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loverontheleft · 5 years ago

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Ready to Leap (Chapter 45)

AU with B as a band teacher and reader as an English teacher. Fluff, some smut, and a whole lotta angst. Chapters 1-44 can be found on my Masterlist in my bio. Brendon x reader.

Warnings: So...we’ve (@beautiful-tragic-fallout) created a points system for smut. 0.25 for an attempted handjob 0.25 for fingering 0.5 for offering to blow him 0.5 for going down on her 0.75-1.0 for sex, vanilla 1.5-2.0 for sex, advanced positions 3.0 for bondage, spanking, other kinks, or public sex. This chapter has a score of 1 as far as smut is concerned, with some other references to sex, along with language, trauma, death, and general angst.

It’s a 9 on the angst scale, though @glitter-gloom was prompted to ask, “then what’s your 10?!”

A special loving “fuck you” to @beautiful-tragic-fallout for the song suggestion, and another special loving “fuck you” to Brendon himself for singing said song and utterly destroying me.

I did proofread this several times but usually got so upset that I was distracted. Any errors are my own. One day (when this is all done) I’m going to re-read and edit each chapter and repost them to AO3.

Word count: 13.3k

Buckle up.

-||-

You stare at him hungrily as the juices drip down his fingers. He moans and you whimper as the tip of his tongue traces each finger carefully and you whine when he meets your eyes. “This is porn,” you tell him, desperate.

“No, it’s not,” he replies, dipping his hand down again before offering his fingers to you. “It’s an indulgence.” You suck at them greedily and he grunts when your tongue twists and pulls them deeper into “your hot, wet mouth,” Brendon manages, heavy eyes locked on yours. You free his fingers and grin, leaning in to kiss him softly.

“You had a little bit smeared on your face,” you tell him with a smile, giggling when he looks offended.

“I sure did and I was saving it for later when I was hungry!” You both laugh and he nuzzles your nose with his. “Does my pretty girl want another?” You tilt your head, considering. “Don’t be coy, Y/n. You’re my wife and I know you. You want another.” He waggles his eyebrows at you and you blush as you nod. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it? But,” and he yawns, “I think this is the last one.”

“Baby, if it’s the last one,” you say. “You should have it. You know I love- but-“ He shakes his head, pressing closer. You protest a little, telling him you want him to have it, and he winks at you before he takes the opportunity to push the tip into your mouth and you moan, caving and parting your lips for him.

Finishing and licking your lips, you shake your head, laughing, as he drops the stem from the last chocolate-covered strawberry back into the box resting on the couch in your new living room. “Good?” He asks, smiling softly at you. You nod and he leans in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “You had a little bit smeared,” he teases.

You latch your fingers around his neck and pull him back in for a longer kiss. “It was a trap,” you murmur against his lips. “Wanted to get you close so I could steal some kisses.”

“You get all of my kisses forever,” he assures you. “Not stealing. Taking what is rightfully yours.” He runs his hands down your back and presses his thumbs into the base of your spine, making your toes curl. “You looked like you needed it,” he tells you, and you nod, wiggling a little. “Hips?” He asks and when you nod, he shifts his hands forward and rubs gentle circles over your hips. “Soon,” he tells you, and you rest your forehead against his.

“Soon,” you agree, smiling. “It’s not so bad,” you say with resolve and he gives you a dubious look. “Okay, yeah, my back is killing me and sleep is nonexistent and I feel like I’m gonna tip over at any minute and I either need to pee or need to sleep because those are my only two modes, and I haven’t seen my feet in four months and my nipples are actually killing me and I would murder for a California roll right now with a glass of white wine but- “ you stop, take a deep breath, and smile at him. “But she’s worth it.”

“Thank you,” Brendon says sincerely, kissing your forehead. You give him a confused look and he smiles. “Thank you for taking such good care of our baby.” He gives you a serious look now. “We need to discuss something important.” You raise an eyebrow, amused at the look on his face. “What do you want as a push present?”

You burst out laughing and hit him on the shoulder. “Don’t scare me like that,” you say through gasps of laughter. “I thought something was really wrong! Damn it, Brendon!” You’re still laughing, wiping the tears that formed from your eyes. “Besides,” you add. “You already picked it out. The other half of the halo to my engagement ring,” you remind him. “Remember? That plus my wedding band make a full halo.”

“Mmmm,” Brendon purrs, “a full halo for my angel.” You stare at each other for a long moment before he chuckles. “Sorry, that was so cheesy. That was bad.”

“I can’t have cheese either,” you whine, prompted by his apology, and he kisses your forehead, promising you all the sushi and pizza you can eat once everything is over. “I want stuffed crust,” you tell him. “Cheese and bacon. Both.” “You got it. An extra-large cheese pizza with bacon-and-cheese stuffed crust.” He grins and you nod decisively. “Anything else? California rolls, you want some Philly rolls, crazy rolls, firecrackers?”

“All of that,” you moan, clinging to his shirt now. “All of that.” He promises and when you yawn, he asks if you want to go to bed. “Yes please,” you say, craving the comfort of the smooth sheets under your body and the relaxing feeling of his arms around you, even if you won’t get any sleep.

“Alright, hold tight. Lemme put this in the trash and set the alarm. I’ll be right back.” He stands and winks at you as he walks to the kitchen, now-empty strawberry box in his hand. You wait for him to return and when he does, he offers you both hands to help you up. “Bath or anything?”

“Just bed, I think,” you say with another yawn. He taps your ass lightly with two fingers and you giggle, turning to give him a playful look. “Can I help you?” You tease and he fakes a wounded look as you hit the second floor and push open your bedroom door.

“Can’t I just touch you because I like you?” Brendon asks, grinning as soon as you start wiggling out of all of your clothes except for the maternity leggings. They’ve been so comfortable and you’ve fallen in love with them; this is the sixth pair Brendon has bought you since he found out how much you loved them. “And because I like what you’re doing?” He leans against the wall and nods approvingly, catching your eye and blowing you a kiss. “Pretty, baby,” he murmurs. You roll your eyes and he looks offended. “Uh, what was that?”

“I am many things right now,” you say lightly as you scrape your hair back to keep it out of your face while you sleep. “But pretty isn’t one of them.” You blink back the tears that are forming and Brendon launches himself off the wall and towards you to take you in his arms.

“Love,” he whispers, cupping your face in both hands now. “You are consistently the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And maybe I’m biased because I love you and you’re having our baby, but I don’t think I am. You’re gorgeous, my love. I know you don’t feel well now and you’re tired and sore and -“ he cuts himself off, shaking his head a little and guiding you over to the full-length mirror. He stands behind you, hands wrapped protectively around you. “Look at your hair. Watching you walk is like watching a shampoo commercial. A high-end shampoo commercial.” You giggle and he leans forward to kiss your cheek. “Gorgeous. Your eyes are bright and shine so sweetly, and I fall in love with you more every time I see you. Darling, your skin is soft and clear; I never want to stop touching you. Oh, baby, you’re fucking glowing. You’re beautiful.” His hands move lower to cup your breasts and you meet his eyes in the mirror. He smiles as he thumbs over your nipples. “No complaints here. But you’ve always been perfect in this regard as far as I’m concerned.” He kisses your neck now and moves his hands lower to curve over the swell of your stomach. “You know what I see when I look at you and see all that you are?”

“God, she looks tired and could pop any day?” You venture, your voice cracking a little with fatigue. Brendon sighs and holds you a little tighter.

“I think, ‘that gorgeous woman puts up with me and is giving me the best gift I could ever ask for. That woman is my wife and she’s carrying our child. That gorgeous woman likes me enough to have frequent enough sex with me to conceive a child!” He nudges you playfully.

“It only takes one time,” you say, but he can see in your eyes that he’s getting through to you. You sigh. “Thank you. I’m sorry I’m being irra-“

“Don’t say you were being irrational, my love,” Brendon says gently, turning you around and taking both of your hands in his. “I fully understand why you feel the way you do. Your body is going through major changes and I can’t even begin to imagine the physical stress -“ he cuts himself off. “I just mean, you’re not irrational. You’re not pulling these complaints from anywhere; you’re allowed to be stressed and upset and everything else. Just know that I’m looking at you from the outside and I think you’re absolutely gorgeous and I love you.”

“I love you,” you reply, leaning into his embrace. You’re both silent for a moment, his hands moving slowly, soothingly over your back. “Can we go to bed now?” Your voice is soft and Brendon nods, leading you over and sitting beside you while you snuggle into the giant body pillow that was delivered early last month before contorting his body around the outside of it so you can still feel his arms around you. “I might actually get some sleep tonight,” you murmur, and Brendon says to wake him up if you can’t fall asleep.

“You know the drill,” he says, kissing your shoulder. “We’re in this together, in all ways, always.” -||- “Alright, here’s the deal,” you say, leaning against your whiteboard, both hands over your stomach as you eye your first block. “There are six days left of school. You have exams in two days. I am very pregnant.” You raise an eyebrow. “So you’re going to study quietly going through that study guide you picked up on the way into class and ask me questions are needed. I am going to sit at my desk and relax.”

They all nod and get to work as you silently thank god for their behavior - maybe half of them are actually working and the other half are on their phones, but you can’t force them to study. And, you tell yourself, more importantly, you can’t force them to care. And as long as they’re not disturbing the people around them, you’re content to let them do as they please. You answer the few questions aimed your way and tidy up your desk as best you can from a seated position.

“Oh!” You’re taken aback by the sudden pain in your lower back and everyone’s eyes shoot to you. “I’m-“ you try to say that you’re fine as you wave your hand to dispel their worries, but the cramping sensation hits you hard and you wince, clutching at the desk instead.

“Should we go get someone?” Anna asks nervously, and you shake your head. There’s a beat of silence. “Are you sure?” She’s tentative and you consider before giving in and nodding. “I’ll call an ambulance,” she decides and you shake your head emphatically.

“No, just go get Bren - Mr. Urie,” you say, closing your eyes. “I don’t need - there’s no point in going to the hospital now. It’ll be hours,” you insist. “Just - someone go to the main office and someone go get Mr. Urie.” You sit back and close your eyes, counting silently to yourself. It’s a five-minute walk to his room if you’re taking your time; he’ll be rushing. You predict he’ll be beside you in less than three minutes. All you have to do is count to one hundred eighty. You can do that.

You’re at one hundred thirty-two when your classroom door opens and you open your eyes. Relief floods your body when you see him and he hurtles towards you. He drops to his knees beside your chair and takes your hand. “Do we need to go?” He asks, his face calm despite his hurried movements. You shake your head and he gives you a look. “Maybe not to the hospital, but do you want to go home?” This hadn’t crossed your mind. You pause, then nod. “Okay, let me call up to the-“ but he’s cut off by one of the secretaries coming into the room.

“You go,” she waves you both towards the door. “Christy is headed to the band room. You’re both good to go.” Wincing again, you stand and Brendon wraps an arm around your waist. “Good luck,” she says in a bright tone and you smile, but it probably comes across more like a grimace. -||-

“You’re still counting?” Brendon looks at you as you stretch out on the bed and watch him pack your overnight bag. The sun has set, you’ve eaten a few small snacks, and you’ve been timing your contractions for the past seven hours. You nod and he smiles softly at you. “Good. You’re doing so good.” He comes over to kiss you gently. “I love you, Y/n.” You return the kiss and squeeze his hand, inhaling sharply when another contraction hits. “You just tell me when it's time to go, okay? Brendon whispers, rubbing your hand. You nod, gritting your teeth and groaning, sitting up and swinging your legs off the bed. “Honey-?”

“Just wanna walk a little,” you tell him, pressing both hands to your lower back. “Just wanna - oh fuck,” you gasp and double over, clawing at the bedspread. Brendon is at your side in an instant, helping you back towards the bed. “That was a bad one,” you manage, whining low in the back of your throat. “Oh- fuck - Brendon I think-“ you fall to your knees, groaning. “Water,” You stammer, and he grabs the cup on the bedside table. “No,” you shake your head, gesturing at your body. “Water...broke,” you repeat more emphatically, barely getting the words out through the pain. His eyes widen and he drops down beside you.

“Time to go?” He asks, cupping your face in his hand. You nod and he helps you to your feet. “Do you want me to take you to the car and get it started then come back for the bags?”

“Yes,” you nod, grimacing. “I feel gross.” He brushes his lips over your forehead.

“You don’t look gross. You look like my gorgeous wife who needs to be in the car.” You agree and as you start walking toward the door, you stop.

“Towel,” you tell him, meeting his eyes. He looks confused and then nods as understanding registers behind his eyes and he doubles back to grab a towel. The stairs are slow-going; you find yourself stopping and breathing hard through the pain. “Next time,” you whimper, “don’t let me go upstairs. Next time, we’re gonna wait it out downstairs.”

“I like that you’re still referencing a next time,” Brendon chuckles, letting you clench his hand in yours. You groan and he stops laughing. “Sorry, my love. You just tell me what you need.”

“I need to be in the car,” you whine, and Brendon nods, turning to face you on the stairs - he’s been in front of you with a hand stretched back over his shoulder for you to hold. He squeezes your hand to get your attention and when you open your eyes, he offers to carry you. “That seems like a bad idea,” you tell him, and he shakes his head.

“We’re already halfway down. I’ll just scoop you up and get you down the stairs,” he assures you.

“And what about when we fall down the stairs?” You raise an eyebrow. “No. Keep moving, that one has passed. We can keep going.” Carefully, one step at a time, you make it to the first floor and you whine, clawing at him, bringing him close. “Now you can carry me to the car,” you tell him, and he nods, lifting you off of your feet and heading to the door.

“Wait right here,” he says, and you pull him in for a kiss. “I’m gonna go grab the bag. You don’t move, okay?” You tell him you won’t move as you spread the towel down over the seat and settle yourself in the car carefully. Brendon is back sooner than expected, tosses the bag in the backseat, and flings himself into the driver’s seat. “Ready?” He looks at you and you nod, back arching in pain.

“Just drive,” you tell him through gritted teeth. -||- “Alright,” the nurse, Cheryl, claps her hands. “All set. We’ll monitor your vitals with this,” she gestures towards the machine, “and you have this,” as she presses a call button into your hand, “in case you need anything. Dad,” she turns to Brendon now. “Your job is to monitor the contractions using this,” she points at another machine with two lines graphing across the screen, “and those,” she gestures at the belts she’s just put in place, “and do whatever she asks.” She smiles slightly but then drops the expression to show she’s not kidding. “She can get up and change position but if she wants to go for a walk, let us know because we’ll need to remove the belts. Sometimes women find it helpful to lean over the bed and have you massage their hips, pelvis, and lower back.” Brendon produces the massage rollers from the overnight bag and Cheryl smiles at him approvingly. She turns to you. “He’s good.”

“Yeah,” you agree, closing your eyes. “He is.” You shift a little and Brendon takes your hand. You squeeze it and smile before the breath is knocked out of your body from the contraction. Cheryl takes the opportunity to demonstrate to Brendon the way the machine graphs the baby’s heart rate and the contraction strength as you clench his hand and groan wordlessly. “Shitshitshitshitshit - sorry,” you say quickly once it’s passed, and she waves her hand, telling you she’s heard worse.

“And you will probably hear worse tonight,” Brendon says with a soft laugh. “Quite the mouth on this one.” He leans down and kisses the top of your head and you shoot him a playfully dirty look. Cheryl smiles at you both and leaves the room, leaving the door cracked an inch or two. “Alright, love,” Brendon says, sitting down in the chair and scooting closer. “What can I do?” You wiggle a little in place and frown, telling him the pillow feels weird and he’s on his feet, adjusting and shifting and pushing it down to provide more lower-back support. “Better?” You nod, visibly more comfortable. “Good. You just say the word and I’ll make whatever you need happen,” he assures you. “You’re doing so well.” You nod and close your eyes, biting your lip as another contraction hits. His eyes dart to the screen and his shoulders slump in relief when the heartbeat line is in the normal range. Because of the IUD and the risks involved, they’re monitoring constantly. You’re squeezing his hand, whimpering, and he stands to smooth his hand over your forehead. You press your head into his touch and he smiles. “Hang in there, love,” he murmurs. “I’m right here.”

“Fuck,” you groan, eyes opening. “Hurts.” As it passes, you slump back down and look at him. “Distract me?”

“Of course.” Brendon sits down beside you again, still holding your hand. “I’ve got books, I’ve got music, I’ve got cards, whatever you want. We can turn on the tv and see what’s on,” Brendon offers and you think, closing your eyes. “Book, I think.”

“My nerd,” he teases, grinning at you. “Lemme grab one. You want me to read to you?” You nod and hear him settle back in the chair and the satisfying crack of a book spine. “In my younger and more vulnerable years, my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since…”

“Gatsby?” You perk up. “I love this book.”

“I know, babydoll,” Brendon says with a smile. “You want to read on your own or-“ he pauses as you shake your head. “Okay, I’ll keep going. It’s okay if you fall asleep, Y/n,” he reassures you.

“I don’t see that happening, but thank you,” you tell him, closing your eyes and focusing on your husband’s voice as he reads aloud to you.

Brendon’s made it to chapter 3 and while you really want to listen, the ache in your back is becoming excruciating. He looks up and sees the pain all over your face. “Love, what can I do?” He’s on his feet, book abandoned in the chair. “Do you want the massager?”

“Please,” you groan, and he helps you to your feet. “Okay, yes,” you mutter as you lean over the bed and rest your hands flat on the mattress. Brendon asks if you want the regular or cold one and you think. “Let’s try the cold,” you decide finally. Brendon nods and you hear him unzip the mini soft-sided cooler packed with ice and massage-roller attachments. He snaps one into place and rolls it a few times in his hand before caressing your side and rolling the massager over your lower back. “Oh god, that’s so good,” you whimper, breathing hard through the contraction. “Yes back and forth like that oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck -“

“Pelvis?” He offers after a moment and you nod, letting him assist you back into bed. You kick the blankets down and he slides the cool device over your pelvis slowly. “Better?” He asks, and you nod again.

“Better. Not good, but better.” You close your eyes. “Can you turn on the TV?” Brendon moves quickly and grabs the remote, pointing at the TV, before going back to his previous task of massaging. As it turns on, you furrow your brow. “Is this…?”

“The Mighty Ducks,” Brendon confirms, settling back in his chair. “I can change it?” But you tell him it’s fine and besides his adjusting of pillows and passing you water and massaging, you’re both still and focused on the movie.

“I want to have this baby before the movie is over,” you tell him. He laughs and says he can be on board with that. “Where the fuck is that epidural?” The ferocity of the question startles both of you and Brendon offers to go grab the nurse but you shake your head. “Please don’t leave me, I’m sorry,” you groan, and he sits back down, moving the icy massager over your upper thighs soothingly.

“Don’t apologize, honey. You’re doing so good. I’m not gonna go anywhere.” As if appearing at your request, Cheryl comes bustling in with a middle-aged man, who introduces himself as Dr. Wilson. “Are you the anesthesiologist?” Brendon asks, and Dr. Wilson nods. You swear in relief and Brendon smiles at you. “See, babydoll? Ask and ye shall receive.”

Cheryl and Brendon help you sit up and lean forward so that Dr. Wilson can apply the numbing cream to your lower back. “You’re going to feel some pressure,” he tells you after about ten minutes when he’s sure you’re numb, and you nod, gripping Brendon’s hand. He adjusts so he can find the right place and you meet Brendon’s eyes. He lifts your hand to his lips and kisses your fingers softly. You smile. “Can you feel this? And does it hurt?” Dr. Wilson asks, and you tell him you can feel him pushing but it doesn’t hurt. “Good,” he says soothingly. “Take a deep breath in for me…” you inhale and you feel the pressure intensify for a moment. “Good. You should feel some relief in about twenty minutes or so. You’re going to feel a warm, numb sensation in your lower back and legs. Just keep breathing.”

Time moves at a glacial pace for the next twenty minutes and Brendon holds both of your hands, his forehead against yours, whispering to you sweetly. “I think,” you mumble, “I think it’s kicking in,” you tell Brendon. “Yeah,” you add a few minutes later. “It’s good.”

“Good?” Brendon looks relieved and you nod. “Good,” he repeats, leaning in to kiss you gently. “Want you to be as comfortable as possible.”

Cheryl grins a little but quickly adjusts her face. She knows what you know. There’s no comfortable - only less pain. -||-

“I swear to god,” you gasp, squeezing Brendon’s hand tightly. “I just want this all to be over, please!” He wraps one arm around your back to help prop you up and you whine, resting your head on his shoulder. You have no idea how much time has passed, but you’re pretty sure this is the fourth time The Mighty Ducks has played. Either that or you’ve actually lost it. “Surely I’m at ten centi-“

“You’re fully dilated,” Cheryl announces, smiling up at you. “About time to start pushing!” You look at Brendon with wild, panic-filled eyes and he squeezes your hand.

“You’re gonna be great. I’m right here, babydoll. I’m right here with you. You yell and scream and curse as much as you want,” he tells you. You whimper and he must be able to read your mind because he presses his lips to yours briefly. “You’re absolutely strong enough. You’re wonderful and amazing and you’re about to give birth to our baby girl. I am right here with you and I love you,” Brendon says with confidence.

“Okay,” you whisper, letting Brendon and Cheryl help you into a better position as your ob-gyn comes bustling into the room, snapping her gloves on. She looks up at you both with twinkling eyes.

“Who’s ready to have a baby?” -||-

“One more, honey,” Brendon tells you, wiping your hair out of your eyes. “You’re doing so good; one more big push, okay?”

“Fuck you,” you spit, breathing hard and closing your eyes. “I’m sorry - I didn’t mean-“

“It’s okay, Y/n,” he tells you with a smile. “It’s okay. Push once more, okay? You’re so strong. Doing so good. I love you so much, my sweet girl. Breathe, love.” You take a deep breath the way he’s coaching and he smiles. “Good, honey. Keep breathing. Ready?” He meets your eyes and you nod, teeth leaving deep divots in your lower lip. It feels like your entire body is ripping apart and on fire and you can’t help the scream that tears from you, but you feel his hand holding yours, and you know it’s almost done, she’s almost here. -||-

“I think,” Brendon murmurs, as he settles next to you in bed and Cheryl places your daughter, washed and swaddled, on your chest, “she is the most beautiful baby to ever be born.” You nod, eyes locked on her, memorizing every detail of her face. She’s got dark lashes resting on tiny cheeks, a perfect button nose, little rosebud mouth, and her minuscule fist is clenched around your pinky. “She is,” you agree, resting your head on his shoulder. He reaches out and traces her nose.

“She has your nose,” he tells you, and you nod, running the index finger of the other hand over the dark hair gracing her head.

“She has your hair,” you respond, nuzzling into his shoulder. He shifts a little and kisses your temple, both of you staring at her in awe. A long moment passes and he nudges you.

“What are you thinking about for a name?”

You don’t miss a beat. “Dr. Jim Wilson,” you say firmly. Brendon pauses. He turns a little to look you in the eye, asking if you’re serious. “Of course I’m serious,” you say, staring him down. “That epidural was the shit. We need to honor that man.”

“Okay,” Brendon shrugs. “I can live with that. Dr. Jim Wilson Urie.” He gives you a sly smile. “I think I know what middle name I want,” he tells you. You blink. “Just listen. It’s so good. Ready? ...Dr. Jim Wilson McKayleigh Keightlinne Urie.”

You blink slowly and grin at him. “Okay, I hear how crazy I am. Dr. Jim Wilson is a terrible name for our daughter. Your point has been made.” He laughs and leans over to kiss you softly. “Mmmmm, I missed that,” you whisper, moaning happily when he tangles his hand in your hair and holds you close, resting his forehead against yours.

“I feel like I shouldn’t be making out with you in front of our daughter. Not for at least another thirteen years when we’re trying to embarrass her in front of her friends. So let’s choose a name instead,” Brendon says with a chuckle, winking at you.

“I’ve been thinking,” you say softly, meeting his eyes, still caressing her soft hair. “What do you think about Olivia Hayden?”

He stares at you. “That’s gorgeous, Y/n. Honestly. I love it.” You ask him if he’s sure, and he nods. “It’s gorgeous. It’s perfect, because she’s gorgeous, just like her mother.” You blush and he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “And now that we’ve settled on that...Should I order that pizza? And those sushi rolls?”

“Oh fuck yes.” -||-

“That was the best pizza I’ve ever had,” you groan, stretching your arms above your head. Gingerly you roll onto your side and wince before shifting back to lying on your back. Brendon’s arm is slung around your shoulders and he grins when you giggle as he plays with your hair.

“Happy?” He asks, and you nod, gesturing between your daughter in her bassinet beside the two of you and the empty pizza box and sushi container on the other side table.

“How could I not be?” You smile radiantly and yawn, snuggling down into his embrace. He laughs and thanks you for pointing at Olivia first and not the food. You roll your eyes. “Listen, Urie,” you say, poking him teasingly in the chest. “ I have my priorities in order.”

“Yeah?” He smirks at you. “And where do I, your charming husband, fall on said priority list?”

You pretend to think, giggling. “Before Pizza but after sushi,” you tease, and he gasps playfully, warning you that you are in for a spanking. You open your eyes wider, laughing harder. “You wouldn’t - not in front of the baby,” you say in mock-horror.

“Mmmm, no,” Brendon agrees, kissing your cheek. “But when we get home, you’re gonna get what you’ve earned. She’s gotta sleep eventually.” -||-

“She’s gotta sleep eventually, right?” Brendon asks, fatigue evident in his eyes. You nod as you hold Olivia securely and bounce in place slightly, trying to soothe her. “Here, Y/n,” he says as he stands from the rocker. “Try rocking again.” You’d tried that first and when it didn’t work, you stood up to pace the room with her, Brendon slumped in the chair, exhausted.

“I don’t think it’ll work,” you sigh, but you settle into the chair anyway. He stands behind the chair and starts rubbing your shoulders. “Oooh,” you sigh, rolling your head back. “That’s nice...Bren...don't stop but - this is supposed to be about Miss Olivia Hayden here, not me…”

“Mmmm,” Brendon murmurs, using his thumbs to press gently into the base of your neck, the way that he knows will make your toes curl. “But if my wife is relaxed, then my daughter will probably feel more relaxed.” You smile and tell him it feels too good to argue his point. “So don’t argue, my love,” he says, and you can hear your husband smile. “Just enjoy.”

“Oh,” you moan quietly, “I am.” He chuckles and keeps working at your shoulders and neck as you rock, and before either of you realize it, Olivia is quiet and snuggled into your arms, sound asleep. “I hope you know what you got yourself into,” you tease quietly, allowing him to help you to your feet. “If this works, you’ve committed to giving me shoulder rubs for a long time.” Brendon grins and says that’s hardly a trial for him. You thank him and he gives you an affectionate peck on the lips. Gently, you walk back to your bedroom to place her in the bassinet beside your bed.

She doesn’t wake; her small lips part and she lets out the tiniest sigh that makes you gasp out loud and turn to Brendon in wonder. “We have a baby,” you tell him, face shining. He smiles and kisses your lips softly, reminding you that you’ve had a baby for two weeks now. “Still,” you wave aside his point. “A baby. Our baby.” You trace an outline around her sleeping form with two fingers and stare at him with shining eyes.

“Our baby,” Brendon agrees, pulling back the covers and helping you into bed. His arms twine around your waist and you relax against his touch. “How long again before we can work at having another?” You can feel him smile against your shoulder, obviously teasing, and you giggle, turning to face him. “Four more weeks?”

“Uh huh,” you confirm, pressing closer. “Four more weeks. But you know,” you say softly, letting a hand move down his chest. “That’s just for...sex-sex.” Brendon raises an eyebrow and you laugh, shoving him playfully. “Shut up,” you say. “You know what I mean. Anything...uh…in-“

“I can’t finger, lick, suck, or fuck you for four weeks,” Brendon says, resignation all over his face. You nod. “Damn, that’s the longest we’ve ever gone.”

“I can still blow you,” you offer, wrapping a hand around his stiffening cock inside his sweatpants. “I don’t mind.” Brendon shakes his head sweetly, telling you that he’s not gonna get off if you can’t.

“We’re in this together,” he reminds you, kissing you again. “In all ways, always.” You smile and rest your head on his chest. “I love both of my girls,” he whispers.

“Both of your girls love you,” you reply softly, letting your eyes flutter closed. You’re both exhausted and with Olivia sound asleep, you know better than to take the time for granted.

When you wake up, the bed is empty and Olivia is missing from the bassinet. You stumble downstairs and find Brendon in the kitchen with your daughter nestled in the crook of his arm, a bottle in the other hand. “Who’s my gorgeous girl?” He coos at her, laughing delightedly when she blinks up at him almost knowingly. “My other gorgeous girl,” he says when he sees you leaning in the doorway. “Olivia darling, your mother is awake.”

You hold out your arms for her and Brendon passes her off easily, snaking his now-free arm around your waist and pulling you closer for a soft kiss. “Good morning,” you murmur against his lips. “Thank you for letting me sleep.” He shrugs and says you needed it and he wanted to get breakfast started. Your face lights up and he hands you her bottle so he can return to the chocolate chip pancakes.

“What does my wonderful wife have planned for myself and our darling daughter on this lovely Saturday?” Brendon inquires as he places a stack of pancakes in the center of the table. Olivia finishes her bottle and you praise her, lifting her to eye-level and she stares at you, intensely focused on your face.

“After breakfast, I thought we’d do some tummy time,” you tell him, and Brendon smiles. “Miss Olivia here has made it up to a whole minute, hasn’t she? Hasn’t she? Who’s my big strong girl? And then some reading. Maybe some music if you’re up to it.” You’re rocking her idly and Brendon leans down to kiss the top of her head, saying that he’s always ready to sing for his daughter.

“She’s perfect,” he tells you, and you nod, your heart near bursting when she grabs at your pinky finger. She stares at you with her large chocolate brown eyes that look exactly like her father’s and you realize once again how much you love this child.

You settle on the couch on your back and place Olivia on your stomach, letting her practice lifting her head and praising her every time she does. A minute goes by and you lift her up carefully, shifting under her so she’s seated in your lap and reclining against you. Brendon brings you the basket with the collection of cloth and board books you’ve already amassed and you select the soft black and white one with crinkly pages. You angle the book so she can see the big animals and you read aloud to her as Brendon finishes cleaning up the pancakes and warms up at the piano.

You’re still holding her but now you’re seated in the oversized armchair near the piano, watching her face move from alert to at peace to deep sleep as Brendon plays through the classic lullabies he’s been looking up in his downtime. “Is she asleep?” He asks softly, still moving his hands over the keys. You nod and he jerks his head towards the stairs. “We should take advantage of that then,” he suggests. “Put her in her bassinet and sleep for as long as we can.” You nod and, carefully, you stand and head for the stairs. She stays asleep for the next blissful forty-five minutes, during which you and Brendon doze beside her in your bed, stretched out over the comforter, tangled together. -||-

“You’re a whole month old today Miss Olivia Hayden!” You announce to your daughter as you scoop her from her bassinet. “Such a big girl!” You bounce her on your hip before wrinkling your nose. “Does the big girl need a new diaper?” She blinks back at you and reaches for your face solemnly. You laugh and rub your nose against hers. “Mommy is taking that as a yes,” you declare.

“And Daddy,” Brendon says as he sweeps into the room and plucks her from your arms, “is taking care of the new diaper. Because Mommy,” and he winks at you, “hasn’t slept since last night and could use a break.” He whisks her into the nursery and you drop into bed, half-asleep before your head hits the pillow. You’re lingering in a state of mostly asleep but not resting, on the alert for when your daughter will need you, and Brendon comes back into the room with Olivia snug in his arms. He sits on the edge of the bed and you open your eyes sleepily. “We’re going to go to the park,” he tells you. “Walk around for a little bit, look at the ducks.” You start to get up, knowing how much Olivia loves looking at the ducks in the pond from her stroller, and he gives you a look. “You’re going to rest, m’dear. You need it. I love you so much but you’ve been running yourself ragged, so let me take our darling daughter here out for the afternoon. You catch up on sleep and take a nice bath when you wake up. I left out a bath bomb and Gatsby for you. We’ll be back later and have dinner. And yes,” he smiles at you, “I packed her bag and I have her afternoon bottle and new diapers and wipes and a change of clothes and everything. Don’t worry. Just rest.”

“You’re amazing,” you mumble, and he smiles, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. “Thank you so much.” You wave goodbye to Olivia, but she only has eyes for Brendon at this moment. You smile to yourself and roll over, clutching the pillow to your chest.

It could be five minutes later or it could be five hours when you wake up. You blink and try to focus in the dim light of the setting sun. As though prompted, you hear the front door click open, the security alarm beep, and the reassuring sound of the positive chirp when Brendon keys in the code. His footsteps are light on the stairs and you yawn, smiling softly when he comes into the room. “You’re back,” you say, and he nods, winking at you, reminding you that he’s always going to come back.

He’s holding a sound-asleep Olivia and after a few moments in the nursery, he comes back empty-handed and crawls into bed to join you. “Gina is gonna babysit for us tomorrow night,” he tells you, stroking your hair. “Gonna take you out on a real date.” He sees the look on your face and laughs. “Or maybe we’ll just snuggle up on the couch worry-free for a few hours.”

“No, a date does sound good,” you reassure him. “I just need to shower and put some effort into,” and you gesture at your body half-heartedly, “this.”

“Hey,” Brendon whispers, rolling on top of you and pinning your hands over your head so he can kiss you deeply. You relent as his mouth moves over yours, your ankles locked around his waist. It feels like forever since he’s been able to kiss you like this; it’s been soft pecks and quick presses of lips to temples, foreheads, and hair in passing. You’ve both been so wrapped up with Olivia and you don’t begrudge the fact, but you’ve missed him touching you and holding you like this. He must have missed it too, you realize, when he moans against your lips and you’re both growing more and more heated. He’s freed your hands but you’re clutching at each other now, pulling at clothes, moving against each other, desperate for more. He pulls away suddenly to stare at you. “You’re gorgeous. You’re my perfect, gorgeous wife and I love you more every day. You gave me that sweet baby in there, and I’ll love you both with everything I have forever. You don’t need to put in any effort. You’re my perfect wife, my dream girl.”

“Thank you,” you mumble, still flushed from the embrace. You meet his eyes. “I’m still gonna shower though.” He laughs and kisses you again, telling you he’ll never keep you from a shower, and in fact, he just might join you -||-

“You know what today is?” Brendon gives you a meaningful smile. You tilt your head to one side playfully, waiting for him to finish the thought. “Today,” he murmurs, sliding closer to you in bed as Olivia coos sleepily from her bassinet, “our darling daughter is six weeks old.” You feign ignorance, and Brendon grins. “Today is the first day, per doctor’s recommendation, that I can take care of you.”

You decide to keep messing with him. “Brendon, you’ve been taking care of me and Olivia for the past six weeks. You’ve been such a great father.”

“Thank you, but not what I meant.” He pulls you against him so he can nibble on your neck. “I meant,” he murmurs against your skin, “that today is the first day in a long time that I can get those perfect thighs wrapped around my head.” He grins up at you and you pretend to be horrified at the idea of sex. “Don’t even try it, Y/n, I know you miss my mouth.” He tries to look smug and you laugh but concede the point. “I know what else you missed too,” he adds.

“Now I think I see where this is going,” you say with a grin as you trail a hand down his chest and into his sweatpants. You stroke him firmly, relishing how he grunts and bucks into your grasp. “But do we really have to wait til tonight?”

Brendon groans and kisses you hard. “No, Y/n. We don’t.” You moan and stroke him faster, your hips moving subconsciously. “Don’t worry, love. I'm gonna make it so good,” he promises, and you believe him. -||-

“You know,” Brendon mumbles as he rolls onto his back and you shift with him, pressing lazy kisses to his neck and shoulder and collar bone, “call me crazy but...and no offense intended, I think the sex might be even better now.” He looks down at you, inquisitive. “I know it’s only been two weeks since we started having sex again, but I think I can safely say, it’s fucking phenomenal.”

“Mmmm,” you agree, still kissing him and tracing hearts on his stomach. “Read an article on that,” and Brendon interrupts you, saying that of course you read an article on sex, his gorgeous, dirty nerd, and you poke him playfully. “Aaaaaanyway,” you continue with a grin, “apparently sex does get better after pregnancy. I’m more...sensitive,” you murmur and you giggle when his fingers dip into you, “and apparently things...well. Let’s just day all that pressure from the baby plus hours of pushing shifted some things internally which can make it easier for you to rub against my g-spot.”

“Oh really?” Brendon rolls over on top of you now, kissing you longingly. “Is that so?” You nod and he slides his fingers in further, curling back, watching in satisfaction as your eyes go wide and your hips move. “God, you’re so sexy,” Brendon whispers, eyes on yours. “Be good and come on my fingers, Y/n. Come on my fingers now and I’ll give you my cock later.” You whine and spread your legs wider for him.

“Take your time,” you tell him. “Olivia is down for her afternoon nap. We have probably an hour.” He nods and kisses your neck as his fingers go deep. “Oh fuck,” you gasp, bucking up against him. “I love you so fucking much.” -||-

You’re almost sound asleep after a long day at the park, Olivia shrieking with glee when the ducks float by, you and Brendon walking with your hands tangled together as he pushes the stroller. It’s late; you’ve already made and cleaned up dinner and Brendon has given Olivia a bath before passing her off to you for one last bedtime story. You’re both exhausted so you’re barely conscious when you hear Brendon stumbling into the nursery when the baby monitor crackles. You pick your head up lazily, listening for his soft singing to her as he picks her up and carries her back into your room.

But the singing doesn’t come. You lift your head higher, confused, wondering what he’s doing, and your heart clenches when you hear his strangled cry. “Y/n, call 911,” he shouts, and you’re on your feet, grabbing at your phone, frantically punching the code into your phone and dialing 911. You fly into the room and Brendon is leaning over Olivia on the changing table, muttering and cursing under his breath. “She’s not breathing,” he tells you, and you let out a frightened sob.

The operator is speaking calmly, asking you for your address, asking you for details, and you are getting more and more panicked after you’ve given the address, so you just put him on speakerphone and thrust it at Brendon. “I heard a sound on the monitor and I went to check on her and she wasn’t responding and -“ he chokes back a sob and the operator takes over, giving level instructions, making sure her head is in a neutral position and to lift her chin.

You confirm that she is, and the operator tells Brendon to take a breath, then cover the baby's mouth and nose with his mouth, making sure it's sealed. She tells you that if he can't cover both the mouth and nose at the same time, just seal one with his mouth.

She tells him to blow a breath steadily into Olivia’s mouth and nose over one second. He should blow enough to make her chest visibly rise. Once he’s done that, you need to keep her head tilted and chin lifted and he can take his mouth away and watch for her chest to fall as air comes out.

You tell Brendon that the operator says to take another breath and repeat this sequence four more times. “Please, please just send help,” you sob, and the operator assures you that she dispatched an ambulance as soon as you gave her the address and they’re en route.

“She’s not responding,” Brendon whispers and you can hear the anguish in his voice. You whirl around, phone in your hand, snapping at him to keep trying. “I’m not going to stop,” he promises you. “I’m not going to stop.”

It feels like hours later when the flashing lights and screaming sirens rent the night and you and Brendon are flying down the stairs to meet the paramedics as they cross the front lawn. “She’s so cold,” you whimper, clinging to Brendon’s arm as the first EMT reaches out to take Olivia from his arms. “Save my baby,” you plead, your voice breaking, and Brendon wraps an arm around you and leads you back inside.

Two paramedics are kneeling over her on the hardwood floor of the living room and Brendon is holding you back, his arms tight around you as you sob and reach for her.

From that point forward, everything speeds up but it feels like your body is frozen. Brendon is still holding you, now on the couch, rocking you back and forth as you both sob; yours loud and heaving, his silent and wracking his whole body. The lead EMT won’t let you touch Olivia; she’s on the floor with a blanket over her. “My baby,” you wail, your voice hoarse, your gestures feeble. “She’s so cold and she’s probably scared; please just let me hold my baby!”

The detective, O’Brien, comes in and takes you from Brendon’s arms gently, leading you to the kitchen. He presses a cup of coffee into your shaking hands and you stare into it. “I don’t know what happened,” you say in a dull voice. “We woke up to the baby monitor making a funny noise and Brendon went to check on her. The next thing I heard was him yelling for me to call 911. This is a nightmare.”

He nods and asks a few more questions until you catch on and your head snaps up from your coffee to stare at him. “Are you asking me if my husband hurt my daughter?” He gives you a blank look as though to keep you talking and you recoil from him. “Never. He would never. You’ve never seen a man who adored his child more. He would never.” You’re shaking your head adamantly.

“Okay,” O’Brien says coolly, eyes still on yours. “So what happened?” He’s quiet and you fall silent. “I think I’d like to talk to your husband now, Mrs. Urie.” His voice is soft and you nod, tears pooling.

“Can I see my baby?” You’re broken, coffee sloshing over the edge of your mug as your hands shake. “I want to see my baby.”

“Yes, but the paramedics may have already taken-“

You let out a strangled sob and rush back to the living room, the coffee mug shattering at your feet. You’re not even aware of the scalding liquid splashing against your shins and ankles; the breath is knocked out of you when you see him. Brendon is on his knees where Olivia was, clutching the blanket that the paramedics had used to cover her small body. “Where is she?” You’re screaming now, and Brendon stares up at you, tears pouring, eyes swollen.

“They took her they wouldn’t let me hold her they took her from me and I begged them to wait begged them to wait for you I said you’d want to hold oh god baby she’s gone they took her I couldn’t stop them oh fuck,” Brendon chokes on the tears and you’re on your knees next to him. “Don’t fucking touch her,” Brendon snaps when O’Brien reaches out to you to get your attention and you burrow into Brendon’s arms, sobs bordering on shrieks of anguish.

“Mr. Urie,” O’Brien says softly, switching his focus.

Brendon‘s eyes find his, glaring at the detective. “What?” He spits, trembling all over. “What could you possibly need from me right now? What could possibly be so urgent that you take me from my wife right now? You’ve already taken her last opportunity to hold her child; you don’t get to take me from her right now.” His eyes are narrowed in loathing, and you shudder, clinging to him.

“I need to hear from you what happened.” The detective rocks back on his heels. “It won’t take long.”

“I’m not leaving Y/n.” He’s adamant on this, and O’Brien sighs, settling into the chair across the room from you two. “Ask me anything you want, but do not take me from my wife at this moment.” You’re shaking, the image of your baby under her pale pink blanket burned in the back of your eyelids.

“Did you hurt your daughter?”

“Fuck you,” you snap without looking at him, and Brendon kisses the top of your head, his eyes locked on the other man.

“No,” he says simply. “No. I tried to save my daughter. I tried to be a good-“ his voice breaks and you wail, collapsing and burying your face in his knees. “Father.” Brendon manages. “I tried to be a good father and save my daughter.” -||-

You’re huddled together in the coroner's office several days later, clinging to each other. She settles behind her desk and sighs, steepling her fingers together in front of her mouth. When she meets your eyes, you can see the pain and regret there. “Just tell me,” you whisper, clenching his hand in both of yours. You know she’s done an autopsy; you know the detectives have to explore the possibility of - you won’t let yourself finish that thought because you know there’s no merit to it. “Just tell us.”

“SIDS,” she says softly, closing her eyes. “I’m so sorry.” You believe her. She has no answers to your pleas of how this could happen, or what went wrong, or what you could have possibly done differently, but what she can tell you is that it probably wasn’t anything to do with the IUD. It isn’t a consolation. “We truly don’t have answers when it comes to this. It doesn’t make any sense,” she offers, wincing when you utter a soft whimper.

“Can we see her?” Brendon asks as his last question, his voice laced with pain. You echo the question, trembling. She nods and stands again, leading you into a separate room. The tiny form under the sheet makes you stumble and clutch at Brendon’s arm as you both let out audible gasps of pain. The coroner looks to you both and Brendon looks at you and you nod. He turns back to her. “Go ahead.” He inhales sharply and you bury your face in his chest when she pulls the sheet.

“Her skin,” you whimper, reaching out to trace the stitches that try to mask the cuts the doctor made in efforts to prove - or disprove - the police officers’ theory. “She was perfect. And they’ve -” ‘Mutilated her’ are the words you can’t choke out; you’re horrified and heartbroken and it feels like the walls are closing in on you.

Brendon wraps both arms around you tightly and presses his lips to your temple as he chokes back his sobs. “She still is perfect,” Brendon manages, stroking your hair. “She’s perfect. She’s our perfect angel.”

You’re numb as Brendon works through the details of releasing her body to a funeral home; he selects one that promises quick and respectful preparation and will pick up from the hospital. You nod dully when he asks you soft questions and stare at your hands. “She was perfect,” you repeat softly. “All the ways things could have gone wrong from the very beginning and she fought - she was - she was our perfect baby,” you whimper. “It’s not fair.”

“It never is. I’m so sorry, I wish there was something I could say.” the coroner offers and you fix her with a level stare, conscious of the tears rolling down your cheeks. You don’t need an audience; you don’t need her response. This isn’t for her benefit.

Brendon holds you tightly with one hand as he signs the last sheet she’s pushed toward him. “Let me take you home,” he says in a low voice. Standing on shaking legs, you let him lead you back to the waiting car. You’re riding together in silence, your fingers locked together on the center console. “I think,” he says gently, “when we get home, we should each have a cup of tea and then take a nap.”

“I’m not going to sleep,” you say simply. ”If I had been awake, none of this would have happened.” He sighs and leans over at the red light to kiss your temple. You whimper as he makes contact and he sighs again, telling you that you know that isn’t true. You shrug, staring blankly ahead. “True or not, I’m not going to sleep. I won’t be able to sleep.”

“She gave us a prescription for Zoloft,” Brendon tells you. “To help us get some peace, even if it is medically induced. And Minipress for insomnia and nightmares. I didn’t know she could prescribe but I guess given the circumstances...” he trails off and you say nothing. He drives on in silence. It’s been maybe fifteen minutes of quiet when you turn to him.

“Do you have a sledgehammer?” You phrase the question innocently enough and he turns to catch your eye, telling you that he does, but he’s not sure why you need it. “I have a project,” you say vaguely, not meeting his eyes.

“Y/n,” he says softly. “Talk to me.”

“There are no words,” you respond, your voice flat and emotionless. He opens his mouth, a hurt expression on his face, and you’re quick to add, “I don’t blame you. I don’t. I promise, I don’t. I know you’re just as heartbroken as I am, and I know I can lean on you - I’ll need to - and we will get through this together. I know we will. But I’m truly - I don’t know what there is to say except how much it hurts.”

Brendon’s face softens and he takes your hand. “I understand,” he tells you. “I do...and we don’t have to talk together to grieve together. I know that.” There’s a long pause. “You’re not going to hurt yourself with the sledgehammer, are you?” He looks wary.

“Not intentionally, no.”

“Okay. Well if you promise to be careful…” he hesitates and you promise. “Okay,” he repeats, rubbing soft circles over your hand with his thumb. “Okay, honey. But I don’t - I don’t know how I feel about this. Let’s fill these prescriptions first...just in case.” You nod and he heads towards the CVS downtown. -||-

The sledgehammer isn’t in your hand for thirty seconds before you’re headed for the stairs at a quick pace. “Please be careful,” he calls after you, anxious again, and you can hear him following you.

You shove through your bedroom door and into the nursery. Planting your feet, you swing and watch and feel with satisfaction how the wood of the crib splinters. You swing again and there’s another crack. You swing again and the once-solid frame is one blow away from being reduced to a pile of wooden pieces on the floor. Brendon appears in the doorway, your name half-out of his mouth but he stops short, watching you in horror. You swing again and miss because you’re crying so hard that your vision is blurred. It throws you slightly off-balance and you topple over, hitting the floor hard, the sledgehammer falling beside you.

“Y/n!” Brendon’s on his knees beside you, terror in his eyes and you’re sobbing, clinging to him. “Honey, you’re bleeding,” he says, holding your hands out in front of him and you blink a few times, letting the sight register. You fell and landed palms-down on the debris - you realize that your hands, arms, and knees are scraped, cut, bleeding, and splinters of once-polished wood are pressing into your knees. “Y/n, stay down for a sec,” Brendon says, struggling to his feet amidst the chaos. “Let me- okay, come here, love. That’s it. Careful now- I’m gonna carry you, okay?” He says it in his ‘I’m not actually asking’ voice but you nod anyway. He takes you in his arms, seemingly not caring as your blood stains his shirt and pants and smears across his arms, and carries you out of the nursery, back to your bedroom, and into the en-suite bathroom.

“Sit,” he says gently, and you collapse on the edge of the tub, fingers gripping the ceramic edge to the point of stinging pain. He kneels in front of you and, with a small bowl of warm, soapy water and a pile of cotton pads, starts to dab at your cuts. He works his way up from your shins to your knees, pressing gently and cleaning away the blood. “I’m not mad,” he tells you after a moment, looking up at you. “I just wish you’d told me that’s what you were planning.” He pauses. “I would have given you protective eyewear.” You let out a strangled sob-laugh and wince as he blots at the cuts and scratches on your palms.

“Thank you,” you tell him, voice hoarse from crying. He nods and goes back to your shins to apply Neosporin and cover each deeper cut on your body with a bandage. “Thank you,” you repeat when he stands and helps you to your feet. He holds you close and you take a shuddering breath. “I think I’d like that nap now,” you whisper.

“Let me take you to bed,” Brendon agrees, lifting you back into his arms and carrying you over to the bed. He places you gingerly in the middle of the shared bed and you tug him down on top of you. He supports himself on his forearms and looks down at you tenderly. “My sweet girl,” he whispers. The tears fill your eyes again and he leans down to kiss you softly. “Do you want to try to sleep without medicine?” You nod and he rolls off of you, but you move with him so you’re tucked into his side. “Alright... let's try to get some rest then,” Brendon murmurs, tugging the blankets up over you. “I’ve got you, love. I’ve got you. I’m right here, Y/n, I’m right here.”

You both toss and turn, and you can hear Brendon trying to muffle his own sobs. You pick up your head after what feels like thirty minutes. “We should take the drugs,” you mutter and Brendon nods, rolling out of bed and stumbling to the dresser where the pill bottles rest. You both pop a Zoloft and a Minipress and he turns onto his back, holding out his arm for you to nestle into him. You press against him and you inhale shakily, closing your eyes. “Do you feel anything yet?”

“No,” Brendon admits, and you say the same. “Maybe it takes time to kick in,” he mumbles, and you nod. “We’re gonna get through tomorrow together. I promise.”

You look up at him, confused. “What’s tomorrow?”

“The - Y/n, it’s - it’s Olivia’s funeral.” -||-

“Will you zip me up?” Your voice is flat and empty as you stare in the mirror. Brendon steps behind you and zips your dress before resting his hands on your shoulders. You turn and face him, adjusting his tie. “I’m not ready,” you tell him, and he shakes his head.

“Me either.” He takes a shaky breath. “Together. We’re going to get through it together.” He squeezes your hand and meets your eyes. “It’s gonna be so fucking hard,” he says, his voice thick with tears. “But I promise, Y/n, I’m gonna be strong for us.”

“Brendon,” you whimper, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “I’m going to try to be strong for us.” You peer up at him. “I make no promises.”

“I love you,” he whispers. “I promise that no matter what, I will love you and I will always be there for you.” Holding hands, the two of you walk down the stairs and you’re startled when the doorbell rings. “I didn’t want either of us to have to drive,” he tells you and opens the door. There’s a young man in a dark suit, and you notice the black town car lingering in the street. “Come on, love.” Legs trembling, you walk down the steps of the front porch and Brendon opens the car door for you.

You slide into the back seat and he settles next to you. “I know you talked about the funeral,” you tell him, squeezing his hand. “But I also know that I sort of blocked all that out.”

Brendon smiles sadly. “I know, honey. I know. I decided small and private, just you and me and a...a closed casket. I’m doing a song for Olivia on the piano that I haven’t been able to get out of my head since, and then we’ll head to the ceme-“ he pauses and clears his throat. “Cemetery.” He's blinking back tears and you stifle a sob.

“I can’t do this,” you whisper, and Brendon wraps his arm around your shoulder and presses his lips to your temple. “I just can’t.” -||-

You’re clenching his hand as you approach the funeral home entrance and the woman who meets you in the lobby gives you a sympathetic smile that makes you want to tear your hair out and scream. She ushers you into the room and it’s a punch to the stomach.

“Our baby,” you whisper, stumbling towards the tiny white casket. “Our baby is in there.” You whirl around, your eyes wide and frightened. “Brendon, hel-“ is all you manage before you hit the floor. You’re conscious, coherent even, aware that you’re down on your hands and knees in front of the casket and its stand. Brendon is kneeling beside you, and the woman is gesturing towards two overstuffed chairs off to the side.

You’re still looking around, bewildered by your surroundings and Brendon peers in your eyes. “Y/n, honey?” He lifts you up and walks you over to the chair, kneeling in front of you once you’re seated, with both of his hands holding yours. “Sweetheart, are you- do you know-“ he breaks off, pressing a fist to his mouth before pinching the bridge of his nose, clearly trying not to cry.

“We’re at the funeral home and our baby is in there,” you whisper, flinging a hand toward the casket. “I’m not okay and I do know what’s going on.” You stare at him. “You can cry, Brendon. You don’t have to hold it together in front of me.” He bows his head and rests it on your knees, taking several shaky breaths before swearing under his breath. The broken sobs come then, and you lay both of your hands on his back, feeling his body heave with the exertion. You double over, pressing your lips to the back of his head, openly crying too. His fingers dig into your bare thighs and you claw at his back, both of you absolutely broken in this moment. “I didn’t - I haven’t held her since I put her to bed that night,” you whimper, and Brendon stares up at you, horror-struck.

“Honey, I - and the paramedics took her while the detective talked to you and then - the autop-“ the look on his face shows that understanding is dawning on him. You let out another breathless sob and shake your head. “I could - they might- if you wanted-“ Brendon offers quietly. “I don’t know if it’s even poss- but I could ask- I mean. If you want.”

Your eyes are red and swollen and you stare at him, trembling all over. “I want to say goodbye to our baby.” He nods decisively and visibly collects himself before standing up and crossing the room to the woman who has given you both your space. You close your eyes and try to focus on not throwing up. It feels like an hour when Brendon is finally back and seated beside you.

“They can open the casket...If you want to hold her,” he tells you gently. “There’s no right or wrong decision here, my love. It’s whatever you want.”

You don’t even need to think about it. “I want to say goodbye to our baby,” you repeat, more resolute this time. “Please.” He must hear the desperation in your voice because he takes your hand, looks over at the woman, and nods. She approaches and takes out a small hexagonal key and inserts it into the end of the casket, twisting slightly and manipulating the edge of the top. You’re staring at her and inhale audibly when she lifts the lid and steps back respectfully. You’re on your feet in an instant, reaching in to lift her from the white satin lining.

“I - I thought you’d want to keep part her receiving blanket,” Brendon explains, when you notice the apparently-new seam of the blanket swaddling your child. “So I had them cut her blanket down. I have the other half at home, when-when you want it.”

“Thank you,” you say softly, eyes locked on your daughter. “Even now, she’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” You look at him and he nods, face soft as he watches you instinctively rock and bounce in place, as though you’re trying to soothe her. “Our perfect baby,” you murmur. “Miss Olivia Hayden, you are our perfect baby. We loved you so much.” You look back at him and the tears are tracking down both of your faces. “We love you so much,” you correct yourself, your throat tight. When you look up again, Brendon is at the piano in the room and he smiles shakily.

His fingers touch the keys and you sink into the chair, Olivia still in your arms. You recognize the song and choke on the sob. He’s singing Billy Joel’s “Lullaby,” his facial expression rigid concentration over obvious heartbreak. “Goodnight my angel, time to close your eyes, And save these questions for another day...I think I know what you've been asking me...I think you know what I've been trying to say. I promised I would never leave you, Then you should always know...Wherever you may go, no matter where you are...I never will be far away.”

He tries to keep playing but he’s overcome with emotion and pushes back from the keys. “I can’t do any more,” he whispers after a long moment of silence, and you’re telling him it’s okay, it’s fine. He’s back at your side, stroking the bridge of her nose tenderly. “Our beautiful, perfect girl. Looks just like her mama.” You shake your head.

“Has her daddy’s hair and eyes,” you counter, and Brendon smiles softly, conceding the point. You’re both silent for a long time, nestled together, holding her in your lap, tears rolling down both of your faces. You only move when the funeral home attendant comes back in to let you know the hearse is there and ready when you are.

You look at each other and you take a shaky breath. Brendon squeezes your hand and you, with a low moan, stand and place Olivia back in the casket. Brendon wraps his arms around your waist from behind and his wrecking sobs shake your body too. She approaches and replaces the lid on the casket, giving you a sympathetic expression as she inserts the key, twists, and you hear the lock slide into place. Your legs feel weak and you’re pretty sure you’re only still standing from Brendon’s support - mentally and physically, you realize. She leaves and the two of you wait until the casket is taken out and loaded into the hearse. With Brendon’s hand on the small of your back, he guides you over to the dark car and opens the door for you. Her casket, gleaming white, is nestled in between two passenger seats in the back and you take a deep breath before sitting in one of the seats. Brendon walks around the back of the car and enters through the other door, reaching over the smooth white wood to take your hand.

“You’re doing so well, my love,” he whispers to you, and you give him a tight, watery smile. “You’re being so strong, Y/n. You don’t have to be. You can fall apart,” Brendon tells you, his own eyes shining. “Right now, all of this-this is for you and me. Whatever we need to feel some level of peace, if that’s even possible. You don’t have to be strong for anyone. Heaven knows I’m not going to judge you. The town car is following behind us so we can stay at the grave as long as you want and leave whenever you want. There is nothing anyone can do or say to make this even approach being okay. So you don’t need to pretend, okay?”

You nod and lean over to rest your head on his shoulder, not even trying to hide your body-wracking sobs at this point. “Thank you,” you whisper, clinging to his hand. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you,” he replies, just as the car pulls to a stop. You freeze and give Brendon a panicked look. “Love?” He looks concerned now; you look more stricken than ever. “We do have to get out of this car though,” he tells you, and you whimper as he loosens his grip on your hand. “Hold on, I’m coming,” he says softly, flinging open his door and coming around to your side and opening yours. “I’m right here, Y/n.”

You stand on shaking legs and he holds you tightly, both of you openly crying. From how he’s clutching you, you know your tears are staining his suit but neither of you cares. The sky above is a bright blue, but there’s a chill in the air that promises snow.

The funeral home employees carefully remove the casket and Brendon holds you firmly against him, one hand on the back of your head to keep you from watching as they fit the casket into the lowering equipment. You’re shaking and crying and when he releases you, you turn around and the two of you carefully approach the edge. You stand under the tent and Brendon wraps his arms around you from behind. The two men offer you a quiet moment of reflection, and at Brendon’s nod after you squeeze his hand, they begin to lower the casket into the vault and both sink into the ground.

It’s like something snaps in you. You lurch forward, breaking free of Brendon’s grasp and you find yourself at the edge, down on your knees. The green felt covering the gravesite around the opening scratches at your knees and you’re rocking back and forth, sobbing. “Brendon,” you wail, and he’s beside you, holding you securely back from the edge. You both know you won’t end up in the grave; the lowering equipment is blocking you. He’s more worried about you mentally. “Brendon, don't let them put her down there it’s so dark - it’s so dark -it’s so dark and - and you know she is afraid of the dark - Brendon, do something!” You’re clawing at his arms, wild-eyed and he’s sobbing too, both of you clinging to each other. “Brendon, don’t let them,” you whimper, and he runs a hand over your hair and down your over and over again. “Brendon, that’s our baby - don’t let them do that to her!” Your voice cracks and you dissolve into wordless shrieks.

“I’m so sorry Y/n,” he keeps repeating over and over as he rocks you both back and forth. “I’m so sorry I didn’t - I couldn’t - keep her safe, oh god,” Brendon whispers, anguish evident. The whirring of the equipment stops and you are enveloped in his arms on the ground, the white lilies you intended to drop over the vault abandoned back in the car. One of the men must realize this because he moves silently to the hearse and collects the bundle. He approaches silently and, with a tap on Brendon’s shoulder, presents the flowers to him.

“Thank you,” Brendon whispers, and he squeezes you slightly to get your attention. “Y/n, we should -“ and he gestures wordlessly to the flowers. You nod and, choking back more sobs, allow him to help you clamber to your feet. Still arm in arm, you drop the flowers one by one into the open grave. “The way her face lit up whenever you held her,” Brendon whispers as he drops the first.

“Her giggle when you’d tickle her stomach before feeding,” you reply, dropping the second.

“How she’d wrinkle her nose a moment before she started crying so you had time to scoop her up and get to the rocker,” Brendon says, dropping the third.

“The way her eyes looked just like yours, even from birth,” you murmur, dropping the fourth.

“How she’d sleep so peacefully in your arms because she knew how much you loved her,” Brendon says softly, dropping his last flower.

You sniffle and dab at your eyes. “How she’d sleep so peacefully in your arms, because she knew how much you loved her,” You echo, meeting his eyes. You drop your last flower. The sky opens up and the rain falls in heavy sheets. -||-

The town car idles by the curb and you and Brendon step out under an umbrella. Brendon ducks his head down to say something to the driver, his hand still tangled with yours, and you stare at your front door. “Let’s go inside,” Brendon says with a heavy sigh.

“I want a Zoloft,” you tell him in a soft voice. He nods, saying he’ll make you both a cup of tea as well. Between the tea and the drugs and the driving rain, you’re both sound asleep in bed within thirty minutes.

You wake up two hours later, physically dragging but mentally wide awake, knowing what you have to do. You climb from the bed, careful not to wake him, and tiptoe to the closet and reach for your suitcase. Silently, you place it on the floor and start pulling clothes from the drawers and hangers. You jump when you hear his voice, distraught.

“I thought we’d get through this together,” he whispers, staring at you from the doorway, clearly devastated. He’s crying again, and you can’t even speak, you’re so surprised. “Please don’t do this,” he begs, dropping to his knees in front of you. “Please don’t leave me. I cannot survive this without you. Please, Y/n, I know how much it hurts to be here, I do. I know. But please don’t leave me. I will not make it one day without you by my side. I- please,” he whimpers, clutching at your hand. “Please, let me come with you. I’m coming too.” His eyes harden like he’s made a decision. “Wait for me. I’m coming. Let me grab my things. I’m coming with you.” Despite the resolution in his eyes, his voice is still a desperate plea and that’s what shakes you back into awareness.

“Brendon,” you say softly, trying to get his attention. “Brendon,” you repeat and he looks at you, eyes wild. “I packed for you too.” You gesture at the suitcase and sure enough, he can see his own clothes in the piles with yours. “I’m leaving, but you’re coming with me.” You take a shaky breath. “I can’t make it without you either. I need you by my side. I just can’t be-“ you choke on the tears. “I just can’t be here.”

#fuck I am so sorry #my work #RtL 45 #RtL #I'm sobbing I promise #brendon urie fanfiction #I'm fully prepared for your outrage

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