Warnings: canon-typical violence and death; blood; slight torture; unhealthy dynamics; suggestive; mention of sex in front of a non-consenting spectator; alcohol and smoking; both James and Reader are batshit insane; i can fix him I swear
A/N: Yet another highly problematic individual for my collection, yay!
In this story James kills someone who wronged you in the past but I left their identity vague so you can imagine whoever you like.
Also, the layout is all messed up if you read it with the App, thank Tumblr for that.
March 12th, 1928
It has come to my attention that my husband is not who he appears to be.
Behind the charming facade of a distinguished gentleman lies an equally cunning and disturbed individual that harbors an inhumane craving for carnage, far beyond a sane mind's comprehension.
Your husband dropped the book like he was burned by that latest entry, dated from just the night before. His personal housekeeper, Miss Evers, had found your journal 'by accident' while snooping around, and he had spent the entire afternoon flipping through the pages while you ran errands in the city.
It was a small, thick booklet, bound in crimson leather and held together by a pitch black ribbon. Random papers and other keepsakes were sticking out loosely from between the pages, a perfect symbol for a mind as shambolic as yours can be.
James picked it up from the carpet, once again tempted by the suspense of presentiment. He admired your handwriting, letting his fingers run over some blurred words where your tears had stained the ink.
Each page was filled with words you never dared speaking, raw and deep emotions he wasn't aware of until now. Truth be told, he was under the impression that you had aggreed to marry him solely because of his wealth, and he was fine with that arrangement if it meant to have you all for himself...
...however this book was filled to the brim with evidence of your genuine affection for a man as utterly undeserving as him.
You had always been an enigma to James, a revelation he wasn't ready to receive just yet because of your sheer overwhelming divinity. In no way an angelic being like you was a fitting match for a wretch like him, and yet he couldn't help being drawn to you like a vermin to the light.
Last night I found myself restless once again, since my husband has yet to join me in our designated chambers, let alone consummate this marriage at all. His absence in the life we are supposed to share drives me mad, the loneliness is threatening to consume me with every passing day he chooses to spend apart.
If only I knew this was by far not the worst method of torture he was proficient in...
...because I found out about his true passion, how he prefers to spend his time instead.
James slammed the book onto the tabletop, jumping up to pour himself something strong to numb the inevitable pain that was your written rejection. Invested nonetheless, he paced around the room erratically, holding your diary with one hand while sipping on a whole bottle he had settled on.
As I was aimlessly wandering those ghastly hallways, almost as if driven by otherworldly forces even more tormented than myself, I discovered a room that seemed to be intentionally hidden. Whatever possessed me to overstep this far, I dared clancing through the keyhole in the quiet hope of answers that would bring salvation to my yearning.
...what I witnessed however was sheer heinous acts of violence, horrors I wasn't aware existed in this world - or rather in people's minds.
Never would I have imagined my James, that sophisticated philanthropist, to be capable of such atrocities.
This was probably the first moment in his life that this sociopath felt a glimpse of panic rising in his chest. Not even death itself he feared, neither the well-deserved place in hell he knew was reserved for him...but losing you to his inferior instincts was nothing short of a nightmare.
Surely you'd ruin him - and he would thankfully take whatever punishment you offered.
...it was an exhilarating sight.
Your husband almost choked upon reading this sentence, repeating it again and again and again.
There had to be a catch, a mistake, a cruel joke he wasn't understanding.
It was simply too good to be true.
Even just writing those thoughts down, despite knowing no one ever will ever read it, feels so incredibly wrong...but I simply cannot change how I feel about this experience. It awoke something inside of me that's both as frightening as it is delightful, in a twisted sense that I am unable to elaborate.
Maybe I've always been harboring this darkness inside of me, lurking there unknowingly, waiting to be freed by a soul just as corrupted as mine own.
Only one thing I am sure of: Seeing my husband like this, it arouses me.
That last sentence made him actually whimmer, a bloodthirsty lunatic feeling completely at your mercy without you even being physically present.
James brought the paper closer to his face, making out the feeble scent of your perfume, soon palming through his pants where his cock needily demands attention.
To know that despite his true nature, he had yet to lay a single finger on me.
When James was courting me, his affection seemed so pure, so genuine. But looking back, this might as well be the act of a high-functioning sociopath.
What did he truly choose me for? A social obligation? An alibi? Another victim?
Who knows.
Oh, how sorry he feels to unknowingly have subjected you to this kind of isolation, thinking you'd be better off without him. After all, it stemmed from the thought that marriage would clash with his unusual 'lifestyle', and that he could never truly have both.
But then he met you, and his avoidance was the result of a naive wish to protect you from the truth while simultaneously being unable to live without you either way. Just knowing you were close was enough, no matter how much temptation was gnawing on him each day spent apart.
Yet it was also James who saved me from my old existence of sheer neverending abuse, who wouldn't ever judge me for my past, who turned days of anguish into ones of happiness I'd never deemed possible.
I owe my husband everything... he holds my heart already, and can do however he pleases with it. If he was to decide he'd delve his blade inside, then so be it.
He yelped in pain on your stead, dramatically clutching the fabric in front of hiw own sternum, pained by your doubts. "No, my love, my petal, my dearest...don't ever question my unyielding love for you" he utters to himself.
Addendum March 13th, 1928
After long consideration, I decided to conduct my own inquiries which led me deep into secret layers of this hotel, and caused me to have more than one supernatural encounter with his former victims.
What a shame that he chooses to kill randomly, while there's so many scoundrels littering these streets and destroying innocent lives. Yes, James is no less guilty himself, but those people would at least be deserving of his treatment.
Oh, how thrilled would I be to be present during one of his 'sessions'...but he treats me like a porcellain doll, so precious and fragile that he doesn't even allow himself to be in my vincinity, only ever admiring me from afar when he thinks I am not looking.
And I am dreadfully afraid that his opinion of me would cease if he was to ever find out about any of this.
Maybe I should burn this book after all...this could also become potential evidence in the near future, would it not?
After all, I need to protect my beloved husband.
Oh, what a sweet, feisty thing you are. It's endearing in such a refreshing way, he finally understands what 'normal' people feel when they are amongst their kin.
Though his newfound knowledge about the extent of corruption in your soul may delve him even further over the ledge of his own insanity.
Evening arrived at the hotel sooner than you did, yearning for nothing more but a bath to wash away the sorrows of the day.
Your muscles ached from being on your feet this whole time - and truth be told, ever since you unveiled your husband's fascinating new side, there was an odd sensation of filth clinging to you no matter what you tried to erase it.
Maybe that is because you are rotten from the inside, who knows.
Yet before you could surrender your fatigued self to sleep, there was still one last obligation to fulfill that you wouldn't miss for the world: Dinner with your spouse - a rare occasion of proximity, even if not nearly enough.
When you arrived at the dining room however, the wide table where you'd share meals way too far apart from each other was completely empty. A maid informed you that your husband was awaiting you in your chambers, which piqued your interest.
It did not occur to you in the slightest that whatever was happening might have something to do with you in particular, thinking you're too insignificant to matter for that to be the case...
...but when you rounded the corner, an abundance of candles was tinting the hallway towards your bedroom in an almost crimson glow.
You enter with tentative steps, and as soon as you're past the doorway you're greeted by being scooped up from the ground and gently spun around.
"There you are, my love!" March cheers with almost innocent felicity, practically crushing you against him with unrestrained passion.
"James..." you stammer, taken aback since you were not used to him being this openly affectionate. "What's all this about?"
"A celebration" the man answers promptly, one arm still firmly wrapped around your waist, his free hand raising a glass of champaign. "Here's to us - and especially you, my darling, who proved you're full of surprises."
There's no time to ask further questions, as he already takes your hand, leading you deeper inside the extravagantly decorated bedroom.
"I want to offer my sincerest apologies for being rather inadequate at fulfilling my marital duties. But be assured, none of it had anything to do with my earnest fondness for you, my dear." James declares this while bowing to place a tender kiss to your knuckles - and the sheer adoration in his gaze pulls on your heartstrings like it was a violin.
"Anyways" he suddenly leaps away from you, visibly excited as he hurries over to something conceiled in a corner of the room. "While I am very skilled with my words, I'm more of a gesture kind of person when it counts, so..."
With a grand motion he reveals what's been hiding beneath the fabric, and the realization robbed all air out of your lungs: Chained to a stool was no one else than your former abuser, gagged and in obvious distress as they mutely attempted to plead for their life.
"My gift to you, dearest. Tightly wrapped." James snickers, playfully wriggles his eyebrows. He lights himself a cigar, puffing the smoke in his- no, your victim's face. "Was thinking about avenging what this scum did to you for quite some time already, but I wanted to save it up for a special occasion."
Your mouth fell open but the shock prevented you from forming any words, watching in mute awe as James circles the chair, muffled screams dringing to your ear as he puts out the cigar on the other's arm. "I have to admit, since I lack a moral compass of mine own, I never cared much about whether my victims possessed one...but if it appeases my dear wife, I am able to accomodate."
"...you read my diary" you finally found your voice, crossing your arms almost scoldingly.
One would think a man like him would be aggravated by your lack of gratitude for his efforts, but no, quite the opposite was the case - it was highly amusing to him how unphazed you seemed by a literal crime happening in front of your very eyes.
You really were a perfect match for him.
"Guilty as charged" he chuckled gleefully, raising his hands in the air in a placating manner. "It wasn't at all my intention to breach your privacy, but curiosity got the better off me. I need to apologize once again."
Just like that he draws a small knife, his movements agonizingly slow as he twists it in the person's gut. You observe his work with an eery calmness until your anger leaves you through an exaggerated sigh.
You pull out a handkerchief, smirking with mischief as he uses it to wipe his blade clean. "Attentive as always, my dear."
James bloodied fingertips trace along your jawline, his thumb settling on your bottom lip before being replaced by his own. He smells of that distinct perfume he uses to cover up the odor of sin that accompanies him everywhere, which from now on you will always associate with the thrill you feel right this instant.
Kissing him tastes like nicotine and liquor, mingled with the bitter iron aftertase of blood - it is both as repulsing as it is addicting.
The two of you were only briefly caught in the heat of the moment before you're disturbed by the temporarily unconscious third person in the room slowly breathing frantically again.
"Do you want the honor of taking this life?" your husband asks a little too enthusiastic, practically shoving the weapon into your palm.
He needs to see it with his own eyes - proof that you're his, irreversibly connected by this transgression.
"I do, but..." You place the knife back into his hand, and for the fraction of a second he fears that maybe his judgement about you was too rushed after all.
"...not that quickly, they don't deserve it." A sadistic spark embers up in your eyes as you speak, and your husband needs to bite his lip to contain his excitement.
"Also..." You let your hands run up and down his chest as you speak, grabbing your husband by the collar as you fall backwards onto the mattress, effectively pulling him with you. "I need to do something else first..."
James stares at you like you were a creature out of myth, something so perfect it can neither be real nor conjured by his twisted mind.
"You have no idea how hard it was for me to be so close yet so far away from my greatest obsession..." he rasps as he climbs on top of you, the cold steel trembling in his hand as he cuts through the straps of your dress. "Every night I could only think of ravishing you until you wouldn't be able to remember anything but my name, yet...I was merely afraid you'd condemn me if you'd ever find out, so I kept my distance. But now, knowing what I do..."
You moan when you feel the tip of the blade ghost across your bare skin, leaving faint marks that would disappear by dawn. "My love, my world, the last remnant of humanity left in my soul...you must know I have a...peculiar taste, and I am not well acquainted with being gentle."
"Shh...it's alright, I can take it." Your voice was barely above a whisper, yet it was full of conviction, not the slightest hint of doubt or fear in your voice. "I want it. I want you! I've been waiting for so long already...please..."
James shudders at the implication, a whine escaping his throat as he impatiently ruts his hips against yours. "Oh, little dove, I could never bring myself to harm you..." He eagerly grips every inch of you he could get his hands on, leaving stains of blood in his wake. "Your body will be my canvas, and I'll be painting masterpieces with the blood of the guilty..."
You wordlessly entangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him close enough to rake your teeth across his pulse point, licking off the splatters of blood that dried there. He groans at the sensation, digging the knife into the mattress just inches away from your waist in a desperate attempt to ground himself - before he either gives in to the urge to actually hurt you, or cums right away.
Your husband is trembling with anticipation and barely held back vigor as he adores your naked form, now stained with sweat and blood and tears he wasn't aware he had shed out of pure bliss.
"Then let me make it up to the heavenly creature you are...I'll prove you just how far my devotion goes..."
summary: After being betrayed by her husband and thrown out of the house, she stays at the only place she can afford: the Hotel Cortez. There she gets into trouble, but narrowly escapes with the help of James Patrick March.
genre: fluff, light angst
warnings: harassment and attempted sexual abuse, murder, drug use, suicidal thoughts, low self-esteem.
author's notes: honestly, Hotel isn't one of my favorite seasons, but I LOVE James and I loved writing this, and to be honest, I loved the result. I hope you guys like it as much as I do ;))
( ✧ requests open ✧ )
That place was seriously weird. The wallpaper was peeling, and the air conditioner was obnoxiously loud, but honestly, you couldn't care less. The Cortez Hotel was the cheapest place you could find to stay for the next few days—and you had nowhere else to go. Not after what happened.
You kept spinning the ring from your broken engagement around your finger. You still wore it, even after everything. After seeing Carter—your ex-husband—walking out of your apartment with another woman, someone who looked much younger and prettier than you, your world just... collapsed. When you asked for help, your mom said she had warned you. Your dad told you, “You deserved it—I told you that man wasn’t for you.” And neither of them let you come back home.
So here you were, lying on a hotel bed that looked like it belonged on a vintage movie set, dried tears on your cheeks and messy hair. You felt wrecked. But you figured lying there thinking about it would only make your headache worse, so you decided to leave the room.
The hallways were kind of creepy, like a maze, but since you had nowhere to be, you didn’t really care. You walked aimlessly, miserably, like a ghost looking for someone to haunt. Then you heard footsteps behind you—followed by a voice.
“You look like hell,” a woman said from behind. When you turned, there she was—blonde hair, heavy makeup smudged all over her face. Honestly, she looked worse than you. “Want some?” she asked, holding out a small packet. You knew what it was immediately. You were never into that kind of thing—mostly because you worried about what people would think. But now? That didn’t matter anymore. You just nodded.
The next few hours were a blur. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt that good. The world moved slowly, the walls seemed to close in, and the bitter taste lingered in your mouth, but somehow… you felt happy. Even if it was fake. Eventually, you said goodbye to the woman—she’d introduced herself as Sally—because you knew if you didn’t lie down, you’d probably pass out.
You stumbled through the hotel, but couldn’t remember how to get back to your room. The lights in the hallway felt like they were exploding in your eyes, and you were sure you were about to throw up. Your legs gave out, and you let yourself sink, but just before you hit the floor, a pair of arms caught you by the waist.
“Well, look who it is,” a man said behind you. “Small world, huh?”
That voice made your stomach turn. You knew it—it was your ex’s best friend. The worst possible person to run into in that state. Actually, the worst person to run into in any state.
He started kissing your neck, your face—you could smell the alcohol on him. Your first instinct was to run, but your legs were still jelly from the drugs.
“Heard you’ve hit rock bottom, sweetheart,” he whispered in your ear as you squirmed in his arms, trying to break free. “I can help you with that…”
He kept groping you, pushing you into some random room. You kept whispering for him to stop, but your voice was so faint, it barely came out. There was no one around. No one to see. No one to help. This was it. You were going to die—and no one would even notice. Not that you cared about being alive, but… you didn’t want it to end like this.
He threw you on the bed and climbed on top of you, taking off his shirt—and you felt your stomach churn.
“Please… just leave me alone…” you tried one last time, but your voice was so weak, you doubted he even heard. Not that he would’ve cared.
He slid his hand down to your jeans, trying to yank them off—but with some kind of strength you didn’t know you had, you managed to kick him back. It wasn’t enough to stop him—he came back at you, more aggressive than before.
“Stop being such a dramatic bitch! You want this just as much as I do!”
But before anything else could happen, a loud sound filled the room—and the man collapsed beside you. His blood spilled across the white sheets.
You turned your head and saw a man—impeccably dressed, elegant, composed. He placed the gun gently on a small table and walked toward you slowly, carefully, as if not to scare you.
“Apologies for the mess and the blood, darling,” his voice was smooth and polite. “But that man was ruining your night. I simply couldn’t allow that.”
You were trembling, wide-eyed, but you couldn’t look away from him. He was handsome in a terrifying kind of way. His brown eyes glinted under the dim lights. He noticed your fear and held out his hand, inviting you to stand up.
“Come now. There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore, my dear.”
You hesitated—but took his hand. After all, he’d just saved you. His smile widened as he led you out of the room. His fingers were cold, but his touch was gentle. He guided you through the halls until you reached a door—not yours, as far as you could remember—but you didn’t care. You just wanted this night to end. He walked you to the bed like a gentleman and helped you lie down.
“Let me assist you,” he said, moving to the end of the bed and carefully removing your tight sneakers.
“Who… who are you?” you managed to ask, your voice raspy. He smiled, tilting his head as he came to your side, pulling the blanket over you.
“Ah, where are my manners? James Patrick March,” he said with pride. “Owner and architect of this fine establishment.”
You blinked. That couldn’t be right. The hotel looked ancient, but James didn’t seem old at all. He seemed to catch your confusion and offered a faint smile.
“Rest now, darling. You’re exhausted. Let those thoughts wait till morning,” he said softly, brushing your hair behind your ear.
James walked to the door, paused, and looked at you one last time.
“Sleep well, my dear,” he said, switching off the light. “Welcome to the Hotel Cortez.”
When you woke up, the room was still dim. The heavy curtains blocked any sign of daylight—you couldn’t tell if it was morning or night. But then you smelled something good. Looking over, you saw a tray on the table—toast, strawberries, and a full cup of tea. You got up and walked over. Next to the food was a handwritten note, in an old-fashioned but beautiful script:
“I hope your night of rest was restorative. Forgive my absence—urgent matters required my attention. However, I look forward to seeing you again soon. —JPM.”
You closed your eyes as last night came rushing back. It felt like a nightmare. So many questions filled your head, but for now, you just sat and enjoyed the breakfast slowly.
You walked down to the bar to return the tray—assuming that’s where the kitchen was, too. When you arrived, you saw the woman who’d checked you in. You vaguely remembered her name—Liz. As you approached, she looked you up and down, making you feel awkward. You weren’t planning to start a conversation, but before you could leave, she called out.
“Hey, sweetheart.” You turned—and the judgment in her eyes had melted into something softer. Almost kind. “I know what happened to you last night. The whole hotel does, actually. These walls have ears,” she chuckled. “You okay?”
“It was a… hectic night,” you admitted, looking down, trying to block out the memories. “But James showed up just in time. So, it turned out okay.”
“Of course he did…” she said with a faint, ironic smile. There was a pause, then she looked at you again—more serious now. “I’m glad he helped. But can I give you a piece of advice? No one here is what they seem. If I were you, I’d be careful. You seem like a good person.”
You smiled politely, unsure of what to say. But you could see it in her eyes—what she felt wasn’t just kindness. It was something heavier. Pity.
As you walked back to your room, you ran into James again—roaming the front lobby. He lit up the second he saw you. He approached with his usual warm smile.
“Good morning, my dear. I trust you slept well?”
“I did. The headache’s a lot better after some sleep—and the breakfast helped too. Thank you,” you said gently, still a little shy.
“Excellent! A lady must be well-nourished,” James offered his arm with a smile. “Walk with me?”
You hesitated—only for a second—before accepting. You were starting to realize there was no reason not to trust James. He had only cared for you so far. So the two of you began strolling through the Cortez’s halls. It was a quiet walk, and James didn’t seem to mind the silence—but it was eating you up inside.
“I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused last night,” you said finally, eyes downcast. “I didn’t mean to. I don’t usually do that stuff… drugs. But… I’m going through a lot.”
“Would you mind sharing, darling?” he asked gently.
So you told him everything. How you thought you were living the perfect relationship—until you were betrayed by someone younger and prettier. How your parents shut you out and told you you’d had it coming. What could you say? You’d been in love.
James was quiet for a moment, then finally spoke.
“I understand,” he said—and you could swear you heard something vulnerable in his voice. “The woman I loved more than anything… she made me feel disposable. Used me. Replaced me.”
He stopped walking, gently releasing your arm and stepping in front of you.
“That’s why I understand you, darling,” he said, brushing your hair back. “We’re so alike… That’s why I like you.”
Your heart was pounding. James made you nervous—but not in a scary way. In a way you’d never felt before. It felt good. Really good.
“Mediocre men are drawn to cheap, disposable beauty. But you, my dear—you’re not disposable. You’re rare. Beautiful. One of a kind,” he said, one hand still in your hair, the other squeezing your hand gently. “I admire that. And I’ll make sure no one ever hurts you like that again. I’ll never leave you. That’s a promise.”
His words hit hard. They made you want to cry. You knew this was insane—even ridiculous. Falling for a man you barely knew, who lived in a creepy hotel. But the connection between you two was undeniable. And besides, James was charming. No one could deny that.
With him, you felt a comfort you’d never known before.
James was never fond of the idea of religion, his father was a very cruel man, the, "meanest son of a bitch," James had ever met. This disdain for religion continued for years, until you entered the hotel, because then you became his religion. His goddess. James really wanted to make you his from the start, it was difficult for him to process the idea of himself caring about something that much. Why did it have to be over some mere human? Why were you so beautiful? your presence was like a soft jazz melody to him, so demure and gentle, so fucking weak.
No, you weren't actually weak, he just pushed the weakness that you made him feel onto you, mostly because his fantasies about you stopped his thoughts of murder and carnage, which Liz had noticed, and teased him over, he hadn't acted that way since The Countess, and he threatened her over the incessant annoyance she caused him, not like he could do much, they were both ghosts, Afterall.
James could hardly stop himself from phasing into your room at night, watching your nightly ritual, shower, TikTok scroll, facetiming friends, sleep. He was mostly investigating to see why you were staying at this hellish hotel for so long, and he overheard you say something about it being a world death destination, which had apparently fascinated you, but that fact couldn't prepare him for you lighting candles and summoning him. James March, the Ten Commandments Killer, personally.
Did you have a death wish? what was wrong with you? what was wrong with him, was the more important question, seeing as he entertained your little summoning, he appeared behind you and cleared his throat, to which you whipped your head around, and saw none other than the man you wanted so badly to see.
James Patrick March.
"Darling, what could you possibly want to converse with a gruesome murderer such as myself for?" He said with his unfamiliar 1920s accent, it was like those old timey tv shows your grandparents always had playing in the living room, but less distorted, more real.
This was really happening.
"You... You're really here? I didn't actually believe-" he interrupted you.
"You had to have believed, seeing as you went out of your way to summon a dead serial murderer. Now, what is your goal in all this?" he cocked his head to the side, as if to further question your intentions.
"Well, all things dark and macabre have always interested me, and so I started visiting the worlds death destinations, and the Hotel Cortez was on that list... but also, as a teenager, I watched a lot of Billie Dean Howards seances, including the one here, and it drove me to want to investigate," you smiled up at him, and he suddenly pulled you up and held both of your hands.
"have you ever murdered a person, dove?" he asked the question as if it was the most normal thing in the world, and when you didnt answer, he pulled you closer and whispered, "would you like to?"
