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quickestgold · 2 months ago

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Still Alive: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Part 2 of Still Life

Synopsis: Delivery complications during the birth of your son leave Jack caught between grief and hope, life and loss. In the stillness that follows, those who witnessed it begin to confront their own silent trauma, navigating recovery, healing and bonding with a newborn.

Warnings: Angst, but also comfort this time; Very graphic descriptions of a traumatic birth, massive blood loss, life support, mentions of maternal death stats, abortion, overall pretty heavy, please take care!!

Word count: 3.4k+

A/n: Can you tell I'm incredibly passionate about reproductive health and bodily autonomy!! This turned a bit political... whoops!

Also, you guys basically held me at gunpoint to write this lmfao… hope you like it!! name and shame special mentions: @florenceivy @bungurus @happyfox43 @pearlofthepitt @angrytimemachineduck @pear-1206 @yousigned-upforthis @blushinginapril @theblackestvalkyrie @csigeoblue @xxemmarldxx @travelingmypassion <3

“You did so good, my love." Jack whispers. "So fucking good.” He wraps a blanket around you both, trying to shield you from the cold, from the storm, from everything.

The placenta came out whole. That should’ve been the end of it.

The start of your little family.

Robby watches the three of you fondly, though his movements stay clinical and focused.

Jack, now fully stepping into the role of husband and father, lets him take charge.

With a calm, gentle bedside manner, Robby cleans you as gently as he can with the supplies he has available, assessing the extent of your perineal tear and preparing to suture.

The aftermath of the miracle of life, raw, exposed, brutal.

You don‘t feel any of it. The world rests on your chest, a warm, perfect weight. Your baby’s tiny breaths brush against your flushed, clammy skin.

For a few peaceful seconds, the three of you breathe in perfect harmony. A beautiful rhythm that creates an unbreakable bond between you.

Your souls tied together by invisible strings.

The emotions, the hormones and the love are overwhelming.

But bliss never lingers. Never long enough.

The surgical blanket between your legs suddenly turns dark.

Then comes the gush.

A wave of blood pours out of your body. And it keeps coming.

To much. Too fast.

Robby reacts instantly, but he can‘t keep up.

Jack’s eyes grow wide, his face goes pale.

Primary postpartum hemorrhage.

You’re not supposed to die giving birth. Not here. Not now.

Not with Jack watching.

But you‘ve seen this before. Too many times.

Women bleeding out on tables.

Partners gripping their hands, helpless, as the world stops making sense.

The devastating truth is, maternal death rates in the U.S. are shockingly high and for women of color, the risk is even two to three times higher.

It‘s bias, delayed care, systemic neglect.

It's a lack of research, a lack of funding.

A deep, persistent lack of interest in women‘s health.

Our pain sidelined.

Ignored.

Normalized.

The system continues to fail women and people with a uterus.

Jack knows that. Robby does too.

That’s why the moment the bleeding starts, they don’t waste time. They’ve seen how fast a name turns into a number.

How a tragedy turns into a statistic, that ultimately changes nothing.

Robby calls out for Jack to assist, before starting a uterine massage to stimulate contraction.

Jack’s eyes flicker to Robby’s, his hand deep inside you. That part doesn’t register until later.

You don‘t respond to the pain. Not a good sign.

You‘re going into shock.

Robby‘s gloves are soaked. Your blood literally on his hands. The massage isn‘t working. Not fast enough anyway.

Robby shouts orders at Dana, voice trembling, then turns to Jack. “Start the IV.“

Jack's trained for this. But he hesitates.

Frozen.

Jack never freezes.

Always calm and collected, even during the most chaotic, traumatizing cases.

Robby knows the feeling. There have been one or two instances where time stood still for him too. Where his body was suddenly not his own, even though others counted on him.

He needs Jack, now.

You need him.

Robby is only thinking in units, how many you‘ve lost, how many you need.

This isn’t a slow bleed. This is the kind that kills people.

Fast.

“Jack!” Still no answer. “Dr. Abbot!“ Robby‘s desperate yell finally snaps Jack back into professional mode.

He moves. Slides out from under you, gently guiding you onto your back, cradling your head.

He rushes to switch out with Robby, now massaging your uterus with one hand, the other pressing firmly on your abdomen.

Robby swiftly takes your boy from your arms, leaving you dazed and confused.

“It‘s okay, he‘s okay.“ Robby’s eyes lock with yours for a second. “We need to stop the bleeding.“

You don‘t hear any of it, your world being ripped from you.

Robby passes the baby through the elevator door to Dana, who cradles him close, rocking gently.

Jack returns to your side, settling at your head again, cupping your face.

Robby works quickly. He inserts a Bakri balloon through your cervix, inflating it with sterile fluid to put pressure on the uterine wall.

You don‘t see any of it.

The world just... stops.

It’s been a week since Jack and Robby fought to save your life.

A week since you bled out on the cold elevator floor.

A week since you took your last breath on your own.

Jack hasn‘t left your bedside, except maybe the odd trip to the bathroom, but otherwise he's been still.

The image of a tube down your throat forever burnt into his mind. Your exhausted body hooked up to machines that he knows keep you alive. That breathe for you now.

As a doctor, Jack knows the truth: one flipped switch and you’d be gone.

But as a partner, as a new father, he clings to the hope that you‘ll come back.

Jack feels paralyzed, fear, guilt and helplessness weighing him down.

The life you have built together is on hold, a deep stillness filling the air.

All he can do is wait for something to change. Either one way or the other. But in this moment, time seems to stand still.

It’s also been a week since your son was born.

Sometimes, Jack has to remind himself of that. That there's a whole new life now, suddenly depending on him.

But ridden with guilt, he finds himself unable to care for your boy in this time of crisis.

Dana brings the baby in sometimes, places him gently on your chest. Skin-to-skin. For the baby and the mom.

Those are the rare moments Jack lets himself feel it. The love. The dream.

A glimpse of what was supposed to be.

Until the sadness floods back in.

He failed you. As a husband. As a doctor.

How could he not save you?

“She‘s so still.“ Jack says under his breath.

“She‘s still alive, Jack.“ Robby‘s voice is kind but firm. He sits across from him on the other side of your bed, watching Jack carefully. “She needs you to believe in that.“

Jack just stares at you. “We‘ve both seen how most of these go“

“I know.“ Robby looks at you then your boy resting calmly on your chest. “But we‘re not there yet."

Robby picks up your son's tiny hand. Instinctively, those small fingers wrap around Robby’s.

“He has your smile“, Robby laughs softly.

Jack‘s frown lines soften. “And her eyes.“

The realization makes Jack smile. Robby gives him a nod, as if he just proved his point.

“Add some silver to those curls, a bit of unhealthy cynicism and a dash of existential dread… voilá!“

That earns a chuckle.

Jack rolls his eyes. “We both know I’m the healthy one.”

“Healthy is a stretch, brother.“ Robby raises an eyebrow. “I have talked you off a ledge or two.“

Jack snorts. "Ditto. Why did I even give you my therapist‘s number if you‘re not gonna use it.“

“What makes you think I haven‘t.“ A smile tugs at Robby‘s lips.

“Get out.“ Jack stares. “Have you?“

“Yes, actually“, Robby’s tone turns proud.

“When?"

He doesn’t need to answer. Jack already knows.

They both look at you.

The irony isn't lost on Jack. He is the one that hasn‘t made an appointment since it happened. Too afraid to leave your side.

When he thought about losing you before - and he has, of course, he‘s seen too much loss, too much death - he always knew he would find himself on a roof not soon after.

But now. Now another life depends on him. Regardless of whether you leave them.

“You know what happened isn‘t your fault, right?“ Jack puts the question out there, though he knows the answer.

Robby just shakes his head. And in that moment Jack realizes the guilt that‘s weighing on Robby too.

He wants to shake him, tell him he couldn’t have done more. But he also understands. Somehow, sharing the guilt makes it all a little more bearable.

“She wants you to be godfather.“ Jack says before he can overthink it. “I do too, in case that‘s not obvious.“

Robby‘s eyes widen in surprise, too stunned to speak.

“I know, I know, first the baby‘s name, now this.“ Jack furrows his brows. “If I didn‘t know any better I‘d be jealous…“

Back in his body, Robby finds his voice. “When you say it like that, he kind of does have my nose…“

“Careful, fruitcake-“

“I swear to god, Abbot, if you call me that again-“

A soft cry cuts through the banter.

Both men go still.

Jack stares at his son.

The frown lines on Jack‘s face, suddenly deep as ever. Jack realizes that he hasn‘t actually held his boy. Not really, apart from the few short moments when he places him on your chest.

And certainly not like a father should.

Whereas Robby has visited the NICU after every shift, occasionally even during his breaks. Checking, caring, guarding.

He's ready to hold him if Jack is not.

Robby's seen it many times. How deeply partners are affected by birth trauma too. It‘s the kind of silent pain that eats away at people.

The guilt, the helplessness. The shame, for even feeling this way, when it didn‘t physically happen to them.

The scars cut deep, even if they aren‘t the ones that carry them.

Their partners are the ones fighting for their lives, so surely they have no right to feel so broken. They have to be strong for the both of them. To hold the family together.

But as doctors, they know that‘s not how it works.

And yet no one speaks of it.

So they suffer in silence.

And even though Jack has all of the practical and theoretical knowledge, he still falls victim to it.

Robby doesn‘t push, he‘s just there.

Still.

But this time, Jack moves first. He reaches for his boy, lifts him into his arms. Holds him against his chest.

The crying fades. Jack’s doesn’t.

Tears fall down his cheeks as he rocks the baby gently.

“We‘ll be okay." He whispers into his son’s soft curls. "You, me and your mommy.“ He exhales, eyes shut. “She loves you so much. And I know she can‘t wait to meet you."

Jack has felt lost since the moment your eyes closed. But now... he finds you again.

In your baby’s eyes.

And he can‘t help but feel a wave of love wash over him.

You made this tiny human together. And he‘s every bit as beautiful as you‘d expect.

All the pain, the sadness and the fear briefly stop for a moment of peace.

Jack stays like this for what feels like hours. Robby was called away for a critical case at some point, though Jack didn't really notice when he left.

He doesn‘t notice Dana standing in the doorway either, until she raises her voice slightly to speak. “You‘re a natural, Jack.“

Her words are kind and affirmative and just what Jack needs.

Dana is perceptive like that. Always knows what to say to make others feel better even when her own life is falling apart.

Even in times of deep crisis, she is the first to step up and help.

And that‘s what she did for you.

When Jack and Robby were working on you, desperately trying to stop you from bleeding out, her helping hands were a safe haven for your boy.

But it also affected her. She was used to compartmentalizing, but seeing her colleague, her friend, on the floor, pale, not breathing and still, left a scar.

And she too feels like this is something she can‘t speak of. Because again, what right does she have.

So she carries it with her. Silently.

She feels it every time she comes into your room to brush your hair. When she moisturizes your face and hands. When she strokes her thumb over your frown line.

She tells you about her day and your boy‘s.

Jack is there too of course.

He never leaves.

It‘s the only time when Jack allows himself to rest his eyes for a bit, a deep trust that Dana's watching over you.

“Want me to take him up to the NICU?“ Dana offers gently.

“Thank you." Jack contemplates for a moment before shaking his head. "I‘ve got it.“

He moves to stand, his eyes flickering to you then back to Dana.

“I‘ve got her“, she assures him with a warm smile, taking a seat next to you.

As he moves towards the door, Dana suddenly stops him. “What the hell did you to her hair, Abbot?“

Jack just shrugs innocently.

Dana scoffs, lightly cursing under her breath. "Men."

Jack returns a small smile, leaving your room for the first time in a week, cradling his newborn.

Like many times before, Robby spends his break in your room.

Dana has just finished your beauty routine. Fixing the mess on your head that Jack clumsily left.

Robby watches the two of you fondly. There are no words needed. Just a silent appreciation of the people in his life. In yours.

He thinks back to when he picked up the phone to call the therapist Jack recommended. He was sobbing, hands shaking, voice trembling, breathing unsteady. Just minutes earlier, he had put you on life support. No time to process.

And of course, it brought everything back. The memory of taking Dr. Adamson, his mentor, his friend, off ECMO. The grief still raw.

So Robby dialed the number and made an appointment. A tiny win in itself. Although, he'd later realize wasn't so small after all.

The therapist was nice enough. Though Robby felt like he was being assessed. Because, of course, he was.

Doctors make the worst patients. Especially, in therapy.

They know too much, often feel they're above being treated. Above being helped.

Physician heal thyself.

Collins' words echo in his mind.

Robby remembers when Heather told him about the miscarriage.

His heart broke for her.

Though he wasn't the father, so was it his place to feel devastated?

Or when she told him she had an abortion, long after they broke up. He wanted to cry. Not because he didn't respect her decision. It's her body and he would have supported her no matter what.

No. Because she was scared and alone. Felt like she couldn't come to him and tell him. To share the weight of her choice.

He believes he failed her.

Like he failed you.

He should probably make another appointment.

There've been a few breakthroughs in the couple of sessions he's attended. His therapist made him start a journal. Write down all the things that plague his mind.

So he does. The words practically pouring out of him.

Robby writes about how partners are mostly an afterthought when it comes to birth trauma.

How they're expected to be strong, to support, to hold down the fort and to move on.

How there are little to no resources for families and loved ones.

How there's no funding, no research and too much stigma.

How much it would help people feel less alone if they could actually talk about it.

How birth trauma doesn't begin and end with the person giving birth.

And mostly he thinks about you in this bed, still, unconscious, far away. How it’s simply to much to bear alone. But he cannot bring himself to translate those thoughts onto paper.

Not when there‘s still hope.

The monitors beep. A sudden change. Something is different.

Your eyes flutter, your muscles twitch, the sound of faint gags fill the room.

Robby rushes to your side, quickly assessing if you're ready to breathe on your own.

You pass the criteria, so he orders Dana to prep for extubation, attempting to calm you down.

You try to inhale, but it’s wrong. Your throat is on fire. Your jaw tight.

A hand finds yours. Dana. "You're okay, honey. You're okay."

But something’s in your throat, a deep panic tears through your chest and you choke, eyes widening.

Someone else is speaking, pleading. "I know, I know it hurts. We’re getting it out. Hang on for me.” The voice is too familiar, but you can‘t place it.

You gag, something slick is pulled from deep inside you. It feels like you're being sliced open.

The second the sharp object leaves your throat, you gasp like you're taking your first breath. Like you've drowned and you're coming up for air.

You cough and cough, terrified and breathless. Eyes heavy.

Then you hear his voice. Again. Clearer this time.

Your eyes flutter open, focusing, trying to find something to hold onto. That makes sense. Anything.

"My love."

Jack.

Jack steps closer, cradling your head, his other palm resting gently on your chest. "You're still here." He says it like he's convincing himself.

Your eyes soften, your breathing steadies. You barely take in your surroundings, your only focus is Jack.

"You're okay." He's clinging to your face now. "God, I missed those eyes."

Your thoughts clear. Memories start flooding back.

Michael. But the words don‘t leave your throat.

Jack studies your face, patiently.

You try again. A whisper.

"Michael."

"I'm here", Robby answers, though you swear he's made that joke before.

You attempt to shake your head, though it's more of a twitch.

"I know you're not talking about me." Robby admits, gesturing to someone in the doorway.

The you hear it. Tiny cooing filling the air.

Your sweet baby.

A fragile sob escapes your lips. You look at Jack, who helps you sit up just enough.

Every muscle aches, every joint throbs, every scar burns, but a sudden energy surges through you. You lift your arms just enough for Dana to place your boy into your waiting arms. Like you found the missing piece of the puzzle. Like you're finally where you belong.

Jack wraps his arm around your shoulders, his other hand steadying yours as you cradle your boy.

"He has your smile", you whisper lovingly, gazing up at your partner.

Robby and Jack share a look and you wonder what that's about. Though it looks like Robby feels very much validated.

"All I see is you", Jack counters, adoration and devotion in his gaze. Jack leans in to press his forehead to yours, your lips quickly finding his in a gentle, needed kiss.

When you pull apart, you turn to Robby and Dana.

"You were there..."

They look at you, unsure where you're going.

“It matters”, you continue. “All of it. So don’t… don’t carry this alone.”

A beat. The room goes quiet.

"You nearly died and you're worried about us?" Dana chokes.

“I want Mikey to know… that the people who brought him into this world are the ones who stood still for us when everything else stopped.”

You take a breath.

“Will you be his godparents?”

Dana nods fast, like she’s trying to keep tears from falling.

Robby stands there, arms crossed, head bowed. Evidently moved by your question, but there's something else.

You groan, narrowing your eyes. "Jack already asked you, didn't he?"

Robby hesitates, scratching his neck and looking anywhere but at you. There's no way to talk himself out of that one, so he confesses.

You drop your head back onto the pillow with a theatrical sigh, then shoot Jack a look. He raises his hands in mock-surrender, a genuine smile growing on his lips.

You turn back to Robby, expectantly.

"Of course", he smiles. "I'd be honored."

"I don't know if I should be glad or offended you didn't ruin the surprise for me too", Dana deadpans, turning to Jack.

Jack scrambles to change the subject. "You know... Robby went to see my therapist."

"You what?" You blink. “Oh my God… I called it. Group therapy is happening.”

Robby tries not to look too smug.

You turn to Jack, still grinning. “Does that make him the stable one now?”

Jack groans, “Don't start.”

There's a refreshing lightness in the air, that none of you have felt for a while.

You know the road to recovery is long and that healing is a process. You'll grieve the time you've missed with your son. The milestones you weren't there for.

But the people in this very room were with you during the worst time of your life and you know you’ll make it through this too.

Together.

You hold your son closer. And Jack holds you.

In that moment, you realize that trauma is shared and that naming it is a kind of healing.

Ok I need to stop, this story already got away from me, didn‘t intend for it to be so long but here we are. Please lmk what you think <3

#the pitt #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #dr abbot x you #dr abbot x reader #shawn hatosy #the pitt hbo #michael robinavitch #dr robby #jack abbott #jack abbott x reader #dr abbott x reader #noah wyle #dana evans #robby robinavitch

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ihatezetsubo · 2 years ago

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Orange ive been in a similar spot before and your not going to make things any better by avoiding everything, its okay to admit you did something wrong, it doesnt make you a bad person, but you need to own up to your mistakes, and then you can grow

You don't know what you're talking about. Please stop sending asks like this. I don't want to talk about this anymore. Please leave me alone. - 🍊

#Mod Orange speaks #Mod Orange responds #Please stop asking about Pear and Little Apple.#It doesn't matter if I take accountability or not. They're gone and I don't care.#I just want to talk about my favorite show.

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youryanderedaddy · 10 months ago

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Tw: captivity, obsessive behavior, made up fantasy lore, mind fuck (?)

He never calls for you - he only ever sends his servants, poor, confused little creatures of the night once lost just like you. They gather at your door like an army of darkness, scratching and biting at the delicate wooden frame, howling piteously with full chest until you're faced with the choice of either opening the door, or suffocating yourself with the fluffy white pillow. You give in after what feels like an appropriate time - not too soon as to feed his ever - growing ego, yet not so late that the creatures' heads start to roll under your nose.

You slowly walk down the endless corridor, refusing to look at anything for longer than a second - even as it calls to you with the sweetest voice of desire. Everything is enchanted to the very last candle on the wall. The countless paintings depict wealth and opulence beyond your wildest dreams, an adundance of riches upon riches, of honeycomb amber and pure green emeralds. The silk carpet is as soft as a dandelion just before it bursts open, and the crystal chandelier embarks such a soft light the human eye can never properly adjust to the tender shades of yellow and blue. The castle is tempting you with every passing breath - begging you to stay here forever. Begging you to love it, and everyone inside - especially His Majesty, the Lord.

You try to calm your disheveled thoughts as you carefully open the heavy gates to the throne room. Your breath hitches deep into your throat as your eyes gaze upon the feast spread out before you, and suddenly you're starving like a wolf. By now you should know better than to let yourself be lured in by magic - but the pull is too magnetic and you quickly find yourself stepping closer to the piled up table. You take in the smell with unsatiated hunger - golden apples baked inside fine sugar crystals, tender deer fillet dripping with berry sauce and smokey mushrooms, the sort you can only find inside an enchanted forrest. Cream puffs and mountains of stripped ice soaked in jam and vanilla essence upon stacks of fruit and more goblets of red wine than you can count. And yet he remains ever the centerpiece of the vision.

"You're late, mona grece tide*." His voice slowly fills the room with its overbearing softness, always on the verge of dropping into silence. It's painful to look at him - as if everything about the mythical man was created a touch too symmetrical, to the point where the sharp features all blend together. His lips are too full, his eyes - if the golden slits beneath his brows may be called that, are way too bright under the sun, and they reflect a time you don't wish to remember. And his hair is so long and pale, so very white and smooth, you have to stop your hands from reaching into the wounded transparency of his wild locks, less you want to lose a finger or two.

"Tidea." Khaal snaps his finger more aggressively when you don't respond to his call the first time. You squint in an attempt to block the light coming from the tiny cracks in his face - the birth lines of his dragon. "Sit down. Don't make me come to you."

Tide. Tidea. Love, as you eventually learnt the meaning of the word in Lohemian. My little love, the words still rest on his tongue, because what are you if not a small, fragile human?

"I'd hate to inconvenience you so, my Lord." You eventually bite back, breaking out of the trance. Slipping in and out of consciousness and constantly guessing your surroundings is taking a toll on you, but you'll lose your sanity before you give into his madness. "Touching a filthy human like myself will surely sully your pretty golden flakes." You smile with venom, tearing into the nearest sun-pear. He watches the juice drip down your chin with angry narrowed eyes, and with another swift snap of his fingers he's standing before you, towering above.

"Insolent child, you are." He grips your face carelessly, inspecting it from all sides before finally materializing a clean cloth and wiping you clean. "You're foolish just like any other human." His brows twist together with anger, but his expression remains angelic to the untrained eye. "I can give you everything you've ever wanted. The sun at your feet, the moon on your shoulders. All the knowledge of the world." His fingers suddenly stop rubbing along your jawline and his gaze falls upon your cold, quivering lips. "All I ask in return is your loyalty." His sharp nail begins stroking your lower lip. It doesn't draw blood, but you wish it would. You can't stand the anticipation - the moment before the violence entails.

"Don't let your eyes wander. Gift me your warmth." The dragon king pulls you closer to his chest, and all fight leaves you. His form is perfectly defined with thousand metal - like flakes, one on top of the other like a flawless shield. It's probably a great weapon on the battlefield - but it lacks the naked vulnerability of human skin, and it's so cold it hurts to stand close, much less touch it directly. "Look at me!" He suddenly roars, and you fall back from the sheer power of his voice.

Everything hurts - as if the floor is suddenly melting, you feel like you will never stop falling down.

"I can't. It's too painful." You whisper weakly between hoarse broken sobs threatening to tear off your heart in two. "I wasn't made for this world, f-for your... world." You bite your lips, averting eyes to the ground. "Everything in you wants me dead. Your love will kill me." You whimper, squeezing your left hand to your chest. The dead weight of the broken bone is pulling you down, luring you deeper into sleep.

"I'd like to see you try, mon'tidea." He sinks down to your level, quick as a shadow. Stealing a kiss as light as a sparrow, he pushes you down. "Die as many times as you want. You'll always end up here in my arms." His lips are grazing your ear, warm breath hitting your neck. Another illusion, you realize - his body can't create warmth. It's simply reflecting your warmth back to you. "Because once you enter my realm, there's no coming back."

#yandere #yancore #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere dragon #yandere oneshot #yandere x you #yandere male x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader

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starmocha · 6 months ago

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to: my true love [Sylus/Reader ★ 1680 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] Sylus receives a special surprise in his study. A/N: The Sagittarius in me told me to do something impulsive again, and I lowkey already regret it lol So…a mini series of twelve days of Christmas/winter-themed standalone ficlets with all four LIs (3 mini stories for each; no Caleb, sorry, I want to wait until I’m more familiar with his character before I write him). This lowkey may be me trying to find joy in Christmas again lol ヾ(✿˶◡‿◡)ゞ Tag list: @miudle @alfredosaws @nezukoo-channn @voidsylus @rose-tinted-kalopsia 【 request to be added 】

You were going to kill Luke and Kieran, you decided decisively, as you stood outside Sylus’ study, your hand wrapped around the doorknob, trembling uncontrollably and filled with anxiety worse than any other instances in your life.

A bet was a bet.

And you lost.

Tremendously.

They must have cheated, you thought, positive that those no-good tricksters definitely rigged the card game. Of course, you knew you were also a complete dumbass for ever having faith that residents of the N109 Zone would ever play fair in anything.

You were still going to kill them.

Knock-knock.

Your fragile heart practically burst out of your chest when you heard the knocking. Immediately, your head whipped up, completely mortified to see Luke looming over you and cheerfully rapping against the door with the back of his hand while you were silently fuming just seconds ago. Even though he was wearing his mask, you were positive he was sporting the most nefarious smirk ever.

“Come in,” Sylus’ calm, deep voice called out.

You gasped, feeling a hand over yours. You looked to your other side just as Kieran ‘helped’ you opened the door, and before you knew it, both twins gleefully shoved you into Sylus’ study before slamming the door shut. You stumbled forward, barely catching your balance before you realized what had happened.

“Who is it—”

Sylus looked up and paused. His expression didn’t appear to change, staying neutral just as always, but perhaps someone with a keener eyesight would notice the gleam of intrigue in his scarlet eyes the moment he had laid his sight on you.

You kept your eyes lowered as you stood in Sylus’ study, dressed in a bright red sleeveless Christmas dress with white fur trimming that lined around the bottom of the skirt and over your bust. Around your middle was a thick black belt and atop your head was a matching Santa Claus hat, its end dangling over your downcast face. You stared down at the black knee-high boots you wore, feeling completely mortified. You could practically feel your soul leaving your body as you felt Sylus’ intense stare on you.

“J-Jinglegram,” you greeted meekly.

You flinched when you heard Sylus’ amused chuckles.

“I-I see,” he responded, a hint of bafflement heard in his tone, but overall, he seemed delighted.

You, on the other hand, wanted to die. Preferably instantly.

Sylus cleared his throat, his voice sounding extra cordial than normal. “So…what is a ‘jinglegram’?”

You whimpered pathetically, nearly glowering when you could have sworn you heard the bastard twins snickering outside the room. Clearing your throat, you started to sing very stiffy: “On…the first day of…Christmas…my true love gave to me…”

You peeked up and you felt your face had instantly turned crimson. Sylus was leaning against the armrest of his chair, his fist held over his mouth as if he was stifling his laughter, but his eyes betrayed his amusement. They were practically sparkling with delight.

“…a partridge in a pear tree…” you finished glumly.

He clapped, seemingly encouraging you to continue. You felt a horrendous knot in your stomach, but you soldiered on.

“On the second day of Christmas…my true love—”

You fumbled, catching Sylus’ eyes brightening even more as you sang this one particular verse.

“…gave to me, two turtle doves,” Sylus helped you with his unique singing voice.

“…And a partridge in a pear tree,” you both finished together in a cacophony of mismatched notes and melody.

You winced, unsure if it was because of how mortified you were, or of how the lack of harmony between the two of you could easily be used as a form of torture. Not caring to find out, you quickly whirled around, intending on bolting right out of Sylus’ study and seeking a hole you could throw yourself into and just die in peace.

But Sylus had other plans.

“Not so fast, Miss Hunter.”

Dark red and black misty tendrils coiled around your waist and lifted you into the air with ease. You squeaked in shock as you were carried across the room and before you knew it, you landed with an undignified “oof” in Sylus’ lap.

Your hat fell, covering your eyes, but before you could react, Sylus had already helped you readjusted it. You looked up timidly, seeing his face full of joy. The way he was laughing and smiling almost reminded you of the night he and you had set free that little white dove he had cared for.

“So cute,” he murmured, almost as if he was speaking to himself, and you blushed. His thumb glided over your shiny red-glossed plump lips, admiring the way they trembled, almost as if they were beckoning him to steal a kiss or two, but he restrained himself. He continued in his soft, steady tone, “What have I done to receive this charming…‘jinglegram’?”

“Um…nothing…” you mumbled, feeling the heat spreading from your cheeks to the rest of your body. You squirmed a little, but Sylus held you firmly in place, not allowing you to leave his lap for even an inch. You looked down, seeing how one of his hands was absently caressing your thigh. You continued miserably, “…I lost a bet.”

“A bet?”

“To Luke and Kieran.”

“Ah.” Everything seemed to click into place, and Sylus leaned forward, burying his face into your hair as he laughed. “Perhaps I should give those two a Christmas bonus…”

You frowned. Pulling away, you turned to look at him, your faces just mere inches apart. “Do criminal organizations do Christmas bonuses?”

Sylus shook his head. “Of course not, sweetie,” he answered, “But…I think this warrant some sort of…rewards for them.”

“Rewards? For humiliating me?” you demanded, irate.

You gasped as Sylus lifted your chin lightly and kissed you deeply, his earlier self-control forgotten. He chuckled when you unconsciously gave in, returning his kiss with equal passion. He parted, but he pecked another kiss to your cheek. “Are you humiliated? But you look absolutely adorable in this outfit.”

Your face felt hotter. “You’re enjoying this way too much,” you griped.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed in agreement, unashamed. “Now…isn’t…‘Mrs. Claus’ here missing a ‘Mr. Claus’?”

Your stomach lurched at the implications in his teasing words. You covered your face with both hands. “No…no…no…we are not doing this!”

You felt the hat on your head yanked off. You looked up and saw Sylus had donned the hat he had just swiped from you. Plastered across his stupidly handsome face was the most insufferable smirk ever. He was completely enthralled by this entire ludicrous situation. You were definitely going to kill Luke and Kieran.

“Now if I recall,” he began, his tone light and playful, “the song is far from over. We still have quite a few verses to get through, don’t we, sweetie?”

You gaped, not quite registering his words just now.

He…looked really good with this hat on his head. Very cute. Very, very cute.

Maybe with a matching bright red coat that would be fitted to his deliciously toned body, and a pair of pants that would highlight his juicy ass, he could pull off that look. Would...would Sylus be willing to have a bit of a stubble, you wondered, already imagining him with one, and his face nuzzling against you, feeling the prickly hair against your smooth, soft skin, and oh shit—

You were doing a horrendous job of hiding your feelings today, because Sylus immediately noticed your reaction, his teasing growing increasingly merciless.

“Now, sweetie, have you been a… ‘good girl’ this year?”

You flustered. “What are you—”

“Since you’re already sitting on my lap,” he said suggestively, “don’t you want to tell… ‘Santa’ what you want for this year?”

“You are such a prick.”

Sylus laughed. “Naughty, naughty,” he chided, giving your thigh a light smack and making you yelped in surprise.

“We are not doing this, Sylus!” you protested, face redder than your dress.

He shrugged and leaned back in his seat with a defeated sigh. “Very well,” he conceded, a hint of disappointment heard in his tone. He smiled at you half-heartedly before speaking, “You really are a good girl, aren’t you, Miss Hunter?”

You knew he had meant it genuinely this time, but you couldn’t help but felt something when he had called you a ‘good girl’. This was getting out of hand. Was this what those no-good twins wanted to happen? For you to be down bad for their boss. What on earth was their endgame—

Sylus was humming the earlier Christmas song again, the sound cutting your raving thoughts to a grinding halt. He smiled at you pleasantly, apparently unaware of your inner turmoil.

“On the third day of Christmas,” he ‘sang,’ his jovial tone hinting for you to join him. There was a noticeable pause, and Sylus gave you a gentle nod, silently encouraging you to pick up where he had left off.

You smiled helplessly, his genuine happiness spreading to you. “…my true love gave to me,” you continued.

“Three French hens / Two turtle doves,” you both sang together, half-laughing, before finishing strongly, “And a partridge in a pear tree!”

You slumped against him, giggling and forgetting your earlier embarrassment. Sylus’ arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer to his body, the familiar, comforting warmth calming you instantly. You gazed up at him, an idea forming in your head.

“Sylus?”

“Hmm?” He peered down at you, his eyes meeting yours, and his smile soft and sweet.

“We should give the twins a fruitcake,” you said, smiling wickedly, elaborating, “For their ‘Christmas reward’.”

“Two fruitcakes,” he corrected you with a knowing smirk, “One for each mischievous twin.”

You leaned up and kissed him, “Ah, my ‘true love’ is correct.”

He stifled a chuckle, his face buried in your hair again, as he husked, “Then are you my Christmas present for this year?”

“I’m yours for always.”

“How cute,” he whispered, tightening his hold on you, and you stayed like that, humming the rest of the song softly as you enjoyed each other’s presence.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace x reader #sylus x reader #lnds series — dreaming of a winter wonderland #love and deepspace fanfiction #lnds fanfics #x — fanfics #feeling silly #gonna do something i will regret #🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

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shy9-29 · 5 months ago

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loot drop or love drop? ⚡︎ l.hs

╰┈➤ pairing: lee heeseung x reader

╰┈➤ wc: 1.5k

╰┈➤ synopsis: Your boyfriend, who you had missed all day, had barely acknowledged your presence since you got home. All you had gotten was a muttered "hi baby, missed you" before he returned to his screen. Was his game seriously more important than his own girlfriend?

╰┈➤ genre: fluff, romance, gamer x girlfriend

╰┈➤ warnings: skin ship, pet names, literally it

masterlist / requests open

Arriving at your shared apartment, you couldn’t contain your excitement after a long day at work. Thoughts of Heeseung, his smile, and his warm embrace filled your mind.

You eagerly dropped your bag near the door and walked in silently, anticipating the wonderful moment of reuniting with your boyfriend. If one thing’s for sure, you missed him like crazy.

Heeseung's eyes were laser-focused on the screen, his fingers dancing across the keyboard in a blur, seemingly oblivious to your arrival.

The glow of the monitor illuminated his face, highlighting the contours of his jaw and casting a soft shadow beneath his intense gaze. It was obvious that he was immersed in the heat of the game, barely registering the world around him.

"Dude!" your boyfriend exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air and wheeling his chair back from the desk. A hint of frustration tinged his voice as he spoke, "We almost died because of you!"

He let out a huff of annoyance, the veins in his forearms slightly more prominent as he clenched his fists in mid-air. His frustration was evident in his tense body language and the slight downturn of his lips.

It was clear that the game had tested his patience, as he let out a stream of hushed expletives, seemingly unaware that you were standing behind him, witnessing his moment of irritation.

You chuckled softly, amused by his dramatic reaction, and crept up behind him. With a playful tone, you wrapped your arms gently around his neck and whispered, attempting to surprise him. "Guess who?"

He startled at the sudden touch, his shoulders tensing for a brief moment before he turned his head towards you, surprise evident in his eyes. The initial shock quickly melted into a warm smile as he recognized your voice. "You scared me," he chuckled, tilting his head to nuzzle against your arm that was draped around his neck. "Hey, I missed you."

He smiles faintly as he feels your kiss on his forehead. Then, without much enthusiasm or greeting, he speaks to his mic, saying, "Oh, it's just y/n." The lack of excitement in his tone is palpable.

Your heart sank at his lukewarm response. It was as if you were an afterthought, a mere distraction from the main event of his gaming session. The way he casually dismissed your presence with a flat tone stung.

There was no warmth in his greeting, no indication of genuine happiness in seeing you. You tried to brush it off, telling yourself it was just his focus on the game talking, but deep down, it still hurt.

Feeling impatient, you spent 30 minutes doing chores while waiting for your boyfriend to finish his game. You eventually poked your head into the room and asked with a hint of annoyance, "Are you done yet?"

Heeseung, still absorbed in his game, didn’t respond right away. After a few more moments, he finally glanced over at you and replied, “Almost done, just a few more minutes.” His tone was somewhat dismissive, as if your presence and patience had already been accounted for in his mental tally.

So you decided to distract yourself again by making some Galbae, aka pear juice, Heeseung’s favorite. 10 minutes went by and you practically waltz into the room, handing him a glass cup full of galbae.

Heeseung accepted the glass of galbae you had lovingly prepared for him, taking a grateful sip. "Thanks," he muttered, his attention still divided between his game and your gesture. Despite his brief moment of appreciation, his focus quickly returned to his game, as he continued his intense gaming session, seemingly undisturbed by your attempt to reclaim his attention.

Hours ticked by and Heeseung showed no signs of slowing down. He was completely engrossed in the game, his eyes glued to the screen as he engaged in battle after battle, his friends’ voices a constant backdrop to the action.

As the night wore on, you found yourself feeling increasingly neglected and frustrated, your attempts to engage with him falling on deaf ears as he remained absorbed in his digital world.

Frustration mounting, you crawled out of bed, grabbed the headphones from your boyfriend, silencing his game. "Sorry, boys, Heeseung has to go," you announced, cutting him off mid-game.

Before placing the headphones down, you caught snatches of his friends' laughter and jokes at his expense.

Heeseung’s eyes widened in disbelief as you snatched away his headphones, abruptly ending his gaming session. He tried to protest, but before he could say anything, you had already cut him off and bid farewell to his friends.

As you placed the headphones down, the sound of his friends' laughter and playful teasing filled the room, adding to his mounting embarrassment.

"What the hell, y/n," he exclaimed, frustration and annoyance etched on his face. "I was in the middle of something important."

You couldn’t help but tease him, your voice laced with a hint of playful sarcasm. "What could you be possibly doing right now that’s important than your own girlfriend?" The question hangs in the air as you wait for his response, still holding onto the headphones as you look at him.

Heeseung bristled at your sarcastic tone, obviously feeling defensive. He let out a huff of irritation, his eyes narrowed. "I was gaming with my friends," he retorted, his voice filled with annoyance. "It's important to me. We were in the middle of an intense match."

You sighed, feeling a mix of affection and frustration. He was like a little kid. "Hee... You've been playing for hours since I've been home. Do you know how much I just wanted to come home from work and spend time with you?” Your voice carried a hint of hurt and disappointment as you express your longing for his attention and company.

Heeseung was taken aback by your words, feeling a pang of guilt at the hurt in your voice. He hadn't realized how long he had been glued to his screen, completely immersing himself in his gaming world. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and he immediately felt a wave of remorse wash over him.

"I... I didn’t mean to ignore you," he mumbled, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "I got carried away in the game, I guess."

He looked up at you, his gaze softened with a hint of apology. “I’m sorry, y/n. I didn’t mean to make you feel neglected. I guess I just got too caught up in the game and forgot how much time had passed.”

He took a deep breath and stood up from his chair, closing the distance between the two of you. He reached out and tentatively wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. "I should have been more mindful of spending time with you," he muttered, his voice filled with genuine regret. "You're way more important than any game, you know that, right?”

You melted into his embrace, feeling the sincerity in his words. It was reassuring to hear him acknowledge your importance in his life. He planted a tender kiss on the crown of your head, his grip on you tight.

After a moment, you broke the embrace and stepped back. You looked at him with slight amusement. "You know, if you had spent that time on me instead, I would’ve let you win the game," you teased, a hint of a smile playing on your lips.

Heiseung chuckled at your playful comment, a sheepish grin appearing on his face. He reached out and ruffled his hair, looking a bit sheepish. "Well, if I had known the prize was that good, I definitely would have chosen you over the game," he admitted, his eyes sparkling with affection.

He took a step closer to you, gently tugging on your wrist and pulling you back into his arms. "But seriously," he said, his voice tinged with sincerity, "I promise I'll spend more time with you, and less time glued to that stupid screen. I'd hate to miss out on any more moments with you."

A warm smile spread across your face as you wrapped your arms around his waist, leaning into his embrace. "Apology accepted," you replied softly, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. "But I'll hold you to that promise of spending more time together."

You gave him a playful poke on the stomach before adding, "And no more sacrificing me for the game, okay? I'm waaay more valuable than any win or any of those things you pick up in the games."

Heeseung couldn't help but chuckle at your apparent ignorance regarding video games. "It’s called a loot drop y/n," he explained in a patronizing tone.

You rolled your eyes, playfully sticking out your tongue in response. "Yeah, yeah, loot drop, I get it," you retorted, feigning annoyance. "But come on, a bunch of digital items or me? I think it's pretty obvious which one's more valuable."

Heeseung wrapped his arms tighter around you, pulling you closer and nuzzling his face into your hair. "I know, I know," he chuckled, surrendering to your point. "You’re priceless, more precious than any loot drop in the world. How could I possibly choose anything over that?"

Uploading 4 fanfics in a day witn a total of over 15k words is crazy (for me) | masterlist

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i-heart-yellowstone · 2 months ago

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Misheard Sentence

Reader finds out she is pregnant and is worried to tell Rip since she hears he doesn't want kids - wattpad SkyeBennett3

Comments really appreciated ❤️ Tag list - just send an ask to be added @tallrock35 @kmc1989 @pear-1206 @frost-queen @child-of-of-the-sunshine

Tears slipped down my face as I shacklingly held onto the pregnancy test in my hands. I had taken three before this one and I still couldn’t believe that I was pregnant. Pregnant with Rip Wheeler’s child to be specific about it. Sliding my knees up to my chest I blinked back some tears. I silently stared down at the object in my hands thinking back on what I had heard between Rip and Ryan out by the barn a few days ago.

“Gosh I can’t believe we had to get Jimmy down from a tree yesterday. I swear he’s like a child.” Ryan chuckled outside causing me to pause me brushing my horse Holly inside of her stall.

Rip, my boyfriend removed his hat briefly running a hand through his hair and placed it back on his head. “I know I thought I’d never have to raise anymore kids to do the jobs we do everyday. But John says he has to work here according to his grandfather.”

“Have you and Y/n ever thought about having kids of your own?” Ryan asked his lead ranch hand.

Rip threw his head with a deep groan like it was the worst thing in the world to him. “Geez I don’t even like dogs. I sure as hell can’t imagine having kids with -“ Sneaking out of the horse stall I ran back to the bunkhouse not wanting to hear him finish his sentence.

Walking slowly out onto the porch of our little house John had given us I slumped down on the swing still holding onto the pregnancy test. I couldn’t push away the sick feeling I got in my stomach over the fact that Rip wouldn’t want to be a father. I never thought about having kids but now that my love may not want it I wanted to keep the little life growing inside me more than anything else in this world.

“You’re home early, darling.”

Yanking my head upright, my whole body froze hearing Rip’s voice as he made his way up the wooden porch steps. “Rip! What - what are you doing here?”

“Mr. Dutton needs me to help them move some cattle up to the Summer Camp. I just came by to grab some things. I can’t complain though that you’re here before I leave for a few days.” He smiled down at me walking up until he was standing in front of me. “What’s that in your hand there?”

“Uh nothing.” I lied, swiping the pregnancy test behind my back, hiding it in my back Jean pocket before I sat my hands on my knees hoping he didn’t notice my movements. “Do you have time to eat dinner with me before you go?”

Rip tilted his head to the side seeing how I bit my lip and he knew that was my tell. “Y/n, what aren’t you telling me?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Wheeler.” Getting up from the porch swing I started walking through the front door until he gently snagged my wrist stopping me from going any further. “Rip, let me go so I can fix you up some dinner.”

“Y/n, I know when you ain't telling me the truth. You bite your lip or change thw subject when you're lying to me and I thought we made an agreement to not do that to one another.”

Parting my lips I cut myself off short at a loss for words of what to say back to him. “I - I - I know something but I'm afraid once you know the truth you'll be upset with me.”

“There’s nothing you could say to me to make me be super upset with you.” He softened his gaze reaching down so my hand was now in his rougher one. “Would you please tell me what is really going on with you.”

I responded almost in a whisper. “I heard what you said to Ryan.”

“What. When did you?”

I explained feeling my eyes tearing up at the thought, reaching inside my back pocket with my freehand and held out the pregnancy test to him. “You told him and I quote “I sure as hell can’t imagine having kids with-”. I got the clear message before you finished your sentence. But for a few days I have been getting sick in the morning so I took this.”

“It’s positive?” Rip asked me while holding the stick in his freehand.

Nodding my head I slumped my shoulders fighting the urge to not start bawling in front of him over this. “Look I understand if you don't want kids given what happened with your father and everything. So I take responsibility of raising this baby and you won't have to worry about taking care of it. Does that work for you?”

“I did tell Ryan that I didn't want to have kids but you didn’t hear the whole thing.” Rip placed the test in his pocket before cupping my face in his hands. His soft black eyes focused on me. “I told him I sure as hell can’t imagine having kids with anyone else but you.”

“You did. But I thought - you've always said you hated dogs and dealing with kids.” My mouth fell opened in shock thinking I might be hearing him wrong.

He wiped away some tears that slipped down my face. “When I first saw you walk up to Mr. Dutton and ask for a job without any hint of nervousness. I knew you were the one for me. I'd go through anything and do anything for you as long as it meant that my tomorrow's are yours. That you'd let me call you my wife and possibly have a couple of kids together.”

“Rip, I love you. And I’d be your wife with or without a marriage license as long as it gives me you until the day we are in the dirt.” I declare wrapping my arms around his neck leaning up on my toes and connecting our lips together in a slow kiss.

Rip wrapped his arms around my waist deepening the kiss that we didn’t break until we needed air so he rested his head against mine. “I love you too, Y/n. Now how about we go cook up some dinner before I have to leave tomorrow morning.” Grasping his hand in mine we walked through the front door together and began discussing our new life of becoming parents.

#yellowstone #yellowstone fanfic #yellowstone fanfiction #yellowstone tv #yellowstone tv show #rip wheeler x pregnant reader #rip wheeler x reader #rip wheeler #rip wheeler imagine #yellowstone x reader #yellowstone images #yellowstone imagine #pregnant reader

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alohajix · 2 months ago

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𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲

Description: in the quiet town of Holmes Chapel, Amara—a gentle, nurturing kindergarten teacher—lives a life built on routine, safety, and quiet strength. She’s not looking for love, especially not after the scars left behind by someone she’d rather forget. But when Harry Styles walks into her classroom carrying his three-year-old daughter and a heart still grieving the loss of the woman he loved, everything changes. Neither of them is ready. Neither of them is looking. But sometimes, the people who change your life don’t knock first. They just… show up.

Warnings: this mini-series includes grief, past emotional abuse/manipulation, trauma recovery, single parenthood, and emotional vulnerability. Later chapters will contain explicit smut (clearly labeled).

Words count: TBK.

PART ONE

*****

PART TWO — THE SPACE BETWEEN (Word: 8.7K)

AMARA

I didn’t sleep well. Not for any dramatic reason. No nightmares. No midnight jolts. Just that quiet, weighty restlessness that creeps in when your body is tired but your mind won’t settle.

I’d gone to bed early. Tea in hand, lavender oil dabbed on my wrist, a soft playlist humming through the speaker. I did all the right things. Still didn’t help. Because no matter how much I tried to block it out, my thoughts kept circling back to that one message. The one I didn’t respond to. The one that still sat on my phone like a bruise I hadn’t looked at directly.

Logan: Still pretending I don’t exist? You know I can always find you.

Charming, as ever. I hadn’t replied. I wouldn’t. But even silence couldn’t erase the old ache of knowing he still knew exactly which words would make my skin crawl.

I’d blocked his number again. Just like I had the last time. And the time before that. It never really stopped him. But sometimes, a boundary was more for you than it was for them.

I lay in bed for a while after that—staring up at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster like they were stars in a night sky I didn’t quite trust anymore. My body was still. But inside? That old familiar knot had returned. Low in my chest. Tight and steady. Like it was waiting for me to flinch. But I didn’t. Instead, I got up when the sun started to reach through the curtains and made my way to the kitchen, where the kettle did what it always did. Clicked. Hissed. Poured warmth into my hands like it had been waiting for me.

I stood by the sink and let the steam brush against my face as I held the mug close to my chest. My breath slowed a little. Not completely. But enough to count as progress. The house was still dark, except for the glow in the kitchen. My slippers made soft sounds against the tile, and the birds outside were already in full conversation, darting through hedges and calling to each other like they had stories to tell.

I sipped my tea and leaned against the counter. Today would be better. It had to be.

I moved slowly through the rest of my routine, not because I was tired—but because I didn’t want to feel rushed. My body needed gentleness today. Small rituals. Things that reminded me I was in control. I chose one of my favorite cardigans. Soft oatmeal, sleeves pushed up just enough to paint in. The kind of thing the kids sometimes called “teacher cozy.” I pulled my hair into a braid and tied it off with a ribbon—pale blue, barely noticeable. But it made me feel like myself again. My breakfast was simple—toast and a few slices of pear. I only ate half. Not from nerves. I just wasn’t all the way present yet. My body was here. My heart was trying to catch up.

By the time I stepped outside, the morning had warmed just enough to be kind. The sky was clear. The sun low and gold. The cobblestones shimmered faintly under the light, and the hedges along the path were already humming with bees. I breathed in slowly as I walked toward school, letting the rhythm of the town settle me. Holmes Chapel was quiet at this hour—gentle, the way I remembered it when I was little. Before I moved to the city. Before I learned the difference between being watched and being seen.

Mrs. Whitmore was outside again, apron tied over her dressing gown, garden hose in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.

“Morning, love!” she called. “You’re glowing today.”

I smiled. “That’s just the steam from the kettle still clinging to me.”

She laughed, waving me on. “Whatever it is, keep it.”

I kept walking, past the bakery with its chalkboard sign already half erased by the wind, past the florist rearranging her display buckets, past the café where someone inside was already singing faintly along to something on the radio. Everything was familiar. Everything was safe. And yet, beneath all that softness, something inside me still felt like it was on edge. Not because of the town. Not even because of Logan.

But because part of me already knew I’d see him again today. Not Logan. Harry. And somehow, that felt even more dangerous.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻

The school was already beginning to stir when I arrived. Voices echoed faintly from the staff room down the hall, and the smell of toasted bagels wafted in from somewhere I didn’t investigate. I unlocked my classroom door and stepped into the quiet calm I’d prepared yesterday—everything exactly where I left it. The fairy lights glowed faintly on the back bookshelf. The art corner was stocked. The easel was waiting. The classroom felt like a held breath.

I moved slowly at first, checking my plans for the morning, opening the windows just enough to let the spring air in. By the time I reached the bookshelf to straighten a stack of storytime favorites, I heard it—the soft shuffle of footsteps outside the classroom. Small ones. And one longer stride behind them. Then a knock. Gentle. Familiar.

I turned, and there they were. Olive stood just beside her father’s leg, her pink bunny clutched to her chest. Her curls were neater today—two low pigtails tied with pale purple elastics. Her eyes met mine right away. And for the first time, she smiled before I did.

“Good morning,” I said, my voice soft with surprise.

Harry looked up. His curls were slightly damp like he’d showered but hadn’t bothered to style them, and there was a crease in the sleeve of his jumper like he’d been rushing. But his eyes? Still that same soft green. Still quietly searching.

“Morning,” he said, smiling back. “She was ready before I was today.”

Olive beamed at that, which made me laugh quietly as I crouched down.

“Hi, sweetheart. I’m glad you came back.”

She held out something in her hand—a folded piece of paper. It was a drawing. A tree. A bunny. A smiling stick figure I recognized immediately.

“This is me?” I asked, pointing.

She nodded. “Miss.”

My heart did a strange, soft flip. “I love it,” I said. “Can I hang it near the window?”

She handed it over without hesitation. Harry crouched beside her and whispered something in her ear. She nodded again, then turned and walked over to the reading corner like she’d done it every day for months. I straightened slowly, turning toward him.

“She was excited this morning,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Asked to wear her ‘brave shoes.’”

I smiled. “She’s brave whether she knows it or not.”

His eyes flickered to mine. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “She is.”

We stood there a moment too long. Not awkward. Not tense. Just… still.

“I’ll be around the usual time,” he said, stepping back a little.

“Of course.”

“She told me she wants to learn to paint a dragon.”

I laughed softly. “I think we can make that happen.”

He gave me one last look—gentle, grateful, curious—and then turned to leave, pausing just long enough to glance over his shoulder at Olive. She was already flipping through a picture book on the rug, completely absorbed. I saw the smile tug at the corner of his mouth as he walked away. And for a second—just a second—I let myself watch him go. Not because I should. But because I wanted to.

Olive settled into the day like she belonged there. Not loudly. Not like some of the other kids who burst through the door every morning with stories tumbling out of their mouths. She didn’t cling to me either—not anymore. She just… existed. Softly. Comfortably.

She placed her bunny in the same spot as yesterday—near the art shelf where it could “watch” her work. She found the puzzle bin on her own. She even helped another child carry over a stack of coloring pages without being asked. It was subtle. But to me? It felt monumental. And when we moved into our morning activity—painting what makes you feel brave—Olive raised her hand. Not high. Just enough.

I crouched beside her table and tilted my head. “Got an idea?”

She pointed to her blank sheet of paper. “A dragon.”

“Really?” I smiled. “That’s very brave.” She nodded, already reaching for the red paint.

I stayed beside her a moment, watching the way she pressed the brush to the paper like she’d done it a thousand times. No hesitation. Just color and shape and quiet determination.

“Does your dragon have a name?” I asked.

She paused, looking at the shape forming on the page. Then: “Kevin.”

I blinked. “Like the koala?” She looked up and smiled like I was finally catching on. “Well,” I said, laughing softly, “Kevin the dragon sounds very powerful.”

“He’s kind,” she said, dipping her brush in green now. “But he has fire just in case.”

That stopped me. I didn’t know what I was expecting her to say. But it wasn’t that.

I reached out and gently tucked a curl behind her ear. “That’s a good balance.” She didn’t answer, just kept painting. But something about her words stayed with me. Kind, but with fire. Just in case.

We spent the rest of the morning surrounded by paint trays and laughter. A few kids accidentally dripped on their sleeves. One ate part of a glue stick before I could intervene. But Olive? Olive stayed focused. And I couldn’t stop watching her. Not in the way teachers are supposed to keep an eye on their students—but in the way you do when you realize something special is unfolding in front of you. Something gentle. Something rare.

It was more than her painting. It was the way she glanced over when another child got upset—and offered a crayon without being asked. It was how she waited her turn for the sink, even when someone cut the line. It was the way she looked up at me when I handed her a new sheet of paper like she knew—really knew—I was there. She wasn’t just adjusting. She was blooming. And for the first time since the start of the term, I felt something open in me that had been shut tight for too long. Not because of Olive. Not entirely. But because of what her presence made me notice. What it made me remember. That sometimes, all it takes to feel safe again… is one person seeing you without asking for anything in return.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻

The classroom had finally quieted. The paint pots were rinsed. The glue stick incident had been cleaned. Half the class was curled up on the nap mats, legs tangled in small blankets, cheeks flushed from the morning’s excitement.

Olive was fast asleep in the reading corner, one hand tucked under her cheek, the other curled tightly around her bunny. I placed a soft blanket over her legs and tiptoed out of the room with a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

The staff lounge was mostly empty, save for the hum of the old kettle and the familiar sound of Mya rummaging in the snack cabinet.

“Please tell me you’re here for tea and not to reorganize the glue cupboard again,” she said without turning around.

I smiled and dropped into the chair by the window. “Tea. Definitely tea.”

Mya peeked over her shoulder, holding two mismatched mugs. “I went with chamomile. You look like you need soft things today.”

I caught the mug she tossed gently to me. “Thanks.”

We sat in silence for a moment, the kind that only exists between people who’ve known each other long enough to not need to fill it.

Then, casually, she asked, “So. Did the dad come back this morning?” I didn’t answer right away. Because yes—he had. And yes—I’d felt something. And no—I didn’t have the language for it. Mya raised an eyebrow. “That’s a yes.”

“He brought Olive,” I said, blowing gently on the surface of my tea. “She had a drawing for me.”

“Oof. You’re doomed.”

“It was of a dragon.”

Mya grinned. “So basically, a love letter.”

“She’s three.” He’s not, I didn’t say.

She leaned forward. “Did he linger?” I hesitated. She gasped. “He lingered.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Oh babe,” she said, hand over her heart. “It’s exactly like that.”

I sighed. “He’s just a really… attentive dad.”

Mya’s voice softened. “And you’re a really good person. And that kind of care? It’s magnetic.”

I stared down into my tea. “He looked at me differently today,” I admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

She was quiet. And then, gently: “Do you want him to?”

That question hung in the air. I didn’t know how to answer it. Because part of me did. And part of me was terrified of what it might mean if I let that feeling grow.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻

Pickup time arrived too quickly. The classroom always shifted after nap time—less chaotic, more dreamy. Little voices were slower, hands softer, bodies leaning into hugs without needing a reason. It was my favorite time of the day, in a quiet kind of way.

Olive was the last to wake. She blinked sleepily at me when I crouched beside her, bunny still hugged to her chest, curls stuck to one cheek from the mat.

“Hi, sweetheart,” I said gently. “Ready to get up?”

She nodded, then reached up and looped one arm around my neck like it was the most natural thing in the world. I held her just for a second. Just long enough to feel the trust settle between us again.

When the other children began trickling out with their parents, Olive helped me tidy the paint table. She folded her dragon painting in half—very seriously—and asked me if she could give it to her dad.

“He’d love that,” I told her. “Especially if you tell him the dragon’s name.”

“Kevin,” she said proudly, “but this one breathes green fire.”

“Good upgrade.”

The knock came at the door just a few minutes later. I didn’t have to guess. Olive’s eyes lit up. I opened the door, and there he was. Harry Styles, again. Still casual, but something about him felt a little more… settled. His coat was unzipped, curls fluffed by the breeze, his hand holding what looked like a half-eaten bagel in a napkin. His eyes lit up when he saw her.

“There’s my girl.”

Olive ran to him—no hesitation. She held up the folded paper like it was treasure.

“For you,” she said. “It’s Kevin.”

He crouched, taking it with exaggerated care.

“Kevin the dragon?” he asked.

“This one has green fire.”

“Oh, that’s much better than red,” he said seriously. “Green’s rare. Must be powerful.”

She nodded and leaned her head against his shoulder for a second. Then, just as quickly, she stepped back and grabbed his hand.

“She was wonderful today,” I said, voice warm. “She even helped another child pick out crayons.”

“She’s always been a quiet little helper,” he replied, glancing at her fondly. “Takes after her mum.”

I felt something soften inside me. “She seems very thoughtful,” I said.

He looked at me then. Really looked. “I think she’s drawn to kind people.”

I didn’t have a reply for that. He straightened, glancing around the classroom. “She mentioned a tree and a koala book at dinner last night. Apparently, storytime’s the best part of her day.”

“Well,” I said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, “Kevin the koala’s a bit of a star around here.”

He smiled. And then he didn’t leave right away. He stayed. Just for a moment. Like there was something else he wanted to say—but wasn’t sure if he should.

“Thanks again,” he said finally. “I know I’ve said that already, but… it means a lot. All of it.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” I said softly. “She’s a joy.”

“I’m just glad she’s okay here.”

“She is,” I said, meaning it. “She’s more than okay.”

We stood there again, in that quiet space between goodbye and something else. Then Olive tugged his hand. “Daddy. Can we have pasta?”

His eyes flicked down, amused. “Didn’t we just eat half a bakery?” She grinned. He looked back at me. “See you tomorrow?”

“Same time.”

He nodded. “We’ll bring Kevin.”

And with that, he turned. But just before the door closed behind them, he glanced back once more and smiled. Like he didn’t want to leave. And for the first time, I didn’t want him to either.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻

The evening air had that soft, almost-summer kind of chill—the kind that made you tuck your hands into your sleeves even if the day had been warm. I left my parents’ house with a full belly and that sleepy glow that comes from being well-loved. But even in all that warmth, something in me still felt… unsteady. So I didn’t go straight home. I walked. Through the high street. Past shuttered shopfronts and still-warm windows. The fairy lights above the florist’s door glowed dimly. A bike leaned against the railing beside the bakery. The town had begun to quiet, but it hadn’t gone still yet.

That’s when I saw them. Through the front window of the little café on the corner—the one with the mismatched teacups and always-too-loud jazz—I spotted Olive first. Pink coat, bunny tucked beneath her arm, her little legs swinging under the table as she held a paper cup with both hands. Then I saw him. Harry. Head bent slightly toward her, smiling like she was the only thing that mattered in the world. There was flour on the cuff of his sleeve. A plate with two scones sat between them. Olive was saying something animated, and he was nodding like it was the most serious topic he’d ever heard.

I paused. I should’ve kept walking. I almost did. But then—maybe because the air was colder than I expected, or maybe because I was tired of standing just outside of things—I pushed the café door open. A bell jingled overhead. Harry looked up immediately, blinking in surprise. Olive’s eyes followed his—and when she saw me, she beamed.

“Miss!”

Her voice rang out, sweet and clear, and I felt it settle somewhere deep in my chest.

I smiled and crossed the room. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“She’s telling me about her dragon’s second power,” Harry said, grinning. “Apparently Kevin can now fly through walls.”

“Only the soft ones,” Olive added seriously.

“Of course,” I nodded. “Wouldn’t want him to be rude.”

Harry looked up at me again, his expression warm. “Want to sit for a minute?” I hesitated. Then pulled out the chair across from him. Just for a minute.

The warmth from the café was immediate—thick with cinnamon and vanilla, the scent of baked things lingering in the air like comfort. I shrugged off my coat and settled in. Olive reached across the table, offering me a bite of her muffin like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Thank you,” I said gently, tearing off a piece.

Harry watched her fondly. “She asked if we could come here after school. Said it’s where brave dragons would want their tea.”

I laughed softly. “She’s not wrong.”

For a moment, we just sat. The three of us. Like it was always like this. Then Harry said, quietly, “She’s been different since she started with you.” I looked over at him. He wasn’t being flattering. He wasn’t performing. He meant it. “She’s always been bright,” he added. “But quieter. Closed off since…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.

“I’m glad she feels safe,” I said. “That’s always the goal.”

“You’re good at it.”

Something about the way he said it made me feel seen. And exposed. And safe. All at once.

He cleared his throat. “Sorry if this is weird. I just—don’t talk to many people about her. About… any of it.”

“It’s not weird,” I said. “You’re doing a beautiful job.”

His gaze flicked down, then up again. Olive had begun humming softly beside us, half-asleep now, bunny in one arm and a chocolate smudge on her lip.

“She likes you,” Harry said. “A lot.”

“I like her, too,” I said. “She’s easy to care about.”

He nodded. Then, gently: “So are you.” My chest tightened. Not from fear. From something much softer.

I looked down at Olive, now fully leaning against her dad’s side, and smiled.

“I should let you both get home,” I said, slowly standing.

He stood too. “Thanks for coming in. I didn’t expect—”

“I didn’t either.”

He gave a small smile. “I’m glad you did.”

We stood there for a moment longer—something unspoken stretching between us. Then I nodded once, slipped back into my coat, and turned to leave. Just before I stepped out the door, I glanced over my shoulder. He was still watching me. And this time—I didn’t look away.

*****

Part 2 is here!! hope you enjoy it 💕

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