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imagine-darksiders · 1 year

Note

So, what do you think of this? Bowser sees Y/N in an extreme state of danger, like, I dunno, trying to be taken against her will by an arranged Prince suitor or something, and the state of her distress/fear get's him so mad he transforms into Giga Bowser.

Well, first of all, I have done nothing BUT think of this for the past week! Thanks so much for the inspiration! Here's a little drabble <3

TW: Physical abuse, Kidnapping, Captive Reader, Implied arranged marriage, Giga Bowser is kinda scary? Mentions of being eaten etc

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Bowser's thunderous footsteps come grinding to a halt of their own accord, stilling the colossal Koopa in his tracks at the opposite end of the docks, his eyes bulging open at the sight that looms out of the mist to greet him.

He's found you, his little runaway, for which he's rendered breathless with palpable relief.

But to his mounting dismay, there's another human with you.

A stranger...

A man.

And not only is this man encroaching well into your personal space, but his hands have captured your wrists as well, keeping you anchored in place with his chest shoved firmly against yours.

The pair of you are so wrapped up in the presence of the other, that neither one of you notices the King lurking nearby.

For a single beat, Bowser almost can't tear his wild-eyed stare away from the fingertips squeezing into your supple skin.

But then, he hears your voice, laden with thick and palpable alarm that's badly disguised by the composure you're attempting to maintain.

“Falkner, please,” you're shakily telling the other human, “Whatever agreement you may have had with my father is null and void now that he's dead!”

“Bullshit!” the stranger is quick to contend, giving you a rough jostle that throws fuel on the fire already raging in Bowser's gut, “Your old man promised you to me! I didn't sail halfway around the world just to be told no!”

Neither of you register the Koopa, not even when he lowers his horned head and takes a heavy, dangerous step towards you, his hackles starting to rise just like his gorge.

Just who the Hell does this idiot think he is to speak to you so crassly?!

Another step sends the pebbles near his feet skittering across the ground.

Your jaw is set, but you continue to tug at your ensnared wrists as you retort, “Promises made in a drunken stupor are hardly binding agreements!”

The man's face is swiftly changing from sallow and pallid to a vivid crimson and he parts his lips to shout, “You are mine by rights! You're coming with me!”

“Let me GO!” At last, perhaps inevitably, your voice cracks.

Bowser's jaw aches with how tightly his fangs are wedged together.

He can feel a fireball trying to crawl its way up his throat, leaving a sting that burns like venom along the walls of his trachea, but he gulps it down. No matter how great and terrible his rage might grow, he'd be remiss to let an attack loose with you so close to the firing line.

But there's something else building in his chest. Something swollen and ugly that rumbles like a slumbering giant just underneath his scales when he sees the moisture glistening on your dainty eyelashes.

Bowser hasn't ever seen you cry. Not even when he informed you that you'd be a permanent guest at his castle. Not even when it dawned on you that you could never go back to your old home across the seas. Not even when you fell from your window during an escape attempt and sprained your ankle, and the pain was great enough that you actually clung to him as he lifted you gently into his arms, your lips stuffed together to refrain from whimpering.

So to see you this close to tears now instills an outrage in him that differs from his usual temper. This is tumultuous. Primal, even.

He wants you to notice him now, to glance over and see that he's here for you, that you'll be all right because Bowser would never let anything bad happen to you.

Heart aflame, his pace quickens to a lurching gallop.

With a wrench, you manage to free one of your hands from Falkner's grip and use it to pry his fingers from your remaining wrist. “I said, GET! OFF!”

The anger in Bowser's chest dims only slightly to make room for a burst of pride.

But that momentary delight is stamped out as swiftly as it comes.

In an awful, jarring instant, the man - evidently fed up with your continued resistance – reels his hand back into the air behind his head, fingers pressed together, open-palmed...

Bowser can see the disaster unfurling right in front of him, but his shame is in knowing that he was too slow to stop it from happening.

The hand hurtles forwards...

A harrowing 'CRACK' ruptures the air as calloused skin meets the vulnerable flesh of your cheek.

Your head is flung sideways and you cry out, eyes wide with shock, and it's only then that your startled gaze land upon your audience. Cheek humming, the tears finally spill over the walls of your eyelids, tumbling in ceaseless rivulets down your face.

You choke on a wet sob, unable to drag your gaze away from the Koopa.

You can't summon the will to be pleased for his interference, if anything, you're ashamed to have been caught by your captor in a moment of such vulnerability.

Perhaps it's the tears distorting your vision, or perhaps the slap had knocked something loose in your brain, but through blurred vision, you think you can see a change come over Bowser, and if you didn't know any better, you'd almost swear that he was growing.

A hiss from your side catches your attention, but you don't turn to look at Falkner, though you can see him flapping his hand about to rid it of the lingering sting. “Damn,” he sucks a breath through his teeth, “Now look what you made me do... If you hadn't been so difficult, I wouldn't've had to do-” He finally notices the ground trembling beneath his leather boots. "-that...?"

Whatever had been hiding under the surface of Bowser's scales is howling out with rage, stirred from its slumber by the vicious and unprovoked attack on his friend.

Muscles ripple and bulge as they expand, bones snap, twisting out of shape. The Koopa King's gums burn as his fangs grow longer, sharper, squeaking against one another whilst his rapidly changing jaw struggles to keep up with their rate of growth.

It's agony, this transformation, but it can't be helped.

His friend has been struck. Hurt. And everything in him, every last instinct and sinew and atom, is bellowing out at him that he needs to protect you.

He would swallow this agony over and over again if it keeps you from experiencing pain.

He may be monstrous in size and temperament, but he isn't a monster.

He can't be...

Anger feeds into his expanding body, giving itself more space to spread like a wildfire, or perhaps more like a wave of churning acid that washes through his veins and takes the place of his blood.

It must... Because his body feels as if it's corroding.

“What the HELL is that?!”

Falkner's shriek adequately echoes your own inner monologue.

And you thought Bowser was terrifying before.

The tyrant must be absolutely livid with you for managing to escape from your room. If only you hadn't run into Sir Falkner on the docks. You went looking for a rescue party, but the man who did come to 'rescue' you might be even worse than King Bowser. At least Bowser, for all his uninvited clinginess, had never raised a hand against you.

Now though, locked in his blood-red stare, you start to wonder if you've pushed your luck just a step too far.

Pounding footsteps take off behind you, slapping against the cobblestone as Falkner simply turns tail and runs, leaving you frozen in place with your limbs as rigid as petrified wood, like your body knows instinctively that to turn your back and run from something with teeth that sharp is a very bad idea.

Inevitably, Bowser's head shoots up almost the moment Falkner starts to flee, and you're helpless but to watch on in horror as a gigantic paw surges over your head and snatches your would-be suitor right off the ground, hoisting the man up into the air.

Falker's resulting scream chills you down to the marrow in your bones, so wracked with terror and urgency that it sets your teeth on edge.

The oversized Koopa draws the thrashing human up to his maw and peels back his thick, rubbery lips, giving Falkner an uninterrupted view of his fate.

A constant growl spills between gleaming fangs, each one about the length of your own forearm, and the sound itself is loud enough that it could be mistaken for an unending grumble of far-off thunder, easily drowning out the man's screams.

It's gruesome to see. Your imagination runs wild with awful possibilities that you pray don't come to pass. Trembling in your boots, you lower your gaze to stare unblinkingly at the ground instead whilst short, sharp breaths fall out of your lungs, coming fast enough to leave you feeling light-headed.

Slowly, carefully, you take a single step back.

This might be your only chance to escape.

But then, like a damning acknowledgement of your cowardice, Falkner screams your name.

“Y/N!” he screeches, his back arched against the pain of being crushed in Bowser's grip, “HELP ME! PLEASE!”

'...You don't have to help him,' logic whispers into your ear, set on self-preservation, 'Nobody but his mother would miss him. He's a bad person, and you're not a hero.'

No. You're not a hero. And it certainly wouldn't be heroic to save a man like Falkner, who does more harm than good most days.

Bowser's immense jaws part in reaction to the human's screams, and his growl explodes into a deafening roar that blasts the man's hair back and forces him to pinch his eyes firmly shut.

Similarly, you raise your hands and slap them over your ears, teeth grit until the sound starts to fade. You can only imagine what the volume had done to Falkner's eardrums.

Even through the cushioning of your palms, you still hear him crying out once more, “DO SOMETHING!”

… Your head twists slowly towards a little wooden boat that bobs invitingly on the nearby docks. You're strong enough to work the oars, you could very easily jump into it, raise the little, white sail and let the wind carry you far out to sea, away from this place.

Away from Bowser.

This could be your only shot of escaping imprisonment and going home.

“I beg of you!”

… You could...

“Y/N!”

… Oh, damn it all.

Your eyes snap back up to Falkner and you immediately start to feel the burning of your cheek, as if to remind you of what he did.

But already, your scruples are disintegrating. A direct cry for help is a tough thing to ignore, after all.

On shaking knees, you reclaim the step you'd made in retreat and instead move towards Bowser, tipping your head back and peeling your tongue from the roof of your bone-dry mouth. “B-!” You falter on the first syllable and have to swallow roughly before trying again. “Bowser!”

Almost as soon as it had begun, the thunderous roar falls silent, echoing off in the distance until it's lost over the crashing waves.

Falkner continues to gasp and whimper inside the colossal fist, but those haunting, blood-red eyes turn gradually in your direction, pinning you once again in their subtle glow.

Your legs threaten to buckle as you realise he's now focusing solely on you.

You've no idea if he can be reasoned with in this state, but you know you can't do much else but try. “Release him, Bowser!” you yelp without an ounce of any real authority, “I'm the one who ran from you! Not him! Put him down!”

The docks are still and disarmingly placid for a time, disturbed only by the sounds of Falkner struggling to free himself, and the breaths that enter and leave a set of gargantuan lungs.

The hulking Koopa continues to glower down at you, his nostrils flared wide to reveal a red-hot glow from within, like a burning core.

Just as you begin to fear that your plea will go unheeded, Bowser hisses through his fangs, and then, without much ceremony, he simply opens his fist and Falkner goes tumbling out of it, landing awkwardly on his ankle and eliciting a yelp of pain. Still, he wastes no time in whirling over onto his backside and kicking madly to push himself out from under the behemoth's shadow.

You follow his retreat from the corner of an eye, but you don't break Bowser's stare.

You daren't, even as he takes a lumbering step in your direction. The ground underneath your shudders with the impact, as though the island itself is afraid of his wrath.

Another step covers much of the distance between you, and the realisation that he's coming your way snaps you out of your trance. You've given Falkner a chance to escape. Now, you'll be taking yours.

Skirts flying, you whip yourself about and take off in a dead sprint. Behind you, the air quivers as Bowser releases an urgent chuff, the heat from his breath washing disconcertingly over the back of your neck and spurring you to kick up your heels.

However, you barely make it ten paces before a colossal palm suddenly descends from the sky and crashes into the ground just ahead of you. You let out a yelp and hit the brakes, but you've already come too close to his hand, and so, like a venus fly trap closes around a hapless insect, Bowser's fingers spring to action, sweeping you up off your feet and pinning you against the soft, warm leather of his palm.

“No, no, no!” you bleat, scrabbling desperately at thick scales as the ground falls away below you and you find yourself lifted up to Bowser's big, yellow muzzle.

All you can do is wait for the crunch. For the pain. To hear your bones grind together when he eventually clenches his fist.

You're ashamed to cry in front of him, but you're too afraid to stop. Nausea churns your stomach and you screw up your face in anticipation, eyes clamped tightly closed.

The agony of waiting is almost too much for you to bear.

You're too wrapped up in your fear to notice that Bowser has yet to even slightly tighten his grasp. If anything, his hold is shockingly gentle. The pad of an immense thumb is pressed against your belly, exerting just enough pressure to keep you safely tucked in the hollow of his palm.

Several, unbearable seconds tick by whilst you quiver and breathe as though you've just run a mile.

You nearly lose your composure, biting down on your tongue to stop yourself from demanding that he just get your punishment over with.

And then, you feel it.

A gentle pressure, so light that you'd think a butterfly must have landed on your neck, but when your eyes burst open and you catch sight of a monolithic finger all but filling your field of view, you realise what a fool you were to close your eyes at all.

Bowser, it seems, has raised his unoccupied hand towards you, and the very tip of a single claw has come to rest in the hollow of your throat. You can feel it's ghosting presence as you swallow thickly and your larynx presses a little more solidly against it for all of a second.

You're too stunned to make a move.

With a gentleness that doesn't at all befit his size, Bowser slowly lifts his claw, and in doing so, your head is pushed up, then turned slightly to one side, exposing your cheek.

The cheek that had been viciously struck.

Why is he...?

Pinned under the weight of his scrutiny, you fall utterly motionless, your mouth stuck open as if you're emitting a silent scream.

A lonely tear escapes the confines of your lashes and trickles down to your chin when it dangles precariously for a before it falls, plopping down onto Bowser's fingertip.

The behemoth's muzzle shifts close, and those dark and dangerous eyes narrow to thin slits as he inspects your cheek. You'd almost entirely forgotten about the throbbing ache lancing across your face, and even now, adrenaline is doing wonders at keeping most of the discomfort at bay.

All of a sudden, Bowser's pupils shrink and a thrum of aggression starts up in his chest like the engine of some ancient and powerful machine. Drawing his head away from you, he twists it over his bulging shoulder and aims a vicious snarl in the direction that Falkner had fled.

You can't help but flinch when his fingers twitch around you, but he must have noticed the movement, because not a second later, the growl is cut off and he swings his nose around to peer down at you again, his slitted pupils expanding like ink in water once they land on you.

Your pulse is jackhammering against your skin. Nothing about this is adding up. He seems more agitated about Falkner than about you. But... you're the escaped prisoner...

You don't have much time to ponder over his strange behaviour though. Just as carefully as it had appeared, the Koopa's forefinger slides gradually from beneath your chin and you can finally gulp down a greedy breath of air, realising belatedly that you'd stopped breathing the moment he touched you.

All around you, the behemoth starts to move, pulling you close and tucking you against his chest as he takes step after impossibly lengthy step, turning his immense bulk about to head back across the island to your gloomy, familiar prison.

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You used to wonder if it was simply Bowser's ostentatious taste in décor that made him choose such grand, wide doorways to separate the rooms of his castle. Now however, as the gargantuan Koopa squeezes himself through the entrance to your given chambers, his shell scraping noisily against the wooden doorframes, you realise the design might lend more to practicality than aesthetic, especially if this... transformation happens on a regular basis around here.

God, you hope not...

You've remained stiff as a board in Bowser's unwavering grasp all the way back, fearful of provoking a violent reaction out of him like you had when you tried to struggle out of Falkner's grip.

Shoulders sagging as he releases a massive sigh, the Koopa trundles to a stop at the foot of your bed and at long, long last, he peels you away from his chest. Your ears ring after so much time spent having to listen to a mighty heart thudding rhythmically right next to your head.

Again, with a care that you certainly never would have expected him to possess, Bowser cups you in his palms and lowers you onto the plush sheets, sliding his hands out from underneath you as if he's placing down a fragile, porcelain doll.

As soon as you're out of his grasp, he deflates, heaving a billowing breath and all but dropping onto all fours in front of you. Alarmed, you scramble backwards until your spine hits the bed's headboard, blurting out a yelp when Bowser's chin drops down to thwack on the sheets in front of you. The weight of his skull alone causes the bed to buckle and groan in protest, but to your astonishment, it somehow manages to support him as he gets himself settled, peering down the length of his snout and ensnaring you in that ruby-red gaze once more.

Your fingers flex into the sheets around you, bunching them up and wrinkling the fine cotton.

'Now what's he doing?'

His eyes are glued to your cheek again, his intense stare broken by the occasional, languid blink.

You're not expecting it when he suddenly moves.

He only extends his neck a little to bring his head closer to you, but he's so massive, the motion it far more jarring from your perspective. With a shriek, you slam your eyes shut and instinctively throw up your hands, pressing them hard against the soft muzzle, as if they alone are enough to keep him from advancing on you any further. To your immense shock however, the moment your fingers meet the warm surface of his nose, Bowser falls still.

You risk prying open an eyelid to peep up at him.

Judging by the impossibly wide smile that now stretches across his face, he's apparently delighted by this new development.

This is the first time you've touched his face.

Your palm is almost lost to a vast expanse of yellow skin, sitting right on the ridge of his nose between his flaring nostrils.

The Koopa's own gaze is heavy-lidded, each pupil angled to keep you within his sights whilst a pleased hum travels through his throat and causes the bed to quake underneath you.

His fangs remain safely tucked behind his lips, and as the seconds tick by without your hand getting snapped off, the tension in your fingers gradually begins to dissipate.

With your heartbeat receding as well, you allow yourself to lightly stroke just the tips of your fingers down his snout until they pause on the cusp of his upper lip, drawing a reverent shudder from the almighty juggernaut.

Pressing your teeth together, you inhale slowly through your nose, and murmur, “...Bowser?”

It's as if you've just broken him from some kind of trance.

The King's face suddenly twists up and he emits a throaty groan, like he's in pain.

Quick as a flash, you tear your hand from his muzzle and press yourself back as far away as you can when he peels his chin from the bed and brings both of his gargantuan paws up to clutch at his head, staggering to his feet.

“Bowser!” you cry again, this time in alarm, “What's happening!?”

A disconcerting notion occurs to you - that he could be on the verge of going bezerk - and you hurriedly throw back the covers with a view to scramble off the bed and make a break for the doors. But as soon as you move, the Koopa's eyes spring open again and zero in on you, trapping you in a stare so full of frantic desperation that you stop at once, though more from confusion than fear.

And so, you're left to do nothing but watch as the jagged behemoth undergoes another, painful transformation.

The heavy shell on his back grows smaller, losing the serrated quality of its spikes. His tail shortens, his jutting fangs soften around their edges. The sweeping horns on his head recede back inside his rapidly shrinking skull until only their tips remain poking out from between his mess of a mane.

You almost choke on a gushing sigh of relief when at last, the King is back to his regular, brutish self, knelt on the ground at the foot of your bed - though it strikes you quite abruptly that you shouldn't be feeling reassured by Bowser's presence, no matter which form he takes.

Despite your misgivings, you still find yourself croaking out, “A-are you okay?”

Arduously, he braces a palm on the end of the bed and uses it to push himself up onto his feet again, eventually dragging his eyes over to you. He gives you a brief, searching glance, focusing for an uncomfortable minute on your face, then, without a word, the Koopa spins around and staggers purposefully towards the adjoining bathroom, disappearing through the door.

Plagued by uncertainty, you allow your fists to tentatively unclench around the bedsheets, lowering them into your lap as the squeak of a tap filters out from beyond the ensuite door, followed by the unmistakable rush of running water.

Another squeak... and a few moments later, the Koopa comes stomping back into the room, this time with a wet flannel clutched inside his meaty paw.

“You should've let me pulverise 'im,” he grumbles, stalking around the bed until he comes to the side you're sitting on.

Gobsmacked, you let your mouth fall open, close it, then open it once more to ask, “I... I beg your pardon?”

“That GUY!” he snaps, “You shouldn't'a stopped me. He deserved the worst!”

You blink stupidly, lifting your eyebrows in tandem until they sit high on your forehead. “I'm sorry.. Are we... not going to talk about what just happened to you!?”

“What's there to talk about?” he grunts, flicking his tail up onto the bed before sinking his hefty backside down after it, fidgeting with the sodden flannel between his claws, “You got hurt. I got mad.”

“You got mad!?” Scoffing at the absurd understatement, you continue, “Bowser - you turned into a gigantic, terrifying monster who looked like he was three seconds away from chewing me up and spitting me back out! All because somebody slapped me!?”

You expect an uproarious retort, which would definitely be in keeping with your usual repartee with him, so it comes as a shock when Bowser glares heatedly at you for a few moments, then merely turns his nose away from you, hiding his expression.

It's... notably uncharacteristic of the hot-tempered Koopa. So much so that it prompts you to tilt your head and call, “Bowser?”

You can't see his face beyond the shell that covers his back, but motion on the covers draws your gaze down to see his tail. Slowly, the appendage curls inwards, tucking itself up against his thigh. Dejected.

“You didn't deserve what he did...”

You look up at Bowser again, blinking owlishly to find his arm reaching back towards you, though the King keeps his face stubbornly pointed in the opposite direction. The little, white flannel is draped across his proffered palm.

Keeping a dubious eye on the Koopa, you hesitantly stretch your hand out to his, pinching the fabric between your thumb and forefinger and pausing for a second to marvel over how cold it is. Drawing it into your grasp, you waste no time in bringing it up to your face and gently pressing the cool material against your cheek, unable to keep back the tiny smile that grows on your face with that slight modicum of relief.

You recognise his gesture is meant to be a peace offering, and you are grateful for the flannel... But you're also still bitter.

“So,” you hum pensively, eyeing his robust arm as it drops down to rest on the bed beside him, “I didn't deserve that. But I do deserve to be locked up and held prisoner in your castle?”

“I keep you safe.” His head twitches in your direction with a cursory show of teeth that are hardly very frightening anymore, not now that you've seen what they can become, “I keep you fed and warm and happy. I'd never hurt you.”

“No. You keep me fed and warm, and that's it,” you tell him sharply, “I don't feel safe here. And I am far from happy.”

You're more than aware that you're antagonising him, but you think you're damn well within your rights to do so. It isn't enough that he keeps you locked up in this castle and forbids you your freedom, but now he expects you to act as if you're happy about it too?

Another, disgruntled noise leaves him as he lurches off the bed, landing on his feet with a thud.

"Where are you going?" you demand.

"I'm-!" Bowser heaves a sigh, running a clawed hand through his thick, fiery mane. “I'm goin' to get you a proper ice-pack...” Trailing off, the King tromps heavily across your room, making his agitation known with every, deliberate step until he reaches the door.

Your teeth tug at a piece of loose skin on your lower lip. “... Bowser.”

He pauses, his hulking frame suddenly looking so small and vulnerable in the gargantuan doorway, with one of his hands sitting poised upon the handle.

Even from the bed, you can see the flash of his crimson iris swivelling in your direction.

You try to regard him passively, but the ice in your gaze is starting to melt fraction by fraction, and you don't know whether he can see it or not. “... Thanks,” you call gently anyway, lifting your shoulder into a shrug, “For... you know, for scaring Falkner off.”

You watch his eyelid widen, as if he's surprised to hear a word of thanks, from you of all people.

There's even the minutest quiver in his lip as it tries to tug itself up into the ghost of a smile. But then, he gives his head a rough shake, and the smile is gone.

“Just protectin' what's mine,” he rumbles, pushing the door open and slipping through the gap. The door closes again a second later, and your ears catch the sound of a heavy key sliding into the lock and turning, sending the tumblers clunking home.

… What's his...

Right.

A hollow space expands between your ribs, the familiar hole that disappointment often leaves behind.

Drawing your knees up against your chest, you wrap an arm around yourself for comfort, keeping the flannel pressed to your cheek as you wait for him to return with that ice pack.

#mario #super mario bros movie #bowser #bowser x reader #physical abuse #giga bowser #g/t #giant bowser #protective bowser #possessive bowser #the physical abuse isn't done by Bowser btw #hurt/comfort #pining #unrequited crush

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imagine-darksiders · 9 months

Note

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

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