#american horror story hotel cortez

[ifuckinglovefingerlingpotatoes]

[saintlucretia]

Wrong Company For A Teenage Girl

Pairings: James Patrick March x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence. Death. Mentions of rape. Attempted rape. Alcohol. Smoking. Blood. Murder. Gore. The one and only James Patrick March.

Summary: Y/N is meeting Mr. March who wants her to become his protégé.

A/N: You can read this as a prequel to Melancholy Of A Sinner or as an independent work.

I wasn’t planning to kill him. It's not that I haven't thought about it though. But it still was an accident. It was his fault, not mine.

He was almost begging to be killed. I mean, I saw it in his eyes. Anyway, he should have watched his mouth. And hands. It’s not my fault that he was a jerk. You can’t harass a girl and think there would be no consequences.

So there I was, standing in the hotel room with a knife in my hands and the dead body of my brother on the floor. We weren’t blood-related though. I had never known my real parents. I never really had a family. So I guess it’s not a big deal that I killed him. The world should say ‘thank you’ because I rid it of such a bastard.

He looked pretty dead, but I decided to check his pulse in advance. I stepped closer and bent over the body. Dark blood was still flowing pulsatingly from the wound, where I stabbed him, right into the throat. It looked fascinating. He wasn’t breathing. I watched his face for a few seconds and spit on it. He died too quickly. Maybe I should have cut out his tongue while he was still alive? It would be symbolic. Or perhaps I should have chopped off his arms? It would probably satisfy me. 

I leaned closer and plunged the knife into his chest with both of my hands. I pressed it with my whole body and the knife went into his solar plexus with a squelch. There was no actual sense, I just wanted to pierce this motherfucker once again. I took a few steps away from his body. Masterpiece. 

“If you wanted to reach his heart, you should have struck a little to the right.” A deep voice behind me said, making me jump in place. I quickly turned around and saw a man, dressed like he just walked out of the black-and-white movie. 

The man smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile. “I am impressed.” He said as his eyes scanned my body “You handled this whole situation quite well for a little girl like you.”

I felt myself shaking a little, as I looked him up and down. Pale skin, black hair, a pencil mustache, perfectly ironed clothes. And this odd accent. He didn’t seem like a cop.

“Who are you?” I demanded, taking a step back.

“My name is James March, I own this hotel.” He smiled charmingly, stepping closer. “And can I know the name of the lady?”

I swallowed hard. I didn’t want to tell him my name. How the hell did he enter? He was tall, towering above me, but it wasn’t his height that made me nervous, it was his eyes. They were dark and intense, like two pools of cold black water. No, I can’t go to jail.

“It was an accident, sir, I swear.” I managed to mumble weakly glancing at the body. “I was so scared-”

“Oh, don’t act coy, I saw the whole scene. You shoved the dagger into his throat with animalistic hunger.” He was enjoying himself. I felt my body tense up at his words. It sounded like he relished in my violence like he was admiring a great work of art.

“You’re sick,” I said, more to myself than to him.

He laughed, a deep, booming sound that echoed in the empty room. “Oh, darling, I don’t think you are in a situation to say that. Look at you, you are head to toe covered in blood.”

I looked down at my body. My clothes were stained with drops of red, blood made my hands sticky. 

“What do you want from me?” I asked, almost whimpering. Maybe a fake hysteria could convince him of my innocence.

He took another step closer, and I could smell his scent. It was a mix of tobacco and something else, something unfamiliar, masculine, and intoxicating. I felt dizzy.

“No need to be scared, darling,” He said in a low, soothing voice. “I want to help you.”

“Help me? Why?” I watched him intently.

“Because I appreciate great work.” He nodded toward the dead body. “There is nothing to be ashamed of, that pathetic parody of a man deserved such fate.” 

“You think it was a great work?” I asked, my voice a bit trembling. It wasn’t fear, it was shock.

“Indeed.” He chuckled softly. “Now, let’s clean the mess.” 

He whistled and in a few moments, a maid walked into the room. “Did you call me, sir?”

“Please, Ms. Evers, get rid of the body, while I am taking care of our guest,” said James, gently taking me by my shoulders and pushing me toward the door.

He led me out of the room with a firm grip. I was too stunned to protest.

I stumbled after him, my knees trembling like jelly. The hotel hallway was deserted. The sound of our footsteps echoed between the walls.

“Where are you taking me?” I croaked, finally finding my voice.

“Room, where we can discuss the whole situation. You don’t have to worry, darling, I have no intention of hurting you.” 

I wanted to believe him, he sounded convincing. I had nowhere to go anyway. Maybe it wasn’t that bad.

I followed him meekly as he led me through the elegant corridors of the hotel. The silence was deafening. Well, at least they didn’t call the cops. Probably, Cortez had a reputation as a killer-hotel for a reason.

Finally, we arrived at the room and James opened the door. He ushered me inside.

“Please sit down, darling,” He said gesturing toward the armchair, as he closed the door.

The room was spacious and luxurious, with dark red walls and a large four-poster bed covered with silky black-and-silver bedding. It was filled with vintage furniture. Quiet jazz music was coming out of the record player. I sat down, feeling small and insignificant. 

James walked over to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of whiskey. “How old are you, exactly?”

“Eighteen,” I answered slowly, gaining confidence.

“Ah, you truly are a miracle. Such a fire in a fragile body. You are ravishing, my dear.”

I glanced at the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. My blood-stained “AC/DC” t-shirt and jean shorts made my reflection look comic in such a luxurious atmosphere. 

James smiled, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. “Are you... uncomfortable?”

I clutched the fabric of my shorts nervously, feeling self-conscious. “I should change my clothes-”

"Don't be silly, darling. You look just fine." He purred, pulling out a cigar. 

“What is going to happen?” I asked, carefully looking around the room. I spotted a little knife on the desk. Envelope opener. Bingo. 

“I want to talk with you. It’s rare to meet such a person. You intrigue me.” He answered, giving me a charming smile. He looked like a sick pervert. Handsome and gentle, but yet.

“Can I have a glass of water?” I tried to sound pitiful.

“Of course.” James walked to a small table in the far corner of the room, turning his back to me.

I silently rose from my chair. My sneakers didn't make a sound on the terry carpet. I took a few steps and reached for the knife on a desk already turning to return to my seat. I grabbed the knife and hid it behind my back. My heart was pounding in my chest as I quickly settled back in my chair. 

James turned around, a glass of water in his hand, and walked toward me. He handed me a glass and took a seat in front of me.

He leaned back in his armchair, and took a sip of his whiskey, watching me intently. He didn't say a word, he just watched me. 

"Have you ever killed anyone before?" he asked finally, breaking the silence.

“No.”

"So it’s your first time. My congratulations." He chuckled, his eyes scanning me again. “And so eager to kill again, hm?”

“What-”

“Darling, I saw you taking the knife. I’m not stupid.” He smiled, taking a drag of his cigar.

I tensed, my heart rate increasing as he called me out. I gripped the envelope opener tightly in my hand, feeling a pang of panic.

"I..." I began, trying to come up with a lie. “I’m scared…”

James chuckled and took another sip of his whiskey.

"You are incredible," he said, his eyes never leaving my face. "Such talent of manipulation in a fragile little body. I think you are just the right one."

I swallowed hard, looking down. He was smarter than I expected.

“Right one?” I repeated.

James nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Yes, my dear. I have a... proposition for you."

He leaned forward in his seat, his gaze unwavering.

"You have a certain talent, darling. A talent that needs to be nurtured, not wasted. You can become a legend." He continued. “In your tiny little heart, you know, you are a killer.”

James' eyes glistened with excitement, and I could feel the intensity of his gaze. There was something dark and dangerous in how he looked at me.

"Did you enjoy it?" He asked, his voice low and almost intimate. "Did you enjoy the thrill of watching the life drain from his eyes?"

I glanced at him. His voice was hypnotizing. I nodded carefully, I didn’t want to admit it out loud. James chuckled, noticing my reaction.

"Yes, you did," he said, sipping his whiskey. "But let me ask you this, darling, do you feel like it’s not enough?"

He leaned forward again, his eyes fixing me. James smiled as if he had seen something in my gaze.

"Yes, darling," He said, his voice soft and soothing. "It's never enough, is it? The first killing gave you satisfaction for a few moments, but the adrenaline and the rush faded quickly."

He leaned back in his chair and took a deep drag on his cigar. I felt a chill run down my spine. How could he know so much? I kept my eyes fixed on the floor, feeling exposed and vulnerable.

“How can you know that I felt that way?” I whispered.

“Because you are just like me.”  There was something in the way he said it that made me shiver. I slowly looked up, meeting his gaze.

"Like you?" I repeated, not sure I wanted to hear the answer.

James chuckled.

"Yes, darling, just like me," he said, his voice low and sultry. "We both have a taste for violence and destruction."

He stood up and walked over to me, looking down at me with a dark smile. I felt intimidated by his proximity, but I didn't move. I kept my eyes firmly on his, trying not to show my nervousness. 

“I had it all once. Fortune, fame. But nothing satisfied.” He placed his hand on the back of my chair. “But I found a way to stimulate. It's rather an odd one, but… exhilarating. Murder.”

I could smell the whiskey and cigar smoke on his breath. I felt trapped, yet his words sounded intriguing.

“How many people have you killed?” I asked.

“More than you would believe, darling.” James chuckled, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. “I began my career in early 20’s-”

“How is that possible?” I interrupted him.

“Well, dear, technically I am not alive. A ghost, if you prefer.”

I frowned.

“I was forced to end my life in 1930, due to problems with the police and since that day I am a spirit of this fine establishment.”

I was too tired to argue. But I suddenly remembered something.

“Wait…  are you saying you are The 10 Commandment killer?” 

He smiled. “I’m flattered that you heard about me.” 

Of course, it was him. That's why he seemed so odd. I read a few articles about him in high school. James Patrick March. A notorious serial killer, who lived in the Golden Age of American crime. Dubbed 'The 10 Commandment Killer' because he killed his victims on the basis of the Ten Commandments, as a form of destruction of religion. Extremely wealthy and charismatic, a true psychopath.

For some reason, he didn’t seem dangerous. I was alone in the room with the ghost of a serial killer, yet I had never felt safer in my whole life. Sign of a really shitty life.

“What exactly do you want from me?” I asked, my voice low and uncertain.

He chuckled again, clearly enjoying the effect his words had on me.

 "If you heard about me, you probably heard that I unfortunately hadn’t finished my… work." He took another drag on his cigar, blowing out a cloud of smoke. The room was filled with the heavy scent of it. “And I’ve spent the whole time after my death, finding a protege.”

“You are telling me that in almost a hundred years you couldn’t find anyone better than me?” I looked up at him skeptically. 

“You remind me of myself when I was your age." He smiled. “Very feisty… Returning to your question. Of course, I had my amount of successors, but they are no longer with us. So now the place is vacant.” He chuckled.

“Are you trying to...recruit me?” I asked, feeling a mixture of confusion and curiosity. 

James puffed on his cigar, contemplating my question. He looked like a living, breathing enigma, a shade of the past. It was hard to believe that he was a ghost. But it was James Patrick March, no doubt.

“Not exactly. Think of it as a...mentorship.”

I frowned, processing his words. 

“Mentorship?” I asked.

“I offer you my unique knowledge. If you are worried about money, I can provide you with anything you might need. Food, clothes, equipment, pocket money.” He circled my chair, hands behind his back. “It would be better if you lived here, in one of the rooms, but if you insist, I can consider you living outside.”

“I am an orphan. I have a small bag of belongings and 60 bucks. Your offer sounds more than just good for me.”

James smiled with a satisfied smile.

“Good.” He walked back to his seat and settled back into it, looking at me intently. “You wouldn't survive for long out there in the cold, cruel world. You should be here, under my... protection.”

I shifted in my seat, still on edge. But his words made sense. I had no one who would even look for me. And staying here sounded like a dream, a much better alternative to the streets or some dirty motel with bed bugs and men ready to have fun with young meat. Also, he already spared me from hiding the body. That’s a great start. He seemed pretty nice.

I relaxed a little, the fear subsiding. I looked at him, trying to appear calm and composed.

"So you want to mentor me…" I said slowly. "Teach me to be a killer like you. Finish your work."

James chuckled, sipping his whiskey.

"That is correct, my dear. I will guide you and show you the way. I have plenty of experiences to share.”

I nodded, feeling a strange excitement bubbling up inside me. 

“So, darling, tell me. Men or women?”  James asked, boring his gaze into me.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “What?”

He chuckled. “No need to become so tensed up. I meant killings. With whom would you like to start? Or do you have no preferences?”

I frowned, feeling stupid and hoping he didn’t notice my confusion. 

“No need to feel flustered, dear. It’s a simple question.”

“Men.”

He smirked. “Why?”

I shrugged, struggling to find words “I don’t know. Feels like they are more… They usually deserve this.” 

James leaned back in his chair, a smile playing on his lips. 

“You are surprisingly observant, young lady,” he said, swirling his glass of whiskey. “Men tend to underestimate the threat of younger women. It is a common mistake, one that can prove to be quite lethal. Especially when dealing with you."

I met his gaze, not sure if I should be pleased or concerned by his words.

"You make me sound like some sort of dangerous predator," I said.

James chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. "Oh, you are, darling. You just haven't realized it yet."

“It was self-defense.” I reminded him in a harsh tone.

“Of course, dear. You had no other choice. I understand.”

James' voice was smooth, soothing even. It was hard to tell if he was being sincere or sarcastic. 

"You are a survivor. Don't be ashamed of it." He continued, his eyes never leaving my face. “Be proud.”

"Proud," I repeated, testing the word on my lips.

Suddenly someone knocked on the door.

“Excuse me.” James stood up and went to the door. I also got up to see who could come this late. It was the maid that was supposed to get rid of the body. She looked somewhat nervous, keeping her gaze low, focused on the floor. I could see her hands trembling a little.

"What is it?" He asked, his voice calm and carefree.

“Everything is done, sir.”

“Great. Now tell me, do we have any loner male guests on this floor?” By his tone, it was obvious that he was excited. 

“There is a middle-aged gentleman in room 70. Probably waiting for his mistress.” 

“Thank you, Ms. Evers, you are free to go.” James chuckled and turned to me. “Time for your first lesson, darling.” He walked to the wooden drawer and opened it. I watched him pull out different objects from the drawer and lay them on the table. There were a few knives, a couple of sets of keys, some tools, a bottle of liquid, and a black leather bag.

“Come here, dear,” James said, gesturing to the table.

I approached him, feeling a sudden mixture of excitement and nervousness. He looked at the tools on the table and then back at me. 

“Pick one.”

I looked down at the table, my eyes flickering over the assortment of tools. For a moment, I considered the small knife, its blade glistening in the dim light. But then I spotted something else that caught my attention.

"What about this one?" I asked, picking up a black stiletto. 

James chuckled. “Ah, I see you have a taste for the more elegant weapons. Good choice.”

I examined the stiletto, feeling its weight in my hands. It was a beautiful weapon, slender and deadly.

"Now, let me show you something." James picked up the black leather bag and undid the strap, revealing a collection of small glass bottles.

“What’s that?”

"Tools of the trade." He smirked, “This one is chloroform, it works wonders with the weaker types.” March picked up a bottle of clear colorless liquid and placed it in my hand. I studied it carefully.

“And other bottles?”

“This one is a sedative. It has a much swifter effect than chloroform. And this one,” He picked up a small blue bottle, “is a mixture of drugs. A perfect choice for heavier sleep.” 

“But be careful with it," He added, “Use too much and you might end up with a very dead man before the fun even starts.”

He looked me up and down “Do you have clean clothes with you? I'm afraid our friend from room 70 won't be happy if he sees you covered in blood sooner than we want him to.”

I shook my head. I only had a few pairs of spare underwear with me. I remembered that my bag was still in that room.

“I need to take my bag-”

“Worry not, my dear, Ms. Evers will bring you everything you might need.” He suddenly stopped and looked me up and down. “How tall are you?” 

“About 5’4.”

“That’s just great.” 

I stood there confused but didn’t ask any questions. I just stared at him stupidly. Probably women threw themselves at his feet when he was alive.

March walked to the door and shouted. “Ms. Evers!”

In a couple of seconds, the maid appeared in the doorway again. She didn’t look annoyed or tired, it looked like she was very glad to please him. 

“Bring a set of clean clothes for our young friend here. And her bag. You will find something suitable in Elizabeth’s old dresses.”

The maid glanced at me, her look seemed contemptuous to me. Then she nodded and quickly vanished behind the door.

I stood there, a little flustered by the whole situation. 

“Who is Elizabeth?” I asked James.

“My wife.” He answered, his smile faltered.

“Oh…” I said, not sure if I should say something else. That was unexpected. 

“Don’t worry, darling,” James said, his voice back to its usual cheerful tone. “You’ll look wonderful in her things. Much better than the current generation girls.”

Huh.

I said nothing and just waited for the maid to return. The silence wasn’t awkward though, rather soothing.

In a few minutes, the maid returned with my stuff. Quick.

“The young lady's belongings.” She said, her hands trembling slightly as she handed me my bag and a pile of folded clothes. 

“Thank you, Ms. Evers,” James said, dismissing her with a nod. The maid gave me one last glance and left.

“You should try them on, darling,” James said, pointing to a half-ajar door, suggesting a bathroom behind it.

I closed the door behind me and inspected my clothes. It was an old-fashioned black dress, mid-length. 

I took off my clothes, washed blood stains from my skin, and slipped into the dress. It was a little tight in the hips and was loose on top. His wife had great boobs. Despite the old-fashioned look, it was actually very flattering. It hugged my figure in all the right places, showing off my, well, curves. The black color gave it a touch of elegance. I twirled in front of the mirror feeling a little silly and excited at the same time. 

I fixed my makeup with tissues. My eyeliner was smudged, so it looked like smokey eyes. I looked like a young rich socialite, except instead of Gucci shoes I was wearing red Vans.

I smiled at my reflection, feeling the adrenaline rush. I looked damn good in this dress. I was a predator. At least I felt like it. 

I opened the bathroom door and stepped out, seeing James still sitting in the armchair. His eyes fixed on me as I walked out.

I saw his gaze wandering all over my body, as though trying to memorize every inch of it. I wasn’t sure if I should feel creeped out or flattered.

“You look marvelous, my dear,” he said, standing up. “Ready for the hunt?”

I nodded, feeling my heart beating faster. I was ready. Ready to prove myself to him, to show that I wasn't some scared little girl who happened to kill someone. I was wild. I was dangerous. I was a hunter too.

I took the stiletto and folded it. 

“You’re going to do just fine. Shall we go and make our friend acquaintance?” He chuckled, extending his hand to me. I took it.  The touch of his cold dead skin felt strangely reassuring. 

We walked down the long corridor in silence. I could still feel the adrenaline rushing through me, making my hands tremble slightly. Maybe I was dreaming? It could be a dream. A nice dream.

“You have complete freedom of action, darling. Now we are just testing your abilities. And don’t even think about feeling guilty, good people never stay in Cortez.”

Finishing the sentence, he suddenly disappeared. I looked around, finding myself in front of door number 70. With the stiletto hidden in my palm, I raised my other hand and knocked on the door.

A few moments passed, and then I heard footsteps inside. My heart skipped a beat. I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I was standing outside an unknown man's room in an evening dress. 

Seconds later, the door slowly opened, revealing a middle-aged man standing in the doorway. He was tall and quite attractive to my surprise. He looked like a stereotype of an “older guy” from Pinterest.

“How can I help you?” he asked, looking me up and down.

I put on a polite smile and looked up at the man, trying to hide my nerves. “Good evening, sir. I'm terribly sorry to bother you so late in the night, but I seem to be having some trouble. May I come in for a moment?”

The man looked at me for a few moments, his eyes wandering over my figure in the tight dress. I could see his mind working to make a decision. Probably not a typical sight in this hotel.

“Of course,” he finally answered, stepping back to let me in. “Are you alright?”

“Someone was following me, I was so scared…” I said with a trembling voice, entering the room.

The man led me into the room and closed the door behind him.

"That's terrible," he said, sounding sympathetic. "Can I offer you a drink?"

I smiled.

"It would be lovely, thank you." 

The man poured us both a glass of whiskey and handed me a drink. I could sense his eyes fixed on me as I took the glass. 

“Please sit down,” he said, gesturing to the coach. “Can I know your name, love?”

“Myranda,” I answered taking a sip. I had no idea why I chose this name.

“You alone here, Myranda?” He looked me up and down, his gaze lingering on my exposed legs.

“Yes, unfortunately,” I answered. “My friends ditched me at the last moment.”

“It can be very unsafe in a place like this, especially for a young girl.”

I pretended to look worried at his words.

"Yes, I know. That's why I'm so glad I ran into you," I said, my voice slightly trembling. "I was so terrified."

To my surprise, he looked worried. “I can call you a cab or give you some money. Do you have someone to walk you home?” I was almost taken aback by the genuine concern in his voice. It wasn't what I expected. I shook my head.

“No, it's fine,” I answered, giving him a small smile. “I just need a place to rest for a bit. You know... to calm my nerves. Thank you.”

“Of course, you can stay here for as long as you need.”

"You're being so kind to me." I smiled gratefully, taking another sip of whiskey. It was burning my throat, but I kept a straight face. 

“My daughter is about your age, I know it can be harsh to be a young girl, love.”

His words brought back memories of my stepfather. I hoped he was burning in hell.

"Your daughter is lucky to have you," I said, my voice a bit more emotional this time. God, how should I kill him? He is just a good man.

He looked a bit surprised to hear the suddenly emotional tone in my voice.

"Oh, thank you," he answered, a look of sadness passing across his face momentarily. "We don’t see each other too often now."

He smiled sadly, taking another sip of his drink. "How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?" 

“I’m 18.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprise in his eyes.

"Only 18? That's even more reason for you to be careful, love."

He got up from his chair and walked over to the minibar, refilling his glass.

I can’t kill him. I can’t kill him. I can’t kill him.

I bit my lip, watching as he topped up his drink. He was probably a good person, a decent man. That thought was driving me crazy. 

I could just leave, walk out of the room, and pretend none of this ever happened. James would probably be mad. I couldn’t kill him, not now, not after he had been so nice to me. 

“Can I ask you something?” I asked quietly, my voice a little shaky.

He looked up at me, his eyes meeting mine for a moment before he took a seat next to me on the coach. 

“Of course, love. You can ask me anything.”

I took a deep breath, trying to sound as natural as possible.

“I don't mean to be rude, but... why are you here alone? You don't have a wife or something?”

His expression darkened slightly, a sad smile appearing on his face.

“Ah, my wife…” he said quietly, taking a sip of his drink. “We've been divorced for quite some time now. It wasn't a good marriage, to be honest.”

He looked at me and smiled again, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"You know how it is, love. People change, they grow apart. Though I miss having someone to love me."

I nodded. 

“Can I use the bathroom?” 

“Of course.”

He pointed to a door on the other end of the room.

I smiled, standing up and walking towards the bathroom. As soon as I closed the door behind me, I leaned against the cold surface, taking a deep breath.

How the hell was I going to do this?

I glanced around the bathroom, my eyes scanning the small space. My gaze landed on the mirror above the sink. I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection - a young girl pretending to be a femme fatale, wearing a ridiculous black dress and holding a stiletto. Maybe I was in a coma? Maybe I was dead? I hoped so.

I felt dizzy. I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face, trying to clear my head. But the reality of the situation was still there, mocking me cruelly. 

"I can't do this," I whispered to my reflection. "I'll go insane." I already was. 

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heartbeat. I looked at my reflection again, the cold water dripping down my face. It was my own face staring back at me, but it felt like I was looking at a stranger.

I will walk out and pretend it never happened. I took one last glance at the cold stiletto in my hand, then quickly hid it in the tight sleeve of the dress. I felt nauseous for no reason. My legs felt bubbly. I took another deep breath before walking out of the bathroom, forcing a smile on my face. 

As I walked out the room was empty. I froze for a moment, looking around the room. The man was nowhere to be seen. 

Before I managed to turn around something grabbed me from behind. I let out a gasp, startled by the sudden movement. A hand covered my mouth, muffling any sound I was about to make. A strong arm wrapped around my waist, holding me firmly in place. 

“Be quiet, love.”

The man's voice was a quiet hiss in my ear, his breath hot against my neck. I could feel his body pressed against mine, trapping me completely. What the fuck?

I tried to struggle, but it was useless. Alcohol made me weak, or maybe he mixed something in my drink. Anyway, he was much bigger and stronger than me. I let out a muffled scream against his hand, which was still covering my mouth.

“You better stop fighting or I will have to hurt you,”

I whined. Stupid stupid stupid. I never hated myself more in my life. I started crying. 

He pushed me roughly. My face pressed into the bed. I felt his weight on my back. 

“Please,” I begged.

“Shut up. You think you can walk to the man during the night dressed like the slut and drink here with no consequences?”

I managed to pull out the knife out of my sleeve, but he was faster, grabbing my hand, and making me drop the weapon. 

“What a bitch you are.”

He unzipped my dress. I regretted that I pulled out the knife in front of him, I should have stuck it into my throat. He wouldn't have time to stop me. That way, at least I wouldn’t have to suffer. I shut my eyes.

In a second I heard the sound of flesh being pierced. I felt something hot and wet on my back. Blood. The grip on my body loosened and I immediately turned around. 

James was standing there with a dagger in his hands. The man was lying dead on the floor. I felt so relieved that I couldn’t even say a word.

“You alright, darling?”

I nodded, my body trembling. He helped me to get up. 

“It’s okay. You did quite well for the first time, don’t worry, you are safe now.”

My legs seemed to refuse to hold my weight, my knees buckled and I almost fell. James’ hand wrapped around my waist, supporting me.

"He seemed nice," I whispered. 

“Well, don’t let fool yourself next time. Won’t you?”

I shook my head. 

“What now?” I mumbled, my voice still shaking. I guess I was in shock.

I leaned against him, my head resting on his chest. 

“You should rest.”

I nodded. I felt like I might pass out at any moment.

“Okay," I whispered. “I guess I failed the first task.”

James chuckled softly, his hand caressing my head. 

"Don't be too hard on yourself, dear, everyone can feel hesitation," he said gently. "You did well, considering the circumstances. You'll get another chance. There are plenty of men here."

He walked me out of the room. I followed him without a word, still clinging to him for support. The corridor outside the room was quiet, the only sound was the hum of the air conditioning.

“Just remember to never drink anything from others, okay?” 

“Mhm,” I mumbled as we walked into another guest room.  It wasn't as luxurious as his room, but I would be grateful even for a storeroom.

“You can stay here. I promise it’s safe. Ms. Evers will bring you anything you might need.”

I nodded, still feeling quite shaken. I sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to steady my breathing. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, darling,” he replied, taking a seat next to me on the bed.

“You watched me in his room...” I began, my voice quiet and a little shaky. “Why didn’t you step in sooner? You could have saved me from the beginning.”

"Well, I wanted you to have a chance to save yourself. You had chances, darling. Just remember this: never let your guard down. Always be prepared, even when you're surrounded by comfort. It's a harsh world, but you should be harsher."

I nodded slowly, understanding his words.

"I won't make the same mistake again," I said remembering the eyes of the dead man.

My mind was slowly drifting away from me. I laid on my back. Everything was spinning. He planted a gentle kiss on my forehead.

“Sleep well.” The last thing I heard before falling into the darkness.

I hope you enjoyed! Have a nice day/night <3

A/N: I am thinking about making this a series, but I dunno yet.

tags: @jazz-berry , @madmagicalheathen , @dustypastelrose

let me know if you want to be tagged in the next works!!

[ladyxgaga]

New outtakes: Lady Gaga as The Countess on American Horror Story: Hotel (2015)

[repomyheart]

I'll never get over JPM to be honest. Just, never. I've never wanted a fictional character more. Ever.

[vizjpmdose]

The IT girls of the Cortez.

[evanpetersbf]

JPM nation rise it’s his month

[reallizzie]

Just want to remind y’all that it’s the Hotel Cortez’s birthday today! (August 23)🖤🥀

[misscherrys-world]

❀The Countess have (used to have) a cat. Change my mind.

[hoe4kai]

𝑰𝒎 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓, 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒑𝒊𝒅.

𝑷𝒖𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉, 𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒆𝒙𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈

๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛

☠︎......𝑨 𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒈𝒓𝒊𝒑 𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒂𝒔 𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒉𝒆 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒔 𝒈𝒐, 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒍𝒚, 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒍 𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒚𝒔𝒔.....☠︎

๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛๛

𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒏...𝑨𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒆𝒕 𝒔𝒐 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒅

𝑱𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒉 - 𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 5 (𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒍) 𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 8 (𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒚𝒑𝒔𝒆)

[d0llfaac3]

DEVILS NIGHT

Pairing: James Patrick March x wife!reader

Warnings: not proofread!, smut, unprotected P in V, nipple play, fingering, oral sex m!receiving,use of ‘good girl’, V slapping, dirty talk, murders, blood, kidnapping (none to reader) mentions of other famous killers and their crimes, James being completely pussy whipped for you, 18+, MDNI, below the cut!

Word count: 1,452

You would talk to Liz and Iris allot, like nearly all the time, part of your daily routine, Liz would talk about her son, Doug, while Iris would talk about pop culture drama and about her son, Donovan.

It was devils night tonight, which meant the biggest party of the year, at least for James and his..friends, some of the worst, most horrible serial killers in all of America, the guest list was a crazy crazy thing, consisting of.. John Wayne Gacy, Aileen Wuornos, Jeffery Dahmer, Richard Ramirez, The Zodiac Killer and don’t forget John Lowe.

As it was your husband, James’ birthday today..you would have to bring his breakfast up to him in your shared hotel room, you made him the breakfast you would have made him 80 something years ago..While you two were alive.. your little cooking magazines you would buy called ‘American Cookery’, you would make him Coffee, shredded wheat and hot milk, it’s what was said in the breakfasts for business men and women..so you made him that, mixed with a little bowl of his favourite fruits, grapefruit, strawberries and bananas.

“Breakfast is ready sweetheart” you say as you shut the hotel room door with your foot, walking over to your shared bed, He’s half naked, he would only sleep in his pyjama pants, he was half asleep when you came in, his usual gelled hair, an absolute mess, you where still in your nightgown and dressing gown for goodness sake.

“I could never have wished for a better lover, darling” he says, in his sleepy morning voice, he’s quite cute in the morning for a man who’s killed hundreds of people, can’t say much. So have you.

He put the tray on the nightstand and smiles at you, opening his arms, one thing James would never admit is: he’s a cuddler at night, especially in the morning, his big arms wrapped around you and he smiles. “My beautiful girl” he says as he kisses your forehead.

“Jamie” you giggle in response, his face in your neck as he gently kissed and sucked on the skin, in certain places making you moan a bit.

“Mmm I could just have you as my birthday breakfast” he says, kissing down your neck and shoulder as he slipped your dressing gown off, making you giggle and always feel special around him.

“Mmm make love to me handsome” you say as he captures your lips in his, his hand sliding down your back to grope your ass through your nightgown, the fabric of the skirt moving against his fingers, you could already feel the soaking pool in your panties.

“God I love that laugh” he says as he takes your dressing gown off, throwing it to the side, then pulling down your nightgown at the front, so your tits spill out, causing you to blush and hide your face.

You could already feel him getting rock hard under you, funny thing is, ghosts can be dead but still have human emotions, it’s strange..but that also means the anatomy stays the same, you two had been dead since 1929 and still getting turned on by each other, been married in 1925.

“You know” You say as you kiss him. “It’s been nearly 100 years since we met..we met when..1924?” You say as your lips graze his.

He smiles into the kiss, his fingers sliding down you thighs, feeling your underwear. He smirks. “My word I am a lucky man..” making you whine a small bit.

His fingers trace the wet patch in your panties and you groan against his neck. “Mhm let it out, be a good girl for me” he whispers in your ears as his fingers hook the sides of your panties, pulling them down, the cool breeze hitting your pussy lips making you groan through the cold air of the room.

“Fuck you’re so wet aren’t you darling? This is what I do to you huh? You like when I’m all over you?, good girl” He pulled his hand away from your pussy and spanked it, he loved spanking your pussy with his hand, he thought it was just so..erotic the way you would writhe next to him as he knew he was in control..that’s what he loved, control.

You were so horny already, you could barley form words, only little whines and moans. “Shh baby it’s okay you’re doing so good” he says as he kisses your neck, his fingers grazing your pussy lips, his wet fingers gently touching your clit making you shut your eyes and bite your lip.

“Just..fuck me already!” You whine as you arch your back against him, he just gave you a soft laugh. “Mhmm baby, you wanna suck me off first? You look so good blowing me” he says as he grips your boobs, twisting your nipples in his fingers.

You could only nod in response to your husbands words, pulling his pyjama pants down and pulling his boxers down, giggling as his cock sprung up, she was always so excited to give him head, so eager. “Always so eager my love” he says as he touched your hair gently as he smiled at you.

You giggled as you licked a thick stripe up his cock making him let out a soft breath, he leaned back on the bed and got comfortable, you knew how to please him, you two have only been married ninety seven years…

When your mouth touched his tip he knew he wasn’t going to last long in your mouth, your hot mouth wrapped around his thick cock was something he adored for the past years, his cock hitting the back of your throat was an unforgettable experience..

His big hand pressed right against the back of your head, pressing your mouth further onto his cock, he gently started thrusting his hips up to your face, his cock now fucking your mouth.

He felt close so he tapped your cheek. “C’mon sweetie, I’m close” he says as he taps his cock against your lips, turning you around so your ass is up in the air. “Ready Darling?” He says as his hands grab your hips from behind.

He slides his cock between your wet folds, your body arching to get a better angle, He grabs a fistful of your hair pulling your hair back towards him as he fucks you.

Small mumbles of “yes” and “harder” slip out of your mouth as you two become closer and closer by the second, James had been coming inside you for the past 97 years, not like either of you cared.

You griped the sheets for dear life as he mercilessly fucked you into the bed, his grip on your hair and his right hand gripped onto your hip, leaving a red handprint, his fingers almost going pale white from holding so tight.

You two soon came, you couldn’t really hear what he was saying over your own moans and groans, his cock continuously pounding into your pussy from behind, such a sight would make a porn star look like an amateur.

After your eventful morning, You two just knew devils night was going to be a beautiful horror of a night. You danced with Aileen as you had been doing every devils night, she would jokingly kiss your face and call you sexy to annoy James. “That is my wife you’re referring to Aileen remember that”

“Welcome to Our annual devils night” James speaks up as his hand snakes around your waist to grip your hip. “We shall enjoy our food, then get onto the fun”, everyone knew what that fun meant, a murder, by all of them at the table.

James kissed your lips gently and Jeffery Dahmer gave a look of disgust, making you look at him as you filled your wine. “Now now jeffery don’t look at me like that, you ate people”

As Ms Evers came in with the dinner, she gave you a filthy look, as if you had rolled in shit and piss your whole life, yes obviously she’s had to clean blood stains off you and James’ bed from murders but..she signed up for it when she died in 1929 didn’t she.

James played with your fingers as you blew some smoke out of your mouth from your cigarette, he was absolutely whipped for you and it was completely obvious, he would beg on his knees for your attention at times.

Once the dinner was finished, Sally brought a man in, a tall man, a little overweight, balding, didn’t have any family so he wouldn’t be missed, as every devils night everyone attacked him and killed him, James looked at his beautiful woman, your hands covered in the man’s blood and James sighs happily.

“What a beautiful way to spend my birthday” he says as he kissed your cheek before rubbing his fingers across the blood stained part of your cheek.

You gently kissed his lips and smiles.

“Round two?”

• • • • • • • • • • • • • •

I DONT THINK THIS IS VERY GOOD LMAO

[ifuckinglovefingerlingpotatoes]

[saintlucretia]

— Do you think you'll kill for me one day?

— Yes, of course I will, my darling.

[jadeee19999ee]

Watching ahs Hotel inspired me to do 1920s makeup and I’m lowkey in love

I screen shoted these from a TikTok so don’t judge 🙏

[punk1nl0v333]

james patrick march blurb <3

warning: slight gore mentioned, fluff, gn!reader, no use of y/n ~~~

james rested his hand on the base of your ribcage, his toned arm draped across your stomach. some sick, twisted part of him wondered what it would be like to run his fingers over your exposed bone, finally laying eyes on the heart that so graciously loved him, the lungs that breathed life into your perfect body, and the brain that chose him.

“james patrick march, you truly are a sight to behold,” you murmured as your fingers gently combed through his once slicked back jet-black hair. he smiled up at you from his spot buried in the crook of your neck. he peppered mindless affectionate kisses along your skin.

“and you, my dear, truly are a goddess.” his caramel tone accentuated his brahmin accent, and it drove you mad, tying knots into your stomach like the first time you saw him. this man practically worshipped the ground you walked on, and you were lucky enough to hold him in your arms in the dim lighting of the ever imperfect Hotel Cortez.

~~~ SO SHORT IK BUT I LOVE THIS SM

[icannotpickanamewtf]

ᴛᴡɪsᴛᴇᴅ ɴᴇʀᴠᴇs (PT. 2)

EVAN PETERS AHS x READER

SUMMARY: 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖫𝖠 𝖽𝖾𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗉𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖼𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗌. 𝖠 𝗌𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖼𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗍, 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗎𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾, 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗅, 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗉𝗈𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗒𝗉𝗌𝖾, 𝖺 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐…𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝖺 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾.

Chapter Focus: Kai Anderson x Reader

🚨WARNINGS: 𝖠𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖧𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋 𝖲𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒, 𝖮𝖻𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖬𝗎𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝖢𝗎𝗅𝗍, 𝖱𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗌, 𝖲𝗆𝗎𝗍, 𝖾𝗍𝖼…

You officially decide that Michigan is a complete bust. 

As soon as the plane landed and you’d made your way out of baggage claim, you were hit by a blasting cold. 

Is it possible for someone to shit out a block of ice? 

You had to pile on coat after coat, your grey fleece detective jacket rested on top of your layers. 

The service was awful, the people acted like NPC’s, and overall, your first impression was a 3/10. 

You held your suitcase and bags in one hand as you rung up your phone to call for an Uber, your motel was right outside Brookfield Heights but far enough so you wouldn’t run into any possible suspects while you were off-duty. 

After making a pit stop at an overpriced airport cafe for some mid-afternoon coffee, you hurriedly rushed to the front exit once you got a message from your Uber Driver that they’d arrived. 

The car was a silver chevy and was low to the ground, it had just barely enough room for your three bags in the trunk, but you were grateful nonetheless. 

An older man sat in the drivers seat and his grey hairs were slicked back to expose his wrinkled forehead. He seemed pretty jolly the whole ride to your motel, until you mentioned Brookfield Heights. 

“It ain’t the town for a vacation, that’s for sure.” Was all you managed to get after your numerous questions, clearly the news about Kai had followed all of Michigan and haunted the witnessing residents. 

The drive was mostly quiet after besides the Christian-pop that subtly played over the rusty car speaker, you resided to staring out the window. 

‘Welcome to Brookfield Heights!’ decorated the bright green sign outside of the ghost town. Trees flew past the window as you tried your best to absorb your surroundings.

The more you knew the better.

You’d already spent weeks holed up in your office studying the towns layout, from each fire-hydrant to large corporations and events. 

Fall had come in full swing, leaves were brown and the grass shook from the chilly breeze. 

The barren farmland and empty fields soon turned into old buildings and little country-side stores. If you weren’t investigating a cultist, you’d have thought it was a cute little town. 

The driver, whom you noticed you forgot to ask for his name, pulled over when your run down motel entered your sight. 

The older gentleman unlocked the doors and said his farewell to you as you left the Honda Civic. It felt weird to have both feet on the ground after traveling for so long, but it did absolute wonders to finally have some fresh air. 

The Honda Civic closed the doors from behind you and the Christian-pop faded in the distance as the car rolled out of the motel parking lot, leaving you to face your soon-to-be home for the next few months.

The motel’s sign was barely hanging on for dear life, the walls had chipped yellow-ish paint, and the doors were falling off their hinges. It was practically invisible amongst all the regal and historical hotels that littered Brookfield. It was perfect. 

You grabbed your small suitcase by the handle and made your way to the check in, a little hut outside of the motel. Your luggage bounced from the rickety cement and overgrown weeds, but your grip kept it from flopping over. 

The door to the check in creaked from the force of your palm, screaming in age as you stepped inside the small room. 

The floor was a dark mahogany, a vending machine ran brightly to your left with miscellaneous snacks, and dust covered the few chairs that lined up on the wall to your right. But the main attraction, was the older woman standing behind the reception desk in front of you. 

She had red curly hair, down to her shoulders, and her eyes sagged with exhaustion. Her skin could be compared to a sickly green but the bright red lipstick she adorned made you think that it was a thick application of make up. 

Oh, and the resting bitch face. Yep, you were definitely going to enjoy this woman’s presence. 

“Uh–Hello, I’m here to check in for a room?” You had made your way up to the counter, standing awkwardly in front of the woman who continued to apply the same bright red color of her lips to her fingernails. This made you half-ponder when was the last time you painted your own nails. 

The woman’s crooked name tag read “Louise” as she blatantly ignored your attempt at interacting. Louise barely even looked up to meet your eyes as she slowly turned to grab what you assumed as your room key from behind her. 

Louise spoke with a know-it-all tone, a snide grin lit up her features, “There. No parties. No dealing before seven A.M. and no fucking past eight.”

Part of wondered why she announced the last rule like it was a pointed remark at you, but the other half of you knew exactly what she was trying to get at.

Fortunately for her, you hated confrontation in these situations. 

You were also jet-lagged as all hell. 

So you just kept your mouth shut and dragged your deranged detective ass out the check in door and to the stairs that led to your room. 

The key read “17B” indicating it was on the second floor and almost all the way on the other side. The wooden stairs wobbled under your feet and you almost thought they would completely give out, but you carried your suit case all the way up the two-flights of stairs. 

When you made it to your room, you haphazardly threw your clothes into one of the drawers (locking the door and moving the chain above it) and practically collapsed onto the old bed. It was fairly small for a motel room, and the same yellow paint donned the walls but with a 80’s pattern of lines and crescents. 

You laid with your back on the mattress, feeling all the lumps and creaky springs underneath. 

It was quiet in the room. 

It’s not that you weren’t used to quiet. 

But this time, you were completely alone. Your leather shoes felt heavy on your feet, and you could sense that a migraine was well on its way to your skull. 

You were so fucking tired. 

But you had a cultist to expose, lives were at stake, you couldn’t just sit here and rest.

A dark corner of your mind infested with guilt shunned you for thinking that you could possibly deserve the comfort of a bed. Or the comfort of a job. 

Or the fact your alive–

“Fuck this.” You stood quickly and shrugged off your large trench coat, opting to brace the cold and sit down in the shaky chair in front of the wooden desk the laid in front of the bed. You flung open your laptop and spread out your papers. 

A room temperature energy drink that you packed found its way in your hands as you typed away. 

You didn’t sleep at all that night. 

———————

Morning came slowly, and with it a fresh pair of deep circles engraved themselves under your eyes. 

But with morning, came more opportunities to explore. 

You freshened up, applied some dry-shampoo and washed your face, before heading out to explore Brookfield. 

You had to get a sense of your surroundings in person, online maps and insane amounts of internet research could barely compare to being able to experience the real thing. 

Your trench coat sagged on your shoulders, but without it, the fall-chill would’ve given you a cold so you tiredly walked your way into town. Your bag with your laptop, recording device, and USB drive sat heavily on your shoulder. 

You easily mixed into the crowd of locals, sneakily taking time to take pictures with your phone of the posters of Kai Anderson that popped up every now and then. 

All of which had “FEAR” written in at least one sentence, you’d think he’d be more subtle but it was almost like he was trying to get more negative attention than positive. 

Hm. Weird. 

After about an hour of just walking around and exploring Brookfield Heights, your lack of sleep caught up to you. So you decided it was time to get a nice something to eat and a whole lot of espresso. 

Thankfully, there was a tiny cafe near the Butchery that was owned by the victim of a majority of Kai Andersons harassment, Ally Mayfair-Richards. 

You glanced back at the restaurant before making your way into the little cafe, the warm scent of coffee and scones filled your nose at your entrance. The cold chill turned warm and you were finally able to take off your coat. 

It was quaint but reminded you of a cabin in the woods with their wooden accents and architecture on the inside. It was a nice comparison to the modernized celeb hubs in LA. 

There were few people inside, all were seated and kept to themselves. You quietly stepped up to the counter, deciding to order a large black coffee with four shots of espresso, and a blueberry muffin to nibble on while you worked. 

The teenager behind the counter smiled at you before preparing your order, there were only two people working but they seemed eager. 

Did they feel the impact of what was happening around them? Were they in his cult? What would happen the the kids if Kai Anderson succeeded? 

Would it be your fault–

Again, your thoughts were cut off as the teenager handed you your drink and treat. Allowing the person behind you to place their own order after you paid. 

Wait, person behind you? 

You didn’t even notice the man that had made his way to the line, becoming the sixth customer inside the shop. 

When you backed away from the counter, you were able to soak in his appearance. 

Kai. Fucking. Anderson. 

You pretended to find a seat and load up your laptop, but sweat pooled at the back of your neck. 

What if he caught you? What if he busted you? 

You had to act normal. Like it was a regular day in Brookfield Heights, and you were just a local getting some coffee. 

You sipped anxiously at your caffeinated monster of black coffee as you subtly analyzed his appearance. 

The cultist wore a black beanie, letting his oily blue hair dangle freely. His sweater was black, his shirt was black, his pants were black, and he wore black combat boots. 

Was he trying to scream out that he was some kind of villain? 

What was this guys fucking problem? 

You knew he was on adderall and taking an inhumanly sized dose, but god, so much for inconspicuous killer. 

But eventually you realized that if you didn’t have all the information you collected on this little town, you would’ve just thought it was a regular guy with eccentric style. 

He ordered a large cinnamon latte, extra espresso with no whipped cream and low-fat milk. He poured one creamer and no sugar. 

He carried his own papers and phone in one hand, while collecting his drink in the other. Kai Anderson walked over to the table right next to yours and sat down, scrolling aimlessly while taking notes? You couldn’t get a clear shot of what he was writing. 

So, you were literally sitting in the same space as a serial killer and cultist. Life was great!

You managed to get away with a few more glances before exiting out of your tabs, all of which had extreme dirt on Kai, and opened a decoy word document that looked like boring tax papers. 

You pretended to work on fucking taxes for twenty minutes without interacting with him at all, until Kai stood up from his chair (the only way you could tell was from the chair sliding against the floor) and sat in front of you. 

You barely looked up from your laptop until he fully made himself comfortable in front of you, propping his arms on the table and staring directly at you. 

Sometimes you wondered if fate had it out for you. 

“Hey.” Kai cleared his throat, which indicated that you should probably stop ignoring the elephant in the room and look up at him. 

In doing so, you got a clear glance at his face. Little bits of stubble decorated his cheeks, and his eyes were wide as they looked at you. 

“Oh, Hi?” The silence was much better than talking, but this guy would probably slit your throat if you didn’t respond. 

You tilted your head a little in faux innocence as your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

Kai seemed to fall for your act completely, “Are you new around here? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” 

Fuck. Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck–

TO BE CONTINUED.

[get4waycarr]

ꜱᴄʜᴇɪßᴇ ʙʏ ʟᴀᴅʏ ɢᴀɢᴀ ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡☆｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+