Evan Peters Imagines and One Shots

Roleplay Pt.2 18+

The room I awakened in was the same one I'd had run out of. The realization had finally settled in. It wasn't a figment of my imagination. James was the original owner, a ghost and not a friendly one like Patrick Swayze. James Patrick March created the Hotel Cortez for one reason- that reason was to satisfy the hunger of his passion for murder. It seemed I was going to be his most recent victim. I may not have wanted to die, but at least it was at the hands of James' ghost. If I had known ghosts looked like him, I would have become a ghost hunter before I died.

I was dumbfounded as I'd expected to be chained to a bed or tied to a chair; I lay on his loveseat without restraints, yet somehow, this terrified me more and made me more excited. Adrenaline pumped in my veins as I pondered what he would do next. Would he tie a noose around my neck and throw me off his balcony and laugh as people watched and screamed? Would he carve off my nipples and shove them down my throat to watch me choke? Would he yell at me? Personally, getting yelled at was worse than the other two options. I'm sensitive, but it was also hot sometimes. It depended on my mood. I needed to seek mental evaluation if I escaped this room tonight.

I think I'd watched the Saw movies too many times- and I had an unhealthy infatuation with violence.

"Ah, you've awakened," James said, "You're just as beautiful when you wake up."

"If you're going to kill me, can you do it quickly," I asked, "Wait- why do you have my phone?"

"Oh, that's what you call this contraption," he exclaimed, "I found the evidence in it. It took me a couple of minutes to understand how to operate this device, but I went on- what did Tristan call it- the Google."

He had found himself on Google Images and was pretty proud of himself. The colorless photo did not truly captivate how dashing he genuinely was. I had become extremely infatuated with him within minutes- leave it to me to fall for a psycho-murderer ghost.

"My apologies for startling you earlier," he chuckled, "I forget ghosts frighten people sometimes. Probably because I'm usually the one who creates them around here." 

The very sight of him left me flustered, and his aura intoxicated me. He was like poison, but I'd refused the antidote and preferred to accept my deathly fate. I could see how people effortlessly fell for his traps. The room had a different odor to it. It almost reeked of death, and a gun lay on the arm of the chair.

"Did you kill Tristan, and if so, am I next," I asked.

"Tristan is alive and well, my dear. He ran downstairs after I invited him to partake in my favorite hobby," James answered, "Don't you worry about it, dear. I had my laundress, Ms. Evers, clean it up. And I have no means to kill someone as fiery as yourself."

James nudged me to look at him. There was something about his eyes, so soulless, yet so beautiful. I could die from just staring into them for too long.

"You're contagious, Y/n," he said, "You've got that fire I've been searching for. A woman of your delicacy deserves every dress if she wants. Tell me, does your husband provide you with those?"

"If that's your way of asking if I'm married. I'm not," I answered.

"That's obscene," James replied, "I'm sure you'd appreciate some company. Some to provide for you."

"Not in this era of time," I proclaimed, "Things are entirely different now, James. If I'm being honest, I wished there were still men like you. The men of today drive me mad."

He seemed to be intrigued by my answer as he raised his eyebrow.

"Is that so," James questioned, "Would you say they make you want to kill them?"