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cupid-styles · 8 months

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ginger ale (sugar daddy!h)

Harry is a rich CEO and Mia is a grad student that's eight years younger. It just so happens that they may be the answer to one another's problems.

Content warnings: age gap (8 years), sugar daddy dynamic, alcohol, smut, slight daddy kink

Word count: 8k (grab a snack and a bev and enjoy!)

masterlist | talk to me

Mia's never been attracted to older men but somehow, she's found herself sitting at a two-person table at one of the fanciest Italian restaurants in the city, nibbling on the end of the straw in her glass of ginger ale, awaiting the arrival of her date, a man who is eight years older.

To be fair, she got to the restaurant 20 minutes early and forced herself to sit in her car. She tried occupying herself by scrolling through Instagram and TikTok and playing a few rounds of Candy Crush, but she couldn't shake the anxiety bubbling in her stomach.

She weighed her options: she could drive away, go home, change out of this ridiculously uncomfortable outfit, order Chinese and rot on the couch all night. Or, she could text him here!:), go inside, say she's here for a reservation under Styles (a fake last name, she's almost sure of it), and actually give this guy a chance.

Mia desperately wishes she doesn't have a moral compass because indeed, all she wanted to do was binge watch New Girl until her eyes feel like they're going to roll out of her head, but she'd feel so shitty for standing her date up. Grumbling, she turned her car off, stuffed her keys in her purse, and walked into the restaurant, 15 minutes early.

Thankfully the staff doesn't bat an eye at her arrival time, instead escorting her to a rather private corner of the restaurant.

"This is Mr. Styles' table, but please let us know if you'd prefer something more suitable to your needs," The hostess explains as she places entree and drink menus in front of Mia.

"Oh, this is great, thank you," She replies, trying not to let any inklings of shock seep through her voice. This guy had his own table? Her eyes bulge as she glances over the wine list, her eyebrows raised slightly at the triple digit numbers accompanying fancy French names. How rich did he have to be to dine here that often?

Mia's phone buzzes, tearing her gaze away from the overwhelming menu. It's Harry, her date, who says he'll be there soon. Sorry you're waiting on me — order a bottle of wine for us, whatever you like, he'd written, making Mia roll her eyes. He must think far too highly of her if he thinks she knew what any of these wines even are.

She settles on her comfort drink instead, a ginger ale filled to the brim with ice. If this wasn't such a nice place, she would pop ice cubes between her teeth, but she figures that's a major faux pas for first dates at restaurants where a plate of pasta cost upwards of $50.

Despite meeting on a dating app and familiarizing herself with his appearance, Mia knows Harry has arrived before she even sees him. The staff seems to stand up just a little straighter and the baseline hum of conversation tapers off.

When she looks up, she understands exactly why: Harry, whose last name apparently really was Styles, commands a certain presence the second he enters a room. He's striking, fashionable, and charming, floating through the dining area with a luxurious air. Everyone — including Mia — seems simultaneously intimidated and turned on.

Thank god she decided to go on this date.

. . .

Harry is so tired.

Physically, he's been running his body into the ground for the past 8 years or so, ever since he took on the role of CEO at his uncle's company when he retired. He knows that he was insanely fortunate and privileged, and 27 was a rather ridiculous age to run an entire conglomerate. As a result, he feels the incessant need to prove himself and make sure every single one of his employees feel taken care of.

So, he doesn't have much a social life.

He has his core group of friends from college. He's close with his family. He has friends at work, and he attends numerous charity events and galas as an investor. In hindsight, he has it all — except for a romantic partner.

Harry doesn't think that you need a boyfriend or girlfriend for life to be complete, but he's certainly guilty of missing it. He hasn't had a serious partner since college, a sweet girl named Zyla, but they broke up shortly after graduating. Since then, Harry has gone on tons of dates — he knows he had so much, and he wants to share it with someone. However, it seems that all of those people are after the same thing: wealth.

He understands it. Truly, he does, and he doesn't think those people were necessarily bad. But after years upon years of shitty first dates, he's exhausted. His best friend Mitch and his girlfriend Sarah suggested he try out dating apps, so they helped him sign up for Tinder and Bumble, where were fine enough. They were good at helping him scope out people he'd actually mesh well with, but they usually ended in one night stands, never to be heard from again.

Harry is 35. He doesn't want wild sex with strangers anymore.

After a date at a bar with a guy who didn't even pretend like he was interested in him romantically, Harry snapped. If money was all he was good for, he would be upfront about it from here on out. It had gotten him everything else he could've ever dreamed for in this life — a gorgeous penthouse apartment, designer clothes and shoes, non-profit donations galore — so why not just use it to find his forever partner?

That night, after polishing off a bottle of red wine to himself, he swiped onto his dating app of choice, clicked on settings, and deleted his existing bio. Sarah had initially suggested making it about what he liked and what he was looking for, but he was eager to rid his account of its current description: "Born in London, permanent NYC transplant. Love art, books, and fashion. Send me your favorite Fleetwood Mac song."

Without a second thought, he typed in a new bio: CEO. Let me take care of you.

. . .

Harry Styles makes Mia extremely nervous.

He hasn't even sat down yet and her stomach already feels like it's in her throat, her lips parted slightly as she took in his presence. He looks so effortlessly cool, and she's nearly positive she saw his trousers on the Gucci Instagram page last weekend.

"Hey," Harry grins as he approaches the table, shedding his body of the navy blue blazer he wore, "Mia, right?"

"Mhm." She nods tightly, noting at how the waiter pulled Harry's seat out for him, placing the menus out in front of him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Harry," he says as he settles into his seat. He glances up at the waiter and shoots him a charming smile. "Thank you, John."

John, apparently, quickly shuffles away. Mia squeezes her hands into tight fists under the table while Harry glances over the wine menu, though she was almost positive he was doing it as a courtesy if he knows everyone that works here.

"Did you have a chance to decide on a wine?" he asks, glancing up with raised eyebrows.

"Um, no," Mia mumbles, "I just got a... ginger ale."

She feels incredibly dumb now. What was she even doing here? She's wearing clothes from the clearance section of ASOS and a pair of platform oxfords, meanwhile, Harry's outfit looks like it cost her entire monthly rent.

"Oh, do you not drink? I'm sorry for assuming."

"I do," Mia replies with a shake of her head, her eyes drifting down back down to the drink list, "I just... don't really know any of these... and I also don't know how to pronounce most of them."

"That's okay. Is it alright if I pick one?"

Mia nods and rolls her lips into her mouth. She wonders if it was too late to escape — can she say she has to use the bathroom and try to sneak out the window? This has to be some kind of prank.

"Once we get our entrees, we can talk out the details of the arrangement, should you be interested," Harry murmurs, closing the faux leather of the main menu, "I'm not sure if you came prepared with certain stipulations, but I'm happy to hear any that you have."

Mia's eyes bulge, leaning forward slightly with furrowed eyebrows. "I'm... what?"

Of course, John decided to come back just as Harry's jaw ticked, looking just as confused.

"What can I get you two to eat this evening?" he asks, though Mia barely listens as Harry lists off some random wine, followed by a pasta dish. John looks down at Mia, who swallows harshly, grimacing.

"I'll do the same," she jumbles out. He nods and shoots her a smile before stepping away to put their orders in.

"What do you mean by arrangement?" Mia hisses out, leaning forward and keeping her voice low.

"You're joking, right?" Harry asks, a slight crinkle forming between his brows.

"Do you... what do you think this is?" Mia demands as she digs her fingernails into her palms. Does he think she's a prostitute or an escort? She doesn't think anything on her profile gives off that vibe, and while she knows she isn't dressed as nicely as he is, it isn't enough to warrant such an assumption.

"You... you read my bio, didn't you?" Harry questions, sitting back in his seat, "You understand what I'm looking for?"

"I have no fucking clue what you're talking about, Harry." Mia's teeth are gritted, her jaw set in annoyance.

He leans forward again, glancing over his shoulder to make sure none of the waitstaff is walking by. In a hushed tone, he mumbles something intelligible out.

"What? I didn't hear you."

"I'mlookingforasugarbaby."

"A what? Can you speak up a little?"

"A sugar baby!" Harry whispers out aggressively, clutching the corners of the table. Mia raises her eyebrows in shock and surprise, doing a mental recap of what she knew about Harry — she never would have swiped for him if that's all he was looking for, mainly because the whole concept made her too nervous. Their virtual conversations had been tame, consisting of normal questions about their occupations and hobbies. How did she miss this?

"I... I didn't know that's what you were looking for," Mia replies slowly, "Your profile didn't say anything about that..."

"Yes, it did!" Harry nearly whines, "'Let me take care of you?' That literally implies a sugar baby situation!"

"Are you serious?" Mia asks, her face twisted in a cross between confusion and disgust, "You think people understand that's what that means?"

"Obviously!"

Mia shakes her head and grabs her napkin from her lap, tossing it on the table. She feels so discouraged and frustrated, there's no way this Harry guy wasn't a total creep.

"Wait— Mia, don't go," Harry says, following her lead and standing from his seat, "Please, I'm sorry about the confusion. This isn't a reflection on you whatsoever. Can we just talk? I'll explain why I'm looking for this type of thing, treat you to dinner, no strings attached."

Mia sighs. Harry's expression and tone seem genuine and if she's being completely honest, a little naive, too. She's already here, hungry, and dressed up. It wouldn't hurt to stay.

"Fine," she mutters, plopping back down in her seat, "But you're getting me the cheesecake for dessert. And you're paying for my parking."

A small smile wiggles its way onto Harry's lips. "I'd be honored."

Mia has to look down at the tablecloth so he doesn't see the blush warming her cheeks.

. . .

Over large plates of pasta slathered in decadent sauces, Harry explains why he's in the market for a sugar baby.

"I've never looked for this type of relationship before—"

"Yeah, no kidding."

"Anyway, I'm so used to people only being interested in me for my money so I figured why not try to use it to my advantage, I guess. I'd want it to be as casual as possible... like I really am just looking for someone to come to events with me, maybe hang out on the weekends and go out on dates if we clicked enough."

Mia nods her head as she chews her penne vodka thoughtfully. "And what would I get in exchange?"

"Well, what do you want?" Harry asks through wine stained lips, "Do you have any bills you want paid? Student loan debt? Clothes, electronics, furniture?"

"How rich are you?" Mia questions before sipping on her second ginger ale of the night.

"I'm... definitely wealthy," Harry replies carefully, "My net worth is in the millions, if that tells you anything."

"You could've just said you're a millionaire."

"Are you always this bratty?"

She huffs, leaning back against the plushy velvet of her chair. She takes the lull in the conversation as an opportunity to sincerely contemplate the logistics of this situation: She stayed for the free meal from the rather... attractive, and apparently disgustingly rich man, but was she seriously, actually considering going through with this?

No. It was crazy.

Wasn't it?

"I can see you're having some sort of internal moral battle," Harry murmurs after taking a sip of wine. "I told you, no strings attached here. If you're not interested, it's more than okay."

"I don't know," Mia says, breathing out through her nose as she lowered her fork, "I would be lying if I said I didn't need the... financial assistance, I guess."

"Let's talk money, then," he shrugs, leaning his elbows on the crisp table cloth. "What do you need help with?"

Mia hadn't grown up poor, but she certainly had never been rich. Her parents had modest careers and were now retired. They taught her the importance of saving and paying her bills on time. They instilled education in her as top priority and never pressured her to pick a career that would make her the most money, instead pushing values of true happiness and satisfaction. It's honestly how she ended up in her second year of grad school with hundreds of thousands of dollars of debt under her belt.

"Well, I'm a student and I work part-time. I'm in grad school to become a social worker. I pick up shifts at the university's library when I'm not in class, so probably like... three or four days out of the week."

Harry nods, listening intently. His gaze is intense and it makes Mia's face warm.

"That seems like a lot," he says, a twinge of sympathy creeping into his tone, "You must be tired."

Mia shrugs her shoulders. "I guess."

Admittedly, she's uncomfortable with the apparent empathy Harry emits. She's used to being fairly independent and working herself to the point of burnout, solely because it was what'd she been doing since she was an undergrad. She's never entertained the thought of someone helping her out, let alone with finances.

Pursing his lips, he nods slowly before folding his hands together. "Here's what I'm willing to propose. I usually have one or two events a week, sometimes work-related, sometimes just appearances or charity things. If you'd be willing to be my date to at least one of them, I'm happy to have you quit your job and supplement that income. I can also pay off some of your student loan debt, however much you're comfortable with. I'm more than willing to work around your schedule, so if you can't attend something, that's absolutely fine. If you're struggling with rent or other bills, just let me know, and I can take care of those, too."

Mia's mouth goes dry. Harry speaks entirely too casually about money, let alone paying off massive things in her name that she'd been stressing out about for years. She quickly tucks her straw back between her lips and takes a hearty sip of ginger ale, focusing on the earthy taste and carbonation filling her mouth.

"Why?" She blurts out after swallowing, "You don't know me. I'm just some girl in grad school. For all you know, you'll take me to one of these events and I'll embarrass the shit out of you, or someone will figure out how we got involved. Isn't that worse?"

He hums, contemplating the points Mia had made. They're valid, sure, but they weren't deterring him either.

"What would you have to gain from embarrassing me?" He asks, rolling his lips into his mouth contemplatively. "I've been embarrassing myself for years by going out on dates with people who only want my money to begin with. We both need help and this is the best solution I could think of on my end. There's no pressure to agree, but I just think... well, maybe, we could be the answer to each other's problems."

Mia's worrying her bottom lip between her teeth when John reappears, asking if they wanted any to-go boxes or dessert.

She doesn't order any cheesecake, but she does text Harry late that night as she lays alone in her bed, mentally running back through the night for the thousandth time: If you're still interested, I'll do it.

. . .

Mia doesn't hear from Harry for a few days.

Her mind runs rampant when she doesn't have her nose buried in a textbook doing homework or sitting through three-hour long lectures. She can't help but wonder if he's decided it's not a good fit, or maybe the entire situation was ridiculous to begin with. From what she knew about sugar babies — or what she thought she knew — was that they typically involved some sort of sexual favors in exchange for money, but Harry hadn't mentioned anything about that. All he asked for was for her to accompany him at an event once or twice a week, and he was willing to pay for her bills and chunks of her student loans.

Maybe the entire thing was just too good to be true.

So by day three, that's what Mia assumed. After all, he was a 35 year old millionaire — he definitely could do far better than a stressed out student.

She has an apple cinnamon candle burning and one of those eight hour long lo-fi YouTube videos on her TV, hoping the beat-ridden songs would somehow seep some level of productivity into her brain. She was working on a paper she had due in a couple of days, but she was only four out of 12 pages in, and she had the assignment for the past month.

She was just about ready to give up, blow out her candle, and tucker in for the night when her phone buzzes, the loud vibration echoing against the wood of her coffee table, making her jump. She didn't know what time it is, but she knew it was too late for any normal person to be texting her.

That's why she's only partially surprised when Harry's name pops up on her screen.

I have to go to a charity thing at a museum tomorrow night. It starts at 7 pm. Would you be available?

Mia was slightly confused by this — she thought that he would reach back out at some point to iron out the fine details, but it seemed as though Harry didn't care for those. She mentally goes over her schedule for tomorrow; she has classes from 10 am to 3 pm and she should work on this paper when she gets back.

What time would it end?

Nearly immediately after firing off that text, she tapped at the screen again: also, what are you doing up? It's almost 2 am.

The familiar speech bubble popped up almost instantly. Mia wedged her thumbnail between her teeth, biting at it as she watched the three dots.

It'll probably be over by 11 but I can always get you home earlier if you need. Also, I could ask you the same thing.

She pressed her lips together. There was so much she didn't know about Harry and yet, she couldn't help the way her body warmed ever so slightly at the thought of spending the night on his arm.

11 works for me. Should I know anything about the event or you before we do this? I don't want to embarrass myself by not knowing basic facts about you if I end up talking to people.

Mia's surprised when the dots immediately pop back up, but she supposes he's not doing much at 2 in the morning. She tucks her legs under her body and grabs the fuzzy blanket draped over the back of the couch as his next messages comes through.

Are you suggesting we play some sort of fuckboy 20 questions game?

She snickers at that and imagines the way his eyes widened teasingly, as if her request was as outlandish as asking him to come over for a late night hookup.

Which she would never do, and promises she hasn't fantasized about doing it every night since she saw Harry last.

Call it what you want, I just don't want to get kicked out of some fancy event because I don't even know your middle name.

She takes up her decades-long nervous habit of nibbling on her thumbnail when her phone starts vibrating in her palm, this time signifying an incoming call from Harry. She initially wonders if it's some sort of butt dial, panicking about answering it, but by the fifth ring she figures he would've caught on by now, so she quickly presses the green button and lifts it to her ear.

"Hello?"

"You didn't think we were gonna play 20 questions over text, did you?"

. . .

Harry thinks he could stay up until sunrise talking to Mia.

Conversation flows naturally, like they're childhood best friends and have known each other their whole lives. If he hadn't been born eight years before her in a different country, he would actually wonder if that were the case, but youthful, snappy remarks are enough to remind him that there's no way this girl ever existed in his life before. He would've remembered her, even if they'd only met for a moment.

They talk about anything and everything to soothe Mia's nerves about not knowing basic facts about one another. Her middle name is Lucille and she grew up in Connecticut with an older sister. They bond about being the youngest sibling and having divorced parents. Her comfort food is boxed macaroni and cheese, which makes Harry's nose wrinkle, though she swears it's the perfect meal to eat after a stressful day.

"What should I wear tomorrow night?" Mia asks sometime around 3:15, when their conversation begins to dwindle down. Harry hums and picks at a loose thread on his vintage tee-shirt.

"Any sort of dress will do," he replies casually, "I can always have my stylist send some options over if you'd like, just text me your size."

She snorts at that. "Yeah, I think I'll pass on that. You wore head-to-toe Gucci the other night and I'm pretty sure designer shit runs, like, three sizes too small on women."

"Point taken," Harry admits, backing off. "It's not too fancy of an event so don't stress. Do you have anything in mind?"

"Mm, maybe. I have a pink slip dress I wear on dates sometimes. Do you think that would be alright?"

Harry's stomach twists at the thought of Mia going out on dates with other people, but he quickly shoves the feeling down.

"Sounds pretty," he murmurs, clearing his throat. "Send me a picture before tomorrow night so I can match you."

Mia smiles to herself. "That's cute. I'll see you tomorrow then, yeah?"

"Yeah, my driver will pick you up at 6:30. Sleep tight, Mi."

"G'night, Harry," she says softly before hanging up the phone. She tries to ignore the way her heart warms at the new use of a nickname.

. . .

Mia has had a bad day.

She stayed up too late last night talking to Harry, and she's trying not to give too much weight to the fact that butterflies invade her stomach every time she thinks about their two-hour long conversation. She snoozed her alarm to the last possible minute so she couldn't take a shower before class this morning and her professor called on her when she wasn't paying attention, so she stumbled through some bullshit answer about child psychology like an idiot.

She didn't have time to grab lunch between her second and third classes, so by the time she got home, she was starving, tired, and grumpy, but she had to get ready for Harry's charity event. She stuffs a bagel down her throat and hopes there's decent food before jumping in the shower, pulling on her dress, and doing just enough with her makeup and hair. She's additionally grouchy that she didn't have enough time today to make a dent in her paper that's now due in only three days, but she knows she can only blame herself for poor time management.

When she receives a text from Harry that says "Here x", she tries to take a deep breath to rid herself of the day's worries and anxieties. Typically around this time, she'd be elbow deep in a carton of lo mein from her favorite Chinese restaurant and preparing a eucalyptus-scented bath, but she reminds herself that she already agreed to do this for Harry. And the money.

Her platform sandals click against the sidewalk outside of her home, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of a sleek black town car with a man standing outside of it.

"Mia?" he asks, his lips pressed in a tight line. She nods and he opens the door for her, motioning for her to get inside.

When she climbs in, she sees Harry on the interior, his thumbs tapping against the screen of his phone. He glances up to look at her and her breath stalls for a moment. He's wearing a baby pink silk shirt underneath his blazer, matching the exact shade of her dress.

"Hey," Harry smiles, tucking his phone in his breast pocket, "You look beautiful."

"Your shirt." she points out dumbly.

"What about it? Do you not like it?"

"I love it," she blurts out as the man shuts the car door closed, "I didn't think you were serious about the matching thing."

"That's silly. Why wouldn't I be serious about that?"

"I don't know." she mumbles with a shrug.

"Are you gonna buckle up?" Harry asks, nudging his chin in the direction of her seatbelt. She scrambles, feeling embarrassed as she hoists the strap across her chest, clicking it in. The car gently buzzes to life and glides down the road and out of Mia's neighborhood, just as she realizes she's definitely never been in a vehicle this nice before.

"How was your day?" Harry questions from beside her. Her fingers are wrung together in an awkward position in her lap and she has to clear her throat before answering, tugging the material of her dress down to cover more of her thighs.

"It was actually kinda shitty," Mia admits with a bittersweet smile. "Woke up late and didn't really have time to eat too much and my lectures were boring. And I have this kind of big paper due in a few days that I'm stumped on, so that's that."

Harry wrinkles his eyebrows and she can't tell if it's because he's disappointed or about to reprimand her. She prepares herself for the former based on the age difference, assuming the worst from assumptions she's made.

"I told you we would work around your schedule. If you need to do homework tonight that's perfectly fine, I can have Reese turn around and drop you back off."

Mia's slightly surprised at his soft-spoken response and she relaxes her shoulders at it. Harry notices, but he doesn't say anything.

"It's okay. I still have three days... well two since I probably won't work on it tonight."

"What are you stuck on?" he asks, pressing his lips together. Mia glances down at them for just a moment, but she instantly notices their natural muted pink hue. It reminds her of their first date, when they were stained red from wine. "I obviously don't know much about social work, but sometimes it helps to talk things out."

Mia nods at that before shrugging her shoulders, "I think it's mainly just an environmental thing. I spend most of my days on campus so I just want to go home when classes are done, and my neighbors are loud and I get too distracted at home. I can manage it fine, but I usually need an impending deadline to pressure me to work."

"Mm, yeah, I've been there," Harry replies with a chuckle. "Well, if you need a change of scenery, my place is always available. I have an office and guest room and such, whatever suits you. Won't even bother you to play 20 questions."

She lets out a laugh and shakes her head. "I admit, I didn't mind that distraction."

"Ah, so I'm a distraction now?"

He has that cheeky grin on his face — the teasing one that makes her blush and her heart stutter — and she giggles, forcing herself to look away so he doesn't see the way her face warms.

Maybe tonight won't be so bad.

. . .

Harry likes having Mia on his arm. A lot.

Maybe a little too much, really, but he's blaming it on the two glasses of wine and the lack of food in his stomach. Like Mia, he'd had a busy day with minimal time to eat, let alone breathe, and he probably would've ditched this entire thing if she hadn't agreed to be his date.

He's not even that special of a guest here. He was a frequent donor to the art museums in the city, and he'd supplied the exhibition with a couple of thousand dollars to get it off the ground. He didn't do it for anything other than the fact that he had too much money and didn't know what to do with it, and his sister always asked to visit this particular museum every time she was in town.

Harry discovers that Mia is actually quite good at schmoozing and chatting with wealthy people. She plays the part of Harry's girlfriend well, and the sight makes his throat dry. She's sweet and kind to everyone they talk to, even if they bring up points that are painfully boring, and she wraps her hand around his as they meander around the room, picking at h'ordeuvres and refilling their glasses.

It almost feels natural.

Sometime around 10 pm, though, he can feel her posture slump slightly and yawns begin to escape her. He excuses them from the conversation he was just barely paying attention it and smoothly guides her with his hand at the small of her back.

"'s a matter?" she whispers, her eyes widening. "Did I do something wrong?"

"What? No, of course not. You're getting tired though, hm? I wanna make sure I get you home at a reasonable hour."

Mia blinks a few times, a look of confusion crossing over her face. "You said 'til 11 though, right?"

"There's no reason for us to stay any longer and you've already done so much by being here, Mi," Harry murmurs as he fires off a quick text to let Reese know they're ready to be picked up. "Lemme get you home, okay?"

She doesn't argue any more at that, and that's how he can tell she's genuinely exhausted. He smiles gently and shrugs his blazer off, then wraps it around her shoulders.

"It's gonna be cold out there, temperature was slated to drop a bit," he explains shortly, swallowing at the sight of her in his jacket. "Reese will be here any minute if you're ready to go, though."

Mia nods. As Harry turns on his heel to exit the building, she reaches out without thinking, intertwining their fingers together. He turns instantly, wanting to make sure that she was okay, but all he sees are wide eyes and a furious blush.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she scrambles, dropping his hand, "I... don't know why I did that, I'm sorry, I'm tired."

Harry smirks. "We can hold hands if you want, babe."

She scowls at his teasing tone but nevertheless reaches outward once more to grasp his hand in hers.

"If you make fun of me for this when I'm sober and not as sleepy, I'll kick you in the shins."

He lets out a loud laugh, "Wouldn't dream of it."

. . .

Harry doesn't hear from Mia for two days.

He tries to distract himself with work and the gym, but he's lying if he says he's not checking his phone every five minutes for a text from her. He wants to message her first, but it's been years since he's had... feelings, whatever they may be, for someone, and he doesn't want to overwhelm her. So for two days, he busies himself with going over reports, bringing work home and passing out on the couch with his laptop still open.

Finally, on Thursday night, Harry has Friends on TV while he scrolls mindlessly on Instagram. His phone suddenly alerts him of an incoming call, and his fingers itch at the sight of Mia's name. He doesn't even have it in him to wait 10 seconds before he picks up.

"Harry?" She sounds stressed as he rushes out his name before he's able to say hello.

"Mia?" He echoes her panicked tone, "Are you alright? What's wrong?"

"My paper is due in five hours and I still have four pages to go and I— I don't know what to do, I'm freaking out, I'm so tired and I just— it's worth 70% of my grade and I'll fail the class if I don't—"

"Mi, breathe," Harry cuts her off, placing his elbows on his knees. "What do you need? Do you need to talk it out, read it out loud to me?"

It's silent for a moment and butterflies invade his stomach, wondering if he's pressed too hard. Maybe she just needed to vent.

"I was actually wondering if I could come over and work," Mia says softly. "It's fine if not, I'll be okay—"

"Yes." Harry replies, quick enough to make himself grimace. "Um, yes, of course, the offer still stands. I'll send Reese for you right now and I'll set you up wherever you want."

She breathes a sigh of relief into the receiver, mumbling out a series of "okay"s.

"Did you eat, darling?"

"N-no. I came straight home after work and I... just didn't have time to cook anything."

"Work?" Harry repeats, flashing back to their date two weeks ago, when he told her she could quit her job. "I told you I would supplement your income if you left."

"Well, um... you didn't exactly... pay for me for the event a few days ago and I just thought maybe our... arrangement, um, changed."

"Oh, sweetheart," Harry sighs, lifting his hand to his hair, pulling at the messy roots. "I'm so sorry, I thought... I assumed you would ask when you needed money. I've never done this with anyone else and I didn't even think."

She swallows thickly and pauses on packing her bag to bring to his house.

"Listen, let me order some food and when you get here, we'll work on your paper and I'll send you some money to make up for the other night, alright? We'll iron out the rest of the details, too. I don't want you to keep working yourself to the bone."

"Okay," Mia breathes into the receiver, and the muffled shuffling in the background resumes. "Yeah. Okay. Thank you, Harry. That sounds good."

"Of course. Reese is on his way, I'll see you soon."

"See you."

. . .

Mia wants to cry when Harry unlocks the door of his penthouse apartment.

She's so tired and burnt out and all she could focus on the drive over was whether or not her thesis was good and if she had enough points and data to reach the word count.

She wants to collapse the moment she steps inside, brushing past Harry with a small, forced smile, who is already in a pair of sweatpants, a worn tee-shirt, fuzzy socks and a pair of reading glasses.

The tears actually start when she glances over to the kitchen island to see a bowl of macaroni and cheese and a ginger ale.

"Eat," he murmurs as he reaches his arm out to take Mia's bag. She's stuck in her place though, eyes watering at the sight of her comfort meal in Harry's million dollar apartment. "Mi? You alright?"

She blinks the tears away and parts her lips, looking up at him with wide eyes. "You remembered."

Harry smiles gently and nods, pressing a hand to her upper back and guiding her to the dining room table. "Of course I did."

He shuffles down the hallway as Mia stuffs a few forkfuls of macaroni in her mouth. She doesn't realize how utterly starving she is until right now, and she has to admit that having some food in her system is helping soothe her anxiety.

Harry meanders back out as she's sipping on her ginger ale, "Okay, I set your stuff up in my office. Plugged your computer in, put your phone on do not disturb. I'll be in my room if you need anything."

"Wait," Mia jumps up, glass in hand. "Uh... I'm sure you worked all day and the last thing you want is to hang out while I write this paper, but would you... stick around, maybe hear some of my ideas out? I tend to get a little loopy when I'm stressed."

A dimpled grin wiggles its way onto Harry's face.

"I'd love to, Mia."

. . .

"Harry? Can you read this and tell me if it makes sense?"

It's been two hours of quiet typing, discussing Mia's thesis, and Harry playing mindless games on his phone until she asks him to go over something with her. He's exhausted — they both are, but she only has an hour before the deadline and they have no choice but to keep trucking on.

She hands him her laptop and he peeks through his glasses, reading the highlighted paragraph. It's something about community-based learning opportunities connecting to abuse victims, and while the only relevant knowledge he has is from a freshman psychology course, Mia is knowledgeable and great at what she does. She breaks down concepts in a way that's easy to understand and listening to her talk about something she's passionate about makes his heart swell with joy.

"Looks great, Mi," he murmurs as he passes her laptop back, "How much more do you have left?"

"That was actually it." She says with a bright smile despite her tired eyes. "I can submit it now as long as all that sounds good."

Harry grins and rises from the en-suite couch, stretching his arms out. Mia can't help but notice the sliver of his torso revealed as he bends back slightly and she swallows, refocusing back to the screen.

"D'you wanna stay over, darling? It's already 3 and I bought a six-pack of ginger ale that I won't drink."

Mia's heart tightens as she clicks 'submit', shutting her laptop and looking up at him.

"Are you sure that's alright? You've done so much for me already, I don't wanna be a bother."

"Not a bother," Harry mumbles, nodding his head in the direction of the hall, "Also, send me your Venmo so I can send some money over, hm?"

"Harry— wait, about that," she scrambles up from the desk, wringing her hands together behind her back as she steps towards him, "I don't want you to pay me for that night."

"What?"

"I don't know if this is... presumptuous of me, but I had a really nice time being your date. And I don't want you to pay me for that time."

"Oh," Harry mutters, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. "You need money though, don't you?"

"Well, I'm not at your status but that's not why I'm here. Or why I went with you the other night."

"What?"

Mia swallows and takes a deep breath. "I like hanging around you, Harry. I like who you are. I don't want this to be a financial exchange if... if you want the same thing."

"Really?" Harry asks, blinking owlishly at the girl, "You... you don't want me for my money?"

She shakes her head. "No. I don't."

"I like you," he blurts out, making a smile appear on her lips. "I don't want that arrangement either."

Her shoulders relax and her smile turns into a grin. He steps closer to her and tentatively reaches out to press a hand to her hip, waiting to see if she'll reject his touch.

"Can I kiss you?" Harry asks softly, glancing down at her mouth. "I've been dying to since that first night."

Mia nods quickly, breathing out an affirmative answer. He leans forward and smears their lips together, nearly moaning out in relief from the feeling of closeness he'd been dying for. She stands on her tippy-toes and wraps her arms around his neck, pressing her chest up against his. It's warm and wet and so nice, but he forces himself to break away, leaning her forehead against his.

"That was nice." she murmurs, little puffs of air leaving her mouth. He nods eagerly and squeezes her hip.

"Perfect," he whispers. "Just... don't wanna rush things."

Mia raises an eyebrow, glancing down when she realizes Harry's hard length against her thigh. He grimaces in embarrassment — typically he's able to control himself far better, not getting a boner from a two minute kiss, but he's been dreaming about finally getting to kiss her.

"Oh," she sighs, and Harry swears he notices a slight glint in her eyes when she glances up at him. "You feel.. big."

He breathes out a chuckle, "Don't stroke my ego, sweetheart, can only take so much tonight."

"Can I... am I allowed to touch?" Mia questions, her voice soft and peeked with curious. Her eyelashes flutter as she peeps up at him, biting down on her bottom lip.

"Only if you want to. Don't feel pressured to do anything, it'll go away on its own."

Harry's honest in his answer, not wanting her to feel obligated by any means, but he's lying if he says he isn't thrilled when she slowly sinks to her knees, palming at his crotch on her way down.

"Fuck," he mutters, swallowing harshly at her sweet doe eyes batting up at him.

"When's the last time someone took care of you?" she murmurs as she gently tugs his sweatpants down, leaving him in a navy blue pair of briefs. His cock is nearly bursting out of them and she licks her lips at the visual, her mouth parting slightly.

"Doesn't matter," Harry replies in a strained voice. She pulls his underwear down to reveal his painfully hard cock, slapping up against his lower stomach with a bubble of pre-cum at the tip. "Wanna take care of you, darling."

Mia giggles at that and begins to pepper kisses along the tops of his thighs. Her fingertips wiggle between his legs, just below his balls, encouraging him to part them so she can sponge kisses along the skin there.

"Can I touch, please?" she asks, looking back up at him. He nods and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, groaning when her hand wraps around the base, squeezing lightly. "I was right. Your cock is big and pretty."

"You're gonna make me cum just from that dirty mouth." Harry mutters, lulling his head to the side as she slowly pumps his length. She moves her mouth to hover over his length and spits, letting saliva dribble from her mouth onto his skin. The mix of her spit and his pre-cum are enough lubrication to help her jerk him at a steady pace, and she smiles when she hears his choppy breathing from above.

Mia mouths over the tip of his cock and sticks her tongue out, licking up the leaking fluid. "Mm, you taste good," she mumbles, almost as if Harry wasn't meant to hear her, "I want you to fuck my face and cum down my throat, please."

He chokes at her casual tone and reaches down to thread his fingers through her hair. "Are you sure, baby? 'M perfectly content with just watching you on your knees like this."

With her cheek pressed against his thigh, she smiles brightly at the use of the pet name, still nodding her head at his question.

"Mhm. I usually don't like deep-throating but your cock is really nice... wanna taste you and feel you burst in my mouth."

"You're gonna fuckin' kill me."

She lets out a giggle as Harry slowly guides his cock into her mouth. She takes him with ease, relaxing her throat until she's taken most of him. He inhales sharply through his nose as she takes initiative and begins bobbing up and down, drool starting to leak from the sides of her mouth. He groans as he watches her, growing comfortable when he sees how eager she is, and moves his hips in time with her movements until her nose is flush against his pelvis.

"Fuck, Mia," Harry moans when she gags around his tip. Mascara-stained tears flow from her eyes and down her cheeks, but she doesn't give an inkling a discomfort, only doubling down on her efforts with a muffled whimper.

She releases for a moment and he's prepared to ask if he's being too rough as she wipes spit from her chin, "You can go harder, I'm fine. Also, is it alright if I call you daddy?"

"Jesus Christ," Harry guffaws, allowing his head to duck back fully now, "Yeah, sweetheart, choke yourself on daddy's cock."

Mia grins and squeezes her thighs, instantly diving back in. Harry bucks his hips, fucking her throat deeper and faster as his orgasm quickly unravels in his body. Lightning zips throughout him, his groans quickly getting louder every time she gags around his length.

"I'm gonna cum," Harry warns, the familiar feeling building. He looks down at her and watches her greedily take him, and that's all he needs before he's exploding. "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, fuck—"

He's filling up her mouth with rapid ropes of warm cum and she moans at his taste, letting him empty his balls and continue using her throat. He breathes harshly as his peak slowly ends and she slides off of his sensitive cock, cum spilling out the corners of her mouth.

Without a word, he pulls her up and surges forward, pressing their lips together. She squeaks in surprise but eagerly kisses him back, their tongues swapping the fluid he just emptied into her mouth. They part with harsh breaths, Mia clutching his shirt with tight fists.

"Was that okay?" she asks as he wipes the remaining mix of spit and cum from her lip.

He smirks and shakes his head, "You're silly for even asking that. It was amazing."

"Mm, good."

"C'mon, I'm not letting you go home at this hour. You can stay in the guest room if you don't want to sleep with me."

"I just swallowed your cum, I think you owe me a cuddle, Styles."

He lets out a loud laugh and tugs at her hand, out in the direction of the hallway and to his bedroom, "Whatever you want, darling."

. . .

The next morning, Mia wakes up in a huge, comfy mattress, surrounded by luxurious tufts of white duvet.

For a minute, she forgets where she is, until she's reminded of the night before. She blushes at the overwhelming happiness that floods her body, remembering the way Harry held her all night and pressed kisses to her cheeks and forehead every time he woke up.

When she opens her eyes, she's expecting to see him, but she's met with an empty mattress. She sits up with furrowed brows until she zeroes in on a folded note on his pillow with her name and a heart next to it.

Smiling gently, she opens it.

Morning, sweetheart. Got called into the office early and you looked too sweet to wake up. Make yourself at home, feel free to invade my closet or fridge.

Leaving you my credit card to treat yourself to something nice, too — just because we're not in this arrangement anymore doesn't mean I won't take care of you financially.

xx daddy

Mia squeals and falls back against the bed.

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002yb · 1 month

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I'm sure Jason misses the time Dick would smile at him and pet his head "you did great little wing", he tries so much to get Dick to do this again

(I just want Dick to tell Jason he's a good boy, he deserves it)

It's an accident. A faux pas, even. They're riding a high from a successful, impromptu joint venture though so Dick just - he doesn't think.

Lingering adrenaline makes him thoughtless, stupid. So he just...

'Thanks for the assist out there, little wing.'

All while brazenly ruffling Jason's hair and smiling at him like a fool. Foreheads bumping, Dick's hands coming to hold Jason's face, squishing his cheeks some, thumbs brushing his temples; scratching through his hair - all bright-eyed and breathless, filled with hope and wonder and a forgotten thrill.

Problem is? This isn't their relationship. It never was (though maybe it could have been). It's just what Dick had wanted after - after.

So it's a little embarrassing. Because this isn't an old habit from their bygone youth, just a lingering regret and a willful want that Dick doesn't deserve to have. Maybe they shared a few tender moments like this before (triumphant, invincible), but it didn't happen nearly enough to justify this familiarity.

That's what Dick reasons, at least. Especially after Jason goes impossibly still at receiving Dick's praise and affections.

It's okay though. For all Jason's perceived distaste towards him, Dick plays it cool. No use making things more awkward for the both of them.

So Dick pulls away, laughing it off before dipping like a coward to lick his wounds. And he's not usually so antsy, but it's always been different with Jason. Too many wishes and wants; could-have-beens that haunt him, should-have-dones something that lingers in his mind and weighs heavy on his heart.

Ie. Dick is despondent.

M e a n w h i l e: Jason. Who is very much left behind with the most flustered and bemused expression because what.

What's more? Jason getting shy about the exchange. //u///

He brings his own hand to his head to try and hang on to the feeling of Dick ruffling his hair (gripping and playfully tugging it, too because ( ͡º ꒳ ͡º )), the sweetest little blush staining his cheeks.

He's reminded of when he was a brat - the few times he managed to make Dick proud and Dick would get like that.

And just. Jason isn't some punkass that needs anyone's validation anymore. He doesn't care to please anyone. As a big strong independent baddie bitch, he doesn't chase after praise--

Only he does. Because he's a big strong independent baddie bitch and he likes that bullshit.

Like fuck Jason won't get it again.

Which leads to Jason's good boy era as Red Hood because he wants more affection and praise from Dick - because he wants to be the cause of such a devastatingly wonderful smile.

Just - Jason being so aggressive about this new goal of his. Being purposefully over the top good and agreeable and then standing off to the side, head lowered just a fraction in anticipation of more hair ruffles and head pats and closeness.

Only Dick is still reserved and restraining himself. He doesn't want to overstep with Jason again. Especially since Jason has been willing to work with him again lately.

So Dick gives Jason an arm pat instead, hahaha.

And Jason stares after him as Dick walks away - eyes wide and jaw dropped because w h a t. All that effort for a fucking arm pat?

The betrayal. The devastation. Oh, Jason would rage.

Which leads to the Return of the Red Hood, part x.

#dickjay #jaydick

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tsunael · 1 month

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If there's anyone out there that cares about flower language and symbolism like I do, I made an informal write-up some time ago about the in-game flowers (that you can put in your house) and the different symbolism that they can mean.

I included the symbolism for the in-game colors as well when they were available.

Also as a disclaimer these could be incorrect, have contrasting meanings, or have different meanings in different real-world cultures. White chrysanthemums (kiku) are usually a funeral flower in Japan for instance. (My Japanese professor once said they were a faux pas for her to receive in a bouquet!) So your mileage may vary!

This was simply a fun personal project I made for myself that I thought other people might enjoy as well! So here's a question to answer in the tags:

What flowers would your WoL have in their residence?

Arums (calla lily) 🔷magnificent beauty, feminine modesty

Brightlilies (easter lily) 🔷purity, refined beauty 🔷White: virginity, purity, majesty 🔷Pink: wealth and prosperity 🔷Red: warmth, desire 🔷Yellow: gaiety, falsehood, "I’m walking on air" 🔷Orange: hatred

Campanulas (bellflower) 🔷humility, constancy

Chrysanthemum 🔷cheerfulness, "You’re a wonderful friend" 🔷Red: I love you 🔷White: truth 🔷Yellow: slighted love

Cosmos 🔷harmony, peace, modesty, "the joys that love and life can bring", beautiful

Dahlias 🔷dignity, elegance

Daisies 🔷innocence, beauty

Lilies of the Valley 🔷return of happiness, sweetness, humility, purity

Oldrose 🔷Red: I love you, love, beauty, passion, romance 🔷Blue: mystery, attaining the impossible, love at first sight 🔷White: innocence and purity, "I am worthy of you", reverence 🔷Yellow: decrease of love, jealousy, friendship

Shroud Cherries (cherry blossom) 🔷spiritual beauty, a good education

Tulips 🔷perfect lover, fame 🔷Red: declaration of love, true love, eternal love, romantic love, "believe me" 🔷Yellow: hopeless love, unrequited love, brightness, sunshine 🔷White: ask for forgiveness, purity 🔷Purple: royalty

Hyacinths 🔷sports, games, rashness 🔷Purple: I am sorry, sorrow, "please forgive me" 🔷Red: play 🔷White: loveliness, "I’ll pray for you" 🔷Blue: constancy, sincerity 🔷Yellow: jealousy

Hydrangeas 🔷heartlessness, boastfulness, "You are cold"

Morning Glories 🔷love in vain, affection

Violas (violets) 🔷modesty, faithfulness 🔷Purple: daydreaming, "You occupy my thoughts" 🔷Blue: watchfulness, love 🔷White: candor, innocence 🔷Yellow: rural happiness

Byregotia (begonia?) 🔷Beware

Carnation 🔷fascination, love, distinction 🔷Red: "My heart aches for you", deep love, admiration 🔷White: sweet and lovely, innocence, pure love 🔷Yellow: "You have disappointed me", rejection, disdain 🔷Purple: capriciousness, changeable

Moth Orchid 🔷love, beauty, refinement, beautiful lady

Sweet Pea 🔷departure, good-bye, delicate pleasure, tender memory, blissful pleasure

Triteleia 🔷 They're a North American wildflower also called 'triplet lilies' or 'Ithuriel's spear' which is a reference to John Milton's epic English poem, Paradise Lost. It's about an angel sent by Gabriel to find Satan in the Garden of Eden. Satan, in the form of a toad, is introducing evil suggestions into the ear of Eve when Ithuriel pokes him with a spear. Satan then returns to his true form, "for no falsehood can endure Touch of Celestial temper, but returns Of force to its own likeness." It is to an unknown but imaginative scholar of English letters that we owe the common name of this plant.

Long story short, I can't find any symbolism for this one. Would make a possibly good Halone/Ishgard reference if you wanted to read into it, though!

#queue time #mine #ffxiv #tsuna has white brightlillies white daisies and red carnations in her house 🥺#with some white chrysanthemum and shroud cherries growing #and a yellow oldrose bouquet...#I should update them tbh

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margareth-lv · 3 months

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🫥 What does it mean to be 'shy'? 🫥

I've always thought of shyness as an emotion that makes people feel uncomfortable or anxious in a social setting. A shy person is a person who feels nervous or timid in the company of others. A shy person feels hesitant or reluctant in social situations. Someone who is extremely shy might blush or fumble for words when speaking in front of a group of people.

However, Caitríona, under the control of a vengeful King of Puppets, took the concept of shyness to a whole new level.

*** *** *** The interview was conducted in mid-February 2018, when Caitriona had just won the Irish Film & Academy's Film & Drama Awards in the category of 'Actress in a Leading Role - Drama' for her work on Outlander. In her private life, according to much publicised PR, she has just become 'engaged'. I am uploading a longer extract from the interview here because the change in Caitriona's speech, facial expression and intonation is striking. Note: Tumblr doesn't like large files, so I had to edit and shorten the original video anyway.

Caitriona is relaxed and smiles warmly when discussing the metaphysics of Outlander. She even stutters like a teenage girl when she talks about the "dashing Highlander" with whom her character (😜😜😜) falls head over heels in love. On the other hand, when asked about her fake fiancé, she has a strange expression on her face. The muscles around her mouth are tense and she has a blank look in her eyes.

He's shy, says Caitríona, he doesn't like much talking about him.

*** *** ***

Let's stop there.

Let's assume that our prima ballerina's fiancé is not a fake, but a real one.

Let's suppose that a month and a half earlier, a real, loving man had proposed marriage to a woman who loved him.

A real man has proposed to the first Irish supermodel who has walked the catwalks for Dolce&Gabbana and Chanel, a talented actress who has been nominated for three Golden Globes and has just been the winner of the IFTA.

And let's imagine that this supposedly real man, a total "civilian" and an absolute nobody, is not proud of his fiancée, is not proud of having won her heart. Instead, he's too shy to put his name next to hers.

Is he ashamed of her?

🤦🏻‍♀️

This is not shyness. This guy is psycho.

My advice?

Caitríona, run! Run, run, Caitríona! Don't get involved with a jerk like that!

As you can see: Caitríona's "love story" with her PA has no credibility whatsoever.

The Narrative was written by an emotionally brainwashed idiot who has no understanding of life and human reaction.

*** *** ***

Finally, an interesting point in this interview is the one where Caitríona says that she met her fake fiancé through one of her (gay) best friends.

And we all know that it was through Outlander that she met the love of her life.

So they're two different people, aren't they, her faux fiancé and the love of her life?

💁🏻‍♀️

[January 15, 2024]

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jamiesfootball · 7 months

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Today on the wheelodex of things I'd like to discuss regarding Mom City / the Finale-

It's fucking weird that Ted's mom didn't come to the match. I also understand it completely.

(And I don't just mean writing weird, although I do think the decision was in part made so that they wouldn't have to spend a whole character-centric episode's B-plot revolve around introducing a new character around. Which is another complaint on the overall pacing of s3, but i digress)

But I'm talking about the 'meeting someone's mom is like getting a manual on why they're nuts' of it all. Ted's mom:

Flew in from the states, without letting Ted know she was coming

Proceeded to stay at a hostel for a week, hanging around 'near' his place for ??? amount of time until he happened to walk past her

Did the 'oh no, I couldn't' dance with him regarding staying with him (conceded)

Did the 'oh no, I couldn't' dance with him regarding going to work with him (conceded)

Did the 'oh no, I couldn't' dance with him regarding going up to Manchester -- and was left back at his flat.

Like. Holy fucking shit. That was all in the span of like 1-2 days.*

This is what Ted grew up with. Someone who constantly refuses to outright ask for anything or confront anything without making it an exercise for the other person. She's so passive aggressive that makes Ted seem like a direct person in comparison.

But what's interesting to me is that when it came to coming to the match in Manchester, that's the one where Ted folded in the towel and went 'yeah just stay here then'. Because that is the antithesis of Midwestern hospitality, isn't it? To leave your guest--your mom--back at home while she's visiting while you go off and do something else, something interesting, for a long stretch of time. It certainly makes my learned southern hospitality shudder in social faux pas. That's just not done. It's rude. Ted does it anyways.

With passive aggression, it's about what's not said--not what is. Both parties tend to know that the person being passive aggressive actually wants the opposite thing. The 'polite' way to tell them 'no' is to pretend you accept what they're saying. Ted's insistence that she tag along is noticeably weaker than when he's telling her to take his bed or come to work with him. It's not that her counter-arguments are any better; it's that he does the courtesy dance in a way that gets him out of the situation by giving her what she's asking for.

So Ted, Ted, does something people could consider rude. Because the alternative is doing this goddamn song-and-dance with his mother again. And I think that's fascinating. Not just from a character perspective, but for how it shows Ted's priorities in that moment. He says it backwards, he says it in an absence, but it's implied all the same, I don't want you there.

His team is facing off against their white-whale. They've been chasing Pep's team and his strategy, and now they're going head to head. If his mom came to the match, he'd be focused on her. On making sure she was taken care of. He doesn't want that.

For him, that's about as close as we ever get to him saying that he wants something (that has nothing to do with Henry.)

Of course then, just like Jamie's dad hovers over him even when he's not there, Ted's mom follows him to Manchester in his head. When Ted talks to Jamie, he's got one foot back in his kitchen at home. He's there, but he's not there. He's talking to Jamie, but he's talking to himself.

And it makes me wonder how often this was the case--how often did he throw in the towel and give her what she asked for because he just couldn't take being the one who had to handle all the decisions. It's a backwards negotiation, making his mother show up for him. She does love him, but god you can see how much strain reassuring her that he loves her too takes.

If I may be so bold, I think Ted also deserved to say 'fuck you' to his mom without attaching a 'thank you'.

*(SIDE COMPLAINT - The timeline of Mom City expands and contracts to fill the narrative space as needed, and it was goddamn infuriating to write about just tell me when things happen damnit)

#there was more because I also do feel like this ties into his need to be there for henry without henry ever having to ask him for it #but whoops I've got to go to work now #ted lasso #dottie lasso #ted lasso meta

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damn-it-a-hogwarts-legacy-blog · 2 months

Text

The Swan

AO3 Link

Ominis and MC learn that they're going to have their first baby. The Gaunts also hear the news.

Ominis x fem!MC

SFW

Rather angsty, hopeful ending. The Gaunts kidnap Ominis and his wife for daring to have a baby. They are creepy and scary about expressing their displeasure.

Word count: 2,635

A/N: this is for the lovely anon who asked about Ominis and MC finding out MC is pregnant for the first time ever. I took their mention of the Gaunts attacking, and kinda ran with it lol. Hope you're still out there, anon. :)

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

MC did not care that holding hands was a faux-pas amongst muggles; she was proud to take her husband by the hand when they walked. Others might have stared and murmured amongst themselves, but it had no effect on her. Ominis’ little smile and the bright red hue of his ears as he blushed while holding her hand melted her heart.

“This has been the most wonderful day out I've ever had,” MC sighed as she grasped her husband’s hand and leaned against him. The sun was beginning to drop in the horizon, throwing the long shadows of endless buildings across the streets of London.

“It has,” Ominis sighed in reply. “I must still be in shock—it all feels like a dream.”

The couple quietly chuckled to themselves as they strolled together down the snow-dusted February streets.

“When will I be able to feel it?” Ominis shyly asked.

“Not for a few months,” MC giggled. “Don’t you remember the healer telling you about that this morning?”

“I just wanted to be sure,” Ominis beamed. “I don’t want to miss a single second.”

“And you won’t,” MC replied as she gently squeezed his hand. “You’re going to be such a wonderful father, Ominis.”

Ominis blushed and smiled again. “Anything for my beautiful wife and the baby I cannot wait to meet.”

The couple strode in comfortable silence for a few moments as they both became lost in thoughts of their future.

“You know," MC mused, "my father would probably love to make a cradle for us. Perhaps we should ask him."

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Ominis replied. “The ones in the shops today just weren't quite right. How do you feel about carvings of hippogriffs on the sides?”

MC had only just opened her mouth to reply when the couple each felt a hand clap on their shoulders. The world suddenly swirled and blinked out of view. One dreadful instant later, the spinning stopped. MC held her husband’s arm tightly as she nearly fell to the ground.

“Ominis, are you all right?” MC cried, her vision struggling to adjust to the darkness that now surrounded them. She became faintly aware of faint, deep green light that just barely illuminated a large atrium of green marble and dark wood.

“I’m here,” Ominis panted. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

MC held her head as her dizziness subsided. “I think I’m all right. It feels as if… we were apparated.”

“Perhaps you feel that way because you were apparated,” came a voice from the darkness.

MC’s blood turned to ice. She felt Ominis tense and take a step backwards, but he stopped when he backed into something. MC turned and nearly screamed when the sight of two of Ominis’ brothers eclipsed her vision. They were tall, unsettlingly handsome and sturdily built beneath their formal outfits. One of them waved glibly to MC without saying a word, a vicious smile on his face.

“It has been a while, hasn't it, MC?” the voice crooned as it approached. MC could barely make out the figure in the dark, but her mind had no trouble filling in the details.

“Mother,” Ominis choked. “What—”

His two brothers chuckled. “Good to see you at least still recognize mum,” one of them growled. “We were beginning to wonder if you had forgotten about us completely. Welcome home.”

As she became clearer despite the darkness of the Gaunt manor, MC recognized the loose, silvery blonde hair and pointed face of Ominis’ mother. Her pale complexion and cold blue eyes were both beautiful and terrifying, her unconventional dress hugging her perfect figure as she sauntered towards the pair.

“Please, spare me your timidity, Ominis,” his mother scoffed. “Don’t you think I’ve had enough of that from when you were a child?”

“What do you want?” MC snarled as she drew her wand.

“Silly girl,” she laughed as she drew her own wand with long, delicate white fingers. “We know better than to leave Ominis unsupervised—do you think we would not find out one way or another? It is one thing to think you’ve fallen in love and to be wed… but now you’ve gone and contaminated our bloodline.” She pointed her wand at MC’s stomach. “And I cannot allow this farce to continue.”

“Do you feel no shame for what you’ve done, Ominis?” his mother asked as she turned to him. “For defying us and running away with the likes of her? For getting her pregnant? How many times did you make that deliberate decision to give in to whatever seduction she employed?”

A thick hand slid up MC’s back and caressed her shoulder as she heard a deep, gratified chuckle in her ear. She froze in terror, refusing to give Ominis’ brother the satisfaction of turning around to look at him. She tried with all her might to apparate away, to anywhere other than here, but her stomach sank as she realized an anti-disapparition jinx had been placed on the manor. MC reached out for Ominis' hand for comfort. Her shaking fingers slowly closed over his and she breathed a ragged breath.

From beneath the blossoming terror rooted in his stomach, Ominis felt a roiling, white hot anger as he heard what was happening to his wife and felt her trembling hand. He thought of the tiny life safely growing inside MC that they had worked so hard to create together, enduring roller coasters of emotion month after month in their attempts to have a child. The very notion of his family trying to destroy the life he had worked so hard to build and hurt his innocent wife and child filled Ominis with an anger he had never felt before, and as he gently slipped his hand from MC's, he threw himself at his brother. His brother stumbled away, bewilderment and anger scrawled on his face.

“Don’t touch my wife,” Ominis snarled. He swiftly took MC’s hand again and pulled her behind himself as he drew his wand. He turned to face his mother. “And you will not speak of her that way.”

Ominis’ mother let a stunned look flash across her face before regaining her composure and slowly closing the distance between herself and her son. “I suppose you would feel that way after having been beguiled by her for such a long time. But still—I’m rather impressed you’ve finally grown a backbone.”

MC felt Ominis begin to shake as his mother's voice approached, but he stood his ground and gripped MC's hand tighter. Her heart swelled and a lump formed in her throat as she gazed down at the slender fingers intertwined with hers. He had held her hand the same way when they had sat together on the floor of the scriptorium in their fifth year as Ominis poured his heart out to MC about his past; when they had realized they had fallen in love and confessed to one another; when they were married in the cool June twilight; when he would tell her how much he loved her and he would make blissful, tender love to her; and finally, just that morning when the healers had given them the news that, after many difficult months of trying, they were finally going to have a baby to raise and love until the end of their days.

“Ominis has always been brave,” MC growled as she looked up and into his mother’s eyes. “Ever since the first day he stood up to you and you cursed him. He is one of the bravest people I have ever known.”

“You little wretch,” Ominis mother shouted. “I would have thought the cruciatus curse had been enough to put you in your place the last time we met—but it seems as if both of you need a reminder.”

The world slowed as MC stood transfixed in terror at Ominis’ mother raising her wand. Buried memories of the cruciatus curse flooded back to MC for the first time: the overwhelming rush of memories her throat raw from screaming, the self-satisfied expression on Ominis' mother's face as she refused to relent—and the pain. It had felt like an impossibly lonely eternity of nothing but the curse.

MC's ears rang, drowning out all sound. In the back of her mind, only one grim question lingered: would their baby survive the sheer stress of the cruciatus curse?

A flash of blinding light filled the room, and MC squeezed her eyes shut, hoping for the curse to be over quickly and praying to any higher power to spare her child.

But she felt nothing.

MC slowly opened her eyes. Materializing from a cloud of bright blue light was a swan in flight, slowly gliding across her vision. She was suddenly wrapped protectively in Ominis’ arms and turned away from his mother as Ominis shielded her.

“I love you,” came Ominis’ whispered voice as it pierced through the ringing in her ears. “It will be all right.”

Sound came flooding back to her ears, and she heard confused shouts and the sounds of spells narrowly missing her. Ominis pulled MC to her feet and she began running, unaware of where she was headed. She was still blinded by the light of the spell as she followed Ominis’ lead, trusting his wand to guide them both. She could not tell if she heard voices following them, or if they were merely echoes off the long hallways.

Through twisting and upsettingly confusing rooms, Ominis deftly navigated the maze of a house until they burst through a small door and stumbled into the twilight-bathed garden. Decaying statuary and diseased hedges glared down at the two, and MC clung to Ominis in the alien landscape.

"We're leaving. Are you ready?" Ominis murmured hurriedly. MC could barely mumble a "I was born ready" with an exhausted smile before she felt him take her by the hand and apparate them both away.

When the world swirled back into view, MC instantly recognized the comforting smell of their home. Impressively, Ominis had managed to pinpoint their bedroom and MC stumbled forward to collapse on the bed with Ominis not far behind.

As she lay on her side and tried to catch her breath, MC felt nothing—then suddenly, the realization that it had not been a dream or mere imagination fully sunk in. MC's thoughts turned to anger, then horror, then sadness—then all three at once. She choked out a restrained whimper, and her husband was by her side in an instant, lying behind her and pulling her into a strong embrace.

Ominis remained still, his arms around her torso, as he listened to his wife let loose the sobs she could no longer keep at bay. She curled in on herself and tucked her head to her chest.

"I'm sorry, my love," Ominis murmured as he kissed her head. "I'm so, so sorry."

When Ominis had first met MC and she had so casually mentioned being attacked by a dragon along the way, he knew she was brave to a fault. So to hear her reduced to a frightened girl shaking in his arms was more than Ominis could fathom.

“I’m scared, Ominis,” MC whimpered. “What do we do if they find us again? We can’t stay locked away under our house’s fidelius charm forever. What if they find one of our children and they—”

MC choked as she stopped herself from dwelling any further on the thought. Ominis sighed and rested his chin on her head, enveloping her as closely as he could manage. “I wish I had an answer.”

Ominis’ response prompted more tears, and he felt his throat clench. He hated his family for making his darling wife suffer. She had been feeling ill the past few days, and the guilt of causing her discomfort for getting her pregnant had already been enough to make Ominis go out of his way to wait hand and foot on her. Now, with his family having caused a fresh round of anguish, he wished he could take all of her suffering and bear it himself.

Ominis held MC and comforted her through her fear. He whispered how much he loved her and how brave she was for enduring it all for him and their baby. Eventually, through gentle coaching to breathe and focus on the sound of Ominis' voice, MC's sobs faded to weeping, and then to mere sniffling. She held Ominis' clasped hands to her chest and refused to let go. Every few moments, she ran her fingers over his hands or gently squeezed them just to make sure he was still there.

The couple laid in silence for what felt like hours. MC listlessly watched the moon travel across the night sky and shrunk back against Ominis for warmth and comfort.

When MC had finally calmed down enough to sigh deeply, she began idly playing with Ominis' fingers.

"Thank you," MC muttered. "For staying with me."

"I could never be anywhere else until I knew you were all right," Ominis whispered. "You're my little hummingbird, and I'll always protect you."

"How did you manage that, by the way?" she softly asked. "The patronus charm?"

"I have been practicing," Ominis admitted with some hesitation. "Ever since the last time my family tried to kidnap us—that night before our wedding—I've been studying the spell. I had heard that it was effective against inhuman evil."

"It was extremely impressive you could even cast it at all. That’s a difficult spell for any witch or wizard. I'm proud of you." MC gently squeezed his hands again.

"I suppose this is what it finally took for me to stand up to my mother... I don't know if it was cast well. I obviously don't even know whether it took an animal form or not, but I could not let you be cursed a second time," Ominis replied in a low tone.

"It was a beautiful swan," MC smiled. "I don't know if it worked exactly as you had hoped, but it protected us all the same by blinding everyone else."

Ominis took one of MC’s hands and held it flat against her stomach. His fingers lovingly traced over each bone and ligament in her hand. “Hmm. A creature known for its love and dedication to its lifelong partner. I suppose it makes sense… after all, I will always protect you—both of you.”

"And I cannot begin to express how much it means to me that you were willing to go to that length to protect me," MC murmured as she turned back to kiss her husband.

MC finally felt exhaustion tug at her eyes as the soothing motions of her husband’s fingers melted her adrenaline and grief. She let out a heavy yawn.

“You should get some rest, MC,” Ominis murmured as he kissed her head. “You need it.”

“Stay with me,” she whimpered. “I’m… scared to be alone.”

Hearing the embarrassment in the voice of his otherwise stubbornly brave wife, Ominis hushed her. “Nobody could ever blame you for that. I won’t leave you for a second, my love,” Ominis whispered. He laced his fingers between hers, refusing to move their hands from her stomach.

MC began to fade into sleep. Her life had been forever changed by the news of their baby, still little more than an imperceptibly tiny cluster of matter safe and warm inside her. She was all at once thrilled and terrified, imagining the happy days she and Ominis would spend raising their child and dreading the terror the Gaunts were inevitably going to attempt. But with her hand and Ominis’ held tightly together over her stomach, things did not seem quite so daunting.

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #isabel greymoore #requests #hogwarts legacy fanfic requests #still in absolute awe that holding hands was indecent back then #Like no wonder muggles were so fucked up lmao

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drbased · 5 months

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A typical healthy consciousness wants two things: firstly, it wants to be viewed as a complete whole, separate from outside influence and fully responsible for everything it does; secondly, it wants the freedom to be able to completely dismiss certain behaviours as not part of the whole under the guise of 'I don't know what came over me!' 'I just lost control' 'I don't know why I did that' etc.

We see this in other people all the time: we all have a friend who insists their relationship problems are never their fault, or a relative who swiftly changes the subject when you bring up their wine-drinking habit. Everyone wants the safety net: I am always me, untouchable and knowable only to me, apart from when I do things that are totally unknowable to me. You see this phenomenon play out in the response to statistics: advertisement is a bajillion-dollar industry which shows that people do respond (like sheeple, if you will) to stimulus and buy the things they're advertised. But every single person, myself included, secretly thinks of themselves as a pure individual, who makes rational decisions and is unaffected by pathetic things such as pictures and words. But if someone has a subconscious personal ulterior motive for consuming certain products, say as the result of an addiction, that motivation stays unknown to them - and it's evident that they very much want it that way.

These two facets are as contradictory as they are complimentary, as are many aspects of this convoluted tangle of concepts we call the 'self'. It is these two facets that make things like advertising work - people have to arrogantly believe that they're responsible for every single one of their behaviours - but the moment you point this out to them and that their spending habits are damaging to them and they should take responsibility for their actions, suddenly you're the bad guy, because you've broken this very important psychological illusion. In fact, one might say that this is the primary illusion that makes up the self as we know it: too much awareness and the person is trapped forever in an existential terror, unable to make any decision because the weight of responsibility is too much; and too little awareness means you may as well be an animal driven by pure instinct. So the psyche constantly walks a tightrope between 'I am me and always accountable for my actions' and 'but I'm not accountable for this action because I don't like what it would say about me if I was'.

A huge social faux pas that leftism enacts is that it removes the safety net of 'I'm not accountable for this action/thought/belief' and instead cuts right through this fundamental illusion of the psyche. Historically, your average apolitical person could be safe in the knowledge that because they've categorised themselves as not racist, any racist jokes they say are not a product of racism, but rather lighthearted fun. They want to be judged on the 'content of their character' and they want the content of their character to be what they've decided, and the only thing they want to be held accountable for. But when you point out that making racist jokes is something that someone of their particular background does, and is typically done to achieve a certain affect, therefore their behaviour fits into a statistical pattern that says something about themselves from an external perspective - something about themselves that they don't like the sound of - they, uhh, really don't like you doing that. No one does, because you've smashed through the illusion that they're making conscious choices from their isolated brain; what you've done is you've observed their precious individuality and put it into a standardised pattern of behaviour. You've, in essence, told them who they are.

And you're probably right: patterns of behaviour, both within one person's lifetime and across populations, tell us a lot more about a person, their intentions and reasoning, than what they will ever want to admit about themselves. Unfortunately, in the case of politics, you can't really get past this hurdle. You have to make the awkward leap of telling people who they are, and pray and hope for the best that the discomfort they feel leads them to try to change their behaviour. But I believe that this is why you can't really change people in a one-on-one argument. You try telling someone something as simple and basic as this: 'the reason why you have a sudden mysterious urge to go the corner shop every tuesday at 7pm is because your husband brings his friend Bill over, and you really can't stand Bill' - they're going to immediately brush you off, and next tuesday at 7pm they'll be musing once again 'I always fancy going on a walk then, I don't know why!' and you'll want to bang your head against the wall in frustration.

On the more extreme end, it's very common for addicts to come out the other side and realise that they never healed their relationship with their parents, for example; but if you saw that connection at the height of their addiction, would you be able to tell them that? Oh, hell no: in fact, you might even say that this illusion is exactly what enables addiction so effectively within the human mind. The famous adage 'I can stop whenever I want' comes to mind - the person has to believe that their choices are a conscious reflection of their pure, untouched individual personhood. And this spans the entire gamut of human experience, from the cigarette-on-your-work-break to your political leanings, as influenced by your relative levels of privilege.

So, does this mean we're doomed to never change people, politically speaking? Well, I don't really know. On the one hand, society at large has seemingly managed to grasp the concept of behaviours as a result of inherent privilege, not conscious choice. But there's much evidence to suggest a huge, monumental backlash; the right-wing, who have historically clung to this idea that they have this safety net of merely believing they're good people, have now pivoted into a near-neurotic response to this cultural shift. Now, being good needs to be reflected in doing good; merely meaning good doesn't carry so much social capital - and this is something the right-wing completely lost their minds about, to the point where things such as wearing a mask in the pandemic were 'politicised'. The right-wing have always leaned heavily into the nebulous concepts of 'freedom' and 'individuality', essentially signalling to this exact paradoxical illusion of the self: after all, freedom and individuality are concepts that do not and cannot make coherent sense, but are useful safety nets to ensure a perception of onesself as necessarily untouched by 'outside forces'.

Meanwhile, the politics of the mainstream left have been gradually distorted to pay lipservice to the idea of doing good through certain stock phrases, sharing on social media etc., but a comfortable space is being carved out for that same 'need' of plausible deniability within the self. 'Social justice' language that traditionally held the self accountable for unsavoury behaviours driven by forces other than 'conscious choice' has been gradually pivoting to achieve the exact opposite aim of what it was originally used for. The concept of privilege is being slapped on scapegoats, used to legitimise their demonisation - meanwhile those who have the exact same privilege are able to dodge criticism for 'being wholesome'/'being unproblematic' in some nebulous manner (usually by sticking to those stock phrases, following cultural norms/expectations and generally staying out of the limelight, especially if they're women).

Additionally, certain privileges have been given less political/moral weight than others, allowing for people to evade any and all accountability by nature of them belonging to certain oppressed groups - and having that negate their problematic behaviour as a member of an oppressor group. The most nebulous and meaningless privileges have been fast and widely adopted, especially as they allow the person to completely avoid any accusations of 'classic x group behaviour'. In fact, huge swathes of 'classic x group behaviour' are being rapidly done away with.

The core fabric of the leftist argument, the one thing that held a mirror to society and said 'what you actually do says things about you whether you like it or not' are being rapidly unravelled. Is this a sign that this paradox of the psyche is so fundamental to the formation and perserverance of the self that any attempts to shatter the illusion are quickly patched up and explained away? Is this illusion truly necessary for a healthy psyche, or just a typical one? Can we live in a world where everyone humbly admits to the kind of things they would admit in therapy, but on a daily basis? Is this version of the psyche merely a stage in collective human development, and can we grow beyond this? And, more importantly, can we do so in time?

#my writing #theory posting

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yallemagne · 7 months

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This episode. Hoooooooeeeeeeeeeey.

The service was very simple and very solemn. There were only ourselves and the servants there, one or two old friends of his from Exeter, his London agent, and a gentleman representing Sir John Paxton, the President of the Incorporated Law Society.

Much like Lucy's funeral in a way, but not sparse for lack of inviting but a lack of people to invite. After all, Hawkins had no family left to him to leave anything to.

Jonathan was holding me by the arm, the way he used to in old days before I went to school. I felt it very improper, for you can't go on for some years teaching etiquette and decorum to other girls without the pedantry of it biting into yourself a bit; but it was Jonathan, and he was my husband, and we didn't know anybody who saw us—and we didn't care if they did—so on we walked.

Mina sounds a bit flustered at the faux pas they're engaging in but still overjoyed at the knowledge that Jonathan is her husband! However, she still needs to justify it: "well, no one will gossip because no one here knows us, so it is fine". Come now, dear, it's fine because it doesn't matter. But oh well, she's getting used to it.

Mina: *detailing Dracula's appearance* "You see, he did not pass the vibe check. His vibes were absolutely rancid."

She really describes Dracula as though she were describing an animal. It's kind of unsettling.

"I believe it is the Count, but he has grown young. My God, if this be so! Oh, my God! my God! If I only knew! if I only knew!"

Youuuu bastards, having Jonathan repeat the lines as Mina continues narrating aghgh.

"Why, Mina, have I been asleep! Oh, do forgive me for being so rude. Come, and we'll have a cup of tea somewhere."

He's so cute!!! AAAA he is SO CUTE!!! My precious baby, I just want to hold him in my hands. He's so soft and cute and sounds so sweet and unsure, so bashful.

And then Mina begins the next section sounding like she has been crying. She mentions Arthur immediately, which is worth noting because she parallels him. She's lost a father figure and though she hasn't lost a lover, her lover is struggling to keep himself together while Arthur's lost the fight for her life already.

and then Jack comes in egregiously horny, and I just. What do you even have to say for yourself, sir? I think perhaps the way that he describes Quincey hints that he may not know Quincey as intimately as he knows Arthur? Nor as intimately as Arthur knows Quincey. Of course, part of this is just Bram fawning over American men because of his giant man crush on Walt Whitman. Jack's hero worship gives the impression that he's not close enough with Quincey to know his human flaws, at least. He sees him as a moral viking!!

Arthur was saying that he felt since then as if they two had been really married and that she was his wife in the sight of God. None of us said a word of the other operations, and none of us ever shall.

Jack, are you really so stupid as to think that he doesn't know? Skipping ahead--

"Just so. Said he not that the transfusion of his blood to her veins had made her truly his bride?" "Yes, and it was a sweet and comforting idea for him." "Quite so. But there was a difficulty, friend John. If so that, then what about the others? Ho, ho! Then this so sweet maid is a polyandrist, and me, with my poor wife dead to me, but alive by Church's law, though no wits, all gone—even I, who am faithful husband to this now-no-wife, am bigamist." "I don't see where the joke comes in there either!" I said; and I did not feel particularly pleased with him for saying such things.

Everyone raved over these lines before ("he confirmed the polycule!! they're all fucking!!"), and they probably still are raving tbh, so I appreciate Re: Dracula properly communicating VH's disdain for the idea and Jack's disdain for VH's disdain. It's more than an offensive joke, VH is bitter at Arthur's words because it would ironically make them all husbands of Lucy, and he morally objects to the idea of polyandry and betraying his wife though he considers her dead to him (comatose? out of her mind? either way, he can't/won't divorce her but still values the virtue of his faithfulness). Likewise, Jack doesn't appreciate VH's apparent derision towards Arthur and the insulting way he refers to Lucy as a polyandrist. But VH assures Jack that he's simply venting to Jack because Jack is his friend, and he dares not to express these harsh feelings to Arthur, who reminds him of his son.

"Friend John, forgive me if I pain. I showed not my feeling to others when it would wound, but only to you, my old friend, whom I can trust. If you could have looked into my very heart then when I want to laugh; if you could have done so when the laugh arrived; if you could do so now, when King Laugh have pack up his crown, and all that is to him—for he go far, far away from me, and for a long, long time—maybe you would perhaps pity me the most of all." I was touched by the tenderness of his tone, and asked why. "Because I know!"

See, this is why he will not tell Jack. Not because he's scared of him. Because he knows that to know is to suffer. He does not wish any suffering upon Jack, though he should realize that keeping secrets has been the cause of much suffering already.

#dracula #dracula daily #re: dracula #mina harker #jonathan harker #jonmina #jack seward #john seward #morward #it's implied #abraham van helsing #september 22

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bellysoupset · 8 months

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Sicily Part 5

This is just unapologetic fluff, necessary for the next fic.

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"No, I don't wanna," Livia said in a cry like voice and Bella frowned, walking in the kitchen just as she watched Magda struggle to get Livia to finish up her breakfast.

The older woman berated the little girl in italian, but the answer came in English.

"I don't wanna go!" she whined, rubbing her eye and making a frowny face, looking ready to cry. Bella walked closer, kissing the top of her dark head.

"Hi baby..." she glanced at Magda, "everything okay, ma?"

"We're going out to visit some relatives, but she doesn't wanna go," the older woman scoffed, hands on her hips, "you have to eat, Livia."

"Vince is going too, I'm assuming?" Bella asked, combing her fingers through the little girl's hair and Livia turned to look at her as if she was a saving grace.

"He'll meet us there, actually. Him, Wendy, Leo and Jonah left super early this morning," Magda explained, "no one wants to babysit during vacations, I can't blame them."

Bella hesitated for a second, before saying, "well, Luke and I aren't going out today," she shrugged, "it's not like we even could, he can't put a shirt on with how sunburned he got" she rolled her eyes and Magda looked away from her daughter hopeful.

"And you wouldn't mind watching her?"

"Can I stay?" Livia made her best puppy eyes and Bella snorted. Just like her brother.

"Yeah, we wouldn't mind," she pointed the breakfast, "but you have to finish eating, Liv."

The little girl promptly threw herself at the task at hand and Magda, who had been hunched over trying to feed her, straightened up with a sigh.

"Are you sure? She's a lot..."

"We'll be fine, don't worry" Bella smiled, "you deserve a day out, without running after a toddler, ma."

The woman nodded, blushing slightly, "let me go change then..."

"Go, I got her," Bella pulled a chair next to Livia and sat down, stealing a bacon piece out of the big plate in the center of the table, "why don't you wanna go visit your uncles, Liv?"

"They're boring," she pouted, munching on her toast, "and they don't let me do anything."

Bella chuckled, "how inconsiderate of them to not let you paint on the walls," she teased lightly, noticing Livia had all but finished the remaining toast, "do you want more?"

"No," Livia shook her head and Bell shrugged.

"Okay, how about..." she piled up a plate with bacon, hashbrowns, toasts and fruits, "you take this up to Luke? He's in bed whining like a big baby."

Livia giggled at the phrase and happily took the plate, sauntering off the kitchen. Bella smiled, filling up two big cups of juice and following her out at a slower pace.

True to Bell's words, Lucas was still in bed, sprawled on it like a starfish and attempting to nap. Their night had been hellish as there was no comfortable position to lie on, but at least he wasn't feeling nauseous anymore.

"Luke," Livia poked his arm, hard, and he let out a wince and opened his eyes.

"Bell, sto- Oh hey," he frowned at Livia's little face, "are you lost?"

Bella snorted at his answer, leaning on the doorway, "she's our little guest today. Ma and pa are going out to meet with some relatives and no one else's home," she explained quickly, "I said we could keep an eye on her."

"I brought food!" Livia perked up and grabbed a blueberry, pushing it in his mouth. Lucas let out a surprised noise, chewing it and rolling on his back with a groan.

"Alright..." he pushed against the mattress, forcing himself to sit up and Livia climbed the bed uninvited, sitting near his knee and planting the plate on his lap.

"Bella said you're a baby," she gossiped and Bella let out an offended gasp.

"Hey! That was between us two, Livia!" she chastised lightly, walking into the room and planting the juice glass on the bedside table with a faux courtesy, "my lord."

"Fuck off," Lucas groaned, smiling and Bella showed him her tongue in a childish manner, while Livia let out a gasp.

"You said a bad word!"

"What? Ah fuck, I did, uh- Shit- Sorry," Lucas stumbled over his words and Bella laughed, climbing on the bed too.

"You should charge him fifty bucks per bad word, Liv," she said, squirming out of Luke's reach when he tried pinching her side, "secure your college fund."

"Bella, don't give her ideas!"

"Ma says that who says bad words gets stinky breath," Livia glared at him.

His face, that was already red from the sun, turned a shade darker, "I'm not gonna say any bad words," he vowed with a pout, stuffing his mouth with more berries, while Bella pressed her lips together not to laugh.

Livia, like apparently all members of the Monacelli family, was completely enchanted by Luke. She refused to get down from the bed, even when her parents came to say goodbye, even when Bella suggested they went outside to swim in the pool.

"Can Luke come?"

Bella glanced up, to where Lucas was still sprawled on the bed and scrolling through his phone, clearly in pain and with zero desire to go in the pool.

"I don't know Liv, why don't you ask him?"

Livia poked his chest, causing him to hiss and recoil.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Come to the pool with us," Livia bossed, instead of asking, "pretty please."

"I don't think that's a good idea..." Lucas pouted, squirming away when Livia attempted to grab his face. Bella was trying her best not to laugh, she had never seen him be so uncomfortable before.

"Why not? You don't know how to swim?" Livia frowned, "I can teach you. Papá teached me."

"Taught," Luke corrected without thinking and Livia stared at him, unimpressed, causing Bella to snort.

"Good job, Atwood," she whistled from the door, while Liv pouted.

"Per favore?"

Bella watched, amused, as Lucas let out a whine sounding every bit a kid like Livia and then got up from the bed.

"Fine."

"YAY!"

"Yeah, yay!" Bella grinned, tiptoeing to kiss his cheek when Lucas passed her by, hand in hand with Livia, and glared her way.

"You're being so mean to me," he whispered, wincing as Liv tugged on his hand.

"Teaches you to wear sunscreen, babe," Bella whispered back, skipping behind them. It was a warm day and even their room a/c wasn't cutting it, so it felt amazing to sink the cold water of the pool.

Until she looked up and saw Livia already inside the water, holding Luke's hands and pulling him in. He had a large, painful frown on.

Bell sighed, swimming closer and circling Livia, "honey, let Luke go, you're hurting him."

"But he doesn't know how to swim!" Liv cried out, "he'll drown!"

Lucas winced at the childish yell and Bella frowned. Sure he clearly didn't like children, but that was a bit much.

"He does know how to swim, Liv," Bella wrapped her arms around the kid, unhooking her childish fingers from Luke's hands, "let's race to the end of the pool, alright? You go first?"

Livia's face lit up and she nodded eagerly, "I'm gonna do it like a mermaid!" then proceeded to swim diving in and out of the water. Bella slid closer to Luke, cupping his face.

"What's wrong? It's just a little girl, babe."

"Yeah, I know," he was still grimacing, "she's just loud and my head is killing me, that's all."

"That's all?" Bella raised an eyebrow. She had seen him keep his good humor through a migraine, "Lucas."

"I'm fine, just thinking... Of the future and stuff," Luke waved her off, wincing when the gesture pulled on his muscles, "I'm gonna sit in the shade. I can judge your race."

"Please don't spare me any criticism," Bella smiled, leaning in and giving him a peck, "I'm so pissed you're too toasty for me to fuck you, Lucas. Really putting a bummer in my vacations."

He chuckled, "get out of here-"

Right on cue Livia swam back to them "DONE! How did I do!?"

It was another hour of swimming back and forth before all three of them were starving and went back in the kitchen roaming for food. There were leftovers from last night's dinner in the fridge, so they went back outside, sitting on the hammock while eating, Livia blabbing away between them.

She attempted to crawl her way into Luke's lap, only for him to promptly put her back in the hammock and Bella laugh, opening her arms for the little girl to nest against her.

"How about dessert, Liv?" Bella asked, getting up from the hammock with a grunt and pulling Livia with her.

"Can we have ice cream?"

"Yeah, of course..." she carried her back inside, leaving Lucas behind. They grabbed popsicles from the freezer and rushed back out, Bella handing Luke his favorite - strawberry - and then patting his head, "watch her for a sec, I need to go to the bathroom."

"How long is a sec?"

"Don't be a dick," she rolled her eyes and Livia frowned.

"That's a bad word..."

"Add it to Luke's tab!" Bella yelled back, already going back inside.

When she did make it back outside, not even five minutes later, Livia and Lucas were curled up on each other, both passed out in the hammock. His hand was sticking out, the popsicle melted in a little puddle under his fingers, the other one cupping the back of Liv's head. Her forehead was resting on his chest, a dollop of drool already on his belly.

Bella scoffed, rushing back inside to grab her phone and taking a picture, which she promptly sent to Vince with the caption "so what's up with your fam and being in love with my boyfriend?"

She saw Vince's contact light up and then his text bubble appeared, "It's just because he's tall."

#i know this is hardly a sickfic #so i'm not even gonna post it in a different day #needed the fluff for later tho #lucas atwood #mywriting #sunburn

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