#batwing skirt

[psychedelic-blow-pop]

[needylittlegirl]

What style of clothes do you wear?

ummm i think i change a lot!! but i usually stick to like grungier goth gonna stomp on someone with my big boots style in the winter and my summers are always like more boho very flowy colorful everyone thinks i meditate style

[robinsnest2111]

whenever I wear the green corduroy cargo style miniskirt I thrifted a while ago I super regret not getting the ashy brown pinstripe miniskirt I saw at a different thrift shop once... 😔

[eddiemunsons80sbaby]

Don't Touch What's Mine

Pairing: GatorxReader

Summary: You're sick of Gator's shit so you decide to make him jealous and it works. Maybe a little too well.

Word Count: 4K

18+ Only

Stepping into The Drunken Duck felt like stepping back in time, to a time when lawlessness was the norm. When gambling, drunken rages, and prostitution were just accepted as a part of everyday life. When a man would pop in for a drink and get a fuck on the side after a long day breaking his back in the sun working on the railroad. 

At least that was what Jimmy, the owner, would like you to feel when you entered his bar. Everything inside screamed the Wild West from the batwing doors you had to push through after entering the main door to the old oil paintings that adorned the walls. You personally found it a bit tacky, wishing there was somewhere a bit more modern in town but beggars couldn’t be choosers where you lived. 

Besides, you were on a mission tonight and your target was just across the room, shooting a game of pool with some of his fellow officers. The gang, not dissimilar to a group of lawmen from the 1800s, flashing their badges around, running the town the way they saw fit, bending the law to their will and breaking it just as often as they upheld it. When your daddy was the sheriff, you could do pretty much anything you wanted and Gator used that to his advantage in the worst way. 

Hazel eyes lifted, roaming over every single inch of you, from the make-up you’d so carefully applied, to the cleavage spilling out of your tight red top, to the miles of leg bared underneath the tiny black skirt. One side of his mouth curved, a mixture of a smirk and a sneer. Oh, you’d chosen this outfit specifically for tonight but it wasn’t for him. It was for the first attractive guy you could find so he could watch and seethe with jealousy at how easy it was for you to move on. 

With a roll of your eyes, you turned your body, heading directly for the bar. You were beyond sick of his bullshit, stringing you along, excuse after excuse why you couldn’t take things to the next step. His words from the other night came back to you, “I’m just not a one woman man, darling. I mean, look at me. It would be selfish to not share this. I’m doing the Lord’s work.”

Jesus Christ. He could be such a fucking prick. He thought he could have anything he wanted with no repercussions. He thought he could take and take without ever giving anything in return. It really was no wonder with who his father was. Sheriff Tillman walked around like he owned the town and that was because he did. No one questioned him. No one told him no. They were too scared. Everybody in this town knew exactly what happened when you crossed Roy Tillman.

But you weren’t scared of Gator. No. He put on a tough guy face but you knew he was really just a scared little boy who worked way too damn hard for Daddy’s approval. You’d seen right through the hard shell to the creamy center in the middle and it had scared him. That was the real reason he was keeping you at a distance. He couldn’t handle anything that threatened the tough guy image he projected to the world.

“Hey there doll,” Stacy called out from behind the bar, placing a small cocktail napkin in front of you. “What are you having tonight?”

“Gin and tonic with lime.”

“You got it.” She scooped ice into a highball glass, grabbing the bottle of gin, tilting her head behind you. “You and Gator not together tonight?”

Lips pursed, red nails tapping on the wood of the bar, you snorted, “There is no me and Gator. I don’t think there ever was. He’s just a little boy playing at being a man. I’m done with his bullshit.”

“That why you got the girls on full display tonight?” she teased, pulling the nozzle to the glass to add the tonic. “Because you’re done with him?”

“Maybe they’re on display for someone else.”

“Ahh, I see. You know, that’s a dangerous game my friend.”

“What?”

“Making a man like that jealous. Gator’s got a trigger hair temper and an actual trigger to pull. You could be setting some poor man up to not make it home tonight.”

“Trust me, he doesn’t care enough to shoot some poor guy for talking to me.”

“That must be why his eyes keep creeping over here, because he doesn’t care,” chuckled Stacy, sliding the glass to you with a wink before moving down the bar to another customer. 

Whatever. Stacy didn’t know what she was talking about. Gator was not going to shoot anybody. He might punch someone but only if he actually cared enough that you were talking to someone else. And based on the way he’d been acting lately, you didn’t see that happening. No. You just wanted him to see that you didn’t need him. You didn’t need those hazel eyes that darkened as he hovered above you or those full lips that would torment you until your thighs quaked or that thick cock that stretched you, filling you up until he was all you could feel. Absolutely not.

Fuck. Your thighs pressed together in an attempt to quell the ache throbbing in your center, your lips wrapping around your straw in the hopes that the cold liquid would cool the sudden burning inside you. Just the thought of him had you worked up. He might be a prick but he was a damn good lay. 

“Excuse me? Is anyone sitting here?”

You turned your head to find a man smiling at you, his palm up toward the stool next to yours. Well…lucky for you he was an attractive man, exactly what you’d come in here looking for tonight. Ocean blue eyes, sandy blond hair, a sharp jawline, and a physique that filled out his black tee quite well. 

With a flirty smile, you tilted your head, “No. Please, join me.”

Grin widening, a mouth full of bright white teeth, he hopped onto the stool, extending his hand. 

“Jack.”

“Well, hello Jack.”

“And you are?”

“I’m whoever you want me to be for the night,” you teased, slipping your straw between your lips. You weren’t looking for a friend and you certainly weren’t looking for anything serious. You just wanted fun, something to help you forget the bullshit that was Gator Tillman, and possibly to piss him off a little in the process. Judging by the intense prickle that was running up your spine, letting you know his eyes were on you, it was working.

“You really going to make this that easy for me, sweetheart?” he asked and you didn’t miss how his eyes moved down to your chest, tongue running over his bottom lip. Oh yeah, he would definitely do. 

“Are you complaining?”

“Not at all. I just thought I might have to work a bit. You know, a little conversation, buy you a couple drinks, possibly some food.”

“Well, ain’t this your lucky night. I happen to be in the mood for some fun. That’s what I came here to find and I think you’ll do just fine.” Leaning forward, your eyes slid to the side, finding Gator propped against the wall, arms folded over his chest, eyes glued on the two of you. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t your intention when you came over here.”

“Oh,” growled Jack, palm coming to your thigh, fingertips pressing into your flesh, his body moving into you, mouth next to your ear, “it was. I mean, the way you’re advertising yourself made it pretty hard to resist.”

“Oh yeah?” You smirked, half of your attention on Jack’s voice in your ear, letting you know exactly how hot he thought you were, and half of your attention on Gator who looked like he wanted to rip Jack’s head right off his body. 

Maybe you were playing a dangerous game but your panties were already damn near soaked, your skin practically vibrating with the sight of him looking like this man was just his understudy. Looking like he wouldn’t hesitate to get his knuckles bloody to keep this man from touching you. Maybe it was dangerous but fuck if it wasn’t fun. 

“So, what do you say?” asked Jack, bringing you back to the conversation, realizing you had no idea what he’d asked. 

“Say about what?” “Getting out of here?” His palm slid further up your leg, cresting the hem of your skirt. “I have a…”

But what he had you never got to know because a large hand slammed into his shoulder, knocking him off the stool. He collided with the one next to it and then hit the floor, crying out in a mixture of shock and pain before looking up angrily at who had just hit him. 

“What the hell, man!?” yelled Jack. 

Gator loomed over him and you secretly thrilled at the sight. Anger coursed through him, his eyes dark and threatening, his chest rising and falling heavily, that sneer permanently etched as he looked in disgust at the man who’d just had his hands on you. 

“Get the fuck out of this bar,” he ground out, teeth bared menacingly, finger pointing at the door.

Jack scrambled to his feet, stepping into Gator, clearly oblivious to who exactly he was going toe to toe with. The rest of the bar was silent, nothing to be heard but for the quiet hum of the football game in the background, everyone waiting to see what happened because they knew exactly who this naive man was dealing with. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” huffed Jack, puffing out his chest. 

Gator smirked, his torso leaning in, invading Jack’s space as his hand dropped to the holster on his thigh. “I think I’m the law of this town so you should do exactly as I say. Now, here’s what’s going to happen. First, you’re going to apologize for touching what’s mine. Then you’re going to leave and you’re never even so much going to look at her again. Do you hear me?”

Jack’s eyes widened as he caught sight of the gun that was practically a part of Gator now. He never went anywhere without it whether he was on duty or not. Raising both of his hands, he took a step back, a nervous laugh falling from his mouth. 

“Look, man. I didn’t know she was yours. This was just a misunderstanding.”

“And?” Gator brought a hand next to his ear. “I’m not hearing the apology. You know it’s not good manners to try to take what isn’t yours without asking.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry, okay? I won’t…man, you won’t have to worry about me. I was just passing through town anyway. I’ll be gone in a few days.”

“No, you’ll be gone now.” Each step that Jack took toward the door, backing away, Gator followed. “You’re gonna get in your car and drive the fuck out of my town and don’t believe that sign on your way past the city limits. Don’t come back soon or ever.”

“Yeah, alright. I’m gone.”

Jack fled from the bar as if it were on fire, tripping over his own feet to get out the door and away from the menacing eyes of Gator. You sat, swirling your straw through your drink, as he turned those eyes on you, smiling amusedly. 

Hands on his hips, his head rocked back and forth as he took slow steps toward you, “Think you’re cute, don’t you, honey?”

You tilted your head, lips pouting, “Jack sure thought so.”

“Oh, I know he did. I saw the way he was touching you. But then you come in here dressed like a little slut and what did you expect? You want me to see that? Is that what this little show was? Trying to make me jealous?”

“I wasn’t trying to do anything but if I was, it clearly worked.”

He laughed harshly, “You are such a fucking brat, you know that? What the hell you think you’re doing letting some other guy paw at you like that, huh?” His hands, large hands, thick fingers that knew every inch of your body intimately, landed on either side of the bar, pinning you on your stool. He bent forward, nose brushing over yours. “You’re mine, honey. You know that.”

“I’m not anybody’s,” you snapped, swallowing hard, your body and brain at war with each other. “I am not one of your fucking horses. You don’t have a brand on me, Gator. I can fuck whoever I want.”

Lightning fast, one of those hands left the bar, slipping under your skirt to cup your heat. A whimper slipped past your lips, your hips rocking toward him. 

“Yeah, she knows exactly who she belongs to, doesn’t she?” he grinned, one finger slipped under the edge of your panties, parting your lips. “So wet already, darling. Now get that tight little ass out that door and in my car.”

Sense pushed through the haze of lust that Gator was quickly stirring up in you and placing both hands on his chest, you shoved him, hard. It wasn’t an easy feat but you managed to back him up just enough to hop off the stool. 

“Go to hell, Gator. You don’t want me. You just don’t want anyone else to have me. You’re such a goddamn hypocrite,” you seethed, remembering all the times he pushed you away, all the hurtful words he’d said. “Look at all the other ladies in this bar. Can’t be selfish now. Got to spread yourself around, right?” 

You grabbed your purse and a hand locked around your wrist, yanking you into his chest. You gasped, looking up into eyes that had now softened, melting into warm whiskey and lush green forests. Those eyes that had fooled you, that had convinced you that maybe, just maybe, there was something worth fighting for behind that damn tough guy mask he wore. 

“Darling, go get in the fucking car.”

“No!” you protested, trying to pull away but his hold was too tight and you had no hope of breaking it.

“I’m not gonna say it again and we ain’t gonna do this here.” His arms locked around your legs, hefting you over his shoulder like a sack of Idaho potatoes.

“Gator! Put me down!” you yelled, slamming your fists into his back, kicking your feet uselessly as he strolled out of the bar and around the back. “Jesus! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” he huffed, dropping you to your feet. The minute you made a move to step away, his hands covered the brick to the sides of you, his body pressing into you, pinning you against the back of the building. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You obviously wanted my attention and now you’ve got it.”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“Oh no?” Then his hand was under your skirt again, fingers bypassing the slip of silk as if it was nothing, sliding through your slick and pressing into your heat. A moan you couldn’t have stopped if you tried escaped you and he grinned, teeth pressing into the flesh of his lower lip. “You telling me you don’t want that? How about this?” You gasped as he curled his fingers within you. “Funny. I don’t hear you protesting.”

“I hate you,” you growled, grinding down against his hand. 

“You don’t have to like me, darling, but you’re still fucking mine, you hear me? Coming in here with those tits hanging out.” His other hand dragged your shirt down, exposing you to the cool night air. His large palm covered your breast, kneading the flesh, squeezing roughly while his thumb ran over your clit, his fingers still driving you to the brink of madness. “These beautiful fucking tits are mine.” 

His head dropped, lips trying to capture yours and you snapped at him, attempting to bite. Maybe you’d fuck him but you weren’t kissing him. You were still pissed. A rumbling laugh shook his body as he tilted his head in amusement. 

“Feisty little kitty tonight, aren’t ya? Guess I’ll have to put my mouth to better use.”

Lips latched onto your nipple, sucking hard, tongue flicking over the hardened peak, and fuck, you hated him. You hated him so much but it felt so damn good. He was just so damn good at making you lose touch with reality, forgetting every single reason that he was a bad idea. Because right now he didn’t feel like a bad idea. Nothing about him felt bad because it was just too damn good. His teeth raked over your nipple and your hand flew up to cover your mouth, muffling the shriek that clawed its way up your throat.

“Uh-uh…none of that,” he ordered, dragging your hand away from your face. “I want you screaming, honey. I want you to fucking scream my name so no one ever mistakes who you belong to again.” His nose traced the line of your jaw, his fingers slamming into you punishingly while his thumb dragged over your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your legs shook, hands clinging to his shoulders, breath coming out in short, sharp gasps. “Yeah? You hate me but ain’t nobody can make you come as hard as I can. You know why? Because I’m a winner.” That nose traced up your throat until his lips were at your ear. “Now come for me, darling, and let everyone know who’s making you feel this fucking good.” 

He bit down on your earlobe and you screamed, fingers clawing at his shirt as your entire body shook with the force of the kind of orgasm only Gator had ever given you. 

Strong hands on your arms spun your body, pressing your front against the building. He hiked your skirt roughly up to your waist. You heard the clang of his belt buckle, the slide of his zipper, and then the tip of his cock was dragging over your slit. 

“Fuck…” he hissed as he pressed the tip in. “So wet and hot.”

You splayed your hands against the brick to keep your skin from rubbing up against it. Jaw dropping, eyes rolled up as he slammed into in one thrust, stretching you, filling you in the way only he could. He was so fucking thick. The first time you hadn’t been sure you could take him but take him you did and fuck if you hadn’t walked funny for a couple days after that. 

“Who does this pussy belong to?” demanded Gator, slamming into you again and again, working out his aggression. He hated having his ego threatened and you’d done exactly that earlier. When you didn’t answer, his hand wrapped around your throat, pressing your back against his front. His other hand roughly grabbed onto your breast, fingers pinching your nipple painfully, twisting as he hissed, “Don’t be a brat, not after the shit you pulled earlier. Who does this pussy belong to?”

“You,” you gasped, struggling against the lack of air as his hold on your throat tightened, fingertips pressing into your skin. 

“Who do you belong to?”

“You…Gator…you…”

He released your throat and you sucked in a large lungful of air. Fingers wrapped in your hair, pulling it into his fist, yanking as he pistoned his cock into you. You grabbed onto his thighs, eyes rolling up and into your head, completely blown out with lust and desire. 

“Yes, you’re fucking mine. Mine. Just mine,” he growled as he slammed into you over and over. “Playing fucking games, being such a little bitch. Just want to piss me off. But no more. Every inch of you is mine. No one else gets to touch this, you understand me?”

“Yes…yes…” you groaned. 

“Shit, darling, I’m gonna…” He pulled out of you, spinning you around. “Get on your fucking knees.” You dropped down, gravel digging into your skin. His hand gripped his cock, pumping it. “That’s it. Gonna take all my cum like the dirty little whore you are, aren’t ya? Open that pretty mouth for me.” With a grunt he filled your throat with his release, head dropping back. Those eyes burned into yours, watching as you swallowed him down. “That’s my girl.” 

Reaching out his hands in offering, you took them, and he guided you to your feet. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, that familiar anxiety coiling up in your stomach because you were an idiot. You were right back where you started. Giving Gator exactly what he wanted and getting nothing in return. This entire night had been nothing but a shitshow. What had you been thinking? 

“Come here, darling,” he crooned softly, pulling you into his chest, the soft and sweet side of him showing once again. “You know I want you, don’t ya?”

You looked away from him, eyes focused on the streetlight, not wanting him to see how badly you wanted that to be true. Somewhere in the plan that had been just good sex, you’d started to actually care for him and you knew you were pathetic for it. You didn’t need him to remind you.

“Hey, look at me,” urged Gator, finger pressing under your chin. “Let’s go back to my place, huh? Come spend the night with me.”

“No, that’s alright. I have to…”

“You have to what? It’s Saturday, darling. I know you ain’t got nothing to do tomorrow. You ain’t exactly the good little church girl.”

“But you’re the good little church boy.”

“I think my daddy can handle me missing one Sunday. Come on.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“I’ve been called worse things,” he laughed, smirking down at you and damn if you didn’t want to kiss him. “I know I’m an asshole but what were you thinking? You really thought I was gonna let some dickhead put his hands all over my girl?”

“And what does that mean exactly? Your girl? How many girls you got, Gator, since you unselfishly spread yourself around so much?” you demanded. 

“Last count, I only had the one. Look, I’ve been a first class prick. I know that but darling, I…damn it. Can you just come back to my place? This shit is hard for me and you know it.”

“Yeah. I do. But history has shown me nothing ever changes so why should I?”

“Because I don’t want to ever see you with anyone else. I might have to shoot the next son of a bitch who has the balls to look at you,” Gator said with a teasing smile. “I can try, okay? I’m willing to try. You willing to give me the chance to try?”

Those eyes widened, burning you straight through to your center. Damn it. You were probably insane for even considering it. You were probably going to live to regret it but you wanted it. You wanted him. You didn’t know why. He was, by all accounts, a walking red flag, glaringly telling you he would never change but you wanted to be the one. The one he wanted to change for.

“Fine. I’ll give you a try but damn it, Gator, this is the last time. If some things don’t change. If you can’t give me something real, I’m done.”

“How’s this for real?” he grinned, hands cupping your ass as his lips crashed down onto yours. 

[hypnoneghoul]

Sundown: Chapter 1

WC: 2,6k

Relationship: Pre-relationship SwissAlps

Tags: Transfeminine Mountain, AU; Cowboy!Swiss x Barmaid!Mountain, First Meeting, Fluff, Protectiveness, Discussion About Being Transgender, Transphobia  (warning for that if someone's sensitive to it), not from swiss tho he's supportive!!!

Swiss has been travelling for a while. He finally gets to a place he can rest in and meets an unique individual. He's immediately enamored.

Notes: comm for @jazz-bazz, first part of our au! ty bex <3

Read chapter 1 under the cut or on AO3.

He’s been sweating his ass off for three days before something resembling civilization has finally come along. He’s half dead, his chick is half dead, and all he wants is to get a pint of cold beer and a damn bed.

The town—barely big enough to be called such—is obviously sparsely populated. Swiss doubts it’s even inhabited at first, but the closer he gets the more signs of life he’s noticing and the hope in him grows. He leans down to pat his chick’s neck and sighs at the puff of dust coming off of her.

“Soon, girlie. I’m gonna give ya a good brush, you deserve it.” The mare nickers and the pair continue their slow walk toward the town. It doesn’t take that long for them to make their way into the shadow casted by the town’s buildings. It smells like cow’s shit, but the people obviously have more water and food than they really need, which means there is a chance Swiss and his horse will get some. If not given freely, he’ll take it, but he is tired and he hopes their visit in that place will go smoothly.

Swiss doesn’t see any heads peeking out of doors or windows to look at him, neither threateningly nor curiously, as he looks around searching for any sign that would indicate where he can find a bar. He really needs a beer.

His knees crack when he jumps down from his mare. The ground is dry and a cloud of dust arises as his boots touch it. He finds something that could be a spot for travelers’ horses and as he leaves his chick there he hopes nobody will shoot her off if he was mistaken. It’s a solid roof over a spot covered in a thick layer of straw, with buckets full of fresh looking water hanging off of wooden beams and cubes of hay under them. Inviting enough.

Swiss pulled the reins over the mare’s neck and pulled the bit out of her mouth before tying her to one of the beams by the water. He hopes she won't be too picky. “Drink, girlie, I’ll be back soon.”

He pats her on the ass on his way and walks away, heading into the adjoining building. The batwing doors’ hinges squeal loudly as Swiss walks into what indeed is a saloon. It’s nearly empty, only two men are sitting in a corner and talking quietly over drinks. Swiss scans the space and even though it’s empty, it seems nice. The men from the corner don’t acknowledge his presence, but he doesn’t crave attention this time, so it is fine by him. It’s a bit colder there than outside and he already feels some relief.

Swiss goes straight to the bar and just as he’s sitting down on one of the squeaky stools the barmaid walks out from behind a dark brown curtain hanging between the shelves. A gorgeous, tall wo…man? They are a very pretty man, if that's the case. He shrugs, though, it’s none of his business.

They are wearing a long, light green dress—a little old fashioned in style, but it’s a good piece. Little dirty-white apron covers the dress from their waist down to where their knees are under the skirt. The dress doesn’t have sleeves, only straps digging into their shoulders and going down to create a laced neckline that makes their tits look very compelling. Their hair is long and wavy, a beautiful shade of dark amber flowing down their back and over their shoulders.

Their eyes, though…oh, their eyes are what makes Swiss’ belly swoop and his mouth go even drier than it already was. Big—adorned by thick and long lashes—and in the color of the healthiest, most fresh, summer grass ever. Swiss haven’t seen grass as green in years.

“Anything to drink for you?” They ask, picking up a rag to wipe the bar. More to busy themself than because it’s dirty. If anything it’s dusted over from unuse. 

“Well, ain’t ya a pretty thing?” Swiss winks, his head tilted to the side. He knows he most definitely looks like a creep, but he can’t stop staring.

“Oh, me? Uhm–thank you?” they stutter as blush creeps up their cheeks, coloring them a light rosy pink. Gorgeous. “What…what about that drink?”

“Get me a pint of some good ole beer, sweetheart. Pretty please.” 

“Mhm,” they nod, obviously flustered, and turn to disappear behind the curtain again. Swiss sighs—he really is exhausted—as he rests his chin on his fist, his other hand scratching at his stubble. Well, more like a beard, he didn’t have much time or opportunities to take care of it, so it’s a bit unkept now.

Soon enough the bar…person returns with Swiss’ beer and hands it to him with a light smile. “There you go.”

“Thank you kindly,” he mutters, nodding, before pressing his lips against the chilly mug and tipping it back. He moans at the refreshing feeling washing over him the moment beer pours into his mouth.

“Is it that good?” the person chuckles, leaning against the wall with their hands crossed over their chest. Their beautiful, full chest and it’s–Swiss shakes his head. He ain’t seen no tits in ages but he isn’t an animal, damnit.

“Nah,” he snorts before taking another gulp. “It’s piss, but I’ve been dry as a desert, sweetheart.”

The person curls their lips into a little amused smile and turns, grabbing the rag and starting to wipe the bar again. Swiss tries to not be obvious in his staring—looking from under the rim of his hat. The stranger is so captivating, he can’t tear his eyes away. 

“Listen, I don’t mean any disrespect, sweetheart, but I’ve gotta ask–” Swiss starts after clearing his throat, but gets cut off. The other probably expected it to go that way.

“You’re the nicest person I’ve encountered in a long time,” they say with a smirk and Swiss bows his head, grinning. “Phrase your question as nicely and there’s a chance I won’t take out the revolver from under the bar and shoot your hat off.”

“Damn, sweetheart.” He recoils dramatically, raising his arms defensively. “You’re too pretty for me to offend, don’t ya worry.”

“So?”

“Are you a boy or a girl?” The question lands, but no offense shows on the person’s face. Swiss continues. “Cause if you’re a boy, then you’re the prettiest one I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen a lot—and if you’re a girl, then…well, then you’re the prettiest one of those.”

“I’m a woman, kind sir,” she laughs, fully this time, and the melodic sound of it goest through Swiss’ ears right to his heart, “you haven’t proven yourself worthy of permission to call me a girl. Yet.”

“Understood. I'd love to try and prove my worth.” He winks and lifts the mug nodding, as if in a toast. “You’re a gorgeous woman, ma’am.”

“Thank you. I do understand the confusion, though, even my own body didn’t get the memo.” She sighs, fidgeting with her hands and worrying her lip between her teeth. Swiss gets a sudden urge to gently pull it free, lest she breaks the skin and paints her mouth with blood, but he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t, they’ve just met. Swiss doesn’t know what possessed him.

“Huh, that’s so…” He mumbles, staring holes into the already rugged wood of the countertop. With the corner of his eye he sees the barmaid pull up a chair on the other side of the bar and sit on it, right before him.

“Unnatural?” she finishes for him, but her guess of his thoughts couldn’t be falser.

“No, I wanted to say it makes you unique. It’s amazing,” Swiss says—confident—looking up at her again. She is so much closer now and so many more details of her beauty are visible to the man, and if she’d let him he’d count all the golden freckles adorning her face a hundred times over.

“Oh…” she whispers. Swiss doesn’t count her freckles, but he does follow the path of a blush crawling up her cheeks. “Well, uhm, I don’t know. It doesn’t feel amazing most of the time.”

“That must be tough,” he replies, wondering. “Is it like…like you don’t feel right in your body? Like it’s not yours?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” she has no idea why she’s suddenly spilling her innermost thoughts to a stranger she has met not even half an hour prior. There is something about him, though, that makes her feel safe and maybe carries a chance of finally being understood. Even if just a bit. “And sometimes I just feel…wrong all around.”

Swiss hums in acknowledgement and leans down to his mug, swallowing down a few gulps. Once his mouth is unoccupied again, he asks, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“It’s Mountain,” the barmaid says, “but I prefer just Mounty.”

Swiss snorts at that, but immediately regrets it upon seeing Mounty’s brows furrow in confusion and her eyes fill with a tiny bit of hurt. “Sorry, sweetheart, I ain’t laughing at you! My horse’s name is Monty, that’s why!”

“Oh. Oh, okay,” she relaxes and chuckles, too, a bit embarrassed by her immediate defensiveness. “Yeah, that is funny.”

“Nice to meet you, Mounty.”

“Won’t you give me your name?” the barmaid’s eyelashes flutter and Swiss wouldn’t be able to refuse or lie to her even if he wanted to.

“Swiss, sweetheart,” he says, lifting up the mug again. “My name’s Swiss.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Swiss,” Mounty replies, her face lighting up with a soft smile, and if Swiss was standing it would make his knees buckle. Still, his insides warm up and twist and he’s never felt like that; so stupid and…vulnerable.

Swiss feels himself blush and he quickly hides behind his mug.

“Would you–” Mounty is about to ask him something, but a squeak of the doors and heavy steps interrupt her.

“Afternoon!” a stranger calls out, walking into the saloon as if it was his own ground. Swiss looks up at the barmaid and sees her tense up—her lips turn into a thin line and her brows furrow. She knows the man and she isn't fond of him in the slightest.

Swiss doesn’t like that look on her.

“Afternoon, sir,” Mounty mutters, standing up. The man doesn’t reply, just walks over and sits down by the bar next to Swiss. He is alert after Mounty’s reaction, one of his hands close to his gun.

“Get me some whiskey, girl,” the stranger grumbles, spitting the last word out like it burns his tongue, like an insult. Swiss realizes it is supposed to be one and the knot inside him tightens, this time with something resembling anger. How can someone treat such a gorgeous, brilliant and kind creature without utmost respect?

“Hey, she ain’t your girl,” Swiss hisses as Mounty disappears to get the man’s drink. He won’t sit there and pretend he is okay with what is happening right next to him. “Bark orders at your wife like that. If you even have one, it don’t seem like you’ve got a lot to offer.”

“Why do you care?” the stranger scoffs, “he’s a freak.”

One second Swiss is sitting relaxed, sipping on his beer, and then in the next he’s up with his back straight, looming over the other man and staring down at him with fire in his eyes.

“I suggest you either apologize to her when she gets back,” he growls, reaching behind himself, to his revolver, “or get out now so neither of us have to see your ugly face any more. Or else…”

“Or else what!? Ya one of them, too, hm?” the man—clearly an idiot—snarls, craning his neck to look up at Swiss, pretending to be brave. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you had no balls on you.”

“Oh, I’ve got enough balls, asshole,” Swiss laughs and that seems to hit. He pulls his revolver out from behind his belt, twists it on his finger and watches the other man hesitate about his next words. “You wanna lose yours?”

The man scoffs as if there wasn’t fear in his eyes. He’s a coward and he storms out accordingly, because it’s unlikely he knows better than to actually challenge Swiss. He doubts he knows who he was.

Just as the man disappears outside, Mounty returns with a glass of whiskey intended for him. There’s no smile on her face and her rather neutral expression turns to confusion as she sees only Swiss by the bar. “Where did he go?”

“Oh, he realized he left something at home.” Swiss shrugs, returning to his stool.

“And what would that be?”

“Respect for women,” he says with a smirk and Mounty returns it, knowing and thankful. She sits again and looks at the glass in her hand before pressing it against her lips and cringing as she tips it back to drink. “Not a fan?”

“Not at all,” she coughs and Swiss chuckles. She is adorable. “All I drink is tea.”

“Tea is good,” he says and looks into his mug—there was still some beer left. He lifts it again and silence falls for a moment.

“You really are nice to talk to,” Mounty speaks after a while. “I get called a freak and other names all the time, usually the moment I come into someone’s view. It’s nice to be treated normally, have my feelings acknowledged…and be protected. You know?”

“I can only imagine.” Swiss smiles at her fondly. It must be hard living like that. Trying to live right by yourself and offending others by simply existing, just because they are too thick-skulled. If he could, he'd sit on that creaky chair every damn day and chase off every single man who'd as much as look at Mounty wrong.

It’s quiet again, Swiss finishing up his beer and Mounty drinking her whiskey—frowning at every single sip. They have just met, but the silence is comfortable. It feels like not only did they know each other for ages, but that they have a…special connection, of a kind.

Swiss snorts at his own thoughts. He’s stupid for them, for thinking this is anything more than…than what, exactly?

“A’ight, sweetheart,” he sighs after a moment, breaking the dead silence. “I should get going, find somewhere to sleep.”

“We’ve got beds,” Mounty perks up, immediately shying away as she realizes she might’ve been a bit too enthusiastic, “if you want…”

“I’d love a bed, but I don’t have much money,” the man shrugs. He’d rip anyone off without any remorse, but not her. He’s never gotten a soft spot for someone as fast as he did for her. “And I’d rather get a place for my horse than myself.”

“And if it’d all be on the house?”

“What, like me so much already you don’t want me to leave?” Swiss laughs, winking.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Mounty scoffs, but her own wink says something else. “You’re clearly exhausted, who would I be if I let you go back on the road without a proper rest?”

“Will you at least accept my help in here and in the stables as a payment?”

“I can consider it,” she mumbles, smiling softly as she stares at Swiss through her lashes.

“Alright, then. I’ll stay, sweetheart.”

[sunflowersandsapphires]

From Bright Light

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 5

Series Masterlist             Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around. 

warnings: swearing (as always), very general descriptions of dissociation, Frank is clearly hurting and not handling things well, small descriptions of violence, last fluff chapter before angst

a/n: I am finally a few chapters ahead on both my WIPs! Hopefully I can start posting more regularly this spring/summer. As always, reblogs and comments fuel me!

w/c: 5.3k

Gritting his teeth as a rogue biker almost knocked him to the pavement, Frank ignored the man’s irritated screaming and stalked forward down the block. Despite the early hour of the morning and the lack of activity in the city, it seemed that the disgustingly high temperature had already put everyone in a mood. He certainly wasn’t a fan of the way the heat coated his skin and drew beads of sweat from his pores, soaking his freshly washed shirt all the way through before he even reached the cafe. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, but stopping at your workplace for coffee had become his new normal. And, given his deteriorating mood this week, deviating from his routine was sure to ruin his day.

So he persisted. Yanking his beanie further down on his forehead and shoving his hands into his pockets, he stared straight ahead and soldiered through the remaining few minutes in the heat before clasping his hand around the handle on the glass door, pulling on it hastily—and nearly falling to the ground when the door didn’t budge. The smirking face of your coworker Leo appeared through the tinted glass shortly after.

“Sorry about that,” The kid apologized, shoving the door open for him and stepping aside. “We technically don’t open for another hour.”

Staring at him quizzically, Frank threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Shit, I can go, if ya want. I didn’t—“

“You kidding?” Leo gave him an incredulous look. “The princess would have my head if I turned her prince away. C’mon in. I’m sure she’s expecting you.”

Rolling his shoulders, the marine straightened his spine and set his jaw, expression stuck in an embarrassed grimace. Stepping over the threshold and into the bakery, the air around him seemed to suddenly grow colder, a shiver running down his back. Glancing upwards to find the offending vent, he frowned when his eyes met a stretch of blank ceiling. Your coworker's smug voice brought his eyes back down.

“She's in the kitchen, Pete.” Though the kid wasn't meeting his gaze, Frank had the sneaking suspicion that he was trying not to laugh.

Flushing, he gave a curt nod, stepping around the counter and into the back room. It wasn't his first time past the batwing doors, but the scene felt surprisingly intimate nonetheless. Through the maze of steel tables and rows of ingredients, he found you. You were perched on a stool in the back corner, away from the dingy windows that peeked out front. Your back was turned to him, displaying the lopsided bow cinched around the waist of your dress. Spine hunched, you were gesturing wildly with one of your hands, the other holding a phone to your ear as you spoke in a hushed voice.

As the kitchen doors whooshed shut, you looked up, eyes wide like a fawn's. Giving him a tiny wave and a strained smile, you spoke with a bit more clarity.

“I gotta go, mom. I'll see you soon. Ok, bye.” Making a big show of hanging up the phone and slipping it into your apron pocket, your smile widened, finally meeting your eyes as you exhaled forcefully. Standing from the stool, you traipsed over to him, skirt swishing around your calves.

“Hey Frankie! Sorry about that,” You wrinkled your nose at the mention of the call. Finally reaching him, you wound your arms around his waist. While he normally melted into your warmth, his nerves were still on edge after the interaction with Leo—his body stiffly returning the embrace but maintaining a small, emotional distance for his own sanity.

Withdrawing from him, you frowned, brows curving inward with confusion. “Is something wrong?”

Blinking as he tried to form a coherent thought from the symphony of anxieties screeching in his brain, he shook his head. “Nah. All good.”

Narrowing your eyes, you moved away skeptically, headed for the front of the shop. “Alrighty then. Let me start a pot of coffee and—”

“D'you usually open early for me?” He blurted out, face itching as it was overtaken by his furious blush.

Your expression remained bemused as you shrugged. “Depends on when you get here, I guess. Why?“

”You shoulda told me.“ He murmured, heart pounding as your face began to fall. What he meant to say was that he didn't mean to put you out. That he had no idea why he'd been blessed with someone who was sweet enough to open her shop an hour early every day for weeks just to make him a cup of coffee. That he felt like an idiot for thinking that you were just especially slow in the mornings and not even considering that he'd been receiving special treatment. That he felt awful for interrupting your morning preparations for almost a month now because he was a sorry sack of shit who couldn't handle being restless and alone in his own apartment, so he decided to bother you every morning instead.

But all that his exhausted and anxiety-ridden mind could come up with were those four words. And his throat was so tight with emotion that they sounded gruff and angry.

Watching you swallow roughly and avert your eyes, he ached to apologize, to correct himself, to wipe that horrible expression of hurt from your beautiful face—but he was cemented in place, awaiting your response.

”I'm sorry, Frank. I saw you out there weeks ago while I was baking and I let you in without thinking. After that, I just never corrected you. I didn't want you to feel bad. I'm sorry.“

As if you'd flipped a switch, the life returned to his body, his posture sagging as you apologized. The pained expression you wore shattered his cold heart, driving him to finally explain himself.  

”Shit, no, don't be sorry, sunshine.“ He cursed, striding over to you and pulling you into a second embrace, a real one this time.

Sighing into his chest, your arms tightened instinctively around his waist as he kneaded a circle into your back with his palm. ”Are you mad?“

Resting his nose in your hair, his heart sank at the fear in your tone. ”Course not, honey. Next time I’m early, tell me to fuck off, ok?“

A few giggles burst out of you and you squeezed your arms around him one more time before pulling away. ”Not a chance, tough guy. Did you still want that coffee?”

“I mean, if it’s bein’ offered,” He shrugged, the barest hint of a smirk gracing his lips as you grinned and dashed out of the kitchen.

Grabbing a stool and yanking it across the floor, he set it next to the station you appeared to be working at. Straddling the metal seat, he studied the array of items strewn across the bench, trying to decide what you'd been working on before he arrived. Before he could decipher what half of the ingredients were, you'd returned with his coffee and a latte of your own.

Handing him the paper cup, your eyes crinkled as you smiled softly. “Here you are, sir. Your disgusting, unedited, hot black coffee.”

“Ya know, I don't think I'd get this much crap from the cafe down the street.” He scoffed, taking a sip of the scalding drink to hide his smile. “Maybe I oughta start goin' there instead.”

“That's always an option,” You shrugged, handing him a danish wrapped in thin brown paper. “But then you'd have to jump through those same hoops again to get free breakfast. Court the baristas, and all that. Whole lotta effort for someone who's already a fan favorite at another bakery.”

“Fan favorite, huh?” He tilted his head at you, poorly hiding his amusement with a raised brow.

“What can I say, Frankie? You've really grown on us. Even though you have shit taste in coffee.” You grimaced dramatically, eyes dancing with humor.

A laugh tumbled from his lips mindlessly. He shook his head before raising the danish. “Thank you. For the free breakfast.”

You responded with a clumsy curtsy. “Why, of course, sweetheart.”

“So,” Frank said around a mouthful of the danish, “What are you workin’ on?”

Beaming at him, you jumped up and down gleefully. “Eek! I’m so glad you asked. So—“ 

As you launched into an energetic dialogue about the myriad of new ingredients you were hoping to work with this week, Frank felt at ease. Somehow, your presence always seemed to have that effect, pushing away his negative thoughts and anxieties until he relaxed fully. You brought out a side of him that he’d locked away for years. Your voice was a soothing melody, washing over his head like ripples on a beach. The soldier inside him–that was constantly on high alert–was content turning away, resting while you were there to watch his back. Sighing deeply, he felt a smile creep across his face as you kneaded dough in front of him, narrating the process and answering his questions as they came. 

But, of course, the divine bubble you’d created for him was destined to pop. 

“Hey, lovebirds. We've got a line.” Striding right past you to the walk-in, your other coworker–Stacy–looked a bit exasperated with Frank’s presence, prompting him to blush sheepishly.

“Fuck, I didn’t mean to distract ya, sunshine. I’ll head out.” Standing inelegantly, and nearly bowling his stool over in the process, Frank avoided your gaze as he started to exit. 

“Oh no you don’t,” You scoffed, snatching him around the waist and burying your head against his chest. “You almost forgot your goodbye hug.”

Cradling your waist in his rough hands, he returned the embrace. “We couldn’t have that, could we?”

“Absolutely not.” You giggled, releasing him from your hold. “Have a wonderful day, Frankie. We still on for dinner tomorrow?”

“Sure, if you ain’t found better company.” He smirked at your resulting eye roll. 

“There’s no such thing, sweetheart. I’ll see you then. Take care of yourself please.”

“You too, sunshine.” He gave a limp wave, ducking his head as he braved the rush of customers out front. 

Curling his fingers tighter into their respective fists, Frank inhaled deeply as his fellow New Yorkers sped by him. The mass of bodies writhed along the city streets, blurring together as each person invaded his space, leaving as quickly as they came. 

Frank pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth to keep from retching. The amount of time spent in close proximity to strangers, even in the short walk to the restaurant, was enough to make him physically nauseous. His skin itched, the sensation flaring as each individual nearly barreled into him. 

The pinpricks of other people’s gazes dotted along his cheeks and neck, and he refrained from looking over his shoulder again to make sure he wasn’t being followed. Nostrils flaring he rounded the corner and marched down the sidewalk. His eyes were glued to the red awning attached to his destination. Just a hundred more yards. Eighty. Fifty. 

As he closed in on the building, his breathing was rapid, his muscles tense with adrenaline. He gave a stiff nod to the man holding the door and slid past him, into the overly air-conditioned restaurant. 

You’d warned him the place was uppity. A friend of a friend was the head chef, or something, and you wanted to support them during their grand opening. 

He wasn’t in the mood to be well-mannered, or consciously think about what utensil he needed to use at any given moment. And he sure as shit wasn’t in the mood to be surrounded by drunk, wealthy people complaining about the quality of their meals that cost more than a month of rent in Queens. But you’d invited him. So he came. 

He wasn’t dressed well enough. That much was made obvious by the look he got from the hostess as he stepped through the door. His dark jacket and worn jeans stood out like neon orange on a hunting trip. As he began stammering out his intentions to the uptight brunette, he heard your voice. 

“Hey Frankie!” Smiling as always, you were quite dolled up. You were wearing an ankle-length dress that he’d never seen before, and it accentuated your figure in a way he was incapable of processing in his given state. Your lips were coated in a shade of gloss darker than you normally wore, your hair styled and jewelry immaculately placed. He let his eyes roam fully over you before catching himself. 

“Shit. Sorry, honey. Hi.” He greeted, lamely. “You, uh, you look…good. Real good, sunshine.” 

Giggling, you looked at the ground bashfully. “Thank you, sweetheart. I wasn’t quite sure what to wear, to be honest.” 

“Me either.” He huffed, looking down at his clothes with a frown. 

“Well, I think you look very handsome, Frank.” You chuckled, beaming at him. 

“I’m under-dressed, I—“

“Hey,” You rested a hand on his shoulder, halting his words. “I think you’re perfectly dressed, ok? Don’t worry.” 

Narrowing your eyes slightly, you studied his face. He could feel you reading him, flipping through his metaphorical pages as you searched for the answer to your question. 

“Frankie, are you sure you want to have dinner here? I know you had a long day, and—“

Frank scratched the back of his neck. Long was an understatement.  The universe, ever determined to undermine the progress he made, had apparently decided he'd had enough peace for the month. Sleep, which had finally been coming easier for once in his sorry life, was once again escaping him. Night after night he jolted awake as the sounds of his wife's screams echoed in his ears.

Usually, his nightmares included his children too. Their disfigured bodies riddled with gore, haunting him well into his waking hours. Recently, his dreams consisted of Maria and Maria alone. Her manicured nails clawing at his chest as she choked on her own blood. Screaming for him, and sometimes at him. Because he didn't save her. He could never save her.

The disturbing imagery had compelled him to stay out of the house more often than usual, taking out his building rage on the cement and drywall of his team's current construction site. He was averaging a 12 hour work day in the hope that wearing himself out physically would force his mind to tumble into a dreamless sleep. It had yet to do anything more than accost his aging body with pain, add to the tab he was racking up at the dog boarding place currently watching Max, and make him almost late for his dinner with you.

Brushing off your concern with a shrug, he shifted his weight from foot to foot. ”'M alright, sunshine. Too hungry to turn back now.“

You smiled at his joke, leaving the space between you open for him to follow as you turned to move.

Petrified by the various stimuli his brain was trying to process, he didn’t tread after you. Giving him a once over as you stepped back, you gently pried one of his hands from his pockets, tugging him out of the doorway and towards a table in the back corner.

It was away from the windows and within sight of two exits, settling his uneasy nerves a bit. The restaurant was filling up as the minutes ticked by, but the tables were spaced far enough apart that Frank could continue to breathe. As he focused on your hand in his, and the way your eyes shone in the flickering candlelight, he could feel his stiff muscles slackening. Your soft thumb drew a line across his knuckles as you slid into the chair across from him. 

“Say the word and we’ll bail.” Your expression was adorably serious, bottom lip protruding with concern. 

“I ain’t bailin’, honey.” Frank forced a chuckle, biting back a sigh as you took his other hand across the table. “Did ya have a good day?”

Face brightening, you nodded as your smile wormed its way back onto your face. Launching into a story about a squirrel you’d saved from a busy street that morning, Frank found himself being lulled into a state of half-consciousness. Internally, his soldier instincts and logic battled fiercely, apparently too viciously for his brain to handle. After moving a mile a minute for hours, his mind had short-circuited when presented with safety. 

He wanted to lean into the comfort you always provided. 

To indulge in the stillness and feel content. 

To stop. Fucking. Fighting. 

To find a new home.

“Frankie, you ok?” Your soft question brought him back to reality.

Eyes flicking to meet yours, he tried to speak, the words catching in his tight throat. Coughing around the emotion clogging his esophagus, he nodded. “Fine. Why?”

Tilting your head, you raised one eyebrow at him. “You just seem...” You waved a hand around his face as if that would clear everything up.

“Sorry, sunshine.”

“Don't be. Did you want me to be quiet, or..?”

Shaking his head frantically, he squeezed his hand around your fingers. “No. Keep goin', honey. I like listenin' to ya.”

Biting your bottom lip, you looked at the table with a pleased hum. “Ok, well, you know our neighbor in 213B? Ms. Kaminzki?”

Nodding, he could feel his focus drifting once again, though you seemed more comfortable with the idea the second time around. You were too perceptive. It scared him sometimes, if he was being honest. He hadn't had a connection this deep since...

Before he could finish that thought, a waiter approached to ask for your order. Grateful to let you take the reins as he regained control over his frazzled mind, he watched with an amused fondness as you bonded with the newcomer over a love of root vegetables. 

Following your server’s arrival, dinner passed without incident–though you and Frank agreed that the prices were far too high for this to become a regular spot. Despite the fact that it was far from the best meal he’d ever eaten, he was happy to spend time with you.

Which is why he let you clasp your delicate fingers around his broad hand as you walked back to your apartment building. You were uncharacteristically quiet as the two of you strolled down the sidewalk. Given his actions over the last couple of hours, he wasn't in any position to scold you for being distant, but the behavior worried him slightly.

Letting his eyes drift sideways to study your face, the corner of his lips twitched upwards at your focused expression. Your face was contorted into a small scowl, pinched in a way he wasn't sure he'd ever seen before. A small, but distinctly annoyed, huff parted your lips as he watched. Clearly something was on your mind.

Bumping his hip against yours, he stifled a smile. “Ya plottin' my murder over there or somethin'?”

Nearly tripping as your concentration broke, you looked up at him sheepishly as he pulled you into his side to steady you. “Sorry, Frankie.”

“It's a'right, sunshine. Why's the cat got your tongue?”

Sighing, you stared at the cracked pavement beneath your feet, placing each step carefully so you wouldn't stumble again. “It's nothing, Frankie.”

“Fuck, you're startin' to sound like me, honey. That ain't good.” Frank frowned as you chuckled sadly. Your usual bright giggles sounded pensive and hollow.

“Just thinking.” You shrugged.

Internally groaning, he tried again. “Work with me here, darlin'. Thinkin' about what?”

Your lips quirked with a smile, lashes fluttering as you looked up at him. “Family stuff. I don't...I don't wanna bug you with it.”

“Would ya tell me if I swore I wanted to hear it?”

A glimmer of sass shone through with your smirk. “Maybe.”

Throwing a hand up to show the distance you still had to walk, he looked at you with a raised brow. “We got time. Hit me with it.”

“Fine. But know that it's stupid.” You pointed a finger at him with a stern look, inspiring a smile of his own.

Exhaling, you chewed on your lower lip between words. “Um, so I haven't told you much about my family. But they're, er...complicated. To say the least.”

Frank listened intently, squeezing your hand encouragingly when you hesitated.

“My mom and I still keep in contact but she's...difficult. She makes me kind of miserable, to be honest. But she's all I have left, so I put up with it. Unfortunately, that means she visits from time to time and I always sort of…” You trailed off, eyes becoming misty as your words failed.

“Sorta what, sunshine?” Frank prompted softly.

“Shut down, I guess?” You looked up at him, lips pursed. “Not to burden you with the details she just...she makes it really hard to not fall back into bad habits. And she's planning on coming up in a few weeks, so I was just lost in thought about it.” You gave a halfhearted chuckle.

“When's she comin'?”

“Three weeks from tomorrow.“ You whined, shaking your head. “It'll be fine, I just need to prepare for it, you know?”

“Would it help if you had company?”

Frank's question caught you off guard. “What?”

“I was wonderin' if it would help, if I was there I mean.”

Shaking your head furiously, you frowned. “Oh I can't ask you to do that, Frank–”

“Last I checked, you weren't askin'.” Frank snorted. “If ya don't want me there…”

“No Frank,” You turned to look at him earnestly. “That would be amazing! I just...you would do that for me?”

Nodding slowly, he brought his free hand up to cup your cheek. “In a heartbeat, sunshine.”

Giggling, you shook your head gravely. “What would I do without you?”

The rest of the walk back to your apartments was spent joking about things you could buy for Frank and slowly start placing around his house. You reached the front door to your building as he was finally talking you out of replacing all of his so-called “boring” glasses with vulgar mugs.

“Look, Frankie! This one is perfect for you!” You squealed, turning around your phone to reveal a poorly photoshopped white mug with the words “Moody Bitch” written on it.

“Fuck off.” Frank grumbled, strutting into the building ahead of you, not hiding his smile as you cackled gleefully.

You scrambled up the stairs after him. “Wait! I found a better one!”

“Nope. I'm done lookin' at your shitty mugs.” Fishing his keys out of his pocket, he unlatched the door, giving Max a scratch as the dog poked his head out in greeting.

“Hi, Maxie!” You cooed, your voice igniting Max's overactive tail. Crouching in front of him, you happily let him kiss your face as Frank slipped his shoes off.

“Ok bud, let her up.” Frank scolded gently as the massive canine began to tip you over in his eagerness to kiss every inch of you.

Standing with too much difficulty, you giggled as you finally managed to drag yourself upright. “Yikes. Pretend you didn't see that.”

“See what?” Frank asked, smirking.

“Thanks for a good night, Frankie. Oh, wait before we part ways for the evening...” You trailed off, shoving open your own door and dashing inside.

Still standing in his own doorway, Frank chuckled to himself as he heard you banging around in your kitchen. “Ya know, I was hoping to go to bed at some point.” He called down the hallway.

“One more second!” You called back.

Pretending to have fallen asleep against the doorframe, Frank's eyes were closed when your footsteps tread back down the hall.

“Ha ha. Very funny.” You deadpanned. “If you don't want this dessert, I can absolutely eat it myself.”

“Dessert?” Frank opened his eyes enthusiastically, accepting the plate you handed him.

The slice of whatever you'd handed him was thick and smelled of cinnamon. Its bread-like texture and swirl of filling looked painfully familiar...

“You promised to try the babka I made! So, here you go.”

Dread pooled in his stomach as his shaky hand grasped the fork you handed him. The enticing smell of the cake suddenly turned to something sinister, drawing acid up in this throat.

“I, uh...I what?” He stammered out, staring at the plate like the pastry had pulled a gun on him.

”The babka I made for Ms. Kaminzki? I mentioned it at dinner and you said you would try it for me?“ Your eyes were shining with anticipation, your tone edged with an anxiety that caused his own heart rate to spike.

His mouth remained shut, drying out as if he'd eaten a bowlful of sand. Spearing the slice of cake, he nodded as he took a small bite.

The blend of spices was something he'd tasted many times before, and he felt like someone had smashed a bottle over his head. Adrenaline surged through every vein, his hands trembling viciously. Bile was clawing up his esophagus, chills suddenly wracking his body.

“It’s great, sweetheart.” He muttered, still staring at the bread.

“Yah?” You asked eagerly, dress swirling around your ankles as you bounced on the balls of your feet.

“Mmmhmm, I love it.” Prying his eyes away from the ceramic plate he held, he glanced at you. Your face seemed to flicker, briefly—another familiar face forming a mask over your wide eyes and small smile. As his nausea suddenly became unbearable, he opened his door. ”I gotta go.“

“Oh, ok! Have a good night, Frank!” You called. He gave a limp wave.

Stepping backwards into his apartment, he locked the door behind him, chucked the pastry across his counter, and bolted to the bathroom.

Using your thumb to steady the piece of tape, you pressed it against the serrated edge of the dispenser to tear off a piece. Carefully draping the adhesive side onto the brown paper, you folded the final edge of the parchment over the babka. You couldn’t help but smile at the beautifully wrapped loaf.

All things considered, you’d been having a great week. The bakery had seen steady traffic, one of your favorite market booths had given all their regulars a huge discount on seasonal fruit, and your adorable elderly neighbor had been so thrilled about the babka you made her that she’d paid you to make one for her knitting club. Speaking of… A quick glance at the clock was enough to hurry you out the door to prevent being late.

Cradling the weighted parcel to your chest, you rushed out the door and down the steps—thanking your lucky stars that you didn’t break an ankle in your haste to make the delivery.

Ms. Kaminzki was an adorable older woman who lived on the floor below yours. You had offered to help bring her groceries in after she’d gotten hip surgery a few months ago, and the woman had been downright motherly to you ever since. She was constantly bringing you home cooked meals and complimenting your outfits, it was about time you made her something in return.

Of course, she’d tried to pay you for the first one and refused to accept a second for free—but there was only so much you could do to combat her sweet stubbornness. Which meant that this time, unfortunately, you needed to let her press a crumpled 20 dollar bill into your hand as you passed her the babka.

Accepting her cheek kisses and endless praise for your “baking talents” more readily than the cash, you ushered her into a taxi so she'd make it to her meeting on time. With the promise to visit her for dinner this week, you waved her off—nearly smacking someone behind you in the process.

“Oh fuck, I'm so—” Tilting your head as you took in the hooded figure in front of you, your brows shot up. “Frank?”

The man looked rough, to put it simply. Deep purple bruises sat under his puffy eyes, his posture hunched and face swollen around a split lip. He was avoiding your gaze, and he visibly flinched as you stepped into his space.

Straightening your fingers, you displayed your palms in a gesture of harmlessness. Though he was still curled in on himself, he met your gaze as you rested a hand on his bicep. “Sweetheart, what happened? Are you alright?”

Frank nodded curtly, recoiling from your light touch as he yanked open the door to your building. “Fine, sunshine.”

Huffing as he slipped into his old habits, you trailed after him.

“Thought we were past the whole 'pretending to be fine' shtick but, ok.” You muttered, nearly tripping over your skirt as you chased him up the stairs.

“I ain't 'pretendin' to be fine'. I am fine.” Frank snapped, not even sparing a glance at you.

“Sure,” You nodded, unbothered by his bad attitude. “Seems like it.”

Scoffing, Frank whirled around on the landing. His glower softened as he registered your furrowed brow. Deflating like a helium balloon, he flushed pink. “Sorry, sunshine. I'm just...havin' a shit day.”

“You sure it hasn't been a shit week?” You asked with narrowed eyes, hand coming up to cup his stubbled cheek. “This cut doesn't look fresh.”

Frank usually leaned into your touch as if it was the only thing keeping him together. While others made you feel self-conscious about your love of physical contact, your grumpy neighbor seemed to be as starved for it as you were.

Today, however, he remained rigid in your hold. His eyes were hollow shells, not holding the range of emotions you'd come to expect from his beautiful irises. Wherever his mind was, you were confident that it was not here with you.

Withdrawing your hand, you nodded your head toward the final flight of stairs. “C'mon, sweetheart. Up we go.”

His stare remained blank, but he followed your direction, marching up the stairs as if he was ready to drop—which, you realized, he probably was.

As he fumbled with his keys, you ambled towards your own apartment, trying not to look like you were prepared to catch him if he collapsed. As he tumbled over the threshold into his apartment, you caught a glimpse of the trash accumulating on his coffee table and counters. If you weren't worried before...

Eyes narrowing as he noticed you staring into his apartment, he gave a small wave. “Have a good night, sunshine.”

Though his words were sweet as always, his tone was flat and you weren't quite sure whether he meant what he said.

“You too, Frankie.” Before he could slip inside his apartment, you pressed a quick peck to his cheek. As your lips made contact with his scruff, one of his rough hands wrapped around the curve of your waist, squeezing gently. Smiling as you retreated, you let his hand linger on you for as long as he needed.

“I'm right next door if you need me, ok?” You promised gravely.

Finally dropping his hand, he nodded, a spark of the warmth you usually found in his expression finally igniting behind his eyes. Shoving lightly at him with an exaggerated frown, you pointed a finger at his chest.

“Go get some rest, Castle. You need it.”

He chuckled softly, finally disappearing behind the chipped white door.

Pondering for a moment, you could practically feel the cartoon light bulb pop out of your skull as the epiphany struck you. Flexing your hands in anticipation, you rushed into your apartment and beelined for your freshly washed mixing bowls.

Thanks for reading!! Please comment/reblog!

Taglist: @cheshirecat484 @xxdrixx @smhnxdiii @mattmurdocksstarlight @danzer8705 @mjsvinyl @softieekayy

[shelikescloth]

Historical Jedi Cosplay Part II

In the first part, I tried to distill down the essence of what makes a jedi outfit look like a jedi outfit. Since then, I have gotten deep into the High Republic, so I wanted to add a few illustrations of female Jedi from that project.

Avar Kriss in her everyday wear as a jedi. We have boots, pants, and three layers up top. She seems to have a wrap undershirt, a wrap tunic, and then her little pauldron/tabard thingy. And then of course her belt. She also has those armor vambraces and some kind of armor panel on her feet.

Here she is in her white-and-golds. It's essentially all the same elements but fancy (although she does seem to have the same boots). Pants, undershirt, tunic, and tabard. And then a cape on top.

Keeve Trennis has a similar arrangement in a slightly different style.

Orla Jareni is an outlier in that she wears white all the time. It seems to just be a fashion choice rather than representing anything in particular, although she is a Wayseeker and as an Umbaran has chalk white skin as well. Who knows, she's a weirdo who I love. She seems to have an undershirt with long sleeves, something that has those little tabards sticking out, an over jacket thing with the wide sleeves, and the final vest on top. But it's kind of hard to tell because they're all white.

In Phase II, taking place 150 years before Phase I, you have padawan Matty Cathley and knight Oliviah Zeveron. Padawans in the High Republic have matching under-belts to their lightsabers, but their outfits have some variation. Matty has the 3-layer combo of undershirt, tunic, and tabard. Oliviah does too.

Master Silandra Sho has a little more variance, with her draping belt and short batwing tunic. Since the white stuff on her arms is wrappings, I imagine the white on her chest might just be sort of a scarf or kerchief, but it could be a sleeveless undertunic.

Gella Nattai has a cool gold chest plate sort of thing under her tabard:

Barash Silvain favors a lighter palette, and also has a cool cape skirt thingy:

Overall, it seems like the Jedi had a much more unified look in their golden age, and not just in the temple robes. In the prequel era, it seems like some jedi just wear their normal robes all the time, while some might have a somewhat fancier version for formal occasions

[cha0s-boyy]

here have some of the "human ocs i never post about" (some info about them under the cut :3)

[ID: digital drawings of six human characters in a simple lineless style. 1. a very tall, thin man with very pale skin, straight gray hair, and pale blue eyes. his hair is short on the sides and slightly longer and messy on top, and he has 5'oclock shadow. he has thick eyebrows and a scar on his cheek and nose. he is wearing oval-shaped glasses, and a black priest's cassock with a white collar. he is standing with one hand raised, and has a neutral expression. 2. a tall, broad-shouldered man with tan skin and straight black hair. his hair is medium length and is parted on his right. he is wearing black sunglasses and a black suit. he has a neutral expression. 3. a mid-height, thin person with brown skin, straight black hair, and brown eyes. they have no notable bust. their hair is short and spiky. they are wearing black eye makeup, and have several ear piercings, including dangly cross earrings. they are wearing a black spiked collar, a black off-the-shoulder batwing sweater, a gray rosary worn like a necklace, a black belt with D-rings all around it, black pants with lace-up sides, and black platform boots with buckles on the sides. they have one hand on their hip and have their mouth pushed to one side. 4. a small thin girl with fair skin, straight blond hair, and hazel eyes. her hair is shoulder-length, and is parted in the middle and otherwise unstyled. she has freckles on her cheeks and nose, and her front teeth stick out. she is wearing a brownish backwards baseball cap, an oversized dull green shirt that is half tucked in, a brown belt, oversized brownish pants, and faded red sneakers. she has one fist raised and she is smiling. 5. a tall, stocky woman with fair skin, straight light brown hair, and light brown eyes. she has a small bust. her hair is tied in a pony tail, except for a few strands on her forehead. she is wearing a white shirt with red sleeves, black athletic shorts, and red and turquoise running shoes. she has one hand on her hip and the other arm is raised in a flex, and she is smiling. 6. a short, fat woman with dark tan skin, curled brown hair, and dark brown eyes. she has a moderate bust. her hair is parted on her left, and is straight on top but is styled into fluffy curls farther down, so that her hair looks shoulder-length. she is wearing oversized glasses, gold clips in her hair, a patterned orange tie-front cropped button-up, a darker orange skirt, a belt with a large gold buckle, white knee-high socks, and orange and brown platform heels. she is holding an orange purse in one hand, and she is smiling. /end ID]

ok so these characters are supposed to be in a kind of paranormal horror story but it's kinda turned more into an action-comedy with a mystery background =_= i'll try and bring it back but we'll see

for the characters! we have: father killian, who is the worst priest ever. sucks at christian doctrine but what he IS good at is building illegal and ethically dubious custom weaponry and fighting vampires and demons and werewolves with it. the vatican hates him. agent john smith, who works for the government and that is pretty much his entire personality. he's not married to his work; he IS his work. doesn't consider himself a person but rather an extension of the united states government and its interests. rajani, who is goth and likes to cause problems and be difficult. will NOT just give you a straight answer to the damn question. figure it out. 🖕 darby, who is an 11-year-old tomboy who hangs out in a group of troublemaker boys whose hobbies include kicking cans and owning slingshots. her parents wanted her to be some sort of high-class socialite but they instead got an androgynous delinquent who only wears clothes 3 sizes too big for her. wyn, who is a jock. stereotypically strong but not the brightest. she's got a good heart tho. her full name is wynifred but she goes by wyn because it sounds like win and that is what she likes to do. sherla, who is an amateur sleuth and likes to dress like it's the 1970s. she wants to find The Truth and Proof and all that. her current job is babysitting but ideally she'll make her way into something like investigative journalism. people underestimate her because she's fat and feminine, but she is capable of doing hard work and getting her hands dirty.

[justsomerandomfanfic]

At The Bar - Indiana Jones X Female Reader

Title: At The Bar

Indiana Jones X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Partygoers (Mentioned), Brody (Mentioned), and Franklin Boyd (OC) (Mentioned)

Requested by Anon!

WC: 1,904

Warnings: Reader wears a dress, Reader's hair is long enough to be put up, Reader wears heels, parties, bar mentioned, alcohol, slight suggestiveness, Franklin the misogynist, nervousness, anxiety, teasing, taunting, yelling, fighting, assault, unwanted attention/flirting, name-calling (nothing bad but unwanted as mentioned previously), slight angst, and fluff

You smoothed down the red wine velvet dress as you looked at yourself in the mirror. You turned your head side to side as you admired your hair. You did your best by putting it up in a low bun, the stray hairs framing your face. You smiled at your appearance in the mirror. The dress you had chosen showed off all of your curves nicely. It had half-batwing sleeves, flowing at the middle of your upper arm. The neckline was low, but not too low, the fabric crossing over on itself so it didn’t show anything scandalous. The skirt of the dress cut off right at your calves, leaving the rest of your legs bare. Along with your stockings, you had on your black ankle strap heels. 

You looked amazing, beyond amazing even. Your outfit could easily fit you well into any high society event that you could ever dream of attending. If anything, you were dressed to impress. You just hoped that tonight wouldn’t be one of those nights where you would have to sit through a boring dinner or a small talk about politics. You were only going to an event at the museum Indiana worked with. You didn't really care for parties, but this event was important to him. And you were happy to help. Even though you didn’t want to attend. 

Flinching in surprise as a pair of arms wrapped around you, you smiled looking up and back into the mirror to see Indiana standing behind you. His chest pressed firmly against yours as he peered at you through the mirror. “Looking good.” He whispered in your ear, his lips brushing against your earlobe. A shiver ran down your spine, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. “So beautiful.” He kissed your cheek before moving away from you. “Ready?” He asked you, wrapping his arm around your waist as he led you out of the room. 

You let out a small sigh, smiling up at him, “As I’ll ever be.”

~~~

The large conference room was decorated with white marble table tops, gold vases filled with pink rose petals, and tall glass chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The long banquet hall that stretched out the length of the building was decorated with red silk and gold accents. The tables and chairs set out around the room were polished silver and had red satin cushions on them.You figured they only used them for special events. You stood next to Indiana, admiring the decorations as more people arrived. Some of the older women gave you little smiles of recognition while others ignored you completely. That was just how some of them were. You felt a bit of nervousness seep into you, as you knew how these types of events could make you feel. You never had been a big fan of large parties or any type of social gathering. Not only because they didn't interest you in any way, but because they scared you. The fear of being judged and ridiculed by everyone else always came along with them.

Indiana's hand around your waist tightened a tad, gaining your attention. You looked up at him as he gave you a small smile and gestured to the dance floor with a nod of his head. "Want to dance?" He asked, letting go of your waist and extending his hand towards you.

You nodded shyly and took his hand gently. "Sure." You replied as you laced your fingers between his. "Just one dance. You know how terrible I am at the Waltz." You joked as he led you to the dance floor.

He chuckled quietly as you began dancing to the slow music of the jazz band. "Oh, believe me, I know." He teased as he pulled you closer into his body. "That's why I suggested we take classes together." 

You shook your head quickly as you stared into his eyes. "To stop me from embarrassing you?" You mused as Indiana simply shook his head.

He glanced around the room, if you didn’t know any better you would’ve thought he looked nervous, "No, I do that to myself already." He teased, before continuing, "I just thought it would be a nice activity to do with each other. You know, spend more time together." He shrugged slightly, looking back down at you. "Minus all our adventures."

You hummed, leaning up on your toes to press a kiss to Indiana's lips, "That does sound tempting." You continued to dance, "I'll think about it."

Indiana grinned, leaning down to press a kiss on your forehead, "That's my girl." He enthused before twirling you out and back into his arm, making you laugh.

As the music ended, the small dancing crowd turned to the band to applaud before Indiana led you to the bar. You lent against it as Indiana glanced around the room, finding Brody waving him over. Indiana turned back to you, "I'm going to speak with Brody. Buy yourself a drink, I'll be right back." He said, his hands brushing your waist as he left you at the bar. You watched him go, taking in how amazing he looked in that suit of his. 

You couldn’t help but stare. You felt your cheeks flush when he turned back around, smirking and winking at you before he disappeared into the crowd again. Sighing dreamily, you turned to the bar, waved the bartender down, and ordered yourself a drink. As you waited, you felt a presence beside you, side-glancing you found a man beside you, flagging the bartender down before he turned to you. You tapped your foot anxiously, praying that the man wouldn't talk to you and would just mind his own business and leave you be.

"Hello..."

You inwardly sighed, you spoke too late. Deciding to be civil, you glanced at the man with a smile before turning back to the bar. Maybe he’d get the hint.

"Hello, I'm Franklin. Franklin Boyd." He introduced himself, offering his hand to you.

You turned, mentally curing to yourself. This Franklin character was tall, but not as tall as Indiana. He had dark black hair, but not the brown hair you admired on Indiana. And Franklin had blue eyes, not the sweet chocolatey brown as Indiana's. He seemed nice, but even if you weren’t dating Indiana, you wouldn’t have been interested. "I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you." You went to shake his hand only for this… Franklin to take your hand and press a kiss to your knuckles; surprising you.

"Wonderful name, very fitting for you. So, can I buy you a drink?" He offered you another smile.

Your stomach swirled with nerves, unsure of what to say. "Uh, heh… No, sorry. I already have one." You spoke, just in time for your drink to be placed in front of you.

"How about I buy you a second drink, darling." He asked, leaning his side against the bar, giving you a once-over as he smirked.

You mentally cringed, almost feeling queasy, "No, thank you." You politely declined, grabbing the small glass of your liquor of choice, and taking a sip.

Franklin's smirk turned into a frown, his blue eyes glinting with annoyance. He leaned forward, placing a hand on the counter between the two of you. "Look, I don't like it when girls refuse my advances. They shouldn't be allowed to." He told you, anger leaking into his voice.

You rolled your eyes. Great, he was one of those. You placed your drink down, turning to the man, "Listen, I don't know what your issue is, but I'm not interested. If you want to get with someone then you need to work past whatever it is you're trying to do here. Chivalry isn't dead, so work on yours." You finished, turning back to the bar.

"Hey! Don't turn your back on me!" Franklin called after you, grabbing onto your wrist tightly. Turning you around. You tried to pull your hand away from his grip, but he refused to let go. "How dare you speak to me like that! Do you think that I won't make you regret it if you continue to disrespect me? Now listen here-"

You watched as Indiana placed a hand on Franklin's shoulder, squeezing tightly in a warning. You had totally missed when he walked over, you mind racing, heart fiercely beating, and you had only what you would call tunnel-vision. Indiana's eyes were dark, his features hard as he glared at Franklin. You had never seen him like that. "Let her go." He growled, voice deep and menacing.

Franklin scoffed, "Like hell I will. She disrespected me!" 

You watched as Indiana's knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on the man. "And you're disrespecting not only me but my wife. So, if you want to keep your job, Mr. Boyd. I would advise you to let go of her before I report you to the head of the council." Indiana threatened as you watched Franklin's face grow pale.

As fast as lightning, Franklin dropped your wrist, before speed-walking away. You sighed, taking your wrist in your hand, and rubbing it gently. Indiana sighed, stepping closer to you. He gently raised his hands, taking your wrist in his as he examined it. His gaze moved from your wrist to your eyes. "Are you okay?" He asked, his tone soft and caring.

You nodded, letting out a sigh of relief, "You called me your wife.”

Indiana paused, eyes widening slightly, “Uh… I did?” He asked and you nodded. You watched as he ran a hand through his hair, letting out a sigh. “Uh, I’m sorry about that. Must’ve slipped out.” His cheeks reddened slightly.

“No, it’s alright, Indy.” You spoke, your heart racing for an entirely different reason now. “It was… Sweet.” Indiana nodded, before you spoke again, answering his question. “I’m alright, by the way.”

Indiana pursed his lips, glaring at the ground. "He should've never laid his hands on you," Indiana spoke, voice deep but the tone still soft. "If he did anything els-"

"But he didn't." You interrupted him, maneuvering your hands to intertwine your fingers with his, making him look up, "If he had, I would've kicked him right where the sun don’t shine." You smirked, giving him a wink.

Indiana smiled, giving your hands a gentle squeeze. "Well, I suppose that would have made things quite interesting." He said with a chuckle, before leaning down to press a soft kiss on your lips. You closed your eyes and sighed contently at the feeling of his warm lips pressed against yours. His arms came around your waist pulling you into his embrace, as his free hand moved behind your back bringing your body flush against his own as the other stayed on your waist. Pulling back, you let out another happy sigh, looking up at Indiana with a shy smile.

"How about," Indiana began, licking his lips, "How about we go home? I've already spoken with Brody. No other real reason to stay here." He explained with a smirk, leading you away from the bar.

You laughed, nodding. "Yes please, Indiana." You said as you both started heading out of the party. "I'd like nothing better than to go home and cuddle with you."

"Good." Was all he responded, before pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.

You giggled as you wrapped your hand tighter around his.

[thecursedprince]

Monster High Draculaura Doll, Vampire Heart in Extravagant Black Ballgown with Elegant Headpiece and Accessories

$100

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BYBDLP33?

All hail The Vampire Queen! Draculaura Vampire Heart doll looks like she’s stepped right out of a dark fairytale in her gore-geously gothic gown.

Awestruck gasps will fill the vampire court as their undead queen Draculaura descends the ballroom staircase with a black train draped behind her like a shadow.

Her breathtaking look features a lacy white bodysuit, a satin bustier bodice with sheer puff sleeves, a cut-out cage skirt with hand-tacked ruffles at the hem, and pink “pearl” embellishments.

Heart-shaped bangs curl above smokey eyes with rooted lashes, while face-framing braids show off her chandelier earrings and twist around an elaborate batwing headpiece

Draculaura doll’s majestic look is complete with ornate lace-sculpted shoes that have a bat-topped spiral staircase at the heels.

With a doll stand and deluxe, displayable packaging, Draculaura Vampire Heart doll makes a fangtastic gift. She’s the skulltimate edition to any Monster High collection.

[winchester-girl67]

Don’t Say A Word (Part 12)

Summary: Y/N goes undercover as Auburn and Sam brings her back to the warehouse to set up a meeting with the boss. Little does he know, an unexpected visitor is awaiting their arrival.

Masterlist

Pairing: Bodyguard!Dean x reader

Word Count: 2,006

Warnings: language, angst, mistaken identity, kidnapping, reader held against her will, restrained reader, arguing, pining, jealously, slow burn, scary situation, fluff if you squint

A/N: Here we go again... 

_____

You checked your makeup in the mirror one last time. The woman staring back at you is almost unrecognizable, but only because she wasn’t you, not really. You never looked more like Auburn than right now.

“It’s all you.” You told your reflection, watching her lips move in sync. Though you still had a hard time believing it was yourself.

You looked like Auburn's character from her best selling cult films. The character she typically dressed as during film premieres or interviews and since that was the cover Sam had come up with; snagging you from backstage of an interview, you had to look the part.

You wore a long sleeved mini dress that was so low cut you had to tape it into place on your breasts and heels higher than anything you'd worn before. You couldn't fathom how Auburn did stunts in costume without falling down or flashing someone.

Your lips were painted blood red and the batwing eyeliner really made your Y/E/C eyes pop. The blush you wore defined cheekbones you never knew you had and a teased black wig finished off the look.

"Dean, what do you think?" Asked the cheery redhead, Charlie, who Sam had sent over to do your makeup.

Charlie dragged you away from the bathroom mirror and into the next room where Dean sat watching a continuation episode to that soap opera from the other day. He took a double look at you and stood up, disregarding the TV. His green eyes slowly trailing down your body and lingering on your legs. You tugged the hem on the dress down and shifted uncomfortably.

"She looks hot, right?" Charlie commented, fixing the neckline of your dress one last time.

"It'll do." Was all Dean said as he cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his jeans pockets.

A knock came from the front door of the cabin and Charlie went to answer it, leaving you and Dean alone. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, knowing if you were to chew either of your lips, you'd have to reapply your lipstick and check your teeth.

"Is there anything I can say to talk you out of this?" Dean asked, swallowing his pride as his eyes met yours.

You shook your head.

You were pleasantly surprised at his self control not to stare at your chest, which was practically on full display. Of course, Auburn's movies just had to be about vampires, scantily clad women and shirtless men.

You hadn't spoken after your fight the night before and neither one of you brought it up now. Focusing on the new task at hand, passing as Auburn without getting yourself killed.

"I want you to wear this," Dean said, stepping closer and scanning your outfit for a place to hide a small tracking device, but not finding a single crease to put it in.

You laughed at his embarrassment and took the chip from him. You watched the heat creep into his cheeks and his eyes dart away when you hiked up the side of your dress. You tucked the chip into the waistband of your panties and smoothed out the hem. Luckily, Charlie had given you some stretchy short shorts to wear over them that helped keep it in place without tape.

"I guess this means you're still gonna be my safety net after all?" You asked, chewing on your cheek again and fixing the skirt of your dress.

You were nervous and sure you felt safe with Sam by your side, but Dean had a sort of protective quality about him. Like he wouldn't stop at anything to keep you out of harm's way, even if he didn't like you. So, it felt good to have him back on your side, even if you knew he rather you didn't go at all.

"What can I say? I'm a sucker for a girl in... polyester." He smirked and you noticed some crinkles around his eyes that you never saw before. Freckles, too.

"You like the wig, huh?" You teased, making sure it was still in place.

"The wig's alright, but that wasn't what I was talking about, princess." He said, his eyes shifting down at your dress for a quick second and his tongue peeking between his lips.

"Didn't know you had a thing for Auburn, too. She has a boyfriend, you know." You informed, shaking your head with your hands on your hips.

It made sense, everyone was attracted to her and you were partially convinced that Sam had only kissed you because you resembled his childhood crush. But, for some reason or another, you thought Dean was different.

"Who said anything about Auburn?" Dean asked, raising his brow and locking you in his gaze.

"You're being weird," you commented on his change in attitude. You expected him to be much more hostile since he wasn't a fan of this whole plan in the first place. "I don't like it."

"Figured you might give me a kiss for luck if I was nice to you." He shrugged with a lopsided grin.

There it was. A subtle jab at you kissing his brother yesterday because he was nice to you. That wasn't the whole reason you kissed Sam back and he knew it. But you were flustered and you didn't explain yourself well, not that Dean gave you a chance to before jumping down your throat.

"You had to ruin it, didn't you? Jerk." You snapped, squinting your eyes at him. "Besides, you're on the sidelines, I'm the one that needs the luck."

"Not with me in panties, you don't." He continued his crude teasing, noting how you grew increasingly annoyed and flustered.

"Wow," you gasped with wide eyes and half a mind to throw the tracker back in his face.

Instead, you settled on ignoring him and glanced towards the door where Charlie was talking to Sam. Sam caught your eye and gawked, cutting his conversation short and making his way over to you.

"Charlie, excellent work. There's no doubt in my mind, nobody will recognize the difference." Sam complimented, very obviously checking you out.

"Is all of this really necessary though? I mean Ketch didn't make me before." You questioned, pulling the hem of your dress down again while holding it in place on your breasts. It was both too high and too low no matter what you did and you sighed.

"I told you. When Ketch wanted to set up a meeting with the boss, he needed a picture of you and I knew Roman wouldn't fall for it. He's a pretty big fan apparently. And now, other than height, which isn't that noticeable, you pass with flying colours." Sam smiled, sizing you up again, clearly seeing the resemblance now and not bothering to hide his attraction to you.

"Roman?" You repeated.

"Dick Roman, we haven't been able to connect him to all of this yet, but we've had our eye on him for a while." Sam explained. "We have an inkling that he's behind all of this, certainly has enough money to organize it all and after today we'll know for sure."

"Well, my job is done here. Sam, you owe me a beer when you close this case." Charlie said, checking her work one last time before bouncing out the door with a wave.

You figured she was too chipper to be FBI and Sam explained that she was an old friend from a previous case of his. She was a local makeup artist and even worked on a couple of sets with Auburn.

"You ready?" Sam asked.

"Last chance to back out," Dean added, noticing the shake in your knees.

"Let's get this over with. Then, I get to go home, take a really long, hot shower and curl up in my own bed." You sighed at the thought, trying to make yourself feel better.

_____

The ride back felt shorter and before you knew it, you were parked on the street before the warehouse, letting Sam blindfold and cuff you with zip ties. He needed it to look like you weren't coming willingly and pulled back onto the road.

The second thoughts came a little late as Sam parked the SUV inside of the warehouse. He patted your leg reassuringly before shushing you and exiting the vehicle. You could hear him speak with Ketch right outside your door but you couldn't make out any words. Your heart beating too wildly in order to hear past the thick glass window.

Then someone opened your door. A palm, you could tell was Sam's by the mere size of it, grasped your bicep to help you down and onto your heels. You took comfort in that, he was keeping his word, keeping you close, keeping you safe.

"I don't think we need this anymore," said a man that you didn't recognize the voice of as you felt the blindfold slip away. Your breath caught in your throat when you came face-to-face with a man with scheming eyes and short brown hair. "Hello, Miss Rose. It's a pleasure to finally meet your acquaintance." Did he just bow? You had a bad feeling. "Name's Roman, but sweet-thing like you, can call me Dick."

You risked a glance at Sam, who gripped your arm a little tighter, letting you know this wasn't the plan and he was feeling just as out of place. You weren't a cult renowned actress, but you knew how to fake it and you'd lived with Auburn long enough to know that she was bold and fearless.

"Funny, I was gonna call you that anyways, Dick." You said, Sam digging his fingernails into your arm as a warning not to escalate things. But you continued, "I expected you to be... taller."

"You shouldn't have been expecting me at all." Dick smiled creepily, his cheeks dimpling and making him appear even more menacing.

"I-I." Fuck. Why did you say that? Sam's grip tightened even more. "I overheard Ketch talking about you last time, before I escaped."

"I suppose you know Mason here too?" Dick questioned, finding the whole thing amusing by the grin plastered on his face. You pressed your lips together, trying to avoid saying anything else incredibly stupid. "In hindsight, I should've had you brought directly to me the first time. I think you'll be very happy with where I'm going to take you. It's much fancier than this place and you can change into something more comfortable."

Shit. That meant he would probably want you to wash the makeup off too.

"So, you're a pretty big fan?" You tested and quipped, "If you wanted an autograph, you could've just asked."

"The biggest, my dear. You complete me." Dick confessed, taking your tied hands in his and kissing the back of one. "But I want to get to know the woman behind the mask."

He gripped the hair of your wig and pulled it off. Your Y/H/C hair tumbling out of the net and down against your shoulders. You bit your lip when he brushed a lock behind your ear and gave you a suspicious look.

"Huh, that's odd." He commented, brushing your hair back some more. "What happened to that cute little beauty mark you had here?"

He touched a spot on your neck below your ear. You'd forgotten all about Auburn's beauty mark; it was a staple of hers, though it was usually covered by the wig. Only the most obsessed fans knew about it.

"I had it removed." You lied, holding your breath and risking a glance up at him. His face uncomfortably close to yours.

"Hm, that's a shame." Dick hummed, rubbing the sensitive spot once more before waving to Ketch.

Ketch grabbed you away from Sam, blindfolding you again. The next thing you knew, you were shoved into the back seat of a running car. Hearing the driver’s door slam shut and Sam have words with Ketch outside as their raised voices got further and further away.

_________________________

A/N: Let’s have a little fun, if someone can guess which 80′s horror icon Auburn Rose is based off of, I will release another chapter!

A/N: Read part 13 here

_________________________ 
 Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @laycblack @thoughts-and-funnies @mrsjenniferwinchester @crustycheeks @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @lyarr24 @suckitands33  @eliwinchester99 @yvonneeeee @igotmajordaddyissues @djs8891

Forever SPN: @hobby27

Don't Say A Word: @lacilou @mlovesstories @spn730015 @hunni-bunny @ria132love @fmstafford  @spideysimpossiblegirl @houseforwhores @siospins2 @globetrotter28 @nt-multi-fandom @maggiegirl17 @iprobablyshipit91 @tigergirllolipop @stoneyggirl2 @mimaria420 @muhahaha303

[telekinetictrait]

@hauntedtrait’s thirty-one day lookbook challenge – day four: any alt subculture

we’re hanging out with corpses and driving in this hearse, and someone save my soul, tonight, please save my soul!

in order, outfits are inspired by stereotypically: grunge, goth, punk, and emo fashions

the black and red color scheme was an accident lol ! also for the grunge sweater i just put the simlish/ea nirvana mtv unplugged graphic from simdertalia’s rock band posters on marigold’s lace sweater (search “lacesweater” and you’ll find it). since i made it for myself i didn’t upload it but if you want it feel free to let me know and ill put it up !!

cc used under the cut!!

spcc’s miss murder eyeliner / r0ach3z emo kid gloves / kismet-sims death valley jeans / dallasgirl’s mosh boots / zombietrait’s connor hair / vampyre-sims’ damned eyeshadow / evazetta’s batwing eyeliner / zombietrait’s destroya blush / renthony’s vampire bites / myfawnwysimblr’s double spiked choker / deathpoke1qa’s nancy rosary / dreambot’s cute thing top / kamiiri’s cordelia skirt / trillyke’s na-ra torn tights / sadlydulcet’s goth-ish boots / ohwiepowie’s only a little bruised bruises / evellsims’ complicated top / trillyke’s chae-won fishnet gloves / dissia’s mandy garter (tsr download) / evellsims’ monster truck shoes / renlishsims’ hard days night eyeliner / qicc’s ghost necklace / marsosims’ chon-le top / elliekobrakid’s revenge gloves (tsr download) / bloodmooncc’s lacuna jeans / corporeal-ish’s scene scribble sneaks 

thanks to @simdertalia @sunflower-petals @kismet-sims @dallasgirl79 @zombietrait @vampyre-sims @renthony @myfawnwysimblr @deathpoke1qa @dreambot @kamiiri @trillyke @sadlydulcet @evellsims @renlishsims @qicc @marsosims @bloodmooncc @mmoutfitters 

[turnstileskyline]

nine inch nails (vampire) son or bikini kill (vampire) daughter. (click for higher quality!)

heres my take on the vatore siblings!! i tried to keep them mostly true to form in general but a) the ea hairs were ugly, b) caleb got gayer. not sure how, and c) i made lilith a bit buffer because i love her 

not available to download bc idk how to do that lol sorry. (p.s, i’m in the very early process of setting up a sideblog for my sims stuff, so find any future stuff at @telekinetictrait )

cc links and creator tags under the cut!

all –

my resources list can be found HERE / missrubybird’s aqua trigger muted unnatural eyes / confettiberry’s historian cas background (’wilde’ swatch) / mosaica’s arctic pink cas lighting

caleb –

all: s4simomo’s isamo hair / rheallsims’ stoic hairline / eco lifestyle septum / moonlitefalls’ help quija palm tattoos (blog deactivated, linked through mmoutfitters) / satterly’s paired poses / helgatisha’s male poses 11

everyday: base game eyeshadow / base game eyeliner / vampires single earring / zeussim’s lavendel top / barbieaiden’s transparent shirt accessory (post deleted, linked through maxismatchccworld) / vampires leather pants / vampires heeled boots

formal: base game eyeshadow / base game eyeliner / base game earrings / marysims’ thomas top / vampires lace floral gloves / pleyita’s subtle basic trousers / base game shoes

athletic: base game top / outdoor retreat cropped pants / cottage living shoes

sleep: kismet-sims’ head like a hole top / base game pajama pants / outdoor retreat socks

party: vampyre-sims’ damned eyehadow / base game eyeliner / vampires single earring / zeussim’s ditlev top / raggedy-rat’s lonnie skirt / ridgeport’s mynx tights / vampires heeled boots

swim: joliebean’s yukari hat / zeussim’s vladdy daddy sunglasses / kismet-sims’ americas suitehearts tank / base game trunks

hot weather: base game eyeliner / vampires single earring / realm of magic ripped tank / ceeproductions’ archive straight leg denim jeans / nolan-sims’ fully armed fatigue boots 

cold weather: base game eyeshadow / base game eyeliner / vampires single earring / discover university layered jacket with shirt / barbieaiden’s coco skirt (post deleted, linked through maxismatchccworld) / base game calf socks / vampires short heeled shoes with spats

lilith –

all: marysims’ roxy hair / bloodmoon’s nihil nose chain / saruin’s moth tattoo / someone-elsa’s basic posepack 4 / helgatisha’s vicious vampires poses

everyday: base game eyeshadow / evazetta’s batwing eyeliner / teanmoon’s cameo choker / base game cowl neck tank top / myfawnysimblr’s snake arm cuff conversion / zeussim’s letha pants / bellassims’ orion boots

formal: base game eyeshadow / base game eyeliner / realm of magic suit jacket top / cottage living pleated trousers / ridgeport’s mynx tights / cottage living lace up heeled boots

athletic: base game spaghetti strap tank top / discover university hand wrap / discover university short athletic shorts / base game ankle socks / discover university plain sneakers

sleep: serenity-cc’s eloise top / serenity-cc’s celia bra / pigeonhome’s boxers (post deleted, linked through mmoutfitters) / base game knee-high socks

party: base game eyeshadow / evazetta’s batwing eyeliner / myfawnysimblr’s double spiker choker conversion / evellsims’ nihilist blues top / evellsims’ nihilist blues gloves / evellsims’ join me in death pants / vampires heeled boots

swim: seasons sunhat / base game aviators (i think?) / aharris00britney + ayoshi’s nicole swimsuit 

hot weather: ts4eve’s batwing sunglasses / aharris00britney + ayoshi + dogsill’s aaliyah top / realm of magic lace-up shorts / base game chuck taylor inspired sneakers

cold weather: base game eyeshadow / evazetta’s batwing eyeliner / cloudcat’s no halo choker / dreambot’s cute thing top / softerhaze’s harmony boyfriend jeans / base game lace-up winter boots

thank you to @missrubybird @confettiberry @mosaica @rheallsim @satterlly @helgatisha @zeussim @barbieaiden @ms-marysims @pleyita @kismet-sims @vampyre-sims @raggedy-rat @ridgeport @joliebean @ceeproductions @nolan-sims @bloodmooncc @saruin @someone-elsa @evazetta @teanmoon @myfawnwysimblr @bellassims @serenity-cc @pigeonplays @evellsims @aharris00britney @ayoshi @ts4eve @dogsill @cloudcat @dreambot and @softerhaze !!!!

[witchcrash]

IF YOU INSIST !!!

💃🍷🌕🍄🐺🗡️

The Yellowjackets' first inaugural "Doomcoming" takes place approximately 5 months into their disappearance, as rations & morale run scant & winter's chill creeps closer.

Back in civilization, Homecoming festivities are underway, so the girls plan a rager of their own. Under the full Hunter's moon, they'll don the dresses they packed for the National Championships' Awards Dinner all those lifetimes ago & get tanked on jars of berries that Mari tried to preserve but inadvertently fermented.

It's all very exciting.

Cass never planned on going to prom or anything like it ; the National Championship was their swansong to high school -- so they packed accordingly.

The dress is a Cassandra Carnes creation, at least in part. It was a gently battered evening gown from a vintage store -- velvet bodice, taffeta skirt -- modified to perfection in the distant, dreamlike comfort of the Brewster's Wiskayok basement.

The bodice's neckline was reimagined into a cold shoulder & de - re - constructed at the sides -- all with the help of grommets & black silk ribbons. She restructured the skirt to bubble out just above her knees and drape from the sides down the back. Black lace was the primary addition, as a batwing cape & as a dripping, floor length underskirt.

In preparation for Doomcoming, she makes a matching veil out of lace curtains scavenged from the cabin, boiled with iris roots & walnut husks. The result ( not quite black under direct light, but at the very least aubergine ) is interwoven with dark feathers she'd been collecting & set with a comb made from raven's wing bones.

They wear the one pair of platform boots they'd brought & indulge in a full face of makeup for the first time since before the crash.

( Casualties include: her last Wet n' Wild kohl pencil, used up lining her eyes & lips ; her glow-in-the-dark disposable lighter, used up on the kohl pencil ; her favorite lavender shimmer, used up in thick blocks of eyeshadow & as an augmentation to her pressed powder. Their eyebrow gel & knockoff Vamp lipstick live to fight another day. )

While the lower half of the dress is irreparably damaged over the course of the night, Cass eventually rehabilitates it into a shorter, intentionally tattered skirt. The dress is still hanging in the back of their closet to this day, sealed safely in a plastic garment bag.

[batbunlore]

[ID: a panel of several designs of the same character, a blasé looking girl with pink hair, a sweat, skirt, and goth platform shoes. She also has fake bunny ears and a batbunny plushie in the back, giving the impression she has batwings and a devil's tail when it is the bunny's. Some drawings are rougher than the others, some in black and white, some are different color palette tests, all in violet, red, and black tones. end ID]

Chara design sketches... but for what? It is a Mystery....

I have to make some tests, i'll talk to you about it soon!

[chicinsilk]

Vogue Paris August 1971 ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

designed by Karl Lagerfeld, a black crepe mini-dress by Bini, with a white crepe bib by Bini; bias skirt, long sleeves with batwing armholes. Wide elastic grosgrain waistband in black. Chloe. Maxandre tights.

Model unidentified

Coiffure Jean-Louis David

Photo Jeanloup Sieff

archive vogue