#or talk about “real” love or a “real” family

[quarterlifekitty]

What kind of slasher are they?

cw: violence, slut shaming

Ghost is like Michael Myers or, Bobby from Sorority House Massacre. The reasons for what he does aren’t explicitly clear, and he��s not about to tell you why he’s doing what he’s doing. His kills are indiscriminate and he doesn’t even relish in them— it’s just something that needs to be done. He’s pursuing you because you are (or at least resemble) someone important from his life before. And he has unfinished business with you.

Gaz is like Pearl (from Pearl) or Patrick Bateman— he kills to cope with the meaningless mundanity of his life. He’s meticulous in his appearance and knows he’s not like everyone else— he just can’t be. There’s something rotten inside, so he has to be beautiful on the outside. You’re spared because you don’t play by the rules that he knows society to operate on. You listen when he speaks, you don’t just wait for your turn to talk. There’s something behind your eyes when you smile. You’re real, and he isn’t, and you need to be preserved.

Soap is like Freddy Krueger or the Driller Killer (from Slumber Party Massacre 2). He’s the man of your dreams, and above all else, he’s here to have fun. Usually that means goring pretty things like you and turning them into blood fountains, but if you happen to be more fun alive than screaming for mercy and impaled? He’ll probably wanna keep you around. Too bad about all your friends, though.

Price is a resident killer, like Vincent from Motel Hell or Chuck Connors in Tourist Trap. It’s you who walks into his domain, and it’ll be the last mistake you ever make. He’s nested quite nicely, and made the perfect system to kill, process and dispose— all with a smile and a family name that makes him beloved in the small town. You’re spared because, well… it’s about time for him to settle down. And of course you’re none the wiser now, but when you’ve gotten used to everything? He wants you to help him.

König is like Jason Vorhees. He kills because you’ve done something bad— a violation of his own personal code of ethics. He’ll strike swift and true, clearing out all of the filth from his own little corner of the world. You’re spared because you’re such a good girl— just the kind his mother would’ve loved. You’re not like one of those whores traipsing around in his woods… No, he’ll save you from all of those bad influences you find yourself surrounded by.

[hasufin]

So, this is a thing.

You might hear pregnant women talk about "baby brain", and observe how someone who used to be the most organized, punctual person on Earth is now scatter-brained and can't talk about anything except their kids.

Baby brain is real. It's literally the mother's brain being rewired to think babies are cute, and to make her a better parent (results definitely vary).

Moreover, other adults experience the same thing when around babies and small children: your brain changes to think of them as adorable little beings who you love and care about. It takes longer - months of being around children to have any effect at all, usually, compared to the pregnant mother's neurological changes which are profound and happen in a matter of weeks. The default for adults who aren't around kids is more akin to a vague disgust or indifference.

Now, I wish to remind folks of that old adage: "The customer is always right in matters of taste." In this case that means if you think little kids are cute and wonderful, you're right. If you think little kids are kinda annoying and grating, you're also right. There's no wrong here, it's just not everyone likes kids.

Now, my own suspicion is, both of these mindsets have evolutionary advantages. Obviously liking kids is a good trait to have for parents and people in households with children. Not liking kids... well, I'd point out our evolutionary ancestors were probably not notable for impulse control, and raising Someone Else's Kids is not an evolutionary win in most cases.

However, in our society it's not atypical for familial bonds to persist across geographic distances: in other words, it's perfectly normal now to not live in the same household as your older sister who has children, but nonetheless to have the social obligation to attend piano recitals or whatever. Which means the adults who aren't enamored of children are reasonably likely to be forced into circumstances which they find vaguely annoying - but not often enough for their brains to go "Oh, so we're in a family with these kids and they're cute!".

So, my very-not-professional thought on this is, if you have kids and want to maintain close personal relationships with childfree adults, you're going to need to consider that the middle ground here is the worst option. Either convince them to get enough exposure to kids that they do get used to and like them, or respect that they don't like kids and try to not put them in a bind where they have to grit their teeth and deal with the experience lest they offend you.

Obviously, that goes for the childfree adults, too - either be deeply involved, or politely decline stuff that's going to make you feel like you're being low-key tortured in an auditorium.

Going to see children and adolescents dance badly, play ball badly, sing badly, play recorder badly because they are young: YES! YOU ARE LEARNING! INCREDIBLE!

[requiemforthepoets]

broadway darling 𖦹 LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x sainz!reader

SUMMARY: you and lando never met each other in person despite him being best friends with your brother, but when carlos had dragged him to your opening night, he hated to admit it but he was charmed by you.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n in the narrations, photo do not belong to me and all photos are taken from pinterest, inconsistencies of photos, use of y/n on the smau, not proofread, magui, profanities, mean comments, and typos

WORD COUNT: 696

FACE CLAIMS: taken from pinterest

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i missed writing for lando 😭 i made this one shot/smau to appease my broadway x f1 racer agenda in my mind, and since i’m a big fan of les miz and hamilton. though let me know if you want part 2 lol i hope you’ll enjoy this one as much as i enjoyed writing it! this one’s for all the theatre girlies out there (i hope i did you justice 🥹)

It was an unspoken rule that opening nights were sacred in your family. The excitement, nerves, and anticipation of the curtain rising for the first time in Melbourne—it was all part of the magic you had fallen in love with since your broadway debut at sixteen. Tonight was no different, the backstage bustle surrounded you, but you remained calm, dressed in your costume for Fantine, the tragic heroine of Les Misérables.

The makeup team finished their final touches, ensuring every detail conveyed the pain and hope of the character. You took a deep breath, whispering a quiet prayer as the stage manager gave the fifteen-minute warning.

In the plush velvet seats of the packed theater, your family had taken their places. Carlos was flanked by your parents on one side and, to your surprise, his best friend, Lando Norris, by his side. You had heard of Lando countless times through Carlos’ stories, seen him in the occasional instagram post or race weekend interview, but never met him in person. Lando was not exactly the type you imagined sitting through a three-hour musical, but there he was, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, looking slightly out of place but undeniably intrigued.

“I still don’t understand why you brought me with you.” Lando murmured to Carlos as they flipped through the program.

“Because you need culture in your life,” Carlos teased, his voice low to avoid drawing attention. “Besides, it’s my sister. I’m always there to support her.”

Lando just nodded, unsure what to really expect. He had heard of you, of course, Carlos never stopped talking about his little sister’s accomplishments, but he had never seen you perform. Lando wasn’t even sure how someone who belted out ballads for a living would compare to the thrill of racing, but as the curtains rose and you stepped onto the stage, he felt something shift.

When you sang I Dreamed a Dream, the theatre fell silent, and Lando forgot to breathe. He didn’t know much about broadways and musicals, but even he could tell this was something special. There was a rawness in your voice, an honesty that made him feel like you were baring your soul to every person in the audience, him included.

“You good?” Carlos asked, his tone laced with curiosity.

Lando blinked and sat up straighter. “She's…really good.”

“Told you,” Carlos smirked, “she’s a broadway darling for a reason.”

Lando did not respond, his eyes fixed on you as you poured your heart into the performance, and by the time the curtain fell and the audience erupted into applause, he was on his feet, clapping so hard his palms stung. Carlos laughed as he nudged him.

“I think you liked it more than me, mate.” Carlos chuckled.

“She’s, uh, really talented.” Lando flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. Carlos raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Backstage, you were surrounded by castmates and well-wishers when Carlos arrived, with a bouquet of flowers in hand.

“You killed it out there!” He said, pulling you into a bear hug. “Mamá and Papá are so proud, they couldn’t even stop crying.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, wiping a bit of makeup from your cheek. “It felt good tonight.” You admitted, though your eyes flicked curiously to the familiar figure a few steps behind Carlos.

Carlos caught your glance and stepped aside. “Oh, right, this is Lando. You know him, my best friend.”

“Hello.” You said warmly, extending a hand.

Lando stared at you for a second too long before quickly shaking your hand. “Hey, uh, you were amazing. Like, really amazing.”

“Thank you,” you said, smiling at his slightly awkward demeanor. “I’m glad that you enjoyed it. I never pegged you for a theatre type.”

Carlos snorted. “Oh, he’s not. He didn’t even know who Fantine was before tonight.”

“Hey, I know now.” Lando muttered as he shot Carlos a look, which made you laugh.

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Lando,” you said. “Thank you for coming.”

As you turned your attention back to Carlos to discuss dinner plans, Lando just stood there, hands shoved into his trouser pockets, feeling like he had just been hit by a train.

ynsainz

liked by carlossainz55, yourbestfriend, lesmizofficial, iamrebeccad, landonorris and 456,736 others

tagged: lesmizofficial

ynsainz do you hear the people sing? 🇫🇷❤️

opening night of les misérables in melbourne was nothing short of magical. i’m so grateful for the chance to bring fantine’s story to life again and share it with the people i love the most. a night that i’ll never forget! ❤️✨

view 78,837 comments below

carlossainz55 incredible, hermanita! Proud doesn’t even begin to cover it ❤️

ynsainz AAAAAHHH LOVE YOU 🥺❤️

iamrebeccad you.are.amazing! GIRL THOSE PIPES YOU HAVE!!

ynsainz rebeccaaa, thank you so much!! i’m glad that you were able to come 🥺❤️

iamrebeccad of course! wouldn’t miss it for the world!!! 🥰

landonorris amazing show last night! first theatre experience and definitely won’t be the last 👏🏻🙌🏻

ynsainz thank you lando! glad that les miz was your first theatre experience. well, hoping to see you again soon! 😆

lesmizofficial opening night couldn’t have been more better, it was unforgettable! you’ve brought fantine to life in a way that will resonate for years to come. the team couldn’t be prouder of you! ❤️

ynsainz thank you, les misérables! 🥺❤️

username1 PERFECTION PERFECTION PERFECTION

username2 carlos wasn’t lying when he said he’s sister a star 🥹 i came for the sainz connection and left absolutely blown away by your TALENT!!!!

username3 an icon, a legend, a queen!!!!!!

username4 I STILL CANT BELIEVE THAT I WATCHED YOU LIVE 😭😭😭😭

username4 I NEED TO SEE YOU ON LES MIZ TOUR I CANT LET THIS PASS BY 😭😭😭

username5 THE MEMES 😭😭😭

username6 THEATRE KIDS UNITE!!!

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f1gossip

liked by username1, username2, username3, username4 and 20,837 others

tagged: ynsainz, carlossainz55, landonorris

f1gossip is there something more than just racing between lando norris and the sainz family?

spotted: lando norris attending the opening night of les miserables in melbourne with none other than carlos sainz and his family just days before the aussie grand prix weekend.

the mclaren driver, who’s usually more focused on the track than the theatre, seemed to be all flirty and smiles as he mingled with carlos’ little sister, ynsainz—the broadway darling herself! rumors have been swirling around ever since lando was seen front and center at the opening night, and now, it’s got us wondering…is there something between the two off-track?

while lando’s always kept his private life under the wraps, this cozy night with the sainz fam is raising some eyebrows. could les miserables be just the beginning? are we seeing a new f1 power couple in the making?

drop your thoughts below! ❤️

view all 18,636 comments below

username7 okay, but if lando is really into her, can we talk about what an upgrade this is from his usual dating rumors? she’s a literal goddess. broadway, west end, and disney??? ma’am.

username8 so lando’s in attendance at les miz in melbourne? okay, that’s cool, but is it bad that i care more about her perfomance than this so-called gossip? priorities, people!

username9 not at all!! everyone here in the comsec acting like they personally know lando or y/n lmao what a bunch of losers

username10 this is a bit of stretch, don’t you guys think? maybe he’s genuinely wanted to be there for support. he’s literally best friends with carlos and close with the sainz, is it now bad to support a best friend’s family member? not every guy and girl showing support or hanging out equates to dating.

username9 SPEAK YOUR TRUTH!!!

username1 finally, someone saying relevant here for once!!!

username11 can we please stop making everything a love story? maybe she’s just being nice and lando’s just being lando

username12 oh you are so sick for tagging the people involved in your nonsense gossip!!! leave them alone!!!!

username13 now why us, broadway fans, suddenly being dragged into an f1 drama? can we just stay away from this and focus on supporting her and appreciating her talent? we don’t need this kind of drama

username14 lol lando is just tagging along with carlos like they usually do! NOT EVERYTHING HAS TO BE A SHIP NOR A DATING RUMOR!

username15 she’s just probably using him for clout lmfao

username16 i don’t ship it, but if carlos approves, i guess it’s fine

username2 ????? weirdo

username17 she’s been killing it on broadway since she was young. why do people always have to reduce talented women to ‘who they’re dating/involved’ with? do better people, you all are really embarrassing

username18 honestly, i don’t really care who she’s dating. just give me tickets to see her next performance 😭

username3 oh you’re so really for this

username4 why do broadway tickets have to be so expensive 😭😭😭

username5 bank heist plan meeting at my house at 8pm, pull up

username6 time to sell feet pics 😔💔

username19 she’s just gonna use lando for fame just like *coughs* magui *coughs* and besides, she wouldn’t be famous if it weren’t for carlos LMAO what a nepo baby

username7 DON’T YOU EVER COMPARED THAT VILE AND WRETCHED WOMAN TO Y/N! THE BLANTANT DISRESPECT. SHES BEEN SELLING OUT THEATRE BEFORE YOU COULD SPELL BROADWAY. CARLOS MAY BE HER BROTHER BUT HER TALENT GOT WHERE SHE IS RIGHT NOW. SIT THE FUCK DOWN. I HOPE YOU CHOKE ON THAT COUGH OF YOURS.

username8 username7 SLAYED, ATE, DEVOURED, LEFT NO CRUMBS

username20 yeah, i don’t really trust her. she’s probs only interested in lando bc of the clout that comes with being an f1 wag

username9 you DISGUST me. clout? clout??? mary, she’s the one with standing ovations every night. meanwhile, you’re hating from your couch. maybe try again.

username21 LANDO IN SPECS 😭😭😭 HES SO DREAMY 🥺🥺🥺

username10 people out here are tearing each other apart and so close in inciting civil war, while you’re out here commenting lando looks good in specs is so REAL 😭😭😭

username11 the vibe i bring to the function:

username22 the whole comsec got me laughing my ass off 😭 y’all are really bursting your nerves over this gossip that is completely baseless 😭😭😭 it’s NORMAL for him to hang out with carlos’ family and show support to carlos’ family member. like what the other commenter said, not everything has to be a dating rumor 😭😭😭

username12 EXACTLY.

username22 these people need to unclench their asshole. like omfg relax, brenda!

username23 if this is true, i don’t like it. lando needs someone who understands his world, not some theatre diva who’s only there for the spotlight

username13 ???? theatre diva ???? she’s literally been called the voice of this generation, a generational talent. she DOESNT need lando or his world, she has her own. stay bitter, though

username24 why are people so mean? she’s insanely talented and gorgeous.

username14 some people are just really fucking opinionated, like they know lando personally and that their opinions would matter. well news flash, lando wouldn’t even bat an eyelash at you nor date you all. fucking weirdos

username25 welp, this isn’t the comment section that i was expecting at all 🧍🏻‍♀️

username26 is this a civil war between f1 stans and broadway stans? 😭😭😭😭

username27 vroom vroom kids vs. theatre kids

username28 this post alone had incited a civil war between f1 stans and broadway stans 😭

[gotta-winwin]

OT13 Reaction -- to winning at MAMA awards

a/n: in celebration of our boys winning both AOTY awards at MAMA last night. i am so incredibly proud i feel like i raised them or something. like guys- it is that serious they are my family and im going insane.

SCOUPS: you're the first one he's calling once he's offstage - he's dialling your number and a whole string of nonsense rattles off him the moment you pick up. he can't string together proper words as you congratulate him. tells you how fucking happy the boys are - you should've seen them, love - did you see woozi crying? and DK - he smiled so big - needs you to bring him back to earth and remind him that this is his award too. he deserves it just as much as they do.

JEONGHAN: he's literally been bored out of his mind as you guys sit at home, watching the award show live. the only times he's acc been paying full attention was whenever groups he knew personally were on screen - and even then - you know you're losing him to how tired he is. lets out the tiniest, babiest gasp when seventeen is announced as the winner. is crying but turns away so you can't call him out on it.

JOSHUA: he runs home to you right after their dinner together and collapses into your arms. he's spent from the sheer chaos and adrenaline. mumbles sweet nothings about how this award is also yours. we won, baby. we share everything - this award is because of you - all because of you.

JUN: he's hiding out in his filming trailer so he can watch the award show through your phone on facetime - it's grainy and glitchy as HELL but he does not care. there's a 3 second lag when seventeen's announced as the winner - so he can hear you screaming but he doesn't know why. his mouth drops once the wifi catches up and he's practically glowing the entire day on set.

HOSHI: comes home wasted and a bundle of pure energy. he's on a high from the win- rushes home to yell into your ear how ecstatic he is as he tackles you for a hug. tells you he's literally so down to name your firstborn child AOTY just cause.

WONWOO: he comes home rather calm despite the chaotic evening he just had. runs you through his whole day- from getting his makeup done to winning the award to having celebratory dinner. you sit and listen happily, cause this is the most yapping you've ever seen this man do and you're SO happy. finishes his yap session by telling you that you make it all worth it - you're the real award, not MAMA.

WOOZI: tells you not to watch their acceptance speech even though he knows you already did :( is uber embarrassed at how emotional his speech was. I was gonna go up and accept it like a nonchalant cool mysterious man but NO! I just had to cry. he doesn't talk about the win much to you, preferring to just enjoy a quiet night in after the crazy evening. whispers to you once you fall asleep that this is why he does music and thanks you and the boys for being his biggest fans.

THE8: sends you the badass photo of him with all their trophies, followed with a long paragraph about how grateful he is to have you next to him through it all. he's unbelievably bright and happy for the next couple weeks, resulting in you kind of missing sassy Hao and asking for him back. side eyes you when you ask and quips "you didn't win a daesang- I did." Well...he's back ig.

MINGYU: comes home and the first thing he says to you is: aren't you proud i didn't cry? pouts when you rewind the clip to point out: he did in fact cry, he was just hiding his ginormous body behind his members. vows to you he won't cry the next time they win- and yes, he promises there will be a next time. and many after that.

DK: a bundle of joy upon his arrival home. keeps telling you he doesn't know what he did to deserve all this- completely floored when you start ranting about why he deserves it all. blushes and hides his face cause the compliments have him shy.

SEUNGKWAN: comes home fully ready to unleash his bragging rights. asks you to only address him by AOTY daesang winner for the next hour, until the joke gets old and he just wants to relax with you. gets a little sappy retelling stories about their trainee days as you both walk down memory lane together.

VERNON: hands you a wad of cash the moment he enters your shared apartment. oh well. i lost the bet. he literally bet against his team winning and ofc you took him on it cause obv seventeen is gonna win?? tells you he was confident svt was going to win he just wanted an excuse to give you cash.

DINO: promises to shout you out the next time svt wins a daesang. obv you don't believe him, so he defends himself, promising that he will 100% name drop his girlfriend on global television for shits and giggles. yeah, i'll just grab the mic and say "i dedicate this award to my WIFE" and watch the internet explode. why not?

[chithereader]

you and me / aaron hotchner

word count: 1.9k

pairing: aaron hotchner x singer!reader , aaron hotchner x f!reader

genre: fluff, a little angst

cw: a lot of conversation, i went a little crazy i just love interviews like zane lowe’s!!! and soft aaron

a/n: this photo just makes me think of aaron waiting backstage for popstar!reader / singer!reader

and requests are open!! would love to know what you guys want to read ◡̈

You requested that the set-up of the interview be comfortable. You knew you’d be talking about your albums which are notoriously packed with stories and emotions, personal and imagined. Now what is more comfortable than your own home? 

When you were designing your home, you knew from the start you wanted a conversation pit. You’ve always dreamed of a house that screamed cozy and comfortable, warm and inviting. Even if it cost millions to make, you had no regrets. 

But aside from the occasional family dinners, your sunken living room was only ever used when Aaron and Jack sleep over, and you had a movie marathon night. You'd throw in duvets and pillows on the pit and bunch together whether it was cold or not.

So you thought this interview is perfect to justify your design choice. To use the conversation pit for actual conversation. Which brings you to now, sat across your good friend and favorite interviewer Zane Lowe, your previous and latest album being the topic of conversation. 

“Your previous album was– you know, I mean, it was–” Zane appears to struggle for a word to encapsulate one of the lowest points in your life. Fractured was definitely an emotional album to make and an even sadder one to listen to.  

“Depressing?” you jokingly say. Talking has always been so easy with Zane. He just has this air to him that lets you know he truly just wants to know you. You sit on the couch sideways, facing Zane. Leaning on the back rest with your elbow, head resting on your hand while your other hand fidgets with the tassels on the pillow. 

He laughs, “Well, you were definitely at a low point in your life romantically.” fiddling with his chin, thinking of his next words, “You just– I think you perfectly captured in your songs that sort of loss and tangible grief that comes with letting go of a person- not because there weren’t any love anymore but more because love just wasn’t enough to keep it going.” 

Remembering what had happened– the air felt thinner. Like it was getting harder to breathe. You had to remember that that point of your life was over. You felt such real pain that time, so much so that you struggled to function in your daily life. That void. That ringing emptiness. 

You’re brought back to reality by Zane’s voice, “Could you touch on how that came about?” 

You breathe out a small sigh and with a gentle smile you recall, “Yeah, uhm.. I was in this relationship.. which in hindsight, I’m so lucky to have been in. It taught me so much and truly made me so much more mindful I guess. I mean like, smarter? More conscious definitely of what goes into making a relationship work, and what makes it strong.” 

“But like you said, it ended because as much as we both wanted it to work, as much as we loved each other, it just wasn’t happening. And it was a vicious cycle that was tiring us out. We just knew it wasn’t supposed to be like that.” You pause for a bit, reflecting. 

Flashes of you and Aaron driving home in silence after a dinner at Rossi’s play in your head. You didn’t talk the whole night. Not when you were dressing up. Not in the car ride on the way there. Not when you sat down together. And definitely not when each of you were across the room, busy in separate conversations ignoring the glaringly obvious. 

Looking down at the decorative pillow in your lap, you start, “And I think that in my experience, that’s a lot more painful. I think that break-ups that happen when one hurts the other is somehow better because you get to hold on to I deserve better or like– there’s just thing like anger that drives you to move on.”

You’re taken back to that night. Coming home and feeling the weight of it fall on both your shoulders. You sat for hours in silence, holding each other. Knowing that when the sun rises, he’ll go to work, you’ll go on tour, and your little world will be put to rest. 

“But having that overflowing love for a person who is just not meant for you– I mean how do you tell yourself to let go? How can you even try to convince yourself ? Because people say so often that as long as you love someone there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for them and that’s true. I’ve been there, and even everything wasn’t enough. And that was something we really struggled with.” 

“Just admitting that we had to love each other from afar before we turned into strangers together.” 

It just didn’t make sense. The love you had for each other was real. It was deep and true, and neither of you had any doubt of what you meant to each other. There was no question of loyalty or trust. 

But the traveling, the conflict in schedules, the missed calls and messages left on read. You just became both so busy, you were worlds apart. It even reached the point that you haven’t talked for days and neither of you noticed. Or minded. You thought of each other, yeah. But there wasn’t that urge to reach out anymore. There was just… longing. 

–

“Which brings us to now. Your latest album Leftover Love– it’s a lot more hopeful isn’t it? I mean I’d even go as far as saying that it’s about falling in love all over again.” Zane sips on the tea you made him. Leaning over the makeshift coffee table to add more milk in there. 

You straighten a little. Mood instantly lifting at the mention of your favorite album to date. Images of the inspiration behind the album filling your head. 

Zane puts down his tea to gesture generously, “And hearing it live, you could just feel it in the crowd– this kind of electricity. And because there’s no other way to put it– your songs in this album feel a lot like jumping and dancing with a partner in a room full of people and everything is just in slow motion. It’s like this sort of alignment or clicking into place, finding that one person that makes those small moments feel so.. big.” 

He put it perfectly into words. You had really hoped to relay through your songs the recent turn of events in your life. People who have supported you and loved you when you were at low points in your life got you through that, and you felt so strongly that they deserved to know and feel even a fraction of the happiness that you’re feeling right now through your new songs. 

“Definitely, I mean I’m so proud to say that these songs, even if they’re a touch fictional or exaggerated or romanticized– they are based on truths, on real things that have happened or are happening in my life.” You’re getting excited. Pulling the sleeves of your sweater to cover your hands until only your fingertips are visible– you place both hands down on the pillow as if bracing yourself for the climax of a rollercoaster ride. 

“The song Blindly for example, it’s about that feeling or like moment of realization that you’re just so crazy in love you’d follow this person anywhere blindly. I love that the sound’s so grunge-y and messy– insane. Because that’s literally how it feels to be in that whirlwind.” 

Zane picks up on your excitement, nodding at your explanation. He relaxes more into his seat and gestures to you, “It’s a good thing you mentioned that because I actually wanted to ask you why that song slows down at the end. I think that was such a unique and beautiful thing to do to the song and it works so well. But I just want to know what made you do that–” You’re biting your lip smiling, so proud that it was recognized as a conscious choice as a musician and artist.

Zane continues, “It goes from crazy drums and guitar, and the bass– then slows down into this almost hypnotic music box sound that transitions by the end into just this beat like a pulse.” 

Your smile grows bigger which Zane mirrors, “I’m so happy you picked up on that. I have to say that’s actually one of the songs I’m most proud of because it’s one of the first songs that I was heavily involved in the engineering of the sound.”

“But yeah I guess ultimately I just wanted it to mimic that transition from being in crazy love, tornado-esque to it literally settling into this beautifully calm and serene kind of love.” 

Zane listens intently, nodding and humming in agreement and knowing. Finally understanding the point of view from which the sound was created. He has this gentle smile on his face, almost of encouragement knowing you had more to say, 

“Like you go from all these dates and the honeymoon phase, and your heart’s just beating crazy fast all the time and then it turns into that steady murmur of your fridge in the null of the night when you’re baking muffins together in silence.”

You take a deep breath, chewing on the inside of your lip. Hopelessly trying to minimize the smile fighting its way on your face, “It’s just that process of someone becoming your home.” 

-

You're ushering out the last of the production people. Walking alongside Zane who’s the last to step out your front door, you give him a big hug which he returns warmly. 

“I’m so happy you’re happy,” he murmurs into your ear. 

You bury your face into his shoulder and breathe out a laugh, “Thank you.. Really.” 

You separate and smile at each other. Waving goodbye as he walks backwards to his car. You stand by your front door until they pull out of your driveway.

Once you see that your driveway is empty, you turn to your door and see him leaning against the doorframe with a smug, knowing smirk. 

Rolling your eyes playfully as you pass by him into your home, he chuckles. You hear his footsteps behind you and you know he’s following you around while you tidy up the dishes you and Zane used, “Aaron, take out the trash please.” 

This man just listened to you talk about him for hours. With headphones and a monitor set up in the other room– Aaron just got his ego inflated to a size so immeasurable he can’t hide his smile from the strangers beside him controlling lights and volumes. He has got to be humbled.

“Oh so I’m back to Aaron now?” He catches up to you, halting your movements from behind as he takes hold of your arms so you can put down whatever was in them. Then he turns you around by your shoulders so you’re facing him, grinning that smile that makes you go Fuck and then blank in your head.

“And here I was thinking I was home.” Aaron pulls you close, sliding an arm around your waist only to settle on your back as the other holds your hand against his chest, in between you. He starts swaying you both slowly as he buries his nose into the side of your head, humming a familiar tune. 

Kiss me once, then kiss me twice

Then kiss me once again

It's been a long, long time

Haven't felt like this, my dear

Since I can't remember when

It's been a long, long time

You'll never know how many dreams

I've dreamed about you

While he was listening to you go on about how you loved him all throughout your rocky start and even more well into the present– he became overwhelmed with the realization that for once in his life, there was absolutely no doubt in his mind that he is loved. Truly, deeply, and steadily loved. And that filled him with something that nothing and no one could ever define or measure. 

[wheat-singularity]

From notes (in response to q about further reading material):

thats not weird to ask at all its super hard to find any info about diabetes that isnt worded weirdly or just kind of fatphobic. my source for it being more linked to genetics than t1d is the excerpt "Type 2 diabetes has a stronger link to family history and lineage than type 1, and studies of twins have shown that genetics play a very strong role in the development of type 2 diabetes." from https://diabetes.org/about-diabetes/genetics-diabetes#:~:text=Type%202%20diabetes%20has%20a,can%20also%20play%20a%20role. this article that is a trustworthy source, but unfortunately i don't really have any further reading material because even this article doesn't go into detail and puts a lot of the blame on fatness without any real proof. a lot of my knowledge of t2d also comes from talking to my own doctors about it which of course means i don't really have a source for any of that... i'd love to give more reading material but i completely agree that its almost impossible to find anything. id try checking scientific databases with studies of t2d being linked to genetics though because if the article i linked is correct then there should be stuff to find about that

oh yeah i found out recently its diabetes awareness month so ummm. heres a reminder that type 2 diabetes is actually MORE determined by genetics than type 1 and if youve ever made a diabetes joke or talked about it like it's just the stupid fat person disease you owe me $50. disabling lifelong diseases arent funny and they arent any indication of someone's morals and also getting a disease is never anyone's "fault"

[eu-nicola]

the ferrari couple

summary: when Charles signs with Ferrari, his life takes an unexpected turn when he falls in love with you "Princess Ferrari". Together both become the perfect couple, but behind public perfection, the pressure of your careers leads both in other ways

warnings: nothing

word counter: 4559

author's note: english is not my first language

this is a request from @pperlaaiy

The sound of engines rumbled across the Monza circuit. It was the 2018 Italian Grand Prix, and Charles Leclerc, still a Sauber driver, walked around the paddock with a mix of pride and nervousness. That year had been crucial for him; rumours of his possible promotion to Ferrari felt increasingly real. However, the pressure of being at home, surrounded by tifosi who idolised the Scuderia, kept him on his toes. 

As he made his way to the Ferrari hospitality area, Charles paused for a moment, awed by the spectacle before him. Surrounded by photographers, journalists and Ferrari employees, there was you. You seemed to shine with a light of your own, dressed in an impeccable white two-piece suit that bore discreet touches of Ferrari red, the colour that so represented your lineage. Perfectly coiffed hair, dark sunglasses and a confident smile that showed no trace of nervousness. In that moment, you were everything Ferrari stood for: tradition, elegance and power. 

“Who is she?” Charles asked his engineer, unable to look away.

“Don’t you know? She’s related to Enzo Ferrari. Her mother, Sofia Ferrari, is practically the queen of the car group. She’s like the princess of the house.”

Charles nodded slowly, impressed, but also intimidated. He had heard about you before, how you were an iconic figure in and out of the world of motorsport. You were known not only for your surname, but for your involvement in Ferrari’s most exclusive events, your innate elegance, and the way you upheld your family’s legacy. The fact that you were unreachable only added to your aura.

However, what happened next took Charles completely by surprise. While he tried to hide his interest and continue on his way, you turned around and your eyes met his. Taking off your sunglasses, you smiled with that mix of kindness and confidence that baffled everyone.

“Charles Leclerc, right?” You asked, stepping closer gracefully.

He blinked, surprised that you knew who he was. "Uh, yeah, I'm Charles," he replied, trying to sound relaxed, though he felt the heat rising to his face.

“I have to say, you’ve impressed many at Ferrari this year,” you said, shaking his hand. Your tone was gentle, but your words carried a weight he couldn’t ignore. “My uncle won’t stop talking about you. I think you’re destined for great things.”

Charles scratched the back of his neck, a nervous gesture contrasting with your poise. “I hope so. Being part of Ferrari would be… a dream.”

“A dream, but also a responsibility,” you replied, your gaze becoming more intense. “Ferrari isn’t just a team, Charles. It’s a family, a history. The tifosi don’t see you as just a driver; they see you as a symbol. And that’s not something just anyone can carry.”

He nodded slowly, feeling the weight of your words. He’d heard similar speeches before, but coming from you, they held a different meaning. “I know. And I’m willing to give my all to live up to it.”

You stared at him for a moment, assessing him. Finally, you smiled again, this time with a hint of genuine warmth. “I hope so, Charles. I’d love to see you succeed at Ferrari. But for now, enjoy Monza. It’s a magical place, don’t you think?”

“It is,” he replied, relaxing a little. “Even more so now.”

Your laugh was soft, but enough for the few people around to notice the chemistry that seemed to be brewing between the two of you. Before you could respond, a team member called out to you from a distance. With a slight nod to Charles, you walked away, leaving behind a sweet scent and an impression he wouldn’t soon forget.

Charles stood still for a few seconds, taking in what had just happened. He had met the “princess of Ferrari,” but beyond your name and lineage, what had struck him most was your presence. There was something about you that challenged him, that made him want to prove he was worthy of being in your world.

That night, during the official Ferrari dinner, they met again. You were surrounded by important figures in motorsport, but when Charles entered the room, your eyes instinctively sought him out. This time, you didn't need to approach him; he took the initiative.

"Can I sit here?" he asked, pointing to the chair next to yours.

You smiled, amused. "Of course. I hope you're ready, Charles."

"If I can survive Monza, I think I can handle this," he replied, feeling more confident.

And so, over glasses of wine and conversations filled with jokes and witty observations, something began that neither of you could have foreseen. You weren't just Ferrari's princess; you were a challenge, a mystery. And for Charles, the young driver who dreamed of conquering the world, you became the most fascinating target of all.

After that first meeting at Monza, Charles couldn't get you out of his mind. Despite being immersed in the demands of his season with Sauber, he found moments between races and training to remember the conversations he'd had with you. For your part, there was something about him that intrigued you. Maybe it was his humility, his ambition, or the way he seemed to shine even under the pressure of the spotlight.

The next few times you met were at Ferrari-related events, always in formal settings where professional distance was the norm. However, that barrier slowly began to break down.

It was a cool evening in Maranello. Ferrari had organised a private dinner to celebrate the season's achievements and start looking ahead. Although the evening was for the official drivers, Charles was invited as a gesture of goodwill, as the announcement of his joining Ferrari for the 2019 season was imminent.

You met him in the event's illuminated gardens, while escaping a boring conversation with a group of executives. Charles was alone, a glass of wine in his hand, admiring the statue of Enzo Ferrari that presided over the place. You approached him with a light smile.

"Thinking about how to fill those shoes?" you asked, stopping beside him.

Charles turned his head, surprised but genuinely happy to see you. "More like wondering if I'll ever make it."

“It’s a start,” you said, shrugging. “He always said that the true spirit of Ferrari isn’t in perfection, but in passion. If you have that, you’re already halfway there.”

He looked at you, with a mix of admiration and curiosity. “Do you feel that passion too? For Ferrari, I mean.”

You nodded, crossing your arms to protect yourself from the cold. “Of course. I grew up surrounded by this world, but it’s not just the family name. It’s everything it represents: the history, the tifosi, the constant struggle to be the best. It’s not easy to live with it, but I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

Charles was silent for a moment, processing your words. Then he smiled, a soft but sincere gesture. “It’s funny. All that you describe is what scares me and excites me at the same time. Being at Ferrari means so much more than being a fast driver. It’s… something bigger.”

You turned to him, studying him carefully. There was something about his honesty that disarmed you, a rarity in a world full of appearances. “And you think you’re ready for it?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, shrugging. “But I want to try. And I’ll do my best to prove that I’m worthy of it.”

The determination in his voice made you smile. “That’s what I like about you. You’re not afraid to admit your doubts, but you’re not afraid to face them either.”

He stared at you, as if he was trying to figure something out in you. “And you? Have you always been this sure of yourself?”

The question took you by surprise. You looked down for a moment before answering. “Not always. But when you grow up in this family, you learn to hide your insecurities.”

Before the conversation could go any deeper, one of the attendants called out to you from a distance. “Y/N, you’re needed inside.”

You sighed, but not before giving Charles one last smile. "Don't let them intimidate you in there. And remember: Ferrari is more than a car, it's a family."

The real change in your relationship came weeks later, when Ferrari made the official announcement that Charles would be a driver for the 2019 season. The news flooded the headlines and thrilled the tifosi, who saw him as the future of the team. That evening, you hosted a private dinner at your family villa in Maranello, inviting only a few people close to the team, including Charles.

"Thank you for inviting me," Charles said when he arrived, wearing a simple but elegant suit. There was something different in his gaze that night: a mix of confidence and gratitude.

"Of course," you replied as you greeted him. "I couldn't pass up the opportunity to celebrate our new star."

The evening passed quietly, with laughter, anecdotes and toasts to the future. However, you both noticed that your eyes met more often than usual. When dinner ended and the other guests began to leave, Charles was one of the last to stay.

"Would you like to see something special?" You asked, taking a glass of wine and leading him towards the villa's garage.

Inside, covered by tarps, were some of Ferrari's most iconic models, from the first cars created by Enzo to the most modern ones. Charles walked among them in wonder, like a child in a candy store.

"It's amazing," he murmured. "It's like being in a private museum."

"It is," you said, leaning against one of the cars. "Every car here has a story. And now you will be a part of that story."

He stopped in front of you, his expression serious but warm. "I hope I can live up to it. Not just for Ferrari, but for you as well."

The intensity of his words took you by surprise, but you didn't back down. There was something about his sincerity that drew you hopelessly.

"Charles..." you began, but he interrupted you.

“I’m not saying this because you’re from the Errari family or because you’re in a position of power. I’m saying this because you, as a person, inspire me. And I want you to know that I will do everything I can to not let you down.”

For the first time in a long time, you were speechless. And as the silence stretched between you both, Charles took a step towards you. There was no need to say anything else; the moment said it all.

That night marked the start of something special. What had started as a casual connection became a relationship that you both knew would be intense, complicated, but also unique.

After that, the end of 2018 was a whirlwind of emotions for Charles. He had closed his season with Sauber in an exceptional way, earning the respect of the tifosi and securing his place at Ferrari for the following year. But the most unexpected thing for him had been the relationship that had formed with you. During those months, you went from being two occasional acquaintances at events to becoming confidants and something more.

Your meetings, although few due to his constant travels, were full of complicity. He had invited you to accompany him to a couple of races outside Italy, and although you kept everything under a strict low profile, the members of the paddock were beginning to notice that there was something between you. The candlelit dinners, the walks through Maranello and the deep conversations.

For Charles, you were much more than a "Ferrari". You were someone who understood him, someone who saw beyond the image of a promising driver. For you, Charles was a breath of fresh air in a world full of appearances. In him, you found someone honest, humble and passionate.

However, you both knew that things would change in 2019. With Charles officially becoming a Ferrari driver, the attention on both of you would increase, and you would have to decide how you would face what was to come together.

When the 2019 season began, everything changed. Not only was Charles Ferrari's new rising star, he also unwittingly became the centre of media attention. The relationship between the two, which until then had remained in the shadows, inevitably began to come to light.

The first time photographers caught you together was at the Monaco Grand Prix. You were in the paddock, leaning against a railing as you talked animatedly to Charles. You were wearing a red outfit that paid homage to the Scuderia, and your laughter echoed above the roar of the engines. The media was quick to dub you the “prince and princess of Ferrari.”

“Does all this attention bother you?” Charles asked you that afternoon, as you walked together through the Monte Carlo harbor.

“A little,” you admitted, adjusting your sunglasses. “But I also know it’s inevitable. I guess we’ll just have to learn to handle it together.”

Charles nodded, taking your hand gently. “We will.”

It was an intense year, full of challenges for both of you. Charles had to deal with the pressure of being a Ferrari driver, while you were constantly surrounded by the critical eyes of the press and tifosi, who analyzed your every move. Far from separating them, however, those challenges brought them closer together.

The moments they shared off the track became their refuge. There were days when Charles would arrive exhausted after a difficult race, and you would call him to give him words of encouragement. There were also nights when you, exhausted, would find comfort in his embrace.

By 2020, you were no longer just a couple at Ferrari; you were the couple. Cameras followed you everywhere, and social media couldn't stop talking about you. Photos of you at Formula 1 galas, at private Scuderia events, and even on vacation in Italy went viral instantly.

The tifosi loved how they represented the essence of Ferrari: Charles was the young driver full of talent and promise, and you, the sophisticated and passionate woman who seemed to be the embodiment of the Ferrari legacy. No matter where they were, together they projected an image of perfection that fascinated the world.

However, behind the flashes, things were not always easy. The 2020 season was a complicated year for Ferrari, with performance issues testing Charles as a driver. For him, it was frustrating to go from being a constant contender to fighting to stay in the top 10. There were times when tensions were palpable, but you always found a way to remind him of his worth.

“Charles,” you told him one night after a disappointing race at Spa, as you both sat on the balcony of his hotel room. “You are not just a Ferrari driver. You are the future of Ferrari. Enzo always said that difficult races are the ones that make true champions. And you are one of them.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Luckily, you won’t have to find out,” you replied with a smile.

That mutual strength was what made you two so special. While Charles faced the challenges of the track, you struggled to keep outside pressures at bay, defending your relationship from rumors and criticism.

By the end of 2020, you were more than a couple; you were a symbol. The prince and princess of Ferrari, two figures who represented everything the brand stood for: history, passion, and the promise of a bright future.

What no one imagined was that beneath that image of perfection, the first cracks were beginning to form. Because, although the love you felt for each other was real, the demands of your worlds were not always compatible.

The end of 2020 marked a turbulent time both on and off the track. Ferrari was facing one of its worst seasons in years, and while Charles continued to show his talent, the car simply wasn’t up to par. You, for your part, had been dealing with the mounting pressures of your family name: new projects, the constant expectation that you represent Ferrari at key events, and increasing scrutiny over your relationship with Charles.

Through it all, you never let the internal tensions leak outward. To the world, you were still the couple. You were seen smiling at events, with Charles looking at you as if you were his anchor, and you showing yourself unwavering, like the pillar holding him up. But what no one saw was the distance that was beginning to form between you.

The breaking point began subtly, with small misunderstandings and differences that you had previously managed with grace.

During the final races of the season, you noticed that Charles was more distant. Although he remained affectionate with you in public, in private his attention seemed to be elsewhere. His days were consumed by endless team meetings, interviews, and hours of work trying to squeeze the maximum potential out of an unresponsive car. When he came home, he was exhausted, and conversations between the two of you were reduced to an exchange of short sentences.

“How was it today?” you asked, waiting for an answer that never came with any depth.

“Good, the usual,” he would reply, often without looking at you, lost in thought.

It wasn’t Charles’ fault, you knew. The weight he carried on his shoulders was immense, and you wanted to be understanding. But you couldn’t help but feel displaced, as if your place in his life had taken a backseat.

For your part, you were dealing with your own problems as well. Your family expected you to take a more active role in the company, and every step you took was scrutinized. The endless meetings, strategic decisions, and social expectations were draining you. There were nights when you sat alone in your Maranello apartment, wondering if this was the life you really wanted.

The night of the final race of the season, in Abu Dhabi, you decided you needed to talk. You had prepared dinner in the hotel suite, hoping to reconnect before heading back to Italy. Charles arrived late, tired but trying not to show it.

“This looks amazing,” he commented, cracking a smile as he sat across from you.

“I wanted us to close the year with something special,” you replied, trying to hide the anxiety in your voice.

For a while, the conversation flowed as before. You talked about the race, the tifosi, and even joked about how the media had called you “Ferrari royalty” in a recent article. But then, the tone changed.

“Charles, I’ve been thinking,” you began, hands shaking slightly. “Do you think… we’re okay?”

He looked up, surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve grown apart,” you admitted, your voice almost a whisper. “We don’t talk like we used to anymore, we don’t spend time together. I feel like all of this—” you gestured vaguely at the world around them, “—is consuming us.”

Charles sighed, setting his fork down on the table. “I know. I’ve felt the same way. But I thought… that it was temporary. That after this season, things would get better.”

“What if they don’t?” you asked, facing the fear you’d been suppressing for months.

For a moment, Charles didn’t say anything. His silence was like a confirmation of what you both feared: that the weight of your individual lives was overshadowing what you had together.

“I love you,” he finally said, with a sincerity that almost brought tears to your eyes. "But I don't know if I'm being fair to you. I don't know if I can be the person you need right now."

The decision wasn't made in one night, but that conversation marked the beginning of the end. Over the following weeks, both tried to hold on to what they had, but silences were more frequent than words, and the emotional distance became increasingly evident.

The news of their separation came in January 2021, shortly after the Christmas holidays. There were no official statements or public explanations; they simply stopped appearing together, and rumours began to circulate.

The paddock was in shock. Neither of them had given any indication of trouble, and for the tifosi, they represented perfection. But those who knew them closely knew the truth: there was no big fight, no betrayal, just the inevitable wear and tear of two people trapped in worlds that demanded too much of them.

The last time you saw him was at a Ferrari event in early 2021. He was beaming, smiling at photographers as he spoke to management. When your eyes met, he gave you a small, almost melancholic smile, which you returned with a similar gesture.

There were no words, but they didn't need to be. You both knew that what you had was unique, special, and that it would always be a part of you. But you also knew that you had made the right decision, even if it hurt.

The prince and princess of Ferrari had split up, leaving the world baffled and the tifosi heartbroken.

The months following the breakup were like a whirlwind, even though neither of you openly acknowledged it. You and Charles had decided to keep the reasons for the end of your relationship private, but that only fueled the speculation. The media kept wondering what had happened between the prince and princess of Ferrari, and the tifosi couldn't accept that something so perfect had fallen apart for no apparent reason.

Despite the noise, you both tried to move on, each in your own way. But as they tried to build new routines, the world kept watching, waiting for some sign, some word that would explain the inexplicable.

The first image of Charles with another woman appeared one day in March. It was a casual photograph, taken by a fan in Monte Carlo. Charles was in a café, smiling as he chatted with a blonde, light-eyed girl. It didn't seem like a romantic encounter, but the closeness between the two and the carefree smile on Charles' face unleashed a wave of comments.

“Who is she?”

“Has she replaced her already?”

“She’s probably her cousin or something, Charles wouldn’t do this.”

For your part, you tried to ignore it. You knew Charles had the right to move on, as did you, but you couldn’t help but feel a knot in your stomach as fans began to theorize about his love life.

It wasn’t long before you were making headlines too. A few weeks later, during a gala event in Milan, you arrived accompanied by an Italian businessman known for his charisma and fortune. He offered you his arm as you walked down the red carpet, and although you maintained a professional smile, the camera flashes captured something that the media interpreted as complicity.

The reaction was not long in coming.

“She already has a boyfriend? This can’t be real.”

“Charles and her were perfect, this doesn’t make sense.”

“The princes of Ferrari are dating commoners now, apparently.”

Social media became a battleground between fans. There were those who supported the idea of ​​the two moving on with their lives, but there were also those who clung to the hope of a reconciliation. Every photo of Charles with his supposed new partner was analyzed in detail, and the same was true for you.

On your Instagram profile, the comments were a reflection of the tifosi's pain:

"Please tell me this isn't true."

"Why did you break up? I never understood it."

"Get back together, there's still time."

Charles faced the same thing. Even in the simplest photos — an afternoon training or a day on the simulator — the responses were full of mentions of you.

"Everything is more boring without Princess Ferrari."

"I hope you're happy, but I'll never forget what you had."

Neither you nor Charles made any comments on the matter. You both knew that any statement would only fuel further speculation, and the last thing you wanted was to turn your past relationship into a public spectacle.

At Ferrari events, it was inevitable that your paths would cross, although you always kept your distance. During a presentation of the Scuderia for the 2021 season, you sat in the front row next to the management, while Charles took his place on the stage, talking about his expectations for the year.

Your eyes met for a brief second. It was enough for the photographers to capture the moment, but not enough for either of you to show any obvious emotion. You held his gaze calmly, while he quickly turned his gaze towards the audience.

After the event, you avoided the cocktail party that followed. You knew the media would be waiting for any interaction between you, and you weren't about to fuel any more rumors. However, as you were leaving, you received a text on your phone.

"I saw you left early. I hope you're okay."

It was from Charles.

You read it a few times before pocketing your phone without responding. Although the message seemed innocent, it only made the emptiness in your chest feel heavier.

Despite appearances, moving on wasn't easy for either of you. Charles could put on a smile next to his new companion, but in moments of solitude, he found his mind drifting back to the days he shared with you. The walks through Maranello, the conversations in the early morning, even the small arguments over insignificant things: it was all still there, like an echo that refused to go away.

You weren't immune either. Although you were dating someone new, you hadn't felt that connection you once had with Charles. Every time you saw their name in the headlines, your heart beat a little faster, and images of what was and what could have been filled your mind.

Still, you both kept going, at least in the eyes of the world. The smiles at events, the carefully curated posts on social media, everything seemed to indicate that you had put the past behind you. But the others seemed unwilling to let it go.

The tifosi kept waiting. In every Ferrari post, in every interview, in every public appearance, someone always asked about you.

"Will you come back one day?"

"You were the heart of Ferrari."

"Without you, this is not the same anymore."

And although neither you nor Charles answered, that question kept hanging in the air, like a wound that time did not quite heal. Because although you had gone your separate ways, the world was not ready to forget you.

And, perhaps, deep down, neither were you.

[silhouetteonpaper]

Benched

Summary: You’re cut from participating in missons for the foreseeable future; the news was delivered by none other than your girlfriend, Natasha. The torturous break from Avenging seems to be unfair... until you hear the other perspective. Natasha Romanoff x Reader WC: 2,393 Warnings/Themes: Angst, fluff, gun use, killing, repressing memories

“I’m sorry?” You weren’t sure if you had heard Natasha’s words correctly; her serious tone didn’t match the saddened look on her face. She was standing across from you as you sat at the empty conference table, summoned only moments ago by the Widow herself.

“We’re benching you from missions until we feel you’re ready.” They didn’t sound any more real this time, either. Natasha, your mentor and girlfriend was telling you to sit the next few missions out. Actually, she was forcing you to sit every mission out for the foreseeable future. You were furious, but tried to keep composed as to not dig a deeper grave.

“Until you feel I’m ready? That’s subjective, how long will it take?” You questioned with crossed arms, your shoulders stuck by your ears out of defense. You’d never been like this around Nat; closed off, defensive, angry. She’d never needed to bar you from missions like this, so it was a first for the both of you.

“We feel your actions on the last mission require some time off.” She explained, noticing the unrelenting confused yet frustrated expression on your face. Natasha felt bad, she was only following the orders of her superiors. They believed that making her relay this information would soften the blow, but as your girlfriend it didn’t make it any easier.  “Look,” She walked around the table, sitting beside you. Her hand found your knee, a soft touch forcing you to unfurl your brows slightly. “This isn’t a punishment. We just want to make sure you’re okay mentally after what happened.”

She was referring to the events of yesterday's mission, something you had hoped would just get buried under the rug. It was supposed to be a simple interrogation; the team would press the target to find some confidential information. The only issue was that the target had a liking for pushing people’s buttons. His jabs were relentless, spitting insults about the people he’d killed like they were nothing.

You were only supposed to hold the gun to his head in a daunting, coercive way. So you did, for a while anyways—until he stated something you didn’t believe was humanly true.

“I don’t regret killing them.” His words had turned your blood to ice, the pointer finger stationed over the trigger shaking out of anger. He was talking about the people he killed to get close to the Avengers. Some of them being your family, the people you loved most. His greedy play was wiping pawns off the table, when in reality they were more than just objects. Natasha was originally reluctant to include you on this mission, due to your emotional connection. But this man had targeted many of the Avenger’s closest relatives, so if she benched you she’d have to bench everyone else.

It turned out she’d have to bench you anyways, as you broke protocol within seconds of his nasty comment. The gun echoed through the cellar you were all stationed in, the man suddenly going quiet as his head lolled to the side. The main source of intel for one of the biggest missions was dead. Everyone’s heads turned toward the responsible weapon; there you were, eyes wide with a smoking gun still held to his head.

After being escorted back to the compound between silent teammates, you locked yourself in your room for the night. Natasha tried to come in, knocking on your bedroom door every so often with tempting offers of cookies or movie nights, but you wouldn’t budge. The next morning, hushed whispers greeted you the second you entered the kitchen. It was obvious they were talking about you, but you couldn’t have cared less. You knew what you did was wrong, and were ready to move on. So, you acted like it didn’t happen.

Maybe that worried the team even more, especially Natasha. You weren’t one to move on from things so quick, especially considering the grudge you held for the man responsible for all that death. Breaking protocol like that and shooting an important hostage was even more out of character, you knew the importance of his intel. Running on impulse, especially in regard to your emotions was unusual, it would be for any trained agent.

But it all caught up with you, and clearly the team discussed a plan of action behind your back. They believed your slip up was more than just a mistake—that there was something deeper behind it. It was slightly offensive, seeing them assume you were emotionally inept that they didn’t even include you in the conversation. You didn’t even think hard enough on what happened to realize maybe they were right; instead you shoved it deep down inside. Now, the truth was facing you head-on, and there was no escaping it.

This isn’t a punishment? You repeated Natasha’s words in your head. It sure felt like one, your favorite thing in life being withheld like a kid getting their iPad taken away. Everyone knew how much your work meant to you, so why would they take away the one thing you loved doing? Besides, you felt fine mentally. The past was in the past, and you were ready to move forward.

“I’m fine, I swear. Please, Nat—don’t take me out of the running just because I made a mistake.” You pleaded, looking to her with a softened expression. The two of you were close, having been in an official relationship for months now. But this was uncharted territory, and the thread connecting you both was slipping as this new side of you was showing. It was her turn to become defensive as she withdrew her hand.

“A mistake? You killed our most important hostage! If you weren’t one of our top agents, Fury would’ve had you fired!” She was right, but you weren’t going to admit that. Instead you huffed, leaning back in your chair as your gaze found anywhere to look but at Natasha.

“I couldn’t let him get away with what he did.” You muttered, shaking your head. Natasha took a deep breath, concern slowly rising across her face. It was easy to see the hurt on your face, even without directly mentioning your family. They were your everything, and he killed them like they were nothing. But two wrongs don’t make a right, every agent knew that. You should’ve known that. And she didn’t want you to jeopardize your job—your passion, over your stubbornness. She leaned toward you slowly, her eyebrows lowering.

“See, this is what scares me. You knew we’d find justice eventually, but you could’t wait and it blew the entire mission.” Natasha spoke carefully, her words making your stomach churn. Scared?Blew the entire mission? Even for her, these were hasty conclusions to draw.

You crossed your arms again. “What are you insinuating?” To say you blew the entire mission was harsh, even if it was true. An agent would never blame another, not directly like this; especially when that agent was your girlfriend. You knew there was more to it, the ice hidden underneath her tone queued you in.

“That now your family will never get the justice they deserve.” Her words are like knives, stabbing straight into your heart. You weren’t sure if she was trying to break you, or if she truly felt this way. That your mistake cost the entire mission, one that was supposed to avenge your dead relatives. Your eyes went wide with shock, expression frozen as you processed the very words that left her lips. They weren’t coming from your girlfriend; the girl you loved would never say such a thing.

Natasha doesn’t flinch, yet unbeknownst to you she was heartbroken on the inside. You both felt like a stranger was standing opposite, your actions and her words causing a rift between the connection that was strong mere days ago. You were impatient, emotional, and couldn’t follow the stupid protocol, and now it may have cost your job and maybe even your girlfriend.

Your eyes narrowed, oozing with betrayal. “You don’t mean that.” Words softer than the hardened expression painting your face, you were almost speechless. Once again, Natasha left you questioning if what she said was actually true, or just a figment of your imagination.

She nodded once, slowly, like a predator bowing its head to prey. You were officially benched, and there was no arguing your way out of it.

��————-

2 weeks, 4 days, 1 hour, and 37 minutes had passed since you were forced to stay within the many walls of the compound. Not like anyone was counting, though. Although spacious and full of various forms of entertainment, the large facility made you feel restless after the first day. You grew bored, itching to get your hands on new cases or even old mission reports.

The quinjet was taunting you. Standing outside the large glass window, calling your name as you sat inside waiting for the go-ahead. But as the hours, days, and weeks passed, it never came. You hadn’t spoken to Natasha since the fight—only exchanging quick glances through narrowed eyes or inconspicuous expressions in passing. Instead, you bothered everyone else about it.

“No, you’re still on temp-leave,” someone would say. “Take some time to relax, focus on yourself.” More voices would eventually join in. It was unrelenting; the only ‘self-care’ you cared about was the one thing that genuinely made you happy: Avenging. But everyone was stuck following orders, keeping you locked inside the compound with your own self to blame.

When everyone left you alone at the compound to go on missions, It gave you time to reflect. You paced the halls replaying the mission over and over, eventually shaking your head as the memory morphed into the shape of your family. You didn’t want to think about them, so you simply filled your time with busywork in order to keep the hurt at bay.

After picking up a few new hobbies, discovering some newfound talents, and recovering old favorite pastimes, you still felt a hole where Avenging used to be. You missed it, and this time off was making you feel worse, if anything. On the 20th day, you built up the courage to talk with Natasha. She was tame the past few days, finally offering you the occasional smile when you made the team dinner, or handing you baked goods when she went on her usual coffee run.

Natasha was sitting in the empty living room, typing on her laptop as she glanced between the screen and some mission reports. “Hey,” you spoke softly, sitting down on the couch opposite of her. Her green eyes popped up, eyebrows lifting ever-so-slightly. You had her attention. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have belittled my actions that hurt other people, it was truly more than just a mistake and I feel terrible about it.” You were speaking truthfully, and Nat could tell; but she wasn’t satisfied.

Shutting her laptop, she stacked her work off to the side with full intrigue. “Tell me, have you thought about your parents during this time off?” She questioned. You swallowed thickly, immediately regretting your half-assed apology when there was more to it than just feeling bad about your actions. You hadn’t thought about your parents, mostly on purpose; and Natasha was hoping to get after exactly that.

“Look, love,” Her tone softened slightly, and the use of the nickname made you feel even the smallest bit more comfortable. She was still yours, and you were still hers, it was all just on hiatus for the moment—like your job. “This break wasn’t supposed to be time for you to feel bad about what you did. It was time for you to process what happened.” Natasha stood, moving to sit next to you as her words made the air catch in your lungs.

“You can’t change the fact your family has passed, and I need you to have a chance to grieve before we send you back onto the field.” To an average person, everything she was saying made sense. But the issue was, you didn’t want to pause and take the time to process what happened. You wanted to swallow it all and move on to whatever job would come next. But Natasha knew the dangers of that.

You took a deep breath, your gaze finding the floor. “I told you, Nat. I’m fine to go out onto the field. I’ve thought over everything and I feel ready.” You countered, eyes meeting hers as you really tried to convince her. She found your hand, gripping it tightly with both of hers.

“Then tell me exactly what he did to your parents.” Her words hit your chest like a boulder, all of the air you once had no longer existing as your breathing stopped. It was a test, and she knew you wouldn’t be able to answer without breaking down. And fortunately for her, it worked. Tears welled in your eyes, the flood of emotion hitting the wall you built in an attempt to avoid it. But it wasn’t strong enough this time, Natasha knew all the right buttons to push. You gave in, allowing each tear, each sob, to have a chance to see the light as you leaned into Natasha.

“That’s it.” She cooed, pulling you close into her shoulder. Her hands ran through your hair, offering a comforting touch you desperately missed. The person she loved dearly was slowly coming back, the agent who wasn’t just a stone-cold face ready to suppress all emotion in the name of work. Being an Avenger wasn’t just about being brave for others, it was about being your best self so you were capable of offering that support on the field. The entire time, you missed the true meaning of the hiatus.

But now, you were back on track. Natasha was glad to see you finally start the long road to processing your grief, and she’d be there the entire journey. You were grateful to have her, and suddenly even more grateful she gave you the time off in the first place. If you weren’t so naive and stubborn, maybe it would have been easier for you in the long run. But that didn’t matter, because with Natasha, time felt like it didn’t exist.

[rafeskai]

Life as We Know It — Rafe Cameron

Chapter Seven

Two opposites must navigate love, loss, and unexpected parenthood to discover the meaning of family.

Summary: When tragedy strikes, two very different individuals find their lives unexpectedly intertwined as they become the guardians of an orphaned child. As they navigate the challenges of co-parenting, balancing careers, and confronting their pasts, they discover that family can form in the most surprising ways. Through heartfelt moments and unexpected humor, they explore what it means to build a life together—one step at a time.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Character deaths & angst.

Author's Notes: I'm gonna post the epilogue and bonus scenes after this! Get ready!

Masterlist: Here

The next few weeks passed in a blur of routine. A new normal, one that felt both comforting and overwhelming in equal measure, began to take shape. You and Rafe had settled into a rhythm of sorts, with Willa at the center of it all. The house, once filled with tension and unspoken words, now carried the sound of laughter—her little giggles as she played with toys, the rhythmic hum of Rafe humming softly as he prepared dinner, and your voice singing along to a song just to get her to smile.

It was a strange blend of happiness and grief.

On the surface, everything appeared to be falling into place. Willa was thriving. Her laughter was more frequent, and the little spark of her personality was shining through with each passing day. But underneath it all, there was still the ache. The absence of Sarah and John B. lingered in every room, in every corner, like an uninvited guest. It was most noticeable in the quiet moments—the stillness that would creep in after dinner, when the house would settle, and Willa was fast asleep in her crib.

At night, Rafe and you would sit together in the living room, the empty space between you both palpable. Sometimes, you would talk, but it was often just the sound of the TV or the quiet clinking of wine glasses as you both tried to make sense of everything. Both of you, in your own way, were learning how to process the grief of losing Sarah and John B. while simultaneously trying to be the parents Willa needed.

There was no guidebook for this, no rulebook that could teach you how to grieve for your best friend while being there for her child, no instructions on how to love a child who wasn’t yours by blood but had stolen your heart all the same.

It was on one of those quiet evenings that the realization hit. You had just put Willa to bed, tucking her into her crib while Rafe stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

“You ever think about them?” Rafe asked quietly as you turned to face him.

You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms, eyes staring off toward the window. “All the time. It doesn’t really feel real yet, you know? Like… they’re just gone. I still expect to get a text from Sarah telling me to pick up dinner, or John B. calling to complain about something. But none of that’s happening. It’s like I’m stuck in this weird in-between place.”

Rafe nodded slowly, his gaze falling to the floor. “Yeah. It’s the same for me. Every time I go into town, I expect to see John B. standing at the docks or Sarah laughing somewhere. But they’re not there. I keep thinking I’ll see them, and then… I don’t.”

There was a heaviness in his words, a weight that neither of you had truly acknowledged out loud.

Rafe’s eyes met yours, a flicker of something unspoken in them. But before either of you could say more, there was a loud creak from the hallway—the unmistakable sound of Willa’s little feet padding across the floor. The distraction was enough to pull both of you out of your heads.

“She’s up again,” you muttered, half-smiling. You started to make your way toward her room, but Rafe stopped you with a hand on your shoulder.

“I’ll get her,” he said softly, almost as if he were offering more than just the simple task of comforting her.

You nodded, stepping aside to let him go. Watching him take the lead with Willa felt like a breath of fresh air. He was natural with her—careful, gentle, even though you knew the weight of everything still hung on him, just as it did on you.

The next few weeks continued in much the same way. Days blurred together as the three of you navigated the waters of parenthood. You did your best to keep your emotions in check, but at times, you found yourself breaking down when you were alone—alone with your thoughts of Sarah, John B., and what they would have wanted for their daughter.

You saw it too in Rafe. There were days when he would retreat into himself, the weight of his father’s abuse, the responsibility of being a father figure for Willa, and the grief of losing his sister bearing down on him all at once. He was more distant some days, lost in his own head, and it was hard to reach him. On those days, you couldn’t help but feel the distance between you widening.

But then, on other days, he would open up a little more. You would catch him smiling at Willa in a way that made your chest tighten, and you would catch a fleeting look between the two of you—something deeper, something undeniable, but neither of you was ready to face it.

It was during one of these quiet evenings, a few weeks after the ruling in court, when you and Rafe found yourselves alone in the living room again. The weight of your grief still lingered, but now, it was different. You were both becoming accustomed to the rhythm of your new life, even if it was hard. Willa was playing in the corner, and Rafe was scrolling through his phone, but the silence between you was now loaded with something you both refused to acknowledge.

You leaned back against the couch, watching Willa, when Rafe suddenly spoke. “I don’t know what I’m doing half the time,” he admitted, his voice low. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be her father figure… but I’m trying. I don’t want to mess this up.”

You turned to face him, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice. “You’re doing fine, Rafe. Better than fine. You’re all she has right now.”

He exhaled deeply, looking at you for a moment. “Yeah, but I can’t keep pretending like I don’t see you. I can’t keep pretending like I don’t feel something more than just… this.”

The words hit you like a thunderbolt. Your heart skipped a beat, and before you could form a response, Rafe stood up abruptly, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t right. You’re grieving, I’m grieving, and we’ve got Willa to think about. This—this thing between us, it’s just too complicated.”

You stared at him, your throat tightening. “Rafe…” you whispered, not knowing what to say next. You did feel it. That pull. That undeniable connection that had been building between you both for weeks. But was it the right time? Was it right, when everything was still so raw?

“I don’t know what to do with it either,” he muttered. “But we can’t keep ignoring it. I don’t know if I’m ready for this, for us... for her.”

And so, there you were—on the cusp of something new, yet still trapped in the grip of grief. Neither of you ready to face the truth of what was brewing between you. But one thing was certain: something had changed, and no matter how hard you both tried to deny it, the feeling was becoming impossible to ignore.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The morning came too soon, dragging with it the weight of yesterday’s unspoken words. The quiet tension that had settled between you and Rafe the night before lingered, thickening the air in a way that made it hard to breathe. You barely slept, tossing and turning, your mind racing through the things you didn’t say, the things Rafe didn’t say. Everything was so… messy.

You were standing at the kitchen counter, preparing breakfast for Willa, trying to get into the rhythm of your routine, but your thoughts kept drifting to him. To what he had said. To what you felt in your chest.

Rafe walked into the kitchen, his eyes heavy, hair unkempt. It was clear he hadn’t slept much either, his posture stiff, like he was walking on eggshells. You exchanged a quick glance, and for a split second, you both seemed to be holding your breath, unsure of where to go from here.

“I’ll make coffee,” Rafe muttered, moving to the counter to prepare the pot, his back to you.

You nodded quietly, not sure if you should say something, if he even wanted you to. The silence between you both was so thick now, every word felt loaded. The air smelled of coffee brewing, the soft hum of the kettle, and the soft sound of Willa’s babbling from the living room. But it all felt so distant.

“You okay?” Rafe’s voice broke through your thoughts, quieter than usual.

You turned to face him, studying his expression. His usual walls were up again, that guarded look in his eyes that he wore so often when he was trying to hide something from the world. It made your chest ache, seeing him like this.

“I should be asking you that,” you said, trying to keep your tone light, but it came out softer than you intended. “You didn’t sleep either, huh?”

He glanced at you over his shoulder, giving you a tight smile. “No, not really.”

The silence returned, but this time, it felt a little more fragile, like something was about to break. You could feel the weight of the words hanging between you both, words that neither of you was ready to say aloud.

Willa’s giggle interrupted the quiet tension, and both of you turned at the sound. The sight of her, laughing and playing with her toys, was a small relief, a distraction from the heaviness that had crept in. But even as you watched her, something in your chest ached.

You cleared your throat, forcing your mind back into the present. “I should get Willa dressed, get her breakfast ready.”

Rafe nodded. “Yeah, I’ll take care of the coffee. You know she likes it when I make her pancakes.”

You smiled, a small, genuine smile that felt foreign after the events of the night before. “You’re spoiling her.”

Rafe’s lips curled into a smirk, his usual cocky edge slipping back into place. “Hey, she deserves it.”

There was a brief moment of normalcy—small talk, familiar routines—but it wasn’t the same. The dynamic between you both had shifted, and you weren’t sure how to navigate it.

You went to Willa’s room, finding her still in her pajamas, her little hands reaching for the toys scattered across the floor. You scooped her up, settling her in your arms as you began to change her, the soothing rhythm of dressing her bringing a sense of comfort amidst the storm inside your mind.

As you worked, your thoughts drifted again, back to the conversation with Rafe. What were you both doing? You had spent so much time trying to keep the lines clear between friendship and responsibility, but now those lines were blurry, tangled up in grief, responsibility, and something more. Something neither of you was ready to face.

When you returned to the kitchen with Willa, Rafe was already plating pancakes. Willa squealed, reaching for the stack with tiny hands, and Rafe chuckled softly, placing a plate in front of her. The warmth between the two of them was undeniable. It was moments like this that made everything worth it, didn’t it?

But still, that thing between you and Rafe hung in the air, like a thread waiting to unravel.

You sat down at the table, pushing your plate aside as Willa dug into her breakfast, messy syrup smudging her cheeks. Rafe joined you at the table, not looking at you directly, but you could feel his presence next to you, the space between you both full of the things left unsaid.

The silence was comfortable for now, but you knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

“Do you ever think about Sarah and John B., like, what they would want for her?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it. It felt like the right thing to say, like an opening to talk about the things neither of you were saying.

Rafe’s shoulders tensed for a moment, but he didn’t look away from Willa, watching her eat with intense focus. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice a little rough. “All the time. I think they’d be happy with how things are going. They’d be happy she’s with us.”

“I hope so,” you said quietly, your voice trailing off as you stared at Willa, wondering if she could ever really understand what had happened. What had been lost.

You cleared your throat, trying to change the subject. “I need to get to the store later. Willa’s almost out of diapers.”

Rafe nodded. “I can go with you. It’ll give us a chance to—well, you know, get out of the house for a bit. Take a break.”

You were about to respond when Willa’s giggle interrupted once again, drawing both your attention. She had managed to squirt syrup all over the table in her attempt to scoop up the pancake, making a mess. It was impossible not to laugh, and you both found yourselves chuckling together, momentarily breaking through the tension that had built up.

But even as you laughed, the realization hit you like a weight.

This was your new life now. The uncertainty, the grief, the joy, the overwhelming responsibility. And somewhere deep inside, you knew that things had changed—maybe forever. The question was, what would you both do with it?

You looked at Rafe again, at the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he cleaned up the mess Willa had made, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t quite so afraid of what would come next. You couldn’t ignore it forever, the pull between you both.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the streets as you and Rafe walked side by side into the local grocery store. Willa, snug in her stroller, was contentedly gnawing on a teething ring, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension between you and Rafe. The quiet hum of the air conditioning and the sound of shoppers milling around filled the otherwise tense silence.

You grabbed a basket, but as soon as you looked down, you realized you were already second-guessing the list in your head. Diapers. Milk. Fruit for smoothies. Frozen vegetables. Simple things. Yet your mind was so distracted that you had to pause for a second, mentally organizing what you needed.

Rafe pushed the stroller ahead, his hands gripping the handles firmly, his posture stiff, like he was trying to avoid looking at you too directly. You could feel the weight of the unspoken words between you both, like a heavy fog that neither of you had the courage to clear.

“Anything else we need?” Rafe’s voice broke through the quiet, a little sharper than usual.

You glanced at him, noting the way he was trying so hard to keep it together. You couldn’t blame him. The last few days had been full of emotional roller coasters, and now here you were, trying to navigate the mundane task of grocery shopping like everything was normal when everything wasn’t.

“I think that’s it,” you answered, trying to keep your tone light. “Unless you want anything special?”

Rafe shook his head. “No. Let’s just get through this and get back to the house.”

His words were clipped, and you bit back the urge to comment on his attitude. It had been like this for days now: distant, cold, like he was closing off any room for vulnerability. You wanted to reach out to him, to break through the wall he was building, but you didn’t know how.

You moved through the aisles, grabbing items on the list, each movement mechanical. The only sound between you was the soft rolling of the stroller as you passed the rows of canned goods and produce. Every now and then, you’d glance over at Rafe, trying to gauge his mood, but he kept his eyes ahead, focused on nothing in particular.

“Willa’s starting to get fussy,” you said after a few minutes, noticing her starting to squirm in the stroller.

Rafe nodded absently. “Yeah. Let’s get the last few things and head out.”

You grabbed the milk and some frozen meals, trying to focus on the task at hand. But every time you looked at Rafe, your chest tightened. It was so hard, pretending like nothing had changed between you. Pretending that everything was just as it had been. But the kiss... and everything that had followed after... it had changed something.

Before you could say anything else, Willa started fussing more, her soft cries filling the store. You turned to Rafe, a little frantic.

“I think she’s hungry.”

Rafe froze for a moment, then looked down at Willa, his face softening just slightly. He reached down, adjusting the straps on the stroller to give her a bit more space. “Alright, we can stop at the café on the way back. Get her something.”

You both moved toward the checkout lanes, the silence stretching on, but there was something different in Rafe’s eyes now. A flicker of softness, a crack in the wall he’d built. You tried not to notice, but it was hard to ignore.

Willa continued to fuss as they packed the groceries into bags. Rafe had that look again, like he was still processing something, but he didn’t say anything.

As you approached the counter, the cashier gave you a kind smile, scanning your items without a second thought. It was a stark contrast to the tension in your chest, but you forced a smile back, nodding at her as she packed up the last of your things.

Once the transaction was complete, Rafe took the bags without hesitation, moving toward the door. You followed behind, your mind a jumble of confusion and frustration. When you reached the car, you both stood for a moment, the groceries in the trunk, but no one moving.

You stood beside Rafe, looking down at your shoes, unsure of what to say next. The air between you felt charged, heavy with all the things you hadn’t said, the things you couldn’t say.

“You know,” Rafe started, breaking the silence, his voice quieter than before. “I don’t know how to... how to fix all this.”

You looked up at him, surprised.

“Fix what?” you asked, your voice small.

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. “Everything. I don’t know how to make this work. Us. This whole... situation.”

You stood there, the weight of his words sinking in, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, you finally said something that felt honest, raw.

“I don’t either,” you admitted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “But I don’t want to make things harder for you. Or Willa.”

Rafe met your eyes then, and for a moment, there was something in his gaze—something soft, almost vulnerable. “I know you’re doing your best. I know you’re here for her. For both of us.”

Your heart skipped at the sincerity in his voice, but it was quickly followed by a wave of confusion. Because part of you wanted to reach out, to tell him how you really felt, but you couldn’t shake the fear of what that might do to everything you had worked for. What it might do to Willa.

“I don’t want to mess this up, Rafe,” you whispered, looking at Willa, who was now calm and sucking on her pacifier in the backseat. “I don’t want to mess her up.”

He was quiet for a moment before he exhaled a slow breath. “I don’t think we will. We’ll figure it out... together.”

It wasn’t a promise, but it was enough. For now.

You both climbed into the car, driving back to the house in a silence that was more comfortable than before. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The house was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the occasional creak of the floorboards as you moved around the kitchen. Willa was napping peacefully, her little body curled up in the bassinet, oblivious to the tension that had been hanging in the air between you and Rafe.

You had just returned from the grocery store, and as you set the bags on the kitchen counter, you noticed Rafe standing in the doorway, watching you. His eyes were unreadable, but there was something different about the way he was looking at you—less guarded, more open.

“You need help with those?” Rafe asked, his voice quiet but steady.

You glanced up at him, surprised by his offer. Normally, he'd keep to himself, sticking to his routine without offering much assistance, but something had shifted. You nodded, handing him a couple of bags.

Together, you unloaded the groceries in silence, the rhythmic sound of cans and boxes hitting the counter the only noise between you. You both moved in tandem, a comfortable choreography born from living together for the past few months. But despite the ease of the task, the air felt thick with something unspoken.

Finally, Rafe broke the silence.

“You know,” he began, his voice hesitant but firm, “On the drive back, I’ve been thinking a lot about... everything. About us.”

You paused mid-task, glancing over at him. Your heart skipped a beat as you watched him struggle with the words, as though each one weighed a thousand pounds.

“I don’t want to make this harder than it already is,” he said, his voice low. “I know we’ve both got baggage... and... I’m not exactly the best at this whole thing. But I... I want to try, [Y/N]. I want to try with you. With this... with us.”

You froze, your hands stilling as you processed his words. The intensity in his gaze made your stomach flip, and for a moment, all you could hear was the beat of your own heart.

“I... don’t know what to say,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Rafe took a step closer, his presence commanding but not overwhelming. “I’m saying that I want something more. Something real. I don’t want to keep running from it. From this.”

You could feel the raw sincerity in his words, the vulnerability he rarely showed. It made your chest tighten, and for a moment, you wanted to reach out to him, to pull him closer. But the fear of what this could mean—what it could change—held you back.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” Rafe added quickly, as if he was afraid of pushing you too hard. “But I need you to know that I’m not gonna mess it up. Not this time. I’ve made plenty of mistakes, but I’m trying. I’m trying with you, with Willa... with everything.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling deep within you. Part of you wanted to argue, to tell him that it wasn’t that simple—that you couldn’t just forget the past. But another part of you was listening to him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. And maybe, just maybe, it was enough to believe him.

“I’m scared, Rafe,” you admitted, your voice shaky. “I’m scared of what this could mean. What if we mess it all up? What if—”

He cut you off, taking a step forward, his hand gently resting on your arm. “We won’t,” he said firmly. “We’ll take it slow. Together.”

For the first time in a long while, you felt the weight of your fears lighten, just a little. You looked at him, really looked at him—at the man who had been so closed off, the man who had fought to protect Willa, the man who had shown you a side of him you hadn’t known existed.

“I don’t want to be scared anymore,” you whispered, your hand reaching out to brush against his. “I don’t want to keep pretending that this doesn’t feel right.”

Rafe’s eyes softened, and he took your hand, his grip firm but gentle. “Then don’t,” he murmured. “Let’s stop pretending.”

You leaned into him, your heart racing as you closed the distance between you. The tension that had plagued the air for weeks finally began to dissipate, replaced by something warm and real.

“I’m here, [Y/N],” Rafe said softly, his breath warm against your forehead as he pressed a kiss there, tender and full of meaning. “I’m not going anywhere.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The kiss had started slow, tender, a quiet acknowledgment of everything you had both been holding back for so long. The kind of kiss that said more than words ever could. Rafe’s hand cupped your face, the warmth of his touch grounding you as you let go of all the fears and doubts that had kept you from this moment.

You kissed him back, more fiercely now, your body moving closer to his, as if you could erase all the distance that had once been between you. The connection between you was undeniable, electric, and suddenly the weight of everything else seemed to disappear—just for a moment, just for this time.

Rafe’s hands slid down your back, pulling you closer, and you let him, feeling the heat building between you. It felt natural, like it was always meant to be like this. And then, in a blur of desire and need, you were in his arms, his lips trailing along your neck as your hands tugged at his shirt, pulling him closer still.

But before you could lose yourself in the moment, a small, sudden cry from the other room sliced through the air, sharp and unrelenting.

“Willa...” you breathed, a pang of guilt washing over you as you pulled away from Rafe.

He froze too, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his expression conflicted as he glanced toward the door. “She... she’s probably just waking up,” he muttered, though the uncertainty in his voice was unmistakable.

Another cry, louder this time. It was followed by the sound of small hands hitting the sides of the bassinet, desperate and frantic. You both exchanged a brief look, the desire lingering in the space between you, but reality had already set in.

Rafe cursed softly under his breath and stood up, grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head in one swift motion. You quickly followed, adjusting yourself and standing as well, feeling the absence of him already, though you couldn’t ignore the ache in your chest.

“I’ll get her,” you said, your voice still breathless from the intensity of the moment. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you made your way to the nursery.

Rafe hesitated for just a moment, as if unsure of what to do, but then followed you. When you reached Willa’s room, she was indeed wide awake, her little face scrunched up in distress, her tiny hands reaching out for comfort.

“Hey, hey, Willa, it’s okay,” you cooed softly, lifting her from the bassinet and cradling her against your chest. “You’re alright, sweet girl. I’m here.”

Rafe lingered in the doorway, his gaze lingering on the two of you, and for a moment, it felt like everything was right. The warmth of the love you shared for Willa seemed to wrap around all three of you. But even in the quiet moments like this, the pull between you and Rafe was undeniable. The intimacy that had just been interrupted now hung heavily in the air, unanswered, unfinished.

“I think she’s just hungry,” you murmured, bouncing her lightly in your arms as you moved toward the small kitchen area. “I’ll feed her.”

Rafe nodded, his eyes still on you, though now there was a softness there. The tension between you had melted, but it hadn’t disappeared. It lingered, a silent promise between you both that things were about to change.

He walked up to you and gently brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch tender. “We’ll get back to that,” he said quietly, a playful yet earnest glint in his eyes.

You smiled, your heart racing in your chest, both from the emotions swirling inside you and the overwhelming sense of longing for more. You hadn’t expected any of this—hadn’t expected things to escalate so quickly, or for the intensity of your feelings to come flooding to the surface. But it felt right. In that moment, you knew it was just the beginning of something deeper.

“We will,” you promised, gazing at him with more certainty than you had in a long time.

And as Willa nursed in your arms, her cries now subsided into soft, contented suckles, you both stood together—quiet, connected, yet aware of the complicated path you still had ahead. But for now, it didn’t matter. In that fleeting moment, it was just the three of you.

© 2024 rafeskai | All rights reserved. This fanfiction is a work of fiction inspired by characters from Outer Banks, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[bat-mom-writer]

Impulses

Bruce Wayne(Husband) X Reader(Wife)

Summery: you can be very quick to act on your impulse, usually being done with a kind heart. But can sometimes lead to you and some others being hurt.

Note: Something tells me Bruce wouldn't go to therapy, but this isn't real so...

Rate: Loving Bruce, the very small almost of angst

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So, tell me Bruce, are you happily married?"

"Of course."

"Then why are you here?"

"Well," Bruce pauses, thinking over his words carefully, "it's not exactly that simple."

The therapist's office was quiet, the kind of silence that felt like it was holding its breath. Bruce Wayne sat in a chair that was a little too small for his broad shoulders, his eyes darting to the clock on the wall. It was a simple room, with a few plants scattered around and a faint scent of lavender in the air, but it was the last place he ever thought he'd be. He was a man who dealt with Gotham's problems from the shadows, not one who talked about his own in a well-lit space with a box of tissues within arm's reach.

"How so?" the therapist asked again, her voice gentle but firm, bringing Bruce back to the present.

He sighed. "Well, my wife… she's incredible. She's kind and she's the glue that holds our family together."

The therapist nodded, her expression neutral. "But?"

Bruce leaned back, rubbing his temples. "But she's… impulsive. She does things without considering the consequences, especially when it comes to the boys."

The therapist made a note in her pad. "Could you give me an example?"

Bruce sighed heavily, his mind racing with instances. "Once we went hiking, and she found a baby wolf, injured and alone. She insisted on bringing it back to the manor to care for it herself. Most of my sons thought it would be a great idea—until we realized it had a pack out there looking for it, and suddenly we had a bunch of very unhappy wolves on our backs."

The therapist looked up, raising an eyebrow. "I see. And how did that situation resolve?"

Bruce chuckled, a bit nervously. "Let's just say there were a lot of stitches involved. And I haven't heard anyone wanting to go camping again ever since."

The therapist's eyes widened, but she remained calm. "It seems she has a heart of gold, but maybe a bit of an overactive sense of adventure."

Bruce nodded. "Exactly. And it's not just with animals. She once tried to organize a surprise street carnival in the middle of Gotham because she thought the city needed more joy. You can imagine the chaos that ensued with all the traffic rerouting and permits she didn't bother to get."

The therapist's pen stopped mid-stroke. "Ah, so her intentions are good, but the execution could use some work."

Bruce nodded emphatically. "You have no idea. She's the love of my life, but sometimes I worry she's going to get us all into trouble. The boys look up to her, especially Dick and Damian."

The therapist leaned in slightly. "How do Dick and Damian react to her impulsive nature?"

"Dick tries to be the voice of reason, but he's young and still learning the ropes of being a responsible older brother. And Damian," Bruce sighed, "he's more like me—he's intrigued by the chaos she creates, but he's also the one who ends up getting hurt when things go awry."

The therapist nodded understandingly. "It's natural for children to look up to their parents, especially when they see the love and good intentions behind their actions. But it's also important for them to learn about boundaries and the potential consequences of impulsivity. How does your wife react when you bring this up with her?"

Bruce leaned forward, his expression a mix of affection and exasperation. "She's… well, she's stubborn. She sees the world as a place full of possibilities, and she wants to experience all of them. I get that, I do. But we can't live our lives on the edge like that, especially with the kind of enemies I've made over the years."

The therapist nodded, her gaze thoughtful. "It's a delicate balance, isn't it? Wanting to keep your family safe and also allowing them the freedom to live their lives fully. How have you been managing this?"

Bruce's smile grew a bit wistful. "Well, my wife is also the lively part of our lives. Without her, the manor would be just a fortress, not a home. She brings laughter and light to every room she enters. She's the one who convinced me to let Tim build a skateboard ramp in the garage, and even though it's a hazard to my cars, I can't help but smile when I hear them all out there, having fun."

The therapist nodded, understanding the complexity of the situation. "It sounds like you appreciate her spirit, but it's important to establish boundaries to ensure everyone's safety. Have you tried discussing the potential dangers with her?"

Bruce leaned back, his eyes drifting to the floor. "I've tried," he admitted. "But she's… she's like a tornado of love and enthusiasm. It's hard to say no to her."

The therapist nodded, her expression understanding. "It's clear you care deeply for her and the boys. Perhaps it's time to find a way to channel that enthusiasm into safer outlets."

"I know," Bruce said, running a hand through his hair. "But she's so… so alive. It's like trying to cage a butterfly."

The therapist nodded. "It's not about caging her, Bruce. It's about guiding her. Teaching her and the boys to weigh risks and rewards. To channel their energy into something positive without endangering themselves or others."

Bruce sat in silence, contemplating her words. He knew she was right, but it was easier said than done when it came to his vibrant wife. Her zest for life was both infectious and overwhelming at times. He thought back to the street carnival she had organized. The look of joy on the citizens' faces as they played games and ate cotton candy was something he hadn't seen in Gotham in a long time.

"There not all bad," he murmured, a small smile playing on his lips. "Her impulses have led to some amazing moments, too."

"Like what?" the therapist prompted, her curiosity piqued.

Bruce's smile grew as he recalled a recent incident. "Last week, she found out about a fundraising event for an underfunded children's hospital. Without asking, she decided to host a masquerade ball at the manor. She convinced Alfred to help, and together they transformed the place into a fairy tale. The kids had the time of their lives, and we ended up raising a fortune for those kids."

The therapist returned his smile. "That does sound wonderful. It seems her spontaneity has its benefits."

Bruce nodded. "It does. But it's also a double-edged sword. I want to support her, but I also need to keep everyone safe."

The therapist leaned back in her chair. "Communication is key, Bruce. It's about expressing your concerns without squashing her spirit. Have you tried talking to her about how her impulsiveness affects you?"

Bruce sighed, his eyes reflecting the weight of his words. "I've tried, but she takes it personally. She thinks I'm trying to control her."

The therapist nodded, her expression empathetic. "It's a common misconception. Setting boundaries isn't about control; it's about care and safety. Have you framed it that way?"

Bruce furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure. I've usually approached it from the perspective of the danger it could pose to the boys."

"It's important to express your feelings," the therapist said. "Tell her how her actions affect you and why you worry. It might help her understand your perspective better."

Bruce nodded slowly, considering her advice. It was true; he hadn't shared his own fears with her, only the potential risks to the boys. Perhaps that was where he was going wrong.

"Thank you, doctor," he said, rising from his chair. "I'll think about what you've said."

The therapist stood and offered a warm smile. "Remember, Bruce, it's about balance. And sometimes, that means taking a risk to find it."

Bruce nodded, her words echoing in his mind as he left the office and stepped into the Gotham night. The city was alive with the pulse of its inhabitants, a stark contrast to the calmness he'd just left behind. His thoughts were racing, trying to find a way to bridge the gap between his need for security and his wife's boundless spirit.

As he drove back to Wayne Manor, the grandeur of the estate came into view, the gothic architecture a stark contrast to the chaos of the city beyond its gates. The manor was more than just a home; it was a bastion of hope in a city that desperately needed it. The lights were on in the windows, a warm glow that promised sanctuary from the cold outside.

When he walked in, the smell of freshly baked cookies filled the air. You was in the kitchen, humming to yourself as you pulled a tray out of the oven. You turned to him, your face lighting up with a smile that never failed to melt his heart. "Hi, honey! How was your day?"

Bruce took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation he knew he had to have. "It was… interesting," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "How about yours?"

"Oh, you know," you replied with a shrug, placing the cookies on a rack to cool. "Just the usual—keeping the boys out of trouble, planning the next big surprise for them." you winked at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Bruce felt a twinge of both fondness and dread. He knew that look all too well. It was the look you got when she had another harebrained scheme up your sleeve. He walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into an embrace. "How about we talk about these surprises together from now on?"

You tilted your head back, your smile fading a bit. "What do you mean?"

Bruce took a deep breath. "I mean, I know you love surprising the boys, and I love that about you. But sometimes, your surprises have… unintended consequences. I want to be there to support you, but I also need to make sure everyone is safe."

You leaned back, looking up at him with a slightly defensive expression. "Not all of my surprises turn out bad," you said, your voice a bit softer than before.

Bruce felt his heart squeeze at the sight of you, flour smudged on your cheek and apron, looking so earnest. He gave a tight smile, trying to ease the tension. But his face was screaming, "Are you sure?"

You took a step back, "Okay, okay, maybe most of them," you conceded. "But the good ones make up for it, right?"

Bruce sighed, his arms dropping to his sides. "They do," he agreed. "But it's the potential for danger that I can't ignore. And not just for the boys, but for you too."

You rolled your eyes, brushing off the flour on your apron. "Me? I'm fine. I can handle myself."

Bruce's grip on your shoulders tightened slightly. "You know what I mean," he said, his voice serious. "How many times have you ended up in the hospital because of one of your… adventures?"

You winced, remembering the last time you had tried to rescue a cat stuck in a tree, only to end up with a broken arm and a bruised ego. "Okay, okay," you repeated, holding up your hands in surrender. "I get it. I can be a bit… much."

Bruce's expression softened, his eyes searching yours. "You're not 'much', you're amazing. I just don't want to lose you."

You took a deep breath, the weight of his words settling in. "I know," you said, your voice small. "But what about you? You're not much different, Bruce. Maybe even worse. You go out every night as Batman, risking your life."

He stepped back, his expression unreadable. "That's different," he said firmly. "That's for the city."

"Is it?" you asked, looking up at him with a hint of challenge in your eyes. "Or is it because you've convinced yourself that it's your duty? That you're the only one who can do it?"

Bruce's jaw tightened at your question. It was a fair point, one he'd wrestled with in the quiet moments of his life. He knew that his crusade as Batman was driven by his own fears and the need to keep the city that had taken his parents safe. But he also knew that the stakes were higher for him than they were for you.

"I've been trained for that," he said finally. "You… you have the biggest heart in the world, but sometimes you don't think about the risks."

You nodded, looking down at the cookies cooling on the rack. "I know," you murmured. "But it's just so hard to resist when I see something that could bring joy to people, especially the boys."

Bruce stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on your cheek. "I know your heart's in the right place," he said. "But we can't keep playing Russian roulette with our lives, not when we have so much to lose. I don't want to lose you. Or see you get hurt. I'm just asking, please, consider the risks before you act. And come to me, talk to me, let's find a way to make this work."

You searched his eyes, the gravity of his words sinking in. You knew he wasn't trying to stifle you; he was just worried. "Okay," you whispered, leaning into his touch. "I'll try."

Bruce's expression relaxed a bit, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Thank you," he said softly. "Now, how about we sit down and talk about what's been on your mind? Maybe we can come up with some ideas together."

You nodded, swiping a strand of hair from your forehead. "Alright, I'll finish up on the cookies and then we can talk. Until then, want to help? Just to make sure I don't hurt myself?"

Bruce couldn't help but chuckle at your attempt to lighten the mood. "Sure," he said, taking the spatula from your hand. "Let's do this together."

As you both worked side by side in the kitchen, the tension began to ease. You chatted about the different flavors of cookies and which ones the boys would like best, while Bruce carefully placed the finished ones on a plate. The rhythm of your conversation was soothing, and it reminded him of the first time he had met you—how your laugh had filled a room and made him feel alive again.

[klausysworld]

Left But Never Forgotten

Upon the Mikaelson's return to New Orleans, they each had their worries. Klaus was focused on his pregnant werewolf and the deep rooted need to be a king. Rebekah desperately wanted her past lover, Marcel back but also felt the need to protect her niece to be. Elijah was supposed to be concentrating on his brother and Hayley as they expected their child, or the mess that the divided factions of supernaturals in New Orleans was but instead, he was thinking of her.

Y/N.

He hadn't seen her since leaving New Orleans a hundred years ago. She and Marcel had been presumed dead, nothing had prepared him for seeing her face again.

Feeling her palm cup his cheek and her thumb stroking the prickle of stubble left on his skin. She was so similar and yet so different to the last time. Before she had been a princess, now she was a Queen.

Even when the Mikaelson's moved into the abattoir and his room was just beside hers, she still felt too far away.

Elijah felt as if he were just watching her life go by without him, it made him sick. He lacked the usual hunger of a vampire, the need to kill or hurt. He lost his passion to protect and guide.

He just wanted her.

Everyone knew that, except her.

Nobody understood the pain she and Marcel went through. They waited day in and day out for their family to come home, to tell them that it was okay and that Mikael wouldn't torture them again, that their nightmares weren't real and they were safe. They rebuilt the city brick by brick, cleaning away the ashes left behind but they still didn't come back. So they moved on. They worked together and they got stronger and they earned their power and their places and then they finally came back and just took it from them like it was nothing.

And Elijah had barely said five words to her.

He just stared, but whenever his lips parted no words would leave him. Elijah didn't realise she took that as something else. But for Y/N, she had been hoping to hear his voice for a century, crying for him in her sleep and now he was here and she felt like he didn't even care enough to talk to her.

She could have thought he didn't care at all if it weren't for the way he looked at her. The look of love in those deep eyes of his. That same look she used to see each morning and night.

Y/N wanted him to know that she still wanted him to look at her like that, she still wanted him like that.

So she tried to show him. A lingering touch hear or there, just on his arm or his shoulder. Or she'd bring him a cup of tea the way he used to like it, ask him about the literature he was reading most currently but he could barely get five words out.

So she tried not to focus on words, instead she gave him a kiss and hoped it was enough. It was.

Elijah hadn't exactly been expecting her to suddenly grab his face and push her lips against his but most definitely wasn't complaining.

Both hands lifted and cupped her face like all those times years ago, kissing her deeply like he'd craved to for so long. He needed her hands in his hair, to ruin the perfect facade he'd been wearing.

His tie was clutched into her palm and tugged gently, leading him with her to his room. He followed her mindlessly onto his bed, crawling over her and keeping his tongue with hers.

The desperation was so strong.

Elijah could feel the fabric of his tie slip from his neck. The buttons on his shirt slowly revealing more and more of his chest, he wanted to rip the clothes from her body but he couldn't stop holding her beautiful face.

It was when his belt was unclasped that he finally pulled away, looking down at her with lust blown pupils. His eyes swirled with that darkness that she enjoyed, her fingers traced the veins beneath his eyes before her thumb slid over his fang.

"I really missed you." She confessed to him and he softened, his hands finally dropping to her hips to pull her close.

"I missed you too, every day." He uttered, eyes flicking between both of hers.

"But you never came back..." She whispered and he looked down.

"I thought you were gone...I saw you, you looked...you didn't look alive. I couldn't bare coming back to the place that did that to you. I couldn't stand the memory of your body strung up like that." He told her shakily, his hands desperate to keep her with him this time.

"Marcel and I had to rip ourselves free of those nails, Elijah. I could hear you, you would have ran whether I was alive or not-"

"Don't you ever think that." He whispered, his hold tight now, both arms round her waist and her body in his lap. "I would never knowingly leave you for dead." He promised.

Her body rest against him, her face against his broad chest and warming his cold skin.

"I love you, Y/N. I loved you from the second I laid eyes on you." He murmured, lips kissing her shoulder gently after. "You mean more to me than anything. You're family."

"Don't lie to me, Elijah. I know I'll never be your family, I don't think anybody can truly become a Mikaelson. Hayley's the closest anyone can get and that's because she had Klaus's baby and we both know I can't give you a child." She practically whimpered.

Elijah just looked at her for a short while, guilt in his gaze. He could remember when she was human, when she didn't yet know he was vampire. She wanted them to have three children, when she found out he couldn't she thought maybe there could be a spell, there was still hope. However when she turned too, she knew that it was a useless thought and gave up altogether.

They had considered adoption but Y/N worried that if the child wasn't biologically a Mikaelson that they wouldn't truly love or protect the child. Not any of the Mikaelsons.

Of course she'd never verbally expressed that fear but Elijah could tell. Knowing that Klaus could procreate and he couldn't was difficult for him, just like he knew it was difficult for Rebekah knowing her brother could have a baby but she also couldn't.

But seeing Y/N hurt by it too was an extra hit to his heart.

After all these years, he still dreamt of their family. He'd be a much better father than Mikael, and she'd be a much better mother than Esther.

"It's not you who can't give me a child, Y/N." He murmured. "It's me, my fault. You can't blame yourself, I turned you and I took that possibility away but it will not ever change how I feel for you. You are my family, I'd carry you with me for eternity."

It was just difficult to believe with how that family behaved towards outsiders.

"Okay." Y/N whispered, it was clear she was only relenting to try not form an argument and Elijah wanted to be more reassuring but he knew it would only escalate things.

His hand reached to touch hers, hold hers.

"Allow me to court you again." He murmured, wanting to show her their potential again but she laughed softly and shook her head.

"I don't want us back at square one. I want it to be how it was before." She told him, smiling softly. It warmed him.

"I'd like that." He nodded, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. "But I still want it to be special, I haven't been able to cherish you for so long now."

"I suppose I won't stop you from a gift or two." She teased and he hummed.

She looked back down at his bare chest and sighed, she'd missed this.

He pulled her back to his chest, coddling her to him and stroking her back lovingly.

The skin to skin wasn't something Elijah experienced often, he only allowed it when he truly loved someone. His mind and body craved it.

Y/N knew how deprived he was right from childhood. So, just like she used to, she pulled her shirt from her body and let the skin of her upper body lay against his.

"You know that I love you?" He whispered and she nodded.

"I just wish you'd talk to me more, I can't be with you if you can't even hold a normal conversation with me Elijah..."

"I know, my sweet. I was just so struck when I saw you and I feared that you could have moved on...with Marcel." He hesitated and she scoffed.

"Oh? And after he was making out with Rebekah? That didn't clue you in, no?" She teased and he looked down with an embarrassed smile.

"I was shy I suppose." He admitted and she smiled.

"You used to be shy all the time." She whispered, stroking his hand and leaning up to kiss the corner of his lips like she used to.

He leaned forward and leant his forehead against hers, a warm smile on his face.

"I'm so glad you're here."

"So am I."

[mirrorcatcreditcard]

Take I haven't seen in the fandom yet:

Luka doesn't want to be freed.

"Now, MirrorCatCreditcard," you may say, "that's nonsense. Any human would want freedom from that system."

If you're thinking I'm gonna convince you that Luka doesn't know he wants freedom yet, you're wrong. I'm here to talk about indoctrination/conditioning, grooming/emotional manipulation, my own experience with those topics, and how all of the above connects with Luka as a character. If a deep dive like this is too much for you, please tap out for your own sake.

Luka's life was planned before he even existed. There has never ever been an alternative option. There is no life for Luka as anything but what Herperu chose. Everything in his life has been planned to have him be the perfect pet human idol. That is what he must be.

Fandom, I don't think most of you actually understand this and have dissected what this means (shout-out to the Luka stans who are getting there/have guessed similar things). These words we know have alternatives and are not set in stone are Luka's "gravity makes rain fall to the earth" and "water makes things wet." They are facts so deeply ingrained within him that even if shown the contrary he remarks that the person showing them is just disillusioned.

Take his commentary on Mizi and Hyun-A in the art book. He looks down on Mizi for not being able to control any of her emotions. How does he talk about Hyun-A? He has her at 70% affection yet shows a patronizing attitude—she's the one in denial at reality.

Now, how did we get here? How is a human so "delusional" and set in the control?

He's been conditioned.

Some of you don't know what I mean by this from experience and/or research, and count yourself fortunate that you don't. I pray you never experience such things firsthand. Don't worry about ignorance. Familiar or not, I will explain.

When you are surrounded by only one truth and reality, that is the way you interpret life. If a parent tells a child "the moon goes to sleep during the day," until the child learns otherwise, that's what they believe. Now take that child-like belief and add some toxic environments to the mix. With time, any other kid would learn that the earth rotates from their peers or adults around them. But if the creatures around them all say and believe the same thing "the moon goes to sleep during the day," then that is what the child continues to believe. Years of that same thing being the only truth make that false knowledge into a fact in the person's head, and everything that supports that fact is taken as truth or on the right path to truth.

"This is kinda silly though," you guys are no doubt murmuring, "All of this is a hypothetical. Give us something that makes sense or that someone could actually see happen in our society."

I'll give you my own experience then. My parents taught me that God is real. My parents taught me that I will be damned I do not follow the commandments of the scriptures. I didn't need to worry though. As long as I was obedient to the God who loved me and wanted what was best, I would be saved despite being born an awful sinful human. I was homeschooled, only interacted with people of similar beliefs, and taught that people too different from me in ideology or with radical beliefs against my own were trying to harm me and my family. I believed the people who raised me because why would people who love me lie to me? My task was simple. I needed to obey God and love everyone, especially them. Love meant giving up my entire being and living only as servant and sacrifice. After all, being selfless to the utmost was the greatest form of love.

Let's go back to Luka. His guardian, Herperu, when questioned about any surprises while training Luka, stated not only that he was the one who endured the "tough moments" but also that "(Luka) owes his success to me, and naturally, he should be grateful." This sentiment is echoed by Luka in his interview (shown on Patreon). My god, it's giving parents with disabled kids who brag on social media about how much trouble their kid is and how much they do for them. Sickening. This shows exactly what environment Luka has lived in though.

When you are manipulated into having something as your reality, everything else is fiction and delusion.

Let's review what exactly is Luka's reality.

Heperu is the one suffering if Luka has any difficulties being obedient.

Gratitude is what Herperu is owed because he goes through so much trouble to make Luka a star.

Love/care is shown by owning another's autonomy.

Emotions and bodily reactions exist, sure, but someone should be able to control them; and if they can't, someone should control those reactions for them.

Segyein are superior and the good ones for dealing with humans. Humans must be disciplined and shaped to how an segyein wants it to act to be considered deserving of this goodness.

(Luka)'s perfection is defined by his guardian.

Luka's life is directly connected to being the perfect performer. His guardian praises his abilities with the statement that no other pet human will ever be as perfect as him yet leaves an underlying threat saying that it will be no good if a pet is not trained properly. This has probably been mentally (if not physically) beaten into Luka's mind: his greatness doesn't stop him from being able to be disposed of. The human instinct to want to live has been explained to him as Heperu's wish for him to live and that has been further distorted as a duty to live for the stage he has been placed on.

Luka believes fully that there is a debt in play here. In his interview, he mentions repaying love. He thinks the relationship between fan and idol is completely normal, encouraged, and healthy. Performance is the most important thing. Being where he is is a privilege.

There's a chain here:

Heperu indoctrinated Luka into believing what he says is all true.

The guardian manipulated him easily to do what he wanted with his body and mind.

The years have been spent constantly conditioning Luka to be the god who encapsulated fantasies for the audience.

He is continually being groomed to exist for the entertainment and enjoyment of segyein.

Circle back to my first point of this post. Luka does not want to be freed. He doesn't know what freedom actually is. He sees freedom as either foolish denials of reality (and doesn't consider that actual freedom) or as controlling the song and stage when he performs (something he learned from Hyuna). He cannot want something he cannot understand. He cannot want freedom in the sense the fandom keeps speaking about.

It's funny. From the moment Luka was revealed to be hated by the fandom, I wanted to know why. Instead of digging and finding horrific deeds, I instead found a character who portrayed my own traumas and experiences. I instantly attached and delved deeply into learning about this thirty year old singer. Why does he express himself in a certain way? Where do we first see mention of him? Who does he have emotions towards? How was he trained? What makes Luka himself? I have past essays/replies to other's theories if you're interested, but in this one I got personal and didn't sugarcoat the facts. If the fandom can't handle deep thought, we shouldn't be discussing this incredibly profound and depth-filled web series.

As always, thank you for your time, and I hope my thoughts allowed you to open your mind to new things. Mostly, I hope you enjoyed them 🫶

[spacecatdraws]

oh. this is interesting…

random personal lore drop below

(tldr: I don’t believe I can be a real system but I’m sure as hell not normal)

TW: (minor mentions) gvns, r@p3, d34th, (major mention) su1c1d3

I called myself endogenic because I don’t qualify as traumatized.

let me explain.

I’ve had anxiety, depression, ADHD, and other unidentified issues for my whole life. I roleplayed because it was my escape, life made me want to stop living so why would I stay there? When I was writing or drawing I was those characters, buried in their minds, filling in their bodies, but something would pull me back to reality and I’d feel it crumble. Some characters stayed longer than others. Slowly, I found out they weren’t character’s I had just made up; they were my theriotypes. I left it at that, that I was just a polytherian. But I’m not my types. I share a body with them. I have conversations with them, they care about me, we cuddle as best we can when there’s only one body to share. I love my parents. I love my friends. But life has always been terrifying to me. Sometimes things I’d never experienced would make me cry and hyperventilate. Gunshots make me freeze up and stop breathing. Mentions of sexual assault, of rape, of murder make me want to throw up and cry. Child abuse and childloss make me vengeful like I have nothing but rage. Labels and rules make me sick and dizzy. Poisoning and sickness make me feel like I’m drowning in them. I can’t recognize myself sometimes. My body isn’t mine. I always assumed I was just an odd therian. i learned about systems, and they described the things happening in my head. Some days I tie the door to my room shut because I want to starve and die and crumble so badly. But I always said to myself “my family and friends are fine, so I can’t be traumatized. It’s all in my head, and I’m a failure and a faker for ever thinking that I could be anything else. I’m just being a poser and hurting these people who have been through so much worse.” I believed so deeply that my issues were insignificant and that I didn’t have nearly enough mental problems to be a true system. I said to myself “I don’t have trauma. So I can’t be a DID system. But system is so comforting of a label, so I must be endogenic, and therefore I shouldn’t talk to anyone about my issues because I will just be taking away from people who truly are traumatized.” I never felt like I belonged in supporting spaces because I never got raped or shot or manipulated by my family or friends, even though those things dragged flashbacks from lives I never had, memories from the others in my body. My parents loved me, and my friends cared about me, so I wasn’t traumatized. I have no trauma, so I didn’t deserve to be in those spaces.

There are six of us. The host tries their best to take care of us, but takes out their emotions through cutting and starving themself. This isn’t my body. These aren’t my parents. I can tell these people care, but they’re not mine. I can’t remember what I did for most of the day. It’s all just fog. Fog and static.

If all endos are fake and posers, then I must be one too. Even though I hear my packmates, the others in this body, I love them so dearly, and I can feel their limbs and the memories are so strong it hurts me physically.

I can’t be truly traumatized, right? Not if my family was good.

Not if my friends were nice.

Even though this world makes me want to hang myself…

I don’t count as traumatized enough to be a true system.

I am nothing but a fraud.

ENDO LORE?????!????

[saras-almanac]

So I’ve been sitting on my feelings about the BuckTommy breakup and handling of it for a while, trying to get my thoughts in order. And after a while of thinking on it—and the recent Lou interview dropping making me feel like my feelings are valid—kind of made me want to just blurt them all out and hope for the best. So this is that.

Ultimately the entire handling of the BuckTommy breakup feels cruel. And not just cruel in an intentional way, but cruel in a casually, not even given any thought cruelty, which is worse sometimes. And to be honest, I think that’s part of why I’ve been struggling with it so much. (That and the echoes of Magicians season 4, which if you know you know).

What I mean by cruelty is just the lack of any real effort or care put into this storyline, one that they had previously been handled with so much care and concern and were praised (rightly so) for at the time. It’s the way they introduce this Tommy as Abby’s ex thing, which makes hardly any sense at all, but also feels cruel in the intention of laughing at the invisible string of fate theory between them. It’s they way that they’re 6 months anniversary and not only have they not talked about this, but Buck (Evan Buckley) didn’t get him a gift that feels cruel because that feels so wildly out of character for him. It’s the way they had the break up play into some bisexual stereotypes at best and inherently biphobic at worst by having Maddie suggest Abby turned him gay or that Buck needs to “explore” things to figure out what he wants or that Buck “Doesn’t know what pond to jump back into” of it all. (Not to mention the comments from OS about wanting Buck to fuck—which I’m not getting into because I didn’t read it and as a bisexual woman, don’t feel the need to go and try to find something that might upset me more.)

All those reasons are why the breakup itself is cruel to the characters, but it’s also cruel to those of us watching, and especially to anyone and everyone who loved and/or related to the character of Tommy, who we see walk away much much worse off than when we found him. It’s the way the story (intentionally or not) is framing it like a romcom break up – make up – pining storyline which they apparently are not doing according to interviews. It’s the way they didn’t give any sort of closure to Tommy for the character or for the audience.

There’s a reason that people lose themselves in stories—it’s because they follow certain rules and contracts. It’s expected that stories do not match up to real life because while things don’t have bigger meanings in life or they don’t work out according to plan, in stories, everything happens for a reason. Because that’s the whole point of what you’re consuming. And along with that, emotional moments are meant to feel cathartic in a way, at least eventually, because you were able to see the bigger picture, to feel the finality to things, and to really understand what’s being said and what’s happening. This breakup does none of that and actually seems to have been included and rushed for shock value and that to me, is just shitty, lazy writing.

If you were going to break them up and have no desire for any sort of reunion or closure, why not make it intentional? Tommy could be the one who wants marriage and kids and settling down and Buck internally freaks out because theoretically he wants that but maybe it’s too soon and as much as Tommy loves Buck, he’s not going to wait around and hope that Buck feels the same for him because he’s been hurt too many times like that. Or Tommy could be leaving for another state because he’s no longer going to be a firefighter or needs to go for family reasons or gets a job at a different station that he applied for ages ago and he has everything all set up and isn’t going to ask Buck to leave his entire life for Tommy, so they decide to breakup even if it hurts both of them. In either of those cases, it’s sad and devastating, but at least there would be some closure to it and understanding of it for both the characters and the audience and some peace knowing that at least these two are going to be moving toward happiness in whatever way that means for them.

Instead, what we have, is a hail-mary last-second breakup that comes out of nowhere and feels abrupt and crappy in the way we leave Tommy specifically because we might never see him again. And that is the crux of the issue. Because the way this was written, the understanding is that they are going to get back together or reunion or at least have that final closure conversation—because that’s what happens in stories. We see this type of surprise breakups, breakups where they issue is they love each other too much and are afraid to go further (Athena/Bobby and Maddie/Chimney to name two examples we saw in universe) only to eventually fight to be together and realize that if they don’t take a chance they might never know how amazing it is. So the fact that it’s set up to follow this same path while nearly every interview is telling the opposite, again demonstrates that casual cruelty as well as an inherent failure on the writing. If you have to go in interview and explain what it is you wrote or are telling, then you have failed as a writer. It’s really as simple as that.

This breakup doesn’t feel set up or foreshadowed, it just feels like they added it on because they didn’t want to do anything more with it? And that feels incredibly crappy as a decision to so many people who related to Buck and Tommy and them coming out later in life and all those other things. I’m rambling and on my phone and feeling a lot of things that I can’t fully express right now, but the long and short of it: If this was always intended to be the final time we see Tommy, this breakup is even crueler than intended.

[kingdomaddiction]

So what if when SQH arrived to PIDW he was fragmented into three different people?

1. He wakes up after he thinks is the end. He’s a young, beautiful woman. And apparently she’s a cultivator? Su Xiyan, they call her. She realizes she’s in her damn story playing the role of a character that’s meant to die. She hates it and tries really hard to change history but it’s useless. No matter how hard she tries she can’t get the palace master off her ass. Really, that dude is a creep.

She tries to run away but here’s something invisible keeping her there, spoiling all of her plans. It’s infuriating. So, she decides just not to play along. Ignore the plot.

Suddenly she meets a demon. They fall in love and it’s inevitable.

It’s doom. She knows what will happen to her, to him (her silly, lovely demon Lord, it’s hard not to love him— she never stood a chance), to her unborn child.

She cries and begs and screams but she’s imprisoned. Punished for loving the “wrong” man.

It’s hard to remember but she manages to scape. Her last memories are Luo Binghe’s cries. It’s cold, oh so cold, and she hates herself for writing something so sad and depressing.

2. He’s a child again. Not sure how that’s possible, but he’s living and breathing. Shang Lei is pretty sure he died in a very pathetic and pitiful way.

For a long time he thinks it’s just a dream. But the hunger and pain feel real.

Shang Lei finds out he’s living in the PIDW universe when a cultivator visits the town talking about the recruitment for Cang Qiong Sect. He wants to laugh and cry and run the other way but then a blue screen pops up scaring the shit out of him.

A system, he has a system. Now he understands this second life is not for him to enjoy, but to fix his own story (excuse you??? Fix???).

He’s forced to join the sect, to join An Ding, and it takes an embarrassing amount of time to realice he’s Shang Qinghua, the cannon fodder.

It’s depressing and anxiety inducing but he has no other option but to obey the cruel system.

He meets Mobei and he swears it’s love at first sight. Obviously he promises to follow him forever —the system intervention is not needed.

Years passes, he becomes head disciple. It’s hard, unpleasant work. He hates it with all his gut. But the system needs him to be a Peak Lord, so Shang Lei becomes Shang Qinghua.

He’s nervous, Binghe’s birth is near. He knows it, he has been keeping track.

And one day… it happens.

His head feels like it’s been split open. He screams and everything turns black.

When he wakes up he’s at Qian Cao infirmary. Mu Qingfang is trying to talk to him, her?, but he’s overwhelmed by the memories flashing in front of him.

It hurst so much, physically and emotionally.

The system is apologizing to him (a first, really,) talking about a glitch and diving his soul. Qinghua is not listening, he can barely breathe. All he can think of is his baby and her darling husband now imprisoned under a mountain.

Before he can think of running of there and look for Luo Binghe (he’s just baby— he needs me! ) the system warns him.

He’s not allowed to find him. He’s not allowed to save him.

Mu Qingfang witnesses the worst second case of Qi deviation he has ever seen in his life.

3.

He wakes up. She’s a woman, an old woman. Her body hurts from hunger, cold, and age.

It must be a dream, she thinks. But when she wakes up the next day, and the next, and she’s here. Shang Lei has to accept his reality.

He died, and instead of just… dissolving or some shit, now he’s an old woman (really, what the fuck?) with no name, no family, and no money in a xianxia universe.

It’s shitty, really shitty.

She tries to… adjust. It’s not easy and the people of this town is extremely cruel. She still manages to find a job as a washerwoman. It’s hard on her because of her age and the seemingly eternal cold of this cursed town, but it gives her enough to buy food so she tries not to complain much.

The loneliness is the issue. Sometimes is too much to handle. She cries and begs the gods to send her someone, anyone, just to stop feeling so lonely.

And then it happens.

A cold morning, a river, a child.

She jumps into the water ignoring the freezing temperature and fights against the current. She almost drowns but it’s worth it. Because now she’s holding in her arms the most beautiful and adorable baby boy she has ever seen in her life.

Her heart feels so full. A child, her child.

There’s no doubt in her heart. This child is hers.

“Luo Binghe,” she says and laughs. It’s silly, her own little private joke to name her child like her protagonist, but isn’t it a nice coincidence?

He, like her protagonist, was floating down the river in the coldest day of the year and was found by a washerwoman.

A washerwoman just like her.

A washwoman…

A baby…

A river…

.

.

.

Huh.

… no matter, she raises Binghe. He’s such a polite, lovely child. Her perfect little gentleman. She tries to teach him about love and kindness, even when the townspeople are cruel and mean Binghe needs to be good!

He’s so smart and grows so fast it makes her proud. But she’s afraid, she can feel her body becoming weaker and weaker with each passing day.

It’s just her and Binghe, no one else. If she dies he’ll be alone.

Her sweet boy tries to help, and when she inevitably falls ill he works hard to put food on the table for both of them.

Sometimes he arrives dirty, his eyes filled with tears and bruises on his face. He always gives her a warm, big smile when he sees her and her heart aches.

Her time is coming, she knows. And she begs him to be good, to be kind even when it’s pointless. She no longer tries to deny it, Shang Lei is aware in which universe they are living.

The last thing she sees are the eyes of her beautiful child filled with tears begging her not to leave him.

4. SQH wakes up in QC again. He’s numb and Mu-shidi looks alarmed, he seems discussing his state with the sect leader (what is he doing here?)

The memories of Luo Binghe’s mother, his/hers, fills him with both warmth and sadness.

She raised him, she managed to raise her son. Even if she didn’t know she birthed him, she loved Luo Binghe as her own and did her best to give him a home.

But now he’s alone… and Shang Qinghua can’t reach him. Because the system is stopping him, threatening to hurt him or his son if he dares not to follow the script.

It’s so unfair and twisted, he wants to cry. But he can’t fight so he’s forced to watch his son grow from far away… Abused, beaten, and punished.

He despises SQQ and plans on killing him. But then he has a Qi deviation so strong his whole personality changes and suddenly his son is finally treated with respect and love and Binghe seems to adore his new Shizun (maybe a little too much??? Young man! That man is way too old for you!!!!)

Life is good, for a while.

Binghe is thrown into the abyss, he finds out SQQ is a transmigrator (but unlike him he wasn’t split), they form and alliance and so much shit happens that his story is no longer his.

It’s different, good. Binghe is happy, his old lover is free (still as handsome as the day they met), Mobei has promised to threat him better (i love you, do you love me, my king?) and he has no system to worry about anymore.

… But he stares at Binghe sometimes. Yearning for him. To hold him and kiss his forehead and she used to do when he was a child.

Unfortunately it’s not possible. Binghe hates him (please I beg you, the system forced me, —) and sees him as nothing more than a rat.

He tries his best to pretend it doesn’t hurt, but whenever LBG insults him he locks himself up in his rooms and cries. He could tell him the truth since the system seems to be gone but Shang Qinhua is paralyzed with fear. He knows he wont be able to survive Binghe’s rejection. So, SQH lowers his head and takes it no matter how vicious Binghe’s comments get when his cucumber-bro is not around.

.

// ran out of ideas—

I haven’t decided how but ???? Maybe one day SQH talks with Tianlang-Jun and the demon is reminded of a beautiful cultivator of his past and is instantly captivated. He follows him around much to Mobei and all the other demons dismay. It makes Binghe uncomfortable because that man is his father, why is acting like with SQH of all people?

(Mobei and Tianlang-jun fighting for SQH’s attention— him earning a reputation for having the former emperor and the second strongest demon in all the realm after him. SQH remains oblivious to it, thinking they are just being nice)

(SQQ: airplane this is so fucking dumb what kind of extras are these????)

(Binghe gets… suspicious. Tries to get closer to SQH to investigate— is this a plot to usurp the throne? What’s so special about him?

SQH is just glad his son is paying positive attention to him! No insults, no mean comments! Is he doing something right? He wont question it—

• SQQ jealous shenanigans.

• SQH slipping and using his other life knowledge to spoil LBG.

LBG: ????? Wtf???? How does he know i like this? Why— how? Is he stalking me?

SQH: I made this dish for Jungshang—

//tastes just like his mother’s cooking.//

LBG: *cries*

• TLJ and MBJ temporary truce. They can’t lose SQH to LBG.

• SQQ still losing his shit: wtf you hack author this is my husband!

• SQH and Binghe bonding, very wholesome, very cutesy. Binghe is really conflicted but this… it feels familiar. And… Shang-shishu smells like his mother???? Oh, he’s crying again.

Yeah, that the idea I hve so far idk feel free to use it or add anything I’ll go have breakfast now 👍🏽

[phthalomushroom]

The Family (7)

pairings: modern!mafia!aemondxreader

summary: You had left Kings Landing and the Targaryen family four years ago. Now back and living with your old roommate you realize that the life you had thought you escaped had seemingly been waiting for you. But will the family really let you go? Will the people you left behind forgive you? Can you forget the past and look to the future?

warnings: language, mentions of trauma, shooting, gunfight, injury, angst

word count: 1.2k

note: hi all, apologies for not posting for a bit, life got crazy and I low-key got the ick... as well as writers block... but I will persevere. Enjoy this chapter I will do my best to get back to weekly posts!

You couldn’t get those boxes out of your head. All the baby toys, the clothes, the crib. It was the only thing you could see as you stared at the dark wall across from where you sat on the bed. Luckily, you had texted Baela about the situation and she was on her way with Jace to come pick you up.

A part of you felt bad for ruining their date night but you were NOT going to stay the night here. 

Especially not in this room.

Aemond and Alys’s shared bedroom looked nothing like you would have imagined. Not that you would even think to imagine it- actually you never even thought that they’d actually live together at all.

Even though there seemed to be no evidence of Aemond’s fiancée downstairs, there was plenty of evidence in this room. Pictures of the two together littered the walls, the nightstands, the dresser. Evidence of their clearly real and loving relationship.

And to your dismay it fucking hurt. 

Alys would be a mother to Aemond’s child, she would be the strong wife he always needed and you would be a memory, a brief moment in his life. 

Nothing more than a highschool sweetheart.

A silent, cold anger seemed to fizzle in the pit of your stomach, like a rattling snake setting to strike.

You were just a phase but yet your life seemed to be in danger again. 

Lies were being told again. 

Secrets were being kept again.

The door to the room opened, Aemond coming in with mugs of something steaming. 

“I think I should go.” You crossed your arms, your tone rattled a warning.

Aemond looked up, brows furrowing. He set the mugs on the dresser and put his hands in his pockets. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t care what you want.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

You uncrossed your arms ready to strike. “I’m tired of this shit.”

“What are you talking about?”

It wasn’t a lie, you did feel tired, tired of trying to be an adult and tired of being the bigger person. At some point you were bound to start telling the truth, you needed to. “She’s pregnant.”

He arched his brow. “What?”

You stood from the bed. “I saw the room, the boxes of baby stuff. I saw it all.”

He frowned. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You stepped closer. “Don’t know what I’m talking about? I know that I’m talking about how you fucking proposed to Alys Rivers. I’m talking about how you asked me to marry you and that doesn’t seem to fucking matter anymore. I’m talking about the fact that you got her pregnant and now I’m going to have to fucking live in the same city as you, your wife and your child. And that none of what we went through together matters.” You took a deep breath. 

Why is it not me? Desperately you wanted to say it but you just couldn’t let yourself open up to him all the way yet. Not with the room full of a future that wasn’t yours next door.

He looked at you incredulously. “You… you never wanted this life.”

“But I always wanted you.”

He continued to stare at you, like he was looking at you for the first time since you had arrived back.

You began to feel self conscious, maybe you said too much. “Say something.” 

He rushed forward grabbing your face in his large hands and pressing his mouth against yours. You froze, not processing what was happening until his tongue pushed into your mouth and he tangled his hands in your hair pulling you even closer to him. Your arms instinctively reached up grabbing the front of his shirt as he was finally knocked out of his daze.

His arms moved down your body, grabbing and squeezing at whatever flesh he could find until he picked you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he walked you back towards the bed, setting you down- never breaking the kiss. 

He finally pulled away, allowing you to breathe, both of you panting trying to catch your breaths as you stared at one another.

Too familiar, this all felt too familiar. Your heart pounded as you let yourself fall into old habits. 

His gaze was soft as he reached out to caress your face, brushing a stray hair out of your face. “I will always want you too.”

Your chest tightened as he leaned closer, his kiss gentle this time. But as soon as it started it ended, Aemond pulling away to lean his forehead against yours to take a deep breathe. His hands rubbed soothing circles on your arms.

“But I made a promise to Alys and there’s things I need to take care of before-”

You fully pulled away, moving out from under him to get off of the bed. “What.”

“There are things that I need to do, promises I need to keep in order to-to make sure your safe, to make sure everything is safe and protected.”

You stared at him like he had three heads. “What the fuck are you talking about right now Aemond?”

He moved to get up to pull you to him but you stepped away. “I just need time, just give me time.”

“You had time, almost five years of it and it seems in that time you can’t even get your fucking lies straight.”

“It’s complicated okay, the less people know the better. Just try to trust me, please.”

You stared at him in disbelief. It was like you were having two different conversations. “Is this about business or is this about love?”

“What?”

“Is it business or is it love?”

“(Y/N)-”

“Is it business or is it love, Aemond, that’s all I want to know.” 

“It’s complicated.”

Your eyes burned. Fucking unbelievable. “Clearly. But the only person making it complicated here is you. Why can’t it ever be fucking easy with you Aemond? Why can’t you ever tell me the truth?” 

He tried to get closer to you. “You know nothing about what is going on. What I am trying to fix, what I am trying to build for-for us.” He reached out to take your hands in his. “I am doing everything in my power to make things right, to make us right but I need more time. Just a little more time.”

You shook your head. “She’s pregnant Aemond, you are out of time.”

Your phone chimed with a text, you quickly pulled it out of your pocket. “That’s Baela, she’s here with Jace.” 

“(Y/N)-”

“I am done with the nonsensical answers. I am done with the empty words. I am done with all of it. I never should have come back here, never should have taken that stupid fucking job. I certainly never should have ever let you into my life.”

Tears were beginning to fall now, tears that were long overdue. After so long of bottling it up, after so long of being okay it wasn’t okay anymore. You were broken. You turned to leave, going past the soon to be nursery, going down the stairs, grabbing your bags that you had left and walked straight out of Aemond and Aly’s home. 

When you got into Jace’s car, it took everything in you to not fully break down as Baela turned to you from the passenger's seat and asked you what was wrong. 

You just shook your head and simply said. “She’s pregnant.”

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