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i-went-to-a-cuddle-party-once · 4 years

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hello!! i’ve been following your blog for,,, a little while and last night’s episode made me snort water out of my nose when jessica said “pop out a few grandchildren” and mal gave her A Look so what about a malcolm x reader where they tell her the reader is pregnant and jessica is THE MOST EXTRA with her reaction. you don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course

Thank you so much for this! I had so much fun writing it! I originally meant for this to be around 500 words but it ended up at 1,201, whoops!

...

You absentmindedly rubbed your stomach before freezing and staring Malcolm down.

"This is a terrible idea. She's going to know. Why aren't we telling her again?"

He laughed, his eyes crinkling in a way that made your heart skip a beat, even after all this time. He kissed your forehead and wrapped his arms around you. "I promise, we'll tell her and Ainsley after the gala, I don't want anything to shadow this moment and she's been obsessed with planning this thing for weeks." You sighed he was right but you still rolled your eyes at him.

"Ooookay. But I'm telling you, she's going to figure it out. The woman raised a profiler and a reporter"

"It'll be fine," He swayed as he held you, turning it into a slow dance, "we just have to make it through this lunch and tomorrow night. Easy." You couldn't help but return his smile. It was a terrible idea but maybe it would turn out okay.

…

No matter how many times you went to the Whitly home you were always blown away by its extravagance. It felt more like a museum than a place where actual people lived. You sat on an overstuffed couch (it was expensive but in no way comfortable) and listened to Jessica go on about mindless details, the shade of green used for the table runners, the price of shipping the specific Italian marble used for a cheeseboard.

"And what will you be wearing dear," she asked reaching out to touch your wrist, "please tell me that you let Vincenzo take your measurements last time he came over to fit Malcolm's suits." You had let him and had a few things made but as the weeks went by the growing bump of your belly had made it impossible to fit any of them.

"I was just going to buy something," you managed to eke out. Jessica’s face fell and she shook her head.

“Well, you’re in luck because Ainsley had nothing to wear either and Vincenzo is the best so he can have something ready for you by tomorrow evening. He'll be here in a few minutes. We’ll just get some quick measurements done and then enjoy our lunch.” She smiled her signature smile and before you could argue she was back on her woes of finding a decent florist. You looked to Malcolm who just shrugged and continued pretending to be interested in the conversation.

…

You stood awkwardly in front of the huge mirror watching the older gentleman's fingers fluttering from here to there taking careful measurements. Jessica stood a few feet away giving her input occasionally. He took a step back and gave you a warm welcoming smile as he grasped your shoulders and kissed both of your cheeks.

"Il Signore benedica il frutto del vostro amore," you looked at him and back to Jessica who had her hands clapped over her mouth and tears in her eyes.

"Thank you?" You replied fairly certain that the secret had been spilled. You wished you knew Italian. You had expected Jessica to rant and rave but instead, she wiped her eyes carefully before linking her arm with yours.

"Come on, let's not leave the others waiting."

…

"I stopped trying to understand my mother ages ago. You're sure you don't remember what he said" Malcolm yelled from the kitchen. You were wiggling your way into the dress that had been dropped off at the house earlier. It fit perfectly of course. The perfect amount of stretch around your midsection. Sexy and sophisticated. You finished your hair and makeup before joining Malcolm in the kitchen.

"I'm pretty sure it was Italian"

"Well, he is Italian so I would hope so. You look gorgeous by the way," he put the pan in his hand down and bridged the few steps between you before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You scrunched your face before pulling away.

"What's that smell?" You took a few steps back, the taste of bile rising in your throat before running to the bathroom. Alone in the kitchen, he cupped a hand to his face to smell his breath, made a face, and joined you to brush his teeth.

…

You stepped out of the car while Malcolm held the door open.

"Feeling okay?" You squeezed his hand in response.

"You mean other than slightly nauseous, sweaty, and swollen?"

"I'm sorry," he gently kissed your hand, "I promise we don't have to stay long."

You walked into the venue holding onto him, your mind concentrated hard on getting through the night. Later when anyone asked you would say that's why it took you so long to notice the room around you.

This was not the celebration Jessica had spent the last few weeks explaining to you. The room was filled with pastel colors, pink, purple, green, and yellow. "Welcome Baby" and "Congratulations" were hung on gigantic banners across the room. Everywhere you looked you saw the faces of your friends and family, along with the faces of a few senators and the mayor if you weren't mistaken. A mountain of gifts that took up more space than your first apartment was piled into a corner.

You couldn't help but wonder how much money it had cost to plan the entire thing last minute, to fly people from across the country to be here. Jessica must have been up all night getting everything prepared. You didn't know if you wanted to laugh or cry so you did both. Malcolm stood equally stunned, his mouth hung open, absolutely speechless. Jessica practically ran to you taking you in her arms.

"I know you hate big parties but I just couldn't help myself! A baby in the family!" She turned to Malcolm without letting you go, "And you," She wagged a finger at him and he held his hands up in mock defeat, "You didn't tell me? What were you waiting for!" She turned back to you, "Don't worry sweetheart I don't blame you at all, I know this was one of my son's terrible ideas."

You mouthed "told you" to Malcolm who was on the receiving end of a bear hug from Gil. His eyes were full of happy tears. Fatherhood was a terrifying step for him to make and it wasn't one he took lightly. You were so grateful he had a man like Gil in his life to be there for him always.

Your heart was so full of love.

Jessica let you go after what felt like an hour and took Malcolm in her arms after swatting his arm probably harder than necessary. Gil offered his open arms to you and you gladly accepted.

"So how's it feel to be a grandpa?" You asked teasingly. He laughed.

"Amazing. Terrifying. I can't believe my kid is having a kid. How's it feel being a mom?"

Your voice caught in your throat. You felt so many things. Joy, complete terror, giddy, love. You looked at the people around you with peace and knowledge in your heart that they were there for you, there for this baby, no matter what.

"It's the best feeling in the world," you replied.

*"Il Signore benedica il frutto del vostro amore" = "God bless the fruit of your love."

#answered #prodigal son fic #fan fic #malcolm bright x reader #malcolm bright x pregnant reader #malcolm bright #jessica whitly #gil arroyo #prodigal son fan fiction #fuled-by-fanfic #i wanted to post this two hours ago but my kids decided to take turns waking up one after another #i'll edit it more later #sometimes i write things

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process-pending · 4 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Prodigal Son (TV 2019) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Reader Characters: Malcolm Bright, JT Tarmel, Dani Powell, Gil Arroyo, Reader Additional Tags: Pregnant Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Angst with a Happy Ending, Caring team, Found Family Summary:

Things had been going so well between you and Malcolm. You were married, he was getting better and you were pregnant. But as your pregnancy progresses, old anxieties rear their head and you turn to Gil, hoping he can help Malcolm reclaim the hard-won progress before it's too late.

#prodigal son #malcolm bright x reader #reader insert #pregnant reader #malcolm bright whump #malcolm bright #whump

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prodigal-imagines · 3 years

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"I'm Pregnant" - Malcolm Bright x Reader

Anon asks: "Oh babe from that prompts list you KNOW I need a Malcolm x reader w/ “I’m pregnant” "

I am so sorry I'm so late with this but here you go!!!! I hope you like it!!!

Warnings: pregnant!reader, slight angst if you squint

Malcolm x reader

Something was wrong. You weren't behaving the same the last couple of nights. Were you ill? You've suddenly been spending a lot of time with Jessica, brushing off his questions when he asked you why, saying she's been trying to bond with her son's girlfriend, but he's a profiler and can see a shadow in your eye.

You were hiding something from him and he needed to know what it was.

You were perched carefully on Jessica's couch in her lounge nursing a warm cup of tea, black tea you believe, Jessica hasld a hard time finding something for you that didn't contain alcohol. She settles in a chair across from you, raising a wine glass carefully to her lips, her gaze searching your own before you look away from it, bashfully hiding your eyes.

"What is it, dear?" She asks, gently, but the edge in her tone suggests she has an idea on why you're here. Declining a free bottle of expensive wine? That was unheard of for you. Why else would you say no? Jessica Whitley was a smart woman. She might have made the mistake of marrying a serial killer but she knows when someone is holding onto a secret. She caught on to Martin and Malcolm, and she is catching onto you.

Suddenly your tough facade breaks and your eyes well up with tears, the sudden wave in emotion catching you and Jessica off guard. "Y/N!" She gasps, placing her wine and your tea onto the table nearby. She rushes to your side and puts her arm around your shoulders as you break down. "what is the matter?"

"I'm terrified, Mrs. Whitley" you mumble into her shoulder, your arm protectively around your abdomen, a habit you have adopted ever since you discovered what was growing inside you. "I don't know if I can do this." The front door opens and shuts as your talking but neither notice, too engrossed in the private topic at hand. "what if Malcolm and I can't handle it?"

Jessica sighs, gently bringing your chin up with her finger, forcing your shining eyes to meet her steel ones. "Listen to me, dear. I have never seen my son so... So normal when he is with you." She seems to be growing flustered, her eyes fluttering around the room, more specifically towards the doorway, but you don't notice. Your too far into your own feelings. "He absolutely adores you, and that will not change when you tell him."

"Tell me what?" Malcolm's voice is loud over the silence of the room and you jump at the sudden change. His voice cracks, and when you look over and meet his eyes, his face distorts, crumbling into a frenzy of worry, concern, and fear. You take in his hand shaking at his side, something he has never done in regard to you. Your heart breaks watching.

Jessica suddenly gets restless, jumping to her feet. She wipes her palms down her sides and stutters, "I should - I should leave you two alone and talk..." She rushes from the room, but not before resting her hand on your shoulder gently.

Malcolm refuses to move, instead searches your eyes, playing through the last two months together, each happy and calm memory, wracking his brain for missed micro expressions, anything to show you were unhappy like you are now. "Malcolm" you whisper his name and his resolve shatters. You sound so scared and broken. You take a deep breath, pulling yourself to your feet and Malcolm prepares for the deathblow. "I'm Pregnant."

Malcolm freezes. His hand stills at his side, and he stops breathing. Your words are echoing around his head. He can't think. He can't breath. He looks down, to find your hand resting gently on your abdomen, protectively covering it. Protecting the baby.

His baby.

Malcolm is going to be a father.

That thought excited him and terrified him at the same time. What if he fails you and the baby? What if he ends up like his dad? What if he isn't good enough to be a father?

No. No, he isn't going to be like Martin. He's going to do everything in his power to be the best dad that this baby deserves. The best partner that you deserve. He trails his eyes back up your body and looks at your face. You look terrified but he can see joy in your eyes, the prospect of raising a child with the man you had the misfortune of falling in love with made you happy. You were practically glowing. He has never seen you look so beautiful.

He walked towards you slowly, gently raising his hand, placing it over yours on your abdomen, his large hand covering your small one almost comically. He knows he wouldn't feel any movement but he could imagine a mini y/n in there, eager to learn the ways of the world.

He looks back up to you and smiles softly, a loaded smile that could pass for a grimace if you didn't know him as well as you did. He raises his free hand to cup the side of your face and you subconsciously lean into it, sighing and shutting your eyes, a few tears breaking free at the moment. "You're pregnant" he says simply, the statement feeling good on his tongue.

You lean forward and he meets you halfway, leaning his forehead on yours, and you can feel how ragged and unsteady his breath was. "I love you" he says and you smile. "You're going to be a great mother."

"You're going to be a great father." You breath back, and he captures your lips in his. Somewhere nearby you hear Jessica and Ainsley squealing to each other. The sound is abruptly cut off when-

"Oh God I'm going to be a grandmother."

#malcolm whitly #malcolm bright #prodigal son #malcolm bright x reader #Malcolm Whitley x reader #tom payne

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myownwutheringheights · 5 years

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Like Daylight

{Malcolm x Reader} Word Count: 3967

AN: First Prodigal Son Fic! May continue, for now it’s a one shot. Let me know if you’d want more to this story! Reader insert, but reader is not present, just mentioned/discussed, etc.

Warnings: R rating. Reader is pregnant. Mentions of unprotected sex, sex in general. Mentions of choking. Mentions of Malcolm’s trauma/past/mental health. Mentions of reader having unknown mental health issues.

*****************************************************************************************

The bulletproof door shut behind Malcolm and the echo of it lasted longer than usual in his mind. The evidence folder in his hand contained only one photo, yet the pieces of paper felt like a dead weight in his protective grasp. Besides, the items didn’t match up. The evidence folder had just been the first thing on hand at the police department.

Come to think of it, it was pretty twisted, having this image in an evidence folder. He wanted the pieces of paper separated now, the picture moved away from the association with the crude colored folder, but he couldn’t just yet.

He had something to share with Dr. Martin Whitly.

Malcolm pocketed his hands, clenching the stress ball in his jacket pocket that (y/n) had given him, and he tried to hide the long slow exhale from his lips as his bright blue eyes settled on the face of his smiling father. It had been months since his last visit. And Martin would be the last to find out; everyone else already knew. He’d sung like a canary over a drink with Gil one evening soon after (y/n) had told him the news. He’d had to tell someone and try to find a way to sort through every feeling bubbling inside him. A therapist would have been a better idea to help him sort through it all, but it had felt better over a conversation with Gil over whisky. When the first few weeks of uncertainty and danger had past, he told the team. They’d certainly reacted better than he’d expected. Some of it was fake enthusiasm, and easy to spot by a profiler, but it came not from a place of malice but a place of concern; he knew they worried about how he would handle the change. And with his track record, well, he couldn’t exactly blame them. Ainsley was next, and then, the dreaded telling his mother. She’d reacted as poorly as he’d expected at first; convinced he couldn’t handle it, that it was irresponsible and selfish. But after a good long talk with (y/n), and realizing she could go shopping, do some decorating as a result, spend a lot of money, and something new to focus her attention on? A distraction and a new place to center her affections? Her tune changed soon after. They had her love and support. And some of her money, which never hurt.

Only Martin was in the dark all these months later. And he had no right to know. None. But (y/n) had been supportive in whatever his decision would be, and had even offered to go with him. He looked back in regret at the anger he’d flung at her for even suggesting it, knowing she meant well. But he never wanted (y/n) to meet his father. He hadn’t been to see Martin in a long time, but now with each passing week and each passing doctors appointment, the night terrors had come back, and for (y/n)’s safety due to the fits, she was sleeping in another bed. Perhaps telling Martin would somehow help him take the necessary steps to begin this new and strange and terrifying journey; start off on an equal and balanced playing field, where all the players knew what was happening. A new blank slate, and no secrets. Maybe he’d be able to sleep next to her again without fearing he’d hurt her by accident in the throws of a night terror.

But this was a part of his life that Martin Whitly would never touch. Malcolm would see to that; and yet there was a tremor that wouldn’t stop, and he hoped maybe telling him would help put an end to it. So here we was, like Dante descending back into hell.

Dr. Whitly broke the silence. He turned in his chair to face his son, his mouth opening in joyous shock. “Malcolm my boy! This is a surprise! It’s been so long! How have you been? I know you’re not covering a murder…” he said gesturing to the TV, with the news muted. Malcolm held out a hand to silence him.

“I’m not here for that. There’s something I have to tell you, then I’m gone.” The father’s eyes narrowed and he stood slowly, the slight sound of metal on metal from the handcuffs in the wake of the movement.

“Malcolm? Are you alright?” The Surgeon was no fool. He knew very well how his son felt about him. If he was here on his own omission with something he had to share, it had to be serious. But if anyone had heard the words and not know Martin Whitley, or what he had done, they would have assumed he was truly the perfect and concerned father.

“I’m fine,” Malcolm said a little too quickly. Martin’s head tilted to the side, slow and deliberate, and he was clearly fighting back a smile. Malcolm thought about leaving. He didn’t have to tell him. But the long and short of it was that he still wanted to tell his father. Most sons got to share this news with their fathers. Was it so wrong for him to want that moment too? Part of him had to tell him.

“Is it that girl you’re seeing? How’s that going with the night terrors? She down with the restraints? Is she into that sort of thing?” Martin said waggling his eyebrows suggestively, and Malcolm held his breath to keep from lunging at the man. Between Malcolm’s visits, and Jessica, he knew too much. Malcolm closed his eyes for just a moment, gave a shake of his head. His hands flexed in his pockets.

“We’re working on all of it, no thanks to you.” He opened his mouth to continue, but Martin cut him off.

“What do you mean “you’re working on it,” what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means we worked on it.” His voice firm and the matter final. Martin lifted his eyebrows and continued in his nearly cartoonish voice.

“Gracious she must be something special, I should love to meet her,” And that smile curled as his eyes narrowed just enough to let the glee and the madness all shine through. It was the face that had been shown on the news, the face that would make everyone confirm on sight that he was a killer.

“You’re never going to meet her!” He couldn’t hold back the anger any more, it was pulsing in him like a drug. But the picture in the folder in his hand was a firm reminder, and he took a long, deep breath. “I never should have told you she existed, but she does and…”

“And it’d been quite a while, I’m very impressed considering well….everything. Does your mother like her?” Malcolm looked to the books of the small library and back, his patience lingering on the smallest thread.

“Doesn’t matter, none of that is why I’m here.” What could he have told him? If this was a normal conversation between a normal father and a normal son? Yes Jessica adored her. And so did Ainsley. And so did pretty much everyone else in his life. They said she was an angel or a saint, sent to save him. He would scoff and roll his eyes and make some witty remark whenever these sentiments were expressed. (Y/n) hated those sentiments too. But the reality of it was that (y/n) truly had helped him. He was far from saved, a long way from healed. “People don’t save people, Malcolm. That’s movie garbage,” she’d said. Chronic conditions don’t heal. Night terrors don’t just go away. PTSD doesn’t just vanish because of a pretty smile from a lovely girl who for some reason loved him. Chronic depression and anxiety couldn’t be wished away because someone special came into his life. But he’d lie if he said he wasn’t coping better with her. She had been a soothing balm, and in watching (y/n) dress her own wounds, (everyone had their own wounds), he’d learned to care for his own. It was the best form of mimicry. He found helping her when she needed it turned his mind from his own past, and brought him to the present to want to help her. If she was crying, the only thing he cared about was stopping those tears. It was a partnership in baggage that people prayed for. And it was baggage both were somehow able to manage and carry together. Because when he did have night terrors, she was near by to wake him up. When he had tremors she would hold his hand. And she hadn’t left when he’d panicked, and when he continued to panic about the changes that were coming down the line…just a few weeks left…

Don’t think about that right now.

What else could he have said? It was all the things he’d told Gil, and his mother. Even Ainsley.

That her body wash smelled like (your favorite scent) and somehow it always seemed to put him in a better mood. Scent was strongly tied to memory, and now that scent always made him smile a little. That she’d thrown her weighted blanket at him and told him to get it together on more than one occasion. That she actually asked him questions about his past and searched for the good memories for him to share and bring out. That she really liked being outside and dragged him back into nature to get away from the city. That she’d hauled him out of the area to take an actual vacation. Because she loved vacations, and traveling and getting away and damn it she would bring him along, because everyone needs a break from work and to get out of their own head now and then. The fact she was a person he just connected to in a way that people did when they found something and someone special in their life. (Y/n) was all of that to him. And somehow, best of all, she said he was all that for her too. He didn’t fully understand how or why. Some questions, he had learned, were better left unanswered.

“Malcolm?” His father’s voice didn’t even penetrate his mind. His eyes were cast slightly off to the side lost in his thoughts.

What else wouldn’t he share? What was silent and just theirs?

That he and (y/n) had both caught each other crying in the shower on more than one occasion over the course of their relationship. That they’d faced pretty much every possible one of their fears together, and while it was a cliché to say he believed it had made them stronger, it was the truth. That they’d stay up late on the couch drinking tea or coffee to figure things out, no matter what the issue on hand had been. That (y/n) had understood and worked with him getting over his fear of touch. That her body was perfect to him the way it was and he wouldn’t change a thing. Not a single freckle or scar or hair. That the first time she cried out his name while they were making love, it had made his eyes snap open and made him realize he couldn’t go without her or this. That being inside her was an addiction, that her soft cries and her legs around his waist, trembling on the verge was more intoxicating than any of the rare bottles on his mother’s wine rack. That one time he’d choked her in the heat of oncoming pleasure, on one of his particularly bad days, but he’d stopped himself before it had gone too far, and she’d thoroughly yelled at him after. That Malcolm had promised not to do it again, and he’d kept that promise. That she had forgiven him and he would be forever grateful for it. That he struggled when she wasn’t in the mood and he was fully aware he needed better coping mechanisms. That he was terrified of the oncoming dry spell, but he was determined to make it through. That the feel of her fingers in his hair was soothing and erotic to him at the same time. That she’d told him she wanted kids even with their joint collection of high-class, high-end luxury baggage. That having (y/n) beg him to come inside her was truly music to his ears, and the feeling of it unparalleled to any other experiences of his life...

That when (y/n) had told him the news, he’d bought every book possible to try to become an expert in an uncertain and terrifying field. That he stayed up late when he couldn’t sleep to read those books…

“Malcolm!” His dads voice cut through the images in his head. Malcolm’s eyes refocused on the task at hand. The reason he was here. “What is going on?” Martin took another step, and his restraints kept him from taking any more towards his son. He almost looked truly concerned.

“(Y/n) is pregnant.” Malcolm spoke each word with slow and clear perfection, making sure there would be no doubt or question in the words spoken. He composed himself, never originally imagining he’d say those words in this room, in this place. He clenched his hands again, gulped, and let the silence settle as he waited and braced for the reaction. Martin let out one, then two short barking laughs, before his face fell into an insane beaming smile, and he clapped his hands as best he could. Malcolm’s face settled to a hard line, eyes focused and jaw clenched tight, trying to not give his father anything to read.

“That’s fantastic news my boy! I don’t even know what I should say! So many possible reactions! But which one to go for? I’d give you a hug and tell you well done but…well, nevermind! The handcuffs make that tricky. Do I cry tears of joy? I’m not sure! I’m sure your mother is reeling over being old enough to be a grandmother! But which reaction? I mean, a new life in the world! That’s exciting business! The family line continues! Should I question your ability to parent considering…”

“That my own dad is a serial killer?” Malcolm’s voice was dry, the words dripping with sarcasm. Who was he to question his potential parenting skills?

“Yes, that. Should I be upset? Get all preachy, “you know condoms are cheap” kinda talk? Use protection! Ah, you’re not kids so what’s the point. I’m sure you can take care of yourselves. What does she do for work anyway? Eh, doesn’t matter. Oh! What about “you’re not even married!” But I suppose that’s antiquated, who’s married these days…”

“Actually we are,” he said casually, arrogance settling in his eyes. It was the first time in a painfully long amount of time he’d been able to leave the Surgeon speechless and surprised. Malcolm’s mouth formed a little smug smile of pride at the achievement. “Courthouse thing, nothing crazy. Mainly for the benefits, healthcare plans, stuff like that. Boring. We didn’t see the point of anything else. Everyone was there….except you…” Martin’s mouth twitched in agitation. Was Malcolm intentionally trying to anger the man? Yes, yes he was, but he shut down the voice in his head telling him to keep going. Oh the things he wanted to say.

Because of you, I can’t sleep beside her, right now when she needs me the most because I could hurt her or the baby…I’m terrified I use sex with her too much as a coping mechanism…I love her more than anything and I’m terrified of hurting her because of you…and I’m petrified of when we can’t be intimate when she’s healing after…and that’s the most selfish thought in the world and I hate myself for it… I’m terrified I’ll throw myself into work to deal with the changes…Because of you, I’m terrified of what will be passed on to this kid…Because of you I’m petrified what sort of dad I’ll be…I’m scared of hurting my own child…You robbed yourself of being a grandfather, and robbed this child of a grandfather and have left it with a legacy that cannot be explained without nightmare!

Yes, the things he wanted to say….

But he never would. It was all silent thoughts that stayed locked in his mind and kept him up at night. It was things he wanted to say to (y/n) but was terrified what she’d say, even though they’d been there for each other in every way up to now.

No. It gave Martin too much power over him, over them. And Malcolm had promised himself he would not let him have any power over his child.

So he bit his tongue till he tasted blood and let the man carry on in his charismatic ramblings.

“I’m sure I’m the last to know about this too? Yes, of course, rightfully so, I supposed I deserve that. And that jab about a wedding, I will admit that hurt just a little. I could have sent a gift! That’s a lie I couldn’t have done that. But at least a note, that would have been nice to send. But another Whitly is exciting! Another daughter.” Malcolm’s heart rate spiked and the rage that fueled him was a fire he had to put out to maintain control. Always fighting for control.. To Malcolm, she wasn’t a Whitly. (Y/n) would never be a Whitley. She was a Bright.

Martin maintained his smile, pushing every button he could “But I do appreciate you telling me, truly I do.” Malcolm remained silent, letting the man get it all out of his system. The sooner he did, the sooner he could leave. “Well then, since I’m the last to know, has enough time passed to know the big answer…a boy? A girl?” Malcolm debated, closing his eyes and seeing the last sonogram in his mind’s eye, where the nurses had written “Hi, daddy,” on it and for a while he’d been unable to look at it. More so the words than the actual blurry image. He had been horrified imagining holding that title.

But now whenever he felt unnatural terror settling over him, that image of blurry lines and those words had been on the inside of his eyelids and they had a new healing power.

Blurry lines attached to a heartbeat that he listened to almost every night through a stethoscope. A heartbeat that made up something sweet and precious…and unbroken.

Blurry lines attached to the photo in the evidence folder in his hands. Another deep breath…

“A girl.” Malcolm finally said, firming his stance. He would give him the gender, and nothing more. Never her name, which had been decided on, which even now filled every crevice of his mind and heart. To Malcolm, her name was sacred and something he’d never let his father know. Martin smiled ever so slightly at the small look of pride his son was trying to conceal from him. The boy may be frightened of fatherhood, frightened of his past and who he was. And oh he aught to be! But there was pride in Malcolm already for his child. It left Martin smiling brighter.

“Ahhh a girl! How wonderful. Of course you must be thrilled. A girl must be a source of relief!” Malcolm held his ground and stared right back at his father, like two alphas fighting for control. And he would not be afraid. “Oh a boy could look like me, look like you! Then oh, the legacy continues! What a horrible thing it would be for you, to watch my face, or your face, grow up in your care…But a girl! A girl is just different enough to seem to break the cycle doesn’t it? It may even help you in your parenting! You wouldn’t look at her and see my face. She’ll hopefully look like (y/n). That’s what you’re hoping for, isn’t it? What a joy for you, dear boy…” His smile was the stuff of nightmares, his words made to push his son to the brink of mental collapse, to push him into crisis and into his grasp. To anger him, to frighten him, to damage him, and keep him coming back, trapping him in his thrall. If Malcolm was damaged, he’d keep coming back. And it’s all he wanted. He wanted him to come back, and he wanted to meet his granddaughter. “Who knows, you might need my help! Maybe you’ll be just like me…or maybe she will be…”

Malcolm’s ears were ringing and he wanted to shut out his father’s voice.

Run,

his body said.

Run.

But if he ran now, the nightmares would continue. For just a moment, he remembered what his father had said once,

“Love didn’t drive me to kill anyone. No, it drove me to have you.”

No, it drove me to have you.

If he ever did tell his daughter about Martin Whitley, he’d tell her that sentence, he decided. Because if it was the truth, then it was the same reason he had her. For now, Malcolm just shook his head. And he pictured (y/n)’s smile, and he pictured her hand holding her swollen belly, and he wanted nothing more than to be by her side. The task was almost done. And he could, at least try, to never step foot into this room again. “It is a joy for me, Dr. Whitley,” finally opened the evidence file, and took out the image of the sonogram. “Hopefully she will look like (y/n). And I’ll be a good father not because of you, but because I know she’ll be a wonderful mother…”

He traced his fingers over the image one last time.

Love drove me to have you.

He had copies at home; on the fridge, in the bathroom, with his mom, with his sister, by his pills, by their bed, by his memo pad telling him to go to therapy, by Gil’s desk to look at, and one course, one in his wallet. He could separate himself from this one.

As a parting gift. The last gift a prodigal son could give his father. He knocked on the door to be let out by the guards and the buzzer sounded like an alarm in Martin’s ears. He was losing his son to someone else.

“Wait….no, no…Malcolm don’t leave…” But he hurried to the desk to see the sonogram as the door was opened. Martin held the image in his hands. “Malcolm, you can’t leave me…” His voice was shaking, so were his hands as he grasped the only image, he believed he would ever have, of his granddaughter. And he longed to see her, to meet her. Maybe he could say something, do something, send something. He’d meet her. He’d meet (y/n). He had to.

“Goodbye, Dr. Whitly,” Malcolm made sure his wife’s face was the image he saw in front of him, and it gave him the courage to step out that door. He thought of her name, and of their daughter’s and it kept his feet moving.

“You’ll come back my boy, you’ll need me! We’re the same you and I! She’ll be the same! She’ll be the same!” Martin yelled as the son walked away and down the secure hall, the door closing with what felt like a crashing bang in both their heads. For Martin it was an echoing crash that would fester and never stop until the door was opened again. For Malcolm it faded away to a name as he walked down the steps of the psychiatric facility and stepped into the daylight. The name he’d picked. And he thought of (y/n), and that name again and again as he walked home.

Lily. Lily Bright.

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sayhitoforever · 4 years

Text

Burn Season - Malcolm Bright x Reader - PT (5/?)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4- Thanks for all the love and support for this series. I appreciate you all so, so crazy much. As always, comments are much loved, but all love is accepted.

“Clearly, we got off on the wrong foot—” Malcolm began, eyes flitting over Y/N's face in profile. He was willing to acquiesce that the tension was his fault and he knew he should be the one to try to bridge the gap he had created.

“Coming from the guy with two left feet,” Y/N snorted with a melodramatic eyeroll.

“I know that I'm at fault here and I apologize. You obviously have a wealth of information regarding this case and it will make our jobs easier if we get along. Why don't we just start over?” Malcolm offered with a hesitant smile.

“I'm not a sociopath, can we start there?” Y/N said, casting a sidelong glance at Malcolm that could have peeled paint.

“Fair enough,” Malcolm conceded as Y/N slipped out of the barstool and headed over the weapons display case she had been ogling.

“Gil and the team seem to know you well, but I don't. I'd like to change that.” He hoped that didn't sound as forward as it felt. The look Y/N shot over her shoulder at him, something amused and almost coy, told him he'd missed the mark.

“I'm listening,” she said as she came to a stop in front of the first case, craning her neck back to take in the tall spears and lances enclosed by glass. Malcolm moved to stand in the half-hallway so he could watch her outline.

“I just want to understand your credentials, how you met Gil, how you can help with this case,” Malcolm said as she looked down at his selection of knives. There was a pregnant pause as he waited, fidgeting his hands slightly, before he heard her sigh.

“I'm a certified fire and explosives investigator. I used to work for the National Association of Fire Investigators, but the private contracting sector pays better,” she replied, stooping over to look more closely at Malcolm's collection. “I met Gil on a case about four years ago, some bomb builder who had beef with sex workers, while I was still NAFI.”

Malcolm almost wished he knew which case she was talking about. But during his time with the FBI, he'd fallen out of regular contact with Gil. They'd still speak often, but never long enough to discuss current cases of interest. He couldn't even remember if he'd seen anything like that on the news at the time, and he frowned.

“Do you know how to properly use any of these?” Y/N lifted the glass lid open and picked up a tomahawk, weighing it in her hand expertly. The gesture fascinated Malcolm and he took a half-step towards her. “It's all in the balance, but I'm sure you know that. The lighter the blade, the easier the throw. But you sacrifice just how deep your hit can sink if it's too light.”

He should have minded the fact that she was holding a piece of his collection, that she'd just opened the case and touched anything at all without asking. But there was something in the way she stood, spine straight, shoulders back, with the same easy confidence she had in Edrisa's lab, that kept Malcolm from opening his mouth. Comfortable, was the first word that came to mind as he watched her rotate the tomahawk in her hand, admiring its grip. Experienced was the second, and it sent a zing of electricity down his spine.

“I don't use them, they're a passion project. I enjoy the history,” he finally said.

“This wouldn't kill you if I threw it from here. I don't have the arm strength for it,” Y/N said after a moment, returning the tomahawk to its rightful place. Malcolm hesitated in the step he was about to take, eyes wide as he stared at her. Her words raised the hair on his neck, the same feeling he'd had in the lab when he'd asked if anyone knew who she really was and she'd glared up at him with nothing but unadulterated rage in her eyes. He stood silent as she picked up an M3 trench knife instead and Malcolm watched almost helplessly, feet rooted to the floor in fear so primordial it left a ringing in his ears, as she twirled it in her hand effortlessly.

“This one though, I could probably crack your sternum with from here.” She held it up to the light to inspect the blade, looking too comfortable for Malcolm's liking.

“That doesn't sound like something an arson investigator should know,” Malcolm said, mouth dry, his voice sounding tinny and strained even to his own ears. He could feel his pulse in his fingertips, pounding, where he held his hands behind his back in a vice grip. The silence that followed was almost unbearable, charged with his trepidation and the tension of her pause.

“My father always said if your intent is to kill a man and you don't have the strength in your own two hands to do so, you should always use a knife,” Y/N commented casually, as though she was talking about the possibility of rain later and not murder in the first degree. “He hated guns. He said guns are as impersonal as someone can get. And murder is always personal.”

Malcolm felt like the floor had dropped out from under him. This was not at all how he could have even imagined this conversation going. This was real, there was nothing in her voice or her body to say it was anything but the absolute truth. She angled the trench knife until the light above refracted off it, checking its sharpness.

“Sounds like a great guy,” he joked weakly, wondering what he could say to redirect the conversation, if there was even a way to salvage it.

“He was a mafia kingpin, a remnant clinging to an age that was getting dismantled brick by brick around him, every day.”

Malcolm's eyes widened, a sick sense of curiosity flooding through him. He unwound his hands and walked toward Y/N until only the couch and the coffee table separated them, the case and her files completely forgotten behind him. “What happened to him? RICO?”

She shrugged mildly before turning and replacing the M3 to the case. “He was killed, about 8 years ago, in a fire quite a bit like the one we saw last night.”

#prodigal son #prodigal son fox #malcolm bright #malcolm whitly #malcolm bright x reader #malcolm whitly x reader #gil arroyo #dani powell #JT Tarmel #tom panye #x you #x y/n #x reader #reader insert #ya'll are awesome for real #burn season #sayhitoforever #hitowrites

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shreddedparchment · 5 years

Text

Parallel Pt.01

Lost

11/17/2018

Pairing: Steve x Reader Word Count: 4,390

Masterpost Warnings: language, domestic abuse

A/N: So here it is, the beginning to Parallel. If you’re reading this, chances are you read The End of the World and I’m so excited to continue this journey with you! As soon as Steve made his way into the End of the World I knew his part was going to be much bigger than I set out to make it. If you haven’t read the End of the World, don’t feel like you need to because you should be able to read this one and discover things as you go along but I still recommend that you read that first. It will make the emotional impact much more intense. I hope you enjoy this first chapter. As always, if you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

The breathing beside you is unfamiliar. You’re mostly asleep and the body of warmth beside you, for a moment, reminds you of your husband.

He was unlike any other man in the universe. He was large, tall, with bulging arms, a wide chest, and a heavy gait that still managed to flow gracefully like the chaotic flow of tidal waves. His face was beyond beautiful. He was a literal God, perfection personified with shocking blue eyes, sun-kissed skin, and golden hair that fell to his shoulders.

More importantly, he was the kindest most moral and self-sacrificing man you’ve ever know. And you’ve known some self-sacrificing men.

You dated Steve Rogers once upon a time.

You reach over towards the warmth in your bed eager to nestle into the protective cage of your husband's arms.

As your hands find an arm, a small silent alarm goes off in your head. This body is not hot enough, temperature wise, and his bicep is not big enough.

You slowly slide your hand along the bicep and suddenly realize that whoever is beside you is not Thor.

Your thoughts spring to your baby girl. You and Thor are pregnant! Almost seven months now.

Your hands fly to your stomach as you try and focus your eyes in the darkness and again an alarm rings in your head. With your enhanced Super Soldier eyesight you should be able to see easily in this semi-darkness.

But you struggle to even see the edge of the blanket. You yank it off to expose a jet-black silk nightie with beautiful silver lace embellishments along the bottom and the top.

And your belly…your belly is not pregnant. You press your hand against it and suddenly you’re dead.

Not literally of course, though you might as well be with the utter shock you’re in. Your heart isn't beating and the frenzy in your mind keeps repeating the same word over and over. “No.”

The agony in your voice surprises you.

“Y/N? What's the matter?” The body beside you asks.

On some level you realize that the man beside you is Malcolm. A System's Analyst for a big security company here in Australia. The details that you shouldn't know by heart come rushing back as you throw your legs over the edge of the bed and make your way to the bathroom.

You throw the switch on, stop in front of the mirror and press your hands flat against your stomach.

“No. No. No. No. No.” You repeat.

You reach up to touch your hair and that's back to normal too.

Your limbs feel soft, no longer hard with the muscles of training like the Avenger you are or now…used to be.

This isn’t happening. The watch…they used it. They had the ability to travel back in time and they'd done it.

This realization falls on you like a Thanos-sized anvil, crushing you with the grief of suddenly not having your little girl. She had just been there. Where the hell was she?

Your hands claw at the fabric over your stomach, hating the lack of movement underneath. Your baby bump is gone and there’s no getting it back.

“Y/N?” You realize you’re sobbing when Malcolm, who you now remember is your boyfriend, moves to stand in the bathroom doorway wiping at his face sleepily.

You probe for details in your mind, searching for where it all went wrong. Why are you still in Australia? When Thor didn’t come back home after a year, you should have left.

Your probing finds the answer.

“Allie, I know you’re only trying to help but reminding me every few minutes that Thor has the nine realms resting on his shoulders is not making me feel any better.” You shove your last shirt into the smaller side of your suitcase.

“I know,” Allie says wistfully. “But that argument helped the last time you threatened to go home so I thought it might be worth a try.”

You huff a quiet laugh at your friend's subdued enthusiasm. Looking at her makes you sad. You don’t want to part with her. Of all the places you’ve lived so far, Allie has been the best and most supportive friend you've had.

Her oval face, large blue eyes, and short straight nose sit prettily above her V-shaped chin. Her lips are also small in width but full and she always uses a bright pink lip gloss.

Her long brown hair is gathered up at the top of her head in a large messy bun, just like yours.

“I’m sorry, Allie. Really, I am.” You shrug and sit yourself down by your suitcase and stare at its contents, sadly running your hand over the blue dress you’d been wearing when Thor first kissed you.

“What if he comes back and you’re gone?” She asks.

“If he still wants to be with me…then he'll find me. He always does. But I don’t see that happening.” You miss Thor so much, but six months of perfect happiness was all the two of you were able to share.

He'd left suddenly, giving no promises as to when he might come back. He only said he was sorry and that you should stay safe.

“I don't want you to go.” Allie confesses. “Maybe if you tried dating someone else?”

“Allie…” You complain. After Thor, who could compare?

But you'd be lying if you said you weren’t lonely.

“Alright, alright. I give up. Do you at least have everything? No last-minute dry cleaning to pick up?” She provides and that strikes a spark.

The dress you wore to Allie's wedding! You forgot to pick it up.

“Shit.”

Allie smirks and pulls a pair of keys from her jean pocket.

“Typical. Here, take my car.” She offers her keys and peeks out at the window that faces the side street by your rental. “Oh…there's been a bingle, better go on foot or you’ll be stuck for ages.”

“I have no reason to rush anyway. I got the later flight. It’s a short walk. I’ll be back.” You shrug, grab your cardigan, and look over at the small fender bender that Allie had seen as you pull it on.

It looks like the two large men are about to escalate the small accident into a fight.

You manage to make it to the drycleaners in time and pick up your dress without a fuss.

As you’re adjusting the garment bag over your arm, paying more attention to the hanger than where you’re walking, you suddenly bump, head first into a hard chest.

“Ow, I’m so sorry.” You rub at the top of your head and look up at the person you’ve hit.

Your jaw drops slightly as you stare up into the dark blue eyes of your once blind date.

“Malcolm? I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.” You confess a little surprised but pleasantly so.

“Y/N? No, don’t worry about it. Strange running into you. I didn’t think I’d see you again after-"

You nod, biting your lower lip as you sigh. That’s right, your first date with Malcolm had also been the first day you and Thor got together.

“Yeah, about that, I’m so sorry that I never…I mean with what happened…”

“No, no. Not at all. It was my fault. Leaving a pretty girl with an Avenger to go to work in the middle of a date? Rookie mistake.” He says with a pleasant laugh. “Also, I think I made some pretty foolish comments and left you with a pretty awful first impression of who I am.”

You can’t deny that he’d unintentionally insulted you, calling you high maintenance and lazy.

“Are you and he still-?” He asks, serious again but curious.

“No. No actually, he had to go. Save the universe and all that.” You shrug and give him a small nervous smile.

“Right, well, much better reason to leave a pretty girl than a security breach.” He smiles at you and for a moment you forget that you’re missing Thor.

You forget that you’re packed and ready to go tomorrow morning. Your plane ticket is bought, and your apartment is already set to be filled once you’re gone.

“Um…yeah. I should really get back. Allie's actually waiting back at my place. So…” You move around him and slowly turn to look at him as he turns to watch you go.

“Right, well, tell Allie I said hi and sorry I couldn’t go to the wedding. Again, work.”

“Okay.” You laugh lightly and nod. “Goodbye, Malcolm, it was nice to see you again.”

And it really is.

“Bye…” He gives you a wave and you nod before turning to head back.

“Y/N?” Malcolm suddenly speaks and when you turn, he’s moving towards you. “I know this might not be a convenient time but now that I’ve found you again, I’d really like to see you. Maybe finally make it up to you for leaving early on our last date?”

Your heart doesn’t flutter but his question does make you happy.

“Okay.” You nod.

“Yeah?” He asks, smiling handsomely from ear to ear.

“Yes.”

“Great. I'll pick you up tomorrow? Six?” He asks.

“Six.” You nod, smiling up at him.

When you get back home, Allie watches you as you move over to your suitcase, her brow quirked at the smile plastered on your face.

“Alright, confess. What’s got you smiling like a cat with two fish?” She demands.

You look up from your packed clothes and shake your head a little.

“I uh…I ran into Malcolm coming out of the dry cleaners.” You can’t help the smile you wear and think about the strange serendipity that had to happen for you to bump into Malcolm.

If you hadn’t lost your wallet for half the day you would have been able to buy the ticket for the earlier flight. Then you would have been in a rush to get to the dry cleaner's that you would have taken Allie's car which would have trapped you behind that accident which would have prevented you from bumping into Malcolm at just the right moment.

“Wait, my Malcolm? The guy I set you up with a year and a half ago?” Allie asks for clarity.

“Yeah. He asked me out.” You turn you smile on her and shrug.

“Oh my God! Tell me you said yes and you’re not leaving me.” Allie demands.

“He's picking me up at six tomorrow.”

Allie shrieks and bounds over to you. She throws her arms around your neck and twirls you before she throws her hands into your suitcase and hurls your clothes up in the air.

“Hey!” You complain with a laugh as it rains down around you, but you are far from upset.

When you had first left Australia you hadn’t bumped into Malcolm. He hadn’t asked you out again. You'd gone home and for the next year you spent time teaching in a local private school.

You’d enjoyed your work, but you hadn’t been able to forget Thor. And then the world ended and people all around you on your camping trip began to dissolve around you.

You spent two days climbing down the side of a mountain and when you got home all of your family was gone too. You were alone in the world. And when you went back to school, all of your kids were gone too.

With nothing to live for you’d secluded yourself in your apartment and then one day, he floated back into your life bringing with him the scent of a rainstorm and the hope of a future.

You shut your eyes trying to reconcile the two realities in your head while still desperately clutching the fabric of your nightgown over your stomach.

Your baby had been real! Your marriage to Thor had been real. You were happy. You were going to be a mom and Thor had promised...and now you realize that he must have failed.

Somehow, some way, Tony and Steve must have overpowered him and used the watch before he could destroy it.

“Babe?” Malcolm's voice interrupts your thoughts.

He reaches out for you and takes hold of your forearm as you continue to cry.

It's an instinctual reaction, to have this man who is not your husband touching you, it upsets you and you yank your arm away from him, smacking is forearm in the process.

“Don’t touch me!” You turn away from the mirror to look at Malcolm and since you aren’t expecting it, you don’t react in time.

In a blur, Malcolm's own hand shoots back up and the back of his hand makes stinging contact with the right side of your face.

You’re sent falling against the side of the tub hard where your ribs hit painfully and you’re sure they’re broken.

With a pounding cheek and stars in your eyes you turn your gaze towards him and find Malcolm with his nostrils flared, glaring down at the floor, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

“Why do you insist on making me angry?” He demands, shouting down at you where you slide down to rest on the cool ceramic floor.

As Malcolm moves out of the bathroom, leaving you with your hand pressed to your cheek, you’re awash in new memories. Memories that begin about three months after your date with Malcolm.

It started small, a little insult here, a small derogatory mark there, but slowly Malcolm made you feel like you were lacking. He made you believe that you weren’t worthy of his love. Or anyone's love. He was doing you a favor. Even Thor, an Avenger thought you were worthless.

Then one night, when he insulted you and you had the audacity to defend yourself, he struck you.

He spent the next month convincing you that it wouldn't happen again. But eventually it did.

Having lost your apartment when you cancelled your lease with your spur of the moment decision to escape Australia and after your date with Malcolm and the speed at which your new relationship developed, when he offered you his place to move into, you agreed.

Now, you have nowhere to go. You hadn’t been able to find a good place to work and Malcolm had made it seem that with you not working then you’d have more time for the two of you and he promised to take care of you.

If you leave him, you'll have nowhere to go. No money to get by.

You should have seen his actions for what they were. How is it that you’re this stupid in this reality? He'd been worming his way into your life, cutting you off from all of your friends and he made you dependent on him for survival.

You hadn’t seen or heard from Allie in months, you realize.

You hear his approach again, the heavy footfall of his feet approaching the bathroom again has your heart pounding in fear.

He clears the doorway, his muscular torso flexing as he snaps a belt making you wince.

“I can’t believe you’re making me teach you this lesson again.” He growls.

You hold your hand up towards him.

“Malcolm, please don't. I think my ribs are broken.” You plead.

“You should have thought of that before you hit me.”

“No, I didn’t mean to. Please.” You beg.

Malcolm's face contorts in rage and your instincts kick in again.

You’re not the same girl as before. You, Y/N, are not a meek little mouse to be trampled on by an abusive asshole monster.

You’ve been trained by Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, James Rhodes, Natasha Romanoff, and your husband himself, Thor.

Serum or no serum, you are no pushover.

As he swings his belt down towards you, you block it so that it snaps against your forearm. It hurts, but you’ve felt worse. Maybe not in this softer and weaker body but you remember the burn of your serum and the feeling of being stabbed.

This sting is nothing.

You manage to get a hold of the belt and it throws Malcolm off balance. He falls towards you, threatening to crush you underneath his large form.

You use the momentum of his fall, place your foot on his defined abs, and grunt as you guide his body up over your head.

He crashes loudly against the shower curtain and tub where he falls with a whimper.

You’re not sure how hurt he is but you don’t want to find out. You force yourself up quickly and turn to look at him, the belt held towards his twisted body.

“You will never touch me again. You hear me? Fucking asshole.” You throw the belt at him and he winces as it lands on his chest but he’s not getting up yet.

In a frenzy you limp into your bedroom and move towards your underwear drawer. You yank it out of the dresser and flip it over and tear the plastic bag stuffed with money from the bottom.

You can hear Malcolm moving in the bathroom and out of fear of him getting his hands around you again, you forget your plan of grabbing some clothes and instead you make for the front door.

The entire limping run you feel like he's hot on your heels. You can almost feel his fingers stretched out for you, reaching for your hair.

You can finally breathe when you’re outside and the cool night air erupts goosebumps on your skin.

It's late enough that there aren’t any people out to stare at you.

You’re quite the sight. You’re wearing a skimpy nightie, you’re barefoot, and your face is already bruising. You run with your limp, ignoring the roughness of the ground on your bare feet. You press your right hand against your right ribs and clutch your plastic baggie of money to your chest.

The adrenaline of the encounter with Malcolm is beginning to wear off which means your emotions are making themselves known.

You’re devastated that your baby is gone. It kills you actually and that more than anything tears your heart apart. It's the thought that springs tears to your eyes.

The life you suddenly find yourself thrust into is not one you were expecting. How could it be that it's so terrible? All because Thor isn’t there?

No. You can’t put this abusive relationship on Thor.

You agreed to see Malcolm. You moved in with him. You allowed him to take control over your life though honestly you don’t see how you could have. It feels more like you just woke up one day and you were suddenly trapped.

Wait…no, this isn’t your fault either. This is Malcolm's fault. You should have killed the bastard.

You walk until your feet bleed. Until you finally find yourself in a part of town where you can hail a cab.

The cabbie is shocked at the sight of you and he stares too long.

“You sure you wouldn’t just prefer to go to a hospital, Miss?” He asks, out of concern but you’ve already told him no several times.

“Just take me to that damn address.” You sigh.

As he pulls up to the upscale townhome, you stare for a long moment, wondering if this is a good idea. You need help, but you haven’t spoken to Allie in months.

You deliberately avoided her calls and seeing her would have required too much explanation. The house is dark and not a single light shines through.

Maybe they’re not home?

“I can still take you to the hospital.” The cabbie urges.

This is the kick in the butt you need. “No.”

You toss him the bills for the ride and then limp up slowly towards the door giving the neighborhood a wary look. You don’t wanna make drama for Allie and Teddy with your presence.

The cabbie drives off leaving you to stare at the blue door with a nervous heart and a sense of guilt. You really wish you hadn’t cut Allie off. What if she shuts the door in your face?

With nothing to lose you reach up and knock on the door.

Silence.

You lift your fist again and hesitate before you once again, with trepidation, knock louder.

You hear a shuffle of noise and then the unmistakable sound of footsteps on stairs.

“Who is it?” Allie's voice sends a wave of relief through you and you shake your head as your relief gives way to sorrow.

Only one other person in this world made your heart settle into relief merely by the sound of their voice. You suddenly miss Steve so much it almost chokes you.

When you speak your voice is strangled by tears.

“Allie, it’s me.” You take a breath, pushing your sorrow down. “I’m sorry, I know it's late.”

There's silence from the other side of the door for a moment.

“Y/N?” She asks, in slight shock.

“Yeah, Allie, it's me.” You assure her with a bit more strength in your voice.

You hear the click of a deadbolt, the chain on the door, and the lock on the knob before the door is cracked open.

Allie's large blue eyes peek out at you and as she begins to see your blackening eye, your hand on your ribs, your bloody feet, and the fact that you’re standing in your nightie she pulls the door open.

“Y/N, what the bloody hell-? Look at the state of you! What's happened?” She asks in pure shock.

“Oh, Allie, I’ve been such an idiot.” You sob and when she releases the door and opens her arms for you, you eagerly step into her embrace and take comfort in your only friend.

“That wanker! What an absolute twat!” Allie paces the space in front of you where you sit slightly hunched over with a bag of frozen veggies pressed against the side of your face.

Your eyes follow her as she tosses her brown hair over her shoulder, huffing in anger as she smashes her fist into her open palm.

“And I introduced you!” She covers her eyes and shakes her head, stopping with her free hand on her hip. “If Teddy wasn’t in Seoul, he'd be at that arseface's house throttling him.”

“It's okay, Allie. I took the hardest step. I left him.” You shrug.

“Bleeding on the bathroom floor I hope.” She moves to sit beside you, jostling your ribs accidentally. “Eight months, Y/N. Why didn’t you just say something? I would have gotten you out.”

You shake your head, eyes watering. “I should have, I’m sorry. I was embarrassed and ashamed and…I don’t know. Scared?”

You know now that everything he'd convinced you of was a lie. You were worth all the love in the world, you know what it feels like to be caressed with affection and to be cherished and worshipped and to worship, cherish, and love in return.

“I’m so sorry. Oh, Y/N.” Allie hugs you for the tenth time since you came in.

The two of you cry for a few minutes before she's up and getting you a change of clothes. She presents you with a pair of jeans and a plain white fitted tee.

You change gratefully and clean and bandage your feet up in the bathroom before slipping into the sneakers she’d bought you for your birthday but hadn’t given you since you’d stopped talking to her shortly before.

When you reemerge, Allie sits at her kitchen table, the sun beginning to turn the sky outside gray. She smiles as you approach and offers you a cup of tea.

“Thanks." You sit yourself down across from her and sip the hot liquid. Once more you’re reminded of Steve. He always made you tea when you were stressed or down.

Two tears roll down your cheeks as your heart aches for his comfort. You feel sad for wanting his arms and not Thor's in the moment. But Steve always knew what to say and what to do to put you instantly at ease.

You rest your elbow on the table and rub your right temple gently as you succumb to your emotions.

You feel sad once more when you realize that Steve is part of the reason you are here in this completely fucked reality without your baby girl.

“I think it's time.” Allie says, reaching over to place her hand over yours.

You look at her, resting the side of your face softly against your hand. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I was a twat myself for keeping you here when you had set your mind on leaving. If you'd left Australia and gone back home, then you would never have gotten wrapped up in Malcolm's web.”

“Allie, Malcolm isn’t your fault. None of this is anyone's fault.” Except Tony and Steve's!

“Still,” She brings her other hand up from underneath the table and slides a small stack of papers over to you. “Here. Get yourself home.”

You stare at her a second longer then pull the papers close. A plane ticket home. It's a plane ticket home!

Your heart clenches painfully and you stare up at your friend with new sorrow.

“Allie, I can’t accept this.”

“You can, and you will. Go see your mum and dad. Or, we know that Thor's back in Norway, I can easily change the ticket.” Allie provides excitedly.

Her words strike a chord with your memories and you remember watching the news as this new reality you as Norway and Thor signed their agreement that would allow the Asgardians to live on the surrounding islands. Trade agreements and promise of protection were some of the benefits of letting the Asgardians live in their country.

You remember the pain that shot through your heart as Malcolm moved behind you and rubbed your neck gently.

“See, if he really loved you, he would have come to get you.” He leans down and presses a kiss to your head as Thor's beautiful face smiles as he shakes hands and poses for the cameras. “I’m the only man for you. Aren’t you happy you found me? I’ll never stop loving you.”

You look up at Allie, your eyes blazing with the anger at how easily Malcolm had manipulated you.

“Book the damn ticket for Norway.”

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