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If Rachel had thought that moving to Brighton—whilst preparing to launch a new monthly kink event—was going to be difficult, well she might just have been wrong.

It should have been difficult, that was certain, but somehow everything had come together far speedier than she’d expected.

First, finding somewhere to live had been surprisingly easy. Cat, buoyed at the thought of having one of her best friends back in the seaside city, had put her feelers out amongst her extended queer family. The Queer Brighton Discord server had been all a flurry, and within a week Rachel had three different flats to look at—all of which had current tenants who could vouch for both the property, and the landlord’s non-dickishness.

The rental market being what it was, she went to visit each of them, and put in an offer immediately on a ground floor flat with an outside courtyard bigger than her living room in London. It was big and spacious, at least in comparison to where she’d been living for the past few years, and the rent was ever so slightly lower.

Packing was a horror, especially in between Zoom meetings with Cat and Tel about the Littles’ Market, and a surprising increase in workload at her day job. Isla even found her crying on the floor, surrounded by plants one Friday night; the next day her girlfriend cajoled half of the Stuffie Hospital London staff into coming to Rachel’s flat, and put them to work.

Rachel had been vaguely mortified, but Alex had sat her down, made her a cup of tea and reassured her that as bossy as Isla was being, none of them minded because “You’re such a lovely soul, and we really don’t mind helping.”

In some ways, Isla was just as protective and as helpful as she’d ever been. She was there whenever Rachel felt slightly overwhelmed, and she appeared to know exactly when ordering in food was a necessity. But she also held Rachel so much more.

They were tentative, the two of them, in this new development between them. Gentle kisses, and hand holding and lots and lots of cuddles.

Rach found herself somewhat disappointed. It would have been nice to have some more, to hold each other skin to skin, but Isla insisted on them taking it slow.

“You are my person, Rach,” she’d said. “I don’t want to mess it up.”

But she’d started using pet names. The first time Isla called Rach ‘babygirl’, she almost melted on the spot, and ‘good girl’ was being used with increasing frequency, to Rach’s absolute delight.

But it all came to a head when it came to organizing the physical move. Movers from London—even from out in the suburbs of Ealing—down to Brighton were expensive. Very expensive.

“It’s ridiculous,” Rachel said, digging into some particularly delicious dumplings that Isla had ordered in. “It’s almost as much as a month’s rent! Who can afford that? I was thinking that maybe I try and take some bits and pieces down myself; do some bits on the train, see if anyone would mind doing a day trip.”

Isla looked at her, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Moving all my stuff, Isla. It’s going to cost so much.”

“What? But I’m moving you.”

Rachel looked at her, completely confused. “You and what army?”

“I’ve got a large van all lined up; I’ll drive us down.”

“When did you… But…”

Isla put some stir-fried bok choy on Rachel’s plate. “Eat your greens Rach. And when you said you were moving, I looked into it. It’s not exactly a U-Haul, but it’s the British equivalent.”

“I can’t ask you to do that!” Rach’s tummy felt odd. She was used to Isla looking out for her, but this felt like being looked after, and her Little didn’t know how to feel about that.

“You didn’t. I’m not sure what the problem is; would you rather I didn’t help you move?” The blonde looked concerned, as if worried that she’d somehow overstepped some boundary.

“No,” said Rachel, her voice getting smaller. “I… I… It just feels very… I can look after myself; I promise I’m not useless!”

“Oh darling,” said Isla, putting her plate down and scooting over closer to Rachel. “I know that you’re not useless. You’re capable and strong and smart. I just wanted to help. And—” she sounded shy “—I kind of like looking after you.”

Rachel felt her face flush, and she ducked her head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. If I had my way, babygirl, I’d…”

Isla stopped and Rachel looked up.

“You’d what?”

“I’d be your Daddy.”

The words came out in a bit of a rush, so Rach wasn’t entirely certain if she’d heard correctly.

“My Daddy?”

“I know you’ve only had Mommy Dommes before, and maybe me being your Daddy isn’t something that you’re looking for, or even wanting, and that’d be totally fine. It’s just—” she took a breath “—that I’d love to be able to do that for you. For your Little.”

Rachel’s Little was on board. Fully. Jumping up and down and demanding sprinkles. But Rachel knew better than to let her Little make decisions for Big Rachel—that was how she’d ended up on her own in London in the first place. Her Little had fallen for a Mommy who really hadn’t cared for or cherished her as she should have been, and had followed her to a different city, only to find herself single and lost in a huge, lonely place.

And Isla had found her, and she’d never really felt fully alone again.

“I’d like to try that,” she said. “It’s not like you haven’t met my Little before.”

“I’ve been a bit like an aunty in the past,” said Isla. “But Daddy would be different. And we can work out what that looks like together.”

“Yes please,” said Rachel, and then she tried it on for size. “Daddy.”