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Yeah, I started the Tudors today and in the span of two episodes, planned an entire life with a fictional depiction of a historical figure. Just a typical Thursday afternoon for me.
Could you do one where the reader is a member of the cobalt soul who was sent to keep an eye on beau after she ran off and they eventually also join the mighty nein? And like it could be when the group has made their way to the cobalt location the reader was from and they help show Caleb around the library and its secret reading nooks. Just fluffy library vibes dhdhdhdh
Got a little carried away with this one. Hope you enjoy! It's been fun writing for our wizard again. 😘
Another player enters the field and leaves the human squad suspicious. Many days, and nights Beauregard has spent talking Caleb’s ear off because how dare the Soul send someone to breathe down her neck? The poor wizard dreads every watch or meal time where she goes into yet another rant about you, your superior officers, your attitude, and nitpicking every single detail about you, every move you make or thing you say. That is not to say Caleb does not have his own reasons for mistrust. You’re part of a system too. And you’ve proven connected. Those are the kinds of people he remains wary of simply because any thread connected to the Empire leads back to his former master one way or another. He must remain on guard and lucky for him, he has no problems keeping people at arms length. He’ll just have to drown out Beau’s constant annoyances. Nothing a good book can’t fix.
Slowly but surely, it becomes an accepted truth you’re here to stay until you’re called back to your Archive. In this time you’ve had the opportunity to prove not just your reliability but your motives, your personal goals, abilities and have earned some trust, as much as the Mighty Nein is able to put their trust into another. Caleb finds himself taking up night watches with you. For the longest of times these were spent in silence. No attempts of talking made, leaving only the sound of the world outside the dome; a comfortable peace. As inquisitive as he knows the members of the Cobalt Soul to be, he expected an interrogation, expected to have to talk his way through, watch his every word or have it be observed, noted down and recorded somewhere at a later date. He expected the hunger for knowing someones business, to spy to gain any knowledge that can be found, to be as prominent within you as it is in Beau but he was proven wrong. Well not entirely, you have the same skillset. You simply choose not to, when it came to him. You did not pry for information, nor did you seek to reveal truths of those around you. You only enacted those skills where appropriate, yet never for personal gain. Though, he’ll admit when you do it out of retaliation against your fellow monk, it’s caused quite the scene.
He began to realise, your abilities to see through certain mannerisms, to study a person and pick them apart that comes so natural to you and leaves very few capable of hiding things from you, you saw through him, and instead of delving deeper to learn his secrets you backed off. You let him come to you, opened the door for whenever he chose to wander, welcoming when he would, and indifferent when he did not. Caleb feels obligated to say, that’s one of the few mercies he’s received in his life; someone who does not need to know him, to know him, and someone who does not call judgement based on what they know. You ask not for a story, nor do you feel entitled to information and he’s left wondering how you ever came to be among the Cobalt Soul and why but he extended you the same courtesy as you did him. He would not pry. He got tempted to ask, did ask, about your life, and background and you had answered. He expected weaving of words and instead he found blatant truth. No deceit. No lies. No half-truths. Just… The truth. But many still deceive through the truth and while he was left with some mistrust, that alleviated because he knows you. And so he felt comfortable. He opened up more, he left open the door for you to ask questions, and he’d answer. Not always as truthful as you, and if you caught onto his redirecting or blatant lies, you did not say. You’d simply smile and tell him not all secrets need exposing.
It’d be a lie to say Caleb had not grown comfortable around you. Your silent nights would be spent discussing your latest reads, and theorising a great many things. You’d be exchanging books, giving recommendations, and discussing your studies. It’s been a blessing to be with a bright and learned mind, someone who shares in that same excitement. It’s excited to be among a fellow scholar, someone like him who understands the value, and intricacies of this world, and worships them like he does. It’d be a lie to say Caleb had not grown attached to your presence, missing it when you had to go off on your own for a few days, and awaiting your return with a pleasant smile. He found himself more positive and focussed when researching with you, when Beauregard would not bear another minute overseeing him at a library, when he delved too deep for even her to keep up and not grow exhausted. You’d be there.
It’d be a lie to say Caleb had not begun to form some attraction towards you. As much as he found himself able to relax, to be his true self, or who he chose to be, he felt that tightening in his chest, whenever his eyes would veer in your direction over the edge of a book. That feeling would only grow and make his heart skip a beat when your eyes met his and you’d smile at him before going back to your reading. He’d be reminded he was feeling colder whenever you enter the same room as him because you’d spread the flames of a bonfire on a cold night within him in his presence and he’d find himself gravitating towards you. When he felt himself short of courage, you’d only have to cast one glance, and he’d feel reassured; you believed in him. When he struggled you’d be the first to notice. You’d offer a hand, if he was willing to take it, or just your presence in shared solitude if not, when the demons came out to play and he wanted to be anything but alone yet would not trust anyone else, would not rely on anyone else asking questions or needing explanation. You’d be at his side no matter what, when he needed you most.
Turns out you share a home, or as much of a home either of yours could be. You share a point of origins; Rexxentrum. Eventually the roads of wisdom and adventure would take you there. Both of you dreaded the place, sharing plenty of unpleasant memories, but also good ones. Where Caleb had preferred to forget his time here, you had found peace among the stacks, in the solitude of books and knowledge. You’d had an escape. One day he hopes to turn that distaste for this place into the safe haven you made it for yourself because if you can do it, so can he. You told him you’d help him do so, if only he’d ask. When the Nein’s stay in Rexxentrum became apparent, Caleb got over himself and indulged in the escapes offered, found new memories not laced with pains of the past, and instead found himself looking towards a future.
After days of research, necessary for the next adventure, the Nein had found a moment of peace and relaxation. Beauregard told him to piss off when Caleb asked her to come to the library with him. You were busy, tending to your own duties at the Archive. Your work doesn’t end when theirs does, and so you had seen him in passing. Confused you excused yourself and dismissed the archivists you were working with to approach the wizard.
“Caleb? What are you doing here? And on your own at that?” You ask the wizard, followed closely by a representative of the Soul. You’d expected him to be with the others, causing trouble or being the voice of reason, bullying your friends out of a one way ticket to jail again but instead you find him here, in your domain. You can’t help but feel your heart warm at his presence.
“I-uh I came to do some light reading.” He says sheepishly. You look towards the Soul overseer behind him and dismiss the poor student, assuring you’ll keep an eye on your friend and so the two of you are left alone in the halls.
“You should have told me. I’d have given you access to all the best collections.” You smile. Caleb finds himself mimicking your smile as you offer for him to move along and so you wander, side by side. He hopes he misread, because if not you caught onto his cheeks darkening slightly. If not out of embarrassment, then because of your kindness and how your attention fell to him completely, how you put aside something important for him, just to spend time with him and make him feel important, make him feel important to you. “You’ve not seen the best parts of this place yet. All the great spots are hidden ones. I’d be happy to show you if you want, or you can tell me what your point of interest for the day is and I can leave you to browse for yourself?” You suggest and offer your hand to him. Without a second thought he places his palm in yours and relishes in the warmth of your ink-stained fingers wrapping around his, urging him along, around bends and corners, weaving between the shelves. Your glee warms his heart.
“It might not be the collections of the Candles but we have our fair share of arcane knowledge hidden among these shelves, if only you know where to look.” You say as you unwrap his hand from yours and allow your fingers to trail along the spines of the books. While Caleb instantly misses your touch, physical contact he never thought he’d be able to truly enjoy or be worthy of again, but he feels the ghost linger, and as if a secondhand sense he feels the tingling across his skin, when you glide across the tomes until you found what you were looking for. You pull out a book, Caleb misses the cover as you flip through the pages and show to him the intricate patterns of rituals associated with arcane magic. These are no spells, but the knowledge is still very valuable.
“Does-does the Assembly know of these?” Caleb lowers his voice as his brows furrow, tapping his index finger to the page.
“If they knew, do you think it would be here?” You offer him a look that can only be described as a scholar’s mischief. There it is, hidden in plain sight. You’re right. This tome, and plenty others by this collection, would not be here if anyone actually had the time and interest to read every book in this place. Luckily the Assembly has other things to focus on than to investigate books they don’t even know about existing and the Cobalt Soul chooses their librarians carefully.
“You’d trust me with this information?” The gravity of the situation hits him. To you, he is a former student of the Soltryce Academy, and would have become a member of the Cerberus Assembly in turn, yet here you are, showing him this secret, fully aware what the consequences would be, to you, to your own order, if it got out. How did something so small, become something so significant.
“I trust you with my life, Caleb. You’ve saved it many times. There’s no one I’d rather trust with my knowledge.” He takes the book from your hands, and closes it. His eyes remain on the tome though from the corners he can see some hesitation before you continue. He can’t really place why but feels a pang within his own chest, sharp like a knife. Rubbing the sore spot as he turns his gaze upward once more, he tries to alleviate the ache.
You continue, telling of the history of certain collections, how they were acquired and when, speaking of your personal experiences and opinions, picking up another couple of books from the endless shelves as if you have them memorised. Arcana. History. Stories. Fairytales. You talk and he listens happily as you venture deeper into the library. He puts in his own comments, answers whenever you ask a question, and the conversation that flows is enjoyable. You could spend hours like this, and so you do, until you follow a familiar path, Caleb sees you double check the signs, and going against directions or, ducking into narrow spaces between the shelves, here and there until a multitude of floors up, through the dimly lit paths you guide him into a little nook, hidden from view of others, hidden from those who do not know it even exists, given the light layer of dust that covers some of the display cases, and scroll racks.
“You don’t know what I had to do to smuggle up some comfortable seating.” You mutter as you set the books on the low table and allow yourself to drop onto the soft cushioned couch. It’s a nice shade of blue, like associated with the Cobalt Soul, so it wouldn’t stand out. The space itself allows for some natural light from the window, and has a view over the city. Given the lack of dust in the windowsill he assumes it’s been used as a reading spot regularly. Caleb puts his own stack down next to yours and you bend your legs at the knees, allowing for him to take a seat too. He does with a smile in thanks. You kick off your shoes, discard the heavier layers, suitable for the cooler floors, to make yourself more comfortable. It’s not entirely unpleasant to see you feeling at home and he can imagine the times you must have come up here for solitude. He’s happy to be able to share this moment with you now, and honoured you would share it with him.
“It’s comfy.” He says, relieving himself of his scarf and coat, grabbing a book from the stack, handing it to you, before grabbing another for himself. And so you spent your time reading. Unlike with the others you read at the same pace, finishing your first book much faster than the company you’ve been spending time with ever could. You move on to the next book, noting a passage of the your reading material whenever it might be of interest to the other, discussing, and then moving on. It’s a pleasant habit leaving you both content. Over time Caleb’s position has relaxed too, having grown more accustomed to the new space, finding himself in a pose similar to yours; slumped against the arm of the couch, boots off, legs bent at the knees and a book propped up on his lap. The couch is not the longest and so your legs are touching, leaning against one another. Were you anyone else, Caleb might have somewhat minded, or be more tense but right now he remains relaxed. This feels natural. This feels right. Another book finishes, and so the next one is up.
“You know,” You start. “I’ve read this book more times than I can remember and yet I still come back to it. It’s funny how we tend to be creatures of habit.” You state into the abyss holding an older book, spine weathered and pages yellowed. The inscription is in Zemnian but Caleb remembers it well. He too knows this particular volume.
“Fairytales offer escapism when reality is too bothersome to deal with.” Caleb states and you know it to be true. What reaches you is the companionship in that statement, as if to say you are not alone in that sentiment. What surprises you is Caleb swinging his legs back onto the ground and returning to a somewhat normal sitting position, putting away the book he was about to read. You join him, as a force of habit but hold on to your book. Did you say something wrong?
“I suppose these stories were my company whenever I felt alone.” That’s definitely a sentiment Caleb shares in. As much as stories are escapism, they are company too, if not the characters in these collections, then in the spaces between the letters, or the hidden messages between the words. Sentences weave a warm blanket when the world is cold. He knows the feeling all too well.
“Do you feel alone now?” He waits for your answer in suspense, unsure of what your reply would be. He has a decently easy time knowing people and their intentions but your inner workings, he remains doubting. What he may not realise that he only doubts his reads off you whenever they have to do with him or are centred around his being because he doesn’t think himself to be worthy of that influence and effect over someone.
“I haven’t felt alone in a while, I think.” You answer truthfully. There’s a brief moment of silence as you contemplate wether you should ask or not. “And you?”
“Not anymore.” Caleb answers far quicker than expected but he is certain. There is no doubt in his mind because when he sees you, next to him he does not feel alone. He does not feel lonely. He does not feel like an outsider. He feels like he belongs. He feels at home and so he decides to speak a truth he’s been trying to fully figure out for a long time. “Not since I let you in and you showed me what it is like to to be more than a broken man scrambling for knowledge to sustain his sense of self.”
“You’re not broken, Caleb.” You place a hand on his knee, tethering him to this world instead of his spiralling mind. He smiles at you.
“Not anymore.” He takes the book from you. “Come here?” It’s more a question, inviting you into his embrace and you are more than willing, wrapping your arms around his middle as he holds you close. Caleb is not particularly known for his physical affections and this is a rare moment, still it feels so natural. There’s no rigidness to his form when he is taken by surprise or offers such a gesture begrudgingly. It was offered freely, and it’s every bit as warm and comforting as it has always been for you. You don’t know how long you stay in each other’s embrace but eventually you pull apart. These affections taste like more and so Caleb sits back in his previous spot, leaving space for you to join him on his side. You accept this invite too.
Back to his chest, one arm securely wrapped around your waist you lean into his form. Your legs tangle together and with his free arm Caleb holds the book of fairytales where he can see the pages properly. This proves a little more of a struggle with one hand given that the tome is surprisingly heavy and so you chuckle, take the book from his hands and open it, holding it on the first page and allowing him to adjust to best view it. At first you expect to read it together, given your own reading speed you’ll not struggle with waiting to turn pages but instead you feel the vibrations of Caleb’s voice in his chest as he begins to read out loud.
“Er war einmal in einem kleinen Haus an einem großen, weiten Wald ein Junge mit seiner Mutter. Der arme Junge war krank und verbrachte viele seiner Tage in seinem Bett, und sah die Tage an dem kleinen Fenster seines Zimmers vorbeiziehen. Die Mutter des Junge liebte ihn sehr-“
You allow yourself to sink back further into the comforts of Caleb’s embrace, and he does the same, holding onto you as he speaks. You hang onto his every word, turning the page as he takes back to hold the book, and give you one hand free to lace your fingers with his. This is what peace feels like. This is what home feels like. You’ve both found a place where you belong. It’s not a place. It’s in each other’s company, in the warmth you offer each other when it feels like you brave the cold of winter. You’re no longer alone. No matter what, no matter where you go, you’ll always have this. For now you’ll belong here in that hidden nook somewhere in the Rexxentrum Archives, with little cares about the outside world, or the whims of others. You’re just together.
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I've been playing The Witcher III for a few months now and needless to say Ciri is my favourite character in the entire game besides Geralt. She carries a sword, is the right amount of sassy and sweet just like her dad, she looks incredible in white, and I need some x reader fanfics of her.
Wait, what am I talking about? I'm a writer, too!
Summary: You, Yennefer of Vengerberg’s apprentice, have taken an interest in Ciri upon her arrival at Kaer Morhen. On the eve of the battle against the Wild Hunt, you find yourselves alone together for a brief period of time.
“This is just stupid,” whines Lambert, throwing his hand of Gwent cards onto the wooden table after losing against you for a third time. You had been royally beating Lambert under the amused watch of Eskel for the past half hour, anxiously waiting the return of the witcher Geralt and his “Child Surprise.” Lady Yennefer, to whom you have vowed your service as an apprentice sorcerer, has told you to stay sharp until the anticipated party arrives, expecting you to play host to her ward-by-choice until further notice. Despite your best attempts at prevention, Lambert’s cards scatter themselves across your once strategically organized onslaught. “Hey, watch it, witcher!” you cry out in annoyance. “I don’t want any of your shite cards getting mixed up with my collectibles. You have no idea how long it’s taken me to–”
Suddenly, a piercing squeal manages to make its way to the castle via the lower courtyard.
“CIRI!” cried your Lady Yennefer, and in an instant you imagine a slender flash of black and white cross your line of vision in the direction you could only guess was that of Cirilla and the Butcher of Blaviken. “I suppose that’s my summoning,” you say, quickly sorting through the pile of cards in front of you to collect your own. You make your way out of the castle and down the hill towards the entrance of the stronghold where you see Yennefer quite uncharacteristically hugging a figure just out of your vision. You look to the witchers Geralt and Vesemir observing the scene, whose goofy smiles indicate an underestimation on your part regarding the influence this Ciri has had on the lives of those associated with the School of the Wolf.
As Yennefer peels herself away from the young woman you have yet to meet, your breath catches as you get a full view of her for the first time. Of course, you should have expected that a common Nilfgaardian scout would never have sketched a justified image of a lady descended from Lara Dorren herself, but you admit to yourself that you hadn’t expected her to be so… beautiful. With hair more white than the ashen you had been told to expect framing her shoulders in a messily tied bun at the base of her neck, Ciri’s ebony-lined green eyes glistened with tears of joy as she looked to those gathered for her benefit (including the sorceress Triss, who has arrived to greet the Princess as well). A white shirt, cinched by a jewelled belt and other various accessories, was tucked into brown leather pants, accentuating her figure in such a way that reminded you of the grace and elegance found amongst the fancily clad women of the North’s upper classes.
“Y/N? Can you hear me, Y/N? What are you staring at?” says Yennefer, and you snap your attention back to reality. “Ciri, this is Y/N, my apprentice.” You nod in her direction, attempting to hold your hand out in confident greeting. “It-It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ciri. Yennefer has told me much about you.” She extends her hand in a friendly manner, grasping yours with the strength of the girl you expected her to be. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. Surely there must be something special about you if Yennefer has decided to take you under her wing.” You blush, looking down at your feet, then back up to Yennefer, who smirks.
“Well, Y/N,” Geralt interrupts. “You know where Ciri’s sleeping, maybe it’s time you show her up?” The Lady Yennefer cocks her brow and looks at the witcher. “I think that I’ll be the one to direct my own apprentice, thank you very much.” She places her hands on her hips, looking from you to Ciri, before crossing her arms and tilting her head. “Well, Y/N, I suppose you heard the man. Show the girl where she can take a rest, the gods know she needs it.”
“They had the room prepared especially for you,” you say to Ciri as you step off the landing from the spiral staircase and into the bedroom. Though sparse, the room provided a spacious bed, an open hearth, and a dresser that might have been fit for a more proper guest with more belongings than a pair of worn calf-height boots and a steel sword. Though of course reducing Ciri to a mere guest would be foolish, you scold yourself, she is a pleasant memory, returning home for what might be the final time.
“Thank you, Y/N.” You stand awkwardly at the door as the Princess Cirilla tenderly strides through the room, tracing what little pieces of furniture she passes by with the tips of her fingers. You internally congratulate yourself on having dusted them beforehand. “Though I assume by ‘had the room prepared,’ you mean to say Yennefer told you to do it yourself?” You pause, unsure of how to respond. If you agree, would you be incriminating your mistress? If you disagree, would you be insulting the girl you’ve found yourself having more than just a friendly interest in?
At your lack of response, Ciri snorts in your direction. “I see Yennefer’s got your tongue, then? That’s alright. I suppose I was just as reluctant to speak against her when she was my tutor. Even thinking too loudly about her would get me into trouble.” She smiles, and you can’t help but begin to bring yourself out of your unease as she falls back-first onto the bed. “Yennefer’s n-never been particularly m-matronly, I guess. The room was no trouble, of course. Now, if you need anything at all, p-please don’t hesitate to–”
Ciri groans, and the hint of irony you sense prevents you from taking your leave. “Please don’t tell me you’re always so… rigid, Y/N. Age clearly can’t be a factor in having lost any sort of free-will, since I’m sure you aren’t much older than me.”
You take special care to regain the evenness in your tone of voice. “No… you’re right, I’m not much older than you. Though I have of course heard stories of your youth… Ugly One.”
“‘Ugly One?’ Don’t tell me she’s on with that name again? Goodness… Well, it’s clear you’re going to have to stay here for a good long while and tell me all that she’s told you so you can hear my side of it.”
“As much as I would like to stay, Cirilla–”
“Ciri.”
“Ciri, as much as I would like to stay, there’s important preparations to be made regarding the Hunt’s arrival that I should be attending to.”
“Y/N, I’ve spent the a good majority of my life revolved around the Hunt’s ambitions. Would you mind allowing me this brief period of nostalgia?”
Of course, you can’t find a way to say no to Ciri’s requests. As you prepare a fire in the hearth for you both, you begin to recount all of the anecdotes involving the Child Surprise that Yennefer has relayed to you over your years of service. From their first encounter to her final lesson, you begin to unwind as Cirilla’s infectious laugh elates your mood. You notice how beautiful of a smile she has, particularly when naturally induced. During a lull in the conversation, you find yourself comfortable enough to trail off.
“She really does love you, you know. I’m sure you’re aware she’s always wanted a child.”
Ciri sighs, her jowls hardening into a poised smirk and her shoulders falling forward. “Yes, I’m aware. I know you said that she’s never been one for maternity, but I can’t help but feel that most of my time spent with her has reminded me of the time I used to spend with my grandmother. The same feeling of an underlying duty to care for one another, almost unconditionally. The same goes for Geralt, of course.” You nod, looking into the flames of the fire that had been going strong for quite a while now. “It seems that familial love has been the only sort of love to do me any kind of good thus far.”
You peel your gaze from the flames to Ciri herself, who looks down from her seated position on the bed to where your focus had been only moments ago. You wonder what she is thinking about as her head cocks slightly to one side, resting her chin on her propped hand. You remember that there is much more to the Lion Cub of Cintra than her youth and her heritage, all that time unaccounted for by Yennefer, Geralt, and everyone else currently staying at Kaer Morhen. You fantasize of perhaps edging her to share these stories with you, to make them something only the two of you share, though you find it almost painful to think of the possible romantic encounters she might have had during this time. A pang of relief, stronger than you would have liked to admit, his you as you make the assumption that these endeavors were likely unsuccessful.
Look at you, jealous over fictitious memories you haven’t even had time to conjure.
Before you can stop yourself, you allow yourself to voice thoughts unprovoked. “There are other types of love that shall make themselves known to you eventually, I’m sure.”
Ciri detaches her line of sight from the hearth and looks to you, furrowing her brows. Tenderly, she moves from her position on the bed to the space against the side of the frame next to you. “Really?” she asks. You feel your face grow hot as she comes ever nearer. “Would you care to elaborate?” Her face is now uncomfortably close– no, uncomfortable is not the right word. This anxiety you feel, it’s almost… fitting. The distance is addictive, delicious, and you feel the sudden urge to close it.
And thus, you do. In a quick burst of movement, you take Ciri’s face in your hands and kiss her less than tenderly on the lips. The impulsive act of intimacy is over as quickly as it began, and you sweep your line of vision to the fire that thrives before you. You idiot! Your superego begins to scold you. What were you thinking?! In the corner of your eye, you think you see Ciri smile, though you do not dare face her in search of proof.
“I… I think it’s time we make our way downstairs.”
“I agree,” Ciri replies, and she stands up in a fluid motion, offering her hand to you. You pretend not to notice it as you stand on your own and spin on your heels in the opposite direction, attempting to make a beeline for the door before having to continue any awkward follow-up. However, your haste does you little good, as Ciri grabs your wrist before you can begin to make your escape.
“Y/N.”
You turn to face her and see that a light blush has flushed the very tips of her regal cheekbones. “Should we… Well, should we survive this, I wouldn’t mind if you demonstrated a more thorough form of elaboration.” A devilish smile creeps its way across her face, and oh, how you damn that smile, so naturally induced and so naturally perfect. You clear your throat and swipe your wrist back, knowing that had she truly wanted to prolong your torturous embarrassment and hold on to you, she would have.
“Yes, I believe that would be just. Should we survive.”
And all of the universes be damned if they thought you weren’t going to try your hardest.
This is my first ever fan fiction posted on Tumblr! Thank you so much for reading! (GIF courtesy of https://giphy.com/gifs/my-hunt-QzfaquDv2duVy.)
So did anyone else accidentally stumble upon the TikTok series, Say Yes to My Tomboy Roommate and end up watching the entire thing because one (or more) of the leads was too stunning to scroll away and then came out of it with a restored belief that true love and happy endings do indeed exist and conquers all? No? Just me? Okay!
Picture this: I'm feeling sick, tired, can barely keep my eyes open and then just as I'm about to actually fall asleep, BAM! I hear this voice and I'm suddenly wide awake. Huh.
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The tavern was loud in the way most of your nights with the Mighty Nein tended to be—Jester’s laughter ringing bright and chaotic, Nott the Brave already halfway through another drink she absolutely shouldn’t have, and Beauregard Lionett arguing with Fjord Stone over something that had long since lost its point.
Caleb sat slightly apart from the worst of it, as he often did, a book open in his lap, though his eyes flicked up more often than he’d admit, tracking you, always you, like a quiet orbit he couldn’t break.
You were tired.
That bone-deep, slow exhaustion that crept up on you after too many days on the road, too many late nights, too much noise and movement and people. Your limbs felt heavier, your thoughts softer around the edges.
A yawn escaping your lips, sleep pulling at you as you slowly looked around the room and saw that the only open space...
Was Caleb's lap and of course, you didn’t think about it.
You just… sat.
A soft plop, settling sideways across his thighs like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And for you? It was.
Warm. Solid. Familiar.
You sighed, already melting into the contact, your body instinctively relaxing against him.
But for Caleb Widogast, the world stopped.
Completely.
His spine locked, every muscle going rigid as if someone had cast Hold Person on him.
You.
Were.
In.
His.
Lap.
His book slipped slightly in his hands, forgotten instantly. His breath caught sharp, quiet, like he didn’t dare draw too much attention to the fact that his entire existence had just derailed.
“…I—”
He didn’t finish.
Couldn’t.
Because you shifted.
Just a little.
Settling more comfortably, your weight fully resting against him, your head tipping toward his shoulder.
And then you exhaled. Long. Slow.Your body going soft.
Caleb’s hands hovered awkwardly at your sides, fingers twitching like he didn’t know where they were allowed to go if anywhere at all.
“Caleb—”
Jester Lavorre’s voice cut through the noise like a knife wrapped in sugar.
“Oh my god...adorable”
He didn’t look at her.
He couldn’t.
Because if he moved if he did anything at all then you might realize what you’d done and pull away.
And he could not bear that, he did not want that, you deserve the rest.
“…Do not,” he murmured, low and strained, eyes fixed firmly on the page he was no longer reading.
Jester was already grinning. “Oh no, I am absolutely going to.”
Across the table, Yasha Nydoorin glanced over, quiet but observant, while Beau leaned back in her chair, arms crossing with slow, dawning amusement.
“…You’re not moving,” Beau noted.
“I—cannot.”
That got a snort out of Nott, who leaned over the table, squinting at him. “Why not? Wizard boy forget how legs work?”
Caleb’s jaw tightened.
Because you were still there.
Still warm.
Still soft.
Still sleeping.
At some point he wasn’t even sure when you had fully drifted off. Your breathing evened out, your body completely relaxed against him, your cheek now resting against his shoulder like it belonged there.
It was like you belonged there.
And Caleb, Caleb did something dangerous.He let himself feel it.Slowly, carefully, his hands lowered.
One rested lightly at your side.The other after a long, hesitant moment settled at your waist.
Not gripping.
Not pulling.
Just…holding.
A protective, grounding touch.
“…She is asleep,” he said quietly, as if that explained everything.
“It explains why you’re not breathing, yeah,” Beau shot back.
“I am breathing.”
“You’re barely blinking.”
Nott cackled, kicking her feet against the chair.“Oh, this is so good. Look at him! He’s gonna combust!”
Jester leaned in closer, eyes sparkling.“Caleb, you know you’re allowed to enjoy things, right?”
His ears went red, he parted his lips and turned his head away. “I am not....this is not—”
His words faltered as you shifted again.A small, sleepy movement. Your hand warm and soft came to rest against his chest.
And of course, that is what did it. Caleb’s entire body went impossibly still. Because now, now you were touching him.
Not accidentally brushing.
Not passing contact.
Resting.
His breath left him in a quiet, shaky exhale.“…Bitte,” he muttered under his breath, not even sure what he was asking for anymore.
“Did he just pray?” Nott whispered loudly.
“I think he did,” Beau replied, equally loud.
Jester clasped her hands together dramatically as she tilted her head to the side. "Oh, this is so romantic! She’s asleep in his lap, he’s having a crisis, it’s perfect!”
Fjord grins leaning in. "I am never letting you live this down."
Caleb closed his eyes briefly.Trying to regain control, to ground himself, to remember how to function like a normal person.
It did not work, of course it didn't because you sighed softly in your sleep and leaned closer.
Fully settling into him.
And something in his chest broke open.It was warm, it felt...good.
“…Please,” he said, this time a little louder, though still soft, still careful not to wake you. “You will be quiet.”
Beau raised a brow. “Or what?”
He didn’t answer immediately.Just looked down at you.At the way you trusted him.At the way you had chosen him without even thinking. "I do not think you want to find out."
The teasing stopped....well, mostly.
Beau rolled her eyes but leaned back, muttering something under her breath. Nott snickered but quieted. Even Jester softened, watching the two of you with a gentler kind of mischief as Fjord groaned rolling his eyes muttering how boring Caleb was being.
Caleb exhaled slowly.His thumb moved.Just slightly.A small, absent stroke against your side as your body relaxed more.
And so he let himself relax, finally. Book forgotten, conversation ignored, the entire world narrowing down to the weight of you in his lap, the warmth of your body against his, and the quiet, fragile realization that for once,just once he was allowed to have something good.
And he would sit there all night if it meant you didn’t wake up and take it away.
After eons of scouring the sacred tomes and ancient texts for more Caleb x Reader fics, I have at last found another one! Thank you for this, it's adorable!
That's something that's very scary to me, to see people living in different mental states, consuming different kind of information. (...) It's like we are living in different, parallel universes.
WAGNER MOURA, Oscars Pre-Luncheon Luncheon with Amelia Dimoldenberg.
Weeeeeeeeeeeeeelllll. Looks like I've got a new show to watch. Only a matter of time before I become overly attached and then start scrolling through looking for some wholesome x reader fics.
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You know you're down the Critical Role rabbit hole when you start making OCs for each of the campaigns on D&D Beyond and then making cute little sheets for them on Docs and then as you're listening to them, roll the dice alongside the other players.
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