(I haven’t written fanfiction in years but McKay has sparked that fuse in me once again 🫡 I am so tired)
Tags: f!reader, some NSFW content (+18), slight angst (?), established relationship, a bit of fluff (?), can this be considered character study? (Let me know if I missed something pls)
The push and pull, the give and take, was a familiar game to Cassie McKay.
It was the way life had set out its cards for her.
Draining. Repetitive. Uncomfortably familiar at times.
But none of that was as destructive as the damage of her past weighing on her mind.
It's inescapable. Unchangeable. It’s a reminder.
Old wounds hurt the most. Taking shape as something felt under her skin after a particularly bad shift.
As something known and still left unsaid.
How palms and words could shape so much with so little.
It was always a trade between people. A fault line somewhere. Not one of weakness, but it came with the trust of someone whose words pressed too deeply when said aloud.
It was desperation fueled by the habitual mind and held together by the hands that tried to keep water from seeping through each gap of their fingers.
It was a never ending cycle.
Or rather it took the form of one.
Cyclones never truly stay, only the aftermath does.
Stepping through the wreckage is never easy. It’s a path you must start alone, but it never means that you have to walk it alone.
Cities aren’t built by one person. They are conceived through the thought of a singular person and carried out by the people who see that idea, too.
Potential is not a punctuation. It’s an open sentence.
It took Cassie a long time to learn it. To fully believe that potential existed outside of daydreams.
Ten years of sobriety is a testament to that.
So even as the shifts rolled into the next day and had her dead on her feet, it was worth it. Helping people of all kinds—helping people who resembled her all those years ago—it was worth every bit.
Especially when she met you.
Falling in love with you wasn’t some instantaneous thing. Not a meet-cute or love at first sight. It was slow, curious and exploratory.
How to prod, when to prod. Where to go, when to go.
Cassie did not fall in love at all; she eased into it.
But it was hard to not notice things when “things” that once were mundane and practiced became subtle and searched for.
A brush of a hand against a lower back.
A tone of voice that was a little too low to be considered anything else but intimate.
The fluidity the two of you developed after being assigned many patients together.
A planet with its moon. A gravitational pull that kept you both from straying too far.
You became a net to fall on.
It was subconscious, but everyone noticed.
Though, no one ever pushed. At least, not obviously. It was whispered between those in the morning crew and was somehow pushed into the night crew.
Bets were placed on who would confess first, and the two of you were practically on the Jumbotron whenever spotted together.
But love isn’t something you can bet on and guarantee money in your pocket. Love is a puzzle. To love you must pick apart and rearrange the pieces. You have to learn others. Take a step back and figure out what piece slots into another. It takes time, patience, and willingness.
Not every piece will have a spot. You’ll lose some. Gain some.
It’s not without frustration or emotions that threaten to spill over.
No puzzle is the same nor are the hands that are figuring it out alongside you.
You simply make space for the crevices, the memories, the habits of molding your life into something that allows another person to stay there with you.
You taught Cassie how to rebuild her puzzle. How to give her a bigger picture without throwing the pieces away.
And there is not a day that she regrets marrying you.
Even when some days have rougher edges than others.
Even when the pieces get jumbled up again and you both find yourselves slotting puzzle piece after puzzle piece with a quiet patience reserved for each other in the late hours of the night.
Nights with hands that create paths over ones already traveled, yet still holding that same curious nature as if waiting to find something new. With fingertips brushing beneath navels, trailing down into sodden hair and prodding between folds. With sighs and pants breathed warmly into each other's mouths, only to lazily connect in a love-soaked kiss laced with teeth and tongue.
Nights with “I love you’s” breaking off each other’s lips, pressed into skin like an iron brand.
It bleeds into the mornings when you lay tangled in both the blanket and her limbs; her hold tight enough to still feel possessive, as though she was afraid you’d leave.
You stay there in that moment with her.
You trace over her features with a featherlight touch, admiring her peaceful expression with a gentle smile.
You loved when you could keep her like this.
Cassie’s face was often your little time capsule. Every wrinkle, line, blemish and scar was a story to be told through her.
You never look away from her.
Especially when her eyelids flutter open from your light tracing and her beautiful blues meet your eyes. The sight makes you smile wider, and you can see a form of a smile on her lips as the corners of her eyes crinkle in half-awake amusement.
It was instinct. It was a routine you’d never tire of. It belonged to both of you.
(Constructive criticism is very welcomed. I think I’m rusty af. I hope this makes sense bc it’s not edited or beta read.)
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