thank u ainsley! for any prompt i get w/o a pairing, im just gonna choose a random OC wip and hope i develop actual characters/plot from it asfdkjgd, so i hope this is ok!!!!

send me a 4 word prompt [with / without a pairing]

Lea’s hands grip the wheel, and I abandon all hope that she is comfortable in what she’s taking me to. 

I don’t say anything.

We’ve spent months together; we’re unravelling our pasts and what we hope the future holds together; I would spend every waking moment with her, together; I don’t know what she’s going through.

I bite my tongue. I pull my hand back from turning on the radio. I think about my relationship with my mother, and what I’d say to her if I could, and I come up blank. I don’t know what Lea could say to her mum to convince her that it’s all okay.

But I’m the new voice here, the breath of fresh air; so maybe I should take a step back. Think about it as though I’m not attached.

The first thing that comes to me is that my role in this scenario is a support function. It doesn’t matter what I think of Lea - that she’s fantastic, a truly amazing human, and well-deserving of any support I or anyone else could grant her - and it doesn’t matter what I think of her mother. Lea has invited me in a support function. My role is to make things run more smoothly, by supporting her and helping both parties see each other’s side. My empathy is used as mediation.

But Lea is whiteknuckled on the steering wheel. Strangely, I don’t feel nervous about this. She will protect another person before herself without hesitation: being in her passenger seat is probably the safest I could be on the road.

“Hey,” I say over the quiet hum of the car. “Are you okay?”

She spares me a glance - a quarter of a second, at the maximum. “Sure.”

I sigh deeply, as though she’ll care. “Lea.”

“Yes?”

“I… I know this isn’t easy. Just… tell me what I can do. Let me help you.”

Her gaze doesn’t move from the open, empty road. “You are helping.”

“Lea,” I say again, just as stern.

I catch her eyes roll in the mirror.

“You wouldn’t drive me across the country just ‘cause, I dunno, me sitting in silence makes you feel okay, sometimes,” I say, folding my arms. 

Lea raises her eyebrows but she still doesn’t speak. Whatever, I’ve spoken enough for the two of us over the past year. I’m used to it.

“Can you just tell me what I’m supposed to expect?” She exhales, slowly, normally. “Any topic I’m supposed to avoid?” Nothing. “An embarrassing childhood nickname to say to evoke peak emotional impact?” Not even an eyebrow quirk. “Lea. Give me… anything.”

“I visit my mother once a year. I don’t know what’s successful. I’ve never achieved it.”

Lea’s voice is sharp - the voice she uses to shut me up, to shut anyone up, to shut the voices in her head up - and her mouth shuts so suddenly I can hear her teeth grind, just about. 

I don’t feel good about pestering her into the truth.

“Lea,” I say, but I don’t know if she heard me.

“Stop.”

I close my eyes. Here she is, a success by any blind observer’s standards, a household name - and she can’t think of a single way to get her own mother’s approval. And she’s still trying. Like that’s any kind of fair.