you're lost

jinx isn’t sure how to describe what she felt when you first told her that you and your girlfriend broke up.

joy, at the fact you were finally free of that lowlife asshole who didn’t know how to treat a girl. despair, knowing that you’d be torn up about this. you did get dumped seemingly out of the blue, after all. not to mention that breakups are hard to begin with, no matter the circumstances.

most of all, she feels excited. you met her about a year into your relationship- with her finding you charming from the very beginning. kind and witty in a way she isn’t, not to mention absolutely stunning. when you mentioned your girlfriend in passing, jinx was devastated. every time you brought her up in conversation made her bristle, made her snappy. you tried not to pay it any mind, but it’s been clear throughout your entire friendship that jinx didn’t like her.

you thought it might be because you complained about her a fair bit, and that jinx was a little too harsh. a little too protective over you. but you shrugged it off, appreciating her concern. 

it was partially true. jinx did hate her for those reasons, stating over and over again that you deserved better. she left out that the ‘better’ she spoke of was her. she would give you the entire world and then some, anything to see that beautiful smile- if she could only call you hers, you’d never know hardship again. every time you came to her to vent about another argument between you and your girlfriend, she hoped that you’d tell her you finally broke up. it’s a longing that nearly split her open.

still, jinx is respectful. she’s never made any advances, because she knows you’re spoken for. the last thing she wants to do is drive you further away when she has someone so good in her life.

that’s never stopped her from stealing glances at your cleavage, though, or taking notice of how perfectly your favorite jeans hug the curve of your ass. when you lean over while wearing skirts, jinx just about short-circuits, feeling warm between her thighs and having to wait torturously until you leave the hideout so she can run to her cot and shove her fingers inside herself.

squealing like a virgin, using her free hand to pinch and pull at her nipples. wishing more than anything that it was you doing this to her.

even though you may be distraught, your breakup is some of the best news jinx has ever heard.

a knock rings at her door, and jinx springs up to open it. this is her first time seeing you since the breakup- which is now a week behind you- and she isn’t sure what to expect.

her heart contracts in her chest when she opens the door to see your face, eyes downcast and expression still. you don’t look upset, per se, rather numb. she isn’t sure which one is worse.

“heya, toots,” she hums, trying to give you a small smile. “you don’t look too hot.”

“yeah, i don’t feel it either.”

she chuckles softly and steps aside to allow you into her hideout. you both make your way down the steel panels toward her workbench, then turn to her bedroom, where you kick off her shoes and sit down on the beanbag huddled in the corner. jinx makes herself comfortable on the floor next to you.

one of the things jinx thinks sets her apart from your ex is that she genuinely cares about you and your well-being. as much as she wants to go the extra mile with you, it breaks her to see you so withdrawn, especially over someone who barely gave you the time of day.

she wants you to be happy, first and foremost. you’re so much more than that girl made you out to be.

“do you wanna talk about it?” she offers.

you shrug, worrying at your bottom lip. “i dunno. it just.. sucks that it had to end this way. things weren’t good, but i hoped they’d get better. she kept saying they would.”

jinx nods along with your words, tilting her head as she listens.

she could’ve told you things wouldn’t get better. she did tell you that. but that isn’t going to make you feel any better right now. 

you run a hand through your hair and let out a heavy breath. since the actual breakup, you haven’t talked about this with anybody. it feels so, so good to finally be able to let it out with someone who understands.

“i wish she would’ve tried harder. that she would’ve fought for us, but in the end, it was like i was nothing to her,” you breathe out. “i tried, i really did. i was so patient, and i stuck around because i loved her, but.. sometimes that isn’t enough, i guess.”

“you can’t love someone into loving you,” jinx murmurs.

your lips press into a thin line, and you nod.

“i know that.”

“but you still feel like shit.”

you nod again, and jinx’s lips pull into a little frown. now that you’re saying everything out loud, you’re realizing for the first time just how bad everything was.

how terribly this girl treated you, the entire year and a half of your relationship.

“but i still feel like shit.” you affirm.

the girl grasps your hand gently, and your shoulders untense. she looks at you earnestly, rosy eyes boring into hers. she wishes that she could take away the pain, and more importantly, that your affections would be focused on her instead.

maybe she’s selfish for thinking that. maybe she’s too far-gone. she can’t help herself, though, especially not when your voice remains sweet in the way you try to defend your ex and your cleavage is barely peeking out of your tops.

gods. what she’d do if you would only let her.

she snaps herself out of her thoughts and forces her eyes up.

“well, duh. you just got dumped. you’re gonna feel terrible. but that doesn’t mean you gotta let it consume you, you know? there’s plenty of fish in the sea, or whatever they say.”

you scoff, rolling your eyes. “yeah? doesn’t seem like it.”

jinx gives your hand a gentle squeeze, a million thoughts running through her head. she wishes she could take you by the shoulders and shake you and yell ‘i’m right here,’ yet she knows she can’t. 

“i swear, there are.”

with a swallow, you nod once again, drawing your knees up to your chest. right now, your gaze is anywhere but jinx. since the breakup, you’ve isolated yourself a fair bit. supposing that nobody would want to hear about the torment you’ve gone through, you kept it locked deep inside. it feels almost wrong to finally let it out. you know, though, with someone like jinx, things could never be wrong.

“i don’t think i’m gonna find anyone like her again,” you sigh.

jinx can’t hold herself back from snorting. “yeah, that’s the whole point. you don’t need anyone like her.”

she’s right. you know she is, and still, you can’t bring yourself to meet her imploring gaze.

“i know. even though i feel terrible, it.. it does kind of feel like a weight is lifted off my shoulders, you know?”

jinx gives a soft ‘mhm,’ trying not to let her delight show externally.

internally, she’s rejoicing. you’re feeling relief, which is good, and moreso, a sign of moving on, a sign she can take to swoop in and make you happy.

your eyes finally lift to meet hers, and jinx’s heart skips a beat. subconsciously, her face moves closer to yours, inching minute by minute.

“you’re a lot better off without her,” she says, voice hushed and raspy. “even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

she doesn’t miss the way your mouth opens then closes, or the way you trip over your words. “yeah, i guess so.”

she huffs again, so close now that the two of you are sharing breath. you can smell gunpowder loosely clinging to her, as well as the slight scent of cotton candy perfume. you could count all of the freckles dusting her cheeks if you wanted to. you don’t think you’ve ever been this close to your friend. 

“i know so.”

without further hesitation, jinx closes the barely-there gap between the two of you. you’re not sure what comes over you in that moment, but you press back into her, lips finding a steady rhythm as your hand finds the back of her head and tangles in loose blue strands. a soft whine escapes the girl, and heat rushes straight to your core.

what you’d do to hear that sound again.

it starts out slow and gentle, but jinx quickly quickens the pace, traces the seal of your lips with her tongue and presses her chest flush against yours when you let her in. she licks into you with reckless abandon, her hands trailing from your shoulders down to your hips and digging into the soft skin there.

“fuck, you’ve got no idea how long i’ve wanted to do this,” she murmurs, wasting no time before kissing you once again. all you can do is weakly moan against her. 

jinx is your best friend. you’ve just gotten out of a long-term relationship. this should feel wrong, but the girl has a way of making you feel like you’ve never felt before.

all you know is that you want more.

you weakly prop yourself up against the wall, jinx chuckling against your lips and taking the hint. she leads you over to her cot where you fall back onto the mattress, and jinx immediately straddles your hips.

her lips are back on yours within seconds, ravenous, like she wants to devour you- if only you knew how many times she’s fantasized about this.

“mm, you’re so fucking hot,” she sighs. she presses another wet kiss to your lips before she starts mouthing at your jawline, trailing kiss after kiss and lightly nipping at the skin. her lips are slightly chapped, and when she descends to your neck, you can’t help tipping your head back. “you have any idea how long i’ve wanted this? huh?”

“what?” you breathe out, your arms winding around the girl’s thin waist despite yourself. she smirks against your skin.

jinx doesn’t answer at first. she just slightly nips at your neck, leaving dark marks in her wake. the girl’s hands creep under your top, fingers bony and cold to the touch. you shiver, and she giggles. 

“so fucking long,” she sighs. “i hated seeing you with her, you know. always thought she was no good. i could treat you so much better. could fuck you so much better, too.”

her hands find your tits, and she delights in the fact you’re not wearing a bra. soft to the touch, she kneads at first, squeezing between her hands, and you let out a helpless little whimper.

it’s taking a lot of willpower to process what she’s just said. this whole time, you thought that jinx’s sentiments toward you were purely platonic. yes, she would joke about your hangouts being dates, and she was always a bit touchy with you. you didn’t miss the way her eyes lingered on your breasts at times, but you thought this was just her way of showing affection.

oh, how wrong you were. how good it feels to be under her hands.

somewhere in the heat of it all, her top comes off, perky pale tits displayed as she throws her braids behind her shoulders.

her forefinger and thumb pinch your nipples and start rolling them, drawing a high gasp from you that makes jinx ache. her clit’s throbbing, her pussy is clenching around nothing, desperate for attention- and yet, she knows this is about you.

she isn’t going to ruin this with her own greed.

“jinx-” you say, and she tilts her head.

“hmm?” “keep going, don’t stop..”

those might be the best words she’s ever heard. she gives a toothy grin, huffing to herself before she yanks your top up over your head and throws it to some corner of the room like it’s personally wronged her. 

her head flies down to your collarbones, placing hungry kisses and kitten licks against the skin, shimmer-pink saliva trailing down the valley between your breasts. she goes back to eagerly pinching at and kneading your tits, cruel and harsh in the way that’s so jinx. yet somehow, it’s still gentle. she wouldn’t dream of hurting you.

“don’t think about her right now,” she rasps, spitting the words out like they’re bitter on her tongue. “only me.”

the girl kisses down your navel, then flattens her tongue to lick a slow stripe downward. she’s only had you in a grasp for a few minutes, and she’s already intoxicated off of you. your skin is even softer than she thought it would be, you smell so fucking good, you’re so beautiful.

as your fingernails start to dig into her scalp, jinx lets out a groan and gently nips at your stomach, making your breath hitch. your head falls back, her fingers finding their way under the waistband of your jeans. jinx looks up to you, eyes wide and desperate as a silent request for permission. you nod frantically, and she flies to work the button and free you of the extra layer.

soft thighs displayed before her, your breathing labored, jinx smirks.

her eyes land on your panties, the little piece of cotton separating you from her- then the wet patch that’s formed between your thighs, and her eyes blow even wider. all of this, for her?

“goddamn, you’re soaked,” she laughs. “did i do that?”

you meekly nod, and something deep surges within her. she nudges your legs apart with her hand, then lands two fingers to start teasing at your clit through your panties. a quiet moan falls from your lips, and jinx only presses firmer. her thighs on either side of your body, the girl draws out the taunting just a little more.

you squirm and moan, mind already cloudy with everything that’s gone on and what she’s doing to your senses. after a few more quick strokes, jinx decides she’s been mean enough- and frankly, her patience is running out.

when she pulls your panties off, jinx’s mouth goes dry at the sight that greets her. glistening cunt, puffy lips, clit needy and aching- so much more perfect than she could’ve imagined. your furrowed brows and parted lips only add to her excitement.

she wastes no time pressing her thumb back to your clit, while her middle and ring fingers line up with your weeping hole, arousal already dripping onto the sheets below you. your hands move to her back, nails raking along the powder-blue clouds climbing up her torso, and she hisses through her teeth. it only makes her more desperate.

jinx fantasized about taking you in many different ways. would you like it rough and hard, with her whispering dirty and degrading things into your ear? or would you want slow, gentle lovemaking with her lips brushing your neck and her murmuring sweet nothings?

right now, none of that concerns you. she just wants you, as quickly as possible. that’s why her fingers push into you, quick and mean, and she chuckles when you cry out.

“fuck, ah-”

“shh,” she whispers. “you’re okay, hon. doin’ so good for me.”

jinx hovers over you, staring and taking in your every expression as her fingers work you open. she thrusts in and out, thumbing at your clit so quickly your thoughts are starting to blur around the edges. her fingers feel incredible inside of you, long and strong and reaching all the spots your ex never could. lewd noises spill from your lips, chest heaving as your nails scrape along her back.

jinx revels in how wet you are, how your pussy seems to eagerly suck her back in every time. the girl’s gapped teeth bite at her lower lip, smiling to herself. this is so much better than anything she could’ve imagined. 

“ah, please,” you whine, spine curling off the mattress, hips lifting in a weak attempt to get more friction. “more, faster-”

without words, jinx ups the pace, fucking into you even faster, crooking her fingers just right so she reaches that spongy spot inside of you. a ragged moan escapes you as her thumb keeps rubbing your clit in cruel circles, sending shockwaves through your system.

your tits bounce every time her fingers piston into you, and jinx can’t stop herself from ducking down to catch one of them in her mouth- her lips forming a seal and suckling. she alternates between sucking and swirling her tongue around the perked nipple, and when she starts to lightly tug at it with her teeth, you’re pushed over the edge.

it’s not gentle, rather your orgasm slams into you like a freight train. white-hot pleasure surges through you, setting all of your nerves alight as your mind and vision go completely blank. you don’t think you’ve ever felt something this intense. it utterly consumes you.

“there you go,” jinx says. “fuck, you’re beautiful. y’know that? finally get to have you. did she ever make you come this hard? huh?” 

you shake your head rapidly, a jumbled string of ‘no’s coming from you. who could’ve predicted that of all people- the mad bomber, your best friend, would be able to make you feel this good? she never spoke of any flings or relationships since you met her, is she just that talented?

the girl keeps thrusting, albeit slowly, riding out your orgasm as she lets your breast go with a wet ‘pop.’ you’re reeling, your heart slamming against your ribs as you come down. 

“you’re.. you’re really good.”

jinx snorts and shakes her head, giving you a lazy smile. “of course i am. there’s a lot more where that came from.”

you prop yourself up onto your elbows, body trembling in the aftershocks, and jinx is quick to gently help you into a sitting position. she brushes a kiss to your cheek, so much softer than she was just a minute ago, and rushes to the corner of her room to grab you a plastic water bottle.

“here. mighta screamed yourself hoarse,” she giggles.

with a small smile, you uncap the water bottle and take a heavy swig, before settling against jinx’s headboard. 

you’re always a vision to behold. but like this- a thin sheen of sweat covering you, shimmering saliva still evident on your skin, your chest heaving, and dark marks littering your neck, you look divine. the best jinx has ever seen you.

“feelin’ okay?”

“yeah,” you hum. 

she smiles and leans forward, this time claiming your lips once again. soft and tentative. “you think you got one more in ya?” she whispers against you. “cause i really wanna go again.”

your body is worn thin from how intense she just was, with how much pleasure she gave you- yet you can’t think of anything better than doing this again.

it’s wrong. you shouldn’t be doing this while you’re still actively recovering from a broken heart. and yet, it’s been a long time since anything has felt this right.

“yeah, yeah,” you breathe out. “i do. promise.”

jinx’s eyes light up and she snickers, swiping a messy kiss to your cheek as she tugs off her own layers- the simple pair of sleep shorts she’s left in, no panties underneath. milky thighs come into view, along with the patch of thick curls around her cunt, framing puffy lips. she’s already dripping arousal onto her inner thighs.

gods, you think. poor girl.

now that your breathing has evened out, jinx figures she’s given you enough time to recover. especially considering how your hips unconsciously chase her, causing her to damn near soak through the bedsheets. 

her calloused hands take one of your legs and swings it over her shoulder, letting her quickly slot yourself between your thighs- dripping cunts a breadth away from each other. you gasp, and she groans. 

“ready?”

you nod once again, and that’s all the permission the girl needs. 

that first second of contact is electric. slick against slick, you can feel her desperation against you as she gasps. she gives a slow wind of her hips, as if to test the waters, and you let out a whimper as your clits catch.

your hand finds her waist, while the other fists in the sheets. 

jinx’s bangs are messy over her eye, her braids thrown behind her. she gives another slow grind, then another, before you start to fuck back against her, and she lets out a low groan. 

as you pick up the pace, a flush starts creeping its way onto jinx’s face. she grips your thigh, nails digging in and leaving little crescent marks, feeling your clit brush hers and feeling your arousal so fucking close she can smell it. it causes her head to spin.

“shit,” she hisses, going faster by the minute. “ungh- you’re so fucking perfect, so pretty, shoulda let me have you sooner-”

“jinx-”

“i know,” she growls, rutting against you like an animal in heat. the last thing she wants to hear right now is more excuses, more about that good-for-nothing ex of yours. tits bouncing with every swivel. “i’ve waited long enough.”

wet sloshing fills the room along with lewd noises, a lewd cacophony that bounces off the walls. the sight in front of you is borderline pornographic, with her plush lips forming an ‘o’ and dribble coming from the corner of her mouth as she fucks against you.

you’re learning so many new things about your friend tonight- one being how incredible she is in bed, the other being how beautiful she looks like this.

as your head starts to tilt back once again, jinx grabs your chin and forces it back down. “look at me,” she demands. “just me.”

your eyes bore into her shimmering gaze as you grind down against her. you’re not sure who’s fucking who at this point, who’s in control- as far as you’re concerned, the both of you are equally desperate. already sensitive from your previous orgasm, all of your senses are heightened, every nerve ending in your body being set ablaze. 

she’s all around you. in your head, before your eyes, inside of you, her soul becoming intertwined with yours.

“mmshit, right there!” you whine, and jinx huffs a laugh. “feels so good, please-”

“i gotcha,” she rasps. her abs are tensing as she climbs higher and higher, chasing her own orgasm. jinx would usually last longer than this, but she can’t help herself.

as she feels that knot winding in her lower belly, she surges forward to claim your lips in another messy kiss. all spit, teeth and tongue, licking into your mouth like she wants to swallow you whole. you kiss back the best you can, swirling your tongue with hers and moving your arms to wrap around her shoulders as she keeps humping against you. the headboard slams against the wall, the mattress creaking.

you can’t even tell whose slick is whose. you’re both lost.

and as you tug jinx’s lower lip between your teeth, biting down hard enough to draw the tiniest amount of blood, she tips over that edge, squirting translucent-pink juices over your abused cunt. over your stomach, your inner thighs, positively soaking the sheets as she lets out sharp cries of your name, near babbling at this point. 

about how good you feel. about how much she loves this pussy. 

you’re not far behind her, especially as she doesn’t let up, pushing you further and further until you’re gushing over her, liquids mixing as she pants heavy over your face.

she’s positively addicting. you swear that your ears ring for a second, jinx finally starting to come to a stop once you’ve reached your peak. you weakly rut against her, your hips stuttering from the sheer overstimulation as your nails rake into her skin.

“fuck, no more,” you gasp. “gods, jinx-”

“i know, toots,” she replies. 

truth is, she could go all night. the shimmer coursing through her veins has given her superhuman stamina. but she isn’t a monster, and doesn’t want to push you beyond your limits- not too far, anyways.

“just.. gonna stay here for a minute.”

you don’t object. just try to catch your breath after both of you finally stop grinding.

despite her words, a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, betraying her own amusement at your antics.

you giggle, pecking her lips shortly before moving to her neck.

“keep working, then, just let me…” your voice trailed off as you maneuvered her belts to sneak your hand underneath her trousers.

jinx let out a small gasp, her body instinctively tensing up at the feeling of your fingers on her skin. however, she couldn’t deny that the attention was also kind of nice.

"you’re a damn menace, you know that?" she grumbled, her voice still coming out a bit shaky.

"you love it, though," you teased, leaving a few gentle nips to her neck as your hand continued to wander underneath her trousers.

jinx grumbled some more, trying to stay focused on her work as you continued to distract her. though with the way she squirmed under your touch, it was clear it was becoming increasingly difficult.

you pull down her pants and underwear altogether, simultaneously teasing with your tongue the sensitive skin on the edge of her jaw and her earlobe. once no clothes were in the way, you can finally feel how wet she actually is. jinx lets out a small, shaky breath as her body shivers under your touch.

"damn it, you're making it impossible to focus," she grumbles, though her words lack any real irritation.

"that’s the point," you murmur, your fingers slowly moving to tease her entrance. "you work too much, you need to loosen up a bit.”

she lets out a small moan, her body arching involuntarily into yours.

"i-i... i'm never gonna get anything done with you around," she manages to gasp out, her grip on her gadgets tightening.

you chuckle, slowly tracing circles around her entrance with your fingertips. "mhmm," your lips trail down to pepper kisses along her neck. "consider it mandatory self-care."

jinx lets out a snort of laughter. "you're a real pain in the ass, you know that?"

she leans back against you, her head falling back onto your shoulder and giving you more access to her neck.

“i love you so much,” you purred before diving into her smooth skin, painting it with hickeys and love bites. just the weight of her body in your arms made you dizzy with affection.

jinx's breath hitches as your lips and teeth make their mark on her skin, leaving behind a trail of possessive marks.

"love you too," she managed to say, her voice coming out as shaky and breathless as her body shivers with anticipation. "but you're still distracting me from my work," she adds, though her words lack any real conviction. her body betrays her as her hips roll involuntarily against your hand.

you eye down at her gun on the work table, smirking at the flashing idea.

“lemme fuck you real quick, baby,” you insisted, pushing two fingers inside her without warning. not that she needed any, already taking you so well. “come for me just once and i’ll let you go back to work.”

jinx lets out a sharp gasp as your fingers slide inside her, "f-fuck," she moans, her words coming out in between shaky breaths. "that's not... that's not fair.”

she's still trying to hold on to some sense of control, but it's clear that her resolve is slipping.

"one time... that's all you get," she grumbles, her voice still coming out shaky and breathless.

you slip your fingers out, quickly licking them clean as you push her upper body onto the table, making her gasp, the cold surface sending a shiver through her body. she turns her head to glare at you over her shoulder, but it lacks any real heat.

“i remember you wondering how your gun would feel inside you,” you hummed softly, working on her pants to pull them down, your hands soon caressing the curve of her perfect butt.

a small blush dusted jinx's cheeks as you bring up the words she'd said so carelessly in the past.

"i...i didn’t really mean that," she mumbled.

“oh, but you did.” you chuckle, biting your lower lip in anticipation. “you’re dripping wet, baby.”

she really was, her fluids covering her upper creamy thighs. you keep teasing her with your fingers in that position, making sure she’s ready.

"damn it," jinx cursed, her body trembling as she tried to keep her composure. but she couldn't deny the effect your words and your touch were having on her. her breath came out in short, shaky gasps and her hands clenched into fists. "just... just get on with it already," she gasped out, her voice filled with a mix of impatience and need.

you chuckle at her impatience, but you knew that you weren’t any better yourself. taking a step back, you take a moment to admire the sight of her waiting for you, her body on display.

"you’re so goddamn beautiful, you know that?" you murmur, your hands lingering over her body, relishing the feel of her skin under your fingertips.

jinx lets out a small, shaky breath as your hands trail over her body.

"you’re just saying that because you want something from me," she mutters, trying to sound annoyed but not quite managing to hide the huskiness of her voice.

"hey, it's not my fault you're so damn enticing," you murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of her neck as you position yourself behind her. "besides, i think it's working. you look pretty impatient yourself."

a small whine escapes jinx’s lips as you press a kiss to her neck, her body arching back against you.

"i-i’m just tired of your teasing," she grumbles, her voice coming out in a needy whimper.

"but you love it," you hum, nipping at her earlobe as you push her hair away from the back of her neck. "i don't think you're in any position to make demands right now."

jinx lets out a small huff of annoyance, though it quickly turns into a gasp as your lips make contact with her neck. her body shakes against you and she lets out a soft whimper.

"c-cut it out," she grumbles, her voice wavering as my hands continue to caress her body. "you’re driving me insane..."

"i know, baby," you murmur, your lips trailing down her neck and across her shoulder. "you’re so beautiful like this, all needy and desperate for me."

without her noticing, you’ve reached for the gun. jinx is so consumed with the sensations coursing through her body that she doesn't even notice your movements. she’s fully focused on the feeling of your lips on her skin and your hands caressing her body.

your fingers gently move the gun closer between your bodies, careful not to let jinx see what you’re doing. you can't help but grin to yourself as you position the gun in just the right place, ready for what's to come.

you pull back slightly, making sure that jinx can feel the absence of your touch. she lets out a needy whine of protest, her body arching back towards you, searching for contact.

you then press the gun against her lower back, she gasps, her body tensing up at the sudden cold touch of the gun against her skin. she twists her head around, her eyes widening in surprise.

"w-what...?" she starts, her voice coming out in a shaky whisper.

“are you scared?” you murmur softly, tracing a heart shape on her skin with it. you lower it to her ass, hitting her pale skin softly.

jinx lets out a strained gasp at the impact of the gun against her skin, a mixed expression of surprise and arousal flickering across her face.

"i’m not scared, damn it," she grumbles, though her voice comes out a bit shakier than usual. “i just... wasn't expecting that."

you giggle, now teasingly rubbing the gun against her core. jinx lets out a small gasp, her body arching involuntarily into the touch. her breath comes out in short, shaky pants and her hands clenched into fists as she tries to maintain some semblance of composure.

"s-stop playing with me..." she mutters, her voice sounding needy and desperate despite her best attempts to hide it.

"i don't know what you're talking about," you tease, my voice a low murmur against her ear. "i'm just giving you what you asked for, baby."

you pull back to watch the gun disappear between her thighs, slowly to avoid hurting her.

“how does that feel, hm? is this what you wanted?”

jinx’s body trembles with anticipation, her breath coming out in shaky gasps as she feels the gun pressed against her core.

"y-yes..." she whimpers, her words coming out in a needy whisper. "i-i want... i want more..."

she's unable to hide the desperation in her voice, her body arching back against you as if begging me to give her more.

“inside?” you hummed.

jinx lets out a low moan, her body shuddering with anticipation as her eyes flutter shut. her teeth dig into her lower lip, and you can see the struggle she's having to maintain control.

"y-yes... please," she gasps out, her voice tremulous and desperate.

“needy girl." you mutter to yourself, feeling like you’ve won the lottery.

jinx doesn't respond, too overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through her body, but you can practically feel the heat radiating off her skin.

you push it inside her, easily slipping through her soaked folds. you only put the tip in, paying close attention to her reactions, but she was taking it so well. jinx lets out a soft cry, her back arched to raise her hips, welcoming the intruder between her legs. you start off gentle, pumping it at a calm pace, every time inching in more, just slightly enough to drive her crazy.

“fuck,” she sighs, continuously tensing and relaxing on the desk. “harder..fuck me harder.”

you expected her impatience, and even though you huff at her bossy tone, you give her exactly what she wants.

soon enough, the room is filled with the sounds of gasps and moans, the only thing echoing apart from your voices. her body shakes with pleasure, and she's barely able to form coherent thoughts. her hands clutch at the edge of the table, her knuckles white as she grips desperately.

“say it, jinx,” you huffed, “say who’s making you feel good baby.”

"y-you… it’s you—!” she gasps out in between moans, her voice trembling and breathless as she chants your name like a prayer. "i-i can't take it... it's too much... don't stop, please don't stop."

she's a trembling, whimpering mess, the lines between pleasure and pain blurred to the point where it's almost impossible to tell them apart. her body is sensitive and raw, and every touch, every movement, sends a wave of sensation through her.

you push her further and further towards the edge, watching her come undone little by little. she’s unable to think straight, overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through her body. she’s a trembling, whimpering mess at your mercy, completely at your mercy, and it's a sight that fills you with a sense of pride and power. you revel in the knowledge that you’re the one causing her to feel this way, that you’re the one bringing her to this heightened state of ecstasy. it’s addictive, the feeling of having this much control over her.

"please..." jinx gasps out, her voice choked with emotion. "please, i-i can't take it any more..."

she's teetering on the edge, balancing on a knife's edge between ecstasy and torment, and you know that it won't take much to send her over the edge.

“you wanna come?” you whisper into her ear, “d’you wanna make a mess on your desk?”

jinx’s body shudders at my words, a low moan escaping her lips.

"f-fuck, yes..." she whimpers, her voice coming out in a strangled gasp. "please... i... i need to come... need you to make me come."

she’s a trembling mess, on the verge of completely losing control. her body is wound tight, coiled like a snake ready to strike. everything is so heightened, the pleasure intense and overwhelming.

you stop gripping her hip with your other hand only to sneak between her thighs and rub her clit furiously.

“like this?”

the sudden touch makes her body arch and shudder, her muscles tightening involuntarily.

"y-yes, like that," she gasps out, her words coming out in a shaky, breathless rush. "oh, god, please don't stop, don't stop..."

she’s teetering on the edge of an abyss, teetering on the precipice, and all it would take is one little push to send her careening over. you can see the tension in her body, the way it's coiled so tightly, ready to snap. you know she just needs a little more, just a little bit more to send her over the edge. and you’re more than happy to oblige. you push her further, taking her right to the edge and then holding her there.

"you’re so close, aren't you?" you murmur, your lips against her ear. "you’re right on the edge, just need a little push."

her body trembles, her breathing coming out in short, sharp gasps. she’s trying to hold on, to keep herself together, but it's a losing battle.

“come for me~”

those words, those three words, are all it takes. as if they've unlocked something inside her, something that had been coiled tight and waiting to explode.

jinx’s body shudders, her muscles tensing as she careens over the edge. a low, guttural moan escaped her lips, torn from deep within her chest. her body trembles and shudders, waves of pleasure radiating through her. her hands grip the table, fingers digging into the surface as if trying to ground herself. she’s a trembling wreck, boneless and pliant on the desk. her eyes are closed, her face flushed and her breath coming out in short, shaky bursts. after a few long moments, her body relaxes, the tension slowly seeping out of her muscles.

she’s still shaking a little, feeling boneless and weary. her eyes slowly open, meeting yours, the usual steely gaze replaced with a mixture of weariness, pleasure, and vulnerability.

“hey baby,” you say softly, pressing light kisses over her shoulder as you slip the gun out of her and place it on the table.

she groans as the gun slides out of her, her body feeling suddenly empty and sensitive. her eyes flutter shut as you press soft kisses along her skin, her body slowly relaxing under my touch.

"fuck," she mumbles, her voice coming out in a weary, shaky whisper. "that was... that was intense."

you chuckle softly, gently caressing her skin, your touch light and soothing.

"yeah, it was," you murmur, your lips still pressing soft kisses along her shoulder. "you did good, baby. you did real good."

Her breathing slowly starts to even out, her body relaxing further as she basks in the afterglow. she doesn't speak for a few moments, just lets herself enjoy the feeling of my touch and the calming effect it has on her.

Officially, it's called The Hexcore Frights Experience—a name that sounds like it was brainstormed in a fancy boardroom by a bunch of people with a PowerPoint addiction. Something with bullet points. Something with the word "immersive" tossed in like seasoning. It's a mouthful, over-designed, desperate. Like some guy with a clipboard thought slapping "Experience" at the end would make plywood and fog machines feel like theater.

It doesn't.

Mostly, it just confuses little kids—too many syllables, too many missing baby teeth to pronounce the words right. The name gets lisped into oblivion out of sugar-stained mouths before anyone even makes it past the creaking metal gates. So, it morphed into something else. Simpler, catchier.

The Hex.

Technically, it's just a local scare park that's been popping up for the last ten years. One of those cheap seasonal attractions that comes out of nowhere, runs all month, then vanishes overnight before November even settles. There's a logo, barely legible on the peeling banner outside: a grinning jack-o'-lantern with a monocle and a top hat, for some reason. It's built on the edge of Zaun, on a strip of land no one fought over because there was nothing to win, where the air smells like burnt rubber and rain that never fully rinses the place clean. It's dead ground, simple as that—just cracked concrete, weeds, and abandoned train tracks that split the neighborhood like a stitched scar. Too loud for housing, too ugly for retail.

So, naturally, they filled it with horror.

And cheap lights. And actors in borrowed costumes. And fences that shake when the wind hits just right.

And, at some point, Jinx.

She never did like rules. She isn't wired for systems, for schedules, for managers named Carl with coffee breath and spreadsheets. Work was always a joke to her—clock in, try not to punch anyone before lunch, clock out. She drifts through jobs like they're hand-me-downs: ill-fitting, itchy, clearly designed for someone else's body. Minimum wage makes her mean, fluorescent lighting makes her twitchy, and uniforms make her claustrophobic. And telling her what to do? That's the fastest way to lose an eye.

So no, Jinx doesn't want to be employed. She did try, by applying to cafés and corner stores. She tried standing still behind cash registers with a fake smile and a name tag that wasn't even hers. She lasted three weeks at a smoothie chain before dumping a mango-pineapple monstrosity down the front of a customer's hoodie—straw and all—two days at a dog groomer's before shaving a Pomeranian into a lion, and one shift at a library before deciding silence isn't just golden, it's insufferable.

She doesn't plan on working this fall, not even as one last stunt before the frost hits. Planning would mean thinking three hours ahead, and lately she's been lucky enough to keep her skull from spinning. She's good at surviving. Good at being strange in a room full of strangers. Good at blowing things up—metaphorically, these days. But not good at showing up. Or behaving. Or belonging.

She's on the floor again, her back pressed against the coffee table as she tries to get herself off, failing spectacularly. She's got her phone in one hand, a half-watched porn tab open—some grainy POV clip with shitty lighting but better moaning than usual—and her other hand wrapped around herself, sticky and flushed and only getting stiffer out of sheer stubbornness. Her boxers are halfway down her thighs as she jerks lazily, but the fan's making the spit dry up too fast.

And that's when her phone buzzes.

It's Vi. No greeting. No context.

Just a photo of a crooked flyer taped to a stickers-covered pole near the docks—half-ripped, a little blurry, in that cheap orange and black print that screams October job opening. The words NOW HIRING — SEASONAL SCARE STAFF glare at her through the pixels, followed by smaller print in Comic Sans promising "competitive pay" and "no questions". The bottom's lined with those little tear-off tabs that have a number on them, most already gone.

One message beneath it: "you'd scare the fuck outta someone. might as well get paid."

"Cockblockin' even from across the city," Jinx mutters, tossing her phone aside and dragging herself up with a groan.

She's not doing that. No way she's spending her nights covered in fake blood and babysitting Topsiders looking for cheap thrills.

And yet, she feels an itch.

Because it's not about the job, it's about the setup. A haunted park that looks like someone's late-stage caffeine psychosis? It sounds dirty, disorganized, temporary, and just unprofessional enough to tolerate. The kind of thing she could disappear into if it just gave her something to do with her nights.

And that? That sounds perfect. There's only so much pacing a girl can do before she starts thinking about lighting something on fire just to feel warm.

She's already up and grabbing her boots before she realizes she's moving, her cock not quite cooperating just yet, stuffed under tight shorts and fishnets. By the time she gets there, the sun's gone down and the sky over Zaun looks like dirty dishwater. There's no security, just a folding table near the entrance, a stack of forms weighted with a rock, and a guy in a vampire cape scrolling through his phone.

"Name?" he asks, barely looking up, pen tucked behind his ear.

"Jinx," she says. "Short and sweet."

He doesn't even flinch, like it's not the craziest thing he's heard today. "You auditioning?"

"Sure." She shrugs, tilting her head. "If that's what we're calling it."

"You into clowns?"

"I mean, not sexually."

He gives her a half-smile and a waiver that definitely wouldn't hold up in court in response. "Alright. Clown maze is short-staffed. Go inside, show 'em what you got."

That's it. Fifteen minutes later, she's hired. Which means she gets handed a key to the costume trailer that smells like armpits, fake leather, and three kinds of expired hairspray, plus a lanyard by a manager who tells her she can "do whatever the fuck she wants" as long as no one sues.

And yeah, she doesn't want a job. But if she gets to dress like a walking nightmare, crawl out of holes, and scare people until they cry? While maybe getting off to it later in the staff bathroom?

That's worth clocking in for.

She breezes through orientation day like a joke—twenty minutes of safety warnings that include tips on how not to get punched in the face, and a bored supervisor telling her the only real rule of her zone is to never break character. No one cares if she ad-libs or climbs shit she's not supposed to, as long as she stays in costume and doesn't traumatize toddlers with face paint into therapy.

No script, just a persona.

And tonight? She finally gets to let it loose.

By the time her shift starts, the park is already buzzing with strobe lights and teenagers screaming like they're actually being murdered.

Somewhere in that chaos?

You.

The first time you went to The Hex, you were thirteen and too cool to scream. Your older cousin dragged you through the haunted house and you pretended to be bored until a ghost puppet swung down from the ceiling and you pissed yourself so hard you had to throw your jeans away.

You've been going back ever since. First with friends, then with dates, and now alone, like it's your own sacred pilgrimage.

It's not even about the adrenaline anymore. That wore off around age sixteen, when you stopped screaming and started noticing how the walls were built: shabby foamcore layered with blacklight paint and duct tape. You don't flinch at jumpscares when you can spot an actor from a mile away by the way their sneakers squeak.

There's comfort in it—the tackiness, the loudness, the ritual of it. You know the map by heart. You could run it blindfolded.

Not that you would; not with how shitty the floor is.

You start at the food court they call Piltover Plaza, which is funny, considering the only thing posh about it is the churros being slightly overpriced. The smell hits you first: deep-fried dough, cinnamon sugar, buttery pretzels, and something aggressively artificial pretending to be cheese. You always get the tropical slurpee that stains your tongue blue, and the caramel popcorn that leaves your fingers sticky well into the first stop: The Enforcers' Quarters, a prison-themed area with bars and torn jumpsuits, where the words "PROTOCOL BREACH" loop and echo throughout the cold cells. This year, they've added body bags to the showers.

Then it's on to The Madman's Lab. You've never been a fan—mostly because it feels claustrophobic and they shove you through the plastic curtains too fast. It's all severed limbs and twitchy actors in lab coats who scream about unstable serums. You respect the effort, but you never quite remember the plot. You're too focused on the woman in a bloody nurse costume pretending to eat someone's heart.

But the real reason you come? The Shimmer Fields. Out near the edge of the property, it's the furthest zone in the park, shoved against the back fence by the dead train tracks, with vines twisting out of the ground like veins. The theme is loose—something about a chemical spill, experimental tests gone wrong, bodies mutating under the purple haze. The set designers took the word "biohazard" and ran with it… or maybe stumbled. The whole thing glows like a UV-lit wet dream with toxic barrels oozing neon slime that definitely isn't edible, but one time you saw a kid lick it anyway.

You know which fog machine hisses too early and which animatronic hasn't worked in years but still gets reset every night. You've memorized the routes through each maze, tracked the themes, watched the decorations get weirder, cheaper, better. Hell, you've even grown used to the fake blood—sickly sweet, like cherry NyQuil—that clings to your nostrils by the end of the loop. You move through it slower than the rest, not because you're scared—God, you wish you could still get scared by this place—but because you like to take your time, study who's giving it their all and who's clearly stoned in a werewolf costume. You notice the improvisations, the missed cues, the moments that almost work. It feels like a fever dream built on high school drama club sets, but it's your favorite kind of horror: a little theatrical, a little pathetic, a little gross.

And The Hex, for all its obvious flaws, commits harder than most. Every year, some new corner gets added or reimagined, and every year, you're here to take it all in. It's the one thing that doesn't change—even when you do.

Still, for all your affection, you have your boundaries. And The Funhouse? That's always been a hard no for you. You're not scared of clowns—not in the balloon animal phobia, repressed childhood trauma kind of way—you just never understood the appeal. They're loud, unpredictable, exhausting. They don't operate by logic, or narrative, even. They feel like the cheap punchline of horror—too bright, too much, too desperate for attention. There's something inherently needy about them that suffocates you.

You don't like when it's too much.

You don't like when it's unpredictable.

And you definitely don't like being bait.

Which is why you're mildly horrified when your brain catches up and you realize your feet are already inside.

The gaudy archway is low-lit and pulsing with color like a sideshow on ketamine: deep pinks, oversaturated reds, and lime green lights that flicker at a headache-inducing tempo. The air smells like cotton candy gone stale and a sugary kind of decay. There's fog here, too—a staple, so it seems—but thinner than in the other areas, lower to the ground, more like steam than mist, which only makes everything feel sweaty. The floor is a mess of checkerboard tiles deliberately sloping at weird angles, laid out by someone who apparently hates ankles. You adjust your balance like you're navigating through a sinking ship, and every step suddenly becomes a correction.

The mirror tunnel waits just ahead, spinning slow and nauseating, designed to disorient. You hate that thing. It's a space where nothing looks real, especially you. It makes you feel like you're being watched from inside your own reflection. Like if you look too long, something might blink back. There's a ball pit, too, its colors dulled with grime. You'd bet money it hasn't been cleaned since the season opened. Somewhere deeper inside, you hear mechanical laughter looped on a busted speaker. It skips once, then resets, like a jack-in-the-box trying to kill itself.

Everything is still as unholy and overstimulating as you remember.

You think, distantly, I shouldn't be here. This was a mistake.

But that thought's already rotting at the back of your mind, useless now when your body doesn't agree and keeps you moving.

A pair of actors lurches out of nowhere—one cackling behind a latex mask, the other in a blood-stained romper, dragging a prop axe behind them. You flatten against the nearest wall and hold your breath, waiting for them to vanish back into whatever trapdoor they slithered out of.

And that's when you notice her.

Still. Silent. At the far end of the corridor, standing under a sickly magenta light pulsing faintly and casting shadows up her lean body, one leg kicked lazily against the wall.

You spot the costume first, unmistakably clown-coded. It's a fractured spin on a harlequin, a mix of punk and playhouse: corseted bodice in midnight blue, patterned with diamonds and cinched tight where it matters, boning hugging the dip of her waist. One shoulder is bare, blue clouds swirling and winding up her bicep, the other covered by a sleeve of mesh. Her pants are jagged and asymmetrical, reminding you of a half-eaten circus tent held together by mismatched belts and safety pins, combat boots laced with neon ribbons. She looks wild and meticulous all at once, like every messy stitch was chosen. Her hair's in two tousled bubble braids, bright blue and frizzing out where the humidity's caught them. There are tiny bells weaved in, and you hear them chiming softly before you realize she's gotten closer. Her features are feminine—sharp jaw, full lips the color of a bruise, blue eyes made bigger by the contrast of her white base makeup, slightly cracked like old porcelain.

You swallow hard. You don't even mean for your eyes to drop. You're just tracing the slope of her waist, innocently following the curve of her body downward, past the glint of metal at her monkey-shaped buckle…

And that's when you see it.

The strange shape beneath the fabric doesn't register all at once, but it's just enough of a bulge to catch your eye, to interrupt the silhouette you were expecting. Your heart kicks hard against your ribs from the devastating fact that she's packing… and she clearly knows it. Your eyes flick back up to hers without thinking, cheeks heating up, but it's too late. She meets your gaze with a kind of wicked delight, like embarrassment is a present she's just unwrapped, and the corners of her mouth twitch upward into something smug.

She cocks her head, slow and birdlike, her teeth catching her bottom lip like she's holding something back. Then, without a word, she shifts her weight with a soft roll of her hips forward. It's a show-and-tell disguised as a stretch that only pulls the fabric tighter, framing the outline you'd just tried to unsee, like she's parodying seduction just to check if you'll bite. Her fingers twitch at her sides, like she's resisting the urge to really perform, to run a hand down her stomach, or to say something loud and awful. But she knows she doesn't need to. The power's already in her posture, in the quiet confidence radiating off her.

Because you looked, she noticed, and now she's posing like your attention is the spotlight keeping her warm and you just happened to pause right where it hits her best.

Her gloved hand lifts, and she spins the small prop knife resting between her manicured fingers. It catches the light once, then disappears into a hidden holster, like a magic trick. "Caught you," she says, voice sing-songy, yet hoarse from too many hours on the job, throat worn down by a dozen screams and a hundred jokes. Still, she sounds so pleased with herself—like she's just won a game you didn't know you were playing, and now she's wondering what you'd do for a better view.

A lot, is the answer.

It's supposed to be part of the act, you think.

Probably.

Maybe.

But she doesn't give you time to decide before she moves closer, her corset creaking with the motion.

She's tall—not freakishly so, but taller than you expect, enough to make you tilt your chin up. Maybe it's the boots, maybe it's the way she straightens her spine as she starts circling you. Not like she's sizing you up—more like she already knows your size, your shape, your weight in her hands, and now she's just confirming what she already pictured in her head. Every step is slow and deliberate, predatory in a way that feels personal. She smells like bubblegum and musk, sweat clinging under her costume, but also something spicier, almost warm. The very person leaking through the seams of the act.

You catch yourself staring again.

And she catches you catching yourself.

It's a miracle she doesn't start clapping, really.

"You're not gonna deny it?" she presses, like she's hoping you'll try. "No 'oh my God, what are you talking about?' No pretending you were looking at my belt buckle?"

Your throat goes dry, and your brain empties out like someone hit the reset button. "Would you believe me if I did?" you ask, trying to sound casual. It comes out as a dare wrapped in a cough.

"Nope." Her grin spreads like ink bleeding through paper. She doesn't stop walking—just pivots on her heel, hands in her pockets. "You don't have that kind of poker face."

"Guess I should work on that," you mumble, forcing your gaze down to your sneakers, hoping they'll offer you a dignified exit.

"Guess I should give you more chances to practice," she tosses over her shoulder without missing a beat.

That pulls a snort out of you—short, surprised, just a hint over too genuine,—that makes her eyes light up.

"There it is," she says. "Knew you had that sound in you."

You look up at her again, trying to steel yourself, but she's already closer than before—close enough that her shadow overlaps yours. You swallow hard, heart hammering louder than the distant sound cues in the maze.

"Look," you say quietly, simultaneously exhaling the breath you didn't realize you were holding, "I didn't mean to stare."

"I know."

"I just—”

"I know," she repeats, slower this time, and somehow it passes as permission. Her whole demeanor's shifted—softer and more intimate, but just as charged. She's looking at you like you're the attraction and she's the visitor now. "Relax," she drawls, almost kind, like she's fond of you already. "I like being stared at."

"Yeah," you manage, voice thin as you try to recover. "I'm starting to pick up on that."

She chuckles, a short but bright sound that echoes off the walls. "Good. I'd hate to be subtle."

"You're really confident for someone in clown makeup."

"And you're really mouthy for someone who nearly tripped over herself looking at my dick."

"I didn't—”

"Well don't lie now. You'll hurt my feelings," she cuts in smoothly, smirking like she's two steps ahead of you.

"You always harass the guests like this?" you ask, trying to deflect, but your tone slips somewhere into flustered despite your best efforts, thoughts scattered, akin to glitter across a carpet.

"Only the pretty ones."

"That is… wildly unprofessional."

"But deeply satisfying," she shrugs, like she's made peace with the ethics violations and now she's just doing you a favor. She stretches her arms above her head—trying to reset her shoulders or maybe just giving you something else to look at—and lets out a low, exaggerated sigh, like she's been working too hard at keeping things PG. "Speaking of unprofessional… Got a name?" she finally asks, tilting her head again, like a curious dog sniffing around something it likes and wants to keep.

"Do you?"

"Jinx."

You don't say it, but it fits, like it was stitched into her mouth before birth. It sounds right, sitting there, curled on her tongue—too short, too sharp, a spark that knows exactly where to land. You offer yours in return, out of reflex more than trust, and she grabs it like a toy. She says it back just once, but somehow it sounds obscene coming from her mouth. It's not on purpose—she's not laying it on thick. It's more like she's trying it on, deciding how it'd sound whispered in the dark, gasped into a pillow, moaned until it's all she remembers how to say.

It hits you like a tripwire.

You clear your throat, needing to fill the air with something. "So… what exactly happens now?"

"What do you mean?" she asks, feigning innocence with the grace of someone who knows she's anything but.

"Isn't this the part where you… I don't know, jump at me and scream? Or I scream. Or someone screams." Your voice pitches higher at the end, not sure where to settle, and you wince as soon as you hear yourself.

But Jinx doesn't jump at you. She doesn't scream, either. She simply gives you a once-over, the faintest hint of amusement flickering in her eyes as if she's already seen the ending and is savoring the middle. "You don't seem like a screamer."

"Maybe you're just not that scary," you shoot back, crossing your arms defensively.

She hums at that, low in her throat, not rising to the challenge. Your skin's buzzing under her stare, and your brain's busy replaying every moment of this conversation on a four second delay. You wonder how long she's been pushing boundaries like this. You wonder if she's ever broken character so cleanly before. You wonder what she wants from you, besides the satisfaction of making you squirm.

The silence stretches, but not uncomfortably.

"I like the quiet ones," she says after a beat. "You watch more, think more. Kinda like prey."

You can't help but swallow, not missing the predatory look she gives you before you ask, dumbly, "And what does that make you?"

"Hungry, obviously."

She doesn't even blink after she says it, just lets it sit there between you like an open invitation. You should walk away. You know that. The moment feels loaded now, off-script in a way that goes well beyond park rules. Her eyes flick to your mouth, like she's trying to memorize the way it moves. Like she's imagining what it would look like wrapped around her fingers… or something else entirely.

Your heartbeat's in your throat now, thudding in your ears. You glance over your shoulder, noting the empty hallway behind you and the EXIT sign in flickering red letters just a few feet away. You're almost out. Almost safe. "You know you're breaking like… three park rules right now."

"Only three? Shit. I must be slipping." She steps forward, the toe of her boot nudging yours. She's still smiling, but it dissolves into a small and crooked thing. "Besides… You don't look like you're complaining."

You don't say anything—don't need to. Your body answers for you: still, breathless, waiting. You're standing in the middle of a haunted maze and this is what gets your adrenaline spiking.

She watches your chest rise and fall like she's syncing her own breath to it, studying you for rhythm, cues, and a beat she can follow straight into your undoing. Then, slowly, she steps closer and asks, huskier now, "You want to help me break another one?"

It should sound playful… but she doesn't move like she's joking, doesn't blink like someone teasing a stranger. She leans in instead—close enough that her breath hits your cheek in bursts of artificial sweetness and whatever she had eaten at the food court earlier. Your mouth opens to ask what she means, but the words stall out when her hand moves.

She drags two fingers down your bare arm, slow and warm, pressing just enough to feel the muscle beneath. The contact is invasive in a way that makes your spine tingle and leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake. She keeps going, down to the inside of your wrist, feeling your pulse fluttering like a trapped moth, under the soft pads of her digits.

"Sensitive," she murmurs, half to herself—more observation than tease. You try to breathe, but it catches in your chest instead. “That one doesn't count," she adds. "That was just a warm-up."

Then her hand reaches for yours, in a way that assumes you won't fight it. And you don't, because of course you wouldn't; your mind is too foggy to find a reason to. She guides it down, past the cold buckle of her belt and straight to the front of her pants, like you're walking through a crowd and she's leading you somewhere quiet. You don't even realize where she's taking you at first, until your palm meets something firm and heavy beneath the worn fabric. Your fingers twitch, but your brain's already short-circuiting under the weight of her cock in your grip, the way her hips subtly push forward, chase your warmth, your softness.

"You're blushing," she points out with a pleased grin, forehead nearly pressed to yours now. "That's cute."

"I… I wasn't expecting—"

"Sure you were." She nudges closer. It's disgusting, really, the way she grinds forward just enough to drag the firm shape against your hand again, as if she's rewarding you for having the good sense to touch her back. You feel the ridge of it, the sheer size, the way it throbs under your touch like she's been holding back all night just for a moment like this. "C'mon, sweet thing. You've already walked into this trap. Might as well enjoy it."

"I–I need—" you stammer, and it sounds like your voice is trying to change shape mid-sentence.

You don't even know what you need. Air? Distance? A full personality reset?

The only thing you do know is that you yank your hand away like you've been burned, nerves flaring as if someone lit a match in your throat. You stumble, retreating instinctively like you can outrun the feeling swelling in your chest. But instead of hitting freedom, you hit velvet curtains, and the funhouse-style mirrors suddenly warp around you like you've just entered some alternate dimension of your own panic. Your reflection fractures across twenty different panels, your wide-eyed stare bouncing back at you from every angle. You turn again, deeper into the tunnel, just to stop looking at the kaleidoscope you've become.

"Where you runnin' off to?" Jinx giggles, already following after you like a shadow. There's no guilt in her voice, just delight, as if guiding your hand to her dick five seconds ago was nothing more but a party trick. "Thought you said I wasn't that scary?"

You freeze like a cornered animal. Not out of fear, exactly, more like sensory overload. You don't mean to look as fragile as you do—backed into a cold mirror, shoulders stiff, legs braced like you're trying to fold yourself smaller than your body will allow. You don't even blink, just exist, stunned and half-turned toward the exit like a deer who hasn't figured out yet which way the headlights are coming from.

Her gaze sharpens, studying you the same way someone might do with a startled creature on the road; curious, patient. She slows when she sees the tension in your jaw, her gait losing that teasing spring and transitioning into something steadier.

"Hey." She lifts her hands—open palms and a gentler voice, as if offering a truce. It's a gesture so non-threatening it almost feels out of place on her now. "Didn't mean to actually freak you out, Bambi."

"Bambi?" you echo, tone caught somewhere between incredulous and breathless as your eyes flick to her face.

"Big eyes, wobbly legs," she murmurs, stepping into your space again. Not pouncing or hunting this time, simply drifting closer. "You look like you can't tell if you're turned on or about to have a moral crisis."

"I… might be doing both." The words come out with a shy, lopsided smile—the kind that tugs up only one corner of your mouth before you duck your head, cheeks warming. You glance up through your lashes, sheepish but curious, like you can't quite decide if you should keep meeting her gaze or hide in the safety of your own flustered laugh.

Jinx grins at that, the painted curve of her mouth softening into something less wicked, more human. The tension crackles for a moment longer before it fizzles out between you, replaced by the faint hum of embarrassment and something warmer underneath. "I'm sorry, sugar. I got a little carried away back there." She scoffs at herself, pinching the bridge of her nose with a faint grimace. "Kinda forgot you didn't sign up for… that kind of scare."

You let out a small chuckle, bashful but real. "It's okay. I mean, I did run like hell. You just… caught me off guard."

"Caught you good, though," she teases, then winces like she immediately regrets it. "Sorry—bad timing. I just…" She exhales an exaggerated puff of breath, all the fight leaving her posture as she leans back against one of the mirror panels. "Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Promise."

The confession is awkward and earnest, but something about saying it out loud—owning it—makes you feel lighter already. "I'm still here," you point out, almost like a peace offering, your shame retreating. "And… maybe kind of hoping you'll keep looking at me like that?"

That gets her. Her shoulders roll back in slow ease, and whatever twitchy impulse had been buzzing in her limbs moments ago smooths right out. The predator coils itself quiet, and she watches you like you're something precious she doesn't want to break too soon. She closes the remaining space between you, nosing lazily along your cheekbone, almost catlike but tentative in her affection now.

"Tell me to stop," she murmurs against your skin, "or I'm gonna take that look in your eyes real personally." And then—only after you shiver—does she shift her weight. She presses her hips forward, just enough for you to feel her bulge again, unmistakable as it settles flush against your pelvis. She fits obscenely well there, grinding into the soft spot below your belly with aching hesitation, like she's nudging a boundary, checking how much room you'll allow her to ruin you.

You flinch, but not away this time. It's a soft, involuntary twitch—the ghost of an old instinct that doesn't quite make it all the way through. Your body starts to remember that it doesn't have to defend itself here. That maybe, for once, it can just be. You let yourself breathe, and your muscles finally realize they’re allowed to rest.

"Let's try that again," she suggests, nosing lower now, right into the crook of your neck where your scent hits the strongest. Her mouth parts against your skin—warm breath, chapped lips, the barest scrape of teeth. And then her tongue finds the spot just under your ear, tasting salty skin as if it's the best thing she's had all night. You quiver under her with a soft moan, heartbeat fluttering hard enough for her to feel it. One hand skims down your spine, slow and deliberate, fingertips dragging over every vertebra like she's mapping out your bones. She doesn't stop when she reaches the curve of your ass, just grabs a handful and squeezes possessively. "You like that better?"

You nod, biting your lip so hard it stings, as if that'll keep the sounds in—but your hips roll forward without permission, meeting the pressure she's so generously offering. It feels strange at first, this surrender. But it's a good kind of strange—like sunlight after weeks of rain. You let it wash over you. You let yourself melt.

"There we go," she purrs. "You just needed a minute, hm?"

You've always told yourself you're not that kind of girl.

You don't sneak off with strangers. You don't drool over someone you met five minutes ago because they smell like bubblegum and trouble and press a cock against you. You don't get wet from a smirk and a little pressure. That's not who you are.

Except suddenly, it is.

Because you can't stop imagining it. The corrupted sound she'd make when your lips wrap around her, soft at first, then needier. The way she'd grip your hair when she realizes you mean it—every filthy thing you're pretending not to want.

You want to be good for her. Just for her. You want to let her rut against your tongue in the dark while fake screams echo down the maze and some animatronic goes off two rooms over like it's cheering you on. You want to make her shudder, to feel her get twitchy and desperate because of you.

And yeah, maybe it's disgusting. Maybe it's reckless. Maybe you'll hate yourself for it later.

But maybe you'll hate yourself worse if you walk away now.

Because the truth is: you are that kind of girl. Right here, right now, with her? You are. Your mind flatlined the second you spotted her. No more thoughts, just heat, slick need, and that awful, humiliating ache between your legs that says: I want it. I want it. I want it.

"What about the cameras?" you blurt out, almost too fast, like you're still hoping someone will talk you out of this even as you press your chest against hers, chasing more. "We're in a public maze and—”

"They don't work in here," Jinx cuts in, calm and collected. "Dead zone. Security guy gets nauseous from all the reflections. Can't watch the feed without puking. So they just… don't." She leans closer, like she's telling you a secret. "We call it the blackout spot."

You don't know if that's true, but you want it to be. Especially with how her hand presses into your lower back now, keeping you locked tight against her cock.

And maybe you want to be seen, after all.

Even if only by her.

"I can be real sweet on you," she murmurs against your throat, sucking a mark into the tender skin just above your collarbone. "So good. So fucking careful. You want that?"

You make a sound—high and pathetic, caught somewhere between a whimper and a disbelieving laugh. You nod so fast you get dizzy, and you barely have time to blink before your mouth claims hers. It's not rough, but it burns. Hot, deep, filthy in a way that pulls the air out of your lungs and replaces it with her. She groans, reciprocating just as eagerly. Her tongue slips in without asking, slick and shameless, licking into you like she wants to memorize the shape of your throat from the inside out. You don't even realize you're gripping onto her forearms until she shifts—pressing in, teeth nipping your lower lip—and you dig in like you're clinging to gravity itself. There's more spit than you expect, stringing between your lips when she pulls back, only for you to come right back in like you can't be away from her for more than a second.

And that makeup you were admiring on her earlier? It's yours now.

The heavy white cream from her foundation clings to your cheeks in thick, uneven patches. Her lipstick has bled into a dark, glossy halo around your mouth, transferring from her painted-on smile. You can feel it melting into your skin, every touch blurring the lines between you until you can't tell who the color belongs to anymore. She pulls away just enough to admire you like you're her personal canvas. Her thumb grazes your chin before dragging it down, smearing the mess even more. Your knees buckle slightly—not enough to fall, just enough for her to notice.

"Wanna get on them for me?" she asks softly, holding you in place as her breath brushes your swollen lips. "Bet I'd look real pretty in your mouth."

The request feels more like a command wrapped in a coo, sticky-sweet like a candy apple, and you're already sinking to the cold floor before your brain catches up. Jinx looms above you, the weight of her presence blotting everything else.

"Good girl,” she purrs, unbuckling her belt with intent, as if the game's finally paying off.

The words hit you low. You don't even know if you've earned them yet, but the way she says it makes your pussy clench around nothing. Your mouth goes dry. Or maybe wetter. It's hard to tell because your body's already two steps ahead, tipping forward, greedy and off-balance. You brace your hands on her hips, keeping yourself from swaying, from reaching up and taking it out yourself. She tugs down the waistband of her striped pants just enough, thumbs hooking under the elastic, and her cock springs free like it's just as eager to perform, balls tight and heavy.

It's… a lot.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't expecting it, but seeing it up close, thick and flushed? It's a whole different experience. She fists herself once, dragging her palm over the curved and veined length with a low hiss through her teeth. Her cock jumps in her grip, twitching when she looks down and catches your wide-eyed stare. She guides it toward you, letting the pink tip slide across your lips, smearing salty precum like gloss. She taps your cheek with it—mocking, almost playful. You can smell her now, too: skin, sweat, the tang of arousal.

Her breath is shaky as she watches you open up for her, warm and obedient, tongue flattening under the head like you're starving. She presses in slow, feeding you more inch by inch, letting you get used to the size. Your mouth stretches around her, and you moan as she slides deeper.

"That's it," she coaxes, voice low and hoarse. Her hand finds the back of your head, not pushing, just resting. "Take it for me."

You gag once she hits the back of your throat, but she coos immediately, petting your hair soothingly.

"Breathe through it. You're doin' so good," she pants, thrusting again, just a little rougher to test your limits. "You're perfect, y'know that? Knew you'd have a mouth on you."

You nod, or try to—mouth still full of cock, throat raw, spit bubbling at the corners of your lips as you look up at her, teary-eyed. She pulls out halfway just to fuck it back in smoother, making you feel every drag as you hollow your cheeks, hand wrapping around what you can't take and working in tandem. You whine around her, sucking harder, head bobbing now—sloppier, more desperate. You feel drunk on her, and it shows in the way your thighs keep shifting and rubbing together for any sort of friction. You feel so empty it hurts, soaking through your underwear, every part of you aching for something to take and grind against. Your cunt throbs with every push of her hips, like your body's confused why she's not inside instead.

You love it.

You love her.

Or at least, you're in love with her dick—because how else do you explain this? The fluttering in your stomach, the way you could cry if she stopped now…

Which is exactly what she does.

Jinx lets out a shaky breath and pulls out with a wet pop, watching you chase after her, whiny and dazed.

"What are you doing?" you ask, throat slick with her taste. Your lips are swollen, your breath is gone, but you still crawl forward, knees sore from the hard floor as you lean in impatiently, taking her again without waiting for a reply.

"F-fuck, wait—" She groans, her grip on your hair faltering, like she can't decide whether to pull you closer or drag you off. You hum around her, swallow even deeper. She curses once more, eyes fluttering for a second too long before jerking her hips back with finality. You gasp, brows pinching in frustration as your mouth empties again. "I know, greedy girl," she coos, cupping your face gently, stilling you. "But I'm not gonna waste it. Not when that sweet cunt’s clearly begging for it."

She helps you up, and you barely find your balance before she grabs your hips and spins you around, pressing your chest against the cool glass, your quick breaths fogging up your own reflection. She tugs your pants and underwear down to your knees, one swift move. The cold air hits your dripping cunt and you flinch, shivering as she cups your ass and spreads you open just enough to look.

She whistles, low and impressed. "Fuck, baby, I knew it. Look at that."

And you do. She makes sure of it—her fingers curl tight under your jaw, tilting your head forward until you're eye-to-eye with yourself, blinking through the haze. You look wrecked and untouched all at once, like a horror movie virgin five minutes before the kill.

"This what you look like when you're about to get fucked?" she hums into your ear. "Eager and filthy?"

The fat head of her cock nudges your entrance and your whole body tightens, forehead hitting the flat surface before you. She slides it down your slit once, twice—coating herself in your slick—and then presses in slowly until your cunt starts to give. She's thick, and it's tight, and you're so wet it should slide easily, but it still burns.

"Shit—" you gasp, voice high and broken.

"Shhh." Her hand covers your mouth before the rest of the sound escapes, muffling it. "Gotta be quiet for me now, pretty girl. You don't want anyone hearing, do ya?"

She keeps pushing in, letting you feel every ridge, every twitch, and you whimper brokenly when she bottoms out. Her hips are flush to your ass, and she's buried so deep it feels like she's poking behind your ribs. She stays there for a second, allowing you to adjust, your legs already shaking from the stretch.

Then she pulls out halfway. Pushes back in.

Again.

And again.

You bite back a moan with each stroke, the slick sound of your cunt taking her bouncing off the mirrors like echoes from a porn set. She builds a rhythm, working you open, cock pulling out coated and sliding back in easier each time, like you're sucking her back in. Her free hand settles over your lower stomach, right above where she's pressing in, feeling the bulge from the outside.

She picks up the pace—a little faster, harder—just enough to make your body bounce with every thrust and tears brim at your lashes. "Look," she pants into your ear, her breath hitting the back of your neck in hot and sticky puffs, blue hair damp at her nape. "Look at yourself. Look how pretty you are while takin' me. How full."

The sight ruins you.

Your reflection is a pornographic mess, and you can't help but groan right into her palm, eyes rolling to the back of your head as her cock disappears into you over and over again. You try to keep quiet, but it's getting harder to control when she keeps punching that sweet spot deep inside you that makes your knees lock and voice rise in pitch. You fumble for purchase, leaving streaks and handprints on the mirror, and she pulls her hand away just enough for you catch a proper breath.

"Jinx—fuck, s’too much! I can't—"

"You can. You already are," she whispers into your neck, lips grazing the sweat building up there. "Don't go floatin' away on me now. Stay right there."

Her arms wind around your waist, locking you tight against her, using you as leverage just to fuck deeper into you. The wet slap of skin on skin is indecent, and you can feel her twitching every time you pulse around her, nearing your release.

"Can you be good for me? Can you come without screaming?"

You moan something unintelligible in response, eyes glossy and barely able to stay open. Your cunt grips around her like it's trying to keep her there, suck her in deeper, milk her dry. She's relentless now, each thrust perfectly aimed at a cruel angle, her pace bordering on overwhelming. One of her hands drops lower, fingers brushing your clit with a featherlight stroke, yet you jolt like you've been shocked nonetheless. She adds more pressure, circling it with practiced ease, knowing exactly which buttons to push to make your knees go weak.

The sudden extra stimulation makes your whole body seize up, and your orgasm hits too abruptly. You clench around her hard, heat flooding your limbs in a wave so intense it nearly knocks you off your feet. Your moan—sharp, ragged, impossible to hide—bubbles up before you can stop it.

Jinx is faster.

She slaps her palm back over your mouth just as you cry out, your release ripping through you like a live wire. Her grip only tightens, holding you upright and steady through the quake while you soak her. "Easy," she murmurs into your ear, thrusts going lazy. "Ride it out f'me."

You're still twitching from the aftershocks when you hear it.

Footsteps—a group, from the sound of it—sneakers dragging, giggles ringing, someone muttering "this part's lame" like they're trying to be tough.

You panic.

She doesn't.

"Don't. Move," she simply whispers, voice barely audible yet thrilled. You freeze, trembling in her hold, trying to melt into her chest like that'll make you disappear. Her hand stays over your mouth, fingers pressing gently at the corners, keeping you muffled. You can feel her deep inside you, cock throbbing with how hard she still is, keeping you full, like she doesn't intend on pulling out until you've taken everything she's planned on giving you. "They won't see. They'll be gone in a second," she promises, even as her own hips rock forward once, grinding the head into the spot that just ruined you.

You squeal against her hand, the overstimulation making your toes curl so hard inside your shoes they almost cramp. The footsteps pass, the voices fade, and once silence settles again—if you can call the frantic panting between you silence—Jinx takes it as her cue. She pulls back an inch, testing just enough to break the messy seal, then pushes back in slowly, like she's feeling you all over again.

"God, you feel… You feel unreal," she gasps, her forehead pressed to the back of your shoulder. Her hand is forgotten as she lets it fall from your mouth, too lost in the sensations. "Warm little cunt milking it like she knows me already." Her pace picks up, sloppier now, and she starts to pulse inside you, her body winding tight with that final edge. "Gonna pull out, I swear. Just… Just gimme a second—"

But the words splinter something in you. Your hand shoots back blindly, gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. A whimper tears from your throat as you shove yourself back onto her, keeping her fully sheathed. "Don't!" you sob in a frenzy, trembling from the pressure, practically writhing on her. "Don't pull out. Want all of it. Please."

She groans low in her throat like it hurts to hear you say it that sweet, that desperate. "You sure?" she breathes, the raspy tone nearly making your knees buckle. "You really want me to fill you up? Fuck it all into you, just like that? You're not just sayin' that 'cause your brain's gone all fuzzy, right?"

You nod so fast you get lightheaded, but she tuts quietly.

"Words, baby."

"Yes," you choke. "Yes, I want it. Please, Jinx, I need you to come in me. I'll take it, I can—"

And that's it. That's all it takes for her restraint to crumble like a wet tissue. You don't even get a warning—her hips jerk forward, knocking the air from your lungs as she buries herself to the hilt and stays there, cock twitching deep as she spills inside you with a ragged groan. You feel every hot spurt pouring into you, every twitch against your oversensitive walls, and the sudden fullness has you sobbing into the mirror, mouth open in a silent moan.

She doesn't move right away, just keeps grinding through her own aftershocks with faint and needy sounds that she probably doesn't even realize she's making, folded over you like a backpack. Slowly, she shifts, easing back, her breath stuttering as she begins to slip free—too soon, too slow, dragging every thick inch from your fluttering, overstretched pussy. You can't help but whimper at the loss, a gush of warmth following instantly. You clench down hard, reflexive but useless, and she steps back just far enough to look.

And oh, she looks.

You're still slumped over against the mirror, her cum dripping out of your hole and straight down your thighs in thick and creamy trails, catching the low light. Her eyes glaze over with something akin to awe, but you feel too boneless to care about how filthy you must look.

"I should take a picture," she chuckles breathlessly, her nose dragging up the dip of your spine. "Frame it. Hang it above my bed." Her voice is warm and teasing, but barely holding together, thinning. "First time I ever came in a stranger and nearly passed the fuck out." She presses a kiss to your shoulder blade, and you feel her grin against your cooling skin—crooked, high on the moment. One hand slips down again, cupping your heat tenderly, fingers sinking into the slick mess you both made and spreading it gently over your swollen folds. "I got you. You're okay."

But her voice cracks halfway through, throat tight with something that isn't just exhaustion. Because she is not okay, either. Her thighs are shaking, too, and her cock's still half-hard and soaked, twitching with leftover need. She exhales like she's trying to catch up to her own heartbeat and anchor herself.

A pause. Then, another kiss, softer this time—like a wordless thank you.

Jinx reaches down, catching the waistband of your panties and the rumpled pants still bunched around your knees. She tugs them up carefully, fabric sliding up your thighs. Your damp underwear presses flush against you, trapping her cum inside you, making you shiver. There's something undeniably possessive in the way she does it. Like she wants it to stay there. Like it means something to let you walk out of here full of her.

"There," she murmurs, adjusting the cotton so it fits more snugly around your hips. "All tucked in." She awkwardly maneuvers your jeans over your ass, keeping one arm curled loosely around your waist to steady you both. It's not graceful, it's not clean, but it's all she can manage—and it's done with so much care it nearly makes your head swim.

You let her do it, legs weak and whole body aching in that delicious, used-up kind of way. The mirror reflects all the damage: smeared makeup, glazed eyes, sweat-shined skin, and her hand still planted over your stomach like she's staking a claim. She finishes with a little pat to your hip, proud of herself.

"You coming back next weekend?" she asks, voice still rough, still a little fucked out and smug, maybe even hopeful as she tucks herself away.

"I always knew clowns were needy." You scoff through a smile, tugging up your zipper.

"Only for the ones who whimper like that," she shoots back, her grin turning toothy as she leans her chin on your shoulder, too annoyingly sweet for someone who just rearranged your insides. You're still shaking, limbs jelly-like and sore, skin buzzing from her kisses, but she doesn't seem in any hurry to let you go as she giggles. "Such a Bambi."

"Don't start," you groan, swatting weakly at her chest. She catches your hand and holds it there, threading her fingers through yours.

"I mean it," she says after a beat, her tone quieter now. "I want to see you again."

You blink at her, still hazy, still dazed in a way that doesn't feel fully physical anymore.

She nudges her nose against your cheek. "Gimme your phone. I wanna make sure you don't ghost me."

You roll your eyes, fishing it out of your pocket anyway, your body heavy with endorphins. You unlock it and hand it over without a word. She doesn't hesitate—just swipes open your contacts, thumbs moving fast and messy, nails tapping against the screen. The faint blue glow lights up her face, highlighting the smudges of face paint, the curve of her smile. You hear the faint click of her taking a photo with the front camera—probably for the contact image—and then the chirp of her own phone going off somewhere in her pocket.

"There. Now it's official."

Outside, the park is thinning, and the October air is colder than you remember, sobering you up. A kid screams somewhere far off in the distance, either from fear or too much sugar. Probably both. The fog machines have shut off, and the speakers are spitting out staticky ambient horror noise that no one's really listening to anymore. You walk toward the exit in silence, trying not to limp, trying not to think about the handprint on your thigh or how much lipstick is still on your face. You're almost out when your phone buzzes.

💬 clown girl 🤡

i'll get you a plan b <3

You stare at it for a second. You don't even remember telling her if you were on the pill or not. You huff a short laugh through your nose, then tuck your phone away, looking up just in time to catch her fading form.

She's walking backward now, facing you as she retreats into The Funhouse again. "Text me when you get home, Bambi!" she calls, throwing up a casual peace sign, fingers still faintly sticky with what had happened. "Don't make me haunt you!"

Romantic.

But this was a nice and well deserved change of pace too. You can't help but wonder what brought it on.

You pant heavily as she speeds up, your hips coming up to meet her tongue as you get closer and closer to finishing. She doesn't try to stop you anymore. In fact, your squirming only encourages her to speed up more. You're clawing at her shoulders; about to have the orgasm of your life, when she just…stops.

A shaking groan comes out of your mouth as you drop back 0n the be. Before you can get your wits about you to complain, You feel her teeth crawling up your skin. You startle back up to watch as she sinks her fangs into the flesh of your thigh. You hiss at the sting, but your eyes stay fixed on her. Her eyes flutter closed as the blood flows into her mouth. And that explains her impatience. Jinx is hungry. Starving, based on how greedily she suckles. Had you been starving your girlfriend?

She runs her tongue over the small puncture wound carefully, collecting the last droplets of blood. Your eyes flutter as she lifts her head to look back up at you. Her eyes half closed and buzzing with satisfaction. Typical.

"…You got a little something there." You mumble as you stare down at her. You were still disgruntled about your ruined orgasm but looking down at her face, covered in your blood and arousal—the very essence of you—had you heating back up quicker than your pride would ever allow you to admit.

She gazes into your eyes lovingly as she licks around her mouth to gather the rest of her impromptu meal. She was sick, twisted, and vile. And you liked it that way.