Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hands.” She orders and fuck, your pussy throbs at the sound. You rake your hands down her body and place them back on her knees.

You’ve only seen her a few times, but you can tell she must have had a bad day (or week) because she is in a mood. Rough from the start, she walked in with a small case, pulling out an impressive looking strap on with a sleek leather harness and a formidable silicone dildo in a swirl of dark colors.

“I’m fucking you with this.” She tells you, pulling it out and placing it on the low table in the center of the room.

“You’re fucking me? What a treat.” You know she likes when you are a smart ass. You’ve figured that out over the last few visits. Specifically, she likes when you are brat to her, testing, trying to call her on her bluff.  But she wins, always does. The she rewards the both of you while she fucks it out of you.

You’d like it either way, the fact that she is paying you is a bonus and just because you enjoy it doesn’t mean anything. It makes her appointments enjoyable, rather than just something to grin and bear.

She hasn’t let you touch her much in return, you wonder if this will be the day that she does.

So, this is how you ended up in this position, in the middle of the blue room. She is only half undressed, her shirt and vest pushed to the side, her pants barely shoved down and the strap positioned on her full hips. You are perched on her lap, with the thick width buried so deep within you. And you just fucking take it.

You squirm backwards, her hand in your hair tugging sharply, forcing your back to arch at a truly obscene angle. You can’t help the noises you are making now as you fuck your hips downwards. You are desperate for something, anything. You hear her chuckle, that dark, rich sound that washes over you as you try to blink your eyes open, or maybe your eyelids are just flittering? Your vision is blurry and swimming either way.

You feel her lips along your neck, a smile as she drags her lipstick over your skin, and the lipstick- you get it now- the lipstick is her way of marking you that can just as easily be washed away. But while she is here with you, she can stain you. The deep berry red washed over your neck, dotted along your throat, smeared around your nipples and sucked into the skin of your sternum.

You are writhing now, fucking yourself down onto the strap, frantic for anything. You thought you had been pleading before, no, you are well past that now. You are torn between whining and screaming- so strung out and well past the edges of your control. Your pussy keeps clenching down onto the strap inside of you, but nothing will get you off except for something on your clit. God, just even a brush of her fingers will get you going. Your so close…. So fucking close…

Shaking, begging mess and you might be saying all of this out loud and you aren’t even sure. You blink your eyes open again and your vision swims. You need to take a breath, your brain supplies. You try to drag one out.

“Please,” you whine out, buried in the back of your throat, and you feel the teeth on your neck as she catches herself. Grazing, not biting, just holding your skin in between her teeth you can’t stop yourself now. “Please…. let me come, please…” You rut down harder as her hand tightens in your hair. You feel the laugh against your skin more then you hear it.

“Keep begging.” She commands as she yanks your head back even further, one hand tightening in your hair and the other, sliding down warm the curve of your spine, tucking your hips towards hers.

“Please...please, please let me come, gods, fuck…. please” comes wedeling out of you, on a broken wine that tapers off into babbling. Gods, you are a mess. It’s the edge, right up to it. Your chest is heaving, and your hips are bouncing wildly and you just can’t...

“Sevika… please.” And that must do it, her name scraping out of your mouth. Earning her approval, you feel her shift, her arm wrapped on your hip slides down, pressing a deft hand against your throbbing clit and yes, oh, yes, that is….

Sparkling electricity, sweet tension, fresh air, white out.

Afterwards when you are cleaning her toy you ask, “Feeling better?”

She pauses while she rolls a cigar for later- smirking over her shoulder- you get a small laugh of out of her. You are inordinately proud of it.

One of your other regular’s is a sweet man. An older Piltover gentlemen, named Geoffroy, that prefers to sit with you and read. Towards the end of his time, he will want to touch you, fondling your body and usually asks for you to finish him with your hands. Over the weeks you gather that his wife has recently died and he craves company. Why pay more for company, you wonder to yourself. Maybe he doesn’t trust those around him to give it freely.

“I saw you reading the first time I came in. I believe you thought you had tucked yourself away, but I saw you behind a curtain, reading a book.” He tells you one visit.

He always greats you when he arrives, tips generously, calls you by your name, and often brings you a new book.

It’s feels safe, oddly. You know you aren’t more or less safe with him, but it’s calm and quiet as you sit together, sipping on the tea Dot sets out for you.

You are always so good about sending money back to your family. You barely spend on yourself except for the odd book or record. So once and a while you allow yourself to unwind.

There are a several places to go in the Lanes to drown in drink, shimmer, music, or another warm body, but the other workers have a favorite spot they frequent to drum up business or unwind. You’ve only been a few times before.

You dress down, dark colors, hood over your head, trying not to catch anyone’s eyes. You just want to go and drink, loose yourself in something else.

You know the bartender and their eyes crinkle with a smile when they spot you.  A glass is poured and the bottle left. Perfect. You do appreciate how people in the business look out for each other.

You are enjoying the people watching, tucked against a pillar of the bar. You can see others putting on their shows and indulge while your consciences swims. Some trying to seduce and succeeding- others not. Friends sharing laughs, others sharing grief. It makes you miss-- just what you are already too bleary to pinpoint.

Maybe it’s your siblings. Your elder brother was your partner in mischief, always in on the joke with you. You both got that from your mother… her last letter made you miss her more than most. Your family, all the little ones must growing like weeds…

You steal yourself, it’s not the reason you came out tonight. You will return with enough money for you all. You slosh another drink for yourself and bury the thought. You are making money now hand over fist. Much more than what you had been promised to come and work for the healing clinic in Piltover. You nieces and nephews will never know the hunger you and your siblings endured. You will return, and with you will have the life you’d worked for.

Your ministrations are broken by the hind-brain intuition you’re being watched. You break your single-minded focus on the bottle to your side and scan your soundings.

Your vision is a little blurry, but it focuses in on her.

Damn.

A small part of you hates how Sevika always steals your breath. Maybe is the liquor, or the too loud music, or but you are bad at pretending - she is a person you’d always want, and you do want her.

She nods her head in greeting and you raise you glass to her. A wry smile rolls over her full mouth and gods, just….

Sevika moves around the bar to you. Sliding into the stool next to you you motion to have the bartender bring her a glass.

“Evening.” She offers in greeting and you are just irrational now, you hate you can’t separate anything anymore.

“I think I am supposed to say something about what is a woman like you doing in place like this?” You remark as you finish the pour you’ve made for yourself.

You get a genuine laugh out of her, and it warms your blood and with it you threaten to pool all over the floor.

Falling into easy conversation with her should feel unusual, but it doesn’t. You trade stories. She gets you laughing with a story about a trader who tried to renege on a deal, and you make her smile about a fancy Piltover women who had no idea what to do with herself, alone with a whore, she had paid money for.

The easiness of the conversation fills you up with a feeling of floating satisfaction, given the circumstances, bubbling up under the fuzzing static of how much you’ve had to drink.

“I can leave you alone to drum up business.” She eventually says, sliding the last drink over to you, the once full bottle empty at her elbow.

“I could say the same for you.” You pause taking what was offered. “Wait, you think I’d be drinking here, dressed like this if I was trying to drum up business?” You laugh at her over the shot glass.

She shrugs and downs hers, her eyes raking over your body. “It would work for me.”

You laugh leaning on the edge of the bar, leaning in her space and you are thrilled by the small smile on her face. “You know I am sure thing, right? I mean you have an standing appointment with me.”

Her smile in the light of the club (and filtered through your liquor-soaked mind) could almost be sheepish. Which is ironic, since she is closest thing to a wolf you’ve seen since leaving the woods you grew up playing in.

The world rewrites for moment. What if you had just met her like this? What if she had just come up to you with a drink in a busy club, like anyone else?

Juvenile. You chide yourself. You can’t indulge in thinking like that. It’s a dangerous, not just for your life and livelihood, but your heart and your sanity. She takes her drink, and you need to make yourself leave, the longer you linger the worse your judgement gets. You almost let your hand raise to her shoulder, inviting her in.

When you started working at the Gardens, Babette, she warned you of this, not to get ‘emotionally entangled’ (her words not yours). And you had been so sure, how would you let that happen? You couldn’t have seen yourself being tempted.

You slide your money over the bar and move off your chair, a seconds miscalculation and your boot catches on a rung of the barstool and you lurch forward onto’s Sevika’s lap. Maybe she isn’t as drunk as she catches you smoothly, both hands on your waist.

“I’ve got it.” You try to grab for your jacket, and oh, yes, you are much drunker than you thought.

“I don’t think you do.” She moves with you now, raising from her chair and bringing you the rest of the way. She catches the bartender’s eye, “I’ll be back in a bit,” she tells them.

“Where are you going?” You ask, finally catching the edge of your jacket and pulling your hood up.

“Making sure you get back.” She tells you as she steers you towards the back of the bar, guiding your stumbling feet through the back door and out into the adjoining alley.

“I’ve got it…” you say, struggling with the sentence and your arms into your sleeves, close to tossing the thing onto the ground.

“Let me.” Sevika takes your jacket from you, pulling it on efficiently and you get to sneak a look at her while she does.

“Gods, the color of her eyes…”

“What about them?” She asks you as she pulls your sleeves even and tucks your neckline in around your face.

“Hmmmm….” You inquire and gods, yes, you are drunk. It’s her fault, you split that bottle between the both of you – but you had a head start. Wait… did you say the part about her eyes out loud?

She raises a wary eyebrow at you, and she is moving you again, a hand on your waist as she turns you towards the mouth of the alleyway.

“You don’t have too… I’ve got this.” You start to shove her hand away and it’s so petulant.

Her grip on you is like iron, both hands around your waist now, her body a warm wall behind your back and her warm breath seeping through material of your hood.

“I’m taking you back. You can walk or I can carry you. Which would you prefer?” Her voice is burning though you like a firelighter. Your inhibition is already down, and you can’t forget that she is entirely the type of women you shouldn’t be in a dark alley with - and you couldn’t give a fuck less.

Your hands act of their own accord as you come to brace your fingers across her wrists, rocking your body back into hers. Turning your head, still cloaked in your hood, you can feel her breath huff out as it warms your check.

“I know something else I’d prefer all together,” you breathe out.

Sevika grits out a surprised noise, you feel it more then you hear it. Her chest heaves out with the sound, her breasts brushing up against you and you stagger back.

She uses your momentum to push you against the dingy brick wall of the alley. Your vision is spinning slightly but she materializes in front of you. Your hands fly to her neck, one hand starting to wind into her hair, and the other bracing against her jaw.

She has a wrinkle between her eyebrows, her gaze hard on you, and you move into kiss her she shoves you back against the wall and tells you, “No.”

The wounded noise that leaves you, quiet and deadly, surprises even you. You are furious, why are you this angry? Is it because you had wanted something for yourself, and you aren’t getting it?

You stare up at her and you have a quick moment of clarity. Your chest is heaving as she is looming over you, but you don’t find her as intimidating as you did. You might never again.

“Fine.” You say as you pull your hands and body away, slipping sideways out from the cage of her legs. “A rare chance to get it for free but if you insist. I will  –“

Her grip is like iron on your forearm, whipping you around to face her, and -oh- you thought she was being rough before. That was for play, practically gentle, a bit of romancing the whore. This is what the poor idiots on the wrong side of her business get. She punctuates whatever point she is trying to make by drawing up slightly, wrenching your arm into your side and one of your boots starts to lose purchase on the dirt as you are lifted off your feet.

You’ve never seen her look furious, but this it, to mad to speak and the childish part of you is preening at the reaction. You try to fix your glaze as best as you can.

Leaning in, you study her face. “Are we done?” You give your arm a jerk in her grasp, and this seems to dislodge something. Her face flickers with a hundred looks, all too fast for your inebriated brain to catch, and her grip loosens.

You pull your arm away as she closes her eyes for a second, shaking her head from side to side. You take the moment to smooth down your jacket and check your hood.

By the time she blinks her eyes back open, Sevika has straightened herself up to her powerful height and rolls her shoulders back. Thoughts fill your head like paper kites, and you ignore them all.

Turning on your heal, you stalk away down the street back to the Garden’s.

You don’t look back to see if she is following you, not even when you bring your key out to unlock the back door, but you hear the crunch of gravel under her boots with yours.