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Chapter Text

The rain had been falling for hours, drumming against the cracked sidewalks of the city in a relentless rhythm. Inside a dimly lit bookstore tucked between a shuttered café and a pawn shop, Heaven’s glasses fogged as she leaned over the counter, carefully inspecting a worn copy of Wuthering Heights. She had always loved the smell of old paper and the quiet hum of life that clung to spaces like this.

“I swear, the smell of this place is addictive,” she murmured to herself, brushing a curl from her face.

From the doorway, a shadow moved, broad and deliberate. Heaven looked up and froze. The woman standing there was impossibly large, muscular, and intimidating—a presence that seemed to fill the entire room. Short brown curls framed her scarred face, her arms thick and hairy, and her dark eyes were sharp, calculating. Heaven’s instinct screamed at her to step back.

“Uh…” Heaven hesitated. “Can I… help you?”

The woman’s lips curved into a crooked, almost predatory smile. “Maybe,” she said, her voice low, gravelly, but not unpleasant. “Maybe you can.” She stepped closer, and Heaven noticed the way the woman’s scars and raw strength seemed to command attention, even in the soft light of the bookstore.

“I’m… Heaven,” the smaller woman said, straightening in spite of her sudden anxiety.

“Vick,” the other replied simply. Her gaze lingered on Heaven, intense, almost hungry. “You like books?”

Heaven nodded. “Yeah. I mean… I do. I love them.”

Vick grunted. “Good.” Her eyes flicked to the book in Heaven’s hands. “That one’s got fire in it. I like fire.”

The conversation stalled after that, awkward but charged, like the air before a storm. Vick didn’t introduce herself with pleasantries. She didn’t explain why she was here. But Heaven found herself studying her anyway—the way her knuckles were thick, how her hair curled in unpredictable spirals, how her muscles rippled under her simple shirt. Despite the fear, there was something magnetic about her, a dark sort of gravity that Heaven couldn’t look away from.

Over the next hour, they spoke quietly in corners between the towering shelves, Vick’s humor rough-edged, almost dangerous, and Heaven’s laughter soft, hesitant, yet genuine. Something was forming—a strange, fragile connection that neither of them could fully understand.

“What’s your story, Vick?” Heaven asked finally, curious despite herself.

Vick’s smile twisted again, sharper this time. “Stories…” she said, her voice dropping low, “are tricky. Some… aren’t ready to be told.”

Heaven leaned closer, intrigued. “I like stories. All kinds. Even… dark ones.”

Vick’s eyes flickered, and for a heartbeat, her usual hardened mask cracked. “Yeah?” she murmured, almost to herself.

The rain outside turned harder, slamming against the windows like the city itself was warning Heaven. But she didn’t move.

By the time Heaven left the bookstore that night, Vick’s number had been scribbled onto the back of her book receipt. Vick had insisted she keep it. And though Heaven didn’t realize it yet, she had already stepped into a world that she couldn’t escape—a world where danger and desire were entangled, and where the line between friend and predator was terrifyingly thin.

Vick watched her go from the shadows outside, rain-soaked and smiling, teeth glinting faintly in the dim streetlight. Something inside her shifted, softening in a way she hadn’t expected. She didn’t just want Heaven—she needed her.

And in a few weeks, Heaven wouldn’t be leaving anymore.

Chapter Text

The weeks that followed were strange and electric. Heaven found herself calling Vick more than she had intended—sometimes to ask about books, sometimes because she simply couldn’t resist the pull of that dangerous energy surrounding her. Vick, in turn, always answered, her voice rough but warm, curling around Heaven like smoke.

It started innocently enough. Coffee dates at quiet cafés. Late-night walks under streetlights glinting wet from the rain. Vick’s presence was overwhelming—her sheer size and strength made Heaven feel both fragile and protected, terrified and exhilarated all at once. And Heaven, delicate in comparison, brought a softness that Vick hadn’t known she craved.

One evening, they ended up on a deserted pier, the city lights dancing across the water. Vick had her hands shoved into her pockets, leaning against the railing with a dangerous ease. Heaven tugged at her scarf nervously, unsure why her heart was racing so violently.

“You’ve been showing up a lot,” Vick said, not looking at her. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Heaven laughed softly, brushing her curls from her face. “I… like seeing you. You’re… different.”

Vick finally turned her gaze on Heaven, and the intensity of it made the smaller woman’s stomach clench. “Different good, or different scary?”

Heaven blinked, trying not to shiver. “Good different… I think.”

For a long moment, silence stretched between them, charged and sticky. Then, without warning, Vick stepped closer, close enough that Heaven could feel the heat radiating off her. “You’re gonna get used to me,” she murmured. “Or maybe… I’m gonna get used to you.”

Heaven swallowed hard. “I don’t know if I should—”

Vick’s fingers brushed Heaven’s cheek, rough and calloused, yet careful. Heaven’s breath caught. “Shhh,” Vick whispered. “It’s okay. You don’t need to think. Not right now.”

The pull between them was undeniable. Heaven wanted to protest, wanted to step back, but her body betrayed her. Vick’s scent—musky, faintly metallic, like rain on concrete—wrapped around her, and in that moment, Heaven felt like she was drowning in something both dangerous and intoxicating.

Days later, Vick’s apartment door clicked closed behind them, and Heaven realized she hadn’t left her side in hours. There was a tension in Vick’s movements, a restrained energy that hummed under her skin. Heaven wanted to ask questions, but the warmth in Vick’s eyes silenced her curiosity.

“You trust me, right?” Vick said, almost casually, leaning against the wall so close Heaven could feel her breath.

Heaven nodded, a shiver running down her spine. “I… think so.”

Vick smirked, but it didn’t reach the shadows in her eyes. “Good. ‘Cause you’re not going anywhere.”

The words didn’t scare Heaven—not yet. But later, as she lay in her own bed, staring at the ceiling and replaying the moments of the night, a small voice inside her whispered a warning. Vick was dangerous. Wanted in twelve states. A killer. But another voice—louder, more insistent—told her she didn’t care. That she wanted Vick anyway.

And somewhere deep in Vick’s mind, a plan was already forming. The plan that would finally make Heaven hers completely.

Because friendship, after all, was only the beginning.

Chapter Text

The city slept, or at least pretended to. Streetlights flickered against the wet asphalt, casting long, uneven shadows that seemed to twist with a life of their own. Heaven walked home slowly, her mind still buzzing from the evening spent with Vick. She didn’t notice the figure shadowing her until it was too late.

“Hey, you dropped something.”

Heaven froze. The voice was low, familiar, and commanding. Vick stepped from the darkness, towering over her even in the pale glow of a streetlamp. Her eyes glinted with something unreadable—an intensity that made Heaven’s chest tighten.

“I—uh, thank you?” Heaven stammered, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Vick’s lips curled into that crooked smile, one that had haunted Heaven’s thoughts for weeks. “Don’t thank me yet,” she said, moving closer, deliberately, so close Heaven could feel her warmth—and her power.

Heaven’s heart raced. She knew she should step back, should demand distance. But when Vick’s fingers brushed against hers, tentative at first, Heaven felt a pull that she couldn’t fight. It was magnetic. It was wrong, and yet it felt inevitable.

“Vick… what are you—”

The words died in her throat. In an instant, Vick’s hand was on her wrist, firm, unyielding, yet not cruel. Heaven tried to pull away, but Vick’s grip was iron. “I’ve been thinking,” Vick murmured, her voice rough like gravel, “about how much I like you. How much I need you.”

Heaven’s breath caught. “Vick… we… we can’t—”

But Vick didn’t let go. Her large frame pressed slightly against Heaven, her other hand brushing a stray curl from Heaven’s forehead. “I’m not asking anymore,” Vick said, voice low and urgent. “I’m taking you. With me. Where no one can touch you. Where no one can hurt you. Only me.”

Fear flared in Heaven’s chest, wild and insistent, but beneath it was something darker—something she hadn’t dared to name until this moment: desire. Desire for the danger, the intensity, the unrelenting obsession radiating from Vick.

Before Heaven could respond, Vick’s movements were sudden but controlled. A hand on her lower back guided her forward. The city streets blurred past, and Heaven’s protests fell silent, drowned out by adrenaline, fear, and the intoxicating presence of Vick.

Hours later, Heaven awoke in a dimly lit apartment unfamiliar to her own, the air thick with the scent of musk, metal, and something uniquely Vick. Her glasses were on the nightstand, her hands trembling slightly as she sat up.

Vick was there, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, watching her with a mixture of triumph and something almost tender. “Good morning,” she said simply.

Heaven’s voice shook. “Vick… why? Why would you—”

Vick cut her off, stepping closer, every movement deliberate. “Because I can’t let you go,” she said softly, almost pleading. “You’re mine now, Heaven. Mine. And I promise… I’ll take care of you. Always.”

Fear and fascination clashed inside Heaven, and even as she realized she was trapped, part of her felt a strange, dark relief. Vick’s obsession was terrifying, yes—but it was also absolute. Undeniable.

And somewhere deep down, Heaven knew that whatever was coming next—whatever dark path they were about to walk together—was already inevitable.

Because in the world Vick created, there was only her and Heaven. Only them. And in that twisted intimacy, neither of them would ever be the same again.

Chapter Text

Heaven’s eyes snapped open, and for the first time since that night, panic overtook her. The apartment wasn’t unfamiliar anymore—it was a cage. Vick’s presence filled every corner, every shadow. The smell of musk and metal was stronger now, almost suffocating, like it had seeped into the walls themselves.

“Vick… please,” Heaven whispered, her voice trembling. “You have to let me go. This… this isn’t love. It’s—”

“Love?” Vick’s laugh was harsh, a sound that scraped along Heaven’s nerves. It wasn’t playful. It was unhinged. “You think this is love? No… this is real. Real is messy. Real is pain. Real is you… here. With me.”

Heaven shook her head, stepping back. “I can’t… I won’t. You’re… you’re dangerous!”

Vick’s expression twisted, raw anguish flashing in her eyes. She slammed her fists against the wall, then pressed them against her own forehead, over and over, muttering, “No… no… no…” Each strike echoed through the apartment, reverberating in Heaven’s chest.

“Vick! Stop it!” Heaven cried, but the words barely registered. Vick’s breathing was ragged, uneven. Her large hands shook, and for a terrifying moment, Heaven realized she might snap completely.

Then, as if on some horrifying cue, Vick moved with terrifying precision. Heaven didn’t have time to react. Vick’s hand was suddenly pressing a damp cloth over her mouth—smelling faintly of chemicals—and the world blurred as the chloroform took hold. Heaven struggled, kicking and thrashing, but Vick’s strength was overwhelming.

“Shhh… it’s okay,” Vick whispered, though her eyes burned with something darker than tenderness. “It’s just you and me… forever.”

The darkness closed in around Heaven. The last thing she saw before blacking out was Vick’s wide, haunted eyes, framed by her curls, trembling—not from weakness, but from a desperate, obsessive hunger that no one could quench.

When Heaven awoke again, the world smelled of damp wood and earth. She was lying on a hard floor in a dim basement, her hands restrained, and a single, bare lightbulb swung lazily overhead. Shadows twisted along the walls, carved by the flickering bulb and the jagged shapes of stacked crates and tools.

Vick crouched near the far corner, tracing patterns on the floor with her fingers, humming softly. Her shirt was damp with sweat, her muscular arms tense, and her breathing uneven. She looked up when Heaven’s eyes met hers, and a flicker of something almost tender—but twisted—crossed her face.

“You’re safe,” she said quietly, standing. Her voice was low, almost reverent. “I’m not going to hurt you… not if you let me… love you.”

Heaven’s heart pounded. “This isn’t love, Vick! This is… madness!”

Vick’s jaw tightened. She advanced slowly, her large frame dominating the space, her curls bouncing with each step. “Madness?” she whispered, almost to herself. “Maybe… maybe it is. But it’s ours. All ours.”

Heaven’s stomach churned. Fear, anger, and something darker—something she didn’t want to admit—twisted inside her. She had to escape. She had to.

But Vick wasn’t just a person. Vick was a storm. And Heaven had just stepped into the eye.

Chapter Text

The basement was silent except for the soft scrape of Vick’s boots against the concrete floor. Heaven’s head throbbed, her body stiff from lying on the hard ground. The single swinging bulb cast long, distorted shadows, and every small noise made her heart leap.

Vick moved slowly around the room, muttering under her breath. At first, Heaven thought she was mumbling nonsense, but then the words reached her ears, clear and chilling.

“I’m… broken,” Vick whispered, almost mournfully, tracing a scar along her forearm. “I’m not… normal. People say I’m… dangerous. I am. I’m… violent. I hurt. I kill. And I… I love… like no one else can.”

Heaven’s stomach twisted. She felt fear, yes, but also a strange, involuntary fascination. The way Vick spoke about herself was raw, unfiltered. Vulnerable, in a terrifying way.

“I’m a monster,” Vick continued, pacing. Her voice was low, almost confessional. “I’m… messy. I’m scared of being alone… scared of losing anyone… scared of being… me.”

Heaven’s chest tightened. She hadn’t expected this. Vick, the towering, unstoppable force, the serial killer wanted in twelve states, sounded almost… human. Almost fragile. Almost desperate.

“I can’t… let go,” Vick whispered, and Heaven realized she was staring at the floor, her mind racing. “I never could. And I… can’t let her go. Heaven… she… she’s the only part of me that… that feels right.”

Heaven swallowed hard, caught between terror and sympathy. She could see it now: the obsession, the madness, the deep, aching loneliness behind Vick’s violent exterior. Vick’s love wasn’t clean, wasn’t safe—but it was absolute. It consumed her entirely.

From her spot on the floor, Heaven whispered, almost to herself, “What… have I done?”

Vick’s voice softened, carrying across the basement. “You didn’t do anything… you just… exist. And somehow… that’s enough. That’s everything.”

The words were meant to be comforting, perhaps even tender, but Heaven felt a shiver run down her spine. It was love—but twisted, dark, suffocating. And yet… in some sick, impossible way, it felt undeniable.

Heaven curled slightly inward, trying to steady herself. She had to survive. She had to resist. She had to find a way out.

But hearing Vick speak about herself like that—seeing the cracks in the armor, the raw, unfiltered truth of her obsession—made Heaven realize something terrifying: escaping Vick wouldn’t just mean surviving her strength or her madness. It would mean escaping the pull of her darkness, and that… might be impossible.

Chapter Text

The basement was colder than Heaven expected, the damp walls pressing in like they were closing off the world. Vick crouched near a corner, her large frame casting a shadow over Heaven, who sat rigidly on the floor, knees drawn up, trying to keep as much distance as possible.

Vick shifted, tilting her head, her dark eyes glinting in the dim light. “You want to know something?” she murmured. Her voice was quiet, almost conspiratorial, but there was a dangerous undertone that made Heaven’s stomach knot.

Heaven hesitated, but curiosity—or perhaps a fatal mix of fear and fascination—made her nod.

Vick lifted her shirt slowly, deliberately, revealing the pale skin of her chest. A long, jagged scar ran diagonally across it, the edges still slightly pink, raw in the harsh light. Heaven’s breath caught.

“You see this?” Vick said softly, her fingers brushing over the scar like it was a map of her life. “This… this is me. Everything I’ve survived. Every fight, every time I… lost control. Every time I… hurt someone.”

Heaven’s eyes were wide, heart pounding. “V-Vick… it’s… a lot…”

Vick chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down Heaven’s spine. “You think that scares me? No. You know what I’d do for you?” Her voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. “I’d take it out. My heart. Just for you. If you asked me to… I’d do it without hesitation. Because… you matter more than anything. More than blood, more than pain, more than… myself.”

Heaven’s chest tightened. She wanted to step back, to tell Vick this was insane, but the sheer sincerity in her gaze made it impossible. Vick’s scar wasn’t just a wound—it was a testament to survival, obsession, and a kind of twisted devotion that terrified and enthralled her at once.

“You’re… you’re crazy,” Heaven said, voice trembling. “But… you mean that?”

Vick’s lips curled into a soft, almost tender smile. “Crazy? Yeah… maybe I am. But I’m yours. Completely. And I’ll prove it. Every day. Every second. Every scar… every piece of me… all yours if you want it.”

Heaven swallowed hard, her pulse racing. Fear, confusion, and something she couldn’t name twisted inside her. She wanted to resist, to flee, to reject this dangerous devotion—but Vick’s eyes held her in place, pulling at her in a way that made the world shrink to just the two of them.

The basement grew quieter, heavy with tension. Heaven’s mind screamed at her to get away, but Vick’s voice—soft, raw, desperate—echoed in her ears.

“You don’t have to say yes,” Vick murmured, moving closer, her shadow falling over Heaven like a storm. “But know this… I’d give you everything. Even… this.” She pressed her scarred chest lightly, a gesture of both pride and surrender, as if offering her very life.

Heaven’s knees shook. She didn’t trust herself to speak, didn’t trust the pulse thrumming in her veins. And in that dark, damp room, with the swing of a single bulb above, she realized something terrifying: Vick’s obsession wasn’t just dangerous—it was infinite.

And Heaven… was already caught in it.

Chapter Text

The basement was silent for hours after Vick had shown Heaven her scar, the tension between them hanging thick like smoke. Vick sat slumped against the wall, massive shoulders shaking as she buried her face in her hands. The raw, unfiltered anguish radiating from her was almost unbearable to witness.

Heaven watched her quietly, her chest tight with conflicting emotions—fear, frustration, and an undeniable, aching empathy. She had come here intending to resist, to survive, but seeing Vick like this—so vulnerable, so broken—made her heart ache.

Slowly, carefully, Heaven reached forward, her small hands trembling as they rested on Vick’s forearm. “Vick…” she whispered softly.

Vick didn’t respond, just continued to shudder, the weight of her own obsession pressing down on her. Heaven’s other hand moved to touch her shoulder, tentative, grounding.

“Hey,” Heaven said, softer this time, “it’s okay. You don’t have to… hold it all in alone.”

Vick’s head snapped up, dark eyes glistening with unshed tears, her lips trembling. “I… I can’t… I can’t—” she stammered, the words breaking like fragile glass.

Without thinking, Heaven moved closer, pressing herself into Vick’s broad chest. The taller woman froze for a heartbeat, then the walls she had built around herself shattered.

Vick’s large arms wrapped around Heaven instinctively, rough hands clutching at her back as if she could physically hold herself together through the act. Sobs racked her body, raw and guttural, and Heaven felt the full weight of her grief and obsession.

“It’s okay,” Heaven murmured, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. “I’m here. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

Vick’s breath hitched, and she buried her face deeper into Heaven’s shoulder. “I’m… so… broken,” she whispered, the words muffled but raw. “I’m… scared… I don’t want to lose you… I can’t lose you…”

Heaven hugged her tighter, rocking slightly, offering the small comfort she could. “You’re not losing me,” she said gently. “Not now. Not ever. You don’t have to do this alone.”

For the first time, Vick let herself truly fall apart. Her sobs shook through her massive frame, and Heaven felt the raw power of the woman she had feared and admired merge with a tenderness she hadn’t expected. In that embrace, all the terror, the obsession, the violence melted away for just a moment, leaving only two people—broken, flawed, and human—holding onto each other in the dark.

And as Vick’s tears soaked into her shirt, Heaven realized something she hadn’t admitted even to herself: for all her fear, for all the madness surrounding this woman, she wanted to be there. She wanted to hold Vick through it all.

Because even monsters, Heaven thought, needed someone to stay.

Chapter Text

The basement was quieter now. Vick had finally stopped shaking, her heavy breaths evening out as she leaned against Heaven, still holding her close. The dim light of the single bulb cast long shadows across the walls, and for the first time, Heaven noticed the small scars and rough edges that made Vick who she was—not just her strength or her obsession, but the history embedded in every inch of her.

Heaven pulled back slightly, enough to meet Vick’s dark, intense eyes. “Vick…” she whispered, voice trembling. “When… when does a monster stop being a monster?”

Vick’s eyes softened, and for a moment, she looked almost vulnerable. She tilted her head, her rough fingers brushing a stray curl from Heaven’s face. Her voice was low, gravelly, but there was a weight to it, a truth that sent a shiver down Heaven’s spine.

“Simple,” Vick said, her gaze unwavering. “When someone… loves it.”

Heaven’s breath caught. The words were almost too simple, but the depth behind them was terrifying. To Vick, love wasn’t just a feeling—it was redemption, survival, proof that even someone like her could be wanted, needed, seen.

Heaven’s lips parted, unsure what to say. The fear, the anger, the fascination—it all collided inside her. “Even… you?” she asked softly, almost inaudible.

Vick’s lips curved into a small, crooked smile, one that carried both pride and pain. “Yeah… even me.” She leaned in slightly, pressing her forehead to Heaven’s. “And I’ll make sure you… see me, all of me. Every scar, every monster inside… and still… you’ll want me.”

Heaven’s chest tightened. She wanted to pull away, to run, to insist that this was madness—but in the soft intensity of Vick’s gaze, in the raw sincerity behind the obsession, she couldn’t.

For a long moment, silence hung between them, heavy and electric. Heaven realized that loving Vick, or at least understanding her, wouldn’t erase the danger. It wouldn’t make the past disappear. But it could… maybe, just maybe… make the monster human, if only for a little while.

And as Heaven rested her head against Vick’s chest, listening to the steady beat beneath the scarred skin, she felt something she hadn’t expected: a fragile, terrifying hope.

Because maybe… monsters could be loved.

Chapter Text

The cabin kitchen smelled of garlic, butter, and simmering cream. Vick stood at the stove, large hands working with surprising finesse, stirring the pasta sauce, chopping garlic, and sprinkling Parmesan over freshly cooked noodles. Her muscles flexed with each movement, but there was a surprising grace to her efficiency, a carefulness that made Heaven’s chest tighten.

Heaven sat at the kitchen table, glasses perched on her nose, watching Vick with quiet fascination. “I didn’t know you… cooked,” she said softly, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug.

Vick glanced over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised, lips quirking in that crooked, teasing smile. “What, you think I just eat steaks raw and scare people all day?” she muttered, though there was humor in her tone. “I can do normal things too… sometimes.”

Heaven laughed lightly, a sound that filled the small room. “This smells… amazing. I didn’t expect this from… you.”

Vick’s focus didn’t waver, but her eyes softened. “I make things for people I… care about,” she said, carefully folding the pasta into the creamy sauce. “And… I care about you.”

Heaven’s stomach fluttered. The words, so simple yet so weighted, were a stark contrast to the chaos, the obsession, the darkness surrounding Vick. “Even after… everything?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Vick turned then, holding the skillet in one hand, the other wiping her fingers on a dish towel. Her scarred chest rose and fell as she exhaled, and for a moment, the dangerous edge softened into something almost tender. “Especially after,” she said, her gaze steady. “I like taking care of you. Even… like this.”

Heaven’s lips curved into a small smile, warmth spreading through her chest. “Thank you… Vick.”

Vick plated the pasta with a flourish, the creamy chicken Alfredo steaming in the center of the dish. She set it in front of Heaven, her large hands almost engulfing the delicate plate. “Eat,” she said simply. “Before I eat it all myself.”

Heaven took a bite, and her eyes widened. The flavors were rich, comforting, homemade in a way that carried the subtle tenderness of someone cooking for love. “Vick… this is… incredible,” she breathed, savoring the dish.

Vick leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching Heaven eat. There was pride there, yes, but also something deeper: a quiet, unspoken affection that didn’t need words to exist. And in that moment, in the warmth of the cabin and the scent of garlic and cream, Heaven felt a flicker of normalcy, a fragile slice of peace, in a world that had always been dangerous and unpredictable.

Even monsters could make pasta. Even monsters could care.

Chapter Text

The kitchen was quiet now, the remains of the homemade chicken Alfredo sitting in their bowls, half-eaten, steam curling lazily into the air. Vick leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching Heaven with that familiar intensity that made her both nervous and strangely comforted.

Heaven set down her fork, a small smile tugging at her lips. She studied Vick for a moment—the way her curls fell slightly into her eyes, the scarred but strong hands resting on the counter, the faint sheen of sweat from cooking. All the danger, all the obsession, all the chaos seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the person behind it.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Heaven stepped closer. Her fingers brushed against Vick’s arm, testing the waters of intimacy, and Vick’s dark eyes flicked toward her, alert but softening.

Without a word, Heaven leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Vick’s cheek, soft and fleeting, a gesture of gratitude, affection, and something unspoken.

Vick froze for a heartbeat, the tension in her massive frame unraveling as her lips parted slightly. Then, a crooked smile spread across her face, a mixture of pride, disbelief, and a warmth she rarely allowed herself to feel. “You… you did that,” she murmured, voice low, almost breathless.

Heaven nodded, cheeks warming. “I… wanted to.”

Vick’s gaze softened, and she reached out, large, rough fingers brushing a stray curl from Heaven’s face. “You have no idea,” she said, almost to herself, “what that does to me.”

Heaven’s chest tightened at the confession. She didn’t pull back, didn’t step away—she stayed close, letting Vick feel the affection, the quiet acknowledgment of her humanity. In that small, fleeting gesture, something fragile shifted between them: a moment of trust, of softness, of connection that didn’t require words, didn’t require obsession—just the two of them, together, in the quiet glow of the cabin kitchen.

Vick’s hand lingered against Heaven’s cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over her skin. “You… you’re dangerous too,” she murmured, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. “Because now I want… more.”

Heaven smiled, leaning slightly into her touch. “Then… you’ll have to be patient.”

Vick laughed softly, the sound rough but warm, the kind of sound that filled the space with a rare sense of peace. And for that brief, perfect moment, the chaos of the world outside the cabin seemed to disappear, leaving only them—two broken, complicated people finding something tender amidst the darkness.

Chapter Text

Heaven’s footsteps echoed softly as she descended the narrow basement stairs. She had come looking for Vick, intending only to talk, maybe even share a quiet moment like they had in the kitchen. But as she reached the bottom step, the scent hit her first—metallic, coppery, unmistakably human.

Her breath caught in her throat. The dim light of the single hanging bulb revealed a scene she would never forget.

Vick stood over a table, her large, scarred hands moving with unnerving precision. A body lay before her, limbs carefully arranged as though preparing a grotesque puzzle. The rhythmic scrape of a blade against flesh echoed in the small space.

And then came the voice—a soft, chilling croon that froze Heaven’s blood:

“We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when…”

Vick sang it quietly, almost tenderly, her head bobbing to the tune. She didn’t notice Heaven at first, completely absorbed in the meticulous, terrifying task before her.

Heaven’s knees shook, and she stumbled back against the wall, her hands trembling. “V-Vick… what… what are you doing?” she whispered, voice barely audible.

Vick paused, blade mid-motion, and slowly turned her head toward Heaven. Her dark eyes flickered with something unreadable—delight? obsession? madness? The smile that followed was crooked, cold, and horrifyingly calm.

“Heaven,” she said softly, tilting her head, “you came at the right time. I was… finishing up. Don’t worry… it’s all part of the plan.”

Heaven’s chest tightened, terror and disbelief warring inside her. “This… this is… killing someone! Cutting them into pieces! You can’t… you can’t keep doing this!”

Vick’s voice dropped to a whisper as she resumed her work, almost casually, humming the song again:

“We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when…”

She glanced at Heaven, her large frame looming over her. “Oh, but I can,” she said, the words soft but deadly. “And you… you see me, all of me. The good, the bad… the monster. And you still… you still care.”

Heaven’s stomach churned. Fear had always been part of their relationship, but this—this was something else entirely. This was raw, unfiltered madness, and it cut through the fragile trust they had been building.

Vick continued working, humming, methodical, precise. The grotesque calmness in her voice and movements made Heaven realize, with a sinking horror, that there was no reasoning with this part of her. No kindness could reach it.

And as Heaven stared, frozen, she understood the terrifying truth: loving Vick wasn’t just dangerous. It was impossible to contain. The monster and the person she cared for were inseparable—and right now, the monster was winning.

Chapter Text

Heaven’s heart pounded like a drum in her chest as she stumbled backward, the horrifying scene in front of her searing itself into her memory. The dim basement smelled of blood and iron, the blade in Vick’s hand glinting in the flickering light. Her mind raced, panic clawing at every thought. She had to get out. She had to.

Slowly, carefully, Heaven inched toward the basement stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. Her glasses were fogged with sweat, her breath shallow, but her eyes never left Vick. The towering woman hummed softly again, almost lullaby-like:

“We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when…”

Heaven’s stomach turned. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to escape, to call for help. She reached the first step, careful not to let the wooden stairs creak under her weight.

“Where are you going, little angel?” Vick’s voice sliced through the basement like a blade. Heaven froze, her blood running cold. Vick had somehow sensed her movement, her hesitation, her attempt at freedom.

Before Heaven could react, Vick was moving—fast, impossibly fast for her size. She grabbed Heaven’s arm, her grip iron, twisting slightly so Heaven couldn’t pull away.

“Let go!” Heaven yelled, struggling, kicking, twisting. Her body slammed against the railing as Vick’s grip tightened. “I’m calling the police! You can’t—”

Vick’s dark eyes gleamed, almost playful, as she pressed close. “Calling the police?” she whispered, her breath warm against Heaven’s ear. “Do you think I’d let you?”

Heaven tried to push her off, her small frame flailing against Vick’s immense strength. But Vick was relentless, her hands moving like steel traps. “I just… I need… I need to get out!” Heaven screamed, tears welling in her eyes.

“You think it’s that simple?” Vick said, crouching so her massive frame towered over Heaven. “You think the world will save you? You’re mine… and you’ll see that soon enough.”

Heaven’s mind spun. She needed a plan, any plan. She fumbled for her phone in her pocket, praying Vick hadn’t taken it. Her fingers brushed the screen, dialing 9-1-1 in desperate trembling.

“Hello? Police? I need—”

Vick’s hand slammed over her mouth, muffling her scream. With a single, terrifyingly controlled movement, she ripped the phone from Heaven’s hand and crushed it in her massive palm, bits of plastic and metal scattering across the floor.

“No calls,” Vick said softly, almost lovingly, as though disciplining a child. “No one comes between us. Only me… only you… only now.”

Heaven shook violently, pushing and thrashing, but Vick’s arms were inescapable. Every ounce of muscle, every scarred contour, held her captive. Heaven’s mind raced, trying to reason, to bargain, to make some appeal to the humanity she had glimpsed in Vick—the side that could cook, the side that cried in her arms, the side that once seemed capable of tenderness.

“Vick… please!” Heaven cried, voice breaking. “This isn’t love! You’re… hurting people! You’re going to get caught!”

Vick’s expression softened for a heartbeat, a fleeting, impossible tenderness flashing across her scarred face. “I know… I know it’s wrong,” she murmured. “But… I can’t stop. Not now. Not for anyone. Not even for me. But… I can take care of you. Always.”

Heaven’s chest ached. She wanted to argue, to resist, to break free—but the crushing reality of Vick’s strength, her obsession, and her meticulous control made escape impossible. She was trapped, caught between terror and the faint, maddening allure of Vick’s devotion.

Vick leaned closer, their faces inches apart. “You’ll see,” she whispered, her large hands cradling Heaven’s face, “everything I do… I do for us. You and me… forever.”

Heaven’s knees buckled, exhaustion, fear, and helplessness washing over her in a tide she couldn’t fight. She had tried to escape. She had tried to reach for the world outside, for help, for safety. But the monster wasn’t just Vick’s violence or obsession—it was her intelligence, her precision, and the unrelenting, suffocating force of her need.

And in that dim, blood-scented basement, Heaven realized the horrifying truth: there was no escape. Not yet. Not from Vick. Not from the darkness she had willingly—or foolishly—stepped into.

Vick’s shadow loomed over her, massive and unyielding, her breathing steady, calm, possessed. “You’re mine now,” she whispered again. “Mine to protect. Mine to love. Mine to… keep safe, no matter what it takes.”

Heaven’s lips trembled as she stared into the eyes of the woman she had once trusted, once cared for, once feared—and once, impossibly, loved.

And she knew, with a sinking, helpless certainty, that the nightmare had only just begun.

Chapter Text

The cabin was quiet when Heaven crept into the living room, careful to avoid the creaking floorboards. The oppressive tension of the basement, the metallic scent of blood, and the terror of what she had witnessed earlier still clung to her like a shadow. Every instinct screamed at her to keep her distance. Every instinct screamed to run.

But something in the house had shifted.

Vick sat on the worn couch, knees drawn up to her chest, her large hands clutching at the fabric of her shirt. Her curls fell into her face, hiding her scarred features, but the trembling of her shoulders betrayed her. She wasn’t humming this time. She wasn’t the confident, terrifying force of violence that Heaven had seen downstairs.

“Heaven…” Vick’s voice cracked as she looked up, eyes red-rimmed, wet with tears. “I… I’m sorry. I… I don’t… I don’t know how to—”

Heaven froze, her breath catching. She had expected anger, pride, obsession—but not this. Not vulnerability. Not fear. Not the raw, unfiltered pleading of a person who seemed on the verge of breaking apart.

Vick’s hands reached toward her, large and trembling. “Please… please forgive me,” she whispered. “I’m… I’m not… I’m not just… that… the… monster… I mean… I’m me too, Heaven. The part you knew… the part you touched… it’s real. I swear it’s real.”

Heaven’s chest tightened. She took a cautious step closer, her heart torn between fear and a strange, reluctant empathy. The monster everyone feared—the serial killer, the abductor, the force of obsession—was in the same body as this shattered, desperate woman. And somehow, seeing her like this made Heaven’s fear shift into something else entirely: a complicated, fragile sympathy.

“You’re… crying,” Heaven whispered, almost incredulously.

“I am,” Vick admitted, her large frame shaking. “I… I hate what I’ve done. I hate… that I’m… like that… like the person everyone sees… the monster. But I… I can’t stop wanting you… I can’t stop loving you… even if I… even if I’m horrible… even if I’m… dangerous…”

Heaven felt a lump in her throat. The dichotomy was staggering. The same hands that had wielded violence now trembled as they reached for forgiveness. The same eyes that had burned with obsession now glistened with unshed tears.

Vick’s lips quivered as she crawled slightly closer, her massive body moving with surprising gentleness. “I… I can’t… forgive myself,” she whispered. “I just… want… you to… see me. The real me. Not… not the monster.”

Heaven’s fear didn’t vanish completely, but she took another step closer, heart pounding in the fragile silence. “I… I see you, Vick,” she said softly. “The real you. Even if… even if it’s messy. Even if it’s terrifying. I… I see you.”

Vick’s shoulders shook, and she let herself fall back against the couch, tears spilling freely now. “Thank you… thank you,” she whispered, almost to herself. “You… you don’t… you don’t know what that means.”

For the first time, Heaven realized that the monster and the woman she had begun to care for were intertwined, occupying the same body but sometimes appearing as separate beings entirely. And in that moment, as she stepped closer and offered her presence without judgment, Heaven understood something terrifying and beautiful: she could see both. She could witness the horror and the tenderness. And somehow, that made Vick… human.

Vick’s hands rested loosely on her knees, still trembling, her gaze flickering to Heaven. “I… I don’t deserve you,” she murmured. “But… I can’t let you go.”

Heaven didn’t speak immediately. She simply sat down beside Vick, close enough for their shoulders to brush. And in the quiet of the cabin, with the storm of the world outside fading, she let the woman she had feared and the woman she had begun to love exist side by side—two halves of the same impossible, broken, terrifying whole.

And for the first time, Vick let herself break entirely, letting Heaven hold the fragments.

Chapter Text

Weeks had passed since the basement incident. The cabin had grown quieter, almost eerily domestic. Vick cooked more often, cleaned meticulously, and even laughed sometimes—small, crooked chuckles that didn’t quite reach the edges of her eyes.

Heaven had noticed it all. The way Vick no longer hummed unsettling tunes while working, the way her massive frame moved calmly through the kitchen, the way she kept her obsession in check—or at least buried it beneath routines and order.

And Heaven… felt a twinge of disappointment.

Sitting at the worn wooden table, a cup of coffee steaming in front of her, Heaven watched Vick chop vegetables for dinner. She caught herself tracing the contours of Vick’s broad shoulders, the way her muscular arms flexed with every slice. The scars, the roughness, the chaos that had once made her heart race with fear and fascination—somehow she missed it.

“You’ve really… toned it down, huh?” Heaven said lightly, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.

Vick glanced over, brow slightly furrowed, a hint of defensiveness creeping in. “What do you mean?”

“You’re… normal now,” Heaven said, leaning back in her chair, pretending not to notice the way Vick’s massive hands paused over the knife handle. “Cooking, cleaning, being… well-behaved.”

Vick’s lips curved into a small, crooked smirk. “Normal? That’s a strange word coming from you,” she muttered, though the edge in her voice was softened by warmth.

Heaven’s eyes flicked toward her, a small spark in them. “Maybe. Or maybe I liked the… chaos.”

Vick froze for a heartbeat, the knife in her hands still. Then she tilted her head, a small, teasing glint in her dark eyes. “Chaos, huh? And here I thought you were into the calmer side of me.”

Heaven’s lips quirked, trying not to betray too much. “I… like both,” she admitted softly. Her eyes flicked down, tracing a scarred forearm. “But… there was something exciting about the… craziness. The… unpredictability. It made things… intense.”

Vick’s smirk softened, and she placed the knife down on the counter, stepping closer. Her large frame loomed over Heaven in that way that always made her chest tighten. “You miss me… a little dangerous?” she asked, her voice low, almost teasing but with an undercurrent of genuine curiosity.

Heaven’s breath caught. “Maybe,” she admitted, leaning back slightly but letting Vick’s shadow fall over her. “But don’t get me wrong… I like the calmer side too. Just… it’s… different.”

Vick chuckled softly, a rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through the room. “Different’s good… but dangerous is better, huh?”

Heaven’s lips curved into a slow, mischievous smile. “Sometimes.”

For the first time in weeks, the tension between them was playful, flirty, and fragile. Heaven found herself noticing the duality—the part of Vick that was terrifying and unpredictable, and the part that was achingly human, capable of tenderness and care. Both sides pulled at her in different ways, and she realized she was drawn to both, even if part of her missed the intensity of the “old” Vick.

Vick leaned closer, lowering her voice so only Heaven could hear. “I like that part of you… the part that enjoys a little danger. Makes it… more fun for me too.”

Heaven’s heart fluttered. She leaned slightly forward, just enough to brush her shoulder against Vick’s. “Then maybe you should balance it… for both our sakes.”

Vick’s lips quirked, and she leaned in just a fraction closer, letting the unspoken tension linger between them. The calm had returned to their days—but the undercurrent of chaos, attraction, and twisted affection remained, simmering quietly beneath the surface.

And Heaven realized, with a mixture of fear and delight, that she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sun filtered through the dense canopy of the forest, casting long, dappled shadows on the leaf-strewn path. Heaven’s heart hammered in her chest—not from fear of the woods, but from the anticipation of what Vick had promised.

“I have a game for us,” Vick’s voice had said earlier, low and teasing, curling around Heaven like a warning. She hadn’t been able to read her tone properly—was it playful? Obsessive? Dangerous? Probably all three.

Heaven had tried to refuse, tried to insist she didn’t want to play. But when Vick’s hand had brushed hers, that crooked smile tugging at the corner of her lips, she had known it was hopeless. The rules of this game were entirely Vick’s, and refusing wasn’t an option.

Now, Heaven was running. She sprinted down the narrow trail, her small frame weaving between tree trunks and over roots. Her breath came in sharp gasps as the cool forest air hit her lungs. Behind her, the unmistakable sound of footsteps followed—heavy, powerful, and impossibly fast.

“We’ll meet again… don’t know where, don’t know when…”

Vick’s voice floated through the trees, singing the old tune with a haunting cheerfulness that sent a shiver down Heaven’s spine. Her laughter echoed over the melody, a mixture of delight and menace.

Heaven glanced back. Vick’s massive form emerged between the trees, muscles coiling with every stride. Despite the fear pounding through her chest, Heaven couldn’t help but feel a strange thrill. There was something intoxicating about the chase, about the way Vick’s dark eyes sparkled with mischief, obsession, and raw power.

“Vick!” Heaven shouted, trying to keep her tone light, though her voice trembled. “Stop this! It’s not funny!”

Vick’s voice rang out again, teasing and melodic: “Funny? No, Heaven… it’s exhilarating! Come on, catch me if you can!”

Heaven pushed harder, dodging a low-hanging branch, her sneakers slipping on the damp leaves. But Vick’s speed was inhuman—every time Heaven thought she might gain a step, Vick would close the distance, her laughter weaving through the forest like a predator’s call.

Finally, Heaven stumbled onto a small clearing, chest heaving, knees trembling. She tried to make a stand, planting her feet firmly on the ground. “Vick! Enough! I—”

Before she could finish, Vick was there, massive and impossibly fast, circling her slowly like a wolf playing with its prey. Her dark curls bounced with every step, and the soft hum of “We’ll meet again” lingered in the air.

Vick crouched slightly, hands on her knees, staring down at Heaven with a mix of adoration and obsession. “You see,” she said softly, her tone dropping from playful to intimate, “the fun of the game isn’t in running… it’s in knowing I’m never going to let you go. You can run all you want, Heaven… but you’ll always… end up with me.”

Heaven’s chest tightened, a shiver running down her spine. Fear, excitement, and something darker twisted inside her. She wanted to scream, to flee, to insist she wasn’t part of this madness—but a part of her couldn’t deny the thrill. The danger, the unpredictability, the chaos of Vick… it made her pulse race in ways she didn’t fully understand.

Vick’s shadow fell over her, larger than the trees themselves, and she reached down, brushing a hand against Heaven’s arm, teasing, almost tender. “Game’s over… for now,” she murmured, her voice low, vibrating with both desire and obsession. “But we’ll play again… soon.”

Heaven swallowed hard, caught between fear and fascination. The chase had ended, but the tension, the pull, the unspoken connection between them lingered. In Vick’s world, danger and desire were inseparable—and Heaven was learning, terrifyingly, that she was just as drawn to the chaos as she was to the calm.

Chapter Text

The cabin was quiet when Heaven returned from the woods, her hair tangled from running and her breath still uneven. Vick followed not far behind, humming softly, the echo of “We’ll meet again” still lingering in the air like a sinister lullaby. But inside the cabin, the atmosphere shifted—danger still hovered, but so did an undercurrent of intimacy that made Heaven’s chest tighten.

Vick leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching Heaven as if cataloging every detail—the way her curls had frizzed from exertion, the flush in her cheeks, the small catch in her breathing. “You’re… out of shape,” she said teasingly, though the smile she gave was soft, almost tender.

Heaven rolled her eyes, but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at her lips. “And you’re… terrifying,” she shot back, though the edge in her voice was tempered by warmth. “In case you forgot.”

Vick chuckled, the sound low and throaty, vibrating through the room like a warning and a caress all at once. “I haven’t forgotten. But you… you like it, don’t you?”

Heaven froze, caught off guard. Her stomach flipped at the accuracy of the statement. She wanted to deny it, to resist, but the truth pressed against her chest like a weight she couldn’t lift. “…Maybe,” she admitted, almost under her breath.

Vick’s eyes darkened, but the expression wasn’t harsh. It was curious, playful, and intimate all at once. She stepped closer, her massive frame blocking the light from the window, casting Heaven in a shadow that felt both threatening and thrilling. “Maybe, huh? Dangerous… chaotic… intense… I think you like the storm.”

Heaven swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. “I… I don’t know. Maybe I do,” she whispered, the corners of her lips tugging up. “But… the calm… the caring side… I like that too. Just… maybe not as much.”

Vick’s smirk softened, and she tilted her head, letting her curls brush Heaven’s shoulder. “I see… so you like the fire and the ice. The chaos and the calm. Both sides… huh?”

Heaven’s cheeks warmed. “Yeah… both sides,” she admitted. “Even if… sometimes I miss the chaos more.”

Vick crouched slightly, large hands resting gently on Heaven’s arms. The contrast was striking—the rough, scarred strength against Heaven’s delicate frame. “I like that you’re honest,” Vick murmured. “Even when it… scares you. Even when it… confuses you. You like the dangerous me… and the tender me… and somehow… that’s perfect.”

Heaven’s chest tightened. She leaned slightly into Vick’s touch, letting the warmth of her presence seep in, even as a small part of her feared the pull she felt toward the darker side of this woman. “It’s… confusing,” she whispered.

Vick’s smile deepened, eyes glittering with that same mix of obsession and affection. “Good. Confusion keeps things interesting. Keeps you… on your toes. Keeps us… alive.”

Heaven’s lips curved into a small, hesitant smile, her pulse still racing. She wasn’t sure if what she felt was love, fascination, fear, or something else entirely. But she knew this: the pull of Vick—the storm, the calm, the chaos, the tenderness—was undeniable.

And in that moment, with the tension between them crackling in the air, Heaven realized she didn’t want to fight it entirely.

Vick leaned closer, her dark curls brushing Heaven’s cheek. “You’re mine,” she whispered softly. “Both sides… and all of you will be mine.”

Heaven’s breath caught, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “…Maybe… I want that too,” she admitted, the words barely above a whisper.

Vick’s hands tightened slightly, almost possessively, but not harshly. “Good,” she murmured. “Because whether you admit it or not… the storm always comes back. And so do I.”

And as the shadows of the cabin stretched and twisted around them, Heaven realized, with a mixture of fear and thrill, that she was already caught—tangled in Vick’s chaos and calm, in the dangerous, intoxicating pull of a monster she couldn’t stop thinking about.

Chapter Text

The cabin was quiet except for the soft crackle of the fireplace and the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards. Heaven had been reading on the couch, keeping one eye on Vick, who had fallen asleep in the living room after a long, chaotic day.

Vick had collapsed on the rug, her massive frame dwarfed by the oversized blanket she had wrapped around herself. But it wasn’t the blanket that caught Heaven’s attention—it was everything else.

Vick was wearing a loose, adult onesie patterned with wolves, stars, and moons, the fabric soft and slightly baggy over her scarred, muscular body. A small, worn wolf plush was tucked under her arm, its stitched smile oddly comforting. Her hands were placed under her chin, curled slightly in a way that made her massive shoulders look smaller, almost delicate, and her head was tilted forward, giving her a faintly t-rex-like posture.

Heaven’s chest tightened, caught between disbelief and an odd, almost protective affection. The fierce, obsessive monster she had come to know was completely still now, looking incredibly childish in her vulnerable sleep. The contrast was jarring. The same woman who had chased her through the woods, terrified her, and commanded attention with sheer presence now looked… small. Fragile. Innocent.

Heaven leaned slightly forward, careful not to disturb her, and whispered softly, almost to herself, “You’re… terrifying and terrifyingly childish all at once.”

Vick murmured something incoherent in her sleep, shifting slightly, clutching the plush a little tighter. Heaven’s lips curved into a faint, tender smile. She had seen Vick in so many states—obsessive, violent, obsessive—but this… this made her realize that beneath the chaos, beneath the obsession, there was still a part of the woman she loved—or at least cared for deeply—that longed for comfort, for simplicity, for… innocence.

She reached out lightly, brushing a stray curl from Vick’s face. The rough, scarred hand was warm and surprisingly soft against her fingers. Heaven’s heart fluttered. “Even monsters,” she whispered softly, “need a little tenderness.”

Vick shifted again, hugging the wolf plush closer, hands still under her chin in that adorable, t-rex-like position. Heaven leaned back, allowing herself a quiet moment of fascination and affection. It was rare, these glimpses of vulnerability, and Heaven savored it, feeling a strange, dangerous pull—part fear, part care, part something she couldn’t yet name.

For now, Vick slept, both monster and child coexisting in a single body, and Heaven found herself watching quietly, entranced by the impossible duality.

And in the soft glow of the cabin, with firelight dancing across the onesie’s wolf and star patterns, Heaven realized something terrifying and irresistible: she had fallen, bit by bit, for all of Vick—both the chaos and the innocence, the danger and the softness, the monster and the woman.

Chapter Text

The storm outside pounded the cabin with rain, thunder rattling the windows like fists demanding entry. Inside, Heaven stirred from sleep when she heard it—an awful, guttural sound coming from the bathroom. She sat up quickly, panic flickering through her chest.

The door was half open, and through the sliver of dim light, she saw Vick hunched over the toilet, shoulders heaving. Her strong, scarred body shook violently, each retch dragging a raw sound from her throat.

“Vick?” Heaven’s voice was soft, hesitant.

Vick didn’t answer at first, only coughed, spitting into the bowl before groaning and resting her forehead against the rim. Her curls were damp with sweat, clinging to her temples. The wolf-patterned onesie she had stubbornly worn to bed looked rumpled, pitiful against her massive frame.

Heaven’s heart twisted. She moved into the bathroom without thinking, kneeling beside her. “Hey, hey… it’s okay,” she whispered, gathering Vick’s curls and holding them back with gentle fingers.

Vick groaned again, lifting her head just enough to glance at her with glassy eyes. “Don’t… look at me like this,” she rasped, voice cracked with exhaustion and shame.

“I’m not judging,” Heaven murmured, brushing a damp curl from her face. “Even monsters get sick.”

That earned a weak chuckle from Vick, though it quickly broke into another cough. She slumped forward again, vomiting once more, her large hands bracing the porcelain like she was trying to crush it. Heaven kept her hand steady on her shoulder, rubbing gentle circles through the damp fabric.

When it finally passed, Vick sat back heavily against the wall, chest heaving. Her face was pale, lips cracked, but her eyes clung to Heaven’s like a lifeline. “I… hate this,” she admitted hoarsely. “Weak. Pathetic. Disgusting.”

Heaven shook her head, pressing a damp cloth she’d quickly soaked under the sink against Vick’s sweaty forehead. “Not weak,” she whispered firmly. “Human.”

The word hung heavy in the air.

Vick blinked slowly, eyes burning as if she wanted to cry but couldn’t allow herself. “You shouldn’t… waste your care on me.”

Heaven’s voice softened, a fragile whisper. “Then stop giving me reasons to.”

For a moment, the storm outside seemed to fade, drowned out by the silence between them. Heaven dabbed gently at Vick’s lips, wiped her trembling hands clean, and guided her head to rest against her shoulder.

The butch giant who had terrified twelve states, who had carried Heaven kicking and screaming into this cabin, who had carved nightmares into flesh, now leaned into her touch like a fevered child, helpless and trembling.

And Heaven, though she knew she should have felt fear, felt only a surge of something stranger: tenderness, threaded with danger, bound to the monster she couldn’t untangle herself from.

Chapter Text

The fever clung to Vick like a second skin. Her body, so used to storms of its own making, wasn’t built for frailty—it writhed under it, restless, muttering half-coherent words in the haze of illness.

Heaven sat at the edge of the bed, a damp cloth folded neatly in her hand. She pressed it gently against Vick’s burning forehead, watching the way the woman’s brow furrowed even in sleep. Her breaths came shallow and uneven, chest rising and falling with a tension that made Heaven ache.

The monstrous presence—the hunter who had chased her through woods, who had sung while staining her hands red—was absent. What lay before Heaven now was a human stripped bare, vulnerable in a way that made her both pity and fear how much she cared.

“Shh,” Heaven whispered, brushing her fingers through Vick’s curls, now damp and sticking to her temples. “It’s okay. You don’t have to fight this.”

Vick stirred, mumbling something too slurred to catch. Her massive hand shifted clumsily under the blankets, searching. Heaven hesitated, then laced her smaller fingers through Vick’s, letting her hold on. The grip was surprisingly weak.

Heaven tucked the blanket tighter around her, then reached to the nightstand for the bowl of broth she’d made earlier. She stirred it once more, steam curling softly into the air, before setting it down again. Vick hadn’t been able to keep much down, but Heaven knew she had to try.

When Vick’s eyes finally blinked open, glassy and dazed, she looked at Heaven as though she were some strange dream. “Why… are you here?” she croaked.

“Because you need me,” Heaven said simply, adjusting the cloth on her forehead. “And whether I like it or not… I can’t leave you like this.”

Vick gave a rough, humorless laugh that dissolved into a cough. “You… should want to run. Not… hold my hand.”

“Maybe I should,” Heaven admitted softly, meeting her gaze. “But maybe I don’t.”

The silence between them stretched, broken only by the wind against the cabin walls. Vick’s eyes softened, hazy with fever but searching, as if she wanted to believe Heaven’s words but didn’t dare.

“Drink a little,” Heaven said, sliding an arm behind Vick’s broad shoulders to help her sit up. She pressed the spoon to her lips, patient, careful. Vick obeyed, swallowing shakily, her scarred throat working with each small sip.

When she finally sagged back against the pillows, exhausted, Heaven tucked the blanket up again and smoothed her curls with quiet affection. “You’re safe,” she whispered.

And for the first time since she had been dragged into this cabin, Heaven realized she meant it.

Not safe from the monster. Not safe from the blood, the obsession, the danger.

Safe from the storm raging inside Vick herself.

Chapter Text

The storm outside dragged on through the night, wind whistling through the trees, rain beating against the cabin roof. Inside, the small bedroom was lit only by the faint glow of the fireplace from down the hall.

Vick slept uneasily, her fever tugging her in and out of restless dreams. Every so often, she would shift, murmur something half-formed, clutch the sheets as though they were slipping away. Heaven sat in the wooden chair beside the bed, chin resting on her palm, watching.

The longer she sat, the more she felt the tug in her chest. Vick—scarred, monstrous, terrifying—looked almost fragile now. Her breathing was shallow, her lips parted slightly, her curls damp against her brow. The wolf onesie she wore made her seem younger, softer, almost innocent.

Heaven rubbed at her own arms, shivering from the chill that crept into the room. Her gaze drifted back to Vick. The bed was wide, the blankets heavy, and she thought of how Vick had clutched her hand earlier, how desperately she’d searched for contact even in sleep.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Heaven rose from the chair and carefully slipped under the blanket. The warmth enveloped her instantly, mingling with the fever-heat radiating off Vick’s body.

Vick stirred, half-conscious, and her arm shifted clumsily until it draped across Heaven’s waist. Her grip was weak, but there was intent behind it, a need for reassurance.

Heaven froze for a moment, her breath caught in her throat. Then, slowly, she relaxed, letting herself be held. The weight of Vick’s arm was heavy but grounding, and the sound of her ragged breathing was strangely comforting in the dark.

“You’re warm,” Vick rasped suddenly, her eyes barely fluttering open.

Heaven swallowed hard. “You’ve got a fever,” she whispered. “I’m just… helping.”

A weak smile tugged at Vick’s lips. “Helping the monster…” she murmured, drifting back toward sleep.

Heaven stared at her, heart pounding. She should have felt trapped. She should have pulled away. But instead, she found herself pressing closer, resting her forehead against Vick’s shoulder.

Her fingers brushed against the rough scars on Vick’s chest, and instead of fear, she felt a strange tenderness bloom. This was dangerous, reckless—maybe even foolish. But as the storm raged outside, she let herself surrender to the quiet warmth of the monster’s arms.

For the first time, it wasn’t fear keeping her there. It was choice.

And somewhere deep inside, Heaven knew she was slipping further into the gravity of Vick’s world.

Chapter Text

The first pale light of dawn slipped through the cracks in the curtains, brushing across Heaven’s face. She stirred awake slowly, warmth still pressed against her side. For a heartbeat, she forgot where she was—forgot the monster, the cabin, the storm. All she felt was Vick’s heavy arm draped across her waist, the faint rise and fall of her chest.

But then Vick shifted suddenly, a sharp groan tearing from her throat. Her whole body tensed. Heaven blinked awake just in time to see her push away the blanket and stagger to her feet, hand clutching her stomach.

“Vick?” Heaven whispered, alarm surging.

Vick didn’t answer. She staggered down the short hallway, crashing against the bathroom doorframe before collapsing to her knees at the toilet. Heaven scrambled after her, heart pounding.

The sound came next—violent, raw, sickening. Vick doubled over, retching, and the splash that hit porcelain wasn’t the pale sickness from the night before. It was darker. Thicker. Crimson.

Heaven froze in the doorway, her blood running cold. “Oh my God…”

Vick coughed, spitting another mouthful of blood into the bowl. Her massive frame shook, every muscle trembling under the weight of the illness clawing at her. She braced her scarred arms against the toilet seat, knuckles white, veins bulging. The monster who had chased her through the woods now looked like she was being torn apart from the inside.

Heaven dropped to her knees beside her, panic clawing at her throat. She grabbed a towel from the rack, pressing it against Vick’s lips to wipe the blood away. “Vick—Vick, look at me,” she begged.

Vick lifted her head, blood streaking the corner of her mouth, eyes glazed but defiant. “Don’t… panic,” she rasped. Her voice was shredded, but a weak smirk tugged at her lips. “Monsters don’t die easy.”

Heaven’s hands shook. “This isn’t—this isn’t normal. You’re bleeding, you need—”

“What?” Vick interrupted, spitting into the toilet again, her tone laced with dark humor despite the horror of it. “A doctor? The police? A priest?” Her laugh broke into another cough, splattering more red into the water.

Heaven’s heart twisted. She wanted to scream at her, shake her, run away. But instead she slid an arm under Vick’s shoulders, steadying her trembling frame. “You’re not invincible,” she whispered fiercely. “And you don’t get to decide for me if I care.”

For once, Vick didn’t argue. Her head lolled against Heaven’s shoulder, heavy and fever-hot, the wolf onesie damp with sweat. The smirk was gone now, replaced by a tired, almost childlike vulnerability.

“Stay…” Vick whispered weakly, blood staining her lips. “Don’t leave me alone… not now.”

Heaven held her tighter, fear and tenderness tangling inside her chest. The monster was breaking in her arms, and Heaven realized with terrifying clarity—if Vick’s body failed her, if the storm ended here—she would grieve.

She pressed her cheek against Vick’s damp curls and whispered, “I’m not going anywhere.”

And as Vick trembled against her, the bathroom filled with the sharp scent of iron and sickness, Heaven’s own fear gave way to something deeper. Not just care. Not just pity. But attachment—dangerous, undeniable, and binding.

Chapter Text

The bathroom smelled faintly of iron and sweat. Vick was heavy in Heaven’s arms, her body sagging with exhaustion, blood still fresh on her lips. Heaven had to half-drag, half-guide her back toward the bedroom, her smaller frame trembling under the sheer weight of the scarred giant she supported.

“Come on, just a little more,” Heaven murmured, breathless. Her voice cracked with fear, but she didn’t stop, not even when her knees nearly buckled. Somehow, she got Vick onto the mattress again, lowering her carefully against the pillows.

Vick groaned, weakly trying to push her away. “Don’t… look at me like this,” she muttered, her voice rough, a mixture of shame and defiance.

Heaven ignored her. She fetched a damp towel, wiping away the dried streaks of red from Vick’s mouth and chin. Her hands trembled as she worked, not from disgust but from how deeply it hurt to see the woman like this. “I’ve seen worse,” she whispered, though they both knew it wasn’t true.

The fever still burned through Vick’s body. Heaven wrung out a fresh cloth and laid it across her forehead, brushing curls back gently. “You need to rest. Please, Vick… let me do this.”

For once, Vick didn’t argue. Her eyes fluttered shut, her massive hands twitching restlessly against the blanket until they found Heaven’s wrist. The grip was weak, but insistent.

Heaven sat on the edge of the bed, letting her stay connected. She reached for the bowl of broth she’d made earlier—reheated now—and coaxed Vick into sipping a little, steadying her head when she swayed. Each swallow was an effort, but Vick obeyed silently, eyes fixed on Heaven like she was the only thing tethering her to this world.

When the bowl was set aside, Vick sagged back into the pillows, lips parting with shallow breaths. Heaven lingered, smoothing her curls again, tracing the harsh scars along her jaw with trembling fingers.

“You scare me,” Heaven whispered, voice breaking. “You’ve done things I can’t forgive. You’ve taken me, trapped me, hurt me.” She swallowed hard, tears pricking her eyes. “But I can’t stand seeing you like this. I can’t…”

Her words faded. Vick’s eyes cracked open, glassy and fever-bright. “Then why… stay?”

Heaven leaned down, pressing her forehead gently to Vick’s. “Because I want to,” she confessed, the truth trembling out of her before she could stop it. “Because something in me… needs you.”

For a moment, there was only silence—the storm outside finally breaking into a soft drizzle, the faint sound of Vick’s ragged breathing.

And then, Vick gave the smallest smile, weak but real. Her hand shifted, brushing Heaven’s cheek with the back of her scarred knuckles. “Told you,” she whispered. “Monsters… stop being monsters when someone loves them.”

Heaven’s throat tightened. She kissed the rough skin of Vick’s knuckles softly, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Rest,” she whispered. “I’ll keep watch.”

And as Vick’s eyes closed again, drifting into fevered dreams, Heaven stayed by her side, guarding her like one guards a secret too dangerous to let go.

Chapter Text

The days that followed blurred into one another. Heaven barely left the bedroom except to gather water or reheat broth. Vick stayed under the covers, her body wracked with fever, though the violent vomiting of blood had ceased for the moment. She was weak—too weak for someone of her size and strength—and the sight unsettled Heaven more than any of the horrors she had seen in this cabin.

Every morning, Heaven wiped Vick’s brow with fresh cloths, brushed her curls back, and coaxed her to drink. Sometimes Vick refused, turning her head stubbornly, but Heaven’s sharp, gentle persistence always won out.

“You’re bossier than I remember,” Vick rasped one morning, lips twitching faintly toward a smirk.

“Maybe you just need someone to boss you around,” Heaven replied softly, pressing the spoon to her lips.

Vick obeyed with a sigh, swallowing weakly before muttering, “Careful. Monsters bite.”

Heaven couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her mouth. “And yet here you are, letting me feed you like a stubborn child.”

The exchange left Vick chuckling hoarsely, though she tired quickly. When she drifted back into sleep, Heaven lingered at her side, watching her. The monster, the hunter, the shadow that haunted headlines—here she was, softened into something fragile. Heaven felt both pity and tenderness, and beneath it, something darker: a thrill that the monster needed her, depended on her.

For several days, Vick seemed to improve. The fever cooled, her skin no longer clammy. She was still weak, but she could sit up against the headboard, wolf plush tucked under one arm, as Heaven read to her or simply sat in silence. Vick’s hand always sought hers, clinging with quiet desperation.

One evening, Heaven caught her staring. “What?” she asked, brushing her curls from her face.

“You’re still here,” Vick whispered. Her voice was rough but steadier now. “I thought you’d run the first chance you got.”

Heaven hesitated, then squeezed her hand. “I thought about it,” she admitted. “But… I didn’t want to.”

Something in Vick’s expression softened, her lips parting like she wanted to speak but couldn’t. Instead, she pulled Heaven’s hand to her chest, pressing it against the thick scar that stretched across her sternum. “Then don’t ever leave,” she whispered.

For a moment, Heaven almost believed the storm had passed.

But that night, the sound returned.

Heaven woke to the sound of violent coughing, harsher than before. She bolted upright to find Vick doubled over, clutching her stomach. The sheets were spattered with fresh blood, her lips streaked crimson. Her body convulsed as another fit wracked her, and the sound that tore from her throat was half-roar, half-groan.

“Vick!” Heaven rushed to her side, hands fumbling for the cloths, for anything to staunch the crimson staining the bed. Panic gripped her chest, colder than any storm. “You’re getting worse—this isn’t stopping—”

Vick shoved her hand weakly away, eyes burning through the fever-glaze. “Don’t—panic,” she rasped, coughing again. “I… told you… monsters don’t die easy.”

Heaven’s hands trembled, pressing against the woundless chest that convulsed under her touch. “You’re bleeding inside! You’ll die if I don’t do something—”

Vick’s grip suddenly latched onto her wrist, surprisingly strong despite her weakness. “No doctors. No hospitals. You know what happens if they see me.”

Heaven’s throat tightened. She knew. The moment she brought Vick to civilization, the monster would be shackled, executed, ripped away.

But watching her like this—so broken, so human—Heaven couldn’t decide what terrified her more: losing her to sickness, or losing her to the world outside.

“I can’t just sit here and watch you die,” Heaven whispered, tears threatening to spill.

Vick’s hand softened, brushing against her cheek with blood-streaked fingers. “Then don’t watch. Just… stay with me. Till the end, if it comes.”

The words shattered something inside Heaven. She pressed her forehead against Vick’s, trembling. She wanted to scream, to run, to beg—but instead, she whispered, “I’ll stay. But if it gets worse, I don’t care what you say—I’m finding help.”

Vick’s fevered eyes softened, a faint, crooked smile curving her lips. “Stubborn little angel,” she murmured, before another cough wracked her body.

Heaven held her through it, torn between two nightmares: saving the monster and condemning her, or losing the woman she was beginning to need.

Chapter Text

The night dragged on in jagged fragments of coughing, blood, and fevered whispers. Heaven didn’t sleep. She sat at the edge of the bed, wiping Vick’s mouth each time the crimson returned, whispering words of comfort she wasn’t sure either of them believed.

By dawn, her body ached with exhaustion, but her resolve had sharpened into something unshakable.

Vick was dying.

Heaven had seen enough sickness in her lifetime to know when a body was breaking. The monster who once loomed larger than life now clung to her like a child, trembling, lips cracked, blood dried across her chin. Every breath rattled. Every cough tore another piece of her away.

And Heaven couldn’t just sit by anymore.

She brushed Vick’s damp curls from her fever-hot forehead and leaned close. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered.

Vick stirred, half-conscious, eyes glassy as they tried to focus. “No… don’t go…”

Her voice was desperate, fragile. Her scarred hand groped weakly for Heaven’s wrist. “You promised… stay…”

Heaven’s chest clenched. She kissed Vick’s knuckles softly, pressing them back to the blankets. “I am staying. I’m going to get you help—because I can’t let you slip away like this. Not like this.”

Vick’s lips curved into a faint, pained smile. “Stupid angel…” she rasped, before her body slumped back into restless sleep.

Heaven lingered a moment longer, heart hammering, then quietly pulled on her shoes and coat. The cabin creaked as she slipped into the hall, her every step betraying the fear that if Vick woke and found her gone, the storm that followed would be worse than anything yet.

The forest outside was damp, the morning air sharp with the scent of rain-soaked earth. Heaven hesitated on the porch, clutching the railing. She had no clear plan—no map, no guarantee of finding someone nearby. But the thought of Vick choking to death in that bed pushed her forward.

Each step into the woods felt like betrayal.

The trees loomed heavy with dew, branches dripping, the path uneven beneath her shoes. Heaven stumbled more than once, her glasses fogging with mist, her breaths coming ragged from both exhaustion and panic. But she pressed on, muttering to herself, Just find someone. Just find anyone.

The world beyond the cabin seemed impossibly vast, but she clung to the thought of flashing lights, of voices that weren’t her own, of doctors bending over Vick and saving her from the sickness tearing her apart.

Still, guilt gnawed at her. Every step away from the cabin was a step away from Vick’s side. What if she woke and found Heaven gone? What if she thought she’d been abandoned?

And deeper still, a more terrifying thought whispered: What if she doesn’t forgive you?

Heaven shoved it down, forcing herself onward. She would rather face Vick’s rage than her grave.

As the trees thinned and the faint line of a dirt road appeared through the mist, Heaven’s chest tightened with both relief and dread. She had done it—she had left. She was breaking the unspoken pact between them, risking everything.

But if it meant saving the monster she could no longer imagine being without, then she would risk it all.

Chapter Text

The morning light dripped through the cabin windows in fractured beams. It was the kind of soft gold that might have felt warm once, back when mornings carried promise. But for Vick, when her eyes peeled open, the world was nothing but pain.

Her body ached with sickness, stomach raw from the blood she’d coughed up through the night. Every joint throbbed. Her chest burned with every breath. But worse than the physical agony was the silence.

The chair beside her bed was empty.

Her heart stalled.

“Heaven?” Her voice cracked, desperate, as she dragged herself upright. She scanned the room, eyes darting to every corner like the name itself might summon her. “Angel?”

Only silence answered.

She stumbled out of bed, her large frame nearly collapsing against the wall as dizziness clawed at her. She staggered through the hall, calling louder, more frantic with each step.

“Heaven!”

The kitchen: empty.
The living room: empty.
The bathroom: empty.

The front door was cracked open.

Vick froze. Her throat tightened like a fist had closed around it. She shuffled toward the door, staring at the muddy prints leading down the steps, smaller than hers. Fresh. Delicate. Familiar.

The realization hit her like a blade through her chest.

She left.

The world tilted. She swayed, her legs threatening to give out beneath her. The air in her lungs turned to ice, and something primal broke open inside her ribcage.

“No… no, no, no…” She clawed at her scalp, dragging nails across her skin until red streaks rose. “You promised… you promised you’d stay!” Her voice cracked into a guttural wail that rattled the rafters of the cabin.

Vick sank to her knees on the porch, fists pounding against the wood hard enough to split skin. Tears streaked her scarred face, but they weren’t soft tears—they burned, seared, carved through her like acid.

“She left me.”

The words repeated in her head like a curse. Over and over until they lost all meaning.

Something inside Vick snapped.

The grief festered into something violent, something feral. If the angel who promised to love the monster could betray her, then nothing else mattered. There was no salvation, no cure, no gentleness left in the world. Only hunger, rage, and pain.

That day marked the rebirth of the monster in full.

⸻

At first, it was the animals.

The woods were thick with life—rabbits darting through underbrush, deer lingering at the edge of the treeline, foxes sneaking through the night. They became her prey. Vick stalked them with a madness in her eyes, tearing through fur and flesh with her bare hands.

Blood slicked her arms, coated her chest, dripped from her jaw. She gutted a deer with the same kitchen knife she once used to cook alfredo for Heaven, singing softly through the gore: “We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when…”

The cabin filled with carcasses. Bones stacked in corners. Pelts hung over chairs. The air reeked of copper and rot.

But the animals weren’t enough.

⸻

It started with a hunter who wandered too close to her land. He carried a rifle slung across his back, humming under his breath as he tracked deer. He didn’t notice Vick until it was too late.

She lunged from the brush like a beast, knocking him to the ground with all the weight of her large frame. He barely had time to scream before her hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing until the sound cut off.

The man’s blood joined the stains on her skin, his rifle tossed carelessly aside. She dragged his body back to the cabin, humming her song through broken teeth.

One victim became two. Then three.

Hikers, wanderers, anyone foolish enough to stray near the cabin—none of them returned. The woods around her became a graveyard, shallow pits dug by scarred hands, half-covered in mud and leaves.

The locals began to whisper. The forest was cursed, they said. Something old and dark lingered in the trees. The smart ones stayed away. The curious ones disappeared.

⸻

Vick barely slept. When she did, her dreams were filled with Heaven.

Her soft curls. Her glasses slipping down her nose. Her lips brushing against her cheek that night in the kitchen.

She woke each time with tears streaking her face, clutching the wolf plush to her chest, whispering, “Come back, angel. Please come back.”

The fever hadn’t left her body, but in its place came a sickness of the mind far worse. A gnawing hunger, a need to fill the hollow place Heaven once occupied. She tore through the woods like a rabid wolf, hunting anything that moved, hoping blood might silence the ache.

But it never did.

The monster inside her was loose again. And this time, without Heaven’s soft hand to hold it back, there was nothing in the world strong enough to cage it.

Chapter Text

The water ran red.

Vick stood hunched beneath the spray of the shower, hands braced against the tiled wall, steam fogging the glass around her. Her body trembled beneath the weight of her own frame, muscles twitching from exhaustion. The water sluiced away the dirt and blood smeared across her skin, carrying it down the drain in spiraling rivers of pink.

She dragged her palm over her chest and stared as flecks of crimson dotted her hand. Not from her latest kill—this time it was from within. She coughed, the sound wet and sharp, and when she leaned forward, more blood splattered against the shower floor.

Her breath rattled. Her head pounded.

Something was wrong—worse than before.

She pressed her forehead to the cool tile, eyes squeezed shut, heart racing with a panic she hadn’t felt since she was a girl. The monster inside her could rip through flesh, could snap bones, could silence screams—but it couldn’t stop her body from rotting beneath her own skin.

And for the first time in weeks, Vick wasn’t angry. She was afraid.

Her legs gave out. She slid to her knees, water pounding against her back, blood-streaked hands trembling against the slick floor. Her wolfish strength felt miles away. All that was left was a shivering, broken woman staring at the inevitability of death.

“Heaven…” she rasped, voice swallowed by the hiss of water.

The sound of the cabin door opening snapped her out of her fog. Her head jerked toward the muffled noise, body instinctively tensing. Footsteps. Soft, careful. The creak of the floorboards she knew better than her own heartbeat.

She thought she was hallucinating at first.

Then a voice cut through the silence—tired, shaky, but achingly familiar.

“Vick?”

Her heart nearly stopped.

The bathroom door cracked open. Heaven stood there, damp curls sticking to her face, glasses fogged from the sudden steam. In her hands, she clutched a pharmacy bag like it was holy scripture.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world seemed to stop between them.

Then Heaven’s eyes widened at the sight of the blood on the shower floor. She dropped the bag and rushed forward, sinking to her knees on the mat.

“Oh my god—Vick!” Her hands reached instinctively for her, hovering helplessly as if afraid to touch, afraid to hurt her. “You’re worse than I thought—what happened?”

Vick choked on another cough, crimson spraying her lips. Her voice came out low, ragged. “I thought… you left me.”

Tears welled in Heaven’s eyes. She cupped Vick’s scarred, trembling face in her small hands, forcing her to look at her. “I came back,” she whispered, firm and urgent. “I got medicine, antibiotics—everything I could. I’m not leaving you again.”

The words tore through Vick like sunlight through storm clouds. She slumped forward, burying her face into Heaven’s shoulder, letting the hot water soak them both.

For the first time in days, the monster inside her stilled.

And in that moment, even with blood dripping from her lips and weakness consuming her bones, Vick believed Heaven might truly be the only thing strong enough to keep her alive.

Chapter Text

Vick’s massive frame thrashed beneath the blankets, muscles straining as she clawed at Heaven’s hands. “Get—off!” she roared, coughing, blood flecking her lips. “I don’t need… anyone… saving me!”

Heaven’s heart hammered, but she didn’t let go. “Vick, you can’t take care of yourself right now! You’ll kill yourself if you fight it!” She pressed down firmly, trying to keep her from lurching off the bed.

Vick snapped her head back, snarling like a wounded animal. “I don’t need you! I don’t need anyone!” She kicked, her legs lashing out. Heaven barely dodged, feeling the wind of her strikes whip past.

“You’re too weak!” Heaven shouted, adrenaline surging. “If you don’t rest, if you don’t let me help, you’re going to die! Do you hear me?!”

Vick froze for a heartbeat, eyes blazing with fear and fury. Then, like a storm breaking, she lunged, knocking Heaven against the wall. The crash rattled the shelves, pictures teetering on the edge. Heaven groaned but managed to keep her balance.

“VICK!” she barked, snapping. In one motion, she grabbed rope from the shelf and moved with precision born of desperation. “I don’t care if you hate me—I’m not letting you die in this cabin!”

Vick struggled violently as Heaven tied her wrists to the bedframe, her enormous hands shaking, fury sparking in every motion. “You—bitch—don’t—!” Vick screamed, tugging and thrashing, chest heaving, eyes wild with both fever and obsession.

Heaven pressed a hand to her forehead, breathing hard. “Vick… calm down!”

The monster’s laugh was harsh and broken. “Calm down? You tie me down like a child and tell me to calm down? Do you know what I’ve done? What I am? I—”

“You’re sick!” Heaven shouted over her. “And right now, none of that matters. You’re dying, and I’m not letting you!”

Vick’s eyes darkened further, a dangerous gleam returning even in her weakness. “You don’t get it! You can’t save me! Nobody can!”

Her massive hands swung blindly, catching Heaven across the shoulder. Pain exploded through Heaven, but she refused to release her grip on the ropes.

“Vick! Stop!” Heaven gasped, clutching her own arm, though adrenaline kept her steady. “I am not leaving you! Even if you hate me for it, even if you scream and fight and spit at me—I am here!”

Vick’s chest heaved as she froze for a second, caught between her feral pride and the undeniable pull of desperation. Her voice dropped low, almost a growl, trembling with emotion: “Why… why do you care? Don’t you see what I am? What I’ve done?!”

Heaven stepped closer, staring her in the eyes, steady and unflinching. “Because underneath all that… underneath the monster, underneath the chaos, I see you. And I don’t care about the rest—I care about you, Vick. The woman under the scars and the blood. And if that means tying you down while I keep you alive, I’ll do it.”

Vick’s eyes shimmered, torn between fury and the raw ache of abandonment she had felt before. Then, without warning, she lashed out again—not fully thinking, not fully aware of what she was doing. Her powerful hands swung, connecting with Heaven’s ribs. Heaven cried out, staggering back, wind knocked from her lungs.

Vick’s chest heaved, rage and shame warring in every exhale. “I—! You don’t get me! Nobody does!”

Heaven pressed her hand to her side, pain flaring, but her eyes never left Vick. “Then try letting me, for once! Even if you hate it! Even if you hate me!”

For a long moment, the room was heavy with silence, broken only by Vick’s ragged breathing and the faint sound of rain against the cabin walls. Vick’s thrashing slowed, chest heaving with exhaustion, and a low groan escaped her lips—half surrender, half rage.

Heaven stepped closer, still cautious, pressing her fingers to Vick’s bruised arms. “I’m not your enemy,” she said softly, voice trembling but firm. “I’m the only one who isn’t leaving. I’m the only one who can see you and still care.”

Vick’s eyes, still wild, flickered with something softer, fragile, almost childlike beneath the monster’s fury. She bit her lip, trying to speak, trying to fight, trying to push Heaven away—but there was a hint of something different in her glare this time: recognition.

The storm inside Vick wasn’t gone. Not by far. But for the first time, it was shared.

Chapter Text

The room smelled of sweat, blood, and damp wood. Vick lay sprawled across the bed, muscles trembling from exertion and fever. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, shallow breaths rattling in her scarred frame. Her wolf-patterned onesie clung damply to her skin, streaked with remnants of her violent struggle.

She hadn’t moved for minutes, only stared at the ceiling with eyes that burned and flickered like coals. Heaven knelt beside her, hands hovering hesitantly, unsure whether to touch or wait. Vick’s voice—once sharp, commanding, defiant—was gone, shredded from hours of screaming and fighting. Her throat rasped weakly, a faint whisper that barely formed words.

“I—” Vick rasped, then coughed violently, blood flecking the pillow. She gave up trying, lowering her head to the mattress. The gesture was small, almost childlike, but it spoke volumes: surrender.

Heaven swallowed hard, brushing Vick’s damp curls from her face. She pressed a cloth against the woman’s forehead, careful, gentle. “Shh… it’s okay,” she whispered, voice soft but steady. “You don’t have to speak. I’ve got you.”

Vick’s hand twitched, barely brushing Heaven’s wrist. A tremor ran through her fingers, but she didn’t pull away. Her lips parted slightly, rasping out a soft, unintelligible sound. Heaven leaned closer, catching the faintest hint of agreement in it.

Slowly, carefully, Heaven began tending to her. She wiped the sweat from Vick’s skin, dabbed at the dried blood along her lips and chin, and pressed a damp cloth against her throat to ease the rawness. Vick’s massive frame barely flinched now. She let Heaven lift her into a more comfortable position, adjust the blankets, and even spoon a bit of broth to her lips.

Vick’s eyes tracked every movement, wide and glassy, filled with a mix of wariness, exhaustion, and something softer—trust. She let Heaven hold her head, let her steady her shaking hands. Every touch, every careful movement was a surrender, a silent acknowledgment that Heaven was the only one she could let care for her in this state.

At one point, Vick’s large hand twitched and brushed against Heaven’s cheek. Heaven caught it, holding it gently. She pressed her forehead to Vick’s, murmuring, “I’m not leaving. Not now, not ever.”

Vick’s lips quivered, a faint tremor of a smile brushing across her scarred features. Her shoulders slumped further, exhaustion and relief mingling in one long sigh. The monster inside her—the one who had screamed, lashed out, and hunted—was quiet now, replaced by a fragile, human vulnerability.

For the first time in weeks, Heaven could breathe. And though Vick couldn’t speak, her eyes said everything: she was letting herself be cared for. She was letting Heaven stay.

And in that silent submission, a dangerous, delicate bond solidified. One forged from obsession, love, fear, and trust. One that neither of them fully understood, yet both desperately needed.

Heaven pressed a soft kiss to Vick’s damp curls and whispered into the silence, “You’re going to be okay… I’ve got you.”

Vick’s chest heaved in response, small, shallow breaths that were a promise as much as a plea. She could not speak, but she did not need to. The surrender, the quiet trust, was louder than words ever could be.

And for the first time in a long, violent stretch of nights, the cabin felt like a place where monsters could rest—if only for a while.

Chapter Text

The morning light spilled unevenly through the cabin windows, painting the walls with streaks of gold and gray. Vick’s eyelids fluttered open slowly, each blink heavy and sluggish. Her body ached, muscles stiff from fever, from the tension of yesterday, from nights she couldn’t remember fully.

She stretched one arm toward the edge of the bed—then froze.

The warmth wasn’t there.

Her eyes scanned the room. The blankets were rumpled, her wolf plush tucked under her arm, but the smaller, softer weight that always pressed against her side was missing. Heaven.

Her throat constricted. For a moment, she thought it might be a dream, some cruel hallucination born from fever and exhaustion. She called out, voice hoarse and raw.

“Heaven?”

No reply.

She swung her legs off the bed, massive feet hitting the floor with a dull thud. Every movement sent aches through her body, but she ignored them, stumbling to the doorway. The cabin was quiet. Too quiet.

The living room: empty.
The kitchen: clean, no sign of breakfast, no dishes in the sink.
The porch: empty, footprints in the mud leading down into the forest—but only hers.

Her pulse spiked. Her chest heaved with shallow breaths as panic clawed its way through her ribs.

“Heaven!” she shouted again, louder this time, voice hoarse and broken. She stumbled down the hallway, checking each room, every closet, even the bathroom. Empty.

A rush of fear hit her like ice. What if something had happened? What if Heaven hadn’t come back last night at all? What if she had left?

Vick sank to her knees on the floor, her massive hands curling into fists. Her throat burned, her head pounded, and for the first time in weeks, the monster inside her felt helpless. The woman she had clung to, the only tether to sanity, was gone.

Her chest heaved as she struggled to breathe, body trembling—not from fever this time, but from pure, raw panic. Her voice, already hoarse from screaming and illness, faltered. She tried again, louder, more desperate:

“Heaven! Come back! I—need you!”

The silence was cruel.

Vick rose shakily, staggering toward the door. The forest outside stretched before her, trees thick and dark, morning mist curling along the ground. She stumbled down the porch steps, scanning the line of mud-slick earth, searching for the familiar prints of Heaven’s shoes. Nothing.

Her hands shook, claws digging into the dirt as the panic spiraled. No. She can’t leave. She promised. She can’t leave me…

The monster inside her began to stir again, coiling like a spring, a dark and dangerous energy fueled by fear and longing. Her breathing grew ragged, her muscles tense, eyes flicking to every shadow in the forest.

And in the absence of Heaven, Vick realized with bone-deep certainty: she would stop at nothing to find her.

The storm inside her, once soothed by tender care, now roared back to life.

Chapter Text

The cabin smelled of smoke and bitter liquor. Empty bottles littered the floor, some tipped over, some still half full. The faint scent of burnt herbs and ash clung to the air. Vick sat slumped against the wall, wolf plush discarded on the floor beside her, curls matted with sweat and grime. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, and distant—the storm inside her had returned in full force.

She held a cigarette loosely between her scarred fingers, ash crumbling into her palm. Another bottle of cheap whiskey sat at her side, untouched yet within reach. Pills and powders, remnants of old habits she swore she’d left behind, were scattered across the table. The monster she had tried to tame with Heaven’s care was back, clawing its way out with a hunger born of despair and abandonment.

“Heaven,” she whispered hoarsely, voice rough from screaming, from crying, from smoking. “Where the fuck are you?”

No answer came. The silence was deafening, a punishment worse than any prison. She lit the cigarette, inhaled sharply, and exhaled in a cloud of frustration and grief. Another sip of whiskey burned down her throat, fueling the numbness she sought.

Her muscles trembled—not from weakness, but from rage, fear, and longing. The cabin, once a place of fragile safety, now felt like a cage, mocking her for letting go. Vick’s hands shook as she reached for a small vial of pills, staring at them with a dark, manic intensity.

“I don’t need anyone,” she muttered, almost to convince herself. “I never needed anyone. You can leave me, angel… you always leave me…”

Tears mingled with the smoke curling around her face. She tossed the pills into her mouth, swallowing them with a gulp of whiskey, her body rocking slightly as the chemicals took hold. She leaned back, cigarette dangling from her lips, staring blankly at the ceiling as darkness edged in from the corners of her vision.

Time became meaningless. Minutes, hours—it all blurred into a haze of smoke, blood, alcohol, and the memories of Heaven’s warmth. Her hands shook as she lit another cigarette, dragging deeply, coughing, exhaling in ragged bursts.

Vick’s mind began to spiral. The monster that had lurked in the shadows of her soul reawakened, mixing with her despair. She thought of the animals she had hunted, the people she had struck down when she lost control. Her large hands clenched into fists. Rage, guilt, and grief twisted together, feeding each other like coals in a fire.

“I don’t need anyone,” she hissed again, her voice breaking. “I’ll survive. I always survive.”

She collapsed further, cigarette falling to the floor, ash scattering across the wood. Her head lolled back against the wall, eyes closed, but inside her, chaos reigned. She could feel herself slipping entirely—smoking, drinking, drugs, fury, despair, obsession—all feeding the dangerous storm she had once tried to contain.

And just as the room began to tilt completely into darkness, the door creaked.

Vick’s eyes snapped open. Her heart skipped a beat. Her body tensed, trembling from fear, rage, and anticipation.

“Heaven?” she croaked, hoarse, broken, barely able to form the word.

The figure in the doorway didn’t answer immediately. For a moment, everything seemed to freeze—the smoke hanging heavy, the scattered bottles, the scattered remnants of her unraveling life. Then Heaven stepped inside, carefully, eyes wide with both fear and determination.

“Vick…” Heaven whispered, voice trembling. “I… I’m here. I didn’t leave. I’m right here.”

The words hit Vick like a thunderclap. Her hands shook uncontrollably, reaching out instinctively, unsure whether to clutch Heaven or shove her away. Her lips quivered, her throat rasping in a soundless scream.

The storm inside her had reached its peak—and Heaven had just walked straight into it.

Chapter Text

Heaven froze at the cabin doorway, stomach twisting as her eyes took in the scene. The air was thick with smoke, the acrid scent of alcohol and chemicals stinging her nose. Bottles and pill containers littered the floor, ash curling in the dim light like black ribbons.

And there, slumped against the wall, was Vick.

Her once-powerful frame looked battered and hollow. Blood streaked her scarred face from a fresh cut along her temple. Her curls were matted and damp with sweat. Her large hands trembled, veins pronounced, clutching a cigarette loosely between her fingers. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, accentuating the exhaustion etched into every line of her massive, scarred body.

Vick’s chest rose and fell shallowly, each ragged breath a visible effort. Her lips moved, murmuring words Heaven couldn’t quite hear, hoarse and raw from screaming, crying, and coughing. The monster she had fought to keep under control had completely reclaimed her, but this time it wasn’t only violent—it was desperate, fragile, dangerous.

“Heaven…” Vick rasped, voice barely audible, cracking with raw need and fear. Her head lolled slightly, eyes flicking toward the doorway. Even in this chaos, there was a momentary flicker of recognition, a fragile tether.

Heaven’s chest ached as she stepped forward cautiously, fear and worry battling against the remnants of love that had grown in the weeks she had spent by Vick’s side. Her hand hovered, unsure if it would be welcomed—or if it would ignite a violent reaction.

“You… you came back,” Vick rasped, voice breaking into a hoarse whisper. Blood flecked her lips, cigarette ash scattering across her skin. Her fingers twitched, reaching weakly toward Heaven, trembling as if she couldn’t decide whether to pull her closer or push her away.

Heaven swallowed hard, forcing herself to step fully inside. “I said I wouldn’t leave,” she whispered, voice shaking but firm. “I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

Vick’s eyes glistened, a storm of emotions raging within them: fear, rage, exhaustion, longing. Her massive shoulders shuddered as she tried to sit upright, but her body betrayed her, slumping further. The drugs, the alcohol, the smoking—they had all taken their toll. Yet beneath the blood, the bruises, and the chaos, Heaven could see the woman she knew—the same Vick she had fought to care for, to hold, to save.

Tears blurred Heaven’s vision as she closed the last few steps between them. “You’re going to be okay,” she murmured, pressing a hand lightly to Vick’s cheek. Vick flinched at first, then let her fingers brush over Heaven’s wrist, weak but yielding.

In that moment, Heaven understood: the monster wasn’t gone. It never would be. But neither was the fragile, wounded woman who had allowed herself to trust, to be loved, to cling to someone other than herself.

Vick’s lips parted again, rasping something incomprehensible, a faint whisper of her fractured voice. Heaven pressed closer, resting her forehead against Vick’s, trying to convey everything in that touch—the care, the fear, the love, the promise that she wouldn’t leave again.

And even bloodied, drugged, and exhausted, Vick’s eyes didn’t look away.

Chapter Text

Heaven’s breath caught as her eyes swept over Vick’s body. Her heart pounded, a sick knot tightening in her chest. She had seen bruises before, scratches, cuts—but nothing prepared her for this.

Across Vick’s forearms and hands, across her torso and even parts of her shoulders, were the angry, raised marks of cigarette burns. Small, precise, deliberate. Each darkened circle told the same story: pain inflicted not on anyone else, but on herself.

Heaven’s stomach churned. Her hands hovered, trembling, unsure where to start. She wanted to touch, to soothe, to erase it all—but she knew she couldn’t. This was Vick’s body, her punishment, her outlet for despair. And yet… Heaven couldn’t stay silent.

“Vick…” she whispered, voice tight, breaking, raw.

Vick flinched slightly, then looked up, eyes wild yet shimmering with shame. Her lips pressed together, trying to form words, but nothing came out. The only sound was the rasp of her shallow breaths, and the faint pop and sizzle of the cigarette still burning loosely in her fingers.

Heaven’s heart ached. She stepped closer, slowly, deliberately, forcing herself to see the woman before her—not the monster, not the killer, but the broken, hurting person who had let herself sink so far.

“You… you’re hurting yourself,” Heaven said softly, voice breaking. “Vick… why? Why do this to yourself?”

Vick’s gaze flicked away, focusing on the floor, cigarette ash falling onto the wood. Her shoulders slumped, trembling under Heaven’s gaze. She rasped something incomprehensible, a whisper of “I… can’t… stop…”

Heaven’s hand reached out, hovering just above one of the raised burn marks. Guilt, fear, and sorrow warred within her. She didn’t touch immediately—didn’t want to trigger another lash-out—but the sight of it all, the depth of Vick’s self-destruction, tore at her.

“You’re alive,” Heaven said, voice firmer now. “That’s what matters. The rest… we fix it together. I’m not leaving. Not this time.”

Vick’s eyes, wet and trembling, flicked toward her. The faintest flicker of trust—or at least surrender—passed between them. Her lips quivered as if she wanted to argue, to fight, to insist she could do this alone. But the cigarette dropped from her fingers, rolling uselessly across the floor.

For the first time in days, Vick let herself be seen.

Heaven knelt beside her, brushing damp curls from her bloodied, tear-streaked face. “Let me help you,” she whispered. “No more hiding it. No more hurting yourself.”

Vick’s chest heaved, the weight of her fear, shame, and despair pressing down like a physical force. She didn’t speak, didn’t resist. Her large hands trembled in her lap, and for the first time, she allowed Heaven to close the space between them, to steady her, to begin the slow, fragile process of healing.

And in that quiet, ragged moment, amidst cigarette burn scars and the lingering scent of smoke and despair, Heaven understood the full depth of what she had returned to. It was worse than she’d imagined—but it was Vick, and she would not leave her.

Chapter Text

The cabin smelled different now. Not just of smoke and liquor—though the traces lingered in the walls like ghosts—but of something warmer. Sawdust clung to the air, wood shavings curled along the floor of the workshop, and the faint hum of tools filled the quiet spaces where silence had once been suffocating.

Vick stood hunched over her workbench, sleeves rolled up, curls sticking damply to her forehead. Her hands were steady despite the faint tremors that came and went. She coughed into the crook of her arm, nose bleeding faintly, but she shook it off with a growl, refusing to let it stop her.

Heaven leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching. There was a softness in her eyes she didn’t dare voice aloud. She had seen Vick at her worst—bloodied, drugged, broken. Now, she saw her fighting. Each movement was stubborn, shaky, desperate to prove she could be more than the monster everyone believed her to be.

On the bench, a small wooden frame was beginning to take shape. It wasn’t perfect—edges uneven, lines crooked—but it was real. Vick’s scarred hands guided the chisel with surprising gentleness, as if she was afraid of breaking what she was making.

“What’s this one?” Heaven asked softly, breaking the silence.

Vick paused, glancing back at her. Her voice was hoarse, ragged from days of coughing fits and screaming. “A box,” she said, almost shyly, eyes darting away. “For you. Thought… you could put your books in it. Or whatever you want.”

Heaven stepped closer, brushing sawdust off the bench with her fingers. The gesture was small, but it made Vick’s chest tighten. “You’re… making this for me?” Heaven asked, her voice carrying more weight than the question itself.

Vick swallowed hard, wiped her bloody nose on the back of her arm, and nodded. “Can’t… can’t give you the world. But I can give you this. With my hands. Something that ain’t just—” She broke off, clenching her jaw. “Ain’t just blood and scars.”

Heaven reached out and touched the edge of the box, tracing the rough grain. She didn’t care about the splinters or imperfections—it was beautiful because Vick had made it, not in madness or obsession, but in love.

Behind them, the fire crackled softly. Vick’s body shook with another cough, red speckling her hand. Heaven frowned, instantly stepping in with a rag to wipe her mouth. Vick grumbled at the fussing, but didn’t push her away. She just leaned heavier against the bench, exhausted but unwilling to stop.

“You’re building,” Heaven said, smiling faintly. “That’s what matters. You’re building instead of breaking.”

Vick’s throat tightened. She stared down at the box, then at Heaven, then back again. “Don’t get used to it,” she muttered, though the heat in her eyes betrayed the softness in her words.

Heaven smirked lightly. “Too late.”

And in the glow of the firelight, amidst sawdust, coughing fits, and trembling hands, Vick found herself clinging to the fragile thread of something she never thought she deserved: hope.

Chapter Text

The forge roared with heat, flames licking at the blackened stone, the clang of hammer against metal echoing in the cabin’s back room. Heaven paused in the doorway, the glow of molten orange spilling over her as her breath caught in her throat.

Vick was there—towering, scarred, and shirtless. Sweat glistened on her skin, running in rivulets over her broad, muscular back. The firelight caught every curve of muscle, every scar carved into her body, telling stories of violence, survival, and pain. Across her chest, the faint but undeniable lines of top surgery scars glimmered in the heat, a permanent mark of a fight she had once chosen for herself, not against someone else but against her own skin.

She held the hammer with both hands, arms flexing with every swing, the ringing blow punctuating the silence between them. Sparks scattered like stars, reflecting off the beads of sweat clinging to her hairy arms.

Heaven’s heart thudded harder with each strike. She’d seen Vick broken, delirious, bloodied, half-mad. But this was different. This was Vick in her element—raw, powerful, stripped bare of pretense. The forge wasn’t just fire and steel; it was her confessional, her therapy, her war.

Vick paused, leaning heavily on the anvil, chest heaving with effort. She wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her arm, leaving a streak of soot across her face. For the briefest moment, she looked young, almost childlike—hair plastered to her forehead, lips parted, exhaustion tugging at the corners of her mouth. Then her eyes flicked up, catching Heaven’s in the doorway.

Heaven swallowed, realizing she had been staring too long. But she couldn’t look away. Not from the scars. Not from the strength. Not from the fragility buried inside all that brutality.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Vick rasped, her voice hoarse from smoke and strain. Yet her tone lacked bite—it was more self-conscious than commanding.

Heaven stepped inside anyway, drawn closer by the warmth of the forge and the pull of the woman before her. “You’re making something again?” she asked softly, eyes flicking to the glowing piece of metal resting on the anvil.

Vick grunted, turning the piece with her tongs. “Knife. Thought… maybe I’d make you one. For protection.” She coughed, blood speckling her lip, but wiped it away like it was nothing. “Figure you’ll need it… in case you ever run. Or in case I lose control again.”

The words landed heavy, but Heaven didn’t flinch. Instead, she stepped closer, the firelight painting her curls in gold. She laid her hand gently on the edge of the anvil, close but not touching the hot steel. Her eyes never left Vick’s.

“You don’t have to keep proving yourself through blood and fire,” Heaven said softly. “You’re already enough.”

Vick’s jaw clenched, hammer trembling in her grip. She looked away, ashamed, vulnerable, as if Heaven’s gaze was more unbearable than the heat of the forge. Her voice cracked when she muttered, “Not enough for you.”

Heaven’s breath caught, and for a moment, she let silence stretch between them—thick, charged, intimate. Then she reached out and gently brushed her fingers along the edge of one of Vick’s chest scars. The skin was rough, healed long ago, but it made Vick shiver like she’d been struck.

“You’re wrong,” Heaven whispered. “You’ve always been enough.”

And in the glow of the fire, with steel cooling on the anvil and sweat dripping from her body, Vick finally let the hammer drop.

Chapter Text

The afternoon sun hung lazily above the trees, casting golden light across the cabin’s clearing. The world was still, broken only by the steady hum of cicadas and the rhythmic thump of Vick’s boots against the ground.

Heaven sat in a wooden chair on the porch, a blanket wrapped around her legs despite the warmth. A book lay open in her lap, though her eyes hadn’t touched the page in nearly half an hour. Instead, they lingered on the woman in the yard.

Vick pushed the mower in steady strides, her broad frame glistening with sweat, curls plastered damply against her forehead. Her shirt clung to her muscular back, scars shifting like maps of survival with each movement. Grass clippings stuck stubbornly to her hairy arms and legs, but she paid them no mind, jaw set in quiet determination.

Every so often she paused, pulling her shirt collar to wipe sweat from her brow before returning to the task with the same deliberate pace. She didn’t notice Heaven watching, or if she did, she didn’t let it show.

Heaven’s gaze softened. There was something almost surreal about seeing Vick—serial killer, storm of chaos and obsession, bearer of scars and rage—doing something as ordinary as lawn work. The contrast was almost disarming. Where once Heaven had seen a monster in firelight, now she saw a woman in sunlight.

Vick straightened for a moment, stretching her aching back, and her eyes flicked toward the porch. Their gazes met, brief but charged. Vick’s lips twitched, almost into a smile, before she shook her head and returned to the mower.

Heaven felt her cheeks warm. She pressed the book against her chest, pretending to read again, though her eyes kept drifting back to the yard. Watching Vick like this, grounded and human, made something inside her ache—a longing she hadn’t expected, a tenderness she almost resented.

The monster and the woman… they lived in the same body. And Heaven wasn’t sure which one she was falling for more.

Chapter Text

The forest swallowed the sun. Shadows stretched long between the trees, leaves whispering in the late evening wind. Heaven’s lungs burned as she ran, heart hammering against her ribs, each breath a ragged cry swallowed by the canopy above.

Behind her, the sound split the silence.

The roar of a chainsaw.

It sputtered once, then revved to life with a guttural growl, vibrating through the earth. The sound alone was enough to make the hair rise on Heaven’s neck. But worse was the figure carrying it.

Vick burst through the tree line, massive, sweat-slick, her chest heaving with each breath. Her face was hidden beneath a grotesque mask of stitched leather—its edges too uneven, too jagged, too real. The crude stitching traced across cheeks and forehead like a grotesque smile. In the dying light, it was impossible to tell if it was costume or something more horrifying.

The chainsaw rattled in her scarred hands, spitting out fumes as she swung it wildly, scraping it against a tree trunk, sparks showering the ground. Her voice came in grunts and snorts, low and guttural, animalistic—pig-like noises bubbling from her throat as she stumbled into a sprint.

Heaven’s chest tightened in terror. She stumbled over a root, clutching her skirt as she forced herself back into motion. Branches clawed at her arms, twigs snapped beneath her boots. She didn’t dare look back, but the sound was impossible to ignore—Vick’s heavy footfalls pounding the ground, the snarling chainsaw chewing the silence, the inhuman grunts echoing between the trees.

“Heaven!” The distorted growl came from behind the mask, muffled, monstrous. “Run, little rabbit!”

Heaven’s stomach turned. She pushed harder, darting between trees, ducking under branches, heart screaming at her to keep going. She didn’t know if this was just another one of Vick’s twisted games—or if this time, the line between play and slaughter had dissolved completely.

The chainsaw wailed again, louder, closer. Heaven could hear Vick’s breath, heavy and labored, the snorts breaking into manic chuckles. A swipe of the chainsaw tore bark from a tree trunk inches from her shoulder, showering her with splinters.

“Gotcha—” Vick’s grunt slurred into a squeal, the mask shifting grotesquely as she lunged.

Heaven screamed, stumbling forward, barely dodging the swipe. She ran blindly, legs aching, vision blurring with tears. Every instinct screamed at her to survive, to escape, even as some dark part of her knew there was no outrunning Vick in the woods she knew like the back of her hand.

The ground dipped suddenly into a gully, Heaven tumbling down in a spray of leaves and dirt. She hit hard, pain flaring up her wrist, but forced herself to her knees, scrambling toward the other side. The chainsaw whined at the edge of the gully, Vick standing above her like some terrible figure of folklore—mask grinning, machine snarling, shoulders heaving as she raised it high.

Heaven’s body shook violently, torn between terror and disbelief. “Vick—stop! Please!” she cried, voice breaking, raw with panic.

But Vick didn’t stop. She slid down the slope, chainsaw tearing into the dirt as sparks flew. Her grunts grew louder, devolving into guttural squeals, animalistic, primal.

Heaven’s back slammed into a tree at the bottom of the gully. Nowhere to run. Her breath came in sobs as the chainsaw roared inches away, teeth gnashing against bark. Woodchips sprayed across her face as she screamed.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the machine sputtered. Vick pulled it back, chest heaving, and tore the mask off with one hand.

Her face was streaked with sweat, soot, and something rawer—something almost childlike in its twisted joy. She was smiling, wild-eyed, curls plastered to her scarred forehead, mouth trembling between laughter and tears.

“Heaven…” she rasped, voice hoarse, broken. “You should’ve seen your face…”

The chainsaw sputtered again, falling silent in her grip. Her body trembled with exhaustion, with the mania that burned hot and fast before leaving her hollow. The pig noises faded into soft, uneven breathing.

Heaven, still pressed against the tree, couldn’t move. Her heart felt like it might explode from her chest. Terror, anger, and something darker warred inside her. Part of her wanted to scream, to hit her, to run until she collapsed. Another part… hated the way her pulse still quickened for Vick, not only from fear, but from something else entirely.

Vick dragged herself closer, chainsaw dangling uselessly at her side, eyes locked onto Heaven’s. She crouched low, massive hands pressing against the dirt, tilting her head like a predator studying prey.

“You’re mine,” she whispered, voice trembling with obsession. “No one runs from me. Not even you.”

And despite herself, Heaven shivered—not only in fear, but in the way those words dug into her bones like a promise.

Chapter Text

Heaven tried to bolt sideways, but her body betrayed her, still trembling from the fall, the panic, the run. Vick lunged before she got more than a few feet, chainsaw clattering uselessly into the dirt as her scarred arms wrapped tight around Heaven’s waist.

Heaven thrashed, screamed, kicked—but Vick was stronger, far stronger. Her breath was hot against Heaven’s neck, ragged with exhaustion, sweat dripping onto her skin as Vick grunted and snarled like a beast.

“Mine,” Vick rasped, dragging her backward through leaves and dirt. “You don’t get to run—not from me. You’re mine, angel. Always mine.”

“No!” Heaven cried, her nails raking against the earth, tearing it up in clumps as she struggled. “You don’t own me, Vick! You don’t!”

Vick’s only answer was a guttural growl, almost inhuman, her voice breaking between sobs and animalistic squeals. She lifted Heaven fully off the ground, muscles flexing, her scarred body trembling under the weight of both Heaven and her own spiraling madness. Heaven kicked and screamed, fists pounding against Vick’s chest, but it was like striking a wall.

The cabin loomed in the distance as Vick stumbled and staggered toward it, dragging her captive back into the domain that smelled of smoke and blood and iron. Heaven’s voice cracked as she begged, cursed, pleaded—her throat raw with desperation—but the trees swallowed her cries.

By the time Vick shoved the cabin door open with her shoulder, Heaven was half-sobbing, half-gasping, her body limp from the fight. Vick slammed the door shut with her boot, the sound echoing like a gunshot.

She dropped Heaven onto the couch, standing over her like a storm cloud, chest heaving, curls wild, eyes blazing with feral possession. Her massive hands trembled as they hovered over Heaven, torn between stroking her and locking her down.

“You don’t get to leave me,” Vick whispered, voice hoarse and broken. “You don’t get to decide. You’re mine, Heaven. You’ve always been mine.”

Heaven stared up at her, trembling, terrified—and yet, deep down, she hated herself for feeling the pull of those words, for the way her heart twisted at the desperation in them.

Chapter Text

The silence after was suffocating. Vick’s body shook violently as she loomed above Heaven, her breath shallow, broken by sobs she tried to choke back. The chainsaw still lay outside in the dirt, forgotten. The mask had been tossed aside, its grotesque grin mocking them both from the floor.

Heaven pushed herself up slowly, her eyes locked onto Vick. She expected more rage, more obsession—but what she saw instead was something even more dangerous.

Vick’s face crumpled.

Her scarred hands shot up to her head, clutching her curls, dragging her nails down her own scalp. “What am I doing?” she croaked, voice breaking. She staggered back, almost falling against the wall. “God—what the fuck am I—”

Her fist slammed into her own skull, once, twice, again, the sick thud of bone on bone filling the room. “Stupid, stupid, monster,” she snarled through tears, striking herself harder. “She’ll never love you, she’ll never—”

“Vick!” Heaven’s voice cracked as she scrambled up, reaching for her. “Stop! Please stop!”

But Vick was spiraling, hands trembling violently as she punched herself again, blood seeping down her temple. She was crying openly now, her massive body curling inward like a wounded animal. “I scare you. I always scare you. I don’t know how to be anything else. I’m—” Her voice broke into sobs, raw and guttural. “I’m just a monster.”

Heaven’s chest ached as she lunged forward, grabbing Vick’s wrists mid-swing. She pressed her smaller body against the larger woman’s, holding her tight even as Vick trembled, her strength threatening to break the embrace.

“You’re not a monster,” Heaven whispered fiercely, tears spilling hot down her cheeks. “You’re broken, you’re hurting, but you’re not a monster. Stop hurting yourself. Please.”

Vick’s body shuddered violently in her arms, her breath hitching as she let out a broken, animalistic sob. The tension bled out of her slowly, her scarred hands falling limp against Heaven’s shoulders. She buried her face into Heaven’s neck, shaking, choking, her entire body folding into her.

“I don’t know how to stop,” Vick admitted in a whisper so soft Heaven almost didn’t hear it. “But I don’t want to lose you.”

Heaven’s arms tightened around her, pulling her close, grounding her. “Then don’t,” she said softly. “Don’t lose me. I’m right here.”

And in that moment, with Vick collapsing against her in sobs, Heaven understood: the monster and the woman were tearing each other apart—and she was the only thing holding the pieces together.

Chapter Text

The night had grown still after Vick’s collapse. Heaven had gotten her to stop hitting herself, to sink against her shoulder and cry until her massive body shook itself into exhaustion. But even as she dozed in Heaven’s arms, her breaths uneven, her scars damp with sweat and tears, Heaven could feel the storm simmering beneath her skin.

By morning, Vick was gone from the couch. Heaven woke alone, the blanket that had been draped over her sliding to the floor. Panic shot through her chest as she scanned the room, half-expecting the sound of that chainsaw again.

Instead, it was the slow, metallic clang of a hammer striking steel.

She followed the sound into the workshop. There, lit by the dull glow of the forge, stood Vick. Bare to the waist, her broad back glistened with sweat, muscles shifting beneath her scarred, hairy skin as she raised the hammer again and again. Sparks spat around her, the ringing filling the air with a kind of furious music.

On the worktable lay something half-finished—some twisted creation of metal and wood, a shape that wasn’t quite clear yet.

“Vick?” Heaven’s voice cracked into the haze of smoke.

Vick didn’t look at her at first. She brought the hammer down one last time, then set it aside with trembling hands. When she finally turned, her chest rose and fell rapidly, her eyes wild and wet.

“For you,” she rasped, her voice raw from last night’s screaming. “I’ll make something for you. Something that proves…” She faltered, her lips curling into a shaky, desperate smile. “That I can be good. That I can deserve you.”

Heaven’s heart twisted. She wanted to step forward, to stop her, but Vick was already picking up a piece of glowing steel with her tongs, shaping it furiously, as if her worth could be hammered into existence.

Her movements grew frantic, almost violent, as though she were punishing the metal—or herself. Sweat dripped into her eyes, blood from her blistered palms smeared across the handle of the hammer.

“Vick—stop, you’re hurting yourself!” Heaven cried, stepping closer.

“I have to!” Vick snapped, her voice breaking. She slammed the steel against the anvil, sparks exploding like tiny fireworks. “I have to show you I’m not just—just this thing that scares you. I have to make you love me. I’ll give you everything, I’ll carve it out of myself if I have to—”

Her chest heaved, and suddenly she dropped the hammer, stumbling forward. Her scarred, bare torso rose and fell with sharp, erratic breaths as she seized Heaven’s shoulders, her grip almost painful.

“I’ll rip my heart out if you ask me to,” she whispered fiercely, her eyes burning with feverish devotion. She dragged a trembling hand to the scar across her chest and pressed her fingers hard against it, as though she might tear it open right then. “You want proof? I’ll do it. Just tell me.”

Heaven’s eyes widened, horror and pity tangling together. She grabbed Vick’s bloodied hands and pulled them away from her chest, holding them tight. “No! Don’t you dare. I don’t want your pain, Vick—I never wanted that. Stop trying to destroy yourself for me.”

For a moment, the cabin was silent except for Vick’s ragged breathing. Then her lips trembled, and the feverish edge in her eyes cracked into something softer, more desperate.

“Then tell me how,” she whispered, her voice barely there. “Tell me how to love you the right way. I’ll do anything.”

Heaven swallowed hard, her heart aching as she looked into those eyes—eyes that were equal parts predator and child, monster and wounded soul.

And she realized she didn’t have an answer.

Chapter Text

Vick didn’t wait for an answer.

Her hands shook as she tore free from Heaven’s grasp, stumbling back toward the workbench. Her chest heaved, breath ragged, and her eyes burned with something that wasn’t quite sanity anymore.

“You don’t have to say it,” she muttered, voice rough, like gravel ground underfoot. “I’ll show you. I’ll make you see me.”

She shoved aside the half-formed metal shape on the anvil and dug through a drawer, pulling out something Heaven’s heart immediately rejected: bones. Long, pale, cleaned too carefully to be anything but human. Heaven staggered backward, her throat closing.

Vick ignored her horror. She began arranging them with frantic precision, her large, scarred hands surprisingly delicate as she fit femur to rib, rib to spine, welding them with strips of metal, bending the skeleton into something grotesque yet almost reverent.

“You saved me,” Vick said under her breath, sweat dripping into her eyes. She didn’t look at Heaven, didn’t see her trembling. “You’re the only one who ever touched me like I wasn’t filth. So I’ll give you something no one else ever got from me.”

The smell of burning bone and hot steel filled the air. Heaven’s stomach lurched, but her eyes couldn’t leave the sight of Vick shaping her monstrous “offering.” It was part shrine, part weapon, part… love letter.

By the time she was done, she turned toward Heaven with something cradled in her arms—a twisted figure made of bone, wood, and iron, its shape almost angelic, with jagged wings fanning from its back. Vick’s chest rose and fell hard, her voice hoarse as she whispered, “It’s you. My angel. Made with my hands. Forever.”

She set it down at Heaven’s feet like a sacred idol, then dropped to her knees before her.

“Say you’ll keep it. Say you’ll take me with it. Please, Heaven.” Her voice cracked, a sob clawing its way out. “Please.”

Heaven’s breath trembled. The grotesque figure loomed in her vision, grotesque yet crafted with an obsessive care that twisted her heart in ways she hated to admit. Part of her wanted to recoil, to scream—but another part ached at the devotion carved into every line of that awful thing.

She crouched down in front of Vick, forcing her voice steady even as her pulse raced. “I’ll keep it,” she whispered. Vick’s head snapped up, eyes wide, wet with disbelief. Heaven touched her cheek gently. “But if you really want to prove yourself… then you have to do something for me.”

Vick leaned forward, desperate, her huge hands clutching at Heaven’s arms like she was afraid she’d vanish. “Anything. Say it and I’ll do it. You want blood? You want someone gone? You want me to—”

“No,” Heaven cut her off firmly, her tone sharp enough to halt Vick’s spiral mid-sentence. She swallowed, steeling herself. “What I want is simple.”

Her hand slid down, wrapping around Vick’s trembling scarred fingers. “No killing. Not for me. Not to prove anything. If you love me, then stop.”

Vick froze, her entire body going rigid as if the command itself burned. She stared at Heaven, wide-eyed, her lips trembling like she wanted to argue, wanted to scream—but couldn’t. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, bloodshot eyes darting toward the bone-angel at their feet.

“But… it’s all I know,” she whispered, voice breaking. “If I don’t kill, I don’t… exist. I don’t matter.”

“You matter to me,” Heaven said, firm but soft, her thumb brushing the back of Vick’s raw, blistered hand. “That’s your test, Vick. Show me you can matter without blood. Show me you can love me without tearing the world apart for it.”

For a long moment, Vick said nothing. Her body shook, the tension inside her a rope stretched to its breaking point. Her jaw clenched, her teeth grinding audibly, and Heaven thought for a second she might lash out, shatter everything with one violent outburst.

But then, slowly, Vick bent forward. She pressed her forehead against Heaven’s knee like a penitent child at confession. Her massive frame trembled violently, sobs tearing through her throat until her voice broke entirely.

“I’ll try,” she whispered. “God help me, angel, I’ll try.”

Heaven’s chest ached as she reached out and cradled Vick’s head against her lap, her fingers running through her sweat-damp curls. She didn’t know if Vick would succeed. She didn’t know if the monster could ever be caged, or if loving her meant damning herself.

But in that moment, with the weight of Vick’s brokenness pressed against her, Heaven knew she couldn’t let go. Not yet.

Chapter Text

The promise lasted barely three nights.

At first, Heaven thought she had reached her—Vick stayed in the cabin, restless but restrained, pacing like a caged wolf. She even touched the bone angel sometimes as if it were her tether, staring at it with something like prayer in her eyes. Heaven had almost believed it would hold.

But the fourth night shattered that illusion.

The door slammed at midnight, waking Heaven in a cold sweat. She rushed to the window in time to see Vick’s hulking frame vanishing into the tree line, moonlight flashing off the machete clutched in her hand. A cracked, faded hockey mask covered her face.

Jason Voorhees, come to life.

And Vick wasn’t stalking prey for hunger. She was hunting because she couldn’t bear stillness. Because her body screamed for release in the only language it knew—blood.

Heaven ran barefoot to the porch, the night air biting her skin. “Vick!” she screamed into the darkness. “Come back! Don’t do this!”

Her voice carried, but so did the sounds of panic deeper in the forest—the shrieks of unlucky campers who’d wandered too close to her land, laughter turning to terror as they realized they weren’t alone.

Vick’s guttural roar split the air, followed by the thundering crash of footsteps. Heaven’s heart lurched as she saw shadows scatter through the trees, the white gleam of the hockey mask flashing like a specter in pursuit.

Branches snapped. The heavy thud of her boots pounded against the earth. A scream cut short. Then silence.

Heaven covered her mouth with shaking hands, her chest tight with horror and despair. She wanted to run to them, to stop her—but she knew stepping into that frenzy would only put her in the path of the monster.

Minutes dragged into an hour. Then the forest grew quiet.

When Vick returned, the mask was gone, but the machete was slick with blood. She staggered into the cabin like a drunk, chest heaving, brown curls plastered to her forehead with sweat. Her scarred body was splattered red, streaks of gore painting across her hairy arms and torso like war paint.

Her eyes found Heaven instantly.

“Angel,” she rasped, her voice shredded, manic. The machete clattered to the floor as she stumbled toward her, wild and trembling. “I—I couldn’t stop. I thought I could. I wanted to. But the hunger—” Her hands clawed at her chest like she could tear it out. “It eats me alive. I thought of you, I swear I thought of you, but it didn’t help. It never helps.”

Heaven stood frozen, her breath shallow, staring at the woman who looked like a walking nightmare. Vick’s lips trembled as she dropped to her knees, bloody hands clutching Heaven’s thighs.

“Please don’t hate me,” she begged, tears streaking through the mess on her face. “I’ll do better. I’ll try harder. Just—don’t leave me, angel. Don’t leave me alone with this.”

Heaven’s chest constricted painfully. She should have screamed, should have shoved her away, run for the phone, run for the door. But instead, she cupped Vick’s face in trembling hands, staring into those bloodshot, broken eyes.

“You promised me,” she whispered, voice shaking with fury and sorrow. “You promised.”

Vick sobbed, shaking her head violently. “I know. I know. I failed you. But I’ll try again. Please, Heaven. Please.”

Her massive frame trembled as she pressed her forehead against Heaven’s stomach, her tears soaking her nightgown.

And Heaven realized with a cold clarity that the monster couldn’t be stopped with promises. Vick’s love was a noose around both their necks, tightening with every failure.

Chapter Text

Heaven had been planning it quietly for days. The moment Vick staggered home drenched in blood, her promises in ruins, Heaven’s heart snapped into cold clarity. She couldn’t save her. She couldn’t live like this.

So she hid the knife. A simple kitchen blade, sharpened to a fine point, tucked beneath her pillow like a prayer.

Vick didn’t notice. She was too consumed by the aftermath of her frenzy—pacing the cabin, muttering to herself, breaking down at random intervals into trembling sobs. Her body twitched from exhaustion, her scarred hands raw from clutching that machete too tightly.

One night, when the moon hung pale through the windows, Vick lay beside Heaven on the couch. Her massive frame curled protectively around her, scarred arms holding her close, her breath uneven against Heaven’s neck. She whispered in her sleep, voice soft, childlike.

“Don’t leave me.”

The knife felt heavy in Heaven’s hand. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it would betray her. But she reminded herself of the bodies in the woods, the screams that still echoed in her head. She reminded herself of the mask, the machete, the blood.

And then she did it.

The blade sank between Vick’s ribs before Heaven even realized her body had moved. Vick gasped—a sharp, animal sound—her whole body jerking violently. Her eyes flew open, wide with shock, confusion, then something far worse: recognition.

“Heaven?” Her voice cracked, wet with pain.

Heaven’s breath hitched. The knife slipped from her shaking hands, clattering to the floor. She couldn’t look away from Vick’s expression—hurt not just from the wound, but from betrayal.

The giant of a woman staggered back, clutching her side as blood poured through her fingers. She didn’t scream. She didn’t rage. She just stared, trembling, her lips forming the words like a prayer:

“You promised… you wouldn’t leave.”

Heaven bolted. She ran out of the cabin barefoot, the night air biting her skin, her sobs carrying into the trees. She didn’t stop until the cabin was gone behind her, swallowed by darkness.

Chapter Text

For a week, Heaven tried to stay gone.

She found shelter in a small roadside motel, staring at the ceiling each night, telling herself she had done the right thing. She told herself she had escaped the monster. That Vick would bleed out alone, and the world would be safer for it.

But her chest ached with every breath. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Vick’s face—those broken eyes staring at her, not with rage but with grief. She heard her voice, raw and bewildered: Heaven?

She lasted seven days before the guilt drowned her.

The cabin was silent when she returned. The air was heavy, rank with the smell of blood gone stale. Heaven pushed the door open with trembling hands and stepped inside.

What she found twisted her stomach into knots.

Vick was on the floor of the living room, slumped against the wall, barely more than a shadow of herself. Her skin was ashen, her curly hair matted with sweat, her scarred body thinner than Heaven had ever seen it. Her lips were cracked, her chest rising shallowly with each ragged breath.

The wound at her side was blackened, dried blood crusted thick around it. The floor beneath her was stained dark.

She was half-dead.

“Heaven…” Vick’s voice was a rasp, barely a whisper. Her eyes fluttered open, glassy and fever-bright, but they locked onto her with instant recognition. And despite her state—despite the knife wound, the starvation, the week of agony—her lips curved into the faintest, delirious smile.

“You came back.”

Heaven’s knees buckled, tears spilling hot down her cheeks. She dropped beside her, hands hovering uselessly over Vick’s frail body, terrified to touch her, terrified of what she had done.

“Oh God, Vick…” she choked out, pressing her forehead against her shoulder. “What have I done to you?”

Vick’s scarred, trembling hand lifted weakly, brushing Heaven’s cheek with surprising gentleness. “Doesn’t matter,” she whispered, her voice thin as air. “You came back. That’s all that matters.”

And in that moment, Heaven realized the truth she had been running from: she could never truly leave. No matter how monstrous Vick was, no matter how dangerous—she was bound to her, by love, by pity, by obsession.

And maybe, deep down, by something darker.

Chapter Text

The cabin was silent, save for the soft whistle of wind through the cracks in the windows. Heaven had finally fallen asleep on the couch, exhaustion pressing her into its coarse cushions, her arms still wrapped loosely around Vick’s frail form.

Then came the noises.

A soft whine, guttural and desperate, pulled Heaven from sleep. Her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim glow of the early morning. The sounds came again—grunts, strained breaths, faint whimpers that made her stomach twist.

“Vick?” she whispered, voice hoarse, crawling to her feet.

The noises led her toward the back of the cabin, toward the workshop where the forge and tools waited. She froze in the doorway, breath catching.

Vick was kneeling on the floor, shirtless, pale, sweat clinging to her scarred skin. Her massive hands shook violently as she pressed a stapler against the gash along her side. The wound, still raw and deep from Heaven’s week-long absence, had begun to scab over in places, but it was far from healed.

Each movement made Vick grunt in pain, whine when the stapler caught the skin awkwardly, wince, then force herself to press harder. She ignored the blood dripping from her side onto the floor, her focus absolute, almost obsessive.

Heaven’s stomach lurched. She wanted to scream, to run, to pull her away—but something rooted her to the spot. The sight of Vick, the way she fought for survival in her own brutal, violent way, broke her heart.

Vick’s hands shook so badly that the stapler clicked unevenly, jamming at one point. She let out a sharp whine, frustration and pain colliding in her voice. “Damn it… damn it…” she muttered under her breath.

Heaven stepped closer, careful not to startle her. “Vick…” she said softly, “let me do it. You’ll only make it worse.”

Vick froze, mask of concentration faltering. Her chest heaved with shallow breaths, curls plastered to her forehead with sweat. She looked up at Heaven, eyes wide, wild, pleading. “I… I can’t… I have to—”

“You’ve already survived this long,” Heaven said, reaching out a trembling hand. “Let me help. Please. You’re not alone.”

Vick’s gaze wavered. The pride, the mania, the desperate need to do it herself battled with exhaustion and pain. Her hands twitched, still gripping the stapler. Then, after a long moment, she slumped forward, letting Heaven gently take her hands and guide her onto the floor.

The silence that followed was almost sacred. Heaven cleaned the wound as best as she could, her fingers steady despite her racing heart. Vick’s breathing remained erratic, but she didn’t resist—she only whispered broken fragments between shudders:

“Angel… you shouldn’t… have to…”

“You’re worth it,” Heaven replied softly. “Every bit of effort. Every scar, every ounce of fight—you’re worth it.”

Vick’s lips quivered, and for the first time in a long while, her hands relaxed completely in Heaven’s. The massive, violent, obsessive woman became just that—Vick. Fragile, bleeding, scared, and human.

And Heaven realized, as she worked carefully to secure the wound safely, that survival wasn’t about chainsaws or machetes or masks. Survival was about moments like this: trust, care, and the fragile tether of love holding two broken souls together.

Chapter Text

The cabin had grown colder over the months, not from weather, but from absence.

Vick had taken to sleeping in a different room, claiming she needed space to “think” or “rest.” Heaven hadn’t argued, at first. She thought maybe giving Vick room would help her heal. But weeks turned into months, and the silence between them became a chasm. Meals were eaten apart, evenings passed with Vick locked away in her self-imposed exile.

Heaven’s patience, always fragile, finally snapped one late evening. The dishes clattered in the sink, a book slammed shut, her voice trembling but fierce. “Vick! How long are you going to hide from me? From us?”

The door creaked as Vick peeked out, eyes wide, curls matted, her bare shoulders tense. “I—I just—”

“You just what?” Heaven bellowed, rage laced with fear and exhaustion. She swept across the room, grabbing a chair and flinging it across the floor. It crashed into the wall with a shattering echo. “You hide in that room for months while I’m here trying to keep us alive! And you can’t even tell me why?”

Vick flinched, stumbling backward, pressing herself into the corner of the cabin. Her arms went up instinctively, hands covering her ears as if trying to shield herself from the storm. “I… I didn’t want… I didn’t mean—”

Heaven’s voice cut across her, sharp and relentless. “You think this is about ‘wanting’ or ‘meaning’? You think I care why you ran? I care about us! About you! And you locking yourself away like a child, like a coward… it’s tearing me apart!”

Vick shrank further into the corner, body curling in on itself. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, lips trembling as she tried to interrupt. “Heaven—please, I—”

“No!” Heaven’s yell rattled the walls. She threw a vase across the room; it smashed against the floor, shards scattering like fractured trust. “I’m not listening to excuses anymore! I’m done with the silence, the hiding, the pretending you can just… disappear from me!”

Vick’s chest heaved, trembling violently. Every word, every thrown object, every raw scream from Heaven made her shrink further. She pressed her back against the wall, covering her ears, closing her eyes as though the sound itself could harm her. “I… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

But Heaven’s fury had spent its mercy. “Sorry isn’t enough, Vick! Sorry doesn’t fix months of fear, months of wondering if you even want me here! You’re scaring me, and I can’t… I can’t keep pretending you’re not crumbling inside!”

Vick’s sobs finally broke through her cowering. She slumped fully to the floor, shaking, curls plastered to her forehead, mouth opening and closing but no words coming. Heaven’s chest heaved as well, anger and desperation mixing with guilt that she was yelling at someone so broken.

The room was silent for a moment, the only sound the ragged breaths of two women fractured by their love and fear. Vick finally whispered, barely audible:

“I… I didn’t know… I thought… I was protecting you from me…”

Heaven’s eyes softened, a flicker of grief cutting through the rage. She dropped down to sit a few feet from Vick, though she didn’t touch her yet. “Vick… we don’t need protecting. We need you. All of you. Even the broken parts.”

Vick flinched at the words but didn’t run. Her trembling slowed slightly, though the fear and shame still painted her posture in sharp angles. She pressed her face against her knees, curls falling over her scarred shoulders, murmuring, “I… I’m scared… I don’t want to hurt you…”

“You won’t,” Heaven said softly. Her voice, finally calm, trembled with the weight of everything she’d held back for months. “Not if we’re honest. Not if we face it together.”

Vick let the words wash over her, barely daring to believe them. For the first time in months, she allowed herself to breathe, still curled in the corner, still trembling, still human. And Heaven stayed, watching, waiting, knowing the long work of trust would take longer than any single night—but willing to do it, no matter how many shards of themselves it took to get there.

Chapter Text

The cabin was quiet after the storm of yelling had passed, though the air still trembled with tension. Vick remained curled in the corner, her broad, scarred body folded into itself like a massive child, curls matted and damp from tears, arms wrapped protectively around her legs. Every inch of her radiated vulnerability, a stark contrast to the violent, obsessive figure Heaven had chased through forests and blood-soaked nights.

Heaven hesitated before moving closer. Her heart ached, heavy with guilt and fear, but more than anything, with longing. She had to try—had to remind Vick that she was safe, that love could exist without pain. Slowly, carefully, she extended a hand toward the massive figure huddled against the wall.

“Vick,” she whispered softly, “I just… I want to hold you. That’s all.”

The moment her fingers brushed the edge of Vick’s arm, the reaction was immediate.

Vick flinched violently, her whole body recoiling like a small child caught in a storm of fear. Her arms shot up, huddling closer to herself, and her eyes squeezed shut. A low whimper escaped her throat, trembling with instinctive terror.

“No… no!” she hissed under her breath, her voice small and raw, shaking like she was begging an unseen enemy not to hit her. “Don’t… don’t…”

Heaven froze, her hand hovering in the air. Her chest tightened painfully at the sight: the giant, scarred woman—so strong, so dangerous, so alive—shrinking into herself, flinching from a touch meant to comfort. Her pulse hammered in her ears.

“Vick…” she murmured, kneeling carefully to reduce the distance, keeping her movements slow and unthreatening. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. I’m not leaving. I’m not—”

Vick whimpered again, curling tighter. “I… I don’t… I don’t… want to…”

Heaven’s throat ached. Her voice cracked, softer now. “I know… I know it’s hard. I know it’s scary. I’m here. I’ll stay. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not me.”

For long moments, Vick didn’t move. She trembled in place, curls falling over her eyes, body tense as a wire ready to snap. Her lips quivered, her hands clenching over her knees. Heaven’s hand hovered a few inches away, a lifeline she dared not cross too quickly.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Vick’s massive shoulders sagged. Her flinching lessened, though her eyes remained tightly shut. Heaven’s hand inched closer, brushing lightly against Vick’s forearm—a whisper of contact, careful, tentative.

A tiny shudder ran through Vick’s body. Her lips parted slightly, a faint whine escaping. She didn’t pull away this time—but neither did she open her eyes. She allowed the touch, small as it was, a fragile surrender born of fear and trust tangled together.

Heaven’s chest ached. She let her fingers rest lightly against Vick, careful not to move too fast, letting the massive woman dictate the pace. Slowly, she whispered, “It’s okay. You don’t have to fight. You don’t have to hide. Not from me.”

Vick’s breathing began to even, shallow at first, then gradually more controlled. A single tear slipped from the corner of one eye and traced down her scarred cheek. She still flinched slightly when Heaven’s thumb brushed her arm, but her hands no longer clawed at her knees. She allowed Heaven’s presence to fill the space around her without lashing out, without bolting.

For the first time in months, the violent, obsessive monster and the fragile, broken human were in the same room together—and for the first time, Heaven dared hope that the gap between them could begin to close.

Chapter Text

The cabin was quiet that morning, the sun struggling to push through the gray mist clinging to the trees outside. Heaven stretched, trying to shake the tension that had settled into her shoulders over weeks of watching Vick’s fragile recovery. Her nerves still jumped at every creak, every sigh, every movement in the shadows of the cabin.

She walked toward the workshop, expecting to find the usual clutter of wood scraps, tools, and half-finished projects. But what she found stopped her cold.

Vick sat cross-legged on the floor, papers and notebooks spread around her like a fortress. She was hunched over, scribbling furiously, her large, scarred hands moving with an almost desperate precision. She looked up briefly, startled, her wild brown curls falling into her eyes.

“Heaven…” she said softly, voice low, almost guilty.

Heaven’s brow furrowed. “Vick? What are you doing?”

Vick hesitated, biting her lip, then gestured toward the papers. “I… I’ve been… planning. For you.”

Heaven stepped closer, heart tightening at the sight. The massive woman, so often violent, so obsessive, was hunched over calculations and lists like a worried parent. Vick’s fingers traced lines on the page, numbers scribbled in neat rows, addresses, rent prices, apartment listings.

“I… I thought,” Vick began, voice barely above a whisper, “maybe… maybe you wouldn’t want to stay here. Not all the time. I know I’m… dangerous. I don’t want to trap you. You should have your own space. A place where you’re safe. Where you can be… normal.”

Heaven’s chest ached. Part of her wanted to scoff at the idea—how could this scarred, obsessive, violent woman even think in terms of normal? Part of her wanted to run, to throw herself into Vick’s arms, to comfort her. But another part… was struck dumb by the depth of the care behind the gesture.

“You’re… paying for an apartment?” Heaven asked, disbelief threading her voice.

Vick shrugged, hunched over her notes again. “I… I can. I’ll work it out. Anything for you. If I can’t let you be happy with me, maybe I can… give you the choice. Give you a way out. Not that I… I don’t want you with me. I do. Always. But I… I can’t force you.”

Her massive hands shook slightly as she tapped her pen against the paper. The sight of her like this—so vulnerable, so earnest, so human—pulled Heaven’s heart taut. She could see the shadow of the old Vick in the jittering fingers, the obsessive drive, but it was tempered with love. With fear. With devotion that didn’t hurt… yet.

Heaven stepped closer, cautiously, her eyes softening. “Vick… you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to fix everything for me.”

Vick’s eyes lifted, haunted and pleading, curls plastered to her forehead with sweat. “I… I want to. I need to. If I can’t make sure you’re safe… at least let me do this. Even if it’s just one small thing.”

Heaven swallowed, heart breaking in a thousand directions. She could see the care, the obsessive love, the desperation—all laid bare on those pages. For a moment, she almost envied the normalcy Vick was trying to buy her, even as she knew it couldn’t erase the chaos, the blood, the scars.

“Vick,” she said softly, voice trembling, “you don’t have to prove anything to me. You being here… that’s enough.”

Vick’s lips quivered, but she shook her head slightly, unable to tear herself from the plans. “It’s not enough. Not for you. Not for us. I… I can’t just sit here and hope you’ll stay. I need… I need to do something, even if it’s wrong. Even if it… hurts me to think of you somewhere else.”

Heaven’s hand hovered near Vick’s shoulder, unsure whether to touch her or not. She didn’t. Not yet. Not until she knew Vick wouldn’t flinch away like a child.

And in that silence, amidst the scattered papers and desperate calculations, Heaven realized that no matter how twisted, how obsessive, how broken Vick could be… she could never truly let her go.

Vick looked up at her, huge eyes shimmering, voice breaking. “Please… don’t be mad. I’m just trying… I’m just trying to love you right.”

Heaven’s chest ached, torn between fury, fear, and the undeniable pull of love. “I’m not mad… I just… I wish you didn’t have to do everything this way, Vick. I wish we could just… be. Without the plans, without the obsessions.”

Vick’s hand trembled as she reached toward a pen again, muttering under her breath. “I can’t… I can’t just be… I have to protect you… even from me.”

And Heaven knew, in that moment, that Vick’s love was a tether that could bind them both—beautiful, dangerous, and utterly inescapable.

Chapter Text

The cabin was quiet in the early morning, save for the soft creaks of old wood and the occasional sigh of wind through the trees outside. Heaven had just begun to drift back into sleep when a sharp, heavy thud cut through the silence.

Her eyes snapped open. Heart hammering, she scrambled from the couch, barely noticing her bare feet against the cold floor. “Vick?” she called, voice trembling.

The thud came from the bedroom. Heaven’s stomach dropped as she hurried to the doorway and froze.

Vick lay face-first on the floor, tangled in her curls, one arm flung awkwardly above her head, the other hidden beneath her massive torso. Her body was still for a moment, and Heaven’s breath caught in her throat.

“Oh my God, Vick!” she cried, rushing forward. She dropped to her knees beside her, pressing a hand to Vick’s back. “Talk to me! Are you okay?”

Vick groaned, a low, pained sound, and shifted slightly. Her massive frame trembled as she tried to push herself up, only to slump back against the floor with a wince. Her forehead was bruised from the fall, curls stuck to the sweat and blood smeared across her face.

Heaven’s hands shook as she gently helped her sit up. “You scared me half to death,” she whispered, her voice raw with worry. “How did you even—?”

Vick’s voice was rough, barely audible, almost a whisper. “I… I didn’t… I didn’t see… the edge…” Her large hands trembled as they clutched at her chest, pulling herself closer to Heaven as if seeking protection. “I’m fine… just… stupid…”

Heaven couldn’t suppress a mix of frustration and relief. She gripped Vick by the shoulders firmly but gently, forcing her to look at her. “You’re not fine. You could have broken something—or worse! You need to be careful, Vick. You can’t just… just throw yourself around like this.”

Vick flinched slightly, her massive body curling inward instinctively, as though bracing for punishment, but Heaven’s hand stayed firm on her shoulder. “I… I’m sorry,” Vick murmured, voice cracking. “I… didn’t mean to…”

Heaven’s chest ached at the sight. The same woman who had terrorized forests, who had survived blood-soaked nights and self-inflicted wounds, now looked like a frightened child, trembling and vulnerable on the floor of her own bedroom.

“It’s okay,” Heaven said softly, lowering herself beside her. She reached out, tentatively brushing curls from Vick’s forehead. “You don’t have to apologize. Just… promise me you’ll be careful next time.”

Vick’s eyes glimmered with unshed tears. She leaned slightly into Heaven’s touch, still trembling, still massive and scarred, yet painfully human. “I… I’ll try,” she whispered.

Heaven nodded, heart heavy but relieved. She guided Vick back onto the bed slowly, careful not to rush her, and tucked the blankets around her. “Come on,” she murmured. “Let’s get you settled. No more falling, okay?”

Vick’s large frame shifted uncomfortably under the covers, but she allowed herself to be guided, curling into the warmth that Heaven provided. For the first time in months, she didn’t flinch at touch, didn’t push Heaven away—just let herself rest, bruised, scarred, and human, in the hands of the one person she trusted to keep her safe.

The morning light seeped through the windows, casting long shadows across the cabin, but for a fleeting moment, the world outside didn’t matter. Only Vick, trembling and fragile, and Heaven, steady and caring, existed in that small, fragile peace.

Chapter Text

The bruise on Vick’s forehead darkened over the next day, a reminder of how fragile she really was beneath the scarred muscle and frightening reputation. Heaven hovered more than she meant to—bringing her water, guiding her when she swayed, keeping a quiet watch through the night when Vick’s coughing spells rattled the cabin walls.

At first, Vick resisted the attention. Every time Heaven’s hand brushed her arm to steady her, she jerked away like she’d been burned. When Heaven reached for her shoulder, she flinched, curling inward, lips parting as if to apologize for something that hadn’t even happened.

It broke Heaven’s heart.

“Vick,” she murmured one evening as she guided her from the workshop back to the bedroom, “I’m not going to hurt you. You know that, right?”

Vick’s heavy steps faltered. She lowered her head, curls hiding her eyes. “I… I know. I just—” Her voice caught, rough and shaking. “I don’t know how to stop expecting it.”

Heaven didn’t press. She just squeezed her hand lightly, careful not to overwhelm. Vick let her, though her body stayed tense, like a wolf waiting for the trap to spring.

Days passed. Small shifts began to show.

The first time, Heaven laid a blanket over Vick as she dozed in the chair by the window. Vick startled awake, gasping, but instead of snarling or pulling away, she simply blinked at the blanket and whispered, “Thank you.”

The second time, Heaven handed her a mug of tea and brushed her fingers against Vick’s hand. Vick froze, breath caught in her throat, but didn’t pull away. Her eyes met Heaven’s for just a moment—wide, unsure, like a child testing the edges of trust.

By the end of the week, Vick no longer jerked every time Heaven touched her. She still flinched sometimes—when Heaven raised her voice too suddenly, or when a dish clattered on the counter—but she began to lean, ever so slightly, into the moments of care.

Heaven noticed the change most clearly one night when Vick’s coughing dragged her from sleep. She stumbled to the kitchen for water, and when she returned, she found Vick hunched over in bed, hand over her chest, shaking.

Without a word, Heaven climbed onto the mattress and slid behind her, wrapping her arms around Vick’s broad, trembling frame. For a moment, she expected Vick to recoil—to shove her away, to curl back into herself. Instead, Vick’s muscles trembled under her skin, but then slowly—hesitantly—she leaned back into Heaven’s warmth.

Her voice cracked when she spoke. “I’m… I’m trying. I swear I am.”

Heaven rested her cheek against Vick’s shoulder, whispering into the silence, “I know you are.”

For the first time in a long time, Vick didn’t argue. She let herself be held, scarred and broken and learning, her rough breaths slowly evening out in Heaven’s arms.

And though shadows still clung to them, that night Heaven dared to believe that Vick’s walls, one by one, were beginning to come down.

Chapter Text

The cabin was unusually still that afternoon. Heaven was curled up in the chair near the window, a book open but unread, her gaze drifting now and then to the sound of scraping metal from the bathroom. Vick had been restless all morning, pacing from room to room, muttering under her breath, pulling at her curls.

Finally, Heaven heard the sharp snip of scissors.

Her brow furrowed. She rose quietly and padded down the hall. The bathroom door was ajar, steam from the shower curling into the hall. She pushed gently, peeking inside.

Vick stood before the cracked mirror, her massive frame hunched, shoulders tense. In her hand, a pair of scissors gleamed dully. Dark brown curls littered the sink and floor like fallen leaves. She raised another lock of her hair and cut with rough, uneven strokes, her jaw clenched tight.

Heaven’s voice was soft. “Vick… what are you doing?”

Vick didn’t turn. Her reflection in the mirror looked wild, determined, eyes darting away from Heaven’s. “It was… brushing against my neck,” she muttered, her voice low, almost defensive. “I hated it. It’s… uncomfortable. Makes me feel… trapped.”

She snipped again, the curls tumbling down. Her breathing was heavy, ragged, as though the hair itself had been suffocating her.

Heaven stepped closer, careful, her eyes flicking from the pile of curls to the woman wielding the scissors. “You don’t have to rush it,” she said gently. “You can let me help. We can trim it properly—”

“No.” Vick’s tone was sharp, but trembling beneath. She met Heaven’s eyes through the mirror, lips twisting. “It has to go. I don’t care if it looks… ugly. I just—” She swallowed hard, her scarred throat flexing. “I just can’t stand it touching me anymore. It’s like… like it doesn’t belong. Like I don’t.”

The last words broke softer, like a confession too raw to keep.

Heaven’s chest tightened. She wanted to reach out, but she remembered the flinch, the recoil, the childlike fear that always shadowed her touch. So instead, she leaned against the doorframe and spoke softly. “It doesn’t make you ugly, Vick. It doesn’t make you less. You don’t have to fight with yourself over something as small as hair.”

Vick cut again, uneven, her curls now short and ragged around her scarred face. She let the scissors drop into the sink, her large hands bracing against the porcelain as she bowed her head. For a long moment, she just stood there, chest heaving, curls scattered at her feet like a battlefield.

Heaven crossed the small space and bent to pick up a lock of the hair. She twirled it between her fingers, then looked up at Vick. “It’s still you,” she said softly. “Even like this. Maybe… even more so.”

Vick glanced at her reflection—messy short hair, scars visible, shadows under her eyes. For the first time, she didn’t immediately look away. Her lips trembled, and she whispered, “I feel… lighter.”

Heaven smiled faintly, setting the hair back down. “Good. Then maybe it was worth it.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy this time. Vick’s breathing steadied, and when Heaven finally reached out—just a brush of fingers against her arm—Vick didn’t flinch. She let the touch settle, small and grounding, as the scattered curls lay forgotten at their feet.

Chapter Text

The bathroom still smelled faintly of steam and copper—the scissors resting in the sink, the floor scattered with curls. Vick stood stiffly, scarred shoulders drawn high, avoiding her reflection. Her short, ragged hair stuck up in odd tufts, uneven and sharp in places.

Heaven tilted her head, lips curving into a soft smile despite the tension. “You look like you fought the scissors and won.”

A low grunt escaped Vick. “I don’t care what it looks like.”

“I do.” Heaven stepped forward, careful, picking up the scissors from the sink. “Sit.”

Vick blinked at her through the mirror, hesitation flickering in her dark eyes. “Why?”

“Because,” Heaven said gently, resting a hand on her arm, “you deserve to have someone make you look cared for.”

Something in Vick’s posture faltered. She sat on the closed toilet lid, large hands braced against her knees, while Heaven stood behind her, combing her fingers carefully through the uneven tufts. The closeness was fragile—Heaven aware of every flinch, every tremor.

She began trimming carefully, evening the jagged strands, shaping them into something softer. Each snip was deliberate, slow, her breath warm against Vick’s ear.

Halfway through, Heaven froze.

Her eyes widened as she brushed aside a lock of hair and saw it—Vick’s ear, the top of it, notched through with a long, pale scar. Not like a cut from the scissors today. No—this was older. The kind of wound that never truly healed smooth. A slit, as if someone had once taken a blade and carved into her.

Vick stiffened immediately under her touch, shoulders locking. “Don’t,” she muttered, voice low and sharp.

Heaven swallowed hard, lowering the scissors. “Vick… your ear…”

“It’s nothing,” Vick snapped, almost a growl. Then softer, broken, “It’s… old.”

Her reflection in the mirror was unreadable—half shadow, half shame.

Heaven set the scissors down gently and crouched in front of her, catching her eyes. “It’s not nothing. Someone hurt you.”

Vick’s jaw clenched, lips trembling as though words clawed their way up but never escaped. Her large hand lifted halfway, like she might cover her ear, then dropped again, defeated.

“Not someone,” she muttered finally, voice cracking. “Everyone. All my life. And I let it happen. Every cut, every mark—I let them make me into this.” Her fingers brushed across her chest scars, then back to her ear, trembling. “I don’t… I don’t want you to see it.”

Heaven’s chest ached, but her voice was steady. “I see you. All of you. The scars, the hair, the broken pieces—they don’t scare me.”

Vick’s eyes shone, the monster inside her quiet for once. For a heartbeat, she looked almost childlike, desperate and lost.

Heaven leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss just below the slit of her ear. The gesture was soft, reverent, grounding.

Vick’s breath hitched, her massive frame trembling—but she didn’t flinch. For once, she let herself be seen.

Chapter Text

The kiss beneath her scar split Vick’s defenses wide open. It wasn’t supposed to feel like that—soft, forgiving, safe.

Her breath hitched hard, body jerking back like she’d been burned. She shoved the scissors away, the clatter ringing sharp against tile, and shot to her feet.

“Don’t—don’t touch me like that,” Vick rasped, voice frayed to pieces. Her hands curled into fists against her thighs, trembling. “You don’t understand. You don’t—”

“Vick—” Heaven started, calm, steady, but Vick’s panic drowned her out.

“Don’t look at me like I’m worth it,” she shouted, then choked, her throat working like she was swallowing glass. “I’m not—fuck, I’m not. I’m nothing but this.” Her nails dug into her own chest, dragging over scar tissue until red lines bloomed anew. “You think you can fix me with a fucking kiss?!”

The bathroom felt too small, too bright, too fragile for her storm. Vick slammed her shoulder against the door frame on her way out, stumbling, breath breaking into ragged sobs that weren’t rage at all but fear.

And then she was gone.

The slam of the cabin door echoed through the halls like a gunshot.

Heaven stood still for a long moment, scissors loose in her hand, her heart breaking not for herself but for the girl who couldn’t see her own worth.

She didn’t chase. Not this time. She knew better.

Instead, she moved to the porch, settling into the old wooden chair with her knees tucked close, eyes on the tree line. The woods were swallowing Vick whole, her heavy footsteps cracking through branches and brush, her voice occasionally rising in a raw scream carried by the night air.

Heaven didn’t cry. She didn’t panic. She just sat, waiting, letting the night wrap around her. Because she knew Vick would come back. She always did.

Time stretched—an hour, maybe more. The moon rose higher, painting silver across the clearing. And then Heaven heard it: footsteps dragging through leaves, uneven and exhausted.

Vick emerged from the treeline like a wounded animal—hair wild, chest heaving, knuckles bleeding from bark and stone. Her eyes were red, face streaked with mud and tears. She stopped at the edge of the clearing, staring at Heaven like she didn’t deserve to come closer.

Chapter Text

The night air was cool, damp with the scent of pine and wet soil, but Vick barely felt it. Her body was shaking, lungs torn raw from the screams she’d thrown into the forest. She stood at the edge of the clearing, eyes hollow, her chest hitching like every breath was a punishment.

Heaven didn’t move from the porch chair. She just sat, wrapped in her blanket, gaze steady as if she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment.

“Come here,” she whispered.

The sound cracked something inside Vick. Her knees buckled before she could stop them. She staggered forward, dragging her feet through the grass until she dropped at Heaven’s legs with a thud.

And then she broke.

Her huge hands, scarred and trembling, clutched at Heaven’s calves like she was holding on to the last piece of earth before she drowned. She pressed her face into the blanket pooled around Heaven’s lap, sobbing so hard her entire frame shook with it.

“I’m sorry—” Her voice shredded itself, the words barely audible. “I didn’t mean—fuck, I didn’t mean to scare you, I didn’t mean to—” She choked on her own breath, clutching harder, leaving smears of dirt and blood against the fabric. “I don’t know how to be anything else. I don’t know how to stop being this.”

Heaven’s fingers threaded carefully through the uneven tufts of Vick’s hair, tugging her closer instead of pushing her away. She leaned down just enough that her breath warmed Vick’s ear.

“You’re not scaring me,” Heaven said softly, firmly. “You’re hurting yourself.”

Vick let out a sound between a sob and a growl, shaking her head, forehead pressing harder into her lap as if she could disappear into her. “I’m a monster, Heaven. I am. Everyone sees it—they’re right. And you—you’re the only good thing I’ve ever touched. I don’t deserve you.”

Her grip on Heaven’s legs tightened, desperate, like if she let go Heaven would vanish.

Heaven bent forward until her lips brushed the crown of Vick’s messy curls. “Then don’t let go.”

Vick’s entire body convulsed with the next sob. She clung tighter, curling into Heaven’s legs like a child at her mother’s knees, shaking so violently it rattled the chair.

And Heaven just held her, stroking her hair, whispering nothing but steady breaths, waiting as the storm poured itself out.

For the first time, Vick wasn’t the monster. She was just a broken woman on her knees, begging to be loved.

Chapter Text

The cabin was still, the first light of morning filtering through the cracked blinds. Heaven stirred, stretching, feeling the warmth of Vick curled at her side. She blinked against the light, expecting to see the scarred, towering woman she had spent months chasing, tending, and holding through breakdowns.

But the figure beside her was… different.

Small. Soft. Rounded. Childlike.

Heaven sat up sharply, heart skipping. The blankets rustled, and Vick—a version of Vick that could not have been older than seven or eight—shifted under the covers, tiny curls brushing her cheeks. Her body was covered in bandages, little wrappings at her wrists, arms, and legs, and a soft chubbiness rounded her form, making her seem fragile and completely human in a way Heaven had never seen.

“V-Vick?” Heaven’s voice was a mix of awe, confusion, and disbelief.

The child looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes—the same hazel as the woman she knew, but softer, unscarred, curious and confused. A small whimper escaped her lips. “Heaven?”

Heaven’s chest tightened. She leaned closer, careful, hands hovering over the child. “It’s… it’s you,” she murmured. “You… you’re… like a child?”

The little Vick flinched, glancing down at her bandaged arms and legs. “I… I don’t feel good,” she whispered, tugging at a loose bandage. Her voice was soft, tinged with confusion and fear, but unmistakably hers.

Heaven’s mind raced. How could this happen? Was it real? A dream? Magic? She didn’t know—but the instinct to care was immediate and unshakable. She scooped the little figure into her lap, careful not to jostle the bandages.

“Shh… it’s okay,” Heaven soothed, brushing the tiny curls from Vick’s forehead. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’m right here.”

The child Vick let herself be held, curling into Heaven’s arms, her body heavy with trust despite the unfamiliarity of her own form. Heaven could feel the faint warmth, the steady heartbeat, and the small breaths against her chest.

“This is… going to be okay,” Heaven whispered to herself, more than to Vick. “Whatever this is… we’ll handle it. Together.”

Vick’s small hands reached up, gripping Heaven’s shirt with surprising strength for her size. “I… I don’t want to be… alone,” she said, voice quivering.

“You’re not alone,” Heaven promised, hugging her closer. “Never again.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, the woman who had been a monster, a survivor, and a storm of scars was now a child entirely dependent on Heaven. And Heaven realized, with a strange mix of wonder and fear, that she would do anything to protect this small, bandaged version of Vick—just as she had fought to protect the grown woman.

The morning light bathed the cabin in gold, and for the first time in months, Heaven allowed herself to believe that perhaps this strange new version of Vick could be a second chance—an opportunity to heal, together, from the beginning.

Chapter Text

The cabin was quiet except for the soft ticking of the wall clock, each second stretching with lazy insistence. Heaven sat cross-legged on the floor, holding Vick gently in her lap, brushing tiny curls from her face. The morning had been slow, peaceful, almost tender in its oddness, as they adjusted to Vick’s childlike form.

Vick shifted slightly in her bandaged arms, yawning and stretching, her small body sighing in a comfort she hadn’t allowed herself in months. Heaven smiled softly, brushing her fingers along the curve of her cheek.

Then, the clock struck twelve.

A sharp chime echoed through the cabin. The air seemed to thrum with sudden energy, and Vick stiffened in Heaven’s arms, a strange tension rippling across her small form.

“No—Heaven…” Vick’s voice cracked, tiny and strained.

Before Heaven could respond, her body began to stretch, grow, shift. Muscle and height returned with alarming speed. Her chubby childlike form elongated, her shoulders broadening, chest rising with each gulping breath. Curls lengthened and darkened, skin roughening, bandages stretched taut before slipping away entirely.

Vick gasped sharply, clutching her stomach. Heaven’s hands flew to her, holding her steady as her body trembled violently.

“Oh, Vick…” Heaven whispered, fear prickling her voice. “Take it slow… I’ve got you…”

But it was too quick. The reversal happened faster than her body could manage. Vick’s massive form lurched, eyes wide and panicked, and then she doubled over violently.

She vomited, the sudden upheaval of her stomach leaving her weak, shaking, and pale. Heaven wrapped an arm around her, supporting her trembling frame, murmuring soothing words over the sound of ragged retches.

“I… I can’t… it’s too fast…” Vick groaned, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her large hands trembled, curling into fists as she pressed them to her stomach. “It hurts… it’s—ugh—too much…”

Heaven held her tightly, rocking gently. “I know… I know. It’s okay. Just breathe. You’re safe. I’m right here.”

Vick’s breaths came in ragged, uneven waves, chest heaving, muscles trembling from the abrupt transformation. For a moment, she seemed fragile, nearly broken, like a marionette whose strings had been yanked too violently.

Finally, after long, shuddering seconds, she slumped against Heaven, weak and exhausted, curls sticking to her sweaty forehead. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I… I’m okay now… I think…”

Heaven pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, brushing damp strands away. “You’re okay, Vick. You’re back. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Vick’s massive arms wrapped weakly around Heaven, still trembling. “I… hate this…” she muttered. “I hate being… like that… like a kid… and then… this… ugh…”

Heaven rested her forehead against Vick’s, breathing with her, letting her shake it out. “I know, baby. I know. But you’re strong. You’re still you. And I’ll help you through every… every change, every freaky thing, every… everything.”

Vick let out a long, ragged breath, finally allowing herself to collapse into Heaven’s arms, her body exhausted but alive.

For the first time in hours, the cabin felt steady again. A massive woman and the one person who could hold her through anything, even the impossible, were together.

Chapter Text

The morning light spilled across the cabin, warm and golden, but Heaven could sense Vick’s restlessness long before she moved. Her massive frame shifted, muscles coiled and taut beneath skin still pale from the sudden transformations and recent vomiting.

“You’re itching to go out,” Heaven said softly, leaning against the doorway. She watched Vick flex her fingers, rolling her shoulders. Her curls bounced lightly as she paced.

Vick’s dark eyes flicked toward her, sharp and alive. “I… I need to,” she muttered. “I need to… hunt.”

Heaven’s heart tightened. Part of her wanted to say no—wanted to wrap Vick up and keep her close, safe from herself, safe from the woods, safe from the chaos that always seemed to follow her. But she knew better.

“I know,” Heaven said finally, voice calm but firm. “I can’t stop you. But—” She took a careful step closer. “I want you to promise me something. Promise you’ll come back. Promise you won’t push yourself too far.”

Vick’s lips twitched, almost like a smirk. “You really think I can follow rules now?” Her voice was rough, but there was warmth in it, teasing, teasing enough to make Heaven’s chest ache.

“You can try,” Heaven replied, smile softening. “I’ll wait for you. Always.”

Vick’s massive hands clenched and unclenched, then she reached out, brushing Heaven’s fingers briefly with her own. “Always, huh?”

“Always,” Heaven said.

With that, Vick turned toward the woods. Her strides were long, heavy, yet graceful, powerful and confident. The shadows of the trees swallowed her as she disappeared among the trunks and underbrush. Heaven stood on the porch, watching, every muscle in her body taut with vigilance.

The wind rustled through the trees, carrying the faint scent of pine and dirt, and the distant snapping of twigs under Vick’s boots. Heaven didn’t move. She didn’t call out. She only waited, breath even, eyes tracing the path Vick had taken.

Minutes stretched into an hour. The woods seemed alive with every sound—the rustle of leaves, a bird’s distant cry, the whisper of the wind. Heaven’s thoughts were constant but controlled, looping through worry and trust. She trusted Vick’s instincts, her body, her survival skills—but still, the weight of being left behind pressed heavy on her chest.

Finally, a dark shadow reappeared at the edge of the clearing. Vick emerged, carrying a small bundle in her arms—her own catch. Her posture was proud, yet relaxed, muscles loose but alive. She glanced at Heaven, letting a faint smile slip through.

Heaven exhaled softly, relief flooding her. “See? I knew you’d come back.”

Vick dropped the bundle gently, nodding once. “Yeah… I came back. Like I said I would.”

The cabin seemed warmer somehow, safer, even with the wild energy of the woods still clinging to Vick. Heaven stepped forward, brushing her fingers along Vick’s arm. “Good. And next time… don’t make me wait so long, okay?”

Vick grunted softly, half amused, half exasperated, before letting herself relax fully. “I’ll try,” she muttered. “But you know me, Heaven. You’ve got to let me be… me.”

Heaven nodded, smiling softly. “I know. I always will.”

The forest held its secrets, but for once, the cabin held calm. Vick had her freedom—brief, wild, necessary—and Heaven had her trust. And somehow, in that delicate balance, both of them breathed a little easier.

Chapter Text

The forest was quiet that evening, the sun low and spilling orange and gold across the trees. Vick returned from her hunt, the muscles in her large frame tense with exertion, sweat matting her curls. She carried a small bundle wrapped in leaves and bark, carefully tucked against her chest.

Heaven met her at the edge of the clearing, eyes following the familiar long strides, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Back so soon?” she asked softly, brushing a loose curl from her own face.

Vick dropped to her knees in front of Heaven, gently unwrapping the bundle. Inside, resting on soft moss, was the skull of a small creature—an elegant little thing with delicate teeth and hollow eye sockets. She held it up carefully, her large hands surprisingly tender.

“I found this for you,” Vick said, voice low, almost reverent. “Thought… maybe… you’d like it.”

Heaven’s brows rose in surprise, but she took it with gentle fingers, turning it over to admire the curves and the artistry of nature itself. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “Thank you, Vick.”

Vick’s eyes lingered on her, dark and intense. The usual storm of chaos that lingered beneath her calm exterior was softened here, replaced by something more fragile, more open. “I… just wanted you to know… I think about you when I’m out there. Everything I do, it’s… for you.”

Heaven’s chest tightened. Her hands dropped from the skull, moving to Vick’s face, cupping her jaw with care. “I know,” she murmured. The warmth in her voice wrapped around Vick, and the tension in the giant woman’s shoulders faltered.

Without thinking, Heaven leaned forward and pressed her lips to Vick’s cheek, softly, slowly, an affirmation of gratitude, love, and trust. Vick’s dark eyes widened, a low, startled sound leaving her lips, and then she leaned into the touch, allowing herself to feel the gentleness she so rarely permitted.

“I—” Vick started, voice breaking, but Heaven pressed a finger to her lips.

“No words,” Heaven whispered. “Just… this.”

Vick exhaled shakily, her massive frame relaxing fractionally, the muscles in her arms easing. The small skull rested forgotten in Heaven’s hands, now merely a symbol of their connection rather than the focus of attention.

For a moment, there was no past, no scars, no chaos—only the two of them, standing together in the golden light, the quiet forest surrounding them. Heaven and Vick, two halves of a fractured world, holding onto something real, fragile, and theirs.

And in that brief, perfect pause, Vick allowed herself to be seen—not the monster, not the hunter, just herself—and Heaven kissed her again, this time on the lips, sealing the promise that no matter what chaos came, they would navigate it together.

Chapter Text

The cabin smelled faintly of smoke and herbs as Vick stirred a pot on the stove. The chicken Alfredo from earlier in the week had been a hit, and now she was experimenting, adding small touches of seasoning she thought Heaven might like.

Heaven leaned against the doorway, arms crossed loosely, watching Vick move around the kitchen with that strange combination of precision and wild energy that made her impossible to look away from.

“You know…” Heaven said softly, trying to sound casual, “what animal do you… cook with?”

The words barely left her lips when Vick froze. Her large hands clenched on the handle of the pot, knuckles white against the wood. Her body tensed as if a trap had been sprung.

“What do you mean?” she asked, voice low, roughened by suspicion, eyes narrowing just slightly.

Heaven hesitated, realizing she might have touched on something far more sensitive than she’d intended. “I… I just—when you make meals like this… is it… is it something you hunted?” Her words trailed off, careful.

Vick’s jaw tightened. She didn’t answer immediately, simply turning her back to Heaven, stirring the pot slowly, deliberately, avoiding any eye contact. The silence between them was heavy, almost suffocating, broken only by the gentle simmering of the sauce.

Finally, she spoke, voice quieter, but still sharp. “You don’t… you don’t need to know everything. Some things… are mine.”

Heaven nodded slowly, stepping closer but keeping her distance. “I… I understand. I just… I worry about you.”

Vick’s large shoulders trembled just slightly, tension radiating outward, and then she let out a rough exhale, as if releasing steam she hadn’t even realized she was holding. “I know you do. And I… appreciate that. But some parts of me… aren’t meant to be shared.”

Heaven’s gaze softened, understanding more than she could say. “I don’t need to know everything,” she said. “Just… you.”

Vick’s massive form relaxed fractionally, turning her head just enough to meet Heaven’s eyes. There was a flicker there—trust, vulnerability, and the unspoken acknowledgment that some boundaries, even in intimacy, must remain.

The tension lingered, thick but bearable, as Vick continued cooking, Heaven silently watching. Words weren’t necessary. The quiet understanding between them said more than any conversation ever could.

And for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

The cabin’s floorboards creaked under Heaven’s careful steps as she descended into the basement. She had heard faint scraping noises earlier, the metallic tang of something sharp being handled, and her curiosity—always tempered by caution—had finally driven her to investigate.

The air was cold and heavy, tinged with the unmistakable scent of iron. Shadows pooled in every corner, and the dim light from the single hanging bulb flickered, casting trembling shapes across the walls.

Heaven froze mid-step, her stomach twisting violently. In front of her, a pile of bones sat on a makeshift table. Human bones. Cleaned, arranged, and unnervingly organized, some showing the faintest marks of carving.

Her breath caught, panic flaring in her chest. “Oh… oh my God…”

A sudden shuffle behind her made her spin around, heart hammering against her ribs.

Vick stood there. Massive, towering, terrifying—her hands slick with fresh blood, some smeared around the corners of her mouth. Her dark curls were matted, framing a face both wild and predatory.

“You shouldn’t have been down here,” Vick said softly, almost tenderly, but the edges of her voice carried a warning sharp as a blade.

Heaven’s throat tightened. She took a hesitant step back, clutching her shirt. “V-Vick… do you… do you eat… human meat?” Her words were trembling, but the question couldn’t be stopped.

Vick’s lips twitched, almost a smirk, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Some things,” she said finally, voice low, dangerous. “Some things… need to be taken care of. People who… wander into places they shouldn’t.”

Heaven’s knees wobbled. The warm, complex woman she knew—the one she had been holding, protecting, loving—was gone in this moment, replaced by the predator everyone else feared.

Vick stepped closer, looming over her, blood dripping from her fingers onto the concrete floor. “Curiosity can be dangerous,” she whispered. “You… have to be careful where you step.”

Heaven swallowed hard, shaking, trying to reconcile the creature before her with the Vick she had come to care for. “Y-You… you’re not… like this all the time,” she stammered.

Vick’s eyes softened just slightly, a flicker of the woman Heaven knew. “No,” she admitted, voice quieter. “But some parts of me… never really go away. And they remember. Always.”

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Heaven’s mind raced—how much of the woman she loved was intertwined with this darkness? How much was real, and how much was the monster she had tried to tame?

Vick tilted her head, watching Heaven’s fear and fascination flicker across her face. “I’ve told you before,” she said softly, almost coaxing, “monsters don’t disappear just because someone loves them. But…” She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Heaven’s cheek with bloodied fingers, careful despite their mess. “…sometimes love keeps them close enough that they don’t devour everything.”

Heaven shivered but didn’t pull away. The horror of the basement, the blood, the bones—all of it was terrifying. Yet somehow, the truth in Vick’s words, the dangerous honesty, held her rooted.

Vick leaned back slightly, giving Heaven a tiny, uneven smile. “Now… get out of here before curiosity kills you, too.”

Heaven backed toward the stairs slowly, heart pounding, mind spinning. She didn’t speak, only nodded, and slowly retreated, glancing back once to see Vick watching her with that unsettling mix of love and menace that no one else could understand.

Once the stairs were behind her, Heaven let out a long, shuddering breath. The woman she loved—and feared—was still Vick. And she was more terrifying than Heaven had ever imagined.

Chapter Text

The cabin was quiet that evening, too quiet. Vick paced the living room, massive hands gripping the edge of the wooden table, knuckles white. Her curls were damp from sweat as she muttered to herself, voice low and jagged.

Heaven sat on the far side of the room, knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. Her glasses reflected the dim light, and she didn’t meet Vick’s eyes.

“I… I can explain,” Vick said finally, her voice rough, strained. “You don’t… you can’t think about it like that. I’m—”

Heaven held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it right now, Vick.”

The words hit Vick like a punch. Her chest heaved, massive shoulders shaking with the effort to keep control. “You don’t… you don’t understand!” she shouted, but it was weak, desperate. “You… you can’t just—”

She cut herself off, choking back something primal that lurked beneath her skin. Her eyes darkened, pupils dilated. The hunger—the thoughts she had fought tooth and nail to keep under control—began clawing their way back to the surface.

The smell of blood. The thrill of taking. The rush of survival. The taste… the taste of someone else.

Her hands curled into fists, trembling as the cannibalistic impulses she’d suppressed for so long threatened to consume her entirely. Her mind raced with memories of the basement, the bones, the blood—visions she didn’t want, but couldn’t push away.

Heaven sat frozen, silent, watching the storm within her. Vick’s body trembled, voice cracking as she tried to speak, tried to reason, tried to pull herself back. “I… I’m—”

Heaven shook her head, barely above a whisper. “Not tonight, Vick. I… I can’t. I need space.”

The rejection hit Vick harder than any knife. Her massive frame sank to the floor, hair falling into her face, hiding the swirling darkness in her eyes. She pressed her hands to her temples, muttering, “No… no… no…”

Her heartbeat raced. The monstrous part of her, the part that lurked in the shadow of her love for Heaven, rose in a wave of panic and desperation. She could feel it taking over, coiling in her gut, whispering, you know what you want… you know what you need… they can’t stop you…

Vick clawed at the floor, digging her fingers into the wood as if to anchor herself to reality. Her sobs shook through her massive frame. “I… I can’t… I don’t… I don’t want to hurt you…”

Heaven’s silence was deafening, the space between them a chasm that Vick’s monstrous thoughts tried to fill. She was spiraling, caught between the love she craved and the dark hunger she had battled for years.

“I… I’m losing it…” Vick whispered, voice raw, almost broken. “I’m losing control… and you… you don’t even… I…”

Her hands dropped to her lap, trembling violently, and she buried her face in them, letting herself shake and sob. The cannibalistic thoughts surged, retreating only slightly as she clung to fragments of her love for Heaven—the one tether keeping her from complete collapse.

Hours passed like this. Vick’s body rocked back and forth, sobs echoing in the cabin, mind teetering on the edge of chaos. Heaven remained silent, distant, her own heart fractured by fear and sorrow, unwilling to enter the storm but unwilling to leave Vick entirely.

For now, they were separated by choice and fear—Heaven watching from afar, Vick trapped inside herself, battling the darkness she had never fully escaped.

And the cabin waited, heavy with silence, for the next inevitable confrontation—one that would test the boundaries between love, obsession, and the monster lurking beneath the surface.

Chapter Text

The forest had grown thick and wild over the months. Sunlight spilled in jagged beams through towering trees, shifting constantly with the wind. Vick had learned to move silently, her massive frame somehow blending into the shadows, muscles taut and always alert. She lived off the forest’s bounty—berries, roots, small creatures she could catch with her bare hands. Each day was a fight for survival, a way to outrun herself, to outrun the monster inside that had nearly claimed Heaven.

Her curls were tangled, streaked with mud and leaves, and her body was leaner, sharper, more attuned to the rhythms of the wild than it had been in months. Scars gleamed faintly beneath the grime on her skin, reminders of battles fought long ago, both with others and with herself.

Vick crouched beside a stream, lapping water greedily and watching the sun’s reflection ripple over her massive hands. The solitude was both balm and punishment. The forest didn’t question her, didn’t demand anything beyond survival, and yet it couldn’t heal what she had become—or the part of her she had left behind with Heaven.

Meanwhile, Heaven searched. She had scoured the edges of the forest, questioned locals who had glimpsed a towering, wild-haired figure, and spent long nights staring at the cabin that no longer held the woman she loved. Every lead, every shadow in the trees, became Vick to her eyes.

“Vick…” Heaven whispered into the wind one afternoon, kneeling by a creek where she thought she might catch a sign of her. “Where are you?”

The trees were silent, the birds still, but somewhere deep in the forest, Vick paused, muscles tensing. Her sharp ears had caught the familiar sound of Heaven’s voice carried by the wind. Her chest tightened—not with fear, not yet—but with the ache of longing.

Vick pressed her back to a tree, hiding among the underbrush, eyes scanning. She wanted to step forward, to call back, to abandon the forest’s harsh safety. But something deeper held her still: the fear that if she returned, she would lose control again, that the monster inside her would rise and consume everything she had fought to protect.

Days became weeks, weeks into months. Heaven never stopped looking. She left scraps of food near trails she suspected Vick might follow, whispered encouragements into the wind, and sometimes, late at night, collapsed against a tree, exhausted but unwilling to abandon her.

Vick watched from the shadows, observing the persistence, the love, and the patience that Heaven carried with her. Every time she glimpsed a figure in the distance or heard a familiar voice carried on the wind, her heart twisted, torn between the wild she had claimed for herself and the woman who had always held her, human and monstrous alike.

And somewhere deep in the forest, Vick wondered if she could ever return—not just to the cabin, but to Heaven, and to the fragile hope that someone could love both halves of her.

The forest held her secrets, and Heaven chased them relentlessly, two souls circling each other across the expanse of wilderness, separated by fear, love, and the darkness that lurked inside one of them.

Chapter Text

The forest was dense, alive with rustling leaves and the distant calls of birds. Heaven’s boots pressed softly against the damp earth, eyes scanning every shadow, every silhouette. She moved cautiously, calling out in a voice that was both soft and determined.

“Vick… it’s me. I’m here.”

The forest was silent at first. Then, from deeper among the trees, she heard it—a low, guttural grunt, almost animalistic. Another. And another.

Heaven froze, heart skipping. The sounds were unmistakably Vick, but wrong. Raw, unformed, and wild. It was as if the words she had known—those deep, rolling tones and rough, gravelly laugh—had been lost, replaced by something primal after months of isolation.

“Vick?” she said again, moving closer, hands raised in reassurance. “It’s me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The noises grew louder—grunts, whines, low growls. Vick was moving toward her, but not walking. She lumbered with an awkward, almost feral rhythm, her massive frame hunched, muscles tensed. Her curls were matted with dirt, sticks tangled in the dark brown waves. Her skin gleamed with sweat and the faint shimmer of dried mud.

Heaven stopped a few feet away, eyes wide. She noticed the way Vick’s chest rose and fell, muscles taut with tension. The massive shoulders that had once held her so carefully were now rounded, almost animalistic in their motion. Her hands flexed, fingers twitching as if poised for attack or play, indistinguishable in the rawness of her strength.

The sound of Vick’s grunts filled the clearing, punctuated by the scrape of her bare feet on roots and stones. Heaven’s eyes traced the lines of her body—the scars, the powerful arms, the legs that carried her through the forest, the sinew coiled beneath skin, all evidence of months surviving alone, untamed, and feral.

Her chest tightened with a mix of fear and something deeper—fascination, awe, and the unshakable bond she still felt for this woman, even in her terrifying new state.

“Vick… look at me,” Heaven said softly, taking a cautious step closer. “I’m not leaving. I just… I want to help.”

Vick paused, head tilting slightly, dark eyes scanning Heaven. Another low, curious grunt escaped her. She had forgotten the rhythm of human speech—the comfort of words—but the recognition in her gaze was undeniable.

Heaven swallowed, heart pounding. She could see it: the animal survival instincts, the raw, untamed power of Vick’s body—but beneath it, she still recognized the woman she loved. Every curve of muscle, every scar, every movement told the story of the Vick she knew, even if the voice had been lost to the wild.

And so Heaven waited. Not speaking, not moving too fast, simply watching, letting Vick approach on her own terms, giving her space to remember that the woman who had once held her, loved her, and lost herself to darkness was still there somewhere—buried beneath the feral strength and months of isolation.

The forest hummed around them. And in that tense, silent moment, two worlds—the wild and the human—stood face to face, teetering on the edge of trust, fear, and the fragile possibility of reunion.

Chapter Text

The road to the cabin felt strange to Vick after months of living among the trees, relying on instincts honed by hunger, survival, and solitude. Each step on solid, familiar ground felt foreign—softer, smoother, more predictable than the uneven forest floor she had claimed as home.

She paused at the edge of the clearing, staring at the cabin. The wooden walls seemed smaller now, too neat, too safe. Yet something inside her—a quiet, insistent tug—demanded that she go back. Not just for herself, but for Heaven.

Heaven appeared at the doorway even before Vick reached it, eyes lighting up with cautious hope. Her voice was low, gentle, and steady. “You’re back,” she said.

Vick’s lips twitched in a weak, almost feral smile. “Yeah,” she muttered, voice rough and unfamiliar after months of silence. “I… I’m back.”

The cabin smelled the same: pine-scented floors, lingering smoke from the stove, faint traces of herbs Heaven used. Vick hesitated at the threshold, letting her massive hands linger on the doorframe, as if grounding herself.

The first days were hard. Vick had to relearn everything she had once taken for granted: speaking clearly, moving in ways that didn’t draw suspicion, handling knives and tools with precision instead of brute force. She stumbled over words, grunted in frustration, and occasionally snarled at shadows that reminded her of prey in the forest.

Heaven was patient, never pushing, never shaming. She guided Vick gently, showing her how to handle everyday tasks again: cooking without slashing at the ingredients, sitting at a table instead of crouching on the floor, even brushing her hair without anger.

“You’re not a forest animal anymore,” Heaven said one evening, handing Vick a plate of food. “You’re home. And you can be yourself—both of you. The wild and the human.”

Vick took the plate, massive hands careful despite their strength. She nodded slowly, chewing, tasting, letting the comfort of routine seep into her muscles. “I… I forgot what this felt like,” she admitted quietly. “Being… normal.”

“Normal’s overrated,” Heaven replied softly, smiling. “I just want you safe. And… here. With me.”

Vick’s dark eyes flicked to Heaven, something feral and tender coexisting in that gaze. She let out a low grunt, more like agreement than speech, and for the first time in months, she didn’t flinch when Heaven reached for her hand.

They spent long evenings together, rebuilding their bond. Vick learned to move in the cabin without knocking over furniture, learned to cook with care instead of instinct, learned to speak without grunts or growls. Yet the wild edge never fully left her—the memory of months surviving alone, of hunting and relying on raw instincts, lingered in her muscles, in her eyes, in the way she sometimes flinched at sudden noises.

But each day, she grew stronger in a different way: as a human, as a partner, as someone who could live with the monster inside without letting it control her.

And Heaven was there at every step, patient, loving, and steady, teaching Vick that returning home didn’t mean losing herself—it meant learning to merge the wild and the tender, the dangerous and the soft, into something stronger, something lasting.

Vick leaned against the doorway one night, watching Heaven arrange blankets on the couch. Her body still bore the marks of her time in the forest—lean, strong, scarred—but her eyes were softer now, tempered with trust and the fragile promise of love.

For the first time in months, she allowed herself to hope that maybe, just maybe, she could be both the woman who had survived the forest—and the one who belonged beside Heaven.

Chapter Text

The cabin smelled of pine and warmth, the scent of cooking drifting softly through the air. Vick moved through it with a grace she hadn’t felt in months, limbs no longer tense, muscles relaxed but still powerful. Her curls were tamed, shining in the late afternoon light, and her dark eyes held a softness that had been absent during her long isolation.

Heaven watched from the doorway, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’ve changed,” she said gently, her voice full of affection.

Vick turned toward her, massive frame shifting easily on the wooden floor. There was a flicker of mischief in her dark eyes, but it was softer now, tempered with relief and warmth. “Yeah,” she replied, voice rolling smoothly over her words, the grunts and wild noises of the forest months ago gone. “I… I think I’m… me again.”

Heaven took a careful step closer, heart tightening as she took in the sight of the woman she had searched for, feared for, and never stopped loving. Vick’s scars were still visible, her size still formidable, but the wild tension that had dominated her body for months was gone.

Without a word, Vick closed the distance, her large hands brushing Heaven’s shoulders lightly, hesitating for only a moment before leaning in. Heaven’s breath caught as Vick pressed her lips to hers in a slow, deliberate kiss, one filled with gratitude, love, and the quiet pride of survival.

When Vick pulled back slightly, her massive hands still holding Heaven’s, her lips curved into a smile—soft, warm, and unmistakably hers. “I missed you,” she admitted, voice low, almost vulnerable, but full of honesty.

Heaven’s chest tightened, a smile breaking through her worry. “I missed you too,” she whispered.

Vick’s grin widened, more confident now, playful and affectionate. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere this time.”

Heaven laughed softly, relief flooding her as Vick pulled her into a gentle hug, massive arms wrapping around her. The cabin seemed to breathe with them, alive with warmth and the quiet promise of safety.

For the first time in months, the forest, the isolation, and the darkness felt like distant memories. Vick was back, fully herself again, and the love they shared—wild, dangerous, and unbreakable—was finally free to exist without fear.

And in that quiet moment, with Vick’s smile lighting the room and her strong arms around Heaven, everything felt like it could finally be okay.

Chapter Text

Night had settled around the cabin, the trees outside whispering with the wind. Inside, the fire burned low, painting the walls in soft orange light. Vick stretched out on the couch, her body finally at ease, a wool blanket thrown across her legs. Heaven curled against her, her smaller frame fitting easily beneath Vick’s arm.

For a long while, neither spoke. The only sound was the steady rhythm of their breathing and the faint crackle of wood in the stove.

Heaven rested her cheek against Vick’s chest, listening to the deep, slow heartbeat that she’d once feared she’d never hear again. “You’re warm,” she murmured.

Vick smiled, the motion soft and lazy. “You always say that.” Her voice had lost its harsh edge; it was almost tender now, a low rumble that vibrated through Heaven’s ear.

“Because it’s true,” Heaven said, smiling into the fabric of Vick’s shirt.

Vick shifted, pulling her closer, wrapping both arms around her as if to make sure she was really there. For so long, her strength had been something that hurt or frightened—but now it was gentle, protective. She pressed a kiss to Heaven’s hair first, then her forehead, and finally, slowly, to her lips.

It wasn’t desperate this time, or hungry. Just quiet. Steady. The kind of kiss that meant home.

Heaven sighed against her, fingers curling against the rough skin of Vick’s hand. “You really came back,” she whispered.

“I did,” Vick said, a smile touching her voice. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

They stayed like that until the fire burned low, Heaven tracing the scars on Vick’s arm with light fingertips, Vick humming something soft and tuneless against the top of her head. Outside, the wind moved through the pines; inside, there was nothing left but warmth, breathing, and the slow, certain beat of two hearts finally finding the same rhythm again.

Chapter Text

Seasons folded into one another until even the forest seemed to forget how many winters it had seen. The cabin that had once been a hiding place became a home. Vick rebuilt the porch, added a small garden where herbs and wildflowers grew side by side. Heaven kept notebooks filled with sketches and lists—what to plant, what to mend, what they wanted to try next spring.

Years went by like that. The rhythm of their days grew familiar: Vick rising first, splitting wood or fixing something with those patient, scar-laced hands; Heaven making coffee, her glasses fogging in the steam; both of them meeting on the steps when the sun came up. The forest no longer felt like a cage. It was a quiet neighbor.

Sometimes, on cold mornings, Vick would catch her reflection in the window and barely recognize the calm in her own eyes. Heaven would wrap her arms around her from behind and murmur, “You look more like yourself every day,” and Vick would laugh softly, the sound deep and genuine.

They dated the way people in cities might dream about—slowly, privately, with no one else in the world to interrupt. Heaven left little notes tucked into Vick’s workshop, and Vick built her small gifts: a wooden comb, a jewelry box, a wind chime that sang when the wind swept through the pines.

On the anniversary of Vick’s return, they lit a single candle on the porch and watched the light flicker against the trees. Heaven leaned her head on Vick’s shoulder. “We made it,” she whispered.

Vick nodded, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Yeah,” she said, smiling. “Guess monsters can have happy endings too.”

The years smoothed the rough edges between them, turning fear into trust, guilt into something softer. They still argued, still teased, still tested each other’s patience—but always ended the same way: sitting close, laughter easing back into the space between their hearts.

And as the forest breathed around them, two lives that had once been chaos settled into something steady—imperfect, human, and real.

Chapter Text

The bell above the shop door gave its familiar, metallic jingle as Heaven stepped inside, her arms full of sunflowers and a brown paper bag. The smell of the butcher shop—clean sawdust, iron, and spices—wrapped around her. It wasn’t unpleasant anymore; it was simply Vick’s world.

Behind the counter, Vick was working through an order, her sleeves rolled to the elbow, forearms dusted with fine streaks of flour and salt. The knives were lined up neatly, gleaming under the fluorescent light. She didn’t look up right away; she was humming to herself, the low tune vibrating softly through the room.

Heaven smiled and waited until Vick straightened to wipe her hands on a towel.
“You forgot something,” Heaven said, lifting the bag.

Vick’s eyes widened, then softened. “Ah, hell—my lunch again?” Her voice carried that familiar rasp that always made Heaven’s chest tighten.

“You’d live off coffee if I let you,” Heaven teased, setting the bag on the counter and pulling out the small bouquet. “And I brought these, too.”

The sunflowers looked bright and ridiculous against the cool steel and marble of the shop. For a moment Vick just stared at them, then laughed—deep, surprised, and genuine. “You brought flowers to a butcher shop?”

“Someone has to balance out all the sharp things,” Heaven said, grinning.

Vick took the flowers carefully, turning them in her hands as though they might break. “They’re beautiful,” she said after a moment. Then, quieter: “You’re beautiful.”

Heaven leaned across the counter, resting her chin in her hand. “Flattery’s not going to get you out of eating.”

Vick chuckled, shaking her head, and pulled the sandwich from the bag. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“Occupational hazard,” Heaven said. “Girlfriend of a workaholic.”

They talked while Vick ate, Heaven perched on a stool, the midday light catching the edges of her hair. Customers came and went, but for a few minutes, it was just them—the steady rhythm of knives and laughter, the smell of bread and herbs mixing with the sharp scent of steel.

When the shop quieted again, Vick reached across the counter and brushed a thumb across Heaven’s cheek. “Thanks for remembering me when I don’t,” she murmured.

Heaven smiled, leaning into her hand. “Always.”

Chapter Text

By the time the sun began to slide down behind the tree line, Vick had finished her shift, mopped down her counters, and wrapped her apron around a peg. The shop smelled faintly of smoke and rosemary from the jerky she’d hung earlier that week. Her truck waited out back, and in its bed were coolers—three of them—stuffed full.

When she reached home, Heaven was already outside on the porch, watering her potted herbs. The late light made her hair glow gold. She lifted a hand, spotting the coolers in Vick’s arms.

“That better not all be for us,” Heaven said, setting the watering can down with a raised brow.

Vick grinned, sweat glinting at her temples. “Technically, some of it’s for the freezer, some for curing, and some for you to judge me for.”

Heaven sighed but smiled, helping her carry the haul inside.

Inside, the house was warm, the faint scent of cedar smoke lingering from the stove. Vick set the coolers down with a heavy thunk on the counter and popped one open. Inside was a bounty of butcher’s pride—thick beef ribs, pale slabs of pork belly, chicken thighs neatly packaged, venison steaks dark as wine, and even two skinned rabbits wrapped in butcher paper.

Heaven raised an eyebrow. “You planning to feed an army?”

“Just us,” Vick said, already sorting through the cuts like a woman with a plan. “Or—maybe it’s me nesting. Hard to tell the difference anymore.”

“You’ve been nesting for years,” Heaven teased softly, leaning on the counter.

Vick’s grin faded into something smaller, more thoughtful. “Yeah,” she said after a moment. “Guess I finally got something worth nesting for.”

Heaven went quiet, her throat tightening in that familiar way when Vick said things too simply, too earnestly. She reached for one of the wrapped bundles and unfolded it. “This one’s deer?”

“Yup,” Vick said, already rinsing a knife. “Harvested it up north. Clean shot. You’d like the texture—lean, but not too dry.”

Heaven watched her work—the easy strength in her arms, the way she treated every piece with reverence. There was no violence in her movements anymore, only focus. Her hands were steady, her breath even.

As Vick began seasoning a few cuts, Heaven perched on the table behind her. “You still get… weird about handling it sometimes?”

Vick paused mid-motion, the spice jar hovering above the meat. “You mean—thinking about what it used to mean?” she asked softly.

Heaven nodded.

Vick let out a slow breath. “Sometimes, yeah. But not like before. It’s not hunger anymore—it’s work. It’s art.” She smiled faintly, rubbing salt between her fingers. “And you taught me there’s a difference.”

Heaven slid off the table and wrapped her arms around Vick from behind, resting her cheek against her shoulder. The heat from Vick’s body, the steady heartbeat under her chest—it all felt grounded, alive.

“What are you making?” Heaven murmured.

“Stew,” Vick said. “Big one. Enough to last all week. Maybe throw in a roast. You can help chop?”

Heaven grinned. “Only if you promise not to micromanage my knife skills again.”

“No promises,” Vick teased, bumping her hip back gently.

Hours passed like that—music playing low, the two of them chopping, seasoning, stirring. The kitchen filled with smells of garlic, thyme, and slow-cooked venison. The tension that had once defined them was gone, replaced by something quieter: rhythm, habit, devotion.

By the time they sat down to eat, Vick was grinning across the table, her hands still smelling faintly of smoke and sage. Heaven watched her, her chest full of something warm and heavy that she didn’t bother naming.

She finally reached across the table, curling her fingers around Vick’s rough hand.
“Promise me something,” Heaven said.

“Anything.”

“Don’t bring home twenty pounds again.”

Vick barked out a laugh, her eyes soft. “No promises there either.”

Chapter Text

The butcher shop always smelled faintly of smoke and spice—peppercorn, garlic, and the faint metallic tang of raw meat that never quite left the air. Heaven stood at the counter that morning, chin propped on her hand as she watched Vick through the open doorway to the back room.

Vick was in her element, apron dusted with flour and sawdust, her forearms streaked with red from cutting ribs. The short curls of her hair clung damply to her temple, and every time she leaned over the counter to lift something heavy, the muscles along her arms and shoulders flexed under her shirt. Heaven had seen it a thousand times, but it still managed to make her breath catch a little.

She was about to call out a playful “hey, muscles,” when the bell over the front door jingled.

A young woman stepped in—bright smile, glossy hair, that kind of confidence that clung to her like perfume. She was maybe mid-twenties, dressed a little too nicely for a butcher shop.

“Morning,” she chirped. “I’m here for my order. It’s under Lena.”

“Sure thing,” Vick said from behind the counter, wiping her hands on a rag before checking the list on the clipboard.

Heaven leaned back on her stool, arms folded, watching. There was a certain energy in the air—one Heaven recognized. The way Lena tucked a strand of hair behind her ear when she spoke, the way she leaned forward on her elbows a little too much.

“So,” Lena said, resting her chin on her hand, “how long have you worked here? You always seem to know your stuff.”

Vick chuckled softly, opening the fridge door and pulling out a wrapped parcel. “All my life, pretty much. Got an eye for cuts. Guess it comes naturally.”

“Oh, I bet you do.”

Heaven’s jaw tightened slightly. She didn’t want to make a scene—she wasn’t that person anymore. But she could feel that small ember of possessiveness spark somewhere deep in her chest.

When Lena leaned closer over the counter, brushing her fingers against Vick’s hand as she took the package, Heaven’s patience reached its end.

“Vick,” she called sweetly, hopping off her stool. “Baby, did you want me to grab the lunch I packed for you, or are you eating later?”

Both Vick and Lena looked up.

Vick blinked, caught off guard but smiling when she saw Heaven approaching. “Oh—uh, yeah, sure. I forgot you made something.”

“Of course you did,” Heaven said lightly, stepping up beside her. Then, as if it were the most natural gesture in the world, she reached up and brushed a curl off Vick’s forehead—her left hand very deliberately catching the light.

The diamond on her ring finger gleamed under the shop’s overhead lamps.

Lena’s smile faltered.

“Oh,” she said after a pause. “You’re—engaged?”

“Married soon,” Heaven replied with a saccharine smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “She’s mine. Permanently.”

Vick turned red, both embarrassed and endeared. “Heaven…” she murmured under her breath.

“What?” Heaven asked innocently. “It’s true.”

Lena’s laugh came out awkward and clipped. “Well—congratulations. I, uh—should go. Thanks for the order.”

Vick nodded, watching her leave before turning to Heaven with a half-smile. “You know, I could’ve handled that.”

“Oh, I know,” Heaven said, walking back toward the counter. “But I like handling it my way.”

Vick followed her, grinning now, unable to hide the warmth in her eyes. “You jealous, sunshine?”

Heaven shot her a look over her shoulder. “No. Just territorial.”

“Same thing.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was laughter hidden in it. “You’re impossible.”

Vick leaned over the counter, resting her chin on her hand, eyes soft and playful. “And you’re mine.”

Heaven’s lips curved into a small smile, her fingers brushing over Vick’s hand. “Damn right.”

Chapter Text

Saturday morning smelled like coffee and motor oil — the usual mix of Vick’s truck and Heaven’s early rising. Heaven had been up for an hour, humming to herself as she fixed her hair in the mirror, a glint of mischief already in her eye.

Vick stumbled out of the bedroom, rubbing her face with one scarred hand, hair sticking up in wild curls. “Mornin’,” she mumbled, voice still rough from sleep.

“Morning, sunshine,” Heaven said sweetly, already slipping on her shoes.

“Where we goin’?”

Heaven smiled without looking up. “Out.”

Vick narrowed her eyes. “Define ‘out.’”

“You’ll see.”

That tone — light, teasing, slightly dangerous — made Vick’s gut twist. Heaven only sounded like that when she was planning something for her. Or to her.

Half an hour later, they were parked outside a pastel-painted building with a sign that read “Blossom Nails & Spa.”

Vick stared at it. Then at Heaven. Then back at it.

“You’re jokin’.”

“Nope,” Heaven said, hopping out of the truck. “You’re getting a manicure.”

“Like hell I am,” Vick grunted, not budging.

“Oh, come on,” Heaven pleaded, leaning on the open window. “You’ve been cutting meat all week, your hands are rougher than sandpaper, and—” she reached in and gently took one of Vick’s hands, turning it over “—look at your nails. They look like you’ve been clawing your way out of a grave.”

Vick scowled. “That’s called character.”

“That’s called gross,” Heaven said, tugging on her hand. “Now, come on. You survived twelve states, a cabin in the woods, and me—this won’t kill you.”

It took nearly five minutes of coaxing, pouting, and a bribe involving Heaven’s famous banana bread before Vick finally caved.

When they walked in, the place was all soft music and floral perfume. Vick’s shoulders immediately tensed, her eyes darting around like she was in hostile territory.

Two nail techs looked up and smiled. “Welcome! Appointments?”

Heaven beamed. “Yes, for two.”

Vick muttered something about regret under her breath as they were guided to the chairs. Heaven slid easily into hers; Vick sat stiffly, legs spread, shoulders hunched, looking like a guard dog in a flower shop.

When the nail tech reached for her hands, Vick flinched instinctively.

“It’s okay,” Heaven said gently, reaching over to squeeze her arm. “They’re just gonna clean you up a bit.”

Vick exhaled through her nose. “Feels wrong lettin’ someone touch me like that.”

Heaven smiled softly. “That’s kinda the point. It’s supposed to feel nice.”

The tech began soaking Vick’s hands in warm water. Her fingers twitched. “Too warm?”

“No, just—” Vick’s brow furrowed as she watched bubbles rise. “Feels weird. Like I’m marinating.”

Heaven snorted into her sleeve. “You’re not being seasoned, babe.”

When the file came out, Vick visibly tensed again. “That a weapon?”

“It’s a nail file.”

“Still looks sharp.”

The nail tech hid a smile. Heaven leaned closer, whispering, “You’ve handled chainsaws and bone saws but can’t handle a nail file?”

Vick grumbled something incoherent but stayed still—mostly.

By the time the tech finished cleaning, trimming, and gently buffing the nails, Vick looked down at her hands with genuine awe. They were still calloused, scarred, but… softer somehow. Clean. Human.

Heaven watched her expression soften, a little smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“See?” Heaven said. “Wasn’t so bad.”

Vick huffed. “Feels… weird. Good weird. But weird.”

Heaven took her hand, thumb brushing over the smooth nails. “You look good.”

Vick’s ears flushed pink. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Heaven teased.

Vick sighed. “—I’ll take you back here next week.”

Heaven laughed so hard she nearly smudged her own polish.

Later, in the truck, Vick kept glancing at her hands on the steering wheel. “They’re too clean,” she muttered. “Can’t even take myself seriously.”

Heaven smiled softly, resting her head against the window. “Don’t worry. You’ll ruin them again by Monday.”

“Good,” Vick grunted, though the smile on her face said she didn’t mean it.

Chapter Text

By Sunday night, Heaven had made it her mission to protect Vick’s hands like they were national treasures.
“Don’t you dare touch the engine,” she’d said when Vick’s truck started coughing in the driveway.
“I’ll fix it later.”
“No.”
“You can’t just—”
Heaven had folded her arms. “Manicure protection protocol.”

Vick had muttered something about tyranny but still obeyed—mostly.

She tried. Really, she did. But Monday morning came, and with it, reality.

The butcher shop was already humming when she arrived before dawn. The air was cold enough that her breath came out white, and the scent of raw meat, salt, and sawdust hit her as soon as she unlocked the door. She slipped on her apron, washed her hands, and got to work.

At first, she was careful—delicate, even. She used tongs instead of her hands to move the heavier cuts. She handled knives with surgeon-level precision. But habits were hard to kill, and the morning rush didn’t help.

A customer asked for pork ribs trimmed and portioned. Another wanted a quartered deer shoulder. Someone else needed fifty pounds of ground beef before noon.

By ten, she wasn’t thinking about her nails anymore.

By eleven, she’d reopened an old scar on her palm.

By noon, her hands looked like they’d been through war.

She caught her reflection in the metal of the meat slicer—bloody apron, hair sticking out, arms spattered—and huffed out a half-laugh. “So much for soft hands,” she muttered.

At lunch, Heaven stopped by like she always did—bright as daylight in that dim shop, hair bouncing, lunch bag in hand.

“Hey, beautiful,” she greeted, walking behind the counter. “How’s my delicate, well-pampered lady doing tod—”

She froze mid-sentence, eyes dropping to Vick’s hands.

Vick grimaced. “Don’t start.”

Heaven sighed, setting down the bag. “Vick.”

“I know,” Vick said, flexing her fingers. Her palms were red and raw, tiny slices lined her knuckles, the buffed nails dulled and chipped. “They’re ruined. Again. You were right. I’m a lost cause.”

Heaven didn’t say anything for a moment. She just stepped closer, took Vick’s hand gently despite the grime, and turned it over in her own.

“You’re not a lost cause,” she said softly. “You just… do too much.”

Vick looked down at her, something shy in her eyes. “Don’t know how to not do too much.”

Heaven smiled faintly. “I know.”

She reached into the lunch bag and pulled out a little jar. “Hand balm,” she said. “Homemade. Honey, coconut oil, a little lavender. It’s not a spa, but…”

Vick raised a brow. “You made me lotion?”

“I made you something to stop your hands from turning into tree bark again.”

Vick snorted but let her rub it into her palms anyway. The scent of honey mixed with iron and smoke as Heaven worked the balm in slow, small circles.

After a while, Vick murmured, “You’re spoilin’ me.”

Heaven smiled without looking up. “Someone has to.”

Vick tilted her head, studying her. “You don’t gotta fix everything I break, y’know.”

“Maybe not,” Heaven said softly. “But I can make sure you stop bleeding on the kitchen counters.”

That got a laugh out of Vick—real, deep, and low. She leaned down and kissed Heaven’s forehead.

“Guess you’re stuck with a butcher,” she murmured.

Heaven looked up at her, eyes warm. “Guess I am.”

Chapter Text

Evening came easy that day.
The sun sank low over the treetops, casting long amber light through the kitchen windows. Heaven stood at the stove stirring a pot of something fragrant—onions, garlic, thyme, and butter all blending into warmth. Behind her, Vick worked at the counter, slicing vegetables with the steady rhythm that only years of knife work could bring.

For a while, the only sounds were the scrape of the knife and the soft simmer of broth.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Heaven said without turning.

Vick shrugged, her voice a low rumble. “Just tired. Good tired.”

“From what? You were done early today.”

Vick gave a small grunt. “You ever met a butcher who stops working just ‘cause they clock out?”

Heaven smiled faintly, shaking her head. “No, but I’ve met one who never knows when to stop.”

“I stop.”

“You sleep three hours a night, live off coffee, and think pain’s a sign of life,” she said lightly, but the words carried an edge.

Vick chuckled under her breath. “Guess you got me there.”

The knife kept moving, steady, sure—until it wasn’t.

It happened fast. A small twitch, a slip in focus, a dull thwack sound—then a pause.

Heaven turned just in time to see Vick freeze, staring down at her hand.

Blood welled up instantly across the pad of her thumb.

“Vick.” Heaven was beside her in seconds, grabbing a towel, pressing it to the wound.

“It’s nothin’,” Vick said softly, voice almost lazy with dismissal.

“It’s not nothing,” Heaven snapped, her heart pounding. “You’re bleeding again. God, Vick, this isn’t the first time—”

“I’ve had worse.”

“That’s the problem,” Heaven said sharply, looking up at her. “You always have worse.”

Vick blinked, startled by her tone. “It’s just a cut, Heaven.”

“You don’t even flinch anymore,” Heaven said, voice breaking. “You hurt yourself and you just—pretend it doesn’t matter. Like your body’s just another tool you can wear down.”

Vick looked away, the tension in her shoulders heavy. “It’s how I was raised,” she murmured. “Pain meant you were still doin’ something right.”

Heaven pressed the towel harder, her hands trembling slightly. “You’re not a tool, Vick. You’re—” She swallowed hard. “You’re not meant to be treated like that. Not even by you.”

The room went still except for the soft hiss of the stove.

After a long moment, Vick’s voice came quiet, raw. “Don’t know how to stop bein’ rough on myself. Feels… like the only thing I’m good at.”

Heaven’s chest ached. She reached up, brushing her fingers along the side of Vick’s face. “Then let me teach you something new.”

Vick’s eyes lifted to hers, hesitant. “Like what?”

“Like how to be gentle,” Heaven whispered.

For the first time in a long while, Vick didn’t argue. She just nodded faintly, let Heaven bandage her thumb, and stood there in silence while the stew simmered between them.

Later, when they sat down to eat, Vick kept glancing at the small white wrap around her hand—like it was proof of something she couldn’t quite name.

Heaven reached over, twining her fingers with Vick’s uninjured hand.

“See?” she murmured. “Doesn’t hurt to slow down.”

Vick exhaled through her nose, a soft smile ghosting her lips. “Still stings, though.”

“Good,” Heaven said. “Means you’re alive.”

Chapter Text

The house was too quiet.
It was the kind of silence that made the hair on Heaven’s arms stand up — thick, humming, unnatural.

She had come home early from town, a grocery bag still in one hand, expecting to find Vick in the workshop or asleep on the couch. Instead, the door to the basement stood open, and the faintest trace of metal and earth drifted up the stairs.

Heaven set the bag down slowly. “Vick?” she called.

No answer. Only the soft hum of the freezer below.

Step by step, she descended, one hand brushing the wall for balance. The air grew colder, heavier. Somewhere beneath the noise of her heartbeat, she thought she heard breathing — ragged, uneven.

When her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw Vick crouched on the floor, her back to the stairs. Her broad shoulders were shaking. Beside her was someone — a man, still, slumped against the wall. His shirt was torn, his head tilted at an odd angle, but Heaven could just make out a slow, shallow rise and fall of his chest.

Heaven froze halfway down the steps.

“Vick,” she said softly, almost pleading.

Vick turned. Her eyes were wide and wet, her face pale, streaked with grime and something darker she had tried to wipe away. “He—he came here,” she whispered hoarsely. “Wouldn’t leave. I didn’t mean to—”

Heaven rushed the rest of the way down, kneeling beside her. “Is he alive?”

Vick nodded, shaking, hands pressed against her thighs like she didn’t trust them. “He’s breathin’. I swear he’s breathin’. I didn’t—Heaven, I just got scared.”

Heaven pressed her fingers to the man’s neck; a pulse, faint but there. Relief hit her so fast she nearly cried.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. He’s alive. That’s good. We can fix this.”

Vick looked up at her with that same mix of terror and shame that always broke Heaven’s heart. “I messed up again.”

Heaven cupped her face gently, forcing her to meet her eyes. “We’ll get him help. And then you and I are going to talk about what scared you so bad you forgot how strong you are.”

Vick’s lower lip trembled. “You’re not gonna leave?”

Heaven shook her head. “Not tonight.”

Chapter Text

They sat on the floor of the basement, the dim light from the single overhead bulb casting long shadows against the walls. The man they’d found had been checked over and was now resting in the living room, conscious and breathing, leaving Heaven with Vick alone in the stillness of the basement.

Heaven studied her carefully. Vick’s hands were shaking slightly, gripping her knees like she might fall apart if she let go. But it was her eyes that caught Heaven’s attention—dark, wide, and sharp in a way that made Heaven’s stomach tighten. The usual warmth that melted around Heaven’s presence was there in part, but beneath it, something wild still lingered, untamed.

“Vick,” Heaven said softly, leaning closer, “look at me.”

Vick blinked, and for a moment, the crazed glint in her eyes dimmed—but only slightly. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, voice tight. “I… I didn’t mean for it to go like that.”

Heaven nodded slowly, keeping her voice calm. “I know you didn’t. But you have to see… that look in your eyes right now?” She reached out, brushing a hand across Vick’s scarred forearm. “That’s the part of you that scares even you. That’s the part you need to watch.”

Vick flinched, pulling back just a fraction. “I—I don’t know how to stop it,” she whispered.

“You can,” Heaven said, holding her gaze. “You’ve done it before. You’ve come back from… everything. But you can’t do it alone. You have to let me in, even when you feel it coming.”

Vick’s eyes flicked down, ashamed. “I—don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to scare you.”

Heaven tilted her head, letting her fingers trace a line under Vick’s chin until she looked up. “You won’t. Not if we’re honest with each other. Not if we face it together. But I need you to let me see everything, even the crazy edge. The wild, dangerous part. You can’t hide it from me.”

Vick’s lips trembled. Her voice was barely audible. “You… really still want me?”

Heaven leaned forward, placing her forehead against Vick’s. “I don’t just want you. I need you. The whole you. The scary, messy, stubborn you.”

For a long moment, Vick stayed still, letting herself be held, letting Heaven’s steady presence anchor her. The crazed look in her eyes softened, replaced with a fragile, raw vulnerability.

“I don’t know if I can always stop it,” Vick admitted finally.

“You won’t have to,” Heaven said, voice steady and unwavering. “Not alone. Not ever.”

And for the first time in hours, maybe days, Vick let herself breathe fully, leaning into Heaven’s arms, letting the tension drain from her muscles while the edge in her eyes faded just enough for her to remember who she was—and who she had with her.

Chapter Text

The house was quiet. The kind of quiet that felt sacred.
Only the soft hum of the heater and the whisper of Heaven’s breathing filled the space.

Vick sat at the edge of the bed, still in her work clothes, her hair a little damp from the shower she’d taken hours ago. She should’ve been asleep by now, but sleep had always felt like surrender—and Vick wasn’t ready to surrender yet. Not when Heaven looked like that.

The faint light of the bedside lamp painted Heaven’s skin in soft gold. Her hair spilled across the pillow, one hand curled against her chest, her engagement ring glinting every time she shifted. The sight of it made something ache and bloom inside Vick all at once.

Vick turned her gaze to her own hand—the simple men’s band, black diamonds catching the dim light, the carved initials small but deep. Their initials. H & V. The carving was uneven, a little rough in places. She’d done it herself, insisting on imperfection—because, as she’d said, “nothing real is ever flawless.”

Her thumb brushed over the engraving again and again. She could feel the faint ridges against her skin.

“I would die for her,” Vick thought.
Then, after a pause—
“I would kill for her.”

The thought didn’t shock her. It didn’t come from madness this time. It came from something quieter, darker, and steadier—a truth she’d known for years but never said aloud.

And then, the smallest smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“Either way… what bliss,” she murmured to herself.

A soft laugh escaped her—quiet enough not to wake Heaven, but real enough that it shook her shoulders. She tilted her head, shaking it slightly. “Oh great,” she whispered. “I sound like Gomez Addams.”

She ran her hands over her face, still smiling to herself. “What’s next, calling her Cara Mia while I sharpen knives?”

But the humor didn’t stop the weight that pressed against her chest. She looked back at Heaven again, and that familiar tenderness flooded through her—raw, protective, consuming.

Vick leaned over slowly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Heaven’s face. Heaven murmured something in her sleep, her brow furrowing slightly before relaxing again.

“God,” Vick breathed, her voice breaking into a whisper. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

She kissed Heaven’s temple—gentle, almost reverent—then sat back, twisting the ring one last time before finally sliding down beside her.

Heaven shifted in her sleep, her hand finding Vick’s chest instinctively. It was a small thing, but it rooted Vick to the moment. Her heartbeat slowed. Her breathing steadied.

She turned her head slightly, whispering one last thought into the dim room before letting herself drift:

“If madness brought me here, then maybe it was worth it.”

And as the clock ticked softly beside them, Vick smiled in the dark—half in love, half in awe, entirely hers.

Chapter Text

The kitchen smelled faintly of steel and oil. The low hum of the sharpener filled the room as Vick crouched on the floor, her broad shoulders flexing with every motion. Knives of every size glinted under the overhead light, carefully lined up on the counter as she honed their edges to perfection. She liked the rhythm—the scrape of metal against stone, the focus it demanded. It was meditative, precise… safe.

Until the footsteps came.

Heaven’s shadow fell across the doorway. She leaned casually, arms crossed, glasses catching the light, one eyebrow raised. “Morning,” she said.

Vick straightened immediately, turning with a small smirk on her scarred, rugged face. And without thinking, almost out of habit, she dropped the words she’d only ever whispered to herself at night:

“Yes, Cara Mia,” she said smoothly, voice low and almost teasing. “What do you need?”

Heaven froze, one hand mid-air. The faintest smile tugged at her lips, but her eyes widened in surprise.

Vick’s head tilted slowly, her grin faltering as the words hit her own ears. Her eyes went wide. “Oh… uh…” She coughed awkwardly, trying to regain composure while her hand still rested on the hilt of a chef’s knife. “…I mean—what did I just—”

Heaven stepped fully into the room, setting a hand on the edge of the counter. “You… just called me ‘Cara Mia,’” she said softly, a teasing glint in her eye.

Vick’s shoulders tensed, and her lips pressed into a thin line. “I… I didn’t mean it out loud,” she muttered, sliding her hand off the knife. “Just… slipped. Habit. Old habit. Late-night nonsense.”

Heaven laughed, soft and warm, walking closer. “So, it’s a nickname for me now?”

Vick’s blush was faint but visible against her usual rugged coloring. “No! I mean… yes. I don’t know. Not exactly. I—ugh, forget it!” She waved a hand, exasperated, and then muttered under her breath, “…Gomez Addams. Great. Just like Gomez.”

Heaven leaned against the counter, arms crossed, trying not to grin too widely. “You realize you’re supposed to scare people with knives, not serenade them with Italian love phrases?”

Vick growled softly, a mix of embarrassment and mock threat. “Shut up. Or I’ll carve you a steak you’ll never forget.”

Heaven chuckled, moving closer until she pressed a hand against Vick’s chest. “Oh, I don’t doubt it. But right now, all I can think about is how ridiculous you are.”

Vick exhaled, finally letting some tension slip from her shoulders. “Ridiculous,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I’m ridiculous.”

“Absolutely,” Heaven said, brushing her thumb across Vick’s scarred forearm. “But you’re my ridiculous. And honestly? I kinda like it.”

Vick’s grin returned, small but genuine this time, her dark eyes sparkling. “Fine,” she said, lowering herself back toward the knife sharpener. “But don’t ever tell anyone about this. Ever.”

Heaven leaned down, resting her chin near Vick’s shoulder. “My lips are sealed, Cara Mia.”

Vick froze again, realizing exactly what she’d just said. Her hand hovered over the steel, eyes wide. “…Oh, hell no.”

Heaven just laughed, shaking her head, letting the teasing linger in the air between them, warm and familiar, as the knives gleamed quietly beside them.

Chapter Text

The barbershop’s mirror was rimmed with dust and old posters, the hum of clippers filling the small space. Vick sat stiffly in the chair, trying to pretend she wasn’t nervous, her thick curls sectioned and twisted with expert fingers. The barber worked quickly, shaping the sides clean and leaving the top just long enough for small, tight twists that framed her scarred face.

When it was done, she looked… different. Sharper, somehow. Younger, too. The harshness of her scars contrasted with the softness of the new style, the twist pattern neat and deliberate.

Heaven stood behind her, eyes wide, hands clasped to her chest. “Oh, Vick…” she whispered. “You look—”

Vick’s brow furrowed, embarrassed already. “Don’t say cute. Don’t you dare say—”

“—beautiful,” Heaven finished softly, ignoring her warning.

Vick blinked, lips parting slightly. “I—uh…” She rubbed the back of her neck, the short hair there still prickling. “You really think so?”

Heaven nodded, smiling so warmly it made Vick’s stomach twist in the best way. “Yeah. You really are.”

On the way home, Heaven kept stealing glances at her, fingers twitching like she wanted to reach over and touch her hair but didn’t want to ruin the style. Vick caught her once and grinned. “If you want to touch it, just do it.”

Heaven flushed but said nothing.

When they got home, Vick was still fidgeting—picking at the edge of the fresh fade, trying to get used to how bare her neck felt. She didn’t even notice Heaven watching her from across the room until Heaven stood up and walked toward her with purpose.

Vick barely got a word out. “What’re you—”

“Come here,” Heaven said simply, her voice low but steady.

She took Vick by the hand and led her toward their room, her grip firm but not rough, her expression unreadable.

Vick’s pulse quickened—not in fear, but in surprise. “Heaven…?” she managed, voice soft, uncertain.

Heaven turned back, eyes flicking over her face with something between tenderness and frustration. “You spend so much time thinking about what’s wrong with you,” she said quietly. “Just let me remind you what’s right.”

Vick didn’t argue. Couldn’t, really. The look in Heaven’s eyes silenced her more effectively than any words could.

When the door clicked shut behind them, Vick’s shoulders finally dropped. Her guard melted, the tension she carried like armor slipping away. Heaven reached up and brushed her fingers through the new twists, smiling softly when Vick leaned into the touch.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” Heaven whispered. “Just be mine.”

Vick swallowed hard, her voice rough when she finally spoke. “That… I can do.”

Chapter Text

The house smelled faintly of linseed oil and turpentine. The windows were open, curtains breathing with the wind, carrying in the scent of pine and cold air. Heaven followed the faint sounds of music—soft, almost mournful piano notes—down the hallway.

She pushed the studio door open, expecting to find Vick hunched over her workbench or sharpening something. Instead, she found her standing before a tall canvas, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back, smudges of color streaking her forearms and cheek.

Vick didn’t hear her at first. She was lost in her rhythm—brush gliding, stepping back, squinting, dabbing another line of gold or crimson. Her breathing was heavy, as if the act itself took everything out of her.

Heaven took a step closer and froze.

The painting stole her breath.

At its center stood a woman—her—bathed in soft light, a halo faintly shimmering above her head. Her dress was made of silken folds, the color of clouds, and behind her stretched wings that seemed both fragile and eternal, layered in silver and pearl.

In her arms, she cradled a lamb.

But the lamb’s wool was streaked with red, its side torn open where flowers—delicate and bright—bloomed from the wound. Around its neck hung scraps of fur, rough and gray, like the pelt of a wolf trying to protect it.

The meadow behind them was wild and beautiful, full of life and decay at once—roses and foxgloves, bones and feathers, all caught in the same golden light.

Heaven took another step, voice small. “Vick… is that… me?”

Vick startled, turning sharply, brush still in hand. Her face went pink, caught halfway between guilt and pride. “I—uh… yeah. Sort of.” She looked back at the painting, then at Heaven again. “It’s how I see you.”

Heaven’s lips parted, but she didn’t speak.

Vick’s voice softened, rough but careful. “You’re the angel. Always have been. No matter what I’ve done, no matter how bad I get, you—” she gestured vaguely at the wings, “—you still hold me like I’m something worth saving.”

Heaven’s gaze drifted to the lamb. “And that’s you?”

Vick nodded once, jaw tight. “Yeah. The lamb that wears the wolf’s hide. Scary. Loud. But inside…” She trailed off, eyes darkening as she looked at her own hands. “Inside, I’m just trying not to bleed out.”

Heaven stepped closer to the canvas. “The flowers coming out of the wound…”

“Growth,” Vick said quietly. “Beauty in something broken. You did that.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The music continued faintly in the background, the soft brush of wind through the curtains filling the silence between heartbeats.

Heaven turned toward Vick then, eyes shining with something deep and aching. “You see all that when you look at me?”

Vick gave a small, crooked smile. “Every day.”

Heaven reached up, fingertips brushing a streak of paint from Vick’s cheek. “You make monsters and angels sound like they were meant to share the same sky.”

“Maybe they were,” Vick murmured.

Heaven smiled faintly, turning back to the painting, the halo catching the light. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “You’re beautiful, Vick.”

Vick let out a shaky laugh, suddenly aware of the paint, the mess, the vulnerability of having her heart on a canvas. “I was just… trying to tell the truth.”

Heaven looked at her again, steady and full of warmth. “You did.”

Chapter Text

Evening settled quietly over the cabin. The sky outside had turned the color of bruised lavender, and the scent of rain hung heavy in the air. Heaven sat on the worn sofa, the painting of the angel and the lamb still vivid in her mind.

Vick was pacing. Not fast, but restless—the kind of movement that meant her head was full. Every few seconds, she’d stop, glance toward the back wall of the studio, and mutter something under her breath.

Heaven tilted her head. “You’re hiding something.”

Vick froze mid-step. “…No, I’m not.”

Heaven smiled. “You can’t lie to me, Vick. You’re too obvious.”

Vick rubbed the back of her neck, her face coloring slightly. “It’s not hiding, exactly. More like… not showing.”

“Show me,” Heaven said softly.

Vick hesitated for a long moment, then sighed—resigned. “Fine. But you can’t laugh, or… or think I’m weird, okay?”

“I already think you’re weird,” Heaven said gently, standing. “But in the best way.”

That earned her a small, reluctant grin. Vick walked to the far side of the room and pulled aside an old sheet draped over several large canvases. The motion stirred up a cloud of dust, and beneath it, a whole line of paintings stood in silence, their colors muted in the low light.

Heaven stepped closer, her breath catching.

The first painting showed her standing beneath a storm, lightning curling through clouds like veins of silver. Her hands were raised, palms out, catching rain as if she could command it. In the background, faint but unmistakable, was Vick’s silhouette—kneeling, watching her.

“That one’s called Stormcatcher,” Vick said, rubbing the back of her hand across her forehead. “Because that’s what you do. You take all the chaos I throw around and you—hold it.”

Heaven swallowed hard, eyes drifting to the next one.

This painting was different—darker. Heaven was painted with streaks of red across her dress, her face turned upward toward a dim sun. Behind her stood shadows—vague, indistinct, but they all leaned toward her light.

“What’s this one called?” Heaven asked quietly.

“Sanctuary.” Vick’s voice was softer now. “Because when the world gets too loud, that’s what you are. You don’t even have to try.”

Heaven didn’t speak. She couldn’t. The emotion pressed too hard against her chest.

And then she turned to the last painting.

It was smaller than the others. The brushwork was looser, more personal, like it had been painted late at night in a rush of feeling. In it, Heaven and Vick sat side by side on the porch, hands barely touching. No halos, no storms, no blood or symbolism—just the soft, real quiet of the life they’d built.

“That one’s my favorite,” Vick admitted, almost shy. “It’s called Us. I figured… sometimes you don’t need all the metaphors. Sometimes it’s enough just to be.”

Heaven turned toward her then, eyes glistening. “You paint me like I’m something holy.”

Vick shrugged, looking anywhere but her. “You are. At least to me.”

Heaven stepped forward until she was close enough to touch her. “You know what I see when I look at these?”

Vick’s voice caught. “What?”

“A woman who finally learned how to love something without breaking it.”

Vick’s throat worked, but no words came. So Heaven reached out, taking her paint-stained hand, and pressed it to her chest. “That’s you, Vick. The art’s just proof.”

Vick let out a breath that trembled into a laugh. “You always say the most dangerous things.”

Heaven smiled faintly. “Only the true ones.”

The rain started outside, tapping gently against the windowpanes. The paintings glowed softly under the dim light, like quiet confessions finally allowed to breathe.