Clowning Around

The leather tightened around your throat, snug and firm, the cool weight of the metal D-ring brushing your collarbone. You shivered at the sensation, head tilted slightly upward, gazing at the woman before you.

Jane sat on her couch like it was a throne—her throne. Dark hair falling around her porcelain mask’s sharp features, painted lips curved permanently into a perfect press. One gloved hand still lingered at your neck where she had fastened the collar, her gloved fingers pressing lightly against the pulse beneath your skin, feeling the way it raced.

The room around you was soft and warm, a contradiction to the intensity of her gaze. Candles flickered along every surface—on the mantel, the windowsills, the low table in front of her. Their glow was golden, casting dancing shadows against the walls and filling the air with the faint scent of beeswax and sandalwood. Outside the windows, night pressed close, black and starless, but in here it was cocooned, safe, intoxicating. The air was heavy with warmth, the kind of heat that came not just from flames but from being watched, desired, owned.

“You wear it well,” Jane murmured, her voice low, rich, always so soft yet powerful. She leaned back against the couch, crossing one leg over the other, her eyes never leaving yours. “Almost as if it was made for you.”

You swallowed, the leather shifting slightly with the motion, and your hands flexed where they rested on your thighs. Kneeling in front of her like this made every sensation sharper, every look of hers heavier. You could smell the leather, the faint bite of polish on it, blending with candle smoke and the sweetness of her perfume—something floral, dark, lingering.

Her hand trailed from your throat to your chin, tilting your face upward, forcing you to hold her gaze. The way she looked at you made you feel undone, unwrapped, like she could see every thought as it formed.

“On your knees… looking at me like that.” Her smile deepened. “Do you know what you look like, pet?”

Your lips parted, words catching before you whispered, “Yours.”

The leash jingled as Jane picked it up, letting the metal clasp click against the ring at your collar. She tugged, just enough for the leather to bite into your skin and force your head closer. Her grin sharpened, eyes glinting in the candlelight.

“Exactly.”

The energy between you crackled like static, heady and charged. The warmth of the room seemed to pool lower in your stomach, your chest tight with anticipation. The way Jane sat—composed, steady, regal—contrasted the position she kept you in: low, obedient, offered up to her.

“Tell me,” she said softly, her tone teasing but edged with command. “What kind of pet are you tonight? A loyal one… quiet and eager to please?” Her thumb brushed over your lips, the lightest touch of her long pointed nails. “Or are you going to misbehave, hm? Pull at your leash and see what happens?”

Your throat worked as you swallowed against the snug leather, eyes flicking up to hers, wide and glassy. “I’ll… I’ll behave,” you whispered, the words coming out soft, breathy, more like a whimper than a promise. “I’ll be good for you, ma’am.”

Jane nodded as if she’d expected nothing less. Her grip on the leash tightened, the short tug making your pulse flutter hard against the collar. “Mmm,” she hummed, tilting her head, studying you. “We’ll see, puppy.”

The word struck through you like a live wire, heat prickling down your spine, an ache curling in your chest. Your breath quickened, body loosening under her gaze even as tension built low in your stomach.

This—this was what you’d craved from the very beginning. What started as glances that lingered too long, as tension that could never quite be ignored, had grown into something deeper, undeniable. Jane had always been strong, commanding in ways that weren’t loud but absolute, and you had felt yourself orbiting her gravity long before you admitted what you wanted. What you needed. Her control had slipped into your life like it was always meant to be there, like she’d been waiting to take the reins while you’d been waiting to surrender them. A perfect match—her desire to lead, your desire to be led. To be hers.

And now here you were, on your knees before her, leather snug around your throat, every nerve alight with purpose. There was no place you’d rather be than right here, serving her, pleasing her, being her good pet.

“I love when you look at me like that,” Jane murmured, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip, pressing lightly until you parted for her. She pushed her finger just inside, smirking at the way your tongue twitched against it, obedient and hungry. “All soft. All mine.”

Her other hand gave the leash another light tug, tilting your chin higher so you had no choice but to keep your eyes on her. “That’s my puppy. So eager to please.”

The word again—it curled around you, sank into you. You felt your body sink lower, your thoughts softening at the edges, dissolving into sensation. The warmth of the candles, the leather at your throat, the sound of her voice—all of it blurred together into one need: serve.

You whimpered again, pressing into her touch, your breaths coming shorter now. The edges of the world dimmed, narrowing to the leash in her hand, the collar around your throat, the pulse of want that made you ache to be closer, to show her how good you could be.

Jane’s eyes glared, sharp and knowing. She could see it happening—see you slipping, unraveling in the best way. “That’s it,” she cooed, stroking your jaw, her voice rich and velvet-smooth. “Good puppy. Get down into that sweet little head of yours. That’s where you belong, isn’t it? On your knees, wearing my collar, ready to do whatever I want?”

You nodded furiously, lips parted, heat rising in your cheeks as you whispered, “Yes, ma’am. Always.”

Jane leaned back into the couch cushions, the leash slackening in her hand but not released. Her free hand smoothed down the side of your face, gloved fingers stroking the line of your jaw before moving to ruffle lightly through your hair. The gesture made you melt further, the contrast of her dominance with that quiet, almost indulgent petting.

“Good pet,” she murmured. “Relax. Breathe. You’re safe here.”

You let out a shaky breath, body settling, head tipping into her touch. Her hand withdrew, though, and the shift in her posture made you snap back to attention, eager to listen.

“Take off my heels.” Her tone was calm, steady, but there was no mistaking the command threaded through it. She shifted one elegant leg forward, the black stiletto catching a flicker of candlelight.

“Yes, ma’am,” you whispered, your voice barely holding steady. You reached carefully, fingers grazing along the smooth leather, unbuckling the strap and easing the shoe from her foot. Her stockinged toes flexed against the rug, pale against the dark weave. You set the heel aside with care before moving to the other, repeating the motion, bowing your head slightly as though the task was sacred.

“Now the hose,” Jane said, her lips curving faintly under the porcelain mask.

You swallowed, glancing up at her as you slid your fingers carefully beneath the hem where the nylon clung to her thigh. Slowly, reverently, you peeled it down her leg, the fabric whispering against her pale skin. You drank her in as you worked: the sharp lines of her black dress hugging her curves, the way the high neckline veiled the expanse of her throat and collarbones. The dress itself was stark, elegant, the fabric clinging to her like shadows.

And above it all, the mask. The smooth porcelain gleamed faintly in the candlelight, flawless and cold, its painted lips curved in a serene, unreadable smile. You loved it—how it hid her expressions from the world, how it made her gaze seem sharper, endless. Her eyes behind it, dark and consuming, locked on you as if you were the only thing that mattered.

You pulled the hose down past her calf, over her ankle, and slipped it free, folding it neatly beside her shoes. She let out a soft hum of approval, crossing one leg over the other.

Looking up at her, you felt that familiar ache rise again—the one that came from knowing she was all sharp edges and cold looks to the world, but here, with you at her feet, she let you close. She let you serve. She let you belong.

“I love you like this,” you confessed in a soft whine, unable to help yourself. “Your dress, your mask… you’re perfect, ma’am.”

Jane tilted her head, eyes glittering through the candlelight. She tugged gently at your leash, pulling you just a little closer, her tone soft and amused. “Of course I am, puppy. And you? You’re perfect when you’re down there—just like this.”

Your hands rested neatly on your thighs, back straight, head tilted slightly upward toward her—your whole body humming with anticipation, desperate to please.

Jane let out a quiet sigh. “I had a hard day,” she said evenly, her voice soft but laced with the kind of exhaustion only she could carry so gracefully. Her gaze swept down to you, and her gloved fingers gave the leash a slow, deliberate tug. “And I would really love it if my good puppy could do exactly what I say tonight. No fussing. No whining.”

Your breath caught, a whimper slipping free as you nodded eagerly, almost too quickly. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be so good—I promise. I’ll do whatever you want.” You shuffled closer on your knees, the rug rough against your skin, trying to close the space between you as though that closeness itself would prove your devotion.

Jane uncrossed her legs, the movement smooth, deliberate. She placed one knee to either side of you, hemming you in, forcing your gaze to follow the motion. Slowly, with all the knowledge of what she was doing, she spread them wide. The hem of her dress shifted with the movement, riding higher, revealing the soft black lace of her panties stretched across her hips.

Your stomach knotted with excitement, a shiver running through you as your eyes fixated there, heat curling low in your body. Instinctively, you leaned forward, breath catching—

Only for the leash to snap taut.

Jane yanked it sharply, holding you back, the leather collar biting into your throat just enough to make you gasp. “Ah-ah.” Her voice was a low warning, amused but firm. She tilted her head, porcelain mask serene even as her eyes gleamed. “Control yourself. I didn’t say you could touch, did I?”

Your cheeks burned, the embarrassment mixing with the thrill of being reined in. You froze where you were, breathing hard, forcing yourself to stay put even though every nerve in your body screamed to move closer.

Jane gave a small, approving hum, tugging the leash just enough to make you meet her eyes again. “Good,” she murmured. “Stay right there. Be patient.”

Your pulse raced, body trembling with the need to obey, to please, to prove yourself worthy. “Yes, ma’am,” you whispered breathlessly, trying to keep still even as your thighs pressed together, desperate for her command.

“Take it off,” she murmured, lifting her right hand. The smooth leather of her glove caught the glow, tight over her fingers. She brought it down close to your face, fingers splayed. “With your teeth, puppy. Show me how well you listen.”

You grunted softly, eager, leaning forward to obey. Carefully, reverently, you gripped the edge of the glove’s finger between your teeth, tugging slowly, pulling it free inch by inch. The leather slid over her pale skin, revealing her bare hand at last—soft, long black nails, elegant. You dropped the glove onto the floor like an offering, gazing up at her with wide eyes, chest heaving with anticipation.

Jane smirked beneath her mask, flexing her now-bare hand. “Good.” She shifted her weight, leaning back further into the couch, spreading her knees wider, the hem of her dark dress riding up her thighs. Her ungloved hand trailed down, slow and teasing, until it hooked against the lace of her panties. You held your breath as she tugged the fabric aside, baring the glisten of her folds in the flickering candlelight. Heat surged through you, your whole body tensing, collar biting into your throat as you instinctively leaned closer—only to feel the leash snap taut again, holding you just where she wanted you.

“Stay,” Jane commanded softly, and the word went through you like lightning.

Your breathing grew ragged as you watched her press two fingers between her lips, dragging them slowly through her folds, coating them in slick. The sound was faint but unmistakable, wet and obscene, filling your ears.

“Look at you,” Jane said, her voice low, teasing, her eyes never leaving yours. “Breathing so hard. You’d do anything for a taste, wouldn’t you?”

“Y-yes, ma’am, mhm,” you whispered hoarsely, throat tight, desperate to crawl closer but frozen by her command.

Jane let out a soft, pleased hum as she circled her clit lazily, smearing wetness in slow, lazy motions. Then, without warning, she pushed two fingers inside herself, a soft hiss slipping past her painted lips as her head tilted back against the couch. The sight of her body taking her own fingers, the subtle flex of her thighs, the way her hips shifted—it made you whimper out loud, your breath catching painfully in your chest.

“That’s it,” she murmured, working her fingers deeper, curling them just so. “Watch me. Don’t look away, puppy. You stay right there on your knees and you watch your master.”

Your eyes burned, wide and locked on her hand, every thrust of her fingers making your body ache harder. Your lips parted, drool threatening at the corner of your mouth, and you trembled from head to toe with the need to obey, the need to serve, the need to be allowed closer.

Jane’s smirk widened as she pumped her fingers faster, the wet sounds filling the warm air. “Such a good pet,” she groaned, her voice husky, teasing. “Getting all worked up just from watching me touch myself. You’re going to beg before I let you anywhere near this, aren’t you?”

Jane’s fingers moved in and out of herself with a slow, steady rhythm, her whole body rocking with the movement. Her thighs flexed with each motion, the lace of her panties pulled taut to one side, every detail visible to your hungry eyes.

“Beg,” she said, her voice rich, smooth, commanding. Her gaze locked on you through the porcelain mask, unrelenting. “Show me how badly you want it, puppy. Prove you deserve me.”

The leash tugged tighter, forcing your head back a little, making you strain against the collar. You whimpered, hips rocking helplessly against the floor as if your body was trying to mimic her rhythm.

“Please, ma’am,” you whispered, the words slipping out shaky and raw. “Please let me taste you. I need it—I need you.”

Jane’s lips curved beneath her mask, her pace quickening just enough to make your mouth water at the sight. “That’s not enough.”

Your nails dug into your thighs, your whole body trembling as you tried to stay obedient, but the ache was unbearable. “I’ll be so good, master,” you begged, voice breaking. “I’ll do anything you want—anything. Please let me serve you. Please let me lick you, make you feel good. I can’t stop thinking about it—your smell, your taste—I need it.”

Her free hand tightened on the leash, jerking it just enough to make you gasp, the collar biting at your throat. She leaned back further, thighs spreading wider, her fingers pumping deeper as wetness glistened on her hand. “Keep going,” she purred, her tone dark and sharp. “Convince me.”

Your breath hitched, words spilling without filter now, desperate and animal-like. “Please, please, master—I’m your puppy, I’m yours, I’ll do anything if you just let me touch you. I’ll lick you until you can’t stand it, I’ll worship you, I’ll make you cum over and over, I’ll—” You broke off with a helpless whimper, chest heaving. “I burn for you. I can’t breathe without you. Please let me prove how much I need you.”

Jane groaned softly, her masked head tilting back, the candlelight flickering across her pale throat as she worked herself faster. Her voice dropped to a whisper, but it cut through the air like a blade, “That’s it. That’s my puppy. So desperate, so needy… you’d crawl through fire just for one taste, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes!” you gasped, trembling so hard it hurt. “I’d do anything! Please—master—please, I’m begging, I’m begging you—” Your whole body rocked with her hand now, as if entranced, every pump of her fingers mirrored in your chest, your breath, your burning core. It was agony, exquisite and raw, to kneel and watch and beg, every word a prayer at her feet.

But usually, prayers get answered.

Jane’s fingers slipped out of herself with a slick sound, her body giving one last tremor as she circled her clit lazily. Then, without warning, she reached forward, her gloved hand tightening the leash as the other, wet and glistening, hovered before your face.

“Open,” she ordered, voice calm but firm.

Your eyes went wide, fixed on the gleam of her slick fingers, and you obeyed without hesitation, lips parting. She pressed two against your tongue, and you moaned as the taste hit—salty, musky, hers. You sucked greedily, hollowing your cheeks, tongue curling around her digits like you were starving.

“That’s right,” she purred, her masked gaze never leaving you. “Good puppy. Drink it down.”

Your thighs pressed together involuntarily, body twitching with need as you moaned around her fingers, drool mixing with her wetness on your chin. Jane only smirked behind her porcelain mask, tugging on the leash to keep you kneeling where she wanted you.

Then she shifted, lifting one long, pale leg and pressing her knee against your chest before sliding it lower. With grace, she pushed her leg between your thighs, her shin brushing against your heat. She leaned back into the couch cushions, smug and commanding.

“Grind,” she said simply.

Your whole body jolted, a whimper escaping as you immediately lowered yourself onto her shin. The warmth of her skin was smooth but firm against your needy core, sending sparks up your spine as you began rocking against her leg. It was degrading, humiliating—and exactly what you wanted. Jane’s hand still rested in your mouth, her fingers pressing deeper against your tongue, forcing you to moan around them as you humped her like the obedient little pet she’d made you. The smell of wax and perfume filled your head, the warmth of the candles flickering over the perfect porcelain mask that looked down at you, cool and sharp.

Jane let you rut on her shin for a long, delicious minute, her leash steady in her hand, her other fingers still buried in your mouth. You whimpered around them, muffled pleas spilling past the mess of drool and slick. She let you. She watched you. Every little grind made the mask tilt slightly, like she was studying her favorite piece of art.

Then—suddenly—her fingers pulled free from your lips with a wet pop. You chased them instinctively, mouth parting, tongue flicking out, desperate for more. But Jane only smirked behind her mask, wiping her soaked digits on your cheek like you were nothing more than a rag.

She shifted elegantly, slipping her leg out from between your thighs. You whined, your hips stuttering with the sudden loss, and she chuckled low in her throat.

“Already crying, puppy?” she teased, standing her heel against the carpet before gracefully spreading her legs across the couch. Her dress bunched high on her hips now, her lace panties still tugged aside, leaving you kneeling there, face to face with her glistening cunt. Your breath hitched. A keening sound escaped your throat, half-whine, half-beg. You leaned forward instinctively, nose twitching, wanting to bury your face in her warmth.

But the collar tugged. The leash went taut in her grip, jerking you back just enough to deny you.

“Ah-ah,” Jane’s voice was cool, commanding. She gave the leash a light snap, forcing your chin up. “Did I say you could touch me?”

“N-no, ma’am,” you whispered, voice trembling with need.

“That’s right,” she purred, shifting slightly, her thighs spreading wider, showing you everything you weren’t allowed to have yet. “You’re not allowed to touch. Not with your hands… not even with your nose.”

You whimpered, your body trembling on its knees, thighs rubbing together helplessly. Jane’s fingers dragged lazily over her inner thigh, so close to where you ached to taste, and she tilted her head at you.

“You may taste me,” she said finally, voice low, stern, “but only when I say so. Do you understand?”

Your whole body quivered, your eyes wide and wet, your voice breaking with how badly you wanted it.

“Yes, master. Please. Please let me taste—”

The leash tightened again, silencing you.

“Good pets don’t beg without permission.”

Jane shifted against the couch, reclining further into the cushions with the elegance of a queen preparing to be worshiped. Her mask caught the candlelight, making the gleam in her eyes all the more unreadable.

“Take them off,” she ordered softly, her voice sharp enough to cut through your frantic panting.

Your trembling hands immediately obeyed, sliding up her thighs. The lace was damp against your fingertips as you hooked your thumbs under the waistband of her panties. She lifted her hips, watching you with that amused tilt of her head. You pulled them down carefully, reverently, kissing her ankle as you slipped them past, before folding them neatly with the rest of her things like they were something sacred.

“Good,” Jane purred. Then, with a lazy grace, she raised her legs high, crossing her ankles for a moment before lowering them—one draped over each of your shoulders. The weight of her limbs was commanding, pinning you in place, her control inescapable. She used the leash to drag you closer until you were barely an inch away from her glistening cunt. Your mouth fell open on instinct, and you swore you could taste her on the air, your chin already slick from drool. The heat of her, the musky-sweet scent, filled your lungs until you were dizzy.

You whimpered, nearly vibrating where you knelt, tongue flicking out only to meet empty air.

Jane laughed. A low, soft, cruel sound. She reached down with her free hand to ruffle your hair, pushing damp strands back from your forehead as though you were some panting animal at her feet.

“Look at you,” she teased, her voice velvet over steel. “Drooling like a starving thing. My cute, desperate pet.”

Every nerve screamed to lean forward, to close the final inch, to bury yourself in her heat. Then her tone shifted—cool command snapping through the air. She tightened the leash with one hand, her other gripping a fistful of your hair, angling your head perfectly.

“Eat.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. A broken whine ripped from your throat as you lunged forward, burying your face against her, your tongue flattening and dragging up her folds. The first taste of her hit your tongue—warm, slick, intoxicating—and you groaned, muffled against her cunt, as if it were the only thing you’d ever wanted.

Jane gasped softly, then let out a slow exhale, her grip on your hair keeping you pressed exactly where she wanted.

“Good puppy,” she purred, rolling her hips just enough against your mouth. “Now don’t—ahh—stop until I tell you.”

Your tongue traced every slick fold, every trembling inch of her, lapping at her like you could drown in her taste and be satisfied. The wet sounds filled the quiet room—obscene slurps, hungry licks, your own whines pressed between her thighs.

Jane’s mask tilted back against the couch as her hips rolled, her porcelain face hiding nothing of the way her body arched and quivered under your mouth. A long, low moan escaped her—sharp and unrestrained. “Ohhh, yes… that’s it, puppy. Fuck. You’re perfect.”

The leash in her hand tugged at your collar with every jolt of her hips, keeping you tethered, reminding you of your place, even as you buried yourself deeper against her. You sucked at her clit, tongue circling, and Jane gasped loudly, her thighs clenching around your head.

“Good—good pet,” she cried out, her voice breaking into shameless moans. “So eager… oh, you’re so good at this. So good—mhhnm.”

Your body burned with need, your chest heaving as you drank down everything she gave you. Slick coated your chin, dripped down your throat, but you didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, not when she tasted like heaven and ruin. Your hands twitched, instinct driving you to grip her thighs, to hold her steady, to claim her—but the rules, her rules, rang louder than your hunger. You tore your hands away at the last second, slamming your fists into the couch cushions instead, knuckles white as you restrained yourself. A whine of frustration broke against her cunt, muffled and needy.

Jane noticed. Of course she noticed. Her laughter was hoarse, breathless, full of pleasure. She tugged your hair, forcing your tongue to press harder against her clit.

“So obedient,” she praised, her voice ragged between gasps. “Such a good listener. God, you’re making me—” Her voice cut off with a loud moan, sharp and high-pitched as her hips bucked up against your mouth. The room filled with the sound of her pleasure—her unrestrained cries, your wet slurping, the leash jingling faintly with every tug. You were a mess, slick soaking your chin, drool spilling down your jaw, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but serving her.

Jane’s thighs tightened like a vice around your head, the silk of her thighs slick now against your temples. You moaned into her, your tongue working desperately over her clit, tracing circles, flicking, sucking—until instinct took over and you pressed lower, slipping your tongue into her entrance.

The reaction was instant. Jane cried out, sharp and loud, her head snapping back against the cushions. Her hips jerked forward, grinding down into your face, forcing you deeper where she was soaked and pulsing around your tongue.

“F–fuck, puppy—” she gasped, voice breaking with the force of it. Her hand tightened cruelly in your hair, her knuckles white as she held you exactly where she wanted. “Yes… just like that, oh god, you’re filthy—look at you—drinking me down like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.”

It was. Drool poured freely down your chin, mingling with her wetness, soaking into the cushions beneath. You didn’t care, not when her taste coated your tongue, not when she was grinding herself on your face like she couldn’t get enough.

Jane’s thighs trembled around your head, her voice loud and raw now, no longer elegant or measured. “Deeper—yes, fuck, deeper, my good puppy, my perfect pet—” Her words dissolved into moans, guttural and unrestrained, the leash jerking in her hand as her body shuddered closer and closer to release.

Your tongue curled and pushed inside her again, your nose pressed against her clit, and she nearly screamed. Her hips rolled wildly, riding your mouth, her control unraveling one filthy sound at a time. “Don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop—” she panted, breath shuddering, body clenching, her entire form trembling with the inevitability of her climax. “You’re going to make me—oh god, puppy, you’re going to—”

Jane’s body seized around your tongue, her thighs clamping tight as the sharp cry tore from her throat. She came hard, hips bucking up into your mouth, spilling against your tongue as you drank every drop. You lapped at her hungrily, shamelessly, your chin soaked, her slick running down your throat. Even when her cries turned to ragged moans, when her hips trembled and stuttered, you kept going. You pressed your tongue deeper, dragged it over her clit again, greedy and lost in the taste of her.

“Puppy—ah, god—enough,” Jane gasped, her voice breaking in a way you’d never heard before. She tugged back sharply on the leash, but you whined against her, still licking, still chasing the mess of her orgasm as if you could wring more from her.

Her thighs twitched violently, her whole body jerking as overstimulation wracked through her. “I said—stop—” she snapped, voice shaking, pulling the collar so hard your head was wrenched back. You let out a startled moan as the leather bit into your throat, your mouth breaking away from her cunt, slick smeared across your lips, down your chin. You blinked up at her, dazed, your face utterly wrecked—eyes heavy, unfocused, lips red and wet. Your fists were still buried in the couch cushions, nails tearing at the fabric, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. “M–Master—” you croaked, voice ragged. “I’m—sorry—I couldn’t stop, I just—”

Jane’s body was still trembling, her chest rising and falling with sharp breaths, her porcelain mask tilted low as she stared down at you. The leash was taut in her hand, her knuckles white where she held it, her thighs still shaking against your shoulders. You swallowed hard, shame and devotion warring in your voice as you whispered, “I just wanted to be good for you.”

Jane’s thighs finally slid from your shoulders, her legs whispering against your damp skin as she shifted forward. The sudden emptiness made your body ache, your breath still ragged. You stayed frozen on your knees, head bowed slightly, leash pulling tight between you.

“I—I’m sorry, master,” you whispered again, words tumbling out in a rush. Your fists clenched tighter in the cushions, every nerve on fire with fear and devotion.

Jane moved with quiet purpose, slipping to the edge of the couch. Her porcelain mask glowed faintly in the candlelight as she leaned over you, her shadow falling across your wrecked face. You dared a glance upward—and froze when she lifted her gloved fingers, pressing them under the smooth line of her mask.

With a small push, she slid it up—just enough. Just above her nose.

Your breath caught. For a rare moment, you saw what lay beneath: the pale skin, the jagged scars tracing sharp paths across her cheekbones, the deep plum stain of lipstick painted flawlessly across her mouth. Beautiful. Terrifying. Your master.

Jane’s hand moved quick, sharp—gripping your jaw, tugging you closer until your nose brushed the slick lace of her dress. Your wide eyes reflected the flickering glow as she tilted your head back.

Then she kissed you. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t forgiving. It was filthy—her lips crashing into yours, smearing her dark lipstick across your mouth, across your chin already slick with her. You moaned into her, the sound raw, shocked, desperate. She tasted like salt and iron, like sweat and perfume, like herself.

You whimpered into her mouth, your words muffled between hungry kisses, “I’m sorry—sorry—Master—”

Jane only deepened it, pressing harder, her tongue sliding past your lips to claim every corner of your mouth. Her lipstick smeared everywhere—hot, messy stains marking your cheeks, your jaw, your lips until you were painted in her. A low, throaty moan rumbled out of her, vibrating against your teeth as she devoured you, kissing like she wanted to drown in the mess she’d made of you. And you kissed back eagerly, your own desperation spilling over, hands still fisted in the couch cushions as though holding on for dear life.

The kiss dragged on, filthy and consuming. Jane’s tongue tangled with yours, her lipstick smeared so messily it marked you like a brand. You whimpered into her mouth, apologizing between the gasps and moans, but she swallowed every sound, her grip on your jaw unyielding. When she finally pulled back, you were panting, lips swollen, chin slick with her taste. You looked up at her, dazed, hoping for some softness—some sign of forgiveness.

Instead, Jane tilted her head, her lips glistening as she whispered, low and cutting, “Pathetic little mutt. You'd lick the mud from my shoes if I asked you to.”

The words landed like a blow. Your body slumped, a strangled whine catching in your throat. Your eyes burned, shame and arousal twisting tight together. Jane smirked behind her lipstick-stained mouth. She leaned in again, but this time only to drag her tongue slow across your lips, tasting the mess she’d left there. You shivered, your eyelids fluttering as she pulled away and—just as quick—slid her mask back down into place. The perfect porcelain face returned, smooth and untouchable, as though you hadn’t just seen her scars at all.

“Back up,” she ordered.

The leash tugged sharp, and you obeyed immediately, shuffling back onto your knees. She stood with the grace of a predator, towering above you, the leash wound around her fist like a weapon.

Your body knew what to do—you nuzzled against her thigh, pressing your cheek into her smooth leg, whining softly. A good dog. Her good dog.

“Better,” Jane murmured, her hand descending to pet through your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp. The praise made your chest ache, made your hips twitch.

Then, without warning, she pressed her foot forward, the pointed toe of her foot slipping between your thighs. She angled it perfectly, pressing against your aching core. Your whole body jolted, a cry escaping your lips before you bit it back.

“Ride it,” she said coolly, her porcelain mask angled down at you. “Show me how grateful you are, puppy.”

You obeyed instantly, hips rocking down against her foot, grinding shamelessly over the top arch of her ankle. The pressure was perfect—enough to make sparks light up your nerves, but not enough to satisfy. You moaned low in your throat, face pressed to her thigh as you rutted like an animal. Your hand crept down, shaking, until you clutched at her heel, steadying yourself, holding her in place just as a needy dog would clutch at its toy. The realization of how you looked—how pathetic you looked—made heat flood your chest, but you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to.

Jane’s laugh cut through your groans, sharp and rich. “Oh, look at you,” she purred, tilting her head. “Humping my foot like a dog in heat. God, you’re disgusting.”

The words should have burned, but they only made your hips buck harder, dragging yourself raw against her.

“Pathetic little thing,” she continued, her voice rising as she yanked the leash tight. The metal clinked sharply in the quiet room, your collar tugging until you had no choice but to look up. Your glassy eyes met the smooth, perfect porcelain of her mask. You whined, a broken sound, as your hips rocked helplessly against her foot, shame and arousal twisting together until you couldn’t tell them apart.

Jane smirked, tightening the leash just enough to make your breath hitch. “Eyes on me, puppy,” she commanded. “I want to see your face when you fuck yourself on my leg like the worthless dog you are.”

Tears pricked your lashes from the strain, from the leash, from the intensity of it all—but you didn’t look away. You couldn’t. You wanted her to see, to know how badly you needed her. The clinking of the chain echoed every time you thrust against her, the sound as filthy as the slick friction of your clothes rubbing over her foot.

Jane tilted her head, humming low in her throat. “Good. Don’t you dare look anywhere else. If you want to come, you’ll do it staring at me.”

You nodded furiously against her thigh, kissing her skin.

Jane shifted her foot just enough to make you chase the pressure, her heel grinding up against your core before she froze, her voice sharp as a whip. “Stop.”

Your whole body locked, muscles trembling, breath ragged as you froze mid-thrust. You whimpered, whining in your throat, but your hips obeyed, quivering as you held yourself still.

Jane tilted her head, watching you expectantly. Then, with a sing-song lilt, she giggled. “Go.”

You lurched forward instantly, rutting against her foot so desperately you nearly lost your balance, grinding down with a needy cry. Nails dug lightly into her leg where you clutched her for balance, your movements frantic, sloppy.

“Stop.”

You froze again, shoulders hunching, teeth sinking into your lip. A thin tear slipped down your cheek at the sheer ache coursing through you, the way your body screamed to keep going. But still—you obeyed. You had to.

Jane’s giggle rolled into a laugh, rich and mocking. “Good puppy.” Your chest heaved as you stared up at her, eyes glassy, desperate. “Go.”

You slammed back against her foot like you’d been starved of touch for years, grinding harder this time, nails scratching lightly at her ankle, every thrust a mix of frustration and devotion.

“Stop.”

You whimpered loud, thighs quaking as you froze once more, tears pricking hot trails down your cheeks. The ache between your legs was unbearable, but the leash was tight in her fist, the collar firm against your throat—a constant reminder that no matter how much it hurt, you’d listen.

She tilted her head and purred low in her throat, “So obedient, even when you’re desperate.” She leaned forward, tugging the chain until you were practically nose-to-nose with her mask. “Tell me, puppy—how badly do you want me to let you finish?”

“P-please, ma’am,” you sobbed, voice cracking as you kissed the silk of her thigh. You dragged your tongue across her thigh like a starved animal, lips moving feverishly over her leg. “Please—I’ll do anything, I’ll be your good puppy forever, you make me feel so good, I just wanna—” Your words tangled in hiccuping moans as you clutched her leg tight to your core, grinding faintly even though she hadn’t given permission. You kissed and licked desperately, leaving spit-shined trails on her skin, muffling pleas against her thigh.

Jane stood with such elegance it made your head spin, her dark dress flowing around her like a shadow. She looked down at you with that still-painted expression, the faintest smirk visible in her eyes behind it as she tugged the leash up to make you arch your throat, her dominance absolute.

“You’re pathetic,” she said smoothly, but her voice carried the warmth of satisfaction. “Does my leg feel good, pet?”

“Yes, mm-ma’am,” you choked out, pressing your cheek to her thigh, the chain rattling as your chest heaved. “I am pathetic, I’m your puppy, I’m yours—mmn—please, please let me—”

Jane tilted her chin, savoring your desperation. Then she pressed her foot between your legs again, firmer this time, letting you clutch her calf and grind shamelessly.

“Finish for me, puppy,” she commanded, her tone sharp as steel. “Make a mess. Show me how much you need me.”

The permission shattered you. A broken sob tore out of your throat as you ground down hard, rutting desperately against her foot, panting and moaning as if you were losing your mind. The friction sent you spiraling—your whole body tightening before you fell apart, crying out her name as you came, shame and pleasure overwhelming every inch of you as you made a mess of your clothes.

Jane’s grip on the leash kept your head tilted back, forcing your tearstreaked face up toward her as she watched with cruel delight. “Good puppy,” she purred, her voice low and victorious. “So good when you listen.”

Your orgasm left you trembling and clinging, your arms wrapped around Jane’s leg as if it were a lifeline, wet kisses pressed into her thigh through tear-soaked lips. Your chest hitched with ragged little whines, still begging even though you’d already come, still lost in her, lost in her words and smell and touch.

But then Jane shoved hard with her heel. The sharp kick sent you sprawling back onto your ass, the leash clinking as you scrambled to stay upright. You blinked through tears, chest tight with panic.

“M-Master, I—I’m sorry—” you stammered, already bowing forward, already desperate to make up for whatever mistake you’d made.

Jane didn’t give you time to recover. She stepped forward, towering over you, her silhouette backlit by the glow of candles. The porcelain mask glinted faintly as she reached down and grabbed you by both sides of your head, her fingers digging in, her hand curling tight in your collar. She yanked you forward, forcing your mouth between her thighs. The heat of her cunt pressed against your face, still sticky and warm from her last orgasm. Your nose and lips were smothered against her slick folds, her scent flooding every sense you had left.

“You’ve made me excited again,” she hissed, voice thick with lust but still sharp, commanding. She ground herself against your mouth, not giving you the option of pulling back. “And a good dog knows how to take responsibility for their owner.”

You whimpered into her, the sound muffled by her cunt, your hands instantly flying up to grip her thighs. The smooth silk of her skin strained under your fingers as you held on, pressing yourself deeper into her heat. Her lifted dress blocked your view of her face, but you could still feel her. Her thighs tightened around your head, locking you in place as she rutted slowly against your mouth. “That’s it,” Jane purred darkly, breath hitching as she forced you to drink her down. “Use that tongue. Don’t you dare waste a drop. Make yourself useful, puppy.”

Your body shook as you obeyed, tongue plunging and lapping, hands clinging desperately to her legs as she smothered you against her core, her leash chain rattling above your head every time she tugged to keep you exactly where she wanted you. You worked frantically, licking up every drop of her, but Jane’s grip on your collar only got tighter. Her thighs clenched around your head as she panted through her mask, hips rolling against your face in slow, relentless circles as she stood over you.

“Use your hands, puppy,” she ordered, her voice hoarse and vibrating with need. She tugged the leash so hard the collar bit into your throat, making your eyes sting with tears. “If you want to make me feel good—then make me feel good.”

You whimpered, muffled against her, but immediately obeyed. One hand stayed clutching her thigh for dear life, the other trembling as you slid it between her legs. Your fingers slipped against her soaked folds, slick already coating your chin and dripping down your neck. You pressed two fingers inside her, curling instinctively as you pushed in deep, tongue flattening against her clit at the same time.

“Ohhh—” Jane’s moan cut sharp through the air, guttural and unrestrained, her head tipping back. “That’s it. Good little mutt.”

Her hips ground your face harder, rocking herself shamelessly into your mouth, using your tongue and fingers like toys she owned. Her slick smeared across your lips and nose, dripping down your cheeks, soaking your skin as you worked desperately to keep up.

“That’s it—finger me harder. Deeper. Yes.” She leaned over you, voice vibrating in your skull as her dress pressed against your face, blocking your view of her. “You love this, don’t you? Mhm—love me ruining your face, love how—hah—how I smell, how I taste. God, you’re such a fucking mess for me.”

Your fingers pumped faster, curling inside her, your tongue stroking rough, eager circles around her clit. Jane groaned nasty, vile little praises, words spilling hot from her shaky moans. “Filthy little dog—so messy. So obedient. You’ll k-keep eating, won’t you? Won’t stop until I’m—hmmn—cumming all over your face again.” 

Her slick dribbled down your chin, your throat, her thighs slick against your skin as you trembled under her weight. The leash rattled with every tug, every grind, while Jane rode your face raw, every moan sharp enough to make you burn with pride. Your moans vibrated straight into Jane’s cunt, your words garbled against her clit. The sound alone made her knees shake, her thighs threatening to buckle until with a sharp gasp, she let herself collapse back against the couch.

Still clutching the leash, she dragged you with her, the collar biting into your neck as you scrambled on your knees, unwilling to let your mouth leave her. She tugged hard, pulling you up the length of her body until she flipped, rolling over onto her stomach. Her knees dug into the hardwood below, the hem of her dark dress riding high around her waist. With a low, guttural groan, she lifted the fabric and bared herself to you completely—her ass round and perfect, her cunt already swollen and dripping from your mouth. Her porcelain mask tilted, her cheek pressed into the back of the couch as she looked back at you over her shoulder. “Well? Don’t just sit there, mutt. Eat.”

You didn’t hesitate. You dove forward, mouth fastening back onto her cunt as your fingers buried themselves deep, curling hard inside her. Your tongue worked sloppily, dragging up from her clit through her folds until you slipped higher—lapping over her tight little ring, tasting the mix of sweat and slick, moaning filthily into her. Your free hand clawed into her ass, tugging to the side so you could press your face deeper into her.

Jane let out a raw, guttural sound, her nails scratching at the couch as her other hand shot back, gripping your hair like reins. “Oh fuck—yes. Yes, puppy—filthy thing.”

You fingered her deep and rough, your other hand clinging to the meat of her thigh, holding her open for your tongue as you buried yourself between both holes. You licked her ass like it was the only thing you’d ever wanted, sloppy and wet, plunging your tongue in between frantic flicks over her cunt. Jane tugged your leash up over her shoulder, dragging it taut until your face was pressed hard into her, smothered by the mess of her. “That’s it—good dog, good fucking dog,” she panted, her voice shaking with how wrecked she was. “Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop.”

Her thighs trembled violently, ass pressing back against your mouth as she ground herself back on your tongue, her words breaking into moans and curses as she lost control. Your fingers pistoned hard into Jane’s cunt, your palm slick with how wet she was. Every thrust made her whimper sharper, every curl of your fingers pulled a new moan from her throat. But it wasn’t enough—you needed more, needed to ruin her completely.

You pressed your tongue harder, circling her tight ring before forcing your way in, pushing past the clenched muscle. The heat, the taste—it made you groan into her, needy and filthy.

That was it.

Jane broke with a strangled cry, her entire body seizing as the wave crashed over her. “F-fuck—fuck, puppy!” she wailed, her hips jerking erratically as she squirted hard, the gush soaking your chin, your chest, dripping down her thighs and staining the couch beneath her. You didn’t stop. You held her steady, gripping her thigh like a lifeline as your tongue plunged deeper, your fingers working relentlessly until every ounce of her release was pouring out against you, until she clenched down so hard you couldn’t move your fingers any longer. You were drenched, her slick matting your hair, soaking your clothes, but all you could feel was pride. Pride that you had made your master fall apart like this.

Jane’s cheek pressed hard into the back of the couch, her mask skewed from how much she shook, panting in ragged bursts. For a long, trembling moment, she simply let herself be ruined, hips twitching, thighs trembling around your face.

Then her hand clenched the leash again, jerking your head just enough to hear her hoarse command. “Clean it up, puppy.” Her other hand ruffled roughly through your hair, grounding you in her touch even as she smirked through her exhaustion.

You nodded frantically, eyes wild with devotion as you dove back in, licking her thighs, her folds, her ass—every drop of her release. You lapped it up like it was salvation, whimpering in delight as you cleaned her thoroughly, mouth and tongue worshipping her until her skin gleamed again under the candlelight.

You pressed a final kiss to the curve of her ass before pulling back, your face messy, your chin damp, but your heart swelling with pride. Reaching carefully beneath her, you helped Jane shift, guiding her weight until she rolled over and sat upright on the couch. Her knees pressed together, her dark dress falling back over her hips, though the hem was still rumpled high from the ruin of your worship.

You didn’t climb up beside her—not yet. Instead, you dropped back onto your haunches where you belonged, resting your head on her knees, gazing up through heavy eyelids at her masked face, waiting—aching—for her command.

Jane tilted her head, her chest still rising and falling with ragged breaths, the porcelain mask gleaming in the soft golden candlelight. She smoothed a hand down your cheek, then threaded her fingers into your hair, petting slow and steady.

“You did so well for me tonight,” she murmured, her voice low and soothing, each word like a caress. “Such a good dog. You listened. You obeyed. You pleased me.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as you leaned into her touch, a whine catching in your throat. Her hand drifted lower, fingers brushing over the collar that still gleamed around your neck. And then—with finality—she slipped her hands behind your nape. A soft metallic click filled the quiet as the latch released, the collar loosening. She pulled it away from your skin, folding it carefully in her lap before placing it neatly on the table beside her.

The absence of its weight left your throat strangely bare, vulnerable. But her hand immediately returned to your hair, grounding you.

This time, you crawled up onto the couch, cautious, reverent. Jane leaned back against the cushions, her porcelain mask tilting as you lowered yourself over her, pressing your cheek against her stomach. She sighed, soft and tired, as she carded her fingers gently through your hair, nails grazing your scalp.

For the first time that night, her voice softened to a whisper. “Good puppy,” she murmured, stroking you tenderly. 

“My puppy.”

๑ back to my kinktober masterlist

Not like that.

Not like an animal.

But the memory is burned into the backs of your eyelids—your hands around his throat, the crunch of cartilage, the wet snap of something vital giving out. The screams stopped too fast. You didn’t even realize how hard you were squeezing until the body slumped in your grip like a sack of meat, eyes wide, mouth frozen open. You stood there for a second too long, panting, trembling, staring down at what was left of the mission.

It was supposed to be a grab-and-interrogate. A standard proxy hit. Kill a weakened ally who decided to run his mouth and put the proxies in a messy spot.

But he laughed. He said your name like it was something filthy.

And suddenly, there was no handler, no script—just red.

Now the cops are coming.

You don’t know how many are chasing you anymore. Four? Five? Maybe six. Doesn’t matter. You’re faster.

You’re running on pure instinct, lungs shrieking for air, body soaked in blood—some of it yours, most of it not. You tore through the suburban house like a hurricane, crashing out the back door and bolting into the night. By the time you hit the woods, there were already sirens, dogs, radio chatter echoing through the air like the voice of God calling down judgment.

The soles of your boots hit the earth like war drums.

Each breath cuts your throat.

Your side burns with a sharp, knifing pain—either from a cracked rib or where a bastard cop clipped you with a bullet.

But you don’t stop. You can’t stop. Not now. They’re on your heels. You can feel it in the way your heart jumps in your chest.

Flashlights sweep through the darkness behind you. One illuminates your shoulder just as you dive behind a cluster of trees, your back scraping bark. You spin, raise your gun, and fire—three wild, desperate shots.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Someone cries out. Maybe you hit them. Maybe not. It doesn’t matter. You’re not trying to win—you’re trying to disappear.

You lunge forward, ducking under branches, tearing through a tangle of shrubs and briars. Your clothes are shredded, your hands are shaking, your teeth won’t unclench. You can still feel that bastard’s pulse stop under your fingers.

What if they catch you? What if they take you alive?

You’ve heard the rumors—what the government does when they catch one of you, a proxy.

The experiments, the vivisections, the silence.

You’d rather take a bullet to the head than be taken.

Your body’s failing. Every breath is ragged, vision’s tunneling. You leap over a ditch and almost collapse on the landing. You’re too slow, too loud, too fucking messy. The Operator will have your head for this.

Your blood leaves a trail behind you.

You reach the edge of the woods—houses again. Neighborhood streets, too quiet for the hour. A dog barks in the distance. Police sirens wail louder, closing in. Helicopter blades chop the sky above, scanning with white-hot beams like they’re looking for heat signatures, monsters in the brush.

You press yourself against the side of a shed, gun shaking in your grip, and try to steady your breath. Your eyes sting. You don’t remember if it’s from tears or sweat or blood. You don’t care.

You weren’t supposed to kill him like that.

But deep down, a rotten, hidden part of you whispers:

You wanted to.

You close your eyes for one second.

Snap. A twig breaks nearby.

You don’t even think. You spin on instinct, raise the gun, heart jackhammering against your ribs—

—but you’re not fast enough.

A hand grabs your wrist.

Another seizes your hoodie, yanks you hard.

You’re pulled violently backward, into pitch black. Your body slams against something solid—stone? wood? another body?—and a hand clamps over your mouth.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝  KATE THE CHASER

You barely have time to register the shape in front of you—just a shock of dark hair, hard shoulders, the gleam of a blade tucked close to a lean frame, and a chalky mask that covers every inch of face except for the cold stare of angry eyes—before Kate shoves you back against the broken-down brick wall behind the shed. Her grip on your hoodie is iron, knuckles gone white.

“Kate—”

You saw her first through the smoke and flashing red-blue police lights—that hard silhouette, lean and coiled like a predator, the eyes behind that blank white mask burning with a cold purpose. Her hair swung like a blade down her shoulder, streaked with dark grime and sweat, making her look carved straight out of some soldier’s nightmare.

Her other hand is already gripped onto your jaw tight, tilting your face up toward hers. 

Her eyes cut straight through you, that same unblinking, predatory stare she always wears. You’ve seen her glare down terrified prey, watched her paint entire rooms red with her knives, but right now that fury’s turned on you—and somehow, that’s worse. Out of all the missions you’ve done together, of course the one that she let you handle while she kept watch was the one that you majorly fucked.

“What the fuck happened?” She spits the words through gritted teeth.

You try to answer, chest still hitching with adrenaline, hands reaching around her arms and trying to pry her iron-clad hold away, but your voice breaks in your throat. All you manage is, “The mission—” before she tightens her hold, silencing you.

“Nevermind. Not here. We need to get out.”

Her gaze darts past your shoulder, scanning the woods, the glow of flashlights and the crackle of radios growing closer. You hear boots on gravel, the slam of car doors, someone yelling coordinates into a walkie.

Kate shifts her weight, pressing in closer until you’re practically pinned between her and the wall. It’s the only way to keep you still—and to keep you hidden. Her breath brushes your cheek, warm despite the cold night air, but you’re still shaking like a leaf from adrenaline.

“Listen. They’re sweeping the block. They’ve got dogs. They’ll flush you out if you move.”

She presses her forehead to yours, just for a second, and you catch that faint scent of copper and cheap perfume—the only things Kate ever smells like. Familiar. Comforting, in a twisted way.

“I’m going to get you out of this,” she says, low, deadly calm. “But if you fuck around right now, they’ll rip you apart before I can.”

The weight of those words sinks straight into your bones. There’s no softness in her tone, no sympathy—but you know she means it. Kate doesn’t say anything she won’t back up with violence.

Your hands are still shaking, so she takes your gun, slides it into her own belt, then checks your side where you’re bleeding through your clothes. Her fingers are quick, clinical, more soldier than friend.

“You’re sloppy tonight,” she growls. “Next time, finish the job quiet.”

You choke out a harsh, mirthless laugh. “Next time?”

Her eyes twitch, not quite a smile—but close. “After this fuck up? No way you’re going alone again.”

You feel like you should smile, should say something moderately funny to offset the tension, but there’s no time.

A sudden burst of light washes over the far side of the shed, voices getting too close. Kate’s hand clamps around your wrist and she pulls you hard, almost dislocating your shoulder as she drags you around the corner. You stumble, nearly crashing into a pile of rotting firewood, but she steadies you with a sharp tug.

“Stay behind me,” she hisses.

Her knife is in her other hand now, glinting with a hungry sort of certainty. Kate is violence incarnate—you’ve always known that. And in this moment, you realize you trust her more than you trust yourself—put more faith in her abilities than you ever could your own.

She moves through the yard like a shadow, pulling you with her. You barely even breathe. Police radio static crackles through the night, so close you can taste it, but Kate doesn’t flinch.

“They’ll move on,” she murmurs. “They’re just pigs.”

A dog barks from the next block, loud and savage, but Kate doesn’t even blink. She keeps you pressed tight against her side, fingers wrapped tight around your wrist, steady and sure.

“When this is over,” she whispers, eyes locked on yours, “you're going to tell me exactly what happened. We’re gonna work it out, alright?”

Your mouth goes dry. You want to ask what she means, but part of you already knows: the blood, the kill, the thrill of being hunted and surviving—she’ll share it with you next time. Not because she forgives you. But because she understands you.

Because you’re the same.

Kate never lets go of your wrist. It’s like being handcuffed to a wild dog—every motion is sharp, deliberate, an unspoken follow or die.

You track through the neighborhood one yard at a time, moving between crumbling fences and backyard sheds, through darkness so thick it feels like syrup. The police are still sweeping the area, but Kate knows how to work the angles—she times every dash, every crossing of a street, with a kind of terrifying precision.

At one point, you both freeze behind a trash bin while a patrol car coasts past. The floodlight bounces across the garbage, catching your sleeve. Kate pushes you down so hard your knees scrape concrete, her hand planted across your mouth.

“Stay still.”

The car idles. Your heartbeat slams so hard you think it might explode—but Kate holds you there, steady, like a soldier on a leash. The engine finally roars off, leaving you with only the far-off drone of sirens and your ragged breathing.

“Move.”

She doesn’t wait for you to stand; she hauls you back up and pulls you along, boots whispering across patchy grass and cracked driveways.

The neighborhood finally falls behind. Houses get fewer, spaced farther apart, until you cross a drainage ditch and land back in raw woods. The sounds of police radios fade behind the first stand of deep pines.

The world feels colder out here—older. Like the trees themselves are judging you, rooting for your pursuers.

Kate glances back, scanning the treeline, her jaw set. “They’ll call in a perimeter. I know the pattern,” she mutters. “We’ll cut south and stay under the trees.”

You nod, even though your legs are about to give out. Blood from the bullet wound seeps down into your waistband, hot and sticky. Kate notices—of course she does—but just shakes her head, refusing to slow down.

“You’ll make it,” she says. “I’ll drag you if I have to.”

That sounds like her. The scariest part is that you believe she would.

You march together for what feels like hours, winding deeper into the forest. Eventually, the sound of running water cuts through the night—a muddy stream clogged with weeds. Kate pulls you to the bank, practically throws you into the water.

“Wash it off,” she orders. “Blood trail’s too easy to follow.”

“Are you serious?”

She only gives you a sideways look, the kind of thing a tiger does when observing its meat, daring the prey to move further before it jumps.

You bite back a groan as you kneel down next to the stream, lifting your shirt up above the wound. It’s not big, just a bullet graze deep enough to draw blood, but it’s enough to soak into your clothing. You cup your hands, the cold water hits your wounds, but you scrub the worst of the blood away, water swirling dark when you go to cup for more. Kate wipes your face roughly with her sleeve, smearing a streak of mud off your cheek.

“Better.” It’s a word that shouldn’t sound kind coming from her lips, but somehow does.

The night only grows blacker. Pines cluster overhead so tightly you can barely see stars. You walk in silence, every branch that cracks under your boots making you flinch. Kate, meanwhile, is as calm as ever—stepping over logs, ducking low branches, checking over her shoulder every few minutes.

It’s only when you break out of the treeline onto a wide, overgrown field that she finally slows down. A pale, half-collapsed shed stands in the middle of it, half-swallowed by weeds and tangled vines. A rusted tractor skeleton leans against its side.

Kate points. “There.”

You follow her across the field, every step feeling heavier than the last. By the time you reach the shed’s door, you’re half-dead on your feet. Kate pulls it open with a loud creak, then motions you inside.

It smells like rotting hay and oil. Mice scatter from the corners. Moonlight trickles through holes in the roof, falling in sickly pale pools.

You both tumble inside, Kate dragging the rickety door shut behind her like the latch-lock on the upper side was going to help keep anyone out. 

Kate posted herself by the doorway, silhouette framed by jagged moonlight through a broken panel. You let your eyes drift from her to the shadows inside the shed—rusting tools, splintered shelves, the heavy scent of dust and rotting grain clinging to the stale air. The quiet, after all that screaming and gunfire, felt alien.

You shifted over to the adjacent wall, leaning your weight back as the wood groaned, wincing at the pull of the bullet graze along your side. The adrenaline was crashing hard now, leaving a sickly hollow ache behind. You caught yourself shivering, even in the muggy air, as the memory of the kill replayed behind your eyes—the way the bastard’s face caved, the sticky spray across your knuckles, the voice that still begged even after you’d decided there was no mercy left in you.

Kate’s eyes flicked over, reading you as easily as always. She didn’t soften; she never did. But something in the way she stepped closer, boots crunching straw, told you she wasn’t going to let you spiral.

“Let me have a look now,” she said simply, nodding to your wound.

You hesitated, but she was already lifting your arm, fingers under the hem of your shirt, peeling away the half-clotted mess. Her hands were rough, efficient, like every second of delay was an insult to her skills. You hissed when she pressed her sleeve against the torn flesh, and she didn’t apologize—just steadied your shoulder with a firm grip.

“Lucky,” she muttered, eyeing the angry, bruised skin. “Half an inch deeper and you’d be eating dirt right now.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out hoarse.

“Could’ve been worse,” you croaked, and Kate’s smirk was as dry and humorless as ever.

“It usually is.”

Her sleeve came away dark with blood, you felt bad. She stepped off of you, shuffling around rotting crates and rusted tool boxes until she found a dish rag stuffed into an old lockbox and some used duct tape in the plastic containers on the shelves. She sauntered back over, folding the rag and pressing it to your wound, then tearing a strip of the duct tape and splaying it out across your ribs. It was gaudy, and definitely going to give you some sort of infection, but it would work to stop the bleeding for now.

“Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

In the dim, you could see her studying you again, that deep, animal calculation that made even your closest allies hesitate. But instead of judgment, you saw recognition—like she understood that ugly fury still boiling under your skin, because it was the same one carved into her bones.

“We’ll stay here tonight,” she ordered, voice quiet but absolute. “No way we can track back to the mansion like this. I need daylight.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but she was already moving, repositioning a length of rusted pipe across the door as a makeshift lock. The night beyond was deathly still now, police sirens faded so far they were only a ghost on the breeze.

Something about that silence crawled under your skin—too empty, too forgiving after what you’d done. But exhaustion hit you like a mallet anyway, and you sank against a crate thrown on the dusty ground, the world swimming.

Kate’s silhouette paced the tiny floor space, restless and sharp, a predator refusing to settle even with prey long since dead. 

The shed had gone quiet except for the occasional rustle of field mice in the hay, the only right the hard moonlight soaking in through the cracks, stretching and widening the shadows. Kate’s boots clicked against the old wood floor as she paced, her knife flicking in restless little arcs with every turn. The silence weighed on you, too heavy to ignore, pressing until your breathing felt trapped in your chest.

Finally, you broke.

“I wasn’t supposed to kill him.” The words scraped out raw, throat still scorched from running and screaming. “We needed him to talk. I—I lost it.”

Kate paused mid-step, eyes narrowing. “Yeah,” she bit out, “you did. You were sloppy.”

It punched through your ribs sharper than a bullet, but you didn’t look away. “He laughed at me, Kate,” you forced out, voice cracking. “He laughed. Said I didn’t have it in me. That he’d gut me and send my teeth back as a message.”

Kate’s jaw tightened, the blade in her hand dancing again as she flipped it over and over, muscle memory perfect and deadly. “And you proved him wrong.”

You flinched. “We needed him to talk.”

She exhaled through her nose, rough, almost a growl. “Yeah,” she admitted, pacing another line across the floor, “we did. But…” She paused, glaring at the half-rotted wall, then turned back to you. “I’ve had targets like that. You think you can keep it together, keep it clean. Then they push that one button and it’s like something snaps inside. Happens to all of us.”

You let your head tip back against the crate, eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling. “It shouldn’t have happened to me.”

Kate snorted softly, a humorless, broken sound. “You think you’re above it?” she asked, tone still razor-edged. “I’ve seen Masky absolutely tear his hair out over not being able to stay calm. Seen Hoodie stare at a dead body for an hour because he felt so bad. You’re working for the Operator. There is no ‘above it.’ There’s alive or dead, and that’s the whole list.”

You swallowed the burn in your throat. “I wanted to do it right. I wanted—”

“To do it clean,” Kate interrupted, stepping closer, her pacing slowing. “You wanted to look like you had control. But control is a lie.”

Your gaze met hers then, and for the first time since she’d dragged you off the street, there was no judgment in her face—only a hard, weary understanding.

“I killed my first target with a hammer,” she admitted, voice low, almost lost under the hiss of the wind through the boards. “Slammed him so hard the handle snapped. I was supposed to bring him back for interrogation, but…” She shrugged, eyes far away for a heartbeat. “I saw him smile at me. Like I was just some kid. And I just… stopped caring.”

You blinked, surprise breaking through the shame churning in your gut. “Kate—”

“Don’t,” she cut in, but this time there was no bite to it. She finally lowered the knife, letting her arm fall slack at her side, shoulders sagging. “You think you’re a monster now?”

Your breath trembled. “Yeah.”

A tiny, almost gentle snort. “Good,” she said, voice soft, quiet in a way only you ever heard from her. “That means you’re still human.”

She walked over and sat beside you, the floor creaking under her weight, knees bumping yours. The knife stayed on the floor between you, a silent truce.

You looked down at your hands, still stained under your nails, still carrying phantom blood. Kate followed your gaze, then reached over and took one of them, holding it steady in her rough grip.

“Next time,” she said, steady, anchoring, “I’ll be there faster. You won’t have to hold back alone.”

Your eyes burned, but you bit down the sob before it could get loose.

“You’re not done,” she continued, leaning back so she could scan the doorway, ever the watchful eye even in this tiny moment of peace. “You’re shaken, you’re hurt, but you’re not finished. Remember that.”

You nodded, swallowing hard, letting her words root themselves somewhere deeper than the panic.

Kate leaned her head against the wall, close enough you could feel the warmth of her shoulder against yours. “We’ll wait here until they move the search. Then we go home.”

“Home,” you echoed, almost a laugh, but it died in your throat.

Kate smirked faintly. “Yeah,” she said, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it, “home.”

The night breathed around you, and finally, after everything, the two of you let yourselves sit in silence, side by side, the world outside still hunting—but for a few precious hours, unable to touch you.

Kate’s hand stayed wrapped around yours, her grip warm, grounding—so unlike the harsh commands she’d barked all night. Without warning, she shifted closer, pulling you until your shoulder pressed hard against her chest. The knife stayed forgotten on the floor as her other arm came around you, tight, protective, something almost desperate behind the way she held on.

She rested her chin against your hair for a moment, breathing you in, and then with a short, frustrated huff, she reached up to tug at the mask. The battered, blood-smeared plastic clattered to the floor, landing by her boots. Her face, so rarely seen, was softer than you remembered—sharp cheekbones, a scar cutting across her jaw, those cold eyes warmer now in the half-light.

“Look at me,” she murmured, voice husky, and you did, blinking through the burn of exhaustion and shame.

Kate’s thumb traced over your cheek, smearing grime and tears away. “You did good,” she said, firm, unyielding, as if daring you to argue. “You hear me? You did good. You made the call you had to make.”

Your throat threatened to close again. “I—”

But Kate didn’t let you finish. “No,” she cut in, voice dropping to something dangerous and low. “No more apologies. You survived, you kept your head, you got out. That’s good enough.”

Your eyes blurred, and you tried to look away, but her hand came up, fingers curling under your jaw, forcing you to hold her gaze.

“That’s good enough for me,” she breathed, the edge of a ragged sweetness cracking through her solidified discipline, “and it should be good enough for you.”

Before you could even find your next breath, her lips were at your temple, brushing warm against the skin there, then lower, grazing your cheekbone in a whisper of a kiss. You shuddered, leaning into her almost on instinct, your body screaming for comfort you hadn’t dared to want. Heat raised from your chest, an almost blistering flush on your cheeks.

Kate’s grip around your waist tightened, hauling you flush against her. Her mouth moved lower, skimming down your jaw, breath hot, the scrape of her nose against your neck making you jump.

“You’re perfect,” she whispered into your skin, every syllable a rough promise. “You’re not going to break on me, not tonight, not ever. I won’t let you.”

The warmth of her mouth met the side of your throat, a slow, burning kiss that made your pulse trip. You could barely process one sensation before the next followed—her lips open, tongue darting, teeth just skimming your pulse point in a bruising mark that sent a jolt all the way through your spine.

“Kate—” you tried, a gasp, but she just shushed you softly, dragging another kiss lower, then back up, repeating that dangerous pattern until you couldn’t breathe straight.

“You did so good,” she whispered between kisses, voice breaking over you like a benediction. “So damn good, don’t ever doubt it.”

One of her hands roamed up your ribs, careful not to brush your bandaged wound, strong and sure, tracing circles into your side while her other arm cradled your head. It felt like being pulled apart and held together at the same time, the rough security of her presence mingling with the heat of each lingering kiss.

“Breathe,” she commanded, mouth ghosting over your collarbone. “Come on, just relax for me.”

And you did—ragged, shaking, tears slipping free as every bit of panic and horror you’d bottled up poured out under her relentless, gentle destruction. Her mouth found your throat again, open and wet and claiming, and her fingers dug into your hip like she’d never let go.

“Kate,” you choked, overwhelmed, but she just pressed her forehead to yours, breathing hard, eyes locked to yours in an unspoken promise.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured, steady as iron. “I’ve always got you.”

Her lips claimed yours before you could reply, desperate and deep, breaking you open until nothing was left but the taste of blood and salt and her. You melted against her, letting her steal every doubt and fear with each bruising, perfect kiss, the night outside fading until there were only pitiful whimpers and breathy reassurances—all sharp edges and impossible safety, carrying you through the dread.

Kate pulled back just far enough to study you, eyes glittering darkly, catching every ragged tremor in your breath. Her hand came back to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing over your lips like she was memorizing the shape of your weakness.

“You’re still trying to hold on, aren’t you?” she rasped, voice low, dangerous, something feral under it.

You shivered, pulse stumbling at the accusation.

Kate’s smirk curved slow, wolfish. “Trying to keep from breaking,” she continued, leaning in until her mouth hovered against yours, so close you could taste her words, “even after everything. After you tore that man apart with your own hands.”

Her breath ghosted over your lips, making your body jolt with a need you’d barely let yourself feel.

“You want to own it now, don’t you?” she goaded, tone almost mocking, but twisted with a strange, brutal affection. “You want to feel like you’re in charge again.”

Your fingers dug into the front of her dark hoodie, knuckles white, but she only laughed—a dark, hungry sound that made your cheeks burn.

“Then take it,” she growled, crashing her mouth to yours again, teeth clacking, rough and claiming.

It broke something in you, the last thread of caution snapping clean. Your hands fumbled at her gear, yanking open straps, fighting with buckles, wanting her closer, wanting skin, anything that wasn’t hard fabric and bloodstains. Kate didn’t resist—she shoved back just enough to drag the hem of your shirt up, shoving the fabric off your arms and over your head, her hands already roaming the new bare skin like she owned it.

“You think you can control me?” she breathed against your lips, biting your lower one until you moaned. “Control this?” Her hands were everywhere, pushing you back until your spine hit the floorboards, pinning you there with a knee between your thighs, knocking her knife away until it hit against the opposite wall.

You swallowed a curse, gasping when she ground her leg against your center, electric heat flooding your nerves and making your hips jerk.

Kate leaned down, breath coming hard, hair falling around her face in a black curtain, pupils blown wide with need. “You can try,” she rasped, fingers curling in your waistband, “but you’ll never win.”

You arched into her, every nerve singing, desperate, mind fracturing with the way her hands kept stealing any scrap of composure. She tore open the button on your pants, and you clawed at her belt in return, fighting to peel it off. You needed her skin on yours, needed it now.

Clothing was discarded in jagged motions, ripped seams and impatient curses, pants dragged down your thighs and her hoodie hauled over her head. The chill of the night air hit your bare skin, goosebumps rising, but Kate’s mouth was there to burn them away, tongue and teeth mapping you with a feverish devotion. She hauled off your shoes, tearing your pants off the rest of the way and tossing them behind her. She smiled at your mismatched bra and panties, curling in on yourself, trying not to react to the way she bit her lip.

She stood up then, all heavy breathing and lean muscles running up her arms. You watched with heavy eyes, staring up at her as she pulled her belt from the loops, dropping the leather to the floor. You leaned up on your elbows. The sound made you twitch, whining when she slowly opened the button of her jeans, kicking off her boots.

“Don’t look so desperate,” she grinned like a cat, then pushed off her jeans, stepping out of them. You could’ve drooled at the way her boxer briefs hugged her hips, strong thighs and tight muscles making your stomach flutter with need. Her sports bra accentuated the curve of her chest, making her look like a horny fever-dream in the moonlight, every angle and curve of her body highlighted with the white light.

She pushed you down, hard enough to make the old wood creak, then followed, straddling your hips with a bruising grip. Her hand slid around your throat, not squeezing, just there—a terrifying promise you couldn’t help but lean into.

“Look at you,” she hissed, biting down on the edge of your jaw, “trying so hard to be in control, but you’re shaking for me.”

You tried to answer, but her hand tightened just slightly, forcing a ragged, hungry gasp from you instead.

“Say it,” Kate demanded, rolling her hips down so you could feel the wet patch growing in her boxers, sending sparks crashing through your bones. “Say you need me to make everything better.”

“I—” you tried, but your voice broke, caught between a sob and a moan.

Kate’s mouth was at your ear, voice molten and dangerous. “Say it.”

“I need you,” you choked, the words spilling out like a confession, raw and unfiltered.

Kate growled in triumph, claiming your mouth again, all teeth and heat, dragging her nails down your sides until you writhed. You clutched at her, pulling her closer, refusing to give an inch even as she devoured you. “Yeah? Need me to save you? Need me to make everything better?”

“I do—” you panted into her mouth, biting at her lips and running your hands up into her hair. 

She chuckled, “Good.”

It was all a blur of movements, Kate shoving you off, sitting up before she turned herself around, straddling your chest with her back facing you. You almost freaked, ready to question what she was doing before she was bending over, the swell of her ass in your face.

She pushed open your legs, her chest pressing against your abdomen as she pressed her arms between your thighs, opening you up for her to press her face down to your core, humming in approval at the wet state she found your panties in.

It was only when she ran her fingers against the fabric of your panties did you understand what was happening. Her legs planted on either side of your head, your hands coming around them to pull her closer, face-first with her clothed center. You could’ve died right there.

“You want control right? Want to feel powerful? Then take it. Don’t make me beg you.”

You groaned, reaching over the swell of her ass to pull her boxers down, eyes blowing wide when her glistening cunt pressed closer to your face. You obeyed, pulling her closer, burying your face against the heat of her thighs. Kate’s responding moan was ragged, full of dark satisfaction, her hands fisting in your thighs as she shifted, lining her dripping cunt above your mouth.

At the same time, she leaned forward, bracing herself on the floor, tugging your panties to the side with a desperate fist, until her mouth was at your core, a mirror to the hunger you felt, hot breath against your twitching clit.

You both froze for a breath, overwhelmed by the raw, perfect tension. Then Kate laughed, low and delighted.

“Don’t hold back,” she rasped, and before you could answer, her mouth was on you, tongue greedy and hot and merciless.

You cried out, muffled by the slick heat of her above you, but you didn’t falter. You pulled her hips down, dragging your tongue through her folds and licking her open, tasting her, worshipping her with every hungry pull of your mouth.

Kate swore, the sound breaking, hips grinding down against your tongue as her own mouth worked you with savage precision.

“Fuck—” she gasped, the vibration of her voice sinking into your core, “just like that—don’t stop.”

It was a brutal, desperate rhythm, the two of you devouring each other, hips grinding, hands clawing at whatever you could reach. Kate’s thighs trembled against your face, slick and perfect, while you felt her mouth dragging you higher, higher, tearing you apart with each filthy, perfect stroke.

You couldn’t tell whose voice was whose anymore, the moans tangled, ragged, echoing in the tiny shed. The smell of sweat, sex, and old dust made it all dizzying, animal, real.

Kate bit down on your thigh hard enough to leave a bruise, drawing a strangled scream from you, but you didn’t stop—you sucked harder, lashed your tongue against her clit until she was shaking so badly she had to brace herself on the hardwood.

You fucked your tongue into her cunt, her hips riding your jaw like she couldn’t stop herself, like your tongue was tearing her open. She followed, her fist tugging your panties further to the side as her free hand circled your clit.

You felt her spit onto your cunt, your clit twitching under the pressure as she rubbed the spit into your wetness. You nearly came when she pushed her fingers into your entrance, giving you barely any time to adjust before her lips were wrapping around your clit and sucking you for all you were worth. Your hips bucked up into her, her fingers curling and scissoring you open while she lapped up every drop that oozed out of you. 

You kept up, groaning every sound of approval into her cunt, fucking your tongue into her until her ass was jerking, bouncing her hips as you followed her every move.

“Fuck,” she snarled, voice gone almost raw, “you’re gonna make me—shit—don’t you dare stop—”

You didn’t. You let go completely, losing yourself in the taste and heat and rawness, and the moment she came, it tore through her like a wildfire. Kate screamed, bucking so hard you had to hold her steady, grinding down on your mouth while she shuddered apart.

The second you felt her break, you gripped her ass, forcing her onto your mouth as you drank ever squeal and whine that spilled from her lips, soaking your tongue as she clamped around you. She let her hips jerk, until they fizzled into spasms, panting against your cunt. Kate was still trembling, breath hot and uneven against your skin, when you felt something in you snap. A hungry, aching need to own this moment, to take it back, to burn away everything that had gone wrong tonight.

You shifted, rolling Kate onto her back before she could even catch her breath. Her eyes widened, pupils blown, lips still slick and parted.

“Wha—” she started, but you didn’t give her a chance to question you.

You swung your leg over her, straddling her, your body still shaking but your hands sure. Kate’s surprised grin was immediate, the kind of feral grin that dared you to take what you wanted.

“Oh?” she rasped, voice hoarse, “my girl wants more?”

You didn’t answer with words. You shifted back until you were over her mouth, grabbing the old wood of the shed’s wall to steady yourself. Kate’s hands immediately came up to hold your hips, fingers biting into your skin with possessive force.

Her breath was hot against you, and you shivered as she looked up, eyes glinting with pride and want.

“Then fucking take it,” she growled, and her tongue was on you again, greedy and brutal, dragging a cry straight from your throat.

Your hips rolled down, desperate, grinding against her mouth until you saw stars. Kate groaned against you, guiding you harder against her tongue, her hands pinning you in place with the strength of a killer—ironic.

You couldn’t hold back—your body moved on instinct, chasing that edge with a violence that felt almost holy, grinding down against her again and again. The shed rattled with each movement, old metal tools clanging somewhere in the background, but all you heard was your own ragged breathing and Kate’s dark, hungry moans.

She didn’t let up for a second, devouring you, tongue working with ruthless precision until your thighs were trembling, your voice breaking on every breath.

“Fuck, Kate—” you gasped, your hands scrabbling against the wall, “don’t—don’t stop—Make me cum.”

She laughed against you, a low, possessive sound, and pulled you down harder, refusing to let you escape her mouth. Your grabbed at the chest, her ribs, clawing your fingers from her abdomen to her throat as you fucked yourself down onto her, dragging your hips with one roll of her tongue after the other. You could feel it, the desperate, animalistic pull of your core, the heat teetering at the edge, until it was just too good—

You came apart for her, body locking up, your entire mind blanking out under the intensity. Kate held you steady through it, not letting you move away until you were sobbing, breathless and boneless above her, her tongue still dipping inside and lapping up drop after dropped that soaked onto her lips.

When your arms gave out and your stomach couldn’t hold yourself up any longer, she finally let go of your hips.

She let you collapse to the side, crawling over you and dragging you into her arms, her lips swollen and slick with you. She kissed you, messy and unhurried, her fingers still tracing patterns on your oversensitive thighs as you both tasted each other on your tongues.

“There you go,” she whispered, pride dripping from every word, “taking back control. That’s my girl.”

You buried your face in her neck, heart pounding, the last traces of fear and failure finally burned away.

With Kate, you could be as wild and reckless as you wanted—and she’d always be there, hungry enough to catch you. Ready enough to face whatever fucked up problems you had, and would be more than ready to make you face them.

And it didn’t matter how hopeless you felt, because she would always be right there—with sharp eyes and steady hands, her heartbeat locked in time with yours, ready to pull you out of the dark every time you slipped, ready to chase away the monsters even if you were one of them.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝  CLOCKWORK

“Get down.”

A hand shot out of the shadows, fingers iron-strong around your wrist, dragging you back so hard you nearly lost your footing. You hit the wall of an old shed with a breathless thud, instincts screaming, gun half-raised—but before you could pull the trigger, your eyes met a familiar, glinting clock-face grin.

“Natalie—”

She stepped from the shadows like a specter, copper hair glinting under the streetlights, eye like split green glass fixed on yours with terrifying precision. That clock set into her socket ticked steady, a hypnotic, terrifying constant, and the weight of her fists promised she could rebuild you—or tear you apart—at a moment’s notice.

“Easy,” she hissed, one palm clamping over your mouth as her mismatched eyes darted past you, scanning the darkness where sirens wailed and red-blue lights cut through the trees like a curse. “Don’t you fucking move.”

Your heart slammed in your ribs, adrenaline biting at every nerve. You could still taste the metallic tang of blood in your mouth, still see the shattered remains of that bastard. You’d lost control, and now the cops were here, too close, too loud.

Natalie’s breath burned against your ear, her mechanical eye clicking as she focused. “How many?” she growled, her voice low and lethal, like the grind of a blade against bone.

“Six—seven,” you gasped against her palm. “Two on foot, rest in cars.”

She scowled, fingers flexing around your wrist. “Fuck,” she snapped. “Come on.”

Then she was hauling you forward, leaving no room to argue, boots pounding hard through wet leaves and broken fencing. You tore after her, lungs screaming, legs shaking with exhaustion and leftover rage. Every time you stumbled, she yanked you upright, refusing to let you collapse. You hopped cracking sidewalks and the bones of fences that barely held the barking dogs behind them.

Past the tree line, the flashing cop lights bled into the night behind you, and then the world opened up—a rust-bitten old gas station, long boarded shut, weeds growing tall around shattered pumps. Clockwork barely slowed, steering you around the side, where a battered old pickup crouched low in the dark like a patient animal. Her truck, the one that she had fixed up herself and played music in so loud the mirrors shook. She was supposed to drive you back to the mansion after you finished, you were supposed to meet back up here, not get dragged and have your heart aching from adrenaline.

“Get in,” she ordered, yanking the passenger door open.

You didn’t hesitate. The second your boots hit the cab floor, Natalie was in after you, slamming the door and twisting the key in a rattling ignition. You winced, grabbing your side and gritting your teeth when blood stained your palm. The engine coughed, then roared to life, headlights cutting a pale wound into the night.

“Hold on,” she barked, throwing the truck into reverse.

Tires skidded, mud and gravel spraying as she spun you around, then tore out across the overgrown lot, aiming for the crumbling highway beyond.

Your pulse still refused to settle, vision sparking from shock and fury, hands twitching where they braced against the dash. She was laser-focused on the road, jaw clenched, mechanical eye sweeping left to right like a predator scanning for threats.

“Talk to me,” she snapped over the engine’s growl. “What the hell happened?”

You swallowed, trying to shove the blood-soaked images out of your head. “He—he wouldn’t talk, Nat. Wouldn’t give up the data. I tried to scare him, but—” Your voice cracked, shame cutting through the high. “I lost it. I couldn’t stop. There was so much blood—”

She didn’t even flinch, hands steady on the wheel, eyes catching yours for a fraction of a second. “You lost control,” she said flatly, as if reading a grocery list, not judging, just knowing.

You nodded, throat tight.

Her lips twitched, a dark little smirk breaking across her features. “Good.”

Your head snapped toward her. “What?”

Clockwork’s good eye stayed forward, but the edge of her grin was vicious. “He deserved worse. You went too far, yeah—but you came back. You ran. That means you’re still thinking, not just killing on a spree.”

You swallowed hard, a shaky breath catching in your lungs.

Natalie’s voice dropped, soft, dangerous. “Means I can still work with you. Means you’ve still got your head on your shoulders.”

The truck hit a pothole, bouncing you in your seat, but she never lost control. Never. It did, however, make you wince when your wound pulled open just a bit.

Past the broken highway, the woods turned to open fields and crumbling barns, no lights, no sirens. Safe—for now.

Natalie finally let the speed bleed away, pulling off the main road into a half-dead cornfield, where she killed the headlights and let the engine idle. Night swallowed you both, thick and heavy, only your harsh breathing breaking the silence.

She looked at you then, really looked, eyes scanning every fleck of blood and dirt on your face, the tremor in your hands. Slowly, deliberately, she reached over, clicking her cold, mechanical fingers against your jaw, tilting your head toward her.

“You’re bleeding,” she hummed, the edge of panic hidden but not gone.

You followed her gaze, down to where a warm, sticky heat had been blooming across your ribs, too drowned out by adrenaline to fully take a moment to handle it. When you pulled up your shirt, the wound was gushing spurts of blood.

“Shit,” you muttered, wincing.

Clockwork’s jaw tensed, her scar twitching. “Did the guy do it?”

“No,” you gasped, trying to peel your shirt away from the wound. It burned like hell, but didn’t feel deep—a graze. “Bullet clipped me.”

“Alright.” She slammed the brakes, hard enough to make you lurch forward in your seat. The truck skidded onto a shoulder lined with dead grass, pulling through a gap in the trees and settling behind a row of branches and bushes, just out of sight to any drivers passing.

Without a word, she twisted around, popping open the glove compartment and tossing you a battered green metal box. “First aid kit. Clean it before it gets all over my seats,” she ordered, as if there wasn’t stain after mysterious stain on the fabric already.

You hesitated, chest still rising and falling in ragged bursts. Natalie reached over, hooking a finger under your chin and forcing you to meet her eyes, her grip cold and unyielding.

“Do it,” she growled, “before you pass out on me.”

You swallowed hard and nodded, fumbling the latch of the kit open. Gauze, tape, a half-used roll of bandages—it felt clumsy and distant in your shaking hands, but you did what you could, pressing antiseptic pads to the torn skin.

Clockwork stayed close, one hand still on your chin, the other gripping the back of your seat, refusing to let you fold in on yourself. Her breathing was shallow, mechanical eye flicking over every move you made.

“You’re lucky it was a graze,” she rasped, voice steadier now but lined with something like fury. “If that bullet had gone an inch deeper—”

Her words cut off, teeth clacking shut, like she couldn’t let herself finish the thought.

You looked up at her, trying to laugh, though it came out strangled. “Since when do you worry about me?”

Natalie’s mouth twitched, something raw sparking in her mismatched gaze. “Since you decided to massacre someone in the middle of a suburban neighborhood,” she shot back, but the bite was duller, softened by the way her thumb brushed your jaw.

You slumped back against the seat, breath rattling in your lungs, the makeshift bandage clinging to your side. The sting of antiseptic was nothing compared to the jagged guilt clawing at your throat. The memories wouldn’t leave you alone—the target’s face, twisted in terror, the way your hands had felt when you tore them apart. You were supposed to get information, not slaughter him like an animal.

Your fingers twitched, still stained red. You couldn’t stop seeing it.

Natalie was watching you, good eye sharp, reading every flicker of pain across your face. You couldn’t hide from her, even if you tried.

“I shouldn’t have lost it,” you blurted out, voice cracking. “He was just supposed to talk—I was supposed to make him talk. And then I couldn’t stop, Nat. I couldn’t fucking stop—”

Your words spiraled out of you, messy and shaking. “I should be better than this, but I’m not. I’m a monster. I am what they say I am.”

Your head dropped into your hands, hot tears burning down your cheeks, smearing the dirt and blood in streaks.

For a long moment, Natalie didn’t speak. The truck engine ticked softly, cooling in the silence. Then she shifted forward, reaching out, gentle in a way that was so alien it broke you all over again. She brushed your hair back from your face, fingertips cold where skin met skin.

“You listen to me,” she murmured, voice steady, strong, like steel. “You are better than this. You had a moment—a moment. That’s all. Don’t let that define you.”

You tried to turn away, but she wouldn’t let you, catching your chin in her palm and forcing your eyes back to hers.

“You hear me?” she repeated, softer, close enough you could feel her breath. “You are more than your worst night.”

You choked on another sob, fresh tears spilling over, but Clockwork was already there, wiping them away with the edge of her thumb, brushing every drop aside with meticulous care. Her expression was fierce, protective, unbearably tender.

“You did what you had to,” she breathed, leaning closer until her lips grazed your temple. “And you came back. You came back to me. That’s what matters.”

Your body trembled, still half-shattered under the weight of everything, but her warmth pulled you back from the brink.

Then, gently, she started to kiss your tears away, mouth brushing soft over your cheekbones, the tip of your nose, each little trail of salt. You shivered, swallowing a sob, helpless under the delicate press of her lips.

Her hand moved from your jaw to the back of your neck, tugging you closer until your foreheads touched, her other hand still cradling your side like she could take the pain for you.

And then she kissed you.

It was slow, deep, claiming, like she was rewriting the taste of blood with her own mouth, trying to replace the screams with something sweeter. You leaned into it, desperate, letting her steal the weight of the night right off your shoulders.

Her fingers tangled in your hair, guiding you deeper, tongue teasing against yours until your breathing turned ragged. You felt everything in that kiss: her forgiveness, her want, her absolute refusal to let you drown.

When she finally pulled away, she kept you close, her nose brushing yours.

“Don’t you ever run from me again,” she whispered, voice raw, eyes locked to yours. “We carry this shit together, you hear me?”

You nodded, tears still shimmering, heart pounding wildly in your chest.

Natalie didn’t let you go, her lips tracing yours with a dark sort of sweetness, letting you breathe for half a second before pulling you right back under. The taste of her, the bite of metal against your skin, was a lifeline—and you clung to it like you might drown without her.

But underneath the relief, there was still a wildfire of rage and fear, a shaking need to do something, to feel something stronger than regret. You kissed her harder, teeth clacking, a low whimper tearing out of your chest as you pressed closer.

Natalie didn’t flinch. Her grin was dangerous, pupil blown wide, her mechanical iris ticking in wild little jolts as you practically devoured her.

“Yeah,” she breathed, breaking away for a second, voice hoarse. “Let it out. Don’t hold back on me.”

She bit your bottom lip as she spoke, dragging you across the console, not caring when your thigh slammed into the gearshift. You let out a surprised yelp, but she only laughed, a rough sound that made your blood burn.

Her hands were on you. She pushed out of her seat, sliding across the console and into the backseat, dragging you over her lap and back with her, the truck rocking with the motion. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, too consumed by the taste of her mouth and the harsh, desperate way her hands were tearing at your clothes as you straddled her lap.

“C’mere,” she growled, gripping the hem of your ruined shirt and yanking it up, exposing the angry bandage and the blood-streaked skin around it. She paused, eyes darting over the wound, something protective flashing there—but then her lips were on your ribs, kissing carefully around the bandage, biting at unbroken skin, leaving marks you’d feel for days.

You moaned, the sound ripped out of you, back arching as her cold, calloused hand slid up your spine. You ground down on her lap, tightening your hands on the seat behind her, dragging your rapidly twitching center across her jeans.

“That’s it,” she praised, lips brushing hot against your sternum. “Give it to me—all of it. I can take it.”

It shattered something in you.

Your fingers tangled in her messy hair, yanking hard, pulling her mouth back to yours in a bruising kiss that left you both gasping. Her hands roamed lower, squeezing your ass, dragging you flush to her until you could feel the button of her jeans under you.

You ground down against her thigh, clumsy and desperate, half-crazed with the need to burn the horror out of your veins.

Natalie held you there, voice low and taunting against your ear. “That’s my girl. Can’t control it, huh? You want to take it back, don’t you?”

You whimpered, nails digging into her shoulders. “Yes—”

She chuckled, dark and sweet. “Then take it. You’re angry? Upset? Take it out on me, let me have it.”

She shoved you back, letting you sprawl across the cracked leather of the back seat, then followed, caging you in with her hands on either side of your head. Her weight pinned you down, stealing your breath, making your pulse thunder.

Her mouth went lower, kissing down your stomach, tongue flicking at the edge of your waistband, hands already tugging at it with a violence that made you gasp. You pushed against her shoulders, trying to breathe, but she only pinned you harder, eyes flashing.

“Don’t run from this,” she growled against your skin. “Don’t run from me.”

Then she was tearing the rest of your clothes away, popping open the button of your pants and dragging them down to your ankles, shoving your shoes off with them. You hauled your shirt over your head, Natalie growling when you went to reach for your bra next.

It was a flash of movement and she was dragging your panties off, giving you barely a moment to breathe before she was hauling her own shirt off. You looked wide-eyed up at her, leaving you bare and exposed, but somehow safer than you’d felt in hours. Her hands mapped every inch of you, cold and demanding, grounding you in their steadiness. Her bra hugged her body tight, heavy breathing stretching the fabric, but the only thing you could think was—you needed to tear it off.

You felt your mind blur, the grief, the rage, the guilt—all of it funneling into the wild, reckless heat between you. You needed to feel her, to mark her the way she was marking you, to lose yourself in the violence of wanting.

She kissed you again, deep and possessive, swallowing the last of your broken cries, her hands leaving bruises on your hips as she dragged you closer.

You reached behind her back when she latched onto your neck, unclipping her bra and dragging it off her shoulders. She did yours in return.

Natalie didn’t waste another second. She pushed you down harder into the seat, her hands seizing your wrists and pinning them above your head, eyes locked on yours with a hungry, unblinking focus that made your heart stutter.

“You want this?” she rasped, voice rough and shaking. “Then fight for it.”

You bucked up against her, wild, teeth bared in a snarl that was half sob, half want. The truck’s suspension creaked with the force of it, but she didn’t let you go, didn’t even waver, holding you steady with those vice-grip hands.

“Come on,” she coaxed, breathless, a crooked grin twisting her lips. “Show me you’re still in there.”

You lunged up, crashing your mouth to hers, savage and messy, the kiss breaking over and over between gasps for air. Natalie only deepened it, biting at your lower lip until you tasted blood, then licking it away like she owned every drop.

Her other hand was everywhere, tracing hard lines over your ribs, the curve of your waist, down to your hips. She squeezed there, possessive, a bruising grip that made you whimper into her mouth.

“God, you’re hungry,” she breathed, pulling away to scan your face, eyes blown wide and wild. “So desperate.”

You nearly cried from the sheer relief of it, hips grinding up against the rough material of her jean-covered thigh, trying to get any friction. But she made you work for it, shifting just out of reach, smirking as you squirmed beneath her.

“Natalie—”

“What?” she teased, dragging a fingertip from your collarbone to the edge of your bandage, circling the wound with a dark tenderness. “You want something?”

You nodded, breath coming ragged, hands clenched into fists against her hold.

“Say it.”

You swallowed, shame burning through your chest, but the need was too raw to hide. “I want you. Please—”

She laughed, low and filthy, and let go of your wrists, only to grip your jaw in one cold, strong hand. “Good girl.”

Then she was kissing you again, rougher, tongue hot and demanding, a rhythm that left you dizzy. Her free hand trailed down, sliding between your legs without hesitation, and you nearly came apart from the single finger that she dragged through your slick.

“That’s it,” she purred against your cheek, nipping the delicate skin there. “Take it. You’ve been holding back all night, take what you need.”

You moved with her, frantic, fighting against the hold she had on your wrists but not being able to break it. The contrast of her warm body and cold fingers running through your folds sent a chill straight to your core, and you moaned, arching into her.

Natalie pressed two slick-soaked fingers to your clit, dragging obnoxious circles along the bud, making you grind against her, desperate and furious.

“Fuck,” you choked out, tears spilling again—from relief, from adrenaline, from the raw, impossible ache of surviving. You arched your hips, begging her fingers to push inside, her digits circling your clenching cunt. She chuckled, dragging her lips up the side of your throat, nipping your jaw—then shoving two fingers all the way to knuckle deep into your gummy walls.

You cried out, back arching off the seat, eyes shooting wide. Tears flowed harder. She kissed them away, like before, but this time with her fingers dipping into your cunt, pulling you open for her, rough and perfect. She curled her knuckles, pumping the digits so fast you felt like she was rattling you. Her palm pressed against your clit, bumping the nub every time her fingers pumped, making you moan so loud and breathless.

“No more hiding,” she growled, voice shaking, her breath coming as ragged as yours. “No more doubting yourself. You’re mine. You understand?”

“Yes—”

“That’s right,” she snarled, letting your hands go. You arched, nails raking down her back, pulling her closer until there was no space left at all, no past, no future, just this endless, hungry now.

She moved hard, fingers relentless, every thrust a demand that you feel, that you live, that you fight back. And you did, meeting her, matching her, letting every shred of guilt and terror burn away in the heat of her hands and the rough sweetness of her kisses.

Natalie’s voice stayed in your ear, a constant, grounding rasp. “Good. Good. Show me. Don’t hold back.”

You couldn’t—and you didn’t. Despite the feeling, the overwhelmingly amazing feeling, you wanted her—all of her. You reached between you, tearing open the button of her jeans and pushing the waistband down. She chuckled, pushing her fingers in your cunt to the hilt and holding them there, grinding her palm against your cunt. You mewled as she sat up off of you, grinding your hips up as she pushed her jeans down with one hand. 

“Nat—”

“Hold on—”

“No.” You pushed up, pushing her hands off of you and grabbing at her hips. You hauled her down onto the seat, flipping the two of you so her back hit the fabric with a grunt. She stared up at you with a wide eye as you dragged her jeans down the rest of the way, pulling her boots off with them. Her panties were soaked already, messy fabric right around her hips as you peeled them down too. Natalie grinned, teeth barred when you climbed onto her lap, dripping cunt barely giving Natalie a moment to adjust in her position before you were throwing one leg over her hips and slotting the other underneath.

You planted your foot on the carpet of the truck, the other hooking over her leg and beside her hip, then pressing down as hard as you could.

Your bare cunts met in a shock of white heat and ecstasy. You both groaned deep and loud, bucking up into the heat of the other as you began to grind your desperation against her. Soaked lips and glistened folds rubbed together, clits bumping and thighs shaking.

Natalie moaned deep in her chest, her auburn hair splaying under her as her flushed cheeks and freckles shined in the moonlight filtering through the windows. Your stomach curled, muscles working to ride your arousal and need as you fucked your cunt against hers. “Mhnn-Hah— Nat—Natalie, oh, god—”

“Use me, baby—Fuck—take it all out on me.”

You sped up, legs burning so bad from way you knocked your hips so violently against hers, clit burning with the sensation.

Your whole body was singing, burning, shivering, and Natalie seemed to feel it in every breath you took. She leaned up onto her elbows, just far enough to look up at you—sweat-slicked, shaking, absolutely ruined—and grinned with a predator’s satisfaction.

Then, without warning, she pushed you down, hooking one hand under your knee and flipping you to the side, your back hitting the cracked vinyl seat with a dull thud.

“Fuck—” you gasped, but she was already moving, already pressing herself against you, pinning you down.

“Spread,” she growled, voice a ragged command.

You obeyed, hips rolling forward, your legs parting around her thighs. Natalie slipped her fingers under your knee again, adjusting you until your cores aligned, heat meeting heat in a molten jolt that stole your breath.

Her pupils blew wide, lips parted in a soft, disbelieving curse. “God, you’re so fucking wet.”

You moaned, helpless, grinding forward as the brush of her skin against yours sent a white-hot shock of pleasure through your whole body.

“Yeah,” she breathed, catching your hips in her hands, guiding you, “that’s it, baby—right there.”

And then she was moving with you, hips rocking together, a perfect friction of arousal and sweat that left you both shaking. The rough fabric of the truck seat bit into your back, grounding you, but it was nothing compared to the dizzy, consuming sensation of Natalie’s cunt dragging over yours again and again, a filthy, perfect rhythm.

Your voices tangled—gasps, broken moans, curses—the truck rocking slightly under your combined, desperate motion.

“Harder,” you choked out, fingers digging into her shoulder, nails biting hard enough to draw blood.

She gave you exactly what you wanted, grinding down, hips rolling with a force that made stars burst behind your eyes. You couldn’t remember why you were upset, it didn’t matter, the tears in your eyes weren’t from sadness or anger anymore, but from feeling so fucking good you thought you might pass out.

“Don’t you fucking stop,” she hissed, every word a ragged praise, hands slipping behind your back to pull you closer, grinding so hard you felt the shock of each impact in your teeth. You both moved together, hips pulling back for just a second before you were knocking back together again, fucking your cunts together thrust after thrust.

You couldn’t hold back—couldn’t even think—just moved with her, matching her hungry rhythm, every nerve on fire, hips snapping in time with hers.

Natalie’s leaned up off the seat, pushed one of your legs back and propping your heel on her shoulder. She leaned down, spreading your legs so wide you felt the burn and pull in your hip flexors. She was tearing you apart, head dropped to your shoulder, panting against your skin, her voice raw.

“Fuck—look at you, taking what you want—just like that—”

The sound of skin against skin was obscene, slick and hot and perfect, sending you higher, faster, until all you could do was whimper her name, over and over.

Her lips found your throat, biting down hard enough to leave a mark you could already feel, the pain blooming in perfect harmony with the heat building low and unstoppable in your belly.

She must have sensed it, felt the way your hips stop pulling back and instead chased hers, refusing to do anything but grind so hard you thought your pelvis would crack.

“Come on,” she growled against your neck, voice breaking. “Give it to me—let it go—”

You slammed forward against her one last time, clit slamming against hers just right, and it detonated inside you, a blinding rush of release tearing a scream from your lungs.

Natalie followed right after, her rhythm stuttering, a strangled moan ripping through her as she ground down hard, chasing every last spark of pleasure. You both felt the gush, the way your cunts soaked into each other, sloppiness all over your thighs and puffy lips.

For a long, endless moment, you clung to each other, shaking, breathless, the truck echoing with your ragged gasps. Then she collapsed against you, still tangled together, her lips pressing soft, shaky kisses into your neck. Your leg slipped off her shoulder and down to her waist, wrapping around her as she soaked in the taste of you.

“Goddamn,” she breathed, a laugh breaking through her hoarse voice, “you are something else.”

Your body still trembled, aftershocks making you twitch against her, the world around you a haze of sweat and shallow breathing. Natalie stayed right there, her skin warm and sticky against yours, her arm curled protectively around your waist.

For a minute, there was only the pounding of your hearts, a soft lull that almost made you think you could sleep right there. But Natalie was never one to leave silence alone for long.

She lifted her head, brushing her nose against your cheek, voice still thick and rough. “Hey,” she rasped, “you with me?”

You nodded, blinking through the tears that still clung to your lashes. Your throat burned, voice barely a whisper. “Yeah. I’m here.”

“Good,” she said, a crooked smile tugging at her lips. She nudged your jaw until you met her eyes, thumb sweeping gently across your cheek. “Because you did damn good tonight. You hear me?”

Your chest twisted, shame trying to worm its way back in, but Natalie shut it down with a sharp, possessive kiss.

“No guilt,” she murmured against your mouth. “No second-guessing. You made the call. You survived.”

You swallowed, tears rising again—you couldn’t even help it. “I lost control,” you croaked, voice shaking.

She kissed you again, harder, shutting down the tremor with sheer force. “Then take it back,” she growled, and that hungry grin returned, eyes shining with something dark and unstoppable. “We're not done until you can admit that.”

Before you could answer, she was shifting, moving down your body, peppering kisses over the curve of your chest, her hands greedy and rough on your thighs.

“Natalie—”

“Shh,” she soothed, one hand running up your abdomen, nails dragging lightly over your ribs until you shivered. “I’m gonna help you take it back.”

You gasped as she eased your legs apart again, settling between them, eyes locked on yours with a focused, feral calm that made your pulse spike. You spread your thighs, her hands on the underside of your knees and pressing them back.

Her voice dropped to a sinful murmur. “Let me hear you, sweetheart. Don’t hold anything back.”

She kissed lower, pressing hot, claiming bites along your belly, then dipping between your legs again, dragging her tongue through your ruined folds quick and filthy. You almost sobbed, thighs clamping around her shoulders, but she pinned you open with that inhuman strength, refusing to let you hide.

“That’s it,” she purred, her voice vibrating right through you, “give me everything. Every bit of it.”

Your hands flew to her hair, fingers tangling as you arched into her mouth, the heat of her tongue driving you right back into that place where nothing existed but sensation. Natalie ate you like she’d been starving, relentless, pushing you higher and higher until you felt like you might break apart. Her tongue rolled over your clit, then soaked down into your entrance, pressing the muscle into the hot, sticky hole as it clamped down around her.

You tried to muffle your cries, but she caught your hips in an iron grip, pulling you closer, grinding her face against you with a filthy groan. She slurped your cunt, tongue darting in and out in filthy, sloppy kisses.

“Louder,” she commanded, breaking free just long enough to catch your eyes, pupil wide and dark as she panted. “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”

Then she dove back in, tongue working you with such unrestrained hunger it made your vision blur. She curled her tongue up, her nose grinding against your clit with all the reverence of an animal as she growled into your arousal. 

“Fuck Natalie!” you cried, tugging her hair so hard she whined. “M’gonna cum—please, god—Aghhh—” You couldn’t fight it—wouldn’t fight it—and the second orgasm crashed through you hard enough to make your spine curl off the seat, a strangled scream tearing free.

Natalie held you through every wave, licking you clean, drawing out the pleasure until it left you gasping and spent.

Finally, she came back up, breath ragged, lips slick and pink, good eye bright with pride. She leaned down, pressing her forehead to yours.

“There you are,” she whispered, voice shaking with raw relief, “my girl.”

You pulled her down into a kiss, clinging to her, needing that final anchoring warmth. She let you have it, wrapping you up tight, cradling your face as the adrenaline bled away and your heart began to steady again.

No more sirens, no more screaming, no more guilt. Just Natalie, breathing with you, holding you together piece by piece.

And it didn’t matter how guilty you felt, because she would always be right there—her smirk twisting into something soft just for you, her hands knowing exactly how to fix you, how to stitch you back together, whispering that the blood on your hands didn’t make you less worthy of being held.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝  NINA THE KILLER

A scream nearly tore its way out of your throat when a hand yanked you off your feet, dragging you with brutal force behind a sagging dumpster. Your boots scraped across wet concrete, heart hammering, gun still clenched in your white-knuckled grip.

“Hush,” a sharp voice hissed in your ear, and you froze.

“Nina—”

You glimpsed her in the glare of a police car headlight, dark jacket and mini-skirt sticking to her body, color-dyed hair wild around her fierce grin. Her mouth was smudged in fresh red, a sloppy grin echoing in the paint on her cheeks, eyes gleaming like a rabid dog’s as she sized you up. Gorgeous, manic, fearless—dripping danger like perfume.

She held you pinned in the shadows, her arm locked around your waist like iron, her knife glinting at her hip, crimson-stained from god only knew what. The pink-streaked hair framing her face shimmered under the ugly yellow light of a flickering street lamp, her split smile and too-white face stern with concentration and worry as she scanned the street.

She was supposed to be your lookout, supposed to help if anything went wrong and get the two of you out—but when you went into that house alone and left with blood on your hands, all you cared about was getting away.

“Shit, sweetheart, you trying to get killed tonight?” she rasped, eyes flashing with a furious glint.

You swallowed, lungs burning. Sirens wailed nearby, closer, their red-and-blue glow sweeping across the brick walls of the back alley. A police cruiser turned the corner in a screech of tires, spotlight slicing across trash bins and shattered glass.

“They’re everywhere,” you panted, your side still screaming from the bullet that grazed you, “I— I couldn’t—”

“Focus,” Nina hissed, giving you a small, almost violent shake. “Breathe.”

You tried. The night felt suffocating, the smell of wet concrete and asphalt mixing with gunpowder and coppery blood, but you forced yourself to drag air into your lungs.

Nina peered around the edge of the shed, her breathing shallow, the glint in her eyes practically feral. “Cops are sweeping the whole block,” she whispered. “We gotta move.”

“Where?” you rasped.

She grinned, wolfish and electric. “Behind the grocery store. I know the way. Come on.”

Nina didn’t wait—she hauled you forward by the wrist, practically dragging you along the damp alley. Your boots splashed through puddles, the gritty asphalt tearing at your knees when you nearly stumbled, but Nina was relentless. She kept you pinned against her side, a shield of rage and confidence.

The grocery store’s loading bay was barely lit, the rusted metal doors chained shut. Nina guided you into the deep shadows behind a leaning stack of pallets, shoving you to crouch low. You winced, pressing a palm against the graze on your side. Blood was soaking through your shirt, warm and sickly.

Nina crouched beside you, eyes darting everywhere, chest heaving. Her blade was still out, steady in her hand even as the adrenaline shook her bones.

“You got shot?” she hissed, pressing her hands around the bloodied area.

“Just a graze,” you ground out, teeth clenched.

She swore under her breath, reaching to tug your hand away so she could see the wound. The harsh neon glow from a backdoor sign flickered over her face, revealing the raw edge of concern in her dark eyes, her eyeshadow and mascara slightly ruined from all the messiness of the night.

“God, baby, you’re a mess,” she smiled, voice threading between worry and that hungry, almost aroused adrenaline you never understood when she saw blood. “Fucking beautiful.”

You laughed, bitter, shaky. “Thanks.”

Nina’s grin widened, dangerous and manic. “Listen, we sit tight here until they sweep past. Then we’re getting the fuck out, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She leaned closer, her breath hot on your cheek, eyes locked on yours with deadly focus. “You follow my lead. If anyone comes back here, I will gut them, and you will run. Got it?”

“Got it,” you whispered.

The sirens blared again, closer still. You ducked lower, heartbeat rattling your ribs like a caged animal. Nina pressed in against your side, the heat of her body grounding you, steadying you.

And in that heartbeat, hidden behind rotten cardboard and rusted metal, you realized she was your lifeline—vicious, unstoppable, and willing to burn the world down for you.

The pounding of police boots grew louder, sweeping through the street outside. Nina tensed, blade ready, her arm protectively caging you against her chest.

Until you heard voices, loud and deep, hollering that there was movement on the east side of the street, far away from where you actually were. You both took a collective sigh of relief as you heard them all move away, boots and tire screeches trailing down the road and away from the electric buzzing of the sign overhead.

The cops’ shouts finally faded, the screaming sirens drifting off down the next block. The pulsing of flashlight beams shrank away, swallowed by the night, until it was just you and Nina in the cold hush of the alley.

For a second, neither of you moved. Your heartbeat still slammed in your ears, the metallic tang of blood mixing with rotting produce and old rain. You shivered, shoulders pressed against the damp bricks.

Nina lowered her knife, though she didn’t sheathe it, eyes fixed on you with that same electric focus.

“Talk to me,” she demanded, voice sweet and concerned. “What the fuck happened out there?”

Your throat burned. You opened your mouth, but everything spilled out in a rush, hot and cracked, like tearing open a wound all over again.

“I—it was supposed to be simple,” you choked, breath stuttering, “just information, Nina, that’s all—I tried—I tried to get him to talk but he laughed at me, he laughed, and I—”

Your hands trembled, fingers still sticky with drying blood.

“I lost it,” you admitted, tears biting your eyes, “I lost everything. I couldn’t stop, I—”

Nina leaned in, closer, until her forehead nearly touched yours. Her eyes burned, dark and unreadable, taking in every trembling word.

“Baby,” she murmured, “look at me.”

You did.

She tore at her own skirt, yanking a strip of pink speckled fabric free with a vicious rip. Without flinching, she pressed it against your side, staunching the oozing graze. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, even as her words stayed sharp.

“You think I’m gonna hate you for that?” she scoffed, voice almost amused. “You think I wouldn’t have loved watching you tear him apart?”

Your breath hitched.

“You think I wouldn’t have wanted to see you,” she went on, binding the cloth tight around your waist, “so beautiful covered in a bastard’s blood?”

She grinned, a razor’s edge of wickedness.

“You are gorgeous, sweetheart,” she purred, eyes dancing in the weak alley light, “beautiful and terrifying, just the way I like you.”

Nina finished tying the makeshift bandage, fingers lingering on your skin, pressing into you like a brand. Then she lifted your hands, stained crimson and shaking, and kissed the knuckles one by one.

“You are beautiful,” she whispered, lips brushing blood and dirt, “and you were perfect tonight.”

Your chest cracked open, a sob catching in your throat, but Nina was already moving—kissing higher, dragging her lips up your forearm, tasting the tang of copper on your skin.

She cupped your face in both hands, smearing your own blood across your cheeks, and kissed you hard. It was brutal, claiming, the taste of metal and sweat and fear on both your tongues.

Nina devoured you like she’d starve without it, her voice breaking between kisses, “Perfect, perfect, beautiful, perfect girl—”

The night outside was silent again, but you felt the world roar back to life in her arms, lit up by Nina’s praise, Nina’s fire, Nina’s mouth on yours—tearing away every scrap of guilt and sewing it back up with something dark, and alive, and endless.

Nina’s mouth was hungry, biting at your lips, stealing every shaky breath from your lungs. Her hands slid over your shoulders, slick with blood, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise. She couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t get enough of you, like you were oxygen after she’d just drowned.

She drew back just a hair, panting, staring down at your stained hands with pupils blown wide. “God, baby,” she moaned, voice trembling with twisted adoration, “look at these hands…”

She lifted them to her mouth with wide eyes. Her teeth scraped lightly as she took your middle finger between her lips and sucked, eyes fluttering half-shut as if tasting some fine, forbidden wine.

You gasped, heat roaring through your chest.

Nina popped your finger from her mouth with a wet sound, tongue flicking across the remaining blood. “So fucking delicious,” she purred, a dangerous smile breaking across her face.

Your heart lurched, breaking free of its cage, and you couldn’t stop yourself. You surged forward, grabbing fistfuls of her shirt and spinning her, pinning her to the rough brick wall behind the pallets.

Nina let out a soft, breathless laugh, head falling back against the crumbling bricks, eyes gone wild. “That’s it, sweetheart,” she urged, “take what you want—”

Your lips crashed into hers again, hard, messy, tasting iron and adrenaline. She clung to your shoulders, nails biting through the fabric of your sleeves as you kissed down the line of her jaw, across her cheekbone, over the sharp curve of her throat.

“Mine,” you rasped, voice breaking against her skin, “you’re mine too. You want this fucker’s blood all over you?”

“Say it again,” she gasped, her breath stuttering when your tongue traced the edge of her ear.

“Mine.”

Nina’s hips rolled as you slotted your thigh between her legs, desperate, her hands winding into your hair to keep you close as you devoured every inch of her neck, your teeth dragging little red marks in your wake. Her bangs ruffled against her face, hair a mess, that raw, ecstatic grin splitting her face that you always loved.

No matter how awful you felt, no matter how disgusting your body seemed after the actions tonight, Nina combatted that. Her words, her actions, her need for you—even full of dread and anger—made your bones shake with want, with need for her in turn.

Your voice trembled, half-crazed with the taste of her, “You—you make me crazy, you know that? Fuck—”

You kissed her again, cutting her giggles off, fierce and consuming. Her body arched into you, gasping and biting at your lower lip, trying to drown in you, to burn in you. You could feel her heartbeat hammering wild through her ribs, matching your own.

Blood, sweat, night air, all of it tangled together—the filthy, perfect confession of monsters who would rather die than let go. Of two people who are fucked—who know they are—and love each other for it.

Nina’s arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you closer, refusing to let you slip away, even for a second. You held her against the wall, breathless, starving, and kissed her like you could taste forgiveness on her tongue, the two of you locked together in the alley’s darkness with nothing but each other to hold on to.

“You’re insane.” Your hands roamed down the curve of her sides, squeezing tight, hungry for every inch of her.

“You love it,” she shivered, head falling back against the bricks, a ragged moan breaking loose when your palms slipped under the hem of her torn skirt. The thin fabric barely clung to her hips anymore, stained and ripped, easy to shove up to her waist.

Your eyes widened when you saw the lacy thong that hugged her hips. “Seriously…?”

“I knew I’d be hanging with you tonight, so…”

You shoved her hips down onto your thigh, grinding her clothed cunt against your pant-leg.

“Fuck,” Nina gasped, nails dragging down your arms as you pressed in closer, pinning her tight to the wall. “God—don’t stop—”

You didn’t. You ground her hips into your thigh, breath catching, the friction sending shocks of want straight through your veins. Nina’s hands clawed at your back, urging you on, lips parting in a raw gasp when you rocked her against you harder, chasing that blinding edge of release and rage.

Your fingers pushed up under her skirt, and down into her panties, brushing hot, searing wetness, teasing your fingers against her clit just to feel her tremble.

She arched into you, nearly wild, voice cracking, “Please—baby, please—”

“Look at you,” you rasped against her neck, biting lightly at the soft skin, “fucking desperate…”

Nina let out a choked laugh, breathless and wrecked. “For you—always for you,” she confessed, hips canting forward into your hand, her eyes locked on yours like she’d die if you looked away. Her lips were bitten and bruised, cheeks so pink you smiled at her, leaning forward to kiss them.

You pushed her skirt higher, bunching it around her hips, free hand gliding up her thigh and around to grab her ass, hard enough to make her squirm. You could feel her cunt clench around nothing, pulsing, begging for you, slick against your fingers.

She pushed her thigh up between your legs at the same time, rocking against you in a perfect, filthy rhythm that made your head spin.

Your hips snapped harder against her, a strangled cry breaking from your throat. Nina drank it in, lips ghosting across your jaw, hungry for every sound.

“Fuck me up,” she whispered, voice shaking, “do it, please—”

You slammed your mouth against hers, swallowing her whimpers, your fingers teasing her folds, stroking up against her clit until her knees buckled. The alley seemed to close around you both, gritty and cold, but so alive, her thigh grinding right into your core, dragging you higher and higher.

You pushed her harder against the brick, every thrust making her gasp, until you thought you’d fall apart from how bad you wanted to feel her break.

Nina’s hands tangled in your hair, colorful nails tugging you down to kiss her again, deep and dirty, her tongue greedy against yours, your bodies shaking together in a feverish, unstoppable rhythm.

She couldn’t stay still—rocking her hips, pushing back against your hand, chasing that wild edge like she’d die without it.

You curled your fingers against her slick heat, drawing a sharp cry from her throat. Nina bucked, nails digging into your shoulders, her thighs twitching under your grip. When her hips stuttered, you curled your finger, pushing your middle digit in. There wasn’t any resistance, Nina clamping against you all the way to the hilt.

“That’s it,” you growled, voice ragged, “take it, Nina—fuck, you feel so good—”

Her lips split in a ragged grin, teeth flashing between moans, “More—please, more—”

You obliged, sliding another finger inside her, working her open, feeling her clench around you, hot and dripping. She nearly folded, legs trembling, forehead pressing hard against yours.

Her thigh still pinned between your legs, grinding against your soaked center, driving you closer and closer to the brink. You rocked on her, hips rolling in desperate, hungry circles, gasping when every perfect movement made her cry out again.

“So pretty,” Nina rasped, voice broken and shrill, “fucking—perfect—”

Your teeth caught the side of her throat, biting down just enough to leave a mark, and she let out a high, shaking moan, her hands gripping your arms like she’d fall apart if you let go.

“Keep going,” she pleaded, hips jerking, thighs quaking, “don’t you fucking stop—”

You fucked your fingers up into her harder, faster, knuckles curling in deep, watching her unravel. Her mascara ran in dark streaks down her flushed face, smudging in the tear tracks and the specks of blood still drying on her cheeks.

It was beautiful. Vicious. Perfect.

She kissed you, sloppy and uncoordinated, her tongue sliding over yours in a frantic claim as her walls fluttered around your fingers, tight and wet.

“Cum for me,” you breathed against her lips, voice rough with your own rising release, “come on, baby—on my fingers—”

And Nina did, hard, her whole body locking up, a strangled cry tearing through the alley as she pulsed around your fingers. You fucked her through it, refusing to let her down easy, grinding against her thigh as you watched her face twist and her eyes roll up into her pretty lashes.

You both shook, forehead to forehead, panting, clinging to each other like the world might tear you apart if you let go.

Before you could even catch your breath, Nina was moving, her body still trembling from her own orgasm but eyes locked on you with that ravenous, feral spark. She didn’t give you a chance to recover.

Rough hands grabbed your hips, spinning your back to the wall, pinning you there with a bruising grip. You barely had time to gasp before you felt her sink to her knees in front of you, her hands already tugging at your waistband, yanking the button of your pants open and tugging them down your thighs with single-minded hunger.

“Fuck, Nina—” you tried, but your voice cut off in a ragged moan when she pushed your legs open, dragging your panties down with nails scratching your skin. She spread you open, breath hot against your dripping cunt.

“Shh,” she cooed, low and wicked, “I’m not done with you yet.”

She didn’t waste another second—her tongue was on you, hot and wet, dragging through your folds with a filthy groan. Your head smacked back against the brick, fingers scrabbling for something to hold on to as she licked into you, messy and greedy, like she wanted to drown in the taste of you. You latched onto her hair, one fist around her ponytail and the other cupping behind her head, pushing her closer.

“God, you taste perfect,” she growled against your slick, lips sealing around your clit and sucking hard enough to make your knees threaten to give.

You cried out, loud, echoing in the empty alley, hands dragging to tangle in her hair. Nina moaned at the pull, the vibration sending sparks straight through your gut. She doubled down, tongue flicking your swollen bud, lapping at your taste, then plunging inside you with little warning, fucking you with her mouth.

Your thighs shook, breath coming in shattered, frantic bursts, hips jerking against her face. Nina just held you tighter, nails biting into your skin, keeping you right where she wanted you, tearing you apart under her mouth.

“Fuck—Nina—don’t stop—”

She hummed against you, eyes glittering, hands spreading your ass wider so she could bury herself even deeper. Each swirl of her tongue felt like fire, like absolution, like punishment—every desperate, broken sound she drank from your lips only spurred her on.

Your hips started to stutter, a hot wave building so fast you could hardly think. Nina’s tongue fucked you hard and fast, then moved up to circle your clit, relentless and perfect. Her nails dragged along the top of your thighs, leaving wilting marks.

Your climax was building so fast it was blinding, every flick of Nina’s tongue sending you closer to the edge until your nerves were set on fire. You couldn’t take it—it was too much, too raw, too sharp.

Your hands gripped hard, tugging Nina by the hair and pulling her face away from you, slick and messy, her lips glossy with your arousal.

She looked up at you, eyes wide and wild, pupils blown, mouth parted in a desperate gasp.

“No—no, baby, don’t—” she choked out, voice cracking as her hands clawed at your hips, trying to shove her face back against your cunt, “please, let me—let me finish you—”

You panted, chest heaving, legs shaking, your grip iron tight in her hair. Nina’s nails bit into your thighs, practically pleading with her whole body, breath ragged, tears starting to prick in the corners of her eyes from the pure frustration.

“Fuck, Nina—give me a second—” you gasped, trying to keep yourself from falling apart right then and there.

But she shook her head frantically, voice gone rough and broken, “No—please, I need you, let me taste you, let me finish—”

You tried to steady your breathing, but she was so goddamn beautiful, wrecked and hungry, smeared with blood and tears and spit, trying to pull against your hold like an animal starved.

“Let me,” she whined again, almost sobbing, “I need you to cum on my tongue—fuck, please—”

The desperation in her voice split you open. You couldn’t hold her off any longer, couldn’t fight that wild, shaking heat in your core.

Your hand loosened, just enough for her to surge forward, devouring you again with a sob of relief. Her mouth sealed around you, tongue working you ruthlessly, like she’d die if she didn’t make you finish.

You felt it snap, pleasure crashing through you so violently you nearly collapsed, a raw cry tearing from your throat. Nina held you up, refusing to let you slip away, licking you through every quaking spasm, moaning against you like she’d never get enough.

When you finally sagged against the brick, shaking, she pulled back, lips glossy and swollen, face flushed and eyes wild.

“Fuck,” she panted, licking her lips, “I could eat you forever.”

“Clearly,” you huffed through shaky breaths.

You felt like every bone in your body had turned to liquid. The alley seemed impossibly quiet now, the night air cooling the sweat on your skin. In the distance, you could still hear faint police sirens fading back in, swallowed by the restless hum of the city, but making their way back around the block.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You just looked at each other, hearts still hammering, breaths ragged, stained by blood and sweat and the taste of violence.

Finally, you let out a broken, exhausted laugh, “Jesus, Nina…” you breathed, voice frayed, “I thought I was gonna fucking pass out.”

She grinned, impossibly proud of herself, though there was a strange softness hiding underneath. She came down to crouch in front of you, smoothing your hair from your face with shaky fingers, tracing your jaw like she couldn’t believe you were real.

“Look at you,” she murmured, thumb brushing over your cheek, “a fucking masterpiece.”

You swallowed, the night’s chaos washing over you all at once—the blood, the bullets, the screaming. The mission going to hell, the smell of gunpowder, the look in that target’s eyes before you tore him apart. It clung to your ribs, heavy and suffocating.

“I lost control,” you rasped, the guilt starting to gnaw through your adrenaline, “I—fuck, I lost it—I was supposed to get information, and I just—”

Nina’s expression shifted, something gentler behind her bloodlust, something frighteningly warm. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to yours.

“Hey,” she breathed, voice calm but unyielding, “you did what you had to do. You survived. That’s all that matters.”

You closed your eyes, trying to believe it. Her hands steadied you, warm against your shoulders, pulling you in until you could feel her heartbeat against yours.

“You’re a monster, just like me,” she whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth, “and I wouldn’t change a single thing about you.”

The words sank in, a twisted kind of comfort—the only comfort someone like you could ever really understand. You leaned into her, letting the horror of the night slip away for a heartbeat, replaced by the familiar, brutal warmth of someone who saw you for exactly what you were.

Together, you stayed tucked in the dark of that alley, catching your breath, clinging to each other, until the world outside finally felt just a little bit quieter.

And it didn’t matter how remorseful you felt, because she would always be right there—kissing every sin off your skin, praising the violence you carried, promising you were beautiful even in your ruin, worshiping you like you were made to break things and be broken.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝  JANE EVERLASTING

You barely had a chance to breathe before a hand shot out of the shadows and seized you, iron-strong fingers clamping around your wrist. A flash of pale skin, a knife glinting by her hip—and a familiar cold rage in those dark eyes. 

“Jane—”

She was a dark queen moving through the crush of shadows, black hair sleek and gleaming like onyx, every move radiating lethal grace, black dress hugging her curves just right. Her pale skin caught the twisting moonlight, highlighting cheekbones sharp enough to cut, and when her eyes—black as midnight—locked on you, the world seemed to hush, bowing to her power.

“Come on,” she snapped, yanking you off balance, hauling you down an overgrown side yard and vaulting a sagging fence in one smooth motion.

You stumbled, nearly lost your gun, heart thundering, adrenaline screaming through every vein. The sirens behind you were getting closer, blue and red cutting through the dark as the police spread through the neighborhood, barking orders, boots smashing through backyards in a fury of hunting dogs.

Jane didn’t slow, dragging you along with a death grip, her hair streaming behind her like a black banner of war. “They’ll sweep the woods,” she growled, “too obvious. We go deeper into town. Blend in.”

You nodded, panting, barely keeping your feet under you as she ducked behind another house, crossed through a ruined backyard, and sprinted toward the chain-link fence on the opposite side.

Jane was there to be your getaway. She was staying in a motel nearby, and you had talked before this mission. You weren’t supposed to mess everything up and drag her into this, she was just meant to be a place to stay for the night.

The neighborhood bled away fast, block after block blurring together in a haze of sweat and panic, until you hit the edge of the town proper—a busier street, still lit, people pouring out of late-night shops and bars, oblivious to the monsters at their doorstep.

Jane didn’t hesitate, dragging you into the chaos, weaving through drunks and night owls, dodging a pair of college kids laughing on the curb. All in heels and a mask, no less.

“Keep your head down,” she hissed, pulling your hood up and tucking your hair beneath it, hiding the drying blood splattered on your collar. “They’ll never think to look in the middle of a crowd.” Funny for her to say, as if she didn’t stand out like a gothic sore thumb.

The street was alive with pulsing neon and pounding bass from the bars, a swirl of cheap perfume and sweat. Jane threaded through it like a phantom, never breaking her stride, scanning every doorway. You could barely keep up, your wound pulsing painfully along your ribs, the bullet graze burning under your shirt with every harsh movement.

Finally, she spotted a place—a dive bar with a busted neon sign, so crowded you could barely see through the window. Perfect.

Jane wrenched open the door, a wave of sour beer and old cigarette smoke hitting you in the face, and shoved you through the crush of bodies. A couple of people shouted as you bumped them, but Jane didn’t care, cutting a path straight for the back hallway with predatory grace.

Someone grabbed her arm—a drunk guy trying to flirt—and she shoved him off so hard he crashed into a table, sending glasses flying. Before anyone could react, she’d kicked open the door to the bathroom at the far end, yanking you inside and locking it behind you.

The tiny space reeked of bleach and stale air. You slammed back against the sink, trying to catch your breath, pulse still pounding in your throat like a war drum.

Jane rounded on you, her eyes flashing. “What the fuck happened out there?” she demanded, voice sharp enough to flay you alive.

You swallowed hard, wiping a streak of blood from your mouth, your hands still shaking. “I—I lost control,” you rasped, voice cracking. “He—he wouldn’t talk, and I—”

She stepped forward, crowding you against the sink, her hands coming up to grip your shoulders, holding you steady.

“Look at me,” she snapped, her tone leaving no room for argument. You forced your gaze to meet hers, that deep, endless black, and felt the tremor in your knees.

“You’re still alive,” Jane hissed, voice dropping low, “that is what matters.”

Outside, you could hear the bass from the jukebox thumping through the walls, people laughing, completely oblivious to the murderers hiding in the bathroom.

Jane’s hands loosened, sliding to your jaw, her thumb smearing away the blood from your cheek, then cupping you there with a surprising gentleness.

“Breathe,” she whispered, so close you could taste her, “we’re not done yet.”

Jane pulled back, scanning you from head to toe, her eyes narrowing at the blood soaking through your side. The bullet graze burned like hell, reminding you with every heartbeat that you’d gotten sloppy, too sloppy.

“Fuck,” Jane growled, tearing her gaze away. She unlocked the bathroom door just enough to slip out, leaving you alone for a moment with the cracked mirror and buzzing fluorescent light.

You leaned against the sink, hands trembling, chest tight. The roaring in your ears was deafening—the weight of what you’d done, the blood, the smell of it on your skin. The target’s face kept flashing behind your eyelids, the way he screamed before you tore him apart.

Before you could sink too deep, Jane returned, one hand balled around a filthy-looking rag swiped off the bar counter—meant for drying pint glasses, but good enough for triage. She locked the door again behind her, stalking forward.

“Lift your shirt,” she ordered, voice leaving no room to argue.

You obeyed, teeth gritted as you peeled up the blood-crusted fabric, revealing the graze running a line of raw pain across your side.

“Jesus,” Jane muttered, dipping the rag into the sink and ringing it out before pressing it to your wound. The rag was rough, stinking of cheap beer and lemon-scented soap, but it was cold, biting into the torn skin in a way that made you hiss.

Jane didn’t apologize. She just worked, methodical, wiping the blood away with careful but firm swipes, trying to get the worst of it cleaned up.

“Fucking amateurs,” she spat under her breath, though you couldn’t tell if she meant the target, the cops, or you. Maybe all of it.

You clenched the edge of the sink, forcing yourself to hold still as she worked. “I…I just lost it,” you finally admitted, voice raw. “He wouldn’t talk, he kept laughing, and I just—”

Jane paused, rag still against your side, her eyes locking on yours. Dark. Hungry. Understanding.

“You snapped,” she finished for you, voice dropping to a low rasp. “We’ve all been there.”

You swallowed hard, shame and relief clashing inside your chest.

“I should have never done this mission alone.”

Jane’s hands slowed, her touch softening. She let the rag drop, bracing her palms on either side of your hips, leaning in so close you could feel the warmth of her breath through her mask.

“You did what you had to,” she murmured, brushing a strand of sweaty hair off your forehead, letting her thumb linger against your temple. “I’m proud of you.”

The words cracked something inside you. Your shoulders slumped, a ragged breath tearing out of you, eyes burning with unshed tears.

Jane brushed the tears away before they could fall, one after the other, slow, deliberate, like she wanted to make sure every bit of you was safe with her—even your pain.

“You’re not alone,” she whispered, words ghosting across your face, “you’ll never be alone with me.”

You exhaled, trembling, letting her words bury themselves in your ribs, letting her warmth sink through the cold shell of your fear.

Jane reached behind the hem of her mask, pulling the white veil off her face and setting it on the sink behind you. Your eyes welled with tears, her dark ones meeting yours with that fierce determination she always held. You hiccuped, choking on another sob as she tugged you closer, pressing her hips to yours.

Jane kissed you then, deep and consuming, swallowing up every broken, desperate piece of you like it was the sweetest thing she’d ever had.

Jane’s kiss didn’t stop—it devoured. You felt her tongue slip against yours, demanding, taking, like she could drink down every fear and regret tangled inside you. Her hands slid from your hips to your waist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, grounding you in the present.

The pain of your wound seemed to fade under the heat of her mouth, your mind spinning with the rush of relief, desire, confusion—everything tangled so tight you couldn’t separate one from the next.

Jane broke the kiss with a wet sound, her lips brushing your ear, voice low and dark.

“You feel that?” she rasped, her thigh pressing between yours, pushing up until you couldn’t help but grind down on the pressure. “That’s real. Right here. This is all that matters now.”

You gasped, hands shooting out to grab her shoulders, nails biting into the leather of her jacket as she rolled her hips against you, forcing another ragged moan from your throat.

The stench of bleach and cheap beer, the faint scent of old cigarettes and the copper of your own blood—all of it burned into your senses, dizzying, filthy, perfect.

Jane kissed you again, rougher this time, her teeth catching your lower lip until it stung. Her hands trailed up your shirt, warm palms dragging across your ribs, tracing every harsh breath you took like she was memorizing the shape of your fear.

“I want you to feel alive,” she hissed, voice so deep it vibrated against your mouth. “You hear me? Alive.”

You nodded, unable to speak, your body already moving with hers, grinding harder against her thigh, chasing friction like you’d die without it. Her short black dress was riding up like it always did, making you so hungry you could’ve snapped if she touched you one more time.

“Good girl,” she purred, catching your chin in one hand, nails pressing into your cheeks, forcing you to look straight into her black eyes, molten with hunger. “Show me how alive you can be.”

She kissed you again, drowning you, while her other hand slipped down to unfasten your pants, tugging them harshly over your hips. The fabric stuck to your sweaty skin, but she tore it down anyway, not caring about anything but getting closer, skin on skin.

You kicked them off desperately, hooking a leg over her thigh to keep grinding against her, lost in the frantic, needy pulse of your own heartbeat.

Jane’s mouth traveled down your neck, biting, sucking bruises into your flesh, marking you with a predator’s claim. Her hand was between your legs then, cupping you through your underwear, the fabric instantly damp under her touch.

“Look at you,” she breathed, voice almost reverent, “fucking perfect.”

Your hips jolted when her thumb found your clit, a ragged cry bursting from your throat, echoing off the cracked tiles.

“Stay with me,” Jane ordered, biting at your collarbone as her fingers teased you, relentless, driving you to the edge so fast your head spun. “Stay here with me.”

You moaned, body shaking, so close to shattering already. Jane’s breath was hot against your throat, her voice like a blade, slicing through every ounce of doubt.

“I’m not letting you go,” she growled, fingers slipping beneath your underwear to finally touch you bare, sliding through the soaked heat. “Not now. Not ever.”

Jane didn’t give you a chance to catch your breath. She grabbed your hips, spinning you around so you were facing the grimy mirror, the harsh bathroom lights throwing your reflection into cruel clarity.

“Look,” she commanded, voice rough, as she pressed your chest down against the cracked porcelain sink, arching your back so your ass was pushed out toward her. “Look at yourself.”

You tried to obey, dizzy and half-gone, your wide, teary eyes meeting your own reflection. Blood streaked your cheek, your shirt rumpled, your lips bruised and swollen from her kisses—you looked like a monster, a gorgeous monster.

Jane growled low in her throat, one hand trailing over the curve of your ass before slipping down between your thighs, dragging your soaked panties aside. She bullied two fingers inside you without warning, filling you to the knuckle, forcing a sob out of you as you clenched around her.

“God, listen to you,” she hissed, pumping into you hard enough to make your knees buckle, “listen to how wet you are for me.”

Your moans bounced off the walls, filthy, shameless, mixing with the faint rumble of music outside the bathroom door. Jane twisted her fingers, finding that perfect spot inside you, her thumb grinding mercilessly against your clit until your hips were jerking back on her hand.

“You’re gonna watch yourself come,” she ordered, eyes gleaming in the mirror as she met your gaze, “you’re gonna see what I see.”

Your legs shook, another cry tearing out of you, pleasure ripping up your spine like wildfire. Jane’s pace grew harder, faster, the wet sounds of your body obscene in the tiny bathroom.

And then she dropped to her knees behind you, never breaking rhythm. She tugged your panties over the swell of your ass and down your thighs, dropping to the floor with your pants. You felt her breath first—hot and hungry against your skin—before her tongue replaced her thumb, licking slow, filthy circles over your clit while her fingers kept pounding into you.

Your scream bounced off the tiles, hands clawing at the sink, knuckles white.

“Fuck—Jane!”

She laughed, dark and feral, mouth already slick with you as she flicked her tongue and rolled against your clit, devouring you like she was starved. Her grip on your thighs was bruising, holding you in place as you tried to buck away from the overwhelming pleasure.

In the mirror, you saw the way your hips ground back against her mouth, how Jane’s eyes fluttered half-shut in bliss as she licked you like the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted.

Your head fell forward, dizzy and undone, but Jane pulled you back up by the hips, forcing you to watch every second of it, refusing to let you look away from your own destruction.

Jane’s tongue drove you insane, tracing circles and dragging rough, desperate patterns over your clit until you felt like you’d break apart. She was ravenous, lapping you up like she’d been starving for your taste all her life, moaning low in her throat as if your pleasure fed her more than any kill ever could.

Your fingers clawed into the ceramic sink, the mirror fogging up with your ragged, panting breaths. The reflection of Jane on her knees behind you—hair wild, eyes hungry, shoulders flexing as she kept your thighs pinned—burned into your mind, obscene and perfect.

She worked her fingers deeper, spreading you wide, crooking them just right to hit that spot that made you choke on a sob. Every slick, filthy sound from your wilting cunt echoed off the bathroom tiles, mixing with your broken cries until you could hardly think.

“Jane—!” you gasped, voice cracking, your legs threatening to give out.

She pulled back for a heartbeat, letting your arousal shine on her lips, and looked up at you through dark lashes, eyes blown wide with mirth.

“Keep those pretty eyes open,” she ordered, voice low and dangerous, “I want you to watch how perfect you look falling apart.”

Then she dove back in, tongue flattening against your clit with merciless force, sucking, swirling, flicking until you saw stars bursting behind your eyes. The muscles in your belly coiled tight, molten and impossible to contain.

Jane felt it—felt your thighs trembling around her face, felt you clenching down around her fingers—and doubled down, fucking you harder, rougher, faster, egging you on with every eager, hungry stroke of her tongue.

“God, you taste like sin,” she mumbled into your cunt, her voice vibrating straight through you. “Come on, baby—let it out for me. I want all of it.”

Your head snapped up, catching the ruined reflection of yourself in the mirror—eyes glassy, mouth open in a silent scream, body shaking—and that was it. You shattered around her fingers, a white-hot climax tearing through you so violently you thought your heart might explode.

Jane didn’t stop, didn’t even pause—she rode you through the quake of it, swallowing down every wave of your pleasure, relentless, possessive, like she couldn’t bear to let a drop escape.

Your knees buckled for real, and she caught you before you hit the ground, pulling her fingers free and replacing them with her tongue again, devouring you with messy, sloppy moans that made your thighs twitch.

“Too much—” you whimpered, voice raw.

Jane just growled, holding you steady as she sucked at your clit until your vision went dark around the edges, tears running down your cheeks. She was relentless, drinking in every second of your oversensitive, desperate whimpers.

Finally—finally—she pulled back, licking her lips slowly, eyes locked on yours in the mirror. She looked utterly unhinged, pupils blown wide, breathing ragged, face shining with your slick.

“Look at you,” she purred, voice wrecked, “so fucking gorgeous.”

The tremor in your limbs hadn’t fully stopped, but you were fueled by something deeper now—the hungry, frantic need to give Jane back everything she’d just poured into you. You looked at her, still crouched in behind you with flushed cheeks and slick lips, and something inside you snapped, feral and devoted.

Before she could even catch her breath, you surged back, grabbing her by the shoulders, hauling her up, and crashing your mouth to hers. She grunted in surprise, kissing you back hard, teeth clicking against yours in a bruising kiss. Then you twisted your fingers in her dress, hauling her up to her feet and backing her toward the cheap laminate counter near the bathroom’s broken soap dispenser.

“Your turn,” you growled against her lips, voice rough, still panting.

Jane smirked, heat flashing in her eyes. “Oh? You think you can handle me?”

You answered by pushing her up onto the counter so her legs hung open in front of you, then fisting your hands in her clothes, dragging her closer until your hips were pressed flush between her thighs. She let out a low laugh, head tilting back, daring you to go further.

You accepted the challenge. Your fingers were already working at the buttons of her dress, popping them open one by one, exposing her pale skin inch by inch. The bra underneath was black lace, straining to hold her in, and you wasted no time—you tugged it down, freeing her breasts and cupping them in both hands, your thumbs brushing roughly over her nipples until she gasped.

“Fuck—” Jane hissed, eyes slamming shut, her body arching toward you.

You pinched and rolled her nipples, watching her bite down on her lip to stifle a moan, and then ducked your head down to taste her, dragging your tongue hot and wet over one aching peak. She jolted under your touch, her fingers tangling in your hair, pushing you closer, demanding more.

“You’re so—so eager,” she panted, a grin flashing through the haze of her arousal, “you gonna ruin me, baby?”

You pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, your grin dark. “Yes.”

You ran your hands over her thighs, spreading them wider, letting her feel the intent in every touch. Jane bit her lip harder, watching you from under her lashes, breathing ragged, waiting.

You pushed up the fabric of her dress, bunching the clothing around her hips and hooking a finger under the thin fabric of her matching lace panties and dragged them aside, revealing the slick heat already pooling there. Her pussy glistened, the sight making your head spin with hunger.

“Do you feel that?” you growled low, voice thick, “You’re dripping for me.”

She laughed, breathless, but her hips jerked toward you in a silent plea. “Shut up,” she shot back, cheeks flushed, “just do it.”

You didn’t hesitate—you dove forward, mouth crashing into her cunt, licking a long, slow stripe through her folds that made her cry out, knees knocking against the counter. You lapped at her with reckless abandon, the taste of her drowning you, tangling with the coppery tang of blood still on your tongue from earlier.

“Holy shit—” Jane gasped, one hand slamming to the mirror behind her to steady herself, the other clutching desperately at your hair.

You sucked her clit into your mouth, flicking your tongue over it in fast, hard circles until her thighs clenched around your head. Her taste was heaven and poison all at once, and you couldn’t get enough, groaning into her as you devoured her with everything you had left.

Jane’s head fell back against the mirror with a dull thud, her eyes rolling half-shut. “God, yes—just like that,” she choked out, her hips bucking against your mouth.

You answered by clicking two fingers between her folds, collecting all the arousal and spit and smearing it at her entrance. She must have felt the push of your fingertips, because she was mewling so loud you thought you’d have to gag her if not for the thumping music outside. You slid two fingers inside her, curling them up to find that perfect spot, your tongue never breaking its punishing rhythm. Her whole body jerked, a ragged cry ripping out of her chest as you fucked her with your fingers and licked her clit like you’d die without it.

“Fuck—fuck, you’re gonna make me—”

She tried to close her legs around you, but you shoved them apart again, growling, refusing to let her escape. Jane whimpered, her nails scraping against the mirror, her other hand fisting so tightly in your hair you thought she might rip it out.

You only pushed harder, faster, dragging another scream out of her, the filthy squelch of your fingers mixing with the wet, desperate sounds of your tongue. She was close—you felt it—the way her walls clenched, the way her thighs trembled, her entire body teetering on the knife’s edge.

“Come on,” you urged, voice muffled by her heat, “come for me, Jane. Let me see you.”

With a strangled moan that tore straight through the pounding music outside the bathroom, she shattered, her release crashing over you so hard she nearly collapsed off the counter. You held her steady, drinking down everything she gave you, refusing to let a drop go to waste.

When she finally sagged back against the mirror, gasping and twitching, you pulled away, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and looking up at her.

She was wrecked—absolutely wrecked—hair wild, lips parted, eyes blown wide with pleasure.

“Holy fuck,” she breathed, laughing brokenly, dragging you up to kiss her, tasting herself on your tongue, “you really are a monster.”

You smirked against her lips, heart still hammering.

“Only yours,” you promised.

Jane was still trembling on the counter, flushed and breathing hard, but the second her eyes locked onto yours—raw, hungry—something dark crossed her face. Before you could even process it, she lunged forward, knocking you back until your spine smacked against the filthy tiled floor. You barely had time to brace yourself before she was on you, straddling your hips, her thighs gripping your hips tight.

Her dress was still hanging open, exposing those perfect, heavy tits, nipples peaked and flushed from your earlier touch. Your gaze locked there instantly, practically drooling over the sight of her, the memory of how they’d felt in your mouth burning behind your teeth.

Jane smirked down at you, hair falling in a wild dark curtain around her face, and reached between you both to rip away the last scraps of your ruined clothes, tossing them aside like they meant nothing.

“You wanna stare?” she rasped, voice feral, “then take what you want.”

She leaned forward, pressing her chest against your mouth, and you couldn’t help it—you latched onto one perfect nipple, sucking hard, rolling your tongue over it while your hands roamed up to knead both of them greedily. Jane gasped, shuddering above you, grinding her slick heat down against your belly, smearing you with her arousal.

“God—” she panted, voice breaking, “you’re so fucking filthy…”

You groaned around her nipple, one hand sliding down to grip her ass, pulling her closer, urging her to move lower. Jane understood instantly—she shifted her hips, lining herself up with you until your soaked cunt was pressed right against hers, hot and dripping, your clits just barely grazing together.

For a second, the two of you locked eyes—wild, starved, feral—and then you both moved at once.

She started grinding down on you, slow at first, letting your folds slide together, the slick heat so intense it nearly made you black out. You bucked up to meet her, desperate to keep that friction, the heady, burning pleasure of her clit dragging against yours. Your legs shook with every pass.

“Fuck,” you gasped, “oh my god—”

Jane laughed, breathless, throwing her head back and riding you harder, rolling her hips in frantic circles. You watched her tits bounce with every movement, mesmerized, obsessed, reaching up to grope them again, pinching her nipples until she cried out.

“That’s it—” she growled, voice rough with need, “feel me, baby, feel how fucking wet you make me.”

You answered with a moan that echoed off the bathroom walls, your thighs shaking as you matched her rhythm, clit catching perfectly against hers with every desperate grind. It was messy, filthy, loud—the slap of wet skin against wet skin, your bodies practically steaming with sweat, the smell of sex and adrenaline and blood thick in the air.

Jane’s nails dug into your shoulders for leverage, her thighs flexing around your hips, her whole body trembling as she pushed harder, faster, chasing something brutal and unstoppable.

For a heartbeat, she just rocked against you lazily, letting your folds slide and catch, smearing more wetness everywhere—but then something seemed to snap in her, a spark behind her eyes, raw and hungry.

She shifted her weight, planting her hands against your chest for leverage, and lifted herself up slightly—enough that when she came down again, your clits slammed together with a sudden shock of pleasure that made both of you cry out.

“Fuck—!” you gasped, the jolt like she had just shot you with electricity.

Jane grinned, feral and sharp, hair wild around her flushed face. “Oh, you like that?” she rasped, and before you could answer, she was doing it again—lifting and dropping, bouncing her hips so your swollen clits smacked against each other, sending shockwaves of pleasure straight through your bellies as she rode you.

It was filthy, obscene—the wet slap of your cunts crashing together, the sticky sound of your juices mixing, your bodies jerking against each other as the rhythm picked up. Jane’s tits bounced beautifully with every hard drop of her hips, and you couldn’t resist reaching up to grab them, thumbs flicking over her dark, sensitive nipples until she moaned for you.

“Fucking watch me,” she growled, voice shaking, hips moving faster, harder, grinding in circles between every bounce to keep your clits tortured, your nerves on fire. “Watch me fuck you like this.”

Your eyes were locked on her, helplessly, hungrily—memorizing every filthy detail, the raw heat in her gaze, the way her thighs flexed, the way her perfect tits shook every time she came crashing down onto you.

Each slap of flesh felt like it could break you apart, clit to clit, harder, harder, the friction so perfect you thought you might burst from it. The pleasure built in savage waves, making your toes curl and your stomach seize. Jane was moaning now, desperate, grinding down between the bounces, dragging your swollen bud against hers until you were both soaked, dripping down your thighs.

“Jane—” you gasped, voice cracking, “I’m— I’m gonna—”

“Look at me,” she demanded, voice breaking, “I'm the only thing that matters right now—”

You forced your eyes open, meeting hers, drowning in the way she looked—powerful, unhinged, yours. You felt your orgasm tearing through you before you could even warn her, your body locking up under her, a ragged scream ripping out of your chest.

Jane was right behind you, a strangled sob of pleasure falling from her lips as her hips stuttered, grinding out her own climax against your throbbing cunt. You felt her gush against you, mixing with your own release, everything so hot and wet you thought you might pass out.

She collapsed forward then, still trembling, pressing her forehead against yours, trying to catch her breath.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, voice raw, “I fucking love you.”

You smiled, dazed, reaching up to wipe a strand of sweaty hair from her face.

“Love you too,” you rasped, completely spent, hands still roaming to cup her breasts one more time, because you couldn’t help yourself.

Jane let out a breathless laugh, leaning down to kiss you again—slow, sweet, achingly tender, a sharp contrast to the vicious, hungry way you’d just devoured each other.

You held each other there on the dirty bathroom floor, hearts hammering in sync, while the music from the bar pounded on outside, uncaring, drowning out the chaos of the world beyond those thin, battered walls.

It didn’t matter. The mission, the cops, the way you felt. Because you knew you were alone. 

And it didn’t matter how alone you felt, because she would always be right there—an unmovable shield, fierce and unyielding, pressing her lips to your tears and telling you the night could never swallow you whole while she was breathing, that you would never have to stand alone again.

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

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