Badass Costumes Novels & Stories

She waved over the nearest shop assistant who was arranging clothes on a rack. “How may I help you?” the girl asked when she came over. Ruby gestured at the clothes on display. “We can’t seem to find what we’re looking for.” “Perhaps I can help then. What exactly do you need?” “Clothes for a costume party,” Ruby explained, “We are going as Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange.” The attendant smiled. “Oh, Harry Potter fans, I believe?” “You can say that again."

My hand hesitated on the doorknob for just a moment before I pushed it open without knocking. Cassian was seated on the leather sofa, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his sculpted chest. Straddling his lap was a woman wearing what appeared to be a French maid costume—but one that had been reimagined by someone with a very warped sense of what maids actually wore. The tiny black dress barely covered her thighs, the white apron was little more than a handkerchief, and instead of sensible shoes, she wore six-inch stiletto heels with little white bows at the ankles. They were locked in a passionate embrace, his hands cupping her exposed breasts, her costume pulled down to her waist. At the sound o

The music thumped softly through the walls of the downtown loft, a low, sensual bass that made every step feel like a heartbeat. The afterparty was invite only, exclusively for the underground cosplay elite where latex, silk, and fantasy collided behind closed doors. Camille stood by the drink table, dressed in a crimson villainess bodysuit that barely hid her curves. Her thigh-high boots clung to her like a second skin, and the black leather gloves gave her the sharp allure of a femme fatale. Her deep red lipstick matched her mood: hungry.

Sigrid carefully looked at the four costumes on the bed and compared them. The catgirl costume was made of the skimpiest material, similar to a bikini. The bunny costume showed the whole legs as if she was wearing a one-piece bathing suit. It also had a pair of black silk stockings in it. The buttons of the nurse's collar were not even sewn, so it must be a deep V collar. The most conservative costume was the maid costume. It covered a large area of her body and it also had socks.

“Mom! Where’s my black jacket? The one with the hood?” “Who wants to know?” “Me, Jacob! Ashley has his!” “You never wear it, so I hung it in the basement!” “Shit.” “What did you say?” “I said, dang it.” “Uh-huh.” Ashley got his leather jacket, a tight white T-shirt, and blues jeans he could roll up the cuffs on and a pair of black motorcycle boots. This would be his 1950's street-tough costume. Jacob wanted his black hooded jacket to dress up as a serial killer with a ghost face mask and a huge plastic butcher knife. Both had torn their room to pieces trying to find everything.

That accent was recognizable anywhere. *Zach stepped closer, his form now completely visible, clad with a dark jacket with the hood pulled over his head, dark pants, and black boots. His stride was long and deliberate as he walked towards me. My instincts screamed at me to run, but all I could do was back away. But he continued to advance, his step matching mine and yet still walking closer.*

he smirked. Inside the box were new outfits—matching ones. Royal blue and silver. The material shimmered faintly like it had been woven with magic. Mine was tailored like a sleeveless gown split into flowy pants, cinched at the waist with silver cords, and adorned with a fine chain that ran across the shoulder to the hip. Cassius’s version was a sleeveless tunic that cut across his chest diagonally with fitted trousers and the same silver embellishment. We matched. I should’ve rolled my eyes or acted nonchalant. But instead… I smiled. Wide. I loved it. Not just the outfit, but what it symbolized. We looked like we belonged to each other.

A crown resting on my head. Heavy. Cold. A throne towering above burning cities. Thousands of voices chanting my name. Not Belle. Something older. Something buried beneath centuries. A name rose inside my mind like it had been sleeping there forever. Selene. I gasped sharply. The torches around the hall ignited all at once. Flames exploding upward violently. And there she was. Me. A woman standing at the center of the throne room wearing black and gold robes that moved like liquid shadow. Long silver jewelry wrapped around her throat and wrists.

His eyes matched, deep-set and sharp, glowing faintly with something that wasn’t quite mortal. Honestly, it was unfair. The wind tugged at his black shirt—thin fabric clinging in all the right places, open enough at the chest to show muscle and just a hint of scars. That kind of undone, expensive-looking, villain-at-the-ball aesthetic. His boots were spotless. His hair was perfect. And here I was, wearing the world’s saddest excuse for a dress. It had been lavender once. Real moon-silk. Now?

“You date a guy who dresses in black, has eyes that seem to glow in the dark and a presence that screams ‘domination’. Saying he has demonic energy isn’t offensive, it’s stating the obvious.” If only she knew how close to the truth she was. I took the hanger from her hands and examined the costume. It was all made in black and red lace, with a corset that pushed the breasts up and a short skirt that barely covered anything. The intimate part was completely open, a detail that made me involuntarily squeeze my thighs. It came with a headband of ornamental black horns, curved and shiny. “This is so wrong.” I murmured. “It’s so right.” Jess corrected. “And there’s more.”