Johnny The Homicidal Maniac X Reader

My Name Isn't Bitch, It's (y/n)

I hate sleeping. When I sleep my demons come out to "play". I hate it. My name is (y/n), no last name. I have (h/c) hair that is (h/l). I am 16 and probably the most hated person in the god damn city. I could kill them so easily, it only takes one well placed knife wound to end the disgustingly miserable existence of the so called "humans". The only reason I'm suffering is because the head explody powers were hard to resist. I kinda wished they had clipped my wings though. They make "blending in" kinda hard to do, but I manage. The person outside my window is kinda creeping me out, but I'll let them see that I am not worth stalking. My alarm goes off. I have to get ready for another day of killing. The only justice in this world for those who label without thought. I want a taco. Guess that's my first stop. I get ready in my normal attire which consists of knee-high combat boots, black skinny jeans, and a black shirt with white stripes on the sleeves. I grab my knives and head out. Once I get there I am greeted with not the Taco Hell of usual. Someone has already killed everyone. And he's sitting in a booth with his back to me. I recognize him. He was the only person who didn't make fun of me at that Rot Topic.

"I wish you would have left some for me." I say. He tenses and looks back.
"I didn't know you were coming, or homicidal." He replies. I shrug.
"I'm (y/n)." I say.
"I'm Johnny C. But you can call me Nny."
"Thanks, Nny. Do you know where they keep the tacos?" I ask. He just points to the kitchen. Duh. How did I not think of that.
"Thanks." I say. Then I went into the kitchen to make me a taco.