#Texas chainsaw massacre fic

[babiebom]

Accidental Prey(i)

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

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

Pairing: Johnny Slaughter/Sawyer x OC

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

Wc: 5.2k

Masterlist next

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where were you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"She's pregnant."

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

"Momma I-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She had never been good at keeping secrets.

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

"Momma?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That sounds good!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Sissy? Where in the hell did you-"

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

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

"Yeah…I guessed so."

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

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

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

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

[babiebomsmasterlist]

Accidental Prey Masterlist

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

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

Rating: mature (minors dni)

Pairing: Johnny Sawyer x OC

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

Wc: N/A

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[toxicanonymity]

The Spread

PAIR: Thomas Hewitt x f!Reader

WORD COUNT: 3.5k | SERIES | MAIN MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: You hide and don't get slaughtered. Tommy secretly keeps you. He's kinda sweet if you're good.

WARNINGS: I8+ Canon-typical violence (implied) & setting, captivity, dark caretaking, manhandling, sleeper hold, oral f receiving, noncon unsafe piv, finger gagging, dark fluff, tommy has a praise kink, stockholm syndrome vibes. NO human skin mask: leather partial mask shown in photo. He is feral and naive due to his family. No use of Y/N. Divider by gasolinerainbowpuddles.

SIZE KINK - Reader is much smaller than Leatherface, can be carried and maneuvered. He is 6’5”, thicc and STRONG.

You barely escaped the so-called law man, and your friends weren’t so lucky. They got chased right into the lair of a chainsaw-wielding giant.

“C’mon, Tommy,” the Sheriff encouraged the giant, “Just like the slaughterhouse.”

Heavy chains thrashed, and one of your friends groaned.

“Attaboy,” the Sheriff praised.

While they were distracted, you ducked into a nearby woodshed. You didn't dare go far – you had encountered too many hazards on the property to trust your footing, and couldn't risk calling attention. Instead, you sat there in the shed, paralyzed, listening to your friends get butchered. One by one, their squeals turned animalistic until a wet thwack or rev of a motor cut them off.

Finally, there were no more screams.

Huddled in a corner of the woodshed, you tried to keep your wits about you. The shed was about the size of a small dorm room. There were stacks of wood all around–some freshly cut, some rotted–and hay covered the floor.

You were in a tank top and Daisy dukes with cowboy boots that made you feel like an idiot. You had sap on your knees from crawling over the wood. Taking deep breaths did nothing but fill your nose with cedar - it was only a matter of time before you’d meet your fate. You picked splinters out of your hands as you replayed the chase in your mind. You began to feel sure “Tommy” had seen you run into the shed. If that was the case, you didn't know why he let you go. You could only guess he already had his hands full.

“Think we got’em all, son?” The Sheriff asked.

Tommy grunted.

“That’s my boy,” the Sheriff concluded.

-

Dusk was approaching. Not long after the Sheriff left, heavy footsteps crunched louder and louder toward the woodshed. Your heart pounded harder with each step. The rickety door busted open with a plume of dust. Tommy’s silhouette consumed almost all the daylight that remained.

The door frame would’ve been tall enough for most men, but Tommy had to duck on his way in. He carried an ax. Each step he took shook the entire structure. His breathing was loud, his mouth hanging open below the leather that covered his nose. The partial mask covered his chin too, but not his mouth. It was fastened with two straps behind his head nestled in thick, chestnut hair that came down around his shoulders.

He approached you cautiously and paused when he was an arm’s length away. You whimpered, knees held to your chest. He sniffed around like an animal. Then he brushed a stray section of hair out of his eyes, and you saw a glint of uncertainty in his gaze. You tried to compose yourself, wondering if your fear could trigger him.

He knelt down to get a better look at you. He reached for you, and you jumped. He grumbled and held up a massive finger less than an inch from your mouth, telling you to be quiet.

Something possessed you to reach for his hand. He let you move it.

You put his palm on your cheek and watched his chest heave in confusion.

He tilted his head and stayed crouched there for a moment, staring at you with his brown eyes softening above the leather.

“Attaboy,” you whispered, repurposing the Sheriff’s words.

Tommy huffed, then abruptly stood. He left the shed, ax slung over his shoulder. He ducked again on his way out.

He didn't return for a while. You finally dared to open the door just enough to look out, but not for long, startled by an older woman’s voice calling, “Tommy!!! Time for supper.” You shrunk back into your corner, afraid you had been spotted.

You sat there frozen, afraid to run.

-

Sometime later, you heard a squeaky wheel approach the shed. The door opened more quietly than it had the first time. The hulking silhouette was backlit by a buzzing floodlight in the yard. The man seemed to be more careful and quiet this time. He had brought a few blankets. One of them was tattered, pale yellow bordering what used to be white, and it had Care Bears on it. He put the blanket over your body, coming all the way up to your neck, and patted your head. Then he took a bundle of newspaper out from under his arm and handed it to you like an offering. It smelled like barbecue.

As he turned to leave, you whispered, “Tommy.”

He dropped his head and looked back.

“Thank you,” you said.

Looking at the wall, Tommy offered a short nod before leaving. Then he locked the door from the outside.

After he left, you opened the newspaper. It was too dark to see, but the contents felt like a charred bone with bits of flesh hanging to it. You weren't hungry anyway.

You wrapped yourself tight in the blanket, and to your discomfort, your heart fluttered at the man’s softness with you. You replayed the day’s harrowing events in your mind’s eye and saw him differently than you had at first. Maybe he was nothing but an attack dog. You began to doubt he would've hurt your friends at all if not for the older, more wicked man in uniform.

Maybe Tommy was as much of a prisoner as you were. You wondered if he could talk. You felt sure he could listen.

After sunrise, you awoke to some commotion and heard a vehicle drive away. After a period of silence, you tried to open the door to the shed, but it was securely locked.

Soon, Tommy came back and unlocked it. He moved swiftly toward you with purpose in each heavy step, crouching slightly. The mass of his body strained his shirt. You'd never seen forearms like his. He could surely snap you like a twig, but something told you he wouldn't. Still, your heart raced when he lunged toward you. He reached over a wood pile and used both massive hands to force you onto your feet. He wrapped you in the blanket, then put you over his shoulder like a potato sack.

He put you into his wheelbarrow, then nestled some firewood around you. He looked around furtively as he did it. Then he covered you with another blanket and wheeled you across the bumpy ground, onto a smoother surface. He rolled a garage door down behind you and left you covered in the wheelbarrow as he rummaged around the garage.

You peeked out from the blanket and saw him placing shackles on a table. Your heart raced. You glanced behind you. The garage door was still lifted by a small margin. Maybe big enough to fit through.

You watched in terror as he brought out a mallet. Finally, your body unfroze.

You lowered yourself out of the wheelbarrow as carefully and quietly as you could and crawled toward the narrow opening. As you began to wriggle under it, your ass hit the door, making a noise far too loud to go unnoticed.

Within a split second, his massive hands were firm around your ankles, pulling you toward him, dragging you roughly across the concrete.

He manhandled you like a doll. He forced you onto your back and shook you, then wrapped a massive hand around your neck. Your life flashed before your eyes, and you kicked him. He grunted and grabbed you roughly by the shirt, then sat back on his knees. He held you with your back against his enormous thigh. Your Daisy dukes did nothing to protect your ass from the cold concrete. You thrashed, and he put the crook of his elbow around your neck, then everything faded.

When you woke up, you were chained to the table, with cold, metal shackles on your wrists and one ankle. You were bottomless, and the air was cool between your legs. Your feet were bare. All you had left was your tank top, which you wore without a bra.

You didn't dare move. A foul dust in the air made you sneeze, then Tommy came into view. He was wearing a butcher’s apron, and the sleeves of his dingy, button-up shirt were rolled up to expose those big, hairy forearms. He held the mallet. His eyes were industrious.

“Please don't hurt me,” you begged.

He laid a heavy hand on your shin, and you flinched. He gently placed your free ankle in a shackle, then nailed it shut.

“Please,” you begged.

He laid a hand on your thigh and looked you in the eyes.

“What are you going to do to me?” You asked.

He huffed and put the mallet away.

You were relieved until he returned with a meat cleaver. You tensed and squirmed. He laid a hand on your stomach and his searing eyes told you to stay still. He slid the cleaver under your tank top, and you held your breath and looked at the ceiling. Your nipples hardened at the feeling of his knuckles between your breasts.

He violently sliced upward through the fabric, turning your wifebeater into a vest which burst open, freeing your breasts. He inhaled sharply at the sight and discarded the meat cleaver with a metallic clatter on a nearby shelf.

“Please,” you begged again, then he stuck his fingers in your mouth and peered in. His thick digits tasted like charcoal and salt. Three fingers were enough to stuff the orifice completely. When you stopped whining, he abandoned your mouth.

He cupped a breast, then cupped both of them. He hummed a curious “mm,” Then dragged his thumb down your sternum before stepping away to survey your body.

You felt like a cadaver sliced open for examination. As he slowly stalked around the table, it dawned on you that's what he was doing. He was studying you.

He stopped at a long side of the table – your left side. He brought his face–his leather mask–to your skin, just below your ribs. His hair fell onto your body, and the light brush of it tickled. He paused to loosen the strap at the back of his head. Then he dipped his face to your abdomen again. He turned his head and dragged his cheek, and the leather, over your bare stomach, to your breast. You could hear him desperately sniffing and wondered why he didn't take that thing off.

Lips, hair, and smooth leather dragged across your skin as he wiped his face along your chest. Then his face made its way into your armpit, where a dart of his tongue made you flinch and shiver. His tongue darted out again. He sucked the delicate skin slightly into his mouth before releasing it with a soft grunt.

He paused and pulled away. He pivoted to stand behind your head, then brought his hands to your breasts. Helowered his mouth to your neck and licked you. His hair fell on your nose and smelled like smoke and metal.

He seemed to savor the taste of your skin. He licked longer, harder, the strong slippery muscle of his tongue nudging your jugular. You felt a rush of arousal and shame. He tasted the other side of your neck and hummed in satisfaction. The throbbing between your legs made you wince.

He dragged his tongue down over your chest to lap at your breast. He flattened his tongue to lick your nipple, then began to suckle at it. One thing was clear - this was not for your enjoyment. He was entirely absorbed in what he was doing. He didn't even glance at your face. Whether it was for his pleasure or curiosity, you couldn't be sure. He moaned into your nipple and you knew you must have been gushing onto the table.

After a few seconds, he pulled away from your tit and began to sniff the air. He stalked around the table some more and paused at your shackled feet, staring up between your spread legs. He found the source. His hands dwarfed your thighs as he pushed them further apart. Then he dabbed a thick finger, only grazing your folds as he picked up just a taste of you from the table and brought it to his mouth.

“Mm,” he hummed quietly, staring between your legs. He licked his finger again and his eyes searched the air curiously. Then he grabbed your upper thighs and anchored his thumbs on your outer lips, spreading you open. His heavy gut rested on the table between your feet as he leaned forward. As he lowered his mouth to your cunt, you twitched and felt another rush of shame.

His breath was hot on your cunt, then he dipped his tongue, and you tensed.

He lapped at your entrance, and the physical pleasure made you exhale and relax, while your fear remained. He licked and sucked, and your moan echoed before you could try to cut it short. Your chest was hot with embarrassment, but if he heard the sound, he ignored it.

He fed on your juices like a starved animal. He sucked and slurped, and dug his lips and tongue in, searching for more. The squelching and gurgling sounds were obscene between your legs. He closed his eyes and dug his fingers into your hips as he feasted.

The leather mask nudged your clit and made your hips lift into his mouth. He brought a hand to your lower belly to hold you still. Then his tongue plunged into you. You whispered, “good boy,” and your whole body felt weak with shame.

He paused and glanced up, then repeated the action. It was true, some part of you welcomed this, as afraid as you were. In any case, the heat and pressure building in your gut would have to release at some point.

He fucked you with his tongue, nudging your clit with the smooth leather, and you had to remind yourself to breathe. You'd never been eaten so voraciously. He moaned into your cunt and the tension was too much to hold. You whimpered as you began to pulse and twitch. His tongue paused as you clenched around it. Then he continued. Your back arched as he sucked it all out of you, swallowing every drop he could find. As your climax waned, you took slow, deep breaths.

Finally, he slowed down. He looked flustered for a moment, then his hand disappeared from your thigh. He pulled his face away, and the leather mask was soaked and shiny. Then he took his apron off. When he stood to put the apron aside, the protrusion in his pants made your breath hitch and your asshole flutter.

Your cunt spasmed once around nothing, and your insides churned as though making room for a massive guest.

You couldn't peel your eyes away. He adjusted himself, then palmed the bulge. His shirt had come untucked. The bottom button wasn't fastened, and his midsection strained the other buttons as his whole torso heaved. He eyed the mess between your legs as he palmed himself.

He seemed to be considering the possibility of stuffing your cunt with whatever monstrosity hid in his pants. He could take anything he wanted, but he didn't look proud of it. This didn't feel like something he did every day.

You decided not to fight back. You told yourself it was for survival, but you also twitched at the thought of him wrecking you. You looked at his crotch, then down between your legs, still gushing at the sight of him barely contained by his pants. The way his whole body wanted to bust out of his clothes made you weak in the knees. He was so solid and strong. You looked again from his crotch to your own, as though your eyes were instructing where to put it in defiance of your better judgment.

He grumbled as he picked up a hammer and approached you, making your heart nearly stop.

He pried the nails out of the shackles, and you cursed yourself for the way your heart fell. Your disappointment was quickly replaced by relief. A man this size, with these capabilities – he could have done serious damage to your body.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You laid on the table patiently looking at the ceiling as he went down to your feet and unshackled your ankles.

Then he grabbed you by the thighs and yanked you toward the end of the table, making you yelp. Your naked crotch came to rest flush against the bulge in his pants, making you ache with arousal. Your thighs trembled in fear.

You looked down toward him and he forced your chin upward, making you look at the ceiling. You pinched your eyes shut. You were at war with your body’s desire. He might kill you. He might actually split you in two. The dying squeals of your friends echoed in your mind. But his hardness swelled against you, and oh, fuck.

His hips backed up and you twitched at the loss of his warm package against you.

With your eyes still pinched shut, you heard his clothes jostling, then he spread your lips apart while he notched his tip against you. It was too big. He held your thighs again and pulled you toward him with a forward thrust and a grunt.

Being impaled with his cock felt like being split open. The girth burned as it stretched you, and you whimpered as your body tried to accommodate him. He stayed inside, and he sighed. You'd never felt so stuffed. He leaned forward, and the contact with your clit provided some relief as your body spread itself more. But still, your heart raced at the prospect of him moving. You prayed he would be gentle.

When you didn't stop whimpering, he stuck his fat, smokey fingers in your mouth again. He placed his other hand on your chest to hold you still, with the crook of his thumb close to your throat. You gagged on his fingers and he removed them. He wiped your saliva onto your nipple before kneading your breast.

Thankfully, you were wet and getting wetter. He held you down and slammed into you. The fullness pushed your thoughts out of the way along with your guts. You kept your eyes shut as he speared into you again.

His breathing and grunting seemed to echo through the room with every snap of his hips. His unholy girth twitched against your walls. He grabbed onto your hips and brutally pounded you. He used you like a sleeve until his moans were drawn out and his breath became ragged. He pulled you back hard and leaned forward, the weight of him resting on your lower abdomen. Your cunt fluttered in anticipation of his climax, but he paused. Your hips lifted, seeking friction for your front.

He pulsed once, making your chest flutter with pleasure, but then he swiftly slid out. He left you twitching for more as he finished coming outside. His cum painted your folds and inner thigh, and he grumbled and turned around. You lowered your chin to look just in time for him to release onto the wheelbarrow and floor. Then he stood there with his broad back heaving as he looked around.

You closed your eyes again and opened them when you felt fabric on your inner thigh. He was wiping you off with the bottom of his shirt. His face and neck were blotched pink, and he had fixed his pants. He was looking at you, chest still heaving when his ears perked up at the distant sound of tires on gravel.

He quicky put your shorts back on and gathered you off the table, nestling you in the wheelbarrow once more. He swaddled you in the old blanket, now wet with his cum, and opened the garage before quickly wheeling you back to the shed.

He placed you in the corner where you had been, just in time for the truck to park. As he turned to leave the shed, you said “Tommy. Can you bring me some water?”

He hesitated then gave a short nod before locking the shed again behind him.

He came back later with a jar of water and a metal bucket. You were shivering in the corner when he came in. He set the bucket down next to you, then placed his hand on the crown of your head and gently moved his fingers as he looked around. Then he abruptly began to unbutton his shirt. He pulled you up from the corner to put the shirt on you. His chest was hairy and broad, and his entire torso was thick, just massive.

“Good Tommy,” you said as he finished putting the shirt on you.

He paused and left it unbuttoned. His eyes were big. He held you by the sides, looking you up and down in the oversized shirt and Daisy dukes. Then he put you back where you were and locked the shed behind him.

The shirt was filthy, cumstained, and reeked of sweat, but it didn’t smell as bad as it should've. It didn't make you sick like it should've. When he left, you wrapped it tight around yourself, then looked in the bucket. There were apples.

Thank you for reading and engaging! Love you guys 🖤 please consider commenting even if this is old. It helps to know what you liked.

If you want more, good news - I have more thots! Feel free to send yours, too.

[disastersareajoy]

Pussy Drunk Thomas Hewitt - Drabble

Thomas Hewitt x FEM!Reader

Tags: established relationship, cunnilingus, forced orgasms, talk of bruises, wet and messy, squirting, dacryphilia, overstimulation

Word count: 1.1k

fucking obsessed with the idea of Thomas getting absolutely, down bad, pussy-drunk as soon as he gets a taste

like his virgin-ass being too afraid of hurting you to fuck you at first and getting on his knees for you. he gets a taste, kind of pulls back and licks his lips and you can see his pupils dilate and his eyes fucking glaze over and he just falls face first into your pussy

sloppy, wet, spit slick, hungry oral from that man. his teeth bump into you in all the right ways sometimes. one moment he's whimpering into you and the next he's grumbling and trying to get his tongue deeper and deeper into you to taste more

and it does not matter to him when you beg for him to slow down and how you can't cum anymore. because you keep dripping on his face and tongue and making wonderful noises and you just taste so fucking good, how could he stop??

his arms wrap around your thighs and he holds onto them hard and firm and keeps you pulled close to his face. you can feel that it's gonna bruise and you're going to cherish those bruises for days

he doesn't even notice how hard he's gripping you because he's trying to get all of his senses filled with you. he tastes, smells and feels nothing but you. the only thing his ears can focus on are your moans and whimpers. his hands massage your thighs periodically and when he opens his eyes it's just to look at your face, thrown back in pleasure. the only thing better is when you're looking down at him with tears in your eyes, still moaning for him

Tommy is completely drunk off your taste. he loves the feeling of your pussy on his tongue and he loves the little whining groan you let out when he sucks on your clit

now, when he keeps going and going and your hand in his hair trying to push him away finally falls to your side, he doesn't even realize what he's doing next. it's all out of instinct when his hands readjust so his arms stay wrapped around your thighs but his thumbs are spreading open your folds. that's when he really loses it

because he can get his tongue even deeper like that. he can bury it inside you and find the spot that makes you drip a little more and that makes you moan all broken and needy. once he finds it he abuses the fuck out of it. keeps licking over it, poking at it with his tongue and savoring every drop of you that spills into his mouth

and then. his holy grail. you grab his hair again and moan louder. you're sobbing and begging him to slow down because it feels different this time. he doesn't listen of course. all he knows is you're about to do that thing again where he can feel your pussy flutter and twitch and your thighs squeeze around him and your moans get all whimpery

he keeps going until your hips lift up into him. he stays attached to your pussy and keeps doing what he's doing, knowing he can't stop. needs to keep going to get you to do that thing

suddenly you gasp and go completely quiet. then you moan so loud it's almost a scream. a sobbing sort of thing that's absolutely gorgeous to him. on top of that your hips start wildly shaking along with your legs and your pleasure starts gushing out of you

Tommy moans into your juices and gets closer if that's even possible at that point. he shakes his head so he rubs over your clit side to side while he keeps his tongue abusing that spot inside you. and fuck does he get drenched. he swallows down as much as he can of you and whimpers into it. anything he can't get, drips down his face and drenches his shirt and lap

once you come down you realize he's still going and you can't handle it anymore. you start crying more and weakly kicking your legs out which finally makes Tommy look up. he sees your devastated face and while he thinks the sweat mixed with tears and drool, as well as the tortured pleasure in your eyes is a heavenly sight, he listens to your weak pleas

he finally pulls away and you sigh in relief. Tommy stays away from your pussy (as much as he hates it) and spends his time licking your thighs clean. just a minute away from your pussy makes him whimper and look up at you pleadingly. your legs are still shaking and you shake your head at him

so Tommy whines and starts biting your thighs instead, getting closer and closer to your pussy until he's mouthing right next to it. you're shaking and sweating and still losing a coupe tears when he licks flat over your clit once. then your back arches and you gasp, trying not to make too loud a noise

you know if you moan he's gonna start again and you think he might actually kill you that time. he softly licks over your clit again, wraps his lips around it and you slap a hand over your mouth. but Tommy sees your lack of noise as a sign to keep going and starts sucking on your clit. when his teeth graze over it your hand whips away from your mouth to his hair and you yell out a moan that ends with a broken whine

immediately you know you're in for it. Tommy moans happily and grabs your thighs hard once more. he dives into you again and gets back to his sloppy, needy and enthusiastic pace without hesitation. all you can do is moan, whimper and whine as Tommy makes you see stars over and over again

he's obsessed with making you squirt on his face and listening to your whimpers as he tastes you. he loves the feeling of your heartbeat in your clit, pounding against his tongue

sometimes you can't get him off of your pussy until he's had at least a couple hours of his way with you. he's obsessed with your pussy and a single taste makes him entirely lose his mind. he'd do anything to fall to his knees in front of you

he would spend forever between your thighs if it was up to him

your pussy is his paradise and his salvation. every gush of your juices is a baptism of wonder. you are his goddess and he worships you at every turn

[24kvlaks]

Big baby!

This is a series of what slashers are most likely to get jealous! Featuring-

Thomas Hewitt (silent treatment.)

🧸very jealous boy, he hates the fact that you don’t like being bunged up in the house.

Sometimes you’d even help his meals escape. And got flirted with by the teenage boys or young male adults who came by.

You can’t count the many times that Tommy had killed the male and let his mother serve them as a feast.

You told him that there was nothing to worry about but he didn’t believe it for he knew you were quite attractive.

And he always thought that any day now some handsome stranger could pick you off your feet and leave him.

Though you knew you’d never do that, and you understood why Thomas thought that way, he was always insecure about being deformed.

Sometimes you’d have conversations with his soon to be victims and he’d assume you’re flirting with them,

So for the entire day he’d ignore you.

He’d avoid you because he didn’t want to cast his anger out on you and he knew he could do much harm.

It hurt your feelings but you gave him his space. No matter how much you tried to explain you h l ad eyes for no one but him he didn’t listen.

Type A. Silent treatment jealousy

Michael Myers (Murderous)

🔪Michael didn’t care, if he felt that you were flirting with someone he’d either try to harm you and kill the opposer.

He’d avoid you for days, leaving you without closure before randomly coming back.

Maybe months even, Michael becoming jealous wasn’t a pretty sight since he didn’t understand emotion all he understood was feeling.

So once he felt anger he took it out in anyway he knew how, he slaughtered until his hands didn’t crave beating anymore.

Sometimes he’d take it out on you, he’d scare you purposely, swinging his knife and chasing you with intent to harm like you were his victim.

He’d never kill you of course, just to remind you how much power he had.

There was one time Michael did hurt you, he’d sliced your shoulder once you had given a male friend a hug.

He beheaded your friend and placed his head on the bookshelf.

Just to show you if you ever did it again you’d be next.

He didn’t care if him being jealous made him seem insecure he didn’t give a singular fuck. He didn’t like something he’d execute it.

Or in other words put it in its place, which was below him.

Sometimes he’d taunt you, leaving bodies around the house and disappearing without cleaning them.

He wasn’t nice once you’d made him jealous because he felt you didn’t have the privilege to make him feel that way.

Type B murderous jealousy

Hannibal Lecter (reassurance)

🎀Hannibal understood that both of you were quite attractive. So it came to no surprise once people would hit on you.

All he asked for in return was reassurance, you making it evident that you were his.

The only time he’d go out of his way to commit acts of violence is when people went out of their way to ask you out in-front of his face.

He’d kill them of course, he wouldn’t let someone disrespect him like that. Though he always relied on you to reject them and kill them when you were out of the way.

He never wanted you to see him as someone who can inflict serious harm unto someone, because he knew he could.

He wasn't big on jealousy because he saw that he was too mature to be phased by it but sometimes his emotions consumed him.

Randomly once he feels that way instead of killing them he'd lay in your bed, and cuddle between your stomach sometimes letting out a low growl of frustration with your warmth comforting him.

You'd always rub his hair and tell him everything is going to be okay even if you had no clue what was wrong, all you knew is that he did it when he was upset.

He appreciated it, though he knew sometimes he could lose his temper and cook whoever opposed him deliciously whilst feeding them to you later on.

He loved watching you devour his meals, it made him feel special and he knew no other man could cook for you like he could.

But still if any male made him jealous, they'd be his next meal.

Type C reassurance jealousy to an extent

[tac-the-unseen]

Hey how are you doing 👋🏽

I have a request, can you do a Thomas Hewitt x pregnant reader, just pure fluff

I bet that man would be a good father idk

Thomas Hewitt x pregnant Reader Headcannons

@diablosinners

CW: Pregnancy Difficulties, Child birth, Minor misogyny, extremely minor mention of Abortion (Like it's not said but implied)

Minor Angst and Fluff (It gets better I promise)

•When you found out about your pregnancy the first person you told wasn't Tommy, it was Luda Mae

•You told Luda the news and she was delighted

•You were panicked

•Not only was this your first baby, it was an unplanned one

•Your family has a history of trouble-some pregnancies and with the nearest hospital being hours away, this possibilities really frighten you

•Luda had to calm you down and stop you from almost stress vomiting on yourself

•She sat with you as you sobbed and tried to collect yourself enough to make some kind of plan

•You talked about your options and while she was trying to sway to one way, she said it was ultimately your choice

•You both decided to wait two weeks before telling anybody

•You didn't want to get anyone's hopes up just in case something happened to you or the new-comer growing inside of you

•after the two weeks have passed you waited for Thomas to get done working for the night so you can tell him

•When he walked through the door to see you sitting in a rocking chair he was slightly confused

•Normally you're upstairs or in the kitchen

•He wasn't worried it was simply just out of the ordinary

•You got up and guided him up the stairs and into your shared bedroom

•You sit him down and slowly introduce the topic into the conversation before making your rehearsed announcement

•He was silent for a few seconds, just long enough to let your panic sleep into your bones

•A cool chill runs through you and you begin to back petal

•You tell him how long you knew and all the options you have

•You’re quickly to ramble on about how you don't need to have right this minute and you could wait for later down if that's what Thomas needed

•Thomas listens to your quickly and panicked speech for a little bit before gently grabbing your shoulders and turning you towards him

•He leans over and softly kisses your forehead

•He runs a hand down to your stomach and gently rubs the side

•His one gentle kiss turned into multiple fast pecks all over your face.

•He was excited

•It took him just hours to already make plans for what he wanted to do with his future child

•He was comforting you at every turn and freaked out Everytime you bumped into a countertop or a wall.

•Thomas practically stood over you all day everyday

•He wants to always have you in his sights, for his peace of mind and yours

•He brings you drawings of what crib, rocking chairs, and wood carved mobile he wants to hang over the crib

•He lets you watch and values your opinion over everyone else. When asked by other family members why, Thomas points to you as if to say ‘They’re the pregnant one.’

•When you started to show he would occasionally gently lift your belly to relieve you of the weight the baby puts on your back.

•He never really liked leaving the house and normally left that up to his brothers, but he wanted to help with the baby shopping

•he gently holds out baby blankets he thinks you'll like, but keeps in mind that Luda-Mae has be fiercely crocheting baby blankets and sewing baby clothes

•He actually cries when you hold up the little baby booties and compares them to his huge palm.

•He carries all the bags to your car and lets you drive him home with the yellow booties still in his hands.

•You fought hard to let the other Hewitts know you were giving birth in an actual hospital

•Everytime the birth was brought up it turned into a huge argument. “Every Hewitt was born in this house and they will continue to be born in this house!” Charlie and Monty argued

•You kept bring up your side of the family's history and how you're not willing to die and leave the baby with a house full of psychos no matter how much they tried to deter you

•When you eventually went into labor Luda was quickly to Hussle you and Tommy into the car

•Both of them respected your wishes and understood your concerns and allow you to give birth in the hospital a two hours away

•By the time you got there you were 8 cm dilated and every nurse was scrambling to get you a room and a doctor to deliver your baby safely

•It was bloody, tiring, and the most pain you've ever been in but by the time the baby was out you passed out

•They rushed to stitch you up and stop you from hemorrhaging and had to use their hands to assist you delivering the placenta

•When all's said and done your baby was safely in your arms

•Luda brought a camera to take birthing pictures and Thomas was clutching all the baby blankets

•Thomas was terrified by your body seemingly giving out and when informed you easily could have died, He was relieved he actually listened to you and not his noodle brained brothers

•while it was great to have your baby in your arms, you were in desperate need of sleep, so the baby was pawned off to Luda so she could help Thomas hold his new-born for the first time

•That moment was magical for him, and even though his mind was already made up, he knew he would die for this child if it ever came to that

•Luda left the room briefly to use the bathroom and That left Tommy with the smallest human being he's ever seen wrapped up in the hospital’s white with pink and blue striped blanket.

•The quiet of the room was what made him sob

•His sleeping partner and sleeping child all together as a family was enough to break him

•The car ride home a few days later was also silent

•He sat in the back seat with the baby's car seat watching as the hum and the vibrations of the car lull the child asleep

•He did leave that baby’s side for a second

•He was there when the baby cried, when the baby slept, when the baby needed a diaper change, he was there for every moment

•Until His brothers bitched at him to start working again

•Thomas, while wanting to stay with you and the baby, did understand he was the muscle of the house and he had work to do to maintain it

•He worked as fast as he could so he could be with you two again

•You had secretly been teaching your baby to say Dada because you know how hard Thomas is working and how dedicated he is to his family.

•When the child did say their first words ‘Dada’ Thomas actually ran around the living room as a victory lap.

•All that made better by your Child giggling

•Thomas has made toys out of bones, yes they are properly cleaned, he doesn't want to get his baby sick

•Nobody but You, Thomas, And Luda are allowed to hold the baby, He knows how harsh and clumsy his Brothers are and refuses to let them touch the baby

•Thomas isn't normal one to argue with his family but he made a vow to protect you and his children and by God he will kill Monty if it comes to it

•It really won't, But now Monty and Charlie know his serious

Thanks for reading <3

I wrote this fic with a little angst because I feel like every Leatherface x Reader is pregnancy related. I didn't want to re-write what many before me have written so I added minor Angst to at least make it different/Stand out.

Also I'm just not a huge fan of Pregnancy fics in general. Kinda gives me the ick, but I'm not one to disappoint someone who wanted my take of a fic!

[slasher-fxcker]

Slashers S/O falling asleep on them

A/N: Just a quick little drabble of me fantasizing about our favourite slashers. I am still working through requests so please don't think I am ignoring you guys! They are coming :)

Billy Loomis

· Billy isn’t sure how to react at first, if you are around people sorry but he’s not going to tarnish his reputation with these soft moments. But if you're alone he will be conflicted.

· He’s not used to soft moments and he likes to be in control of any affection. He tries to keep it light like hand holding or sexual to try and keep you at a distance. So, this makes him sort of short circuit.

· Once he decides to allow it, it takes him a while but he does eventually relax into the embrace. He hates to admit that it is comforting, you make him feel secure and that worries him.

· He probably won’t sit for too long and may move eventually, he won’t disturb you but will leave you on the couch to rest.

Bo Sinclair

· Bo will never ever admit to this but he loves your soft affection, even if it’s only when you're asleep that he embraces it. He will pull you closer to him and wrap his arm around you. It’s the time he will let his guard down and let himself truly feel.

· If his brothers walk in he’s going to act like it’s a hassle, but even they know he doesn’t really mean it. Will also probably whine at you about it later.

· Bo loves you but he won’t admit that yet, even if you question it sometimes just know that you don’t get to see the way he looks at you like you're his world, or how your cute sleepy expression grips his heart. It’s these times where he thinks maybe he should be nicer to you, it’s now when he realises that he needs you even if he’s not ready to admit that.

Jason Voorhees

· Jason will not move a muscle if you fall asleep on him, you may as well be leaning on a comfier version of a statue. He wouldn’t do anything to wake you up.

· Barely breathes in fear or disturbing you. This man adores you and if you need sleep you're going to get it.

· If there are any trespassers he is going to be even more brutal than usual, how dare they disturb this intimate moment with his loved one. He lays you down as gently as he can, lucky you're a heavy sleeper.

· Jason will make quick work of the trespassers so he can get back to you, sure you may wake up with some leftover blood on you but it’s all worth it in the end to be in Jason’s arms.

Jesse Cromeans

· Jesse gets a small smirk on his face when he realises you’ve fallen asleep in his lap while he’s completing some paperwork. He will hold you while he works, occasionally stroking your hair and placing his chin on your head.

· You seem so small buried into his chest, it reminds Jesse how delicate you are and how protective he is of you to keep you here with him.

· Jesse is a busy man so its highly likely that he will end up having some sort of work that pulls him away from this intimate moment. He will carry you with ease to your bed and cover you in blankets to keep you warm until he can return.

· Won’t leave without placing the gentlest of kisses to your forehead and watching you snuggle in.

Lester Sinclair

· Lester is a busy man, he loves your affections but try to catch him when it won’t interfere with his day or piss Bo off. He will put your affections first and that can often get him in trouble with his brother.

· This man is the cutest cuddle bug, he will hold you for as long as you want. Will wrap you up in his arms and put a movie on, he is definitely the most chill out of the slashers when it comes to this kind of affection.

· Expect him to occasionally cover your face in soft kisses, the small smile it puts on your face gives him the cheesiest grin. Part of him wants you to hurry up and wake up so he can give you more affection, but don’t worry he wouldn’t dream of waking you.

· Lester cherishes you and when you wake up still in his arms expect to give him all of your attention for a while.

Michael Myers

· Do you like sleeping on the floor? Because that’s where you will end up if you fall asleep on Michael when he’s not in a very good mood. He’s an asshole. He does love you, but you don’t get to be affectionate without his approval when he’s in this kind of mood.

· If you catch him on a good day he will simply let you rest against him, most likely sitting still and watching you sleep.

· He thinks you're naïve to trust him when you're in such a vulnerable state, how he could hurt you at any moment. He likes to pretend that he could but you both know he would never do anything to hurt you. Not now that he had let you in.

· If you wake up to his head resting against yours as you both find comfort in the slight affection he will jump up and storm off as soon as he notices you're awake. Don’t bring it up unless you want him to pout for a while or threateningly glare at you from across the room. He will pretend it never happened.

Stu Macher

· Stu had always been a night owl, and it didn’t help he spent a lot of his nights out with Billy.

· You would wait up for him a lot at his place, flicking through the channels of the tv and waiting for that familiar click of the front door. He would instantly come and join you, arms open and waiting. He always missed touching and holding you.

· Would probably ramble on and not realise you were sleeping until he notices you aren’t answering him anymore. The cheesy smile this boy gets when he realises you're asleep.

· He will probably just watch you for a while, moving the hair out of your face.

· Stu is the type of guy to draw on people’s faces while they sleep, but with you he will just gently trace your features or draw small love hearts with his finger, laughing quietly to himself as your nose crinkles at the feeling.

· He wouldn’t move you, he loves holding you in his arms, keeping you close to him. Will for sure tease you about it later though.

Thomas Hewitt

· Thomas just melts when he feels your head rest against him. He knows how tiring it can be working in the heat, so he will let you rest for as long as you need to.

· He will blush if anyone else sees the two of you, but he’s still not moving.

· Thomas could hold you like this forever, but he worries that the couch isn’t the comfiest place to spend the night so he will carry you upstairs to your room, this man just wants what is best for you. He tries his best to be as gentle as possible when he lays you down, not wanting to wake you.

· He stands up to leave but notices you clinging to his shirt, the crinkle in your brow showing you're clearly not happy with the loss of contact. He lets out a husky huff before climbing into bed next to you, he melts under your touch and the thought that even in your sleep you need his touch.

Vincent Sinclair

· He stills immediately when he feels the contact. Vincent loves you so much but he’s not sure he will ever get used to the physical affections.

· When he realises you’ve fallen asleep on him his heart swells. You better believe this boy will not move an inch, your comfort is his entire priority. He will be dead still until you wake up, would not dream of disturbing you.

· Will definitely watch you sleep, he feels like he needs to commit every single line of your face to memory. Not only will he want to sketch you later on but the fear of you leaving still weighs heavily on him and he needs to make sure he would remember every detail of you.

· It’s like you can feel him staring when you shuffle closer to him and mumble his name, he instantly melts. He pulls you closer, reassuring you that he’s still there. He’s not going anywhere, he will always be there.

[villainology]

MDNI pure filth talk below (slight dubcon, degradation, johnny being the bully he is) — Johnny (TCM) okay listen, I just wanted to talk about his cock and how good he fucks you w it <3

johnny is the type of guy to have a nice thick bush that he very occasionally trims, its hairs creeping up his belly and stopping just at his abs, perfectly accenting his sweaty muscles when he’s out in the summer heat working on some cars.

he’s definitely packing at least 7” without a doubt, nice and long, super girthy, veiny, and he even got that slight curve. he’s got that type of girth that makes you hiss through your teeth and whimper every time he bullies his way into your tight hole — it doesn’t even matter how much he bothers to warm you up, you’re still gonna feel the way he stretches you out around him inch by inch.

of course, he loves that though. he relishes in the way you push at his shoulders and try to slide away from him, telling him it’s too much and he’s too big for you :( he doesn’t really care though, leaning down and whispering in your ear yeah that’s right, take it, just take it, darlin’. he always buries himself as deep as he can not even caring if it’s too much for it, his goal is to be balls deep in you every time.

he has two moods when it comes to fucking you, either he only cares about his own pleasure and is using you as a glorified fleshlight (you’ll still come anyway, his dick is just too good) OR he’s gonna torture you with pleasure. the type to not let you come for the longest time, bullying you and degrading you the entire time, calling you pathetic and crybaby when the tears roll down your cheeks and you’re laid begging for him!! once he finally lets you have your release then all he’s gonna do is overstimulate you, he just really loves to see you cry. he’ll occasionally praise you but mostly it’ll be him being a big meanie to you, he knows you and your body too well by now, he knows everything to do to make your toes curl and to have you screaming his name.

[g0thic-ghost]

Slashers ! With a plus-size S/O.

A/N: Hello! I’m back, after months due to my work life; apart from that, I wanted to make a comeback with a new writing in hand. Also, this writing has a reader with a non-aimed gender, so perceive it how you’d like.

Characters being ‘used’: Bubba Sawyer and Tiffany Valentine.  Warning ⚠️ : Not proof read

REQUESTS : OPEN

Bubba Sawyer 

Bubba was always fond of your figure ; He admired the softness of your skin, enjoying the feeling of his hands squishing on the bumps of your skin. You would catch him constantly touching up on your stomach, waist, hips, and anything his hands could cup.

He believed that your figure was the embodiment of beauty. He didn’t see any part of you to be flaw, just a perfection sculpted right onto you.

If you were ever able to complain about how you look, he instantly disagrees with your comments. Squealing and whining his opinion on the subject ; In the end, he ends up winning with you in his arms, feeling as his hands rub you gently with reassurance.

Bubba likes that he can share one aspect of himself with you ; He himself being chubby, makes him comfortable with you also being chubby. So, he’s happy to be able to relate to you.

Bubba always makes an effort to satisfy your food cravings, when you have them. Whenever you make a comment on something being good, expect to be showered in that exact item for weeks. 

Tiffany Valentine

Tiffany finds your figure absolutely stunning ; She constantly showers you with compliments, always making sure that when she crosses your path she gives you a loving comment.

Tiffany loves to give you gifts. Most of them consisting of dresses/suits, shoes, beautiful gem jewelry and so much more ; She’s a big fan of the catwalks you do when you’re showing her how you look in certain clothing. 

Tiffany is never ashamed of being overly touchy, she tends to always have her hands on you. Either running her hands through your hair, or squishing at your cheeks. She finds the face you make to be adorable

Absolutely loves cuddling ; She’s always the first one to recommend it, she tends to always pry at you. Not wanting to let go as she finds the feeling calming and relaxing.

Early on, she finds out that you’re a big fan of sweets; So she always makes her efforts to make some baked goods, even if they sometimes do come out with imperfections.

[melodrama-ticcc]

— “ 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 ” ; 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐰

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. ᵃᵇᵘˢᵉ, ᵈᵉᵃᵗʰ, ᵈᵒᵐᵉˢᵗⁱᶜ ᵛⁱᵒˡᵉⁿᶜᵉ, ᵍʳᵃᵖʰⁱᶜ ᵈᵉᵖⁱᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ᵈᵉᶜᵉᵃˢᵉᵈ ᵃⁿⁱᵐᵃˡˢ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗᵃˡ ⁱˡˡⁿᵉˢˢ, ᵐⁱˡᵈ ᵍᵒʳᵉ, ⁿᵘᵈⁱᵗʸ, ʳᵉˡⁱᵍⁱᵒⁿ, ˢᵉˣᵘᵃˡ ᵗʰᵉᵐᵉˢ, ˢᵘᵇˢᵗᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᵃᵇᵘˢᵉ.

—

The dining table is silent apart from the gentle clanking of silver cutlery against glassware. Gazes wide in stupefaction and nonplus, as the table awaits an answer to the strange encounter they’d just bared witness to. Disconcerted, they watch as she finishes the final bite, scarlet gathering at the corners of her stained lips. The flatware clatters against the plate as she brings the linen napkin to her mouth, patting away the golden crumbs and sticky syrup and blood. She returns the linen to her lap, still wet with the crimson that transudes from the wound on her palm. Finally, Rebecca brings her gaze to meet the guests at her table, a content smile rested on those pretty lips as she finishes chewing her dessert.

The swallow is loud and uncouth, though not nearly as concerning as her current state of mind. She clears her throat as she places a delicate hand over her chest, as if to do so in a defensive manner. There is an uncomfortable silence that fuels the growing tension in the room. Exchanged glances and raised brows only allude to the natural discernment that follows such a plebeian act. In order to cut through the cumbersome silence, Rebecca finds herself attempting to speak up once more, her mouth opening only to be cut off by Johnny, who now rises from his seat. He smiles to the group before his stare befalls her, this time with the necessary intent to oblige her and draw away from the sensitivity of the dining table.

“A lil’ blood never hurt nobody, mind cuttin’ me a slice, doll face?” He plays into her game of make believe, the fantasy that this was some perfect little storybook. That she was the faultless trophy wife of some backwoods redneck neighborhood, or the cover-girl of Good Housekeeping. Whatever game she wanted to play, he’d play it, for she’d piqued his interest. “Sides, I like my sweets a lil’ messy.”

What a blissful thing silence is. That is until it is disturbed by primitive savages like Johnny Sawyer, she thinks. Having had enough of his trivial pissing matches, she too decides to indulge him. She serves him a slice of that sanguinary pie, paired with her chesire leer and a disdainful glare. She leans forward, over the table (an obscenity against basic table manners), and slams the porcelain platter at his place across the table.

“Enjoy.” Her tone is anything but pleasant, it’s mocking, scornful. Evidence that her unsettling grin is nothing but a facade masking her antipathy for the young man.

As he takes the plate she adjusts her posture to stand upright, knife gripped in her good hand as her eyes flicker to the remainder of her guests, and most importantly to her father. “Anyone else?” They’ve all sat back down, and her father, a little skeptical, gives her a knowing look. A warning of sorts. An indicator her show of make belief is drawing to a close, that it is time to face the dire reality and the consequences of her little episode. “Well then, sorry ‘bout the mess folks. I’ll just get this cleaned up.”

The silence is anything but blissful, nothing but the sound of the running faucet and dishes clanking. Any attempt to strike up a conversation is short lived, the table awkward as they share questioning glances and worrisome countenances. Even Raymond, who watches his daughter from behind. His hands clasp together in front of his mouth, elbows resting at the wood table. Before she’s finished, she says something in regard to her temper tantrum, blaming it on some sort of mismanaged anger inherited from her absent mother. Shrugging it off, she offers to try at this spontaneous dinner party another time, with promises to better control her temper the next time around. As if she had something to prove, a redemption of sorts. You’ll have to excuse me, you’ll find I can be quite the model hostess. Just like those women in the magazines!

He sees through her lies and false claims, knowing well the darkness that pools in the wells of her ocean eyes. They glimmer with something sinister, malicious, he knows it. Knows it in the way they lack genuineness when she smiles, or the way they stare daggers at him when she becomes antagonized. It’s amusing really, to toy with her like this. It’s all the sort of confirmation he needs to satisfy his theory.

The remainder of the evening picks up slowly on account of Drayton and Nancy’s small talk. Only before Raymond and Rebecca escort their newfound neighbors out for the night. Good wishes and farewells are exchanged as they wave goodbye. As that front door shuts Rebecca knows she’s in for it, her father turning to watch her with a disapproving utterance.

“You aughtta give me one good reason not to lock you inside this here farmhouse for good girl.”

“Daddy, please,” Rebecca looks frightened, shaking her head fervently as she follows her father into the kitchen like a duckling it’s mother. “It’s just an accident, it ain’t gon’ happen ‘gain.” She pleads with him, the habitual feeling of buried emotions surfacing all in an instant. She never took well to being scolded, it made her manic. Disappointment had not been something she could live with nor fathom, not from her father at least.

“Accident my ass, you ain’t even try to hold back on that boy Becca, goin’ on about a starin’ problem, you’ll get this family torn apart and we’ll have to move out all over again, you want that?”

“Now just what the hell were you thinkin’, boy?” Drayton smacks his palm against the upside of Johnny’s head, a hiss befalling the younger man’s lips as he shoots him a sharp glare. “Eggin’ on that girl — you gon’ get us in trouble just like the last time, not watchin’ that attitude of yours, you snot-nosed brat!”

“You best watch your tongue ‘round my boy cook, ‘lest I do away with you like I did with my husband.” Nancy mocks pointedly, raising her voice in a defensive manner. “Johnny it’s alright, accidents happen, we’ll get anythin’ we need cleaned up.”

“You’ll be in tomorrows stew if you ain’t get that boy of yours in check, he’s lucky her daddy ain’t raise no fit!”

“Get it together, I know damn well you ain’t wanna be the reason we pack up shop a second time.”

“Daddy, I swear it I’ll fix it just, I ain’t like that boy! He don’t mean well not one bit.”

“That girl, she ain’t right, in the head. I can see it. I feel it.”

“You keep that big mouth of yours shut ya’ heard me boy? Goin’ on about a young filly like her bein’ crazy or sum’, all cause you got trigger happy and fiddled with her temper.”

“Shut the damn hell up cook, you ain’t know shit.”

“Why you shithead,” Drayton groans, pulling on Johnny’s ear to bring him down to his level. “You listen to me boy, I ain’t wanna hear ‘bout this again! You apologize to that girl and that’s that. Don’t go causin’ anymore trouble, stay away from ‘er after that. Dumbass.”

“Hey! Get ya’ hands off my boy!” Nancy thwacks Drayton against the head, “I told you my Johnny ain’t do nothin’ wrong.”

“She ain’t right, y’all just don’t see it yet.” Yet.

“That boy ain’t do nothin’ to you, you makin’ up stories again girl. Ignore ‘em if he bothers you so bad. But you owe him and those Sawyer’s an apology, I ain’t about to loose some good ole’ fashioned neighbors over this drama of yours. You’s an adult, act like it young lady!” His voice is loud and angry, enough to quell her incessant arguing and disdainful thoughts.

“Yes, daddy. Anythin’ you say.” But he just ain’t all that nice.

Growing up in rural Oklahoma wasn’t all that much different than Texas. You had your farms; cattle, dairy, poultry, sheep and goats, and crops; mostly wheats and hays, corn, cotton, oftentimes sweet potatoes. They were fairly similar geographically, grasslands and flat plaines with the occasional hillside. Their people each had a certain southern charm to them, hospitality and benevolence at the heart of their every interaction. Texas was considerably more sizable than Oklahoma, though. And their people often outfaced one another on account of petty rivalries.

For Rebecca, much of the same had been true. Her father was a cattle farmer in the small sub district of Skiatook, settled right up on the outskirts of Tulsa. She was born on that farm and raised an only child with a hard working father and a transient mother.

Maggie Payne had an influence on her daughter that would far outlive her. Both negative and positive ascendencies, though the bad far outweigh the good. Rebecca remembers how as a young girl it was expected that she be the prim and proper southern woman, like something out of Gone with the Wind or Oklahoma!. Free of scandal or transgressions. A perfectly polite little lady with impeccable manners and a faultless smile. One wrong move would be met with the smack of her backhand across the cheek. A painful sting a young Rebecca would become accustomed to in her adolescence. Despite an ever longing curiosity for playing in the dirt and aiding her father in tending to the farmland and it’s animals, she remained indoors. A prime example of what a young woman should become. Maggie would teach her daughter how to be the picture perfect housewife, ensuring that one day, she’d make one lucky man the happiest alive.

Yet, Maggie would become the prime example of what an abysmal wife would look like. Haunted by the notion that she had been destined for a life of stardom and limelight, she resented her daughter for her beauty and grace, condemning her to a life of servitude as a homemaker, wed to a man to dictate her livelihood just as she had been. As time would pass and Rebecca’s beauty would continue to burgeon, Maggie’s treatment would only grow worse, as would her addiction to heroine.

Rebecca remembers watching her mother spiral into a life of despair and forlornness. Watching as she would bring home some backwoods tramp and fuck him in her own marital bed. She remembers watching the same man beat the shit out of her for stealing his dope. Remembers how her mother would sob something ugly and blame Rebecca, only so that she would get her ass beat in the same fashion. She remembers how her mother would cry when she’d catch those men with another woman, when they’d leave her for that other woman. She remembers watching her mother asphyxiate on her own vomit, multiple times. Remembers how she would help her mother’s lovers turn her over just so that she’d keep breathing. Remembers contemplating what would happen if she hadn’t saved her, how much life would have improved if she’d of just let her die then. A part of her wishes she did.

Years and years it would happen, time and time again, and as Rebecca blossomed into the fair lady she has become her mother’s vanity and envy only grew. As did her pathetic excuse for a life. Until Rebecca herself would become the woman of the house, tied to her father in the same manner her mother was supposed to be.

And then she remembers the day that all just stopped. A day of liberation and tranquility. What’s only two years ago now felt like an eternity of well-being compared to that hell on earth back in Tulsa.

It was hard to pinpoint how the move had affected her. Living in Tulsa had become much too difficult for her father, who struggled with the gossiping townsfolk in that small farming community. The result of a scandal of that nature became a heavy burden to withhold, and when he’d told her they’d be starting anew in Texas she knew exactly the reason behind his brash decision. But there’d always be a piece of her left in Oklahoma that she’d never get back. She didn’t have any friends or relatives to miss, they’d all left the moment her family went to shit. Yet, the thought of abandoning a childhood home to come someplace new was heartbreaking. To leave what was so familiar and comforting, a place that was supposed to be a home. Rebecca always worked hard to make it that way, but it was never really hers. She could never shake her mother’s hold in the place away. It would always be the home Maggie built, never mattered what Rebecca did.

Starting anew meant she had been given the opportunity to make her own home. In a place that was truly a blank slate. No influence from her mother, she could begin from the ground up. It would be a place where her talent and passion would truly shine, and she’d flourish in it. She always knew she was meant for homemaking.

That’s precisely what she had set out to do, too. Over the next couple weeks, Becca worked at making that big piece of farmland a beautiful little home. With the inside furnished and made to look neat and pristine, much like you’d see on advertisements or the newspaper. It was some sort of rustic chic, warm toned tans and browns combined with the clean-cut look of pure white linens. She’d adorned the place with flowers and photos, even went as far as to cut Maggie out of them all. Her favorite was kept over the fireplace in the den, a photograph of herself at six years old. Her hair done up in curls as she poses in a frilly white gown. She loved it. She’d always wanted to be a bride.

The exterior was where the real work had been needed, though. As Raymond prepped to take in herds of cattle in the coming weeks. Rebecca often found herself out there chopping wood or fixing up fences or troughs. She was always good with an axe, ever since she was a child and she’d sneak out to help her daddy. The wooden handles always felt so natural in her grasp, and she knew if push came to shove it would become a deadly weapon in her hands. She’d taken it upon herself to explore the land, too. Those adventures had led to some intriguing encounters. There had been dead animals, lots of them. Mangled and bloody with their innards torn out from their torsos, as if something had ripped them out with a knife. Miscellaneous scraps and bones, she’d even find some of them arranged in odd sorts of contraptions. Something used to catch the wildlife in the area, she was sure. For a few of them had even had dead bunnies or foxes in them. Half rotted and decaying with maggots crawling from their flesh. She’d clean them up and dispose of them properly, tossing the carcasses and bone scraps in the garbage for pickup on Tuesdays.

On several occasions she had run into the Sawyers. She’d catch Nancy working out in the fields or gardening in a luscious sunflower field. She never said hello. Similarly, Drayton could be seen snooping about the place and stealing glimpses of the work she and her father were doing. He’d watch, and usually when he realized he’d been caught looking he’d offer her a thumbs up and a cheeky grin. Only to scurry off back to his own property, presumably. They never really said much. Only came and went as soon as they’d been seen. As if they purposefully avoided others. She’d chalked it up to them being recluses, homebodies unaccustomed to others in their neck of the woods.

Sometimes, she’d exchange looks with a younger looking lady. Drayton did mention there were others. The woman’s blonde hair tied neatly in a bun, she wore some sort of black dress, much too short to frolic around in like she did. She’d prance about the yard giggling, and Rebecca did find her laugh annoying. In order to save face she would always smile and wave when the woman would look towards her. That woman never wove back. Only ceased her incessant laughter and fled like she was afraid. She supposed that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, though.

She’d often catch glimpses of shadows in the windows walking through the Sawyer residence too. There always seemed to be movement in there, like they were always up to something.

Then there was that Johnny.

He never stopped staring. Watching her like a cat would a mouse. He was persistent and tenacious, eerily concerned with her every move. Like he was waiting for her to slip up. Oftentimes he’d stare for a time, and just when she’d had enough, she would turn to yell something from across the field and he’d be gone. Then there had been the time at that swimming hole, too.

Someplace back behind the farmhouse and past the grasslands, a hillside dipped into a pool of warm spring water from the melted snow in winter. When she’d found it, she had been out looking for dead trees to cut down for wood by her lonesome. She set the axe down against an old stump before taking the initiative to undress herself down to her ivory undergarments and dip into the water. It was pleasantly chilling, a refreshment from the intensity of the blazing sun. She’d float there for some time, unbeknownst to his lingering gaze.

Her womanly figure captivates his audience. Caught in some eery trance by her half-naked body. Gentle curves glimmer in the blazing sun above, glowing like a true deity. Her midsection toned and tight, it contorts with her every movement. Teasing him with each careful gesture she makes, flaunting herself as though she’d known she was under his watchful eye.

It was only when she stepped out to redress that she caught glimpse of his familiar figure a short distance from the place. Her head snaps back round, this time sure she’s caught him red handed.

“The fuck you think you doin’, get lost, hood!”

“My my, don’t we act different when the old man ain’t around.”

Her anger seethes out of her, radiating in fiery hot waves from her tanned skin. Her stare is grisly, sliding into her bell bottoms as she buttons up the top.

“I’ll have you against this here blade if you don’t watch it boy, what’s your quarrel with me?”

“Ain’t know we couldn’t share the swimmin’ hole-”

“I ain’t dense shit face, now what the fuck you want, eh?”

“Ain’t you a pleasant one, tch.” He moves closer, approaching the water’s edge on the opposing side, and spits into the hole. “I ain’t know what you bitchin’ ‘bout, best calm yourself, wouldn’t want to burst that temper of yours.”

Rebecca grits her teeth, grinding them like gears. She loathes him, would love to blow his brains out right there — no — that’s too quick. She wants to split him in two with an axe.

“Alls I wanna know is why you think I ain’t notice that ugly outburst of yours.” He laughs, “you know, I’d hardly call it a temper tantrum.”

“Would’ya shut your trap? Fuck off and leave me alone, how ‘bout that?”

“Now it ain’t very gracious of you to not answer my question, after I so kindly obliged your own. S’not very ladylike.”

“Nah. I wanna know why the hell you starin’ at me all the damn time. Ain’t that momma of yours ever teach ya’ not to stare. Tsk.” She slips her blouse back on, “I’ll saw that pea brain of yours right out that head Johnny boy, you best watch it.”

“You dumb bitch.” Johnny only shakes his head, he doesn’t laugh or smile. He’s angry, more aggravated that she’s so attuned to his routine. “You’s a thorn in my side you know that? Can’t ya’ be like all the other girl’s and keep your mouth shut. Ya’ know most would love to have a man like me look at ‘em the way I do you. But you’s just won’t budge. Like to play hard to get.”

She didn’t like that, not one bit. Her hands ball into fists and she all most wants to do it, picking up that axe from the ground and gripping it in her hand. She can feel the uncanny urge to fillet that man in two. To do away with him, teach him a lesson he won’t soon forget. That habitual feeling resurfaces and she can feel herself about to snap. Just like she had at supper weeks before. She imagines what it would be like to have her way with him, slitting that thick neck of his and cutting up those veiny arms. She has to draw herself from her cognitions before she’s too far gone, the thought of it makes her all too giddy. “You wanna meet the devil boy? I’ll go tell that family of yours what type of man you’s really is.”

He only laughs, ugly, it’s an angry laugh. The tone of his demeanor becoming darker, deeper. “Ah, you pretty handy with that there wood splitter ain’t ya’? I seent it myself. Go ‘head, try it. I know you ain’t right in that there head of yours girl. You wanna chop me up? I don’t think that fits in your lil’ life of make believe. But go ‘head, come over here and swing at me, see how far that gets ya’.”

“Just what you think you sayin’ huh? You’s as stupid as you are oblivious. Boys like you ain’t no how to take a damn hint. I catch you starin’ one more time I swear I’ll be on your doorstep with a loaded shotgun.”

“Oh, so you’s that type?”

She doesn’t know what he’s insinuating but it sure ticks her off. She has to stop herself from loosing her composure, her deep breaths hitching in her throat as she begins to shake. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Johnny, whose pleased to see his tactics getting to her. Though still, she’s affronted his typical suave self and brought out his aggravation.

“You ain’t nothin’ but a spoiled man child used to gettin’ whatever he wants. Go back to momma and cry ‘bout how I made you upset, go on, get!”

“There it is, come on baby, come hit me!”

“I ain’t into greasy boys with momma issues, hood, tough shit. Get ya’ act together, ya’ look desperate.”

Rebecca turns to walk away, a scowl etched into those pretty features as she hikes up the hill. She may have been enraged, but she knows better to keep her head. Especially after the lecture her father had given her following her last blown fuse.

Her footsteps are an indication of that intense feeling of hatred and disgust, heavy and furious. She walks off in a heap of rage, only to leave behind an indignant and frenzied Johnny, who turns to stab his foot in the dirt with an irked yell.

She didn’t see him again after that, at least not what she could tell. But Johnny was always there with her in one way or another. She was certain he had continued to watch her, she’d known what his crepuscular gaze felt like, how it made her feel. Like she was completely and utterly vulnerable. That’s what she’d hated about it.

He reminded her of the men her mother often brought home, only more clean and cutthroat. But he was only the devil using the guise of an angel. He was the type of man that used his pretty face to prey on innocent women and break their hearts, the type to destroy a girl’s life or ruin marriages. She execrated him for it. Detested him with every fiber of her being. For his actions and egotistical behavior only proved that.

Rebecca would press on as normal after that encounter, working in the hard sun and traversing the land. She often found herself loosing track of time, Raymond calling her in for the night when he felt she’d taken work too far.

One night she had strolled down to where their edge of land bordered the Sawyer’s, nearly stepping on some metal footing that buzzed with an electric charge. It surprised her surely, but she’d found the concept to be an oddity. Electric exits and an antisocial family, they were a peculiar type of people. Though she’d chalked up there unusual means of defense as a way to keep their livestock in and the wildlife out. It made sense in a way, despite how eccentric it might have been.

She found that entire family to be anomalous, riding the line of what is socially standard and what was entirely bizarre. From their unconventional practices to their perplexing behaviors, it was something that hadn’t made a whole deal of logic. Nothing like what normal southerners would do or behave. The cause for concern was minimal, yet enough for Becca to keep a close eye on her surroundings and arise suspicions of those backasswards neighbors of theirs. Especially Johnny, who’d been the driving factor behind her cautious approach.

For about two weeks her routine remained the same, with little to no deviation in their crude ways and no sign of Johnny aside from the persistent feeling of leaden eyes watching her from afar. That she had been thankful for, but it would seem just as she’d let her guts down there that feeling was again. The eeriness of being stalked. It only strengthened that ugliness she felt for him. In that time the radiator on the pickup had blown too, leaving both she and her father without any proper means of transportation. Something she was looking at fixing in the coming days. But it was yet another thing to add to the aggravating headache that was this fixer-upper.

She had found herself out in the front of the house, splitting wood to fix the damned fences once again. Sweat beading on the flat of her forehead and dripping down the length of her face. She’d wipe her brow with slender fingers, the action pointless as the salt continued to fall into her eyes. Burning and stinging, but she’d keep at her labor despite the inconvenience. Muscles flexing and pumping full of warmth each time she’d swing the axe over her head. It would hit the log below with a crack and clunk. The sound of wood splitting in two and falling the ground, or the blade of that weapon smacking into the stump beneath it. It was a simple but tedious task, spanning into the long hours of the afternoon. After doing so for days though, time passed quickly and the labor barred no difficulty to that of cleaning a house or cooking supper.

She supposed she’d been too absorbed in the work, so much so she hasn’t noticed the sound of quick and heavy footsteps coming up the drive. Dirt kicking and rocks scratching against the boots of a man she’d yet to meet. He stood there from a fair distance, watching her work.

It was a spur of the moment thing, a momentary epiphany of enlightenment. She’d only stopped to wipe that damn sweat from her forehead, and happened to catch the image of a tall, wide figure standing up the road that led to the house. All most as soon as she’d seen it once, she’d snapped her head back to catch it again, and there it was. The man wore a mask of some sort that veiled his true features, a mask that looked much like flesh. Ugly and sinful, stitched together by the careless hand of a terrible seamstress. He donned a yellow apron, pink and red splatters fading on it's front. But perhaps the most striking thing of the image had been what he was wielding, a chainsaw.

[babiebom]

Question

Are any of the Johnny girlies into dbd ghostface? Because I have a really good fic idea that’s an au that involves both and all I need is one yes for me to write it brother I’m so excited makskskaksnkxosmaksos

We’re ignoring all of the billion wips I have okay they’ll be worked on eventually maybe……..

[fry-house]

Drayton's the guy who gets pissed off when the kids bring home a pet because dammit they don't need another mouth to feed, only for the pet to quickly imprint on him because he's the one who actually feeds and cares for it, and he ends up loving it despite himself

Chop Top: I thought you didn't like that cat

Drayton, giving the cat a bowl of meat scraps: I don't

[charleslee-valentine]

Menace

For the Texas Chainsaw Massacre Disability Pride Month Event: Day 1- Alternate Communication

Word Count: ~5,200

Warnings: Period typical understanding of trans identities, period typical attitudes, and out of date language. Domestic child abuse. Unintentional ableism/infantilization of a disabled character. Later intentional ableism. Hurt minimal comfort. Mean-spirited. Drayton Sawyer is not nice.

_____________

Bubba’s at that age where he’s got a lot of questions.

A real teenager now, already thirteen and in that phase that the twins had before him, where there’s no excuses or lies to trick them into being quiet and obedient would work anymore. Now he’s got all the questions.

That’s not to say it’s the same kind of curiosity. His older brothers were sneaky, conniving things that could be tricky with the questions they asked, could get answers to things they wasn’t exactly s’posed to know. Somethin’ they were quite proud of.

But Bubba’s questions were more often about the deep thoughts of life. Things like how stars are made and where rainbows come from. Apparently the Bibles in every nightstand weren’t good enough answer for him. Fair enough since nobody read ‘em after Great Grandma’s days.

Bubba, with all his overflowing need for answers, come to the twins with a little notepad. It ain’t easy for him to write, but it’s even harder to speak, so Bubba has a system. He makes little letters and short words along with his noises to build a story his brothers can eventually understand.

Today though, his question is big, and they aren’t getting what he needs. Which means they doesn’t know how to answer it. Which means Bubba gets so upset he’s about to start cryin’.

They take note of the shiny tears formin’ in his big ol’ eyes, and Bobby is the one to promise, “W-We’ll fix it! We’ll fix it, lil’ B-Bubba!”

Nubbins leaves to the kitchen and returns with a cup of juice, the kind with a lid he used to drink from when he was younger but the twins still think he likes, “Here! I-Is ‘at w-what’cha wanted?”

Bubba gives a roll of his (unfortunately misty) eyes and pushes it away with a huff. He’s not a baby that cries for juice, he’s having a crisis and wishes his brothers would just get it.

“Aw, Bubby w-what the hell y-you on?!” Bobby complains sharply, which just kind of makes Bubba lose control and cry.

Both twins feel bad for causing those tears to finally fall, though they won’t say it, deciding to go and find the powers of the house to fix their mess up.

“L-Let’s go ask big b-brother-“ Nubbins announces, looking to Bubba to see if that’s okay, so Bubba gives a tiny nod.

Each takes one of his hands, guiding him as they run down the stairs calling, “Drayton! Drayton!”

They caught him off guard with his second or maybe third coffee of the day, bitter liquid spilling down the rim of the mug and splattering on the counter. Earns them a raised voice, “Christ on a goddamn- Who lit a flame under your asses? I taught you better’n runnin’ ‘round here like hellions!”

“Bubba’s got- B-Bubba’s got a question a-and we c’ain’t figures it o-out!” Nubbins explains for the trio of them, long arms raised out and above Bubba’s head to protect the littlest one from a possible punishment over the spilled coffee.

They’re lucky that their older brother can be a little bit nicer to Bubba, talking to him like a human at times, “That right? C’mere, Bubba.”

Like he’s in trouble, or still five years old and barely walking, Bubba waddles forward to Drayton with his head down and his hands clasped and twiddling behind his back.

Drayton scoffs at his demeanor as though he ain’t given his brothers every reason under the sun to be afraid, “Ain’t in trouble. Wha’s’a matter?”

Because he’s gotten so tall, Bubba hunches his shoulders down to be at a height around the same as Drayton. Quietly, though not quite a whisper on account of not really being able to, Bubba babbles away, his tone and his inflection to the sounds he makes in place of any distinct words.

Drayton never did need the written out sentences that the twins did, understanding his cooing as though he were speaking perfectly clear English.

“Uh-huh..” Eyebrows drawn tight together, a deep frown across his aging face, Drayton asks for the truth, “Boy you ain’t pullin’ on my chain?”

Bubba shakes his head, “Nuh-uh!” Makes a little cross over his heart to swear it's true and everything.

Suddenly his exasperated face turns grim. Mist of sad behind his eyes.

“This’n… Big brother c’ain’t fix this’n, you hear. I’m no good for that.. I’m- Ain’t a very good influence..”

The twins exchange a glance, mutually understanding absolutely nothing of what’s going on, before Nubbins nudges Bobby so he’ll speak up. He chirps, “Drayton? Drayton w-w-watcha talkin’?”

Drayton’s shoulders snap backwards like he’s been shoved over by some specter, startled clear out of his self-reflection and onto the defensive, “Boys your.. your Bubba needs a little help.”

“Tha’s y-yer job though!” Bobby argues, angry that they thought he'd be nice enough to help when they couldn’t figure out how.

“Shut your mouth!” Hand flying out like it’s nothin’, Drayton dishes out a backhand that hits Bobby first and scratches slightly on Nubbins’ jaw too. He gives an order with a grimace, hating to be undermined but never rising to his duties, “You boys take Bubba ‘n show ‘im upstairs to your Gran’parents’ room.”

Timidly, but the curious, argumentative spirit never quite extinguished in him, Nubbins asks, “Why? W-Wha’s up there?”

“I’ll show you when I get to that for God’s sakes!.. Need a damn smoke firs’..” Draytons voice trails off as he storms for the front door, slamming it shut and, from the sound of it, pacing around the porch.

Unfazed, the twins start dragging their little brother around again, “C’mon l-lil’ Bubba!”

Frustrated at being babied in his teen years, Bubba whines all the way up the steps. already a head taller than the shortest of his three older brothers, he can’t grasp why they want to see him as some tiny, fragile baby. Maybe then they’d understand his growing pains, if they could just see him as a regular 13 year old.

“M-Mean ol’ man, huh Bubba?” Bobby bumps him with his shoulder playfully, big cheeseburger smile on, like it’s funny he got hit and Bubba didn’t get any answers.

A whole slurry of sad and frustrated and scared mixes together and just turns Bubba’s stomach. The best he can muster is a shrug.

They take reluctance as a sign of worry, with Nubbins informing him in a harsh whisper, “Y-You’s allowed to say it. Ain’t n-nobody like Cook.”

“E-Even Cook don’ like Cook!” Bobby adds, breaking into a cackle that makes Nubbins laugh along.

That confuses Bubba, making a noise he hopes they can understand so they explain better, “Duh?”

Sort of better. Bobby starts up his rambling, “He’ just pissed ‘cause.. ‘cause I-I bet he had that d-dumb ol’ face his wh-whole life.”

Now that’s confusing. Everyone in the family always had just the one, except for Bubba, ever since he started wearing masks just a couple years ago.

Nubbins starts to steer his twin into understandable territory, “Heh heh, yeh, B-Bubs gets a newww face when- when he’s feelin’ like a stuck-up bitch hog!”

“But all the old man does, i-is make that ol’ sucker face!” Bobby howls.

Of course both twins immediately imitate Drayton’s grumpy face with exaggerated pouts and scrunched features. A rumbly laugh squeaks out of Bubba, though he feels guilty for finding their insults funny. It dies off pretty fast and then he stares at the ground instead, hoping they’re done with their teasing.

It doesn’t help that they’re wrong. Bubba isn’t upset about anything to do with the face and neither was Drayton. The masks have already been serving their purpose, with their makeup and shiny hair. That’s just what scares him. Thinking maybe Drayton got mad about that he likes to wear lady faces sometimes, and the questions starting up now surrounding if that’s allowed.

Because that ain’t the reason, what the twins said ‘bout changin’ every time he gets bored and stuffy and irritated. Bubba thinks that, some of the time anyway, he really is a lady, underneath the face and all.

Miming for the twins to understand that is futile, but he tries anyhow, flashing his hands and pointing to his mask and shaking his head in a pattern.

The twins are not subtle about their confusion. Staring blankly, Bobby asks his twin, “You gots any idea w-what he’s sayin’?”

Nubbins shakes his head no, taking a random guess based on earlier, “Bubba- B-Bubba is you askin’ why.. why the Cook’s so mean?”

“Oh yeah! I-I bet that’s it!” Bobby bounces on his heels, like he’s excited to be wrong.

Poor Bubba makes an ‘X’ with crossed arms, but they just ignore it, their minds made up already about his intention.

Starting with Nubbins, they tell the story they’ve been told when they’ve asked why Drayton was treating them badly, “Well uh..uh.. m-me an’ Bobby, we was born jus’ when Drayton was ‘boutta m-move real far a..away.”

“He-He found some.. some dumb job was gonna s-steal him from the fam’ly. And we th-thinks he had a.. a secret l-lady friend!”

“‘T-‘Til us lil’ cripples was born. Th-That’s his words eh-zactly.”

Bubba’d heard all that before by himself, but it sounded more interesting when the twins told it rather than big brother. At least they weren’t holding it over his head. If he could manage reasonably communicatin’ with them, he’d like to know more, so he makes a motion with his hands pulling towards himself.

Nubbins understands Bubba wants more knowledge, but doesn’t know what to tell him, deciding to reminisce, “I-I-I’s gonna pull out them-them photo picture albums! W-We’ll find somethin’ good in them! Drayton’s book ain’t th-that big, w-we could pull it down for answers!”

Frantic, this attempt at bonding not at all what he wanted, Bubba tries to whine and make a ‘stop’ motion with his hands on account of they aren’t allowed. Getting in trouble is the last thing he wants right now.

But Bobby scolds him, while helping his twin to drag down the giant dusty photo book, “Oh hush, b-big brother ain’t gonna be f-finished with them cigs ‘til- ‘til he’s stinkin’ worse’n G-Gramma used to.”

“Shush it! B-Bubs don’ remembers her neither!” Nubbins gives a thwack to Bobby’s head not unlike the one they received from Drayton earlier for that slip up. Without asking first if Bubba even cared, which he didn’t all that much.

The twins sit on the dusty old bed, each with a cover of the book in their laps over crossed legs. Bobby flips the first few pages, past the really, really old photos of people they never even heard of. Once yellows and orangey browns fades to black and white, they find what they're looking for an’ point for Bubba to see, “Lookie, h-here she is!”

It’s Grandma in her dressey clothes, wrapped in layers and layers of lace and pretty colors they can’t quite see under the colorless photo. She died wearin’ that same Pearl necklace and the curlers that would’ve made her up-did ringlets if she ever gots to take ‘em out. Her gappy, black toothed smile shows a different side, where she’s not so fancy, but they loved her all the same and she loved them. According to how her eyes crinkle and her cheeks look rosy, whole figure outlined by the faintest blur from the shake of her laughter, she loves the little baby in her arms too.

That’s the trouble though. A baby girl, according to the bows on her tiny clothes. Nubbins’ face gets all offended, “W-Wha’s she doin’ in Drayton’s pictures book with some lil’ l-lady baby?” He flips to double-check the name on the front, and sure ‘nough it says ‘Drayton’ right there, in clear as day handwriting. ‘Sides, far as they know, ain’t been a little girl Sawyer born in sixty some years.

“Lemme see that!” Bobby snatches the book away so he can bring it up to his face and narrow his fuzzy eyes at it, focusin’ real hard ‘til he concludes, “Well th-that outta b-be Mama.”

Now Nubbins knows that ain’t right and rolls his eyes, “No, you-you dummy, Gramma was only our age w-when Mommy was born. Ain’t no ol-old lady already.”

“That ain’t old.” Bobby concludes without looking again at Gramma’s obvious wrinkles in the picture.

“It ain’t y-y-young neither!”

“Sh-Shuddup!”

Nubbins being taller is able to snatch the book and clamber to his knees, holding it high up above Bobby’s head. With his other hand, he blocks his scratching and swatting to defend the book, when he turns his head and notices their little brother watching.

“Bubba, y-you wanna sees it?”

Bubba nods oh so excitedly, making hands like grabby little claws. Nubbins giggles and hands it to him, probably hoping to dump it off anyhow so he can fight Bobby with his full attention.

Only a little disturbed by all the commotion and rattling of the bed they’re using as a fighting ring, Bubba slowly flips through, watching the stranger baby girl in Grandma’s arms grow up into a toddler, and then a little kid, no older than seven or eight years old.

And suddenly, the little girl chops all her hair off, and starts swimmin’ in baggy old clothes, and smiles bright ‘n wide, showin’ off two little bucked teeth. That is Drayton.

Bubba gasps and squeals and bounces to get the twins’ attention.

“What? W-What’s a’ matter Bubba?” Bobby checks up, showing actual real concern underneath the big red slap mark on his face.

Nubbins looks, double-takes to process the shocked expression on Bubba’s face, and then gets angry at his twin, blaming him and all the arguing for Bubba’s emotion, “Y-You scared ‘im!”

“Nuh-uh! Uh-uh!” Bubba insists, waving his hands.

They stop to get their answers and see Bubba’s fished out the little picture from under the sticky plastic, holding it out. Flipped to the back, there’s some blue pen, sort of sideways and scratchy writing but easy enough to read.

The twins know it as Mama’s handwriting, a little script that says: ‘Little Es is officially a big boy. Asks we call him - Drayton. 1925’

“Woah.” They deadpan at the same time, sharing another playful nudge over their jinx.

Nubbins is the first to deviate from their identical surprise, with a question, “W-What’s this business big brother was a b-baby girl for? Is a-all babies girls?”

“No way, stupid. J-Just the ones that the Mama and the Daddy gets- gets confused.” Bobby snorts at him, always acting like he’s so much smarter.

Since he wants to be, Nubbins asks him sarcastically, though it is true really doesn’t know on his own, “What’s ‘at mean?”

“They m-mixed it up a-and c-couldn’t tell which was it.” Bobby says it like it’s obvious.

Now it’s Nubbins’ turn to get all haughty, ‘cause he thought of somethin’ smart that says what Bobby’s actin’ like is true, ain’t. “What, y-you thinks babies change they-they’s own diapers? Nope.”

Fed up with them, Bubba covers his ears and squeaks as loud as possible, “Eeee!”

No more words, they both snap to attention looking at him. Bubba calmly starts to mimic with his hands, pointing to the baby girl picture, slicing through the air, and pointing again to Drayton’s first boy picture. He’s trying to show them the progression, that this was a gradual change.

“Uh… Dr-Drayton splitted in half?” Bobby guesses.

Nubbins claps his hands once as he realizes, “No! Bubby says Drayton jus’ a-a replacement! Th-They switched ‘im out!”

Yet again, Bubba is sighing at their wildness and shaking his head over their out of place assumptions.

But he feels bad about it immediately, once Drayton appears. Liked he cursed his brothers to a punishment for mostly innocent teasing by being frustrated at them.

Drayton reeks of cigarette smoke so badly they could prob’ly all suffocate in this dusty old room. He scans and finds the book out of place, immediately turning sour about the face, “What the hell you boys got into, huh?”

Bobby takes their incorrect theory and runs with it, “W-What’s it your business, you ain’t e-even our real big b-brother! Y-You just a replacement!”

“Yeh!!” Nubbins backs him up, nodding furiously.

“Give me that..” Drayton snatches his photo back, cradling it between his hands like they were playin’ with another wounded little baby bird or somethin’, “I oughta whoop you boys. I-I oughta beat you both senseless!!”

His red-faced rage scares them, but they deflect instead of admitting that, Nubbins pointing to their younger brother with accusation, “H-Hey! Bubba looked too!”

“Have you forgotten Bubba was who you two ingrates was s’posed t’ be helping!?” Drayton seems to just shrug off the attempt, turning it into more furious ammunition.

Brown-ish eyes get all wide, Nubbins frantic to insist, “Uh… no! We jus’... uh..”

“W-We don’ understand ‘im!” Bobby finishes for him.

So much for pretendin’ like they got it all handled, they gotta go cryin’ to big brother to fix it like they aren’t grown themselves now too, “We-We’s tried it! But like you s-said, we ain’t v-ver’ smart!”

“B-Big brother, we's jus’ stupid!!” They lament, lanky, scarred up arms finding their place around each other as they both start wailing.

Now Bubba really feels bad. The twin’s last birthday was number 18, meaning in the eyes of the law they was liable on they own now, full grown enough to move out and do somethin’ besides just play all day. Funny thing though, is the government not knowin’ they been workin’ all their lives, ‘round the farm or helpin’ Drayton with his business.

Just don’t seem like it sometimes, when they’re both burstin’ into tears, all torn up over bein’ bad at their assigned role as Bubba’s big brothers. The way they baby him don’t sting quite so much now, knowin’ they was just tryin’ all they knew to get it right. Shouldn’t really be up to them, or Drayton for that matter, it should be their mama.

Bubba saw her picture in his book, her giant brown eyes, carved into her slender face by puffy rims. Her smile was sort of the same way, chipped away from a bony, pale sort of glow about her. Unlike Gramma, Mama didn’t doll herself up in dark red lipsticks and spidery eye lashes. Mama wore every freckle and mole and the burn scar on her cheek with pride.

Looking into that face, peppered with all kinds of realness, Bubba can’t imagine her leaving jus’ ‘cause of his face. Drayton told him that all along, that his face had these awful gaps and dents and pinches that warped it around, along the lines of where he now had ropey pink scars and droopy eyes.

Mama was pretty, so pretty he’s a little jealous, but her eyes just got this look a lot like love and acceptance that makes Bubba want to believe somethin’ different happened back then. It’s nicer to think Mama would’ve helped his ways of communicatin’, than it is to admit she walked out, whatever the reason.

“Now.. Now, that’s enough of that! Quiet!” Drayton is hollering at the twins to stop their cryin’, drawing Bubba up out of the photo book and into the current problem. Or rather, problems, counting being caught with the picture books, yelling at Drayton, all their bickering, and Bubba struggling to communicate on top of all that.

For their part, the twins do quiet down to just sniffles, watching as Drayton points in their faces and turns,

“I’ll be back to you two after ‘ while.”

For now he’s dealin’ with Bubba, who’s got dread pumpin’ in his veins like a rainstorm against the windows.

Drayton wets his lips and forces a chuckle like he does when he’s talking to a victim. Bubba thinks his brother must be half scared of somethin’, as he motions to the photo book, “What’s ‘at you got there?”

It’s got to be a trap. A trick question. Bubba slams it shut and snatches it close, wrapping his arms around it. A teeny part of him hopes he can hide that it’s Drayton’s particular book, until he remembers that he’d already seen the particular snapshot in history they was all lookin’ at.

“Ah, c’mon now. Show me.” Drayton coos, a tone reserved almost exclusively for folks tied to the dinner table, or the way he talks to the food in the truck when he thinks the boys are too busy to listen.

There’s danger in that. Bubba eases up slowly, presenting the book on the page he’d been fixated to. Drayton takes it full out of his hands and flips through with skill and ease, clearly looked through this photo book many times while nobody else was s’pose to see.

What he lands on is another photo of himself, a little older this time, proudly in line with Grandpa, officially recognized as a man of this house. Someone in their history’d doctored it to have a small cut out photo of little Drayton next to it. With his hair in girly piggy tails and a skirt lengthwise down to his shins.

“See here, this’n’s the one I wanted t’ show ya.”

Bubba thinks he’s starting to understand that they were supposed to look in the photo books. Drayton would’ve hit them already instead of later on, if he could truly bring himself to be angry about their spying. Big brother must ought’ been too shy to show off the pictures, preferring them to find it without him in the room. Maybe in case they said somethin’ mean.

“You was sayin’ ‘bout all that, boy-girl business. One to the other, huh? There ya have it. Know a fella myself done that.” He starts, bridging together all the small pieces in Bubba’s head to build the bond he’d hoped.

Earlier, what Bubba told Drayton that the twins couldn’t understand, he was tellin’ about his questions, his crisis, his out of body feelins.

Bobby gets impatient with Drayton takin’ it all so slow though, “Y-You did, you ch-changed-“

“Damn it, I know that! Tryin’a make friendly!“ Drayton whips his head ‘round to yell, taking a slow, deep breath on the way back to brace himself for the serious side of this, “Lookie, Bubba. You know.. heh.. big brother ain’t as naive as I look. Let you do all that business with your makeup ‘n them suits of your departed auntie’s, ‘cause I seen the inklin’ of this all along.”

Like a confused critter, a puppy at the door wonderin’ who’s on the other side, Bubba tilts his head sideways, “Guh?��

“Well now I watched you grow, didn’t I? Noticed you wasn’t like your brothers.” Drayton laughs like there’s a joke, but it’s still too tense to be real. His cold tone and accompanying lisp drop in, “But Bubba, you gots to be real serious ‘bout this if you’s gonna switch it up. Now I.. you know I can’t just start sayin’ I got’a little sister and everybody gonna be okay with it.”

Now Drayton won’t look him in the eyes, in the pretty woman face he’s wearin’ to feel the way his brother is describing, instead fixing his eyes downwards to his hands, “They’ll see through ya. God knows it. Best to stick ‘round the house much as you can if’n you go on with it. Can’t run ‘round the slaughterhouse or the station so free. ‘Til the idea of boy Bubba dies off anyhow.”

It still feels like too much. Like all kinds of commitment and work that’s still going to leave the problem exposed. What Drayton’s talking is doin’ a heart surgery on a brain-dead bitch hog. Ain’t gonna fix a damn thing.

Bubba shakes his head defiantly. The room around him is silent, Drayton’s face falling so bad you’d swear somebody done slapped him right ‘cross it.

Nubbins must noticed, cause he taps Drayton on his arm, whisper-informing him, “Cook, I-I thinks he’s sayin’ he don’ want that.”

“That right, huh? You wanna stay a boy?” Drayton tries to clarify.

But Bubba shakes his head at that too, and crosses his arms now.

“So you is wantin’ to be a girl?”

Another shake. Drayton’s skipping over the right answer, and Bubba hopes he’ll understand that if he could just deny his questions enough. It feels strange, that his usual go-to for understandin’ is now so closed off, caught up in his own experience so much he can’t see Bubba’s how it is.

The twins ain’t perfect about the way they talk with Bubba but they do try, or at least they’s goin’ to now, ‘cause Bobby excitedly declares. “I know this! I-I-I know this! I think Bubba w-wanna be both!”

A little surprised honestly, Bubba feels a big burst of happy energy from his heart out into his limbs. He wiggles his arms and claps his hands together, faster than he would if he were talkin’ this way.

Drayton is stuck up on Bobby bein’ right, not takin’ it a good way like Bubba, “That ain’t the way it works, fool.”

Bubba ain’t sure if he’s talkin’ the boy-girl stuff, or the ‘Drayton isn’t always right and the twins know their shit sometimes’ stuff.

“S-Sure it is! If that’s what B-Bubba wants!” Nubbins sounds too confident, and they all realize he’s just rubbing salt in the wounds as much as he is extending an olive branch past the old man to Bubba.

“Yeh! O-Old man don’ make the rules!” Bobby agrees, and they’re across the other side of the bed, but Bubba feels like they’re huggin’ him, wrapped around with happy feelings and pleasant warmth.

“I ain’t old yet. And damn it I didn’t say a contrary word!” Drayton insists, taking the high road. No fists go flying, or belts for that matter, just a sort of vulnerability uncovered that would usually have that violent shield over top when his usefulness slipped, “Bubba, help your big brother understand.”

“Uh…” Bubba don’t know how. It’s been put plainly already. He just kinda freezes with his wrists bent up soothingly.

“U-Use the p-pictures, Bubs!” Bobby encourages him, since that’s how he got his point across to them before. Poorly scrawled words didn’t ever really cut it and neither did his gestures, so pictures would have to do.

Only, he doesn’t really get how to do that with limited photos of Drayton’s upbringing that got nothin’ to do with this current issue at all. That must show in his eyes, the panic and the just stuck feeling that’s catching up to him.

Nubbins suggests, “Make.. m-make new ones!”

To show it’s possible, Bobby fetches another yellow-paged notepad, while Nubbins produces a pencil from behind his ear, there ‘cause he was copying the pen Drayton usually keeps there on his own person.

Bubba babbles his version of a thank you, simple phrases like that still known to the family more than this complex stuff, and begins doodling. It takes two entire pages to show it all in his pictures, things like Bubba changing outfits, wearing his boy self and then his girl self, a calendar and the rotating sun showing it’s a day to day sort of thing. At first, Bubba had wanted to know if that was normal, his questions being about how to handle it.

Their reactions were answer enough though, and now it’s just like he’s answerin’ his own questions. Makes him feel kinda smart, drawing out answers and showing all the feelings her never managed to speak on. Really and truly communicating.

Drayton looks it all over when he’s finished and sort of half, fake-smiles.

“Sometimes a she, sometimes a he. Long as yer dressed accordin’ly, think I can work with ‘at. Knew a few fellas down… well you don’ want ‘t know all ‘at. Heh. Older you kids get, less I think I’m knowin’ how ‘t talk to ya.”

Shaking his head at himself in something like shame, Drayton gets up to leave. He’s frustrated at having failed at understanding, but just as much about having passed on his afflictions in the way of the human sex to poor Bubba somehow.

Hands shaking, he goes to the door to leave, before stopping. His heavy, quivery breaths fill the room more than any of the noise they’d been making today, “Bubba. Don’t go tellin’ this to the outside, you hear? These drawins, they stay in the home. To the outside you’re mute again.”

“That ain’t f-fair! I-If we can understands his art, e-everyone oughta, a-and he’ll be jus’ like normal!” Bobby stands and argues, his twin nodding furiously behind him.

Bubba though, he doesn’t like all the yelling and covers his eyes to hide from it.

“Hell what makes you boys think you know a damned thing about normal? Huh? What makes ya think I don’t?” Drayton had stomped forward, probably grabbed the boy according to the way Bobby yelped. Bubba curls up tighter and hopes that slap he just heard doesn’t hurt as bad as it sounded.

“Thats right ain’t nothin’ normal ‘round here, ‘n I ‘llow that much, but you find yourself testin’ my damn limits!!”

The door slams again and something falls over, a bone animal Bubba is pretty sure but not positive until he’s ready to uncover his eyes. In the quiet, the twins check up on each other first before coming back to gently inform Bubba.

“Psst. Bubba. H-He gone.” It’s Nubbins that says that.

Slowly Bubba comes out of hiding, obvious to all that a couple tears slipped past and wet his mask just so. Staying hushed, Bobby gently takes the drawing pad he was using and puts it in the big pocket on the inside of his sleeveless jacket.

“Iss alright. Lookie. Here look. I-I’s gon’ keep this.. this lil’ pad in my pocket, a-an when you wants to speak you tell one ‘f us. Th-That way, you ain’t the one c-carryin’ it so y-youu won’ get in trouble!”

“Tha’s sm-smart.” Nubbins testifies, grinning some. Seeing his toothy smile makes Bubba feel better, catching his breaths and steadying back out to no more panic. He gives a nod in agreement.

Bobby got a little ego about him from that claim, “I know it! W-We both is!”

Instead of the argument Bubba was expecting, the twins clap their hands together and clasp them there, connecting and silently saying that they handled this good. Cheeriness comes back into them and they’re laughing like hyenas before Bubba’s had time to process.

He still feels a little sad on his own. Ain’t easy bein’ told he’s a freak of nature needs to hide from the public, no matter how many times or for which reason it happens.

At least the notepad wasn’t burned up or somethin’, and he’s still ‘llowed to use it at home. Looking at all the photo albums, home to the first inkling of this understanding, he gets the idea to make a new one, that will hold his communication drawings as the pictures. That’ll be his next craft, and surely Nubbins will be able to help him with the sewing and gluing ‘til he gets real good on his own. Brings a crooked smile to his face as well.

[24kvlaks]

Horny pals.

How slashers act when they’re horny.

TW: implied sex.

Dominic- the dare.

Dominic had zero sexual experience so he’s more rational but a tad impulsive at times when it comes down to it.

If you just so happened to brush against it in a hug he’d ignore the pulsing. Though it’d kill him internally.

He’s the type to wait it out or go somewhere private to fix his problem.

-

If you wanted to help him he’d but confuse but more than happy to agree.

You’d take his cock in your mouth and bob your head on the tip, you’d try to tease him but he’d likely lose control and just face fuck you.

He’d let you get up for breathers but as soon as you seemed to have gathered yourself enough he’d make you go back to gagging.

His thick hand grabbing your curls and letting his cock hit the back of your throat.

One time you passed out and he thought he had killed you. You should’ve seen the poor boy contemplating whether he should just call the police and risk going to jail.

He’s big on pussy pounding! He loves missionary. Face to face. He loved reaching your face distort not even noticing how fucked out he looked.

He loves it when you sit on his lap, especially whilst he’s working on mask. Or new torture designs.

Bouncing on his thick bulge.

It doesn’t last long though because he either cums in his pants, or just fucks you until he does.

-

Huge size kink he loves how thick his cock looks coming out of your tight cunt. How it tightens around him and creams all over his shaft.

He goes feral once you scratch his back, or call him a good boy. He’s a whimpering mess.

-

(KINK BOARD- Good boy kink, size fetish, missionary kink, mouth fetish, grinding kink)

Bubba sawyer

He’s a virgin obviously. Of course he goes into his little basement to play with himself. One time Hoyt caught him and made fun of him!

He cried himself to sleep.

But when you caught him and teased him about it, it just felt so different. He felt his cock pulsing. Like he was masturbating without touching it.

The first time you had sex he was on a mental rollercoaster! Doubting if he did good, wondering if he fucked you good enough!

He didn’t want to crush you, poor baby was so big he ended up breaking his bed!

He lacks self control yet is very self conscious! He’d rub his big ole boner into you until he’s busted. Only if you’d allow it.

He hates igniting sex.

-

He’d let himself get blue balls then asking first. One time he busted a nut just by you calling him a good boy. He loves it when you sit and fondle with his balls.

He loves giving you back shots! He takes off his mask during sex because it’s hard to breathe in it.

But he doesn’t want you to see what he thinks is a hideous face so he’d stick to pounding your tight asshole or pussy.

He’s a big ass guy. If you’re wearing a skirt he’ll play with himself in secret. Always forgetting to fully wash hid hands and ends up getting caught with cum on them.

Watching you lick it off his bloody fingers.

Believe it or not he loves it when you smother his face with your juices, just like cannibalism! Except he doesn’t have to kill you.

He doesn’t have a nose so you don’t have to worry about hurting his bone marrow. And can just go ham on his tongue.

He eats your pussy as a sport. He enjoys it!

Sometimes he’d just do it for himself because he genuinely enjoys the taste.

-

He loves playing with your cum. It’s just proof he has done such a good job. He’s such a good good boy for his baby.

He’d sit and play with your cum as it’s leaking out of your throbbing pussy with excited little squeals!

-

(KINK BOARD- good boy kink, cum play, oral kink, face riding, masturbation kink)

Michael Myers

Michaels a virgin; obviously because he spent nearly his entire life in the asylum. Though he has some experience.

He’s watched his sister have sex openly around him.

And he’s killed plenty of teenagers whilst they were fucking.

So it was no surprise what he was into.

When Michael wanted it he got it, if he was horny no matter what you were doing he’d pull you by your hair and just fuck you until you were unresponsive.

He enjoyed watching you turn blue as he choked you. Watching your face distort from pleasure and pain.

-

He’d use his knife from time to time. Sometimes stabbing it in the counter and using it to scare you.

Slicing you once or twice just to see the blood spill.

He bruised you up, I mean people started to think you were being abused by your boyfriend! He surprisingly didn’t mind oral though it wasn’t his favorite.

He’d hold you down as you’d scream to be able to breathe. Hands in your hair as you choked around his cock.

He’d toss you around until he was done with you.

He loved hiding as you played with yourself, not aware he was there watching.

He didn’t like masturbation, he didn’t understand the point of it. If he had someone to control his urges control them.

Take his cock until he was done.

He loved restraining you, grabbing both of your wrist in one hands as you screamed for him to take it gentle.

He loved how blood looked on you. Coming home after a fresh kill and covering you in his mess.

He hated teasing.

One time you tried he choked you unconscious with his dick out.

Big guy was into sleep fucking.

Taking what he wanted as you slept, waking you up with a pussy full of killer dick.

-

He was rough, sometimes it wasn’t even pleasure just pure pain. He was a monster, and he fucked you reckless in bed.

He loved scaring you. Sometimes he’d pretend he’s going to kill you just to watch you run away in fear screaming. He’d hurt you during these chases. He loved the thrill.

Watching you run through the woods, bloody and hurt. Before disappearing coming home and fucking you later.

-

(KINK BOARD- chase kink, bruising kink, hair pulling kink, restraint kink, blood kink, knife play, choking, voyeur kink.

Jason Voorhees.

Jason’s obviously a virgin. He’s very shy about sex. His mother always told him that doing stuff like that was sinning and naughty.

Which is partially the reason he killed whoever he caught in the act.

Jason never masturbated. He was used to dealing with blue balls, he never understood why he couldn’t touch himself or have sex. He thought it was just because he considered himself ugly:

When you two had sex it was sensual. He loved taking care of you after or getting taken care of!

Despite what his mother said he loved watching you play with yourself.

Or wrapping your hand on top of his whilst he masturbated. He loved being called a good boy.

-

Jason is very slow when it comes down to sex. He’d actually kill you if he went all out!

He didn’t want to hurt you, so he’d go by your pace and by your reaction.

He doesn’t have a lot of kinks, he’s used to the usual.

He loved protective sex! If you almost got caught in one of his traps or if someone hurt you he’d fuck you all night long!

If you made him jealous he’d get insecure but soon enough once you told him that everything was okay, he’d fuck you. Just to prove to you he was good enough.

He loved holding your hand. During sex, during walks. Anything!

He loved letting you sit in his lap.

-

(KINK BOARD- protective fucking, together masturbation, lap sitting, hand holding, good boy kink)

Patrick Bateman.

Bateman was quite the experienced. And he didn’t want to do anything that made him feel less dominant. He wasn't shy about it, if he wanted it he got it.

-

He loved tying you up, rendering you helpless as he fucked you with every once of power he had.

Pulling your hair and making you look sloppy as he face fucked you.

He loved missionary! Face to face as he looked stoic watching your face expressions become uncontrollable.

Sometimes once you disobeyed him he’d grab your hair. Twisting it and sucking your neck until it was blue.

He loved marking you, especially when men occasionally looked at you.

He loved gift giving, he'd buy you a pair of expensive underwear just to tear them to shreds so he could fuck you! And give you a more expensive pair and the cycle starts again and again!

Very much into jealousy sex, Patrick thought he was two high and mighty to be jealous so when you did he'd just fuck the feeling out of you!

-

He didn't hide the fact that he was horny, a simple whisper in your ear and it was time to go.

Words of affection! He loved the way you'd reassure him or comb your fingers through his hair calling him handsome.

Tit playing, he seems like the type to love petite titties. A weird fetish he'd let no one know he has. Though you quickly caught on because every time you didn't wear a bra you'd go straight into the bed.

-

(KINK BOARD- Words of affection, tit playing, jealousy sex, gift giving, missionary kink, hair pulling, marking, restraints)

That's all folks! Lmk if i should do a part 2. and who should i include in it.

[atsurene]

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

current hyperfixation is thomas brown hewitt from tcm the beginning ! 💭 ₊˚⊹ literally so in love with this big boy so much, can’t get enough of him !! 😫💗

[slasher-fxcker]

I’m a sucker for hurt/comfort fics, can I get Bo and Thomas being held hostage by a victim please? God I love the way you write Bo ^.^

A/N: Yesssss, I too love this! Hope you enjoy!!

Bo & Thomas having their S/O taken hostage by a victim.

Warnings: Guns, Violence, Swearing. 18+ blog MDNI.

Bo Sinclair

If you asked, Bo would say he isn’t afraid of anything. He always saw himself as fearless, he had seen so much in his life that he didn’t think anything could shake him.

That was until he heard your scream, one of the victims had gotten away from them and they had been searching, shotgun in hand, for at least an hour. When he heard your scream it killed him, you were his life now. Maybe he hadn’t quite realised it but in that moment the thought of you being hurt by the victim, or worse, pained him in a way he’d never felt before.

He raced to the house as fast as he could, he had to grab the wall as he skidded through the door and up the stairs to your room.

His whole body shook in fear as he noticed the handle on your door had been broken and that you were nowhere to be seen. “Fuck!” he yelled running back down the stairs to Vincent, “He took her, that bastards gonna get what’s coming to him,” he sent Vincent back out to look for you while he went to the kitchen to get his keys but what he saw made him still instantly.

Bo called your name quietly as the man pressed the knife closer to your throat making you flinch. “Put the gun down or I’ll do it, I’ll slit her throat.” Bo felt the familiar rage boiling up inside him at this point, how dare he talk about you like that, how dare he threaten to hurt you.

Bo surprisingly kept his cool, raising both hands and placing the shot gun on the table between you before taking a step back. “There, now let her go. Take my truck just let her go.” You had never seen Bo like this before, the pleading in his eyes as they flickered between you and the man. The man started moving forward towards the door still holding you close to him, Bo didn’t take his eyes off of him as he moved towards the exit. Bo was going to kill him, you knew that, he was going to rip him apart for even threatening you. As the man got to the door he looked at the door and then you, “Hey! I said let her go.” Bo seemed to spook the man who pushed you towards him and made a run for it. Vincent must have heard the ruckus and caught the man just as he reached the front door.

Bo wrapped his arms around you holding you close to him, his hand was brushing your hair out of your face as he whispered to you, “You're okay, you're safe now.” He repeated over and over as he just held you, you weren’t sure if he was convincing you or himself.

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas wiped the remaining blood on a rag before wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you against him and nuzzling into your neck. Giggling you gave him a playful shove, “Lunch will never be ready if you keep it up.” He just huffs, placing a kiss to your neck before getting himself a drink. The poor man didn’t even get a chance to sit down before Hoyt was yelling demands at him again. “I’m going to check out the roads again. Get outside and finish setting the traps up out the back.” Thomas placed his cup down with a sigh, gently caressing the side of your face before making his way outside.

It wasn’t long before you heard some noises coming from behind the basement door, you were used to it at this point and as much as it bothered you, you knew you had to ignore it. You didn’t get to think twice about it before a man came bursting from behind the door. You froze, looking towards the knife on the table you leapt towards it, unfortunately the man seemed to have noticed your gaze and reached the knife before you did. “Scream and you die.”

He steps towards you and you pull away as he tries to grab you. The scuffle gained the attention of Monty who soon rolled into the kitchen, seeing you being manhandled he began yelling for Thomas. The man grabbed you by the hair and dragged you out the front towards the cars. You didn’t know how far Thomas had wandered away from the house, would he have heard Monty? Would he reach you in time?

It wasn’t long before you heard the roar of the chainsaw you tried to turn to look for Thomas but the man’s hold on you is too tight. You hear the chainsaw getting louder but you're getting too close to the cars now. You have no weapon and the grip the man has on you is unbreakable. Panic starts to set in, you're frantically searching for anything to get you away from him. You notice the man has a slight limp, readying yourself you use all your strength and kick him in the side of the knee as hard as you can, he buckles and let’s go of you in the process.

You turn and run towards Thomas as fast as you can, he slows down as he reaches you quickly looking you over to make sure you're safe before running after the soon to be dead man. He doesn’t hesitate before impaling him with the chainsaw. Dropping it immediately when he’s finished with the man.

When Thomas reaches you, you can see the pain in his eyes. He drops to his knees in front of you, face lowered and avoiding eye contact. You know Thomas always blames himself, for you being stranded here, for the life you’ve been forced to lead, for you being hurt. You kneel down and cup his cheek coaxing him to look at you. “I’m okay Tommy, were okay.” You continue reassuring him, as the words seem to sink in he gently pulls you into his lap his arms wrapping around you. You don’t know how long you stay there before Thomas sends you inside while he cleans up the mess. Expect that Thomas will be very needy and protective over the next few weeks, he needs to know you're there and you're okay. Thomas doesn’t know what he would do without you in his life and he never wants to find out.