V in her realm

Mr. March leaned over the small wooden table, scanning your all too familiar face yet unable to remember where he had seen you prior to this.

You quirk a brow at the man, thinking this was probably some kind of ruse to distract you since he had yet to win a single game.

No way he actually forgot...right?

James just kept staring at you quietly, his forehead wrinkling in deep concentration while the other half of his face remains hidden behind the numerous cards in his hands.

Damn, seems like you really left no impression at all.

"Nope" you answer flatly, "Someone else was faster. You were there when it happened, though."

That didn't seem to help, judging from his reaction. His cheeks puff up in a strained exhale, rummaging through a century worth of victims in his brain.

"Ah, yes..." He adds another card to his hand, musing. "That imbecile had no class in his methods. A shame, really."

James remembers his frustration when your life was drained from you before he could interfere. You were such a promising specimen too...

...at least the symphony of your perpetrator's agonized screams did not disappoint.

As if you could read his mind you let out a cogitous hum, some hint of amusement in your voice despite the grim topic. "Well, it was certainly an odd comfort to see what you did to him afterwards."

James' eyes narrow in confusion, a little taken aback by your misplaced gratitude. "You do understand that I intended to do the same, if not worse to you, right?"

You shrug. "Of course I know."

"So you're either foolish or insane" he comments your naiveté, defeatedly throwing his useless cards away in mild frustration. "Which one is it?"

"Probably both" you chuckle, contently leaning back in your chair. "But nothing really matters anymore, does it? We're dead."

"Indeed..." James taps the card deck onto the tabletop before mixing them once again. "I suppose you didnt come here to pass time in this limbo, then...but to thank me?

"That too, yeah" you fan yourself with the cards, trying to keep the abashed heat from spreading through your body. "I mean you're hardly a challenge, and a sore loser at that."

After Queenie was resurrected by otherworldly forces, you offered to take her place so awfully fast, it was like you had just been waiting for this opportunity. And James accepted right away, because there wasn't anything better to do anyways - and in all honesty, there was no one else willingly spending time with him.

And much to his surprise your company had been a pleasant experience so far. You even went out of your way calling him 'Sir'. It's been decades since he was adressed with the due respect he thought he deserved, and it didn't fail to make his chest swell with pride...

...not to mention a pretty face like yours was certainly a nice view to enjoy while playing.

Over the course of thousands of games though, your initial reservations slowly dissolved rather upfront conversations and occasional banter, you might even dare calling it friendship.

"Well then" he declares, a devious smirk bending his moustache. "For all it's worth I am very lucky that you have been killed on my premises, darling."

James tosses you the cards for the next round, reaching to cup your hand with his when you attempt to pick them up. He stands up, rounding the table to stand behind you, invading your personal space. You feel his face just inches from yours, his breath prickling against your ear raising goosebumps on your skin.

Leon knew you were a bit of a special case from the moment he met you. Where people would usually be shy, nervous, not confident enough to approach someone, you were... quite the opposite. You approached with a fire in your eyes and a buzz rushing through you and into him, and you weren't even drinking. The moment you approached him at that club, he knew you'd be a problem. And a problem you were. A good one. A problem he was lucky to have.

Until it came to things like intimacy. You'd managed to score a few dates, and eventually, you two ended up dating. The only problem? Once it was official, you became a little insistent on intimacy. Not forcing, but definitely making moves more often. Leon wanted to, he really did, but given the talks you'd had in the past about your lack of experience and how you didn't know what you could and couldn't take because you had never even felt the need for a sex toy on your own, Leon worried that it'd stunt your intimate moments as a couple.

Eventually, of course, Leon gave in, but only to an extent. He'd eaten you out, finger fucked you like his life depended on it, fucked your thighs, and yet, he refused to let you even suck him off, let alone take him into your impossibly achey and needy pussy. He always told you he was too big. He worried it'd hurt you, whether it was your mouth or your pussy. You knew he was big, and you still insisted.

You crawled into bed with him, just like normal, snuggling into his side as he read the book you'd recently recommended to him. He tugged you closer, leaning down to kiss your temple as he closed the book, seemingly ready for bed. It was approaching 9 o'clock, and he had an early meeting, you knew. The early meeting didn't stop you from snuggling up closer until you shuffled into his lap, straddling his hips and looking down at him with a grin. His hands rested at your hips.

"Really? We're doing this again?" He mused, low and laced with exhaustion.

"For real this time, because I'm tired of you giving me excuses." You huffed, hips already beginning to move in slow, easy motions back and forth.

"They're not excuses, they're honesty and protection. You think I haven't wanted so badly to bend you over and take you? Of course I have." He scoffed, hands soothing up your sides as he exhaled slowly.

"So why haven't you?"

"Because I'm too big for you. We'd need to take a lot of time to get you ready. You can barely take three of my fingers before you tell me it's too much." He explained simply, like it was a choice between what deal to go for in a grocery store.

"So what? The shapes are entirely different! How do we even know if I could take it if we don't try?" You frowned, hips wriggling incessantly.

"No, honey. I'm not gonna let your confidence get the better of you." He moved to lift you off his lap, but you grabbed his hands and pinned them beside his head. He raised a brow at you.

"Just the tip. That's all I wanna try." You insisted.

"You know, you holding me down has no change on my answer. It's sexy, but no." He laid his head back and hummed idly.

"Leeooon!" You pouted, hips grinding harder. You could feel his cock stiffening in his sweats. "Please, Lee, just the tip, and if it doesn't fit first try, we can stop."

"Usually, the guy begs for 'just the tip'," he chuckled. "Poor thing, I've really ruined you, haven't I?" He clicked his tongue, feigning guilt.

"Not yet 'cause you won't fuck me right." You grumbled.

"Oh, is that so? I don't fuck you right? Then how come I've got you cumming on my fingers and my mouth and my fucking thighs every other night? Huh? Care to explain that, if I don't fuck you right?" He took his hands from your grasp, one hand grabbing your chin and making you whine, brows furrowing.

"You won't fuck me the right way 'cause you think I can't take it."

"I really don't think you can." He agreed.

"Please, baby!" You shifted, only for him to stop you. "Please, I promise, if it doesn't work, I won't ask again, not until you can prep me right."

"You," he exhaled, grabbing you by the waist, sitting up. "Are such a fucking brat." He cursed, rolling over so that you were flat on your back with his body pinning you down.

You looked up at him, biting at your lower lip. He watched you for a moment, squinting. "Please?" You barely whispered.

"Fine. But don't think you're not gonna get something in return for your behavior. I'm only stalling because I don't have time to fuck around."

"But you have time to fuck me? Good, I wasn't sure I'd be able to wait much longer." You grinned, giggling like a kid who'd just been told they won a million dollars.

"Fuckin' brat." He chuckled, leaning in for a kiss. You met eagerly, lips pressing into his while your arms came to wrap around his neck. Despite his rough words, his hand came to tenderly cup your cheek, deepening the kiss. His other hand worked its way downward to the hem of your night gown, pushing it upward to expose what he expected would be a lace pair of panties—tonight it was bare in two different ways. How did he not feel that through his sweats? Jesus, you knew he'd give in.

He didn't bother trailing his hands up and down, teasing, instead going straight in to press his hand against your mound. You shivered slightly, mouth falling agape at the feeling of his cold fingers pressing between your folds. Of course, he didn't take any time to prep you with his fingers, just simply using two fingers to spread your arousal and massage your clit to accumulate more to act as lube. He knew it probably wouldn't work too well at first, but it'd have to do.

Your hands reached down, pushing lazily at the waistband of his sweats. "It's unfair." You pouted.

"Unfair? Honey, you came to me like this. You came to me all shaven, no panties, not even shorts." He took your complaint, shifting to push down his pants and boxers, letting his cock spring free. He shimmied out of the clothes and kicked them aside before settling his cock against your lower belly, letting you see the size properly. You swallowed, biting your lip as you looked up at him. He had a cocky look, like he expected you to change your mind.

"What? I didn't say stop. Keep going." You huffed, but Leon could hear the faint waiver of your voice as you spread your legs wider.

"God, you really are a needy little brat." He pulled his hips back, sliding his cock between your folds to gather some of your wetness along his length, focusing on coating his tip thoroughly. "You can still back out." He looked back up at you as he lined up with your entrance, using two fingers to carefully hold your folds open for him.

"No. Now hurry up and put your dick in me before I fall asleep." You huffed up at him, hips wriggling eagerly.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

With that, he made the first move, careful as he pushed in, his tip nudging into you. His tip didn't even get inside before you gave a whimper, thighs shaking unexpectedly as your pussy twitched against his tip. He looked down at you, brow raised.

"Shut up. Try again." You demanded, teeth gritted slightly.

Despite that not being the original arrangement, he tried again, hissing as he nearly notched the tip inside, only for your hips to twitch away, overwhelmed at the way his tip tried to intrude so suddenly.

"What did I tell you?" He deadpanned down at you. "Come on, honey, let's just do it the normal way."

"Noo! No, this is the normal way!" You insisted. "'S not my fucking fault you've got a fucking monster cock."

"Mmh, you flatter me, sweetheart." He chuckled, leaning in to shut you up with a kiss. You expected him to pull away and call it a night, but his hand crept down again, thumb pressing to your clit and getting your walls to ease up ever so slightly, a soft mewl leaving you. With you melting into the pleasure, he took a selfish opportunity to push again. You gasped, a choked sound leaving you as his tip notched inside of you finally. You gave a stifled cry, hands flying to claw at his shoulders as your eyes squeezed shut.

"Fuck—okay, I-i don't know if I can do it anymore." You admitted, huffing with uneven breaths as you looked down where you two met. It really was just the tip, and you were already backing out.

"Oh, no," he pulled back, faux pity on his face. "Poor thing, you bit off too much, and now you can't chew? What a shocker." He watched you shiver and twitch, breath shaky as his tip stayed barely notched inside your impossibly tight, unadjusted cunt. "You told me I didn't fuck you right, so now I'm gonna show you just how well I can fuck."

"'M sorry, I thought I—"

"You thought you could take it? Yeah. And you didn't listen to my warning? Of course not. You never listen." You felt him push forward again, and another squeak left your lips, followed by a gasp. He didn't even push in another inch and you were pushing at his hips to get him to pull out.

"Fuck! I'm—haah—I'm sorry!" You looked up at him, brows furrowing.

"Admit it." He demanded, cock pushing its way in ever so slightly, but the burn was far from slight. You choked on something akin to a cry, and he swatted your thigh. "Admit that you've been nothing but a bratty little bitch and now you're whiney because you can't fucking take it."

Tears brimmed your lash line, lower lip falling and letting a small whine fall from your throat. "I-i can't take it, and I.." you paused with a gasp, walls squeezing around the first inch and a half of his length. Your head fell back, nails dragging down his front as your thighs trembled. "Fuck!"

"It's too late. If I stop now, all your progress will be lost. You don't want that, do you, honey?" He teased. You shook your head desperately. The stretch burned, his cock insistent as he felt you twitching and trying desperately to make room for him inside of you.

"Please," you whispered, eyes fluttering closed.

"Please, what?" He prodded for more from you. "I can't do what you want if you don't tell me. You were so eager earlier, now you can't talk? Typical." He scoffed.

"Please, just fuck me already!" You cried, breath hitching as his hips nudged back and pushed forward, allowing another inch to fit. He went through that cycle for a while—pulling back, pushing deeper, every push forcing a gasp or a stifled moan from you—until he was fully sheathed inside of you, your pussy impossibly stretched past every limit you didn't know about. His cockhead was snug against your cervix, barely fitting him all the way in. It was a good thing Leon knew how to properly get you going, or he'd be struggling to fit more than he already was.

By the time he was snug, fully pushed inside of you, your head had fallen limp, eyes closed, lips open with heavy breaths falling. He found it amusing, given he hadn't even tried to fuck you yet, and you were already beyond spent and shaky. He chuckled, watching you finally lift your head to look down where your bodies met.

"Holy fuck." You breathed. You could see a small bulge in your lower belly where he had somehow miraculously managed to fit inside of you, now bulging with his massive he was. Not only that, but you had never felt this full. Even when he was using his fingers to fuck you and you complained that his fingers were too thick and you felt 'sooo full'.

"You happy now? Now that you've got a proper cock inside of you?" He taunted quietly, bringing a hand to grasp your chin and tilt your head back and forth, he fingers lightly squishing your cheeks together.

"Uh-huh." You tried to nod in his grasp, dazed and, although embarrassingly, cock-drunk without even being properly fucked. He wasn't even grinding his hips, making no attempt to move, and he relished in the way your body responded to him. He thought it was the best thing ever when you'd cry and squirm, and this made things a whole lot better. He leaned back slightly, taking in the sight of you stretched out around his cock.

He dropped one hand, thumb finding your clit. You twitched, whining slightly as your walls clamped down around him. "What, you're already that fucking close? You're getting all twitchy and whiney so soon." He purred, hips pulling backward slowly, cock dragging out of you until his tip was all that was left. You looked down and watched, brows furrowed with need.

It burned with both pain and pleasure as he pushed back in faster than before. You moaned louder this time, back arching as your hands flew to grab his shoulders for support. Your eyes squeezed shut, mouth agape as he fucked his cock into you at a pace that overwhelmed your senses. Pain burned away and morphed into a new kind of pleasure that you didn't know you could achieve.

He angled his hips lower, his leaky cockhead pushing up against your g-spot as he thrusted into you, his thumb still focused on your clit. He meant it as a tease originally, but with how twitchy and shaky you'd become in just a minute or two of slow, rough, deep thrusts, he could feel that you were already close. His tease ended up being right. He growled slightly at the thought, brows knitted and nose scrunched in a focused manner as he looked down where your bodies met. You became oversensitive quick, your orgasm building. You tried to reach down to get his hand to slow down its abuse against your puffy clit, but he simply pushed your hand away and swatted at the throbbing bundle of nerves.

You cried out, hips bucking. "Lee—oh, fuck, please!" Your body locked for a moment, eyes rolling back as you bit your lip and fell into stifled whimpers and sobs, your orgasm quiet but intense, rippling through your body so fast you didn't even warn him. He fucked you through it, hips speeding up as your cunt clenched around him. Once your vision cleared, you looked up at him, dazed and mushy.

"And you think I cum too fast?" He chuckled. "Look at you—damn near squirting on my cock just because it's so, so big, and your poor little pussy can't take it." He purred deeply and reached with his other hand to your face, holding your head still by your chin so you couldn't look away as he pumped his cock back and forth, fucking you into overstimulation without even offering a breather. "I wonder—" He paused with a grunt, examining your face with a devilish look you didn't recognize. "You think I could make you squirt just from using my cock?"

Your cheeks flushed, eyes widening with tears that had spilled already. "Wait, n-no, no, 's too much, Lee!" You gasped, hands pushing at his lower torso, another sob ripping from your throat. "No—ooh!"

"C'mon, pretty girl, didn't you say I couldn't fuck you right? Isn't that what you wanted? To be fucked dumb on a fat cock?" He let go of your chin and brought a hand down just a little to wrap around your throat. You squeaked, pussy fluttering around him at the threat of him constricting your airway. He didn't, though. You got more than enough excitement from just the threat alone.

You couldn't be bothered with answering him. You simply laid there and took it—relishing in the sensitivity and the way he was absolutely ruining your pussy. Leon knew he was ruining you for anyone else, and that alone drove him crazy. He could feel his own orgasm building, cock twitching and balls drawing tight to his body. He denied himself the release, persisting in order to make sure he proved just how good he could make you feel.

He had a point to prove. His thumb resumed the previous ministrations on your clit, two fingers rapidly strumming with a firm pressure. You twitched, gasping as your eyes rolled back and fluttered. Your hands grabbed tightly at his forearm of the hand that was around your neck, looking up at him with an abrupt sob leaving your lips.

"Lee, please," you choked out, brows furrowing as you quivered beneath him, abdomen clenching as your body built up to the peak of the coil in your belly.

"Go on, take it. Take what you asked for and I'll make sure you're satisfied for fucking weeks." He slammed his hips harder, the skin slapping lewdly with the added sounds of your arousal coating his balls as they smacked against your ass. You tried to stifle it, but a scream of pleasure ripped from you as he subconsciously tightened his hand around your throat. Still not constricting, but it was enough to make you dizzy.

"Leon! Fuuuuck, fuckfuckfuck—'m cumming!" You sobbed, legs jolting outward as your hips tried to pull away, your orgasm rushing through you like never before. What you didn't process yet was the stream of clear liquid spurting from your sopping cunt, making an absolute mess out of his lower abdomen, your own abdomen, and the sheets below. He fucked you through it, both hands finally coming to grab your hips and properly use you like some kind of cock sleeve as he chased his high. Tears stained your cheeks, your moans becoming higher and longer as you squirmed and tried to run away from the pleasure.

"Stop fucking moving." He dug his nails into your hips. His demand was quickly followed by a growl, hips slamming and his thrusts becoming uneven as his balls twitched and his cock pulsed, his heavy load finally spilling into you. He had you so full that his cum seeped out around him as he bottomed out and let your pussy twitch and pulse, milking him of every last drop. Both of you were shaking. He stayed buried inside of you as he leaned down and mouthed as your neck. He lazily ground his hips, and you cried quietly, thighs squeezing around his hips.

"Lee," you sniffled, shaky hands searching desperately for his.

"Shh," he soothed, slowly pulling out of you as he grabbed your hands. You felt so empty, but so unbelievably satisfied. "Breathe, honey. I've got you." He mused softly, kissing along your collarbone until he found his way up to look at your face and assess the final product.

You were a mess. Tears down your cheeks, drool spilling down the right side of your face, hair messy and sticking to the sides of your face, lips kiss swollen and still wet. If he didn't know better, he'd try to start up round three, but given your sniffles and the way you shook your head, he didn't even try. He got more than what he thought.

He took his hands away only for a moment so he could brush your hair out of your face and gently wipe the tears and drool from your cheeks. When he sat back and guided you to follow into his lap, you curled into his hold, his arms wrapping around you delicately.

"You took me so well." He whispered, kissing the side of your head. "I know I got a little mean," he sighed, prepared to apologize for not listening to your cries.

"Can we do that more?" You asked, looking up at him as you shifted shakily in his lap. "The.. the whole.."

"Baby, we just did a lot." He chuckled. "But we'll talk more tomorrow." He scooted away from the mess and hoisted you into his hold, standing from the bed. "How about a shower?"

You nodded, falling into his hold as you closed your eyes. He really fucked the energy out of you. "Told you I could handle it. Might not be very experienced, but I can take what's given to me." You mumbled quietly.

Clearly, he didn't fuck the attitude out of your system yet.

"Brat." He lazily swatted your butt, only to lean in and kiss your nose with the utmost care.

"You like it."

"Only when it results in you shutting your mouth."

"Jerk."

He chuckled, setting you on the bathroom sink counter to start the shower.

usually he's the one to pull away, reminding you of his age, but right now? it seems like he can devour your lips for hours.

not a bad thing, a welcome change, really... but you do need to breathe, too...

regrettably, your palms slide up his chest, feeling a pleased sound from him as his hold on the back of your neck tightenes and he deepens the kiss.

your eyes can barely stay open, feeling even more light-headed than before, fingers scrunching up his shirt as you try to push him away.

"lee—" you try to tell him as his kisses are still relentless, "can't—leon- mhh, wait... need'ta—hnn—breathe...!"

he backs up—a string of saliva still connecting the two of you—as the both of you puff out hot air, trying to catch your breaths.

"sorry, sweetheart," he murmurs as his hand slides up from the back of your neck to cup your face, tucking a hair behind your ear with his thumb—his other hand sliding back up to your waist as his breathing starting to even out, "got a little carried away there."

you swallow, seeing the look in his eyes—he looks like he wants to eat you up and knows that you know he wants to.

"don't worry about it," you whisper—throat dry—as you peer up into him through your lashes.

he leans down to press another kiss onto your lips.

then another.

and another.

and again, with his kisses now trailing down the slope of your neck. you sigh and tilt your head up for more access as he sucks on a healing bruise he made before he left for his mission, hands roaming around your torso.

then he stops.

and when you look down, you find that he's already staring back at you.

"you wanna try something out with me?"

and that's how you end up in the bedroom, your lover lying down as you're straddling his face, his arms around your thighs.

"are you sure, lee? i might suffocate you..." you ask, nervously brushing his bangs back to reveal his forehead. you've... never sat on leon's face before, scared that he might pass out.

instead, you feel a his breath on your cunt as he scoffs and rolls his eyes.

"forget breathing, if you don't sit on my face and let me eat you out i might actually die."

and with that, leon pulls down your weight with no abandon and starts eating you out. his tongue circles around your folds, easing you into it as your clit bumps into his nose.

your hand grabs onto the bedframe as the other threads through his hair and he groans, feeling the vibration of his voice where you need it most.

"lee—! oh my god..." you whimper out as you buck into his face, the bundle of nerves being nudged by the tip of his nose.

leon pulls you closer by your thighs as he swirls his tongue around your hole and finally—slowly—slides it in.

the feeling of his warm muscle in you makes you bite your lip—eyes closed and head thrown back—unsuccessfully keeping your from making a sound as you pull on his hair.

"fuck.. leon, faster, please," you whisper out the last part and he makes a sound against you, but complied all the same.

his tongue works faster—going in and out and in and out of your leaking cunt. your whines getting pitchier and higher as he goes faster—his hands rocking you towards his face through the hold he has on your thighs.

your eyes roll back when he buries his tongue deeper—your clit rubbing against his nose harder.

soon enough, he doesn't even have to rock you back and forth anymore, your hips working all on their own to ride his face and you gasp as his tongue curls inside you— dragging itself through your ridges—the coil in your stomach tightening everytime you feel his skin on your nub.

"leon, 'm cumming," you gasp, eyes barely open when you tilt your head to see him—only to almost cum at the sight.

his eyes are half lidded, looking fucked out as if he were the one getting head right now. you make something between a moan and a whimper as you read the look on his face—as if he's egging you on, telling you "go on, sweetheart, ride my face, i wanna feel you cum all over my face."

your hips move faster and his tongue works deeper and you swear you see stars when he tilts his head up in rhythm, stimulating your clit as he does so.

"lee—fuck, leooh- oh god, oh my go—cummi-i'm cumming—oh!"

your back bows and he has to use your thighs to pull you back to his mouth when you lift up—cumming embarrassingly loud as you look into his eyes, like he's challenging you to try and pry yourself off of him.

his hands snake up to your bare waist as he continues to rock you back and forth, helping your ride out your orgasm.

as the waves of your high ebb out, huffing and trying to catch your breath as you come down from it, you brush strands of leon's hair away from his forehead.

you whimper from overstimulation when he curls his tongue in you like he's trying to get every last drop of your slick, before pulling it out and circling your clit lazily.

"e-enough, lee, i need to—" you take a breath, "need to breathe..."

he gives your clit a kiss as he lets you go, your sides feeling sore—you're sure that his fingerprints will leave a mark on your skin the next morning—as you dismount from his face and fall right beside him, his chest rising up and down as he's now the one to catch his breath.

it takes him a few moments, but eventually he sits up and gazes at you. leon's face is shiny with your cum and yet he just looks like he won the lottery.

but despite the mind-blowing orgasm you just had fron riding his face, you wonder where the hell did he get this stamina from, because it definitely wasn't like this before he left for his mission.

"you're thinking too loud," he tells you, leans down, and gives you a kiss, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

he runs his hand up and down your side, trying to massage you knowing his grip had been a bit tighter than he wanted.

"was jus' thinking of your face," you say instead.

"oh yeah?"

you nod, giving him another peck on the lips, "i was gonna say you look like the cat that got the cream, but i think it was a little too on the nose."

leon smirks, "you like riding this nose," he says as he skims said nose on your cheek before giving it a kiss.

"oh, shut it!"

he laughs and tucks his face under the crook of your neck, placing a few kisses there. the stubble on his chin tickles you and it makes you giggle.

"lee! it tickles!"

that makes him laugh, too, letting you feel the rumble of his chest as he does so.

"y'think you can be up for round two?"

girl you are so fucked—in the literal sense—with this newfound stamina of his.

💭 lotus thoughts: girl i need this man so bad.

@ LOTUSLOVES EST 2026. do not steal, plagiarize, modify, repost, translate, commercialize, or use/feed my work for AI. sleep with one eye open if you do these things 💕.

● Like I said, he'd talk you through it. He loves talking to you through intimacy, and he doesn't even need you to reply.

​"Tell me what you need. Speak up, let me hear it."

​"Look at me. You're doing perfect."

​"Yeah? You like that? Thought you said you weren't going to let me win that easily."

​"Can't even find your words right now, hm? That's a first for you."

● He doesn't let you cover your face or hide in general. He'd say something like, "Don't hide from me now. I want to see exactly how you look when I touch you like this"

● He gets into this weird habit of treating your body parts like separate entities. If he’s trying to move your legs, he won't look at your face. He’ll tap your knee gently, and murmur a very dry, barely audible, "'scuse me..." as if he's politely asking a stranger on a crowded sidewalk to step aside.

● When you're in control, again, he doesn't shut up. He wants you to know that he completely trusts you to hold all the weight for a while.

​"You look absolutely incredible looking down at me like that..."

​"You have no idea what you do to me."

​"Guide my hands... where do you want them?"

● If you were into degradation, he'd be willing to try it with you. He usually doesn't force his words. They just come out naturally, which makes them 10× more effective. But, I don't think he'd be into anything extremely mocking or degrading. Just a very average amount, I feel like.

"Look at how worked up you get just from me looking at you. You really are pathetic for me, sweetheart."

"Look at you, barely able to keep your eyes open and chasing after my hand like a needy little thing. You really can't help yourself, can you?"

● He constantly narrates exactly how you're reacting to him. He isn't guessing how you feel, he's actively reading your body language like a map and reflecting it back to you.

"Oh, so now you're being shy? Pretty sure it's a bit late for that, sweetheart."

​"You always turn your face away right when you get flustered. Don't do that. Let me look at you."

​"Every time I slow down, you completely shift to match me. Look at how you're leaning into it, sweetheart. You're letting me guide your entire pace right now."

● He loves really lazy morning sex, and it's when he's at his most vulnerable. It's a certain point in his day where he's not performing or being a protector for anyone, and his most honest, unguarded words come out.

"I love you so much. More than you'll ever know. I can't even put it into words."

"You're so fucking perfect. I don't understand it."

"You've saved me in so many ways just by existing. I don't know what I'd do without you."

● If you were ever insecure about any part of your body during intimacy, he shuts it down immediately. Not just to make you feel better, but because he's genuinely confused at your feelings as he loves that part of you so much. He doesn't just say "you're beautiful" or just tells you that he loves that part of you. He makes you feel genuinely worth.

"There isn't a single version of you that isn't completely worth having, through every single flaw and every good day."

​"Hey. Look at me. You're way too hard on yourself. You don't have to be flawless to be incredible and sexy, which you are, you know?"

​"Don't hide from me. Please."

● He loves talking to you during sex, as you know very well, but sometimes he gets so caught up in the pleasure that he stops for a bit, and all you're left with are his groans and moans and occasional whimpers when he really likes something you do. The only words that escape him when he gets like that are breathless curses or your name when he gasps it like a lifeline. Sometimes followed by the occasional, ragged "please," whether you're in control or not. It just escapes him every single time.

Kit Walker

Kit cuddles like a person who genuinely believes tenderness can keep bad things away for a little while.

Warm. That’s the first thing about him. Physically warm, emotionally warm, space heater warm.

LOVES domestic affection. Hugging you from behind while cooking, kissing your temple in passing, rubbing circles into your shoulders without thinking about it.

Sleeps best when touching you somehow. Hand on your waist, tangled legs, fingers linked. Doesn’t matter, as long as he can feel you.

He’s very attentive to what comforts you. Notices quickly if you like scalp scratches, back rubs, weighted hugs, etc.

Kit after a long day would absolutely pull you into his lap and just exhale into your shoulder like you’re home base. And really, to him, you are.

Gives the kind of hugs where he squeezes tighter halfway through because he wasn’t ready to let go yet.

Quiet morning cuddles with him feel sacred. Pale sunlight, tangled sheets, sleepy voice still rough around the edges.

Kyle Spencer

Kyle’s entire love language is basically him treating you like you're fragile and precious.

Very hesitant at first. He’d worry about being “too much” or doing something wrong.

Once comfortable though? Constant physical contact.

HUGE cuddler. Like genuinely. Arms around your waist, legs tangled with yours, face buried in your neck.

He likes laying his head on your chest so he can hear your heartbeat. It instantly relaxes him.

Physical affection becomes one of the main ways he communicates emotions he struggles to verbalize.

If you touch or kiss his scars without even thinking about it, you will literally see his eyes light up.

Kyle always falls asleep during cuddles first. Usually with his cheek smushed against you and one hand still holding onto you.

He’d love when you initiate affection because it reassures him you actually want him close.

Jimmy Darling

Jimmy is affectionate in a very wholehearted, overflowing way. Like he spent years being denied softness and now refuses to not give it.

Bear hugs. Constantly.

He kisses with his entire soul behind it. Even casual kisses somehow feel earnest.

Obsessed with having you sit in his lap. Doesn’t matter where you are. Chair? Couch? Edge of the bed? Congratulations, you're now sitting on his lap.

Teases you constantly during affection. “You comfy there, sweetheart?” while he’s the one crushing you against his chest.

He absolutely nuzzles into your neck whenever you're laying down together. Like it's automatic for him.

Tired Jimmy is absurdly soft. Running his hands over your back slowly, pressing sleepy kisses to your shoulder, mumbling half-coherent praise.

If you trace patterns on his hands or arms, he goes very still. That kind of tenderness wrecks him a little.

James Patrick March

James treats physical affection like a decadent art form. Every touch is deliberate. Dramatic. A little dangerous around the edges.

HUGE on hand kissing.

Loves draping you across him while you're lounging.

Surprisingly affectionate in private. Publicly he’s composed and theatrical, but alone? Very touch-oriented.

He adores slowly brushing hair away from your face while maintaining eye contact.

He likes possessive little gestures: hand on your neck, fingers around your wrist, pulling your chin toward him during kisses. Never rushed though. Everything with him unfolds like velvet curtains.

Secretly enjoys when you become affectionate first because it feeds his ego. Like to a catastrophic degree.

He’d absolutely call cuddling “indulgent” while actively refusing to let you leave the bed.

Kai Anderson

Kai is… complicated. Affection with him tends to blur together with control issues, emotional dependency, and genuine vulnerability all fighting one another. But underneath all the chaos? He craves closeness. Desperately.

Initially acts like he doesn’t need affection at all. Then proceeds to hover around you 24/7.

Touch-starved.

Late-night vulnerability hits him hardest. That’s when he gets quieter and more honest, pulling you against him while talking in a low sleepy voice.

LOVES having his hair played with. Instant system shutdown.

He’s clingier than he’ll ever admit. If you’re sitting together, expect him to pull your legs over his lap or hook himself around your waist.

The first time you casually kiss his forehead, he short-circuits.

Physical affection becomes incredibly important to him once attached to someone. Reassurance through touch. Constantly checking you’re still there.

The city of Los Angeles bustles outside the many windows of the Hotel Cortez. Even as the hours drag into the evening, the world out there thrums with life. The room you're in is mostly quiet and dim, lit only by the yellowish glow of the wall sconces. The shadows outline everything, submerging half of you in darkness. Miss Evers is nowhere to be seen; James shooed her out hours ago. The rest of the hotel and what the occupants are doing are of no concern to you, not with where your attention has been for the past few hours. 

James is on top of you, the coolness of his body permeating through the white dress shirt he wears. You've been kissing and grinding your hips against him for the better part of an hour, and despite the chill he always brings, the fire between your legs grows hotter and hotter with each passing second. He's intoxicating, in every way you can think of. His smell alone is enough to send you to the heavens, but the way he moves his body against yours, the way his hands grip and knead at your flesh, the way he kisses… 

His tongue dances in your mouth, claiming every inch of it with an almost-unsettling dominance. He kisses like he's trying to consume, and nothing short of that. A moan is carried on a breath into his mouth, and he swallows it happily, delighted by the audible pleasure that his mere kisses bring. 

It's not enough, however, and he craves more. His long, lithe fingers ghost over your stomach and press down into the flesh just above your pubic bone, allowing him access to her. You're soaked. Really soaked. James hums in approval at the discovery and delves his middle finger into her. The intrusion brings a filthy moan from your mouth, and James flattens his palm against her, almost gripping the rest of her as he curls his finger inside you. 

"Fuck," you breathe.

To him, still. Not enough. Never enough. 

The barrage of sensations disappears as James sinks between your legs wordlessly; his hands trail along the length of your torso reverently, and your silken nightgown ends just past the hips, providing no resistance for his hands as they caress your sides. His large, pale hands sweep along the outsides of your thighs before his fingers slither to the crease of them as they press together. He carefully, but firmly, separates them, exposing the delicate pattern of your lace underwear. He slots himself between your legs, his shoulders forcing them apart. 

His tongue traces the seam of your panties, a tantalizing stripe along the damp fabric. You feel the strength of the muscle, pushing against your already aching center and keen, arching your hips up into his mouth. He leans into it, presses himself against you, and inhales deeply, savoring the sweet, heady scent of your arousal. He looks up at you with those two obsidian black eyes of his as he hooks his finger around the side of your panties and tugs them gently over the swell of your hips, tossing them carelessly behind him for Miss Evers to pick up later. 

You're leaking. Unsurprisingly. James unleashes a series of kisses over your sensitive folds, paying attention to every inch. He does this with an almost religious reverence—despite his hatred for all things religion. When it came to your body, however, he was an undeniably devout man. 

With his thumb and pointer finger, he spreads you open like the petals of a delicate flower, revealing the glistening, warm flesh to his hungry mouth. He leans in, flattening his tongue broadly against your clit. It takes him all of a few seconds to find an Earth-shattering rhythm with his flicks, torturing you in a way that immediately makes your leg muscles shake deeply. He alternates between pointed, firm attention to your clit, and lapping at you in wet, filthy circles, which has you panting and choking out pathetic whimpers with every pass. He presses his chin into you, forcing more pressure against your cunt. 

The combination of fluids continues to leak from your cunt onto the silk sheets below you; you can feel the growing wet spot beneath your ass as he doubles down on his efforts, suctioning his lips around your swollen clit. 

"James… fuck, 'm gonna'…" You hoist your leg over his shoulder and press into his back, bringing him closer to you, as if any space is offensive to you. His hand clamps onto your thigh, denting the soft flesh there. He pulls away from your cunt and breathes in as he trails a line of kisses along your inner thigh before he returns to your center again. 

"J-James! FUCK!" 

A few seconds pass before he answers, almost laboriously. He pulls free just before the wave washes over you. He enjoys the torturous aspect of edging and does it whenever he can.  "So soon? My, my." His voice is molasses, coming out in a sultry growl—almost lost against her, his words mere vibrations against the most sensitive nerves you have. He knows why you're teetering on the edge after minutes, but you don't. Not yet. 

He pushes himself up and away from her, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the mess you've made. Mortification glazes your features. Instead of a slick, clear coating on his chin, there's something else. Shimmering against the pale skin of his face, red streaks the clear. "…oh my god…" 

You clamp your hand over your mouth and hurriedly scoot away from his hungry tasting. In response, he straightens up, looking down at you with a deep expression, one that very nearly conveys disappointment. He expectantly quirks one of his dark brows, like he's offended you interrupted his dinner. 

Your head was spinning. While you hadn't experienced the dreaded cramps yet, you had been unusually moody today, which is why James had showered you in affection to silence your incessant complaints. But… you weren't expecting this. 

"James, I—wait. We can't do this right now. You should—" 

"Nonsense. We can, and we will!" He reaches up to wipe the pink-streaked slick from his chin as casually as if it were only saliva, not a hesitation in sight. Your mind was racing. He must've tasted that heady, iron taste of your blood, felt the viscous thickness of it. He, however, seems unaffected. He continues to speak as he undoes the buttons of his shirt, one by one. "Despite the untapped pleasure of it all, fornication during menstruation is… indeed taboo to the common man. Be that as it may, I am not the common man. Nor do I shy from the taboo. You know this, don't you, my dear?" 

As true as it was, you say nothing, still too horrified to speak a single word. 

He pauses, looking at you pointedly. "Ah. Your apprehension moves me, but not enough to stop. Fret not, my little pet." He tugs the dress shirt off his shoulders, revealing pale skin beneath. "I think you'll find the sensations... divine." 

Breaking eye contact only to pull the undershirt up over his head, he makes quick work of his dress slacks and undergarments, letting them fall to his ankles before he gracefully steps out of them. Seeing him naked always ignites little embers of arousal in your lower stomach; the way he stands so proudly, cock out, not an ounce of shame, ready to fuck you until you see stars. Still, your insecurity roils in your stomach like rotten food, souring your lustful euphoria with its sickly, sludgy fingers. 

"I know you like blood… But James," you protest. "It's different. It's… got tissue and stuff in it." 

"Indeed," he says, matter-of-factly. "And, I've been elbow deep in a man's intestines on more than one occasion! I can assure you… Your menstruation does not scare me."

You couldn't argue with that. He had. He'd probably seen every kind of tissue and fluid that the human body produced, and yet, here you were, shying away from sex because of your own humiliation. 

"My god," you groan, covering your face with your hands for a moment before slapping them back down on the silk sheets. "Can you stop calling it menstruation? You're so clinical." 

James mm-hm's as he climbs over you, slotting his hands on either side of your head. His cockhead nudges your entrance, hot and leaking, begging for relief. He bucks his hips forward once, forcing the head in between your folds. You gasp, clenching tightly around the ridge of his head, pulling him in further.

"Mm, yes." The tone of his voice is euphoric, and he lowers himself to his forearms, bringing his mouth a hair's breadth away from yours. A single kiss is pressed against your lips, before you catch his bottom lip between your teeth, biting hard enough to draw blood. "Sublime," he says. You let his lip snap back against his teeth. 

He tests your willingness briefly, pressing himself deeper inside of you. You respond by lifting your hips up and giving him a devious look that feels like a lightning stike to his chest. His urges become too much, nearly strangling him, and he bottoms out, slamming his cock deep inside your cunt with a slop sound. And you… Any thought of shame? Embarrassment? Gone with the feeling he provides. Perverse, wet sounds fill the room as he slams his pelvis against yours in a determined pace, drawing his veiny cock in and out in deliberate strokes, making sure you feel everything intensely. 

He hadn't been wrong. The sensations were divine—in fact, they were mind-blowing. There was a new level of slickness that made his thrusts even more effortless, and the gentle pressure against your insides was particularly tantalizing. He stays like that for a minute or so, pressed tightly atop of you, reveling in the closeness.

"Deeper," you whimper. "Deeper. Please. Fuck me deeper…!" 

He snarls, nips at the air in front of your face, and hurriedly obeys; he was nothing if not obedient when it came to your lustful demands. As a man who prided himself on control—devastating perfection, and control—your volatile, needy nature during sex always aroused him. Quickly, he straightens up and scoops underneath the curve of your rear, hoisting it up enough to plunge himself deeper into you. His cock hits your cervix, and your eyes roll back in your head, losing all sense of your surroundings as his thrusts bully your cunt. Eventually, everyone loses their footing, no matter how strong. And yours, he watches as it disappears, as your expression goes lazy, fucked out. Your jaw hangs slack, and your lids are heavy, and James revels in it. 

White, hot pleasure tightens in your core, like a coil being tightened around itself over and over again. James feels the tension and picks up his pace, knowing that the tidal wave nears. His does, too, undeniably. The tightness thrums in his cock, and with a few more devastatingly heavy pumps, he seizes up and crushes his hips against yours, letting the orgasm wash over him. 

The pressure sends you over the edge, too. Everything goes fuzzy as your orgasm claims your senses. You hear James growl, pleased above you as you quiver and tremble beneath him, panting as if you've just run a mile. He loves to see you this way; unmade and fucked beyond your wildest dreams. 

After he's fully spent, he withdraws his cock from you and falls heavily onto the mattress next to you, chest heaving with exertion. You hurry to scoot closer and snuggle up next to him, tucking yourself underneath his arm. You fit so perfectly there. One arm splays over his torso, drawing circles on the cool, taut flesh.

"My darling, you are exquisite. Every time." 

You nuzzle into his shoulder. "Mm. Thank you... but I'm going to get blood on your sheets if I don't move soon…" 

“C’mon, c’mon, come with me,” he said, reaching out, grabbing your hand from your side. “Wanna get outta here.”

“Okay, Stallone,” you muttered, obliging as he pulls you through the crowd. The second you were through the door, the cool spring air washed over you. It was the cusp of summer; a thin sliver of sunset still hanging on the horizon, the sky otherwise inky blue. It was still warm out, the heat from the day clinging to the pavement in shimmering blankets. Your chunky heels clicked on the sidewalk, your steps in time with Max’s. 

He gave your hand a squeeze and grumbled out a halfhearted protest of the nickname, looking down at his feet as you walked. Even in the dim night, you caught a glimpse of the pink that spread over his cheeks. “You make me sound so much cooler than I am.”

“Maybe you underestimate yourself,” you replied, flashing a grin. 

He smiled back, and you both came to a stop in front of his car. It was parked in an alley (“How’m I supposed to leave something this gorgeous in a place like this?” he’d whined while parking, lamenting ad infinitum until you’d flicked the back of his head and reminded him that the car was almost forty years old,) and a single streetlight from the junction a block down was the only source of light. 

Max scratched the back of his neck, leaning against his car, hip bumping the window. “Sooo…I’ll drive you home?” 

You had other ideas. Swiftly, you opened the passenger door and pushed him in. 

Breathless, he looked up at you through the curls over his forehead. “You wanna drive…?” he asked, but quickly shut up once you climbed in on top of him. “Oh.” 

You looped your arms around his neck, settling in his lap. Your short skirt rode up slightly, and all that was separating you from him was his dark-wash jeans and your Victoria’s Secret underwear. The thin barriers did little to conceal his arousal. 

There was something about his dick you envied. In a lot of ways, it communicated his desires for him. Of course, not always, and not exactly, but most of the time. It eliminated the need to voice his base wants. It was easy to deal with; straightforward. 

You palmed him, and his eyes fluttered before settling heavily on you. 

“You wanna?” he asked again, his hands landing on your hips, always bigger and heavier than was congruent with his demeanor. “Somebody could—” He swallowed hard. “See.”

You hummed, pressing down harder with the heel of your hand. “I want you, though.”

His expression was enough to tell you that the statement was enough. His fingers slipped up your skirt, skimming over your thighs. “Fuck, uh, m’kay,” he said, nodding. When you leaned forward, sucking a purplish mark onto his jaw, his head fell back against the headrest and his lips parted. He grew increasingly hard under your palm. 

“You want me too?” you goaded, rolling your hips. The space was tight, but the seat was pushed all the way back, so you had a little bit of room to move your heads. “You want me to touch you?”

He nodded jerkily, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. You knew his tells well enough to know that he was trying not to thrust up into your touch. “Yeah. Fuck.”

“Say it,” you murmured, kissing his jaw again. “What do you want?”

“Your hands,” he said tightly. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, then trailed downward, lingering on your lips and tits shamelessly. 

You hummed and wiggled two fingers past his waistband, your fingernails scratching through his pubes. “Where?”

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed, chests shuddering. “On my dick.”

Grinning, you undid his fly and pulled his underwear out of the way, freeing his dick. Contrary to what everybody—apparently, and according to a few friends of yours—thought, Max Cooperman was fucking hung. His cock bobbed up, smearing against his t-shirt and making him grimace.

The look on his face utterly fucking transformed, though, when you wrapped your fingers around the shaft, squeezing slightly at the base before turning it into a deliberate, teasing stroke upward. 

“Like that?” you asked innocently, rolling your hips again. 

He shuddered forward, resting his forehead on your shoulder while you worked him. “You’re so fucking hot,” he muttered into your skin. “You’re so much fucking cooler than me.”

You bit back a laugh and let your lips drift to the top of his head. 

Your hand sped up, and so did Max’s breathing.

“M’gonna fuckin’—” he gasped out after a few minutes, his fingers digging into the cushion of your hips. “Ah, ah—”

And you eased off. 

Max looked up at you with utter betrayal in his eyes, lips pink and bitten, jaw loose. “What—fuck—why’d you stop?”

You shrugged and pulled back, grinning at him in the moonlight that shone through the windshield now that the sun had completely disappeared. “Dunno.” 

“I—” he spluttered, recovering the steadiness of his breathing. You watched his Adam’s apple bob as he tried to collect himself, his grip on your hip easing. 

Then you gave him another heard stroke and his fingers dug so deeply into your flesh you were sure the bruises would last a fucking millenia. 

“Oh, I—Jesus,” he gasped, hips bucking. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…please—”

You obliged, quickening the pace and making your strokes more deliberate. Beneath your fingers, his skin was hot and you could feel his pulse beneath the surface.

He cried out a little when he came, like he always did. The first time, you’d been worried it was painful, but the embarrassment on his face and the teeth marks on his forearm made it clear that it was just a…quirk. A really hot fucking quirk, admittedly. 

You both wiped up the mess with a strip of fabric left over from a terrible wardrobe malfunction the week prior, and Max took a minute to regulate his heartbeat before climbing out of the car and into the driver’s seat as you settled in the space he once was. 

In the new quiet of the car, you could hear his labored breathing particularly well.

You grinned and clapped a hand on his inner thigh. “C’mon, Stallone, make this beast purr.” 

He flushed, glanced over at you, and started the engine. “Great fucking sound,” he muttered, moving off.

Your smile widened impossibly and you squeezed his thigh again, a giggle escaping past your teeth. “Mm, I can think of some better ones.”

“Aw, fuck you!” he shrieked, head whipping around in half mock-indignation, half embarrassment.

You flicked his shoulder and fake-scolded, “eyes on the road, dude.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” he grumbled, but you caught him peering over at you periodically throughout the drive. And adjusting his pants.

tags: @z0mbie-unic0rn @star-rey-night @ethereallmonkey @kylesdove

there's a swag imbalance here for sure

not beta'd & i'm sleepy so i'm sorry about mistakes

the 1968 Ford Mustang Gt Fastback interior is really not conducive to car sex......heartbreaking, but we persist....

i'm so sorry reader didn't get her rocks off, i was more focused on making max whine and whimper, and i assume her interests were in line with mine, so unforch her panties remain unsoaked (for now)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do so love this,” he whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re insatiable,” you murmured.

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

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

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

“You terrify me,” he whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And then Scott’s yelling, obviously, because apparently ‘don’t touch that’ means I’m actually not supposed to touch that-”

You laugh softly from where you’re sitting beside him on the couch, knees tucked under you. “Hmm, apparently.” you say, feigning initial interest.

Peter points at you like you’re validating years worth of emotional struggle. “Right? So I grab the thing before it explodes-”

“Sooo heroic.” You tell him.

“Extremely heroic, actually.” he says, laughing.

You hum at that, smiling into your mug as you take another sip. And there it is again, that feeling, that awful, fluttery nervousness he gets around you sometimes. Even now, even after months into dating, he still catches himself wanting your approval like it’s sunlight.

That feeling is especially strong when you’re looking at him quietly, like right now. You’re not laughing anymore, just watching him with this soft expression that makes his chest too tight. 

“...What?” he asks, suddenly self-conscious.

“Oh, nothing.” you say, pushing it away casually.

“Babe.” he pouts, which makes you set your mug down carefully on the coffee table, turning toward him fully now. 

“You know,” you tell him softly, “...you don’t always have to show off for me.”

With how fondly you said it, lacking any bit of exasperation and annoyance, Peter forgets how to breathe normally. Looking down, he rubs the back of his neck with a nervous laugh. 

“Yeah, well…” he fakes a cough, gazing away to preserve whatever charm he had left.

“Mm,” you lean a little closer. “I like you when you’re quiet too.”

Peter’s stomach flips embarrassingly hard. He opens his mouth to make a joke, because of course he does, but then you reach out to touch his jaw.

Everything in him short circuits, even when it’s just a thumb brushing against his flushed cheek. But your eyes flick down to his mouth for half a second before returning to his eyes, to which he goes completely still, staring at you with wide, hopeful eyes.

“You’re nervous.” you murmur, almost amused to how already wrecked he looks.

“N-No, I’m not…”

“No?” you say, dragging a finger over the line of his jaw.

“Okaymaybealittle.” he blurts out under his breath, earning him a smile from you that devastates his poor little heart.

You lean in, slower than he’d like but kiss him anyway. This is unlike the stolen kisses in hallways or the breathless ones after missions. Your lips move deliberately, hand sliding into silver locks as you tilt closer, and Peter makes this helpless little sound against your mouth that he’ll absolutely deny later.

Oh God, Peter thinks to himself, you’re initiating. You, his calm, composed girlfriend, kissing him like you’ve thought about it all day. The fact that you actually could’ve made his brain  melt instantly.

His hands find your waist on instinct, gripping gently as you climb into his lap without breaking the kiss. Peter's eyes flutter shut, completely overwhelmed by the fact that you’re choosing to take control for once and the fact that he likes it way more than expected.

Peter thinks you know exactly what you’re doing to him when you kiss him deeper and more purposely, running your hands across his shoulders as if to aim for his total ruin.

When you finally pull apart, Peter looks genuinely dazed, lips pink, breathing uneven. It’s the cutest sight you could possibly see, boyfriend dazed like a milk-drunk kitten. 

You brush your nose lightly against his. “There,” you whisper. “...You’re all cute when you’re quiet.”

He stares at you for a long moment before blurting: “…I think I'm in love with you.” in a voice both rushed and soft.