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Through The Heart Is The Only Way. Chapter Thirteen. "As An Idiot Sees It."

Hooo boy! So! An update after less than two months! Now that is more fucking like it! I hope you all love this. See this year I wanna focus more on my long fics and my original writing, expect some more of this, more frequently. I got some very sweet comments and messages about this fic and it gave me a good kick in the ass, so here it is. After the way the last chapter ended, I couldn't stay away for long. Series Masterlist found here. Now let's go!

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 5.9K. Charles Lee Ray/Tiffany Ray Valentine/FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings. Confessions Of Feelings. Pain Play. Cigarette Burns. Coming Clean (In Some Regards.) Drinking. Blood. Gore. Murder. Intense Violence. Stabbing.

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The words left you with a startling ease, as if completely natural, expected, as if you had uttered them a million times to him, instead of them being the first time you said them to anyone period.

You are looking into his eyes, and you witness the change, your words wash over him and his eyebrows raise a fraction, he asks quietly, “What?”

His tone is as if it is fabricated from pure disbelief, yet he wears a half smile, and you confirm it, warmth personified as you realize that you don’t regret it at all even if you hadn’t planned on saying it. Now it was out there, and you tell him again, reverent and sure, “I said I love you.”

Again the expression changes, eyes intense once more, a reminder of the look he had that first night at the club, or when he wants you, when he craves your body, when he's hungry. He leans in, his hands find your wrists, he grips, tugs and pulls them up and with him leading you let him change your position, you fall on your back, head to the pillow and him on top of you, his hips slotted between your legs. He squeezes your wrists, nails bite in slightly, you realize his cigarette is still between two of his fingers, your mind flicks the thought of how dexterous he is and how easy it would be to burn you again until his hands start moving as does his body, continuous perpetual movement.

Chucky is watching you as his hands roam, wander and touch, neck, shoulders, arms, chest, stomach and sides, careful he doesn't burn you again. He reaches your hips, and he finally speaks, spoken like a statement of fact he is still in the process of coming to terms with, “You love me.”

He is leaning down, between your thighs, his fingers circle easily around the shiny pink burn mark he left, “I hurt you and your response is to tell me that you love me?”

His question isn't unexpected, and from his perspective it makes sense.

“I loved you before you hurt me, this just…I don't know why, but it prompted me to spill my guts.” You laugh nervously as he presses the burn with his thumb, you inhale and then so does he from his cigarette.

He exhales, smoke curling out over your hips as you continue, “I think I have felt it for a while, but I've never said it before, to uh, anyone. So I think it took a while to really identify the feeling. If it helps, as soon as I knew for sure? It came out.”

He leans in, his tongue licks over the cigarette burn, before his teeth nip and the new spike of pain affects you deeply, tugs at you from within. It is as if his arms broke through your rib cage and his hands are cradling your heart, fingers and palms flexing as he squeezes the organ and wrings further emotion from you by doing so, the image of the most morbid kind of massage possible unignorable.

You swallow thickly, and tell him again, on a swell of emotion you confess again, “I do. I love you.”

He smiles at that, the remainder of his smoke is finished, forgotten to the side, and he climbs back on top of you properly. His body covers yours, much skin to skin contact, hip to hip and chest to chest, he kisses you. It steals breath, the taste of lingering smoke, overwhelmed by the turn of the afternoon and of him, when the kiss breaks it has you asking, “And do you?”

He laughs, “What, love you? Are you asking, do I love you?”

A minor nod and he kisses you again, deeper, and you want to push him up, make him answer, but fuck kissing him is too good to ever want to stop it early. He doesn’t make you wait long and when that kiss ends, he tells you, in what might be the most honest tone of voice you’ve ever heard from him, “Yeah, of course I do, you idiot.”

That last word is said as sweetly as any term of endearment could be, said the same way as someone saying baby or darling would, and you love it. You never thought you could love being called a disparaging remark so much and treasure it as if it were a precious gem. Idiot, you were an idiot but not only that you were his idiot, and you could get behind that, you think that you could be very happy being an idiot in love.

The rest of the afternoon is spent about as close together as can be. You end up making some sandwiches for a late lunch, you eat in bed, share a pretty fantastic nap. When you wake the conversation is light, a drink is shared, the mood is sweet and leaves you feeling delightfully syrupy and by evening you are sending him off, asking him to tell Tiffany you missed her, he told you he would.

You lean against the door frame and tell his retreating form, because you can, and you want to, you tell him, “I love you.”

He looks over his shoulder, his eyes meet yours, and he stops, he comes back over with a grin, that confident sort of swagger you know him for, his hands reach out, and they find purchase on your hips, and he kisses you. When he pulls back, he says simply, “Love you too.”

And then he leaves for real.

There are a myriad of reactions a person can have when they are in love, some people want to hold it close to the chest, protect it like an injured bird, treat it like an aggressively private matter, while others, like you, apparently, want to tell everyone about it. You couldn't do that easily, but the following night at work, you decide to be much more honest than you had been previously. You loved your coworkers, considered them close friends, and why not tell some stuff, revel a tad?

Once your fantastic shift had come to a close, and you had totally crushed it and made a ridiculous stack of tips, you are sitting at the bar, counting your bills, watching Logan out of the corner of your eye. He is cleaning one of the more delicate specialty cocktail glasses, polishing it when you say far too casually, “So I told my boyfriend that I loved him yesterday.”

The next sound is of your friend fumbling, muttering, "No, no, no-", followed by glass hitting hardwood and breaking, followed by Logan cursing, “Shit! God-fucking-dammit!”

He hangs his head for a moment, a deep breath in, and then he lifts his chin, hands on his hips and asks, “What the fuck?”

You smile, coy as can be, asking him in a tone of faux innocence, “What?”

He steps over shattered glass, rests his elbows on the bar, hands brought up together in a prayer pose, and leans forward, eyes studying you intently for a moment before he asks, “Are you serious?”

You can't hide it or help the grin that creeps onto your face and that gives him his answer, and his brows raise, eyes wide, back straight and his palms slap the bar, “No fucking way!”

That gets some extra attention, Jackson, Rachel and Marcy have wrapped up their work and made their way over, almost ready to leave. Jackson asked, “What are you yelling about?”

“Oh nothing major, I was just in shock, she just casually dropped that she not only has a fucking boyfriend but told him she loves him yesterday.” Logan informed with a gesture to you which caused an overlapping chorus of, “What?!” and “No fucking way!” and further still, “Why didn't you tell me?”

You are surrounded, other stools are yanked off the bar top and set back down right side up, coats and bags dropped, seats are taken, and you know the questions are about to begin. Logan is pulling out a bottle and getting glasses, you are laughing, fully aware this was going to be the reaction. You put away your tips, banded now that they are counted.

Logan is pouring drinks, and the rabble quiets, Marcy starts it with the question, “Who is it?”

You take the offered drink from Logan giving a quick, “Thank you, so-” and he cuts in, “Wait, wait, don’t start without me.”

Everyone had drinks in front of them, but Logan was rushing with a brush and dustpan sweeping up the glass from earlier. Everyone else jokingly taunted him, you starting it, “Hurry up!” causing Rachel to chime in,“Yeah! Hurry the fuck up!” and Jackson, not one to miss out, tacks on, “We are all waiting on you, bar bitch!”

“I’m hurrying, I’m hurrying!” You hear the sound of the glass going into an empty box to be tossed safely on the way out, and he stands up, “Okay, I’m ready!”

Marcy asks, “So again, who is it?”

You draw it out, let everyone lean in as you take a sip from your drink, let it hang for a touch too long before you say simply, “A guy.”

The chorus of groans that ring out as well as everyone pulling away makes you laugh heartily before telling them, “Okay, okay, his name is Charles, but he prefers to be called Chucky.”

“Finally a name, oh my God.” Rachel says with a grin before asking, “Where’d you meet him?”

You take another deep pull from your glass before imparting simply, “Here.”

That got some raised eyebrows, Logan asked the next question, “You met him here? He is a customer?”

“Yes he is. That a problem?” You asked, and Jackson was quick to cut in and say, “No! Just you are like literally the last person I think any of us pictured dating a customer.”

Logan agreed, “Yeah, exactly!”

You start, “Well, even I in my infinite wisdom can be proven wrong. We just clicked, and it was a slow thing, I met him like three months ago-”

“Three months ago?! And we are just hearing about him now?” Rachel’s mouth was agape, and you continued, “Yeah! But it was just a regular customer kinda thing, to a, we ran into each other outside here, started dating a while ago and became official not that long ago."

You fight off the curious stares, adding on, "I didn’t want to say anything until it was serious, and I mean, fuck, saying those three little words usually makes a relationship serious from everything I’ve ever heard.”

Marcy reassures you, “Don’t listen to them, I get it, I’m just glad it has been working out, and you are telling us now, so what’s he like?”

You brighten, “Thanks Marcy, and he isss…” Your voice trails off for a moment before you find the words, “He is funny and biting, sarcastic and can be a bit intense, fun to watch movies with, I like his opinions and outspokenness, how he is down for new experiences and can go with the flow. He smokes, but it isn’t a dealbreaker, dresses well, he likes art, our last date we went to a museum.”

Jackson hums with a genuine smile, “Wow, he sounds like a great catch.”

“Seriously, talk about winning the lottery.” Rachel muses, and you sigh, “Yeah, he is really great.”

Logan asks the one question you had been dreading, “So when do we get to meet him?”

You laugh, then respond, “Haaa, uhm, I was thinking never?”

Of course, your bar tending friend objects to that and naturally voices his displeasure, “What? Why not?”

“Because I want to keep him around! Why would I throw him to the fucking wolves?” You accuse with a point all around before taking another drink.

Rachel cuts in before more complaining can occur, “Yeah, you know I am on her side for this.”

Jackson gasps, “Rachel, not you too-”

“Yes me too!” She throws her hands up, “I get it, we can all be a lot and with the third degree that likes to get laid down when anyone has brought a boyfriend or girlfriend around this group, you want to wait for the right moment. There is prep and care that must be taken, factor in that she has never brought someone by, and how protective we can get over her and yeah no shit she wants to save him.”

Thank the Lord for Rachel’s level head. “Seriously guys, I love you, but my relationship just got started, I’d hate for it to end so abruptly because you all scared him off.”

There is grumbling, but they all ultimately agree to you taking your time on this is probably a safe bet. “I really like him and if it works out, of course you will end up meeting him at some point, just, not yet.”

That was more than enough to placate them, you all finish your drinks as you tell them about a few of your dates, but this is tinged with a not so small amount of sadness because it isn’t the whole truth and keeping Tiffany out of it feels wrong. You know they all love you, but you are terrified they wouldn’t accept it and by extension, you. So pushing it down and swallowing that part up, you just tell them the safe, squeaky clean, heterosexual and decidedly monogamous version of events, as your finger traces the cigarette burn he left on your inner thigh through your sheer tights, as a reminder that not all secrets need to be shared, some can be just yours.

Jackson walked you to the train station as usual, the conversation was normal, away from the rest you asked about how it was going with that guy he was seeing, and it was going well, they spent most nights together, and it was also getting a little serious between them. You were happy for him.

You felt secure, in a bubble of bliss, totally confident and content after your last date and shift at work. You hadn't set up a date with either of them, but you think you might call them tomorrow to set that up. It was a quiet moment at work, opened not that long ago, still basic set up being carried out but no large groups of people present. Tonight wouldn't be crazy anyway, you expect some people getting drinks post work, but that's all. You certainly didn't expect Tiffany to show up an hour and a half into your shift, bag of take out in hand.

You give her a quick hug with a delighted, “Hello!” which she naturally returned, one arm slung around, other hand holding the bag, that sweet voice uttering, “Hey sweetheart.”

You pull back, a point to what she held as you asked, “For me?”

“Of course. I was in the area, figured why not stop by with a treat?” She handed it over, you opened the bag onto the nearby table, two containers, one holding those seasoned crispy fries you love, still hot, the other that classic birthday cake style slice from the diner you all frequent.

You remember that night it was pouring rain, and they invited you to sit with them, and you had this very order, the weight of the food in your hands, the sound of water hitting glass combined with the comforting din of the restaurant, the surprised joy at seeing them. You can't believe she remembered, but maybe you should have expected that, she is so sweet after all.

You look at her, standing there, pretty painted lips curled into a smile, eyes radiating warmth, expression completely soft, attention totally on you as the lights across the way flash in time to the music pouring from the DJ booth.

It feels right. It doesn't need some big dramatic moment, a lot of the time the smallest gestures can mean the most, make us realize the true depth of our feeling. No, it doesn't matter that it's a quiet and slow Wednesday and you are in the middle of a shift and in your work uniform. Life can be far too short and finite, when you feel this way for someone, you should say it.

So you do.

A step forward, leaving the open containers on the table next to you, your hands lock onto Tiffany’s arms, staring into her eyes you say firmly, confidently, and thoroughly honest, “I love you.”

Her lips part, eyes widen before they dart to the left and right, even with the lights you notice how her cheeks turned pinker, the music is loud enough and everyone is far away, not paying attention. You squeeze her arms and say again, wanting her to absorb your words, want her to feel what you do, “I mean it. I really do, it took me a while to realize it since it's so new to me, but I love you.”

Her eyes are back on you, and she nudges closer, she confesses, “You know I feel the same way. I have for a while.”

Your mind is running over and over, "Say it, please say it, say it-" Your heart feels near to bursting, you need to hear it more badly than you realized, and she doesn't disappoint, not a moment later, those amazing words cross her lips, “I love you too.”

God, you wish you weren't in such a public venue so you could kiss her. You settle for another hug, she returns it fully this time since her hands are free, arms tightly around you and you both stay like that for a while, when she pulls back you thank her for the food and ask, “Stay?”

The expression she wears is conflicted, “Oh. Oh God, I wish I could, baby, I've got something important to go do, but I can come back when the club closes, take you home?” She offers, and you can get behind that, a wide grin as you tell her, “Yes, please, I'd love that.”

“Fantastic. I'll see you in a few hours.” Tiffany gave your hands a final squeeze and turned to leave, you watched her go, enraptured by the swing of her hips and the click of her heels.

She wasn’t expecting that, but fuck was she happy about it, she walks with purpose, her and Chucky have a date tonight, one she cannot be late for.

Tiffany arrives on time and well-dressed, she enters the bar in question and sees who she is set to meet, sitting there, waiting for her. Eyes scan and find the familiar sight of red hair, seated at a table, a brief moment of eye contact and a nod, she paints on a flirty smile and walks to the bar, sitting next to the man, greeting him warmly, “Hi.”

He turns and unsubtly looks her up and down, a cock of his head with a big smile, “Hi yourself sugar.”

It takes one drink to convince the man to leave with her, and it was not a drink consumed slowly, he has his hand placed on her lower back as they headed down the sidewalk.

They got less than a block away before she grips his sleeve, she tugs, pulls him into the alleyway, the guy naturally follows. He is probably of the school of thought that Tiffany can’t just wait to get him alone, as if she was so attracted to him, she couldn’t help it, that she just has to have him, now. What an egotistical prick, but he isn’t totally wrong, she does want him for something.

She pushes him up against the wall, and he lets her, letting out an amused exhale at her show of control, he speaks, “You taking charge?”

An upward curve of her lips as she responds, “You got a problem with that?”

“Not at all, baby, rock my world.” Tiffany laughs so she doesn’t gag. She covers his mouth with a gloved hand, it got a raised brow, and she reassures him, her voice flirty, “So we don't get caught too early, you understand, right? I'd hate to get interrupted before we reach satisfaction.”

She can feel him grin for under her fingers, his gaze is more of a leer, obviously lewd in its intent, he nods once, giving his consent to more than he could have ever hoped for.

He doesn’t expect the knife. Then again, why would he?

She had removed it from her coat pocket effortlessly, hit the release switch on the side and the blade flicked out, it was stabbed into the buzzed and hapless dumbass before he could even register the sound of it clicking open. Poor bastard never stood a chance against the practiced effortlessness and perfected elegance of her wielding the pearl handled switch-blade. Chucky is coming towards them now, hands in his pockets, gait casual, an undercurrent of that excited swagger he is well known for.

“Got him started?” He asked, tone gleeful, and thank God for how Tiffany had covered this idiots mouth. Combined with the knife in the side of his neck, blood pouring down the inside of his throat, the sounds he lets out are muffled, wet and gurgled, disgusting to anyone else other than the two posied and ready to end this guy's life.

He wasn't struggling much at all, he must still be in shock.

Tiffany’s head turned and looked at her partner in crime, “Yup, you wanna get him from both sides?”

Chucky laughed, a big smile as he drew his own knife as he said, “You know it.”

Tiffany's hand rips the knife from his throat, blood gushes, the angle is well-chosen, the spray hits the brick wall instead of her, thank Goodness for that.

She curls her fingers in the lapel of his jacket, her palm still holding the handle of her weapon, she yanks him from the wall, turning his body, presenting the man's back to Chucky.

“Quick and dirty!” She declares, gripping the knife harder, her hand moves and she drives the knife into his stomach, Chucky reaches forward, a hand clasps onto his shoulder, his own blade jutting forward and digging into the man's back. He responded to Tiffany in a joyous tone, “Just the way I like it!”

She kept the man gagged, even when his blood spills from his mouth and squeezes between her leather glove covered fingers.

Sometimes when they do this the victim puts up a lot of struggle, a hell of a fight, but not this man, oh no, this guy? He is a dream, he moves, reacts gives them plenty to work off of and some wonderful responses to enjoy, cries out as much as he can around the drowning torrent of blood surely pouring inside of him, tears trail down his face, however there is no attempt to get away. The guy was cut very off guard after all.

They fall into a wonderful rhythm, cold steel sliding into one side of the body as it is withdrawn from the other, on and on, one stabs as the other retreats, and the other pulls out while the opposite drives in. The pair when they kill together have phenomenal chemistry, it is undeniable, and fantastic, they kill just like how they fuck, in sync, passionately, revelling in it and having the most fun possible. Rip, tear, penetrate deep, cut brutally, taunt, and tease, on it goes.

The frenzy finds its natural conclusion, the man dies, his body turning to dead weight, slumping in their shared grasp. Tiffany wipes her glove on the man's jacket with a sigh, both of them are breathing heavily, enjoying the moment of quiet when it is over.

She speaks first, asking, “Drag him behind the dumpster?”

Chucky agrees, they both pull him along, set him against the dumpster, hidden from the entrance way of the alleyway. An earlier stashed blanket is pulled out from said dumpster, it is stained and smells terrible, it is unfolded and put over the man, covering the bloody mess, at first glance you'd think he was a homeless man who passed out drunk.

The blood was flowing freely during their fun, there would need to be a bit of clean up, nothing crazy, their clothes made it out relatively unscathed for the most part. The pair help each other out, tissues pulled out, specks of blood wiped off cheeks, a wet wipe taken to leather gloves and wiping down the outside of coats long before the blood could hope to sink in or stain. The act of cleaning is broken up by the intimacy that permeates the pair post kill, the intense feeling settles like thick mist, kissing, hands wander, pulling closer, nearer, but not desperate.

Spring is coming in, but it is still late, the cold is present and so the alleyway is abandoned.

“Home?” He asks, and she grabs his arm, holds up his wrist to her eyes, she is checking his wristwatch for the time, “Yeah, I can head home for a while, I got some time to kill”

“What, you gonna go back out later?” He asked, and she says, “Yeah, I promised when I dropped that food off earlier, I said I’d pick her up from work, take her home.”

She drops his arm and then hits his chest with the back of her other hand, a gasp accompanying the gesture as she says, “Which! I had to launch right into the date for this kill, so I couldn’t tell you, guess what she told me when I came by?”

He rubs at his chest, the action is joking, the hit she laid down hadn’t hurt at all, he is smiling, brows pinched as he asked, “What?”

The pair had been walking, and she stopped, her hand now clasping his, staring into his eyes, “She told me she loves me.”

“Oh my God!” He threw his arms around her, hugging her tightly, she returns it, and he asks, “How’d it feel?”

She sighs softly, telling him, “Incredible. We were at her work, so we couldn’t do much, but I cannot wait to see her soon, get her alone. I wanted to kiss her so badly.”

He pulls back, his hands resting on her forearms, “She does have that effect, wanting to kiss her and having to hold that urge back is fuckin’ painful sometimes, right?”

She nods, and they start walking again, both pull out their packs of cigarettes and lighters, they light up and continue the trek after that first post kill inhale is taken, a shared delighted moan as they do so. He waits until they are half way through their smoke and Tiffany has finally stopped gushing about you, before Chucky then says, “So now I guess I can finally tell you.”

“Finally tell me what?” She asked and he responds easily, “That day you were busy and we had our museum date?”

“Yeah, that day you told me you stole the shirt for her and went back to her place, I remember, it was all of like two days ago.” She does remember when he did come back home, he smelt like your perfume and was happy as could be, he filled Tiffany in on his date already, what else could there be to share?

“She told me she loved me then too.” He revealed it with little fanfare and it made Tiffany stop in her tracks, a loud excliamation, causing echos down the street as she called out, “What?!”

He stopped too, three steps ahead of her, he turned slightly, a big shit eating grin, and she asks, “Are you serious?”

He nods and says in that tone of voice that tells her that he is being honest, not fucking with her at all, contrite and sincere but still being a dick about it, something she is sure only he can pull off, “Oh yeah.”

“Chucky what the fuck?” She stomped one heel and he laughs, she storms up to himi and smacks his arm, “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?!”

“And miss this kind of reaction? Not a chance!” He is still laughing, and she huffs, “Stop fucking laughing, oh my God!”

She starts down the street briskly once more and lights up another cigarette, the last one abandoned in her shock and minor indignant rage. An aborted cigrette is one of her least favorite things, she intends to finish this one fully or she won't be satisfied, the itch would still be living nestled in her ribs. He is following up quickly, still all smiles and snickering, “You really thought that you beat me on that front, hm? Finally got one over on me with her?”

Tiffany throws a withering look to her boyfriend and says, “Yes, I did, but that isn’t the point, you were sitting on this for days without telling me, why? And don’t just say to see me flip out! I mean really why.”

He sighs, fingers comb through his hair, and he explains, “Cuz I know you Tiff, I know how jealous you can get, and so far with her, it hasn’t been a problem, but I didn’t wanna go spilling this before she said it to you too, just for, I dunno, safety’s sake.” He takes one last inhale before dropping the end of his cigarette, finishing his statement with, “Sue me.”

She hates that he is right and loves that he cares. Instead of expressing either of those, she scoffs and rolls her eyes, “I woulda been fine, you asshole. I’m a big girl.”

“Mmhmm, you mighta been okay, or you might not have been, whos to say?” He still has a smile on his face, the tone is still light, he shrugs, hands now in his pockets.

She lets the conversation die, when her second cigarette is done she asks, “How’d it happen for you?”

He tells her, about being in your bed, about the banter and talk, how he burned you, and it just slipped out, “You should have heard the way she said it, gasped it out, just totally swept up in it, was real flatterin’.” He expounds further, about how he asked for clarification, and you went harder, told him it was your first time saying it to anyone, what a big deal it was, how you didn’t regret it.

Tiffany is quiet.

She gets why he didn’t tell her right away, she might have gotten in her feelings about it, especially if the next time you saw each other, you didn’t confess to her too, she might have put weird pressure on it, potentially ended up ruining this.

She loves what you have and doesn’t want to screw it up, and she isn’t saying she would have, but she might have, the might is more than enough reason.

Chucky’s precaution has merit, besides you would have always had to confess to one of them first, the fact you hadn’t ever said it to anyone other than the two of them made it unbelievably special, she is glad some stupid petty jealous feelings didn’t even have a chance to ruin your first time saying those three little words. She is smart and knows herself, well aware that she can let her emotions get the best of her at times, her temper can flare, and it can run away from her on occasion.

He is the first man you have ever told that you loved and she is the first woman, both were different, speical, intimate moments. She could never be mad at you, or at him for this, Hell, she loves him too, she understands better than anyone how you fell for him.

When Chucky is done they are back home, she hugs him, kisses him, and then thanks him quietly for his forethought, and he surprisingly lets it go and doesn’t say I told you so, instead he asks, “Share a drink with me and tell me how she said it to you?”

She does just that, she tells him how sweet you were, the look in your eyes, the body language, how she felt at the moment it happened, shares just as much as he does, in equal detail, “She jumped right into reassuring me she really meant what she said, and I told her I’d been feeling the same.”

Chucky took a sip of his drink and set it down, his hand holding hers squeezes and says, “You know if you had another solo date with her before I did, she would have confessed to you first, right?”

She sighs, a hearty drink of her own before telling him, “I do know that now, and sorry I was kind of a bitch earlier, you did what you did for good reason.”

“Don’t mention it.” He leans back into the couch and says, “All I ask is that you remember this the next time somethin’ like this happens,-”

She laughs, leaning into his shoulder as he continues on, “-they say a broken clock is right twice a day, but Charles Lee Ray is right a lot more than anyone gives him credit for.”

Tiffany snorts a laugh into the sleeve of his shirt as he hooks an arm around her, she rests a hand on his chest and the giggles quiet down. She says softly, “Tonight was really fun.”

“Oh, the most, I love killing with you.” Chucky agrees, a kiss dropped onto the top of her head, “It’s been so good lately, racking up the numbers with you.”

She looks up at him, “I cut out an article earlier from the paper, by the way, gonna put it in the scrapbook later, they finally found that body we dumped last month.”

He laughs again, louder, “God they are so behind it is embarrassing!”

“Chicago cops are hopeless.” Tiffany coos, and that is a statement he agrees with wholeheartedly.

He leans forward, scooping up his glass he says, “I swear everything has been getting better ever since she came around, she is pointing us in the directions to some of the best victims we could hope for, all without her even realizing it.”

The blonde presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw, “On that note, there is something I wanted to run by you.”

A questioning hum from him, and she says, “I was thinking, with all the wonderful, blissfully ignorant help she’s been giving us for our favourite ‘hobby’, and with how great everything is going, what about we get her a gift?”

“What kinda gift did you have in mind?” His interest is piqued, she can tell.

“One that further satisfies our desires but also would benefit her in a major way.” She raises an eyebrow, and he gestures for her to continue. She takes another drink, lets the anticipation build, allows it to all hang for a moment longer before she asks, “How familiar are you with the financial district?”

He catches on immediately, he kisses her, and when he pulls back, that look in his eye that a plan is already starting to take shape, he tells her, “Not familiar at all, but I sure as Hell would like to be.”

They still had a while before you would be done work, before Tiffany had to break away to go pick you up and take you home, and your boyfriend and girlfriend had an awful lot to talk about before then.

#the gasp i guspt!#the scream i scrumpt!#i love it!!!#so much fluff and sweet and 🥺😍#loved the gore #tiffy would have ABSOLUTELY not been ok if chucky said anything #thanks for the dinner Bex 💖#TTHITOW

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