal do something amusing.

Prime, he hated that fucking laugh. He’d grown familiar with it well towards the beginning of the server, during the Disc Wars, and in hindsight, it made a lot of the fond memories he had at the time, the war he thought was just for fun against a man he looked up to and admired deeply, as both a member of the faith and a friend, feel so sickening and bitter in hindsight. He never wanted to hear that fucking sound again, and Wilbur- he’d- he’d promised-

“He promised it’d be okay,” Tommy murmured, half-conscious. “Wil- he promised, he said nothing would go wrong, I wouldn’t even havta see you again. He promised. I trusted him, and-“

“Shh, shh. It’s okay now. He can’t make any more promises he can’t keep, can he? He can’t hurt you anymore.” Tommy was too exhausted from the physical and mental agony he couldn’t resist being pulled back into Dream’s arms, the bastard cradling him like he was some sick puppy and not a Primes be damned person. “I’m here now, and I promise you can trust me. I’m going to fix you, make you all better, like we did in Exile. I can be your new family! And we’ll make this server perfect. Together.”

Whether you want me to or not went unsaid, but it hung in the air like a silent promise, and unlike Wilbur, Dream always made good on those.

#whumptober2022 #no.12 #what could go wrong? #dream smp #fic #suicide #loss of a family member #graphic descriptions of violence #graphic descriptions of death #dehumanisation #manipulation #self hatred #possessive behaviour #vomiting #broken bones #self victim blaming #abuse #infantilisation #forced family dynamics #primeboys (derogatory)

[obsessiveragdoll]

Forever and evermore

#irl yandere #yandere #darlingcore #irlyandere #actually yandere #possessive #possessive love #possessive behaviour

[starleska]

If you're still taking writing requests, could you do possessive Wally headcanons?

*cracks knuckles* oh anon, i most certainly can 😈 yandere!Wally fans (me too 😳), this one's for you! (this is less headcanons and more a oneshot... kinda wanna write the whole thing 🙈)

content warnings for possessive behaviour, manipulation, threats, arson, entrapment and kidnapping!

Possessive/Yandere!Wally Darling x Reader headcanons

👁 it all started so well. Wally was a Darling both in name and behaviour, and you fell hard and fast. such an attentive sweetheart, from the moment you moved into the neighbourhood it was as if he were always at your side. anywhere else, you may have been unnerved, but Wally's simple warmth and easy smile dispelled all of your doubts. while you tried to spread your time equally between your kind new neighbours, you somehow always found yourself in Wally's presence, talking to him for hours.

👁 in time, you found yourself becoming bolder. you start returning Wally's curious glances, and soon allow your eyes to linger a touch longer than they should. curiously (and with a little bit of a thrill), you notice that Wally seems incapable of breaking eye contact - no matter how long you stare, he'll always stare right back, unperturbed.

👁 one day, you find yourself closer to Wally than usual. you're half-pressed against one another on your sofa, Wally's cheek nestled in the crook of your shoulder. he's drawing something in his sketchbook: an indistinct, wobbly shape that you can't make heads or tails of. while Wally's right hand scribbles furiously with his pencil, the fingers of his unoccupied left hand spill at your side, reflexively clenching every now and again with the automatic motions of his drawing.

👁 the closeness imbues you with a newfound confidence. you take a breath, steady yourself...and reach across, brushing your fingers lightly across Wally's own. Wally's eyes snap towards you. for a moment, his pupils blow so wide you think they might just swallow you.

👁 the next day, your house catches fire. such an incident is unheard of in this neighbourhood, and all your neighbours are horrified for you. however, Wally is strangely calm. "I'm sorry you lost so much," he says, still smiling. "Would you like to live with me?"

👁 you're shaken - but accept Wally's offer. the shock of the fire takes a few days to wear off, but nothing could be more unsettling than living in close quarters with Wally Darling. existing within the living, breathing (creaking? squeaking) walls of his Home has an atypical effect on the puppet. Wally's voice is lower, and he moves with more purpose, as if he and Home are one and the same: symbiotic entities which exist in tandem with one another.

👁 to add to your creeping sense of dread, Wally flips the script on your personal space. now he is the one letting his fingers slip easily around your waist, and fixing you with uncomfortable, impossible-to-ignore stares. you try to laugh off his behaviour, questioning him openly if he enjoys having you as a guest so much. for once, Wally doesn't smile when he replies, "I love you living with me."

👁 it isn't until a week has passed that you learn all the doors are locked, and Wally never gave you a key. you try wrestling with the door handle, but it doesn't budge. then you try the windows, but they're sealed shut. 'I'm not trapped!' you think to yourself. 'Wally is just being a good neighbour - he wants to keep me safe.' but that still doesn't stop you from panicking, scouring the house for the heaviest thing you can find and trying to smash the window. the glass does not break. Home suddenly groans with the sound of a thousand old floorboards and overloaded pipes - a dreadful, ear-rending noise - causing the glass in the window to triple in height and thickness right before your eyes.

👁 terrified, you scramble backwards to run out of the kitchen - only to run smack into Wally. you collapse to the floor and gaze up at Wally, standing in the doorway with his hands tucked behind his back, that cat's smile of his holds some private amusement.

👁 "did you try to leave Home?" Wally asks. "Silly, silly." he takes a step towards you, and then another - slow and loping steps, his cute puppet form now moving in a way equal parts unnatural and sinister. he crouches next to you, those eyes now whirlpools of void which obscure all but the slight white rim of his scleras. "Try again," Wally whispers. "I'd like that very much."

#hoo BOY i think i received this ask blacked out and then woke up with a book 🙈🙈🙈 #this kinda stuff is my favourite so i hope you guys enjoy it too 😉 #wally darling #wally darling x reader #welcome home #welcome home arg #starleskasks #starleskawrites #tw: manipulation #tw: threats #tw: arson #tw: possessive behaviour #tw: entrapment #tw: kidnapping #wally darling x you

[dapperstein]

Oh yeah I finally made a part 2 to this (my trickshot werewolf au) by the way

Posted on ao3 because tumblr formatting sucks

#trickshot #ego shipping #egoshipping #dapperstein writes #possessive behaviour #werewolf au

[aevris]

a few more doodles since i'm having fun with this topic. anxious stringbean man under the temporary delusion that he's a tough guy.

#neither of them are particularly jealous/possessive partners so it would for sure be aberrant behaviour lol #it's kinda hot/flattering for the first 5 minutes and then it's just annoying. #oc: ryker #oc: xantho #the cat is just a random lady #safer harbours #anthro au

[sunandmoonster]

A marimo and his captain

a pic on pinterest i liked, so i made it zolu :3

#yes i still use :3 #and no im no furry #i just like catboys lol #alao im a sucker for possessive behaviour #and eventhough luffy is normally a pretty generous guy #there are some things he would never share #his hat #meat #and his first mate <3 #hoho #zolu #zoro #luffy #my babies #also hands are so much easier when u have a good ref omfg #my art