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Firefighter Sevika!

Lawyer!Sevika x Assistant!Reader ✧Chapter two: Twelve Stops Plus Two More ✧ 2.7k words Previous Chapter **MMDNI**

That week slipped past you faster than you could keep track of it.

Every day blurred into the next, marked mostly by the sound of your own footsteps crossing the same stretch of floor over and over. You wore a path from your bed to the small kitchen counter and back again, the boards creaking under your weight in the same places until you could predict each sound before it came. The apartment barely held you. A single room with just enough space to wedge your bed against one wall and your couch against the other, a narrow strip of floor separating them like a forced compromise. The kitchenette sat tucked into the corner, a short counter with a sink that dripped if you didn’t twist the handle just right, two burners that took too long to heat, and a fridge that hummed louder at night.

It was cramped. It was imperfect.

But it was yours. For now.

Your rent was due in a month, and the number sat in the back of your mind at all times, pressing against everything you did. The money you’d saved to get here had already started thinning out. Each purchase felt heavier than it should have. You caught yourself doing the math more than once a day, subtracting small amounts, trying to stretch what you had into something that would last longer than it realistically could.

You skipped dinner twice that week. The first time had been accidental. You told yourself you weren’t that hungry, that coffee would hold you over. The second time was deliberate. You stood in front of your cabinets, stared at what little you had left, and closed them again. Coffee was cheaper. Coffee lasted longer.

A few days ago, you’d stopped at a thrift store near the bus stop, the bell over the door chiming weakly as you stepped inside. The place smelled like old fabric and dust. Racks were crammed too close together, hangers scraping against metal as you pushed through them. You picked up piece after piece, checking seams, checking prices, holding things up to your body in the mirror that warped slightly at the edges.

You stayed in the dressing room for nearly an hour.

You changed in and out of outfits, folding your own clothes carefully on the small bench, pulling unfamiliar pieces over your skin and turning in front of the mirror. Nothing felt right at first. Too tight. Too loose. Too worn. Too loud.

Until you found it.

A black pencil skirt that fit close without digging in. A deep red blouse that sat clean against your frame. A pair of black heels that looked better than they felt, the leather stiff, the toe just a little too narrow.

You stood there longer than you needed to, studying yourself in the mirror under the harsh fluorescent light.

You looked older. More put together.

Like someone who wouldn’t get questioned when they walked into an office.

You bought them without letting yourself think too hard about the price.

Now it was the morning of your first day, and sleep had barely touched you.

You spent the night shifting beneath the blankets, twisting your body into different positions, pulling the covers up and kicking them off again. You turned your pillow over again and again, chasing the cool side, your thoughts looping without pause. Every possible outcome played out in your head. You showed up late. You said the wrong thing. You embarrassed yourself. You lost the job before it even started.

Your stomach knotted tighter the longer you stayed awake.

At some point, you gave up trying to sleep.

You sat up before the alarm could go off, your body already tense.

The duvet slipped down into your lap, thick and heavy, dark green fabric catching the dim light. It still held your warmth, pressing it back against your skin. The navy blue silk sheets beneath you twisted around your legs, smooth and cool where they hadn’t been trapped under your body. Pillows crowded behind you, stacked unevenly, some slipping to the side. You’d bought too many of them on purpose. They made the apartment feel less empty.

Franklin stirred beside you, stretching slowly, his back arching as his claws flexed against the sheets. A raspy little sound left him before he settled again, his purr starting low and building into something steady and loud.

You reached down and brushed your fingers along his back once before pulling away.

Your eyes moved toward the windowsill.

Your plants looked worse than they had a few days ago. Leaves hung limp, edges curling inward, the soil pale and cracked where it had pulled away from the sides of the pots. You knew you’d forgotten to water them again. The thought sat there for a second before you pushed it aside.

Across the room, the television still glowed. The screen flickered faintly, blue light shifting across the walls, casting uneven shadows along the edges of your furniture. You couldn’t remember when you’d left it on. It had become a habit. Noise helped. Sometimes.

Then your alarm tore through the quiet.

The sound was sharp, jarring, too loud for the stillness of the room.

Five in the morning.

You groaned under your breath and pushed yourself out of bed, your feet hitting the floor with a soft, dull sound. The air felt cooler away from the blankets, brushing against your skin as you moved toward the bathroom.

Your clothes waited for you on the couch, laid out carefully the night before. You’d taken your time ironing them, smoothing every crease until the fabric sat flat and sharp. You didn’t trust yourself to do it this morning without rushing.

The bathroom felt even smaller with the door closed. The tile was cold under your feet. The mirror still held faint streaks from the last time you’d wiped it down.

You turned on the shower and tied your hair up loosely while the water heated, gathering it at the back of your head with practiced hands. You’d washed it two days ago on purpose, knowing it would hold better today.

Steam began to fill the space slowly.

You stepped beneath the spray, and the warmth hit you all at once, running over your shoulders, down your spine, easing some of the tension that had settled into your muscles overnight. You stood there for a moment longer than you needed to, letting it soak in.

Then you moved.

You worked your soap into a lather, the plum scent thick and sweet in the steam, clinging to your skin. You moved slower than usual, forcing yourself not to rush even as your thoughts kept pushing you forward. Shaving cream followed, cool against your legs before you dragged the razor along your skin in careful strokes, rinsing it clean again and again.

You finished, rinsed off, and stepped out. Water dripped from your skin onto the tile, small droplets gathering before sliding toward the drain.

You wrapped the towel around yourself, drying off thoroughly before reaching for the lotion. It spread smoothly across your skin, the scent of vetiver settling deeper, richer, grounding in a way that felt almost intentional. You added your perfume last, light but present, the plum and sandalwood mixing together as it warmed against your skin.

You paused for a second.

You smelled good. Better than you usually did.

You wiped the mirror with your palm, clearing a space through the fog, and leaned closer.

Your hands worked steadily.

Eyeliner first. You drew the wing carefully, matching each side with small adjustments until it sat just right. Then liner beneath your eyes, smudged softly so it didn’t look too harsh. Lashes pressed into place, fingers holding them for a moment longer to make sure they stayed.

Lipstick next. A sheer plum shade that deepened your natural color without overwhelming it. Blush followed, light across your cheeks, then concealer beneath your eyes to cover the lack of sleep. A touch of bronzer to pull it all together.

You stepped back slightly, studying the result.

Then your hair.

You curled it in sections, each piece wrapped and released, falling into soft waves before you gathered most of it back. Pins slid into place, holding it in a bun that looked more effortless than it actually was. A few curls slipped free near your face, framing it in a way you didn’t bother to fix.

Then the clothes.

Black bra. Matching panties. Stockings pulled up carefully, smoothing them along your legs so they didn’t bunch. The pencil skirt slid into place, hugging your hips and thighs, the fabric tighter than anything you usually wore. The blouse came next, the deep red standing out against your skin as you buttoned it up.

The heels went on last.

You shifted your weight once, adjusting to the height, to the pressure at your toes.

Then you looked at yourself.

You stood there longer this time.

This version of you felt unfamiliar. Your posture straightened without you thinking about it. Your face looked sharper, more defined. Put together in a way that didn’t match the person who usually threw on a shirt and left without thinking twice.

You lived in oversized t-shirts, worn jeans, sneakers that had seen better days. Hair brushed back quickly, face bare.

This looked different.

Like someone who belonged somewhere else.

Or someone trying hard enough to make others believe it.

You let out a slow breath and turned away before you could think about it too much.

Your purse sat in the drawer where you’d left it. You pulled it out, the leather soft under your fingers, and dropped your lipstick and mascara inside. Then your coin purse. Your keys. You checked once, then again, making sure everything was there.

Your watch slid onto your wrist, the band cool against your skin.

Then the coat.

The long black fabric settled over your shoulders, heavier than it looked. It still carried a faint scent from wherever it had been before you bought it. Old perfume. Cedar. Something you couldn’t quite place.

You adjusted it once, smoothing the front.

You looked at yourself one last time.

Then you left.

The door shut behind you with a firm click as you locked it, the sound echoing briefly in the early morning quiet before everything settled back into stillness.

You had to catch the first train out toward the suburbs. The apartment sat deeper in the city, tucked between louder streets and older buildings, so getting there meant moving early.

You stepped out into the morning and started down the block, your pace quick, your steps uneven as you adjusted to the heels. Each stride felt deliberate. The pavement didn’t forgive you the way sneakers did. The pressure built at the front of your feet, forcing you to shift your weight carefully with every step.

The air bit through your coat, colder than it had looked from inside. It slipped in at your collar, brushed along your wrists, made you pull the fabric tighter around yourself as you walked. Your breath came out faint and visible for a second before disappearing.

The train platform rose ahead of you. You took the stairs two at a time at first, then slowed halfway up when your balance faltered slightly. The metal railing felt cold under your palm as you steadied yourself, then continued the rest of the way more carefully.

Living two blocks from the station had its advantages. You didn’t have to rush far.

But you knew the sound of it too well. The way it rattled your apartment when it passed. The low rumble that crept through the walls and into your bed late at night.

You stepped onto the platform and waited.

The wind moved through the open space, sharper up here, catching at the edges of your coat and slipping beneath it. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, trying to keep warm, your shoulders pulling in slightly as you exhaled.

You looked around.

Most people stood quietly, spaced out along the platform. A few leaned against the railing. Others sat on the benches, heads down. Several held books or small paperbacks, flipping pages slowly to pass the time. One person scrolled on their phone, the glow lighting their face.

You should’ve brought something.

Your arms folded tighter across your chest.

Your eyes dropped to your hands.

Your nails were bare.

You turned them slightly under the light, noticing the uneven edges, the faint dryness at your cuticles. You could’ve painted them last night. Something simple. Something clean.

You let out a small breath through your nose and looked away.

The train pulled in a moment later, the sound building before it arrived. Metal grinding against metal, a rush of air pushing forward as it slowed. It came to a stop with a heavy shudder.

The doors slid open.

You stepped inside and moved quickly down the aisle, scanning for an open seat. You found one near the window and sat, crossing your legs carefully, adjusting your skirt so it didn’t ride up too far.

The train lurched forward not long after.

You had twelve stops. Then a bus.

You leaned your head slightly toward the window, watching the city move past. Buildings slid by in long stretches of brick and glass. Sidewalks filled slowly as people stepped out into their mornings. Someone walked a dog that tugged at its leash. A man stood outside a café, sipping from a paper cup. A group stumbled out of a bar, laughter carrying briefly before it disappeared behind you.

Everything passed too quickly to hold onto.

Your stomach tightened the longer you sat there. The nerves didn’t go away. They just settled deeper, heavier.

The train buzzed overhead as it slowed.

Stop twelve.

You stood quickly, steadying yourself as the movement shifted beneath your feet, then made your way toward the doors. The crowd pressed slightly as everyone moved at once. You slipped through and stepped off onto the platform, your pace picking up immediately.

You headed for the bus stop, your steps faster now, your breath shortening as you moved. The sign for 304 came into view. You reached it just as you paused to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling a little too quickly.

The bus pulled up moments later.

You swallowed, the realization hitting you all at once.

You almost missed it.

You adjusted your grip on your purse as you stepped forward, a thought slipping in before you could stop it.

You should’ve found something closer.

You boarded and dropped your fare into the machine.

Two dollars seventy.

You took a seat near the window, letting out a quiet breath as the bus pulled away.

Only two stops.

You let your gaze drift outside again. The change was immediate. The buildings looked newer, cleaner. Storefronts were polished, windows clear, signage sharp and well-kept. The streets widened. The sidewalks looked less crowded.

It felt different out here.

Quieter. Wealthier.

Beyond the shops, you caught glimpses of houses set farther back from the road. Large. Well-kept. The kind of places that didn’t show wear the way yours did.

The bus slowed.

Your stop.

You stood, steadying yourself again before stepping off. The air felt different here too, cleaner somehow, less heavy.

You crossed the parking lot toward the office building, your steps measured again, your posture straightening as you approached.

You checked your watch as you walked.

Thirty minutes early.

Good.

You pushed through the doors and stepped inside.

And then you saw her.

She stood near the elevator, already there, waiting.

Your new boss. Sevika.

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Do you know the song "naked" by lizzo?

I love that song, and every time I hear it, I just picture Sevika seeing Reader in a bathrobe with a glass of wine in the dim light (Sevika left speechless and dropping to her knees for Reader, while Reader giggles and says dinner is ready). All of this because Reader had been feeling down about herself and was trying something to lift her spirits.

Can you picture it? Can you turn this into reality?

Wife!Sevika x Reader - Dinner Can Wait

Summary: Feeling down about yourself, you try to lift your spirits with a bath, a robe, and a glass of wine. One look leaves Sevika on her knees, completely speechless.