Reneé Rapp x Fem Reader One shots

a soft place to fall

not proof read

The soft hum of the city outside their window barely filtered through the thick curtains that draped across the room. Reneé sat on the couch, absently flipping through a book, her mind more on the rhythmic ticking of the clock than the words on the page. It had been a quiet evening, and for once, she was grateful for the stillness. It allowed her to hear her own thoughts — something she often tried to avoid, but tonight felt different.

Her thoughts drifted to Y/N, who was in the kitchen, standing in front of the counter and fiddling with an old coffee mug. It was the sort of behavior that used to go unnoticed, the quiet way Y/N seemed to withdraw from everything, the way her eyes would go distant when no one was watching. But Reneé noticed now. She noticed everything.

It had been a few months since they'd started dating. At first, everything had been like a dream. They had shared a connection that felt effortless — laughter and long conversations, quiet mornings in bed, and the unspoken understanding that they both needed and wanted each other. But the deeper they went, the more Reneé could see the cracks in the perfect picture, especially when it came to Y/N's mental health.

Y/N hadn't said much about it. She was always careful, keeping her struggles hidden behind her quiet demeanor, her warm smile, and the way she always made sure others were okay before she ever considered her own feelings. But Reneé knew. She knew something wasn't right. She had watched Y/N over the past few weeks, the way her mood would fluctuate, how she would sometimes disappear into herself, lost in thoughts she wouldn't share.

The door to the kitchen creaked open, and Y/N appeared in the doorway, holding the mug between her hands. Her expression was soft but distant. She glanced at Reneé but didn't meet her gaze.

"Is something wrong?" Reneé asked gently, setting her book aside. The concern in her voice was barely contained, but she didn't want to push. She knew how important it was to let Y/N open up when she was ready.

Y/N hesitated before shaking her head, taking a sip of her coffee. "I'm fine," she replied, her voice almost too quiet. "Just tired."

Reneé watched her for a moment, then stood up and walked over. She didn't believe the answer, not entirely, but she wasn't going to force Y/N into a conversation she wasn't ready for.

"Okay," she said, taking Y/N's hand and squeezing it gently. "But if you ever want to talk, I'm here."

Y/N gave a faint smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I know," she whispered, as though the words were more for herself than for Reneé.

Over the next few weeks, Reneé began to notice more subtle signs — the way Y/N would sometimes flinch at loud noises, the way she would become withdrawn in social situations, the way her smiles were often fleeting, quickly replaced by a faraway look. Reneé began to recognize that these were symptoms of something deeper, something that Y/N was clearly struggling with but wasn't ready to address.

One evening, after dinner, the two of them found themselves curled up on the couch, watching a movie. Reneé could feel the tension in the air, a quiet heaviness that hung between them. Y/N seemed to be lost in her own thoughts again, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the armrest.

"You know, I've noticed..." Reneé began carefully, keeping her voice soft. "You've been really quiet lately."

Y/N looked at her, but her gaze quickly shifted down to her lap. "I'm just tired," she repeated. "I'm fine, Reneé. Really."

Reneé exhaled slowly. She hated this. She hated seeing Y/N like this, pushing everyone away even when she clearly needed help. "You don't have to keep pretending," she said, her voice a little more firm this time. "I know something's going on. You don't have to go through it alone."

There was a long pause, and for a moment, Reneé thought Y/N wasn't going to say anything. But then Y/N's shoulders slumped, and she looked up at Reneé with tears in her eyes — a quiet vulnerability that tore at Reneé's heart.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Y/N whispered, her voice trembling. "I try to fight it, but sometimes it just... takes over. I feel like I'm drowning."

Reneé's heart broke hearing Y/N's words. She had never seen Y/N like this — raw, unguarded. She sat closer, wrapping an arm around her girlfriend, holding her close. "You don't have to fight it alone, Y/N. I'm right here. I'll help you through this."

Y/N clung to her, her sobs quiet but desperate. "I don't know how to let anyone in," she confessed, her voice muffled by Reneé's shirt. "I don't know how to be the person you want me to be."

Reneé gently pulled back, cupping Y/N's face in her hands so that their eyes met. "I don't want you to be anyone other than yourself. I love you. Just as you are. You don't have to be perfect for me. I just want to be here for you."

Y/N sniffled, nodding slowly. "I don't know how to accept that."

"It's okay. We'll take it one step at a time. No pressure."

The days following that conversation were full of quiet moments — no grand gestures or sweeping declarations, just the comfort of knowing they were there for each other. Reneé stayed close, always there to offer a reassuring touch or a kind word when things got tough. Y/N wasn't fully ready to talk about everything, but she was starting to trust Reneé more, to let her in bit by bit.

It wasn't easy. There were days when Y/N would withdraw completely, retreating into herself, and there were days when she would open up, sharing small pieces of her struggles. On those days, Reneé would listen, even if it was just a little. She knew it was a slow process, and that was okay.

One evening, a few weeks later, Y/N looked up at Reneé with a quiet intensity in her eyes. She had been silent for a while, and Reneé could sense that something was on the verge of breaking through.

"I'm scared," Y/N admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm scared that if I let people in, if I really open up, they'll see how broken I am and won't want to stick around."

Reneé didn't hesitate. She reached out and gently took Y/N's hands in her own, squeezing them reassuringly. "I'm not going anywhere," she said firmly, her eyes locking with Y/N's. "You are not broken. You're just struggling right now, and I'll be right here. You don't have to do this alone."

Y/N let out a shaky breath, tears brimming in her eyes again. "I don't know how to believe that."

"You don't have to believe it all at once. Just trust me, little by little. Let me show you."

The next few months were a journey, one that was far from linear. There were days when Y/N felt like she was making progress, days when she felt like she was sinking. But through it all, Reneé was there — steady, patient, and unwavering.

They found ways to support each other, whether through shared activities or just spending quiet time together, sitting in comfortable silence. Reneé encouraged Y/N to seek professional help, to talk to a therapist, and slowly, Y/N started to take steps toward understanding and managing her mental health. It wasn't easy, and there were setbacks, but there was progress.

One evening, after Y/N had returned from therapy, she sat down next to Reneé on the couch, her face thoughtful. "I talked about a lot of stuff today," she said, her voice soft. "Things I've been carrying for a long time. It was hard, but... I think I'm starting to understand myself a little better."

Reneé smiled, brushing a lock of hair away from Y/N's face. "I'm proud of you. You're doing amazing."

Y/N smiled back, her eyes filled with gratitude. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"You don't have to do it alone, remember?"

Y/N leaned into Reneé, resting her head on her shoulder. "Yeah. I know."

And for the first time in a long time, Y/N felt a sense of peace — not because everything was perfect, but because she knew she wasn't alone. She had Reneé by her side, and together, they were learning how to navigate the difficult, messy, and beautiful journey of healing.

a/n
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