my first time doing something like that._. /im thirsty for past month in case of his content, art is not enough!!
¡enjoy!
》he loved working at Hawthorne Exotic Zoo from the stars, eaven before that for sure found stray dog and/or cat as his friends.
》At the beginning of that 'job' had issues with bigger animals during feeding time. Being cornered with a bucket of fish by few bears or tiped over by lions to take steaks just to fight for it among themselves.
》Huge, maybe not super tall, but he's visibly hunged, due to his problem with knook-knee and added weight of big horns, and space in the cage.
》 strong enough to lift a bear or two, did so in the past for sure.
》always wanted to go see the circus, but was threatened by Mr.G that they'll hurt him.
》when he was a bit older, would sneek out at night when Mr.Gardener was asleep, to see the performance at the Hullabaloo Circus.
》he has a dairy with each animal that was in the zoo, theyr own names, preferences, dislikes, specific way of acting and markings to ease recognision, probably gave it few times to his boss, who didn't had much use for it in the end ,and gave role of Beast Tamer to Jeffrey.
》i belive he likes to draw animals, so the notebook had to include some tiny sketchof of them.
》with time, as he helped around the zoo, he grew closer to animals than his caretaker, with resulted in seeing them as his real family and he was the one who needs to take care of them, He was just giveing them a place to be.
》 didn't had much experience with humans, observation was all he did, untill the "meet and great" era, where he lead guests to interact with animals under his guide, teaching mostly younger kids, how to imitate sounds and comunicate with sayd species.
》taught monkey capuchins and lemurs to fetch stuff for him, at the start it would be something simple like a pen, dairy, bag of snack; that would be handet half empty for some reason and keys.
》personally striked Mr.Gardener to dust, for everything he did to him and his 'family'
》Jeffrey is.. people say he's horrendous. But he wasnt always this way. was treated as one of the animals after longer period if being against Mr.Gardener's plans for the Zoo
》He loses control over himself at violet moon (werewolf stye would say). It is rare situation, once in two years, with could be reason of him being chained in the cage durning blue moons phases.
》durning that time, most shows woud be canceled, due too incressed agresion of all animals, including him. Zoned out, acting agresive toward his boss, resulting in being caged together with bigger critters.
》schackles on his wrist, head and ankle are a reminder of what happened, he lost his only family, yet it was a prison. Now, everyone from there is free.. expect him stuck at the mannor now.
》Jeffrey has PTSD, due to everything that happened, he's scared of closed off spaces. pretty ironic looking at his skills, but it triggers "fight or flight" in him. He once again trapped in a cage, having that boiling felling inside.. he needs to strike harder to get freed
》feeds local critters together with Bane at daily basics.
》definitely bff with Morro, both being keept in closure in the past, and haveing animal friends.
》befrends anyone in the manor who likes animals, no matter if they are hunter or survivor. He enjoys sharing his hobby with others.
》for sure has some Cat Lovers club activities on hunters side with Ann and Alva.
》never saw sooo huge Lizard, woud mistake Luchino at first for a comodo dragon in human clothes, will get stared at in disgust. but later happily will listen about all kinds of reptiles from both Professors and Reptilian and would share some of his experiences with haired animals at the zoo, to them.
》when he sees cat's scattered around the map during a match, Jeffrey's sure to give every single one a scratch if he sees one. Durnign chase, after downing survs, woud turn back to spot he saw one and pet it, then later chair his pray.
》Man plays on pan's flute, surely likes to do so in mannors garden, if noticed may apologize for disturbing who found him and move to different spot, he was main performer in Hawthorne Zoo, it is not stage fright.
》 if it's Antonio who noticed him, he will complement the melody and tr to recreate it on his violin. Ifit'ss Frederick.. he's definitely going to call out how bad the notes sound, and he would do it better, making Jeff simply stare at him coldly and walk away without a word. Until the next match..
》if you ask him to stay, he'll asks you if ther are any requests for him to play on the instrument.
_________________________________________
~Jeffrey simps ¤ Including Reader~
》 sometimes when you call him, instead of 'what is it?' or 'yes?' You get 'baah' or 'rawr' in responce. Embarrassed about it a bit, not letting you notice, but his ears turn slightly red and start to twitch.
》 not used to physical tough from a human.. but after some time he would not let you go. Could say he's a big cat, with horns ofcorse! you are traped in his grip, until he says so.
》 he has horns as we know, so prepare for some headbutts. Rare but not non-existing urge to smack something with his horns, may be reason he's hiting them with his hand so offten.
》seeing him without the uniform? Oh boy, hes covered in scars on his back. He doesn't like them, but you say they are beautiful and show how much he went through. Bonus: if you try to trace them, he shiverss slightly.
》 instead of kisses would simply rub noses together or his face against yours.
》loves going on night walks with you watching stars, listening to nature surrounding you both, that's what he always wished for; freedom.
If no one got my people, i got them! can we get an amen?
The first thing Luda Mae said to you, after she found you standing sun-dazed and lost beside the long, empty stretch of road with one hand shielding your eyes and the other gripping the strap of your bag like it was the only solid thing left in Texas, was not directions, or warning, or even a proper greeting, but a soft, appraising little hum that made you feel like a dress on a hanger, turned one way and then the other beneath the shop lights.
“Well now,” she said, her smile spreading slow and pleased across her face, “ain’t you just the prettiest thing.”
You had been too hot, too tired, and too nervous to know what to do with that, so you gave her the kind of smile strangers gave women who looked like they knew everyone’s business before anyone had bothered telling them, and you explained about the car, the wrong turn, the gas gauge that had betrayed you, the fact that you had been trying to get anywhere but here and had somehow ended up nowhere at all.
Luda Mae listened with sympathy so rich it felt almost syrupy, clucking her tongue, patting your arm, calling you sweetheart before she had any right to, and by the time you realized she had never actually answered your question about where the nearest town was, you were already sitting in her kitchen with a sweating glass of iced tea in front of you and the smell of something frying thick in the air.
“You’ll stay for dinner,” she told you, like it was a fact the world had already agreed upon. “A girl like you shouldn’t be out there alone with the sun going down.”
You thought about arguing.
Then the floorboards groaned somewhere beyond the kitchen doorway.
You turned, and every thought inside your head went silent.
He filled the frame like something cut out of a nightmare and placed there wrong, too tall for the room, too broad for the narrow hall, his shoulders hunched slightly as if he had learned to make himself smaller and failed every day of his life. He wore an apron that had seen too much use, heavy boots, dark hair falling damp near his face, and a mask that hid everything except the eyes that flicked once toward you and then immediately away.
Your breath caught so hard it hurt.
Luda Mae’s face brightened as if someone had brought her flowers.
“Tommy,” she said, syrup-sweet and proud, “come say hello.”
He didn’t.
He stood there, one hand flexing at his side, fingers thick and restless, his eyes fixed somewhere on the floor near your chair as though looking directly at you might burn him. You pressed your knees together beneath the table and tried not to stare, tried not to look at the mask, the hands, the size of him, the terrible quiet of him.
“This here is Tommy,” Luda said, and there was something in her voice then, something almost triumphant. “My boy.”
You swallowed. “Hi.”
His eyes snapped to yours for half a second.
Then they dropped again.
Luda watched the two of you with the expression of a woman who had just found exactly the right fabric for curtains she had been planning in her head for years.
Dinner was strange.
Not bad, exactly, though every creak of the house made you jump and every shadow in the hallway seemed to have too many corners. Luda talked enough for all three of you, asking questions, answering some of them herself, fussing over your plate, telling Tommy to pass this and fetch that, all while he moved in silence, enormous and careful, placing things down near you without ever letting his hand brush yours.
You were afraid of him at first.
Of course you were.
A big, burly man in a mask who wouldn’t speak and wouldn’t look at you, who seemed to make the house smaller simply by standing in it, who carried himself with a strange, wounded tension like a dog that had learned every hand could strike and still hoped one might not.
But he was not unkind.
That was what unsettled you most.
He never reached for you. Never crowded you on purpose. Never blocked a doorway if you needed through. When Luda told him to bring you another glass of tea, he brought it. When your napkin slipped from your lap, he picked it up and set it beside your plate without letting his fingers come close enough to touch your knee. When you murmured thank you, his shoulders shifted, and his eyes did that quick, nervous dart again, like the words had landed somewhere soft inside him and he did not know what to do with them.
The first night became a second because Luda insisted the roads were no good after dark.
The second became a third because Hoyt had said something about your car needing a part, though you had never actually seen him work on it.
By the fourth evening, you had stopped pretending you did not know Luda was keeping you.
Not locked away, not quite, not in any way you could point to without sounding ungrateful or foolish, but wrapped in hospitality so thick it became a net. There was always tea poured, always a chair waiting, always Luda’s hand on your shoulder steering you gently back toward the porch, the parlor, the kitchen, anywhere but the front door.
And Tommy was always there.
Outside the window, mostly.
You began watching him before you meant to.
In the mornings, he worked in the yard with his sleeves pushed up, hauling, chopping, fixing, moving through the heavy heat with a grim endurance that made your own skin prickle with sweat in sympathy. He was broad through the back, strong in a way that was not graceful but useful, shaped by labor and silence and obedience. The sun caught on his hair, on the damp line at the nape of his neck, on the flex of his forearms when he lifted something heavy as if it weighed nothing at all.
Luda caught you watching on the fifth day.
She set a teacup down in front of you and followed your gaze through the lace curtains.
“My Tommy’s a good worker,” she said.
You looked down too quickly. “I can see that.”
“He’d be good to a wife.”
Your hand froze around the cup.
Luda took a slow sip of tea, watching you over the rim like she had not just placed something enormous and impossible between the sugar bowl and the chipped saucers.
You opened your mouth, closed it, then tried again. “A wife?”
“Well, I ain’t gettin’ any younger,” she said, as calmly as if she were discussing the weather. “And I want grandbabies before the Lord calls me home.”
The sound that came from the doorway was so small you almost missed it.
Tommy had come in without you hearing him, one hand still on the doorframe, his eyes fixed wide on Luda Mae with a look so startled and mortified that, for one absurd second, you felt less like prey and more like a fellow victim of an ambush.
His eyes darted toward you.
Then away.
Then toward Luda again, sharp with betrayal.
“Oh, don’t you look at me like that,” Luda said, waving him off. “A mother can dream.”
Tommy stood there a moment longer, red creeping up the visible skin of his neck, then turned and disappeared back outside with a speed that would have been funny if the air had not been so hot around your face.
You should have been horrified.
You were, a little.
But you were also surprised into laughter, breathless and disbelieving, one hand pressed against your mouth while Luda smiled like she had already won.
After that, something shifted.
Not quickly. Not cleanly. Fear did not vanish just because a man was shy, and the house did not become normal just because Luda poured good tea and called you sweetheart. But dread had a way of softening around routine, especially when routine came with sugar cubes, porch evenings, and the steady sight of Tommy working outside like he was trying to earn the right to exist beneath the same roof as you.
You started helping in small ways.
Washing cups. Folding dish towels. Shelling peas with Luda at the kitchen table while she told you stories that sounded sweet until you thought about them too long. You learned which floorboards complained, which windows stuck, which chair belonged to Hoyt and which one no one ever sat in unless they wanted trouble.
And you learned Tommy.
Not all of him.
Not even close.
But enough.
You learned he did not like sudden movements near his face. You learned he ducked his head when praised and went still when scolded. You learned he watched you most when he thought you were not watching back, and that when your eyes met, he looked away first, every single time, as if respect was something he could offer you by denying himself the sight.
You learned he ran warm.
The first time you brushed against him by accident, reaching for the same jar on the pantry shelf, heat jumped from his arm into yours like sunlight trapped beneath skin. You startled. He startled worse, stepping back so quickly his shoulder hit the doorframe.
“Sorry,” you whispered.
He shook his head hard, then pointed at himself, as if the fault could only belong there.
“No,” you said, softer. “It was me too.”
His eyes lifted.
You held the jar out to him, and after a moment, he took it, careful not to touch your fingers.
By the next week, you were carrying lemonade to him.
It happened because the heat was unbearable, thick enough to chew, and Tommy had been outside since morning fixing something near the shed while Luda complained about men who worked themselves stupid but did nothing to stop him. You stood at the window, watching him pause just long enough to wipe his forearm across his brow, and something in your chest tugged.
“He should drink something,” you said.
Luda’s smile appeared before she even turned her head.
“Suppose he should.”
You ignored the satisfaction in her voice, filled the tallest glass you could find with lemonade, packed it with ice, and carried it outside before you could think better of it.
The yard smelled like dust, dry grass, sun-baked wood, and Tommy.
He saw you coming and froze.
Not dramatically, not like he was frightened exactly, but like his body had forgotten every instruction except stay still, do not scare her, do not reach.
You stopped a few feet away and held out the glass.
“It’s hot,” you said, immediately feeling stupid because obviously it was hot, Texas was burning alive around you, but Tommy’s eyes dropped to the lemonade like you had handed him a miracle.
He took it with both hands.
His fingers brushed yours.
Just barely.
A tiny, accidental graze, skin against skin, his heat against your knuckles, and you watched his throat bob as if that touch had done more damage than the sun ever could.
Then he drank.
Not a polite sip. Not a careful taste.
He chugged the entire glass in front of you, head tipped back, throat working, lemonade disappearing so quickly you could only stand there staring while condensation ran over his fingers.
When he finished, he lowered the glass and looked embarrassed.
You laughed.
You couldn’t help it.
It slipped out of you bright and startled, and Tommy’s eyes widened, not with fear this time, but with something dangerously close to wonder.
“You were thirsty,” you said.
He looked down at the empty glass, then back at you, and nodded once.
After that, lemonade became yours.
Not officially, not with words, but with the private ceremony of it: the clink of ice, the slice of lemon, the walk across the yard, the way Tommy stopped whatever he was doing the moment he saw you. Sometimes he drank slower. Sometimes he forgot and emptied it in one go again, and every time you smiled, he seemed to carry that smile with him for hours afterward, working harder, standing taller, glancing toward the house like the window had become a church and you the light inside it.
Luda noticed everything.
“You cook?” she asked one evening, far too casually.
“A little.”
“Good. You can make supper tonight.”
You stared at her. “I can?”
“You got hands, don’t you?”
So you cooked.
At first, you were nervous doing anything in that kitchen, with its old knives and stained counters and shadows gathering thick in the corners, but Luda gave you space, and Tommy lingered near the doorway like an anxious ghost, pretending to be useful while watching every move you made.
You made what you could from what she had.
A heavy skillet of potatoes with onions and peppers. Chicken fried crisp in seasoned flour. Gravy because Luda insisted no table worth sitting at went without it. Biscuits that nearly failed until you remembered your grandmother’s trick and handled the dough less. Nothing fancy. Nothing expensive. Just warm food made carefully.
Tommy sat down last.
He always did.
You served Luda first, then Hoyt because Luda’s eyes said that was easier, then Tommy, whose plate looked almost comically full once you were done with it. He stared at the food for so long your stomach twisted.
“Is something wrong?” you asked.
His head snapped up.
Then he shook it once, hard, picked up his fork, and took a bite.
Everything about him changed.
It was subtle, but you had learned enough to see it: the stillness breaking, the eyes lifting, the shoulders easing like some invisible weight had shifted. He took another bite, then another, faster than he probably meant to, and when you laughed softly and told him there was more, his hand tightened around the fork.
Luda looked pleased enough to burst.
“Well?” she asked him.
Tommy looked at his mother, then at you, and though he had no words, the answer was written all over him with a nakedness that made your face warm.
He loved it.
He loved it so much it almost hurt to watch.
From then on, Tommy brought you things.
At first, you did not ask where they came from because part of you already knew, and part of you was not ready to hold the answer in your hands. He would appear near you in the parlor or the kitchen or the hallway, silent as a man his size had no right to be, holding out some small offering with an uncertainty so deep it made your chest ache.
A ring with a little green stone.
A necklace tangled around itself.
A perfume bottle shaped like a teardrop, half full and expensive-smelling.
A makeup bag stuffed with lipsticks and powder compacts you lined up on the dresser without knowing whether to laugh or cry.
Books with bent covers. A camera with film still inside. A silk scarf. A pair of earrings missing one back. Once, an entire armful of things he had gathered because he could not decide what you might like best, standing in front of you with perfume, jewelry, a paperback romance, and a cracked hand mirror balanced awkwardly against his chest.
“Tommy,” you said, overwhelmed.
His eyes lowered.
You touched the top item carefully, a small necklace with a gold charm, and his breathing went shallow enough that you noticed.
“For me?”
He nodded.
There was blood beneath one of his fingernails.
You saw it.
He saw you see it.
For a moment, the house seemed to hold its breath.
Then you took the necklace from his palm, careful, deliberate, letting your fingertips brush the center of his hand.
“Thank you,” you said.
His eyes closed.
Only briefly.
But long enough.
That was how you began to understand that Tommy did not know how to ask for anything.
He could give. He could work. He could stand in the sun until his shirt clung damply to his back, could carry heavy things, fix broken things, slaughter, haul, obey, endure. He knew how to make himself useful. He knew how to bring offerings and wait, tense and quiet, for judgment.
But wanting was harder.
Touch was hardest of all.
He never asked you to touch him.
Instead, he sat close.
Too close, sometimes, close enough that his knee nearly brushed yours beneath the table, close enough on the porch swing that his heat soaked through the thin fabric of your sleeve. He stood beside you at the sink while you washed dishes, shoulder hovering a breath away from yours, his hand occasionally brushing your hip when he reached for a towel and then jerking back like he had been burned.
The first time you leaned into him on purpose, he stopped breathing.
You were on the porch after supper, cicadas screaming in the dark, Luda inside humming to herself like the whole world had finally arranged itself to her liking. Tommy sat beside you, huge and silent, hands clasped between his knees.
You were tired.
Homesick, maybe.
Scared, still, in a quiet way that had become part of the wallpaper.
But Tommy was warm beside you, steady as a furnace, and when the night breeze slipped under your collar, you shifted just enough for your shoulder to rest against his arm.
He went rigid.
“Is this okay?” you asked, barely louder than the insects.
His head turned slowly.
His eyes searched your face as if he expected a trick, a punishment, a laugh.
You did not move away.
After a long, trembling moment, he nodded.
His arm relaxed by degrees, so slowly you could feel every inch of restraint he forced into softness, and then, carefully, as though touching you required more courage than anything he had ever done, he let the outside of his hand rest against your hip.
Not gripping.
Not claiming.
Just there.
You looked down at it.
Then you placed your hand over his.
Tommy made a sound so low and broken it barely escaped him.
After that, the house changed again.
Or maybe you did.
You still saw the rot beneath the sweetness. You still heard things at night you pretended not to understand. You still knew the gifts did not come from nowhere, and the car in the yard would never be repaired unless Luda wanted it repaired.
But you also knew Tommy waited for you in doorways with the patience of a man who had never expected to be chosen, and that when you smiled at him across a room, his entire body softened. You knew he ate everything you cooked like it was sacred. You knew he watched your hands when you talked, your mouth when you laughed, your face when you pretended not to notice.
Luda arranged the sleeping situation with a determination that stopped pretending to be subtle almost immediately.
The first night she had given you a guest room.
The second, she complained about a leak.
The third, she insisted the mattress in your room was no good for a young woman’s back.
By the fourth, she had somehow moved half your belongings into Tommy’s room while talking cheerfully about linens, family, and the importance of not wasting space in a perfectly good house.
“Luda—” you had started.
“Oh, hush,” she said, waving a hand. “Ain’t no sense in two bedrooms being occupied when one’ll do just fine.”
You knew exactly what she was doing.
Worse, she knew you knew.
Every time she looked at the two of you together, there was that same calculating satisfaction in her eyes, the expression of a woman who had decided grandbabies were a matter of logistics rather than fate. The entire family seemed sick in the head in one way or another, but Luda’s particular madness was domestic. She looked at Tommy, looked at you, and saw a future she intended to force into existence through sheer stubbornness.
Tommy was mortified by it.
The first evening you carried your things into his room, he nearly walked straight back out of the house.
His ears turned red. His shoulders locked. He stood beside the bed looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole while Luda fussed with blankets and pillows as though arranging a honeymoon suite.
“There,” she said proudly. “Much better.”
Tommy looked ready to die.
You almost laughed.
Luda left only after giving both of you a pointed look that somehow managed to contain wedding bells, grandchildren, and several years of unsolicited advice all at once.
The door shut.
Silence followed.
Tommy stood frozen near the dresser.
You sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed.
Neither of you knew what to do.
Eventually, after several painful minutes, he pointed toward the mattress and then toward himself before gesturing at the floor.
“No,” you said immediately.
His eyes widened.
“You are not sleeping on the floor.”
He tried again.
You shook your head.
“Absolutely not.”
After a long moment, Tommy lowered himself onto the far edge of the mattress with all the caution of a man approaching a wild animal.
The space between you could have fit another person.
Luda would have been furious.
At night, you learned he slept like the dead until you moved.
Then his eyes opened.
Every time.
It was unnerving at first, waking in the dark with your body tucked too warmly beneath a thin sheet, Tommy lying beside you silent enough that panic would sometimes clutch your throat until you stared at the rise and fall of his chest and convinced yourself he was breathing.
He barely made a sound asleep.
No snoring. No muttering. No restless shifting unless dreams caught him wrong.
Just quiet.
Too quiet.
But if you so much as eased one foot toward the floor, his eyes snapped open, dark and alert, his hand catching your wrist before he was even fully awake.
Not hard.
Never hard with you.
But fast.
“Bathroom,” you whispered the first time, heart pounding.
His grip loosened immediately, shame flooding his eyes.
“It’s okay,” you said, because somehow you knew he needed to hear it. “I’ll come back.”
He did not let go right away.
His fingers stayed around your wrist, warm and reluctant, thumb hovering over your pulse as if he needed proof you were real, here, still his to guard for one more night.
“Tommy,” you murmured, softening, “I’ll come back.”
Only then did he release you.
When you returned, he was still awake.
Still watching the door.
You slipped back beneath the sheet, and after a moment of hesitation, you moved closer, pressing your cold feet against his calf.
He jolted.
Then, slowly, understanding, he shifted nearer until his warmth wrapped around you from every side.
Texas was mercilessly hot by day, but nights could surprise you, and Tommy ran like a furnace no weather could touch. His skin held heat even after hours indoors, radiating through cloth, through sheets, through the careful space he still sometimes left between you out of respect or fear.
You stole that heat shamelessly.
Hands under his arm when your fingers were cold. Feet tucked against his legs. Face hidden against his shoulder when the room felt too large. Every time you reached for him in the dark, he went still for one breath, stunned anew, and then folded around you like devotion had finally found something to do with its hands.
You began to understand his dream not because he told you, but because he lived it in pieces.
Tommy wanted to work.
Not just for the house. Not just because Luda told him to or Hoyt shouted or life had beaten obedience into his bones.
For you.
He wanted to fix the steps before you tripped on them. Wanted to carry water without being asked. Wanted to bring you things you might like, ugly or stolen or beautiful, because giving was the only language he trusted himself to speak. Wanted to sit at your table and eat your food, then clear the dishes with a seriousness that made you ache. Wanted to stand between you and the world, even if the world was something you had once belonged to.
He wanted, in the simplest and most devastating way, to be a loyal working husband.
Yours.
One evening, after the worst of the heat had broken and the sky outside burned orange over the fields, you found him in the yard with his sleeves rolled up, sweat darkening his shirt, hair stuck to his forehead beneath the dying light.
You carried lemonade again.
He saw you and stopped, as always.
You walked closer than you used to, close enough that the dust on his boots touched the hem of your dress, close enough that he had to tilt his head down to look at you.
“For you,” you said.
He took the glass, but before he could drink, you reached up and brushed damp hair away from his brow.
Tommy froze.
The glass trembled in his hand.
You let your fingers linger near the edge of his mask, not trying to remove it, not asking for more than he could give, just touching the place where fear had taught him to hide and showing him, gently, that you knew he was under there.
His eyes shone in the orange light.
“Drink,” you whispered.
He obeyed, but slower this time, like he wanted the moment to last.
When he finished, you took the glass from him and smiled.
Inside, Luda Mae watched from the window, her face soft and satisfied, one hand pressed against the curtain as if blessing a future she had decided belonged to all of you.
Tommy looked down at you, still nervous, still frightening, still warm enough to chase away every chill the night could bring, and when his hand rose, hesitant and huge, you did not step away.
His fingers brushed your hip.
Light as a question.
You answered by leaning into him.
And in the deepening Texas dusk, with cicadas shrieking and the old house waiting behind you, Thomas Hewitt closed his eyes like a man receiving grace, then bent his head toward yours with the quiet, trembling devotion of someone who had never known how to ask for love and had somehow been given the chance to earn it every day for the rest of his life.
— Definitely watches you behind the trees. It depends on his mood if he wants to be discreet about it or not.
— When you two first started to get close he’ll try to scare you off and intimidate you. But when you didn’t get scared, he was far from used to it and honestly it annoyed him. But he soon became happy and possessive over you.
— Silently sulks in one of the cabins whenever you’re upset with him.
— He gives you things he gotten after killing a victim. Like a bloody jacket or a necklace. It’s one of his love languages.
— Pulls on your clothes to get your attention.
— Doesn’t like any distance between you two. He will find himself unconsciously just scooting closer and closer to you.
— Jason is very touchy whenever he’s upset.
— Silently staring dead at you.
— He presses his mask against your face indicating a kiss.
— He likes to be both the big spoon and small spoon.
— He’s easily flustered and gets excited by you being romantic. He is already buzzing with joy when your hands brush one another.
— He will give you everything you ask for.
— he’s always standing behind you while you’re minding your business. He’ll wait and wait until you finally notice.
— He’s easily flustered when you call him a pet name.
— Though he’s a very large man, he forgets that and likes to lay on you with his full body weight as if he was an pressure blanket.
— Hugging you from behind whenever your mad at him.
— After killing campers he would just try to hug and be all over you still covered in blood by the victims.
— You’re his first friend, and also boyfriend so he’s completely new to relationships. But one thing is that he is super clingy and jealous. You’re supposed to be his only friend and also boyfriend! So he gets upset often.
— Always needs to be at least holding or touching you. He often has his pinky hooked onto the belt loop on your pants, trying to tug you closer.
— It took you two forever to finally have a first kiss because he would always get to shy and walk off.
Uhhhvvvv errrrrr I was wondering if you could make some headcannons with Thomas Hewitt x male reader but like reader has a bunch of scars like on their face from some sort of incident or smth
If not that’s fine, also your writing is actually so good, remember to take care of yourself and have a good day/night! :]
Puts your exploded pieces back togheter and tells you nice platonic compliments before throwing this headcanons in your face,but affectionately
Thomas Hewitt x scarred male reader
He's so hot omg pls pick me up
When he first saw you,Thomas was...extremely surprised. You wore a mask just like he did,except it covered most of your face,except for your right eye and the space around it. It looked nice,the base was white and it was painted with bright colors to look like a clown's makeup. He wonders if you colored it like that to seem less scary.
You had moved in an old house not too far away from his. He knew someone was gonna move there,he had heard about it.
You came to his house one day while he was taking a break from working. He had opened the door to see a guy wearing a bright mask,holding a plate of homemade cookies.
You smiled from behind the mask,introducing yourself as their new neighbor. " I thought of bringing a gift since I just moved here." You said cheerfully,handing him the cookies. There were a lot,all with different toppings and flavors. You had clearly spent a lot of time making them. He nodded in a silent thank you,and stepped aside to invite you inside. You politely refused,saying you really needed to go back home to work,and he waved as you left.
He was still kind of dumbfounded from your mask. He knew why someone might wear one,hell,he was that someone. But you seemed so sweet and kind,he just couldn't imagine what you could be hiding. Surely nothing too bad,judging by how you acted...
You often took long walks,ending up near the house. You never trespassed or anything,but you did sometimes catch him around. You were always more than willing to talk,even if he didn't respond. You still talked to him in that same cheerful voice. You talked about anything,something cool you saw on your walk,the weather,how nice he looked today (alright,that caught him off guard. He accidentally dropped everything he was holding at that). You never talked about yourself thought,he realized one day while working. He didn't know anything about you,just that you moved in a few weeks ago,your name,that you wore a mask and were talkative. Sure,your life wasn't any of his business,but still he was kinda curious. He never tried to ask or anything thought. After all,you didn't do it to him either,letting him share what he felt was right (which was nothing since he didn't talk),you never forced anything on him. Never asked about his mask,job or family. He wouldn't want to seem rude by trying to find out your business.
You also often bring him gifts. Mostly home-cooked meals and sweets. "I made too much anyways,this way it doesn't go to waste!" Was your favourite excuse. He wondered if it was true,or if you just cooked more for him and his family too. Whatever it was,the others loved your cooking,and so did he.
Luda Mae sent him to your house with a pie she made once,since you had given them so much. He walked to your house,noticing the door and windows were open wide. Of course they were,it was a really hot day and the old house didn't have an A.C. sistem. He reached the door and was gonna knock anyways,to let you know he was here,when he noticed you on the couch,sleeping.
Without your mask.
He only got a glimpse of your face,of something white where there shouldn't be white and a lot of torn skin before turning away as fast as he could. He was not gonna violate your choice of not showing your face to him like that. He knew that if the roles were inverted,you wouldn't do it.
He banged knocked on the door and you woke up,still all sleepy and groggy. He whishes he could see your face right now,but he keeps his back turned to you. You gasp silently upon realizing your face is out on full display and quickly put your mask on,your hands trembling slightly. He stays turned around until you give him permission to look.
He finally turns,and he feels an ache in his heart when he sees the panic in your eyes. "Did you... see... anything?" You ask carefully,swallowing nervously. He shakes his head and you sigh in relief. After a few moments,he rememberes why he came here in the first place and hands you the pie. You smile,your eyes softening so much he genuinely wonders how it's possible. " Thank you,Thomas,I appreciate it." You say,and he can feel the warmth of your smile even trought your mask.
You two start hanging out more and more. Well,it's not exactly hanging out,more like he just so happens to take breaks exactly when you're going and coming back from your walk and passing his house. You're the one doing the talking and he listens,occasionally nodding or stopping you to sign a question. It's...nice for him. Relaxing. He doesn't have to do anything for you to like him and be kind to him. You just do. Just like that. He never really had that before.
He eventually,slowly gets you to open up about yourself more. He learns that you used to be a kindergarten teacher until...something happened and you had to quit. He tried to ask what happened,but you just gave a weak excuse and left. You never left so aburtly before. After that,he stopped asking about that incident,since it was so clear you didn't want to talk about it.
You two eventually,you guessed it,ended up in a relationship. Yep. He,of all people,ended up with the smartest,kindest,most beautiful man in the world (his words...or signs?.... his idk man,not mine.)
He's a bit worried about his family's reactions thought,both to him dating and especially to him dating a guy. He has some internalized homphobia,even if he himself isn't homophobic,and will be scared it will be a problem. But you're absolutely worth it.
Luda Mae ends up saving him. She really liked you,you were a nice guy and you cooked very well. Sure,she didn't expect her son to end up with a guy,but she can deal with it if it makes her Tommy happy,and it clearly does. So she deals with the others.
You and Thomas decide to take it slow. He doesn't like to rush things,so for a while you two just keep behaving like you did before,thought you do now stay for a longer time,and you often help him with things around the house. He always tries to say no,but you're one stubborn person and end up doing it anyway. He obviously keeps his more...illicit and gruesome activities a secret. He kinda suspect you know,given how every lost tourist that finds your house gets sent to his instead. You're smart,you surely noticed how they enter and then never exit but you never commented on it and he really didn't want to have to open that conversation.
You move in with the Hewitts after about a year with Thomas. You basically spend all your time there anyways,so why not at this point? At first you two have separated rooms,but that changes quickly and you now share a bedroom. And after all of this,one day,Thomas decides that he trust you completely. He sits you down on the bed one evening after all your works are done,and slowly,very slowly takes off his mask. You freeze,staring at his scars. He thinks you're gonna scream,act disgusted,yell at him for tricking you into a relationship with such a monster. Instead,you raise your own hand to your face and your own mask comes off. His eyes widen ever so slightly. You are covered in scars. Worse than his. A whole chunk of your cheek is missing,showing your theet and part of your jaw. Your lip is split with a scar that goes right over your nose,which also misses its tip. The longest scar goes all the way from your temple to your cheekbone. He stares in shock. What could possibly have caused all of that?
"A maniac broke into the kindergarten while I was working. He had a knife. I covered the kids. I was fired right after. They said my face would scare them away." You explain curtly,your voice sharper than he ever heard it. He was a mix of sad,concerned and angry. How could someone do that to such a kind person? And how could they fire you after you gave up your face and almost your life too for the kids?!
He sighs and pulls you in his arms. You two stay like that,holding eachoter,for a long time.
And for the first time in years,you both sleep unmasked and happy that night. In eachoter's arms.
Pretty please, my good sir, would you do a part thrrrrreee~ of Thomas hewitt x kid reader? Thank you :3
Guys I watched tcm the beginning yeasterday btw that's why I'm posting so much about Thomas.
Thomas Hewitt x kid! Reader part 3
Part 1 here
Part 2 here
It was a day like any other for you. You were sat outside the basement's door,waiting for Thomas to finsh a victim off so you could go for your usual walk. Over time you had gotten used to the screams and cries that echoed from diwn there,and now they were just backgroubd noises that you tried your vest to block out. Maybe that's why you didn't hear the footsteps going up the stairs. The door creacked open and you were ready to greet Thomas,only to be met with an unkown face. Before you could scream for help,the stranger,a guy maybe in his mid twenties,covered your mouth with a hand. "Hey,hey,it's okay,I'm here to help. I'll...I'll get you out og here kid. Don't worry,I'll get you out of this place." He murmured. You could still hear the victim's screams from downstairs. Thomas was probably too focused to notice this other guy. Fuck,what the hell are you supposed to do now?! He thinks you're a victim too. He's gonna take you away,he's gonna take you away from your family. You start to cry. He pushes his hand further on your mouth to silence your sobs. His hand is covered in blood,you can barely breath from the smell of it,you feel like you're gonna throw up. You hate blood with a passion,everyone in the house knows it. Even Hoyt avoids letting you see any,because it usually ends up with you kbeeling in front of thee tiolet,puking as Thomas rubs your back and holds your hair back. Not that Hoyt cares,but he doesn't like the fact that Thomas stops working until you're okay,and then you get even more clingy and he can't prepare meat because he has to carry you with him,and you can't stand the sight of it. And now,a bloody hand is pressed to your face and you can't do anything about it,you can't call for help and the nausea is so strong you can't even fight back. The guy picks you up quickly and starts running for the door. You try to struggle again,but he holds you tight enough you can barely breathe,if it wasn't already hard enough because of the nausea.
You drop the sketchbook you were doodling on before the guy arrived right oitside the door,hoping Thomas would understand you didn't just go alone somewhere or to the bathroom. You never left the sketchbook anywhere,it was always either in your hands or your pocket,so you hope seeing it on the ground will allarm Thonas enough to make him look for you. Your prayers are answered when,from where the guy and you are,you notice Thomas coming out the basement,hair slightly wet from washing the blood away. He knows you hate it when he smells like blood. You try to call for him,but the guy won't take his hand away from your mouth. He hides behind Hoyt's cars and silently gets in. He has the keys,he probably stole them from the house. He pushes you to the passenger seat,finally lettting you go to start the engine,and you scream for Thomas,who had already stepped out after noticing your sketchbook on the ground. His eyes widen when he sees you in the car wuth the person,and they fill with rage when,to shut you up probably,the guy hits you in the back of the head with something he can't see in his hand. You drop in the seat. He can't tell if you just fainted or if you're...no,he can't think that right now. His heart can't take the thought of you being dead.
He runs after the guy,who in the meantime was able to start the car. He gets to him before he can reach the road and breaks the car window with a punch,stabbing the guy with an hook in the eye. He screams in agony as the hook enters his eye socket and lets go of the steering wheel. Normally,Thomas would just drag him out and let the car stop by itself,but you're inside and he can't risk you getting hurt if the car hits something,so he opems the doors and hits the brakes with his foot,crashing the guy's in the process,who screams again,even louder. Thomas finishes him off,slicing his throat,and runs to your side of the car,opening the door and gently taking you in his arms,checking if you're breathing. You are. He thanks every god he can think of and carries your unconcious body back to the house his hands lightly shaking. He checks you over for injuries once you're back to his room. You have a nasty cut on the nape of your neck. The guy must have hit you with something really hard to leave such a deep cut. He whishes he could kill him again,this time much more slowly and painfully. He cleans and bandafes the wound and then leaves you to rest. Hoyt is screaming at him to go and bring the body back to the house for dinner. He shakes his head and points to you. And despite all his supposed autority,even Hoyt knows there's no way to get Thomas to keave your side right now. He screams about it for a while,calling Thomas disrepectul and ungrateful,but eventually just decides to leave.
Thomas,as predicted,doesn't leave the chair next to the bed until you wake up. He holds you as you cry and tell him what happened,and hands you a bucket quickly as he sees your face getting paler and more sick looking as you talk about the guy's bloodied hand on your face. Holds your hair back when you throw up and lets you cry in his chest until you fall asleep. He's both extremely angry and extremely worried,and has no idea what else to do to help you.
You're getting carried for the next few days,since you're still dizzy from the hit on the back of the neck (or so you say),and now when he's in the basement working,you stay in the kitchen with Luda Mae.
Who wants a part 4? Request it and I'll do it,please be specific what you wanna see!!!!!!!!!!!!
A/N: Hello! Ive been working in this first chapter for like, 3 days, and i wanted to share because its looking very good! I wanted to make a male reader because we need this in this fandom. All fics i see its either female or female leaning gn readers and i just wanted to feed the boys a little… This will have more chapters but i am not sure where this will go… it may be separate chapters or just an entire fic idk…. enjoy!
AO3
Your father had decided to enter a new business idea. He was always inventing new ways to get money even though they never worked, and you were left to pick up the pieces. You were a young man who had to take care of your father despite him being twice your age, but there was nothing you could do about it, once he put something in his head there was little you could do to dissuade him.
Now the business was in agriculture, the meat industry, that is, he bought a slaughterhouse. How… barbaric… And now you were the one that was left to clean and cook in a house miles away from civilization. It was torture.
There were no neighbors less than a mile away, the food was disgusting, the heat was unbearable and the people were weird. The only people you had met were the sheriff, who you were sure that he called you a slur, a lady and her daughter who spoke too much for you to even get a word in, and lord were you miserable.
You had left your friends in the city and your late partner abandoned. You wanted nothing to do with this miserable little town. But your father was all that you had left in this world so there was nothing you could do about it.
Speaking of your father, he was out to his business doing whatever and making a fool of himself as per usual so you decided to go to a small gas station you saw on your way to your home to see if they sold anything interesting. Some chocolate bars would go well with some strawberries today…
Of course he had to take the car so you were stuck walking there…
The gas station was… dreadful. The meat was sketchy looking but the candy aisle was nicely packed so you had no complaints.
You went to pay and hopefully get back home as soon as possible.
“Havent seen you around here much.” The lady behind the counter said packing your items.
“We just moved in, me and my father. He owns the slaughterhouse now.” That seemed to put a smile on the lady's face.
“Oh right! I've heard they sold that place! My boy Tommy used to work there, maybe he can go back.” You smiled at her.
“I am sure he can! We are just setting some things straight but soon we will take some people in…” You grabbed your bag ready to go when she kept on talking.
“Oh you must meet my boy Tommy! He is out back, he would love some recommendation dear.”
“Oh you know, we are still looking-” She interrupted you by getting up and motioning for you to wait and got to a door that led to the outside and started to call her son.
“Oh you are going to love my boy, he is about your age!” She started to talk to you but you didn't pay attention because entering the store was the biggest boy you had ever met. He didn't even fit the door frame and had to bend over a little bit to get in and lord have mercy, he was just your type… Tall, big and strong. You just didn't swoon because the lady was still talking and this was Texas, being gay wasn't at all good. But by god did you blush! Harder than you have ever done, and the boy, Tommy was his name, seemed to notice as he looked at you with wide eyes before blushing himself. Well, you thought that he was blushing, it was hard to know with the mask. That mask… don't even get started on that mask!
The lady, Luda Mae, was now looking at you with a calculating gaze. As if she was testing you on something. But as you recovered from the huge amounts of improper thoughts you extended your hand to Tommy.
“Nice to meet you Tommy! I heard you want to work on the slaughter house? I can get a recommendation for you!” Now that you've met him you were going to make sure that he got the job. And maybe you could use the opportunity to see his big muscles at work too…
Tommy’s eyes seemed to widen as he looked at your hand, he was not used to this type of introduction. Usually they just wave at him and ignore him or looked at him in fear, but not you. Not only were you willing to touch him, but you were offering to help him get a job? He felt vulnerable at the thought that he may like you…
Tommy was… well, Tommy! He did know what exactly made him different from other boys his age. When he was a teenager uncle Monty was in charge of teaching him about reproduction. It was the most awkward conversation in his life! He knew how it worked, he lived on a farm for gods sake! But having his uncle explain how to “work a woman” was so embarrassing! Especially when he gave him one of Hoyt’s magazines full of naked pictures for him to “have fun”. But he didn't have fun. Not with the curvy women with shaped breasts and skinny bellies, but he did have fun with Hoyt’s cowboys magazine, he did have a lot of fun.
These pictures were different. The men were fully dressed showing off a product instead of their bodies, but they were so handsome and their muscles were always showing, and instead of spreading their legs to show their genitals they seemed to just be sitting there innocently with their legs spread like it was the most normal thing in the universe!
Tommy didn't understand when he got caught with one of these magazines and Hoyt screamed at him a bunch of hurtful words before his mother came in and scolded him. She kissed his cheek and told him that she loved him very much and that was enough for Tommy to forget the hurtful words of Hoyt.
He still looked at those magazines, but now he had his own stash under his bed for safe keeping.
When he was little he used to watch his mother do her makeup for church. When he tried to put lipstick on his face his mother just laughed and called him a pretty woman. He liked that memory very much. Now, he owned some makeup he stole from victims and he kept them hidden in a drawer. He never used them, but he liked to look at them every now and then…
He had felt his heart flutter before. One of the boys at his school. He had pretty curls and was big and chubby just like him. He used to follow the boy around before his brothers decided to move to the other side of the state. His name was the first word he ever said. Jed. A quiet whisper when he was alone. Never had he felt this fluttering in his chest again.
But here you were, and here he was. And as his hand dwarfed yours when he grabbed it he couldn't feel more alive then.
His mother was looking at the interaction with a knowing look. It was obvious to her that her boy was smitten. He looked at you like you hung the moon at that moment, and she was glad you were nice and respectful with her Tommy. It was that or you would become lunch independent of her son’s wishes. He deserved the best, only the best.
“He doesn't talk much darling, but he is pleased to meet you.” Tommy nodded.
“It's okay Tommy. I am pleased to meet you too. Maybe we can see each other more if you get a job at my fathers slaughterhouse!”
Luda Mae smiled wider. She knew that her boy was different, and she knew that he liked you, and that meant that she liked you as well.
As you made up an excuse to go home you had to make sure, in your most “i am gay please be gay too but dont show it” voice you waved at Tommy.
“Bye Tommy, ill see you…” He shyly waved back, eyes still on you as you went back to the Texan heat outside.
⧫⧫⧫
You discovered where Tommy lived. Nevermind how you got it, but you did. Not that it was difficult. A few cups of tea and biscuits to a lady and done! It was quite easy.
After making sure to bake the most beautiful carrot cake with chocolate you had ever done, you made your way to the house.
You had a nice car, well, your father had a nice car but you were the only one that drove that car, so you considered yours. But as Monty saw this fancy car pulling up into his house he made sure to become more alert and prepared to turn you into food.
But as you got out of the car with a big plate of cake he smiled.
“Hey there kid. What can I do for ya?”
“Is this Tommy’s house?”
Monty’s eyes widened. Never had anyone asked for Tommy before. He never got a visit.
“Yeah kid. I’m his uncle. What do you want him for?”
“Oh, I came to give him the papers for him to work at the slaughter house. He got the job. And I thought of giving you guys a cake, I am new to the neighborhood…”
He smiled widened as he motioned you inside.
“Come! Come in, Tommy in the basement, I'll call him for ya”
He guided you towards the kitchen where Luda Mae was doing the dishes. She turned to you happily and motioned you to sit down and pick up the cake from your hands. She thanked you and called out the rest of the family for the cake before cutting a slice for you too.
As Tommy got to the kitchen his eyes widened. You got up to greet him.
“Tommy, how good to see you! I got some good news!” Luda Mae smiled and put a slice of cake for Tommy.
He sat down next to you with an apprehensive look on his face.
“I got some papers for you. I managed to get you a job at the slaughterhouse, you can start next week! All the details are on the papers” You handed him a stack of papers.
Luda Mae was ecstatic! Tommy liked you very much and you were here giving him a job and everything! You were basically part of the family now, you wanted or not.
As Monty and Luda Mae sang praises to your baking you kept sneaking glances at Tommy. He was quietly eating the slice of cake. There was something in his eyes, something good, and you didn't need a vocal communication to the fact that he liked your cake. That was all you wanted!
After it passed a good two hours you had to make an excuse for you to go home. It was starting to get dark.
Tommy hadn't moved a muscle, he just stared at you practically with hearts on his eyes thinking he was being subtle, but you noticed, and boy were you happy.
You kept sneaking glances at him and smiling all afternoon, making sure to ask him questions and involve him in the conversation. Luda Mae exchanged looks with her brother and he smirked.
“Tommy why dont you show him out? Say thank you to the boy…” You were more than happy with the suggestion.
Tommy got up and lord you had forgotten how big he actually were! It was like you were in heaven!
As you two walked in silence to the front door you could not help but keep your eyes on his face, he had such beautiful eyes… the hair needed some work but you were willing to lay him down on a bathtub and brush his problems away…
As you reached the car you smiled at him.
“It was nice to see you Tommy. I had fun…” He nodded.
You looked around looking if there was anyone looking before you said.
“Tell me if i am reading this wrong…” You got on your toes and kissed him on the cheek making Tommy freeze in place. But before you could apologise he grabbed your face and pulled you to a proper kiss.
It wasn't something indecent, just a simple kiss on the lips, but this simple kiss had turned your word upside down.
After he let go of your face he quickly turned and walked away leaving you stunned and pleased in ways that would be rather complicated to explain…
Hellooo! How are you all doing? I was feeling inspired, so I decided to make this illustration of Pierrot the crazy one, covered in wounds for the MC to heal.
As all projects go we need a plan, for this i used SeamlyD2 to get my patter and dubble checked everything^^
This one had 24 pages in total (Fries is ready for the challenge)
Once you glue together all pages, you can cut out the pattern acording to guide lines, and set it on fabric of your choise!
Pin it down and trace (Fries is stealing my second chalk)
Since i didn't made the entire thing in one day i secured the sides with a wider stitch, to avoid freying of the material.
Once the body is sewed together, and the top shoulder part is not conected yet [requied] we can try to instal a sleave
Here i tried to see if i can use less fabric and 2 sleaves fit next to another, they did. So we repeat the procces of cuting out the body.
Including a pin thef who tried to eat them
Sometimes you can run in a problem when the fabric thats at the bottom does something like this, to fix it- carefully cut the stich strings in the are of the issue, and pin the fabric again, this time you can turn the project faceing up the side that made problem, to make sure it doesn't repeat..
Once sleaves are done, start from bottom of the sleve up, pining the curve and sew it together.
(I ran out of pic spots help- or i can make separate post with it finished)
