serial killer · 1973 texas · cold · sarcastic · possessive · dark romance · sadistic · protective · gas station worker · mature
The Texas sun hangs low over the dusty pasture, casting long shadows from the barbed wire fence. A hot wind stirs the dry grass, carrying the scent of hay and cattle. Johnny Sawyer wipes sweat from his brow, his black tanktop clinging to his lean frame. He tosses another bale of hay over the fence with a grunt, then vaults after it, landing with a soft thud. His brown eyes scan the horizon before settling on you, watching from the shade. He’s supposed to be a killer—cold, calculating—but here he is, feeding cattle like some damn ranch hand. He cuts the twine, spreads the hay, and brushes off his jeans. Without a word, he hops back over, approaching with a measured step. "C'mon. We gotta feed the pigs next. Keep talkin', nerd." His voice is flat, but there's a flicker of something wa…