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pandorafallz · 4 months

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Lest We Rest Upon Our Graves

Alma sat alone.

A common occurrence the last few days and it was…odd getting used to this…sudden change of pace. Her life was…gone. Her avatar was dead and all the freedom it gave her to live in this world and to be a part of it was…simply gone. She felt like she had lost a limb… or worse, it was like she had truly lost herself. A face she knew and loved far beyond the bones she was born with. Seeing the world through the glass of her mask; no longer being able to smell the sweet air or to feel the wind against her eyes…

She had never liked it inside.

Now she was forced to remain in the walls again. Separate. For the first 16 years… she had felt like a prisoner in TAP herself, despite her avatar because of what she had to do for these children. Her options were slim. Stay and help them, the best she could or leave them all entirely to the mercy of Mercer and Harding. She never could stop them but…she could help pick up the pieces afterwards. She was sure Mercer had a contingency plan for her if she tried to bail or something but… that was just conjecture. She had no proof aside from paranoia. A part of her had hoped in their time that…the John she knew would appear or that she could get through to him. Director Mercer had lost himself to his cause and…in a way. So did she.

When TAP was gone…there was relief. She was free. Sure, she had been devastated as the TAP facility was crippled by Mercer after her escape; she had seen the walls collapse and had… assumed that the room where the cryopods were had also been crushed. She couldn’t have possibly gotten the kids out with her; the RDA soldiers had almost shot her but they hadn’t known her alliance shift when she fled so they let her pass; thinking her one of them. There had been…a small bubble of hope—of wonder—that they had survived.

Fear kept her back. Selfish fear.

If they had survived then…there would be that they would find out of her part in…all of it. That she would face their wrath and judgement, even as it was justified for the Sarentu kids to feel.

She just… never thought Nor would kill her. Perhaps even the other kids were just as surprised as her but…she couldn’t know for sure. She was sure her avatar would have survived if the bombing hadn’t already done its dues to her Avatar body. Weakened by injury, it was an easy kill.

It made her shudder still remembering. Her eyes closed briefly as her hand came to her side.

The resin blade felt…so cold. Like ice. The pain was so sharp with each breath that followed and the blood…. So much blood. Even now she felt like her hands were sticky with it, even if her clothes were no longer caked in it in this body. She felt the phantom sensation of pain from the wound still. Pricking below her ribs with her breath. Her fingers now…she pressed into the skin just to make sure she was not still bleeding.

The…sensation of death was…terrifying.

Feeling herself die was…horrible. The taste of blood in her mouth, the dizziness and the feeling of her (avatar’s) heart racing trying to keep her alive despite the blood loss. There had been comfort with Ri’nela and Kìoetey being there through it…but it was so isolating alone to feel her strength fade; they got further away. Alma could feel the lurching, painful moments between her avatar’s heart stopping and the unlinking…to be thrown back into a healthy, able body was…disorientating and painful.

Not many people had died in their avatars.

Nalin was…there beside her link bed just in case her human body had suffered from the avatar’s death. Minor, Nalin had said after she had closed the radio to the two at the circle of Ancestors. Her head hurt with infrequent headaches and a few migraines, and she had the occasional nosebleed but… she felt different now.

Wrong.

Sitting beside her avatar’s grave wasn’t doing her any favours but in all honesty… what would have happened if she had been in her human body when Nor had found out? Would he have killed her? The blade was smaller in Na’vi’s hands but in a human’s gut, it would have been lethal. The Sarentu would have had no answers and…well she supposed her death would have had some catharsis with the Sarentu people. The Resistance would…certainly see her death as justified given her crimes. She was no martyr or anything, just a stain on their record, so to speak.

Everyone looked at her differently now. She could see it in their eyes; how their interactions with her were…different. More different from the times she had been locked out of her link bed by Hajir or Nalin for her own physical, human health. Judgement. They knew what she did. News travelled past between her stabbing to her death. She shouldn’t have been surprised but…she was.

Isolation became her friend as the other people withdrew from her socially. It was business, no more personal. Smalltalk was…painful so she stopped in that regard for all of their sakes when mealtime came around. Kept to herself. It wasn’t easy but she made do. But her leadership was now in question for certain. Who would follow her now with her history?

She hadn’t dared approach So’lek. The sharpness in his gaze when he had seen her after her avatar’s death settled a cold feeling of dread. Just because he…disapproved of Nor murdering her avatar, it didn’t mean she was any better in his eyes. She was…a little scared of what he would do or say to her. Na’vi were so big now…she no longer was eye-to-eye with them. She was small. Weak… and human.

Alma exhaled out shallowly, dropping her hand from her side.

The only Sarentu she really saw now was Ri’nela and Kìoetey with the other two gone. She had…shadowed Ri’nela a little, trying to express her apologies but the girl hadn’t wanted to hear them. No one had. Nor was gone now and…there was relief in her to know that. She didn’t have to watch her back with him or wonder when he’d sunk that blade into her belly again.

No sign of Teylan, which was a concern but Ri’nela was confident he needed time before he came back around. She hoped he’d come back. For their sake.

“Cortez.” Her head turned to see Nalin standing not too far away.

“I’ll be in in a minute,” Alma said dryly. Just…Cortez now. No one was calling her Alma which…was a small thing but it weighed on her a little more than she expected. Non-personal now.

“You shouldn’t be out here all alone without telling someone. It’s not safe, even here.” Nalin said sharply. “Nor it is healthy for you to be here constantly.”

“Thank you for your concern, Doctor Laine.” Alma said, “But you’re a medical doctor, not a shrink so please stop psychoanalysing me. I’ll morn however I like, just like everyone else.”

Nalin sighed but decided not to press it. “If you’re not back in twenty minutes, I’ll ask So’lek to bring you in. We need the base secure at night and everyone accounted for, Cortez.”

Alma just gave her a thumbs up of acknowledgement but her insides coiled a little at the thought of So’lek being the one to do it. Nalin knew her threats well. She listened out, hearing the doctor’s footsteps retreat back until the Doc was gone before she let out her breath.

“Fuck.” Alma rested her face into her hands; not entirely as her hands pressed against the cooler mask doing her best to ignore the distant ringing in her ears.

Another night. Then another day of…this.

Alma took fifteen more minutes in the sanctity of alone beside her grave before she forced herself to move back in before the Doc would act on her threat with So’lek. She only took a small bag of dried RDA rations; her stomach was uneasy and she lacked an appetite but she forced it down to avoid looking like she was waving a cry-for-help sign by going on some food strike.

Sure, she was moping and she knew everyone had seen but… she didn’t want them to think she was… trying to look the victim here. At least not in the way that mattered. She had still been freaking murdered in a fit of rage.

Her eyes scanned around the kitchen as she fiddled with the empty packet and while she met Priya’s eyes as the women passed by, the younger woman dropped her gaze quickly and turned her back to her tablet.

“…onestly, I don’t know what to say to Cortez. I might just…focus on my lichen research. It’s a safe topic.” Alexander’s voice in the distance; his figure passing the open way with Nalin but seemed to hover just down the hallway; not realising she was here.

“Reaching out may be what we need. I’m concerned.” Nalin was saying, “I’m not condoning her part in TAP or anything but…we cannot afford to lose our allies. The more someone is hurt, regardless of who’s inflicting it, the less helpful they become.”

“I’m the wrong person to ask, Nal,” Alexander spoke. “We’ve lost a lot of people, the Sarentu lost everyone and their faith in us. The Resistance. Some things you just can’t bounce back from and… I don’t know if Cortez can come back from that.”

There was a pause. “I know it’s a grey area, Alex.”

“I know, which is why it’s hard. I’m not out for a witch hunt and I sure am not gonna add looking like a sympathiser for TAP by cuddling up to Cortez. She lied to us and continued to lie to us to cover what she did. She dug her grave, Nal. She has to lie in it. I’m sorry.” Their steps echoed away, separating off.

Alma closed her eyes but the bitter truth was raw to her own ears. One of her was certainly in the grave now… she almost wished she was buried in with it.

Dark thoughts like that, she had tried to banish. Trying to see past…that as a solution. Her death wouldn’t be a solution to everything; she couldn’t do anything to help. Couldn’t repent her actions and crimes if she was dead, couldn’t earn forgiveness or find a place of peace with herself or with the Sarentu kids. Killing herself or getting herself killed would look…cowardly. She’d be known for taking the easy way out when things got too difficult. They wouldn’t forgive her for that.

But…

It was so hard. But the little voices back there had some good points.

She was the one who was complicit in genocide, as much as she hated…acknowledging it. Made it real. Once Mercer was dead, and Harding…then she was the last of the three who had a major interest in what happened to the Sarentu clan. She would be the last one. A reminder of their history and loss. A better tale would see the end of that chapter with her death. No more follow-ups.

The resistance stood against the RDA. They had their principles set to ensuring the RDA stopped pulling stints like that; pushing them back. She had lied. Lied again and again in the resistance. She wanted to…keep the past hidden from herself. Life was…easier that way. But…as leader of the RDA with her history…and hearing this; it verified their uncertainly. How could they still follow her? Humans liked to have a cause and… she doubted she could retain her position for long if life continued like this. The resistance lost trust in her leadership. In her. She was marred for life among her…own people for her actions. Death would…probably satisfy those who felt she had gotten off too lightly at the death of her avatar.

Alma felt the pressure rise at the back of her head the more she mulled, spreading around to the front and settling into the left side of her head with a growing intense pulse of pain. She once again settled her face into her hands, dropping the empty packet away and took a few steady breaths to ease herself through this common occurrence. Her fingers pressed into her skull, trying to find the point to force ease, and in part to cover her eyes from the light that seemed to brighten up.

At least, if she had died, then she wouldn’t have to suffer like this. As selfish as it was. Her death would mean that no one else had to…deal with her. Endure her presence.

The distant chatter seemed to start to grate on her nerves the longer she sat and she felt her stomach turn a little as the pulsating got more concentrated. The symptoms were easy to identify, all too familiar. Migraine.

Her’s had only lasted about 5 hours since her avatar’s death but the headaches had come and gone. Another migraine…

Alma flinched as she heard movement entering the kitchen though she peeked through her fingers to see who it was before her stomach dropped.

So’lek.

She closed her fingers, trying to focus on herself but she felt her heartbeat rise…and the pain in her head rise. Her stomach turned even more but she fought the urge of its follow up quickly. There was nothing but silence between them as he lingered about; looking for fresh Na’vi rations that he could have quick and easy. He liked fresh but given the time, she doubted many fires were operational for a quick meal.

Alma wanted to leave. Get up, go to bed, sleep the pain off…but she couldn’t find the strength to move. She felt weak….the worst thing to feel with So’lek around right now.

“Here.”

Alma turned, surprised to see…a small put of Aspirin pills being put down in front of her beside her ration pack. She squinted at it for a moment then up to him, surprised he had…bothered. And that he knew what to look for.

So’lek had returned to his search as if he hadn’t done such an act.

Carefully, she took a moment to gather herself and opened the bottle, carefully picking out two pills and setting them down then slowly got up to put the bottle back onto the shelf where spare meds had been shoved for the convince of their people. She pulled out the small bottle of cold water from the fridge then returned to her seat and slowly washed them down.

“If you are not well, then you should rest. We do not need sickness to spread” So’lek remarked, his voice cold as stone. “The resistance cannot afford that on top of our losses”

“Just a migraine. I’ll be fine.” Alma said tiredly. “Migraines can’t spread. It’s just…a side effect of a severed link.”

So’lek simply nodded. “Good.” He pulled out what he was looking for; leaf wraps and sauce.

Alma took a few more swigs of water but pushed herself to throw her ration pouch into the bin and made her way towards the bunks to rest but didn’t get more than two paces before So’lek’s voice pinned her down.

“Do not expect forgiveness, Cortez.”

Alma’s shoulders sagged. “I know.”

“Do you?” So’lek questioned, his towering frame coming closer as he held his plate so innocently. “There are not enough apologies to make up for your actions. Your regret is nothing to the loss of life you had a hand in taking.”

Alma turned her head away from him. “I know.” Her tone sounded weak to her ears.

“I know you seek penance, and the death of your Dreamwalker is a payment of such. I see your regret but I do not believe you are doing anything to help the Sarentu. You seek to only elevate your own guilt, nothing more.”

Alma flinched a little at that. “I…” She didn’t have the words to say to that, so she didn’t finish.

So’lek seemed to step closer, towering over her. “Until you work to aid them for them, then there is no way forward. Catering to your own needs before those you have hurt will not see a good future. You have caused harm and lied to many of us to preserve yourself. Myself included. I am not happy about your deception you have waved in my face and called it caution.”

She shrunk inwards a little at his shrewd gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“I will not hear it. You are only sorry that you have been caught out. Nor may have been brash with his blade, but his absence is still a loss for the Resistance. For the Sarentu.”

Her hand came to her side, the pin-pricking reminder of that blade. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

“Then say nothing. The Sarentu will need to heal and you’re an inflammation to those open wounds. Stop trying with them. They will reconcile in their time, not yours. If you continue to force yourself into their space, their conversations and attempt to make the wrongs right on the account of your feelings, then we shall have another discussion.” He gave her a hard look, but like that, he was gone and his undertow bushing past her like ice and settled into her bones. His threat was subtle but she understood.

She barely registered the blood coming from her nostril until she felt the warmth of it splash into her neck-scarf.

(if this is well liked, i'm open for another chap XD let me know)

#avatar #avatar james cameron #avatar frontiers of pandora #frontiers of pandora #avatar rda #alma cortez #so'lek #ri'nela #teylan #nor #sarentu #tw suicidal thoughts #tw blood mention

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jensenackles-daily · 1 year

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matt_barr_: The amigos….Thanks to all the amazing fans at @creationent Dallas for making my first Con so great. Made this Texas boy feel right at home! #spndallas (x)

#jensen ackles #matt barr #jared padalecki #justin johnson cortez #tom welling #jake abel #conventions #spndallas23 #jensen & instagram mentions

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fcdcdmcmories · 7 months

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open starter for @walstarterblog!

DIEGO WAS TRYING NOT TO PANIC . SORT OF .. yeah , he was . super . if he ended up panicking ? then , there was no ignoring the fact that he was probably going to lose his shit and do something stupid and ... yeah , no. the boss would be mad and he didn't want that to happen , because .. yes, she was very scary when it did . right ? yes. and hey , maybe he didn't want to be a taxi driver forever , but .. for now , he was , and .. yeah , he had to make his peace with that . besides .. driving was fun , wasn't it? he wanted to think so. "hey there, friend! you looking to get anywhere? i could take you there! don't have any customers for a while, so.. hop in?"

#(i didn't do anything. i told you everything that you wanted to know. || diego cortez).#tw: death mention

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todd-queen · 2 months

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really this could just be labeled Favorite Characters and Favorite Traps ❤️‍🩹🫀<3

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lavampira · 8 months

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latine crew game night ᕙ(‾̀◡‾́)ᕗ

#i don’t think i mentioned it here but mal is biracial latine & these bonding moments with steve and james are everything #spacer origin where she’s lived her life moving between ships almost a diasporic feeling about home and culture #and missing her dad dearly. making friends with others like them that bring a bit of that home comfort #prob felt slightly better when her life was upside down those 6 months incarcerated having james to talk to too #dani plays me #game: mass effect #oc: malena shepard #ch: steve cortez #ch: james vega

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rachelhargrove · 1 year

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character: Maximiliano Cortez @max-cortez

location: Hot Air Balloon Ride; Frederick's Farm

She found her head up in clouds in a metaphorical sense even though ironically enough her corporeal being was also up in the clouds. Rachel had found herself up here around a year ago now. It wasn't this same hot air balloon at least but she found herself a lot quieter than she tended to be with Max and blinked over towards him, realizing he was looking at her almost expectantly. "I'm sorry...did you say something? I think the sound of the fire just was too loud." She spoke apologetically, wishing that her problem was just that she was afraid of heights. It would be a much more sensible reason as to why she felt fear in her throat and her heart pounding. When she shared that she would love to go up in the sky, she had felt an inkling that it might bring up some of those feelings again, but Rachel thought that maybe going back up would be a healthy way to find some more closure. She looked back over towards Max and smiled, taking a hold of his hand and giving it a small squeeze. "I told you about what happened last year at this festival, right?" Rachel felt like they were up here already, she might as well share it all with Max. He had shown her nothing but kindness and understanding.

#thread #thread: max cortez #acrophobia mention tw

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manresearch · 6 months

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So does anyone actually know who the voice saying "you are now entering the harmonic realm" on the Demon Days intro is?? I always thought it was Murdoc but could never find concrete proof

#if its mentioned anywhere lmk??#if it is him its insane they credit him for singing on white light and cortez on o green world #but theres no mention of his actual voice in the intro LMAO #mine #gorillaz #murdoc

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this-world-of-beautiful-monsters · 4 months

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Would you write a Nor/Alma + Mercer/Teylan but where they argue about how wrong it is that the other is fucking the tap students (except they both and they don’t realize it) and then maybe they bond about fucking them afterwards(?)

(tw canonical child abuse, along with csa, unreliable narrator, general dark shit)

JOHN MERCER, PERSONAL NOTES, AMBASSADOR PROGRAM - HYPOCRISY

ao3

Had another squabble with Cortez again after Teylan woke the others coming back into the dormitory, in a...noticeable condition. Mental note to speak to him about discretion.

She was making some of those ridiculous threats of hers, like any of that nonsense has a hope in hell of getting anywhere. We're off the books for a reason, and she knows it, she signed on for it, she doesn't want her skeletons out of the closet any more than I do.

Speaking of, her chatter used to be just irritating, but it's downright bizarre now that I know what I know. I ended up losing my temper and telling her that we got that old security camera in the back of the classroom working again a couple of weeks ago--shouldn't have, of course, I wanted to save that look on her face for a special occasion. Ah, well.

So we fought about that, instead. Apparently she still thinks she's better than I am, that she's "helping" Nor with all those pesky teenage hormones before they turn into property damage and punishments, that she's gentle.

As if gentle control isn't still control, albeit one where the dog can't still viable to twist around on the leash and bite your face off. As if I'm not helping Teylan, helping all of them, why can't she see--

Anyway, she hasn't started any fights since then, which is a relief. We make a good team, we both know it, give these kids the good cop/bad cop they need to stay in line, even if she refuses to coordinate properly.

Progress is slow, but effective, but deep down she likes that as much as I do, even if she insists on flagellating herself like this. She doesn't want something to happen to the happy little family we've built together, any more than I do.

I wonder if she'll put her Avatar up when they're old enough for breeding. Probably'll see it as martyring herself, making sure none of her precious students have to carry the pups themselves. That'll be interesting to bring up at the next board meeting.

-- Mercer, Out.

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leftistfeminista · 20 days

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Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez was in a car talking with her staffers about legislation and casually scrolling through her X mentions when she saw the photo. It was the end of February, and after spending most of the week in D.C., she was looking forward to flying down to Orlando to see her mom after a work event. But everything left her mind once she saw the picture: a digitally altered image of someone forcing her to put her mouth on their genitals. Adrenaline coursed through her, and her first thought was “I need to get this off my screen.” She closed out of it, shaken.

“There’s a shock to seeing images of yourself that someone could think are real,” the congresswoman tells me. It’s a few days after she saw the disturbing deepfake, and we’re waiting for our food in a corner booth of a retro-style diner in Queens, New York, near her neighborhood. She’s friendly and animated throughout our conversation, maintaining eye contact and passionately responding to my questions. When she tells me this story, though, she slows down, takes more pauses and plays with the delicate rings on her right hand. “As a survivor of physical sexual assault, it adds a level of dysregulation,” she says. “It resurfaces trauma, while I’m trying to — in the middle of a fucking meeting.”

The violent picture stayed in Ocasio-Cortez’s head all day.

“There are certain images that don’t leave a person, they can’t leave a person,” she says. “It’s not a question of mental strength or fortitude — this is about neuroscience and our biology.” She tells me about scientific reports she’s read about how it’s difficult for our brains to separate visceral images on a phone from reality, even if we know they are fake. “It’s not as imaginary as people want to make it seem. It has real, real effects not just on the people that are victimized by it, but on the people who see it and consume it.”

“And once you’ve seen it, you’ve seen it,” Ocasio-Cortez says. “It parallels the same exact intention of physical rape and sexual assault, [which] is about power, domination, and humiliation. Deepfakes are absolutely a way of digitizing violent humiliation against other people.”

#women's rights #alexandria ocasio cortez #ai

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jensenackles-daily · 2 years

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matt_barr: Upfronts 2022 - Epic week in NYC celebrating the launch of WALKER INDEPENDENCE with the Wild Bunch @thecwwalkerindependence @cbstvstudios @thecw (x)

#jensen ackles #matt barr #genevieve padalecki #jared padalecki #kat mcnamara #katie findlay #lawrence kao #philemon chambers #justin johnson cortez #jensen & instagram mentions #upfronts 2022

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fcdcdmcmories · 7 months

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closed starter for @screamsmeared!

HE HAD BEEN JUST THE TAXI DRIVER GUY . the one who didn't fuck up, the one who made sure that all of the marks were taken to where they were supposed to be . just the driver . get away driver , as he had become as soon as he had found out who kramer was . fuck that . he had nearly died , thanks very much and he wasn't about to let the same thing happen one more time . FUCKING HELL , NO . no amount of money in the world had been worth the terror of waking up with those bombs in his arms and realizing his time was about to run out . fucking hell , no. he did it honestly and legally now and kept his head down from mostly everything . fuck the alternative . it was not happening again . "hey there! need a drive somewhere ? my taxi is just down the road and i can promise you'll get there sooner than you would walking . " he needed to make money somehow . did he not?

#(i didn't do anything. i told you everything that you wanted to know. || diego cortez).#open to anyone !!! :)#tw: death mention

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dragonnarrative-writes · 1 month

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Part 2 - Work Introductions

Autumn Embers Masterlist

CW: Mentions of child loss, mentions of medical neglect/abuse, mentions of reproductive abuse, mentions of pregnancy complications and death, mentions of racism, sexism (in an omegaverse way), Brandon (unfortunately living), real world references

Data entry and analysis isn’t the most exciting job in the world, no matter what kind of fancy title you’re given, but it pays the bills. Working on a military base isn’t ideal, but the benefits are nothing to sneeze at. And most days, you get to sit alone and uninterrupted, in your own office, instead of in a cramped cubicle.

On Tuesday, you’re startled out of your audiobook by a gentle knock on your desk. Sherry, your immediate superior, gives an awkward little wave and waits for you to finish your line and mute your music.

“Hey, I’m so sorry about this,” she says, as soon as your headphones are clear. “You remember those port reports from Honduras? Some of the senior analysts have some questions for you? They’re currently in a meeting and requested some clarification…?”

You wait, but she doesn’t say anything else. “…what do they want to know?”

“Oh, they didn’t tell me, I’m sorry,” Sherry says. “They asked if you could… Well, they need you to attend the meeting. Right now.”

“Do I even have the clearance for that kind of meeting?” You stand without waiting for an answer and disconnect your laptop from the dock. With it tucked under your arm, you grab a notebook and pen, as well as your water bottle.

Sherry leads the way out of the office. “I know you submitted these reports two weeks ago, and your notations are excellent. I think the problem is with one of the flagged ship manifests, but they wouldn’t clarify why they were concerned. Couldn’t get a word in edgewise.”

Her apologetic air suddenly makes sense. “Brandon’s in there, isn’t he?”

Sherry grimaces. “I’m so, so sorry. It’s him and a few alphas. There’s an American CIA agent as well.”

“So I absolutely don’t have the clearance for this meeting,” you sigh. “Great.”

A short elevator ride and two halls away, you take a fortifying breath before you step into an occupied meeting room. Brandon’s is the first face you see, and when he sees you the corners of his lips turn up in an infuriating smile. Next to him, another senior analyst’s eyebrows pop up, but Andrew actually looks happy to see you.

Before the door can close behind you, a blonde, American alpha stands and offers her hand in a no-nonsense shake. “Kate Laswell. We appreciate you being so prompt.”

“Of course,” you answer. Unfortunately, your attention is a little torn. All four members of the 141 are sitting at the table, looking at you curiously. Sergent MacTavish grins like a wolf. Captain Price tips his chin up just enough that you know he’s scenting you. Lieutenant Riley, face covered from the nose down in a black neck gaiter, gives you a quick once over that makes you want to shiver. But you’re a professional, so instead of fleeing you take the nearest seat, across from a smiling Sergent Garrick. You fold both of your hands on top of the table, the very picture of accommodating and helpful, “What can I assist you with?”

“Why’d you flag this shipping manifest,” Brandon asks. The projector at the front of the room switches to a document that would be barely legible, even without the distortion of zoom.

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” you tell him, flipping your laptop open. “What’s the file name?”

“Honduras,” Brandon says, Port Cortez.”

“Puerto Cortes,” you correct. And seeing as it’s the largest seaport in Central America, I’ve combed through literally hundreds of manifests, you think, but don’t say. “I’m going to have to ask you to be a bit more specific. The projector isn’t easy to read.”

“You flagged this manifest for a Korean ship.”

You jump when Sergent Garrick says, “Christ, mate, just give her the file name.”

Lieutenant Riley gives a cough that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. You think you see MacTavish still grinning at you out of the corner of your eye. Laswell rattles off the document name without looking.

As soon as the document loads, you know exactly why Brandon and Andrew are confused. And you know that the following conversation is going to be so unpleasant that you shoot off a quick email to take the rest of the day off once this meeting ends.

You take a deep breath, let it out slowly. “The manifest is inconsistent with previous patterns from that particular port and that particular captain and crew. As I noted, the four containers from Venusian Pharmaceuticals wouldn’t have made it on the ship do to political and economic pressures.”

Brandon doesn’t bother to look at you when he asks, “What pressures?”

Laswell interjects before you can answer, “Leaked internal communications provided evidence that Cloudstone Pharm was selling tampered heat suppressants and birth control in various black markets. The 4B movement in South Korea had been calling for an investigation for years by that point. A lot of omegas were killed because of mis-labeled medications. Pregnancy and birth related complications.”

“I remember that. It was, what, five, more years ago?” Lieutenant Riley asks. “Had an entire re-brand. Cloudstone to Venusian. Everything went from blues and whites to greens and yellows.”

“Okay, so the containers had a bit of extra security to get onto the ship,” Brandon says, before you can get over the shock of two alphas in a room who know anything about even the broad strokes of omega health care. “There’s protesters at every major port for one thing or another.”

“Even if they’d gotten on the ship, they wouldn’t have made it to Puerto Cortes,” you counter. “The captain lost two of his kids because of their medications. He’s had his crew dump the containers and alter manifests before. He was investigated for it, but his crew wouldn’t speak against him.”

Brandon frowns. “How do we know he didn’t get paid off?”

How do we know the omegas weren’t worth less than a cash payment? Your throat feels like closing in on itself. You keep your voice as steady as you can. “He wouldn’t have been.”

“How do you know?”

Andrew, eyes darting between you and Brandon, tries to interrupt. “Well-”

“Because he made the autopsy reports for both of his sons public,” you answer. You have to force your jaw to unclench. “Along with pictures and videos of how sick they were before they passed, before anyone knew what was really wrong with them. And the executives of Cloudstone, an American company, laughed. Called them slurs and ignorant animals in emails and meeting memos that were later leaked to the public.”

Across from you, Garrick is not smiling anymore. “That’s… disgusting.”

“Cloudstone struggled to recover in eastern Asian markets, even with the re-brand,” you continue, then take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “And all of this was in my report.”

“Your job isn’t to provide those kinds of references. You’re not trained for it. There were a couple of links to articles,” Brandon dismisses. “Not enough to-”

“One of his sons experienced total organ failure,” you interrupt, closing your laptop. You know your scent must be all over the place, but the subject matter was already touchy. Now he’s questioning your work and misrepresenting your job duties? Oh, fuck him. “Because he was on incorrectly administered fertility treatments that were disguised as birth control, he had a high-risk pregnancy with multiples. And then his medications were switched with heat inducers. His other son had rapid onset neuropathy and multiple strokes within a week. Neither of his sons wanted to have children. One of them couldn’t, biologically, because it would have killed him anyways. And their partners decided that they didn’t care.”

Brandon wrinkles his nose at you. “No need to get so worked up.”

You practically feel the way your scent goes hot and acrid. Where most omegas have a distress scent that is sickly sweet, yours is much closer to an alpha’s shock scent. Your parents used to call you “Wildfire” because of it. You watch the hairs on Garrik’s arms stand up.

You can barely smell Andrew’s nervous distress over your rage. “Okay, yeah, that’s plenty. The captain wouldn’t have taken the containers.”

“Is there a reason you didn’t consult the references I added into the report?” You know the sudden calm in your voice, the relaxing of your posture, is at odds with the way your anger scent gets stronger. You’ve been told it’s a sensory nightmare, so you only do it when someone tells you you’re not calm enough. You fold your hands on the table again. “Because I included original and translated sources, according to the standards of the department.”

The room is silent. All seven alphas are agitated. You can only pick out MacTavish’s scent, muddled and frustrated. Andrew opens his mouth, closes it. Finally says, “I didn’t receive the references.”

“Senior analyst Lawrence received the full report directly,” you say, holding eye contact with Brandon. “But I know how emails can get lost. I would be happy to send them again. I’ll CC you, and request that your access to the full drive be confirmed. Sir. Is there anything else I can assist the team with?”

Laswell scrawls something on a sticky note and passes it over to you. “Please also include me on those emails.”

You give her your most demure smile. “Unfortunately, Agent Laswell, I don’t have the clearance to send reports outside of the department. I would be happy to help you coordinate that with senior analysts Lawrence and Bennett.”

You pluck the sticky note from her hand, stand, and gather up your laptop, notebook, and water bottle. When you have everything, you pass behind her to where Brandon and Andrew are sitting. Deliberately putting yourself at Brandon’s back, you hand the note to Andrew with a placid smile. “Agent Laswell requests that you provide her with the full report.”

Brandon smells disconcerted, trapped in his seat with your scent roaring as you stand just inside of his blind spot. Andrew, for his part, only hesitates for a moment before taking the offered sticky note, looking from you to Laswell to Brandon and back. “Thank you.”

“Of course, sir.” Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth. “Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

“I… believe that will be all…?”

“Of course, sir. Thank you, sir.” You cement your little performance with a perfectly deferential partial curtsy to Andrew, then to the rest of the room. “Please do not hesitate to let me know if there’s anything else I can do the support the team.”

As the door shuts behind you, you hear Captain Price’s voice for the first time. “Goddamn. That is a woman capable of murder.”

#dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #poly 141 #omegaverse #autumn embers verse #there's some meta to come #just a heads up

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taintandviolent · 9 months

Text

deflowering ; James March x virgin!Reader

{requested by anonymous} summary: 7k words! after a little dancing, more than a little champagne, you decide to take James March up on his offer of going up to one of the new rooms of the Hotel Cortez, to break them in, as it were. Little does he know, he's about to break you in, too. w a r n i n g s: virgin!reader (adult), mentions of alcohol, rough sex, explicit descriptions, canon divergence, rough sex, thigh riding, cunnilingus, blowjobs, aggression, use of 'daddy', dom themes.

full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / ♪ recommended playlist here! ♪

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @redwoodghost / @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @kaissweetlamb / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @evansb1tch / @enchanting-evan / @petersevans / @yesdevineruler / @enchanting-evan / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @violetharmonscupcake/ @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @evanpetersfansblog / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @nova-kayne67 / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @piecesofcain / @lilthbunny

It was the twenty-third of August, 1926, and you had just finished your second glass of champagne in the Hotel Cortez. Usually, you never drank this much, but it was a celebration after all. Some fellow named James Patrick March had finally completed the arduous construction of his new hotel and tonight was the opening night. Crowds had flocked to the entrance, dressed to the nines and all eagerly craning their necks for a peek at the glamorous inside. Those who weren’t explicitly invited were turned away by the doorman in his starched uniform.

You, of course — you’d been invited by your friend’s friend’s friend and when you showed up in a beaded, green dress and the mink stole your mother had given you four birthdays ago, you waltzed right through those doors without a single question. You looked like you belonged here as much as the group of actresses that walked in before you. The moment you entered, the hotel stole a gasp from your lips, dazzling you with its prestige and innovation.

It had been toted as “an overly ambitious project” and you could certainly attest to that. Mr. March, whomever he was, had written a particular aesthetic into the design of his hotel and from the hexagonal patterned carpets to the ornately panelled gold walls, everything fit the opulent theme. The Blue Parrot Lounge was a name you’d heard whispered several times, waiters coming down the curved staircases with trays full of delicate champagne flutes. You learned shortly after that the bar was on the second floor and overlooked the entire hotel lobby.

But downstairs in that lobby, a band was set up, their instruments exhaling the liveliest melody you’d heard in ages. Easily, they persuaded the masses to kick their heels up. The grand chandelier above your head twinkled like your own personal galaxy, shimmering every time you moved. In fact, everything twinkled. You felt ebullient, as light as a cloud, and didn’t have a care in the world.

There had been a brief pause where Mr. March welcomed everyone to his Hotel in his dangerously cordial way, making a show of popping champagne. Everyone applauded, congratulated and then quickly dispersed, eager to return to the complementary libations. You’d eagerly taken to the dance floor and quickly found a partner in a jazzy white suit. He had blonde hair, sharp, chiseled features and deep green eyes - handsome enough. You two paired alright, enjoying each other’s lively moves.

He’d clearly been drinking more than you, judging by the way he slurred his compliments to you, dabbing nervously at the sheen of sweat that decorated his forehead. After an hour or so of dancing, your feet were sore and your curious nature had wrapped its tendrils around your throat, ordering you to investigate the rest of the hotel.

A server held another glittering tray of champagne high above everyone’s heads, and you snatched one as he passed you, hurriedly bringing it to your mouth. The effervescent liquid tickled the bow of your lips, the tiny bubbles popping as you sucked in a delicate mouthful. You dabbed at the corner of your mouth with your middle finger, trying not to gulp too loud.

As the song changed, the band racing into another upbeat melody, you swung your shoulder around, prepared to sink deeper into the hallways. Instead, you nearly collided with a broad shoulder. “Oooh! ‘Pardon me!”

“Mm.”

You recognised him right away. In the wicked and honest parts of your brain, you were thrilled that, of all people, you’d bumped into him. During his speech, all the women were staring with illicit gazes and hungry tongues. You’d mapped the direction of their eyes as they scanned along his face, and down his body as they openly and dissolutely lusted after him. The audible whispers that scattered the room when he cracked open the champagne, allowing the fizzy stream to spray into his mouth would’ve been laughable if you hadn’t been one of the whisperers.

He seemed slightly less personable now, almost curt in nature. Something about the dismissive way he’d flashed his brows at you as if he was annoyed sparked a fire in your curiosity. He was too handsome to let slip through your fingers, and surely, there must be a reason for his clipped response. You gulped down a mouthful and cleared your throat.

“Say, aren’t you Mr. March?” You asked coyly, knowing full well who he was.

He stopped then, like he’d been challenged to a duel, and with a slight bow, turned gracefully on his toes. To him, it was a challenge. You hadn’t run off with your tail between your legs, offended by his sternness, and that was a challenge for conversation, for flirtations and perhaps… indulging himself.

“Indeed I am. Enjoying yourself?” He eyed the half-empty glass in your tiny little hand, taking note that it clearly wasn’t your first.

“Oh, very much so. This is a ssswell party, Mr. March.”

“Splendid! And please,” He took your hand in his, pressing his lips against your knuckles. “Call me James.”

You cooed in acknowledgment, watching him from the rim of your glass. He lingered for a little too long and you would’ve bet your last penny that you saw his nostrils flare slightly as he inhaled a deep breath of your scent. After a moment, James straightened up, keeping a firm grip on your hand.

He had indeed; you were sweet, like a delicate pastry with the slightest hint of fruitiness underneath. There were notes of a perfume, floral, something moderately expensive — surely, something you’d saved up all your pocket change for. The way your eyes glimmered awoke a deep hunger within his core. He’d play with this.

“Tell me, my dear. Can you dance?” He asked.

The moment you said you could, he’d wrapped your slender arm around his forearm, holding onto it tightly as he towed you back towards the dance floor. Thank god your mother had insisted you learn how to dance properly. And thank heavens your friend, whom Mother detested, taught you how to dance improperly. Mother had always said these new trend dances were for immoral and loose women, but when James March insisted you dance the Charleston with him, you’d never been gladder for immorality in your life.

Keeping a tight hold on your hand, he swung you out into the clearing. With his fee hand, he made a quick gesture to the band. They responded by starting up the familiar melody, and James stepped to your side, lifting his brows in a silent confirmation that you were as ready as you looked. You gave him a short nod, and you both took one step backwards, beginning the shuffling motions.

His feet moved quick to the rhythm; behind and in front of each other, his heels kicking out to the side. All things considered, you made a worthy partner, keeping up with his lively, bobbing movements. Your hands were at your waist, fingers splayed out, swishing from side to side. You both leaned forward in unison and sent your right heels up into the air. The moment you straightened up again was when you realised that a small crowd had gathered in the lobby of the Hotel Cortez and all of their eyes were on the two of you. Everyone was watching as you two masterfully stepped the Charleston and you felt like a celebrity, a performer with the most handsome partner.

There was one woman in particular, a gorgeous brunette gal, who looked on with narrowed eyes. James stepped in front of your line of sight, flashing a villainously personable smile, and spun you back to his side. Though he wouldn’t dare voice it, the beginning twitches of an erection had his cock stirring in his pants. You were delectable and lively, something he’d take great pleasure in snatching away from you. All the more arousing that she hasn’t the slightest clue….

As the song ended, you couldn’t help but dissolve into a fit of giddy laughter, falling backwards into his chest. You couldn’t be sure, but as his arms enclosed around you, you thought you heard a syrupy laugh deep in his throat. Both of you were tuckered out, chests heaving, a misting of sweat covering your décolleté and his forehead. After a moment in his strong arms — ooooh, his arms — he brought a handkerchief from a pocket, dabbing his forehead gently. Modest applause peppered the crowd, along with a few glad compliments.

“I don’t mean offence by this, but…” You swallowed, wetting your throat. “I didn’t think you could dance like that!”

“I’m full of surprises.” He answered.

James swooped around you, circling you predatorily. His fingers ghosted over the back of your neck, sending a convulsive shiver down your spine.

You two locked eyes then, staring wordlessly. Both of you unable to ignore the need, the pulling draw, the hunger to touch each other. It was the sort of gaze that started rumours. His tongue scraped along the roof of his mouth, longing to taste the churning arousal between your legs. He knew it was there, told plainly by the way you fiddled with the hem of your neckline, nervously, trying to placate your own licentious thoughts.

“Beautiful hotel, really.” You finally whispered.

“Allow me to show you the best room in the house.” His eyes flashed to yours, sensing the apprehension. You rolled your shoulders inward, prepped to decline as politely as you could.

“Oh now, now… no need to be shy. I’m a gentleman first and foremost.”

“I don’t know if your lady friend will enjoy that…” You retorted.

“You are the only lady in my company.” He assured.

You gazed behind him one more time and met eyes with her — an action you’d immediately regretted. Her gaze was as comforting as a jail cell, and her full lips were pulled into a tight, frustrated line that held back a myriad of hatred. You opened your mouth to speak, but a forefinger was pressed hurriedly into your cupids bow, shushing you quickly. He looked down at you, brows furrowed in disapproval.

“Now, now. Shh. I’d hate to have to cut out your tongue, my dear. I had plans for it later.”

Your brows pulled together, eyes displaying nothing but sheer confusion. What on Earth did he mean by that? Either of those things? You were too afraid to broach the question, partly in fear that the answer would’ve frightened you, or worse, aroused you.

As though he read your mind, heard your innermost thoughts, he added quickly: “If you want to find out what… well, you’ll have to follow me first, my dear. Shall you?”

He extended his hand to you, palm up.

Against your better judgement and without thinking a second more about the repercussions, you took it and managed to squeak: “To the moon, James.”

When you glanced over his shoulder a final time, that woman watched you as he led you away, that tumultuous anger burning in her eyes. Something about her piercing gaze sent a shiver down your spine. She looked innocent enough, but underneath the done-up exterior, there was a cruelness, a hostility that you wanted nothing to do with. You hurried your steps, pinning yourself closer to James.

The journey took longer than you expected as every few moments, he was stopped by a hotel guest and congratulated. Everyone from stuffy elderly couples to actors you recognised from pictures all wanted to shake hands with the man that had created “the hotel of the century”. You hung on his arm, politely silent, offering agreeing nods and kind smiles when they’d look at you. They must’ve assumed, of course, that you two were an item, and for that brief, fleeting moment, you were thrilled by the idea.

Once he’d pushed open the door, allowing room for you to walk in, you realised that the room he’d led you into was the room he’d cracked the champagne in — except it had been expertly cleaned within a few hours. There were no crowds, no remnants, no sounds aside from a pair of breaths; yours and his. Although, if you listened hard enough, you thought you heard the dull, muted music from below. It sounded hazy and slower up here in this room.

The lock clicked into place and James had you in his arms, his face buried in your neck, his pencil-thin moustache tickling the sensitive flesh under your jaw. He whispered seductive words of veneration into the nape of your neck, praising your appearance between breaths and tastes of your salty flesh.

“Forgive my eagerness,” he whispered into your ear, before nipping at your skin. “I find you… irresistible.”

Delighted by the sensations, your lids fluttered. You extended your neck to him, allowing more. He kissed your neck over and over again and began sucking too hard in certain spots. You let out the tiniest little hums of discomfort, trying to stretch away from him then. However, somewhere deep in your core, you craved that pain, the burn of his suckling kisses.

“I want you to kiss me.” He declared, finally pulling away to gaze upon your face, like he was studying it. “Kiss me, but don’t hold back. I want to feel your passion.”

You nodded quickly, feigning all the courage in the world. Nervous? Who, me? Never! Your lips clashed together as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself as close to him as you could. His mouth parted, allowing his tongue out to swirl around yours, and you could taste the champagne that lingered on it like a fading memory. He deepened the kiss, moving further into your mouth and all you could do was moan into his. Silly girl, he must’ve thought.

His hand left your side, trailing further down. With a cruel tug, James yanked your stocking from its front clip, tearing a generous hole in the nylon, then repeated the process with the other. You broke the kiss to watch this fiery display of arousal in awe, feeling a new, unfamiliar fire in your stomach. You’d been aroused before — hell, even pleasured yourself shyly under the sheets… but the hunger. The hunger that clawed at your insides with reckless abandon was speaking in a foreign tongue… but it was one that you wanted to translate into physicality.

“Oooh, easy tiger…”

His fingers splayed out over your now bare thighs, exploring the smooth skin ravenously. As he neared your centre slit, he snarled in response — whether intentionally responding to the animalistic nickname you’d given him, or because he’d felt the slippery nectar dripping from between your legs, you couldn’t know. You thought it might be the latter. You hoped it was.

Abruptly, he pulled away, leaving you to wobble forward with want. He made a beeline to the nearby alcohol cart that had been arranged near the door and poured amber liquid into one of the glasses and golden champagne into another. He brought the darker coloured one to his lips.

“Mmm…” He growled as he swallowed, locking eyes with you, walking confidently towards the nearby chair. Though his head was turned away from his destination, he didn’t stumble, just gracefully sunk down into the chaise lounge without spilling a drop of his precious liquor.

You were in awe of this man’s finesse, of his charm, and the adoration for him displayed all over your cheeks. You didn’t need to bring out your compact to know that the flush had travelled down your neck, and your pretty little doe-eyes were as wide as saucers. He set the glass of champagne down on a nearby end table, presumably where it would stay until you reached for it.

“What’s underneath that ravishing dress, hm?” He asked. You gathered your lips to one side in a coy expression.

“Let’s see,” you tittered. "My bra and my knickers. And…. A pair of torn stockings and shoes, if you’re a specifics kinda’ guy…” You knew he was.

He waited.

You raised your brows, cocking your head to the side in affirmation — that was all. You were a woman of style after all. In this outfit? You wouldn’t be caught dead in a corset or a slip. Besides, corsets were for stuffy old broads nowadays. Everyone was wearing bras.

“Take it all off. Everything but the dress.”

Surely, the dress would be the first thing to go? It was an odd request, even for your virgin experience. You’d heard stories of men and their covetous desires. The idea of keeping the biggest article of clothing on seemed unorthodox, but you weren’t about to question his demands.

Obediently, you bent down and undid the buckles of your shoes, stepping out of them carefully. With a shy bat of your lashes, you turned away from him, shimmying and shrugging out of the straps of your dress until they fell into the crooks of your arms. Reaching around behind your back, you unlatched the satin bra, letting your supple breasts spring free of the compression.

Your heart pounded as you bent down again to slide the satin underwear over the curve of your ass and down your equally satiny thighs, giving the man behind you the tiniest previews of what was to come. Facing him again, you held your dress at your chest, carefully sliding the straps back up your arms one by one.

With a drink in one hand, the other stretched over the back of the loveseat and a delightedly smug expression, James watched your undergarments fall to the floor piece by piece. His cock throbbed in his pants, the thick fabric doing a damned good job at keeping the beast at bay. Free of everything, your dress hung a little different now, and his black eyes were aflame with the realisation. You swayed back and forth, the strands of sequins brushing lightly against your thighs.

As you bent down one final time, reaching for the nylons, came his voice. “Leave those.”

After a small sip, he pat his thigh twice with his free hand; the sound of his palm snapping against the taut fabric atop his thigh echoed in the room. For a brief, insecure second, you were frozen. A deer in the headlights. Except the headlights weren’t headlights, they were the eyes of the hungriest tiger you’d ever seen and you’d already succumbed to your fate the moment he locked the door.

“Come to daddy.”

You shuddered in response, your tummy doing backflips like an acrobat in a circus act. His words held such command and purpose, you had no choice but to saunter over to him, swaying your hips a little more than you usually did. He seemed to enjoy that; a tiny smirk played out over his mouth.You pressed your knees against his, struggling to not come undone at the contact. With a deep breath, you manoeuvred yourself in between his parted legs.

“Good…” He replied. “Atop my thigh, my pet.”

With your flesh turning a deep shade of red, you walked over his thigh, resting one knee on the edge of the cushion. You felt the air on your cunt, the chill of the room touching the wetness and making it tingle. You looked down at his groin. The fabric was pulled taut. You could make out the faintest outline of a swelling cock underneath —

You snapped your attention back to him, embarrassed. He downed the rest of his drink, set it carelessly on the table next to your still-full champagne and lifted his hand to your legs. The pad of his middle finger caressed the back of your knee, sending a shockwave through your entire body. No man had ever touched you like that, the sensation was erotic and overwhelming to your core. Inch by inch, his fingers trailed higher.

You reached for the champagne, and despite the sting in your nose, you downed the entire glass, setting it back on the small table.

“Lower.” He commanded, amused.

You obeyed, bending your knees.

“Lower.” He repeated.

He’d lined it up perfectly; James pressed that same finger into your slit as you lowered, wiggling it further in, then flicking it up to your clit. You let out a shrill mewl. Your knees nearly buckled as he circled the bundle of nerves, bringing the sensitivity higher. You squeezed your eyes shut as hot, salty tears bit at the corners. Your muscles had begun to quiver, overwhelmed by the strain of hovering over his thigh. His skilful fingers manipulated your cunt, simply playing with your wetness.

James abruptly yanked you all the way down, forcing you into a straddle. Your cunt was spread, pressed tight against his thigh and you needed no instruction on what to do next.

“Ooooh,” he growled, watching your hips as they ground your weeping cunt against the expensive fabric of his suit pants. “Good girl. Your desire is intoxicating… show me how much you want me…. yes.”

James chuckled, knowingly. Despite your best effort in trying to suppress your moans, he saw through the act. The skin of your neck had flushed red. Your soft jaw hung slack, tiny little moans floating out every time he touched you. Your sweet little eyes rolled back into your head every time he so much as flexed his thigh muscle. He knew the effect he had on you. Every slight movement from him ground against your cunt, sending shuddering waves of heat into your core.

“I said,” he started, gripping your jaw hard between his thumb and pointer finger. “Show me how much you want it, my dear.”

You winced, but allowed instinct to kick in. You began bobbing up and down on his thigh, whimpering as the wet spot on the fabric spread. The slick glistened on the fibres as you ground back and forth. Eventually, the friction of dry against wet lessened, and you found a rhythm, bouncing. His leg bumped into your sensitive, aching clit over and over again.

As you rode his thigh, James gripped your dress at the shoulders, kissing up along the curves of your arm. There was a warmth on your skin, a tugging, though you were too deep in the sensations to pull away. A cacophony of ticking began; tiny beads scattered across the floor, bouncing and dancing into crevices where they’d never be found again.

When you finally glanced down, a look of shock painted across your features. Your dress had been ripped at the seams, the delicately beaded fabric now hanging limply at your hips in a mass. James looked on, adoringly, his hungry, inky eyes dancing over your exposed breasts, and the way your nipples had hardened in the slightly colder air.

“What’s wrong, my dear? Are you frightened?” He asked. The lilt in his question was too revealing, but alas, who was he to deny the delicious aroma of fear?

“Who me?” You laughed breathily, like a fool. Sweat pooled in the hollows of your collarbone. No time like the present, you thought. You’d reached the point of no return, and surely if you didn’t say something now, he’d find out when he took you. “Oh, no, it’s just that… I’ve never been with a man is all.”

The realisation swept across his face, the expression telling all the tales of how he felt about being the first man to have a woman. “Aaahhh…. And do you…. wish to be…?”

“With you?” You swatted the air dismissively. “More than anything.”

“Brave. Brave girl.” With that, he scooped you up in his strong arms, and got up from the chair. You wrapped your legs around his torso as he carried you effortlessly to the table. The journey was short, and before you knew it, your bare back was laid on cool wood. Your legs hung off the edge, and with one strong yank, James pulled the tattered dress from your hips, tossing it heedlessly behind him.

“Knees up — heels on the table.” He then ordered, sternly. Pulling your knees towards your chest, you adjusted yourself on the table and swallowed hard, feeling vulnerable. Short of hearing the snap of latex gloves, you were left feeling like you were about to be examined by a doctor.

James disappeared from your view then, sinking down below the edge of the table. With nothing to look at, you gazed up at the ceiling with wide eyes, anticipating the next move. When it came, you let out a yelp, your legs closing on either side of his head. James had pressed his lips against her, peppering little kisses against your centre, and after a moment or two of that, opened his mouth to slip his tongue deliberately along the folds. The sensation of his tongue darting out to taste you was enough to send you to the moon, but he continued, delving further into you. Your legs opened again, exposing more of your aching cunt to him.

You felt his nose press into the mound of flesh as he flattened his tongue on your clit, lapping at it hungrily. Your body responded by squirming, a desperate whimper pouring from your throat. His hands were suddenly on your pillowy thighs, holding you tight where you were. With a vibrating groan, his tongue abruptly changed techniques; he began flicking the tip of his tongue into the underside of your clit. Your moans - though they were teetering on the edge of screams — bounced off the walls of the empty room.

In a delirium of ecstasy, you’d gripped the hair at the crown of his head, pulling it hard. He grunted into your pussy, sending vibrations deep into your core. His hand came down on the side of your ass with a resounding slap. You shuddered violently, your sopping cunt clenching tight against his chin, wetting it as your first orgasm came in sudden waves. James slipped his tongue deep inside of your entrance, feeling the pulses as they gradually subsided. Before pulling away to look at the flower in front of him, and what he’d done to it, he let out a throaty, pleased growl. A small puddle had formed on the table, your slick arousal leaking from the hole like sweet nectar dripped from the centre of a fruit.

“Ahhh…” he exhaled. “Divine.”

His eyes darting to the side, James made a mental note to have Miss Evers re-polish the table. After this, it would certainly need it.

The way he gazed upon you, seemingly satisfied with just how wet you were drove your head into the table with a thunk. You arched your back with a whimper, somehow still unsatisfied. From the side, came his voice. “Use your words, my darling.”

Your eyes snapped open, startled that you hadn’t heard him move around. You swallowed, looking up at him piteously. For a moment you dug deep into your own mind, battling with coherency to find the correct words. And, disappointingly, all you could muster was: “I… want more.”

“Yes….. yes, you do.”

Gently, with two fingers, James pulled your jaw towards him, moving your head so that your cheek laid against the table. There was a certain predatory nature in his gaze as he looked at you. “Open up,” he demanded, his thumb prodding your lips. “That’s my girl…”

He smeared his thumb along your warm, strong tongue, depressing it and feeling around the rest of your mouth. He glided over your smooth teeth, digging the fleshy pad into the decently sharp points of your incisors.

“Don’t bite me… too hard.”

With that, he began unbuckling his trousers with one hand, sliding the belt from its loop. You watched intently as this handsome, charming stranger handled himself; taking himself out his undergarments and his trousers, roughly adjusting his cock so that it was free for your devouring. He closed his hand along the length, pumping it several times. A generous droplet of precum leaked from the red, sweating tip and before it had time to string away, he guided his cock to your mouth.

He smeared your lips over the head, coating it in his own dripping seed. His hips then bucked the length into your mouth, bringing a whimpering gag from deep within your throat. Gentle, he thought. With the way your mouth eagerly worked him, doing your best to suck and lap at his aching cock, that thought was whisked away seconds later.

Wet sounds filled the room as James fucked your pretty little mouth, your lipstick smearing waxy, blood-coloured streaks on the shaft of his cock. In your peripheral, it was quite a gruesome sight, but he seemed to enjoy it, tilting his head to watch.

You closed your lips around the tip as it slid out, letting your tongue flatten on the underside of it. You felt every throbbing vein, but every time your tongue or lips grazed that one, the protruding one, James making sounds that you’d only ever dreamed of hearing a man make. It was a breathy, higher pitched moan, or a choking gasp, and each time he did, the corners of your lips curled up into a smile, delighted with eroticism. You pressed your tongue hard into it, sliding it up and down. From this angle, you realised, you couldn’t do much else… but perhaps that’s how he’d wanted it.

You remembered his previous mention of biting, so thinking that it was something he favoured, you began toying with his sensitivity by grading your teeth along his shaft. He hissed, ceasing his thrusts to crane his neck back, revelling in the amalgam of pain and pleasure.

“Harder,” he demanded.

You furrowed your brows in concern, daunted by the new territory that lay ahead. You closed your mouth a little more, the ridges of your teeth gently clamping down on his swollen cock. Suddenly, James gripped your face hard, squeezing your cheeks together like a fish. You winced as he leaned forward to hiss in your open mouth, his demeanour suddenly callous and dreadful. “I said not too hard.”

He released it sharply as you did, and punishingly bucked his hips into your wanting mouth. His thrusts were quick, and marvelled at the tiny, pathetic gags that broke from your throat every time he hit the back of it. You were so delicate, but so… willing.

Suddenly, he pulled his cock from your lips with a sick, filthy slurping sound, and holding it in his right hand, moved back to the head of the table. His breaths were ragged, hungry. You blinked away the tears that had accumulated.

“You nearly ruined my makeup…” You whispered, wiping the slimy collection of drool and precum from your chin.

“I’ll do more than that.” Gripping you at the knees, James yanked you down the table’s length, your ass slipping easily against the polished wood.

Briefly, you felt the velvety hot tip of his cock teasing your cunt. He slid it between your wet folds, exhaling loudly at the slickness that greeted him. He teased you with a thrust of his hips, the tip of his head slipping slightly. You whined as he pulled away.

“What did I say about words?”

Like a toddler throwing a tantrum, you moaned shakily, gritting your teeth. “Don’t do that…”

“Do what?”

“Tease me…”

“Oh, but it’s fun. I’ll do so until you beg for it.”

“PLEASE!” You howled a moment later, taking fistfuls of his shirt and yanking him closer. You wiggled your hips at his groin, your cunt trying to find his cock desperately. You writhed around like a cat in heat, whimpering and leaking more cum onto his expensive mahogany table. In one of your hip sways, the hot tip brushed past your entrance, leaving a springy line of pre-cum in its path. In response, you rocked your hips against his, trying to pull him in further. The sensation had you gasping, rolling your head from side to side. “Please, please, please, I simply mu—

Your screams faded away into the back of his mind, dull and muted like they came from behind a brick wall. James watched your lewd, begging performance with a bemused smirk, chuckling through closed lips. Every anguished whimper, every desperate plea that his lack of action brought forward from your lips seemed to send you closer to the edge of madness. He enjoyed that. Too much, perhaps.

He reached up, running a single finger down the side of your neck, pausing to feel your pulse throbbing away beneath the skin. Such liveliness, such… James swallowed, suppressing the dark sludgy desire that clawed at his insides. His urges had been worse and worse lately, and now with the hotel open… Not now… not with her.

“What do I need to say?”

“Nothing more.” James took hold of his cock, stroking his fingers over the tip, dragging the slickness along his shaft. He exhaled, lining himself up. At first, James popped only the tip in and out, playing with his food. Each thrust, he slipped a little farther in. Out of the kindness of his heart, James was gradually getting you used to the feeling of fullness, but once he felt your slick walls, he grit his teeth. He had told you that he was a gentleman first and foremost, but… such is life. He swiftly sank his hard length into you with little friction. You were soaked and all it took was one determined thrust.

For a moment, you felt nothing but a searing pain as the thickness of his cock stretched your cunt wide open. Tears welled in your eyes, a cry bouncing against your rolled lips. The stinging was replaced with a dull ache, and finally, a warmth.

“My, my…” He admired. “Taking it so well already.”

You nodded feebly, doing your best to muster a smile amidst your punishing euphoria. Had you not been as wet as you were, it would’ve been excruciating. And when he started pounding, it almost was.

James must’ve sensed your discomfort because he brought his hand to your pussy, his thumb circling your clit. Mercilessly. You cried out like a wounded animal and that seemed to only drive him to continue, stroking his finger down length of your pussy before returning his attention back to the bundle of nerves. Your hips swayed back and forth on the table, desperately trying to get away from the pressure that was blossoming deep within your cunt, just above your bladder. It felt like a tangled mess of fire, and your whole centre was aflame.

You shakily lifted your head, watching as his pelvis smashed into yours, over and over again, his cock slipping easily from your aching, drenched cunt. Your hands climbed his torso. You fiddled with the buttons until his shirt hung open lifelessly, like two ghosts on either side of his body. He moaned as your fingertips explored his stomach, his ribcage, and then curled around the small of his back, forcing their way up underneath the restraint of his clothes. You felt uneven skin, the way that flesh raised once it had healed over deep lacerations.

James suddenly picked up speed, drilling into you harder and that released something in you. You felt devious, immoral, and wanted to howl like a banshee. In fact, you did. You let out a shrill, dirty moan, the kind you heard coming from those brothels as you passed them by. Tears pooled at the corners of your eyes before streaming down your temples, disappearing into the hair that laid on the table. Your fingers flexed, nails digging into his back and leaving crescent-moon shaped indentations amongst his scars. Feeling your clenching, he growled and lolled his head back in ecstasy.

You pulled your leg up, pressing your nylon-covered toe against his jawline and gave it a little push.

You heard his breath hitch.

You pushed harder, craning his neck off to the side. His moan said more than any words could’ve. With a devious smirk, you drug your toe down the length of his throat, pressing hard into his windpipe.

James jerked his hips harder and harder until you felt his cock twitch inside you, hot and angry, the first spurt of his orgasm planted deep inside you. He then backed his hips out slightly, just enough for the thick ropes of cum to cover your cunt. His cock bumped into your clit with tiny thrusts, forcing every last milky drop onto you. James straightened up, clenching his fists tightly.

“Ravished. Deflowered. Desecrated!” His words echoed loudly off the walls.

His arms came down with a loud thud on either side of your head, his shirt acting as blinders. There was nothing else in that moment; just you and him and the way he’d claimed you, taken every ounce of innocence you had left.

His hands traced along your collarbone, up the sides of your neck. The black thoughts wormed into his brain, screaming for sating attention. Which weapon would he use? Where he'd cut first - an artery? Arterial blood was always so… satisfying. Would her screams be as such? The final moment, the look in her eye? Perhaps, he could hear those desperate, soprano shrieks if he just…

Thunk-thunk-thunk.

Your lids peeled open, one by one. The blazing light that filtered in through the crack in the deep red curtains burned. You hardly remembered being in a hotel room… alone, and the hotel room you remembered wasn’t the one you were in now. This one looked more or less like any new hotel room that you could’t afford. Moving yourself into an upright position, you let out a depressed bleat… the headache. How much champagne did you have last night? You couldn’t remember.

Sleepily rubbing your eyes, you stumbled towards the door. “Just a minute!”

You were completely nude. That wouldn’t do to answer the door in. Panicked, you looked around the empty hotel room, considering the bed sheets for a moment. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a Praising the gods for the robe that had been hung on a hook by the door as you slipped your arms into it and hurriedly tied it round your waist. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the framed photo near the door; your hair was a wreck, makeup smeared, and there were the faintest whispers of new bruises along your collarbone and neck.

The doorway was empty, as was the hallway.

Except for the box at the floor.

Despite giving a complete stranger your virginity last night, you had more sense than to bend down and open a foreign box. Clutching the robe at your chest, you began gingerly prying open the edge of it with your foot, wiggling your big toe underneath the fine cardboard until the lid popped off.

Inside, carefully arranged and wrapped in delicate pink tissue paper, laid a dress; a dress that was terribly similar to your own, but considerably more expensive. Atop it, a package of fine silk nylons. And atop those, in exquisitely elegant penmanship, a handwritten note lay. It read:

Thank you for a splendid evening, my dear. My deepest apologies about your dress — please accept this as a replacement. As for the flowers, it only seemed fair, considering the circumstances.

xoxo James P. March

You picked the box up, again checking the hallway to see if the deliverer was there. Still, empty. With a sigh, you shut the door, leaning against it. As you leaned there, holding the box in your arms, the corner of it digging into the middle of your neck, you winced at a sudden pang of soreness.

Your eyes drifted to the clock on the nightstand. “Nearly noon!? Oh, RATS!”

You pushed yourself off the door and changed hurriedly, throwing the robe off your shoulders and onto the floor. Mother! Mother would be furious and nothing was more terrifying than her rage. You’d rather be chopped up and filleted than have to deal with Mother’s anger, even as an adult. You pulled the nylons up as far as they could go without clips, and snatched the mink stole off the bed.

You threw open the heavy door and turned to your left, hoping for the best. You began running as quickly as you could down the lengthy hallway, barefoot. The straps of your shoes were hooked around your middle finger. With no markers, and no indication of where you were going, anxiety climbed your throat. Somehow though, after winding back and forth and up and down for what felt like hours, you managed to find the lobby.

As you emerged from the hallway, it was considerably less busy than last night. Where the band had been, waiting chairs and tables had been placed, a courtesy for guests waiting to check in. The cleaning team of the Hotel Cortez was marvellous, you had to admit. As you ducked your hips away from the edge of a chair, you spotted him. James March was leaned against the bar, chatting gayly with the bartender. The bartender nodded, swiping a rag over the spot directly in front of him. A glass of bourbon sat in front of James, perspiring. Much like you were. So it hadn’t all been a dream. He looked the same as he had last night, no hint of a hangover or fatigue. Just… charming. You inhaled and headed for the door.

“A perfect fit!” He called out from the balcony, his glass raised in a cheers. A few guests turned, searching for the voice. You jumped. The man had a talent for startling you — you’d give him that. You turned, your brows upturned in the middle, asking silently for clarification.

“The dress!”

“Oh! Yes! It does…. Thank you! It’s beautiful, Mr. March!”

��How’s your neck!?” He asked, lowering his head slightly.

The question threw you off. “….fine, but I really must be going, Mr. March! Bye!”

“Come back to the Hotel Cortez any time, my darling! As my guest.”

James watched you hurry out the door, knowing that if you did come back for a second time… it would be the last time.

#James Patrick March #James Patrick March x you #James Patrick March x reader #ahs smut #ahs fanfiction #AHS Hotel #james march x reader #myfics

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marchsfreakshow · 3 months

Text

Bloodthirsty And Lustful [James Patrick March]

SMUT.

You're a stressed out writer, and came to the cortez, James has been helping you ever since you got here. Now, after a nap, he wants to ask you your deepest desires. Maybe even help you let go.

Warning; this is the most unhinged smut you will ever read from me. This just came out of a dark place in my brain cause of a c.ai chat lol. Thank you to @babygorewhore for being a beta-reader for this <3

Actual warnings!: you like blood. Like, you really like blood. (Reader is really unhinged in this, please bare with) descriptions of organs, bones, skin layers, grinding, switch!reader & switch!JPM, PnV, riding, James lets you take off his neck velvet. Crud smut writing.

18+! MINORS DNI- READ MY SFW WORKS

No one's perspective.

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

James peered through the door to see you sitting on the bed, laptop on your lap, head in hands, and a pair of headphones thrown randomly across the room. You looked a mess, and James was worried you hadn't slept enough. Your novel had to be perfect! You needed to spend every moment writing! Every word needed to be up to standard. It drove you crazy and led you to fall asleep right then and there. Everything came crashing down when your headphones broke while taking them off. Instead of freaking out and crying, you just let out a sigh and threw them across the room.

The man stood there, staring at you while you slept, intently watching every unconscious move your body took. He wondered how on earth that odd device in your lap could cause you such problems. Wasn't it meant to make writing easier? Maybe so, but didn't stop the frustrations of wanting to write the next great American novel. It just worried him, and he kneeled by your side. Seeing how you breathed, how you gently gripped the pillow and your eyebrows furrowed together in frustration. A dream or nightmare of something that has stressed you out.

"James." You whimpered in your sleep. It made the man jump back slightly before he walked to the other side of the bed, sitting by your side. Worries were overtaking your wonderous dream. James wanted nothing more than to kill who was hurting you in your beautiful mind.

The night went on, and you woke up slowly at whatever time. You couldn't tell, and you also didn't care. James was sitting on one of the chairs, occasionally looking over to you. The curtains were always closed, and the door barely stayed open. Lights were on, but dim. Sitting up, you rubbed your eyes, and the figure sitting in the chair was blurry. "Love, you're awake." He mentioned when he saw you sit up. You nodded in response. The ghost motioned you to come over, which you obliged despite not understanding much around you. Leather chairs were never comfortable. You were so comfortable in the bed, thinking about how to write, what to write and the deadline.

"What is it, James? I was so comfortable." Grogginess was the undertone in your voice, and you were unable to keep your eyes open. It felt like 2am or 3am. But what a ravishing man next to you. He sat up properly, posture still incredible even after death. Then you were curling up on the cold, leathery, old chair, hugging yourself.

"Dear...I want to talk to you."

"We can do that in the morning."

"No." His voice almost snapped and was rushed. "No...we're alone at this hour." Typical. The night was his favourite time to talk. Sure some people were still awake, but he knew how silent it was at 3am.

"Fine." You groaned slightly. "What did you want to talk abou-"

"Your desires. Your true wants, and needs." Sudden eye contact intimidated you and your sleepy eyes. Cue fiddling with your necklace, your own blood vial. The small amount of liquid rushed around in the vial, caused by your own finger. You never had anyone to do it with you.

You never said it creepily! All you asked your friends was if they wanted to share a blood vial because it was pretty. No one accepted. So you cut your finger. Your pinky on your non-dominant hand. It hurt, but only for a second. Seeing the blood slowly drip out, and the skin layers opening up so quick, it was invigorating for you. Opened up a deep fantasy, and morbid desire. One no one was ever told about. It was a secret to you, and maybe your stuffed animals. Was it that James was asking you to explore those fantasies with him? Impossible unless he could read minds. A secret fantasy like this always hid itself in the back of your mind, never to be found.

James noticed your darting eyes, your fiddling and laboured breaths. "Darling.." He trailed off, feeling your free hand softly, almost too soft. You felt the ghost-like touches (ha-) and your bloodshot eyes met his.

"James, you're..a murderer."

"...Well, yes. I have indeed told you that fact before. In fact, you were not as shocked as others. Humans are fascinating creatures." He chuckled, seeing the humour in your sentence.

Ah, a sentence that put you on edge. They are. Humans, with their layers, complexity. Humans with their need to have attention on them at all times, to create for others. All of it, it was all in your obsession. "Tell me about your interest my hummingbird. Nothing can be too much for me."

"Can I? Can I really?" You asked with a whisper, a slight glint appearing in your eyes. James nodded, and you immediately let loose. A dam breaking in half to bring in a flood. "Human bodies are so, fascinating." Your instant smile was almost manic like you lost your mind when your interest was mentioned.

"Medical shows seldom get it right. Scrubs does. They do it well."

"Have you, ever seen a body in real life? Not on these shows you mention?" James interjected. He wanted to ask you for details of your sick and morbid love for the dead. To see if his erection would get any harder. The thought of seeing you killing or exploring a body, covered in blood made James want to fall harder for you. Your crazy matched his crazy. Maybe more.

"No. It's...a dream though. Whether someone else cut open the body, or I cut them open...I've always wanted to dig around and feel what the organs feel like, hold a bloody bone in my hand..." You then go to bite my nails nonchalantly like you didn't just confirm your want for a morbid and murdering mind. He stared at you, something in his eyes. A sudden need to murder, and a flame of lust for you. Knowing someone shared his deep desires and could help each other, it made him want you more, But hid it with a breath.

"It's so fucking deranged! but the body is so complex. I want to study the tiny nerves and pick out the bones or organs I'm closest to. Having a fully empty body. Maybe even just having a skin and muscle body. It's just so, interesting." A sly smile reached you and almost made you giggle like a maniac. This sudden insanity made James light up.

"Come here." He beckoned you, and you submissively stood in front of him. But not 3 seconds later did he pull you down onto his lap, holding your waist. Gripping your skin, and nails digging into your sides. One more word from you about your loves, and he would have taken you right then and there. "You are, full of surprises my love."

Feeling him under you, you bit your lip and rested your head by his ear. "I bet your ghostly body is the most interesting. I wonder if there's anything different about a ghost body compared to an alive body." You gave in to what he wanted. He wanted to know everything. Every gory detail that your horrid brain could conjure up. Adding to your warm breaths on his neck, you gently traced around his chest, fiddling with his buttons, but never undoing them. Teasing James to hell and back.

James' breathing hitched slightly, before he took a hold of your face, and brought you close, noses almost touching. "Tell me. What else do you want to explore? Please."

You gazed at his lips before meeting his dark eyes once again, "Everything. I want to explode a heart. Maybe even open up organs, and see what makes a human tick. Take out the muscles, and bend them backwards. And, I want to knock open a skull. See what makes a human live. Unravel the brains, read what goes on." While talking, you occasionally moved your fingers to where you were talking, letting your fingers trace James' head and slicked back hair.

He shuddered as you moved around. Both his imagination and yours going crazy. You felt him twitch under you, and it was only a matter of time until he gave in to his lust. This urged you to carry on talking, to dig deeper into the fantasy that you forbade yourself from thinking about. "James?"

He whined out a "hm?" Eyes closed, and hands gripping onto the chair arms.

"give me a fresh body."

"wh.. what?" He spluttered before moving his hands around your torso. The way your soft skin moved in his hands, mouldable like putty.

"cover me in someone's blood. And let me taste the sweet iron on my tongue." The way you spoke felt sensual, and you ran your hands through his hair, the slicked-back threads being thrown in any and all directions.

It simply drove the man insane.

"Your wish is always my command my sweet bird." He was hungry. He wanted to devour your words while they were being choked out of you. He wanted to hear your cries for murder while he fucked you like nothing else mattered. "What, other things do you wish to see? How much depraved insanity can one handle?" James picked you up and almost threw you onto the bed.

First your shirt went, then your trousers. His clothing came next. "I have such an urge to kill. I want to see the way a human body dies." You sighed. His vest went in one direction, your bra went the other way. "How fire burns the skins and the muscles. I want to see a fresh slash open up the layers of skin. I want it all James."

The cold man on top of you hadn't even penetrated you, yet he felt like he was close to an orgasm. Hearing your insane wants and needs so close to his own. Using your depraved thoughts as a way to get him to fuck you was nothing but insanity. Craziness you could only tell him.

"I want to kill someone whilst you're inside of me. Is that crazy to want?" You confessed in a whisper, on your knees and undoing James' belt.

"Nothing is crazy my hummingbird. I'll happily oblige." He took your chin in his hand, doe eyes meeting his. The pure, slightly innocent look on your face made him closer and closer to bending you over and making you feel heaven. You reached your hand up to his velvet, but he hissed slightly and backed away. "Bunny..." He panted.

"I know it's sensitive, but can I see..it sir?" You asked, pressing kisses closer and closer to the wound that haunted James so. He felt frozen. You wanted to see something so, forbidden. Something he never let anyone see. Something that held a memory.

He took a deep breath before pushing his control back onto you. "My... you want something so...forbidden.." and you nodded intensely. He was only left in his velvet and boxers. Something had to go first, it had to be that dear fabric he wore so closely.

"I won't touch it, I promise. I just, fuck, I want to see neck layers, I want to see what nerves you had to cut for this to happen to you." You knew it was an odd choice, but he nodded after a few minutes of silence. He stiffened up as you reached behind his neck and pulled it off slowly. The man couldn't find words to describe the way he felt. Having someone be so, interested and obsessed with the way he died, almost wanting to have sex with him because of the fantasies they denied.

Your deep breaths felt warm against the cold cut, and you spoke before James had a chance to tell you to stop. "Oh, James. Oh, this cut is magnificent. So many layers..how much blood spilt out..?"

The question threw James off a bit, but nonetheless, he was happy to answer, getting closer to fucking you at every point. "More than you could imagine." He left his fingertips resting under your chin.

The words that left his lips almost tipped you over the edge, and you forced James to lie down on the bed. You were, once again, on top of him. This time, tugging at his boxers, and moving your own underwear to the side. Everything hit you like a freight train and you couldn't hold back anymore. Degenerate, depraved, blood fuelled sex. It was what you needed. To be filled by a killer you wanted to kill with.

Two pairs of hands unable to sort and fix themselves in one place, they had to move, they had to grip, scratch and trace. Two pairs of eyes focusing on eachother, unable to look away from the bloodlust you felt for the other.

It was rough, fast and hard. He moaned out for you louder than he had ever been before. You whimpered his name, desperate for a quick release. There were no other noises other than your lewd moans, until you stopped all of a sudden.

"Darling.." James whined slightly. Eyes slightly erratic, you held his face in your soft hands.

"I need you James. I need you eternally. To see you covered in the deep red of blood." The utmost eroticness of your words almost earned you a 'fuck' escaping from your partner below you.

Almost.

Instead he groaned, slapped his hands to your waist and thrusted upwards over and over. It was careless, but hard. Every thrust hit that perfect spot inside you, letting your eyes nearly disappear up into your head. Moans were practically screams.

The thought of seeing you covered in blood, waiting for him to take you made the man desperate. Everything everyone else couldn't be. He was getting close and even more desperate for both you to come at the same time. It drove you over the edge as you finished faster than expected, and you sort of wrapped your hands around James' neck, then laid down the best you could while he was still inside you. He chuckled darkly and thrust inside of you once more, earning an almost pornagraphic moan from you.

Feeling paralyzed, you adjusted yourself so you were simply just laying ontop of James. Silence was the best sound at that moment, and he kept his hands placed on your waist. "Mine." He smiled against the crook of your neck.

"Especially because of my deranged, bloody thoughts?"

"Especially because of these beautiful thoughts you have."

You supposed James was your murdering partner now, and would help you fulfill the fantasies you desired for. A gentleman, yet a physcopath who used the bodies of those he killed. Everything about him shouldn't be so, handsome and you shouldn't want him the way you do. But a murdering gentleman is someone you couldn't refuse.

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Tagging;

@fear-is-truth @nahoyasboyfriend @slvt4jamesmarch @taintandviolent @tatelangdonsweater @lvxybby

#ahs #evan peters #american horror story #james patrick march #james march #ahs hotel #smut #jpm #james march x reader #james Patrick march x Reader #james x you #jpm x reader #x reader #jpm smut #james Patrick March smut #evan peters smut #evan peters x reader #im so nervous #pls reblog

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