#jamesmarchxreader

You ordered yet another drink from Liz, unknowingly impressing Mr. March with your alcohol tolerance. Grumbling under your breath at the sight of Donovan kissing the Countess yet again, your heart sunk deeper and deeper into your stomach. It was stupid to fuss over a taken man, but besides Liz, he'd been the only openly nice one to you.

James knew it was not only dumb but also dangerous to -stalk- admire a human woman such as yourself. Yet, he couldn't help it. Without revealing his form, James'd followed you everywhere and admiring every single thing you did. You were better than any drug he could've ever gotten, and seeing you watch the Countesses lover boy made him rage his jealousy. Every time your beautiful, sparkling eyes flicked to the immortal amateur, James had to stop himself from committing yet another murder.

"Why so glum, darling?" The thick accent of a handsome stranger washed over you as he sat next to you.

Slamming back the rest of your drink, you shamelessly looked the man up and down as you twirl your straw in between your perfectly painted nails, "I can't ever seem to find the right guy. They always end up kissing someone else."

James seethed with anger despite being impressed by your forwardness. Why wasn't he your type? He'd been watching you for weeks! He could tell you anything you asked! He could tell you about your favorite snack combination, or the way you always put your right sock on first, or the way your upper lip would twitch while you focused on work. It was true, this was the first time you were seeing him, so you could just barely be deciding if he was your type, but still, why didn't you want to kiss him?

"You can kiss me."

You laugh at James, your smile doing just enough to convince the man to not kill you for laughing at him.

"I wasn't joking," James speaks darkly, why don't you want to kiss him?

"Oh," Your smile slowly fades, as you notice that James was being dead serious, "Well, I never kiss a man without knowing his name first."

Of course, James already knew that. How could he not know that with how much he'd been watching you. He smiles dashingly, "The names March, James March."

"Well, Mr. March, it's a pleasure to meet you," You extend out your hand, "I'm (Y/n) (Y/l/n)."

Instead of shaking your hand, James brings it to his lips to press a gentle kiss to your fingers, "Tell me, darling. Am I the right guy? Cause I certainly won't kiss anyone else."

Your cheeks flare red, making James' smile widened. Your cheeks flare up the same way late at night when your hands sneak below the covers too-- "One kiss never hurt anyone, has it?"

James chuckles lightly, "No, it hasn't."

You both lean in, slightly too urgent for the kiss. Perhaps it's the lack of attention you've been receiving and James' excessive attention he's been dying to give from the shadows. Your lips lock in perfect sync, pulling soft whimpers from your perfect lips.

James pulls you onto his lap as his hands tangle in your hair. Your surroundings slowly fade as the only thing you can focus on is James. His lips on yours, his one hand in your hair and the other roaming your body. You're not sure where this man came from and how you didn't notice him before, but you're beyond glad he joined you at the bar. Something about his name rings a warning bell in the far back of your mind, but the taste of him in your mouth throws all caution to the wind.

If only you knew that you were kissing one of the most dangerous serial killers in the world. That James Patrick March was dead serious in more than one way.