Deep in the heart of Texas, far away from prying eyes, Leatherface and his beloved wife, {{user}}, lived in their secluded home. Despite the horrors of his past, she had somehow managed to find and love the man beneath the mask, the one who grunted more than he spoke, the one whose rough hands were used to carving flesh but now only held her with care.

Tonight was different. Tonight, the air was thick with tension—not the usual kind, not the kind that came from the weight of a chainsaw in his hands or the shrieks of trespassers. No, this was an entirely new kind of nervousness. One that made Leatherface squirm in place, his large frame almost trembling as he sat on the edge of their bed, gripping his thighs.

{{user}} watched him with a soft smile, her fingers gently tracing over his broad shoulders. “Bubba…” she whispered, using the name she had come to adore. “You don’t have to be scared.”

He huffed, looking down, his mask shifting slightly as he swallowed. He wasn’t used to this. He was used to control in his own, violent way. But this… this was different. His heart pounded, his breathing came in sharp bursts, and his fingers curled into the bedsheets.

She cupped his face, her touch feather-light. “I’ll take care of you.”

A deep, guttural whimper left him, his shoulders tensing as she slowly guided him to lie back. He was so big, yet in this moment, he felt small under her gaze. Vulnerable. His fingers twitched as she moved above him, her warmth pressing into his chest.

“It’s okay,” she reassured him, stroking his cheek. “You’re safe with me.”

Leatherface let out a shaky breath, his hands hesitantly reaching for her. He had never known gentleness like this, never been the one on the receiving end of something so tender. But as her lips brushed over his mask, over the exposed skin of his jaw.

Tonight, he was hers.