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Hum Me Something Soothing (Malcolm Bright x GN!Reader) ⊹ When Malcolm's night terrors reveal themselves at the office, you're there to guide them away.
I'll Watch Over You (Malcolm Bright x GN!Caregiver!Reader) ⊹ You're young Malcolm and Ainsley's caregiver when the Whitly's are away. And you can't help feeling protective over the boy who's taken a liking to you.
Little Parts (Malcolm Bright x Fem!Reader) ⊹ With a serial killer on the loose, you join Gil and his team to try and apprehend her, growing closer to a certain consultant in the process. When you're put in harms way, Malcolm does everything he can to save you.
So Be It (Malcolm Bright x GN!Reader) ⊹ Taking care of a sick Malcolm is no simple task, but with everything you've been through together, there's no place you'd rather be. In his moment of vulnerability, he opens up like never before.
Sunny Side (Malcolm Bright x GN!Reader) ⊹ Malcolm tries to surprise you with breakfast, and it may not go so well.
To Make It Through (Malcolm Bright x GN!Reader) ⊹ It's all been hitting you hard. Sometimes it's all just so exhausting. Malcolm sees the signs, and he wants you to know he'll always be there.
Plot: When you and Malcolm agree to help Jessica prepare for her Halloween party, the two of you end up getting locked in the creepy attic together.
Pairing: Malcolm Bright x Gn!reader
Warnings: None~ (except for a somewhat heated kiss towards the end)
Words: 2.5k
A/N: I saw the prompt 'Person A and Person B get locked in a creepy attic together on Halloween.' on a list by @olicitytropes and it inspired this; hope you don't mind me using it~
-
You looked around the large familiar house, noting the change in curtains and flowers to match the holiday, and Jessica's upcoming Halloween fundraiser party.
"Y/n, Malcolm! I'm glad you could make it!" Jessica said cheerfully as she met you and Malcolm in the foyer.
"I didn't think I had a choice." Malcolm said with light sarcasm.
"You didn't dear. But Y/n did." She said with a big smile as she looped her arm through yours "Which makes them my favorite, because they chose to come anyway."
You smiled at Malcolm over your shoulder and stuck your tongue out at him, as you walked further into the house. Malcolm shook his head in amusement as he followed.
"Ainsley is already here, which means she gets to come with me to the store. You two are on attic duty."
"Attic duty?" Malcolm asked, a change in his tone obvious.
"Yes, that's where the boxes of Halloween decorations are."
You looked up "I guess it makes since this place has an attic, I just never thought about it." You said softly before looking over at Malcolm.
"I never go in there, it's creepy." He said motioning is hands.
"Well you have no choice now." Ainsley said as she walked into the room. She met your eyes "Though I do feel bad for you having to go up there."
"Attics don't bother me as much as basements" You commented casually.
"Good! Don't worry, the attic isn't that creepy, Malcolm just doesn't like it because he got locked in there once when he was a kid. Tried to blame it on a ghost."
You looked over at Malcolm who nodded "The door closed by itself. And I was left in there for seven hours."
"Seven hours?" You asked with widened eyes.
He walked up to you, lowering his voice "No one can hear you scream up there."
Jessica smacked him on the arm before she looked over at you "It's fine, just make sure you keep the door propped open!"
"Right. Just keep the door propped open."
"Exactly!"
You looked over at Malcolm who just smiled and shook his head softly. Not long later, the two of you made your way upstairs as Jessica and Ainsley left the house.
"Do I even want to know how many boxes we're gonna have to drag all the way down here?"
"Probably not." He replied as you stopped beneath the attic stairwell.
Looking up the small darkened staircase at the red door, you hummed. "Never mind, that is very creepy."
Slowly making your way into the attic, you let out a small breath of relief as you looked around the fairly clean room. There was only one small, tinted window that let in very little light, leaving most of the room in darkness.
Malcolm pushed a small doorstop underneath the door before he turned to look into the attic. "Smaller than I remember."
"Most things are after you grow up." You commented softly as you flipped the light switch on.
The old light-bulb buzzed on, and sent a yellow-orange glow throughout the room.
Walking over to some boxes that had 'HALLOWEEN' written on it, you patted them.
"At least we don't have to search for them."
Malcolm walked over to the other side of the attic, and tapped some more "There are at least twenty in here"
"Its a big house."
"And she insists every room must have some form of decoration for her parties."
Picking up a mildly heavy box you turned towards Malcolm "I better get an invite if I have to do all this."
He smirked "You want to attend a Halloween party with a bunch of rich lawyers, accountants and white-collar criminals?"
You paused for a moment "Will there be food?"
He chuckled "Yeah, a lot."
You hummed as you left the attic "Might be worth it then."
-----
Letting out a sigh as you stomped back up the stairs into the attic for the fifth time, you looked at the dozen boxes still left.
"Never mind, invite or not, this is not worth it."
Malcolm stopped beside you as he nodded his head and let out a breath. Making your way back towards the boxes, you stopped as you heard a scratching sound. Looking at each other, you heard a loud creaking, you both recognized to be the sound of a door.
Your eyes widened in sync as you both spun around, to see the attic door quickly sliding closed.
You and Malcolm both rushed as fast as you could to catch it. But it slammed closed, just before you reached it. From the other side, you heard the doorstop bounce down the steps.
Malcolm grabbed the door handle, twisting and turning the knob as he pushed and pulled. As the door refused the budge, he looked back at you and shook his head.
You let out a sigh "Your mom and Ainsely wont be gone long right?"
"They went shopping. They could be gone for days." He said with a deafeated tone.
"Well, I know something you probably didn't have when you got locked in here the first time." He rose his brow as you reached into your pocket. "A phone."
Malcolm nodded his head in realization as he also took his out. You frowned as you read 'no signal'. Trying to use your data, but failing, you looked over a Malcolm. Meeting your gaze he shook his head.
"What is the attic made out of, layers of steal? Even my data isn't working."
Malcolm sighed as he walked over to the widow, trying to open it, before attempting to use his phone again. "Nothing. There must be something up here interfering with it."
"Great...so what do we do now?"
"We could talk about the fact that the door should not have closed, and that this is the second time that has happened!"
"I thought you didn't believe in ghosts?"
He lifted his arms up in defeat "Well I might now."
You let out a chuckle as you sat down on an old chair. "Or it's an old, heavy door Malcolm."
Malcolm shrugged his head as he walked over and sat down in the chair beside you. "Old door or ghosts, we're stuck."
You sighed and nodded your head. "Yup."
As an hour turned into two, and longer, you rifled through another box of decorations out of boredom, you pulled out a large fake spider. Turning it over, you saw a switch. Getting an idea, you glanced over at Malcolm, who was staring down at his phone, and set the spider on the ground. Silently, you switched it on, and watched as the large spider ran towards Malcolm.
Hearing the noise, Malcolm glanced over, letting out a yelp of surprise as he almost fell out of his chair.
As you began to laugh, Malcolm let out a deep breath and shook his head as he attempted to repress his own smile. "Very funny."
"Thank you, thank you." You said with a soft chuckle and fake bow.
Malcolm picked up the spider and turned it off, shaking his head. "I'm pretty sure this is the same thing Ainsley used to put in my bed to scare me."
You grinned at this as you began looking through the box some more.
Suddenly hearing a loud bang on the opposite wall, you flinched, as your head snapped towards the sound. Glancing at Malcolm, who looked alarmed as well, turned to meet your gaze.
"Rat?" You asked.
He shrugged his head "Maybe."
Hearing a scraping sound, following by a thud, the two of you stared at the part of the attic engulfed in darkness.
Slowly, Malcolm made his way over, shining his phone into the darkness. You watched in anticipation as he reached behind a box before lifting up an old photo frame.
"Yeah, that's not creepy at all."
Setting it back down he began walking over to you, but stopped when the attic light flickered off.
There was an almost deafening silence for a moment before you stood up. Turning on his phone again, Malcolm walked to the light switch, flicking it up and down, but the light stayed out.
"That's just a creepy coincidence right?"
Walking back over to you, you could just see Malcolm's expression as he nodded "Yeah. Just a creepy coincidence."
As he stopped in front of you, a loud clattered bang came from the dark side of the attic again, as a box toppled over. Gasping as you gripped onto Malcolm's arm, you turned towards the noise.
Malcolm, quickly turning on his phones flashlight, shined the light at the box, and then around the attic.
"Okay. Maybe the attic is haunted." You said in a whisper.
"Told you." He whispered back.
Walking over to the box, you stayed latched onto his arm. Attempting to push the box with his foot, he shook his head "That's way to heavy for a rat to knock over."
You tugged on his arm "Let's go sit by the window where there's some light."
Malcolm glanced over at you, just now realizing how close you were. "Alright." He said softly as you made your way to the window.
You both sat down in your chairs, eyes darting around the attic, both of you expecting something else to happen.
"Talk." You mumbled.
Malcolm looked over at you "What?"
"Talk, so I don't freak out."
"Oh. Okay, uhm....the first year I was allowed to pick my own costume, I wanted to dress as Seymour Krelborn."
You paused for a moment "The guy from Little Shop of Horrors?"
"Yeah. And I tried to convince my parents to dress Ainsley as Audrey II"
"Audrey....the giant plant monster?"
"Yeah.."
You let out a soft chuckle "Did they?"
He nodded and smiled "My mom refused at first, but I finally got my way."
You smiled at him and shook your head as you peered around the attic, still weary. Malcolm continued to watch you.
The two of you were seated next to each other, knee's touching. You were no longer holding onto him out of fear, but your hands were close. He was tempted to take yours in his.
As a car horn sounded outside on the street, you flinched lightly, barely enough to notice. But he did.
"How is such a bad-ass cop so afraid right now?" He asked with a hint of amusement.
You looked over at him "I don't do ghosts. Ghosts aren't tangible like people, I can't shoot them if they're trying to hurt me."
Malcolm chuckled "I'll protect you from the ghost."
You rolled your eye's lightly "Oh yeah, how would you do that?"
"Well. I believe that if ghosts are real, they only have power you give them through being afraid and wanting, or expecting them to show their presence."
"Sooo, you're saying, if I'm not afraid or don't think about them being real, they can't hurt me?"
"Right."
"Well. It was you who put the idea of ghosts in the attic in my head in the first place. So, really, this is your fault?"
Malcolm paused for a moment as a slow smile crossed his face "Yes, I suppose it is."
"Well then, the least you can do is distract me so I stop being afraid."
Your eyes were locked with his, as you smiled, he smiled in return, his eyes flicking down to your lips for a split second.
Hearing a loud thud, you let out a soft gasp. But before you could turn your head to investigate the sound of the noise, you felt Malcolm's hands grasp your face, before his lips pressed against yours.
The kiss seemed eager and rushed, before it became soft and gentle, and then it was over.
As Malcolm pulled away from you, you met his eyes. You were clearly still bewildered, as you muttered out.
"Why did you do that?"
"I was distracting you."
"From the ghosts?"
"Yes."
Malcolm's hands were still on your face as he spoke softly. He had a faint smile on his lips, and he couldn't seem to stop his eyes from flicking to your lips again.
"Sorry. I should have asked first." He said softly as he pulled his hands away.
Your heart was racing, and your ears were burning hot. You shook your head lightly.
"It's okay. It worked, you distracted me." You laughed lightly. "And besides, I- I would have said yes, if you'd asked." Your voice got a little quieter as you spoke, your ears burning.
Malcolm repressed a grin "You would have?"
You nodded and met his eyes "Yeah."
Leaning in a little closer, his eyes fell to your lips briefly. "Then, can I kiss you again?"
You smiled softly as you leaned in a bit as well "Yeah."
Meeting in a soft kiss, Malcolm's hand cupped your face again as you brought your own hand up to his face as well.
Suddenly, hearing a rough bang, as the attic door shook violently, you and Malcolm pulled away from each other with alarmed gasps.
Another bang against the door was followed by the door swinging opening with a loud creaking groan.
Seeing Gil stumble into the room, having forced the door open with his shoulder, you and Malcolm stared at him in confusion.
"Gil?" Malcolm asked with breathy bewilderment.
He nodded at the two of you as he looked around the attic "Hey."
"Hi." You and Malcolm said in unison, as Jessica came into the attic as well.
"Oh thank God, are you two alright? Why didn't you answer any of my messages or calls."
You and Malcolm lifted your phones up a the same time as he spoke "No signal up here."
"Oh. Well, what happened to keeping the door propped open?"
"I'm guessing they tried." Ainsley's voice cold be heard as she appeared a moment later behind Jessica, doorstop in hand.
"Heavy door." You said, glancing at Malcolm briefly.
"Well, I'm glad you two are okay. Once we got back, I saw the boxes down stairs, I thought you two must have finished and gone somewhere, then I couldn't get a hold of you."
"So you called Gil."
"Yes." They said in unison.
"Well, now that that's all over-" Jessica turned and patted Gil's shoulder "You can finish helping with the boxes."
"Wait, what? I'm on duty Jessica, I'm not here-" His voice was perplexed as he began to follow her and Ainsley out, their voices fading as they left.
As the door began to close, you and Malcolm both rushed forward, grabbing it before you got locked in again. Your eyes locked as you smiled in amusement.
After closing the attic door lightly, you left together, heading down the stairs. Halfway down, Malcolm slipped his hand into yours, looking over at him, you shared knowing looks and smiles.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, you both stopped dead in your tracks as you heard three loud knocks on the attic door. Your eyes locked before you turned and looked back up the stairs at the closed door.
Malcolm squeezed your hand lightly before you both raced away as fast as you could, knowing neither of you were going back in that room.
xx End xx
General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @caswinchester2000, @onuen, @rexit-mo, @imaginesfire, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry
Summary: When you have ties to the Whitly family, moving on from your past is not easily accomplished. Against your better judgment, you follow your heart and decide that no matter how much you get hurt, you will always stay for Malcolm.
Warnings: Slight Angst / Comfort / Fluff
Word Count: 1472
Loud banging lures your attention away from the blueprints scattered across your dining table and the glass of Merlot in your hand. Huffing, you trudge to the door, wondering if it is your creepy neighbor who is all too intrusive. Instead, you are greeted with an equally unpleasant situation.
“Mrs. Whitly, what are you doing here? How’d you get into my building? How do you even know where I live?” You inquire as she barges into your home. There’s no stopping her once she sets her mind to something.
“Money can provide you with a lot of answers.” She announces with a gloating smirk. Of course, it is easy for her to get what she wants when she has a huge bankroll. “One of your lovely neighbors let me in. And I’m here because Malcolm needs you.”
“What could he possibly need from me?”
“I’m really worried about him. God only knows how long it’s been since he’s slept,” she informs you, pouring herself a drink, “And he’s insisting on seeing his father. I need you to convince him--”
“He left me, remember? You can’t keep barging into my life and expect me to help you with whatever plan you’ve concocted to control him.”
“That doesn’t mean he stopped loving you. And, it does not mean that you stopped loving him, my dear. Also, I’m not trying to control him. More like nudge him in the direction I know would benefit him the most.”
“That’s called controlling. I think it’s time for you to go. If Malcolm is having a real crisis the best person for him to talk to is his therapist, not me,” You hold the door open for her, “Thanks for stopping by though.”
On her way out, she makes a last effort to get your help, reiterating how much Malcolm still loves you. Swiftly closing the door behind her, you sigh and rest your forehead on the dark maple wood. Somehow you always get sucked back into something you want to be far removed from. The agonizing pain that you repressed for so long has come bubbling back to the surface. Naively, you thought you could keep it tamped down and wait for it to be extinguished. It was on a slow simmer for so long. With her unexpected visit, Jessica turned up the heat and now has your emotions boiling over. Hot tears cascade down your cheeks, falling to the floor below you. It has been a long time since you have cried over him. Letting out a shaky breath, you move to your liquor cabinet where a much stiffer drink awaits you.
.
.
.
Vzz
Vzzz
Vzz
The incessant buzz of your apartment intercom causes you to stir from your partially intoxicated slumber. Glancing at the hands of your wristwatch, you can just make out that it is a little after midnight.
“Mrs. Whitly is this your way of torturing me?! It’s not going to work,” you grumble into the intercom speaker.
“(Y/N)…”
“Malcolm? What are you-”
“Please, (Y/N).” His words are steeped in exhaustion and laced with desperation. Your heart clenches at how broken he sounds.
Taking a deep breath, you allow him access through the door and wait for him to make the short climb to your apartment. Seeing him in person is no better. You can feel the facade you’ve carefully crafted beginning to slip.
“You look good.”
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes as he steps inside. Looking around your apartment, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. For all his well-dressed style, his appearance is unkempt. Stress lines crease his forehead and his once ever-mischievous blue eyes seem dull and lifeless now. They are deep-set and dark shadowed skin lay beneath them.
“Yeah, well you look like shit.”
Your blunt response forces a hearty chuckle to pass through his lips. It’s as if you both have picked up where you left off. He follows behind you as you move about the kitchen, serving a glass of water for each of you.
“How long has it been since you’ve slept?”
“A few days but you know me, I’m good with little to no sleep.”
“You can lie to everyone else, but you know I can see right through that bullshit. Why are you here?”
There is a heavy exhale and long pause before you receive an answer. “You’re the only one that gets it. You’re the one that I feel safe around. The one that makes everything bearable.”
Your fingers dig into the patterned glass in your hand. You focus on the ache it brings, hoping it will override your desire to reach out to him. If you do that, you’ll never want to let go. You’ll fall right back into the comfortableness of being with him.
“I love you.”
“Malcolm, don’t do this. You broke off our engagement. You don’t get to walk out of my life without an explanation, then come back and say these things.”
“I need to tell you this. I need you to know that what I did was to protect you.”
“From who? All the criminals you chased with the FBI? Your mother? Your father?”
“From me!” His voice is piercing, fierce almost. He takes a step towards you, but you don’t back down. You stand anchored in your spot. Malcolm’s more erratic nature had never scared you. Even though you are aware it has clearly escalated, it still doesn’t. It has always petrified him, making him do things that he thought would result in the least damage for those around him. You witnessed it your entire relationship, and in the end, you were an unwilling recipient of it.
“Who the hell said you get to make that decision on your own?! You think I’m scared of you? Far from it. Are you scared you’ll hurt me? Well good job at trying to protect me.” You hope your words get through to him. That your tone sheds light on how deeply he scored your heart with pain. “Did you expect me to move on that quickly? I love yo—loved you.”
It takes all but a second for his eyes to meet yours. There is something akin to recognition there, and the corners of his mouth flicker upwards as he tries to suppress a smile. You curse yourself for the mistake.
“Just wait here.” You retreat quickly to gather a spare pillow and blanket, leaving Malcolm to ponder your comments. You return to find him glancing over your designs. His fingers trace the delicate outline with the same softness that they used to caress the lines of your body. You shudder as the memories flood your mind.
“It’s a beautiful design. This is for the new museum downtown, right?”
“Uh, yeah. I received the commission. I still can’t believe they actually want me to develop such a prominent building.”
“You’re a talented architect. It was only a matter of time before everyone realized it.”
“You always were a charmer.” He grins at your jest as you signal him towards the living room, “Here. You can sleep on the couch for tonight, but you need to go see someone who can help you tomorrow.”
A thick silence hangs in the air as you help him settle onto the couch. In a moment of weakness, you thread your fingers through his hair and smooth out his rebellious strands. The frown etched on his face wanes with each stroke of your hand. With a long-drawn sigh, the tension that pinches his brows together disappears. Malcolm’s ice blues become hidden behind sleep-laden lids, and you take this as a cue to retire to your own bed.
Though as you move to leave, his fingers coil around your wrist and prevent you from escaping. “Please, don’t go.”
The skin beneath his hand burns and the sensation spreads like wildfire up your arm, bringing with it a flaming need for closeness. You are caught between the rational portion of your brain and the longing that has seeped into your chest. As if weighted by a heavy chain, your body gives way when he tugs you gently. You recline against him, and your limbs instinctively tangle with his own.
“Things are different now. We are both different.” Your tongue feels heavy as you force the words out.
“But maybe we can start over...”
“I’m scared to fall for you again, Malcolm.”
“I know.” His arms wrap around you, securing you to his chest. “For now, just lay here with me, please. I won't ask for anything else. Just stay here with me.”
The closeness of him douses the flames that engulf your battered heart. For the briefest of moments, you allow yourself to relish in the feeling before you speak again, “I’ll stay. For you, I’ll always stay.”
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summary: it’s your first night sleeping at malcolm’s apartment after months of dating. he’s beyond and nervous and wonder if he’s made a mistake.
a/n: i’m obsessed with prodigal son and love malcolm bright with my whole ass heart
warnings: mentions of insomnia
Malcolm Bright is beginning to feel like he’s the worst person in the world.
He’s pacing around his apartment, sweat starting to form under his wool suit from a hard day of work (oh, and from the impending sense of doom he feels lurking this evening). He’s rearranging his furniture last minute, smelling his linen sheets to make sure they were perfect for you. It’s your first time sleeping over with him after all.
Honestly, he wants to cancel. Not that he doesn’t want to see you, per say. It’s more like he doesn’t want you to see him.
Malcolm doesn’t know what he looks like when he sleeps, when the nightmares happen. But he knows how he feels. He can only attest to what so many people have told him throughout his life. Not to mention, your relationship was going unusually well and he wouldn’t want to jeopardize it in any way. He feels like shit for even thinking that you would be so shallow as to leave him over something he can’t even control.
He just didn’t want to scare you and lose you, that’s all.
In the middle of him digging through his designated junk drawer to find a lighter to light a candle, he hears a knock on his door and can only assume it’s you.
Suddenly, he’s panicking. It’s like your first date all over again. He checks his reflection quickly in his phone screen on the way to the door and in one swift motion before he can even acknowledge it, you’re standing in front of him, wearing a grin and fluffy pajama pants.
He literally can’t help but smile when he sees you in all your coziness. “Lovely attire, Miss Y/L/N,” he jokes, letting you past him into his apartment. It’s odd and cliche but it’s like all his anxiety is eased with the sound of your laughter.
“You as well, Mr. Bright.”
He cooks you an Italian pasta dish you can’t pronounce (sure, you took an intro to the language class in college, but your half-consumed glass of wine made it hard for you to speak proper English, let alone Italian), and you sit in his kitchen and talk under the dim lighting for hours.
Malcolm enjoys conversations with you. You make him feel normal.
But when it falls silent for a moment and his distraction fades, he’s left thinking about how at some point you’re going to want to go to bed, and how he’s dreading it with every ounce of being in his body.
“Malcolm,” you say in a low tone. He notes how nice his name sounds coming out of your mouth. “I just want to tell you that you don’t have to worry. About tonight, about sleeping. You know I’m in this for the long haul.”
He knows.
Malcolm finds himself nodding, gently massaging his temples with his fingertips. He wants to believe you. “I can’t help but feel a little selfish. I just don’t want to burden you or anything.” Speaking honestly and earnestly now.
You, feeling a lump in your throat, are frankly appalled by your boyfriend’s words. “A burden, Malcolm?” You say a little too harshly. The glass of wine in your is long abandoned now, instead replaced with Malcom’s cheek. “Being with you, loving you, has been a pleasure and a privilege I’ve only been so lucky to experience,”
There’s yet another beat of silence, and his hand finds yours, still resting against his cheek. “Like I said, I’m in it for the long haul. Not a lot would be able to change that.”
Malcom smiles. He recalls the day he told you about his father. He was so vulnerable, a quivering mess in your arms. You listened to him talk all night long, never once complain that you were tired or making him feel bad for pitying himself.
God, he loves you.
He barely nods before leaning down and pressing an alluring kiss to your lips. When you pull away, you fail to suppress the yawn that escapes your lips.
He glances at the clock, and it’s nearly one in the morning. “Tired?”
“Just a tad.” You wink.
“Ditto.”
The bed finds you comfortably, and you have no problem curling up next to Malcolm. You had to admit, it felt a little weird. You’ve only ever napped with him before. If there was ever a time where you were sleeping overnight together, Malcolm wouldn’t allow himself to sleep as to keep the nightmares from happening. But you find yourself asleep relatively quickly. It’s not until the sun rises that Malcolm can actually rest.
But when you wake up, the sun seeping through the grand glass window, you’re all but surprised to see Malcolm dead asleep next to you. You let out a breathy giggle.
You have to fumble around his kitchen to find the right utensils to make breakfast; a full English, his favorite. He only tosses and turns a few times, with slight groans of discomfort or something stronger here and there.
You’re startled when you hear him speak. “Good morning, Sunshine.”
You turn around curiously to see him greeting his beloved bird.
“What am I, chopped liver?”
He smiles, undoing his wrist restraint and meandering over into the kitchen. “No. No, you are the loviest thing to ever grace the streets of New York. And this apartment.” His hands are warm and they fall to your waist.
“That’s a little dramatic.” You tease.
“Please, let me swoon over you in peace.”
It gets quiet again, but it’s sort of comforting.
“How did you sleep?” He ask a little timidly.
“Like a log,” you say bluntly. “You?”
He clears his throat. “Like a... insomniac log.”
“Fair enough.”
And over your full English breakfast, he’s watching the way you laugh at his jokes and ask him about work. He doesn’t think about his dad, or his mom, or his sister, or anyone else in the entire world.
He wants to spend forever like this, and can only pray you do too.
Can you write a little scenario where Malcolm falls asleep in the office and when he starts having a night terror, the reader is the only one who can calm him down and lull him back into a peaceful sleep? I actually recently did this with a friend of mine who has ptsd- all I could think of to do was hum a song, and she woke up a while later and was like 🥴 "wow that was the best nap I've had in a while". And she thought it was just her being at my place with me, and I didn't have the heart to tell her she had a nightmare, because that was the one time she didn't remember it. 😭 Also I think I might be in love with her, idk how this ask ended up as a confession
Hum Me Something Soothing
(Malcolm Bright x Gender-Neutral Reader)
Warnings: Mention of nightmares
Word Count: 571
A/N: First of all—HOLY SHIT! Second of all—I hope you don’t mind that I used your confession as inspiration for this. I also need an update. Did you tell her? What’s going on? I am fully invested in this saga and am shipping it so hard! And thank you for the request and for being so patient! I really hope you enjoy it!
Working with Malcolm Bright was a little like working with a cross between a child and a German Shepherd. He was duty-bound and protective, mixed with unpredictability and chaos. Also, like a child, he would run himself until exhaustion. However, you couldn’t blame him.
These cases had kept the entire precinct up for the past few days. Really, it was a miracle Malcolm was finally sleeping. Gil basically had to lock him in his office and order Malcolm to nap on the couch.
He’d been in there an hour now. You sat at your desk beside the window into the office, your view of Malcolm partially obstructed by the blinds.
You leaned back to stretch and noticed movement from inside. Malcolm seemed to be curling in on himself, his fists clenched and sweat glistening on his forehead.
Your heartbeat picked up. You knew about the nightmares and how secretive Malcolm was about them. So, as calmly as you could, you slipped in and shut the door, kneeling beside him.
You weren’t entirely sure how to soothe him. All you could think about was how you wanted to comfort him. Then you remembered that song your parents sang to you before they tucked you in. They always switched off every line or so, and it never failed to lull you to sleep.
With a deep inhale, you hummed that song as you stroked his hair off his face. The creases in his forehead slowly smoothed out, and his hands and shoulders relaxed.
His hair was soft beneath your steady touch, and he still smelled of his cologne even after being here all day: earthy and sweet. You rarely saw him vulnerable like this, and a selfish part of you wished you could keep him this way. Maybe then he’d find a little peace.
A few minutes had passed, and he had yet to fall back into that terrible space in his mind. You carefully rose and retreated back to your desk. Hopefully, he’d sleep a bit longer.
Finishing your reports was simple enough. A half-hour later, you were ready to take your turn on Gil’s couch when Malcolm emerged.
He walked over to the chair against the side of your desk and sat.
“Good nap?” you asked, closing out your computer.
“Best I’ve had in a while.” His brow furrowed in confusion, trying to figure out why that was when he had slept on Gil’s couch a few times already. It never held back the nightmares before.
You kept a neutral expression. You didn’t want Malcolm to know. Best in a while. You were happy to let him believe he had a dreamless sleep—he deserved that much.
“Maybe I should take it for a test run then,” you joked, meeting his gaze.
Malcolm let out a small laugh. “Guess it depends on if you want a stiff neck.”
You scrunched your nose. “I’ll pass.”
He chuckled again and checked the time on his watch.
“Want to go grab a bite? I’m starving,” he asked, looking at you through his lashes.
You nodded. “Diner down the block?” You both stood.
“Their burgers sound great right now.”
You walked to the exit side by side, waving goodbye to your coworkers. As Malcolm held the door open for you, you gave him a small smile in thanks.
And at that moment, looking into his soft eyes, you realized something.
Hi! I came across your post about you doing requests, and I just wanted to know if you would be comfortable writing a SFW age regression story with a gender neutral caregiver reader and little Malcolm? No hard feelings at all if you aren't
I'll Watch Over You
(Young!Malcolm Bright x Gender-Neutral Caregiver!Reader)
Warnings: None besides some bad vibes from Martin Whitly, and an overwhelming need to protect little Malcolm.
Word Count: 718
A/N: Thank you so much for this request! I hope this is what you had in mind (if not, message me and let me know!)
I had the idea that Reader attends Harvard and that's what makes Malcolm want to go there when the time comes.
This was a little different for me to write, but I enjoyed it once I figured out what I was doing (that took a while). I hope you like it! (And this gif was too stunning not to use. Just look at those edges!)
You’d been Malcolm and Ainsley’s caregiver for about a year now. Three-year-old Ainsley was as bright and happy as possible for a baby girl, while Malcolm was quiet for a nine-year-old.
He was also curious.
Every day, there’d be a new question for you.
What’s your favorite season?
When’s your birthday?
Why are you going to college?
That last one made you chuckle.
Malcolm enjoyed learning new things, but school made him uncomfortable. He didn’t come outright and say it, but you knew firsthand that kids could be mean. You just hoped the advice you’d given him helped in some way. Made him realize that he never had to change for anyone.
He seemed interested in your schooling, especially when you told him you only had one class on certain days and the rest of the day you did anything you wanted. And that led to a question that almost broke your heart.
“So, you want to be here?” His eyes were downcast, fingers rubbing against his knees. The sulking of his shoulders and the doubt in his voice were things no child should ever feel.
You put on a smile, even though you wanted to shed the tears behind your eyes.
“I want to be here,” you said.
When he looked up, he was smiling—small—but genuine. And you had to stop the sigh of relief.
Martin and Jessica Whitly were nearly always out of the house. Mrs. Whitly was the beautiful socialite of high society. Dr. Whitly was a renowned surgeon. If Martin wasn’t working and Jessica wasn’t brunching, they were at parties raising money for this charity and that.
They loved their children. They were their whole world. However, you wondered if they really knew their children. Of course, Ainsley was young but opinionated nonetheless. It was Malcolm you worried about, especially with Dr. Whitly.
You weren’t sure what it was about him, but whenever you interacted—which wasn’t much—he seemed too together. His smile felt attached, like a mask hiding fangs. You wouldn’t have noticed anything wrong if it weren’t for his eyes. They were…hollow, in a sense. They only filled when he was with his son. And at first, you thought it was sweet, but the longer you knew them, it felt off.
You loved your job. You really did. You were paid well and had a flexible schedule, and the Whitly’s even let you host a study group when finals came around. But your gut told you not everything was as picture-perfect as it seemed.
After you had put Ainsley down for a nap and pulled out your book, Malcolm walked in.
“Hey Malcolm, everything okay?” you asked, giving him a small smile.
The little boy shrugged and sat beside you, eyeing your book. You held it out for him.
“Want me to read it to you?” you asked.
He didn’t answer, still avoiding your eyes.
It was like you saw yourself at that age, untethered in a way you didn’t know how to explain. You remembered seeking out one of your parents but not saying anything. You needed comfort and didn’t know how to ask for it.
You bit the inside of your cheek.
“It would help a lot if I could read this out loud—help me memorize the story. Would you mind if I did that?” you asked gently.
He slowly shook his head and settled into the back cushions.
“Great.” You leaned back and opened your book.
You kept your voice low—less like you were reading to someone and more like you were doing it for yourself.
And ever so slightly, Malcolm’s head drifted to the side. He caught himself a few times, and you had to stop from chuckling the more he did it. But soon enough, his head hit your shoulder, and his breathing evened out.
You regarded him silently.
He had so much courtesy for his parents, but you always sensed something was missing.
It was hard to shake how excited he got when you arrived. Maybe it was because he knew you were here for him and his sister. Not to set up for a party or to impress his parents. Someone genuinely interested in hearing what he had to say.
You sighed softly and carefully flipped the page. You’d stay here as long as he needed.
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Hi ;) I don't know if you're currently accepting requests, but if you do, may I request a Malcolm Bright x Reader fic please ? TW : Self-h*rm, anxiety, depression, ED, mental illness.
Reader and Malcolm are very close friends so they both lovingly care about each other. Reader hasn't been answering any of his calls and messages for a few days, which is unlike her 'cause she always picks up the phone when he calls her. He starts to grow more and more worried, especially because he knows about her mental health struggles. So naturally he decides to go check on her. When he arrives he finds her in a very bad state : depression, anxiety, ED and Self h*rm have been hitting her harder that usual. He stays in at her house for a few days to take care of her, which includes reassuring her when she gets panic attacks, telling her that he strongly cares about her and that nothing will make him leave her, laying beside her to help her sleep, hugging her etc. Eventually she starts to feel a bit better.
I know it's very emotionally charged, both with dark stuff and comfort/care stuff, so if you feel like you can't do it, it's totally okay, I understand. Do whatever makes you feel the most comfortable.
Please take care 🤍 Sending you hugs.
To Make It Through
(Malcolm Bright x Gender-Neutral Reader)
Warnings: Insinuations of self-harm, ED, depression, anxiety, and mental illness.
Word Count: 1203
A/N: I wasn’t sure how to begin writing this. The most important goal for me was writing this with respect to those who suffer from self-harm, depression, mental illness, ED, and anxiety. I have never experienced the first four, but I’ve dealt with mild to moderate anxiety, I believe since I was young (I’d like to add, I’ve never been diagnosed by a doctor for anxiety). I have no idea what someone who lives with these struggles goes through. I wanted this to be a comforting story, one that hopefully brings a little light to everyone who reads it.
I didn't want to include too many details that could be triggering or potentially disrespectful to those who deal with the topics above.
And to anyone who is suffering and in need of help, below are different hotlines and resources.
National Eating Disorders Association
988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline
The Trevor Project
National Institute of Mental Health
Malcolm unlocked your front door with the extra key you gave him.
It’d been three days since he last heard from you—no responses to his texts. No calls or video chats, not even a dumbass meme. And he was worried.
You were religious in your response time to him. Honestly, he had no idea how you could send a text off so quickly.
First, he noticed the dishes on your counter. A few days' worth. Then, the blanket was on the floor instead of folded neatly over the couch. Your curtains were drawn tight, and the couple of plants you had were a little less lively than when he was here last week.
He slowly pushed your bedroom door open so as not to startle you.
It was difficult to see through the darkness, but from what he could tell, clothes were thrown around the room. And he could make out a thin layer of dust on your bookshelf.
He took in your curled state under your comforter. Only the top of your head peeked out.
He didn’t need to ask you what was wrong. You’d known each other long enough for him to recognize the signs.
After slipping his shoes and coat off, he gently lowered himself beside you. He didn’t move the covers or speak, only placed a hand close enough to your back so you could feel him while not being touched.
He didn’t know if you were awake, but that didn’t matter. He’d wait however long it took until you were ready to acknowledge him.
He wondered when you last ate—those dishes were probably older than he thought. He tried to recall if there were any warning signs he should’ve picked up on when he was here last time. But you seemed fine.
You were also very good at hiding it.
About an hour later, you shifted to face him, still beneath the blankets.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough.
He whispered your name. You didn’t move.
He tried again. “Can I do anything for you?”
You sniffled, and his heart nearly broke.
“Can I move the blanket, honey?” he asked.
The top of your head moved slowly in a nod.
He hooked a finger and pulled down carefully, revealing water-lined eyes with bags under them.
He thought as much. When things worsened, you never slept well.
“What do you need?” he whispered as gently as he could.
You didn’t look at him as your hand emerged to clutch your pillowcase.
“I don’t know,” you mumbled.
He nodded. He couldn’t let you stay like this.
“Then, could you do something for me? I know you won’t want to, but you can come right back. I promise.”
You glanced at him, then looked away. As much of an acknowledgment as he would get.
“Go take a shower. Take as long as you need,” he said.
You didn’t fight him, didn’t argue, and he took that as more of a bad sign than anything.
Once your bathroom door closed, he stripped the bed and threw everything in the washer. After replacing the sheets, he put the discarded clothes in your hamper and tossed any trash he spotted. He kept the blinds closed. Baby steps.
He was finishing putting the dishes away when you walked out in a towel and back into your room to change.
You didn’t ask what he was doing or tell him he didn’t have to do it. You almost ignored him.
You had already returned to bed when he entered. This time, you were against the headboard, staring off into space.
He sat beside you.
Your hands rested above the covers, wrists on display, and his shoulders relaxed.
It hadn’t gotten that bad.
He let you have your silence. Sometimes it was what you needed.
“Why are you friends with me?”
Sometimes it wasn’t.
“Because I need you,” he said.
It was all he thought to say. Superficial compliments wouldn’t stop your mind from spiraling. Hopefully, you’d believe him.
You shook your head. “You deserve better.”
He wanted to shield you from your own words.
“(Y/N), I need you to look at me,” he said. And when you didn’t, he repeated himself. “Please?”
You glanced at him, rubbing the hem of your shirt between your fingers.
“Have I ever lied to you?” he asked gently.
You shook your head slowly, hunching your shoulders.
“I will always always tell you the truth,” he said. “You’re my best friend. That’s never going to change, okay?” He carefully pulled your hand between his. “I care about you so much, (Y/N). You’re never going to get rid of me.”
You sniffled, glancing at him through your lashes.
Tears lined his own eyes, threatening to spill forth.
You were his best friend. He’d be lost without you, and he needed you to know that he’d never go anywhere, that he belonged by your side. You made him feel seen. You made him feel sane.
Whatever you needed from him, he would give.
“Can you…Can you hold me?” you whispered, trying to keep your voice from breaking.
He answered by laying on his back, waiting for you to settle on his chest, hands still connected.
“Get some rest,” he whispered. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
—
Malcolm stayed with you for the next few days. He even called Gil and said he had to take a personal day, much to Gil’s surprise and pleasure. Thankfully, Gil didn’t ask any questions. Malcolm never would’ve broken your trust like that.
Today was the first day you had gotten dressed. Malcolm considered that a massive sign you were starting to feel more like yourself.
“How’re you feeling?” He took in every feature of your face, searching for the most minute twitch.
“I’m…I’m better.” You nodded slowly. “I’m not okay. I know that, but I’m better than I was. Not everything’s as…dark.”
The corner of his mouth tilted up in a sympathetic smile. His fingers found yours, holding them lightly.
“All healing takes time. And I’ll be right here whenever you need me.” His eyes stayed locked with yours, nothing but sincerity in them.
You swallowed. “Thank you.”
He shook his head slightly. “You never need to thank me for doing something I want to do.”
It brought tears to your eyes—how kind he was. Malcolm was the only person you could trust with everything. He knew what it was like to be trapped in your own mind, to hate so many parts of yourself that you want to rip out.
And each time you were on the verge of relapsing, he’d pull you away from the edge. As you’d done for him.
“Why don’t we take a walk? See how many squirrels we can feed,” he said, offering you his arm.
Your face lifted, not a smile, but not so melancholy as it had been.
“Okay.”
Grasping the crook of his elbow, you interlocked your fingers there and let him lead you outside.
The sun's warmth sunk into your skin as Malcolm launched into what his mother was trying to rope him into. And when the first chuckle in a week passed your lips, the darkness didn’t feel so encompassing anymore.
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