#james patrick March x reader

[dippindaz]

I wanna write a multi-part series for either Kit, Jimmy, or James

Kit - you would have a fairly severe dissociation disorder and you once worked at the Freak Show with Pepper (Your bond with Pepper would play a big part in the story).

Jimmy - You would have a severe and unique case of ocular albinism (Along with a traumatic backstory, of course) and Elsa markets you as a fortune teller. This starts as a kind of "enemies" to lovers

James - You're his lover from the 1920s, tragically you died but you didn't become a ghost of the Cortez, instead you've been reincarnated, always doomed to come back to the Cortez, always doomed to die. This cycle ends a little differently than the rest.

Would anyone be interested in any of these? Let me know please <3

[nobitchs-world]

Me: I love horror movie slashers

My scary ass if I ever saw them:

[temporarywelcome]

Jezebel - James Patrick March

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: Being in an arranged marriage with James March, but he's already completely smitten with his new wife, despite the fact he knows she plans on killing him. Hey, it's kind of hot.

WARNINGS: some swearing, some violence, death, sexual implications but no smut

A/N: they're so Gomez and Morticia. They match each other's freak. Yes, I used the vows from the Corpse Bride.

___________

James March was a very interesting man.

The way he carried himself as if he had no care in the world was enticing. He radiated confidence and grace, and was, well, an overall attractive man. 

And he was to be her husband. A fiance she never even met till tonight. 

It was 1923, a time where this “dating” thing was becoming popular, yet here the two of them were, meeting three weeks before their planned wedding. March was slowly becoming wealthier and wealthier, but his mother demanded he be wed, with a woman to take care of his estate while he did his business. Someone to care for him when she would eventually meet her own unfortunate demise. 

And so his mother found Y/N L/N, a pure beauty that many men oggled over obsessively. She was young, single, and his mother just could sense the compatibility when she saw Y/N’s lovely picture. Her son would love this girl. 

Except there was more to Y/N than meets the eye. 

Sitting at the dinner table, James eyed her in curiosity. “Did you come here from a funeral, darling?” he asked cheekily, his usual charming grin etched onto his face.

She looked up from her plate, raising a perfectly penciled in brow, “Why yes, actually,” 

He scratched the back of his neck, not expecting that answer. He had just meant to make a light-hearted joke about her attire: the long, ruffled black dress and hat to match in color, adorned with black and burgundy feathers. To accompany the clothing were sleek black gloves, lace along the wrist area. “Oh dear, my apologies. I hope I have not offended you.”

“No no,” she waved a hand dismissively, “It was not for anyone I knew,”

“Oh?” Now he was intrigued, taking a sip of his wine, the same color of her plump lips, “Then why would you attend such an event?”

“Death excites me,” she replied, and he was sure he had fallen in love right then and there, “As well as I find grief interesting to no end,”

“Interesting?” the man asked, smitten beyond compare, “What is so interesting about grief, my dear?”

Her lips curled into a devious smile, “How everyone grieves differently. Some cry, others laugh, some don’t give a damn. What I find the most hilarious is people establishing relationships. At a funeral of all places!”

“Horrid indeed isn’t it?” he asked with a chuckle. 

“It is! A splendid horror!” Y/N nodded in agreement. 

March watched as she expertly cracked open a crab leg, impressed in her abilities to do so without juices exploding everywhere. “You’re a stunning woman, you know?”

She looked at him from her meal and that devious smirk appeared once again, “And you’re a very handsome man, Mr. March,”

“Tell me, dearest, how old are you? Have you ever wed before?”

It looked like she had to think about it, which March thought nothing of at the time, already completely smitten. “Twenty-eight,” she replied, “And yes, I have,” 

“You have? And what had become of that marriage?”

“All three were tragedies,” she replied, bringing a piece of crab to her mouth with a fork. Three?! “I’ve sadly been widowed three times. A black widow, you might call me.” 

Three marriages that ended in the death of her spouse? March doubted this was any bit coincidental. “What an unfortunate event! On all three accounts! How did these poor souls die?” 

“Ah, all different ways. My first had a heart attack. The second, I still think to be my true love, committed suicide. Not because of me, of course, as he explained why in his letter. The third, he… he was tragically murdered one night,” 

Oh how intriguing of a woman she was! March asked, “Murdered! In what way?” 

“His throat was slashed,” she answered, “And he was drained of his blood.” Y/N then took a sip of her wine, not at all bothered by the fact. 

James March smirked, placing his chin on his palm as he stared at her. Oh, how infatuated he was. He was sure those death were not as she said they were. He was sure she had something to do with it. 

And he was sure as hell that if he married her, he would be her next target.

Oh, what a lovely woman he was so willing to marry!

________

The next three weeks went by in a blur. 

Y/N would wake up to endless gifts being left at her door: trinkets, jewels, flowers, heels, silk gloves, anything a woman could dream of. He would call her on the telephone at five p.m. every day just before dinner, and for those three Fridays he would take her on lavish dinners and dates. 

He went above and beyond for the woman he knew surely wanted to kill him. 

It was now the morning of the wedding, and Y/N’s telephone rang. She curiously went to it, grabbing the device and bringing it to her ear. Grabbing the other part in her unoccupied hand, she spoke into it: “Hello?”

“Hello, my dearest, I am thrilled to hear your beautiful voice this morning. It reminds me of sweet honey: smooth and-”

“James?” she interrupted him, “Why are you calling this early?”

James laughed lightly, “Because today is our wedding day, my love. I cannot call you at five p.m. because at five p.m. you will be in my welcoming arms! Are you excited?”

“I’m trembling in desire, darling,” she replied, “I must attend to my wedding preparations,”

“You will look absolutely ravishing, my sweet. Oh, how I adore you. I will leave you to your duties, anxiously waiting to wed my beautiful bride.” 

“I will see you very soon, my handsome king,” Y/N said, “Goodbye,” She hung up the two parts of the telephone and set it back down, preparing herself for her big day.

Her fourth big day. 

The stylists got to work, putting her hair in rollers, painting her nails a shiny jet black, carefully applying her dramatic makeup. She went for walks all done out, she wasn’t going to be caught slacking on her on wedding.

Fourth wedding. 

That James March knew of.

“How long do you plan on keeping this one for?” her loyal servant, Ms. Barnes, asked, blowing on the nail polish adorning Y/N’s fingernails. “He’s a handsome one.” 

Y/N thought for a moment, “I’m unsure. He is actually… sweet.” 

“And rich,” said another servant, Ms. Michaels, busying herself with Y/N’s hair. 

“So was her second,” Ms. Barnes pointed out, “And he lasted three months.”

“His riches are not of importance to me,” Y/N told her servants, “I do not need a man’s riches when I have my own,”

“How true, Ms. L/N,” Ms. Barned nodded in agreement, “There is no point in having men if it isn’t for one’s own entertainment.”

_________

This was marked the best day of James Patrick March’s short life. 

He stood at the alter adjusting his bow tie with the biggest grin a man could have as he waited for his beautiful bride to grace the audience with her presence. Practically the entirety of Chicago came to the celebration of their love, rows upon rows of guests laid out before him as he anxiously waited.

And then she came down the aisle, the orchestra expertly playing the familiar tune of Here Comes the Bride as she took each step. She didn’t just want an organ player, she wanted the whole deal. The organ, violins, a beautiful symphony as she had her big moment. And of course, James was quick to make the arrangement for his beloved. 

She was an absolute beauty, in a large dress that took up most of the aisle’s width. Black and lacey, with tiered ruffles, off the shoulder to show off her soft shoulders. Her veil was also black lace, partially covering her face, the back half dozens of feet long. His fiance was a maximalist, and he made sure she was about to get an equally maximalist wedding. 

The wedding went as planned. When it was James’ turn to do his vows, he raised his hand as previously instructed during the practice, “With this hand, I will lift your sorrows.” he raised his chalice, “Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine,” he poured the red wine into the glass. Red as her lips. Her signature color. He placed down the chalice, grabbing a lighter for the candle that was in front of him, “With this candle, I will light your way in darkness,” Finally, he grabbed her ring, the blood ruby shining in the light of the candle, “With this ring, I ask you to be mine,” he slid it onto her slender finger before pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles. 

Y/N perfectly recited the vows as well, slipping the ring onto his finger. They then took their glasses and took a sip of the sweet wine, before finally, sharing a kiss to seal the deal. James carefully moved her veil, revealing the face of the seductress that had his heart. His arms went around her as he leaned in, kissing her with all of the passion in him.

They were now wed. 

The wedding activities soon began, the newly weds beginning their first dance. James brought an arm around her waist, pulling her close as they began to dance, “You look absolutely stunning, darling, you have impeccable taste of fashion,”

“Hm,” she replied with a smirk, “I think I have upset quite a few with the color of my dress,”

“To hell with them. All of them, jealous of your immense beauty,” said March, pressing a kiss to her jaw, “I just might be the luckiest man in this room. Such a dazzling woman I have in my embrace,” with a smirk, he whispered in her ear, “I could just die from excitement,” 

_________

The next few months went by in a blur.

James March made sure to treat Y/N like a queen, spoiling her beyond compare. He knew she wanted to kill him, but did not say a word. She knew about his special new hobby. She didn’t say anything either. 

Once the fifth month passed, Ms. Barnes, who was diligently doing Y/N’s hair, said: “I think we have ourselve’s a record. Five months, the longest you have kept a husband.” 

She hummed in response, lighting a cigarette, “Correct. The longest. I have not become bored of him just yet.”

“Well, he’s not a boring man, Mrs. March,” Ms. Michaels mused, “He treats you like gold,”

“That he does,” Y/N said in agreement, a satisfied look on her face, “I don’t think any of my ex-husbands have treated me this well. It is quite… refreshing,”

“You don’t have to kill him, you know?” Ms. Barnes told her, “You’re allowed to find happiness,” 

“But, Ms. Barnes, that is what gives me happiness,” she shrugged, taking a long puff of her cig, “There is just something so wonderful about…. Watching the life… leave their eyes,” she smiled sweetly, sighing in joy at the thought, “However, I quite like James alive. Perhaps I would need a new fix.” 

Over the past few years (124, to be exact), Y/N had a cycle. She would tease herself, almost edge herself by only drinking the blood of animals to quench her thirsts, marry a man, and once she couldn’t handle it anymore, kill him. Usually in some fun, intricate way. Then she would feast on his blood until he was completely dry.

It was a fun game that has kept her satisfied for decades already.

Until now.

The thought of killing James March didn’t sound right to her anymore.

“We have a ball today,” she told her servants, “I’m sure I will find someone of use for the night,” 

James had vowed to make two days of October the biggest spectacle of Chicago. October 30th, his birthday, which he named Devil’s Night, because he was dramatic like that. The day that came after was Y/N’s birthday, October 31st, Halloween, which very much fit her. 

So not only was Devil’s Night a huge celebration, but so was Halloween, the night of James March’s beloved. 

There was a soft knock on the door, and James entered the room, “My love! You look ravishing,” he practically pushed through the two servants, placing his hands on her shoulders, placing a few kisses along her neck, “Absoutely stunning, dear,” he then pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“James! You’ll mess up my makeup!”

“No matter, just reapply it. I’ll always buy you more,” James replied smugly, kissing her cheek again, “My beautiful wife. Happy birthday again. I feel my present for you would look lovely with your dress,” He glanced at Ms. Barnes and Ms. Michaels, “Shoo shoo,” he waved them off.

“Behave,” Y/N deadpanned. 

“My apologies, dearest,” he said, though he obviously didn’t give a damn, “I just can’t wait to get you alone,” he nipped at her neck. Noticing the warning look in her eyes, he laughed, pulling away, “Fine fine, evil woman. Close your eyes while I give you your gift!”

Y/N smirked lightly, closing her eyes as her husband took out her gift. Obviously a necklace, feeling him place it along her neck, the large jewels cascading down her chest. He fastened the clasp, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck, “Open your eyes, darling,” 

Her eyes opened, and she smiled in pleasant surprise. Of course, the necklace was adorned in huge diamonds, he was never cheap when it came to his beloved. “Oh, James, it’s wonderful!” she said, meeting his gaze through the mirror, “Thank you,”

“Ah, anything for you, my dear,” James smirked, squeezing her shoulders from behind, “My beautiful wife.” he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear fondly, “We could always be late to the party,” he said suggestively.

“Late? To my own party? I think not,” Y/N stood up, laughing at the pout on her husband’s lips, “Don’t fret, dear, I will be all yours when the night ends.” she promised, arms going around his neck as she stared into his dark, dark eyes, “But for now you must wait,” she stuck out her tongue, teasingly grazing his earlobe.

“You naughty girl,” James said in excitement, gripping her hips, ‘You Jezebel you,” 

She giggled seductively, “All for you, my dear,” 

Oh, she did not want to kill him. Not at all. 

And so they left the room and made way to the grand spiral staircase. The couple stopped at the top, James releasing her hand, “Stay here, darling, let me introduce the star of the night!” he made the descent down each step until he stood at the bottom gathering the attention of the guests scattered all throughout their grand home. He introduced his wife, holding out a hand to her as she made her way down the steps.

Each step was careful and precise (like usual, her dress was huge), radiating confidence as she greeted her guests. Y/N took her husband’s hand, allowing him to bring her close.

The night festivities went as planned, Y/N certainly enjoying the effort her husband took into making sure her birthday went perfectly. He always went above and beyond for her, always seeking her approval. He was completely devoted.

After a while, Y/N purposely got separated from him in search of someone. A victim. If she wasn’t going to kill her husband, she had to kill someone else. She was tired of teasing herself.

It didn’t take her long to find some stupid man, some lawyer named George. He was quick to get handsy with her, so she led him off to one of the many guest rooms. He was desperately ripping at her dress, which she loosened up with an eye roll. 

God she wasn’t in the mood for this. 

She pinned him down to the bed, glaring at him darkly, tongue darting out to lick her lips. He was annoying. He didn’t have that sexy drawl like her husband. Those dark but comforting brown eyes. Those hands fit perfectly on her hips.

It wouldn’t matter to her if this man died. 

And with a smirk, she raised a hand, each finger covered by a claw-like ornament, a gift from her loving husband, of course. He said it “fit her style”.

He was so right.

She let her index finger run along his chest, then slowly his throat, leaving goosebumps along the trembling skin, until with a swift motion, she swiped her finger, swiped the claw, and his throat was slit. Buying her face into his neck, she lapped up the sweet flavor of his blood. 

Finally, she needed this.

As she hungrily drank, the door opened. 

“Oh, dearest, whatever are you doing?”

Y/N shot up, head snapping in the direction of James March. Her husband. However, he didn’t seem terrified. Or pissed. 

He simply laughed, arms going around her from behind, “My love is either a lunatic or a vampire. Or both.” he gripped the ribbons of her dress, tightening her corset to fix it, “I must say… It’s rather sexy.”

And so began a new dynamic.

James took it upon himself to do the dirty work. His wife should never get those soft hands dirty. 

And so he did the killing, and she would watch, with a look of approval on her face. He would then take her hand and help her out of her chair and towards the body, admiring how she looked as she drank the man dry. 

“That was supposed to be me, wasn't it?” He asked during one of their little “sessions”. “You wanted to drain me of my blood.”

She wiped her face with the back of her hand and she glanced up at him, “possibly.”

“It's alright, my dear, I take no offense,” he laughed, grabbing a cloth to clean off his knife. “I must have earned the right to live, huh?”

She smirked up at him, “not many would do this for their wives,”

And their dynamics continued. He killed, she ate, they had hot sex after.

And it worked well. 

James ended up building a grand hotel, all of Chicago raving over it. The Hotel Cortez. He originally wanted to name it after Y/N, his beloved, but she herself told him that was a stupid idea. 

They spent a lot of time there, whether it was to aid guests, host events, pass time, or even pick off a few victims. 

After a while, they even began to discuss the possibility of children. James was dead set on two: a boy (named James March JR, of course), and a girl (named after you, of course).

Y/N made it clear she found that to be extremely boring. Just naming the children after themselves? How cliche.

Pretty much every night after basically rearranging her organs, he would lay with her and yap and yap and yap about how it's important for them to continue their legacies, and then he yaps some more about if the baby inherits her thirst for blood if it would be immortal and all these different questions.

They were planning for the future, until disaster struck.

A peaceful day in the hotel, James having his lovely wife in his embrace as he spoke to patrons. She went off on her own duties after a while, until meeting with James again in one of the rooms.

Something was wrong.

Once he saw her, he rushed to her and gave her a rough kiss, cupping her cheeks with such urgency, “My love….” He whispered, “someone ratted me out. Someone knew.”

“Whatever do you mean?” she whispered, hands going to his wrists as she looked up at him, “You mean…?”

“Yes, our little hobby,” March brought her against his chest, an arm around her waist, a hand raking through her hair, “Oh how I hope it wasn’t you who told. Don’t even tell me, I would be devastated,” he sighed, resting his chin on the top of her head. 

“No, James,” she replied in a quiet tone, “I did not tell anyone. You know I love you.” She pulled away slightly to look up at him, “If I wanted you gone, you know I would have killed you myself.”

A soft smile reached her husband's lips as he pressed a kiss to her forehead, “Always the loyal wife. I adore you, my dear.” There was a hint of genuine sadness in his tone as he held her close. “Will you be the one to finish me?”

Y/N shook her head right away, “No!” she pulled away completely, “No, I won't. You've been the only husband I've loved. I can't…. I can't kill you.”

With another sad smile, he held her again, “I understand, dearest. Just… stay with me while I do it? Please?”

This couldn't be happening. It really couldn't.

But she nodded, face buried in his chest, “Yes… I'll stay with you,”

“Thank you, my love,” he sighed, kissing the top of her head. He held her for a moment before pulling away and taking her hand, sitting down. There was a knife on the table and he shakily grabbed it. “This won't be the first throat I slash,” he tried to joke, but it came out flat. James squeezed her hand as he brought the knife to his throat, but his wife speedily stopped him.

“I'll…. I'll do it,” she gulped out, trembling hand taking the knife from him and placing it back on the table.

“Are you sure? You don't have to, my love, I can do it myself.”

“No, no, I-I'll do it,” she repeated. Y/N seated herself on her lover's lap, arms going around his neck as she captured his lips in a desperate kiss. She could feel tears forming as she realized this would be their last kiss.

Her last kiss with the first husband she's ever loved. 

Maybe this was her punishment for all of her terrible deeds. The universe taking away the one man she ever truly loved. 

As they continued to kiss, she brought her clawed index finger to his throat, fingers trembling the closer she got. She pulled away from the kiss, “R-Ready?”

Despite everything, he smiled. “I'm ready, darling.” he pressed his forehead against hers, “I will always be with you,” 

And with that, she slashed his throat.

Y/N let out a soft cry watching the life quickly leave his eyes, the one man she wanted to stay alive. “Oh, James…” she cupped his cheeks, kissing his lifeless lips. “I love you I love you I love you,”

She could hear loud footsteps coming up the stairs, and she knew it was time to go. She grabbed the knife, bringing it to his bloodied neck before placing it into her lover's hand.

And with that, she climbed out the window.

“I will always be with you,” the words hung in her mind as she went down the fire escape.

She didn't know he was going to keep his word, even in death. 

---------

Yall i love him. inbox is open btw

[saintlucretia]

the feeling when your fictional crush is so wild you can't even defend them:

[d0llfaac3]

If totally psycho why sexy??

[gingerteafairy]

Dates with James Patrick March, a photo dump

[fear-is-truth]

⋆𐙚 ₊ no nut november .ᐟ

ft. tate langdon ‧ kit walker ‧ kyle spencer ‧ jimmy darling ‧ james march ‧ kai anderson ‧ peter maximoff

tate langdon ── 11/04

acts like he’s on board with the challenge at first, but it doesn’t take long for the strain to start showing. he’s not used to this level of restraint—especially when it’s you asking him.

managed to make it a few days but is visibly frustrated whenever he sees you, especially if you’re walking around wearing his sweater, licking a lollipop or basically just breathing and existing.

makes whiny complaints about how pointless this is. absolutely tries to cop a feel here and there.

after you caught him jerking off into your panties, he tries to convince you to just drop the whole idea so he can fuck you properly.

if all else fails, tate will try to initiate when you’re half-asleep. you’ll wake up to find him sidling closer, hands roaming, whispering in your ear about how “you can’t really mean this.”

it’s only day four, and tate’s already driving himself (and you) crazy. he trails behind you through every room in the house, whining about how “this whole challenge is fucking stupid.” and “what’d you expect me to do when you’re at school, huh? can’t even jerk off,” he complains, dragging his feet as he follows you into the kitchen. you laugh a little, shaking your head as you reach for a glass of water.

“it’s not that hard, tate. you’ll be fine,” you tell him, but you can feel his eyes trailing down, settling on your legs and the edge of your sundress.

“yeah?” before you can react, he’s wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing his chest to your back and pulling you close. he’s warm, and his hands slide down to rest on your hips, pulling you back against him. you can feel him grinding slowly, enough to make you feel the hard outline of his cock press against your ass.

“tate,” you warn, but he just huffs in indignation, burying his face in your shoulder. “you’re killing me, is that what you want?” he whines, but you reach back and give him a gentle shove, slipping out of his arms. “you’re already dead, tate.” he watches you, eyes shiny with hurt and longing before shoving his hands in his pockets and sulking off.

kit walker ── 11/15

kit genuinely tries, especially since you’re the one who proposed the challenge, but it’s hard. he’s always been affectionate and has a naturally high sex drive, so this test of willpower isn’t easy for him.

he’s restless and a little grumpy, occasionally making passing comments like, “don’t know how you expect me to do this” with a plaintive sigh that make it clear he’s barely holding it together.

kit has been sitting at the kitchen table for the past half hour, cigarette in hand, eyes locked on you the entire time as you’re working on a blueberry pie. it’s been two long weeks of restraint, and he’s been doing his best to keep his promise—but right now, watching you bustle around while wearing a apron, he feels his patience slipping.

finally, he stands, moving to the window above the sink and pulling open the blinds just enough to check the yard. outside, the kids are laughing and running, entirely preoccupied. satisfied, he lets the blinds fall back into place, turning his attention fully on you.

you look over your shoulder as he steps up behind you, that barely concealed hunger in his eye. “you hungry?” you ask, feigning innocence as you press the last bit of dough into the pie tin. he huffs a low laugh, his hands already slipping around your waist. “mhm. you can say that. not for pie, though.” he murmurs, voice vibrating against your cheek.

you raise an eyebrow, half-smiling as you remind him, “i thought you were trying to hold out.” kit lets his hands settle on your hips, pulling you back against him. “i was,” he says, dropping his head to press a kiss just below your ear, “but i don’t think i can keep it up anymore. i’ve been watchin’ you all afternoon, and all i can think about is you.”

his lips trail slowly along your neck as his fingers trace along the curves of your ass. “the kids’ll be fine outside,” he coos. “think it’s time i tapped out of this whole challenge,” and before you can protest, his mouth is on yours, firm and warm, every bit of his two-week restraint unraveling.

pre death .ᐟ kyle spencer ── completed

self control king. his frat brothers are amazed he’s lasted, even with all their attempts to sabotage him.

they constantly send him twitter porn links, show him porn mags or try to bribe you to help make him crack. but kyle doesn’t even budge.

you still have your daily cuddling routine, and he eats you out regularly because he’s a selfless boyfriend.

kyle’s fraternity decided to make a big deal out of the “no nut november trend”. they all took the challenge together, but one by one, his frat brothers dropped out, and by week four, kyle’s the last man still standing. you watch your boyfriend with a mix of admiration and slight frustration. it’s not that you want him to give in; it’s just… maybe you wouldn’t mind if he wanted to, at least a little.

you’re sitting with him in his room one night, the faint buzz of a party downstairs, but kyle’s paying it no mind. he’s stretched out on his bed, flipping through a class notebook, looking completely unbothered. you watch him for a moment, then sighs.

“kyle, i don’t know how you do it,”

he smiles, rubbing the back of his neck. “what can i say? i’ve got a will of steel.” he glances back down at his notes.

“so… when december starts, are you still planning on being all celibate and zen?”

he chuckles, his cheeks going a little pink. “not gonna lie, i’m already counting down the hours,” he admits, leaning in closer. “because the second november ends, i’m not holding back. if i survived this month, trust me—destroy dick december will be a breeze.”

you can’t help but laugh, and he leans in to give you a quick kiss, his hand finding yours. “but hey,” he says, voice softer, “it’s only easy because you make it worth waiting for.”

jimmy darling ── 11/06

initially tries to go along with the challenge because he respects you and doesn’t want to disappoint you.

but he’s also someone who thrives on touch, so it’s practically torture for him from the start.

you’ll catch him staring at you, and he gets visibly antsy, especially if you’re wearing something cute or revealing.

six days. that’s how long jimmy manages to last. he tries to keep his promise to you, he really does, but it’s no use. every time he sees you around the camp, especially when you’re dressed up in a leotard for a performance or just leaning close to help him with something, he gets that look in his eyes—hungry, smoldering, and unabashedly lustful.

it’s late, and you’re walking past jimmy’s caravan while carrying a basket of laundry when he finally snaps. he’s been watching you from afar, arms crossed and brows furrowed, looking like he’s pissed off about something. when you catch his eye, he’s already standing up and moving toward you like a missile.

“i can’t take this anymore, doll,” he whined, his breath reeking with the unmistakable smell of alcohol. “six days—feels like six damn years.” you laugh, shaking your head.

“jimmy, i told you it was just a challenge,” you tease, trying to keep a straight face. but he’s not having it. his hands settle on your waist, pulling you flush against his chest before he leans in, forehead resting against yours. “don’t care about any stupid fucking challenge. only care about you. i need you so bad,”

afterward, jimmy lets out a deep, satisfied sigh, resting his chin on your shoulder as you both try to catch your breath. slowly, he lets you slide back down to the ground, his arms loosening just enough for you to find your footing, though he doesn’t fully let go. you feel his lips press a lingering kiss to your neck, a lazy smirk spreading across his face.

“guess i lost,” his thumb rubbing small circles into your waist. he leans in closer, brushing his nose against yours. “but hell if it wasn’t worth it.”

james patrick march ── 11/24

james has self-control in spades, especially when it comes to his (ex) wife, elizabeth, who has often denied him for months at a time. so, he actually handles this challenge far better than you’d expect.

he channels his frustration elsewhere, like into his “hobbies” (aka his killing sprees around the hotel), which spike significantly during this time. murder brings him a similar orgasmic thrill, and he relies on that to keep himself satisfied.

despite the restraint, he never makes you feel pressured. james will hold your hand, kiss you chastely on the cheek, and even give you sweet little compliments, but that’s the extent of it.

you look up just as james steps into the room, wiping his hands with a bloodstained handkerchief, black eyes alight with the usual post-slaughter exhilaration. “ah, my darling,” he greets, voice smooth yet edged, like a blade still warm from a kill. your gaze falls to his hands, and he notices, lifting them for his own inspection. “a bit messier tonight, i’ll admit,” he murmurs with a sigh, dabbing at his knuckles, though the effort seems half-hearted.

“not even a night of indulgence can quiet the… urges you stir in me.”

he steps closer, fingers brushing your cheek, leaving the faintest trace of crimson on your skin. his hand lingers, flexing, as if he’s holding himself back. you smirk, leaning in to brush a kiss to his lips, there’s a metallic tang to it. james shudders, his hand bracing itself on the back of the couch, jaw clenching as if he’s struggling to restrain himself.

“is it really that difficult? i think you’re being a bit dramatic, dear.” the lilting coo of your voice, the sadistic intent behind it makes his cock twitch painfully in his trousers.

“you’re… tormenting me, truly,” he sighs in frustration. “this damnable month. all the blood in the world can’t satisfy what i truly crave.”

cult leader .ᐟ kai anderson ── completed

while some people might perceive him as a total sex fiend, kai has the self-discipline to pull this off easily, and he sees it as an experiment in control, something to elevate his focus.

claims that refraining from ejaculation is actually a tool for enhancing testosterone and will lecture the entire cult on the “benefits” of nnn. also brings up the heaven’s gate cult’s abstinence rule as a form of enlightenment and compares his self-control to “channeling energy for a higher purpose” (everyone knows that’s a load of bullshit)

you start trying to tempt him halfway through, wearing something a bit more revealing around him, but he just smirks, unaffected. the challenge you proposed to him feels almost trivial, which makes it all the more frustrating for you.

however, the second it’s december 1st, he flips. he’s at your door right at midnight, and you won’t be able to walk for a week.

kai’s taking no nut november in stride—too much stride, actually. you were the one who suggested it, but now his calm, unaffected attitude is starting to get under your skin. every time you attempt to seduce him, he gives no reaction.

when kai walks in your shared bedroom, you’re lounging in bed, legs spread wide open, wearing nothing but a tight white turtleneck sweater. he glances over, eyebrow raised. for a second, his gaze lingers on your hardened nipples straining against the fabric. then he just smirks, looks you up and down, and goes to grab his bottle of adderall without a word.

“really?” you ask, annoyed, but he just snorts. “nice try,” he says over his shoulder as he walks away. the days drag on, each one more frustrating than the last as he remains completely unmoved, almost like a silent “fuck you”.

finally, on november 30th, you’ve just about resigned yourself to defeat. you’re in bed, pulling the covers over yourself, when you hear footsteps in the hallway. you glance at the clock—it’s just turning from 23:59 to midnight, the start of december. you barely have a second to process it before your bedroom door swings open, and there he is, standing in the doorway with that same dark look in his eyes, only this time, there’s nothing holding him back.

“miss me?” he asks as he steps inside and closes the door behind him.

peter maximoff ── 11/08

he’ll try every trick in the book—whining, pouting, seduction, and even half-joking about “what if my balls burst?” “you’re actually gonna let me suffer like this?”

on day eight, peter’s pretty much losing his mind. he’s sprawled out on the couch, groaning dramatically every few minutes, tossing his head back as if he’s in physical pain.

“this is torture,” he complains, looking at you with big, desperate eyes. “what’d i ever do to deserve this? my balls are gonna burst,”

you just laugh, shaking your head as you unwrap a lollipop. “you’ve gone without it for a day over a week, peter. you act like it’s been a lifetime,” you tease, popping the candy into your mouth with a grin.

his eyes follow the movement, and his whole expression changes, growing intense in a way that’s unlike his usual playful self. for a second, he’s silent, watching you suck on the lollipop like it’s the final straw. “okay, i’m not gonna survive this,” he mutters, voice a bit rough.

in the blink of an eye, he’s disappeared, zipping down the hall. you hear the bathroom door slam shut, followed by a muffled, frustrated groan from the other side.

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[vizjpmdose]

୨ৎ ──── jpm's entry in the 5 love languages. ────

⭑.ᐟ warnings : possessiveness, mention of murder

𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ a/n: : first time posting stuffs like this and this is a long one! | these are his greenflag versions (this has been in my draft for an eternity) English is not my first language so I apologize if you spot any grammatical errors that I'm not aware of.

JPM x wife fem!reader.

PHYSICAL TOUCH

for him, physical touch is his way to remind ownership but also genuine devotion to his lover.

for example, if someone is trying to flirt with you he'd suddenly just appear behind you and suddenly pulling you close to him by grabbing your waist softly in front of that person.

"darling, who's he?" he spoke with a forced smile, glancing at you and the man while he gives your waist a soft squeeze as he shows ownership.

can be a PDA king

with showing devotion, physical touch is his way to remind you of how important you are to him

keeping a hand on the small of your back while walking around in the hotel

loves to trace your facial features/body

imagine having a talk with him while just relaxing in bed, he listens to whatever you're saying while he traces a part of your body (waist, arm, legs) or facial features (jawline, lips, cheekbone)

he could be doing it while making eye contact with you while you're speaking or his eyes could be at your body part/facial feature that he's tracing while you speak.

it gives you extreme butterflies specially that he's humming in response from time to time while busy tracing your body with his fingers.

WORDS OF AFFIRMATION:

this man has a very wide vocabulary, he's a master with his words.

he's the best in wooing using his words that he's sure of being very effective on you.

he actually doesn't excel in comforting with words:(

But worry not! He's good in encouraging you with words.

"you, my dear is the best. You don't have to stress about it just to prove it to me, because I knew ever since the day I saw you that you're going to be the perfect lady of the Cortez."

Very resourceful with his words, very witty.

you'd receive appreciation phrases that are very high standard coded

FLIRTS VERY GENTLEMANLY!

"Such a sight for sore eyes. Surely, my favorite sight for tonight." 

he loves the reaction he gets from you with when he flirts with you using fancy idioms. 

He actually could write poem/poetries and it would be all about you.

loves to brag about you, he brags about you to other people even though you're not around. He loves to publicly speak about you and your relationship with him.

QUALITY TIME:

this man is a sucker for attention. 

he prefers spending quality time with you by having a conversation during a fancy dinner or having a conversation while drinking or smoking together.

would literally host a dinner nightly if you'd agree.

Loves to play cards with you every night before going to sleep 

There's a lot of secrets in the Cortez that no one knows but him. If you're a curious one, he'd find joy to walk you around the Cortez, telling you facts about every area that you both visit. 

"This feels like a museum date, right darling?" 

In a conversation, he's always the talker but loves to be a listener when it comes to you so that he can spend more time with you while having a conversation.

He loves taking you to the grand empty ballroom of the Cortez for slow and elegant dances with him when you both are feeling elegantly romantic. He would put on a vintage jazz or classical music record.

If you're an adventurous type just like him, he'd be so so happy to go on a killing spree with you. He’d admire that about you, pushing you to be bolder, more daring, much like he did in his own life. Times like these would be his core memories with you.

ACT OF SERVICE:

This man is the number 1 real gentleman and that's for you only. 

Yes, let's say he uses his gentleman side to lure his victims in but that gentleman side is fake. He'd only be a real gentleman when it's for you. 

He opens doors for you and pulls out chairs for you 

He makes sure he attends your needs before you can even ask. 

He's highly observant/highly perceptive, he does everything you need or want before you even voice them.

"I will give perfection to such a perfect person like you, my love." What can I say? This man is such a simp.

When you have any problems, he'd do anything to help you with it or he'll be the one to fix it for you.

He's always mindful for your physical comfort, he'd always make sure that his staffs are giving you what you want and what you need if he's not around, and whatever that makes you feel pampered.

He gets mad at his staffs when you have any complains or when he observes that you're not feeling comfortable enough.

With protecting you from harm in the Cortez, He would use his power and influence to keep you safe from the dangers.

If one of the ghosts in the Cortez dares to disrespect you or interact with you in a way that you or he doesn't approve of.. James would swiftly and ruthlessly handle the situation.

GIFT GIVING:

No. 1 sugar daddy material

When you get upset and doesn't know how to comfort you, he'd shower you with expensive jewelries and stuffs that he knows that you like.

Everything he gifts you will be expensive, this man values good quality all of the time

He sends Liz to the outside world to buy these gifts he'll give to you.

"If I were just allowed to leave the hotel I wouldn't hesitate to go out alone to buy you these lavish things myself, a high quality man like me knows a lot about high quality things that deserves to be in my queen's grasp." 

Expect gifts on random days because anytime he'd think of an item that he thinks you would like, he'd action on getting it immediately.

He lives for your reactions, praises, and compliments when he surprises you with gifts. 

[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

[r4fe-cam3ron]

𓍯 ִֶָ dear reader,

𓍯 ִֶָ FEBRUARY 1ST | someone new - hozier (zach maclaren) | ceilings - lizzy mcalpine (sergei kravinoff)

𓍯 ִֶָ FEBRUARY 2ND | for you - rita ora, ft. liam payne (spencer reid) | it’s been awhile - staind (rockstar!eddie munson)

𓍯 ִֶָ FEBRUARY 3RD | love - lana del rey (josh lambert) | decode - paramore (charlie walker)

𓍯 ִֶָ FEBRUARY 4TH | about you - the 1975 (dave lizewski) | once more to see you - mitski (james patrick march)

𓍯 ִֶָ FEBRUARY 5TH | cinnamon girl - lana del rey (tangerine) | nothing can change this love - sam cooke (divorced dad!eddie munson)

𓍯 ִֶָ FEBRUARY 6TH | coming back for you - maroon 5 (sergei kravinoff) | homesick - noah kahan (rafe cameron)

𓍯 ִֶָ FEBRUARY 7TH | fear of water - noah kahan (colin zabel) | again - noah cyrus ft. xxxtentacion (tangerine)

𓍯 ִֶָ FEBRUARY 8TH | the man who can’t be moved - the script (ex-boyfriend!steve harrington) | sorry - halsey (friedrich harding)

𓍯 ִֶָ FEBRUARY 9TH | cheater - the vamps (eddie munson) | secret love song - little mix (rafe cameron)

𓍯 ִֶָ FEBRUARY 10TH | last first kiss - one direction (steve harrington) | what’s left of me - grace vanderwaal (roman godfrey)

𓍯 ִֶָ FEBRUARY 14TH | unchained melody - the righteous brothers (eric - aqpdo)

༉‧₊˚. an; here is the list of songs on the ‘mixtape’! two one-shots will be posted in a day, starting on the first of february and ending the fourteenth!

if you’d like to be tagged in specific ones, please feel free to message, inbox, or even comment below!

(also want to say theres a couple of characters im adding into here that im not entirely to sure if ill add to my character list! but if theres more requests for them, ill gladly do them!)

border; @/sstoruux

[taintandviolent]

Thrill of the Rush ; James March x reader

summary: Reader is a murderer, coquettish and demure in nature. She brings a man to the Hotel Cortez, and it ends how it always ends for them. The only difference, is that James March is watching her and is enamoured.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 2.6k! | serial killer!reader, graphic descriptions of murder, violence, blood and gore, descriptions of smut, cunnilingus, arousal, kissing/making out.

a/n: requested by anonymous and inspired by Lana Del Rey's Serial Killer song! hopefully this isn't too clunky, or boring in anyway! proofread very briefly, if you see any mistakes, no you didn't.

full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don't have a taglist, but please turn on post notifications if you'd like to be notified of future fics!

Elvis’s voice drifted from your speaker. The hotel room was cool, a stark contrast to the hot LA summer outside. The room itself was outdated in decor and architecture, something that you found charming – you’d chosen it specifically for its gorgeous, untouched art deco style. Stephen protested, saying it was rundown and dingy. You shushed him with a single manicured finger and led him inside, heading straight for the hotel desk. 

He was a man. A stupid, hungry man who could only think with one head at a time. So, it didn’t take much for you to get up to the hotel room, and onto the bed. You’d let the strap of your dress fall off your creamy soft shoulder, coaxing him closer to you.

He nuzzled his lips into your breast, tugging softly at the skin. He muttered something into your skin, something grotesque, and you didn’t hear him. You were too busy listening to the thud of your own heartbeat – your own excited little heartbeat. You reached into your purse, which had been laying next to you, to retrieve the knife. It was a beautiful thing; pink pearlescent inlay on the handle, and a long, shimmery silver blade. 

Raising it high above his head, your elegant fingers gripped the rosy hilt of your knife, and using all your strength, stabbed it into the side of the man's neck. The blade sliced through his skin like butter, giving no resistance. There was nothing like the sensation of killing – it never failed in making your eyes glisten, a cruel fire burning bright within them. Your chest fluttered with excited little breaths, rushing out over your pouting, pink lips in tiny gusts. The thrill, the rush, it was unlike anything you’d ever experienced – even sex. No man had ever made you feel the way killing him did. You twisted the knife slightly. 

In response, he gurgled; a delightful sound that had you giggling. You had angled the knife just right, plunging it deep before yanking it out quickly. The blood spurted out in a warm geyser over your hand, trailing down your wrist in crimson ribbons. His hand flew to his neck, pitifully trying to stop the flowing river. You slapped his hand away softly. 

"Pl-please..." He murmured, as his body started to droop away from yours. 

You bent over, kissing the man on the forehead. As darling as you had been before, maybe even more so then. “Oh, baby…” you whispered, cloyingly sweet and soft like a summer day. He knew that he was going to die, and the begging was futile. Still, he persisted, wet and coughing between each plea. 

You pushed him off of your breast, and more blood squirted out, the arteries pumping it out with each beat of his heart. James' dark pupils widened, watching as you worked. He hadn’t made himself known yet, and wouldn’t until you were finished. Nothing should interrupt this delicious display of cruelty. 

“Tell me you love me,” you whispered. “Tell me I’m the sweetest girl you’ve ever seen.” He didn’t. He didn’t say anything else… and he never would again. 

“Hmph.” Frustrated, you got off the bed, and smoothed your hands over your hips; the satin of your slip dress was warm and soft and provided no friction. 

"Seems you've got yourself between a rock and hard place, my dear." 

You spun around. In front of you stood a dashing man, dressed to the nines and resting some of his weight on a cane. He was handsome, but possessed a coldness that drew you in. He wasn't like the others.

"How did you get in here?!" 

"The door was..." He turned to look at it, casually. "Open." 

"No..." You shook your head, soft curls bouncing. Your tone was coy, knowing. "No, it wasn't." 

"Ah," he said, tightening his lips into a sly smile. Had his heart been beating, it would’ve quickened at your darling little response. You were quick; a trait that he enjoyed and very rarely saw.

"He deserved it, you know." You looked at the man on the bed with a disproving sourness in your gaze. His body had slumped over the side of the mattress, blood streamed from the gash in his neck to his hairline, staining it red. 

"I don't doubt that." He inhaled, stepping further into your room. "However... The problem remains of what to do with him. I presume you’ve yet to figure that out." His voice had your knees weak, turning the tendons to jell-o every time he spoke. It was so deep and croony, like molasses if it had a voice. 

"No," you trilled. "No, but you seem like you do." 

"I do," he started. There you went with your quick-witted confidence again. "You see, I have built this hotel to satisfy... my every need and whim, whatever they may be. I have a way to dispose of him for you." 

Your hand lifted to your shoulder, your finger winding a lock of hair around it. You pursed your lips, as though you were considering his offer. The truth was, you’d already made up your mind. He was dangerous, unafraid, but interested in you. A refreshing change from the rest of the men that you courted and ultimately killed. Besides, he was right. You had a corpse in the room and were unsure what to do with it, besides leaving it and requesting another room, claiming something trivial like the hot water not working. 

"Why are you doing this?" You ask, running your tongue along the bottom of your teeth, before coming to rest in the corner of your mouth. "You don't even know me." 

"I don't, my little buttercup, this is fact, but what I do know of you, I crave." 

Your knees wobbled. Somehow, he’d captivated you. You were never taken by men; they were useless, dumb playthings that you disposed of as soon as you got bored with them. You were never the one that was wrapped around a finger, it was always the other way around. But something… something about this man and the sick, nasty glimmer in his pitch-black eyes had you shivering.

“James March,” he declared proudly, before offering his hand. You placed your own atop his palm, and he leaned down, pressing his lips softly against your knuckles. Your lips tensed, withholding a whimper. 

All at once, he closed in the distance between the two of you. Exactly what you wanted him to do, and without asking. You gasped, looking up into his soulless gaze. “Hold me,” you whispered. “Please.” 

With a single nod, he enclosed you in a frighteningly firm grasp. You weren’t going anywhere – not that you wanted to. 

“I don’t know what you do… or what you’ve done…” you whispered, feeling light in his arms. He held you like old movie stars held their beloved; arms wrapped passionately around the waist, holding you tight at the hip. James waited, on bated breath, for you to finish your sentence. Instead, you stood on your tiptoes, and pressed your soft lips against his. They were cool, and immediately surrendered to yours, parting to exhale into your mouth. As his breath filled your lungs, you succumbed to every feeling he was pulling from you; your legs quivered and pressed together tightly. Your core tightened, and your cunt clenched with arousal. Slick leaked into the silk of your underwear, staining the fabric with your submissiveness.

His head tilted, allowing him to go deeper inside your mouth. His tongue slipped along yours, twirling and exploring the soft, slippery flesh of your mouth. Without breaking the kiss, James walked you backwards, guiding you towards the bed. His shin knocked into the corpse’s head, which lolled lifelessly.

You were at his mercy, and gasping for air, broke the kiss to look down at your feet. Stephen’s eyes were glazed over now, void of life. He had paled, the crimson stark against his bloodless skin. A puddle had settled beneath his head, seeping into the carpet. You broke away from James and bent down, shoving all your weight down on Stephen's shoulders. Rigor mortis hadn’t set in, so he rolled over easily, towards the edge of the bed, which freed up most of the bed for whatever came next. 

You immediately snuggled yourself back into James’ arms, nestling against his chest. “There… all better.” 

He hmm’ed at the crown of your head, holding you tight. His hips ground against yours, a stiffness pressing into your hip bone. A reminder – he was a man. But not akin to the other men… he was different. You looked up, gazing into his eyes. 

James guided you backwards onto the bed, your ass hitting the mattress with a squeak of protest from the old springs. Placing one hand on either side of your hips, he kissed you again, urging you back further yet. He was intoxicating. Everything he did had you quivering like a lamb in the jaws of a wolf – and you wanted more of it. More of everything. You wanted him. 

“I love you just a little too much,” you cooed, brushing your lips over his neck. The satin of his ascot brushed against your chin and you longed to feel it tied around your wrists. Your hand brushed along his bulge, feeling the taut fabric that covered it. As the feelings bubbled up inside of you, effervescent like champagne, you couldn’t stand it. No man should ever make you feel the way he did and with a small gasp of air, you reached for your knife again. James caught you fast, holding your wrist in an iron grip. 

“I’m afraid not, my dear. You won’t get that pleasure with me.” 

“Pleasure?” You asked, doe-eyed, feigning innocence yet again. 

“Perhaps another pleasure,” he cooed against your lips, his moustache tickling the flesh under your nose. You were divine… a shining beacon of temptation amongst a sea of poor fools. It had been decades since a woman captivated him the way you did. 

James sank to his knees, slowly, as you watched, holding your breath. His hands gathered your satin slip over your knees, and pushed it over your hips, exposing your silken underwear. The wet spot had grown considerably, and James pressed his lips against the damp fabric. The sensation was electric, sending chills up your spine in a wave of unadulterated pleasure. He kissed her again, pressing harder. He could almost taste her through the silk. You whimpered, and let your head drop between your shoulders. He brushed his lips across your mound again, and you got even wetter. For a brief moment, he disappeared and the reaction was painfully visceral.

“Don’t…. Don’t stop…” you said to the ceiling, out of breath and trembling. You could hardly get yourself upright to look at him. 

“I’ve no intention of doing so, my dear. None whatsoever.” Carefully, as though unwrapping a delicate gift, James pulled your underwear from your hips, tugging them delicately down your thighs. Murder always got him worked up, but this was an entirely different arousal.

“Let me see her…” he said, low His hands were on your thighs, resting carefully atop of them. 

Using your manicured fingers, you reached forward to spread your cunt to him, eagerly, obediently. She glistened in the low-lighting of the room and you heard him inhale. He leaned closer to her and began kitten-licking between your folds, sending a shockwave through your core. She clenched uncontrollably, tightening. James paused to observe, pleased with the reaction. He’d done so little, and you were already a mess. Placing his hands behind your knees, he scooted you further towards him.

Your cunt ached with everything he did; from the gentle touches to the way that his moustache tickled the soft skin of your inner thigh. You weren’t used to your heart beating this quickly outside of killing someone. He was making you feel things you’d long since forgotten. 

To say that you never experienced sexual pleasure would be a lie; you did. Usually, covered in blood and panting, after a kill, your body and senses would be so wound up that you’d finger yourself, use a vibrator, something to get yourself off. But this orgasm, you knew, would be different. And much quicker. 

With a breath, he flattened his tongue against your cunt, lapping at it hungrily. Your muscles all trembled, the first hint of an orgasm clawing at your insides. And just before you did, he pulled away. Cruelly. Mercilessly. As though he knew that he had you under his spell…. Oh, you’d kill him if he’d only let you. 

James slipped two fingers inside your waiting, wet cunt. You let out a desperate yelp, rocking your hips back and forth to meet his fingers. Electricity coursed through your core, your body quivering again. His fingers drilled into you, curling upwards with each thrust, hitting your sensitive spot. The pressure increased, the coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter around itself. You were close. 

“Speak to me,” he ordered. “Use your voice.” 

You swallowed, wetting your throat. It was frightfully hard to form words, your mind was too clouded with arousal and ecstasy. “C-can’t…. Feels…. So good….” 

James leaned forward again, the tip of his tongue drilling into your sensitive clit, twirling at it. After a moment, he encircled your clit with his lips, sucking softly. You were sweet, wet and singing for him. James hummed into your pussy, satisfied. With his fingers still thrusting inside you, the overstimulation was too much. Your coil snapped, and your hands flew to his hair, making tight fists in the greased locks. 

As you orgasmed, you called his name, chanting it over and over again like a prayer. He was there, between your legs, tugging you over the edge with whispered praises against your throbbing cunt. An attentive lover, James didn’t stop fucking you – or licking at you – until the final pulse subsided. 

“Now that I’ve made you mine,” he said, straightening up. “Let’s deal with your little hobby, my dear.” 

Made you his? You thought, chewing on the corner of your lip, as your eyes bored into his. How dare he – made you his. Despite feeling like you’d been bamboozled, you knew it was true. He’d made you his, and barred you from loving any other man again.

A knock at the door. You looked down at Stephen – you’d almost forgotten he was there. James got to his feet as the door opened, and you noticed that his cock had tented in his trousers, pulling against the fabric, begging for release. You gasped, looking at the woman as she entered. She was pushing a silver room service cart, though it was empty. 

“Fret not my dear, it’s nothing she hasn’t seen before.” 

You furrowed your brows; his erection or a corpse in a hotel room? You weren’t sure which. Effortlessly, James hoisted Stephen’s expired body up onto the cart, waving his hand dismissively towards the woman, who hmm’d curtly, and made her way back towards the door. 

“Follow me,” he said, jovially as he headed towards the open door. He began whistling a tune, as though wheeling a body out into the hallway was the most normal, routine thing he’d done all day. Perhaps it was. You heaved a breath, and got up off the bed, pulling your underwear back up. 

“James, James, wait!” 

He paused. 

“Aren’t you going to… well…” 

His eyes followed yours to his groin, which was still stiff. You sucked on your bottom lip, looking up at him with come-hither eyes. Curiosity had gotten the best of you. Despite having just come, you wanted more, and you desperately wanted to know what the weight of his cock felt like in your hands.  

“Oh.” He smiled, pleased. With a slow nod, he reached forward to cup your chin with his large hands. “I’ll get mine.” 

[marchsfreakshow]

Poems Of A Killer [James Patrick March]

Angst / suggestive at the end

You were always interested in how ghosts work. Your blog led you to The Hotel Cortez.

Oops I got inspired by @fear-is-truth 's James cai bot where you're trapped in his room bcs the conversations I had w that bot were delicious sorry.

Blogger!Reader

Words - 5.3k (holy shit guys-)

I went through hell and back for this fic I rlly hope it's worth it. I'm proud of it in the end. ♡

No one's perspective

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

"So, ghosts roam these halls, correct?"

Liz was taken aback by your question. They weren't the first words she expected from your lips, but they were welcomed like an order to her bar.

"Why, yes, they do. You are, in fact, talking to a ghost itself."

A gasp and a smile graced your face just as the sentences were spoken. A real, proper ghost! How exhilarating. You immediately started to blurt out questions, scribbling Liz's answers down like they were your lifeline.

You spoke together for what felt like hours. 3 pages of full notes about ghosts, the hotel and the tasty history of such a place as this. One firm handshake and key exchange later, you were up in you room.

Scribbling down potential essay ideas for... well, for yourself. Most people would probably think you were crazy if you uploaded the essay to your blog. Then again, it wasn't a terrible idea. Most of your followers were believers in ghosts. They loved the paranormal and the un-natural things in life. In fact, an anonymous telling you about The Cortez was the reason for your trip.

'Hey! Your blog is probably the best paranormal blog out there! I know you're LA-based, so how about the Hotel Cortez? It's known to be haunted as fuck and plenty of the ghosts are apparentally staff members. Definitely go look if you're not busy! -🩷'

Obviously, you knew about The Cortez. Everyone in LA did. It was famous, but you never had an intent to go there. You read over the anon over and over until you figured you should.

1 car, 2 notebooks, 3 ballpoint pens, at least 4 books and a ton of music in your car's aux. You drove from one half of LA to the other, thinking about just how much this hotel might be with the likes of Lana Del Rey and Hozier playing from your car's speakers. Secretly, you hoped the ghosts of The Cortez would like you and would easily take to you. Just play it cool. Nice and kind.

Most ghosts easily spoke to you if you asked a question. Mainly, you asked about the spirits. Who ghosted, how, when, and why. There were plenty of stories to go around. Two influencers, frankly, you had never ever heard of. Two Swedes who always walked around in their underwear with a Mr.Woo at their feet. They were pretty weird, but you took their story anyway. You took a few more stories. Their births, their deaths and how they ended up dying here.

"You want to know about me, huh? My life... my... annoying death and how I ended up ghosting this fucking rotten place?"

"Yes. Everything. It will be worth it, I promise. Let's start with your name. What's your name?"

"...Sally." Sally started talking hesitantly about her life. The drugs she invested in, the sex she had to get them. Iris. How Iris pushed her off a roof in the nineties because of Donovan.

"Does Donovan ghost here? I could write a tragic tale of parents and child with him and Iris' stories combined." You chuckled, attemping to find some humour in Sally's words.

"No, he decided to fully fuck off when he died."

"oh... Okay." Still, you wrote it down. "Are there uh, any ghosts you wouldn't recommend I talk to?" You asked mutteringly, still writing down ideas and notes from what Sally told you. She took a long, harrowing drag from that cigarette of hers. Every time she did, you were convinced she was thinking heavily about the fact she was stuck here for eternity.

"uh, there's...someone. Won't show you him until he thinks you deserve it."

"Oh?"

She gave a little 'mhm' and a nod, taking another long, thoughtful drag. "You might've heard of him."

It clicked in your head and you smiled down at the words on your page. Scribbled like a school child's words. The founder of such a place. The, artist of a building like this. Every brick and decoration. "Mr. March." You breathed out quietly, gripping hard onto the pen in your fingers. You were convinced he was the ghost to ghost all ghosts. Whatever the hell that meant. "Oh, oh that would be a conversation for the ages.."

"Well I doubt you'll get anywhere...he doesn't show himself lightly." She bit back, quite defensive immediately.

The conversation about James led on for a few hours. One topic of his life at a time. Your notebook was almost full already. There was so many things you could explore with his story of his life. His childhood...how he started killing... God!

You read through your notes in the evening, laying on the frankly, uncomfortable and creaky bed. You weren't even moving and the springs broke and bounced under your body. How on earth were you meant to sleep on this bed tonight? It made a groan leave you as you eventually decided to open your laptop, writing your notes up into a document to work on in the morning.

As you slept however, without any notice from you, someone stood, reading over your open laptop. How did you find out his backstory? Who told you his childhood? Who decided to give you information about his kills and his relationship with the lady in the penthouse suite? "Mysterious thing aren't you?" He murmured, leaning down to look at your notebook.

The day ran away with you. You spent almost the whole day in Liz's bar typing away at your laptop. Liz kept your hunger and thirst up. Happily providing you with snacks and soda pop as long as you promised good promotion and more publicity. Well, your blog had 5k followers. Atleast 1k were active with your posts. Someone had to take the bait and visit the hotel. "Sooo, how's the writing going? Anyone find interest in the hotel yet?" Liz asked

"Huh? No, not yet. I'm still working on a first draft for your story."

"My story?"

"Yes!" You exclaimed, looking up at Liz with a proud grin. "I think this could really get queer and trans people in this hotel for Pride."

She almost chuckled, lighting a cigarette of her own. The idea of people who were queer or trans in any sense of the words, coming to this hotel because they knew they'd be safe, it warmed her heart. "How many stories do you have?"

"um, let's see... Sally's. Iris and Donovan's. A lady named Elizabeth March. You. Hazel Evers'..." You continued your list with the ghosts you had met so far.

"Quite the chatterer aren't you? Well, I'm glad everyone is comfortable enough to open themselves up to you. Usually they aren't so welcoming to strangers, wanting their stories.."

You shrugged slightly, confident about the fact that the ghosts opened up to you so easily. It made you want to be cocky, but you were keeping it up this way instead. "I spoke for hours to Sally. She told me basically everything. Oh I loved talking to her, truly. The way she knows everything about every ghost here...it's wonderful. This notebook..." You held up one of the notebooks you brought with you quickly. "Was empty when I got here! Empty! Now it's basically 70% full of stories. It will keep everyone on the blog fulfilled...for months!"

"Very nice, very nice. Another Dr.Pepper?"

"Yes! Please."

And yet you continued to write. Sometimes you'd squirm in place. Like something was burning the clothes on your back. It was mildly uncomfortable and odd, however, it was a feeling you'd gotten used to quickly throughout the night and the day. Maybe some ghosts didn't want to show themselves to you, refused to acknowledge the living. It seemed to be common and that was fine with you; another thing to add to the collection of stories about the undead souls here.

"Keep an eye on my laptop please Liz, I just remembered something." Liz agreed as you quickly got up and headed for your room. Maybe you left a pen, or you needed some charging block for your laptop.

"I find their energy, quite exhilarating, don't you?"

Liz shrugged a little. "If anything they're giving this place a little pep. I think publicity will do this place some good."

He nodded simply. "How long are they staying?"

"1 and a half weeks if memory serves me right."

"Hm." He hummed and then walked off, suddenly lost in some thoughts.

You went by him and you didn't even notice. Coming back with a charging block and the cable. Quickly, you plugged it in and immediately got back to work. Not speaking another word to anyone else in the bar. Liz's story was finished quickly, and you moved onto Sally's with unbridled haste. You were practically dead to the world, lost in the screen and the ghost's lives when they were alive.

It was probably your 5th day here when he decided to show himself to you. It was the evening. Your eyes were sore, tired and in need of break. Perhaps a full 8 hours sleep?

"Maybe, a break is needed?"

Your head spun around, and you made eye contact with him. "Oh. Um, maybe." Were the only words that left your mouth. Speaking without thinking. In your head, you weren't sure if you were making him up or if he was really there. "I'm almost done with a few stories though, and I just need to finish one up."

"Tell me, what are your stories about? I find myself intrigued by...your.." He paused, attempting to remember what you called that device that was on the table by your side. The thoughtful look on his face, mixed with your confusion dragged the silence on for a minute or two.

"um, laptop?" You said quietly after a moment, holding it up with a confused smile.

He nodded. "Of course. A, lap...top."

It almost made you chuckle. He must've been kidding...right? Then again, most ghosts here were either incredibly modern or were brand new to things like phones and laptops.

Oh you were so sweet looking... Bright eyed and bushy tailed is the phrase you would probably use. Either way, you agreed. In the back of your head you had this nagging to get atleast a little bit of sleep. Even just 4 hours would do. It made you sigh and nod, rubbing your sore eyes gently to make them feel less fuzzy. "I think..a break is due, actually." You muttered, closing the lid to your laptop and moving yourself away from the table.

He almost smiled. "That would be wise." Encouraging you to take a break and rest.

As you settled yourself into the uncomfortable bed, the springs digging into your side and legs, you glanced up at the man. "You look familiar. I do genuinely have a feeling I know you.." you murmured as your eyelids started to grow heavier. Taking a deep breath, you let your eye lids close, a start in attempting to get some sleep. Not like it would work well with the bed being as uncomfortable as it was.

The man kneeled down by your bedside, staring his dead eyes into your face as you attempted asleep. "I believe I am just the man you are looking for in this modern quest of yours." He said quietly. You hummed quickly as a response, not really listening to him. "...You are radiant when resting your eyes my dear."

James watched you sleep. Essentially.

He found himself intrigued by your reasoning for staying at the Cortez, and wanted to know more about you, yet never wanted to disturb your writing. Seeing your fingers work so nimbly against the keyboard and your eyes light up when you had finished one part was truly a beautiful spectacle. He had to have more. Have you as comfortable as possible in the hotel. Quickly, you were knocked out.

He brought you to his room, and everything you had brought with you. Courtesy of Ms.Evers of course. "Quite, pretty." He muttered, watching your unconscious body lie on his bed. Of course he would find you the most attractive when you've been knocked out... Ms.Evers gave a half hearted agreement. You were, a regular human to her.

Being a 'journalist' , as your dedicated followers called you, usually meant you were more observant. You noticed the stocked mini bar. The jumbled mess of your items on the bed next to you. What looked like a living room. And god, your head killed! It felt like someone was in your brain, trying to knock a wall down to escape or something. Fuck, it felt awful. Thank fuck the curtains were drawn though. "God...fuck me.."

"Ah, no need for such vulgar language. Here, some whiskey and medicine." He handed you a small glass of whiskey and two pills of paracetamol. Eugh..you didn't even drink Kopparberg, let alone something like whiskey. Your distaste for the alcohol was obvious to him, and it only made a slight laugh escape his lips. "I understand your distaste if you are not a drinker, however, this will only help you further."

Doubt that! Heavily...

Even though you turned your nose up to the whiskey, it was better than swallowing the pills dry. Begrudgingly, you picked up the small glass and took the pills out of his hand. "That headache of yours shall disappear in an instant, there is no doubt about that." He offered you a smile, and you only gave him a dull, neutral look before you placed the pills in your mouth. Deep breath. And you quickly shot down the whiskey, swallowing in one gulp.

Once you had gotten over the absolutely dreadful taste and burn in your throat, you blinked and looked back up. James Patrick March. Good...god.

He must've noticed the slight awe in your look. "I have, gotten used to that look in my time, yet it never fails to make me smile." James decided to take a walk around his room. "I hear you write for the modern world. You talk of the souls and the undead. Like the ones you have written for here. Even a story of me."

The silence lingered before he glanced back at you. Oh, right. You should talk. Respond with something. "Uh, yes I do. It takes me around the US. I went to a place called, uh, The Murder House. Lots of ghosts roam there and keep it clean. I um, it reminds me of this hotel." Nodding, hoping you weren't rambling about nothing.

You were so perfect. "Hm. Quaint. Tell me, what stories of mine have you collected?" James sat down by the table, already holding a glass of alcohol, swishing it around as he spoke. Swallowing some nerves, you adjusted on the bed and started talking his whole life story back to him. At one point, you got up and started reading back from your notebook. Every detail that you had been told about from the others here.

James was almost shocked by the fact you knew almost every detail. Almost. Some of them exaggerated parts to make him seem more intimidating to you. It only made him want you more. To keep you forever. Obviously, he wasn't going to tell you he wanted to keep you as his. No no... That would only scare you off. This was going to be difficult though. You were a, a blogger. Whatever that word was meant to mean. You needed to be outside more. With the stories you had collected, James suspected you could keep this blog of yours active for maybe a few months. Little white lies to add to the stories of the souls here, just to keep everyone interested. It had to work. Had to.

"...You truly are an interesting thing aren't you?"

You stopped your sentence at James' rehtoric question, and looked at him for a moment. A little blush appeared on your face, and a tiny smile almost ghosted your lips. One of your favourite rare compliments was being called interesting. "Oh, um...thank you Mr.March."

He almost smiled again, the faintest vision of lips turned up in the corners. "I find your formalities, almost unbearable. James shall be fine my dear."

"James..." Repeated softly. As if you were tasting a name. For the serial killer in front of you, 'James' tasted like old nicotine, alcohol and strong iron.

"I suggest it is a name you should get used to, I have a feeling you shall be here," he paused as he got up and walked a few steps towards you. Leaning down and looking in your eyes. "Until the last star in the sky has burnt out and crumbled this world to dust."

Time had lost its meaning. Sure, you could look at the date on your laptop and find comfort in that, but god, it felt like it didn't matter anymore.

Sighing, you rubbed your temples again before holding your face in your hands. "My dear, take a break from this bright screen. I have brought you something." James' voice cut off your scrambling thoughts as he reached over your shoulder and brought the lid to your laptop down. He had gotten used to it, even if he still didn't fully understand what it was. Looking up at James for a moment, you shifted in your seat to face him properly.

His rare gifts occasionally made you smile, but overall you were too focused on your writings to properly care. "Oh, um, what is it?" You asked as James placed the black box on your laptop. Great. Eventually, after some staring, you picked up the box. The box was velvet and had a white silk bow keeping it together. Well, at least he knew your taste. You pocketed the silk, definitely keeping it, just because. Gently peeling the lid off the box, there was a book. Seemingly homemade, shittily put together. It simply read 'Poems' at the cover.

James simply kept a sly smile on his face, watching your fingers work at opening the box up. Picking the small book up. He was desperate to see a new smile on your face, seeing how much you liked the effort he went through for this present. All he wanted was for you to like him. Not that you didn't have manners and didn't say thank you, obviously. Of course you did, that was just nice but never failed to make him happy and satisfied for the next few days.

Skimming through the book, you read a few words on each poem. They were, actually, decent. Pretty handwriting and sweet words on the pages. "Okay, James, this one is just Juliet's speech but with my name instead of Romeo's."

"Yes...A tragedy for the ages isn't it? I suppose the difference here is that I'm already dead. Haunting the hotel for eons to come."

"...You say that like you're planning to kill me James."

The silence was long. Uncomfortably extended. His hands were hesitating around the back of your neck. Like Patrick Bateman when he was hesitating to kill Luis Carruthers in the bathroom. It wasn't lost on you. "James?" The soft ask from your voice snapped the killer out of his fantasies, his hands retracting as you looked up and behind at him. Oh, that look in your eyes. Gentle fear, mixed with confusion and wonder. Such a look that internally melted James.

So, he had to lie. Keep you unassuming and unaware. "No, my hummingbird. I dare not harm you. The comparison of Romeo and Juliet is simply a sweet thing to keep you inspired. Keep your energies up as you write the stories you're here for."

"Ah, right. Well thank you James, I appreciate it." Nodding as you placed the book in the box, and shifting it away from the laptop. You needed to continue with a few stories, and if you got them done now. As much as you could get done while being stressed out and down with writer's block. Could journalists get writer's block? You certainly thought and believed so. It felt like it was killing you. You wished it killed you at this point.

That sleep was long, hazy and disturbed. There felt like there was a weight on your chest. Something pinning you down, keeping you as pushed down as possible. Well you certainly weren't going anywhere. You needed the rest. Even if it wasn't as amazing as the other nights. It was something, and not nothing.

Your night seemed longer than it already had been. The clock read 10am. Jesus, who let you sleep that long?! James kept waking you at 6 or 7am to try and keep up a firm routine for you. It was his way of caring for you, everyone told you. Making sure you had a routine and it was kept to whenever possible. He couldn't tolerate any slacking. "It will be good for you my dear, get your mind working at full speed again."

Staring at the bright laptop screen, the black words on a white page burned into your retinas, occasional blinking didn't help anything. It's not like you were particularly ignoring James, no... Your brain just felt, vacant I suppose you could say. It felt so empty and crushed, like every pure word of genius had been squeezed out of you. Milked for all it was worth and now only dust remained. James noticed this, of course, but didn't want to suggest anything. You just looked, so perfect and pretty. Dull eyes lit up by the white screen, your brain working on overdrive to finish a section of Donovan's story. If it were possible, he would have had someone photograph that moment, so he could look at it and find pleasure in your uninhabited mind.

The clock ticked. You watched hours go by. What was wrong with you? Usually you weren't like this. You weren't so... Still and figure like. Maybe you needed fresh air. Yeah, that might do you some good.

Shutting the lid to your laptop, you stretched to make sure you weren't going to seize up or anything before walking out of the room. Yawning as you headed down the halls, stood in the elevator for what felt like forever, and eventually headed for the door. "Ah, they do know they're-"

"They shall find out in their own time. Perhaps not letting them know of their death will make them inspired."

She stared at James with indifference. A hint of annoyance. The pair watched you take a deep breath and walk out of the door. Yet, you met yourself with confusion as you appeared back in the room you were staying in. "What on.." muttered before you took the same route. There was absolutely no way you were dead. No, this was definitely part of a dream. A really... Long... Deep... Dream. The repetitive walls only became tedious to look at with every heavy footstep.

You had heard of one such incident before. An attempt to leave proving fruitless until the right person came along. But, then again, Michael Langdon was dead. He could not save you like he did Queenie. Fuck. You wished he could though. However, you continued the loop. Time had lost it's meaning again.

"FUCK!" Erupted from your room and James only chuckled. He had felt a certain amount of satisfaction roll through his body at your screams of curses. Oh you were so cute. The killer figured you should have some alone time before he came to visit you. How much time had passed since you woke up again? It felt like days when realistically it was a couple of hours.

It was only a nightmare to you because you had bills to pay and a day job to go to. You couldn't call up your boss and go "hey, yah I'm a ghost now in The Hotel Cortez so I can't come into work. Sorry!" That was an insane idea and would only get you fired. Alright. C'mon, you're smart. You can figure it out.

You went over in your head for hours upon hours. Figuring out someway to tell others you had died without actually telling them and scaring them. But, you got it eventually.

Leaving you room hesitantly, you walked the long, exact corridors of The Cortez until you found Liz up in her bar again. "Ah, our resident journalist, how are you?" She asked with a small smile, wiping the bar top down gently.

A moment. Though, you found your voice and asked a question. "Is anyone here, who isn't a guest, actually, y'know alive?"

"Hm. Maybe. On what basis?"

"I'm dead."

"Yep."

You swallowed. You were.. dead. As the fucking doornails. Liz's agreement was just your verbal confirmation from someone else. You resisted the urge to scream fuck again. "Shit...okay. I just, I need someone to tell my boss that I'm dead. I can't really fucking tell him myself! That'd be crazy!" Liz stared at you for a moment. Then nodded, letting out a breath of cigarette smoke she had somehow acquired. Whatever pretend breath you were holding, you let out. Smiling as you rested your head on your crossed arms. "Oh thank you Liz... Thank you so much."

Quickly, you placed down your phone and opened it up to the contacts. Scrolling until you found your boss' number, then pressing call, handing it to Liz. The conversation was brief but informative. "Yes? Are you the boss?" She mentioned who she was calling for then continued. "I am the unfortunate one who must tell you that your beloved employee has shuffled off this world. This mortal coil could not, handle their pure love and devotion." She made you sound like a sweet sugar doll, which also caused your face to heat up until it felt like it was burning. That couldn't've been further from the truth in your head. But at least you tried.

After a few unintelligible mumbles from the phone, Liz hung up and handed the phone back to you. "Done. He sounded like he was devastated." Definitely an exaggeration.

"oh yeah totally. I was definitely his favourite employee..." You were not. The young new employees who were fresh faced 17 years olds were his favourites. There was an obvious connection there which you didn't want to think much about. It was gross and caused those younger employees to always get promotions before you. Fuck that. If that was what was happening now? You were glad you were dead. But, there was another question in your head. "Where...where is my body?"

"Slid down a chute."

"Fucking hell."

"Quite."

You let out long, dragging, throaty sigh. What on earth was there to say? No one tells you what it's like to be dead.

...

Tell a lie they do. Plenty of souls did. 'Thats' what you were there for. Talking to the souls of the Hotel Cortez, bringing their stories to light so people knew what the hotel was capable of. What horrors and extremities the hotel held inside. Like James. James was a devil.

Pure black soul inside and out. Nothing redeemable. Nothing good. You were sure the only reason he was nice to you was because of some fucked up version of lust he felt for you. Lust that had to be contained for years upon years. That serial killer was a man of tastes divine. Tastes that were fucked up and inevitable.

"Lost in thought.." Liz hummed, bringing you out of your thoughts. Glancing up at her, your eyebrows furrowed. "Thinking about Mr. March.. He has kept you here for eternity." Her words spoke wisely, and it made you feel insane.

"His poems are insane, Liz! T-they're nothing but old tales with the names changed to fit me and him! It's insanity!"

"It's love."

"It's fucked up is what it is." You ended the conversation there, standing up and walking away. Back up to your room, where there was a piece of fucked up, old looking paper ontop of your laptop. There was another poem on it. Seemingly original.

My dear,

You are exquisite.

My work of art.

A piece untouchable.

The stories you tell,

exhilarating.

The public will flock.

See how much time and love there is,

in a tall tale such as my own.

I do not say much,

In the terms of affection.

If you stay in here, however,

Next to me,

There may be a word i shall tell.

Bare me your soul, hummingbird.

There will be nothing to keep us apart.

- James Patrick March

"...what the fuck..?" You muttered a question, reading the poem over and over again. It was, well it was perfect. It was somewhat sweet, and telling of his personality.

The nickname, hummingbird, definitely struck something in you. It was so, nice. That was the only word you could think of. Nice. Somewhat flattering coming from the man who you supposed was your murderer. "My dear, you seem, somewhat flustered by the poem I have left for you."

Looking up, you stared right into James' eyes. The silence before you answered felt tense. Harsh and scared as your eyes bore into his. They were so dark. Black boba pearls that barely shined. There was nothing to say back to him. You scoured your mind for a response as you gripped the paper. Maybe too hard, as you felt your fingers dig into your palm. The paper crumbling up.

James walked towards you, eyes trained on the worry and the slightest shake of your fingers. "I haven't written anything since I was a young man I admit," He started, finally breaking eye contact. His hand met yours, placing down the crumbled and broken paper on the table. "But I hope it has satisfied since you feel so, aloof to the poems I had given you before."

"James..." You looked up at him from the paper, lips slightly parted. "I'm dead."

"That you are." Those three words of agreement felt somewhat unnecessary. "But one who died so eloquently. I almost, feel envious you died so beautifully my darling." His hand trailed up your arm, standing behind you as he spoke. Feeling you, making sure you knew how close he was to you. Gods, you felt so perfect to him. He was so glad he killed you.

"that... Weight on my chest.." You started, taking in deep breaths as one hand roamed you.

"That weight was me my hummingbird." He nodded, head dipping down to your neck. Despite being dead too, he took a breath that felt like an inhale. What he was addicted to. Needed to be addicted to. You couldn't leave, but even when you were alive, he didn't want you to leave. The undead addiction he craved to feel once again. It was a craving he could not satiate.

"You satiate me," James muttered into your skin. Your lips stayed shut, and eyes closed. While you barely had a response, it didn't matter to James. All you needed was to understand why. Understand the scribbled nonsense on paper in front of you. Letting James take. But you weren't giving. Not really. You were just, standing there trying to make sense.

"James..." You breathed out, head falling back against his shoulder. He smiled and let one hand fall to rest on your waist. They were so delicate compared to the rest of what James was about. It felt so, wrong. However, they felt in the right place. They felt so right, being placed so softly on your chest and your waist. What on earth could you do about this?

Letting the touches sink into your body. The coldness freezing your body. It made you shiver. It would've felt better if the both of you were alive. Warmth pressing against warmth... But no, you were cold. He was colder. Cold as dry ice. After a while it felt right.

Your positioning was that of Christine and Erik's. His hands holding you close to his chest, your hand over his, the other one hovering over his shoulder.

You were Christine. Naive, needy and talented.

He was Erik. A teacher. Smart and full of wit.

A phantom.

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Taglist: @lacucarachapisser / @vi0l3tluvsu / @strawb3rrystar / @bohnerrific69 / @xrag-dollx / @r4fe-cam3ron / @pajaaa2005 / @saintlucretia / @taintandviolent / @phantommoondoll / @american-horror-whore

[temporarywelcome]

Please? - Peter Maximoff

Word Count: 3.5k

REQUESTED!

The Ask: I humbly ask for a Peter Maximoff smut, I'm thinking y/n either a: distracts him while he is playing his arcade games, b: using whipped cream to give him a lil sweet treat while fucking, or c: literally any smut of this man, I need him. Preferably him being a little cocky/silly, but when you actually do anything he is a whimpering mess praising you. - @envy-of-greed

I give you... Option A.

WARNINGS: SMUT! oral (m recieve), handjob, mommy kink, praise, reader is a tease, reader is MEAN, sub!peter, dom!reader, Peter becomes a MESS, reader calls him "pup" and "puppy" like once, aftercare, alluding to punishment

A/N: gonna work on a Spencer Reid fluff/comedic fic next

_____

Peter was annoying as hell.

She loved him to bits, she would do absolutely anything for him, but she was allowed to admit her boyfriend was a complete terror?

Y/N was peacefully sitting in her room when her telephone had rang. Placing down her magazine, she reached for it, bringing it to her ear, “Hello?”

“Babeeee,”

What a surprise this was. Peter Maximoff, who usually would just show up unannounced with his super speed, decided to give her a phone call?

“Peter? What’s the occasion?” she asked with a smile, leaning back against her pillows, twirling the telephone’s wire in her newly manicured fingers. 

“Eh, I just remember you saying you like phone calls, the bonding or whatever. So i wanted to give you one.”

That made her heart melt. This little terror was sometimes a complete angel as well. “Yeah…” Y/N replied, “I love phone calls. Your voice sounds so nice on the phone, by the way,”

She could already picture him blushing. “I-It does? I mean, of course, yeah it does! I’m Peter freaking Maximoff, babe. Everything about me is top-tier,”

“You could work on your baking skills,” she mused, remembering literally every single time she would attempt to bake something with him. Flour everywhere. Remnants of cake or brownie batter on his face because he just had to eat some (a lot). Firealarm going off. Burnt baked goods. Every. Single. Time.

“Bitch! Every baking failure is your fault for always distracting me!” he whined in protest.

“How the hell do I distract you? I’m baking too!” 

“ ‘Cause you’re pretty,” Peter replied cheekily, and she knew he would have wiggled his eyebrows if she could see him, “How am I supposed to focus?”

“Stop making excuses for your terrible baking skills. Even if I wasn’t there, you would be a mess,”

“For different reasons,” Peter scoffed, “I can’t bake by myself, I need your guidance,”

“But you can’t bake with me either because you allegedly get distracted. Sounds like you just can’t bake,”

“Fuck off,” he grumbled, making her laugh, “Let’s get to more important business: when can I pick you up?”

“I wasn’t aware of being picked up at all,”

“Yeah well I’m picking you up. I wanna spend some time with you!” she could hear his excited tone that was so uniquely Peter. Everything about him was unique. Everything about him was different and weird and strange and she loved every part of him. 

“Well…” Y/N sighed, “I was going to start on some homework…”

“Boooo! College student booooo!”

“Shit, excuse me for wanting an education. Better than planning on living in my mom’s basement for the rest of my life,” she teased.

“Ouch. Fine. Can’t you do your homework later?”

“I’ve been procrastinating on it,” Y/N set down her magazine, getting off of the bed and walking to her desk, stretching her body as far as she could with the limits of the phone cord. Fingertips brushing against her notebook, she was able to grab it, nestling back into her bed and opening it, “Shit, it’s a lot.”

“Who cares? Finish it tomorrow!”

“It’s due in the morning.”

She could already tell he was pouting, she knew him so well. “Can’t you do it at my place?”

“You mean your mom’s place?” Y/N decided to keep teasing him. Peter was pretty much a loser, not really having any plans in life other than to lounge in his mom’s basement playing video games and eating twinkies for eternity. He thought he was a loser, Y/N’s parents thought he was a loser (which is why they don’t like him much), even Y/N thought he was a loser when they had first met. 

Yet here she was, smiling like an idiot while babbling on the telephone with said loser. Said loser who always gives her (stolen) gifts. Said loser who comes over at random points in the day just to say he loves her (superspeed is pretty handy). Said loser who named his Dungeons and Dragons character after her (however, he was such a loser, he didn’t have many people to play it with). Said loser who would scoff and pout whenever she would tease him about being her future house husband (well, what else would he be, if he just plays video games and dotes on her all day?) Her favorite loser. 

“Yes,” Peter deadpanned, “My mom’s place. Now may I come over so I can escort you to my mom’s place?”

She pretended to think about it, hearing his soft breathing on the other line as he waited for her to answer, “Fine. No distractions though!” 

“Yes, ma’am,”

Y/N opened her mouth to say something else, jumping when she heard a harsh knock on her window. Whipping her head towards the source of the noise, she rolled her eyes with a laugh. Peter, waving at her with his usual happy dorky expression. Placing the phone back down onto its receiver, Y/N rushed towards the window, opening it. “Babe!”

“Missed me?” he asked with a smirk, zipping into her room and right past her, making her roll her eyes again. He picked up her notebook, examining the pages, “Ew ew ew. What the hell are you studying again?”

“Psychology,” Y/N sat on the bed, slipping her sneakers on and tying them. 

“Boring,” he sped off in a blur to her desk, grabbing a pencil, and rushing back to her notebook. 

She didn’t even notice, focused on her sneakers, but when she raised her head and saw him drawing on her notebook, her facial expression soured, “Pietro Maximoff!” she snatched the notebook back, flicking his forehead. 

“Hey!” he gasped dramatically, “Ain’t no way you used my real name.”

“You misbehave to the point I have to like a mom,” Y/n replied dryly, going off to her closet to grab her bag. Brows furrowing, she dug around a bit, “Shit… Dunno where my bag went-”

“Ahem,”

Y/N didn’t even have to turn to know what that meant. But she did, and, not to her surprise, Peter was holding her bag with a smirk on his face. 

“Asshole,” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. She knew him well. If she attempted to grab the bag, he would just zoom off somewhere else to tease her. 

“Aren’t you going to get it?” he asked with faux innocence, holding it out to her. 

“Fuck that, I know what you’re planning,” Y/N shook her head, raising her brow at him expectantly, “Drop the bag,”

“Um, am I a dog?” He placed a hand to his chest, jaw dropping like the drama king he was. He should have been in theatre when he was in school. 

“Do I have to treat you like one?” Y/N threatened boldly, “Come on, pup, drop the bag,”

Peter’s eyes widened and he dropped the bag, “You did not just say that,” 

“Well, it worked,” Y/N smirked, grabbing her bag and planting a kiss on his cheek, “Good boy,” She began throwing her supplies for her homework into her bag, unaware of the growing dent in his pants. 

“Bitch,” he mumbled to himself, too quiet for her to hear. 

“Alright, I’m ready to go,” she announced, slinging her bag over her shoulder. He just stood there, eyes glazed over. “Earth to Peter?” she snapped her fingers in his face twice before he blinked, coming back down to society. 

“Okayletsgetoutofhere,” he word vomited, grabbing her waist (with one hand on her neck, of course! Gotta prevent that whiplash!), and within seconds, they were in his room (the basement). 

“Shit, am I ever gonna get used to that?” Y/N laughed, flopping onto his unmade bed in dizziness. Before she could react, Peter dived in on top of her, making her let out a pained, “Oof!” and a “Peter!”

A childish giggle left him, arms going around her waist as he nuzzled into her neck, “Hm?”

“Can’t breathe,”

“Are you calling me fat?”

“I apologize, my dainty little princess,” she deadpanned, arms going around him too. Yes, he was crushing her, but she honestly didn’t care, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. She then felt something on her thigh. Felt like something was poking-

Oh.

Oh.

She smirked, but didn’t say anything about what she just realized, casually stroking his hair, “My pretty puppy,”

He gasped, immediately dashing off. Poor thing was flustered, playing one of his (stolen) arcade games, back turned to her. 

“What’s wrong?” Y/N immediately got to teasing him, “I thought we were cuddling?”

“Wanna game,” he replied simply, and his ears went red. Cutie pie. 

“You wanna game? But I thought you wanted to spend time with me?” she laughed.

“You said you wanted to do your homework,” 

“True true…” she opened up her notebook, glancing at his squirming figure, “You dancin’, love?”

“No, I’m not dancing,” was all he said. There were plenty of times he didn’t catch onto her teasing, which was always adorable. This seemed to be one of them.

“Then why are you moving like that?” 

“Like what?” Now he was playing dumb. He groaned as he died in the game, restarting it.

She slid off of the bed, walking to him and wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. Resting her chin on his shoulder, she said, “You’re acting funny, darling,” she pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, feeling him tense under her touch.

“N-No, I’m not,”

“Oh, really?” One hand reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear before planting a kiss there, “You’ve been acting funny ever since I called you a good boy,” His breath hitched, making her smirk, “I didn’t know calling you that would have such an effect on you, baby. Maybe it’s because you’re so bratty, you don’t hear that often, huh?”

“Stoooop,” he whined, losing in his game again, “You made me lose,” Peter pouted. 

“Hm,” she let her hands drop lower, fiddling with the button of his pants absentmindedly, “You must be slacking, Peter! You should be able to game under any condition, right?”

“But-”

“Nuhuh,” she pressed a finger to his plush lips, “No ‘but’s from you. We gotta practice your concentration skills, my love. They’re lacking,” she unbuttoned his jeans, making him gasp. His hands were gripping the game’s controls tightly, however they were unmoving as she palmed him through his boxers. “Hey,” she roughly squeezed his length, making him squeak cutely. “Did I say you could stop? C’mon, time to practice.” 

“S-Sorry, Y/N,” he stuttered out, hitting restart again. She squeezed his cock through his boxers again, earning a whine from him. 

“Now what do you call me when I play with you?” Y/N asked tauntingly, running a single finger over his clothed length. Up and down. Up and down. Up and-

“Mommy,” he bit his bottom lip to keep himself from moaning. 

“That’s right, darling, I’m Mommy,” She stepped away, confusing him, until she got down on the floor, crawling right between him and the game. “Mommy’s going to take care of your pretty cock now, okay?” Her hands trailed towards the belt loops of his jeans as she spoke, “You are not allowed to stop playing your game. Each in-game death is two spanks. You’re not allowed to cum till you clear three levels, understood?”

Peter’s cheeks flared up and he nodded excitedly, “Yes, Mommy,” 

“Good boy,” she purred, pulling down his pants and letting them pool at his ankles. Fingers dipping into the waistband of his boxers, she cooed, already noticing a small wet patch, “So excited, huh?” she pulled down his boxers, letting them join his pants on the floor. Y/N stuck out her index finger, letting it run along his cock like before. Up and down. Up and down. Up and-

“-Mommy,” Peter whined, “Stop teasing me, please,”

“Oh? The bratty boy is using his manners?” she cooed, wrapping her fingers around his thick length and slooooowly stroking him, “Remember the rules and everything will feel amazing, yeah?”

He nodded, sucking in a breath, “Y-Yeah,” Peter tried to focus on his game, he really did, trying his best to get his character past the villainous NPCs. But as soon as Y/N began to stroke faster, he whimpered, his character being slain. 

“Oh?” Y/N smirked, pausing her movements and making him whine more, “Already lost? That’s two spanks, darling,”

“Sorry, Mommy…” He mumbled in embarrassment, restarting the game, “I won't do it again- fuck,” She started stroking him again, the delicious feeling going straight to his pretty little head. Any sort of sexual intimacy would immediately make his brain short-circuit, causing him to be complete putty in her hands.

“I know you won’t do it again, Peter, because you’re a good boy, right?” Y/N’s lips curled into a little smile, leaning forward to press a kiss to his tip, continuing to stroke him. “You’re my good boy?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, bottom lip between his teeth as he attempted his game again, his avatar jumping through obstacles and avoiding approaching enemies, “I’m y-your good boy- ughhh,” she wrapped her pretty lips around his tip, teasingly sucking on it. He bit his bottom lip again, hard enough to draw blood. 

Peter couldn’t help it, he took a glance down at Y/N, mouth going dry seeing her sucking on his tip, stroking him in a steady rhythm with her own eyes looking dead at his. His eyes widened seeing her take him deeper into her mouth, eyes not leaving his for even a second.

Game over.

He looked up at the screen of his game, realizing his character died again. Fuck. 

Y/N pulled her mouth off of his dick with a pop, making him whimper, “Two more spanks, darling. That’s four now.”

This was going to suck. This was going to suck in the best way possible. 

“Didn’t you say you were going to be a good boy?” Y/N asked, pouting exageratively, “I remember you saying you were going to be a good boy,”

“I am your good boy!” Peter huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Y/N laughed, pressing a kiss to his thigh, “You’re so cute, baby. Now, c’mon, start the game again. You’ll never get to cum at this rate.”

Poor thing panics, starting the game up again. He began spamming the buttons desperately, wanting to clear those three levels so Y/N would allow him to cum. Overstimulation was hot as hell, but edging was terrible (which is why that was her usual punishment for him).  

Her lips were on him again, sucking hard, and poor guy was seeing fucking stars trying to focus on this damn fucking game. He was a good gamer, these levels should be easy to clear, but when Mommy is sucking his cock how is he able to focus on such a thing? He would rather abandon the game and fuck her like a bitch in heat, which is certainly what he felt like at that moment. 

It was torture. Spamming buttons desperately, not beating the level, the threat of edging and spanking in the air. He was going crazy.

“Thats ten spanks now, baby,” Y/N said after another failed level, “I thought you were good at games,”

“I-I am!” He exclaimed, “It's hard to fucking focus when you're sucking the soul out of me!” A pout formed on his pretty lips, brows furrowed as he attempted to play the level again. 

“Watch your tone, Peter,” Y/N glared at him, making him feel emotional. Whenever he was in a vulnerable place like this, it's embarrassingly easy for him to burst into tears. Especially because during any form of intimacy he was baby or darling or something cute, never Peter. Why would she call him by his name? Was he being bad?

“Sorry, Mama,” he mumbled.

Y/N couldn't help but smile softly, being reminded once again how much she adored him. Her pretty boy. Her favorite loser. Being called her titles by him always made her weak at the knees. “I know, baby,” she was a soft domme at heart, she can't be mad at him. Ever. He was her baby and he deserved the whole world. “Let's try this again, okay?”

She waited for him to nod before taking him into her mouth again. His pretty tip was red and hot in her mouth, dribbling pre-cum on her tongue as she swirled the muscle along. 

He finally beat the first level, moving on to the next excitedly. He was getting somewhere now! Soon he'll be allowed to cum and maybe Y/N will let him inside…

Yes, he really wanted to be inside her. 

Y/N began taking him deeper into her mouth, and fuck he felt his tip nudge the back of her throat so perfectly he wanted to cum. So bad. But he won't because he's a good boy and he's not going to cum until he's allowed to. 

That was the plan, at least.

But his name was Quicksilver for a reason and he could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge. His left hand was gripping the joystick painfully hard, knuckles white as he moved it around in an attempt to get his character across the map to the next level. 

He finally made it to the third level, sighing in relief. He was getting somewhere. Almost to the end. She was bobbing her head up and down, one hand gently rubbing his tender balls, bringing him closer and closer to release. 

“AhI’msoclosethatfeelssogoodthankyouthankyouI’msoclose” he babbled out, speaking practically a mile a minute. A wide grin appeared on his face once he cleared the third level, “IdiditcanIcomenowpleasecanIcumnow-”

She pulled off of his dick again, making him groan in both desperation and annoyance, “You cleared the level? Good job, sweetie. I guess I can let you cum now…” They both stared at each other, Peter panting and his chest rising with each labored breath, Y/N batting her eyelashes at him meanly, continuing to tease him. He was ready to just start fucking her face and go wild, but he told himself he was going to behave.

So he’s going to behave. 

Ugh, but why does she have to make it so hard? 

“Can you keep going?” he finally asked.

“Should I, though?”

“You… You promised!” he gasped, eyes widening in panic.

“Hmmm, I don’t remember promising anything,” she replied, trailing her finger along his shaft like she always did when she wanted to fucking tease him. Up and down up and down up and down-

“Please?” Was she really going to make him beg? She knew he hated begging, which is probably why she enjoyed making him do that so much. 

All she did was hum, continuing with that aggravating motion of her finger, fucking asshole. 

“Please, Mommy?” he grumbled, hands balling into fists at his sides to keep him from going crazy. Think with your head and not your dick, Peter.

Y/N gave him another mean smirk, “That’s my boy…” she went straight back to sucking him off, and he was back to being a fucking mess. 

“ThatfeelssogoodyoualwaysdosogoodfuckI’mgoingtocumcanIcumpleasepleaseplease-”

She nodded, not stopping her sucking motion for even a second. However, his eyes were screwed shut so he didn’t even notice, continuing to beg to cum till she released his dick from her mouth and said, “You can cum, baby,” with a little laugh before going right back to work. 

And within two seconds of being back inside her mouth, he was cumming hard, hands going to her hair for something to keep him grounded. When she pulled away from his cock once again, she swallowed without a second thought, rubbing his thigh soothingly, “You still there, baby?”

“Mhm,” Peter was a known chatterbox, everybody knew this. But every time after cumming, his desire to speak would vanish, the need to just be held and taken care of overpowering all else. 

So Y/N stood up, taking his hand, “Let’s lay down, yeah?” She knew Peter could not last long, however, he could bounce back extremely fast. Just some cuddles will do, and he’ll be back to either a) yapping her ear off, or b) being hard as a rock. Or both. Who knows? 

She laid down on his (unmade) bed, pulling him down beside her, “You need anything, baby?” He simply shrugged, arms going around her waist and resting his head on her shoulder, “Water?” He shook his head. “Snack?” Fast nod. Of course. “Alright,” she went to sit up, but he immediately tightened his grip on her. “Didn’t you want a snack?” she laughed.

He thought for a moment before hesitantly releasing her from his hold, allowing her to get up and go to his practical tower of Hostess treats, grabbing a box of Twinkies. His favorite. Sitting back down, she opened up the box, unwrapping a cakey treat while he leaned against her again. 

“Here you go,” she said softly, letting Peter pluck the dessert from her hand and eat it. It was silent as he ate, her hand going to his hair to gently stroke the silver strands. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled after he finished, looking up at her with a cute smile, “You always know just what I need,” he nuzzled his nose into her neck, inhaling her scent. “Love you,”

“Love you too, baby,” she kissed his head, sighing peacefully, “So… about that punishment…”

[saintlucretia]

my toxic trait is believing that I'd be his special girl and that he would cuddle and protect me

but I'll be be brutally murdered

[icedheartss]

My whisper

[americanwh0rerstory]

KINKTOBER DAY FOUR

kinky murder - james march

Alive!reader x james patrick march

SUMMARY: when y/n becomes infatuated with james and asks to be with him forever, he is delighted to share his ‘hobby’ with them

CONTENT WARNING: MURDER. KNIFE PLAY. BLOOD. NECROPHILIA. CUTTING.

A/N: i’d like to begin this by saying that james has canonly committed necrophilia in case anyone has forgotten that fact. i’m not adding it in just to make my fic seem edgy or anything, it is canon. it has happened. i will not shy away from that fact

EXTREME AND NSFW CONTENT BELOW, HEED THE WARNINGS AND READ AT OWN RISK

“such a beauty you are, even when you seem so fearful of me. might i remind you that you asked for this, dearest” james coos as he circles you, a knife grasped in his dominant hand. his eyes roamed your clothed body, taking in your tense stature and the way you seemed so scared of something you so badly wanted to happen

he drags his knife down your spine, cutting your clothes like they were made of butter and watching the fabric fall for the floor around you. goosebumps instantly came over you, but it was unaware whether the sudden exposure to the cold or whether your fear had caused it.

“such perfection hidden under so many layers, not even the most beautiful of women could hold a candle to the beauty you display” james murmurs whilst his eyes rake over you, reaching a hand out and gently brushing it down the column of your neck.

he dragged the knife from the base of your spine around your hips, and up your navel towards your breasts; the cool steel of his knife glided along your skin, making you shudder from the strangely enjoyable sensation.

he stood behind you as he traced the knife up your torso, letting the point rest where your heart would lie. “your heart sounds akin to a hummingbird, but i cant say that it isn’t enjoyable or id simply be lying” he muttered softly into your ear, circling the tip of his knife around one of your nipples

he made a quick swipe of his knife which made a horizontal cut on the edge of your areola, the wound instantly filling with blood. james watched with twisted satisfaction, he dragged his thumb across the wound and spread the blood over your nipples. the sight of your blood sent a throbbing ache to his hardening cock, only urging him to continue

“it’s exhilarating, is it not? seeing your own blood drip down your body like paint to a canvas. why, it’s exactly like that: you are my canvas, and i am the artist. though i cant make you any more of a beauty than you already are”

he made a few more slashes across both of your breasts before setting his knife down and squeezing your breasts between his hands, smearing your blood all over your skin and his own hands. he then proceeded to lean his head down and lick across your boobs to taste the blood. “you taste like fine wine, my love” he says with his face buried into your tit, kissing and sucking your flesh to use pleasure to distract you from the stinging sensations of the cuts

you felt his knife slide against your skin once more, however this time it was at your thigh. the cold steel left a sharp stinging sensation against you. you felt the blood pool at the surface, before the wound filled and the blood began to trickle down in a thick stream. the viscous crimson left a trail down your thigh, sticky to the touch as it coagulated.

his head lifted from your boob, and he crashed his lips onto yours. he greedily kissed you like a starved man, as if trying to take all he could get from you. the metallic taste of your blood on his tongue invaded your senses, but it also distracted you from the blood oozing out of you in multiple spots

“lay down, darling, on the bed” james instructed gently but with an air of dominance shrouding him. whilst you layed back onto the bed, he began to remove his clothes. his suit dropped to the floor, and he put on his radium mask. looking down at your sprawled out, bloodied, and naked body made his cock twitch, eager to bury himself inside of you

he crawled on top of you, looking down at you whilst he lined his member up with your hole. “don’t worry dearest, the pain is only temporary. then we have all eternity to enjoy one another” james said in a surprisingly soothing tone, his brahmin accent smoother than velvet and bringing you a small sense of comfort in what would be your final moments

he slowly pushed into you, giving you a few seconds to adjust before beginning to thrust inside of you. you felt his tip nudge against your cervix with every thrust, the sensation eliciting sweet moans from deep within you and leaving you seeing stars.

“ready, darling?” he grunts as he fucked you missionary, looking at you through the lens of the radium mask. after you gave a small nod of confirmation, he moved one of his hands to your throat. Grasping your neck tightly, he blocked all oxygen flow which instantly made your chest tighten.

you felt your vision begin to go blurry, little black dots appearing in your peripheral whilst you looked up at james. he released your throat though, a sick smirk beginning to line his face.

he didn’t say anything, and grabbed his knife. he plunged it down into your chest, straight into your heart. your eyes widened in pain, but the euphoric feeling of his thrusts were distracting you from the feeling. your blood was practically bursting out your chest, soaking the pristine white sheets with the thick carmine liquid

“see you soon,” james murmured before planting a gentle kiss to your lips, not caring that you were gasping your final breaths. the last sensation you ever felt was james pounding your pussy like he’d never get too again.

he kissed you until your inevitable death, carefully manoeuvring your heavy and limp legs so they were over his shoulders. he couldn’t resist taking advantage of the situation, he had a little while until rigor-mortis began to set in. and he’d use that time as ‘best’ as he can

he kept thrusting into your body, knowing you’d return as a ghost soon and that it would all be okay. he could feel your eyes on him, but it didn’t stop him. you were still warm, you still felt alive to him; the glazed over look in your eyes and your unmoving bloodied chest confirmed this fact to him.

he couldn’t resist burying his face between your bloodied boobs for a final time as he emptied himself inside of you, painting your insides with his seed. he twitched inside you as he softened, panting with exhaustion as he lay between your boobs

“having fun?” you called out, now as a ghost leaning against the wall behind him. you couldn’t help but smirk with amusement at how excited james seemed to be.

“more than you can imagine, dearest” he panted as he lifted his head to look up at you, an expression of euphoria on his face

A/N: i’ve never written gore before. i’m so sorry if this is beyond fucked up, but if you read this far despite my warnings then it’s your fault. for those sick fucks (positive way) of the world that enjoyed it, i’m glad you did <3