Charlize Theron characters x reader One-Shot book (platonic)

Platonic Lady Lesso x Never!reader

TW: Anxiety attack, skin picking, OCD

Note: This one is for me, because I suffer from anxiety and a skin picking disorder. Also stream Hold My Hand by Lady Gaga, tee hee !! </33

Note: This one is for me, because I suffer from anxiety and a skin picking disorder. Also stream Hold My Hand by Lady Gaga, tee hee !! </33

Hold my hand

You woke up drenched in sweat, the lingering scent of copper from your nightmares permeating the air around your bed. The aged wooden frame creaked as you sat up, your feet hovering above the cold stone floor. Casting a gaze around the dormitory, a realization struck you like a lightning bolt - you had unknowingly slept over your first-class History of Villainy. The mere thought of entering the classroom with all eyes fixed upon you filled you with overwhelming anxiety. The prospect was too dreadful, too mortifying.

Frustration etched across your face, and in a moment of despair, you began absentmindedly picking at your skin, as if trying to alleviate the tension. With a heavy sigh, you realized the state of disarray you had left your hair in. There was no way you could attend class in such a disheveled state. Not like that. You knew that the dean's Doom Room was awaiting for you which made you anxious even more. The possibilities of what she would do to you for skipping class.

Retreating to the bed, you pulled your legs back up and crossed them, continuing to mindlessly pick at your skin. Suddenly, a knock interrupted the silence, causing your head to snap toward the door.

"Y/L/N," Lady Lesso's voice echoed sternly. A lump formed in your throat as you tried to muster a response, but nothing came out. Lowering your gaze, you averted your eyes to the ground, ignoring her calling for you. Growing impatient with your silence, Lady Lesso forcefully swung open the door with her cane, the clicking of her heels drawing nearer and nearer, still unable to meet her piercing stare. That was it. You were convinced you were about to get killed.

"M-ma'am, I-," you whispered, your voice barely audible, while nervously scratching your scalp.

"Speak," the redhead commanded, her arms folded on her hips, her cane firmly in hand. "You got something to say, say it." She spat out.

"I... I can't stop picking at my skin," you replied softly, frustration evident as you ran your fingers through your hair.

Concern flickered across the dean's face as she noticed the wounds on your scalp. "Y/L/N, why do you engage in this behavior? Is there a particular reason behind it?" Her head tilted slightly as she studied you intently.

"I dunno- I get a feeling like I have to smooth out my skin by picking it- C-can't stop," you confessed, your quiet voice barely heard.

"What do you mean by 'a feeling'? Is it akin to an itch or a compulsive urge?" Lady Lesso inquired, her gaze unwavering. "As if you simply have to do it regardless of the consequences?"

"Yes... like a compulsion," you murmured, scratching your scalp in frustration. "Please... I need help."

"I will do my best to help you, but you must also be willing to put in effort, Y/N," the dean stated firmly, crossing her arms. "Now, do you believe you can resist the urge to pick your skin, or is it more of a coping mechanism, a way for you to regain a sense of control?"