Leather Liberation// Thomas Hewitt x reader

Chapter 2: the mask maker

Y/n steps out of her car, examining the old, rusting sign on the red barn before her.

Lee Bros.
Beef meat factory

She walks into the barn, the dead grass crunching beneath her shoes. A man sits at a desk, writing something down. He doesn't look up at first.

Y/n clears her throat.

The man looks up, clearly frustrated with being interrupted.

"Hi, I'm looking for Thomas Hewitt?"

The man sighs, pointing to the back.

"He's in there."

You nod,  passing him to the door.

"He doesn't talk, you know. You're not gonna get anything out of talking to that diseased freak."

Y/n ignores the comment, walking into the back room. The room is big, with a small set of stairs leading to a pit.  There's blood stains on the walls, and the smell of raw meat is strong, making her stomach churn.

As she approaches the pit, she hears something slamming down over and over again. As she turns the corner she freezes.

Before her is a huge man. Probably 6'5, maybe 280-300 pounds. His blood stained  sleeves are rolled up around his large biceps. He brings a cleaver down on a table of meat over and over again. Violently. 

Y/n's heart jumps out of its cavity when she accidentally kicks a meat hook on the floor, sending it across the room with a metallic clank. 

The man stops mid swing, cleaver high in the air. He turns to Y/n, an unreadable expression on his face.

Thomas  freezes when he sees the woman.

"Are you Thomas Hewitt? You're mother sent me."

After a pause, he nods, putting the cleaver down on the table.

"Hi, I'm Y/n. I'm a mask maker who just opened shop in town.  Luda asked me to make you a custom one. Is that fine with you?"

Thomas doesn't respond. He only watches as she sets down her bag and pulls out a card.

"She gave me this business card. Said if I made you a mask, you could give me some meat. Beef, I mean." She coughs.

Thomas takes the card from her outstretched hand. He doesn't bother looking at it.

"Would you be all right with me measuring you?"

She's met with silence. Thomas shuffles his feet, avoiding eye contact. He's itching to go back to cutting the meat, feeling frustrated from being interrupted.

Y/n doesn't wait for a response. She gives a lopsided grin.

"Do you have a chair or something? I can't reach your face from down here." She says, opening up her bag.  Inside, Thomas can see sowing needles and measuring tape.

He notices a pair of leather gloves on her hands as she pulls out the measuring tape.

He steps back and pulls up a chair, giving in. Y/n steps up to him. He's still a good inch taller than her. Thomas's heart accelerates as she looks up at him through her eyelashes.

He's suddenly incredibly nervous to have someone up close in his face. He avoids looking at her, hyper aware of the low dipping collar of her tank top. His finger taps on the chair's arm.

Y/n glances at it before looking back at his face.

"I'm gonna need you to take off that mask, Thomas."