Thomas Hewitt X S/o - Tumblr Posts

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

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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 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.

childhood best friends AU but every out of towner sees the reader and Thomas and assumes that Thomas is the one they should be scared of when in reality almost everyone in town has gotten their ass beat by the reader for being mean to him aka Thomas has scary dog privileges

>>>tw: canon typical insults; aka use of r-slur - also not a tw but f!reader ok thank ily bye<<<

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It's secret to no one. It's no surprise, no new revelation.

It's common knowledge, something no one even bothers to mention, like how the Browns got their money from a hospital scandal, or the Miller's daughter is on drugs. Just another unspoken rule, like how you shouldn't go to the desolate dirt road just outside of town after 9 o'clock, or into the woods around the farm land when the thing no one sees starts screaming into the night.

Or at least, it's common knowledge in town. So, it really couldn't be his fault, could it?

He was new, just some common Joe that had transferred over from a couple towns over to work at the slaughterhouse when demands got high.

He managed to make friendly with the older generation still running the factory and got along with almost all of the younger men that had joined straight out of high school.

He caught on quick to the unspoken social hierarchy around town, already having a similar one in his own hometown.

He knew who to stick with, and he knew who to avoid, but the one thing he didn't know, the one unspoken rule he didn't catch onto, is that no one bullies Thomas Hewitt.

He had never met him, not formally. He heard his name in passing, and it only took one look at the towering masked man to figure out who he was, and even less time to realize that he didn't want to meet him.

No one spoke to him, and he didn't speak to anyone. He was avoided, and feared. It was easy to see why.

Not only did Thomas look like he could snap a grown man in half with his bare hands, but he was quiet, and weird, nobody seemed to like him. And what better way to get on everyone's good side than by targeting the person no one liked?

So, he starts talking about Thomas behind his back. It's easy, and most people will join in after checking the corners and making sure he's no where in sight.

Damn, He thinks, People must really be afraid of him.

And that leads to another thought. Another very stupid, soon to be regretted, thought.

Let's see how tough this guy really is.

So, one day, in the late afternoon of the scorching Texas Summer, while everyone from the first shift is heading out, back to their respective houses, he sees an opportunity.

There sits Thomas, all alone, on a bench in front of the factory. He seems to be lost in thought, staring at the ground while he apparently waits. For what, the man doesn't care enough to think about.

He stops in his tracks, tapping the arm of one of his buddies, and gestures to Thomas, who either hasn't noticed them, or simply hasn't acknowledged the group.

"Look at this guy," He smirks, his voice well loud enough for Thomas to hear, "He waitin' on his Mommy to come pick him up or some shit?"

The other guy doesn't really react, seemingly uncomfortable with his joke.

"Don't tell me that retard done gave whatever the hell he has." He comments on the man's silence, failing to read the room completely.

Thomas shifts in his seat, letting out a discouraged sigh as he continues looking at the ground, this time looking farther away from the group, his fists clenching in his lap, flexing in frustration.

"What? Cat got your tongue?" He shoves his friend in the arm a bit, looking between him and Thomas, "Or you afraid that freak's gonna get a hold of it?"

"Drop it, man..." He waves him off.

"Why should I? He ain't gonna do shit--"

"Tommy!" He hears you before he sees you, looking over just in time to catch glimpse of you happily jogging over to Thomas, "You waited for me!"

Thomas seems to relax at your presence, nodding as he stands to his full height.

"How was your day?" You ask, standing on your toes to wrap your arms around his neck.

He meets you halfway, leaning down and wrapping his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck and letting out a sigh of relief.

"Oh, Tommy you stink." There's a playfulness in your voice as you scrunch your face, hit with the stench of the slaughterhouse that will most definitely linger on your clothes.

He lets out a small chuckle as the two of you pull away, looking down at you.

The man is stunned, completely caught off guard by the sight of someone like you even associating with a man like Thomas.

"Holy shit," He looks back to his buddies, "Who the hell is that?"

"That's Thomas'." His friend simply replies, already knowing what's going through the man's head. He doesn't seem to catch the underlying warning that came with those words.

"What is someone like her doing with something like him?"

"I'm tellin' you man, drop it. She ain't worth the trouble."

"Oh, yea? What's that big freak gonna do? Stop me?"

Finally having enough with his antics, the other men dismiss him, heading back to their own vehicles to head home after a hard day's work.

He, however, takes it upon himself to saunter his way over to your side.

"Well, hey there, Missy..." He starts, clearly ignoring the way Thomas' hands are currently resting on your hips, and yours on his chest, "What's got you so far out this way?"

You blink for a few seconds, looking at the guy is disbelief. Was he really asking why you're here?

"...To walk home with my husband." You deadpan, not missing the way Thomas' grip tightens on you, or the small growl that escapes him.

"Husband?" He raises an eyebrow, looking between the two of you, "Come on, girl, you don't really expect me to believe you actually married a thing like him." He paints his last word with disgust.

It's your turn to raise your eyebrows, tilting your head as you look at him, "A 'thing'?"

"Well, yea..." He seems caught off guard by your reaction, "Don't tell me you actually like him?"

You let out a sigh, your hand tapping Thomas' chest once as you look back up at him, "Thomas, baby, can you go inside and call Charlie? I think I'd like to get a ride today instead of walking."

He gives you a knowing look, shaking his head a bit.

"No, no, it'll be fine, I promise. Just go call him for me please?"

Thomas looks between you and the man, and pulls away with a sigh, walking back into the slaughterhouse.

Now even more confused, the man watches Thomas walk away, completely bewildered by what just happened. Was he missing something, or did he just get really, really lucky?

"Let me ask you something," You catch his attention, your hand coming up to brush over his hair briefly, "...Did your Mama ever teach you manners?"

Thomas isn't even surprised when he comes back outside to find the man sprawled on the ground, crying out as you stand bent over him, his ear caught between your fingers.

"Don't you know it's rude to call people names?" You ask him sternly, "Do you want me to call you names? Is that what you want? Do you want me to start calling you names too?"

"Let me go, you stupid bitch!" He yells, gripping at your wrist, each move he makes only twisting his ear harder in your grip.

You push down a little more, rubbing his face in the dirt, "That's not what I asked."

"No, no, I don't want you to call me names--!"

"Exactly! So what made you think it was okay to start calling him names? Did you think it was funny?"

"Y-Yes, I thought it was funny--!

"Do you think this is funny?"

"No!"

"Say you're sorry."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, just let me go--!"

"Like you mean it."

"I'm sorry--!"

A hand on your shoulder catches your attention as you look up, seeing Thomas giving you a deadpan look.

"Okay..." You sigh, letting the man's ear go and standing up straight.

"Oh, you fucking bitch..." He clings to his burning ear, pushing himself up.

"Did you call Charlie?" You ignore him, turning back to Thomas.

He nods, looking back to the man still seething on the ground.

"Ok, let's walk up the road til we see him." You take his hand, pulling his attention back to you.

He nods again, giving your hand a squeeze as you start walking away, continuing on with your day as if nothing had happened.

After all, it's common knowledge, right?

i headcannon that thomas is touch starved and once he gets used to reader’s affection, he can’t get enough of it. specifically, i like to imagine that he goes weak for neck kisses (whether they’re short little pecks or a bit more steamy), he just can’t get enough of the feeling.

this idea could also just stem from the fact i want to kiss and bite (respectfully) his neck🤭

Ooooh I was actually writing a post about this, but it ended up changing into the one about how Thomas cries a lot and I never got back to it.

But yea, he absolutely is touch starved! While his (giving) love language is acts of service and gift giving, he thrives on physical affections and words of affirmation. He's literally just a big teddy bear.

His favorite way to cuddle is simply laying on top of you. He's a human heated weighted blanket. Most of the time you can't even use an actual comforter during the summer because even in his sleep he'll roll over on top of you.

As for the neck kisses, I feel like those would have to wait for a whiiiiiile into the relationship. His neck is very sensitive, and he's also insecure about it because while his skin disease centers mostly on his face, it does come down onto his neck just a little bit, and he's very nervous about it. It takes him a long time and a lot of trust to be able to relax into it, so just be patient.

But yea, neck kisses absolutely make him weak. He also has a specific fixation with giving them as well. He loves burying his face in your neck, simply slipping into your warmth, pressing kisses into the crook of your neck. He does it a lot.

Thanks for sending in the ask! <3

can you write about how thomas would react when reader is on their period? like how would he take care of them and everything

pampering them with gifts or pushing the family away especially hoyt because he doesnt want them near in fears youll break yk?? anyways, ty! i love ur writing

(male or female reader im not picky!)

Honestly... I don't think it would happen that way.

See, the thing is, the Hewitt family is extremely self sufficient, which means that everyone has to pull their own weight to keep the farm running smoothly. That includes when you're on your period. They've got that "if you can walk you can work" mentality. And they really mean it. Unless your cramps or pms are literally debilitating (i.e. you are literally bed ridden and cannot walk due to the pain), you're going to be expected to work. Cramping and bleeding or not, the hogs still need to be fed and the eggs need to be collected. None of that's going to change, and Luda Mae, Hoyt, and even Monty aren't going to excuse you lacking off just because you're on your period. (Again, unless it's literally debilitating).

And as for Thomas, I've said it before, I'll say it again, Thomas will not stand up to his family for anyone. He's not going to pick fights with them, or argue with them, or anything really. He's not a confrontational person. And, again, this is a small southern town in the 1970s, Thomas doesn't even know what the hell a period is. Luda Mae is very obviously a proud woman, and even to this day, a lot of older women won't talk about their periods because they see it as a private and shameful matter, so I doubt Thomas has any idea of what a period is, except for maybe having heard of it in passing.

So, when you tell him you're on your period, he's not going to understand what that really means. And after you explain it to him, he'll be sympathetic, sure, but... If most women have a period and continue to function in their normal everyday lives, why can't you? (Again: unless it's LITERALLY debilitating)

He'll be happy to help in whatever way he can, whether that be through getting you medicine in the mornings, or being your personal heating pad at night, but I don't think he'd really pamper you. After all, he still has his chores and work to do, which take up a large part of his day (depending how recently the last batch of victims came through, but even then, he has regular chores as well), and if you are bed ridden due to your period, he'll have to pick up your chores as well.

He's not mean, or mad about it, he loves and cares about you, and he's happy to do things for you when you need them, but he can't throw his responsibilities away just because you're on your period. I mean, think about it, periods last for one week out of every month, that is a HUGE amount of work lost now not only on your end, but his as well. That wouldn't fly over with any of the Hewitts. Especially Hoyt.

And on the topic of Hoyt, I mentioned this in my post about what it would actually be like to start dating Thomas, but Hoyt is like a father figure to Thomas. Thomas looks up to him, and respects him, and actively seeks his approval, he isn't going to force Hoyt to avoid you in his own house. If you're really that afraid of Hoyt hurting your feelings while you're on your period, you're going to have to avoid him on your own terms. But Hoyt isn't going to become more of an asshole just because you're on your period. Maybe a few misogynistic jokes or comments, sure, but Hoyt is always like that. That's just something you're going to have to live with to be with Thomas, because I don't think Thomas would ever move out his family home. Not unless something dramatic happened like I wrote about in one post a long, long time ago, where in the drabble Hoyt had left the stove on while watching Thomas' baby, which led to them being severely burned and scarred to the point that Thomas' s/o told him they were leaving and taking the children and he went with them because, again, Hoyt literally almost killed his baby and gave them severe and traumatic scarring. But even then, I don't think he'd move much farther than down the road. And that's only because of his child's safety and well being.

(And just a quick side note while I think about it: Thomas is also like a son to Hoyt, and I don't genuinely believe he'd ever attempt to put his hands on Thomas' s/o for the pure fact that he respects Thomas and wants to see him happy just like Luda Mae does. Do I think he'd make the occasional flirtatious or sexual remark? Yes. But it's a different culture and time, those things are considered a lot more normal than they are now, but Hoyt wouldn't attempt to touch Thomas' s/o.)

So, yea, I think that just about sums up what it would be like. Life would continue on as normal unless you were bed ridden, in which Thomas would pick up the chores you could no longer do.

Thanks for sending in the ask! <3

It all started with a road trip.

Nothing new, nothing special. Just a group of three teenagers driving halfway across the country to see their favorite musicians live in Nashville, Tennessee. It was supposed to be an amazing, unforgettable trip for the trio, a way to make timeless memories with their closest friends, make new ones and grow as people.

Of course, we all know how this ends.

"I am sick of this stupid freakin' house! I hate it here! I never get to do anything!" Loud stomps storm up the stairs as if they're trying to knock the whole house down, "I hate this family, and I hate you! You are the worst dad in the whole stupid universe!"

The bedroom door slams loudly, followed by angry yells and things being thrown as Thomas flinches, staring up the stairs.

His daughter's words sting as they ring in his head, and he swears he can almost feel his heart snapping in two.

"She doesn't mean it, hun, she's just angry..." You seem to read his mind once again, a gentle hand rubbing his back as you see his entire demeanor deflate before your very eyes, "Just give her some time. She'll come around."

He sighs, letting his head hang. He had always been close with Mariella, ever since she had been born. He was the one she'd fall asleep with, the one she'd stop crying for, and as soon as she could walk he was the one she'd follow around the house.

He loves his son as well, of course, his twins are his angels, but Nicholas was a Mama's boy through and through, and while they weren't distant by any means, Mari had always been much closer to her father.

With her knack for sewing and love of rock, the two of them got along very well, even despite their fair share of disagreements.

Maybe their closeness was why she assumed he'd say yes and let her run off 13 hours away from home with her two best friends for a concert.

But the thought of his sixteen year old daughter being that far away from home with two other sixteen year olds he didn't know all that well practically gave him a heart attack.

It didn't seem to matter now, though, given that he was sure the ache in his chest was far worse than any heart attack could be.

She doesn't come out of her room for the rest of the night, blasting her music loudly in some sort of retaliation against the two of you. It takes Hoyt beating on the door well past ten pm to get her to finally turn it down so everyone could get some rest.

"That girl is such a handful," You huff, closing your book and setting it on the side table, "She's got too much of you in her, that's for sure."

Thomas doesn't seem to react to your playful jab, turned on his side and away from you in silence.

"...Thomas?" You lean over, almost assuming he's asleep.

He sighs, staring at the wall intently, a hurt look plastered on his face.

"Oh, Tommy, come on now, you know she didn't mean it." You place a comforting hand on his side, slowly moving it up and down, "She's a teenager, all teenagers hate their parents."

He grumbles, turning towards the bed more.

You sigh, wrapping your arm around him and trying to pull him to turn towards you, "Come on, come here."

He rolls over with ease, settling into your side with a familiar comfort as he rests his head on your chest.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Thomas. She's just angry. At you, at me, at the world. It's tough being a teenager, you know." You run your hand through his hair as he nods, "You've gotta remember, hun, she's experiencing a lot of new emotions for the very first time. To her, being told she can't go off with her friends on a road trip is the worst thing in the world because she's never experienced anything worse. And that's a good thing. She has a good life, and she knows that. Just give her some time. She'll come around."

He sighs, nodding and seeming to relax as you explain it to him.

"...And you're not a terrible father. You're an amazing one, actually. Even if she doesn't realize it now, one day she will. Just keep doing what you're doing, love. It'll get better, I promise."

He closes his eyes, burying his face in your chest as he huffs a little, his eyes tearing up at your words.

His children are his greatest accomplishment, and he's always put 110% effort in to give them the best lives possible, and he always will. The mere thought of Mariella hating him made his heart shatter with overwhelming emotions, and hearing you tell him that he's a good father simply sends it into overdrive as he quietly sobs into your shirt.

"It's okay, Tommy, I've got you." You lay your head against his as he cries, working through everything that had happened today.

And, of course, you're right. It takes three days and a lot of the silent treatment from his daughters end, but soon enough she comes back to her father, apologizing for the things she said and did. He forgives her, to no one's surprise. In fact, you're quite sure he'd forgive her for shooting him in the leg for shits and giggles.

In the end, everything works out for the best. Her friends promise to tell her everything and take plenty of pictures to share when they get back.

That is, if they get back.

After all, two teenagers, going on the road all alone?

Well, we all know how that ends.

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

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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.

---

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.

I really be forgetting that people don't make horror movies for hoes but I really think they forget too cuz bruv

I FUCKING FOUND IT

WHAT THE HELL IS THIS HAIRLINE DAWG

?????????

Is it just me or does maskless Tommy in tcm 2003 just. Not look like Tommy.

Here, walk with me.

Here we have Thomas. Beautiful Thomas. Long wavy hair, thick arms, wide chest, comfy, pillow-perfect tummy, intense, soul shaking eyes, drop dead gorgeous--

I digress. He's the man we all know and love.

This. Does not look like Thomas. Not really. Not compared to some of the art interpretations I've seen. It just doesn't fit. Something doesn't add up.

Even if you cover the lower part of his face it just doesn't look like him. The eyes just don't really add up.

And I thought I had other picture with a different angle, but apparently I didn't save it. But if you rewatch this scene they committed a crime on this man's hairline. God awful lies.

Idk the artists handles so I won't add some of the art I have saved of him maskless, but if you just look it up you'll see what I mean.

This just doesn't look like Tommy!!!!

hey… I just wanted to say that I think you’re wrong about Tommy having no ass. If you’ve ever seen The Program (1993) you would know that man has two giant ass cheeks the likes of which is rare to behold.

That's not Thomas though. That's his actor, sure, but that's not him.

And logically, it makes sense for Thomas to have no ass.

See, there's a good few exercises that you have to do in order to actually get an ass when you aren't naturally blessed with one. Squats, hip thrusts (he gets NO bitches /affectionate), glute bridges, etc, etc. Stair master over treadmill, lift weights, all things that can happen pretty naturally in regular day to day life, but given Thomas' lifestyle, I doubt he legitimately has an ass.

Working on a farm is it's own natural workout, that would give someone an ass if their form was on point. And Thomas isn't exactly the kind of person to respect the lift with your legs rule.

For one, he hunches his shoulders a lot, and slouches. He's ashamed of himself, and the way he looks, and people who are taller, that don't want to be tall (people have treated him like a dangerous monster ever since he got big, and he hates that) tend to hunch their shoulders and have terrible posture in an attempt to make themselves look smaller (and in his case, less threatening). This happens a lot before he gets his new face. So, we know he has terrible posture.

And as we can see here, when he lifts and pulls the biker girl out of the car, he bends his back, leans down, and picks her up. He doesn't do a proper squat, he doesn't lift with his legs, etc. We can easily assume that he does this every time he picks something up because let's be honest, most of us don't do the proper lifting posture.

So, due to living on a farm, and working at the slaughterhouse, it's very very easy to assume that he lifts a lot, just like that. This is how he got his strong arms. And, given the time frame, and the fact that he was able to come back to the slaughterhouse without anyone realizing, we can also assume he walks back and forth a lot. And walking alone will not give you an ass. It's quad dominant, not glute dominant. All of that muscle will go to his legs- his thigh and calves. That's why he has thick legs, but no ass.

And let's not forget about diet, because that matters a lot in ass gaining as well.

Southern food is filling. It's mostly carbs and proteins, with little to no vegetables. And even those are most likely smothered in some kind of bacon grease or butter and a shit ton of seasoning. Eating home-cooked southern meals are one of the easiest ways to put on weight. That's why he has such a big tummy.

Now, if you were to eat mostly carbs and proteins with a steady workout, you'd easily get an ass, but we've already established he doesn't work out or properly lift things or any of that. So, no, I don't believe Thomas Hewitt has an ass.

Maybe he could start to pick one up after he starts wearing his new face, but honestly, that's a big maybe.

We know his posture improves due to his confidence increase after he starts wearing the mask, but that doesn't mean he's going to stop picking things up the wrong way. Hell, he might not even know there is a proper way. Who knows for sure.

But, yea, if he started doing the exercises (hip thrusts wink wink), he could get an ass pretty easily, but until then, he's a got flat ass pancake cheeks.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk! <3

I want to come back and tell everyone that while yes, our beloved Thomas looks like someone stapled two syrup soggy waffles to his backside, that it's okay. The ass is attainable. You just have to show him the way. Get those hips thrusting, that ass will bubble up in no time.

why are you staring????

guys... I gotta talk about this. bear with me, it's gonna be a rollercoaster.

<nsfw under cut f!reader implied but not outright stated I guess>

---

Thomas having sex for the first time.

Oh boy. Oh boy. So many thoughts.

I don't care what anyone says. Thomas is a 30+ year old virgin. We stan him. We love him. We're gonna ruin him.

But first, let's talk about all the stuff in his life building up to it.

So, as I've stated many, many times before, Thomas was primarily isolated from kids his age when he was 13-14, so he didn't really have an outlet to explore anything in a safe manner with anyone. (Not that it would have been all that safe in the first place... these kids wildin')

And we also know that he grew up in a pretty conservative household (a.ka. patriotic god fearing americans), so we all know that he was most likely too embarrased and ashamed by his own attraction to explore anything by himself either. (whoo boy been there buddy)

And we know that as an older, proud, southern woman, Luda Mae most likely did not have any sort of sex talk with Thomas other than telling him it was for grown, married folks only.

But, you know what we didn't know?

Charlie wasn't around to have the talk with him either.

I was rewatching The Beginning (oh wow, really? what a surprising turn of events) and something I've heard dozens of times before caught my eye.

1952. Sergeant Major 'Hoyt' was a POW in the Korean war.

August, 1939. Luda Mae finds a discarded newborn in the dumpster outside the slaughterhouse.

1939-1952.

Depending on the month (but we can assume it was many, many months), Thomas was 12 or 13 when Charlie served in the Army.

So, while Thomas is dropping out of school and isolating himself from his family and peers, the only sense of a father figure is serving / being held captive by enemy soldiers.

And personally, I don't believe Thomas and Monty are that close. Monty doesn't seem to take any sort of interest in Thomas, and Thomas was a little too willing to chop his legs off. So I sincerely doubt he was any sort of help.

So, really, I wouldn't be all that surprised if Thomas doesn't really know what sex is. He has a general idea of the meaning and that it's reserved for marriage, but other than crude, most likely misogynistic comments from the older men in his life, he doesn't really know anything about it.

So, when he actually does meet someone (and tie the knot) and all of those feelings come rushing in, he's more than overwhelmed. It takes a long time before he can actually handle going all the way.

For the first part of your intimacy, it's a lot of soft talks and encouragement, and explaining everything to him. He has no idea how to make you feel good, so it's up to you to show him literally everything.

You have to build up to the actual sex, and even after you do it for the first time, he's going to need you to keep hold of the lead until he's familiar and comfortable with it all.

He's a mess when you finally do it. He's clinging to you, trying so hard not to hold you too tightly, a whining mess in your ear, burying his face in your neck and panting wildly. It's awkward, and bumpy, and he finishes way too fast (and you don't even get the chance) but the way he melts into your touch with that blissed out look in his eyes makes it worth it.

And trust me, he gets better. He's a quick learner, and as long as you tell him exactly what to do, he goes from a fumbling mess to making your toes curl in no time.

He spends an ungodly amount of time watching and learning what gets you going. The sounds, the sights, the movements, everything.

He could spend hours on you, but he's still new to this, so he gets distracted really easily.

He lives off praise, the more you give him the more fuzzy his brain gets until he's a whining mess. (He makes a LOT of noises). He loves when you leave scratches. (Nothing too deep or scarring, but the feeling drives him crazy). He likes when you tug his hair to make him look at you. (He's big on eye contact, specifically when you're more 'making love' than 'we've got five minutes before someone walks into the kitchen').

....Now this next thing I'm gonna say is going to upset plenty of people, but hear me out.

Realistically, I don't think Thomas enjoys going down.

I know, I know, it's a SUPER unpopular opinion as pretty much every headcanons him as being super into giving head, BUT, I have my reasonings.

It's not that he dislikes the act itself, and in fact, I'm sure he actually loves it, but we do have to remember that he has a rather severe skin condition mostly centered around his face.

This means his skin is super sensitive to certain things like strong chemicals, intense fragrances, hot water, and anything with a high acidity.

And going down with absolutely cause an irritable flare up that will hurt. A lot.

So, no, realistically, I don't think he'd do it, just for that reason.

Do I think he'd enjoy doing it if he could? Yea, absolutely, I just don't think he can.

Anyways. I don't know what this was. But it would not leave my brain, so. I guess this is my introductory to the smut I want to start writing. Who knows. We'll see.

on my way home today a man started following me and it got me thinking about helping Luda Mae open the store and deciding to walk back home sometime during the day and having something similar happen except you just let him follow you home and you just walk in like "hey uncle hoyt I brought home take out"

Hey! How do you think Thomas would deal with a reader slowly becoming blind or deaf in their later years of being together or in old age?

I haven't really had the time or energy to go through my asks but this one hits close to home. f!reader

So, everyone knows that as one gets older, their hearing, sight, and pretty much everything naturally deteriorates as their body begins to decline.

But for some people, it gets worse. Blindness, Deafness, Amputation, Dementia, Parkinson's, the list is rather endless.

It's a daunting thought, knowing that it could happen to you. Sometimes there are warnings. A familial history, environmental factors, medical tests... There's time to prepare, come to terms with your fate, learn to live with it.

Other times there's nothing.

One day, you're a healthy adult, your aging body functioning to the best of it's abilities, working despite the slow tick of time that's flown by.

The next, you're gripping railing at the top of the stairs, shaking and afraid because you can't see the steps in front of you.

There's a couple of different reactions Thomas could have to this.

If there's a warning, a time to process and accept what's going to happen, a former knowledge of what's to come, he'll do his best to take care of you. He goes out of his way to learn about things he can do to accommodate you, to make your life easier when it begins. He's no carpenter, but he'll do his best to accommodate the house to the best of his abilities. It's your house as well, after all, and he wants you to be comfortable in it, at any age.

If there isn't, it's panic. He's confused, and he doesn't know how to help. Thomas is a man who thrives on being helpful, and suddenly he isn't. He's worried about you, and rather than having time to come to terms and accept this new world, you're both simply thrown into it, and it makes him spiral. It's a huge adjustment, but he does his best to take care of you and accommodate the house the best he can. In this situation, he's much more likely to accidentally baby you, not understanding how to handle your sudden disability, so it's important to teach him how he can best help without being overbearing.

...I know this ask was specified to blindness and deafness, but I'd also like to touch on the mental and personality aspects to this as well.

His reaction will tract close to the same for things like dementia and parkinson's, specifically if he has a warning, but if he doesn't, things are very different.

He notices the tremors first. The way your left hand seems to tremble, and the way you seem to stand just a bit differently.

Well, that's not entirely true, really, he noticed you becoming more forgetful ages ago, but who wasn't forgetful these days?

Neither of you really think much of it, after all the two of you are getting older, the grays in your hair as present as the ache in your back when you play with your grandchildren.

So, it's forgotten, the shakes and poor memory swept under the rug until it becomes a normality, the progression leaking in at such a steady pace neither of you really notice the way your right hand begins to tremble as well.

"...Is mom okay?" Your daughter finally asks on one of her frequent trips in from the city, "She seems... different."

Thomas gives her a look of confusion, Of course she is, why wouldn't she be?

"Dad... Look at her."

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

He watches the way you sit, hunched in your favorite chair by the window, arms tucked closely to your chest as you stare out into the yard, a sort of distant, absent look in your eyes.

You're interrupted by the squeal of children running towards you, yelling 'grandma!' to the top of their lungs.

He watches your face light up with a genuine surprise and delight, struggling to lean down and greet them with a hug.

"Oh, how wonderful!" You tell the children with a great, big smile, "I didn't know y'all were coming to see me!"

But you did. He watched you talk to your daughter just a few hours ago on the telephone, telling you she'd be bringing the kids fown for the day.

His chest aches as for the first time, he sees how much you've really changed.

He's more attentive, finally noticing full extent of the tremors, how you can barely move your arms, how with everyday, more and more of you begins to fade from your eyes.

You start getting angrier, snapping easily over small things that would have never bothered you before. You can't stop shaking, constantly taking in your surroundings as if seeing everything for the first time.

You lose the ability to do certain things, your movement much to jagged to brush your own teeth, to comb your own hair. All of those responsibilities falling on Thomas' shoulders, as well as many others.

You spend most of your time in your favorite chair, watching the TV, or listening to the radio. You can barely stand on your own, your legs shuffling and unstable when you do manage to get up.

Thomas does his best to take care of you, to watch over you and make sure you want for nothing.

It's a taxing, and exhausting job, but he can't imagine not doing it.

He's tired, his own body aching and sore from his own old age. Your children begin to visit more often, just trying to help out as much as they can.

"Grandma!" Your grandson calls out for you as always, running up to your chair to greet you as soon as he comes in the door.

"Jacob!" Your son follows his child close behind, "What did we just talk about in the car?"

Your once excited and delighted expression at seeing your grandchild is gone, exchanged for one of confusion as you seemed almost frightened.

"Nicholas..." You ask, shaking as you hold your arms close to your chest, "...Who is this...?"

Thomas has to leave the room.

He's heartbroken, slowly watching the love of his life become a shell of herself, each day slowly becoming worse and worse.

"Thomas, honey, what's wrong?" Shaky hands cup his face when he finally comes back into the room, eyes red and swollen from crying.

He shakes his head, holding your frial wrists as he kisses your cheek.

Within that same week you lose the ability to climb the stairs, and Thomas begins carrying you.

It doesn't take long after for you to become completely bed ridden, unable to recognize either of your children who have practically moved in to help care for you.

Thomas is the only one you don't forget, even if you can't manage to remember the year, your wedding, or even the fact that you're married.

You never forget Thomas.

It's a warm, April Tuesday. Clouds dance across the blue sky, inviting the singing birds to swim in the cool breeze of a rain storm that'll come in the afternoon.

It's the first time you've been this coherent in months, managing to recognize both of your children and your eldest grandchildren.

It's a good day.

Thomas sits in a chair beside your bed, something he put there so the two of you could still sit together, like you used to, when you could walk to the porch and drink your coffee in the early mornings.

He holds your shaking hand, rough hands rubbing soft circles against your skin.

You've become weak with time, barely managing to give his hand a small squeeze to catch his attention.

There's a knowing look in your eyes, and he lets out a shaky sigh.

"...Will you forgive me...?" Your once lively and full voice is small, and broken, shaky and devoid of life.

He squeezes your hand, leans onto the bed and presses his forehead against yours. A silent answer, an understanding sense of relief that you can finally be at peace.

You let out your own sigh, leaning against his warmth for one last time.

It was a good day.

First Meeting - Part Six

((part five here))

Thomas Hewitt/GN!Reader

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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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There isn't much left to do, considering you got most of the prep done earlier in the day, so the only real thing left to do is cook the meat and make the broth.

She takes the lead, putting the meat on to cook and having you grind it down and stir it as she adds several seasonings and the onions to the much too large pot.

It's obvious she's comfortable in the kitchen, confident in her choices with no second guesses, each ingredient she adds done with a precision and assuredness that tells you she's spent most of her life in the kitchen.

She cooks the meat down to a simmer before she begins to add in the broth, carefully working the stew together as you lean on the counter next to the big bowl of vegetables you previously cut.

"...Where'd you learn this recipe?" You ask, watching her work and waiting for your next task to be given.

"My grandmama taught me long time ago, when I was much younger than you." She explains, stirring the broth as she gestures for the bowl of vegetables, "She taught me most of everythin' I know."

You hand her the bowl, "Sounds like a nice lady."

"She was." Luda Mae sighs, adding the vegetables into the pot, "Grab me the cornstartch from that cabinet there."

You go to the cabinet she points to and grab the cornstarch, handing it to her. She drops some in a bowl, adding a bit of water to it, mixing it until it's thick.

"...My Mama never taught me much of anything." You confess, though you're not entirely sure why, "I never knew my grandmama either..."

"My Mama didn't teach me nothin' either." Luda Mae shakes her head, adding a bit of the slurry to the pot, "Didn't care much to."

"I'm guessing she wasn't as nice as your grandmama?"

"She was meaner than a junkyard dog, ran off one day when I was a teenager and I never saw her again. My grandmama always told me she drowned, but I was never too sure if that was literal or not."

"What do you mean?"

Luda Mae sighs again, stirring the large pot, "I can't remember a time she loved her children more than her liqour. She was sooner to have a bottle of whiskey in hand than touch a bottle of milk."

You cross your arms, eyes focused on the pot, "...I can understand what that's like."

You don't say much else after that, idly standing by and helping when she needed it, watching her work and making small comments every now and again.

It doesn't take long for the sound of a car pulling in the driveway to drive you upstairs, back in the solitude of the barren bedroom.

You can hear Hoyt come in hollering for help with carrying the groceries in, the previously quiet house now filled with noise and life.

You sit on the floor again, sighing in relief at the feeling of clean clothes on clean skin, your hair still damp from your shower earlier.

There wasn't a feeling quite like it, and you forgot how amazing it was after going almost two months with one or two half washes in lakes and creeks.

You stand up after a moment, brushing off your legs and shorts, before pulling the covers back on the bed. You cringe, seeing the dirt and grime you left the previous night, not wanting to sleep in it now that you were finally clean. You look around for a moment, spotting the extra blanket Thomas had left on the dresser.

You pull the blanket off completely now, tossing it to the bedroom door, letting it pile against the floor. You grab the fresh blanket, hesitating when you see how dirty the sheets still were.

You hang the blanket on the bedframe, deciding to search the closet to see if Thomas had any extra sheets in his closet.

It wasn't a big closet by any means, with a few clean, never before stained clothes hanging up. You spot the clean, light blue sheets on the top shelf, just barely out of reach.

You stand on your toes, reaching as high as you can, grabbing the edge and pulling. The sheets come tumbling down, knocking against the clothes as you barely catch them.

You hesitate, wondering if you made too much noise, but quickly realize Hoyt was being much too loud below you to notice any noise you made.

You shut the closet door, setting the now messily folded sheets on the dresser before pulling the old ones off the bed. You set them beside the bedroom door with the blanket, opting just to flip your pillowcase inside out since you didn't find any of those.

You spend way too long trying to make the bed, each corner of the fitted sheet fighting against you as you try not to let the bedframe bang against any of the walls.

You drop on the bed when you finish, groaning into the pillow out of pure frustration. Sure, being homeless you could handle, but making a bed? That was apparently out of your skill set.

After a few moments of self pity, you shut off the main light in favor of the floor lamp beside the bed, crawling under the covers and curling into your corner of the bed, continuing to read your book.

It's a couple hours before Thomas comes up, the sun just starting to set as he makes his way in.

You look up from your book, seeing he's already taken the liberty to change into his pajamas.

"Hi." You watch as he sits on the bed, taking notice of the new sheets, "I hope you don't mind, I found them in the closet."

He shakes his head, rubbing his hand over the cotton fabric before climbing under the covers nexts to you.

He looks over, seeing you have the same, old book sitting open in your lap, your hand resting on one of the pages to hold your place.

He reaches over, tapping against the side with a questioning look.

"My book?" You ask, blinking a couple of times before closing it and handing it over to him, "Go ahead, I've read it a million times."

He hesitates, carefully looking over the faded cover, running his calloused fingers over the worn spine in such a gentle manner you'd think he was handling something meaningful.

You rest your head on your knees, watching as he nervously opens the book with the same cautiousness one might treat a wild animal.

His eyebrows furrow as starts to read, finger slowly running under each word slowly and carefully, and you can see the confusion in his brown eyes as he struggles.

You watch him try and reread the same sentence three times before reaching a hand out, gently resting on his wrist, "...Are you having trouble reading?"

He sighs, setting the book down with a shameful nod, too embarrassed to meet your gaze.

"Hey, that's okay. A lot of people can't read all that well, no worries," You carefully pull the book from his grasp, moving closer to his side, "Here, I'll read it to you."

He's caught off guard by your sudden offer, but makes no move to stop you.

You open the book, setting it down so half rests on his leg and the other on yours, your finger tracing under the words as you begin to read.

His eyes follow along carefully, sometimes stopping you to tap at a word when he doesn't know it's meaning, your voice calming as he listens carefully.

By the end of the first chapter, he's relaxed against your side, head resting on your shoulder as you read each word carefully, doing your best to bring the story to life.

You're not sure how long the two of you stay awake, reading the book with the company of the crickets and the moonlight, but the silence of the first floor slowly creeping through the floorboards tells you everyone has gone to bed, and the height of the moon warns you the late hours will soon become early.

You fail to hold back another yawn, blinking wearily as you continue reading, the words beginning to blend together on the worn pages.

You don't particulary remember falling asleep, but the next thing you're consiously aware of is the soft light of the rising sun peaking through the window.

You can feel the bed shift as you groan, curling in on yourself and burying yourself deeper into the warmth of the bed, not ready to face the world quite yet.

You feel yourself begin to drift this time, your mind swirling with the chaotic nonsense of a half-asleep brain trying to dream.

The images dart around, blurry and fast as you try to balance yourself in an unreal situation.

It's dizzying, the heat of your lungs burning a hole through your chest, choking on the air you needed to breathe.

The humidity cages you in, the space around you closing in, your own skin too tight against your body as all too familiar, blood curdling screams swallow any sense of sanity you're supposed to have.

“No, no, please, let us go!”

“God, why me? Why us, God, why–”

“Please, please, let me go, please-”

The bed is hot when you wake, choking on your own air as you sit up, covering your mouth to quiet your coughs.

Your eyes are wide as you stare ahead, keeping your mouth covered through the deep breaths you're taking.

A buzz rests deep in your bones, your mind vibrating with a dissociative tune, and it takes you a few minutes to remember you're actually real.

You let out a shaky sigh, rubbing your face as you regain control of yourself, the nightmare already mostly forgotten as your mind continues waking up.

The sun rests high in the sky, beating down on you through the dusty glass of the window, letting the feeling of the suffocating heat sting your skin.

You take another deep breath, finally registering the sound of voices carrying through the house as you let your head hang in your hands.

The faint smell of an already cooked breakfast tells you it's still morning, but the height of the sun gives way that it's later, perhaps almost noon.

You crawl to the edge of the bed, taking a seat as the hazy fog in your mind begins to clear.

Hoyt's voice still carries through the house, telling you that you'd be stuck in the bedroom for a while longer.

It's strange, hiding from a man in his own home, but Thomas keeps you hidden from him for a reason, and that's enough to keep your footsteps quiet as you stand to make the bed, the shake in your limbs slowly fading away as the panic subsides.

You're not sure if it's the remanents of the forgotten nightmare or the anxiety of being almost trapped in this home, but you can't seem to stop your mind from running wild as you pull the blanket back.

What happens when Hoyt finds out?

That question leads nothing but more anxiety and contemplation, making your head spin.

How long do you plan to stay here? How long do they plan to let you? How long do you have before you're thrown back out to the streets with nothing more than a bag of dirty clothes and an old book to your name?

Your head begins pounding with the migraine you're giving yourself as you pull the sheet taunt against the bed you've slept in for the last two nights.

You swallow, mind drifting back to the first night you stayed here.

"S-T-A-Y."

The memory of Thomas' words tingle against your palm, and it presents you with a new question.

Would they ever let you leave?

Thomas with curly hair reader who watches you braid your hair every night and asks Luda Mae to teach him so he can start doing it for you. that's it send tweet

What about thomas hewitt meeting someone with a cheek Scar?

Like it's big and shows their teeth

Kinda like ticci toby

He's caught off guard when he first sees it, and he can't help but stare. He's gonna be really curious about it. If you do something like stick your tongue through it he'll think it's funky (pos). It helps him feel more comfortable about showing you his own face, and if you wear a mask he'll offer to make you one of his own.

Luda Mae wouldn't really say anything about it unless you were to do 'inappropriate' things like cause a disrupt at the dinner table doing strange things for entertainment, but she wouldn't actually make fun of you for it or anything.

Hoyt, however, might try. I figure he'd think it was a freaky thing, both cool and gross, and he'll most likely make more than a few comments. He doesn't bully Thomas for his looks, but you're not his nephew so it's pretty much free game in his mind. I don't see him trying to hurt your feelings unless he just dislikes you, though.

...And that's all I can really think of! I have another ask similar to this (not quite so specific) that I'll probably dive more into.

Thanks for sending in the ask! <3

Hello! How do you think Thomas would react to having a partner that's also a serial killer? Would he find it attractive or would it put him off? Would he not care? I love seeing your headcanons <3

Honestly, I think it'd throw him off.

You see, the Hewitt family, other than Hoyt and Monty, don't really enjoy killing.

And this may go against what the 2003 version canonically implies, but I feel like most of us can agree it's the lesser compared to it's 2006 counterpart. '03 was focused much more on the 'scary nasty hillbilly rednecks with a chainsaw' aspect than the 'why does this family actually kill and eat people' aspect.

Yes, it's true that after a long time of doing something, most people can get 'used' to very horrific things, or even grow to enjoy doing it, but I believe in order to get a very good look on their actual view and perspective on it, it's important to look at a much bigger timeline, starting with why and what drove a person to do it in the first place.

In this situation, we already know why the Hewitts do what they do, and we're already well aware that, to them, in this four year time span of the movies, it quickly becomes less horrific and more of a necessity. It loses it's shock factor rather quickly, and it becomes just another chore on the farm.

Though this isn't really true for all of them, as, unlike Luda Mae, who was shocked and even disgusted by the idea, and spent most of the 2006 movie telling Hoyt he had made a mistake, Hoyt was rather eager with the atrocities he committed. He is, and always has been, the instigator in all of this.

But even then, he still does it for his family. Sure, the torture and abuse bring in a new shock factor that many of us would call evil, well most of us actually, and he has no particular reason to do those things, but at the end of the day, this wouldn't be a slasher movie if they were doing all this 'humanely'.

But, to say all this, is to bring it back to the fact that the Hewitt family doesn't just kill for shits and giggles. Hoyt may get some sick sexual pleasure from what he does, but he and Monty are really the only ones that do. Thomas does what he does to provide for and protect his family, and Luda Mae knows that at the end of the day, they have to survive one way or another.

So, no, I can't see Thomas finding someone being a serial killer attractive. And this of course, heavily depends on the motives and means of killing as well.

Are you a righteous vigilante? Well, then you wouldn't really like the Hewitts very much, would you?

Do you get off on what you do? I think that would make Thomas uncomfortable, he doesn't understand why because he doesn't particularly enjoy doing what he does. He doesn't get anything from it, other than the satisfaction that he's providing for his family.

What does this stem from? Do you kill people that look like your abusive father? Do you hurt people that remind you of your shitty mom? Do you torture these people, do you kill them as humanely as possible?

Anyways, at the end of the day, I don't think he would be attracted to it or even comfortable with it. Unless maybe you did it for the same reason his family did... And then it'd depend on the method. He doesn't enjoy the way his uncle tortures people but he isn't gonna try to stop him, but it'll put him off if you do.

Thanks for sending in the ask! <3

How would tommy be like during sex? rough or soft mb in between?

I have many thoughts. So many. I don't really mention a gender but the pp goes into something. what you decide that is is between you and god

Well, to start it off, we all know Thomas is a big man. 6'5, wide set shoulders, big tummy and just all around a big stature.

He's naturally strong from growing up on a farm and working at the slaughterhouse, especially given that he walks back and forth a lot.

And he knows it.

This is something I could write a whole essay on, but I'll keep it short for the sake of this post and it's primary objective: A lot of people think Thomas is unaware. They think he doesn't understand basic things, like in The Beginning, after the slaughterhouse is shut down and Jess has to kick Thomas out, resorting to insulting him after Thomas won't leave, a lot of people assume it's because his mind can't grasp the fact that it's shut down, but it just isn't true. Thomas is very aware, and he's a very intelligent man. No, he may not be able to read all that well, and math confuses and frustrates him, but he's not an idiot.

All this to say that Thomas isn't this dumb jock that doesn't understand his own strength, he's very aware of how strong he is. He's spent his entire life on a farm, and if you've ever spent a lot of time around animals, you know that you have to know how to control yourself and your strength to protect the animals and yourself from getting hurt.

He's a gentle man, with a kind heart. And this carries over to sex, with several other factors as well.

See, the thing is, considering the time frame and everything, it's safe to assume Thomas never got the sex talk. He knows that sex happens between two people, he knows that babies come from sex, and he knows that it's sinful to have sex outside of marriage, but that's really it. He has no other frame of reference.

Considering this, and his own self repulsion due to his skin disease and seclusion from his peers, I honestly believe that Thomas is probably pseudo-asexual.

I say pseudo because I don't think Thomas is actually asexual. I think he has those urges and thoughts, but pushed them away in his own form of repulsion due to his self hatred and the shameful aspect his mother projected onto him.

It's very likely that Thomas does in fact have sexual feelings, and most of his "experience", if you could call it that, probably came from media. When someone of particular attractiveness came on the TV, like the local weather woman, or the sultry voice of the unseen radio man crackled through, it gave him an itch he couldn't scratch.

He would feel ashamed at these thoughts, because not only was the feeling such a sinful act in his mind, but he also believed he was too worthless to deserve anything like that. After all, those feelings are reserved for people who are married and love each other, and he doesn't believe he can ever be one of those people.

At some point or another it gets to be too much though, and he eventually caves and starts taking matters into his own hands, but the guilt and shame that comes afterwards makes it a very rare occasion.

So, given all this, we can finally move onto answer the original question of how Thomas is during sex.

Given that Thomas doesn't really know what sex is, he doesn't ever make any moves himself. He doesn't know how, all he knows is that sex is meant for marriage.

But as the two of you date and become closer, it gets harder and harder to avoid the topic. Sure, he's been attracted to the people on TV and in the magazines, but this is different. You're really real, and you're really here, and you really like him too. All of those shameful feelings he's spent his life trying to push away rush to the surface everytime you touch him in any intimate way.

But he won't change his mind on waiting until marriage, he has way too many pent up issues to get past that. The two of you fool around, sure, (which leads to you realizing just how little he really knows, and to talking him about it all), but that never really moves past desperate, through the clothes humping, and the occasion wandering hands when that just isn't enough.

When that time finally comes, though, he's riddled with anxiety.

It takes a lot of soft words and easing before it actually happens.

He stays still for a long time after he first bottoms out, and he's trying not to hold you too tightly. He's overwhelmed with the emotions running through him, and you can feel his tears from where his face is buried in your shoulder.

When he finally does move, it's awkward, and bumpy, and there's no real rhythm. He's just desperately moving, holding you tightly. He's very loud, moaning and whining against you. He finishes way too quickly to give you a chance, but he's got a lifetime to make up for, so it definitely doesn't end there.

Skipping ahead a bit, Thomas gets a lot more comfortable (and better) with sex. I think overall, he prefers the slow and lazy. He doesn't like to rush things, he prefers taking your time and enjoying it.

But, he's honestly pretty moldable. He forms into whatever you prefer, he just enjoys being with you more than anything. He'll be as rough or as soft as you'd like, you just have to direct him on what to do.

Anyways, now that we've taken six detours, it looks like we've finally reached our destination. I hope y'all enjoyed, and feel free to send in more asks like this.

Thank you <33

Thomas plays the piano and we don't talk about it enough