Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The house itself was creepy enough. If you looked past all the dead bodies, it was old and dark, with various critters running around eating things. It also smelled, at least, more towards the basement area. Mother kept the main rooms tidy for her own sanity, it seemed, but dust coated practically everything else that wasn't used regularly. (Like the showers.)

Taking the bodies into consideration, though, at least they weren't everywhere. You could sit in the living room and feel as though you belonged there for a moment, if nobody came to bother you but Mama, and Tiny, perhaps, if he was simply passing through. "Grandpa" only yelled at you when he saw you, which was thankfully not often, but Baby was a completely different story.

Baby Firefly wanted you dead, and she wanted it now. Her usually stupid-happy demeanor was always replaced with a pout around others when you were around, but privately, she made it very clear she wanted to kill you.

You never kicked up trouble, was the thing. The most you'd do is move about rooms and take some food without Mama knowing. She never made much of a fuss about it, only patting our shoulder and reminding you to ask for a good meal instead of just leftover bread, which is what you snacked on now as you sat in the living room.

The television had a chair leg stuck through the screen, and Mama tutted at it as she walked through. "Out of every damn thing in this house," she sighed, fixing the center table's decor. "I oughta take you intuh town," she smiled, directing her attention towards you. "You young folks know all about them appliances, don'tcha ?" She chuckled, patting your shoulder rather roughly. At least she was in a good mood.

Baby stormed into the room. She'd been moving about the house in a daze for seemingly no reason the past few days, her boredom eating her alive. "Mama, I wanna go inta' town, too," she complained, pouting. Mother wrinkled her nose at Baby, a frown on her face. "Naw, Baby, ya know I put you on house arrest after stealin' that poor ol' man's radio. I know yer itchin' to leave, but keep yer ass here for a couplea' more days."

You'd noticed Mama get stricter with Baby as you'd stayed here. The whole house seemed to get more tense around her the longer they got used to you. It seemed Baby had noticed as well, at your expense.

"It ain't a problem, Mama," you mumbled, as she left, but by then you were already alone with Baby, and she was fuming.

"Ain't a problem, huh ?" she hissed, fumbling around in her pocket. "I'll show you a problem, you rat ! You're takin' my family from me !" The hiss of a switchblade had you on your feet, knowing out of anyone in this house that threatened you, Baby would actually follow through.

The wooden floorboards creaked as you thundered off, Baby in tow. She screeched about nothing you could understand, and Mama's faint yelling could be heard from the kitchen. Up the stairs you went, nearly tripping over something on the floor as you ran off to a place that would probably put you in slightly less, but still an adequate amount of danger.

The door slammed behind you, as you caught you breath in the small room. As Baby pounded and shouted from outside, another voice came from the other side of the room.

"What the hell is goin' on in this house ?"

Something hit you in the side of the head ,and you turned to find Otis, standing a few feet away from you, face contorted in a scowl. He looked like he'd been messing with and possibly eating out of a dead body, blood splattered up his front and his hands. You found the object he'd thrown at you- a half-cracked bone.

He threw open the door to kick Baby away with a rage you know would be forced upon you within moments. Otis never, ever shouted at his sister. Maybe Baby was right about the whole "taking her family away" thing. You felt a little guilty for a moment, but it soon turned into unbridled panic as Otis whipped around to storm towards you.

"What's yer fuckin' problem ?!" He snarled, slapping you across the shoulder. You edged back, stumbling down onto his bed, and braced yourself for a beating.

Otis wasn't nice to you, but he was the one you were here for. You were like his sad pet dog, sleeping on the floor, getting kicked when you were bad. Even then, sometimes, an occasion would arise when Otis would touch you with less force than usual, and that was enough for you. People would call you insane for staying in this house, for this guy, but maybe the family had driven you just a little crazy.

"Ain't I tell you to shut yer bitchass mouth when I'm workin' ?" he grit, undoing his belt. You whimpered like the dog he treated you as, shaking your head rapidly. From the other side of his little curtain, you could see a decapitated head, though the sight only made you cringe a little by now.

"She was gonna kill me," you protested weakly, but Otis still whipped you over the back with his belt anyway. He spit on you as it made you cry, doing it again, with more force. "Maybe she fuckin' should'a, brat," Otis grunted, punctuating his curses with whips from his belt, holding you down to keep you still enough.

"You do nothin' but stir shit in this house. I should make you do my work fer me. I'll teach you what fuckin' work is." It seemed he'd made a decision about what he wanted to do with you, getting off of the bed and pulling you up with him. The crushing grip he had on your arm was better than the sting of the belt, the metal clink as it was thrown aside allowing you to relax for a second.

Otis dragged you off to his little torture chamber, a small section of the room where he messed around with body parts and put them in places they weren't meant to go. You caught sight of his recent "project"- a poor girl with eight pairs of tits. Very original, you thought with some sarcasm, while you still felt enough to do so.

He threw you to the floor with a pair of disembodied legs. You startled back, but Otis planted his bare foot on your neck, the cold sole shoving your face down to press against them. "Lick that shit up," he demanded, gesturing towards the blood. "Lick it. If yer a good mop for me, I'll play shower with you."

Shower was better than nothing, you sighed. It smelled awful down here, rotting flesh tossed over in the corner somewhere. You begin your little game of mop and bucket, silently starting to lick up the puddle of blood on the floor. This wasn't a new punishment, and you were amazed how you'd never gotten ill from this awful stuff.

You continued like this for a while. It was beyond you what Otis was doing in the meantime, listening to the familiar cracks of breaking bones and the surprisingly audible tear of skin. Ugh, you shuddered, bile rising in your throat. You had to pause your cleaning for a moment just to swallow it back- if you threw up on Otis' floor, he'd fucking hang you from his window.

After a while, Otis appeared to get bored of his art, stepping back to eye the body he'd been mutilating. "C'mere, mop," he gestured, and you rose to your feet. He pulled you to his side, smirking. "Ain't she pretty ?" He'd given the girl eight arms along with her breasts, and a longer torso. Jesus christ, you thought, brow furrowing.

"I said, ain't she pretty ?" he growled, shaking you. "Yes, yes," you gasped, snapping back to attention. "Very pretty, Otis." It was awful to look at for too long, Otis frowning at the way you couldn't keep your eyes on it. He clicked his tongue, forcefully shoving you back over to his bed. "Some fuckin' audience. You cleaned up better than usual, so I'm guessin' you want that shower, huh ?" he chuckled, the sound gritty and dark.

You nodded, because, yeah, any excuse to get dirty with Otis and not injured at the same time. His bed made a rather loud creak as he sat down on it, yellowed teeth bared in a grin as he beckoned you over.

Otis was fucking dirty, and he smelled like shit, and if you had been a little more sane he would've been your worst nightmare. Sometimes you had to wonder how you of all people managed to get yourself into this mess with a killer hillbilly and his demented family, but as you eagerly shuffled towards Otis, you remember that you love him (somehow).

"C'mon, bunny," he snarled, grabbing you by the wrists and pulling you back onto his flimsy bed. "Start lickin'."

Shower was a game that Otis had thought up a while ago, just to have an excuse not to use his real shower. It was like your little mop job from earlier, only better, as you licked a long, long stripe up his forearm. The blood cleared itself with your spit, your mouth watering for more as you began to work your tongue between his fingers.

"Ah, yeah," he sighed, leaning back and closing his eyes. He looked rather peaceful for the first time you can remember, you thought, eyeing his face.

"If you let any'o this stuff stain me, I'll strangle you." Way to ruin the moment, Otis, you thought, furrowing your brow as you go to clean his upper arm. He was rather muscular from his hobby of murdering people, and your tongue grazed the arm before you in time with a groan from deep in his throat.

As you leaned over him, you could feel Otis begin to stiffen, cock soon pressing against your leg from where it was confined in his jeans. You helped Otis take his shirt off, tossing the soaked fabric to the floor with just barely repressed gagging. His chest had silver-white hair over it, thankfully dry of blood due to his shirt, or it would've felt like licking a lollipop right off the carpet.

You chewed on his neck for a moment, making him rumble like a bear and grab your arm in a warning. His hands and neck were possibly the most bloodied places on him, his slight beard scratching your tongue as you moved over his face.

"Have you been eating out of these poor people ?" you asked, knowing the answer was probably yes. Otis croaked a laugh, the sound vibrating against your lips as you grazed back down over his throat.

"Why don'tcha kiss me and see if I got the taste o' liver on my lips ?" It was a tantalizing offer, one that you took advantage of as you leaned back up to kiss him. His lips were cracked and dry, mouth reeking of alcohol and his awful breath you'd gotten used to. Otis' hands were playful, trying to tug off your clothes as he began to lick your face. It spread the scent of plaque and metal about you, so you pulled back to his disappointment.

"You taste awful, Otis," you murmured, moving back down to lick his other shoulder. He cackled, smacking your ass as he flipped your position suddenly. "Don't you go complaining," he drawled, forcing you onto your chest. "I ain't tryna hurt you no more than I already done."

Otis stroked a finger over where he'd caught your bare skin with his belt earlier, before physically ripping your clothes off. "No more shower ?" you asked, disappointment evident in your tone. "You still got blood..."

He shook his head, cutting you off by pressing your face into his flat pillow. It smelled like grease from his hair. "Naw. I'm bored uh that. Lemme fuck you, open yer legs."

You did as told, obviously, bracing yourself to be immediately fucked, only to be surprised with the feeling of his fingers nudging your hole. It made you gasp softly, turning to eye his arm. Otis' hands were probably filthy, but it mattered little when he was fingering you open so quickly.

"Otis," you moaned, leg kicking up in protest. "Slower." He only slapped you again, this time across the thigh, causing you to whimper brokenly. "Shut up. I'll fuck you with a knife if I wanna."

Now you held your tongue again, because Otis sounded way too serious for comfort. He stopped after a good minute of playing with you, before something thicker breached your entrance.

"Lube !" you cry, before you can stop yourself. Otis simply bares his teeth, gripping you hard around the shoulders. "Naw. You been bad." You sighed, trying not to tear up as he stuffed himself into you without so much as a warning. It felt dry and weird, your natural moisture not enough to make it rub together any smoother. 

The pace at which Otis started was nearly enough to make the burn quit burning, ass immediately beginning to hurt as he made the bed rock and bang against the wall. All you could do was tense up and squirm about it, a string of moans and curses leaving your mouth as Otis seemed intent on leaving a you-shaped hole in the mattress.

The pleasure took the edge off only slightly, as it was his turn to lick you in the weird, gross way he did. His rough tongue found its way to your neck, teeth biting into your skin as if he wanted to eat you alive, which he probably did, thinking about it.

"Otis," you called again, almost entirely out of breath. Otis had been panting and grunting over you like an animal, his calloused hands not letting go of your sides as he hammered you into his bed.

"You gonna cum, bunny ? C'mon, cum." His voice was husky, his long hair tickling your back as he leaned down to mumble in your ear. The way you were frantically clenching around him made his cock twitch and throb inside you. You were a little embarrassed at how fast you were to finish, but Otis was good at this, and pain made you moan like a bitch.

You ended up coming as he bit down on your shoulder hard enough to draw blood. Great, more of the stuff. He drank it up like a fucking vampire, and repeated this with other parts of you until he came, which took about five more minutes of that ruthless fucking you loved so much. By then, you were a puddle on his sheets, barely alive enough to thank him as he usually made you do when he pulled out. For some reason, he allowed this to pass, smacking your ass again as he stood up and zipped his pants back shut.

About this time, from the bottom of the stairs, Mama banged on what sounded like a pot and called the house for dinner. Otis never went down to eat, preferring to take his dinner by himseld at midnight, usually. This time, he leaned down, grinning at you in a sort of mocking manner as you lay there, attemping to remember how to breathe. "I'll get yer dinner to wash down all those guts. Don't go nowhere, bunny."

He left with a slam of his door, and you could hear Mother exclaim happily from the kitchen as Otis made his first appearance of the day. You noticed he'd locked his door, and you convinced yourself with a smile that it was to keep Baby out, rather than you in. You liked Otis. Otis was nice to you.