#ridiculous little man i am shaking u violently by the shoulders

[bellamygate]

calling all insane people comment/rb with ur roman empire one evidence that totally convinces u phee is or isn't on team non/playing jin

[s11e17]

for the fic prompt maybe smthn set in s4? dean and cas s4 weird trust that they had to just confess stuff to each other is so interesting to me

tumblr user @grocerystoredean you are a genius, i hope u enjoy :) more under the cut i (once again) wrote way too much / edit: i posted this on ao3 bc people seemed to like it !! wehh thank uuu :)

--

Well, fuck. Dean exhales into the soupy air, watches the sand dunes shiver light years away. Nothing like the desert Dean knows — his old friend the New Mexico desert, wide and empty, not a soul to see him for miles in any direction except the satellites above. Once — he’d been twenty-three, maybe, a year after Sam leaving him and eleven months from Dad — he got out of his car in a stretch of land where even the highway markers had died off, and he crawled on his hands and knees in the sun and tore his clothes off and just howled at the sky for the joy and the fear of it, fear of that aloneness.

This isn’t that desert. This is the kind of desert they show in movies. This is Lawrence of Arabia desert, Iraq War propaganda desert, Iron Man opening sequence desert. Hell, maybe Dean does know this desert as well as the other. He looks up at the sky and thinks it should be yellower.

When the hue of the sky tilts — or, maybe it’s already been that color, always been that color — he figures it out. “This is a—”

“A dream, yes,” Castiel says from behind him. Dean turns around. He sees him in the poor bastard he’s wearing, but when he looks at him a little sideways, or when the heat covers him, he thinks— Cas has gotta be miles away for the way the sun makes him liquid, the way Dean can see shifting wings like floating lakes behind Cas’s eyes.

Dean shoves his hands in his pockets, ‘cause what else is there to do. “Nice, uh. Nice place.”

“Three men were tested here,” Cas says, which isn’t a reply. He nods at something over Dean’s shoulder, and Dean turns to look, and he sees— or, they’ve been inside of a furnace this whole time. It isn’t hot, though, or at least, not hotter than the desert was. Is. Than the desert-furnace has been.

In that gravel-rough voice of his, Cas quotes: “Blessed be the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednago, who hath sent his angel, and delivered his servants that trusted in him, and have changed the king’s word, and yielded their bodies, that they might not serve nor worship any god, except their own God.”

“Throwin’ it back to the Old Testament, huh.” Dean knocks on the inside of the furnace. It’s like a kiln, the kind they ran into at that high school on Samhain. “Thought we were at the end of the book.”

“Linearity is not our… strong suit,” Cas says. It ain’t really a joke, hell, it barely counts as an idiom, but Dean laughs anyway, ‘cause the guy’s trying. And Cas looks half-pleased by Dean’s reaction, too. With that subtle curve in his mouth, the one Dean might be imagining, Cas continues, “I knew even then what this would come to.”

“This?” Dean studies Cas’s face, since he’s the only thing changing, moving in here. The only thing worth lookin’ at. “You mean me?” God, he looks so— he looks so human, somehow. Dean can see flames pouring out of his palms, great wings arcing up like lightning, cleaving the sky— but still. When Dean looks at him head-on, when he smiles, Dean almost feels like he might be— he might— anyway.

“You, Sam, it’s—” Cas shakes his head, or his head shakes him, or— what happens is, Cas corrects himself. “I mean to say that I have already known what this would come to. I know it now. Or what I mean is, I am in this furnace and Nebuchadnezzar is sentencing three men into a furnace and the apocalypse has already begun.”

Sheesh. “You, uh. You angels sure don’t make it easy for us to follow, man.”

“I am not a man.” Dean’s breath catches as Cas— as the furnace becomes, is, has always been the ocean, as Dean swallows saltwater while he swims to the mountain which is Castiel. His feet touch sand and the beach gives way to desert and Castiel puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder, where he touched him before, the first time, and Dean—

“Yeah,” Dean croaks out, and Castiel’s hand tightens and Dean falls to his knees, just like that, splayed out on the hot sand the way he’d crawled out of that car on that desperate hot afternoon when he was twenty-three. “I know. I know, Cas.”

“I have always known about this,” Cas says from above him, hand trailing up to Dean’s collarbone, the side of his neck, his— his jaw, his cheekbone, his hair. Cas puts his hand on the crown of Dean’s head like he’s healing him and Dean shudders. “About you. And yet.”

Dean waits. Cas stands there, wearing his goddamn slacks over his curling lion’s tail, silent.

Dean pushes Cas’s hand off him, stumbles to his feet. Cas doesn’t stop him. “And yet what, Cas?” he asks, hoarsely.

“I don’t know how this ends,” Cas says quietly. He says it like it’s an admission. Like he shouldn’t have said it. He steps back. “I shouldn’t have—”

“This— the apocalypse?” Dean catches Cas’s shoulder, and Cas lets himself be moved. “Look at me. Hey. Look at me.”

Cas locks eyes with him. That fire. You were Mount Vesuvius, Dean thinks out of the blue. You were ash covering the sky; an ice age. I can see you, covering Europe in snow. I see you making famine.

“I’ve never been conscious of it before,” Cas says carefully. “There has always been an empty space. The ending has never been foretold. But I never—”

He inhales sharply, and pulls away from Dean’s grasp. “You ruined me. Time— I must have always been conscious like this, but this is a change, but that doesn’t— I am not in— I am not like you.”

“Jesus, Cas, let’s— chill out for a sec—”

“I should not be inside time the way you are,” Cas bites out, violently. And then he pauses, and looks at Dean.

Thoughtfully, he adds, “And yet. Here we are.”

“Yeah, okay, I don’t—” Dean rolls his left shoulder back. All he knows is that Cas said you ruined me, and Dean can understand that much. Maybe he can fix it. He asks, “That’s a good thing, right? That you don’t know? That means we can change it. We get to pick how our story ends.”

“You shouldn’t be able to see me like this,” Cas says abruptly. Under his skin, a hawk cries, echoing. “In this in between form.”

He looks restless. Dean tries, “S’okay, Cas, you’re not puttin' me off or anything.”

“We shouldn’t have had this conversation.” Cas blinks, and the earth slides, and Dean is in the driver’s seat of the Impala. He feels the bass of Cas’s voice under his thighs as he says, “Sleep well, Dean.”

The dream lingers. Dean senses glimpses of it: sand, the steering wheel, Pompeii. He has the sneaking suspicion that Cas might’ve been involved, but he has no evidence, no reminder to check on Sam’s location, no ripped up sheet of paper in his pocket.

He rolls over to check the time. An old Gideons sits under his phone, propped open to Daniel, of all things. Dean thought they were at the end of the book. But there is a God in heaven that revealeth secrets, and maketh known to the king Nebuchadnezzar what shall be in the latter days. Thy dream, and the visions of thy head upon thy bed, are these.

“Bullshit,” Dean snorts, tossing the Bible back into the drawer. He thinks about praying to Cas. Hey Cas, he’d say, you up there? Got kind of a wacky feeling about all this. Wackier than our usual, even.

Ridiculous. He throws his coat on, and kicks Sam outta bed, mostly just thankful the kid’s where he’s supposed to be. He waits for him in the car, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. It’s quiet, but he doesn’t really wanna put on any music. As if there’s something else he should be listening for.

“Well,” he says to himself when he can’t remember it. Sam comes out of the room with their bags, and he turns the key in the ignition. The engine’s rumble is familiar under his thighs. “It’ll come to me.”

[worldwidemochiguy]

Can you write BTS yandere reactions if you try to hurt them or even kill them to escape? Love your blog x 💜

ahaha thanks and here you go!! bc there’s seven of them and i wanted to do unique ones for each i kind of don’t stick exactly to the prompt, but i try to include at least one element of it in each thing, anyways i hope you like it 💞💞

Namjoon

“Really, Y/n?” Namjoon doesn’t even look up from the file he’s leafing through at his desk, despite the gun you’re pointing at his head. His tone is — as always — nonchalant, as if he’s almost disappointed in you for daring to challenge him. You feel regret curling its fingers into the back of your head, but you try to stay strong despite your trembling hands.

“Let me go.” You say, with a much weaker tone than you intended. He looks up this time, an eyebrow flicks upwards condescendingly.

“I have no intention of letting you go, Y/n. Does that mean you’re going to shoot me?” You whimper quietly, your finger loosening on the trigger guard. “I really thought you were more intelligent than that, but I guess you will have to be taught another lesson.”

Another lesson. Your mind flashes back to days spent alone, locked in a room so dark you couldn’t tell if it was night or day. Nothing around you, completely untethered and suffocated at the same time. No. Your muscles tense up and, without meaning to, you pull the trigger.

“No!” You scream, even as your finger tightens on the gun.

But the trigger has already been pulled. You squeeze your eyes shut, not wanting to see the bullet exit the chamber, not wanting to the man who’s tormented you splattered against the wall.

You hear a quiet chuckle, and the gun is gently tugged out of your loose grip.

“Silly baby, did you really think I was going to leave a loaded gun where you could find it? No, this was a test, and you’ve failed, Y/n. It doesn’t matter, though, I’ll just have to give you another lesson.”

Jin

“Jagiya,” Jin’s hurt voice caused you to whip around immediately, without realising the half-full vial was still in your tight grip. “W-What are you pouring in the pot?”

When you had volunteered to make dinner that night for the both of you, Jin had been ecstatic, content that you had finally settled into your place as his loving, doting wife. Little did he know that you had hatched a plan to poison him and run away. You had never been a particularly violent person, but you were desperate to escape. You had realised by now that Jin was never going to willingly let you go.

“U-Uh,” You stuttered, glancing down at the vial in your hand, “…it’s seasoning.” His expression instantly showed his disbelief and he stalked over to you, yanking the poison out of your grip and crowding you against the kitchen counter with his intimidating broad frame.

“Jagiya, when I trust you with these things I expect you to be worthy of that trust, not betray me like some common slut!”

The sting of the slap is the first thing that registers before the side of your face goes numb. He hits you again, making your head jerk to the other side. Hot tears track down your inflamed cheeks, exacerbating the stinging. Jin grips your chin roughly, forcing you to look up and into his manic, crazed eyes.

“Listen to me very carefully, Jagiya. If you betray me like this again, you will be the one who ends up dying. But it will not be by a quick and painless poison, no, it will be long and agonising. Is that what you want, huh?”

Yoongi

You slam him against the wall, hard enough to make the pictures rattle.

“Talk to me!” You scream, and your voice breaks on the last syllable, no longer able to choke down the sobs. But Yoongi just stares at you, silent as he had been ever since he discovered your plan to escape.

You had booked the plane tickets, you were so close to freedom you could practically taste it. But, on the morning of your getaway, you woke up in a completely different location. Yoongi had moved the two of you to a secluded safehouse while you slept. When you ran out of the door, he hadn’t stopped you, and soon you realised why.

The warehouse was literally in the middle of nowhere. You ran around for miles, screaming for help until your throat was hoarse. There was no one there to hear you. Eventually, night fell and you stumbled back to the only shelter for miles around, to Yoongi. For a while you were terrified you couldn’t find it, and it was hours before you were back and safe, for a loose definition of the word.

Yoongi has given you what you wanted. You wanted to get out of that house Yoongi had imprisoned you in, and now you were far away from it. You desired freedom, and now you could roam for miles, untethered. You wished to never speak to Yoongi again, and since the morning of your relocation he had not breathed a word to you, despite how much you begged him to.

He was, as far as you knew, the only living soul in the vicinity, and having him not even acknowledge you, especially after having his devoted attention for so long, was tearing you apart. And you had started to resort to any means possible to get him to talk.

“Yoongi!” You yell, wrapping your hands around his throat and squeezing as tightly as you can. He doesn’t react beyond his face redening, and you can feel his pulse weaken beneath your fingertips. You could just kill him, right here, right now. There’s no one around to see it. And after all he’s done to you…

You let him go and he slumps against the wall, panting slightly. You raise a hand to brush away your tears, damp on your cheeks, but it’s useless. They’ll be replaced by fresh tracks soon enough.

“Please,” you beg, staring at his blank face, “Please just talk to me.”

His eyes meet yours for the first time in this new hellhole, and you realise what he wants.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. Just- please,” You bury your sobs in your hands, body shaking with the force of it. A pair of warm arms encircle you, helping your body to still and relax.

“It’s okay, baby, I forgive you. I’ll always forgive you, and you don’t have to worry anymore about your freedom, because I’ve taken us to a place where other people won’t even be able to touch us anymore. Do you feel better now, angel?”

Hoseok

“Y/n!” Hoseok bellows, and you feel that familiar helpless panic surge within you.

A man had approached you at your table when the two of you were at a restaurant while Hoseok was in the bathroom. You had immediately turned him down, telling him you were taken, and the man left disappointed. However, Hoseok saw the exchange and was convinced you were somehow cheating on him with that man. And now he was mad.

“Get back here!” He screams as you dart into the sitting room. You know running will only make it worse for yourself, but you can’t stop from trying to escape from him when he gets like this.

“Y/n! Stop this right now!” His enraged voice rattles through the walls and a second later, he bursts through the door. He sees you on the far side of the room, quivering in terror, and runs at you with his fist raised.

By pure instinct, you dodge his punch. Gaining awareness just in time to watch, horrified, as his knuckles crunch into the plaster. You think you can hear them break, and a second later, Hoseok has his hand clutched to his chest with a wail of agony.

“Oh no~” You whimper, immediately drawing close to him and reaching out to cradle his injured hand in your own. He hisses in pain and you look up to gauge his expression. It is full of discomfort, washing away all of his previous fury.

When you first started dating, it had been difficult to adjust to his constant mood swings, from loving boyfriend to violently jealous to depressed and insecure. Now, you were used to it enough to realise that you had to cherish moments like these when his anger had dissipated.

You lead him upstairs to the bathroom, whispering apologies whenever he made a noise of discomfort or pain. Soon, you have him sat on the edge of the bath as you dab a cotton bud of antiseptic onto his wounds. Three of the knuckles are broken, and all of them badly bruised. Your guilt is a heavy weight on your shoulders.

“I’m sorry.” You say quietly as he hisses when you apply the badages.

“For what?” He snorts, despite the pain in his voice, “For talking to that guy, for causing me to get injured, or for wrapping my wounds too tightly?”

“I-I promise you, Hobi, I didn’t want to talk to him. He approached me but I immediately said I was taken, just like you told me to say. But I am sorry for the other things, Hobi. I’m really sorry.”

He sighs, then runs his uninjured hand through your hair, petting your head softly.

“I only do these things because I love you, Y/n. You’re the one that does this to me, and you make me suffer all the time. Are you going to be good now? And stop making me do all these crazy things for you, huh?”

Jimin

“Aww, baby, you’re so sweet!”

You pause, incredibly confused. When you told your possessive, ridiculously clingy boyfriend that you were leaving him, and had booked plane tickets to leave the country in order to avoid him, you hadn’t expected him to delightedly clap his hands together and coo.

“Jimin… d-did you hear what I just said?”

“Yes, of course I did, Princess! Oh, you’re so cute. I can’t believe you got us plane tickets to France to visit Disneyland Paris!”

“Uh, what?” Your brow furrows, “Jimin, that’s not- I got plane tickets for myself so that I could leave the country. Because of you. And these tickets aren’t even to Fran-“”

“Baby,” Jimin interupts, and you can see the danger on the edge of his loving expression. “I know you’re joking, but don’t upset me now. And getting fake tickets just to prank me is going a bit far.” He reaches out and deftly snatches your plane ticket out of your hand, before you can even react.

“I mean, who knows? You might even confuse these with the real tickets for our trip, so I’ll just-” He rips up the ticket. “-get rid of them for you.” He giggles. “You’re welcome, babe.”

You watch in shock as your freedom flutters in fragmented pieces to the floor. Months of waiting, saving up, planning, all wasted.

“Well?” Jimin prods, and you look back up at him. “Aren’t you gonna say thank you?”

You just stand there stock still for a moment, before all of that longing, and pain, and anger washes over you and, without even processing it, you’re slapping Jimin as hard as you physically can.

He gasps, and then runs out of the room before you can react. You pause for a second before running after him. You find him in the kitchen, stooped over the sink. When he hears your footsteps, he turns around and you see his lip is cut, blood streaming over his chin and down his neck.

You gasp, and running over to him and taking his face in your hands, all thoughts of escaping replaced with bitter guilt. You are so distracted with him that you don’t notice the discarded knife resting behind Jimin’s hand, fresh drops of blood gleaming on the side of the blade.

“Ah, you hurt me really bad, Princess. I can’t believe my perfect angel would do something like this to me. You’re sorry, right? Tell me you’re sorry. Tell me you love me, and I’ll feel better. Just tell me you love me and I won’t punish you, please?”

Taehyung

It has always been extremes with Taehyung. Either he was the most artistic, dorkiest, sweetest boyfriend in the world, or he could be violent, possessive to a ridiculous degree, and controlling over every aspect of your life.

You found yourself growing more frustrated each time he asks you about who your friends are, what they’re saying to you, when you’re talking to them. He doesn’t trust you, and whenever you confront him about it, he tells you that it’s because he loves you too much to lose you.

But that doesn’t make sense. You can’t have love without trust.

“Who is he?” Taehyung screams, and it’s midnight and you’ve had this conversation more times than you can count and you’re just so tired.

Your mom’s been calling, she hasn’t heard from you in a while thanks to Taehyung cutting you off from everyone you knew, including your family.

“It was my mom, asshole! I showed you the contact on my phone! It was my mom!” You spit back at him and he chuckles in fake amusement and you know you’re hurtling headfirst into dangerous territory but you just can’t stop yourself.

“Yeah? Well I don’t fucking believe you! Why won’t you let me call the number back, hmm? What are you trying to hide?”

“I just don’t want you calling my mom because you’re a creep and I don’t want you talking to her!”

He shoves you against the wall and your head swings back painfully. Before you can even register the pain, Taehyung’s lips are on yours, licking into your mouth harshly and biting so hard you taste blood.

It’s more of a fight for dominance than a kiss, and you’re determined not to lose this time.

You twist around and shove him against the wall, hard enough that his head makes a twin indent to yours, and you hope it gains him the same dizzying quality that’s leaking into your vision, so that you’re on more of an even playing field.

He smiles down at you lazily and you feel disgusted with yourself. What’s wrong with you? Deliberately exacerbating fights with your boyfriend just to chase the high of being fought over, the bittersweet pleasure of darkening bruises and words so painful they scream their way out. He smiles at you because you’re just like him, you enjoy the pain, and feel helplessly drawn to it. Maybe that’s why you just can’t leave him.

“Fuck, baby girl can give as good as she gets, is that it? You like a little bit of pain, huh? Well don’t worry baby, I’ll give it to you. Trust me.”

Jungkook

A snort is not the reaction you were hoping for, but it’s what you happens when you take a deep breath and point a dagger at Jungkook. The jewelled handle feels cold and heavy in your palm. It’s the dagger Jungkook keeps beneath his pillow each night in case of intruders, and judging my his little amused glance at it, he recognises his own weapon.

“So, what’s the plan, baby?” Jungkook asks you, remarkably calm for someone with a knife pointed at his chest. “You’re gonna stab me?” Absurdly, you nod when he asks you this. He laughs, then nods himself.

“Ok then, you’re just gonna commit a little murder then. Are you sure you’re capable of that?”

“…uh huh.” You reply dumbly. His eyes twinkle with mirth, and he continues his line of questioning.

“Alright then, you’ll murder me. I guess you’re not gonna clean up the body, considering you’re working alone?” He pauses for a response, and when he receives none he smiles to himself and keeps going.

“After that, where are you gonna go? What are you gonna do? After all, it’s not like you know anyone in this area.”

“That’s not true!” You pipe up, “My uncle Minyoung! He’s helping me leave.”

“Oh, your Uncle Minyoung.” Jungkook gasps in realisation and you nod again. “You mean this Uncle Minyoung?” Jungkook takes a Polaroid out of his pocket and hands it to you. You attempt to take it with your right hand, remember you’re holding a dagger, and take the photo with the other hand instead.

The photo shows a broken corpse, its head detached and pointed towards the camera. Jungkook is posing next to it, winking at you. Right next to him is your Uncle Minyoung’s severed head.

“Oh.” You say, and drop the photo. It flutters gently to the floor.

“Oh,” Jungkook echoes, “Well, what’re you going to do now? Your uncle had all the travel information, right?”

“Right.” You repeat distantly.

“So… how are you going to escape?”

“…I guess I can’t.” You realise, and the corners of his mouth curl into a smug smile.

During your conversation, Jungkook has moved closer and now stands directly in front of you, so close that the dagger is pressed against his chest. You watch as the pointed tip distorts the expensive fibres of his shirt. You wonder how much give they have before it tears.

Jungkook takes the dagger from you delicately, and then sweeps you up in his arms.

“Little baby, trying to escape from me? When will you realise that you will never be able to? You’re just so dumb! You’re lucky I’m here to look after you, or you really wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. You’re so lucky to have me around.”

[slashingdisneypasta]

Horror Villain x Reader || Drabbles

Plot: Having the kid of a Slasher. These have vastly different blurbs though so they have lil’ titles! 

Includes: Freddy Krueger and Michael Myers 

Warnings: Freddy’s one includes the kidnapping of a child by their father (A child killer, to boot). Other then that, what can I say? This is Slasher fanfiction, Freddy is himself. Michael’s is pretty humorous though... :D

Notes: 

I really wanna build on these some more! I plans to write a oneshot where Michael and reader eventually get ‘back together’ sort of? And a prequal to Freddy’s where Maggie visits her half brother and Luke questions her and reader about their father. 

Note: Freddy is going to call you mummy if you are woman, man, or gender neutral. And I’m going to spell it the American way because it just seems more fetishized that way and more like the wrapped up Egyptian dead people the English way. I am not sure how you would accidentally have his child if you have a penis, but who knows in this universe. 

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! 

~~~

Freddy Krueger: Luke // ‘Protecting your child from his father’

“Hey! How are you?” I call, breathless to the receptionist -Judy, - sitting in school office. She looks up and a haze of confusions crosses her pretty green eyes, and I try not to worry. There could be any reasin this woman is confused to see me that is unrelated to my son’s whereabouts. Deciding not to wait for her to tell me how she is because the anxiety in me clenches around my heart like a boa constrictor, I paste on a bigger smile ask. “Where’s Luke? He didn’t come out when the bell went.”

Maybe he’s in the sick bay, or… I don’t know. What other acceptable reason could there be that my son is not here with me?

Don’t think like that.

My smile must look stiff and sharp at this point, because Judy starts very slowly. Cautious. “… Hi-His Dad picked him up, Miss L/N.”

Dad? My nose scrunches up in utter confusion. I’m absolutely certain that I had Bradley taken off the register as Luke’s secondary emergency contact- I stood right here with this woman for half an hour figuring out how to do that. And besides, why would my ex-husband pick up my son from school and not tell me? Luke doesn’t have a-

His… his Dad? Freddy couldn’t have. I’ve been giving Luke Hypnocil pills since he could take them, crushing them every night and stirring the dust into his dinner. I haven’t heard any signs of Freddy for 8 years and a couple months. Let’s set aside that crazy, ridiculous theory for now. Because its impossible! Even if he did want to do something with Luke, he would try to get to him through his dreams, yes? It would be too risky to come on out here and take him from school. That’s crazy.

“What?” Where is my goddamn son? Who took him?

“U-um, uh. A uh, ‘Fredrick Krueger’ took him about an hour ago. His name was in the system, and they looked a bit alike in the eyes, s-so I-we just assumed it was okay.”

For a moment I think I’m going to die on the spot. Then I spit out. “Is this a joke?!”

Its too horrible, too unthinkable to be true. I’ll say it again; I haven’t heard from Freddy in nearly a fucking decade, and that’s the way I was hoping it would stay. What is this.

“N-No, Miss L/N.”

“Did he say where they were going? Did Luke say anything?” My baby. Starting to breathe heavily now from the effort of staying calm and thinking too fast for a clue as to where my son is and what the hell is going on. Did this chick even look at Freddy’s face?! This school is just handing babies over to suspicious men who look like they should be in the burn ward of the intensive care unit?!

“Miss L/N- “This woman is scared, I know, and anxious as she looks with wide eyes all around me instead of at my eyes but she’s really grating on my nerves. A maniac has my son and she is going to give me all the information she has.

“Do you remember your dreams last night? Or the last couple nights?” That’s how assume Freddy got in the system, manipulated Judith here to do it for him. Maybe he left a clue.

“My- my dreams? Um-mm, well I… “My hand slams down on the bench between us so hard the pen attached to a string attached to the early leavers clipboard jumps up a little. My hand shakes, and as she quickly recalls her dream I read through the most recent entries on the board for the early leavers. Right at the bottom, in tiny handwriting that does not belong to Luke is the name Luke Krueger under student and ‘Doctors appointment’ under ‘Reason for leaving’, and a smiley face. I take a deep breath and turn back to Judy with eyes of molten lava. She fumbles with her glasses, on a string around her neck. “I-I remember a junk yard in a couple… “That’s it.

Already flying to the door, I call back. “Have some child’s school exit forms ready for me tomorrow Judy; Goodbye.” And promptly, I fling the door open and run for hell and leather for my car.

~~~

“LUKE!” I scream into the old junk yard, hands shaking but courage as strong as an ox. Nothing, not even death itself will stop me from saving my kid. Looking around every corner and trying to listen to any sound over the loud beating of my heart in my ears, I speed walk around, heading towards the burnt down old shed, yelling for Luke every 2 seconds because I’m deluded into thinking any second he might hear e, and come running out safe to me. When the horrible thing, the shed, comes into view, I feel sick. Its still burnt up, and rust litters the ground around its four walls but its standing.

They’ll be in there.

Forcing myself ahead, because I never wanted to see this, the place Freddy was killed -Because it’s something so terrible. Not because I give a fuck about what happened to Freddy, - I open the door and immediately there they are. It takes me a second to catch my bearing’s, because this place has such an awful feeling and I’ve never been in a situation like this and I don’t know what to do, and because theirs a child killer with his filthy hand on my 7 year old son’s shoulder.

“Luke?” My eyes soften as soon as they find his. Glancing from him to Freddy’s other hand to see if he has a weapon, especially that glove to find nothing, and back to him, I gesture for my him to come here. “Come over here, baby. Its okay.”

He doesn’t say anything, just frowns and whimpers, looking wearily up at the man who’s holding onto him and for an awful second I think Freddy’s going to pull a fast one on us and pull out a razor or something… but then one finger at a time he lets go of Luke and Luke rushes to me so fast that the force pushes me back a little when he reaches me, wrapping his little arms around my waist and digging his face, shaking so I’m well aware that he’s crying now, into my stomach. I drop to my knees and look him over thoroughly, searching for any indications that this ‘doctors’ appointment’ that he was taken for occurred, but theirs nothing.

A sick taste wells up in my throat as I realise this, and as Luke burrows into me again for more hugs and I wrap my arms around him I look back to the problem. “What-What’s this doctor’s appointment I read about? Just a cover?”

“Not in the slightest! But I thought we should probably wait for you before starting… Mommy. I got us a good deal- family pack!” With that, Freddy takes out a scalpel and grins madly. I tighten my grip on Luke. “Who should go first, eh?”

“Stay the fuck back.”

“Oh, I think not!” I gently tug Luke back as Freddy advances, wondering if it would be smart to make any sudden moves right now.

“I called the police!” God, I wish I had now. But I was too focused on getting here before something awful happened that I…

Forgot.

Oh my god.

He stops coming towards us, but then an evil, knowing smile creeps across his mouth. He tilts his head, calling my bluff. “No, you didn’t.”

“Uh, yeah I did!” So, I’m buying for time. Main objective: Save Luke. Leverage: Me. Freddy’s a being made completely up on vengefulness and anger at this point, and I escaped him. He hates that.

Stroking the back of Lukes head with my thumb in thought, I know what I have to do and make like him giving him a little, worried head kiss- but really whisper to him that our car’s in the carpark and my phone is in the passenger seat. He clutches me tighter. Oh, baby… I wish I could come with you.

“You called nobody. Don’t try to bullshit Daddy. Now, I think our little bundle of joy should go first, more fun for me! Little blast from the past, ey?” He takes another step towards us, causing me to jolt back violently from fear, because I’m so close to saving Luke and if Freddy makes any sudden movements, we both might be done for, and tats just unacceptable. That scalpel is unnecessarily big. Where the hell did he get a scalpel that big?! What is it for? Crocodile surgery?!

Luckily, we’re closer to the door then Freddy is -oopsie made on his part,- so when I let go of Luke he goes straight out the door and before Freddy can reach the door and slip out after him, and push myself hard against the door, slamming it closed. For a second everything is still, which is a scary thing when it comes to this killer, and I just sit there on the ground and watch his scary face just be still.

His eyes, though, expressive as they are, reveal how utterly furious he is.

Then slowly he looks down his chest at me, aiming that mad anger at me as his shaking hand grips the weapon so tightly that his knuckles go absolutely white. “You bitch.”

Michael Myers (RZ): Rachael // ‘Visitation’

“Morning Rache!” I exclaim, setting down cheerily on my 12-year-old’s bed as golden early morning light slips through her purple curtains and leaves stripes on my thighs. “It’s Sunday!”

“Why does it always have to be so early with him? Its not church.” She informs me, sleep thick in her voice as she pulls the doona up over her head and rolls over so her back is to me.

“He thinks very highly of himself.” That or this is when visiting hours are.

“I see that.”

“So… “Like I always do on Sunday, I put pluck the blanket away from her face to see her eyes are open and she’s already fully awake. She always is on Sunday morning, it’s because of what she knows is coming. I tuck some of her hair behind her early, and speak gently now, like always. “You wanna go see your Dad?” It always, always, always needs to be her choice. She always says yes, though.

For a moment this time, she pauses. Then deeply rolls her eyes and flicks the blanket back up over her face. “Yeah, okay.”

“Alright. We’ll head off in half an hour, then. Oh- maybe you can tell him about the awkward you got!” I exclaim, brightening immediately because my baby is so smart! Captain of her class, and she just got an award for doing well in maths! Her teacher even told me at parent-teacher interviews that she’s getting the work so much easier than any of the other students. This has been the same since she started Elementary school. Dunno where she got those brains from, but I like to believe if it’s me and not Michael. And I am so proud of her.

“Yeah, I will. Can you get out now so I can get changed, parent?”

“Whatever!” I exclaim cheerfully, like the immature one between us two that I am as I leave the room and shit the door behind me, heading to make her toast. She is more like Michael, in that regard. So focused and serious- I, on the other hand, have Goldfish brain.

Which makes a lot of sense when I ask myself ‘What made you think fucking the Shape of Haddonfield was okay?’ because then I remember ‘Big man, strong hands, big dick’ and I remember.

I’m a moron. Was, a horny moron. But no more! I am a mother now, and mothers don’t get horny! No, no. Ahahaha.

… But that doesn’t mean I regret having Rachael. No fucking way. She’s the mother-fucking light of my life, and I’ll have sex with Michael a thousand more times if that’s what it would take to keep her.

Wait, that doesn’t sound right.

… Ah, oh well. Toast!

~~~

When we get to Michael’s cell, Rachael goes straight over to the door and uses her foot to move the little stepping stool they keep right there, specially for her -well, I bought it and made them keep it there, but that’s just semantics,- and hops on so she can peer through the window to her father. I stay back a few feet with Dr Loomis, my jacket hung over my crossed arms. Because I don’t have anything in common with Sam Loomis at all, as we have previously discovered on these visits, I turn bluntly to him and ask, shamelessly. “So, how’s he going Doc?” Even though Michael’s condition hasn’t changed since he was six, that is what I ask.

Loomis offers me a crooked, humourless grin and explains that nothing has changed, but he did make Rachael a new mask. “Oh, that’s nice.” I say, although really, don’t think that’s nice. Does Michael think I have endless wall space for these things? I don’t want my home to look like his sanatorium cell. I have taste!

Hey, don’t judge me. The only way I can get through these visits is by being sarcastic and making jokes to myself.

And to Loomis, but he doesn’t really like me.

Probably because I make sarcastic jokes about his most dangerous patient.

Eh, oh well.

I turn back to Rachael to see her holding up her award to the window so Michael can read it, and after I lean to the left a bit to see inside the cell I see that he is doing so. He’s just sitting in his dressing gown on a desk chair at the other side of his cell- no wonder Rachael has to talk loudly!

He communicates through head shakes and nods, and sometimes even writes on a white board he always has set on his big -big mannnnnn. Oh jeez, the thirst is still strong, despite him now being an irritating part of my life… I have to get up at the ungodly hour of nine on a Sunday for this. Just to get a new stupid mask and stand back here with Doctor humourless, - lap, which I do concede, is pretty sweet. He doesn’t communicate that way to anyone else, as Loomis told me, except for with her.

Visitation usually lasts an hour and half, if Michael’s feeling ‘chatty’, And he definitely is today, so our visit bleeds into breakfast time so we join him -without a door between us and him,- for breakfast in the cafeteria. Rachael and I sit on one side and Michael and Loomis sit on the other. Mostly Rachael and I chat during this time, but Rachael looks to her father every now and then for his reaction.

“Hey mum, do you want the last pancake?” Rachael asks, eyeing the last fluffy breakfast food just as hungrily as Michael just after Dr Loomis gets up to go check quickly on another patient, leaving us as a ‘family’ for a little bit.

I pat my tummy. “Naw, I’m stuffed! Why don’t you and your dad share it.”

A little smile breaks across her little face, making me grin too. She’s so cute! She’ll always be cute, I don’t know if she’s 37, a pasty scientist and mildly mangled from experiments gone wrong, she’ll still be adorable. I’m sure Michael agrees. “Okay!”

As she goes off to get the pancake, I leap to take the chance alone to have a chat with Michael myself.

Or attack him.

Placing my elbow securely on the table between us, pointing at him, I squint. “Stop making her masks, Michael! Anything else, really!- We’ve had this talk before, multiple times. You know I have no wall space!”

He shoulders jump, like he silently chuckled at me, and my squint-greasy, just enhances.

“You know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

After a moment, he veeeeery purposefully shrugs those huge shoulders of his. He does know, he does. I knew it!

“Ooooooooh… “I nearly shake with annoyance, returning to my seat properly and glaring I hope subtly from my side of the table as Rachael returns and carefully tears the pancake in half for them. As she does, I watch and just sit and take great pleasure in the fact that they wont even trust plastic knives around Michael. Ha!

He see’s the too-happy glint in my eye and drinks all my juice.

Damn him.

[beyoncesdragon]

The Sin pt. 2

The confession  

Pariring: Tommy Shelby x Reader 

Warnings: some making out bc I want that and lots and lots of swearing 

Summary: It’s an invite that went missing and feelings that got returned. Just a little late, a little unfortunate and a little unholy. In this part: Where Tommy confesses something to the reader and Grace plays a different part in it than imagined. 

Here: Where Tommy finally comes home.

a/n: first of all: I am so so so so so sorry for taking ages to write this. believe me I have around 4 different versions of this, all over 3k words long. I struggled greatly with this, and it’s my own fockin fault. I think I have never, and I mean never struggled more and I hateeeee this. but it just doesn't seem to get better. I am sorry. I hope you still read and enjoy🥺

Just because I can remember @soleil-dor​ asking specifically...this for u. I am so SORRY fuck

My Masterlist 

My doorbell ringed at the same time the church bells stroke midnight and it scared me half to death. I’d fallen asleep on the couch, only dressed in my flowy nightgown and a light blanket over my shoulders, the book had already slipped from my grip. I sat up, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders, carefully approaching the door. I heard a rumble from upstairs, probably Elise jumping out of her bed. I sighed, deciding that I would just open the door myself.

The last man I had expected to stand in front of my door, soaked to the bone and with pale face and tousled hair was him. Not that I had expected anyone, but especially not him.

My eyes flickered over his silhouette and back to his face. There was something strange in his eyes, something broken from the inside, almost. His posture remained as always, proud, upright and unbothered but his eyes…I remember how Polly had once mentioned to him that the eyes were the doors to the soul. Tommy had just blankly stared at her, given her an unfazed look before lowly explaining that he, in fact, must’ve lost his soul in France then, because nobody would ever read him through his eyes. And I had almost believed him. Almost.

I snapped out of my thoughts and tilted my head. I wasn’t entirely sure if I wanted another Shelby around at that time of the day.

The white light of a lightning flared across the dark night and made me flinch. To hell with this, I was not letting anyone stand outside my door during weather like this. With a small sigh I stepped aside, letting him pass me to come in. Elise, my loyal handmaiden who had peaked from behind my back, quickly shuffled aside, the worry still haven’t left her face. Usually it would’ve been her opening up, but I had allowed her to go to sleep already because I really wanted to finish that book...so she’s been freed from that duty. However, it didn’t stop her from come running when she heard the doorbell ring.

My eyes fell on a gun in her hand, as it suited the only handmaiden in an unprotected house. Yet I still always chuckled seeing her like this: wearing a light green nightshirt which reached down over her knees, backless slippers and a nightcap to protect her light brown curls. And then a bloody gun. I supressed a grin.

“Madam…?” she whispered as I closed the door shut, giving him a suspicious look. “It’s fine Elise. It’s just Tommy he…he’s okay. You can go to bed again. Or maybe if you would just prepare a the kettle with some hot water for tea…” I suggested, eyes trailing over Tommy. This man needed tea, urgently.

She nodded almost reluctantly before hinting a curtesy. Almost secretive she however handed me the gun, as if to make sure I could still shoot him if in need. I bit back a smile and nodded at her, before looking back at Tommy.

He had his eyes locked on me, a strong unbroken gaze. He didn’t even blink. His black coat was dripping down onto the carpet, his hands held his hat tightly. His eyes left me to follow the young frame of Elise leaving the kitchen with a nod into our direction and tiredly climbing up the stairs.

“She’s handed you a gun.” Those were the first words he had said to me since that phone call, around two weeks ago. His eyes now fell to my hands before I could place the gun down or hide it…so I wouldn’t offend him. But he’s seen it, obviously.

“She has. People are not scared enough of women to leave us alone.” I explained with a shrug, looking down at the shimmering weapon in my hand. “Y’gonna use it?” I looked up surprised. “Against who? You?” he shrugged, face blank and impossible to read. I could only chuckle at that, shaking my head and placing it down. “Obviously not?” he nodded in a matter-of-factly before suddenly grabbing my hips and shoving me against the wall behind me. His hand were everywhere and his lips left burning kisses all over my neck and jaw.

“T-Tommy…?” I could only stutter, completely taken aback by his eagerness, his neediness and his want. His cloak was still wet and cold and I could feel it soak through my thin silky nightgown as he pressed his body against mine.

“Wet.” I could only mumble against his lips before he bit down on my lower lip, urging me to stop talking. He however did start to shrug the jacket off of his shoulders, getting frustrated when it wouldn’t work. I pushed him away gently, helping him slipping out of the wet coat. it took me about ten seconds but I already missed his touch like an addict craved a line of coke. He let the probably completely overpriced coat fall to the ground and instead of picking it up he was back on my lips in no time. His hands were roaming over my body, pulling me tighter every now and then. His tongue urged me to open up my lips to let him deepen the kiss. I did, not hesitating a second. The sharp whistle of a teapot made us snap apart. His breathing was heavy, just like mine.

He stepped back in silence, letting me pass in an almost awkward silence. Tension lied heavy between the two of us, so thick and noticeable it made me dizzy. He made me dizzy.

“Is Earl Grey fine? No wait, camomile is actually better…or lime blossom…” I coughed, trying my hardest to overcome the husk of my own voice as my fingers traced along the carefully stacked tins filled with the best herbs and mixtures.

“Whisky does the job.” His husk voice caught me off guard since it was way closer than I had expected. “Lime blossom it is then. Fuck off with whisky, do you know what time it is?” he said nothing after that, his eyes silently following my every move as I set up the teapot to pour the boiling water into. There wasn’t another word spoken during the time the lime blossom soaked in, we kind of just stood there, watching the steam from the teapot and each other.

He looked worn out in the dim light of my kitchen. His skin was paler than usual, his hair a tad messier than I was used to (which could theoretically also be my fault though), his eyes less deep and colder.

Now, where he had removed his dripping coat he looked a bit less buff. Still a hunk of a man, still towering me. Especially because I wasn’t wearing heels, which was a thing I usually did, especially around men. Their ego was often big enough to treat me more like a servant and less like a business partner simply because I was a woman and they were taller. It was ridiculous really. Tommy had never treated me like this, I had never feared to be treated like an underdog. Sure, he was sly and witty, he knew how to bargain and twist everything to his profit. But that wasn’t done in a condescend manner at all. Maybe that was why I was drawn to him the way I was. The second he stepped out of his car and walked towards me, proud and seemingly uncaring of all the stares he was receiving from my workers. It had been truly stunned when he stopped, eyes wandering over my stable lad and me, before approaching me. Usually people tended to approach Gregory first, a thing I watched with great amusement. Not so Tommy, he’d approached me from the beginning. And he ended up buying one of my best horses immediately, Yastra, a horse I had never planned to sell in the first place. She wasn’t even named properly for the race tracks. Tommy couldn’t care less. He’d given the proud sand coloured steep a long look before offering his deal. Yastra still lived on my property and I still trained her, just like the two other horses he’d bought later on. Only one, a brown mare by the name of Pacific Princess II stood in his stables.

The strong and sweet taste of the lime blossom made me shake my head and snap out of my thoughts. Tea was ready and if I would leave it too long without serving, it would turn bitter. “Get me a stand from in there.” I turned to reach for the honey when I suddenly felt his presence behind me. I turned around, almost bumping into him. He had his lips on mine before I could even say something, picking off the unsaid words from my lips and swallowing them down. His tongue urged me to open up my lips to let him deepen the kiss. I did, not hesitating a second.

It wasn’t a sweet kiss, not at all. It was more like a violent, unrestrained kiss, a kiss with teeth nipping on swollen lips. He was devouring me, drinking all of my being in with one kiss, and I felt like he was sucking the air straight from my lungs.

Tommy kissed so hard it was like he was trying to leave the memory of the imprints of his lips in my mind forever. And he probably accomplished just that by now.

His hands were roaming over my body, pulling me tighter every now and then. He pushed me back against the countertop, lifting me up to place me down on it immediately.

He let out a throaty groan, splitting my legs with his body to come even closer. He tasted sweet, kissed filthy as ever and set my skin on fire. My mind was blank, all I could I think was Tommy, his hand on my back, the other one trailing shakily from my waist up, over my breast before halting at my collar bone. He brought it up to my neck, deepening the kiss even more, making it just a tad more desperate.

In moments like these it was when I realised once again how I would never ever get over Tommy Shelby, not in this life and probably not in another one. He just swept me off my feet every time. He did it when we had kissed first, needy and thrilling, in the stables a few years ago. It had been the third time we had met, this time for inspecting one of his race horses because of breeding options. Monaghan boy, a black stallion with a beautiful neck. As always, tension had lingered  between the two of us like a thick fog, but he had been the first to give in. He had this thing where he liked to back me up against the wall, preferably dominant and always in charge. It had made my knees weak in an instant and it didn’t help that he had a tongue to sin with. From that day on, our meetings consisted of either heated discussions about horses and life or sex. Or both, most of the time…then he had met Grace and whatever we had, stopped. And it stopped in an ugly way, rather. I could’ve understood if he had come to me and told me that he now considered a serious relationship with someone who was not me. I would’ve let him go, heartbroken but at peace. But he had not had the decency to do so, oh no. he had rather left in a hurry with a few stuttered words about “This can’t happen anymore…I’m sorry.”

And yet here he was, for the second time since he said that and ran. And I was letting it happen again, like the fool I was. We parted swiftly to catch out breaths again before Tommy connected his lips with my neck again. He sucked lightly at my skin and left a trail of burning marks down to my shoulders. I moaned quietly as he bit down on my sweet spot right above my collar bone, and pushed his face up to mine again. Instead of kissing me again, he just looked at me, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Regretting this already?” I pushed out, almost in spite since he still waited. He quirked an eyebrow, eyes growing dark again. “Why do you always try to piss me off?” good question actually, on the other hand, who the fuck was he to ask anything. “Because you’re hot when you are angry.” He growled lowly, bringing his lips to mine again.

I don’t know what it was that broke the spell and made  a weird form of panic flood my bones. Something in my brain switched when he suddenly picked me up, his hungry lips still on mine. This was a married man with a son and a wife at home. What the hell was I doing here? But before I could say something, Tommy had carried me into the livingroom and placed me on one of the couches. He was over me in an instant, pressing me down gently.

“Tommy…Tommy what are you doing?” I asked breathlessly, panting for air. He stopped, eyes flickering over my face, dark with lust.

“What does it look like.” He was equally out of breath, his voice just a tad throatier than before. I said nothing, just brushed a strand of hair out of his face. A whirlwind of emotions flickered through his eyes, like a thunderstorm of realisation, lust, angst, regret, maybe? It was quiet in the room for quite a while, only the crackling fire and wind hitting the windows could be heard. Then Tommy did something I had not expected at all: he let his head rest on my chest, arms around me, unmoving like a heavy organic blanket. My fingers found their way up to his hair, carefully brushing through the longer curls. I was still a bit taken aback by the sudden switch of attitude and mood.

“What’s troubling you, Tommy?” I asked softly, still stroking through his hair. The raw and vulnerable energy that surrounded us now, almost took my breath away. Tommy just shook his head swiftly. He wasn’t ready to talk about it, or so it seemed.

“Do y’ever wear it?”

I was confused first. Wear what? Then…my hand wandered up to my neck, as if searching for the green emerald. But there was nothing, just hot skin.

“I do.  I took it off for bed.” I explained, almost physically feeling the weight of the precious stone on my collar. “Why did you even send it back?” I asked carefully, that question had lingered in the back of my mind for quite some time now. Tommy sighed deeply. “I took an envelope and…” I snorted quickly, cutting him off. “Stop bullshitting me Tommy. I gave her the necklace. Did she not like it?” He sat up, looking down at my lying frame beneath him. There was almost a sly glint in his blue eyes as his gaze met mine again.

“Someone convinced her that the heart was cursed. Gipsy magic.” I gasped in outrage. “Excuse me? Someone?” Tommy just leaned back, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Someone.” He confirmed, still that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Fuck off Tommy. She probably hates me now. Good job, this is one way of keeping me away from your parties.” He let out a snort, almost a chuckle.

“That won’t be a problem anymore. You can come whenever you like.” I rose my eyebrows surprised. I felt like we were slowly getting to the reason why he appeared on my doorstep at twelve thirty in the night.

“She’s…well…she’s left.” I sucked in a startled breath. “Left? As in…ran away? Divorced?” Tommy had his face turned away from me, his eyes watching the fire in the fireplace crackle. “Left.” I gulped, not knowing what to say or do. “I am sorry…really sorry.” I only stuttered, watching the flames reflect red in his eyes. They seemed glossier than before…Jesus Christ I really had no idea how to deal with this situation as a whole. Only hesitantly I placed my hand on his arm. It was weird how I now felt so…shy touching him, when only minutes ago we were making out like our lives depended on it.

“Is it because…because of me?” I whispered, scared of his answer. He snapped back to me, eyes then trailing over my hand.

“No…she’s been married before me, you know. Only she told me that her man had killed herself after she left him.” it made sense now to me, her purple dress. A dress symbolizing that one was still mourning…and I had wondered over who, at a wedding after all.

“Turns out that he’s very much alive.” His voice was bitter and heavy of anger and I traced small circles into arm. “We’ve had an argument you know…about horses and who trains them.” My interest peaked up some more. “I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of May Carleton…” I nodded swiftly. Of course I did, she was a mutual in every way after all.

“Suppose you had something going on with that one too?” Tommy hesitated a moment before nodding quickly.

“I never loved her. It was just…sex?” he almost asked me that and I chuckled softly. “Who am I to judge Tommy. I don’t know if you had feelings for her. After all, you shouldn’t degrade what the two of you did…are we not the same?” that made him snap around to me. “We? Just sex?” his eyes narrowed and it seemed like a new fire ignited them. I waved it off, drawing another circle in his arm. He shook his head, continuing.

“It stopped when Grace came back from New York.” I hummed before waiting for him to continue. “She trained my horses…” I gave him a pointed look. “I can sense betrayal.” He gave me a pointed look.

“What?” I couldn’t help but grin. “Training your horses by another woman…I am hurt. You coward.” He shook his head slowly. “You don’t know how difficult you are sometimes.” I chuckled softly, giving him a wink.

“You love me.” He said nothing, his face falling a bit. I frowned, wanting to assure him that I was only joking but he cut me off. “Do you have whisky?” I nodded, getting up swiftly and walking over to a cabinet. “What would you like?” I asked, stepping aside for him to see the dusty bottles. He got up and walked closer, eyes wandering over the labels.

My eyes wandered over his face, that worn out but handsome face, a face that haunted me and basically ruined all other men for me. My thoughts flickered to the expression on his face when I made the joke about him loving me. I had meant to read something like guilt in his features, but why? Sure, love was a strong word and I wasn’t entirely sure if I could ever expect love from someone like Tommy Shelby, especially after he just broke up with Grace…no, after she just broke up with him. Or called off the engagement, or whatever.

“That one.” I snapped out of my thoughts and grabbed the bottle he chose. I prepared two glass of the orange brown liquor carrying them over to the couch again.

I sat down whilst Tommy kept pacing around the room, his glass in his hands. I noticed the absence of a ring and it almost felt…relieving. But then again…it didn’t. because I couldn’t help but feel guilty for all I’d done.

“She took the boy with her. To fucking New York.” He suddenly pressed out, necking the whisky in a swift move. My mouth parted in surprise and I could only stutter my words of condolence. “I’m sorry to hear that…” I started, silenced by his angry glare immediately.

“Stop lying.” I rose my eyebrows. “Lying? Why should I lie?” he shrugged, visibly frustrated now. “Can I smoke?” I shrugged, watching him light up a cigarette before turning back to me. “Because that’s what you…I don’t fucking know!” he then started, not even daring to finish his thoughts. And maybe it was that what finally ticked me off.

“You wanted to say, because that’s what I wanted? Is it that? Finish your damn sentences!” his eyes flashed up in irritation, but I went on before he could even reply to anything.

“By the way Tommy, what I want is something that should be entirely unknown by you, since you’re not me! And, just to clarify, before you use that…thing that there was on that party two weeks ago: you kissed me! I only turned up because of…I don’t know, spite, anger, whatnot. But I never intended to do anything like…what we did.” He laughed dryly. “You wanna say, you regret it?” I tilted my head, leaning back a bit. “I never said that.” He hummed, an angry glint in his eyes again. Or rather, still.

“Maybe you shouldn’t’ve turned up then, and sure as hell not given her that damn necklace…” I shook my head.

“I think we both know that this is not about you and not being able to handle her wearing some green, glittery rock.” He took a sharp breath. “By the way, do you even realise how dangerous a rumour like this is for my reputation? That I jinx stuff? Curse chains and…jewellery? There is a legit possibility of my name being ruinedbecause of your little lie.” he said no word, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, grey smoke passing through his lips.

“Are you done?” his voice wasn’t as calm and collected as usually, instead is was heavy with anger and maybe hurt. His icy eyes snapped back to mine, piercing through them as if to strip me off of all of my dignity and leave my soul linger nakedly in front of him.

“Am I done?” I repeated quietly, anger making my voice hoarse. He’d always had a special talent for pissing me off, but this was topping anything. I didn’t even knew what to respond I was so angry. “Yes, are you done. Done, because then I can tell you why the fuck I decided to send that goddamn thing away, back to you.” he took another pull from his smoke before flicking it into the fire. “Can you remember why I gave you this necklace? When I gave it to you?” of course I could, clear as day. It had been a promise, a small, weak promise to care for each other. We had been out, a lovely and peaceful walk with the horses he had just bought, the stars bright and the night cold. He’d been nervous the moment he presented the beautiful stone to me, an almost angsty flicker in his eyes, as if waiting for a rejection.

I had not rejected, obviously, and Tommy had slipped the necklace around my neck whilst pressing butterfly kisses to my neck. But still: the one who ran and broke his own promise had not been me, but him. I crossed my arms over my chest, shaking my head slowly.

“Of course I can. But it still explains nothing.” He grunted angrily. “Not, eh? Maybe that I don’t need a reminder of us around me every day?” I laughed softly, shaking my head. “You mean, you are selfish Tommy? You mean that the fact that you broke your own fucking promise, is making you regret certain decisions from your past? And I am not talking about marrying another woman, I am talking about that hit and run number you pulled there, and then not inviting me to you bloody wedding-celebration…” he slammed his fist down on the chair back, me regret my decision to jump up immediately. But I couldn’t just sit down again, I wouldn’t back off now.

“Do I look like I need a bloody reminder that I fucked up, eh? Do I really look like that to you? And you come and have the fucking nerve to…blame it on my selfishness? My selfishness? When you knew ex-fucking-sactly, what would do to me, if you gave her this necklace?” I was robbed of words to shoot back at him, stumbling back at the force of his words. He followed up, it felt like I was back in his office again.

“You don’t leave my head, my thoughts, my mind, not at night and not at day. You’re there constantly, alright? And I am…was fucking married, alright? I have a bloody kid with that woman, a life, a house, a business. I don’t need a reminder of you on my spouses neck. Fuck!” his eyes were wild and full of emotion, his breath quick and hot and grazing my lips, he was so close.

“I’m sorry.” Was all I pressed out, not exactly knowing what else to say. Tommy just shook his head. “I am sorry. I think I just…” his whole attitude changed all of a sudden, again as if all the anger and hurt left his body and left him behind tired and worn out.

“I think I just missed you.”

I carefully linked my fingers with his before pulling him into a hug. “I missed you too, Tommy. A lot, y’know?” he just buried his face in the crook of my neck and took a deep breath. After a few second he let go of me, stepping back a bit. Not far, and never fully letting go of me. “Let’s go to bed, yeah? You can have the guestroom if you need space…” he just tilted his head. “or you can sleep in my bed. With me present of course.” A shy smile played around his lips as he nodded softly. “I am comfortable if you are.” I just pulled him upstairs.

It felt different when Tommy slipped under the covers now, as if we’d never spent a night in the same bed. Which was close to ridiculous because that wasn’t the case at all. The energy just had never been so honest and so…vulnerable. I could hear him take a deep breath, before I felt his arm wrap around me. I turned around to him, glimpsing up at his face. The dark almost swallowed him whole, but I could make out a soft shimmer where his eyes were and the light from the window illuminated his silhouette.

“Are you okay?” I asked carefully, tangling my leg with his.

“Can I kiss you?” I chuckled softly, arms resting on his shoulders. “Have you not already? Like, when you ruined my nightgown, not that long ago?” I could almost hear his little smirk when he hummed, but I could definitely feel it when he brought his lips down to mine. His arms tightened around me when we parted and he let out a soft sigh.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Tommy.” I whispered, leaning into his arms. He mumbled something, words so quiet I couldn’t quite catch them. I raised my head back up.

“Hm?”

“I just…I said that I’m back home.”

[the-darklings]

DUDE your tags on the hozier jackie and wilson song post GOSH. WHAT HAVE U DONE? the level of involvement i have developed towards those two is absurd at this point thanks for that

—reasons wretched and divine;

pairing: santino x reader (vipress) [you win this one team santino]

wc: 2.2k+

an: so anon is referring to this post and the tags on it. I originally wanted to hold off writing this cause while it is a canon event for COA, it takes place directly during Chicago, and obviously since no one has any clue wtf happened there I worried it might be premature to write this but you know what?? I’m miserable and wanted to write something cute so here we go. Enjoy dear anon! And to the other anon who said there are no fics for him…I hope this can sate your thirst lol.

Lake Michigan is a sprawling, large ravine of water that reflects the setting sun as you stare at it through the hotel window.

In the far west, dark clouds are already gathering and you know that there is substantial snowfall in the forecast. Ares had made a comment earlier about how navigating Santino’s security is going to be a nightmare for the next few days.

Curling tighter in your seat, you lean your cheek against your folded arms, debating a nap before dinner. You managed maybe two hours of sleep last night and your head feels exceptionally heavy. You hate the fact that awake or asleep you never seem to find peace anymore.

The earlier silence filling the room has been suffocating though, so you have opted to turn on the radio to dispel it. The random station continues playing an unfamiliar song and your eyes flutter closed for a second.

The door to your room suddenly opens behind you, and your fingers wrap around a blade; a cold, comforting weight in your hand.

Sucking in a sharp breath, you turn, readying your muscles for a fight.

But your fear is unfound when you spot Santino strolling into the room, his phone pressed to his ear and expression pinched with annoyance. His lips, too, are pulled into a faint sneer as he listens to whatever is being said impatiently.

“I do not need it tomorrow,” he remarks in biting, cold French before spotting you and giving you a brief smile as he turns his attention back to the conversation. “I do not need it later. I need it now. So I suggest you start doing your job before I find someone who can.”

He hangs up without waiting for an answer and grumbles under his breath. “People. Tell me, cara mia, is everyone that’s not us is this stupid and incompetent?”

“Probably,” you drawl, sheathing your blade and turn your attention back towards the large window. “You’re also kind of an asshole.”

Santino scoffs with a snarky grin as he comes to a stop beside you, his expression easing. His eyes take you in—pathetic and miserable, with your limbs folded around you like a shell—and his smile dies a little. There is something about that intense regard of his that makes you almost brittle. It’s as bad as Winston, except Santino doesn’t look grim with understanding. Santino dresses up his rage with a calm softness that brims with that familiar, cold promise of retribution.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, though it sounds more demanding due to subtle anger lacing the words and deepening his accent. “Still unwell?”

“I’m fine,” you shoot back dully, not looking at him, but that glimmer of curiosity still forces your tongue. “I didn’t know you could speak French so well.”

It’s a statement more than a question, but just as expected Santino sits down beside you in the other spare chair. Unlike you, however, his eyes focus on you oppose to the stunning scenery outside the window.

“I am a Camorra heir,” he reminds you but there is nothing patronising to be found in his smooth baritone. “My father made sure that Gianna and I had tutoring in all the main spoken languages from around the world. We started young.”

“What if you don’t have an aptitude for languages?”

Santino smiles slightly when you glance at him, but it’s a cool, cutting thing. The look in his eyes even more so as he laces his fingers together, his elbows resting on his thighs. “Ah, my father did not particularly care for that, cara.”

You scoff, shaking your head a little. That isn’t exactly surprising to hear, especially in relation to a man like Giovanni. A man of strong, unforgiving features, deep voice and eyes so dark they make it difficult to even look at him. It makes you suppress a shiver just thinking about him.  

For a few minutes, you sit in almost comfortable silence and although you don’t consider Santino someone you can completely relax around, you find yourself grateful he is here. Better than being alone. Perhaps Winston had a point after all.

But you don’t need anyone, you remind yourself.

You don’t need another repeat of John.

John and his beautiful wife. John and his wonderful wedding. John and—

Something inside aches; a dull, violent throb of loneliness. Of pain.

Your fingers tremble violently before you hide them from sight, and feel Santino follow the motion with his eyes. Too slow.

After another few seconds of watching the almost gone sun, he rises to his feet with a deliberate sort of air around him. He turns to you, extending his hand in your direction, his eyes giving nothing away.

You stare at him blankly.

“The radio,” he speaks after a pause, one eyebrow quirking. “We should practice. We have to be—”

“Convincing, yes, you have said that maybe ten times already,” you interrupt with a roll of your eyes before glancing around the room and back to him. “I’m not going to dance with you, Santino.”

The man before you slides one of his hands in his trouser pocket, observing you with a tilt of his head, and keep his hand extended between you.

“Come now, cara mia,” he speaks, his voice laced with boredom and this time you do see the arrogant heir who gets everything he wants. “My arm is growing tired.”

Snorting, you rise to your feet stiffly, glaring. You know him well enough to know that he will not drop it. So you will give him what he wants, if only to get rid of him. So much for not being alone.  

You stand face to face for a second—with him simply gazing at you and you glaring back. He steps closer, one arm wrapping carefully around your waist while another gently takes a hold of your hand. Your body is a coiled mass of taut muscles while your jaw grinds painfully. His expression is both guarded and open all at once as he peers at you silently.

He’s warm.

It’s an odd thing to notice about a man who revels in violence. But till that moment you haven’t realised how cold your hands have gotten. He cradles your fingers in his larger ones, surprisingly gentle, and the warmth of his Camorra ring presses into your skin as you sway awkwardly from side to side.

“Clearly,” he starts teasingly, but more subdued than you’re used to seeing him. “We are both exceptionally gifted dancers.”

You don’t answer him. You’re not in the mood to joke around. You haven’t been in the mood for anything lately.

The radio continues playing another unfamiliar tune, and you let your mind focus on the lake outside your window again.

“Say something,” he whispers abruptly, strained, and you head snaps in his direction at the angry softness wrapping his words. His grip on you tightens briefly before loosening again. “Anything. Where is the fire that I adore so? Do not tell me that he robbed you of it so completely, cara mia.”

Your heartbeat spikes, and you stare at him coldly. “I am seconds away from walking away from this whole thing,” you inform him and your words are harsh even though you don’t so much as raise your voice. “You don’t talk about him. Ever.”

Santino’s jaw tenses at your words—at the acidic bite of them—but he doesn’t oppose you. Only looks at you. You wonder what it is exactly that he’s trying to unearth. You’re not sure there’s anything left to you anymore.

Though you continue swaying from side to side, the silence between you is chilly, heavy.

The song on the radio changes again and you blink, recognising the start of a familiar tune. Then comes the voice and despite your best intention to remain unaffected, you start swaying to the beat. Santino notices, his green eyes gleaming with understanding.

“This song…” he trails off, glancing towards the radio. “It is familiar to you, no?”

No other version of me I would rather be tonight and lord, she found me just in time.

You shake your head in immediate denial, but Santino’s eyebrows jump up playfully and he matches your rhythm, turning from side to side with more energy. His arm stays on the small of your back but now a small smile lingers across his lips.

I need to be youthfully felt ‘cause, God, I never felt young.

He starts humming and you shoot him a half-hearted glare. “What are you doing?”

His smile turns slyer, knowing, but his voice is ever-so innocent when he speaks. “Dancing, bella.”

The chorus kicks in, and Santino pushes you away from him before tugging you back with one smooth motion and you stifle a gasp, your grip on him tightening. He moves you in a more deliberate circle, singing under his breath. He butchers every single line, clearly having no idea what the lyrics even are while you continue glaring. But he just watches you, smug and shrewd, every time your eyes meet.

He steps back and raises your hands above your head. Rolling your eyes, you turn in a circle, your muscles loosening somewhat as he pulls you back into his embrace.

“Those are not the lyrics,” you grumble petulantly, shooting him a look but Santino only grins wider. “It’s not—”

He dips you with a chuckle and pulls you back up to him, ignoring your slap on his shoulder with another grin of amusement.

“Then you better sing it with me and correct me, cara,” he informs you, mock-serious, but his eyes glow with mirth, a playful teasing. He steps back, grabbing your other hand and tugs back and forth, creating little waves with your arms.

You both no doubt look ridiculous. Like two little kids dancing in a playground, clumsy and uncoordinated, as you try to create your own rhythm.

But—

There is a slow blooming lightness in your chest you can’t recall feeling for ages.

A reluctant smile tugs one corner of your mouth even if you try to smother it, and you know by his pleased expression that he’s spotted it nonetheless.

We tried the world; good God, it wasn’t for us.

“She’s gonna save me, call me baby,” you sing under your breath and he joins you—both of you most likely completely off-key and miles away from the tune—but you can’t help but chuckle when you note how seriously he’s taking this. “Run her hands through my hair. She’ll know me crazy, soothe me daily. Better yet, she wouldn’t care.”

Clearly picking up on the lyrics, Santino sings a bit louder—still off-key—as he leads you in an extravagant circle, your arms still swinging. He twirls you again, and you can’t help but chuckle as your terrible mix of voices soars while you turn from side to side. You’re a flurry of movement, both caught in the lively energy of the song as you tangle in each other.

“We’ll name our children Jackie and Wilson raise ‘em on rhythm and blues,” you finish off, breathless with laughter and lean into him for a second, a crooked grin splitting your face.

Santino drags his eyes over your features, seemingly caught off guard by what he’s seeing, and clears his throat slightly before smirking faintly.

“Who is this man?” he questions, both curious and somewhat out of breath, and you don’t miss the fact that his grip on your doesn’t loosen. “We should go see him.”

You can’t help but snort, and his expression creases with wonder when he notices your amusement. He’s smiling too though—as if your momentary joy is somehow important to share in.

“What?”

“Well, for one, I don’t think he’s on tour,” you point out and realise that you haven’t heard your voice this light and carefree in months, if not years. “And I’m sure an Italian mobster with a pack of guards is going to draw no attention whatsoever.”

Your sarcasm is clear and open, and his answering crooked grin makes him appear younger, less guarded. Less arrogant, too, and more…more human. Something you have never seen him show openly before—not like this.

“It could be just us and Ares,” he tells you calmly, but there is a flicker in his eyes that seems to make him hesitate for a split second before he continues on, “Or…just us.”

Something inside your withers at his words; retreating inwards, terrified and broken, and you pull away from him.

With every new inch of distance between you, Santino’s open expression draws closed again. Only the cool, haughty heir remains and for a loaded moment, neither of you speak. A step at most separates you but it might as well be miles. It has caught you off guard—this genuine moment of fun and freedom and laughter, but it’s time to come back to reality.

And the reality is that you are not here, in this city, for fun and games.

“We should focus on the job.” Forced and empty.

“Yes, of course, cara mia. It is for the best.” Stilted and formal.

His hands slip back inside his pockets and he regards you for another brief moment before moving past you.

You stand rooted in your spot, the distant sound of the radio filling the air.

Santino’s footsteps fade.

Outside, it begins to snow.

…

an: ofc I have to finish with a sprinkle of angst. hope you enjoyed this tho. I needed something sweet today. Dedicating it to my little bean who I had to say goodbye to today, and Team Santino who is cheering me up a lot these last few days with their wild messages. Love ya guys!  

[jennycalendar]

bad dreams

read it on ao3!

SO. i have been thinking about giles/jenny/anya as a concept for like a week now, & finally decided to try my hand at writing it, esp. since i have tentative ideas for a much larger fic involving them. a lot of this is to test the waters.

but like...i have a Lot Of Goddamn Emotions about how all three of them are isolated in ways of their own choosing, & how it would feel for all of them--particularly anya--to have solid, healthy relationships in their lives.

this fic is thanks in part to @jackalopingintothevoid, who listened to me ramble about g/j/a for a Really Long Time yesterday. love u a WHOLE bunch.

There were some moments—not many, but some—where Anya felt like she was ridiculously behind the curve with regards to Jenny and Rupert. She supposed a lot of it had to do with the fact that Jenny and Rupert had known each other a lot longer than she’d known both of them, and shared a whole bunch of experiences that she hadn’t had any part in—but some of it was just because this whole thing was really new, and Anya was really nervous. It felt like twice the pressure, because now she had two people who might suddenly realize they didn’t like her and didn’t want her and didn’t need her.

She loved them so much, though, which was why it made moments like these hard: Jenny was crying, little shaky sobs, as she buried her face in Rupert’s shoulder. Rupert was rocking her with a practiced ease, humming a song Anya didn’t know; Anya felt like an intruder.

“Come here, Anya,” said Rupert suddenly.

Heart in her throat, Anya obliged, scooting a little closer across the bed until her shoulder bumped Rupert’s. Jenny lifted her head, eyes blotchy, and sort of bumped her forehead against Anya’s in an all but companionable way. “Hi,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Bad dream?” Anya inquired, feeling stupid for even having to ask the question.

But Jenny smiled a little, reaching up to stroke Anya’s cheek. “Getting better,” she said.

Rupert was giving Anya that Look that meant he knew what she was worrying about, and was about to try and prove to her how ridiculous it was. Just as Anya was opening her mouth to try and stop him from doing—whatever it was he was going to do, Rupert said, “Here, Jenny—” and shifted Jenny over to Anya in one smooth motion.

Anya, who hadn’t been expecting this, and who was just slightly smaller than Jenny, fell ungracefully back against the pillows, Jenny falling along with her. She felt Jenny begin to giggle, still a little shaky, but happy nonetheless. “Do you need a little more warning next time?” Jenny whispered.

In answer, Anya tugged Jenny up and kissed her, still feeling that frustrated inadequacy. Jenny was so sweet, and so funny, and Anya loved her so much but she was barely able to help—

Jenny hummed, a pleased, contented sound, and kissed Anya back, snuggling into her as she pulled away. “Rupert?” she murmured, eyes already fluttering shut.

Rupert gave Anya a little thumbs-up. That made Anya smile. Then he leaned across Jenny and gave Anya a soft, solid kiss, the same kind of kiss that Anya had been doing her best to give Jenny: comforting, and warm, and I-love-you-always. “All right?” he asked. It wasn’t really clear who this was directed at.

“Mmm,” said Jenny, who seemed to be falling back asleep. On Anya’s shoulder.

“You have a pillow,” said Anya, who really didn’t want to wake up with arm cramps.

“Yes,” Jenny agreed, not moving. “My girlfriend. Best pillow.”

“Turnabout is fair play, isn’t it?” said Rupert.

“You know what, Rupert,” said Anya, “you are more than large enough to support both of us when we require it, and the next time I hear you complaining about having to act as a pillow for two of the most beautiful women on the planet—”

Rupert lay down on his side and moved closer to Jenny, beginning to rub her back. To Anya, he said, “You know, before you, calming her down after a nightmare like that one took at least half an hour.”

“You’re just being nice,” said Anya a little glumly.

“Yes, I am,” said Rupert, looking at Anya like she was very stupid. “That’s rather the point of being in love with someone.”

Reluctantly warmed—the phrase didn’t lose its novelty no matter how many times Rupert or Jenny said it to her—Anya smiled, absently stroking Jenny’s hair. Jenny sighed in her sleep. “I love you too,” she said, and it wasn’t really clear who that was directed at either. Didn’t matter. She loved both of them, anyway.

Rupert had nightmares too, obviously. Watchers always did. He woke up shaking, then shook off Jenny’s hand when she reached out. “It’s fine,” he said, sharp and a little strangled. “Just—I need a moment, if you both don’t mind.”

But that didn’t seem right to Anya. Rupert was always putting distance between himself and other people when he was hurting, and it was ridiculous, and all it really did was hurt him more. And Anya loved Rupert, and he was so soft and kind when other people needed it, so—she moved forward on the bed, then gripped his shoulder until he looked up at her. “Hi, Rupert,” she said, rubbing her nose against his. “Hey.”

Rupert made a little sobbing noise and sort of fell forward, his cheek on Anya’s shoulder. Anya glanced over at Jenny, and saw that Jenny was already untangling herself from the nest of blankets, moving in to kiss the top of Rupert’s head. “How’s it going?” she whispered.

“Could be better,” said Rupert into Anya’s shoulder.

“Yeah?” Jenny murmured. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No,” said Rupert unsteadily, raising his head. He looked almost embarrassed. “Anya, I’m sorry,” he said. “I never meant—I hoped you would never have to see—”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” said Anya with a huff.

“It’s a moment of weakness,” said Rupert quietly.

“So?” said Jenny. “Everybody has them.”

Rupert exhaled. Then he said, “I only—I rather hoped that Anya would see me as someone…braver. Than I am.”

Anya made an extremely indignant noise. “You take that back!” she said, and pulled Rupert up to press a firm, angry kiss to his mouth. “You are the bravest man I know, Rupert Giles, and if I hear you ever say anything to the contrary again, I will whack you upside the head with the nearest pillow!”

“Now that’s a pep talk I can get behind,” said Jenny, grinning. “And that goes double on the pillow whacking, Rupert.” She moved in, giving Rupert another kiss. “We love you, remember? All of you. Nightmares are never, ever going to change that.”

“I know they won’t for you, Jenny,” said Rupert, who was now giving them both a small, uncertain smile. “I suppose I was just…unsure as to whether they would for Anya.”

“Short of you torching the Magic Box and stealing all my money, I don’t think anything could change the fact that I love you,” Anya informed him. She turned to Jenny, grinning softly. “And that goes for you too, of course.”

“Noted,” said Jenny, and kissed Anya—that same I-love-you-always kiss that Anya was still getting used to. “So. Bed?”

Anya lay down, pulling Rupert with her, and Jenny snuggled into Rupert’s other side. “We love you,” Anya whispered again, and her heart did a little happy flutter when Rupert’s face finally relaxed all the way. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Rupert whispered back, hand reaching to tangle with Anya’s.

Anya didn’t have nightmares in the same sense as Rupert and Jenny. There weren’t many monsters that ex-vengeance demons were scared of; you’ve seen one creepy demon guy, you’ve seen them all. But sometimes she did dream about Rupert and Jenny—and not in the nice, fun, sexy sense, where she woke up a little turned on and then woke them up so they could do something about it. She’d dream that they would tell her they didn’t need her anymore, and that they’d never really needed her to begin with, and that there had only ever been room enough for them to love each other. And they’d be kind about it, which would always make it hurt more than anything angry or violent. They’d be kind, and gentle, and, and—

Anya woke up with a sharp gasp, pressing her hands to her face and hoping against hope that Rupert and Jenny wouldn’t notice. Both of them were usually pretty deep sleepers, and usually she was able to handle these kinds of things without them noticing, it was fine, it was fine—

“Baby,” Jenny murmured, stirring, and tugged at Anya’s pajama top. “Come back to bed.”

Lowering her hands, Anya tried to say something placating yet witty in return, but her words all seemed stuck in her throat.

“Anya?” Jenny sat up, alert and a little worried. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

Anya didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer, mostly. Couldn’t stop thinking about how Jenny and Rupert had always been such a cute couple, and how couple really was the key word right there, and how she couldn’t possibly compete with either of them if they decided that somebody had to go—

Jenny moved forward, cupping Anya’s face in her hands. “Hey, sweetie,” she said. Jenny didn’t usually call Rupert pet names, but she sure used a lot of them for Anya. Something about that made Anya feel better—like she really was somebody special to Jenny. “Can you tell me about it?”

“You never ask Rupert to tell you about it,” said Anya waspishly.

“You’re not anything like Rupert,” said Jenny patiently.

Oh boy. That did it. Jenny was looking at Anya all kind, and this was gonna be the moment where she realized that Anya wasn’t like Rupert, wasn’t someone Jenny wanted around all the time, and all of a sudden Anya couldn’t help herself and just started crying. She saw Jenny’s eyes go wide, heard the rustle of blankets that meant Rupert was probably awake too, and tried to remind herself that this wasn’t something she wanted to talk about with them, not while she was all insecure and shaky—

“Darling,” she heard Rupert murmur, and then he was hugging both of them at the same time, somehow. God, it really did pay off to have a boyfriend twice your size. Jenny was stroking Anya’s hair the same way she stroked Rupert’s, and Rupert was humming that same song he’d always hummed to Jenny, and—

“Please don’t leave me,” Anya whispered. “I love you so much. Please don’t go away.”

“Oh,” said Jenny. Her voice broke. “Oh, Anya—baby—what made you think we ever would?”

“Everybody—everybody always goes away,” Anya said unsteadily, raising her head to look at Jenny. “And you two love each other so much, a-and you were together long before I was even in Sunnydale, and if this thing ever goes south, it’s not gonna be one of you who ends up with nobody.”

Jenny and Rupert looked shocked, and hurt, and like neither of them really knew what to say to that.

“I’m okay with it,” said Anya. “I-I get it. You two have known each other longer, you’re the couple in this relationship—”

“Stop,” said Rupert. “Anya.” He sounded near tears himself. “Do you honestly think you’re just—how could you possibly—”

“I think I’m gonna try my hand at this one,” said Jenny, and bumped her forehead against Anya’s the same way she had when it had been her nightmare. “Anya, did you know that I’ve told all of two people that I’m in love with them?”

Anya definitely had not known this.

“You wanna try and guess who those people are?” said Jenny.

There was a lump in Anya’s throat. She swallowed, but it didn’t go away.

“Rupert,” said Jenny, “and you. Okay?” She kissed Anya, soft and solid. “You mean so much to me,” she said. “Just you. Not attached to Rupert, or as an add-on to me and him—I love you, Anya.”

“Seconded,” said Rupert, who seemed to be doing his best not to cry. “Good god, Anya, I-I had no idea you thought—” He turned Anya’s face towards his and kissed her too, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I love you,” he whispered, and it felt like Anya was hearing it for the first time all over again.

God, they loved her, and it made Anya feel so stupid for doubting them, even in the back of her head.“I’m so sorry!” she sobbed. “I didn’t mean—I was just scared—”

“I know, honey,” Jenny whispered, “that’s kinda the way nightmares go, remember?” She tugged Anya over and kissed her again, then gently pushed Anya back down onto the bed, rolling over to lie down next to her.

Rupert was looking at them both with this half-heartbroken expression. It was clear Anya’s admission had affected him pretty deeply.

“Come here, Rupert,” said Anya, unable to keep the impatience out of her voice. She very much wanted to be the one in the middle, this time around, but there wasn’t any middle if Rupert wasn’t there too—

Oh. Okay. Now she got it. It wasn’t just Jenny-and-Rupert plus Anya, it was Jenny-and-Rupert-and-Anya. Anya would never be able to give up Rupert for Jenny, or leave Jenny for Rupert—and it worked just the same for them, too. “Rupert,” said Anya, feeling a kind of transcendental joy, “can you come here now, please?”

Rupert registered the change in her voice, and smiled, soft and a little shy. He settled himself in on Anya’s other side, resting his head on her stomach, reaching up to take her hand in his. “You know we love you, Anya, don’t you?” he murmured.

“Hmm,” said Anya happily. “Tell me again.”

Jenny started giggling, burying her face in Anya’s shoulder. Rupert rolled his eyes a little, smiling indulgently, and kissed Anya’s knuckles.

“I love you too,” said Anya. “Both of you.”

“That’s kinda the point, isn’t it?” said Jenny, and tugged Anya into a kiss.