I Don't Know If Anybody Thought About That But...

I don't know if anybody thought about that but...

I just want a strong goron to hold me in his rock-hard hands... Maybe warm bear hug...

Do I ask too much, universe??

Thomas Hewitt x reader

It's part two. Well... Part one

Warning! gore, blood mentioned, killing mentioned, still no romance. Enjoy!

His house

You don't know how long you've been sleeping. Just like you don't know where you are. Disorientation quickly turned into panic when you realized the sound from which you woke up. Scream. A cry of pain, somewhere nearby. The scream is loud, as if someone is being skinned... And the voice is like Billy's. The hair stood up in horror when the memories of the gas station came flooding back to you.

Trying to sit down, you found that you were tied to the table leg by your hands. And the legs are tied at the ankles. The screams in the background are overlaid by the sounds of a chainsaw. No... No. No! The scream became so loud that you were ready to swear that your eardrums would burst. How painful. It hurts everywhere, but most of all it hurts your wrists, which you desperately pull, trying to break away from the table. The damn table is just shaking.

Then everything stopped. You didn't even realize that you were screaming yourself until that moment. Silence. Like in a cemetery. It was interrupted by light, quick footsteps. To your horror, you realized that the footsteps were approaching you. You didn't want to meet anyone from this damn place.

It would be better if you worked in a damn bar on the edge of town for the rest of your days than what is happening now! Why did you agree to this "journey" at all!?

Tears rolled from your eyes from the memories of your quiet life. Life before you agreed to the trip. Your then-serious problems seem so simple now. You would give anything to relive those worries again, just not what is happening now.

Your hysteria was interrupted by a woman's calm voice and the touch of a wet cool cloth to your forehead.

"Silly, you woken up. You are pale as death, and forehead is cold. And so dirty..."

the woman said, wiping the dirt and blood from your face. She's obviously not young anymore, but she can't be called too old either.

"Thomas treated you carefully. Your friends aren't so lucky," the woman said after finishing washing your face.

What the hell is she talking about?! You no longer have the strength to cry when a woman begins to gently stroke your hair.

"You know.... I've always wanted a daughter," She mumbles, moving her hand to your face to stroke your cheek.

Daughter?! Is she crazy?!

You wanted to keep crying, run as far as possible, wrap yourself in a blanket and believe that it was just a dream. But the pain in your wrists and the reality of her touch confirmed the opposite.

"Behave yourself, and maybe you'll live longer," the woman said, finally pulling away and walking away from you. All you had to do was fight with the ropes on your wrists. But it didn't lead to anything.

Judging by the light from the window, it's been several hours. It's gotten a lot darker, and you're still on the floor, tired of crying. How you hate it.

Heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway, making you tense up. God, you're willing to lie on a dirty floor, just not these bastards.

A large dark figure appeared in the passage. It's him... The one they call Thomas.

You were shaking when he started to approach. No... no. It's your turn. Are you really going to die like this?! You don't stand a chance against him. You are hurt and scared by your own weakness.

You wanted to live. You wanted to see a family, maybe get a dog or a child in the future... But right now, you were willing to die quickly, just not to be the next one whose screams would echo throughout the house. And you had a feeling that it was this guy's fault. It's his fault that one of your friends was in pain, and the blood on his apron and hands only confirms this.

Judging by the light from the window, it's been several hours. It's gotten a lot darker, and you're still on the floor, tired of crying. God... How you hate it....

Heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway, making you tense up. God, you're willing to lie on a dirty floor, just not these crazies.

A large dark figure appeared in doors. It's him... The one they call Thomas.

You were shaking when he started to approach. No... no. It's your turn. Are you really going to die like this?! You don't stand a chance against him. You are hurt and scared by your own weakness.

You wanted to live. You wanted to see a family, maybe get a dog or a child in the future... But right now, you were willing to die quickly, just not to be the next one whose screams would echo throughout the house. And you had a feeling that it was this guy's fault. It's his fault that one of your friends was in pain, and the blood on his apron and hands only confirms this.

You froze when Thomas came closer. Your brain and body are so exhausted that you can't kick anymore when the giant unties your hands from the table and throws you over his shoulder. Where is he taking you? Thomas went into the hallway and then up the stairs to the second floor.

He doesn't know why Luda wanted to leave you alive. Yes, you're pretty, you resist a little and cry quietly, without annoying Monty. But why would they need someone else? He himself could help with all the housework, even with the "female" part. And Charlie got angry again. Although he did not argue, Mom's word is the law.

Lying on his shoulder, you hopelessly watch as the front door goes out of sight, being replaced by the floor of the second floor.

Thomas brought you into a room that has a bed, a closet, a small table and a chair. The giant carefully seated your shaking figure on a chair, tying you with ropes.

When he was sure that you were tightly tied to chair, Thomas looked up at you. Your eyes, red with tears, filled with fear and pain, looked at him. Nothing new. You sniff, trying to breathe evenly so as not to burst into tears again. Your skin looks so soft... Thomas raised his hand to stroke your cheek.

You twitched at his touch. Fingers rough from daubs and physical work stroke your cheek, lightly pressing to feel the texture better.

He would give anything to have his face like that. Or so someone's eyes looked at him without fear, with tenderness, like his mother.

He looks at you like a wet kitten that was picked up on the street. Like if he was ready to defend himself at any second, shocked, but so glad that you didn't run away. Not that you can.... Or maybe?

Requests are open! I don't know what to write... :(

Can I give them a squeeze? Please?

🫠I want him to hold me like that...

According to old post of @imaginethezeldaverse

Jason 🪓