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.
Taglist: @phenomenal-bird, @steph-speaks
If you’d like to be added to any taglists, please comment or message me with the character you’d like updates on.
His mother believes a simple weekend away is what they all need. TW: Animal violence/death.
...
"It's perfect for the kids," his mother said into the phone's receiver animatedly, "away from it all. We needed this. Ainsley don't touch that." She glared at her youngest. The girl stared her mother down in protest before dropping the feather she'd picked up from the ground. She ran to her au pair, clutching the young woman's hand, and trudged off to find mischief elsewhere.
Malcolm shut his eyes and leaned back in the lawn chair. They were away for the weekend. A brief respite from the constant barrage of media personnel that constantly hounded them for any scrap of information about The Surgeon and his picture-perfect family. The trial would be starting in less than a week. He swallowed a wave of nausea back at the thought.
He would testify against his father. A tear slid down his cheek and he wrapped his arms around his small frame. Flashes of memories crossed his mind's eye. His father's smiling face. A pale body in an old chest. A knife in his hand. Blurred images and colors melting from one to another.
He could hear his mother's voice somewhere in the distance calling him. He dug his nails into his arms, the pain was grounding. He cracked an eye open.
"You need to breathe sweetheart, it's okay. Take a deep breath for me." Her brows were knit with worry, the phone's she had been talking on thrown to the side, forgotten.
His breaths were jagged and he was angry with himself for getting so wrapped up in his own memories and losing control so quickly.
"Why don't you take one of your pills, it'll help you relax." His mother smiled at him. It was a forced smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. A please don’t argue with me and take the damn pill smile. He took it, swallowing it quickly with a sip from the glass of water she passed him. He looked away from her, scowling, before standing on his not so solid legs. He needed to get away from her. From everything.
The idea that a weekend away could magically make things better angered him more than he understood why. He had spent the week arguing with his mother. He wanted to stay with Gil in the city and she wouldn’t allow it. She wanted them to spend time together as a family. He stuffed his clenched fists into his pockets.
He wandered the house until he found an old bookshelf and picked something that looked mildly interesting before wandering into the back garden again. His mother was nowhere to be seen but Ainsley and her au pair a ways off looking at something in the bushes. The medication was kicking in and his body felt looser, his brain fuzzy and unfocused. He curled into a chair looking out into the yard and cracked open his book.
...
"Malcolm!" Ainsley's shrill voice rang through the garden. Something was wrong. He threw down the book, eyes scanning the area to find her.
She was knelt by the base of an old oak tree, something cradled in her hands. His heart sank. She had spent the last hour watching the young birds flitting from branch to branch, testing their newfound skills of flight while her au pair flirted with the chef somewhere. His fears were confirmed as he took the final steps closer.
He could hear its pitiful screams before he could see it. The bird's body was twisted into an unnatural position but it was still alive and in pain.
“Ainsley you need to set the bird down.” He took careful steps towards her, not wanting to spook her more than she already was.
“No! It’s hurt, Malcolm. We have to do something. It fell away from its family! We have to help it!” She stamped her little feet, the first signs of an impending tantrum if he didn’t figure some solution to the situation at hand soon.
He had to get the bird away from her, he reached his cupped hands to her. “Give me the bird Ains, I’ll see what I can do.”
He didn't want to touch it. Each of its screeches caused a wave of panic to shoot through his body.
He thought she was going to argue with him for a moment. She gave him the most stern look she could muster up in her six year old face before plopping it into his hands.
The panic was rising in his body faster now that he felt the battered body in his hands. A ringing in his ears was starting to grow progressively louder.
"Malcolm do something," Ainsley stamped her foot again.
"I- I can't. It's too hurt. I can't help it. It's too late."
"We have to kill it." The words sounded wrong coming from her mouth, in her small voice.
He took a step away from her. "What did you say?"
"We have to kill it Malcolm. It's hurt! If we kill it it can be an angel and then it'll never fall and get hurt again!" She looked to the ground and picked up a rock.
He took a horrified step away from her. "What? No, Ainsley no." He looked down to the bird in his hands. It was suffering. It would die. Killing it would take it out of its misery.
He stared at the thing in his hands and felt like he was seeing double. It was a bird. It was a girl in a box. It was alive. It was struggling. It was screaming.
"Malcolm! What are you doing!" His mother's voice sounded frantic, she ran towards them, pulling Ainsley away from him and into her arms. Ainsley buried her head into her mother's shoulder where she began to silently sob.
"Mother- it's not what you think." He knew exactly how bad the scene looked. He dropped the bird's body from his hands and it flopped to his feet. He recoiled from it now, limp and lifeless. His body was shaking and tears welled in his eyes.
"It fell from the tree! I didn't! I swear I didn't-"
"Into the house. Now." She seethed
He ran, disgust and self-loathing filling him with every step. His mother held Ainsley tight, her comforting coos hurting him more than any words ever could.
…
They drove back to the city that afternoon. He wasn't speaking to anyone and no one was speaking to him. He stared out the window and watched the world fly by behind glass. As soon as they parked he was out of his seat, past a crowd of paparazzi waiting for them, and running up the stairs to his room.
He could still hear its struggling chirps reverberating over and over in his mind. He washed his hands until they were rubbed raw and tender but he could still feel its twitching body.
He had frozen up, unable to take any path of action. He had let the bird suffer. He curled into a ball under his duvet and pulled at his hair until the pain overwhelmed him. He couldn't even save a bird. How was he ever supposed to save himself?
