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countlessimagines · 6 months ago

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Something in His Eyes [ Johnny Slaughter x Reader ]

Summary: You find out the hard way why being close to Johnny was never a good idea.

A/N: I’m obsessed with the game so it was only right to write something for Johnny <3

Warnings: General Texas chainsaw massacre content, blood, mentions of killings and death

You had been laying on the grass, basking in the sun all afternoon when your mother called you into the house. You had lived on a farm and your nearest neighbors were the Sawyers who lived a couple miles down the road.

She had interrupted your sun bathing to send you to the grocery store for a few items that she needed for dinner. She shooed you off with the list and you took your bike with a little basket to carry the groceries.

You had to pass the Sawyer house on the way to the store, so you decided to see if they needed anything. And it was more of an excuse to see Johnny.

You had met him a few months ago during the summer, when he explained to you that there was a family emergency that required him to stay at the family house instead of with his mother Nancy.

You made it a habit to say hello to Sissy every few days. You never cared to say hello to Drayton though, as he always gave you side eyes and would sneer whenever Johnny would jog just a little faster to see you at the fence.

While you had invited Johnny to your house multiple times, he never seemed to invite you into his family’s house. It didn’t bug you as much since he never even took you up on your invites.

It wasn’t long before you made it to their house, honking the small horn on your bike to see if anyone was home to hear.

After a minute of waiting, Johnny appeared from the back of the house. He did a jog to close the distance between the two of you, especially since the driveway was so long.

He gave you a giant grin once he was close enough. “Hey there, pumpkin!”

You blushed at the nickname, but tried to hide it. “Hi, Johnny.”

“What brings you here?” He got close enough and you could see the sweat beading down his temple, and how his breathing was short and scattered. You failed to notice the bleeding knife in his pocket.

“Making a run to the grocery store. Wanted to see if you needed anything?”

“I think we’re good. Drayton is making his famous chili.” Johnny said, almost giving you a look once over but stopping himself.

“Ah, I forgot he cooks. Does he wear a little apron as well?” You joked, poking Johnny on his abs. You tried to refrain another blush from how toned he was.

He chuckled, giving you a wink. “He does, but that’ll be our little secret since he never lets anyone cook with him.”

You nodded, pretending to lock your lips and throw away the key.

“I was meaning to ask you, have you been listening to the radio? They ended up finding the car of Maria Flores! Isn’t it crazy that she just upped and disappeared?”

Johnny tensed but you didn’t seem to notice since he smooth talked his way out of it. “Yeah, real crazy, pumpkin. But they said no foul play so there’s no chance they’ll find her at this rate. She probably ran away.”

You shrugged, not entirely sure yourself. Your mother had gotten worried for your safety, but you promised her you would keep a pocket knife on you at all times and if you could, have Johnny accompany you.

“Most likely. Crazy stuff though.” You said and tried to change the topic. “I’m gonna head to the store now. See you in a bit.”

Johnny smiled and waved you off.

Once you were farther in the distance, he sighed and returned to the back of the house.

He removed his knife from his pocket and wiped it on his thigh. He was only a few feet away from the barn when Sissy exited, covered in blood.

“You know she’s gonna come looking one day, Johnny.” She sneered, leaning against the wood frame and crossing her arms. “She’ll end up just like Maria. Then you’ll really have to up and leave.”

Johnny rolled his eyes at her and stomped into the barn, making sure to shove her shoulder.

He didn’t want to think of a reality where you and his family intertwined. He imagined every scenario and none of them seemed to look good for you. You were his perfect little ray of sunshine, but he feared his heart was too far gone to let any light in.

He was worried the side of him that hurt people would eventually bleed into the side that didn’t want to hurt you. But that instinct would always be there whether he liked it or not. Especially since Nancy instilled it in him so long ago.

He touched the scar on his face, remembering that day so long ago when he finally confronted Nancy for killing his birth mother. He had been scarred by her, permanently damaged inside and out.

He always fantasized about ending Nancy once and for all, for what she did to his true mother.

Bubba was fixing his chainsaw after it had overheated multiple times without him doing anything. He gave Johnny a grunt and that was that.

Johnny looked at the table in front of him, seeing the scattered pieces of meat that they were going to bring into the house for Drayton to cook with.

He liked to think that maybe he could convince you they were actually just butchers, but the skeleton decorations might give it away.

He also feared Nancy finding out about you. Soon enough he would return home and the thought of leaving you behind scared him. What if you followed him like a lost puppy? What if you visited him as a surprise without any warning?

What if Nancy…

Johnny didn’t want to think about it anymore.

He knew what Sissy said was right. You would eventually find your way into the house like they all did.

He just hoped that maybe this time it would be different.

The next day, you drove your bike as usual to the Sawyer’s house. A few rings of your bike bell and Johnny was rushing to the front.

His usual happy demeanor was not present.

“Hey, Johnny.” You still gave him a smile and wave.

He did a grunt and crossed his arms. “I uh, I’m busy right now. What’s the matter?”

“Oh.” You said, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear. “Nothing much. Just wanted to see if you were up for hanging out.” You tried to not show your hurt.

“Not right now, pumpkin. Maybe another time.” He seemed stressed, so you placed a delicate hand on his toned arm.

“Everything alright?” You asked with those innocent eyes that made him feel weak. He hated that he felt that way towards you… so weak and vulnerable, breaking at the seams, his dark demeanor, that monster screaming inside of him to end you… you made those thoughts go away… maybe that’s why Maria’s friends were still in his family’s basement, not yet dead because Johnny hesitated looking into Ana’s eyes… seeing her sister…

Was this the life he wanted to lead?

Johnny didn’t realize you were growing worried, waiting for him to answer. “Fine, pumpkin.”

His eyes didn’t sparkle like they usually did.

In the distance, you spotted something, though.

A girl with bright orange hair was in the far right of property, rummaging through a blue box in the barn. Instant worry and suspicion ran through you as you pointed to her. “Who’s that?”

Johnny whipped around instantly, his shoulders tense.

“Shit,” he muttered. “I gotta go. I’ll talk to you when it’s convenient.”

You were offended and made sure to show it. “Johnny, what’s going on?”

Before he could answer you, the orange girl had stopped her search and noticed you, standing there as innocent as ever. She began to shout much to the dismay of Johnny.

“Help me! Please! This family is torturing us!” She wept and started running towards you.

Johnny let out a low grunt and faced you. “I’m sorry, pumpkin.”

“What?” You blinked, wondering if it was some prank… it had to be.

Johnny lunged for you, grabbing you around your waist and forcefully pulling you off your bike. He tried shushing you. “Stop movin’.”

“Johnny!” You screamed, hitting his arms as he roughly dragged you towards the orange hair woman.

Once you were on the property, you noticed the metal sheet now behind you started buzzing with electricity. You were trapped like a cattle waiting for slaughter.

The orange hair girl started screaming which made you whip your head towards her. She was being brutally murdered by a man with a chainsaw.

You let out a horrific scream, slamming against Johnny with all your force. “Let me go!”

“I’m sorry it had to be this way, pumpkin.” Johnny’s voice was sincere, but as you looked up into his face, it was stone cold.

He started walking towards their house, and out strolled Sissy covered head to toe in blood.

“Oh! (Y/n) is finally joining us? Will she be for dessert tonight?” She cackled which made your eyes widen in fear.

“Not now, sissy, go deal with the rest of ‘em.”

Sissy rolled her eyes and scoffed. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for you! And now you’re bringing your plaything. Just wait til your mama gets here!” She ran off somewhere in the house, and you finally got a good look inside of it as Johnny brought in your flailing body.

“I said, stop movin’!” Johnny yelled and placed you down firmly. He held your shoulders as you began to shake in fear. “You need to listen to me, right now.”

You shook your head profusely as if it could take away all the bones surrounding you in their house. If the image of the orange haired woman being sawed alive would disappear. “Johnny, let me go!”

He kept you firm in place and stared deeply into your widened eyes. “I knew you’d see this side of me eventually… I just didn’t realize this soon. You… you don’t get a choice when it comes to this family. It’s either be eaten or become one of us.”

Your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest. Johnny had to be lying. Your sweet Johnny was playing a prank, surely.

He continued on, “(Y/n), you are not fit for this world. I… I can’t let you become like me…”

You were able to bring your arms up and slam them against his chest. “Johnny please!”

He slowly eased his grip on you, but he didn’t want you to escape… he had you right there… his mind was running rampant at the thoughts that consumed him.

His heart ached at the sight of your tears and how you looked at him with so much confusion and were terrified of his family.

Ached.

Johnny didn’t realize fully what he was doing until you were screaming, thrown over his shoulder once again.

He began to rush through the house, and it took your all not to throw up at the sight of a woman hooked to a wooden post.

Was this to be your fate, too?

Johnny hurriedly went out a back patio door and through a series of steps before throwing you in the back of a car. He locked it before you could reach the handle.

You screamed and slammed your palms against the windows, praying that someone would answer and rescue you.

Johnny tried not to acknowledge your pleas as he hot-wired the car. He couldn’t think this idea through, or his family would slaughter you and make him watch.

His heartbeat only intensified as he heard his mother’s voice ring out across the yard. He finished what he needed to do and slammed the hood of the car down.

Johnny got into the car quickly, ignoring your whimpering in the back seat.

You were hysterical as he drove off, taking a back exit out of the property.

The only sound in the car was your occasional sniffs as he drove for thirty minutes in the middle of nowhere. He had gone a back road that you had never seen before, but you were able to see the back of your house fly by as he paid it no mind.

He wasn’t taking you home.

You slowly composed yourself enough to speak up. “Where are you taking me?”

Fear made your stomach turn as he sharply looked at you through the mirror. Coldness glazed his eyes, and no longer could you see the man you had grown to love.

Love. What a stupid feeling.

It was the reason you were there at their house. You loved spending time with him. You were growing fonder of him.

It was the reason why Johnny was driving you far away from his family. The side of him that was weak had grown attached to you. It frightened him.

Would it one day switch on you? Would you be another of his countless victims? Was his love for you too grand that he might do something reckless.

He supposed he already had.

His decision was sinking in.

He briefly turned in his seat to look at you.

Your hair was disheveled, your mascara ran down your cheeks in an ever-fading cry, your hands were tucked around yourself, trying to keep yourself together.

You were still the innocent girl he loved.

“We’re going far away, pumpkin. A place where nobody will hurt us.”

You wanted to believe Johnny, you truly did… but there was something in his voice.

Doubt.

Because Johnny didn’t even know if he could promise that he wouldn’t hurt you.

#tcsm #TCM #texas chainsaw massacre #texas chainsaw game #texas chainsaw massacre game #johnny slaughter #johnny sawyer #johnny slaughter x reader #Johnny slaughter imagine #johnny sawyer x reader #Texas chainsaw #sissy sunshine sawyer #sissy sunshine #sissy sunshine slaughter #nancy slaughter #drayton sawyer #bubba sawyer #nubbins sawyer

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whatitshouldvebeen · 1 year ago

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God I just had a massive angsty thought about Johnny’s girl, or captive for a better word, having to hide her pregnancy from the rest of the family. Nancy would be the only exception to this. Her sixth sense is crazy. But I was thinking about the delivery not going so smoothly, especially considering all the stress on the reader. You have to pretty much do it by yourself in a barn on a makeshift bed made of hay and a blanket, with Johnny only taking quick peeks in every now and then. The baby wouldn’t show any vital signs at first, and you’d like to think Johnny looks more concerned than he appears. You’re finally able to call him over, and get his help with things. The baby starts crying, though never having been a mother before, the reader knows the baby needs more right now than her and Johnny could both provide. Someone with more knowledge. You’d have to hand your infant over to Nancy and trust her with it for the first couple of days, not even knowing if it was going to be okay by the time it was returned to you. Johnny looks after you, despite feeling irritated and tied down in a seperate room in the house, arguments sprout over him thinking you’re overreacting, never having a hope in the world of understanding the emotions a new mother goes through.

Johnny Slaughter x reader

Daddy's a Killer

Contains: heavy angst, childbirth, and a mention of breastfeeding

MINORS DNI

Nancy never concealed her displeasure when Johnny decided to house you in the barn. A few months later, when he vented his frustration about you, she felt relief—finally, her son recognized you as the burden she always knew you were. Yet, when she and Johnny went to the barn to bring you back to slaughter, the sight of you stirred an unexpected reaction.

"You foolish boy," she muttered, eyes narrowing and shifting to Johnny.

"What, ma? I'm gettin' rid of her like you been sayin' to!" he retorted. One of his hands muffled your anguished screams, while the other gripped your wrists, holding you in front of him as you desperately tried to twist away.

"How many times has Drayton told ya not to mess with the meat?" she scolded, her nose crinkling.

"Ma, I—" he began to protest.

"She's pregnant," Nancy stated flatly.

Color drained from Johnny's already pale face. "W-what?"

"Can't kill 'er. She's got your blood." Nancy grimaced. "You think you want rid of her now, just you wait 'till she's hormonal."

In his shock, Johnny's grip slackened, and you managed to wriggle free, falling to your knees in front of Nancy. "Please, let me go," you pleaded. "If you want to be rid of me, I'll never speak a word. I'll disappear, I swear it!"

The stern, dark-haired woman displayed no signs of sympathy as a smile stretched across her face. "Honey, you got my grandbaby in there, and every baby needs a family. You ain't leavin'."

You looked up from her shoes to her cold eyes, tears streaming down your face as Johnny harshly pulled you back up. The realization set in that there was nothing you could do.

–

The subsequent months unfolded in an unusual manner. Nancy, with an insistence to have Johnny treat you better for the sake of the baby, managed to curb his physical abuse. However, his relentless verbal tirades persisted beyond her control.

During those prolonged months, a subtle transformation occurred within Johnny. The sensation of feeling his baby through your stomach seemed to evoke genuine affection in his eyes. Strangely, this newfound tenderness extended to his "relationship" with you. He provided a pillow and blankets for the barn, heated your food, and even allowed you some fresh air daily.

Despite the improved conditions, humane treatment remained a distant concept. His anger flared, and the majority of your days were still spent in the old barn.

The difficulty of your pregnancy grew, confining you to bedrest (as much as hay covered in blankets could be considered a bed) during the final weeks. At this point, Nancy visited more frequently than Johnny, yet her conversations were solely centered around the baby.

"Bet it's a girl," she remarked one day. "You got that girl shine. When I was pregnant with my girls, I looked the same way."

Inquiring about her pregnancies, she revealed none of them came to fruition, hastily correcting herself. "'Cept for my little angel Johnny, of course!"

Suspicion regarding Nancy's authenticity as Johnny's mother lingered, but in the grand scheme, it seemed inconsequential. Revealing your thoughts to Johnny might only worsen the situation.

Then, the day of your contractions arrived. Within hours, the pain became so intense that screams were your only outlet. When Johnny returned home, he came to see you, and instantly regretted it.

"Ma, why is she so pale?" he asked.

"Somethin's wrong," his mother replied, replacing the towel on your forehead. In the throes of labor, you lay on your back, pushing with all your weakened might.

Your strength had dwindled daily, and Johnny, not the most adept caretaker, had left you spending more time with Nancy in the last month of your pregnancy. Despite her care, you knew it was only for her grandchild's sake.

"Push! Come on now, I see their head!" she shouted, urging you on. You screamed, head thrown back into the sweat-drenched pillow. Johnny, stationed outside, smoked like a freight train, only peeking in occasionally. Comfort was beyond his capacity, a fact you came to understand long ago.

"One last push," Nancy urged, and you obeyed, your child slipping into her waiting hands. "It's a girl!" she exclaimed, but then fell silent, her face stricken.

"Is she okay?" you asked wearily, attempting to raise your head higher to see her. The baby had dark brown hair, like her daddy. She was limp.

Nancy flipped her over, holding her head and body, rubbing and slapping her back.

"What's going on?" Johnny said as he appeared at your side. You'd like to think he sounded worried. Your attention, however, remained fixed on your lifeless baby. Silent screams of anguish echoed as you witnessed Nancy's attempts to revive the child who had been kicking happily in your stomach that very morning.

Then, your daughter coughed, rasping for air. Water bubbled out of her lungs, wetting the barn floor. Nancy cradled her close, attempting to soothe the wailing newborn.

"Is she okay? Can I see her?" you asked, reaching out desperately. Nancy, however, refused to look at you.

"Always knew you was a piece of work, girl. Can't even birth a baby right when it don't die in your womb. She's weak and frail, like you. You don't deserve this girl," she said coldly, bouncing the baby gently as it laid against her shoulder, still crying.

"Please give me my baby," you wailed, stretching your arms out for her desperately.

Surprisingly, it was Johnny who took your little girl from Nancy. His mother glared at him with steely eyes as he placed his daughter in your arms.

"A baby needs their mama," he said, watching your face as it filled with affection for your perfect, tiny baby girl. He turned back to his mom. "She gotta feed her. You can take her back when she's done, but she won't get better without her mama."

"Fine," she spat, sitting up straight, the blood from your baby staining her dress. "But she's mine any time she's not eatin'. I gotta make sure she gets better, and your slut clearly don't know how to take care of a baby."

Johnny agreed, and you knew protesting would only strain your chances of spending time with her at all. It was true; she was your first baby, and you could tell she was sick by the bluish tone to her skin and her struggle to latch onto you. Yet, she was alive, in your arms, and that was all that mattered.

"Bring your girl into the spare bedroom. Better 'n me havin' to go out to the barn just to feed the baby," Nancy said, and Johnny obeyed, picking you up with what you could delude yourself into thinking was genuine care before bringing you inside his mother's house, your baby clutched tightly to your chest all the way.

–

As you recuperated in Johnny's mom's house, Johnny reluctantly assumed the role of caretaker. He assisted with your baths, helped you get dressed, and, surprisingly, inquired about your well-being at least once a day. It felt odd—a begrudging care, tinged with resentment, yet undeniably present. He wasn't accustomed to showing empathy.

During the feeding sessions with your baby, occurring five to eight times a day, Johnny surprisingly chose to be present more often than not, expressing a peculiar tenderness. He'd stroke your hair, murmuring, "She's gettin' stronger every day. She'll be okay in no time."

Yet, in moments when your baby was not present, Johnny's patience wore thin with your perpetual concerns.

"My ma's got her! You ain't gotta be so whiny!" he complained, rolling his eyes.

"But the last time I saw her, she seemed kind of out of it. Can you at least check on her?" you asked anxiously.

"Ma would tell me if she needed somethin'. You're overreacting like ya always do."

The desire to shout, to hurl the bedside lamp at him, surged within you, but you knew it would be futile. Johnny would never take you seriously.

After all, you were a year past your "expiration date", Johnny liked to "joke". You needed to make yourself useful, to show your thanks for the fact you were still alive. Your daughter needed you for now, but when she got older, Nancy could take over… and she wouldn't even remember you.

The thought made your stomach tie in knots. And as you looked into the fed-up eyes of your captor, you knew your place in his world would only become more and more tenuous. You had to be perfect for him. For your daughter.

Forever.

#johnny slaughter #johnny sawyer #johnny slaughter x reader #johnny sawyer x reader #texas chainsaw massacre game #tcm game #texas chainsaw game #tcm #x reader #pregnancy #childbirth #black nancy

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melodrama-ticcc · 11 months ago

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— “ 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 ” ; 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈

𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐋𝐚𝐦𝐛 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫

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. ᵈᵒᵐᵉˢᵗⁱᶜ ᵛⁱᵒˡᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃᵇᵘˢᵉ, ᵍʳᵃᵖʰⁱᶜ ᵛⁱᵒˡᵉⁿᶜᵉ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗᵃˡ ⁱˡˡⁿᵉˢˢ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ᵐᵘʳᵈᵉʳ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ʳᵃᵖᵉ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ˢᵘⁱᶜⁱᵈᵉ, ᵐⁱˡᵈ ᵍᵒʳᵉ, ʳᵉˡⁱᵍⁱᵒⁿ, ˢᵉˣᵘᵃˡ ᵗʰᵉᵐᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢⁱᵗᵘᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ.

—

Strapping arms mottled in scarred, calloused skin accompany the faintest scent of the ashen, stale smoke of woody tobacco from the cigarettes he smoked and the oddments of fresh linens — the same ones he laid upon just five minutes prior. It’s a bitterly comforting scent, the acridity of herbaceous nuances and the pleasantries of simple, clean laundry detergent meet their match in the assuaging nose of musk that followed him down the drive.

He’s austere and tenacious, a valiant leader in times of great hardship and need. His stalwart determination and carnal instinct to staunchly protect his people and come to her aid would only showcase how strong and worthy of a man he was. The way his lusty figure strides with a fierce purpose and fervent motivation, his visage making it all the more evident how grave her fallen endeavor was to him. In other circumstances, perhaps it would have made her heart flutter with avid concupiscence. His virile persona and dauntless attitude a beautiful depiction of the true man Johnny Sawyer was, one gallant, stouthearted and resolute.

It was no wonder girls swooned over him and sluts threw themselves at him in forlorn and desperate attempts to be bed, for if it hadn’t been his manful character it would be his animal good looks. A brawny physique like his was enough to make any young girl drool, but the way in which his work ethic displayed itself was all the more impressive. Resolute and undaunted, characterized by the intransigent persona he carried. Unshaken, indurate, purposive, a strong and protective man who served to remedy her from this mess. A mean stare, a cold shoulder, a flagrant saunter, those pretty dark eyes shrouded by the chocolate lashes that surrounded them make him nothing short of an enigma, a breath taking image of the dangerous and allusive. Any imperfections were overshadowed by the illusion of his angelic smile, even the slight bend in his nose; presumably from being broken at some point.

It’s a wonder she’s not feinting at his virile demeanor, but then again, the predicament at hand makes itself out to be much more prevalent then her precognitions. Still overcome with grief and the weight of her grave mistake, Rebecca sporadically makes the trip back to the front drive of her farmhouse. With trembling appendages wrapped thickly in her blonde hair and tugging at the follicles, her quivering lips spurt incoherencies even she cannot make out. Something about screwing everything up and not tying down loose ends, what a damn mess this had become.

Heavy is the hand that takes refuge on the small of her back, a gentle reminder that he’d been alongside her all that time. The simple gesture is enough to cease her thoughtless blabbering and pull her from the demented pool of self deprecation she’d imbedded herself in. He was there now, it would be okay.

“Now you tell me just what it is that happened, calmly.”

She opens those pretty pink lips, only for the breath to get caught in her throat and hitch itself as she stammers on her own thoughts. Reliving the moments in her head, she thinks back to what it had been like when she was still at the bar in Pfluegerville, and whether she should have just asked Johnny for help from the very beginning. But nah, that ruined all the fun.

The events of the evening play about her mind like the films she saw on the television alongside her father, a horrid moving picture show of the macabre and inhumane. It’s strange, the feeling, as though she were watching herself from the outside, as if she were the movie star in this grotesque drama of the diseased and grisly. However as she stood there, going through the frightfully wonderful acts she’d committed that night the sensation of delight pangs at her heart, and with it the fluttery feeling that burgeons in the pit of her stomach. She can’t believe she’s actually done it.

“I wanted to do it. I wanted to kill a boy. I don’t know I-I-I brought home a boy.” She starts, sapphire eyes gazing blankly in the far off distance as she speaks frantically, face still wet with the tears of her hysteria. The fear of what’s to come picking at her from the inside out, she wonders if he’s disappointed in her. “I meant to fucking do it! He just- this was all on purpose, he just- he- I hate him. I hate him so much he-I- he’s just like Matthias, just like him I swear I aughtta- no, no, I lured him into the wash but I wasn’t there, I waited, I waited so patiently. Everything was so perfect- everything- I did so good and then I just- and I just-.”

“Stop.” Johnny hushes, watching the tears well and drip down her face before he’s got her cheek by the palm again, flicking away those pesky tears with the pad of his thumb. “Be good, tell me what happened darlin’.”

She sharply inhales, a stabbing pain itching at her side as she battles the hyperventilations that accompany her heightened state. Those arms are hoisted back up over her head, grasping onto the hair and pulling as though it were the only thing keeping her grounded, the single thing holding her back from going absolutely insane. A pitiful sob falls from her lips, and just as it does the cacophony of the smack! that besmirches her cheek ceases it all. The stinging burn of Johnny’s hand sets her on fire, the red imprint of his fingers etched into her cheek. She gasps, eyes wide with shock before she looks to him with anger and a newfound sense of relief.

“I said be good ain’t I? Now quit actin’ a damn fool and spit it out, we gon’ catch this fucker but I need you to get that damn head of ya’s on straight, you got that?”

“I-I-I-I forgot.” She cries, prying at the hair on her head. Dazed sure, somewhat clear, his smack wasn’t hard but it sure did knock her straight. “I hit that bitch, I hit ‘em with my axe- yeah. I don’t know how many times, I don’t. No- Yeah- yeah. I sliced his shoulder, and then I cut ‘em up real good, and I cut his damned dick off too. But- I-I messed up I didn’t know- he hurt me! My head! He pushed me down the damn stairs that’s it- how’d I let it happen! No- no I meant it, Johnny, he hurt me!” Her screams pitch high and she feels belligerent, grasping onto his shoulders with a degrading type of need. “Please help me Johnny please, I was wrong I can’t do it without ya’. I’m scared, I’m scared, I need help. I need your help.”

Those rough hands of his rake through the tangled lengths of her hair, not before brushing the flyaway strands from her eyes and grazing over the soft skin of her lips.

“I’ll find ‘em, don’t you worry ‘bout that.”

The words spoken from his lips alone are enough to quell the anxieties that plague her, a perpetual aura of calm washing over when he gazes through her and speaks it. In anxious anticipation, she watches patiently as he pushes past her and acts to examine the porch and the front area of the house, only to let out a soft chuckle when he finds what he’s looking for.

“Here. Come ‘ere.” He points to the ground in front of him, crouching down as he swipes the spot and nods up at her. “Footprints. They’s faint as hell, but they there. Gotta look closely when they get away, theys slippery little bastards I give ‘em that, but you can always catch ‘em. Now you tell me, where you think that trail leads off to?”

Suddenly the weight of it all comes thwarting down onto her, the pressure seeping through her as her face turns a bright pink. She squats, carefully analyzing the very thing Johnny had been talking about and making out the trajectory of the steps. Her swollen eyes squint just a tad, not before they look back up to him seeking some sort of approval.

“Well? He ain’t of gone far.”

“I- I don’t know. I don’t.”

“Think now, think with that there head of yer’s. I know you’s more than a nice lookin’ face.”

Rebecca obliges his orders, her gaze shifting to the ground where the puddles of crimson and dusty footprint resides. Despite his words she only becomes more flustered, eaten half alive by the plaguing thoughts of her anxieties and presumed failures. She’s desperate for help, not a damn lesson, there wasn’t much time to be wasted. So, concluding no clear answer and growing wary of the looming fear over her shoulder she shakes her head, throws her hands up and shouts.

“Please, I-I can’t. It’s just one shitty damn footprint- there’s no fuckin’ point.”

“Tch, ways I see it you can follow the direction of that there print, possibility there’s a trail, you got ‘em leakin’ after all. Or, miss thang, you put yourself in your target’s shoes.” Johnny doesn’t move, only stares at her, waiting. “You start thinkin’ like yer’ prey, things’ll get a whole lot easier for ya’.”

She stops, blue irises blown out as she looks to him in disbelief. It’s an epiphany, of sorts. A sort of realization in his words, think like the prey. Reluctantly she picks up the pieces and sutures herself together, able to make some string of coherent thoughts. Her head turns towards the side yard, thinking deliberately in the eyes of that damn boy. It seemed the most intelligent outcome would be to run up the front drive, however, that’s all most sure the first place anyone would look. So to avoid suspicion and buy more time, he had to of run elsewhere. Perhaps through the brush against the sides of their land, or more likely the back where they’d keep the cattle.

“I uh- looks to me like he ran off someplace out ‘n to the back, only thing back there is the cattle fields and wild life.” She says, the tinge of uncertainty in her voice a demonstration of her willingness to please. Johnny smiles wide, gesturing to her with his head as he strides forward.

“Well, let’s see how right you are ‘bout that.”

“I thought he’d made it out to the road and got away, thought I was done for.” She stands up straight, hands shaking at her sides when her vision fogs with tears. She sniffles, hastily wiping the underneath of her nose as she stares forward at the vacant trail of dusty footprints and spattered blood. “He made a damn fool of me.” Her hands ball into fists and her brows dive into a scowl. “Why I gotta be so shitty at it, alls I wanted to do was prove I could do the damn job.”

“Rebecca,” Johnny warns, grabbing at the wrist that reaches for her axe. “Come on pretty girl, you got a natural knack for this sort of thing.” Her eyes meet his gaze and she frowns, only to smile a sad smile at his words.

“You really think so?”

“Ah come on now darlin’,” he grins, tucking his fingers under her chin and forcing her to look up at him. “I know so. Don’t you think I know a thing or two ‘bout killin’, ain’t bad for ya’ first time, all by your lonesome.”

“Yeah? Yeah . . . And I’ll make ‘em pay- yeah- where ever that little fucker is he’s mine.” Through teary eyes she smiles at him, and somewhere in there she feels as though she’s earned his approval. His words worth more than any consolation killing Matthew could provide. She looks to him and he quiets the never-ending thoughts in her head, he takes away the need to fret about anything and gives her the thing she craves most, that warming look of praise and gratitude. It replaces that need for control, at least temporarily, and she knows then it’ll all be okay. Even as his demeanor changes and he thwarts her forwards. Her steps stumbling into themselves as she looks to him in infatuation, only before she presses on with a determined effort to keep him appeased.

“Now quit standin’ round lookin’ pretty and get a move on girl.”

A muddied track of stammered prints planted into the wet earth and heaps of blood splattered about the dirt lead to a quick chase, one that takes them through a spastic path of snapped branches and fallen foliage, plants crushed and broken in the wake of her running victim. Inevitably, he met his demise at the swimming hole long ago, truth be told by his cold, lifeless corpse at the bottom of the dried out pool.

He must’ve ran off in a dazed state, in shock from the trauma endured and the blood loss of his wounds. Without realizing the dip in the land led to a ten foot tumble down a steep hill into the ole hole, where his carcass lie sprawled out and mangled. A bloodied bath towel partly covering his nude and mutilated body, she’s disgusted by him. A pathetic excuse of a man who hadn’t even the manners to hold the door open for her.

At first she’s relieved, fully, and a bit proud too. She’d like to claim she knew she was the superior being, the one who’d win this charade, but given the turn of events it became clear she’d need to plan much more carefully. One thing was certain; never underestimate the victim.

But then, as she stood there, gazing over his pale corpse with a look of disdain written in her features, she becomes angry. The predilections of the last hour or so coming back to her in a raging fit. At the end of it all, he had taken away the satisfaction in beheading him. He still ruined it, and despite the cruel fact she’d reign supreme; she sought vengeance over the life that had already been reaped.

“Well well well, not bad at all for a first time.” His voice beckons her from her thoughts, not enough to alleviate her passion for violence and ultimate satisfaction. This was it, this was where she’d feel that cathartic release, the feeling of control coming back to her.

“You slimy little bitch.” Heavy footsteps March down that steep hill, gripping the splintering wood handle of her axe, she pauses, chewing at her lower lip as she watches the breathless corpse with pure hatred and animosity. “Fuck you.” She spits, watching the coagulated wad of saliva splat against his bare skin. The warmth of tears riddle the cusp of her eyes and she feels the emotions gurgling back up, only this time it’s pure anger and a feral inkling for revenge. Letting out a flustered scream Becca lurches the axe over her head, only to scream again when she sends it down onto his neck. “Rot in hell you son of a bitch! You deserve it like the rest of ‘em!” Again, a powerful swing halfway severs his neck in two, his head hanging on by a few torn ligaments and flesh. Blood sprays each time she swings; painting her a vibrant crimson and plastering over the grass they sit upon. Again, a third time she hoists the thing up over her head and contracts her muscles to swing it downward with all her might, the blade entirely separating his body from his head. Which rolls some couple feet away. She pauses, screaming out in great relief as she laughs about his dead body, hysterically, like a mad woman who’d lost her way. She spits again, this time crouching over the head and making sure it lands over his face.

“Like a lamb to the slaughter.”

She picks it up, gripping a handful of the bloodied dark hair that sits upon its head. She holds it up, examining his features before she squeezes the puffed out cheeks and fronts a frown.

“Lookit here, lookit who stands on top. The strong, not the coward.” Smiling widely she throws the thing to the ground with a sharp arm, screaming out something incoherent between her bouts of delighted laughter.

It exorcises the demons within her, does away with all the bad thoughts of yesterday and brings in a newfound joy she never knew she’d discover. It frees her of the need to take hold of trivial matters and emotions, purges the very concept of her idea of control and replaces it with something new, something exciting, something erotic. It arouses her beyond belief and fulfills the sensation she craved so violently, quells the aching throb in her soul and makes it feel full. For the first time in a long time, she feels happy, she feels full, she feels satiated.

Gripping the hand of that axe just a little tighter she screams fervently, smiling like a madwoman. Blissful tears pool at the edge of her pretty eyes, looking up to the starry night sky as she laughs in hysterics. She forgets Johnny’s there, forgets he’d been watching the entire thing with the pleased look he wore. But he strides over to her, taking her wrists in hopes of calming her down and bringing her from that high.

“You sure are as good as I knew you’d be, I told ya’,” he says, pulling her arms back down only for her to look at him with a face of disbelief. “I like watchin’ you do all that, that kinda thing really gets a man goin’, you know that?”

Dazed and excited she looks to her counterpart with a trebled stare, eyes wet and wide with enjoyment and a profound look of thought over her features. She thinks his words over, and though it aggravates her, pesters at her self respect, she cannot help but ponder the thought of cutting into him, making an example of him. One more time, one more time and she’d reach that ultimate high.

“I’m the one with the axe, all alone out here, in the middle of no where . . . . with nobody else about.”

“Oh Becca,” Johnny shakes his head, “You threatenin’ me?” He wastes no time in making his point, patting over the hunting knife tucked into his waistband. “I said you wasn’t bad, not damn near perfect. Think I’m scared of that?”

“I’d like to do it again,” sure his comment pisses her off, and she feels the regurgitating feeling of fury pit in her stomach and rise through her throat like hot air. He doesn’t believe in her, that’s upsetting. Doesn’t take her seriously. But she’s only thinking aloud, saying the inside part outside, staring blankly at him as she toys with the splintered handle of her toy.

To think of how fondly it made her feel, even with her frenzied state of self control and madness. How pleasurable it made her feel both inside and out, her mind in pure ecstasy and core in tight coils. She’d love to do it again, love to watch the fear on his face and the blood spurt out in pretty scarlet splatters. It’s a high she keeps on riding, the ever present feeling of tension arising between her legs. Sinful maybe, but she thinks the thought alone might drive her over the edge. How powerful and dangerous she could be, the superiority over the boys she loathed so much, so perfect, it all felt so lovely. If she could just show him what she was capable of, show him how powerful she could be. She could make a splendid example of him.

Her body moves before her head forms a thought, scrounging her face up tightly as she lifts the axe over her head. Without thinking she swings downward, not with the intent to kill but the intent to make an example of her point. She was every bit a danger as he was.

The blade comes crashing down to land suspended in the air, the uppermost part of its handle caught by his big hand. Riddled with shock and disbelief she gasps, eyes wide in both fear and anger as he tears the thing from her grasp and chucks it out somewhere into the night. She can hear it smash into the wet earth, but her focus is elsewhere, observing the angry look plastered over Johnny’s face.

“Well lookit this, somebody’s ready to fight.” He’s as sly as the fox hunting it’s prey, clasping her wrist as he waves that knife in front of her face and presses it carelessly against her neck. “Let’s not forget who had to come out all this way and help ya’, you still got lots to learn darlin’, best to quit makin’ a fool of yourself. But uh, you sure do turn me on.” His lips lean into her neck and press sensual kisses along the dirtied skin, sliding wet up to her ear where his teeth graves over the tender skin. Enough to entice her, draw her in, and yet yer stubbornness reigns supreme.

Be it the residual effects of the distaste and anger towards Matthew or the genuine disbelief in his words and actions somethings stirs in Becca, ticking off the bomb that orates her brain and causing her left brow to twitch in the wake of her fury. Instinctively it is in her nature to attack him, striking those strong arms and pushing him backwards. Delicate features twisting into a heinous display of fulmination; where her brows tilt downwards and her eyes swirl with rage. Those kissable lips pulling downwards in some sort of inveighed image. Once Johnny steps back, she can see the anger beckon him too. His own handsome face somewhere along the lines of both shocked and disrespected.

“How dare you.” Those are fighting words, and without a second thought she grapples him, arms intertwining in a battle of dominance and power. His own expostulation is evident in the way he glares at her, with a visage written in disapproval and denouncement.

“You best watch that attitude of yours girl, lest you wanna be gettin’ into trouble- now quit it.” His firm grip can be felt against her shoulders, his reach much larger than her own despite her strength. His thick fingers dig into the skin of her shoulders and he pulls her forward, all the while she’s clawing at his biceps like a feral cat, groaning and hissing as she struggles to keep him at bay.

“You aughtta learn to keep your mouth shut boy.” She warns, tussling herself when her body begins to thrash about his grip. Likewise she meets him with that same competence, only falls short in getting the upper hand that his tight grasp has over her.

Johnny laughs, the same laugh that is demented and evil and downright demeaning. Like he’s toying with his food, or playing a childish game. The disgust held for him bubbles up again, and she’s half but forgotten all his benevolent qualities and his status as a worthy counterpart and leader. Only does it come back to her when he yanks her closer, staring into those equivocal eyes. She whines, cries out in a desperate attempt to push herself from him to no avail. This time his hand clutches a handful of the dirtied hair at the back of her head, the other tightening down on her wrist as he lurches her forward. She begins to cry; not because she’s afraid or unwilling, but because of the tumultuous nature of her consciousness. Both enchanted and disdainful of him, timid in her affairs and the lingering of his scent in her nose and closeness of his touch.

The tears come sopping down her cheeks when she screams out, in one last vociferous attempt to free herself from him. Her hands move to push against his face, pawing at it and shoving him away. Between grunts of frustration and anger Johnny pulls her towards him stridently, prising her hand away and biting at the other. Her yell is scornful when she jerks it away, and finally he takes the advantage of the clearance and forcefully closes the gap between them, their lips sealing in an ardent kiss potent in impassioned desire and earnest lust.

At first it’s apoplectic, acrimonious and powered by the incensed nature of each of their perspectives. A splenetic, rough and messy kiss imbedded with the bittersweet passion that resides in them. Then her expression lightens, her forceful nature dwindling as time pressed on. Her limbs go limp in his grasp, fingers stretching out in a strained state and she leans into his touch with an inkling for more. Where she is soft and tender, he is callous and brusque. Then it is reciprocated, quiet sobs breaking the seal between their lips when she cries. Those hot tears sear down her cheeks; she hates the way she loves it, despises the way it excites her, the way his words gift a fluttery feeling inside her. The way her head swirls with adulate emotions her actions follow suit, head feeling dizzy with those foreign feelings of pleasure and bliss, a resentful delightment. Even when the heat of her face and upset overpowers the touch of his palm over her cheek, she loves it. Or when he forcibly wipes the burning tears away with his thumb, his palm squishing the flesh of her cheek together as he does so.

There is an arcane sense about the ghost of his touch or the bitter cold of his kiss, not electrifying, not warm, it brings about a certain piercing sensation. After which her body feels numb and tingly, brumal from the ice that was his grasp. And all the while, the gelid feeling is peculiarly comforting. In an odd, backwards sort of way. His bitterness cooled her fire, and in many ways she would feel at peace after the initial bite of his touch. It would all fade into a stultifying, tingling feeling; one of pure peace and contentment, sangfroid.

Her heat melts into him, giving into the temptation and stumbling into him just slightly. Fingers still twitching in aggravation, they pry away to clasp at his shoulders, gripping onto them with such need and fervor. It is a violently passionate kiss, one that finely captures the line between adoration and the utter barbarity shared between them. Her eyes are scrunched shut painfully, and it isn’t until now that she relaxes. Her tense figure falling into his broad one like the gazelle the lion, the bunny the fox, or the lamb the slaughter.

He is vicious, cutthroat and relentless, each movement like a stab to the heart when he gnaws and bites and rubs at her raw lips. It makes it all the more delightful, that is until she reacts with that same intensity.

It isn’t lost on her how absolutely loathsome he is or how demented he might be, how everything that had led up to this moment was one combative argument over the next. But the way he looks after her and comes to her aide even without being asked to far overshadows the reality between them. It was then that in her eyes, he became the man she was so revered with, the one she trusted enough with her life, the one who’d truly take care of her. And still; she hates how perfect he really is.

Despite her endless mental battles or the back and fourth of her thoughts, and even the kill that had so nicely satiated the hunger for control she could no longer quell, it all comes rushing back in that instant. The terrorizing phenomenon of her looming thoughts and lost consciousness; she can no longer differentiate what she wants versus what she feels, and the daunting feeling drives her into a deeper panic. The need to kill regains traction, and she cannot deter whether she loathes or loves Johnny Sawyer.

Flustered and angry once more, Rebecca pulls away from him and with her newfound freedom levers her strength against him and pushes him back. Only Johnny has caged her into his arms, and now she freaks, thrashing her body against him and screaming, crying and sobbing miscellaneous threats and whines his way. Those tears burn her stained cheeks once more, and for a passing second the lightheaded feeling that overtakes her makes her feel as though she may faint. But it’s his soothing southern drawl and wintry touch that polarizes her. Now she stirs, succumbing to defeat when she tucks her face into his chest. There she sobs quietly, cupping her hands carefully around her face as her body wracks with the overwhelming urge in her. Johnny hushes quietly, his roughened touch grazing over the knots in her hair and patting over her trembling head. Her figure blurs into his, racking with the tumultuous thoughts that ill her head. She doesn’t have to say a thing; he knows. He proudly tells her it too, through the serene grin on his lips and the simple words from his lips. He knows he’s won, and it isn’t a question of if, now of when.

“Shhhhh, I know . . . I know.”

Her body shakes with vehemence, oscillating in his arms. Even when he cautiously rubs the small of her back, in hopes of calming her incessant cries and restless breathing there is no avail, no indication of even a thought behind those teary baby blues. But he knows, he knows too well.

“When’s ya’ daddy get home?”

“‘Bout another day or so, I reckon.”

“You go on ‘n get the inside fixed up, clean yer’ self up.” Her swollen red lip quivers and she feigns innocence, cradling herself into his big strong arms. Soft eyes glazing over in a wave of calm, she nods her head. “I’ll be gone a little while, stay inside ‘till I get back, you understand?”

Rebecca’s nod is lento and messy, her trembling arm reaching up to dance over the roughness of his cheek. She moves lethargically, pushing herself off of him as she maneuvers away.

Stammering back in a haze she sniffles quietly, nodding briefly before she turns to run up the steep hill and back to the front of the house. Her wary gaze quickly glancing behind to meet Johnny’s lingering stare. One shrouded in his perturbed features and stern leer.

Thick pools of crimson veil the wood floorboards of the house’s fanciful interior, plashes of it spattered along the ivory curtains that hang from the front door and alongside the white walls. The purity of it tarnished with the devil’s wrath, the home bathed in a thick and nasty smell of iron and bloodshed. Up the stairs and down the hall the scarlet bespatters the hand woven tundy rug that lines the grand hallway, and dowses the linen shower curtain that hangs pitifully by a thread. The hot water has long run cold, still spilling the remnants of blood that ooze from the severed anatomy in the tub down the drain in a tumultuous spinning cycle. There, in that dreadful bath, the once steamed mirrors are soused in the rich fluid, curating some abstract painting of the obscene and bizarre. The blood-slopped walls that intertwine with the water droplets that cling to the drywall the additions to such a mundane collection. She was never artful, and yet there was merit to that bathroom saturated in the viscous and gummy liquid that adorned those walls.

There is a looming consternation in her, one birthed from the disaster that had become the home and the inevitable disappointment her father might have felt for her; if he were to see such a gruesome scene. And yet, the staunch opposition of the luminous red against the stark white of the washroom was a peculiarly pleasant reminder of her achievement. There was some beauty to that grimey image, a stunning picture of the dreadful and tragic, the horror and fatale.

It is with a heavy head that she scrubs at the floor boards, bleaches the walls and rips the lace curtains from the door to drench them in the same liquid. Eyes wet and vision blurred, her hair matted in a tossled heap, her tremulous figure haunches over the steps of the stairs and the stretches over the sticky walls. Red goo staining the bucket of bleach and water. The bathroom, to which she debated savoring in, had proved most daunting. Yet the years of homemaking had done her well, and in no time it had been just as spotless as it had been before. The only remnant of the affair the bloodied wash bucket and stained gloves and sponges, and Matthew’s manhood dumped into that same murky bucket.

Cold water lathers into the nest that had become her hair and drizzles down the length of her body, gliding over the skin and washing away with it the dried blood and clumped pieces of scab that nestled into the fresh cuts. She sits against the porcelain floor of the tub, staring blankly at a tile wall that seems to distance itself further and further away from her. So far that she can’t seem to touch it, not even with the tips of her elongated fingers. As it moves further from her, her vision spins and her thoughts become loud. Before shutting her eyes and tilting her head to face the downpour of icey water. The feeling of ice pelting at her skin brings fourth the events of the evening, and she relives the moments of pleasure elicited from the look or torment and fear in Matthew’s eyes, in them Matthias, two boys who’d she’d come to despise with such fervor. Cathartic, euphoric, renascence, the rebirth of her own self. A more informed, liberated self not suffocated by the grip in which those boys grasped onto her. And yet, the pleasure of it all seemed to bludgeon a knot in her abdomen, a tingling sensation of bliss that called to her from regions below. A moan, then two, or three, and the revitalizing feelings of her intricate fingers drawing against herself in sporadic motions. All most as soon as it had began, the tension snapped and relief became her, a newfound sense of sexual repentance and divinity birthed straight from the act itself. Her fantasy was no longer that, it was a beautiful memory.

Clean hair neatly detangled and dripping wet spots onto the back of the tank top she now wore, she sits at the vanity mirror in her room, gracefully running the bristles of the silver brush through her tresses as she stares blankly into the mirror. Purplish bruises taint over the skin of her arms, indication of Matthew’s attempt to fight. The back of her head aches, and a tender bump finds it’s place there. The cause behind her lingering headache.

She slips into a pair of cotton shorts, only to find Matthew’s clothes sprawled out over the floor next to her bedside. One moment dazed, she’s now flustered, abhorrent at her inability to properly dispose of them. She decides, rather than burning them, utilizing their pieces as scrap fabric is much more useful. Yet, the desire to completely eliminate his presence there resides in her. It’s then, as she’s grasping the fabric of his trousers in her hands and prying at the thing that she glances toward the clock. 3:24 am.

One couldn’t help but wonder where that time had gone, how the events of the night surpassed that which she thought capable. The frustration looms, and the bitterness picks at her insides like vultures. She succumbs to the mental battle once again, handing over the defeat as the remnant tears cloud her vision and drip down into the fabric she held. Where was Johnny, how had he held up?

Vexation is an ugly thing, and yet as it consumes her and Becca becomes maddened by the terrors her shortcomings ail, she is all the more fascinating. As she hurriedly clasps together all the pieces of clothing — from his undergarments to his shoes, and frantically stumbles down the stairs shouting incoherent sobs. The swelling at her eyes and stinging of her cheeks are near numb, null in comparison to the dinging in her head and turbulent thoughts.

It always seemed as though Johnny had perfect timing, always stepping in at the right moments. This had been one of those times, when he turns the knob to that front door and steps inside just as she’s about to reach for the damned thing. He’s tall, seems so much bigger than she remembered him to be, more muscular, more dominant. There she stands doe eyed, tears trickling down her cheeks as she furrows her brows. She watches him with a saddened look, his critical countenance meeting her with an ominous look. He locks the deadbolt on the door, then the barrel bolt. The slinking of the metal click echoes in her ears and she feels like stone, petrified in her place. He’s dirty, muddied up and partly bloody.

“It’s done.” He’s stern. “He’s gone, you ain’t gotta worry bout him no more darlin’.”

Johnny steps forward, meeting her halfway.

“The clothes,” a whisper. “I need to burn the clothes. I have to.”

“No.”

“Okay.” She hushes.

“I’ll take ‘em. Head back upstairs.” Without another word he takes them from her.

It’s some unspoken thing, the way she feels at peace with his words, like she can believe anything he tells her. It brings her to ease, quells her anxieties and it’s as though anything she’d thought prior was only a faint memory. She hadn’t the need to question him, ask how or why, nor had she the desire. Only basqued in the comfort of knowing he’d maintain that control for her. It’s the comfortability he instills in her that introduces the thought, one in which falls from her lips in saccharine toxicity.

“Johnny?” It’s a quiet plea, her head turns back around and she ceases in her place down the foyer. Through a strained voice to calls for him, riddled with newfound joy, grief and love and struggling to juggle them all. “Stay.” She pauses. “Stay with me, stay the night, here, will you? Stay, just for tonight. I’d like you to stay with me. Daddy ain’t ‘round and I, I don’t wanna be alone.”

It’s that same unspoken thing, something neither of them would have been able to foresee. A certain degree of knowing and acceptance, a mutual understanding, a bond forged in the pits of hell.

“Please, do it for me?” Johnny watches her with eyes of cynicism, as though he were trying to figure her out. He watches as her wet eyes glazed in her own despair look to him through coagulated lashes, luring him in with a pretty face. He steps toward her, moves his hand to fiddle with her hair, twirling the wet tresses in his fingers and brushing through it. Then he looks to her again, eyes narrowing with a mean look, one she’d come to know as pleasant.

“I’ll be up shortly, lemme get cleaned up first, doll.”

Some time passes before he walks into her bedroom, drawing her from her thoughts as her gaze moves from the wall to the doorway. He’s wet with the drippings from his shower. Droplets of water adorning his bare skin, dressed only in his bath towel and his hair wet and messy. He steps in, shutting the door behind him before he moves to sit atop the same bed she lay on. His gaze instantaneously meets her own, watching in thought, as though he were trying to read her own.

“How did it feel?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you killed ‘em, how’d that make ya feel?”

“I,” she heaves, “I liked it.”

“No shit,” his hand grazes over her cheek, sliding the wet strands of hair behind her ear. “I know you like it girl, been knowed you’d like it. I wanna to hear you tell me how it made you feel.”

There’s a drawn out pause in her speech. Perhaps she’s in thought, or the rugged pads of his fingertips has her leaning into him a little too much, or both. But she’s bewitched by him, entranced.

“I ‘spose it felt, like it was natural or summin’, felt, good, like I’d finally let my those urges run wild,” she speaks earnestly. “You was right ya know? Bout me bein’ a control freak, and I, him, killing him, it gave me that.” She smiles faintly, watching as he chuckles softly, shaking the bed beneath them.

“Would you do it again?” He already knows the answer to that, and Becca knows it too. He just wants to hear her say it, but she obliges his little game.

“I hated it when he got away Johnny boy, thought I’d be caught. That feeling, like a bug in ya’ drawers, it gits under my skin and I can’t take it. I just can’t do it.” She’s flustered again, upset. “Makes me mad that I couldn’t do it the way I wanted, the perfect way. But I, well, you know dear, there’s always something, the feeling doesn’t last forever. I need, I think, well, the more I think bout it all the more I’d feel like doin’ it all over again. I love that feelin’, what you call it, the power, the control over ‘em, but I hate that he got away. I can’t, thought I had everything all figured out.”

Be it the tenderness in her eyes that softened her hardened exterior or the inkling of disappointment in her voice and features when she speaks of her fears, Johnny is attentive to her expression, drawing out a prolonged sigh from his lips before he punctuates with a quiet chuckle. Muffled beneath his heavy breaths.

He appears to be some sort of sentient being, a deity, a god. The way his wet hair falls about his face and clings to the skin of his neck, the way his fingers tear into those same locks and hem they prop his head up with his elbow against the bedsheets. His eyes so solemn and resolute, quiet, intense. In all her readings, the antichrist was meant to be beautiful, like Johnny had been. A breathtaking man with undeniable charm, whose existence and evilness would bring about the end of the world. Sometimes, she felt that way about him.

But through it all there’s been something about him, and she’s convinced in the way he so daringly comes to her aide or soothes her thoughts, in his own little way, that he’s anything but demonic.

“Oh, darlin’,” he breathes out, smiling gently. “I was hopin’ you’d say summin’ like that, might of had to get rid of ya’ otherwise.” The hand that had been so tantalizingly pressed against her features grasps at her chin, pulling her face closer to his. “You’s perfect. Don’t you worry bout what’s been done with, you got a real . . . . skill. The rest, that’ll come with time, believe me.” His voice quiets.

She knows he hates repeating himself, knows it’s best to leave it at that. But her temptation as a woman rooted in her emotions gets the best of her and she just has to press on, her face inching closer as she does so, drawn in by his pleasantries.

“Tell me,” her eyes are wide with curiosity, maybe worry. “You think I could do it the way you do? Think I’d get to bein’ that good? I can’t slip up like that again you heard me boy? I can’t, I want, I want them to fear me, I want that control.”

“What’s the fun in that?” Johnny questions. “See it ain’t about what’s accordin’ to that there plan you got, it’s ‘bout the thrill of the hunt. Let ‘em have that hope, think they got a chance at livin’, let ‘em be scared, just long enough for you to take it all away from ‘em. You go ‘round plannin’ it all there ain’t nothin’ exicitin’ bout it. I like it when they run, makes it interestin’. There’s summin’ real satisfyin’ bout workin’ for the kill, makes it that much better when you cut into ‘em.”

Contemplation and confusion, then a steady realization made evident by the lift in her features. His words heavy on her mind, it is the intense emotion that comes over her at the notion of it all. Let them have hope, then take it all away.

“See, I knew that there kill of your’s wasn’t gonna be gettin’ too far, you did far too much damage to let ‘em run. These people, victims, they act stupid when they panic. Ain’t very smart, the power of fear works in your favor. That’s summin’ you ain’t come ‘round to understandin’ just yet. You gotta put the surroundings you got to good use. Ain’t expect anyone to be that good on their first time, but you, I told you you’s like me, got a real knack for this thing.”

Sapphires glossed in infatuation, a limerence so far gone that her own father could not draw her from it. She stares in awe, his words of affirmation more than enough to quell the scarcity that runs rampant in her deranged, pretty little head. What once is uncertainty, paranoia and self doubt is now contentment, relaxation and confidence. Thick wet lashes bat against the ocean in her eyes, flickering up to the tarry abyss that was his ominous gaze. She is bewitched, comforted, entranced by the masculine presence he provided.

“In fact,” the back of his roughed up hands graze her cheek, intertwining themselves into the strands of her damp hair and clutching at the back of her head. His thumb prods miscellaneous patterns into her scalp, an uncharacteristically gentle gesture that has her head spinning. “I reckon you start comin’ along with me, I’d like to show you a few things, think you’d get some real use outta it. I wanna see just what kinda stuff yer made of miss Rebecca Payne.” His smile is taunting, like the grinning leer of a demon laughing in God’s face. “Hell, maybe you and I’d make a better pair than you initially thought. Might even work better together, huh?”

Those pristine eyes narrow to look to him through fanned lashes, as if to make out what his true intentions were. But again, it becomes easier and easier to believe him. There’s no ulterior motive, he’s telling the truth. And the delight that was his presence only furthered that fluttery feeling within her. She’s made up her mind.

“Sounds mighty fine to me Johnny boy. Teach me everythin’ you know.” She’s teasing him, the way she leans in and weaves back, tilting her face up and drawing out her words in an exaggerated manner. “I should thank you, reckon there’s anyway I can repay you for tonight?” A delicate hand lands perfectly over his bare shoulder, Dainty fingertips soft like velvet and a featherlight touch that glides over the scars of his skin.

“Don’t disappoint me.” It’s blunt, his smile sort of faltering. “Show me I’m right ‘bout you.”

Her stare tender hearted, eyes lost in the callous look that was his own. She can only nod, her inhibitions incessant on abiding to his wishes, proving herself to him. And still, the grievances arisen from their past bury themselves further within the back of her mind. Slowly to become a distant memory. Her acknowledgement is signified in the sweet kiss she places upon his cheek. A gesture that is met with an intense and fervent stare, that with the hand that palms her cheek.

“Johnny boy?” There’s that angelic tone once more, beckoning him like a siren a sailor. “Hold me, would you?” He’s not the affectionate type, though the way in which she nestles the soft skin of her cheeks and the gentle touch of her Pam over his chest would only convince him to clasp his arms around her. Ensnaring her in a cage of flesh and bone, as he stares into the blank, white paneled walls of her bedroom. The night would soon pass.

The days that followed were a stark contrast to the slower ones that had prevailed prior, filled with father’s return and the herding of cattle, and Johnny’s looming presence on their property. Given the added workload the arrival of cattle had on Raymond it was no surprise that Johnny had hung around more to aide him, and it wasn’t lost on Raymond that the relationship between Rebecca and Johnny had taken an unprecedented turn, one disturbingly idyllic and peaceful, a direct counterpart to Rebecca’s less than ideal attitude towards the boy prior. All most as though it were an entirely different thing all together.

Though there were many things that took Raymond by surprise, from the moment he’d returned to that farmstead. From his daughter’s eerily steadfast smile to her seeming detachment from him. He’d partially worried something drastic had happened during those few days he was gone, something that changed her for worse. Yet again he’d chosen to be blissfully ignorant, as her attitude seemed to improve, and for the first time in a very long time she seemed content, happy. He supposed that in regards to her mood he should have been glad for her, proud even, for she’d finally managed to let free the events of the past and come to terms with the move, but deep down the lord knew he couldn’t help but feel something was so dreadfully wrong.

The way she smiled and laughed with such a free spirit when it came to that boy, or how her touch lingered just a tad too long for comfort. Hell, even the way in which she brought him cold sweet tea or a bottle of beer while they worked out in the fall sun, marking cattle and getting them all settled into their fields. It reminded him vaguely how she treated him, and it hadn’t dawned on him till then that her demeanor had entirely evolved. She hadn’t been nearly as doting as she was before, and he thought maybe he’d consider it a good thing.

It wasn’t until he’d taken notice to the murky bucket of water that sat up against the back wall of the garage, slumped into the corner behind the door that he’d truly become skeptical. He’d examined it more closely, until he saw the sight of maggots and signs of decay, floating about the reddish brown suds, he’d felt sick. A cultivation of anger and fear arose within him, and for but a moment he marched into the house with the bucket in tow, about to confront the girl on his findings. He was sure it must’ve been there some time, judging by the putrid smell. Only, when he’d seen her there, smiling peacefully as she dried the dishes she’d just cleaned and putting them up in the cupboards he felt a pang of guilt, one that quelled that anger so quick he could only turn away in shame. Must’ve been a wild animal of some sort, he was sure of it, and he’d dispose of it himself only to ask about it at a later time. He couldn’t bare the weight of trashing that illusion of hers, whatever it might’ve been.

That same evening, there’d been a knock at the door. One Raymond met with a somewhat annoyed look, only to smile once he’d seen it was Johnny Sawyer. He stood there, wearing a days worth of work and holding a six pack of beer. A good looking grin spread over his features as always, nodding to him in his typical manner. A sign of respect, mutual trust.

“Evenin’ Johnny, what can I do for ya’?”

“Evenin’ sir, brought summin’ for ya’. But I’d be lyin’ if I said I ain’t came here lookin’ to ask you summin’.”

“Right,” he can’t help but chuckle, looking down to the workbooks on his feet before he looks back to Johnny. “Well don’t be a stranger, come on in.”

The smell of metal has long faded and is replaced with the scent of soft vanilla candles and a smokey fireplace. Johnny can’t tell if Becca is home or not, but judging by her absence he can tell she isn’t in the house. Maybe in the fields, he couldn’t tell. Either way, his attention is diverted to her father whilst they sit at the kitchen table, the same table they’d first met at. Ironically they sit in their very same places, and he makes it a point to place the pack of beers on the table.

“Now I’m awfully appreciative of yer help round here boy, I ain’t got much but I owe you son. But uh, I just seent you yesterday, why the sudden formality eh?”

“It ain’t no problem, I ain’t mind helpin’ y’all out. Don’t owe me a thing.” Johnny’s eyes are on him, a charismatic smile over his features as he reaches for the cans over the table. “I’m a man of respect, sir.” He nods, freeing a bottle from its cardboard trap and waving it towards him. “Care for a beer?”

“I reckon one won’t hurt,” Raymond smiles, taking the bottle from him and popping it open against the table. “Don’t go tellin’ that there girl of yours though, she’d kill me if she found out.”

“Yeah,” Johnny chuckles. “‘Bout her, Rebecca,” he hums her name against his lips, taking his own beer bottle and opening it against the lip of the table. He takes a swig, popping the bottom down against the wood table and gulping it down. He clears his throat then, nodding towards Raymond. “I uh.”

“Y’all gotten along real close ain’t cha’?” Raymond asks between drinking from his own bottle. “She wasn’t real fond of ya’ all that long ago, not sure why, fill me in on that, will ya’?”

“Well she’s a firecracker, I’ll tell ya’ that much. But, I think she just came ‘round to me, ain’t much to it. No hard feelin’s, knew I was gonna have to prove myself to ‘er the second we met.”

“Yeah, well,” he takes another swig of his beer. “I’d say she’s more than came ‘round to ya’ son.”

“Yeah well, I’d been wantin’ to ask for yer permission, takin’ her out on another date.”

Raymond holds back his laughter, chortling behind his clasped hands.

“Lemme tell you summin’ boy, s’long as you get ‘er to say yes it’s all swell with me. I like you, you’s a fine young man. Ain’t no quarrels with me. Don’t make me regret that or it’ll be my shotgun to your head, ya heard?”

“Why thank you sir, ‘ppreciate that. I won’t let yer blessin’ go to waste.”

“Well now, at the end of the day it’s up to Becca. That girl, she ain’t all that easy to win over. But I’d say she’s takin’ a likin’ to you, better keep it that way.”

“Right,” Johnny nods. “Where she off at?”

“Store,” Raymond shrugs, “summin’ ‘bout needin’ flour, think she bakin’ summin’. How’s the family been? Ain’t seen the old man in some time, only met yer mother that once.”

“Oh they doin’ just fine,” Johnny somewhat chuckles. “Drayton, he always ramblin’ on ‘bout how I’m over here too much, thinks I’m botherin’ y’all’s. But he asks ‘bout ya an awful lot, think he likes havin’ some company ‘round here. Momma, she doin’ fine too. Lil’ skeptical of Becca but she’s always like that. She’ll come round. Reckon we aughtta get together again.”

“I’d say, maybe we can get those brothers of yer’s over? Remember summin’ bout there bein’ others. Reckon it’s time everybody gets acquainted with each other.”

“Right, yeah,” he’s hesitant, as though he’s hiding something yet his calm gaze makes it seem otherwise. “Rest of my kin don’t get out much, they real quiet folk. But I’m sure we can figure summin’ out.”

“Daddy, I’m home!” Both their gazes avert towards the foyer, the echoing sound of the door closing ringing in the hall where Rebecca steps into view, a brown paper bag of groceries nestled against her hip. She comes in, placing carefully the bag on the kitchen counter before moving to plant a kiss over Raymond’s cheek. “Here’s the change,” she reaches into her pocket to plant a few coins onto the table. Her mien is gracious yet admittedly neutral. Even when her eyes lock with Johnny’s and she raises her brow ever so slightly. “Johnny boy,” she nods her head. “Y’all workin’ out in the fields? I’d of stayed if I knew. Needed some things to help with supper, though.” She says so matter of factly, hands atop her hips as she stares over the two of them. Her eyes sort of gloss over Raymond, who sits there with his gaze fixated on that newfound gleam in her eye.

“Don’t you think you aughtta invite our guest to dinner?”

Becca only sends him a questioning countenance, looking to Johnny with a perturbed face. It’s only then that she takes notice to the pack of beer sat on the dining table, that and the bottle in each his and her father’s hands. Disappointment riddles her features and her brows furrow down in upset, she wastes no time in stepping toward them.

“Johnny,” she sighs. “Figured you’d invite ya’ self, like to have supper with daddy ‘n I?” Her tone is more disdainful than anything, patronizingly childlike. She still couldn’t let him on that easy, and she’d more than shown him her weakest sides.

“And daddy,” she sighs, “what’s all this then?” She picks up his bottle, holding it up. “You know you ain’t s’post to be drinkin’, it’ll kill ya’ if you make it a habit you know that?”

“Darlin’ ain’t no use in gettin’ between a man and his beer,” it’s that instant Johnny rises from his seat, circling round the table to place a firm palm on Rebecca’s shoulder and his other against Raymond’s chair, splitting them from one another. “One ain’t gon’ hurt ‘em, let the man rest for god’s sake.” It doesn’t take much to pry the bottle from her hands, with her wildly irate stare and faltering grip. “Now let yer’ old man and I catch up while you cook up summin’, we’ll be sat here if you need us.”

Silence can be blissful, except when it is filled with the rising tension of a blistering temper. Her disbelief at his utter disrespect and lack of regard is evident in the way which she stands there, glaring to him with an ugly look of vehemence and anger. Strange, the way she feels an overwhelming sense of loathing for him, yet, she stands there with her thumb in her mouth bewildered with forced acceptance and utter awe. A sort of odd concoction of love, hate and a murder most foul.

It’s foreign to her the way she can find both comfort and peace in one man but also aggravating hatred. The way the past had yet to be settled despite their mutual understanding. Perhaps her turbulent personality was the culprit, her unwillingness to compromise unless in the face of someone she respected and her stubborn head. Even her natural confrontational nature could have been behind it, yet there was no confrontation here, only acceptance. Yet she no longer wished to lob that head of his off the broad shoulders which they sat between, nor did she wish to make him suffer an insurmountable amount of pain at her hand. Rather, she’d like his approval, his understanding, his acceptance. And it only fueled her rage and the insatiable love for bloodlust that took refuge within.

So she steps away without another word, only shared glances to which she looks with a hellish expression. Going about her business in the kitchen where she’d began to prep the days meal. The distinct chatter of both Johnny and her father are in short earshot, and she makes it a point to punctuate her own seething anger with the chop of her cutting knife against the carrots. It was a stupid little thing she did, carrying about her activities in a manner that was obnoxiously loud, to make her upset known.

Just like her mother used to do.

Just like her mother.

How pitiful.

Then it was as though nothing had happened at all, as though she’d been nothing short of gracious all the while.

—

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭! - 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

@yixxes @bdudette @nerdykat101 @kaymarnun

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sh1mmer-add1ct · 9 months ago

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I’m sorry if this is like weirdly specific, but can you maybe write something about the family but specifically Johnny in general adopting a child like if a kid wanted onto their property and I’m not talking young kid I’m talking maybe 11-13 but kind of a southern street rat and very street smart and quite sassy (“you can’t kill me, old man!”) and Johnny felt weird about killing a child and had a soft soft for them, and kind of admired them acting like a little asshole and hiding their fear so kind of like let them into the family and what that relationship would be like I’m sorry if this is super specific

Thank you!!!

since you didn’t specify (which is fine Idc lol) if u wanted headcanons or like. A Drabble I just did both :3 !! Ft a few other family members (no gender specified !! Use of they/them ((tagged as x reader but is NOT romantic. Please do not take it as such.))

At first it kinda pissed him off at first, he thought the sass n attitude was really annoying 💀

eventually he grew to find it funny though, especially considering he’s pretty much the same way (specifically towards Drayton)

Nancy’s the one that mostly watches over them besides Johnny, so they’re basically like another child to her (unfortunately, she does show her favoritism)

Drayton’s always getting on their ass about it, not that they care though. If anything it only encourages them further.

Nubbins also thinks it’s funny as hell

At first, Johnny found them to be annoying, despite how similar they were to him. However, their sass and attitude grew on him, and he couldn’t help but let out a snort of amusement when he heard the typical snarky remark with “old man!” At the end. When Drayton started to try to scold them, they only laughed, before running off.

“I don’t care what you say to him, but watch yerself, he’s old ‘nd senile, he might go off on you one day ‘nd I ain’t gonna be able to save yer ass every time” despite his words, Johnny’s eyes glimmered with amusement…and maybe a bit of pride, maybe.

———

i haven’t written for Johnny (nor any TCM character really) yet so I apologize if it’s super OOC <\3

#the texas chainsaw massacre #TCM game #TCM #Texas Chainsaw Massacre Game #Johnny Sawyer #Johnny Slaughter #johnny tcm #drayton sawyer #TCM x reader #Johnny Sawyer x reader #platonic x reader #Nancy Sawyer #nancy slaughter #Black Nancy #Vies reqs #Request

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small-sinclair · 3 months ago

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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.

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thatdumbmexicanbimbo · 5 months ago

Text

everyone was sword fighting in her mouth.

Perv!Mean!Bully!Eddie Munson x Bimbo!thick!latina reader

A/N:*INHALES LOUDLY* I cannot stand the lack of people, writing for latina's, SO I'm just gonna write myself *grins evil like*, but with a twist, HEATHERS AU!!, Eddie is ram Sweeney bc he's my fav, and reader is like Veronica Sawyer in the situation :P, Chrissy is heather McNamara, Nancy is heather duke, heather Halloway is heather Chandler!

WARNINGS: SMUT!!, NONCON,drugging ,impiled oral sex(F only), virgin reader!, PIV

you wonder how your life would be if you stayed in New Jersey, you sighed as you unloaded your boxes to your new house.. well trailer, you and your papa have been slightly struggling, your pink suitcase was heavy so your papa came to help, it wasn't a shabby trailer it was quite expensive, 3 bedrooms and 1 bathroom was okay for you and your dad.

Now it was your first day , you've been to racists schools your whole life, casually getting rude remarks on your weight and race, but ever since you moved away from Hawkins temporarily, you can't shake the thrill of coming back!, you struggled, to slide your white skirt on, you made sure your thong wasn't peaking out so your dad wouldn't see, you put on a lacy white bra obviously!! a push up, a pink tube top,and cute black backpack a bow on the zipper!

When you arrived you got loads of flattering and a few un-flattered looks, you just looked at your schedule, you go to your locker number

seeing a woman already there, but the sudden turn around revealed a long-haired man, "Whats with the staring,baby doll?" he chirped,

"my apologies, I'm confused on how to open my locker? I forgot how, I use to be at this school I just moved but came back for personal family issues", he looks you and up down scanning your hot thick body up n down,

"you ain't new then?". you nod meekly, "ah okay, well let me tell ya sweetheart I don't recall seeing you 'round these halls" he says while pulling a cigarette out, you look away embarrassed,

"I was slightly overweight, glasses and baggy clothes..i-i was called chunky y/n.." you say stuttering,

he looks at you "oh now I know you, you looked HIDEOUS, those glasses were not for you" he says chuckling, his smile fading seeing your face form a frown,

"is a pretty face and body all that matters to you?"you say annoyed,

"well, what else is there to offer?", you scoff and storm away, fucking guy judging your body fucking looking at you like a pervert.

you skip your 3rd period class, your lip liner was fading, fashion emergency!, you reapply your lip-gloss as 3 girls walk in, one of them goes into a stall and forces themselves to throw up, another girl trails behind another, LOUD RETCHING NOISES, "god Nancy hurry up!" the main girl shouts checking her pores

a teacher walks in to use the restroom, "what are you lady's doing out of class??", you were quick to write fake passes after you recognized your first period teacher's handwriting and signature, you quickly hand the 3 girls one and say

"um Ms Burn-ham gave us each a bathroom note" you show the teacher, "oh very well you ladies stay out of trouble" she said as she exited the bathroom

"sick forgery, thanks for helping" the main one says, "the name's Heather Holloway, i'm pretty popular, among the school",

the second one chirps up, "ugh didn't even bother to introduce us Heather, i'm Nancy wheeler, and this is Chrissy Cunningham", Chrissy waves shyly,

"I see you being a popular girl stick with me and you'll be on top of the other low-life losers" heather says wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

a month has gone by heather wasn't fully wrong you were popular with her guidance, But so much people noticed you finally, even that sick pervert hasn't stopped trying, you were laying lazily on your bed, and get a call from Chrissy, "y/n I need help i'm at the cemetery"

before you could respond Chrissy hangs up you made your way to the cemetery, you see Chrissy in her car

, "uh why is uh Eddie munson passed out?" you questioned

"well nancy, steve,eddie, and I were ya know hanging out and they dung into the booze, then Nancy and Steve were together and Eddie tried hooking up with me..and he wouldn't stop trying to grope me..." she says blankly

"so after all this happened why'd you call me??" you say tugging at your annoying socks

"oh well that was the deal, if I called you Eddie promised to leave me alone"

"SO you avoided date rape by volunteering ME for date rape?"

"gosh you make it sound so ugly"

eddie groans drunkly, "HEYYYY Y/NNN, I WAITED HOURS FOR YOU!!"

he passed out, Nancy comes from Steve's car, him attached to her while she buttons her skirt, "Chrissy, open the door" she says sharply

"UGHH don't leave me like this baby!!" Steve whines. he lays on the grounded passing along-side Eddie

Eddie rises, when Chrissy and Nancy drive away, "so you're my reward huh" he says says while smirking

"as if , you have a left hand use it" you reply with disgust you hear a noise off in the distance looking away.

he whimpers, but replies, "there's some alchol left?" he was quick to slip in a roofie

"welp this Friday was shit i'll take it" you chug it down

"I don't feel so awesome" you pass out but Eddie catches you

"oh trust me sweetheart you will soon.."

your eyes flutter open, still in a ditzy unable to move trance, you feel an odd stomach twisting feeling between your thighs, a long- haired man between your thick thighs, you cry as he shoves fingers into you, you gush out more slick and cum

"fucking naughty girl, getting her tiny unused cunt violated, n getting wet off it, pathetic" he says degrading you

you whimper, and try moving or screaming unable to from the roofies effects, he tugs his boxers down, aligning his cock to your virgin cunt, you sniffle as he shoves his cock in, he thrusts uncaring if you're enjoying it

"so fucking tight, mmm yea just for me, fucking bitch you rejected me??, I don't fucking think so, you are enjoying this you're clenching go ahead slut, cum for me, cum on my cock"

you sqeaul and cream on his cock. after this everything fades to black

you awaken in your bedroom, you walk into your bathroom, hickeys everywhere, bruises, you sniffle knowing it wasn't a dream..

you arrive at school seeing Nancy cleaning out heather Holloway's locker, you heard she was kidnapped by billy who also died or dissappeared,

"jeez what are you rummaging for??" you say

"a little respect, I'm cleaning out a loved ones locker" Nancy scowls at you

"I don't think heather would want you going through her stuff-"

"lets not focus on me right now, more about your new reputation, Eddie n Steve have been telling the whole school about a scandalous little three way last night after Chrissy and I left" she said smirking

"there was no three way, I don't even recall doing anything with either of them-" you get off by the boys giggling

"THEY"RE WAS A BIG SWORD FIGHT IN HER MOUTH DUDE!!"

"MY BIG SALAMI BENT HER LIKE ORIGAMI!!" they both cheered

you ran into the bathroom crying terribly.. it was just a rumor but what could you do..

possible part 2?

#mean!eddie munson #perv!eddie munson #heathers #80s #heathers the musical #ram sweeney #stranger things #smut #tw noncon #tw r4p3 #Spotify

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chiffon-and-spice · 9 months ago

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(18+ MINORS DNI) He's A Violent Man, and His Heart's Decayed

Fic Inspo: April to Death

Johnny Slaughter/Sawyer x GN!Reader (18+)

A/N: I just want to say I do not condone this kind of relationship in any way, nor am I trying to glamorize abuse. This is just my take on how being in a relationship with Johnny would be. Fiction and reality are two very different things, and there will be triggering topics discussed in this fic. If you don’t like violence, this is definitely not the fic for you.

Abuse Helpline: 800-799-7233 (if a phone call is unsafe here’s a safe website you can visit, you’re not alone and there are always other options.)

Concept: You’ve walked down this road with Johnny so many times before, your feet have grown numb. At this point it’s hard to tell who’s crazier.

TW: Abuse, violence, self-deprecation, mutual abuse, smoking, blood

Content: Anal, rough sex, blood drinking? (idk if this should be a trigger warning or content…), voyeurism, masturbation, dom!Johnny, sub!reader

A man beyond saving. So tormented, trained like a dog on a leash, he is unable to do anything differently than what he's taught. Despite all the pain, the anguish, the anger, Nancy is the only family he's ever known. The only family he'd ever get. Johnny had been given a shit hand, and these were the cards he had to play. And another, with so little regard for their own self-worth, seemed unable to care about being saved from him.

You made your way up the familiar driveway, as you have done many times before. It was late, the moon barely a sliver in the sky, hiding behind a blanket of dark clouds. It didn’t matter how little you could see though, you knew this path like the back of your hand. Every little loose pebble, soft patch, and hidden crack or ladder.

The outside of Nancy’s may look warm, inviting, with white picket fences and brightly colored flowers dancing almost peacefully through the wind. But you knew better. You knew about the horrors that lurked within those doors. You hadn't come here about that though. As long as you didn't bother the family, the family didn't bother you.

Perhaps that made you just as bad as them, just as wrong and twisted. Any sane person would stay away, be terrified for their life. Ask for help for the many victims that had stumbled through. Then again, it was hard to be scared for something you had little regard for. What’s a little bit of murder?

The driveway and path were covered in a deep blue hue. The night air was somewhat chilly, though you seemed unbothered by the cold. Even without a jacket, no temperature could compete with the coldness Johnny handled you with. That was a chill you felt in your bones, that nestled into your chest and pricked at your heart like a thorn that couldn’t be shaken loose.

So why were you making your way back? Every step made your feet feel heavy with lead, though a part of you also felt as if you were burning holes in the ground.

You were in one of those angry moods, the scary ones where you were eerily calm. Every step is slow, quiet, across the gravel coated road. Calculated. You couldn’t recall if this walk was something you had done before or something you’d picked up from Johnny.

Your gaze drifted up to the top window of Nancy’s house, studying where her room would be. The curtains, like usual, were closed shut. It was fairly late, and you hoped that meant she’d be fast asleep. She’d never been too fond of you seeing her Johnny. Part of you wondered if the only thing keeping her from murdering you was knowing you were just as capable of doing the same to her. She didn’t have the same control over you as she did Johnny.

There was a part of you that felt almost… confident approaching Johnny's beat down shack. You had no weapons, no items but the clothes on your back, and yet there wasn’t much concern. No fear, as you raised your fist, pounding on the old shack door.

There was a familiarity in the action, almost like you’d done it a million times before. Even with a door in your way, you could smell the place almost as if you were standing inside. Part of you had always wondered if you’d ever get used to it. It was unsettling that you didn’t even have a reaction anymore. It wasn’t even the blood that bothered you, that was nothing unfamiliar. It was the grime, the dust, the mold that all turned your stomach. The maggots that no doubt crawled around within its confines.

You knew Johnny heard you, after a noise erupted inside. A few crunching cans on the other side and the low sound of rustling. Like someone was trying to let their presence be known, that they were intentionally ignoring whoever was outside.

"Alright Johnny, come on out now, I ain't gonna be waitin’ out here forever!" you called out, your voice scarily calm.

Too many thoughts raced through your mind. Your foot impatiently tapped on the old rotted floorboards, arms crossed, while you stared narrowly at the door. The only sound you heard at first was the faint chirp of the crickets outside.

It was pitch black, hard to see, though you knew the door had opened by the sound of it scraping across the floor. A familiar head slowly started to peak out, his dark eyes protruding from the doorway. There’s something unsettling about his smile, how his eyes scan over you, after he leans against the door frame.

He had looked at you like that so many times before, like he’d somehow just won some game. Or was reading you, studying which parts of your body would result in those screams he’d been so fond of. His stance is tall, his eyes cold, while he leans against the door.

The man smelled of cigarette smoke, sweat, and… something else you didn’t quite wish to discern. You wanted to scrunch your nose up, pretend the smell disgusted you as it should. Instead however it had an allure, something that drew you in. Probably because that smell was unique to Johnny.

Like always the man was calculated, precise with his wording. His hands, which usually contained thick leather gloves, were bare, a cheap cigarette poking between the fingers of the hand that currently rested on the frame above his head. He laughed a little upon recognizing you, an almost wolfish glint in his eyes. The man was alert, like he’d been anticipating your arrival. Of course he had.

You couldn’t help but study his other hand, which was wrapped tightly with white gauze. You remembered the blood, how it slowly poured down when you’d shoved your knife through his hand. The force he knocked you over with in response. It was a vicious cycle that should have told you both to back off.

With how much you already knew about Johnny’s tactics, there was no need to draw you in. No need for him to practice his usual charm. Instead, he simply took a puff from the cigarette, blowing the cloud not too far from your face.

“You’re back early. Did you not get enough?”

Johnny’s tone was casual, carefree as if this was just another conversation. Anyone listening in might hear his words and assume he was talking about his body. You knew what he was referring to though, not forgetting the faint bruises he’d marked your skin with. The fresh cuts that littered your body. You only scoffed. “You’re calm for someone who ended up with a knife in their hand last time I showed up…” you replied just as casually.

It was hard to believe that had only been a week ago. Then again, so many of your fights blended and blurred together. The black eye back in May, the broken ribs from June, the list could go on. In between you’d always managed to get a few good hits in yourself. No one had brought out that fire in you like he did.

The dark haired man took another drag from his cigarette, lips dried and thin, as his eyes darkened. Johnny stepped outside, a little closer, and perhaps in the past you’d have cowered away. Flinched. Winced at the anticipation. However this time, you simply stood, studying his fiery glare, almost daring him to come at you again. Not many walked away after a fight with Johnny, you were aware of this. You seemed to do it almost effortlessly though.

The man was tall, could easily overpower you, which he had done quite a few times. You could never bring yourself to be entirely scared of him though. Not when Johnny treated you differently. Not after the many times he’d let you walk away.

What unsettles you the most however, is the way his lips curve into a thin smile upon processing your words. He blows out a bit more smoke, dropping the cigarette carelessly on the wood and stomping it out. Despite it being so late, Johnny still wore one of his old tank tops, covered in whatever work he’d done that day. It’s too dark to tell if it’s sweat or blood.

He made his way towards you, and the closer he got the more you could smell it on him. You didn’t cower though, only meeting his gaze with the same intensity. Perhaps this is why he was so drawn to you. Why he could never bring himself to finish you off. There’s an air of intrigue, confusion, in someone that isn’t scared of the dark things you do the way they should be.

Johnny’s warm, exceptionally warm, and he raises his hand. You’re unsure whether to expect a smack or a caress. Both would be unsettling. You suppress a shiver, as he does the later, large fingers carefully running through your hair. You’d half expected him to be angry at you, but he’s just smiling.

It should be comforting, warm. The kind of smile that would bring joy to your partner, while his fingers twist and slip through your hair. It’s the exact opposite of comforting though, almost too perfect of a smile.

Johnny gently buries his nose in your hair, inhaling sharply. A normally tender gesture from most partners, but not from Johnny.

“I’m sorry…” his voice is soft, a faint whisper, and it jumpstarts your heart every time.

The words are gentle, stirring feelings inside of your chest you’d rather not think about. Your body melts and you feel warm in his arms. There’s also that tug though, that deep pain, that thorn shifting in your chest, because you know Johnny. Know him more than you’d care to admit.

You merely shake your head gently in response, pressing your forehead into his chest. There’s a tiredness in your stance, and you don’t know whether you hurt more for yourself or the man in front of you.

“I know you’re not… even if you want to be, you’re not. You’re incapable of feeling sympathy.”

There was a bleak and tired look in your eyes as you spoke, staring at the ground. A hollow apology, that’s all it was. All you’d ever received. Maybe once, you had believed those words, tasted them on his tongue, when you’d rush in after with a feral kiss. Could feel it in the sheets, quick to forgive every rugged apology. But after the first four times, it began to ring empty. You weren’t even sure why Johnny still said it anymore.

It certainly wasn’t to make himself feel better, he was incapable of feeling guilty of anything he did. Johnny could be so hard to understand at points.

You wished the man you’d met back in that bar all those months ago truly existed. The charming and charismatic guy who had pulled a chair out for you, offered to buy you a drink. Flashed you that tender smile, as he shared his sob story about being a poor farmer boy whose mother had been murdered. About having to support his family, often finding the bar to be the one place he could wind down. How he hadn’t recalled seeing a pretty thing like you ever in his life.

Johnny had been so kind those first few hours, managing to convince you to come home with him. He wasn’t quite aware of just who he was messing with however. It took about six minutes before you’d pulled a gun out on him and shot him in his arm. You could still see the scar now.

Johnny thought he could pull a fast one on you, had pulled out a knife and talked about carving your bones out of your pretty little flesh. That was his mistake, so caught up in talk, in the soft seduction of it all.

To his surprise though, you had come back, apologizing for the gunshot wound. Which then turned into the tidal wave that grew as your relationship. Johnny didn’t do labels, no, and you were lucky that you had even been allowed to come back. You knew you weren’t his lover or anything. Just thinking the word felt weird. It was more or less about ownership.

Even if he did love you, it was in his own fucked up way, and he’d never see you as an equal. He’d made that pretty evident. Though there was something there, something that made Johnny look at you differently than his other victims. Perhaps it was the only form of love he knew, maybe part of him wanted to feel bad for the things he did, even if he was incapable of doing so. Maybe Johnny wanted to care, but couldn’t figure out how.

Not that you were all that innocent either. Johnny wasn’t exactly your first rodeo of dealing with a guy like this. The cannibalistic thing was new for sure, but not the violence, and the yelling, and the inner destruction. Something about relationships like these got your heart jumping. You craved it.

Probably because there was an allure to having something so dark and evil, so sadistic, treat you special. Not that it made you feel special in a good way, but Johnny did treat you differently..

Johnny stood, tall and quiet for a moment, his hand dropping from your hair. His arms didn’t embrace you, as you pressed against him. He was like a statue, body warm, his chest not even moving. Part of you wondered if he was even breathing.

“You’re the one that keeps coming back,” Johnny replied quietly, shoving you away from him.

You half expected him to just lose it and pull out his knife. Twist it in your stomach and laugh about the whole ordeal. Staining your hands with red, as you try to push the blood back in. Kill you like he’d killed all the others. You weren’t sure why he didn’t try harder to kill you. No matter how intense the fighting got, Johnny always let you go.

“You’re the one that always lets me walk away.”

Johnny moved closer to you now, pinning you against the door. He had pulled out his knife in one swift motion, holding it under your chin. His eyes looked darker than usual, a snarl slipping from his lips. The movements are a reminder of just what he is.

“Exactly that, I let you walk away. You only still live cause I allow it. What the hell are you even doing here anyway? Thought I told you last time I didn’t want to see your fucking face again.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning into the knife a little, staring down at him through narrowed eyes.

“And I told you, you don’t make decisions for me Johnny. I’m not going to be controlled like one of your little victims.”

You both knew deep down it was practically impossible to keep apart. Even if you wanted to avoid Johnny, the man would hunt you down. Conveniently show up to a bar you lingered at or a store you were visiting. The worst reactions were the ones where you were with another man.

No matter how bad things got, you could never truly get away and neither could he. There was a sick twisted part deep down that both of you wanted this, craved it. Maybe even needed it.

Johnny presses the knife a little tighter against your neck, and you’re wondering why he hasn’t cut you yet. And for a moment you see a flash in his eyes, it’s faint, but it’s there. It’s that look that reminds you every time why you can never leave. As quickly as that sad look appears it’s gone, knife dropping, as he gives you a rough shove, moving you out of the doorway so he can open it.

Johnny doesn’t slam the door shut, his way of telling you to come in. You recover a little, barely even feeling how his arms had knocked into you, as you stumbled into the beaten down little building. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust in the darkness.

Like always, the smell is the first thing anyone notices. You can’t help but scrunch your nose up a little, wanting to cough and choke. It lingers in the back of your throat, stinging in your eyes. There’s several dirty dishes littering the counters and sink, the beer cans on the ground, his table filled with god only knows what, and his couch looked well worn, like someone had been laying down in it most of the day.

Still though, it’s more a discomfort thing than something that puts you on edge. You don’t wander around like a scared dog, judgment lingering in your eyes.

Johnny casually kicks his way through a few of the cans, swinging his fridge open. The inside of the fridge matches the room fairly well, a few flies buzzing around inside, as he reaches his hand in and grabs a can.

The environment is nothing new to you, and you slowly close the door, fully stepping inside. Johnny barely acknowledges your presence at first, throwing himself on the couch, and cracking his drink open. There’s no thought in his eyes, as he sits there, almost as if he’s alone, looking a million miles away.

Not uncommon for the dark haired man. The number of times Johnny’d just sit there, as if he was waiting for something.

You frowned softly, sitting on the couch. You knew if your voice had even an ounce of sympathy it’d be enough to set the man off. Johnny didn’t want to be coddled. He “didn’t need your goddamn sympathy,” you recalled him saying, after he had spent one night bleakly talking about how he had gained his face scar.

Johnny had been drunk, he usually was when he talked about stuff like that, and there was always a coldness to his voice. So casual as he spoke. Perhaps because this was his day to day life.

“Why?” Johnny finally said, his voice unreadable.

You stare for a minute, confused, as he remains staring ahead of you. At first you’re not even sure he’s talking about you, until he does turn. Johnny’s dark eyes are studying you, as if you’re the fucked up one here.

“Why?” you repeat, as if saying his question will make it make more sense.

There’s a hundred things he could be talking about and you wonder if it’s in reference to Nancy, his life, your life, or just a question he doesn’t understand.

Johnny rolled his eyes, throwing the still pretty full can across the room. It hit the wall with a low thud, the amber liquid splattering all over the floor. Like your confusion was so unreasonable. His voice is low, now snarling.

“Why do you keep coming back?”

The man is on you in a matter of seconds, his hands firmly placed on your shoulders, squeezing, as he pushes you back into the couch. Johnny’s towering on top of you, and he’s looking down at you like there’s something he’s missed. Some part of you he hasn’t observed, that’ll magically make it all make sense to him.

Johnny was usually good at reading people, understanding what made them tick, what to do to see that fear in their eyes. He never saw that with you though. It drove him crazy how you were just as unpredictable as he was. Johnny couldn’t make you scared like the others. “I could so easily kill you…” he continued, voice going quieter, while his hands moved from your shoulders to your neck. “Could just squeeze… apply the right pressure until your face goes blue.”

Johnny’s hands wrap around you, tightening their grip, but despite the aggression there’s an almost carefulness in how he handles you. A desperation, as he squeezes, just enough to cause pain. His eyes are piercing your own, almost looking, begging for a certain reaction, while you remain limp beneath him.

Johnny groans, pressing you deeper into the couch, as his eyes narrow.

“And you don’t even bat a fucking eye.”

While looking up at him, the determination in his face, the roughness in his grasp, it’s easy to see a monster. To think about what he’s capable of, the dangerous person he is. You can’t see that in Johnny though. His hands around your neck, his eyes hiding layers and years of pain, while he rests on top of you. All you can see is a broken man. The way he squeezed your neck, careful enough to not kill, told you he wasn’t all monster. There was something gentle in Johnny. Well, in his sense of the word.

You know better than to try and fix him, not that he’d even want it. Not that you’d ever be able to. Instead you reached out, tenderly caressing the scars on his arm. As if your fingers could mend all the broken cracks within him.

And he breaks… he softens his grip, shaking his head and flipping you on your stomach. Johnny’s hands aggressively grab your own, holding them behind your back, his voice quiet, as he whispers in your ear. His breath is hot and makes your whole world seem to freeze while he speaks.

This was how he handled things when they got too intimate… too personal.

“Is this what you came here for?”

His voice sends chills down your spine, as you hear the soft clink of his belt. It didn’t matter what your intentions were, this was how things always ended up. And you hated how much of a rush it gave you. Your whole body quivering, as you felt the leather tighten around your wrists.

Johnny’s heavy, his hands tracing along the curves of your body, voice still right on your ear, as he lets out a dark chuckle.

“That why you keep coming back? You can’t live without the feel of my hands pulling and grabbing at your body. Can’t get enough of the way my teeth dig into your flesh, while I claim every inch of you. Make you feel every inch of me.”

Johnny loved stroking his ego, but mostly he loved when you did it for him. The way your body was flush beneath his, as you nodded slowly, face still buried into the couch cushions.

You couldn’t even focus on his words anymore, too wrapped up in the anticipation of him. How your skin already craved his touch, while he squeezed at your hips, pulling them back. His mouth had moved off your ear, biting roughly down the side of your neck.

“Not so mouthy now are ya?” Johnny growled against your skin, hands slipping underneath your shirt. “That’s okay… I know how to make you talk.”

His hands are uncomfortably hot, rough, and calloused, as he plays with your body. Squeezing your hips firmly, moving along your sides. He reaches your chest, thumb brushing along your nipples. Johnny knows all your sensitive spots, which parts hurt the most, as he explores you. Mapping out your body with his hands.

Those same hands he’d used to kill people. There was a precise way in how he explored your body, knowing which ways to take you off guard.

You let out a low moan, sensitive to his touch. Johnny’s hands are hungry, body heavy, as he presses on top of you, continuing to move his mouth aggressively along your neck. It’s evident he cares little about not hurting you, biting harsh enough to pierce the skin. The spot feels a little wet and it’s hard to tell where or how much blood is on your neck due to the wetness of his lips.

Johnny’s warm tongue pokes out, caressing the flesh and cooling your new wound. His mouth is hot and a cloud of ecstasy is choking your brain. You can’t think straight, only whining slightly from the sensation. The noise seems to please the man, as he lets out a dark chuckle, hands moving to the front of your own pants.

“Almost got a word out of you…”

And this… this is why you can’t ever go away. Why you could never wish to be with anyone else. One fuck with Johnny, and he’d shown you things that no normal man… no normal person ever would. No sane person would be excited by it. Would be driven to the edge of this madness, pulling apart at the seams in a darker kind of pleasure. And if enjoying it meant you were just as fucked up then so be it.

You could feel your own arousal pooling hot in your stomach, between your legs, heat spanning all throughout your flesh. Johnny’s shack being cramped with no ventilation didn’t help either. You could feel sweat already starting to form along your forehead and back. His bite made you moan tiredly, hands pulling on your restraints a little.

It was impossible to sit still with the way he nipped and tugged at your body. Johnny didn’t have a gentle bone in his body. No warning before anything he did.

Maybe that was why sex with him was euphoric, different from the way anyone had ever treated you. It wasn’t just the degrading… the roughness, it was something darker. Something that turned your stomach in the sweetest of ways. Something he’d already told you. The thrill of putting your life in his hands, knowing he could kill you anytime if he wished. Of not knowing how he was going to end this.

Johnny’s grip is harsh, pulling your pants down with little to no care, fingers brushing between the fabric and your skin. A tight squeeze that sends chills throughout your body. His voice is little more than quiet excited breaths.

The man’s mouth moved off the small wound he’d made in your neck, trailing down your spine. The bites were still harsh, though you didn’t think he drew blood. Johnny was so unpredictable, you could never tell what he was thinking. What his intentions were. You could only close your eyes, quivering and getting lost in the sensation. His hands continued to hold your hips, rough and no doubt forming bruises.

There’s a familiarity in his touch. In the way his hot breath slides down your back, covering it in saliva. Every low grunt he makes sends your skin crawling. Bumps form along your forearms, the back of your neck, down your spine. Any and everywhere you had felt Johny before tingling in anticipation.

Killing and fucking were an art to Johnny. A practice he believed needed time dedicated to it. Time to do things right. Not in the romantic sense. He wasn’t trying to make you comfortable. There was no checking in. It wasn’t about appreciating the act itself. It was about the thrill, the build up and anticipation of it all. The stalking before the blade bites into his victim’s skin.

Johnny let out another rough snarl, teeth sinking into your lower hip. They’re sharp, rough, puncturing the skin once more, as you let out another low whine. Your body reacts before you can, quivering and trying to pull away.

“Quit fuckin’ squirmin'’,” Johnny snaps, pushing your head down into the cushions once more.

It’s softer than Johnny, and truth be told probably smelled a little nicer. Though that wasn’t entirely a big achievement. You tried to remain still, as his lips continued to suck on the sore patch of skin. You can’t see, but there’s a dark and sinister grin as he pulls away.

Your blood is running along his bottom lip, dark against his pale skin. The indentation of his teeth against your flesh, still warm, lingers like a ghost. It’s a faint buzz that makes you feel euphoric and it’s hot and cold all at once. Mind melted, twisted, as you heard the sound of his own belt being undone. Your stomach tightens in excitement, turning in the cushions to glance behind you.

Johnny isn’t focused on looking at you, there’s no care, as he eagerly fiddles with his jeans. He's careless even with himself. The man’s dark hair is a mess, falling loosely over his eyes. When you can’t see them, he has the face of an angel.

Soft cheekbones, pale and perfectly sculpted, a stark contrast to his sharp jawline. Johnny is beautiful. There’s no denying that. Like a snake. Scales slick, patterns captivating to the eye. You can’t help but want to reach out, touch it. One tender caress. Fingers slipping along his scales gently, tracing along the patterns as if you can understand just what they mean.

That’s all it takes, before the snake hisses, lunging forward. Teeth sink into your neck once more, pressing that venom into your skin. You can’t help but whine, feeling his hands pull on your hips.

It’s painful at first, like something’s tearing through you, hands quivering in your restraints. Not that he cared. Johnny continued to fuck into you aggressively, hips rolling into your backside. His breath lingers on your neck like a bad scent, and you can feel the smile in his teeth imprints.

“Quit being such a little bitch.”

His hands are so tightly on your hips, you’re certain it’ll leave a bruise. You don’t care though. All you can focus on is how that pain rips into pleasure. How Johnny feels making you take every inch of him. His animalistic grunts, while he throbs against you. There’s such a force in his movements that results in your whole body lurching forward.

Johnny’s noises are low, like he’s trying to keep himself quiet, as he moans to himself. Like he can’t contain the pleasure, as he needily bucks into you. Your hips match his every movement, his hands guiding them to do as he pleases.

You know you’re in his control, and you want to hate it. His touch should feel dirty, his teeth rotten, but you can’t. You don’t.

You can’t hate the hot white pleasure that’s coursing through your brains. How every little grunt rushes blood between your legs. How when Johnny fucks you it makes you whimper like a bitch tied up in the hot sun. There’s no doubt he knows what he’s doing, how to please you.

“All that talk from before… talkin’ bout I don’t control you, you’re not one of my victims. Bullshit. You just roll over and take it while lying down. You like that though, don’tcha? You like that I own you?”

Johnny was doing things to you that made your mind fuzzy. You nodded softly at his statement. He could read you like a book. His fingers knowing all the right pages to bend. Spine worn out from the many times he'd opened you up. Devoured you whole, learning every letter of every word that was etched across her skin.

The man could crack your bones, tear your ribcage open, and feast on your organs and you’d still fade from life proclaiming you died at home. That you’d felt warmth in his touch, as his fingers clawed away at you. That his tongue only licked with the intent of bringing you pleasure. His teeth tore at your flesh, consuming you, because he wanted all of you. Johnny wanted to gorge on the darkest parts you locked away in the confinements of your mind.

Your body is quivering, squishing, beneath his much bigger weight. Johnny’s chest, hot against your back, as his hands glide up along your hips. They expand, fingers curving around your torso, as he pulls your body up.

Johnny’s large hands trace along the shape of your jaw, before grabbing it roughly, breath burning on the shell of your ear. The hand that isn’t grabbing your face is squeezing your waist, and Johnny’s ramming into you, deep and quick, as if it’s all that’s keeping him alive. His teeth clamp around your ear, another low growl slipping past his lips.

Then Johnny pulls his head away. There’s a lot on your face and you can’t tell if he’s become bored or impatient. The man turns you, until you’re facing him., a dark look in his eyes.

You can see a reflection of your own face, cheeks warm with arousal, eyes watering from tears pricking your eyes, and mouth slightly open to let out another low whine. Johnny hits that particularly sensitive spot in you, knowing just how hard to go.

Your body quivers all over in response, and you go lightheaded for a moment. His erratic movements, the way his hands moved along your body, and his teeth still marking your flesh. It’s all enough to make you feel like you’re about to pop like a cork bottle.

His thumb brushes along your bottom lip, prying your mouth open, as he groans. Johnny’s brows furrow a little, focusing, as he thrusts. His eyes close, and for a moment he almost looks pained. You can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. What memory he’s distracting himself from now by burying his cock deep within the confines of you.

As quickly as it starts however, it’s gone, and Johnny’s face returns to that hard look, eyeing you down. Looking into his face while he fucked you was something that he’d rarely give you the pleasure.

You study him, as if you can read what’s going on in his mind. Like you can make sense of Johnny’s actions. He’s a lot more open tonight than most, and for a moment you can even see a glimpse of pleasure in his own eyes. Cheeks flushing a little, before Johnny exhales quietly.

“Quit fuckin’ lookin’ at me like that or I’m gonna turn ya back over,” Johnny snarls.

Your expression quickly drops, while he fucks the concern off your face. It’s all you can focus on, as he pumps into you. You glare at him once more, body squirming, as you try to speak around the pleasure.

“Like what? I was just thinking about how good you’d look with a bullet in the back of your head.”

Johnny aggressively juts his hips into you, fingers curling around your jaw, as he grabs it, forcing you to be eye level with him. You’re worried for a moment you’ve gone too far, but there’s a gleam in his eyes. He lets out one of those low chuckles, before kissing you.

His tongue worms into your mouth, teeth grazing your bottom lip, as he swallows every noise escaping your mouth. The taste of Johnny should make your skin crawl. His breath was awful, tainted with alcohol, blood, and whatever else he’d probably put in his mouth throughout the day. You can’t bring yourself to feel discomfort though. It’s like you’re seeing stars, his movements sending your body upwards, fingers curling tightly around the confines of your belt.

You want so desperately to drag your claws down his back. To mark Johnny the same way that he marked you. You whined a little at the thought, wiggling in your restraints. It’s all too much, and you feel so close. Your thighs quiver a little, unsure how much longer you can hold on.

Johnny smiles once again, pulling away. He can read your body, while his chest presses against you. Johnny’s movements slow, a dark smirk on his face.

You can never understand how he has such good control. How he doesn’t burst, no matter how intensely the sessions get. Johnny seems so pleased with himself, pulling all the way out, and gently teasing you. Dangling that sweet release ever so close.

“I’m not so sure if I want to finish you now…”

“I’ll finish myself,” you snarl back, half tempted to reach down and push him in you yourself.

Damn restraints.

Johnny’s eyes narrow in response, rolling his eyes. His body continues to tower over you, but he’s smiling. Grinning. Like he knows something you don’t. Johnny’s hand moves from your jaw to your neck, running his thumb along a scar there and smiling at the memory.

“I’d like to see you try,” Johnny chuckled darkly.

Then as if to further prove his point, Johnny removes his hands completely off his body, sitting back. He leans against the arm of the couch, his body sprawled out. You study him, watching as Johnny brings his hand to his cock, gently massaging it. His fingers slip along the underside of it, touching it with a sense of familiarity.

“Me though… I can finish myself just fine.”

His words on taunting, while he continues to squeeze, his large hands easily wrapping around his length. Johnny fucks into his fist like he’s done a million times before, leaning his head back and groaning softly.

“Johnny!”

You can’t hide the desperation in your voice. The frustration as your own body now remains untouched. There’s a fire coursing through your body, as you squirm once again on the couch. It didn’t help that watching the man play with himself made your insides tingle. There was something so hot… so tempting… in watching how he twitched in his hand. How Johnny’s cock responded to every little touch he did.

The man wasn’t sensitive by any means, but if you knew the right buttons to push. Johnny let out another low moan, still not paying you any mind.

“I’m almost there sweetheart.”

You chewed your bottom lip, frowning a little, as a low whimper escaped your lips once again.

“Please…”

Johnny smirks a little, his grip around himself loosening, as he opens one eye. Like he’d just won some sort of game. Then he lets go of himself, creeping back towards you.

“Please what?” Johnny asks softly, his voice low, as his hand moves down, fingers gently toying with you.

Part of you wants to laugh. Your comment about shooting him actually had gotten under his skin. Upset him. You knew Johnny well enough to know the thought of not needing him to get off pissed him off more than anything. He was desperate for that confirmation. It would’ve been cute, had Johnny not been a narcissistic cannibal.

“Please… I wanna cum,” you finally caved, staring up at him. “Need you to make me cum.”

Johnny doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even give a satisfactory smile, before slipping back into you. He’s quick, movements needy and desperate, while he grinds against your backside. The way his body responds, how quickly and deeply he’s moving into you tells you he wasn’t kidding.

Johnny had really worked himself up while fucking his hand.

Not that it mattered though, you were close to, feeling your stomach tighten into hot coils, while a rush of heat slipped through your body. It all felt better the second time, already used to his size. Your body was his for sculpting, as you moaned once more, closing your eyes.

“Ngh… Johnny… Fuck Johnny I-!” you’re cut off from your own pleasure, as your orgasm tears through your body.

It’s practically impossible to sit still, quivering beneath his body. Johnny’s free hand clamps over your mouth, as if he can prevent your release, while bucking into you with a desperate thrust. His own eyes close, voice turning into a series of low grunts.

“Ahhh…” Johnny whispers quietly, feeling your release slip out, coating his stomach.

That alone seems to be enough to send him over the edge. Johnny stays buried, as his cock twitches within you. Ropes of sticky white cum shoot out, flooding your senses. That doesn’t stop him from sloppily thrusting into you though, moaning softly, while his hand still covers your own mouth.

There’s something animalistic in his release, holding himself in you for a little longer, until he’s no longer twitching. Then Johnny pulls out, cum spilling on the already stained couch.

His grip loosens, hand falling off your mouth, as he catches his breath. You come down from the high yourself, gasping, as you study him. Johnny’s eyes are blank, as he slides off the couch, retrieving his pants. You half expect him to dismiss you, tell you to go home.

Instead however, he undoes the belt on your wrists, saying nothing. Johnny slips his shirt off, making his way to the back of the shack, where his bed remained.

You sat there for a moment in your post orgasmic haze, picking up his shirt that he had thrown carelessly on the ground. You can’t help but sniff it softly, smiling, as you pull it over your head. Then you follow Johnny, watching as he’s laid, stomach first in bed.

You wonder if he’s asleep for a moment, but he seems to sense your presence, shifting in his bed. Johnny doesn’t turn his head to look at you though.

“The fuck you lookin’ at?”

You never expected tenderness or praise after your activities. Hell, even the silence wasn’t anything new. It was not being immediately kicked out after that had your head turning. You stepped forward cautiously, crawling into the bed. Testing the waters.

Johnny doesn’t speak again.

You settle beneath the covers, wishing so desperately you could read his mind. Could hear what he was thinking. You’re surprised when he stretches his left hand out a little, turning it over to reveal his palm. You study it, expecting a knife to grow out of it. Or for Johnny to use the moment where you’re caught off guard to pull a knife out.

You hesitantly reach out, pressing one finger lightly into it at first, before flattening your whole hand. You’re surprised when his fingers curl around your hand, and not in a way where the grip is overbearing. You study him, not wanting to ruin the moment, as you settle in the sheets.

As quickly as you hold his hand, Johnny seems to drift off, his snores light and quiet. He looks peaceful in his sleep, and it’s hard to imagine this man as a cold and calculated killer.

#johnny sawyer #johnny sawyer x reader #johnny slaughter x reader #johnny slaughter #texas chainsaw massacre game #johnny sawyer x you #johnny slaughter x you #tcm #tcm game #texas chainsaw game

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cemetery-sunset · 8 months ago

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Master Of All My Lists

🧛🏻‍♂️TWILIGHT

🦌RED DEAD REDEMPTION 2

🍖TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE

🤡THE FIREFLY TRILOGY (coming soon)

⏳UNTIL DAWN (coming soon)

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urlocalnonbinarybastardwrites · 12 days ago

Text

TCM community, what Slaughter Family Hcs Should I make?

(For members like Drayton and Nancy, I will make it platonic)

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adaptacy · 1 year ago

Note

How would Johnny react? If his s/o proposed ?

oooo okay.... ever since i wrote my pregnancy h/c for him domestic reformed!johnny has been on my mind and this sorta feeds into that hehe this'll still be like normal cannibal johnny and everything but you get it

Johnny Slaughter x Gn!Reader

also check out this new divider i stitched together for him!

The two of you had been together for a while, and although you knew everything that was going on with him, he just would not let you meet his family. Just told you they weren't very sociable, and you've given up asking after ~3 months of constantly begging.

Truth was, Nancy would hate you- hate the fact that he had a partner, and he didn't want to crush you like that. He knew it would hurt you, even if it wasn't anything personal on your part and was purely Nancy being overprotective.

Because of that, he never took the relationship and further than nice dates, staying at your house for 3-4 days at a time, etc. But you were tired of just dating, and you really loved him, and knew he loved you too. So if he wasn't going to propose, you were going to.

You didn't get any special super fancy ring; chances were he wasn't going to wear it anyways if he didn't want his family knowing about you. And you didn't take him to a super fancy restaurant or anything incredibly special because you knew he'd immediately be suspicious. You just did it one day when he was staying over. He was in the kitchen, making lunch for the two of you, and you tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around, and you showed him the box.

"What, darlin'?" He'd ask, not quite understanding. And then you opened the box, and he'd spend a good two minutes in silence, just staring.

"Babe, the omelets are burning," you'd hum, and he'd turn off the stove, though the lunch was already probably messed up. He put all of his attention to you, turning and just waiting. For an explanation, or something, but all you said was "Will you marry me?"

"Sweetpea..." he'd murmur, reaching up and closing the box. "You ain't gotta get me a ring." And you'd frown at him, knowing what this meant. He wasn't rejecting you, but he wasn't accepting it either. He told you that things were still rough at home with his family, and that he couldn't give you the time you deserved if the two of you were engaged.

And he'd return to making lunch. But you'd sneak underneath his arm and stand in front of him, forcing him away from the stove. You'd trail your fingers over his arm and talk about how you wanted to live with him- full-time, not this on-and-off shit. And he'd sigh, and then you'd tell him that you wanted a life with him, a family... Maybe a dog, some livestock...

He'd sigh at the fantasies you were putting into his head, and he'd cradle your face, narrowing his eyes at you as if he didn't understand what you were asking. It was clear, and you knew he was just being dodgy. So you'd tell him to run away.

"You know I can't do that," he'd chuckle. "Why not?" "I got responsibilities here." "Why can't I be your responsibility? You can't live with them forever."

But that's what he was used to- staying with them. And he knew he couldn't marry you and be part of the Sawyers. Nancy would have his head on a stick. He'd been slowly warming her up to the idea of a partner, but this was an entirely different level.

So you sighed and stuck the ring box into a drawer, leaving it for a rainy day. You assumed that it was going to be like this forever; just dating, hardly ever seeing him, him constantly being busy, and you'd never be able to have a real life with him. Because he was stubborn.

But Johnny could not get the idea of a family with you out of his mind. He'd always wanted a dog. Had one as a kid, but it ran off. Owning some sort of ranch with you sounded like heaven, but... Surely he couldn't. It must've been a pipe dream...

. . . .

Two months later, he took you out to a sunflower field and proposed with the same ring you'd put away. And he promised he'd run away with you. Go up north, or west, or east, or south- he didn't care. He knew he loved you and you were right, he couldn't stay with his family forever. You accepted, of course, and he told you to wear the engagement ring until the two of you could get away. To keep it warm for him.

And when you did eventually make it out of Texas, or at least out of Newt, you never once saw him without it. He put the ring on a thin wire and strung it around his neck, wearing it as a necklace because he didn't want to risk breaking it with all of the physical activity he did.

Plus, it looked really nice hanging from his chest when he was on top of you.

#tcm #johnny slaughter #adapting to johnny slaughter #johnny slaughter tcm #johnny slaughter x reader #johnny slaughter fluff #johnny slaughter headcanons #johnny tcm

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bunniekittiee · 1 year ago

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johnny slaughter x fem. reader

Small angsty piece. I’m so sorry I stopped writing for him as much, but I am working on it. Johnny may be a little ooc but ykw it’s all good. Also this is pretty rushed and short so I apologize for that.

The strong smell of cigarettes and cologne clung to Johnny’s body as she inhaled his scent. It was comforting yet it triggered her fight-or-flight. He was a dangerous man, but here she was, cuddled up with him in his home. It was like a rabbit stuck between the jowls of a starving wolf.

His mother did not take a liking to her. She thought of Johnny’s ‘girlfriend’ as a distraction, something that would only lead to his own demise. If he had the heart to keep a play toy, who’s to think he wouldn’t invite a love child into this world? Nancy made her dislike very clear and obvious, always telling Johnny to get rid of her or even talk about her to her face. She was not afraid of any consequence. Sometimes Johnny stepped in, sometimes he didn’t. His mother still had a hold on him. He was forever a mama’s boy.

Johnny’s rabbit wished he would defend her. Yet he hardly made his efforts. He could not step up to his mother. She provided him a home and she was right, a play thing was susceptible to be a distraction. But like a boy keeping a pet, Johnny made sure to take care of her. He fed her, sometimes bathed her, sometimes cleaned her up, and every once in a while he let her get some air, but she was trapped in her cage.

He was a bad owner. Poor maintenance and care.

Johnny was never good at keeping his pets.

Wishing for death was not enough, she practically craved it. Every inch of her body yearned for its end as he defiled her soul. A bad man who made bad decisions. Yet his mother continued to exploit his illness. She often wondered if had Nancy raised Johnny differently if he would have the same issues as he did now.

It was clear Johnny had his own personal problems that fueled his blood thirst. It was the matter of getting ahold of these problems and probing through them. But Johnny was not one for talking about his feelings, especially to a victim he kept for his own pleasure.

But part of him held these feelings for her. Weird feelings. He wouldn’t call it love, it was something else. He did care for her somewhat, he didn’t want to see any harm come to her unless it was from his hands. Maybe he had taken a liking to her. Maybe he had a bit of a soft spot for her.

His breathing was quiet and even, his scarred face in a restful state as she studied him. Eventually, an eye cracked open. He was very intuitive of his environment.

“What’s got ya’ up sweet pea?” He asked, his Southern drawl much more intoxicating in his sleepy voice.

“Nothing. Just can’t sleep.” She replied quietly as he started to close his eyes again.

“Just try a little harder baby. I promise ya’ it will come to ya’.” He said as he pulled her closer to him. “I’ll be with ya’.”

That was about the sweetest thing he had told her since keeping her against her will, and it warmed her heart.

Sleepy Johnny was the best Johnny. It seemed he was much more vulnerable in these moments.

She followed his advice and pressed her ear against his chest, listening to the slowing of his heart beat and his quiet breaths. It was comforting. It was home to her, as she had to make her home here.

Her dreams were haunted of nightmares. Usually she dreamt of her friends dying as they did on the Sawyer property, their bodies cut up and mangled within one another. Their faces were unforgettable.

But tonight was different. It was about Johnny. She dreamt of a bad night, a night where Johnny got caught by police in the middle of his act. He was tackled to the ground, pummeled by the fists of the officer as he tried to fight back. She screamed, screamed for them to get off of him and even tried to help, but she was pulled back by the officer’s partner who threw her to the ground as well. He held her there as she could only watch as Johnny struggled.

The officer pulled Johnny up who stumbled across the dirt ground. He threw the Slaughter boy against the cop car and roughly put the handcuffs on his wrists.

“Fuckin’ sicko. Ya’ like keepin’ girls and murderin’ them?” The officer asked as he grabbed Johnny by his hair.

“Fuck you.” Johnny replied, blood smeared across his face and his nose broken. One eye began to bruise purple, red, and black from the damage.

“Someone’s got a smart mouth.” The man said with a sinister smile.

“Target practice.” said the one who held his prey down. “Let his bitch watch too.”

Johnny was thrown to his knees, and although he tried to get up after being knocked down, he was suddenly stopped by the gun shot wound that pierced his gut. He groaned in pain as she panicked. Her sobs and cries were ignored by both officers.

Johnny took a few more rounds, his mouth dripping blood and his eyes beginning to glaze over as he fell over onto his side. He stared at his ‘lover’, his eyes beginning to close by the minute.

“I love you.” He choked out before he was swiftly kicked in the face.

Thrashing around, she was shaken awake harshly by none other than Johnny. Nancy stood on the doorway with a look of dismay and annoyance.

“What’s got into ya’?” Johnny said as he stared down at her. “Woke up the whole house with yer’ screamin’.”

“For the Lord’s sake, Johnny, if your play toy is going to be loud, take it outside. Don’t need that in our house.” She spat as she walked off, leaving Johnny a little annoyed as he studied his rabbit who stared at him with wide eyes.

“What happened?” He asked.

She explained to him her dream, her eyes watering as a few tears escaped. Johnny frowned, but then he smiled.

“Awwe, doll face, nothin’ will happen to me. I promise ya’.” He said as he gently wiped her tears away. “I don’t go down without a fight. And we ain’t gonna’ get caught.”

“It scared me. I don’t want to lose you, Johnny.” She croaked.

Johnny was a little taken aback as he did not expect that from her. He treated her like shit a lot of the time, and he knew that. He knew what he was doing. Yet despite all of that, she still didn’t want to lose him.

She could not bear to lose him.

Hearing that another person cared for him despite the treatment they got from him surprised him. Sure, his mother cared for him and maybe Chop Top and Bubba, but they were family.

She wasn’t exactly family. She was an outsider. Yet she held love for the Slaughter boy. She cared for his well-being and his life.

“Ya’ won’t lose me.” He said quietly as he held her face. “I promise ya’.”

That day, his mind was occupied with the thoughts of her and her dream. Her reaction, and how she was so terrified when she woke up.

She could not handle the loss of Johnny despite all he had done.

“Sweet thang.” He whispered to himself while busy with a chore. “What a sweet thang.”

#texas chainsaw massacre #texas chainsaw game #tcm johnny #johnny tcm #johnny slaughter #johnny sawyer #johnny slaughter x reader #johnny sawyer x reader #tcm game

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melodrama-ticcc · 1 year ago

Note

Hey it’s the “who are you comfortable writing for tcsm” anon (if it’s easier call me -🌺) and I’ll start with a Sissy x Fem!Reader oneshot idea.

In game one of sissy’s voice lines goes something like “there’s no hiding from reality sunshine you gotta face it” and it got me thinking. What if she witnessed the reader accidentally killing another victim and takes this as an opportunity to manipulate them into joining the family. It has been really hard being the only girl in the family so it’d be nice to have some company. But Sissy decides to be a little selfish and keep the reader to herself for a little while. Just until she’s ready for the family.

.: 𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐇𝐄’𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘 :.

hello again anon! thank you for the request <3 sorry for the wait, i hope it lives up to expectations! i love the idea of utilizing in game voice lines to inspire fics or dialogue for fics, it’s so clever. so i was definitely excited to use that to my advantage in the premise of this one. also i love sissy so much, she’s my main when playing family.

abstract: after watching you accidentally kill your dear friend ana, sissy takes advantage of your deteriorating mental state and invites you to join the family.

warnings: death, murder, gore & mentions of blood, manipulation, religion, religious themes and religious trauma, cults and cultism, mentions of suicide and self harm, stockholm syndrome, sexually suggestive, mentions of sex, homophobia on account of religious themes

—

sissy enjoys the act of spreading the lord’s word, those whom she can convert will be forgiven and saved from this forsaken land. she revels in the satisfaction of freeing another one’s soul, her only purpose in this life. she was a modern day prophet, spreading the lord’s word and enacting only what he had told her to. she’d save them all, they’d see the light.

and yet, she selfishly craves the way the blood paints her limbs when she tears into someone, the way it curdles in the creases of her skin, or the way it coagulates when it becomes too thick. but perhaps the most beautiful image is watching their tainted souls vacate their sinful bodies. she swears she can see the life leave their eyes, watch as they are freed. it’s then that she knows she’s done her job. for, when they cannot be helped, it is sissy’s duty to release them of their misery and send them to the great beyond. that way they may cease their lives of sin and find solace in the forgiveness of the lord above.

unlike the rest of her family she does not kill out of fear or hate or malice, nor does she kill for fun. she kills because it is what the lord has asked of her, and the lord’s word is her compass.

then, why could she not deny the pleasure she felt when others experience pain. call it sick, twisted, sadistic, she felt the all-too-familiar floaty feeling of butterflies in the pit of her stomach each time the scalpel made contact with her victim’s skin. even now, as she rips through the clothing and flesh of that red headed girl. her screams are loud, blood thick. it paints the front of sissy’s floral dress scarlet, her fair skin, her blonde hair, her fingertips. all coated in such a lovely coat of crimson. it’d make such a pretty lipstick, she thinks.

she cannot help but laugh. a giddy euphoria that echoes in the ears of many. including the young woman who watches from what she believes to be a safe distance. it is two separate worlds. two sides of the same coin. on one pleasure, the other horror.

the girl, you, cannot fathom the atrocities this family has enacted, nor the countless innocents that have fallen victim to their inhumane practices. (your name) watches, not because she wants to, but because she cannot bring herself to look away. (eye color) eyes wide in terror, she is fixated on the macabre sight of carnage. her limbs tremble and shake in such a violent fashion, restless. there’s a deniable sense of grief in that moment, and she’s sure she must be dreaming. that something this horrible could never happen to a young woman like her, nor her friends. how’d she even end up here?

three days ago, (your name) had set out with some friends to look for ana’s elder sister. they were all certain maria flores was someplace near, but none of them had ever expected to end up here. connie was now dead, murdered by the pair of careful, feminine hands right in front of her. she had yet to see the others; not ana, not leland, nor julie or sonny. she’d wondered if they were dead too, and a part of her wondered if she’d meet the same fate.

“awe, i love a game of hide ‘n seek!”

a sweet southern drawl calls out from beyond, in search of the young woman she knew was hidden nearby. it would seem now her hiding place in the bushes was not nearly far enough from the scene to be considered safe. here, nowhere was safe. this in combination with her deteriorating condition would make for an early end. she is faint and wobbly on her feet, struggling to withstand the shakes and thrashing her body succumbs itself to, and it’s then she hears the woman call out.

“oh! there you are sug’!”

be it adrenaline, a will to survive, or anything to keep that woman from garnering any further satisfaction in this demented game of her’s, (your name) found it in herself to run. her legs move fast, much faster than the woman that chases her. for a moment she believes she can get away, at least long enough to formulate some sort of escape plan. there’s a well up ahead, and it’s then she decides to throw caution to the wind. it’s a foolish, desperate attempt at salvation, but she hurdles the edge of the stone well and throws herself down.

the fall is peaceful. a safe place. a break from the intensity of being hunted like a wild animal. that is, until she hits the cold, hard ground. her body collides into a pile of dirt, debri and bones. snap! crack! crush! it’s a horrid sound, and god does it hurt. the point of impact surges through her body, aching in the back of her head and lingering for some time. the bones beneath her dig into her back, impaling the skin and stinging at her wounds. it burns, her entire body, and a part of her wishes she’d just die right there.

it takes her some time, but (your name) is able to pull herself back up. only now, it punishes her to move. her left leg shattered in the fall, she is forced to use her right leg to counteract. now, wobbling with a slow limp. the pain is never-ending, and she can hardly think clearly. somewhere in the pile of debri she begins searching for something, anything useful for the current circumstances. be it a key, antiseptic, pain reliever, a knife, anything. the pain is unbearable, hot tears seething from her eyes as she muffles her own sobs between a pursed pout. the echoing sound of footsteps from down the tunnel alert her that her captor is near, though, and the panic sets in.

“shit, there has to be something i can use. anything!” she cries between pants of heavy breaths. her heart beating something fierce. it’s pounding against her chest, furious with anxiety and unrelenting paranoia. she feels she could faint, or have a heart attack — either seem a viable option as opposed to dying at the hands of them. as she sorts through miscellaneous rocks and assorted bones and teeth, she holds back the urge to vomit. warm acidity building in the back of her throat, it’s disgusting. sorting through the remains of god knows what, or who. “fuck!”

with quick footsteps growing closer, the anxiety is too much to bare. her hearts thrashes and speeds up, swelling with blood as her stress rises. it feels as though it could burst, her body struggling to find a stable balance. she knows she must wrap things up quickly, so she grabs what she can; a piece of sharp bone, and clutches it to her chest. fighting through the pain, she seals her lips to withhold her sobs of agony and despair. backing into the shadows she waits, crouched. she does her best to control her breathing, even shutting her eyes for a brief period. a deep breath in, a deep breath out. she recalls what sonny had told her before he left to seek out the others, back in the makeshift underground cell they had been tied up in. it’s the only inkling of comfort she’s able to grasp onto.

the source of the footsteps approaches, turning the corner of the tunnel that led to her. (your name) sees a figure of a woman, and she’s certain it’s that killer who’d been after her. the fight or flight kicks in, and the adrenaline once again does its job at keeping her alive.

“take this, you bastard!”

in an act of self defense, she stabs the woman five, ten, fifteen times. piercing screams cut through the night air and spews of red liquid spray every which way. only for her to continue stabbing; in the back, the shoulder, the chest, the stomach, anyplace she could make contact with. she wouldn’t stop, not until the makeshift shank snaps within the body of her victim. even then, she’s kicking and punching, crying with eyes pried shut. fighting tooth and nail for the basic human right to keep living. nails dig into flesh, tearing away at the skin to inflict any sort of pain she can. the only thing that draws her from her mental cognitions is the sound of another set of footsteps, this time much, much slower, softer. that, and the gentle, slow clapping that follows suit.

it causes her to stop, hands still holding up the body she so relentlessly attacked. her eyes flicker open, revealing a scene of misfortune and betrayal. she sees the blood first, dripping in thick layers down the walls of the tunnel, herself, the body. a pool of it on the floor, filling the air with the scent of iron and metal. then the body, it’s mutilated torso in chunks and pieces about the place. frightened, she screams and lets go, backing herself against the wall. a lifeless body lies on the pile of debris, still gushing blood like a water fountain. only it isn’t the woman who she’d intended to maim, no, its ana.

her entire being turns into a state of shock and denial, a shrill cry echoing down the long hallways of those underground tunnels. her hands come up to clasp her mouth and her eyes well with warm tears, streaming down her cheeks and dripping to the floor. in an instant, she collapses to her knees, shaking her head profoundly as she sobs something ugly.

“no no, no ana! i- i didn’t know- i swear, i thought it was her!” she’s choking on her words, that all too familiar feeling of hot acid building in the back of her throat. her breathing is caught in there too, like she’s choking on her own words. her hands come up to pull at her (hair color) locks, and she’s certain she’s losing her mind. “ana- ana, please, ana i’m so sorry-” she hiccups, holding back the vomit that pulls at her throat. “i can’t.” her sobs are loud, and she moves to hold her face in her hands. if she’d of only known it was ana and not that bitch.

“there’s no hidin’ from reality sunshine, you’ve gotta face it!” sissy has a content smile on her face, comforting, kind. she places a gentle hand against the girl’s back, offering some inkling of reassurance. it’s a simple act of benevolence, but still met with disgust and disdain. only, (your name) hasn’t any more energy to fight, no will to kick that horrid woman away like she’d wished to only moments ago. she was broken and desolate, haunted by the agony and anguish of her mistake. she can’t withstand it, her mind is simply obsolete.

sissy is a woman of god, and those whom she cannot save are gifted the mercy of meeting an early demise. but this one she knows, knows that there is good within her, she feels it. she sees it. saw it in the way she freed that friend of her’s so faultlessly. there is still hope for this one, and sissy takes the opportunity to guide her in the right direction. if she killed now, imagine the things she could do later. she would be an asset to this family.

“sugar, don’t cry, you set that gal’ free!” sissy giggles, her delicate hand rubbing the trembling back of the young woman before her. but (your name)‘s mind is elsewhere, trying to sort through the endless string of thoughts her brain thought up. what would the others say? she just can’t fathom the concept, her killing- no, murdering. a cold blooded killer. she had become the very thing she loathed. her body is unstable, nearly toppling over itself as she wails.

sissy’s bittersweet smile grows as she kneels beside the girl, lowering her voice to a softer tone. “hun, it was ‘bound to happen ‘eventually, she’s with god now.” despite her best efforts, it would seem the girl was still caught up in the heat of the moment, her emotions captivating her attention. yet, sissy would not give up. it was too much of a perfect storm, the key moment to manipulate, no, enlighten her poor soul. “darlin’, lookit me.” she snakes a finger beneath the girl’s chin, her touch light and airy, not like what one would imagine the grasp of an apathetic killer would feel like. it’s almost calming, reassuring. as she cautiously bring the girl’s face to look at her, she takes a moment to dab the wetness off her cheeks with a handkerchief pulled from her pocket.

the tenderness of her gaze is striking to look at, like staring into pools of calm water. it was relaxing, even got her to cease her cries for a moment. she was a pretty woman, if not for her homicidal tendencies.

“say, you’d make a fine woman in this here family we have, grandpa aughtta love you!” she smiles, brushing a flyaway hair out of (your name)’s face and back behind the ear. “ain’t nothin’ to cry ‘bout love, you did the right thing.” sissy’s voice is comforting, and in a moment of heightened emotions and inner turmoil like this one it was easy for (your name) to fall victim to her disguised words. she only nods, eyes wide and doe like as she stares at the pretty face of the woman before her.

“i-i killed her. i killed her cause i thought she was-” she stops herself, not before sissy is shushing her, with a finger pressed against her soft lips.

“shhhh, hey now, it’s alright. she needed savin’.” she smiles again, caressing (your name)’s cheek as she presses on about seeing the light and showing people the way. “you’s a smart girl, i can see it. let me show you. we can live a nice lil’ life on the farm, you’d be a part of the family. safe, peaceful. i promise. and well, it really has been tough bein’ the only girl ‘round here, it’d be nice, t’have some company like you.”

it is difficult not to trust her doting words. (your name) doesn’t know exactly what to think. but in lieu of such a heinous act she couldn’t even stand herself, and perhaps in some regard she needed saving. to repent, to beg forgiveness from ana, anything to free her of such a curse. she’d build herself a prison for the remainder of her days, suffering in the fortitude of her own head. she’d end up killing herself when it became too much, maybe only god could save her. but even then, murder was a sin. she was a sinful woman. a lifespan of mistakes flashes through her head, and scarily, she all most agrees with this sweet woman. she’s demented, fucked up, for she wouldn’t have caused such a terrible accident had it been otherwise.

“you’re considerin’ it, you’re already half way there sug’.” sissy encourages her, reading the thoughts through her empty gaze as if she were an open book. she’s eager, excited, nearly bouncing on her knees. she’s certain if she’s hooked the girl this easily, it wouldn’t take much to reel her in.

ana’s lifeless body is just a void carcass, an empty shell. that’s what all bodies had been, right? a vessel souls utilize to carry out the act of life. it was only temporary, like everything else had been. so, why did it really matter, if it had been something so easily confiscated.

“come on love, let me show you the light.”

perhaps her gentle affirmations became too much for her mind to handle, or, the fear of what would await her if she choose to disagree was too great. regardless the reason, something within her had snapped. broken clean in two. one moment she had been mourning the life of a friend and the next joining the very people who’d caused the entire ordeal. there were two parts of her mental state — one in which longed for the days before, where she lived without the knowledge there had been a terrorizing family of cannibalistic murderers in her texas backyard. but the other wished to escape the reality of what she had become roped into. live a life in which she could ignore the world and deaths of her friends, forget it all ever happened. she’d heard about situations like these, read about them in the morning paper or listened to them on the morning news broadcast. even watched them in television and film or read stories from books. the victim falls for the deceptive captor, ensnared in a trap that costs their freedom under the guise of a worry free life. but in times of emotional dread, a carefree life was an ideal promise to escape a nightmare like this.

(your name)‘s crying had ceased. salt-crusted streaks drying against the soft skin of her cheeks as she takes the hand of a deranged killer. sissy smiles, grasping the girl’s hand gently as they both rise. she’s aware of her worsening physical state, knowing well she’d be responsible for nursing her back to health. she also knew, the family would not be akin to a new comer like this. given johnny’s past, he had tried this on multiple occasions, and given the general disgrace of sissy amongst people like drayton and nancy, a newcomer of this kind would not be accepted so easily.

she would need to be careful. plan each move out in accordance to what the family would want. cater to them, in order to provide some sort of accommodation. this girl was beautiful, she could attest to that, and her good looks would help but only get her so far. she needed to prove herself. but that, that required months of work on sissy’s end. and so, she had decided, (your name) would be her own accomplice, until she saw fit.

pious maybe, but that never stopped sissy from being selfish. nor has it been able to mask her homosexual tendencies. what her leaders in the past had told her meant it was wrong, but it never stopped the way she had felt towards both men and women alike. and, sissy’s selfish side would shine through in their coming months together. in the way she used (your name) for her good looks and willingness to comply, the sex, the romantic nature of their relationship that would develop. all the while, showing her the way. even when sissy had been sure the family was ready to adopt (your name) into the family, she would continue to keep her a secret.

the last thing she’d want was to loose her to some womanizer like johnny, or have her charmed by the others in some way or form. the way sissy saw it, she made (your name), and by that logic, she belonged to her. so, she’d keep her for as long as she wanted, even if it meant keeping her a secret until death. it wasn’t that she wasn’t ready for the family but, rather, they weren’t ready for her. despite the selfishness that fueled the action, she’d continue to justify it in the eyes of the lord.

i helped show her the way, that grants me the eternal forgiveness keeping her to myself would require.

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