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feefymo · 3 months

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Heart Deco; James Patrick MarchxF!Reader

summary: James Patrick March is still alive and well. Prohibition reigns but he doesn't conform to the rules. With the intention of satisfying his alcoholic whim, he will make your acquaintance.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 5953 words | murder, sex, violence, blood... it would be easier to indicate what is free of warnings!

a/n: little reminder that English is not my mother language so be gentle, please! I hope you'll enjoy this... long thing(!!!), especially @taintandviolent , to whom I want to dedicate it. Bye, little hummingbirds!

Year 1926.

Prohibition dried up the throats of Americans. It spread like a stinging disease, too bad James Patrick March liked the itch. He knew not to scratch but he hated the restrictions, so he was ready to relieve the tingling with a metal rake if necessary - even if it wasn't, in fact. If you're reading this, you know James Patrick March's special habits: he was a serial killer of the worst kind, sure. But that doesn't mean he didn't indulge in "surface" pleasures as well. Gentleman's pleasures, denied by society but still more accessible to the higher ranks. What hypocrisy! James, still alive and well, had received a tip-off and so here he was, heading to his car with fascinating cunning. Delighted by the pale sun that hit his figure, he was preparing to leave, arousing the interest of the ladies and the envy of some gentlemen. He knew the destination: he had decided to go to an isolated distillery in Calico, Ghost Town. A Sunday concession that brazenly opposed religious objections: a pair of sunglasses and the magical disappearance of the car hood were enough. James felt he was being watched, his ego picked up the signals and basked in it. At the same time, Mr. March succeeded in the fleeting attempt of not giving importance to anyone among those who remained entangled in his less dangerous net. Therefore, he set off enjoying the feeling of leaving anyone who bored him behind, there, to get intoxicated in the cloud generated by the exhaust pipe of his car.

The distillery stuck out of nowhere like the only tooth left in a homeless man: rotting, decadent, a building whose exterior was so ugly and run down that it aroused very little suspicion in the rare customers who passed by. For James, however, it was a picnic like any other that didn't affect his ginger mood at all. Indeed, the darker side of his spirit gradually took over, hoping to get much more than a sip of alcohol.

"Mr. March, it's a pleasure to have you here. We've heard about you!" "We've heard great things about you!" Mrs. Holland entered, interrupting her husband. The couple, too warm in their welcome for what James knew about the Dutch, stumped him with idle chatter. Pleasantries, useful insights into his constant thirst for blood which, if he wanted, he could have indulged in the blink of an eye. The man, treated with kid gloves, observed the two foreigners taking turns and competing to see who could best ingratiate him. For his part, the owner of the Hotel Cortez was experiencing a strong intolerance that he would keep at bay for a little while longer, behind a pair of wide, black eyes. Behind a plastic smile that his mustache shaded with surgical precision. While the types of alcohol available were explained to him, James soon realized that he was once again afflicted by the disease of boredom. A boredom that took him down, down, down into a spiral void that met and matched his homicidal instincts. Then came a first taste and his expression lit up faintly: "Aaah!" he croaked smugly, glancing at the bottom of the glass. "I was just impatient to savor what you praise so much." he turned on his heels with a movement tinged with theatricality, determined to take his own space and explore that dusty labyrinth of barrels and bottles.

He needed to stifle his bloody impulses out of mere opportunism and staying close to Mr and Mrs Holland made it unbearable. Almost impossible. So, whistling a dark tune that made him a recognizable target, he continued as if he were at home until a staircase aroused his feline curiosity. "Oh, it goes even lower! Are you perhaps going to distill all the way to Hell?" the man joked before biting the dusty air and performing a sizzling descent into the underworld. He wasn't greeted by a very different scenario, except for one detail that took his breath away once he understood it in its entirety. An arch had been carved into the wall in front of him. A blasphemous niche, made inaccessible by the glass that separated its "contents" from the rest of the distillery.

The content in question? You. Just you: disheveled, wild, ethereal. An otherworldly creature yet so seemingly fallible. Fragile and candid. You sat backwards on an old wooden chair, dressed only in a long cream-colored nightgown. In the center of the chest, sewn onto it, was a very red anatomical heart detailed with inlays and disturbing sparkles. Clinging to the back of the chair, you seemed twisted like the trunk of an olive tree to study the intruder without your expression being able to be deciphered.

For his part, James had been pierced in the chest by the poisoned arrow of a corrupt Cupid. Still, in a sculpted dictator pose, James let your bottled essence seep and nourish him. It seeped into his veins and electrified his brain. He gave you a stunned expression, as if your existence were an irreparable disgrace. "Well I'll be blessedly darned."

"Ah, you have found our Heart Deco." Mr. Holland congratulated, as if it were a treasure hunt. "We brought a gem from Amsterdam." The owner of the shack was pleased with the way James reacted to that vision: no judgement, no disappointment, no threat of turning to the police. What a morally healthy person would have found disgraceful at the very least, aroused in James an atavistic energy that he was just channeling onto this Heart Deco in its entirety.

It was as if Mr and Mrs Holland had totally disappeared from the planet: they spoke to him but James didn't turn around. His attitude had changed, he excluded them. He barely moved from the spot where he was pinned to observe and study you maniacally. For your part, you didn't show any kind of reaction: you didn't seem scared or infatuated. Curious, perhaps. You returned that oily look with equal intrusiveness. Imprudence, perhaps. There was something profoundly naive about you but that naivety was polluted and James picked up on it. He could feel it and appreciate it greatly. That day, he suddenly decided to turn his back on you, as if he had been burned by the mere image of you.

However, he returned. He came back and came back and came back. "Leave us alone." he commanded, his voice no longer composed solely of velvet but also of nails. A multitude of rusty nails. Your meetings, on the surface, were similar. Beneath the surface, something different, growing and perverse simmered more and more. James' ritual was always more or less the same: he also used a chair very similar to yours. It moved slowly, as if you weren't trapped and could escape.

He perceived you as wild and he was right. He sat calmly, sipped his cordial and smoked. Slowly. He stared at you like an artist stares at his unfinished work for hours, searching for the detail that would make it perfect. That same search afflicted James like a disease and made him more and more frustrated. By now, you were able to notice it from small details such as the pulsation of the jaw or the dilation of the nostrils. The very black, compact tuft that fell on his forehead and the pallor that increased on his marble face. You could even glimpse the muscles underneath his clothes so much so that, one day, you stood up.

You took him by surprise, forcing him to straighten his posture and roll his eyes. A few centimeters from the obstacle that separated you, you waited for him until he understood and stood up to meet you. Dazzled by your presence, he would have drawn a hundred fountains of childish blood just to hear you speak and his anticipation grew. It modeled his facial expressions, increased his breathing. In fact, you opened your mouth but to breathe on the glass and plant a kiss on it while your left hand slid in a squeaking sound until it rubbed at the crotch of James' pants.

There was no contact that wasn't imaginary, and yet, the man's erection grew instantly. James exhaled a tremulous sigh as he rested his forehead on the cool surface; he almost didn't notice that he had pushed himself against the glass to rub his cock against it. An uncomfortable, unsatisfying yet necessary friction. It hurt, it tugged at the intimacy of his skin but this increased his raging pleasure. He hated you and, at the same time, he depended on you. From the question he asked himself: "how fast does his heart beat?"

With a fist, he hit the divider and retreated but you were able to cut off his fury by holding on to the long pearly skirt of your dress. Wrinkle after wrinkle, you picked it up, revealing your legs and, after a few seconds, your pussy. Wet and luminous, you pressed her against the glass as well as your breasts hidden by almost transparent fabric. So, James fell to his knees with an expression halfway between disdainful and subjugated, venerating what you conveyed. "Oh, my precious creature…" he opened his jaws and licked nothing as if it were your cunt. He followed the lines of your crotch and worked his way into your tender center. His destiny was already written: he would eternally remain a murderer with the spasmodic urgency of authentic love. Devoted, if not downright submissive.

///

"And yet, we were convinced that you were interested in alcohol. You're ruining us like this!"

"If I really wanted to ruin your suffocating rat existence, I would already have burned you alive in this building. Without wasting even an ounce of creativity on it."

"Please, Mr. March. Leave these grotesque jokes aside. It's not something we can afford to give up!"

"Indeed. It's not a 'thing'… and neither of you take me seriously."

"You force me to be adamant, March: Heart Deco will not go away with you, that's out of the question."

"Adamant, you say? Mh! My dear gentleman, this negotiation has become very tedious and time, alas, is a tyrant. I apologize if the request has got you so… tangled up. On the other hand, you two are not even compelling interlocutors, therefore, thank you. Ad majora! If you allow…"

Errare humanum est, perseverare autem diabolicum. To err is human, but to persevere is diabolical, asserted Augustine of Hippo. And the Dutch had erred while James merely persevered. He traced his allegorical crop circles, pointing out the obvious, in reverse, on the only Bible he has left. What the couple had taken as a joke in bad taste, accidentally exploded together with their Ghost Town and without Heart Deco inside. Heart Deco, you, had sped away together with James, in the car that would take you to the Hotel Cortez. A silent but vibrant journey of adrenaline that, in different ways, you shared electrifying the road.

///

"Mr. March? Mr. March, wait!" a small nervous looking man chased James until he caught up with him but James didn't stop walking along one of the corridors on the first floor of the Cortez. "Forgive me Mr. Shaffer, I am desolated but, as you see, I have an unbreakable commitment." the owner of the hotel began by pronouncing his words. He sped up his march in long, elegant strides that distanced him from any mix-up. For his part, the little man in question was responsible for managing some projects relating to the building and, although he was intimidated by the figure of the other, he tried to insist: - But Mr. March, I need… -

"I must ponder, inept!" James interrupted him with a theatrical gesture of his hand, as if to chase away an insistent fly. "I'm not convinced about the color of the pool lining." he murmured with a caricatured thoughtful expression: although he seemed to be addressing someone, he was talking to himself, appearing and disappearing among the cones of light emanating from the walls. "Cerulean or Powder Blue? Cerulean or Powder Blue?" captured by that Hamlet-like doubt, James stroked his mustache and continued in his vicious circle. Mr. Shaffer stopped, dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief and took a breath but the hotelier burst out: "PALE TURQUOISE! … Perhaps." and then he disappeared, swallowed up by the dark secrets of Cortez. One, in particular, who fed his blood with trepidation.

///

Click.

Your breath flickered like a fish, simultaneously with the sound of a pause being pressed. Gradually, the huge room you had been led into began to light up. Small detail of no small importance: you could perceive the light but you still didn't know where you were because you were blindfolded. Blindfolded and with your wrists secured to two heavy iron rings stuck in the floor. Only later, you would discover that there were many others around you. Meanwhile, they kept your arms slightly open at the sides of your torso, in a gesture of false welcome. You remained still as long as you could, then you started to get agitated and not with the aim of escape. You fretted, smiling left and right in hopes of receiving more clues. "Mister… Mr. March?" you ventured, boldly, without receiving an answer. At least not immediately because, shortly after, the echo of slow footsteps began to spread and allow you to guess the owner of the shoes.

"Oh, but look at this. Look at yourself." the man began, as if it wasn't him who placed you at the bottom (extremely deep) of the indoor pool. "You are the Emperor's Nightingale, aren't you? I have always asked myself numerous questions about that fairy tale." James spoke, syrupy, feline and you heard him far away. You felt him close. You felt it everywhere, yet not there with you. "Freedom. A golden cage and no hunter will ever slaughter him. But if a mechanical bird takes over, precious, tireless, without feelings… what do I do with anything else? The mortal one?" a metallic noise interrupted James' prayer for a few eternal moments and a sense of bewilderment assailed you. "There, there dear: I'm here, with you. Who are you?" the strides lengthened and the man reached you, crouching in front of you. Despite exuding the heat of a living being, a drop of icy sweat ran down your vertebrae as if they were stairs. "Are you the living nightingale or the mechanical one? - it came naturally to you to make a gesture in support of your prompt response but this reminded you that you couldn't move your arms.

On the other hand, James was already thinking about it: you could smell the stupefying scent. The alcoholic notes on his breath that blended masterfully with the cologne he was wearing. Which he would soon impregnate you with. "Come closer. Come closer and feel how my heart beats, my Emperor." at that point James took a sharp breath through his nostrils and moved quickly against your chest, to make sure you weren't lying. To make sure there were no squeaky gears inside you. He was a serial killer and not a watchmaker for a reason. So, combined with the palpitations with which you were spoiling him, the man expressed himself in a low moan that was the soundtrack to his hands. He kept them open, caressing your nipples until they became hard enough to scrawl his palms. At that point, he grabbed both of your breasts, pressing his nose between them. You felt the ring he wore on his little finger create an inlay in your flesh and it was a pain that didn't seem enough. "Your ventricles flutter like little wings. Delicious." he noted, panting between his teeth, before grabbing the blindfold over your eyes and slowly but firmly pulling it down. "Good evening, my darling." James greeted slyly, tilting his head perfectly nestled in the hair jelly. A grin opened slowly, like a fan of premises to which you responded with a reverential nod. "Ooh, I like women who are a little formal and have hard nipples. How do you know it? You read my mind, maybe?" James, kneeling between your thighs, straightened his back in order to rummage through his kit.

“Are you going to kill me, Mr. March?” you asked without fear of the answer you would get, so his night gaze darted onto you. "I have the impression that it will entertain you more if I don't reveal it. " quick and imperative, he grabbed your ankle so that it rested on his shoulder and the fabric of the dress slipped, revealing a calf caressed by thick, weak and pale hair. Mr. March didn't care at all if and how much hair covered your gorgeous body, he was already incredibly aroused but he found it useful. They tested his lucidity like Russian roulette. Then, he began to touch your leg with the solemn touch of someone who comes across the fleece of some Greek deity; so typical of James. A master in veneration as well as in sugarcoating the pill. That could mean a night of his more conventional devotion to you or the calm before a storm.

Seeing the sparkle you saw in his fist, a tangle of dread expanded in your stomach. James held a razor in his hand. From the kit, he had taken only that. He slowly raised it so that you could get into visual confidence while he bent over your leg, lightly rubbed one cheekbone and then began to lick it in long stripes down to the knee. His irises, wells of black water, stared at your face, becoming opaque with growing eagerness. "Sometimes the pen hurts more than the blade… do you agree?" James asked in a slightly contemptuous whisper. Swallowing before going back to licking you. He stared at you expectantly, in a position that made his trousers extremely constricting. “Do you want the honest answer or the one you would like to hear?” your ulterior question bounced off the sinister and apparently pleased grin of the man, who snapped the blade and passed it over the (deliberately) insufficient layer of saliva. Once, twice, three times: the aim was not to shave you but to exhaust the viscosity and make you react to the burning. Craving it with the composure of a heartfelt gentleman, until you tried to withdraw and his grip became steel. James' idolatry of blood, your blood, could be read in his expression: "Oh, look at you Deco: I was so certain of your merit." Tiny blood gems decorated you like aristocratic stockings and, for each one, you suffered a little. However, the presence of James Patrick March continued to dominate the rest and your body, which reacted with pleasure.

The luck inherent in that individual lay in his wearing of many masks. Every day a different James, always methodical and lethal but often subject to boredom. He also put your other leg on his shoulder but he wasn't going to torture it, the idea had already tired him - exactly. He would bend over, literally lay between your limbs as the wrinkles in your robe rose and pooled on your contracted belly. Semi-prone, he seemed ready to swim in the absence of water, but instead, he gave himself the momentum to catch you by surprise and lift you up. Pushing yourself off the ground, more than half of your body was raised to his will. He had taken you away from the Dutch couple but not to free you. He had moved you from one prison to another, however, you loved every bar of this one. You stared at your warder with languor in your eye sockets: it seemed that his finely drawn lips were now made up with the blood you gracefully shed. He, however, did not return the gaze: ensnared by your shiny pussy, he had actually made sure of the absence of underwear. You weren't wearing any and it was as if your wetness were reflected shimmering in his dilated pupils; surrounded by the tiny splashes of blood now transferred to his facial features like freckles. He was exasperating you: he studied your sex with growing veneration but only his breath deigned to barely touch it.

"Mr. March… ?"

"What, my dear?"

"Please…"

"What. My dear."

“If you free my wrists, what can I offer you in return?”

Slowly, softly, James's frown became…pitying. He cocked his head to one side again and his eyebrows curved downwards. A vibrant "aaaw" tickled his whiskers. Whether it was a joke or not you wouldn't have been able to define it, especially since his aura made you numb. You were the clew of a sagacious cat whose canines terrified you more than the razor.

"As much as I love seeing your waiting cunt cry…" Mr. March could utter iniquities as if they were arabesques on silk. The premise sounded sinister and tempting: the ellipses were filled by the intrusion of his thumb, which approached your clit but circumnavigated it. It descended in two parentheses between the labia, then collected your juice with the linearity of a surgeon. You meweld impatiently and your thighs trembled. "…I don't see why not." he was indulging you and, even if you trusted him like a scrap of velvet decorated with splinters and glass dust, you couldn't help but rejoice.

"Of course, an exchange is an exchange. Calling it a "barter" sounds higly vulgar to me, so let's see…" he proceeded, crawling against your shaken torso until he stopped near your left breast. He caressed the nipple with a kiss before unsheathing the razor and cutting the edge of the areola in a dry line. Immediately, his mouth returned to collect the blood that rained down along with your squeal. He drank like Romulus with the She-Wolf, at the dawn of the birth of Rome. His eyeballs rolled, showing clearly visible capillaries. In raptures, he insisted on the wave of your snorts and your truncated syllables. As soon as he freed the first wrist, you brought your hand to his hair and, between spite and passion, closed it into a fist. You messed them up and tugged at them, eliciting a joyful, guttural laugh from the man's throat. "Some… milk is a fair price, don't you think? A favorable price." he had transformed you into the mother of sin. That milk had corrupted him and you, under hypnosis, were grateful for it. Electric, you closed like an oyster around him, licking away the crimson traces from his lips that had become your slave. The man's euphoria in seeing you as an accomplice, not at all impressionable, began to crumble his staid movements.

You were quickly reaching the same overwhelming rhythm of desires to express and this was underlined by a kiss that he dared first. His tongue, cryptic, pushed past your teeth in search of its twin. It swirled around it with the exasperation of a lightning-fast, toxic, iron-like love, bringing with it a long, hoarse groan. His beastly verse got caught in your throat and mixed with the notes you sang. Messyly, you grabbed onto James' suspenders and tugged on them in an attempt not to break the now soaked kiss. For his part, Mr. March stepped back with an air of surrender and opened his trousers. He lay down at the bottom of the pool with the sole purpose of dragging you onto him with primordial ardor. His grip on your hips was as merciless as that of a pincer: he was the one orchestrating your movements. The rubbing of the sexes, still hindered by his underwear.

“Are you confused, little creature?” he murmured, like a breathless movie actor. He smiled, though. He experimented, he pressed you against the veins of his cock in a shameless but still elegant dance. He raised his pelvis, rubbing his length between your melting folds. You, sometimes exasperated by the adrenaline rushes that James inflicted on you, tried to unbutton his shirt. "Do you wonder if… I will make love to you like a gentleman or… hm! Like a criminal?" with an abrupt interruption, he slide between your legs until his face could rest between them. “Should I treat you like a goddess or a prostitute?” he spoke deliberately close to your femininity, meeting it in a lustful stroke that turned into wide, slow lapping. He stared at you; he wanted a dirty answer of your reactions to his impromptu meal. He was entranced by the taste of you and he let you know by the moan that preceded the action of his right arm. He grabbed you by the throat but tightened like an hedcherkief.

"I can be… I can… a Greek goddess or not… there will be no difference between grace and dissoluten- oh James… James!" your desire to argue was overwhelmed by the pleasure offered to you. James had understood what you were trying to say and, appreciating your fine brain, had intensified his care. Small flicks of his tongue tapped on your clit, alternating with sucking. He stuck his tongue as deep as he could, fucking you through it before returning to the tangle of nerves. The middle finger took over immediately below and, shortly after, the ring finger. A cry strangled you and you almost lost your balance but the man bent a knee so you could lean against it. You swayed against his face and his fingers in blind desperation, so much so that you spontaneously grabbed the razor abandoned near you. James didn't feel threatened, on the contrary, he let you do it by curving his phalanges and detaching his mouth from your cunt from time to time, to observe how you melted on him. He stretched his solid neck, grinning with exposed fangs and nodding. He followed your moans but without adding sound; the wet chin jutted out and the nostrils dilated.

"Are you a mirage? Hm, are you darling? Prove to me that you're not at all…" you both knew what that meant. The grip around your slender neck intensified and the fingers, inside you up to the knuckles, became ever so slightly faster. Unstoppable like Mr. March's tongue that tirelessly slapped your clit until you heard yourself scream. Your sex pulsating furiously around the offending phalanges, dripping with scorching juices. For a moment you thought you would never recover. It certainly wasn't your first orgasm but you had never, ever experienced one like it and, at the mercy of delirium, you moved your right arm to the left and then quickly returned to the right and thus opened a cut in your lover's cheek. - HA-A! -the hotelier let out a long baritone growl bringing his hand, made slippery by your orgasm, to the wound. He stared at you with his eyeballs poised in their sockets, a furious bull who almost came in his own pants. Disoriented, you felt the need to rest that fought with the expectation of continuing and facing the consequences. You felt James Patrick March's impatience bubbling beneath you as before Pompeii was submerged by lava and you would not disappoint his expectations. Not after seeing him slowly lead the weapon of your defeat to his jaws to test it. Cleaning it of suspicious evidence as he scrutinized you and red flowed from his face. You curled up and licked it.

You looked like a dying candle and the dress contributed to the image, so you raised yourself on tremulous limbs and let it slide over the feline figure of your lover. Completely naked, you allowed yourself to look him up and down, still dripping onto his designer clothes. Juices, blood, tears, sweat. This created a growl in the back of his throat and he decided to get on his knees in front of you. Just like when a glass obstacle separated you. You preceded him, going back down and emulating his position before bending over at his crotch and unsheathing his thick cock. While you were admiring it, the owner of the Cortez proved to be prepared: he equipped himself with a cigarette. He turned it on and he took a greed drag from it. "You're also a warrior, then." The fact that he appeared relaxed was false, however, he guided his figure in sinuous nods that untangled your hair. He caressed your cheek before his cock was grabbed at the base and gently slammed against your cheekbone. Next, the tip passed over your lip perimeter like an obscene lipstick: consumed by haste, you tried to interrupt James but he hit you again with his cock. Harder. "Ah-ah-ah… greedy." he scolded in a grainy voice, as if he wasn't the first to have an insatiable hunger. In a mock bored manner he began to masturbate, his fist away from your initiatives: "Okay, lost creature: eat." March spelled out the order disguised as an invitation, slightly hunched over, before gathering your hair and giving you the go-ahead. You, out of breath, limited yourself to titillating only the frenulum, forcing James to stiffen like a statue of Italian marble.

"I am capable, Sir." you announced with renewed confidence, insisting on that very thin strip of skin. "I know how to pleasure a man with my mouth" you added, hotly, starting to dedicate yourself in great detail to the entire tip of the length. "And with the blade." James added as he studied you with clenched teeth around the cigarette filter, but his eyelids swayed heavily on his voluptuous gaze. Heart Deco, your stage name, emerged more and more from your arched body so that your captor's attention slid down your back to the roundness of your buttocks. "I know how to give an unforgettable blowjob." the punctuation of your provocation was replaced by March's dry groan. You began to repaint each raised vein with saliva, until you deemed it appropriate to go further. You began to swallow James's sex inch by inch, gradually. At the same time, your lover's no longer immaculate shirt fell from his muscular shoulders. He exhaled smoke like a dragon, taking a plastic pose as he held up what was left of the cigarette. Upwards, like a kind of torch to illuminate your sensuality. "Everything, Deco. Swallow it all. More. Mmmmore." declared the rich American, wetting his lips. "I believe you." he added hoarsely, blowing out a nicotine moan that accompanied his hand among your rebellious locks. He forced himself, thrusting his hips forward with the bluntness of a stab. The now extinct cigarette butt fell next to you as you expertly suppressed a retch. Your left palm crashed into James Patrick March's abdomen, enticing him to hold you by the skull. To ruffle you, indulge you…

He didn't warn you. He pulled back and positioned himself behind you in the span of an instant; you almost struggled to realize it. You preferred not to turn around, in fact, the sensation benefited you: now beyond your endurance limit, Mr. March grabbed you under the ribs and entered you in a tearing way. He remained still for a few seconds, exhaling ragged breaths and enjoying the suffocating welcome of your pussy. This allowed you to get used to it before the man began to pound you with the impetuosity of someone who discovers Eros giving in to Thanatos.

"OH MY GOD!" you yelped, snapping your head towards the kidnapper. You found him already looking at you with a pitch black strand cutting his forehead in two. With a caressing movement he pulled you up and leaned close to your ear: "Call upon me, not him: I killed God some time ago." what he said, how he said it, only made you more excited and needy. While he fucked you, vigorously massaging your breasts, you found purchase in his clean-shaven nape, naming him. Making you an echo of yourself. After a while, he responded to you with a roar and walked out of you gracelessly. He forced you to stand up and slammed you against the pool wall. You felt like an orphan but not for long because James came back to fill you, taking the breath away from both of you. Still between your walls moisted with longing, he brought your arms up. Up, up, up in a double and lascivious caress due to which you found yourself tied by the wrists again. You were the longest hand on a clock that now showed another hour.

"Please, James. Can you… hurt me? Can you do me ah-more? More? I'm begging you."

"If I can?" a sharp laugh filled your ear as he backed away with the aim of thrusting back into you like a slamming iron door. "I must." he huffed, continuing to push and push and push. His teeth clinging to the flesh in the crook of your neck: he was now transfigured into a pure beast, his claws stuck in your buttocks as he spread you apart with the sole imposition of his body. He wasn't a stingy or selfish lover, he had proven that to you. Now, however, his hasty descent into the Underworld of an unhealthy form of enjoyment was evident. You were his deadly river. You were his Styx and he had nothing but delirious, hissed compliments for you. One for each thrust into your now happily broken body. He squeezed your hands into fists and you, smiling, cried.

It was when an inhuman noise gradually exploded from James' lungs enough to fill the pool that he pressed his hot seed into your pussy. You, shocked, touched erotic epilepsy through his ecstasy. The tendons in his red neck ready to snap like whips as "Mr. Cortez's" knees buckled in a little snap and his temples threatened to explode. He directed his growl first at the blasphemed God then, with a movement of his head, at his mentor Demon. He fucked you beyond the climax until he suddenly stepped aside and staggered. He stepped back, trying to focus on you as a whole with the tip of his tongue at the corner of his swollen mouth. He nodded. He laughed, softly at first, but you only understood when his shoe hit the ground and made a watery sound. Now that he was settling down very calmly, March's laughter was louder and more theatrical: he was filling the tub and you were tied up. And even if you weren't, you couldn't swim. The color given to your cheeks by sex disappeared, turning into grey. Without the strength to struggle or the saliva to soothe your throat, you simply stared at your tormentor in astonishment. He approached you one last time, gently grabbing you by the chin and bringing your gaze up to his. He kissed you with the sweetness of a good and normal man.

“I could ennoble you with purpose.” James stated from an iron ladder, as if there were an audience watching the scene. "A subversive purpose: the end of Prohibition in America! AH! I could leave you here, soaking in water like the forbidden fruit that rots to transform into something far more diabolical. You could become the secret ingredient in my personal liquor." he insisted lewdly. Subtly morbid but blatantly thoughtful. From the opposite side of the pool, along its decorated edge, he watched you smugly as the water level rose. To the even number of jets, the same number were added. “Let me stay and look at you. Let me… think about it some more. Maybe-maybe, instead, you deserve our hearts hammering together…”

The degree of your agony would have increased along with the pure bliss of the memory. The ghost of James Patrick March's body, still stuck inside you. His cum still dripping down your thighs. His earthly version that studied you and, sadistically, toyed with your life. For you, nothing would have made more sense within the screaming walls of the Hotel Cortez.

"Oh, darling? I really need some advice." James awoke, as if from a long torpor and he grinned. "What color would you make this pool?"

taglist: @silverzoomies @doll3tt33 @wh0re43van @fear-is-truth @lacucarachapisser @nahoyasboyfriend @marchsfreakshow @coentinim (I took the liberty of tagging you but, if you prefer to avoid it, let me know! This tagging thing is unngfhdidsj ouff)

#american horror story #evan peters fanfic #james patrick march #ahs hotel #james patrick march fanfiction #nswf content #reblog if you like it!#feefymo #the fic is not a request

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ioniansunsets · 11 months

Note

we need more Heartsteel!Kayn scenarios with f!reader!!!

✖ Heartsteel!Kayn Seeing You in the Audience ✖

✖ Word Count: 701

✖ Tags: Established R/S

✖ A/N: I GOT YOU ANON. This is a continuation from the previous ask about Kayn here. Hope its still just as cute.

----

After that night you never heard that song again, Kayn promised it was still in the works. That he would let you hear it when it was done and no earlier. You teased him of course, weeks went by you almost forgot about it. If he said you would hear it when it was time then you'd leave the topic alone till then.

Then time came for his small solo concert, a nice weekend night at a local stage, you were in the mosh pits, right in front, cheering and screaming. Even if you were his partner first, you were his number one fan second. You were here to support him. As you cheered, Kayn said he was introducing a new song! How exciting!

Wait...a new song? The new song?!

You cheer harder, Kayn glances at you, as his eyes meet yours he gives the crowd his biggest cocky grin sending all his fans into a frenzy. Blowing the crowd (you) a kiss, he laughs.

" This one is for all my fans, what is this? A love song? From me? Hell yeah. You guys know this is special."

The screams in the crowd were almost deafening. Your face already tinged pink knowing this was going to be about you, the way his eyes stayed watched you as he spoke about how the song was special. Your heart flutters. As you clutched your purple lightstick, you cheered on, excited for the theatrics.

The lights darkened again, a sick guitar solo from Kayn as the backing track plays. The tune so familiar, yet, he did keep working on it so it was different. It was ethereal. The music, the lights, the way you watched him move on stage. His fingers clutched tight around his guitar pick as he plays the riff you remember him humming.

The crowd faded away slowly, all you could hear was his voice and the music from the stage. Your heart thumped away from the adrenaline of the concert, and from the way he would sneak glances at you during the rap verse, trying to see if you were impressed. It was about you. This really was your song! You blush harder as you see Kayn's soft smile while he sings the final chorus, an expression that rarely appears. The crowd going wild again seeing him this way. But for you, you were silent, smiling hard, a warm feeling in your chest. It was an experience like no other, never had he made you feel this way from the stage. The rest of the concert went by smoothly, you had fun cheering him on but the memory of his sweet, soft smile. You would never forget this.

As the concert ends you book it. Straight to his dresser room. Shouting for him excitedly as you burst in. There he is! Your one and only! Your Rockstar!

" Hello Darling~ Did you like it, I worked hard on it after all. First time fully writing both the lyrics and music actually. I think I did well."

Kayn chuckles, an arrogant look on his face as he gives you cheeky smile. He holds his arms open for you, inviting you in for a hug. As you come in, arms around him, he picks you up and spins you before putting you back down. You praise him, telling him how amazing his performance was, how you could feel him really put his heart and soul into this one. How you had what you swear was the best concert experience of your life.

" Of course. It's a gift you know? Just for you~ An anniversary present I'd say."

He leans down, holding your face gently as his lips press against yours. His rings so deliciously cold against your flushed cheeks. A passionate kiss coming from him, his free hand supporting you by the waist, holding you against him before he lets you go. Another one of his signature charming smiles on his face could be seen as you open your eyes. Ah, you really were his biggest fan, your heart swells with love for him. Kayn runs his fingers through your hair before holding you face lightly once again.

" I love you y/n..."

#Im shy i love kayn i want him to hold me too #Anon Answer #Heartsteel!Kayn #Shieda Kayn #Kayn x Reader #Shieda Kayn x Reader #Kayn LoL #Kayn League #KaynLeague #im shy im shy its so good #i went a little extra writing about his hands the discord dp really had a grip on me #thanks for supporting me in my delulu you guys #SCENARIO #League of Legends Scenarios

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billiedeansbitch · 1 year

Note

Hello, first of all i love ur work!

And i have a request, i was thinking larissa x reader, they are in bed and larissa is reading a book, r is a little bored and asks her if she can read out loud so she does it but then r goes between her legs so she’s confused and stops and r is like “keep going” and then starts to eat her out but she’s trying to keep reading until she can’t anymore cause it’s all just becoming moans. U can continue the smut or just keep it at that

Keep up the good work and have a great day! :)

𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

(𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

note: I enjoyed writing and thank you! hope you're having a great day as well, anon.

warning/s: NSFW. fingering. cunnilingus.

Larissa was already in bed, reading, when you arrived from your own office after attempting to finish grading your students’ essays so you would be able to enjoy the weekend without thinking so much about work.

You were greeted with a smile as you approached her, bent down, and kissed her lips. You pecked quickly since you were eager to get out of your clothes. You drew away and told her you were going to shower, and she only hummed before returning to her book. You left with a little pang in your chest hoping she had given you more attention, hoping that her eyes would lit up and ask if she could come and join.

Later, after refreshing yourself, you decided to read something on your own, so you grabbed a book and settled next to her. Larissa hummed contentedly, slid her hand on your thigh, and languidly stroked the cool skin with her thumb.

The first few minutes were pleasant; you were relaxed and fine, reading the book in your hand, but after about thirty minutes, a deep longing for physical affection gnawed at your chest. It had been a long day and you were craving it dramatically.

So you closed your book, setting it aside on your side table. You drew out a long breath, almost too theatrical, hoping Larissa would take notice. She didn’t. She was too immersed. Her lack of engagement painted a frown on your face.

At times like this you knew better than to distract her. Reading was her escape, it was what undid the knots in the poor woman’s head from all the stress running this school. But you were getting unbearably bored and impatient. However, you still decided to give it a few more minutes.

Your thoughts were then interrupted by her hand going further up your thigh. You paused. Did she–? You looked at her, still busy reading with her brows pushed up in concentration and then she snorted, took her hand away from you thigh to rub her temple.

You kept observing the lines between her brows. Even reading made her stressed. So you sighed, carefully scooted next to her and rested your head on her shoulder.

A sly smirk tugged the corners of your lips, getting the dirtiest idea. “Have I told you I love this dress?” it came out of nowhere, from Larissa’s perspective, yes. For you? No.

“Hmm what?” she asked.

Your hand landed on her thigh. “Nothing. Will you read to me if that’s okay?” She agreed, of course, and read the book aloud. Your wicked intention was still concealed from the woman’s eyes.

She read the page and moved on to the next. Her voice was like a feather caressing your ears, and you listened, truly listened to her but no matter how interesting it was, your mind still drifted to the sheer blue dress she wore, “It's so sheer I can see the outline of your nipples.”

You traced the swell of her breast. She gasped, lips falling apart.

You turned to her after not hearing her speak, “Why’d you stop? Keep reading, please. I love it when you talk.”

She looked at you, confused. You nestled your head on her chest and wrapped your arm around her waist. Nevertheless, she cleared her throat and read the words but soon her mind was torn and her body became warm, tingling with anticipation and felt her nipples getting sensitive and hard against the soft material of her nightgown.

You kept caressing her side, made several sensual comments about her choice of clothing, how it gave away the curve of her body, how her chest was barely covered, how it made you feel certain things while ushering her to continue everytime she would halt to catch her breath.

“You feel so tense, love. Are you okay?” Larissa could hear you mocking her even if the way you said the words were far too soft and laced with concern before pointing out that her nipples were hard causing her cheeks to be flashing red, her grip on the book became tight.

“Don’t break it apart.” Larissa whimpered as your lips touched the shell of her ear, your fingers rolling the hardened nipple through the diaphanous material.

You breathed her in, taking in the fragrance of vanilla and peach, “Keep going.” you husked when she stopped reading, her breath becoming shallow. She was losing control over herself. She should have known the moment you set your book aside and planted yourself beside her with that kind of spark in your eyes that you were plotting something.

You pecked the spot behind her ear. It made the heat in her face more apparent than ever, that even her chest was glowing and sweat was forming despite the cool air.

Deciding toying with the woman was enough, you pressed your lips to her shoulder one last time before you repositioned yourself in between her legs and pulled her with vigour so she was now lying completely on her back, a yelp pushing past her lips. “Keep reading, please.” you said with a mischievous grin, entertained with how your woman was gawking at you.

It didn’t take you long to pull her underwear from the neverending length and kiss your way up from her calves to the inner thighs, to her centre that was glistening pink, aching and ready, covered by a thin patch of blonde hair. Her smell aroused you, it was so distinct in the air you breathe.

She was so fucking wet and you smirked. You smiled, feeling the victory tugging at each corner of your lips.

Larissa bucked her hip, impatient for you to take her, you didn’t waste more time. The tip of your tongue licked the path of her slit from the bottom to her clit, swelling with need. Larissa became all moans and whimpers as you continued giving her cunt the attention it desperately needed, flicking it back and forth, left to right, making tight circles, before delving into her entrance the best you could with the length of your tongue.

In the midst of fucking her senseless with your tongue, you heard a clunk. You looked up to see Larissa with her head back against her pillow, both hands massaging her perky breasts, no book in sight.

You ate her out until her legs were shaking, thighs were closing hard against your head and you held her back, pushed her them apart and continued to slurp and suck the juices out of dripping wet cunt, her hands fisting on the sheets. When Larissa couldn’t take it anymore, she yanked you by the hair, your fingers easily replacing your tongue in the process.

Larissa kissed you with fervour, sliding her tongue in your mouth, trying to taste herself. And she moaned into your mouth as you filled her in once more, her cunt saturated with more cum.

“You’re so fucking perfect.”

The woman stayed silent, still caught up in the high of after-sex. Fuck, she was so sore and overstimulated.

When you came back from the adjacent bathroom with a damped wash cloth, Larissa didn’t move an inch from her position. You cleaned her up, she whined when the cloth grazed her clit, “Oops, sorry.” you kissed her thigh, and continued wiping off the mess from her skin.

“I love you.” she finally said, wrapping her arm around you and scooting closer to rest her head on your chest. “I love you more.”

And soon, Larissa was asleep, snoring lightly against the skin of your neck. There was truly no better way to take out the stress from her than eating her out.

#larissa weems imagine #larissa weems x reader #principal larissa weems #larissa x reader #larissa weems #request #larissa weems smut #gwendoline christie imagines #gwendoline christie #wednesday netflix

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plscallmeeren · 5 months

Text

S A F E W I T H M E

Severus Snape x Reader

Request: yep @NurYgmmr

Summary: yandere snape (established relationship) but also u r a death eater living at Malfoy Manor. Just a Drabble, hope u enjoy :) btw apologize for the text being in weird placed my phone's fucked up at the moment

Warnings: Swearing; possessiveness; cruciatus curse; mentions of Death Eater activity lol

Word Count: 1.3K+

Severus Snape was not a bad man. He was not cruel, generally, or sadistic, mostly, nor was he prone to abuse, unless it was expected of him.

In other words - he could be a bad man.

But that wasn't what you liked to think. Really, you were very reluctant to accept the gravity of his propensity for mistreatment. Not that you were innocent.

It seemed Malfoy Manor was a haunted house - a building, not a home - that encouraged the very worst in every inhabitant, temporary or rooted. You extended your excuses to your topical residence.

There were other monsters living there. But there were also the candid, even there.

•••

Severus Snape tapped his fingers against his thigh to no apparent rhythm. His concentration had never been so hard to keep on a meeting, especially with Nagini hissing every now and then.

But you were still on your mission.

"It was you, wasn't it, Snape? Who said the boy would be moving at that time?" Dolohov called out loudly from the other end of the table. "Where'd you pick it up?"

"It was the original plan," he seethed, glaring.

"Right. Was it the original plan to become the ministry's own little spy-"

"You know I have had no contact since I murdered Dumbledore-"

"Enough!" Narcissa yelled, looking startled at her own outburst. "We all trust in the Dark Lord. Accusations and mistrust are his privilege, only. If we must discuss, why not concerning you, Dolohov? Why have you not been invited to accompany the Lord on his mission to kill the boy? Surely you wanted to?"

Severus could think of nothing but the fight you had had before you left. It was stupid, he knew, but everything felt ten times as intense when he was around you. Even when he wasn't, if he was being honest.

Dolohov sneered. Everyone had heard his pathetic begging in the halls. "Well?" Severus pushed, at least directing his general irritation at someone who was set on troubling him.

"The Dark Lord believes...," he murmured, "that I have been behaving rashly lately."

"I can't believe you, Sev'. We were talking. What about that could possibly make you jealous?"

"I'm not jealous! It's just that when two people who are fundamentally attractive are in a room together, 'talking'-"

"For fuck's sake! I'm about to go on a mission and this is what you wanna talk about? This? It's ridiculous, honey!" The pet name is obviously mocking, which makes it sting even more. He just wanted to... what did he want...? He didn't really believe you'd betray him, but maybe the other guy... Lucius..."

"He's a married man! He's married and I'm not interested and he's kinda my friend! That bloke's not interested in me, and I'd be careful, because your interest in becoming obsessive!"

You stormed out, slamming the door. He fell to his knees, head in his hands. What had he done?

"Really? What did you-"

Severus could hear the heavy doors swinging open from afar and jumped up, abandoning every thought of rash Death Eaters. He almost tripped twice running down stairs and over elaborate carpets, but eventually he made it to the door, where Bellatrix was groaning theatrically.

"The Potter boy?" he asked breathlessly, though his eyes didn't stop scanning the entry for you and he really couldn't care at that moment. All those years he had waisted looking after Harry, just for Lily Evans! Of course he had loved her, probably he still did, but what nonsense had the old man tricked him with, saying that it mattered what she had died for? She was gone, she was gone, she was gone.

He had learned to live with that, as long as you weren't.

Just as he could feel the last ounce of calm diverge from his brain, just as the Dark Lord said Potter had survived but some of theirs hadn't...

There you were. Disheveled and tired, but still, there you were.

"Sev," you whispered, wrapping an arm around him as half a hug. "We failed. But just the battle, not the war, I hope." You seemed to have forgotten about the fight, and he couldn't be more glad.

"Go to bed," he pleaded, though he knew you wouldn't. He tried to inconspicuously place his hands on some parts of your body, trying to see if you were hurt.

"I'm fine," you said curtly, answering both his worries. "You're probably more brought up about this than I am."

"Hurry up, bloody lovebirds," Bellatrix hissed from ahead, only turning when you nodded at her wearily. Severus had never understood how you could be so close to such a maniac. Then again, how far from a maniac was he?

"C'mon."

The Dark Lord seethed at the head of the table, scaring everyone into silence with his own. "We lost, today," he said finally, keeping a dangerously firm grip on Nagini. "We did not capture, or hurt, or kill the boy. Harry..."

Severus looked at you. "Kill anybody?" he murmured, hoping for the insurance that you were 'helpful'.

"No, but I did blast one of the Weasley boys' ears off... your curse, actually, that Sectumsempra one..."

"And you!" Voldemort cried, pointing his wand - or Lucius', rather - at you. "You had an opening! You saw the owl, you knew it was him, you were so close... could have knocked him off his broom..."

"I didn't want to accidentally kill him," you replied honestly, but before you could finish speaking, you toppled over the back of your chair, writhing in agony.

Severus sprang up, casting desperate glanced from you to the Dark Lord and back again. You were in pain, pain, pain, he had to do something, something...

You groaned through clenched teeth, rolling and tossing on the ground. Everything hurt. Everything hurt so badly. Why was this happening? Where were you...?

"For Merlyn's sake!" Severus cried, and the curse stopped.

He paused as you lay there, limp. What would the Dark Lord do now? Torture him instead? Torture you more?

"Take her to her room," he commanded, and in seconds Severus had scooped you up, carrying you away as fast as he could.

"Put me down," you muttered halfway up the steps, determined to regain some dignity.

"No."

"Sev," you growled, and he reluctantly obeyed, only lending you some support. He pushed open the door to your room, shutting it hastily.

You collapsed on the bed, gesturing for him to join you. "Relax, darling. He wouldn't let us go just to tease. I don't think. C'mon, lie down."

He did, slowly melting into the dark covers as you ran your fingers along his side. "I'm so scared," he admitted quietly, and you listened.

"Every time you're on a mission or he talks to you alone, anything... I just imagine life without you and I can't-"

"I'm not going to die," you stated, "but if I did - I won't - then you would be fine, anyway. There is no one I trust as much as you to find something to hold onto, okay? But it doesn't matter, because I'm here. I've survived plenty of torture already. I've survived countless missions already. We're on the mighty side of history. I'm here. I'm yours. Okay? Just like you're not allowed to die for me, okay?"

"Right," he breathed, hands still shaking. "Right."

"C'm'ere. You're safe with me. We're both safe, okay? For now, at least. Come on." He leaned into your touch, feeling warmth spread throughout his body. This is what he fought for, everyday.

"I forgive you," you said quietly. He felt like crying.

"I love you," he said for the first time, and though he didn't miss the way you tensed beneath him, he smiled.

"I love you, too, Sev'."

#fanfic #fanfiction #new chapter #romance #harry potter #x reader #severus x y/n #severus snape #severus x reader #snape x reader #death eaters #dark lord #harry potter fanfiction #yandere #possessive #slight angst #comfort #drabble

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shinyasahalo · 1 month

Text

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#AO3 Statistics #Shipping Stats #Femslash #Fandom Data Compilation #Fanwork Research #Supergirl #Original Work #Once Upon a Time #The 100 #The Owl House #She-Ra #Marauders

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kaylinlmfao · 2 years

Text

Fuck you

Type of piece(s): imagine, oneshot, drabble, series

Type(s) of writing: smut, angst, fluff, dark

Pairing(s): dom!yandere!ghostface!billy loomis x shy!sarcastic!sub!fem!reader x dom!yandere!ghostface!sidney prescott

Warning(s): non con/rape, dub con, knife play, overstimulation, murder, blood, swearing, violence, mommy kink, daddy kink, dacryphilia, blood kink, dirty talk, nipple play, praise kink, slight public sex, innocence kink, reader goes into sub space, choking, hairpulling, fingering (r receiving), face sitting (sidney receiving), floor sex, hate/angry sex, drugging, ownership kink

Summary: when reader finds out that her best friends are the ones who killed her parents and Tatum & Stu, reader feels more hate towards them than ever. But all they've ever felt is obsessed with her. So they keep her with them forever

A/N: this is my first fic and of course its dark as shit so beware. Give me some much needed feedback and let me know how y'all feel! (I listened to Teddy Bear & Tag You're It by Melanie Martinez for the beginning and Shameless by Camila Cabello during the smut scene. Just if you want, it helps make the story more vivid and lucid)

(Pics from Pinterest)

"Tate? Ready to go?" I yell up the stairs. "You're taking a trillion years Tatum!" "One sec!" She calls back down. "Jesus, Tate! Its just a party, not prom. Sid, come back me up!" "Tate, hurry up." Sidney says without even looking over so used to our arguing. I turn when I hear footsteps thudding down the stairs, Tatum ready to go. "Finally!" I groan, grabbing her hand to pull her out the door, where Dewey has been waiting in the car for like 30 minutes now. "Wait! How do I look, Y/N?" "Gorgeous, as always. Even if you show up in a ratty old house dress, you'd still look gorgeous. So I don't understand why you need an hour to get ready."

Tatum gives me a kiss on the lips as Sid walks over. "Its called preparation, Y/N." Tatum and I weren't dating but we've been best friends since kindergarten. We've kissed as friends since we were 13. Some of her boyfriends had a problem with it, but Stu didn't care. He knew Tatum and I were besties, nothing more. As we walked out the door, I didn't notice Sidney glaring at Tate in anger and jealously while we held hands.

We pulled into the street across from Stu's house as Dewey climbs out and opens the door for Sid. I slide out after her and Tate after me. "Be careful. I'll be over here, talking to Gale and looking around, ok?" "Yeah, ok Dewey boy." Tatum says, dragging me inside where Stu was greeting people at the door. "Y/N! Welcome to my humble castle." "Seriously Stu, don't put any effort into the theatrics." I smile, giving him a side hug as Tate and Sid walks in and I stay with Stu, greeting people as they walk in.

"Hey, Y/N! I'm going to grab a beer, you want one?" Tatum asks. "No, that's alright. Thanks anyways. Be careful." I tell her, turning back to continue my conversation with Stu about the recent kills that have been happening in Woodsboro. About 5 minutes later, Billy pops out of nowhere at the door. "Jesus Christ Billy boy. I'm gonna get you a cow bell or something so you can't sneak up on me anymore." I laugh, smiling and giving him a hug as I go to find Sid and Tate. "Hey Sid, have you seen Tatum anywhere?" "Um, no I haven't. You wanna come upstairs and breathe in peace without any screaming or anything?" "Sure" I say, bounding up the stairs.

I take a nice big deep breath as I flop down onto Stu's parents bed. "Thanks Sid. You always seem to know exactly what I need before I even know I need it." "I know babydoll. Its what I'm here for." I blush ay the nickname and just laugh it off. I can't help but get flustered at how she stands between my legs and looks down at me. No. I'm single and I'm not looking to mingle. I sit up quickly, looking up at Sidney. "Well thanks again Sid. I needed this but I should probably go downstairs, finish the movie, find Tate, y'know?" "Hmm" she nods. As I stand up, I realize she hasn't backed up. We're so close I can feel her everywhere, our lips inches apart. "Well, bye Sidney!" I call, bounding out the door.

So that was weird. I'll just find Tate and finish the movie. "Hey, Randy! Where is everyone?" I question him as I walk into the living room, seeing it empty. "Oh there was this phone call about Principal Himbry has been killed and is hanging from a football post or something." I jump onto the couch next to him. "You think its true?" I ask. "Maybe. I don't really care though. I just wanna finish the movie." "Alright." I nod, standing. "Where ya going?" "To find Tatum or Billy or Sid or Stu. I'll be right back." Randy's head jerks to look at me. "Kidding Rand. Kinda." "Jesus, Y/N." I laugh as I walk up the stairs to see if Tate and Stu are fucking in a room somewhere like they usually are.

I open the door to Stu's bedroom and walk in with my hand covering my eyes, just in case. "Stu? Tatum? Y'all in here." Suddenly, I hear a loud slicing sound and a gargled shout. "Y/N!" I move my hand and see the Ghostface killer in the mask and Sid laying stabbed on the bed. "Oh shit." I say, turning and running as the killer bounds over the bed towards me. "Motherfucker! I'm too young to die! Shit! Ow! Fuck you, you fucking bitch!" I scream as I run around the house, locking door and creating obstacles along the way. "I am way too out of shape for this shit! Can I have a headstart? Bitch! Randy! Stu! Billy! Tatum? Anybody? Fuck!"

I run into a room with a window and I lay the ironing board across the bottom of the door. "Asshole" I say, clamoring out of the window. I feel someone grab my shoulder as they try to pull me back in. "Bitch!" I yell, jumping as I swing my fist back, hitting them in the face. I groan as I roll off of the boat and land on the concrete. I look up at the garage door and scream and choke out a sob as I see my childhood best friend hanging, dead, from the garage door. I stand back up as I run to the news van parked outside. I bang on the door as the camera man, Kenny opens it and I climb in, slamming the door behind me. I look at the cameras set up and I see Ghostface creeping up behind Randy, preparing to stab him.

"Fuck! Move Randy! Move!" "Move kid!" Kenny jumps out of the van to go inside but I notice the front door is open. I watch the footage of the killer running outside, leaving Randy. "Shit! He's-" I'm cut off with a slicing sound as blood spurts from Kenny's neck. I scream and let out a string of curse words as I clamor out the back hole of the news van. I glance around, not seeing the killer but I see Dewey. "Dewey! Randy! He's inside! The killer is gone and I don't know where he went!" I yell, chest heaving, exhausted. "I knew I should've stayed home." The adrenaline is beginning to fade as I see Dewey walk out of the house. "Dewey! Did you-" I see a knife sticking out his back as he calls out, "run!" Before he collapsed. I see the killer standing behind him, pulls the knife out of Dewey's back and starts bolting towards me.

I start running again even though I want to lay down and cry. But I won't. I pick up speed as I think of my parents, who were also killed by Ghostface. I think about my sister, who is at home waiting for me. I think of Sidney, Billy, Tatum, Randy, and Stu. All for the people I love. After a few minutes, I slow to catch my breath and I see the van lights flashing. I wave my hands around and Gale swerves off of the road. What the fuck? I can drive better than that. Oh shit. Randy. He's still in the house. I start running back already on the brink of passing the fuck out. "Oh Randy. You better thank me for this later. I've never run this much except for the time where that big ass dog was chasing me."

I stop up at the porch and grab Dewey's gun out of his pocket, turning the safety off and pointing it as Randy and Billy come out of different directions. "Oh fuck, Y/N. We've gotta get the fuck outta here! I found Tatum and I think Billy killed her." "No I didn't, Y/N! You know me. Baby, give me the gun." He says, shoving Randy out of the way. "Back the fuck up Billy or I swear to God, I will blow your brains all over this front yard. You too Randy." They both start blabbering at once and I can't focus. "Fuck you both!" I say, slamming the door in their faces. They both continue banging on the door. "Go away! Please leave me alone." I shout, sliding down against the door, burying my head in my knees.

"Y/N?" I hear Sid ask before she tumbles down the stairs. "Oh shit. Sid, you're bleeding! Are you ok?" I ask, running over to help her. She hobbles to the door and holds her hand out. "Give me the gun. It's ok Y/N. I'm here now." I pass the gun slowly to her, no hesitation. That was my final mistake of the night. She opens the door and Randy comes flying in. "Holy shit. Billy's gone mad!" "We all go a little mad sometimes." Sidney turns with a smirk on her face as she shoots Randy in the shoulder. "Oh fuck." Randy says before he falls. "Sidney? What the fuck?" I yell, running over to help Randy seeing he's unconscious.

I turn and I start to run away before running straight into Billy's chest. "Billy please, help me!" He just looks down at me before pulling a voice changer and talking into it. "Surprise, Y/N." I look back at Sidney, who looks at me like what are you gonna do? Bitch. This is what the fuck I'm gonna do. I shove Billy out of my way and I run to the kitchen. Suddenly, Sidney pops out and points the gun at me. "Woah. Woah. Calm down there princess." I back slowly towards the counter. "You fucking bitches. Oh Jesus Chris. I'm so stupid. This is all my fault. My fault."

"Honestly, sweetheart. It is. We killed all these people for you. All for you. Your parents." I choked back a cry. "Your Tatum." Sidney adds. I let out a sob. "Why? What did I do to you?" "Well, princess. You hated your parents, so we got rid of them for you." "But I love Tate." "No! You don't love her. You love us." She told me, picking up the knife from Billy and tracing it down my cheek. The adrenaline from the nights events is wearing off and I begin to actually register what I've done. What I've seen. Sidney stands in front of me and Billy has his head on her shoulder.

"Why? Why me?" "Because we love you, sweetheart" I break down for the first time that night, falling into Sidney's arms as I sob. "Get away from me. Leave me alone. Please!" I start to hyperventilate as I think of Tatum and my parents being brutally murdered. And it was all my fault. My fault that Dewey was stabbed. My fault Randy was shot. I fall to my knees, sobbing. I'm having a panic attack. I haven't had one this bad since I got the news my parents were found. "In and out. In and out. Come on, Y/N. Breathe. In and out." I hear Tatum's voice guiding me as I calm myself.

I stand, looking at the two people who sat with me after my parents died, comforting me, helping me through it when in reality, it was them who caused it. All the pain I feel. It was them. I don't see friends anymore. I see targets. I grab a knife off of the counter and feel it in my hand. Can I really kill them? I love them. But not as much as I love Tatum. Or mom and dad. I don't see Billy so tackle Sid and pin her. Who knew wrestling would come in handy. I pin the knife to her neck and look at her. She's so much prettier up close. "You won't do it, baby girl. You can't." I press the knife down harder as she stares into my eyes.

"Do it."

I raise the knife then drop it with a loud groan of frustration. "Why can't I do it?" I ask myself. I feel myself being suddenly jerked back and something cold being pressed on my black short dress and breasts. "Because you love this. You love all of it. I bet if I stuck my hand down your dress, your panties would be soaked. Sidney, would you like to check?" "Hmm" she nodded, sticking her hand up my dress and brushing them over my pulsing pussy. "Soaked, Billy." I whimper as Billy slits my dress in half, Sidney ripping it off. I realize the position I'm in. I'm straddling Sidney and Billy is holding a knife off to my left.

I'm left in my black bra and panties set and my thigh high stockings. "These fucking stockings, pretty girl. Everyday, you wear these stupid fucking stockings and everyday, I wanna fuck the shit outta you every time I see you in them." I let out a soft whine as I hear Billy's words and I feel Sidney's thumb circling my clit slowly through my underwear. Suddenly, I'm flipped over on my back on the floor and Sidney's by my head, sticking her fingers down the back of my throat. Then, Billy comes up towards my face and I see his cock. That won't fit inside me. In my mouth or my pussy. "Suck it like a slut." He orders as I take his dick in my mouth as to avoid him getting angry.

I moan around his cock as I feel Sid's fingers slide deep inside my cunt, deeper then mine could reach. I suck harder on Billy's dick as he begins thrusting, hitting the back of my throat and groaning at the feeling of me gagging around his dick. Sidney starts pistoning her fingers in and out of my pussy so fast that I reach down to grab her fingers to slow her down. "Oh now now baby doll. You were doing so good for mommy and daddy. Move your hands." Sid commands, slapping my hands away as she continues pistoning her fingers quickly, in and out.

"Fuck" Billy groans as something goes down my throat. "Swallow." I swallow obediently and look up innocently at Billy. "So good for daddy and mommy baby." My pussy clenches harder around Sidney's fingers as I arch my back and let out a loud moan as I cum for the first of many times tonight. "Good girl." Billy comes and trades places with Sidney as Sidney comes to straddle my face. Billy starts rubbing the tip of his cock against my cunt as he starts to push his dick inside my dripping pussy. It won't fit. It won't fit. I'm a virgin! But then he pushes himself all the way in to the hilt as I let out a scream.

He reaches up and chokes me, not enough to where I can't breathe, but just enough to where I reach that fuzzy feeling and drift off into subspace and stopped screaming. Sidney begins riding my face and making out with Billy as he thrusts in and out of my cunt so hard, I see stars and a quickly approaching 2nd orgasm. I let out a cry as I cum for the second time. Shortly after, Sidney comes and I drink all of her juices like a good girl. Sidney sits back and watches and plays with my nipples as Billy's dick disappears in and out of my pussy, his cock coated in red from my blood. Billy pinches my pulsing clit, hard as I cum for a third time.

"Please! No more! No more! Can't take anymore daddy, mommy. Fuck, please no more." "Oh come on, princess. Be a good girl and give mommy and daddy one more. One more. Then you can suck. Ok?" Sidney says as I come again, my eyes rolling back into my head, my hoarse voice screaming mommy and daddy, the tears streaking down my cheeks, all sends Billy over the edge. "We fucking own you. You fucking belong to us, Y/N." Billy groans out. After Billy pulls out of my dripping wet cunt with a mixture of my cum, his cum, and my blood, Sidney cradles me in her lap and let's me suck on her nipple, praising me while Billy goes to get something. I'm not registering anything that's happening except for the good girls and the I'm so proud of yous.

"Good girl. You're mommy's good girl, aren't you Y/N? Mommy's so proud of you. You were so good for mommy and daddy." Billy leans down and gives Sidney a quick kiss. Sidney leans down and kisses me, slipping her tongue in my mouth along with a little pill. "Mommy? What was that?" I asked, starting to feel sleepy. "Just something that will help us to bring you home easier." "Mommy? Daddy?" "Yes, princess?" They say in unison. I bury my head into Sidney's breasts as I mumble two words.

"Fuck you"

2.8k words

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mistydeyes · 1 year

Text

undercover with undiscovered feelings

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summary: Your codename is Belladonna and one thing is clear you have a mood more sour than Ghost's. You hated the limelight, the shock and awe of it all, preferring to take your enemies out discreetly and quietly. Suddenly Laswell throws you to the wolves along with Soap, your fake French American fiancé. As if that wasn't bad enough, you have one secret. You're in love with him but you won't let him see past your hard exterior.

pairing: Soap x fem!Reader, sunshine x grumpy trope

warnings: SWEARING, violence, depiction of wounds, feelings being brought to the surface

a/n: thought it was time my scottish boy deserves some love

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Belladonna, the infamous 141's specialist in stealth and toxicology. Price took you on board due to your decorated resume and ability to discreetly take out your target. From day one, a certain mohawk soldier would not let you live down that your code name was also one shared with a porn star. God you hated him. Although maybe not hate, more like "unwillingly attracted to." You were polar opposites. While Johnny always was one for the theatrics, you were not one for shock and awe. You preferred to blend in the crowd, a grey man if you will. But stealth wouldn't help you here as Laswell planned to put you on in the limelight.

God, you should've known that breaking a mirror with your stray bullet would have its consequences. Now, you were sitting in this debrief in a safehouse in Italy wishing you had taken that bullet instead. Your legs bounced with nervousness as Laswell went through the planned covert op.

"I see you looking at me, Bell. I'm sorry but this mission is going to require you to get more intimate and not hide in the shadows," she said as you tried to silence your rapid heartbeat. All eyes were on you as Laswell continued, the mission was a simple one. One team would enter through the vents and gain access to a museum's records, a front for child trafficking. Another team would work undercover and make sure no one noticed the information extraction. What was your role? Oh Laswell made sure to painful describe how you would pose as a wealthy art collector accompanied by your body guard and your fiancé to be. "And who would those be?" you asked, fearing the worst. "Soap will be your dutiful boyfriend of 5 years while Ghost chaperones you through the night." You couldn't believe what you were hearing, out of all people why did they pick the Scottish idiot who you secretly liked. "What about Price and Gaz?" you wondered as Laswell had not reached the end of her debrief. "We'll be doing the hard work, you're just the distraction, Sweetheart," Price said and soon you would realize what he meant as a distraction.

"Stop shaking, Y/N," Price said as Ghost delicately tried a ring on your finger. "First, you all expect me to go undercover. Next, you make me act all cozy with this sweaty idiot. And now, you're having me try on rings to be fake proposed too?" you shouted as Soap held your hand to stabilize it. "Not just any ring, bonnie. A ring hand picked by me with the finest Japanese saltwater pearl and a band of 3 ct of diamonds set in pink gold. Now let me put it on your finger and you can go." You huffed as he and Price examined the fit of the ring, ensuring it was perfect for the planned engagement.

To your dismay, the night had finally arrived. You nervously checked the mirror as your hair lay loose around your shoulders. It was parted to one side, covertly hiding a comm in your left ear. Earlier, the boys had been relentless as you applied your makeup and curled your hair. Soap almost gained a black eye when he joked, "Well, our wee Bell actually cleaned up for once." The mission might end up being the death of you and your heart.

You felt nauseous looking at your self, examining how the dress flowed from one shoulder and ended with a waterfall of restricting pink tulle. The only thing you liked about this dress were the navy blue pearls adorning the layers of fabric, a subtle nod to your code name. "Lass, it's time," you heard Soap knock. You bunched up your skirt as you made your way to answer him. You were thankful Laswell had graciously gifted you with a knife tucked in a garter along with a set of Clostridium botulinum syringes. You opened the door to see him finely dressed in a midnight blue cashmere wool, silk blend suit. You couldn't deny he was handsome. Your pulse quickened as you examined him further, he had been asked to shave his famous mohawk and instead had a simple haircut. To him, you were also a sight to behold. Your cynical demeanor had endeared him, he loved making fun of you until he noticed a slight reaction. But now you looked even more gorgeous, he felt his breath hitch as he saw how the dress fit your curves perfectly and showed off your frame wonderfully. "Soap, let's go," you said breaking the silence and ending his trance. "You look breath-taking, Lass. Couldn't help but stare." You were glad he walked behind you as your face was bright red.

You exited the safe house marveling at the black Aston Martin Laswell had obtained for the op. As you got in the car, you noted Laswell driving along with Ghost in a black suit fixing his cufflinks in the passenger seat. "We're bringing you out of the shadows tonight, Bell" Ghost began, "don't worry we got you covered" he said and flashed his inner coat to show a gun tucked in its lining. Laswell, ever the observer, could feel your nerves. "Bell, there's some tequila in the console for you," she said and you quickly leaned over Soap's lap to grab it. Bless this woman, she knew your favorite. After taking many sips from the bottle, you tried to offer it to Soap but he disgustingly replied, "that shite tastes like dog piss." More for you, you guessed. You nursed the bottle as Laswell drove over the rolling hills of the coast. You tried to calm your nerves reminding yourself this was just another mission, something that you could add to your resume. You kept mentally telling yourself, "keep it professional".

Finally you felt the car come to a stop as Soap lightly tapped your shoulder indicating your arrival. "Let's go, my pearl," he said in a surprisingly convincing American accent. In this narrative, you were from a wealthy Portuguese home while Soap was your new money, New York City-transplant French American. He held out his hand as he helped you out of the vehicle. As you felt the cold coastal chill on your shoulders, you made your way to the entrance.

You made your way to check-in, Ghost silently following behind. You forcefully smiled, introducing yourself as Elaine de Rosales and your date as Renoir Cretin (dumbass in French). The host stifled a laugh at Soap's fake last name and allowed you three to enter.

As you entered the large gallery, you noted some familiar faces from the endless files Laswell had "gifted" you with. "Fucking bastards," you said under you breath and Simon whispered behind you, "that's no language for a lady." He was definitely getting his ass kicked next time you had a training exercise.

When Soap went for your hand, you could feel your heart jump. You should've downed that entire tequila bottle. He held your hand, gracefully leading you around the gallery as you made painful conversation about each piece. You were never one for arts and your horrible comments made that clear. "This looks nice," you said with a questioning tone and you heard Price laugh at your comment. He remarked, "Kid, you're so dry. Just try to act like you don't want to inject yourself with botulism right now." Every one was seriously out to get you today.

"You look more breathtaking than this painting, darling," Soap said aloud as you admired The Birth of Venus. He was laying on this whole couple thing, hard. You hoped he couldn't feel the heat radiating from your face as he planned a soft kiss on the crown of your head. "My love, you're too kind. You're practically carved from marble," you replied back, catching a glimpse of a pink blush on his cheeks.

After you examined yet another painting, Price notified you that they had gained access into the main server room. You gave Soap a subtle set of three taps with your thumb. He knew it was time as he lead you over to the main attraction. You lifted your eyes, gazing upon the large rendition of Eros and Psyche in front of you. Soap let go of your hand as he set himself on one knee.

Weeks before, Soap attempted to relieve your nerves as he described the masterful speech he would deliver to you. There were many revisions as he practiced the fateful moment to you. "You know, Soap, if I were a dumb, I'd say you're in love with me" you joked, "that speech was disgustingly romantic from the likes of you." "Oh fuck off, Bell. The first nice thing you say about me ends with an insult," he shot back. To anyone watching, the tension was clear but you remained your grumpy self, hiding your emotions.

Brought back into the moment, you could hear the crowd hush, eyes focused on you and him. "Elaine, ever since I saw you lost in the streets of Versailles, you have captivated me with your beauty and elegance. Your vast knowledge of art has shown me that there's more to a painting than a canvas with paint. I love you and will forever be there to listen to your musings about Monet and Degas," he began and you waited for the fateful words to fall out of mouth. However, to your surprise he continued, "I have never met anyone who entertained my antics quite like you have. You challenge me constantly with your fiery words and quips. This little dance of ours makes me a more humble, more loving man. Looking at you tonight, I realize that you are the woman who inspires me to surmount all obstacles. Will you make make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?" You were shocked, that was definitely not part of the script. Your face flushed at his kind words and he looked deep into your eyes.

"Oh yes, Renoir!" you whispered as tears fell from your eyes. He triumphantly picked you up, spinning you in his arms. He set you down and held your chin gently in his hand. He raised your face to his and placed a long kiss on your mouth. Your lips moved in sync as he held you tightly with his other arm. You were lost in each other, ignoring the full attention of the crowd. As you parted, the crowd loudly clapped at the spectacle. You took this moment to lean over to your new fiancé and whispered, "You went off script." He gently kissed your cheek and whispered back, "meant every word, Bell." Ghost returned to your side as older couples gathered, congratulating the "new couple." Your smile was genuine as you showed off the expensive ring, giddily detailing how your mothers would be so proud you bagged a good one.

You walked around the gallery more, now linking arms with Soap. You hadn't acknowledged the speech since your whisperings and went about downing numerous offered glasses of champagne. You made your way to a private gallery adored with more opulent paintings of historic love stories. Ghost positioned himself next to the security guard, allowing you both to sit on a bench and admire the artwork. After what seemed like forever, you in your tipsy state, broke the silence.

"My love, I appreciated your kind words. I never thought you felt that way about me," you said quietly, eyes trained on a depiction of. "Well El, you never gave me the chance. When we first met in France, I thought you disdained me," he replied, moving to hold your waist.

"I never disdained you, just ran away from my feelings," you whispered back. As you finished your sentence, he again placed his hand on your chin to lift your face. Just as you were about to kiss again, you heard through the comm, "Bell, Soap, we've been compromised. Gaz jammed their signals but security is heading to our location as we speak," Price said in a rushed tone.

Immediately, you feigned a dizzy spell as Ghost and the museum security guard rushed to help you. As they helped to carry you to a private room, you mumbled incoherently about how you were drunk on love. Once the security guard set you down, Soap shut the door and you discreetly injected the man with one of your toxins. As he lay on the velvet couch, Ghost replied to Gaz and Price that you were on the way.

Exiting the room, Ghost stopped a patrolling security guard and said, "There's a young woman in that room. Try not to disturb her, I believe she may have had one too many drinks and her father doesn't want a fiasco for the family."

With that, you made your way through the various guests, loudly whispering to your fiancé that you desperately wanted some alone time. No one questioned you as Ghost made his way to the stairwell and you both split into the elevator.

Descending to the ground floor, you could hear gunshots echoing through the elevator doors. As it opened, a guard yelled that you both shouldn't be down there before becoming distracted by another gunshot. You took this time to pull out another syringe and injected it into his neck.

"Nice work, Elaine," Soap said and armed himself with a hidden pistol from his suit pocket. Ghost joined you both soon after as you made your way to the other team's location. You three worked in unison as the boys provided a pleasant distraction with their gunfire. You were able to sneak you way and subdue the guards with your knife as they were distracted by the noise of falling bodies and shots fired. You finally made it to the room, notifying your presence with a coded series of knocks. Price heaved the door open as you noticed Gaz behind him, drive in hand but with a bleeding arm. You quickly tore the layers of fabric from your dress and provided a makeshift tourniquet.

"How are we getting out of here, Captain? They're gonna have this place on lockdown," Gaz asked. "There's a delivery area on this floor, we'll have to hurry," Ghost said and navigated you all through the winding corridors.

You finally snuck you way to the area but noticed 5 guards standing watch. "Gobshite, they must've already put this place on lockdown," Soap swore quietly. With the adrenaline rushing to your ears, you had an idea, "follow my lead, Renoir. Danger close, boys. Just listen for my signal" you whispered. You quickly took some blood from Gaz's leaking wound and applied it to your dress and ripped skirt. You rubbed your hands on Soap's pristine white shirt and pooled it around his stomach. You then motioned for him to cover his hands with Gaz's blood. "Thanks, mate," Soap whispered to Gaz and you quickly rushed into the large delivery room.

"Please help us!" you shrieked, you held on desperately to Ghost. "My fiancé and I were attacked by some crazed gunsman, I think he's been shot," you cried as the men rushed over to help. Your loud wailing and statements saying how you couldn't lose your love distracted them and allowed for you 5 to take them out. The minute you took one of the men closest to you out with your last syringe, you shrieked, "MY GOD, Kate's been shot!" That was the queue as the boys knew Laswell was nowhere near the museum. Soap quickly took out the two men trying to find the source of his bleeding while Price and Ghost handled the other two.

With the men down and the area cleared, you loaded into an armored van, presumably one that transported all the expensive art. With Price at the wheel, Ghost provided cover as you raced into the night.

Finally away from danger, you all breathed a sigh of relief. Gaz lay in the middle of Ghost and Price, tending to his wound while you and Soap lay in the back amongst the plastic wrappings of paintings.

"You were a great actress, lass. Who knew you had it in ya," Soap said as you sat next to him. You both were propped against the steel interior of the van, experiencing every bump Price hit. "You as well, that proposal was something else," you replied back. "Like I said in the gallery, Bell, I meant every word." With that, you finally were able to share your second kiss and Price smiled looking in the rearview mirror. "Be careful with that one Sgt, if you mess up she'll slip some ricin in your mouth." he joked as you and Soap rested against one another, you'd deal with the repercussions later.

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