Blurred Lines
bsf!sevika x butch!reader
cw/tags : fluff, no smut but still mature, homoromantic friendship af, mention of prostitution, mention of sex, soft!sevika, ex-brothel!worker, sane age-gap (37/42), gender!neutral, no description of any body part, mention of throwing up, slight PTSD maybe?, mention of arson, canon universe, canon age, playful banter and caring sevika. 2,1k words.
notes : me when I'm trying to characterize my baby 🙏🏻 the reader is originally my oc, but as you can see, it's now suitable for everyone. and finally some Sevika x Butch reader for you my kings. I'm kinda seeing this as a prologue, yk? Maybe it'll stay like that, maybe I'll write more with this dynamic. Anyway, love you!
English is not my first language, be kind!
The landing was cold, and your lower back ached. With your jacket pulled tight against your chest, you briefly turned your head from side to side, trying to loosen up your neck before stepping into the bar. The day at work had been a bit… chaotic, and as you walked through the door of The Last Drop, the lively atmosphere and its familiarity soothed you slightly. You walked past the entrance.
You also walked past the counter without stopping, nodding to a few acquaintances as you passed, heading for the poker table in the back. You didn’t really have any money to spend. You weren’t there for the game. You were there for her.
Your—sort of—friend, Sevika, looked up, your silhouette appearing in her peripheral vision. You smiled at her as you took your last few steps, pulling up your work pants and taking off your jacket, Sevika watching your movements. You placed the jacket on the empty chair next to hers. The chair is always there. She knows you’ll join her sooner or later, as soon as your shift ends.
She laid her cards face down on the table, her mechanical arm pulling the chair toward her, bringing it—and you—closer. You settled in, letting out a small sigh of relief.
“Are you winning?” You ask, dusting off your pants.
“Is that really necessary to ask?” She flashed her smug signature smile. “This old man here doesn’t even know how to read his cards.” She chuckled, relighting the cigar by holding it between her lips before handing it to you. She lets her eyes lend on the cigar on your lips for a second, before looking up into yours, and rolling up her sleeves.
Her smile almost imperceptibly widened at the sight of your amused expression.
You mimicked her, leaning on the empty spot in front of you.
“You’re not exactly young yourself.”
She chuckled, raising an eyebrow, turning her head toward the game.
“Forty isn’t old,” Her voice came out neutral. You know her age has never been an issue. Aging also had its advantages. And you weren't really far behind.
“42.” You rectified.
She throw you a playful glare. “Want to play?”
“Depends, are you planning on losing?”
She chuckled again and looked up, staring at you briefly. Just long enough to let her gaze slide over your posture, then back up to your face, your features. Her expression softened slightly.
"Tired?"
You nodded.
She slid a glass toward you. You shook your head.
"Drink your glass, I’ll go get mine."
She pointed to another one to her right.
"I have mine."
You furrowed your brow.
"Then whose is this one?"
"Yours."
You smile softly, letting out a little sigh. She slides the glass closer, not really giving you a choice. You grab the glass, your hand brushing against hers. You take a sip.
Sevika was already back to her cards.
The relationship you share with Sevika had the merit of being close... In your own way.
You met her five years ago.
Five years is a short time. Five years is also a fucking eternity. Your five years at Babette’s hadn’t exactly flown by.
A little past your mid-twenties, the carpentry shop where you’d worked since you were 17 had burned down. Long story short: arson, and your boss, trapped inside, had burned to death.
Stories of embezzlement, problems with other factories in the area. Those same problems led to you being denied access to these other factories in the Lanes.
Handicrafts, experimentation and service were your field. That was what you were—very—good at. But what you wanted to do was no longer accessible quickly enough.
You needed a job, and fast.
So you ended up there.
And the job was only supposed to last a few months, but you stayed for several years. Some said you brought “some variety.” You weren’t exactly a typical fit. The women liked you—you did your job, and you did it well—and some men tried too—less appealing, but you really needed the money.
The brothel had taught you a lot, but the main shit you remember is that sex is everywhere, and this instinct is within everyone, every type of people you could meet. You’d also learned that no matter how hard they try to regulate the system, there’s no such thing as ethical prostitution. And there’s no prostitution without psychological consequences.
When Sevika pushed aside the beaded curtain in the middle of winter, her cape tucked under her arm, your eyes met.
It wasn’t the first time you’d seen her come by, but she was usually a woman of habit. She had one girl—Sarah—and only came in on the days she was working. Except that Sarah suddenly disappeared four years after you started working at Babette’s. You now remember how Sevika looked genuinely worried during those first few months. When she walked into the room, she seemed to take it in, before nodding in your direction, a rather explicit request in the gesture.
You were honestly surprised that she’d set her sights on you—as butch yourself, you could count the other butches you’d been approached by on one hand. But before you even realized it, you’d become the new habit.
It lasted a while. You quickly understood that she was here to clear her head. And you were pretty effective. She was booking you for an hour, you did your thing; sometimes, she liked to do hers. Always respectful, sometimes a little gruff. After a month, she’d slip in a few vague words about her day, you’d let her be, you’d listen. You ended up doing the same, and the conversations deepened.
Not really on her end, though. Sevika was a very secretive woman, but she was a great listener.
One day you arrived at The Last Drop on your day off, and just as you were about to join a pool game, a rather imposing figure stood before you, cue in hand—Sevika. You played together for a few hours and ended the night completely drunk—you were bursting with laughter at everything that came out of her mouth, and she had fun criticizing the men who had joined you at the table—and she staggered you back to your tiny apartment around 4 am. The next day’s shift had been honestly complicated. But this night definitely improved your complicity during sex... and the after.
So when you reached your limit a few weeks before quitting your job, you’re now grateful that it happened in her company. At the time, you’d been ashamed of it. You considered yourself to have acted immaturely at your age, and saw your breakdown as a failure. At the same time, you didn’t trust Sevika. It wasn’t against her, you didn’t necessarily trust anyone else either—trust wasn’t exactly a widespread virtue in Zaun. Even though Sevika seemed safe, you’d quickly learned as a kid growing in the undercity that didn’t mean she actually was.
She’d held your head over the toilet while you threw up your lunch, tears streaming down your face. She hadn’t dared touch your trembling body, you didn’t know if you wanted her to. You wanted to disappear, you’d have preferred to choke on your own than show yourself so vulnerable in front of anyone.
You’d gone too far. You’d never particularly liked the job, but you’d been feeling the strain for a few months now, and you’d kept pushing.
After that, she let you—asked you to—move in with her for a while, until you found a new job and a more suitable apartment. You’d had to give up your own—without an income, you couldn’t afford it anymore. Strangely, she was the one who had suggested it. She’d even let you have her bed, sleeping on the couch herself. After a week, you’d taken pity on her and her 6’3 frame curled up on the small living room sofa, and brought her back into the bed. You had sex together once, in her bedroom, during those several months of living together. It never happened again.
You never knew why. She never told you anything. She just stopped. And sometimes you missed it. But you think about the friendship you both have today and you genuinely don't see yourself ruining it for three orgasms.
You discovered quickly that you won't probably know much about her behavior in general. She doesn't explain what's happening in her head. There is no point in insisting, she will simply get pissed off. And once again, you don't see yourself ruining this friendship for two or three explanations.
“You’re thinking a lot,” she murmured, without looking at you. “Penny for your thoughts?”
You looked away from the wooden table.
“Work’s on my mind.”
She frowned, slid a card across the table, then refocused on you.
“Want to vent?”
“No. Not now. I’m fine, don’t worry.”
Her frown deepened, but she didn’t press the issue. She took a sip from her glass.
“Want me to walk you home?”
You’d found a small apartment near your new job—a new workshop where you work as a versatile mechanical technician—a few months later, now a little more than 3 years ago. You’d put off moving in. You’d been afraid it might mark an inevitable drifting apart between you, but that wasn’t the case. When Sevika ran away, she always came back. She didn’t run away often. She called it “taking a step back”. You hated that.
“I’ll be fine. I can stay a little longer.”
Your friend nodded.
Her fingers began to move. Her metallic hand reached toward yours on the table. She didn’t touch them.
“My back hurts a little, though.”
She raised an eyebrow.
Even today, you used to drop by her apartment for a meal or a drink, in addition to all your meetings at the bar. Most of the time, you’d end up playing darts, and when you’d had a few too many drinks, little holes would gradually start appearing in the drywall next to the dartboard.
You could talk for hours. Well, she could listen to you talk for hours. She’s still not the type to just blurt out her week on a whim.
At 37, it was rare to find friends, especially in Zaun. So having Sevika in this fuckass backwater was a gift you cherished every morning when you woke up. Yeah, just that.
You really liked Sevika.
“Who’s not so young anymore?” she snorted. And you didn’t know it, but she was hoping her tone would manage to hide her concern.
You chuckled, gently stretching your back, wincing at the slight twinge of pain.
Sevika hesitated, then focused her gaze on the game.
Her mind, however, was elsewhere.
“You know, I give good massages.”
“I know. But I don’t like being touched there.”
“Lower back?”
You nodded.
She set her cards down, pulling her hands back toward her, thinking. Still so damn impassive. You could only guess what she was thinking. Her flesh arm tensed subtly. Her lips moved.
“If you want to try again one of these days, the offer stands.”
You looked down at the table, thinking it over yourself. You didn’t necessarily want to “try again”—it took a lot of energy for results that were regularly disappointing. But at that exact moment, you might have liked to feel Sevika’s hands on your skin one more time.
You straightened in your chair, sweeping the thoughts away from your mind, resting your elbow against the backrest.
You flashed a smirk.
“You want to touch me so bad.”
She chuckled, leaning against the table.
“I mean, if I can help.”
“You already are.”
She stopped moving, straightening as well. You smiled at her. But she turned her head toward the other players, and the hint of vulnerability in her gaze vanished as quickly as it had appeared. You cherished those brief, accidental glances, too.
She took a puff of her cigar and resumed the game.
———
“I could have gone home myself.”
"And fall asleep on the way?"
You roll your eyes playfully.
The night is cool and your brain is pleasantly foggy from the alcohol as you walk through the door of the small building. You reach the stairs leading to the first floor, each step echoing in the stairwell, your hands patting your pockets to find your keys. You reach your landing and slip them into the lock, unlocking the door. The smell of your apartment reaches your nostrils, but Sevika’s scent comes immediately after as she approaches you. You look up.
"You... You want to come in?"
She hesitates for a few seconds. She knows she has nothing to fear. She also knows it wouldn’t be reasonable. Or maybe that’s just easier to think that way.
"I start early tomorrow morning. I have a lot to do."
You stared at her for a few moments.
“Thank you.”
And as she was going to leave, your words threw her off balance, her eyes widened imperceptibly. Then, her eyebrows furrowed.
“Why?” she asks, confused.
You thought for a moment and shrugged, stepping back slightly, crossing the threshold.
"Just, thank you, you know." You stopped at the edge of your door. Sevika stood motionless. The silence lasted a few seconds, she seemed to be weighing the pros and cons. Your tone did not imply that you were talking about the walk home.
"Good night," she almost whispered.
You smiled at her.
"Good night, Vika."
After a few seconds, she smiled back at you, revealing her little tooth gap.
Your smile widened.
She waited a few seconds before leaving and heading back down the stairs.
"Take care of your back, see you next Monday." she called out from the first step.
"Yes, ma’am," you called back.
What a fucking friendship.
Look at this beautiful friendship guys! Amazing!
I NEED feedback, I'm kinda stepping out of my comfort zone right now.