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alive-gh0st · 1 month ago

Text

˗ˏˋ❝Afterglow❞ˎˊ˗

Mark Grayson x Med!Reader♡ྀི

.….ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨.ـ.. .

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⛨ summary: you’re not obsessed with him. you’re not. but the world clearly is. strange articles. sneaky algorithms. and a voice in your head that won’t shut up. meanwhile, invincible’s got his own problem: he can’t find the girl who called him out like a scrub tech on a bad day.

⛨ contains: sfw. nurse carla’s mischief. media-induced annoyance. early emotional foreshadowing. reader in denial. mark being haunted by words and mystery. parallel narration. bonus scene chaos.

⛨ warnings: mild language. internet stalking (light). stubbornness. minor delusion. no real threats—just a very determined destiny.

⛨ wc: 2146

prologue, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: fun fact—i lost half of this chapter mid-edit because my wifi decided to flatline like a soap opera character. dramatic gasp, hospital monitor beep, the whole deal. one second i’m tweaking a paragraph, the next i’m staring at the void where 800 words used to be. i almost fought my router. bare-fisted. anyway, here it is—risen from the ashes, caffeinated, and slightly more unhinged than originally planned. enjoy my suffering.

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The universe has a sick sense of humor.

You know this. You’ve always known this.

You work twelve-hour shifts surrounded by people coughing on your scrubs and trying to die inconveniently. You’ve stitched up knife wounds caused by things described as “accidents,” told grown men they’re not, in fact, dying from a sore throat, and once had to remove a Lego from a place no Lego should ever be.

But lately, it feels personal.

There’s been a shift. A pattern. A very specific, very annoying theme threading itself through your life like the world’s most persistent pop-up ad.

It’s not love. It’s not fate.

It’s him.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

You tap your phone’s screen with more passive aggression than necessary, holding it to your ear even though you know your (only) friend won’t pick up.

Beep.

“Okay, listen—I’m not spiraling. I’m not.”

(Pause. Sip. Another pause.)

“But if one more news article, thirst edit, or random merch featuring that man—shows up in my general vicinity, I will commit a felony. Probably a creative one.”

(Beat.)

“And no—before you say it—it’s not a crush. I don’t have time for crushes. I have sleep deprivation and a spine held together by caffeine.”

(Silence.)

“He’s not even that hot.”

You hang up.

Regret it. Immediately.

And that’s when it hits you—

You’re not obsessed with him.

You’re not.

You’ve been into people before—celebrities, coworkers, a random guy who pronounced your name right on the first try—but this isn’t that. You’re not delusional. You’re tired. You have a full-time job, a chaotic sleep schedule, and at least two stress migraines scheduled for the week.

You’re not obsessed.

The entire world, on the other hand, clearly is.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

It starts with a newspaper.

A real one. Paper and ink and everything. You’re halfway through your first sip of coffee (not bad, not cursed) when you spot it, splayed open on the front counter like it tripped and fell into your line of sight.

’Invincible saves subway commuters in mid-derailment battle.’

There’s a photo. Midair. Bloodied knuckles. Hero pose. That obnoxious blue-yellow suit.

You blink at it once. Twice. The espresso tastes more bitter somehow.

“…Carla,” you call out, slowly.

A soft shuffle from the break room. “Mhm?”

You tilt your head toward the paper. “Is that yours?”

“Nope,” she chirps, far too quickly.

You squint.

Carla reappears moments later with a tea mug that says ’I am the storm’ in passive-aggressive font and absolutely does not make eye contact as she walks past you.

She hums.

The kind of hum that implies dark intentions.

You stare at the paper like it personally insulted your scrubs.

That’s strike one.

Strike two comes via TikTok. Or… Instagram Reels. Or whatever godforsaken app the algorithm has you trapped in.

You’re lying on your couch on your one night off, a warm takeout container on your lap, the lights dimmed just enough to make it feel like self-care. You open your phone to zone out. Maybe scroll through food mukbangs. A few raccoon videos. Rewatch that one clip from ’The Bear’ for the emotional damage.

Instead, the second video to pop up is a slow-motion fan edit of Invincible. Set to a remix of a 2000s ballad.

You stare at your phone in silence as the hero who bloodied his way through your afternoon is now being thirsted after by teenagers in the comments.

You swipe up fast enough to sprain something.

Then another pops up.

And another.

And—oh, good god. This one’s tagged #invincibae.

You throw your phone facedown on your stomach like it’s contagious.

You’re not angry. You’re not even annoyed.

You’re just trying to have one singular crumb of peace in this godless world, and the masked himbo you verbally body-checked in the middle of a disaster won’t stop invading your downtime.

You eventually find a rerun of ’House MD’ and watch a patient nearly die from licking envelopes, which feels more comforting than it should.

You’re not obsessed.

(But maybe you do glare at a passing bus with his face on the side. Just a little.)

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

By the end of the week, it gets worse.

You’re at the pharmacy grabbing gauze, extra gloves, and the least offensive granola bar in existence when you see the merch.

Merch.

A corner display stacked with shirts and water bottles and pins. There’s a plushie. A plushie. Of him.

You pause, granola bar halfway to your basket.

A kid next to you picks up the Invincible water bottle and turns to his mom. “Do you think he drinks from this too?”

You visibly clench your jaw.

At that exact moment, your phone dings.

You pull it out with the practiced grace of someone who lives and dies by their calendar app—only to find a suggested article on your lock screen.

’Why Invincible Might Be the Most Relatable Hero Yet!’

You could scream.

Instead, you mutter, “I patched up his concussion while inhaling drywall dust. He was seeing double and still arguing with me.”

The cashier stares at you.

You move on.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

The final straw?

A patient brings him up.

Middle of a wound check, nothing dramatic. A few stitches, topical numbing, your hands moving on autopilot. You’re explaining aftercare, bandage changes, when the patient—maybe fifteen, maybe sixteen—smiles at you and says:

“You kinda remind me of Invincible, y’know? Like, you’re calm under pressure and.. kind of badass.”

You blink.

Smile politely. “Cool.”

Inside, your soul shrivels.

You are not him.

You don’t throw punches. You don’t fly. You don’t have a theme song or fan cams or merchandise.

You have an overtime shift on Sunday and a stress knot in your shoulder that’s starting to feel like a second spine.

But the universe doesn’t care.

You’re not obsessed.

You just can’t escape.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

Mark doesn’t remember your face.

Not clearly, anyway.

The smoke had blurred the details, painted you in silhouettes and urgency. You weren’t the loudest voice in the chaos—just the sharpest. Crisp, cutting, sure of yourself in a way that made his head spin more than the actual concussion.

But your voice?

He remembers that like it’s stitched into the inside of his skull.

Low. Stern. Half-sarcastic and half-soothing. It sounded like someone who didn’t have time for bullshit, which—given the circumstances—made sense.

He was bleeding from the ribs. The city was literally burning.

Still, the memory echoes:

“Don’t say fine.”

“You’re favoring your left.”

“You shouldn’t be flying.”

Mark exhales hard, slumping deeper into the worn couch. The TV’s on but silent. Some old action movie flickers in the corner of his vision. It’s supposed to be background noise.

But nothing is loud enough to drown you out.

He doesn’t know your name.

Doesn’t know what you do, where you’re from, if you even survived the aftermath unscathed.

All he knows is that you made him feel—briefly, dangerously—human.

Not a symbol. Not a name in headlines. Just a guy who was bleeding too much and doing too little.

And he can’t stop hearing you.

“You’re zoning out again,” Debbie says from the kitchen.

Mark flinches, barely registering the sound of the fridge opening.

“Sorry. Just tired.”

Debbie hums skeptically and tosses him a cold can of soda. “You’ve said that every day this week.”

“I am tired.”

“You’re also muttering to yourself like a haunted Victorian widow. Anything I should know?”

Mark cracks the can open with unnecessary force.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares ahead like the wall is going to give him divine guidance.

“I met someone,” he says finally.

Debbie doesn’t react. Just leans against the counter, raising a perfectly arched brow. “Okay. And?”

“She yelled at me.”

Still silence.

“And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.”

There it is.

Debbie snorts into her cup. “That’s it? That’s what’s got you acting like a sad poet?”

He shifts. “It’s not just that. She—she saw right through me. In like, five seconds. Called out every injury I hadn’t processed yet. Told me I wasn’t fine before I could even lie about it.”

“And this was… romantic?”

“No!” Mark frowns. “I don’t even know what it was. I don’t know anything about her. I couldn’t even see her face.”

“Okay, now it’s giving Victorian ghost story.”

“She saved a kid.”

Debbie blinks.

“In the middle of it all. Ran straight into debris and smoke. People tried to stop her and she looked at me like I was the liability.”

He doesn’t mention the way your hands shook but never stopped moving. Or the way you lied—beautifully, horribly—just to keep that child alive a few seconds longer.

He doesn’t mention how it made something in his chest ache.

“She sounds amazing,” Debbie says, more gently now.

“She was,” he mutters. “And now she’s just… gone.”

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

The thing is, Mark’s not usually like this.

He gets hit, he gets up. He saves people, and he moves on. Faces blur. Names fade. It’s how he copes.

But this? This isn’t fading.

It’s getting worse.

He’ll be flying over the city and see a flash of hair that looks vaguely like yours—and he’ll nearly crash into a billboard turning to check. His neck has started clicking. He’s going to need chiropractic help and therapy.

He doesn’t even know you, but he’s half-convinced he’ll know when he sees you again.

He’s waiting for it.

And that thought alone is ridiculous.

Because he doesn’t wait. Not for danger. Not for hope. Not for anyone.

Except now, apparently, for you.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

More than once, he’s hovered outside hospitals and urgent care clinics on patrol. Just a few seconds. Just in case.

He makes excuses for it, of course:

• You never know when you might be needed.

• Some med centers don’t have enough security.

• Maybe he’s being responsible.

But then he hears a nurse’s laugh and it isn’t yours.

And he flies off like a coward.

Not even a few minutes later there’s a robbery in Midtown.

Small-time. Two guys. One has a crowbar. The other trips over his shoelace trying to run.

Mark’s on it in sixty seconds flat.

It’s easy—should be, anyway—but his timing’s off. He lands too hard, shoulder twinges wrong. The guy gets one good swing in before Mark sends him flying (not too far).

It’s done in under a minute.

And still—he’s breathless. Not from the fight, but from the feeling.

The missing.

The what if you’d seen that and thought I was sloppy kind of missing.

He doesn’t say anything as he lifts the guy’s dropped phone and hands it off to the store clerk. They thank him. He nods.

Flies away.

He doesn’t go far.

Just lands on some apartment roof, crouches by the ledge, and lets his hands tangle in his hair for a minute.

The city stretches below him, loud and alive.

But all he wants to find is a blur in the chaos that isn’t there.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

Later that night, he lies in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling like it might offer closure.

It doesn’t.

It’s just drywall and shadows and everything you saw through.

His notebook lies half-open next to him—not forgotten, just untouched, like a question he doesn’t know how to answer yet.

It’s not a journal—he doesn’t do feelings that way—but sometimes, when his head’s too loud and his hands need something to do, he sketches. Nothing fancy. Just lines. Shapes. Impressions.

Tonight, it’s you.

Or, what he remembers of you. Which isn’t much.

Your face is a blur. Hair? A vague impression. Maybe dark. Maybe not. But your hands—he remembers those. Quick, steady, smudged with ash. Your posture. How you stood slightly in front of the child like a shield, chin up, like fear was something for other people.

He’s drawn the same half-profile six times now. None of them are right.

He sighs, drags a hand through his hair, and flips the page over.

Maybe he’s not trying to get it right.

Maybe he just doesn’t want to forget.

He closes his eyes.

But the voice stays with him.

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⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˖⁺‧₊˚❤️‍🔥˚₊‧⁺˖ ⋆ ˚｡⋆

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌Clinic break room. You. Tired.

You sneeze—violently.

Again.

You rub your nose with the heel of your palm, the tip of it already reddish from overuse, and a dramatic groan leaves your throat as you sink into the unforgiving plastic chair.

“This is some kind of karmic punishment,” you mutter to no one in particular. “Like, I must’ve offended a witch. Or touched something cursed.”

“Maybe you’re getting sick,” offers a random nurse from across the room.

You glare at her. “I’m immune to sickness.”

Then of course, Carla appears behind you, perfectly timed as always.

“Maybe someone’s thinking about you,” she says, casual as rain, not even glancing your way before walking off.

You blink. Deadpan.

Then sneeze again.

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taglist sign up: 𓉘here𓉝

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌With Love, @alive-gh0st

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thisisxli · 1 year ago

Note

What about tooru oikwawa x Hajime twin brother!reader who is shy headcanons?

( I don't know if you do male reader)

Omgg yes ofcc! I really like this idea, it's really cute

Anddd Oikawa's also my fav! <33 I used to be a huge big haikyuu! fan back then lmao. But yes, I will happily do this request. 💗💗

Rs: Tooru Oikawa x Male!Reader

Warnings: small angst, mentions of panick attacks, drama, Tooru's homophobic ex, love quarrels

Tags: Reader is Hajime's twin brother, fluff, Tooru is lovesick and down bad for reader, small The Notebook reference, slice of life, sweet stuff, Golden Retriever x Black Cat energy

wc: 1.8k

First impression/how you met:

Obviously, you both met through Hajime. You've known each other since you were kids. You were born only by five minutes later after Hajime and even so, you were left behind sometimes. This caused you to be really hesitant when Tooru was around. Hajime? Not as much since he was your twin. But Tooru was a different story. You don't know why you got so nervous around him. You started to get really annoyed with yourself when a buzzing prickly feeling started to pick up in your gut whenever he was around. Other than that, Tooru's best friend was Hajime. Not you.

Tooru was never one for introductions as a child but ever since he had met you, it was like you had to know everything about him. Something else told him he just wanted to know everything about you- but it was whatever. Other than that, he felt a little... timid by you. And he swears it's not that he didn't know what to say or anything but you were quiet and you would get really flustered every time he asked you a question. His ten year old brain that time clearly was not fixated on the early signs.

First realizing you had feelings for each other:

You realized you had feelings for him when you watched him set a ball in your backyard, your twin brother spiking it as usual. You were thirteen at the time and you just started puberty. So the hormones and voice change was a huge big weird surprise to you. Watching Tooru glisten in sweat, wiping his nose with the neckline of his shirt. You were practically drooling. That's when a thought popped up in your head, 'oh my god! He's so attractive!' That was when you ultimately decided you were attracted to men. Not many girls were that appealing to your eye anyway.

Tooru realizes his feelings when you two were eleven. He suggested the idea of teaching you and you shyly accepted. He set the ball your way but when you tried to spike it to the other side of the net, you missed and fell on your butt. And it hurt. Tooru immediately rushes to your side, checking if there was some other sort of injury you had. And yet, when he had looked into those teary eyes of yours, that's when he knew that you were going to be the one he was going to marry when he was older. His husband in hand. Surely you did look like Hajime, but you were different. You were unique in a way that made his heart flutter.

How you get together:

You guys got together on Valentine's day. Literally.

Tooru's locker was immensely filled by letters and boxes of chocolate by girls all over the school, some were even boys. You can't lie and say you weren't jealous. You even had your letter you were going to give him. A letter explaining your true feelings and some parts reminiscing some fond memories you two had with each other. But for some reason, he was the one who gave a letter to you. But it wasn't just a letter, he had chocolate.. and gifts! Flowers! And he made sure everyone in your hall saw his proposal! Hajime was in the crowd, crossing his arms over his chest, a soft scowl displayed on his face. Did he know about this? Perhaps he even helped Tooru?

"(Y/N), will you do me the honor of becoming my boyfriend?" Girls shrieked, some cried, some stared at him in disgust while he just stared at you like you hung the moon. You felt small under all these eyes of the people who were crowding you and recording. "Y-yes.." You nod warily, watching him excitedly let out weird sounds and chirps while he jumped with his friends, careful not to drop any of your gifts. Later on that day, he walked you home with your hand held in his hand, both of your other arms occupied with the override of gifts he brought you. Just until Hajime booked his head with a fist, of course.

First kiss/how you kiss:

Much less to say, you were really nervous. You were on your first date with him and it was soon coming to an end; you had a feeling where it was going. "The moon looks beautiful tonight, does it?" When you turn to look at Tooru, he isn't even looking at the moon, he's looking at YOU. You nod, biting the inside of your cheek, "yeah.. it does look beautiful." You both stood on top of a bridge, a small river softly rippling through the streams. As much as you tried to take your mind off things by staring into the reflection of the moon on the water, you couldn't. So you scooched a step closer. And then another step. And another until Tooru took one for you, making you stiff. "(Y/N).." You turn your head to meet his eyes but your lips meet his instead. You were unprepared and was internally screeching inside. But soon enough, you got used to it and start to move your lips against his own. It was slow and passionate. You did not regret a single embarrassing thing you did in front of him as kids after that day.

Whenever you two kiss, they're very playful and chokeholding. At least for you. Tooru loves to bite onto your lip and drag it with him, doing it in front of his friends to show you off and get reactions out of them. When they're not playful, they get sensational and sweet. Some tongue is used here and there. Whenever it's used, you get flustered every time and he absolutely loves it.

Dealing with his ex:

His ex absolutely HATED you. And she hated the idea of a dude and another dude dating each other. You did try to be peaceful with her but she irked you. Tooru would reassure you and pepper you with kisses, rephrasing, "don't worry about her. She's just jealous so don't waste your time, love."

You stepped out your comfort zone and absolutely blew up at her when you caught her putting her hands on Tooru. Non-consensually.

"You better back the fuck up," you raise your voice at the hand-wandering girl, her face falling once she sees you. Suddenly in all your years, you never felt any more bold than you did now. Phones started to pull out from people's pockets and record while you marched your way over to the girl, chest in her face. You were only an inch short from Tooru, same as Hajime. "I don't fuck with the gays, hun. Who are you again?" Her question only seemed to irk you more just before you tightened your fist around Tooru's collar and smash his lips against yours. The colors literally drain from her face when she watches Tooru cling onto you desperately. And you make SURE she watches his tongue slip into your mouth. You seperate your lips from his when she turns to walk away, "yeah, walk away, puny bitch."

Teaching each other:

Tooru LOVES teaching you volleyball. Although you fail miserably at it, he still loves teaching you. Because he gets to pick you up and start back all over again, just to see you try. And he thinks it's cute to see you struggle. He notices you have the habit to pinch your sleeve between your finger nails when you concentrate or struggle.

You laugh every time he attempts to copy one of your drawings, only to end up looking like they were drawn by a five year old. You try to teach him how to draw in your way step by step but he miserably fails at it so. When you suggested to just have him draw his own thing, it was two stickmans. It was him and you, to be precise. You found it adorable and is now hung up on the wall of your room till this day.

Panick attacks:

There was a time you noticed he had been acting strange. You went by the gym to check it out but when you did, you only saw him there just serving balls and setting them as high up as he could. When you called out his name, he messed up his momentum and that's quite literally when he started to cry. He started to hyperventilate and close in on himself which you immediately rush to his side to comfort. He quickly took you in his arms, breathing heavily against your shoulder, his dry throat and muscles burning intensely. Luckily, you had a bottle of water with you. So while he calmed down and laid on your lap while drinking water, he went back to being okay. He did vent to you about his problems and insecurities though. And you were there to hear it all.<3

Arguments:

You both barely gotten into arguments. But after finding out he was going off to move into South America, you were bawling and begging at his feet.

"(Y/N)- look- I'm sorry! I can't stay! I really wish I could but I can't! I don't even know if we.." His voice trails off, eyes softening at your kneeled figure. You were clinging to his pants, soft hiccups leaving your chest as you rest your forehead against his thigh. "We have to stay together," you murmur, snot slowly rolling down and over your lip. Tooru smiles before kneeling down to meet your eyes, placing a hand on your cheek. "And we can. It's not impossible. If someone really wanted to do or keep something, they would've done so already," he kindly smiles, warning a ripping whine out of you, tears over spilling your cheeks. He's quickly alerted and tries his best to wipe away your tears and snot.

Adult life:

"My brother and brother 'n law will be here in a min', just give them a se-" "Tooru (L/N) is here people!!" Tooru slams the door open, cutting off Hajime who now had a grim scowling look on his face. You and Tooru had just got back from your honeymoon, and you both had a great time. It was wonderful and beautiful. You followed behind your husband not too short after, awkwardly lightly bowing to the guests in the house at Tooru's loud boast.

You two lived in a house together. He pursued his dream as a volleyball player and you pursued yours. You both supported each other in every way. But now, there was a debate whether you two should get a surrogate or an adopted child. You two decided you wanted a surrogate, one of your own and one of his own. You two now have one girl and one boy. They were basically twins; the only difference was that one was born an hour after the other.

The girl was named 'Najime' and the boy was named 'Hajime', after your brother.

Fun Fact:

There was huge drama between you, Tooru, and Hajime. You guys were in your late teenage years and Hajime suddenly realizes his love for Tooru. You were sort of devastated when Tooru couldn't really deny his feelings for Hajime. Could you really blame them?

But in the end, Tooru chose you. He made sure he gave you all the attention and love after that, doing whatever he could to gain your trust back again. And Hajime apologized profusely to you so many times. You weren't really happy with him but you managed. You two became close again after a talk with your parents.

As old people, you both passed peacefully in each other's arms at a nursing home.

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