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tadpolesonalgae · 10 months

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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

#Rhysand #Rhysand x reader #Rhysand smut #Rhysand x reader smut #acotar #acotar au #Rhysand date night #date night #date night with the bat boys #Peacock Feathers[*]

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joonipertree · 9 months

Text

Warmer Impulses

Quick bonten!Mikey drabble for his birthday!

The apartment you shared with Mikey was still, the only light being from the candle flames you lit and the only sound being your soft singing.

"Happy birthday, dear Jiro~"

He stared at the chocolate cake with tired eyes, eyebags deeper in the shadows and the only light in his pupils being the reflection of the candle. You hoped that a tiny bit of it was his own, that he felt warmth inside even if it was a tiny flicker.

Mikey blew out the candle at your insistance, sounding more like a heavy sigh. But it went out and you clapped gently with a whispered 'yay'.

"It's my first time making cake. I hope it turned out okay." You mumbled, fidgeting as you cut him a slice.

"You made it?" The sound was more of a mumble and you nodded, biting your lip so your nervousness wouldn't show.

"I just....wanted to show you that I love you."

"I don't deserve any of this." Mikey's voice was flat, no emotion making way for vulnerability. But you knew that inside, he held a self hatred you could never take away completely.

"You are the best thing to happen to me, Sano Manjiro." Your voice was stern and left no room for argument. "I didn't make a cake for you because you mean nothing to me. I made it because your life is worth celebrating."

Mikey looked away, his eyes brimming with unshed tears that glittered in the firelight. A very rare sight.

"And.... I have a present for you too."

You held out a blue textured gift bag that he hesitantly took. Mikey's nimble hands cradled it for a long moment, his finger nails bitten and jagged. His hands still looked comforting and gentle to you.

Mikey pulled out a silver band, a blue gem engraved into it. It gleamed as he turned it around, breath stuttering as it hit him what it meant.

"I know, I know you'll never consider me as a partner. I know that you barely keep me around because you're scared to get too close. I wasn't a part of your life when you were at your worst but....I really hope I made these last three years a bit more bearable.

Thank you for letting me hang around you and for saving me. Thank you for stopping me from jumping. I know it was just something you did on impulse but, it really does make you kind. No matter what, Manjiro. You will be kind in my eyes."

A long pause followed and you stopped breathing. Your romantic feelings for Mikey were obvious and even in his little ways, you felt as though he loved you back. But you gave him a ring.

God, you were an idiot.

"Impulse." Manjiro whispered.

You looked up at his wide shining eyes, so full of life that it seemed more like a mirage. He kept staring at the ring, putting it on his left ring finger. A perfect fit. Your body erupted in flames, heart racing because oh god.

"I didn't even think about it. It was...an impulse. I couldn't...stay away. Reckless of me, dangerous for you but....impulsive. Honest."

Manjiro was quick to grab your hand and pull you forward, lips crashing against your for the first time ever. It was his own first kiss, something done in such fervor that it was like he was making up for lost time. You could barely keep up as tears fell down your cheeks, kissing him to your hearts content. It felt good, he felt warm.

When he pulled back, you saw that his tears had mingled with your own and he had a smile on his face. A genuine one and it made you fall for him more.

"How did you do that? Who are you?"

You giggled, "Please tell me I didn't talk your ear off for the last three years for you to not know my name."

"The sun." He whispered. And you felt your cheeks warm.

"In another life, I hope we get married." Manjiro made a wish, hoping the universe granted it despite the delay.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and held on tight.

"In another life, I'll love you all the same."

A/N: I'm sorry it sucked but I feel unwell and wanted to write something for my favourite boy! Might write something better for him later on. I know it's rushed. Apologies.

#happy birthday mikey #tokyorev headcanons #mikey headcanon #mikey x reader #tokyo manji gang #tokyo rev fluff #mikey imagines #mikey x you #tokyo rev x you #sano manjiro #tokrev manjiro #tokrev mikey #bonten mikey #bonten x reader #bonten

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cityof2morrow · 7 months

Text

JEWELRY SHOP REMIX

Published: 9-23-2023 | Updated: 9-28-2023 SUMMARY "Master jewelers and dealers of finery. And stuff. And thangs. And stuff! We carry SimCity’s finest jewels, atomized gems, and precious, semi-synthetic metals." This set is a retro-futurist, steam-funkish remix of an older Jewelry Shop (WR/HChangeri/RetailSims, 2007 via the LiquidSims Archive) with several new add-ons. The design is inspired by The Fjord “Chiclettina” counters and ‘marvelous marbles’ walls/floors from Sims 2. All 40+ items range from §50-750 and some assembly is required. Scroll down for more details and download links.

DETAILS Requires all EPs/SPs §50-750 | Buy Mode To streamline files and potential recoloring, everything is repo’d to one of the following objects: Fjord Allshelf 001 (shelving/accents), Fjord Boxed Jewelry Display (boxes), Fjord Necklaces Display (displays/jewelry bands), Fjord Earrings Display (gems), Jewel Case (jewelry cases), Fjord Jewelry Table Glass Display (all glass), Plain Old Fjord Counter (marble surfaces), Fjord Hanging Sign (vertical images; 256x512), Fjord Store Sign (horizontal images; 1024x512) – these items are REQUIRED for textures, etc. to display correctly in-game. *RPC Launcher doesn’t always delete the “Accessories.cache” file, so you may want to MANUALLY delete the file and let the game generate a new one if you remove this set from your game.

ITEMS Modular Shop Furniture The plain counter has been retextured and has 3 slots (only small deco items can occupy the last 2 slots) while the jewelry table has 1 slot. All other furniture is deco - assemble unique display areas by pairing these and other items with one of three shelving units.

The Fjord Single Item Displays 001-003 (pictured above) get their recolors from the EverGlow Plutonium Rod that came with the Nightlife EP. Find them under Lighting > Standing/Floor Lamps – but they can also be used to gussy up displays (see below). You can get recolors for these lights HERE.

*A known game bug may disable some OFB shelf slots. Not all players experience this bug in the same way, but if you do – there is a long-standing fix for it. If you cannot access more than 2 slots on shelves, download ONE of these fixes: MORE_Custom-objects-placeable-on-shelves (Numenor, 2006) MORE_Custom-objects-placeable-on-shelves+LOCKEDTILES (Numenor, 2006) Object Freedom 1.02 (Fway, 2023)) 15 Functional Jewelry Displays §250 each | Buy > Misc > Misc

This set includes 6 traditional counter-top displays with empty states.

Fjord Boxed Jewelry Display (1116 poly), Fjord Earrings Display (784 poly), Fjord Jewelry Stand (1212 poly), Fjord Necklace & Rings Display (748 poly), Fjord Necklaces Display (816 poly), Fjord Rings Display (1072 poly). You can’t really place more than 1 or 2 large displays on the shelving, so there are 8 smaller, complementary displays included as well.

Fjord Boxed Jewelry Display Two (604 poly), Fjord Bracelets Display (392 poly), Fjord Earrings Display Two (276 poly), Fjord Earrings Display Three (356 poly), Fjord Rings Display Two (472 poly), Fjord Rings Display Three (632 poly), Fjord Single Necklace Display (556 poly), Fjord Single Necklace Display Two (258 poly).

Fjord Smart Jewelry Kiosk (2220 poly); Fjord Boxed Jewelry Display Two pictured again above as well. The kiosk functions as a normal jewelry rack with a unique empty state (the glow disappears, and the screens turn all angry and red!). The label at the base of the machine uses textures from the Fjord Hanging Sign. You’ll see two torn pieces of packaging when the Fjord Boxed Jewelry Display Two needs restocking – other items have noticeably empty states as well (i.e. there will be no jewelry on the display). DOWNLOAD JEWELRY RECOLORS:

BANDS/CHAINS IN SILVER METALS from SFS | from MEGA GEMSTONES IN CURIOUS-B COLORS from SFS | from MEGA GEMSTONES IN SILVER METALS from SFS | from MEGA

Shop Signage

Show off your merchandise with updated advertisements (originals pictured on top row, remixes pictured on bottom row), as well as several new promotional designs: Fjord Hanging/Standing/Mini Signs (56 poly), Fjord Store Sign (892 poly).

DOWNLOAD (choose one) SIGNAGE from SFS | from MEGA *Since items in the Sims 2 are limited to two recolorable subsets, not all items are recolorable in the same way. For each display, the base and either the gemstones or metal bands/chains are recolorable. Find recolors for this set under the #ts2recolors tag.

SOME ASSEMBLY REQUIRED 1) Place a counter (or table, display cabinet, large jewel case, etc.): Fjord Accessory Table (156 poly), Fjord Cabinet Metal (88 poly), Fjord Display Cabinets 001-002 (212-250 poly), Fjord Display Pedestal (12 poly), Fjord Glassbox Displays 001-002 (126 poly), Fjord Jewelry Table (22 poly), Fjord Showcase Counter (533 poly), Plain Old Fjord Counter (113 poly).

2) With “snap objects to grid” set to TRUE, assemble items on one of the shelves (3-6 slots each): Fjord Allshelving 001- 002 (12 poly), Fjord Cabinet Glass (Shelf) (28 poly), Fjord Counter Display Cabinet (~400 poly), Fjord Jewel Case Displays Reg/Small (744 poly), Fjord Jewelry Table Glass Display (116 poly), Fjord Jewelry Table Shelf (12 poly).

*For owned businesses, this is a good time to set items for sell. The short display cabinets pictured above are shiftable in case you need to move them and rearrange items on the shelf. You can click through the glass as well.

**Some debug-related items float slightly when placed on Allshelf 001 or 002 – this is something I’ve experienced when cloning BuggyBooz shelves - it’s not terribly noticeable from most angles. If it bothers you, close the gap by shifting another object underneath.

***The jewel cases have 6 slots. This may be awkward for the smaller case but that’s on purpose - to make moving several clutter items at once easier. In my opinion, the larger one looks better when paired with a shelf.

3) With “move objects” ON and “snap objects to grid” set to FALSE, shift/rotate the shelf into place as needed. As you combine different objects, some will look best when they’re all facing the same direction (i.e., the green arrows are pointing in the same direction) and others might not – this depends on what items you’re using. You can shift/combine the Fjord Single Item Displays with select objects to add neon light accents to your displays.

You’ll need “move objects on/off” and “snap objects to grid true/false” cheats to make some combinations work. You may also need fences, OMSPs, or other objects to keep sims from walking through parts of the display.

4) Use the Tile Blocker as needed (especially if you play with Object Freedom by Fway, 2023). All objects have 1-tile footprints – but some cover more space than a single tile. The Tile Blocker is included in this set to help you cover those unused tiles and keep sims from walkin’ where they shouldn’t be walkin (learned this the hard way!). If needed, you can read more about the Tile Blocker using the download link below.

DOWNLOAD (choose one) TILE BLOCKER from SFS | from MEGA Enjoy! Recolors will be available on this site under the #ts2recolors tag.

CREDITS No copyright infringement intended - all imagery/trademark rights belong to their respective owners. Thanks: Crucial testing/input from ChocolateCitySim. All creators, modelers, and modders with open TOUs. Sources: Accessory Table (Triplet 3D, 2018),Any Color You Like (CuriousB, 2010), Beyno (Korn via BBFonts), Circuit Lines (Starline via Freepik), Cubic Dynamics (EA/Maxis), Display cabinet (Feel_funny, 2012), EA/Maxis, Extracted Clutter (Decat, 2014), Gold/Silver Textures (LittleLittleSimmies, 2018), Imagery/Icons (EA/Maxis; Gwenke33 and Simmons, 2011; Shutterstock), Jewelry Shop (WR/HChangeri/RetailSims, 2007 via the LiquidSims Archive), Kitchen Basic (Hafiseazale, 2016; BuggyBooz, 2008), Kitchen Basic Extras (Hafiseazale, 2016; BuggyBooz, 2010), Klevestav (2013; 2010), Low poly jewel case (Morky via Creative Commons Attribution),Necklace Display (DeeDee, 2021; Liana; Nichellerj), Necronomicon in display case (DudleyLong, 2019 via Creative Commons Attribution), New Amerykah Part Two: Return of the Ankh (Universal Motown, 2010), Offuturistic Infographic (Freepik), Quake 4 (Activision, 2005), Realistic Diamond (Boykung via DepositPhotos), Showcases counter (DHK_krm, 2016), Sigla logo DUNHIL (Naidar-InoxArt, 2023 via Creative Commons Attribution), Simlish Merry-Go-Round (BBBunny, 2017), Sunglasses (Versace via Mia Burton), Terminal 02 (ROTFL et al., 2019 via Creative Commons Attribution), The ArchAndroid (Wondaland Arts Society, Bad Boy Records, and Atlantic, 2010), TS2 Maxis Match Lingerie Store Set (SomedayTheSun, 2023).

#ts2cc #sims2cc #ts2downloads

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cloverdaisies · 11 months

Text

SNAP OUT OF IT : ERIC SOHN

contains: slight mature themes e.g drug misuse, strong language, that’s about it

☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆

Radio announcer: “Let’s talk about alternative rock band the boyz, their lead singer Juyeon Lee announced their world tour over instagram this morning! How exciting! Their drummer Sunwoo Kim, actually commented on the post the singer wrote saying he wasn’t meant to announce the tour yet.”

Radio announcer 2: “That’s class actually, they’ve taken the UK by storm in recent months I actually saw a girl at a recent fan event for them in Manchester with ‘Eric Sohn sign my tits’ written on her forehead. I was gobsmacked.”

Radio announcer 1: “Honestly the ladies and men out there can’t get enough of them, here’s their newest track ‘Snap out of it’ here on Radio Z”

ERIC POV:

Blacking out, my hands clumsily falling against the strings of the guitar in my hands. The stage was a sickly blur, as it always was. Spinning at a head thrashing speed, the only thing I could decipher was Juyeon slurring into the mic.

"This ones for all those angels up there.. " He giggled the last part with a smirk, hanging on to the mic and leaning into it lowly. Whilst I slammed down onto the strings of my guitar, the intro faded out as the song started.

Chaotic screams and a huge ruckus erupted from the crowd, the tranquil verses bursting into the manic chorus. If I wasn't so high, I probably could of remembered the set we played that night. The destructive sea of fans bashing their heads into the air and throwing up their arms in uncontrolled moshing.

"I want to grab both your shoulders and shake baby-.." Juyeon paused as the music halted momentarily.

"Snap out of it..." I finished his sentence with my own mic. Swinging along to riff, the ascending chords fitting together perfectly to the pitch Juyeon sang over it in. I smirked as we got to the last chorus, my fingers bleeding as they were split open from grazing the strings at an insane pace for the entire concert.

"It's been a good night, the lovely city of Los Angels. We've been The Boyz. Goodnight!" Juyeon announced from the mic, completely faded but sober enough to be understood. The lights faded into complete darkness, slinging my guitar over my head and handing it to the staff on the sidelines.

"Well done." Hyunjae, our bass player, limped over planting a kiss on my head unknowingly. I shrugged the intoxicated elder off of me, downing the open neck of beer on the side drawers.

"I'm gonna fucking pass out." Sunwoo threw his drumsticks on to the coffee table and plummeted on to the leather couch behind him with a lazy slap.

Lighting one up between my lips, no matter how much I drank, my mouth was completely dry - my tongue feeling trapped between the two walls of a paper-like texture. Exhaling the smoke into the closed room and tipping the excess off my ring finger tiredly. I leant back into the couch, Sunwoo's legs kicked up over my lap.

"Eric, the manager wants you." Juyeon walked into the backstage area last, sweat leaking from the strands of his hair as he collapsed on the couch beside Sunwoo.

"What for?" I huffed, crushing the cigarette into the ash tray and getting up to my feet lazily.

"I'd tell you if I knew." He snapped, rolling my eyes I slapped him with the back of my hand as I walked by.

Grasping the coolness of the silver plated handle with my bleeding finger tips. I swung open the door to the staff's room in the venue, coughing as I entered and announcing my presence.

"What?" I asked bluntly, falling on to the couch opposite the manger - sitting with his arms folded arrogantly, cocking brow at my snappy attitude.

"I wanted to speak to you about your image." He began, causing me to roll my eyes with snicker and flash a glint of my sharp teeth that grazed the chapped skin on my lips.

"What about it?" I chuckled, waiting for an outrageous proposal from the middle aged and balding man tutting his head across from me.

"You're in a rock band, not a bubblegum pop group, you're too nice. You need a scandal, you need to be hated by the wrong people. Destroy that glint of hope in the mainstream media's eye. Show them you're like the rest of your group, heartless, conniving, toxic, but have the girls love you." He vented, his mouth bubbling in an excited hiss, closing his fist in exaggeration as his eyes drifted into that one thousand mile stare of his.

"That's not the real me though." I argued artistically, playing off the idea with a shrug.

"Nothing in Hollywood is real kid. Unless you want your career ending, I'd do what I say." He smirked evilly, my hands trembled on my knees as a chewed on the nail of my index finger - whether that was nerves or the drug rush I didn't know myself.

"Whatever." I spat in defeat, getting up from the couch in an aggressive strop.

"Good kid." He sneered, leaning back into the patent leather with an demonic stare glued into his blackened eyes.

Outside the door, Sunwoo seemed to of heard the entire ordeal as he stood against the wall with a lit cigarette between his lips.

"I hate our management, why do we even do this?" I slammed my fist into the wall beside me with a sharp bang. Sunwoo seemingly unfazed by it, walked up to me with a casual stroll and patted my shoulder sweetly.

"You're the only one that has complaints." He smirked as I brushed him off in annoyance.

"Yeah that's because I'm not like the rest of you, none of your care about anyone but yourselves." I spat nastily at this point, not caring too much about what I was saying to the wavy haired brunette next to me.

"We do care, but it's because we want the best for all of us. The best thing for you, is to listen to management. They'll ruin your life and all of ours if you don't." He replied with tolerance, stepping back to give me some space since I was clearly worked up about the situation.

"Sounds like you only care because it affects you." I chuckled bitterly, brushing past him and back down the hallway.

"Eric you're being-" He yelled after me, throwing his hands up in the air exaggeratedly.

"Fuck off." I cut him off before he could claim I was being 'childish' or 'immature' - in realty I knew I was the only one with any emotional intelligence, not that it would change.

The moonlight shone on to the rooftops in the city, walking out of the building with my hood over my head. We were playing in our hometown that night anyways, the others would only assume I went home early. The wind blew harshly, the bottom of my leather ankle boots hitting the pavements in loud echos.

"Do you think they'll leave through this exit?"

"I don't know I think Juyeon's more of a 'through the fire door' type of guy."

My ears perked up to the sound of a few girls whispering amongst each other beside me. They were clearly fans, their baggy fan merchandise tucked into their black skinny jeans.

"Excuse me, sir." One began to approach me, with that I sped up - almost picking up into a light jog down the street. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Sir?!" They didn't move but stayed in the same place as I ran away. I didn't intend to run as far as I did, wandering far into the high street where the store fronts lit up in glistening neons and fluorescent whites that flickered on and off in malfunctioning glitches.

Where even am I? I looked around as best as I could without spoiling my low profile. I continued to walk, to try and find some familiarity in the area. But it was filled with nameless bars, small pawn shops and taxi services. The nightlife was wild, however I couldn't risk asking someone for directions without the risk of them recognizing who I was. It was slightly quieter when I reached the end of the street, sighing to myself I took my hood down and proceeded.

"Come on just let me take you home princess."

"Fuck off, No."

"I'll take real good care of you."

"Leave me alon- GET OFF OF ME."

Overhearing a conversation to my left, I whipped my head around to see a girl in a short black ruffle dress being tugged by a larger male on the sidewalk. Crossing the street, I yelled over quickly.

"Oh there you are! I've been looking for you!" I shouted, approaching the unknown girl closeby. "Who's this?" I pointed to the man holding her arm, with a strange look.

"I don't k-" She replied with great alarm before being cut off by the large man next to her.

"We're old friends, she's letting me take her home." The man spoke for her, still trying to force her into his car.

"Well I'm her boyfriend, so I think I would know who you were. Now please get off of her." I brought her waist close, the man dropping her arm with a defeated huff and sliding back into his car. The car sped off down the street, the engine firing in a high pitched squeal.

"Thank you- thank you so much." She huffed out in relief, bracing her knees in a release of fear.

"No problem at all, are you okay?" I pulled her up from her trembling hunch and supported her upright.

"Yeah I'm fine, seriously thank you for doing that, god knows what could of happened." She replied brushing off the gesture in curtesy.

"Do you wanna grab a drink or something? Can you get home safely?" I asked, watching her eyes glint in the night light. She glanced over to a nearby convenience store, the ones with the small metal tables outside.

"Sure. I guess I wanna know more about you." She smiled, I returned the small curl on my lips and leisurely followed her across the street.

☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆*:.｡.｡.:*☆☆*:.｡..｡.:*☆

hi clo here ! let me know if you want to see more snippets like this from possible plots of mine!

#tbz #the boyz drabbles #the boyz x reader #kpop imagines #the boyz imagines #the boyz x you #eric sohn #sunwoo #juyeon #hyunjae #kpop #the boyz fanfic #kpop fanfic #the boyz #Spotify #eric sohn fluff

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 3 months

Note

I have a couple of question-headcanons-idea thingies about Yves appearance if u don’t mind. So would Yves wear more gold or silver jewelry? Like I can’t decide whether he would have cool undertones or warm undertones. Cool undertones because of his sometimes very icy nature, steely stare and almost vampiric aspects of his nature. But also could be warm because of the motherly warmth and comfort he gives off, he reminds me of a hearth.

Also we gotta talk about how tall this man probably is like legit. Like you always describe him as tall and slender but it didn’t hit me until today that this man is probably a beanstalk. So like he was a model at one point which lets me know that he’s at the very least 6-6’3 naturally, now imagine the heels along with it, I dunno I personally think with heels he may be taller than Monty which adds to the intimidation factor.

Omg and his HAIRRR!! I always wondered what his natural hair texture is like whenever he doesn’t do blowouts. Like does he have naturally straight, wavy or even curly hair, I personally think he would have straight or slightly wavy naturally but I dunno, what r ur thoughts (if you have any, it’s okay to keep these things vague if u want)

(One day I will draw him Omg as u can see I have completely hyper fixated on him if I was reader I would be in his walls fr 😔)

Ou shid i am the opposite of minding, PLEASE DO SEND MOARR it also feeds my brain rot

anyways,

Yves only wears jewelry if it completes his look or it can aid him in manipulating people somehow.

When it comes to his outfits, he would wear silver if his clothes that day have cool undertones, and gold if it's warm and deep-toned. Yves could be your thermometer, if he knew that you're most likely to overheat that day, he would stick to cool neutrals. If it's chilly, he would don warm colors. Likewise with his choices in jewelry. Numerous other factors will determine his fashion, but the strongest influence is the weather and how he could use it to his advantage, making him much more appealing to you.

Yves's fingers are generally free of rings unless you and he were married. Then the wedding band will only leave his finger during certain situations such as performing surgery on you or cooking your meals. When he was younger, one of his favorite rings to wear was the brass knuckle. It would be a determining factor whether he beats his opponent into a bloody pulp, or he becomes one. As he grew older, he swapped that out with a quieter, secret compartment ring. A dash of whatever poison he decided to fill up that day does wonders without the mess and effort of throwing repeated punches. Perhaps you're particularly rowdy that day and wouldn't listen to reason, a little sedative would do the trick.

He does wear earrings though, mostly Diamond studded earrings because large or hanging ones would be more likely to snag on his hair and something else. He learned the existence of earlobe reattachment surgery through the hard way when he forgot to remove his hoops before a fight. But it doesn't mean he would never rock bolder styles, just rarely. During periods when he would wear his hair up, you would most likely see him wear pendant earrings that elongate the appearance of his elegant neck. Yves's extensive collection of jewelry he collected over the decade means you never see him wear the same set twice.

His height was kept vague because it would give me a lot of freedom to play with how he holds you. But just remember that he could carry you with one arm under your rear, on his hip, like a child. And to get to your eye level, he has to kneel. The height of his heels definitely depends on his goal and your personality, perhaps you're intimidated by his height. So he wears kitten pumps around you. However, to everyone else? Stilettos with red bottoms all the way.

Yves can wear flats or shoes, but why should he have to? He has worn heels for so long that it's actually much more comfortable to move in those torture devices. If you handed him a 20-inch lobster heel, Yves would walk or even run around in it as if he were wearing a pair of comfortable sneakers. His footwear must have at least a minimum of 2 inches on its heels.

If you pay close attention when he's barefoot, he's walking on his toes; he would be completely silent when moving around. But he's barely seen without some sort of footwear, even his home slippers have some height to it. This is mostly to alert you of his presence, so you won't have a heart attack whenever he greets you with a kiss on the back of your head.

His hair is implied to be naturally straight; he needed to sleep in silk curlers to look effortlessly gorgeous the next day. For the longest time, he hated his hair for not maintaining shape whenever he tried heat curling it. He wore extensions and wigs, and Yves tried shaving it all off to 'reset' his hair- that was one of the rougher patches in life he went through, he has experienced it all. Yves spent a good fortune on hairspray back then, he probably contributed greatly to the puncturing of the ozone layer. He wanted volume, he wanted structure, but he either didn't have the knowledge or the means to achieve that. Eventually, though, he learned through trial and error, through endless magazines and even research projects on how to care for his hair to look like his ideal. It's much thicker, healthier, and shinier than that of his past.

You wouldn't need to be in his walls, it's dusty there and you would get electrocuted with all the wiring in it. Yves wants you to come out so you would be in his lap, while he types away on his laptop. It's much more comfortable there, he wouldn't mind staying in the same position for hours and hours on end.

Just as long as you're fed, cleaned, using the toilet enough, and sleeping well. Yves will let you hyper-fixate on him as much as he hyperfixates on you.

But he knew that you wouldn't be able to even come close to his level of obsession towards you. And that's fine with him.

#yandere male #yandere oc #yandere concept #tw yandere #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader #oc yves #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere

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littlealienproducts · 11 months

Photo

Solid 925 Silver Band Textured Finish Ring by MyLunaJewel

#MyLunaJewel #silver ring #ring #rings #sterling silver

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avalon821 · 21 days

Text

Tyr Haragin

The Basics

Name: Tyr Haragin

Nickname: none

Age: in the 20-25 range

Nameday: Alas I don’t have a specific day in mind for him. Gives spring or summer vibes though

Race: xaela

Gender: man

Orientation: Bisexual

Profession: Adventurer, Warrior of light, sometimes a weaver

Physical Aspects

Hair: a usually well maintained head log long rich red hair. He keeps it in a braid most of the time.

Eyes: predominately red as well, with a light red/pink limal ring. Very striking, almost seem to glow

Skin: lighter, nice black scales all over his body

Tattoos/ Scars: no tattoos. Has a scar over his eyebrow post ew. The end of his right horn is only being kept on by a silver band of that counts. Used to have burn scars on his back until his scales grew over them as he grew up.

Family

Parents: he had two dads and one mom, though he only has the one dad left. Varrick was taken as a prisoner of war when his village was attacked and Aalya went missing in the chaos. Takai was the one who took Tyr and ran.

Siblings: older sister named Ayame. She went missing the same as their mother.

In laws/others: no in laws at present. Alberic feels responsible in both a mentor way and a dating his adopted son way. Tyr treats the twins kinda like younger siblings.

Skills

Abilities: excels at fighting. Unsurprising for a warrior of light and xaela but still. Tyr also is a pretty damn good cook and weaving/sewing

Hobbies: adventuring, baking/cooking, sewing/ fiber craft (more clothes but he’s been known to make a couple blankets)

Traits

Most positive trait: extremely caring. Will do his damndest to keep his loved ones safe and happy.

Most negative trait: split bt his bias against garleans and his tendency to bottle things up. The former is bad and the second has lead to him hurting himself and others.

Likes

Colors: red, black, blue

Smells: fresh baked goods

Textures: fluffy/ soft things, smooth steel

Other Details

Smokes: nah

Drinks: only with others

Mouth insurance: uhhhhhh do the scions insure people? If not then no. Shame though, he’s got nice teeth

Been arrested: there was an attempt at the bloody banquet and the trial by combat in ishgard but other than that nope

Tagged by @mrlarkstin (took me a couple days but I did get to it! Thank you!)

Tagging: @bnuuywol @fatewalker-phoenix @dragoon-mid-jump and anyone else who wants to. No pressure!

#ffxiv #wol #warrior of light #tyr #tyr haragin #life has been both hectic and not and there’s a few things I need to catch up on #but hey any excuse to talk about lizard

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dahliarosebud · 1 year

Text

- Billy Hargrove x Reader

• Angst (with happy ending)

• Part 1

• MAIN-MASTER-LIST

Warnings: love confessions, smoking, kissing, implied jealousy, mentions of fear, implied guilt, mentioned abuse

Synopsis: Two broken and beaten hearts finally become one in a hazy dream of running away from everything. Or Y/n finally opens up and tells the truth of her life behind the façade

A/n: I’m sorry this took so long, I’ve been busy and only just found the time as I have a long list of fics to write and part twos are closer to the bottom, but I finally got around to it. Those of you who have requested to be tagged have been at the bottom.

-----------

I walked into his room, clothes strewn all over the floor, old cigarette smoke still lingering clinging to the orange light that hung from the middle of his ceiling, it smelt like cheap cologne and hair products . I jumped at the sound of the door slamming behind me. Turning to see Billy lighting a new cig.

Freezing fingertips pulling the jacket that slipped from my shoulder back to where it should be, as if the damp material could offer me any sort of warmth. He pointed to his bed telling me to sit as he filtered through his wardrobe for something. “Here,” he said tossing me some clothes.

I held up the jumper. ‘HAWKINS HIGH SCHOOL’ plastered on the front in bold green letters. My thumbs digging into the soft material, I lowered the jumper my eyes meeting his, they traced my face delicately. He cleared his throat plucking the cig from between his lips.

“You can change in here I’m going to go ask Max what pizza she wants. Oh and don’t touch anything,” he said gruffly, back turned towards me hand scratching the back of his head. I watched as he left making sure the door was shut snug.

I made quick work of changing out of the damp clothes, neatly folding them and placing them in a pile on the floor amidst his messy mountains of clothes. I stood up, hands softly flattening the jumper. I walked to his desk, fingers gently skimming over the different things, rings, necklaces.

I stopped picking up the box of condoms, rolling my eyes a disgusted sound leaving my lips as I flipped the packet over opening the flap and only seeing two left. Billy Hargrove the ultimate frat fuck boy. I chuckled. I put down the packet where I found wiping my hands on the sweat pants he had leant me.

My eyes wondered his walls taking in all the band posters, Metallica, Black Sabbath, Motley Crew and lets not forget the pictures of topless and bikini models.

I noticed how the red paint hand began to peel and how the wardrobe and door had holes in them as if someone had punched through them, whether it was Billy or not was the real question that swam around in my mind.

My eyes caught the metallic gleam of the silver photo frame, I walked towards it, picking it up from its respected pace, running my thumb over the textured frame. I smiled gently at the picture.

A pretty woman and a sweet little boy hugging her leg. Big happy shining smiles plastered on the faces, the visible gleam from the sun on the picture and I suddenly remember Billy came here from California.

“Hey what pizz- what are you doing?” I quickly put the picture down, spinning around with reddened cheeks - embarrassed at the fact I got caught snooping. His eyes drifted from me to the photo frame next to me, confusion turning into a steady glare.

“I specifically said don’t touch anything,” he stomped towards me. Pushing me out of the way inspecting the photo making sure I hadn’t tampered with it in any way. “Is that your mom?” I asked softly sitting back down on the bed.

“Yea,” he said. I stared at the way his eyebrows creased as he stared at the happy faces captured. “She’s beautiful.” I chewed the inside of my cheek awaiting something, anything. A punch, a screaming match, but instead I watched as his lips dared to twist into a smile, twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Yea she was,” he sighed.

I looked down at my hands in my lap, twiddling my fingers. He stood up straight putting the photo into a draw, slamming it shut. “So the pizza?” He questioned once again a new cigarette back between his lips. Damn that’s like now three in just over an hour. He held the pack out towards me.

I grabbed the packet flicking the lid open, the smell of tobacco wafting into my face. I picked out the last one, copying his actions and placing it in between my lips. “Any is fine,” I said. He nodded in consideration. I leant forward towards the light he held out towards me.

Closing my eyes as I inhaled, shoulders sagging in comfort. It’s a bad habit, I know. He came and sat beside me, exhaling. I flopped backwards, exhaling just as he did. Humming a random tune, enjoying the way my mind fell into a silent peace like the drifting ocean in a summer breeze.

The bed groaned as he lied next to me just as I was. “So are you ever going to tell me who did that to you?” I sighed, the smoke drifting from my nose accompanied by a subtly burn so delicious: a distraction from the truth.

“You first,” I snapped. I wasn’t mad, but there was something so humiliating admitting the fact that the person who is meant to love you hits you, its so degrading and shameful. Its like I deserve it no matter how many time I tell myself I don’t.

“It’s him isn’t it?” He said confidently, the bed groaning as he rolled onto his side. I turned my head towards him whispering a small, “What?” I looked back up at the peeling ceiling, already feeling the familiar sting of tears in my eyes, “I- I- don’t know what you’re talking about,” I chuckled, voice cracking. Taking a long drag of the quickly withering cigarette.

“You know you don’t have to protect him. What kind of dick hits his girlfriend?” I gulped, but the knot lodged in my throat wouldn’t shift. “He doesn’t deserve you.” The tears finally fell, I put out the cig in the ashtray next to me, watching as it splintered praying that my crying would stop.

Laying back down my eyes finding a new place to look. “I didn’t - I didn’t think he would he would hit me in my face, usually it’s just my ribs or a slaps me, but he had been drinking with his friends and there I was stood outside of his house waiting for him to come home after I had been sat on my own door step waiting for his dumbass to come pick me up for over an hour,” I clenched and grinded my teeth in anger.

“After I had told him that this would be the last time he would see me as his girlfriend and not ‘just some whore he used to date’ he dragged me inside and grabbed my face,” I breathed shakily,

“‘You got someone else? Huh! I knew I should never have dated such a fucking whore like you. You’d drop your panties for any guy with a heart beat. You’re lucky I’m even still tolerating you,’” I closed my eyes remembering the fear that had coursed through my veins. At the point I thought him just grabbing my jaw like that could break it. The smell of beer causing my stomach to churn.

“I had grabbed his arms and tried to run away, but he had pulled me back. At that point I had lunged forward and scratched his face, I had never fought back ever. That is what made him really mad and then - and then he punched me straight in the eye and left me on the floor telling me to get out and that he never wants to see me again, and to top things off it’s our anniversary, I chuckled and rolled over facing him.

His jaw was clenched as were his hands, knuckles white with a searing anger. His eyebrows were knit together and he breathed heavily. He reached forward, palm on my face as his thumb wiped away my tears. Flinching, I closed my eyes before sighing and revelling in the soft touch. Eyes staring at the swirling purples, greens and blues mingling under my eye and on the cheek bone.

“Why do you hate me?” I whispered. He stopped his movements pulling hand away. His eyes moved from the bruise to mine, tonging the inside of his cheek pondering the question.

“I...don’t hate you,” he whispered back, “I just hated the fact that you were with him. I hated the way his arm would be around you or his hand in your back pocket. I hated the way he kissed you. I hated the way you smiled and laughed at his jokes. I hated the way he would brag about cheating on you or how he mad you cum.” Tongue swiping across his bottom lip, dragging it into his mouth, biting the soft flesh picking his next words carefully.

“But most of all I hated the way that you looked at him because,” his voice fell off pausing. My heart sped up as I moved closer. My eyes flicking down to his lips and then back up to his eyes. “Because?” I whispered.

“Because,” he breathed shakily looking down, “because I wanted you to look at me that way.” My eyes softened as I looked at him. I never thought I would ever get to see Billy Hargrove the ultimate frat fuck boy act shy.

He lifted his head, our noses almost touching. And this close I could see the freckles that were scattered across his face. “Well,” I swallowed. “When I wasn’t laughing at his jokes, or hand his arm around me,” I looked down threading my fingers with his.

“I dreamt of what life would be like with out him, to run away from this place, from him, from this bullshit life.” I looked back into his eyes, you could get lost in them - a swimming pool of hidden emotion. “Do you want to run away with me...Billy?” We moved impossibly closer to each other.

“Yes,” he whispered barely audible. “Where would we go?” he asked pressing our foreheads together. I looked up thinking for a second before softly smiling, my mind flicking back to the way he tried not to smile at that photo of him and his mom.

“What about California?” He closed his eyes smiling fondly. I licked my lips my heart beating faster and faster as silence spread over the room. Comforting and sweet, lit by the orange light.

“Yes,” he breathed. He leant forward, our lips pressing together gingerly. Tender and supple I almost didn’t feel it. We pulled apart, taking a second to admire one another before leaning back in.

This kiss. This kiss had pent up desire and passion behind it, ensuring red and swollen lips once finished. But I’m not sure whether I want his moment to ever end.

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@quietghostwitch

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hutefb · 2 years

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925 Sterling Sliver Hammered Ring Mens Womens Adjustable Open Ring Textured Band Handmade Jewelry Anniversary Gifts for her/him

#textured ring #hammered band #sterling silver ring #hammered ring #mens ring #unisex ring #Adjustable Open Ring #Anniversary #gift for her #gift for him #Handmade Jewelry #vintage ring #hammered

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persephonescottage · 2 years

Text

PONY | 16.

Pairing: Billy RussoxFem!Reader

Summary: Maybe there won’t be a bridesmaid’s speech after all.

Warning: References to sexual situations, swearing, obsessive thoughts. Although this chapter might not include it, this fic will include stalking, somnophilia, CNC (between two consenting adults), knife play, age gap, dub con, Stockholm syndrome, gaslighting and other triggers I will include as we go along, please only read if you’re 18+. If any of this warnings trigger you please don’t read.

A/N: So I had to cut this one chapter into two cause it was SO LONG but I will be posting the next (part 2 of this) tonight (which is about 1 am California time so… tomorrow?) anywayyyyyyssss yeah bye.

How hard can it be, just call and ask.

Call and ask.

Or call and hang up like you’re thirteen and you have a crush on your neighbor again.

Your mind is a mess as you walk home after the fitting with Gianna. Three hours of sitting between rolls and rolls of rose and mint colored tulle and taffeta gave you time to think.

So what if asking a man to be your date wasn’t lady like? So what if you had let a man whom you’ve never seen before have your body on a silver platter?

You couldn’t shake him out of your head and it was undeniable, and no one had touched you like that in your life, not that you had many opportunities. But God knows Barrett was clueless.

And what if it worked out?

Sure you’d have to censor Gianna’s bridesmaid speech and lie when people ask how you two met on anniversary parties but what if?

What if?

The questions echoed in your head as you reached your building door. Should you just rip it off like a band aid? It was five thirty, would he be out of work? Did he work a nine to five? You had no idea, you knew nothing about this man.

You open your apartment door to find the kitchen light on and the well known pink dessert box on the counter and you sigh relieved. It felt familiar now, domestic, homely. throwing your keys and purse on the side table you enter locking behind you as you step inside your cool place.

Tonight’s cupcake is a white and blue stripped one with a red bow on it to match the one on your hair and you smile slightly.

You won’t eat it tonight but it’s still very pretty.

Why does he have to be so cute? You decide you’ll take a warm shower and get in some cozy pajamas before you call him because the apartment is freezing and not because you got cold feet (literally) and lost the nerve to ask him to the gala but when you reach your bedroom you’re met with a big red box.

It’s sitting on your bed and it’s a regal velvet finish with gold leaf stamping on top that you cannot understand. It looks foreign, Japanese you believe, and you’re confused.

Should you call him before you open it?

Apparently no since your hands fly to the sides of it, it’s huge and your fingertips stroke the soft texture of it before sliding the top off. The inside is a sea of satin and metallic appliqués and you’re almost afraid your hands can stain it but in the middle of it there’s a rose and a note.

The rose is dark burgundy, almost black and you take it in your hands, it’s got thorns still, you’re careful to put in on the bedside table before you grab the note to read the red ink.

“How beautiful she was when she let me kiss her. XO. B.”

You leave the note on the duvet and pull the fabric out of the box, a ribbed cream corset top, small puff sleeves, yards and yards of fabric that form a skirt covered in metallic threads and fanned glittering decorations, they look like constellations.

It’s a ball gown.

What did this mean?

Was it an invitation?

You pick up your phone immediately, your shower could wait. You dial the number that you know by heart now and put it on speaker phone, suddenly the fifty degrees in your apartment feel like eighty and you put your hair up in a ponytail as you make your way to the kitchen.

It rings a few times and you’re afraid he might have disconnected it this time, you’re afraid of the anxiety attack that might kick in when some random person picks up and tells you they just got this new line and you’re back at square one but on the fifth ring you hear him out of breath and in the middle of what sound like city sounds.

“Hey sweetheart, sorry almost missed you.” He sounds simple, like a boyfriend and you get butterflies in your stomach, not sure if good or bad.

“Hey, you were at my house.” You say quickly opening the door to your fridge and taking out the vodka bottle you keep there.

“Sure was, did you like your gift? Did you get the quote? I mean of course you got the quote! I was afraid you wouldn’t get it but you’re smart and you read The Phantom.”

“Yeah, I read Phantom and the dress is beautiful thank you.” You say quickly as you take a shot.

“Well? Did it fit?”

“I haven’t tried it on.”

“Well go on, the party is tomorrow-“

“Does this mean you’re taking me to the gala?”

There’s a silence on the other side of the line and you wait patiently listening to the honking and rumbling of motors and traffic on his side, his breathing is steady but he sounds unsure as if he wants to say something he knows you wont understand.

“No.” His tone is ice cold now and all signs of the boyfriend you thought you had minutes ago are gone.

“Why not?” You take another shot before he answers knowing well you wont like the answer.

“That’s not what we agreed on.”

You’re silent this time and you feel it all come crashing down, it’ll never end, there will never be a bridesmaid speech or an anniversary party. All there’ll ever be is this and as lonely as you are it’s not enough.

“I don’t remember making any agreements with you.”

“Look, I’m not your little boyfriend babe, that’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it? Am I supposed to sit here alone like an art piece for you to observe in a museum from far away? Am I supposed to be alone forever because you won’t be with me but you won’t let me be with anyone else?”

“Are you drinking again Pony?”

“Why do you care? You’re not my little boyfriend!” You’re yelling now and you’re sure your neighbors can hear.

“Lower your voice with me little girl.”

“Or what? You will leave a threatening cupcake? I don’t see how, I don’t have any food allergies or anything!”

“I’m warning you Pony, I’ve been too soft with you lately.”

“No, I have been too soft with you lately, in fact I should call my guard and let him know you where here, goodnight Birdy. Oh and by the way, I already have a dress and it’s custom made!”

“Don’t be ridiculous baby.”

‘I’m not your baby!” You yell again.

“God, you’ll look so pretty after I tape that bratty mouth shut. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Yeah from outside my house and preferably in cop’s handcuffs.”

You hang up immediately and take a sip directly from the bottle, you’re sure you cut him off mid sentence and you’re sure this won’t be the end of it, but the vodka has gotten to your head and maybe now it’s time for that shower you should’ve gotten a while ago.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #pony fic #stalker!billy #my writting #billy russo fanfic

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