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frankenkyle19 · 10 months

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Rhythm of your undead heart

Description: You’ve been begging James for months to let you take control in the bed. Just for one night. He finally says yes, without realizing just how much he sighed up for

I was listening to Mr. Schwartz by Arctic Monkeys on repeat while writing the rest of this and ended up SPEEDING through it. Thank god for music

word count: 4.3k

warnings: smut, anal, probably ooc James, pain kink, mentions of blood and James’ past

It was difficult. Being in a relationship with not only an infamous serial killer, but a dead one at that. At times he acted as if he didn’t give a damn about you. As if you didn’t even exist. He had other ‘matters to attend to’ according to him. But despite it all, you stayed by his side. He was eternally grateful for that. Now he may not have always made it known, but he really was fond of you. You made his undead heart flutter. Made him feel things that he nearly forgot he could feel after his many years of being dead. Feelings he hadn’t felt since the first time he laid eyes on his dear countess.

James was a very attentive lover, almost always seeing to your needs immediately. He wanted you to be so content in his hotel that you wouldn’t ever think of leaving. Sometimes he’d even fantasize about killing you. What it would be like to lay you out on his bed, ravage you, and while you’re in the throes of release with him so deep inside you, he would slide his knife across the delicate, vulnerable skin of your neck. How he’d watch you choke on your own blood, eyes wide and full of fear, before you would inevitably return to him in your ghostly form. Maybe one day he would take your life, but he enjoyed you enough right now that he kept you just as you were. It was an honor. But it would also be just as much of an honor to be killed by the man.

The one thing James March was not, was submissive. There was not a single bone in his body that ever wanted to submit to you, or to anyone. It simply wasn’t in his nature. He was raised by a father who had the wrong ideas of what a man should or rather, had to be. And no matter how many times you asked, his answer stayed the same.

No my dear, I don’t think I will.

Still, you persisted. Months and months of asking James to just let you have one night to pleasure him. Tie him to the bed and have your way. Every time it was ‘no no no’, but the more you asked the harder time he had denying you. He hated denying you anything. You quite literally had him wrapped around your finger. Maybe even more so than his dear Elizabeth once had.

So on his very own birthday, Devil’s night, he finally caved and said yes.

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“Really?” Your eyes were wide as saucers as you looked him over to see if he was just messing with you, but of course James wasn’t one to mess around.

“Yes dear. You have been quite persistent with your asking, so I’ve realized how much it would mean to you. You may have your way with me.” He said with ease, nose curling a bit in that adorable way it did when he said certain words. as he spoke when his accent got heaviest. He’d had a few drinks but was still sober enough to know he was in for a longgg night.

“Well then James, we should start as soon as possible!” You said excitedly. Like a child who was just told they could have dessert before dinner. This was exhilarating.

“You stay here and undress. Lay on the bed and don’t touch yourself.” You gave your first order of the night. Something flashed behind James' undead eyes. A spark. Excitement or nervousness? Both? You hoped to soon find out.

You raced out of the bedroom, going to find your box of toys that you kept well hidden from James under one of the many cabinets in his suite. You grinned when you found it, rummaging through its contents before pulling out your strap on. The one you had been waiting months to use on your lover. The one you had bought with the specific purpose of wrecking James with.

You grabbed the bottle of lube next to it as well as a vibrator. You may just use that on him as well. He’d never used toys before because they weren’t exactly a thing when he was alive. At least not the ones around today. And why would he put something so foreign and unpredictable near his cock? He much preferred your hand. Or, excuse his language, your pussy.

You had your arms full as you made your way back to James, seeing him laid out on the bed, fully naked. He had done just as you requested. His cock was half hard as it rested on his lower stomach, hands at his sides as he glanced at you, showing a bit of disinterest as he saw the items you had brought back with you. He had such an ease about him, just laying there, completely bare and seeming completely content with it.

“What are you planning on doing with those?” He asked, blinking slowly as he examined the items in your arms.

“Going to fuck you, James.”

Such language caused him to cringe slightly, shaking his head as he sat up a bit in the bed. He almost looked nervous, but was obviously trying not to show it. He’d never been touched there before. Never even dared to explore his body fully while all alone in his room all these years. A man like him didn’t do that, but you were here to teach him that he could. And that it would feel good. That he could let his guard down. Just enjoy himself.

You laid the items at the end of the bed and crawled up next to him, gently running your hands down his scarred, muscled chest. He inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring as he glanced at you apprehensively.

“You are not going to do such things- I ref-“ you cut him off with a finger pressed to his lips, causing his glare to harden. If looks could kill…

“You said I could have my way with you, James. This is what I plan to do. I’ll be gentle, promise.”

“I don’t need you to be gentle-“

“And we need a safe word. Yeah? In case you want to stop at any time. Give me a word.”

“Stop. Stop will be my word.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “We need something more unique than that, James. Please just humor me?”

He grumbled under his breath before responding.

“Fine, if we must, my word can be… gun.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course out of all the words in the English language and beyond, he chose gun. Even now his mind couldn’t help but wander to those dangerous, murderous thoughts.

You carefully let your hands trail lower down his body before gently wrapping one around his half hard cock. He sighed softly, body finally relaxing a bit as he looked up at you, eyes dark.

“Ahhh Darling-“ he grunted, shifting a bit as his cock began to harden fully. You swept your thumb across the tip, spreading the pre-cum that collected there.

“Mmm, take it into your mouth, my love. Choke on me.” You could tell his dominant side was beginning to come out the longer this dragged on, and you needed to cut it out now before he just flipped you over and fucked you into the mattress.

You squeezed his cock in your hand, causing him to grimace, glaring up at you. How dare you not listen to his orders?

“Not so fast, James. I want it my way. You don’t get to tell me what to do. Not tonight. You can have your fun another day”

Carefully you began to stroke him once more, tracing your pointer finger over the prominent vein on the side of his cock. His tip was red and leaking, practically throbbing in your hand. As much as he’d hate to admit it, your touch always felt like heaven. If there was a heaven, he thought, it was found in your touch. You knew exactly how to touch him. .

You heard what sounded like a quiet moan slip from his parted lips, glancing up to see a sheen of sweat covering his forehead and messing up his usually neat combed back hair. He looked sinful in the most angelic way possible.

While you were stroking him with one hand, you let your other fall to his thigh, gently massaging it before daring to go lower. You were curious to see how he’d react to your touch, knowing that you had to stretch him out on your fingers first before you even dared show him the silicone cock. Your hand fell away and grabbed the small vibrator from the edge of the bed, holding it between your fingers before holding it up to show it to James.

His eyes widened a bit and he shifted uncomfortably, shaking his head “now wait just a moment- wait- I don’t even know what that thing is- it is not natural and I will not have you put it near m-“ He was cut off as you turned it on, placing it against his leaky cock head. The vibrations buzzed against his length, causing his body to jerk around a bit.

The feeling was foreign, but good god, he realized how pleasurable it felt. It was a whole new level of euphoria.

“O-oh- oh that’s actually- aghh- quite nice. I like it.” He whispered, hips flexing up, muscles clenched as he sighed, rolling his head around on the bed.

“See? Told you so. It can feel so good James.”

He grumbled under his breath, obviously a bit salty that you actually were right. He hated being proved wrong.

You let the vibrator rest on the tip of his cock for a few moments before sliding it down the rest of his length, watching as he twitched, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he tried not to show just how much he was enjoying this all.

“See, sometimes new things can be fun.” You chuckled, shaking your head. Your beautiful, ever stubborn James March was laid out on his very own bedsheets, about to be ravaged by you.

You pulled the vibrator away from his cock, much to his disapproval as he let out a quiet groan. You didn’t just want groans and grunts from him this time around though. You wanted full on moans, cries, whines and whimpers. And you planned to get exactly that.

He watched you like a hawk, eyes tracking your every movement, afraid if he looked away for even a moment, or dared to blink, you’d do something he wouldn’t agree with. But of course that’s not how it worked. You’d never pull any surprises on him. Not now. You were going to take your time getting him nice and open. You didn’t want to hurt him…Unless he asked for it, which he very well might.

“Okay James we can do this a few different ways and I’ll give you the choice. You can either lay on your back with your legs propped up, or you can lay on your stomach and I can finger you open that way. Which would you rather?”

And of course he wanted to say he didn’t want either, but he knew that wasn’t a choice. So he sucked up his complaints and swallowed hard before answering “on my back works just fine, darling.”

That was all you needed before you were grabbing the bottle of lube and popping the cap open, pouring some of the clear, sticky oil onto your fingers. You warmed it up first before you glanced back at James, his eyes laser focused on your now oiled up fingers. He knew exactly what you were going to do with those.

“Darling we still have time to go back- I will gladly fuck you, we do not have to-“

You slapped his thigh, causing him to jolt. It was a warning. If he complained again maybe you wouldn’t go so easy on him.

“A real man would shut up and take it, James. Are you a real man?”

He was absolutely seething, completely enraged and the thoughts of just pinning you to the bed and wrapping his hands around your neck until it broke flooded through his mind.

He decided it was best to stay quiet as he sighed heavily, adjusting himself on the bed so his legs were propped at an angle which gave you plenty of room to do what you wanted to.

“Good boy, see? Not so hard is it?” You hummed as you brought the hand that wasn’t covered in lube to his face, cupping his cheek. It was as if against his own will he leaned into it. No matter how mad he was at you, your touch brought him utter bliss.

You could tell he had grown distracted by your actions so you discreetly let your other hand wander to gently grip his ass, kneading the flesh in your palm. He tensed, looking up at the ceiling with a blank expression. There was some part of his mind that was stopping him from showing any satisfaction or even trying to enjoy this experience. You needed to find out why and get rid of it, otherwise this wouldn’t be a good experience for either of you.

“Look at you, such a strong, smart, cunning man. So busy all day long with your tedious planning. The maintenance of this beautiful hotel-“ his eyes flicked to yours, softening a bit. Ah yes, compliments, the way to his undead heart.

“The most magnificent hotel made by the most magnificent man of any day and age,” you continued, easing him. Your hand still massaged the meat of his ass, but he didn’t seem to care as much as before, too focused on your words and compliments.

“You work so very hard, you deserve a break. Just relax, my love. I would never do anything I didn’t think you’d like. If you just let go, maybe you’ll find that you enjoy this.” You spoke, your hand finally, finally reaching his hole as you circled it gently with your pointer finger.

James hissed through his teeth but stayed still, taking your words into account. Perhaps you were right. He ought to give it a shot, right? And if he didn’t like it he wouldn’t have to do it again after tonight, surely? You always respected each other’s boundaries so this couldn’t be any different.

He closed his eyes and tried his very best to relax his body, knowing it would be easier if he was relaxed. He’d been put through pain before, so surely this wouldn’t hurt much.. right?

He inhaled sharply as your finger breached his tight hole, carefully slipping in without much resistance thanks to the lube.

“There we go, being so nice for me, James.” You cooed, your free hand gently caressing the skin on his thigh. He was abnormally pale. He was a ghost, so of course he was, but even in life he was quite a pale man, his thighs even milkier than the skin on his arms and neck.

He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, the thick, deep cut across his neck moving along with it. He preferred to keep it covered at all times, but you had already told him that you wanted to see all of him, even the worst parts. So for you and only you, he let it be in view.

His hole seemed to suck your finger in, greedy for the foreign feeling. James on the other hand, wasn’t exactly having an awful time, but he had definitely had better experiences.

Still, you were determined to make him squirm and cry out your name, and with a gentle caress of his thigh with your free hand, you pressed another finger into him, feeling the resistance this time around.

He inhaled deeply, but didn’t appear to be in any extreme discomfort. After all, he had killed himself by cutting his throat with a damn blade. What could be much worse than that? And he was dead, so he didn’t feel pain like the living did.

Still though, he tried to arch his hips away from the feeling, nose curled up as he glanced down at you. He remembered your words. You asking him to just sit back and enjoy, and he was at the very least trying.

“Darling I do not find enjoyment in this at all-“ he huffed out, just wanting to fuck you. He would definitely find enjoyment in that.

“I just need you to calm down, James. I’m trying-“ your fingers pushed deeper into him, curling up at an angle.

“I’m trying to find your prostate, so just shut up for five seconds-“ you huffed out. Usually you wouldn’t be so mean, but you knew James could take it. In fact, he yearned for it.

His whole body froze as finally, finally you hit that spot inside of him, the first spark of pleasure burning inside him, clawing to be let out. It was unlike anything he ever felt, a much different feeling than stimulation to his cock. This felt deeper. Heavier.

“Darling-“ was all he choked out, eyes wide as you hit the spot inside him again. Now that you found it, James was in for a hell of a ride.

“There we go, baby. Found it.”

“W-what are you doing to me?” He asked, completely and utterly confused as to what you had done that made this suddenly feel so good.

“I found your prostate, feels good doesn’t it?” You chuckled, seeing as he was beginning to slowly fall apart at the seams. Little by little, you were going to fuck the entitlement out of this man if it killed you.

“It does feel quite… enjoyable.” He said, his words spoken slower than usual as he tried to keep his composure.

You continued to pump your fingers in and out of him before adding a third and final one, watching as his face scrunched up at the fullness of three fingers up his ass.

“And you are positive that… that device will fit inside of me?” He asked, glancing at the strap on.

“Of course James. You fit inside me, don’t you? I picked a small dildo I promise, it’s not much thicker than my three fingers. Just a bit longer.” You assured as you stretched him out as well as you could before pulling your fingers out, a heavy huff leaving James’ lips.

There was a sense of relief he felt when you pulled your fingers out of him, but also a sense of loss. He felt.. empty.

It wasn’t that way for long though. You had reached over to grab the strap, undressing yourself before clipping it around your waist, making sure it was secure. James swallowed hard, a warm heat spreading through him as he watched you.

“My dear-“

“Quiet, James. Let me take care of you.”

You propped his legs up better, coming between them as you leaned on your knees, your hands keeping his thighs spread as you pressed the tip of the dildo to his hole before you got an idea. A way to shut him up for even a little bit.

James glanced at you with a look of confusion as you pulled away, your small hand stroking the fake cock.

“Come, James.” You called, and like a lost puppy, James sat up, coming close to you as his eyes looked at you questioningly.

“What is it?” He asked, eyes unable to look away from the strap between your legs.

With a bit of force, you grabbed him by his raven hair and pushed him down so he was face to face with the silicone.

“You talk too much James. Let’s shut you up for just a moment.” You grinned, running your fingers through his hair for a moment as you tapped the cock against his pretty red lips.

He almost pushed away from you. There was no way he was doing this. Absolutely not. But then, there you were, so beautiful and he was so hard, just ready for release.

His lips parted for the head of the dildo and you slid it into his mouth, letting him adjust to the foreign feeling. He knew how to eat you out, and realistically knew what to do with a cock in his mouth, but it was still odd.

He suckled on the head, closing his eyes as his hole clenched desperately, wanting more stimulation. This was the sweetest torture.

You began to gently thrust in and out of his mouth, not letting it go too deep. You wondered what would happen if you did, if the cut across his throat would interfere or hurt him in any way.

James seemed to understand what you were thinking, and he swallowed around the cock, pushing it deeper into his mouth. Your eyes were wide as it hit the back of his throat. He… he made a noise you hadn’t heard from him ever before. He mewled. The pressure against the cut across his throat brought both pain and pleasure to him.

You on the other hand quickly pulled it from his mouth, figuring it had hurt him. His lips chased the length before he paused, looking up at you.

“Why did you stop?” His voice was a bit hoarse as he spoke, his usually thick accent faded just a bit.

“I- I thought I hurt you-“ his eyes flickered dangerously at your words as he smirked

“Darling, I like being hurt.” Was all he said. You pounced on him, pulling him into a searing kiss before positioning him just how you wanted, manhandling him as you pleased.

He was on all fours, facing the headboard as you positioned yourself behind him, lining the cock up with his hole. You reached over and grabbed the bottle of lube, squirting some onto the strap. For good measure.

You ever so slowly thrust into him, causing a broken groan to fall from his lips as he instantly pushed back into the feeling, causing the cock to slide even deeper inside him.

You figured he might like this, that’s why you asked all these months. What you hadn’t expected was for him to like it as much as he did.

He threw his head back, hair an absolute mess, sweat dripping from his forehead as he panted.

“More-“ be begged, glancing over his shoulder at you. For the first time since you’d been with James, you were finally able to see the side of him you’d longed to see. He looked so free, whatever memories of his past left him as he just enjoyed the pleasure he was being given.

You traced the scars littered across his back as you fucked into him gently, still not wanting to be too rough with him. He’d had a hard life, and even though he’d done atrocious things, part of you had to think it was how he was raised. Nature versus nurture. A mix of both that had left him the way he was. But he was still yours, and you were going to show him just how much you loved him.

You began to pick up your pace, James groaning impatiently as he arched his back, muscles taught, the curve of his back like a sculpture painted by the most talented sculptor.

“Faster darling, I assure you I won’t break.” He whispered, head falling between his shoulders as he gripped onto the bed harder, fully intending and wanting you to fuck him as hard as you could.

And of course you did. You couldn’t deny James this, not now. Not ever. You gripped onto his shoulders and thrust into him, your skin slapping against his own from the force.

He cried out in pleasure, his accent just making his moans that much more intoxicating to listen to.

You quickly got a rhythm going, fucking into him hard and fast, the strap hitting his prostate with each thrust in.

You saw the way his body trembled, the way his cock twitched. He was close. You knew his body like the back of your hand, and even in this new position, you still new.

You angled your thrusts to better hit his prostate, one of your hands reaching around to wrap around his cock.

His mouth fell open, eyes closed as he let out a deep chuckle. He was… laughing?

“Oh darling this is much better than I had expected- I am close love-“ he grunted, biting down on his bottom lip as his breathing picked up and for the first time, you heard James Patrick March beg.

“Please- please please darling I must cum-“ he begged, arching back against you as he cried out.

Maybe in the future you’d tease him. Leave him tied up and refuse him his release as you fucked him relentlessly. Not tonight though. You just wanted him to feel good.

You kept your thrusts even, stroking his cock in time with your hard thrusts. And soon enough, James’ body went nearly rigid before you felt his warm release coat your hand, spilling across it and onto the bed.

His hole squeezed hard around the strap and you whispered words of praise to him as he came down from his high.

He was quiet for several moments as you gently pulled out of him, checking him over to make sure you hadn’t done any damage.

Finally, he pulled you into a tender kiss. A much more meaningful kiss than the ones he usually gave. It was filled with his usual hunger, but also so much love.

“That… was spectacular.” He said simply, shaking his head. You were right. Of course you had been right. If only he’d just listened to you sooner. Foolish man.

You held him against your chest as he spoke, mostly nonsense, plans he had among other things. You let him, running your hands across his scarred body, eternally grateful that he had chosen you. You stayed like that for a while, just listening to the rhythm of his undead heart.

#evan peters #american horror story #evan peters icons #ahs fandom #american horror hotel #ahs hotel #james march smut #james march x reader #james patrick march imagine #james patrick march #james patrick march smut

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icannotpickanamewtf · 9 months

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ᴛᴡɪsᴛᴇᴅ ɴᴇʀᴠᴇs (PT. 2)

EVAN PETERS AHS x READER

SUMMARY: 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖫𝖠 𝖽𝖾𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗉𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖼𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗌. 𝖠 𝗌𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖼𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗍, 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗎𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾, 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗅, 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗉𝗈𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗒𝗉𝗌𝖾, 𝖺 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐…𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝖺 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾.

Chapter Focus: Kai Anderson x Reader

🚨WARNINGS: 𝖠𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖧𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋 𝖲𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒, 𝖮𝖻𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖬𝗎𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝖢𝗎𝗅𝗍, 𝖱𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗌, 𝖲𝗆𝗎𝗍, 𝖾𝗍𝖼…

You officially decide that Michigan is a complete bust.

As soon as the plane landed and you’d made your way out of baggage claim, you were hit by a blasting cold.

Is it possible for someone to shit out a block of ice?

You had to pile on coat after coat, your grey fleece detective jacket rested on top of your layers.

The service was awful, the people acted like NPC’s, and overall, your first impression was a 3/10.

You held your suitcase and bags in one hand as you rung up your phone to call for an Uber, your motel was right outside Brookfield Heights but far enough so you wouldn’t run into any possible suspects while you were off-duty.

After making a pit stop at an overpriced airport cafe for some mid-afternoon coffee, you hurriedly rushed to the front exit once you got a message from your Uber Driver that they’d arrived.

The car was a silver chevy and was low to the ground, it had just barely enough room for your three bags in the trunk, but you were grateful nonetheless.

An older man sat in the drivers seat and his grey hairs were slicked back to expose his wrinkled forehead. He seemed pretty jolly the whole ride to your motel, until you mentioned Brookfield Heights.

“It ain’t the town for a vacation, that’s for sure.” Was all you managed to get after your numerous questions, clearly the news about Kai had followed all of Michigan and haunted the witnessing residents.

The drive was mostly quiet after besides the Christian-pop that subtly played over the rusty car speaker, you resided to staring out the window.

‘Welcome to Brookfield Heights!’ decorated the bright green sign outside of the ghost town. Trees flew past the window as you tried your best to absorb your surroundings.

The more you knew the better.

You’d already spent weeks holed up in your office studying the towns layout, from each fire-hydrant to large corporations and events.

Fall had come in full swing, leaves were brown and the grass shook from the chilly breeze.

The barren farmland and empty fields soon turned into old buildings and little country-side stores. If you weren’t investigating a cultist, you’d have thought it was a cute little town.

The driver, whom you noticed you forgot to ask for his name, pulled over when your run down motel entered your sight.

The older gentleman unlocked the doors and said his farewell to you as you left the Honda Civic. It felt weird to have both feet on the ground after traveling for so long, but it did absolute wonders to finally have some fresh air.

The Honda Civic closed the doors from behind you and the Christian-pop faded in the distance as the car rolled out of the motel parking lot, leaving you to face your soon-to-be home for the next few months.

The motel’s sign was barely hanging on for dear life, the walls had chipped yellow-ish paint, and the doors were falling off their hinges. It was practically invisible amongst all the regal and historical hotels that littered Brookfield. It was perfect.

You grabbed your small suitcase by the handle and made your way to the check in, a little hut outside of the motel. Your luggage bounced from the rickety cement and overgrown weeds, but your grip kept it from flopping over.

The door to the check in creaked from the force of your palm, screaming in age as you stepped inside the small room.

The floor was a dark mahogany, a vending machine ran brightly to your left with miscellaneous snacks, and dust covered the few chairs that lined up on the wall to your right. But the main attraction, was the older woman standing behind the reception desk in front of you.

She had red curly hair, down to her shoulders, and her eyes sagged with exhaustion. Her skin could be compared to a sickly green but the bright red lipstick she adorned made you think that it was a thick application of make up.

Oh, and the resting bitch face. Yep, you were definitely going to enjoy this woman’s presence.

“Uh–Hello, I’m here to check in for a room?” You had made your way up to the counter, standing awkwardly in front of the woman who continued to apply the same bright red color of her lips to her fingernails. This made you half-ponder when was the last time you painted your own nails.

The woman’s crooked name tag read “Louise” as she blatantly ignored your attempt at interacting. Louise barely even looked up to meet your eyes as she slowly turned to grab what you assumed as your room key from behind her.

Louise spoke with a know-it-all tone, a snide grin lit up her features, “There. No parties. No dealing before seven A.M. and no fucking past eight.”

Part of wondered why she announced the last rule like it was a pointed remark at you, but the other half of you knew exactly what she was trying to get at.

Fortunately for her, you hated confrontation in these situations.

You were also jet-lagged as all hell.

So you just kept your mouth shut and dragged your deranged detective ass out the check in door and to the stairs that led to your room.

The key read “17B” indicating it was on the second floor and almost all the way on the other side. The wooden stairs wobbled under your feet and you almost thought they would completely give out, but you carried your suit case all the way up the two-flights of stairs.

When you made it to your room, you haphazardly threw your clothes into one of the drawers (locking the door and moving the chain above it) and practically collapsed onto the old bed. It was fairly small for a motel room, and the same yellow paint donned the walls but with a 80’s pattern of lines and crescents.

You laid with your back on the mattress, feeling all the lumps and creaky springs underneath.

It was quiet in the room.

It’s not that you weren’t used to quiet.

But this time, you were completely alone. Your leather shoes felt heavy on your feet, and you could sense that a migraine was well on its way to your skull.

You were so fucking tired.

But you had a cultist to expose, lives were at stake, you couldn’t just sit here and rest.

A dark corner of your mind infested with guilt shunned you for thinking that you could possibly deserve the comfort of a bed. Or the comfort of a job.

Or the fact your alive–

“Fuck this.” You stood quickly and shrugged off your large trench coat, opting to brace the cold and sit down in the shaky chair in front of the wooden desk the laid in front of the bed. You flung open your laptop and spread out your papers.

A room temperature energy drink that you packed found its way in your hands as you typed away.

You didn’t sleep at all that night.

———————

Morning came slowly, and with it a fresh pair of deep circles engraved themselves under your eyes.

But with morning, came more opportunities to explore.

You freshened up, applied some dry-shampoo and washed your face, before heading out to explore Brookfield.

You had to get a sense of your surroundings in person, online maps and insane amounts of internet research could barely compare to being able to experience the real thing.

Your trench coat sagged on your shoulders, but without it, the fall-chill would’ve given you a cold so you tiredly walked your way into town. Your bag with your laptop, recording device, and USB drive sat heavily on your shoulder.

You easily mixed into the crowd of locals, sneakily taking time to take pictures with your phone of the posters of Kai Anderson that popped up every now and then.

All of which had “FEAR” written in at least one sentence, you’d think he’d be more subtle but it was almost like he was trying to get more negative attention than positive.

Hm. Weird.

After about an hour of just walking around and exploring Brookfield Heights, your lack of sleep caught up to you. So you decided it was time to get a nice something to eat and a whole lot of espresso.

Thankfully, there was a tiny cafe near the Butchery that was owned by the victim of a majority of Kai Andersons harassment, Ally Mayfair-Richards.

You glanced back at the restaurant before making your way into the little cafe, the warm scent of coffee and scones filled your nose at your entrance. The cold chill turned warm and you were finally able to take off your coat.

It was quaint but reminded you of a cabin in the woods with their wooden accents and architecture on the inside. It was a nice comparison to the modernized celeb hubs in LA.

There were few people inside, all were seated and kept to themselves. You quietly stepped up to the counter, deciding to order a large black coffee with four shots of espresso, and a blueberry muffin to nibble on while you worked.

The teenager behind the counter smiled at you before preparing your order, there were only two people working but they seemed eager.

Did they feel the impact of what was happening around them? Were they in his cult? What would happen the the kids if Kai Anderson succeeded?

Would it be your fault–

Again, your thoughts were cut off as the teenager handed you your drink and treat. Allowing the person behind you to place their own order after you paid.

Wait, person behind you?

You didn’t even notice the man that had made his way to the line, becoming the sixth customer inside the shop.

When you backed away from the counter, you were able to soak in his appearance.

Kai. Fucking. Anderson.

You pretended to find a seat and load up your laptop, but sweat pooled at the back of your neck.

What if he caught you? What if he busted you?

You had to act normal. Like it was a regular day in Brookfield Heights, and you were just a local getting some coffee.

You sipped anxiously at your caffeinated monster of black coffee as you subtly analyzed his appearance.

The cultist wore a black beanie, letting his oily blue hair dangle freely. His sweater was black, his shirt was black, his pants were black, and he wore black combat boots.

Was he trying to scream out that he was some kind of villain?

What was this guys fucking problem?

You knew he was on adderall and taking an inhumanly sized dose, but god, so much for inconspicuous killer.

But eventually you realized that if you didn’t have all the information you collected on this little town, you would’ve just thought it was a regular guy with eccentric style.

He ordered a large cinnamon latte, extra espresso with no whipped cream and low-fat milk. He poured one creamer and no sugar.

He carried his own papers and phone in one hand, while collecting his drink in the other. Kai Anderson walked over to the table right next to yours and sat down, scrolling aimlessly while taking notes? You couldn’t get a clear shot of what he was writing.

So, you were literally sitting in the same space as a serial killer and cultist. Life was great!

You managed to get away with a few more glances before exiting out of your tabs, all of which had extreme dirt on Kai, and opened a decoy word document that looked like boring tax papers.

You pretended to work on fucking taxes for twenty minutes without interacting with him at all, until Kai stood up from his chair (the only way you could tell was from the chair sliding against the floor) and sat in front of you.

You barely looked up from your laptop until he fully made himself comfortable in front of you, propping his arms on the table and staring directly at you.

Sometimes you wondered if fate had it out for you.

“Hey.” Kai cleared his throat, which indicated that you should probably stop ignoring the elephant in the room and look up at him.

In doing so, you got a clear glance at his face. Little bits of stubble decorated his cheeks, and his eyes were wide as they looked at you.

“Oh, Hi?” The silence was much better than talking, but this guy would probably slit your throat if you didn’t respond.

You tilted your head a little in faux innocence as your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Kai seemed to fall for your act completely, “Are you new around here? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

Fuck. Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck–

TO BE CONTINUED.

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mmiyaua · 9 months

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lady gaga and her acting roles

#lady gaga #gaga #a star is born #house of gucci #ahs hotel #american horror hotel #american horror story #acting #actress

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marchsfreakshow · 8 months

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Opium And Monique Gibeau {James Patrick March x Reader}

It's 1938. You've been having to do sex work in the dark, until one client takes you to The Hotel Cortez.

Suggestive, so -18 proceed with caution.

Warnings: implied smut, general death warnings of blood, knives and such.

Inspired by "Noel's Lament" from Ride The Cyclone. Also 2.6k words this time, v proud of myself<3

Your perspective

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

I was holding a small, brown bag in one hand, walking down a street with a cigarette in another hand. The streets were dusty and damp, and a homeless person in every other building. Street lamps dimly lit the Los Angeles roads, cars passing by to and fro. They were full colours of blue, black and white. Greys filled the car's shadows.

The tall buildings all looked the same. Meters tall, symmetrical windows, the darkness looming over them. Coughing, muttering, tiny breaths and sneezing went past me as I ventured into Los Angeles. They distracted me as I thought about the request the stranger gave to me. Throwing my cigarette on the floor, I opened my bag and took hold of the letter.

It read;

"Come meet in The Hotel Cortez. 10 pm, on October 30th. You will have to find the room.

Explore the Hotel all night if you must. I know it will cost extra, but I will be willing to pay more for the mystery of finding me.

-??"

Every read-over made me so intrigued that I did not notice where I was walking. I bumped into a man and almost fell. Luckily, he grabbed my arms and pulled me up, our eyes meeting immediately. There was no light there like a murder had just been committed. It was almost attractive, but the client needed me. "Excuse me! I am so sorry." He just nodded.

"Where are you going, sweetheart?" He smiled and held out my letter. I raised an eyebrow and stuffed the letter in my bag, in turn grabbing my lipstick and applying it as I walked in front of him. "You seem in a rush." He mentioned.

"The Hotel Cortez." Immediately, he took my hand and rushed me for about 5 minutes. Everything in my peripheral vision became blurry as I ran. God, I hate heels. Soon enough, he stopped and I held onto my head, as the rush stopped, and a headache formed everywhere.

The doors became gold as my vision cleared, but the mysterious man had gone. People were back to rushing to and fro, not even muttering 'excuse mes' to each other. It disgusted me. Sure I was a whore, but at least I had manners. However, I took a deep breath and opened one of the doors, a lavish hotel appeared before me.

It was breathtaking. Still, I wondered who wanted to meet me here. Everything almost overwhelmed me. Straightening my posture, I walked up to the reception and rang the bell. I rang, rang and waited for what felt like hours. No one appeared. 'How disappointing' I thought, staring up at the two stairs.

Slowly, I made my way up the staircase, seeing a bar before me. Lots of whiskey it seems. It took up a lot of the second level and added nothing but mystery to the hotel I was called to. October 30th. A day before All Hallows Eve. Not even a decoration, which was quite boring. The glum aura of the hotel only got deeper as I roamed the long, windy halls.

The walls all looked the same and never changed. Elevators on one of the walls. The doors also looked the same. Numbers kept going up. My heels were feeling like hell, so I stopped by a door, and took my heels off, immediately feeling relief. Thankfully, that wasn't the door I was looking for. At least I hoped. So I carried on walking around the halls. I felt crazy, wandering and roaming the empty halls, small sounds coming out of every single dark red door. Before an open door came into my eyes. I stopped next to it and peeked my head through.

What stood there was a lush, velvet room. Dark green filled the floor and carpets. Small tables held alcohol, snacks, cigarettes and more. The bed was bigger than I had ever imagined. It almost looked royal, and I had a suspicion, this was the room.

But what took my attention was a man. He stood around 6 feet. The suit was navy and looked freshly pressed. The shoes were a sharp black, but shiny. As I looked him up, I saw his face. Handsome, with a small moustache, and slicked-back hair. But his eyes made me realise something. This was James Patrick March. But, he was dead. He died 8 years ago. It shocked me, and by accident, I dropped my heels, which made him snap his head around. "Ah! You're here." He just smiled. His smile was attractive, but I stood there in shock.

Very quickly, I brought myself back, and put my heels on. "Are you the writer of this letter?" I asked, holding it up out of my bag. He walked towards me, and grabbed it, immediately reading it.

"Yes, indeed I did."

"But sir, with respect, you are James Patrick March. You should be dead. Did you fake the suicide?" I asked, crossing my arms. He seemed to admire my shape. He looked at me like he was about to make me a new person.

"You are correct in the fact that I should be dead my dear Y/N. However, I am indeed dead." He smiled at me, offering his hand to me. I took his hand in mine, and he led me in, closing the door behind us. We made eye contact, and it never broke. Questions I wanted to ask, ran past my thoughts. But our silence was kept as James sat me down. The bed was just as soft as I hoped, and he went to the table, picking up a drink. "Absinthe. Have some."

"Absinthe?"

"Well yes." He held it out to me, so I took it, not wanting to make him upset. Keeping, almost, harsh eye contact with him, would kill him to soften his gaze as I stopped the gross liquid down my throat. It burned like the Opium someone had me take.

It seemed I started to sell my love for that drug. It kept me sane as I dressed in black which only hit my lower thigh, the fishnets ripped in places I didn't know. And I always wear dark heels always. Kitten heels, but tonight I decided to make them taller. Makeup was quiet on my face, but it was there. James took it all in, and I stood up, my bag now on the bed. "James. If you are a ghost, why can I touch you?" I asked, confidently placing a hand on his shoulder, attempting to make this whole experience quicker.

"Ghosts can interact with the living in this hotel, and this hotel only." He responded, taking the drink from my hand and simply placing a finger under my chin.

"Does it feel different? To do it with a living human?"

"I have not yet experienced that. That's why you are here yes?" Without thinking, I nodded. Something drew me to him. But I couldn't tell what it was. He was a serial killer, a madman. So I took his arms, brought him to the bed, and then slowly undid the buttons on his blazer. "Take your time dear, don't rush it." He smiled, starting to kiss me, the taste of absinthe finding my throat once again.

The morning came, and I awoke slowly, barely any light came through the window. The room was still glum, and velvety. A man came in holding some food and smiled at me. "Y/N. You are awake." Clearly, I wasn't looking great, since I saw mascara smeared on my fingers. But I smiled either way. "I had someone make you breakfast before you left."

"Well, that isn't what you asked unless you're willing to add more to my pay." A smirked curled my lips. I took the breakfast anyway and snarfed down every bite. James was, a rough customer. Nothing like I hadn't seen before.

"I can and will pay you every single penny I own if you're happy with being here." A slight sarcastic twinge began the sentence, but he smiled at me, watching me eat the food like it was my last meal.

I took the napkin and cleaned my face with it before pushing the tray away. James was just watching me as I got up and dressed myself again, It felt good, people would always watch me. I was like Monique Gibeau to people, a classic whore in France who 'helped' soldiers. "James?" I asked, walking up to him. He looked enamoured with me, rookie mistake.

"Yes, my dear?"

"120 dollars. Including breakfast."

He raised an eyebrow at me. The time disappeared. It suddenly meant nothing anymore. Eyes staring at each other. I fell to my knees and heard the fishnets graze against the lush floor. Why couldn't I look around? James, like the bitch he was, started to leave. "James! James please." I croaked out.

"Whores die as whores." I felt crazy, and the sweet, dark black washed over me, I couldn't think anymore, and James had left me to burn out.

Soon enough, though, I brought myself up. Confused, I looked around until my eyes went to the floor. A knife. It was a shiny knife. When I picked it up, a drop of deep red blood fell from it and I stared, holding it. Who's blood was this?! But I dropped it as someone came in. She was dressed as a maid and had scruffy hair. "Has James not yet cleaned the knife? Oh dear. Well, the sheets are clean, that's all that matters." She smiled at me, and I elicited a small chuckle as a response.

"Um, would you mind telling me what happened here? It feels like I woke up from a horrible dream.."

"He killed you. That should be obvious enough."

Could my hands shake now I was dead? Apparently, so, I felt shaky, and I sat myself on the wall by a window. Everything felt off now. Not like I had any next of kin that would feel bad for me, but, I still felt like I was hurting someone. The woman left though, not even a sorry leaving her lips. I felt like I was going to explode. I'm dead? Why? I couldn't remember anything at all.

I heard nothing in my ears, and my heart wasn't beating, but it seemed like I was breathing. Still confused and scared, I roamed my own hands over my body, no scars. No stab wounds. What the fuck was happening?! I was still wearing the short, black dress with everything else. Suddenly I felt humbled. I felt humbled by the fact that I wasted my life being a prostitute in 1938. It wasn't right but it wasn't wrong either. Wasted it, with the drugs, and the various people. Men, women, freaks. Who fucking cared.

Sobbing, I stayed in that room for hours. James soon came back in and looked down at me. Literally and figuratively. "Did you fucking call me in just to kill me?"

He hummed and that was it. "Maybe it was because I wanted you forever hm? And so I can make you a better person. You are too beautiful to be working like that."

"I'm flattered," I said flatly, taking off my heels and not making eye contact with him. "Fine, if I'm stuck here where is a spare room."

"You will stay here with me."

"Like hell, I will."

He sneered at me. "You have a roof over your head, you have food at your disposal, alcohol, cigarettes! You have everything now at your fingertips, how can you not be satisfied with that!?"

"Because you fucking killed me!!" I stood up and prodded his chest with my finger, beginning to walk out, grabbing my purse in the meantime.

I felt his eyes on me as I walked out of the room.

Time passed quicker in this hotel once you were dead it seemed. I was always roaming the halls, soliciting people for fun. I never had a thirst for blood like the others. I walked past James one evening, a tension created around us as we made eye contact. A sexual tension that I didn't feel with anyone else who thought they were high and mighty. "Y/N. Let me make everything up to you. Dinner. Tonight in my room."

I raised an eyebrow at him as I leaned against a wall. He just smiled at me confidently, Well he was cute I will give him that. "Do I have to wear my heels?"

His smile just widened. "You can wear as much or as little as you like. Steal from a guest if you want." James then quickly kissed my cheek and walked off in the opposite direction of me. I didn't mind watching him walk away, but I shook that out of my mind and made my way to another door, knocking swiftly on it.

A pretty woman opened the door and I smiled at her. "Good morning! I was wondering if I could come in and have a talk? I'm a bit lonely here.." I put on my quiet shy persona, and she just smiled warmly.

"Of course my little mouse." She truly was beautiful as she smiled, her blonde hair was in a top bun, and she was wearing a white, low-cut dress to the floor.

"James?"

"You look so beautiful my dear." I smiled and he held my hand as he walked me in. "The dress looks so familiar to me."

"I met with a lovely woman called Elizabeth, She has long blonde hair, and she told me she's married to you, but it's an open marriage." I just giggled and sat on a chair opposite James. He grinned and nodded.

"Of course, it was my darling Countess. She is truly wonderous. She must have smelt me on you and took you in."

"Like, your cologne?"

He nodded as the maid walked in with some plates and placed them on the table I was sitting in front of. Everything looked fit for royalty, and I couldn't see myself eating any of this. "My dear please eat this. Miss Evers made it all for you to enjoy. You deserve nothing but the best food."

The candles entranced me, and I was staring at the flames, moving and burning. Everything in this hotel made me feel like I didn't belong here. The small roast was in front of me, and it didn't feel right to take a slice. "Hummingbird why don't you take some food and eat up. You haven't eaten anything since I gave you Breakfast."

"This... James. It's so much. I haven't had this much food in front of me. Let alone a whole roast! It's... overwhelming."

James got up and kneeled next to me. His eyes were soft. He never had that look on his face before. "Oh my darling, how about I give you a small forkful, and we can go from there?" He asked, putting some food on my own plate. It felt like I was a child, but it worked. No one dared enter now, otherwise, I had to die another time. Smells flooded me. Slowly, James took a fork and put some of the food on it, reaching for me. "Come on my dear, let me help you eat." As embarrassing as it felt, he helped me eat. Eating this much wasn't normal, and I avoided James' worried gaze.

We finished our food after about 20 minutes and I smiled to myself, happy that I had eaten something. "Do you feel better now my dear?"

"Yes, I do. Thank you James." He held my hands and pulled me up gently. "I feel so tired now.." The silent tension was replaced with just a comfortable silence as he held me.

"Let's get you to your bed then hm?" I nodded in response, and he kissed me, which felt odd, but nice. A genuine kiss, not a kiss that my clients had nothing behind it.

"That sounds nice James. Thank you."

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶

#ahs #evan peters #american horror story #james patrick march #ahs hotel #james march #jpm x reader #james march x reader #evan peters x you #evan peters x reader #almost smut #suggestive #james march x you #James March Smut #the countess #countess ahs #american horror story Hotel #American horror hotel

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baeleaf1606 · 1 year

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Kathy Bates is a legend and we don’t speak about this enough 🖤🔪

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yestolizzygrant · 11 months

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I hate it here, I hate everyone!

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bisexual-magnus-bane · 10 months

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John Lowe

American Horror Story : Hotel

Real criminals never pay.

#pinterest #pinterest aesthetics #aesthetic #black aesthetic #red aesthetic #john lowe #ahs #ahs hotel #american horror hotel #american horror story #American horror story hotel #ahs John Lowe #wes bentley #evan peters #sara paulson #james patrick march #dark aesthetic

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st4rboyhere · 1 year

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➤ Valentine’s Day with James Patrick March ✦

— @frqxto @famela-i

#moodboard #Evan peters #evan peters moodboard #james patrick march #James Patrick March x you #James Patrick March x reader #James Patrick March moodboard #american horror hotel #ahs x male reader #ahs x female reader #happy valentines #happy valentine's day

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ggwendolyn · 8 months

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ngl it doesn't matter how insane the characters evan peters acts as is, they will always be hot

#tate langdon #kit walker #kyle spencer #franken kyle #ahs murder house #ahs fandom #ahs coven #ahs asylum #american horror story #american horror murder house #american horror coven #american horror asylum #evan peters #american horror hotel #ahs hotel #ahs cult

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halloweenbitch2764 · 1 year

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Characters I Write For

Slashers

Brahms Heelshire

Jason Voorhees

Michael Myers

Bubba Sawyer

Thomas Hewitt

Bo Sinclair

Vincent Sinclair

Lester Sinclair

Norman Bates

Billy Loomis

Stu Macher

Dead By Daylight

Everyone

American Horror Story

Kit Walker

Lana Winters

Madison Montgomery

Kyle Spencer

Cordelia Foxx

Misty Day

Jimmy Darling

Bette and Dott Tattler

Dandy Mott

James Patrick March

The Countess

Sally McKenna

Michael Langdon

Creepypasta (maybe others if requested)

Slenderman

BEN Drowned

Eyeless Jack

Laughing Jack

Ticci Toby

Marble Hornets

Tim Wright/Masky

Brian Thomas/Hoodie

Jay Merrick

Alex Kraile

My Chemical Romance

Gerard Way

Mikey Way

Frank Iero

Ray Toro

Stardew Valley

Everyone

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frankenkyle19 · 10 months

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Self Pleasure

I promise I’m working on my requests, I’m just having a lot of motivation issues so when I even grasp onto an idea, I run with it, because some writing is better than none.

warnings: Masturbation, slight self overstimulation, mentions of blood

word count: 1.1k

Self pleasuring was not something James Patrick March partook in often. If at all. Why should he when he could easily get his pleasure from one of his victims? Well, sometimes he didn’t feel the urge to kill. It didn’t excite him. He had to be in the mood for it. And sometimes he didn’t have the urge to fuck someone either. So that left him with one other choice. Self pleasure.

His hands were rough and scarred. Calloused from the years he’d spent with them wrapped around weapons as he watched blood spill. Nothing like the delicate touch of a lady. But alas, it would have to do.

It was late, and James was laying on his neatly made bed. He never got under the covers because he was a ghost and didn’t rest, so he saw no point in messing up its neatness. His hand made its way down his chest, to his crotch, slowly squeezing his half hard cock that was hidden within the confines of his pants. He sighed softly and titled his head back against the fluffy pillows, the deep cut on his throat making his neck feel tight. He didn’t feel pain the way humans did. More of a muted, empty version of it. So instead of pain, it just felt tense.

His skilled hands quickly popped the button of his neatly tailored black dress pants before pulling them down to his knees. There was no use in taking it all fully off, for he’d have it back on soon enough.

He slid his hand into his underwear, breathing heavily through his nose and causing his nostrils to flare as a deep sigh left his parted lips. He’d been so stressed lately, between the countess and the new souls in his hotel. He barely had a minute to himself, which caused him to be sharper and angrier than usual. He needed time to himself. Time to think without the presence of anyone else.

The blissful pleasure to his cock caused him to move at a bit of a quicker pace. He usually took as long as he pleased, dragging on his pleasure for hours at times. He was not planning on that this time. He needed a release badly. The sooner the better.

James’ Adam's apple bobbed hard as he swallowed the thick saliva gathering in his mouth. He hummed in pleasure as he stroked himself slowly. He was very meticulous with everything he did, and pleasuring himself was no different. He had it down to an exact science for maximum pleasure and minimum effort. A few quick strokes before he’d thumb at the tip, spreading the thick liquid that settled there. A few more strokes, and he’d fondle his balls. Then he’d repeat. He changed it up sometimes for a little variety, but it was always exact movements.

He fondled his balls in his palm, squeezing lightly as he rolled them, his breath picking up as his hand went back to stroke his cock. Of course a warm entrance to bury himself in would be much more enjoyable, but he was perfectly content with his hand at the moment. He knew himself better than anyone, so of course he knew how to pleasure himself better than anyone as well.

Another quick sweep across his cockhead before he went back to stroking at a steady pace as he threw his head back farther, neck straining as a groan left his lips.

“Ahhh” He sighed out in pleasure, his accent heavy and dripping with lust as his hips began to slowly grind into the touch. He didn’t speak much or make loud noises of pleasure when in such an intimate moment, especially not when he was alone.

He felt the pleasure increase, the sweet torment of a release so close making him sigh heavily. A tug of war in his mind between letting himself go and edging himself just a bit.

In the end he decided that he did not want to tease himself tonight, and sped up his thrusts, more so fucking up into the tight ring his hand made than anything else. His eyes were closed tightly as he felt himself on the cusp of pleasure. Just a bit more and he’d release, just a few more strokes-

“Aghhh” He came heavily over his fist, still fucking his hand through the aftershocks until he was too sensitive to continue. So he stopped, but didn’t remove his hand from his length.

He opened his eyes and glanced down at the mess he had made, hot ropes of white covering his stomach as he scrunched his nose up in distaste. What a mess he had made.

His hips bucked up of their own accord, his sensitive cock seeking friction once more. He often did this, overstimulated himself on purpose. The mix of pleasure and pain drove him wild.

He let his palm rub over his cock head, spreading the creamy cum over it like lotion. His hips jerked a bit, cock twitching weakly. It hurt in such a delightful way. He hummed, lips curling upwards into a smile as he relaxed back into the bed, letting his hand fall away. He needed to get clean, but he wasn’t going to do it himself. He had someone else in mind.

“Miss Evers!” He called, sitting up a bit, not bothering to even cover himself. He was not ashamed of his body, and he knew the reaction it got out of the poor woman. She had betrayed him. He wanted her to suffer. To long for what she couldn’t have.

In only a moment the woman appeared, eyes wide as she saw the state in which James was in “Mr. March I-“

“Clean me up.” He snapped, eyes dark and dangerous “and do not say another word, I want to enjoy myself a bit longer”

She swallowed hard before nodding, wetting a towel and carefully cleaning himself off, trying not to stare at his form, but it was hard considering he had told her to clean him up.

James winced and slapped her hand away as the towel brushed roughly against his cock, his lips curling into a snarl “watch yourself miss Evers. You are already tip toeing a fine line with me. Leave. Now.” He said, making a move to pull up his underwear to cover himself, his attitude as nasty as ever once more, his moments of pleasure and peace passed.

“Leave me to my thoughts, you wretched bat.” He waved her off dismissively and she left, leaving James lying on the bed to get dressed and roam the halls of his hotel once more.

#evan peters #american horror story #evan peters icons #ahs fandom #mr march #james patrick march smut #james march smut #james patrick march imagine #james patrick march #ahs hotel #american horror hotel #ahs fic #evan peters characters

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icannotpickanamewtf · 10 months

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ᴛᴡɪsᴛᴇᴅ ɴᴇʀᴠᴇs (PT. 1)

EVAN PETERS AHS x READER

Chapter Focus: Kai Anderson x Reader

(CHAPTER TWO)

BTW i am still going to write The Day The Music Died dont worry!!!

It was a dark night outside the Los Angeles Detective Department.

The stars glimmered through the window, taunting you with their freedom and bright lights.

The city never rests, and you were surely no exception.

Papers upon papers stacked on your office table, case file after case file towered over you.

The thin blanket you spread over your lap did little to protect you from the chilly fall draft that swept through the detective department halls.

Your black point pen made a ’sktch-sktch’ sound against the file you had been slaving away on for the past hour.

No other voices could be heard besides the radio that played endlessly on top of your desk.

The soft light from your silver lamp drenched the mahogany of your table with a warm orange, assisting you in your caffeinated-fueled endeavors.

“—skzzz—-now with you’re daily news—skkzzzz—a traffic—“ The radio fizzled in and out of focus, yet you paid no mind to it’s malfunctions because of how lost you were in your work.

It was another long night for you. It seemed like these ‘long nights’ were becoming regular nights. They mixed into your days at the department and made your sleep schedule all different kinds of fucked up.

Caffeine was like a passionate lover to you.

Maybe a little too passionate.

You really needed to stop romanticizing your caffeine addiction and horrible work schedule.

You looked up from the file and saw a yellow sunrise peeking past the dark curtains that fell upon the sky.

The time on the clock just above your door read the daunting number 6:34.

Fuck. Did you seriously just work yourself into your next–

“An all-nighter again? Did you even go home this time?” A voice cut through the once echoing silence that surrounded you.

You swiveled your head sheepishly to look at the dark-haired man that opened the door to your office. He stood slanted against the wooden frame and held the biggest smirk you’d ever seen him wear.

You pulled your hand up to rub at the back of his neck as a red-tint rose up into your cheeks. “Look, Frank. I…I might’ve gotten a little carried away. But–“

“–Boss wants you in his office. He told me it was a ‘special’ case.” Frank interrupted your sad attempts of defending yourself as he started to exit your doorway.

How many cases would it take to kill you? You had to be on your way to six-feet-fucking under at this point. “Another one?” You groaned and only heard Frank laugh at your dread in response before he made his way to his own work.

You absentmindedly ran your calloused fingers through your hair and closed the laptop you were researching with, but not without sliding your pen in your pocket. You always kept it on hand with a pamphlet of small writing papers.

God, when did you become such a workaholic?

You stood from where your butt left a permanent imprint on your leather office chair and turned the broken radio off.

“skzzzz—Jess, what do you think of—vrrrm.” Now ready to leave your tiny office, briefly touching up your ‘sleep-deprived look’ to become somewhat presentable, you made the long and terrible trek to your bosses office.

Your shoes clacked against the cold tile floors, now with no blanket to protect your lap, your legs shivered at the clipping breeze from the October air.

The dark grey trench coat that dripped across your shoulders swayed with each step. The fuzzy fibers clung to your dress shirt, but you’d long grown accustomed to the uncomfortable feeling it left in its wake.

After completely and utterly zoning out (probably from the lack of sleep), you reached your destination: ‘Bosses Office.’

You carefully rapped your knuckles against the smooth door in front of you, awkwardly standing there with your hands in front of you.

‘Patty McClien' was written on the gold plate that decorated the wood. When you first started working under the LA Detective agency, you had always thought it was short for Patricia or Petunia…

But it was just Patty.

“Helllooo? Mr. McClien…?” You softly spoke through the door.

A gruff chuckle came from inside, “Come in, kid.”

You crept your way to stand in front of the large wooden desk that ran across the other half of the room, an aging man sat in a leather chair [identical to your own] across from you.

“You don’t have to knock anymore, you know? You’re my top-ranked officer–“ The grey hairs and soft brown locks collided and meshed together in his beard. Patty had a thick blocky mustache and thinning hair on the top of his head.

A navy blue tie and black slacks decorated his form while he leaned back in his chair.

“–so you’ve decided to pile another case for me, huh?” You cut to the point so you wouldn’t have to deal with the unnecessary monologue about your placement in the LA Detective Agency.

Patty let out a loud belly laugh, “I always loved how straight to the point you are, but this case is a little…different than the others.”

You sighed. “No offense, sir, but I don’t think I can really handle all that at the moment. I’m kind of swamped.” You thought back to all the papers awaiting your meticulous editing and revising. All those case files you barely laid eyes on sat collecting dust at the bottom of the stack.

“I’m willing to excuse those files to another detective. I need you on this one, officer.” Patty had a grave expression on his features, a stark contrast to what you were used too.

Patty never said ‘needed.’

He never begged.

You were silent as you thought over this new possibility. I mean, how hard could one case be? You’ve solved some pretty difficult shit before.

“Of course, sir. You can count on me.”

Patty gripped the table, still staring at you with a dead glare. “Detective, you need to understand…this isn’t a simple case. It’s taken years for someone to even get a lead on it. Are you sure?”

What exactly were you even getting into?

…–Well fuck it. That civil dispute you’d been working on was boring anyways.

“Yes, sir.”

The older man nodded in approval at your determination. “Well I’ve asked one of the rookies to leave the stack of folders on your desk, all your cases can be distributed to the lower ranks for the time being.”

Your head tilted in confusion as you realized you didn’t even get a short description of the case you were about to analyze, “Wait sir–“

The phone on his desk rang and Patty reached to take the call.

“Don’t disappoint me, Detective.” He said before shooing you out of his office.

You had a reputation of doing the exact opposite. This case wasn’t going to break that winning streak.

You were going dig and grind into this thing until nothing else was left.

It was what you did best.

—— ∑–-----

There was a new file that laid on your mahogany table. The dark wood was a contrast to the sharp white paper,

’The Brookfield File.’

A series of murders had been committed in Brookfield Heights, Michigan, without a culprit. They followed the recent election of 2016 for the presidential candidates Trump and Hillary.

So you were dealing with extremists. Fun.

What was most amusing, was the city council member Kai Anderson. Apparently, he’d been seen causing quite the ruckus in the tiny town, making him a large suspect.

Then there was Ally Mayfair-Richards, a small restaurant owner.

Who had to be super unlucky to be the subject of Kai Andersons endless harassment.

You always loved a good ‘grudge’ case.

But this town seemed so…torn. Almost as if Kai Anderson wanted it to fall apart at the seems, but why?

Why would a city councilman want his own town to go up in flames?

You took a break from the physical papers that you had been flipping through on your desk to look up Kai Anderson on your laptop.

Some articles sprinkled here and there with the follow up of even more controversy…

Then you struck gold.

Several so-called ‘sermons’ that Kai had held were on YouTube, clearly planted by his devoted followers to help gain more traction for the cities election a few months back.

All of them had one theme in common: Fear meant power.

He carefully instilled a deep sense of mistrust and guided them right under his fucking thumb.

Maybe a little vacation in Michigan could give you some answers?

NOTE: I am re-writing this from off of AO3 cause i really love evan peters ahs characters (even if they are morally grey) and I loved this idea but i only had just begun writing stuff when i wrote this on AO3!

BTW i am still going to write The Day The Music Died dont worry!!! This is just another series i enjoy writing even if the fandom is a little dead...

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violqtharmon · 1 year

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Misty Day mood board ⋆✢⋆

#misty day #ahs coven #american horror story #american horror freak show #american horror murder house #american horror coven #american horror 1984 #american horror hotel #american horror asylum #tate and violet #violet and tate #zoe and kyle #kyle and zoe #madison montgomery #zoe benson #tate langdon #violet harmon

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marchsfreakshow · 5 months

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Loving The Same [James Patrick March]

Inspired by two fics by my sis 💜 @babygorewhore

Cover made by me

Warnings: descriptions of a (general) autistic meltdown, suicidal thoughts, suicide talk, blood mentioned.

While reading, please keep in mind that this is my own experience with being autistic. I use my own life experiences, and everything. This is really personal to me, and I hope you guys like it either way. <3

No one's perspective.

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Room 64 had never looked so messy. The beautiful, velvetly curtains were ripped and thrown in the bath-tub, soaking in freezing cold water. The bed, just the same. Deep red bedding taking up half of the small tub. Odd bits and bobs were thrown on the ground. James' drinks were spilled on the lush carpet. The absinthe soaked the carpet, and the glass stuck in the same places.

Why was it so messy? Devil's Night never got this bad. You had a meltdown. None like before. Home was still the same. Never a chance to explode your feelings like you could at friends houses. But it was so different today. Maybe it was Sally always thrusting her phone your way, or the two girls who were always moaning, with blood over themselves. Your headphones were practically no use while you were sat in the lobby, and you ran up to James' room. The one person you needed at that moment, not to be found. It made your heartbeat quicken. Like it was going to explode out of your chest any second. It made you dizzy. It was upsetting, maddening. Everything was stuck on you.

Clothes.

Shoes.

The ground.

It was all stuck.

Everything felt like it was closing. Nothing helped. You couldn't steady your breathing. You couldn't steady yourself. Now on your hands and knees, eyes darting everywhere to feel some sense of balance. The goosebumps on your arms. You felt every single little goosebump. The pain has felt like it was risen to 100. So you stand up, and look down. Around. At yourself. Your hands, and knees felt the strength of the tiny glass shards.

This was it. Your ticket out. The glass that shattered because of your own destructive tendencies. The blood was running thickly down your legs and smeared itself around your hands as you picked up the biggest glass shard you could find.

"Darling?"

Shit. Nevermind. You thought. But it all hit your mind, the bloody glass shard in you hand, the tear pricks hitting your eyes, the bedding and curtains doing nothing but soaking in pure cold water. You were a deer in headlights. Everything hit you. Your laboured breathing just hitched as you dropped the glass and screamed as you started to cry.

James came in after talking to The Countess. He knew you were autistic. Not that he really knew what it meant, or what anything you said meant, but he adored you with his undead heart. He took one look at you and sat on his knees by your side, knowing not to touch you. "Darling...my love.."

"sh..shh." you whispered, shakily getting up and taking your phone out of your back pocket. It has a communication app for when you couldn't find yourself to say any words.

"Take your time my precious hummingbird."

Your heavy, and quick breaths slowed as you typed out your words.

'Everything.' the app spoke in a robotic voice. 'Everything hurts. It all happened quickly.'

"I know dear. Shh shh, I know. Can I touch you? Is that okay my love?"

'yes.' He nodded and picked you up. Instinctvely, your tired, weak, and reddend hands wrapped themselves around his neck. He stared at the room, still in shock, but carried you out. 'dark. Quiet. Room. Please.' You added in the app. James just walked down the hallway into another room and laid you down onto the bed, sitting on his knees at the side of the bed.

"What happened my darling? It's not been this bad before."

'felt it coming. Then. You weren't in your room. I exploded.' it made no sense in your head, but you tried to. Your legs felt numb, and your hands, the same.

"I'm sorry my dearest. I'm sorry I caused this. Stay here, we will stay here together. I'll tell everyone to clear the room up." You turned to your side and nodded as James kissed your forehead gently. "Let me go and get something for the blood." He disappeared for a few minutes. He came back with a damp paper towel, and a few bandages for your hands and knees.

"the water is warm. Iris told me it is." James took charge of the situation for you as you attempted to calm yourself with music in your headphones. Calm, soft music that you usually used. It took your attention while your boyfriend tried to clean your knees to the best of his talents. You were so glad you could touch ghosts. Your mind had settled as the music filled you with sleepy thoughts. It was lofi. A rare music type for you to listen to, but it helped.

"Thank you." you managed to breath out, your hands and knees now bandaged and clean.

"I love you my dear." He calmed. James moved around and sat next to you, resting his hand gently on your neck.

"I love you more."

"Please remember, I'll be here, okay? Always."

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶

#evan peters #ahs #american horror story #james patrick march #james march #ahs hotel #jpm x reader #x reader #autism #actually autistic #autistic adult #james x you #james march x reader #ahs x reader #Hotel #american horror hotel #evan peters x reader #evan peters x you #fluff

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