#like i keep thinking about it and its like. in this day and age in my specific circumstances

[cup1drul3z]

★ — Thats MY girl | CH 3

5ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ | ᴄᴇᴏ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

CW : Age gap if you squint, PLUS SIZED READER, power kink, cheating, modern au, new york, assistant reader, readers a little awkward but we love her anyway, sugar mommy, SMUT, fingering, cunninglings, strap, bondage, lingerie, angst

A/N : im watching twilight so its only a matter of time before i pick my vampire series back up guys

The ceiling is blank. Pale. A little cracked in the corner. You’ve counted the lines three times already. Maybe four.

The room is dark except for the faint orange glow from the streetlight outside the window, spilling across the sheets. It's warm. Too warm. You shift, careful not to wake him.

He’s breathing softly beside you. One arm tossed over your waist like it means something.

The sheets are pulled halfway up. Bare shoulders. Bare skin. You’re both naked beneath them, still tangled from something that should’ve made you feel better.

It didn’t.

You exhale through your nose, slow and quiet. You feel the ache in your hips, the soreness in your thighs, the damp still clinging faintly between them—and it should make you feel wanted. Claimed. Loved.

But all it makes you feel is hollow.

Your eyes trace the ceiling again.

You think of her.

Of Sevika.

The way she looked at you when she lit that cigarette. The way her voice dropped when she said your name. The way her mouth tasted like smoke and ruin and promises she wasn’t allowed to keep.

You remember her hands—strong, steady. Never unsure.

And then you think of Mel.

You think of the way Sevika walked back inside with someone who clearly knows her. Someone who gets to see the parts of her you don’t. Someone who doesn’t flinch, doesn’t walk away, doesn’t leave her standing alone on a balcony with nothing but a dying ember between her fingers.

You wonder if you were just something easy to reach for in the dark.

You blink at the ceiling again, and this time, your vision stings.

But you don’t cry.

You just lie there, still and silent, with a warm body curled beside you and the echo of someone else’s hands still burned into your skin.

The alarm never goes off.

You’re already awake.

You’d been staring at the shadows on the ceiling for an hour, maybe longer—watching them shift as the sun started to rise, turning everything soft and gray. There’s no real sound, just the occasional creak of the pipes, the muffled hum of early morning traffic outside your window.

He’s still asleep.

Curled into the sheets, one hand resting on the empty space you just left. His chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm, the same rhythm you’ve listened to for months. Safe. Familiar. Easy.

And somehow, it feels heavier than ever.

You move around the room quietly, slipping into your new mid lengthed plaid bodycon skirt and black blouse Caitlyn picked out. The fabric is soft. It fits right. You don’t have to tug or adjust or suck anything in. For once, it feels like it was made for you.

You clip your hair up, swipe on a little mascara.

Just enough to look awake.

Not enough to look like you’re trying too hard.

You pause at the edge of the bed, looking down at him.

His brow is slightly furrowed, even in sleep. His lips twitch like he’s mid-dream. Maybe about video games. Maybe about something else. You’ll never know.

He stirs when you grab your bag. “Mm—what time is it?”

“Early,” you whisper, pulling on your shoes by the door. “I’ve got a long day.”

He grunts in response, already sinking back into the mattress. No kiss goodbye. No real goodbye at all.

You shut the door behind you.

It clicks gently. Clean. Final.

The hallway outside smells like someone else’s toast. The light is brighter out here. You take a breath.

And you leave.

Because right now, the only thing worse than being around him—

—is staying.

The office hums with its usual morning rhythm—phones ringing, keys clacking, someone complaining about the coffee. But everything feels a little… dull. Like the world’s moving just half a second slower than usual.

You walk in quietly, head slightly lowered, adjusting the strap of your bag as you pass your desk. You catch a few glances—some subtle, some not. Whispers behind coffee cups. You don’t know if they’re about last night… or if you’re just paranoid enough to assume they are.

You sit down, open your email, try to look busy.

Then the message pings.

"My office. Now."

No name. No frills.

Just Sevika.

Your stomach flips.

You smooth the fabric of your plaid skirt, run your hands down your black blouse, and stand. The short sleeves feel suddenly too short. The buttons too tight. The hallway feels longer than it is.

You knock once on her office door.

“Come in.”

Her voice is calm. Controlled. Of course it is.

You open the door and step inside, closing it behind you.

Sevika’s at her desk, suit jacket draped over the back of her chair. Her black dress shirt is rolled at the sleeves again, exposing the ink on her forearms. She looks up at you with unreadable eyes.

“You left early last night,” she says, leaning back in her chair.

You nod once. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, like she knows that’s not the whole story—but she doesn’t push. Not yet.

“You look nice,” she adds after a beat, voice lower now. “New outfit?”

You nod again. “Thanks.”

The silence stretches. Too long.

And then she asks—soft, almost careful:

“Why’d you leave?”

You don’t sit.

You stay just inside the door, hands clasped in front of you like they might keep you steady. The weight in your chest has been there since last night, and now it’s pressing harder, heavier, louder.

“I saw you,” you say finally. “With Mel. On the balcony.”

Sevika raises a brow.

You swallow. “You came in together. You were close. And I just—”

You pause. It sounds stupid when you say it out loud. You feel stupid. But the words are already hanging there, between the two of you like smoke.

Her lips twitch.

And then she laughs.

It’s low and sharp and not entirely cruel—but close.

“Seriously?” she says, folding her arms across her chest. “Aren’t you the one cheating on your boyfriend?”

Your face burns. “That’s—That’s not the point.”

“No?” she tilts her head, still smirking. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re the one sneaking out of someone else’s bed to crawl into mine.”

You flinch.

“I asked you a question,” you say, voice smaller now, tighter. “Answer it.”

The smirk fades, just a little.

Sevika leans forward, resting her elbows on the desk, eyes steady on yours. “Yeah,” she says. “Mel and I slept together. A few times. It was a long time ago.”

You blink.

“She’s not into complications,” Sevika adds. “And I’m not into pretending.”

You nod slowly, unsure what you expected.

But then her gaze sharpens again, voice cool and matter-of-fact:

“And nothing would ever happen between us again—not with you around.”

That lands differently.

You feel it in your gut.

Because it’s not a compliment. Not really. It’s a fact. A statement. You’ve changed something. Shifted a dynamic that used to be casual, clean.

Now it’s messy.

Now it’s you.

You’re not sure whether to feel wanted or warned.

Sevika sits back, waiting—watching you unravel without ever touching you.

And you suddenly don’t know where to go next.

You’re still standing there, blinking, your heart thudding so loud it drowns out the hum of the air conditioning. Sevika hasn’t looked away—not once—and it’s unbearable. Not because she’s mocking you anymore, but because she isn’t.

She’s watching you like she’s waiting for your next move.

And then—

The office door slams open.

“Sevika—!”

A man in a rumpled suit storms in, breathless and wild-eyed. His tie is crooked, his tablet clutched tight in one hand. You recognize him vaguely—Ronan, one of the higher-up corporate advisors. Usually polished, always annoyingly self-important. Right now? Disheveled. Panicked.

Sevika doesn’t flinch. Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t take her eyes off you for another two seconds before turning her full attention on him.

“This better be good,” she says, already shifting into a different version of herself—cool, sharp, efficient.

“It’s the international account,” Ronan blurts. “Someone from the Singapore division leaked the quarterly numbers. Press has it. Analysts are already speculating a crash. We need you upstairs—now.”

You blink.

“Fuck,” Sevika mutters, standing abruptly and grabbing her blazer off the back of the chair.

Ronan looks at you like he just realized you exist. Then quickly pretends he didn’t.

“You—wait outside,” Sevika tells you as she shrugs on the blazer. “We’re not done.”

But she doesn’t say it like a threat this time.

She says it like a promise.

Then she’s out the door, Ronan scrambling to keep up with her, shouting something about press embargoes and legal teams.

You’re left alone in the office, her chair still warm, the tension still clinging to the air like static.

And suddenly, you’re not sure what she meant by we’re not done.

You’re not sure if it’s about the job.

Or about you.

You’ve been staring at the same half-written sentence for an hour.

I think we’ve been growing apart.

You delete it. Rewrite it.

You didn’t do anything wrong, I just—

Delete.

It’s not you, it’s—

You actually gag.

Your cursor blinks on the blank page, cruel and steady. Your hand tightens around the pen. There’s a second version scrawled in your notebook, then crossed out. Another started on your phone. And still—nothing feels right.

He didn’t hit you. He didn’t scream. He didn’t cheat.

But he also didn’t see you. Not the real you. Not the one who’s been unraveling piece by piece every time Sevika looks at you like she knows you better than anyone else ever has.

You close your eyes and lean back in your chair, the ache in your chest louder than the clack of keyboards around the floor. You fold the paper in half, then in half again. Then unfold it. Stare at it. Fold it again.

You don’t notice the footsteps until a voice cuts through your thoughts:

“Damn. You look like you were hit by a train”

You jolt, eyes snapping up.

Jinx leans on your desk, two lollipops sticking out of her mouth like fangs, one eyebrow cocked. Mel stands beside her, arms crossed, looking slightly more composed—but her expression softens when she sees your face.

“Everything okay?” she asks gently.

You nod too quickly. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just… working.”

Jinx leans in, stealing a glance at the crumpled letter before you can shove it away. “Oooooh, is that a break-up letter?”

You flush. “It’s nothing.”

“Dramatic nothing,” she grins. “Ten bucks says you’re dumping that Game Boy boyfriend of yours.”

“Jinx,” Mel warns, but she’s already circling behind your desk.

“We came to give you an update,” Mel says, redirecting. “Sevika’s still upstairs with the legal team. Press is calling it a ‘leak,’ but it looks like it was internal sabotage.”

Your stomach twists.

“She okay?”

Mel tilts her head. “Define ‘okay.’ She hasn’t killed anyone. Yet. But she’s in full damage-control mode. Probably won’t be back down until after lunch.”

“She asked about you, though,” Jinx pipes in, wiggling her brows. “Not in a weird way—okay maybe a little—but still.”

You look away, lips pressing together.

Mel eyes the paper again, then you.

“You don’t have to rush into anything,” she says softly. “But if you’re already writing letters…”

She lets the sentence hang.

Unspoken, but heavy.

The office is dark when you wake.

Not pitch black—but that soft, eerie kind of dark where everything looks dipped in deep blue, shadows long and slow-moving. For a moment, you don’t even remember falling asleep. Your neck aches. Your blouse is rumpled. The faint smell of leather and cologne clings to the air.

You shift and realize you’re on a couch.

Not yours.

This one is firmer, smoother, expensive.

Your fingers twitch against the material, and that’s when it hits you—

Sevika’s couch.

You sit up slowly, blinking the sleep from your eyes. The light from the city filters in through the wide windows behind the desk. Her desk. You glance around, disoriented.

You’re in her office.

But she’s not here.

Her chair is empty.

The room is still, too still. The digital clock on the wall blinks 2:17 a.m. The hum of the building has dropped to that late-night hush where the AC cycles feel like thunder and every tiny creak makes your heart skip.

You rub your eyes, trying to remember.

The last thing you recall was staring at your half-written break-up letter… then Jinx, then Mel… and then—

Nothing.

You must’ve passed out.

But Sevika must have—

She moved you. Carried you? Laid you here?

You blink at the thought.

The throw blanket draped over your legs is the same dark gray one she sometimes tosses across her lap during long calls. It smells like her.

You sit there for a moment, eyes scanning the room. Her jacket is gone. So is her phone. But her ashtray’s still on the desk—fresh, a cigarette half-burned and smoldered out on the edge.

She was here.

You exhale slowly.

And you wonder why it feels lonelier now than it did before you fell asleep.

You step out of Sevika’s office, the hallway dim and empty, the air cold in a way that makes you hug the throw blanket tighter around your shoulders. The building is silent. No hum of conversation. No tapping keyboards. Just the occasional creak of old infrastructure and the glow of emergency lights lining the floor.

Your desk is still there, frozen in time.

The half-folded break-up letter.

Your cold coffee cup.

And your phone—right where you left it, screen dark.

You pick it up.

No missed calls.

No texts.

Not even a where are you?

Your stomach turns.

You scroll to his contact. Your thumb hovers for a moment.

Then you call.

It rings. Once. Twice. Four times. Straight to voicemail.

You stare at the screen, then lift the phone to your ear as the beep sounds.

Your voice comes out quieter than you expect.

“Hey. I’m okay.”

You pause.

“I crashed at the office. Long day. You didn’t… check in. But I guess you figured I’d be fine.”

Your throat tightens, and you clear it quietly.

“I’ll be home in the morning. Just—don’t wait up.”

You end the call before your voice can crack.

The phone screen goes black again.

And the silence presses back in.

You sit at your desk for a while, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders like armor, phone resting cold in your hand.

You check the time again. 2:39 a.m.

You could go home—but it doesn’t feel like home.

Not tonight.

The idea of slipping into bed next to him, pretending things are fine… it makes your skin itch.

You open your phone, thumb hovering over a browser tab.

Cheap motels near me.

The results pop up: sterile lobbies, coin-operated vending machines, scratchy lighting that never quite goes out.

You rub your face with both hands.

You could just stay here. No one would know. You could curl back up on that couch and let yourself disappear for a little longer. No pretending. No lying. Just silence.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the soft ding of the elevator.

You don’t move.

You just listen as the footsteps approach—slow, heavy, tired.

And then she appears.

Sevika steps into the hallway, blazer draped over one shoulder, sleeves rolled halfway up her forearms, shirt half-untucked. Her hair is messy—hands-through-it-too-many-times messy. She looks like she hasn’t sat down in hours.

She stops the second she sees you.

Dead in her tracks.

You stare at each other under the hum of the emergency lights, two worn-out souls caught in the wreckage of a long day.

“…You’re still here,” she says, voice lower than usual. Rough around the edges.

You nod slowly.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

Sevika blinks, like that answer hits somewhere deeper than she expected.

She shifts the blazer on her shoulder, jaw tense.

Neither of you speak for a moment. The weight of her exhaustion—and yours—hangs thick in the air.

“You could’ve called,” she says quietly, stepping forward. “I would’ve answered.”

You believe her.

And somehow, that hurts even more than if you didn’t.

You watch Sevika approach slowly, the heels of her boots barely making a sound against the polished floor. She stops in front of your desk, eyes sweeping over you—still wrapped in her throw blanket, hair mussed from sleep, makeup smudged beneath tired eyes.

She doesn’t comment on any of it.

Just rests a hand on the edge of your desk, her posture relaxed but heavy with exhaustion.

“You didn’t even go home,” she says softly.

You shake your head. “Didn’t feel like it.”

Sevika breathes out through her nose, like she understands too well.

“Press is gonna have a field day tomorrow,” she mutters, more to herself than to you. “But I needed to get out of there. Too many suits. Not enough oxygen.”

You manage the smallest smile. “And yet, here you are. Back at the office.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, dragging a hand down her face. “I left my keys. But I was on my way to that twenty-four-hour ramen place by the bridge.”

Your brows lift. “At this hour?”

She shrugs. “Best time to go. No line, no tourists, just you and your bowl.”

You look at her, half-curious. “You eat ramen when you’re stressed?”

“I eat ramen when I’m alive.”

You huff a tired laugh.

Then, after a pause, her eyes soften just a touch.

“Come with me.”

Your heart skips.

“What?”

“Ramen,” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You look like you need hot broth and no questions.”

You blink at her, still bundled in a blanket and emotional whiplash, but something about the offer—the simplicity of it, the warmth under the words—hits deep.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Yeah. Okay.”

She nods once, then jerks her chin toward her office.

“Get your stuff. I’ll drive.”

And just like that, for the first time in what feels like days, you feel the tightness in your chest ease—just a little.

 The ramen shop is tucked between a shuttered nail salon and a 24-hour laundromat, its red paper lanterns swaying lazily in the night breeze.

Inside, it’s warm. Quiet. The kind of place where the radio plays lo-fi jazz and no one talks louder than necessary. A man in the corner is asleep against his bowl. The chef doesn’t even blink when Sevika walks in with you trailing behind.

You both slide into a booth by the window.

Neither of you speak for a moment.

She pulls off her blazer and tosses it beside her, rolling her sleeves higher as she leans forward and flips open the menu. You don’t bother. You just order what she does when the chef looks over.

“You’ve really done this before,” you murmur, watching her tear open a napkin.

Sevika smirks faintly. “This place has saved my ass more times than I can count.”

Your hands are wrapped around your glass of water, fingers cold, eyes still heavy with sleep you didn’t get enough of.

She notices.

“You didn’t have to come with me,” she says after a moment.

You shrug. “I didn’t want to go home.”

A silence falls between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It just is.

Steam starts to rise from the open kitchen. You can smell the broth before you see it.

“So,” Sevika says, eyes fixed on her water, “what were you writing earlier?”

You hesitate. “A letter.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“A break-up letter,” you clarify. “For my boyfriend.”

Sevika leans back slightly, lips parting like she might say something cocky—but nothing comes.

Instead, she just says, “Did you finish it?”

You shake your head. “I fell asleep.”

She nods slowly, then looks away.

Your food arrives, placed in front of you with the quiet respect of a late-night chef who’s seen too much and asks too little.

You both start to eat.

The broth is hot and rich. The noodles perfect.

You let it soothe the ache in your chest.

After a few minutes, she speaks again—quietly.

“I’ve had people I didn’t know how to leave, too.”

You look up.

She’s not looking at you, just stirring her noodles, jaw tight.

“Even when I knew I wasn’t happy. Even when I knew they weren’t what I needed.”

Her voice is calm, but there’s something raw underneath it.

“You stay,” she adds, “because it’s easier than starting over. Until it isn’t.”

You don’t say anything.

You just stare at her, bowl half-full, something loosening in your chest.

And for the first time in days, you feel like someone sees you.

You don’t even realize how long you’ve been sitting in Sevika’s car until the sun starts to rise—soft and pink on the horizon, the kind of light that makes the world feel like it’s been forgiven for something.

Sevika parks in front of your building and puts the car in park, engine still rumbling beneath your feet. Neither of you speak for a moment. You just sit there, half-drained, half-overstimulated, the smell of broth still clinging to your clothes and the weight of unsaid things heavier than the bag in your lap.

“I’ll let HR know,” she says, her voice a little rough from exhaustion. “You’ve got the day off.”

You turn to her. “Sevika, I can—”

She cuts you off with a look. Not stern. Not cold. Just final.

“Go rest,” she murmurs. “You look like you haven’t in a while.”

You nod. Quiet. Small.

And for once, you don’t argue.

Your bed feels strange when you crawl into it—too soft, too empty, too yours in a way that doesn’t feel right anymore.

You leave the curtains open.

Let the morning light spill across the blankets.

You’re still wearing the same blouse from yesterday. You don’t care.

You fall asleep within minutes.

And that’s when the dreams start.

They’re not nightmares.

They’re not even memories.

They’re moments.

Flashes.

Sevika’s hand brushing the back of your neck.

The smell of her cologne lingering on your pillow.

The sound of her voice—low, gravelly, almost tender—murmuring something you can’t quite make out.

You dream of sitting beside her in her office, your knees just barely touching, her fingers curled around a mug while she watches you like you’re a puzzle she wants to figure out.

You wake up.

Then fall asleep again.

And this time, she’s behind you, her hand resting on your waist in bed. No words. Just warmth.

It doesn’t feel like lust.

It feels like comfort. Like danger dressed in safety. Like someone who could ruin you and still have the decency to carry you home.

You wake again.

Then sleep.

Again.

And again.

And every time?

She’s there.

You wake with your throat raw and your body aching all over.

At first, you think it’s the dreams again—that floaty, heavy-headed feeling that’s clung to you all morning. But then the wave of heat crashes over your back, followed by a bone-deep chill that makes you curl further into the blankets.

Your skin’s clammy.

Your head pounds.

And your nose is so stuffed you can barely breathe.

You groan, eyes blinking open slowly. The soft light from the window spills across your bed, warm and quiet—and the space beside you is cold. Empty.

You reach for your phone, but your hand brushes something else instead.

A note.

It’s scribbled on a folded napkin, His handwriting is rushed.

“Gone to hang with Miles. Be back later. If you need anything, just order food or whatever. <3”

You stare at the note for a long second, then let it drop to the floor beside the bed.

Your head lolls back against the pillow.

Of course he left.

Of course he didn’t notice the sweat soaking your shirt or the flush across your cheeks or the fact that you were tossing and turning all night with a fever that left your mouth dry and your joints aching.

You try to sit up and instantly regret it.

The room spins slightly. Your sinuses throb. Your stomach turns.

You cough once, sharp and painful, and it leaves your chest tight like your lungs aren’t working quite right.

You manage to shuffle to the bathroom, running the cold water, splashing it on your face. The girl in the mirror looks pale. Tired. Worn down.

You reach for your toothbrush and gag on the effort.

You lean over the sink, forehead pressed to your forearm, breathing shallow.

Something’s wrong.

This isn’t just a little cold.

And you’re alone.

Again.

You’re curled up on the bathroom floor now, your cheek pressed against the cold tile. The fever’s making your skin feel like it’s on fire, but your hands are ice. Every breath comes shallow and slow, like your lungs are full of sand.

You reach for your phone again with trembling fingers.

You dial him.

It rings.

And rings.

Then his voicemail picks up.

You don’t bother leaving a message.

You try again.

Voicemail.

Again.

Nothing.

Your chest tightens—not just from the congestion, but from something deeper. Something bitter. You’re sick. You’re scared. You asked for one thing.

You blink back tears and scroll to the next name.

Caitlyn.

She picks up on the third ring.

“Hey! I was just about to text you—wait, are you okay? You sound—”

“I think I need to go to the hospital,” you croak out, voice barely above a whisper. “I—I feel really dizzy, and my chest hurts when I breathe.”

There’s a pause. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“Not answering,” you mumble, eyes squeezed shut.

She curses under her breath. “Shit, I’m like two hours out, I’m visiting my aunt—but I can try to call—”

You don’t say anything.

You don’t have to.

Caitlyn sighs gently, and you can hear her shifting on the other end, voice softening.

“I know you don’t want to. But you need help now. Call her.”

You’re quiet for a beat. Then another.

“Y/N,” she says firmly. “Call Sevika.”

You hang up without arguing.

Your fingers hover over her name in your contacts.

Your heart pounds in your ears.

Then you tap it.

The line rings.

Once.

Twice.

“Yeah?”

Her voice is groggy—like she just woke up. Low. Rough. But clear.

You close your eyes, trying to summon whatever pride you have left.

“Hi,” you whisper. “I… I’m really sorry to bother you, but… I think I need to go to the ER.”

A pause.

Her tone changes instantly.

“Where are you?”

You sniffle. “At home. I tried calling my boyfriend, but—he didn’t answer.”

Another pause.

“Okay,” she says, already moving, you can hear it in the rustle of clothes, the slam of a drawer. “I’m coming. Stay on the phone with me, yeah?”

You nod, even though she can’t see it.

“Yeah.”

And for the first time in hours, something in you exhales.

Because someone’s actually coming.

Sevika pounds on the door harder this time. “Open up.”

Nothing.

Her jaw tightens.

She tries the knob—it’s unlocked.

She steps inside.

It’s too quiet.

The air is heavy, like it hasn’t moved in hours. The curtains are drawn, and the only light comes from the flicker of the TV left on, playing some low-volume show neither of them had been watching.

“Y/N?”

No answer.

The apartment isn’t trashed, but it’s off. There’s a used tissue on the couch, a water bottle untouched on the coffee table, a hoodie draped over the back of a chair like someone stripped it off in a rush.

And then she sees the bathroom light.

Her boots hit the tile fast.

“Y/N—”

She freezes in the doorway.

You’re on the floor, barely conscious—half-curled, skin flushed with fever, lips parted as if even breathing is something your body has to remember to do.

Sevika drops to her knees beside you, hands already reaching to check your forehead, your pulse. You’re burning up. Clammy. Dehydrated.

Her chest tightens.

She presses her palm to your cheek, firm but gentle. “Hey. Hey. You with me?”

You murmur something unintelligible—half her name, maybe. Then your head lolls.

Her jaw clenches.

She stands quickly, scooping you into her arms like you weigh nothing. You’re limp against her chest, burning like a match in her hands.

She doesn’t waste time with blankets or apologies. She moves.

As she carries you out, her eyes catch the napkin note on the nightstand.

Her eyes narrow.

Gone to hang with Miles.

That’s all it says.

She breathes out through her nose, long and slow, trying to stop the red crawling up the back of her neck.

He knew you were sick.

He had to.

You weren’t well last night. Anyone who gave a shit would’ve seen that.

And he still left.

No calls.

No check-ins.

Just some half-assed scribble and a warm body-shaped hole next to yours in bed.

Sevika looks down at you, head tucked under her chin, your breath shallow against her collarbone.

Her stomach turns.

This is too familiar. Carrying someone out of their own apartment, feeling the fire of fever through thin clothes, holding back everything she wants to say because the other person can’t hear it.

But this time?

This time she’s not going to be quiet.

Not if he shows up.

Not if he tries to explain it away.

Not when you could’ve died choking on your own fever, alone on a bathroom floor, waiting for someone who didn’t even think to call.

She adjusts her grip on you, tighter, more protective.

“You’re okay,” she mutters, voice rough. “I’ve got you now.”

And she means it.

More than she probably should.

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[rosenclaws]

How does he handle (you're totally oblivious and innocent when this other man comes on to you, Logan's your one and only) other men flirting with you and his jealousy?

Hehe more jealousy stuff I love it

Origins Logan -

He hates ittt. He’s already this close to punching one of the assholes he works with because they keep making comments about you when you drop him off from work. In fact thats where i see this happening. Logan forgets his lunch and being the sweet partner u are u come and bring it to him. He’s out when you show up and some dick head new hire doesn't know that you're Logan's so he tries to flirt with you and you're completely oblivious and just think he's being nice. Oh man when Logan comes back he is pissed off. He literally grabs this boy by the back of his shirt and yanks him away from you and taking his place. He doesn't care if the other guy falls or what because you're here and he was talking to you. You scold him a little bit but he just smiles and wraps his arm around you, taking you back to the truck so you can eat lunch together. You tell him all about your day and he just listens. Next time you come around, Logan has made sure that every man knows not to even look at you unless they wanna go through him first.

Trilogy Logan -

Oh he is such a jerk and not to you but to whoever tried to flirt with you. It's a little embarrassing but it's also kinda cute seeing him get all protective. He stands a little taller and makes snippy comments and jokes towards them. Okay so like. There's a new mutant and he's around your age and much too flirty for Logan's liking. Logan def stands really close to you at all times and really likes it when you got his scent on you from sleeping in his bed or using his shampoo. But this asshole isn't taking the hint and keeps trying to flirt with you. I could imagine Logan testing him a little harder in the danger room and when you scold him about it he denies all accusations. He's not trying to get him hurt he's trying to see how he would handle dangerous situations. Doesn't matter that Logan turned the intensity up a few notches and it was only that guy in the room. Logan even offers to spar with him but he declines. After that Logan notices that he's left you alone and he's more smug than usual.

DOFP Logan -

Okay this one I think is the funniest of them all. So there's this new student teacher and he's been assigned to your class and Logan hates it because this little prick is taking up all your time. He brings you coffee in the mornings when Logan should be doing that. He doesn't even make it right but you're too nice to correct him. Look Logan doesn't blame the guy for being attracted to you because you're the hottest person in this mansion but you're his and no one else. I think he gets all grumpy about it. He's meaner in class and harsher when he grades and all his students know he's jealous but he refuses to admit it. So they come to you and beg for your help because you're the only one he listens to. You tease him a lot for being jealous because its so cute seeing him pretend not to be annoyed at your new coworker. Of course you reassure him that he's the only one you love and maybe spend a very long night showing him just that oop. The next morning when that other guy tries to bring you coffee Logan is already sitting on your desk sipping his own while you're drinking the one he made for you. A smirk on his face as he sees that boy clock the hickeys on your neck that you tried to cover up.

Old Man Logan -

He's the most sulky out of all of them tbh. He knows he's old and mean and way past his prime so when he sees someone flirting with you as you serve them coffee he just kinda gets all sad. Like he's weighing you down and you could be doing so much more with you life than be with him. He doesn't get upset he just gets jealous and already convinces himself that its better if you go off with this other guy. Of course you have to slap some damn sense into him and how he's being ridiculous. He's got a lot of demons inside of him and it's not easy for you to chase them away but you try your best and all you ask of him is to not give up on you and your relationship so easily.

Worst Logan -

He's like. Half sulking and half raging jealous. He's insecure about his past and how you view him as a person so when he sees someone making you laugh and being flirty at one of Wade's parties it can be a blow to his self esteem. He doesn't want it to affect him as much as it does so he tries to pretend it doesn't bother him but it does and you know it. I think he'd be standing across the room giving this guy a death stare when Wade comes up and makes a couple jokes just to rile him up a little. His poking works because Logan def comes over and steals you away just because he can't take watching you laugh at a joke that isn't his. You find it adorable and tease him about it but also tell him that no one else has your heart but him.

[swimmingcirclesstuff]

You got a death wish kid? (daryl dixon x reader)

summary- You get stuck on a run with your enemy daryl dixon. but what happens when you suddenly connect?

warnings- smut, pet names, enemies to WHATEVER THEY ARE IDEK, possible age gap (most definitely honestly), kinda angtsy?? idrk, talks of death, I THINK THATS ALL???

word count- 2k

….

For backstory, as long as I could remember, me and daryl dixion have despised one another. Dirty looks from across the room, constant bickering and name calling you know the works.

“y/n please go for me. glenn wants me to stay and take care of him.” maggie pleads, chasing me around the kitchen like we were playing tag. I sigh and throw my bag onto the counter in defeat. Obviously I cant ever say no to Maggie but why not tease her a bit before she gets her way?.

“I feel like if Glenn can survive months on the road without you, then he can survive in a comfortable bed with his DEATHLY cold while you go on your run..” I say dramatically putting my hand on my head while watching maggie stare daggers into my soul. “What do I have to do for you to say yes?” “Wash my clothes for the rest of the month. “Deal.”

So that's how I ended up sitting in the back seat with rosita while abraham and you guessed it daryl dixion sat up front looking for the best place to stop. Funny how maggie forgot to mention the biggest prick still alive would be joining me.

She's gonna be washing my clothes for the rest of her life

After what feels like a lifetime of abrahams horrendous driving, we miraculously arrive. Immediately, I grab my gun and my bag and get out of the car trying to walk towards the warehouse when someone grabs my arm. my head flips around to see none other than dixon holding me back. He had some nerve. “Get your hand off me before i shoot it off.” I say shooting him with an innocent smile. “Easy kid, we aint even gotta plan yet. Tryna get’yr ass bit?” he says just as calmly as i did almost trying to mock me and releases his grip.

”Its a fucking OFFICE warehouse what could we possibly need a plan for.” i say dramatically throwing my arms in the air and groaning.

“Alright we need to take this place in duos so we all get to go home.” abraham says holding his gun like its his first born fucking baby. “1 man 1 woman for each so you girls have some armour with you.”

of fucking course.

“You say this like a woman can't defend herself.” rosita says raising her brows. God i love her. “Take it or leave it sweetheart, wanna stand her all day with our dicks in our hands be my fucking guest.” he says begining to walk away. Rosita rolls her eyes and ends up following right behind him

Daryl has that stupid smirk on his face “looks like its jus me and you princess.” he says, staring me down. All I can do is tut and start walking away from the archer.

God I hate him and god I hate that maggie had me stuck with him. She would hear about this till the day she fucking died.

“Not T’smart to go on your lonesome doll.” daryl states striding infront of me faster than light. “Id say its smart if im stuck with you.” I say pushing past him and opening the door to reveal a huge abandoned office warehouse. i groan like a bratty child at the sight.

“What the fuck do we even need in an office warehouse” I groan. All daryl does is grumble. Is that his only talent?

“Lets split up to get it done quicker.” I suggest. Not only would it get done quicker but I can get away from dixon.

Win win.

“If its whatchu want darlin’.” he says pushing past me to go search

God I forgot how much I hated him and his stupid nicknames he called me which he only did because he knew how much I hated it. Its like her lives to annoy me.

I keep trying to tell myself to search faster so i can go yell at Maggie quicker. this makes me completely zone in on the search and im honestly certain this lame ass office warehouse wont have any danger.

“Jesus christ” I breathe out completely winded from the 15 heavy old paperwork stuffed boxes.

Why are we even raiding out an office warehouse? How will papers and pens help us survive? Nonetheless, I have to keep searching.

After what feels like hours I basically collapse and lean into the table behind me for a moment. Its oddly quiet. The air suddenly feels thicker. I think nothing of it till im turned around only to be face to face with a walker.

Holy shi-” the vicious growls wont allow me to even finish my thought. “Where the fuck is my gun!” i cry out. God why did i abandon it. Damn me for being so cocky.

At this point all i can think to do is run because how else do i take this fucker down. “Fuck!” of course i trip now out of all times to be in a serious situation i must trip now. Looking down, my ankles absolutely fucked. No way could I even try to get up and run now.

For once, i feel small and hopeless.

Is this really how I die? At times like these, I wish Daryl was searching with me.

All i can try to do is pushas far back as I possibly can till my back hits the wall. All i can do now is be silent with the hopes of a desperate miracle

Suddenly, all I hear is an arrow fired and the growling suddenly seizes. I open my shaky eyes to see daryl looking insanely aggravated with me.

You got a death wish kid?” he grumbles to me, yanking the arrow from the walker's cold bloody head.

Coulda got yr’self killed!” he yells extending his arm to try and help me up. “i know you love being a knight in shining armour but i cant get up myself.” now i remember why he sucks.

I begin getting up but through all the commotion I completely forget my hurt foot and cry out in pain when I try to get up. Daryl looks me up and down and eyes my foot understanding the problem. “Shh i know baby i know lemme help you.” he says completely changing his angry tone and scoping me up bridal style and carrying me to an office room. hes suddenly not completely unbearable?

If i wasnt hurt trust me id be yelling and screaming for help from your greasy ass” i grumble out in anger.He places me gently down on the floor and goes to grab old bandages he had placed on the table while scavenging.

. “Shits gon hurt baby jus hold on” you close you eyes and prepare for him to take your foot and doctor it. “And how is it you ended up actually finding something?” i say trying to ignore the pain coming for me. “Luck i guess” he mumbles.

As the bandage slowly tightens i cry out. Could he not have found a whole first aid kit instead? “I know kid i know be brave.” he whispers to me moving the hair out of my face with his free hand. Damn i wish i could say some cocky shit right now.

He continues doctoring me up to the best of his abilities without the proper supplies but it ends up being a pretty okay bandage job for a rugged asshole like dixon.

“Should be a’good till we get back.” he says staring me down. I hate to say it but Something about him is drawing me in.

I mean obviously i know daryl dixon wasnt a bad looking guy but i never realized he wasnt a complete asshole.

“Could have left me for dead” i say jokingly, smirking at him.

“T’pretty to leave baby”

I look up at his jaw agape like a drooling dog. Did daryl fucking dixon think i was pretty.

My brain goes numb. I cant even tell you why I ever hated this man. Subconsciously, I pull his face closer to my own. Inches apart, all I feel his warm breath on my chapped lips.

“Dont start somethin’ you cant finish darlin’” he says looking into your eyes like hes dissecting everything they have ever seen. “Ill be able to finish this” I say smirking he immediately smashes his lips into yours.

I immediately part my lips to allow entrance for his tongue. All i can taste on him is cigarettes.

And god did it taste wrong.

Daryl picks me up bridal style and gently places me on the table and goes in to attack my neck. ‘Lemme make you feel g’baby” he says in between gentle kisses on your neck.

“Daryl not here-” i say trying to hold in my moans. “Its okay baby im right here ill protect you yeah?”

he starts working his way down to my exposed stomach from my cropped shirt and licks a stripe up my abdomen.

I cant muffle my light grunts any longer and let one slip.

“Daryl i need.” i say breathless. “Tell me what you need baby.” “you- please.”

Immediately he pulls of my shorts and pulls my panties to the side. “God yr’beautiful sweetheart.” he says through a groan. I blush and look away.

“No no baby let me see that gorgeous face.” he tilts my chin towards him so im forced to look at him. “Imma take good care alright?” i nod at him and let him proceed.

He starts kissing my inner thighs trying to edge me on. His cockiness clearly never stops.

All i do is whine desperately waiting for his tongue on my bud. “Getting there be patient baby.” he says and immediatley inserts a single finger into me. I cry out in pleasure. “God yr’already wet fr’me?” he tsks. “So so needy pretty girl.”

“More! Please!” is all i can manage to cry out. He obliges and adds a second finger. I desperately moan as he curls his fingers just right. “shhh its okay baby feels good hm?” he asks caressing my cheek. I nod aggressively.

He moves his head down without another word and his tongue attacks my bud. I cry out as my back arches. God ive never felt sex like this. This felt unreal.

“Cant-” “i know baby its okay you can let go.” “i nod and moan for the final time as i release onto daryls fingers. “Holy shit.” i gasp out looking at him remove his fingers and lick my juices in one swipe.

I look down to see his bulge. “Do you want me to?” i say gesturing my eyes down at his clearly hard on.

“Id love to see you on your knees for me baby but a pretty girl like you should have a pillow aint that right?”

…..

authors note- this is my first time sharing my work so I did my best! I hope you enjoy (i did not proof read sorry 💔) ~ A ��

[vaguely-concerned]

thinking about not only the specific people lucanis pulls in to represent the 'locks' in his psyche, but the storytelling that happens in the structure/order of them. the underlying ideas are presented something like:

the lucanis who went into the ossuary never came back out again; he died down there (the boy caterina raised is gone forever) -> you're putting yourself in danger doing this (by being close to me), you should leave because I can't bear it if you get hurt because of me -> it doesn't matter even if we do try this, it won't work anyway (again because of me) ('you know what he's like, you can open the door but he won't walk through it' :'( oofie doofie) -> what if the real secret is that there was never anything but the monster in here from the beginning. you should leave, there was never anything here worth saving in the first place. (implicitly: what if I deserved what happened, all along.)

it runs pretty cleanly from outward-oriented attachment anxiety ('caterina won't even want me back like this, she won't recognize me (the same way I no longer recognize myself)) and gradually deeper inwards until we reach self-image and self worth. or you know, the harrowing basic lack of it lol.

"careful -- they'll know we're not right," spite says in one of their first scenes... but clearly, some very deep part of lucanis has feared or suspected for much longer than that that there's something inherently not right at the core of him, way before any demon entered the picture. and the voice he gives those lines to is the person who should know him better than anyone in the world, who he has loved more than anyone in the world -- and who deliberately chose to hurt him so horrifically anyway. 'It's better if I'm just a monster and deserved what happened than it is to allow for the idea that the brother I love doesn't really exist and maybe never did'. it's better if he's fundamentally flawed in some way that needed fixing to help him survive, and that's why caterina chose to hurt him again and again -- out of love. (this one I think he might have a very sad wakeup call on one day if he ever ends up with the responsibility and care of a child of his own in some way and realizes just how alien the idea of ever intentionally hurting them for any reason is to him. oh buddy. also interesting that he keeps caterina as the outermost lock -- there IS a distance he keeps there that he hasn't with illario. he doesn't resent her 'anymore' he says, but he also keeps her carefully further away from his deepest self.)

as far as I could tell the only note in the mind prison that's fully hidden and needs to be uncovered is the sad painful helpless stupid little truth that even after all this, even knowing what happened... he still loves his brother. is there anything illario could ever do that would make lucanis completely stop loving him, do you think? sometimes the trouble with unconditional love is that it is, well. unconditional, even when some terms and conditions probably would have been in order haha.

that's the pattern you see there again and again; he would rather destroy and abandon and imprison himself at every turn than let go of love, even when it's just scraps, even when there's only ever enough of it to hurt him. it's only when rook shows up and as it were takes his hand and walks along with him that he can entertain the idea of changing the story of what walking out the door might mean in the end.

[skunkes]

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

i have seen a lot of posts about lucanis & illario lately, that specifically call out that some of the things Lucanis says about him are kinda mean. usually in context of 'yes what illario did was fucked up but they BOTH went thru the fucked up training and lucanis says shit to him too' etc etc. and i'll be honest as someone who does have a contentious/estranged/very-low-contact sibling relationship. everything lucanis said came off as super mild to me and they should both be WAY nastier to each other actually. yes even when you include their dynamic in wigmaker job which was both more lighthearted And heartfelt. but like if you want realism they should be going from that to 1 minute later annoyed enough to break out the super cutting remarks dragging up the worst things the other has ever done/said, specifically becuause they know it will hurt the other most. then i would believe it more tbh.

[peapodsplace]

Hey Baba, it seems like you've been seeing a lot of yucky stuff online right now. A lot of people who aren't remembering their manners and are forgetting that there's people behind a screen. I know you like your screen time but please remember that the world isn't all like that okay? Some people are different online and forget their values and let's remember that these days, algorithms perpously show you things that'll make you upset. Yes, yes it's not very fair, is it sweetheart. Please remember to take some breaks and that the world isn't really like that. It's so important to protect yourself. Yes, silly even if you think you don't deserve it; because you do.

[platypusisnotonfire]

well.

I'm 30.

[transientwordsmith]

She's six years old. She's going to go to a new school next year. She hugs her friends goodbye. They tell her they're going to keep in touch. They'll still be friends. They'll tell her everything that happens.

She's fourteen now. She sits at the table across from her friends. They talk about people she doesn't know. She asks who they are, and her friends begrudgingly explain, but suddenly they're talking about some new person. She doesn't want to ask again.

They're sixteen. They invite their old friends to their birthday party because there's never been a year without them. They haven't spoken in six months due to the lockdown. I didn't know you changed your name. Oh, yeah, sorry. I didn't tell you. The distance between them is growing.

He's approaching twenty. He's back home for the summer. He sends a happy birthday text to a friend he hasn't had a serious conversation with in ages. He finds out she's eighteen now via her instagram story. He checks his other friends' stories and sees pictures of people he hasn't spoken to since he was six.

He wonders to himself, when did he burn all these bridges she promised she'd maintain?

[greasydumbfuck]

i miss my wife tails

[fleshdyk3]

god i fucking hate my dad

[recent-rose]

here's a thought, what if the 'family annihilator' angle for the ratliffs is a red herring? like yeah they're dying alright - not literally but spiritually, because none of them have a real identity. and the show/thailand is punishing them for it left right and center. ego deaths one after the other pretty much, with the apparent exception of piper who seems to recognize her lack of an identity... but that may yet be an issue for her.

anyway especially now that the gun is back in gaitok's hands, i think he'll try to do something heroic and either succeed or fail. hell, those gunshots from e1 might not even be from the gun we've all been so concerned about this whole time. like, doesn't rick now have a gun as well? i'd be shocked if greg didn't also have one. idk... just seems an awful shame to let the rich people get off easy in death. which would, through timothy's eyes atp, be a reward and not a punishment. ykwim?

[bmpmp3]

fish......

[vynive]

Listen I *know* that not making art doesnt diminish one's value as a person--but damn does it sure feel like it once that source of validation dries up

[lystring]

😔 i caved once more...i got some money for christmas and dav is on sale on steam so i bought it lol its currently downloading. this might be a huge mistake

[elisedonut]

fuck i'm actually going to end up enjoying Sevpercy huh

maybe in a picky I like them when they are in my head or when I do it kind of way

or in a time travel way because when it comes to Snape I like his teenage self a lot more than his adult self