#Mill-wheels are silent

[thefishbread]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[lifestylehotels]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[lifestival]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[socialifestyle]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[lifestylearticles]

New Post has been published on Lalka

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[funfashionlife]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[lifebg]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[istanbul-history]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[foodtravels]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[lifestylechangebg]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[burgasholidays]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[mapofistanbul]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[yurstarc]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[lifestival]

Mill-wheels are silent

The mill-wheels are silent now. This little valley, with its rich grassy slopes, ought to have been covered with herds of sheep and cattle. Not one was to be seen. The pretty little place was as lonely as a graveyard, or as though no living thing had trod its rich greensward for years. We ascended the slope to the right, and when we reached the top of the ridge which separated it from the next valley, we had a beautiful panorama spread out before us.

The mountains here seemed to extend around in a circle, enclosing a tract of country some eight or ten miles in diameter, considerably lower down, which was cut up by a great number of deep hollows and ravines that traversed it in every direction, and seemed to cross and cut off each other without the slightest appearance of anything like reference to a watershed. It looked more like an enlarged photograph of the mountains of the moon than anything else I could think of Guided Istanbul Tours.

Down in the bottom of one of these hollows we could make out a village, which our guide informed us it would still take us an hour and a half to reach, although it really seemed to be very near.

The hillsides

This was the village of Batak, which we were in search of. The hillsides were covered with little fields of wheat and rye, that were golden with ripeness. But although the harvest was ripe, and over ripe, although in many places the well-filled ears had broken down the fast-decaying straw that could no longer hold them aloft, and were now lying flat, there was no sign of reapers trying to save them. The fields were as deserted as the little valley, and the harvest was rotting in the soil. In an hour we had neared the village.

As we approached our attention was directed to some dogs on a slope overlooking the town. We turned aside from the road, and, passing over the debris of two or three walls, and through several gardens, urged our horses up the ascent towards the dogs.

[vivwritesfics]

Hooked On A Feeling

Chapter Twenty Two - Poor Milo

Daniel is a Formula One driver, but, more importantly, he was a single dad to a wonderful little girl. He wants her to be a normal little girl, to have a normal social life, so he sends her to daycare. That was where she met Milo, her future best friend.

Milo's mother was incredibly stressed. She worked so hard to provide a good life for her son. But then he makes a new friend, a friend who has a hot dad (ofc they fall in love)

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Single Dad!Daniel x Single Mum!Reader

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Milo was miserable, that much was clear. But there wasn't much his mother could do about it. It broke her heart every time she dropped him off and picked him up from school. If she could have, she would have sent him somewhere better, would have put him in school with Olivia, but she simply couldn't afford it.

"Hey Munchkin," she said as he climbed into her car. Milo had stopped using the far seat when he started school. He buckled himself into the back seat and they set off.

He was silent for the entire journey to Daniel and Olivias house. Even when his mother tried to ask him questions, he wasn't answering. Her heart was entirely broken.

She wasn't the only one that noticed it. Daniel tried his hardest to converse with Milo, but he still wasn't answering. The only one of them that could get any kind of reaction out of him with Olivia. Olivia, who took him off so that they could play. Olivia, who got the hint and didn't talk about school.

As soon as dinner was done, Olivia took Milo up to her room to play. Daniel turned to Y/N as she put the dishes in the sink. "Milo is..."

She slipped back into her chair and her head fell into her hands. "I know. Danny, I know." She said, biting her lip to hold back her tears.

Daniel pushed his chair back and patted his thighs. Wordlessly, she climbed into his lap and let the sobs shake her body. "I'm still more than happy to pay for Milo to go to school with Olivia," he said and she shook her head.

"I couldn't ever pay you back, Daniel," she said between sobs.

He kissed her temple and rubbed her back. "I don't want you to pay me back," he said, but she still couldn't accept it.

The next day at school, Mill was clutching his stomach as he walked to the car. "Munchkin, what's wrong?" His mother asked before he could climbed into the car.

"Headache... tummy hurts..." he groaned.

Y/N frowned as she pressed her hand to his forehead. "We'll, you're not burning up," she said. But then she crouched to his height. "Try it for me today, Miley. If you're really feeling sick, tell your teacher to give me a call and I'll see if I can get Daniel to pick you up."

Reluctantly, Milo nodded. He climbed into the car and Y/N got into the driver's seat. If she could have, she would have kept him home with her, but she couldn't afford to take the day off to look after him.

The drive to the the school was silent, aside from the music playing on the radio. When she pulled into the car park, she unbuckled her seatbelt, but Milo was already out of the car, walking into the school.

She took a minute to sit in her car. Her head was against the steering wheel as she sucked in a breath. Her heart hurt as she gathered the strength to drive off to work, calling Daniel as she went.

It was maybe two hours into her shift before she got a call from the school.

She immediately picked up her phone and held it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Oh, Hello. Is this Mrs L/N? Milo L/N's mother?" Came the voice from the other end.

"That's me."

The woman on the other end of the phone let out a light cough. "We've got Milo here. He's not been feeling too well. Is there anybody that could come and pick him up?"

"Yeah," she immediately replied. "Yeah, I'm going to try and get my partner to come and pick him up."

"Can we get a name?"

"Daniel Ricciardo," she said.

The woman from Milo's school fell quiet. Y/N knew what she was wondering, whether it was the Daniel Ricciardo or not. Finally, she answered. "Okay, that's all sorted. We'll be waiting in the office with him."

She said her goodbyes and hung up, immediately calling Daniel.

Daniel, who picked up the phone the moment she called. Daniel, who stopped his workout the moment she told him what was happening. Daniel, who talked her through her tears as she cried at her desk, all while driving to pick up her son. Daniel was one in a million.

He drove straight to Milo's school, jumped out of his car as soon as it had stopped moving and strode into the office.

The collective gasp from the women that worked there was unsurprising. It really was him, they all thought. As soon as he saw Milo, sitting on the uncomfortable chair in the corner of the office, he walked over to him. "Hey, Milo," he said, getting down to his height. "Your mum sent me to pick you up."

Milo nodded. He climbed out of his seat and grabbed a hold of Daniels hand. Quickly speaking to the women at the desk, he signed them both out and walked Milo to the car.

He climbed into the back seat, sitting where Olivia normally did. "What's up, kiddo?" Daniel asked him as he began driving. But Milo stayed silent, holding his stomach. "Are you hungry?" He asked, and Milo nodded. "McDonalds?"

They went to McDonalds. Daniel took Milo inside, got him a kids chicken nuggets meal and an ice cream. The two of them sat in a booth, Daniel sipping his drink while Milo ate his nuggets and chips. "Feeling better now?" He asked.

"Yeah," said Milo, reaching for his own drink. "Thank you, Mr Ricciardo."

Daniel put his finished drink to one side. "You can call me Daniel," he said. By this point it was clear that Milo wasn't actually feeling unwell. Daniel didn't think he was lying, though. More likely, he was so anxious that he thought he really was sick.

"Is it school?" Daniel asked as Milo bit into his last nugget piece.

Milo hesitated before he nodded.

"I thought so," he mumbled, stealing a chip.

Milo finished his own drink and pushed the empty cup away. "I know my mummy can't send me to a different school," he said. "I know I can't go to the same school as Olivia, but I hate it so much," he said. "I've got no friends and the kids are mean," he said.

Daniel really felt for the kid. The first time he'd met Milo he'd been a shy little thing, and Daniel couldn't imagine that starting school couldn't have been easy for him. He didn't blame him for wanting to be at school with Olivia.

"Come on," he said when Milo finished his food. They stood up and Milo took his hand as they headed back out to the car. "We can watch cartoons until we have to pick up Olivia."

***

Y/N was the last of them to arrive home. Well, it wasn't her home, not yet. But it would be, Daniel knew. One day soon. She used the key Daniel had given her and walked into the house.

"Hey," said Daniel as he strode towards her. "Milo is upstairs with Olivia. He's feeling better now," he said.

She let out a breath and let her bag fall to the floor. It was been an exhausting day, even if she'd barely gotten any work done. All day she'd been so worried about Milo, her hands had been shaking as she tried to type at her computer.

Daniel could see it written on her face. "C'mere," he said as he walked towards her and placed his arm around her shoulders. "I've got Chinese food on the way."

"You're wonderful," she said through a sigh, stopping her walking to wrap her arms around him.

He did the same and kissed the top of her head. "We do need to talk, though."

They were the scariest six words she had heard since the beginning of their relationship. Daniel took a hold of her hand, kissed it, and took her through to the kitchen.

He sat her down at the table and sat opposite her. "Milo wasn't sick today," he said. "I think that he thinks he was sick. I think that he was anxious, so anxious that he felt sick." Daniel reached across the table, grabbed her hand. "Y/N, you can't send him back to that school. He's miserable, and if he keeps feeling so anxious that he's sick, he's never gonna get any learning done."

She squeezed Daniel's hand. "What can I do, Danny? I can't afford to send him to school with Olivia, and I don't have time to drive him out to any of the other schools."

"Let me pay for it," he said and she immediately shook her head.

"No, Daniel. I could never pay you back."

"I don't want you to pay me back." He said it so quietly she almost didn't hear it. "I love you and I love Milo. Let me look after you as best I can."

But she was still shaking her head. "Danny-"

"Okay, no. Let me do it for Milo," he said as he stared into her eyes.

She swallowed and nodded. "I am gonna find a way to pay you back," she said as she stood up and walked around the table.

"I'm sure you will," he said with a grin, pushing his chair back to pull her into his lap. His hands were on her hips as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

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[kquil]

JAMES POTTER | 02:23 ⏤THE PRETTY NURSE

SUM. : you’re the pretty nurse that james wants to woo but he just got out of surgery

G. : modern au ; muggle au ; nurse reader ; puppy love ; lovestruck james ; mutual attraction ; sirius is being a little tease ; heart monitor gives him away

LENGTH : 0.7k

“Prongs, you-” Sirius cuts himself off, unable to control himself and laughing behind his hand as Remus grinned beside him. Their friend had just gotten out of surgery to fix up his leg after an accident and was on his way to recovery in a hospital bed, hooked up to a monitor and with an IV keeping him hydrated in his arm. He looked pitiful already but his lovestruck expression made him look all the more pathetic.  

“Shut up Pads,” James snapped softly, his eyes never leaving your figure as you milled about the room tending to other recovering patients that he tried not to get too jealous over. He knows you’re a nurse and it’s your job to take care of them but James was utterly besotted by you. 

James can tell that your smile is genuine and that you sincerely enjoy taking care of people. It was also really attractive how intelligent you were and how beautiful you were regardless of your labour intensive work. You handled the equipment with expert hands, tended to patient needs with compassion and care, and administered medication with careful accuracy.

“Look at her…” James whispered under his breath, his gaze never leaving you, “she’s so pretty…”

“Yup, you’ve said that already,” Remus hummed in amusement, “seven times now to be exact,” 

“I think he’s losing it, Moony,” Sirius teased and poked James in the shoulder but was completely ignored. 

Like a silent call, James’ longing stare caught your attention and you were quickly making your way over to stand beside his bed. 

“Is everything okay? Can I get you anything?” you ask, trying to suppress a familiar, flustered heat from dusting your cheeks. Your new patient, James Potter, was very handsome and some of the other nurses who saw him being wheeled into your room of the recovery ward did nothing to disguise their jealousy. Being a nurse was hard work so having a handsome hunk of a man like James around did good to relieve some of your frustrations. All it took was a single glance his way and you felt recharged. 

Whilst tending to your other patients, however, instead of stealing glances at him you felt his stare lingering on you persistently. It was bad enough that such an attractive man was staring you down, it didn’t help that he also had such a longing, puppy-like look in his eyes when he did so. 

When James didn’t answer and only continued to stare at you, you turned to his friends with a questioning look, “he’s good, sorry in advance for his odd behaviour,” the tall brunette comments  with a soft smile. 

“Yeah,” Sirius piped up, drawing your attention, “he’s just feeling a little hot under the collar, aren’t ya’ Jamesie?” 

Feeling a spike of worry, you hurriedly made your way around his bed to have a closer look at him, leaning over his bed and stopping close to his face, “oh dear, are you sure you’re alright?” you stress, worried eyes scanning him for any distressing signs.

beep!beep!beep!beep!beep! 

Alarmed, you snap your gaze towards the Holter monitor and gaped at James’s rapidly rising heartbeat before returning your attention back to the man in question. His cheeks were a deep red, his eyes still fixed on you, wide and glittering under the hospital lights as his pink lips were slightly agape from awe at your close proximity.  

“Don’t be alarmed, love,” Sirius reassures, already giggling under his breath, “I think he’s just caught a terrible case of ‘Puppy Love-itis’,” Sirius couldn’t contain the force of his laughter any longer and threw his head back to laugh boisterously. 

Embarrassed but smiling timidly, you step back and nod before turning away to make more rounds, “I’ll be back with a suitable prescription for you soon, James,” 

James couldn’t believe the amount of humiliation he felt in that moment, his whole world was crumbling around him; throughout your entire interaction all he did was make a fool of himself. How could he possibly ask for your number now? 

All of his worries were all for naught, however, as you soon returned with a written prescription, “I’m sure that over time, your dosage will need to be increased but you can be your own judge there,” was your only comment. 

When James unfolded the small piece of paper in his hands, he couldn’t believe his eyes; you had just given him your number…

beep!beep!beep!beep!beep! 

A/N : inspired by a tiktok...there's so much good material on there, don't judge me!

NAVI.