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.
Taglist: @phenomenal-bird
If anyone would like to be added to my taglist, please comment or message me and tell me which character you'd like to receive updates on.
