#james march x reader

[saintlucretia]

James Daddy March, ladies and gentlemen

[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?”

[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. 

[marchsfreakshow]

Whatever this is but I'm not telling you who I thought of when I was thinking about it.

(tagging it as the characters I write for so take a guess at who I thought of)

18+! MINORS DNI!

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Your lips fell in a silent gasp, head tilting back silently. Fuck...you were currently the hottest thing on the planet to him. Here he was, holding the backs of your thighs as he kept them split, filling you up with every inch of him slowly. He had to supress a loud groan that bubbled through his lips as a quiet whimper.

No one outside that room knew you were gripping the edge of the desk, back arched up slightly as you painstakingly silently enjoyed yourself. The fact your legs were split open only brought him further pleasure. Fuck, he'd definitely press his thumb to your clit if he wasn't holding up your legs.

Trembling with every thrust, you were in pain from not being able to moan out his name. Letting the world know who was making you feel this good. "So good...god.." he mumbled out, letting out a quiet breath after as he only picked up the pace.

Oh, if only the people outside the room knew. How badly you needed his cock, and how willing you were to let him defile you on the desk right then and there. No condom either. How brave.

[temporarywelcome]

Jezebel - James Patrick March

Word Count: 3.8k

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

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

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

___________

James March was a very interesting man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

________

The next three weeks went by in a blur. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her fourth big day. 

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

Fourth wedding. 

That James March knew of.

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

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

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

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

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

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

_________

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were now wed. 

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

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

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

_________

The next few months went by in a blur.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until now.

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

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

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

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

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

“James! You’ll mess up my makeup!”

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

“Behave,” Y/N deadpanned. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God she wasn’t in the mood for this. 

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

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

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

He was so right.

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

Finally, she needed this.

As she hungrily drank, the door opened. 

“Oh, dearest, whatever are you doing?”

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

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

And so began a new dynamic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it worked well. 

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

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

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

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

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

They were planning for the future, until disaster struck.

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

Something was wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And with that, she slashed his throat.

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

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

And with that, she climbed out the window.

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

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

---------

Yall i love him. inbox is open btw

[missuswalker]

𝐧𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 || 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✮ summary: after peter finishes… well, you know, he can’t stop himself from coming to see you. as if he’s not clingy enough, he can’t help but be all over you. at least he’s (trying) to sit still for once

✮ warnings: brief nsfw content, masturbation (not proofread)

✮ notes: man idk i just feel like peter is all clingy and touchy after he nuts

peter’s mind had been on you all day, trapped on the image of your hand wrapped around his cock. of course, that wasn’t exactly the case at the moment, considering it was his own hand. as he pumped himself, he tried his best to remember that little face you make when you cum. he’d been working on this problem of his for way longer than he should have, and he was searching for anything to push him over the edge.

the more he thought about you, your pretty tits, and that hella tight skirt, the closer he could feel his release building. picking up his pace, he bites back a whimper. more thoughts of you didn’t help his attempt at silence, a grunt or two escaping his lips. he pushes his head further back into his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut. free hand balled into a fist, he lets out a low moan, cumming all over his stomach and fingers.

after cleaning himself up, he stares at the photo of you two on his bedside table. he wanted to see you so bad. maybe it was just the post-nut fog, but he just needed you wrapped up in his arms. throwing on some jeans and a tshirt, he lets his mom know he’s heading out with a quick shout. he’s at you window in less than a second, sliding it open. he always told you to lock your window in case a creep decides to crawl in, but, in reality, the only creep that ever used it was him.

“hey, peter,” you greet, not even bothering to turn around. whenever your window was suddenly opened, you automatically knew it was your idiot boyfriend who could never just use the front door. “it’s not peter, it’s a scary murderer and i’m here to kill you,” he says, making a stabbing motion behind your head. “oh no,” you say, your tone bored and plain as you continue to study for your exams.

peter rolls his eyes, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. “not happy to see me?” he teases, his lips connecting with the smooth skin of your neck. you push his face away, writing something down in a tiny notebook, papers scattered across your desk. “i’m studying,” you respond, eyes locked on your notes. his mouth is back on your neck immediately, despite you having just pushed him away.

“come on, babe, let’s hang out, you can study later, yeah?” he hums, nibbling right below your jaw. he absolutely would not be giving up, and you knew it. turning around in your chair, you look up at the silver-haired boy, giving an agitated look. he only gives back an innocent smile, pulling you up by your hand. “why are you so adamant on hanging out specifically right now,” you groan, allowing him to lead you to your bed. “no reason.”

pushing you down onto your unmade bed, he jumps, landing beside you. “hey, hot stuff,” he grins, posing with his face resting in the palm of his hand. “hey, dipshit,” you say in an overly-lovey tone, sarcasm evident in your dramatic smile. “you love me,” he laughs, pulling you into his arms, ruffling your hair. “sometimes,” you joke back, feeling less aggravated at your distraction of a boyfriend. he smiles, his face finding a place in the crook of your neck.

“mm, missed you,” he hums, taking a deep breath. you grin, playing with his hair. “i missed you, too.” he kisses your shoulder multiple times, moving up your neck and jaw. “i love you,” he continues, his lips lingering on your cheek. “i love you, too,” you snort, furrowing your eyebrows at his overly-affectionate behavior. eventually he settles, his leg bouncing a bit as he lays next to you, arms loose around your waist. “don’t fall asleep,” you tell him, trying to get a look at his face. “i’m not asleep,” he grunts, though it was clear he was about to be.

“yeah, okay.”

“i’m not.”

“shut up.”

short and sweet, i love him sm

(send in requests, i beg)

[nahoyasboyfriend]

Burning desire

warnings: professor and student, fem!reader, shameless smut, creampie bc why not, choking (it's James what did you expect), readers a love(lust)struck loser who likes her teacher.

Word count: 4.8k

A/N: first time writing something on that more the 2k. This isn't proofread, but I hope it's to your liking. This is kinda old so it might be bad. Hope you enjoy!

You arrived fairly early on the first day. It wasn't really intentional—you live only a few blocks away and paranoid that you have somehow overslept, rushed to get ready. Thankfully you aren't too early for the door to be locked, just enough for the classroom to be mostly empty of students. There were two other people in the room, pulling paper and pencils out their bags and not paying you any mind. You make yourself comfortable in your seat—not too close but not painfully far from where the instructor will be—and follow in their example.

With nothing left to do, you pull out your phone to mindlessly scroll until class starts. In the midst of liking some random post, your phone buzzes—the low battery notification pops on the screen. You would forget to charge your phone last night. Sighing, you reach into your bag to grab your charger, sifting through the content of your bag only to find it not in there; you must've left it at home. Just great. After your phone dies, you have no other choice but to either look blankly at your desk or watch the few people here.

You find your eyes flitting across the room to them; it's not like you don't watch people when you're bored anyway.

When you've had your fill of observing, the door opens—it looks like your teacher has finally arrived. You watch the man get himself ready for the upcoming lecture; he’s busy arranging some paperwork so you take the time to ogle him shamelessly. He looks young, maybe around his early thirties. His hair is slicked down to perfection and he has a little pencil mustache—He is, admittedly, rather handsome.

You hadn't expected that. You weren't quite sure what your expectation was—probably thought he'd be some fourty-year old depressed asshole whose wife doesn’t love him. Yeah…that'd be the type of person who looks like they’d teach a course like this one.

Suddenly, he glances up, probably to check how many people had come in. Still, it scares the living daylights out of you—you rip your gaze away from him. Opting to snatch up your phone and pretend you have more interesting things to look at besides your teacher, you feel your face warm up when you still feel his eyes on you. The sound of his chair scraping the floor pulls everyone's attention to the front; he saunters over to the board and jots down his name with Expo marker.

“My name is Mr. March,” he declares with a smile. Oh fuck, he has a nice voice.

You don't pay much attention to the rest of his introduction, but you still enjoy the timbre of his voice. Instead, you go back to admiring his looks in a totally-not-creepy way. He looks like money-personified; the black vest, the white button-up underneath, and the pair of black pants are all crisp and obviously made with premium material. He even walks with a grace that most lack,talking in a manner like he is more of a socialite than a mere college professor.

More students start to flow in and by the time Mr. March is through with going over his expectations for the semester, everyone is seated and ready for class to start.

In the row ahead of you, a group of girls were quietly debating amongst themselves if he was single or not. You would've laughed if you weren't curious yourself. You spent the remainder of class staring at him without listening to a word that left his pretty mouth (later on you beat yourself up for not taking notes). His voice was hypnotic, each word sinking you deeper into whatever trance you were in. He was refined… elegant. Every movement looked calculated.

Honestly, he could be one of those old Hollywood stars. Face perfectly sculpted to be plastered on billboards; a smile born for posters. Briefly, you wondered if you were to go searching that you'd find him in a classical film.

Then, he's looking at you and the world stops—it shouldn't be anything mind-blowing because there's really nothing special about it, but still, you find yourself immobilized. His voice is syrupy, smooth, and mind-numbing. He clears his throat and your cheeks burn. He looks expectant, like he's waiting for something. He definitely asked you a question. Scrambling through your racing thoughts, you just stare dumbly at him, waiting for him to repeat whatever he had asked. He doesn't.

“I, er, don't know,” you mumble sheepishly. He quirks an eyebrow at that, painfully unimpressed. He doesn't say anything for what feels like an eternity and his silence suffocates you. The only sounds in the class were a few chuckles from other students. You shift in your seat.

“You would've known if you had listened to me,” he lightly scolds. You nod, hoping that'll be enough to show that you get his point. He furrows his brows, and he looks like he's about to push it further. Luckily, he takes mercy on you and simply repeats the initial question.

A few more giggles, and the class is back to normal. You'd think being publicly berated would be enough for you to learn your lesson, but it isn't. Because soon enough, his words are going in one ear and out the other—the words meld together into a pleasant hum in the background.

Before you know it, class is over. You bite your lip as you hurry to pack your bags, the shame from earlier returning like a punch to the gut. You don't dare look in his direction, avoiding eye contact at all costs. You scurry out the door, and thank the lord he's your only class of the day.

You let out a long-awaited sigh as you burst through your front door, haphazardly throwing your bag in the corner—you can finally decompress. You study until you feel like your head is about to burst to keep your thoughts off of him and the rather embarrassing way your first day ended.

It's been a few weeks since you got chastised for being an absent-minded idiot, and despite the embarrassment you can't bring yourself to be mad at him. Instead of anger, or even mild annoyance, all you feel is attraction. You try to deny it, bottle it up and push it to the back of your mind. Innocent fascination is what you label it. His passè charm and unconventional way of speaking is why you can't get him out of your head. That's the real reason all your thoughts lead back to him. Why at night you get struck with downright obscene visuals of him. You don't touch yourself— At least not in reality.

The you— you’ve conjured up in your head does, she touches him too. She fondles him in places you'll never see—let alone touch in real life. He says things to her that you'll never hear. He gradually seeps into your dreams, when that happens you wake up with damp underwear, and humiliation that settles deep in the crevices of your gut. It makes seeing him so much worse, but something about him captivates you.

You find yourself sneaking glances when you're convinced he isn't looking– It's the only thing you can't seem to stop– so you indulge. The only rule: don't get caught. And that sounds pretty easy to adhere to. Just don't look too long.

Simple, right?

Naively, you were confident you could do it. It worked for a little while. But at some point, you got complacent. Assured yourself you wouldn't get caught because you were doing so well. Your eyes meet in slow motion, or that's how it felt to you. In the middle of personal study time, so you had no real excuse. Neither of you break eye contact for a few more seconds, and he has a plain, almost bored expression on his face.

Ducking your head down, you stare at your blank paper. You don't pretend to write anything. It's pointless now. You’d been caught red-handed. You simply sit there, wallowing in your shame. That's become your favorite pastime lately. Deciding enough time has passed, you peek up. He's gone back to whatever he was writing and you decide that now is the time to actually write on your paper.

Class ends and you're packing up. You don't rush today, taking your time collecting your things.

“a word, please.”

You swallow dryly, cemented in place. Hesitantly, you peer up at him. His eyes bore deep into your soul like two black voids sucking you in. Growing impatient, he adds: “Yes, you. I'd like to speak to you.”

You dwandle your way to him. He doesn't rush you, at least not verbally, but by the look on his face your torpor was getting under his skin. You pick up the pace. Finally, you reach his desk. “You, um, wanted to speak to me?”

“Mm,” He clasps his hands, sitting them on his desk. “I called you here to discuss your grades,” he says, “you're a clever girl, we're both aware of that. You could be doing so much better, but there's something distracting you, correct?”

For a brief moment thick, uncomfortable silence falls over the two of you. You rummage through your brain for explanations. How could you tell him that he's the distraction? That all your troubles were somehow connected to him.

“I, uh, haven't been keeping up with my studies lately,” you stammer, “My sleep schedule has been kinda messed up,” Because of you. “So, when I get that in order I should be good.”

He frowns, narrowing his eyes slightly; he doesn't look convinced. Standing up, he makes his way to you. He stops in front of you, looming over you like a shadow. He's of average height, but you still have to tilt your head up to meet his gaze. You’re struck by the fragrance of his cologne— god, he smells amazing. He places a hand on your shoulder, you tense up almost immediately. His hand is so big. Shaking those thoughts away, you nervously await his next word.

“If you don't compose yourself, I fear I may have to take on a more… hands-on approach.” he tuts, giving your shoulder a nearly painful squeeze. You blink, dazed. You swallow once more, desperately trying to wet your throat. “I understand,” you utter, voice airy like you'd been running a marathon. You feel dizzy. His words buzzing in your head like tv static.

You honestly just want to get out of here, and wait out the heat that’s building between your thighs. Pleased with your response, he smiles at you. A lazy, feline grin, and you can see the slight indents of his dimples.

“Wonderful!” He replies, gleefully. His hand lets go of your shoulder. Your skin is still throbbing from the contact. “Well, then, you're dismissed.”

When you make it inside, you're panting, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat from speed walking all the way home. You let your bag drop onto the floor, unconcerned with where it lands. You sigh, exasperated. There's a pressure in your chest, or it could be described as a warmth. Or an ache. Or all those things at once. You weren't sure— nor do you really care. All you know is his words keep replaying in your head, muddling all your thoughts.

You practically run to your bed, exhausted from your own thoughts. Before you can attempt to stop it, he's invading your head for the umpteenth time. You groan. That warmth in your chest begins trickling down, pooling in the space between your legs. You can still feel his hand on your shoulder, the dull ache of the squeeze. Flipping onto your back, you stare vacantly at the ceiling. You could only deny yourself for so long. Placing your feet flat on the mattress, your hand slips past the band of your panties. A little relaxation couldn't hurt. Especially with how pent up you've been, It was well deserved.

You let out a breathless little whine when your fingers brush your swollen clit. God, you needed this. You run a finger through your folds, the slick sticks your skin. Using your wetness to ease the friction, you rub slow circles on your clit, and your eyes flutter shut. You could see him on the back of your eyelids. Your hips buck up pathetically into your own hand. You're leaking, cunt quivering around nothing.

You could still smell him. The scent of his cologne was intoxicating, even now it lingered in your nose. Rich and velvety. Something that wealthy decadents would wear just to let you know you'd never be able to afford it. You push a finger in, various curses fall from your lips. His hands– my god, his hands. They're so big. So strong. You slip another finger in. The heel of your hand grinds against your clit, and the feeling sends chills down your spine.

You're a writhing, squirming mess on your bed. The squelching from your fingers thrusting into your dripping cunt has the tips of your ears burning, but you don't stop. You picture him, his fingers knuckle deep in your cunt, methodically fucking them in and out of you. You imagine him curling them inside of you, and you mimic the motion in real life, sending another rush of slick gushing out. You think about the sweet purr of his voice, urging you on— instructing you to cum, so you do. You come hard, mumbling his name like he's your new god.

The shower after is long and quiet, you spend a good portion letting the water run down your body to soothe your tense muscles. You don't play any music or hum anything. You’re barely thinking. Your only goal is to get in bed and pass out. And when you finish, that's exactly what you do. You snuggle into your covers and as soon as your head hits the pillow you're out.

Your eyelids slowly peel apart; heavy. Your entire body feels like a bag of rocks. You lie there, taking long, drawn-out blinks. There's a strange peacefulness in the air. None of the usual worry that fills your head, no noise besides your soft breaths, and the sweet song of the birds outside. You prop yourself up, reaching out to your bedside table to grab your phone. With a click your phone turns on, the sudden light blinds you. Blinking away the blurriness, your eyes begin to focus on the big white numbers: 11:25

You stumble out of the comfort of your bed. You have five minutes to get ready and head out the door. Running to your dresser, you pull out some clothes to wear. How you manage the sleep through your numerous alarms was beyond you, but nevertheless that didn't turn back time. You shuffle into your bra, throw the shirt over your head, and jump into a pair of pants. You're able to get the important parts of your morning routine done. Besides a few things like washing your face and properly brushing your hair. Giving yourself a once-over, you decide you don't look too bad. Just a little lazier than normal but casual enough. Sighing, you depart to class.

Standing in front of the door, you take a deep breath, straighten your back. You can already see his face, his mouth pressed into a hard line. A flicker of disappointment in his eyes. You knock on the door, and wait for it to open. When you hear a soft click, you push the door open, hurrying to your seat. When you sit down, you glance at him and he's already looking at you. Face devoid of any signs of what he's feeling. You pluck the needed supplies out of your bag, and he continues the lesson.

The class goes excruciatingly slow. Focusing seems near impossible, so you resort to scribbling down anything you deem important without actually listening to what he's saying. Which you can only hope doesn't bite you in the ass too much in the future. The class comes to a close, and before you can even think about leaving he's calling your name. You wince, forcing yourself to walk to his desk. He's definitely gonna tear a chunk out of you.

“Sir?” You mutter, ashamed.

“You were late,” he states, plain and simple. His words linger heavily in the air.

“I, um, slept in. I apologize, it was a mistake on my part.” You sputter, fidgeting with the strap of your bag. He lifted his head, eyes piercing into you. Your mouth squeezes shut.

“you slept in,” he echoes, empty. With a stern tone, he adds, “Excuses will not be tolerated, especially after I gave an explicit warning to get yourself together.”

You feel queasy, like your stomach rolling in on itself. You don't know what to say. Your heartbeat pounds in your head, rattles your ribcage, reverberating through your entire body. You don't know what to do that doesn't make you seem more of a fool than you already are. So you say the only thing that's worked for you so far.

“I know, sir. I am truly sorry.”

“Indeed you are,” he purrs as inches closer to you, fingertips dragging against his desk. His intense eye contact frightens you, makes you feel like he'd put a giant red target on you: open prey. A strange, uncomfortable heat flushing your body, feels akin to little fires starting from the tips of your fingers. He stops in front of you, closer than you would deem comfortable, but you couldn't move— something willing you to stay right where you are. A need.

You feel trapped, or rather, you're paralyzed. Even though there's nothing constraining you, and all you have to do is walk out the room. You can't move; his eyes immobilize you, demanding that you stay. Reluctantly, you obey. He settles a hand on your shoulder, “yet, you're not sorry enough to listen.” Before you can defend yourself, his hand slowly starts traveling up, gently wrapping around your neck. You notice, but oddly enough, you choose not to question it. “So, I must ask, what's distracting you? And there's no need for any falsities, my dear.”

You freeze, eyes wide. Dumb and glassy, fawn-like. “it’s- it's really not important, and I promise that I'll straighten out my behavior. It's been a rough week.” you murmur, the tips of your ears burning.

He frowns, hand flexing around your neck. You don't know if it was intentional, but it gets his point across all the same. “Like I said, there's no reason for further deception.”

Sucking in a deep breath and closing your eyes, you mentally agree he's right and getting it off your chest could probably do you some good. “It's you. You're my problem– or my distraction, in your words.”

He doesn't look fazed. In fact, he looks like he knew before you even opened your mouth. He looked like he could tell you every thought you had verbatim. After a moment of silence, he inquires, “how long?”

Innocuous, but still you shy away from him. Your mouth squeezes shut, and your head is about to turn to the side, but he's capturing your face in his hand— forcing you to look at him. His grip is firm, nails lightly digging into the fat of your cheeks.

“since the, um, first day” you murmur, skittish.

He gives a slight nod. He knew you were attracted to him, but he had ignored it. Flicking off your open desire as a fleeting crush. That, like the other girls, you'd move on. Unfortunately for the two of you, you never did. But day after day of seeing the desperation mixed with adoration swirling around in your big, bright doe eyes, even though he would never speak it aloud, stirred something in him. And now, you’re in front of him with your heart in your hands. that pathetic, helpless look on your pretty face. it set something off within him, a spark of heat he couldn't ignore.

“Is that so…” he responds, casually. Offhandedly, even. He’s pensive, looking at you with a blank face. He’s always withdrawn, always hard to read. You never can guess what's going on in that head of his, and that was something you admired. But right now, you wished you could crack open his skull and hear his thoughts for yourself.

The tension is tangible, turning the air thick. You wish he would do anything to rid you of this horrible ache in your chest. Shoo away the sinking pit in your stomach that grows the more his silence drags on.

“Do something,” you whisper. You don't know what to expect. You can't begin to predict what he'll do with your confession, but you figure he'll send you off with a broken heart and your tail tucked between your legs.

His face scrunched up, and then it straightened out. turning eerily calm with a strange sense of resolve. unceremoniously, his mouth crashes into yours. hungry and ravenous. For a second, you didn't reciprocate. you were stupefied by his forwardness. you had expected many things but not a kiss. After gaining your bearings, you carefully carefully began to kiss back, following the pace he had set. His teeth sink into your bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood. you whimper, and he lets out a low groan, lapping away the metallic liquid.

your heart hammered in the confines of your chest. you were high off the taste of him. a mixture of mint and nicotine. you wanted more, you wanted everything he was willing to dish out. your hands gripped at the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer. it was so surreal— his warmth, his scent, his lips on yours. it was something you couldn't let fall through your fingers. Then without pulling away, he’s spinning you around, backing you up until you're perched on the edge of his desk.

Your mind is misty. your vision blurs at the edges like a gossamer film is covering it. If it's from the lack of oxygen, or how incredibly unreal the situation is still impossible to ascertain. He pulls away to attach himself to your neck, leaving feverish open mouth kisses on your neck. You can feel him inhaling against your skin, breathing you in. Without warning, he digs his teeth into the thin skin between the junction of your neck and shoulder.

He laves his tongue over the indents left behind, and you take it as a silent apology. James squeezes your thigh, massaging it. You’re soft to the touch, pliant. Almost pillowy. His hand snakes down, down, down. Slipping into your pants, past the band of your panties. His fingers brush against your sensitive clit, and you spread your legs further to give him more room. You're leaking over the pads of his fingers, and he dips lower, collecting it. He smears your wetness on your aching bud in tight, deliberate circles. You let out soft pants, rolling your hips against him, desperate for more contact.

“More,” you whine. A small pout tugging at your plump lips.

“you want more, hm? Such a greedy little thing you are,” he croons, giving your clit a mean pinch. It yanks a squeal out of you. The melange of pain and pleasure confuses you, entices you. You give him a meek nod tugging your bottom lip between your teeth. He plunges two fingers in your needy cunt, and your back curves. He hums, pumping his fingers into you with a steady pace. He rolls your aching nub beneath his thumb. It's methodical, automatic. Downright robotic the way he splits you apart on his nimble fingers. He touches you like he's known you for an entire lifetime, strumming your chords like he knows exactly what to do to make you cry out.

His fingers are long, slender, and so, so pretty. And god does he know how to use them. With pinpoint precision, he's curling his fingers inside of you, pressing that spot inside of you that has your eyes rolling into your skull. You're gushing around him, and the squelch of it is obscene. It's embarrassing how you fall apart merely from his deft fingers. Nonsensical babbles fall from your mouth, too high off pleasure to make sense, but he doesn't seem to mind. Soon, a coil begins to tighten in your groin. A buzzing heat in your lower region. It's undeniable, inescapable.

“M gonna cum, don't stop– please, please, please.” You babble, your fingers gripping for purchase on his desk.

Frissions of pleasure shoot through your body like lightning. Your mouth falls agape, and you tilt your head back. The coil snaps, and you quickly begin to unravel around his fingers. He eases you through it, doesn't stop until you've stopped trembling, and then he's sliding you off the desk. He turns you around, and places a sizable hand on your back, bending you over the table. He hastily tugs your pants down, leaving them bunched up at your mid-thigh.

You feel the tip of his cock probe your entrance. Nervous, you press your warm face against the varnished wood, letting a wave of relief wash over you from its coldness. He doesn't give you time to prepare before he's bottoming out. The stretch burns, a dull incessant ache. You don't realize you're gritting your teeth until the feeling ebbs and shifts into velvety pleasure. To your surprise, his thrusts are a measured pace, rhythmic. Maybe he was taking mercy on you, but he quickly loses the pace for something rougher. Fast and hard, thrusts that jolt you forward, edge of the desk biting into your hips.

“is this what you wanted? to be bent over my desk like the needy little harlot you are.” you let out a high pitched whine at that, cunt fluttering around his cock. he was so crude, so incredibly mean, but he was right. he's so right that it's embarrassing.

you feel a vascular hand wrap around your neck, tugging you into an arch. “say it, tell me this is what you wanted,” he grunts, hips snapping hard against yours, it was downright painful.

“this is what I wanted,” you cry out, nodding your head. “good girl,” he utters, his tone ominously dark. it sent chills racing down your spine. his other hand wraps around your neck, and he begins to squeeze. at first, it's harmless, it's not tight enough to do damage, just applying pressure. it wasn't until he didn't stop squeezing that you started to panic. eyes going wide and glassy, your hands tried to peel his hands away to no avail. so you tried to scratch at them, in hopes that he'd finally pull away. but he didn't budge. your lungs were starting to burn, your thoughts getting increasingly fuzzy.

despite all of this, he didn't stop his ruthless thrusting. your cunt clamped down on his cock, squeezing him for all that he's worth. your vision starts to blur, everything begins melting together. your hands drop back down to the desk, and you can feel yourself going limp in his hold. you couldn't tell if you were simply going to pass out, or if you close your eyes you're going to die, but you didn't want to find out.

a dribble of drool slinks down your chin. your head is throbbing. there's a dull ringing in your ears, and it's becoming harder to keep yourself awake or alive. feeling your eyes closing on their own, you felt stinging tears rushing down your cheeks. then, you felt it, a sudden warmth in your lower region. that familiar ache in your womb. a few more harsh thrusts, and you were leaking all over his cock. he followed suit, thick ropes of cum fill you up soon after. thankfully, he let go. you thought he was going to kill you for a second.

gasping, you lurched forward, letting yourself rest on the desk. your head was spinning and your legs felt like jello. you didn't speak, just laid there. It takes you a minute to collect yourself. Especially after fearing for your life. You were pretty sure he was going to kill you. He pulls out of your wordlessly, slipping his cock back in his pants. Once you convince yourself that you're okay, you pull up your pants. The feeling of his cum gushing out of you is kinda gross but you can deal. You're going straight home anyway so you can wash it off when you get there.

He doesn't say anything until you're walking away, "I hope to see you again tomorrow. We still have much to improve after class."

The implications are enough to have you red-faced and very excited for the day to come. You don't know why you're still fooling around with him. Despite the fact that he may be dangerous. It entices you further like the dumb little girl you are. So, like an idiot, you give a coy smile over your shoulder, "yes, Mr. March. I'll be there."

[americanwh0rerstory]

KINKTOBER DAY FOUR

kinky murder - james march

Alive!reader x james patrick march

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[redroses07]

I AM NOT FUNNY 😭

[saintlucretia]

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

but I'll be be brutally murdered

[taintandviolent]

Devil's Favours - James March x Reader

summary & wordcount: 4.9K! originally chosen as the party favour for James' Devil's Night celebration, reader is quickly snatched away by James March, who would rather have his own fun with her than let the others kill her.

w a r n i n g s: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT! dark fic, dub-con, slight non-con, conflicted reader, sexual confusion, mild gore & blood, graphic descriptions, violence, aggression, bodily fluids, mentions of other real serial killers, smut, rough sex,overstimulation, body worship (reader with greek goddess body type), murder, reader death.

a/n: sorry for this, I'm mentally unwell. not beta read, so if it's horrid and clunky, I'm sorry!!! also, I think this is the last taglist I'll be doing, RIP. It's just such a pain in the rear end, and half the time, it doesn't even work.

full fic & taglist under cut!↓ / ao3 link here! /

After a long day of travelling, sleep was the only thing on your mind. That said, you were in desperate need of a bath, something relaxing. This was, afterall, a vacation. You twisted the ceramic knob on the hot water, and stuck your hand under it. With a hiss, you withdrew your hand – usually, water took a minute to reach temperature. This one? Scalding hot within a few seconds. Dangerously so. You twisted the knob on the cold side, evening them out until they’d reached a less skin-melting combination, and shed your clothes. You’d only been in there for thirty minutes or so before someone began rapping their knuckles against your door. Persistently. Very persistently.

“Just a minute!” you called from the bathroom, hoping your voice travelled. You reached for one of the towels – meticulously embroidered with the hotel’s logo – and wrapped it hurriedly around your torso. “Hang on!” 

Quickly rummaging around in your suitcase and swearing under your breath that you had packed more, you searched for something to wear. Feeling pressured and running out of time, you settled on a cream coloured silk slip. Hardly modest with your plenteous figure, but the knocking continued and that seemed more important than decency. You hurried to the door, yanking it open with an air of annoyance. The vexation melted away when you were met with a man who looked more like he belonged on a silver screen than he did standing in front of you.

“Good evening.” He said, dipping his head down in a courteous display.

“…Can I help you?”

His lips stayed together, but curved into a subtle smirk. Though it was an unintentional pick; he’d chosen well; your delectable form was as if it was carved by Gods themselves. The look in your eyes told him that you were so alive, so vivacious that any bloodshed that would happen would be akin to art. His eyes were immediately lost on you, exploring your body and face with a fervid fascination. Feeling exposed, you pulled at the silken straps, bringing the neckline of the nightgown higher up on your body. Your cleavage protested, the fabric puckering across the voluminosity of your breasts. 

All this time, he’d been silent, and you arched an expectant brow, wondering just what it was that you were to help him with. This man was… peculiar. From his fancy dressage to the articulate, over-pronounced way he spoke, his idiosyncrasies both alarmed and fascinated you. 

“Indeed,” he affirmed. He’d made his decision; you were the one for the night. And he’d have you, whether you came willingly or not.

“My name is James March — I’m the owner of this impressive hotel in which you now stand.” He paused, expectantly as if that was enough for you to throw your arms up and consent to whatever he was asking. When you didn’t, he added: “I need you to come with me. Urgently.”

You squinted, scanning his motivations. A warm, gentle smile stretched across his lips, framed by his pencil thin mustache. His hand rose, fingers uncurling in front of you. There was something unnervingly come-hither about his gaze. Would he have introduced himself with malicious intentions? Surely not — that could lead to identifying him later on. But he could’ve given you a fake name, perhaps…

Unable to resist his passé seduction and against (likely) better judgement, your hand floated up into his, resting delicately against his palm. His fingers closed around yours, lingering a moment before guiding you out of your room, allowing the heavy door to swing shut behind you. He began leading you briskly down the hallway.

“I forgot my key, wait I –” 

“Worry not, my dear. We’ll have another made for you, should you need it.” 

Should I need it? You thought. Why wouldn’t I need it? Of course I’ll need my key, I’m walking down the hallway in nothing but a nightgown. 

You trodded barefoot down the halls, listening to the sounds as you passed them. The hotel, you noticed, creaked and breathed with a life of its own. Whether the rooms were occupied wasn’t known, but they sounded as if they were.  

As soon as you two got to a door, only a few down from your own, he reached for the handle and instantly, as soon as he did; something felt wrong. Something felt… sinister and the feeling took over like a gelatinous sludge. You tried to yank your hand away but James sternly jerked you the opposite way — back towards him. With a throaty growl, he wrapped both arms around your torso, holding you fast in a steel grip so that try as you might, you couldn’t dislodge yourself from his grasp. His strength proved too much for your feeble, sleepy muscles.

After shouldering the door open, James carried you inside. In a moment of panicked clarity, you tried to peek around and identify anything you could. The stern way that his hand was plastered on your forehead, holding it against his shoulder, you could really only see the ornate ceiling above you.

You took a deep breath, fighting back the tears that burned at the corners of your eyes. This was it. You’d gone this far in life without being mugged, raped, or killed… today was the day it would change. Your track record would end. Abruptly. Terrifyingly. Your chest shuddered with an uneven, hysterical breath. At least he was handsome. No, shut up. That’s not the kind of thought you want to be thinking. 

Suddenly, your body dropped forward and you were spun around harshly, his grip still tight on the fleshy meat of your arms. Then, as though he was a lover and not your soon-to-be-murderer, he eased your back against a wooden chair with one hand, delicately, suddenly concerned with hurting you, like you were some kind of easily-bruised fruit.

“Good girl, sit there.”

At his praising words, your core twinged, tightening. No, no. Stop it. Clenching your teeth, you quashed the thought before it went any further.

His right hand snatched something from a nearby table before holding it proudly, stretching it out for you to see; rope. Unconsciously, your head began shaking back and forth. As the realisation sunk in, your heart rate picked up, thudding against your ribcage.

“N-no, no… no please.”

With the rope still in hand, James got to one knee in a familiar pose. His lightless eyes floated up to yours, staring into them deeply. Now in front of you, his cock twitched within his trousers, a carnal instinct tugging like an incessant child. He brushed the pads of his fingers along the smooth curves of your knees, your calves, your ankles… 

Damn. You – obviously – were a woman with needs, so his feather-light touch awoke something deep within your core again. This time though, it didn’t take you reversing the arousal. The shiny tip of his shoe knocked your feet apart, lining them up with the legs of the chair. She clenched harder.

“What are you doing?” You asked, tensely. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He paused to answer, straightening up. “Securing you, my dear. A struggle is inevitable.”

“What!? Inevitable for what?!”

He didn’t answer. Hastily working, his large but nimble hands wrapped the rope around the smallest part of your ankles, knotting the rope against the chair. Your wrists came next, and those were tied much tighter; the fibres of the rope ground against your soft skin, already causing a burning friction.

With a sudden, powerful pull at the bindings, testing their security, James was finished. He was confident in his knotting, you wouldn’t get away. Humming to himself, he dragged the chair through an archway, into another, much larger room. You were facing a table – it was ornately set with a large contraption in the middle. You recognised it as an absinthe fountain, the bright green liquid in the container seemed to glow. You didn’t want to be a part of whatever this was, even as attractive as that man was.

“Please,” you begged. “Please, I just… I want to go back to my room. Let me go.”

“Let you go?” James echoed in a mockingly high tone. He seemed offended that you’d even desire such a thing. It was a pleasure — a privilege — to be invited to his dinners. “No…. You’re staying with me. Right here.”

He pat your thigh  before moving to the head of the table. For the first time since you’d been brought in, you took a moment to look around, to take in your surroundings instead of him. Immediately, you whimpered in disbelief — met with such a visual that you almost immediately thought you were hallucinating. You blinked away the tears and sniffed, pressing your lips tightly together. 

It was truly bone-chilling to see all of the worst eyes on you. The eyes that had seen the most foul crimes and atrocities in human history were now looking at you; the bound beauty with her sweat-soaked strands of hair stuck to your forehead and fear in your eyes. John Wayne Gacy, Richard Ramirez, Jeffrey Dahmer….

“She’s shakin’ like a god damn leaf!” Aileen Wuornos howled, before finishing off the rest of her beer. She slammed it on the table, the clatter made you jump. She doesn’t want me, you thought. I’m not her enemy. Still, you knew that you’d been sat at a table full of people — true monsters — who even if they didn’t want to kill you, they’d take great pleasure in watching you writhe in agony as the others stole your last breath from your lungs.

Though they were all equally terrifying, you were most horrified by Richard. He sat directly next to James, picking absently at his nails. His sunken, snake eyes followed every move you made; watching you with a hunger that made your skin crawl. Considering the circumstances, it was laughable to say that one made you feel unsafer than the others — but he did. Logically, how he preyed upon women must’ve played into your distaste for him. He held your gaze, peering into your thoughts with a vicious lack of consent, as he behaved with every woman he came in contact with. Finally, he spoke.

“I’ve waited long enough, Jimmy — can we kill her?” He said, sucking something out of his rotting teeth. He made a move as though he was going to get up.

You snapped your head to James, brows knit together in pleading. The visual surprised you. He, like the rest of the dinner party, had been staring at you, but instead of the feral, blood hungry gaze you expected, his eyes had gone glassy. He sucked his cheeks in, deep in thought. Beneath the dark fabric of his dress pants, heat blanketed his groin. You captivated him; the way your precious little eyes flitted back and forth in terror like a deer, the way your pulse thrummed in your neck, beating like a drum. He wanted you for his own — and only his own. Keeping his motives hidden, James stood up, smoothing out the fabric of his suit jacket. 

“No,” he crooned. “No, we can’t. I’m afraid I’ve had a change of heart… this one… belongs to me.”

You jerked your head in confusion, while grumbles of disappointment bounced off the walls. Ramirez said something sickening and Gacy let out a horrible, guttural chuckle. You strained against the rope, somehow trying to put more distance between you and them. James sliced his hand through the air to silence them both.

“Miss Wuornos,” he abruptly purred. “Go find us a dashing young man keen to join our party!”

“Ohohoh…. Lil’ ol’ me? Find a man? I’m gonna’ be frolickin’ in the fuckin’ daisy fields with this one. Be back!”

“Pl-please.” You begged. Your lips parted, allowing desperate promises to fall from between them. You wouldn’t tell anyone, you’d never come back here, you wouldn’t remember anything, you promised, you would never speak a word of this to anyone… You looked to James, who regarded you affectionately, but patronisingly, his lower lip jutted out in a faux-pout. He’d heard all this before, and it was of no concern to him. He’d made up his mind. It was his god damned birthday and he was going to have you all to himself.

Your begging fell on seemingly deaf ears, nobody bothered to entertain you. Your teary, burning eyes flitted to Ramirez, who was smiling his ugly, decaying smile at you, leaning forward in his seat. “I dunno’, she promises, Jimmy… maybe we should let her go.”

You shivered, grinding your wrists against the rope. Anger blanketed you. “Fuck off, weirdo.”

“Who you callin’ weirdo, bitch?”

“YOU!” You barked, straining. “I can smell your rancid breath from here. Had to kill all those women just because none of them would ever come within ten fucking feet of you!”

“Now, now… manners. She’s a lively one, isn’t she?” His mouth bent in a proud smirk, James looked to Richard, who was still bristling from the comment. He really wanted to kill you. Delighted at the fact that James had seemingly given you immunity, you wiggled happily in your chair, fighting the urge to stick your tongue out. You didn’t want to test him, though, and so you remained silent, watching instead. 

Silence was broken as the door opened. With a little thrashing, almost as desperate as your own had been, Aileen shoved a man — couldn’t have been more than 30 — inside. It didn’t take her long to find someone. In fact, it was like she opened the door, spotted him meandering by and dragged him back inside.

The guy noticed you first. Second, he noticed that you were tied to the chair so tightly that red marks on your wrists and ankles had begun to develop. Thirdly, he noticed the others, his eyes drifting slowly and visibly disturbed by who sat at the table. 

“Woah… what the fuck is this?” He asked.

“A good fuckin’ time is what it is.” One of them said. You didn’t care which. Blisteringly hot tears streamed down your face, stinging your cheeks. What were the stages of grief? You felt like you were cycling through them in rapid succession.

“Fucking let me go!” You howled, thrashing your torso back and forth, which did little to relieve anything. With a distressed expression plastered upon his face, the guy looked from you to the other guests and back, before nervously putting his hands up, taking one step back towards the door. “Hey, is she okay?”

“N—!“ James was suddenly behind you, cupping his hand over your mouth, pressing the tips of his fingers hard into your cheek flesh. His lips moved quickly, whispering hotly into your ear. “Hush now, don’t spoil the surprise for him. Let him find out on his own.”

“She’s fine, the hors d’oeuvres didn’t agree with her.” Aileen barked, towing the guy towards the table. She shoved him down into the only unoccupied seat.

“Dinner… is served.” James said. 

In unison, they all stood up. The sound of the chair legs scraping against the floor echoed in your head. Like syncronised swimmers, they all descended upon him, armed with whatever weapon they’d chosen. You hadn’t known the guy, but he had enough sympathy for you to make you cry at what was happening to him. He’d had a life, family… feelings. None of which mattered to him anymore, or perhaps that’s exactly what he was thinking about. Perhaps your entire life really did flash before your eyes before you died. 

You let out a scream that burned on its way out. It ached and tore and ripped its way up your windpipe as the shrill, bloodcurdling sound filled the room. It was louder than his, and louder than the sounds that were currently coming from the gaping, gargling hole in his throat.

Gacy moved from his side, allowing you a brief glimpse. Torn flesh hung from his shoulders and blood had almost completely covered the front of his body. You closed your eyes and turned your head away, rolling your lips inward and biting down. It was fucked up, and you weren't going to absorb any more of it.

“Sweet dreams, my little pet.” James said, in front of you. You turned your head towards the sound, but were met with blackness. 

A dull throbbing on the side of your head was what eventually pulled you awake, forcing your cinder-block weighted lids to peel apart. You looked around; an odd, minimally decorated room. Dark. Your head wobbled as you turned it left, then right, met with the same visual — your arms suspended high above your head, and rope again, at your wrists. You licked your lips and tasted metal. In your blurred vision, you noticed red flecked along your breasts. The ache on the side of your head was more than just an ache, it seemed.

Your consciousness ebbed, fading in and out. Sleep was comforting, the idea of it cradling you in its arms like a baby. You wanted so badly to sleep… just for a moment. Somewhere inside, you heard authoritative voices, advising against sleep. Concussions… sleep… sleep is bad… keep the individual conscious. And so you fought against the cool, towering shadow, turning your head away from nothing in particular. You couldn’t hear anything outside of your own laboured breathing, and the creak of the rope every time you decided to move. Nothing. Not even the muted voices of the monsters. 

Time meant nothing, you lost track of how long you’d been hanging there when you’d finally heard the creak of a heavy door. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly before wrenching them open. You weren’t sure if the crushing weight you felt was the looming weight of death as it shrouded you, or merely the physical strain of your body being suspended for hours. You knew people could eventually die from suspension. Their lungs caved in or something. The tips of your toes barely touched the floor, your big toe grazing the cold, concrete floor every time your body swayed softly.

With your head hanging between your shoulders, your muscles quivered as you lifted it, just in time to see the door in front of you shut. James, standing in front of it, reached for a black leather apron that hung on a hook. Before slipping it over his head, he flashed you a charming smile, pleased to see that you hadn’t expired yet. Reaching behind him to tie it around his waist, he approached you. The light from the wall sconces reflected against the fabric dully.

“Ah, there you are.” He crooned. 

You intended a scream, but could do nothing but whimper. You swallowed repeatedly, a feeble attempt to wet your dried out throat. James drug a single finger along your soft jawline, trailing it down your neck, and along your collarbone. You were drenched in sweat, streaks of it descending your face and neck.

The sudden ferocity in which he gripped your face made it sting, his thumb and forefinger digging into the bone of your jaw. He quirked a brow. You opened your mouth and although your throat was already raw, you finally screamed. You screamed again, angrily, and held his cold, black gaze. Your ragged shrieks filled the room over and over again as you tried, desperately, to wrench your hands free from the ropes.

Regrettable, James thought as his soulless eyes hungrily took in your form as it quivered and thrashed around. You were built like a Greek goddess, soft curves in all the right places, begging to be touched, worshipped.

“Aaaah,” He exhaled, frustratedly.  “You’re almost too pretty to kill.”

“Then — DON’T! Fucking let me GO! AaaarhhhH!” You yanked at the ropes again, thrashing around until a deep pain in your shoulder began to burn. You cried out, letting your body go slack. 

With a deep breath, you mustered up all your strength again, finding every drop of it within your tired body, and leaned forward to scream directly in his face. The result? He was wholly unphased by your screams. If anything, it seemed like he enjoyed them. Each one sounded a little more desperate than the last, and it only fuelled him further.

You decide to try a new, last-ditch tactic. Sore mouth contorting into a scowl, you gathered a mouthful of saliva and blood, hot and irony on your tongue and lunged forward, spitting it at him. The glob hit him square in the face, dripping slowly down towards his jaw.

“What, is it hard to focus?” You croaked. Your words were slurred, messy with the pain of the head wound.  “Didn’t think you’d want to fuck me as bad as you do, huh?”

James’ dark eyes narrowed, the muscles underneath twitching faintly. He had in fact picked you, and therefore had to accept all of your fiery little quips as they came – but that one… that one had caught him off guard. 

“You…” You narrowed your eyes, the fibres of the rope squeaking as you leaned towards him, your lips inches from his face. “…want to fuck me so bad, you can’t think. Look at you. You think your apron hides it?”

With brows raised, James glanced at his groin. Had he really been betrayed by his own body, so early on? Though he felt the warmth and stiffness increasing between his legs, there was no visual indication. James calmly brought his hand to his face, collecting the bloodied spit on his fingertips. With a reticent gaze, he brought them down between your legs, harshly knuckling the nightgown out of the way.

He smeared them roughly on your cunt. Your own fluids. The ones that you had just spit at him. Not only that, but he proceeded to tease your sensitive nerves with his fingers, pulling a confused gasp from your throat. Part of you had been bluffing, you weren’t entirely sure that he had wanted you —

James pulled back an inch to look at you again. Aside from your luscious body, your complexion was mottled with exhaustion, lips dry with fear, hair frazzled and bloody on one side. To him, it was a horrific sculpture of divinity. One that he had created in such little time with such little effort. The perfect, ample curves of your breasts were dotted with crimson, having dripped from the gash on your head. They jiggled delicately with each desolate shake you gave.

With his free hand, he took hold of your round, plush hips, his thumb working the softness like dough. He swung you towards him, pressing the pillowy tops of your thighs to his groin. Quickly, he identified a growing obsession with your body.

He loved it. All of it. In fact, he hadn’t seen a body as marvellously breathtaking as yours since his wife’s. Of course, it had been many years since he’d seen hers in any such manner, so the flames that licked at his desire were deprived, hungry ones. His mouth found yours, lips crushing against yours. His tongue, hot and strong, slipped in and beckoned yours to engage in an erotic dance.

He pulled your body closer, pressing it tightly against his. Though constricted by his trousers, you felt the bulging heat beneath his apron, and rubbed your thigh against it, teasing him. He groaned deeply in response, bucking his hips against you to force friction. After a few moments, James broke the kiss, panting heavily over your tender, swollen lips.

“Pl-please… don’t kill me… please…”

The back of his hand whipped across your mouth, hitting you so hard that the world sparkled when you opened your eyes again. Your face burned with the contact.

“Enough of that now! Say it again, and I’ll do just that!”

The harshness in his voice stunned you. Up until that point, he’d been using his syrupy, serenading voice — the one he had used to charm you into coming with him. Now, he bellowed, an unexpected violence. Silence hung heavy between you as he waited, baited you to beg for life once more. You didn’t speak again, but your sobs continued. 

Finally, his hand dropped between your legs again. Your clit ached, burned with the way his fingers fondled it, but he didn’t stop. Your poor, exhausted body trembled beneath his touch, doing all it could to express arousal. Salty droplets streamed from your hairline into your eyes, stinging as they absorbed.

“Would you rather die?” he asked, suddenly. 

“Wh-what? N-no… I d-don’t want to die…”

“That’s not what I meant, my little ember. I meant… would you rather die than be pleasured? I, of course, can arrange that.”  

You hesitated a moment, but finally, shook your head. 

At this thoughtful confession, James angled forward, plunging a single finger inside of you, past the knuckle. The digit wiggled inside of you briefly, before sliding back out slowly. He held it up for you both to see. “Oh,” he growled.  

His finger was generously coated in clear slick. Your body had betrayed you. 

Wordlessly, he untied the apron, tossing it carelessly to the side – it hit the floor with a heavy flop. Then, those same nimble fingers began unbuttoning and unzipping, until they gripped his rigidness, pumping it slowly for further stimulation. His chest heaved with wanton, desiring breaths as he stared at you, hanging there, with your warm, ample body for his taking. James lined his dick up with your leaking slit, and pulled you harshly onto his cock, showing no mercy for how exhausted your body was. 

Your cunt swallowed his cock whole, hungrily and desperately. His head fell back between his shoulders, a throaty groan coming from his open mouth. He began thrusting, slow at first. The ease of thrusting fascinated him; your body hung limp on the ropes and all James had to do was tug you forward, tug you in the direction he wanted you to go. 

“You know, I’ve never taken a woman like this before - suspended in the air,” he said, breathily. “Exquisite.” 

You mewled in response, snot dripping from your nose. 

Soon, the room was filled with wet, slick thrusting and the thudding sound of his torso as it met yours. You came repeatedly, coating his thick, pale cock in fluids you didn’t even know your body could make. At one point, during a particularly vicious thrusting, a warm, watery liquid splashed down over your thighs. You screamed like he was killing you, though he felt better than any man you’d ever been with, pleasuring you in ways that left you feeling breathless.

Still, your body persisted with its aches. So far, you’d been successful in appealing to his sexual nature, and decided to try again.

“….please…. Let me down… I’ll… d-do anything you wa—

Suddenly, he backed up, pulling the head from your cunt with a slick pop. You panted; fragile, pitiful breaths, barely enough energy to lift your gaze. With his rigid cock bouncing in front of him, James untied your hands, allowing your heavy, enervated body to fall into his arms. You couldn’t help but cry into his shoulder as he carried you to some sort of surface, laying you carefully down atop it. Some streak of mercy had captured him, and you mouthed words of gratitude. Your entire body buzzed with relief, your muscles aching in a funny, tingling way.

James wasted no time in fucking you again; the tip was nearly scarlet, hungry for release. His hand compressed on your soft stomach, pressing down into it to increase the pressure of his cock as it drove deeper and deeper inside of you.

“You know how this ends, my dear.” When he spoke, it sounded far away. But you did. You knew. There was never any end to this besides the one that you’d envisioned fearfully. He leaned to the side, retrieving a small, but very, very sharp blade from a nearby metal table. You watched numbly as James lifted the knife above your neck.

His hips pumped rhythmically, bringing you both closer to the fiery edge of ecstasy. Pulsing veins massaging your silklike insides, and another orgasm galloped towards you. Your body quivered, cold sweats taking over. 

James whipped the knife across your perfectly warm neck, and instinctively, your hands went to the laceration. Bright crimson gushed out from the spaces between your fingers, and you felt a gushy warmth press against your digits. The inner workings of your throat, you realized. The gore of your own body, pressing back against you in its heat. James laid one hand over yours, seemingly just to feel the blood as it spurted. With a deep, guttural moan, his cock twitched inside you just before it released, coating your insides.

She gasped, a wet gurgle. The light left her eyes, gradually, but beautifully. The pulses of blood eventually ebbed to a dull trickle. As his thrusts slowed, he expelled a long sigh – killing both excited him and depressed him. On one hand; it brought exhilaration, delight and sheer unadulterated arousal. On the other however, you only truly got to do it once. Certainly, you could kill a ghost a million times over, but the effect wasn’t the same.

For a moment, James’ expression contorted into one of regret; when you returned in your new spectral form, you’d likely not want to spend time with him. Yet another woman who loathed his presence roaming the hallways, avoiding him. But perhaps, he still wouldn’t mind having you stuck with him for all eternity, if only to gaze upon your perfect form whenever you’d let him. With matching wounds, at that. A true romantic.

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @garykingz / @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @tatesdisasterofalover / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @enchanting-evan / @yesdevineruler / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @demxnicprxncess / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @babygorewhore / @quickandsilvers / @tatelangdonsweater / @ifeeltoofuckingmuch / @howtobesasha / @randominstake / @throwinginmythai / @slvt4jamesmarch / @poltoreveur / @feefymo / @evpeters87 / @lacucarachapisser / @stveharringtn / @fear-is-truth

[evanpeterswhoresblog]

Old Friends

Max Cooperman x f!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, oral female receiving, soft!dom max, sub!reader, underage drinking, underage smoking, getting high before sex, rough sex, uhhh overall very long and very smutty

summary: after being away at college for a year, your best friend Baja convinces you to go to a fourth of July party at your old friend Max’s house, but little do you know how much Max has changed since the last time you saw him…

word count: 4.5k

a/n: i just watched never back down 1 and 2 last night and omg the glow up evan had before filming the second one is not talked about enough. hope you enjoy my lil fourth of july gift <3 enjoy!!

~~~

“Do you think this looks good?” You ask as you walk out of the bathroom.

You’re at your best friend Baja’s house, the two of you are getting ready for a big fourth of July party. So far, you’ve tried on three different bikinis, none of them standing out to you. Sure, they fit you perfectly and show off the body you worked for, but they just weren’t right.

“Y/N, it looks amazing, like all the other ones too. What’s going on?” Baja answers, a frown on her face.

You met Baja when she transferred into your high school sophomore year, and you’ve been inseparable since. You were by her side through everything. The day her parents decided to call it quits, the day her parents got back together, even the day she started dating Ryan. You never liked him, she knew that. He was crazy, he loved to hurt people. So, when Jake Tyler moved to town and started talking to her, you were thrilled.

He was a decent guy, you enjoyed spending time with him. Plus, it was great seeing her happy again after what Ryan put her through. After they started dating Jake introduced you to his best friend Max and he often hung around with the three of you. Max was a sweet boy. He was chubby and adorable with his little camera. Though the two of you never hung out alone, you still considered him one of your closer friends.

The four of you were sad when high school ended. You had gotten into your dream college that happened to be in a nearby state. It was terrible having to say goodbye to your friends, but you all had phones so it wasn’t like contact would be completely lost. You and Baja would call for hours, sometimes falling asleep on the phone together. On holiday breaks when you’d come home you really only saw her and occasionally Jake, but you didn’t mind.

Tonight, however, is the first party you’re going to in your home town since high school. Since it’s your first summer break from college, Baja thinks it will be a good idea. You know she’s right, but you’re very nervous to see all your old classmates.

“What if people think I’ve gone downhill since we graduated?” You question your friend.

Baja laughs. “I can promise you no one will think that. Look at yourself y/n, you’re stunning.”

“I’m just worried it’ll go bad. I haven’t seen these people in over a year,” you reply with a sigh. You sit down next to her on her bed. “How many people do you think will be there?”

“Well like I said it’s at Max’s house, and his house is pretty big so probably a lot of people.”

“God, I haven’t even seen Max since last summer. How’s he doing?” You ask.

“Well, he’s changed a lot,” she answers with a small laugh. “Trust me when you see him, you’re going to be shocked.”

“What do you mean? Did he finally get taller or something?”

“Yeah, you could say that... But anyways, hurry up and finish picking your outfit we have to leave soon,” she replies, shooing you off the bed and towards her closet.

~~~

When the two of you arrive at Max’s house you feel the anxious butterflies eat away in your stomach. There’s already so many cars in the driveway and on the street. You see a few of your former classmates in the front yard, you hide your face. Baja laughs and finally parks the car. You look at her anxiously.

“Maybe this was a bad idea, how about we just go stay at your place instead?” You speak.

She shakes her head. “Nope, we’re already here. Just relax y/n, it’s going to be super fun.”

“You’re just saying that because you want to go fuck your boyfriend,” you reply with a frown.

“Hey, maybe you’ll find a guy and hook up too,” she says, a smirk on her face. “I bet tons of guys are gonna be all over you looking for a piece of that ass.”

You lightly slap her and groan. “Shut up.”

She only laughs and opens her door. “Come on, we’re already late.”

You groan and open yours too, preparing yourself for what’s coming. You follow Baja into the party, smiling at your old classmates. You recognize most of them, but there’s also new people you don’t think even went to school with you. Loud music flows throughout the house, you can practically feel the beat as you walk. Baja was right, in the few minutes you’ve been inside you’ve already noticed multiple guys checking you out. It makes you wish you worse something more than just jean shorts and a coverup over your bathing suit.

The two of you stop in the kitchen and Baja pours you a shot. You take it without saying anything, it’ll help you with your nerves. The familiar warmth fills your stomach and chest, it feels good. You see Jake approching and you smile, it’s been a few months since the last time you talked. He looks the exact same.

“What’s up y/n? How you been?” He asks after greeting Baja with a kiss.

“Pretty good, how about you?” You reply.

“Amazing.”

“That’s cool, Baja said you were thinking about opening up your own gym soon, that’s great,” you mention, looking back at your best friend.

“I see word travels fast between the two of you,” he says, wrapping his arm around Baja’s shoulders. “But yeah, it’s just an idea right now. It was more Max’s idea actually, have you talked to him yet?”

You shake your head and notice the look Baja and Jake give each other. “I told her she’s gonna be surprised when she sees him.”

“Oh yeah, you should actually go find him and say hi,” Jake says with a smirk.

You look between them suspiciously. “Is this your subtle attempt to get me away so you can go fuck?”

“Yes, entirely, so go,” Baja answers with a laugh, pushing you lightly.

“I hate you,” you say as you begin to walk away from them.

“Love you too!” She exclaims, you don’t bother replying.

You wander through the house searching for Max. You forgot how big his house really was. Even the first floor will probably take you twenty minutes to search. A sigh leaves your lips, where would he be? You look through his living room, cringing at the sight of two girls making out on the couch, a swarm of guys watching and recording. He’s not there, thankfully. You go out to the back yard, so many people are in the pool. But that’s when you spot him.

Baja was right, you’re very surprised. He’s not at all like you remember him. The chubby nerd you once knew is gone and has been replaced by... this. He’s definitely grown a few inches, and his baby fat has been replaced by muscle. The boy who used to refuse taking off his shirt even at the beach is now standing tall, abs out for everyone to see. His hair is shorter and slightly curlier. You can see his sharp jawline from where you’re standing, it’s so prominent. You trail your eyes down his body, lingering on his v-line. You never thought in a million years you’d see Max Cooperman with a v-line and happy trail. You also never thought you’d stare at it so intently.

You shake the thoughts away and walk towards him. He’s still the same Max you knew, you can’t be thinking like this. You’re only a few feet away when he notices you, you can see his eyes light up. It makes you smile.

“Am I dreaming or is it really you y/n?” He asks.

“I could say the same thing about you,” you reply with a laugh as you embrace him in a short hug. “What did college do to you?”

“A lot honestly. I started working out a lot more, lost my fat and replaced it with these guns,” he answers, flexing his biceps.

You laugh again. “At least it hasn’t changed your personality, you still staying behind the scenes?”

“Yeah, I’m always going to be the camera man. How about you though? I bet you’re the most talked about girl on your campus,” he says with a smirk. “I mean seriously wow you look great.”

You can’t help the small blush that appears on your cheeks. “I wouldn’t know, I sorta keep to myself. I mean I go to parties sometimes but most of my time is spent keeping up with my classes.”

“I’m glad college hasn’t changed your personality either. Still the quiet girl during the week days and the party animal on weekends?”

“God no. I was way worse back then. I haven’t gotten shit faced since that party at Baja’s a year or two ago,” you answer.

“I remember that, you threw up all over the backseats of my car,” he laughs.

You cover your face in embarrassment. “Don’t remind me.”

“And remember how I had to carry you in? You were telling me how sad you were to still be a virgin, you asked if Jean from my old gym could do you,” he continues, his laughter only getting louder.

“Stop it,” you say. Your face is so hot, you probably look like a tomato.

Max is about to continue, but a girl comes up to him and laches on to his arm. You don’t know why it makes that unsettling feeling start in your stomach again. You aren’t jealous, he’s like your brother for God’s sake. At least, that’s what you keep having to tell yourself. She gives you a side glance, as if she’s trying to make you feel bad for talking to Max. It almost makes you laugh. She looks familiar, but you can’t put a name to her face.

“You said you’d come swim with me,” she says to him. “Come on.”

Max raises his eyebrows at you before looking back at the girl. “Sorry, just catching up with an old friend. You remember y/n right? We used to go to school together.”

She looks at you again and gasps. “Little y/n? I couldn’t even recognize you, you’ve certainly... changed.”

“Thanks,” you reply. You don’t want to stand here any longer. “I’ll let you guys get back to your swimming, it was nice talking to you Max.”

You give them a smile and turn around, you’re going to try to find Baja and Jake again, hopefully they’re done fucking by now. But before you can even take a step Max grabs your wrist, preventing you from leaving. You look back at him over your shoulder, the girl next to him looks pissed, he doesn’t seem to care though because his eyes are locked on you.

“How about after this we go hot box my car? You know, like we used to?’ He suggests.

“I’d love to,” you say. The girl looks furious, it makes you happy. “See you in a bit.”

He grins and let's go of your wrist, finally giving his attention back to the girl on his arm. You walk back towards his house, your hearts racing. Since when did Max Cooperman make your heart race? You look over your shoulder again when you’re at his back doors and much to your surprise he’s already looking at you. You quickly look away, what’s going on?

~~~

Max finds you after about a half hour and the two of you make your way into his garage, weed in hand. Thankfully, no one’s in the garage. Even though it’s not your weed, you’d hate to have to share with a bunch of other people. He unlocks his car and opens the passenger side for you, you chuckle and push him away but get inside anyway. He quickly gets in the driver's side and starts to unpack all his stuff.

You watch as he packs the bowl effortlessly. He used to struggle with it to the point that he’d ask you or Jake to do it for him. Now though, he gets it done within minutes. He offers you the first hit and you gladly accept, taking the bowl and lighter in your hands instantly. You light it and take a big hit, passing the bowl to Max while it’s still lit. Your lungs burn a bit, but you don’t mind. You blow the smoke out in one long breath, filling up the car with the stench of weed.

“That’s some good shit,” you say as Max takes his hit.

He nods and hands the bowl back to you when he’s done. “Stole it from my dad, he’s gets it from some high end dealer.”

“No shit?” You say before taking your second hit.

“Yeah, it’s great.”

You blow out the smoke for a second time and hand the bowl back to him. “I already feel it, God damn.”

“It’s pretty strong, you should wait before taking another hit. Unless it’s a small one. I’d hate for you to throw up in my car again,” he replies. You scoff and push his shoulder, making him break out into laughter. You can’t help but join in.

You feel fantastic. Perfect even. You let your head fall back against the headrest, your whole body feeling lighter. You close your eyes, a big smile on your lips. Max starts to talk again, but you don’t bother listening. You're too caught up in this amazing feeling. He taps your shoulder after a few seconds though and you sigh, tingles shooting throughout your whole body at the simple contact.

“Y/N are you listening?” He asks.

You roll your head to the side so you’re looking at him. “Touch me again, it feels so good.”

“What?”

“My body... it feels like it needs to be touched. Did you give me like Viagra weed?” You question.

“I don’t know does sativa usually make you horny?” He laughs.

You shrug. “Maybe. I haven’t smoked in a minute. Can you put on the radio or something?”

He nods and puts his keys in the ignition, turning them so the radio starts to play. You sit up and start to flick through the channels before settling on a relaxing song. You sigh and lean back, your head facing Max again. You watch as he takes another hit, he looks sexy doing it. You shake your head at the thought, Max is one of your best friends you can’t call him sexy, even if it’s in your own head.

When he’s done, he puts the bowl down and leans back. He turns his head to you and your eyes meet. Your heart rate increases. He has this look in his eyes, one you never thought you’d see from him. His eyes are so dark, so full of lust. You swallow but can’t bear to break the eye contact.

“Who was that girl?” You ask, breaking the silence but not the tension. “She your girlfriend or something?”

“No, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize her. That was Jenifer, you know, the one who used to make fun of me,” he answers.

“So, why was she hanging on to you like that?”

He smirks. “What are you jealous?”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” you reply, deflecting his question.

“And that doesn’t answer mine.”

You look away for a split second and shrug. “Should I be?”

“I’d like you to be. But she’s nothing, just one of the many girls from this town who’ve suddenly become interested in me after I decided to change up my looks,” he answers.

You feel ashamed. Are you one of those girls now? You can admit, if Max still looked how he did before you don’t know if you’d be having these feelings for him. Part of you believes you would though, just because of how flirty he is, he’s been like that since the two of you met all those years ago. You look down at your lap, not knowing what else to do.

“Did I say something wrong?” He asks after a few seconds.

You shake your head. “No, of course not. I just... I don’t want you to think I’m one of those girls too. I mean am I really attracted to you now? Yes. But I’ve always been attracted to your personality too. I’m sorry, you just are so fucking hot now it’s hard but-”

You’re cut off by Max’s lips crashing on to yours. You forget about what you were saying and kiss him back instantly, your hands moving up to grip his soft curls. The kiss is rough and full of pent-up sexual tension. You part your lips and let his tongue roam your mouth, it makes your body ignite. One of his hands moves down your body, eventually resting on your hip. The other one cups your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin gently.

He pulls back after a minute and the two of you stare into each other's eyes once again. Your breathing is heavy, your cheeks are flushed, and your lips are swollen. You haven’t been kissed like that in a long time.

“Sorry, I should’ve asked first, but I just needed to show you that you aren’t anything like those other girls. I’ve always wanted you y/n, I just never thought I had a chance,” he explains softly.

You twirl one of his curls around one of your pointer fingers and chuckle. “Oh Max, if you asked me out I most likely would’ve said yes.”

“I didn’t want to ruin the friendship, but at this point since we don’t even talk that much I don’t care. I want you y/n, so bad. Even if it’s just for tonight, even if we never talk again after, let me have you right now,” he whispers.

“I’m yours for the taking,” you reply and before you have a second to think he crashes his lips to yours again.

The kiss is even rougher this time. His hands roam your body freely, cupping your breasts, your ass, everything. You let him pull you over the center console and into his lap, though the two of you laugh at the slight struggle. It’s a tight squeeze, but it works. You straddle him as the kiss continues, his hips grinding up into yours. You slightly moan at the feeling of his bulge brushing against your clothed clit. Your arms wrap around his neck and you hold him tight, the feeling of your bodies against each other sending tingles throughout your entire body.

You break the kiss after a couple minutes to remove your coverup, your bikini now the only thing covering your breasts. Max smirks and lifts his hands up to the back of your neck, pulling the string that’s holding up your bikini until it comes undone. He does the same with the other string and throws your bikini on to the passenger seat. He doesn’t try to hide his stare; it makes your face heat up again.

Before you can say anything, he leans forward and takes one of your nipples in his mouth. You sigh from the pleasure it gives you. Your body falls back against the steering wheel, luckily not hitting the horn. You feel his tongue swirl around your nipple, it makes you throw your head back. He moves between both of your nipples for a few minutes before moving on to kiss and suck the rest of your breasts.

“Can we move to the back?” He asks suddenly, his lips still on your skin.

“Yeah,” you answer breathlessly before climbing off him and between the two front seats to get to the back.

He’s too big to climb through, so he gets out of the car and goes through one of the back doors instead. He lays you down on the seats and continues his kisses on your breasts. He trails his kisses down your stomach, your navel, until he’s at the point where your skin ends and your jean shorts start. Your eyes meet his and he gives you a smirk that sends warmth to the pit of your stomach. He unbuttons your shorts and you lift your hips to help him pull them down your body, leaving you only in your bikini bottoms.

He presses soft kisses to your inner thighs, making the wet spot in your bottoms even more noticeable. You move up so half your back is pressed against the car door, mostly to give Max more room, but also because you want to watch him. He sucks on the skin of your thighs, leaving behind a few hickeys as proof. His hands wrap around your thighs as well and he pulls them up so that your legs are bent and his head is now stuck between them.

His hands then move to the two strings on your hips that are holding your bathing suit bottoms in place. He pulls them at the same time until they both come undone, then he takes off your body, leaving you completely naked. His eyes are on yours as he moves his head down and finally connects his mouth to your soaking cunt.

You moan, your head hitting the car door as you throw it back. He licks and sucks your clit perfectly; he’s definitely done this before. When he moves his tongue down to your entrance, teasingly moving it in and out, his nose brushes your clit. Your thighs squeeze around his head, you lift your hips for more pressure. It feels so good, too good. Only five minutes go by and you can feel your orgasm approaching, you pull at his hair.

“Max- you should stop before I- before I cum,” you say, your breath ragged.

“Don’t you want to?” He asks after lifting his head.

“I want this to last longer, I don’t want it to be over yet,” you answer.

He smiles. “Who said it would be over after you cum once?”

Before you can reply he moves his head back down and continues his precious licks. You come undone within three minutes. He doesn’t stop, even as you cum. Your orgasm takes over your whole body, it makes you feel euphoric.

When he’s sure you're finished, he wipes his mouth on your thigh and moves back so he’s sitting on one of the seats. He removes his bathing suit before grabbing your ankles and pulling your body so you’re laid down on the seats. He climbs over you and meets your eyes for the hundredth time tonight.

“Are you on the pill?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it okay if I cum in you or do you still want me to pull out?”

Your stomach does a flip at his words. He’s the first guy to ask that after finding out you’re on the pill. You’ve never adored anyone more than him in this moment.

“You can do it inside,” you reply.

Max nods before pressing his lips to yours. You can taste yourself on his lips, it only makes you more turned on. You wrap your arms around his back, holding him close to you as he starts to rub his dick between your soaked folds. You bite down on your lips as his tip rubs against your clit, it feels incredible. But you want him inside you more. He must know this, because he positions himself at your entrance after a few seconds and starts to slowly move inside you.

He starts off with slow thrusts, helping you adjust to his size. Even with his slow pace you can’t help but bite down on his shoulder, the feeling of him inside you making your toes curl. Once you give him the okay, he starts to move faster, and after minutes he’s fucking you hard. You’re a moaning mess, your nails scratching down his back as he pounds into you harshly. Each thrust makes your eyes practically roll back into your skull, they’re so hard, so deep.

The air inside the car is warm, the windows fogged up. You know if anyone were to walk into the garage, they’d see it shaking. You almost scream when he starts to suck your neck, he finds your sweet spot quickly and settles on it. You touch his now sweaty curls and close your eyes, this is the best sex you’ve ever had, you don’t want it to ever end.

“Baby, I want you to ride me till I cum,” he whispers, his hot breath on your ear. “Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

He moves your position so that he’s sitting and you're straddling him, like you did in the front seat. You don’t waste a second to begin moving up, down, back, and forth on his dick, riding him the way you know guys like it. You watch his head fall back on the seat, your name leaving his lips in a voice that almost makes you cum right then and there. His hands grip your ass tight; you love the way it stings.

You kiss his lips, his jaw, his neck, each sound that leaves him a reward. Your second orgasm is approaching, you feel the tightening in your stomach. You hold back though; you want to feel him finish before you. Thankfully, your silent request comes sooner than you thought.

“Just like that, don’t stop, I’m gonna cum,” he mumbles. His eyes are closed and his head is still resting on the seat, you swear he’s the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen. “I’m so close- so fucking close.”

“Cum in me baby,” you say, and he does.

The feeling of his dick pulsing inside you is the last thing you can take, you let your orgasm take over too, the both of you cumming at the same time. You’re out of breath but you keep riding him until you’re positive he’s completely done. Once he is, you get off him and fall back on to the seat next to him. You’re sweaty and tired. You open the door next to you and breathe in the fresh air, it’s refreshing.

“Now two of your fluids have been on my backseat, that’s cool right?” Max says to break the silence.

You laugh. “Can you shut the fuck up?”

“Can I not be happy that your vomit and your cum has been where we’re sitting?”

“Please stop before more of my vomit is on your seats.”

“We should go swim, the fireworks are gonna start soon,” he mentions. You look at him and see he’s already redressing. He meets your eyes and pauses. “Unless you want to stay here which is fine too.”

“No, no, I want to go I just need a second, that was a workout,” you reply.

He grins and hands you back your clothing items, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Whatever you want y/n.”

~~~

The two of you are in the pool when Baja and Jake finally find you.

“So, you guys are acquainted again?” Baja asks as she lowers herself into the pool.

You and Max share a look before you answer her. “Yeah, you can say that.”

[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." 

[marchsfreakshow]

American Horror Story Masterlist

Tate Langdon:

The Locket With A Masquerade

Sad Goodbyes

The Original Nirvana

The Small Things

I Like Stories...

Kit Walker:

Quiet Boy 18+

Wounds And All

Lost In A Maze

Sweet Treats And Gentlemen

Kyle Spencer:

Words Are Overrated

Stubbornness

Reading This And That

Innocent Touch

Painting Rain

Heart To Heart

Jimmy Darling

Red Is My Favourite Colour

Sculpting Something More

It's A Sin

Watermelon Ice Cream 18+

Bewitching

James Patrick March

Memories Fading

Poems - 1 2 3 4 5 6

Dangerously Yours

My Sweet Girl 18+

Two Sweet Teeth

Inconsistencies (Part 2)

Clair De Lune

Stay In My Arms

That 80's Song

Heartache In Him

Nightshade

The Stage Is Yours

Opium And Monique Gibeau

Dreary Dreams In A Window

Nicknames And Praise 18+

Loving The Same

Why So Lonely Solitaire?

Need Me More 18+

Bloodthirsty And Lustful 18+

Having Their Fill [ft. The Countess]

Comforting A Murder 18+

Desperate Pain 18+

A Little Piece Of Heaven

Blood And Organs, For You

Familiarities Upon Death

False Protection

Adorations

Poems Of A Killer

Kai Anderson

Obsession Over Control 18+

Marionette

His Stalker 18+

Theatrics 18+

A Drug For His Heart

Withdrawals And Heartache

Austin Sommers

(all mostly 18+)

Austin Anon - His Rings / Bleeding Over His Rings / Sugar Daddy!Austin / Feeding Whilst Fucking / Sick!Reader / sick!Austin / Too Much blood / First Tasting

Austin x Werewolf - Dressing up / Using A Clicker / Werewolf husky scream / Incorrect Quotes / Social Media Posts / Annoyed Sex / Tail & Bondage / Vamp vs Wolf / Getting Praise / Pup Cup / Reading WIPs / Bath Sex / Mutual Masturbation / Thigh Riding / Dom Drop Austin / Vibe Change In Music

Dandy Mott

Never Leave

Seriously, Don't Cry

Can I Sew Into Your Heart?

Princesses Over Princes

Oh The Sleeping Beauty 18+

Loving The Fool

Such A Crybaby! [Seperate M.list]

You Over Her!

Scared And Red

Violet Harmon

Halloween Exploration

Sally Mckenna

Suprises Of Love

[icedheartss]

My whisper

[temporarywelcome]

toxic till the end - Tate Langdon

Words: 2.3k

Summary: your relationship with Tate was toxic till the end (inspired by the song "toxic till the end" by Rose`

CW: toxic!tate (ofc), mental health struggle mentions, reader is burnt out trying to help him (remember ya'll, in the end, put yourself first!), threatened sewerslide, Westfield incident, reader's mom is religious but it's barely mentioned

____

Dating Tate Langdon started off simple. It started off great, actually, amazing. 

Y/N was the first to make a move. He was seated alone in the cafeteria, listening to music with his discman when she slid into the seat in front of him. 

“Tate, right?” she began casually, picking at her nails in an attempt to appear cool and nonchalant. 

He plucked out an earbud, “Huh?”

“Your name is Tate, right?” she repeated.

“Oh,” he took out the other earbud, “Yeah… I’m Tate. And you’re Y/N.”

Y/N nodded, giving him a small smile, “Yeah, I’m Y/N. You’re cute, Tate,” she was a shameless flirt, what could she say? She wanted him, and she was determined to have him. 

His cheeks flushed slightly, corners of his lips curling into a grin, “You’re pretty,”

____

It was a pretty easy start.

Two days after that, the two of them were going out on a date, and soon they were officially a couple. Not only was it an easy start, it was an amazing start. Tate was so attentive to her needs and desires, always getting her these little handmade gifts and spending as much time with her as possible. 

And that soon became a problem. 

As her phone rang, she let out a tired groan, sitting up in bed and rubbing at her burning eyes before blindly swatting at it before she was able to pull it off of the receiver, “Hello?” 

“Did I wake you up?” she recognized that voice anywhere. 

“...Yes, Tate, it’s four in the morning. Some people like to sleep,” Y/N replied. She usually wasn’t so nasty to him, but he’s been calling almost every single night at this point. She just wanted a good fucking sleep. 

He was silent for a moment, “...are you mad at me?”

“Of course I’m fucking mad, it’s four in the fucking morning. Go to sleep,” 

“But… But I need you,” that was always his line. Whenever he knew she was going to hang out with friends he didn’t like (which was all of them), suddenly he was calling her with his big ass Moterola that he desperately needed to upgrade, telling her he was depressed and anxious and needed to be with her. And every time she would fall for it, cancelling her plans and running to him, just to realize he only said that so she would go to him. 

She knew what he was doing, yet she still ran to him every time. Every. Single. Time. 

And like every single time, she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, “Come over. I’ll unlock my window,”

“Thank you, babe!” he hung up right away, and she placed her phone back onto the receiver with a grumble. She wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight. 

As she stood up and unlocked the window, she wondered what it was going to be this time. His mom was being an asshole again. His grades were slipping. His dark thoughts were taking over. 

Y/N cared for his mental health greatly, but sometimes it was too much for her. Sometimes she felt like his mental health struggle was negatively effecting her own. 

There was also the possibility there was nothing wrong at all and he just wanted her attention. He always wanted her attention. It was a bit suffocating at times. 

Within a few minutes, her window was opened and the shadow of Tate’s lanky form appeared before her. She didn’t bother turning on her bedside lamp, she was tired. “Hey, baby,”

“Hi, babe!” he said excitedly, immediately kicking off her shoes. 

She should be pissed off, she really should, but she found herself scooting over so he could slide into the bed next to her. He turned so his back faced her, signalling what he wanted. 

Arms circling his waist, she pulled his back to her chest, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, “So, what’s wrong?”

He hummed in response, grabbing one of her hands and interwining their fingers, “I just wanted to see you,”

“At four in the morning?” 

“Mhm,” he replied, “I missed you,”

“I see you everyday, love,” 

“And? I still missed you,” he said simply.

Y/N didn’t respond, already starting to fall back asleep. Until he tightly squeezed her hand to wake her up. “Hmmmm…?”

“Why were you talking to Todd today?”

“Huh?”

She couldn’t see, but he was pouting, “Todd. I saw you talking to him in the hallway,” 

“Oh,” she yawned, “Yeah. We were talking about a project we have coming up,”

“I don't like that you're talking to him,” he mumbled, releasing her hand so he could turn to face her, “Don't talk to him anymore,”

“Tate, babe, he was just asking some questions,”

“Sure,” he rolled his eyes, “Don't trust that fucker, he just wants to get in your pants. He's using that project as an excuse,”

“And how do you know that?” She mused, beginning to play with his hair.

“I just do. Stop talking to him,” he huffed, nuzzling into her neck, “Please?”

“Okay,” she knew an argument would come if she told him no, so she just left it at that.

She lost so many friends for him. 

Tate smiled, pressing a kiss to her skin, “Thank you, babe,” He looked down at their intertwined fingers, noticing she was still wearing some of her rings, “You slept with your rings on?”

“Mmm,” Y/N mumbled, starting to drift off again, “...was tired,”

And so he plucked the rings off of her fingers, smirking as he slid them onto his own. He always liked to borrow her stuff, she was sure he was the reason so many of her hoodies were missing. So him taking her rings didn’t bother her, despite the fact they were Tiffany rings. Expensive ones she had gotten for her birthday once. He would give them back, he always did. Eventually. 

She never got the rings back.

___

A few days passed, and within those few days, things changed drastically. 

Well, nothing really changed between them. It was how Y/N reacted to said things. 

She was already annoyed with Tate’s behavior. She hasn’t slept properly in days at this point. Whether he just wanted her attention or was genuinely struggling, she was the one who had to be there for him. 

Like right now. 

He was sobbing, curled up in her arms as they laid on her bed together once again. She felt awful for feeling this way. She felt awful for being annoyed. She hated seeing him so upset, and always tried her best to console him, always getting nowhere. It was draining. 

How much was too much? Y/N was constantly depressed because he was constantly depressed. How much more could she take? 

“Y/N…” he mumbled after a while, face still buried in her neck. 

“Yeah, baby?”

“Why won’t you comfort me anymore?” 

She paused, biting her bottom lip. She could feel his eyes on her as he tilted his head up slightly, his lip trembling and his face all red and blotchy. He was right, she had barely spoken since he had gotten there. Just rubbing his back in silence. 

When she didn’t respond, Tate sat up, “Y/N…”

“Hm?” she said dumbly.

“Y-You’re acting different,” he was starting to tear up again, “You’re acting different with me. What am I d-doing wrong?”

“Nothing, baby,” she just didn’t have it in her to defend herself. It was almost five thirty in the morning, she honestly just wanted him to fucking leave. 

His hands went to her shoulders, blunt nails digging into her skin, “What i-is it? What’s wrong with m-me? Just tell me!” 

Fuck. 

Why did she stay silent on her problems this whole time? Why didn’t she just tell him how she felt? Why put them both through this?

“I can’t do this anymore,” There. Done. She said it. 

And regretted it as soon as she saw his face completely crumble. 

“Wh-What?” Tate whispered, pulling away. His eyes looked wild, darting around the room as his chest rose and fell repeatedly. He was seconds away from hysterical. “I’m crying about my f-family problems and my depression an-and you decide you want to leave me?!” 

Well when you say it like that…

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

She groaned, pressing her face into her hands, “Tate-”

“-You’re not even calling me baby anymore!” he gasped. He scrambled off of the bed, looking down at her in both desperation and rage, “I didn’t do anything wrong! I thought you loved me!” 

“I do love you!” she whisper-yelled, not wanting to wake up her parents who would definitely be pissed if they found out Tate was in the room with her. “But am I not allowed to love myself too? This is stressful for me! I can’t do this anymore,” 

“Stressful for you, huh? Imagine how I feel,” he scoffed, “I’m the one going through it,” Crossing his arms over his chest, he began pacing the room, trying to hide the trembling in his hands. 

“But you always dump it on me! Don’t you ever think about how that affects me?” She could already feel another argument coming. They were arguing literally two days ago. 

“I always listen to you when you’re upset about s-something!” as he spoke, he pointed an accusing finger at her. Like she was the problem. “Why is it so hard for you to comfort me? Do you not care about me anymore?”

God she felt like crying now too. 

“I do care about you, Tate, but I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep hurting myself trying to help you,” she sighed, standing up as well. She reached out to him but he shrank away, as if she were poisonous. “I think it’s best we broke up. I’m so sorry,” she couldn’t even say an “it’s not you, it’s me,” because it entirely was because of him. 

He was hysterical now, tugging at his blonde hair in stress, “No! No, you can’t do this to me!” he shouted, definitely going to wake up the whole house at this point, “I can’t live without you!”

“Tate, please, don’t be like this-”

“No!” To her surprise, he swatted at the lamp on her nightstand, causing it to shatter, “If you leave me I’ll fucking kill myself, I swear to God. I’ll kill myself. And it’ll be all your fault!”

…what?

“You can’t be serious,” she gasped, “You’re being serious right now?! Trying to guilt-trip me into staying with you?”

“No! Fuck you!” he snapped, “I’m just telling you the truth! I’ll kill myself, you fucking bitch!” 

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Y/N finally shouted. Tate was already marching towards the window as she yelled, finally letting out her own anger. “You’re not even fucking trying to fix anything! Fuck you!” 

There was a loud knock on her door, making her jump. Fuck. Someone was awake. She was fucked. 

“Get the fuck out,” she practically shoved him out of the window. 

“Y/N, what is going on in there?!” her mother called from the other side of the tour.

“Coming, Mom!” she called, watching as Tate climbed down the tree by her window. Once his feet touched the grass, he looked up at her, angrily giving two middle fingers. 

Things always ended like this. And they always started right back up when he knocks on her window the next day like he always fucking did, with a bouquet of flowers or vinyls of the artists she liked. 

She always took him back. 

Shit. 

___

He did not come knocking on her window.

He did not come with flowers or vinyls or chocolates or any sort of peace offerings. 

The relationship was truly over. 

She thought the first few days would be terrible. 

She thought she would spend each day sobbing in her room and forcing herself to go to school. She thought she would be in complete misery thinking about Tate and their ended relationship. 

That was far from the truth.

Even on the first day, she was like a brand new woman. 

There was no one clinging onto her the whole entire day. No one forcing her to not hang out with her own friends. And certainly no little bitch in her ear telling her to wake up in the middle of the fucking night. 

It was fucking amazing. 

And Tate was alive and well (or more, alive and pissed), still going to classes and being his brooding self. 

So she didn’t expect the news. 

Every year, she and her family would take a short road trip during the school year to her grandmother’s house for her birthday. This year was her 71st. 

Tate knew this. Perhaps he planned it all out on purpose. 

Perhaps he knew after Y/N’s grandmother blew out the candles and the happy family ate cake, Y/N would turn on the television in the living room, flicking through channels. 

And stumbling upon the news. 

Westfield Shooting - Shooter Identified!

What? She missed one fucking day of school and this happened?

“Mom! Look at this!” she exclaimed, beckoning her mother to the living room. Since she was seated next to her comatose father, she shook him awake. 

“Oh my,” her mother gasped, hand going to her mouth as she watched he incident, “Thank the Lord you weren’t there-”

Then they saw who the shooter was. 

Last year’s yearbook photo of a charming young man with curly blonde hair and cute dimples. Eyes almost black. Tate Langdon. 

Holy shit.

Yes, perhaps Tate did do this on purpose. Perhaps he did, because when Y/N returned home, she was gifted a note from Tate’s mother, Constance. It came as a shock to her, considering she and Constance didn’t get along, for the simple fact Constance and Tate did not get along. 

Yet Constance Langdon handed over a handwritten note from her son, saying it was for Y/N to read. 

And so she did. And cried.  

“Dear Y/N,

This is all your fault ♡”

____