#metallic orange corset

[badbitchesonlyhoe]

[tadpolesonalgae]

Rhysand x reader: Peacock Feathers[*]

A/N: yeah, I like this one.

Summary: he always has something fun planned for Date Night.

Warnings: heavy voyeurism, heavy exhibitionism, fingering, not wearing seatbelts, sexual tension, 5.2k words

‘The most flamboyant lingerie set you have. Wear it for me.’

You huff at your husband’s minimal description for the dress code of tonight’s date. You rummage through your draws, flinging open the armoire, even the wardrobe in the corner, riffling for something. What did he even mean by flamboyant? Did he want you to strut out into the night cloaked in nothing but some sheer lace and heels? You bite your lip at the idea. It would be just like you husband to arrange something like that.

Flamboyant…flamboyant…

Flamboyant!

You rush back to the armoire, digging through the neatly set clothes, fingers searching for the material until you find what you’re looking for. You hold it up, and nodded. Yes, it would do. It would do quite well, in fact. Now, to find a way to conceal it…

You know he’s taking you out…somewhere. And unless he’s planning on smuggling you in, wrapped in a body bag, then you will need to find a way to hide the finely made lingerie from prying eyes. You sigh at yet another task to fulfil. You’re honestly going to bite Rhys’ cock off if this fails your expectations—for all the trouble he’s putting you through.

Once again, you search through your wardrobe, gazing at the menagerie of gowns and dresses. An array of satin and silk, garish and gaudy, jewels glimmering in the warm lamp light, winking at you temptingly. But no, you would choose something simple, something that would enhance your underclothes. You think about what your husband is likely to adorn himself in. If he asked you for flamboyant…it could be anything. Still, bright pops of colour weren’t really his style, preferring the brush of dark sleeves and silver cuffs than splashes of sparkling yellows or velvety oranges. The most flamboyant you’ve seen him in is a dark red suit, in celebration of a dear brother—and even then it had been so dark the crimson only showed if the light hit from a particular angle.

Having ruled out most options, you figure your best chances are either white or black, if he’s going to dress in a suit. White or black. You scan the wardrobe for anything that would fit with the lingerie. The choice is easy.

————

“Ready, darling?”

You silently move yourself to the top of the curved staircase, taking the one closest to your dressing chambers. Your husband’s eyes sweep over you, glinting with feline satisfaction as he drinks you in. One step at a time, you descend toward him, moving with elegant precision. You keep his eyes the whole while, basking in the heat of his keen gaze, and you wonder if you’ll even make it out the front doors.

A subtle string of rose quartz beads decorate your throat, the white satin of your gown flowing in smooth cascades behind you. The dress slims to your waist, the mini corset accented with small iridescent sequins that decorate the floral jacquard fabric. The heels you’ve selected hold a thin stilt to balance on, platinum lace weaving around your ankles, ensconced with silver thread keeping tiny beads wrapped snuggly against the ties. A single ring adorns your right glove, resting with grounding weight on your thumb. The band is silver, set with a moonstone, tiny amethysts framing it against the creamy silk of your gloves. Beneath the smooth fabric on your left hand lies your wedding ring, a beautiful sapphire welded delicately into the metal.

He drinks in the dusty red of your lips, matte in their texture and slightly dulled to not pull away from the rest of you. Divine. Enchanting. Refined. Perfectly attuned to him, having not gone too over the top when he’d requested flamboyance. Keeping in mind that you were a pair and would be seen together.

“You look positively delicious,” Rhys purrs as you reach the bottom of the staircase, gliding over to him. You give him a sultry smile, one that has heat shooting straight between his legs. He’s brought back to the Soirée last month, when you’d been sat on your knees between his thighs, dark rouge lipstick blurred at the edges of your mouth, perfect replicas stamped on his cock from where you’d kissed up and down the length of him until he couldn’t take it any more. He remembers how you’d swiped at the smudged tint, glaring up at him teasingly, “why is it whenever you take me out somewhere I always end up with my makeup out of place?”

Then there had been the masquerade party the month before, where you’d been set on keeping those damned masks on, hiding the beauty of your face from him. You’d insisted the anonymity had been thrilling, given a dark edge to the experience. It was this in particular that had him thinking. Turning over different venues and activities until he’s found one he believed would be pleasingly satisfying to your slightly sinister tastes.

“I could say the same about you, husband.” He looks ravishing. Charmingly debonair in his black suit, complete with smooth bow tie and crisp white shirt. Not a crease to be found. A kerchief makes a soft triangle atop his breast pocket, complete with a peacock feather decorating the smooth lapel of his jacket. “I don’t suppose you plan on informing me of tonight’s venue?” You inquire, settling a palm over his heart as you lean against him.

His hand raises to your jaw, tilting your lips toward his. “And ruin the surprise at the last minute? I think not.” He presses his lips to your own, coming away vaguely rosey from the rouge staining your mouth. You pout, fingers circling over his chest, “you like watching me squirm, don’t you? How cruel you are, truly. I cannot fathom—” you press another kiss to his lips, “—why I ever married you.” He offers you a feline grin, “maybe you enjoy the tension. The edge.” His fingers grip your hips, pulling you against him.

You’re pleased when his eyes darken as he feels the pattern of something thin beneath the satin. “What did you choose?” His voice has dropped, roughening and you suppress a shiver at the timbre. You peer up at him innocently, “and spoil the surprise at the last second? I think not.” Your teasing spurs him on, fingers deftly catching on the low collar of your dress, moving to pull it from your skin so he can catch a glimpse of what lies beneath.

Rhys gets as far as bringing a wash of cool air down your front before you’re jabbing two fingers into his chest—down his sternum. “Ah, ah, ah, husband.” You push him back, preventing him from peering down your top. “Leave something for dessert,” you chastise, a low growl sounding in the back of his throat. Pleasure sings beneath your skin at your husband’s antics.

Your fingers waltz upward, delicately hooking beneath his perfectly wrapped bow tie, pulling him downward toward your mouth. “Wouldn’t want to spoil your appetite now, would we?”

“I assure you my appetite is depthless when it comes to you, wife.” His fingers latch onto your own, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. You flush with pleasure, “shameless flirt.”

“Promiscuous madam.”

You raise a single, neatly groomed brow, “a madam?” You echo, then press against his chest, allowing him to feel the soft plushness of your breasts. “And what’s a refined gentleman like you doing in the arms of a lady of the night, hm?”

He growls, grip tightening on you possessively. “She’s taken something from me. Something very precious. Plucked it straight from my chest, weaving her sinful fingers between the bones of my ribs.” His mouth brushes over your own, an erotic caress of his lips. “I fear the day she returns it, for the pain it will bring.”

Your eyes dip as they follow their quiet movement. “I took yours as payment for my own.” You whisper back, “I am merely human, and cannot survive without it.” His arm snakes around your lower back, forehead pressing to your own, sharing in the intimacy. “You took mine first, Rhys.” He releases a soft breath at his name on your lips. “It’s only fair.”

He laughs softly against your mouth, and you keen beneath the sound, pushing up onto your tiptoes, desperate for another taste—

“Shall we?”

He’s pulled back, leaving your chest cold, heat warming between your legs. Your husband holds out an arm, waiting for you to latch onto him, arrogantly expecting. You gift him a saccharine smile, already planning how to overthrow him for the evening, “lead the way.”

————

The lamplights reflect in the puddles as it drizzles. Already you can make out the faint wisps of fog rolling through the dark streets.

“What’s on your mind, darling?”

You turn, propping your chin on your hand as you gaze at him before straightening, looking ahead. “I was thinking whether you’d enjoy the silk of my hands or the velvet of tongue.” You glance at him sidelong, pleased when he stiffens. You could swear you see his demeanour shift to match the darkness of the night. “Do you think it wise to begin this dance so early?” He drawls. You return your gaze to peering through the chauffeurs window, watching them cut through traffic. “That is true,” you contemplate, “it is usually your role to insist on foreplay.”

You turn in your seat, catching the dark glint in his violet eyes. You offer a coy smile, enjoying rilling him up before the event has even begun. He leans over, across the space between you, mouth lowering to brush the shell of your ear, “did you follow my orders for tonight?” You swallow as he pulls back to look at you, shifting to be beside you, the powerful lines of his body pressing to your own shape. “Are you so desperate to see me in my underthings?” A serpentine smile twists the edges of your rouge mouth, “I chose an appropriate set. I think it will appeal to your tastes.”

Again, his eyes dip to that teasing window of your chest, dress cut low enough to reveal mouth-watering skin, but not enough for him to catch a glimpse. No matter, he’ll find out soon enough.

Rhysand straightens, reaching to his pocket, “I forgot to give you this, for the night.” He retrieves a headband, accented with a single peacock feather at it’s crest, set with clear jewel you believe to be a diamond. “Put it on for me?” Your heart beat increases at the deftness of your husbands fingers, brushing strands of hair from your cheeks before setting the circlet atop your brow. “Perfect,” he murmurs, and you wonder if he meant to say it aloud.

His thumb brushes beneath your lashes as he stares into your eyes. You lean into the touch, indulging in the heat of his large palm over your jaw. He looks as though he’s considering kissing you, eyes dipping lower, a deep hunger roiling in their depths. “Go on,” you encourage, shifting your body to face his as your arms snake over his shoulders.

But the chauffeur pulls up a driveway, bringing the vehicle to a stand still.

Your husband pulls away with a grin, “enjoy.”

————

The red windmill.

An interesting name.

He’d guided you to the entrance, your silk encased hand gripping the satin hem of your dress to keep it from dragging on the floor. When the receptionist had asked for a name to place for the reservation, he’d given it over, and then the two of you had been escorted to a private suite. The server had shown you around, where things were, and then left you alone, together.

When the door clicks, you turn to Rhys. “Care to reveal your secrets now, sir?” His lips quirk as he settles in a large armchair, a deep red to match the atmosphere of the chamber, lit by warm lights and accented with blacks, reds and oranges. His legs spread as he gets comfortable, facing you. “Every garment you remove, I’ll let you in on a little more,” he purrs, readying himself for the show you’ll give him.

You roll your eyes, but pull the glove from your left hand, wedding band glinting in the light. He raises a brow at the small movement. “I didn’t take you for a coward,” he taunts, but you simply peer down at your nails, examining them. “Secret, please.” His mouth neutralises into an unreadable line, “we’re here for entertainment.” You roll your eyes again, “obviously.” He grins, silently ordering you to remove another item of clothing.

Teasingly, you remove the other glove, staring him down from across the room as you perch on the arm of the chair opposite him. You drop the silk onto the cushion, the pure white an erotic contrast to the dark colours shrouding the suite. “Both your voyeuristic and exhibitionistic tendencies will be satiated.” You blink, then narrow you eyes at the man. “Have you brought be to a sex club, Rhysand?” He chuckles at the use of his full name—you only use it when displeased with him. “Rhys, you haven’t,” you gasp, “what if someone sees?” Sometimes you really could strangle your husband.

But then he stands from his reclined position, prowling forward, hands wrapping firmly around your waist as his shadow swallows you. “Isn’t that the point?” He purrs, your spine arching against him. “Don’t you delight in their attention? Revel in it?” Heat flushes your cheeks at your husband’s accuracy. “I know how you like being perceived as an object of desire. Isn’t that why you didn’t bat a single, pretty eyelash when I made my request for the night?”

His hands glide up, tracing over your breasts until they cup your jaw, “I’ll ravish you in front of the whole world if it pleases you.”

“But a sex club!” You hiss, making him laugh. “Am I laughing, Rhys?” You snap, making him calm himself.

“I give you my word, it’s nothing as disreputable as a sex club,” he purrs, but the lilt in his voice suggests a loophole. “Why don’t you remove that dress of yours so you can get to the big reveal, hm?”

He steps away, allowing you to stand. To proceed with the show. You huff, turning your back to him as you begin slowly unslotting the tiny satin cushions from their holes. One at a time. Piece by piece.

Gradually, the smooth material begins its descent off the slope of your shoulders. His mouth dries as he finds the thin, platinum straps that loop atop your arms. The satin slowly gives way, showing off the latch of the brassiere you’ve donned. Pure, glittering white. He swallows as the gown lowers over your waist, caressing the intimate skin of your waist; hips.

The dress pools at the poised set of your heel adorned feet, the silver ensconced lace matching the delicious underthings you’ve selected. His breath catches as you glance at him over one shoulder, giving him a partially concealed view of your beautiful face. Your slim fingers waltz over the skin of your arm, trailing down as your eyes follow teasingly. The other hand is wrapped over your hip, playing with the thin band of your underwear: matching lace that clings to the plump curve of your rear.

“Turn around, darling. Let me see you.” His voice sounds rougher; more strained.

Ever so slowly, you step out of the waves of satin, turning to reveal yourself to him.

A low groan sounds at the back of his throat as he slips two fingers beneath the collar of his shirt, apparently in need of some cooler air. You smirk as you begin prowling closer, stopping only when you’re positioned between his muscled thighs.

Your husband enjoys himself as he drinks you down, eyes dragging so slowly over every fine detail, and you swear you can see the plans in his mind fading back to dust. He wets his lower lip, gaze darkening as he imagines where you’d enjoy being touched, whether you would prefer his fingers or his mouth over your perky nipples. Whether you’ll insist on keeping your lingerie intact, or whether you’ll be so desperate as he is by the night’s end that you won’t care about it being hastily removed. Strewn across the rouge carpet.

Sequins and pale glass beads are woven to the brocade fabric, indentations of peacock feathers shimmering in the light, iridescent thread glimmering. Tiny sets of diamond are dotted at the base of the brassiere, looping around your back and over your shoulders. Strings of pearls dangle from the base of the lingerie, hanging in crescent circles like ribs made of moonstone—reconnecting at the clasp. The underwear matches perfectly, accented with the same glittering platinums, silver embossed feathers curling over your hips.

“You’re divine,” he breathes, violet eyes reflecting your warm light. His hands reverently pull you closer, your own settling on the corded muscle of his shoulders as he places a kiss to your navel. “Divine,” he whispers, shakily. Your husband looks up at you, your fingers weaving through his blue-black hair, so soft to the touch. He keens at your touch, revelling in the press of the pads of your fingers, feather-light as you trace the sharp cleft of his cheek.

“What’s the big secret, husband?” You murmur, hooking one leg over his thigh as you slide into his lap. He moves for your mouth, lips parting, eyes sliding closed but you set a firm hand on his chest. “Now, now, Rhys. Behave.” He groans softly at the command, eyelids lazing open to look at you. Lust and hunger dance intimately, barely hidden in the now indigo hue of his irises. Your fingers settle either side of his chin, tilting his jaw toward you, his pupils dilated and burning.

“It’s your turn, Rhys,” you whisper alluringly, hips winding over his. He stifles another groan, “wicked, wicked woman.” A thrill of excitement brushes down your spine at his pained tone. His strong arms snake around your waist, clutching you to his body, hand settling between your shoulder blades, indulging in the drag of your breasts. He grips your ass, pulling you tight to his hips, feeling the prominent outline of something delicious between your thighs—against your stomach.

“Come on, now,” you chide, mouth dancing over his own, a sensual caress of breath. “Make good on your word, husband.” A strained sound of pleasure rumbles in his chest, eyes flicking up to yours. He swallows, and you trace the roll of his throat. Then both his hands drop to your ass, hauling you against him as he stands, your thighs wrapping snuggly around his hips. “Rhys…?” Your tones shifts to irritation and he chuckles.

Your husband moves fluidly through the suite room, opening a door the server hadn’t shown you. You try to turn but he presses your face to his shoulder, hiding the view from you. All you’re able to make out is the general volume of people, but it’s a bit far away, as if from a lower floor. Music rolls up to your ears, fiery, rhythmic, and you want to set your heels to the floor, if only to spin with your husband to the syncopated melody.

“Rhys? What is that?” Your husband sets you down on what feels like a balcony, his grip loosening, allowing you to peer about. “Look for yourself,” he smirks, stepping back a little. Your thighs tighten around him, tugging him back to your chest harshly as you take in your surroundings.

He’s seated you precariously on what is indeed a balcony, thick mahogany supporting you. Large, champagne coloured chandeliers hang from the ornate ceiling, light refracting through the glass diamonds, casting their golden glow throughout the hall. You’re on the highest floor, the room is cavernous compared to the booth he’d taken you to. Below, people chatter and make merry, dressed finely in anything from night robes to stunning silk dresses to flimsy underthings with a fan of feathers haloing their heads like crowns. A menagerie of fluidly colours: purples to yellow, stripes of pink and cream, splashes of oranges and greens, the glittering sparkle of sequins and jewels gleaming in the low light.

At the front of the hall lies what appears to be a small orchestra, and you zone in on the figure at the forefront of the music, just ahead of the elderly conductor. He’s playing what might be an accordion of some kind, the music frenetic, a frenzied tango of notes. “Is that a squeezebox?” You peer closer, still wrapped tightly around Rhys’ hips. He peers with you, “I believe that’s a copy of a French Flutina. Popular in the 19th century.”

You listen closer to the music, trying to place it. Your husband smiles as recognition sparkles in your eyes, “Libertango, Astor Piazzolla.” He nods, hand cupping your cheek, “indeed.” Your hold relaxes on him a little, allowing you more leeway to watch the crowd. His mouth drops to your throat, kissing a slow trail from your collar bones to your jaw. Your breathing deepens, then catches. His lips lift into a smile over your neck, “see anything interesting?” Then he receives a light smack to his shoulder, “Rhysand!” You scold, fuming, “it is a sex club!”

Sure enough, he can make out the groping hands on the floor below, the bent over bodies, the kneeling legs, the harsh snap of hips. All while the musicians play on. A symphony of pleasure singing through the room, a harmony of moans for accompaniment. “They prefer the term massage parlour. The clientele are free to engage with other participants in whatever way they wish. No one here is paid to do anything.”

Your raise a brow sceptically, “you’ve done your research, husband.”

“Only the best for my wife.” Your lower body tingles at the title. “I hope you know I refuse to step foot in that…pleasure hall. These heels are white. And very dear.”

He laughs against your skin, “why do you think I reserved a private room for us, my darling?”

You pout at the cunning man. “How obnoxiously sly of you,” you remark. “I’m always ten steps ahead of you, dear,” he murmurs over your lips, giving you a serpentine grin before twisting you round, so your back is pressed against his broad chest. “Rhys!” You squeak, hands flying for something to grip onto, feet weaving through the wooden beams withstanding the balcony railing.

“Enjoy yourself,” he drawls, opening his mouth over the unmarked skin of your neck, pressing hot, wet kisses to you. You moan softly. All those people, indulging beneath you, hardly an idea of what’s happening above them. “Relax,” he instructs, nipping at the pearled lobe of your ear. You whine. “You try relaxing with the potential of falling to your death,” you manage, even as his arm tightens around your stomach, letting you know you’re safe with him. “You know that, should you fall, I would plummet with you,” he whispers against your skin, drawing a bark of laughter from your throat, the rose quartz beads ringing at the sound. “I would have preferred reassurance you would not let me drop, Rhys,” you snap playfully.

“That too.”

You huff a laugh that turns into a hitch as his hand cups you through the finely woven lace. A moan slips from your lips as heat warms your skin, his fingers deftly rubbing over the apex of your thighs. “Rhys…” He kisses your jaw, “look below you. All those people revelling in one another, taking what they want until they’re drunk on pleasure.” Your breathing becomes shallow.

“Any one of them could look up—some already might’ve—see you spread out on the balcony, with my hand between your thighs.” You preen against him, melting into his warmth as his fingers dip lower, oscillating over your entrance. He pushes the damp silk to the side, scooping up your slick on his middle and forth finger before raising it to his lips, groaning at your taste. You release a sultry laugh at your husband’s actions, spreading your legs a little wider, “take more, if you want.”

Rhysand growls at the invitation, gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at the people below. “How many people do you think are watching you right now, huh?” You. Not us. You. “How many people do you think have seen how you’re dressed—how you’re acting—and hoped to themselves you’ll be gracing their mouths later?” The heel of his palm presses to the top of your thighs, rubbing gently as his fingers circle you, before pushing in. “How many people down there, do you think, are pleasuring themselves to you?”

Your back arches against him, his clever fingers curling and dragging against your walls. You swallow, desperate to find your words, “I…I don’t know…” you manage, and his teeth nip at your throat, biting lightly. “Have a look, darling. Seek them out.” You moan, trying to follow his orders, but the light is fairly minimal, and the bodies are fading to an erotic dance of shadows. “Can’t do it?” He drawls, pressing his fingers deeper, up to his knuckles.

He laughs darkly beside your ear, “down near the front, a little away from the cellist.” You follow his directions, landing on a figure with their head raised, pleasuring themself. “Beside the third exit on the ground floor, wearing red.” Again you follow, finding a figure strewn over a table, gazing upward. “The floor below is, opposite.” You moan loudly, the sound getting wisped away in the music.

In the booth he’s talking about, a woman is bent over the railing, her petite breasts exposed to the air—to the audience below—while an older gentleman stands behind her, and you can see how her body is pushed forward with each snap of his hips. Her lips are parted, and were the room silent you’re sure she would be moaning as you are. Her eyes are hooded, but watching you, watching as your husband’s fingers push into you, how your back arches.

He does something wicked with his digits, and you gasp, head tipping backward onto his shoulder as he presses against your clit. “Rhys…” you moan out, feeling so high already, practically weightless, as if you could fly away. “Easy,” he orders, arms tightening around you as your hips buck. “Not tipping over that edge just yet.” The possibility has your heart rate increasing, adrenaline thrumming beneath your skin, buzzing at your fingertips.

Your eyes return to the couple on the lower floor. “Do you think she’s an escort?” You manage, noting her scandalous clothing and exquisite gems adorning her throat and wrists. “Does it please you to fantasise about their outside lives, hm? Create a story for them, to get off to?” You moan at his words, nodding your head. “What do you think she’s thinking right now?” His fingers fuck into you harder, keeping their pace though the pressure increases over your clit. “I—…” you can’t manage anything: it’s so overwhelming.

“I think she’s wondering how you taste, what it would be like to have her fingers burying into you like this,” he punctuates his words with a flick of his wrist, digits dragging against that glorious spot inside you. “I bet she’s wishing you were coming on her tongue instead.”

You whimper, nails digging into the banister as you draw nearer and nearer. “Maybe she’s fantasising about you, what your story is. Perhaps she’s winding a filthy tale in her head of you being stolen away by a dark stranger, auctioned off to the highest bidder for your virginity.” You pant heavily, delighting in the wet squelching coming from between your thighs, proof of your arousal for your husband. At some point, dancers had appeared onstage, dressed in thinner and even skimpier clothing than you. Jewels, gems, and peacock feathers waltzing across the skene.

“Perhaps she’s creating a story of a failed marriage, love abandoned, so you’ve left to seek out some real pleasure, from someone who will treat this cunt right.” You whimper, so close to unravelling from his silver-tipped tongue. He’s always been quick on his feet when it comes to this, perfectly attuned to the darker parts of your mind, the more private thoughts you have. “Perhaps she’s telling herself you’re nothing but a dirty whore, trying to scrape together a penny or two by selling your pretty pussy.”

You suck in a sharp breath of air as your high hits you, fully seizing your body as you tighten wildly around his fingers, grinding your hips against his hand as he pulls you through the euphoria. “That’s it,” he encourages, “show everyone what a filthy whore you are.” Your cunt is still fluttering around his steadily moving fingers. The hot breath from his mouth brushes over your ear, fanning across your neck, “you’re no better than a prostitute, are you?” He whispers, circling your clit slowly, working you down.

You pant heavily as your heart beat begins to even out in the aftermath. You swallow as his fingers drag out of your slick heat, coated in glossiness that shines in the low light. “Open.” You hardly have time to follow the command before the pads of his middle and forth finger are sliding over your mouth, like an obscene lip gloss. He pushes them in, against your tongue so you can taste your own arousal. His hips buck against your ass.

“So good, aren’t you. My good, little wife.” You whine at the title, and he helps you down from the balcony—carefully. He spins you around, pulling you tight to his hips, pinning you to the railing. “Think you’re all warmed up for me now? Or do you need some time to cool off?” He taunts. You buck against him, “I can take you.”

He chuckles at your enthusiasm but his eyes flick to the stage, filled with dancing song girls. “Looks like some of the entertainment is starting,” he drawls, giving you a light pat on the ass before he’s guiding you to a chair. Your legs give out when he pushes you, collapsing into the soft cushions. “Why don’t we resume after this brief intermission, hm? I’ll fetch us some refreshments.”

When you look like you’re about to stand to follow after him, he sends you a look over his shoulder. Promising more. “All I want you wearing is those gloves when I return.” His eyes darken as they drag over your body, male satisfaction glinting in his sharp gaze as he notes the slick glossing your thighs. “After all, you were so keen on finding out whether I would like your silk or velvet more.”

Heat flushes your cheeks at the reminder, excitement zipping beneath your skin. Your eyes dip to his hips, “do you think you’re appropriate?” You smirk, noting the obvious outline of his cock, your tongue wetting your lower lip. He mirrors your grin, “think I should send you out there in my stead?” He drawls, sparking arousal in the pit of your tummy. “Maybe a dark stranger will whisk me away, auction me off to the highest bidder.”

“Precisely why I will be getting refreshments,” he smirks. “I’ll knock thrice, slowly, when I return.”

“Maybe I should lock you out. Make you wait like you’re doing to me,” you drawl, watching lazily from your half reclined position. His laugh is a lovers caress between your legs, “if you have the heart to.”

“It’s your heart,” you remind him, smiling.

“Exactly.”

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

[riacte]

Been reading dearly beloathed (and thoroughly enjoying it mind you) (the GC screenies chat loves Reina btw) and I’m genuinely so curious as to how you imagine their superhero fits/ them in general. Obvs tachy has his angler fish get up but what about Balefire and the rest :0 do you have any designs or descriptions or just ideas for the characters designs :D?

Hi thanks for reading and glad you like it! Quick Picrews from this link:

(Left to right, top to bottom: Lyra, Ben, Archie, Reina, Cora, Balefire/Uma)

Then my art: Uma with various shadow blobs, Lyra + Ben (part of this larger piece with their OC predecessors)

More detailed descriptions:

Balefire: brown skin, shoulder length black hair, brown eyes, thick eyebrows, strong nose, has a prominent glare (at least, from Tach’s pov). Slightly shorter than average. Fairly well built. Has a black scar on her chest from Tach. Likes wearing yellow. I haven’t quite decided on her hero costume but it’s black + reddish orange and has flame motifs. She probably added some phoenix motifs after her reappearance. (She didn’t start off with them.)

Tachythanatous: was obnoxiously into emo culture as a teen (belt buckles, straps, studded pads, metal chains, etc). Anglerfish inspired helmet with a dangly light that changes colours. The dangly light has a practical purpose of providing a light source in case he’s trapped in complete darkness as his shadows cannot appear. (Think Pride from Fullmetal Alchemist.) Sometimes he makes the light multicoloured so he can vibe to Caramelldansen. Dressed in black + dark blue. Probably has platform boots for the heck of it. Has a swishy cape because he’s dramatic. Surprisingly skinny (his suit is well padded for protection). He doesn’t have much strength as he heavily relies on his speed and his shadows. Without his speed and shadows, Bale can easily punt him into the sky while he goes “YIPPPPPEEEEEeeeeeeeeee 💫”.

Tach is usually in his suit. If he’s not, he’s covering up his skin with long sleeves + pants. When Bale stayed with him, sometimes Tach was too lazy to suit up so he would just walk out with a big black rectangle covering his body like a glitch in the matrix. Like imagine a stressed out Balefire with a headache coping with a complete 180 of the status quo waiting for the kettle to boil and then this floating black rectangle ominously enters into the kitchen like 🧍 “morning nemesis”.

Lyra: light skin, straight black hair with blue highlights, black eyes. Puts on hair clips and likes wearing her hair in a braid (she’s been growing out her hair for a while). Has a stoic resting face so people used to be intimidated by her until they learn she’s just a shivering pathetic wet cat. Her ears turn red when she blushes. Tall and lanky. Doesn’t like to show her legs and wears trousers and long skirts. Wears blue, grey, black, and yellow.

Ben: tan skin, short cropped hair, big brown eyes. A bit scrawny. Dresses like a tour guide at a marine park (orange shirt, cargo pants). Likes clothes with pockets despite owning a pocket dimension. (Maybe it’s his brand?) He’s clumsy and falls over like a piece of toast.

Archie: fair skin, wispy blond hair, watery blue eyes. Wears glasses. Likes vests and jackets. Wears in shades of green, beige, and brown. He tends to layer clothes and wear clothes made with different materials to practice his superpower of phasing through matter (one of his fears is phasing through a wall but leaving his clothes behind). Also wears accessories such as watches, hats, and chains to train his powers. Has a stocky build but born with a weak constitution.

Reina: fair skin, long straight blond hair to her back, brown eyes, short and stout. She later dyes her bangs black. Wears black and shades of pink (in particular magenta). Likes alt fashion (short skirts, corsets, platform boots). Occasionally wears plum / dark lipstick.

Cora: dark brown skin, shoulder length curls, dark brown eyes. Medium build, average height. When she’s in class, she wears a doctor’s coat. Dresses in shades of purple, green, and white. Her family wants her to dress “demurely” but her actual taste is more casual. Wore more androgynous clothes but leaning towards more feminine clothing lately. Occasionally wears silver eyeliner.

All of the kids can afford whatever they want to wear because the gov pays them to go to hero school. They’re rich kiddos lol.

These are the tentative designs I have of the main cast. Everyone else is more vague lmao

Arcus/Kai: brown hair, brown skin, well built. Has weather manipulation powers so his suit is probably sapphire blue with bits of dark grey

Cinder/Lillian: short hair in a bob, “mousy”, wears glasses, doe eyes, was weak and scrawny during her Academy years. Suit is a mellow yellow with white.

Moxie/Mona: black hair, black eyes. She looks lively and mischievous.

Sentinel/Milo: he’s like your fun uncle at BBQs. Probably wears his hair in a messy ponytail. Suit is maroon probably.

Harrison: brown hair, handsome, photogenic (which Ben complains about in his inner monologue)

Esme: freckled skin, sharp eyes, brown hair in two long braids

Here’s some art I drew of Bale and Tach :)

Also glad your gc likes Reina :D yes yes this is good info to me for plot reasons…. :)

Thanks for the ask <3

[growthgoddess]

Elara's Enchantment

An unruly mob has gathered at your palace gates. They are voicing disdain and disappointment over your rule as king of their lands. They were promised bountiful seasons and everlasting joy, perhaps overpromised. You only wanted to be loved, but now your subjects have overpowered your guards and are now threatening to tear down your palace gates with a battering ram.

You furrow your brow, feeling desperation sink in. If they catch you, they would probably see you hanged, or even worse, burnt at the stake. The last remaining guards of your palace have deserted you and a cold sweat trickles down your forehead as a chill rushes down your spine.

However, relief washes over you when your beloved queen, Elara, puts her hand on your shoulder. The weight of her hand along with her warmth, envelopes you. You are loved with her, you are safe with her.

Queen Elara: My love, leave this to your queen. I will deal with them personally.

Confused and worried, you try to turn to her and reach out. What could she have meant? But before you could even say a word, she vanishes from your balcony and materializes at the grand staircase from the castle gates below you.

Thunder rumbles and the orange sunset sky darkens, your queen stands before the palace gates, a wicked smile playing on her lips.

She reveals a large tome that crackles with mystical, purple energy in her hands, as she begins her monologue.

Queen Elara: Hahaha! Oh, dear subjects, you thought you could challenge the throne? How amusing! Your pitiful king may have been weak in his promises, but you will soon see that he pales in comparison to your dear Queen Elara! You wish to raid the palace? Oh, you will get more than you bargained for.

With a flourish and a series of exotic hand gestures, the queen opens the tome, revealing ancient runes and incantations. Her voice takes on an eerie, demonic tone as she recites an unholy spell.

The mob grips their pitchforks, torches, and swords tighter. Their leader, the man who seeks to usurp the throne, rallies them to push on and continue breaking down the gates.

The two last palace guards standing beside Queen Elara begin cowering in fear over the events that are transpiring before them.

Queen Elara: Unnamable Gods, O Powers of Old, I call upon Thee! Fill my supple form with your might. I offer to Thee my flesh that I can strike fear in Thy names! Grant me strength beyond measure, make me a terror they will never forget! Let your essence seep into my muscle, bone, and sinew. Let your bounty embolden my body! Let them cower at my raw might, bless me with your succor!

A dark aura envelops your queen, and power surges to her veins. The very air is stirs with an unspeakable energy. The people could taste the metallic flavor of the wind as powers beyond their recognition twist the body of the woman before them.

You stand in both awe and terror at the capability of your wife. She has always been fond of perusing the scriers archives during her free time, and now you are witnessing the very fruits of her passion take shape as she defends your last bastion.

The incantations from the weathered tome fills the grand staircase leading to the palace entrance as she raised her arms, the words flowing off her tongue like a wicked melody.

Then, it began.

At first, the change appears subtle. Her regal gown, once a symbol of her grace, tightens imperceptibly around her form. The fabric shifts around, trying to accommodate something moving inside, something growing. Smooth embroidered silk strains against her skin, hinting at the growing power within. Queen Elara, however, remains composed, her eyes fiercely fixed at the terrified mob attempting to break down the formidable gates.

Then came the first audible rip. Her tight corset immediately loses to the growing woman's burgeoning body.

Next came her gown, the exquisite fabric, woven with threads of gold and silver, surrenders to the queen's expanding frame. With each passing moment, she feels herself grow taller, her limbs elongating, and her body stretching. Her breasts, once modest, have begun to fill with mass and milk. Her arms thicken with muscle and girth.

Audible moans escape her lips as she grows in spurts that feels like orgasms at every release.

The gown protests but could not keep up the losing battle, her seams burst open like fireworks, the sound audible throughout the area.

Queen Elara's lips curl into a malevolent, triumphant smile as her once regal gown now hangs in tatters around her.

She stands tall, her figure outlined by the shimmering remnants of her attire. To her, the world seems to shrink from her ascending perspective, the threatening size of the amassed townsfolk dwindling as she continued to grow.

Queen Elara: BWAHAHA, Look at me! I am growing into a force that will quell your insolence!

Your queen, now a monstrous growing behemoth, turns to look at you looking down from the balcony.

Queen Elara: My beloved king, you need not cower any longer. For it is they who will fear me now, and through their fear, they will understand the consequences of betraying the crown!

Her laughter, now dark and melodic, blast their ears as she guffawed. The torn gown fell away in tatters, unable to contain her majestic size any longer.

Queen Elara, now a giantess, stands amidst the ruins of her regal attire. She was a monument to dark power, her eyes ablaze with the might of ancient forces.

Then, with a booming voice, she declared.

Queen Elara: A queen must protect her king, no matter the price! I shall be your shield, my love, and none shall dare to defy us again!

The malevolent tome that has begun floating around her as she grew suddenly glowed and flew towards her, ramming her chest with immense force. She winced and took a step back. Her heavy feet cracks the floor to the castle door and she tries to lean on something for support.

That was when it hit you and her. She was leaning on your elevated balcony for support! She has grown even bigger now!

Queen Elara glances at her chest to see that it is now pulsing with purple energy. The tome has entered her body to become a more efficient channel to this otherworldly power flowing within her.

Queen Elara, now confident with her might, strides forth, her steps like seismic rumbles. The ground shakes beneath her feet as she surveys the peasants below with eyes that glitters with both malignant glee and unbridled fury.

Queen Elara turns towards her beloved king and picks you up with her hand. You seemed like a child's doll compared to her now. She winks at you and places you on her shoulder. Then, she grasps a nearby guard tower and yanks it off the bastille foundations. With ease, she breaks it with her bare hands.

Queen Elara: We will no longer need this petty castle! I shall be your fortress, my king! My love will protect you from every danger, every threat! Hold on tight, my dear, this will be perilous!

With a powerful heave, she breaks through the castle gates, her massive form now emerging to engage the fleeing masses. Your once mighty castle now seems minuscule behind her.

Queen Elara: This is my new order, hear your queen's decree! Guards, rally to me! Let us crush this rebellion and restore order!

The remaining castle guards drew courage from this and cheer at the massive Elara. They gear up and start pouring out of the castle behind her and into the town. A massive civil war breaks out, but the odds are in your favor with your beloved queen taking to the front lines.

She turns to you and whispers gingerly.

Queen Elara: Fear not, my beloved king! Your queen shall be your protector, your shield, and your wrath! Those who defy us will meet their end at my hands!

But before you stands one obstacle. The leader of the mob. The one who organized this whole rebellion - The Usurper.

He stands before you and Elara with unmatched courage as he draws his sword which he anoints with blessed oil and enchants with a glowing yellow aura.

Queen Elara: Ha! You dare raise your blade at me? You are defeated, your mob routed. Kneel before your ruler, your queen, and we may yet spare you! O Usurper, should you still dare challenge us, then you shall feel the consequences of my ire!

Queen Elara charges at the hero with all her might. The darkened sky above breaks out into a chorus of unspeakable melodies and chants to herald the incarnation of the Unnamable Gods that is your wife. An epic battle between a force of order and chaos ensues.

[himalia-aesthetics]

Whimsical Gothic Aesthetic

The Whimsigoth aesthetic isn’t quite goth or quite bohemian, but blends together aspects of each. This aesthetic was conjured out of the 70s, 80s, and 90s with witchy influences showcased in a plethora of movies and television shows. Free spirited individuals with interests in astrology or witchcraft may feel called to this aesthetic. 

Visuals:

Stained Glass 

The Night Sky

Well Worn Rugs 

Brass/Gold Candle holders 

Velvet 

The Moon

Black Cats

Crystals 

Vining Plants 

The Sun

Candles

Antique Rings 

Cozy Fireplaces

The Stars

Key Colors:

Black

Emerald Green

Gold

Deep Blue

Burnt Orange

Silver

Ruby Red

Purple

Bronze

Dark Teal

Yellow

Clothing:

Tops:

Corsets 

Tank Tops 

Flowing Long Sleeves

Blouses

Mesh Tops (Long/Short Sleeves) 

Velvet Tops (Long/Short Sleeves)

Lace/Lace Trimmed Tops (Long/Short Sleeves)

Bottoms:

Skirts 

Trousers 

Jeans 

Corduroy (Trousers/Skirts)

One Pieces:

Dresses

Jumpsuits 

Bodysuits 

Overalls

Outerwear:

Cardigans 

Leather jackets 

Fur Trimmed Coats

Shawls

Shoes:

Doc Marten Boots

Platform Boots

High Heel Boots

Doc Marten Loafers

Platform sandals 

Accessories:

Layered Necklaces 

Metal Belts 

Vintage/Antique Rings

Bracelets 

Dangle Earrings 

Beauty:

Dark Lipstick 

Eyeliner 

Mascara

Media/Music:

Movies:

The Craft 

Practical Magic

Coraline 

Halloweentown

Labyrinth

Alice in Wonderland 

Buffy the Vampire Slayer 

The Corpse BrideW

Edward Scissorhands 

Hocus Pocus 

Shows:

Charmed

Sabrina the Teenage Witch 

Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

Twin Peaks 

The Owl House

The Vampire Diaries

Playlists:

Whimsigothic by nataile

Whimsigothic by buffn

90s Ethereal Whimsigothic by Teleglam Sam 

90s Witch by linnett

YouTube:

Let’s Explore the Whimsigothic Aesthetic Origins, Breakdown, Outfits, Analysis by beepworld

Styling Whimsigoth Outfits with me | Talking About Thrifting by Amber Triana 

Is Whisigoth the 90s Witchy Bohemian Reborn by Teresa’s Chaotic Corner

Style Analysis: FairyGrunge and Whimsigoth by Dion the Taurus 

Authors:

Holly Black 

Kate Pentecost

Emily X.R. Pan

Adalyn Grace

Hobbies/Activities:

Studying Astrology 

Reading 

Painting 

Collecting Crystals 

Tarot Reading 

Thrift Shopping

Aromatherapy 

Gardening 

Listening to Music

Spellwork 

Related Aesthetics:

Bohemian 

Fairycore

Renaissance 

Witchcore 

Gothic 

Cottagecore

[anachronisticmech]

‘It’ll be easier for you to recognise me / By the coils of concentina wire / Surrounding my head in a shiny halo / Of small, sharp blades’ /lyr

[ID: a digital drawing of three characters, Edward, Marius, and Bonnie, standing together with handwritten lyrics in running writing in the background. Marius is in the centre, Edward to the left of them, and Bonnie to the right. Marius holds a tired, fatigued, and hurt expression, Edward one of intrigue, and Bonnie a smile.

Marius is a tall, fat pale vampire with long, pink, greying, wavy hair. The side of her head is shaved, showing a craniotomy scar. They have a small amount of facial hair, large and dark eye bags, some beauty spots, a lot of chest hair, and bruises from bites on their cheek and chest. They have pointed ears that still resemble human ears, and fangs. They have another scar down their chest from a sternotomy. Rot wears semi circle glasses and has a port on rots chest. She wears a purple and green Edwardian era style dress, with a lot of layers and gold ribbon on the corset.

Edward is a shorter, thin, brown Indian vampire with short, curly brown hair that is greying. He has a beard and moustache, large eye bags, and a lot of beauty spots. They have pointed ears that resemble humans the least out of the three characters, and fangs. He wears small, circular glasses with a glasses chain, and has a prosthetic eye. He is looking at Marius, and holding a metal tray, which is dripping a small amount of blood. They wear a light purple undershirt, and blue vest.

Bonnie is a medium height, fat, dark skinned First Nations Australian vampire with long, wavy dark brown hair, which is greying. She has some stubble, lots of beauty spots, and large eye bags. Radi has pointed ears in between Marius and Edward’s, and fangs. Vivi wears large circular glasses, a hanging earring with the Aboriginal flag in a circle, and has a ng feeding tube going into her left nostril. She is looking at Marius, with a hand on rots stomach. She wears an orange shirt under a white lab coat, blue jeans, and blue latex gloves. END ID.]

[charmixpower]

Mythix rankings!! Kill me!!

Now let me get a complaint out of the way

THIS!!!! THE FUCKING FLOWERS!!!!

How are we going to design a mythical transformation??? Put all the girls in the same length homecoming dresses and glue a bunch of random flowers on them

Why are they're so many flowers everywhere! Why does Stella have so many flowers on her??? Why do they keep doing this to Stella???? They went really hard on the flowers for Tecna too???? You cover the fairy of technology in flowers???? For what????

Anyways I hate all the flowers!!! I hate them!!! I hate them so much!!! Why are they all covered in flowers???

Telling you all now so I don't break off into a rant about the flowers in each ranking, because god I would

Oh and all of their skirts are the exact same length, with the same collar for most of them, and only Stella has different sized boots. Because individually is above their pay grade

1) Bloom

Her wings in Mythix???? Flat out gorgeous. They look like layered flames and I love them so much, I wish they were on a better transformation in a better written season

Her dress is the least offensive to my eyes, with some mild visual interest. The arm warmers are cute. It looks so ugly in 2d but in 3d it's tolerable, that shade of blue and purple are pretty together. Over all I love her color palette and wings, and I do not see the rest of it

2) Flora

I am OBSESSED with her wings. Like they TRULY have a vibe I'd associate with the name Mythix. They look old and worn, with the holes in them, but still powerful. Like an ancient set of wings Flora got for herself, and it's such a cute visual

Flora being covered in a petal dress is lazy but easily the least egregious because she is the fairy of nature so it at least matches her personality and powers

3) Tecna

TENCA'S WINGS ARE WEIRD AGAIN!!! NOW MAKE THEM WEIRDER!!!!! I love how geometric they are they look so strange, perfect perfect perfect

Her heels are also metallic which is sufficiently weird

Tecna would literally never wear that dress however, at least it's pointy, but it's a complete flop on the weird scale. Make it weirder. Make it cyber. Make it Tecna

4) Aisha

Why is she a red head again. Well with Wow and s8 I think we know why

Anyways her wings are ready mid. They kinda look like a plant and I'm physically restraining myself from saying anymore about that. Her heels are weird in a fun way, and she has what looks like an ice skaters dress on?? I have no clue why they put Aisha in that but whatever. It's better than Flora's dress, win

5) Stella

Her wings are almost good but I hate the shape of them. The colors are gorgeous though

Anyways Stella's dress is boring and the FUCKING CORSAGE. AHHHH. I'm normal I'm normal

Anyways her dress is so fucking boring and literally for what!!! It's just orange!!!!

Her purple part under her skirt and the fabric over her boots also look like fire???? For some reason?????? Like it looks like a mix of a Bloom and Flora outfit and it drives me up the fucking wall

6) Musa

I like her corset, it looks like musical staffs

Thats it

Her wings look like moth wings, her hair is so ugly, her shoes have weird staff plant things on them, her skirt is weird and fuzzy, her hair things are weird and fuzzy

HELP HELP HELP HELP IM DYING TO DEATH

[sirserpentine]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘.

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒:

Gold. Copper. Black. Dark Grey. Ruby red. Lots of metallic shades. Also, yellow.

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒:

Cinnamon, orange peel, lemon, vanilla, baked treats, gasoline, smoke, leather, peppermint, candles, Earl Grey, roses, rain, clean sheets, Oct-1-en-3-one (That's what makes metals and blood smell... metallic)

𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍:

Tall hats, tailcoats, collared shirts, rolled sleeves, pinstripers, waistcoats, vests, leather straps, bowties, cravats, goggles, gloves, brass jewellery, utilitarian belts, corsets, hair ribbons, pockets, pouches, small chains, brooches

𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒:

pocketwatch, tools, cogs, tea cups, leather-bound journals, ink, piano, clocks, weapons, blueprints, cake tins

𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄:

Tail wags, toothy grins, stuttering, hand fiddling, bowtie and collar fixing, tip of his hat, deep bows, theatrical poses, wrung hands, hands on chest, teary eyes, heavy cries, gentle and tremoring claws, gyrating tail, crossed arms, secure hold, never stops trying to dance without legs

𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒:

Tinted glass against the sunset, steaming cup of tea next to an old, open novel, meticulous cake decorating, breeze on a lonely field of flowers, pouring milk into a bowl for a cat, a steam engine slowly breathing in and out, being scared of the mirror, sitting down on the velvet seat of a theatre, scales glinting in moonlight, pocket watch ticking with powder hidden inside it, cogwheels turning, letters sealed with wax, sitting suited up in an abandoned train, explosions, lying down in burning rubble as rain pours over you

tagged by: @angie-long-legs Thank you so much!! Yours was so sublime! So tangible!! Could see Angel in every single one.

tagging: @hazbinned, @radioiaci, @aracniss, @poisonedspider, @veneror, @krovcost

[gakehc]

My Sweet Enkeli: Chapter 1

"Enkeli": finnish word for "angel".

When Noah Sebastian met Nori Nurmi for the first time, he knew he wanted her more than anything. She was beautiful like an angel and dangerous like the devil.

♡ Author's note: So this is the first chapter of my new fanfic about Noah Sebastian and the female character Nori Nurmi. I created her when I started to write back in 2011. Basically she's perfect because I like to think about my favorite musicians having some trouble getting someone's attention. We tend to see them as wonderful great people so I wanted to create a character that would be just as awesome as them. The band Forever Damned is totally ficcional, I created the name a few years ago and I have no idea if there's already a band with the same name. Blind Channel fans, please, stay tuned on this fanfic! The lady on the cover is Nori created by I.A. and that's exactly how I imagine her.

♡ Warnings: This is a work involving real people but it's 100% fiction written. Please remember that this is only for fun purposes and it doesn't reflect their real thoughts and behaviors. Don't take this work too seriously. +18 only. Nothing too sexual going on this time.

♡ Characters: Noah Sebastian × Nori Nurmi (OFC).

♡ Words: 2.386

♡ MASTERLIST HERE.

It's been one week since the tour around Europe started and the night it's about to start. The opening band is ready to go up on stage and Noah waits backstage so he can watch the show, just like every night when they are playing. For the first time, Bad Omens is touring with Forever Damned, an all female band from Finland. At first, everyone was worried: How will it be to tour with five womens? Is it going to be too much different? Are they going to get used to the Bad Omens lifestyle of touring?. Well, everything is working fine, except for Noah's obsession with the lead singer, Nori Nurmi. It sounds so cliché for him, but he couldn't help himself this time; it happened before he could do something. When they met each other for the first time, his eyes captured the image of a woman wearing a black sporty shorts and matching black top, her cherry red hair with lighter orange highlights tied in a messy bun while she punched the air and swung side to side just like a professional boxer while she was training behind the tour bus. He was hypnotized by her moves, the way her legs were slightly inclined and the fabric of her clothes was glued to her body and showed all her curves. There were sweat drops on her forehead while her green eyes were focused like she was punching someone real, her lips parted to exhale the air. He can't erase this scene of his mind anymore. Seeing her in person for the first time made him see how intense and eye-catching her aura is, Noah is totally captured by her Scandinavian beauty.

After seeing Forever Damned playing through the week, Noah already knows how the band works, most precisely Nori. She likes to do a warm up, doing some stretches like an athlete would do before a race or a match. Her outfits are always seductive and provocative, tonight she's wearing a black pair of shorts that almost shows her butt and a black leather corset, making her huge boobs pop out. Her high heels boots makes him wonder how she can stand on them and play a concert at the same time. Her lips are covered in a dark brown lipstick and looks even more appetizing. Definitely Noah is head over heels for this woman and he can't even fight against it: he would lose. But of course he's not tripping on his feelings - it's pure physical attraction.

The lights are changing non-top, the music starts: the show is on. Nori walks towards the center of the stage, exuding confidence as she faces the crowd that screams for her and her band. When she opens her mouth to sing, she starts to growl in the most insane way. It's not difficult for her to sound like a growling monster just the way heavy metal fans love. A red light spots her, she sings with a clean voice and it's like hearing an angel but, at the same time, it's sexual and makes Noah feel his whole body shivering.

It didn't need too much time for Noah to realize that Nori is a completely different person off the stage. When she's up there, performing with her four best friends, she is like a sex demon, seducing everyone and enchanting the crowd with her voice, always moving her hips with the sound of the frantic drums. But when she is backstage, living her life, she is sweet and humble. It's almost like she can't see how perfect she is. The way her cheeks get colored in an irresistible tone of red when someone compliments her makes Noah want to grab her in his arms and kiss her big juicy lips that are always covered by thin lays of lip balm. He wonders what it tastes like, strawberry maybe. Her light green eyes are big, surrounded by natural long lashes. Looking right into them is avoiding yourself to lose your self control, is to embark on a journey that there's no way back. When they are facing the crowd, they shine like the biggest star in the sky.

Time flies when Noah is watching Nori perform. Soon, their set is over and the girls are thanking the crowd, who seems to love them. When the singer leaves the stage, she goes straight to the green room, making Noah think that she is avoiding him. He is disappointed, he really wanted to say some words to her, but it's better for him to wait and let her have some privacy. He needs to get focused because, soon, it's his time to go up on the stage.

•

Since Noah had some issues with his voice while touring in the United States, this time they decided to go slow and have more days off so everyone can rest. This means that they are free to spend some time chilling at the bar close to the parking lot where the buses are. The mood it's nice, everyone seems to be having a good time. The bands already started to build a friendship and the guys are thinking that it is cool to spend some time with the five Finnish girls. Auri, the bassist, it's the perfect example of an antisocial gothic girl: she doesn't speak much but knows how to tell a good joke, always full of sarcasm. Her extremely straight black long hair is always hanging loose on her back while she tends to be drinking some beer or coffee. Maila, the drummer, it's kind of hyperactive - maybe that's why she chose the drums as her main instrument. Like her bandmate, she enjoys having some beer throughout the day but she is definitely more social and likes to be around people. Mirva is Nori's sister and is hyper focused on practicing guitar. They look alike, some people even thought that they were twins, but they don't have the same aura. Nori is way more intimidating while Mirva has a totally chill vibe around her. The last one but not least, Lara, the second guitar player, it's a blond bombshell. She's always seducing everyone around, flirting and making jokes so she can make the guys laugh. And of course she already put her eyes on Noah.

The two of them talk, Noah holding a bottle of beer while she drinks a dose of what seems to be whisky. These Finnish girls don't play around when it comes to alcohol. The bar is a small place and the crews of the two bands are enough to make the place totally full like they are having a private party. The lights are low but not enough to obstruct the view, there's a lot of pictures of soccer teams hanging on the walls and a huge TV screen that streams a hockey match. Nori is sitting close to the bar, her legs crossed while she slowly drinks her bottle of beer. She doesn't drink like their bandmates because she likes to take care of her voice.

Lara tries to catch Noah's attention but Nori is everything he cares about right now. It seems that something is off for her, like she is not enjoying the time with her new friends and crew. Soon, the hands of the blond guitarist are playing with Noah's hair. He laughs, trying to be nice to her but of course she is not the one who he wants to talk to; he just doesn't want to be rude. She gets closer but his eyes are not on her, they are staring at Nori, hoping that she sees that she is all that matters to Noah right now.

"Who are you looking at?" Lara asks, turning herself so she can find the spot that Noah doesn't stop looking at "Oh… Of course it's her. If I was you I would change my mind".

"Why?" he asks. Now she got his attention.

"Nori never looks at any man while she's on tour. The girl is like a fucking nun".

"Again, why? Did something bad happen?".

"It's a long story… and she is too negative. She thinks that it's not a good idea to hook up with anyone in a band because it will not end well and the tour can get ruined, blah blah blah" she rolls her eyes "She's so fucking professional".

"Maybe she didn't not find anyone who would be worth taking the risk".

"Believe me, you're not the first to put eyes on her. We've been on the road for a while, always touring with lots of guys. There's always someone full of hope that thinks he can have a chance with her".

Lara it's not trying to get Noah just for her, she doesn't care about that. If he doesn't want to spend some time on the bed with her, she just moves on. The guitarist it's just trying to give him good advice so he doesn't waste his time and energy with Nori. Now, Noah is unsure about taking the first step. For the first time in a while, he is feeling insecure about a woman. Now that Bad Omens has reached fans around the world he knows that there's a bunch of women crazy about him and who would give anything to have a chance to suck his cock. Is this kind of misogynist? Of course it is, but it's the truth. He can have any girl he wants - even though he doesn't find it fair to use women like that - but he already understands that Nori it's not like those girls. It's like there's a shield around her and that matches with what Lara just said about her friend.

"Maybe that's why she is avoiding me" he says.

"Mm, it makes sense. I can see in your eyes that you are into her".

"Is that obvious?".

"Yep" she takes a sip of whisky.

Quickly turning around to watch her friend, Lara sees that Nori it's acting weird. Just like Noah had noticed, the singer doesn't seem right. She seems bothered but she is alone, there's no one talking to her. Lara and Nori have been friends since teenage years and they know each other like the back of their own hands. The blond one knows that her friend is observing Noah talking to her.

"I think you got lucky" she says "Let me try something".

She starts to play with his hair again, and soon Nori drinks the rest of the beer in the bottle in one long sip, taking everything down her throat. Her eyes facing the floor like she's trying her best to not look into Noah's direction but soon she can't resist. She's staring at them intensely, wishing that she could be at Lara's place, her body clearly uncomfortable at the stool while she squeezes her thighs with her both hands. Her friend has seen this before so she knows exactly what's the reason why Nori is acting like this.

"Mm, If you pay attention you can see that she's slowly clenching her thighs together" Lara says.

"It's hot" Noah smirks.

"Yeah, I bet she's jealous of me right now".

Suddenly, the singer leaves, trying to hide any emotion that might be on her face right now. She walks furiously to the parking lot and Noah follows her. It's dark and there's no one around them, so it's the perfect chance for Noah to do something because they are away from the crew and their bandmates, from all the drama that they would create if he flirted with her.

"Why are you following me?" She asks, finally slowing the steps so Noah can approach her.

"Are you okay?" He's cynical.

"I'm fine. I just need some sleep".

"Wait!".

She tries to enter the bus but he grabs her by her arm, pressing his fingers on her skin. For a brief moment, Nori allows herself to feel his touch on her, how his big hand can hold her with such strength that makes her whole body shiver as a warmness grows inside her jeans. But soon, she starts to get mad at his audacity.

"Don't you ever touch me without my permission again. You should leave me alone" her voice is firm.

"What If I don't?"

"Then I will have to punch you in the face".

She's not lying. Nori has the guts to punch Noah right in the face and her fist is ready to take into action and make his perfect nose bleed. Noah can't help but laugh at the situation. She looks even more adorable when she's angry.

"You're a very bad liar, Nori" he says.

"You don't know me".

"So let me know you, then".

She's silent, her brain can't form any single word right now. All the strength she has is being used to prevent her from melting under his touch. Her red hair is matching the color that's in her face, her nostrils widening as her breath gets quicker. Noah is loving to see that, for the first time, Nori is being vulnerable. There's an extreme desire inside his body, an urge to feel her lips locked on his, to feel her tongue swirling inside his mouth, to take her body for him and possess her, touch every single piece of her skin. Her warm breath is crashing against him, he feels like he can't hold it anymore.

"Good fucking night, Noah Sebastian".

She lets herself go of his hand and goes inside the bus in a hurry, closing the door with so much anger that it makes a huge sound and makes Noah wonder if she didn't break something. He leans his back against the bus, slowly going down and crouching while he holds his face in disbelief. They were so close to each other for the first time, the sexual tension between them was so huge that Noah felt his cock awakening inside his pants. Even though he is frustrated, deep inside he knows that he made some progress. He could see in her eyes that she was very close to letting herself lose to him and this is what makes him open a smile. Her smell it's still on his hands: cherry liquor mixed with almond and touches of rose and jasmine. He's sure that she is going to be the main attraction of his dreams tonight.

CHAPTER 2 HERE.

[badbitchesonlyhoe]

Irina Shayk

Bvlgari Party; Le Bain, New York City

[futureplayboibunnie]

Can i please request a stephen strange x villainous!reader? It’s one of my favorite tropes ngl. So y/n is a hot villain and throughout the entire mission or fight, stephen was horny all the time. After he won the fight and y/n is weak & defeated already, he starts to fuck her. ANOTHER HATE SEX WOWOOSKSJWNWNWN (and maybe this time with more hate 👀)

‘Mind Reader’

Dr Strange x villainous! fem! reader

I FKN LOVE WRITING BADASS SEXY VILLAINS, UR A GEM ILY <3 smut so minors gtfo x

Saying that Stephen wasn't up for the mission was a vast understatement-he physically couldn't go. He was opting to slither his way out through the 'i'm sick' treatment, but being the Master of the Mystic Arts wasn't like a normal job. Being sick wasn't going to get you out of jack shit-only if you were knocking on death's door they would spend a mimimum amount of time considering it.

But he really couldn't risk going.

He was so fucking horny, all he could think about was sex, sex, sex. He hadn't had the chance of bedding a woman since all of his time was occupied with mystical threats and foes; it wasn't really an ideal thing to appeal to a woman. Stephen hadn't been this desperate since college.

But he had to grin and bear it, he just had to try his best to handle himself with care. He could feel his day cloud with misery yet again, the dull ache pulling at his insides once more- it all felt inescapable.

Stephen's mission seemed fairly easy, getting rid of a witch up to no good You weren't an Avengers level threat, you hadn't made a move in this dance with world domination yet- you were just plotting in some random warehouse in the middle of God knows where. Stephen found himself in your sacred space, perceiving his surroundings- mirrors were on every wall, it felt cool and metallic. Lifeless and cold. He was envisioning a widowed hag, he'll get his hands free of this in no time.

With every step he took, Stephen felt a fleeting feeling of an unjust fear course through him- he had to look over his shoulder as swift and jarring metallic industrial noises pierced through the silence. He looked to the floor and saw multiple spellboooks strewn on the floor with cracking spines.

‘’Who are you?!’’ A booming voice echoed against every wall, a heavy rich cadence defeaning the silence

He sensed an overwhelming presence looking up, you were hovering being lifted up by the magic that was flowing through your blackened fingertips.

Stephen wasn't expecting someone like you to be this havoc wreaking witch, you were definitely not the old bat he was envisioning. Your hair was afloat and airy, thick and curled with darkened eyes to accompany your vastly intimidating features. Piercing eyes, black cape, thigh highed boots but there was a thin stip of skin between your suit and your boots.

Your suit was a very tightly fitted corset and he cocked his head scanning you up and down, he felt his cock twitch in his pants. Jesus Christ.

He needed to focus, he absolutely couldn't risk feeling this way. Especially when it was from an enemy he needed to defeat.

‘’I said who are you!?’’ You yelled and he could feel the sheer power radiating off of you even when you talked. Stephen conjured up his classic Eldreitch shield in both of his fists .

‘’Dr Stephen Strange and you're plotting ends now.’’ He warned, attempting to shake these inane thoughts out of his mind and focus at the daunting task at hand- getting rid of you.

‘’Under your own juristicion? Doctor, you'll find that it'll be difficult stopping me. Leave. Now. My humanity can only extend so far.’’ Your voice was low and authoritative- eyes darker than your tone. You lowered yourself to the ground as if you were sure Stephen would do nothing, so confident that he wasn't a threat you turned around and grabbed a few stray spellbooks that was scattered on the floor. He quirked a brow at how comfortable and easygoing you were- he'd change that.

Stephen launched an orange blast of fire at you, it was quick and fast and he was sure with your back turned he'd hurt you to some extent.

But he didn't. You held your fist out to the side of you and the blast that was supposed to hit you, disippated into thin air.

Stephen's eyes widened as you slowly rotated your head to stare at him, your face was hard and frowning and anything but forgiving. You let out a shaky cool breath and your eyes went black when your teeth gritted. Your scream rumbled the warehouse as your fingers hardened to conjure up a black ball of fog and lightning and aimed it straight at him.

Thankfully he dodged such a thing thanks to his trusty cloak, but as he was levitating he found that you weren't anywhere to be seen. Stephen darted his eyes from corner to corner but he couldn't find you, you were unmissible. Until he heard little shrieks and giggles echoing against the cool walls as a means to taunt him. He clocked the back whisps of your cloak in the mirrors, fucking hell you were using the mirrors as an escape- a hatch of some sorts.

You were done being kind- done shedding light on the humanity you thought you lost in the black abyss of this unrelenting cruel life. Silently, you found yourself behind him and he couldn't feel that you were, so delicate in your movements as if you were an invisible veil.

‘’Where are you? Show yourself!’’ He yelled, his echo bouncing off every wall

You felt your heart go limp a little when you felt a strong unmissible scent of cologne against his collar. Your face was far too close to his neck, enough to feel the heat radiating off of him- you were glad he couldn't feel you near him, one of the perks of being a witch. You took your time to study him while he was levitating like an idiot waiting for your fated appearance.

You circled him, floating like the breezy air surrounding you both, immersing yourself in the oxygen. You knew something about his energy and aura was different when he first stepped into your space, you let him wander around while watching his every move. He seemed confident and way in over his head. As your eyes squinted, his blue eyes seemed more beguiling than ever. He was hot.

He was. You couldn’t deny it.

You hadn't had any since you relinquished all your goodness- but this was the path that you were destined for. It pained you, though. The lack of sex made your brain feel foggy.

Speaking of feeling foggy, you knew Stephen clocked your presence. Before you could get away he grabbed at your cloak and pulled you back.

He dragged you down to the floor, your spine slightly cracking as your back broke the concrete from under you. Stephen's forearm digging into your neck as the pressure of falling from such a height began to dawn on you.

‘’Unhand me!’’ You grunted, slightly choking as his arm was closing down in on your neck, subsequently squeezing your airways. You can't believe you were going down due to your own inane thoughts.

Not yet anyway.

Stephen gazed down on you with a harsh expression, almost as if he was…checking you out. You were really hot, and it was paining him. Thoughts running rampant with the excessive help of his never ending sexual desire, he was actually conjuring up all the ways he could make you feel good. He had you under him and your dark eyes lightened and he could see the true colour of them, light with a sinister sparkle. Lips parted and exhaling softly, hair strewn out and wild. Stephen's eyes softened in realization.

Your fingers twirled at the opportunity of his grip on you softening, you blasted him off you with just a twitch and lifted yourself up with ease.

The electricity that pinged off of him twinged at his nerve endings, clutching himself in pain momentarily. It was short lived though by the way he zoomed at you.

You were counting on it. As his hand reached for your throat, your hands clamped between his head as a means to literally fry his brain. Stephen's eyes were glazed in terrified surprise.

What you tried to do was make his brain turn to mush and make him the definition of brain dead, what you saw was something else. Surprising and unexpected to say the least.

You found yourself in the depths of his mind, Stephen was thinking of you. You and him. In some very dirty scenarios. Him kissing you, taking you on the floor. Stripping you of your clothes and feeling every inch of your skin. What the fuck.

Your mouth went dry, you let go of him immediately and in your vulnerable state he immediately conjured up an Eldreitch canon and shot it at you. In a single moment, you toppled to the floor. Twitching in pain. As if your ego and body wasn't already bruised, he hit you with another blast. You've never experienced this sort of power before, you've enever fought someone this powerful.

Lying there defeated, Stephen floated down to you, his footsteps soft as he made his way over to you. You blinked up at him, a bitter scowl etched on your face as you perched yourself up.

‘’You here to finish the job? Go ahead.’’ You spat, already accepting your fate.

‘’Before I do, what did you see?’’ Stephen said deadpan and serious, no humour playing at his features.

‘’What are you talking about?’’ You were so fucking done, why can't he just kill you and get it over and done with.

‘’Don't play stupid. You're smarter than that. What did you see?’' He stared down at you as if to rub salt into the wound.

‘’You. Wanting to fuck me.’’

‘’Is that right?’’ Stephen knew, normally every other day it would be a vast embarrassment, but he was too horny to even care. The way you looked up at him, eyes full of hatred as you were on the floor- he couldn't help but wonder if this was the way you would look at him as you fucked him with your tongue.

‘’Now you want me to suck you off.’’ Your eyes creased slightly as you tilted your head, as if you were scrutinising him.

To be honest, while you were in this compromising position with you on the floor and him fawning over you, the delicious thought did cross your mind. You did want him, even though it was a death wish and even though he needed you dead- he looked like he'd satiate that dull need inside of you, that need that you spent years desperate to quell.

‘’How woud you know?’m Stephen blurted out absentmindedly, too blurred by his need to fuck you. God, he wasn't thinking straight. It was insanity fucking an enemy, but you were so surreal. He just couldn't help wanting you.

‘’Everytime I go into someone's head, a piece of me latches onto them. So I know everything.’’ You explained breathless.

‘’Everything?’’ Stephen quirked an eyebrow.

‘’ Everything.’’ You repeated coldly.

‘’So you know how badly I want you.’’ It wasn't really a question or a statement.

You nodded your head slowly.

‘’I know how much of a fucking pussy you are. You won’t kill me. You don’t have the balls for that you little fucking bitch.’’

Stephen took another step towards you. Your eyes darted to his dick and to his eyes, he smirked before letting out a sharp exhale. He placed his hands on your cheek, his thumb soothing the skin. All you could do was stare up at him like an idiot, your lips parted and Stephen's thumb brushed the soft flesh until he slowly put them in your mouth. You moaned softly as your lips clamped around them, swirling your tongue around his digits.

Stephen thought he was dreaming, he could finish right then and there from that sinisterly sexy look alone. You finally let go of his fingers with a pop and a low exhale.

‘’Such a dirty mouth on a such a pretty girl.’’ He tutted before slapping you across the face. Hard. You gasped.

Stephen grasped at your chin and jutted it upwards to gaaze at him, your eyes were unwavering in the process of you tugging his pants and boxers down. He smiled breezily at your reaction of his very well endowed manhood. Shit.

This is exactly what you needed. He let go of you as your eyes flitted from his eyes to his thick veiny cock.

‘’Sweetheart..don’t be dumb...’’ He mumbled, he couldn't finish his sentence as your tongue licked his leaking red tip. Your hands stroked what couldn't fit as your mouth began to fuck him dizzy.

Your mouth was greedy, sucking him and stroking him with a jerk of your wrist, a sensational technique he grew to want more of. You felt so warm and wet around him, your lithe muscle working it's unique sort of magic as your eyes were fixed on him. Stephen's head was hung back as he groaned, he fisted your hair and began pulling you up and down on him. He needed this more than anything, to be treated this way- a beautiful and complicated woman on her knees giving him the most incredible blowjob he'd ever experienced.

‘’I'll finish if you keep going on like that.’m He grumbled.

In an act of defiance you moaned around him, sending vibrations coursing through his body and shooting straight back down to his dick. Stephen felt himself spurt inside of your mouth, it was uncontrollable and he felt like a teenager who finished way to fast- he'd give you a full fucking once you got up from your knees. You thought he tasted really fucking good, your underwear was slick with arousal- you weren't sure of the last time you were desperate to suck someone off.

Lips sliding off him, you gaped up to be met with such discening eyes. Stephen gripped your jaw in an ironlike hold.

‘’Swallow.’’ He gritted lowly, it was an order- you can't remember the last time you were ordered and it made you impossibly wet.

To your surprise, you followed through. You swallowed and darted your tongue out as evidence. He grinned. Suddenly, filled with chivalry, he grabbed your hand and helped you up to your feet, your knees felt wobbly with the bruises of the concrete. That chivalry was short lived however as he pinned you up against the wall, his mouth attacking yours.

You moaned as his big scarred hands were travelling all the way down your body and to the fat of your ass. Stephen could taste himself on your lips and it was sending his mind reeling- it felt so filthy, too filthy for his mind to imagine. Dear God he needed this, he needed. more of you. You were so bad yet so good, like an addict to a drug and he could see you becoming his specific type in no time.

‘’Good girl.’’ He whispered against your lips, fanning the flame to your already heated insides.

‘’Fuck me.’’ You exhaled and whined, begging him to just get you naked, the poke against your thigh was becoming incredibly urgent.

‘’Kiss me with those pretty lips.’’ He breathed, your tongue delved into the depths of his mouth, tongues tangling in a play of dominance.

Stephen kissed and bit harshly at the slender curve of your unblemished neck, strong hands ripping off the fabric of your suit, every rip was a new feeling of skin. You were becoming increasingly more needy as he finally ripped off the last piece, you were only left in your thigh high heels.

Stephen spared a moment just to scan at your naked body, it was better than he could ever imagined. It was like God spent a lifetime creating you. A devious idea formed in his head; he took the fabric at the end of your cloak and ripped it.

‘’Hey! Fucking prick.’’ You protested.

‘’Shut the fuck up.’’

Stephen twisted it and held it against your mouth and forced your teeth to clamp around it. Holy fuck, he was gagging you. As you leaned up against the wall, you arched your back to melt into him, desperate expression meeting his aggressive one. You whined against the fabric, hoping he would get the message.

His palms wandered around your body; to the curve of your ass, the dip of your waist and the fat of your tits. You gasped as his fingers twisted your nipples and flicked at them before his mouth enclosed around them.

The sensation was brutal, your fingers threading between his hair and tugging relentlessly only proved that. Stephen left dark purple bruises in his wake and you were desperate to be claimed.

‘’Inside!’’ You cried out in a vain attempt. He heard your cried and all he could do was look at you with heavy lidded lust clouded eyes.

‘’Oh is that how you like it? Hard and fast?’’ Stephen teased, obviously trying to drag this out. ‘’Brutal?’’

You nodded furiously.

And with that he pushed himself inside of you, your warm wet walls coating him completely- he was quite frankly pulsating inside of you, the ache was so fucking surreal. You jolted up against the wall as he began rutting inside of you, body convulsing as you wrapped your legs around his waist, him hoisting you up. You spat out your gag so you could bite at his earlobe- you bit hard as his mouth nesled in the crook of your neck. Every delectable stretch of your insides made your lower stomach tighten deliciously, Stephen was revelling in the stunning look on your face. So fucked out and beautiful.

‘’Right there, huh? That the spot? Fucking love it don’t you?’' He questioned condescendingly as a means to embarrass you.

‘’Yes! Right there! Fuck...’’ You gasped in between thrusts, the spot that made you see stars.

You were so wet for him, he felt spoiled because of it. Stephen's cock was so thick and long it was reaching depths you could only dream of. You were sure you were about to come undone at any minute. Your body was collidin against the wall with every jolt.

 'I'm gonna...fuck..I'm gonna cum!' You screamed, feeling your throat grow raw as you bit your lip. He had to make sure you finished first.

‘’Give in to me. That's it, give in to me.’’ Stephen mumbled into your neck before ultimately finding your lips and smothering his on them.

The coil inside of you broke at an earth shattering pace, time was warped and felt unreal as if you dropped six tabs of acid, but this was a high you never wanted to come down from. Stephen swallowed your sweet moan, the sight of you gushing onto his cock was the best he'd ever seen. Your eyes creased in tense pleasure as a glint of relief coated them. A massive lift of pressure rolling off of you. The feeling of your body alone made him paint your insides a thick white, a sweat broke out from his brow as he spilled himself inside of you with a prolonged deep grunt. Stephen bit your lower lip and tugged it back as he finished. You struggled against him as he finally let you go so your feet found the ground.

Stephen was sure you were a sex God. Only in a black cloak and thigh highed heels.

‘’Are you still going to kill me?’’You panted, the ominious question still looming on your mind.

‘’I think I can arrange something else for us.’’

[salsedinepicta]

OC(s) Questionnaire

Tagged by @greypetrel - and her characters are just beautiful, so I'd highly recommend to hop on her blog and read her version :> 💜 Thanks for the tag!

Tagging: maybe @coloricioso could be interested? No pressure as usual ✨ +plus anyone who is interested!

Everything under "Read more" after the first one, of course.

NAME: Gwydion Hawke

NICKNAME: Hawke, of course - the firstborn can take dibs on the family surname. And then Gideon, since 1. that's how most people misspell his actual name and 2. Varric uses it in his stories (it's “more suited for the hero”). He doesn't mind.

GENDER: Male, although he takes it easy. In a modern AU he would be the Hakwe sibling most likely to experiment with gender presentation - and in every universe he just knows he'd look good in a dress/corset.

STAR SIGN: Libra

ORIENTATION: Gay

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Literally a random human born on a ship – 100% conceived in Kirkwall though.

FAVORITE FRUIT: All the citruses

FAVORITE SEASON: Early Spring

FAVORITE FLOWER: Forget-me-not, snowdrops, zagare (orange blossoms).

FAVORITE SCENT: Crushed elfroot, rain, lyrium potions - and why must lyrium be toxic when it clearly smells like raspberries and tangerines? UH? Templars are gatekeeping it. He is literally the only one saying this. At some point he’ll think fondly of sewage.

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Tea, preferably cold.

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: Around 7, but not consecutive.

DOGS OR CATS: Dogs AND cats AND also every single animal willing to be pet - why would you deny a centipede some love? And did anyone actually tried to raise a baby dragon? Cowards.

DREAM TRIP: Antiva, or Rivain – it sounds fun, from Isabela’s stories, and he is intrigued by their religious customs (and generally different approach to magic). Not without 50+ SPF though, have you seen Anders' skintone?

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: Just a few, he doesn’t particularly suffer the cold – and he’s a cuddly sleeper.

RANDOM FACT: Extremely tactile, hands must be occupied (almost) all the time. He makes his own bows and then whittle silly little figurines with the scraps of wood - usually they all end up looking like chunky animals of debatable identification.

NAME: Maren Hawke

NICKNAME: Mari (used only by selected people – Bethany can, Carver may or may not find nettles in his bed the next day) and various epithets by Varric (he finds her difficult to pin down, to his extreme annoyance). When she’ll get into Kirkwall’s politics people will start to call her Lady Amell, to everyone amusement.

GENDER: Female

ORIENTATION: Official not-so-mean lesbian

STAR SIGN: Scorpio

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Human, born in Ferelden, even if she doesn’t feel a strong national connection to it.

FAVORITE FRUIT: Pears, quince, pomegranates

FAVORITE SEASON: Autumn and Winter

FAVORITE FLOWER: Wild violets, daisies

FAVORITE SCENT: Parchment and ink, ambergris, wild roses’ oil, metal.

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Black coffee in public, hot chocolate with lots of spices (and something sweet to eat on the side) in more private settings.

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: Better not to ask. Around 5, to avoid dreaming – she will slowly get better during the years.

DOGS OR CATS: Birds, obviously.

DREAM TRIP: For political reasons, all the cities of the Free Marches. And Weisshaupt/the Anderfels to pester the Wardens about griffin’s eggs – because what Merrill wants, Merrill gets.

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: At least 4, because half of them will be stolen by Merrill during the night.

RANDOM FACT: Does she care about fashion? Not particularly, but she is highly aware of the power of appearences, and how to convey certain messages through clothes. She prefers small and significant jewelry over flashy one, but absolutely loves a nice statement headpiece, especially with some kind of drapery or veil – so she can literally put behind a curtain annoying people with a subtle turn of her head.

NAME: Malva Surana

NICKNAME: Irving’s pet, Surana, debatable variations on her name when Jowan wanted to be annoying – after the Circle, she is just Malva and then the Warden Commander.

GENDER: Do you have a gender if the circumstances of your birth make you less than a person in the eye of society? Ahaha, anyway, female.

ORIENTATION: Very queer - preference for women, but willing to experiment for the sake of it, if she fancies so. In another world, her and Gwydion would be the monsterfuckers, let’s be real.

STAR SIGN: Aquarius

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Definitely a city elf (the tattoos are random lines, made by someone who wanted her to remember but had no idea how a vallaslin really looks like, or how and when they are done) – maybe from Denerim’s alienage? But as far as she knows, there is no past before Kinloch Hold.

FAVORITE FRUIT: Blackberries

FAVORITE SEASON: Spring

FAVORITE FLOWER: The kind of question that would trigger a half-an-hour-long aswer. For brevity sake: nightshade, hellebore, wisteria, ivy (not a flower, but impossible not to mention), and mallow.

FAVORITE SCENT: Burning wood, moss and damp earth, rosemary, wildberries.

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Definitely tea. She is the mistress of the most absurd herbal infusions. They are great and they'll cure your cavities and other various ailments - but you don't want to know the ingredients. Don’t.

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: Between 6-8, can wake up every day at the same time without any alarm of sort.

DOGS OR CATS: If really pressed she'd say dogs (“They are great traveling companions”) but immediately regrets it because of all the fond memories of Ser Pounce-a-lot.

DREAM TRIP: The Thirashan forest, Arbor Wilds, Arlathan Forest – pretty much an elven history roadtrip to try to reclaim that part of her identity.

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: Just one or two, wrapped all around her chrysalis-like because her subconscious still believes that the other apprentices will steal them.

RANDOM FACT: For a moment, she was Justice's first choice for a possible living host - she never knew it, though.

[moominofthevalley]

Do You Hear Singing?

Trystan and Emily are invited to a party on Halloween night.

part 1 of 2

trystan x emily

teen | wc: 2.3k | spoilers for book 2, chapter 15

a/n: i found this spoooooky prompt from @youneedsomeprompts. fair warning: A LOT of stuff is gonna go down in both parts 😉

“Emily, you look absolutely breathtaking.”

Trystan marveled at his partner, admiring every inch of her body. The purple gown was perfect on her, the fine fabric curving about her form gorgeously. Starry dots of white were speckled all across the gown. The metallic corset wrapped around her chest, the tiny lace details complimenting the surly detective. Emily, however, found the dress to be a bit too...galactic.

“Ugh. Why is this lace so itchy?”

“Beauty is pain, Emily. And you wear it so well.”

“Stop enjoying this.” 

“Apologies, but I plan to enjoy looking at you in that pretty little getup every bit as much as I’ll enjoy pulling it off you,” Emily rolled her eyes, “Besides, I know how much you love watching Blades with me! You smile every time Imtura comes on screen!”

“The things I do for you,” Emily said dryly, her lips curling into an exaggerated pout. Trystan smirked, his hands resting on her waist.

Emily didn’t have the heart to tell Trystan that she never truly enjoyed watching Blades of Light and Shadow. She only sat with him on the couch every Friday afternoon to see the childlike excitement spread across his face.

“Well, that’s because she’s fucking amazing,” Emily grinned, “she’s fucking strong! She could crush both of us if she wanted to.”

Trystan chuckled, making a point to pose dramatically in his costume. He wore a black and gold suit, intricate details of gold lining around his outfit. The neckline revealed a small tuft of hair on his chest. Emily’s heart danced at the sight.

“Hm, now turn around. I need to zip you up,” Trystan ordered, his eyes facing Emily’s back.

“Where’d you get these costumes, anyway?”

“They’re straight from the set! I’m friends with the director, you know.”

“Perks of dating a rich idiot.”

Emily’s cheeks bloomed a light pink as the warmth of Trystan’s breath tickled her neck. Pressing a quick kiss on her shoulder, Trystan grabbed the zipper from the bottom of the gown and pulled it up.

“Much better,” he said, turning her around. “The party’s going to be at Marguerite’s estate in Staten Island.”

“She’s back from Drakovia?”

“Oh, yes. She’ll be in New York for a few months. She’s planning her first fashion show since...” Trystan trailed off, the memories of the last few months creeping up on him. Emily glanced at him with sorrow. A flickering memory coursed through her. Vasili’s dagger, the deafening crunch as it entered his chest; and his last words all ran through her head.

“Is Marguerite going to be okay tonight?”

“I hope so,” Trystan uttered, “but Mags is strong. I believe in her.”

They both nodded. Trystan urged a weak smile, his hands curling around Emily’s.

“Now then...are you ready to go?”

* * * *

Autumn leaves trickled down the driveway of Marguerite’s manor. A flurry of crisp colors hurried down, rain droplets staining the windows. Vines crawled up and down the extravagant walls, alongside a bunch of window boxes that were filled to the brim with colorful flowers. Orange, pink, a crisp bright red.

Emily and Trystan stood beside each other, their eyes greeting the rest of the crew. They first spotted Luke and Ruby, smiling at their Chucky and Tiffany costumes. Faux bloody stitches speckled across Luke’s face, and Ruby dawned black lipstick.

“Oh my God,” Luke gawked at Emily and Trystan, “you’re Raine and Mal! But like, in their masquerade outfits!”

“Yes, we are!” Trystan beamed excitedly, pulling Emily closer to him. “And you...actually like Chucky?”

Luke squirmed a little, his face slightly red. “She likes Chucky! I do not like horror movies at all.” Ruby smiled, pressing a kiss on his cheek. “Especially ones with evil, demonic little dolls!”

“Well, you two look amazing!” Trystan said, everyone turning to Tommy. Emily’s eyes widened, baffled at her uncle in cowboy attire.

“Howdy kiddo! You look like a million bucks.”

“You’re a...cowboy?” Emily asked, watching as Tommy politely tipped his cowboy hat.

“Damn straight! I’m Quincey Morris from Dracula! You know how much I love vampires.”

Mafalda laughed, patting his shoulder. Her wife followed from behind, dressed in a sparkly white flapper gown. Mafalda smiled at everyone, her black top hat glistening in the night.

“It’s so nice to see you two again,” Theresa smiled, pulling Trystan and Emily into a hug. “It’s been so long, you guys should come over for dinner again sometime soon!”

“Absolutely,” Emily said, “and who are you two supposed to be?”

“Marlene Dietrich and the woman she kissed in ‘Morocco!’” Theresa said, “One of the first few lesbian kisses in Hollywood. I just had to beg Mafalda to dress up with me for the party.”

The grand door swung open, and a familiar face greeted them. Standing bold and tall, Marguerite Thorne waved at her friends and family. Her blue ball gown sparkled under the moonlight.

“Happy Halloween!”

With everyone stepping inside, they gawked at the well-decorated manor before them. From above, a giant crystal chandelier lit up the room, lighting up the faces of every guest. A large table with pastries — including Trystan’s beloved belladi — was set up across the entrance. Crowds of socialites were stocked across the ballroom, all sharing different tales about themselves.

“Oh my God!" Ruby said, her arms intertwining with Luke’s. “This looks absolutely beautiful. Thank you for inviting us!”

“Of course,” Marguerite said, “Now go on! You all should go mingle! There’s lots of food and desserts for the night, so go ahead!”

Taking hold of Emily’s hand, Trystan led her towards the bar. Grabbing two glasses of champagne, the couple sat down.

“You know, we Drakovians take Halloween very seriously,” Trystan said, taking a sip. Cocking an eyebrow, Emily smirked.

“Oh, yeah? Any superstitions I should know about?”

“There are so many. For one, you must always wear a costume at night to ward off evil spirits. Tsktsktsk, let’s see...” Trystan swirled his drink, contemplating, “Always carry at least four daggers on you. And of course, there are always lots of poisonings on nights like these, but seeing as the only Thornes in here are me and Mags...it’s unlikely.”

“Hey! Last time I checked, Marguerite wasn’t wearing a costume,” Emily sniped, crossing her arms.

“Did you not see her? She’s Cinderella!”

“Oh, come on! She’s just wearing a blue dress!”

“Not just a blue dress, it’s an exact replica of the one from the movie! You, my dear, need to catch up on your Disney knowledge.”

Hearing a gasp from behind, the two of them turned around. A little stunned, Emily’s heart fluttered as the doe eyes of a woman met hers. The woman’s dark hair was braided and tied with two pink ribbons. Emily examined her cerulean dress with a white collar, pupils dilated.

“Trystan Thorne! It’s been so long.”

“Aislinn! It’s good to see you!”

Trystan wrapped his arms around her, forming a hug. Pulling away, he faced his partner.

“Emily, this is Aislinn Tanaka! One of New York’s finest lawyers,” Shaking her hand, Emily shivered as their fingers touched.

“It’s so nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too! I heard about both of you in the news, actually. You took down the Heartache Killer, right?”

“Yeah, we did!” Emily and Trystan looked at each other, every confession Eleanor told them still in their heads.

“How do you two know each other?”

“Do you remember when I told you I wanted to set up that victim defense fund? After we got arrested?”

“You two got arrested?” Aislinn asked, her eyes widening.

“Ah, yes, arrested. We tried to join a sex cult but-”

“Hey!” Emily raised her voice, “It was for an undercover mission! We called the police on the cult, but Morris and Holbeck have always had it out for me, and so they fucking arrested us.”

Aislinn blinked at them, clearly leaving her with more questions than answers.

“Anyway — I discovered Aislinn and we tried setting it up, but then Drakovia happened.” Trystan sighed, his eyes heavy as he thought of the past few months. “Well, now that I’m back in New York for good, maybe we can start things up again.”

“Definitely. I still work at Ricci & Associates, so call us whenever you’re ready.”

“How is Gabe, by the way?” Trystan asked, his hands resting on Emily’s.

“Very busy, as usual. He and Quinn couldn’t make it tonight.”

“Well, tell them both I’ll be in touch! I really do want to set it up.”

Emily sat quietly, drinking the rest of her champagne. It was no secret she never really cared for small talk with strangers — even if the small talk was with very pretty lawyers. Still, all she thought about was Aislinn’s costume. A smile crept up on her, reminded of all the times she and her father spent hours watching Ghibli movies together.

“You’re dressed up as Sophie, right? From Howl’s Moving Castle?” The freckles on Aislinn’s nose crinkled, a grin spreading across her lips.

“Yes! It’s one of my favorites.” Aislinn said, her cheeks flushing a dull pink.

“I love that movie,” Emily grinned, “I grew up watching Ghibli. Princess Mononoke is my favorite.”

“You guys should meet some of my other friends! They’re all chatting by the chocolate fountain,” Aislinn offered. Emily shook her head, her hands gripping her empty wine glass.

“You two go,” Emily said. “I wanna get a refill first, and then I’ll join you guys.”

“Sounds good,” Trystan said, pecking her forehead. Emily smiled as the backs of their heads blended into a crowd of people. Turning to the bartender, she raised a finger.

“Horse Creek on the rocks,” The bartender nodded, handing her another glass. Emily sniffed, wincing as she prepared to sip of paint thinner. She smiled bitterly, recalling all the times she and Tommy took a shot of this atrocious drink in memory of her father.

Emily sighed as she tapped on the now-empty glass. She debated where she’d go after this — she was simply not in the mood to mingle with some rich big-wigs. She settled on finding Mafalda and Uncle Tommy.

Out of the corner of her eye, a figure in scarlet jumped out at her. Turning around, a familiar red-haired face cast out a devilish grin.

“Emily Rose, my darling! I thought I saw you drinking alone at the bar!”

The detective’s eyes widened as Olivia Nevrakis stretched out her arms into a hug. Pulling away, her mouth gaped. Emily examined Olivia’s eyes, displaying a hint of something beneath.

“Wonderful to see you, love!” Emily chirped, her cheeks warm, “I should’ve known you’d scope me out.”

“Well, I do have eyes everywhere.” Olivia winked, her eyes not daring to leave Emily’s.

“What are you doing here?”

“Marguerite invited me, of course. I figured it’d be the perfect time to...catch up.” Olivia winked. “Now then, would you like to get some ‘fresh air,’ Detective?”

A dare played in Olivia’s eyes. It was clear she wasn’t just here to socialize. There was something to be said. Something to be told. Emily nodded, following her into a nearby private balcony.

The detective and the noble stared up at the New York sky. Smog and little hints of stars sparkled across the night, the crescent moon standing tall. Ignoring the muted sounds of chatter from inside, Olivia turned to Emily.

“I know what happened in Drakovia.”

Emily winced. Everything she and Trystan faced in those few months was like a fever dream. Vasili was a ghost constantly lurking, waiting to attack and torment her. Her hands began to tremble. Every now and then, she’d realize that those very hands were the same that killed Vasili. Worse yet, Trystan’s hands as well — and that very thought ruined her. She was the one who decided Vasili’s fate, and although Trystan shared the burden with her; Emily owned a whole layer of guilt and shame that she’d have to carry on for the rest of her life. Could she ever admit to him the culpability she struggled with? Trystan Thorne was no killer, and yet she made him one.

“I killed him,” Emily mumbled, her voice weak. Olivia set a hand on her shoulder. “Trys and I haven’t really…talked about it. But I know it fucked him up, too.”

Olivia nodded, rubbing her back. “I’m…sorry, Emily.” Her brows furrowed, “But Vasili was dangerous. You know that. He would’ve killed you and Trystan.”

Emily wiped away her tears. A lump swelled up in her throat. She swore a ghost was sitting on her shoulders, the weight and tension from her body unbearable.

“No,” she murmured, “we could’ve fucking…thrown him in jail. Did he deserve to die? To be killed by his own fucking dagger?”

“Yes,” Olivia snarled, “all that and more. I’m sorry you two had to go through that, but it had to be done.”

Emily looked at her, her body weak. She nodded, a solemn glare in her eyes.

“What are you here for? Really.”

“Niko Borodin is dead.”

* * * * A/N: Happy Halloween Eve! Part 2 will be released TOMORROW at 10 AM PST! See you all then!

Click here for the masterlist of all my fics!

tags: @choicesholidays @choicesficwriterscreations @jerzwriter @logolepzy @mooserii @starsarewithinme @shadyinternetblizzard @urcowboyboyfriend @lexicook74-blog @leahtine (let me know if anyone else would like to be added to my crimes tag!)

[astra-galaxie]

"Death comes for everyone eventually… I know that well." - Melaina Kokkinos

Biographical information

Full Name: Melaina Kokkinos

Gender: Female

Sexuality: AroAce

Status: Alive

Age: 55 (season 4)

Birth: 1835

Race: Human

Nationality: Greek

Origin: Ithaca, Greece

Residence:

Concordia, USA

Rome, Italy (formerly)

Ithaca, Greece (formerly)

Profession(s): Writer and Illustrator

Family: Jason Nicchi (adopted son)

Profile

Height: 5'1" Age: 55 (season 4) Weight: 117lbs Eyes: brown Blood: O-

Melania is a petite woman with an ashen look to her tanned skin and minor bags under her brown eyes. Her long black hair is tied into a side braid, and she has a golden streak on the front right side. She wears a simple, empire-style red dress with long bell sleeves featuring a lace overlay, an orange blanket draped over her lap, brown ankle boots, and a yellow shawl across her shoulders. Around her neck, she wears a short necklace with a tiny feather hanging from it, which is a fiery mixture of red, orange, and yellow.

Melania also wears a specialized bronze corset/brace around her torso to help secure the tubes implanted into her sides. The tubes connect to Hestia's Heart, which is mounted to the back of her wheelchair. Jason custom-made the wheelchair to be strong and sturdy, with dark red cushions on the back and seat for comfort. It's a beautiful chair with bronze, copper, and gold plating on the metal, and the wheel spokes are designed to resemble swirling flames.

History

To be revealed in Murders of The Past

Events of Criminal Case

Season 4

Melaina first appears at the end of Heartbroken, where it is revealed that she is the first and, so far, only recipient of Hestia's Heart. She had been in poor health for years and had moved to America, seeking new advances in medicine to help improve her condition. But sadly, Melaina was diagnosed with heart failure and given only a year to live. This led to Jason dedicating himself to inventing something that would give his mother more time while also elevating some of her pain. Jason created an invention designed to take over the work of pumping blood through a person's body to reduce strain on their heart, giving them an estimated five extra years to live.

Melaina is proud of what her son accomplished and was even prouder to see him win the World Exhibition. She knows how hard he worked to save her, and she will forever be grateful for what her son has done for her. Now that she can leave her assisted living home more often, Melaina looks forward to spending more time with Jason, Argo, his family, and their friends. She also hopes she'll be able to make friends of her own now and has already received invitations from Argo's fathers, plus Amelia and Rhys, to socialize together.

Story Information

First appeared: Heartbroken

Trivia

Due to her weak heart and issues with blood flow, Melaina is always cold. It's why she wears long-sleeved clothes and always has a blanket or two with her. Ember will also cuddle her to warm her body (plus the robotic dragon LOVES riding on Melaina's lap)

She couldn't have biological children, so she always knew that if she had children, she would adopt them. She's happy that Jason came into her life, even if it weren't how she imagined adopting her child would go

Jason offered to make her an automaton companion, but Melaina couldn't decide which type of animal she would want. She loves all animals and has always found it hard to pick a favourite. She considered a dog, cat, monkey, bird and even something fictional but hasn't settled on anything yet

She is a fantastic storyteller. People love listening to her storytelling, whether it be a preexisting story or one she's created. As a child, Jason always looked forward to bedtime, as it meant he would get to listen to his mother's latest story

This love of storytelling is what led to Melaina becoming a writer, and while she focuses on children's books, she also writes other genres, too

Disclaimer: Character design was created using Rinmarugames ! I have only made minor edits to the design! Background courtesy of CriminalArtist5

Links to my stories:

The Case of the Criminal (Ao3/Wattpad) Killer Bay (Ao3/Wattpad) Where in the World are the Killers? (Ao3/Wattpad) Murders of The Past (Ao3/Wattpad)

[eggxeggxegg]

4 easy ways to recreate a recognizable outfit for the eras tour:

1. Evermore

Get a yellow/orange maxi dress & a green cloak/cape.

2. TTPD

Get a white corset top & a flowy white maxi skirt. Take the bottom hem of the skirt at the front or side and tuck it in the waistband.

3. 1989

Get a metallic skater skirt in either blue, purple, or teal & a black wraparound swimsuit top.

4. Speak Now

Get a blue/purple short length infinity dress and wrap it in a sweetheart halter style. A ruffled half slip can fill out the skirt a little.