Fictional Characters X Reader

Prodigal Son: Missing You

A/N: Hello my dear readers!

So I've watched the TV show Prodigal Son and I fell in love with Malcolm, so here is a little one-shot about it.

Hope you'll like it.

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After the whole Junkyard killer case, you casually walked towards Malcolm's flat. As friends, ( and possibly more), you liked to see the profiler before going to work. According to his mother, since your morning visits, her son was more... relaxed, less tensed.

Beep, beep.

Suddenly, you received a text from Ainsley, Malcolm's sister and you raised your eyebrow. The journalist scarcely sent you texts and even fewer videos.

'' Hum, to what do I owe the pleasure, Ainsley? '' you mumbled, reading the little note below the video '' Nothing is ever lost''

Curious, you clicked on the video.

What you saw made you stop dead in your tracks, completely astonished at the scene. Indeed, you could see Martin screaming his lungs out in his confinement cell, clearly expressing his anger or worry about his family. He was sat in his bed, facing the wall, his hands clenched on his knees while he screamed, very loud you might say, his anguish.

A laugh escaped your lips as the scene, and you shook your head, stopping the video as you had arrived in front of Malcolm's apartment. You pushed the button and stated:

'' Hey, can you buzz me in, Mal, please?''

A sleepy voice muttered at the other end of the line.

'' Of course, Y/N.''

The doors unlocked and you pushed the door to get in. Removing your coat quickly and putting it on the coat rack, you climbed the stairs to be immediately engulfed into a hug by Bright. He hummed into your neck.

'' Good morning, sleepyhead'' you teased, ruffling his soft dishevelled hair.

He mumbled into your neck.

'' Good morning, Y/N. I like your perfume, it suits you.''

You wrapped your hands around his waist, enjoying the hug.

'' I have a question, Mister Profiler.''

Malcolm snickered at your nickname, not letting you go. You continued.

'' Your mother, your sister and your colleagues at the NYPD always seem shocked when you hug me. Why is that? I know about your PTSD and else, but there is more, isn't it?''

He sighed, pulling away to look at you. He pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his blue eyes locking with yours. He cleared his throat, a blush of embarrassment covering his cheeks.

'' I... I feel safe with you.''

You awed in joy and wrapped your arms again for another hug.

'' Me too, Mal. Now, did you have breakfast?''

His grip around your waist tightened and he nuzzled his face into your neck, relaxing. He ignored your question, closing his eyes.

'' I'll take that as a no. How about you go shower while I make you breakfast?''

With no response from him, you grabbed his hands from your waist, intertwining your fingers with him and led him to his bathroom. His blush increased as you came with him into the bathroom. Once inside, you pecked his cheek, making him even redder and said: