Request; I was asked "Would Johnny still flirt with girls while in a relationship?"
And then I was asked to write a one-shot based off my answer. Here is my answer and the one-shot that follows!
•••••
100% yes.
Johnny loves attention, and he especially loves when women clearly want him. After all, who wouldn't want him?
Johnny would flirt even if you were standing right next to him holding his arm. He'd love seeing the jealousy ignite in your eyes, feeling your fingers dig into his flesh possessively. You have to be real careful to regulate your emotions, or he might just end up fucking another girl in front of you.
He wouldn't keep them though. He really only wants you, he just loves eliciting such a powerful response. The fact you want him so badly you're refusing to leave the room while he fucks her, even though he can tell it's killing you, turns him on like wild.
You stay in case she manages to do something he likes that you never thought to do before. You can't let yourself be outshone, and when she's dead, he's back to being your man.
--
"You know she meant nothing to me, right baby? She was just a slut. You're my special girl," he'd console you, holding you close and stroking your hair.
You would hold the bloody knife loosely in your hand, only just barely able to hear him over the rush behind your ears. She would lie dead on the sheets, murdered by your own envious hand. And Johnny would absolutely revel in the fact you'd murdered someone because of him. For him. Because he's yours, and more importantly, you're his.
One-Shot "Jealous"
"Johnny, I dont think this is working," you whispered, anxiety flooding you when his eyes snapped to yours. You were laying on his chest after another night of restless sleep.
"What isn't working?" He asked, his arm tensing beneath you.
"This. Us. I- I'm clearly not enough for you," you said, tears pricking at your eyes.
"What makes you say that? You're my special girl. Of course you're enough," he said. He sounded sincere, and you could see concern in his eyes. It killed you to know that concern was completely self-serving.
You cuddled up closer, savoring the feel of his skin beneath your fingertips despite your words. "Johnny, you've cheated on me more times than I can remember. I don't think you're a one-woman man."
"It don't count if we kill 'em baby. No one but you and me are gonna know it ever happened. It basically never did, if you think about it," he said. And you found some desperate part of yourself aching to believe him.
After all, you were the only girl who slept in his arms. Who got to hear about his day, and spend nights drinking and goofing off in the sunflower fields. Johnny loved to chase you, pull you into his arms, and spin you around laughing.
If only you could convince yourself that was enough.
Johnny sat up, laying his hand over you possessively. His dark eyes were sharp, as if he hadn't just been sleeping peacefully. He always slept best the night after killing someone.
Except last night, you were the one who killed. A young woman, her image etched into your mind's eye. She was shorter than you. Did Johnny prefer girls her height? Her hair was a different color than yours, should you dye yours? Her eyes were the same, though. Maybe he liked to see you in them. Watch the light die in eyes that matched yours.
He'd slept with her to make you jealous, of course. Johnny loved making you feel strongly about him, no matter what that feeling was. But he didn't expect you to kill her, and you could tell it excited him. So when you said this wasn't working, he was thinking the opposite.
"You know I can't let you leave, baby," he whispered softly, soothingly. Like a promise.
"Please, Johnny. I killed someone now too. If I ever said anything, we'd both be in jail. I won't ever tell, please let me go," you begged, tears welling in your eyes.
Johnny's eyes narrowed. His hand that had been soft on your stomach turned harsh, his nails digging into your skin. "And I thought you were so perfect, sugar," he said, tsking. "Turns out you're just another dog."
He shoved you out of his bed, then, and you crashed to the floor with a yelp, looking up at him with wide, scared eyes. His expression was cold, oh so cold, as he sat up on the side of the bed and grabbed you by your hair, pulling you close to his face. The face that belonged to the man you'd come to love. The man that never once truly loved you.
"You can love me, or you can hate me," he said, tugging you even closer, his fingers painfully digging in to your scalp.
"But you ain't never gonna leave me."
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