#american horror story james patrick march

[authorsofghosts]

Madness Miracle | James P. March x Reader

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

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

Word Count: 2.1k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah. Get the fuck out!"

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

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

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

"Celebrate what?!"

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

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

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

"Good... Splendid. Just marvelous."

[saintlucretia]

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

[violet-harmon2011]

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

[fear-is-truth]

Bestie hehe whose pullout game is worst and whose is best out of the characters Evan plays???

𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑬𝑽𝑨𝑵𝑺 — 𝑷𝑼𝑳𝑳-𝑶𝑼𝑻 𝑮𝑨𝑴𝑬

ft. tate langdon ‧ kit walker ‧ kyle spencer ‧ jimmy darling ‧ james patrick march ‧ kai anderson ‧ peter maximoff ‧ colin zabel — nsfw ; MDNI 18+

a/n: hey bestie i love your mind

⟢ 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐍. (3/10)

his intentions are good. his execution? terrible. pull-out game is WEAK purely due to incompetence.

“fuck—wait, wait, oh shit, i was supposed to—”

feels guilty as hell afterward. “you don’t think i did it on purpose, right? you believe me, don’t you?”

⟢ 𝐊𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑. (2/10)

kit TRIES to be responsible. really, he does. but he’s also a man who fucks deep and loves even deeper.

a very passionate lover and in the heat of the moment, he forgets everything else.

honestly, he doesn’t even try that hard.

if you reminded him, he’d listen. but if you didn’t? yeah, he’s finishing inside.

if you got pregnant, he’d step up immediately. his pullout game is terrible but he’s a great dad.

⟢ pre death .ᐟ 𝐊𝐘𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑. (10/10)

doesn’t take risks; he’s got a good head on his shoulders.

his timing and self control are actually great. the pull-out game is strong with this one.

even before he met you, kyle doesn’t sleep around like most of his frat brothers, even though he totally could.

⟢ 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆. (6/10)

jimmy knows he can’t afford to be reckless. he’s working in a freak show—not exactly the best place to raise a kid.

he also worries about passing on his ectrodactyly. even though you tell him constantly that it doesn’t matter.

most of the time, he cums on your tits or ass.

but when he’s drunk, he’s super impulsive, emotional. all self control flies out the window.

if you got knocked up, he’d have a mini breakdown and go on a two day bender but would also step up.

he will also propose immediately (after he gets his shit together)

⟢ 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇. (10/10)

he is nothing if not disciplined.

if james ever decided to give you an heir, that decision was made long before the act.

lowkey has reservations because of bartholomew.

⟢ cult leader .ᐟ 𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍. (0/10)

kai never pulls out. he never intended to in the first place.

at first, he’ll act like it was an accident—just for plausible deniability. he’ll moan about how tight you are, how good you feel, and then when it happens:

“fuck—couldn’t help it. you feel too good, baby.” he’s fake guilty, kissing your shoulder, murmuring “next time i’ll pull out, promise.”

next time never came. (but he did. inside you) at some point, he just stopped pretending.

“this is how it’s supposed to be. why would i waste it anywhere but inside you?”

if you tell him you’re not ready for kids, he’ll say “women are biologically wired to want children. you’re just brainwashed by feminism.” (i hate this guy)

0/10 cos he’s actively TRYING to fail.

if you got pregnant? he’d be ecstatic.

⟢ 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐗𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐅𝐅. (5/10)

thinks he has great control, but he really, really doesn’t.

he’ll pull out last second. but he cuts it close EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

sometimes he miscalculates timing.

“uh. okay, okay—don’t freak out, but I MAY have just—wait, are you on the pill?”

⟢ 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐍 𝐙𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋. (9/10)

very responsible. colin respects boundaries and never pressures you into risky sex. always wears condoms unless you explicitly ask not to.

“you sure? ‘cause, uh, i got condoms—like, a lot. not a weird amount, just… y’know, normal.”

lowkey wants to have kids with you… but suppresses the “selfish” fantasy.

his one weakness? when he’s tipsy.

the one time you were both drunk, making out on the couch, which led to hot and sloppy sex. you felt so good and he was so lost in it, and then—

“oh, shit.”

immediate panic. full-body guilt. buys you plan b, also flowers and coffee because he feels guilty.

overall he’s very reliable, just that one slip-up.

[redroses07]

real shit

[slutforgarlogan]

Peter Maximoff as your bf | hc's

SFW + NSFW!!

A/N: i am detrimentally ill rn so expect spam while im ill !! tysm anon for requesting this mwah ily, everyone feel free to hit up my inbox

SFW !!

➳ If he sees things he thinks you'll like, he definitely buys steals them for you

➳ I think hes the type of person that dapples in all the love languages, however i can see him being big on words of affirmation

➳ Like, is the type to tell you how much he loves you/how pretty you look/how much he appreciates you ALL THE TIME. probably accidentally just slips it out sometimes, just says it as soon as he thinks it

➳ Definitely down to do anything you want to do, just say the word and he'll speed you wherever whenever

➳ Type to give you loads of little kisses all over your face while you're both giggling over it

➳ Dates with Peter can vary between big movie marathons/game nights with an abundance of snacks that he eats most of, to him speeding you over to places you'd brought up that you'd wanted to go to

➳ Imagine breaking into an indoor playground/softplay with him after hours (COULD write a fic ab that lmk if u guys want that)

NSFW !!

➳ DEFINITELY uses his powers, human vibrator guys HUMAN VIBRATOR

➳ That being said, DONT use a vibrator if ur horny, just give Peter a call, he'll be right there

➳ DEFINITELY a switch, subby Peter is so dreamy and its canon u cant tell me its not, but if u wanna sub he's down for that too

➳ If he's sub, HES SO WHINY, this man is loud he will not hesitate to tell you how good you make him feel

➳ DANGEROUSLY GOOD WITH HIS TONGUE.

➳ If you're needy for him, he'll eat you out and finger you, and he wont stop unless you ask him to, he definitely gets insanely pussy drunk

➳ aftercare king, ESPECIALLY if you've safeworded him this man will be making sure you're the most comfortable you've ever felt in your life

Taglist: @lacucarachapisser @the-ultimate-theatre-kid @bluerthanvelvet444 @lvxybby @coentinim @gl00m-d00m

[newwavesylviaplath]

RIP to my late husband james :( can't believe it's officially been 95 years since he passed. time flies. goodnight, sweet prince

[dangeroustaintedflawed]

[d0llfaac3]

If totally psycho why sexy??

[bohnerrific69]

cute patootie!! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

i need to protect him at all costs

[authorsofghosts]

Ides de March | James P. March x Reader

Summery: The year is March, 1922. James Patrick March, of course, is looking forward to the perfect killing he's ever staged. The workshop title is just the day, Ides de March. Of course, being a friend of the same hobby, you want in on it.

Themes: 1920s, Angsty Fluff (it's James?), Graphic Descriptions of Violence, He Kills People™, Historical Accuracy, Predeath!March, Blood Talk (a lot of it), Cheesy and Lovey Dovey, Dancing, Kissing, Hand Holding (before marriage? gasp!), Racism mentions (KKK), You Kill a Cop!! Woo!!

Word Count: 1.2k

James sat at the desk, smoking a cigar as jazz plays the background. You sit on the couch, legs crossed as you watch him stare into place, mesmerized by the focus on his face, despite him not having spoke in a long time.

He taps at the foot of the cigar, knocking it down against the ash tray before tucking it away and folding his arms against his desk. He finally looks in your direction, eyes wide as he smiles.

"My dear, we should get this going. It is almost sun down." His grin turns almost so wicked you can taste it. He trots over to you, putting a hand out with a slight bow. "May we dance?" He asks knowingly.

You stand, taking his hand and nod, "Of course, Mr. March"

James takes your hand, placing it on his shoulder while his other wraps around your waist, his lips brushing into your neck as he pulls you impossibly close, swaying the both of your bodies side to side. "You are incredible, darling. I can't believe we pulled it off."

"Oh, dear, don't humble me. You did most of the work. I was just the one that got all the addresses, allergies, schedules... oh, well it seems I did do most the works." You snicker slightly, swaying along to the gentle jazz that rings from the radio.

You're sent back to watching March, posing the bodies of the dozen of men, to match the painting "The Death of Julius Caesar". He had prepared for it for many weeks, his brain racking up the idea later one night when the both of you had been drinking absinthe and chatting philosophy.

"You see, dear, not only am I an artist, but a genius." He boasts, breaking a bone so it snaps in place on the support. "I figured out how to hang the string without even using a ladder, you know." He grins, eyes wild with blood lust, face dripping with crimson.

"Very interesting, darling." You coo, draping a cloth over the same corpse to mimic a Roman tunic. The fabric is the same color as the blood dripping onto the floor that you'll have to wipe up in a moment. "Sweetheart, you need to be more careful, you're tracking blood all around. If you step in it, you know you'll get caught."

"Nonsense, darling. I'm not the only man in all of the City of Angels that wears Goodyear Welts." He snickers, whipping a sleeve along his chin, looking down as the fabric is dyed claret with wonder and amusement.

"But I'm sure not most men are wide-foot, flat-footed, and wear a size 9." You scold, getting on your knee and wiping the blood dribbles up quickly. "You're a very unique man, my dear." You say as you smile up at him, batting your lashes ever so slightly.

"Oh, how you know me dear. It almost makes me feel like dancing right here and now, as if you made music." He smiles deeply, holding your cheek in one hand, rubbing a stripe of blood onto your skin. He laughs, his grin growing evermore joyous. "We should celebrate. But not now, there is too much to do. Come, on to the next one, chop chop."

You hurry along, taking his hand as he pulls you toward the bodies. As you see the faces, all older, white men. You knew this men as the ones you had picked; the racists, the bigots, the scum of Los Angeles that were all members of the rancid Klu Klux Klan that ran most of Southern California. You grimaced as you picked up a new cloth, rolling your eyes as you walked behind James, who carried the large Man's corpse.

"Is this him? Our Julius?" He asks, like a kid, bouncing with each step. He's beyond giddy. You had picked the man, a rewarded police officer and member of the KKK.

"Yes, he is, darling. Doesn't he look the part?" You smile, looking at the corpse in your lover's arms. His lifeless face was going me be glamorized by you with a little glue later, to match James' preference and vision.

March shimmies over to the spot between the rest of the already posed men, laying him down against a box, which was a stand in for the statue in the painting. He cleared his throat, grimacing as he realizes the pose will be much harder, lower to the ground. He snarls, dropping the body and stomping away, looking around frantically.

"James, honey..." You say, draping the cloth over the body and walking up to him, your hands shaking slightly before meeting his arm. He looks at you, a wild look in his almost black with how dilated his pupils are with rage. He softens as he sees your concern, shaking his head as he recognized his outburst. "We can do this. Together, right?" You smile, hand clasping his.

"Together. Yes, of course. How could I get anywhere without you, darling?" He grins, pulling you into his arms and turning you around, arms wrapped around your waist tightly as he nips at your neck with a slight growl. "My, we must be finishing up soon, before I create... more evidence to clean up."

You both chuckle and laugh as you help him pose the last body, and then letting him watch you create the face expressions with a tube of glue and time.

The night passes into early morning, the moon still hung in the sky as you make it back the the Hotel Cortez. James had Miss Evers bring up a bottle of the best for the both of you, one of your favorites he swore to you up and down he didn't kill for, promising he would if he had to, however.

You dance with him, drink, exchange whispers and secrets, sweet nothings and gentle kisses. If it weren't for the fact you both were tired from the entire night of propping dozen of heavy corpses of bigots and extremely under the influence, you might have seen the sun rise before hit the hay.

James and you wake up in the morning, a wonderful assortment of fruits and pancakes waiting for you. Your clothes from the night before are already washed clean of the blood stains and gore, pressed and ready for wear.

You watch your lover as he sits at the table, twiddling his fingers around his cigarette. He finally looks up at you, placing down his cigarette holder, standing and walking around the table to you. He presses the tip of his nose into your hair, the faintest hint of blood and your shampoo filling his nose, along with something uniquely you.

"My dear, I fear I might love you more than killing."

"Oh, really?" You ask bashfully, eyes wide as you look up at him. "You think of me so fondly, James?"

"Of course, sweetheart. You make my heart beat and my soul feel alive, much more than any kill has." He says softly, eye's staring into yours as he caresses your cheek softly, thumb pinching at the ball of it.

You smile as he leans down, your lips meeting his half way as he lowers himself, a slightly groan escaping his lips. "You're like a shining light, it burns red hot. Your aura is like nothing I've ever seen. Perfect for such a rare person."

[rosecoloredsunshine]

wired interview — evan peters

masterlist

PAIRINGS: evan peters x female!reader

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

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

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

WORD COUNT: 1.1k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pretty much.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Show off,” he teased.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, born ready,” you challenged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckled. “It’s that good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© rosecoloredsunshine, 2025

[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. 

[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.

[evanpeterswhoresblog]

i'm soooo glad you're back!!! love your writting so much, was thinking about some ghostface¡ tate or shit yk...like everyone who flirts with reader end murdered

i’m sorry this took me so long to do 😔 but i sorta did my own twist on this request, hope you don’t mind… i love it… anyway… :)

~~~

Lovefool

Tate Langdon x f!reader

warnings: murder, smut, stalking, obsession, very toxic, manipulation, very minor talk of drug use… virgins, yeah idk what else it’s just stalker tate being crazy for you

summary: tate’s loved you since the first moment you met, and he would do anything to be with you… anything…

word count: 4.4

~~~

2011

You stare at the boy in front of you, a mix of emotions stirring inside you. He’s your age still, you aren’t too surprised at that. You’re more surprised at the fact that he’s in front of you. It’s been so long since the last time you saw him. You remember the pain, the pure fear that paralyzed your body the last time the two of you had an encounter. It still makes you uneasy.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, your voice weak.

He shrugs. “It’s Halloween.”

“There’s been plenty of Halloweens Tate and this is the first time I’ve seen you here. What do you want?” You reply in a harsher tone than.

Tate shrugs again and starts to play with the sleeves of his sweater. You can’t believe this is real. You want to close your eyes and pretend this is all a sick dream, though you haven’t slept in years. After a few seconds, you cross your arms over your chest and take a deep breath. This isn’t going to be easy.

“Tate the fact you even have the balls to try to find me is crazy, what happened? Did you suddenly feel some sense of guilt? Are you finally sorry for what you did to me? I don’t even care if you are sorry, I don’t care about anything except the one question I’ve wondered since the night it happened,” you say.

“What question?” He responds.

“Why?” Your eyes start to burn. “Why did you kill me?”

~~~

1993

Tate had never seen any girl as beautiful as you. Never. Not in a movie, not in a magazine, nothing. From the first time he saw you in kindergarten, he knew there was something special about you. Of course, he didn’t know it would grow into what it did until middle school when his hormones took over. His feelings for you quickly transitioned from a pure crush to a sick obsession. And the best and worst part of it all was that you had no idea.

You never really spoke to him. He was out of your league. You were popular, but not braindead popular like the people you surrounded yourself with. Tate had seen you in some of your classes. You were smart, you got the best grades in those classes. You had plans for yourself after high school, unlike your friends. That knowledge only made him admire you more.

The problems began when you started going out with one of the popular boys in your group, David. He was awful for you; Tate didn’t understand why you chose to have such a relationship with someone like that. He’d watch how David would wrap his arms around you in the hallways, leave small kisses on your cheeks, and whisper words in your ears that made your face turn bright red. It made him furious.

What did David have that he didn’t? Why was he so special? Tate knew he could give you more than David ever could. So, why were you with him?

Tate quickly became blinded by rage and jealousy.

At night he’d lie awake, the knowledge that you might’ve been out there opening your legs for another boy making him sick. That’s when the fantasies began. He imagined killing David. How would he do it? Where? In what way would leave the least amount of blood on his clothes? The image of his mutilated body consumed Tate’s thoughts. He liked it.

It was around that time that he had found the mask.

It was a strange mask he found in the basement. It had a long white face with black holes for the eyes and a long mouth. He wondered which resident of his house had left it there for him. He didn’t know, and frankly, he didn’t care. All he knew from the second his eyes fell upon that mask was that bad things were going to happen.

He started going out at night and driving by David’s house. The mask he wore gave him a sense of power he never knew he could feel. At first, it was innocent. He’d simply drive down the other boy's road and look through his window for a few minutes before leaving. But all it took was one second of seeing you inside to blow the whole thing up. He was livid, seeing red. He decided he needed to bring his fantasies to life and get rid of David for good.

Halloween was when the opportunity to kill David became undeniable. By that point, Tate had been stalking the two of you for a month so he knew the basics. Which room was Davids, how to get into his house, and where his parents were most likely going to be. He had it all planned out. So, on Halloween night he put on the mask along with black robes that covered his entire body and ventured to the other boy's house, ready to kill.

He brought a knife, and when the time was just right, he snuck in through one of David’s open windows and started his game. He crept through the empty house, not making a sound. Getting to David’s room only took him a few minutes and what he heard from outside the door made him not regret his choice at all.

“Yeah, I know, listen she’s so close to finally giving it up to me and that’s what I’ve been working for this whole time. Once it happens, I’ll dump her, easy,” David spoke into his phone. His voice was cocky. It made Tate clench his jaw in frustration.

“Because dude, do you know how many girls from school I’ve already got under my belt? Y/N is just gonna be a name on my list. Yeah, whatever, I gotta go anyway I need to shower for the party, maybe I’ll get lucky, and she’ll drink too much. Okay bye.”

Before David could even get up from his chair, Tate kicked the door down and stormed in, too overpowered by his rage to think about anything but slitting the other boy's throat. He pounced on him, stabbing the knife into any part of his body he could reach. David screamed, but Tate quickly silenced him by shoving the knife down his throat. He felt empowered, he felt thrilled at the sight of his dead peer. It was amazing.

Tate didn’t waste much time gawking over his achievement, however. Once he was sure David was dead, he quickly pulled the knife out of the boy and fled out the window and back to his car. As he drove through the small neighborhoods of your guys' town, he wondered how big the news would be. Would you cry? He hoped you wouldn’t. Not over that asshole. You would move on, and Tate would wait however long it took.

~~~

The news of David’s death spread faster than wildfire and consumed Westfield High’s drama for weeks. Out of all the kids in the school, you took his death hardest. Seeing you so depressed almost made Tate regret his actions. He couldn’t bear seeing you tear up in class or show up to school two periods late. You weren’t like that.

However, as the days turned into weeks, you started to appear healthier and happier, and soon enough you were back to your normal self. Tate was glad, you were always so much prettier when you paid attention in class. He decided it was time for the second part of his plan to finally act. Though he was incredibly nervous, he knew it was then or never. He couldn’t risk you getting a new boyfriend that he’d have to kill again.

So, one day, he followed you into the library when the two of you coincidently had a study hall during the same period. His heart was beating so loud he could hear it in his ears. There you were. sitting at one of the tables alone studying, and he was going to speak to you. He’d thought up conversation starters all morning along with taking a few extra hits off his bong to help with the anxiety.

He shook the nervous thoughts from his head and grabbed his notebook from his backpack before walking in your direction. Your head was down, your hand moved aggressively across the paper as you wrote your notes. Tate stood at the other side of the table for a few seconds simply admiring you. His hands were shaky, his breathing uneasy. God, you made him lose his composure by existing. It was excruciating.

After he was done staring, he spoke, his voice quiet. “Hey y/n, do you mind maybe helping me with some of that psych homework?”

Your head shot up, your eyes instantly meeting his. He swore he couldn’t breathe. You, y/n, were looking at him on purpose. At that moment he didn’t care about what you were going to say, he didn’t care if you completely rejected him. All he cared about was how good it felt to have your eyes on him. Such innocent, loving eyes.

“Oh, yeah of course Tate that’s actually what I’m working on right now. Just sit, we can do it together. Unless you’re like super behind,” you answered.

“Are- Are you sure?” He couldn’t help the uncertainty. Did you really say yes to him?

“Yeah... should I not be?” You replied with a smile.

“No- sorry.” He sat down across from you. He could smell your perfume; he’d never been this close to you. “I just wasn’t sure if you even knew who I was.”

You chuckled. “How could I not know who you are? We’ve literally been in the same school system together since kindergarten.”

“I don’t know. You’re you know popular and stuff,” he said as he opened his notebook.

“Not really, besides even if I was that wouldn’t automatically make me forget anyone. But anyway, you can use my notes in a second, I’m almost done with the page,” you responded. You looked back down at your work and started writing again.

Tate nodded despite you not paying attention and watched as you wrote. He felt like that whole conversation was another one of his daydreams about you. Was he really sitting across from you? Or was it another mid-class nap? He cracked his knuckles to make sure he wasn’t dreaming and thankfully, he wasn’t. It was all real life.

“Sorry if this comes out as creepy, but I feel like I haven’t seen you around in a while. I mean, when was the last time we even spoke?” You suddenly spoke, your eyes back on his.

“I guess you weren’t looking hard enough to see me,” he said with a shrug. All his confidence was a facade because on the inside he was losing his mind.

He noticed the way your cheeks slightly turned pink before you replied. “Yeah, I guess I wasn’t. But I should have been.”

He knew deep down you were going to be his for so long, but at that point, he knew he had already achieved his goal. You were his.

~~~

“What is this place?” You asked as you clutched your cardigan around your body.

Tate smiled and grabbed both of your hands in his. “I told you it’s a surprise. Patience is a virtue.”

“I have patience, but I also have a lower body temperature than usual and it’s bothering me so I would really appreciate it if you’d just take me to the surprise already,” you said, a small smile forming on your lips.

“It’s seventy degrees.”

“Yeah, but it’s also windy at the beach and it’s probably colder than seventy because of the ocean’s temperature.”

Tate sighed and leaned his head down to press a small kiss on your lips, a feeling he still hadn’t gotten over. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Terrible, naughty things I hope,” you replied, kissing him again. “But please lead me to your special surprise beach spot.”

Though he wanted to stand there and kiss you all night, Tate obeyed your request and began to lead you further down the beach. It had been a few months since the two of you started talking, and to say it progressed would be an understatement. Tate had truly underestimated how easy it would be to capture your attention. All you wanted was a sweet, caring, genuine boy and he could be all those things easily.

So, after a month of being friends, he asked you out and you said yes. The relationship grew deeper with each day, and it didn’t disappoint him one bit. He loved everything about you. The way you’d lie on your bed with him and talk for hours, the way you’d make your relationship with him public by holding his hand in the halls, and most importantly the way you never expected or wanted him to change to fit in with your friends. You liked him for who he was, and it melted his heart.

It was your three-month anniversary, and Tate wanted to make it special. Even though he knew before the two of you got together that you were a virgin, he didn’t know to what extent you were. He quickly became aware you had done most things already, just not full sex. At first, he was annoyed at the fact that you weren’t completely his because he had never done anything with a girl before you. But after the first night, you went down on him, he wasn’t that upset anymore.

On this night he planned to take the next step with you. He had it all set up. The blankets, the lights, all of it. As the sight of his setup came into view, he watched your face light up. You squeezed his hand and grinned up at him.

“Is this really for me?” You asked.

“Yeah, do you like it?” He replied.

You nodded and sped up to reach it, dragging him with you. Once you made it you dropped down to sit on the blanket, urging Tate to do the same. “This is so cool. You’re the first boy to ever do something like this for me. I love it.”

“I’m glad, I know how you like sentimental things,” he said as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “And I’ve been wanting to show you this spot for a while. I used to come here a lot as a kid and watch the waves with my dad... before he left. I wanted to make it special with you because you’re not like my dad. Right?”

“No, I’m not. I won’t ever do anything to hurt you like that. I lo- I like you Tate, a lot.”

Tate only stared into your eyes, his heart beating faster than it ever had in his life. You almost said you loved him. He knew then that night was going to be the night you finally gave yourself to him. Something in your eyes made him certain. Your eyes were dark. You stared up at him as if he were the only boy in the world. There was a feeling in the air, one of lust and fear.

“I’ll never want to hurt you either,” he mumbled after a few seconds. “I doubt I ever could.”

You gave him a small smile and placed one of your hands on his cheek. You caressed the skin with your thumb as you slowly started to lean your face toward his. He accepted your lips on him, kissing back instantly. It was the moment he’d been working up to for years. He was finally going to lose his virginity to you, and you to him. Nothing would ever compare.

~~~

The sound of Nirvana mixed with skin slapping filled Tate’s room. He couldn’t help the moan that left his lips when he looked down at you. Your back was arched so perfectly, your waist looked impossibly small, and your ass looked incredibly big. The side of your face was smushed against one of Tate’s pillows. You were so red, so loud you had to bite your hand to spare the whole house from hearing. Tate took in a deep breath and slapped your ass, his thrusts not faltering for even a second.

“Fuck baby, you look so pretty right now. You take me so well,” he whispered. He wrapped some of your hair around his hand and yanked you up, making you practically scream. “Yeah, you like that. You like being manhandled y/n?”

You let out another moan but didn’t reply. Tate slapped your ass again and threw you back down to the mattress. He leaned over you, your sweaty body feeling perfect against his. He was close to finishing. He’d already made you cum a few times that day, so he wasn’t too concerned about where you were. All he was concerned about was getting closer to you before he came.

“I love controlling you, you’re so helpless. Fuck I’m so close,” he mumbled in your ear. “You’re mine, all fucking mine forever. I’ll kill anyone who even tries to take you away from me.”

You made a noise and Tate couldn’t hold back any longer. He came inside you, his cock pulsing heavily. You groaned; his cock was hitting your cervix too hard it hurt. He waited a minute or so before finally pulling out and moving to the spot next to you on the bed. He’d never felt anything as amazing as having sex with you. He was breathless.

He was so caught up in his thoughts about what just happened that he didn’t notice your sad expression. When he eventually looked at you, he saw your frown. Immediately he turned to his side and faced you, reaching out one of his hands to brush a few of your hairs behind your ear.

“What’s wrong baby?” He asked.

“Nothing,” you replied.

“It doesn’t look like nothing you look sad; you can tell me whatever it is.”

You sighed and turned your head to meet his gaze. “Why do you like hurting me? Like during sex and stuff. You’re always so rough and I don’t know you’re really mean and sometimes the stuff you say is… scary.”

“How is it scary?” He laughed.

“You said you’d kill anyone who would try to take me away from you,” you said.

“Yeah, I would. I swear I’ve said this shit to you before. I would do anything for you, or to keep you,” he responded.

“Don’t joke about that Tate, you know I’m scared of killers because of what happened.”

“Oh, so this is about David? Why are you even thinking about him y/n he’s been dead for months. Do you miss him, or something is that it?” He questioned; his tone harsher than before.

You scoffed and sat up. “You’re seriously making this about me missing David?”

“Well, is that what this is about?”

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered before you stood up and started to get dressed.

“Oh, my fucking God y/n I’m sorry for whatever I said wrong while we were fucking. Can we just move on already? I don’t see what the big deal is,” he snapped.

“No, we can’t just move on. You scare me sometimes Tate like genuinely. I know you mean it all in a sweet way but it’s weird. I love you but you don’t hear me saying I’d kill people if they talked to you or looked at you a certain way. That’s not normal.”

Tate sat up. “I wish you would say those things. I wish you loved me as much as I love you. I’d do anything you ask; I would shoot up the fucking school if you wanted me to.”

You looked at him, he could see the terror and fear in your eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Of course, I am. I don’t get why you’re acting so scared. I’d never hurt you I don’t even think I could if I wanted to, you mean more to me than any person alive or dead,” he answered.

“You’re sick,” you mumbled. You grabbed your bag and walked to the door. “I think we need some time apart; you aren’t sane.”

His heart practically stopped. “What?”

“We need to stop seeing each other for a little while, I can’t take this insane shit Tate. I’m sorry. You know I love you, but I need you to get some help before I can be with you.”

Before Tate could reply, you left. All he could do was stare at the door, a million thoughts roaming his head. Did you really just break up with him? Was that it? Did you just throw away everything the two of you had because you felt his love was too strong? It didn’t feel real.

As the night progressed, he tried to call you, dozens of times. But each call was either declined or rang out. His anxiety grew with each ring of the phone. Why weren’t you replying? Who were you seeing? Did he really mean so little to you that you could leave so easily? His mind spun with scenarios, each one worse than the last. By the end of the night, he had convinced himself you were cheating on him, and the following days only worsened his state of madness.

You ignored him completely in school. Every time he tried to talk to you, you either turned away or walked away completely. It hurt him terribly. He couldn’t understand what had changed so fast. He chased you around the halls for days, trying his hardest to get your attention. But it never worked. And so, his love for you began to fade into an awful rage.

He couldn’t let you just walk away from everything the two of you shared. You were his. Only his. He couldn’t let you leave him, not like his dad. He hadn’t spent his entire life chasing you just to end up losing you. No. So, he began to formulate a plan. He’d leave you alone for a few days then calmly ask you to meet him at the beach, in the special spot he once made for you.

He wasn’t surprised that his plan worked. You were predictable.

When the night came, he made sure he was prepared. He snorted a line, packed his bag full of your favorite things, and set off. As he walked down the beach, he made sure the knife he hid was secure in his pocket. It was smaller than the one he’d used on David, but it would do the job just as efficiently.

You arrived a few minutes after him, a sad expression on your pretty face. He fought the urge to run to you with open arms.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. Only a few feet separated your bodies, he wished he could close it. But he needed to be patient.

You took a deep breath, you looked nervous. “Yeah, look Tate I... I’ve thought about it and I... I really think we should stop seeing each other for some time.”

“Why Y/N? I love you, so fucking much. I’m sorry for what I said, I can change, I won’t say shit like that ever again. I’ll be gentle, I swear. Just give me the chance I can be whatever you need me to be,” he replied desperately. He opened his bag and pulled out your favorite candy. “I love you; I really do. Please give me another chance.”

He watched your eyes fill with tears. You wanted to give in, he could see it in your eyes. But you only shook your head and wiped a fallen tear from your cheek.

“No. I’m sorry. Tate, you aren’t gentle, that’s not who you are. And I don’t want you to pretend to be someone you aren’t.”

Tate swallowed hard. “You promised me you’d never leave me; you said you were nothing like my dad. Was it all a lie?”

“Of course not!” You exclaimed and took a step closer to him. “I love you; I really do. That’s why this is so hard.”

“If you love me, why can’t we work this out? Don’t lie to me Y/N.”

He couldn’t stop his eyes from watering, nor could he stop his lips from quivering. He dug the bouquet of your favorite flowers out from his bag and held them out to you.

“Please,” he mumbled. “I need you.”

You caved. You wrapped your arms around his waist and held him tight. He could feel your muffled cries on his chest, it pained him. You were a sensitive sweet girl; it was both your blessing and curse.

“Maybe in a few months, we can try again, I don’t know.” You looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. “We just can’t be together right now. And I mean we’re going to graduate soon, and I might go to a college far away, how would that even work? But I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s too late for that Y/N, you’ve already hurt me.” He dropped what he was holding and dug one of his hands into his pocket. He touched your face with his other hand, your tears covering his palm. “You’ve planned on leaving me this whole time. I wanted to give it another try you’ve made up your mind. I guess it just comes down to one thing.”

“What?” You asked.

“If I can’t have you, no one can,” he whispered before he pulled out the knife and plunged it into the side of your neck.

~~~

2011

“I killed you because I loved you,” he answers. “Because you were going to leave me and find someone else.”

All you can do is stare at him in silence. You think back to everything that happened. How could you have been so blind? It couldn’t have been your fault though. He would’ve killed you anyway. You think back to all the times Tate made you uneasy, all the times he would say things that creeped you out. Deep down you must’ve known that’s who he is. Maybe you knew all along.

Maybe you loved him because of his darkness.

You exhale a long breath. “We don’t have that long till midnight.”

“So?”

You shrug. “Wanna hook up?”

[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!!