#Tcm Johnny x oc

[babiebom]

Accidental Prey(i)

A/N: New obsession coming through woo woooooooo. Hopefully I have it in me to finish this.

Tw: talks of sex, taking of virginity, no smut but does talk about sex in small details, talks of murder and cannibalism, drunk one night stand, cursing. Mentions of blood and gore, some sexism/misogynist views, pregnancy, racism, slut shaming

Pairing: Johnny Slaughter/Sawyer x OC

Genre: strangers to lovers, Stockholm Syndrome, angst, romance(?), drama

Wc: 5.2k

Masterlist next

At the feeling of something popping, Johnny already knew that he was in deep shit. The girl below him was drunker than he was by a long way. And though he also had way too much to drink he could already tell by his reaction that he was going to remember this entire situation in the morning.

It wasn't unusual for him to sleep around, it wasn't unusual for him to sleep with potential victims. But something about this girl made him feel different. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the way she smiled and smelled and let him bite her. He wasn't sure. He just knew something about her was off, because it damn sure cannot be him.

Looking down he stares at where their bodies meet, blood was beginning to pool under her ass and onto the sheets below them. God, he was going to have to pay for this, huh? Looking back up at her face, the tears had stopped and so had her whining, now she was just clinging onto him, her lips brushing over his arms that were caging her in. Did she even realize what was happening? Did she realize that she had let a random man she had just met take her virginity? She slurred something against his arm, her eyes unfocused. Maybe he should quit before it goes too far…

"Have you done this before?" Maybe she just hadn't slept around in a while…maybe she just hasn't done it a lot and her body wasn't used to it.

She furrowed her eyebrows before shaking her head, murmuring out an answer. Johnny blinks twice, feeling as if he was now somehow responsible for her wellbeing, as if because he is the first man to defile her he has to take care of her and that's too much for him to process. He tries to reason with himself quickly, almost gaslighting himself into believing that it doesn't count because they haven't really done anything. He hasn't moved, hasn't done anything except push inside her one time. That isn't sex at all. None of this counts.

Before he can pull himself out of her, she whines and wraps her legs around him, frowning as she slowly turns her head to try and make eye contact with him. "What're you doin?"

"Baby, I don't think this is a good idea…" Johnny was never one to put someone else's needs before his own, but this seemed like the perfect opportunity to do so. By stopping here nothing is different, she can still be considered a virgin, and he doesn't have to worry about some random chick he found in a bar.

"Why not? I thought we was makin' love?" She pouts as she slurs her words out. Locking her legs around him tighter, forcing him in deeper. It only served to make her whine out in pain and he has to focus on not being selfish and moving inside of her.

He wants to laugh at the thought of 'making love'; it isn't a thing he does. He doesn't know how to love, his family doesn't know how to properly love. This whole situation is fucked and he wants to rip her to shreds for somehow triggering a response in him that he didn't know was possible. He didn't love her, not at all, but he also didn't want to kill her. He could already see Drayton losing his shit if he ever found out about him going out and having one night stands that he doesn't bring home to eat. The old man claims to not enjoy killing but sure does get mad when loose ends are tied up.

"You sure?" He asks, grabbing her by the chin and roughly making it so that she had to look him in the eyes. She hums in response, giving him a small smile before closing her eyes. She was mumbling again, and he only could catch that she thought he was nice before she started talking about something else. He breathes in deeply before deciding that he could just finish and wait until she's asleep before leaving and never seeing her again. He hopes that she forgets anything that happened, not wanting her to remember him.

If she remembers then she might come looking for him, and if she comes looking for him then the family will know what he's done, what he's been doing. And they'll kill her, or make him kill her. He doesn't know which is worse, but he knows that he doesn't want to kill her, that he doesn't think she should die. He tries to figure out what it is about her again, coming to the conclusion that she just doesn't set off any of his killer instincts, that she doesn't set off that thing in him that needs to kill.

It's as if he's a wolf thinking he's hunting a bunny but instead what he finds is a tiny little mouse that wouldn't be fulfilling to eat. A little mouse that doesn't make the chase fun, that doesn't make him want to attack her at all. He just feels bad for her and how small and helpless she is. Killing her would be no fun, he decides quickly finishing partially inside her before pulling out, too lost in his thoughts to properly be worried. Her face is screwed up and he wonders if she finished, asking her as much.

By the look on her face he can tell that she hadn't, too wrapped up in his thoughts to even recall how having sex with her felt. So, deciding to be nice he helps her out. Touching her in that special place until her broken wails come out silently and her back arches off the cheap motel bed. He silently hopes this makes up for him being a shitty person to have your first time with. "Did that feel good?" He asks and she nods her head, a sleepy grin on her face as she stretches and begins to fall asleep.

He sighs, wiping her off with his shirt. After making sure she was lying on her side he slips out of the motel room, throwing his shirt away before getting into his truck, driving home and away from the girl before any real consequences could be had.

When Fawn woke up in a pool of dried blood she was confused, obviously. The last thing she remembered was being at a bar, tossing back a shot that the bartender had even questioned if she could handle it. Seeing where she had woken up, it was apparent that she could not. Sucking in a breath she moves her hair from in front of her face, the curly mess tangled around her fingers. For a split second she wondered if she looked as bad as she thought she did. That thought was quickly overtaken by the feeling of stabbing pain shooting up her legs and crotch. As if she had been electrocuted for moving.

She wailed out in pain, writhing on the bed, eyes squeezed shut as she tried to remember what happened to her. She didn't even realize she had left the bar. From the pain and the blood, she already had some semblance of what had occured, and though there was already regret pooling at the bottom of her belly she also felt upset that the guy didn't even stick around, he just left after…doing what he did.

Crying she waited until the pain got bearable enough that she could move. How was she going to get back home? Her car was still at the bar. Did she even have her keys? Looking around she spotted her purse sitting on a table next to the door. At least he was nice enough to leave her things.

Moving around slowly, she wondered if she would be able to get a cab or something, at least to take her back to the bar. She cringed as she looked back towards the bed, blood was everywhere and she knew that leaving it there was rude, but talking to the motel workers would probably get her in trouble. Silently she began to bundle the blanket and sheets up, hoping that the mattress below was untouched, just so the repercussions wouldn't be as bad. She cursed the man aloud for leaving her to deal with this alone.

The sun was extremely bright when Fawn finally walks out of the room, and it makes her nauseous to the point where she has to run over to the grass, ignoring the burning pain in her legs in order to throw up somewhere it doesn't need to be cleaned or seen. Turning around, she frowns at how the motel looks, dingy and dusty, people sitting around looking out of it. At least she has nothing to be embarrassed about seeing as no one cares what she's doing.

The nearest payphone was thankfully just down the street, she could see it in the distance if she squinted. The blazing Texas sun burned the skin on her shoulders, her complexion not helping her despite the common belief that it would, she still burned easily and that fact made her situation even worse. Her legs were sore, and now burned awfully from the walk taking much longer than it needed to be, and by the time she got to the payphone she was out of breath and sweaty. Fawn was beginning to regret going out.

Panting, she tries to lean against the payphone, but she only proceeds to get burned as the metal had been cooking all day. Frowning, she wonders how she's going to call anyone for help when holding onto the stupid phone for more than a second would burn her hand so badly she would have to go to the hospital. It took a minute before she decided to lift her shirt, looking around to make sure no one would see her, and use it to hold the phone. Paying the 50 cents she calls a taxi to come pick her up.

The second Fawn was in front of her own house, she felt the urge to leave again. Her parents were sure to be awake and moving around seeing as it's the middle of the day, and her little act of defiance was sure to be punished, even if she is a grown adult. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, thinking of a plan to minimize the damage. She was unsure of how she was going to lie to and convince her parents that she hadn't gotten up to trouble at all, and while she had no real idea of what happened she could figure out enough of everything to know that they were going to be livid. Before she could come up with anything solid, the front door opened, the screen door slamming against it from how hard the person had forced it open.

Fawn's mother is a large lady. Tall, strong, and mean faced with a head of dark curly hair. Seeing the woman storming towards you is enough for anyone, man or woman, to go running in fear at what was to come as a consequence of her anger. Terrified, Fawn scrambles out of the car, hoping that this small act of compliance would placate her mother enough that she wouldn't get into too much trouble. "Momma-"

"Where were you?"

Flinching, Fawn attempted to make herself seem smaller. She wanted to answer, but answering would only make things worse for her so she keeps her mouth shut as her mother grabs her by the arm and drags her inside. Her father sat in his recliner, staring at her with wide eyes. And though she was terrified at the thought of a punishment, she could see from how her father's shoulders drooped that they had been afraid. With guilt flooding in her stomach she allowed her mother to pull her into a hug, the large woman shuddering and gripping onto Fawn's shoulders so tight she was sure they would be bruised in the morning.

As soon as her mother let go, she turned and walked towards her father, he stood slowly as she approached. Like her mother, her father was large, muscular and mean looking, the only difference between them was the colors of their skin. If her mother terrified people, her father made them believe that what had happened in the bible surely had happened again to produce such a large man. To have such a tiny child was almost comical, it was how they named her because something like 'mouse' would get her made fun of.

Fawn could feel her lower lip tremble as she fell into her fathers arms, letting him hug her just as tight as her mother did. Being the only child of two people who were as full of worry as her parents made everything much more…scary. More final, as if every choice that you make is taking you towards an untimely demise and even a day apart is too long when you could keel over dead at any moment.

Her dad held onto her for a longer time, she could hear his soft sniffles and assumed that he was crying and was holding onto her until he had stopped. Letting him have her moment, Fawn keeps her mouth shut about how her night went, forcing herself to come up with a story just in case they pressed her on it. She hoped to God that none of this would come to bite her in the butt.

The cool metal of the exam table makes the back of her thighs numb, her decision to wear shorts proving to be the dumbest thing she has ever done…or second dumbest thing. Her mother sat in the small chair, next to the exam table, clutching her purse and bouncing her leg. Did she think something bad was going to happen? Did she think Fawn was on the brink of death? Asking would just make her irritable, she was already mad they had to come to the doctors to begin with. Her mother hated the place with a passion, but never told Fawn why, maybe she was just anxious…either way she wasn't in the mood for questions.

The symptoms she had weren't strange in any way…Fawn thought she probably just had a stomach flu or something. Constant nausea, headaches, and a stuffy nose. Her mother thought differently though, ever since the day Fawn had stayed out all night her mother acted differently. As if she were suspicious of something. Thankfully Fawn hadn't missed a period, though it was lighter than usual and only lasted a couple days. She had thought this meant she was home free, that she had gotten away with whatever she did that led up to and included her virginity being taken by a stranger. But still, her mother insisted the doctor's office was the way to go.

The man entered the room, clipboard in hand and glaring at Fawn as if she had committed the ultimate sin. Taken aback she avoided eye contact with him, instead staring down at the floor as if it were the most interesting thing in the room. Why was he so mad? "Are you sexually active?" He asks in a monotone voice.

Fawn freezes, her kicking feet now hanging in the air, still as if something was holding them in place. She shakes her head. "No." She whispers out.

He sucks in a breath, moving around the room towards his stool. "Well, we tested for illnesses, and pregnancy."

"And?" Her mother asked. 'Please be the stomach flu. It has to be the stomach flu' she prays.

"She's pregnant."

Fawn's mother almost collapses out of the small chair she was sitting on, her body sliding down it as she wails into her hands. Fawn looks up at the doctor, her eyes wide in horror and confusion. She wanted to ask how'd this happen, she was so confused. One night couldn't have done this. She felt as if she were being punished by God for acting out. She sniffles and frowns, but gets no sympathy from the man in front of her. He only looks at her as if he’s disgusted. When he speaks again, she can’t hear him, too busy trying to calm her racing mind. By the time she stops disassociating, the doctor's appointment is over and she’s in the car with her yelling mother. “-you’re never leaving the house again! How did this even happen? Did you go out purely to be a little harlot?"

"Momma I-"

The woman was seething, her lips set in a line as she focused on the road. Fawn knew her mother was waiting on her to say something, but at the same time she knew saying anything, especially excuses, would just set her off more. She couldn't help but begin to cry, her life as she knew it was over. She messed up, she knew that, but being pregnant and unmarried was punishment enough, but seeing how angry her mother looked she knew that she was going to be punished more.

Her parents were never really abusive, never whooping or beating her, sometimes they yelled but it was usually her mother and it wasn't often. Then again she never really got into trouble, and if she did it was never anything like this. Her parents raised her in a straight line, hoping that with each passing generation their family could become something important in the world. Something more than their race and appearance and it started with her grandparents. She couldn't imagine what her grandmother would think now, and she was grateful that she lived far away enough that she wouldn't hear if the gossip ever left that hospital or their home.

Fawn shrinks into herself, her cries growing louder as her mother parks the car in the driveway to the house, a sigh leaving her lips, her chest falling quickly. She didn't want to go inside and face her father, she didn't want to see his disappointed face or hear his words as he scolded her. "God damn it. Fawn Grace! What the hell did you go out and do?"

Fawn looked up at her mother with a pitiful look, her hands were balling up her skirt. "I don't remember momma! I swear! I woke up in-in a motel room-!"

"A motel room?" Fawn's mothers voice rose an octave, higher than she had ever heard it before. Her mother slammed her hands onto the steering wheel, looking down and saying something under her breath while Fawn looked at her in fear. Shaking her head the woman kept her eyes closed while she spoke before getting out of the car, not even waiting for Fawn as she started towards the front door. Following behind Fawn says a quick prayer to herself, hoping God would forgive her sins and give her a break when it comes to her father's reaction.

Slowly removing herself from the car, she drags her feet as she approaches the door, already hearing her mother venting to her father. Heart pounding she enters the home, shutting the door softly as to not really call attention to herself as her parents speak to each other. Wincing, she tries to sneak past them, wanting to flee to her room and avoid whatever punishment they were going to give her. But no, God was not being so kind today, and her mother shouted her name forcing her to stop in her steps. “Yes ma’am?”

“Don’t you dare go upstairs, get over here now!”

Frowning, she hurries over to the couch, across from her parents who were standing, angry, in the middle of the living room. Her ears rang loudly as she tried to figure out if they were going to yell or not, both of them were silent. Swallowing down vomit, she picked at the hem of her shirt, avoiding looking at her parents in fear of seeing their disappointed faces. Her mother is the one to speak first, beginning with a sigh. “Fawn��we want an explanation. Now."

"Well...I told you in the car momma. I don't remember anything. I just woke up in a motel room by myself."

"How did you get there?" Her mothers voice shakes in an emotion Fawn couldn't place.

"I don't know!" She shakes her head frantically, eyes wide, "I swear it. I was at a bar, and somehow ended up there!"

"A BAR?" Her father spoke now, well more like shouted, obviously surprised.

She scrunched her nose as her father collapsed in his lounge chair. Her mother began pacing as Fawn tried to come up with whatever words she had to say next. She couldn't recount much, and she couldn't tell if that was going to anger then less or more. "Well, okay. I went there to be a brat! I admit that! But I promise I didn't go out to sleep with anyone! I don't even remember doing that! Last thing I remember is the bartender telling me that I shouldn't have one more drink, and because I was already mad I decided to drink one more, then I woke up in a bloody motel bed with a headache and sore legs and I regretted it as soon as I woke up!"

She had never been good at keeping secrets.

Her mother was hyperventilating and her father looked as if he was on the verge of passing out. She herself was about 2 seconds away from throwing up after word vomiting and exposing everything that she had gone through and thought of. Tears flowed down her face, warming her cold skin. Nothing was said for a while, the air tense and thick. Maybe nothing else would be said. Her words had done a good job of sucking all the air out of the room, her parents were obviously unhappy, angry at her actions. She could barely remember what all was said that made her storm out and go places that she had never been before. She ruined the legacy her grandmother wanted to create in one night, she was the first unremovable stain in their family history in recent years even though they wanted things to be different. She set them back single handedly, and had the audacity to sit and cry as if she had done nothing wrong.

"Momma?"

Her mother was crying, sitting as far away from her on the couch, hands over her face and praying aloud to God as if he could change everything that happened. Her father started bargaining, his words carrying over to her ears. It was like he wanted to accept that this was their family's fate, and that there was nothing he could do.

"It's not the old times anymore, these kids sleep around all the time. They're not like us, not like the 40's where everyone valued marriage and saving oneself. She can still be something, make something of herself even if it isn't a good wife…"

Her heart clenched as she turned to stare at her mother who was now rocking back at forth, but her words weren't as nice, if her father's words could even be counted as such.

"Can't believe…the child I raised! A loose legged hussy. Father God tell me it isn't true, tell me that my baby girl didn't give herself to some…BUM. That man could only be the devil if he took advantage of my sweet girl. She can't be a slut, a common whore! Not my baby…"

She wondered when they were going to stop crying, but at the same time she wondered when she herself would stop. She knew in her mind that this was a permanent thing, even without the baby, her parents were never going to loom at her the same. And she wasn't sure if her current relationships with them would survive this bump in the road.

With red eyes and a damp face, Fawn's mother turns to stare at her not quite with a glare, but with a look that showed that she was still angry, still grieving. "You ain't leaving this house," she takes in a shuddering breath, "ever again. You are going to stay here and hope and pray that whenever we let you out for errands that some man takes pity on you and thinks you're pretty enough that he doesn't care about the fact that you already gave yourself away or the fact that you have a child, and marries you."

Sucking in a breath, Fawn nods in understanding, this punishment being the only one she's going to get wasn't so bad. "I'm sorry momma…"

Her father does nothing but slide down in his chair, hands over his face. He had given up on praying aloud, given up on trying to bargain and hoping the circumstances were different. Shaking her head her mother scoots closer and wraps her in a hug, pulling her close against her chest her sobs starting back up. Not knowing what the future will bring, Fawn hugs her back.

Pregnancy was nothing like she expected it to be, and while she was excited to not get her period for a while, the cramping and bloating and cravings were unexpected. She hadn't known anyone else who was pregnant and didn't know what to expect especially because her parents refused to speak about it. It was as if it was a later problem, and she was being punished by not being prepared for it.

Now, standing in the middle of the grocery store, Fawn rubbed her still flat stomach staring at the boxed brownies as if she could teleport them into her stomach without having to make or buy it. She had a budget, a list of things her parents sent her to buy, and now having less allowance money she didn't know if she should buy what she was craving or save the money for what she needed and wanted later on. Her parents didn't say anything about her getting a job, but she thought that maybe she should…just in case.

Brownies and ice cream, not an unusual craving, but one that was so overwhelming she throws two boxes into her cart before looking towards the pies. Thinking about a pie made only of the crust, she licks her lips and moves towards it only to be stopped by a white, pale hand, also grabbing the box she was going for. "'Scuse me," she retracts her hand quickly just as the woman does.

The woman smiles brightly, grabbing at the box again with one hand while swatting at Fawn gently. "Don't worry about it, sugar! Looks like both of us are cravin' somethin' sweet tonight!" The gap between her teeth gives her more of a youthful look, confusing Fawn as to how old the woman really was. She looked young, but calling someone sugar was something her parents would do. Maybe she was in between?

"Yeah…though I think what I have is enough. Don't want to overdo it." Fawn laughs awkwardly, not quite used to being pregnant and socializing. Though there was not conceivable difference, she still felt as if she had to behave in a certain way, she was pregnant pretending not to be pregnant in front of a stranger that probably doesn't and wouldn't care. A stranger she would most likely never see again.

"So you do! Those brownies are gonna be so delicious, I'm sure!"

Talking about the brownies made the craving swell, and the words fell out of Fawn's mouth without her thinking, the excitement of eating it taking over. "Hope so! I was plannin' on puttin' some ice cream on em' letting it cool the brownies down while the brownies melt the ice cream!" Fawn lets her accent slip a bit, the perfectly crafted non-Texas more Californian sound her parents wanted her to use. She sounded more like herself now, more countrified like the woman in front of her.

"That sounds good!"

Nodding, Fawn lets the conversation die so she can hurry and finish shopping, wanting to quickly get home before her parents get worried and ban her from even shopping, and to make and eat the brownie before the craving is too dull to satisfy. The woman doesn't let her walk away though, grabbing her by the hand and spinning her to face her again, looking down at her body.

"My! Your dress is awfully pretty, where'd you get it?"

Surprised, Fawn looks down at her own dress. It wasn't that pretty, it was more on the plain side, but maybe the woman genuinely liked it. "Made it myself…" she replied. She wanted to go on, gush about how difficult it was to make even though it's nothing special and as plain as can be, but the ice cream aisle was calling her name.

"Did you? Oh, I love to sew! I made this dress I'm wearin'. Grandpa said I looked pretty! My brothers are pretty mean, though, but I guess that's just how brothers are…"

The woman continued to speak, not letting her get a word out to excuse herself from the conversation. Talking about her brothers and some boyfriend or something and how much she missed him. The woman talked so long that Fawn now had to pee, and still she wasn't stopping.

"Sissy? Where in the hell did you-"

Fawn turns her head towards the voice, taken aback at the sight in front of her. The man is attractive, more attractive than any man she had seen anytime recently. These types of looks were rare in the middle of nowhere Texas, and while people were attractive, he was just…different. Maybe it was the way he held himself. Maybe she had finally found a guy that was her type.

The man, on the other hand, looked like he had seen a ghost. His eyes were locked onto Fawn, and she could feel her body heating up from how strongly he was staring at her. Shiftly awkwardly, she looked back towards the woman who had stopped talking, she was now smiling brightly at the man who was still frozen at the end of the aisle. "Johnny!" The woman turns towards Fawn, grasping her arm. "This is one of my brothers!"

"Yeah…I guessed so."

The man approached slowly, eyes still on Fawn, she could feel it. "Sissy, I've been waiting outside for 30 minutes. You're supposed to buy the groceries to come out. They're gonna be pissed off that we took too long." When she looked back at him he was glaring at the blonde next to her.

The way he glared made her heart drop, and she was glad that she wasn't the target of his…annoyance. Blinking, she laughed awkwardly, backing away from the two, immediately taking the chance to run off and finish her shopping. She couldn't wait another 30 minutes before finishing and peeing, so she rushes to get everything done, not forgetting the ice cream.

The second she got home, and got comfortable, her mind wandered to the strange siblings she met. They both seemed strange, in different ways but still strange. Still, she hoped to see at least the man again. Maybe he could be the man that takes pity on her, and doesn't care about the fact that she has a kid on the way.

Or maybe she's delusional, and lusting after the first man she sees.

[spicy-pears]

Hi!!!

I saw you were in the middle of writing a series. So I'm not sure you'll even take this request. But I saw the Maxxxine trailer and I really want a 80's themed johnny smut.

I know it sounds weird but just hear me out! 🤣

𝟙𝟡𝟠𝟞

𝚆𝙲: 1.4 𝚔

𝚃𝙰𝙶𝚂: 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝙲𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚂𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝙲𝚑𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝙱𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝙳𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐/𝚂𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚟𝚞𝚕𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚢, 𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢, 𝙾𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚁𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑/𝙰𝚗𝚐𝚛𝚢 𝚂𝚎𝚡.

𝚆𝙽: 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊 𝚝𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚞𝚗 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝚒 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍��𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚎-𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚋 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚝.

𝙸 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 80'𝚜, 𝚒 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊 𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚕. 𝙸 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚏 80'𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝙲𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚒 𝙲𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚒 𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚋𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚜 𝚒 𝚍𝚒𝚍❣️

"This is channel 8; WCAT- TV, West Lake, Austin. This is the beginning of our nightly broadcast-" 

Colorful luminescence painted your small face. As the humid night breeze kissed your soft skin, adorning your soft angelic features with a rosy hue. The Texan air remained oppressive and dry even with the swelting sun shrouded under the starry horizon.

Yet, there you firmly stood. Attentively drawn to one of the many neatly stacked TV screens. Displayed behind the unclouded storefront window. Obnoxiously advertised with oversized retro price tags.

You almost felt guilty as you stood there. freely observing the news, with no intention of buying one. 

Nonetheless, your fingertips anxiously reached out for your chest. Seeking comfort from the gold cross, hanging from your beloved prayer necklace. petrified by the ominous name stretched across the screen, “Night stalker”. Looking upon the name was enough to make your stomach churn.

While fear held you still on that little crowded strip of sidewalk. Your round lips skewed with abhorrence, as uncensored crime scene photos were flashed upon the screen. 

Each brief photo was more unnerving than the last. Some were more gruesome than the last, prompting your gaze to deter. 

For once you were thankful for living in a small southern town. Leagues and miles away from surreal Hollywood horrors. 

Little did you know, Texas had its own slasher.

Maybe you should've turned your nose up at him, judged him solely off his roughed-up denim and torn-up blackened tee. 

Hell, you could've told him to piss off. After pretty boy "conveniently" bumped into you for the third time tonight.

But you were too kind, an element his chaotic life lacked much of. An element he felt he deserved.

"Hey there, You alright? I can give you a ride home if you need it doll." 

Dark jade metallic paint, worn and embellished with bubbling surface rust. The timeworn appearance of Johnny’s beloved Ford pickup didn't alarm you at first. Most four-wheelers in Central Texas were also well-loved. Some were practically tin cans on wheels, worse for wear. 

 Thus, you foolishly continued to trust him.

Until you were met with the pungent scent of sickeningly sweet, aged blood. Radiating from inside his raggedy little pickup. 

Nonetheless, the stale scent was soon overshadowed by the addictive signature of your fresh crimson. As it seeped into the truck's dark vinyl leather seat. Collecting every drop of blood that Streamed down the plush of your thigh.

Leaking from the dark scarlet void, Pierced into your hip. Repayment for the pristine mark of your teeth, deeply embedded upon Johnny’s scar-kissed hand.

While you battled with the intense pain, Johnny’s blackened leer studied your body. Although you were raised to behave and dress modestly, the Texan heat truly did you no favors.

Your dewy skin rendered your once modest sun dress, skin-tight. The soft cotton grew translucent as it snuggly hugged around your gorgeous waist. Presenting a tempting view of your plush thighs.

“That was real cute doll…” Johnny’s aggressive southern twang caused every word to rumble down from his chest to his core. With his dominant hand pressed on the small of your back, Pinning your pain-struck body down in place.

Callously forcing you to rely your weight and stability upon your elbows. And injured leg, while pressing your small face against the blood-stained vinyl.

The way your gorgeous gray eyes glimmered with each wave of pain, fed Johnny’s sadistic desire to hurt you further. Thirsting to see your small frame broken and trembling under him.

“Since you want to bite like a bitch, I’ll treat you like one.” His vague threat and condescending tone made you realize the precarious position he forced you into.  The increasingly rough grip upon you your ass acted as your only warning.

Before abruptly lifting your plush ass upwards. Mercilessly rocking your body downwards, flush against his navel. Carving his way through the soft plush of your inner thighs. A breathless moan escaped your lungs, as his tip playing against your sensitive clit. Was enough to send you over the edge alone, your body instantly falling into submission. Your back now lax, lewdly arching downwards.

Your cries were the sweetest, as they brought a heartless grin playing across his lips. Sadistically drowned in your symphony of angelic whines and pained whimpers. His thrusts grew slow and subtle, his smokey gaze examining his cream covered length. Glistening with each stroke against your needy cunt, embracing the fat middle of his cock between your wet slit.

Suddenly, you’d let out a pained cry, which hitched into a stressed hiss. “That’s it…” Johnny’s charming voice began to taunt you, as his dominant hand grasped your injured hip. Your addictive crimson pooled upon his palm, wasting through his fingers. Your knuckles began to turn white, as you dug your fists into the leather for comfort and stability.

Regardless, with thick cock-dunk tears clouding your view. Your body still refused to go limp, denying him the satisfaction of seeing you broken. All the while shooting a defiant glare toward him.

Promptly his rhythm would come to a pause, while inconspicuously moving your panties to the side. While letting out a short dry chuckle into the night air, “Don’t worry, I love a bitch with some fight left em.”.

Your precious eyes would widen, accompanied by a soft gasp. Feeling his tip prying at your tight gummy entrance, causing a series of sweet whimpers to fall from your full lips. ”Aww, come on I know your tougher than that!” Johnny's tone grew husky with lust, His aggressive twang now deeper.

 Mercilessly jerking his hips, sinking his thick length deep inside your unprepared cunt. His size overwhelmed you, as an intense flutter climbed up your spine. Stretching you out more than you’d ever been, his tip kissing your gummy cervix.

Your pathetic scream was drowned out, as his blood-soaked hand covered your mouth. Yet, with tears multiplying on your lash line. You’d shamelessly let out a whine from stifled pleasure.

“What? My bitch can't wait?” Johnny cruelly barked, addressing your desperation with a mocking tone. All the while slipping off his torn-up shirt, making sure to keep his cock warm and buried deep in your cunt.

Although his scar-kissed frame was now free of his shirt, he continued to deny you. Giving you tortuously slow strokes, enjoying how your face skewed with desperation and frustration.

“P-please- “Your round lips parted, spilling out needy cock-drunk pleas. Only to be rewarded with a firm grasp around your neck, his hips setting a rough rhythm. You barely had time to brace yourself for his unbearable pace. Your eyes would squeeze shut as your voice began to wear out from singing his praises. Soft wails and angelic screams rippled through the air, filling the isolated car park.

His chest rumbled with a low moan, bouncing you off his thick length at an erratic pace. Watching your plump ass ripple with each thrust, while your breasts bounced in unison. Relishing the lewd symphony of your plush ass roughly meeting his hips and your wet pussy squelching as you milked him. Your hot slick traveled, coating the veins that ran from the base of his cock, down to his balls.   

His pace never faltered, regardless of how your cunt spasmed and clenched around him tight. Your tear-glazed eyes opened wide as your body brutally jolted forward. His erratic pumps grew deeper, slamming against your weakening cervix, pulling at the knot built up at your core. Your breath now staggered and short, gradually growing weak under the firm gasp around your neck.

“I-I can't.” Your body would fall limp, lying down obediently, as your edge came rushing through your small frame. You’d feel Johnny’s weight on top of you, his bulky arms embracing you his impaling thrusts grew languid and sloppy. His frustrated grunt echoed through you as your cunt swallowed around him, milking him dry.

A choked exhale would squeeze out of your bruised vocal cords. Leaving your mindless, with little stars dancing upon your gaze.

“Fuck- “his toned stomach tensed in unison with his contracting balls. Johnny was damn near mindless himself, unknowingly choking you beyond your threshold. Releasing a pleased groan, as he painted your empty womb with thick hot milky ribbons.

The grip on your neck would loosen, prompting you to take in short puffs of air. Doe-eyed you stared back into Johnny’s velvet brown eyes. “I’m afraid yer mines now, I’ll take real good care of you.” His thumb caressed our cheek, painting your small face with your own blood. His lips would uncharacteristically seal his promise with a tender kiss on your cheek.

[small-sinclair]

Hi, begging for a part 2 of the Johnny Slaughter a/b/o fic please

His Mate

The first part

A/b/o!Johnny Sawyer x humanfem!reader

Let me know if you want a part three!

Tw: blood, mention of death and gore, not proofread

Johnny looks at you up and down, his eyes wavering between anger, disbelief, and admiration. He was mad that you were human. He couldn’t believe you were human and fated to him! But your beauty and the way your body curved the way it did… Johnny wanted to bury his nose into your skin and drown in your blood and scent. He would see it as a blessing and a grateful death.

Then the thought of you being human came back and he hated himself more. He didn’t want you to be human and have his mate be weak and vulnerable! He’s the strongest one in his family and proved it to other packs around his home; you’ll only bring down his status. He could hate you for that and kill you—

“No,” he whispers, backing away as a vision came to his mind. He saw you writhing in pain as his claws ripped your stomach out. He could feel how warm your blood would be and how tangy it smelt. “No, I won’t,” he says more to himself under his breath.

Seeing you in the golden light as the sun set over the sunflowers only broke him even more. How could he hurt you?

Confused your hands reach out towards him before pulling them away after watching him physically flinch. He could hurt you in every way that matters but he couldn’t do it. He only gets one mate. He only gets one true love and it’s you. It had to be you.

“I’m sorry,” you said as you hugged your arms. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He shakes his head. “No, no, don’t apologize. Not to me,” he sounded so sincere. He stood in front of you once more and rested his head on top of your hair, breathing in the sweet roses from your body. It sent chills down his spine and made his bones curled and crave for your name to be carved into them. “Don’t apologize to me, darlin’.”

He was warm against your body and held you as if you were an egg. You could hear his heartbeat and see how he was taking slow and deep breaths. “What’s your name?”

“Johnny,” he answers, his arms wrapping around your waist and the back of your head. “I’m Johnny.”

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace and protection as he shielded you from the killings outside. “I’m Y/N.”

“Beautiful name for a beautiful human.” He held you tighter as he heard Nubbins trap go off and the sound of Sissy’s laughter. He didn’t want to meet you like this. Not here.

“So, you’re a werewolf?” You asked as you felt his arms tense. Through his shirt, you could feel claw marks and slashes, faded bite marks and stab wounds.

He nodded as he kisses your head, his lips lingering for a moment. He closed his eyes as he felt his claws growing. Someone in his family was coming near his home, near you. His dark eyes glared at the entrance and a primal growl ripped through his body. He didn’t have to answer your question as you watched small patches of black and brown fur grow on his arms and hear his bones breaking.

“Johnny—?”

He held you tight as he began his transformation, his claws ripping the back of your jacket. His fur was thick and you could smell a mixture of soil and death on his skin. A large black tail wrapped around your back as his body swallowed you in his hold. He was looking at something, growling at someone, but you didn’t know what or who.

But he knew all too well.

Nancy stood in his little living with her knife as she looked both horrified and annoyed at him. Her eyes looked between him and the back of your head. She wasn’t a fool; she knew you were his mate and hated it. She didn’t want to lose Johnny to you or be seen with a human. Maybe it was the fear of losing him to you to hunters that made her want to kill you herself, but you ran and Johnny found you first. And, from where she was standing, he already worshipped your body and scent by the way he covered himself around you.

His black eyes narrowed at the knife in her hands and snapped his jaw at her, baring his teeth as a warning. The snarl the grew from the back of his throat only rumbled through your skin and core. It was as if he was claiming you as his own even before he could mark you.

Nancy shook her head and backed away, anger burning in her eyes like a wild fire. “You’re a damn fool, Johnny. Y’all bring down this pack with that she-devil.”

He held you even tighter as he snarled once more, growling deeper through his teeth, daring her to come closer. He wasn’t in his true form but he’ll change just to prove his point not to question him. He still had his human features, but his claws and bits of fur showed along with his tail. He felt his ears for and changing, and he felt his back breaking and building as if he was going to be a full wolf, to be a full beast. He’ll do that just to prove you’re his mate, his little omega human.

His thoughts bursted when he heard you gasp softly. As he looked down, he saw his claws digging into your back. He fell with you on your knees on the floor. Nancy smirked and let out a dry laugh. “You’ll kill her, boy. I’ll bet that.”

His eyes snapped back at her and said in a dark tone, “Get out.”

“Admit I’m right.”

“I said get out!” He roared, his fangs growing longer until he felt his face changing into a wolf’s, a beast. “Get!” He brought down his fist to the wooden floor, breaking the wood as if it was nothing, and earned a frightened flinch from Nancy.

Without another word, Nancy turns and leaves. She could feel how her own claws were growing and digging to into her own hand. One thing for certain is that she will have you dead before the next full moon, before he could even claim you as his own.

With her gone, Johnny had you sitting on his lap as she cradled you, rocking back and forth, and his face returning to normal. His black eyes locked into yours and he felt as if he was about to break. You had tears falling; he made you cry.

“I’m so sorry,” he said with regret in his words. He leaned down and kisses your tears away. “I didn’t mean to hurtcha.” He rested his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry.”

Your hand rests on his cheek and he melts at the touch, nearly breaking at your fingertips. He shudders as he smelt the roses again and a hint of honey and lavender, but he loved how soft your skin was.

“Johnny?” You asked, your voice bringing him back. “Will you be alright?”

For the first time, he didn’t know the answer. But he takes a deep breath and kisses your palm. “Should be,” he answers lowly, kissing your wrist then knuckles. “Let me clean your wound, please? Let me make it up to ya.” His black eyes faded to a deep, rich brown as he looked down into yours. “Promise, little mate, I’ll take care of you.”

Something inside you trusted him even though you should be running from him. Everything felt a bit unorthodox and rushed like some fairy tale, but what other choose do you have? He could kill you like he did to your friends or that woman could do it for him. Main reason to stay was that he was a good kisser, so you have that going for you.

You nodded your head slightly as he leaned into your hand. He looked kind of cute and comfortable once more in your presence. Just having you there was enough to reassure him that he was a good man, a good alpha worthy of love even if you’re a human.

He’ll prove to you he’s worthy of your love. You are his mate, his love, his omega. Let him love you the way he never has.

[melodrama-ticcc]

— “ 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 ” ; 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐗

𝐄𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝

𝘈 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴.

𝙄𝙛 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙣’𝙩 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙠𝙨!

𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘢 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘺.

𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫. 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧. 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧.

ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ: ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃⁱⁿˢ ᵐᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉᵐᵉˢ. ⁱ.ᵉ. ᵈᵒᵐᵉˢᵗⁱᶜ ᵛⁱᵒˡᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃᵇᵘˢᵉ, ᵍʳᵃᵖʰⁱᶜ ᵛⁱᵒˡᵉⁿᶜᵉ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗᵃˡ ⁱˡˡⁿᵉˢˢ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ᵐᵘʳᵈᵉʳ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ʳᵃᵖᵉ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ˢᵘⁱᶜⁱᵈᵉ, ᵐⁱˡᵈ ᵍᵒʳᵉ, ʳᵉˡⁱᵍⁱᵒⁿ, ˢᵉˣᵘᵃˡ ᵗʰᵉᵐᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢⁱᵗᵘᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ.

—

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨. 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞. 𝐕𝐢𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝.

—

Strange, the way the catalyst of soul festers in her like the plague, decaying and rotten, rancid and ugly. Like a hollow corpse left to bleach in the sun, half blackened and infested with maggots and worms. The sounds of bugs twisting and crawling against moist rotted flesh filling the hot, wet air, cooking in the scorching heat of a Texan sun. The vultures long since had their way with it, the torn bits of matter ripped from ivory bone an indication of such. It tore down just as much as it built up, with the sun setting the moon rising, and then, peace.

Not even he could discern what festered up in that head of her’s, not even daddy, not even nobody, nobody at all.

And yet, he believes he does, and tries to anyways. Watching the gears twist and turn like clockwork, and her expression scrunch up in an endearing and bittersweet manner. Her brows tilted downward in some fervent way, a scowl, perhaps she’d seen something she disliked.

He wears his own look stern, as he studies her thoroughly from the driver’s seat of that old white pick up truck. Her gaze flickering too and fro, not sparing him so much as a glance. He liked that about her.

“Gotta lotta floozies, don’t it?”

“Easy targets, can’t do shit when they ain’t care so much as a penny.”

“Thought you liked a challenge?”

“Tch.” The scent of chewing tobacco is thick, as Johnny spits it out the window. The muffled sound of metal clinking as the truck shifts with his weight fills the cabin, which billows slightly, before the latch on the door snaps open and his boots hit the marsh below. With the slam of the door Becca stares at him, inquisitive, and curious. It’s only when he saunters around the front of the truck and opens her door that he looks to her, a stern apparition over his features as he lifts her from the seat — hands planted firmly on either side of her waist — as he places her upright above the ground. Their bodies shielded by the cold metal door he holds her there, a knowing look in those eyes. It’s the same notion that gives her butterflies and makes her heart work a little harder, throbbing with the faint nose of tobacco and stale cigarette smoke, one which she’d become enthralled with, addicted to. One might say she was smitten, and yet, her feminine fragility proved far stronger than that. Infatuated, but not without self respect. Stubbornness faired a good fight in her.

And still the strong burly grip he has on her waist is intoxicating, drawing her in slowly with lingering dominance and enticement. As with his hardened gaze, one which she meets with a bitter sentiment. Her hands can’t seem to find comfort, longing for the rough touch of his skin, settling for the top of his chest. Clad in the same black cotton he typically frequented.

“Now you listen here, this how it’s gonna go. You gon’ get in there and wait about five minutes for me to show up. I want yer’ eyes peeled, you watch me, I give you a sign and you head out and hide nice and quiet in that backseat. Ain’t so much as a peep outta you, watch and learn you got that? And so help me God if I see any of those snotty ass university boys so much as look your way, I’ll park yer ass in this truck so fast it’ll make yer head spin.”

“Thought I was ‘spost to be learnin’, the hell is sittin’’n lookin’ pretty gonna do?”

“Yer gonna have to trust me on that darlin’, ain’t much else to it.” He can’t tell, but by the looks of her soured face it seems he’d have a begrudging agreement.

“You aughtta learn, now we got an understandin’?”

“Obliged.”

“Right, so get on in there would ya’ and quit wastin’ time.”

“Johnny boy I swear I’ll turn you purple if you ain’t watch that tongue with me, quit it. I’m goin’ already.” The pop of her pink bubblegum punctuates her anger, only to be adorned with the ornery smacks of her muddied boots against the damp soil.

Loud and dark, with the old country music blaring so loud she can feel it gurgle her insides the deeper she goes into the place. The dance floor is lined with old whiskey barrels, rotten wood splintering off in jagged pieces and open drinks sitting atop them. The main bar is tucked away towards the back right of the interior, the main floor littered with half drunken sluts making some effort to dance in their daisy dukes and cropped lace tops. Most of them seem to be young, some just out of school and others a little older, and the men lurch out like vipers to sink their teeth into prey. They flounder about with their thumbs up their asses, twaddling to their chosen one with a deviant grin and pint of beer. Others watch from afar, taking it all in and eyeing the high rise of their shorts as they dance, either too ashamed to step foot beyond or attempting to hide the sinful nature that adorned their pants. The dazzling lights of the disco ball flash about the dim room, half the stickers missing from the damned thing. The place was just as ran through as the whores that inhabited it, and she had half a mind to march on out right then and there.

It made her face flush red and the tips of her ears burn, an unsightly appearance to her otherwise pristine features. How could he act so valiant, so stouthearted and worthy, then turn and frequent places like this. It made her sick, made her stomach go in knots and flutter so badly she felt queasy. How could a man so perfect stoop so low, and why did she care so much. It was all most as though her feelings were wounded, and she became offended by the situation entirely. But then again, it hadn’t meant anything. Anyone he’d pick up from this godforsaken place would be dead before the sun came up and the rooster did his morning wake. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling, the residual effects of his trashy taste in women and the eyesore this heinous place was. She was a superior woman than any of these girls were, she knew it too, and still it bothered her.

She sits tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the patrons, sat at the main bar towards that back corner, sipping a glass of Texan whiskey that burns soothingly down her throat. There’s a perfect view from there, one that allots her the ability to make out every single conversation, every casual hookup, every drunken confession, making the place even more difficult to stomach.

Then he walks in, looking like Lucifer when he fell down from heaven and into hell. Striding so faultlessly, as he quickly scouts the place and locks eyes with her. Staring with that starstruck glimmer for a moments time, before he swoops in on the red head drinking by her lonesome near the dance floor. She’s heavily drunk, spitting out non sense about her boyfriend just having broken up with her and losing her girlfriends to some halfwits in the washroom. And Johnny, he’s so smooth, suave and gentlemanly, calm and charismatic and even humorous. Charming surely, and all the while his eyes flick up at her — as if to ensure she’d been watching. His words are sweet and sticky like honey, yet filled with the falsified promises of love and devotion. How easily this girl fell, it made one begin to wonder.

Part of her felt the begrudging bond they shared was unique, special, and another felt obliged to stay true to her initial impression. A devil in disguise, perhaps she’d been just as foolish as these whores and she’d allowed her guard to lower too easily. But then again; the wretched and disgusting things they’d speak about were anything but commonplace. Still, she couldn’t help but feel some feeling of shame and betrayal, the way he so easily picked up women for sport. The feeling was ugly, dark and sinister. Powerful enough to move oceans and tear apart relationships, intense enough to change a person entirely; make them heinous and bitchy. Envy was such a petty thing.

And yet, as he locks eyes with her from that fair distance between them and bites that rough lower lip into a deviant smirk, and gestures his head to bend towards the exit, she obliges his wishes and slams her hands against the damp wood top of the bar, kicking her seat back and stomping out in some fervent fashion. Belligerent enough for his own displeased look to go unnoticed by her fiery persona.

The night would carry on with the pertinacious affair, Johnny domineering their small talk whilst he wowed her with his venomous southern tongue. She sounded like she was from someplace out west, in the valley, maybe. And she’d been all too drunk to comprehend even the faintest hint of what was to come her way. Not even her sweet tone could make up for the brooding makeup she wore or her blatant ditzy character. She was an all out bimbo, frivolous and jocose, the type that made men want to shoot themselves before the night was through, but she was just cute enough to sleep with.

For much of that ride Rebecca sat in back with disgust laced in her features, nestled fully under a blanket with her arms crossed snugly and lip bit. It wasn’t until they neared closer to home that Johnny showed any intent on harming the girl, and she could hear the situation turn violent when he’d bashed her head into something — presumably the dash — before he clicked his tongue and chuckled.

“You see how easy it comes, when they just hand themselves to you like that? Get ‘em to trust ya’, they let their guard down and the next thing you know you got yer self the perfect time to strike. Gives you time to tie ‘em up and get settled.”

Not a word enunciates from those pretty lips, instead taking refuge in the privacy her cover granted her. Resentful and contemptuous she garners the feeling she can handle this on her own, but her gut tells her otherwise, and so the emotion boils over and bludgeons out of her like a bull bucking out it’s cage.

“So you’se the type, huh? Like trashy girls like that, dogs, bitches?” The moonlight shines in through the windshield, enough to illuminate his silhouette through the blanket over her head. Then he removes it from her, turned partially towards the backseat with a less than gracious look.

“Keep runnin’ that mouth of yours, show me yer more trouble than you are worth my time then.” She shifts uncomfortably, sitting up from the floorboards and glaring at him like the devil.

“You tell me why you like these unbearable lil’ sluts, you thinkin’ I’m like them ain’t ya’, a harlot?”

“Jealous, then.”

“Try me.”

“You got some nerve pippin’ up like that darlin’, tch. Thought you’d understand by now givin’ yer up class nature. Why don’t you tell me what you noticed ‘bout this girl, ‘bout all the other girls at that damned bar back there, huh? Might learn a thing or two.”

“The lot of ‘em are no good lil’ hookers who ain’t know so much as a god damn cent of respect, playin’ and caterin’ to these men like idiots. And you, you eat ‘em up ain’t ya’? Love every bit of it.”

“The chase, sure.” Johnny only huffs. “Huntin’ ‘em is fun, it’s good when they get away, gets me all excited. That’s what you aught to learn, as for their acts, they’s real easy to manipulate. Men too, you gotta find the right ones. See what I’m teachin’ you? Balance, find the in between.”

She doesn’t say a word, but her expression softens a tad.

“If you think you’s like that you less smart than I thought, you’d be dead by now if I thought otherwise. And you still playin’ hard to get.”

He says what she already knows, the same things she’s repeated flagrantly in the back of her brain and yet it quells the hotness within her and quiets her thoughts of insecurities, the ones he’d brought up in the first place.

“What’s next?” Johnny only chuckles, shaking his head. He takes her change of tone as an token of her acknowledgement and gesticulates toward the redhead unconscious in the passenger’s seat. Her forehead is bruised something ugly, purple and brown as a trail of blood dribbles from the blow to her head.

“Tie ‘er up. We’ll be home real soon, baby.”

Something foreign, something strange, something rotting in her brain. Noise of cries and scent of blood, bed creaks fast to hammer studs. The girl screams in peril, and yet he remains stern; a dominant man swindled with bedsheets soiled. Her hands are bound by his own, his bare back arched over her, while he defiles her greedily and ruts into her. Then there’s something quiet watching from afar, a quick little stir as the moan seeps out in lawl.

Something about the way he fucks her so selfishly beckons her.

Watching through the creaked door of his shack, in the backyard of his mother’s house.

And just once, she had felt piqued by such an enticing act.

Now was much different.

Something wicked in her. Something demented.

Especially in the way he glides that knife of his against her chest again; watching the thick, pretty blood spill out as her wails of pain mix with his own grunts of pleasure. How might she feign innocence, with her fingers drooping down towards her sopping wet cunt. She can’t help it, she can’t. She’d never felt so aroused before. His bare skin ornamented in blood and a petty slut’s screams of helplessness billowing beneath him. He holds her down unphased, makes it look easy. She couldn’t do a thing to stop him.

And then, he turns to face her.

His eyes fiery like hell, and his grin something unnatural.

It’s a mere glimpse and she’s petrified. Had he seen her?

In floods the guilt, the disgust. A freight train steadfast to a feather, clouding her mind with shame and contempt.

With those fingers prodding at herself in eager anticipation of release.

She isn’t sure whether or not she should feel guilty, Rebecca. But the way in which he cocks his head back in delight enraptures her, tickles her insides, urges her to press on. Then it’s almost as though she regains consciousness, retracting the fingers from her undergarments, and now fueled by envy and guilt.

The cries of their victim grow more desperate, and Johnny licks the blood from his lips before chuckling slightly. His breath is caught in his throat and he buckles. Grunting and panting and eager for release.

She’d not yet understand just how wild it drove him, only that she was guilty for indulging in such sin. So much so it poisoned her mood, she’d been driven mad by the discourse she’d made. How could she be so senseless, so vile? Why, she was no better than them, girls. She loathes it, so much so she feels the need to repent, to make herself suffer and cleanse herself of such impurities. It nearly pushes her over, to where she’d collapse and thwart herself into an insufferable series of denial and self deprecation. How ugly of her.

It’s the anger that keeps her from it.

Only when the knife sinks into skin and the blood spatters him crimson does he find release, and she watches as he cuts into the girl eagerly. With each slash a spray of blood coating the stained walls, as he finishes into her with more punctuated moans. Then, a gurgle of fluid, asphyxiated by her own blood as it bubbles up in her throat. The steel blade stiff in the grain of her neck and the thick pools drawing out of her gushes. Her screams have since become quiet, and instead, Johnny’s gasps for air fill the void as he catches his breath.

A sensation she can only pivot as infectious and dangerous, one he pushes upon her with those lustrous acts of violence and carnage. There’s a lovesick notion to her baby blues, furious with watching him pull out of the corpse on his dirty couch and stand up straight. His bare body coated in sweat and blood, and his eyes looking to her as if to call her over. She’s helpless, a pawn in his little game who’ll fold to his bend and call. How is it, she thinks, how is it that he is so breathtakingly beautiful. And still he elicits the worst in her, as she stands there shaking with terror and rage. The type that always consumes her. How could he do such a thing? A cheater, a playboy, a boy just as much as Matthias. Tears trickle at the edges of her eyes, teetering over the lip. Her body trembles the same way it always did when she was angry or reckless, barely clinging to any form of sanity.

Rebecca struggles to form any sort of word, only grossed out by herself and him. If the furrowing of her brows and coarse stare is any sign of upset he doesn’t take it as such, only smirks that same way he always did.

“You no good piece of shit.” She barges through the door, blinded by her temper. “You’s didn’t tell me you fucked ‘em, you’s horrible, just as bad as any other no good pig.” She grapples him, pushing him backwards. Then points to him like one would scold a child. “I was a fool for ever trustin’ you, I hate you Johnny boy I hate you!” Her voice perpetually raises to a shrill cry, shaky as she chokes back her own vomit. The dreaded feeling regurgitating in the back of her throat. “I can’t even bring myself to look at you.”

“Oh darlin’ come on now,” Johnny can’t help but laugh, adding insult to injury. For her choler festers more violently. The feelings she thought were once dead arise again with a newfound glory; she wants his head on a stick. “Don’t tell me you’re still jealous?” He steps to her, stroking her cheek with his bloodied hand before she smacks it away.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Don’t sell ya’ self short now. That’s all they good for.”

“Don’t give me that crap, I’m fed up. You tell me one thing and make me think you’s some prim proper gentleman and you nothin’ but a cheap lil’ scoundrel. Just as no good as the others, I hate it!” She pushes him again.

“You women, always over reactin’.” Johnny sighs. “Sound like my mother now, why you still playin’ hard to get?” Again he approaches her, an attempt to bring her in for a kiss.

“I said don’t touch me!” She screams, slapping him across the face to which earns her a groan. Irascibility fuels the both of them, a bludgeon to each of their indignation. How she snaps, looking hellbent and ghastly and he the epitome of the devil.

“You aughtta listen to me ‘fore I take matters into my own hands.” He corners her, arms forming a cage when he backs her into the wall. An action that quells her outrage, so that the feelings of repugnance and abhorrence may return. She chokes back a sob, and the wretched acid that floods her mouth which she forced back down in disgust. “The fuck is your quarrel bitch, you call me some stupid shit again and you got another thing comin’.” A whisper.

It happens again, and again. The putrid abomination of a word vomit that cultivates itself into reality. She’s made herself sick with repentance, guilt. He does not a single thing to help, while she’s choking back vomit with a hand over her mouth. He watches cruelly, awaiting a response while her body wracks back and fourth with each gag. Only for her to pitifully swallow it back again. Then it stops. Her eyes muddied with old makeup as tears spew down her face.

“You . . .” She says quietly, and it’s then she thinks he enjoys seeing her like this, a pathetic abomination with nothing to show for it. As she writhes in pain and prods at the roots of her hair, her eyes wide and deranged and her head shaking vehemently. “I . . . You.” She swallows so loud it puts the buzzing of that overhead light to shame. “You told me they was sluts, pawns, that I was different. Yet you go and you have sex with ‘em and toss me aside like I’m your trash.”

“You still don’t get it.” He sighs, observes her shaking limbs and less than gracious state, and shakes his head. “That’s all they’s good for, you know that?”

“What the fuck do you want me to believe?”

“Whose still alive, and whose dead?” Johnny’s voice raises to a stern shout. “Theys sluts, whores, floozies, whatever you wanna call ‘em the whole lot of ‘em, and that’s all theys ever gonna be good for. Get it now, darlin’?” The last part is a stab, a passive aggressive attack on her personal reflection. “Drill that into your fuckin’ skull and get on with it. Quit pissin’ me off.” He leans in, and while a part of it clicks for her the stubbornness of her nature over takes the acceptance, and she punctuates her exit with a swift knee to his crotch. One that sends him stumbling back and groaning, looking to her in poignant disbelief.

“I ain’t a slut, don’t touch me.”

He’s still holding himself when she struts out, groaning out in pain and whining like a bitch.

“Try that again and see what happens, you lucky I like you’s!” No response. “You have yer’ ass back here the same time tomorrow, you hear me?” When there’s no reply he finds himself even more irate, throwing about the shack the old glass beer bottles and kicking into the cabinets with hacked off grunts.

Days go by, then weeks, and every night is some derivative of the same routine. They go out late and pick up some senseless little slut, Johnny woos her enough to take her home and the much of the same ensues. Sometimes he’d let Becca stay in the room with him while he fucked them, or let her cut into the bodies and take a portion of the kill, it became more frequent as time passed; he liked watching her do it all most as much as he enjoyed it. And Rebecca is so natural, so seamless in her execution, quick to pick up on the smaller things, and eventually she’s able to rope in some stupid men, too, begrudgingly to Johnny. Who’d never let her tease them too far before stepping in. Despite the bitterness though, he’s proud, excited even, and those weeks prove to be useful to her. Why, even their discourse had all but subsided, and she’d come around to him the way he’s liked her to all along.

She’d learned all but one thing, the thing Johnny always took care of.

She never knew what came of the corpses once they were done with, where Johnny hid or disposed of them. Whether or not he’d thrown them into the lake or buried them someplace out of the way. But she knew he did it damn well, for if it weren’t the blood that painted the rotting wood of his shack there wasn’t a trace of anything at all. Just an unassuming shed in the middle of bumfuck Texas.

Yet within that time was her perpetual inner conflict, one which picked at her each and every time she slipped those fingers into her drawers as she watched him senselessly fuck whore after whore. She learned to understand what Johnny did and why, so much so it was invigorating to her sexual gratification. The one which she all but embraced, but denied with great obstinance. Of everything it was the single most gruesome thing she could not accept; why she enjoyed seeing it so much. The self hatred that fleeted her head each and every time she enjoyed it would pick at her like fleas to rats. She still wasn’t sure if he’d ever realized, but as the weeks went by the antipathy only grew.

She’d painted herself a depiction of some shameless harlot, and couldn’t bare to stand the idea she’d become just as wretched as the girls he adulted with. Some nights she’d cry and scream and tear her hair out, work herself up so much she’d become sick and vomit face first into the toilet. Other times she became numb and would stare blankly into oblivion, nullifying her pathetic existence under the guise of being a no good woman undeserving of his praise. For the first time ever Rebecca found herself entirely horrified by the shell she made herself to be, insecure, and without an ounce of dignity. The repulsion she exudes only made things worse, as she tried uselessly to control herself and the urges, which overtook time and time again, only to send her fumbling back down the rabbit hole which she tried so desperately to climb out of.

There came a time, later, in which a fork in the road permeated itself before her. Progress, call it an epiphany. For that had been the sudden realization of her existence. She felt for the first time in some time some sensibility, a ground to stand on. Her self righteousness and worth still in tact. Yet still, it loomed over her like a storm cloud the Great Plains of Oklahoma. A familiar feeling would make itself known through this, the return of her lost sanctities, no control. Johnny had always stolen that from her, this was no exception. She craved it so much, to withstand herself, her thoughts, her feelings, she could never let go. It would drive her mad trying to do so, so many countless breakthroughs in her perfect little facade.

But why did she take pleasure in it so damn much.

This was the hunch that kept her moving forward with such grace, for what she knew it to be was a secret and nothing more. She’d hide it, for as far as he knew she was the same prim and proper woman he’d taken in. Her struggles were her own to bare, and the sacrifice of her control was one she would live with for the sake of being with him, a real man. That is, until she would pull his strings like she knew she could. And he knew too.

Sometime later, between the late nights with Johnny and the early mornings with her father feeding the cattle, there had been a change in her. Subtle and sweet, a benign switch in which her attention diverted and she found herself day dreaming in a senseless manner out in the hot sun each day. Smiling sweetly at her Johnny as he comes up on the pavement toward the front of the house. And her daddy, fixing on asking her just what the hell had changed between them.

That day she’d been cleaning the house, with plans set on seeing her Johnny that evening and heading out again to go hunting. Her father, half dazed by the days work and covered in mud and dirt clamors in from the foyer, leant up against the frame as he fiddles with the dirt stuck in his nails.

“You look real nice.” His low voice rumbles, as she places the roast atop the oven mats on the table. “Time’s he comin’ along?”

There’s a gentle hum in her cantor, as she seamlessly sets the table and minds her own.

“Any minute now I’d reckon, Johnny boy’s joinin’ us for supper, don’t you remember daddy?”

“Ah,” he glances up. “Y’all been gettin’ along nicely. Seems you’s both . . . close.”

“Yes well, he’s good to me.”

“Wasn’t always that way it seemed. In fact, there was a time you swore it was quite the opposite. Gotta imagine my concern when that’s changed all of the sudden.”

“Ain’t you like Johnny? I thought you’d be happy. ‘Sides, it ain’t, somethin’.”

“Rebecca.” He warns. “He’s a fine young man, and I think he’d do you alotta good, but I’d be lyin’ if I said I ain’t notice a change in you. You seem, well, different. Distracted, I reckon.”

“Why’s that daddy,” she only chuckles.

“Well girl, I’m gon’ tell you summin’ you might not like, but you listen and you listen well here to me. Seems you’ve caught on too quick. You go ‘bout the days without so much as payin’ any mind to this old man of ya’s, and seems that boy of your’s is askin’ to take you out every night. I know you like ‘em, but no matter how grown you’s is you still my lil’ girl. And now, I see that gleam in those eyes like you know summin’ I don’t, and I know damn well you real fond of that young man. But don’t forget where you’s come from, don’t be wait in’ to see ‘em all day, live in the moment.”

Becca’s back turned, a gentle grasp shys from the dish she’s holding.

“Love’s a funny thing ain’t it. Ain’t you tell me I knows when I got the one? Been tellin’ me that an awful long time there, since I was a girl I reckon. Now just ‘cause I ain’t waitin’ on you no more don’t mean I don’t care ‘bout ya’, just means it’s gettin’ time for me to flee the nest. Wouldn’t you say, daddy?”

“Rebecca Payne, you aught to understand i ain’t say things without no reason.” Her words frighten him, and that feeling of familiarity regarding her unstable tendencies pigeons in his gut. “I believe you, I just say be careful. Don’t go ‘n end up like your momma and I-”

“Whatchu just say ‘bout momma?” She’s gripped the glass rim of each side of the dish, planted square on the dining table which he sits. As her eyes make death threats to him and she scowls in bitterness. Hate clouds her vision, a fuzzy memory of what’s buried in the past. Feelings of discourse and guilt, animosity, all chalked up to the horrors in her head. She’d shake fervently, losing control of her body as she trembles violently. That moment she could only see red, crimson. The thick liquid that which made up all things. Pictures of her bloodied limbs sprawl out over her vision, a mad woman, painted in the blood of her friends and foes, as she take the knife to daddy’s skin. And as she makes her face scarlet in sanguine detail, the room falls.

There’s a knock at the door.

“There you are dear, daddy’s at the table. Have a seat ‘n I’ll fix you a plate.” Her sing-songy chime keeps at bay the turmoil within, as she invites Johnny in with a sweet smile.

His cold gaze lurks behind a smile, as it softens when it meets the beauty of her stature. He watches her there, her painted up face and pretty eyes. Lips shining red, a color which he most found flattering to her. Her hair was neatly curled and styled to suit the form fitting dress she’d opted for the evening, a pretty pink number which he’d half a mind to tear off — if it weren’t for her proclaimed aversion to such a sin. His arm takes her waist and the other her hand, to press the soft palm to his chapped lips in a hungry kiss. Eyes unmoving from hers, even as he bites into her skin there.

“Lovely as always.” Heavy boots step into the kitchen and her pearlescent heels follow with quick clicks. Johnny takes the seat beside her father, shaking hands to adhere to formality and greeting him with a most kind look. “Good to see you sir, gotten round to any game lately?”

“Well now as a matter of fact I’ve got some wild hog dryin’ out out back, caught ‘em just yesterday. One shot straight through the damned thing’s head.”

“Always preferred tradition myself, grandpa got me this ol’ huntin’ knife way back when. Use it for most of my kills, they die better that way. You ain’t want none of that gunpowder in ya’ meat.”

Their conversation was much of the same, about hunting wild animals and the work out in the fields. Before too long Rebecca had placed a plate full of pot roast, mashed potatoes, sugared carrots, and a piece of cornbread in front of Johnny with a smile. Then, with a kind hand pressed over his shoulder reached to place the glass of sweet tea in front of him too. She makes a point to kiss his cheek, patting the spot on his shoulder before stepping away to make her father a plate.

“Here ya’ are, eat while it’s hot.”

Disbelief perhaps, or sheer astonishment, written in the wrinkled features of her father’s impression makes itself clear as day to both Johnny and Rebecca, as she carries on without care, and Johnny chooses to await Raymond before indulging.

She had never served another before him, not even once. And there they stood, indifferent. As if the entire world had changed through the one subliminal action.

Supper was long and drawn out, like a days work in summer heat. Yet as they concluded their festivities and Raymond gave a begrudging goodbye to his winsome daughter, she and Johnny had made it out to Cedar Canyon at some back house bar with somber music and people to match. It was a quiet evening in a small cramped building that smelt of wet earth. They’d been there before; one of the rotations Johnny took her on when searching for prizes. It was always peaceful there, relaxing even. The hustle and bustle of both Pfluegerville and Uvalde paled in comparison. On these nights, the chase was much more leisurely and pleasurable. No pressure and no eyes prying, all most as though they’d found their natural element. It reminded her more and more of Oklahoma.

There in that dirt parking lot did Johnny grasp her hand, only to pull her into him with a grin that lacked the playful and malignant criteria his signature had. His eyes still stern as he watched her, palms now planted on either side of her head.

“Hey.”

“I know my way baby, don’t you worry. Gettin’ the hang of this now.”

“I have summin’, would ya’ turn ya’ self around so I could put it on ya’?” The statement seemed to have stunned her, as her delicate fingers float and her arms feather down to her sides. Her face, so prettily in awe beckons him, like a siren to man. So she twirls quaintly to face away from him, fingers grasping onto one another in anticipation.

She’s unsure what to make of his sudden change in tone, the affectionate gesture which had her heart throbbing in her chest. It was different than his regular demeanor, but she enjoyed just as much his sweeter side. And how it made her mind soar, like nothing she’d ever felt before.

“Now don’t go gettin’ a big head, s’just summin’ I found off one of them bodies, thought it’d look real nice on ya’.” He pulls out the fine silver chain from his tattered jean pocket, rubbing the damn thing until it fell straight and the slightly tarnished silver locker dangled from it. “Here, hold that hair.” As a careful grasp clasps her hair up his rough touch grazes the tender skin of her neck, looping the chain around it and hooking the eye in the back.

The cold touch of metal falls onto her skin, all most burning, and as she frees her hair from the confines of her palms Johnny cannot help but to stare. Perhaps he’d never realized what a pretty neck she had, and a part of him wondered what it might feel like to strangle it. Feel skin gripping flesh and the air vacate her lungs as he watches the life drain from her cerulean eyes. Instead however, he spins her around to relish in the fruits of his labor; the prized necklace sealed round that neck, a means of claiming it as his own. And she, so enthralled, takes the heart shaped locket between her fingertips with an unbeknownst smile, examining it thorough before she looks up to him.

Of course she’s different, his trophy wife in some ways, well not yet, but certainly what she’d become. It didn’t stop those thoughts though, the ones that plagued his brain each time he looked to someone. Even his mother, whom he loved, was no exception to his beastly thoughts.

“It’s beautiful Johnny, which ones it off?” The yellow spot on the lockets middle crumbs beneath her fingertips, sprawling outwards toward the edge of the thing where she could pop it open. She hesitates though, as there’s a somber change to his appearance, one she’d never seen before. She wasn’t sure of it, but it looked she’d prodded at some wound of his.

It takes him some time before he chirps up, a calm and casual tone.

“It ain’t from ours.” He says plainly. “This one’s different, been savin’ it.”

There’s a pretty engraving around it’s outer edges, a thin brocade design blackened with decades old dirt and grime. The bail is also browned, coated in the tarnish it had endured for so long. Then there was the bits of dried blood too, something you would only see so close. The thing looked as though it sat in a drawer for years, a little elbow grease would have it looking pristine and new.

“But you said-”

“Dammit woman I know what I said,” Johnny huffs. “It’s an old one I’d been saving, thought it’ll look real nice on you’s.”

“Well,” she indulges, stepping back and lifting her head upwards to show off that neck of hers. “How do I look then?”

“Beautiful.” That feeling came back to him like hell in a hand basket, the same one where he could hardly handle the instincts cemented within him. A part of him longed to shower her in such frivolous matters, taking to her the finest jewelry and clothes money could buy, letting her exude the lifestyle she looked the part of. He thought about it, how to treat her right. But he couldn’t understand, and maybe he never would. For as much as he wanted something like that he’d never be able to wrap his head around it, how to express such an odd feeling; one he lacked control over. Another reason he resented it so much, and still, he sat with the uncomfortability.

The other part of him wondered if what she’d look like in the cold room. Some sick and twisted side, yet he found she’d be no use for him there. Without her he’d end up lonely all over again. And something about her likeness made him feel something, other than sanguine hunger and bloodlust.

She was the only woman he’d always told the truth, from the very start.

“Oh Rebecca Payne, you sure do drive me wild.” He softens, a tense shell now keen on her beauty. The feeling subsides, not before he’s got a hand on her waist pulling her close, and the other caressing the skin of her neck. Skin gripping flesh, her hands take solace at his chest, then his neck, then the nape where his hair meets his head.

Chapped lips against cherry lip balm, soft and sugary like the pie she’d baked all that time ago. The metallic taste of blood is just faint when she bites his lip, for her turbulent nature always did rival his own. As the pads of his fingers grip into her neck his hold travels upward, pulling at her cheek and into her silky tresses. He can feel the way her hands tug at his scalp, and the way she so desperately kisses him, biting away as though it had been a millennium since they’d last met like this. Something in the way she lets his hands grip her body or his tongue slide into her mouth, or even the way she breathes out so tantalizingly against his own that has his world spinning.

“I’ll say, lookit what we gots here.”

“Well I’ll be, wearin’ a dress like that bound to get you’s into trouble. Say, how much for that there girl you’s got? She a real prize.”

First he stirs, then she follows. His head and gaze low at her, and Becca can see the anger beckon him. A fury and rage akin to no other, like the devil himself had come to reap. The darkness washes over him like it always did, tearing at the seams where his demons fought tooth and nail to climb out. And there he was, opening the gates. A scowl accompanied with that swollen lip of his rises, when he lifts his head from her height to overhead to watch two drunkards heckle like fools.

She quips her head around real quick, all most as angry as Johnny if it weren’t for his need for such inhumane territory.

The two are drunkards, half falling over the other as they hiccup on their own words. They reek of beer and sweat, still wearing the overalls from the days work that had been covered in dirt and whatever else. Their dress did little to hide the gut on each of them, grossly sticking out and firm and just plain ugly. The one on the left stood back a little, still choking on the last of his bottle before he tossed it to the ground. The mullet on his head is half balding. The one on the right does most of the talking it seems, and he’s bigger, like he’s got muscle beneath that pudge of his. He hides his round face behind the brim of his hat, nodding over to each of them and clicking as if she were a bitch.

“Well? Answer me boy, I’ll pay ya’ top coin for a pretty one like that.”

Upset stirs in her, arms falling at her sides and hands fisted. The polished nails dig into her skin and her eyes flash crazy to a Johnny as if to say ‘you gon’ do summin’ ‘bout that?’

Without a word he maneuvers her aside, gaze dead on the man attempting to negotiate. His rage is silent and seething, as he strides over to the primary subject of his vexation and sends a fist to the man’s nose. There’s a heinous crack! as the man cries and clasps at his nose, not before Johnny sends a knee into his pelvis. Again he whines out, broken by the vomit that disgustingly ruts out his mouth and to the floor. He topples over and Johnny wastes no time kicking into him, spitting over his face.

“The hell you say to me?”

It all had happened so quickly, and in an instant his friend approaches Johnny in an attempt of defense, striking dead on his jaw. It’s with a groan Johnny sends fists back, and Rebecca wastes no time in digging through the truck bed and fetching the old rusted wrench from it.

In that time the man on the ground had gotten up and, while Johnny preoccupied himself in fighting the other this one had decided to get the one up on Johnny.

She could laugh at their stupidity, how they left her all alone leaving her such a clear opportunity to enact revenge. Or she could take offense, for that meant they saw her to be a non issue. In typical fashion she takes the ladder, which only worsens her anger. She wondered if Johnny’d kill her for striking them with the axe then and there, or if he’d have her head for trying to slaughter them out in the open. Well, she hadn’t observed anyone there. Inside the bar was primarily vacant.

As fury agonizes within and her thoughts stir the idea becomes increasingly palpable. That with the pig behavior of these idiots and their lack of proper judgement about women, she was sure she aight to teach them a lesson once Johnny got through them first. There’s a yearning for hate and destruction in her, the kind where she let loose and enact a crime so vicious and malignant they’d never warrant such atrocities again. It’s a blood boiling affair that has her head dizzy with contempt and bloodlust, prodding at her consciousness as she sway towards the fantasy. Killing them had to be the answer, the utmost form of vengeance and satisfaction. Yet unlike before, she practices restraint as she watches Johnny beat the life out of the one, coloring himself red with blood splatter. The world seems to stop then, and a feeling she came to know as instinct flutters in the pit of her stomach. How undoubtedly breathtaking he was. A stalwart apparition of what she desired most; it all most distracts her from what’s at stake.

It’s in one quick movement and a brute grunt that she swings the wrench upside the back of the man’s head, striking a flesh wound into his skull that caved inwards. Bits and pieces of matter dangle from the wrench, as blood flies to coat her pink wardrobe.

Well, shit.

She hadn’t meant to injure him so badly, more than she did just to knock him out. If his unconscious body is any indication of such she’s quite pleased with her work, huffing and puffing over his body while she throws the wrench down. The scowl written in her features grows darker, and the fire in her eyes ignites.

“God damn you half wits, ruinin’ date night!” She calls out, stepping over the body to waltz over to Johnny and the man he so graciously was kicking the shit out of. A pause in her cantor and she feels overwhelmed by the joy it exudes, such a chivalrous and passionate display of emotion and adoration. It makes her feel hot, the guise in such a sweet action eliciting a feeling she cannot control within the physiological workings of her mind. It was the notion that it had been over her, a protectiveness she feigned over.

“Quick darlin’, grab some rope and let’s get ‘em in the truck, ‘fore we find ourselves in a whole heap of trouble.”

“They didn’t think I’d do no harm,” reluctantly she obliges, fetching the spares they’d keep in the truck bed. “Thought I wasn’t no threat.” She tosses some to him, then makes quick work with the other restraining his limbs and stuffing his mouth with the ends of the ropes. “Johnny boy you hear me?”

He doesn’t say anything in response, perhaps a signal of his own anger and self discipline. He only moves to hurl them over his shoulder one by one, tossing each of them in the back then covering it up in the tattered bits of burlap before opening the passenger door.

“Get in the truck.”

—

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭! - 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

@yixxes @bdudette @nerdykat101 @kaymarnun @casually-in-love-with-madari

—

The brutal attack last night on two cotton farmers has Cedar Canyon residents left concerned with the safety of their community. Reports say the attack on brothers Aaron and Bryan Wickett happened just outside a local bar, where an unidentified man and woman were seen quote, “beating the daylights out of them.” Witnesses say the suspects wore nice clothes and looked quote “nothing out of the ordinary.” The man’s description is congruent with the violent attack on three college students in Pfluegerville just less than a year ago, however authorities say the two crimes are not connected. The unidentified woman is believed to be in her early twenties, has blonde hair and blue eyes, and exudes unusually brute strength. As of now, the whereabouts of all parties involved are unknown, and authorities are urging anyone with information to please come forward. More on this story as it develops.

[gcnepcstal]

gay people

[earthtoluisa]

„Found ya“

Bro I’ve been in a physical fight with this drawing scince weeks now and u know what’s so sad I don’t like how it turned out 🥲

But I still wanted to post it finally so I hope y’all like it anyway

Johnny is seriously on my mind 24/7 I wanna draw sm more of him and me

I did make tho a lot of mistakes drawing him but I’m way to tired trying to fix them at this point

(Btw I love the difference between me and johnnys color palate his is way more darker while mine is way more colorful yk?)

[kyriasilencedradio]

The Sawyer girls - TCM oc's info

Hello! It's me again. For some time now, I've created a big obsession with Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and with it, many character ideas have come to mind. That's how I came up with the 'Sawyer Girls.' In this post, I'll introduce them a little so I can start sharing what I've already written so far.

Warning: violence, mental health issues, cannibalism, organ trafficking, and mention of SA.

Layla Slaughter x Chop Top Sawyer

Born in Louisiana, Anna Hudson was a normal girl like ALL the others girls her age who liked pink, bows, and Barbies—those were the most important things in her youth. That was before the kidnapping serial killer "Lucky Girl" took her to be his new "doll" at 16. A year later, her captor drove down the deserted roads of Texas to get rid of her.

She was "lucky" enough to run to the owner of the Last Chance gas station, Drayton Sawyer, earning the kindness of the family. Anna Hudson died, and Layla Slaughter was born. With her love for music and charisma, she caught the loving attention of Robert Sawyer.

Jane Doe x Johnny Slaughter

Jane Doe is a mysterious girl from California—you don't know her well, and maybe you never will. She's funny, beautiful, sexy, and all above, but you don't know anything about her except her name.

Behind this façade, Jane works as a surgeon in the illegal organ trade for a crime boss who truly values her talents in making people disappear.

When the police start investigating the works of the modern "Jack the Ripper," she decides to travel the back roads of Texas, where she finds her place alongside the cannibalistic serial killer Johnny Slaughter and his twisted family.

Sandie Mourning x Nubbins Sawyer

Since the death of her mother, followed by the tragic deaths of the rest of her family, Sandie Mourning believes that death haunts her. Over the years, she was the only survivor of the McKeen family after her uncle's demise, now Alone in the world.

After being released from the Gordon House psychiatric institution, Sandie found comfort in the macabre, spending her time at the graves in Newt's gravewards.

She waited for death to take her as its bride. Death hasn't claimed her yet, but she met a soul as strange as hers, and his name was Nubbins Sawyer.

★★★

Thank you for Reading this post till the end, im really excited to post more about the girls and more slasher related oc's, Hope u guys like them as much as i do, this post was a translation of the original post i've bc i though it would reach more people, my First linguage is portuguese so im Sorry if i mande some spelling mistakes but i do my best

[dumbd3m0nzart]

Johnny x Dolly ART DROP!

Ain’t they the cutest! (It’s been so long since I’ve drawn at all it’s so bad)

Hope y’all likeeee

[thisiswhereidraw-2]

🌭GIRL DINNER WITH A OC 🌭

my crippling addiction to dangerous men will end one day I swear

[mr-dango10]

So... I want to venture into the shiper side of this app. The selfshiper one.

I'm selfshiper, and I also do Oc x canon, I have a lot of characters I like (The list is very long, indeed). I'm selective! But with my main ships I am a little bit Non-sharing.❗ 🫵 💫

These in the picture are my main husbands! <333 I love them so much, they are my beautiful pumpkins. 💓

I would love to meet other selfshipers or Oc x canon enjoyers. 🫂💕💫 Even better if we have fandoms in common!

[morgueyouknow]

guess who drew June and Johnny— ONCE AGAIN !! I love them so much.. ‼️

🗯️ : “ you live a long time yet Johnny an eternity without me, you will look into the faces of passers by hoping for something that will for an instant bring me back to you, always your heart will be aching for me and your mind will give you the doubtful consolation that you did a brave thing “

BONUS ART:

[babiebomsmasterlist]

Accidental Prey Masterlist

Summery: Johnny Slaughter doesn’t love anyone, he doesn’t feel bad for anyone. The man only cares about his mama and killing, it’s just this stupid girl isn’t good enough to kill, yet she can barely keep herself alive as is. “Making love” to her was an accident as is her becoming prey.

Tw: racism, pregnancy, blood, gore, cannibalism, cursing, sexism, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, mental/physical/verbal abuse, sexual and suggestive content(though no full on smut unless I gain courage), mentions of religion (god etc.), murder, self harm, manipulation. It’s just tragic tbh

Rating: mature (minors dni)

Pairing: Johnny Sawyer x OC

Genre: angst, romance(?), strangers to lovers (sorta),

Wc: N/A

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[spicy-pears]

ᏁᎧᎥᏒ (𝖭𝗈𝗂𝗋)

𝖶.𝖢: 1.7 𝖪

𝖳𝖺𝗀𝗌: 𝖲𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗑, 𝖯𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾/𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗄?, 𝖠𝗀𝗀𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗄, 𝖡𝗋𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖡𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀/ 𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗂𝖻𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗍, 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖽𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗌𝖾, 𝖲𝗂𝗓𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝖼𝗈𝖼𝗄 𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗀𝖾, 𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗒𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖩𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

𝚆𝙽: 𝙷𝚎𝚢 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖y 𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎. 𝙻𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚜. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚒 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗'𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜, 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝. 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍. 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚛 𝚒'𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜. 𝚂𝚘, 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠!

𝖯.𝗌: 𝖪𝗂𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒 𝖱𝖺𝖻𝖻𝗂𝗍.

𝖱𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝖱𝗈𝖼𝗄, 𝖳𝖾𝗑𝖺𝗌. 1976.

Anxious, your precious eyes stared into a boundless ill-lit abyss. All the while, your uneasy mind began to craft an ocean of white noise. Desperately trying to drown out every little sound, Every scoff or stammer from your drunk lover. And for a moment you felt the sweet embrace of the peace you sought.

Finally able to exhale, Joining the calm rhythm of the frigid water cascading on your back. But once your full lips parted to do so, your small frame jolted into a paralyzed state. As the crashing sound from hallow glass bottles rang through your ears.

His boisterous laughter grew agonizingly loud, as your only defense crumbled away. Leaving you to act out of second nature. Doe-eyed as you stared back at the wide motel room window, woefully watching his menacing shadow. You knew that intimidating brooding bodice all too well. The unhinged anger rising through him was palpable, even from afar.

Phantom whispers of passersby soon replaced your dread with embarrassment. Their words thick with pity, “Poor thing, I hope he doesn’t behave that way around her…”. Urging your lovely hazel eyes to avert the chaotic scene, your meager attempt at dissociation.

 Maybe you were bound to men of Johnny’s nature, or just bound to cross his path. Nevertheless, he was no better than your lover. Johnny’s days were spent draining innocent girls of everything they had. Playing with his “food” till his cruel smile grew dull, eventually slinking up from his morbid den. To crack open another stiff beer and do it all over again.

Regardless, he instantly took a liking to you. As you reminded him of the mother he once had. How your hazel eyes glistened like pools of honey, just like hers. You both also shared the same nature, lovingly patient to a fault. No matter what your drunken lover had done, your love was forever unconditional.

You were too much like her, you poor sweet thing. 

“Everything alright darlin?” Johnny’s smooth southern twang instantly caught your attention. Your friendly gaze held a sweet glint while staring back into his dark hazel-brown eyes. As he stood there at the pool's edge, his attentive tone effectively made you feel like the only girl in the world.

Yet, to his dismay, the friendly aura in your eyes never grew into anything more. “I’m fine thank you.” You instinctively stayed in the pool, not risking the chance of upsetting your volatile boyfriend over a handsome stranger.

Johnny would halt his alluring leer with a short chuckle, a varied sound that you couldn’t decipher. “You should head inside; we wouldn’t want the bad man to get ya.” His eyes met the sky while fishing his pockets for his lighter. Seemingly eager to light the cigarette, that he impatiently held in his other hand.

“Well…You’re the only man out here.” Although you were merely joking with the stranger, he didn’t miss your true apprehension. If it wasn’t for that obedient wide-eyed look he salivated for. Or the tempting way your lips curled, he would’ve already killed you. It would’ve been easy too; you were nothing but a kit to him.

“The devil darlin.” Johnny's gaze shifted downwards. Rewarding you with a hazy yet virtually feral look, causing your small frame to pause. As warmth began to build up at your core.

Shamefully, you would back away further into the pool and away from the edge. “Say it ain't so.” Your tone remained light-hearted, trying your very best to disguise the pull he had on you. But your underlining flirtatious tone, caused the corners of his lips to slyly curl.

His devilish grin was almost enough to make you melt. ”Well, I’m afraid he wouldn't want me. I pray far too much.” A curt smile was all you gave him, holding firm at your desire of not wanting any trouble.

 To him, it was cute that you thought you had a choice, to begin with. Prompting a dry chuckle would rumble from his broad chest, “Smart girl, you have a good night then.”.

Without a second glance, he left you to resume your pursuit of peace.

For now, at least.

“Shit, shit…” panic clung to your gentle voice, reminiscent of a helpless child. While you frantically searched for your room key. Praying that the flickering streetlamp was playing tricks on you, hoping that you wouldn’t be forced to knock on that dreaded door. Beckoning the sleeping beast awake.

To Johnny, you were nothing but another careless girl. Flaunting around in a swim top, that was barely enough to contain your plush chest. You didn’t even notice, let alone cared how lewdly your small body was precariously positioned.

Thoughtlessly on your hands and knees, with your hips jutting back. As you climbed on top of the long white lounge chair. Presenting the tempting outline of your cunt, as it shined through your thin swimming thong.

Regardless, you continued to fruitlessly comb through your belongings again, and again to no avail. But as your distress grew, you took little heed of the aged vile pungence of acidic copper. Nor the heavy footsteps, which only seemed to grow uncomfortably nearer.

 “You should’ve gone inside kit…”.

Instantly, the vile stench would overwhelm you. As Johnny’s bloodied hand firmly took hold of your pretty little face. Slowly applying more agonizing pressure, with his possessive grip. While his lips curled into a sadistic grin, slowly dragging his thumb across your lips. Coating them with a thin layer of fresh crimson.

“Not. A. Word.” His once charming tone suddenly became low and demonic, his words stern yet definite. You’d struggle against his agonizing grip, as paralyzing pain coursed through your jaw.

Those lovely hazel eyes he adored, now brimming with thick murky tears. Within his twisted mind, your lovely eyes were much prettier this way. Your once innocent gaze now conflicted with lust and pain.

Cruelly he’d leaned down to your ear, wearing a wolfish grin as pure as sin. “You so much as think of screamin' and I’ll split yer jaw.” Johnny possessively held your gaze, while freeing his eager leaky cock from his blood-stained jeans. Teasing you, as he warmed the fat middle of it between your wet slit. Rendering you cock-drunk, aching to feel the prominent veins of his cock running against your tight spongy walls.

Without warning, A pained cry would escape your lips. Following the intense wave of prickling pain rushing up your spine. Your hip was now decorated with red angry marks, as Johnny roughly tore away your thong. The way your small frame jolted in place and froze, drew out his heartless laughter.

 “Nawww, don’t cry now…I barely started.” His vague threat was delivered with a low cocky tone, nothing more. Before jerking his hips, brutally bottoming out inside you. With a deep feral pace, steadily knocking the air out of your lungs.

 You’d struggle against him, pathetically squirming in place as his cock overwhelmed you. The outline of his cock, lightly bulged out from inside your petite bodice. Molding your cunt around the shape of his cock. While stretching you beyond your limit, forcing hot tears to cascade down your flushed cheeks.

“Mmmm, that’s it…” Johnny shamelessly voiced his pleasure with a deep guttural grunt, before burying his face against the crook of your neck. His lips now ravenously claim your skin, his teeth grazing every inch of it. Until his pointed canines began to agonizingly dig into your skin, a slow torture as he savored the addictive taste of your feverish blood.

Even with his teeth hooked deep into your skin, his pace never faltered. All the while, your voice grew weak and frayed, after letting out an array of angelic cries. Reduced to making mindless whimpers and mewls. While your hot slick dripped down to his balls and coated his toned inner thighs.

His chest rumbled with an animalistic growl; his pace was now erratic.

His punishing thrust brought the round plush of your ass to lewdly clap, joining the symphony of your squelching pussy. Your jaw would slack, allowing your tongue to lol out dumbly. As his oppressive bite Suddenly lifted, allowing you to freely take in Johnny’s menacing appearance.

Fresh dark scarlet sloppily painted across his mouth. Glistening and moonlit, as he yanked your head back further by your soft locks. “Johnny…say it.” His aggressive bark was followed by a disciplining smack across your ass. Your soft exhales would shift into a sharp hiss, as the sudden pain caused you to weakly tremble beneath him.

The knot built at your core was ready to snap. As every brutal pump of his hips brought his tip to kiss your sensitive cervix, bruising it again and again. Yet, through your heart-rendering teary gaze. You rewarded him with a cold bratty glare and a combative tone, “Johnny”. Although your voice was weak and trembling, you dared to defy him.

Soon, you saw his psychotic wide toothy grin, shining against a bloodied backdrop. “Oh, don’t worry. I like it when there's some fight left!” Without hesitation, and in one quick motion, he broke your body. Wrapping his toned arms tight around your waist, now pounding into you with no restraint. Setting the knot at your core aflame, as your pulsing cunt clenched around him.

Eliciting a shuddering groan to echo from his lungs, as you released on your cock. Coating it in a fresh overflow of your well-fucked juices, “Fuck-..You little slut”. You felt his cock throb, while he breathed out short hazy puffs. His mind clouded as his muscles flexed and tightened, as your spiteful cunt milked him in return.

His once feral thrusts began to stagger, as his balls contracted. The veins in his hands hardened, his grip stronger. “Johnny- “, Johnny salivated at the softer cries of his name that spilled from your drooling lips. But the way your sweet voice screamed out his name, sent him over the edge. As he slammed into you once more, decorating your cunt with thick white ribbons.

Your body would fall limp, while wrapped right around his strong arms. Breathing at an exhausted rhythm matching his, His demonic gaze was now non-existent. As his lips suddenly meet yours, excusing his previous cruelty with a tender kiss.

“Comon’ go get yer stuff, we got a long ride home kit.”

[small-sinclair]

Okay but

Johnny was gentle as he laid his hand over you cheek. The bed was warmed now that you were there, and he couldn’t help but feel like he’s home. A home where blood wasn’t stained in the floors and walls.

He pulls you a bit closer and closed his eyes. He’s not a good man, never been, but he’ll change for you. He’ll try, fail, then try again and again until he’s right, until he knows he’s perfect. Johnny takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He’ll do right by you, he owes it to you.

You deserve a man, not a monster.

[melodrama-ticcc]

— “ 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 ” ; 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈

𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐏𝐢𝐞

𝘈 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴.

𝙃𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙠 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙞𝙩.

𝘈 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘛𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥.

𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫. 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧. 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧.

ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ: ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃⁱⁿˢ ᵐᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉᵐᵉˢ. ⁱ.ᵉ. ᵐᵉⁿᵗᵃˡ ⁱˡˡⁿᵉˢˢ, ᵐⁱˡᵈ ᵍᵒʳᵉ, ʳᵉˡⁱᵍⁱᵒⁿ, ˢᵉˣᵘᵃˡ ᵗʰᵉᵐᵉˢ.

—

The drive from the countryside of Skiatook, Oklahoma to Newt, Texas was a ten hour trip, spanning the pastoral plaines of Oklahoma to the hilled grasslands of midwestern Texas. A sight to behold, surely, but even a blind man would grow bored of staring at the same image if it meant he was looking death in the face.

The summer sun baked the peeling paint off that ol’ 56’ pickup. Heat radiating from the build of its classic body to the cabin, where the broken air conditioning did little to improve their conditions of travel. Even the windows — half rolled down (enough to flick strands of hair astray in varying directions, but keep the sharp feel of the hot wind out of the eyes), did close to nothing to alleviate their discomfort.

All of it had been enough to further sour her perturbed feelings regarding the move. Sat in the passengers seat, she stared at endless grass hills, a blank expression resting on her pretty features. The sun shines in through the window, and she does her best to hide beneath the little shade her hand provides. The sun meets its peak in the sky as it moves westward. To inevitably kiss where those hills met the horizon. In many ways, the beauty of it all was quite remarkable. Peaceful, one might say.

Yet, Rebecca Payne only felt the urgency to conclude she and her father’s travels and settle into that reposeful farmhouse she would come to call home.

Surrounded by fifteen acres of fenced grasslands, the old farmhouse sat just a half mile off the main road of the highway. Shrouded by overgrown foliage, a dirt road leads to a set of warped wooden stairs, then, a porch that wraps around the left side of the place. The eaves provide plenty of shade, and a torn screen door serves as the front entrance of the home. She was sure it must’ve been a grand estate some once upon a time. Now, it was just a rickety old house that needed lots of fixing. She supposed there was something beautiful in it though, for it had the potential to be something great once more.

As dusk approaches, Rebecca slams shut the truck door. Slinging a tote over her shoulder, she hurries up the front steps. Her second footstep is met with the sound of a loud crack, the regrettable indication of the wood snapping. Her weight propels the leg through the broken board, and it nearly sends her face first into the top stair before she catches herself on the railing.

“Shit!” She lifts her foot slightly, as if to assess damages before she realizes the extent in the fragility of the old place.

“Now, you best watch yer’ language young lady, watch it for’ I ain’t wanna tell you ‘gain.” His voice is deep and rumbles, like the thunder rolling in as a summer storm approaches. Her father shuts the truck bed, bags in hand as he makes his way towards the house’s edifice. “Movers’ll be here in the mornin’, we best get some rest. We can unload tomorrow.”

His warning is met with skepticism, as she scoffs and moves toward front door. The screen is kept open, seeing as it swings freely in the gentle breeze. However, the solid wood door behind it is locked, so she raises her hand up in a careless motion.

“Ya’ got keys, daddy?”

“Now hold on.” He steps up after her, rustling in his pocket for the key. She moves to the side as he sticks it in the lock, pausing for a moment as he looks to her. “I know it ain’t much, but it’s home, and you aughtta’ be grateful for what we got, ya’ hear me? A home is a home, you’s and me can fix ‘er up but in the meantime, s’long s’we gots a roof over our heads and supper on the table, we doin’ just fine.”

“Oh daddy,” she smiles, maybe for the first time that day, and it’s charming. A pretty little smile bound to tickle the hearts of any man who saw her. It was no wonder her father loved her so damn much. “You know I can make anythin’ work. Jus’ needs a lil’ woman’s touch. I’ll take care of the inside, you take care of the outside.” She plants a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll have ‘er lookin’ like home in no time.”

The two days that followed had consisted of the typical unpacking and arranging of furniture that followed a new move. Far from complete, boxes of varying sizes, empty and full, scattered about the oak floors of the interior. Contrary to her expectations, the inside of the home had been in much better shape than the exterior. Not perfect by any means, but considerably better. It was nice in some ways, to have such a spacious home with ornate architecture. That which matched the stye of most farmhouses built in the 1800s.

There’s a knock at the door as Rebecca hunches over a hot open stove. Rather half heartedly she calls out for her father, however when met with no response, she proceeds to pull the meatloaf out of the oven and places it onto the stove top. Tossing the oven mitts on the counter, she moves to approach the door. From where she stands, she can see three figures standing behind the screen.

The gentleman on the right is carrying something. He’s older, she thinks. Probably in his fifties. His dark hair is combed over the top of his head, yet it’s clear he’s balding to some extent. His dress slacks are pulled up past his waist, and his dress shirt has some sort of red name tag that she can’t make out. He’s rather short, too. The woman on the left, while fair for her age, seems to be an older, more mature lady. Her dark hair is done up in some neat updo, and she wears a purple dress with some floral accents. There’s eye glasses with dark frames on her face, and she looks less than pleasant. The last figure had been a taller young man situated behind both of them. He seems her age, his hair is slicked back in grease and a stern expression is written on his handsome features. His tight jeans and torn black tank top tell her everything she needs to know, he’s no good.

“Hi.” She peers beyond the screen, as if to examine them and ensure they were somewhat trustworthy. Her eyes scan each of them, a hand kept on the door handle. “Can I help you folks?”

“Forgive us for showin’ up unannounced like this, it ain’t too often we find ourselves gettin’ new neighbors is all.” The older man speaks, a friendly smile on his face. “We’s the Sawyers. Our farmhouse is settled just up the main road here a little ways. I’m Drayton, this is Nancy, and this here is Johnny.” He lifts what he’s holding and shakes it gently. It sounds heavy, its contents something greasy that stains the thin paper bag. “It ain’t much, but we brought some barbecue as a house warmin’ gift. Thought we’d welcome you’s to Newt.”

“Awfully kind of you folks,” Rebecca extends their gratitude, swinging open the screen with her booted foot. That charming smile of hers meets their every gaze. “Comin’ all this way to say hello. My names Rebeccca Payne, y’all can call me Becca.”

Johnny thinks she’s something like the movie stars he sees on the television or on the covers of his pornographic magazines. Big blonde hair falling in effortless curls and waves, swooped bangs framing a finely carved face. High cheekbones, full, pouty lips, a button nose, bright blue eyes. Her skin is kissed by the sun, freckles scatter across the highs of her face and body, beauty marks adorning several sections of her tanned skin. He smiles, and perhaps for a moment he imagines what it would be like to have her tied up in his shed. A part of him wants to keep her as a pet, the other wonders what it would be like to carve into her like a he did those college students. But it’s her smooth southern drawl that removes him from his immoral conceptions.

“You’ve caught me just as I’ve finished supper, care to join us? Daddy’ll be pleased to meet you folks. We ain’t know we had neighbors ‘round here.”

“Well, ain’t you sweet.” The woman, Nancy, speaks, a motherly tone in her voice as she offers a kind smile. Its her first time expressing anything but that mean veil she donned.

“But ‘uh, we ain’t wanna impose or nothin’ . . . .” It’s said more to front niceties as opposed to genuine concern. After all, they had come here with the intent of getting to know who was next door just a little better. Watching from afar could only give them so much.

“Nonsense, y’all come on inside ‘n I’ll fix y’all’s a place at the table. ‘S the least I can do, now come on in.”

There were two rules to abide by when invited for dinner by a southern woman. The first, always compliment her cooking. The second was never turn down the invitation.

“S’pose it wouldn’t hurt nothin’.” Drayton easily caves into her offer, sending a look back the other two’s way.

Rebecca had the sort of southern hospitality that was reminiscent of a belle. In a way, it’s old fashioned. But there’s something about her new age appearance and haphazard attitude that makes her seem carefree. Like a bronco in the wild, nobody could tame or give her instruction. She was an unbridled mustang.

She’s stepping aside to let them all in, shutting and locking the door behind them. She makes a point to shield the shotgun leant up against the door frame as they enter. Not before moving ahead of the group and leading them to the dining table.

“Go ‘head and have a seat where you like. Daddy’ll be in shortly.” Without clemency, she begins fixing the table to accommodate the three guests. Placing napkins and proper silverware at each place. Shouting out the open window she calls for her father, “daddy! Suppers’ on, we got company!” There’s a freshly baked cherry pie sitting on the window sill, steam still emitting from its crispy golden edges. The smells of savory meat and sweet cherries intertwine, she’s a woman who knows how to cook. And for that, she’d win the hearts of many.

As Rebecca shifts to place a porcelain plate at each seat of the table, she moves on to set out their meal. First the creamy mashed potatoes, then the salty gravy, bacon infused green beans, and one hell of a meatloaf. All centered down the runner of the table. The table is set, and as she removes the oven mitts and apron from her person there’s a faint slam at the back door. Her father steps in, wearing a days work and covered muck and dirt. The girl smiles, grabbing the iced pitcher of sweet tea and filling up five glasses at the table.

“Daddy, these are the Sawyers. This is Drayton, Nancy and Johnny Sawyer. They’s our neighbors, live just up the road this way.” She places the pitcher back on the counter, “I hope you folks are hungry, all this food don’t do much good with just my daddy and I ‘round. Momma always said a meal tasted better when it was shared with others.” She carefully hands out the homemade sweet tea poured in crystal glasses, condensation dripping down the sides of each glass as the cold beverage faces the Texan heat.

“Names’ Raymond Payne, pleasure to meet you folks.” He takes his seat at the head of the table, and as Rebecca places a glass of sweet tea at his hand she leans down, a loving hand on his shoulder as she kisses his cheek.

“Love you daddy.” She whispers into his cheek, then takes the seat to his right side. Across the table from Nancy and Johnny, besides Drayton. “God is good, God is great, let’s eat.”

“You’ll have to excuse the rest of our family, we’d of loved to bring ‘em along to say hello but they can be rather . . . . preoccupied with work.” Nancy smiles, not before Raymond nods in a feeble attempt to acknowledge her.

“I ain’t know we had neighbors ‘round these parts.” As he begins digging into the food set on the table, Raymond eyes Drayton. He’s a friendly man. His rough hands and calloused skin a showcase of his life’s work. He’s no stranger to a tough job, and it’s evident in his wise tone that he knows a thing or two about life. Though his friendliness need not be mistaken, for he’s skeptical. A life of hardship had led him to become wary of strangers. All the same, he couldn’t help but feel proud at his daughter’s benevolence and cunning hostess skills. “How long y’all been livin’ out here? Recommend it?”

For a few moments there is a profound silence at the table, as their guests begin to make their own plates, Rebecca waits patiently to be the last to serve herself. Yet the lack of answers leads her to smile awkwardly, as if hoping to stir up the conversation. But finally, the old man beside her speaks.

“Well, you ain’t got many more of us. S’far as I’m aware there ain’t many others makin’ a livin’ out here in Muerto County. We’re always happy to meet a new friendly face, it don’t happen too much.” Drayton raises his glass as he sips from it, before continuing to answer Raymond’s inquiry. “It’s a quiet lil’ town, ain’t much goes on ‘round here. You’ll find it can be quite peaceful. If you enjoy the quiet of the countryside I reckon you’ds find yourselves at home here.”

The thought picks at Drayton’s brain like a fly on dung, yet he watches himself so as to not seem too upfront. He eyes Nancy, then Johnny boy, then back to Rebecca and Raymond. They’d only made their way over to determine whether or not these new neighbors were a threat, something to harm the family business. He didn’t need some strangers waltzing in and causing trouble. He was certain they couldn’t kill them, but the girl would make a fine piece of meat. At the same time, he really had no desire to kill them. If they could, he’d much rather have it they lived their own separate lives in peace. Not to mention the suspicion that would arise if they were to eradicate the Payne’s so suddenly. They’d just moved in, and as the only neighbor to the old farmhouse they’d be prime suspects in a missing persons case. Their sudden disappearance would be most unwise.

“So, where you folks from, what brings yuh’ out these parts?” Drayton smiles, beginning to dig into the serving of meatloaf he’d cut for himself.

“Business.” Raymond replies dryly, between a mouth full of food. But he chuckles, nodding his head towards Drayton in an endearing matter. “We’re from Tulsa, Oklahoma. Needed to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Tulsa was once a farmin’ town, not before they gentrified it all. Had some property out there, some land. We ran the cattle business with our very own slaughterhouse. Bank offered me a deal for the land I just couldn’t pass up and uh, well. We’s just cattle farmers lookin’ for a quiet life on the countryside’s all. A fresh start.” He nods, “say uh, what’s the Sawyer’s do for business, hm? How y’all makin’ yer’ livin’? I’m assumin’ you’ves got some farmland in these parts?”

“I reckon you’s right. Got lots of it. Looks like we in the same line of work, my friend.” Drayton smiles, “we owns a slaughterhouse. It’s a meat packin’ business. Say, you’s ever need any help you just holler my way. I don’t mind it one bit.” He smiles. “Family’s been in the business for years, my old grand father built it from the ground up. Used to take the hammers to the heifer’s heads. We know a thing or two about prime meat.”

Raymond laughs, coughing a bit as he leans back in his seat. “Say, I like you mister Drayton Sawyer.” He wipes the sweat from his forehead with a napkin, takes a sip from his glass and looks about the table. “You’s a good man. I’m sure we’ll be in touch.” He nods.

The way he stares at her pisses her off. Like he can see through her mask of sanity and pick apart her every secret. He’s staring, that Johnny boy, dark, brooding eyes from across the table. She’s got half a mind not to call him out on it right then and there, but for her father’s sake she keeps her mouth shut. Even then, she’s returning the favor; a cool gaze from her side of the table. Brows cocked downward in a scowl.

“That boy of yours, he don’t talk much do he?” Raymond flags his hand towards Johnny, pulling his gaze from her.

Perhaps what angers her even more is the way he pretends as though he’s doing nothing out of the ordinary.

“Nah but he sure do gotta starin’ problem.”

“Young lady-.”

“Oh don’t let his politeness fool you, he’s a talker alright. Ain’t ya’, Johnny?” Drayton laughs. A charming smile graces Johnny’s features as he looks to Raymond. Now he’s rising from his seat to stand up and offer his hand in a hand shake. Becca makes a note of the scars that riddle his strong arms as she folds her arms over her chest. Her father stands to meet him, his own right arm locking in a firm handshake while his left arm holds Johnny’s wrist.

“Johnny, nice to meet you son.”

“Not used to strangers sir, you’ll have to forgive me. Nice to have some new neighbors ‘round here though, you ever need help ‘round the place gimme a call.” He glances to Rebecca, a distasteful countenance on her mien. She looks like someone shit in her cheerios. “Same goes to you too darlin’, need summin’, don’t hesitate to gimme a call.” She wants to slap the stupid smile of his pretty face, but instead scoffs aloud.

“I can handle myself, thank you.”

The remainder of dinner was much of the same small talk and pleasantries. Nancy tried to make conversation with Rebecca — going on about being a housewife and proper manners, most likely because of her blatant disregard for her son’s generosity. Drayton laughed along with Raymond, as Johnny talked him up with stories of hunting wild animals and growing up in a small town. Humorous tales of reckless behavior as children, setting smoke bombs off in the creek or fetching rattlesnakes with bare hands. All the while she felt disgraced by the young man’s suave behavior. His smooth, deep voice echoing in her ears. It was a euphoric sound, tingling her innermost desires in such a fulfilling way. But she hated it. She never did care much for those frivolous boys who flaunted their good looks and tight jeans to break the hearts of naive women. Women like her, who knew his type all too well. Thems hearts were never loyal to just one.

Throughout the evening’s festivities, he made a point to watch Rebecca as if to study her. Only when she called him out on the matter did he especially brush it off as some insignificant coincidence. He talks her up like she’s some prize to be won. Each of his advances met with a cold shoulder and quick exit. Further reinforcing the initial impression of his character. A good-for-nothing heartthrob with an ego he wants stroked.

Even with her hands buried into the warm dishwater of the sink, scrubbing away the remnants of a tasty home cooked meal from porcelain plates and the sticky sweetness left behind by the sweet tea in fancy glasses, she found herself resentful of a man she had only just met. The thought and buildup of it all weighs heavily on her mind. She faces the window, dusk settling with brilliant hues of yellow, orange and pink. Then the pie, that she’d left to cool off in the window sill. Her eyes flash quickly as she calls out to the others, interrupting their seemingly amusing conversation to offer up desert.

“I almost forgot, I’ve got a fresh cherry pie baked. You folks like sweets?” Rebecca calls out, putting the last dish to dry as she wraps her wet hands in the towel hanging off the side of the sink. “I’ll get us some dishes.” She extends a smile to the group, primarily her father, as she fishes out small plates from the cupboard and silverware from the drawer. Setting them out on the table, she fetches a cutting knife from the counter, placing it beside the plates. Then, she carefully retrieves the pie, placing it on the table for all to see.

“Knew I smelt summin’ sweet walkin’ down the road, here lil’ lady, lemme cut this for ya’-”

“I can cut my own damn pie.” The change in tone is stark. What was once a pleasant, primarily gracious hostess was now filled with unrelenting anger and frustration. Like flipping a light switch, something had ignited the spark within her. Becca’s eyes glare something wicked into him. Her own hands are shaking, and though she hears her father call out for her in a low, monotone warning. It does little to shake the feeling that her control over her perfect fairytale is fleeting. “Give it here.” She gestures towards the knife.

Johnny, partly wanting to instigate a further reaction out of her, and partly due to the stern look Raymond was giving her, withheld the utensil. He feigns innocence, playing the part of the concerned stranger with excellence and finesse. He cautiously looks to her, his brows raised in suspicion. He knew better than anyone, she was in fact losing her grip. He found it amusing too, the way she stared at him with wild eyes. Waiting for him to cave to her will as if she were a threat to him. He wondered how far he could push her over the edge.

“Now now lil’ lady, all’s I’m doing is offerin’ a favor, best calm down now.”

“I can do it myself.” She mumbles beneath her breath, pupils diminishing with the dark light that came with the sunset. As the sun draws downward, dark shadows are cast over her expression. Sweat drips down the crest of her forehead, then the side of her nose and over the cusp of her lip. She’s shaking something scary, not before she moves swiftly to grasp the knife away from Johnny from across the table, fed up with his not listening. Just as she thinks she has it, she begins to grasp her fingers. Not before he draws the blade back, in an attempt to shield it from her.

Crimson taints the silver blade of the knife, painting the stained wood of the table a pretty red and even splattering the once faultless cherry pie. It drips from a laceration on her palm as she grasps it tightly with her right hand. The liquid oozes between her fingers despite efforts to slow it down. It continues to dribble down the length of her arm and drip onto the table below. It’s a sharp pain, stinging like hell. She doesn’t display any signs of pain, though. Instead, she stares curiously at the liquid. In a deep state of shock. Cerulean eyes wide with fear. Her shaking has come to a stop, and instead she stands still in her place. All sounds of those around her are drowned in the loudness of her consciousness. She sees blood, as it stains her hands for eternity. Visions of her deceased mother, in a pool of her own blood flood her mind. Thick and rich scarlet, all over the ivory curtains and painted walls. When she looks upwards to those around the table, only then does she realize what she’s done. It’s as if the switch had turned off and she realized she’s lost control of her temper.

They all stare at her with a dazed expression, confusion laced in their features, that with utter shock. Her father watches her cautiously, the feeling of disappointment clear in the way he calls out to her, reaching for her arm as he rises from his seat. But that which sticks out to her the most, was the look that bastard Johnny boy gave her. As opposed to rising with the others, he puts the knife on the table and finds his seat. Arms folded over his chest in a proud display. Those same dark eyes stare right through her, as if she were transparent. His features contorted in a wise smirk. One that indicates he knows something, or like he’s accomplished some great ordeal. She swears she can hear him chuckle, his husky voice at the forefront of her mind. He’s proud, she thinks. Because he knows something.

“Sorry y’all, now, where was we?”

As though nothing had ever happened at all, she picks the knife off of the table to cut a slice of pie. The sticky red of the cherry syrup pulls as she lifts it from the tin to place on a plate. A macabre display of delicious baked goods, blood falls down the side of the pie from the pool that sits atop it. It’s all over the treat, the slice, the table, the knife, still oozing from her wounded hand. She sits back down, plate in hand, before taking a chunk out of the tip of the slice with a fork to place in her mouth. A smile befalls her lips as she chews, it’s a warm aroma of sugary fruit and metallic. Perhaps the blood adds a little something. But it’s as though she’s trying to feign innocence, like there hadn’t been a some unfortunate incident. Like it was all normal.

She wasn’t crazy by any means, perhaps just a bit of a control freak. Her desire to provide the perfect image at the hand of her sacrifice of sanctity.

“Pie, anyone?”

[melodrama-ticcc]

This but it’s Johnny and Rebecca, I said what I said.

(I’m going to draw it because it looks like an upcoming seen in writing in chapter 12- OOF.)