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Revy waits for you outside a certain imposing building.
She knew it was an important meeting for you, but the closer you got to Balalaika's inner circle, the tighter the knot in her stomach became.
She took a slow drag from her cigarette, watching the smoke curl in the humid air, trying to ignore the way her fingers twitched toward the holstered pistol at her thigh.
It wasn't the danger that unsettled her– it was something worse, something unfamiliar gnawing at her.
You had been in there for awhile now, and although it wasn't Revy's place–
Wait, that wasn't true.
She'd clawed her way through life to make damn sure it 'was' her place.
That's why she couldn't stop picturing you sitting across from Balalaika, knees pressed together, leaning forward to take the contract from those manicured hands.
The image made her grind the cigarette butt into the pavement harder than necessary.
The door creaked open.
Too soon, fuck, yet not soon enough– and there you were, stepping into the neon glow with that stupid little half-smile she'd memorized.
Your jacket was buttoned wrong, like you'd dressed in a hurry, and she knew.
Knew before you even opened your mouth, before you rubbed the back of your neck the way you did when delivering bad news.
Balalaika's scent clung to you– expensive cigarettes and gun oil– and Revy's nostrils flared.
She wanted to peel your clothes off right there on the sidewalk, scrub that smell away with her teeth.
She should have gone in with you.
Instead she lit another cigarette, watching your reflection warp in the puddle at her boots.
"So-" she said, voice flat , "she fuck you before or after the paperwork?"
You giggled rather shyly, blushing visibly as you stuttered out it didn't go that far.
"Stop joking- you know me..."
Revy froze, cigarette halfway to her lips– because that was worse, somehow.
The idea that you'd been flustered, stumbling over your words like some innocent while Balalaika watched with those calculating eyes, taking your measure in ways Revy couldn't compete with.
She exhaled smoke through her nose, slow and deliberate, before flicking the cigarette into the gutter.
The ember hissed as it hit the oily water.
"You're such a goddamn idiot-!"
Revy muttered, but her hands were already moving– one tangling in your collar, the other pressing against the small of your back as she dragged you into the alley's shadows.
You stumbled against the brick wall, protesting through gritted teeth.
"I'm not stupid– she's sending me to Bangkok. Special job, Revy."
Balalaika hadn't touched you, no, but she'd traced the rim of her vodka glass while laying out the mission parameters in that husky voice, watching your pulse jump in your throat.
Revy's grip tightened.
She could picture it too clearly.
You perched on Balalaika's thigh in some plush office chair, her manicured fingers drumming against your hipbone while she whispered assignments meant to break you.
And the worst part?
You'd probably blush the whole damn time, biting your lip like some doe-eyed recruit instead of the trigger-happy little shit Revy knew you to be.
Revy already knew Balalaika was planning on joining you, in her private Bangkok office.
She never requested individuals to go, you were the mission.
Her breath hitched as she spun you around, pinning you against the alley wall with her forearm pressing into your collarbone.
"Look at me!"
Revy growled, her voice almost raw.
The night lights cast rippling shadows across her face– half-lit fury, half something too close to fear.
"You don't get it. Do you..."
Her thumb brushed your jaw, rough and possessive, catching on the edge of Balalaika's lingering perfume.
You swallowed hard, the words spilling out before you could stop them.
"She's the one who– "
"Jesus fucking Christ, not this shit again!"
Revy snarled, slamming her palm against the brick beside your head.
She was tired of it.
You'd told the story a hundred times– how Balalaika plucked you from some sketchy gang shootout. How she'd tilted your chin up with the barrel of her pistol and called it an interview when you blushed.
She could hear Balalaika's crazed cackle.
Revy had heard the same story from Balalaika herself.
Either way it ticked her off.
Every fucking time.
The past now mentally blending with a possible future.
She could see it now– the way Balalaika would drape her coat over your shoulders after the Bangkok job, the way you'd stammer when she lit your cigarette for you.
The woman didn't recruit; she meant to court.
And you?..
You'd fold like a fucking deckchair the second she crooked a finger.
Revy's grip on your wrist went slack.
The realization hit her like a misfired round– she wasn't scared of losing you to a bullet.
She was scared of losing you to 'breakfast in bed'. To silk sheets and whispered orders in the dark.
The thought made her want to puke.
You start to step away---
"Listen Revy-"
Her fingers dig into your hips before you can finish, dragging you flush against her.
The material of Revy's shirt presses into your stomach, but the brick behind was rougher.
"No, you fucking listen."
Revy hisses, breath hot against your earlobe.
"I don't care if it is Balalaika–"
The lie tastes bitter.
She cares too much, and that's the problem.
You hear the switch in her tone, making your body twitch in surprise.
The way her pulse jumps when you arch into her touch betrays her, the same way your trembling hands betrayed you in Balalaika's office.
Revy's teeth find the curve where your shoulder meets your neck– not quite a bite, but close enough to make you gasp.
Almost a promise.
A promise made with teeth...
You feel the exact moment she realizes her mistake– your fingers tightening around her forearms, the way your breath hitches when she presses closer still.
It's hesitation.
The kind that gets people killed in their line of work.
Revy freezes like a cornered animal, her ragged exhale hot against your skin.
"Revy...?"
Hearing her name cracks open something inside of her.
She wants you to say it differently– breathless or pleading, but with the same complete certainty she uses when firing a round.
The silence stretches taut between you, broken only by the distant hum of neon and the wet sound of her lips parting against your throat.
Revy decides to go for it, licking and nibbling the skin beneath your ear with a roughness that borders on violence.
Desperation.
There's no tenderness in it– but when you gasp, her hands stutter against your waist like she's touched fire.
She hates the way your pulse jumps under her tongue, hates how easily she could really mark you here where Balalaika will see it tomorrow.
"Revy you- what are you doing-?"
You sound breathless and so surprised– it makes Revy feel sick with want.
She presses harder into you, her forearm pinning your shoulder to the brickwork as her other hand fists in the back of your hair.
The smell of gunpowder and sweat clings to her skin, sharp against the lingering traces of Balalaika's perfume still clinging to your collar.
Revy wants to ruin it– wants to overwrite every trace of that woman until all you can taste, smell, feel is 'her'.
The city thrums around you both– honking horns, distant gunfire, the tinny pulse of music from some shitty karaoke bar down the street.
Perfect cover.
Revy drags her teeth down your throat, biting just hard enough to make you whimper.
The sound shoots directly to her heart before flowing lower.
She hates how much she likes it.
Hates how easy it would be to push you to your knees right here in the filth of the alley, to make you 'forget' whatever promises Balalaika whispered in your ear.
A bottle shatters somewhere nearby, followed by drunken laughter.
Revy's grip tightens instinctively, her fingers digging bruises into your hips.
She can feel the damp heat of your breath against her collarbone, the way your body tenses when she presses closer.
It's not surrender– it's hesitation.
The worst fucking kind.
"Tell me you want this?"
Revy snarls, voice raw.
Not meant a request.
A shattering demand.
"Revy I– Balalaika – the job–"
She kisses you before you can finish making excuses not to answer, all teeth and nicotine and something desperate that tastes like... fear?
You gasp against her lips, fingers twisting in the fabric of her shirt as she pins you harder against the wall.
She doesn't give a fuck about Bangkok or Balalaika's games– she wants the truth carved raw from your throat, even if she has to lick it from your tongue.
Her knee slots between your thighs, skin roughly grinding against the material of your pants.
You arch into the contact with a whimper that's half-protest, half-plea, and Revy swallows the sound like it's the last sip of whiskey after a hard night.
She knows you– knows the way your breath hitches when you're lying, knows the exact moment your body betrays your words.
Right now, you're trembling.
Revy can feel your heat against her thigh from between your legs.
Because of her.
Revy wonders why she didn't do this months ago– back when she first caught herself staring at the curve of your neck instead of scanning for threats, or when she'd wake from dreams where you were between her legs.
She could've pinned you against the Lagoon's rusted hull under the guise of checking your six, could've bitten that stupidly perfect mouth of yours bloody the first time you mouthed off during a mission.
You'd even blushed at her a few times early on–
But no, she'd waited until Balalaika's shadow stretched between you like n idiot.
'N - IDIOT.'
Her palm cups your jaw too roughly, thumb digging into the hinge like she's trying to pry the words loose.
The city's neon glare catches the sweat at your temple, turning it into something molten– something she wants to lick away before it evaporates.
It's disgusting, how soft your skin feels under her calluses.
You'd probably bruise if she held you like this much longer.
The second kiss tastes like something that can't be stopped.
You make a sound against her mouth– not surrender, not resistance, just startled warmth– and Revy 'hates' how her pulse stutters in response.
She should've done this ages ago, back when your lies were still clumsy enough to spot.
Now?
Now you whimper like you mean it, fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt hard enough to feel you meant it.
She can smell the ghost of Balalaika's perfume between you– something expensive and russian that clings to your skin like a taunting brand.
Revy licks into your mouth like she's trying to scrub it away, her teeth catching your lower lip when you gasp.
Her hand slips past your waistband with zero finesse, fingers rough against the damp heat between.
You buck against her palm instinctively, the brick scraping your shoulder blades as she pins you harder.
Revy's laugh is dark, her breath hot against your ear.
"That desperate for her? Fuck, you're pathetic."
"Revy-! You're the one with your hand down my pants right now , I — stop being so mean-!"
She already knew that, but Revy couldn't stop her words.
She wouldn't...
You gasp, your hips jerking against her fingers involuntarily as she drags a calloused thumb over your clit with punishing pressure.
Revy laughs again, sharp and jagged, and you feel it vibrate through your chest where she's pressed against you.
"Mean?"
Revy mocks, brushing her fingertips in a way that makes your knees buckle.
"This is nothing compared to what she'll do to you in Bangkok. That woman doesn't play fair– she'll take you apart slow, piece by piece, until you forget who the fuck you are."
You whimper, conflicted with Revy's touch mixed with the image of Balalaika being painted in your mind.
All while Revy's fingers teased your entrance.
Her breath is ragged against your neck, her grip tightening as she feels how slick you are getting.
"Fuck..?"
she mutters, more to herself than you.
"You're already this wet just thinking about her?"
The accusation burns, but her fingers trace so teasingly it makes you shiver despite so.
Revy bites her lip, angry with herself for still talking about Balalaika in that moment when–... She can feel you, you're in her grasp.
And she's the one touching you...
The distant wail of police sirens cuts through the humid air, mingling with the choked sounds you're failing to suppress.
Revy's fingers pause– not in hesitation, but in that predatory stillness before a kill– and you can practically hear the gears turning in her skull.
"You're shaking..?"
She observes, voice own trembling dangerously.
Her thumb presses against your clit in slow, deliberate circles that feel more like interrogation than pleasure.
"Well you're touching me-!"
You whisper more embarrassed than anything.
You said it.
The truth...
It was a big part of what Revy loved about you, you were just yourself.
Your oddly honest responses, when you should have been saying 'yes' or 'no'.
Instead, you answer that way, and Revy groans softly— as she is purposely, so slowly, slipping in two of her digits inside.
All the way in to the knuckle.
The sound you make...
"You're gon'na be the death of me..."
Revy breathes, curling her fingers just right– the way she instinctively knows how to make you clench around her– before adding a third with brutal, quick efficiency.
The stretch burns, and your gasp echoes off the alley wall into her ear.
She's studying your face with the same intensity she reserves for deadly missions– mouth slightly parted, pupils blown wide– and you realize with sudden clarity that this is the first time Revy's ever looked uncertain.
Even in that moment.
Her fingers still inside you, pressing against that sweet spot with shattering precision— her breath coming out unevenly against your collarbone.
The alley isn't the most romantic of places, but all you can process is the slick sound of her fingers moving in you.
It's obscene, how gentle she's being– like you're some fragile thing that might shatter if she fucks you the way she wants to.
The way she needs to...
Her breath ghosts across your collarbone, panting and hot.
She watches you through half-lidded eyes, her lower lip caught between her teeth in a way that makes her look... vulnerable, almost.
It's unsettling in a new way, seeing Revy that way.
Her fingers curl inside you with agonizing slowness, pressing against that spot that makes your vision blur, but each time she pulls back before you can chase the feeling.
A bead of sweat trickles down your temple, catching in the hollow of your throat.
Revy tracks its path with a focus that borders on obsessive, her nostrils flaring when you whimper– not for Balalaika, but for 'her'.
The realization flickers across her face like a faulty neon sign: she could ruin you right here, make you forget your own name with nothing but her fingers and that filthy mouth.
Her rhythm shifts imperceptibly at first– just a fraction more pressure, a slight tilt of her wrist– until suddenly you're arching off the wall with a choked gasp.
Her forearm pins your hips flush against the bricks as she fucks into you with her fingers.
Revy's breath comes in ragged bursts against your jaw, her teeth scraping skin as she murmurs, "That's it, fucking take it."
The words vibrate through your bones, rough with something that isn't anger– far from it.
Her fingers keep curling just so, dragging against that spot inside you. Agonizingly focused.
Her palm brushing your clit with each motion.
The friction is brutal, perfect, and you bite down on your lip to stifle a moan.
She watches the way your body trembles, the way your fingers grip onto the brick behind you.
Her free hand grabs your hip hard enough to bruise, pulling you down onto her fingers with deliberate roughness.
"C'mon..."
She growls, pressing closer until the fabric of her shorts digs into your thighs.
"Take what I give you."
Your thighs quiver around her wrist– not from fear, but the sheer effort of keeping upright as she works you deeply with that almost ruthless precision.
The sounds you make are ragged, desperate things, lost in the humid press of the alley air.
Revy's breath hitches when you clench around her, a sign she's working you closer.
Revy starts to use her hips to thrust her fingers with even deeper precision , forcing you to take more than you can handle– four fingers now, stretching you with your arousal.
The stretch burns, your thighs trembling violently as she moves into you with a rhythm that tells her focus.
"That's it—" she gasps against your throat, her voice ragged with something you've never heard before– not anger, not frustration, but a raw, desperate kind of possession.
"Take it all, take me, all of me."
Her forehead presses against yours, sweat-slick and feverish.
You can smell the gunpowder ingrained in her skin, taste the stale cigarette smoke on her lips– no finesse, no romance, just Revy in every ragged breath and rough movement.
Her fingers curl inside you with brutal precision, the heel of her palm grinding against your clit in time with the relentless thrusts.
It's too much, too rough, but you can't stop arching into it, your body betraying your feelings with every gasped plea.
The world narrows to the scrape of brick against your back, the feel of her pressing and against you and... the obscene wet sound of her fingers working you further.
Revy knows your orgasming— it feels like fire in her own veins.
You're unraveling at the seams, clinging to her shoulders like she's the only thing keeping you upright– and maybe she is...?
She exhales sharply through her nose when your nails dig into her shoulders hard enough to draw blood.
The pain registers in her pupils, flaring wide for a fraction of a second before she grins–
Pressing her wrist in a way that makes you see stars.
"That's right..."
Revy murmurs against your parted lips-
"Mark me too...?
Her tongue slides against yours with filthy precision– not the slick heat of Balalaika's vodka-laced kisses, but something darker, tasting of Marlboros and iron.
You swallow her groan when your hips jerk involuntarily, her fingers still buried knuckle-deep inside you.
The air between you crackles with something electric– not just lust, but the raw, unspoken terror of how badly she wants to keep you.
Revy's teeth catch your lower lip as you tremble through another wave, her thumb pressing cruel circles against your oversensitive clit.
The pain-pleasure blurs into something dizzying, and you gasp into her mouth– not Balalaika's name, no...
Just ragged syllables that might've been Revy's if they weren't torn apart by her relentless fingers.
She drinks the sound greedily, her free hand fisting in your hair to tilt your head back, exposing your throat...
Her lips move against your jaw– not the usual filthy promises or threats, but something softer, fractured.
"Love you, fuck, stay– "
The words dissolve into a bitten-off groan when you clench around her fingers, her hips stuttering forward like she's trying to imagine using something else.
She doesn't seem to realize she's speaking, doesn't seem to notice the way her voice cracks on the last syllable, so raw ...
The confession tastes like copper and nicotine, her tongue dragging slow over your pulse point like she's trying to memorize the flutter of it.
You arch into her, nails trailing down her spine– not to push her away, but because you need to feel the proof of her under your hands, the heat and sweat and living, breathing 'Revy' who you'd thought would rather eat a bullet than say this sober.
Her breath hitches when you whimper her name, her fingers rubbing deeper like she's trying to carve her initials into your depths.
She pulls back just enough to watch you closer– eyes dark , lips parted with ragged breaths.
There's something shattering in her expression, her fingers working you with all of her intentions.
You groan, leaning your heard forward— your teeth sinking into her shoulder to muffle the sob when she adds a fourth finger, stretching you impossibly wider.
The pain-pleasure blurs into white noise, your vision tunneling until all you see is the sweat-damp curve of her throat, the way her pulse jumps when you bite down harder.
Revy's fingers flex inside you– not retreating, but pressing deeper as if she could memorize the way your body yields.
Her free hand grabs your face--- lips crashing together.
The kiss tastes like desperation– her lips moving against yours without rhythm, her tongue dragging against yours in clumsy strokes– and you realize she's never kissed someone like this before.
Not the practiced seduction Balalaika would use, not the rough dominance Revy normally employs– just raw, unpracticed 'need'.
Her fingers still curl and rub against your walls, pressing and searching, while her thumb circles your clit with uneven pressure– like she's trying to map you through touch alone.
You reach for her– fingers skimming the sweat-damp skin of her thigh– but she startles.
Revy's fingers slowly slipping out of you only to grasp your hand.
"Don't-"
Revy growls, voice cracking.
Her forearm pins your wrists to the brick on either side, her grip trembling.
You can feel the rapid flutter of her pulse beneath your fingertips– wild, untamed– but she won't let you chase it further....
Not yet?
She won't let you 'see' her like this– not when she's unraveling faster than she can control, not when her breath hitches every time your nails dig into her shoulders.
"Revy I-"
She grips your wrist with bruising force, suddenly shoving your hand past the waistband of her shorts.
The damp heat against your fingers makes your breath hitch– she's already slick, already grinding against your palm with the same reckless abandon she brings to gunfights.
Her hips stutter when your fingers brush her clit before she brings your fingers inside herself.
The noise she makes isn't a moan– it's a fractured exhale, sharp and honest.
You can feel the way her walls flutter around your fingers, the way she tenses when you curl them just so.
Revy's never been touched like this– never let anyone close enough to map the hitch in her breath when you press deeper, to feel the way her thighs tremble when you add a second finger.
She takes when she needs, she doesn't give herself.
She fucks– this is more than that...
So why is it she wants to give her all to you?
Just as much as she wanted to take you–
Her hips jerk forward involuntarily when your fingers curl inside her, a ragged gasp escaping her lips before she can bite it back.
The sound is unfamiliar– not the sharp bark of laughter after a kill, not the growl of frustration when a job goes sideways– but something raw and unguarded that makes her flinch.
Her forehead drops against your shoulder, her breath hot against your skin as she tries to steady herself.
"Fuck-!"
Revy mutters, voice thick with emotion.
"Fuck, fuck–! "
Her thighs clamp around your wrist, trapping your fingers inside her as she grinds down with a desperation that borders on violence.
There's no rhythm to it, just the frantic press of her body chasing a feeling she doesn't know how to name.
When she finally lets you trying to move your own fingers inside her— Revy groans into your ear.
You can feel the moment she starts to unravel...
The way her muscles tense, the way her grip digs into your bicep hard enough to bruise– but she fights it, hungrily kissing your lips at her own pace.
The only thing Revy hates about that moment is how she's already cumming.
Her hips stutter against your hand, thighs clamping tight enough to cut off circulation as her orgasm rips through her with the violence of a how badly she needs you.
More than just in that moment.
She groans and moves to bite down on your shoulder beside the other marks.
You flinch a little...
It's almost hard enough to draw blood– not to muffle the sound, because she needs you to 'feel' it, needs you branded just as thoroughly as you had her heart without intention..
Her heart was already yerning for you, all this time.
It was... frustrating.
Her fingers dig into your forearm like she's trying to carve herself into your skin, her breath coming in ragged bursts against your collarbone.
When she finally stills, trembling against you as you still are against her, she doesn't pull away– just presses closer, her forehead resting against your own as y'all catch breath.
You slowly slip your fingers out, just holding her.
The silence between you is thick with something neither of you can name, broken only by the distant hum of the city and the slick sound of her thighs against yours.
Revy moves first– slowly, deliberately– tilting her head back just enough to meet your gaze.
Her pupils are blown wide, her lips parted slightly– but it's the raw vulnerability in her expression that catches you off guard.
Neither of you speak– the silence stretches between you, thick with the scent of sweat and sex and something else– something unspoken.
You swallow hard, fingers still slick with her release, your pulse hammering in your throat.
Her hand moves first– rough, calloused fingers tracing your cheekbone with a gentleness that makes your breath hitch.
She doesn't look away– doesn't blink– just holds your gaze with an intensity that borders on painful.
The neon glow from the street casts jagged shadows across her face, highlighting the faint tremor in her jaw.
You exhale– slow, deliberate– and watch the way her pupils dilate at the sound.
She's still silent, still studying you with that same razor-edged focus she reserves for disarming explosives.
There's something terrifyingly fragile in the way her thumb brushes your lower lip– like she's afraid you'll dissolve if she presses too hard.
"Please..."
Revy's voice shakes.
Not begging...
But, please what?
Stay?
Don't go?
Love me?
One heated moment doesn't entitle to more, yet the heart...
Looking into each other's eyes—...
You know.
You both do.
.....
