#james patrick march x reader fluff

[violet-harmon2011]

to my favorite serial killer, clown, cult leader, hairstylist, vampire, playwright, actor, hotel owner, lobster man, circus performer, zombie, frat boy, and mechanic <3

[fear-is-truth]

— ★ . HOW YOUR CAMERA ROLL WOULD LOOK LIKE AS EVAN PETERS’ GIRLFRIEND

 fear-is-truth — do not copy, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[rosecoloredsunshine]

wired interview — evan peters

masterlist

PAIRINGS: evan peters x female!reader

SUMMARY: you and evan had been invited to wired to answer some of the web's most googled questions.

REMINDERS: please be reminded that this is a work of fiction. meaning that all events and occurrences in this story are all fictional and all are part of my imagination. any resemblance to actual life events and people, living or dead, are all purely coincidence.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, background info for reader had been provided, established relationship, fluff, google translated french, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: 1.1k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: i just have the need to post this one lol hope you'll enjoy this one! :)

The studio lights were bright, but you were used to it by now. The WIRED setup was familiar—crisp white background, black chairs, and the infamous search board waiting to reveal the internet’s most pressing, bizzare, and occasionally ridiculous curiosities. You glanced at Evan beside you, who was shifting excitedly in his chair. He shot you a smile, eyes crinkling the way they always did when he was genuinely happy.

“Ready to expose our deepest, darkest secrets?” he teased.

“Oh, absolutely. I came prepared to be utterly humiliated,” you quipped, adjusting in your seat.

The crew had given you and evan a thumbs-up, cameras now already rolling, and the crew’s voice drifted from off-screen.

“Alright, we’ll start with Evan reading questions about you, then we’ll switch.” The crew had instructed.

“Got it,” Evan said, rubbing his hands together dramatically. “This is gonna be good.”

Another crew handed Evan the board, the classic white rectangle with strips of paper concealing the questions.

He lifted it with a flourish. “Okay, question one! How old are you?” he peeled away the first strip, and looked at you, eyebrow raised before smirking. “Well, let’s hear it.”

“Timeless,” you replied smoothly, leaning back with a smug smile.

Evan snorted. “Yeah, yeah, immortal, ageless, basically a vampire. Noted.”

“Pretty much.”

He moved to the next strip. “Where—” he paused, “where are you from?”

“I was born and raised in Monaco, but I moved to Boston when I was six.”

Evan glanced at you, mock-impressed. “Ooh, fancy.”

“Oh, incredibly fancy,” you joked. “I had the whole Grace Kelly aesthetic going on. Swans, palace gardens, and maybe even a tiara.”

He let out a soft laugh before ripping off the next strip. “How tall are you? Oh, I know this one. You’re like, five-foot-two, right?”

“Haha,” you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes, feigning annoyance. “I am five-seven, thank you very much.”

“Really?” he deadpanned, leaning closer with wide eyes. “Because I could've sworn—”

“Keep making fun of my height and I’ll hide all your sneakers before our next press event.”

“Threats already? We’re only three questions in!” he grinned and moved on. “How many languages do you speak?”

“Three,” you said as you put up three fingers. “English, French, and Italian.”

“Show off,” he teased.

“Tu as de très beaux yeux,” your voice was soft, the French rolling off your tongue smoothly as you leaned closer to him.

Evan flushed, laughing nervously. “I have no idea what you just said, but I feel both flattered and mildly threatened.”

“Good,” you laughed softly. “I just said that you have very beautiful eyes.”

“Oh,” he said, cheeks turning beet red. “Yeah, I mean—thanks.”

You watched him flounder, smiling widely and thoroughly amused at the same time.

Evan then ripped off the next strip. “Okay, next up. What is your favorite song?”

You hummed thoughtfully. “If we’re talking about my current favorite, it’s probably ‘You’re So Vain’ by the one and only, Carly Simon.” you couldn't resist breaking into a song. “You’re so vain, you probably think this song is about you…”

Evan decided to join in, voice terrible but enthusiastic. “Don’t you? Don’t you?”

You both dissolved into laughter, with the crew chuckling behind the cameras.

“Alright, next one,” Evan said, wiping a tear from his eye. He tore off another strip, then burst out laughing. “Oh, wow. The internet’s bold, huh. Are we dating?”

You grinned, leaning back with folded arms. “I’ll let you handle that one.”

Evan’s cheeks turned pink, but he rolled his eyes playfully. “Well, considering we’ve been promoting our rom-com movie together for months, I think it’s safe to say that the internet’s just invested.”

He looked at you, expression softening. “But, I mean, if they’re asking if we’re, like, officially together? I dunno. Should we make it a mystery? Keep the suspense alive?”

You laughed. “And keep the tabloids working overtime? Oh absolutely.”

Evan shook his head with amusement, moving on. “What is your zodiac sign?”

“(your sign),” you answered quickly. “Which basically means I’m emotional, imaginative, and probably crying over dog videos when I should be doing something important.”

“That tracks,” Evan said with a grin. “I’ve definitely caught you sniffly-eyed over a random cat rescue video more than once.”

“They’re heroic little guys!” you defended, crossing your arms.

“Alright, next question…” Evan trailed off as he peeled another strip. “Do you actually like Evan Peters or are you just pretending for the movie?”

You scoffed, overplaying your offense. “Oh, I can’t stand him guys. The absolute worst. Have you heard his laugh?”

He cracked up immediately, laughing loudly and uninhabited. “Oh, well played.”

You giggled softly. “But in all seriousness, he’s alright. Decent co-star. I guess I’d recommend him if anyone’s hiring.”

“Wow, heartwarming, truly.” Evan shook his head, still grinning. “Alright, switching boards now. Ready to be roasted?”

“Oh, born ready,” you challenged.

The crew handed you the board of Evan-related questions, and you eyed him, smiling mischievously.

“Okay, first question,” you peeled the paper away. “How old is Evan Peters?”

He gave you a side-eye. “Considering you’re timeless, I should be, like, ancient, right?”

“You’re practically a fossil,” you teased. “But if I recall, you’re…thirty-eight?”

“Ding ding ding!” he cheered, pretending to throw confetti in the air. “Next!”

You tore off another strip. “Where is Evan Peters from?”

“St. Louis, Missouri. You know, the land of gooey butter cake and toasted ravioli?”

Evan’s eyes lit up. “Oh, you remembered the ravioli thing!”

“Yeah, mostly because you wouldn't shut up about it when we first met.”

He chuckled. “It’s that good.”

The questions kept coming, ranging from silly ones like ‘what is Evan Peters’ shoe size?’ which you guessed wrong, of course, much to his delight—to downright absurd ones like ‘does Evan Peters own a raccoon?’

“I don’t!” Evan said, looking genuinely confused. “Why would anyone—”

“I mean, I can see the vision,” you countered, barely holding back your laughter. “Naming it bandit, dressing it in a tiny leather jacket.”

Evan pretended to consider it. “Actually, that sounds incredible.”

“Great! Now, someone’s going to gift you a cute raccoon during our promotion, or comic con.”

“Oh god,” he groaned, but still smiling.

The entire shoot was chaos and laughter, with both of you going off-track multiple times. By the end of the filming, your cheeks are hurting from grinning so much.

“Alright, that’s a wrap!” one of the crew members called, but the camera’s were still rolling.

Evan turned to you, eyes shining. “We should do this kind of stuff more often.”

“Yeah! It’s a really fun experience,” you smiled at him softly, and put up your hand for a high-five. “Put it there, partner!”

When his palm met yours, he caught your fingers, intertwining them with his own, and tugged your chair closer to his.

“C’mere,” he whispered, voice soft as he pressed a quick, affectionate kiss to your temple.

You turned to look at the camera, smiling, and Evan sent a playfully wink.

© rosecoloredsunshine, 2025

[bluerthanvelvet444]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝙿𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Frat boy Kyle Spencer x fem!reader

tags: slight angst, fluffy smut!

warnings: swearing, public sex, mentions of Kyle's abuse (poor baby), handjob, p in v.

summary: frat boy kyle being a sweetheart. that's all i have to say.

character count: 11k.

full fic under the cut ↓

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“I'm not going.” You replied, your voice firm and your eyes fixated on the math book that sat on the library's desk, trying to avoid the gaze-that you knew you couldn't resist-of the boy sitting in front of you. You heard him sigh as his doe eyes desperately tried to meet yours.

“But everyone is going…you can't miss it.” Kyle replied with his soft voice.

“I've never gone to any of those parties…why do you want me to go to this one so badly?” You spoke, with a noticeable hint of frustration in your voice.

“Because it's the end of the semester…something to celebrate. Plus, it's gonna be epic.” He said with a toothy smile plastered on his face.

“No, thanks. You know I don't roll with those frat boys.” You rolled your eyes, your words coming out harsh and spiteful.

“I'm a frat boy.” He said, raising an eyebrow, clearly confused by your statement.

“Yea- but you're…different.” You sighed.

It was true. He was indeed different from the frat boys he was friends with. You and Kyle met in Junior year of high school. You were paired up by your physics teacher, who suggested you could tutor Kyle, that at the time had terrible grades. You two clicked instantly, he was fun and outgoing, and you enjoyed spending time with him. Kyle had grown to be incredibly thankful for your help, in fact, he insisted that you were the one who made him passionate about physics, the subject that he used to despise and that now was his main department in college. Although he could seem like the usual asshole frat boy, Kyle was sweet and caring. You knew it, and no one could’ve made you change your mind on that. He was simply a sweetheart.

“Listen, I know my mates may seem rude or not well-behaved…but trust me, as a leader, I established some rules for them. They won’t act crazy, I promise.” His kind voice brought you back from your thoughts. You sighed, thinking about it.

“Brennan’s hosting the party in his summer mansion…it’s next to the beach- it’s so cool, I swear. I-I’ll take you there! I can pick you up and take you home…” He added, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Please?” He said in an adorable voice, his puppy eyes looking hopeful into yours.

You sighed, you didn’t wanna go, but it was utterly impossible to say no to him.

“Fine.”

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You were touching up your makeup. You were ready for the “big night” Kyle was so excited about. You decided to wear something a bit more revealing, a black minidress, because-okay, you didn’t wanna go- but you couldn’t be annoyed and unfashionable all at once.

While taking a final look in the mirror, you heard a knock on your door. You grabbed your bag and opened the door to see Kyle-in his usual frat sweater-smiling at you. He looked at you up and down, scaring you slightly. What if he didn’t like the dress or how it looked on you?

Fortunately, all your concerns faded once you saw his smile widening.

“Woah…you look beautiful. Seriously…you’re stunning.” He said, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you, he wasn’t used to seeing you like this.

You felt your cheeks heat up at the compliments.

“Thank you…” You gave him an awkward smile and bit your lip.

“Shall we get going?” You suggested, to which he nodded. He took your hand and helped you step down the porch. Kyle led you to his car, and opened the door for you with a cute grin.

The ride was calm, you chit-chatted here and there about random stuff, and you swore you saw him staring at your body a few times. After 15 minutes or so, you eventually arrived at the party. Kyle was right, the mansion was beautiful and it faced the sea. You could see lights and music blasting out of the house. He gave you an excited grin and helped you out of the car, walking with you inside the house. It was overflowing with people laughing, playing games and having fun. As much as it seems hard to believe, you didn’t know anyone of those many people. They had familiar faces, sure, but you couldn’t consider them your actual friends. You sighed and nervously looked at Kyle who, on the other side, was flashing smiles to all his fellow frat brothers and friends. You noticed how comfortable he was in his habitat, and how you envied him for that. He introduced you to many people-whom you couldn’t even remember the names of-that obviously didn’t care much about getting to know you, since they even could’ve sworn you did not go to that college. You were invisible even when the attention was on you, and Kyle clearly didn’t catch that. So when he was dragged by his mates to some kind of game, he told you with a chuckle and a rushed tone

“I-I’ll be right back! Chat with the girls, they’re fun!”

Fun. Right. You didn't mean to sound like an antisocial bitch, but they were everything but fun. You saw them from afar just taking pictures of each other-to show on Instagram how much fun they were pretending to have having-or teasing each other about their crushes. You felt bored, so you sat on a chair, sipping a cup of-what you hoped was-punch and waited for Kyle. Time passed, and he didn’t show up, so you got up and started searching for him. It didn’t take you much to find him. Kyle was on the karaoke stage, singing “Rosanna” by Toto.

“Meetcha all the way! Nananaaaaah…” He “singed” while laughing with his mates.

You were conflicted on what to do now. You didn’t want to be a bummer by clinging to him all night, but you were truly bored and felt lonely. So, you did what you believed was best for everyone, you grabbed your stuff and left. The moment you stepped outside, you were met by an unfamiliar feeling of peace, the view surprising you for its beauty and for being so…empty. It was quiet, the only sound that could be heard were the waves splashing against the sand, no people around. You smiled and made your way to the pier nearby. You sat on it and took your shoes off, allowing your feet to sink in the water.

You didn’t know how much time had passed, but you were brought back to reality when you felt Kyle's voice behind you.

“Here you are! I searched for you everywhere!” He was breathing fast, you believed he had been running while seeking for you.

“I thought I left you a message?” You tilted your head.

“Oh… Sorry. I can’t find my phone. Why are you all alone here? The whole fun is inside!” He replied with a giant boyish smile.

“I like it better here. It’s boring inside.” You turned your face to look at the sea again.

“What? How can you call it boring? There are plenty of games! And people inside-” you cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

“Kyle, I hate to break it to you, but I’m not popular like you. The people inside couldn’t care less about me. I feel less lonely here than in that crowded house.”

He looked at you confused.

“Aw, c’mon…don’t be like this. They’re nice people, you just have to make an effort to try to meet them, and I’m sure you’ll have fun.” You didn’t know why those words started a fire in you.

“They’re not my friends, Kyle. I can’t stand those people, I don’t get along with them. And trust me, I’ve tried to be social and friendly, but you may have to consider the idea that not everyone is like you. You’re easygoing and social, you're a freaking frat boy for fuck’s sake. It’s easy for you to say those things.”

He looked at you, mouth agape at your sudden outburst.

“…why didn’t you just tell me?” He looked at you like a sad puppy for bringing you somewhere that made you uncomfortable.

“And be more of a bummer? No, thanks. They already hate me, I don't wanna be a party pooper as well.” You crossed your arms.

He sat next to you on the pier and his fingers gently grazed your jaw to make you look at him.

“You’re not a bummer to me…a-and I’m sorry about that… I shouldn’t have left you alone. Sorry.”

You wanted to be mad at him, truly, but those cute brown eyes melted your heart in every way possible. You bit your lip as you admired him lovingly. He was so caring and sweet, how did you manage to get this lucky?

“I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable, I- that’s the last thing I’d ever want. You know I care about you… I can’t stand you being mad at me. Please, forgive me?”

You felt your heart tighten at those words. You gave him a slight nod as your eyes travelled down his lips. You wanted to kiss him so badly, and he probably caught onto that, since he slowly leaned in to meet your lips in a sweet kiss. He pulled away slightly, mumbling against your lips.

“Was that okay?” You nodded, and he leaned in again, kissing you once more. This time he deepened the kiss, letting his tongue slip in your mouth and softly swirling it around yours. You let out a breath at how right that felt and how sweet he was being. You pulled him slightly closer and moved your hand to rest on his neck and caress the skin of it. After a bit, you moved your lips to peck his jaw a few times before trailing them down on his neck. Your lips worked sweetly on his skin at first, earning a few sighs from him. As the tension grew, you started sucking his neck, leaving red marks. He groaned and grabbed your waist, you subtly moved your hand down to massage the bulge from his pants. He let out a tiny gasp, and you felt him stiffen, not in a good way. You looked up at him with a confused expression.

“I-I’m sorry…please keep going…” He said with a nervous smile.

“What’s wrong? Did you not like that? It’s okay if you don’t want to…” You gave him a comprehensive look.

“No! I like that… I swear. Just…bad memories.”

“Do you wanna talk about it…?”

“No, I just wanna feel good now.”

You nodded and gave him a gentle peck on his lips before gently undoing his zipper. You ran your fingers over the visible shape of his dick through his underwear, earning a groan from him. You looked at him for consent before gently pulling his boxers down. You blushed as you saw him so vulnerable for the first time. Your fingers wrapped around his shaft, stroking him slowly. He let out a breathy moan.

“G-god…don’t stop…”

You smiled and started progressively speeding up. After a few minutes, you heard his moans grow louder, and you felt his strong hand gripping your wrist.

“I…wanna do it. Is that okay?”

You nodded, and he sat up to gently remove your dress and everything underneath. He was stunned by your body, staring at you as if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He helped you lay down, with a massive gentleness, as if you were capable of breaking if handled too roughly. He hovered on top of you, caressing your face as he lined up your entrance with his dick.

“This okay?” He muttered under his breath, to which you answered with a nod. He gently pushed into you, allowing you to adjust to the new feeling. He groaned when he pushed himself all the way in. He held your hand sweetly.

“Can I start moving?”

“Mhm…”

He slowly started thrusting in you, earning moans from you both. He gripped your hand tighter as he felt how your walls clenched around him. When he felt like you were ready, he started going faster, gripping your hand tightly and kissing you repeatedly through the whole thing. You could've sworn you were seeing stars when he started hitting your G-spot with his tip. Soon enough, your moans got louder and you felt yourself coming on his dick. He tried his best to contain his moans and as soon as you finished he pulled out to come on your tummy. He collapsed onto you, pecking your face repeatedly.

“I love you…” He mumbled.

After some time had passed, he got up and cleaned you with the salty water, giggling like a teen boy receiving his first kiss. When he helped you gain your-and his-decency again, he got up, throwing an arm around you and walking happily towards his car.

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a/n: I love Kyle he's so babygirllll. also look at the cute picture i found on pinterest (the one under the title) that boy looks so much like kyle. got me screaming when I saw it. Anywaysssssss. I might post a part 2 of this with frankenkyle, but I gotta finish Peter fics first (spoiler). Let me know if you like it💕💕

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all rights reserved!!

[temporarywelcome]

Mine - Peter Maximoff

Words: 389 (short n' sweet)

REQUESTED!

The Ask: Short fluffy fic of Peter Maximoff coming home to find reader eating his junk food. - @envy-of-greed

WARNINGS: light swearing

_____

God, for someone so fast, he surely was taking forever. 

Perhaps he was doing this on purpose because she found herself cleaning his messy room (his mom’s basement), folding his crumpled-up laundry and deducing what needed to be put in the hamper and what was clean. She dusted the surface of each bit of furniture and re-organized some drawers, still waiting for this idiot to show up. 

Y/N then noticed his usual tower of hostess treats had toppled over, so she went to clean that up as well. Some Twinkies had fallen from their open container, so she went and scooped them up. Peter’s favorite treat. He always made sure to have one on him. 

Beginning to put them away in their container, one at a time, she paused. 

Peter could be an asshole at times, but he was a playful asshole. H wouldn’t mind at all if she took one. 

So she did. 

Sitting on the bed, she carefully opened up a plastic package, leaning against the headboard as she took a bite of the cakey treat. Mmmm chemicals and preservatives. Peter’s favorite. 

“Now, what is this?” 

With a squeak, Y/N jumped, almost dropping the Twinkie from her hand. Peter stood right in front of the bed, arms crossed over his chest with a big smirk on his face. Not upset in the slightest, more amused than anything else. 

“Ermmm,” was all she came up with. 

Peter laughed, zipping onto the bed, making her gasp as he jumped on top of her.

“Shit!” Y/N groaned, arms going around his waist. Pretty much reflex at this point. She then realized he had taken the Twinkie from her hand, taking a large bite out of it. “Hey! Those things are small!” 

“They’re mine,” he replied smugly, nuzzling into her neck. 

She shook her head with a small giggle, “Baby, how much of this did you actually buy?” she asked, taking a bite of the treat. She didn’t even get a chance to chew before Peter nipped at her neck hard, causing her to choke, “Asshole! What was that for?” He has always been a biter, she can’t ever see him without leaving with a huge hickey or straight up just a big bite mark. 

He smirked against her skin, “Just biting into something else that’s mine,”

Dumbass.

[kai-anderson-whore]

The summoning (jmp x tate Langdon x reader smut)

Summary: you had always been fascinated with serial killers and true crime, one day you decided to try and summon your two favourite killers

Warnings: smut, three way, oral (tate receiving), p in v sex, doggy style 😏, summoning a ghost, ouija board,

Word count: 1,3k (another short one it was supposed to be longer)

A/n: this is a request by @villains-are-hot, thank you for the request and once again I apologise that it was very rushed at the end and I took ages to post this 😊

•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•..•°˚˚°•.•¤❅¤•.•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•.

For as long as you could remember you had a unhealthy obsession with true crime/ serial killers. Some may say it's far from normal, it was frightening. You knew stories of cases watched all the documentaries and more.

Some people say it's the type of obsession you hear killers having before they kill. You didn't care it was a interest that you were so passionate about. You preferred learning about serial killers, how their mind works, what drove them to do it. The ones you liked learning about the most was Tate Langdon who got shot dead in his bedroom after shooting up his school one day in 1994. And the other was James Patrick march a well known serial killer from the 1920s to the early 1930s. Legend has it they both still reside in their place of death.

You didn't know if that was true or not, you visited the hotel that James Patrick march resides in but nothing, you couldn't exactly go to the murder house since people live there. It intrigued you deeply, the thought it could be true or not.

You didn't know what you were doing when the idea popped into your head, you thought it won't work but it was worth a go. Now researching things to do, how to summon ghosts, some where a bit far fetched others seemed fake but you were willing nonetheless. Finding a method writing down everything that had to be done.

You sat in front of the oujia board your fingers delicately on the triangle piece. You took deep breaths trying to stay calm circling the board three times before saying "James Patrick march and Tate Langdon I invite you to this space" waiting a few seconds you felt eerily quiet and cold.

"Is there anyone here?" You asked the board, you felt something pushing the triangle to yes, you gasped in shock now feeling nervous but your fingers still remain on the piece. "How many sprits are here?" You then asked feeling uneasy slightly regretting your decision. The piece moved to the number 2 you didn't know if it was you or if it was actually two spirits here but you slowly asked your next question "w-who are you?".

The board moved to around spelling out two initials JMP and TL you gasped removing your hands from the board standing up. Completely forgetting to say goodbye. You immediately grabbed the board putting it away "what the fuck, it's probably me doing it it's got to be" you whispered to yourself.

"Not quite dear" a voice chimed making you yelp in fright. "What the fuck!?" You turned around seeing two guys there awfully familiar to you, they looked identical like discrete descent, "w-who are you?" You asked in fear.

"I'm James Patrick march and this is-" "Tate Langdon" they said, you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion "you're both dead no this can't be true." You couldn't believe what you were seeing they looked exactly like the killers you knew so much about. "How are you here?" You asked a thousand questions running around your head.

"Well you summoned us" Tate chuckled pointing to the ouija board. That's when you realised "shit I forgot to say goodbye" mentally cursing yourself, "it's quite alright dear, but I must ask how did you manage to get us free?" James asked.

"Dude she used the ouaji board to get us out" Tate said like James was dumb. "That's fascinating" James eyes light up "I don't know how we could ever thank you" James added. Tate's eyes on you like you’re his prey, swallowing a lump in your throat as his steps grew closer to you from behind. "I've got an idea" Tate's breath on your neck sending shivers down your spine. "Y-you don't need to thank me" your voice was above whisper unsure what they mean.

"Well boy enlighten us with your idea" James's velvety voice made you shiver more. You couldn't deny they were both very attractive despite their tendency to killing. "Well she's pretty isn't she? Don't you agree?" Tate smirked his hands running down the soft skin of your arms. "I do agree with you she is quite remarkable" James agreed beckoning his steps closer to you.

You didn't know if your body was filled with fear or anticipation maybe both. Closing your eyes feeling their breaths breeze across your features. James colds fingertips grazing gracefully along your bare arms bringing goosebumps to their wake. "I think we shall reward her for setting us free from our eternal resistances" James smirked his pencil moustache raising up.

"I was thinking the same" Tate chuckled with a devilish smirk, you didn't know what to feel scared? Or turned on? Maybe both. Feeling their cold hands on you but you didn't protest instead you let out a small sigh tugging on your shirt removing it from your body your head felt like it was spinning feeling their lips on your neck. You felt yourself being guided to your bed. Seeing Tate now above you with a mischievous smirk on his face.

You didn't know where James was until Tate pull away from you, seeing James now in his briefs flipping you over on your hands and knee. You whimpered in anticipation for what's to come feeling James's cold fingers hooking into your underwear peeling the fabric of your underwear off you and into the floor. Tate in front of you his impressive length in-front of you, holding yourself on one hand stroking him, earning a low groan erupted from his mouth. You felt cold fingertips teasing your folds collecting your arousal bringing it to your clit circling it in slow torturous motions.

A small gasp left your lips, your body automatically responding to James's touch "that's it dear" he says huskily, Tate still knelt infront of you his eager length desperate for attention. You took Tate's cock in your hand stroking him kitten licking the tip making him buck his hips into your touch more. You took Tate in your mouth swirling your tongue along the tip, gasping as you felt James enter your heat.

James thrusted into you slowly you moaned against Tate's length. A low groan rumbled from his throat his hips bucked further in your throat. James thrusts grew more faster and harder, tears forming in your eyes. "Fuck" Tate hissed his hips essentially fucking your throat.

"You feel wonderful darling" James hissed his grip on your hips tight, nails digging into your skin only adding to your pleasure. "Fuck" you moaned feeling Tate twitch in your mouth signalling you that he was close. You kept your movements along Tate's cock till he releases into the back of your throat, swallowing every drop. James kept his movements thrusting harshly into you you felt close to the edge "I'm so close" you moaned. Tate was watching you and James with a smirk, his skin flustered. James didn’t stop his movements hitting that spot guaranteed to make you see stars.

With a few more harsh deep thrusts, your body trembles, back arching releasing over James’s length trigging his own release deep inside you. His thrusts became sloppy till they came to a halt. Trying to catch your breath “that was something else” you chuckled. James and tate shared a wicked smile between them, “oh we’re don’t done, we’re only getting started” Tate’s voice make a shiver run down your spine waiting on what’s to come.

[marchsfreakshow]

Adorations [James Patrick March]

Fluff // short lil thing :3

It's James' birthday, and such, a dinner. One with the newcomer however. One aware of the serial killer's crimes. Adoration and gazes.

Request from anon! Thank you anon, I knew I had to write something for James sooner or later. IM ALSO SO SORRY I NEVER GOT THIS OUT IN TIME FOR HIS BIRTHDAY. I STARTED WRITING AND THEN I GOT HIT WITH A BIG STORM OF WRITERS BLOCK! GAH-

No one's perspective

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

James revelled in this day. While he would usually have a day with his failed apprentices, they left alone today. None of them minded much, they were instead left to roam the hotel's countless halls, discussing past, present and future with whoever they came across.

You had arrived the day before, waltzing to your room like it's no one's business. Showering yourself for as long as you felt like you needed. Obviously, you felt presences. You always could. Souls never hid themselves from you, always felt comfortable around you despite you being alive and human. Like how all souls felt so comfortable around Liz before she passed.

"I think you look most ravishing...with the water dripping down your figure my hummingbird." James' hands found your damp shoulders, and he clearly had no regard for the water droplets since he just touched you. Giving into a craving he's been wanting from, well anyone. One the countess wouldn't grant him ever again. Pressing kisses to your shoulderblades, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of your damp skin against his lips.

The kisses were light. Uncharacteristically soft. Admiring your arms; gently trailing his hands down to your hands. Rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. "You taste divine sweetheart." Slowly, he reached for the edge of your towel, undoing the corner and pulling it away from you.

A shiver went through you, the cold, unforgiving air in your hotel room meeting your skin as soon as the soft towel was away from your body. James continued to admire you with his hands. Not leaving an inch untouched. "Truly the most delicate birthday present I could be presented hm?"

"Delicate?"

"Indeed. Delicate, my dear."

You weren't really sure what to say next. Yeah you got a lot of compliments in your time, but you never usually got called 'delicate'. Maybe James saw something in you no one else saw. Maybe. He was good at reading people.

But, it was nice. Having someone touch you so gently. To admire every fleck and freckle on your body. To worship them like the heavens stood just by his reach. It was, certainly different. But, you weren't going to push him away.

Instead, you sort of, just let him bring you over to the uncomfortable, tattered bed. Placing a new towel over part of it. Just to lay you down and continue admiring you.

"Such an elegant thing.."

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Tags: @babygorewhore / @taintandviolent / @oceanblvd111 / @nahoyasboyfriend / @slutforgarlogan / @marchs-hummingbird @american-horror-whore /. @evanpeterspeter / @feefymo / @fear-is-truth / @lacucarachapisser / @marchsfreak / @saintlucretia / @t8-ak47 / @xrag-dollx / @jazzy-reads

[sometimescherwrites]

It’s Legal Now?

James Patrick March x male!reader

word count: 1.1k

content: nobody told james it was legal now. james typical violence. one line which either implies sex or murder but i do not know which. james killed reader back in the 20s.

day one of cher’s shades of love series !!

James stands in front of the dresser- it’s an ornate wooden thing, designed well, considering it’s held up reliably since it was crafted in the early 1900s. He’s perusing which of his surviving pajamas to wear. Each piece of fabric was clearly expensive, each intricate detail a testament to the wealth he’d possessed in his life.

You lounge on your shared bed, book in hand, though you’re not reading it at all. Instead, your eyes trail over your lover’s form. His hair is mostly in place, but a few strands have managed to stray. You like him best like this, oddly domestic and unmindful of any self perceived ‘imperfections’.

“I do wish she would hurry up and repair my blue one already.” James mutters, mostly to himself, “Would have been much quicker to do it myself.”

He is, of course, referring to his navy set, which had ripped after an… eventful night a few weeks back. Of course, James had also been unusually active this month, and Miss Evers had quite a few stains to get rid of, putting his pajamas at the bottom of her priority list.

“You don’t know how to sew, James.” You remind him with a hum.

“I expect I could have learned in less time than it’s taken her to do so herself.” He finally turns to you, eyes trailing lazily over your face before his own lights up, “I can sew- I sewed you up, didn’t I?”

Before you can react, he’s at your side, tilting your head up, caressing along the edges of your lips, and then your nostrils, which had once been sewn shut by those very hands.

You roll your eyes. Though your murder had occurred nearly a century ago and you’d long since forgiven James, it was still an understandably sore subject for you.

“You did a shit job of it.” You mutter, turning your head away.

“How many times must I apologize, my dear?” James sighs, “You know you are my biggest regret.”

“All the apologies in the world won’t change the fact that every time I see myself in the mirror, I see what you did.”

“Then I’ll have every mirror in this damned place shattered.” James says, stripping off his suit and pulling on his pajamas, “If that so pleases you.”

You raise a brow, “I don’t imagine management would be happy.”

“Damn management. I’m the one who built this wretched place. They only occupy it because of me.”

Realizing that your lover is completely serious, you sit up a little further, “How about we start with the ones on this floor, hmm?”

James frowns, “Just this floor?”

“Just this floor, James.” You confirm, “I hardly occupy the other ones anyways.”

He doesn’t seem happy that you’ve downsized his show of regret and devotion, but nods, “This floor, then. They’ll be gone by morning.”

A smile graces your lips, “Come to bed, James, you can start on it in the morning.”

“It’s no trouble, my dear, I can do it tonight.”

“I’d like you with me, tonight. Besides, John’s girl- Scarlett. She was visiting a week or so ago, she told me it’s almost ‘pride month’.”

“Pride month?” James echoes, “Pride, as in, the first of the seven sins? The youth always manages to surprise me, it seems.”

“Not that pride, lover.” You chuckle, “Apparently, homosexuality is legal nowadays. There’s an entire month dedicated to us.”

James blinks, mouth dropping just a bit, “Legal? It’s legal now?”

“That’s what Scarlett says. And so of course, I went to see Liz, since she seems to know everything nowadays. And she says that it’s been legal nearly a decade. A decade, James!”

James is immediately at his feet, “And she didn’t tell us? Damned woman, thought she could keep this ‘pride month’ all to herself now, did she?”

“She told me she’d assumed we wouldn’t care. Mind you, you have been relatively private all these years.”

James falters, already at the door, placing his cap on his head in an effort to block the messy strands from sight, “I must go hear this for myself at once.”

“James, it’s past 12.” You sigh.

“That means nothing to me and you know this, my dear. I’ll be back shortly.”

With a groan, you pull yourself out of bed. You don’t get tired like you do when you were alive, but you were damned comfortable. And ever since Liz had put you onto a heated blanket, you were content to lay in bed throughout the night and even during some of the days. But alas, you knew you needed to make sure your lover didn’t kill anyone in his excitement.

“You there!” You can hear James calling in the distance, “Is it truly legal now? Men with men, I mean?”

You can’t hear the response of whoever he was asking, but you can hear the all too familiar thud of a body hitting the floor.

By the time you get there, you see James dragging a nearly decapitated body to one of the many chutes.

“Do I want to know?”

“He started droning on and on about the Bible and what is morally right- which I’m sure you can guess had me reaching for my blade already.” James explains, dragging the body as if it’s just another Tuesday, “And then he just kept digging himself into a deeper hole. So I killed him!”

As soon as he’s shoved the man down the chute, he continues on his way to Liz’s room. He’s such a quick man, something you rarely have to consider as he hasn’t been in a rush in decades. Once you’ve caught up, you find him rapping frantically against Liz’s door, and doesn’t let up until she’s opened it.

“It is three in the goddamn morning, what do you- Mr. March?”

“Is it true? It’s legal now?” He demands.

“Is what legal?” Liz groans, adjusting her nightgown and rubbing her eyes.

James grabs your hand, intertwining it with his, and shoves it towards Liz, as if it’s supposed to make her realize any faster. Realizing that it hasn’t clicked for her yet, and sparing her anymore of James’ incomprehensible sputtering, you speak up.

“Tell James what you told me. About homosexuality.”

Liz raises a brow as it finally clicks, “Its been legal since the 2000’s.”

James looks a mix of gleeful and dumbfounded, “Splendid!”

After a few minutes longer of chatting about queer legality, James is dragging you away by the hand, a grin on his face.

Once you finally settle back into bed, his grin hasn’t faded. You find you don’t mind it that way, hands clasped tightly together until long after the sun rises.

Happy pride month to you indeed.

[whosbloom]

James Patrick March » Boo Basket

day 12 of flufftober

⋆.˚ summary: after many failed attempts to win your heart, james finally goes to liz for some help, hoping for a good result

⋆.˚ fluff , mentions of murder , pretend the hotel has wifi for the sake of this

James had been practically yearning for your attention for months now, constantly attempting to get your attention when you entered the lobby, delivering expensive food and drinks to your hotel room (courtesy of Liz), constantly complimented you.. but no matter what he just couldn’t get you to look his way.

He was absolutely enamored by you and he didn’t know why, he had been so hung up on The Countess for years, but the second you stepped into the Cortez’s lobby his heart leapt for you instantly.

He had nearly gone on his knees to beg Liz to get to know you, befriend you almost, just so he could have a sense of what you liked in a person, what you were like.

As Halloween neared he found you leaving the hotel more and more each week, leaving him lonely until your return, to which he would perk up and instantly question you about your day—even if you barely acknowledged him.

Truth was you did find James attractive, it was just strange. You knew he was dead, Liz told you all about it, but it confused you more than anything.

How could the living and dead be together?

Which inevitably lead to your acting like you weren’t interested, watching him bend over backwards just to get a simple greeting from you.

The food, drinks, random presents, all day pretty outside your door made you smile more than you’d like to admit. You told Liz to never reveal this to him, and of course she listened like any good friend.

The one time you had Liz tell him anything was after finding out he offered to kill for your attention after witnessing another guest flirting with you—and of course you couldn’t bring yourself to let an innocent man die, you would feel like the blood was on your hands, so you told Liz to let him know his efforts made you aware of his infatuation with you.

Today was like any other, entering the lobby and greeting Liz, only for her to call you over to the front desk.

She sighed and leant against it, arms folded while giving you a stern look, one that reminded you of a mother scolding a toddler for drawing on walls.

“What did I do? You’re giving me a look.” You pointed out, brows knitted together as she awkwardly shifted your weight between your legs.

“It’s not what you did, well, you did help with this.” She explained, a not-so-impressed look on her face as she leant behind the counter and picked up a basket filled with goods for you.

“He didn’t.”

“He did.” She gave you another look, lips pressed into a thin line and brows raised. “I told him about whatever social media trend you’re obsessed with, the boo baskets? Watching him try and figure out a computer to order things was the most embarrassing thing ever.”

You remember the conversation all to well, getting all giddy about boyfriends surprising their girlfriends with Halloween themed baskets filled with their favorite things.

“He used a computer?” You questioned, an amused yet confused look on your face as you glanced back at the basket. “Somehow he did.. and from my reports back on you he knew exactly what he wanted to get you.”

Of course that showed with what he had chosen for you. A book you mentioned wanting to read for weeks now, your favorite candy you’d get whenever you went to a gas station, your favorite drink and snack.

Then there was personal touches from James—luxury things you knew he insisted you deserved. An expensive wine was the first thing that caught your eye, along with a note attached to it, reading out ‘Meet me at room 64’ with a J.P. signed underneath.

“Do I wanna know how much he spent? Or where he got the money from?” You raised a brow, pulling the basket closer and continued to inspect it. There was some personal care things—skin care, a candle, sleeping mask and fuzzy socks.

“The hotel still makes money. Though I’m not sure how he spent it.” Liz smiled, before pointing back at the stairs, drawing your attention to the very man who had gifted it to you. “Go thank him.”

You rolled your eyes playfully before grabbing the basket, holding it carefully before turning to head up the stairs, stopping just a step or two infront of him.

“Is this your way to my heart?” You raised a brow at him, lifting the basket with a smile toying at your lips.

“Well, my dear, if you haven’t noticed—“

“I have.. trust me, I have.” You cut him off, raising your free hand as you stepped up to stand next to him, your hand finding purchase on his forearm.

“I was just on my way to room 64.” You pointed to the note he left on the wine bottle, before stepping past him towards the elevator, waiting for him to follow after. “You coming, James?”

He took a moment to process your words, a wide smile forming pm his lips as he nodded and quickly scurried after you, standing close and leant down slightly to meet your height.

“I take it that my efforts worked on you?” He raised his brows, watching you pressed the elevator button and leant back against the cold wall.

“Definitely. Though, I will admit, they’ve been working for a while now. I just didn’t understand how the whole ghost and alive person thing works..” You explained, shrugging as you looked up to meet his gaze, watching as his softened at your words.

“I see.. if you want to wait for any further affection, I will. Whatever you’re comfortable with, my dear.” He spoke reassuringly, planting a quick kiss to the side of your temple, before placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Why don’t we discuss this over wine?” You smiled, watching as he eagerly nodded and held you a bit closer to him.

“Sounds like a plan.”

tags: @lemoniiiiiii , @xrag-dollx , @jazz-berry (ask to be added!!)

[authorsofghosts]

Madness Miracle | James P. March x Reader

Summery: After murdering the man who was going to kill you, you find yourself wanting to stay in the hotel your kidnapper brought you to.

Themes: Angst (it's JPM) -> Fluff, Cameos if you squint, Dead Dove Don't Eat, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Cussing, Hotel Shenanigans, Kidnapping (not by James), Murder, Sassy!Reader (i love them your honer), Stupid!Silly!James (but only slightly), Reader murders said Kidnapper, Really Hotelcore (James doesn't show up forever),

Word Count: 2.1k

You wake up, head pounding as you realized your gagged and your hands are behind you back. You look around, realizing your in a bathtub in what looks to be a really nice bathroom, the door open to another room. You struggle, making enough noise to alert your taker.

"Oh look- the little shit's awake." Says the man as he watches you from the doorway. You can't see much of his face, a skull half mask over his face. "Don't you wanna know what I'mma do to ya?" He laughs.

You shake your head, eyes wide as he walks forward, brown hair cascading over his face as he look down at you. He flips open a knife and looking down at you as you shiver and squirm, trying you best to get away. The bathtub is slippery, and it doesn't help that your hands are tied behind your make.

"Too bad, sweetheart. I'm gonna cut you open. I'mma make you bleed. And you ain't gonna be able to do shit about it." He chuckles, bring the knife to your skin. You cry out, pulling away as much as you can. "Don't move!" He yells at you, a stern growl rumbling in his chest.

You shake you head, trying to talk, but he just laughs. "You wanna talk? Okay. I take that shit out your mouth, you better not scream. Or else I'mma cut your tongue out and keep you alive much longer than you'd wanna be in my hands."

You nod, tears streaming down your cheek. He presses the knife against your neck as his fingers dig into your mouth, taking out the gag. He presses a finger over your mouth, taking the knife and putting it in his pocket. "Speak."

You stammer out, begging in a whisper, "Please don't do this- I mean, is there something you want? Money?" You try to barter with him for your life.

"No, what I wanna do is see you bleed. See you cry." He says, his tone dark and intimidating.

"Okay, yeah, I get that but like- is there a reason? Is it the way I look or-... are you just crazy?"

You're met with a harsh slap against your cheek and a growl. "You are not in the position to talk to me like that!" He grunts out, standing up and throwing the gag at you. "You think you're so smart!?"

"Yeah, I do, jackass." You spit out, looking up at him as he paces.

"That mouth of yours is gonna get you nowhere! You're dead!" He yells, a low laugh coming from his chest. "You're gonna die in that fucking bathtub bitch!" The man grabs your shirt and pulls you up, his hot breath hitting your face.

This is your opportunity. You headbutt him, causing him to fall back with his grip still on you, getting you out of the tub. You crash onto of him, biting into his ear. "Un-fucking-tie me now!"

"Crazy bitch! No!" He grabs you, flipping your positions and holding you down, thumbs pushed into your throat. "Didn't want to kill you this way but you give me no choice."

Your eyes widen as you choke, rolling back slightly as you gasp for air. As you're about to pass out, you hear a thunk and finally are able to breath again, your assaulter falling down next to you.

The air around you is cold as you look up, seeing no one around. You stand, to the best of your abilities and look around, trying to find anything to free you from your binds. That's when you spot it on the side of the bathtub; his knife. You turn around, picking it up and flipping it open, carefully trying to cut at the ropes that have now burnt into your skin.

You free yourself, looking down at the unconscious man on the floor. In a fit of rage, you raise the knife and lower it down onto his back, over, and over again. You don't stop till your breathless, and even then, you find yourself carving into his skin. You turn him over, taking off his mask and looking at him. Truly looking at him.

You decide that you'll deface him. The thought of what he was going to do to you and probably had done to other people makes your heart race. You cut one word onto his forehead: EVIL.

Then everything after is a blur. You wake up, disorientated and confused. You're laying on the bed, which is actually quite plush and relaxing. "Ah, you're awake I see." You hear, a voice straight out of early radio.

You shoot up, look towards the source of the voice. A man, well dressed in a pressed suit sitting in the chair in the corner of the room. You sit up, your blood soaked hands pressing into the comforter you laid on. "Don't worry about the blood, darling, Miss Evers can get anything out of anything." He says, standing up.

"Get back, Al Capone wanna be, I'm not in the mood to talk to nobody-" You pause, looking at him. Something about him feels... off. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Lovely way of phrase, my dear," He smirk cheekily, taking one step towards you. "My name is James Patrick March, and I built the hotel you're in currently."

"This shit looks like it's from the 20th century, there's no way you- shiiiiit...." You laugh slightly, "Am I dead?"

"No, no, of course not. You're only seeing ghosts, you're not yet one of us." He laughs. "No need to panic. I have no ill intentions. In fact, quite the opposite."

"Oh, really? Cool, I get kidnapped, brought to some haunted hotel, and now a ghost is talking to me. My life's a movie or some shit." You stand up, walking to the bathroom, pausing as your hand turns the knob. You freeze, much like a deer in headlights. You swallow hard, slowly opening it to find no body, no body, or anything but the white tile and white towels.

"I had that man disposed of. Off premises, so you won't have to see him again." James says, voice almost sultry. He takes a step towards you, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

Or at least he wanted. You immediately turn around and slap him. His cheek feels oddly solid. "You..." He says, his voice slightly dark. He looks at you, head down and brows furrowed. He takes a deep breathe, steeling himself. "It takes time for you to get over the first one. You may not trust me now, but you will one day."

He puts up his hands, making a slight face before he steels that as well. He looks at you and tilts his head slightly as he goes to walk away. "Take your time. I mustn't push you in any direction. Come back whenever you feel, dear." He bows before walking away. You go to look at him to bite back, but you don't see him. The room is filled with a terrible chill.

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

You don't know why, but you... stay. You go to the front desk, find out the dipshit who took you had said you were his drunk partner who fell asleep on the way from the airport. Got a room for the entire weekend. Fantastic. "Well... can I... get the money back?"

"No. We don't have refunds." The lady at the desk says, clearly not taking any of your suspected bull crap. You groan, turning around to see the very man you wished you'd never seen. James March. "Oh- Mister March. How can I- I help you?" The lady at the desk says, swallowing. You look back at her, seeing the slight change in demeanor.

"Wait- you know about him?" You laugh, rolling your eyes. "This whole place is crazy!" You stomp, going towards the exit.

"No, no, you don't want to leave." James says, smiling. "Or maybe... you should try." He says slightly cheekily. "Go. Go out the door." He eggs on.

"Fuck. You." You spit, watching his surprised reaction. "You know what? I will. I'll use that jackass' card and stay! I'm not leaving that fucking room, and since you fixed my little problem, why not? You know?"

He laughs softly, shaking his head as he turns around and leaves. "Have it your way."

You look back at the petrified woman behind you, who looks at you like you're either a devil or an angel. She takes a step back and you throw your hands up, making her quickly turn and walk into a room behind her.

You laugh slightly, "Your finest. Thanks." You say, walking back towards the stairs and elevator, groaning.

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

You sit in your room, hearing a knock on your door. "Your bubbly." A voice sings, knocking again. You go to open it, being met with another strange person. A bald woman with extravagant clothing pushes a cart, an icebox with champagne. "May I come in?"

"Uh... sure. As long as you're not gonna try and kill me too." You laugh slightly, seeing a shocked expression on her face. "Not that it's anyone you know." You quickly say.

"Oh, thank goodness, I thought you were-..." She laughs, pushing the cart in and sitting on the bed. "Tell me more. You seem shaken up bout all this."

"Uh... yeah. I was gonna die. I'm not having a great night."

"Oh, I see. And the guy? Where is he?"

"I killed him. That's 20s dude got rid of the body or whatever." You groan, pouring yourself a glass of the champagne and holding it out towards the woman.

She looks at you, wide eyes as she looks at you. "Oh. Uh, no. I'm okay. I have to tend the bar downstairs." She says, getting up quickly. "Uh... Good luck."

You look back at her, eye brows raised in shock as she quickly scrambles out of the room, leaving the cart with you. It is not long before you hear a knock on the door, expecting she'd come back for the cart. You open the door and see, not the woman, but James Patrick March standing with a bottle of green liquor.

"Way I come in?" He asks, eyes boring into your own. He's not asking, which is clear by the way he walks past you, setting the bottle on the cart. "I see you're having fun with your little... announce." He smiles, looking at you as he pulls a glass form the bottom of the cart, then another.

"The hell do you want?" You ask, steam almost pouring out your ears. "You're a creep, you know that?"

"Oh, you wound me." He chuckles, waving a dismissive hand at you. "Come on, you know you want to talk about it. The thriller, or the awakening. Come on, spill your guts, not literally."

You look at him, a disgusting feeling in the pit of your stomach, shaking your head. "No. I'm never thinking about it again." You say bluntly. The man does nothing but sip his drink, smiling at you.

He nods, sitting in the chair. He doesn't say anything, only looks at him. It makes your feeling grow, and your mind wander. You roll your eyes and try to ignore him, but the presence of another being, dead or alive, around you right now is overwhelming. You take the bottle of champagne and watch him scramble to get out the way, much like a cartoon.

"Are you MAD?!" He yells out, looking at you.

"Yeah. Get the fuck out!"

"You think I'd let something like you go? I will not let your genius and skill go to waste!" He belts out, stepping forward and looking into your eyes. "Do you not see? This is only the beginning. And what a lovely gift to come tonight."

"Gift?" You ask, backing away from his grasp as he goes to touch your cheek. "You're not making any sense, and I don't think this is a generational thing."

He laughs, tsking softly. "You wouldn't understand, not yet. Not until you see from my point of view, darling." He laughs, pouring the second glass of the emerald beverage. "Come on. Won't you celebrate with me?" He starts to hand you the drink, grabbing your wrist and looking at you with a strange look.

"Celebrate what?!"

"My Deathday, of course." He laughs, pointing at the lock. "It's almost that time, as well." He smirks, the clock reading '2:24'.

Before you can say anything, James looks at you with wide eyes. "Drink with me. Join me." He smiles wider, looking at you expectantly.

And for whatever reason? You drink. The clock switches and you hear a soft jazz start to play, a quick calming sensation as the absinthe falls into the pit of your belly and throughout your body.

"Good... Splendid. Just marvelous."

[ahqkas]

♯ HIRAETH ; james patrick march

PAIRING! james patrick march x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! hiraeth (n.) — a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was, the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past

WORD COUNT! 6.8k

WARNINGS / TAGS! angsttt, reader is described to have hair, mention of love making + lmk of more if found !

NOTES! found a collection of podcasts that reminded me a bit too much of james , this work is inspired by dangerously yours’ masquerade !! all the credits to the devider below belong to @/menschenopfer

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE YEAR WAS 1927, AND LOS ANGELES WAS A CITY OF DREAMS, BEAMING WITH AMBITION, GLAMOUR, AND DARKNESS OF ITS OWN. The Hotel Cortez, with its imposing façade of carved stone and gleaming brass, towered over the busy streets below. It was a sanctuary for the elite, a place where luxury met mystery, and where secrets were buried deep within its intimidating walls.

The heavy doors of the hotel creaked open, and in stepped a woman whose presence commanded attention. She was the very meaning of old-world elegance, a figure that seemed to have stepped out of the newest magazine. Her [color] hair was styled in gentle waves that framed her face, and her eyes, sharp and enigmatic, glimmered with a secret knowledge. She wore a tailored traveling dress of navy blue, the fabric clinging to her form in a manner that was both modest and alluring. A black cloche hat sat atop her head, its wide brim casting a shadow over her striking features.

As you crossed the marble threshold, the polished floors beneath your heels echoed with each deliberate step. The hotel lobby was a grand room of the hotel, adorned with chandeliers that bathed the space in warm, golden light. The walls were lined with dark, rich wood paneling, and the air was filled with the faint scent of jasmine and the lingering aroma of fine cigars. Guests shuffled around in the lobby, their conversations a murmur of excitement, but their eyes discreetly turned to the striking woman who had just entered.

A hotel worker, dressed smartly in a bellboy uniform of crisp white and black, approached you with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to catering to the wealthy and powerful. He couldn't help but be taken aback by your appearance, the way you moved with an effortless grace that seemed to belong to someone your status.

"Good evening, madam," he said, his voice respectful but tinged with curiosity. His eyes darted briefly to your luggage — a single, exquisitely crafted leather bag, monogrammed with the initials that possibly belonged to you.

Without pausing, you handed him your smooth gloves, your tone cool and commanding. "Have my bag sent to Suite 81," you instructed, words clipped and precise.

The bellboy hesitated for only a moment before snapping to attention. "Yes, ma'am!" he replied, taking the bag with both hands as if it contained something made out of glass, something precious. He hurried off toward the elevator, casting a final, awed glance back at you.

You continued your way through the lobby and a low hum of conversation followed after you. Guests and staff alike seemed to recognize you, though none dared to approach you directly. Your reputation, it seemed, followed you as well.

"Good evening, Countess [Last name]!" came a cheerful greeting from one of the hotel's attendants, a middle-aged man with a handlebar mustache who had seen many notable figures pass through the Cortez's doors, but none quite like you.

You turned your head slightly in his direction, your lips curling into a polite smile that did not quite reach your eyes. "Good evening," you replied, voice smooth and cultured, with a hint of an accent that spoke of faraway lands.

The attendant bowed slightly as you passed, and within moments, another voice, this time a younger woman in the concierge uniform, echoed through the lobby. "Welcome back, Countess [Last name]!" her voice was filled with genuine warmth and you didn't understand where did this come from.

The evening had settled over Los Angeles. The grand dining room of the hotel was appearing in art deco luxury, with its dark wood accents, gold-leafed walls, and crystal chandeliers casting a warm, inviting light over the tables set with fine china and silverware. The clinking of glasses and soft murmur of conversation filled the air and created something nostalgic to your heart.

You entered the dining room with the same air of composed grace that had marked your entrance into the hotel. Your eyes swept the room, taking in the diners who were engaged in their meals and conversations and you felt a pang of jealousy upon the sight. Their lives were so normal in comparison with yours.

As you approached the maître d's podium, the head waiter, a distinguished man with a neatly trimmed mustache and a tuxedo that fit him like a second skin, stepped forward. He recognized you immediately, the elegant Countess, and inclined his head in a deep bow.

"A table for one, ma'am?" his voice was practiced with the ease of someone who had served wealthy guests for years, though there was a slight quiver in his voice — perhaps a trace of the unease that always seemed to accompany you.

You, with your face expression as unreadable as ever, allowed yourself a brief pause before responding. Your eyes flicked past him, scanning the room once more, searching for something — or rather, someone.

"Is . . . James Patrick March dining?" you asked, voice soft but with an undercurrent of something that hinted at more than just casual interest.

The maître d' hesitated only for a heartbeat before answering, his gaze following yours toward the far end of the room. "Oh, he's at the table by the window, ma'am," he replied and a hint of curiosity crossed his tone as he gestured subtly toward the large, arched windows that overlooked the city's nightscape.

There, seated at a table clothed in the soft glow of candlelight, was James Patrick March. He was dressed impeccably in a tailored black suit with a crisp white shirt and a tie that was just slightly loosened, giving him an air of a casual someone. His posture was relaxed, yet there was an intensity in the way he glanced through the room, as if every detail, every movement was a piece in a grand, invisible game. A game that belonged to him. His dark hair was slicked back, and his piercing eyes, though cast downward at the moment, seemed to take in everything around him.

Your gaze lingered on him, breath catching slightly as the history the two of you shared played out in your mind — something you've never been able to erase from your memories. Your hand tightened around the strap of your formal handbag, the storm of rage already forming inside you.

"Thank you," you murmured to the maître d', who, sensing that his services were no longer required, bowed once more and stepped aside.

With a final, steadying breath, you made your way across the dining room, your steps measured and elegant, drawing the eyes of more than a few guests who wondered at the purpose of your approach. You moved with the grace of a woman who knew how to command a room's attention without asking for it, but there was also a tension to your movements, a barely concealed edge that hinted at the true intentions of your visit.

As you neared the table, March's dark eyes lifted from his glass of alcohol, catching yours in a gaze that was both intimate and unreadable. He leaned back slightly in his chair and a slow, amused smile played at the corners of his lips as he watched you approach, as if he had been expecting you all along.

"Countess [Last name]," he greeted you, his voice smooth and rich with a hint of that accent you both despised and adored. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

You met his gaze evenly, your own smile small and controlled, but there was a fire in your eyes that belied your calm exterior.

"Mr. March," the way his name rolled out of your mouth shouldn't sound so lovingly. Your voice was steady, though your heart raced beneath your play. "I believe we have unfinished business."

March remained seated, watching your every move with the sharp, predatory gaze of a man who was used to getting what he wanted. The slight smirk on his lips hinted at his appearing satisfaction. He knew you’d show up, let it be few weeks or decades.

"If some kind fate wishes to send a beautiful lady to dine with me, I can only be grateful," the man said, his voice smooth and low, rich with the charm of someone who was well aware of his power. "You will do me the honor, won't you, ma'am?"

For a brief moment, the tension between the two of you hung in the air, taut and electric, as you studied him. You were fully aware of the game you were playing, the dangerous dance of wit and will, and you had no intention of backing down. This game would be his loss.

Finally, your lips curved into a small, controlled smile, one that spoke of your own understanding of the power dynamics at play. "I should be delighted," you replied, voice carrying the slightest edge of irony as you accepted his invitation.

March's smile deepened, pleased with your response. He gestured to the empty chair opposite him, a silent invitation for you to join him. The man poured a glass for you, the wine a deep, blood-red, before filling his own. He lifted his glass to you in a toast and his eyes never left yours.

"To fate," he said, his voice carrying a note of amusement. "For bringing such a captivating companion to my table."

You lifted your glass, clinking it lightly against his. "To fate," you echoed, gaze steady as you sipped the wine, the taste of it rich and complex on your tongue. It's been a long time since the last moment you tasted the sweet blood.

For now, the dance would continue.

And as you looked into James Patrick March's eyes, you couldn't help but wonder who would lead, and who would follow.

"What would you like for dinner?" his voice always seemed smooth, and you never knew if it was because of the accent or for the fact that he knew exactly what he wanted. A hint of amusement danced in his dark irises.

Your lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "What does the owner of this hotel eat? Pheasant wings and peacock breasts?" you inquired, tone playful yet edged with a subtle challenge. "And — what do you usually eat?"

His grin widened. "Ah, the usual fare for me tends to be quite varied, though I do have a penchant for the extravagant," he admitted, leaning forward slightly as he spoke and you knew his words hinted at something else as well. "But I find myself quite curious about what a countess might prefer."

Your gaze never wavered as you answered, your voice carrying a hint of wry humor. "Almost anything," the simplicity of your answer was belied by the layers of meaning beneath it.

The man's eyes sparkled with interest as he absorbed your response. He seemed to consider those words carefully before responding, his voice warm and teasing. "Well then, how about roast beef?" he suggested, his tone both casual and deliberate, as though he were making an offer that was both grand and intimate.

Your smile deepened and a glimmer of approval appeared in your eyes. James Patrick March had always had a rich taste. Especially in alcohol and women. "Roast beef sounds delightful," you agreed. "I appreciate your choice, Mr. March. It seems fitting for the occasion."

March signaled to the waiter, who had been hovering discreetly nearby, and relayed the order with a casual wave of his hand, all while his eyes never left yours. The waiter nodded and swiftly disappeared, leaving the two of you alone once more, the soft murmur of the dining room the only sound accompanying you.

With a slow, elegant movement of his hand, March poured himself another glass of wine. "I must say, Countess [Last name], it's a rare pleasure to share a meal with someone who possesses such . . . discerning taste," he said, his voice laced with both sincerity and a hint of irony.

"And it's a rare pleasure to find myself in such intriguing company," you replied to him, tone both warm and enigmatic. "I trust the evening will prove to be as engaging as the company."

March chuckled softly, his gaze lingering on you with an almost predatory satisfaction. "I have no doubt it will be," he said, raising his glass in a toast once more.

The night sky was a deep shade of deep indigo, flickering with countless stars that twinkled like diamonds scattered across velvet. The air was warm, with just the faintest whisper of a breeze, carrying the scent of blooming jasmine through the open balcony doors. The Hotel Cortez stood silent and still, its grand exterior bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, casting long, gentle shadows across the marble floors.

You stood on the balcony, the city of Los Angeles sprawling out beneath you like a sea of lights. Your gown, a delicate shade of silver that shimmered in the moonlight, flowed around you like liquid silk. Your hair was loose, cascading over your shoulders in waves, and your young face, bathed in the soft light, was a picture of pure satisfaction.

Beside you stood James Patrick March, his tall figure intimidating yet relaxed as he leaned against the ornate railing. His gaze, however, was not on the city below, but on the woman at his side. There was a softness in his eyes, a rare gentleness that few had ever seen, let alone inspired. In this moment, all the world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you.

As you stood in comfortable silence, a sudden streak of light blazed across the night sky — a shooting star, burning its brief path before vanishing into the darkness. March, ever so observant, turned his gaze upward, his lips curving into a smile.

"Look, [Name], a shooting star," he said, his voice filled with a boyish wonder that was rare for him. He turned his head slightly to meet your gaze, his eyes reflecting the faint starlight. "Did you wish?"

Caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the star, you blinked and looked up just as it disappeared. Your expression softened, a faint smile touching your lips, but there was a wistfulness in your eyes as you shook your head slightly.

"Oh . . . I didn't have time," you admitted, voice tinged with a hint of regret, as though you had missed an opportunity that would not come again.

James' smile didn't falter, though there was a subtle shift in his expression — something deeper, more thoughtful. He stepped closer to you, his presence warm and reassuring. "And there is something you wish for," he said, more a statement than a question, as if he already knew the answer but wanted to hear it falling from your own lips.

Your smile faded into something more serious, your eyes searching his as though you were trying to decide whether to speak the truth or guard your heart. But in the end, you could not lie to him — not in this moment, not when you felt so safe, so completely at peace by his side.

"Yes," you whispered to him, barely more than a breath.

March's gaze softened further. He reached out with his hand and gently enveloped your own in his, the skin of his palm warm and grounding. "What did you wish?" he asked, his voice low and intimate, as though the words were meant for your ears alone.

You hesitated, the answer so close to escaping, yet so difficult to say. Your heart ached with the weight of it, with the knowledge of the life you wished for but could never truly have. Looking down at your joined hands, your fingers lightly curled around his in response to his question, and then back up into his dark eyes, which were watching you with such intensity, such sincerity. They seemed a lot darker now, under the night sky.

"I was wishing that we were two other people," you finally confessed, your voice filled with a quiet longing that spoke of dreams unfulfilled. "Two people who need not say goodbye."

The words hung between you, heavy with meaning. You could not bear the thought of losing him, of this moment being just a fleeting memory in the string of your lives. The depth of your love for him was overwhelming, a love so pure and untainted by the shadows that would later consume you.

James stepped even closer, his hand gently moving to cup your cheek and his thumb brushed tenderly across your skin. "Perhaps it can be that way," he murmured. March bent his head, his lips hovering just above yours, as if the very act of kissing you might seal the promise he was making. "Perhaps we can be those people, if only for tonight."

Your breath caught in the back of your throat, heart pounding in your chest as you searched his eyes for the truth in his words. And this time, you allowed yourself to believe it — to believe that the two of you could escape the world that would inevitably tear you apart, that you could be just a man and a woman, free from the burdens of your lives.

You were the one to close the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was soft, tender, and filled with all the love and hope you held in your heart for him.

And for that night, under the watchful eyes of the stars, you were just two people who did not need to say goodbye.

The present moment was completely different to the warmth and tenderness of the past. The air in the room was thick with tension, the kind that clung to the walls and settled in every crack of the Hotel Cortez. The grand suite you occupied was dimly lit, the once-gilded decor now seemed dull. Outside, the night became alive, the city's lights a distant blur beyond the heavy curtains, but inside, the atmosphere crackled with the remnants of an argument that had yet to reach its peak.

You stood near the window, your back to the room, while you stared out into the darkness with attention that wasn't really there. Your once vibrant spirit now seemed dulled by the weight of time spent in this cursed place, your elegance marred by the sorrow etched into your features. The memories of what had once been — of the love you had felt for him — were a distant echo. His betrayal hardened your heart.

Behind you, James Patrick March paced around the room restlessly, his usually composed demeanor frayed at the edges. The man who had once been a picture of controlled arrogance now seemed almost desperate, his eyes locked onto your figure as though you were the only thing grounding him to this world. His tailored suit was as impeccable as ever, but there was a tension in the set of his shoulders, a strain in his voice that betrayed the depth of his emotions.

"[Name]," he began, and his voice was urgent, almost pleading as he tried to bridge the growing wall between the two of you. "I offer you the three things most dear to me: my heart . . . my hotel . . . and my dream."

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of promises that no longer held the meaning they once did. He took a step toward you, his hand outstretched as if to pull you back to him, to recapture the love you had shared before everything had gone so terribly wrong. Before his mistakes happened.

But you remained unmoved, back still turned to him, posture stiff with resolve. The pain in your chest was such a familiar ache, one that had become a part of your very being, but you had long since learned to live with it. Now, it was a shield, protecting you from the man who had once held your heart so completely.

"You are too generous —" you began with your voice full of coldness, as if you were speaking to a stranger and not the man you had once loved with every fiber of your being.

"[Name], you must listen to me!" March's voice cracked with desperation as he allowed himself to interrupt you, his frustration spilling over. He stepped closer, his presence almost suffocating in its intensity. "Since that first hour we met, I've been completely yours. There's never been anyone else for me . . . There never will."

His confession, raw and unfiltered, was the truth — at least, the truth as he saw it. To him, you were everything, the only light in the endless darkness that had become his existence. He had built this world all for you, and now it was slipping away, crumbling before his eyes because he could not reach you, could not find a way to make you understand.

You finally turned to face him, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of sorrow and resignation. The words he spoke were like daggers to your heart, reopening wounds that had never truly healed. You had once believed in his love, had once shared his dreams, but that time had passed. What had once been your shared world was now a shattered illusion, a dream that had turned into a nightmare.

"Please," you whispered, voice trembling with the effort to maintain your composure, but you felt the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. "Please don't say any more. There are worlds between us, worlds that can't be bridged with words."

Your gaze bore into his, pleading for him to understand what you could not bring yourself to say out loud.

"You are dead. And I am me."

He was trapped in this hotel, in this half-life of his own making, while you remained bound to the world of the living, a world that he could never truly be a part of. The love you had once shared, as powerful and all-consuming as it had been, was now nothing more than a painful memory.

March stood frozen, the weight of your words crushing the last remnants of his hope. He had always been a man who believed that he could bend the world to his will, that nothing was beyond his reach if he desired it enough. But in this moment, he was confronted with the one thing he could not control, could not change — the inexorable march of time and the finality of death. Was he really though?

His expression was a mix of anguish and determination, the usual smoothness of his demeanor shattered by the knowledge he had carried for so long. This was a truth he had avoided speaking aloud, perhaps out of a twisted sense of mercy, or perhaps because he could not bear the thought of breaking you more than it was needed. But now, the time for silence had passed.

"You said one night that you wished we were two different people," March began to remember, his voice low and measured. His eyes never left your form. "I think you may have that wish, [Name]."

His words seemed to hang in the air. For a moment, you did not move, your mind struggling to grasp the meaning behind them. You felt your brows furrowing in confusion, the flicker of doubt that had long been buried now rising to the surface.

"But what do you mean?" you asked in a quiet voice, almost trembling. There was something in his tone, something in the way he looked at you, that sent a chill running down your spine. It was as if the ground beneath you was beginning to crumble, threatening to pull you into an abyss you had refused to acknowledge.

James stepped closer, his gaze softening as he saw the uncertainty and fear in your eyes upon hearing those words. The man who had always prided himself on his control, on his ability to manipulate and bend others to his will, now stood before you, stripped of all secrets. He could not protect you from this truth now, could not shield you from the reality that had been so carefully hidden away by him.

"[Name]," he started gently, as if to not scare you any more, "you are not who you think you are. You've been living in denial, clinging to the idea that you are still part of the world of the living."

You recoiled slightly, with your heart beginning to race as a cold dread settled against your rib cage. Your mind fought against his words, refusing to accept what they implied. You had always felt different, out of place, but you had attributed it to the strange nature of the hotel, to the dark energy that seemed to carve every corner of it. Not this. Never this.

"No . . ." you whispered, shaking your head as if that could wake you up from the nightmare that was taking shape before you. "No, that can't be true. I'm . . . I'm alive, James. I'm here."

The man's brows furrowed in sorrow and what seemed like guilt, his heart breaking for you when you struggled to hold onto the last shreds of your denial. He reached out, gently taking your hands in his, his touch warm but offering no comfort from the truth he was about to reveal.

"You are here, [Name]," he said softly, "but not in the way you believe. You died, my love . . . years ago. You've been here, in this hotel, ever since. Your spirit, your essence — trapped, just like mine. But unlike the others, you've refused to see it. You've built a world around yourself, a world where you still believe you can leave, still believe you can live."

The room seemed to spin around you, the walls closing in as the truth clawed its way into your consciousness. You tried to pull away from him, tried to reject the reality he was presenting, but his grip on your hands was firm, grounding you even as everything else fell apart.

"No . . . no, that's not possible," you insisted still, your voice rising in pitch as panic began to take hold. "I'm not dead, I can't be. I'm . . . I'm real, James. I'm standing here, talking to you."

"Yes, you are," March replied, his voice steady and calm, though his own pain was evident in his eyes. "But you're not alive. Not in the way you think. This hotel . . . it's a place where the dead linger, where they cannot move on. You've been here with me all this time, believing you were still part of the world outside, but the truth is . . . you're not."

Tears welled up in your eyes as the reality of his words began to sink in, your carefully constructed world shattering around you. You could feel the coldness creeping into your bones, the weight of your existence pressing down on you like a leaden shroud. It was as if you were seeing yourself for the first time — truly seeing — and what you saw terrified you.

"But . . . but how?" asking, your voice broke as you looked up at him, searching his face for answers, for anything that might make sense of this horror. "How could I not know? How could I . . . how could I forget?"

Your past lover's expression was filled with sorrow as he gently cupped your face, wiping away the salty tears that spilled down your cheeks. He had never wanted this for you, never wanted you to suffer as he had, to be trapped in this purgatory with nothing but memories and regrets to keep you company.

"You loved me," he stated simply. "You loved me so much that you couldn't bear to let go, even in death. Your love for me, your denial . . . it kept you here, in this place, unable to see the truth. But now . . . now you know."

You were his. Perhaps you had always been. And now, as the truth of your existence settled into your bones, he knew he could not let you go, even if it meant holding onto a ghost, a shadow of what the two of you once were.

Gently, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his hand still cradling one of your cheeks. Your eyes were red-rimmed, your face paler than usual, but in that moment, you were still the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. The love he had felt for you had not waned, even in death; if anything, it had only grown stronger, more desperate.

"You may as well take my heart, [Name]," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "It's already full of you. You walked into it the day we met."

A blink was all you managed to give. You had felt his love from the beginning, had known how deeply he cared for you.

"You're a fool, James Patrick March." There was no anger in your words, only a sorrowful resignation. You knew what he was trying to do, knew he was trying to hold onto something that had already slipped away. But there was no future for the two of you — not in this twisted world, not in this half-existence.

He smiled sadly, a flicker of the old charm that had once captivated you. "Oh, but isn't any man who falls in love?" He ran his thumb gently across the apple of your cheek, wiping away the last traces of your tears. "Do you know what you are to me? You're something to believe in again. You're the type of person that had ceased to exist for me — a fine and honest woman."

His words were like a knife twisting in your heart. The depth of his feelings, the sincerity in his voice, all served to remind you of what you had lost, of what could never be. You wanted to believe in his love, to find comfort in the fact that he still saw you as something pure and good. But the truth was that you weren't that woman anymore, and perhaps you never had been.

"Oh, my darling. You're such a child.”

James' face fell, the hope in his eyes dimming as he saw the resolve in your posture, heard the finality in your voice. He had feared this moment, the moment when you would push him away, when you would reject the only thing he had left to offer.

"Take your foolish little dream in your heart and go," you continued with your final decision and your voice broke on the last word as you fought against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm your every sense. You wanted him to leave, to take his love and his dreams and disappear, because you knew that if he stayed, you would both be dragged down into the darkness that surrounded you.

You didn't need to turn around to know he was still there. You could feel him, like a shadow that never left your side.

"What is it? What's wrong, my dear?" his voice was gentle, almost tender, but you could hear the underlying concern.

You wanted to lash out, to tell him to leave you for good, to demand that he let you be. But the words caught in the back of your throat, tangled with the truth of what you felt — what you had always felt for him, despite everything.

"You know nothing about me," you said, voice shaking with frustration, but also with a hint of despair. "You've known me only three weeks!"

March blinked, caught off guard by your statement. Three weeks. Had it really been so little time? To him, it felt like an eternity, and at the same time, like no time at all. Every moment with you had been etched into his mind, as if you had always been there, a part of him that never left.

"Three weeks?" he repeated after you. "[Name], I've known you all my life."

"All your life?!" the words were nothing but a distant echo, incredulous. How could he say that? How could he claim to have known you, when you yourself barely understood who you were anymore?

James took a step closer, his eyes locked onto yours. He could see the turmoil in your gaze, the confusion and doubt that swirled around you like a storm. But he had to make you understand — had to make you see what you meant to him, what you had always meant.

"It's true," he insisted, his voice filled with quiet conviction. "I've seen you in a thousand plays, read you in as many books. While I've heard beautiful music, I've thought, 'She'd like that.' I've looked at flowers and known that one day I'd give them to you."

To him, you had always been there, in his thoughts, in his dreams. Even before the two of you met, you had been a part of him, an ideal, a vision of something pure and beautiful in a world that had long since lost its luster.

Your breath caught in your throat as you listened, heart pounding in your chest. You had heard words like these before — sweet nothings whispered in the dark after you've made love, promises made and broken — but this was different. There was no lies in his voice, no empty flattery. He truly believed what he was saying, and that sincerity shook you to your core.

But it also terrified you. Because you knew that if you allowed yourself to believe him, to accept the love he offered, there would be no turning back. You would be lost to him, bound by the same chains that held you both to this place.

"James. . ." you began with your trembling voice as you struggled to find the right words. You wanted to tell him that it wasn't real, that what he felt was just another illusion, another trick of his twisted mind. But even as you thought it, you knew it wasn't true. His love for you was truly real — so real that it had brought you back, kept you from moving on.

But was it enough? Could it ever be enough?

You felt a cold sweat on your skin as you grappled with the turmoil building inside you. The love you felt for James was undeniable, a force that had bound you together in life and in death. But with that love came a profound sense of duty, a discipline that you had clung to as a way to maintain some semblance of control over your fractured existence. Now, that discipline was being tested in a way you had never imagined.

The man himself could see the conflict in your eyes, the way your emotions warred with your duty. He had always admired your strength, the fierce determination with which you had approached everything in your life. But now, he wondered if that strength would ultimately be the thing that tore the two of you apart.

"If I betray you, I betray myself," whispering, your voice trembled with the weight of your confession. You had always prided yourself on your unwavering commitment to your principles, to the discipline that had guided you through even the darkest of times. But now, standing before the man you loved, you realized just how fragile that commitment had become, all because of him.

"If I betray myself," you continued, "I betray my discipline. My discipline is very dear to me."

The words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning. You had built your life around that discipline, around the principles that had defined you. It had been your anchor, your guiding light in a world that had often seemed dark and chaotic.

"Dearer than I?" James' voice was soft, almost pleading. He could see the struggle in your eyes, the way you fought against your love for him with the discipline that had been the foundation of your existence. He knew that he was asking you to choose between two parts of yourself, and the thought of losing you because of it was almost too much to bear.

You looked up at him, heart breaking in million pieces at the vulnerability in his voice. You had never wanted to hurt him, never wanted to put him in a position where he had to question your love. But the truth was, you were questioning it yourself. Not the love itself — no, that was as real as anything you had ever known — but whether you could truly allow yourself to give in to it, to let go of the discipline that had defined you for so long.

"No," you whispered into the dark while the soft breeze blew past you. "No, not dearer than you. But I must leave."

James Patrick March stood there, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you like a death sentence. You were leaving him — this time, forever. The love you had shared, the bond that had once seemed unbreakable, was now shattered, and there was nothing he could do to stop you from disappearing into the void where he could never follow.

For a moment, he said nothing, his heart a cage of grief, anger, and desperation. He had always prided himself on his composure, his ability to remain calm and in control, even in the face of the most dire situations. But now, with the woman he loved standing before him, ready to walk out of his life forever, all that control began to crumble.

"You gave me your heart, you know?" James finally spoke, his voice low and strained, as if each word was being torn from the depths of his soul. "And now you'd like me to hand it back to you, whole again. But I won't."

You flinched at the bitterness in his tone, but you held your ground, soft eyes betraying the sadness that mirrored his own. You had made your decision, but it was clear that it was one that pained you just as much as it pained him.

"You will live a long time yet, [Name]," the man continued, his voice growing stronger, more resolute, as if he were steeling himself against the inevitable. "An eternity without me."

He paused for a moment, hoping to find any sign that you might change your mind, that you might see the madness in what you were about to do. But there was nothing — just the same quiet determination that had always been a part of you, the same unyielding strength that he had fallen in love with.

"You will look into the faces of passersby, hoping for something that will, for an instant, bring me back to you. But it won't. You will find moonlit nights strangely empty," he went on, his voice now a haunting whisper. "Because when you call my name through them, there will be no answer."

Your breath hitched, and you looked away, unable to meet his gaze any longer. James felt a sharp pang in his chest, a sense of helplessness that he had never known before. He was losing you for real, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"Always your heart will be aching for me," he said, his voice trembling with the intensity of his emotions. "And your mind will give you the doubtful consolation that you did a brave thing."

He took a step closer, reaching out to gently lift your chin so that your eyes met once more. The pain in your gaze was almost too much for him to bear, but he held it, wanting you to see the truth in his own eyes. He wanted you to feel his own pain.

"But know this, my dear," the whispered affection left his lips so naturally when it came to you and that was why it all hurt too much. He'd never change. "You may think you're doing the right thing, the brave thing, by leaving. But there will come a time when you will question it — when the loneliness becomes too much, when the nights grow too long, and the silence becomes unbearable. And in those moments, you will remember me. You will remember what we had, and you will wish, with all your heart, that you had chosen differently."

He let his hand fall away, stepping back as the finality of your decision settled over him like a blanket. There was nothing more to say — nothing that could change what was about to happen.

"You will never be free of me. No matter how far you run, or how long you hide. I will always be a part of you, just as you are a part of me."

You swallowed hard, tears now spilling freely down your cheeks again as you took one last look at the man you had loved with all your heart. The man you were about to leave behind.

"Goodbye, James," you whispered, voice breaking. "Goodbye."

And with that, you turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows, leaving James alone in the suffocating silence of the room you had once shared.

As the door closed behind you, the reality of your absence crashed over him like a brutal wave, and for the first time in his life, James Patrick March felt truly, utterly lost.

[redroses07]

Date Night // Kit Walker

Kit Walker x Fem!Reader

Summary: Kit and reader haven’t had much time to themselves recently, so he decides to give her the perfect date night.

WC: 1.1k

Warnings: Smut 18+, Fingering, Swearing, Kissing, Making out, Fluffy af (maybe a little cringe).

A/N: Hey lovelies, I really like this fic and Kit is my favorite Evan character and I totally need to write about him more. Hope you guys like this! And as always comments and reblogs are appreciated. Love you guys sm, and thank you for all the support! - Claire ♡

You stood in front of your mirror, inspecting your chosen outfit. You had hoped it would match the occasion, considering your husband hadn't given you much information other than "put on something nice." It had been a while since the two of you were able to go out. Both of your schedules had become so busy, to the point where you barely had any time to see each other.

So finally, when both of you had a free evening, Kit made it his mission to organize the perfect date. Which apparently meant it being a complete surprise. You didn't know how you felt about that since always having a plan was calming to you, but you were willing to leave it to Kit just this once.

You made your way into the living room, heels clicking behind you.

"I'm ready, love." You called.

Kit, who was sitting on the couch, stuck his head up to look at you.

"Aww, baby you look so beautiful." Kit jumped up from the couch and walked towards you. He placed his hands on either of your arms and gave you a soft yet passionate kiss.

"So can I know where we're going yet?" You interrogated.

"Nope." Kit said.

You rolled your eyes, and he responded by kissing you on the cheek and leading you out to the car. He opened your door for you, as he always did, before getting in the driver's seat.

You drove for several minutes, passing from the suburbs into the busy town. Kit turned on the radio, and you listened to the music mixed with static as you rode along.

Kit kept one hand on the steering wheel, and the other glued to your thigh. He occasionally glanced over at you, only to give you the sweetest smile. You loved his smile, it was by far your favorite feature of his. The way his lips turned up, and his eyes crinkled in admiration.

Kit finally stopped and parked the car in front of your favorite restaurant. You smiled, happy that he had remembered your favorite place.

“Awww! This is such a sweet surprise, thank you honey.” You smiled, leaning over into the drivers seat to give him a hug.

Kit chuckled slightly.

“Well, sugar, this is only part of the surprise.”

You pulled back, raising your eyebrows in curiosity.

Kit kissed you on the cheek in response, and proceeded to exit the car.

The two of you made your way into the restaurant. Kit kept his arm around your waist, he always had to keep you close to him. But of course you didn’t mind.

Kit confirmed his reservation with the waiter, and he motioned for the two of you to follow him. To your surprise, he led you past the busy main rooms, and through a small door.

The door had a sign with the word “Reserved” on it.

Inside was a single table with two chairs. Rose petals were strewn across the floor and table, and a bottle of far too expensive looking champagne was placed in the center of the table.

You looked at Kit, a giddy expression on your face. Some might think this was cheesy, but not you. God you loved him so much.

“Thank you, ahhh I love you.” You sashayed over to the table and took a seat.

The two of you were quick to order your meal, and it was quicker to arrive than usual. You assumed because you were considered special guests tonight.

As you ate, Kit didn’t fail to remind you how beautiful you looked; and you didn’t fail at becoming a blushing mess every time. No matter how long the two of you were together, you would never get used to his flattery.

His hand reached across the table, softly taking yours. Fingers brushed over your wedding band, leaving goosebumps on your skin. Suddenly, you couldn’t wait for this meal to be over.

Once the check arrived, Kit was fast to pay the bill and the two of you were on your way out.

On your way home, Kit once again had his hand on your thigh, but you didn’t miss how he not so discreetly placed it higher.

“Did you enjoy your dinner, love?”

“Of course, and the private seating was honestly one of the sweetest things ever,”

“But I still can’t help feeling a little unsatisfied.” You flirted, leaning in slightly.

“Is that so?” Kit hummed, his hand sliding slowly under your dress.

“mhm” You squirm, trying your hardest not to squeeze your thighs together.

Kit pulled into the driveway and turned the engine off. No more than five seconds later did he dive over into the passenger seat and kiss you with a burning desire.

He kept his hand pressed against your thigh, squeezing it hard as he kissed you. You let out a sigh, leaning back into the seat.

Kit’s hand snakes further up your dress, and into your panties. The feeling of his cool hands against your dripping core, was enough to make you let out a suppressed moan.

He pushed two fingers in, and you threw your head back in bliss. More moans fell from your lips, and you could feel yourself getting lost in his touch.

“Yeah, that’s my girl, let me hear all those pretty noises.” Kit praised as he jammed his fingers in you.

You could feel yourself pulsing around him, and you could tell that you wouldn’t last long.

You gave Kit a sloppy kiss, a mix of tongue and erotic sounds. You rolled your hips up, grinding against his hand.

“Fuck, someone’s needy.” Kit teased.

You whined softly, feeling yourself about to climax.

“Oh shit-“ You moaned as you shamelessly rode his hand.

“Shhh baby it’s okay.” Kit whispered in your ear, as he placed kisses down your neck.

That was enough to push you over the edge. You cried out as you felt a wave of indescribable pleasure wash over you.

“Oh god, Kit.” You shouted as you rode out your high.

Kit kept his eyes on you, a loving smile on his face.

“My beautiful girl.” Kit murmured.

He slowly removed his fingers from inside of you, and kissed you once more.

“I sure hope you’re satisfied now.” Kit laughed, his lips still mere inches from yours.

“More than satisfied.” You giggled, grabbing him by his shirt and kissing him roughly.

He pulled away after a few moments.

“How about we get in the house first before we continue with anything else?”

“You’re no fun.” You rolled your eyes playfully, before opening the car door and pulling your husband behind you.

[fear-is-truth]

a/n — “i like noses. i like big noses because, well, because you can kind of like, you can, like, sit on them.” — doja cat

you’re sprawled out on the couch, tangled in a mess of limbs, the room quiet except for the faint hum of the tv in the background. your legs are slung lazily over evan’s shoulder, and his chin rests on your stomach as he absentmindedly traces circles on your skin. you’re barely awake, drifting in and out of that sweet spot between sleep and consciousness.

“i love your nose,” you mumble, voice slurred.

“it’s so pretty.”

he lets out a soft chuckle, the sound vibrating against you. “seriously? my nose?” evan repeats, his fingers pausing their little pattern.

“mmhm.” your eyes flutter open just enough to catch his amused smile—not to mention those dimples. your heart aches at the sight. he leans down, brushing his lips against your thigh in a soft kiss that sends warmth pooling through your body.

“you’re something else, you know that?” he says, his voice low, playful, but there’s a sweetness there, too. his thumb gently caresses your skin, and you can’t help but smile. you’re too tired to respond with more than a soft hum, letting the comfort of the moment wash over you. he kisses your inner thigh again, softer, slower this time, like molasses. telling you without words how much he adores you.

“go back to sleep, babygirl,” he whispers, his chin finding its place back on your stomach, and you do, with a smile on your lips and the feel of his kisses lingering on your skin.

[rosecoloredsunshine]

hot ones — evan peters

masterlist

PAIRINGS: evan peters x female!reader

SUMMARY: you and evan decided to take on the hot ones spicy wings challenge.

REMINDERS: please be reminded that this is a work of fiction. meaning that all events and occurrences in this story are all fictional and all are part of my imagination. any resemblance to actual life events and people, living or dead, are all purely coincidence.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, wedding talks, established relationship, reader is an 'unofficially retired' actress, fluff attempt, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this has been written more as a self-indulgent fic lol. my requests for evan fics are open, so if you have any, just send me an ask. hope you'll enjoy this one! :)

You and Evan are inside a sleek, industrial-chic studio of Hot Ones, and sitting across from Sean Evans with a row of perfectly arranged and intimidating glazed wings between you and Evan. The set’s familiar aesthetic—black brick backdrop and neon accents, brings a grin to your face. You have seen countless celebrities get wrecked by these fiery wings. Now, it’s your turn.

“You sure you wanna do this, babe?” his eyes glinting with playful concern. “I know how you feel about spicy food.”

“I’ve survived worse,” you quipped, but your grin falters slightly when you glance at the perfectly arranged wings. “Besides, I couldn't let you have all the fun.”

“You’ve got a very loose definition of fun,” he chuckled, corners of his mouth twitching with amusement.

Evan’s hand finds yours beneath the table, fingers intertwining together like second nature. Sean smiled with the kind of enthusiasm that comes from years of watching people suffer through the gauntlet, and clasped his hands together.

“Welcome to Hot Ones, the show with hot questions and even hotter wings. Today, we’ve got a special couple’s episode with none other than one of Hollywood’s most beloved couples!”

“Beloved,” you repeat with a laugh, leaning into Evan’s shoulder. “I like the sound of that.”

“Right?” Evan grins, giving your hand a soft squeeze. “We must be doing something right.”

You and Evan turned towards the camera, with Evan giving a little wave to the camera, while you offered a sheepish smile.

“So,” Sean continues, “before we get into the heat, I gotta ask, how did you both end up agreeing to this? I know, from what I’ve heard, you’re not exactly a fan of spicy food.”

You laughed, already feeling your nerves dissipating. “Well yeah, I’m definitely not a fan. But I thought it would be a fun experience. Plus, Evan wanted to do it, and I couldn't let him suffer alone.”

Evan chuckles, squeezing your hand gently. “She’s braver than she thinks. I’m just here to make sure she doesn't regret it halfway through.”

“That’s true love right there,” Sean grins. “Alright, let’s start with the first wing.”

You and Evan each take a wing. It’s barely spicy, just a hint of heat, and you manage it with ease, earning an approving nod from Evan.

“That’s not bad,” you say, a bit more confident. “Famous last words.”

The three of you let out a laugh. Sean glances at his cue cards. “So, let’s kick things off. You two have been together for six years and recently got engaged. Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” you and Evan said in unison, making Sean laugh.

“Was the proposal a surprise?” Sean asked.

You glanced at Evan, a fond smile appearing on your lips. “Completely. We were on a trip to Japan for my birthday, and I thought that it was just a celebration for that occasion, but it turns out that Evan had this whole plan. I was completely caught off guard.”

Evan grins, remembering the memory. “She kept saying, ‘are you serious?’ like five times before actually saying yes.”

You nudged him lightly, laughing. “It was just a lot to process! I wasn't really expecting it.”

Sean leans forward, intrigued. “Was it nerve-wracking, Evan?”

“Oh absolutely,” Evan admits. “I was more nervous than when I go on set. But when she smiled, I knew that it was the right moment, and she did say yes, eventually.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Yeah, eventually.”

The next wing has a bit more kick to it, and you’re starting to feel a tingle on your lips. Evan had noticed immediately, and turned towards you.

“Doing okay?” he asked softly.

You nod, breathing out a little. “Still manageable.”

“You’re doing great,” Sean coaxed. “Since we're on the topic, you have any wedding plans set?”

You had exchanged a look with Evan, both of you smiling. “We’re keeping it small and intimate,” Evan says. “Close family and friends. We’re still working out the details, but we know it’ll be somewhere meaningful to us.”

“Can I expect an invitation?” Sean jokes.

You laughed softly, surprising yourself. “Sure, why not. We’ll make sure you get one.”

“Oh really? Thank you!” Sean smiled. “Okay, before we dive into the next wing, I have to ask, who’s the better cook between you two?”

Evan chuckled before you even got the chance to respond. “She is, hands down.”

You smiled. “You cook fine, babe. When you’re not burning grilled cheese.”

“Which happens?” Sean prompted, eyes gleaming with interest.

“Often enough that the smoke detector hates him,” you said with a laugh.

Evan raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, true. But her cooking is on a whole other level.”

Sean laughs. “I’d love to see you two do a cooking show together in the future. Maybe some spicy dishes next time?”

You groaned playfully, eyeing the next wing on the table. “I think after today, I’m going to avoid spice for a good while.”

“Speaking of the future,” Sean says, reaching for another cue card. “Since you’ve taken a step back from acting, and Evan’s still heavily involved, has that changed anything for you two? I mean, with you being away from the industry and all.”

You glanced at Evan and smiled softly. “I thought it would be difficult at first. But Evan’s always been supportive, and I decided to step back because I wanted to focus on other things. It’s given me time to explore other passions.”

“She still visits me on set, though,” Evan adds, eyes softening. “And everyone always loves having her around. I think the crew likes her more than me.”

You smiled softly. “They just like the cookies and muffins that I bring.”

Sean chuckles. “Seems like you two have a pretty solid dynamic. Which brings me to my next question, what’s the secret to making it work for so long? Six years is impressive in Hollywood years, it’s hard to reach that kind of longevity, especially that you both are in the industry.”

Evan turns to you, eyebrows raised as if the answer is pretty obvious. “We just get each other, and honestly, I think being best friends at first really helped. We’re ridiculously comfortable around each other.”

“Ridiculously is right,” you agree, smiling. “We’ve been through everything together. The good, bad, utterly chaotic, you name it. But we always talk things through.”

Sean nods thoughtfully. “Communication. A classic, but always true.”

The next wing awaits, and you hesitate before taking a bite of it. Evan watches you carefully, waiting to see how you would react.

When the heat hits you immediately, your eyes widen. “Oh, my god.”

Evan laughs, though he’s wincing through his own bite. “That’s…oof, wow.”

You reached for your water, but Evan already has the glass of milk ready for you. “No baby, drink this instead. The water makes it worse.”

You took the glass of milk gracefully, fingers brushing as you sip. “You’re the best.

“Always,” he replies, gaze lingering on you.

Sean smirks, taking in the moment. “Alright, I think we need to dig into something else before you both pass out from the heat.”

You can’t help but laugh, even as your eyes begin to water. “Yes, please.”

“Evan, you’ve been killing it in all these dramatic roles. But do you ever see yourself doing something lighter? Maybe a rom-com?” Sean asks.

Evan shrugs, wiping his lips with a napkin. “Honestly? Maybe. I think it would be fun, why not. Especially if I could work with her again.”

You raised your brows in surprise. “Really?”

“Absolutely. I mean, you’re an amazing actress, and I do miss working with you.”

The sincerity in his voice leaves you momentarily speechless. Sean seems to pick up on it, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “So, any chance we’ll see you back on screen soon?”

You laughed nervously. “Maybe. I mean, I’ve been tempted, especially with Evan constantly trying to rope me back in.”

Evan smiled brightly. “We’ve joked about it a couple of times. But she’s hard to convince.”

“More like you haven't pitched me anything compelling enough,” you teased, taking a sip of the water. “You’d have to really sell it.”

“Oh, I can sell it,” Evan laughs. “Just wait, one of these days.”

The last wing was brutal. The second that you bite into it, your entire mouth feels like it’s on fire. You clutch Evan’s arm, face scrunching in pain as you try not to let the heat overwhelm you.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, chugging the milk Evan hands you. “Why did I agree to this?”

Evan is faring only slightly better, tears pooling in his eyes. “Because you love me?”

“I might reconsider that after this,” you joked, voice a little hoarse.

Sean was laughing, clearly entertained by the chaos. “You guys survived!”

“I’m just glad I did this with you,” Evan says, rubbing your back gently as you recover. “Even if you hate me for it now.”

You glanced up at him, slight tears streaming down your face but still managing a smile. “Could never hate you.”

Once the video had wrapped up, you and Evan found yourselves hanging out backstage of the Hot Ones studio. You collapsed onto a couch with a tub of ice cream between you, as Evan watches you like you’re the only person in the world.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says, voice low and sincere.

“I did it,” you say, mostly to yourself than anyone else. “I actually did it.”

Evan leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You did, and you were amazing.”

“Guess we have to cancel our sushi dinner, because I’ll be feeling these spicy wings on my mouth for a good couple of hours,” Evan laughed as you rested your head on his shoulder, still working through the lingering heat. “Next time, let’s just do a cooking show.”

Evan laughed again, wrapping an arm around you. “Deal.”

© rosecoloredsunshine, 2025

[bluerthanvelvet444]

ᯓ★⋆˚🅰🅿🆁🅸🅲🅸🆃🆈⋆｡˚ ⁀➷

(Peter Maximoff x fem!reader)

tags: smut with plot and a bit of fluff in the end.

warnings: subby!Peter, restraints, handjob, fingering, riding, p in v, denied orgasm, praise, mentions of abuse, mentions of alcohol, mentions of fight, swearing.

summary: Peter gets captured by the villains. This fic takes place after x-men apocalypse and before x-men dark phoenix.

character count: 19k.

full fic under the cut ↓

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Memoir. What’s its provenance? What is it?

According to scientists, memories are “formed as a result of connections between neurons in the brain”. The poet Sylvia Plath, instead, “sardonically embraced the most horrific and vulgar fragments from the storehouse of collective memory”. The great philosopher Aristotle believed that “memory is like a writing that remains etched in wax, and whose inscriptions remain more or less durable”.

Although you continually researched and seeked in books for the perfect depiction, you weren’t able to find anything that could comply with your personal belief. You were staunch that memories are, in fact, the mirror of our being. Disgraceful memories, glorious ones…they’re both needed to construct the way we act, the way we think, and the way we are. You had always been involved in memoir personally, because of your quirk. You had the marvelous capacity of intruding into one’s memories. You couldn’t directly change or interact with them, instead, you could see, reproduce, assimilate and mimic them. Phenomenal, isn’t it? You may think it is but, your biggest gift to you was, in fact, your biggest ruin. Your life started its downgrade the exact moment you found out about it. You remembered it all.

You were standing small in front of your mother, who had either fallen asleep or passed out. The bottle of cheap tequila in her hands made both answers valid. You were just a kid but you knew it wasn’t easy. Your father had left when you were just a fetus in your mother’s womb. Since then, she had never been the same. All the bills, the rent, expenses were on her. Her job exhausted her and the little time she had left, she spent drowning her worries in alcohol. She didn’t need any more problems, so you never told her about that awkward energy growing inside of you. That particular day you felt it bigger than ever, the need to find out what it led to even stronger. So you put your tiny fingers on her temples, as the little voice in your head told you to, and you started seeing. All of your mother's life was flashing in front of your eyes quickly. You stopped at one particular memory, you inspected it. Your mother stood pregnant in front of a man that kept yelling at her. You put the pieces of the puzzles together. It was clear, and the new knowledge of the situation triggered something inside of you, inside of your power. You kept replaying and replaying the scene, tears in your eyes, as the man’s words dissolved from the memory and came directly out of your mouth. That woke your mother up, she was holding her head as the same image kept banging in her mind, and as the man’s voice spit those known words harshly from your little mouth. She yelled for you to stop, and you lowkey wish you never did. As soon as you stopped, she grabbed you and threw you inside of-what you playfully called-the dark room, your basement.

“I-I’m sorry…I can’t-you’re him…I-I see him-” Her words came out broken from her mouth, her sobs stopping her mid-sentence as she locked you inside.

That became a habit since then. You grew up in the “dark room”, hardly ever going outside if not to eat and respond to natural calls. Your main activity was watching TV and day-dreaming about the outside world. You knew it was better than what you were living, it had to be. Especially because you found out that you weren’t crazy or evil but that you simply belonged to a different species. They called them mutants.And apparently, there was a school for kids just like you, the interviews of the famous Charles Xavier were the ones you liked watching the most on TV. As the years went by, your urge to run away grew more and more, and so you did. One day in the early 70s, you grabbed all of your things and left, taking advantage of your mom’s blackout. You took different taxis and avoided the questions about your young age, and you were finally standing in front of Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. Although, it seemed different from what you saw on TV: it looked abandoned, the plate with the name on it rusty and absentmindedly resting on the ground, and the gates closed. You tried peeking inside, before being startled by an unfamiliar voice behind you.

“Don’t waste your time. They can’t help you anymore, but we can.”

This is how you found yourself with a group of mutants who had the exact same hopes you had, before they were broken by the closure of the school. You were guided by The Captain-that is how he wanted to be called-that was trying to create a new safe place for young mutants. And his plan seemed to work, kid mutants were actually starting to come…before Xavier’s school opened again. At this point, your group desperately found itself in front of the school’s gate again. You were dismissed,though, by a blue beast mutant.

“We’re sorry, the school only accepts young kids between 5 and 17-” He told you before turning his back.

“You can try and talk to Charles though, I’m sure he will find some space for y-'' He stopped seeing you had all left.

This is why The Captain’s plan was ever created in the first place. He believed that Charles Xavier was a man only drawn by his personal needs, and that he only used the young mutants to gain popularity and be idolized by the US government.

“This is why we were rejected. Our powers aren’t conventionally pleasing. No human kid would ever desire our powers. So if he believes our gifts can’t be used for good, we won’t use them for good.” He spoke firmly to you all.

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Your flow of memories was interrupted by The Captain.

“We’ve captured one. You will watch him while we take care of the others. Do your thing on him and find out his weakness.” He spoke with a deep voice.

You nodded and began making your way downstairs before he gripped your wrist.

“Don’t disappoint me, Y/N.” You felt his piercing gaze in your eyes.

“I won’t.” You gulped and quickly left the room.

When you opened the door you scanned your surroundings. The room was all white, with petty furniture. No windows, a table, a chair, a small closet, and a bed which had a figure laying down on it. You inched closer and scanned the boy. His eyes closed, he was probably knocked out, a few bruises on his skin, his hands and legs restrained by the strong collars around them… he looked your age, his hair was silver with some goggles resting on them. He had a pleasant face to look at, if the circumstances had been different you could’ve even admitted that he was pretty attractive. He was wearing a black protective suit, probably X-men’s equipment, you guessed. The more you observed him, the more you were confused. You expected them to capture the great Mystique, the glorious Magneto…not a newbie. You sighed and started walking towards the desk, ramaging in your bag for a sleeping pill so that you could do your magic without being interrupted.

Peter slowly opened his eyes, he could feel his body sore from the previous fight. He started to panic as he didn’t recognize his surroundings. He tilted his head forwards, noticing the person standing in front of the desk.

“H-hey…! Ppsttttt…Lady! Yes! You! Lady!” You heard his desperate calls.

You walked towards him and stopped at the side of the bed.

“Hi! So there’s a bunch of bad people who captured me and probably want to beat my ass-” You stopped him mid-sentence.

“I know.” You replied with a monotone voice.

“You-you know?! Don’t tell me you’re one of ‘em- oh shit! You’re one of ‘em! C’mon you have to be kiddin’ me…you’re too pretty to be mean! Hey! C’mon help me!” He rushed, his hands and legs squirming at high speeds against the restraints. You didn’t budge at his compliment, instead, you were focused on his movements.

“A speedster, huh.” You mumbled.

“A speed…A speedster?! Babe I'm not a speedster- I’m the speedster! Quicksilver! Peter Maximoff! The one and only!” He replied cockily, almost as if he was offended by your lack of knowledge. You raised your eyebrow, clearly having no clue of who he was.

“Aah babe you’ve got to be kiddin’ me! I’m Quicksilver! The one who beated Apocalypse’s ass! I did it all myself heh- I’m basically a hero, everyone loves me. Don’t ya watch TV or what?” Even though you had no idea who this guy was and what he did to be part of the X-men, you could sense the exaggeration in his words.

“I prefer books.” You shrugged before turning your back and making your way to the desk again.

“Hey! Hey! Where ya goin’?! Are ya a mutant too? Hey, yer not gonna hurt me aren’t ya?! What’s your power? C’mon tell me…What’s your power? Whaddaya do?!”

You rolled your eyes as his continuous questions started to annoy you.

“Will you shut up and let me do what I need to do?!” You snapped while holding between your thumb and index the sleeping pill. His pupils dilated.

“Whoa-whoa…let’s chill down a bit, yea? No need to use that, babe. Ya just gotta ask and I'll do whatever you want me to do.” He said with a smirk forming on his face. You sighed.

“Close your eyes and stay still.” You began pressing your fingers against his temples.

“...Will it hurt?” He said with a nervous smile, big brown eyes looking up at you.

“It doesn’t have to.”

Just like that you were thrown into Peter’s memories. You saw his child self, his mom, his sister…his first time using his powers…Magneto…many memories about Magneto, weird. You decided to dig a little deeper. You replayed the memory where he found out that…

“Magneto is your father?!” You exclaimed, visibly surprised.

“Hehe, I guess…so that’s your power?” He said with a tiny chuckle.

You kept thinking about what you just saw. You never saw a direct contact between Peter and Magneto, so you supposed he didn’t know about his son. That could’ve easily been used against him, you had to tell The Captain. You walked towards the table and gathered your bag.

“That’s a cool power…I’ve never heard ‘bout it. Actually, I’ve never heard ‘bout ya either…do ya have a supervillain name? Why didn’t ya fight with the others?” The words fell rapidly out of his lips. You gulped.

“Just Y/N. I don’t fight with the others. My powers weren’t made for physical combat.” That’s true, they hardly ever let you come with them on missions. You were useless for superheroes as much as you were for supervillains.

“Pffffttt…that’s bullshit! Ya can do those cool things with yer mind! Ya totally have to meet Charles, he’s gott-”

“Charles? Charles’s a selfish man who puts his needs first. I don’t want anything from him.” You scoffed.

“Wha-what? Are ya out of yer mind? Have ya ever even met Charles? He’s the coolest. I was literally a loser who lived in his mom’s basement before meeting him. Always been cool though.” His words made your blood boil, hearing that he didn’t hesitate to help him but discarded you immediately. You told Peter your story, how you truly believed Charles was gonna save you but ended up breaking your inner child’s heart. Your eyes started to water as memories flooded in front of your eyes.

“Hey-I-I’m sorry that happened to ya but- hey- if I get outta here alive, I promise I will take you to the school. The professor will help ya, he always does.” You looked at him, a tiny glimmer of hope appearing in your eyes even though you knew that you couldn’t leave.

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You spent all your day talking to him. He was funny, you had to admit. The nicest company you had ever had. He told you about his family, how he joined the X-men, everything. And before you knew it, the night came.

“Oh uhm. You should get some sleep, you’re probably exhausted.” You said while getting up, ready to leave.

“Wait- uhhh…I can’t really sleep with this armor thingy on. It’s uncomfy.” He complained.

“Oh. Right, I can bring you some clothes. But I…can’t untie you. It’s the rules.” You shrugged.

“No need to. I usually sleep naked.” He winked at you.

“...” You contorted your face, not really knowing how to respond.

“HA! Gotcha. Just kidding. I sleep in my boxers.” He said with a proud grin on his lips.

“...I’ll bring you clothes.” You said before being interrupted again.

“No! Seriously, I just need to take my clothes off.”

You raised your eyebrow.

“...Not because I’m a creep. Simply because my speed speeds my body’s functions, and by speeding it highs my temperature so I get hot.” He spoke as if it was obvious.

“...Right.” You sighed and sat on the edge of the bed.

“How does this thing open?”

“W-whoa whoa…you-are you gonn- wait-” He stuttered as his cheeks slightly reddened.

“You said you wanted your clothes off, and I’m not gonna risk getting scolded by The Captain by freeing you.” You sighed. He gulped and pointed where his zipper was.

C’mon Peter…ya can do this, buddy. Ya just need to focus, yea? Don’t let a fine chick undressing ya speed yer speedy hormones, mh? Peter thought to himself. Your hands gripped the zipper and started pulling it down. Stay focused soldier. His broad chest was revealed as you slowly undressed him. You stopped at his abs to hop on the bed and take his shoes off. As you leaned to pull his boots, your arm slightly brushed his crotch. Holy fucking mother of all the fucking mutants, fuck. She barely touched ya and yer already growing hard, Peter? Must be tha speedy genes, yea, has to be. Totally not has nothing to do with ya being a virgin in your 20s. Nuh-uh. Goddamn you, Peter!

You threw his shoes on the floor, and started pulling his suit down again. You let your gaze linger as he was half-naked in front of you. He was wearing boxers with lightning bolts on them, a tiny chuckle escaped your mouth at that.

“Someone’s excited.” You said with a playful grin on your lips as you pointed at the prominent bulge in his boxers.

“Hey! Not my fault ya got all handsy- how did ya expect me to react?” He said with a tiny blush on his cheeks, he was so cute.

“...And it’s the speedster genes, by tha way. They call me Quickie for a reason.” He replied, annoyed because of how embarrassed he got.

“Do you need help?” You suggested. It may have been wrong, since you were “enemies” and you barely knew each other but…when are you gonna have another cute speedster all for you again?

“DoIneedawhat-” He blurted out, not believing what he just heard.

Your lips curled up in a smirk, and before he could process anything, your fingers grazed his crotch through his underwear.

“Oh- fuck- yea…yes-” He moaned, you giggled.

“So eager, mh?” You teased him by pulling his waistband up and then leaving it smack against his skin. He groaned and nodded, he was so worked up by nothing. You undressed him of his boxers too, his shaft springing free against his stomach, leaving him naked on the bed. His hips bucked up in search of friction. You grinned and gently took his dick in your hand, slowly pumping it.

“Aaah…f-f-yes…please…faster…” He whined.

You giggled and leaned in to kiss his lips gently, muffling his pleas. You started speeding your movements, and he deepened the kiss as his moans rolled off his tongue. As you made out, you could hear the sound of his hands desperately squirming against the restraints.

“Please…let me touch you…” He whimpered, big puppy eyes gazing up at you.

“Mh…sorry, can’t do, baby. It’s the rules.” You smirked and leaned in to peck his lips again. You stopped and sat up to pull off your shirt. He groaned at the sight. You took him in your hands again and fasted your pace even more.

“O-oh..f-fuck...gonna…gonna cum babe…c-cant hold it in…ahh..” You giggled and sped up even more, your mouth working hungrily against his, eating up his moans. He came with a loud groan, muffled by your lips. He kept whining after that.

“Pleasepleaseplease…wanna please ya too…lemme…I’m good at it- I promise…I’m basically a human vibrator-long lasting rose toy- please…” You giggled and nodded, pecking his lips. You took off your pants, before untying one of his hands. He groaned and immediately pulled you closer, his hand making its way under your panties. He suppressed a moan by biting his lip as he felt your slick with his fingers. He gently started circling your clit, and after he heard a few moans of confirmation from you, he began buzzing his fingers against it.

“Ooh…f-fuck…just like that, baby, don’t stop…” You moaned, he answered with a cute whine. He looked up at you, his middle finger gently pushing at your entrance, not fully sliding in. You nodded and bit your lip to suppress any more unholy sound coming out of you as his fingers started to fuck you slowly.

“F-fuck…” You threw your head back. He was gazing up at you with parted lips, as if he had never seen something so breathtaking. He kept picking up the pace, until you stopped his wrist and tied it up again.

“Wha-Wait-Why..? Y-you didn’t like it?” He said with his silver brows furrowed, he was lost and scared of what your answer could’ve been.

“Oh, it was fucking awesome, baby. But I wanna use something else to come, yea? Will you let me do that?” You said in a cooing voice, clearly driving his mind crazy.

“Mhm…yesplease…” He nodded, his gaze not daring to leave your body.

You undid your bra, his eyes widening, and straddled his hips. Your entrance just above his cock. He groaned at the sight, his shaft fully hardening again. You smiled and slowly sinked in, until your hips met his.

“Aaah…w-warm…so warm n’tight…mppph…” He moaned loudly.

You grinned and started slowly sliding your hips up and down repeatedly, reaching a stable pace. You moaned as you started speeding up, yet it wasn’t enough to satisfy you fully.

“Mhh…baby…mind helping me a little?” You said looking down at him.

He moaned and nodded. He started superspeeding his hips to meet yours as you bounced on his cock. The new sensation making you moan loudly.

“Ohhh! Fuck! Just like that, baby…such a good boy…” You groaned as you felt yourself closer. He let out a tiny whimper as he heard your praise and kept speeding up, his wrists and legs straining against the collars, forming tiny red lines.

“Fuckfuckfuck…can i cum? P-please-ah…?” He whined.

“Mhhh...not yet- baby…let me finish first…” You smirked.

He groaned and sped up even more, trying desperately to bring you to the edge. He hissed as he felt that knot in his stomach urging to snap. It didn’t take much for you to come undone. You cried out as you were still jumping up and down at lightning speed. As soon as he felt you clenching around him, he moaned loudly, as he was just about to cum. You quickly pulled him out of you and allowed him to spatter his fluid on your body. He panted heavily, droplets of sweat sinking from his forehead to the mattress. You waited a few moments before grabbing a towel and cleaning you both. You laid down on the bed with him, moving his head on your chest as you ran your fingers in his silver locks, whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

“You're my apricity.” You said while caressing his hair and pecking his temple. His eyes were closed, and he was clearly drifting off to sleep.

“Mh?” He mumbled, not moving one single part of his body, still restrained.

“Apricity. I read that in a book.” You chuckled.

“In simpler words?” He mumbled.

“The warmth of the sun in winter.”

“In even simpler words?” He muttered, his voice coming muffled by your chest.

“My life is the winter, you are the warmth.” You admitted. He didn't answer to that. You weren't sure if he actually understood the concept or even just your words, but one thing you were a hundred percent sure of.

He fell asleep smiling.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

taglist: @cxndiedvi0lets @angeldollw @marchsfreakshow @newwavesylviaplath @happy74827 @evpeters87

a/n: raaaahh!!! I'm honestly so proud of this, the fic came out just like i imagined. Anyways, hope you like it, love you all🤍🤍

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[temporarywelcome]

12 Fics of Christmas Day 2 - Tate Langdon

"Gingerbread Men"

Words: 1.4k

Summary: Being a ghost in the house sucks, reader missing her family this Chrismas season. Tate takes it upon himself to make her feel better.

A/N: sorry I wrote this in one sitting in between class breaks rip. Also let's pretend Tate didn't do the freaky deaky with Vivian. And he sees Violet as a friend, nothing more.

____

When Tate first saw her, he was incredibly infatuated. 

He followed her throughout the house, refusing to let her see him for the first few days. Just quietly admiring her and her beauty. 

Because she was beautiful. 

When he finally decided to make himself known, she was sitting in the living room, lounging with a book in her hand. He knew he looked creepy, standing in the archway and staring at her, but he couldn’t help it. 

Y/N was like a goddess. 

Yes, he looked creepy as hell, and, yes, she reacted the right way, gasping and throwing her book as hard as humanly possible at him. 

“Who the fuck are you?!” she had shouted, scrambling to her feet and grabbing a lamp in defense. 

Tate, who easily caught the book in his hands, fiddled with it nervously, “Tate. You could put the lamp down,”

“What the hell is wrong with this neighborhood?” Y/N muttered to herself, grip on the lamp tightening, “Everyone and their mama just loves to show up uninvited in my fucking house! You know how rude that is, right?”

Tate already knew his mother and sister had entered the home multiple times without consent. The difference between him and them was the fact they could easily leave. He could not.

A con of being dead. 

“Sorry,” he replied, lips forming a smile as he sauntered towards her. She raised the lamp in warning, but did not act on it, allowing him to casually sit criss-cross at her feet, “What’s your name?” Tate pretended not to know, pretended he wasn’t following her around pretty much all day every day. 

“Mother fucker get out of my house!” she exclaimed. This guy… What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Relax, I just wanted to talk,” he brings his knees to his chest, trying to give off an innocent look, giving her his big puppy dog eyes, “I had to get away from home, my mom is always yelling,” he lied.

“So you decided to enter my home uninvited?” When she said it like that, yeah, he did sound weird. 

Tate shrugged, “The door was unlocked,” he replied. He had no idea if it was actually unlocked. He didn’t care. “I knocked but no one answered.”

“A sign to leave us alone, isn’t it?” she responded sarcastically. 

His grin just got bigger, dimples showing, “You’re funny,” he said, ignoring the obvious distress in her tone of voice. 

And that was how they became friends. Just friends, nothing more.

Though he was incredibly in love with her. 

So when the house finally took her from the land of the living, he felt terrible for her. He had tried his best to keep her alive and safe, but alas, the house was forever cursed. She was bound to that fate as soon as she had stepped foot into the foyer. 

Tate tried to comfort her to the best of his ability, but she was not only depressed but pissed off at him for essentially lying to her about his identity. He wasn’t Tate, the cute and sensitive neighbor who was sweet to her and just happened to suspiciously only be able to hang out in her house. No, that wasn’t him, he was Tate Langdon, mass shooter, viewed as a monster by many, and of course, a ghost. 

He tried to explain to her the nature of the house, tried to explain he was never violent, he was never murderous, till he had moved there. But Y/N was not having it. She did not care. 

And so, despite the close proximity, Tate had never felt so alone. 

Eventually, December came, and Y/N looked even more depressed than usual. She didn’t even talk to the other ghosts anymore, she simply lay curled up in some room of the house, usually changing location every day. Tate had begged one of the newer ghosts, Violet, for help, begged her to know what was making Y/N more depressed than usual. Violet had only been in the house as a ghost for a few weeks, but being close in age with Y/N and Tate, Y/N spoke to her a lot. 

“It’s Christmas time,” Violet finally explained after Tate’s pleading, “She misses her family,” 

Oh. 

Y/N was the only one in her family who had died in the house. She had died and her family could not stay there for another second, moving away. She was very close to her family, Tate couldn’t imagine how she was feeling right now. Her first Christmas alone. 

And so he had an idea. 

___

“Get your ass up,” Violet groaned, grabbing one of Y/N’s legs and tugging. 

“Fuck you!” she began to kick her legs wildly, but Violet stayed firm, dragging her ass out of the room, “What the fuck are you doing?!”

Violet rolled her eyes, “Stop fucking moving,”

“I want to be left alone!” Y/N got a kick at Violet’s gut, causing her friend to drop her leg. She crawled back to the middle of the room, curling up on the floor. 

“I’ll kill you twice,” Violet hissed, already starting to get annoyed, “Get the fuck up,”

“No,” 

The ghost pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing, “Look, Tate really wants to show you something. Can you please get the fuck up? For him? He did something for you,”

“Fuck him too,”

“Y/N,” Violet said, warning in her tone, “Please. Just for a minute,”

Finally, she huffed and sat up, “This better be good,”

Violet stretched out a hand, which Y/N took, hauled to her feet, “I think it’s very good. He worked hard on this. Like, really hard, and I don’t expect much from teenage boys.” 

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Y/N followed her down the hall, arms crossed over her chest in disinterest, “Let’s just get this over with,” they went down the steps of the stairs and to the living room. 

Y/N paused. 

The living room was decorated in reds and golds, garland and twinkle lights draped over every surface. Little Santa and snowmen figurines were placed on the table and fireplace, stockings placed. Whoever placed them had scribbled out the names with Sharpie, messly writing Y/N, Violet, and Tate on them. 

And the culprit was in the corner of the living room, messly decorating a tree with a Santa hat on. Tate turned, grinning wide, “Y/N!” he exclaimed in excitement, “Do you like it?!”

She practically melted right then and there.

Unmoving, she eyed the tree, tangled Christmas lights thrown around it, ornaments crowded into the front. It was awful, but the effort was there and so fucking adorable she was starting to tear up. 

“You did this for me?” she asked after a moment.

Tate nodded, nervously shuffling towards her, “Do you like it?” he repeated, hands at his sides, fiddling with his jeans. 

She bit her bottom lip to keep her from crying, nodding quickly, “Yes, it’s so pretty…” she threw her arms around his neck for a hug. His eyes brightened, arms snaking around her waist tightly. “Thank you, Tate,” 

An alarm dinged, and he pulled away, “Oh! Cmon cmon cmon!” she was then being dragged into the kitchen, Tate rushing to the oven, opening it.

Motherfucker baked cookies.

Tate Langdon…. Baked fucking…. Cookies?

He set the pan down on the counter, terribly cut-out gingerbread men looking back up at him, “My mom came by yesterday so I kind of begged her to get me a recipe and the ingredients,” 

That touched her even more. Tate always ignored her mother when she came to the house. But he spoke to her just so he could bake Y/N cookies?

“I was thinking we could decorate them together?” he asked hopefully, emptying a shopping bag onto the island. Different icings and piping bags bounced against the counter. 

“Told you he worked really hard,” Violet mused. 

“I remember you said you always baked gingerbread cookies with your mom,” said Tate, that same excited look not leaving his face for even a second. Holy fuck when did he become so perfect?

“We did,” Y/N replied with a soft nod, trying to suppress her urge to sob on him. It was then she noticed he was wearing an ugly Christmas sweater too. He looked so hugable. She swiped at her tearing up eyes real quick, “Lets decorate these fuckers,”

Tate’s eyes lit up, him, Violet, and the love of his life getting to work decorating the gingerbread men, giggling like children at their horrible artistry, Christmas music playing on the record player in the background.

___

Tags:

@envy-of-greed @bohnerrific69