Slasher X Y/n - Tumblr Posts

hiiiii

was wondering if you’d like 2 do a quick “where is she” type hurt&comfort prompt with thomas and/or bo!! maybe some victim vs slasher action thatd be funn

Includes: Thomas Hewitt / F!Reader

SFW

TW: Hurt / Comfort / Reader is kidnapped under false pretenses of being 'saved' / Their slasher bf does Not Like That / Canon Typical Violence

…

Hi! Thank you for sending in this ask and I hope you're doing very well.

This... Did not turn out to be a quick drabble, haha. I, as usual, got carried away. When I checked the page count I was at 12 pages and had only written Thomas' part, so there's that. I don't want to overload in one post, or keep you waiting any longer, and I'm currently struggling to write Bo's part at the moment, so I'm going to post Tommy's part for now and update this later with Bo. I welcome any pointers for his character, by the way, I've never written for him lol. Anyways... I hope y'all enjoy!

Quick side note: I just recently reached 300 followers!! Yay!! I'm so excited and happy that you guys enjoy my work <3 I'm going to try and start writing more often so please, send in all your requests! Thank y'all for taking the time to read my stories and follow me, it means the world to me.

Thomas Hewitt:

The Texas air was hot and heavy, as it was in most August days, weighing everything from the birds to the pigs down, not much of anything caring to move about in this heat. Even Hoyt elected to take the day off, currently lounging about on the front porch, beer in hand. Though that wasn't too unusual, at least now he had somewhat of an excuse.

Luda Mae was in town, running the store, today being one of those rare days where she took Monty with her so he could “get his stinkin' ass out of the house”, as she had so graciously put it.

Not even Thomas had a lot to do today, so the two of you were taking advantage of that, currently set up on the living room couch.

You were sitting on the back of the couch, with Thomas situated between your legs, mask off and hair down so you could properly comb through it.

It was late morning by this point, so the strongest wave of heat hadn't come through yet, and you had all the windows open to try and keep the air flowing through the house before it did.

The radio played an old song from its corner, echoing a woman's voice throughout the living room. You hummed along, gently separating another section of hair and spraying a light mist of water over it with a spray bottle so you could carefully brush it without hurting your husband.

Thomas currently had his head leaning against your thigh, partly to give your more access to that side of his head, and partly because he was dozing off from the mix of humming and having you gently work through the knots in his dark curly hair.

You finished brushing out that section, running your fingers from his roots to the tips a couple of time to be sure, before pulling it to the side to place in a loose ponytail with the rest of his untangled hair.

You could start feel the soft, deep rumble as Thomas began to snore, and let out a soft laugh.

He had a habit of falling asleep every-time you brushed his hair, enjoying the close contact and the chance to take his mask off and let his skin breathe.

You let out a soft hum and bent down to place a kiss on his head, rubbing your thumb along his cheekbone as you did.

You pulled back and continued to work, putting in even more effort to be gentle and soft as to not wake him. You carefully moved his head to your other thigh and began to brush the other side of his head, the brush easily combing through the knots, a stark contrast from when you initially started brushing his hair for him a few months ago.

After another fifteen minutes or so, you were finished, and pulled his hair together to give it a final brush through before setting the water bottle and brush to the side, sitting up straight to stretch your back and arms.

Thomas was still gently snoring, face pressed against your inner thigh as he continued his midday nap. You didn't really have the heart to wake him, but your ass was starting to fall asleep and hurt from sitting on the hard surface of the back of the couch, and it was getting close to time to start on lunch.

You let your hands run down his hair and to his shoulders, giving them a gentle but firm rub as you planted a kiss on his temple, speaking softly, “Tommy, baby, wake up. I'm all done.”

Despite what most people would assume, Thomas wasn't too much of a heavy sleeper, especially when he was on the couch, and that little bit was just enough to stir him awake.

He sucked in a shallow breath and let out a yawn, stretching his arms under your legs before hooking them over your thighs, letting his head fall back to look up at you with a sleepy smile.

“Good morning.” You joked with a smile of your own.

He hummed a bit and leaned over, pressing a kiss to your thigh.

“I've gotta start on lunch soon.”

He shut his eyes and let out a soft grunt of disapproval.

“Mhm.” You hummed back, running a hand through his hair again, “And then I've gotta--”

You were cut short by the rigid sound of the telephone ringing from the table behind you.

You sighed and reached around, pulling the base up and into to your lap.

“Hello?” You answered, holding the receiver with your shoulder while you idly played with Thomas' hair.

“Y/N? Could you put Hoyt on?” Luda Mae responded, skipping a greeting as she always did. After all, she's calling her own house, why should she have to say hello?

“'Course, Mama, lemme call for him.” You agreed, covering the receiver with your hand before yelling, “Hoyt, it's for you!”

No response.

“Hoyt?”

Nothing.

“Hoyt!”

Typical.

You reached down and tapped Thomas' shoulder, catching his attention, “Tommy will you go grab Hoyt? I think he's passed out in the rocker out front.”

He let out a disgruntled sigh but stood up, reluctantly sulking out the front door.

“Thomas is goin' to get him now, Mama, I think he fell asleep on the porch again.” You explained into the phone.

“Alright.” She sighed, “Just tell him to hurry up.”

After a few moments you could hear Hoyt yell from the front porch, followed by him stumbling in, still half asleep, with Thomas in tow.

“Phone.” You set the base back down and held out the phone for him to take.

“Who is it?” He slurred out, yet still grabbed the phone.

“It's Mama.”

“What the hell does she want?” He grumbled, before repeating the question to her, “What the hell do you want?”

You silently ushered Thomas over and grabbed his mask before standing straight on the couch to help him put it back on. It wasn't your favorite thing, having your husband hide half of his face, but Hoyt was awfully mean when he was drunk and it made Tommy feel more secure.

“Uh-huh. Alright. Yea. Yea. I'll be there in 'bout half an hour.” You could hear Hoyt finish mumbling and hang up the phone behind you before much too loudly announcing, “Thomas, get ready, we got supper comin' in down at the store!”

Thomas and you both let out a sigh. Well, looks like your day off was cut short.

There was a routine in place for days like these and falling into it was rather easy. You were placed on Hoyt duty, meaning you had to get his sheriff uniform ready to go and Hoyt sobered up enough to drive, and Thomas had to prepare the basement for the arrival of new guests, to put it delicately.

The two of you set to work, Thomas planting a quick kiss to your lips before tucking himself away in the basement, and you sat Hoyt down with a plate of carbs and a large glass of water to try and sober him while you tracked down everything he needed.

By the time you finished finding all of the things he carelessly threw around from the day before, he had sobered up enough that you deemed him safe enough to leave the house.

You assumed you had quite sometime before Hoyt would make it back, so you decided you'd take the time to get a few chores done beforehand, even though you knew it would upset Thomas if he found out.

It was his request that you stay in your shared room when Hoyt brought any new victims home, always worried that something would happen.

Normally, you listened to him, but the longer you waited the more chores would pile up. Besides, it would just take a few minutes.

You started with the dishes from breakfast, what with it being a lazy day and all, you figured you could do them at lunch instead. You had a couple of other things to clean up in the kitchen and finished it off with gathering the trash to take it out on your way to feed some leftover slop to the pigs.

Only an hour and a half. You smiled to yourself as you checked the wall clock, happy that you finished the chores so fast.

You dropped off the bag in the can by the back door and dumped the leftovers into the slop bucket that you kept beside it and made the short walk to the small barn out back where the pigs stayed, passing the chicken coop on the way.

The small pink pigs squealed with delight when they saw you approach, having gotten used to either you or Thomas being the ones to bring them food.

They gathered around the long feed trout that was set up in their pen, happily squealing in anticipation as you dropped the spoiled leftovers into their pen, each of them happily chowing down on the food. You kneeled down and patted one of their backs, one of the females, if her large, very obvious pregnant belly gave any clue. Tommy had noticed a while back that she was pregnant, and you gave extra care in keeping an eye on her.

You cooed after her, ushering her to eat all she could for her and her little babies, gently rubbing her back as she ate.

You sat up after a moment, stretching your back again before standing up and grabbing the slop bucket to carry back to the house.

You cringed when you picked it up, however, this time catching a whiff of the moldy food that caked the sides. Apparently it had been a while since the bucket was washed out.

You carried it out of the barn and to the side where one of the outside hoses sat, turning on the creaky faucet to wash out the bucket.

It was a messy job, and by the end of it, the dirt you once stood on was now mud and your shirt was soaked with a large splash of water. At least it helped cool you down a bit, being out in the heat like this was exhausting and you were already sweating.

You turned the faucet off and shook the bucket out a bit more before the sound of running footsteps caught your attention.

You turned back to the house, only to see a young man you didn't know running straight for you.

You jumped at the sight, taking a step back out of surprise and fear. However, when you did, your shoe hit the mud and you slipped, landing clear on your back and knocking the breath out of you.

You tried to take in a sharp gasp of air, only to be met with pain coursing from your spine to your chest, making it tighten.

You sat up, grasping at your chest and trying to breathe, tears streaming down your face, all while the man finally reached you.

“Hey, hey--!” He called out in a loud whisper, shaking as fear lined his voice and filled his wide eyes.

You shook your head no, pushing yourself back and away from him.

“No, no, it's okay, it's okay,” He raised his hands as he kneeled down, “I-I'm not gonna hurt you, I'm gonna help, I'm gonna help.”

You continued shaking your head and pushing away, desperately trying to breathe so you could scream for Thomas.

He ignored your obvious attempts to get away from him, and grabbed your arm, pulling you up and towards the back of the barn. You finally managed to pull in your first breath, coughing as he continued yanking on your wrist, practically dragging you across the dirt and grass.

There was a second door in the back and he found it easily, pushing you into the barn and towards the ladder to the loft where the hay was kept.

The pigs squealed in surprise, running around in their pen in distress as you tried to fight against the stranger.

“Stop! Leave me alone!” You pushed and pulled against his grip as he tried to shove you up the ladder.

“No, it's okay, I-I'm not one of them, I'm not gonna hurt you--” He ignored your pleas as he spoke over you, “I'm gonna help, I'm gonna help--”

You could feel the old creaky wood bend and groan against your back as he shoved you into the ladder repeatedly, trying to force you up there.

Sharp pain shot through your elbow as it slammed into the wall, finally managing to get your wrist out of his grip.

You ignored the pulsing and shoved him back, freezing when Hoyt's revolver fell from the man's pants.

You thought about diving for it, but he was faster, his hands in the air as he knelt down to pick it up.

“No, don't, don't worry, I- I'm not going to hurt you, I got this, before I ran--” He grabbed the gun and shoved it back into his jeans, “I won't hurt you, I promise.”

How stupid could this man be? Did he still not get it yet?

You were shaking, your racing heart almost loud enough to cover up the sounds of the pigs fearful squeals and Thomas' chainsaw echoing back from the front yard.

There was no way he'd hear you, not all the way back here, and definitely not in time.

You took a shaky breath and silently cursed yourself for reloading that same pistol before sending Hoyt off just earlier today.

Your mind started racing as you tried to think of a plan, your hands grasping at the air, looking him up and down.

He was on the younger side, early twenties at most, splashes of blood covering his open red button up and gray t-shirt. He was blond, making his light five o'clock shadow almost hard to see against his tan skin. His brown eyes were puffy and red, practically shaking with fear, his chest heaving and fists curled at his side.

“We, we've got to hide--” He took two bold steps towards you, “Before they come looking for us.”

You pressed yourself harder against the ladder as he did, taking in a shaky breath and nodding. He didn't know who you were, and you needed to keep it that way until you could escape.

You turned around to face the ladder, the old wood creaking under your weight as you climbed up, pushing the thick wooden door open with a thud before climbing in.

The scratchy hay dug into your knees and hands as you crawled further into the loft, giving the man room to climb in right behind you.

He immediately shut the small door and looked around, “We should put something heavy on the door.”

“B-But what if we need to get out quickly?” You countered, not wanting to make it harder to get out.

“It'll make it harder for them to get in.” He ignored your input and walked over to the nearest bale of hay, “We need to keep them out.”

You watched helplessly as he struggled to drag the heavy bale across the dusty wooden loft, finally falling down with a thud after he managed to cover the door.

“We can wait here until we get a chance to escape.” He crawled his way over to sit beside you, still shaking but seemingly calmer than before.

He swallowed and took in heavy breaths, trying to process the last few hours in his mind as you silently begged whatever god that was willing would help you get out of this alive.

You could've practically jump for joy when the familiar sound of a idling chainsaw and heavy footsteps against the barn floor became apparent against the calming squeals of the pigs down below.

You could almost feel the man tense beside you as he started shaking his head, quietly pushing himself away from the bale of hay that covered the loft door.

“No, no, no, no...” He mumbled to himself quietly, covering his own mouth as he pressed himself into the old wall of the barn.

You looked to the floor, Tommy's footsteps slowly circling around the barn, and felt a firm grip on your arm as the man quietly pulled you back with him.

“Shhhh.” He pressed a finger to his lips and pulled out the revolver, looking back to the bale.

It was your turn to shake your head, lifting your hands as you spoke, “No, no, it's okay, don't--”

He slapped his hand over your mouth as the footsteps stopped.

Thomas looked up, to the loft.

He could've sworn he heard a woman's voice, even over the anxious pig's squeals.

He gripped the chainsaw tighter, confusion overcoming him.

The victim Hoyt sent him after was a man, so, did that mean there were two of them? Had Hoyt somehow overlooked an extra person? It wasn't completely uncommon for him to make such a mistake.

He stayed silent, listening. There were no more sounds now.

He took a step towards the ladder, noticing the mud marks leading in from the open back door, even against the ladder.

The chainsaw weighed heavy in his hands, send vibrations through his fingers as he readjusted it to hold it in one hand.

He grabbed the ladder with his now free hand, the ladder creaking loudly under his weight as he took a couple of steps up, positioning the chainsaw to press against the door.

It didn't budge, so he squeezed the trigger, the chainsaw revving up and cutting through the old wood with ease.

He pressed further, the spinning chain suddenly flinging wood chips and hay back at his face with enough force to actually leave some small scratches on his exposed cheekbones.

He ignored it and moved the chainsaw in different directions, cutting at the hay bale that was apparently left on top to deter him.

Within a few seconds he was able to use the base of the chainsaw to get enough leverage to sling what was left of the door open, the remaining hay flinging to the side with ease.

He pushed himself up, grabbing a hold of the side of the loft's floor to help him balance as he pulled himself up with enough force so he wouldn't get caught off-guard by the two victims undoubtedly waiting for him.

His chainsaw slammed on the loft floor, still rumbling in idle as he stepped into the loft, deep brown eyes darting to the man sitting across from him, to the gun pointed directly at him.

He ignored the threat as he stood up straight, chainsaw tight in his grip.

“Don't come any closer!” His voice was unsteady, his hands shaking.

He took a step.

“S-Stop!” He stuttered over himself, thumb slipping more than once as he pulled the hammer down.

Thomas listened this time, staring the man down.

“Drop the chainsaw.” The man ordered, “Now!” His voice cracked.

Thomas did as he was told, the chainsaw hitting the floor with a loud thud.

“O-Okay, now grab it!” Thomas could hear the floorboards creak as the second victim walked up behind him.

His hand flexed as the footsteps stopped.

He could use her, as leverage, even a shield. All she had to do was reach for it. The moment she did he could grab her.

His eyes darted right and he saw dirty, shaky hands grab the handle.

His hand shot out, catching her with force as he turned.

You screamed, out of surprise and pain as Thomas gripped your wrist with enough force to bruise it.

Confused eyes met yours as he stared, his strong hold loosening out of reflex.

“Let her go!” The man yelled from beside you two, still pointing the gun at your husband.

He did.

He pulled back, fear and hurt in his eyes as he tried to figure out why you were here.

You hated yourself as you picked the chainsaw up, heavy in your grip as you dragged it away from him.

You walked closer to the man, the chainsaw sending vibrations through your hands and to your arms, turning them to jelly. You were unfamiliar with handling the large tool, only ever using it once before when Thomas had taught you how.

The man hurried to stand, still pointing the gun at Thomas.

“H-Here.” You offered, pushing it out to him, “I don't even know how to use this thing, I'll end up hurting myself.”

The man nodded, falling for your lie, “Okay, then you take this,” He shoved the gun towards you, “I can handle that thing.”

You switched weapons, Hoyt's gun feeling much easier to handle in your hands.

It wasn't light, the weapon weighing heavy in your hands as you slammed the butt of it against the man's head, a few drops of blood splattering against your hands and face as he hit the floor.

You turned to Tommy, letting the gun hit the floor as you let out a heavy, shaking sigh.

“Thomas--” You stepped over the man's unconscious body, arms wide as you threw yourself at your husband.

He met you halfway and slung his thick arms around you, clinging to you as he crushed you against his body.

You choked on a sob as you buried your face in his neck, hot tears streaming down your face out of relief.

He pushed his masked cheek against your head, pressing a kiss to your mud caked hair, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to steady his breath.

He had been ridiculed, relentlessly beaten by bullies, threatened by coworkers, attacked by victims and almost killed dozens of times, but nothing compared to the fear he had when he saw you in that loft.

He couldn't understand why you were there. Had you randomly changed your mind and decided to leave him? After so long? Were you taken against your will, threatened and forced to do these things? Were you hurt, scared, afraid for your life while he was off doing what Hoyt told him to? What would've happened if he hadn't shown up? Did he scare you, or hurt you?

You pulled back just enough to place your hands on his cheeks, Thomas holding you up as you pulled him into a kiss.

You opened your mouth and he deepened the kiss, your hands snaking around his neck and trying to pull him even closer while teeth clashed and tongues fought to explore each other's mouths like teenagers sharing their first kiss.

You sighed through your nose, pressing your forehead to his as you pulled back to look at him.

“I'm so sorry.” You whispered, “I didn't think he'd be back so soon, I- I thought I had more time...”

His brown eyes were filled with fear and relief, feeling like he had almost lost you.

You cupped his masked cheek, letting your eyes flutter shut as you finally felt safe again.

It was a long time before Thomas let you out of his sight after that. He was glued to your side, overprotective and worried for months to come.

You often caught him staring at your deeply bruised wrist while it healed, angry and ashamed that he hurt you.

You constantly reassured him that you weren't angry at him, or scared that he'd do it again. He treated you like glass long after it healed, gentle and afraid, like you'd break into a million pieces if he didn't take extra care in his touches.

Needless to say, it took months before life went back to normal for you two, but after that, anytime any victims were expected, the first thing he did was safely tuck you away in your shared room before anything else.

Hii! May I request Thomas Hewitt overhearing reader talk with her friends and saying that she came across this very cute guy whom she smiled at when they accidently made eye contact? (The guy is, of course, Tommy <3) And maybe Tommy spares her afterwards and decides to hide her away so that Hoyt doesn't order him to turn her into a human stew-

Thank you!

You're Mine

Includes: Thomas Hewitt / F!Reader

SFW

TW: Hoyt is a creep again / Very very slight Yandere!Thomas

...

Thank you for sending in this ask! Sorry for the long wait time and I hope you enjoy!

The cool wind rushed across your face, whipping around your body and sweeping through your hair as you leaned back on your own hands.

Your eyes stared up to the bright blue sky, a few tuffs of cloud floating idly through the giant blue mass as you sped down the highway, your best friend behind the wheel.

You were sat in the passenger seat, feet planted on the dashboard as the radio blasted loudly enough to try and rival the open hood of the convertible.

Carly was screaming along to the music, open beer in hand as she swung around her seat behind you, loud laughter repeatedly breaking up her own singing.

Brooke was singing as well, pausing often to puff on the cigarette stuck in her left hand, the smoke immediately obliterating in the harsh winds as soon as it left her lungs.

You three had been on the road for two and a half hours, not even making it a quarter a way through your trip. Time was dragging on as Brooke sped past the desolate Texas fields, pushing well past the speed limits.

Carly's laughing suddenly dies down as she leaned past the front seat, turning the radio down to match her new tone.

“Hey, look! There's a gas station up ahead!” She pointed at the large red sign standing prominently on the side of the road, the faded red and white paint being about the only thing you can register about it as you quickly pass it.

“Oh, perfect, we're almost out.” Brooke sighed, flicking her cigarette butt to the road.

“I told you to fill up before we left!” You furrowed your brows as you looked your friend up and down, “We sat at that first place for twenty minutes, what gives?”

“Not the cute cashier, that's for sure.” Carly giggled as she wrapped her arms around your neck and leaned her chin on the seat, “You know how our Brooke is, always the romantic.”

You rolled your eyes and playfully nudged her, “Oh, like you're one to talk. Didn't you tell Freddy and Taylor you'd go out with them next week?”

“But I've got taste,” She insisted, “My men have to have culture. I don't just go for the first cute gas station clerk that comes my way.”

“Oh, get real, Carls,” Brooke scoffed, “The only 'culture' Taylor has is whatever's growing on his dick after sleeping his way through the entire town.”

Their smiles were wide as they continued to poke playful fun at each other, filling the few minutes it took to find the gas station with conversation and laughter.

The station wasn't anything fancy, no one in sight as the three of you parked next to one of the only two gas pumps out front.

The building was old and small, the white paint faded and chipping off the sides from the apparent decades it spent under the relentless Texas sun.

The glass door was smudged and unclean, the pumps rusted and stained, and the air was filled with the red dust Brooke's car had stirred up from driving through the dirt that laid out in front of it.

You couldn't help but think of how perfect this scene would be in a horror movie.

“Here.” Brooke dug a ten out of her small pink purse, shoving it your way.

“Why do I gotta go into the creepy old gas station?” You frowned, still taking the bill.

“Because I'm pumping the gas and Carly's already drank so much she's about to piss herself.”

You turned back to see Carly had already evacuated the back seat, hurrying off to look for the bathrooms.

You sighed and gave in, stepping out of the car and taking the opportunity to stretch as you made the short walk to the front door.

The metal was hot as you swung the door open, the creaky hinges screaming out as the heavy, rancid smell of old meat swept through your nose.

You couldn't help but cringe a little, nose scrunching and feet faltering at the old pig set inside the glass counter of the small deli to your left.

You brushed it off and stepped up to the counter to your right, greeting the older woman with a smile as she puffed on her cigarette.

She looked you up and down, a slight scowl on her face as she nodded at you.

“I need ten on, uh...” You glanced back through the door, “...The pump that's closest to the door.”

“Ain't got no gas.” She deadpanned, leaning on the counter with one hand as she looked down to the ten you had sent on the counter.

Your heart dropped and you sighed, crumbling the bill in your hand, “Is there another gas station around here?”

“Not for another fifty miles.”

“I don't know if we can make it that far. Do you know when you might get some more gas?”

“'Fraid those pumps haven't worked for the better part of five years.”

You let out a huff and chewed your bottom lip, “I- I don't, uh... I don't suppose you have any idea of what we could do?”

She let out a long sigh through her nose and rubbed the butt of her cigarette into the ash tray, “I can call the sheriff. I'm sure he won't mind taking you to the nearest station.” She punctuated her sentence by looking you up and down once again.

That implication made you more than a little uncomfortable, but knowing Carly and Brooke were with you was enough of a comfort let her call the man.

The lady turned to the phone behind her, spinning the dial as you tapped your foot impatiently.

You were looking around the station, taking in the old, dusty atmosphere as you waited for the sheriff to pick up on his end.

Flies buzzed, darting around the room as the dull lights flickered in the empty display fridge across the store, a couple of old wooden tables and matching chairs filling the space between it and the shelves.

A small radio sat stiff and silent on the table behind the counter, right beside the phone the lady was speaking into.

“Sure you ain't. And I don't know, only one of 'em came in.”

You balanced on the balls of your feet for a moment, letting out a short sigh as you finally tuned into the one side of the conversation you could hear.

“Watch your tone, boy.” Her voice was threatening as she pulled the phone away from her ear, “How many of y'all are there?”

Your brows furrowed as you stopped for a moment.

It was a bit of a strange question, but you supposed that he would need to know how many people he'd be driving, so you brushed it off and gave her an answer.

“Three, including me.”

“There's three of 'em.” She didn't acknowledge your answer as she continued speaking on the phone.

You pursed your lips as the faint sound of a loud man drifted from the phone, but you had no idea what the hell he could be saying.

“If you say so. I'll see you in a bit.” She finally responded before hanging up the phone and turning to you, “He says it'll be about five minutes.”

Hope blossomed in your chest as you thanked her profusely, “I'll go tell my friends.”

She didn't say anything as you hurried out the door, meeting Brooke and Carly at the car.

“The pump ain't workin', Y/N. What gives?” Brooke was repeatedly pulling the trigger as the pump sat in her gas tank.

“She said they don't have no gas, and the next station ain't for another fifty miles.”

“Oh, what the hell...” Carly groaned from the backseat where she had been laying out, sunglasses protecting her eyes from the harsh light.

“Don't worry, she called the sheriff and he's gonna come give us a ride!” You explained, climbing back into the passenger seat, “She said it'll only be five minutes.”

Brooke huffed as she put the pump back in place before climbing into the drivers seat, “Just our luck, eh?”

Carly shot up, beaming, “It could be! I bet the sheriff is an absolute hottie.”

You snickered, “In a place like this? He's probably a hundred years old!”

“Hey, Carly likes the gray foxes.” Brooke smirked, leaning back on her seat to face the two of you.

“Oh, sick.” She made a gagging face and grabbed her throat, “You are a freak, Brooke!”

“There's nothing wrong with an older guy!” You defended the idea, “They're more mature.”

“Oh, so you're the freak.” Brooke laughed, “It would be you, you've always been a weirdo.”

“True! Remember when we went to that haunted trail a few years ago and she hooked up with one of the zombies!?” Carly pointed out, making you groan.

“Don't remind me. He was such a clinger, I practically had to fake my own death to get him off my leg.”

The conversation continued flowing easily, as it always did between you three.

Before you knew it, the loud slamming of a car door caught your attention and halted your conversation as the three of you looked ahead to the sheriff's car parked some feet ahead of your car.

And older man began walking from the driver side, graying and white hair, a matching, thin, goatee stained by the dip he haphazardly spit to the ground.

“Oh, nasty.” Carly whispered, pulling a face, “He really is old.”

“Don't say that!” Brooke nudged her with her elbow before gesturing to you, “You'll give the old home's heartbreaker here a boner.”

You gently slapped her shoulder, “Shut it, he's coming this way.”

“Who's that in the passenger seat?” Carly asked no one in particular, sitting up further to get a closer look.

“Well, howdy there, ladies. What brings you to this little slice of paradise?” The sheriff drawled, a creepy smirk on his face as he finished crossing the path to Brooke's door, leaning a little too close for comfort.

“Just passing through, sir.” Brooke gave a tight smile, leaning back a little, “Ending up running out of gas.”\

He tsk'd a little, shaking his head, “Well, that just won't do, will it?”

You tried your best not to pull a face as your attention turned back to the sheriff's car, hearing the passenger door finally open and close.

Out stepped a man, much much different from the first person to emerge.

He was tall, towering over the car as he shuffled in place, head hanging low as his eyes stayed trained on the sheriff.

His long, black curls brushed against his shoulders, and seemed to be held down by the homemade mask covering his face, though you couldn't see any finer details from here.

He wore an old, dirty dress shirt, and black slacks to match, almost as if he were in his Sunday best, despite the stains and wrinkles adorning his clothes.

As you stared he seemed to notice, eyes darting to focus on you.

A deep heat flooded your cheeks as you flashed an awkward smile before shrinking into your seat, and mostly out of his line of sight. Staying up just enough to peek back out at him often.

“Oh, don't worry about it.” You tuned back into the sheriff, flashing his stained teeth as he finally stood straight again, “I'll just go in there and tell Mama to keep an eye on your stuff and then I'll take care of y'all.”

You could practically feel Carly shuddering as he stalked off towards the gas station directly across from your car.

“Thomas!” The man yelled as he reached the doorway, and you watched as he motioned the second man over before whispering something to him none of you could hear.

Assuming he was going back into the gas station, you turned back to your friends, who seemed to be avoiding looking at the gas station all together, thanks to the creepy sheriff.

“What a fuckin' sicko!” Brooke shuddered, “I don't want to go anywhere with him!”

Carly nodded, making a sick face, “Did you see the way he kept staring at our boobs? I don't trust him!”

“Who gives a shit what you guys are talking about.” You loudly interrupted their quiet complaints, “Did you see that second guy!?”

They both shook their heads, having been too focused on the creepy advances of the sheriff.

“Oh my god.” You groaned, running your hands down your face, “He was so fucking cute. I'm talking tall, dark, brooding, absolutely huge build. Guy looked like he lifts in his sleep.”

“Uh, you mean that guy, right there by the door, who can absolutely hear your bat shit talk?” Carly pointed to the man, who was standing a few feet away, completely avoiding looking at the car now.

You face dropped and you slunk into the seat, practically screaming, “NO, oh my god he must think I'm such a freak.”

“Um, you kind of are.” Brooke leaned down and whispered, “He's not that cute.”

“You are so stupid.” You let out a sigh, “That man looks like what every man wants to be.”

“Well, maybe he didn't hear you.” Carly offered a small smile, “Even though he definitely did.”

“Fuck.”

“Go talk to him.” Brooke nudged you.

“No way! I'm not looking to embarrass myself even more!”

“It's too late anyways.” Carly reluctantly gestured to the sheriff who was now returning.

Brooke rolled her eyes as she turned to climb out of the car, “Come on, girls.”

You sighed as you followed suit, Carly not far behind.

Brooke was the first to make her way to the sheriff's car, opting for the backseat, much to your and Carly's dismay.

Not even giving you a chance, Carly darted ahead, loudly announcing, “I'll sit with you, Brooke!”

You groaned, knowing it would be rude to try and insist to sit in the back as well.

You glanced back to the station door, noticing Thomas was coming over too. You sighed this time, hoping that he'd take the front seat, as he seemed to know the sheriff better.

But before that even became an option, you heard the loud protest of Brooke and Carly as they pulled faces at the open back door.

“There's stuff all over the backseat! We can't even fit.” Carly pointed out.

“Oh, yea.” The sheriff mused, “Well, c'mon then. Start grabbing stuff, we'll throw it in the trunk.”

He opened the trunk and your friends gave you looks as they started grabbing armfuls of various things crowding the backseat.

You finished walking to the car, planning on helping but walking slow so there hopefully wouldn't be anything left for you to grab.

Thomas was only a few steps behind you, watching as you stood beside the open back door, waiting on your friends.

His hands twitched, and his mind was torn.

His entire life he was ridiculed and bullied.

If not for his deformities and looks, than for his lack of education and inability to fully understand and control his emotions.

When people looked at him, they saw a monster. A freak.

But... You didn't.

You, a complete stranger, if even just for a minute, thought he was cute.

Cute enough to tell your friends and feel embarrassed by his opinion.

You treated him like a normal person, for a brief moment.

And he was hooked.

He craved more, more of that feeling. To have someone look at him like he was normal, like he was more than just a deformed monster hiding behind a mask.

He wanted to get your attention again, to selfishly hear your sweet voice say more kind things, things that no one had ever said before.

He stared holes into the back of your head, trying to will you to give him just a little more of your attention.

He thought you were beautiful too, and he wondered if you knew.

Could you tell, with the way he stared every chance he got?

God, he didn't even now your name, but he needed to. He would do anything to learn more about you, to keep you close and safe.

He was so lost in his own thoughts and emotions he didn't even notice how severe the situation had gotten between the sheriff and your friends until you darted forward.

Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous. His mind screamed, his hand shooting out to stop you.

The skin of your wrist was so soft compared to his calloused hands, he never wanted to let go.

He wondered if the rest of you was just as soft.

Your confused eyes flickered back to his own, questioning him without any words being spoken.

He shook his head, tightening his grip just enough to get his message across without hurting you.

You were his now. And he would give his life to protect you.

Slashers with a hyper S/O!! If you can’t that’s fine, if you can thank you!!! Also here!!

🍤🍤🍤🍤🍤🍤🍤🍤🍤

PROTEIN

Candy Rush!

Includes: Freddy Krueger / Jason Voorhees / Bo Sinclair

Formatting: Headcanons

TW: None! Though I think it did drift into more ADHD territory than just hyper... My bad / Not proofread just typed out in the app

...

PROTEIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Freddy Krueger:

Freddy pretends to hate your hyper side, always complaining about how you're "too damn uppity", running about his dreamscape without a care in the world

But in reality he's just as hyper as you are

Just in a much more murdery sense

He'll never say it out loud, but your hyper behaviour makes him feel young again, and he loves to chase you around, seeing who can outrun the other

He always wins, but you SWEAR up and down he's cheating

He is

But he's not gonna admit to that

If you're lucky, sometimes he'll set up a special dream of your favorite place, giving you freedom to run around and yell to your hearts content, pushing the boundaries to how hyper you really are

The first time you silently approached him, eyes wide as you stared him down, he was honestly a little freaked out

He hates being worried for others, so he won't ask you if you're alright, instead making some rude remark

"Don't you know it's rude to stare, bug eyes? The hell you want?"

You'd never seen him quite as caught off guard as when you quickly poked his nose before sprinting away, giggling wildly as if you pulled off the greatest prank of the century

It's moments like this where he wonders why he ever bothered to spare you

But you're smart enough to know he's going to keep you around for a long time

Jason Voorhees:

Jason absolutely adores your hyper personality

He loves having a ball of energy around, keeping his mood bright and everything happy

He worries about you though, just like the mother hen he is

Be careful running down the stairs!! Don't climb too high in the oak!!! Don't spin in circles that close to the cliff Y/N you're going to fall--!!!!!!

He loves you to pieces but you really test how much his undead heart can take

He loves to take you to the lake for picnics, you spending the day swimming while he watches from the dock

If you give him doe eyes just sweet enough he'll get in the water with you

Though he sinks like a rock

And that's not an exaggeration

He will literally walk around on the lake floor while you swim around him

You think it's the coolest trick ever, and will ask him to do it a lot

And he has a really really hard time saying no to you

Sometimes he has bad days though, and he needs a calm presence to anchor himself to

He really appreciates when you can manage to tuck your hyperness away long enough to be his comfort

On these days you'll walk him around the campsite and pick out cool looking rocks

The two of you have at least two shelves dedicated to cool rocks

Every time you start running out of space he adds a new shelf

Your goal is to have an entire wall within a year, but he doesn't know it yet

But he'll be more than happy to fill an entire room with cool rocks if he thinks you'll like it

Bo Sinclair:

Bo is definitely used to hyper energy, as you can't convince me Lester doesn't randomly burst in the house with five new random animals he wants to keep

He, however, and much to your dismay, is very okay with saying no

"Oh, Bo, look--!"

"Nope."

"But you don't even--!"

"Nope."

Definitely the type of guy to pick you up when you're running around too much for his liking

He'll swing you over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes and carry you around

Enjoys any trinkets you bring him, even if he pretends like he doesn't

He'll toss it in his shirt pocket until you leave

He's got a special locked toolbox where he keeps everything you've ever given him

Will never tell a soul, but once got caught by Lester who was sneaking around being nosy

Bo chased him around Ambrose for an hour while Lester taunted him about his special 'love box'

Gave him a black eye and the knuckle sandwich of a lifetime

Lester didn't go back into the shop for a week

Poor Vincent had to deal with the aftermath of both his brothers complaining to him

So you made Bo and Lester hug and make up

Bo threatened him during the hug and Lester snitched immediately

You shrugged, told him it was the best he'd get, and went back to what you were doing beforehand

Bo gave him another black eye for snitching

I've been up for twenty two hours straight and I'm still not allowed to fall asleep someone send in an ask so we can hyperfixate while I wait this out

What kinds of decorations do you think Thomas has in his room? Is he pretty goblincore with handmade animal skin trinkets and various pretty things stolen off visitors? Or does he keep it classic and relatively bare?

Hmmm, I've always headcanoned he keeps a blank and empty room, but I know he enjoys making things... So, let's talk about it!

I think Thomas enjoys making things like jewelery with things he finds interesting, like various nature related things he's found outside, or even cool looking teeth or something off a victim, and of course a claw or something from an animal

It's not exactly a relaxing process but he's gotten really good with working with the jewelery over the years and it gives him something to focus on, and when he's wearing something he's made it gives him a way to stim and provides comfort when he's overwhelmed with something, so he makes the jewelry really strong so he can pull on it, maybe lightly snap it against his wrist, or just rub the charms between his fingers. Though, this habit died down a lot as he got older thanks to Hoyt and Montys unfriendly teasing.

He'll make other similar things from time to time, like wind chimes or sunlight catchers, using things like (again) bones, or sticks that make a certain noise he really likes when they clonk together, pieces of glass from a busted window in the barn, or light catching jewelery or anything of the sort off a victim.

I also think he'd enjoy working with clay. I like to take from the original movie and assume there's a lake nearby the Hewitt household that Thomas used to skip school (when he first went) to go play at as a kid, when no one else was around. He used to dig clay out of lake shore and make little sculptures to leave in the sun and dry. He still goes to the day, but it's harder to do since he has such a big responsibility in the household, but when he manages to sneak off he'll enjoy trying to make something again.

As for keeping things from the victims, I think Hoyt generally has first grab rules that Thomas doesn't try to fight against, and he gives his mother any particularly pretty jewelery he thinks she'd like. After that, it's free game, though there's not much left usually, so that's why he works with the actual body so much more.

But, at the end of the day, where's all this stuff go? You've been in Thomas' room, there's just a bed and a dresser, even the mirror is covered with a sheet. No trinkets, no decorations, nothing.

You've seen him make a few things, on one of the occasions you were sent down to fetch him by Luda Mae, and he's even given you a couple of the trinkets himself.

You'll see them in the house, scattered around. An unidentifiable clay figure, sitting on the shelf with family pictures. A handmade bracelet in the bowl kept by the door. A light catcher swinging around in the kitchen window, even a few he really liked kept in the basement at his crafting station, but never any in Thomas' room.

But, you can find them. If you start showing extra interest in his makings, asking to watch him work, lighting up like a Christmas tree when he gives you something, you can find them.

You'll be laying on the couch with him, your legs thrown over his lap as you lay out, his hand in your own lap as you tug and stim with his bracelet as the two of you watch the old black and white TV across the room, and you'll mention how nice the bracelet is, and how you wish you had one of your own.

You didn't really mean much by the comment, just sort of lazily mentioned it as you zoned out watch the cartoons you had found, but suddenly Thomas is standing up, one arm under your knees and the other cradling your back as he lifts you with ease.

He carries you up the stairs, and you're caught a little off guard when he takes you to the bedroom the two of you have been sharing.

It wasn't uncommon for him to simply grab your hand and pull you places when he needed or wanted something, since he couldn't exactly tell you directly, but it wasn't often he carried you like this.

He'll set you on the bed after shutting the door, and hesitant for a moment, before pulling a small wooden box from his closet and showing you.

When he opens it, it's filled with a lot of things he made over the years, things he couldn't part with but couldn't find anything to do with. Several bracelets are inside, all with different kind of textures and things, and he insists you pick your favorite and keep it.

You can't help but notice several things you really like, though, and you ask him if you can keep them out and put them on the dresser.

His immediate answer is no, after all, men aren't supposed to make things and fill their room with such pretty and happy things, right? That's too childish, that's too girly, and that's exactly what he hears for years from his uncles.

You're persistent though, after all, *you* were the one that wanted them out, if they had such a problem with it they could take it up with you, and after living there so long you had built up a thick skin to the two men, something that Thomas admired and worried over often.

So, in the end, I think Thomas would love to decorate his room with all the pretty rocks he finds and trinkets he makes, but he won't really do it unless he's given that push, because Hoyt and Monty are old school, even for the 70s, and Thomas would rather comply than deal with their relentless bullying.

Thanks for sending in the ask!!!

Thomas cries a lot.

He's always been sensitive, every since he was a kid. The names other kids and hell, even adults called him cut deep every time he heard them.

Idiot.

Monster.

Freak.

Tears pluck at his brown eyes harshly as the majority of the schoolyard torments him, the teachers turning blind eyes to the mistreatment, too busy making their own comments about his mother and family to intervene.

"S-Stop--!" He hiccups, hands desperately covering his face as he shakes against the metal fence, "G-Give it back!"

"Come get it, Freak!" The little boy taunts him, holding the mask Thomas' mother made for him high in the air, the group of children around him erupting in laughter.

"HEY! What the hell's goin' on over here!?" Hoyt hollers as he yanks the bully up by his wrist, the kids mocking laughter interrupted as they scatter, "What the hell's wrong with you, boy!? Did your Daddy raise you to take shit that ain't yours!?"

Hoyt plucks the mask from the kid's hand as he shakes his head, wide eyed and scared at being caught red handed.

"That's what I thought, so why don't you scatter before I give him a call and tell him what the hell you've been doin'."

"Yes, sir!" The kid darts as soon as Hoyt lets him go.

"Little shit." Hoyt mutters, kneeling down to help Thomas put his mask back on, "Now, I done told you, Tommy, you can't cry everytime one of those little bastards says some shit to you. Man up, you're too damn old for all that whinin'..."

Thomas nods, wiping the tears from his red eyes as Hoyt takes him back to the truck.

Man up...

Man up...

That's what Hoyt and Monty always told him, their words not much kinder and cutting even deeper as they picked at him everytime he cried.

Over the years the tears eventually turned to anger, and isolation. Hiding himself away from everyone and everything around him, protecting himself from from harsh world around him.

...And then there was you.

Sweet, excitable, gentle you.

"...Tommy...!" Your voice is tired and sweet, clearly having just woken up when Thomas came in the room.

He watches as you stretch, waking up a bit more as you look up at him, a small smile on your face.

He's tired. It's written on his face, eyes droopy and shoulders slumping, standing over the bed, looking down at you.

"C'mere." You reach for him, hands grasping as you gesture for him to climb in bed.

He does as he's told, climbing under the covers and into your arms, melting into your warmth as he lays on top of you.

"Mmm..." You hum, relaxing as your arms wrap around him, your hands running up and down his back, sending shivers up his spine, "...My Thomas..."

He sighs at your words, melting even further against you as your hands gain rhythm and begin rubbing his aching muscles, working up and down his shoulders and back as he buries his face in your neck.

You lean your head against his, the smell of the shampoo you bought for him filling your nose as you continue rubbing his back, "...I love you..."

The arms around your waist tighten as he presses further into you, completely engulfing you in his presence.

How?

How is it possible for you to love him so incredibly, and so deeply that he doesn't even need to hear those words to know their truth? How could you possibly break down every piece of him, every broken part and hideous truth and still make him feel like the only thing that matters in the world?

You can feel him start to shake. He's been working so hard, for so long. He's exhausted, and worn down. His body is scarred and calloused. His mind is weary and weak.

And every insult, every hit, every bad thing that he's ever gone through was worth it, if it means he can feel this loved for the rest of his life.

You feel his tears before you see them, the quiver in his shoulders, the hiccups in your ear as he tries to hold it back.

"Oh, Tommy..." You mutter, kissing his hair as you rub his back, "It's okay, sweetheart, you can cry, I've got you..."

And for the first time in a long time, he does.

He cries into your shoulder, a shaking and sobbing mess as you patiently hold him through it, running your hands through his hair and rubbing his back as you coax him.

"There we go..." You coo as he pulls back, holding his face in your hands while you kiss his tear stained cheeks, his mask long forgotten before he climbed into bed, "Do you feel better, love?"

He nods, letting out a deep sigh as he relaxes against you again, feeling more relief than he has in years.

"Good..."

...Thomas cries a lot. After years of believing he was never good enough to be loved, of believing his place was being locked away in the basement, forever shielding himself from the world that hated him, he was proven wrong by a single person who loves him more than every good thing put together.

And that thought alone brings tears to his eyes.

I'm actually SO normal about him

First Meeting - Part One

((part two here))

Thomas Hewitt/GN!Reader

---

You've run away from home, hitchhiking around Texas as you come up with your next plan, only to find that life has plans of its own when a simple ride with a group of friends lands you at a lone gas station in Travis County, drawn to a mysterious man most seem to avoid.

---

You take another step, the heat of the steaming concrete seeping in through the soles of your shoes, making you cringe. Why you would ever choose to run away in the middle of July in blistering Texas was a mystery to all, and not even you could come up with a plausible excuse.

It's been well over a month since you up and left your home, the overbearing presence of your mother's alcoholism and your step father's compliance becoming too much to handle any longer, even if it meant heading out into the excruciating heat with nothing but the clothes on your back and the bag on your shoulder to your name.

The small amount of cash you spent months saving was slowly beginning to dwindle, the concept of southern hospitality apparently lost to most, given that almost everyone has expected some sort of something in exchange for letting you hitch a ride to a place they were already headed.

You let out a sigh, licking your chapped lips as your dirt stained jeans scrap against your legs with every step, the sun beating down against your shoulders harshly, making you wonder what exactly was keeping you from laying on the grass and giving in to the vultures watching you virtually waste away.

You continue your march forward, the quiet sound of an engine beginning to make its presence known behind you, making you turn to see a truck crossing the horizon.

You slow your pace, thumb sticking out as you watch the truck begin to slow its pace, coming to a stop beside you.

The back passenger door swings open, a young man already moving over to the middle seat as he calls out to you, "Come on in!"

"Thanks." You climb into the truck, shutting the door as the driver begins to pull off.

The truck itself was rather full, two people in the front and now, thanks to you, three in the back.

“Where ya headed?” The driver asks, the truck quickly gaining its speed again.

“Wherever.” You shrug, “Next gas station's fine by me.”

You sigh, the truck's shitty AC feeling like heaven as you lean against the seat, letting your aching body rest for a few moments.

"Can do!" The driver responds in a chipper tone, a mood most of the car's passengers seemed to share.

There were three boys and one girl in total, and over the course of the next few minutes, you learned their names.

Trent was driving, a loud younger man with a kind smile and a lack of smarts. His girlfriend, Katie, seemed to share similar traits, seatbelt forgotten at her side as she turned fully in the passenger seat to look at you while you chatted.

The two boys in the back were Kyle and Jessie, twins who seemed pleasant enough.

The conversation flow stays light and airy as the five of you chat about small things, while you do your best to guide the conversation away from yourself.

“So,” Jesse finally asks, “What are you doing, hitchhiking in the middle of nowhere?”

You shrug, glancing at the empty fields as they zoom past, the overgrown weeds and grass telling you that no one has owned any of this land in quite some time, "…Fresh start. Seeing the world from a new perspective."

“That sounds exciting!” Katie giggles, leaning against her seat as she faces you, her accent giving way that they aren't locals.

“I suppose so. Y'all are from Nebraska, right? What’s got y'all down this way?” You do your best to steer the conversation back to them.

“Trent has some family down this way we’re going to visit for graduation.” Katie smiles.

“Sounds fun.” You return her smile, turning back to the window.

You close your eyes as the rest of them continue talking, enjoying the slight breeze drifting from the front of the truck.

“Oh, look! There’s a gas station that way!” Katie's voice catches your attention as she points out a large red sign that reads:

‘Great BBQ

GAS TIRES CLOTHES’.

You sigh, your stomach clenching at the thought of food. The last people who gave you a ride were kind enough to give you a sandwich, but that was three days ago and your stomach was protesting this unintentional starving.

After a few minutes the truck comes to a stop and the five of you climb out. You stretch for a moment, weighing your options before deciding to head inside the small station, trying to see how far you could make your last few dollars stretch.

It was a dingy old station, for sure. The white paint peeling harshly under the unrelenting sun, the signs worn and tattered from years of exposure, the two measly pumps rusted and seemingly unused for at least a decade.

The four people behind you split up, the twins going to find a restroom while the couple follows you inside.

The inside was just as small as the outside looked, and didn't seem to fare much better. A checkout counter on the right and a deli counter to the left, made a skinny walkway to the small dining area, a few shelves of old products scattered about, none of it looking properly edible but all if it makes your stomach growl painfully.

An older woman stands behind the counter, leaning on it as she speaks to the sheriff on the other side, an older man as well, but not quite as old as her.

“Afternoon, sheriff, ma'am.” You greet them with a polite smile, stepping deeper into the small store.

“Afternoon.” The sheriff tilts his hat, sucking on the tobacco stuck behind his bottom lip before turning back to the woman, who simply gives you a nod in return.

Your eyes wander around the old, tattered building, miscellaneous decorations scattered about the walls,

You thought it to be a miracle that this place was up and running at all, given how desolate the town it resided in seemed to be.

As you look through the old coke cooler shoved in the corner, absent-mindedly listening to the couple make small talk with the sheriff and clerk, a thud echoes on the old, creaking wood, pulling your attention to the back of the store.

You take a few steps to the corner, peaking around it as you look for the source of the noise.

A man stands next to the open back door, stretching in front of a large stack of boxes as if he had just carried them in.

He doesn't pay you any mind as you stare for a few moments longer, not yet noticing you peeking around the corner.

He was tall, taller than most people, with wide shoulders and strong arms to match.

His long black curls hang to his shoulders, seemingly held down by some sort of straps wrapped around his head.

He finally turns, brown eyes catching yours as you realize you're staring. A heat rises to your cheeks as you glance away, feeling a bit embarrassed over being caught. After all, you had been living on the streets for almost two months now, and the dirt embedded in your clothes hid that fact just about as much as the tangles in your dirty hair did.

A low, aggravated huff catches your attention again, pulling you from your embarrassment as you glance back over. With this new angle you could see his face much more clearly, including the dark, seemingly handmade leather mask covering the bottom half of his face and nose.

He glares at the boxes in front of him, intense eyes seemingly annoyed, as if his frustration alone could make them move to the front of the store.

With a newfound sense of confidence, or perhaps foolishness, you take a small step from around the corner, curious eyes watching the stranger in front of you.

Tense, cautious eyes stare back at you as the man furrows his brows, watching you take another step closer.

"Hi…" You give a small smile, leaning back on the heels of your feet, hands wringing behind your back, "…My name's Y/N…"

He looks you up and down, as if trying to decide what to think about you, not saying a word.

Unsure what to do next, you nod towards the boxes, "…Need any help?"

His stare doesn't break, only shifting to one of confusion as he contemplates your question.

…No one ever offered to help him. In fact, most people looked to him for help. So, why the hell were you offering?

A beat of silence passes and you shrug, "I mean, it just seems like a lot for one person to carry, and I've got nothing better to do…" Another beat passes and you begin to wonder if you made a mistake, bothering this poor man and distracting him from his work, "…Not that I don't think you can't handle it or anything, I just thought I'd offer in case it was--"

"Thomas!" A voice stops you in your tracks, causing both of you to look back to the sheriff who was now staring the two of you down, "Have you finished carryin' them boxes in here?"

He shakes his head.

"Then quit your yappin' and get to it!"

Thomas sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly, a weary look on his face as he turns to walk back outside to the sheriff's car parked out back.

"Here, let me…" You offer again, this time grabbing a box off the top of the pile, "It goes to the front counter, right?"

Thomas looks back to you, the confused look still lingering in his eyes as he nods.

You give another small smile over the heavy box, arms straining as you lug it up to the front of the store. The sheriff and clerk pay you no mind as they continue talking with the couple, though the conversation seemed mostly one sided at this point, with the clerk paying more attention to her newly lit cigarette than the couple.

"No, see, that roads been closed for the time bein'." You hear the sheriff explain in his heavy southern accent as you drop the box on the counter behind him, "Kept havin' folks lose bumpers and blow tires and what not on all them damn potholes."

"Is there an another way to get there then?" Trent asks, obvious disappointment in his voice from finding out their planned route was no longer available.

"Well, sure. I can show you the way." He turns back to the clerk, "Hand me that map, Mama.

The rest of the conversation falls into the background as you walk to the back again, picking up another box and seeing Thomas had brought in two more.

You huff a little, pushing the limits of your weakened arms as you try to lift two boxes.

You manage to drag them to the front of the store, this time electing to leave them beside the counter rather than on top with the first one.

"…And after you pass the old meat factory right here, you'll take the second left and hit the highway again." The sheriff's directions fade back into earshot as you huff again, your lack of food leaving your muscles especially weak against the heft of the boxes.

The tingle in your forearms slowly begins to subside as you turn to walk back for another, only to see Thomas carrying the last of the four boxes as if they were made of air.

Your eyes follow him as he sets the boxes on the counter before picking up the two you had left on the floor as well, dropping them next to the others.

You let out a small huff of laughter at his pure strength, watching the originally closed off and curt clerk soften as she thanks Thomas for carrying the boxes for her.

Meanwhile the sheriff waves off the couple, the honk of the truck horn echoing through the thin walls as the twins become impatient with their friends taking too long. The couple thanks him profusely, hurrying out of the store as they rush to join their friends and get back on the road.

The older man watches through the dusty screen door as the group sets off, letting out a low chuckle as he seemingly forgets your existence, "The Lord's lookin' out for us today, Mama. Tell Tommy to get his ass to the house!"

You blink in confusion as the sheriff rushes past the two of you, the clerk quickly yelling after him, “Damnit Hoyt, the boy's right here--”

He ignores her as well, slamming the back door shut before you could hear the loud squeal of spinning tires set off onto the highway.

She huffs from behind the counter, obviously annoyed with the sheriff's antics, “You better head on home, Thomas, Lord knows he'll make it everyone's problem if he makes it there before you do.”

Thomas sighs and nods his head, already heading to the front door.

You watch as he leaves, the creak of the old screen door screeching through the otherwise quiet store.

"You gonna buy somethin' or stand there with an empty head all day?" The clerk asks, pulling you back to reality as she raises an eyebrow through her thick glasses.

You blink for a second, "Oh, uh, yes ma'am."

You turn back to the small selection, grabbing a couple of snacks and a bottle of water from the cooler,

You set them on the counter, digging through your bag and pulling out a couple of ones.

"Ain't got no change." She takes the crumbled bills, smoothing them out as she opens her register.

"That's fine…" You sigh, deciding losing a few extra coins was worth it to get some food in your system.

She shuts the metal drawer with a bit of force as you thank her, shoving everything into your bag before flinging it over your shoulder and heading out into the Texas heat once again.

"Mmm..."

It's still dark when you open your eyes, blinking a few times as you shake away the sleep in your mind.

You're cold, shivering under the thin sheet, the thick blanket on top doing nothing to chase away the goosebumps on your skin.

Pale moonlight slowly leaks in from behind you, dragging a cold October breeze with it as it creeps through the open window with the medolic chirp of the crickets.

You can see the outline of Thomas laying in front of you, the light of the moon just barely illuminating his figure as he sleeps, chest slowly rising and falling with each breath.

He's lying on his back, arms resting over his stomach, maskless face tilted towards you, almost as if he was trying to watch over you even in his sleep.

You move a bit closer, your eyes beginning to adjust to the soft lighting, greedily taking in every feature you can get.

It's so rare to see him like this, so relaxed and content, a stark contrast to the anxious and nervous man he is when he's awake.

Dark curls sway around his face in the breeze, resting againt his cheek as the cool air settles around you.

Your fingers are cold as they push his hair away, slowly and gently running against his skin as your hand ghosts his jawline, your thumb brushing against slightly parted lips.

The moonlight dances across his skin like the brush of an old artist, painting every feature with care to create an angelic masterpiece that could bring the world to a stop with a single glance.

You could look at him forever.

But Thomas is a light sleeper, and the cold sting of your hand is enough to make him stir, soft brown eyes slowly opening as he wakes.

"...Thomas..." Your voice is sleep ridden and quiet as his hand wraps around your wrist.

You're cold, he can feel it on your icy skin, and the way you shiver.

He turns on his side, calloused thumb rubbing against your wrist as he kisses your palm.

Rough hands settle on your hips, sliding under the shirt you stole from him to grab your waist, pulling you against him.

His skin is warm as you lean against him, pressing your face against his bare chest, letting your hands snake up to wrap around his neck and bury them in his hair.

He kisses your head, breathing in the smell of your shampoo as you press even closer, tangling your legs together, the fabric of his pajama pants soft against the skin of your bare legs.

You're not cold anymore, the soft breeze of the late night nothing more than a whisper against your skin as the two of you lay together in the kiss of the moonlight, listening to the crickets chirp.

I wanna eat Thomas up like he my LAST MEAL 😫😫

Shawtyyy like I’m beating up his guts like I die TOMORROW!! 💖💖

Honestly if I saw him with my (dumbass) group of friends I would turn to them and be like “hol’ on i’ma try to wife up this super model ova here, go on without me cuz this town is my new home as long as he here.” While LOUDLY pointing to Thomas and trying to be suave AF but lookin dumb in the process. Lowkey though I feel like realistically he would think I’m making fun of him and kill me first 😭😭.

What’s your take on it?? How would our (hot-sexy-mouthwatering) Thomas Hewitt take a very bold flirtatious reader?? Thanks and bye!! ✌️💖💖

I am having thoughts and feelings about this thank you very much

So, we all know Thomas is a very shy and reserved man. He isn't bold or confident by any means. He does as he's told, and sticks to himself, pretty much never leaving his comfort zone.

But, Luda Mae's getting older, and despite her head-strong and strong-willed demeanor, Thomas worries about her.

So, he starts spending more time at the old country store, if for no reason other than to serve as a deterrent for the off-handed biker or degenerate looking for an excuse to try and rob a poor old station clerk.

It works, and Luda Mae enjoys spending more time with her son.

There's not much to do out at the shop, and so more often than not Thomas finds himself resting out in the old rocker to escape the hot smoky air wafting from the patron's and his mother's cigarettes.

It's a cool October afternoon, a nice breeze keeping the hot sun at bay as he gently pushes himself back and forth with his foot, eyes closed as he rests.

He hears you before he sees you, the loud, excited yells of a group of young women fading in from the distance as a jeep kicks up dirt, pulling up to one of the old, rusty pumps.

He squints his eyes open, watching as the four of you sing along to the radio, no one concerned with how off-key y'all may be.

He sighs, closing his eyes again, not moving from his seat in the old rocker as your group continues having the time of your lives.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," A clear voice suddenly emerges from the chaos, the music lowering to a quiet hum, "Who is that?"

He opens his eyes again, seeing that you have set your eyes on him from your place in the backseat, sunglasses lowered to take in a better look.

He frowns behind his mask, face scrunching in expectancy, waiting to hear the barrage of rude comments and hideous bullying.

The rest of your friends glance over his way as he shuffles in his seat, shoulders tensing as he looks away, uncomfortable with the attention.

"Goddamn." You start again, letting out a low whistle, "If this is what this town has to offer y'all can just leave me here."

A large eruption of playful teasing, groans, and eye rolls come from your friend group as you wiggle your eyebrows at him with a large, flirtatious grin.

He looks back, caught off guard by the terrible pick up line, frozen in place as you blow him a kiss.

"Are you for sale, pumpkin, 'cause I could just eat you up!"

"Oh, my god, leave the poor man alone." One of your friends tease you, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you further into the car.

He can't help but stare, left in shock by the sudden and unexpected flirting.

You couldn't be serious, right...?

There's no way you could actually be flirting with him right now... Right?

His thought process is broken as you ungracefully climb out of the truck, pulling yourself over the door and almost busting your face in the process.

Brown eyes stay glued to you as you walk over to him, hips swaying in what he was sure to be a much more suave and appealing way than the dorky saunter you were pulling now.

...This was definitely a joke.

"Hey." You barely stifle through your amused giggling to speak, "Do you have a name or can I just call you mine?"

"Y/N!" Your friends groan loudly from the car, watching you attempt to work your magic.

He looks you up and down, trying to figure out if this was some strange attempt to mock him or if you were actually coming onto him, the latter making his face flush pink at the idea.

"Thomas!" His mother steps out of the shop, poking her head out to look at the two of you, "Come help me put this stuff up."

He isn't sure if she really needs help or if it's a feeble attempt to get him out of the situation, and to be completely honest, he's not really sure he wants to leave.

But his mother says she needs help, so he stands from his chair, rising to his full height, something that would cause most people to take at least a small step back, but your smile only seems to grow as you stand in place, clearly checking him out as you look him up and down.

He starts to ignore you, heading back inside, only to hear the wooden floorboards creak behind him as he reaches the counter.

He looks back, a confused look on his face as he sees you following behind like a lost duckling.

"Don't mind me," You wink, "My mama just always told me to follow my dreams."

He huffs in amusement at that, shaking his head.

Maybe your pickup lines weren't all that bad.

...

As time goes on, and the more he gets to know you, the more he's going to find your flirtatious advances amusing and endearing, but if you don't make it very clear from the beginning that there's actual feelings behind your remarks, he's going to assume that they're just jokes and you're not actually into him.

He's a big romantic, he'll catch feelings rather easily the more you flirt and tease him, and if he isn't 100% sure that they're more than just jokes, he'll eventually grow to resent them because he feels like he's being teased, even if you have no idea he has feelings for you at all, so communication (while a big deal in every relationship) will be especially important if you're a flirtatious person.

He's truly so handsome and beautiful in his own way, he's so tall and strong and his hair is so messy yet so mesmerizing to look at and the way he just does anything is worth watching

Thomas is a very handsome man, and there's not a single doubt in my mind that he didn't have such a severe skin disease and clear neurodivergency in such a small, judgmental town, he would've easily found someone and settled down quickly.

He's tall, with thick, curly hair, strong arms and a wide build set, he's practically begging to be wifed up, but in classic southern culture, anything different is shamed and shunned.

To them, it didn't matter that he was just a kid born with a bit (well, a lot) of bad luck, he was diseased and contagious.

Parents warned their children not to get too close, people covered their faces if he breathed a little too hard, and no one ever treated him like a normal child.

There was more than one instance where young Tommy would go to the store with Luda Mae when she managed to scrape enough cash together to get something small, and everyone would drop what they were doing to give him odd glances and confused stares.

Thomas has never been confrontational, so he hides quietly behind his mother's dress, tiny hands pulling at the old, stained fabric to hide his face.

Of course, his mother is a lot more argumentative, noticing rather quickly how uncomfortable everyone was making her precious baby feel.

"You really think he can help you find your groceries or you just like starin' at little boys?" She asks loudly, staring down a younger gentleman with a warning glare in her eyes.

"What!? No-- I--" The man stumbles over his words, trying to back-track and explain himself.

"Come on, Tommy," Luda Mae grabs her sons hand, pulling him down the aisle, "Let's get away from this pervert."

"I'm not a pervert!" The young man calls back, letting out a sigh in defeat and going back to his shopping.

Thomas can't help but smile, stifling a chuckle as he follows behind quickly.

...That's how it always went when he was a kid. Of course, and unfortunately, things changed as he got older, and not for the better.

He shot up like a weed, his shoulders got wide, and he got big.

He was no longer a strange, deformed kid hiding behind his mother's dress, earning pitiful looks and sympathetic head shakes, he was dangerous, and a monster.

Suddenly the town he grew up in wasn't as kind (not that it was all that kind in the first place), and people that once spared him a rare, feel-sorry smile wouldn't give him a second look, quickly leaving the room in unjustified fear.

He was even more shunned than before, ridiculed by the men he worked with and fearfully avoided by any woman that might catch a glimpse of him.

He could hear people talk about him in rooms he walked past, laughing loudly as they verbally berated him behind his back, most of them too afraid to actually say anything to his face.

He didn't understand why they were so scared. He had never hurt anyone, not so much as raising a fist in anger, but he was treated as he was just some dangerous freak who could snap at anytime.

Years of abuse and mistreatment falls on his shoulders, but he never hurts a soul. He puts up and shuts up, keeping to himself and trying not to cry himself to sleep most nights.

Only when the factory shuts down and he has to face that his entire life as he knows it is over does he finally snap, and in my opinion, it was well deserved.

But, that's another topic for another post. I'll go ahead and end my drabble rant here. Thanks for sending in the ask love <3

Well, guys, a single person told me I should make this into a post, and so now you're all getting another fabulous take on Thomas Hewitt I've been looking for an excuse to talk about.

Question: 'Do you think realistically would it be hard to get into a relationship with Tommy?'

Short Answer: Yes! And no.

Ha, you really thought there'd be a short answer to this? No, let's dive in.

Thomas, on the surface, is a very awkward, to himself kind of guy. He doesn't like stepping out of his comfort zones, and he hates change. He thrives on strict routine, and isn't one to do something without being told. (ex: he doesn't take initiative at the slaughterhouse, he does exactly as he's told and doesn't stray from those rules)

He has an extremely strong sense of familial bond and ties to his family, he wouldn't betray them for anything, (and yes, that includes you too). It's a huge cultural things in small towns. It doesn't matter who your family is or what they've done. It's true ride or die mentality.

Considering these things, if you want to hope to have a relationship with him, you're gonna have to take up their lifestyle. Every part of it.

If you've ever been to an old southern woman's house, you know how insulting it is to refuse food. It's practically the same thing as spitting on their shoes and slapping them in the face. If you refuse a home cooked meal, especially when you're still considered a 'guest' in the house, you will end up on their bad side.

And Thomas is a Mama's boy, through and through, if his mother doesn't like you, he doesn't like you.

And that mentality is only doubled for the Hewitts. Their family has starved, and if you've ever struggled for food, you understand why they won't let it happen again. I could go into a whole in depth analysis on the Hewitt family and their cannibalism, but let's get back to Tommy.

Thomas doesn't trust people easily. It's in their family, in his blood. The Hewitts (especially after they start murdering people) are suspicious and unforgiving people. People will often assume that they became isolated after the town died out and everyone left, but in reality, they were isolated long before that, as Luda Mae, Hoyt, and even Monty (though much less than the other two) wouldn't tolerate Tommy's mistreatment and abuse.

And as for Thomas' personal distrust, I can almost guarantee there were several times people would pretend to be his friend or even go as far as 'asking him out' only to immediately burst into laughter and mock him the moment he got excited.

Now, he's much more closed off and distrusting of strangers kindness and friendliness.

...But, he's a huge romantic.

He absolutely loves the idea of having someone to love.

His favorite books Luda Mae would read to him as a child were the princess stories. He would dream of being the prince charming, saving the princess from the retched beast so they could get married and live happily ever after.

But, as he got older, he started believing he was better fit for the role of the filthy monster that never falls in love.

Packaging all this up into one neat present, you get a pretty clear idea of what kind of man Thomas is.

So, how does one actually end up in a relationship with him?

It's simple! In the most complicated way possible.

First, is actually meeting him in a none murderer-victim setting, because once you hit that area, there's really no going back. If he's told you're next, you're next.

He's going to be really suspicious of you, no matter what you do really. Even if you do become 'friends', he's a rather anxious man, and he's going to have doubts for a long time.

You're going to have to get on everyone's good side. Like I said before, he cares deeply about his family and their opinions, and being around them and accepted by them is a non-negotiable. And I don't just mean Luda Mae, I mean everyone, including Monty and Hoyt.

Speaking of Hoyt, that will have it's own ground rules as well.

Thomas, despite being a big hunk of a man who could easily toss around someone twice Hoyt's weight, is not the man of the house. Hoyt is like a father figure to him, and he looks up to him. Well, not in every way, but you get the picture.

He isn't going to take well to you bad-mouthing Hoyt. Of course, he doesn't care if you want to rant about the man's annoying presence sometimes, but it depends on how close the two of you are and what you're saying.

If you try to accuse the man of being abusive, or not caring about his family, Thomas isn't going to like it. Hoyt is a mean hothead, sure, and by today's standards, most people probably would consider him abusive to a certain extent, but this is a small southern town in the 1970s.

Hell, most of the 'abusive' traits Hoyt show are still practiced in small towns to this day, and are considered normal behavior. Again, I could go into a whole spiel about Hoyt's character and actions, but I'll get to the point.

If there is one thing true about Hoyt, it's that he cares about his family. Every action he takes is in their interest, and he'd put his life on the line to keep them safe, including Thomas. Hell, he protected Tommy as a kid just as much as Luda Mae did.

So, yea, really any bad talk about his family is going to get you on his bad side.

But, let's say that you follow these rules, and you mesh well with his family and him, how long will it take for Tommy to actually catch feelings for you?

...Pretty much almost immediately.

Thomas is reserved and untrusting, yes, but he catches crushes faster than a Tommy-hater can catch these hands. (for reference, that's really fast)

He's a sweetheart, and eager to be loved and accepted, so the irrational, romantic side of his brain eager hops on the Y/N train the moment you show him any real affection.

But as for actually loving you? That's going to take a really long time.

Luda Mae always raised him on the idea that love can't exist without trust, and he takes that to the extreme. He literally won't consider a relationship with you until he can completely trust you with his whole heart.

And once that trust is earned and the two of you become 'official', that's it. He's in it for life. In his eyes, you're the only one for him, and he takes that belief to heart. So it is extremely important that you only enter the relationship when you're 100% ready. He won't understand the concept of needing a 'break', or time apart. Once you're in it, you're in it, and if you ever leave, there's no coming back, and Thomas will leave your life entirely, with the rest of the Hewitts shunning you as a result.

Because of this, it's also important to remember that there really is no such thing as 'harmless' flirting with Thomas. He doesn't understand the concept of friendly flirting. He's either going to assume that you're mocking him or that you actually do have feelings for him.

Communication is a huge key with this man!!! He doesn't pick up well on hints or social cues. Be up front of and honest about you're feelings or he will have no idea how you really feel, and it'll only cause heartbreak and confusion in the long run.

...Well. Now that I've practically made a How-to Guide on romancing Thomas, I think I'll call it here. Good luck on attracting your local Hewitt boys. See y'all in the next one.

First Meeting - Part Two

((part one here))

((part three here))

Thomas Hewitt/GN!Reader

taglist: @goodiesinthecloset21

---

You've run away from home, hitchhiking around Texas as you come up with your next plan, only to find that life has plans of its own when a simple ride with a group of friends lands you at a lone gas station in Travis County, drawn to a mysterious man most seem to avoid.

---

You let out a sigh as you exit the store, a bounce to your walk as you head in the opposite direction you came from, moving rather quickly in order to cover as much ground as possible before the dark of the night hits.

It doesn't take long before a large, familiar figure comes into view ahead, his pace much slower than your own.

Realizing your only options are to either ignore him and pass him, or slow down and accidentally look like a creep following him, you sigh and jog ahead, slowing down to match his pace as you catch up.

"Funny seeing you again," You catch him off guard, making him jump a little as he looks at you in surprise, "...Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you, I just saw we were headin' the same way and I thought I'd just say hi."

He sighs, seeming to relax a bit after your mini jump scare.

"So..." You start, realizing he wasn't going to reply, "...You live out this way?"

He nods.

"Seems quiet."

Another nod.

"Kind of like you." You give another smile, shrugging, "I was always told I could talk the ear off of a dead man."

He lets out a small, humored chuckle, and you feel yourself relax a little.

Conversation begins to flow easier as the two of you walk along, with you talking about the people you'd met and the places you'd seen in the last month and a half. The more you talk, the easier it becomes to see the good in your adventure, the ache of your empty stomach and sore muscles fading into the background as you retell your stories.

“Can't say I'd be able to find it again, but man, it was a really beautiful place. I'd love to go there again.”

Thomas nods, a genuine smile on his face from hearing the way you described the lake you had found last week.

You can feel the long grass reaching its way under your jeans, scratching at your ankles as the two of you walk side by side down a narrow dirt path you had absent-mindedly followed him down.

“Maybe I will go back...” You hum a little, hands resting in your back pockets, “Can't be that hard to find, right?”

He lets out a low hum of agreement as the two of you break the clearing in the trees and a large white house slowly comes into view.

“Whoa...” You mutter as the two of you reach the porch, “You live here?”

He nods.

“Wow…” You gaze at the house. It was old, sure, the white paint peeling off, the windows dusty and missing a couple of panels, but it was huge, and absolutely gorgeous.

The worn porch swing creaks as a summer breeze slowly pushes it, and you can distinguish the faint sound of animals echoing from the barn that sat a bit further back from the house.

You look at the overgrown property and sigh before smiling at Thomas, almost sadly as you realize it was time to leave.

“Well, I guess I should–” Your words are cut off by a deep, growling sound.

The Texas sun was no match for the heat in your face as you realized the noise was coming from your stomach.

Thomas tilts his head and you quickly look away, biting the inside of your cheek.

“I, uh–” Southern pride keeps your mouth shut as you stumble over your words, eyes boring holes in the dirt as you try to think of an excuse.

You're pulled from your own embarrassment as a strong hand grabs your arm, pulling you up the old wooden stairs and into the house.

It was just as big on the inside, greeting you with a large hallway that stretched to the other end of the house. To your immediate right was an opening to the spacious living room, and a little further down was a staircase leading to the second story.

You, however, were directed to the left, to a small table sitting in a rather big kitchen- though it didn't seem quite as big as the living room sitting across the hall.

“N-no, it’s no problem-!” You try to protest, but he doesn't hear a word of it as his firm grip gently nudges you into a chair.

You sit there, now quietly flustered as Thomas looks through the fridge.

“Tommy what the hell are you doing!?” A new voice suddenly came from beyond the kitchen, and the owner followed in.

It was an older man, wheelchair bound and missing the bottom half of his legs. He looks to Thomas, and then to you, a look of confusion and annoyance on his face as he does so.

“Who the hell is this?”

“I, uh, I’m Y/N…” You offer, knowing Thomas doesn't speak, “I met Thomas down at the station and walked with him.”

“Does Hoyt know about this?” The man ignores you as he continues looking at Thomas.

He finally turns around, a plate covered with tin foil in hand as he shakes his head to the other man.

“Ah, shit, Thomas. I ain't dealing with this. Don't try to say I didn't warn you.” He scoffs before turning back and leaving the kitchen.

You stare at the doorway he just left through, realizing that everyone you had seen so far in this town seemed to either know or be related to Thomas in one way or another.

Perched on the old kitchen wall was a picture of the older woman from the station, though she seemed a bit younger and less grumpy. The sheriff- Hoyt, you had remembered her calling his name- had called her Mama, and the man that had just left mentioned him as well.

You wondered if they had any other family filling the rooms of this large home, though right now it seemed quiet, save for the faint echoes of a TV playing from a room you hadn't seen yet.

Thomas pushes a plate in front of you, catching your attention as he grabs a fork and hands it to you as well.

“Thank you, but you really don’t have to–”

He cuts you off by tapping the table beside the plate.

You sigh, the clench of your empty stomach reminding you that you weren't going to gain anything by not eating it.

You pull back the tin foil to reveal a full meal, something you hadn’t seen in days. The food was piled up, and your mouth was practically watering at the sight. You take your first bite, the flavor exploding in your mouth and making your stomach growl again.

It had been so long since you'd had proper food, you didn't even mind that it was cold, simply excited to get something in your system.

You eat as much as you can, having to turn away over half of it after your shrunken stomach protests eating anymore.

Feeling more comfortable, you gave him a smile and thanked him again, “Did you cook that?”

He shook his head and pointed to a picture on the wall, the same picture of the station clerk that you noticed earlier.

“She's your mother?” You question, earning a nod in response.

You open your mouth to continue when a car door slams shut outside and an almost familiar voice calls out.

“Thomas!” The man screams from the front yard.

“Is that… The sheriff?” You ask, looking back to Thomas who was staring at the door, his face now grim and shoulders tense.

“Thomas, get your ass out here!” Hoyt hollers for him again.

Thomas stands from the table, another voice echoing in from the outside.

“No, no, please, let us go!” A woman screams, her voice blood curdling and scared.

You stand up as well, a worry in your voice, “Is that Katie?”

Thomas puts a hand on your shoulder and shakes his head, a warning.

More screaming comes from the front yard, the voices of the sheriff and Katie mixing together as they yell at each other.

Thomas tugs your arm, pulling you to the kitchen pantry. He motions for you to stay quiet before shutting the door, his fading footsteps leaving the kitchen.

You sit in the dark, heart racing as your mind tries to piece together what was happening.

The slam of the front door makes you jump as the sheriff yells again, his voice much louder and clearer as he had apparently come inside, “Goddamnit, boy, when I holler for you, that means you come!”

“Please, please, let me go, I won’t tell anyone, I swear to God…” Katie was sobbing, you could hear it in her voice and the way she hiccupped between her words.

“Here, Tommy, put her in the kitchen. We’ll let Momma deal with her when she gets home.”

Your body seems to move on its own as you crack the pantry door open, watching Thomas drag Katie across the kitchen floor.

Blood is soaking her clothes, leaving a mess trailing behind as Thomas ties her hands to the kitchen table.

He glances up, intense eyes staring you down as he shakes his head, a silent command to shut the door.

You do as you're told, hands covering your mouth as you start to hyperventilate, adrenaline rushing your system as you start to shake.

You can hear Thomas' heavy footsteps leave the room again over Katie's crying, the table scraping the floor as she futilely pulls against her restraints.

What the hell did you get yourself into?

Your mind starts racing as you try to contemplate your options.

You could stay hidden here, sure, but for how long? What if Thomas wasn't the next person to open the door, and what would you even do if it was?

Would you take the risk and bolt? Would he even let you?

Your breathing starts to become shaky and uneven as the fear takes over your mind. You shut your eyes and lean against the door, trying to ignore the sounds of the girl on the other side.

She was crying, still, asking no one in particular, “God, why me? Why us, God, why–” She cries out, sobbing violently as her sentence is cut off with a broken sob.

After a few minutes of this, the front door opens once again, and footsteps, too soft to be Thomas' or Hoyt’s, come in.

You peer out of the door again, watching as the older woman from the gas station steps into the kitchen.

Katie notices her as well, immediately crying out, begging for help.

You watch as she stops in front of her with a sigh, “Oh, dear. What has that Hoyt done now…?” She mutters before walking past her.

She doesn't notice you as she walks out of view and comes back with a bowl of water and a rag.

“I don’t know why he always has to be so messy.” She shakes her head, gently running the rag across Katie's face.

“Please, please, let me go, please…” Katie pleads with her, only for the woman to hush her, “Why are you doing this?”

“Well, we’ve got company coming over, and you don’t want to be all dirty, do you?” She coos slightly as she finishes washing her face, “There we go, that’s better, isn’t it?”

Katie sobs again, yanking at the ropes once more.

The woman ignores her, walking out of view once again, you assume to get rid of the bowl of water and now bloody rag.

You close the door again and sigh, pressing your forehead against the door as tears begin to slip down your cheeks.

What was going to happen to you?

You sit there in that pantry, silent and listening to Katie’s tears as you wait to find out.

You can hear the woman come back into the kitchen and begin making something, and eventually the whistling kettle hints at tea, or maybe even coffee. At some point another woman joined her and they both took a seat and began chit chatting.

You barely listen to their conversation, only picking up on the first woman’s name, Luda Mae. You didn’t catch the second woman’s name as they chatted casually, exchanging small talk about the weather and the tea. If it wasn’t for Katie’s crying, you’d assume nothing was out of the ordinary at all.

“Oh, here, let me go get you some from the pantry.” Luda Mae's voice pulls you from your thoughts as you listen to her shuffling footsteps come closer and closer.

Your heart stops and sinks all at once and you feel sick realizing what was about to happen.

You push yourself away from the door, holding your bag in front of you as if it could somehow keep you hidden, silently pressing yourself against the back shelves as you brace yourself.

The door handle starts to turn.

A feeling of complete helplessness settles in as the door swings open.

Your eyes screw shut as light floods the pantry, waiting for the worst possible outcome as you shake, holding your measly bag in front of you.

"Please..." You mutter, whether it be to her or to a God or yourself, you don't know, "Don't hurt me..."

First thing. Do you have a masterlist. Second thing. MORE TOMMY PLEASE. SATIATE MY NEED. I NEED A HIT I NEED A HIT*AGGRESSIVELY SNIFFS*

First thing! No. I did and I deleted it because Tumblr is stupid, but for anything slasher you can pretty much hit the Thomas Hewitt tag on my blog because he's in practically everything I've ever written on here.

Second thing! Ask and ye shall receive.

You've never believed in karma.

As nice as the thought might be, people don't get what they deserve. They get what they're handed, and if that happens to be shit, then that's just what they get.

It's a lesson Thomas learned when he was young, and life handed him the worst cards for simply existing. And it's one he learned when he was older, and life gave him you, despite the heinous crimes he had committed.

It's something you learned, when you found your place in the Hewitt family, and with Thomas, despite all your regrets, past mistakes, and willingness to ignore the pleading cries of their victims tucked away in the basement below.

After all, everyone's got a few skeletons in the closet, right?

You huff against your scarf, hot breath puffing out in a fit of steam as it hits you right back in the face.

It had been thirty minutes since Thomas had left, chasing the loose victim off into the wilderness, not a coat or gloves in sight in the middle of a rare Texas snowstorm that had swept through just last week.

You rub your gloved hands together, shivering as you follow the quickly fading footprints through the snow, messy and scattered from Thomas chasing after the fleeing person.

They seemed to trail after the old dirt path to the desolate highway, kicking up enough snow to show the icy red dirt hiding underneath. You trudge through what's left behind, ignoring the snow that's climbing up your jeans and falling into your boots, leaving your socks a gross, soaked mess of cold water.

"Thomas!" You call out again, looking around for any sign of your husband, "Thomas!"

It wasn't exactly uncommon for Thomas to run off with no regard for his own safety, his only concern in that moment being to catch the person who ran off, but the lack of warm clothing in the harsh storm had you throwing on your own winter clothes to go look for him.

"Thomas!" You yell louder, pushing yourself up the small hill towards the highway, huffing as you push yourself through the snow, "Tommy!"

The asphalt is icy as you step on it, almost losing your balance as you look around you.

The footprints stop at the edge, leaving you to cluelessly look about, to see if you can find out where he might have gone next.

"Thomas?" You look to the left and right, seeing nothing but snow covered trees surrounding you, the falling snowmaking it harder to see more than ten feet in front of you.

You step further onto the road, moving slowly and carefully to avoid slipping.

A clear mess in the otherwise undisturbed snow catches your attention on the other side, putting a quicker stride in your step as you hurry after the trail.

The footprints lead left, further down the road and into the cold.

You huff again, following the path Thomas unknowningly left behind for you.

"Thomas! Thomas!" You repeat his name, cupping your hands around your mouth as you trudge forward.

A blurry figure begins to appear in the snow ahead, someone's body laying lifelessly against the cold ground, blood staining the white snow around it.

You sigh in relief. If that was here, Thomas couldn't be too far away.

You pick your pace up to a jog, hoping to find more footprints leading to where your husband may have gone.

"Thomas!" You call his name again as you jog towards the body, hoping he'd hear you from nearby.

Almost as soon as you yell, the body shifts and moves, bringing you to a halt.

You shift in your place, warily looking towards what you thought to be a dead body.

It wasn't like Thomas to leave a person to die, always finishing the job before heading home to let Hoyt come back and collect what was left behind.

You look around, hoping Thomas had heard you, and would come out any second, so the two of you could just go back to the safety and warmth of your home, and you wouldn't have to deal with a dying man and the harsh snow any longer.

But he doesn't come, and the body moves again, looking for another sound, shaking in the cold snow.

The sharp, pained groaning that follows kicks your feet into overdrive, kicking up snow as you run towards the familiar sound.

"Thomas!" You scream, knees knocking harshly against rocks hiding beneath the snow as you fall to the ground beside him.

He's trembling, skin pale and clammy, breathing shallow and wheezy.

"Oh, my God, Thomas, oh, my god, what happened!?" You hover next to him, the sight of fresh blood staining his clothes keeping you from touching him out of fear of hurting him or making it worse.

He doesn't have the strength to move, brown eyes hazy and weak as he whines in pain, shaky hand reaching out for you.

You take his hand in your own, wincing as you feel the chill of his icy skin through your gloves.

His blood still steams in the cold air, pooling from the multiple wounds in his stomach and dripping into the snow.

"O-Okay, okay, okay," You try to calm your racing mind and think of what to do, "It's okay, it's okay, you're gonna be okay, I- I- I'll go get help--"

He whines in protest, trying his best to grip your hand with fleeting strength to make you stay.

"No, no, Thomas, I'll be back, I- I have to go get help, I can't--" You give his hand a squeeze, hot tears blurring your vision.

He shakes his head, his other hand coming out to grasp at your arm, silently begging for you to stay.

"Thomas, I have to, I have to go get help, I need to--"

"N-No..." His voice is quiet, and shaky, creaking from years of silence as he pleads with you, "...P-Please..."

You stare down at your dying husband in disbelief, both of you knowing there was no time for you to go back. His fading eyes are tired, and you realize he's already accepted this. There's no fight left in him, no more energy to give, no urge to try and survive any longer.

All that's left is one last request, one last wish he wants you to grant him.

Please don't let me die alone.

You suck cold air through gritted teeth, choking on the lump in your throat as you yell, gripping his hand tightly in your own.

"It's not fair! It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair!" You sob, pressing his hand against your head, "I don't want you to go!"

He starts trying to move, too weak to do anything more than lean closer to you.

You help him sit up, just enough to get out of the snow and into your lap.

He leans against you, whining as he pants in pain, pressing into your warmth. His skin is like ice, sending a shiver through your clothes as he lays his head on your shoulder, exhausted just from the small movement.

You rock him back and forth, sobbing harshly as you kiss his hair, pulling your gloves off and discarding them in the snow, letting him feel the warmth of your hand as you cup his cheek.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." You cry, pressing your forehead against his, "I'm sorry, Thomas, please, I'm so sorry..."

He shakes his head, hand holding your wrist as he stares up at you, trying to comfort you even as he dies in your arms.

"No," You sob quietly, "No, I should've come sooner, I should've brought Hoyt, I should've-- I should've--"

His hand slowly lets go of your wrist, reaching up and fumbling with his hair. You realize what he's doing, helping him pull his mask off and letting it drop to the ground.

He takes a deep breath, letting his eyes close as he leans against your shoulder again. He looks so pale, the purple and blue scars on his cheeks so much darker and defined, staining his clammy skin.

He manages to lean up, just enough to press his forehead against your cheekbone, planting a chaste kiss against your jawline.

You lean down to meet him, his lips cold as ice as you give him one last kiss, watching the fog in his eyes haze over whatever little bit of life he has left as you pull back.

"...Love... you...." His voice is so tired, gravelly and weak, strained against the air as he lays against your chest, finally content as you continue rocking him.

You don't know when he takes his last breath, or how long you've been out in the snow.

Part of you doesn't want to go back.

Part of you wants to stay here, with your husband in your arms, rocking him back and forth until the snow engulfs you both and takes you with him.

He's been cold for a while now, limp and unmoving in your too tight grasp, keeping him pressed against you chest as you sob.

You have to go back.

Your legs are numb and freezing against the dirt and snow, your skin icy under your jacket.

Your face is stained with frozen tears, your eyes puffy and swollen, red from the strain.

You barely remember your walk back, the cold of the snowstorm only reminding you of the icy feeling of his touch as you trip on the stairs leading to the porch.

You hardly register when Luda Mae and Hoyt help you inside, immediately questioning where Thomas is and why you're covered in blood, overwhelming you as you sit on the couch, the hot air of the heater burning your skin.

"I- I couldn't- He wouldn't- I- I-" You're shaking, tears flooding your eyes and pouring down your cheeks, "...I was too late..."

"You let him die!?" Are the first words you actually hear, managing to snap you out of your own mind as Hoyt yells them at you, "What's wrong with you!? You should have come back here and gotten me!"

"I couldn't leave him alone!" You scream, clenching your fists together, "I couldn't let him die alone!"

"You shouldn't have let him die at all! You killed him, you goddamn--"

"Charlie!" Luda Mae yells through her own tears, sobbing on the couch on the other side of the room, "They love Thomas just as much as we do!"

"I'll be damned!" He screams, stomping around the living room, pointing a finger at you, "They aren't family! They never belonged here! If it wasn't for them, he'd be here right now! They let him die!"

You sob, folding in on yourself as you cry out, burying your face in your arms, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't- He begged me to-- I couldn't, I couldn't leave him!"

"But you did! You left my nephew, out in the cold, and now he's fucking dead!" Hoyt's relentless, calling you every name in the book as he and Luda Mae scream at each other.

You're still curled into a ball as Hoyt leaves, slamming the door as harshly as he can, curses and screams echoing through the walls.

You don't know how long he's gone, but he comes back drunk, covered in blood and dirt, red eyes swollen and puffy as he ignores everyone, barely stumbling up to his bedroom to pass out.

You stay on the couch for the rest of the night, not sleeping but not able to drag yourself up to your room, hoping that maybe Thomas might come down the stairs in the morning.

But he doesn't.

And he never will again.

...

Things are different after that.

Luda Mae stays to herself, and doesn't scold Hoyt for drinking more. Monty picks up on the same habit, often sitting on the porch to stare out at the freshly disturbed patch of dirt that mysteriously appeared after Hoyt left that day.

You can't bring yourself to look at any of them, the once happy and warm family that you found yourself apart of nothing more than a rotting memory.

You see Thomas everywhere, passing by in the corner of your vision, just out of sight and gone when you turn around. You hear his footsteps walk up behind you, but never feel the warmth of his arms around your waist. You dream of him laying in your bed at night, but the sheets are cold when you wake.

It's hell, and for once in your life, you believe in karma.

Ok actually I've been in love with your toughts about Thomas, YOU'RE AN AMAZING WRITER!!!

Btw, I can't stop thinking about how this man deserved a childhood friend that would eventually become his lover, someone that decided to treat him like an human being once and discovered he's just really sweet boy and not a monster.

Do you think that would change anything about how Thomas behaves in the future?

Oh, this is something I have thought about, I could write a whole fic on the AU, but let's not bite off more than we can chew and put that idea to the side for a future project. Please bear in mind that this post may seem lesser than my others and more rushed, that was quite literally because I had to continuously stop myself from writing endless drabbles on this idea.

But, I digress. Let's dive into the factual and realistic results of giving Thomas a childhood friend.

So, as we know, Thomas has had a lot of health issues from birth, and the Hewitt family did their best to get him the medical help he needed, taking him to doctors up until he was about thirteen or fourteen.

We also know that Thomas has been bullied for most of his life, and was isolated from his peers and community at a young age.

And we know that Thomas is some flavor of neuordivergent, so if we add all of these things together, we get a school record full of absences, low grades, and detentions from fights he didn't start, because we all know that in small southern towns, teachers really don't give a shit who starts the fight, they care about who's family has the better reputation.

So, he's in an out of school from the get go, has a bad reputation with all his teachers (and going into every new grade because teachers talk), and struggles with learning in the traditional way.

This starts tons of rumors about him.

They float all around the school, everyone knows who Thomas is, and no one in particular likes him.

But! Let's back up here, and take it back to, oh, I don't know, first, second grade? Around that time frame.

Thomas is still a little dude, being harassed and bullied by his peers and generally not having a fun time.

But, this time around, we'll drop another little dude in there. (that's you!)

And this little dude (non-gender term) doesn't particularly care about Thomas' deformities and disabilities. Who would?

So, you start hanging out with him. And Thomas, (who we all know thrives on positive attention), is confused, but not unwelcoming.

I don't think he'd be really clingy right of the bat, but give it a school year (maybe two if he's out of school a lot that particular year), and he's going to be a lot more comfortable with you, and that's what's going to lead to that clinginess.

Especially if you're nonchalant about grabbing his hand or touching him in general, because, remember, most people are afraid to even come near him, so the fact that you don't care and are willing to just casually touch him, is a huge thing in his eyes, and as he gets older, he's going to want more.

So, we'll skip ahead a bit until y'all are 10-12ish, and at this point, you're Thomas' best friend. Everyone knows you two hang out, the Hewitts love you, and it leads to a bit more isolation on your end, because no one wants to be friends with the freak, let alone the freaks weird best friend. (and yes, you're weird, I know you are because you're listening to me rant about leatherface /affectionate <3)

But, this also opens Thomas up to people a bit more, as the few people that do talk to you, eventually talk to him, maybe not go as far as to be his friends, but enough to be friendly.

Of course, some people are fake, and they'll ditch the both of you the moment the 'popular' kids find out they talk to you.

And other people don't, it's middle school, life in general sucks. Y'all are just trying to survive your way to highschool.

Now, if we assume you help tutor Thomas and you help keep him out of trouble (i.e. a large tree limb tends to deter bullies), we can assume his grades will go up, which will probably get his teachers off his back. All of these things are good. Thomas has a real friend, and not everyone treats him like a monster. His grades are better. His family is proud of him.

But Thomas still has mental health issues. And just like he hid them from his family, he hides them from you as well. His peers and community may have shunned and isolated him, but he also shuns and isolates himself from his family and friends, so I believe that despite being clingy and wanting to be around you a lot, if he hits a depressive episode, he's going to isolate from everyone.

That's what leads to his self mutlilation.

He slices the skin off his cheeks in an attempt to "fix" his deformities, believing that if he just gets rid of them, his disease will go away.

...But it doesn't. And he doesn't get to see you for a long time, a worried and frightened Luda Mae keeping her baby locked away and protected from the world while he heals.

That's when Thomas stops speaking. The healing wounds and eventual scars make it harder for him to speak, making anything more than a mutter or whisper painful for him.

This is when he finally drops out of school. It's a small southern town in the early 1950s, so there's no fight to stop him, after all, he's expected to help his family run the farm.

When he finally sees you again, he's worried you'll have changed your mind about him, and even though you haven't done anything wrong, it takes time for him to trust you again, his own self doubt ruining his confidence in your friendship.

But, after that, you're pretty much inseparable again. Everyone in town knows that if they see one of you, the other isn't far behind. Thomas still struggles a lot on his own during this time, and I don't believe he'd be capable of loving himself enough at this point to love you, or at least, I don't think he'd believe you actually like him, and for the sake of this post, we'll keep it that way.

Thomas spends a lot of time at his house at this point, so you spend a lot of time after school there with him. His house is practically your house. Luda Mae, Charlie, and Monty all know that once school lets out you're headed over, and they set an extra plate at dinner for you. (They don't know how Thomas could be so possibly blind to your affection towards him, but other than Charlie's stray comments encouraging Thomas to 'give it a shot', they mind their business)

Once Thomas gets a job at the slaughterhouse, and you get your own job in town, you'll often walk to the slaughterhouse after work to meet Thomas just finishing his shift, and the two of you will walk together until you have to separate to go to your own house.

It breaks people's minds seeing how soft Thomas is with you, their own preconceived ideas about the man leaving them baffled when he's gentle and caring to his friend.

It's about his early to mid twenties, when people start looking at you as more than just his friend, and as someone to actually chase and date, that Thomas finally snaps.

You don't know what comes over your best friend, but he becomes extremely affection and protective of you, no one can approach you in a flirtatious way without Thomas following close behind, simply standing behind you as a warning for them to move on.

But he doesn't actually try to date you. He's still torn by his own poor self esteem. It drives you insane.

You'll have to confront him, and give him an ultimatum. You can't keep playing this game, where he refuses to let you out of his sight but runs away every time you try to make a move.

He caves, obviously, not willing to lose you in any capacity, but your relationship is slow and careful, working at his pace as he learns to accept himself and your love for him, which takes a very long time.

He's not comfortable with any PDA, just barely letting you hold his hand when you meet him after work.

"But we've always held hands." You point out, and he looks away with a shrug.

It's different now.

But, let's step away from the drabble territory. I've already had to rewrite this post like five times now.

Over the years, Thomas becomes more and more comfortable with your relationship, and you have to teach him practically everything. He genuinely doesn't know anything going into this. And I mean anything.

As the town starts to die, and your family decides to leave, the Hewitts welcome you with open arms, but Luda Mae moves you into the guest room. After all, you're not married.

That doesn't stop you from sneaking into his room at night though.

But, despite the implication I just made, I don't think Thomas would be ready for actual sex until marriage. He's still a traditional man, just the way his mother raised him.

But, again, not my main point. Stick with me, I'm wrapping it up now.

All in all, I don't think Thomas would be that much different. A little more self confidence and self esteem, sure, but he'll still be Thomas. When the factory shuts down, he'll still snap, and he'll still kill the supervisor. He'll still start preparing human meat like he's asked. But other than feeling a bit more comfortable in his own skin and mind, he wouldn't be much different. He's still our same old Tommy.

Ok, that's all for now. Thanks for sending in the ask love <3

First Meeting - Part Three

((part two here))

((part four here))

Thomas Hewitt/GN!Reader

tagslist: @goodiesinthecloset21 @shykoolade

---

You've run away from home, hitchhiking around Texas as you come up with your next plan, only to find that life has plans of its own when a simple ride with a group of friends lands you at a lone gas station in Travis County, drawn to a mysterious man most seem to avoid.

---

"Oh my..."

It sounds like the second woman caught sight of you too.

"What are you doin' in my pantry!?" Luda Mae asks, as if she were scolding a small child for getting into the cookie jar.

"T-Thomas put me in here..." You stumble over your words as you slowly lower the bag.

She shakes her head with a tsk, looking you up and down, "And I suppose Hoyt don't know you're here?"

It was your turn to shake your head.

"Well he'll sure as hell find you if you stay here. Come on, get up." She motions for you to stand.

You do as you're told, avoiding Katie's pleading eyes as Luda Mae guides you through the kitchen and to the stairs.

You follow her up the stairs, down the hall and to the last room on the right.

"This is Tommy's room. Hoyt don't come in here. I'll let Thomas know when he gets finished with his chores."

You nod, the world around you feeling like a daze as you try to process everything happening.

She starts to shut the door, “W-Wait…” You catch her attention, “Can I ask you something?”

She hesitates for a moment but opens the door again, “Go ahead.”

You swallow, your mouth dry, “Are you…” She waits as you take a breath, “Are you going to kill Katie?”

“I don’t kill, honey. Don’t have the stamina for that.”

“N-No I meant--”

Luda Mae stops you in your tracks with a tight smile, “I know what you meant, dear.”

You sigh, watching as she shuts the door and leaves you alone once again.

You turn, your eyes scanning over the bedroom.

It was bare, save for the furniture one would expect to find in a bedroom.

To your left, there was a bed, pressed into the corner, neatly made, a floor lamp perched beside it. Above the left of the bed there was a window, viewing down to the side of the house. To your right, there was a dresser with a mirror placed against the wall in the middle. It was bare, no trinkets or pictures sitting on it. The mirror, however, was covered by a thin sheet.

The room didn’t seem like a bedroom of someone who had been there their whole life. It seemed like a guest room, untouched and without decorations.

You take a step forward, looking around the small space.

You walk to the window, leaning on the bed to look down at the overgrown yard below, empty and void of people.

You were tired. So tired. Tired from the traveling, tired from the day. You found yourself so exhausted from everything you could barely keep your eyes focused.

You take your shoes off and brush your feet off, setting your bag down at the foot of the bed before climbing on. You press yourself into a corner, knees to your chest as you look out the window.

You're not sure how much time passes as you wait, but the ache settles back in your bones as you stare, your eyes slowly drifting shut as you manage to fall asleep.

…

Your eyes open, body aching and numb from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position.

You uncurl and stretch, your eyes blinking as you look around the now dark room, the only source of light trailing in from the edges of the closed door. Silence creeps in from the floorboards, and for a second you wonder if you're alone in the house.

You discard that thought, however, when the low thuds of footsteps echo from the hall, heading towards the bedroom door.

You hold your breath, watching and waiting to see what would happen.

The doorknob begins to turn, and light casts over a small part of the room as the door swings open and Thomas walks in.

His shoulders were hunched and his head hung low, his dress shirt and slacks now covered in dirt and a few worrying dark stains.

Out of habit he flips the lights on, temporarily blinding you and causing you to scrunch your face as your eyes adjust.

Brown eyes lift to face you, and he seems almost ashamed. You shift closer in on yourself, your mind drifting back to Katie.

He shuffles on his feet, waiting for you to speak.

Your eyes scan over him and float back to the dark, blood like stains on his clothes.

“Are you okay?” You ask meekly, your voice cracking as you speak.

He looks down at the stains on his clothes and looks back up, nodding.

He was picking at his hands, nails scratching at the cuts he wouldn't let heal.

You shift in your spot on the bed, the ache in your bones still present as your eyes dart around the room, trying to think of something to say. What were you supposed to say in this situation? You didn't want to upset him, not after everything that happened today. Who's to say he wouldn't hurt you too?

You jump as he moves, causing him to falter for a second before he starts shifting through his dresser drawers, pulling out a large gray shirt.

But, instead of putting it on, or even leaving to put it on, he hands the fabric to you.

You hesitate, mind running slower than usual as you take the shirt from his hand, "...Thank you."

He nods a little, turning back to the dresser to pull his own change of clothes out before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him.

You look down to the shirt in your hand, feeling a little uncomfortable wearing the shirt of a strange man you had only just met that day, but the grime of your jeans and tank top rubs against your skin, a stark contrast to the soft fabric of the shirt in your hands.

You climb off the bed, tugging your shirt off before replacing it with the large t-shirt and shimming your jeans down and kicking them off.

You grab your bag, pulling a pair of shorts out and shoving your dirty clothes back in. The shorts weren't exactly the cleanest, but they weren't nearly as dirty as your other changes of clothes and paired with the clean shirt it felt like a dream.

You sigh, zipping your bag back up and setting back on the floor by the foot of the bed. You take a seat on the bed again, closing your eyes and rubbing your face, feeling more awake now as you wait for Thomas.

Your mind can't help but to wander back to the day, everything feeling like a hazy dream as your brain tries to cope with the traumatic truth you were faced with.

Part of you wondered if it was a dream, something that your under-fed and overworked mind came up with just to remind you that things can never be as good as they seem.

The door opens again, breaking your train of thought as Thomas steps back inside, now in a fresh pair of pajamas, shoulder still slumping with exhaustion.

You blink, looking up at him as he stands there awkwardly, as if he was aware of something you weren't.

You furrow your brows, and look down to the bed.

Oh. Right.

You shift in place again, "I can take the floor..."

He shakes his head, walking past you and to the closet, pulling out an extra blanket and pillow for himself, and laying them on the floor.

You sigh, "No, wait, it's fine, we can share the bed."

You weren't the most excited about it, but while the bed was rather small, it had enough room for two, and you wouldn't be able to sleep knowing he had to take the floor because you felt awkward.

He looks down at you again, eyebrows raised in a question.

"Yea, I'm sure. It's fine." You assure him, pulling the covers back and moving over to the wall.

He hesitates, but sets the extra pillow on the bed before half-folding the blanket, setting it on the dresser and shutting off the lights, climbing in next to you.

You're tense, and you can tell he is too. It's no one's preference to share a bed with a stranger, especially after the day the two of you had.

You press your back against the wall, staring into the darkness as your eyes begin to droop, your body quickly becoming tired, fighting against your wired mind.

Thirty minutes pass, and neither of you have fallen asleep. Thomas shifts uncomfortably across from you, rubbing at his mask and staring at the ceiling.

"...Is the mask bothering you..?" You ask in a whisper.

He nods, letting out a sigh as he tries to adjust it again.

"...Then why don't you take it off?"

He looks at you, but gives no response.

You stare at him, mouth running faster than your mind as you blurt out, "Did you kill her?"

He lets out another sigh, hesitating for a moment before giving a slow nod.

His answer doesn't seem real, falling into the same haze the rest of the day exists in as you nod at his response.

"...Why?"

He doesn't answer you, and you remember he can't. You sigh, closing your eyes as you rub your face, everything feeling numb as you try to process it all.

A gentle touch on your wrist catches your attention.

You look back at Thomas, who's now leaning on his side, eyes staring down at the sheets, almost nervously, as if he wants to ask you something.

You lower your hands, mind racing even more, wondering how someone so shy and nervous could be capable of hurting someone.

"...Do you want to ask me something?"

He nods, still not making eye contact with you.

You sigh, realizing finding out the actual question was going to be a lot harder.

The hand on your wrist gives you a slight tug, and you let him pull your hand down, resting it on his own palm.

You stare at him, wondering what he was doing, the rough callouses of his hand polar opposite of the gentle touches as he began moving his finger over your palm.

You flinch, a curt laugh coming out at the unexpected movement, and he stops, waiting for you to get used to the feeling before he starts to write something.

It only takes you a minute to realize that he was writing his question in your hand, slowly writing out the letters as you guessed each one, occasionally tapping to signal the next word.

"A-R-E U S-C-A-R-E-D O-F M-E?"

You look up, brown eyes still avoiding your gaze as he waits for your response.

"I don't know how to feel..." You told him, truthfully, staring down at where your hands touch, "It's a lot to take in..."

He nods in agreement, hsi finger beginning to write something else.

"I-M S-O-R-Y."

You sigh, closing your eyes, your voice still quiet, "...I know..."

"A-R-E Y-O-U G-O-N-A L-E-V-E?"

You open your eyes again, looking up to meet his own eyes, carefully looking over your features as he waits.

"...I don't know." You swallow, "I don't have a place to go, but... After everything..."

He sighs, his grip becoming a little firmer on your hand.

"S-T-A-Y."

You look over his face, trying to look for any reason to not trust him, or for any sign that he may not be genuine, but he's confident in his request, waiting for your answer as he looks back to you.

"...Why? You don't even know me..."

"U-R T-H-E O-N-L-Y O-N-E T-H-A-T-S N-I-C-E T-O M-E."

You contemplate his words for a moment, feeling them engrain themselves into your hand, leaving a faint buzz tickling through your palm.

His eyes are pleading, watching your expression with an anticipative, almost hopeful look that seems to fade with every second you take to answer.

"...Okay." You nod, "...I'll stay."

He nods, shoulders relaxing and seemingly content with your answer as he lets go of your hand, turning to lay on his back again and letting out a deeper sigh.

You can feel yourself start to relax as well, whether it be the relief of making a decision or the pure exhaustion finally catching up with you, you didn't care to think about as you sink into the warm bed, heavy eyes finally closing as you drift off to sleep.

So I have an entire Thomas cosplay that I like to wear for costume/cosplay reasons. How do you think Tommy would react if he saw a mini version of him, someone just casually dressed up as him like I do? 😊

Well, to be honest, I don't have any super deep analytical thoughts about this. We all know about his insecurities and self esteem issues, so we'll skip over more than a mention of that, but overall, I think he'd find it funny. Not in a mean, bully-ish sort of way, but like a 'aw I think it's cute and silly' kind of way.

At first, he's going to be really confused as to why you look like him. In his mind, he doesn't understand why anyone would want to.

If you catch him on a bad day, (i.e. he's really frustrated and upset at certain circumstances, and just generally in a bad mood), he might get upset, because after all, after everything he's gone through due to his looks, you're going to dress up like him for fun?

But, please, if this happens, understand that he doesn't actually mean that, and he doesn't truly feel that way. Everyone gets a little frustrated and says/thinks things they don't mean, just give him some space to get in a better mood and he'll realize he was being a jerk.

After you actually tell him why you do it (i.e. you admire him, think he's cool, etc.) he'll sort of understand. I don't think he'd fully understand, (remember, insecurities and it's the 70s in a small town, cosplay is unheard of), but I think he'd think it's neat and a sweet gesture.

Thanks for sending in the ask! <3

Can you do prego reader x Thomas Hewitt?

I sure can!

Thomas loves kids. He adores them, always has. He desperately wants a family of his own, but the idea is pretty short lived considering no one in his entire town will look at him, let alone want to spend their life raising a family with him.

So, he throws the idea away, tossing it to the back of his mind with the rest of his dreams that have been crushed due to his conditions.

But then, here comes you.

Not only do you look at him, but you stare, as if you're caught in a trance by his presence alone. He's nervous under your gaze, but he doesn't run as you approach him, introducing yourself.

You're so very kind, and as time moves on, and the two of you begin to become close, he's infatuated.

He spends a long time entranced, pining from a distance, too afraid to even approach you with the idea of possibly having a relationship, simply happy just to be by your side as a friend.

No one can tell you how he could possibly miss your own affection for him, or how you could miss his.

But the two of you dance around each other for too long, always teasing at the possibility of more, but self doubt and hesitation keeping you both at bay.

The tension finally snaps when Thomas sees a random, older biker hitting on you at the old station.

He doesn't really know what breaks inside him, his arms snaking around your waist from behind, burying his face in your neck, but the way you lean back against his chest and run a hand through his hair, all while holding eye contact with the old creep, tells him it wasn't a mistake.

He's a lot more affectionate with you after that, mostly in private, but he doesn't shy away from holding you close to ward off any creeps that may take an interest in you.

Your first kiss is slow, and messy. It's clear Thomas doesn't know what he's doing as he holds your wrists, letting you cup his face in the dark of his bedroom.

Luda Mae would throw a fit if she found out you snuck out of the guest room they let you stay in, slipping out in the middle of the night to see Thomas when you couldn't sleep.

But neither of you could seem to care as you gently pull his mask off, moving it out of the way as you cup his scarred face, rubbing circles over his cheekbones.

He lets you take the lead, following your movements slowly and carefully as he tests the waters, eagerly returning your affections.

It doesn't go much farther than that, but it doesn't need to. You and Thomas have always gone at your own pace, and as long as you have each other, that's all that matters to you.

Years pass and the two of you inevitably get hitched, and all of the sudden that desire Thomas hid away all those years comes flooding back.

Thomas wants kids.

He's still unsure, nervous about how you'd feel about the idea. He doesn't want to bring it up and ruin everything by making you uncomfortable, but he desperately wants to have a family with you.

So, when he finally works up the courage, and you tell him you want kids as well, he's all over you.

It's less than three months after your wedding you find out you're pregnant, and the entire family is overjoyed.

Thomas is ecstatic, almost in disbelief that this is actually happening, and that he's actually going to be a father.

Luda Mae is delighted at the idea of grandchildren, and it even puts a smile on Hoyt's face.

No one can wait to welcome the newest Hewitt to the family, everyone in joyous spirits for the entire duration of the pregnancy.

It doesn't take long for your stomach to swell and grow, and everything you do has Thomas worried and fidgeting, not wanting to be overbearing but mind racing with everything that could go wrong.

Luda Mae is your main source of confidence, having already gone through her own pregnancy long ago. Any anxieties or fears the two of you have, she helps calm, and any questions that could keep either of you up at night, she has the answers.

You're very noticeablely pregnant by your third month, your stomach poking out and making your shirts ride up, leaving everyone to come to one conclusion:

"It's twins." Luda Mae looks at you over the rim of her cup as she takes another sip of coffee.

"Twins!?" Your eyes are wide as you grip the table in front of you, barely grasping what she just said, "But how- how could you possibly know that!?"

"Well, look at'ya." She gestures to you from across the table.

You rub your hand over your not so little bump, looking between her and your stomach, "I mean, yea, but that doesn't mean it has to be twins, right?"

"You better listen to Mama on this one." Hoyt pitches in from where he's leaning back in the other chair, his own coffee mug in front of him, "She ain't never been wrong about this."

Thomas is, of course, ecstatic about this. He wants multiple children, so to him this makes things easier. Depending on how you feel about it, he would consider having more, but he's more than happy with twins.

Hoyt spends the couple of months before your due date bringing in more victims to sort of 'stock' up so Thomas won't have to leave your side during the last month of your pregnancy. Which, good luck to anyone trying to pull him away from you during the last month, he's practically glued to your hip.

It pretty much goes without saying everyone expects you to do a home birth. Of course, if you really want to, (or need to due to a high-risk labor), Luda Mae will take you to the hospital in the next town over.

While Thomas normally hates going to town, for anything really, nothing is going to stop him from being there for the birth, so it doesn't matter where or how you decide to have the twins, he's going to be by your side for the entirety of it.

...And that's pretty much a less analytical more drabbily sort of take on it. Thanks for sending in the ask! <3

First Meeting - Part Four

((part three here)) ((part five here))

Thomas Hewitt/GN!Reader

taglist: @goodiesinthecloset21 @shykoolade @strawb3rry-gal @ktssstuff @theclownbaby0 @leah-halliwell92 @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom

---

You've run away from home, hitchhiking around Texas as you come up with your next plan, only to find that life has plans of its own when a simple ride with a group of friends lands you at a lone gas station in Travis County, drawn to a mysterious man most seem to avoid.

---

You startle awake as the bed shifts under you, the cozy feeling of warmth leaving your side as your eyes flutter open. With a foggy mind and the aid of the still rising sun, you can make out Thomas sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing at his mask and trying to adjust it to a more comfortable position.

You rub your eyes a bit, leaning up on your arm as you yawn, "Thomas...?"

He turns back to you, waiting for you to continue.

"What're you doing up so early?"

He reaches out, and it takes you a minute to realize why before placing your hand in his palm.

"C-H-O-R-S."

"This early?" You furrow your brows as you sit up fully, trying to shake the sleepiness from your thoughts.

He nods, standing up.

Not liking the idea of sitting alone in the room all day, quietly hiding from the rest of Thomas' family, you yawn again and ask, "Can I come with you? I could help with the chores, if you'd like..."

He shakes his head quickly, much to your confusion.

"Why not? It can't be that--" You stop in your tracks, your mind becoming more clear as you realize what 'chores' meant, "...Oh. They're not 'normal' chores, are they?"

He shakes his head again, slower this time.

You look down to the bed, picking at the cotton sheets as you're reminded of yesterday's events, saying nothing else as Thomas leaves you alone.

You lay back again, staring up at the ceiling as you feel the fading warmth of the bed underneath you, too awake to be asleep and too tired to be awake.

Your eyes drift closed again as your mind drifts between dreams and reality, conjuring up a half asleep day dream as time marches forward around you.

You barely register the sounds of bedroom doors opening and closing as you continue to rest, only jumping awake when a door slams from down the hall, followed by loud stomping down the stairs.

The world almost spins around you as you sit up, rubbing your eyes as you slowly remember who and where you are.

Your racing heart calms down as you slide to the edge of the bed, letting your bare feet graze against the wooden floor, already warm to the touch thanks to the Texas heat seeping in from the windows and walls.

The sun was well up at this point, kissing the tree tops as it graces the world with unrelenting rays of blistering heat.

You can hear voices drifting from the floorboards, but the words were lost in the air by the time they reached your ears.

You stand, stretching your back, the ache of sleeping outside for almost two months slowly becoming an afterthought as you grab your bag, shifting through the couple of outfits you had to find the cleanest options.

Eventually, you settle on a pair of basketball shorts you stole from one of your best friends years ago, and an old rubber band to tie up the shirt Thomas had lent you the night before.

With nothing else to do, you take a seat on the floor beside your bag, digging through it for a moment before pulling out a small, worn book, most of the pages bent and crumbled from being marked over the years.

You find the latest dog ear, searching for your last spot and resuming your reading.

You weren't sure why you bothered anymore, you practically knew the book by heart at this point, but that never stopped you from flipping to the front page and starting the story over.

As you read, the smell of fresh, homemade food begins drifting in the air, making your stomach rumble and snapping your focus.

Voices still carried from the first story of the house, the loud and obnoxious tone of one voice in particular telling you that Hoyt was home and it wasn't safe to leave the room.

You turn your attention back to your book, trying to focus again as you ignore the growls of stomach, sure that soon enough you'd get something proper to eat.

Sure enough, within the hour the slam of the front door catches your attention once again, the sound of squealing tires following close behind.

You lower your book, listening for any more sounds, the house much quieter now that Hoyt had apparently left.

A few more moments and the soft footsteps shuffling across the hallway becomes clear before Luda Mae opens the bedroom door.

You look up at her from your spot on the floor, book still in your lap.

"Come on and get you some breakfast while Hoyt's out." She practically orders, her voice stern and unforgiving as she turns to leave again.

You stumble as you stand, quickly following behind as to not disobey her.

She leads you down to the kitchen where she already has a full plate made at the table, going to finish washing the dishes as you sit and enjoy your breakfast in silence.

The plate was piled high with food, a large part of it being left uneaten, your stomach still unable to handle such large porportions.

Afterwards, she tasks you with taking the scraps to the barn, a chore that Hoyt often 'forgot' to do that always added onto Thomas' long lists of responsibilities.

"You're gonna earn your place in this house." She tells you, sending you out the back door with an almost full five gallon bucket of old food.

The smell reeks, hitting you in the face as you lug the bucket across the yard, towards the old, worn barn sitting out back.

The animals stir as you come in, unfamiliar and unhappy with your new presence as you drag the bucket in front of the pig pen.

They squeal, darting to the opposite side of their pen as you swing the bucket over the metal fence, dumping the scraps into their trough.

The smell of the rotten food catches their favor as they suddenly forget their fear of you, quickly moving to enjoy their meal.

You sigh, tossing the bucket back towards the front entrance to lay until you were done with your chores.

You head to the opposite side of the barn, pulling open the old feed closet with a yank, the old wooden door scraping harshly against the barn floor.

Inside sit two barrels, a faded blue barrel with its lid tightly closed, and a newer looking black barrel with its lid haphazardly laying on top of it.

Per Luda Mae's instructions, you move the lid off the black barrel, grabbing the old coffee can and scooping up a large amount of corn feed for the chickens.

As you grab the small red bucket, however, you're met with a small furry figure darting out of it and across the top of the feed.

You jump, yelping a little as you pull your hand away, dropping the bucket back into the barrel.

The small animal barely darts out of the coffee tin's path, only stopping long enough to try and run up the smooth inside of the barrel and fail.

You move closer again, staring down into the barrel and quickly realizing the small scurrying animal was in fact a small field mouse that snuck in for a snack and got stuck.

You chuckle a little, reaching back down in there, hands cupped as you attempt to catch the frightened creature, "Come here, buddy!"

Your friendly gesture is ignored as the mouse runs faster, not realizing you were simply trying to help.

You chase it around the barrel for a moment, finally managing to cup it in your hands and rescue it from the barrel.

The mouse makes quick work of paying you back, wiggling violently in your hands before chomping down on your thumb, the bite nothing more than a pinch that doesn't break skin.

You ignore it's futile attack, briskly walking out of the back entrance of the barn, carrying the mouse a decent distance away before kneeling down and opening your hands, allowing it to dart away with ease.

You wipe your hands on your basketball shorts and head back to the barn, only to find a chicken sitting on the edge of the open barrel, helping itself.

"Hey, come on now!" You shoo the chicken away, "I can't spend all day keeping you guys out of this thing."

You smile as the chicken flies away dramatically, hitting the floor and running as if you had personally threatened its life.

Taking a hefty scoop from the barrel, you start spreading it across the open barn floor, watching as chickens scatter and fight for the corn.

You toss the coffee can back into the bucket, making sure to secure the lid this time before shutting the heavy wooden door.

Two chores down, one to go. You turn around completely, facing the hen house.

It was a small, brown structure, clearly handmade, but well put together nonetheless. There was a small doorway big enough for you to step through, but you ignored that for the small, chest high cabinet-like, latched doors.

Unlatching the locks, you pull the handle up, the small door swinging open and giving you perfect access to the nests full of eggs.

You start gathering them, collecting them in your shirt to carry.

None of the hens seem to mind, all too focused on the food you just threw out to care that you were stealing their eggs.

You latch the doors back, careful to navigate the barn with a shirt full of eggs, remembering to pick up the scrap bucket on your way back.

You toss the bucket on the ground behind the back door, pulling it open and climbing up the few concrete steps inside and into the kitchen.

"Here," Luda Mae skips the greeting as you come back in, gesturing to a bowl she had set beside the sink, "Put them in here."

You lift your shirt a bit, gently letting the eggs roll into the bowl, careful not to break any.

You let your shirt hang again, looking down as you realize it was now covered in dirt and chicken poop.

"Oh, man..." You tsk, pulling the shirt out to look at it, "I didn't even think about it..."

"It's alright, it'll come clean. Help me wash these eggs." Luda Mae dismisses your concerns, pointing towards the sink full of warm water.

She hands you a rag to use, and goes back to cutting potatoes for dinner.

You work in silence for a while, gently scrubbing the eggs clean and setting them on a dish towel beside the sink to dry, listening to the old music playing on the radio Luda Mae had turned on sometime while you were outside.

"So..." Your curiosity eventually gets the better of you, and you shuffle on your feet as you stare down at the eggs, "How long have y'all lived out here?"

"A long time, darlin'. Too long to count. My daddy owned this place, and his daddy before him. This home's been in our family for generations."

You nod, thinking about her response for a moment, "...Doesn't seem like there's too much out this way."

"Not anymore, no. These days it's just us, and the Millers up the road."

"Really? There's no one else? No one at all?"

She shakes her head, not looking up from the cutting board, "Not since the slaughterhouse shut down. That was the backbone of this town, everyone worked there, even Tommy for a while. But, eventually they started cuttin' corners and it didn't take long for the health department to notice, what with all the people gettin' sick. So, it shut down, and the town left with it."

"So, why stay?" You ask, egg forgotten in hand as you get caught up in her story.

"This is our home, we couldn't give it up, Hell, we couldn't afford to leave even if we wanted to. And poor Thomas, it took years for people just to leave him the hell alone, we couldn't put him through movin' to a whole new town."

"But how can y'all survive out here? What if someone gets hurt, or you need a part for a car, or new clothes or something?"

"We manage just fine." She simply replies.

"...And the murder?" Your voice is quiet as you ask, watching Luda Mae freeze for a moment before continuing.

"Our family does what it needs to do to survive."

"But, why? What could murdering that poor girl possibly provide!?"

"Watch your tone!" She scolds you, glaring at you through her thick glasses, "You will speak ill of this family if you want to stay here!"

You sigh, looking down, "Yes ma'am, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. I just... Don't understand. What could y'all possibly gain from it?"

"You'll understand in time." She turns back to the potatoes, seemingly content with your apology but not interested in continuing the conversation.

"Right..." You mutter, turning back to the eggs, deciding to drop the subject for now and focus on the task at hand.

First Meeting - Part Five

((part four here)) ((part six here))

Thomas Hewitt/GN!Reader

tagslist: @goodiesinthecloset21 @shykoolade @strawb3rry-gal @ktssstuff @theclownbaby0 @leah-halliwell92  @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @aleracrovn

---

You’ve run away from home, hitchhiking around Texas as you come up with your next plan, only to find that life has plans of its own when a simple ride with a group of friends lands you at a lone gas station in Travis County, drawn to a mysterious man most seem to avoid.

---

Luda Mae didn't say much else after your confrontation, only directing you on where they kept the empty egg cartons once you were done drying the eggs and which fridge to put them in.

She tasks you with helping with dinner, leaving you in charge of cutting the vegetables she needs for the beef stew she was planning to make later in the day.

Okra, onions, tomatoes, potatoes, carrots, celery... This stew was packed full of everything, a big and filling meal, a recurring theme you could already see playing out in this house.

The Hewitts clearly didn't lack in food, making enough for everyone and more, their fridges stockpiled with everything any person could need, from fresh fruits and vegetables to drawers full of home packaged meats.

Luda Mae begins preparing lunch as you chop the vegetables, the radio filling the silence between the two of you as you think of something to say, trying to find a way to fix the awkwardness you had created.

Before you get the chance, however, Luda Mae breaks the silence herself, "Go fetch Monty and Thomas for lunch."

"Right." You drop the last of the now chopped vegetables into a large bowl with the rest of them, "...Where are they?"

"Monty'll be on the front porch, with that damn yappin' mutt of his. Tommy'll be in the basement, straight down the hall."

"Ok, where do you want me to put these?" You grab the bowl off the counter.

"Put 'em in the fridge for now."

"Yes ma'am." You do as you're told, going to the front porch first.

You push the screen doors open with a sqeual, the two wooden doors already wide open to help air flow through the house.

You step onto the porch, swinging your head right to the empty swing, then left to see Monty at the other end of the porch, sleeping dog curled up in his lap.

"Hello?" You ask, as he doesn't seem to react to your presence at all.

No response.

You step closer, and the faint sounds of snoring make it apparent he's fallen asleep. You take another step, reaching a hand out to touch the back of his wheelchair in an attempt to wake him.

But, instead of waking him, you wake his dog, who jumps up as soon as your hand touches the chair, barking ferociously at you.

You jump back, pulling your hand away as Monty wakes up with a jolt, looking around confused.

"What the-- Roxanne, shut up!" He hollers at the dog before spotting you, already grumpy at being woken up, "What the hell are you doin' here?"

"I, uh... I'm supposed to tell you lunch's ready?" You take a step back, unsure of what else to tell him.

"Aw, hell." He huffs, turning towards the front door and making his way across the porch, yelling out, "Luda Mae!"

You step out of the way to let him pass before quickly following behind, making sure to reach up and open the screen door for him.

"I don't need your damn help." He mutters, pushing the other screen door open with his cane and making his way inside, "Luda Mae!"

"What the hell are you yellin' about now, Monty!?" She calls back from the kitchen.

"What is this person doin' in my damn house!?"

"Your house!?"

You ignore the rest of the conversation, quickly walking past the kitchen as they argue, following Luda Mae's previous instructions and going straight down the hall.

This end of the hall is dark, a stark contrast to the rest of the house. There's a single step into a small room, and when you try the switch it doesn't work.

The large metal door is daunting, not like any basment door you've seen, towering over you in the dark like a threat.

Just like a horror movie... You can't help but to think, stepping forward and looking for a door handle.

You don't find one, your fingers running across the cold metal in the dark, feeling for a way to open it. Instead, your fingers catch on the side, and with a little more looking, you realize it's a sliding door.

Gripping the edge of the door, you pull as hard as you can, the heavy metal scraping as it slowly pulls open, working against you as if it didn't want you to open it at all.

You give up once you get enough space to squeeze through, leaving it partially closed as you step inside.

You're immediately met with a faint, foul smell, and a wooden staircase going down into a wall before turning into the rest of the basement hidden from your view. You can hear someone moving around down there, a faint light creeping up the stairs.

"Thomas?" You call out from the top platform, shifting in place. The basement was already terrifying you, and you hadn't even taken the first step down, "You down here?"

You hear metal clatter, and something drop before heavy footsteps make their way over to the stairs. Thomas comes up to the second platform, a rag in hand as he wipes off his hands and arms. You can't see what he's wiping off, and you're sure you don't want to.

"Lunch is ready." You tell him, Luda Mae's and Monty's yelling loud enough to echo into the basement as you give an awkward smile, trying to make light of the situation, "...I don't think Monty likes havin' me here much."

Thomas lets out a small amused huff, well aware of his uncle's habit of looking for a reason to have a problem.

"Are you coming up?" You ask, and he nods, tilting his head towards the basement as if to say he'd be up in a minute, "Alright, I'll tell Luda Mae."

You step back out of the basement, barely managing to push the door shut again.

You can hear the arguement finishing up as you head back into the kitchen, managing to catch the end tail of Luda Mae shutting it down, "...Sit down and eat so you can shut the hell up. Ain't no damn reason for you to be mad right now."

Monty grumbles something else too quietly for you to hear as you step back in, already stuffing his mouth full of the lunch Luda Mae prepared.

"Thomas says he'll be up in a minute." You break the silence, tension thick as you take a seat at the kitchen table.

Monty rolls his eyes, smacking around a full mouth, "Oh, what'a big help you are."

Taken aback by the sudden insult, you look between the two of them, beginning to pick at your own plate of food.

"Ignore him. He's just mad at nothin'." Luda Mae sets two more plates down before taking the seat beside him, "Don't talk with your mouth full, you damn fool."

He huffs again, glaring down at the plate of food as if it's responsible for everything wrong in the world, though you had an inkling suspicous he was directing those feelings towards you.

Another minute passes in silence, as the three of you sit and eat, your plate signifigantly less full than theirs, a request you gave Luda Mae earlier as to not waste any food you couldn't eat.

"...This is really good." You finally speak up, the silence driving you mad.

"Thank you. At least someone's appreciative." Luda Mae gives Monty a pointed look.

"Ain't suppos'ta talk wi'f my mou'f full." He makes a point of talking around a large bite of food.

It's her turn to roll her eyes as she turns back to her own plate of food.

"Why are you here anyhow? You get kicked out of your own house for bein' a druggie or somethin'?" Monty abruptly asks.

"Damnit, Monty--!"

"No, it's alright." You shrug, "I don't mind."

The smug look on his face almost makes you want to take it back, but you ignore him as you start explaining, "Mama drinks too much and Dad ain't around. Just seemed easier to go out on my own than to try and fix someone who doesn't wanna change."

"And it's also none of your damn business." Luda Mae points out.

"It's my damn business when it's in my damn house."

She scoffs, about to say something else when Thomas walks in the room, opting instead for saying nothing else, simply giving Monty a silent warning glare not to say another word.

"Hi..." You mutter, looking up at Thomas as he sits down, unbelievably relieved to have him in the room.

He looks around the room, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife between Luda Mae and Monty, creating an awkward environment for everyone in the room.

You stare down at the table, picking at your plate as you steal glances between the two of them before catching a glimpse at Thomas, who was doing the same as you.

You look at him, and then back at the other two. He nods, apparently sharing your thoughts.

You bite your lip, glancing between the two of them and Thomas. Perhaps it was the overly exaggerated look of anger on Monty's face, or the way Luda Mae continues making annoyed facial expressions, as if she was still arguing with him in her head, but suddenly you find yourself struggling not to laugh.

Thomas seems to be thinking the same thing, food untouched in front of him as he tries to fight off a smirk under his mask.

You place your arm on the table, hand coming up to cover your mouth as you look away, almost visible shaking from trying to stifle your laughter. It was like being a kid again, sitting between your parents trying have a serious arguement over the stupidest thing they could possibly think of, completely aware of how much trouble you could get into for laughing but unable to stop yourself from chuckling at their overdramatic antics.

The rest of the meal is spent in silence, you and Thomas stealing glances at each other and stifling your amusement at the two.

After everyone finishes you gather the dishes, helping Luda Mae wash them, the awkwardness long gone since Monty went to his room to take a nap.

You wash the plates and silverware in silence, Luda Mae drying and putting them away.

It's still early in the afternoon, and she's got nothing else to do, giving you plenty of time to grab your book and settle on the living room couch.

Luda Mae sits on a love seat on the other side of the living room, crotcheting something you couldn't quite make out. Perhaps it was too early in her project, or perhaps she was just shit at crotcheting. You don't bother to ask, content with reading over your book as an old song drifts through the air, dripping with static as the old radio pushes it out of it's speakers.

You pull your feet onto the cushion, leaning on the arm of the couch as your eyes read over the familar words for the hundreth time.

It's easy this way.

Easy to not ask questions.

Easy to pretend everything's normal.

Easy to forget what happened yesterday.

At least, it was.

The words are too familar, you know them too well.

They begin to blend together on the page, losing your focus as your mind begins to wander, the words changing and shifting until you're back in the pantry, watching Katie cry and plead for her life, helplessly yanking against her constrains.

You clench your eyes shut, her screams echoing in your mind as you shake your head, pushing the memory to the back of your mind, letting it settle in your chest like a gnawing guilt, reminding you that you could have done something different.

You're caught off guard when Thomas walks in the room, taking a seat on the couch and catching your attention. He's changed out of the grimey clothes he had on before lunch, now adorning a clean, navy blue dress shirt and jeans.

You look back down to your book, trying to refocus on the words and keep your mind away from yesterday, away from the thing that made you scared of him.

It doesn't work, and you close it, setting it down beside you as you sit up, leaning back and letting your head hang back as you stare at the ceiling.

You feel a tap on your hand, and you look over to see a concerned Thomas. He takes your hand, writing out his question, "A-R-E U O-K?"

You stare at your hands for a moment, letting his question roll around in your head for a moment before nodding, "Just tired..."

He nods as well, letting your hand go.

It feels cold for a moment, and you almost miss the heat of his hand against yours.

The rest of the afternoon goes on rather slowly, with not much to do, you're left to distract yourself.

Luda Mae shows you where the washer and dryer are, helping you get a load done so you can finally take a shower and feel clean.

It's a dream, clean clothes on clean skin, finally given the chance to run a brush through your hair, fighting against the tangles that have made their home there over the past several weeks.

You almost don't know where to start, staring back at yourself in the dingy mirror of the downstairs bathroom, wet hair clinging to your skin as you face the daunting task ahead of you.

You try your best to brush through the mess on your own, brush pulling at the knots harshly, leaving your arms tired and wrists hurting as you barely brush a few of them out.

"You alright in there?" A sudden knock makes you jump, grip tightening on the old hairbrush.

"Y-yea," You sigh, opening the door for Luda Mae, "Just havin' some trouble with my hair..."

She looks you over through thick glasses before sighing herself, "Well, come on then."

That's all the warning you get before she's walking down the hall and back towards the front of the house.

"Huh?" You blink in confusion, quickly following behind.

"Sit." She takes a seat on the couch, pointing to the floor in front of her, "Come on, now, I ain't got all day, supper's gotta be made."

It takes you a few seconds to realize what's happening, but none the less you do as you're told.

Luda Mae takes the brush from your hands as you cross your legs, leaning against the front of the couch and giving her access to your hair. Thomas isn't in the living room anymore, but the one sided conversation you can hear Monty having on the front porch gives you an idea of where he may be.

Luda Mae's hands are gentle as she works, slowly but surely brushing through each knot with much more ease than you had yourself. It's obvious she's done this before.

You close your eyes, letting them rest as she combs through your hair, humming a quiet song.

"...It's been a long time since I've brushed anyone's hair," She speaks up, "Thomas won't let me do it no more."

"You used to brush his hair?"

"Mhm. Every mornin', since he was just a little baby. Then Hoyt and Monty started teasin' him for it and now he does it himself..." Her voice is sad as she explains, carefully working through a particularly difficult knot.

"...You're a good mother." You're solemn as you lean your head forward, giving her better access to the back of your head, "He's lucky to have you."

You hear her hum in response, unable to see the small smile gracing her face,

"...There we go." She finally states after a few minutes, pulling the brush away from your hair, "All done."

You sigh in relief, running a hand over your hair just to feel the difference, "Thank you, it feels so much better."

"You can thank me by helpin' with supper." She pats your shoulder, and you take that as your sign to stand, following her into the kitchen to help make dinner.