#tcm game angst

[adaptacy]

It’s the anon with the Yearbook!Reader. Honestly surprised that was pumped out so fast with such quality, I was giggling when I read it ngl. Anyways, I am here to put forth another request for you to choose to do.

Got pretty boy Leland first.

Thinking about Leland and his S/O just relaxing in bed. Soft kisses, nice lil cuddles, some of that fluffy shi. My main point to this was called Leland pretty boy and just like, praising him. Give him all that TLC, babes deserves it.

(Could make it angst/comfort with Leland being insecure about scars he has after the Sawyer family incident, but just praising him for no reason is valid as hell)

It’d be chill if I sent several requests at the same time, yeah? I dont wanna fill up your request box, but I love your writing (Leland especially) and just have so many ideas at times. I also didn’t expect my request to be answered same day, usually takes a while, I’m willing to wait a week or two yknow.

-Kuhuahua

im- i- ik i havent been active on tumblr (ive been rping tcsm on discord <3) but i heard 1 song and it made me think of this request and then i rly wanted to write it SO here we go!

TW: aaaaaaangst with extra angst on the side.

Song recs: When You Gonna Run - Alpha Rev

He never talked about them. You understood why. Honestly, you doubted that he even spoke to his therapist about them. It's been four years. Even now, he still flinches when they're grazed, he whispers out quiet, "Not there, sweetheart," his voice tainted with a somber desperation, genuine hurt. You weren't sure if the pain was physical or emotional. Maybe both.

Four years and he still got teary-eyed if you asked about them, or referenced the incident at all. You'd learned not to, even if you did wish he would open up to you. For the first year that you were dating him you'd just assumed that he would talk about them when he was ready. But then the year came to an end. And so did the second one. And now, at 29 months with him, you'd stopped wishing. Gotten used to the shrugs and the soft sighs, the disdain in his gaze when you inquired about it.

So you didn't bring it up. But you knew he thought about it. Knew he felt it. Not talking about it was easy enough, after a while. But being close with him was hard. Physically close, that is. Every brush of your hand in the wrong spot, or a kiss on the wrong hand, touching your forehead a little to hard against the slit in his eyebrow-

29 months, and you still felt like shit for being unable to remember every single one of his scars. Every single placement- the big ones you could remember. But the small ones spanning the rest of his body, snips of horrors on his arms and the dots of regret on his torso, were impossible to map out.

He sat, watching the movie, next to you, one of his knees bent up to his chest while the other leg hung off of the couch, his chin propped up with one hand, his elbow resting on the cushioned arm of the loveseat, his other arm outstretched next to him, where his hand intertwined with yours.

The ones on his hands weren't bad. There were three on this one, tiny marks that you were surprised hadn't healed. You'd overheard the reason why; the second time you'd joined him at one of his doctor's appointments they'd mentioned him overworking himself, reopening the wounds. You wondered if they still hurt when he worked out.

Without thinking much of it, you scooted closer to him, only a few inches, and you snuck under his arm so that it hung off of your shoulder, though you refrained from leaning against him. He didn't react aside from a small squeeze of your hand. You lifted that hand and pushed a kiss to the back of it, earning his attention.

You didn't meet his eye. You didn't want to see the distant, aching hazel behind the kindness he usually showed. Didn't want to see the microscopic frown that tugged at his lips, you didn't want to see his chest rise and fall with another one of his dejected sighs. You just wanted to kiss him.

So you did, starting at the back of his hand and moving up, your mouth brushing against his arm just under another scar, your eyes closing. This time, it was you who sighed, and you took a gamble, moving your lips up and kissing the coarse patch of skin you'd avoided.

"Baby," he muttered, his voice tainted with the same sadness it held any time he was forced upon a reminder of his past. You didn't reply, nor did you stop, moving up to a different scar, this one closer to his shoulder, repeating the same for this one. A kiss, soft and lingering, before you pulled your head up and finally leaned it against his side.

"I think they're pretty."

There wasn't any reason you'd said it. Just that you'd felt it. And the words came to you, so you gifted them. Leland was quiet for a few minutes. His jaw rested against your temple, both of your heads turned towards the tv, though neither of you were really watching.

Whether he was insecure of them, or if they were still tender, or if they reminded him of the past, or, hell, all of it- they didn't change the way you saw him. Didn't change the way you loved him. You were with him to be with him, every part of him that you could manage to get a hold of. It was okay that he kept some things locked away.

You didn't understand, but you knew why. It was hard. Too difficult for him to remain cheerful when he thought about it. Too difficult to be perfect. Too difficult to feel like he was doing the right thing.

"I know you're hurt."

You couldn't stop yourself.

"I know I'm not ever gonna understand like you do. I know we're always gonna be distant. I know you don't like thinking about it."

But...

"I still love you. It was in the past. And I love you for your past, Lee. And I love you for our future, too. And- I love you right now, in the present."

He stayed quiet, though he leaned against your head a little more, his arm bringing you a bit closer.

"I think they're handsome. And... they're you, so I love them. I love every part of you. Even the scary parts, or the sad parts, or the parts you think are ugly. I love all of you."

At last, you looked up at him, just as he brought a hand to his cheek, wiping away a stray tear. His lip trembled as he looked down at you, but they trembled into a smile, a sad one, like a kicked puppy, but a smile nonetheless. You raised a hand too, cupping his jaw and brushing your thumb under his eye, which pulled a broken chuckle from him, and he sniffled, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

"Please, don't be," he replied, his voice cracking as he leaned into your palm, fighting to hold back. You scooted back, and he followed you, laying his head against your shoulder, a soft whine escaping him as he cried.

"I'm always gonna be here. I'm not gonna run. Not gonna leave you for your past. I- I just love you, Leland." Your arms wrapped around his neck as you held him close, resting your chin on his head as he cried, and you gently hushed him, doing your best to reassure.

He didn't often cry. Not to you. Sometimes, on his own time, or when you were pretending to be asleep, you could hear him. But he didn't want to push any of his weight onto you. Didn't want to burden you.

"I can shoulder some of it, y'know. Just cause you can lift a lot of weight doesn't mean you need to do it alone," you hummed, your words lighthearted despite being completely genuine. "I'm right here. I'm here to do it together. Here to be here- here to be yours."

You didn't expect a reply, but he gave one, weak and pained, snagging on his tears, an "I love you," short but sweet. You hugged him closer, leaning down to kiss another scar on the top of his back, and he didn't ask you not to, he didn't flinch, he just let it happen.

"You're perfect, Lee. Scars and all."

[whatitshouldvebeen]

After your most recent fic I couldn’t n help imagining, how would Johnny react if he did accidentally kill the reader? Like maybe one of his beatings just goes too far, do you think he would be regretful or would he really just not care? I love all of your work 💕

Johnny Slaughter x Reader

Too Much Trouble part 2

Contains: death, extreme angst, don't read if you're sensitive 'cause I almost cried writing it

Johnny knew something was wrong the moment your body shuddered and went limp. 

Well, he knew something was wrong before that point. You were what was wrong. You and your annoying bullshit, the way you wouldn't leave him alone, the way you reached out and cupped his face and choked out you loved him as he strangled you. 

Why wouldn't you shut up? If you had just stopped following him around apologizing, begging for his forgiveness, asking what you could have done differently, this wouldn't have happened. 

His frustration peaked when you insisted he needed help, claiming his anger was an overreaction. You didn't get to decide the impact of your actions on him. If only you had focused more on his feelings than on justifying your mistakes, perhaps you'd have realized the need to stay silent.

But, no. You continued to express concern for him, wanting him to understand your perspective. As if he could comprehend the world through the lens of someone so foolish and lacking self-preservation. Being so fucking stupid as to claim he was the one with the problem as you were the source of every single issue in his life. 

In his mind, there was a snapshot of who you were supposed to be: docile, sweet, a homemaker, a mother, a comforter, an absolver. You always forgave him, you never gave up on him, and you never once even considered leaving him.

But when you strayed from that image; when you were stressed, when you were upset or angry, and especially when you dared to talk back, you weren't the person he idealized you as. You were pathetic, stupid, weak, and you disgusted him. 

So it felt natural when he beat you, strangled you, smashed you against the wall and threatened you. After all, you weren't behaving. You weren't conforming to his idealized version of you. You weren't the person he cared for, you were someone else entirely. And god, he hated it when you weren't the vision in his mind's eye.

But the moment that shudder coursed through your body, the hands that had been in the process of beating you stilled. The mouth that had been wishing your death silenced. The hate that had been coursing through his veins chilled. 

"Quit messin' around," he said, shoving your back as you lay face down on the ground in a pool of your own blood. You only jostled, then lay silent. 

Johnny shoved you again, then again, and you rolled over on your side. Your eyes were dull and lifeless, bloodshot and swollen from crying and being beaten. Your mouth hung open limply, blood trickling from your split lip.

Disbelief flooded him. You'd survived worse before, why did you give up this time? You told him you'd never leave him! You swore it on your life! Yet, you were gone. You'd lied. You did leave him. 

He didn't recognize the foreign feeling twisting in his stomach. Regret? Remorse? Wasn't this what he'd been wishing for every goddamn time you'd made him beat you back to your senses? 

He wiped his cheek. Your blood mixed with his tears, smearing across his face. 

"Baby?" He said, much softer. He rested a gentle hand on your shoulder. Your face was smashed almost beyond recognition. Your throat was purple and black. Even your tongue was swollen, holding your shattered mouth open. 

He sat on the floor, cradling your battered form. One hand stroked your hair, patches having been torn from your scalp when he flung you around the room. "Honey, this ain't funny. Quit pretendin'."

Johnny knew. He knew what he'd done. He finally freed himself of you. So why did it hurt? Why was his heart fracturing into a thousand glass shards, stabbing through his chest, more painful than any wound he'd ever sustained?

Tears were streaming down now, but he didn't notice until they splattered on your face. He angrily wiped them off you, which turned into a frenzy of trying to clean you. 

He ripped off his shirt and used it to rub away the blood until he could almost see the woman he could remember. The woman who would light up when he returned. Who would run into his arms, squeeze him tight, and tell him she missed him. Who told him she loved him as the last thing she said every night, even if he hardly ever responded. 

Who carried his baby.

Cold dread filled him. His baby, only two, and already their momma was gone. 

Johnny knew he wasn't a good father. He was hardly ever home, and when he was he spent more time annoyed with the kid than spending time with them. He'd get pissed when they repeated themselves, or when they'd beg for his attention, even though he knew they weren't doing it to anger him. 

And now their mother was cold, lifeless in his arms. The woman who had protected their kid on those days when he'd had enough of their whining and wanted to leave them in the woods. Who had assured him that he'd love them when they got older, and swore they were only so annoying because they didn't know any better. 

He sobbed, then. He couldn't remember the last time he cried, but he was broken now. He held you tight and moaned, his body racked with tormenting pain. He hated you, but he realized he loved you even more. Only, it was too late. 

All he wanted to do was to bring you back even just for a moment to tell you how much you meant to him. He told your corpse all the things you'd hoped and prayed to hear every moment of your life. 

He said he wished he would've treated you better. He told you he loved you and he'd never again take you for granted. 

And there you lay, like all the times you'd told him you loved him and he responded with silence or distain. For the first time, he felt how you felt every moment of your life. 

He loved you even if you never returned the sentiment again. He loved you, even though you could never love him back. 

He loved you, but it'd always be too late.

[creepling]

hi! happy 1k <3 may i request a piece with johnny x single mom reader + the prompt “will you stay?” “of course, i’m not planning on leaving anytime soon.”? i thought it’d be interesting if reader was formerly captured by the sawyer family, while she was on vacation with friends, but johnny relented and decided to let her go because of how badly she begged for her life & at the time her baby was only 2 months old, which she told him. so johnny being johnny as well, he was able to track her down a month later — at first just to check up on her, but he decided he wanted to help her raise her kid & kind of switch up his life since the baby’s father is (willingly) out of the picture. also reader is a young mom (early 20s), around the same age that johnny is, he’s just a lil older. they’re still warming up to each other/developing their relationship but to the reader’s surprise, johnny’s really good with kids & has done a lot to help reader out to give her a break? AAAA THIS IS A LOT OF INFO IM SORRY but i hope it makes sense & that you have fun with making something out of this <333

AAAA ok no but i love this, idk it makes sense for the sawyers to spare a victim if they have a kid?? the whole "family" motto would get to them lol. i love all your info but i apologise if i've missed out on anything. i've made this drabble more like a time passing sort of thing so i could include everything.

tags: angst. single-mum!reader. reformed!johnny. kid is gn (use of they/it). descriptions of trauma. johnny feels a lot of guilt. mild blood ment.

“Drop the god-damn knife, Johnny. She’s got a kid for crying out loud!” Drayton barked.

Johnny’s adrenaline shot through his body, tensing his muscles and trembling his hands. “Is that true?” He growled, eyes shot out at your petrified stare.

You pulled a Polaroid picture out of your pocket, your bloody hands staining the corners. You beheld it to Johnny, trying to steady your shakes. Johnny gazed at the picture, the newborn clouded in white, its eyes closed in a peaceful sleep.

“My baby . . . My baby. I need to go home to my baby,” You sob, begging on your knees, hysterics maddening all parts of your manner.

Johnny’s knife dropped to the floor, and he thought about every bad thing he had done. There was no coming back from this.

It had been a month of silence. A month of sleepless nights and looking over your shoulder. Breastfeeding became agonising. Your baby’s cries sent you into uncontrollable alertness. Your hair was brittle and your skin shallow, the stress shivering through your body like a ghost entering your soul.

The letters came around that time. Off-white envelopes with a few dollars in cash. All that was left was a note,

For the Baby, I’m sorry.

Meeting him again after the kidnapping was an anxiety-driven step, bouncing your baby on your lap as you waited in the diner booth. You convinced yourself you lost your mind, wanting to rekindle with your kidnapper. But you hadn’t heard from anyone since the birth; the baby daddy became non-existent. Your family refuse to return your calls. The only person willing to help you was Johnny.

He was silent across from you for a while. The only words he uttered were to order from the menu. He shovelled down an apple pie while you bottle-fed your child, lulling them to their afternoon nap.

“Why are you helping me?” You remember asking. Visioning Johnny’s deep gaze, his subtle glances at your first-born, a tinge of sadness glazing his eyes.

He said he owed you too much. Your baby deserved to grow up with a male figure in its life, and you deserved someone to protect you. The sight of your youthful features withering away from stress, the permanent damage he inflicted on you, ached your eyes and down-turned your smile. It kept him up at night thinking about you, struggling with the fussing cries and flashes of his brute force. He wanted to step up. He was ready for redemption.

He drove you back home, watching over his new companions with careful eyes. His arm outstretched as he turned the wheel, hoping not to disturb the baby’s slumber. The rascal woke up eventually, full of energy the minute you invited him inside. “Would you like to hold them?” You asked, unable to ignore his loving stares.

He felt like crying, holding something so precious. Knowing he nearly orphaned this child, ridding it of a beautiful mother. He swore to protect the kid, holding its gentle head and leaning it into his chest. His gentleness surprised you, the warmth filling your smile for the first time in months.

Johnny never left the house. He hadn’t seen his family in months and had no plans on returning. Your little one was proliferating, and Johnny got used to using his strength to pry the ankle biter from dangerous objects. He ditched the knives and retired into swinging the kid until they were out of breath from laughter. He stepped up, got a job, and brought money in to keep you secure.

He was a different man, and he changed you as a mother. He repented for his sins. He begged for forgiveness with every stare your way, with every gentle touch. You finally forgave him, praying that his presence is destined to be everlasting.

“Will you stay?” He held you in his arms as you choked up, clinging to his body. 

“I’m not plannin’ on leavin’ anytime soon.” Johnny kissed the top of your head, his arms around you. Your loving touch soothing the aching heart he’s adorned for decades.

[anaflcres]

thinking about how maria & ana took care of their mom only for maria to go missing. ana insisting to her mother to go and find maria and that she’ll bring her home safe. ana’s mom bringing her the shirt her abuela sewed for goodluck on her travels. ana’s mom now having two missing daughters and an empty home.

[babiebomsmasterlist]

Accidental Prey Masterlist

Summery: Johnny Slaughter doesn’t love anyone, he doesn’t feel bad for anyone. The man only cares about his mama and killing, it’s just this stupid girl isn’t good enough to kill, yet she can barely keep herself alive as is. “Making love” to her was an accident as is her becoming prey.

Tw: racism, pregnancy, blood, gore, cannibalism, cursing, sexism, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, mental/physical/verbal abuse, sexual and suggestive content(though no full on smut unless I gain courage), mentions of religion (god etc.), murder, self harm, manipulation. It’s just tragic tbh

Rating: mature (minors dni)

Pairing: Johnny Sawyer x OC

Genre: angst, romance(?), strangers to lovers (sorta),

Wc: N/A

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[fucking-comedy]

My TCM Ships

@johnnys-breastmilk Since you said you were interested haha

Funnily enough, as much of a fan as I am of the game, I haven’t actually watched the movies yet! However, I’ve been a huge fan of the game for quite some time now.

My top ship would technically be Johnny x Me x Sissy, forever and always. I need them so bad. (Fun fact: Johnny actually looks nearly identical to my boyfriend, all except for eye color and hair texture. They're even both Texan!)

My other current top ship is for sure Johnny x Nancy. I am such a sucker for mothers who love their children, and Nancy just gives that “I’m the only woman you need” vibe, you know? There’s so much that can be done with their relationship, too! (I think she’d for sure get jealous of the girls Johnny takes interest in, and is still hung up about Maria.)

I do hope we get more Maria content soon, because I’d def ship her hard with her sister, Ana. There’s hardly anything better than sisters in love in my opinion, and I’d really like to see how they interact in the future. (They need to kiss.)

Hitch and Sissy could have a lot of chemistry, but that’s pretty much true for most of the family. I see them as the two “head in the clouds” characters, complete enigmas to onlookers, so them being together would be such a delicious nightmare for everyone else.

Johnny and Sissy are also a good pairing (can you tell I like sibcon?), and I also like the idea of them with Bubba, too. I can’t even explain this one, it just feels right. There’s a good balance in their dynamic and I can really appreciate that.

I actually thought Drayton and Nancy were confirmed cousins for the longest time, but now I’m not sure. I think they should be, though, and I also agree that they definitely belong together, especially because Johnny talks to Drayton like an angry teenager talks to the new boyfriend of his mom (it’s giving “You’re not my dad”), and I feel like that reaction would be so much better if the two were actually together

As for victims…

Like I said before, Maria and Ana definitely have potential, and I hope they get good interaction lines in-game.

And could I even call myself a TCM fan if I didn’t like Jeland? All jokes, it’s not for everyone, but it is definitely my cup of tea. It speaks for itself; I love big, strong men

Johnny x Maria is so good, whether she died or not. I view Johnny as a jealous and possessive kinda guy, so Maria's relationship with Grandpa could cause some great tension among the Family, but then again,,,,, Johnny x Dead!Maria.....

They could have such a good dynamic either way.

I also like the idea of the Victims as a polycule, Maria included, mostly because their personalities are so balanced that it’s almost hard to imagine them apart sometimes. Plus, it adds weight to their deaths and situation in general, and I am nothing if not a manwhore for angst. (I still think Maria should’ve stayed dead, if not just because of the romantic undertones of the other survivor’s leaked Maria Discovery Lines.)

The only people I really ship Virginia with are Nancy and Johnny (together). More of a casual ship for me, I like the idea of the Mama’s Boy having two moms of completely different caliber, but I also think it would be cool for them to totally ruin her (corruption is the best).

[urfavenarrator]

COMMISSIONS:

This is an NWLNW blog, and I will not write Fem reader

CxR and CxC

Note: it can takes me about 2-4 days to write fanfic because of work and it can be longer if I already have other requests. Also any minors I have on my commission page will be aged up to +18, I do write for female charecter but I do not write X Fem reader

Note 2: if it's not on here feel free to ask and please feel free to add every detail you want; it's your request I won't judge but I will publicly kink shame you

Will do's:

MLM

T4T

NbLM

NSFW

BDSM

Exhibitionism

Dirty talk

Humiliation

Wax play

Stigmatophilia

Ropework

Knife Play

Degradation kink

Praise kink

Impact play

Auralism

Exhibitionism

Body worship

Oral fixation

Asphyxiation

Deapthroating

Overstim

Edging

Muscle worship

Masks

Pillow princess/prince

Face fucking

Cockwarming

Toys

Brat taming

Forecd in to submission

Breeding

Smuff

Comfort sex

Monster fucking/loving

SFW+Random

Age gap (both parties must be adults)

Age ups

Au's

Hurt/comfort

Angst

Fluff

Charecter x reader

Charecter x Charecter

Mental age regression

Won't do's:

Underage

FEM READER

Certain kinks

Furries

Beastiality

Insest

People from ohio

Rape

Fandoms:

TWD(show)

Daryl Dixion

Rick Grimes

Carl Grimes

Negan Smith

Enid

Connie

Rosita

Ron Anderson

TlOU(game + HBO)

Joel Miller

Tess Servopoulos

Ellie Williams

Tommy Miller

Apex legends

Everyone (except pathfinder)

Overwatch

Everyone (except Hammon???, and winston)

Cod

Ghost

Soap

Valerie

Price

Graves

Rudy

König

Horangi

Nikto

Rainbow six

Everyone

A way out

Leo

Vincent

DbD

All survivors

All killers(except Victor and Pinhead)

The thing

R.J.

Windows

Sam

TCM

Bubba sawyer

Nubbins sawyer

Johnny sawyer(slaughter?)

L.G McPeters

Sissy sawyer

Thomas Hewitt

Slashers

Michael myers

Billy Loomis

Stu matcher

Braums

Jason

Mortal kombat

Reptile

Johnny cage

Kenshi

Subzero(bi-han)

Subzero(kuai liang)

Scorpion(kuai liang)

Smoke

Baraka

Kitana

Mileena

Sheeva

Resident evil

Leon

Chris

Clair

Carlos

Jill

Ashley

Luis

Rebecca

Wesker

Ada

[chaos-grimlin]

Hi! Its Raz or Shrimpy what ever you prefer BUT IM NOW TAKING REQUESTS FOR HEADCANONS AND ONE SHOT FANFICS INBOX ME OR HIT THE ASK BUTTON TO REQUEST! :D

Heres who i write for so far!

Nubbins Sawyer

Bubba Sawyer

Chop top Sawyer

Billy loomis

Stu macher

Poly! Stu macher and Billy loomis

Sidney Prescott

Tatum Riley

Randy meeks

Micheal Myers(og micheal)

Any Dead by daylight killer or surviver(like ill write for them all)

Freddy Krueger

Jason Voorhees

Brahms heelshire

Laurie strode

Sally Hardesty

Franklin Hardesty

Vincent Sinclair

Bo Sinclair

Lester Sinclair

Leon s kennedy

Albert wesker

Neville longbottom

George weasley(i cant spell today)

Fred weasley

Ron weasley

Roman bridger

Mickey altieri

Tate langdon

Young Charles xavier

Logan

Peter maximoff

Johnny sawyer (from the TCM game)

I will watch more movies so i can write for more!

What i will write:

Anything! Angst and fluff and Smut

And ANY prompt anyone gives me

What i won't write:

Oc x character

Incest

Scat kinks

Piss kinks

Large age differences

I will normally use Gender neutral pronouns for Y/n unless the request says otherwise! You must state Y/ns gender like do you want Gender neutral (they/them), male (he/him), or female (she/her)

Love you guys have a good day!❤

[missalicevalentine]

Texas Chainsaw Massacre Role Play Request

Hello! How are you all? I am a long time TCM geek and with the new game I thought my obsession may now be acceptable. However, I thought I'd shoot my shot and see if maybe this fandom isn't completely dead! I am currently Hunting for a Chop Top Sawyer or Thomas Hewitt to pair against my OC! I am also totally Okay with OCxOC pairings, I am just picky as I have been role playing for about 7 years and been writing the novel for my OC who I plan to use for about 3 years. (A lot of reststying unfortunately, never happy with it lol!) I've noticed most CC role players do a great job at capturing the character hense my preference! But if you can provide me a good OC I'd be more than happy to role play! (I swear that sounded mean...)

Please as well note the genre will be horror (obviously) and slow burn romance with all that cannibalistic angst! I want this to be character driven, as much about Robert or Thomas as it is about my character!

My rules are simple as well! I am rather strict with them and hope you understand!

No Minors!!! This is a huge one for me! I refuse any roleplays and dms with minors. If I find out you lied about your age or your age is not present in your bio I will simply block you!

No NSFW roleplaying! I'm happy to mention it happening or as backstory I just flat out refuse to role play it, apologies if you are a smutt lover (no hate at all) I just am all about the story first and for most!

Please be okay to transfer to discord! I refre PM or private servers to RP on as I am a bit of a noob with Tumblr.

And I would love to become friends as well as role play buddies!

Please be at least semi literate and write in third person! Along with that, i would love someone rather active, but thats not a necessity! I am very very patient as I understand life is life and comes first.

If you have questions or are interested please PM me or comment!

[adaptacy]

Johnny Slaughter x Drunk!Virgin!Reader

It is angsty, and kinda sad, and very dub-con (practically non-con), and also just- Johnny with feelings? if streams of consciousness don't make sense, that's the point. also i'm tired so sorry for spelling mistakes or if i just use the wrong word sometimes LMAO

"Alright, I've gotcha." You were leaning all of your weight into him as he sauntered down the sidewalk, and you didn't let up even as he inserted the key he'd just received into the door, twisting the handle and opening it up into a half-assed room, typical for the cheap motel you were staying up.

"You really... mmbooked 'em just for... me?" You slurred, your head lazily flopping onto his bicep as he led you inside, closing the door behind him.

"Didn't tell me you were such a lightweight," the man sighed, helping you over to the white queen-size bed, which you didn't put up any fight against, collapsing onto the comforter and giggling. At what? You didn't know.

"We should, mhmhm, kiss." You blinked, slowly, up at him, seeing triple. Triple hot. Triple hunk. Triple gentleman. He was being so sweet. He carried you here, gave you a ride, he promised your parents wouldn't figure out that their golden child was getting wasted at some rural bar miles away from home. He was so caring.

Sure, you'd only known him for like two hours, but those two hours said so much. He didn't say much. Well, he did. Flirted a lot. Was he flirting? Did you misunderstand? No, no, he got you a motel room. Just for you. He was definitely flirting. He was like a guardian angel, wasn't he?

You made a mistake, a lot of mistakes, actually. A lot of shots. A lot of alcohol. Glasses and glasses of mistakes. But he was here to make sure you wouldn't be making anymore. He was protecting you. God, what a sweetheart. "What's your name again?" You mumbled, your tongue twisting around itself to form some terrible labyrinth.

"Johnny," he reminded, bending down over you and catching your lips in a kiss. His was gentle, but forward. Yours was sloppy, messy, hungry, dazed. You were sloppy. And messy. Oh, your parents would never forgive you.

"Johnny, I'm so... ugh, you're lovely," you complimented, your nose bumping against his as he tried to kiss you again, but you just had to let him know first. "So loving. We should get married," you giggled.

"Baby steps, darlin'."

"I'm your darling?" You hummed, smiling sweetly. Innocently. What the hell were you doing? No wonder the bartender warned you. But he paid for your drinks. He was just so generous. How could he possibly be single? You were so lucky to have him. "I think I love you."

"You're crazy," he laughed, the sound sweet and appetizing and so manly. You laughed too, because you wanted to be like him. Wanted to take care of people like he was. Wanted to be big and strong like he was. Wanted to be so sweet, wanted to kiss like he did. He was perfect. He kissed you again, and you kept giggling, your skin crawling with... excitement? nausea? you couldn't really tell the difference. "You wanna go through with this?"

With what? "Mhm," you hummed, closing your eyes for just a moment. Then you opened them again, and he was still there. All three- two? Four? All of him- them? Ugh. "Yuh-huh," you affirmed. If he wanted to, you'd do it. No clue what 'it' was, but he was a good decision maker. You were clearly, definitely, obviously, drunkenly not.

"You done this before?"

"Yeah." Done what? You'd done a lot of things. You hadn't gone skydiving. Or bungee jumping. What a funny word. Bungee. Bun-gee. "Bunnn, geeee," you announced, and Johnny squinted at you. You giggled. What'd he say?

"I'm gonna take yer shirt off now." He kissed your cheek, and you nodded. Was he going to get you into a bath? Oh, he was such a sweetiepie. Like a grandmother. But hot. and muscular. and young. and had a way deeper voice. and, actually, he wasn't like a grandmother at all. but he still made you smile.

He removed your shirt, and you tried to lift your head to kiss him, but your head was so heavy, and your muscles were so weak. Ugh, you wished you had muscles like him. he could lift your head. you definitely couldn't.

The best part was, he did lift your head. and he did kiss you. He was a mind reader, too? Was he even real? Men like this didn't exist. Not really. men as sweet, and loving, and gentle, and-

His hands were on your pants. Strange. He knew what he was doing. You trusted him. What was his name again? "Joey," you thanked.

"Johnny," he corrected.

"Mister Johnny," you slurred, brushing noses with him. He kissed you again, and he tasted like the bar. He'd been drinking too. He was like your drunk-buddy. Drinking buddy. And designated driver. A perfect package. Why are engagement rings so expensive?

"You alright?" His voice spoke again, and you blinked, finding that there were now only two of him. That you could see. Your vision was dark at the sides, but who needed peripheral vision, anyways? He was tugging your bottoms down your legs, and you looked up at him.

Somewhere, distant, faint, barely even present in your mind- somewhere, something clicked. Some puzzle pieces snapped together. You could make out the shape of the puzzles, the caves and the peninsulas, but they were blank pieces. There was no puzzle. It was blurry. Fuzzy. Like a puppy. Or a kitten. Or a squirrel.

"What?" you mumbled.

"Eyes on me, sweetpea. You alright?"

It was hard to focus on him since you'd have to focus on two images at once, but you tried your best. It only brought a headache. "Why... wouldn't I be?"

"You're awful' drunk."

"I'm knows," you scoffed.

"Do ya?"

"Obvs," you reminded, reaching up a hand and pawing at his face as you tried to boop him, grinning up at him. His hair draped over his pair of faces, and you wanted to bite it. Wanted to pull it. ugh, you were such a bad person. who made bad decisions. you hated alcohol. why'd you even stumble into that bar? your parents would be so mad.

Her eyes were almost crossed, and Johnny found it dizzying to try and gain her attention. She swatted at his forehead as she replied, and he pulled back ever so slightly. Gently, he pulled her hand down, trying to be patient with her. She'd been tipsy when he got there, but this was something else.

He tried not to think about it- This wasn't his first drunken sexual encounter, and wouldn't be his last. His lips pressed to her chest, his fingers caressing the insides of her thighs. She was warm, inviting, almost intoxicating. Then again, it could've been the potent taste of alcohol on her tongue. Stronger than his own. He swore she didn't have that much to drink, and she knew what to order- It wasn't her first time drinking, or so he assumed.

He'd hardly understood a word she'd bumbled on the way home. A ramble about her parents and treehouses here, another about college and service animals there. He didn't bother trying to decipher her codes. He was sure she didn't even have a clue what she was saying, so it wasn't his responsibility to figure it out.

Her fingers played with his hair, awkwardly tugging and scraping at his scalp, but he didn't mind. She mumbled something out, but the more time he spent with her, the less precise her words got. At this point, they were unintelligible, but she seemed happy while saying them. Oddly enough, it brought a smile to his face.

He reached down, unbuckling his belt. She continued with her string of corrupted vowels as he did so, and he ended his trail of kisses on her stomach before standing up straight once more. Her body was so... pristine. Shiny? It had this certain glow to it- a glow that her eyes lacked. They were stuck half-lidded, even feigning unconsciousness a few times, but he'd been proven wrong each time when she'd open her mouth to quickly inform him of how much she loved sunflowers, or to tell him an impossible-to-follow story about her first pet. He'd listened- not understood, but listened, to her, and then she'd fall back into silence for a few more minutes.

And even so, when she was so clearly destroyed by the liquor she'd been drinking like water, she looked so peaceful. She lay on the bed below him, completely flat, completely relaxed. Her arms casually positioned above her, her palms facing him. He wanted to hold her hand. So he did, and it brought a small smile to her face.

He wasn't going to stick around after this. He never did. He never wanted to. But she- she was so intriguing. So strange. He wanted to learn more about her, wanted to understand her. Wanted to listen to her stupid rambles and her whispered confusion. He wanted to see her frustrated, wanted to see her cry, wanted to see her confident, wanted to see her.

Shit. Maybe he wasn't all that sober. His hips leaned forward, and her eyebrows slanted, barely enough for him to notice. But he caught on, and his brows mimicked her movement. He was close to entering her, sliding between her folds, but he wasn't inside. Not yet. She looked confused.

"We're makin' love?" She asked, and Johnny narrowed his eyes, cracking a smile. That was a first. It was always fucking, or having sex, or getting laid, or some other degenerate nickname. Making love? That was for married people. Old couples. People with kids. People with commitments. Didn't she understand?

"Yeah, darlin', we're gonna make love," he replied, leaning down and kissing her neck. "Is that alright?"

"Mhm," she answered, and Johnny released a breath. She wasn't going back to his place. But he wasn't going to hers, either. Too innocent to be a victim, too drunk to be a partner. This was just another in his long list of mistakes. Another night that he'd forget after a few more bottles, a few more weeks, a few more stolen cigarettes, a few more kills. He always forgot them. He'd had too many. Needed a break far too much.

And she was surely the same.

And yet, when he pushed in, there was a tension, and then it broke. Something- something physical, something inside of her broke. And she whimpered, like he'd cut her. Her voice was light as she asked "What?"

Johnny couldn't move. He couldn't act. He couldn't continue. He couldn't speak. He wished he couldn't think, but that was all he did. When he looked down, his worst fears were confirmed. Dripping onto the white comforter were two marks of scarlet, and Johnny squeezed her hand.

No. No, no, no, no. No way.

Johnny held his breath. Wanted to wake up. He never felt bad. he never felt sympathy. He never regret things from his heart, only from his head.

but there was a singe in his chest. A poking in his lungs. And, despite her consciousness being continents away, she realized. Or, at the very least, picked up on his guilt.

"Please don't be mad," she whimpered, her voice breaking. And she cried. She held it back, but tears weren't easily disguised. He shook his head, trying to pretend that it was fine. Trying to pretend that this was normal, that he regularly took girls- drunk girls, pretty, innocent, completely wasted girls virginities.

But he didn't. And it showed.

"It's okay, I'm not mad," he assured, his jaw tight. He didn't know what to do. It was too late. Maybe she wouldn't remember in the morning. Maybe she wouldn't realize what she'd given up--

No.

What he'd taken from her. Stolen from her. Why would he assume? Why would he ever think this was a good idea? Why would-

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, and Johnny did something he'd never done before. Never even thought to do.

He leaned down, and he hugged her. She hugged him back- or, tossed her arms over his back, her drunken sobs hitting his chest like a goddamn bullet. He made girls cry on purpose. He made them scream, and sob, and bleed-

She was doing all of that. But he did not want her to. He shushed her, kissing the nape of her neck, running his hand over her back, all in an attempt to comfort her. He shouldn't care. He'd never cared. He had never shown any feelings towards anyone for any goddamn reason. He was not that person.

But he felt like a bad person. He'd killed people, but that wasn't the issue right now.

No, he was so much worse than that. She was sweet, and clueless, and couldn't handle her alcohol. She'd had a terrible night. No girl like her would be in a shithole bar if she hadn't. And he'd made it worse.

And come morning, she may not even be aware of it. She'd wake up, stranded, sore, sick, in a cheap motel, alone. She'd assume that she'd called a cab, she'd assume that she handled herself fine, but Johnny would know. He'd know the truth.

What was he doing?

Nancy was right. Running off and ignoring the family was a terrible idea. She'd sworn that he'd get himself into trouble, and while she'd definitely been talking about the law, or barfights, he felt like this was his karma. This was his trouble. Hell, it didn't even affect him. It shouldn't affect him.

But she was crying in his arms, and she didn't even fully understand why. And he held her, feeling a responsibility to care for her, to comfort her.

He was going to have to stick around, wasn't he?

Come morning, she'd wake up sore and sick, and with a stranger. And he'd be there. And he'd scare her, and stress her out, and hold her hair as she threw up tonight's mistakes, and he'd probably hug her again as she cried.

Johnny sighed, using his thumb to wipe her tears. She'd already fallen asleep. He laid her down, put her clothes back on as best as he could, and covered her up with the blankets. And he left the room.

He stood just outside, unpocketing a carton of cigarettes and putting one in his mouth, using a rusty black flip lighter to ignite the end.

He didn't know what he was going to do. But he felt a responsibility. An attachment. He didn't understand it. Maybe in the morning he'd lose all sympathy and be gone before she woke up, but he found that outcome unlikely.

He'd figure it out. He had to.

[whatitshouldvebeen]

How do you think it would go if Johnny had like a longtime or at least stable girlfriend who somehow finds out the truth about him ?? Like maybe it would lead to him finally being able to show his true colors around her🫣

Plaything

Johnny Slaughter x Reader

Contains; angst, humiliation, and death

"J-Johnny?" Your voice cracked as you stared, transfixed on your boyfriend's Bowie knife you'd found in the couch cushions, covered in blood.

"What is it?" Johnny said as he came into the living room with a towel wrapped around his waist, fresh from the shower. He ran a hand through his damp hair that froze in place when he saw your face.

"Your knife. There's... It's..."

Johnny approached your side, and picked the knife up. Blood smeared over the couch.

"Who's blood is that?" You asked, trembling, still staring at the red stain.

Johnny was silent for a long moment.

"Dunno her name."

Your heart sunk.

"Why is her blood on your knife?" You ask, finally turning to meet Johnny's gaze. His eyes were the same; always calculating. Maybe even a little amused. There was no shame.

"Darlin', do you really want to know? Aren't you happy like this, believin' everything's normal?"

You blinked slowly. Sure, there were hints. Nights he came home late. Refusing to hug you before he took a shower. The way he'd fuck you like a rabid animal after those long nights; thrusting, biting, growling.

Did you really want to know?

You looked over your boyfriend's frame, shining under the light as rivulets of water drip down his muscular torso. Scars littered his body, you never really asked why. Maybe because you knew you weren't ready for an answer.

You swallowed hard.

"Yeah, tell me."

Johnny's eyes glinted. He was still holding the knife, and for a second you felt cold fear pool in your stomach.

But then he sat, laid the knife on the arm of the couch, and pulled you into his lap.

Surprisingly, the action soothed your racing heart.

"I got a compulsion, darlin'. I thought at first it was because I needed to provide for my family." His fingers trail up your thigh, and he met your hesitant eyes with his.

"Turns out, I need to kill. If I don't, I start to lose my head." He nuzzled into the crook of your neck. "I'm scared that if I give it up, I'm gonna do something I regret."

You can't help running your hand through his damp locks. What the fuck do you do in this situation? Here he was, almost child-like in seeking your comfort, because he was constantly resisting the urge to... Kill you? And why would someone as smart as Johnny hide his knife in such an obvious spot?

"Did... Did you want me to catch you?" You asked anxiously.

Johnny laughed, running his hand down your back. "You know, you're awfully stupid for askin' about the knife. You coulda just put it back and pretended you never saw it. You've always been a scared little mouse. Maybe that's why I like playin' with you so much."

"You need help, Johnny," you whispered. His whole body tensed in response.

"Don't you see? You are my help. I need you, baby, to keep me grounded. Can I trust you?" He pulled back, looking deeply into your eyes.

You hesitated. Ran your hand over his high cheekbone and cupped his angular jaw before nodding once.

"Yeah, Johnny. You can trust me," you responded in a low tone.

His eyes swam with what appeared to be tears before hardening, a sinister grin spreading across his face.

Faster than you could blink, he grabbed his knife and brought it to your throat, the cold and bloodied steel digging into your sensitive flesh. Your vision swam, showing you two images of Johnny's gleeful expression. All the blood drained from your face, and you whimpered, feeling warmth spread across the crotch of your pants.

"I don't believe you."

[adaptacy]

Reformed!Johnny angst brainrot GRARR

CW: general angst, mention of past murder/crimes, a bit of violence at one point, guilt, miscarriage, all around just sad but the ending is sweet. bittersweet, but still.

"I'm home, darlin'! You'll never guess what Joey told me today," he laughed, closing the door behind him as he stepped out of his shoes. He paused, and when he didn't get a response from her, his mind turned to the worse. He dropped his wallet and keys on the counter and trotted up the stairs, his heart racing.

He stepped into their bedroom only to find the bed completely empty, and he looked around, noticing that the bathroom door was cracked open and inside was the only form of light. Gently, he pushed the door open with a knuckle, finding his wife on the floor, curled up in a ball with her knees to her chest, her back against the sink cabinet, flinching as she cried into her palms.

"Sweetpea? What's wrong?" He asked, his voice soft, easy but absolutely terrified. He knelt beside her, and she shook her head, her mouth opening, but no words left her tongue. He placed a hand on her head, gently tugging her towards him, and she leaned into his chest, continuing to cry.

He didn't understand. Didn't have the faintest idea as to what happened, didn't know if it was just hormones or if her mother had died. But he held her, shushing her and reassuring her, holding one of her hands as he pet her hair.

"He's gone," she finally whispered, and Johnny felt himself freeze, his lungs losing their capacity to pump, his heart skipping a beat. He blinked, staring blankly at the shower, hoping, praying that she didn't mean what he assumed, and he kissed the top of her head.

"You mean... him?" Johnny asked, his voice dry, hurt. She whimpered as he dropped all the way to the floor, sitting on his ankles as she burrowed into his chest, sobbing without a sound. He closed his eyes, unable to do anything but release a quiet sigh, his lip trembling as he wraps his arms around her, his chin resting on her head.

Four months down the drain.

"I'm so sorry, darlin'."

It wasn't ever the same after that. She was hesitant, timid about anything and everything. Got nervous when his hands were on her. Sometimes he'd wake up to her crying, or find her sitting in the nursery in the middle of the night, staring at the half-built crib that Johnny had been so excited to build, or repetitively pushing back the corner of a cartoony bunny sticker on the wall, trying so hard just to make it stick. Just to fix it.

And Johnny couldn't do anything but sit with her, or hug her, or glue the sticker back onto the wall. He couldn't fix it. There wasn't anyone he could beat up. Wasn't anything he could do to punish the cause. Wasn't anything he could do to take it back. He couldn't bring himself to finish the crib. He'd gotten all the materials himself, the paint, everything- hell, he'd practically built the entire nursery from scratch.

Sometimes he'd go out back and sit at the top of the plastic slide on the playset, just staring at the ground below. He could imagine the childlike giggles, he could imagine her standing at the bottom with a huge smile on her face, already pregnant with a second as he gently pushed his son down the slide. And she'd pick him up and cheer, and he'd laugh and slide down after him, and hug them both, twirling with his perfect family.

But it was dark now. And it was empty. And the mosquitos were biting. But he couldn't go back inside. He just wanted a little longer. Just wanted to picture it a little bit more.

And he'd wipe the heel of his palm over his eyes, wiping away the tears in the corners of them, and he'd let out a tired chuckle at the thought of him crying. At the fact that he was grieving something that never existed. At the fact he was grieving an idea- a person without a name. He felt stupid. Dramatic.

But it didn't change the tightness in his throat, the sting of the bittersweet fantasies. He couldn't believe that, at one point in time, he'd been the same man who was capable of murder. That he'd taken so many lives but cried at the loss of someone who hadn't even taken their first breath.

But this was his punishment, wasn't it?

And he was inflicting it on her. Because she'd loved him. Because he'd trapped her, because he'd won her. Because he was nothing but a bad luck charm. A walking example of the universe's mishaps. It was his fault. He knew he shouldn't love. He knew he was dangerous- dangerous to be around, dangerous to be involved with, dangerous to love. Because he was threatening, and because the world needed to punish him when the police couldn't all those years ago.

Because karma knew he deserved to be rotting in a cold cell, but he was instead in a warm home, making dinner for a beautiful wife, and he was happy. But Johnny knew he was the last person who deserved happiness. And he'd wrought that curse onto someone who never deserved it. A woman who was nothing but sunshine and giggles, who worked hard and played hard, who radiated positivity.

And yet when she made him smile, when she made him love, when she bandaged his broken heart, he had stolen her warmth away from her. Because the universe was punishing him by hurting her. By ridding them of their happiness.

He sniffled, bringing his knees up to his chest as he scooted backwards into the small playhouse, and he crossed his arms over his knees and leaned into them, crying. Sobbing. He knew he was only feeling a fraction of the pain she was. A fraction of the pain he'd caused so many others. And still, it burned. It burned in his lungs, it burned in his heart, it burned in his eyes and his nose.

He kept reminding himself that he deserved this, that he'd done nothing right to earn him happiness. That his crimes would never be paid back. That the lives he'd taken were smiling down on his misery, and that was how it should be. He wished he was still the stone-hearted boy he was with the sawyers. He wished he could still laugh as he drove his knife into the gut of an innocent girl, wished he could taunt them as they gagged and choked on their own blood.

But he was bawling in the playhouse he'd built for his son who was never going to experience it. And he was alone. Even when he knew his wife was just inside, asleep in their bed, he felt so incredibly lost. Like he was stuck in some desolate minefield where an inch in the wrong direction, a single wrong word, a gentle touch in the wrong spot, a hug at the wrong time, would set off yet another bomb. And he was already battered, and exhausted, and bleeding, but he couldn't go back. Because there was no undoing the past, and there was no fixing it.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd just held her. Not the kind of comfort holding he did when she cried, not the side hugs in silence as they think about what the future could've been. He couldn't remember the last time she giggled as he scattered kisses on her shoulders, couldn't remember the last time she'd laid on his chest as they watched a movie, or the last time he'd hugged her as she fell asleep in his arms with a smile on her face.

He missed those hugs. The pleasant hugs. The giggly ones. The squirmy ones. The intimate ones. All he got were sad hugs now. Comfort hugs. He missed them. He missed her. He'd robbed the light from her eyes, the happy glow from her skin, the laughter from her throat.

Johnny felt a hand on his shoulder, and he lifted his head, finding her sitting next to him in the playhouse, her eyes still carrying a mellow sadness, and she offered a small, solemn smile. He lowered his legs, sniffling as she crawled into his lap, hugging him tightly. It was still a sad hug, and a comfort hug, but at least it was a hug. She wasn't crying this time, but he was, and he pressed his forehead to her shoulder, sobbing into her skin.

"I'm sorry," he'd whimper, shaking his head, desperately wanting to make it better. He'd do whatever it took. Whatever she asked of him. But there wasn't any way to change it. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry," he repeated, his shoulders heaving as he cried, choking on every word as they snagged in his throat.

"I know, Johnny, I know. It's not your fault. It's not," she replied, her voice soft, still as hurt as the day he'd found her on the bathroom floor, crying at the news of their loss. But he knew better. He knew it was. He knew this was his punishment. This was his purgatory. The scars on his skin weren't enough, the constant images of his victims in his mind weren't enough, the inner voice of Nancy scolding him wasn't enough. Hell, maybe this wasn't enough. But she deserved better. She deserved to be free of this terrible, gut-wrenching feeling.

"I'm sorry," he sniffled, his inhale shaky, desperate, guilty. "I don't know what to do. I don't. I don't know anything. I'm lost, sweetpea, I'm-"

"I know, hon. It's okay. It'll be okay. We'll be okay. Right?" She asked, her voice breaking as she found herself on the edge of tears as well, and she pulled away, wiping the tears from his cheeks like he'd done to her so many times before. He didn't know what to say. He didn't have the words. He didn't have the answers. She leaned her forehead against his, and Johnny closed his eyes, holding her hand against his face, wishing he could say the right thing. "Johnny?"

He opened his eyes, looking into hers, searching her gaze for a response. For anything, really. All he found was the love she still, miraculously, helplessly had for him. He didn't deserve it, and he knew that, and yet he still found himself yearning for it. Finding comfort in it. Finding peace in knowing he was still, somehow, despite everything, capable of being loved.

"I want to try again. I think I'm ready now," she whispered, and his lips twitched into a sad smile, leaning his head into her palm, giving a soft kiss to her wrist.

"What if it happens again?" He asked, his eyes closing, fearing the response.

"We'll get through it together."

[adaptacy]

If you want requests for Johnny could you maybe do something with him x connie? Maybe he spares her and they like run away togetjer IDK literally anything with them pls

omg okay so i know a lot of people ship them and i love both of them but i have never really given connie the time of day so i am SO sorry if she is out of character but i will try my best!! i hope you enjoy <3

There was a silenced yelp from the orange-haired girl as a palm clasped over her mouth and she was tugged backwards, her back hitting someone's chest. The arm holding her was alarmingly large, and she tried to pry herself free, but she was shushed.

"Quit wigglin'. I ain't gonna hurt'ya, damn it," the attacker grumbled, pressing his palm harder against her face. Yeah right. She didn't believe a single word of that.

She squirmed more, and her head was tilted backwards, where she found one of the family members looking down at her, his eyes narrowed sternly as he shook his head.

"Quiet down if you wanna live. If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't still be breathin'. Just hold on," he directed, and Connie frowned, but she did as he asked. He had a good point; he hadn't had any issue slicing the throats of Leland or Ana, and she supposed he would've done the same with her if he wanted her dead.

Plus, she didn't have much of a choice. His arm was wrapped around her torso, preventing her from doing anything more than squirming. Connie's breath hitched as he pulled her deeper into the shed, her eyes widening as she saw the shadow of another family member through the holes in the wood.

"C'mon pretty darlin'! Come on out for us!" A female giggled, calling out for the last remaining victim. Connie looked up at the dark-haired man holding her, and he looked back down at her, shaking his head again. Well, right now it seemed like her two choices were to either die by the hands of this guy, or die by the hands of the slightly more psychotic woman outside.

She chose this guy.

And yet, when the footsteps receded and she braced herself for impact- A blunt force to her head, a stab in her gut, a knife to her throat... she felt his hands release her, and she stumbled forward, turning back to look at him.

"What the hell?" She whispered, looking the man up and down.

"I ain't lettin' 'em kill you. Made the mistake once, I ain't makin' it again. Follow me, an' be silent. 'Less you want me to kill you." He looked her up and down, and she shook her head. "Didn't think so. Be silent now."

Connie responded with nothing more than a nod, deciding her best shot was to follow now, and ask questions later.

~

"I still don't understand," she sighed, sitting criss-cross on a neatly arranged motel bed.

"Shouldn't you just be glad yer still kickin'?" Johnny glanced behind him at the redhead before he returned his attention to the window he was spying out of.

"I don't think they're coming," Connie murmured, picking at her fingernails.

"You don't know that."

"It's been two hours..."

"Listen here, missy." Johnny turned around with a scowl, and Connie stared him down, blinking. He wanted to get onto her, but all he could manage was a question that had been brewing in his mind. "How the hell'd you 'n your friends find us, anyways?"

"We found her car. Your house was the closest sign of life, so Leland and Ana went out one night and saw you taking a girl back. When they didn't see her leave the next day, we assumed it was you guys who took Maria," Connie explained. While she was obviously nervous being in the same room as a murderer who had killed her friends the very same day, what choice did she have but to engage with him?

Connie quite liked living, having a beating heart, and breathing. She chose that over angering this guy any day. "You damn idiots didn't have a clue what you were gettin' into, huh?"

Connie shrugged, and shook her head. "I guess not," she sighed, scooting backwards on the bed and bringing her knees to her chest. "It was so stupid of us. We didn't know what to do. We just wanted to save Maria."

"Guess you learned your lesson," Johnny mumbled, and Connie frowned. Then she scoffed, turning to look at Johnny.

"Seriously? Don't you have any remorse?" She raised her voice, losing sight of her goal to stay alive. Between his cocky attitude and her friends being dead, she was on her last straw. "You killed them. All of them. They were innocent!"

"I did what I had to," Johnny huffed, looking almost disgusted with Connie. "You're lucky I let you go."

"You didn't let me go. You're practically holding me hostage. What the hell do you want with me, anyways?" Connie growled.

"Well, I can't let you go. You'll run 'n tattle to the cops."

"Yeah, obviously. You're a murderer." Connie took in a deep breath and set her chin between her knees. "You should've killed me. Now I'm just gonna be stuck in purgatory with a cannibal."

"Listen, Darlin'-"

"Ew, don't call me that," Connie snapped.

"I am keepin' you safe, in case you didn't notice. I could'a killed ya."

"So why didn't you? Why did I have to be the one you choose to keep around as a pet?"

Johnny sighed, pressing a palm to his face. He tapped his foot, growing impatient with the bratty girl. She had a point, and a reason to be angry, but it was still hell to deal with. It wasn't like he could just tell her that he liked her spirit, that he thought she was cute, that he appreciated her ferocity-- No, this was not the right circumstance for trying to flirt with a girl. Maybe don't kill her friends next time, jackass. "I'm tired'a being the bad guy. Wanted to help someone for once," he lied, not even sounding that sure of himself.

"You didn't save the others. You had a chance to be the good guy. You really fucked that one up," Connie grumbled. "How long do you plan on holding me hostage?"

"I'm not holdin' you hostage."

"So I can leave?"

"No."

"Then I'm a hostage," Connie corrected.

"Quit sayin' that, dammit."

"Oh, I'm sorry, do you want me on my knees thanking you for what a hero you've been to me? What's your name again? Johnny?" Connie frowned, and then cleared her throat. "Oh, thank you, Johnny! Thank you for killing my friends, kidnapping me, and being a sick bastard of a cannibal. You really are my savior."

Johnny sighed, rolling his eyes. She was not the company he was expecting. Not the company he was hoping for. He had gotten himself into this situation, and yet he couldn't bring himself to pity the girl. Not with this attitude of hers. "You make a habit of talkin' back?"

"Only to serial killers."

"Fine. I wanted to save you. You ain't deservin' of the shit that yer friends went through."

"Neither were they!" Connie yelled, her voice cracking. "God damn it," she whined, pulling her knees closer to her chest as she gave away her weakness. Finally, Johnny felt a slight twinge of regret, of sympathy for the girl.

"I'm sorry," Johnny mumbled, stepping towards the girl.

"Saying sorry doesn't bring them back," she whispered, finally breaking as she let out a tense exhale, silently crying into her knees.

"I know. I-" Johnny paused. He had no clue how to reassure or comfort people. He knew how to make them cry, not how to make them stop. He awkwardly shuffled over to the bed, taking a seat on the edge of it. "I could only save one of ya. They would'a got the rest, and you too, if I tried savin' all of 'em."

Connie didn't respond, she just cried, and Johnny rolled his eyes, more so at the frustration of his own incompetence than at the fact that she was crying.

Johnny shuffled closer to her, looking her balled-up frame up and down, trying to figure out what to do. After an awkward moment of silence, he shuffled even closer.

Connie felt arms around her, and she whimpered, giving in to her needs. She leaned against his chest, crying into him, and he, albeit stiffly, hugged her as she did so. "I'm real sorry, darlin'."

Connie still didn't offer any form of a verbal reply, but she did wrap her arms around his stomach as she cried, and Johnny placed his chin on her head. He didn't know what to do, he was simply following what felt natural. And it seemed to be working.

How he was going to make this up to her, he didn't have the slightest clue. But he wanted to try. He really wanted to try.

[adaptacy]

The Death of Peace of Mind

Pairings: Brainwashed!Leland Mckinney x Afab!Reader

Summary:

A year ago, one of your friends went missing- Maria Flores was kidnapped by a crazed family of cannibals, and was nearly killed. But you and your friends saved her. It was a long, painful, grueling process, but you managed to survive and escape. At least most of you did.

But a year ago, when you saved Maria, a trade was made. A life for a life. For Maria Flores' survival and safety, your boyfriend, Leland Mckinney, gave up his own freedom. For the survival of seven, one was taken. You'd believed the cops would be quick enough to save him, but they're just as useless with Leland as they were with Maria.

So what do you do? Well, form a plan to return, of course. You're going to save him. And if you can't save him, you're going to avenge him. Either way, you and your friends will ensure that his sacrifice will not be in vain.

However, things at the Sawyer house did not play out as you'd assumed. Something has changed. Something that you aren't sure how to fix.

He survived, but what is left of him?

Link (X)

So I'm starting another long-form fanfic! It will be posted on AO3 as the chapters are going to be longer than what I usually post on tumblr, but I wanted you tumblr girlies (gender neutrally) to be made aware of it! I'm super excited to bring my ideas to y'all cause i have a lot of them hehe.

[adaptacy]

more angst but in the leland font <3

usual tags you get it

A jaw was held, foreheads leaning against one another.

"It's not the same anymore."

"It never will be."

"When do I get to accept it?"

"I don't know. Maybe never."

"I miss you."

"I know. We miss you too."

When his eyes opened, he was bleeding again. Or crying? He couldn't tell. The substance was picked up by his thumb, and it was clear. He wasn't sure which he would've preferred.

He needed a haircut. Couldn't remember the last time he got one. His hair was a mess, and far too long. He hated brushing the excess out. Hated the way his tangles caught on the brush when he'd forgotten to condition it, hated the way he'd get strands in his mouth, or brushing his nose.

"Are you even trying?"

Of course he was. Did she think he wanted to feel this way? Did she think that, if it were truly up to him, he'd continue to dwell and rot like a corpse? Maybe that's what he deserved to be. Maybe he wasn't trying hard enough.

But he'd showered. And he'd eaten today. And he'd been told that was enough. But she got a job. And she was making friends. And she was managing. And hiding it. And smiling, and drinking coffee, and thanking the waiter.

He hadn't been to the gym in a week. Hadn't called his parents yet. They were probably worried about him. He hated sharing his stress with them- with anyone. He hated therapy. He hated talking about it. And he hated being heard, but never understood.

He should get out of bed. He should go for a jog. He should get some water. Maybe a drink. It wouldn't hurt. But he was heavy, and he was tired of being burdened with the weight. So he continued to lay there, staring at the ceiling as if it would give him answers.

He wished he would've killed him. Wished he would've saved them. Wishing was all he could do, but it still didn't bring them back. Visiting their graves didn't bring them back. Writing them letters didn't bring them back.

He missed his mom. But he knew he couldn't see her. He knew he'd break down the second she hugged him, and he couldn't let her see that. He couldn't let her see her only son struggling. Couldn't let her worry about him being alone. Loneliness was easy, because he didn't burden anyone else. Loneliness was easy because he'd grown used to it. Loneliness was easy, wasn't it?

Being lonely was easy like being asleep. Easy like breathing. Easy like wishing. It came naturally to him. And it was bittersweet like breathing, like sleeping, like wishing. He missed the warmth of love. Of being cared for, truly cared for. Not being worried about. Not being looked after. He missed the warmth of being enjoyed. He missed the warmth of smiles, of nights out by a campfire, of hugs.

He missed a lot of things. Things that didn't come naturally to him anymore. Things that he had to work for, and yet never truly felt like he deserved. He didn't know what he deserved anymore.

He didn't know if he deserved haircuts. Or face washes. Or warm showers. Didn't even know if he deserved the Texan sun, the gentle humming of his car, the attention of strangers on the street.

He didn't like these new meds. They weren't making him better. They weren't taking it away, weren't even dimming it. Maybe he'd just watch a movie tonight. Maybe that would be enough for tonight.

Yeah. Popcorn sounded nice.