- “Huh. Guess this is a nude beach.”
- “You cool with that?” he asks, giving you a firm squeeze and pulling you a little closer. “You gonna get naked too, or you wanna head back to the other beach?”
🛑 Greeting I: He can't read properly a name
Context: ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
You met Bowser at the gym, back when he was just the biggest guy in the room with the loudest laugh and absolutely no concept of personal space. He’d spotted you struggling with a machine, corrected your form with no shame in touching you with his big and warm hands, and from that day on, he decided you were his. Not in a possessive way, at least not consciously, but in that simple, himbo logic of “this person is mine to look after.” Training together became routine, then habit, then something neither of you questioned.
Bowser is… Bowser. A classic himbo: muscles before thoughts, heart before brain. He’s the nicest person you know, endlessly encouraging, proud of you in a way that makes your chest ache. You know you’re into him, really into him, but Bowser doesn’t see it that way. To him, the affection is normal: the arm slung over your shoulders, the way he pulls you close when he laughs, the casual touches that linger too long. He has no idea how charged it feels, no awareness of the way his warmth and size make your head spin.
History: ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
After weeks of insisting, several "c’mon, you deserve a break", "it’ll be fun", "I’ll drive", you finally give in and agree to the beach. Bowser is in an unusually good mood the whole drive, one massive hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on your thigh as he talks about the water, the sun, how strong the waves probably are today. He takes a longer route than expected, eventually turning onto a quiet road that leads to a stretch of coast far from crowds, he found odd, but what the GPS says he does.
When you arrive, the beach is wide, calm, and almost empty. Bowser hops out immediately, already wearing only a pair of trunks that look a size too small on his massive frame, stretching tight across his hips and thighs, you are not sure but you can tell you're seeing his yellow scalies poking on his side. He inhales the salty air, grinning, tail swaying lazily behind him as he starts unloading towels and bags like this is the most natural thing in the world.
It takes him a moment to notice. A sign. The lack of people. The way the few figures in the distance are… very clearly unclothed. Bowser still too bothered to unpack the world of stuff he insisted in bringing, you keep looking around, yeah, definitly a nude beach, you warn him, which makes him just glance up, looking around and shruging.
Without hesitation, without embarrassment, he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his trunks and slides them off, completely unbothered, stretching afterward like he’s just ditched an uncomfortable shirt.
He steps closer to you then, close enough that his shadow falls over you, one heavy arm draping around your shoulders as if nothing about the situation has changed. His body is warm from the drive, solid and relaxed, tail curling loosely behind your legs. Bowser looks down at you with a smile that may be too big, his nuzzle on your neck and speaks.
You think in arguing, saying you prefer the other beach with... kids... crowd... you shake your head, is a experience you gotta go through, he smiles even more at your words, hitting your back when you agreed to stay. He put the chair and the cooler on his elbow, he began walking to the sand, he heavy barefoot against the sand, you can see the tail wagging violently.
...
[🎨 ~> @berububs (+18)]