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this is a masterlist of my malvie fics. some of these stories can be extremely wholesome, and some of these stories can be extremely sensual and/or dark. please take note of the warnings before proceeding. I am not responsible for your media consumption.

nav. ➞ ⭒ fluff ✁ spicy ᥫ᭡ angst ☾ dark

Day 4: Scar

The bathroom mirror was kinder in low light. Stevie had discovered that weeks ago. If she kept the door only half open and left the bedroom lamp on instead of the overhead light, the reflection blurred just enough that she could almost ignore it.

Almost.

She let the towel slip from around her shoulders.

The scar down her abdomen had faded from angry red to pale pink, but it still caught her eye first. It traced a line she never expected to have, a permanent reminder of the day her cyst had burst at work, of frightened faces she usually saw from the other side of a resuscitation bay.

The emergency surgery.

The mass on her ovary.

Waking to discover the surgeons hadn't just removed it — they'd removed her uterus too.

She rested her fingertips lightly against the skin.

Then her eyes drifted upwards.

The port sat beneath the skin just below her collarbone, a small, unmistakable bump. The bruising was long gone, but she still hated looking at it.

It made everything feel... visible. Like her body had become a map of everything that had gone wrong.

"You disappeared."

Stevie startled.

Mali was leaning against the bedroom door, dressed in leggings and one of Stevie's oversized hoodies, her hair curling under her chin.

"I knocked."

"I didn't hear."

"I guessed."

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Stevie instinctively folded her arms across herself.

"I know," she said before Mali could say anything. "It's stupid."

Mali frowned. "What is?"

"This," She gestured vaguely towards herself. "I look..."

The words refused to come.

Mali stepped closer, stopping just within arm's reach. "You know what I see?"

Stevie looked unconvinced.

"My girlfriend."

"Mali."

"The woman who steals my hoodies."

"They're my hoodies."

"The woman who insists coriander tastes like soap."

"It does."

"The woman who secretly cries at animal rescue programmes."

"They always find the cats homes."

Mali smiled softly.

"And the woman I happen to think is ridiculously beautiful."

Stevie's eyes dropped.

"You don't have to say that."

"I know."

"You don't."

"I want to."

Stevie swallowed. "I hate looking at myself."

The admission hung heavily between them.

"I see the scar first."

Mali nodded. "Okay."

"And the port."

"Okay."

"I don't recognise..." Stevie's voice cracked. "I don't recognise my own body anymore."

There it was. The truth she'd been carrying alone.

Mali reached for her hand rather than pulling her into a hug. "I won't tell you to love your scars."

Stevie blinked. "I'm not there yet."

"No."

"And I won't tell you they happened for a reason."

"Thank you."

"They happened because you were desperately ill."

Stevie nodded once.

"But they also happened because you lived."

Silence.

Mali lifted Stevie's hand and placed it gently over her own heart.

"This body got you here."

Then she covered Stevie's hand with hers and guided it back to the scar across her abdomen.

"This body survived surgery."

Her fingers moved carefully to the port beneath Stevie's collarbone.

"This body got through months of chemotherapy."

Tears blurred Stevie's vision. "I don't feel brave."

"I didn't say brave."

"No?"

"I said survived."

Something inside Stevie loosened.

Mali stepped closer then, giving Stevie every chance to move away.

She didn't.

Instead she let herself be gathered into warm arms, resting her forehead against Mali's shoulder.

"I miss feeling like me."

"You will."

"What if I don't?"

Mali kissed her temple.

"Then we'll learn this version together."

Stevie laughed through the tears.

"'We'll'?"

"Always."

For the first time in weeks, Stevie looked back at the mirror. The scars hadn't disappeared. Neither had the port.

Day 3: Cry

It was like any other day in the ED, and the department had survived twelve relentless hours of impossible relatives, impossible waits and one trauma call after another. By the time Faith ducked into the staff room, she was only looking for five uninterrupted minutes and a cup of tea that hadn't gone cold.

Instead, she found Stevie sitting on the floor beside the lockers.

Her head rested against the metal door behind her, eyes closed, hands wrapped around a paper cup she'd long since stopped drinking from.

For a moment, Faith thought she was asleep.

Then she heard the uneven breath.

"Stevie?"

Stevie's eyes opened immediately, as though she'd been expecting someone to find her.

"Oh." She scrubbed quickly beneath one eye. "Sorry."

"What are you apologising for?"

"I just needed a minute."

Faith didn't move any closer straight away. Stevie had never been someone who welcomed being crowded. Instead, she quietly lowered herself onto the floor opposite, joints protesting as she did.

"Bad shift?"

Stevie laughed without humour. "I've had worse."

"You've had better."

"Yeah."

Silence settled between them.

Outside, someone called for a porter. A monitor alarm sounded briefly before falling quiet again. Life in the emergency department never really stopped.

Faith watched Stevie stare into her untouched tea.

"You know," Faith said eventually, "you're allowed to cry."

"I know."

"You don't look convinced."

Stevie shrugged. "It feels... I don’t know.. indulgent."

Faith frowned. "Since when?"

"I've only just come back. Everyone keeps asking if I'm okay." She swallowed. "I don't want them wondering whether they brought me back too soon."

Faith knew exactly what she meant.

Stevie had fought hard to return after months away for chemotherapy. Every shift seemed to carry an invisible pressure to prove she was still herself. Still capable. Still strong enough.

As though strength meant never wobbling.

"It wasn't the patient," Stevie admitted quietly.

"No?"

"It was his daughter."

Faith waited.

"She kept saying she'd be fine. Every time someone asked." Stevie smiled sadly. "Then she just... wasn't."

Faith recognised the look on Stevie's face.

Sometimes another person's grief found the crack you'd spent weeks pretending wasn't there.

"You've been holding everything together for a long time."

"I thought I was."

"You were."

Stevie finally looked up. "So why does it suddenly feel impossible?"

Faith smiled gently.

"Because that's what happens when you've been brave on your own for too long."

The words seemed to land somewhere deep.

Stevie looked away again, and this time the tears came properly, exhausted tears that she'd been denying herself for weeks.

Faith shifted into the space beside Stevie without saying anything.

She didn't offer advice, nor did she tell Stevie everything happened for a reason. She simply rested a hand over Stevie's for as long as it was needed.

Eventually the crying stopped.

Stevie let out a shaky breath. "I hate this."

"I know, sweetheart. I know."

"I thought finishing treatment was supposed to be the hard part."

Faith squeezed her hand. "Sometimes surviving is harder than getting through it."

Stevie gave a watery laugh. "That's horribly depressing."

After another minute, Stevie nudged Faith lightly with her shoulder.

"Thanks for not making a fuss, Cadogan."

Faith stood, offering her a hand up. "Sweetheart, if I was making a fuss, you'd know about it."

Stevie smiled, the first genuine smile in a while.

Day 2: Goodbye

Morning arrived quietly, slipping through the gap in the curtains and painting pale gold across the bedroom walls. Somewhere outside, a neighbour's dog barked once before the street settled again.

Stevie was only half-awake when she felt the mattress dip.

"You should still be asleep," Mali murmured.

"I'm trying."

"You're terrible at it."

"I know."

Stevie smiled without opening her eyes. A familiar hand brushed gently through her hair, careful and unhurried, until she finally blinked herself awake.

Mali was already dressed in her ambulance greens, fleece on, boots still missing. Her curls were slightly damp from the shower, a mug of tea balanced on the bedside table where she'd undoubtedly forgotten about it.

"You look knackered," Stevie mumbled.

"I could say the same to you."

"I went back to sleep after you first got up."

"You still look knackered."

Stevie reached blindly until her fingers found Mali's wrist, tugging her down onto the edge of the bed.

"Five minutes."

"Mmm."

"You've got time."

"I've got..." Mali glanced dramatically at the clock. "Four and a half."

"Close enough."

She came willingly anyway, leaning against Stevie's shoulder. They sat in comfortable silence, wrapped in the sort of quiet that only existed when you knew someone well enough not to fill every gap.

Stevie rested her head against Mali's.

"You smell nice."

"That's shampoo. Might actually be yours."

"Still counts."

"You've set the bar incredibly low."

"It is six in the morning."

"Fair."

Stevie laughed softly, the sound still a little rusty these days. She tired more easily than she used to, even weeks after finishing chemotherapy. Most mornings she woke up feeling as though she'd run a marathon in her sleep. Today wasn't quite so bad, but her limbs still carried that familiar heaviness.

Without saying anything, Mali reached for her hand.

Her thumb traced lazy circles across Stevie's knuckles.

"How're you feeling?"

"Good."

"The actual answer."

Stevie sighed.

"...Pretty good."

"Better?"

"Better."

Mali studied her for a moment, the way she always did now — not anxiously, not hovering, simply checking in.

"I'm glad."

"So am I."

There had been months where mornings like this had felt impossibly far away. Hospital appointments. Medication alarms. Days measured in blood counts and nausea instead of ordinary things.

Now they argued over whose turn it was to buy milk.

Stevie much preferred this version of life.

"You'll text me?" Mali asked.

"When I get to work."

"And if you're tired…"

"I'll tell someone."

"And you'll eat lunch."

Stevie pulled a face.

"You've become very bossy."

"I learned from the best."

"I am not bossy."

Mali raised an eyebrow.

Stevie couldn't help laughing.

"Oh, go to work."

"I was trying."

Instead, Mali leaned forward and kissed her.

It wasn't hurried or dramatic. Just warm lips, familiar and lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

When they pulled apart, Stevie caught the sleeve of Mali's fleece.

"One more."

"You are clingy this morning."

"I've decided to embrace it."

"So brave."

The second kiss found the corner of Stevie's smile.

"I love you," Mali whispered.

Stevie didn't answer immediately. She simply looked at her, taking in the face she'd come to know so well — the sleepy eyes, the damp curls curling under her chin, the tiny crease between her eyebrows that appeared whenever she was thinking too hard.

It still amazed her that this was her life.

"I love you too."

Mali squeezed her hand once before standing, pulling on her boots by the bedroom door.

"I’ll lock myself out, alright."

"Okay."

"And don't over exert yourself."

"No promises."

"You absolutely will."

"I might."

Mali laughed as she collected her keys.

At the front door she glanced back one last time.

Stevie was still tucked beneath the duvet, hair a complete mess, smiling at her like she'd hung the moon.

The door clicked shut a moment later.

Day 1 - Voicemail

The call rang out.

Stevie stared at the wall in the staff room, already regretting ringing in the first place. She’d been meaning to ring for ages, but she’d never had the confidence to, the fear of accepting the fact that her father hated her was too much to deal with.

It went to voicemail.

She closed her eyes.

"Hi, Dad... it's me.” A pause. “I wasn't sure if this was still your number."

Another pause.

"I went back to work today. First shift after... everything." She gave a tired laugh that disappeared almost immediately. "Turns out finishing chemo doesn't mean you suddenly feel normal."

She rubbed at her forehead.

"I know we've not really spoken since Emma died, or even before that really…”

Her voice softened. "I just wanted you to know I'm alright. Or... getting there."

She hesitated, waiting for words that never came.

"I miss you."

This July, I’m hosting a month-long event for Casualty fans, and I’d be so stoked for you to join in!

For each day of July, there’s a one word prompt for you to inspire you to create fanwork. They can be any type of fanwork: video edits, manips, headcanons, edits, collages, etc.

Participants can create for as many of the prompts as they’d like!!

If posting on Instagram, TikTok, or Tumblr, use the hashtag #CasualtyPromptMonth2026. If posting on Archive Of Our Own, post it to CasualtyPromptMonth collection!

NEW MALVIE FIC OUT NOW!!

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