Me: Why Is It Taking Me So Long To Rewrite This??? I've Spent Hours On It And I Haven't Even Made It

Me: why is it taking me so long to rewrite this??? I've spent hours on it and I haven't even made it through two chapters!!!!

Also me, adding three extra pages every chapter:

yes all my favorite characters are desperate to be loved. no i don’t think that says anything about me

First Meeting - Part Two

((part one here))

((part three here))

Thomas Hewitt/GN!Reader

taglist: @goodiesinthecloset21

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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.

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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..."

"Re Blog" to PERMANENTLY become some sort of fucked up creature or demented beast

Scrolling through tags and seeing people complain about CNC... 'this character was SA'd they would NEVER EVER even THINK about WANTING CNC in the bedroom that's DISGUSTING.' Oh buddy oh pal you are gonna be in for it when you hear how those kinks are formed.

How would Thomas feel about an androgynous person? Most of the fanfics I've seen have the reader looking like a blonde white woman with blue eyes, i just can't relate haha.

I completely understand, a lot of the fics I run into pose the reader as a small, dainty woman who barely reaches Thomas' chest in height, and as a 5'8 person with wide shoulders... I don't relate lol. That's why I try my best to keep my readers as descriptive free as possible.

As for Thomas, he's one of the only slashers that I really believe doesn't care about a person's gender or presentation.

He spent most of his childhood being ridiculed, bullied, and even physically beaten by his peers.

Considering the time he was born in (1939) it's safe to assume that due to these circumstances, his health issues, and the small town he grew up in, he most likely dropped out of school by the time he was 14-15 (1953-1954), which is right around the time that people start developing romantic and sexual interest.

So, not only was he practically shunned from anyone his own age, but he was isolated during the time he's beginning to develop attraction.

Due to all these factors (and several more I won't jump into) Thomas was never given the chance to properly develop his romantic and sexual feelings. He quite literally has no idea what his type is.

He doesn't know anything about sex outside of what his family has told him (if they've told him anything), let alone what he personally likes or dislikes.

I don't believe Thomas particularly prefers anything. I don't think he prefers men or women, tomboy or feminine, petite or strong... He's never considered himself deserving of love, he's never thought that anyone would ever even look his way, so when you give him that attention and affection he's craved his whole life, he really couldn't care less what you look like or what your gender may be.

He just wants you, in whatever form you come in.