Dionaea Muscipula (xfem!reader)

(Ch.35) Serra et Clavis

Bates Motel

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Y/n entered the dimly lit lobby of the Bates Motel, a place that exuded little charm at all. But it was someone's home, they probably were trying to rack up money, that's why they renovated it into a motel. The flickering neon sign outside had warned her that this wasn't a luxury establishment.

She approached the front desk, where a nervous-looking young man stood. she read his name tag with a smile. "Good evening," Y/n said, trying to sound cheerful despite her exhaustion. "I'd like a room for a few nights."

The man glanced up, his eyes darting around before settling on her face. "Of course, Miss. Just one moment, please." He fumbled with a large, outdated ledger before finding a blank space. There was another guest here from what she could see. "Your name, please?"

"Y/n L/n."

"Alright, Miss L/n. Room 5 is available. It's just up the stairs and to the right." He handed her a rusty key attached to a heavy brass tag. She looked at it calmly. Cut someone with this and they are bound to get Tetanus without an immunization"My name's Norman Bates. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you," Y/n said with a warmly. She took the key and headed towards the staircase, the creaky wooden steps protesting under her weight. As she reached the hallway, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. The walls were adorned with old photographs and paintings, their subjects' eyes seeming to follow her every move.

Y/n finally found Room 5 and tried to unlock the door, but the key was a little rusty, so she squared and furrowed her brows trying to get a good angle.

"Those handles turn to the left by the way." A voice rang out. She perked up and looked behind her at a man walking to his own room. She looked at him clad in a dark grey hoodie and jeans, hunting boots. Brunette with a clean face, slight stubble, and short brown hair. The lighting captured his strong jaw line. She nodded and did what he said. He eyed her up and down as she got up from her squatted position, but she still had to get a better angle for the door.

He just opened his and watched with amusement as the key didn't work, she took it out of the door but it snapped...it broke. "Oh fuck this..."  She muttered. She looked at the door. The man grinned from the other end of the hallway.

His room was closer to the window at the end of the hallway, room 8. He just watched as a voice rang in his head "What? You really are desperate huh? I'd kill her before you'd even talk to her." He furrowed his brows and then cracked his room door.

"She is a stranger. I can't even meet one new person? She has nothing to do with the mines, you killed everyone, Harry." He told him "Not Sarah and Axel."  He retorted back

The room went quiet...Sarah would never love him again, never.... There was a bang outside his room and he turned his head out to see the other woman kick her door open and then brush her hands off. Oh? That's what she meant when she said "fuck this"

He didn't know her name. She hummed and shrugged her shoulders as she looked over at his door, seeing him peek out, she gave him a thumbs up and a smug look. She entered her room and He closed his door.

The room was small but clean, with a single bed, a nightstand, and an old-fashioned dresser. She set her bag down and sat on the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath. The events of the day had left her mentally and physically drained.

She pulled out the business card Patrick had given her and studied it for a moment.

Neenah Cotton, Pearl white. Black in in Silian rail. Pierce & Pierce? Mergers and Acquisitions. New York? What brings him to LA? A vacation maybe? Patrick Bateman, Vice president, it was a beautiful card, the letters looked as if they were pressed in and the rest of the card jumped out at her... It would look wonderful in a golden brown ink.

There was something both intriguing and unsettling about Bateman. His intensity was palpable, and she couldn't shake the feeling that their paths had crossed for a reason, he was the vice president of a company, he gave her his card, which means he expected to hear from her.

Y/n decided to take a shower to wash away the fatigue. The bathroom was as modest as the rest of the motel, but the hot water felt heavenly against her skin. As she stood under the stream, she allowed herself a moment of vulnerability, the weight of her exhaustion pressing down on her.

After drying off and got into comfortable clothes just pants and a sweater. Y/n sat on the bed and pulled out her Walkman. She put on her headphones and pressed play, letting the familiar sounds of her favorite tracks fill her ears. 'Nothing else matters' Metallica.

Just as she was beginning to relax, there was a soft knock at the door. She paused the music and removed her headphones.
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Who is it?" she called out.

"Mr. Bates...." came the muffled reply. "Your room?"

Y/n hesitated for a moment before getting up and opening the door. Norman stood there, his expression as nervous as before. "Everything's fine, Mr. Bates. Thank you for checking. Anything else you need?"

He gave a small, awkward smile at her casual appearance, her hair was down and it looked nice framing her face, she looked clean, her hair wet. "No, no. If you need anything else, just let me know."

"You checking on everyone, Sir?" Y/n replied calmly as she glanced at lucky number 8. "...no" he answered hesitantly.

She nodded in understanding, it wasn't her business how he ran his motel, as long as provided decent shelter to his residents, then she was okay.

"Alright then. Goodnight Mr. Bates, thank you for the room...um the key broke so, I had to...get the door open myself, I'd suggest fixing it when I'm gone unless you want me to? Integrity is important, so I'd rather tell the truth about what happened." She said calmly as she looked at him. He was so fidgety, at war with himself behind those eyes. He nods and shuffles away she watched him go and closed the door.

She returned to the bed, but the sense of unease had crept back in. She couldn't quite place it, but something about the motel, about Norman, felt off. She shrugged it off, attributing it to her exhaustion and the strange events of the day.

As she lay back on the bed, she couldn't help but think of the number 8, the number of the door down the hall.

With these thoughts swirling in her mind, Y/n finally drifted off to sleep, the soft hum of her Walkman providing a comforting backdrop to her dreams.....

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(Edited)

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(M0uth0fSin3w