She's My Collar - Katya x Reader

16: It's Worth It, It's Divine

Trigger warning: NSFW sacrilege and blasphemy, religious trauma and a whole lot of "my strict Catholic upbringing has seriously affected me"

"Take me to church
I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife
Offer me my deathless death
Good God, let me give you my life
No masters or kings when the ritual begins
There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin
In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene
Only then I am human
Only then I am clean
Oh, oh, Amen, Amen, Amen"
-Take Me To Church; Hozier

You woke the next morning bright and early, and you scowled, definitely feeling the wine from the night before. Your head was aching, and you rolled over, moaning slightly.

Katya was sitting up in bed next to you, smoking, with a pair of glasses perched on the end of her nose, reading the newspaper. A small mug of coffee was steaming gently on the table next to her, and she passed it over to you wordlessly.

You allowed yourself a moment to relax and soak in the domesticity of the whole thing, of waking up next to Katya, of looking at her forehead scrunch a little as she peered down through her reading glasses.

"Who reads the paper anymore, you grandpa," you grumbled, taking a sip of her coffee before handing it back. Katya scowled at you over the top of her glasses.

"Some of us enjoy the finer things in life," she said primly, flipping to the next page.

You peered over her shoulder. It was all in French, but your eyes narrowed in on a black-and-white, grainy photo of a crime scene next to photos of two young men, smiling with their arms around each other. Meutre dans dix-neuvième! The headline read, and you pursed your lips.

"That looks like some kind of murder scene," you said carefully, watching her out of the corner of your eye for a reaction. Her brows furrowed slightly, but she remained impassive as she scanned the article.

"Murder in the nineteenth arrondissement," she translated for you, one manicured nail tracing the headline.

Her hands were steady, and she took another deep drag of her cigarette. "No mention of a suspect," she said coolly. "Looks like it was just a robbery gone wrong."

"Hmmmm," you said, a little suspiciously. Katya narrowed her eyes at you.

"What, you find out what I do for work and all of a sudden I'm implicated in every murder that happens anywhere near us?" She said, but you could tell she was half-joking. You sat up and took the mug of coffee from her, cocking an eyebrow as you took a sip, saying nothing.

She shifted a bit uncomfortably, flicking the newspaper to keep it open. "This one was me, though," she admitted a little sheepishly. You scoffed, looking over her shoulder again at the article, at the photos.

"Which one was your witness?" You asked lightly. Her finger landed on the man on the left. He was young, with dark hair and eyes. Your heart twitched.

"That one saw me the last time I was here on a job," she explained, then moved her finger over to the other one. "But he told his boyfriend about me, so they both had to go."

You felt her eyes on the side of your face. "This one was self-preservation, котенок. If they had identified me or mentioned seeing me to the police, I would end up with international intelligence on my tail. That would make me more trouble than I'm worth to my employers, and they would terminate my contract."

You nodded, swallowing around the lump that had arisen in your throat. Katya's voice was soft. "It was quick," she said quietly. "They did not suffer." You nodded again, looking over at her. Her eyes were uncertain, like she was waiting for you to bolt.