#james Patrick march fluff

[rosecoloredsunshine]

have i found you, flightless bird — james patrick march

masterlist | request link

PAIRINGS: james patrick march x female!reader

SUMMARY: you're the only one who truly understood james. you are his greatest muse, and now you are bound together even in eternity—and you've both never been more happier.

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

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, fluff, brief mention of murder (not really major), and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: i really had fun writing this request, thank so much! i tailored morticia's characteristics with the reader, so there are some similarities (if you squint enough) with her and the reader. i originally wrote two versions of this request, but decided to ultimately go with this one. plus, if you know by now, i draw inspiration/align my fics with songs hehe so i hope you'll enjoy this one! :)

The golden sconces along the velvet-papered hallways of the Hotel Cortez flickered with a low, ambient glow, casting elongated shadows against the ornate walls. It was a quiet night tonight, quiet in a way a building like this could only pretend to be. The silence always buzzed faintly, like a secret breathing through the bones of the place.

You walked slowly, deliberately, heels clicking rhythmically against the polished black and white marble floors. The gown you wore hugged your form like a second skin—silken, obsidian, matching the inky hue of your hair that tumbled in soft, disciplined waves down your back. It is James’ favorite color on you, telling you once that it made you look like a sin made flesh. You told him that he was biased, but he only grinned, feral and fond.

James’ hand was resting on the small of your back, his touch possessive but reverent, always reverent. As if to remind himself and others that you belonged to him, and he, very thoroughly, belonged to you.

“I do believe,” James murmured, voice low and indulgent as you walked together past room 43, “that time itself slows to accommodate your passage, dearest. What a shame it does nothing to calm my racing heart.”

You gave him a faint smile, eyes half-lidded as you turned towards him slightly, heels clicking against the tiles. “You don’t have a heart anymore, my darling,” you reminded gently, voice smooth as silk and just as cold. “Remember? You left it on the twentieth floor, for me.”

A delighted chuckle left him, the sound echoing in the corridor like a kiss to a mirror. “And you wear it so well.”

James never gets tired of looking at you. The fall of your hair, always coordinated with your gowns, whether it is black as ink or ivory as moonlight—either way, it always leaves him breathless, if such a thing could still be said about a man long dead. You were an enigma, ethereal and reserved, intimidating to most and worshipped by all who dared look at you too long. Ghosts, guests, even the walls. You had the kind of beauty that made time forget how to tick.

He didn't walk beside you so much as orbit you, like the moon to a glittering, celestial flame. The hotel had been his monument, yes, but for you? It became his temple.

“I saw Sally again,” you murmured, finger brushing along the velvet wallpaper, nails short and elegant, painted a soft shade of wine. “She’s still bitter.”

James snorted disdainfully. “Ah, the opium banshee. Let her wail, her pain is entirely self-inflicted.”

“She tried to ask me again why I stay with you,” you said softly, voice like smoke and smiling.

He tensed ever so lightly beside you, but you reached for his lapel, smoothing it gently with your thumb, visibly relaxing.

“And what did you tell her, my love?” he asked, gaze intense and yearning.

You tilted your chin up, eyes catching the dim chandelier light like pools of mercury. “I told her that no one could ever understand you the way I do. That she mistakes obsession for love, but what you and I have, it’s devotion. It's a ruin, an art.”

James groaned—yes, groaned, his forehead coming to rest briefly against yours as you paused at the base of the grand staircase. “You wound me in the most glorious way, dearest. I should carve those words into the walls.”

“You already did,” you whispered softly. “Every inch of this place is you, bleeding for me.”

It was indeed true. The Cortez was a tomb, yes, a house of horrors, but it was also a palace. A mausoleum built not for death, but for love. Every brass doorknob, shadow, nook and cranny, every inch of cursed carpet was placed for you. A monument to your elegance, a fortress to keep the world out and your bond sealed within.

Even now, long after your mortal bodies had ceased to matter, James still treated you like something holy—buttoning the back of your gowns delicately with his fingers each evening, kissing the top of your hands, and worshiping the curve of your neck with the patience of a priest. You—though quieter, less demonstrative, held his heart in your fist. You shared his darkest secrets, the cruelest truths of his soul, and instead of recoiling, you had smiled. You accepted him, and sharpened your claws alongside his.

“Remember that one guest?” you murmured idly as you ascended the staircase, fingers sliding along the railings. “The one who lied about his name to get a room?”

James exhaled in a sound that was more growl of a growl than breath. “The stockbroker in 902. That cretin.”

You hummed. “He looked so confused when I slit his throat.”

He let out a scandalized laugh, arm around you tightening, almost giddy. “Oh, how you moved that night. Poetry in crimson.”

“I don’t like liars. You know that, my darling,” you said simply. “And most of all, I don’t like it when someone tries to deceive you.”

James gently leaned down, planting a soft kiss on your lips. “You are far too exquisite for this wretched world. Thank god it ended.”

To others, perhaps you were terrifying. But those who feared you had never felt or experienced your kindness. Your words were sparse but true, you had stitched the unraveling tapestry of Hotel Cortez together by just existing in it. Ghosts who hated your husband—the ghosts, the damned, they couldn't hate you. Some even dared to speak to you with a quiet sort of admiration, knowing that to cross you would be their last mistake.

You never raised your voice. You never needed to. For James, you were the reason death wasn't a punishment—but a gift.

Deep into the night, you sat in one of the velvet armchairs in your and James’ suite, firelight casting flickers of gold across your collarbones. James poured you a glass of ghostly burgundy, as ritualistic as ever. He didn't need to eat, nor did you, but the motions—ritual, brought you both comfort. He stood behind your chair, hands moving up and down your arms, slow and deliberate.

“I do so love this,” he whispered.

You tilted your head back lazily. “What’s that?”

James bent to kiss your shoulder. “This peace. This illusion of the living, you in the gown, my name on your lips, your hand in mine,” he circled to kneel in front of you, taking your hand, pressing it to his lips. “You make the afterlife bearable. No, more than that—beautiful.”

You looked at him. Really looked at him. The moustache you used to tease, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the utter abandon in the way he adored you.

You cupped James’ cheeks softly. “I would've followed you even if you hadn't built the hotel,” you said quietly. “I would've followed you into hell.”

“You did, my love,” he whispered back. “And you made it heaven.”

The moonlight spilled silver across the dark floor of the room. James held out a hand for you to take, and you let him lead you in the middle of the room, leading you in a slow waltz. The gramophone hummed a tune no living soul remembered, soft and sorrowful. James held you like a prayer—one hand in yours, the other splayed across your waist, fingers aching to be closer.

“You never tire of this,” you said softly, eyes closing as you moved in tandem.

“Never,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Not when it’s with you. You are the only eternity I welcome, the only ghost that haunts me in the way I crave.”

Your laughter was quiet, breathy, and warm. “You’re awfully poetic tonight, darling.”

“I’m always poetic when I’m in your presence,” he grinned.

James’ mouth found the curve of your neck then, slow and reverent, began leaving a trail of kisses along your skin as if worshipping a temple while you both sway softly to the music, and you let him. Of course you did. James never needed permission, but he always earned it.

“You’re insatiable,” you murmured.

“I am yours, and you are everything,” he corrected, pulling back just enough to look at you—truly look. “The curve of your mouth could command wars, the kindness in your eyes silences my rage. You are the only one who saw me and didn't run. Who loved me, chose me, even in my vilest hour.”

“I didn't see vileness,” you said simply. “I saw pain, beauty, and brilliance. A man with fire in his soul and a broken heart in his chest.”

James’ throat tightened, and for a moment, that dark bravado cracked, showing you the vulnerability he his from fhe world.

“You terrify me,” he whispered.

You blinked, gently tilting your head. “Why?”

“Because I would tear down the world for you. I already did once, and I’d do it again, with less mercy.”

You kissed him, slow and sure. The kind of kiss that felt like sealing a vow older than time itself, and when you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his.

“I’d help you burn it down,” you said softly. “Just don’t lie to me. Don’t let them try to turn you from me.”

“They wouldn't dare,” he growled. “And if they did, they would meet the end of my wrath—and the sharper edge of yours.”

You smiled widely. James always liked the way you smiled before destruction.

You continued waltzing in the middle of the room, like any husband and wife would when they’re in love. Except you were not breathing, and time did not matter. There were no dishes to clean, no errands to run. Only endless hours to love and be loved, for eternity and beyond it.

And James, hopelessly devoted, would spend every second of it tracing the shape of your soul.

© rosecoloredsunshine, 2025

[temporarywelcome]

12 Fics of Christmas Day 10 - James Patrick March

"Early Celebration"

Summary: James is ready for reader's favorite holiday.

A/N: sorry we're ending at 10 instead of 12 fics... next year I'll be more prepared and hopefully won't get uber depressed lmao

____

“James, what are you doing?” 

He looked up, his usual dazzling smile forming on his face as he placed down the ornament, “What does it look like I’m doing, dearest?” He held out a hand, which Y/N slowly took. 

“Sorry, I’m just…” she paused, eyeing the large Christmas tree placed dead center in the lobby of the Hotel Cortez. A long ladder was placed next to it, the only way to get to the top. “...shocked.” Why would she be shocked? This was James Patrick March here, who has proven time and time again that he would do anything for his woman. 

A Christmas tree was nothing. 

“Oh? Have I not been spoiling you enough?” he questioned, turning her hand over. He then placed an ornament onto her palm. “I picked the finest ornaments for you, my dear. Should I have gotten bigger? More flashy?” 

Y/N shook her head, looking down at the ornament that was now in her hand. A dark burgundy color, sparkling in the light of the chandelier above them. “No no, you spoil me greatly. I just did not think holidays were something you took seriously,”

“Oh, I don’t,” her husband replied, guiding her closer to the tree so she can place the ornament, “However, my lovely wife adores the holidays, so now I must take them seriously,” 

Her face brightened at his words, turning from the tree to face him, “You’re doing all of this for me?” her eyes wandered behind him, looking over his shoulder at all of the working staff putting up reefs and garland, the red and gold furniture covers. 

The Hotel Cortez was ready for the holidays. 

“It’s not even December yet,” she giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. Why did he always look at her like that? Like she were the one to hang the stars in the night sky every night? Like she was everything?

Well, to him, she was. 

“And? You like Christmas. Let us have a spectacular Christmas season!” One arm went around her waist as he snapped at a staff member, “You! Fetch me some champagne and two glasses. We must celebrate the coming of December!” 

She could always count on James to make a big deal out of everything involving her. Her favorite holiday. Her birthday looking like a national holiday on its own. Even small things like her favorite foods and clothing. James made it known he paid careful attention to all of her interests. “You don’t have to, James-”

“Nonsense,” he squeezed her side playfully, before pressing a loving kiss to her temple, “If I can, why wouldn’t I?”

___

don't settle guys tags: @envy-of-greed @bohnerrific69 @loveofcherry

[whosbloom]

James Patrick March » Boo Basket

day 12 of flufftober

⋆.˚ summary: after many failed attempts to win your heart, james finally goes to liz for some help, hoping for a good result

⋆.˚ fluff , mentions of murder , pretend the hotel has wifi for the sake of this

James had been practically yearning for your attention for months now, constantly attempting to get your attention when you entered the lobby, delivering expensive food and drinks to your hotel room (courtesy of Liz), constantly complimented you.. but no matter what he just couldn’t get you to look his way.

He was absolutely enamored by you and he didn’t know why, he had been so hung up on The Countess for years, but the second you stepped into the Cortez’s lobby his heart leapt for you instantly.

He had nearly gone on his knees to beg Liz to get to know you, befriend you almost, just so he could have a sense of what you liked in a person, what you were like.

As Halloween neared he found you leaving the hotel more and more each week, leaving him lonely until your return, to which he would perk up and instantly question you about your day—even if you barely acknowledged him.

Truth was you did find James attractive, it was just strange. You knew he was dead, Liz told you all about it, but it confused you more than anything.

How could the living and dead be together?

Which inevitably lead to your acting like you weren’t interested, watching him bend over backwards just to get a simple greeting from you.

The food, drinks, random presents, all day pretty outside your door made you smile more than you’d like to admit. You told Liz to never reveal this to him, and of course she listened like any good friend.

The one time you had Liz tell him anything was after finding out he offered to kill for your attention after witnessing another guest flirting with you—and of course you couldn’t bring yourself to let an innocent man die, you would feel like the blood was on your hands, so you told Liz to let him know his efforts made you aware of his infatuation with you.

Today was like any other, entering the lobby and greeting Liz, only for her to call you over to the front desk.

She sighed and leant against it, arms folded while giving you a stern look, one that reminded you of a mother scolding a toddler for drawing on walls.

“What did I do? You’re giving me a look.” You pointed out, brows knitted together as she awkwardly shifted your weight between your legs.

“It’s not what you did, well, you did help with this.” She explained, a not-so-impressed look on her face as she leant behind the counter and picked up a basket filled with goods for you.

“He didn’t.”

“He did.” She gave you another look, lips pressed into a thin line and brows raised. “I told him about whatever social media trend you’re obsessed with, the boo baskets? Watching him try and figure out a computer to order things was the most embarrassing thing ever.”

You remember the conversation all to well, getting all giddy about boyfriends surprising their girlfriends with Halloween themed baskets filled with their favorite things.

“He used a computer?” You questioned, an amused yet confused look on your face as you glanced back at the basket. “Somehow he did.. and from my reports back on you he knew exactly what he wanted to get you.”

Of course that showed with what he had chosen for you. A book you mentioned wanting to read for weeks now, your favorite candy you’d get whenever you went to a gas station, your favorite drink and snack.

Then there was personal touches from James—luxury things you knew he insisted you deserved. An expensive wine was the first thing that caught your eye, along with a note attached to it, reading out ‘Meet me at room 64’ with a J.P. signed underneath.

“Do I wanna know how much he spent? Or where he got the money from?” You raised a brow, pulling the basket closer and continued to inspect it. There was some personal care things—skin care, a candle, sleeping mask and fuzzy socks.

“The hotel still makes money. Though I’m not sure how he spent it.” Liz smiled, before pointing back at the stairs, drawing your attention to the very man who had gifted it to you. “Go thank him.”

You rolled your eyes playfully before grabbing the basket, holding it carefully before turning to head up the stairs, stopping just a step or two infront of him.

“Is this your way to my heart?” You raised a brow at him, lifting the basket with a smile toying at your lips.

“Well, my dear, if you haven’t noticed—“

“I have.. trust me, I have.” You cut him off, raising your free hand as you stepped up to stand next to him, your hand finding purchase on his forearm.

“I was just on my way to room 64.” You pointed to the note he left on the wine bottle, before stepping past him towards the elevator, waiting for him to follow after. “You coming, James?”

He took a moment to process your words, a wide smile forming pm his lips as he nodded and quickly scurried after you, standing close and leant down slightly to meet your height.

“I take it that my efforts worked on you?” He raised his brows, watching you pressed the elevator button and leant back against the cold wall.

“Definitely. Though, I will admit, they’ve been working for a while now. I just didn’t understand how the whole ghost and alive person thing works..” You explained, shrugging as you looked up to meet his gaze, watching as his softened at your words.

“I see.. if you want to wait for any further affection, I will. Whatever you’re comfortable with, my dear.” He spoke reassuringly, planting a quick kiss to the side of your temple, before placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Why don’t we discuss this over wine?” You smiled, watching as he eagerly nodded and held you a bit closer to him.

“Sounds like a plan.”

tags: @lemoniiiiiii , @xrag-dollx , @jazz-berry (ask to be added!!)

[authorsofghosts]

Madness Miracle | James P. March x Reader

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

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

Word Count: 2.1k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah. Get the fuck out!"

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

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

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

"Celebrate what?!"

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

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

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

"Good... Splendid. Just marvelous."

[ahqkas]

♯ HIRAETH ; james patrick march

PAIRING! james patrick march x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! hiraeth (n.) — a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was, the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past

WORD COUNT! 6.8k

WARNINGS / TAGS! angsttt, reader is described to have hair, mention of love making + lmk of more if found !

NOTES! found a collection of podcasts that reminded me a bit too much of james , this work is inspired by dangerously yours’ masquerade !! all the credits to the devider below belong to @/menschenopfer

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE YEAR WAS 1927, AND LOS ANGELES WAS A CITY OF DREAMS, BEAMING WITH AMBITION, GLAMOUR, AND DARKNESS OF ITS OWN. The Hotel Cortez, with its imposing façade of carved stone and gleaming brass, towered over the busy streets below. It was a sanctuary for the elite, a place where luxury met mystery, and where secrets were buried deep within its intimidating walls.

The heavy doors of the hotel creaked open, and in stepped a woman whose presence commanded attention. She was the very meaning of old-world elegance, a figure that seemed to have stepped out of the newest magazine. Her [color] hair was styled in gentle waves that framed her face, and her eyes, sharp and enigmatic, glimmered with a secret knowledge. She wore a tailored traveling dress of navy blue, the fabric clinging to her form in a manner that was both modest and alluring. A black cloche hat sat atop her head, its wide brim casting a shadow over her striking features.

As you crossed the marble threshold, the polished floors beneath your heels echoed with each deliberate step. The hotel lobby was a grand room of the hotel, adorned with chandeliers that bathed the space in warm, golden light. The walls were lined with dark, rich wood paneling, and the air was filled with the faint scent of jasmine and the lingering aroma of fine cigars. Guests shuffled around in the lobby, their conversations a murmur of excitement, but their eyes discreetly turned to the striking woman who had just entered.

A hotel worker, dressed smartly in a bellboy uniform of crisp white and black, approached you with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to catering to the wealthy and powerful. He couldn't help but be taken aback by your appearance, the way you moved with an effortless grace that seemed to belong to someone your status.

"Good evening, madam," he said, his voice respectful but tinged with curiosity. His eyes darted briefly to your luggage — a single, exquisitely crafted leather bag, monogrammed with the initials that possibly belonged to you.

Without pausing, you handed him your smooth gloves, your tone cool and commanding. "Have my bag sent to Suite 81," you instructed, words clipped and precise.

The bellboy hesitated for only a moment before snapping to attention. "Yes, ma'am!" he replied, taking the bag with both hands as if it contained something made out of glass, something precious. He hurried off toward the elevator, casting a final, awed glance back at you.

You continued your way through the lobby and a low hum of conversation followed after you. Guests and staff alike seemed to recognize you, though none dared to approach you directly. Your reputation, it seemed, followed you as well.

"Good evening, Countess [Last name]!" came a cheerful greeting from one of the hotel's attendants, a middle-aged man with a handlebar mustache who had seen many notable figures pass through the Cortez's doors, but none quite like you.

You turned your head slightly in his direction, your lips curling into a polite smile that did not quite reach your eyes. "Good evening," you replied, voice smooth and cultured, with a hint of an accent that spoke of faraway lands.

The attendant bowed slightly as you passed, and within moments, another voice, this time a younger woman in the concierge uniform, echoed through the lobby. "Welcome back, Countess [Last name]!" her voice was filled with genuine warmth and you didn't understand where did this come from.

The evening had settled over Los Angeles. The grand dining room of the hotel was appearing in art deco luxury, with its dark wood accents, gold-leafed walls, and crystal chandeliers casting a warm, inviting light over the tables set with fine china and silverware. The clinking of glasses and soft murmur of conversation filled the air and created something nostalgic to your heart.

You entered the dining room with the same air of composed grace that had marked your entrance into the hotel. Your eyes swept the room, taking in the diners who were engaged in their meals and conversations and you felt a pang of jealousy upon the sight. Their lives were so normal in comparison with yours.

As you approached the maître d's podium, the head waiter, a distinguished man with a neatly trimmed mustache and a tuxedo that fit him like a second skin, stepped forward. He recognized you immediately, the elegant Countess, and inclined his head in a deep bow.

"A table for one, ma'am?" his voice was practiced with the ease of someone who had served wealthy guests for years, though there was a slight quiver in his voice — perhaps a trace of the unease that always seemed to accompany you.

You, with your face expression as unreadable as ever, allowed yourself a brief pause before responding. Your eyes flicked past him, scanning the room once more, searching for something — or rather, someone.

"Is . . . James Patrick March dining?" you asked, voice soft but with an undercurrent of something that hinted at more than just casual interest.

The maître d' hesitated only for a heartbeat before answering, his gaze following yours toward the far end of the room. "Oh, he's at the table by the window, ma'am," he replied and a hint of curiosity crossed his tone as he gestured subtly toward the large, arched windows that overlooked the city's nightscape.

There, seated at a table clothed in the soft glow of candlelight, was James Patrick March. He was dressed impeccably in a tailored black suit with a crisp white shirt and a tie that was just slightly loosened, giving him an air of a casual someone. His posture was relaxed, yet there was an intensity in the way he glanced through the room, as if every detail, every movement was a piece in a grand, invisible game. A game that belonged to him. His dark hair was slicked back, and his piercing eyes, though cast downward at the moment, seemed to take in everything around him.

Your gaze lingered on him, breath catching slightly as the history the two of you shared played out in your mind — something you've never been able to erase from your memories. Your hand tightened around the strap of your formal handbag, the storm of rage already forming inside you.

"Thank you," you murmured to the maître d', who, sensing that his services were no longer required, bowed once more and stepped aside.

With a final, steadying breath, you made your way across the dining room, your steps measured and elegant, drawing the eyes of more than a few guests who wondered at the purpose of your approach. You moved with the grace of a woman who knew how to command a room's attention without asking for it, but there was also a tension to your movements, a barely concealed edge that hinted at the true intentions of your visit.

As you neared the table, March's dark eyes lifted from his glass of alcohol, catching yours in a gaze that was both intimate and unreadable. He leaned back slightly in his chair and a slow, amused smile played at the corners of his lips as he watched you approach, as if he had been expecting you all along.

"Countess [Last name]," he greeted you, his voice smooth and rich with a hint of that accent you both despised and adored. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

You met his gaze evenly, your own smile small and controlled, but there was a fire in your eyes that belied your calm exterior.

"Mr. March," the way his name rolled out of your mouth shouldn't sound so lovingly. Your voice was steady, though your heart raced beneath your play. "I believe we have unfinished business."

March remained seated, watching your every move with the sharp, predatory gaze of a man who was used to getting what he wanted. The slight smirk on his lips hinted at his appearing satisfaction. He knew you’d show up, let it be few weeks or decades.

"If some kind fate wishes to send a beautiful lady to dine with me, I can only be grateful," the man said, his voice smooth and low, rich with the charm of someone who was well aware of his power. "You will do me the honor, won't you, ma'am?"

For a brief moment, the tension between the two of you hung in the air, taut and electric, as you studied him. You were fully aware of the game you were playing, the dangerous dance of wit and will, and you had no intention of backing down. This game would be his loss.

Finally, your lips curved into a small, controlled smile, one that spoke of your own understanding of the power dynamics at play. "I should be delighted," you replied, voice carrying the slightest edge of irony as you accepted his invitation.

March's smile deepened, pleased with your response. He gestured to the empty chair opposite him, a silent invitation for you to join him. The man poured a glass for you, the wine a deep, blood-red, before filling his own. He lifted his glass to you in a toast and his eyes never left yours.

"To fate," he said, his voice carrying a note of amusement. "For bringing such a captivating companion to my table."

You lifted your glass, clinking it lightly against his. "To fate," you echoed, gaze steady as you sipped the wine, the taste of it rich and complex on your tongue. It's been a long time since the last moment you tasted the sweet blood.

For now, the dance would continue.

And as you looked into James Patrick March's eyes, you couldn't help but wonder who would lead, and who would follow.

"What would you like for dinner?" his voice always seemed smooth, and you never knew if it was because of the accent or for the fact that he knew exactly what he wanted. A hint of amusement danced in his dark irises.

Your lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "What does the owner of this hotel eat? Pheasant wings and peacock breasts?" you inquired, tone playful yet edged with a subtle challenge. "And — what do you usually eat?"

His grin widened. "Ah, the usual fare for me tends to be quite varied, though I do have a penchant for the extravagant," he admitted, leaning forward slightly as he spoke and you knew his words hinted at something else as well. "But I find myself quite curious about what a countess might prefer."

Your gaze never wavered as you answered, your voice carrying a hint of wry humor. "Almost anything," the simplicity of your answer was belied by the layers of meaning beneath it.

The man's eyes sparkled with interest as he absorbed your response. He seemed to consider those words carefully before responding, his voice warm and teasing. "Well then, how about roast beef?" he suggested, his tone both casual and deliberate, as though he were making an offer that was both grand and intimate.

Your smile deepened and a glimmer of approval appeared in your eyes. James Patrick March had always had a rich taste. Especially in alcohol and women. "Roast beef sounds delightful," you agreed. "I appreciate your choice, Mr. March. It seems fitting for the occasion."

March signaled to the waiter, who had been hovering discreetly nearby, and relayed the order with a casual wave of his hand, all while his eyes never left yours. The waiter nodded and swiftly disappeared, leaving the two of you alone once more, the soft murmur of the dining room the only sound accompanying you.

With a slow, elegant movement of his hand, March poured himself another glass of wine. "I must say, Countess [Last name], it's a rare pleasure to share a meal with someone who possesses such . . . discerning taste," he said, his voice laced with both sincerity and a hint of irony.

"And it's a rare pleasure to find myself in such intriguing company," you replied to him, tone both warm and enigmatic. "I trust the evening will prove to be as engaging as the company."

March chuckled softly, his gaze lingering on you with an almost predatory satisfaction. "I have no doubt it will be," he said, raising his glass in a toast once more.

The night sky was a deep shade of deep indigo, flickering with countless stars that twinkled like diamonds scattered across velvet. The air was warm, with just the faintest whisper of a breeze, carrying the scent of blooming jasmine through the open balcony doors. The Hotel Cortez stood silent and still, its grand exterior bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, casting long, gentle shadows across the marble floors.

You stood on the balcony, the city of Los Angeles sprawling out beneath you like a sea of lights. Your gown, a delicate shade of silver that shimmered in the moonlight, flowed around you like liquid silk. Your hair was loose, cascading over your shoulders in waves, and your young face, bathed in the soft light, was a picture of pure satisfaction.

Beside you stood James Patrick March, his tall figure intimidating yet relaxed as he leaned against the ornate railing. His gaze, however, was not on the city below, but on the woman at his side. There was a softness in his eyes, a rare gentleness that few had ever seen, let alone inspired. In this moment, all the world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you.

As you stood in comfortable silence, a sudden streak of light blazed across the night sky — a shooting star, burning its brief path before vanishing into the darkness. March, ever so observant, turned his gaze upward, his lips curving into a smile.

"Look, [Name], a shooting star," he said, his voice filled with a boyish wonder that was rare for him. He turned his head slightly to meet your gaze, his eyes reflecting the faint starlight. "Did you wish?"

Caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the star, you blinked and looked up just as it disappeared. Your expression softened, a faint smile touching your lips, but there was a wistfulness in your eyes as you shook your head slightly.

"Oh . . . I didn't have time," you admitted, voice tinged with a hint of regret, as though you had missed an opportunity that would not come again.

James' smile didn't falter, though there was a subtle shift in his expression — something deeper, more thoughtful. He stepped closer to you, his presence warm and reassuring. "And there is something you wish for," he said, more a statement than a question, as if he already knew the answer but wanted to hear it falling from your own lips.

Your smile faded into something more serious, your eyes searching his as though you were trying to decide whether to speak the truth or guard your heart. But in the end, you could not lie to him — not in this moment, not when you felt so safe, so completely at peace by his side.

"Yes," you whispered to him, barely more than a breath.

March's gaze softened further. He reached out with his hand and gently enveloped your own in his, the skin of his palm warm and grounding. "What did you wish?" he asked, his voice low and intimate, as though the words were meant for your ears alone.

You hesitated, the answer so close to escaping, yet so difficult to say. Your heart ached with the weight of it, with the knowledge of the life you wished for but could never truly have. Looking down at your joined hands, your fingers lightly curled around his in response to his question, and then back up into his dark eyes, which were watching you with such intensity, such sincerity. They seemed a lot darker now, under the night sky.

"I was wishing that we were two other people," you finally confessed, your voice filled with a quiet longing that spoke of dreams unfulfilled. "Two people who need not say goodbye."

The words hung between you, heavy with meaning. You could not bear the thought of losing him, of this moment being just a fleeting memory in the string of your lives. The depth of your love for him was overwhelming, a love so pure and untainted by the shadows that would later consume you.

James stepped even closer, his hand gently moving to cup your cheek and his thumb brushed tenderly across your skin. "Perhaps it can be that way," he murmured. March bent his head, his lips hovering just above yours, as if the very act of kissing you might seal the promise he was making. "Perhaps we can be those people, if only for tonight."

Your breath caught in the back of your throat, heart pounding in your chest as you searched his eyes for the truth in his words. And this time, you allowed yourself to believe it — to believe that the two of you could escape the world that would inevitably tear you apart, that you could be just a man and a woman, free from the burdens of your lives.

You were the one to close the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was soft, tender, and filled with all the love and hope you held in your heart for him.

And for that night, under the watchful eyes of the stars, you were just two people who did not need to say goodbye.

The present moment was completely different to the warmth and tenderness of the past. The air in the room was thick with tension, the kind that clung to the walls and settled in every crack of the Hotel Cortez. The grand suite you occupied was dimly lit, the once-gilded decor now seemed dull. Outside, the night became alive, the city's lights a distant blur beyond the heavy curtains, but inside, the atmosphere crackled with the remnants of an argument that had yet to reach its peak.

You stood near the window, your back to the room, while you stared out into the darkness with attention that wasn't really there. Your once vibrant spirit now seemed dulled by the weight of time spent in this cursed place, your elegance marred by the sorrow etched into your features. The memories of what had once been — of the love you had felt for him — were a distant echo. His betrayal hardened your heart.

Behind you, James Patrick March paced around the room restlessly, his usually composed demeanor frayed at the edges. The man who had once been a picture of controlled arrogance now seemed almost desperate, his eyes locked onto your figure as though you were the only thing grounding him to this world. His tailored suit was as impeccable as ever, but there was a tension in the set of his shoulders, a strain in his voice that betrayed the depth of his emotions.

"[Name]," he began, and his voice was urgent, almost pleading as he tried to bridge the growing wall between the two of you. "I offer you the three things most dear to me: my heart . . . my hotel . . . and my dream."

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of promises that no longer held the meaning they once did. He took a step toward you, his hand outstretched as if to pull you back to him, to recapture the love you had shared before everything had gone so terribly wrong. Before his mistakes happened.

But you remained unmoved, back still turned to him, posture stiff with resolve. The pain in your chest was such a familiar ache, one that had become a part of your very being, but you had long since learned to live with it. Now, it was a shield, protecting you from the man who had once held your heart so completely.

"You are too generous —" you began with your voice full of coldness, as if you were speaking to a stranger and not the man you had once loved with every fiber of your being.

"[Name], you must listen to me!" March's voice cracked with desperation as he allowed himself to interrupt you, his frustration spilling over. He stepped closer, his presence almost suffocating in its intensity. "Since that first hour we met, I've been completely yours. There's never been anyone else for me . . . There never will."

His confession, raw and unfiltered, was the truth — at least, the truth as he saw it. To him, you were everything, the only light in the endless darkness that had become his existence. He had built this world all for you, and now it was slipping away, crumbling before his eyes because he could not reach you, could not find a way to make you understand.

You finally turned to face him, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of sorrow and resignation. The words he spoke were like daggers to your heart, reopening wounds that had never truly healed. You had once believed in his love, had once shared his dreams, but that time had passed. What had once been your shared world was now a shattered illusion, a dream that had turned into a nightmare.

"Please," you whispered, voice trembling with the effort to maintain your composure, but you felt the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. "Please don't say any more. There are worlds between us, worlds that can't be bridged with words."

Your gaze bore into his, pleading for him to understand what you could not bring yourself to say out loud.

"You are dead. And I am me."

He was trapped in this hotel, in this half-life of his own making, while you remained bound to the world of the living, a world that he could never truly be a part of. The love you had once shared, as powerful and all-consuming as it had been, was now nothing more than a painful memory.

March stood frozen, the weight of your words crushing the last remnants of his hope. He had always been a man who believed that he could bend the world to his will, that nothing was beyond his reach if he desired it enough. But in this moment, he was confronted with the one thing he could not control, could not change — the inexorable march of time and the finality of death. Was he really though?

His expression was a mix of anguish and determination, the usual smoothness of his demeanor shattered by the knowledge he had carried for so long. This was a truth he had avoided speaking aloud, perhaps out of a twisted sense of mercy, or perhaps because he could not bear the thought of breaking you more than it was needed. But now, the time for silence had passed.

"You said one night that you wished we were two different people," March began to remember, his voice low and measured. His eyes never left your form. "I think you may have that wish, [Name]."

His words seemed to hang in the air. For a moment, you did not move, your mind struggling to grasp the meaning behind them. You felt your brows furrowing in confusion, the flicker of doubt that had long been buried now rising to the surface.

"But what do you mean?" you asked in a quiet voice, almost trembling. There was something in his tone, something in the way he looked at you, that sent a chill running down your spine. It was as if the ground beneath you was beginning to crumble, threatening to pull you into an abyss you had refused to acknowledge.

James stepped closer, his gaze softening as he saw the uncertainty and fear in your eyes upon hearing those words. The man who had always prided himself on his control, on his ability to manipulate and bend others to his will, now stood before you, stripped of all secrets. He could not protect you from this truth now, could not shield you from the reality that had been so carefully hidden away by him.

"[Name]," he started gently, as if to not scare you any more, "you are not who you think you are. You've been living in denial, clinging to the idea that you are still part of the world of the living."

You recoiled slightly, with your heart beginning to race as a cold dread settled against your rib cage. Your mind fought against his words, refusing to accept what they implied. You had always felt different, out of place, but you had attributed it to the strange nature of the hotel, to the dark energy that seemed to carve every corner of it. Not this. Never this.

"No . . ." you whispered, shaking your head as if that could wake you up from the nightmare that was taking shape before you. "No, that can't be true. I'm . . . I'm alive, James. I'm here."

The man's brows furrowed in sorrow and what seemed like guilt, his heart breaking for you when you struggled to hold onto the last shreds of your denial. He reached out, gently taking your hands in his, his touch warm but offering no comfort from the truth he was about to reveal.

"You are here, [Name]," he said softly, "but not in the way you believe. You died, my love . . . years ago. You've been here, in this hotel, ever since. Your spirit, your essence — trapped, just like mine. But unlike the others, you've refused to see it. You've built a world around yourself, a world where you still believe you can leave, still believe you can live."

The room seemed to spin around you, the walls closing in as the truth clawed its way into your consciousness. You tried to pull away from him, tried to reject the reality he was presenting, but his grip on your hands was firm, grounding you even as everything else fell apart.

"No . . . no, that's not possible," you insisted still, your voice rising in pitch as panic began to take hold. "I'm not dead, I can't be. I'm . . . I'm real, James. I'm standing here, talking to you."

"Yes, you are," March replied, his voice steady and calm, though his own pain was evident in his eyes. "But you're not alive. Not in the way you think. This hotel . . . it's a place where the dead linger, where they cannot move on. You've been here with me all this time, believing you were still part of the world outside, but the truth is . . . you're not."

Tears welled up in your eyes as the reality of his words began to sink in, your carefully constructed world shattering around you. You could feel the coldness creeping into your bones, the weight of your existence pressing down on you like a leaden shroud. It was as if you were seeing yourself for the first time — truly seeing — and what you saw terrified you.

"But . . . but how?" asking, your voice broke as you looked up at him, searching his face for answers, for anything that might make sense of this horror. "How could I not know? How could I . . . how could I forget?"

Your past lover's expression was filled with sorrow as he gently cupped your face, wiping away the salty tears that spilled down your cheeks. He had never wanted this for you, never wanted you to suffer as he had, to be trapped in this purgatory with nothing but memories and regrets to keep you company.

"You loved me," he stated simply. "You loved me so much that you couldn't bear to let go, even in death. Your love for me, your denial . . . it kept you here, in this place, unable to see the truth. But now . . . now you know."

You were his. Perhaps you had always been. And now, as the truth of your existence settled into your bones, he knew he could not let you go, even if it meant holding onto a ghost, a shadow of what the two of you once were.

Gently, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his hand still cradling one of your cheeks. Your eyes were red-rimmed, your face paler than usual, but in that moment, you were still the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. The love he had felt for you had not waned, even in death; if anything, it had only grown stronger, more desperate.

"You may as well take my heart, [Name]," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "It's already full of you. You walked into it the day we met."

A blink was all you managed to give. You had felt his love from the beginning, had known how deeply he cared for you.

"You're a fool, James Patrick March." There was no anger in your words, only a sorrowful resignation. You knew what he was trying to do, knew he was trying to hold onto something that had already slipped away. But there was no future for the two of you — not in this twisted world, not in this half-existence.

He smiled sadly, a flicker of the old charm that had once captivated you. "Oh, but isn't any man who falls in love?" He ran his thumb gently across the apple of your cheek, wiping away the last traces of your tears. "Do you know what you are to me? You're something to believe in again. You're the type of person that had ceased to exist for me — a fine and honest woman."

His words were like a knife twisting in your heart. The depth of his feelings, the sincerity in his voice, all served to remind you of what you had lost, of what could never be. You wanted to believe in his love, to find comfort in the fact that he still saw you as something pure and good. But the truth was that you weren't that woman anymore, and perhaps you never had been.

"Oh, my darling. You're such a child.”

James' face fell, the hope in his eyes dimming as he saw the resolve in your posture, heard the finality in your voice. He had feared this moment, the moment when you would push him away, when you would reject the only thing he had left to offer.

"Take your foolish little dream in your heart and go," you continued with your final decision and your voice broke on the last word as you fought against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm your every sense. You wanted him to leave, to take his love and his dreams and disappear, because you knew that if he stayed, you would both be dragged down into the darkness that surrounded you.

You didn't need to turn around to know he was still there. You could feel him, like a shadow that never left your side.

"What is it? What's wrong, my dear?" his voice was gentle, almost tender, but you could hear the underlying concern.

You wanted to lash out, to tell him to leave you for good, to demand that he let you be. But the words caught in the back of your throat, tangled with the truth of what you felt — what you had always felt for him, despite everything.

"You know nothing about me," you said, voice shaking with frustration, but also with a hint of despair. "You've known me only three weeks!"

March blinked, caught off guard by your statement. Three weeks. Had it really been so little time? To him, it felt like an eternity, and at the same time, like no time at all. Every moment with you had been etched into his mind, as if you had always been there, a part of him that never left.

"Three weeks?" he repeated after you. "[Name], I've known you all my life."

"All your life?!" the words were nothing but a distant echo, incredulous. How could he say that? How could he claim to have known you, when you yourself barely understood who you were anymore?

James took a step closer, his eyes locked onto yours. He could see the turmoil in your gaze, the confusion and doubt that swirled around you like a storm. But he had to make you understand — had to make you see what you meant to him, what you had always meant.

"It's true," he insisted, his voice filled with quiet conviction. "I've seen you in a thousand plays, read you in as many books. While I've heard beautiful music, I've thought, 'She'd like that.' I've looked at flowers and known that one day I'd give them to you."

To him, you had always been there, in his thoughts, in his dreams. Even before the two of you met, you had been a part of him, an ideal, a vision of something pure and beautiful in a world that had long since lost its luster.

Your breath caught in your throat as you listened, heart pounding in your chest. You had heard words like these before — sweet nothings whispered in the dark after you've made love, promises made and broken — but this was different. There was no lies in his voice, no empty flattery. He truly believed what he was saying, and that sincerity shook you to your core.

But it also terrified you. Because you knew that if you allowed yourself to believe him, to accept the love he offered, there would be no turning back. You would be lost to him, bound by the same chains that held you both to this place.

"James. . ." you began with your trembling voice as you struggled to find the right words. You wanted to tell him that it wasn't real, that what he felt was just another illusion, another trick of his twisted mind. But even as you thought it, you knew it wasn't true. His love for you was truly real — so real that it had brought you back, kept you from moving on.

But was it enough? Could it ever be enough?

You felt a cold sweat on your skin as you grappled with the turmoil building inside you. The love you felt for James was undeniable, a force that had bound you together in life and in death. But with that love came a profound sense of duty, a discipline that you had clung to as a way to maintain some semblance of control over your fractured existence. Now, that discipline was being tested in a way you had never imagined.

The man himself could see the conflict in your eyes, the way your emotions warred with your duty. He had always admired your strength, the fierce determination with which you had approached everything in your life. But now, he wondered if that strength would ultimately be the thing that tore the two of you apart.

"If I betray you, I betray myself," whispering, your voice trembled with the weight of your confession. You had always prided yourself on your unwavering commitment to your principles, to the discipline that had guided you through even the darkest of times. But now, standing before the man you loved, you realized just how fragile that commitment had become, all because of him.

"If I betray myself," you continued, "I betray my discipline. My discipline is very dear to me."

The words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning. You had built your life around that discipline, around the principles that had defined you. It had been your anchor, your guiding light in a world that had often seemed dark and chaotic.

"Dearer than I?" James' voice was soft, almost pleading. He could see the struggle in your eyes, the way you fought against your love for him with the discipline that had been the foundation of your existence. He knew that he was asking you to choose between two parts of yourself, and the thought of losing you because of it was almost too much to bear.

You looked up at him, heart breaking in million pieces at the vulnerability in his voice. You had never wanted to hurt him, never wanted to put him in a position where he had to question your love. But the truth was, you were questioning it yourself. Not the love itself — no, that was as real as anything you had ever known — but whether you could truly allow yourself to give in to it, to let go of the discipline that had defined you for so long.

"No," you whispered into the dark while the soft breeze blew past you. "No, not dearer than you. But I must leave."

James Patrick March stood there, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you like a death sentence. You were leaving him — this time, forever. The love you had shared, the bond that had once seemed unbreakable, was now shattered, and there was nothing he could do to stop you from disappearing into the void where he could never follow.

For a moment, he said nothing, his heart a cage of grief, anger, and desperation. He had always prided himself on his composure, his ability to remain calm and in control, even in the face of the most dire situations. But now, with the woman he loved standing before him, ready to walk out of his life forever, all that control began to crumble.

"You gave me your heart, you know?" James finally spoke, his voice low and strained, as if each word was being torn from the depths of his soul. "And now you'd like me to hand it back to you, whole again. But I won't."

You flinched at the bitterness in his tone, but you held your ground, soft eyes betraying the sadness that mirrored his own. You had made your decision, but it was clear that it was one that pained you just as much as it pained him.

"You will live a long time yet, [Name]," the man continued, his voice growing stronger, more resolute, as if he were steeling himself against the inevitable. "An eternity without me."

He paused for a moment, hoping to find any sign that you might change your mind, that you might see the madness in what you were about to do. But there was nothing — just the same quiet determination that had always been a part of you, the same unyielding strength that he had fallen in love with.

"You will look into the faces of passersby, hoping for something that will, for an instant, bring me back to you. But it won't. You will find moonlit nights strangely empty," he went on, his voice now a haunting whisper. "Because when you call my name through them, there will be no answer."

Your breath hitched, and you looked away, unable to meet his gaze any longer. James felt a sharp pang in his chest, a sense of helplessness that he had never known before. He was losing you for real, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"Always your heart will be aching for me," he said, his voice trembling with the intensity of his emotions. "And your mind will give you the doubtful consolation that you did a brave thing."

He took a step closer, reaching out to gently lift your chin so that your eyes met once more. The pain in your gaze was almost too much for him to bear, but he held it, wanting you to see the truth in his own eyes. He wanted you to feel his own pain.

"But know this, my dear," the whispered affection left his lips so naturally when it came to you and that was why it all hurt too much. He'd never change. "You may think you're doing the right thing, the brave thing, by leaving. But there will come a time when you will question it — when the loneliness becomes too much, when the nights grow too long, and the silence becomes unbearable. And in those moments, you will remember me. You will remember what we had, and you will wish, with all your heart, that you had chosen differently."

He let his hand fall away, stepping back as the finality of your decision settled over him like a blanket. There was nothing more to say — nothing that could change what was about to happen.

"You will never be free of me. No matter how far you run, or how long you hide. I will always be a part of you, just as you are a part of me."

You swallowed hard, tears now spilling freely down your cheeks again as you took one last look at the man you had loved with all your heart. The man you were about to leave behind.

"Goodbye, James," you whispered, voice breaking. "Goodbye."

And with that, you turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows, leaving James alone in the suffocating silence of the room you had once shared.

As the door closed behind you, the reality of your absence crashed over him like a brutal wave, and for the first time in his life, James Patrick March felt truly, utterly lost.

[what-i-call-men]

jpm fluff? <3

I Can Provide for You

James Patrick March x Reader

Warnings: mostly fluff with a hint of smut at the end

A/N: the dialogue in the beginning was inspired by a post by @taintandviolent the post is here its an AI conversation with James. i tried my best to fill in the rest of the conversation.

picture from @frankenkyle19

Your day was thus far was hell. Apparently everyone needed you to do something or another today and you finally got a moment of peace for your lunch break. Glancing at the clock, you decided now was as good a time as any to plan your night. You could always go home and make yourself some dinner and spend the night alone… or you could call James…

That was enough thought to have you picking up the phone that sat on your desk and dialing his number for his room phone. After a few rings it picked up.

“Hello?” He answered the phone and you were immediately a bit relieved from your stress.

“Good afternoon James.” You said with a smile on your face. You could almost hear him smile through the phone.

“Ah my little buttercup. How good to hear from you.” His voice hummed through the phone, almost as smooth as butter.

You grabbed the coiled cord of the phone and played with it between your fingers. “It’s nice to hear your voice.” You spoke through your end.

“Tell me, my dear, how are you?”

“I’m ok my love how are you?” You asked, hoping you hadn’t interrupted his day.

“Good good. Oh dear, I miss you.” His voice made you feel like there were a million hot butterflies swirling in your chest. It’s done that since the day you first spoke.

“I miss you too James.” You glanced up to look around your office as you awaited his words again to send shivers down your spine.

“When are you coming to see me again?” You hadn’t seen him since the week before, simply not having the time or energy to go on another date night since then. Obviously he couldn’t come to you so if you didn’t go to the hotel you couldn’t see him.

“Well I’m a bit swamped at work right now so maybe later if I’m not too spent.” You said as you looked back down to your desk where paperwork sat askew.

“Aw, little kitten, you know how I feel about you working too hard. What are you slaving away for my Darling? Money? Entertainment? I can provide you with all of that and more.” You knew James had money but you’d only been seeing each other for about a month or so. You didn’t expect him to provide anything for you yet seeing as how you two barely had time to see each other with your work schedule.

“James, I can provide for myself. I just need money.” You scoffed a bit to yourself. Not that you disliked your job. You just liked the money a bit more. Affording dinner and rent was a joy of yours.

He sighs before speaking, “Money? Surely, not that……. I’ll give you every last cent I have if it means seeing your precious face, my sweet.”

Your heart fluttered a bit… as much as this job was nice you would love to never work again. But you couldn’t just agree to letting him do that. “James, I can’t-“ He cut you off.

“I said I’d give you all you need.” The tone in which he spoke was so commanding and so hot. You had to give in a little bit.

“All I need?” You said back flirtatiously. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t crave his body. It’d been about a week since you’d seen him and you did miss his touch.

He caught on to your hinting and you swear you could hear his smirk through the phone. “Oh you saucy little minx you. Of course.”

“So I could have you to myself all night?” You asked and glanced up to make sure none of your coworkers were near your office. God it would be so embarrassing if they heard you like this, but that wouldn’t stop you from talking to James.

“Ah. I can give you that for as long as you like. All night and well into the early morning hours.” James’ shameless flirting back was starting to warm up your body, making you want to accept his proposal even more.

As you felt your face heat up you caught some movement outside your door for your office, one of your coworkers began his walk towards your desk. “Well I’d like to see you later then. I might be able to pencil you in for tonight.” You responded to James. He chuckled on the other end of the phone.

“Oh you do? Well, all we need for that to happen is…” God you loved and hated how commanding he was in conversation. It was so attractive yet you're still in your workplace and have to keep professional.

“Is for me to be there and not at work.” You said quietly as your coworker approached your door.

“That’s right, good girl, for you to be here.” James almost purred into the phone. You really were putty in his hands.

You took a deep breath. “Then I will be there tonight.” You said and acknowledged your coworker who was now waiting outside your door.

“I’ll expect you here by 6 pm sharp.” James said and you picked up your pen, pretending to write an appointment down in your personal planner.

“I’ll try to get out of the office. It’s just that-“ You tried to be realistic about the fact your boss usually expected you to pull some late overtime hours.

James cut off your thoughts. “Don't be late my little hummingbird.” God his tone was so commanding you had no other option to oblige with a hum.

“I’ll be there at 6 sharp” You said and nodded to yourself, as if you were talking to a client, all to save face for your coworker.

”Until then… Goodbye.” James stated and you said your own goodbye before hanging up the phone. Your coworker took this as an invite to fully walk into your office now. He sat at the other side of your desk.

“You didn’t hear this from me but the big wigs are making budget cuts and they’re thinking of cutting your department. That Cortez account isn't as big of an addition as we’d hoped. If I were you I’d probably get your affair in order and look in the help wanted ads in the paper.” He said quietly, looking over his shoulder in case the bosses were around.

Your eyebrows furrowed and you looked at the stack of papers on your desk. “How could they fire the department that does so much work? I have barely had a moment to breathe since I clocked in.”

“Well they already canned Jim, Mark and George in the past week. It’s really only us left.” He said and you let out a large sigh, James’ offer starting to ring in your mind. You waved off your coworker and as soon as he stood up your boss rounded the corner and walked straight towards your door.

And just like that you were picking up your paperwork and stuffing it back into its folders and picking up your personal items. Sure a couple tears fell, this wasn’t a bad job. Walking out with your box in hand, you went home.

Sitting on your couch, way earlier in the day than you had intended, you stared at today's paper on your counter, the wanted ads staring back at you. Next to it sat your telephone, James’ number on a small piece of paper next to it, written in his beautifully curled handwriting.

Reaching forward you grabbed the paper, glancing over it and seeing if anything caught your eye. You barely noticed you were dozing off until your phone rang, suddenly waking you. You blinked and yawned as you reached forwards to grab the phone, glancing over to your clock as you answered. “Hello?” You tried not to sound tired.

“I thought you’d still be at work, but when I called they said you had gone home. You usually call me before you leave work.” James’ voice was very matter-of-fact yet you could tell there was concern laced with the words.

“Yeah. I’m sorry, I left in a hurry.” You said, not really caring to elaborate much otherwise you might get more upset.

“Oh darling… You’ll still be here for dinner, correct?” He asked and you hummed a yes in response. Seeing as it was already past 4:30 you’d have to get ready quickly. “Well then I’ll see you at 6 my sweet.” You agreed and said a quick goodbye as you heard a knock at your door.

Walking over your landlord was standing there… you forgot to pay your rent. And your final warning on late payments was last month. She simply handed you a 14 day notice and said little to nothing else.

You tried your hardest to get ready for James, your makeup wouldn’t cooperate quite as you’d like, and your nice clothes all felt too uncomfortable. You had half a thought that you could cancel with James. But his words rang in your head and you realized how much you’d prefer to just be in his arms than alone and wallowing in self-pity.

You mustered up a presentable enough outfit and shoved your notice in your purse so you could read over it as soon as you had chances. With that you sped off to The Hotel Cortez. As soon as you got there you were greeted by the woman at the front desk. You were a bit early so what harm could a quick drink at the hotel bar do?

As you sat at the bar you pulled out your notice and read over it, dread filling your chest as you very quickly downed your drink. As soon as you placed down your now empty drink you felt a presence behind you. You turned around and saw James way too close to your shoulder… so close you almost hit him with your nose.

He was staring at the paper in your hand. You quickly folded it up and shoved it back into your pocket. “Hello dear.” You said and went to hug him, pretending you weren’t so upset might actually make you feel better. He went unwavering though. Obviously he had seen it.

“Is this why you left work so early?” He asked, arms not wrapping back around you yet.

You swallowed and tried to hold back your tears of frustration from the day. “No, actually they laid off my whole department today, that's why I left early.” You said as a tear fell from your eye and you pulled away from the one sided hug. He reached up gently and wiped the tear from your face.

“Oh my darling… let’s get you back to my room.” He said and guided you towards his room. The walk was pretty quiet until you got there, mostly you trying to keep yourself from sobbing on the walk. “Here we are my sweet little buttercup.” He said and took your coat from your shoulders.

Dinner sat at the table, still warm. You went to sit at your end, but he stopped you and called for Ms. Evers to move your table setting next to his. She did as told and you just turned to lay your now sobbing face against his shoulder, definitely getting him wet.

“Oh My darling, let’s wipe those tears and get you something to eat. Then we can have a little chat.” He said and took out his crisp white handkerchief and dabbed it on your cheeks to dry your tears a bit before taking you by the hand and walking you to your seat. He pulled out your chair for you and you started picking at your food as soon as he sat down.

You know he didn’t really need to eat, but he would never let you eat alone. As you ate he sat back in his seat a bit. “Darling, I really think it’s time we spoke about this arrangement. I want you to know I meant every word earlier. I will provide for you… anything you want for the rest of our eternity together.”

You stared at your plate as he spoke, your leg shaking with the stress that has been on you all day. “Oh James…” You said collecting your thoughts. “We’re barely even officially dating and you’re asking me to live with you.” Yeah it wasn’t entirely uncommon seeing as your cultures were only a couple decades apart, however you were an independent person and a sudden change from that would be hard for you.

“Darling in my time it wasn’t uncommon to learn your spouse's name days before the wedding.” You sighed at his comment… if you had a religious enough family it was still a thing. “Dearest…”

This time you cut him off. “Fine. But you have to let me at least help out around here.” You said. You know you’d hate to feel useless.

“Oh my sweet, I’m sure you can help me in many ways.” He leaned towards you and lowered his voice as she spoke. There wasn’t anyone else here but he knew how much his voice drove you crazy. You felt like this was the first time you’d smiled all day.

“Oh really? How can I help you then James?” You asked, feigning ignorance as you fluttered your eyelashes at him.

“How about you come sit on my lap while we figure it out?” He offered, moving his own chair back and reaching for your hand. You stood and took his hand, letting him help you onto his lap. His arms now wrapped around your waist and yours around his shoulders.

You pressed a couple small kisses to his lips before he pulled you forwards a bit more so your lips would stay against his, your hips having moved from his thighs to right above his own hips. His hands moved down your back to your thighs. “Oh my darling, I think I know just the way for you to help me out.” He said and grabbed your hips, rolling them against his now growing member in his pants.

He quickly stood up, your thighs instinctively wrapping around his body as he carried you towards his bed. He laid you back on it gently. No one would ever believe you if you told them how gentle he was. He was not a very gentle man when it came to anyone, but you were his exception, his delicate flower.

His hands grazed up your legs as he pushed his lips against yours again. “You can be my dessert.” He whispered against your lips, before his fingers met your hips under your dress. His fingers slipped under your panties and slid. Them down your thighs. You watched him dive between your thighs, pressing a few small kisses to the place you needed him the most.

You let your head roll back as he devoured you like you were his last meal. You really could get used to this, being here with him every night, him adoring you and doting on you. Maybe this is just the best situation to come out of you horrible day- The man who adored you nestled between your legs and telling you how in love he was with you.

Maybe this arrangement wouldn’t be bad…

[sometimescherwrites]

shitty jpm fluff blurb below the cut

thinking about jpm teaching you how to charleston. it comes up the first time bc he’s got one of his records playing and you’re tapping your foot or giving a little shimmy or something but he’s delighted because he also loves this song and you’re from the more modern era so you two don’t have too much in common when it comes to things like this. and when he asks if you want learn to charleston he’s half expecting you to say no, but you say yes and so you guys are starting as soon as he’s got you in what he deems as the “proper attire” (and it’s totally not a just an excuse to see you dressed like you’re from his era, ofc not). and he’s having the sort of fun he rarely gets without murder involved- though one could argue you’re murdering his teaching ability because he can’t understand how someone can be so bad at this but eventually it clicks for you and he’s just so delighted.

[violet-harmon2011]

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

[fear-is-truth]

— ★ . HOW YOUR CAMERA ROLL WOULD LOOK LIKE AS EVAN PETERS’ GIRLFRIEND

 fear-is-truth — do not copy, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[bluerthanvelvet444]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝙿𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Frat boy Kyle Spencer x fem!reader

tags: slight angst, fluffy smut!

warnings: swearing, public sex, mentions of Kyle's abuse (poor baby), handjob, p in v.

summary: frat boy kyle being a sweetheart. that's all i have to say.

character count: 11k.

full fic under the cut ↓

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

“I'm not going.” You replied, your voice firm and your eyes fixated on the math book that sat on the library's desk, trying to avoid the gaze-that you knew you couldn't resist-of the boy sitting in front of you. You heard him sigh as his doe eyes desperately tried to meet yours.

“But everyone is going…you can't miss it.” Kyle replied with his soft voice.

“I've never gone to any of those parties…why do you want me to go to this one so badly?” You spoke, with a noticeable hint of frustration in your voice.

“Because it's the end of the semester…something to celebrate. Plus, it's gonna be epic.” He said with a toothy smile plastered on his face.

“No, thanks. You know I don't roll with those frat boys.” You rolled your eyes, your words coming out harsh and spiteful.

“I'm a frat boy.” He said, raising an eyebrow, clearly confused by your statement.

“Yea- but you're…different.” You sighed.

It was true. He was indeed different from the frat boys he was friends with. You and Kyle met in Junior year of high school. You were paired up by your physics teacher, who suggested you could tutor Kyle, that at the time had terrible grades. You two clicked instantly, he was fun and outgoing, and you enjoyed spending time with him. Kyle had grown to be incredibly thankful for your help, in fact, he insisted that you were the one who made him passionate about physics, the subject that he used to despise and that now was his main department in college. Although he could seem like the usual asshole frat boy, Kyle was sweet and caring. You knew it, and no one could’ve made you change your mind on that. He was simply a sweetheart.

“Listen, I know my mates may seem rude or not well-behaved…but trust me, as a leader, I established some rules for them. They won’t act crazy, I promise.” His kind voice brought you back from your thoughts. You sighed, thinking about it.

“Brennan’s hosting the party in his summer mansion…it’s next to the beach- it’s so cool, I swear. I-I’ll take you there! I can pick you up and take you home…” He added, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Please?” He said in an adorable voice, his puppy eyes looking hopeful into yours.

You sighed, you didn’t wanna go, but it was utterly impossible to say no to him.

“Fine.”

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

You were touching up your makeup. You were ready for the “big night” Kyle was so excited about. You decided to wear something a bit more revealing, a black minidress, because-okay, you didn’t wanna go- but you couldn’t be annoyed and unfashionable all at once.

While taking a final look in the mirror, you heard a knock on your door. You grabbed your bag and opened the door to see Kyle-in his usual frat sweater-smiling at you. He looked at you up and down, scaring you slightly. What if he didn’t like the dress or how it looked on you?

Fortunately, all your concerns faded once you saw his smile widening.

“Woah…you look beautiful. Seriously…you’re stunning.” He said, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you, he wasn’t used to seeing you like this.

You felt your cheeks heat up at the compliments.

“Thank you…” You gave him an awkward smile and bit your lip.

“Shall we get going?” You suggested, to which he nodded. He took your hand and helped you step down the porch. Kyle led you to his car, and opened the door for you with a cute grin.

The ride was calm, you chit-chatted here and there about random stuff, and you swore you saw him staring at your body a few times. After 15 minutes or so, you eventually arrived at the party. Kyle was right, the mansion was beautiful and it faced the sea. You could see lights and music blasting out of the house. He gave you an excited grin and helped you out of the car, walking with you inside the house. It was overflowing with people laughing, playing games and having fun. As much as it seems hard to believe, you didn’t know anyone of those many people. They had familiar faces, sure, but you couldn’t consider them your actual friends. You sighed and nervously looked at Kyle who, on the other side, was flashing smiles to all his fellow frat brothers and friends. You noticed how comfortable he was in his habitat, and how you envied him for that. He introduced you to many people-whom you couldn’t even remember the names of-that obviously didn’t care much about getting to know you, since they even could’ve sworn you did not go to that college. You were invisible even when the attention was on you, and Kyle clearly didn’t catch that. So when he was dragged by his mates to some kind of game, he told you with a chuckle and a rushed tone

“I-I’ll be right back! Chat with the girls, they’re fun!”

Fun. Right. You didn't mean to sound like an antisocial bitch, but they were everything but fun. You saw them from afar just taking pictures of each other-to show on Instagram how much fun they were pretending to have having-or teasing each other about their crushes. You felt bored, so you sat on a chair, sipping a cup of-what you hoped was-punch and waited for Kyle. Time passed, and he didn’t show up, so you got up and started searching for him. It didn’t take you much to find him. Kyle was on the karaoke stage, singing “Rosanna” by Toto.

“Meetcha all the way! Nananaaaaah…” He “singed” while laughing with his mates.

You were conflicted on what to do now. You didn’t want to be a bummer by clinging to him all night, but you were truly bored and felt lonely. So, you did what you believed was best for everyone, you grabbed your stuff and left. The moment you stepped outside, you were met by an unfamiliar feeling of peace, the view surprising you for its beauty and for being so…empty. It was quiet, the only sound that could be heard were the waves splashing against the sand, no people around. You smiled and made your way to the pier nearby. You sat on it and took your shoes off, allowing your feet to sink in the water.

You didn’t know how much time had passed, but you were brought back to reality when you felt Kyle's voice behind you.

“Here you are! I searched for you everywhere!” He was breathing fast, you believed he had been running while seeking for you.

“I thought I left you a message?” You tilted your head.

“Oh… Sorry. I can’t find my phone. Why are you all alone here? The whole fun is inside!” He replied with a giant boyish smile.

“I like it better here. It’s boring inside.” You turned your face to look at the sea again.

“What? How can you call it boring? There are plenty of games! And people inside-” you cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

“Kyle, I hate to break it to you, but I’m not popular like you. The people inside couldn’t care less about me. I feel less lonely here than in that crowded house.”

He looked at you confused.

“Aw, c’mon…don’t be like this. They’re nice people, you just have to make an effort to try to meet them, and I’m sure you’ll have fun.” You didn’t know why those words started a fire in you.

“They’re not my friends, Kyle. I can’t stand those people, I don’t get along with them. And trust me, I’ve tried to be social and friendly, but you may have to consider the idea that not everyone is like you. You’re easygoing and social, you're a freaking frat boy for fuck’s sake. It’s easy for you to say those things.”

He looked at you, mouth agape at your sudden outburst.

“…why didn’t you just tell me?” He looked at you like a sad puppy for bringing you somewhere that made you uncomfortable.

“And be more of a bummer? No, thanks. They already hate me, I don't wanna be a party pooper as well.” You crossed your arms.

He sat next to you on the pier and his fingers gently grazed your jaw to make you look at him.

“You’re not a bummer to me…a-and I’m sorry about that… I shouldn’t have left you alone. Sorry.”

You wanted to be mad at him, truly, but those cute brown eyes melted your heart in every way possible. You bit your lip as you admired him lovingly. He was so caring and sweet, how did you manage to get this lucky?

“I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable, I- that’s the last thing I’d ever want. You know I care about you… I can’t stand you being mad at me. Please, forgive me?”

You felt your heart tighten at those words. You gave him a slight nod as your eyes travelled down his lips. You wanted to kiss him so badly, and he probably caught onto that, since he slowly leaned in to meet your lips in a sweet kiss. He pulled away slightly, mumbling against your lips.

“Was that okay?” You nodded, and he leaned in again, kissing you once more. This time he deepened the kiss, letting his tongue slip in your mouth and softly swirling it around yours. You let out a breath at how right that felt and how sweet he was being. You pulled him slightly closer and moved your hand to rest on his neck and caress the skin of it. After a bit, you moved your lips to peck his jaw a few times before trailing them down on his neck. Your lips worked sweetly on his skin at first, earning a few sighs from him. As the tension grew, you started sucking his neck, leaving red marks. He groaned and grabbed your waist, you subtly moved your hand down to massage the bulge from his pants. He let out a tiny gasp, and you felt him stiffen, not in a good way. You looked up at him with a confused expression.

“I-I’m sorry…please keep going…” He said with a nervous smile.

“What’s wrong? Did you not like that? It’s okay if you don’t want to…” You gave him a comprehensive look.

“No! I like that… I swear. Just…bad memories.”

“Do you wanna talk about it…?”

“No, I just wanna feel good now.”

You nodded and gave him a gentle peck on his lips before gently undoing his zipper. You ran your fingers over the visible shape of his dick through his underwear, earning a groan from him. You looked at him for consent before gently pulling his boxers down. You blushed as you saw him so vulnerable for the first time. Your fingers wrapped around his shaft, stroking him slowly. He let out a breathy moan.

“G-god…don’t stop…”

You smiled and started progressively speeding up. After a few minutes, you heard his moans grow louder, and you felt his strong hand gripping your wrist.

“I…wanna do it. Is that okay?”

You nodded, and he sat up to gently remove your dress and everything underneath. He was stunned by your body, staring at you as if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He helped you lay down, with a massive gentleness, as if you were capable of breaking if handled too roughly. He hovered on top of you, caressing your face as he lined up your entrance with his dick.

“This okay?” He muttered under his breath, to which you answered with a nod. He gently pushed into you, allowing you to adjust to the new feeling. He groaned when he pushed himself all the way in. He held your hand sweetly.

“Can I start moving?”

“Mhm…”

He slowly started thrusting in you, earning moans from you both. He gripped your hand tighter as he felt how your walls clenched around him. When he felt like you were ready, he started going faster, gripping your hand tightly and kissing you repeatedly through the whole thing. You could've sworn you were seeing stars when he started hitting your G-spot with his tip. Soon enough, your moans got louder and you felt yourself coming on his dick. He tried his best to contain his moans and as soon as you finished he pulled out to come on your tummy. He collapsed onto you, pecking your face repeatedly.

“I love you…” He mumbled.

After some time had passed, he got up and cleaned you with the salty water, giggling like a teen boy receiving his first kiss. When he helped you gain your-and his-decency again, he got up, throwing an arm around you and walking happily towards his car.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

a/n: I love Kyle he's so babygirllll. also look at the cute picture i found on pinterest (the one under the title) that boy looks so much like kyle. got me screaming when I saw it. Anywaysssssss. I might post a part 2 of this with frankenkyle, but I gotta finish Peter fics first (spoiler). Let me know if you like it💕💕

join my taglist!!

all rights reserved!!

[kai-anderson-whore]

The summoning (jmp x tate Langdon x reader smut)

Summary: you had always been fascinated with serial killers and true crime, one day you decided to try and summon your two favourite killers

Warnings: smut, three way, oral (tate receiving), p in v sex, doggy style 😏, summoning a ghost, ouija board,

Word count: 1,3k (another short one it was supposed to be longer)

A/n: this is a request by @villains-are-hot, thank you for the request and once again I apologise that it was very rushed at the end and I took ages to post this 😊

•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•..•°˚˚°•.•¤❅¤•.•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•.

For as long as you could remember you had a unhealthy obsession with true crime/ serial killers. Some may say it's far from normal, it was frightening. You knew stories of cases watched all the documentaries and more.

Some people say it's the type of obsession you hear killers having before they kill. You didn't care it was a interest that you were so passionate about. You preferred learning about serial killers, how their mind works, what drove them to do it. The ones you liked learning about the most was Tate Langdon who got shot dead in his bedroom after shooting up his school one day in 1994. And the other was James Patrick march a well known serial killer from the 1920s to the early 1930s. Legend has it they both still reside in their place of death.

You didn't know if that was true or not, you visited the hotel that James Patrick march resides in but nothing, you couldn't exactly go to the murder house since people live there. It intrigued you deeply, the thought it could be true or not.

You didn't know what you were doing when the idea popped into your head, you thought it won't work but it was worth a go. Now researching things to do, how to summon ghosts, some where a bit far fetched others seemed fake but you were willing nonetheless. Finding a method writing down everything that had to be done.

You sat in front of the oujia board your fingers delicately on the triangle piece. You took deep breaths trying to stay calm circling the board three times before saying "James Patrick march and Tate Langdon I invite you to this space" waiting a few seconds you felt eerily quiet and cold.

"Is there anyone here?" You asked the board, you felt something pushing the triangle to yes, you gasped in shock now feeling nervous but your fingers still remain on the piece. "How many sprits are here?" You then asked feeling uneasy slightly regretting your decision. The piece moved to the number 2 you didn't know if it was you or if it was actually two spirits here but you slowly asked your next question "w-who are you?".

The board moved to around spelling out two initials JMP and TL you gasped removing your hands from the board standing up. Completely forgetting to say goodbye. You immediately grabbed the board putting it away "what the fuck, it's probably me doing it it's got to be" you whispered to yourself.

"Not quite dear" a voice chimed making you yelp in fright. "What the fuck!?" You turned around seeing two guys there awfully familiar to you, they looked identical like discrete descent, "w-who are you?" You asked in fear.

"I'm James Patrick march and this is-" "Tate Langdon" they said, you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion "you're both dead no this can't be true." You couldn't believe what you were seeing they looked exactly like the killers you knew so much about. "How are you here?" You asked a thousand questions running around your head.

"Well you summoned us" Tate chuckled pointing to the ouija board. That's when you realised "shit I forgot to say goodbye" mentally cursing yourself, "it's quite alright dear, but I must ask how did you manage to get us free?" James asked.

"Dude she used the ouaji board to get us out" Tate said like James was dumb. "That's fascinating" James eyes light up "I don't know how we could ever thank you" James added. Tate's eyes on you like you’re his prey, swallowing a lump in your throat as his steps grew closer to you from behind. "I've got an idea" Tate's breath on your neck sending shivers down your spine. "Y-you don't need to thank me" your voice was above whisper unsure what they mean.

"Well boy enlighten us with your idea" James's velvety voice made you shiver more. You couldn't deny they were both very attractive despite their tendency to killing. "Well she's pretty isn't she? Don't you agree?" Tate smirked his hands running down the soft skin of your arms. "I do agree with you she is quite remarkable" James agreed beckoning his steps closer to you.

You didn't know if your body was filled with fear or anticipation maybe both. Closing your eyes feeling their breaths breeze across your features. James colds fingertips grazing gracefully along your bare arms bringing goosebumps to their wake. "I think we shall reward her for setting us free from our eternal resistances" James smirked his pencil moustache raising up.

"I was thinking the same" Tate chuckled with a devilish smirk, you didn't know what to feel scared? Or turned on? Maybe both. Feeling their cold hands on you but you didn't protest instead you let out a small sigh tugging on your shirt removing it from your body your head felt like it was spinning feeling their lips on your neck. You felt yourself being guided to your bed. Seeing Tate now above you with a mischievous smirk on his face.

You didn't know where James was until Tate pull away from you, seeing James now in his briefs flipping you over on your hands and knee. You whimpered in anticipation for what's to come feeling James's cold fingers hooking into your underwear peeling the fabric of your underwear off you and into the floor. Tate in front of you his impressive length in-front of you, holding yourself on one hand stroking him, earning a low groan erupted from his mouth. You felt cold fingertips teasing your folds collecting your arousal bringing it to your clit circling it in slow torturous motions.

A small gasp left your lips, your body automatically responding to James's touch "that's it dear" he says huskily, Tate still knelt infront of you his eager length desperate for attention. You took Tate's cock in your hand stroking him kitten licking the tip making him buck his hips into your touch more. You took Tate in your mouth swirling your tongue along the tip, gasping as you felt James enter your heat.

James thrusted into you slowly you moaned against Tate's length. A low groan rumbled from his throat his hips bucked further in your throat. James thrusts grew more faster and harder, tears forming in your eyes. "Fuck" Tate hissed his hips essentially fucking your throat.

"You feel wonderful darling" James hissed his grip on your hips tight, nails digging into your skin only adding to your pleasure. "Fuck" you moaned feeling Tate twitch in your mouth signalling you that he was close. You kept your movements along Tate's cock till he releases into the back of your throat, swallowing every drop. James kept his movements thrusting harshly into you you felt close to the edge "I'm so close" you moaned. Tate was watching you and James with a smirk, his skin flustered. James didn’t stop his movements hitting that spot guaranteed to make you see stars.

With a few more harsh deep thrusts, your body trembles, back arching releasing over James’s length trigging his own release deep inside you. His thrusts became sloppy till they came to a halt. Trying to catch your breath “that was something else” you chuckled. James and tate shared a wicked smile between them, “oh we’re don’t done, we’re only getting started” Tate’s voice make a shiver run down your spine waiting on what’s to come.

[rosecoloredsunshine]

hot ones — evan peters

masterlist

PAIRINGS: evan peters x female!reader

SUMMARY: you and evan decided to take on the hot ones spicy wings challenge.

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

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, wedding talks, established relationship, reader is an 'unofficially retired' actress, fluff attempt, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this has been written more as a self-indulgent fic lol. my requests for evan fics are open, so if you have any, just send me an ask. hope you'll enjoy this one! :)

You and Evan are inside a sleek, industrial-chic studio of Hot Ones, and sitting across from Sean Evans with a row of perfectly arranged and intimidating glazed wings between you and Evan. The set’s familiar aesthetic—black brick backdrop and neon accents, brings a grin to your face. You have seen countless celebrities get wrecked by these fiery wings. Now, it’s your turn.

“You sure you wanna do this, babe?” his eyes glinting with playful concern. “I know how you feel about spicy food.”

“I’ve survived worse,” you quipped, but your grin falters slightly when you glance at the perfectly arranged wings. “Besides, I couldn't let you have all the fun.”

“You’ve got a very loose definition of fun,” he chuckled, corners of his mouth twitching with amusement.

Evan’s hand finds yours beneath the table, fingers intertwining together like second nature. Sean smiled with the kind of enthusiasm that comes from years of watching people suffer through the gauntlet, and clasped his hands together.

“Welcome to Hot Ones, the show with hot questions and even hotter wings. Today, we’ve got a special couple’s episode with none other than one of Hollywood’s most beloved couples!”

“Beloved,” you repeat with a laugh, leaning into Evan’s shoulder. “I like the sound of that.”

“Right?” Evan grins, giving your hand a soft squeeze. “We must be doing something right.”

You and Evan turned towards the camera, with Evan giving a little wave to the camera, while you offered a sheepish smile.

“So,” Sean continues, “before we get into the heat, I gotta ask, how did you both end up agreeing to this? I know, from what I’ve heard, you’re not exactly a fan of spicy food.”

You laughed, already feeling your nerves dissipating. “Well yeah, I’m definitely not a fan. But I thought it would be a fun experience. Plus, Evan wanted to do it, and I couldn't let him suffer alone.”

Evan chuckles, squeezing your hand gently. “She’s braver than she thinks. I’m just here to make sure she doesn't regret it halfway through.”

“That’s true love right there,” Sean grins. “Alright, let’s start with the first wing.”

You and Evan each take a wing. It’s barely spicy, just a hint of heat, and you manage it with ease, earning an approving nod from Evan.

“That’s not bad,” you say, a bit more confident. “Famous last words.”

The three of you let out a laugh. Sean glances at his cue cards. “So, let’s kick things off. You two have been together for six years and recently got engaged. Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” you and Evan said in unison, making Sean laugh.

“Was the proposal a surprise?” Sean asked.

You glanced at Evan, a fond smile appearing on your lips. “Completely. We were on a trip to Japan for my birthday, and I thought that it was just a celebration for that occasion, but it turns out that Evan had this whole plan. I was completely caught off guard.”

Evan grins, remembering the memory. “She kept saying, ‘are you serious?’ like five times before actually saying yes.”

You nudged him lightly, laughing. “It was just a lot to process! I wasn't really expecting it.”

Sean leans forward, intrigued. “Was it nerve-wracking, Evan?”

“Oh absolutely,” Evan admits. “I was more nervous than when I go on set. But when she smiled, I knew that it was the right moment, and she did say yes, eventually.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Yeah, eventually.”

The next wing has a bit more kick to it, and you’re starting to feel a tingle on your lips. Evan had noticed immediately, and turned towards you.

“Doing okay?” he asked softly.

You nod, breathing out a little. “Still manageable.”

“You’re doing great,” Sean coaxed. “Since we're on the topic, you have any wedding plans set?”

You had exchanged a look with Evan, both of you smiling. “We’re keeping it small and intimate,” Evan says. “Close family and friends. We’re still working out the details, but we know it’ll be somewhere meaningful to us.”

“Can I expect an invitation?” Sean jokes.

You laughed softly, surprising yourself. “Sure, why not. We’ll make sure you get one.”

“Oh really? Thank you!” Sean smiled. “Okay, before we dive into the next wing, I have to ask, who’s the better cook between you two?”

Evan chuckled before you even got the chance to respond. “She is, hands down.”

You smiled. “You cook fine, babe. When you’re not burning grilled cheese.”

“Which happens?” Sean prompted, eyes gleaming with interest.

“Often enough that the smoke detector hates him,” you said with a laugh.

Evan raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, true. But her cooking is on a whole other level.”

Sean laughs. “I’d love to see you two do a cooking show together in the future. Maybe some spicy dishes next time?”

You groaned playfully, eyeing the next wing on the table. “I think after today, I’m going to avoid spice for a good while.”

“Speaking of the future,” Sean says, reaching for another cue card. “Since you’ve taken a step back from acting, and Evan’s still heavily involved, has that changed anything for you two? I mean, with you being away from the industry and all.”

You glanced at Evan and smiled softly. “I thought it would be difficult at first. But Evan’s always been supportive, and I decided to step back because I wanted to focus on other things. It’s given me time to explore other passions.”

“She still visits me on set, though,” Evan adds, eyes softening. “And everyone always loves having her around. I think the crew likes her more than me.”

You smiled softly. “They just like the cookies and muffins that I bring.”

Sean chuckles. “Seems like you two have a pretty solid dynamic. Which brings me to my next question, what’s the secret to making it work for so long? Six years is impressive in Hollywood years, it’s hard to reach that kind of longevity, especially that you both are in the industry.”

Evan turns to you, eyebrows raised as if the answer is pretty obvious. “We just get each other, and honestly, I think being best friends at first really helped. We’re ridiculously comfortable around each other.”

“Ridiculously is right,” you agree, smiling. “We’ve been through everything together. The good, bad, utterly chaotic, you name it. But we always talk things through.”

Sean nods thoughtfully. “Communication. A classic, but always true.”

The next wing awaits, and you hesitate before taking a bite of it. Evan watches you carefully, waiting to see how you would react.

When the heat hits you immediately, your eyes widen. “Oh, my god.”

Evan laughs, though he’s wincing through his own bite. “That’s…oof, wow.”

You reached for your water, but Evan already has the glass of milk ready for you. “No baby, drink this instead. The water makes it worse.”

You took the glass of milk gracefully, fingers brushing as you sip. “You’re the best.

“Always,” he replies, gaze lingering on you.

Sean smirks, taking in the moment. “Alright, I think we need to dig into something else before you both pass out from the heat.”

You can’t help but laugh, even as your eyes begin to water. “Yes, please.”

“Evan, you’ve been killing it in all these dramatic roles. But do you ever see yourself doing something lighter? Maybe a rom-com?” Sean asks.

Evan shrugs, wiping his lips with a napkin. “Honestly? Maybe. I think it would be fun, why not. Especially if I could work with her again.”

You raised your brows in surprise. “Really?”

“Absolutely. I mean, you’re an amazing actress, and I do miss working with you.”

The sincerity in his voice leaves you momentarily speechless. Sean seems to pick up on it, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “So, any chance we’ll see you back on screen soon?”

You laughed nervously. “Maybe. I mean, I’ve been tempted, especially with Evan constantly trying to rope me back in.”

Evan smiled brightly. “We’ve joked about it a couple of times. But she’s hard to convince.”

“More like you haven't pitched me anything compelling enough,” you teased, taking a sip of the water. “You’d have to really sell it.”

“Oh, I can sell it,” Evan laughs. “Just wait, one of these days.”

The last wing was brutal. The second that you bite into it, your entire mouth feels like it’s on fire. You clutch Evan’s arm, face scrunching in pain as you try not to let the heat overwhelm you.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, chugging the milk Evan hands you. “Why did I agree to this?”

Evan is faring only slightly better, tears pooling in his eyes. “Because you love me?”

“I might reconsider that after this,” you joked, voice a little hoarse.

Sean was laughing, clearly entertained by the chaos. “You guys survived!”

“I’m just glad I did this with you,” Evan says, rubbing your back gently as you recover. “Even if you hate me for it now.”

You glanced up at him, slight tears streaming down your face but still managing a smile. “Could never hate you.”

Once the video had wrapped up, you and Evan found yourselves hanging out backstage of the Hot Ones studio. You collapsed onto a couch with a tub of ice cream between you, as Evan watches you like you’re the only person in the world.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says, voice low and sincere.

“I did it,” you say, mostly to yourself than anyone else. “I actually did it.”

Evan leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You did, and you were amazing.”

“Guess we have to cancel our sushi dinner, because I’ll be feeling these spicy wings on my mouth for a good couple of hours,” Evan laughed as you rested your head on his shoulder, still working through the lingering heat. “Next time, let’s just do a cooking show.”

Evan laughed again, wrapping an arm around you. “Deal.”

© rosecoloredsunshine, 2025

[temporarywelcome]

Mine - Peter Maximoff

Words: 389 (short n' sweet)

REQUESTED!

The Ask: Short fluffy fic of Peter Maximoff coming home to find reader eating his junk food. - @envy-of-greed

WARNINGS: light swearing

_____

God, for someone so fast, he surely was taking forever. 

Perhaps he was doing this on purpose because she found herself cleaning his messy room (his mom’s basement), folding his crumpled-up laundry and deducing what needed to be put in the hamper and what was clean. She dusted the surface of each bit of furniture and re-organized some drawers, still waiting for this idiot to show up. 

Y/N then noticed his usual tower of hostess treats had toppled over, so she went to clean that up as well. Some Twinkies had fallen from their open container, so she went and scooped them up. Peter’s favorite treat. He always made sure to have one on him. 

Beginning to put them away in their container, one at a time, she paused. 

Peter could be an asshole at times, but he was a playful asshole. H wouldn’t mind at all if she took one. 

So she did. 

Sitting on the bed, she carefully opened up a plastic package, leaning against the headboard as she took a bite of the cakey treat. Mmmm chemicals and preservatives. Peter’s favorite. 

“Now, what is this?” 

With a squeak, Y/N jumped, almost dropping the Twinkie from her hand. Peter stood right in front of the bed, arms crossed over his chest with a big smirk on his face. Not upset in the slightest, more amused than anything else. 

“Ermmm,” was all she came up with. 

Peter laughed, zipping onto the bed, making her gasp as he jumped on top of her.

“Shit!” Y/N groaned, arms going around his waist. Pretty much reflex at this point. She then realized he had taken the Twinkie from her hand, taking a large bite out of it. “Hey! Those things are small!” 

“They’re mine,” he replied smugly, nuzzling into her neck. 

She shook her head with a small giggle, “Baby, how much of this did you actually buy?” she asked, taking a bite of the treat. She didn’t even get a chance to chew before Peter nipped at her neck hard, causing her to choke, “Asshole! What was that for?” He has always been a biter, she can’t ever see him without leaving with a huge hickey or straight up just a big bite mark. 

He smirked against her skin, “Just biting into something else that’s mine,”

Dumbass.

[marchsfreakshow]

Adorations [James Patrick March]

Fluff // short lil thing :3

It's James' birthday, and such, a dinner. One with the newcomer however. One aware of the serial killer's crimes. Adoration and gazes.

Request from anon! Thank you anon, I knew I had to write something for James sooner or later. IM ALSO SO SORRY I NEVER GOT THIS OUT IN TIME FOR HIS BIRTHDAY. I STARTED WRITING AND THEN I GOT HIT WITH A BIG STORM OF WRITERS BLOCK! GAH-

No one's perspective

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

James revelled in this day. While he would usually have a day with his failed apprentices, they left alone today. None of them minded much, they were instead left to roam the hotel's countless halls, discussing past, present and future with whoever they came across.

You had arrived the day before, waltzing to your room like it's no one's business. Showering yourself for as long as you felt like you needed. Obviously, you felt presences. You always could. Souls never hid themselves from you, always felt comfortable around you despite you being alive and human. Like how all souls felt so comfortable around Liz before she passed.

"I think you look most ravishing...with the water dripping down your figure my hummingbird." James' hands found your damp shoulders, and he clearly had no regard for the water droplets since he just touched you. Giving into a craving he's been wanting from, well anyone. One the countess wouldn't grant him ever again. Pressing kisses to your shoulderblades, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of your damp skin against his lips.

The kisses were light. Uncharacteristically soft. Admiring your arms; gently trailing his hands down to your hands. Rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. "You taste divine sweetheart." Slowly, he reached for the edge of your towel, undoing the corner and pulling it away from you.

A shiver went through you, the cold, unforgiving air in your hotel room meeting your skin as soon as the soft towel was away from your body. James continued to admire you with his hands. Not leaving an inch untouched. "Truly the most delicate birthday present I could be presented hm?"

"Delicate?"

"Indeed. Delicate, my dear."

You weren't really sure what to say next. Yeah you got a lot of compliments in your time, but you never usually got called 'delicate'. Maybe James saw something in you no one else saw. Maybe. He was good at reading people.

But, it was nice. Having someone touch you so gently. To admire every fleck and freckle on your body. To worship them like the heavens stood just by his reach. It was, certainly different. But, you weren't going to push him away.

Instead, you sort of, just let him bring you over to the uncomfortable, tattered bed. Placing a new towel over part of it. Just to lay you down and continue admiring you.

"Such an elegant thing.."

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Tags: @babygorewhore / @taintandviolent / @oceanblvd111 / @nahoyasboyfriend / @slutforgarlogan / @marchs-hummingbird @american-horror-whore /. @evanpeterspeter / @feefymo / @fear-is-truth / @lacucarachapisser / @marchsfreak / @saintlucretia / @t8-ak47 / @xrag-dollx / @jazzy-reads

[authorsofghosts]

Ides de March | James P. March x Reader

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

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

Word Count: 1.2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ahqkas]

♯ JAMES PATRICK MARCH masterlist !

❛ 🔍 ━ personal favorite

❛ 🗝️ ━ fluff

❛ 🪦 ━ angst

❛ 🗡️ ━ suggestive themes

! SERIES ౨ৎ

! ONESHOTS ౨ৎ

i. hiraeth — hiraeth (n.) — a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was, the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past ( 🪦 🔍 )

! BLURBS ౨ৎ