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queers-gambit · 1 year ago

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Shower Shenanigans

part one: Perpetual L's and Overwhelming Dubs

prompt: midnight callers turn your quiet night upside down, but at least it ends with you riding your stranger in the shower.

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 4.7k+

note: nobody asked for this but he's my muse now

warnings: cursing, smut (unprotected, in the shower, she's on top), blood, wounds, brain rot, author isn't British, probably setting up for part three, wonky brain doesn't care what warnings are missed.

A storm had rolled over Osaka, a steady thrumming at your hotel window creating a calming ambiance as you lit a couple of the candles you ordered from the front desk. Curled up on the tiny loveseat offered in the small living space, you flipped through your latest novel you grabbed before running into Tangerine at the train station. Speaking of, you glared at your phone for the hundredth time in an hour, feeling a sort of overwhelming dread that he hadn't called yet - or at the very least, texted.

Was it silly? Oh, you KNOW it was.

But he had said some really pretty things that rang in your ears on a haunting repeat the rest of the train ride. Then the whole taxi ride through Osaka, and the three days it's been since meeting him - he just wouldn't leave your conscious. Every meeting you had was vaguely interrupted by some sort of thought about your mysterious stranger, driving you up the wall.

Sure, you could call him, but the idea of calling a stranger for no reason other than to hear his voice felt a little too vulnerable to you. Yo could ask where he was, if he wanted to come for a visit - or hell, even before you departed Japan back for London, England, you could come see him... If he so wanted.

But your mind refused to let you dial his number, which was left in your recents after he had texted himself in the bathroom. The memory of your ex was still so fresh, making you feel silly for having such vivid, intense fantasies about a man you've met once. And for the love of Christ, you didn't even know his real name! Just his silly, fruity codename!

Man, if you hadn't been embarrassed before, the memory of moaning a fucking fruit surely made you cringe to the point you wanted the Earth to open up, swallow you whole, and never spit you out.

Your trip was soon to end with your departing flight tomorrow night, giving you just a day of leisure time in the city - but you didn't feel like doing much since the storm. Your book was interesting enough, keeping you entertained with a cart of hot food from room service within arms reach. Your tea was lukewarm by now, being much easier to drink, bowl of air-popped popcorn sat in your lap. Over the sounds of thunder, there was a knock at your door.

More like a banging, but hey, logistics. This was odd considering it was close to nine in the evening and you hadn't called for anything.

With a sigh, you marked your page and stood; annoyed by the continuous knocking, oversized tee shirt falling back over your thighs, socked feet stuffing into your slippers before traveling to the door. You called in Japanese, "Who is it?"

There was a small scraping, making your brows furrow and call your question again - but with much more urgency. "'S me, love, open the door, please," a raspy, British accent croaked seemingly through the crack. You left the chain lock in place, slowly opening the door a fraction to discover Tangerine - bloodied to high hell - leaning on the doorframe of your hotel room with two other bloody men behind him.

"What the fuck? Jesus Christ," you hissed, shutting the door, snapping the chain off and yanking it open once more. "Get in here, are you okay?" You asked, gasping right after when Tangerine stumbled a little, making you catch him; assualting your sinuses with the smell of citrus, metallic blood, and cigarette smoke. "All right, all right, you're safe now, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon," you muttered, helping him over your shoulders and into your decently spacious hotel room. "C'mon, you two! Step lively before you trigger hotel security!"

You shuffled your stranger into the room and deposited him on the sofa; hearing his grunt of exaggerated pain. You looked at the others, sighing as you moved things out of the way, inviting the other two men to sit around the furniture. You tried not to worry about the cleaning bill you would surely get for all their blood.

"Jesus Christ, did you get shot?" You asked, seeing the fleshy wound in his shoulder that was very poorly staunched.

"That arsehole did it," he panted, pointing at the blonde stranger.

"Hi," the arsehole waved, "it was an accident, for whatever it's worth. I, uh... I have bad luck, don't really like guns," he shrugged meekly.

"You lot look like hell," you sighed, shaking your head and standing to your feet to take a few steps away. You asked over your shoulder, "Guess I shouldn't bother asking what happened?"

"Train wreck," the man Tangerine had been with earlier answered.

You blinked in shock, the men all wincing as they were seemingly finally able to relax. Only now, you noted they were all in the same clothes as days ago, just tattered, torn, burnt and singed, soaking wet from the storm, stained with blood. You looked at Tangerine, demanding, "Is that why you told me to get off the train? You were gonna crash it!?"

"No, no, darlin', that wasn't the plan," Tangerine coughed, head tilted back. "Just... Happened."

"Call it his bad luck, huh?" You shook your head and moved for the hotel's phone, dialing the front desk and waiting. When they answered, the cheery front desk girl asked how she could help and you asked her what first aid supplies the hotel kept stocked. She answered and you asked if you'd be able to get enough for three kits - claiming you were practicing for a medical school final. She was more than happy to oblige, telling you her brother did much of the same, and she'd send the kits right up.

Thanking her, you hung up, and turned back for room. You found a pair of shorts and hopped into them for modesty, using your ice bucket to fill with water, grabbing whatever hand towels and washcloths you could. You set the bucket to the coffee table, dipping the cloths in for the two strangers, asking, "You guys wanna clean up a bit?"

"Please," the blonde wheezed.

You nodded, handing over the wet towels and moved the bucket a little closer for them to reach. You introduced yourself to them, offering a smile, turning for Tangerine and taking a seat beside him to start cleaning him up. "Lemon," your companion's counterpart introduced.

"Ladybug."

"More fucking codenames," you mumbled, shaking your head, trying to mop up Tangerine's forehead. "Jesus, fuck, sweetheart, what did you do? Bash your head through a glass wall?"

"Window, actually," he mumbled, reaching up to caress your wrist and cracking his eyes open. "Thank you, darlin'."

"Hush," you smiled, wiping the blood from his mouth. "You guys are gonna need showers and new clothes, huh?" You looked at the other two, who were scattered around the room to use whatever reflective surface they could find.

"That'd be nice," Ladybug nodded. "Anyone any cash?"

You sighed, "I've got you guys, 's all right."

As you reached for the bucket of warm water again to rinse the washcloth and wring it out, you missed the looks Lemon and Tangerine exchanged; both mildly impressed with your generosity and kindness. Certainly, someone who would never get tangled up in the lot of them on regular circumstances.

The knock at your door made the entire room still, you sparing them a skeptical look and reprimanding as you stood, "Relax, it's just the supplies."

Still, Lemon and Ladybug made sure they were out of sight as Tangerine just couldn't move once deposited on the sofa. You greeted the service worker, strategic in how wide you opened the door, and accepted the supplies; thanking the man, closing the door, and depositing the materials on your still-made bed.

However, a new thought occurred and you picked up the phone once more. When it connected to the front desk, you asked if your conjoining room was vacant - and to your shock, it was. You asked if they would add the room to yours because your friend suddenly decided to join you (not a total lie), and some 20 minutes later, you were giving Ladybug and Lemon their own room keys. You propped the conjoining door open, the two men using the first aid kits and the other room's shower as you got Tangerine to a point you didn't think he would bleed out.

"Okay, sweetheart," you caressed his jaw, "I'm gonna pop over to the shops across the street, okay? Grab you guys some necessities."

"You don't have to, we shouldn't burden you like this," he whispered.

"You guys can't walk around in these clothes," you chuckled.

"Have been."

"Yeah, on the side of the road, huh?"

"Back of a tangerine truck for a bit, too," he chuckled.

"Well, that's fitting. Look, just," you sighed, leaning in to peck his lips softly, "stay here, rest, eat, I'll be right back. Get a shower if you feel able, yeah?"

He nodded, just looking you over for a moment. "I'm sorry," he whispered, shaking his head, "I didn't know where else t'go. Whole plan went t'shit, we were out of options, love, just... Didn't know where t'turn ta."

"How'd you even find me?"

He shrugged, "I have my ways."

"Well, that's doesn't vaguely make you sound like a stalker." Another peck to his amused smile. "I'll be right back, promise," you stood, found a pair of sweats, a hoodie, and changed your shoes before heading out the door.

Was it stupid to leave three strangers alone in your hotel room? For sure. But you still went, you were a caring person by nature and the idea of making them fend for themselves felt wrong.

Especially after the state they showed up in, Tangerine's soft words about not knowing where to go; you just wanted to help since you had the ability to.

Across the street, splashing through puddles, you zipped around what was available and gathered three sets of sweatpants, shirts, jackets or hoodies, and figured their shoes were fine for now until they could change them later. You grabbed a few snacks and bottles of water, sports drinks, and energy drinks, paid, and made it back to your hotel room.

"Oh, blessings, you sweet girl!" Lemon gasped when you presented the change of clothes and snacks. "Oh, fuck yeah," he whispered to himself, taking the gift and going to change as you tossed Ladybug his own set.

When you found Tangerine, he was in the same place - but at least he didn't look worse. Just exhausted.

"Hey," you cooed, caressing his head and watching his eyes crack open.

"You're back," he smiled.

"Mhm," you hummed, "and you need a shower. C'mon, then you can get in bed, get some rest."

"Nah, love," he groaned when you took his wrists, "let's jus' go t'bed."

"Tan, you're absolutely disgusting right now, you'll feel better under the water. C'mon, there's a shower seat, you don't have to do anything, I'll help you."

He winced when you helped him on his feet, hobbling into the bathroom as Ladybug and Lemon were chowing down on whatever they could get their hands on. In the bathroom, you shut the door, set a clean towel on the counter, and turned to see him leaning on a wall, just watching you. You offered a soft smile, starting the shower to hea up, and then approaching him.

"Easy," you whispered, helping him unlatch his belt, step from his shoes, and then shed his trousers. His waistcoat followed, then his button-up, you gasping lightly, "Oh, fuck! Oh, my God. Yeah," you gently pet his side, prodding the dark wound, "you've got some broken ribs, sweetheart. Fuck's sake."

"That arsehole did that, too," he mused.

"Seriously? Damn, how'd you get your arse handed to yah by a lad named Ladybug?" You joked, dropping his boxers and pulling him from the wall. You made sure he was on the shower seat before stepping back and stripping yourself, joining him in the heat and getting to your knees.

With another washcloth, you gently suds over his body, the soap helping sweep away from grime. He let you work, scrubbing his feet, then working up his legs, rinsing, reapplying the soap, and continuing on your way. You washed his thighs and up his hips, to his waist, ignoring the way his cock stirred to life, bobbing into your elbow as it swelled. You were gentle over his bruises, the water feeling nice over your tired bodies; the soft scents of the soap soothing.

When you straightened up to wash his chest, you missed the way his eyes scanned over your soaking wet form. Feeling your hands on his collarbones, he reached down to seize your hips and heave - making you yelp. "The hell are you doing?" You gasped, needing to stabilize yourself on the wall and his non-shot shoulder.

"'S been three days too long, just wanted yah close," he whispered, sighing as his hands smoothed down your hips; gripping the flesh until indentations appeared.

You tisked, "You're hurt, you don't need t'fuckin' lift me. Use your words next time, won't you?"

He chuckled, "And what? Risk you sayin' no 'cause you don't wanna hurt me? Nah, love," he sighed. "Just wanted yah close, t'feel yah."

You hummed, "Close your eyes."

"Hmm?"

You held up the shampoo bottle, squirting a generous amount into your hand before starting to lather it into his scalp. He groaned, hissed at a few intervals, but overall let you work your fingers through his curls; pulling out any knots, shards of glass, and loosening the dried blood.

"You all right?" You checked, lifted on your knees to work; breasts all but pressed into his face.

"Mhm," he hummed, coiling his arms around you so he could literally just press his face into your cleavage. You chuckled, giving him a quick cuddle as he pecked your skin slowly, and continuing your work. When you lowered yourself back to his lap, your bare cunt drug down his shaft, making you both groan. "Baby," he seethed through his teeth, gripping the back of your neck to keep you close, "please, just - get on me, yeah? Need yah - on a biblical level, darlin'."

"You're hurt," you weakly refused, your resolve barely hanging on by a thread.

"Not so hurt that I can't enjoy this, huh?" He argued, licking over your lips to halt all rational thought. "C'mon, love, we hiked it three days here - after a fuckin' train wreck. I would've dropped if not for the thought of you, seein' yah, touchin' you again. Don't even gotta move, just sit there, love."

"If I do, will you finally just sit still and let me clean you up?"

"Whatever baby wants, she'll have, swear it," he grinned, hoisting you into his arms so he could grip his throbbing cock, lower you, and line himself up until you were impaling yourself on him. "Jesus, fuck!" He snapped, mixing with your whimper at his impossible stretch. "Ah, you feel so fuckin' good, doll, this is it - this is what I needed, huh? All I fuckin' needed - fuck - right fuckin' here."

"Hush," you whispered with an embarrassed smile, glancing back. "I need the shower head."

"I got us," he answered, holding you tight and standing with a small grunt. He easily grabbed the shower head, handing it to you, letting you rinse his hair out as he turned to pin you against the wall with his hips for balance.

"This isn't just sitting," you mocked, soap flowing down his shoulders and chest. "Close your eyes, please," you whispered, wiping the frothy suds from his face as he did. "God, your curls are magnificent, seriously, why does God give the best qualities to men - who don't even appreciate what they have?"

He laughed lightly, "Gotta get your attention somehow."

"Mhm, these lashes? Not even a drop of mascara," you mused, pecking the tip of his nose while one hand held his jaw. "And this jawline? Baby, this alone could cut glass."

"Like your nipples, right?" He teased, nipping your collarbones; both acutely aware of your pebbled nips dancing across his flesh each time you moved. He chuckled, readjusting you when you reached to set the shower head back in the holder; making sure it could cascade over the bench still. "We done?" He asked softly.

"Nope, got the conditioner," you rolled your eyes, holding his shoulders when he moved back for the seat; still firmly inside you. When he sat again, you released a high-pitched breath when the position pushed him further into you; your legs folding beside his thighs to keep the ideal grip.

"In a second," he smirked, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. "Just need this, yeah?" He spoke against your lips, licking into your mouth. "Been hiking with a fucking hard-on for days, love, just fuckin' need this," he hissed into your mouth, teeth raking over your bottom lip in a possessive bite. You moaned quietly, lost in the ministrations of kissing him like a drunk teenager, barely aware when he started moving your hips over him.

"Tan," you tried.

"C'mon, love, we both need it," he shook his head. "Tell me to stop and I will, but I think we both need this."

With a long sigh, you pet his cheek, deciding, "Fine, but we're taking it easy, you're still - " But then there was a loud knock at the bathroom door, Lemon calling your name in question. You slapped a hand over Tangerine's irritated mouth when he looked ready to yell his protest, answering, "What is it, honey, are you guys okay? What's wrong?"

"Yeah, just, uh... Can we order a couple things from room service? Bit starving, thinkin' something hot?"

"Oh, yeah, whatever you guys need!" You encouraged happily, Tangerine biting your palm and making your hand retract with a small whine and pout.

"Oi!" He called over the shower stream.

"Yeah?" Lemon was heard laughing.

"Don't run up her bill, mate!"

"It's okay," you whispered, pecking his forehead. "Get what you need, Lemon," you called, "but order Tangerine something to eat, too, please!"

"On it, love! Thank you!"

"Oh! Of course!" You beamed back at Tangerine, who offered you a mild look of annoyance.

"Now, why do that?" He asked, grinding your hips on his again. "Huh? Those two will eat you outta house and home, love."

"It's fine, you guys have been through a lot," you promised, connecting your lips in a long kiss. "Now, you wanna keep talking financials or put the rest of this hot water to use?"

"There's my girl," he grunted, standing from the bench to move fully under the water; pinning you to the wall again.

You grunted when you collided with the cold tile, but the warm tongue in your mouth was plenty distraction. You held his neck like it was your single tether to life, teeth clashing, tongues wagging, lips wet and creating obscene sounds the more intense the kisses turned.

"Fuck," you felt the air punch from your lungs when Tangerine pulled his hips back to start thrusting; brows furrowed together in concentration as he worked in and out of you at an already brutal pace. You didn't complain - he obviously needed this, and by God, it felt otherworldly.

"'Ats my girl, so fuckin' good for me," he muttered, needing this more than you have ever before; each hand holding a thigh to keep you spread open for his taking, hips hammering into yours as his balls slapped the apex of your cunt to echo around the room.

You felt incoherent when he picked up his speed, dropping his forehead to your shoulder when your head was thrown back as he worked you closer, closer, closer to your release. There was no thought in your mind, just Tangerine; drunk on his smell, taste, touch, never wanting this feeling to end.

Just outside the bathroom, Ladybug was accepting the room service order when he heard the messy, obscene noises coming from the bathroom; looking wide eyed at the closed door. Lemon laughed, "Might wanna walk away, Joburg, he don't like nobody listening in."

"Kinda hard to when they're that loud," he blanched when you released a pornographic moan as Tangerine readjusted his stance so his cock was piercing what felt like straight through you. Lemon laughed at Ladybug being startled so much he literally scurried away.

"C'mon, love," Tangerine panted.

"Go back," you moaned, pawing at his shoulders as you felt too slippery in this position.

"Huh?"

"Sit!" You insisted, him pulling back from the wall and backing up until the bench hit the back of his knees - dropping him. "There's my boy," you mocked, a hand on the wall, the other on his good shoulder, supporting you to vigorously ride him. You felt renewed energy now that he was obviously okay, only his bullet wound still weeping - something you'll patch up once out of the water.

"Oh, holy fuck," Tangerine moaned, louder than you would've thought; his head thumping back to the wall and losing all composure. "That's it, doll, keep like that - ohhh, fuck me!"

"Exactly what I'm doing, yeah?" You teased, moving your hand to his throat and keeping pressure enough not to fully choke his air supply, but enough to make him moan at the feeling.

His mouth dropped open as you rode him enthusiastically, feeling determined to reward him for coming all this way to track you down. Yeah, sure, for a moment, it was concerning, but now, you simply didn't care that three strangers had found your hotel room and now crashed with you.

Nothing mattered when this deliriously delicious cock was inside you.

"Jesus!" Tangerine moaned, hands to your hips to help you move, but it seemed the years in your youth as an equestrian was truly paying off. Call it muscle memory, but years after mastering the posting trot and the correct canter diagonal, you were riding Tangerine as if you'd drop dead if you didn't. And he felt it, he felt all of it. "Yeah, you're too good at this," he groaned, "so fuckin' good - Goddamnit - fuck me. Just like that, love, keep going - fuck, I'm right there."

You smirked, pushing his neck back so we was pinned to the wall now, his eyes locked with yours, mouth agape, your breasts bouncing with vigor. You squeaked when Tangerine braced his feet, his own hips thrusting up into you to match your movements; adding to both your mounting pleasures as the shower created a cloud of steam around you both in a welcomed lung-choking heat.

You honestly didn't mean to, but the absolute gut-wrecking pleasure you felt was enough for you to moan in Tangerine's ear, "Daddy."

It seemed the right word as Tangerine groaned in an echo, thrusting faster to the point you couldn't keep up. You could only moan, groan, squeak, cry-out as he jackhammered up into you - something that made Lemon and Ladybug exchange looks, gather their things, and rush back over to their adjoining room to leave you both a fraction of privacy.

"Yeah, tell Daddy how good it is," he seethed in your ear, opening his mouth, and biting down on your neck; hand tightly wound in your hair.

"So good."

"How good?"

"Too good, Daddy, please," you sobbed, braced on his shoulders and chest as his arms held you tight to let him thrust with abandon. "Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God, yes, yes, yes," you praised, your orgasm rushing higher and higher to a new height. "Fuck," you moaned in his ear, "need this cock everyday. Went three days without, felt like I was losing my fucking mind."

"Feelin's mutual, love, so fuckin' mutual," he agreed, his cock swelling, "just needed t'get here, find yah again. Shit, fuck," he looked to where you were conjoined, praising, "gonna need yah home address - ain't no way we're goin' without one another, huh? Hey?"

"Yes, yes, yes," you squeaked, "there - there - there!"

His thumb pressed to your clit and you were done for. Grinding and humping into his hips, you crashed over the other side of your orgasm; feeling mildly limp as you slumped against his shoulder, letting Tangerine thrust a few more times.

"YES!" He shouted your name through clenched teeth, holding you with a vice grip as he bottomed out, balls contracting, squirting his full load inside you with shuddering breaths.

"Oh, my God," you sniffled, holding onto him as your legs were spent and you knew, the odds of you moving any time soon were slim to none.

"Yeah," Tangerine chuckled, leaning back to the wall as he panted; keeping hold of you. "Yah all right, love?"

"Uh-huh," you breathed, still absentminded.

"Yeah," he mused, pecking below your ear. "Just what the doctor ordered, huh?"

"Think the doctor would want your wound closed," you slowly sat off him, looking to the bloody hole and frowning as you pet around the irritated skin. He winced gently, making you frown, "Let's go, love, you need this tended to."

Only, when you dismounted, his cock flopping out of you once released, you tried to find your feet but only found the floor.

"C'mon, love, you just sit," he sighed, scooping you up and switching spots. He set you on the bench, stood, rinsed off under the water, readjusted the stream so it hit you a little better as he lathered conditioner into his curls with one arm.

"You're supposed to leave it sit for a bit," you tisked when he washed the conditioner out; shaking his curls.

"'S all right, still does the job."

"Your girlfriends never taught you haircare?"

He cleared his throat, looking a bit sheepish as he avoided your eyes. "Never really had one outside of secondary school. Job doesn't make dating the easiest, yeah?"

You furrowed your brows gently, then nodded, "Okay, well, just means you've room to learn, right?"

"Yeah, sure. You gonna teach me, love?" He mused, slicking his hair back in the water before shutting it off; wringing a few strands out.

"Why not?" You smiled. "But you gotta teach me something in return."

"Hmm? What's that you wanna learn?"

"How to shoot a gun."

He offered you a long look, seemingly skeptical. You accepted his hand and got from the bench, squeezing when the weight of your body made them tremble lightly. Stepping out, you both dried off with towels as he offered, "Why d'you think I know how to shoot a gun?"

"Tellin' me that Ladybug fellow is the only one? That's fine, I can ask him," you quipped, making him instantly respond,

"Nah, nah, nah, nah, don't do all that, I'll teach yah, love."

You smiled softly, wrapping your hair in a towel and approaching him - still naked. "Thank you," you whispered, kissing his lips in a soft, sweeping motion that made him hum in the back of his throat and reach for your bare arsecheek. "Now, c'mon, let's get you stitched up before you go startin' something you can't finish."

"You met me, love? I always finish," he gave a cheeky squeeze.

"Mhm, might be the last time, too, with this blood loss. Huh?"

He relented in a head nod and wrapped the towel around his hips, watching you shrug on a fluffy white robe and tie the sash. He took your hand, laced your fingers together, and exited the bathroom - only to come to a shocking halt.

There was blood trailed all over the room, medical supplies strewn around, and several food wrappers. "Told yah, love," Tangerine sighed.

"It's okay," you smiled, "they'll clean it."

"You're so sure?"

"I'm very persuasive," you eased. "C'mon, sit," you ushered him back to the bloodied sofa, figuring damage was already done and anymore blood wouldn't make much of a difference. You grabbed whatever material you could, snapping on rubber gloves and taking a deep breath. "Ready?" You asked Tangerine.

"One more kiss and you can have at it," he sighed, leaning in until you met him happily; offering several swipes of his tongue before resting his forehead on your own.

"It'll sting for a bit," you warned, holding the bottle of alcohol.

"C'mon, darlin', 's all right, I can handle - OH! FUCKS SAKE!" He cursed when you poured the disinfectant over his bullet wound.

In the next room, Ladybug and Lemon shared a look before snickering as if two juvenile boys at a sleepover. And honestly? Spot the difference.

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wheresmyfuckingchair · 9 months ago

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familiarscars · 1 month ago

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Drive You Insane | Noah Sebastian 01

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Noah Sebastian X psychiatrist!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. A mysterious new patient arrives at the Grimshade sanatorium and you have been tasked with taking care of his case.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). disturbing environment, violence, unconventional treatments, manipulation, questionable relationships, explicit sex and profanity.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

Grimshade Sanatorium, an isolated island of Blackridge in southern Canada.

It had been six long hours by plane from your city, three hours by boat, and now an hour and a half crammed into a private car with closed windows, traveling along a bumpy road that bordered a cliff as it climbed the hill. Your heart threatened to leap out of your chest at any moment, and your hands were sweating so much that they alternated between hot and cold.

You adjusted your glasses on the bridge of your nose after checking the map for the eighth time, dividing your attention between the aged paper in your fingers and the fog outside that made it impossible to figure out where you were. From what you could decipher, Grimshade Sanatorium was at the top of a hill, while the rest of the island was shrouded in dark, untamed vegetation. There was a single small town miles away from your lodging, and reaching it seemed daunting given the path ahead.

At that moment, you hoped you wouldn’t need anything from it anytime soon.

When you chose psychiatry as your specialization, you never imagined how difficult it would be to find a job in the field, especially as a newly graduated professional. It was tough for reputable clinics to give you a vote of confidence, given your youth and limited experience beyond mandatory internships and extracurricular activities in college.

Everything changed when a letter from Grimshade Sanatorium arrived—a glimmer of hope. You had applied to so many places you’d forgotten about that one. They sent a notice on vintage paper, resembling a direct invitation from Hogwarts, which you found amusing yet intriguing due to the details.

They were looking for a psychiatrist for the ward housing inmates awaiting their final sentences—many of them serving their time as residents. It wasn’t exactly what you had envisioned, especially after researching Grimshade and discovering it functioned like a maximum-security prison for the most dangerous, mentally unstable criminals.

“This is where the road ends for cars, I’m afraid. You’ll have to continue on foot,” the driver said over his shoulder, turning to look at you in the back seat.

Your slightly wide-eyed gaze shifted between the dark dirt road ahead and his drooping eyes beneath his cap. You didn’t want to let on that you felt a faint shiver running up your spine.

“I don’t know how to get there alone,” you said, trying to mask the panic in your voice. “Okay, I have a map, but what are the chances it won’t confuse me? Is there somewhere I can get Wi-Fi or better cell service to use GPS?”

Rebert—that’s how he introduced himself—merely furrowed his brows and shook his head briefly, as if the words that had left your lips were absurd.

“With all due respect, miss, but a cellphone on Blackridge Island is the most useless device you could own. There’s no signal tower; we barely manage to watch TV or get news from the outside world,” he chuckled.

“What do you mean?” you asked, frowning as you adjusted yourself in the seat. “How do people communicate here?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Probably through letters and carrier pigeons, like a century ago.

“I need to ask one more thing. If I need to go into town, how can I call a taxi or get transportation?”

“When you get to this very intersection, you’ll see cars like mine heading toward the town. Since you’re a Grimshade employee, you’ll have unrestricted access with your ID badge. Just pay attention to the schedules and days of the week; town visits are limited to avoid coinciding with the arrival of new inmates.”

“They seem very strict about security,” you said, flexing your lips in mild surprise.

“Given the abominable creatures they house there, perhaps their measures aren’t strict enough. Strict is how I chain my dog to a post to keep him from running away. Those killers shouldn’t even have the privilege of eating and sleeping in that place,” Rebert said with a tone of contempt that left you slightly uncomfortable.

You hated when people spoke about patients that way, no matter who they were. But your beliefs and values didn’t matter much now.

“Well...” You cleared your throat, grabbing your coat and bag from the seat beside you, slinging it over your shoulder. “Thanks for the ride and the tips, Rebert.”

“Not at all, miss.”

You hauled your suitcase out of the trunk, grunting at its weight, and dragged it toward the narrower stone path. In the distance, you heard Rebert’s car pulling away, its tires crunching against the gravel. Ahead, you could make out the mansion after a steep climb, with old tree branches and dry leaves forming an archway over the path.

The journey was silent, with nothing but the sounds of nature—the raspy chirping of birds—accompanied by the soft rush of water from the cracked concrete fountain decorating the front of the sanatorium as you crossed its gates. You walked slowly around it, grimacing as you noted the general state of neglect on the facade.

The circular driveway around the fountain had cracked and darkened tiles, and the mansion’s paint was as old as the building itself, appearing white under layers of creeping vines and cracks that altered its color. You couldn’t help wrinkling your nose at the sight, the chirping of birds replaced by the distant clang of heavy metal and muffled screams as you approached.

“You must be the new doctor!” A cheerful male voice addressed you from behind, startling you as you turned fully. “I’m Travis Rune, head psychiatrist of the custody ward. I’ve been assigned to welcome you to Grimshade!”

For a moment, you considered refusing the hand he extended toward you. He could’ve arrived a little earlier and helped you carry your heavy suitcase up the hill. On the other hand, the blond man with perfectly aligned hair and broad shoulders seemed far too pleasant to snub.

“Thank you! Have you been here long, Dr. Rune?” you asked, prompting a smile as Travis gestured with his chin for you to follow him inside.

“Please, call me Travis. We’re colleagues now.” He smiled, looking at you over his square glasses, winking one strikingly blue eye.

“That’s precisely why I prefer to keep things formal,” you said without intending to sound rude, though the words slipped out as you continued assessing the mansion’s interior.

A grand staircase led to the second floor, where nurses bustled about, and various patients were being moved from one place to another—some restrained, others not. Passing by a woman banging her head against the staircase railing, Travis led you upstairs, signaling to another staff member to take care of your suitcase.

“We’ve divided Grimshade into wings and levels. You’ll identify them by the bracelets on each patient’s wrist,” he explained as you moved down the corridor, ignoring the shouting coming from one of the consulting rooms. “Level One: green bracelet. Elderly patients abandoned by their families in our asylum. Their needs are managed by the nursing staff, so you won’t have contact with them.”

You absorbed the information, looking from side to side, thinking that abandoning a family member in a place like this was the ultimate proof of someone’s character.

"Level two: yellow wristbands. Patients of random age groups with mild mental disorders also abandoned by their families, or severe cases requiring institutionalization. They are monitored by the mental health team and have a monthly consultation with me for medication adjustments."

"So, they pay to be here?" Perhaps it was a naïve question, but you needed to know.

"Their families pay an annual fee and cover the costs of keeping them here. Unless it's a custody patient, we don’t treat anyone for free, if that’s what you’re wondering."

If they had so many patients and all of them paid to be here, why keep the sanatorium in the state of an ancient asylum? You wondered as you walked past a leak dripping water from the ceiling onto your hair.

"Understood, Dr. Rune."

He seemed quite young.

Okay, he was definitely good-looking and had a pleasant way of speaking. The age gap between you and him couldn’t have been more than two years. He was definitely the kind of guy you might have had a crush on in university, without the slightest reciprocation given the countless other, more interesting options he probably had. Not that you were particularly extroverted or social, especially when it came to interacting with men.

Locking yourself up at home with your face buried in books might not have been the best idea after all.

"Last but not least, level three: red wristbands. Custody patients awaiting trial or serving sentences at the sanatorium. We use treatment to extract information that can assist authorities and contribute to investigations."

He pointed toward a consultation room where a man in a dress shirt was speaking to a girl with her head down.

"Because these are highly dangerous criminals who can’t coexist with other patients, we keep them in a separate wing, which we call the Hidden."

Dr. Rune turned the next corner, and you followed him. As you passed through the doors and descended the stairs leading to the outside, the cold hit your face, and it was impossible not to cross your arms, trying to pull your sleeves further down.

You thought the scenery couldn’t get any worse, but with each step, it became darker. As you passed through gates and two guards, it felt like stepping into a TV prison show, walking along a corridor of iron cells.

A strong stench burned your nostrils, and the screams of patients mixed with the sound of something hitting the iron were enough to make your ears ring.

"This place is the reason you’re here. Our last professional resigned, and we urgently needed to fill the position before the next evaluation cycle started," Travis shrugged as he walked.

Your confidence dropped by a few percentage points upon realizing that your hiring was out of sheer desperation. Fine, you’d deal with that later.

"They resigned?" you asked, raising an eyebrow, dodging a stream of urine aimed in your direction by a patient. "Not exactly motivating to hear that on the first day."

"It’s a tough ward; it’s not for everyone." He smiled, and you hesitated immediately. "Besides the patient files you’ll handle, you’ll need to prepare for a new detainee arriving soon."

"A new detainee?" For the first time, your question sounded genuinely intrigued.

"He’s being tried for a brutal murder. There’s little information about the case, like his motivation or even confirmation that he did it. He hasn’t spoken a word since it happened, and the judge concluded he’s not mentally sound." Travis rolled his eyes. "They dump any trash here, and it’s up to us to sort through it. Along the way, we see if we can help at all."

He was definitely fed up with this job.

"So, let me guess... you think I can make him talk?" you asked, playing with a hint of innocence as you watched Travis stop in the corridor.

"I don’t think someone as inexperienced as you can go that far, no offense." He spoke with a touch of sarcasm. "We just want you to follow protocol with him, and I’ll handle the rest."

Something prickled at the back of your neck at the way he dismissed your years of study as absolutely nothing just because your resume wasn’t as extensive as his. Your hands curled into fists, your fingers pressing into your palms, and you took a deep breath before responding.

"Of course, Dr. Rune."

The tour of the Hidden was over, and you were exhausted. Travis left you at the door of your small room with its jammed window and dusty ceiling fan. Before leaving, he emphasized the importance of being well-rested to receive the new patient the next day. After your shower, you wanted to call your mother and let her know you had arrived safely on the island after hours of travel, but without any signal, no matter where you moved in the room, this mission was impossible. Tossing the phone onto your pillow, you promised yourself you’d give her an update as soon as you had a break and could visit the town.

With a tired sigh, you sat at the desk next to the bed, drying your hair with a towel while flipping through patient files. You weren’t sleepy yet, and without the entertainment of the internet, all you could do was work.

Patient File 1: Ash A., 39 years old - Admission: June 2019 Preliminary Diagnosis: Severe psychopathy; dissociative disorder.

History: Ash was admitted after being declared legally insane during the trial for a series of brutal murders. He worked as a taxidermist, and his obsession with preserving "human perfection" led him to conduct grotesque experiments on his victims, all meticulously chosen. He claimed he was "saving" their souls by preserving them in an "immortal" form. During initial sessions, he displayed a complete lack of remorse and a disturbingly detailed recounting of his actions. Current State: Apathetic during interactions, except when discussing his “art.” Shows no signs of rehabilitation or acknowledgment of the atrocities committed.

You raised your eyebrows and jotted down notes in your notebook before moving to the next file.

Patient File 2: Mariene G., 27 years old - Admission: October 2021 Preliminary Diagnosis: Schizoaffective disorder with violent tendencies.

History: Mariene was found in a state of shock next to the body of her older brother, stabbed 23 times. Apparently, she believed he was a demonic entity trying to steal her soul. According to family testimony, Mariene began exhibiting paranoid behavior months earlier, hearing voices instructing her to protect herself "at all costs." In one interview, she stated she "had no choice" and that "his eyes burned like embers."

Current State: Alternates between periods of lucidity and paranoia. Aggressive during confrontations, requiring constant supervision.

“Mariene is a pretty name…” you murmured, assessing the photo of the woman with blonde eyebrows.

Patient File 3: Brady P., 52 years old - Admission Date: January 2020

Preliminary Diagnosis: Antisocial personality disorder; extreme persecution mania.

History: Brady was a former financial executive who believed he was being pursued by a "secret society" responsible for monitoring his every move and manipulating his life. This paranoia culminated in a public attack at a shopping mall, where Brady set fire to three stores and stabbed two security guards, claiming they were "infiltrators." He maintains that each act was a measure of self-preservation against an invisible enemy.

Current State: Rarely sleeps, claiming that "they will find him" if he closes his eyes. Displays consistent delusions despite intensive medication.

With the third file finished, you exhaled sharply, letting your lips vibrate, imagining what could have driven the previous psychiatrist to resign, leaving this position open for you.

Patient File 4: Noah S., 24 years old - Admission Date: February 2024

Preliminary Diagnosis: Psychogenic catatonia associated with borderline personality disorder and severe dissociative episodes.

History: Noah was found at dawn in a grove near the university campus, kneeling beneath a large tree. Above him hung the mutilated body of his ex-girlfriend, Rachel E., 23 years old, suspended by her ankles and bearing signs of extreme violence: deep cuts marked her skin, symbols carved into her torso, and her frozen expression suggested a slow and painful death.

Noah was covered in blood, both his own and Rachel’s. When approached by police, he remained motionless, staring blankly at her hanging body. Initial investigations revealed the two had been seen together the night before at a rival fraternity party where, according to witnesses, a heated argument occurred. The circumstances of the crime raised questions of premeditation and symbolic rituals, but Noah never provided an explanation. From the moment of his capture, Noah had not spoken a single word. Extensive psychiatric evaluations concluded that his muteness and apathy were not conscious choices but the result of a profound dissociative state combined with severe trauma. During the trial, his inert posture and lack of defense led to an insanity plea and his transfer to Grimshade Sanitarium.

Current State: Noah remains in complete silence, minimally interacting with his surroundings. Nurses’ reports mention he is often found staring into space for hours, particularly near windows or trees. His only movements thus far have been sudden bursts of rage when provoked.

Closing the file, the feeling lingered — a deep chill seemed to originate from the center of your chest, raising the hair on your arms. Noah’s face in the photograph seemed almost alive, his intense, furrowed gaze carrying something impossible to name. For a moment, you wondered what it would be like to stand face-to-face with someone harboring such silence and horror within.

But your curiosity wouldn’t have to last long — you would meet him tomorrow.

The day began with an unusual restlessness. The hot water from the shower didn’t dissipate the cold that seemed to settle in your nape, and Noah’s face from the photograph lingered like a shadow, even with your eyes closed. It was as though the intensity of his gaze was imprinted on your mind, and more than once, you caught yourself trying to divert your thoughts — unsuccessfully — while instinctively clutching your thighs.

The tattoos — intricate and dark — covering his neck and peeking from the collar of his shirt didn’t help, drawing attention to themselves. Something about that man disturbed you more than any other patient you had encountered, and the feeling only grew as you prepared, choosing an outfit that projected professionalism, though a hint of nervousness threatened to show.

Descending to reception, you found Dr. Rune waiting with a calm smile and a hot coffee. You thanked him, holding the cup with both hands, trying to savor the warmth as a fleeting comfort. Walking together toward the outside, he explained some logistical details, but his words soon faded as a growing noise filled the corridor.

Crossing the main entrance doors, you stopped abruptly, startled by the scene unfolding before you. Journalists crowded like a compact swarm, camera flashes firing in rapid succession, and visibly overwhelmed security guards struggling to contain the horde. It was a chaotic visual and auditory assault, intensifying with each passing second.

“I should’ve warned you,” Travis murmured beside you, noting your expression. “Not only is his case infamous, but Noah comes from a very influential family. The owners of Blackridge, basically. They have fortune, power... and apparently no hurry to help their precious son.”

“They’re not trying to prove his innocence?” you asked innocently.

“All signs point to them wanting to stay out of the case due to the exposure. We’re in the isolated area, but Blackridge’s noble district is so conservative it’s believed that land still exists in a time capsule that hasn’t evolved.”

“That sounds... complicated.”

“Just another piece of gossip about a random patient.”

The information landed heavily, given Travis’s mocking tone, and you tried to ignore him.

“They won’t back off anytime soon,” Rune commented, his eyes scanning the commotion with a weary expression. “Be prepared — this will complicate things inside as well. Friends of mine at the penitentiary said this guy has an ego to match.”

The chaos ahead seemed to swell with the arrival of the convoy. You barely had time to process everything — the blinding flashes, the cacophony of voices shouting questions — when the door of the central car opened. Two guards stepped out first, taking rigid positions, before pulling Noah out.

He emerged with a surprising posture. There was no resistance in his movements, but neither was there submission. With his chin raised, his face remained expressionless, his eyes fixed on an undefined point on the horizon, avoiding the cameras with a determination that seemed almost practiced. The tattoos, now more visible, climbed along the side of his neck and hinted beneath the collar of his gray shirt, creating an almost hypnotic contrast against his pale skin.

Noah seemed unperturbed, untouchable, as though the swarm of journalists and flashes were nothing more than a breeze around him. But then, something shifted. His firm steps faltered for an instant, almost imperceptibly, and he stopped abruptly.

That’s when you realized: he was looking directly at you.

The air around you seemed to freeze under the weight of his gaze, as overwhelming as in the photograph, but now there was something more — an intensity that seemed to pierce through you, as if examining something far beyond what others could see. His eyes were a blend of ice and fire, fixed on you with such deliberate focus that your stomach involuntarily tightened.

The moment lasted only seconds but felt like an eternity. One of the guards touched Noah’s shoulder impatiently, and he resumed walking as if nothing had happened. Yet, the impact of that brief exchange lingered.

“He usually doesn’t react to anything,” Travis remarked beside you, his voice low but tinged with curiosity. “That was... strange.”

Strange.

The word felt insufficient to describe what you had just experienced. As Noah was led inside, you remained frozen, trying to understand why that fleeting instant made your skin tingle, as though something inevitable was about to happen.

You were in the asylum’s forest, each step swallowed by the oppressive silence, broken only by the crunch of dry leaves beneath your feet. The air was dense, almost suffocating, and you knew you weren’t alone. Something—or someone—was behind you.

Your breaths were shallow and quick, every fiber of your being urging you to run, yet your legs felt rooted to the ground. Then, you heard it.

A whisper, far too close, as though it came from inside your mind:

“Run.”

The word was a command, and you obeyed without hesitation. Your body lunged forward, crashing through trees and brush with an urgency that felt primal. But the ground seemed to fight against you, each step more laborious than the last. Heat built between your thighs—confusing, strange—mixing with the adrenaline surging down your spine.

When the sound of footsteps behind you intensified, the adrenaline peaked. You could no longer think, only run, but you knew it was futile. He was too close.

Suddenly, something yanked your hair with brutal force, jerking you backward. A scream tore from your lips as your back collided with the rough surface of a tree. The pain of bark scraping against your exposed skin was eclipsed by his presence—a towering, menacing shadow.

His face was obscured, hidden in darkness, but the patterns on his neck were unmistakable. You recognized the intricate lines of tattoos that had haunted your thoughts all day. The broad shoulders and the strength with which he gripped your jaw confirmed your deepest fear.

It was Noah.

He tilted his head, studying you with a terrifying calm. The sound of his breathing was heavy, almost animalistic. Before you could react, he pressed his body against yours, pinning you between the tree and his overwhelming presence.

The heat pulsing between your thighs became unbearable, tangled in terror and tension. You tried to speak, but the words lodged in your throat as he gripped your neck with a possessive firmness, his fingers digging into your skin.

And then, like a violent wave, you woke up.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, breaths coming in ragged gasps, and cold sweat drenched your skin. The darkness of your room was suffocating, though not as much as the weight of that dream. It wasn’t merely fear—it was something deeply visceral, almost tangible, making your skin crawl and your entire body rebel against what you had just experienced.

That man was going to drive you insane.

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livingdreams97 · 3 months ago

Text

Tara Carpenter -- "The lies I keep" (Part 5)

Tara Carpenter x Male reader/oc

Summary: Having a normal life is difficult after the one she considered her best friend tries to kill her and causes distrust in everyone she meets. But something or rather someone manages to enter her heart and hiding that person is the best thing that occurs to her.

Words: 5.158

PREVIOUS // NEXT

Masterlist

Tara's POV

I can notice how the atmosphere changes radically as soon as I ask my question, becoming heavier and full of uncertainty.

I can also see how my boyfriend's face changes completely, his body completely rigid and the slightly lost look he has.

I clench my jaw tightly, trying not to jump to any negative conclusions and have my mind start creating reasons for Gale to know my boyfriend's name. The guy I'm completely in love with, who's one of the few people I trust the most and have allowed myself to be vulnerable with since what happened a year ago.

A boyfriend who, even before we started dating, was friendly and understanding of my story. Someone who has given me all the time, space and support I have needed since the moment we became close.

The boy who, when I admitted that I lied to him about everything I had told him about myself, from my origins to my last name in the beginning, just smiled at me and assured me that he understood my reasons.

The same person who comforted me when, after admitting my lies and learning my true identity, allowed me to cry on his shoulder. Who wiped away my tears and made a horrible joke, causing me to laugh genuinely for the first time in a long time.

For those very reasons, I'm trying not to jump to any conclusions , giving him a chance to explain himself and clarify why the hell Gale Weathers knows him by name.

Because I don't want to think that the first person I ever fell in love with was just using me for some unknown reason and that would break my heart.

Y/n: We can talk about it somewhere private.- he whispers looking at the driver and then back at me.

I stare at him for a few moments, seeing a whirlwind of emotions flashing in his eyes and I can only nod at his question. I look at him for a few more seconds, before I can't continue with the uncertainty and turn my face towards my sister, moving away from him a little.

But I don't know if looking at my sister is better or worse, as I can see the distrust and anger reflected in her eyes as she stares at my boyfriend.

So I decide the best option is to look ahead and ignore the two people sitting on either side of me.

The rest of the trip home passes with the four travelers in complete silence and an atmosphere so tense that it could be cut with a spoon.

When we get out of the taxi, Y/n pays for the service and both my sister and I start walking towards the building.

Y/n: Tara! - I hear him call me, causing me to stop walking and look at him over my shoulder. - Can we talk at your house? The three of us . - he specifies looking at me with a pleading look.

Tara: Let's go.- I nod quietly, shaking my head towards the building and resuming my march towards the apartment.

Sam: I don't think it's a good idea for him to come into our house.- she murmurs as she stands beside me as we walk up the stairs. -I don't trust him, much less seeing as he's related to Gale in some way without you knowing.- she whispers, looking at the person walking behind us with distrust.

Tara: But I'm the one who decides whether or not I trust him.- I reproach her firmly, not wanting my sister and her opinions to dictate what I have to feel or think.

Sam: Tara...- she starts to say but I stop her immediately.

Tara: Stop.- I deny, interrupting her.

We finish climbing the stairs and Sam opens the door with some reluctance due to Y/n's presence. When he opens the door, the three of us enter and my boyfriend, being the last to enter, closes the door behind him.

Tara: Quinn? - I call, seeing that there was no one in the living room. - Quinn, are you home? - I ask, knocking on her bedroom door without receiving any answer.

Sam: Mindy sent me a text. - She tells me with her phone in her hand. - She says that they are expecting us at your university campus. - She informs me, looking up.

Tara: Is Quinn with them? - I asked her walking towards the living room.

Sam: Yes, they are all together and she sent me the location so I know where they are exactly. - she explains to me, putting her cell phone in the back pocket of her pants.

I nod tiredly, letting myself fall onto the couch and closing my eyes for a few moments. I hear someone clear their throat, causing me to open my eyes and see my boyfriend standing in the entrance of the living room, shifting uncomfortably in his spot.

Tara: Come here.- I whisper with an attempt at a smile, patting the couch beside me and watching as he walks nervously towards me . -Sam.- I call her to join me and she sits in the armchair.

Once the three of us are seated, I watch as Y/n nervously plays with his fingers and begins to dig his nails into the palms of his hands.

I slowly move one of my hands towards his and gently place it between them, preventing him from further harming himself.

Y/n: Gale has known me since I was 8 years old.- he begins to tell nervously. -What I'm going to say now can't leave the room under any circumstances.- he says connecting our gazes and then looking at my sister.

Sam: I can't promise to do something if I don't know what it's about.- she denies, crossing her arms and looking at my boyfriend with her eyes half closed.

Tara: Sam.- I scold her for her attitude. -Nothing you say will leave this room.- I assure him sincerely, watching as his shoulders relax slightly.

Y/n: Before you told me, I already knew about the Woodsboro murders and Ghostface.- he admits with some guilt in his gaze.

Sam: Everyone with a TV, computer or phone knows about the murders and even more about Ghostface - she reproaches him with a certain bite in her tone of voice.

Tara: Sam, that's enough. - I scold her again for her attitude. -Let him speak and explain himself without interrupting him. - I ask her firmly.

My sister looks at me with some anger, but just keeps her arms crossed and lets her back fall against the back of the chair.

Y/n: What I mean is that I've been through the same thing you two went through last year.- he admits and I look at him with wide eyes, surprised. -When you told me what happened to you, I wanted to tell you that I had experienced the same thing and be honest. But no one else could know.- he assures me with complete sincerity.

Tara: But that's impossible.- I deny confused. - You're from New York, you were born and raised here. Besides, the last attack was 11 years ago, at that time you would have been...- I say trying to make sense of what he's saying.

Y/n: 8 years old.- finish the sentence for me .

Sam: That's impossible.- she denies immediately. -In 2011 there was no victim or witness that young.- she argues looking at my boyfriend with suspicion.

Y/n: Not publicly.- he agrees with my sister. -Gale, Dewey, Sheriff Hicks and Sidney made sure that no one knew of my existence during the Ghostafce attacks that year.- he explains with a sigh.

Sam: And how are you related to Ghostface? - she asks, leaning forward and paying more attention to him.

Y/n: Jill Roberts was my sister.- he admits looking at the ground and I can't help but let out a sound of surprise.

Sam: That can't be, Jill was an only child. - She immediately denies, implying that my boyfriend is lying.

Y/n: She was the only daughter my father had with Kate Roberts, but she wasn't an only child.- he says and I'm increasingly surprised. -My father left Kate when Jill wasn't even born yet, because according to him, Kate always had her head somewhere else and never paid attention to her marriage. So my father asked for a divorce and moved to New York for a great job offer.- he tells us with a small grimace when he admits that his father abandoned her daughter.

Tara: But I never saw you in Woodsboro .- I say trying to remember someone named Y/n Willson .

Y/n: Because I only went a couple of weeks during the summer since I was 5 years old.- he clarifies taking a deep breath. -That year my father took me to woodsboro later than usual because a work trip and that's why I was there when it happened. My father never wanted to have much of a relationship with Jill and he showed it every time he dropped me off and picked me up from Kate's house. But Jill was a good sister and I had fun with her, until she decided that being famous was more important than anything else in the world.- he tells us with some resentment in his voice and tears in his eyes.

POV You

I can see that the more I tell them, the more surprise and disbelief I see on the Carpenter sisters faces. But it is completely understandable, since what I am telling has been a secret of summary and I hope it will remain so after this.

Sam: But what happened? How .. no ..- she asks without knowing very well how to form it.

Y/n: Kirby invited my sister to watch some movies and spend the afternoon at her house, so Jill took me with her. - I begin to tell what happened that night feeling the sweat on my hands. - Charlie and Jill 's boyfriend-ex were also there when we arrived. Everything was going well, but from one moment to the next I am only aware of a strong pain in my back and head. I woke up in the hospital four days later with 3 stab wounds in the back and a mild contusion. - I explain trying to be as precise as possible.

Sam: So you already knew who Tara was when you met her.- she accuses me angrily, getting up from the chair and taking a step towards me.

Y/n: No.- I immediately deny, stepping back when I see her advancing towards me.

Tara: Sam, stop! - she yells at her sister, also getting up and standing in front of me.

Y/n: I didn't know who Tara or any of you were before last night.- I assure her with complete sincerity. -After what happened, my father and all the adults made me promise that no matter what happened, I would never get involved with anything related to Ghostface .- I defend myself. -If it weren't for what happened to Dewey, Gale wouldn't have even told me about last year's attack.- I admit, feeling the pain of last year when the reporter told me that her ex-husband had died.

Sam: And you never thought about telling your girlfriend? - she asks me angrily, pointing at her sister.

Y/n: I wanted to, but I made a promise to Dewey that no matter what happened, I wouldn't tell anyone under any circumstances.- I answer feeling a tear escape. -I promised him, i promised that i wouldn´t tell and yet I 'm breaking that promise so you guys know the truth.- I say feeling guilty for breaking the promise.

Sam: What if my sister is in danger now because of you? - she claims, starting to move from one side of the room to the other.

Tara: You know that's not true , Sam.- she denies in my defense. -Y/n didn't even know Jason or Greg, but I did and so did Mindy. It's more likely that she's in danger because of me, than I am because of him.- she reminds her sister with some logic.

The room goes silent after that, with Tara sitting back down next to me and her sister leaving the room.

After a tense silence, I decide that the sisters need time and space to process what I've told them. So I decide it's best if I leave them alone.

Y/n: I think it's better if I go.- I whisper, feeling guilty for breaking the promise and for having hidden the truth from Tara.

Tara: No, wait.- she asks me, grabbing my arm when I make a move to get up and pulling me to stay seated. -Don't go, please.- she begs me, looking me straight in the eyes.

Y/n: You're not mad at me? - I asked her a little unsure.

Tara: Were you angry with me when I told you the truth? - she asks me with another question and a slight smile on her face.

Y/n: No.- I deny in a low voice.

Tara: Then why should I be angry, when all you've done is keep a promise and protect yourself? - she answers, getting closer to me and caressing my cheek lovingly.

Y/n: But it's not the same.- I assure her, unable to take the guilt away. -When you admitted the truth, we were just friends and now we're in a relationship for more than four months.- I point out with a grimace.

Tara: I don't see any difference.- she says without removing the smile from her beautiful face. -I lied to you about my past and who I was for safety. You hid a part of your past for your safety and I will never blame you for that.- she assures me moving her hand from my cheek to the back of my neck and pulling me towards her.

Y/n: But... - I try to say but her lips interrupt me.

Her soft, plump lips feel like clouds against mine. Her hands slip into my hair and she massages it lovingly, causing any trace of stress or insecurity to immediately disappear from my body.

When air is needed, our lips part and she gently rests her forehead against mine. I feel her slightly agitated breathing hit my face, giving me complete peace.

Tara: I love you.- she admits for the first time and I pull away from her with my eyes wide open.

I look at her in complete shock, opening and closing my mouth like a fish out of water, not saying anything no matter how much my brain is giving the order.

Y/n: I ..y .. oo .- I try to admit that I love her too but my mouth doesn't let me.

Tara: You look incredibly cute.- She laughs at my attitude, pulling my neck again and bringing our lips together again in a kiss full of passion.

Y/n: I love you too.- I manage to say when we separate from the kiss.

Tara: Let's get changed before we join the others.- she whispers to me before standing up and grabbing my hand, pulling me towards her room. -And a shower wouldn't hurt either of us.- she says, looking over her shoulder at me with an amused look.

Y/n: Are you making me an indecent proposal? - I asked her raising an eyebrow with some amusement .

Tara: Separately.- she clarifies, moving her eyebrows suggestively. -What a perverted mind you have.- she shakes her head amused, entering her room and pulling me inside. -I can lend you a shirt, but you'll have to reuse the pants.- she tells me, opening her dresser and rummaging through it.

Y/n: Maybe I should go to my apartment to change.- I suggest looking at the blood stain on the side of my pants and the dirt from having dragged myself across the floor in them.

Tara: You're not leaving my side until this is all sorted out.- she tells me firmly, although it's more of an order. -So you're coming or what?- she asks, leaving the shirt against my chest and winking at me, before leaving the room.

I throw the shirt on the bed, hurrying up behind my girlfriend and picking her up as she's about to enter the bathroom. I walk into the bathroom with her in my arms as she giggles and lock the door behind us.

Tara's POV

After Y/n explained his involvement with Gale and we changed into clean clothes. At least Sam and I, since my boyfriend's pants were still a little dirty from the night before. We met up at the university campus with the rest of the group.

Quinn, Anika, and Sam are sitting on one of the benches on campus, while Chad, myself, Y/n, and Ethan are sitting on the other bench. Mindy, who has named herself as the expert on the Ghostface movies and spokesperson for the situation, is standing in front of everyone.

Mindy: Listen up, geeks.- She calls the attention of those involved. -As scary as all this is, I'm glad I can redeem myself for not having guessed the killers the last time.- she says with a slight smile on her face, while she adjusts her top.

Chad: Yep.- agrees with his sister, with a notebook and pen in his hands.

Y/n: Is this serious? - he asks me in a whisper so that only I can hear him from my left.

I respond with a nod and a light squeeze of his hand, which has been clasped together in my lap since we sat down.

Mindy: Very well.- she says, taking up the word again. -In my opinion, someone wants to make a sequel to the requel.- she begins to explain her theory to us.

Anika: What is a requel? - she asks after raising her hand with obvious confusion.

Mindy: You're so cute. The questions at the end.- she answers with a somewhat tender look, without really answering her question.

Sam: Stab 1 was in Woodsboro.- my sister comments with her arms crossed. - Stab 2 was in college.- she points to the locations from both movies.

Tara: Could it be that the killer is trying to copy the movies? - I ask at the connection between the movies and what 's happening now.

Mindy: It's a possibility.- she answers with a smile. - The heroes are at the university, Check. New mysterious characters that are introduced to fill the list of suspects and/or victims; check, check, check and check.- she comments pointing at Quinn, Anika, Ethan and my boyfriend.

Ethan: We're off to a bad start.- he comments upon being singled out as a possible suspect or victim.

Mindy: But it's not based on Stab 2. - she denies with some certainty that she doesn't like it.

Tara: Why not? - I asked confused by her assurance.

Mindy: It would make sense if this was just a sequel. But we're not in a sequel, because nobody makes normal sequels anymore.- she answers, gesturing with her hands. - We're in a franchise!- she exclaims with a somewhat worrying emotion after a few moments of silence, since we're in the sights of another killer. - And certain rules must be followed in active franchises.- she explains, moving in her place.

Sam: Here we go.- she sighs looking at his hands at what is to come.

Mindy: Rule number one: Everything is bigger than before, the budget, the cast, the number of victims. There are chases, there are shootouts, decapitations... We have to improve on what was before to attract the public - she explains with even more emotion than at the beginning.

Chad: Decapitations?- he asks with a certain tone of fear and insecurity.

Mindy: Decapitations.- she says pointing at her brother who writes something in the notebook. -Rule number two: What happened last time, now is the opposite. Franchises only survive if they subvert expectations.- she continues explaining.

Y/n: What do you mean by subvert? - he asks confused, just like the rest who haven't been through Woodsboro .

Mindy: Questions at the end.- she repeats with a hand gesture. -If the last killers were offended, whiny movie geeks with Letterboxd accounts instead of a personality, I can tell you that this time it will be the opposite.- she continues with her explanation. -And rule number three: No one is safe. Classic characters are cannon fodder at this point, they only bring them out to kill them in an attempt to pull on nostalgia. The future looks bad for Gale and Kirby.- she assures us and I can feel the body to my left tense completely.

I glance surreptitiously to my left, seeing my boyfriend's serious but worried face and I can't help but feel a little guilty for having involved him in all this.

Because even though he experienced it as a child, no one knows that he witnessed anything and that it is related to Gale or any of Ghostface 's victims in 2011. So he was safe, until he met me and we started dating.

Mindy: But that's not the worst part.- she assures, making me pay attention to her again.

Chad: Now is when she tells us the worst part.- he says confidently pointing at his sister with the pen.

Mindy: The worst part is that franchises are just a series of episodic installments designed to milk a brand, which means that the leads are now super expendable too.- she tells us, looking at us all. -Laurie Strode , Nancy Thompson, Ellen Ripley, Sally Hardesty, Jigsaw, Tony Stark, James Bond.... Even Luke Skywalker! They all died so that their franchises would live.- she exclaims with a smile on his face listing each character. -So it's not just the group of friends. Any of us could die at any moment, especially Sam and Tara.- she says with some insecurity and guilt for mentioning my sister and me.

We all fell silent at my best friend's explanation. I looked at my sister with some concern, seeing that she was looking at me the same way and that made my level of insecurity and fear increase.

I feel a squeeze on my hand, so I turn my face towards my boyfriend and see some fear reflected in his eyes as he looks at me. I offer him a small smile, trying to hide my concern and trying to reassure him.

He continues to watch me with the same worried expression, so I move closer to him and rest my head on his shoulder. I immediately feel him let go of my hand for a few seconds, before feeling his arm around my waist and his other hand intertwine with mine.

My body relaxes completely against my boyfriend's, feeling his warmth envelop me and the feeling of security invade me, while Ethan speaks.

Ethan: Am I going to die a virgin? - he asks, somewhat scared, giving us all information we didn't need to know.

Mindy: Too much information.- she answers what everyone present is thinking. -But it brings us to the current suspects. Ethan, the shy dorky one that no one suspects, because he's the shy and dorky boy.- she explains looking at the boy.

Ethan: Why am I on the suspect list? - he asks immediately. - I was assigned to share a room with Chad by lottery. - he says defensively and I can feel my boyfriend's body tense up the slightest bit.

I look up for a few seconds, catching my boyfriend's attention and asking him with my eyes if he's okay. But he shakes his head and leaves a kiss on my forehead, letting me know he'll tell me later.

Mindy: That can be rigged.- she answers with some suspicion. -It could be a strategy to get you closer to us.- she says before walking towards our roommate. - Quinn, the slutty roommate. A classic in horror movies.- she comments giving her fingers a kiss, in a way of applauding the character.

Quinn: More like sex positive.- she corrects her on her definition. -But thank you?- she asks confused, not quite sure how to take it.

Mindy: And how did you end up living with Sam and Tara? - she asks with some suspicion in her voice.

Quinn: Responding to their online ad.- she answers unsure of the situation and the question.

Mindy: Okay, don't tell me any more. You've blamed yourself enough already.- she assures her in a celebratory manner.

Tara: The ad was anonymous, Mindy . - I inform my friend. - And we investigated her. Plus her father is a cop. - I remind her, knowing that Sam searched everywhere for her, to make sure she was someone trustworthy.

Mindy: And that makes it more likely that she's the killer, because having a cop father is a brutal cover-up. Don't you know how these movies work? - she points at me, raising her voice when I say that her father is a cop.

Y/n: Plus his father is the one handling this case.- he shares out loud and I look at him badly, while my best friend points at him with a proud smile.

Mindy: See, that makes it even more suspicious. What 's the coincidence that your roommate's cop father is assigned to a case in which his daughter is involved. -She defends her point of view and I continue to look at my boyfriend dirty.

Tara: You're not helping.- I whisper, somewhat annoyed with him for agreeing with her and playing along with my friend.

He just shrugs in response and makes a gesture with his lips, not saying anything else. I stare at him with half-closed eyes for a couple more seconds , before turning my face and looking back at the only person standing.

Quinn: Is she always like this? - she asks out loud to us.

Mindy: Then there's Anika .- walking towards her girlfriend and receiving an air kiss from her. -Never trust the love interest.- she says looking at her seriously. -Which also brings us to Y/n. The secret love interest that nobody knew of one of the main characters and that nobody knew anything about until a day ago .- she comments after walking to be in front of us and staring at him.

Tara: He didn't even know who I was at first.- I quickly jumped to my boyfriend's defense.

Mindy: And how did you meet, if I may ask? - she asks him, completely ignoring me.

Y/n: In the introduction to production class, they made us do a project in pairs and since we sat next to each other, we had to do it together. - he answers calmly.

Mindy: And who sat next to whom? - she asks, alternating her gaze between mine and my boyfriend's.

Y/n: Me, I was the one who sat next to Tara.- he answers without giving her words much thought.

Mindy: No need to say more, what a coincidence that in the only class you have together you sat next to her. That's very suspicious. - she claps her hands concluding with her main suspects.

Tara: How do you know that this is the only class we share? - I ask my friend, crossing my arms.

Mindy: Because we share all the classes except one? - she answers with a question of her own and I nod in agreement.

Y/n: The fact that I sat next to her doesn't mean anything.- he says without much importance. - That day there was a traffic jam and I was late to class because my parents insisted on bringing me to my first day of university.- he explains with some embarrassment, with a certain blush on his cheeks and looking very cute. - Besides, it was the only free seat in the entire class.- he explains calmly.

Mindy: It's still suspicious.- she assures him, looking at him with her eyes half closed.

Sam: Okay, so we already have the rules and also the suspects.- she says tiredly, wanting to end the conversation.

Ethan: Wait, wait. What's wrong with you guys?- he asks, pointing at the rest of us who haven't been named.

Mindy: I think we can rule out all four of us, because we went through the same thing last year.- she answers sincerely.

Chad: I agree.- he says pointing at his sister with the pen again.

Quinn: I don't agree.- she denies looking at the only one still standing. -What if the trauma you experienced caused one or more of you to go crazy?- she asks looking at all of us.

Ethan: That's it. Or the fame that the murders gave you left you wanting more.- he supports the redhead of the group. -I mean, to be honest, some of the theories about Sam are...- he starts to say but I interrupt him immediately.

Tara: Don't you dare.- I threatened him pushing my boyfriend back so I could look him in the face seriously.

Anika: Okay. Quinn's right, it's something we need to address. Because if we're suspects, then you're suspects too.- she says, pointing at everyone.

We all sat in silence for a few moments, processing everything that had been said and hinted at.

Sam: You will stay at our house, it is better that we stay together and avoid any danger.- she comments getting up from the bench and starting to walk.

Mindy: Good idea, this way we can keep an eye on them in case they do something.- she points to my sister with a smile.

Y/n: I have to go get some clean clothes.- he tells me when we get up too.

Tara: I'll go with you.- I tell him, interlacing our hands. -Sam, I'm going with Y/n to his house to get some clothes and then we'll meet up with you guys.- I tell my sister, pulling my boyfriend in the other direction.

Sam: No! - she immediately exclaims angrily. -Is what happened last night not enough for you?- she asks me walking towards us.

Tara: We're in broad daylight and if something happens I have Y/n to help me.- I remind her, pointing to the boy next to me, who also helped us last night.

Sam: You can't go alone with him, isn't anything that Mindy said or what happened last year clear to you? - she tells me, somewhat upset.

Tara: Oh my god Sam!- I exclaimed tired with her attitude. -This is what I meant last night, you have to let me go and live my life.- I say trying to stay calm and not make a scene on campus.

Y/n: It's okay, Tara.- he assures me, squeezing our intertwined hands. -I can go alone and then join you guys.- he tells me with a smile.

Tara: No, you can't go alone.- I immediately deny. -I'm going with you.- I say confidently.

Sam: Taraa...- he draws out my name with a deep breath.

Y/n: If not you can come with us, Sam.- he says getting my sister's attention. -My apartment is not very far from here, 15 minutes walk and then we can go to your apartment by subway.- he says pointing with his thumb towards where his apartment is.

My sister is silent for a few seconds, thinking about what my boyfriend just told her and looking over her shoulder at the rest of the group.

Sam: Guys, I'm going with Tara and Y/n, you guys go to our apartment.- she tells them, to which they all nod and start to walk away.

The three of us stand in awkward silence for a few moments, before my boyfriend lightly tugs on my hand and we head off to his apartment. My sister stands on my other side and we walk in complete silence.

#tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter #jenna ortega #tara carpenter imagine #scream #tara carpenter x you #scream vi #tara carpenter x male reader #male oc #oc character #fanfic #sam carpenter #jenna ortega x male reader #tara carpenter x y/n #mindy meeks martin #chad meeks martin #ethan landry #tara carpenter x oc

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years ago

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Poor people pay higher time tax

Doubtless you’ve heard that “we all get the same 24 hours in the day.” Of course it’s not true: rich people and poor people experience very different demands on their time. The richer you are, the more your time is your own — not only are many systems arranged with your convenience in mind, but you also command the social power to do something about systems that abuse your time.

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/10/my-time/#like-water-down-the-drain

For example: if you live in most American cities, public transit is slow, infrequent and overcrowded. Without a car, you lose hours every day to a commute spent standing on a lurching bus. And while a private car can substantially shorted that commute, people who can afford taxis or Ubers get even more time every day.

There’s a thick anthropological literature on the ways that cash-poverty translates into #TimePoverty. In David Graeber’s must-read essay “The Utopia of Rules,” he nails the way that capitalist societies generate Soviet-style bureaucracies, especially for poor people. Means-testing for benefits means that poor people spend endless hours filling in forms, waiting on hold, and lining up to see caseworkers to prove that they are among the “deserving poor” — not “mooches” who are defrauding the system:

https://memex.craphound.com/2015/02/02/david-graebers-the-utopia-of-rules-on-technology-stupidity-and-the-secret-joys-of-bureaucracy/

The social privilege gradient is also a time gradient: if you can afford a plane ticket, you can travel quickly across the country rather than losing days to the Greyhound or a road-trip. But if you’re even richer, you can pay for TSA Precheck and cut your airport security time from an hour to minutes. Go further up the privilege gradient and you’ll acquire airline status, shaving another hour off the check-in process.

This qualitative account of time poverty is well-developed, but it’s lacked a good, detailed quantitative counterpart, and our society often discounts qualitative work as mere anecdote and insists on having every story converted to numbers before it is taken seriously.

In “Examining inequality in the time cost of waiting,” published this month in Nature Human Behavior, public affairs researchers Steve Holt (SUNY) and Katie Vinopal (Ohio State) analyze data from the American Time Use Survey (AUTS) to produce a detailed, vibrant quantitative backstop to the qualitative narrative about time poverty:

https://www.nature.com/articles/s41562-023-01524-w

(The paper is paywalled, but the authors made a mostly final preprint available)

https://osf.io/preprints/socarxiv/jbk3x/download

The AUTS “collects retrospective time diary data from a nationally representative subsample drawn from respondents to the Census Bureau’s Community Population Survey (CPS) each year.” These time-diary entries are sliced up in 15-minute chunks.

Here’s what they found: first, there are categories of basic services where high-income people avoid waiting altogether, and where low-income people experience substantial waits. A person from a low-income household “an hour more waiting for the same set of services than people from high-income household.” That’s 73 hours/year.

Some of that gap (5%) is attributable to proximity. Richer people don’t have to go as far to access the same services as poorer people. Travel itself accounts for 2% more — poorer people wait longer for buses and have otherwise worse travel options.

A larger determinant of the gap (25%) is working flexibility. Poor people work jobs where they have less freedom to take time off to receive services, so they are forced to take appointments during peak hours.

Specific categories show more stark difference. If a poor person and a wealthy person go to the doctor’s on the same day, the poor person waits 46.28m to receive care, while the wealthy person waits 28.75m. The underlying dynamic here isn’t hard to understand. Medical practices that serve rich people have more staff.

The same dynamic plays out in grocery stores: poor people wait an average of 24m waiting every time they go shopping. For rich people, it’s 15m. Poor people don’t just wait in longer lines — they also have to wait for understaffed stores to unlock the cases that basic necessities are locked behind (poor people also travel longer to get to the grocery store — and they travel by slower means).

A member of a poor household with a chronic condition that requires two clinic visits per month loses an additional five hours/year to waiting rooms when compared to a wealthy person. As the authors point out, this also translates to delayed care, missed appointments, and exacerbated health conditions. Time poverty leads to health poverty.

All of this is worse for people of color: “Low-income White and Black Americans are both more likely to wait when seeking services than their wealthier same-race peer” but “wealthier White people face an average wait time of 28 minutes while wealthier Black people face a 54 minute average wait time…wealthier Black people do not receive the same time-saving attention from service providers that wealthier non-Black people receive” (there’s a smaller gap for Latino people, and no observed gap for Asian Americans.)

The gender gap is more complicated: “Low-income women are 3 percentage points more likely than low-income men and high-income women are 6 percentage points more likely than high-income men to use common services” — it gets even worse for low-income mothers, who take on the time-burdens associated with their kids’ need to access services.

Surprisingly, men actually end up waiting longer than women to access services: “low-income men spend about 6 more minutes than low-income women waiting for service…high-income men spend about 12 more minutes waiting for services than high-income women.”

Given the important role that scheduling flexibility plays in the time gap, the authors propose that interventions like subsidized day-care and afterschool programming could help parents access services at off-peak hours. They also echo Graeber’s call for reduced paperwork burdens for receiving benefits and accessing public services.

They recommend changes to labor law to protect the right of low-waged workers to receive services during off-peak hours, in the manner of their high-earning peers (they reference research that shows that this also improves worker productivity and is thus a benefit to employers as well as workers).

Finally, they come to the obvious point: making people less cash-poor will alleviate their time-poverty. Higher minimum wages, larger earned income tax credits, investments in low-income neighborhoods and better public transit will all give poor people more time and more money with which to command better services.

This week (Feb 13–17), I’ll be in Australia, touring my book Chokepoint Capitalism with my co-author, Rebecca Giblin. We’re doing a remote event for NZ on Feb 13. Next are Melbourne (Feb 14), Sydney (Feb 15) and Canberra (Feb 16/17). More tickets just released for Sydney!

[Image ID: A waiting room, draped with cobwebs. A skeleton sits in one of the chairs. A digital display board reads 'Now serving 53332.' An ogrish, top-hatted figure standing at a podium, yanking a dollar-sign shaped lever looms into the frame from the right. He holds a clock aloft disdainfully, pinched between the thumb and fingers of one white-gloved hand.]

#pluralistic #scholarship #auts #american time use survey #time use #jenny odell #race #graeber #david graeber #how to do nothing #utopia of rules #inequality #gender #time poverty

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sserpente · 2 years ago

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A/N: Happy Easter to everyone who celebrates! ♥ Some naughty President Loki action seems like a fitting Easter gift to me, what do you think? Also, I’m proud to announce there’s an actual Easter egg in this Imagine that may or may not have something to do with my upcoming English novel… Enjoy, everyone!

Words: 2616 Warnings: assassin!Reader, violence, dub-con, smut

One and a half million—as a deposit. That’s how much you demanded to see in your secret bank account before you had even considered going anywhere near what used to be Stark Tower and now acted as a base for him. Loki. President Loki.

You didn’t particularly care who you were supposed to kill, nor who hired you to do it. Governments were corrupted all over the world—there was not a single politician who didn’t act in his own interests rather than the people’s. You were only in it for the money.

President Loki, however… he was different. That man was a god with abilities you wouldn’t even dare dream of as a mere human. Your raised fee would reflect the danger you’d put yourself in if you accepted this mission. And then once the God of Mischief was dead, you’d be ten million dollars richer.

You were the best of the best—you got hired when the job needed to get done. You doubted that anyone else would be capable of sending Loki straight to hell. Or was it Helheim? He was a Norse god, after all. Surely, there was some eternal hellfire reserved for the likes of him.

But then again, you weren’t exactly a saint either. You murdered for money, never questioning whether the person whose life you were going to end was innocent or not. Granted, most of them were not and had red on their ledger one way or another but occasionally… occasionally, they did not deserve to die.

You were pretty certain that Loki did though. He wasn’t the worst ruler this world had ever seen but at the end of the day… he was an alien king forcing humans into submission. You wouldn’t bow to anyone, you thought, as you polished the sharp and hidden blade inside your lipstick. The job was messier when you chose it as your weapon but with Loki, you’d have to be sure. A slit throat would ensure he was truly dead and for that, you would have to get up close.

This time, your approach was going to be a little… unconventional. You had thought about it for a long time—and you had come to the conclusion that there was no other way to get into that tower without getting killed yourself before making it even anywhere near Loki.

Judy Magenta. That was the made-up name you had used to register for the escort service to receive legal identification for offering Loki… your time. It had taken quite a few naughty pictures to lure him in, along with a bought recommendation from another escort girl one of Loki’s lackeys booked regularly.

You had to admit, you did feel a little silly putting on that green glittery cocktail dress after tossing your lipstick knife into your clutch. The black high heels were a lovely touch though. You’d keep them after this job, as a trophy.

“You’re here to… entertain the president tonight?” The bulky bald man who escorted you to the lifts after the taxi driver dropped you off right in front of Stark Tower licked his lips when his greedy gaze travelled up and down your V-shaped cleavage.

“I am,” you gave back with a sweet smile, batting your eyelashes at him all the while you imagined kicking him in the balls until he howled for his mummy. You could tell he kept staring at your body and your rather revealing outfit during the ride up to the penthouse but, for the sake of keeping in mind you were not really an escort girl, you elected to ignore it and said nothing.

President Loki was standing at his bar surrounded by power-hungry politicians eager for his attention. Dressed in a black suit with a green tie and those golden horns on his head, he turned to face you with a glass filled with what you presumed was bourbon in his hand. He lifted his chin in a curious manner, his blue eyes narrowing just a little.

“Mr President…” the bulky bouncer began. “Uh… this is…”

“Judy. Judy Magenta. Your company for the night?” you offered. The bouncer let out a relieved breath.

“Ahh… just in time. I was just about to call it a day.” Loki’s voice was smooth, charming. He had a way with words, you had to give him that. Under different circumstances, you’d even admit that he was outrageously attractive. He was a god, after all. That must have been the reason.

You didn’t know if he’d done this before—or if he’d done it back on Asgard but at the end of the day, it didn’t matter, right? You were only doing this because it would give you the perfect opportunity to get just close enough to kill him and get this over with. Pleasure had no place here.

“Gentlemen… I will see you tomorrow. And you…” His blue eyes fixated on you, involuntarily sending shivers up and down your spine. “…why don’t you wait for me in my bedroom? I will be joining you shortly.”

You almost scoffed. So formal… if the sex was going to be anything like that… ugh. Well, most men with a big ego disappointed under the sheets.

Nodding, you made your way over to the door he pointed at and slid inside, taking in the furniture. A king-size bed with green sheets, of course, hundreds of books on shelves towering up all the way to the ceiling, and a neat desk armed with ink and a green and gold quill. It was very old-fashioned but a surprisingly comfortable room, you decided, as you threw your clutch on the bed.

You’d come prepared. Condoms, lube, even a cock ring. Whatever would tickle his fancy before you’d draw your little knife for a different kind of climax. By the time his lackeys would notice he was dead, you would be long gone. You were wearing a wig tonight as well, along with some coloured contacts to conceal your identity. Life as an assassin was a dangerous and lonely one but you were pretty used to it.

You flipped around when you heard the door open, forcing a fake smile. Loki had removed his horns now, and swapped his suit for a more comfortable outfit. In fact, he was shirtless, putting his pale but trained chest and arms on display. He wasn’t as shredded as Thor but the God of Thunder had never been your type anyway. Loki on the other hand… remember, no pleasure!

Your feigned smile widened as you turned around and moved your fake hair out of the way. “Help me undress?” You felt his presence behind you after a few silent steps, his soft fingers ghosting over your back to unzip you.

Needless to say, you had relinquished wearing any underwear tonight even though you did carry a spare pair of knickers in your clutch just in case. Once he slid the green dress off of your body and you stepped out of it, you turned back around, trailing your fingers over his abs.

“Ready for some fun, Mr President?”

“Loki will suffice, pet,” he replied. Pet? Oh, of course. Complete and utter submission. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at him and instead, took his hands in yours and started walking backwards until you could lie down on his bed, pulling him on top of you.

You had to admit, you quite enjoyed how hungrily he glared at your naked body, his blue eyes wandering over every single inch of bare skin as if he was a demon you had summoned and now aimed to please in exchange for his power. The bulge in his trousers grew quickly as he hovered above you.

“Loki,” you repeated, testing his name on your tongue. Then, you reached for your clutch on his bed, pulling out the lube.

“And what’s that when it’s at home?” he asked, eyeing the bottle in your hands suspiciously.

You smiled at him. “Lube will make this experience more enjoyable for the both of us, Loki.”

The God of Mischief frowned. You blinked at him when he began to chuckle as if you’d just told him a hilarious joke.

“I can guarantee you, we will not need it, pet.” You were about to protest when he cupped your cunt with his hand all of a sudden, two fingers lightly stroking over your outer lips. You dropped the small bottle the moment his thumb found your clit, applying just enough pressure to ignite… arousal. He knew what he was doing. You realised that the moment he bent down to pepper your neck with hot kisses and teasing licks, his digits working their magic. He had you wet and ready for him within minutes of this delicious treatment. Fuck… you were not supposed to be enjoying this!

“There we go… it seems your body thinks we don’t need your lube either…”

You gasped for air when he slid two fingers inside of you, curling them at your g-spot. Your hips were bucking up to meet his hand against your will the moment the slick sounds of him fingering you echoed through the silent bedroom.

“Oh… fuck…” That felt good. You couldn’t quite remember the last time you had taken a minute to masturbate. That… that must have been why. You hadn’t had sex in so long that Loki exploring your soaking pussy had you writhing because of your celibate lifestyle.

His dark chuckle went directly between your legs too. And it was only then you realised that his trousers had disappeared into thin air, willed away by magic. You could feel his hard length pressing against your inner thigh, eager to claim you. Much to your own surprise… you wanted him to.

“C-Condom…” you choked out panting. But your reward was Loki removing his fingers from your cunt to instead snatch your wrists and pin them down above your head to render you all but helpless beneath him.

“A condom? I don’t think so, pet…” And with that, he forced himself between your legs and used his free hand to guide himself into your waiting hole. Inch by inch, Loki pushed forward, sheathing his girth inside you until he’d claimed you to the brim. His growl made you moan as he filled you so deliciously well that you believed your pussy was made for him.

When he started moving, you almost forgot why you were here. Loki withdrew almost entirely and then began rutting into you like there was no tomorrow. He fucked the assassin right out of you—for when your eyes rolled to the back of your head, he made sure to attack your neck yet again.

Moaning, you arched your back, your breasts brushing against his bare chest with every single thrust of his and fuck, this man knew how to use his tool. Each and every stroke drove you further to what already felt like the best orgasm of your life as the sound of sex and skin slapping against skin filled the room.

“I can feel you tightening around me, pet. Cum. Beg me for my seed,” Loki growled into your ear. You wanted to disobey him—wanted to disobey that commanding tone, that entitled smugness. But you couldn’t. Loki played you like an instrument, taking that delicious climax from you whether you wanted to give it to him or not.

You came around him with a moan, your toes curling and your walls pulsing around him, doing just what he had asked you to do. Your cunt was begging for his seed. He was merciful tonight. Loki reached his own peak with a low growl only moments later, filling you up and staining your walls until it came oozing out of you.

Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck, that arsehole had screwed you without a condom! Only now that you came back to your senses did you realise what you had let him do. Okay, don’t freak out… you can get a morning-after pill as soon as you are out the door. You’d ruin everything if you lashed out at him now. Besides… Loki was still hard—and it did not seem like he was going to tire any time soon.

It was three a.m. when he finally let you rest. Your pussy was sore, his cum leaking from almost all of your openings. He’d made you cum for him at least six more times before you’d lost count and now… now he was sound asleep next to you.

Time to strike.

As quiet as a mouse so you wouldn’t wake him up, you reached for your clutch that had at some point fallen to the floor, retrieving your lipstick knife. Then, you climbed on top of him, revealing the blade in the dark. You could barely make out his features with the curtains drawn but your eyes were trained to work in the shadows.

You gripped your weapon tighter, ready to slit his throat.

“I wonder…”, he mused with a start. You froze. “I wonder how much money you were offered to try.” He’s awake. “Are you going to tell me, pet?”

Your heart was beating so fast you worried it would jump straight out of your chest. Your paralysis lasted for only a second too long. By the time you reacted to finish what you’d started and kill him, he’d already overwhelmed you. Loki snatched your wrist so harshly you were forced to drop your weapon. He flipped you both over so you came to lie on the bed beneath him, his face only inches from yours. You winced when he ripped the wig off of you.

“Now… I’m impressed. You went to considerable lengths to get close to me. But you see, pet, I am the God of Mischief. I’m not easily tricked.” Cold shivers ran up and down your spine when he proceeded to call you by your real name. “But I must admit,” he went on, “that I am also a little disappointed. You know the punishment for attempted assassination of your king, do you not?”

Death. Execution. You swallowed thickly. How had he found out? He’d known. He’d known this entire time you were no real escort girl and still… he’d still fucked you! You gnashed your teeth, narrowing your eyes at him with anger usurping your growing fear.

“It’s a shame, really… you would make such a fine pet. Hmm…” He paused, burying his face in your neck and inhaling your scent deeply. “I think I’m going to keep you.”

Your eyes widened. “Kill me or let me go, Loki. I’m not playing your stupid games.”

“Oh, but you will, pet. You better get used to your new surroundings. You won’t be leaving any time soon.”

He made you moan involuntarily when he pushed inside of you without any forewarning. You hadn’t even realised he’d gotten hard again.

“Now…” he mused. “How much was it?” His lazy strokes made you even angrier—it felt good. Too fucking good.

“Ten… million,” you spat through gritted teeth.

“Ahh… well, I hope the money was worth your freedom. Because you are mine now, my little assassin.”

You wanted to punch him, scratch him and bite him, to wipe that mischievous smirk from his face. But you couldn’t. Not right now anyway—Loki kept rutting into you until you were sure to lose consciousness. My little assassin… you hated the depraved and lascivious part of you that enjoyed the idea of him keeping you as a pet.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow you’d finish your mission, right after… right after you’d let him give you another orgasm. You’d… find a way… surely…

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