xrag-dollx

[xrag-dollx]

Taught - Evan Peters x F!Reader

“He didn’t just touch you—he rewrote you, slow and wicked, like ink bleeding into something once clean.”

Synopsis: She was soft, new. He wasn’t. Some things aren’t meant to stay innocent.

Character: Evan Peters (the man himself)

WC: 1,534

Warnings: NSFW | SMUT | PIV | CORRUPTION KINK | AGE GAP (18+ reader ofc) | PRAISE | VIRGINITY LOSS | DARK SMUT (? Nothing vile) | lmk if I missed any! <3 (my first ever x reader smut bear with me)

You weren’t supposed to be here.

A quiet afterparty. Someone’s balcony. A drink in your hand you didn’t really want. And Evan Peters sitting across from you like some warm-blooded temptation sculpted into denim and sin.

“You’re nervous.” His voice is low, just a bit raspy, almost amused.

You try to laugh it off. “A little.”

“I can tell.” He leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “It’s cute.”

Your breath stutters.

He notices.

Of course he notices. Evan Peters has a way of seeing things. Seeing through things. Like the way you keep glancing at his hands. Or the fact that your legs have been crossed and clenched tight since the moment he walked in.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” he asks, voice silk and smoke.

You blink. “Done what?”

His lips twitch. “Let someone touch you the way you want to be touched.”

Your mouth goes dry.

His hand reaches out, slow, deliberate, brushing your knee with just enough pressure to make you freeze.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to pretend around me. You’re curious. And I’m…” He leans in, his lips a breath from your ear. “More than happy to ease that curiosity.”

Your skin burns where his breath touches. Your thighs press tighter, and his hand moves higher.

“You can tell me no. But if you don’t…”

You don’t.

Not when he presses his lips to your neck. Not when his hand slips under your shirt, palm against your bare skin. Not when he says, “I’m going to ruin you, sweetheart.”

He pulls you into his lap. You gasp, but he’s already kissing you—deep, wet, unhurried. He tastes like whiskey and control. You melt before you understand what he’s doing to you.

When he finally pulls back, he looks at you. Flushed, breathless, and wrecked just from his mouth.

“You’ve got no idea how beautiful you look like this,” he says. “And I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

He lifts your shirt. His eyes drink you in like you’re a sin he’s waited too long to commit.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice dripping with praise and something darker. “You’ve been waiting for someone like me, haven’t you?”

You nod. You can’t help it.

“That’s my good girl.”

The praise hits something low in your stomach. It coils, tight and hot, as his hands trail down your body like he already owns it.

He stands with you in his arms, carrying you with ease. You’re placed on a bed moments later, softly, like he’s scared to break you.

He takes his time. Unfastens your jeans. Drags them down slow. Lets you feel every second.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers. “Nervous?”

“A little,” you admit.

His hand cups your cheek, warm and reassuring. “Then we go slow. You tell me if it’s too much.”

He kisses you again, soft this time, and slips his hand between your legs.

“Oh,” you breathe, back arching.

“Already so wet.” His voice darkens. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

His fingers stroke—gentle at first, then firmer, circling exactly where you need him. You whimper. He groans. “God, you’re going to make me obsessed with you.”

You moan when he slides one finger inside, slow and careful. Then another.

“I want to be the first,” he says, “and the only. I want you thinking about this when you try to sleep. When you’re alone in your room, aching for something you can’t name yet.”

You cry out softly as his fingers curl, hitting a spot that makes you tremble.

“That’s it,” he says. “Let me make you feel everything.”

And you do.

Over and over, until your legs shake and your voice breaks.

Until his name is the only word you remember how to say.

You’re breathless.

The world around you fades until all that exists is his touch. His lips. The heat of his body pressing against yours, the weight of him above you, commanding, demanding.

Your body is still trembling from the edge of pleasure, from the way his fingers had made you come undone—but now, as he pulls away from you for just a moment, you’re left with a gnawing hunger. Something deeper. Something darker.

Evan doesn’t let you catch your breath for long.

With a look that makes your pulse race, he unbuttons his jeans. His hand moves with practiced ease, and your eyes follow the movement, almost in a daze.

“You’re so fucking innocent,” he mutters, his voice rough with need. “It makes everything so much better. So much sweeter.”

You swallow, nervous, but the need between your legs is unbearable. Your body betrays you. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, your breath coming faster and faster as he moves between your legs.

He positions himself between your thighs, his hand slipping to your inner thigh, gently pushing your legs apart as he looks down at you with a dark glint in his eyes. His cock is flushed, leaking, angry. He needs this as much as you.

“You sure about this?” he asks, voice soft but heavy with expectation.

You nod, barely able to speak. “Y-Yes,” you stammer.

“You don’t need to be nervous. You’re safe with me.” His voice is smooth, almost reassuring, but it doesn’t hide his underlying hunger. “I’m going to take care of you. I’m going to make this good for you, okay?”

His hand moves lower, brushing against your bare skin as he lines himself up at your entrance. His thumb traces circles around your sensitive clit, making you squirm beneath him. You’ve never felt anything like this before. It’s overwhelming, it’s too much, but you crave it so desperately.

“You ready?” he murmurs.

You nod again, your lips trembling. “Please…”

He grins, but it’s not a soft, comforting smile. It’s possessive, hungry. “I’m going to stretch you out, make you feel things you didn’t even know you could.”

And then he pushes in.

You gasp. It burns, the stretch almost unbearable, but there’s something deeply satisfying about it too. His hands grip your hips, holding you still as he eases in, inch by agonizing inch, giving you a moment to adjust.

“You’re so tight,” he groans, his voice low and raw. “So fucking tight, baby.”

You clench around him instinctively, the sensation overwhelming. Your body is trembling, but it’s not just nerves now—it’s desire, it’s need.

“Relax, sweetheart. I know it hurts. Let me make it feel good.”

Evan doesn’t wait for you to respond. His hips begin to move, slow at first, testing, but as the burn begins to ease, his movements become more forceful, more deliberate. He’s so much bigger than anything you’ve felt before, and you can’t help but moan at the sensation.

“You feel that?” he growls, his hands tightening on your hips as he thrusts deeper. “You feel how I fill you up? You’re mine now. All mine.”

His words make your chest tighten, a mixture of pleasure and possessiveness making your head spin. You’ve never been spoken to like this. Never been touched like this.

The sound of his body against yours, the way he moves in and out of you, is all you can hear now. All you can feel.

“God, you’re perfect,” he whispers, his face twisting with a mix of pleasure and awe. “I’m gonna ruin you. Over and over, and you’ll beg for more each time.”

You moan helplessly, unable to think, unable to form any coherent thought except him. His touch. His words.

His thrusts grow harder, faster, and you can feel that familiar tightening in your stomach, that pressure building, stronger with every deep stroke. His hands roam over your body, marking you, claiming you. The bed is groaning with every thrust, the headboard thudding against the wall.

“You’re close, aren’t you baby?” he murmurs, voice rough with lust. “Cum for me, baby. Let me see you fall apart.”

His thumb finds your clit again, rubbing in tight circles as he pounds into you relentlessly. You can’t stop the moan that rips from your throat as your orgasm hits you—strong and overwhelming. Your back arches, your nails digging into his shoulders as you come undone beneath him.

“Good girl,” he whispers, his pace relentless as he continues to fuck you through your high. “That’s it. I’m not done with you yet.”

The pleasure doesn’t stop. Not for him. Not for you. He’s relentless, dragging you through wave after wave of pleasure as he chases his own release.

When he finally cums, his grip on your hips tightens so hard it almost hurts, and he presses his face into your neck, groaning your name like it’s the only word that matters. Rope upon rope of release fills you up, his hips languidly pushing it deeper.

You’re breathless. Shaking. And when he pulls out of you, you feel emptier than you ever have before.

He lies down beside you, pulling you close, his fingers gently brushing through your hair as he kisses your forehead.

“You did so well,” he says softly, almost tenderly now. “I knew you’d be perfect for me.”

And for the first time, you realize he’s right.

You belong to him now—and you’ll never want to leave.

[xrag-dollx]

daycare principal reader x dad colin zabel <3

warning: VERY LONGGGG BCS I AM COLIN DEPRIVED. not proofread HUHU

colin who would fetch you from the daycare when your schedules match. he'd bring a simple bouquet of different flowers every week. but when he's joined by your toddler son cohen when he's also done with daycare for the day, cohen would hold a smaller version of their gift, all smiles and at the ready to give them to you.

colin and cohen, who compete on who can give you the grandest bouquet every time they visit. this started when you pointed out that cohen, at the age of just 16, is now standing tall just like his dad. he would tease that colin should be the one holding the smaller bouquets from now on.

colin who would help you prepare your staffs lesson plans and activity sheets for the day. sometimes, when he likes the stickers you're preparing for the kids, he can't stop himself but steal one and paste on his laptop. you'd nag him, telling him now you'd print another one because he just stole from a kid but he just smiles goofily at you.

bonus — your son cohen also inherited this habit from his dad. fruits, cartoon characters, even if it's just stickers of the alphabet, they feel the need to claim one as if they're also part of the class. if colin sticks his collection to his laptop, cohen decorates his phone case with it.

colin who one time seriously considered rating your students' names for baby names inspiration when you were still pregnant with cohen. he liked your student max, thought catherine was a good sweet name for a girl, but one day it just clicked in you cohen and went with it. catherine was a contender for a girl baby.

colin who felt lost when raising a teenager cohen with you. he wasn't exactly a rebel kid but everyone has that phase. as someone who's line of work lets him firsthand witness the ugliness of the world, he was rather harsh and firm with his rules. they argued a lot, with cohen hurting his dad's feelings by saying he's suffocating to be with.

you comforted your husband that night, his eyes red and his breathing unstable. you don't miss the way he's trying to be quiet, not wanting your son to hear how his father is right now.

you whispered lovely things to him, reassuring him that he is such a strong father for being able to recognize and set how to make his kid feel safe. you also share his same need of protecting cohen, because as a teacher and principal with literal kids, there's nothing you'd want more than a safe and happy place for their innocence and childlike wonder to remain.

you talked to an apologetic cohen the next morning after colin went in early to work. you told him that there will still be boundaries, rules, and curfew, but it will be eased a bit provided that he behaves and cooperates. you made sure he understands that his father is only right to be that strict, but he doesn't have to be harsh. cohen only nods and goes off to school. for the next years, he's never caused trouble.

colin who enjoys roadtrips with his family. the car is full of laughter, music, and memorable silents. you try not to sleep much during long drives to entertain colin, but his light and loving touches to your hand and thighs lull you to sleep.

colin who once had to bring young cohen to work because you both had changes in schedule and your usual nanny is not available for your rush notice.

luckily, the cases that day were nothing serious. colin and another officer were in the middle of writing up a few people for vandalizing when they hear the familiar sound of a spray. they turn their heads to see cohen using one of the confiscated spray paints and crossed out the word SHERIFF in the beat up sheriff truck, replacing it with "DADA'S CAR" just right above the word easttown, the wobbly blue writing looking radiant against the old car.

thank god they weren't using his black land cruiser that day.

colin argues with your students as they wait for their guardians to show up and for you to finish your files in your office. he doesn't hesitate grimacing at the statement of a kid saying paw patrol is the best cop show ever. this led to the kids uniting against your husband, cornering him with reenactment of the show's best moments. when your husband teases them why paw patrol sucks, someone said they don't expect much coming from someone who looked like they enjoyed cocomelon. colin took offense and that was the loudest the kids had ever been in your daycare.

when colin was assigned to a case a few towns over for a few weeks, it was one of the hardest time between you and cohen. two of your teaching personnel just relocated to another state, so you're short-staffed and forced to work shifts between sessions of two different age groups. on top of colin being tied up to his work, you just had to drown in yours at the same time and leave cohen all alone.

this is what you've been avoiding. as someone who grew up with a father who is a principal in a school a few hours away, you sulk in the fact that other children get to see him more than you, his own biological child. you don't want cohen to feel what you felt, and so far you have managed with colin to work with a schedule that at least leaves one parent with your son.

that night, you were about to come up to your son's room when he heads down the stairs, your teaching materials in hand. cohen doesn't notice you but instead sets everything down in the living room, cutting up papers and stapling things.

when you told him that he doesn't need to do this, he insists. "dad won't be here for a while so i'll take his job. you can watch your show here or take a nap. i won't touch the things that are too complicated for me so it won't be messed up."

you almost dialed colin to ask him who the fuck has been raising this gentleman in front of you. you sat beside cohen, giving him a kiss on his forehead, before grabbing some things to prepare your work. you both talked about your days, and when you were an hour in working, you allowed your son to order whatever his craving is as a thank you.

cohen lights up and grabs the telephone eagerly. so here you are, 10 in a tuesday evening, munching away a huge box of pizza with two flavors while a show plays in the background. you saw cohen keep a star sticker for himself and placed on his phone case. you don't reprimand him, but instead asked him to reach for his phone and call his dad goodnight.

[xrag-dollx]

helppp i loved your evan headcanons so muchhhh!!!!!!!! i loved how you wrote kai's especially 😵‍💫 could i request something about kai testing his gf's loyalty (like you mentioned in the post)? thank you love!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ahh thank you!!!! And of course!!! Lowkey LOVE Kai but he’s so hard to find fanfic on 😭 I hope you enjoy this little oneshot <3

Warnings: Manipulation, loyalty tests, smut slightly implicated at the end. Y'know, typical Kai.

You knew he was watching you.

Not just in the way any boyfriend might—eyes drifting to your face during dinner, watching you from across the room with a lazy smile. No. With Kai, it was something else entirely.

Every word you spoke, every glance you gave, every hesitation… it was all part of a constant, invisible exam. A loyalty test you never signed up for, but could never stop taking.

And God, you wanted to pass.

It started subtly—questions dressed like casual conversation. “Would you still love me if I lost everything?” he’d murmur against your skin, voice like honey, but eyes sharp with expectation. “Do you think people are born weak, or made weak?” “Would you die for me?”

You answered right. You always did. Or at least, you thought you did. Because when you said what he wanted to hear, when you proved it—his reward was like a drug. "You get me," he'd whisper, gripping your jaw, staring at you like you were holy. "You're not like them. You're mine. My chosen one."

The praise was heady. Addictive. But fleeting. Because soon enough, the tests began again.

This time, it was a setup.

Winter had left her phone unlocked on the table. You were alone in the kitchen, folding laundry that wasn’t yours. The screen lit up. A message. “He’s slipping. We need to be careful.”

Your blood ran cold.

Your fingers hovered above the screen, heart thudding like a warning drum.

“He’s slipping. We need to be careful.” Sent to someone saved only as B. No last name. No details. Just the initial—and the threat.

You swallowed hard.

Winter.

You’d known her longer than you’d known Kai. You used to trust her. But lately… the sideways glances, the whispered conversations that stopped when you entered the room… the tension in her jaw when Kai touched your lower back. You’d told yourself it was jealousy. Nothing more.

But now?

You picked up the phone, hands shaking just enough to betray your guilt if anyone walked in. You tapped the message thread. More texts.

B: You think she suspects anything? Winter: No. She’s too far gone. Wrapped around his finger like the rest of them. B: Good. That makes things easier. Winter: We just have to time it right.

Your breath caught in your throat.

She meant you.

Wrapped around his finger. She thought you were blind. That you couldn’t see through her games. That you were some brainwashed puppet.

You wanted to scream—but more than that, you wanted Kai to know.

To see you were loyal. Devoted. Vigilant.

You slipped the phone back, precisely where she’d left it. The laundry now felt irrelevant, forgotten on the table like everything else that didn’t matter in comparison to him.

By the time Kai walked in, barefoot and shirtless with a cup of lukewarm coffee, you were already seated, waiting for him like a soldier awaiting orders.

He raised an eyebrow at your stillness. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You blinked. Then met his gaze with something closer to steel than fear. “I need to talk to you.”

He sipped his coffee, watching you over the rim like a man who already knew what you were about to say. “Go on, then.”

You tried to sound calm. Controlled. But your voice wavered just enough to make you feel weak. “Winter’s planning something.”

Kai stilled, mid-sip. Slowly, he lowered the mug, setting it down with the kind of deliberate care that only made your heart race harder.

“She’s been texting someone,” you continued. “I saw it. I—I wasn’t snooping, not really, but her phone was there and it lit up and…” You trailed off, searching his face for a reaction.

His expression remained unreadable.

“She said you’re slipping,” you added, more urgently now. “That I’m too far gone. That they just have to time it right.” You clenched your fists in your lap. “I thought you should know.”

Silence stretched between you like wire pulled tight.

Then—he smiled.

Not warm. Not relieved. But pleased. In that terrifying, god-complex way only Kai could pull off.

He stepped toward you, slow and fluid, like a predator who already knows the outcome of the hunt. “And you told me,” he said softly, almost in awe.

You blinked. “Of course I did.”

He stopped in front of you, reaching out to brush his fingers down your cheek. His touch was tender, but his eyes… burned.

“I knew you would.” He cupped your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. “I wanted you to.”

You froze. “What?”

“Winter’s not plotting anything,” he said. “Well—no more than I told her to. I had her send those messages.” His thumb dragged across your lower lip. “I needed to know. If you’d protect me. If you’d stay loyal, even when it meant betraying someone you care about.”

Your stomach dropped. “You set me up.”

“Don’t say it like it’s a bad thing,” he murmured. “You passed.” He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “You chose me.”

His voice dropped into that dangerous, reverent whisper you’d heard only a few times before—always after something like this. “You’re mine. My muse. My queen.”

His lips met yours before you could reply. Fierce. Claiming. And in that moment, you didn’t care that it was all orchestrated. Didn’t care that he’d manipulated you again. Because the way he looked at you now—like you were divine—made the rest of it melt away.

But still, somewhere deep beneath the praise and passion, a part of you whispered: How many more tests will there be?

And: What happens when I fail?

But those thoughts faded when he kissed you again—slower this time, like he was savoring you. Like you were something rare. Sacred.

“I knew you were different,” Kai whispered against your lips. “The moment I saw you. You don’t follow. You belong. To me.”

He didn’t ask you to speak. He never had to. It was like he knew what your answer would be before you gave it.

His hand slid from your face to your neck, thumb resting just beneath your jaw. Not squeezing—just present. A reminder. A claim. “I test the others because I don’t trust them,” he murmured. “But I test you because I want to trust you. Because I see something greater in you. Something… divine.”

You swallowed, throat dry.

He smiled again, softer this time. Almost affectionate. “You passed, baby. You passed.”

That warmth spread through your chest, hot and dizzying. Like a drug. Like he knew just how to feed your hunger for validation—drip by drip, word by word.

Then his voice dipped, dark and low, curling around your spine.

“You deserve a reward.”

You barely had time to react before he was lifting you into his arms, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He carried you down the hall, past the flickering candlelight and silent, sleeping walls, until you reached his bedroom—your shared little temple of twisted worship.

The door clicked shut behind you.

And whatever happened next? It wasn’t a test.

It was an offering.

[xrag-dollx]

come and find me now — kyle spencer

masterlist | request link

PAIRINGS: post-death!kyle spencer x female!reader

SUMMARY: you knew that there was something wrong that's going to happen the moment zoe brought kyle back to his mother, so you took the matters into your own hands.

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, mentions of death (minor), reader is a witch, there are some inaccuracies, angst, hurt, comfort, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: i've been very busy this week, reason why i haven't posted any fics. but i have a free time now, so i'll try to post the other fics (mostly requests). to the one who requested this, i hope it's up to your standards. enjoy! :)

The garden at Miss Robichaux’s was quiet today, magnolia trees swaying gently as their petals floated to the earth like snow. You sat beneath one of them, fingers grazing the yellowing page of an old spellbook. You were always reading, always observing. The world moved fast around you, too loud and too careless, but you took your time. You listened and you learned.

You knew things. Things the others didn't and couldn't notice, like how Queenie tapped her foot when she was lying, or how Cordelia’s smile never quite reached her eyes anymore. You definitely knew that Zoe Benson had done something reckless, the energy around her had changed that night she and Madison came back from that frat party. There was a stillness to her now, like she was holding her breath, and it wasn't long before she confided in you.

“We brought someone back,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder as though the walls might be listening. “His name is Kyle. He died, and we used resurgence.”

Your heart dropped like a boulder in your chest. A resurrection spell—a dangerous and volatile magic. Forbidden unless under direct order of the Supreme, and even then, only if it was clean, but this wasn't. You already knew that without needing to ask, though you also knew Zoe wasn't strong enough to pull it off alone.

“He didn't deserve what happened to him,” she says, voice thin and trembling. “He was a good person.”

You believe her. That's the thing, Zoe never lies, not really. She just wants to fix things, and she thought bringing Kyle back would fix it. But you also know magic like that comes with a cost. You saw it in Kyle’s eyes the day she brought him back, there was nothing behind them.

Then Misty got involved, and you understood that too. She’s a wild soul—Misty, but she knows resurrection better than anyone. You could sense her magic clinging on Kyle like vines, but still, Misty couldn't restore what had been broken. Not entirely.

The broken pieces of a boy sewn back together like some patchwork doll. The only part of him that was truly him was his head, but the rest? It was a collage of other bodies. No wonder the soul had trouble finding peace, no wonder Kyle screamed more than he spoke. His body wasn't home anymore, it was a cage. He didn't speak, he grunted, sobbed, and lashed out. There were days he sat curled up in the greenhouse, rocking himself, murmuring things that didn't make any sense.

You would always watch him from afar. You wanted to help, but he flinched at everything that wasn't Zoe.

“I’m taking him back to his mother,” she whispered to you one day. “He needs someone, someone familiar.”

You stared at her like she had grown a second head. “You can’t do that, Zoe.”

You had seen the bruises on his spirit, and it’s not the kind magic could heal. The kind left by years of secrets, you saw the way his entire body locked up when Zoe mentioned his home.

“She loves him,” she insisted. “She’ll help.”

You didn't agree, but you didn't fight her. Instead, you just watched her go, and something in your chest wouldn't settle for that.

It was like an itch you couldn't scratch, a scream you couldn't let out. Days passed, and you decided to keep your mouth shut, hands busy. But the silence got louder, it clawed your insides, gnawed at your thoughts. Then one morning, you woke up drenched in sweat, heart pounding, and you knew—something was wrong. You didn't tell anyone, so you grabbed your keys and drove.

The Spencer house sat tucked in a sleepy New Orleans neighborhood, all peeling paint and dying hydrangeas, a hollow place. The front door was open, so you let yourself in. The house was quiet, not peaceful, but dead. There were dishes in the sink, a chair knocked over, and a picture frame shattered. The air also reeked of copped and rot and something else—something grief-stricken.

You heard it. A sob that is raw, broken, and animalistic. It led you down the hall, past family photos that made your skin crawl. Smiling faces, Kyle’s too, but younger and innocent, not yet touched by death or magic or cruelty. The sobbing got louder as you walked towards the sound, you then pushed the door, and there Kyle was—curled into himself on the bloodstained carpet, his finger torn and red. The wall behind him splattered with it, and his face wasn't just blood on him, it was grief.

You saw her mother slumped on the floor, lifeless. You didn't look at her long, you only saw Kyle. He didn't see you at first, he was trembling, rocking, chest heaving with ragged sobs. Every breath sounded like it hurt. When you moved towards him, his head snapped up, eyes wild and desperate.

Kyle didn't speak, he couldn't. But the look on his face broke your heart. You dropped to your knees beside him, not caring about the blood, not caring about anything except the boy that is in front of you.

“I’m here,” you said softly, reaching for him. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

He let out a strangled noise, somewhere between a sob and a scream, and then he collapsed against you. His arms wrapped around your waist, body shaking with silent horror. You held him tighter as the blood soaked into your shirt, you didn't flinch.

“It’s not your fault,” you whispered, over and over. “I know. I know.”

Because you did. You knew what she did to him, what his mother was. You could feel it in the walls of this place, the ghosts and shadows. You held him until he stopped shaking.

You quickly got to work. It was frantic, messy, and desperate. You didn't think, you just moved like a robot. Bleach, towels, garbage bags—you knew how to make things disappear. You have seen enough in this life to know what the world doesn't want to look at. By the time the sun began to set, you were done.

You stood in front of him, blood still under your nails, and offered your hand. “Come with me,” you said. “You don’t have to stay here, I’ll take care of you.”

Kyle’s eyes were wet, lost. But he took your hand.

Once you were both back, you brought him to your room, where it was quiet and safe. You set up a cot beside your bed, but when you turned around, Kyle was already curled on your comforter, clinging to your pillow like it was a lifeline.

You smiled softly. “Okay, you can stay there.”

You dimmed the lights and slipped in beside him, unsure of when the last time he’d had real sleep. In the quiet of the night, you felt his finger reach out for yours. He didn't speak, he didn't have to.

“I’ll protect you,” you whispered into the dark. “I know what it’s like to have a body that remembers pain, but we’ll unlearn it. Together.”

Kyle pressed his forehead to your shoulder, and for the first time, his breathing was steady. You didn't tell anyone that he’s back, at least not yet. Not until he was ready. You would teach him again—how to speak, write, and most importantly, how to live. Then, maybe in time, how to trust.

You were the quiet one, the one who knew everything, and now, you knew what love looked like in its rawest form—it is the broken boy that is in your bed right now.

You promise that you would never let him break again.

© rosecoloredsunshine, 2025

[xrag-dollx]

[xrag-dollx]

[xrag-dollx]

variety exclusive interview — evan peters

masterlist | request link

PAIRINGS: evan peters x female!reader

SUMMARY: you and evan decided to do a sit down interview with variety.

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 in narration (but there is on a use of y/n in the later portion), established relationship, married life, mention of kids (twins), reader is also an actress, timeline may be inaccurate, pretend that princess diaries was shown in 2005, evan and reader are the same age, private relationship, and minor typographical error.

WORD COUNT: 1.9k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this has been requested. i decided to tweak and deviate a little bit with the request, and add some twist into it—to which i hope you won't mind. all of the sent request had been queued in my drafts, i just decided to post this one first bc i actually enjoyed writing this one hajfkkrkfjd. i hope you guys will like it! :)

The cameras rolled, the lighting turning into soft hues, and the familiar hum of the Variety studio filled the air. You and Evan were sitting side by side on the plush gray couch, legs casually touching, both of you all dressed up in coordinated tones—Evan in a soft navy sweater, while you were dressed in a cream colored blouse tucked in high waisted white loose wide legged pants.

It had been years since you two had done a sit down interview together, and the moment felt surreal. You were back together on screen, after WandaVision, after a time off from co-starring, and now, you are back again for a new limited series, and fans were already buzzing.

“So, this is a reunion of sorts,” the interviewer said, smiling as she looked between the two of you. “You’re both starring in a series again after many years, how did it feel working together again?”

Evan let out a soft chuckle and glanced your way, that familiar twinkle in his eyes. “It felt like coming home,” he said, voice gentle. “We’ve worked together so many times that it’s honestly second nature by now.”

You laughed, nodding. “It really was. It’s funny, we hadn't acted opposite each other since WandaVision, and even though it was just an episode or two together, that dynamic just clicked again.”

“Right,” the interviewer leaned in, clearly intrigued. “You and Evan play Quicksilver and Crystal—his wife, respectively. Fans loved that little arc.”

“That was a fun one,” you smiled fondly. “I remember when we got the call that Evan would be joining, I was already on set, and I literally texted him, ‘guess we’re married again.’”

“She didn't even say hi or hello,” Evan grinned. “Just straight out sent me a silly selfie of her in costume with the caption ‘Mrs. Maximoff, reporting for duty.’”

The room burst into laughter. “Okay, but let’s talk about something that’s become a running joke on the internet,” the interviewer said, tapping her notepad. “That Evan only says yes to roles if you're in them.”

You raised your brows, trying to suppress your smile. “Oh my god, that joke started years ago.”

Evan nodded in agreement. “It did, I think it was during AHS: Coven?”

“Yeah,” you said, “basically someone on set noticed that every season of American Horror Story we did, Evan was always my love interest. Every single one, even when it didn't make narrative sense, somehow, our characters always end up being entangled.”

“I think it also became a challenge for the writers,” Evan added. “Like, ‘how can we get these two together again without repeating themselves?’”

“And one day, it became a whole joke with the crew,” you said, laughing. “They were like, ‘oh, Evan’s only here because she’s in it.’ and I always denied it, but then I started looking back, it was kind of true, actually.”

Evan chuckled. “Hey, what can I say? I like working with you.”

You nudged him gently. “Well, you decided to marry me. I hope you do.”

What you said had caught the interviewer completely off guard. “Wait, you two are married?”

You and Evan burst into laughter again, and nodded. “Yeah, we are. Ten years now.”

“And you have—?”

“Twins,” Evan said, practically glowing. “Boy and girl, they’re nine. Total troublemakers.”

“Oh my god,” the interviewer breathed, clearly reeling. “How have you kept this all under the wraps?”

You shrugged with a soft laugh. “We never really tried to hide it, we just don’t post about it. People still assumed that we were still dating,” you raised your hand, showing your hand where the wedding band was. “Surprise folks, we’re married!”

“I think fans were too distracted by whatever show we were doing together to stop and think, ‘wait a minute, why are they always together?’” Evan joked.

“It kind of started as a joke too,” you said, giggling softly as you remembered the memory. “I remember when I did The Princess Diaries back in, like, 2005, and Evan was already doing some TV work—Phil of the Future. He was just so cute, and jokingly put out the idea with my agent if Evan could be casted as Mia’s love interest.”

The interview blinked. “No way!”

“I was nineteen, it was a crush!” you giggled. “I thought, ‘he has pretty eyes, he’s perfect in being my on-screen partner.’ and then years later, here we are. American Horror Story, WandaVision. He’s casted as my love interest again. And again, and again.”

Evan smiled at you while you explained, and then looked at the camera. “She manifested the hell out of me.”

You giggled softly, throwing back your head slightly. “I guess I unconsciously did,” you smiled. “I mean, I didn't get him in The Princess Diaries, but I got him in everything else after that. Including real life, so it’s a win-win situation?”

He reached over and took your hand gently, intertwining his fingers with yours. “One thing’s for sure, I love being her love interest, on-screen or off.”

The interviewer smiled. “So, being married for a decade, twins—that’s a lot of history. What’s it like working together again after building a life off-screen?”

Evan looked over at you, gaze fond and warm. “It’s the best. We know how each other ticks, I know what kind of coffee to bring her on set, and she definitely knows how to calm me down when I get too lost in my mind.”

“It’s true,” you smiled softly at him. “We’re each other’s comfort zone, so coming back to work together feels like home.”

Evan put an arm around you, then pulled you gently towards him, giving you a kiss on the temple.

youtube comments:

user1: THEY’RE MARRIED!? I THOUGHT THEY WERE JUST DATING??????

user2: sis wanted him to be mia’s love interest in 2005. i’m SOBBING.

user3: what whAT??? THEY HAVE KIDS TOO??? NO STOP THIS IS TOO MUCH.

user4: every season of ahs, i shipped them. turns out i was RIGHT

user5: these goobers been dating and ended up marrying each other ten years ago and didn't even bothered to tell us. i’m-

user6: “guess we’re married again” stOP. this is the most cutest thing i’ve ever heard!!!

user7: so you’re telling me that crystal and quicksilver have been ACTUALLY married with twins for a fucking decade???

user8: y'all don't know how this interview cured my seasonal depression.

user9: girlie said she wanted evan to play her love interest in the princess diaries when she was nineteen, and now they’re married with kids??? what in the 2005 spellcasting it THIS

user10: you guys don’t understand, i watched them fall in love across diff seasons of ahs, and now i know it was REAL.

user11: quicksilver and crystal being married irl is the plot twist i didn't know i needed. I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL.

user12: now give us a quicksilver solo movie. NOW 💥💥💥

user13: all i can say is that they are the final boss of all private hollywood couples

user14: but can evan peters fight????

user15: idk if i wanna be evan or i wanna be her

reddit posts:

r/popculturechat

u/witchforyou

HOLY SHIT EVAN PETERS IS MARRIED TO Y/N????

I just watched the new Variety Exclusive interview with Evan and y/n and my brain is MELTING. Turns out they’ve been married for TEN YEARS. WITH TWINS.

Apparently she manifested him into her life back in 2005 when she jokingly told her agent she wanted Evan to play her love interest in The Princess Diaries. Fast forward to AHS, WandaVision, and now their new series—they’ve been each other’s on-screen love interest every time and were secretly married the whole time.

You guys, I’m SPIRALING.

⇧ 1,674 | ⇩ | 💬 982

Top Comments:

u/lana_del_chaos

This is literally the plot of a wattpad fic from 2012. I wanna be mad, but I also want to cry and scream and throw them a second wedding.

u/theystilldieinthesequels

You’re telling me they were filming ahs seasons while being secretly married and raising twins??? I can’t even finish my fucking laundry.

u/skin-of-a-killer

I just want someone to look at me the way Evan looks at her in that interview. Bro looked like he was about to melt into her shoulder.

u/ahs_addict

So all those steamy scenes they did from ahs…thEY WERE MARRIED. That wasn't acting, that was a married couple flirting on the job.

u/manifestationmami

She said she unconsciously manifested it. This is my roman empire now.

u/pillowprincesstate

This is why he stopped doing big interviews for a while huh. Man was off raising twins and being in love. Meanwhile I’m still recovering from murder house.

u/theoneloyalhusband

I want Evan to ignore all his other role and only act in projects with his wife forever. That’s my love language.

u/gayforthegothgirl

Okay but can they actually drop the wedding pics now?

[r/popculturechat]

u/evanpeterstruther

Okay. So after my meltdown in the other thread (hi), I stayed up literally all night rewatching interviews, AHS episodes, press junkets, etc. everyone take a seat, I’ve been running only on caffeine and I have CRACKED THE TIMELINE.

Yes, I’m unwell. Yes, I regret nothing.

2005: She mentioned she wanted Evan to play her love interest for The Princess Diaries all because girlie had watched him on Phil of the Future and found him cute. That’s not a wish, that’s a mf SPELL. A SUMMONING CIRCLE. Sis was POWERFUL even back then.

2011: They met on the set of AHS murder house, and have you SEEN how bro looks at her in that season??? No one, and I mean no one acts that well unless they’re in love or in debt, and honey, Evan Peters ain’t broke. ++++ multiple cast members say in behind the scenes clips that “they’re glued to each other” between takes.

2012: They confirmed that they were already dating. (Hallelujer!)

2013-2016: She disappears from public press tours, bro’s grinning so much in interviews, she has a ring. THEY GOT MARRIED. I don’t need no certificate, I have vibes. (+++ 2016 was prolly the twins were born :’’’> purely based on mathematical facts.) This was also the year she vanished during Roanoke promos due to “scheduling conflict” lol honey, we all know that ain’t scheduling conflict, that was a BABY CONFLICT.

2017: Only Evan took lead roles in AHS Cult, and she’s only in a few episodes. She probably took time off for the twins.

2018-2020: Mother was on temporary hiatus (no new projects, she’s kinda like on idle) + beginning of the covid era, the whole world was on full reset.

2021: WandaVision era. Parents are back again on-screen. “Mrs. Maximoff, reporting for duty!” shIVERSSSSS. Now we all know why it felt so natural. ++++ Crystal and Quicksilver, honey that isn't casting, that was cosmic balance being restored. Bro looks at her like she holds the soul, because she DOES.

2022-2024: DROUGHT FAMINE DROUGHT FAMINE. Everyone assumed mom and dad had grown apart (career-wise), but in reality, mom and dad had been living that peaceful and so in love, married-with-twins life in private. (+++ post covid era, so celebs have been living more privately.)

2025: Variety Exclusive Interview. Fav year. The year we got what we all been praying for. Casually dropping the “we’ve been married for a decade” like it’s not the cultural reset of the century. Mom and dad said it like “yeah we ordered takeout,” NOT “we set the whole internet on fire.”

In conclusion, they’ve been love interests in every project they did (mainly AHS), been married with twins, and now the timeline is SECURE. THEY ARE EACH OTHER’S ROMANTIC ENDGAME IN EVERY UNIVERSE.

⇧ 7,646 | ⇩ | 💬 2,637

© rosecoloredsunshine, 2025

[xrag-dollx]

faith and pride — kit walker.

dad! kit walker, fluff, kit comforting his daughter. 664 words.

SUMMARY: Lecturing your daughter for slashing her ex-boyfriend's tires leaves Kit emotional.

"Baby, your feelings are valid. But you shouldn't have gashed his tires like that."

You've been lecturing your daughter for a good few minutes now, but all she does is lay down in her bed, facing the wall and sporting that pout whenever she's rebellious.

"The man had sex in his car before he fetched Katherine, mom. I believe he deserved worse than that, but you did great, sis." Knoa interrupts from behind you, and you groan about how your son is just igniting the fire in your daughter that you've been trying to put out. Reaching for one of Katherine's pillows, you playfully throw it toward your son, but Knoa just catches it with a giggle.

Kit scoots beside Katherine at the foot of the bed, concern etched in his face and laced in his voice.

"Did you make us change his tires because you felt bad?" Your husband asks quietly, caressing Katherine's legs in comfort.

"No," she replies, her voice muffled as she cuddles her plushy tight near her face. "He didn't know how to change a tire. He offered to call his mom for a tow truck, but she didn't respond. He wouldn't also like to call his dad because he sneaked out with the Audi. Bastard told me we had to wait out in the woods until his mom answered."

Your eyes widen at the revelation while Knoa snorts out loud at the boy's loser behavior. It was hurtful enough that your daughter's boyfriend hooked up with a girl right before their date, and it would've been torture to leave Katherine with him for a few more hours somewhere isolated. Luckily, Kit's auto repair shop was just a few streets down.

"My poor baby." You say as you lean to her, wrapping your arms around her and resting your head on the tip of her shoulder.

You almost felt bad for focusing on what she did more than what was done to her, and you can feel Kit joining the pile, hugging you both, and planting sweet pecks on both of your heads.

"Besides, I had to show him how it's done." Katherine gently pushes you both away so that she can sit upright, her eyes red, her face stained with tears.

"Had to teach him shit. We don't have cars as grand as his, but at least we know how to take care of it, even the basics. Besides, it felt good showing off how we Dad and Knoa do it as he stands there, useless."

Knoa agrees with a loud uhuh, and you swear Kit is blushing right now. You raise a brow at him teasingly, and he just shakes his hand, his lips trying to stop a smile.

"Well, at least you should know that you deserve a better man. But if you still feel like crying over it, you don't have to rush yourself to heal."

You said softly, but Katherine wiped off her tears, shaking her head, and now she feels better.

"That won't be necessary. Why would I bawl over a guy who's not even half the man dad is?"

Your heart tightens in a good way at what she says. And you recall how Kit answered her call on the first ring, yelled for Knoa to come with him, and left with the shop's truck fast with the wheels screeching—your husband, their father, who the three of you can always rely on.

If you thought Kit was blushing over how his daughter relies on him, it's his turn to shed a few tears. He tries to play it off by wrestling Katherine for a hug, her laughter and squeals lightening the mood. Knoa joins by launching himself into the cuddle fight, making Kit wince and earning a harsh smack from Katherine. You stay where you are, taking in the beautiful sight before you.

"I will always be there for you, suga." You hear Kit whisper to Katherine, gifting both of your twins soft kisses on their foreheads.

[xrag-dollx]

Small married life Peter Maximoff imagine

One day when he comes back from a rather difficult mission at night earlier than he told you, he quietly zips into the bedroom to see you lying in the sheets wearing one of his band shirts. Nirvana was on his radar and he loves the shirt you are wearing, quickly unzipping the bothersome suit, throwing it to the side leaving him in just his boxers.

He climbs into bed, you went to bed certainly early he thinks to himself. His fingers gently grazing the soft skin of your thighs, sighing quietly. He gets closer before spooning you, taking in your scent in quietly yet taking it in like it's his last day holding you in his arms.

"Peter?" You mumbled and began to stir, feeling your husband holding you. Peter mumbles against your shoulder pressing soft kisses, "Yes?"

"One of these days I am going to absolutely slap you because you scared the crap out of me."

Peter just chuckles at that, he liked surprising you. He loves you ever so dearly.

[xrag-dollx]

Poems Of A Killer [James Patrick March]

Angst / suggestive at the end

You were always interested in how ghosts work. Your blog led you to The Hotel Cortez.

Oops I got inspired by @fear-is-truth 's James cai bot where you're trapped in his room bcs the conversations I had w that bot were delicious sorry.

Blogger!Reader

Words - 5.3k (holy shit guys-)

I went through hell and back for this fic I rlly hope it's worth it. I'm proud of it in the end. ♡

No one's perspective

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

"So, ghosts roam these halls, correct?"

Liz was taken aback by your question. They weren't the first words she expected from your lips, but they were welcomed like an order to her bar.

"Why, yes, they do. You are, in fact, talking to a ghost itself."

A gasp and a smile graced your face just as the sentences were spoken. A real, proper ghost! How exhilarating. You immediately started to blurt out questions, scribbling Liz's answers down like they were your lifeline.

You spoke together for what felt like hours. 3 pages of full notes about ghosts, the hotel and the tasty history of such a place as this. One firm handshake and key exchange later, you were up in you room.

Scribbling down potential essay ideas for... well, for yourself. Most people would probably think you were crazy if you uploaded the essay to your blog. Then again, it wasn't a terrible idea. Most of your followers were believers in ghosts. They loved the paranormal and the un-natural things in life. In fact, an anonymous telling you about The Cortez was the reason for your trip.

'Hey! Your blog is probably the best paranormal blog out there! I know you're LA-based, so how about the Hotel Cortez? It's known to be haunted as fuck and plenty of the ghosts are apparentally staff members. Definitely go look if you're not busy! -🩷'

Obviously, you knew about The Cortez. Everyone in LA did. It was famous, but you never had an intent to go there. You read over the anon over and over until you figured you should.

1 car, 2 notebooks, 3 ballpoint pens, at least 4 books and a ton of music in your car's aux. You drove from one half of LA to the other, thinking about just how much this hotel might be with the likes of Lana Del Rey and Hozier playing from your car's speakers. Secretly, you hoped the ghosts of The Cortez would like you and would easily take to you. Just play it cool. Nice and kind.

Most ghosts easily spoke to you if you asked a question. Mainly, you asked about the spirits. Who ghosted, how, when, and why. There were plenty of stories to go around. Two influencers, frankly, you had never ever heard of. Two Swedes who always walked around in their underwear with a Mr.Woo at their feet. They were pretty weird, but you took their story anyway. You took a few more stories. Their births, their deaths and how they ended up dying here.

"You want to know about me, huh? My life... my... annoying death and how I ended up ghosting this fucking rotten place?"

"Yes. Everything. It will be worth it, I promise. Let's start with your name. What's your name?"

"...Sally." Sally started talking hesitantly about her life. The drugs she invested in, the sex she had to get them. Iris. How Iris pushed her off a roof in the nineties because of Donovan.

"Does Donovan ghost here? I could write a tragic tale of parents and child with him and Iris' stories combined." You chuckled, attemping to find some humour in Sally's words.

"No, he decided to fully fuck off when he died."

"oh... Okay." Still, you wrote it down. "Are there uh, any ghosts you wouldn't recommend I talk to?" You asked mutteringly, still writing down ideas and notes from what Sally told you. She took a long, harrowing drag from that cigarette of hers. Every time she did, you were convinced she was thinking heavily about the fact she was stuck here for eternity.

"uh, there's...someone. Won't show you him until he thinks you deserve it."

"Oh?"

She gave a little 'mhm' and a nod, taking another long, thoughtful drag. "You might've heard of him."

It clicked in your head and you smiled down at the words on your page. Scribbled like a school child's words. The founder of such a place. The, artist of a building like this. Every brick and decoration. "Mr. March." You breathed out quietly, gripping hard onto the pen in your fingers. You were convinced he was the ghost to ghost all ghosts. Whatever the hell that meant. "Oh, oh that would be a conversation for the ages.."

"Well I doubt you'll get anywhere...he doesn't show himself lightly." She bit back, quite defensive immediately.

The conversation about James led on for a few hours. One topic of his life at a time. Your notebook was almost full already. There was so many things you could explore with his story of his life. His childhood...how he started killing... God!

You read through your notes in the evening, laying on the frankly, uncomfortable and creaky bed. You weren't even moving and the springs broke and bounced under your body. How on earth were you meant to sleep on this bed tonight? It made a groan leave you as you eventually decided to open your laptop, writing your notes up into a document to work on in the morning.

As you slept however, without any notice from you, someone stood, reading over your open laptop. How did you find out his backstory? Who told you his childhood? Who decided to give you information about his kills and his relationship with the lady in the penthouse suite? "Mysterious thing aren't you?" He murmured, leaning down to look at your notebook.

The day ran away with you. You spent almost the whole day in Liz's bar typing away at your laptop. Liz kept your hunger and thirst up. Happily providing you with snacks and soda pop as long as you promised good promotion and more publicity. Well, your blog had 5k followers. Atleast 1k were active with your posts. Someone had to take the bait and visit the hotel. "Sooo, how's the writing going? Anyone find interest in the hotel yet?" Liz asked

"Huh? No, not yet. I'm still working on a first draft for your story."

"My story?"

"Yes!" You exclaimed, looking up at Liz with a proud grin. "I think this could really get queer and trans people in this hotel for Pride."

She almost chuckled, lighting a cigarette of her own. The idea of people who were queer or trans in any sense of the words, coming to this hotel because they knew they'd be safe, it warmed her heart. "How many stories do you have?"

"um, let's see... Sally's. Iris and Donovan's. A lady named Elizabeth March. You. Hazel Evers'..." You continued your list with the ghosts you had met so far.

"Quite the chatterer aren't you? Well, I'm glad everyone is comfortable enough to open themselves up to you. Usually they aren't so welcoming to strangers, wanting their stories.."

You shrugged slightly, confident about the fact that the ghosts opened up to you so easily. It made you want to be cocky, but you were keeping it up this way instead. "I spoke for hours to Sally. She told me basically everything. Oh I loved talking to her, truly. The way she knows everything about every ghost here...it's wonderful. This notebook..." You held up one of the notebooks you brought with you quickly. "Was empty when I got here! Empty! Now it's basically 70% full of stories. It will keep everyone on the blog fulfilled...for months!"

"Very nice, very nice. Another Dr.Pepper?"

"Yes! Please."

And yet you continued to write. Sometimes you'd squirm in place. Like something was burning the clothes on your back. It was mildly uncomfortable and odd, however, it was a feeling you'd gotten used to quickly throughout the night and the day. Maybe some ghosts didn't want to show themselves to you, refused to acknowledge the living. It seemed to be common and that was fine with you; another thing to add to the collection of stories about the undead souls here.

"Keep an eye on my laptop please Liz, I just remembered something." Liz agreed as you quickly got up and headed for your room. Maybe you left a pen, or you needed some charging block for your laptop.

"I find their energy, quite exhilarating, don't you?"

Liz shrugged a little. "If anything they're giving this place a little pep. I think publicity will do this place some good."

He nodded simply. "How long are they staying?"

"1 and a half weeks if memory serves me right."

"Hm." He hummed and then walked off, suddenly lost in some thoughts.

You went by him and you didn't even notice. Coming back with a charging block and the cable. Quickly, you plugged it in and immediately got back to work. Not speaking another word to anyone else in the bar. Liz's story was finished quickly, and you moved onto Sally's with unbridled haste. You were practically dead to the world, lost in the screen and the ghost's lives when they were alive.

It was probably your 5th day here when he decided to show himself to you. It was the evening. Your eyes were sore, tired and in need of break. Perhaps a full 8 hours sleep?

"Maybe, a break is needed?"

Your head spun around, and you made eye contact with him. "Oh. Um, maybe." Were the only words that left your mouth. Speaking without thinking. In your head, you weren't sure if you were making him up or if he was really there. "I'm almost done with a few stories though, and I just need to finish one up."

"Tell me, what are your stories about? I find myself intrigued by...your.." He paused, attempting to remember what you called that device that was on the table by your side. The thoughtful look on his face, mixed with your confusion dragged the silence on for a minute or two.

"um, laptop?" You said quietly after a moment, holding it up with a confused smile.

He nodded. "Of course. A, lap...top."

It almost made you chuckle. He must've been kidding...right? Then again, most ghosts here were either incredibly modern or were brand new to things like phones and laptops.

Oh you were so sweet looking... Bright eyed and bushy tailed is the phrase you would probably use. Either way, you agreed. In the back of your head you had this nagging to get atleast a little bit of sleep. Even just 4 hours would do. It made you sigh and nod, rubbing your sore eyes gently to make them feel less fuzzy. "I think..a break is due, actually." You muttered, closing the lid to your laptop and moving yourself away from the table.

He almost smiled. "That would be wise." Encouraging you to take a break and rest.

As you settled yourself into the uncomfortable bed, the springs digging into your side and legs, you glanced up at the man. "You look familiar. I do genuinely have a feeling I know you.." you murmured as your eyelids started to grow heavier. Taking a deep breath, you let your eye lids close, a start in attempting to get some sleep. Not like it would work well with the bed being as uncomfortable as it was.

The man kneeled down by your bedside, staring his dead eyes into your face as you attempted asleep. "I believe I am just the man you are looking for in this modern quest of yours." He said quietly. You hummed quickly as a response, not really listening to him. "...You are radiant when resting your eyes my dear."

James watched you sleep. Essentially.

He found himself intrigued by your reasoning for staying at the Cortez, and wanted to know more about you, yet never wanted to disturb your writing. Seeing your fingers work so nimbly against the keyboard and your eyes light up when you had finished one part was truly a beautiful spectacle. He had to have more. Have you as comfortable as possible in the hotel. Quickly, you were knocked out.

He brought you to his room, and everything you had brought with you. Courtesy of Ms.Evers of course. "Quite, pretty." He muttered, watching your unconscious body lie on his bed. Of course he would find you the most attractive when you've been knocked out... Ms.Evers gave a half hearted agreement. You were, a regular human to her.

Being a 'journalist' , as your dedicated followers called you, usually meant you were more observant. You noticed the stocked mini bar. The jumbled mess of your items on the bed next to you. What looked like a living room. And god, your head killed! It felt like someone was in your brain, trying to knock a wall down to escape or something. Fuck, it felt awful. Thank fuck the curtains were drawn though. "God...fuck me.."

"Ah, no need for such vulgar language. Here, some whiskey and medicine." He handed you a small glass of whiskey and two pills of paracetamol. Eugh..you didn't even drink Kopparberg, let alone something like whiskey. Your distaste for the alcohol was obvious to him, and it only made a slight laugh escape his lips. "I understand your distaste if you are not a drinker, however, this will only help you further."

Doubt that! Heavily...

Even though you turned your nose up to the whiskey, it was better than swallowing the pills dry. Begrudgingly, you picked up the small glass and took the pills out of his hand. "That headache of yours shall disappear in an instant, there is no doubt about that." He offered you a smile, and you only gave him a dull, neutral look before you placed the pills in your mouth. Deep breath. And you quickly shot down the whiskey, swallowing in one gulp.

Once you had gotten over the absolutely dreadful taste and burn in your throat, you blinked and looked back up. James Patrick March. Good...god.

He must've noticed the slight awe in your look. "I have, gotten used to that look in my time, yet it never fails to make me smile." James decided to take a walk around his room. "I hear you write for the modern world. You talk of the souls and the undead. Like the ones you have written for here. Even a story of me."

The silence lingered before he glanced back at you. Oh, right. You should talk. Respond with something. "Uh, yes I do. It takes me around the US. I went to a place called, uh, The Murder House. Lots of ghosts roam there and keep it clean. I um, it reminds me of this hotel." Nodding, hoping you weren't rambling about nothing.

You were so perfect. "Hm. Quaint. Tell me, what stories of mine have you collected?" James sat down by the table, already holding a glass of alcohol, swishing it around as he spoke. Swallowing some nerves, you adjusted on the bed and started talking his whole life story back to him. At one point, you got up and started reading back from your notebook. Every detail that you had been told about from the others here.

James was almost shocked by the fact you knew almost every detail. Almost. Some of them exaggerated parts to make him seem more intimidating to you. It only made him want you more. To keep you forever. Obviously, he wasn't going to tell you he wanted to keep you as his. No no... That would only scare you off. This was going to be difficult though. You were a, a blogger. Whatever that word was meant to mean. You needed to be outside more. With the stories you had collected, James suspected you could keep this blog of yours active for maybe a few months. Little white lies to add to the stories of the souls here, just to keep everyone interested. It had to work. Had to.

"...You truly are an interesting thing aren't you?"

You stopped your sentence at James' rehtoric question, and looked at him for a moment. A little blush appeared on your face, and a tiny smile almost ghosted your lips. One of your favourite rare compliments was being called interesting. "Oh, um...thank you Mr.March."

He almost smiled again, the faintest vision of lips turned up in the corners. "I find your formalities, almost unbearable. James shall be fine my dear."

"James..." Repeated softly. As if you were tasting a name. For the serial killer in front of you, 'James' tasted like old nicotine, alcohol and strong iron.

"I suggest it is a name you should get used to, I have a feeling you shall be here," he paused as he got up and walked a few steps towards you. Leaning down and looking in your eyes. "Until the last star in the sky has burnt out and crumbled this world to dust."

Time had lost its meaning. Sure, you could look at the date on your laptop and find comfort in that, but god, it felt like it didn't matter anymore.

Sighing, you rubbed your temples again before holding your face in your hands. "My dear, take a break from this bright screen. I have brought you something." James' voice cut off your scrambling thoughts as he reached over your shoulder and brought the lid to your laptop down. He had gotten used to it, even if he still didn't fully understand what it was. Looking up at James for a moment, you shifted in your seat to face him properly.

His rare gifts occasionally made you smile, but overall you were too focused on your writings to properly care. "Oh, um, what is it?" You asked as James placed the black box on your laptop. Great. Eventually, after some staring, you picked up the box. The box was velvet and had a white silk bow keeping it together. Well, at least he knew your taste. You pocketed the silk, definitely keeping it, just because. Gently peeling the lid off the box, there was a book. Seemingly homemade, shittily put together. It simply read 'Poems' at the cover.

James simply kept a sly smile on his face, watching your fingers work at opening the box up. Picking the small book up. He was desperate to see a new smile on your face, seeing how much you liked the effort he went through for this present. All he wanted was for you to like him. Not that you didn't have manners and didn't say thank you, obviously. Of course you did, that was just nice but never failed to make him happy and satisfied for the next few days.

Skimming through the book, you read a few words on each poem. They were, actually, decent. Pretty handwriting and sweet words on the pages. "Okay, James, this one is just Juliet's speech but with my name instead of Romeo's."

"Yes...A tragedy for the ages isn't it? I suppose the difference here is that I'm already dead. Haunting the hotel for eons to come."

"...You say that like you're planning to kill me James."

The silence was long. Uncomfortably extended. His hands were hesitating around the back of your neck. Like Patrick Bateman when he was hesitating to kill Luis Carruthers in the bathroom. It wasn't lost on you. "James?" The soft ask from your voice snapped the killer out of his fantasies, his hands retracting as you looked up and behind at him. Oh, that look in your eyes. Gentle fear, mixed with confusion and wonder. Such a look that internally melted James.

So, he had to lie. Keep you unassuming and unaware. "No, my hummingbird. I dare not harm you. The comparison of Romeo and Juliet is simply a sweet thing to keep you inspired. Keep your energies up as you write the stories you're here for."

"Ah, right. Well thank you James, I appreciate it." Nodding as you placed the book in the box, and shifting it away from the laptop. You needed to continue with a few stories, and if you got them done now. As much as you could get done while being stressed out and down with writer's block. Could journalists get writer's block? You certainly thought and believed so. It felt like it was killing you. You wished it killed you at this point.

That sleep was long, hazy and disturbed. There felt like there was a weight on your chest. Something pinning you down, keeping you as pushed down as possible. Well you certainly weren't going anywhere. You needed the rest. Even if it wasn't as amazing as the other nights. It was something, and not nothing.

Your night seemed longer than it already had been. The clock read 10am. Jesus, who let you sleep that long?! James kept waking you at 6 or 7am to try and keep up a firm routine for you. It was his way of caring for you, everyone told you. Making sure you had a routine and it was kept to whenever possible. He couldn't tolerate any slacking. "It will be good for you my dear, get your mind working at full speed again."

Staring at the bright laptop screen, the black words on a white page burned into your retinas, occasional blinking didn't help anything. It's not like you were particularly ignoring James, no... Your brain just felt, vacant I suppose you could say. It felt so empty and crushed, like every pure word of genius had been squeezed out of you. Milked for all it was worth and now only dust remained. James noticed this, of course, but didn't want to suggest anything. You just looked, so perfect and pretty. Dull eyes lit up by the white screen, your brain working on overdrive to finish a section of Donovan's story. If it were possible, he would have had someone photograph that moment, so he could look at it and find pleasure in your uninhabited mind.

The clock ticked. You watched hours go by. What was wrong with you? Usually you weren't like this. You weren't so... Still and figure like. Maybe you needed fresh air. Yeah, that might do you some good.

Shutting the lid to your laptop, you stretched to make sure you weren't going to seize up or anything before walking out of the room. Yawning as you headed down the halls, stood in the elevator for what felt like forever, and eventually headed for the door. "Ah, they do know they're-"

"They shall find out in their own time. Perhaps not letting them know of their death will make them inspired."

She stared at James with indifference. A hint of annoyance. The pair watched you take a deep breath and walk out of the door. Yet, you met yourself with confusion as you appeared back in the room you were staying in. "What on.." muttered before you took the same route. There was absolutely no way you were dead. No, this was definitely part of a dream. A really... Long... Deep... Dream. The repetitive walls only became tedious to look at with every heavy footstep.

You had heard of one such incident before. An attempt to leave proving fruitless until the right person came along. But, then again, Michael Langdon was dead. He could not save you like he did Queenie. Fuck. You wished he could though. However, you continued the loop. Time had lost it's meaning again.

"FUCK!" Erupted from your room and James only chuckled. He had felt a certain amount of satisfaction roll through his body at your screams of curses. Oh you were so cute. The killer figured you should have some alone time before he came to visit you. How much time had passed since you woke up again? It felt like days when realistically it was a couple of hours.

It was only a nightmare to you because you had bills to pay and a day job to go to. You couldn't call up your boss and go "hey, yah I'm a ghost now in The Hotel Cortez so I can't come into work. Sorry!" That was an insane idea and would only get you fired. Alright. C'mon, you're smart. You can figure it out.

You went over in your head for hours upon hours. Figuring out someway to tell others you had died without actually telling them and scaring them. But, you got it eventually.

Leaving you room hesitantly, you walked the long, exact corridors of The Cortez until you found Liz up in her bar again. "Ah, our resident journalist, how are you?" She asked with a small smile, wiping the bar top down gently.

A moment. Though, you found your voice and asked a question. "Is anyone here, who isn't a guest, actually, y'know alive?"

"Hm. Maybe. On what basis?"

"I'm dead."

"Yep."

You swallowed. You were.. dead. As the fucking doornails. Liz's agreement was just your verbal confirmation from someone else. You resisted the urge to scream fuck again. "Shit...okay. I just, I need someone to tell my boss that I'm dead. I can't really fucking tell him myself! That'd be crazy!" Liz stared at you for a moment. Then nodded, letting out a breath of cigarette smoke she had somehow acquired. Whatever pretend breath you were holding, you let out. Smiling as you rested your head on your crossed arms. "Oh thank you Liz... Thank you so much."

Quickly, you placed down your phone and opened it up to the contacts. Scrolling until you found your boss' number, then pressing call, handing it to Liz. The conversation was brief but informative. "Yes? Are you the boss?" She mentioned who she was calling for then continued. "I am the unfortunate one who must tell you that your beloved employee has shuffled off this world. This mortal coil could not, handle their pure love and devotion." She made you sound like a sweet sugar doll, which also caused your face to heat up until it felt like it was burning. That couldn't've been further from the truth in your head. But at least you tried.

After a few unintelligible mumbles from the phone, Liz hung up and handed the phone back to you. "Done. He sounded like he was devastated." Definitely an exaggeration.

"oh yeah totally. I was definitely his favourite employee..." You were not. The young new employees who were fresh faced 17 years olds were his favourites. There was an obvious connection there which you didn't want to think much about. It was gross and caused those younger employees to always get promotions before you. Fuck that. If that was what was happening now? You were glad you were dead. But, there was another question in your head. "Where...where is my body?"

"Slid down a chute."

"Fucking hell."

"Quite."

You let out long, dragging, throaty sigh. What on earth was there to say? No one tells you what it's like to be dead.

...

Tell a lie they do. Plenty of souls did. 'Thats' what you were there for. Talking to the souls of the Hotel Cortez, bringing their stories to light so people knew what the hotel was capable of. What horrors and extremities the hotel held inside. Like James. James was a devil.

Pure black soul inside and out. Nothing redeemable. Nothing good. You were sure the only reason he was nice to you was because of some fucked up version of lust he felt for you. Lust that had to be contained for years upon years. That serial killer was a man of tastes divine. Tastes that were fucked up and inevitable.

"Lost in thought.." Liz hummed, bringing you out of your thoughts. Glancing up at her, your eyebrows furrowed. "Thinking about Mr. March.. He has kept you here for eternity." Her words spoke wisely, and it made you feel insane.

"His poems are insane, Liz! T-they're nothing but old tales with the names changed to fit me and him! It's insanity!"

"It's love."

"It's fucked up is what it is." You ended the conversation there, standing up and walking away. Back up to your room, where there was a piece of fucked up, old looking paper ontop of your laptop. There was another poem on it. Seemingly original.

My dear,

You are exquisite.

My work of art.

A piece untouchable.

The stories you tell,

exhilarating.

The public will flock.

See how much time and love there is,

in a tall tale such as my own.

I do not say much,

In the terms of affection.

If you stay in here, however,

Next to me,

There may be a word i shall tell.

Bare me your soul, hummingbird.

There will be nothing to keep us apart.

- James Patrick March

"...what the fuck..?" You muttered a question, reading the poem over and over again. It was, well it was perfect. It was somewhat sweet, and telling of his personality.

The nickname, hummingbird, definitely struck something in you. It was so, nice. That was the only word you could think of. Nice. Somewhat flattering coming from the man who you supposed was your murderer. "My dear, you seem, somewhat flustered by the poem I have left for you."

Looking up, you stared right into James' eyes. The silence before you answered felt tense. Harsh and scared as your eyes bore into his. They were so dark. Black boba pearls that barely shined. There was nothing to say back to him. You scoured your mind for a response as you gripped the paper. Maybe too hard, as you felt your fingers dig into your palm. The paper crumbling up.

James walked towards you, eyes trained on the worry and the slightest shake of your fingers. "I haven't written anything since I was a young man I admit," He started, finally breaking eye contact. His hand met yours, placing down the crumbled and broken paper on the table. "But I hope it has satisfied since you feel so, aloof to the poems I had given you before."

"James..." You looked up at him from the paper, lips slightly parted. "I'm dead."

"That you are." Those three words of agreement felt somewhat unnecessary. "But one who died so eloquently. I almost, feel envious you died so beautifully my darling." His hand trailed up your arm, standing behind you as he spoke. Feeling you, making sure you knew how close he was to you. Gods, you felt so perfect to him. He was so glad he killed you.

"that... Weight on my chest.." You started, taking in deep breaths as one hand roamed you.

"That weight was me my hummingbird." He nodded, head dipping down to your neck. Despite being dead too, he took a breath that felt like an inhale. What he was addicted to. Needed to be addicted to. You couldn't leave, but even when you were alive, he didn't want you to leave. The undead addiction he craved to feel once again. It was a craving he could not satiate.

"You satiate me," James muttered into your skin. Your lips stayed shut, and eyes closed. While you barely had a response, it didn't matter to James. All you needed was to understand why. Understand the scribbled nonsense on paper in front of you. Letting James take. But you weren't giving. Not really. You were just, standing there trying to make sense.

"James..." You breathed out, head falling back against his shoulder. He smiled and let one hand fall to rest on your waist. They were so delicate compared to the rest of what James was about. It felt so, wrong. However, they felt in the right place. They felt so right, being placed so softly on your chest and your waist. What on earth could you do about this?

Letting the touches sink into your body. The coldness freezing your body. It made you shiver. It would've felt better if the both of you were alive. Warmth pressing against warmth... But no, you were cold. He was colder. Cold as dry ice. After a while it felt right.

Your positioning was that of Christine and Erik's. His hands holding you close to his chest, your hand over his, the other one hovering over his shoulder.

You were Christine. Naive, needy and talented.

He was Erik. A teacher. Smart and full of wit.

A phantom.

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Taglist: @lacucarachapisser / @vi0l3tluvsu / @strawb3rrystar / @bohnerrific69 / @xrag-dollx / @r4fe-cam3ron / @pajaaa2005 / @saintlucretia / @taintandviolent / @phantommoondoll / @american-horror-whore

[xrag-dollx]

wired interview — evan peters

masterlist

PAIRINGS: evan peters x female!reader

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

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

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

WORD COUNT: 1.1k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pretty much.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Show off,” he teased.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, born ready,” you challenged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckled. “It’s that good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© rosecoloredsunshine, 2025

[xrag-dollx]

hot ones — evan peters

masterlist

PAIRINGS: evan peters x female!reader

SUMMARY: you and even 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

[xrag-dollx]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐀𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝♡

-------------------------------------------------------

Shopping was so easy, especially if you're in illegal possession of your beloved vampire boyfriends credit card.

"Honey!!! I got THE latest shit! Watch..."

Austin didn't really know what you were talking about until he spotted you with a whole load of shopping bags...chanel, Gucci, agent provocateur, the list was long (and expensive).

As you showed him the latest expensive possessions of yours, Austin didn't really knew whether to laugh or cry. He slowly claps his hands, as he shakes his head with a complacent grin

"Bravo, darling. Truly. You’ve managed to turn my hard-earned money into a boutique’s profit margin within hours. I mean, if you’re going to rob me blind, at least have the decency to leave a thank-you note. I see, you actually managed it to treat my hard earned cash like monopoly money. And you know what?"

Austin paused as he plopped down onto the sofa, as he nonchalantly sipped on his glass of chateau.

"The thing about betrayal is… it has consequences. And you, my dear, are running out of chances. Spend my money again, and you just might find yourself starring in a very different kind of horror story.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[xrag-dollx]

~ᵂᵃʳʳᵉⁿ ᶜᵃˢᵘᵃˡˡʸ ᶠⁱⁿᵍᵉʳ⁻ᶠᵘᶜᵏˢ ʸᵒᵘ ʷʰⁱˡᵉ ʷᵃᵗᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵀⱽ~

𝘚𝘔𝘜𝘛, 𝘔𝘋𝘕𝘐, 18+ (drabble)

,,his index finger buried deep inside of you while his eyes were glued to the flickering TV screen, you were sprawled out in front of him on the sofa, your legs spread so impudent as you let out a series of soft moans. Warren, on the other hand, paid attention to whatever was on TV, dipping his nachos into the small glass next to him, eating it nonchalantly while his other hand was moving in and out in a smooth but quick movement, assaulting your hole as you wanted it, so fuckin badly. Your pussy juice was dripping down your entrance as it basically yearned to get fucked. Your legs started to shake uncontrollably as your orgasm wandered right through your body.

"Hmh..fuck, Wa-Warren...I'm"

Your back arched up from the sofa, as you just reached your desired high. Warren let out a soft chuckle as he laid his eyes on you exceptionally for just merely a split second, accompanied with a shit-eating grin

"Couldn't get fucked hard enough, don't you?"

___________________________________________

Tagging my favourite babes for this one <3 :

@c-cobweb @fear-is-truth @marchsfreakshow

《xrag-dollx all rights reserved. Copying my work is prohibited.》

[xrag-dollx]

Tell me what you want but 'I Swear' by All 4 One IS Kai's valentines day anthem

[xrag-dollx]

Happy birthday Evan, hope you're serving cunt like usually xoxo (cake made by me 🙃)

[xrag-dollx]

|None of your business|

Warren Lipka x fem!reader

Summary: the art dealer Warren lipka had his strategies to earn money

Warnings: smut, age gap (the reader is +18), p i v, fingering

A/N: this happens when @c-cobweb and me randomly come up with✴.·´¯`·.·★𝓑𝓾𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓻𝓮𝓷 ★·.·`¯´·.✴🫠

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You strutted into a hallway, the heels of your black high heels echoing through the wide corridor with each step. Your red suit matched your red pencil skirt, accompanied with a white blouse. The red lipstick was your wild card.

You had a meeting with an art dealer you met at an art exhibition. His Name was Warren Lipka. You exchanged both numbers and flirty looks. You fairly knew he wouldn't want to talk with you about art...at all.

"Ms Y/N?"

A lady approached you with a more than welcoming smile. She was the employee, an assistant of his if you will.

You greeted her with a subtle handshake, her appearance oozed familiarity, kindness, you could swear you'd know her for years. She was a stunner herself if you'd admit; lose, dark-blonde wavy hair, brown eyes and legs for days. To be fair that Warren really had an eye for good-looking women...uhm...employees. Nonchalantly, you strutted right next to her, your steps were soon padded by a long carpet, which led to his office. The building itself looked rather nondescript and plain, so was the inside. You subtly made your look around; it wasn't something what really caught your eye. But that was not what you were here for, after all.

"Mr. Lipka awaits you in his office. And no worries, he just wants to get to know you a little bit better, he told me about your exhibition, he was fairly impressed by your art and that a young woman like you had such a good eye for expressionism. I'm sure you can impress him even more with your talent, dear."

Her words blurred as soon as they left her mouth, your mind drifted away on what might happen behind his doors. But of course, you tried to be polite and noticed how she mentioned the word 'talent', followed by her winking at you, accompanied with a sly smile.

"Oh? Is that so? Well, I'm looking forward"

You responded, likewise with a smile, giving her a little weight to her words. Arrived at his office, the lady knocked twice at his entrance door. A muffled 'yes' replied from the inside.

"Mr. Lipka, Ms. Y/N is here..."

She spoke as she leads you into the spacious office.

"Ah, thank you"

Warren spoke while the lady left without a word. He stood up from his massive office chair, as he approached you and greeted you straight up with a hug. His veiny hand touched the small of your back while his other hand slipped from your waist dangerously close to your bum, a slight blush adorned your cheeks in response. You also noticed that tantalising cologne he wore, something between white musk and vanilla... fuck, this man had you in no time.

"Take a seat"

He spoke and cleared his throat as he went back behind his desk and sat down into his office chair, which made the leather respond with a slight squeak under his weight. Cross-legged he comfortably lounged in his chair, his arms draped on each side of the chair as his gaze bore into your soul. You nervously shifted in your chair as you mirrored the pose he was in, as you tried to look confident while his presence rather made you nervous.

"I'm glad to see you here again, Y/N. I'm really fond of your art...I really see potential in what you do. So, I'd gladly buy some of your works...if you don't mind of course. I'm sure we can find a good deal here."

He spoke, as he leaned in, his legs were slightly touching yours, the tip of his shoe ghosting the bare flesh of one of your legs, a sudden shiver ran down your spine, your heartbeat increased as you desperately tried to stay focused.

"What's the deal?"

You spoke, but an answer of his didn't follow right after. He simply stared at you, a small yet noticeable smile formed his lips, you could assume he was thinking of a deal, but that wasn't the case. You weren't lying that he was pretty good-looking, maybe too good-looking to be a serious art dealer. That slicked back hair, his curls merely touched his shoulder blades and his neat black suit perfectly shaped his muscular body.

He stood up, the touch of his on your leg abruptly breaks as you silently yearned for more. You watched how his fingertips slowly caressed the wooden surface of his desk as he walked around it, it was so provocative to watch. Your heartbeat was running a marathon as soon as he approached you closer and closer, until his tall figure stood behind you, you tried not to flinch. He bent down, the strong scent of his cologne ignited your senses, your breath became heavier while your fingers dug into the armrests.

"Well, let's say 50/50 and we'll have a deal?"

He breaths into your ear, goosebumps grew steadily on every inch of your body. Warren slowly brushed the thin strains of hair aside of the covered skin and placed his warm hand on the side of your now exposed neck, his other hand snaked down to the cleavage of your blazer, it gently cupped your clothed breast, the palm of his hand teased your erected nipple. This elicited a moan out of your throat, your mouth ran dry while your hands became moist by every minute. Your legs tried its best to veil the state you were in, but your moans betrayed you.

"S-sounds good to me"

You moaned, your hand grabbed Warren's arm, as it slowly moves up and down, you clearly signaled you were enjoying this.

"Hmmh, good girl"

He cooed, him calling you a good girl let the arousal between your legs grow, another moan tumbles out of your mouth, almost accidentally. Your thighs were pressed together, your head fell back as you leaned into the touch of Warren's hands on your neck.

"Wanna obey me and be a good girl?"

Warren whispered, as his voice lingered in the shell of your ear, his hand crept from your cleavage down to your legs, caressing your upper thigh achingly slow. Another moan escaped your mouth in a rush, a proper reply was almost impossible.

"Y-yes"

You groaned, Warren's smile grew wider in delight of your agreement.

"Sit on my desk"

He demanded, you immediately got up from the office chair and placed your cute little bum onto the wooden surface, your shyness dribbled down more and more, your gaze was fixed onto the man infront of you with lust. Warren knocked the office chair right away aside, as he loosened up the sling of his tie, pearls of sweat appeared on his forehead. He placed both of his hands on your thighs, where he began to slightly spread them apart, your skirt rolled upwards as it gave him access to your most sensitive parts. You groaned in response as his rough hands glided provocatively higher and higher until they made a short rest on your hips, your head was thrown back in ecstasy.

"Gosh, look at you...so needy"

Warren growls, his urge to feel you grew, the distance between you and him became tighter.

His hands were sliding between your inner tighs, searching blindly for the garment which covered your most delicate parts. Yet, his black tie caught your eye and basically advertised itself to get pulled. Your urge broke free as you couldn't help it but drag Warren by his tie closer to you without hesitation. His lips immediately crushed onto yours, a moan left his throat so untamed.

Your lips agreed to let his tongue enter to entwine into a fierce battle, fighting for dominance. As rude as Warren was, he brushed his thumb against your wet folds, as you answered with a loud moan, your hands were desperately searching for friction as they got buried into his slicked back hair, messing it up within seconds. His lips wandered curiously from your mouth down your collarbone, looking for your sweet spot, as it was soon found behind your ear. You let out some soft moans, one of your hands found its place at the back of his where it lingers. His hot breath was fanning against the tender skin on your ear, small lustful moans slipped past his lips as they only fueled your horniness just more.

"Yes, be my good girl..."

He responded, his fingers fumbled meanwhile with the thin material between your legs, your pussy was soaking wet as it was yearning to get fucked. The lacy fabric got rapidly brushed aside, the touch of Warrens finger made you just hornier, you wanted him, deep inside of you. His index finger slipped teasingly slow into your entrance as you reciprocated with a moan, your bottom lip got assaulted by your teeth. Your skirt wasn't allowing him the access he needed so you pulled it up, your hot cunt was on full display, as it was stuffed with Warrens finger. Your grip went to the edge of his office desk as you spread your legs apart. Warren couldn't help but insert another finger, the feeling of it blurred your surroundings almost completely, mewls and indecent noises flooded his office. Warrens dark eyes locked with yours, his movements increased more and more, as he penetrated you expertly.

"Ohh fuck, so good for me, hm...that's what you're here for hm? aren't you?"

He mumbled between gritted teeth, as he suddenly pulled his fingers out of you, the sticky fluid covered his fingers as he shamelessly put them into his mouth; a sassy smile appeared on his lips as a low chuckle followed.

His hands quickly found the buckle of his belt, followed by unzipping his pants along with his boxers in a rush. His dick sprung free, his pants slipped down just to the ankles. He pumped his aching hard cock a few times, the tip of his dick merely entered you, yet not fully.

"You'll get this for free, princess..."

Warren growled, as he slowly entered you, your wet cunt devoured him in a whole. A drawn out moan stumbled out of your mouth, your hands were propped up onto his desk. Warren leaned in, his torso made full contact with yours. His hands rested on both sides of your upper thighs for support. His pelvis snapped right against you, a brutal thrust made you whine which let Warren respond with a groan, your legs trembled but Warren managed to hold you in place. When he said you'd get it for free, then he wasn't joking at all, he was selling you pure ecstasy here, on his office desk. He picked up the speed within seconds, the filthy noises of skin-on-skin slapping mixed with obscene moans and groans of yours flowed through the room, his desk abruptly started to shake, various books and sheets of paper fell shamelessly to the ground, gone and forgotten for a certain time.

"Ugh...take...it..all"

Warren muttered as he pounds into you with a quick pace, his teeth was clenched almost furiously as his eyes were closed with a frown, sweaty strands of hair slowly decorated his forehead, droplets of sweat painted the sides of his face. You could swear you'd approach the stars closer with each thrust Warren did, as good and real as it felt.

Without any prior warning, the door to his office swung open, it was the kind lady from previously.

"Mr. Lipka, there's a customer on the phone who wants to speak to you"

She spoke, she leaned nonchalantly against the frame of the door, her eyes glued to the impudent view, as she patiently waited for Warren's reply with a sly grin. Warren, on the other hand, kept fucking the shit out of you, as you were a moaning mess underneath him. You didn't even notice her at all, your mind was too preoccupied with your upcoming orgasm which would probably soon reach its peak.

"Tell him...I'm busy...ugh"

Warren growled, his thrusts got sloppier, his high would unfold any moment.

"Good"

The lady left the office as silent as she had entered it.

Warren thrusts a few more times into you, a long, trembling groan left his throat, your own orgasm got immediately triggered as you came right after. Hot spurts of cum filled your hot cunt and dribbled out of you as Warren pulled his throbbing, stiff length out.

"So...do we have a deal?"

"I...I guess so..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: @fear-is-truth @c-cobweb @marchsfreakshow @bohnerrific69 @trueangel420 @evanpeterspeter @evanpeterswifeyyy @jazzy-reblogs @lostreverb @lacucarachapisser @american-horror-whore @kaiscookies

《xrag-dollx all rights reserved. Copying my work is prohibited.》