#johnny sawyer x gender neutral reader

[johnnys-breastmilk]

bit-or-sweet | johnny slaughter x gn!reader

a/n — fulllyyyyy a joke fic! wrote this a while back and I'm trying to go through drafts and post them regardless of quality lmao. inspired by twilight - im so serious

summary — Johnny wants to give you a bite mark, you make him bite an apple to see how it'll look.

words — 1.5k (short sorry!)

warnings — general mentions that you're dating a serial killer, pain-intolerant reader, blood, biting

~~~

There are about three different levels of commitment to have with your murderous boyfriend. Maybe three and a half. The first is pretty normal: moving in with him. The last half is letting him kill you, but that’s more of a one-sided thing. The third step is teaching you to murder—not kill. Killing is easy, murder is bereaving. You have to give something that you’ll never get back, so that’s why you were stuck squarely at the second step. Johnny’s teeth sunk into the flesh of a fresh apple. It was just one of a few that Nancy had picked up at the market, now sitting in a bowl in her kitchen with one missing. The two of you hadn’t even left the kitchen before your mind went to something fun to do with the fruit.

“Don’t go all the way!” You pestered, watching his jaw slowly become acute and his lips slowly cover the sacred notion of eating. Teeth scraping against the inside of the fruit emitted a crunching sound. You smacked him on the shoulder, “Johnny!”

Johnny mollified, granting the apple a reprieve as he let it free from his forceful jaw. The juice from the apple had dribbled down his chin and was smeared over the apple. He polished the bitten surface over his shirt, cleaning it of any of the saliva and juice before handing it to you. One hand took the apple, the other grabbed his chin, running a thumb over the thin trail running down it, feeling the prickly stubble. You ushered out a quick “thank you,” still facing him. 

“This is what it’ll look like?” The two of you looked down to the apple cupped in your hands, all of his teeth were indented into it, showing how a bite from him would look on your skin. His teeth overlapped others—most noticeable of his two front teeth in the top row. The bottom row seemed to be a bit straighter overall, except for the one missing fang on the left side. That’s another thing about boyfriends like Johnny: he’s missing some things. Not perfect, not horrible, but just enough to be unique. 

“C’mon, ya ready?” He asked with excitement, a certain gruff peaking out in it. A smile cracked and only his top row of teeth were visible. Between the little gaps in his teeth—where his incisors covered the missing gap—could you actually see it. One less—one significantly sharper tooth to worry about.

You couldn’t help but be hesitant. Johnny appeared complacent with his work on the apple, but it was deep. It was long, held for a minute. Any semblance of the five-second rule was gone with that. "There's so much bacteria."

His light expression faded and he sounded a bit more serious, almost unbelieving of what you said. You lived with his family—in his shack! ”You live in the same dump as me!”

That argument had little sustenance because even you had complained about the state of his living situation before. But you still lived in it, still tolerated it, for him.

"Will it look pretty?" That question was fleeting in its validity too, you had the answer right in front of you as to how it would look. Glancing back down to avoid his gaze, it did look pretty. A ring of reigns with one tooth breaking the imperfect circle. You couldn't ask if it would hurt because even if it didn't initially, Johnny would make it sting. Even knowing that fact couldn’t stop you from asking: “Will it hurt?”

“I’m just going till you get a scar.” He spoke calmly, reassuring you. “Yer mine, and I want to show it. I couldn’t imagine givin’ you one like mine on your body. They’re not somethin’ to be proud of. This’ll be better.”

You thought for a moment, trying to bide time before the inevitable pinch on one of your body parts finally came. “If this one is something to look forward to, can we go somewhere special to do it? A pretty field?”

“Darlin’, it don’t matter where we do it. It’ll follow you everywhere once we’re done, even when I’m gone.”

“Okay, we’ll do it here.” On his family’s property, in the confines of Nancy’s kitchen. She had gotten these apples earlier that day at a market and it felt like Johnny had rushed you into getting a tattoo. 

But like a tattoo, the needle—in this case, his teeth—was at the ready while your confidence was not. Johnny bit over a million people already—mostly to leave them wounded, but you would be marked like ear-tagged cattle. Identified as his and only his. 

His hands touched you like it, not even willing to let you go as he set you up on the counter. The action took the breath out of you, sweeping you from your feet to the countertop. Johnny ate it up, enjoying the littlest of noises you made. He could playfully bite you all day long just to hear the vulnerability in your voice.

Johnny pressed and squeezed into certain parts of you now that you were in easy reach for him. His mind went to places that you wish you could read, but he would probably say them anyway. “Mixing pain with pleasure?”

“Get your head out of the gutter!”

“I’m only thinkin’ about you from in there…” His head finds the space between the crook in your shoulder. The only place where he isn’t, his hands roaming other areas of your body almost like a distraction. The smell of fear, the way he could feel the chill his warm breath sent into you, every hungry drawl as he looked over your fresh skin sounding hungrier than the last until a snarl resonated. The barrier between him and your blood, so thin, so permeable. Just the hardened look in his eyes was enough to pierce through it. 

His hands stopped roaming your body, zoning in as they moved up to push your head and shoulder farther from each other. Johnny’s lips peeled back, a bit sticky from the apple—something you wouldn’t feel until they were suctioned around your nimbly neck—bared his teeth and bit down on the side of your cape. The force was almost immediate, urging out a painful wince from you. His canines were the first to really dig in and sting you, making it even worse. Your eyes traveled down to the source of the pain, only the back of his head was visible, and you were tempted more than ever to reach for his dark hair and tug on it. He was probably strong enough to stop you from pushing him off, and you knew that he wouldn’t willingly break away from you without taking some skin and muscle with him. And if you did manage to push him off, the movement of his teeth would leave an even worse mark.

The pain didn’t last too long, though. Johnny was able to bite down fast enough to draw blood, but you wouldn’t have realized that. Not unless Johnny had pulled away. His lips stayed glued to you the entire time and that made the transition from biting to sucking and feeding on your blood a little easier, but all the more surprising. He was like your personal bandaid, complete with the care that comes with applying it too. His tongue, motioning over the wound like a damp cloth, and his saliva, the ironic antiseptic. 

It took about fifteen minutes of painstakingly leaning against Nancy’s cabinets and sitting in Johnny’s embrace for the ooze to come to a trickle. Johnny pulled away, exaggerating his normally toothy grin to really show off the blood that gushed into his mouth and covered his teeth. “There, you look real nice.”

Proud of his work, Johnny let his mind move to the next thing—the unfinished apple. The apple was browning at his teeth marks, but welcomed Johnny’s bite with familiarity. As he bit into it, he made the flesh inside red with the front-facing side of his teeth. That was the man you were in love with: the type of guy to do something so intimate and then go back to normal like nothing happened moments later. 

For the rest of the week, while it was healing, Johnny would find himself sinking his teeth into the same spot. The dried scarring made it appear as a challenge to keep breaking it open again. The teasing of the taste, knowing that little work was needed to taste the blood under the thin layer of skin. It wouldn’t go away any time soon—even before it healed and became a scar.

[minnophee-writes]

My Little Crybaby - Pt. 1

Fandom: Texas Chainsaw Massacre

Pairings: Johnny x Reader

Series Warnings: Character death, blood, violence, knives, brief knife play, implied blood kink, kidnapping, death, non-consensual touching, slight dub-con, smaller person / taller man, size difference, abuse, physical, emotional and verbal abuse, mentions of female anatomy, smut, oral sex, cannon divergence

Chapter Warnings: blood, violence, chainsaw, kidnapping, death, non-consensual touching, rough touching, injuries, mentions of corpse, brief mentions of bile

Summary: Reader finds themselves waking and tied up in some sort of basement with a few of their friends and trying to escape. Death follows them but once they look death in the eyes maybe they might have an internal moral compass crisis.

Word Count: 2,633 words

A/N: I tried to keep the reader as gender neutral as possible, if there are any mistakes then that's on me since I don't exactly proof read or have someone to proof read my stuff XD The person in the drawing is me but you can insert yourself in the same position uwu I will also be making more chapters for this when I get around to writing them but I hope you enjoy this first part!

The first thing you noticed was the pulsing headache followed by the thump of something dropping beside you. Your eyes slowly pried open to see Ana and Sonny removing any bindings from their joints while hurriedly whispering to each other, their normal complexions hidden by the shadows of the room. As you moved to hear what was being said you only then noticed that your wrists were bound to a rusted pipe, you feet were tied as well though you did feel that the rope wasn't tied tight enough around your wrists. A small wince caught the attention of Ana as she immediately moved towards you.

"Oh God, Y/N, are you okay?" Ana's voice wobbled in fear but she kept a brave face on anyway.

"We need to get outta here!" Sonny exclaimed quietly, yet urgently, "Those people could come back and finish us off if we don't find a way out."

You looked at the two confused only remembering setting up your tents next to a creek nearby, telling ghost stories between your friends and then nothing. Well, not completely nothing - you remembered seeing two strangers, you think their names were Sissy and Johnny, and they had noticed the campfire in the distance. The absolute last thing you remembered was that you and your friends were all drinking some of the alcohol the two newcomers brought when suddenly it went black. Nothingness.

"What the fuck happened last night?" was all you could think to ask, still confused. You suspected something was off but that shit only happened in movies- right?

The sudden sound of a chainsaw revving in the distant had the three of them frozen in place, your brows pinched together in slight curiosity while the other two started to propel themselves into action and began to work on opening the door to the room. You didn't need to have 20/20 vision to know that your friends were legitimately freaked out and something horrible was about to befall you and your friends if you didn't find a way out.

You ran around the room for anything useful while Sonny was trying to use a small paper clip to unlock the door. Your eyes darted around the room when it landed on a rusty blue toolbox. You dashed toward it and rummaged through it, pulling out a few tools but none that would fit in the lock. Ana then gasped while frantically combing through her hair.

"Sonny, you think you could use my hair pins to unlock the door?" She asked while pulling said item out of her dark hair.

Sonny's eyes lit up as he took the hair pin in his grasp and started to twist and wriggle it within the lock, waiting to hear the faint 'click' sound before flinging the door open into a much larger area. It still looked to be like a basement but the atmosphere around them caused the whole underground to feel like a spacious coffin for you and your friends. Rusted pipes, what looked like dried paint was splattered on the walls and then the loud wail of a scream echoed around the cavern, frightening the trio while knowing it was one of their other friends.

"Oh shit, that sounded like Connie..." you mumbled, pressed yourself against Ana and Sonny for comfort.

"C'mon, we gotta go help them," responded Ana as she picked up a sharp piece of bone from a skeletal pile off to the side. "Our friends need us!"

Ana bravely marched forward leaving you and Sonny to quietly follow behind her as she led the way. You looked around and you could feel your pulse rushing through your body and ears, goosebumps prickled your skin, and the overwhelming feeling of dread hung heavy over your head. It seemed like your breaths travelled loudly in the quiet labyrinth but not long after you and your friends arrived in a bigger area that had stairs leading up to a blue door, along with a few shelves and benches. There was an ominous red light an the other side of the room which almost made you feel nauseous, you didn't like the feeling you got from looking at it so you didn't want to imagine being anywhere near the space. It was quiet for a moment before suddenly a body came rushing at the trio and cause you all to give a small shout.

Connie stopped in front of you and gasped as if she was surprised to see you all alive, but that was all shattered when a looming figure came around the corner Connie appeared from - a chainsaw in his hands and a disturbing leather-esque mask covering his face.

"Run!" Connie's scream echoed all around you as everyone dispersed in different directions.

It felt as if your heart was lodged in your throat as you ran, the large man shouted while wondering who to go after and picked a random victim. Sadly the victim was you. Adrenaline flowed through you as you bolted down tunnels and attempted to take sharp turns to loose your pursuer but it seemed like he was never far behind. You took a sharp right and saw a barricade ahead, the barricade had barbed wire wrapped around it and you took the chance to dive through the small gap in the middle.

The barbed wired cut into your flesh causing small wounds along your forearms and legs as you pulled yourself to the other side. You quickly glanced back at the man to see him stop and stare at the offending obstacle, he tilted his head as if thinking how to deal with this slight predicament before pulling the cord on the chainsaw. It revved back to life and started to cut aggressively into the barricade which spurred you back into action.

"Help! Help, please!" Your voice rang out as you sprinted away.

You never were the athletic type but you were glad that your stamina wasn't failing you in your current situation but that didn't stop the needle like stinging from the small cuts. Blood had dripped down your legs and arms in the process, making you look a bit deranged, but that didn't stop you from searching for your friends and hoping that they were okay.

You entered another larger space with a door wide open and leading to stairs. You dashed toward it as hope swelled in your chest and you could almost taste freedom on the tip of your tongue. When you reached the top of the stairs you took a left into a modest living room with what you assumed was the front door to your left and the kitchen to your right. As you made your way to the door a grunt could be heard behind you causing you to pause in place. You slowly turned your head to look over your shoulder and saw a rather older looking man with what appear to be a broken broom handle in his hand. His pinched brows casted a dark shadow over his eyes and his mouth was pulled down into a deep frown that almost looked like it was carved into his face while his eerie statement sent shivers through your body.

"You ain't leaving here, little missy."

The older man then charged at you with his weapon raised above his head - ready to strike. Ducking under his swing you bolted past him and toward the kitchen and dining room. The older man was surprisingly quick for his age but you were faster and managed to slam a door on the man. Hearing a grunt and loud thud gave you a little breather before you continued to hurriedly run around the house, the front door and side door of the property were pad-locked shut and made your escape even harder to achieve.

You let out an annoyed sigh before making your way to the other side of the house only to be knocked off your feet and rammed into a wall. The air left your lungs and you struggled to draw more in, spasming on the ground for a second or two before you were jerked back by your shirt.

When your eyes focused you saw the rotted leather mask staring back at you while he raised his chainsaw in the air. You went to brace for the tearing blow - squeezing your eyes shut and wrapping your arms around yourself in a small effort to protect yourself. While you waited in anticipation you heard some sort of scuffle and left your shirt being released as a squeal rang out. You opened your eyes and saw Leland huffing over the large man on the floor, your friend quickly running over to you and dragging you away.

"Oh my God, Y/N! I thought you were dead!" Leland rasped as the two of you found yourselves upstairs in a small study room.

"I thought I was about to be if it wasn't for you." You briefly hugged your friend before looking at him again. "Have you seen Ana, Sonny or Connie? We got separated when that guy chased us."

"No, I-I haven't seen them..." he looked a little distraught but then he stoned his expression. "We're going to find them, okay? We're going to make it out of here."

You nodded in agreement, although you doubt the likelihood of all of you escaping were low that didn't stop you from at least trying.

Leland took charge and started to lead you quietly through the house, he would occasionally stop you when you'd both hear the voices or footsteps of your assailants. Your body was wound up so tight that you thought you'd be frozen in place if you stayed still any longer and you were grateful when Leland signalled it was safe to move again. Any slight noise or movement freaked you out, you were completely on edge but you felt marginally protected with Leland with out - silently thanking his wrestling training and background.

You both made your way to the bottom of the staircase where you monitored the open living space. You noted that the pad-lock on the front door had been broken and you nudged Leland to grab his attention to it. He nodded in acknowledgement before pointing at you to go toward the door while he emoted that he was going further into the house.

'Split up? Is that really a good idea?' You were hesitant to part ways with Leland even for a small fraction of time but you knew that you needed to make sure a path out of here was possible, so you'd have to remove the lock from the door so that you could open it without any obstacles blocking the way.

You crept over to the door and heard Leland's footsteps moving away leaving you alone in your own anxious silence. Once you removed the pad-lock you then realized one flaw in Leland's plan - where do you go now? You weren't sure if you had to follow after Leland or stay near the front door and make sure it wasn't barricaded again. You were torn and struggled to decide what your next move was going to be but it seemed the universe had answered your mute question by deciding for you.

"HEY!" a rough voice shouted from behind you, "you ain't getting away this time!"

Your head whipped to see who was behind you only to see the same older man from before with with broom handle. A larger figure stood behind him - the masked man - and you knew you were doomed if you didn't move.

"Get them you big oaf!"

The leather faced man revved his chainsaw and your legs finally kicked into action. You swiftly turned toward the front door and forcefully swung it open while you propelled yourself outside in a flash. You practically leaped off the front porch and took off down the gravel path with the larger man chasing after you in a squealing heap.

The front of the property was enormous with a few wrecked cars scattered around, a car battery that looked to be powering an electric fence ahead of you and a worn-down well off to your left. You knew that you would most likely be fried by the fence if you tried to open it, which would result in your attacker reaching you and possibly killing you. You didn't have many options or enough time to think about where you needed to go.

So you ran for the well that you could see in the distance, hoping it might connect to a tunnel system that leads away from the property and to safety. The thundering stomps of heavy footsteps behind you was spurring you on, giving you a small burst of energy to pick up speed and close the distance between you and the well.

Loud revving from the chainsaw started up as a large shadow slowly began to loom over you - your jaw clenched with anxiety as you finally reached the well. You didn't even hesitate and leaped over the uneven brick work, down into the dark depths below. As you fell and landed on a small dirt mound, with a few skeletal remains piled around it, you heard harsh squealing and yelling above. You paused in fear for a moment thinking the man with the leather mask would drop down on top of you but he never came.

You quickly glanced around only to notice some of the same dirt tunnels from before - meaning you were back in the basement, starting back at square one again.

"Fuck... no, no, no, no!" You cursed to yourself as you stood up and started to run down a random tunnel.

Your legs were burning from all the exercise but that didn't deter you. You didn't plan to become minced meat and knew you'd need something to protect yourself with. While you ran your eyes searched for anything useful you could use as a small defensive weapon in case you got grabbed again. Every toolbox you came across wounded with you still empty-handed and you were beginning to become frustrated. As you crept into a somewhat enclosed space you immediately noticed a bloody table with a range of sharp tools scattered across it as well as the shredded remains of one of your friends - Julie Crawford.

Bile rose in your mouth at the sight, the acidic burn on your tongue and throat hurt but you quickly swallowed it as you heard the rushing echoes of footsteps closing in on your position. You entered the small room and hid under the table, your hands flew to your mouth to suppress your breaths as a pair of muscular legs came into your view. The man slowly walked forward and seemed to survey his surroundings, his feet navigated their way close to your hiding spot and you held your breath in hesitation.

The man abruptly stopped in front of the table facing Julie's corpse and placed his hands on his hips. He sighed as if he was disappointed but about 'what' you didn't know.

"You know, I kinda liked that girl. I didn't want to hurt her but..." His deep voice stated out of the blue, "family comes first."

The loud slap of palms hitting the table made your body jerk and a strong grip on your wrist caused your muscles to tense as you were dragged out from under the cover of your temporary safety. Your head was yanked back by your hair as your eyes locked onto a pair of blue ones, your heartbeat racing through your ears and your breathing sped up. The man stared back at you as he smirked smugly, a brief chuckle escaped him while his eyes darted over your figure in observation.

"Found ya."

[reeddotcom]

[TCSM] Johnny x Reader

➢ Cellar Door summary: just like in the game, you've woken up in the sawyer household and need to escape with your friends. it's your job to escape, though you may or may not have gotten some help along the way. (gender neutral, self-insert)

warnings: blood, minor violence, suggested gore (but honestly nothing 2 cray oops) a/n: this is just the first part and my first time writing fanfic/posting anything on tumblr so pls be nice oop ⸻

Darkness. Silence. How you got here was unknown but you were also just waking up, feeling blanketed by an exhausted haze as senses slowly crept back in.

Tired eyes eventually flickered open to reveal an unfamiliar room encased around you; shades of ocher becoming a wooden door, muddy walls, nobody else in sight. Was this a cellar? Some type of basement? Every blink dissipated visual blur just a bit more until you were able to realize the world was upside-down and, peering towards what should have been the ceiling, the terrain underneath looked less than comfortable to land on. Wait, what was holding you up then? Your hands were free, but as more time passed and differing senses were starting to slowly make their way back to your psyche, your feet felt more restricted than what was normal. Eyes travel downwards, chin tucked to chest—stretching, arching to see that there's a frayed rope tying them together that's attached to the ceiling. What the fuck was going on?

With your heartbeat in your ears and a sudden urgency to feel freedom again, there's a short stretch of writhing and exerted effort that's needed in order to squeeze one or two digits underneath the rope; loosening it from your skin and ultimately getting it undone within a timely manner. That came with an unpleasant drop though that'd knock the air from your lungs, making it rather difficult to catch a full take of breath that didn't feel warm, much like your cheeks that were still attempting to settle with all of the blood that had rushed towards them. There's a coolness to the dirt that makes it worth relaxing in while your body begins to fire off signals of all the pain points that heightened across bruised legs, brandished arms; marks that couldn't even make it within your peripheral.

Something was clearly wrong but… you were also here for a reason.

To find Maria Flores, yeah. Ana's sister. Wait, where was Ana? A sudden scream in the distance provides the answer that you most likely weren't looking for while simultaneously providing the drive needed to finally stand up and move; eager to find a way out of wherever the fuck it is you've been locked in. Palms to ash, then wrapping around a dirtied door handle—was that blood?—you make your way out of the room and in the opposite direction of what sounded like a chainsaw in the distance that drowned out cries of agony from what could only be assumed as your friend. Julie, Connie and Sonny were also here too, right? And Leland, you couldn't forget about Leland. He was the one that came up with this whole idea. Whether or not it was for Ana or for his own hatred for the local police department and their lack of support in this case was debatable.

There's so much to process with each step taken and crying was completely understandable in a situation like this. Left to right, right to left, the walls were narrow and severely lacked any indication of direction. Everything looked the same. It was like an underground tunnel of nightmares where bones hung from the ceiling, some left in piles on the ground, if not shoved in the walls. The further you went, shimmying through tight spaces that were just narrow enough for you to squeeze through, there'd be a gruesome discovery of the bodies the bones once belonged to; their blood being strained into bins from hand-made contraptions, like tree saps. Who does something like this? Some people found things like this interesting while others found it nauseating. Either way, you were unable to make eye-contact with anything but what lied straight ahead, illuminated by questionable light sources that were intermittently placed along the walls. Darkness was a theme more often than not.

It concealed you if there was ever a moment you needed to take a breather, hide in a corner, attempt to gather scattering thoughts. Perhaps there was enough bravery to come up with a strategic plan. There was still no sign of any of your friends but that awful chainsaw still echoed in the distance, far, far away so that was a sign that things weren't all that bad. The potential for circumstances to be worse were always there but fate had different plans for you on this day. Something or someone​ was one step ahead of where you currently stood, having opened a door that was heavy in structure; fenced on the right side, allowing for transparency of the stairs that lead upwards of this hellhole. An opened padlock lay in the dust as your feet pass by it, carrying your body up the stairs in whatever way felt right. Sneaking, rushing, taking two stairs at a time—it was an open exit that appeared completely safe from the angle you were coming from. A red wall with skulls of various animals stared back at you but there weren't any shadows or other general sounds to alert you to the fact there was potentially anyone around, just the sound of a television in the distance. You'd just go the opposite way, right?

Breaching the top of the steps, it became quickly apparent that it didn't matter which way you went or how cautious you were when climbing the stairs; escaping from the sudden grasp of a dirty, gloved hand over your mouth and a knife aimed towards your throat was something that nobody could've seen coming. What's strange though is that… it feels defensive? The movements were performed so quickly, as if this person was expecting you, moving both of your bodies out of potential danger that rounded the corner just as you were dragged around another; back pressed to a heaving chest behind you.

"Useless… fucking Johnny," Mumbled a disgruntled, deeper voice that travelled down the stairs you had just emerged from, "Can't even fucking lock the doors…"

Johnny? Who was Johnny, and who was holding you right now? It's not as if you're at the liberty to ask any questions but the temptation is there, brimming over with each moment that passes as you're held as a helpless hostage. Suddenly, a coarsen voice whispers in your ear.

"Any sudden movements and I'll slit your throat."

It's said with a certainty that makes it sound like this man owns those words. He's repeated them a thousand times before and you're no different, "I'm going to let you go and you're going to quietly make your way upstairs. Left, around the corner, up the stairs…" It was a circle from where you came from so the instructions aren't that difficult to remember. Following them was a different story, "When you get up there, it's two doors on the right. Any other way and you're good as dead, you understand?" There's a part of you that doesn't quite know if this was a threat or an aid; someone providing false hope in a situation that already felt dire. Soothing rolls of an accent are tempting to abide to though, at least for a fleeting moment.

Loosening the rather vigorous hold this person had on you, it offers enough room to nod if you felt so compelled as to offer an answer, if not provide him with a muffled groan or no answer at all. Regardless, he lets you go with the departing gift of the dirt, debris and the taste of unkempt fabric on your lips, pushing your body over towards the left as this darker-haired man rounds the corner on the right. He's built, defined arms exposed by a muscle shirt that was potentially covered in blood but he left in such a quick haste that you weren't able to stick around and check. The shorter mullet was the last thing you had seen beyond muscles and worn-out jeans, so it's with that information and the sound of his accent that you can assume this was his home—his family house maybe? You were still in Texas, that was for sure.

Time was of the essence though and as you begin to follow through with the way you were pushed, there's the quick realization that on the other side of the wall separating you from the staircase, there's also a front door within the vicinity. It's a brief taste of freedom, fooling the senses into thinking you'd smell fresh air again before the sight of a padlock over several other fastening devices catches your eye. Even if you were the world's best locksmith, something like that would take far longer than what this stranger was giving you; his voice ringing in from the other side of the household.

"She went through the back! I saw her out in the field! Go 'get, I'll handle Grandpa."

Whoever he was talking to was quick to voice their displeasure in the matter, exuding a fuss that sounded rather personally charged, "You don't tell me what to do, Johnny!" She insisted, but… her footsteps, followed by the sudden slam of a door said otherwise. Why was this guy lying for you? You had a name for him now at least. Johnny. How sick was it if this guy was isolating you, leading everyone away from the apparent prize that was your death just so he could have it all to himself. Or was he actually trying to help you? Surely, there was kindness to be found in a place that smelled of nickel and soured food; the walls rotting worse than mystery meat that leaked and stained a nearby table you'd almost bump into. Especially if it were coming from the guy who had just held a knife to your neck and threatened to kill you?

But he didn't. And here we are.

Finally ascending the stairs, coming out of the shroud of darkness that was the main floor of the house and heading towards the top floor, everything appeared to have been brighter than anywhere you had seen since waking up. The contrast of white, fluorescent lighting against the flowered wallpaper on your right also serves as an indication that there was no sunlight coming through the few windows that weren't fully covered by curtains. How long had you been here? It was daytime when you came in, as remembered by the way Leland shielded his eyes from the sun with his hands, complaining about a lack of sunglasses as Ana said anything but I told you so.​ She had a habit of being the most level-headed one in the group. You? You were always a little bit… unique. Everyone had a different dynamic with you, one that solidified some friendships with certain individuals more than others but as a group, everyone got along. It's why you all came here together, and it's why you were determined to live long enough to leave and see them all again after this was all over.

Such a motivational thought was enough to blur the movements between climbing the stairs and following the instructions that were given to you to survive. Second on the right, second on the right…

Your eyes travel side to side despite what words travel through your mind, feet carrying forward. On the right was one door, then a hall—a turning point that was potentially the right way, but there were also two doors on the left. Did he mix them up? Did you remember it wrong? Was this all a trap? It sure felt like it but there's no way to definitively say so until there's something to prove otherwise. Unfortunately for you though, there wasn't much of a chance to find out before the smell of husk hits you before the warm pressure of a body against yours; the cool touch of a knife to your throat tingling all the right senses once again.

"You're kind of cute. Listening to someone with a weapon and all."

He's teasing you. Still speaking quietly, as if there's a reason to hide the fact that you two are together in this house of horrors, but there's an obvious amusement in the situation you two are in, "Now why would you trust somebody in a place like this?" The question does make you think, even if it feels like static against the back of your eyes or prickling at the front. Johnny didn't have a preference for those who cried, no matter how good it looked on them, "After what happened to your friend? Maria, was it?"

Whichever way the question made you feel, there isn't much of a chance to flounder in those thoughts as Johnny lowers the knife; taking your hand in his within the same harsh movements he uses to drag you off towards where you may or may not have considered going before, the right.​ It was still technically the second door, the first one around the corner with no differing features from the other entries you had seen across the way or even on the other side of the hall. However, if you really felt the need to compare, Johnny wasn't going to wait around; reaching past you in order to rip the door open and shove both of you through to the other side. The only gentle thing about this entire interaction was how cautiously he had closed the entry afterwards, turning his back towards you in order to press a gloved palm against the structure; latching it closed with a golden clink.

That was the only exit from you can see. A quick glance around the room would've made it pretty clear that this was a bedroom, hosting a single bed—flowery blankets, hospital-like railing, unmade—a vanity and other arbitrary surroundings that were potentially less interesting than the man behind you. Whether or not this was his room wasn't the first question in mind, although it swirls around the other varying pathways you've been given the time to mull over. Two hands pushing against your shoulder blades are what tune you out of those same thoughts, shoving your body into the bed that forces you to fold over it rather than be disturbed. Nailed to the floor was your best guess.

"Now… how do we feel about another lesson?"

Johnny's voice finally matched the higher volume of what were louder, hefty footsteps, most likely caused by steel-toed boots adorned to the man's feet. You were able to consider the footwear as the serial killer special based off of what knowledge you had but that was perhaps the most innocent thought of yours as this man slowly approached you.

With nowhere left to turn, there was the option of either facing the next development or ignoring it. And were you going to keep Johnny waiting?

Part 1.

[sylverfishies]

My fanfiction rulez 😱 + intro

Hi!! I'm Sylverfish! or just Sylvester 🤭 my pronouns are It/De/Xe/He

I'm new to fanfiction writing I am so sorry if it sucks in the beginning💀

Fandoms I'm in and who I write for:

🦇Batman universe🦇:

Batman (any version)

Joker (Joaquin Pheonix, Heath Ledger, Cameron Monaghan (Jerome and Jeremiah) + any comic)

Oswald Cobblepot (Comics, Robert L Taylor, Paul Williams)

Riddler (Paul Dano, Cory M Smith)

Victor Zsasz (Anthony Carrigan)

Butch Gilzean <3 <3 (Drew Powell)

Jim Gordan (any version)

Maria "Fish" Mooney (Jada Smith)

💣Team Fortress 2💣:

Medic

Spy

Sniper

Scout

Soldier

Demoman

Heavy

Engineer

🔪Slashers🔪:

Jason Voorhees

Michael Myers

Patrick Bateman

Norman Bates (Movie only srry bates motel lovers :(

Bubba sawyer <3

Robert (Chop Top) Sawyer

Nubbins Sawyer

Lester Sinclair

⚛️The Big Bang Theory⚛️:

Leonard Hofstadter

Sheldon Cooper

Rajesh Koothrappali

📺Crashbox📺:

Professor Rocket

Jumpin Johnny Jumble

Captain Bones

Sketch

🏃‍♂️Extras that don't make a whole category:

Shaun Murphy (The Good Doctor)

Morticia and Gomez Addams (Anjelica Huston & Raul Julia) (yes it has to be poly >:(

Stuart "2d" Pots & Murdoc Niccals

Pavi Largo & Luigi Largo (Repo! The Genetic Opera)

Red guy (dhmis)

HEADS-UP: I picked these characters at 2 am so I most likely forgot a few people, if ur fav isn't on this list just ask if I write for them!

Rulez! Do's and Dont's

✅️What I will write for✅️:

Lemon and Lime

Fluff

Minor fighting/violence

Male readers

FTM readers <3

Character x reader

Imagines

Headcanons

full fanfictions?? Idfk

🚫Stuff I WON'T write🚫:

Fem readers or gender-neutral readers

Non-con

Dub-con

CNC

P3dophilia

"Watersports"

Sc@t or V0m!t

!nc3st

Death of the reader

This list will have updates probably -Sylverfishies

[johnnys-breastmilk]

NSFW Alphabet List - Johnny Slaughter x GN!Reader edition

a/n — nsfw list as promised! this one is significantly darker than the sfw list. I attempted to make it as gender neutral as possible!

warnings — please be aware that this alphabet list contains dark contents. dark!Johnny Slaughter, knife play, murder, implications of stalking, consensual non-con, blood play, general violence, necrophilia, dismemberment, choking kink, hunting kink, smut, 18+

don't like? don't read. I may have posted this, but I am not responsible for your media consumption. Keep scrolling if any of that sounds like it may be triggering.

A — Aftercare

Johnny isn’t the best at aftercare, and he doesn’t really try at all. It’s like a jarring personality change as he becomes cold to you when he’s finished. He’ll waddle from his bed to his fridge and return with a beer and softly sip it as he tries to listen to the music playing on the radio. If he’s been rough with you, he’ll make sure you can at least bandage yourself before minding his own business.

B — Body Part

Johnny loves his hands. He loves unraveling you with only two fingers, or wrapping both of his hands around your neck for some more intense moments. You usually end the night with the early stages of bruising around your neck from how hard he’ll squeeze. 

Your favorite part about him is his back. It’s so scratch-able while he fucks you and insanely easy to hold onto thanks to its definition.

C — Cum 

Johny’s not one to play with it, he just likes to cum in or on you—though, he rather prefers the latter to mark you with it—and then help you clean it up after. He loves cumming on your back or on your face the most.

D — Dirty Secret

While he doesn’t love to play with cum, he does love to play with blood. He loves to run his knife along you, carefully cutting into your skin to let you stain his bedsheets. He’ll watch blood perforate the small cuts and how the blood runs down your skin like teardrops until he swipes it up with his finger. He’ll taste it, flashing a bloody smirk as his teeth are already stained with your bloodletting. Sometimes, he marks tallies on your body with it for how many loads he’s pounded into you so far. 

He loves when it coats his body—his dick, specifically. The way it feels against his skin. The way he watches your holes turn red, blushing almost, at his primal nature.

E — Experience

Johnny is plenty experienced in the world of sex. Mostly, he’s experienced in pleasuring himself. He had numerous stints where he’d hook up with the people passing through Newt as a young adult, and that, cobbled together with his own self-exploration, led to him being able to do what he can do now. He can make you cum just from how much he’s trying to get himself off.

F — Favorite Position

His favorite position is to fuck you in is the mating press. It allows him to go as deep as he wants into you while looking at your face, his hands able to easily slip around your neck while he’s fucking you. It’s primal and leaves nothing in his way for him to go as fast or as hard as he wants.

G — Goofy

For the most part, Johnny is pretty serious. He wants to get in and get out, to get pleasure from fucking you and then go on with his day. He wants to get the job done, because his family has conditioned him to be anything less than perfect. The only funny parts come from his own actions, like when he talks to himself to hype himself up or is trying way too hard to be serious in the moment. He'll loosen up after it's all said and done, though.

H — Hair (body hair)

We’ve all seen him shirtless. Johnny lets his body hair grow, but he doesn’t have much to offer. He has a light coating of hair over his thighs that thickens up when you reach his crotch. The carpet matches the drapes, though, and his hair down there is unkempt. It’s too much work to use all those “fancy tools” to keep it clean, and if you don’t like it, there’s always a way to convince you.

I — Intimacy

The violence mentioned above is one of Johnny’s many ways of being romantic. He has a fucked up sense of love, and that’s just one of the byproducts of his upbringing, but he can be sweet in the traditional sense. There are times when he gives you a break, whether he’s feeling romantic or if you ask for it, he’ll take things easy when you want something less intense. 

J — Jackoff

Johnny has a pretty high libido, but he has his responsibilities that keep him away from you. He doesn’t love doing it since playing around with you has made him cum harder than his hand ever could.

K — Kink

Johnny has a hunting kink. It’ll usually start in his shack, he’ll ready himself with no more than a knife and his wits while he ties your hands together and blindfolds you. He’ll help you into his pickup truck and drive out to some field, going for a different spot every time. His favorite time to go is when the sun is starting to set and you’re caught in a golden glimmer of an untended field. Johnny will usually lead you out far enough so that you can’t see the road or his truck, then undo your blindfold and shut his eyes. He’ll start counting to let you know that you have to run, and then the fun begins.

He also has a knife kink. He loves trailing the same blade he’s cut up a thousand people and animals with to trace over your body, debating on whether he should sink the blade into your softer parts like it’s butter or carve his name into you. He isn’t sure how permanent your relationship is yet, so he wants to wait on that.

Lastly, he has a choking kink. Sure, his knife can do wonders and make your body a bloody, painted mess, but nothing beats what two hard-working hands can do. He loves pinning you up against the wall while he’s fucking you, pressing you back against it with one hand wrapped around your neck. If he’s fucking you on his bed, then he’ll use two hands to keep himself steady and control your breathing at the same time. He adores looking down on you, your eyes fluttering and looking weakly up at him as your mouth strains out each moan.

There’s also necrophilia, but he’s stopped that since he met you.

L — Location

Johnny’s not a prude. He can get it on no matter how dirty it is—even if it’s a dirty sunflower field.

M — Motivation

Johnny loves to see how willing you are. He’s used to dealing with victims who scream and cry and beg, and so he grows tired of it sometimes. If he returns to his shack and you’re eager to do the deed with him, he’ll waste no time undoing his belt buckle.

N — No (His turn off basically)

Asking him to be tame. The extreme is his normal. He wants to have primal, animalistic sex with you.

O — Oral

He loves receiving and being the one in control. Though, he will go down on you just to see squirm as he teases you about whether or not to cum. He loves to edge you but hates when you deny him release.

P — Pace

This one could go either way. If Johnny’s fresh off a hunt—whether he was “hunting” you or his actual prey—he’ll play it fast and loose. His thrusts will be sloppy and hard and done without much care with bloodlust filling his eyes. If it’s a night of spending time together in his shack, he’ll take it slow and steady.

Q — Quickie

Johnny adores watching you writhe under him, and quickies don’t provide that satisfaction. He’ll make do with the time he has, but he would rather save it for when he can focus all of his attention on you and him.

R — Risk

He does like to explore, but if it makes him uncomfortable in any way, then he’ll immediately ban it from being brought up again. 

S — Stamina

This is another one that depends on the mood he’s in. If his hunts were successful, then you can bet your ass that he’ll be pumping load after load into you for as long as the night lasts, but if it went poorly, he might not be up for it at all. Without hunting, he can usually go two or three rounds before needing to take a breather.

T — Toys

Given the time period, Johnny’s only toys are simply the ones he makes himself. Though, he didn’t have many. One time, he kept a victim’s head in the freezer for a few days when he thought they were really pretty and almost felt guilty for tearing such beauty away from the rest of its body. Needless to say, he felt pretty hot and bothered and needed some kind of relief, so he used their head as a fleshlight.

U — Unfair

As mentioned above, Johnny loves to leave you hanging. He loves to leave you wanting him while he’s perfectly satisfied after each sexual encounter with him.

V — Volume

Johnny’s pretty loud and vocal when it comes to sex. He quips a lot about how good you take his dick and that you’re his “perfect little fucktoy.” He usually grunts instead of moaning, but he has moments when you make him feel so good that he can’t help but make a noise you thought you’d never hear come out of his mouth. His shack is far enough away from the other family homes that he doesn’t have to worry about how loud he is, either.

W — Wild Card

He loves car sex. He’s taken you in many of the defunct cars on Nancy’s property because each is a different experience. The interiors of each vary wildly, some having vinyl seats, others having leather, and a few having cloth. All of them are different colors and range in their condition.

He loves having sex in his old pickup, too. He’s taken you in the bed and even made you suck him off while he was driving. He had one hand on the wheel, an eager foot on the gas, the open road, and the other hand was on the back of your head. Life felt fuckin’ amazing for him in that moment.

X — X-Ray

Johnny is packing an impressive seven inches, which makes for the perfect counterweight for everything he’s carrying in the back. His dick is fairly thick as well, and he is cut with a pretty pink tip. His balls hang decently low and swing when he walks.

Y — Yearning

Johnny spends most of his days hunting or fixing up cars—working up a sweat and pushing his head to the limit with hunting strategies and the puzzling assembly of various cars. He spends all day out in the Texas heat, so he needs to blow off steam almost every day. More often than not, he’ll go at it with you multiple times in one day. 

Z — Zzz

Not very quickly. Johnny usually does his routine of getting up for a beer, turning on the radio for some background noise, and getting you bandages or ice depending on how rough he’s been before settling back into bed with you. If something’s really bothering him he might share it with you, but otherwise, he embraces the silence.

[johnnys-breastmilk]

prison for life | johnny slaughter x gn!reader

a/n — I don't really like this lol, butttttt the low amount of Johnny content constitutes that the worst fics must be posted for the quantity

summary — Johnny got into a fight over you at the bar you own, and you patch him up.

words — 1.9k

warnings — mentions of blood and Johnny getting more scars. language

~~~

Watching people trickle out of the bar and onto the gravel pathway leading to your bar was always a treat—wishing them a safe travel home and a safer time searching for their keys while they laughed at the jokes the regulars heard every night and the newcomers would eventually get sick of. It’s what the final few minutes of any establishment should strive for. You got to be a part of the community from behind the bar, towel slung over one shoulder and the stream of a bottle flying over the next with the help of your many acquired flashy tricks. The final drink would be made just for you, by yourself. What wasn’t fun was watching them leave with shock and awe painted on their faces, the women ogling the man that just clobbered another out cold. The men with their spouses left in a hurry, both in fear of what happened moments before and nervousness that Johnny would snake his arm around those he stared at all night; his intentions for staring? Unclear. The line at which he would go from another bar patron to your champion of contest was equally so. Closing time should be that, but here you were, serving your last patron with alcohol that didn’t go anywhere near his mouth. It was for a scar on his shoulder…and for the nosebleed…and for his de-rooted tooth…and for the scar on his face. You would definitely need another drink after this. 

Maybe two, just to see if Johnny was still alive. Still in the real world, if he was in it to begin with. His pain tolerance was uncomfortably high and he didn’t wince as much as you would in this situation. He proved it when he spoke, his voice low and gruff but still permeating through to the levity you were used to.

“Another scar to add to the collection.” He smirked, revealing the blood staining his teeth and wrinkling the blood that had dried on his skin just under his nose. 

He could fight pretty well, but everyone has a center of gravity and the guys from the city possessed the knowledge to know how to tip him over like cattle. But Johnny actually did tip cattle, he was the one getting his hands dirty almost every day. He was used to meatheads. So in a quick motion of left-hooks and failed dodges, Johnny had the man on the floor within seconds.

“And another tooth lost.” You said, swishing around the one that was sitting at the bottom of an empty drinking glass. It rattled and clinked against the inside of the glass like someone dunked the body of a savior—your savior—in a stoup. While it was covered and stained with blood from the root it had been separated from, you could see between the red striping over it to notice the yellow staining—a trademark of bad hygiene. At certain angles, there seemed to be a black spot that was insidiously drilling into his tooth to rot it from the inside. “At least the cavity’s gone.”

“I got more of ‘em, though. Plenty, like shark teeth.” His smirk stretched into a wide grin, flashing his teeth in your direction. The gap between his teeth would have led you to believe he was missing something much bigger, but it was probably just your own head struggling to recognize it as a new feature on his face. It wasn’t like his fresh cuts that would turn to scars and eventually fade, no. Every time he smiled, smoked a cigarette, or bared his teeth to threaten someone, there would always be something missing now. 

“I’ll count each row and if there aren’t fifty… Well, I know where one is. You want it?” Good thing there wasn’t anything missing in your relationship. He still bickered and didn’t lose his bite after the loss of one molar. 

“Nah, just chuck it.” He didn’t want it to be more trouble than it was worth. It was his DNA—not yet incriminating for the time but it would be harder to identify him based on dental records, for the little paper trail he had left behind.

While he didn’t want to take home the proof that he didn’t walk away from the fight unscathed, he still won the fight. You tried to remind him of that, “Hey, you get to tell your family about the other guy when you get home. I think they will be pretty happy to hear that you’re okay. Minus one tooth.”

He laughed. This would be the part where he’d usually take a drink between pauses during the many conversations you shared with him before, his hand cupping at the air in a reflex before lightly knocking against the wooden bar with a flat palm. Almost in defeat; it was the same hand he had successfully tipped a cow down with one punch. “Sure… they’ll be real worried.”

You set the glass down as he tried picking one up, moving over to the first aid kit that was open and ripped apart from the inside, unpacking all of the quick medicinal fixes it had to offer. Johnny had a few cuts and you rushed to get it when the fight turned serious. Now that it had de-escalated: the man still on the floor with glass shards surrounding him, Johnny returning to the seat he’d been occupying at the bar all night, it made you feel a little overreactive to the situation.

Rounding the bar, you filled the space atop the empty brown stool next to Johnny. He leaned in your direction, brandishing his wounded shoulder with ease thanks to his sleeveless black tank. There was one deep cut heading straight for his bursa in the middle of his shoulder and a few lighter ones surrounding it that would only need  to be cleaned and bandaged. The man didn’t speak and Johnny didn’t wince when you started patching him up. You were using vodka to treat his wounds, and a small glass of water to clean that after you wiped away the blood. The towel you usually had slung over your shoulder was now turning a deep red from its vibrant white, matted down with his blood. Lightly, you dabbed a little at his face, but he wouldn’t really turn to look in your direction. Once they were all clean, it was time to start on his dwelling laceration: you started on the right side and pierced the surface of his skin to lightly sew it back together. Johnny was a little squeamish to the feeling, but it started looking better towards the end. Too bad you couldn’t do the same for his tooth.

“Try not to move that arm so much or I’ll have to put another stitch in it.” You tried to get his mind onto something else and decided that being a pain in his ass would be better than letting his mind settle on the pain in his shoulder and face. You had two stitches or so left to do before you could tie off the thin thread. “C’mon, you can tell them about how you kicked that guy out!”

“He came at me with a glass after I asked him to leave. Not much of a story to tell.” Johnny sounded a bit unamused, like the work he did was conscientious to the liking of a law enforcer.

“That’s not how I remember it.” Johnny came up to the guy, commanding him to leave for the things he overheard. When he refused to leave, Johnny grabbed him by the arm with enough strength to lift him out of his seat. The man’s drink spilled out of his glass, and in an undefinable rage, he hit Johnny with the glass on his left shoulder—the same side as the arm he used to pull him away from his source of intoxication. You only caught wind of the last action, returning from the back office with a rack of clean drinking glasses that you let slip out of your grasp when you saw Johnny get hit. The noise caused him to turn to look at you, revealing the scar across his face from one of the shards of glass grazing his cheek from the impact on his shoulder to cut him up.

“Listen!” He snarled out, shooting up and pulling away from you. You just had to tie the knot at this point. “I woulda kept my cool but he—”

“I don’t pay you to keep your cool.” And you were right, he kind of just came in and occupied a seat in the bar. He would stare at people when they barked at you—his warm brown eyes hardening into dirt-colored pebbles and silica daggers, unseen but felt. Sometimes, these men would take it too far and he’d cause them to fall face-first into the dirt outside after a harsh eviction. What would Johnny do with this guy? You could probably drag him out of the place if you really tried, but Johnny could lift like he ate—big and hefty. 

“You don’t pay me nothin’” But he was right, too. He wasn’t the typical image of security. He wasn’t big enough to block doors, he didn’t sit at the entrance, and he sure as hell didn’t care to card people walking in. 

“Except in free drinks. Get a six-pack out of the cooler on your way out, you earned it. Just… don’t drink it ‘till you’re home?” There was a black refrigerator by the door with a glass panel taking up most of the hinged door in front of it. Of all the things to get broken in the fight, you wouldn’t expect a measly cup to go first.

Or for your heart to shatter, when Johnny asked with a little bit of surprise, “You worried about me?”

“About myself. I don’t have the strength or gall to take on the farmers around here.” You pulled on the string hanging from his shoulder, tying it into a knot. You decided in the brief moment between spoken words that Johnny would be fine without treating his face if it was only cleaned. “And you have to get that guy home—that’s your last job of the night. I’ll help you throw him into your pickup, yeah?”

“But he, he said things about you I didn’t like.” You turned to the first-aid kit, reaching in for the tiny pair of scissors to cut the extra thread. When you turned back, you spoke with intrigue.

“Like what?” 

“I don’t want to think about it. He might not make it home safe if I do.” Johnny smirked, his eyes wandering off into his own fantasy for a moment at the things he could do to the man on the floor. 

“Fine, I won’t pry.” You finished up stitching him, closing the book on the night’s chaos. Johnny got out of his stool, standing over the guy with both legs on either side of his unconscious body. He reached down and hoisted him up by the shoulders, being intentionally careless as he let his legs drag and hit against the table and chair legs on his way out. You got a six-pack for him—a Pearl beer, his favorite—and followed him out to his old Chevy. Johnny didn’t tear any of his stitchings when throwing the guy into the back of his truck, and the drunken bastard didn’t wake up to any of Johnny’s rough handlings. You said your goodbyes to him and wished the guy a safe and bumpy travel home, but he would never walk back into the bar again.

[johnnys-breastmilk]

a stab at it | johnny slaughter x gn!reader

a/n — I had the writing itch and this came to me, started as a vague fic before turning into a Johnny one, so the plot is probably crappy. making up for my April fools fic!!!! (accept this as an apology)

summary — Johnny comes into the diner you work at late at night.

words — 1.4k

warnings — mentions of blood, possibly out of character!Johnny, swearing

~~~

The diner with no name. A pit stop on the way to bigger, brighter places like Austin or Dallas. No one cared about Newt besides the people who lived in it, and the diner was so far out of the way for anyone who lived in between the spaced-out houses for anyone from up that way to come around. It became the sweet spot for foreigners because it was closer to them than it was to where, legally, this place could be held in contempt.

The customers without faces. They stuff everything into little pockets of life that are designed to be unremarkable. Their outlines don't leave a lasting impact. The red, cushioned seating of each booth and stool doesn't leave an indent of their presence, of their scent. It wears off when the next dull-faced person comes in and orders the special to feel special, but in reality, they're like everyone else. The money they pay with is monopoly; kiddish, fast-change for a faster leave. Everyone accepts it but you need to be a special kind of person to work here. Their silhouettes as they leave are untraceable beyond the set of glass doors at the entrance. Vibrant purple lighting casts down on them and is usually diffracted by the soft yellow headlights of rusted and muddied trucks.

Another pulled up, casting light into the tall windows looking out into total darkness. You could've seen him coming from a good mile away—that’s how obvious the light would have been against the night, nothing else around to compete with his headlights—but paid no mind as he pulled into a vacant spot in front of the diner. 

His figure was different, the way he walked left dirty bootprints on the floor. Each step seemed to shake off something: dirt, sweat, fleas—if he was rabid. He looked fresh out of a street fight, claw-like scrapes along his arms that were lazily cared for in some areas and ignored in others like he couldn’t even feel it. You couldn’t even imagine what was festering over his soiled handkerchief, the concoction of what you assumed to be blood—probably his, tending to the wounds that drew blood—and dirt and the firm press his strong hands must have had on it while he lathered it in such a dirty blend must have aided in it’s deforming. It hung off his person, but it wasn’t swinging freely. It was stiff and dried and only molded to his stand when he took a seat at one of the red stools. The blood on his white rag wasn’t the vibrant red of the stool, some of the spots were browning—likely a week old—and the newer spots were a darker shade.

“You here all by yourself?” He asked, looking at you. You didn’t realize that the rest of the diner was empty—including the skeleton crew of staff. In fact, it was just you working tonight. The other server on duty left over an hour ago to deal with a family emergency, something about a family member that had gone missing. You couldn’t really say much without looking like an asshole, so here you were: stood on the inside of the U-shaped counter, facing a man whose appearance was unusually cold as he sat on the outside of it. 

“No, Bob’s in the kitchen.” You lied, the taste bitter like the bacon you burnt this morning during whatever it is a dying business can experience that is closest to a ‘rush.’ Bob quit weeks ago when the business was slow and the money coming in was slower. “You’re stuck with me up here, sugar.”

It might have been a lie, but you couldn’t care. Whatever made him think he couldn’t get a jump on you. But he seemed unamused, and that’s when you noticed the knife. It was on the other side of his hips, fastened between one of the belt loops on his jeans. The blade of it looked longer as you pushed open the waist-high swinging door to collect the dishes of the last family that ate. It gave you an excuse to look him up and down, and he didn’t have anything hiding under the counter that should make you nervous. He wasn’t even positioned to grab his knife quickly—his shoulder relaxed and his hands resting on top of the pale yellow counter.

After taking the dishes to the back, making a mental note to wash them before you left, you went back to the front. Johnny spoke up as he watched you strut back into the room with unknown purpose, his voice giving it a guide. “Could I… have a menu? You said someone’s still in the kitchen, so it’s open, right?"

“Yeah, sorry about that.” You said, reaching under the counter to get a paper menu for him. You slid it across, keeping your eyes trained on your hand and then his face came into the picture.

“It’s okay.” His voice was meek, softer and lighter than when he asked if you were alone. Was he playing for pity points—trying to get sympathy like it was free to hand out these days? “I just haven’t done this in a while. I don’t get out much.”

“Then why are you here?” It was something about him that made you say that—the rudeness, the imposition his mere presence emitted in a place like this. The way he smelled, the way he sounded. You looked away from him, out the window and into the nothingness only to return to his eyes. They were dark, seeing the hidden horrors of the night but there was something deeper in them that faded at your comment. His eyes went from doe-like to predatorily pouncing on your figure. From the apron tied around your waist, pens and notepads and straws and silverware stuffed in the various pockets of it, to the misshapen yellow cloth covering your upper body and then finally to your face. His voice shifted, too, going from the soft sounds of the wind to being as fiery as his truck’s engine.

“Because I’m not some bitch. I cut up—” he paused, before continuing, “—cattle all the time. It’s nice to eat a meal that isn’t something I have to work my ass off for.”

He continued his tangent, “In fact, I’ll make this easy for you so you quit your bitchin’. I don’t want anything savory, just get me a slice of pie. That should be easy enough for ya, right?”

You nodded and told him that it was coming up. You pushed the door open to the kitchen and pulled his pie out of the fridge. The oven was already heated, so you cut a slice bigger than what you would normally serve for him and put it on a pan and slid it into the oven. He shouted from the front, his accent like and voice losing its projection as he yelled, “Christ, and a cold one too! If you have it…”

Most people probably would’ve left. A diner in the middle of Nowhere, Texas with one person manning the kitchen and dining area is one big red flag for the quality of service. It took almost four minutes to heat up his requested pie—blueberry with crumbles of sugary clumps on top mixed with some crushed graham crackers. You didn’t know if he wanted whipped cream or not, so you kept it to the side when you brought it out to him. But this man was different, he looked like he hadn’t seen real food at all in his lifetime. You set it down in front of him, taking the opportunity to use your position on the inside of the counter to pull silverware from your apron like magic.

Setting the fork down next to his plate on the counter, he seemed to be in a lighter mood. He pulled his knife out, placing it on the opposite side of his plate. “Trade ya?”

“Only if you can’t pay. But this is on the house.”

Not only did he look happy when you said that, but when he took the first bite, his expression changed for the better. A smile formed around the fork, still in his mouth at the first taste of sweetness. His upturned lips crinkled his cheeks, and in turn, wrinkled the scar running down his face. You set yourself down on the counter, holding your face in your hands and letting your elbows rest on the counter. He smiled like a child and you admired him for it. "How is it? Good?"

He nodded. The man with no name, but an irascible personality. Unforgettable and strong. He was different because he liked this diner’s crappy food more than most. He liked the people in it, too. If only it could last that long...

[johnnys-breastmilk]

SFW Alphabet List - Johnny Slaughter x GN!Reader edition

a/n — okay, I was gonna put the sfw as well as the nsfw abc list in the same post, but I changed it so they'll be different posts. will post the nsfw later today, but enjoy my crappy head canons for Johnny (this is a bit more informally written compared to my fics since it's simpler than them)

warnings — general implications of harm, dark!Johnny (somewhat possessive, controlling, etc), tcm is the source material so I think y'all know what else is in here... but: mentions of hunting and cannibalism

~~~

A — Affection

Given that his way of living isn’t very lucrative, Johnny prefers to spend quality time with you. He teaches you skills like hunting and tracking down animals in the woods, and how to fix-up cars. When Johnny isn’t or can’t be around, he tries to make up for it by giving you gifts. Most of them come from the victims he hunts, but it’s the thought that counts! Maybe he saw some jewelry and thought it would look much nicer on you.

B — Best Friend

Having a friend like Johnny is like befriending a mangy dog. You have to be the one to talk to him and earn his trust. Johnny is weird as a friend, mostly because he can’t share much about his lifestyle with you. But he likes the consistency you bring, you have a regular life and are always at the bar he frequents to pick up victims. Everyone else there looked at him funny, but you liked that he clashed with the establishment. He was fresh off the farm and looked like he needed a drink, so you bought him one and you two sit and talk for hours. You’ve entertained him about his hunting interests before, but you have no idea that he usually talking about hunting people.

C — Cuddling

Johnny loves handholding. After losing his mom, the last thing he wants to feel is you slipping away from him. He never wants you to leave, and he’ll take that motivation as far as he needs to. It started out as handholding and not much else, but then he got more comfortable with your touch. His favorite way to cuddle with you is in bed with him as the little spoon and you pressed against his back—he feels so safe and protected, but he also loves when you lay on his chest.

D — Domestic

Maybe in another life, he would have fought a lot harder to have a regular life with you. He likes your arrangement with him now, though. Because he’s the one usually hunting and getting the food for the two of you, he relies on you to cook and clean around his shack.

E — Ending

Johnny would both take it well and take it horribly. He’s had to kill so many people that he doesn’t feel much when you leave him (or come to the same fate as his victims), but he also hates seeing someone who provided him stability and a sense of normalcy amidst everything he does to be gone from his life. He would miss you, but he’s used to it by now.

F — Fiance

He would get married if his partner really wanted it, but he’s fine leaving things undefined. He loves you and doesn’t need to do anything traditional to prove it. Johnny will do a lot to show his love for you, more than any ring will show.

G — Gentle

When Johnny gets to know you, he’ll do everything in his power not to harm a hair on your head. But with a violent upbringing comes an unwillingly violent nature, so he tries his best but he’s not always perfect. He can get upset easily if you approach him about a touchy topic, and his way of getting you to stop talking isn’t always the nicest.

H — Hugs

Johnny loves to come up and hug you from behind on those slow mornings when you’re in his shack while making breakfast. 

I — I Love You

Because he needs time to warm up to you—even after you have started dating him—Johnny probably wouldn’t say it until well into your relationship. He wants to be sure that you accept him for who he is and everything that he fails to be, and when he’s confident that you love him, he’ll love you too.

J — Jealous

Johnny gets extremely jealous when anyone other than him flirts with you. It doesn’t help that he can actually do something about it and hunt them down, all it takes is one hint in the right direction and he’ll make them pay…

K — Kisses

Johnny’s kisses border on the line of soft and rough. If he’s just returned from a successful hunt, he’ll kiss you passionately with a craze in his eyes. But other times, his kisses are slow and sensual—he wants to take in your taste and how you feel pressed against him. He loves kissing you along your neck and collarbone, and he loves when you kiss his scars, especially the one across his face.

L — Little Ones

Surprisingly, Johnny is the best with kids out of his entire family. He provides enough sternness but also is willing to work with them more than any adult. He also has the sense to protect them after coming to terms with what he’s been through. But, he also feels like he could be among the same people who would inflict the pain he felt on to a new generation of kids because of how he’s been raised. He wants to give them a good life, but he knows that he’ll more than likely parent them like Nancy.

M — Mornings

Mornings with Johnny are slow. You’ll usually wake up to the cool air in his cabin, the Texas sun having yet to make things boil. He wakes up before you more often than not, and he’ll wait for you to get up with him. You have surprised him on occasion by waking up before him to make breakfast and picking out an outfit for him to wear.

N — Nights

You’ve spent countless nights holed up in Johnny’s shack. The two of you usually have an exhausting day out in the heat, so you spend this time cooling off and letting the only light in your life be the man next to you. Johnny will usually praise you on how well you did around the house, his cold demeanor fading away by the day’s end. You’ll usually fall asleep to him rubbing your side while you’re in his embrace, listening to the crickets chirp outside.

O — Open

At first, Johnny is very short with his answers. He won’t tell you much and will definitely get angry if you pester him about it. The best thing to do is to wait.

It would be kind of different when he does open up, depending on how you’ve met him. If it were under regular circumstances, he’d almost come off as mean or disinterested because he can’t afford to slip up about his family or “job.” If you met as one of his victims, then you already know the half of it. Either way, he wouldn’t tell you about his personal life until he feels like he can trust you. Maybe he’s returned to his shack in the middle of the night, bloody and winded and you rush to clean him up. Slowly, he starts telling you about this girl he hunted that looked like his mother and he fills you in on details he’s never told anyone.

P — Patience

Johnny has a moderate tolerance for things that make him angry. He’s not someone to immediately snap at something that annoys him, but he has his days where his patience wears thin. 

Q — Quizzes 

He knows more than enough about you to win one of those stupid gameshows you always call in to answer. You could be in his shack, listening to a gameshow on the radio, and reach for his corded telephone to call in. He’ll be on the other side of the shack, but he’ll hear the radio and the question they ask you. He’d know your exact answer and the fact that this is your favorite way to pass the time when very little is going on. So, yeah, he definitely knows you well enough. 

R — Remember

His favorite memory is when you said “I love you.” He’ll always remember it because it was genuine. You didn’t say it after a date or during the thrill of a hunt, you just said it because you could. Because, when you looked into those brown eyes, you just knew it. There was nothing else influencing your words, you just loved him. Plain and simple.

S — Security

Johnny wants to make you feel safe. Even from his other family members, he’ll protect you.

T — Try

Johnny puts his heart into hunting for you. He wants you to eat well and never go hungry. He feels the need to be a provider, to protect you and make sure you’re taken care of. He hates how sappy he gets around the time that the two of you met, but he does try to get you something you’ll like—whether that’s just spending the day with you or giving you gifts he swiped off of his victims. Dates are simple, but he usually takes you on driving dates, ones where you take your dinner and hit the road, traveling to a new place in Texas for the fun of it.

U — Ugly

Johnny can be a bit possessive. If he’s uncomfortable with you doing something, he may try to talk you out of it. And if he’s really not okay with it, then he may do something more drastic.

V — Vanity

He could care less about his looks. He does so much dirty work around the family’s properties that he can’t be bothered to make sure he’s consistently clean and presentable. He’ll frequently come home with car grease and blood all over him.

W — Whole

Johnny is used to feeling isolated from the rest of his family, so he’s used to being on his own. He survived on his own before you and can survive on his own without you. If he ever were to lose you, he would try not to think about how much he needs you.

X — Xtra

Johnny loves taking baths over showers, it reminds him of when he was a kid and his mom would come into the bathroom and brush all of his hair back into a similar mullet style like he has today with her hands so that the shampoo wouldn’t get in his eyes. And she’d run water down his back by scooping up some of it with her hands.

Y — Yuck

Johnny doesn’t like people who refuse to get dirty. He wants to show you his hobbies, which are notably messy and involve a lot of mental and physical dirty work. He doesn’t need you to enjoy it as much as him, but he wants someone who doesn’t turn their nose up at it all the time.

Z — Zzz

Johnny is a restless sleeper. He often has nightmares that cause him to stir and roll, but it seems to lessen the more he opens up to you and the closer he can be with you.

[johnnys-breastmilk]

the heart and sole of texas | johnny slaughter x reader

a/n — guys. guys. guysssss. hear me out on this one... read summary for more deets

summary — Johnny catches you in the dark basement, and after making him chase you on foot for so long, he thinks making you worship the underside of his boots and feet will make torturing you so much better.

words — 6.9k

warnings — 18+, boot riding, boot worship, foot worship (Johnny doesn't wear socks), sweat kink, feet licking, degradation, stomping and bruising, gore (it's tcm y'all sooo)

below the cut; you have been warned!

april fools!! gotcha

[reeddotcom]

[TCSM] Johnny x Reader P.2

➢ Normal on the Outside

summary: just like in the TCSM game, you've woken up in the sawyer household and need to survive against whatever odds come your way. escaping with your friends is deal, though you may or may not have gotten some help along the way. (gender neutral, self-insert)

warnings: blood, minor violence, suggested gore (but honestly nothing 2 cray oops)

a/n: second part whewwwwww!! pls enjoy

There's a distinct cleanliness to the linens underneath your hands as opposed to the rest of... well, everything that had established the house of horrors beyond the walls and foundation. They lacked the warmth of a body sleeping in it recently but there's no sign of blood or distress in the rosé flowers that pattern fabric squeezed between your palms. As such, you don't sensel any immediate danger within your circumstances or feel the need to pull out the bone scalpel that was tucked within one of your pockets; retrieved from the basement and yet to be used, much to your relief. Your body twists, turning to face Johnny as he towers over you with a looming ambiguity that's hard to discern from such hardened features. Did he always have blood on his face? 

It splattered downwards, trickling over the man's forehead and across gauntly cheeks until the same fluids amassed over his clothes, plastered against the sleeveless shirt that detailed his defined structure. The blood merely looked like oil stains glistening in the right light as he took another step forward. You should've closed your legs before another step was taken, as now you two are tangled; Johnny crouching down in front of you with a predacious haste that'd bring any and all of your movements to a pause. 

Even your breath hitches with how close you two are in that moment. You can see all of the older scars embedded into Johnny's skin, as well as the freshness of the blood that still samples crimson undertones; it's lack of runniness from how thin it spread across his features. Meeting with the hazel hues that are staring directly back at you comes eventually, if it wasn't for the man's voice catching your attention after extended silence. 

"If it's any consolation... their death was quick." 

Whose? He sees a change in your expression, regardless if it were fear, confusion, sadness. Garnering a reaction in general brings a smile back to the man's face, "Don't know her name. Orange hair, bumpkin-" Connie. Her face flickers in your mind, momentarily tuning out Johnny's words as various versions of her fate shuffle through your thoughts with the world's most violent deck of cards. Her maker could've been the very knife Johnny was holding, aimed lazily towards your stomach as his elbow rested over one knee, the other touched to the ground beside your thigh. He doesn't seem to have any intention to use it right now as his grip looks rather loose, but... whether or not that's a disappointment is yet to be determined. 

"Anyway, it was the only way that you and I..." You spoke too soon. As that thick accent draws out Johnny's words, the knife was brought up to touch right beneath your chin; a means of reassuring eye-contact had you been a bit nervous, "... Could be together." 

He says it so innocently, losing tension that creased between darkened eyebrows as the admission was made. "You see," But he doesn't give you much of a chance to respond, let alone digest such weighted statements. Everything about Johnny overwhelms all your senses with or without trying, "I watched your lil friend group as you guys came up in here. Yeah, watched you good.." The mix of smells weaved between you two left a bittersweet taste behind your lips. Bodily fluids, cheap cologne, pungency, "And y'know, my family- Grandpa​ mostly and.. well, you've heard my sister earlier too, I think-" Downstairs, she was the one that said Johnny's name, you assume, "They don't take kindly to surprise visits. I gotta agree with them, honestly."

The coldness of the knife slips out from beneath an angled chin, steadily turning over to press flat steel against your cheek, sharp-tip close to the corner of your mouth. Thankfully none of the leftover residue on the weapon touches any skin, "Unless.. they look like you."

Johnny's gaze descends far past your countenance, taking in what you can only assume are certain characteristics, maybe a distinctive part about you that's been commented on before, good or bad. Intentions were still unclear and assuming such animalistic tendencies were a compliment had the potential to be dangerous, "Yeah, you put up a fight. Don't remember?" Whatever was underneath your fingertips had been suddenly replaced with the distant feeling of a memory; a tingling that came with phantom movements, unable to attach to anywhere or anything. Before the basement, you were... in Leland's van. His tape-deck speakers were so shitty that the song's tune was hardly distinguishable, at least not over Ana's voice as she talked about the place you guys were going—here, where Maria was last seen, as you know now. Memories dribble in but the feeling of cool steel lifting from your face draws you back into reality; Johnny's eyes waiting for that focused look to return.

He points the knife towards where thoughts and feelings were swallowed down, at the bottom of your throat. "Friends put up a good fight too but I couldn't control what happened to 'em, not when I was so focused on you." The sharpened tip barely pricks the medial of your sternum. In terms of mixed signals, your nerves don't know which alarms to set off, "Pretty little thing. Grew fond of ya while tyin' you up, and now..." 

Even if the words didn't necessarily fit, there's a part of you that feels as if the praise is genuine with the way it rolls off southern tongue. Johnny was disarming you. And to say it worked was dependent on where the sudden spark of a flame was lighting inside of you. 

".. I get you all to myself." 

Under the current circumstances, the average individual would most likely experience fear, despair; feeling the warmth in their face as cheeks washed out into a ghostly pale. Johnny had a certain charm about him that swayed the apprehensions knotting in your stomach though, churning it in a way that was confusing, but comforting in a sense. He could read through all of it by the way your body never recoiled away from his. 

The two of you obviously shared something, whether that was a strange one-sided romance that this killer had decided for the both of you while you were unconscious or some fucked up version of Stockholm syndrome. There was also the chance you legitimately thought there was some goodness in the voice lulling you into a daze; clemency behind the gloved hand now reaching for your face, index behind the ear, thumb on your temple. Being starved of touch wasn't anything to be embarrassed about, and neither was potentially hooking up with the man whose muscles looked like they'd tear you apart had you asked nicely. Who knows, death was around every corner. Only you knew what you wanted. 

Johnny could only assume, taking the lack of resistance as an answer in itself and deciding to indulge in the needs that swelled beneath the surface. Some were more obvious than others had your eyes wandered, but as Johnny breaches what little distance was already between you two, eyes flickering shut, your body feels inclined to mirror the bizarre show of affection. What was one kiss? If it saved your life, c'est la vie. You could feel the knife retract with the closer you two got, allowing you one last deep breath before the very moment Johnny seemed eager for since the start. 

That is, until it's ruined. Not by you, but an ear-piercing scream that swallows the entire mood of the room; feminine-sounding, though you're able to discern that it isn't Julie or Ana. Johnny seems to be more put-off by it than anything, displaying as much in an obvious show of frustration—balled up fists and a scowl that dragged rugged features down. He quickly stands to his feet but doesn't say a word; the harsh gesture of an open-palm to your face saying what words couldn't. Be quiet. It could've been worse, so you comply. 

"I can only find four of their bodies,"​ The voice cried out. You're safe to assume this is Johnny's sister again from the sounds of it, "And I know that other rat is here, somewhere." 

"Relax- relax, relax," Another lower-toned voice responded, spiratic and less confident than the one before, "Johnny's probably on top of it. Haven't seen him in a while but-" 

The two of you share a look. 

"Johnny's useless. If Grandpa was still able then this would've been over by now." 

Whimpers from the softer voice trail after such crude words, painting a picture of a family dynamic here that you felt as if you had no business being a part of. Johnny was dragging you into it, but whether or not he'd get you out of it was another question all together. 

"Go cry somewhere else. I'm checking the house again, so move!" 

A door slams, shaking fixtures in the room with such intensity that you could feel the vibrations in your fingertips against the floor. You weren't safe, even now, with Johnny looking down at you with a sense of aggressive guardianship. Little was known about this man but he seemed to know you, and wanted something from you that was necessary to gratify a hunger. How insatiable his appetite was made you nervous. 

But also, curious. Best that you stay alive if you were looking to find out.