Slasher X Reader 16+

Texan Heat (BS)

Texan Heat
Bubba Sawyer x reader
Texas Chainsaw Massacre and everything is the same except its the 2000s
Warnings: you're a. Complete dumbass. Cursing. Gore
Original Post: https://slash-me-please.tumblr.com/post/626441194582441984/texan-heat

       You arrived in Texas a steamy sunday morning, traveling happily along the back-roads of a town who's name you couldn't name for the life of you.
      You were driving in the Texan heat, arm hanging out the window and head bobbing along to the radio whilst 5SoS's "She Looks so Perfect" played. The scene was refreshing while it lasted, almost nostalgic until your car rutted to a stop. Your engine sputtered a few god awful sounds and came to a stop as you pulled over onto the side of the road, a string of curses following along with the frustration of being exposed to the all-too-familiar ninety degree weather.
        You remembered seeing a gas station a while back but it was too far back to walk to, and carry a jug full of the gasoline back with you, especially with you wiping the excess sweat off your forehead every five seconds. You debated getting back in the car and calling some sort of towing company until you spotted a mailbox in the distance. You made your way up to it, and it looked a bit old and broken for something someone was only putting mail into and you briefly considered the thought that the house it belonged to was abandoned. Luckily, there was a truck pulled into the dirt driveway, parked slightly tilted as if the person pulled up in a hurry. You paid it no mind and walked up their creaky stairs, wasting no time to knock on the old screen door.      An older man opened the door, maybe in his mid-forties, hair graying and him balding. "Hey my car ran outta gas a little bit down the road, I was just wondering if you had any spare? Or you could always drive me to the gas station to buy some myself if it was no burden." He chuckled, an unsettling one at that, one that made you shift uncomfortably in your stance before he opened the door to you. "Here there's some in the kitchen, I'll give it to you free of charge." He chuckled.

      You grinned, not registering the fact that keeping gas in your kitchen was slightly odd and a fire hazard until you were already inside. He let you into the dining room, your eyes widening at the bloodied bucket in front of a senile old man, and the bloodied table cloth he was sitting in front of. Though before you could react he yelled the name "Leatherface." You doubted the validity of the name for a second before a very large man ran into you, hauling your smaller body into his very plush one. You screamed, hands coming up to cover your face in fear when he trudged back into the basement he'd came out of.

       When the two of you made it down the stairs, he made his way into a large room that reeked of death and whatever fluids were in there.
      The giant of a man trudged over to where a couple meathooks were hanging on the wall and immediately your blood ran cold when you realised what he was going to do. In a blind amount of hope, you clung to the man, digging your face into his collarbone as a sign of submission. "Please! Please don't do that! That'll hurt like hell! How would you feel if someone hung you on a hook??" You cried, almost bawling in relief when the man sighed and plopped you down on a large table with a very much dead man sprawled on top of it.
       You tried to inhale the gag but it your attempts were useless when Leatherface started to hack off limbs of the man.
      "Uh before you kill me can I know your name? Y'know so I can have a name to scream while you're uh- yanking my limbs off." The man eyed you for a second, before running his tongue over his lips. Finally he pointed towards a card across the room, maybe a get well soon card, you couldn't know. But what was illegible was the name "Bubba," written across. "Your name is Bubba? Why does that man upstairs call you leatherface? Oh is it because of your mask? Well that's pretty clever. Or its pretty rude, you have a name."
       To be honest, your ramblings sounded much better than the screaming of victims and the groaning of bones when he snapped them in half.
      And with that decision, he hauled you up on his shoulders and dragged you upstairs, plopping you onto his bed. You watched in slight horror as he nailed his window shut and locked the door, before soon realising he wouldn't touch you. "Bubba? What're you doing?"
            He made a sound that came particularly close to "stay." And that was a much better idea than him sawing your legs off in a grimy basement.

It must've been the steamy texan heat, because you couldn't find a reason why you'd reply "Yes."

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Is Texan a word