#Jpm

[saintlucretia]

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

[d0llfaac3]

If totally psycho why sexy??

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Mitsubishi Minica Skipper GT, 1971. The coupé version of the Minica was powered by a water-cooled 359cc 2G21  2-stroke SOHC 2 cylinder engine. One unusual feature of the Skipper GT was the tachometer which was fitted to the exterior of the car on the engine hood (its visible in the cockpit shot, and the pic of the front of the car).

[evanpetersbf]

no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling, teeth jitterbug, mind blogging, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy,moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious,gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, slendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tango ever bro could cause a nuclear bomb inside me and I'd still ride.

[americanwh0rerstory]

THE EVANS: Turn ons

CONTENT WARNING: fem!reader, mention of murder (jpm), kai anderson. there’s nothing majorly extreme in this idk what else to put here

contains: tate, kit, jimmy, james, kai

NSFW BELOW THE CUT: MEDIA CONSUMPTION IS YOUR CHOICE

TATE LANGDON

your boobs. partially due to his mommy issues but he loves to bury his face in between them no matter how big/small

loves feeling your boobs against him when you hug

KIT WALKER

everything. he’s a sweet guy

would treat you like a glass princess with the size difference between you both

especially likes how dainty you are

JIMMY DARLING

post ethel’s death he definitely gets slightly obsessed with your boobs. he’d love them

your ass. no matter the size, he loves your ass. If he’s drunk then he’d spank it as he walks past

JAMES PATRICK MARCH

he’s a total simp for you

worships your body like there’s no tomorrow (when infact you have forever if you’re dead)

if you share his ‘hobby’ he’ll find it hot when you’re covered in blood

KAI ANDERSON

edging you. not for your own pleasure, because it gives him control over the situation. you’d be punished if you came

when you’re docile and submissive, whether it’s in the bedroom or the cult

being called ‘divine ruler’ during sex, or any name that boosts his ego and god complex

A/N: these were rushed and written at 2am. i don’t like how jimmy’s turned out but we’re going with it because i don’t have the energy to rewrite it

[fear-is-truth]

hi Jackie!! I was wondering, if you're not that busy, another headcanon for the evans about what they would be like if they were jealous and how they would let reader know.

(a lil note just for say that I love so much all the things you write, you're fuckin amazing girl😩🫶💞)

𝝑𝝔 ── jealousy, jealousy ┊ THE EVANS

ft. tate langdon ‧ kit walker ‧ frat!/franken kyle spencer ‧ james march ‧ kai anderson ‧rory monahan ‧ austin sommers

꣑ৎ ‎ :‎ masterlist ﹒꒱ note. tysm , this actually made my day !

TATE LANGDON

jealousy hits him like vertigo. it comes out in sideways remarks or forced vulnerability: you’ll find him curled up on your bed, asking timidly whether you still like him. crybaby tate tears up easily, but…. it’s mostly a guilt tactic. that, or he shuts down and sulks. refuses to talk about his feelings. tate wants you to notice and come ask. if you don’t, he’ll get all passive-aggressive and sarcastic. “they’re really funny, huh?” or “you like them better, i get it.” if you still don’t take the bait, tate will do something evil reckless just to pull focus back to him.

KIT WALKER

kit doesn’t want to say something he’ll regret. so, he internalises it. try to rationalise it away, place the blame on himself, maybe even take a walk to cool off. when it finally comes out, it’s of the protective variety instead of possessiveness. he doesn’t want to control you, but he wants to feel chosen.

FRAT!KYLE SPENCER

he gets territorial in subtle, almost playful ways. friendly aggression: a casual shoulder-check that lands a bit too hard. roughhousing the guy he’s jealous of under the guise of a joke. anything to wedge some space between them and you. at parties, he might yank you into his lap without warning, kiss you harder than usual—just enough to make a point without saying a word.

FRANKEN!KYLE

kyle can’t remember the exact word—not precisely—but he knows the feeling of jealousy well enough to resent it. he moves closer without thinking. fingers brush yours, then wrap around your hand like it’s always been his. he doesn’t let go. if you step away, he trails after you, unwilling to be left behind. if someone else touches you, even lightly, kyle flinches. the look in his eyes changes—sharp, then suddenly plaintive. wounded. like a dog who’s been scolded but doesn’t understand why.

JAMES PATRICK MARCH

jealousy registers as a personal insult. he sees it as a violation of loyalty, whether or not you meant it that way. if another man so much as holds your gaze too long, james goes completely cold. he won’t accuse you directly, but he’ll punish you in tiny gestures. lock you out of the bedroom. call you by your full name like you’re in trouble (you are.) later, he’ll sit beside you in silence and say something along the lines of, “i do hope your little performance was worth the price.”

RORY MONAHAN

he’ll play it off at first. big grin, casual jokes. “should i be worried about that guy or…?” but there’s a slight pause after he laughs, as if he’s clocking your answer. if it keeps bothering him, he still won’t outright call it jealousy, but he’ll start doing things just to earn your gaze back. “babe, remember who you came with,” he’ll say, all smiles but the minute you’re alone, he’ll nuzzle into your neck and mumble something insecure, like, “you’d tell me if you thought he was hotter, right?”

KAI ANDERSON

jealousy flips a switch in him. he gets obsessive—asks invasive questions under the guise of caring. “how long have you known them?” “you like being looked at like that?” he wants control back. that often means lovebombing, pinky-power interrogation, and sex that feels more like reclamation. he doesn’t like the feeling of being replaceable, and he hates that it shows. he’ll rather DIE before admitting he’s hurt.

AUSTIN SOMMERS

he gets snippy and passive-aggressive. “wow, your little friend has… confidence. it’s brave.” outright rude, if he’s drinking—talks over you, interrupts your story, maybe even start flirting with someone else in front of you.

[gingerteafairy]

Dates with James Patrick March, a photo dump

[vizjpmdose]

Mr. March Duties James Patrick March x wife!reader !!: not proofread, gossiping, mention of cheating (just sally spilling some tea) a/n: This is supposed to be a drabble, but I added some hotel Cortez tea for fun and for the plot. (james and sally's beef) SUMMARY: Your husband always keeps an eye on you, and he noticed that you're not feeling well tonight. He stopped whatever he was doing so just he can fulfill his duties for his Mrs. March.

It was a normal night in the Cortez as Mrs. March. This hotel became a home for you despite of the dark old secrets that this hotel holds. Your husband also promised you that he will always be there to guide you and protect you in this world he welcomed you in. He proved it, and this life you had felt worth it. 

Your go-to place when you're bored is the bar. Relaxing with drinks, admiring the fancy architecture of the Cortez, and talking with your two bestfriends Sally and Liz. Tonight was just a coincidence that almost all of the ghosts are hanging out in the bar, no outsiders for tonight. James lets you have your time with Liz and Sally as he stands a little far away from you, having a small conversation and a drink with Mr. Wu. But he glances at you every now and then to check on you.

"You're eavesdropping skills are unnatural, you even outdid the wife." Liz jokes as she was cleaning the drinking glasses, listening to Sally spill the tea. "What else could I do? I'm DEAD, it's one of those I could at least do for the thrill." Sally replied rolling her eyes playfully as she emphasizes the word 'dead', she then exhales the smoke of her cigarette, making Liz laugh at her reply. 

"Room 67? That's near at yours and James' shared suite. You should update us if a drama happens." 

Liz suggests to you as she turned to face you with a small smirk. But you were kind of zoning out, you were getting lightheaded and you were feeling chilly. The weather was also a bit cold outside. 

"Oh? I'll for sure let you girls know." You replied, rubbing both of your arms with your hands as you try to ease the cold you were feeling. Sally noticed that. James did too, he saw you as he was doing the time to time checking on you. "Are you drunk already, y/n? You don't seem well." Sally asked raising an eyebrow as she checked on you.  

"What? No, I'm alright. W-" You replied, but you got cut off as you felt someone stood behind you and was helping you rub your arm. A cold hand but a familiar touch that brings comfort to you. You look up and saw your husband, James. 

"A glass of whiskey, Liz." James spoke to Liz with a nod, Sally gave you a knowing look as she saw James. "The boss is here." Sally whispered out playfully as she moves away from you, she knows James is going to be taking control of this situation again. Going to get bossy. You rolled your eyes at Sally playfully, wanting to prove to James and Sally that you're doing alright. 

"One for me too, Liz." You chimed. "Enough for you tonight, darling." James interrupted you, not in a commanding and demanding tone but in a low and soft voice. He gave Liz a dismissal wave, making her follow his command instead. 

"Let us go back to our suite. You're not feeling well." He added with the same tone as he continues to help you rub your arm.  "I'm just cold, James." You replied softly to your husband, you just don't like it when he keeps worrying about you. James just tilted his head, picking up the glass of whiskey Liz prepared for him. He finished it in one swig of the whiskey, letting out a refreshed sigh before he looks back at you again. "You have a cold, my dear."  He interjects as he checks your temperature. You realized that he was right, you were sick. James is the type of husband who notices everything, every single change about you or your behavior. You just pressed your lips in a thin line as James was right again. 

"Now, now, my love. I need to take care of you." James sighed out with a smile as he plants a quick kiss on your forehead, helping you to stand up. "Now, gentlemen. I must go as I have to fulfil my duties to my Mrs. March." James told Mr. Wu with a chuckle as he takes off his long black coat, placing it on you to cover your shoulder and arms. You couldn't help but smile at his words and at the feeling of his warm coat enveloping your body. This is your favorite coat of him. 

"And.. Sally dear, I'm not being controlling or bossy, I'm just being a husband." James spoke to Sally, raising his eyebrows at her as he fixes his coat on you. Oh those two always have beef with each other that never fails to make you laugh. Sally just shrugged it off in response. James is also that type of person who'd convince you that he can read everyone's mind. 

"Let us go, my love." He spoke to you softly, accompanying you towards the elevator. As you both entered the elevator and the doors closed, you looked up at your husband, giving him a warm smile. "I love you." You spoke softly. He gave you a warmer smile than earlier as he brings your hands close to his lips as he planted a kiss on them. "I love you most, my darling." 

[irl-w0lverine]

October 14th - quicksilver (smut)

Pairing : peter maximoff x reader

Warnings : MDNI!! DO NOT READ IF YOUR BELOW THE AGE OF 18!!

P in v, unprotected sex, peter talking you through it, no aftercare, human vibrator

A/n: im actually really struggling to write the rest of the fics, this is literally meant to be out tomorrow at the time of writing

DO NOT BLAME ME FOR WHAT YOU CHOSE TO CONSUME, ITS YOUR FAULT IF YOU READ FURTHER

Peters room was the go to hangout area for the two of you. It was usually the right temperature, he'd have a stash of snacks (of which were mainly twinkies), a few warm blankets for those cold nights you stayed over. It was always perfect.

That leads you to this night. Peters head was resting on your lower stomach as both of you were watching some crappy movie, mindlessly playing with the hem of your shorts.

You could feel his shoulder pressing against the one spot that had been aching for him all day. Every shuffle from him, you have to stop yourself from squirming, trying to get more pleasure from it. Surely he doesn't feel the same way.. Right?

"hey, you ok?" you hear peter ask you, your head giving a small nod, adjusting your position. Thats all you needed for a small whine to slip past your lips.

That stupid damn smirk. Of course he has that stupid damn smirk after hearing that.

"what was that noise?" he scoots up, his elbows proping him up so now his face is mere inches away from yours. His stomach putting pressure on the area you needed him to, causing you to squirm slightly.

"..nothing..?" you knew he wouldn't let it slide. His warm breath was hitting your face, his lips oh so close to touching yours.

"bullshit" before you even registered it, his lips were on yours. You couldn't help but kiss back, your hands going to his hair and pulling him closer.

✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭

After a few minuets of making out, he begins to slip your shorts down your legs, kissing your thighs as he did so.

"god... Your gorgeous.." he groans, not waiting a second to rip his sweatpants off. He was so hard it looked painful, it looked like he would rip open his boxers.

With a blur, he's alright inside of you, his lips against your forehead.

"someones excited huh?"

"cant help it that ive waited this long" he chuckles, pressing his lips against yours once more but this time hes slower, beginning to thrust.

He starts of by being gentle, not wanting to use his mutation to its fullest extent just yet. He was pepering you with kisses anywhere he could reach, nuzzling his face between your breasts.

"you dont have to go soft on me, y'know? I can take it" you huff, getting a bit frustrated at the lack of speed from the guy that is literally known for speed.

"sorry princess" he chuckles "just dont wanna hurt ya'"

With that, he begins to speed up, his hands massaging your hips and thighs.

Not even a few minutes later, hes going x10 faster, his face burried in the crook of your neck. You had never thought he'd be the typa guy to whimper but he is definitely disproving you now.

His hips move in a blur, bringing you to the edge way faster than you'd thought.

"... Ugh... Keep doin' that... Please.." you whine, hands pulling his hair and your lips leaving sloppy kisses on his shoulder.

"wasnt plannin' on stoppin'.. M' pretty girl" his nails dig into your hips, his cock twitching against your walls as they begin to close in on him.

"AHG! Fuck... Shit" he grunts, his seed painting your walls white. His thumb sneaks down and rubs your clit, sending you over the edge and cumming around him.

"... Holy shit..." he huffs, his sweaty body collapsing onto yours.

"... That was amazing.." you tell him, only to realise hes fallen asleep cuding you.

A/n : sorry for how rushed and poorly written this is! Jaytober is kinda making me loose motivation especially since i dont have much free time to do it anymore and my mental health just loves to take a head first dive into depression

Thank you so much for reading! <3

[saintlucretia]

guys, are we ready?

i want him biblically. till neighbours call the police.

who said that.

pls let me know if you want to be tagged!!

[sithsrevenge]

idk man i woke up one day and decided "this is going to be the dude i think about every day" and ran with it

[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

[janus-cadet]

Haven't draw him in a while, and I might have gone a little overboard. Ah, but he still lives absolutely rent free in my head.

Little meow meow who's done nothing wrong. Ever.

And if he did, he looked good doing it.

[evanpetersbf]

my legs are trembling terribly

[americanwh0rerstory]

The evans: sex after a fight

CONTAINS: Tate, kyle, jimmy, james

Content warning: dacryphillia, choking kink, unprotected p in v, knife play, blood play, finger sucking

NSFW: Minors DNI. by reading past the cut off any media consumption is your own fault

A/N: it’s my first time writing smut, so it’s poorly written. hopefully it’ll improve in the future🙏

Tate Langdon

feels guilty for arguing with you

doesn’t want to lose you

is gentle and loving with you

holds your hand whilst he fucks you, murmuring apologies in between thrusts

cuddles and aftercare afterwards

… after giving you a half hour to be alone, he slinked back into your room, bringing you into a gentle hug whilst he ran his hand up and down your back. “sorry” he mumbled almost inaudibly into your hair whilst holding you against his chest. “lemme make it up to you” he whispered gently whilst beginning to pull your hoodie over your head, and slipping your panties down so they were bunched around your ankles. he then gently pushed you back onto the bed, laying you down before crawling atop you; he peppered gently kisses along your neck before slowly becoming more needy and aggressive with them, leaving small hickeys in his wake whilst he trailed down your body, whilst he laced his fingers with your own. he also paid extra attention to your tender and sensitive breasts, using his free hand to line his dick with your entrance and slowly push into you whilst he kissed your body. “i love you, im sorry” he mumbled in between gentle thrusts, and kitten licks to your boobs

Frat boy!Kyle Spencer

would not fuck you after a fight unless you explicitly said you wanted it

cuddles, snacks, drinks, and a movie night would be his go to apology for you

if you were to have sex, he’d do so gently and constantly ask for your consent

doesn’t want to make you mad, very mindful of your triggers

“is this good, do you like it?” kyle asks, lifting his head from between your thighs and looking up at you through his lashes with slightly disheveled hair; all he wanted to do was make you feel better - as per your request - and he wouldn’t stop trying until he knew you was happy with him again. “Ky i would’ve stopped you by now it i didn’t like it” you responded gently, using your hands to cup the back of his head and lightly tug on his hair so he would continue, and after a small hum of agreement he did just that. his lips latched around your clit and gently sucked, before using the flat of his tongue to run along your slit. everything he did brought waves of pleasure to you, everything he did would bring you closer and closer to climax. so when you eventually did, he’d look up at you with glistening lips, “was that good? did you like it?” he’d ask almost instantly, hoping his oral skills were good enough to make you forgive him

Jimmy Darling

would lose his temper and drink A LOT before coming to talk to you again

is a mess but gets his point across

uses his hands because he knows how good he is with them (remember his side hustle)

very apologetic after the sex and the next morning

“there ya go, let go baby” he slurs drunkenly to you, his deformed fingers pumping in and out of your tight and wet entrance and bringing you over the edge for the 3rd time that night. tears of pleasure and overstimulation pricked at the corner of your eyes, causing him to smirk ever so slightly “want me to stop, toots?” he’d ask in his ever so cocky tone, looking down at your spent body with a look of satisfaction. even though you had to guide his hand you entrave due to his drunken state, he never once failed to impress you with his abilities, it was just one of many. Once you finally blubbered out a ‘yes’ in response to his question he’d lick his fingers clean, savouring your taste, before gently laying down beside you. “you still mad at me? want me to do another round?” he mumbled with an undeniable smirk plastered on his face, flashing you his charming grin and a wink

James Patrick March

would spoil you with gifts in a hope to earn back your love, he doesn’t wanna risk losing it

would offer to murder someone for you, and let you partake if it’s your kinda thing

definitely have sex with you whilst covered in blood afterwards

showers you with compliments

despite you being mad at him, he couldn’t resist a little bit of minor knife and blood play

“I killed him, dearest” james states with a grin when he re-enters your hotel room, still wearing the leather mask he wore for the murders which slightly muffled his velvet-smooth brahmin accent. without taking his mask off, he drags the bloodied dagger along your clothes perfectly so they’d fall off and expose your body to him. “you look ravishing as always, like a renaissance piece” he’d say with a grin, a grin so big it was evidential in his voice. He gently traced your bottom lip with his thumb before pushing it into your mouth, the metallic taste of someone’s blood filling your senses. “come now, let me show you how perfect and ravishing you are” he’d say, using his free hand to gently push you back onto the bed. he’d then remove all his clothes aside from the mask, sliding himself into you with a soft groan. “perfect, heavenly even” he murmurs before removing his hand from your mouth and wrapping it lightly around your throat, not enough to hurt but just enough that it was pleasurable. he pumped in and out of you, lightly choking you whilst secretly staring at how your boobs bounced with every thrust, prompting him to go a bit faster and bring him to his inevitable climax. “you’re simply splendid, dear, not even words can describe how perfect you are”

A/N: i was gonna inclure kai but tumblr started lagging rlly bad. my requests r open. NOT PROOFREAD BTW

[fear-is-truth]

looooved the evans and their types!! soo accurate (to me) <3 adding onto that; do you think they’d have preferences for specific aesthetic choices in their partner? i.e style, clothing, makeup, hair, body mods etc

(minus unchangeable things related to ones physical appearance ofc!!)

𝝑𝝔 ── aesthetic preferences in their s/o ┊ THE EVANS

ft. tate langdon ‧ kit walker ‧ kyle spencer ‧ james patrick march ‧ kai anderson ‧ austin sommers ‧ peter maximoff

꣑ৎ ‎ :‎ masterlist﹒request / chat w me ! ﹒꒱ note. enjy ! mwah

TATE LANGDON

90s grunge: plaid skirts with runs in the tights, band tees, floral dresses, converse… he’s literally a 90s teen himself, so it’s especially attractive & nostalgic to him. y’all be matching like kurt & courtney.

2012 tumblr girl: flannel over graphic tees, beanie hats, doc martens, bracelets. i feel like this doesn’t need much elaboration.

hyperfeminine: okay okay hear me out. tate’s genuinely aroused by tiny tops, short skirts, visible bra straps. if you wear something low-cut and constance makes a disgusted face, it only reinforces his attachment.

note. ok hear me out. i can imagine tate going head over heels in love with a who dresses like regina george but with an attitude reminiscent of wednesday addams—he’d love the dissonance. bonus if constance hates her.

tattoos: he’s particularly into meaningful tattoos, such as song lyrics or excerpts from poetry.

piercings: being the sadistic little shit that he is, he’ll happily offer to pierce your ear for you at home. sterilise the safety pin and all that shit.

hair: doesn’t care much—he loves messy. bedhead, haphazard curls, grown-out roots, messy buns… tate doesn’t really care (influenced by his taste for grunge). dyed? hot. buzzed? hot. limp? still hot.

overall: he’s the kind of guy who falls in love with who you are, regardless of what you wear. still, if you made him pick, he leans toward aesthetics that signal alienation or emotional volatility in pretty packaging. the more it clashes with his mom’s standards, the better. he won’t complain no matter what you wear, but if you walk into his room in a tube top and a skirt? he’s done for.

────୨ৎ────

KIT WALKER

new americana / farmgirl: denim overalls, sun-faded cotton shirts, gingham dresses, work boots. imagine the silhouette of a woman who can climb into the back of a truck and carry feed, then braid her hair for church. he likes women who look self-reliant in a domestic context.

cottagecore : gingham, eyelet, high collars, soft florals, prairie dresses. kind if unintentionally “ethereal,”

housewife practical: tucked-in blouses, calf-length skirts, simple cardigans, aprons. i don’t wanna sound sexist bc it’s not my intention BUT kit walker is so #husband and literally perfect in every way (maybe minus the smoking) so yeah.

bohemian: long skirts, loose blouses, leather belts, sun-faded jewelry. earthy tones and handmade pieces—rooted in the spiritual or sincere, he finds it quietly moving.

note. it’s been a hot second since i watched s2. did he go through a hippie era at some point (his wedding scene, i think.) or am i crazy?

makeup: bare minimum. chapstick, light blush… actually he doesn’t really care because he thinks you’re pretty the way you are.

hair: clean, soft, touchable. braids, pins, or let down. he finds sensuality in how women keep their hair—for beauty and convenience. he’d learn how to braid yours if you asked. maybe even without being asked.

piercings & tattoos: basic earlobes are normal. multiple piercings feel foreign but not offensive. he might not judge a small tattoo if it’s meaningful—especially if it’s tucked somewhere private.

────୨ৎ────

KYLE SPENCER (PRE-DEATH)

hyperfeminine / soft girl : pastel skirts, hair ribbons, ballet flats. i dunno how to explain it BUT!! this is so kyle-coded. he’ll carry your scrunchies on his wrist.

dark academia: high-neck blouses, long skirts, muted colours. tweed, oxford shoes, silk scarves. you’d go on study dates at the library where you’d actually study.

n u goth: fishnets, heavy boots, black lipstick. makes him nervous, but in a good way.

tattoos / piercings: so we all know kyle canonically hates tattoos on himself but genuinely doesn’t care what you do with your body.

makeup: he prefers prefers minimal. fresh skin, clear gloss, clean lashes. he likes to see your face clearly, and he kisses your cheeks a lot, so heavy product annoys him.

hair: omg he loves your hair. long, short, natural, dyed—he’s obsessed with touching it. would happily learn to braid it, brush it after showers, or hold it while you cry.

overall: first of all, kyle genuinely doesn’t care what you wear. he’s less about aesthetic philosophy and more about whether you’re confident in it. if you’re happy in it, he’s into it. but when pressed, he leans toward styles that feel playful, soft, or tactile.

────୨ৎ────

JAMES PATRICK MARCH

refinement + erotic nostalgia

vintage / old hollywood / formal: ideal. corsets, stockings, long gloves, backless gowns. he finds eroticism in era-specific modesty!

makeup: he expects nothing less than perfection. red lips, cat-eye liner, smoky eyeshadow. he likes when your face looks like a painting—one he owns.

hair: prefers set styles. finger waves, polished buns, velvety curls. if it looks time-consuming, he approves.

piercings & tattoos: he’s disdainful of visible tattoos. ear piercings are tolerable if you don’t go overboard. anything else must be discreet.

vintage 1920s–30s glamour: drop-waist silk gowns, fur-trimmed robes, bias-cut dresses, garter slips. james is extremely aroused by time-specific detail. if you appear in a velvet robe with a cigarette holder and pearls, he may drop to his knees and propose.

structured femme: corsets, pencil skirts, heels are all greatly adored. i suppose the rigid tailoring reflects personal discipline—his favorite currency in a partner. when you wear something tight, high-necked, and (preferably) backless, he can barely stay seated.

lingerie: exquisite lingerie is a necessity and not a novelty ! he expects stockings, garters, satin underthings.

makeup: he reveres the symmetric (might be an architect habit.) clara bow-style thin brows, cupid’s bow lips, powdered skin, and smoldering eyes. he will watch you paint your mouth in the mirror like a man bewitched.

hair: he wants coiffed perfection. finger waves, pinned curls, chignons. he notices shine, shape, and silhouette. unbrushed hair would disgust him… unless it’s the aftermath of something he did to you. he cares a lot about grooming. cos look at his neat hair & pencil moustache.

piercings & tattoos: no visible tattoos. to him, they cheapen the canvas. piercings are fine as long as they’re era-appropriate (lobe only, perhaps a clip-on). anything suggestive of counterculture, punk, or rebellion reads as low-class. however, if you beg to be branded with his initials somewhere only he sees, his mood will change.

overall. james is obsessed with aesthetic control. he eroticizes elegance & self-composure. the more deliberately you present yourself, the more violently he desires you.

────୨ৎ────

KAI ANDERSON

chic / elegant: turtlenecks, blouses tucked into jeans, long coats. structured silhouettes signify maturity and discipline. he likes a cold front. he wants you to look untouchable in public, erotic in private, and ultimately malleable to his vision.

e-girl: dyed hair, fishnets, platform shoes, heavy eyeliner—i just know pre-cult!kai would totally dig this style chaotic, weaponised femininity. cult leader! kai still likes it more than he’d like to admit. the aesthetic’s emotional instability and curated rebellion appeal to him. ripped fishnets and plaid mini skirts under a trench coat—he’ll tolerate it if you frame it as self-aware. especially if you still defer to him when it counts.

casual femme: slacks, button-downs, low heels. very specific kink here. he sees it as feminine submission masked as authority—something he wants to deconstruct.

at home/private: he wants you in barely anything. lingerie, oversized shirt with nothing underneath, sheer robe. he’ll call public exposure “disrespectful,” but in private, the sluttier the better—so long as it’s just for him.

tattoos: doesn’t care much either way unless they’re about him. if you tattooed his name on the inside of your pinky or under the curve of your breast? yeah he’d go feral.

piercings: very selective tolerance. a nose stud or cartilage hoop is fine. multiple facial piercings bother him. tongue piercings? huge no-no. he’d complain amid a blowjob.

makeup preference: prefers natural tones—but sharp. clean contour, defined brows. if you wear lipstick, it should be matte.

hair: preferably long enough for him to grab. favors restraint. sleek buns, blown-out waves.

note. dunno if this is pure coincidence but the guy & girl on his threesome dream team both have platinum blonde hair so. put that into consideration if you will

overall:

kai likes duality—women who are polished, elegant, and respectable in public, then perverse in private. how you dress becomes part of his political narrative. kai is violently turned off by revealing outfits in public; says it’s about protecting you from objectification, but really, it has nothing to do with modesty and everything to do with control. he hates the idea that anyone else could see what’s his. but he’s not drawn to modesty for purity’s sake either...:/

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AUSTIN SOMMERS

high fashion editorial: he thinks in spreads, not seasons. if you look like you were styled by a fashion house—velvet trousers, sculptural blazers, sheer bodysuits under a mink coat—then you have his attention. he’s attracted to drama, but only the kind that’s cleanly executed.

monochrome dressing (black, white, red): insists on visual cohesion. you don’t have to match him—but you have to at least coordinate. he views outfits like mise-en-scène.

note. i think he loves seeing women in suits; especially fitted blazers with nothing underneath, cufflinks, patent loafers, garters hiding under trousers. gender inversion excites him!! if you wear menswear better than he does, he’ll try to outdress you at the next event.

note. real fur, silk, leather: austin is NOT ethical :(( he finds moral piety boring. mink or fox stoles, snakeskin gloves… anything tactile and expensive.

makeup: smoky eyeshadow, matte red lips, defined cheekbones. black eyeliner must look sharp. glitter is acceptable if it’s metallic and editorial.

hair: he prefers sleek styles. sculpted, old-hollywood waves, polished buns, asymmetrical bobs, dramatic part lines.

accessories: yes. gloves, veils, round sunglasses, garters, cigarette holders, clip-on earrings, velvet chokers etc.

piercings: tolerates piercings, especially if they read as erotic or expensive. such as silver hoops, diamond studs, snakebite cuffs.

tattoos: tattoos must be discreet and aesthetic. he’ll accept script, florals, or erotic silhouettes. he’s fine with your body being art, but not kitsch.

overall: austin is a maximalist with standards. if you look styled & expensive, he sees you as worthy of his obsession. elegance excites him, but only if it’s theatrical. every detail signals something: who you belong to, what you value, and how seriously you take being seen beside him. and above all, he wants to be out-dressed by his muse… but never outshone.

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PETER MAXIMOFF

skater girl: crop tops, flannels tied around the waist, beanies, and converse/vans. he associates this with energy, movement, and sass—three of his core characteristics.

sporty / tomboy: oversized tees, track jackets, bike shorts, varsity jackets. if you wear running shoes with a mini skirt, it short-circuits him.

note. denim jackets + patches / badges YES. the more distressed and decorated, the better. if your jacket looks like it’s been through four concerts and has random-ass phrases sharpied inside, he’s obsessed.

note. whimsical touches such as funky socks, earrings shaped like planets or lighting bolts, too many rings, slap bracelets—this makes him fall deeper in love.

makeup: he loves flavored lip gloss—cherry, grape, cotton candy. if it sparkles, even better. shimmery silver eyeshadow, glitter liner? hell yeah. he’ll lick your lips mid-kiss and ask what flavor it is. not kidding.

hair: space buns, messy ponytails, intricate braids with random beads—yes. highlights, dyed streaks, freakin’ cool!! he touches your hair a lot—spins your ponytail in his fingers or combs through it when you’re on the couch.

piercings & tattoos: loves piercings. ears, nose, cartilage, belly button. he doesn’t need a reason—he just likes shiny things. tattoos? even better if they’re quirky.

note. if you ever got a matching one, he’d brag and show it to about everyone.

 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑-𝐈𝐒-𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content. ꕀ