Skyrim One-Shots

Ulfric x Stressed!Dragonborn!(Female)Reader ~The Study~

You had escaped the large gathering of people in the Palace of Kings, chest heavy and eyes blooming with tears. When you quietly entered the study next to the Jarl Ulfric's bedroom, not realizing it wasn't your own room, you'd collapsed on one of the stuffed chairs in seconds and willed yourself not to cry.

It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. These things happened, as you knew all too well. The glaring eyes of people who didn't think you were worthy of your position got to you eventually, no matter the effort made to ignore them.

You were good at war, could steel yourself against killing another person. You fought and fought until you would pass out. And it still had never been enough. Some just did not understand, you supposed.

As the fire crackled, the room rang with your near silent sobs as you hung your head over your knees. You tried so hard to make things right, and yet, they never turned out. Was it only you that was the problem?

Tears dripped down your arms and landed on your clothing. For the first time in a great while, you'd thought yourself better off dead.At that moment, your carefully stitched and protected heart had finally been ripped to shreds, leaving you to try to convince your brittle bones to piece it together again.

This time, you knew, you had nothing to repair it with. Before, you were young, hopeful. You were willing to find a way. Now, the people you once held close to you had taken all of your bandages, and along with them your trust in others. You were starving for some sort of love, and yet anytime it came near you'd sprint away in fear.

Hell, you didn't need a lover, you didn't need someone perfect. Just... someone to talk to.

A loud, heart-wrenching cry exited out of your mouth and your face slid down to hide behind your arms. You tried desperately to make it stop, knowing your absence would be noticed, but it only made it worse.

Your fists grabbed at your hair while you started to tremble, remembering all the stupid things that had been said about you, or even to you. Ideas of doing horrible acts flashed into your mind, and you started to hyperventilate.

If you'd jumped out a window, would anyone notice?

If you took a shot of poison, how long would your body wait to be found, decaying all alone?

If you had taken a knife to your very being, what would people blame it on?

If you told someone about all of this, what would happen?

Maybe if you just stopped being so over-dramatic, you would feel perfectly fine. Maybe if you stopped trying to get attention you would be happy, hell, if you tried to be normal, you'd be fine.

You needed to stop. You needed a break, a long one, with friends you trusted, and no responsibilities.

Convincing your back to lean against the back of the chair, your tears slowly subsided as you tried to steady your fragile mental state. Focusing on your breathing helped, thinking about what you could do to lessen the stress often did too.

Well, unless you started to mock yourself as you did.

Another round of panic bit at your throat as you struggled to breathe evenly, tears cascading down your face once more in a rapid dance for dominance over a smile. Fuck, you needed to get out of this pace. You were relapsing again, even though you'd sworn you had gotten over it.

A knock hit the other side of the door that lead to the study you were in.

You cursed shakily, trying to hide the fact that you had just seconds ago been bawling your eyes out. "Go ahead."