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dcxdpdabbles · 9 months

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Passion for Fashion Part 2

Danny glances around the room, initially supposed to be the living room, but Dan had quickly turned it into a studio. He had fabrics stacked everywhere, random clothes designs pinned to the walls, and various-sized mannequins scattered about with half-finished projects.

"It looks like Joann Craft's store exploded in here" he grumbles side-stepping into a half-finished gown dress and ducking under rows of fabric swatches that Dan just has to hang across the whole house by color because they help him visualize.

Or some nonsense like that.

Frankly, Danny was starting to suspect Dan had developed a new ghost Obsession now that grief no longer blinded him, and he knew Clockwork made it deliberately fashion design.

He is a bit unsettled that Dan's tunnel vision mirrors his parent's obsession with ghost hunting. Is it a ghost Obsession thing or a Fenton thing? Even Jazz can't get sucked into her physiology studies, so he had to remind her to sleep and eat. Eventually, Danny will find his own tunnel vision obsession. He just knows it.

Ducking two more times to avoid the shades of blue and green, Danny follows the barely visible pathway to where Dan is likely working on the first suit for the competition's first catwalk.

The first round of the competition was a mere selection round, where contestants were all brought into a large room and given a sketchbook, pencils, colors pencils, and reference books. After the surprise judge gave them the theme of household pets, they were to design two male and female outfits within an hour. Dan had entered the testing room like a man sent to the front lines.

Danny hadn't been needed for that round, so he explored Gotham, stopping to eat the famous Batburger. The food was far tastier than Nasty Burger, and he felt like he was betraying his city by how much he savored the Joker fries.

He did notice the way everyone was staring at him, much to his shame, just as he was licking his fingers clean. He scrambled to leave as a few teens whispered, gesturing to him.

He had been in Casper High to know that usually meant insults, so when a pretty blond girl stood up and started for him, he made haste to get out of there as quickly as possible.

He met up with Dan- with a carryout bag because he wasn't a monster- and found the other had blown the competition out of the water. His designs were first in the selection round, and Dan's head got three sizes bigger that day.

It's strange how used to living here he's gotten. It's been a month and a half, and yes, people still stare at him a lot, but it's not like Danny isn't used to being called a freak, so he ignores them all. Dan tried to stay inside the house as much as possible, rarely leaving his fabrics, but Danny felt restless being indoors all the time.

Amity Park is a small city, with most of it being open space and grass he felt strange being surrounded by a loud, crowded city like Gotham. He often wandered about trying to find something new and fun, though that was hard to do once the sun started setting.

He found being outside at night was a terrible idea the first time a trio of men attempted to shove him into a van.

Thankfully, Danny had been bored enough he recreated some of his parents' gadgets, and the three men had been stunned by his Fenton Tazzer wristband before they had opened the van door. Then there was that time a group of toddlers tried to mug him. He had been trying to find a park or something when seven kids- couldn't be older than twelve- all creeped out of the shadows holding knives and bats and demanded he gave them his wallet.

Danny hadn't meant to, but it was so bizarre he had bursted out laughing. He was so used to ghosts that the sight of little kids trying to be threatening was so historical that he couldn't stop laughing. He also forgot to breathe for a second since coming to this world. His body needed less sleep, less food, and got less tired, which was a plus on their wallets.

Danny laughed so hard he fell to his knees, shaking with jest.

The kids scattered at once, a few shouting, "Joker venom!" he was left chuckling to himself. After that, he got up and went home, the occasional snicker slipping from his lips.

Dan had thought it was hilarious, too.

Despite the time they have been here and Danny's many outings, they haven't really interacted with anyone else. Danny had never been one to have positive memories with socializing, and Dan frankly disliked humans too much to want to be around them.

With nothing to do but wander during the day and practice his model walk, Danny quickly got into the habit of tinkering with various machinery. At first, he needed to rebuild his parent's weapons and ghost gear- something he had been able to do since he was seven- then he shifted to building whatever popped into his head.

From robotic prosthetics to a TV projector, Danny filled the hours with some eclectic in his hands. Otherwise, he looked around Gotham and took pictures of the architect because it was Sam's entire aesthetic. How could he not try to capture this place for her?

Dan had been researching through the house internet- thank the ancients the house came with the service- and found various styles he liked experimenting with. Due to his ghost abilities, he worked faster than the sewing machines and was dishing out whole outfits in matters of days instead of the months they usually take.

He has even been walking around in whatever Dan chose to make for him since he thought it would get him used to being seen in something not his usual style. He can't afford to lose the fashion show simply because he got awkward. That would ruin his plans to help Batman and get home.

His wardrobe now varied from what Dan called "eboy", "skater" "K-pop" "casual chic" "haute" and "streetwear". Personally, Danny preferred the streetwear since it was more often than not baggy.

He had a lot of people staring at him when he walked around in Dan's clothes. Danny hopes he doesn't look as dumb as he feels.

"Danny, come try this on!" Dan shouts, snapping Danny out of his thoughts. He gestured to a black and navy blue three-piece suit that took Danny's breath away.

"Wow, Dan, it's gorgeous."

"Duh, I made it brat." He gestures to the vest, which Danny can see painfully embroidered swirls of black, purple, and a few white strips. It did not take him long to recognize the Magellanic cloud resting on the right side while the left is a mirror design in black, carefully blending into the blue. The pants, jacket, and shoes were a nearly jet-black cloth that somehow looked like a liquid even when standing still, but what tied it all together was the black cape draping over the right shoulder. It was pinned in place by a metal piece shaped like a Sirius Star. "The first round is space theme, and lucky for us, I was obsessed with NASA as a kid."

"No, but honestly, can I keep this afterward?" Danny asks, reaching out to rub his hands on the fabric. "Wow this is soft"

"It's satin, of course; it's soft," Dan snorts. "And sure, if we win, it's yours. I don't care what happens to the clothes after I make them."

"How long did this take you to make?" Danny asks, turning it around and sporting more accurately placed constellations of the satellite galaxy. It was like a picture made of fabric, curling from the right to the back of the vest. He'll have to take the jacket off at some point to show that part off.

"Three days. Without sleep."

"That's insane Dan"

"No, you know what's insane? This place has different beauty standards. It's all about the goth and emo kids here. A few Victorian lads, too. Or frankly, a straight-up twink is hot."

"What?" Danny's brain buffers "That can't be right. I was bullied and so were my friends for looking like that."

"Trust me, the ideal body kept coming up as I researched fashion trends and ideas. Nerds are in here. "

"W-what do I do with knowledge?"

Dan's eyes flashed a dangerous green. "You put it to use on the walkway. This suit is designed to show you off, and the best part? It's your natural body; no need to highlight beefed-up muscles or a wide chest like Dash."

"Oh my ancients....Am I hotter than Dash? Then the top A-lister?"

Dan grins. "We got this competition in the bag."

Across Gotham, Tim is scrolling through GothamLive- the favorite plate form of all Gotham, beating even Twitter- and he's surprised to see it covered by the target of their latest mission. He's back at the cave running coms since he got dosed in fear toxin on the last big fight. It was not too bad but Bruce didn't want him doing anything too adrenaline-inducing for a least a month.

He would argue, but even he knew his hands still sometimes shook when he trained. So he was on comm duty listening in to all his family as they moved about Gotham.

It was a quiet night with only three muggings and one car thief so far, but Bruce wanted everyone connected just in case.

Tim figured he could check in on the meta twins and found Danny everywhere on Gotham's online platform.

People have been spotting him strut around Gotham looking drop-dead gorgeous, and everyone near their age group who was attracted to men was losing their minds over Danny Fenton.

Tim found a few of him in skater clothes and felt his face get slightly warmer. Okay, they are right. Danny certainly paints a pretty picture, but that's worrying.

A pretty meta? He could be snatched up by the worst of Gotham soon.

Tim will have to get close to keep an eye on him. You know, for the target's safety.

Dan is his identical twin, which means there are two beautiful boys out there. Tim thinks, checking over the twin's house location. It's thankfully on the outskirts of Gotham, where it's not exactly safe, but it sure as hell isn't Crime Alley. They should be okay as long as no one finds their home.

He choked on his coffee when a picture of Danny dressed like a K-pop star casually lodging on a chair drinking a coffee appears on his dash. Yeah, he can see how the guy ended up in modeling if he could make poses like that naturally.

"Red Robbin to everyone, we may want to keep an eye on the Fenton's. Don't want them taken by traffickers."

"Danny Fenton already fought off a kidnapping:" Jason responds in seconds with a slight sneer. His elder brother has always hated traffickers and rapists the most. " Some idiots tried to escape me by going into the Outskirts and saw Danny. They took their chance only to be taken out by the guy's tazer disguised as a bracelet."

He sends the family a photo of the incident, and Danny's unimpressed look at the three screaming men makes Tim's lips twitch. Maybe Gotham wasn't so different from Santa Prisca. Only someone used to danger so often found would be kidnapers annoying, and that island wasn't exactly the safest place to be.

Their mother died to get them out, after all.

"That's not all. He's also fought off three different gangs, none of the big players but enough to raise some brows," Babs adds, displaying a gang of Crime Alley kids running from a laughing Danny, a group of men and women wearing the red scorpion marks running from a laughing Danny and a second group of kids- slightly older but not older than Danny- all backing away from the ice Danny had encased himself in. "The first two he tricked into thinking Joker was about, and the last one he just froze himself until they got tired of shooting and went away."

"What about the other one?" Bruce asks.

"He doesn't leave the house, but he's been very active online. Mostly, he's looking up fashion articles or trends. Recently, his search is nothing but "What are twinks, and why are they hot?". I can't tell if that's a culture difference or if Dan is just weird."

"They are not trained," Damian says, an undertone of curiosity in his voice. "But they can defend themselves well and truly know their craft. Dan's designs for my animal theme challenge were exquisite. I will be commissioning the black German Shepherd suit he made. Ace and I will look divine at the next gala."

"I kind of want the bird dress," Steph cuts in with a chirp. "I know it's not purple, but it looked cool in concept. What bird breed did he pick for it?"

"It was the Lovebird," Damian answers. "Somehow his design was both elegant and accurate without seemingly childish as the bird it was based on."

Tim wonders if Damian may start to develop an interest in fashion or if he just appreciates drawings as an artist. "So should we be worried?"

"No. Fenton has unwillingly gathered too much attention online. People will notice if he disappears. Traffickers don't go for people that are easy to recognize." Jason sighs. "For now, they're safe, but not if Danny keeps wandering around like an easy target in those tailor outfits. He looks rich, even if it's only lower first class. That will attract a lot more muggings."

"Someone will have to get close to them-"

"I can do it!" Tim shouts, cutting off Bruce, then shrinks into his chair in mortification as the family chat dies. Trying to sound less eager, he hastily adds, "You know, since I'm benched. Light work to befriend the Fentons."

"Smooth Tim." Cass laughs over the coms with his other siblings snickering in the background, and sinks into his chair.

After a moment, Bruce sighs, "Alright, Tim, you can befriend one of them, but not until your turn to judge goes by. I don't want people claiming a conflict of interest there."

Hell yeah! Tim got the job!

"Of course, Bruce."

"And no flirting."

"Spoilsport"

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Passion for Fashion #Part 2 #Different world means different beauty standards #Think the early 2000s vs the 2020s beauty standards #Also Danny doesn't realize he's the ideal #He's just walking around in his own little world #Dan just wants to be a clothing making dragon hording fabrics alone #Damian does love the designs as a artist and as his personal taste #Dead tired

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vinceaddams · 29 days

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Hello! I was wondering if you would kindly explain the merits of different thread materials for hand sewing (or point me to a good resource about the subject)?

A lot of the historical costumers on YouTube say they greatly prefer silk or linen, but don't explain why. The employee at Fabricland suggested polyester over cotton for hand sewing some cotton hankies, and had no answer for when cotton thread would ever even be used. You mentioned in a post somewhere that you use poly for machine sewing colours, but prefer cotton for whites (or maybe the other way around, I might be misremembering?). Please help, the lack of "why" is driving me nuts and google is Not helping!

Hello! The main reason I dislike polyester for hand sewing is that it's just so damn twisty and tangly. It's what I use at work for sewing buttons back onto the sleeves of jackets when I change the length, and I have to be careful not to let it get all snarled up. The polyester thread is made with the intent of being used in sewing machines, so it makes sense that they wouldn't take into account how the amount of twist and the way it un-twists when you pull it through material affects hand sewing.

Another thing is that wax doesn't really meld into it, it just kinda sits on the surface. Usually (but not always) you wax your thread before hand sewing with it, as it makes it stronger and helps stick the fibres together so they don't wear out as fast, and it makes it easier to work with. On silk and linen it sticks nicely, but on polyester it just kinda lays on the surface all crumbly like.

Linen is great for hand sewing because it's usually very strong, but waxing is essential because otherwise a lot of fibres will strip off of it just from the process of being drawn through the fabric a bunch of times. And modern linen thread is too uneven to work in machines, so I only have it for hand sewing.

Silk thread is also great for hand sewing because it's really smooth and soft and runs nicely, and waxing it makes it stronger, and I usually double it if it's the fine stuff. Silk thread can be used for machine sewing too, but I would only suggest it for very lightweight delicate things, because I've tried it on a shirt or two and it just doesn't hold up well to long term wear & washing. (The little bit of hand finishing I do with silk thread on the insides of the collar & wristbands on my everyday shirts is fine because it's not in one of the areas that wears out first, and as previously mentioned it's doubled and waxed, and therefore stronger than a plain unwaxed machine sewn silk thread seam.)

It sounds like you're thinking of this post? Yes, you are misremembering it slightly, I was only talking about thread for shirts there! The reason I usually use polyester for the machine seams on my coloured shirts is simply that it comes in a lot of colours and is therefore easier to match.

(I also use polyester for machine sewing things like pants, because I know it's stronger and will hold up to a lot more wear. Actually, I've also had to switch to heavy duty polyester for sewing the buttons on my pants, because the linen just keeps wearing through and they keep popping off. This problem is probably because I don't actually have heavy linen thread, and am instead using fine linen yarn, which is not meant for sewing. But anyways, it's still plenty strong in seams, just not for attaching buttons. I do have actual linen thread in finer weights.)

The cotton thread I mentioned liking for white shirts is Aurifil 50 weight, which I recently found at a quilt shop and it's soooooo nice! Quite fine and soft, so I still wouldn't want to use it on heavier fabrics, but it's absolutely ideal for lightweight linens or cottons.

Ideally it would be amazing to have it in more colours and use it on more shirts. The reason I only have it in white is because it's a 1300 metre spool that cost like 20 bucks, and if I recall correctly the quilt shop only had a very few colours anyways. I do at least want to go back and get another spool in black...

(There's also the matter of it matching the shade of white fabric better, as all my white polyester thread is either optic white or ivory.)

Regular cotton thread is fine I guess, but I find it to be awfully stiff. It works for shirts, I just don't much like it, and I haven't really tried hand sewing with it.

#ask #sewing #hand sewing #thread

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mncxbe · 2 months

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nsfw prompts 2+8+9 with Mori please 🥺💜

2– they're your superior (teacher, boss etc tw: power imbalance)

8– cuffing you to their bed (tw: bondage)

9– they buy you lingerie

ღೀ๋࣭ ⭑𝒄𝒘: he punishes you for stepping out of line

"Now look at you, darling. You're gorgeous" mused the man in front of you, his piercing gaze taking in your pretty figure.

You were cuffed to the railing of your boss's bed, wearing nothing but a lacy set of lingerie he'd so generously gifted you a few hours ago. When you found the package on your desk along with a note that instructed you to come to his quarters that evening, you knew you'd be in for a long night.

Mori walked to the side of the bed, taking a seat next to you. The mattress sunk under his weight as he leaned closer to your body, his fingers ghosting over the inside of your thigh. "Tell me, my dear, what shall I do with you? I heard about your little trip to the Ada's office today. What made you think it'd be a good idea to schedule a meeting with Fukuzawa without consulting with me first?"

"Sir, you see... I know you were busy so I thought it'd be useful if I–"

"If you act on your own accord. You can't possibly be this stupid." His words were harsh, contrasting with the gentle caress on your thigh. His digits dipped under the wristband of your panties, slowly spreading your slick folds.

You swore you could die of embarrassment as you fumbled for words, trying to find some sort of justification for your reckless actions. Now that you looked back to it, meeting with the enemy by yourself wasn't the greatest idea.

"I'm sorry, it won't happen again." you apologised, earning a low hum from your boss. "I'm sure it won't, my dear. It's important that you don't forget your place in this organisation."

His thumb circled your needy clit, making your body jolt in pleasure. The handcuffs dug into your skin as you squirmed and you let out a whimper, your brows knitting together.

God, you were just begging to be ruined. You looked so pretty in this new set, the fabric hugging your curves so beautifully. For a moment, Mori almost forgot that this was supposed to be a punishment. Leaning over your body, his lips hovered over yours as he pulled down your underwear. You lifted your hips to aid him, your eyes never leaving his.

"Y/N, you're lucky you're so special of me, otherwise your actions would've had more severe consequences" he said shortly and you could tell by the certainty of his words that he meant it.

Before you had the chance to reply, Mori lowered himself between your legs and licked a stripe of your cunt from your hole to your clit. When he looked up at you again you felt the arousal pooling in your core. He looked so painfully handsome.

"If you behave, I might let you cum tonight." he spoke in a velvety voice as he placed kisses along your inner thigh, gently sucking on your plump skin, marking you as his "So be a good girl and let me eat you out, understood? You have to make up for a lot of things."

#𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝ღೀ๋࣭ ⭑#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd smut #mori bsd #bsd mori #bungo stray doga mori #mori smut #mori x reader #mori ougai #mori ougai x reader

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vincentbriggs · 7 months

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I've had this linen in my stash for a couple years now (Summer Breeze linen in the colour Pomegranate from Pure Linen Envy) and have finally sewn it up into a shirt, which I can wear under my most recent jacket without worrying about that regrettable burgundy lining fabric bleeding dye all over it.

Same rectangular cut and construction as usual, and it's mostly machine sewn, with hand finishing at the collar, wristbands, and bottom of the centre front slit. Somehow the left wristband ended up much too tight, so I redid one end and pieced on a bit to make it longer, which you can just barely see in the closeup picture.

On most of my shirts I do Dorset wheel buttons, but for this one I did Dorset knobs, which I neglected to take progress photos of. I don't actually know if I've done them "correctly", since the only instruction I had was an unsourced diagram from pinterest, but I just made one of my usual fabric covered buttons, did blanket stitches radiating around the flat side, and then detached buttonhole stitches over the rest of it until it was covered.

#me #sewing #shirts #I suppose you could say the jacket is cursed

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cordeliawhohung · 6 months

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Everything You Touch - Part 4

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader - part nine of "soft spot"

"You deserve better."

warnings: canon typical violence, ptsd, description of panic attack/anxiety, brief accidental/unintentional self harm, a lot of hurt, a crumb of comfort.

wc: 5.3k

Hospitals always had a way of smelling like bleach and death.

No matter how much cleaning and scrubbing was done, it always lingered in the halls and in the pores of every single brick of the building. Simon hated the scent, and he wanted nothing more than to leave that place far behind him, but he couldn’t. Not with you stuck in that stale bed with a brace around your neck.

After stabilizing your condition at a local hospital, they flew you off to St Mary’s Hospital in London as its trauma center was one of the few hospitals in the city that could handle a case like yours. Severe strangulation, a gunshot wound that had torn through your axillary artery as easy as shredding tissue paper. You should have died, and Simon was well aware of that fact, but by some miracle you were alive.

No thanks to him.

Over the last two days, Simon had heard so much medical jargon he was certain he could quit his job in the military and become a doctor. He had every single ailment of yours memorized, and he couldn’t stop repeating them in his mind. A high energy wound from a deformed round had torn through the soft tissue in your chest just under your arm, severing your axillary artery. If it wasn’t for Kyle’s quick thinking, and John’s call for an air ambulance, you would have bled out. On top of that you also had a grade two concussion, two fractured ribs on the right side of your body, and three on your left, a hairline fracture in your hyoid bone, and grade one laryngeal edema. You weren’t malnourished or dehydrated at least, and that fact alone changed everything about your survival. Had you been treated any worse, he would have been sitting next to a grave instead of a bed.

Two days. Two days of sitting there watching you slip in and out of consciousness. Whatever medicine they had hooked you up to was strong, and probably for good reason. It was selfish of him to wish you’d wake up, to wish you’d open your eyes and greet him with a smile as if everything was okay. As if he hadn’t held you through what he thought were your final moments. As if he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep because of the pure anxiety and rage that flooded his system.

He should have made their deaths slower. He wanted to, anyway. For the time you had spent sleeping in the hospital, he kept replaying the way Bukin had called you darling. He hated the way the bile rose to his throat whenever he thought of it, and he knew he should have caused more pain, should have drawn his death out. When he was younger, before he joined the force, he was an apprentice to a butcher. People weren’t all too different from pigs, and he was still just as good with a knife. But he couldn’t take that luxury when you stood there to watch it all.

A soft sigh brought him out of his thoughts, and Simon’s eyes landed on you again. It was impossible to tell if you were just visiting for a short while, or waking up for real, but just as he did the other times, he reached forward and took your hand in his. Your hospital wristband rustled against the fabric of your blankets, and he found his fingers absentmindedly playing with it. Because you had arrived at the hospital with a gunshot wound, and there was slight concern about someone coming after you, they had given you the fictitious name of Jane Doe in an attempt to protect you from further harm that could come your way. Your date of birth was also wrong, as they made you three years older than you really were.

“Si-...?” you attempted, but your voice failed halfway through. It was like that time you were a kid sick with laryngitis. Your voice was much deeper than it was supposed to be, and the words refused to vibrate properly in your throat.

“Hey,” he said softly, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, “try not to talk too much. Your throat is still pretty swollen.”

Everything felt light, like you were floating, but not in a way that was comforting. It reminded you of how everything felt when you first woke up in that basement. How sick you felt and how Leon wrapped his arm around you to keep you upright. Or that rot in your chest as you sat crumbled in the sand on the beach. The overwhelming scent of his cologne on the jacket he made you wear, his hand on your wrist, hands around your throat, choking, crushing, breaking-

“Sweetheart, hey, hey,” Simon said softly. As he reached out and wiped the tears that you hadn’t even been aware was streaming down your face, you tried to remember the last time you had heard him speak so softly to you. Like he thought his voice would shatter you. “You’re alright, you’re safe. I’m here now, yeah?”

The heart monitor showed proof of your anxiety, but as Simon kept talking he filled the noise in your head with him instead. It was just him and his thumb wiping gently at your cheeks. He was so warm, and you found yourself taking breath after deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself down. His mask was on, that same odd skull patterned one he wore when he saved you, but his eyes were just as expressive.

You reached your other hand up and gently pawed at the plastic brace around your neck. After wiping away another stray tear, Simon grabbed that hand and gently pulled it away from your throat. Holding both of your hands in his, he continued to rub his thumbs across your knuckles.

“You’re still pretty swollen, so you’ll have to keep that on. Try not to move your neck,” he instructed as if he was a doting parent.

Was this real? Were you out of that basement, out of Leon’s reach? It had to be real. Simon’s touch was as soft as it always was, and the scent of the hospital was just as stale and vile as you remembered it being as a child. You attempted another deep breath, but you became suddenly aware of the pain that coursed through your body and winced. Everything hurt, but it felt far away at the same time, like you felt the aches through a veil.

Sniffling a little, you snaked one of your hands out of Simon’s and reached for his left arm. Everything was fuzzy, but you remembered that he had been shot in his arm. Johnny had cracked some sort of joke about it, so you knew it wasn’t bad, yet you still worried. Even as you laid in a hospital bed hooked up to machines and tubes, you still worried about him.

“Just a flesh wound sweetheart, nothin’ to worry about,” he assured you. His eyes studied you for a short moment before dropping down. You thought he looked at your throat, until you remembered the new pain that blossomed in an odd area along the side of your chest. “Should be more concerned with the wound you got.”

You made a pitiful attempt to look down at yourself, but the brace on your neck made it impossible to do so. Which was certainly for the best, because you didn’t want to know how badly it would have hurt if you bent your throat in such a way. Instead, you pulled your hand away from Simon’s arm and gestured to your chest with a quizzical look on your face. Or, at least what you hoped was a quizzical look.

“Yeah,” he confirmed as he grabbed your hand again. It was like he couldn’t stop touching you. “Got a few fragments left in you, but nothin’ the doctors couldn’t handle. Guess we got you in the best goddamn trauma center in the country.”

Even with everything that happened, he tried to make light of the situation; probably in an attempt to not worry you. Maybe you shouldn’t have been worried. It didn’t hurt to breathe anymore than it had previously, so the bullet hadn’t gone through your chest or punctured a lung. You were lucky that it wasn’t worse.

God, what a sour thought that was. Thinking you were lucky; thinking you should be grateful to have survived such atrocities.

Your vision grew a little fuzzy, and you found yourself staring off into space as your mind wandered again. Everything felt too real and so fake at the same time; like the pain was faux. You should have been able to hop out of that bed and head to work, and your co-workers wouldn’t even spare you a second glance because there was no way you were gone for as long as you thought you had been. Yet at that same time, you should have been dead. Should have been laying splayed out on your back with dry eyes that stared up at the seagulls finding solace and food in the flesh of your body. Perhaps a part of you did die; some part of you was left to rot in that orchard.

“Wh-t h…ppened?” you asked. Voice still failing you, you made sure to choose simple words. Tingling pain mingled in your throat, and your mouth felt itchy.

“The boys and I brought you home,” Simon answered softly. But that answer was too short - too blunt - and even he knew that, so he swallowed and tried again: “You were in pretty rough shape. You’ve got a few fractured bones and your throat is messed up bad. But you’re safe now, they can’t hurt you. I promise.”

Such a funny way to say that he killed them. Not that you blamed him at all; how could you when you had attempted to slaughter Leon with a steak knife? You remembered exactly what it was like standing there as you watched Simon dig the heel of his boot into Leon’s shattered arm. Remembered what color dead grass turned when blood pooled under it.

Fertilizer. That’s what he had called you. A task that ended up being bequeathed to him instead.

“I need you to get some rest, yeah?” he continued. “Doc says he won’t send you home until you’ve healed up some.

It wasn’t much, but you squeezed his hand in response. You weren’t sure if it was because the state your body was in or because of the various medicines they pumped through you intravenously, but you were tired. The type of tired where you didn’t care if you woke up or not. Simon carefully raised your hands up and pressed delicate kisses to your knuckles through the fabric of his mask. When you were in that basement, all you wanted was for Simon to hold you, to feel his touch again, to be bathed in his warmth. Now that you were finally out, everything felt muted. Everything was spoiled.

No, you were just tired. That was all. So you closed your eyes again and listened to the steady hum of the machines around you. They sounded similar to the machines your mother had been hooked up to when receiving treatment when you were a kid. You used to take naps listening to those beeps. Things always had an odd way of coming back to you. Comforted by the auditory proof of your own existence, you faded away into sleep once more under Simon’s careful gaze.

But what Simon didn’t know was that the very moment you finally woke up, the nightmares began. They chased after you in sleep, in consciousness; it didn’t matter. Even in death Leon’s hands still wrapped around your throat; even after you were well enough that they removed your brace; even after the swelling went down; even while holding Simon’s hand. Always small. Always weak.

Things only got worse when you were well enough to be sent home. There was something dehumanizing walking into your home and not being able to recognize the smell. It was cold, bitterly so, as the drafty window was something your landlord still refused to fix. Boo, who had grown much too big much too fast and was without his cast trotted towards the entrance as a cooing mess. In what was surely an attempt to trip you, he rubbed against your legs in greeting, and Simon assisted you in settling in.

And though everything was the same as how you had left it, something was wrong. A crawling feeling overtook your skin every time you looked at the floor in the living room. The air smelled stale like you were in a coffin rather than a home. Dinner tasted more like blood than it did soup. Did it all change in such a short amount of time? Did you just not recognize it? Or was it just you that had changed? A stranger in your own home?

“I want to shower,” you said suddenly.

It was the first thing you had said throughout the entirety of dinner. You stared down at the half eaten bowl of soup in your hands. Your voice sounded better, and your throat didn’t spasm every time you swallowed, but you were still restricted to a liquid food diet more or less.

“A bath would be easier,” Simon countered. His spoon had been clinking against the side of his bowl for some time, but you knew him better than that. He had probably finished eating quite some time ago. “Can’t get your wound wet. I could run one for you.”

You swallowed another spoonful of soup. It wasn’t until your stomach began to churn that you realized it had gone cold. “Okay.”

Neither of you moved for what felt like forever. Weights kept you held down by your ankles, and all you did was move your spoon around the thick liquid in the bowl. You almost hadn’t realized that Simon stood from his seat until his hand brushed against the side of your face. You didn’t jump, but your heart lurched so hard it almost hurt, and still you gazed up at him with dull eyes. His hand smoothed over your hair, eyes studying your face carefully, before he slowly leaned down and pressed a firm kiss against the crown of your head.

“C’mon,” he said, pulling away. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You followed behind Simon as he led you to the bathroom. Boo trotted along still hellbent on tripping you and purring the whole time while doing so. He didn’t seem scared even when Simon turned the water on, and he perched himself on top of the counter behind you as you began to undress. Healing was agonizing, and taking longer than you wanted it to, and tasks such as dressing and undressing were no longer as simple as they used to be.

That deep ache in your chest had dulled over time, but hadn’t quite gone away, and was still aggravated whenever you bent over, but you were still able to get your pants and socks off with relative ease. The real trouble came when you tried to take your shirt off. Raising your left arm was impossible with your wound, but you tried your best to wiggle out of the clothing anyway. A particularly painful pinch shot through your chest when you attempted to raise your arm, drawing a wince out of your sore throat.

“Here,” Simon spoke up softly.

He was very well versed in taking your clothes off, but he had never been so gentle about it before. You let your arms go limp as he slid the fabric of your shirt across your body, freeing your right arm and exposing your torso. He moved the collar over your head, and gently straightened your left arm so he could slide the rest off of you. Due to your injury, you weren’t able to wear a bra, so you were fully exposed to the chilly air.

A fuzzy paw tapped your back and you turned around to give Boo some much needed and deserved attention, but the moment you caught sight of yourself in the mirror, you froze. Maybe you just hadn’t paid attention, but you couldn’t remember the last time you looked at yourself. Really looked at yourself. Stale bruises littered the delicate skin of your throat. Pale red burst capillaries stained the whites of your eyes, though there were very few left over after your time healing.

Then, of course, there was the obvious. Thick gauze covered the wound itself in order to keep it clean and avoid infection, and it was then that you realized you hadn’t actually seen the damage that had been caused. You had seen the blood that poured from it, and felt how terribly the bullet burned as it tore through you, but hadn’t seen how bad it mangled your flesh. You were sure it was for the best, in some way, but you didn’t need to see it in order to tell the extent of the damage.

The gauze stuck to the side of your breast and extended up over your chest and under your armpit in order to stay secure. Without an exit wound there was no need to patch up anywhere else on your body, but you could see the bruising peek out from underneath the pristine white dressings.

Simon’s fingers ghosted along your right shoulder as he stood behind you. His eyes found you in the mirror, and it took you a moment before you were able to do the same. You wanted to tell him how silly you thought it all was. How you felt so terrible despite the evidence of your pain being so minimal. You thought that after everything you went through, you would be nothing left but a pile of flesh and blood. There should have been more scars, some sort of disfiguration, and yet you were the same woman just painted a different color.

Your body healed faster than you did.

When you were ready, Simon helped lower you into the tub where the steamy water enveloped your body. As much as you wanted to lay back, close your eyes, and let go, you needed to stay sitting up in order to keep your dressings dry. Boo hopped off the counter with a chirp before jumping up to sit on the edge of the tub. Curious, he pawed at the water before leaning down to drink from it.

“Why’d you have to snatch up the weird one?” Simon asked teasingly, though his voice fell flatter than he would have liked.

You tried to laugh, or smile even, but nothing came. There was something strange about talking about such domestic things. After everything that had happened, you had expected all the good to be sapped from your life. It felt like the only thing you should have been allowed to talk about was pain and death and yet there you were, sitting in a tub with your cat drinking up the water like an idiot.

As Simon settled on the floor next to the tub, you noticed Boo’s right paw was deformed. For the most part it was intact, but it seemed flatter than his other paw. You remembered his pained squeak when Leon had attacked you, how he had gotten in the way and fell victim to another one of that monster's merciless acts.

“His paw,” you pointed out softly, hand sloshing in the water to point. Boo took your pointing as an invitation to sniff your finger, and then lick the water that dripped from it.

“Yeah, got messed up pretty good,” Simon concurred as he leaned across the tub to grab your body wash. “Had him in a cast for a bit. Strong little bugger. Shoulda seen him hobbling around with it on.”

He presented you with your body wash and a fresh rag and you contemplated the items for a moment before carefully reaching out for them. It had been a long time since you washed yourself with items that belonged to you. You breathed in the familiar scent of the soap as you rubbed it into the rag and then along your skin. It didn’t smell how you remembered it, but it was better than plain water.

You thought back to the time you and Simon had gone on holiday when that terrible nightmare of your father plagued you. You remembered how Simon’s arms wrapped around you and held you close to his chest as you let the water wash over you. He had asked you if you wanted to talk about it; he always had a habit of knowing your feelings better than you did. Though talking about it would have done some good, you said no. Why had you even done so? What was the reason? Were you afraid? Whatever it was, you regretted it, because you feared then that you’d never be able to talk to him about anything ever again.

Would never be able to tell him what happened; what Leon said, what he did. How he tried saying he and Simon were the same - that your lover was a violent man. That he liked to watch you squirm. How could you tell him all of that? About how you fell to the sand hoping and praying to feel his touch again? How you had to wear Leon’s coat? And the scent that clung to it - clung to you - no matter how much you scrubbed, and scrubbed, and scrubbed, and-

“Hey, easy,” Simon warned softly.

His hands carefully wrapped around your wrists and pulled them away from your body. Fresh abrasions prickled across the now raw skin on your wrist from the intensity of your cleansing, and the rag was promptly removed from your hand. Simon attempted to get you to look at him, but your vision was too blurry to see anything correctly.

“I can’t,” you spoke, and it was only then that you realized you were crying, “can’t get clean, can’t do it, Simon I- it’s-”

Water sloshed around you, and Boo ran off as it spilled over the side of the tub. Strong arms wrapped securely around your center as you felt your back collide with something firm. Simon had climbed into the tub behind you, fully clothed, with legs on either side of your body. His chin rested on top of your head and you found your arms wrapping around yourself as he embraced you.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he coaxed as he swayed as much as the confines of the tub would allow him to. “I’m right here. Need ya to slow down and breathe, yeah? Just focus on me, nothing else. It’s just me and you.”

If it wasn’t for Simon holding you together, you were certain you would have crumbled. It wasn’t a pretty sight or feeling; being broken. That knowing even in death Leon still had a hold of you. But you focused on Simon, how his legs had to be bent in order to fit in the tub with you, how you could feel intermittent kisses to the top of your head. The tattoo on his arm glistened as the water clung to his skin, and you found your head falling back to lean against his chest. You listened to his breathing and tried to match his pace; felt his heart thud against your back and willed your body to steady itself. Boo licked himself furiously in some corner, paws having gotten wet from the displaced bath water.

Nothing had changed.

“Your arm,” you said between stuttering breaths.

“It’s fine,” he assured you.

You knew that it probably wasn’t. Warm water had a particular way of making fresh wounds sting, but worrying about it wouldn’t change anything. Even though you wanted to, you needed to focus on staying with Simon and not slipping away somewhere else again.

“I thought of you. When I was in Urzikstan,” he said when your breathing finally slowed. He placed another quick kiss to the top of your head and loosened his grip as he ran his hands gently up and down your arm. “Couldn’t get you off my mind. Kept thinking ‘bout every moment I ever spent with you. That god awful movie we saw together at the cinema. The first time we kissed. You’re the only thing on this earth I care about and I fucked up. This shoulda never happened and that’s on me.”

You shook your head, skull rolling along his clavicle. A pulsing pain bounced along the soft tissue of your brain as it protested the movement, but you did your best to ignore it. “Stop,” you said, but you weren’t mad. You were too tired to be mad. “I already know what you’re going to say. I don’t care.” You paused to swallow, your voice still not used to speaking so much at once. “Doesn’t matter whose fist comes at me, I’ve been doing this my whole life. But I’ve never had someone to pick me up until you. So don’t-” Your voice failed you, and you weren’t sure if it was because of your throat, or because of the cry you tried to suppress. “Don’t you fucking dare say it.”

So he didn’t. All of those words on his tongue dissipated and dissolved into his blood where it festered and boiled. He didn’t agree with you a single bit. Had he torn that picture of you to shreds the moment he found it in his pocket, Bukin would have had nothing to use against him. Would have never found you. It wasn’t supposed to be like that at all. You were the one who was supposed to take care of him because you were supposed to be unharmed. Instead, he suffered from a broken nose and malnourishment, and you had taken the bullet meant for him.

Instead he relished in the fact that he had you in his arms, that he could breathe in your scent, feel your warmth. It shouldn’t have happened at all, but he was going to take what he could get.

“This can’t be comfortable,” you pointed out after a while as you tugged on his sopping wet jeans. You said it as if Simon hadn’t tried to confess something, as if you hadn’t just experienced a panic attack; like things were okay.

“Been through worse,” Simon said dryly.

“Really?” you asked as if sincere. “I think wet jeans are what nightmares are made of.”

It wasn’t funny, but Simon laughed anyway and tilted his head to the side to press his lips against your temple. He was always touching you, always kissing you, as if he could wash everything away with his hands alone better than any body wash could. Maybe he could. His hands were certainly kinder than your own.

Once the water grew cold, Simon helped you out of the tub. He stripped his own soaked clothes off, and it was then that you noticed just how… skinny he looked. Between the hoodies he always wore and bundling up in the cold winter weather, you didn't realize just how much weight he had lost. The scar on his ribs stretched tight with his skin, and his veins protruded more than you remembered. Even with his state he came back for you.

A fresh and thick towel was used to dry you off, and Simon made sure to do all of the work. From what little of your torso that had gotten wet, all the way down to your feet. He didn’t take nearly as much time drying himself off before quickly ushering you into the bedroom and assisting you in getting dressed. After taking the myriad of antibiotics, probiotics, and painkillers you had been prescribed, you found yourself laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling while Simon shuffled about.

Eventually several layers of blankets had been tossed on top of you, and Boo purred at your feet, content to finally have his family back in one place. Simon settled under the covers next to you, and you instinctively curled into the warmth of him. Everything was soft and fuzzy due to the oxycodone flooding your system but you were still very much aware of the way Simon’s fingers traced up and down your left arm.

“Ischemia,” he said slowly.

“What?” you hummed, half awake.

“Ischemia. Bad blood flow,” he repeated. “Doc told me to keep an eye on the blood flow in your arm.”

“Because of the wound?” you asked, to which he hummed in response.

Things grew quiet as he ran his hand up and down your arm. Boo continued to purr up a mad storm while your fingertips were poked and prodded at. Simon watched carefully at how the color would push in and out of your nail bed, providing proof that your circulation was fine. Once he was satisfied, he studied your face, taking in how your eyes darted underneath the lids, the soft rise and fall of your shoulders. Everything in him was telling him to pull you tight and don’t let go, but he was terrified he’d crush you.

“I wasn’t afraid of dying,” you admitted suddenly, causing Simon to pause. You said it like you had answered a question nobody asked. Your eyes slowly fluttered open, and he took notice of how unfocused they looked. “I was just afraid of… not… being able to see you again.”

What was he supposed to say to that? How was he expected to form words when the love of his life looked at him like she’d die without his presence? A tight line formed along his lips as he lifted his hand to rub against your cheek.

“You should get some rest,” he diverted.

You knew exactly what he meant by that, but your eyes closed anyway as you reached your hand up to rest on his. Even moving it that far sent a pang of pain shooting down your arm and through your chest, but it was worth it to be able to hold him.

“Can we talk about it later?” you asked quietly.

“‘Course,” he promised.

After laying there for a moment, Simon reached over and turned the side table lamp off, plunging the room into darkness. It was strange laying in bed. He couldn’t quite recall the last time he had fallen asleep in such a comfortable position, as he spent his entire time captive falling asleep in a chair, which proved to be a difficult habit to break.

He wondered what it must have been like for you, down in that basement; a civilian mixed in military matters. Blood soaking into the bed sheets stained his vision almost worse than the Polaroids that had been taken of you. Sometimes he’d wipe his hands off on his pants because he still felt your blood staining his hands through his gloves. Every waking moment he heard Bukin calling you darling like it was played on repeat on his own personal broken record.

But there was no time for regret, grief, or anything else that tempted to poke at his heart and mind. There was limited space in his life, and in that moment, and forever more, it was reserved for you. Only you, and your laughter and your soft touches and the way you looked at him. He loved you. He loved you so fucking much it hurt. But there wasn’t space for that either; that terrible realization of just what he would do for you. No, for the moment it was only you, him, and that stupid cat purring at his feet, and that was enough for him.

tags: @ghostlythots @archonsabyss @crowbird @beware-my-thorns @koko-1025 @nessaasstuff @escapefromrealitysm @ilovehyperfixating @babygirl-riley @theloneshadow24 @ashableketchup @violet-19999 @ocyeanic-dani @paigetaylor628 @curlygirls-world @gaebestie @datlilwrench @ryisghost @suffering-and-happy-about-it @achelois-is-here

find my taglist here

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #soft spot #f!reader

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dominantslasherking · 1 year

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Predator/Yautja with Dominant Male S/o

My Stories are meant for the much more mature audience, 18+.

Backstory: Male Yautja wants to breed with his human mate.

Your friends were being hunted, alongside you, Your body was already aching for running and hiding out for hours on end, watching your friends die around you, wasn't something anyone would enjoy.

"Fuck..." A murmur uttered from your throat as you leaned against a tree, it was hard to see since it was pitch black outside, and you had no idea where you were since you and your friends decided to go on a hiking plus camping trip in the middle of a forest.

Your [Eye color] eyes threatened to shut, begging for rest, a deep breath escaped your mouth, as you decided to let your body rest, not expecting to fall asleep just as quick.

<<>>><<>>

Something was different, the weather wasn't as cold as it was, in fact, it was rather a normal temperature, and your back wasn't hurting, as it normally would sleeping against a hard tree. Slowly you opened your eyes, one of your eyes slightly drooping shut since it was indeed swollen from---from that fucking creatures blade, which had slashed you, luckily you had closed your eyes in time, so there was no serious damage to your eyeball itself, the same couldn't be said for your eyelid.

A loud clicking sound made you regain focus, and finally, see where you were..it looked like---some type of ship Obviously not human with all the strange details and highly advanced areas in it. You seemed to be in some type of room, on top of a bed, a comfortable large one might you add.

You felt something strange press into your side, a warmth, as if something--no someone was cuddling against you. A choke had caught itself in your throat, seeing one of those things that were hunting you and had killed most of your friends.

What was more considering than the literal alien cuddled up against you, was the hardness also pressed against you....The alien was--Horny.

For some odd reason your body had reacted to the big alien horniess, your body had begun to get all hot causing you to also get a boner. At that strange moment you wanted to curse at yourself, and your cock brushed against the fabric of your joggers.

Trying to get out of the grasp of the alien ended up as a bad idea, as it was now holding your arm down while staring at you, its mask was off, showing its strange-looking face, but you were disgusted.

It suddenly made strange clicking sounds into its wristband, causing a bold voice to speak up from the wrists device, "Ooman," Was the clearest word you could makeup, the rest were rather jumbled up and confusing.

Your body completely froze, once the alien had a firm grip on your clothes cock, which was painfully hard. Your teeth grinted holding in the groan from the unexpected gesture. You slightly moved, causing your knee to brush up against the creature's own hard cock.

"Shit--Sorry--Crap I did not mean to--!!!!" The creature wasted no time in ripping off the annoying joggers. The Yautja made clicking sounds out of approval at your large size(Thats what you hoped those clicking sounds were anyway...)

At this point, you really didn't care that this alien had killed your friends, you were horny, it was horny. However there was one thing you wouldn't slide, you were NOT going to let the alien fuck you, you wanted to fuck the alien instead...First it killed your friends, you'll be damned if it tried to top.

<<>><>>>

The Yautja's puckering hole was glistening with a strange liquid, which was easily used on lube once you popped your cock deep inside, with struggle since it was a very tight area. The clicking sounds it made were rapid as it let out a purr of thunder, once you had fully placed yourself inside.

Your hands had begun to roam the Aliens firm body until you had a nice grip on his hips, the Aliens cock was about the same as you, (Larger than average)

The Alien had a nice meaty ass, which was also being used as a gripper. It's not like you hadn't had sex before, but damn, the Alien was so fucking tight and every time you had pulled out, just to thrust back in, it felt as if the alien's hole was sucking you in completely, begging you to never leave the wet Craven area.

Your thrusts were wild like a beast, not able to resist the temptation of the pleasure coursing through your veins. Purring had erupted from the Aliens throat, enjoying the strange pleasures of having a cock in him, which he had never had before.

The Yautja a great hunter, had decided he was obviously going to keep his human mate, after all, a mate was very scarce, and the intense pleasure was just a bonus.

#slashers x reader #slasher x male reader #yautja x male reader #yautja x reader #yautja x you #Alien x male reader #yautja #alien vs predator #Mates #Alien sex #Alien mate #Gay Yautja #male yautja #male yautja x male reader

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wristbandsblog · 1 year

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#RFID Wristbands #Customized Wristbands #Fabric Wristbands #Silicone Wristbands

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safety-pin-punk · 1 year

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hey im a baby punk, and i just started making a patch jacket (is that what its called?), its only a couple roller derby patches and a book quote beaded on right now, but what would be some good (preferably subtle, cos parents :\ ) things to add?

-ghostflower

0) HI THIS HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY DRAFTS AND I DONT KNOW WHY IM SO SORRY

1) I absolutely love the name ghostflower

2) patch jacket and battle jacket are interchangeable for the most part. Battle jackets have a bit of history behind them stemming from WW2 (I have a Punk 101 post saved in my drafts about this actually), but in 95% of cases I’d argue patch jacket and battle jacket is interchangeable

3) THINGS TO ADD!!!

I’ve made a post about this before too but hey everyones always looking for more ideas, right?

Sew on random but meaningful/useful objects (bottle opener, festival wristbands, guitar pick, etc)

Sew a pocket for something (like a lighter or tickets you collect)

Its common to see patches that are just a cool pattern of fabric (leopard, zebra, funky 70s looking things)

I’ve seen people wire speakers into their jackets to connect to their phones when they walk around (far beyond my skills but cool nonetheless)

Paint pins out of bottle caps (they can be anything! Maybe even something roller derby related!)

The Union Jack (also known as the British flag) has had a prominent place in punk culture/aesthetic

Black cats are a symbol associated with anarchy movements

The 4 symbols of Led Zeppelin

161 is a code for Anti Fascist Action

Put non-subtle things in ‘secret spots’ on your jacket, such as the interior or under the collar (assuming you know people wont be able to check it out if you dont want them to)

As always, add more in the notes if you have ideas!!!

#mail tag #ghostflower #battle jacket

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cosmicladyy · 10 months

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// not smut, but not exactly pg //

If there was one thing Bowser enjoyed doing the most in the entire world, it was being a ruler.

It filled him with pride whenever he'd give his kingdom a once over, marveling at how much it's grown and developed. His home has never looked better, in his humble opinion.

From the blindingly bright jewels that glitter so prettily in his treasure room from numerous raids to the unwavering loyalty of his many citizens, he was a force to be reckoned with.

there was a weight of respect that came with being the King of the Koopas.

The only thing better than that? Being married to you.

The day he was officially able to call you his was one of the proudest days of his life. After ruling alone for (not that) many years, he finally had an equal to sit next to him and enjoy the spoils of his thriving kingdom.

Someone to help him shoulder any burden that might fall on him to fix. Someone to hold him when he's able to relax after a grueling day of ordering his minions around.

Someone who gets to see him.

he also wasn't opposed to the handsome statues of him that would pop up in various places around the kingdom.

what he didn't like doing, was sitting through meeting after meeting every few weeks with his minions about what they did/didn't do in their assigned jobs around the growing kingdom.

no matter how many times he'd moan and groan about it being 'a complete waste of time' and 'something a super cool king should NOT be doing', he'd always be dragged out by the horns by either you or on the very rare chance, Kamek.

you'll admit, it's not the most fun way you could be spending the afternoon, but it's a necessity to keep the kingdom in order.

he'd try to postpone or get out of it, none of which worked because he wasn't as sneaky as he'd like to think he is.

he once tried to skip it because he claimed he was terribly wounded earlier that day and needed to recover.

(it was a papercut)

Today's focus was mainly touching on any reports or disturbances the minions had from the patrols. Bowser knew that there wasn't anything major that needed his attention, but it was protocol in the kingdom to discuss any and everything that they'd seen.

At least, that's what Kamek said.

He could already feel the headache coming as he begrudgingly got ready, perched on his side of the bed.

"Why can't one of the koopas step in for me? not like anyone'll notice the difference." He tried to bargain, buckling on his signature spiked wristbands.

"I doubt it, you're the only one of your...stature." a grumble is your only answer.

you barely paid any mind to your spikey husband's whiny ramblings, too busy primping yourself for the meeting. you offer him a pensive 'hmm.' and turn to him.

"How do I look?" You ask, giving him a small twirl to take you in, as the fabrics you've dressed yourself in move with you.

"Ehh.." He shakes his hand from side to side.

"Jerk!" You gasp and jump at him, earning a belly laugh as he barely tries to fight off your punches to his firm side, even though they don't hurt him in the slightest. "Easy there, sweetheart, only joking." He grabs your hips carefully and straddles you over his lap.

"You're absolutely stunning, no matter what you wear."

even after all that time together, you can still feel your face heat up at his compliment.

wrapping your arms around his neck, you softly kiss his snout and smile at him lovingly, "Keep talking."

he chuckles deeply and lets out a puff of hot air through his nose.

"you're absolutely alluring. I find myself lucky to be in your presence."

a giggle bubbles in your throat as you bury your face in his scaly neck.

"y'know.." his claws run up and down your back slowly, "we don't have to start on time."

"Oh?" you lean back and raise an eyebrow at him.

"S'not like the throne room's goin' anywhere." you can practically feel him undressing you in his mind as his fiery eyes look you up and down.

you bring your hands up to his rough face and bring him closer, "Someone's feeling needy."

"when it comes to you? always."

you chucked at his attempts and pull away.

"Nice try." you tease, relishing in the dumbfounded look that materializes on the Koopa king's face, and give his cheek a pinch, "C'mon, it's about to start."

your only answer is a deep, bellowing growl as you hop out of his grip.

____

As expected, he was bored to pieces,

Guard after Guard, General after General, he absentmindedly nods in acknowledgment as they drone on about their shifts. Whenever he felt they fell short of their jobs, he'd 'loudly encourage' them to do better.

("Be nice," you whispered at him harshly after he reprimanded a shy guy for delaying an expected shipment from the kongs.

"Well, I would be if I had more competent men," he growled back.

"Watch it.")

He's particularly ticked after learning about a recent run-in with a certain denim-wearing tumbler.

"What do you mean he 'outran' you?" He tensely questioned a high-ranking Koopa who patrolled the outskirts of dark lands, wings nervously twitching behind him.

"H-he, uh, managed to slip into a pipe at the last second, your majesty."

from where you were sitting, you could see him start to sweat bullets as your husband balls up his fist tightly, the fire deep within him close to erupting out of his sharp-toothed mouth.

As he prepares to fire off in a harsh tangent, you quickly jump from your seat and address the general.

"I'm sure you've tried your best, I know slippery he can be," not really, you've probably met him a few times, "just be on the lookout next time and keep up the good work."

The koopa rings his hands out as he shakily glances over at Bowser, who seethes quietly from his seat and looks like he's two seconds away from frying him alive. The general looks back at you gratefully and nods, spouting how he'll be faster next time and won't let you down; he was also thanking you a hundred times over for saving him from scorching demise.

As he moves back to his place in the room, another general, a goomba, steps forward and begins his report.

The giant Koopa next to you lets out an annoyed groan, earning his righthand's attention and a light smack to the arm from you. he sinks lower into his throne and taps his nails on the headrest, counting down the seconds until he's relieved from duty.

Sensing his king's rapidly decreasing mood, Kamek clears his throat and hurriedly addresses the crowd.

"His Royal Highness has graciously allowed time for a fifteen-minute break and not a minute longer. Return here on time or else." The old Magikoopa threatens.

A resounding breath of relief fills the throne room as the varying generals and lackeys all walk out, occasionally bumping into each other to leave as quickly as possible.

Kamek quickly dismisses himself in a cloud of pink and leaves you two alone.

whipping your head around, you lightly glare at your royal pain in the ass.

"Y'know, you could pretend to be interested in what they're saying."

all you get is a "feh." and a backhanded wave as he plops his chin into his clawed hand, holding himself up on the armrest closest to you.

an exasperated sigh escapes your lips. at this rate, he'll burn the place to the ground from boredom and annoyance; or at the very least, turn a few unsuspecting koopas into skeletons.

bribery should work, you think as you lean closer to his aggravated form.

"I'll let you do that thing you really like," you whispered huskily, running a hand up his scaly arm.

almost comically, he shoots up straight on his throne and excitedly looks over at you, "Really?"

"If you make it without yelling at anybody else," you add on.

watching the gears turn in his head, a smug look sweeps across his face, "how about a sample?"

he chuckles at the roll of your eyes but is quickly rendered silent as you pull him in by his collar, your lips connecting with his own.

his eyes slide shut as he feels you move your hands from to hold onto his broad shoulders.

the kiss, starting sweet and welcoming, is quick to turn passionate and heavy as you both chase one another, refusing to part for air.

you briefly pull away, only to hop from your throne to his and straddle his lap, similar to the position you were in a few hours ago.

he chases after your lips and pulls you in, sealing your lips together as he claws at your top, the other slowly climbing up your thigh.

the air around you is steadily growing hot, the previous silence being filled with moans and groans of a different nature from both of you.

bowser pulls a breathy, loud moan out of you as he grinds into you in a way that has you seeing stars. a growl rumbles deep in his chest as you run your nails along his fiery, red hair by his neck.

as quickly as it started, it ended when you pulled away, having already heard the echoing marching from the incoming troops.

bowser narrows his ruby-red eyes at you as his chest heaves, "So that's how you wanna play it?"

his only answer is a satisfied smirk as you fix yourself in your seat as if you didn't just pull him into a soul-searing makeout session.

the doors are swung open as guards of different sizes pile into the room once again, random conversations filling the once-quiet atmosphere.

You greet the returning group with a smile, watching as they take their seats and mentally prepare to hear the rest of the reports.

Kamek appears right next to the larger koopa in the same cloud he left in and looked expectingly at his king, "Shall we continue?"

You can practically feel his piercing gaze on the side of your face before hearing him whisper to his advisor.

"How about a quick bathroom break?"

"Bowser!"

#GOOOD MORNINNGGGG #bowser x reader #bowser x y/n #cosmicwrites #tried to keep it as gn as possible #i SUCK at writing cutesy scenes #literally wrote the kiss with my eyes shut how EMBARRASSING #unedited as HELL

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