Helloo everyone, my names Jo and I've been wanting to write for a while, and I finally published my first fic so I got cocky and made this masterlist. I hope y'all will enjoy my writing. I might take a while to respond to requests but they are open!! love u bye
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The Pitt
mostly Cassie McKay, Trinity Santos, Victoria Javadi
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mckay x f!reader | santos x f!reader
⤷ I can't love you like you want me to (bite the hand) ch.1
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young cassie x f!reader
⤷ .ᐟ I wanna feel that it's wrong ch.1 .ᐟ
⤷ .ᐟ dating cassie mckay in college headcanons / blurbs .ᐟ
⤷ .ᐟ cassie mckay's record player / uni playlist .ᐟ
Away From the Wild Things (Alice Cullen x Werewolf!F!Reader)
AO3 Link
Summary: Alice and Y/n have been dating for about a year, which isn't much time to a vampire. When the two of the them are alone on a night in, an important conversation needs to be had.
a/n: jasper does not exist in this, this is wlw territory guysss, wlw reader, wlw alice cullen, carlisle and esme mention cos i love them, angst, fluff, suggestive content: neck kissing, claws hehe
gif and photo credit: @anunendingwellofhubris, pinterest
The day they decided to see each other more often is something neither of them plan to forget. Love was a strange and wonderful thing, yet they made it work to coincide with the limitations that were predisposed.
Alice already knew that her dear wolf would present herself to her at some point in life, and Y/n knew that the smell of the clairvoyant girl was too strong to ignore. It was a Friday night in the Cullen house, Emmett and Rosalie were on a honeymoon (again), Edward was out with Bella for a date, leaving Carlisle, Esme and Alice. Even so, the former members were getting ready to leave for their own date night - Alice would be alone.
"Alright, we have keys to get in, we have coats...what else are we-" Carlisle speaks, only for Esme to come and fix his tie. "...oh yes, that."
Esme smiled, going to the living room to find Alice sitting on the couch with one of her fashion magazines. "Okay, we're heading out. Do you need anything, dear?"
"Nope." Alice replied, her gentile smile gracing her face. "I think I'll be okay."
Carlisle opened the front door to leave, "Okay, kiddo, have a nice night."
"You too." The girl replies. She watches as Esme and Carlisle get in the car to leave, waiting just short of 15 minutes if they planned to turn back. As quickly as she could, she shut her magazine and left it on the coffee table, grabbed her phone and pressed her girlfriend's number on it, anticipating her call on the other end of the line.
Y/n was at home too, she was alone in her room, listening to a mix of Avenged Sevenfold and Foo Fighters. She felt her phone buzzing, and upon seeing Alice's name, she shut off the stereo and answered.
------------
"Hello?"
"Hey, wolfie..." Alice cooed, her voice clear as a bell.
Y/n sat upright, leaning back against the headboard of her bed. "...what's up?" She asks.
"Thought it would be good for you to know that my 'parents' are out - date night. I don't have Edward, Emmett or the others, either." She spoke, giggling a little at the end, "wanna come over?"
The question left a tempting sting to Y/n, her eyes glowing slightly amber. The two of them. Alone. In the comfort of Alice's home. "You sure we won't get caught? We cut it close last time..."
"And you ran. And thank goodness for pale concealers, right?"
Thinking for a moment, Y/n spoke into the phone. "I'll be there in 20..." Hanging up the phone, she jumped from her bedroom window, took form into a dark brown, amber eyed wolf and raced through the forest green landscape to get to Alice, the latter prepping her own little surprise.
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After a while, Y/n took on her human form again and stood outside the house, texting her girlfriend on what to do next.
On that note, Y/n climbed the nearest tree and trekked the branch closest to Alice's room. Knocking on the window, she gripped the sides of the bay to have some semblance of balance.
Alice saw her in the window, opening it eagerly. However she didn't anticipate Y/n falling and toppling them both to the floor, the wolf girl bracing her fall. Alice was underneath her, Y/n arms caged around her neck and face, the vampires legs trapped underneath the werewolf's. They stared for a moment, letting the moment pass with ease.
Alice piped up, "Someone really wants to see that dress." She chuckled, her dainty hand coming up to touch her girlfriend's cheek.
"The dress is nice," Y/n spoke, "But the girl in it is way nicer."
Y/n leaned down to kiss Alice's lips. First, a gentle peck - quick and simple - then the kiss turned longer, poignant, purposeful. The kisses they often shared when they did not care for the world around them. The kind that often led to less than savoury escapades, which always ended up being the times one of them would run or hide. The room was disarming, Alice's weird wall decor, dreamcatchers and trinkets made it look warm and lived in. They both pulled away from the kiss to stand up, the vampire then side-eyed the bed.
"...wanna get comfortable?"
Y/n smiled, the faintest hint of fangs appeared in her smile. "...you're a clairvoyant. I think you know the answer."
Without another word, Alice grabbed Y/n by her zip-up sweater and they both sat on the edge of the bed, Alice straddling her waist to then kiss each other's lips with such sensual fervour. Y/n hands found Alice's waist, her nails slightly growing sharper as the kissing got slightly more heated - it was suddenly brought to a halt when Alice let out a light yelp, feeling the claw poke at her side, not completely scratching but enough to possibly hurt to a degree.
"...I-I'm sorry," Y/n sputtered, "...are you--"
"I'm fine, baby," Alice spoke, slightly wincing, "I am, I promise. Maybe, just...a bit slower."
Y/n nodded, bringing Alice down to lay on the bed, she crawled above her, leaning her head down to whisper in her ear, "...it's not my fault you're so cute. I lose myself when I'm with you - I don't know where the human starts and the wolf ends, you know..."
Alice could only shudder at the intensity of her words, her yellow eyes practically beaming from the closeness. They both could hear each other's hearts race. The wolf girl would then press a gentle kiss to her girlfriend's forehead, her claws gently grazing over the lace trim of her dark blue top. The scandal of it all only heightened the experience if they were to be honest with themselves.
Honest. Yeah.
Alice was suddenly pulled out of the trance, just to stare up at Y/n with kind eyes. She then began to speak, "...can we talk?"
For anyone, those three words alone could send anyone into fight or flight. Y/n settled next to Alice, the latter resting her head in the nape of her neck, both of their hands finding each other without even bothering to look down. Alice then spoke again, her voice brought to a hushed tone. "We love each other, right?"
Y/n nodded, "Yes. Of course we do."
"Then, we can talk about anything, correct?"
"Within reason, sure." The wolf girl sighed, "What's wrong, babygirl?"
Alice sighed at the nickname, but kept her head on straight to explain. "I hate that we have to hide. I really do." She starts, "Laws are in place for a reason, I know. But...do you ever, like, wonder where we'll be in the next few years?"
The question hit Y/n with a sudden weight. The two of them were different, that was certain - a few years for a vampire seemed significantly shorter compared to a werewolf. "...I won't lie when I say that I wonder if someone of your kind catches your fancy, too. Like I'm just there to pass the time-"
With that comment, Y/n grip on Alice's hands grew tighter. That was not true. It never will be true. "Alice! Why would you think that?" The wolf girl stared into Alice's doubtful eyes, "...trust me when I say there is not a soul in this world I would choose over you - imprinting is a thing for a reason. I didn't imprint just to have fun and live a thrill." She grabbed the vampire's chin gently, her claw on her thumb lightly touching her ice cold skin. "...Alice Cullen. You are mine as much as I am yours. Nothing is going to change that - let me prove it to you. Show you. Feel you."
"Please, baby..." Alice whispered, "...stop teasing."
"Make me." Y/n grunted, the wolfish growl erupting from her throat.
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The two of them rode out their highs after a while. They were cuddled under Alice's purple sheets, the mix of cold and warm skin creating a comfortable space, Alice didn't need to sleep, but she saw that her girlfriend was completely knocked out. She peppered kisses to her cheeks, trying to coax her awake.
"...five more minutes." Y/n groaned.
"Sorry, nap time is officially over - they texted. They're coming back in a bit."
It was now that dreaded time that they both despised with a passion. Y/n got up and put on her clothes again, her muscles sore from the activity earlier on. Alice looked on, watching her girlfriend put her clothes back on.
"...take a picture, it'll last longer." The wolf teased, earning a laugh out of the other girl.
Soon, Y/n was ready to climb out of the window, sitting on the bay inside to try and map out her landing. Alice then tapped her shoulder. "I guess I'll see you soon."
"Yeah, definitely." Y/n kissed Alice's cheek, then her nose, then a long winding kiss on her lips. "...and, listen. I'm glad we talked."
"We did a lot more than talking." The vampire bit her lip in a cheeky manner.
"Nonetheless, we talked."
After saying their goodbyes, Y/n jumped out of the window and made her way home. Alice watched on, the longing in her gaze ever so evident, only to be pulled out of it when she heard the front door unlock downstairs.
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After Y/n got home, she felt her phone ping.
Again: Time is not fast enough for a vampire, time is too fast for a werewolf. But they made it work. And they were both willing. That there, is love.
Cassie mckay request... What if before harrison, R was the one who ghost writes all the love letters sent by Chad (because I don't know how that dude got her)to Cassie. Then Cassie kept those letters in a box not out of love for Chad but rather reminiscing the feeling of love. One day, one of the patient's visitors in PTMC left a journal and McKay saw it and was gonna turn over it to the security office in case someone's gonna come back for it when suddenly something falls off and it contains all the same exact words in the love letters but in a more elegant and beautiful handwriting. When Cassie heard someone asking for a journal she immediately went to give the journal personally, only to see you, more mature, more beautiful and lovelier than the last time she saw you cause you were her first crush in high school.
Perhaps angst? Or idk this might be presumptive of me to ask of you as this was kinda long 😭. You can certainly change and take liberties in this. Hehe thank you so much if you ever decide to write this. I love how you write. 🥰
- violet ✨
i'll rewrite this whole life (and this time there'll be so much love) ゛ ˎˊ˗ cassie mckay x reader • wc 3k • fluff • awkward!cassie mckay • childhood friends
notes: violet, this request was so insanely fun to write. i did make it more fluffy, i apologize, but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless <333
Cassie, at the end of each and every shift, does a 5 minute sweep of the ED purely out of habit. It’s a kind of knee-jerk reaction developed through years of mothering a messy son to sweep around a place that's more-or-less her own and make sure there isn't too much shit out of place.
Tonight's findings: one Fenty lipgloss, thoroughly used and uncapped, in the color described on the tube as Fenty Glow, which means nothing to Cassie; two pairs of glasses; a complete set of press-on nails, still in the packaging except for the thumbnail, which is missing and somewhere; a nine-iron; two Geek Bars, both grape, both spent; a Dog Man comic — the one where Petey turns good, she knows because Harrison has it, or had it until he left it at his father's — and, tucked into the back of the chair in C9 like someone had meant to come back for it, a journal.
The cosmetics and the comics she finds nearly every shift. The glasses, inexplicably, every third night. The golf club is new. But not really a diary, which is what this clearly is — she can tell from the soft leather binding, the quality of it, the little ribbon that passes through a page somewhere in the middle as a book mark.
Small and brown and unremarkable in every way except for the fact that someone must’ve cherished it enough to carry it into a hospital with them, but then set it down in a chair and left.
She pulls a sticky note out of her scrub’s pocket and smooths it onto the cover, scribbling a quick Found in C9 on it so she can drop the book off with Nurse Lena on the way out.
Something makes her flip it open first, though, hunting for an ID or an insurance card or literally anything, and instead what she gets is a piece of paper sliding loose and almost hitting the floor, and she catches it on reflex.
She doesn't mean to read it. She means to fold it back up and tuck it where it came from because she’s gotta get home to her son, but her eyes catch the first line before she can stop them, and she knows it.
McKay goes very still in the middle of Central Nine as her eyes trace over the words.
She knows the line she’s reading from when she was sixteen, lying on her bedroom floor reading it for the eleven-thousandth time.
It's not the same paper (hers went soft and translucent at the folds a long time ago, retired to a shoebox) and it's not the same handwriting either, but it’s word for word the letter she received from Chad Ashcroft in the fall of their sophomore year of high school, on a piece of notebook paper folded into fourths and pressed into her hand between fifth and sixth period.
So you can’t really blame her when she starts to flip through the rest of the journal. Drafts, crossed-out lines, margin notes — too much? and cut this. An actual workshop for letters that, as far as sixteen-year-old Cassie was concerned, had simply fallen out of the sky written entirely by Chad Ashcroft's own romantic soul.
Ah, Chad. Who once told her she looked "really good today, like, good job.”
So maybe sixteen-year-old Cassie wasn’t the most astute. Some suspicious part of her had clocked the gap back then between the boy who would hand her these notes between periods but also could never string together two sentences out loud, but she'd just decided not to look at it too hard. They were sweet and really well written, and Cassie liked feeling seen.
She still has the letters. They're in her closet, in a shoebox she's moved apartments with four times. She's never told anyone that. It’s not about Chad because she truly, from the bottom of her heart, does not give a single fuck about Chad.
Who knows. She can’t really explain it, but the letters always felt bigger than him, in some way. She also can’t explain why the first quarter of this notebook is filled with what appear to be the drafts her ex-husband gave her in 1997. Was he here? God, she hopes not.
She's still holding the journal when Dana's voice carries across the still-busy ED: "Anybody seen a journal? Leather, small, kid's coming back for it—"
"Got it," McKay says, already moving. "I'll bring it up."
The walk is not far at all, and she rounds the corner and there you are, hip against the counter, weight on one leg, casually talking to Dana and Baran about something that's making them laugh.
It takes McKay a second too long to place you, twelve years will do that. But it is you albeit with a sharper jaw, taller, a crease starting at the corner of your eye that wasn't there in freshman year, and she watches your expression morph into one of disbelieving shock to match her own.
Your eyebrows go up. "Cassie? No fucking way."
She's still holding the journal against her chest like it might do something if she lets go of it.
“Y/N,” she breathes. “Wow, um, hi. Long time no see. Is,” she holds up the journal awkwardly, one-handed, “Is this yours?”
Your face melts into relief, eyes softening and shoulders slackening and you start toward her and Cassie feels her heart rate tick up embarrassingly fast.
Baran and Dana, to their considerable discredit, make no effort whatsoever to hide their shock — simply, because they totally suck. Al-Hashimi at least maintains the performance of being engaged with a chart, though her eyes are tracking upward in a manner she probably thinks is subtle.
Dana just doesn’t give a fuck. She’s smirking, and leaning forward on the desk with both arms, beaming.
Cassie admires them both but right now she could definitely strangle them. Give her four minutes and some privacy and it’d be done. But before her hands can so much as flex in their direction, yours are brushing hers, taking the book.
"Thank you for finding it," you say warmly. "It’s so good to see you. God, it’s been, what, since junior year?"
"Senior," McKay says, before she's decided to. "You graduated early. Skipped winter formal."
"You remember that?"
"I have a great memory," she says, and she’s trying to be suave, and it isn’t really working from the way Baran’s eyebrows shoot up to the ceiling in surprise.
"Yeah?" you’re grinning now, probably enjoying watching her be thrown off. "I imagine so, given you’re a doctor now. That’s crazy! When did that happen?"
“Around 2019,” Cassie says, “Got into it late.”
“Still very impressive,” you beam. Then pause, and there’s an awkward breath where neither you nor Cassie can figure out exactly how to go from here. “Well, thank you for bringing this to me.”
Cassie smiles softly, and hugs you, quick and warm.
"It was so nice to see you," she says into it, already pulling back, and you smile again at her, and for a moment she sees the 16-year-old girl she sat next to in AP Chemistry and ran laps with in P.E., who wasn’t her closest friend but who was always kind and so smart, and something in her twists.
She makes a firm decision then.
“Actually, uh, are you- are you staying in town? Or are you just here for the weekend?”
"I’m staying for a bit," you say warmly, although she can tell you’re a little confused by the question. "At least through the end of the month. You know, figuring some stuff out."
"Well," she rubs the back of her neck. "There's this place that opened up by my apartment, it's nothing fancy, it's just — it's really good, actually, and I haven't had anyone to go with, and I just think it'd be really nice to catch up properly."
She shrugs and can literally feel the heat soaking into her cheeks. She’s probably hot red right now. "If you wanted. No pressure. You probably have people to see."
"I'd like that," you say.
"Yeah?" Her face opens up in relief. "Okay. Great. I'll — text me your number, actually, I don't think I still have it unless you're somehow still rocking a flip phone."
"I'm not,” you laugh.
"Shocking," She's smiling now, the nervous edge starting to wear off. "Okay. I have my son Harisson with me tonight but I get off at seven tomorrow. I can pick you up, or meet you there, whatever's easier."
You trade numbers standing right there at the desk, Dana very obviously not looking at her phone so she can keep looking at this instead. Baran's chart has not moved in several minutes.
"Seven," Cassie says again, like she's confirming it with herself more than with you. "I'll text you the address."
"Looking forward to it."
"Me too." She's already backing toward the desk, journal-shaped absent in her arms, looking like she might trip over something if she doesn't sit down soon. "Okay. Bye. I have a patient. Bye."
Cassie is heading home in five minutes, she has no patients left to see. She goes and finds a computer to stand in front of anyway and waits for her heart to chill out.
—
The following night Cassie gets there first. Harrison's pediatrician once told her "early is its own kind of anxious,” she disagrees. She finds it to be polite.
You show up a few minutes later, and she watches herself watching you cross the room. You look really, really good.
The two of you hadn’t been the closest friends in high school but you were friends. She was a little more.. ah, rebellious, one could say, but was still a stellar student. Straight A’s, president of the Key Club, one of the science team’s best members. Not the best member. That title belonged to you.
"Hey," you say, sliding into the seat across from her. "Sorry, parking around here is a nightmare."
"Tell me about it. I almost moved because of the parking and then I remembered I can't afford to move," She slides the menu toward you.
The waiter comes and goes as you two settle, order a few appetizers, Cassie gets a coke and you follow suit.
"So," she says, once the waiter's gone. "Catch me up. Twelve years, go."
"What," you laugh, “Everything?”
"Bullet points. I'll ask follow-up questions."
She learns about college outside of Philadelphia, a couple of years doing something with data she can tell you don't love talking about, a relationship that ended sometime last year, and now back in Pittsburgh because your dad's knees finally gave out and somebody needed to be around to help, and apparently that somebody was you.
She tells you about Harrison, eleven and obsessed with Pokemon, newly interested in Lord of the Rings because of his grandfather who'd started reading it to him over the phone on Sunday nights. She makes a valiant effort not to make him the centerpiece of her entire personality, but, she loves her kid. Sue her.
"Sorry, if you can’t tell, I think he’s pretty cool.”
“He seems amazing,” you beam, “Any kid who at 11 can go on about Galadriel is pretty sick in my eyes.”
She shakes her head, smiling. "What about you? Kids? Spouse? Secret second life I should know about?"
"None of the above, unless you count the dog."
"You have a dog?"
"I do,” you grin, already taking out your phone. “She’s a rescue named Yeller.”
Cassie sputters into her drink. “Yeller? That’s so mean. Why would they name her that?”
“‘Cause she’s old, arthritic and super deaf and the employees thought it was funny,” you sigh, “I call her Ellie. She’s a super sweet girl, massive, y’know, but she’s my little senior citizen.”
Cassie leans forward and immediately coos at the photos you brandish proudly.
The conversation continues into the friend group from high school: who scattered the second everyone left for college, who's still around, who Cassie ran into at a wedding two years ago and barely recognized. Her mom, still in the house on Fifth. Your mom, who Cassie's mom apparently still sees at the grocery store and reports back on like a foreign correspondent.
Somewhere around the second basket of bread, she stops bracing for this to be weird.
Then the food comes, and there's a lull, and she sets her fork down.
"I actually do have a question for you.”
"Shoot," you say around a mouthful of pasta.
"Chad Ashcroft," she says. "Junior year. Do you remember the letters?"
You blink, the chewing slowing down. “Yeah, he wrote you a whole series of them, no?”
"That's what I thought too for the better part of two decades," Cassie says, a nervous smile at her lips. "And then I found the notebook in C9 last night. I didn’t mean to open it, obviously, but a slip fell out and I recognized some of the lines from those letters"
You keep chewing and reach for your water. "Wow, that's a weird coincidence."
"Is it."
"People write drafts of things. It doesn't mean—"
"You wrote them," Cassie says, not unkindly, just certain. "Didn't you."
You set your fork down and sigh really deeply, hands settling in your lap to fidget. "Chad couldn't write a grocery list," you finally say.
Cassie smirks. "So you admit it?”
You exhale. "Yeah, I wrote them. He delivered them, but, yeah.”
Cassie doesn't say anything right away, eyes tracking over you in confusion. She doesn’t understand. These were long-ass, thoughtful letters. Specific too, mentioning anecdotes and moments Chad — or you, she now realizes — noticed something extra charming about her, praised her for a particular moment of competence or kindness. Those letters required attention.
"Why," she says eventually, "would you do that?"
"Because I had a thing for you since sophomore year. Chad didn’t know that, obviously, or he would never have asked for my help. I was just the editor, at first.”
That tracks. Cassie remembers the letters slowly getting better. “And over time you took it completely over?”
“Yeah,” you admit, “Sorry if that makes this all weird, but I was happy doing it. And I’m sure Chad is much better now.”
Cassie cackles loudly and your eyebrows shoot up in shock and a bit of nerves.
“Is he… not?”
“We’re divorced,” Cassie says, still beaming, wiping the tears out of her eyes. “No, he’s– he’s just as eloquent as he’s ever been.”
She relishes in the way a smile breaks across your face as you hold up your glass. “So not at all then?”
She smirks, clinking it. “Not at all.”
—
The walk back is short, four blocks. You and Cassie grew up in this neighborhood so she knows you immediately clock her rerouting you both to the long route, but you don’t say a word about it.
It’s a beautiful, if humid, night. Cassie's got her sandals in one hand having kicked them off two blocks back, complaining about a blister, and she's walking barefoot on the sidewalk beside you feeling like she’s on cloud nine.
"You're going to step on glass," you tell her.
"No I won’t," she hops over a crack in the pavement like it's lava. "I’ve mastered this, Y/N.”
“....from?”
“Dodging my son’s legos,” she beams, doing a little slide move around some pebbles that you know she could’ve stepped over without any pain. She just wants to make you laugh.
It strangely feels like the twelve years of no-contact hadn’t happened at all, Cassie thinks, more like someone hit pause and then unpaused it and you're both still seventeen, but taller and tireder. Stanger, somewhat similar, but beautifully different too.
You talk about nothing the whole way. Whether the Eat'n Park by your old high school is still open (it's not, it's a Sherwin-Williams now). Whether Harrison would be horrified or delighted to learn his mother once got detention for a flask of unknown origin (delighted, obviously). Cassie does an impression of your tenth-grade chemistry teacher that's so accurate you have to stop walking for a second.
Your childhood house comes up faster than you want it to. Same porch light, same crooked mailbox, your mom's actual car in the driveway. You stop at the bottom of the steps. Cassie stops with you, sandals still dangling from two fingers, looking up at the house.
"This is so weird," she says. "I feel like I should be picking you up for prom."
"Well, you're thirty years too late for that bit, McKay."
"Story of my life," she says, and then, abruptly: "Can I kiss you?"
You freeze. "What?"
"Um, I'm asking if I can kiss you,” her face lights up again. "And also if we can do this again. Not exactly this obviously, we don't have to reenact it, but, dinner. Again."
You stare at her for a second too long, brain catching up slow. "Wait—oh my god. Are you not straight?"
Cassie actually laughs out loud at that, stunned out of her fright. "What are you talking about? I never was."
"You dated Chad Ashcroft!"
"Uh, yeah, I dated Chad Ashcroft,” she says. "And Selena Meier, and like, two other women in college."
You splutter, blinking so fast she thinks you might be having a seizure. "Cassie!"
"What?"
"If I'd known that," you breathe, "I would have asked you out. In, like, tenth grade!”
"You would not have."
"Yes I would’ve,” you insist, throwing your hands up in the air. “I can’t fucking believe this! You actually need to stop talking before I burst a blood vessel, right here. Just explode.”
She's grinning now, wide and unguarded in a way you don't think you saw much of back then. "Well," she says, "we have time to make up for it..?"
"Theoretically," you agree slowly.
"So." She rocks back on her heels. "Kiss. Yes? No? I'll survive a no, I want to be clear, I won’t be weird—"
"Yes," you say, before she can keep going. "Obviously yes."
She closes the distance like she'd been waiting for the word, one hand coming up warm against your jaw, and she kisses you stupid on your childhood porch steps under the bad yellow light, cicadas still going, the whole street smelling like cut grass and somebody's late barbecue. You taste coke and the lime from the appetizers on her lips and your hand finds the back of her neck, playing with those wispy red hairs.
When she pulls back she's biting back a smile, looking pleased with herself in a way that's almost smug.
"Not bad, McKay," you pant, legs a little wobbly.
"Good for twenty years of buildup?"
"Hm," you cock your head in consideration. "Maybe give me one more, so I can be certain."
Cassie grins, and the second kiss is slower and softer. Her hands settle at your waist, yours around her neck and god, it's perfect.
"I have to pick Harrison up from my mom's at eight," she admits against your lips, but not moving an inch closer to leaving. "But I want your number to not be a one-time emergency-contact situation. What are you doing Friday?”
“Whatever you're doing," you say.
"Good answer." She steps back finally, sandals still dangling, already walking backward down the front walk like she can't quite commit to turning around. "Text me when you get inside your apartment?”
“Will do,” you grin, “Though it is directly to the left once I open this door. It’s far from a hike.”
"Indulge me!” she calls, already at the sidewalk, grinning over her shoulder. "Night, Y/N."
"Night."
She turns the corner, barefoot, sandals swinging, humming something giddy and warm. Thank god for that little journal.
"Also, I love him and McKay's relationship of how they're always — especially in the first season — Mateo had her back, Fiona [Dourif]'s McKay had his, and seeing that and how that works, whether that's in the night shift or in the day shift, I want to see those two's relationship." — Jalen Thomas Brooks on Mateo and McKay's relationship (ScreenRant)
victoria javadi x gn!reader, victoria obviously has her mommy issues but what if reader (around the same age as victoria) also has mommy issues (alcoholic mother?? psh no i am totally not projecting…👀) mayhaps they both bond over these things in some form or another but lots of angst (maybe reader turns to alcohol too one night and vic helps them??)
slow burn friends to lovers where they are just there for each other, maybe become roommates (vic moves into r’s new apartment or something) and the new routine feels so domestic and maybe there have already been a few close moments between them so after a while one of them is like “what are we” kind of thing
maybe even cassie notices a change in victoria’s mood after moving in with r, maybe r can shadow samira or something so vice versa and it makes them all blushy but they’re still in the denial stage then.
i know it’s a lot so you don’t have to include it all but thank you so much for writing this if you do <33 i appreciate you sharing your work with us
Sick With Want (pt. 1- Sick With Want)
Victoria Javadi x gn!reader
Summary: Victoria Javadi is your best friend, but sometimes, the heart wants a little more than friendly affection
Word count: 4.46k
Warnings: reader is sort of a perv, I won't lie; alcoholism, mention of functional alcoholism, reader gets drunk, confession of feelings, but it's not reciprocated, Victoria begs reader to kiss her at one point, hangover mentioned, domesticated bliss, Victoria and reader cuddle but platonically
🎵 - Sunshine Baby
You told yourself you’d be good this time. You really did.
This year, you were gonna get sober and stay sober.
You had a new residency at the PTMC, a new two-bedroom apartment, and a new car. You were doing well with money, and, most importantly, you had a new outlook on life.
Your friends adored you; you even had a few best friends you could count on from time to time. Victoria Javadi in particular.
You two were the same age. 20 turning 21. You were turning 21 in May, and she would be 21 in July. Both of you had plans for one another. You knew about her aversion to having a birthday, and you two had bonded over that fact. You also hated celebrating your birthday. It was a sour subject for both of you.
In the past, the farthest you’d go was getting a cupcake from the nearby grocery store, maybe sticking a candle in it, and then simply eating it like it’s nothing but a dessert.
So you and Victoria had decided to hang out on your birthday. You two would just watch your favorite movies, eat snacks, and you would cook dinner for the two of you. It’s honestly something you guys did every Saturday, so it wasn’t like it was anything special.
She told you she might bring you a small cupcake she baked, but that was about it.
Since the day wasn’t anything to you, you just decided to work. The date had popped up on Dana’s calendar, however, as apparently she puts everyone’s birthdays in her computer AND phone calendar, and you had gotten a great big ‘Happy Birthday’ when you walked in that morning from her.
Which barrel rolled into other people coming up, slapping your back, and congratulating you. It was exhausting having to tell everyone over and over again, ‘Nope. I’m not doing anything. Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s my 21st birthday, I know. Special day, ahh yeah. Nope.’ Every time.
You knew no one understood, even when you tried to explain it. The only person who did was Victoria. It was nice having someone who understood. You knew Victoria had her mommy issues, and you had yours. While both mothers loved to hurl disappointments at their children, your mother’s speeches were more slurred and discombobulated with insults tacked on.
It hurt. It always hurt. And you would never forget. Everyone you’ve ever talked to has told you ‘But time heals’ and ‘you’ll forget about those things. Be the bigger person,’ but you never did. You never forgot your mother’s insults, your mother’s words.
And neither did Victoria. Her mother is constantly undermining her, demeaning her, the typical helicopter parent. An elitist asshole, in your own opinion.
You often found Victoria crying in the farthest bathroom stall, curled in on herself as she sat against the wall after her mother had come down for a ‘visit’. Really, it’s just to see what Victoria is messing up and berating her on it. You often wonder why Robby hasn’t said anything about it. It’s clearly weighing on Victoria’s shoulders.
She sometimes goes out of her way, Victoria, to hide somewhere her mother will not find her.
The two of you have spent many a night chatting on the sidewalk of the ambulance bay, bonding over horrible experiences with each other.
And over the months, it had certainly delved into something else. For you, anyway. It had gone past the friendship part. You loved talking to her, you got excited waking up in the morning, knowing she would be there today. While you loved everyone on the morning shift, you were always a bit quieter when it was Victoria’s day off.
But you knew nothing could happen. Even after the multiple close encounters she’s had with you; Her getting too drunk and asking to feel what it’s like to kiss a girl, after you had told her you had been kissing girls since the ninth grade. ‘Please? Kiss me, c’mon. Please? And you had to remember that you were 100% sober and absolutely could not do that to her.
Her getting ready at your apartment, wearing a mini skirt, and she had reached for a glass to pour some water in. You sat on the seat of the kitchen island, your fist pressed up against your mouth to stop from groaning as you caught a peek of her thighs, then her ass, and then the dark color of the thong she was wearing that was peeking out.
One time, she pulled you into the nearby coat closet. She had sectioned you off, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into a vacant room as she spotted her mother. There wasn’t much room; in fact, there wasn’t any room at all.
She stood right in front of you, right against you. She just stared up at you, seemingly unaware, as you’re positive your face was heating up.
“What are you doing?” You had asked her, in a whisper, of course.
“My mom!” She responded, as if it was obvious. And it was, you knew why she had dragged you in here, but you didn’t know why she had dragged you in here.
“You couldn’t have picked any other place?!” Your hands were on her shoulders at the start, but they had somehow shifted down to her waist.
“Oh my god, are you claustrophobic? I’m so sorry-!” Victoria began, but you stopped her.
“It’s fine. It’s okay. I-I’m not claustrophobic. It’s just…I…” You had to scramble for an excuse. “I hate the dark.”
But that did not work out in your favor. Or maybe it did. Because she tried to hold you in the small room that both of you had, to try and make you feel at least a little better. However, all it did was make your body temperature rise. And being a studying doctor, she felt it too, assuredly.
So after that, you’ve tried to step back a little. Sure, it seemed like you were avoiding her at some points throughout the day, but you felt it was somehow better that way. Of course, you still talked to her and went on coffee runs in the morning, but there was no more joining her at bars, no more of her dragging you into nearby closets, none of that.
Because you promised yourself you would be good.
But Victoria had moved in with you, an attempt to get away from her mother, and while you loved it, there’s also the fact that you still had a big fucking crush on her that honestly was not going away anytime soon. You had to drop the ‘staying away’ act. Especially now that she’s walking around most of the time in a t-shirt and shorts that ride up some whenever she reaches for a glass or a plate.
You had to keep reminding yourself in the mirror every morning, ‘Be good, be good, be good. You have to be good.’
But that all came crashing down in a matter of days by a simple phone call you hadn’t bothered to pick up.
“Have a good birthday. Kind of forgot your birthday was today, had to check on my calendar. Then your grandmother came by and asked what we were doing. Had to tell her I forgot. Anyway, hope you get a cake or something. I don’t know. You were never a fan of your birthday when you were little, so I guess why would you start now?”
That night was your first night drinking in a long time.
You got really, really drunk and somehow ended up on the bottom of your kitchen floor. Victoria was coming home soon. It was your day off, but Victoria had to pick up a shift. However, she had promised you she would be home on time with arms full of snacks, and you two could start the movie.
Instead, you decided to call her in your drunken state.
“Hey!” she answers. “I’m on my way! I’m just at the 7/11 nearby getting our favs-”
“Coooollll,” You respond, your words a little slurred. And she can hear it.
Her excited words stop and are replaced by tentative breaths. “Are you okay?”
“Mmmm.” is all you can answer with.
“Where are you?”
“Where ‘r you?” Your eyes close as you wait to hear her voice. Your fingers thrum on your stomach, feet kicked out in front of you.
“I just told you. I was just about to head over for our movie and snack night. Are you home right now? A-are you safe? You’re safe at least, right?”
“Ummmmmm,” You hum, your eyes opening again and trying to focus on the ceiling above you. “Think so?”
“Are you at home?” Her voice becomes more urgent, asking the question again.
“Why? You wanna come over?” You smile at your horrible attempt to try to flirt. But Victoria doesn’t take it like that. Also, she lives with you. “I have a bottle of alcohol with our name on it,” you slur, picking your head up off the floor to glance at the bottle of Tequila lying on the ground. Empty. “Mmm, maybe not. Must’ve drank it’all.”
“Oh god. Okay. You’re at the apartment, right?”
“Yupa.” Your head feels like it’s floating. It’s nice. Really nice.
So Victoria arrives, the key you had given her a few months ago sounds in the lock before it clicks open, and the door creaks as it slowly drifts wider. The light from the hall shines behind Vic, and she’s looking down at you with something more than pity.
“Oh no.” She says, and it has you trying to get up. She drops to her knees to help, gently coaxing you into a sitting position. “Okay, um, I don’t know much about helping with drunk people, but I’m a doctor, so how hard can it be, right? Med school was assuredly harder.”
She’s more or less talking to herself. Hyping herself up. It makes you smile because she does it often. Under her breath when she’s about to go in for surgery. She’ll stand beside you if you’re there, whispering words of encouragement for herself, and it causes drunken you to smile at the memory.
You somehow make it to your feet, the discarded empty bottle now on the kitchen counter as she wraps one arm around your waist and the other comes up to hold your arm that’s currently slung around the back of Victoria’s neck.
“Vic, I can’t do it.” You tell her, staring down at the floor and your feet.
“Wh…what do you mean? It’s-it’s just the floor, right? I mean, I can try to carry you, but-”
“Just leave me in the living room.”
“But you’d have to walk there too.” She counters.
You glance over your left shoulder, and the living room is farther away than your bedroom right now. “I guess you’re right. To the bathroom.”
“Bedroom,” she corrects before making your feet move.
“Bedroom,” you agree, like that was the plan for you all along, instead of just falling asleep on the hardwood flooring. Your head falls forward and then sideways onto Victoria’s shoulder.
She gets you into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin. “We can celebrate another night, okay?” She prompts, her face at your eye level.
“I love you.” You breathe out. “You’re so good to me.”
“I’m your friend. Why wouldn’t I be good to you?” Her round eyes are taking in every dark feature of your face.
“No, no, I mean,” You’re trying to get the right words out, but with an inebriated mind, it’s not going too well. “Like…even when I’m not good to you. Like when I avoid you at work.”
“You avoid me at work?” She looks taken aback. Granted, maybe you shouldn’t have told her that, but the alcohol running through you is making you hold nothing back.
“Yeah.” You nod. “I like you too much. Like like you like you.” It seems so stupid to say out loud. It sounds like you’re in high school. ‘Like you like you’, ugh. Maybe you’re not even making sense. You’re probably not.
But Victoria’s gone quiet. Did you say something wrong?
“You’re drunk.” She tells you, and you nod.
“Yeah. Very drunk.” You smile.
“Go to sleep.”
“Going to sleep.”
———
There’s a nice note the next morning, stuck underneath a glass of water and two pills of Advil.
You don’t know what you drank last night, but god was it a bad idea. Well, drinking overall was a bad idea. You thought you were doing so well. But of course, your mother had to go and ruin it with a voicemail.
The voicemail itself wasn’t too bad; you could handle it. But it was all the pent-up emotions, the easy route of turning back to alcohol to numb everything, it was the fact that she had completely forgotten your birthday and told you you never even celebrated it as a kid. Which just isn’t true.
You loved your birthday as a kid. You adored it. You wanted the pretty pink birthday parties every other child your age seemed to get. You wanted a vanilla-flavored cake with white frosting and pink roses on top with cursive writing spelling out ‘Happy Birthday’.
You wanted all of that.
Except that the most you got was a sad ‘Happy Birthday Kid’ from your mother. Just the words. No cupcake, no present. It didn’t even matter if she had half the decency to pick up a card from the nearby Family Dollar and scribbled her name down real fast.
She didn’t even have to write a birthday message. Just cross her t’s and dot her i’s.
But now you don’t want a cake, cupcake, balloons, banners, pink roses, cards, anything like that. You hate the mention of your birthday, you hate the date, you hate everything that is associated with it.
“Feeling better?” Victoria’s voice comes from the other side of the door.
“Nope.” You groan, your voice croaking.
She laughs a little before pushing your bedroom door open. She’s holding a plate of eggs, toast, bacon, and what looks like a few slices of oranges.
“What’s this?” You ask, attempting to sit up in a way that doesn’t have your head splitting in two.
“Breakfast?”
“Yeah, but why? Should you be….like…at work? So should I.” You turn your head slowly to look at the digital alarm clock sitting on your bedside table. It reads 8:30 in little red numbers. “Shit.” You hang your head.
“I mean, yeah, I told them I was going to be late. I’m leaving right now. Just wanted to make you a little something before I left. And I told them you had a small incident yesterday and you won’t be able to attend work today.”
“Oh, thanks.” You reach for the plate filled with the greasy food. “Thank you, Vic.”
“You’re welcome.” She grants you a smile, but then it drops. “Are…you okay?”
You shrug as you take a bite of the bacon, delighting in the fact that it’s crispy but not to the point that it’s burnt. That’s the other thing about Victoria you liked. She always remembered how you loved your bacon cooked.
“I mean, besides a hangover, yeah. I guess.”
“Are you sure? You were a few months sober, and now you’re at the bottom again.” Your fork stops cutting up the over-easy eggs as she speaks. “I-I mean not like that! I meant, you had tried so hard. I know you were really trying this time. That’s what I meant.”
She blurts out, trying to save her ass.
“I know what you meant, Vic.” Your voice comes out quiet.
“I’m sorry. That sounded really mean.” She sits down on the edge of your bed and plants a hand on your knee. That’s when it all comes pouring out. You place the plate aside on the nearby bedside table and just crash into her.
Your arms wrap around her, your face planting itself in her neck. Her arms wrap around you, too. You’re trying to somewhat push yourself into her lap. You cry against her skin as she holds you, probably unsure of what to say. She never really knows what to say in moments like these.
She lets you cry it out on her shoulder, and when you eventually pull back, she looks at you with such a heartbreaking expression that it makes the tears begin to flow all over again.
“It’s okay,” she whispers, her hands coming to cradle your face like you’re some sort of broken, fragile thing. “It’s okay.”
She really is too good to you.
You sniffle and officially pull away from her. “Go to work.” You say, offering her a smile. The best smile you can manage before you feel the urge to throw up. She’s there to help you through it, as she knows being sick is a fear of yours.
Her hand rubs soothing circles on your back, helping you to ignore the churning of your stomach with each effort vomiting takes out of you. She’s there to wipe your mouth with a paper towel and hand you your brush and toothpaste to clean yourself up a bit.
She puts you back into bed, making sure the covers are up to your chin. However, before she can leave, you’re quick to grab her hand. “Vic,” you start, your eyes closed as you feel yourself back on the brink of exhaustion. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
“Have a good day.”
“You too.” You can hear the smile in her words.
“Debatable.”
————
By the time Victoria gets home, you’re up and moving. Granted, you still have a major headache, but you want to make something for her in return for her making sure you were okay throughout the day.
She even came home on her lunch break to make sure you had been taking Advil every three hours and hydrating yourself.
So now you were up, standing against the stove, mixing some garlic into the red tomato sauce you were sure to be stirring every other five minutes. The heart-shaped pasta is cooking on the opposite burner, and the garlic bread you picked up from the nearby grocery store is baking in the oven.
You smile to yourself when the lock clicks and the front door opens. Victoria is quick to kick off her shoes and let her bag fall to the floor before she even realizes you’re out of bed.
“Why are you out of bed? You’re supposed to be sleeping and taking it easy-”
“I’m fine, Vic. I wanted to surprise you.” You shrug like it’s no big deal. Victoria, on the other hand, takes it to heart immediately.
“Why? You don’t have to surprise me.”
“It’s for earlier.” You’re not big on affirmations through words. You like doing things for other people and then playing it off like it’s no big deal, but secretly you love to see people get giddy and bashful about someone doing ordinary, everyday things for them. And Victoria definitely gets bashful when you do things like this for her.
“For earlier? I was just being a friend.” She finds the whole thing funny- that you’re so grateful.
“I know, but you still deserve something for thanks. Especially with not…y’know getting mad at me and whatnot.”
She grabs herself a cup, not even out of her black scrubs yet. She fills it with water and comes up beside you, looking down at the thick bubbling sauce. “I’d never get mad at you. Looks good.”
“Thank you.” You respond, for both her saying she’d never get mad at you and for complimenting your cooking. “How was today?”
“Samira’s pissed you didn’t show up. She was left to deal with Robby alone.”
“I’ll have to text her I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, if she doesn’t kill you first.” Victoria begins to set the small table. Two glasses, two forks, two knives, two spoons, napkins, and two plates. You turn off both burners and strain the pasta before adding the noodles to the sauce. Your stomach grumbles at the different smells as you set everything down onto the table.
The garlic bread is next, moving to place one on Victoria’s plate and then your own. Victoria is practically licking her lips as the pasta meets her plate; her fork is in her hand already.
“Was it really that bad today?” You question, piling some onto your plate as well. Victoria is nice enough to wait until you sit down before shoveling the vodka pasta into her mouth.
“I think everyone was just upset you weren’t there. I didn’t…like tell them anything! I swear! They just miss you when you’re out for the day, that’s all.” She’s over-explaining, which is a tell that she’s clearly nervous.
“I didn’t think you did.” You shake your head. “I know I’ve said it a thousand times today, but thank you.” You look at her face. Her brown eyes and the laugh lines around her mouth. She’s always laughing.
Her eyebrows crease together as she mumbles, “No problem,” through a mouthful of food.
Sometimes, you think it couldn’t get better than this. You want it to be the norm. You want her to come home, or you, and see one of the two of you cooking, in nothing but a t-shirt and underwear.
You want to wake up next to her and not have to rush out the door for work. You want to wake up next to her. You’ve done it before, but that’s mostly because she had pulled you into bed, begging drunkenly for you to stay with her. You would oblige, sliding into the cold spot beside her warm body and staring up at the ceiling as she lay her head on your chest.
You wanted her to cuddle up next to you at night consciously. You wanted her to choose you instead of Cassie. You wanted to wake up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the air and Victoria sitting on the kitchen counter, wearing just one of your t-shirts and the pretty underwear she wears.
But for right now, you’d settle for this domestication bliss. A dinner you made, still half hungover, and an exhausted Victoria sitting across from you.
She helps you with the dishes and puts the extra food away before the two of you settle down on your bed. You’re lying against the headboard, your head propped up on the body pillow behind you, and Vic is lying beside you, your legs intertwined with hers.
A movie plays in the background, but you’re not paying attention. Exhaustion hits you out of nowhere, even though you practically slept the day away. And Victoria notices, as she gently kicks your leg.
“Mmm,” you mumble, eyes not opening.
“Stay awake. This is the good part.”
“Can’t….keep my eyes…open, Vic,” you tell her, struggling to open your eyes to look at your best friend.
You feel her shift, and you think she’s probably sitting up to hit you playfully on the arm or something, except you feel her cuddle up next to you, her arms tucked against her front. Your left arm moves to encircle her, and you feel as she lays her head on your chest.
“Is this okay?” Her voice is a quiet thing.
“Yeah.” You murmur, nodding. Your eyes are still closed, but you press a kiss to her forehead. It’s a simple thing, but it means everything to you. Your fingers run through her hair as you begin to fall into a deep sleep, per the rhythmic movements of your hand.
This feels so natural. Like something meant to happen. But you know, in the back of your mind, Victoria has a crush on Cassie McKay and not you. She used to have a crush on Mateo, but that diminished into nothing when she began to spend more days at the ER with Cass.
It’s not like you can blame Victoria, either. It’s Cassie. She’s a good-looking woman. But the heart wants what it wants, and it doesn’t want Cassie. It wants your best friend, and it wants her bad.
