#also first time hearing this song... it's good it's good i love it

[pearlessance]

Cupid's Chokehold

summary: Tommy meets Joel's new girlfriend and takes a twisted liking to her live-in daughter.

pairing: step uncle!Tommy Miller x f!Reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI. step-cest, age gap (unspecified, but reader is 19/20, Tommy in his early-mid 30s), unprotected piv, oral sex (both f! and m! receiving), attempted seduction (from reader), pussy pronouns, praise, dirty talk, creampie, begging, dacryphilia, alcohol consumption, no outbreak AU, Tommy POV

note: genuinely this is the filthiest most diabolic thing I've ever written and I'm absolutely terrified to post it!!! if it's not your cup of tea pls keep scrolling, and if you do read it, let me know what you think!! also, I wrote the nightclub scene with the song Feel So Close by Calvin Harris in mind (iykyk), but feel free to imagine whatever you like!

wc: 12.1k

[masterlist] [AO3]

You’ve always been close.

Since that first night you’d met in Joel’s kitchen, Tommy has always felt drawn to you. Like you were one and the same. Two peas in a fucking pod, despite how…indecent it sometimes felt.

It was late summer. Hot. Your mother and Joel had arranged a dinner. They’d wanted everyone to ‘get to know each other.’ Grilled burgers and made pasta salad and poured glasses of cheap champagne. The whole nine yards. 

Joel had warned Tommy about you ahead of time. Talked about his new girlfriend’s daughter, about how you were a bit…wild. Impulsive. Too pretty and too smart for your own good.

You’re a couple of years older than Sarah, freshly out of high school with a devil-may-care attitude. The two of you get along well—Sarah thinks the whispered comments you pour in her ear all night are just hilarious. The two of you spend most of the afternoon on the side of the pool chattering while Tommy…well, Tommy certainly feels a bit like a third wheel. 

He knows it’s not intentional. Joel isn’t like that, he’s just…excited. He loves your mom and is eager to start this new chapter of his life, to expand his family the way he’s always wanted to. And your mom is nice enough. Sweet and easy going, a good match for his brother. But she’s a mom. And Joel’s Joel. 

It’s Saturday night, and Tommy Miller is bored half to death sipping champagne and watching two teenage girls giggle over something on their cell phones. 

And it’s not like he can leave right away. At least, not until after his desert has settled. But he knows where Joel keeps the good liquor, and dismisses himself in search of it.

He’s pouring two shots of whiskey into a glass tumbler when he hears the back door open. Tommy expects it to be Joel, coming to offer a penny for his thoughts. He opens his mouth to soothe his brother's nerves, to reassure him that his other half does fit him as perfectly as it seems. To tell him that he’s crazy for letting another little girl live under his roof, to warn him it’ll be double the hormones and double the attitude, but if it makes him happy…

“Hey.”

It’s not Joel who speaks at all. It’s your voice, soft but sultry. Tommy smiles at you over his shoulder. “Hey, kiddo.”

You saddle up to his side, so close your elbow brushes his as you lean on the counter, eyes focused on his hands as he pours. “This is the most boring party I’ve ever been to,” you say with a dispirited sigh.

It makes Tommy laugh. He sets the bottle down and lifts the tumbler to his mouth, grinning all the while. “Can’t say this little soirée is particularly, uh…exhilarating,” he says, sipping from his glass.

He can feel your attention on him, hotter even than the burn of the whiskey. Your eyes slide down the column of his throat, over his chest, stopping at his waist. You turn your head the smallest bit, not dissimilar to that of a curious little puppy. Crude and shameless in your examination. You look back up to find him staring at you, unable and unwilling to fight his knowing smirk. “Can I have some of that?”

“You old enough?” Tommy doesn’t even know why he asks, because he already knows the answer.

With a shrug of your shoulders and a sweet little smile, you say, “No. But it’s not like it would be my first time. No cherry to pop here.”

Filthy mouth for a girl your age. Funny, though. It’s kind of endearing. He was an awful lot younger than you are now when he started drinking. The first time he’d blacked out had been his sophomore year of high school—barely sixteen, woke up in the middle of a field two hours away from home. He’d had to use a pay phone to get ahold of Joel to come pick him up. 

And it’s better this way, isn’t it? To do it at home, surrounded by people who care about you. Who will keep you safe. It’s not like one drink’s going to put you on your ass, anyway.

He nods slowly. “Alright,” he says, opening the cupboard to find another tumbler. 

You stop him, delicate hand around his wrist. “Are you crazy? That’s evidence.”

Tommy furrows his brows. “What, the cup? I’ll wash it when you’re done. S’alright.”

“Waste of time.” You take the whiskey and twist off the cap, pushing the smooth glass bottle into his hands. “You know how to waterfall without drowning me?”

He likes you, Tommy thinks. Probably more than he should. He gets that familiar tug in his lower abdomen, the one that urges him to move closer, to speak slower. 

It’s a little fucked up, he knows. You’re so young, and odds are your mom will marry into the family, and then you’d be…well, you’d be his niece. Kind of. 

His heart races a little faster at the thought. 

“Well?”

“Yeah,” Tommy promises. “Yeah, I got you. Tilt your head back.”

You step further in front of him, spine pressed against the edge of the countertop. He can feel the heat of your skin against his, and it makes Tommy feel dizzy. You tilt your head back, just as he said, but it’s not quite enough. 

He reaches up, cradling your jaw in his hand, thumb pressed against the underside of your chin. He knows he could just tell you, could just use the words ‘a little more’ and you’d do as he asks. But the heated look in your eyes as he touches you so gently…it’s worth it. “Like this,” he tells you, pushing your chin back. “There you go. Now open your mouth.”

It sounds so vulgar in his ears. And Tommy doesn’t mean it that way, but you smile up at him and say, “You’re supposed to take me out on a date first, I think.”

“You think?” He scoffs. “You ever let another man in your mouth and he doesn’t wine an’ dine you first, you let me know so I can take care of him.” Tommy’s only sort of kidding. If you ever asked, he’d do it in a heartbeat. 

“Alright,” you say. “No other man, then. Just you.”

He has to look away, unable to contain his amusement. “Christ, girl.” Tommy shakes his head, delighting in the sound of your giggling. He can feel the vibration of it in his hand, still pressed against the side of your neck. “Ridiculous.”

Joel’s voice cuts through the kitchen, calling Tommy’s name. 

He tries to take a step back, get some distance, but you hook your leg around his to keep him close, bare and exposed to him from the hem of your denim shorts down. Tommy grips your thigh tightly but doesn’t quite push you away. “Yeah, Joel?”

You tilt your head back, perfect this time, just like he showed you.

Tommy shakes his head again, surprised by your brazenness, but he just can’t seem to stop smiling. He lifts the glass bottle and pours the whiskey slowly, holding in his laughter all the while.

“Bring out another slice of that pie,” Joel says from the back door. “The key lime one. Sarah wants some more.”

“Yeah, sure. One slice of key lime,” Tommy calls back, watching with rapt attention as the amber liquid pools in your pretty mouth. And then, more to you than to Joel, he says, “You got it.”

He stops just before your mouth is too full and sets the bottle back on the counter as the back door closes. You tilt your head back down, grimacing as you swallow. You have to do it twice, and Tommy knows that shit burns.

He’d feel bad if it weren’t for the drop of liquid that spills from the corner of your pursed lips, leaving a trail of whiskey as it drips down your chin. It’s such a sight to behold that his mouth waters. It takes every last ounce of his common sense to keep from leaning forward and licking it up.

Instead, he runs his thumb across the seam of your lips, collecting every last drop, and proceeds to suck it clean. “No man left behind,” he says playfully, painfully aware of the slight lift of your hips and the almost unnoticeable arch of your back.

“Right, no. Of course,” you say, words just a little breathless. “It would be, like, alcohol abuse.”

Tommy chuckles as he finally steps away, surprised by the complete lack of guilt he feels. He pulls a plate from the cupboard and finds the remainder of the key lime pie in the fridge.

Your steps echo in the kitchen when you leave, the screen door creaking as you push it open. He catches the words as you speak them under your breath just before disappearing from view. “Certainly not boring anymore.”

Tommy returns to the backyard with Sarah’s key lime pie in one hand and his refilled glass tumbler in the other, a newfound spring in his step.

It doesn’t take long for family dinners to become a tradition. They’re moved to Sunday nights, though, which works a hell of a lot better for Tommy. He usually shows up hungover, sporting a headache and a bad mood.

You’re real good at pulling him out of it, though. Always making those dirty jokes, uncaring of who hears, often earning a scolding from your mother when your humor graces the dinner table. 

Eventually, it takes nothing but a shared glance before you slink off to the kitchen, one at a time, to steal more of Joel’s whiskey. Like a secret, shared language that only the two of you understand. As if the moment the thought crosses his mind, it crosses yours, too. Almost like you’re connected, somehow. 

Sometimes Sunday dinners will be paired with a movie. Often, it’s a film Joel rented for the weekend that he claims has ‘good reviews,’ but never has a satisfying ending.

Tommy doesn’t stay for the popcorn or the candy, though. He doesn’t even stay for the movie, in truth. 

He stays because you always sit beside him on the loveseat.

It always starts innocently enough. You pull the scratchy, old blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over you both. And then you’re poking his thigh while murmuring comments in his ear.

You’ll say, “God, that guy has the worst fake crying face I’ve ever seen. Looks like he’s constipated.”

And Tommy will laugh, and Sarah will scowl and shush him, and your hand will linger on his knee. 

Halfway through, you’ll shift in your seat, trying to get comfortable. You’ll lean back against the armrest and lay your legs across his lap. And Tommy, impulsive man that he is, will slide his hands between your thighs and rub circles into your soft skin, careful not to move too fast, to be too obvious. 

Once you reach this point of the night, Tommy doesn’t pay attention to the movie at all. He focuses on you instead, on the way your breath catches in your throat when he squeezes hard, on the way your knees slowly drift further and further apart, on the flush that crawls up your cheeks each time he catches your eye.

It never feels quite so innocent when the movie ends and Tommy has to sit on the couch with that blanket over his lap just a little longer than everyone else.

In September, Joel tells him you and your mom are moving in permanently. No more weekend sleepovers. You’re taking the spare room across the hall from Sarah, the one Tommy knows like the back of his hand after crashing in it countless times.

He’s not sure why, but there’s something satisfying about knowing you’ll be there, sleeping in the bed he’s slept in hundreds of times.

Joel asks him to help move some of the furniture, and Tommy doesn’t hesitate to agree. They move the larger things, while you and Sarah excitedly unpack cardboard boxes and talk about sharing clothes and shoes.

Tommy remembers the times Sarah would beg Joel for a sibling when she was younger, and it warms his heart to see she’s finally gotten the sister she’s always wanted.

He sees you a whole lot more often after that. Tommy picks Joel and Sarah up every morning and drops Joel off after work every day.

Most of the time, you’re still sleeping when he shows up at seven. But the evidence of you is littered all over the house; your shoes by the front door, your jacket slung over the dining room chair, your denim shorts on the floor beside the laundry basket in the bathroom. 

And after work, he always comes inside to visit you. Just to see how you’re doing, to see if you’ve had a good day, often making some silly joke just so he gets to hear your sweet laughter. Sometimes he finds you watching one of those teen dramas in the living room, and he loves to poke fun at you for it. “These weird ass vampires again? What, now there’s werewolves, too? How original.”

“Shut up,” you’ll say, tossing a throw pillow at his head. 

“I’m just fuckin’ with you, darlin.’ I know how you love that freaky shit.” The embarrassment will show on your face, and Tommy will laugh but his shoulders will drop as all the stress from the day melts away.

Some nights, he’ll find you in the backyard by the pool with that tiny lime colored bikini on, lying on your belly, soaking up the sun. He’ll try to scare you, try to get close with soundless movements. 

But you always catch him. Can always sense he’s there. “Now, what if I suddenly decided I didn’t want tan lines and took off my top while you tried sneaking up on me? Tits out. Then what?”

Tommy stops just a few paces away from the spot in the grass where you’ve thrown out your beach towel. He towers over you, casting shadows across your spine. “Wouldn’t be nothin’ I haven’t seen before,” he says.

“You peeping on me, Tommy? Is that where you got your name?”

He snorts, but the idea isn’t half bad. “You fuckin’ wish.”

“Yeah, maybe I do.” The comment gives him pause, but he doesn’t have time to think too hard about it because you’re turning on your back and reaching for the string tied loosely around your neck.

You stare up at him, eyes all glittering and mischievous, hair splayed out in a perfect halo around your head. Tommy knows that he should stop you. Should laugh it off and walk away.

He doesn’t, though. His feet stay firmly planted, pressure building in his lower abdomen, cock pulsing behind the chrome zipper of his jeans.

You tug at the strings until the fabric falls slack. Still covering your chest, but only just barely. 

Tommy thinks green might be his new favorite color.

You hook your thumb around the thin string across your ribcage, the only resistance left between this moment and the next, a lone scrap of polyester that stands between Tommy being the fun uncle and the weird one.

He doesn’t say it out loud, doesn’t say anything at all. But he admits to himself only that he does want it. That he wants you. To see you, to touch you, to feel you. It’s wrong and perverted and maybe even a little gross, but you’re just so fucking pretty. 

Slowly, those loose-fitting triangles drift lower and lower, almost there. His breath comes fast and labored. The seconds tick by, feeling much longer than they truly are. 

 And then—

“Dinner!” Your mom’s voice carries through the backyard, kind and airy. “Are you staying, Tommy? We’re having pasta tonight.”

Tommy clears his throat and looks over his shoulder at your mom, who stands on the back deck completely oblivious. “Uh, no,” he says. “Not tonight. Thanks, though.”

“Suit yourself,” she says before disappearing back into the kitchen.

You extend your hand to him, the other held tightly over the fabric of your top to keep it in place. “Help me up,” you say, and he does. 

He watches as you turn your back to him, straining to memorize every last second of this moment because he never, ever wants to forget it. The smoothness of your skin, the shallow slope at the small of your back, the delicious curve of your ass—if this is all he ever gets to see, Tommy wants it stuck in his brain like glue. Permanent.

You move the arm that’s held to your chest, and the green fabric finally drops, exposing you completely. With your back still to him, all Tommy can see is the subtle curves of the sides of your breasts, but it’s enough to make his heart race. You gather your hair at the nape of your neck and ask, “Can you tie it for me?”

Tommy knows you’re doing this on purpose. Trying to get a rise out of him, and it’s working. “Course,” he says, stepping forward, placing his rough, calloused hands on your delicate shoulders. He reaches down your body and gathers the nylon strands between his fingers, careful not to touch you more than what’s necessary.

He wants to, though. Christ, does he. His lungs stutter at the thought alone. It takes everything in him to resist lowering himself to his knees and giving you the tender, loving care you deserve. He’d worship you, Tommy decides. He’d demonstrate how a girl like you is supposed to be treated. Touched slowly, gently—until you beg him for more, until you whimper and cry and remember no words but his fucking name. 

Until his touch is so deeply embedded in your skin that you’d never be able to root him out. 

But he doesn’t give you so much as a clue to what he’s thinking. Instead, he exhales a shaky breath, fanning across the back of your neck, and ties the lime colored strands into a perfect bow. He presses a chaste kiss to the crown of your head and says, “Be good, now. Alright?”

You turn to face him, that familiar, provocative smirk on your sweet mouth. “Never,” you promise, and he knows you mean it.

Tommy doesn’t even notice he’s speeding the entire way back to his shitty apartment. What’s worse is that he doesn’t even make it inside. He sits behind the wheel of his truck, right in the open, empty parking lot, squeezing his aching cock in his hand, head filled with thoughts of you.

The next time he stays for dinner, your mom makes fajitas. You sit beside him on the steps of the back porch and pick red peppers off his plate.

You and Sarah belly-laugh about some YouTube video you watched together late last night, mimicking impressions of an animatronic voice. And it’s at this very moment that Tommy realizes he might be in real trouble.

Because he wants to fuck you. Thinks about it almost every goddamn night. Can’t even get off with the women he meets at the bars anymore without closing his eyes and recalling that lime bikini or the arch of your back or the way your thighs fit so perfectly in his big hands. It’s a carnal desire. Uncontrollable.

But this? Feeling a sense of elation provoked only by knowing you're here beside him, safe, happy, and fed? It’s something else. Something heavy. Something he can’t quite put a name to because he doesn’t have any experience with it, despite his age.

All Tommy Miller knows is that he smiles just at the sound of your name.

The thought crosses his mind that he should try to keep his distance, and he tells himself he will. He lies in bed thinking about it, conducting a plan in his head while staring at the ceiling at two in the morning. He can’t not see you. But maybe he doesn’t have to be so inviting. Maybe he doesn’t have to seek you out every afternoon, doesn’t have to check in and make sure you’ve had a good day. 

Maybe he sits on the opposite end of the table during Sunday dinner. Maybe when you give him that look and head to the kitchen in search of whiskey, Tommy keeps his ass on the couch.

But then the next morning rolls around, and he’s picking Sarah and Joel up with dark circles under his eyes and a cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. He glances over his shoulder when the front door creaks open and is only a little surprised when you step outside with bare feet, wearing nothing but a thin tank top and a pair of sleep shorts.

Your hair’s messy, and there’s an imprint from your pillow on your cheek. Still half asleep, you let out the cutest whimper he’s ever heard and crawl right into his lap like it’s where you belong. 

Tommy spreads his knees apart to make room for you, stubbing his cigarette out on the concrete and tossing it in the grass. He brackets his arms around your waist and interlocks his fingers at your hip while you curl up against him, stealing his warmth. 

It feels so easy, so natural that he doesn’t fight it for a second. Doesn’t even realize he should. All those big plans he made six hours ago to right this wrong dissolve as easily as sugar in water. He kisses your forehead and holds you close and says, “Hey, sweetheart. You alright? Somethin’ wrong?”

You nuzzle your nose against the crook of his neck and murmur sleepily, “Missed you.”

Just two words, but that’s all it takes. He decides that the heavy feeling inside his chest is his to cope with. He won’t make you suffer for it. Can’t imagine ever pushing you away or sitting across from you instead of at your side.

There’s only one word for this, he knows. Only one explanation for why he continuously fights for your laughter, your comfort. Only one reason he’s memorized the pattern of your breathing and would know the touch of your hands with his eyes closed.

It’s not right. 

It’s not, and Tommy knows it, but he doesn’t have the strength to fight it. So, he cradles this feeling in his hands. Holds it gently. Sees it for what it is. 

And then he tucks it away. Locks it up tight and promises never to speak of it. 

Joel takes your mom to Galveston for the weekend on their anniversary. He asks Tommy to keep an eye on you and Sarah, to keep his phone on in case the two of you need anything.

He brings takeout over after work on Friday night, but leaves the two of you to your own devices after that. Tommy remembers being your age and doesn’t want to hover, doesn’t want anyone involved to consider him a fucking babysitter. So he gives you the space he wanted when he was young. Figures if you need him, you’ll call him, and he’ll come running.

The phone doesn’t ring until late Sunday afternoon. 

Joel and your mom are due home in the next few hours, and your voice is panicky on the other end of the line. “Hey. Can you—can you come over? We sort of broke something, and I tried to fix it but I think I only made it worse.”

Tommy’s in his truck before the call even ends. He asks a hundred questions, tries to get some sort of clarification on the way over. But you don’t give much in the way of answers, and his confusion only increases when he pulls into Joel’s driveway and sees you standing on the porch with a trash bag in hand. “Okay, before you come inside, you have to swear to secrecy,” you say.

Tommy’s brows furrow.  “Christ, kid. What the hell’d you do? There a fuckin’ dead body in there?”

You roll your eyes. “Just promise you won’t tell Joel or my mom.”

“Can’t promise nothin’ if I don’t know—”

“Just promise me, Tommy,” you say, frustration building. He’s never seen you this serious, he realizes.

Even if there was a dead body behind the front door, Tommy knows he’d do nothing but protect you from the fallout. And he hates how nervous you look, so the decision comes easily. “Hey.” He reaches out and takes your hand in his, running his thumb across your knuckles. “I promise, alright?”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Good. Cause Sarah’s in there freaking the fuck out cause I called you.”

Tommy follows you inside, mouth open with the intent to ask more questions. But they’re all answered rather quickly when he sees the state of Joel’s living room.

There are half-empty beer cans and red solo cups littered all over every viable surface. Pink and green and orange streamers hang from the ceiling fan and over the stair bannister. Confetti covers the floor and there’s a shattered glass bottle in the kitchen sink, but the most obvious stressor is the six-inch hole in the wall beside the fridge.

Sarah’s footsteps rush down the hall, finger pointed at Tommy. Her eyes are wide, and there’s genuine tension on her face. “Did you swear?”

Tommy raises both hands in surrender. “Cross my heart,” he says, and means it. “Let me take care of the wall first. I’ll get the broken glass after. Don’t wanna see either one of you near it. The last thing we need right now is a trip to the emergency room for stitches.”

Between the three of you, it doesn’t take long. Tommy finds a mesh patch, spackle, and a half-empty gallon of paint in Joel’s garage that matches the kitchen walls. He fills the cavity as quickly as he can, using the box fan from Joel’s bedroom window to speed up the drying process.

You make quick progress, and yet still, he feels his heart sink to his feet at the sound of tires in the driveway.

Both you and Sarah freeze in place, staring at each other with expressions that are somehow both horrified and amused. “We’re so fucked, dude,” you whisper.

But when it comes to hiding things like this, Tommy Miller might just consider himself an expert. “Not just yet,” he swears. “Throw it all out back. I’ll keep them outside for a minute, and then when I leave, I’ll take care of it, alright? Be quick.”

He tries not to laugh as you and Sarah launch into action, running around the room and filling your hands with what remains.

Tommy meets Joel at his truck and asks him how their vacation was, making comments and drawing the discussion out as your mom talks about the aquarium and the restaurants on the pier and how the hotel staff folded your towels into the shape of little swans. 

Joel asks how you and Sarah behaved, asks if there had been any trouble. Tommy shakes his head, leaning against the side of the truck. “Nah,” he lies easily. “They were perfect angels as usual.”

When he can no longer make viable conversation points, he very nosily helps them bring their luggage and souvenirs inside. He finds you and Sarah cuddled up on the couch, both reading books that Tommy knows you’ve never cracked open a day in your life.

You both look so out of place that it almost gives you away. He tries not to laugh, but it doesn’t quite work. Joel stares at him in confusion while you and Sarah glare at him from across the room, and so Tommy dismisses himself quickly. “Gonna head home,” he says. “Have to, uh…check on the neighbor's cat. Watching it for the weekend, too.”

He leaves through the front door, but sneaks around through the gate and quietly grabs the trash from the backyard just as he promised. It takes two trips to get it all, and he throws everything into the back of his truck on the off chance that Joel checks the bin before trash day.

Tommy’s tossing the last one when he sees you come sprinting off the front porch. He thinks maybe he’s forgotten something, or maybe Joel and your mom had seen right through the lie and all that acting was for nothing.

But then you’re throwing your arms around his neck and wrapping your legs around his waist, face buried in his shoulder. 

Holding you is as easy as breathing. He keeps you upright, keeps you close, with his big hands spread wide over your back.

You say, “Thank you, Uncle Tommy,” and the air is punched from his fucking lungs. 

It’s the first time you've said it. The very first time, and he feels giddy and nervous, and his stomach gets all tied in knots like he’s some teenage boy. He squeezes you tighter, and his laughter slips out unrestrained this time. 

It’s filthy and dirty and disgusting, but he loves it. “I’ve always got you, darlin',” he says. “You know that.”

You lift your head to look at him, and your pretty mouth is suddenly so close to his that you share the same breath. “Yeah,” you giggle. “I know you do.”

It warms him from the inside out to hear it. He loves being this for you. A holder of secrets, a shoulder to lean on, a solver of problems. He loves that you make him feel needed—wanted in a way he’s never been before.

He loves being your Uncle Tommy. 

You press your forehead to his, and desire creeps up his spine, hot and thick and asphyxiating. His limbs feel heavy, and his breath gets caught in his lungs. It’s painful how badly he wants you. Like a peak he can’t quite reach, an itch he can’t quite scratch. You thread your hands in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling gently, and his eyelids flutter closed. 

Nothing has ever felt as good as it feels to be touched by you, Tommy realizes. And he knows nothing will ever compare. 

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck, sweetheart, I…”

There are no words to say. They get all jumbled in his head, and the only thing he can make out in the chaos is his yearning.

“I know,” you say. Because of course you do. You’ve always known him, have always understood him in a way no one else has. Have always been able to see the look on his face and read the thoughts in his head. “I know.”

Slowly, carefully, you untangle your legs from around his waist. You slide down his body and he knows you can feel it. Knows there’s no way in hell the throbbing of his cock could ever be mistaken as just his belt buckle. 

But you say nothing. Just smile up at him with those hungry eyes and press a sweet, soft kiss to his cheek.

He drives home in silence.

No music, no news station. Even the windows he leaves up. Tommy can’t think beyond the taste of your oxygen, can’t see past the absolute fucking shit show he’s gotten himself into. He sits in his truck outside his apartment for twenty minutes before he moves again, scratching the stubble along his jaw.

And then, as if he hadn’t almost kissed you in broad daylight, the world keeps turning.

He cleans out the bed of his truck, showers the smell of paint and cheap beer from his skin, and then he goes to work the next morning. He teases Joel about the swan-shaped towels, but there’s no salt to it. Truly, he’s happy for his brother. 

Joel’s been so selfless his whole life. Has given the first half of it up to raise Tommy and the second half to raise Sarah and never complained, not even once.

If anyone in the world deserves that gooey, cliche kind of love that’s just good and uncomplicated and easy, it’s Joel. They really are perfect for each other, he and your mother.

Tommy tries not to think about how his happiness for his brother is paired with a simmering jealousy underneath. Decides to take that green-eyed confession to his grave.

Friday afternoon, one of the electricians Joel hired a few months ago invites Tommy out to a nightclub. “The whole team’s going tomorrow,” he says. “Booze, girls, drugs if you’re into that kinda thing. One of those pop-up ones. It’s in that old warehouse on the other side of town.”

Sounds tempting, he’ll admit. Right up his alley. But Tommy knows himself, and knows that in a place like that he’s likely to go a little overboard. Spend too much money, have too many drinks, wake up the next morning with a girl in his bed he doesn’t remember talking to. And if he does that, he likely won’t make it to Sunday dinner at Joel’s. 

Which means no time with you. 

No stolen, longing glances across the room. No heat of your thigh pressed against his. No thieving fingers on his plate.

Tommy shakes his head. “Thanks, Mike. But, uh…I’m—I’m good.”

He thinks that’s the end of it. But then Joel asks, real gently, “You got a girl or somethin’ I don’t know about?”

“What? Nah, man. No. Definitely not.” Tommy knows his answer comes too quickly, too dismissive for it to be even remotely believable. But it’s true, isn’t it? You’re not his girl. You just…well, you’re his niece. Sort of.

Joel eyes him suspiciously. All he says is, “Never would’ve imagined you’d skip out on that.” But it’s enough to convince Tommy that his brother doesn’t believe him for even a second.

He lay awake that night, head filled with thoughts of you. Because Tommy knows Joel’s right. Before you’d waltzed into his life and altered its course, he would’ve been all over that. Would’ve jumped at the opportunity for an exclusive warehouse party, even knowing what would likely happen. He’d take the migraine and the dehydration and the overdrafted checking account at just the plausible idea of a good time.

And he’d declined so quickly. That’s the part that gets him. The thing that gives him perspective. He hadn’t even debated it for a single second because the things that once brought him joy pale in comparison to simply being at your side. 

Saturday morning, Tommy makes a phone call. Says he changed his mind and gets the address of the warehouse.

He spends his afternoon running errands, doing everything he knows he won’t have the energy for tomorrow. And then he showers and puts gel in his hair and picks out a nice outfit. Starched blue jeans that fit him nicely and an expensive leather belt and a white t-shirt. He puts on a simple gold chain and sprays his favorite cologne (trying not to think about the fact that it’s only his favorite because one afternoon you’d said he smelled so good he was ‘edible’). 

On the drive over, he has to hype himself up. Has to try and convince himself that this is a good thing. It’s what he needs. To get out there again, to find someone who makes him feel the way you do. Someone nice and age-appropriate and not loosely familial. Someone who doesn’t know Joel or your mother or Sarah or you in any fucking capactiy whatsoever. 

Tommy doesn’t think it’s likely that he’ll find that person here, of course. But there’s a possibility, right? To meet someone who could be the love of his life. A slim chance, but a chance nonetheless.

There are more people than he expects. The warehouse looks almost dark on the outside. Quiet and empty. But once the bouncer checks his ID and lets him through the double doors, the inside is a different world entirely. 

There are three different bars. One on the left wall, one on the right, and one in the very center of the room in the shape of an oval. There’s a big stage with a live DJ and house music playing loud over the speakers. The dance floor is lively and drenched in neon lights and the air is thick with humidity and the smell of liquor.

Excitement trickles into his bloodstream. It’s been a long while since he’s been in a place like this, but Tommy thinks it might just cure him.

All it takes is a quick text before he finds Mike and the rest of the guys from the work site that decided to show up. There’s only a handful of them, but they all split the bill for a round of shots, and Tommy orders a whiskey and coke. 

They’re here for one reason, of course—and Tommy’s no different. They chat for a while, but eventually the guys all peel off from the group one by one after buying a girl a drink and then proceeding to disappear into the crowd of dancing bodies. 

Mike has a wife, but even he finds someone to dance with, and eventually Tommy sits at the bar alone. 

He pulls out his phone. Opens your thread of messages and smiles to himself as he scrolls through them. It’s filled with silly photos and dirty jokes and the occasional text from you that reads, ‘miss you today<3’ and his perpetual response, ‘I always miss you more. Be good, sweetheart.’ 

Tommy’s so deeply focused on his phone that he nearly jumps out of his skin when his drink is pulled right out of his hands.

He looks up with a scowl on his face, not anticipating a fight but preparing for one, and then—

“Can I have some of that?” You don’t wait for his answer before sipping from his glass, leaving lip gloss stains in the same place his mouth was moments ago.

“What in the fuck?” A crease forms between his brows as he takes in your familiar face, backlit by green and yellow lights. “They’re checking IDs at the door,” he says. “How did you even get in here?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, come on, Uncle Tommy. You’re telling me you never had a fake when you were my age?”

Tommy knows he probably should say something…responsible right now. Should probably warn you of the dangers in a place like this, especially for a girl like you. Should be taught about covetous men with wandering hands and powders dropped in drinks and cigarettes laced with God knows what.

But he did have a fake ID at your age and could be found at places a whole lot like this one. Two peas in a fucking pod, he thinks. 

So, instead, he asks, “Did you, uh…come here with someone? Friends or…I don’t know. A boyfriend, maybe?”

He steels himself in preparation for your answer. You’ve never mentioned a boyfriend before, but you’re at that age. Probably experimenting a little, sifting through the options to find which one suits you best.

But you’re standing at a bar, all alone, buying your own drink. Shitty fucking option, Tommy thinks.

“Why? You jealous or something?” There’s a teasing lilt to your voice, and Tommy knows you’re just trying to get a rise out of him. But the sad part is that you’re not too far off, and that’s what has him turning to the bartender and ordering another.

“Got no reason to be jealous,” Tommy answers with a shrug. “Ain’t exactly like I’ve got a spot on the roster, darlin’.”

Your smile falls. Just barely, almost undetectable. But Tommy notices. Would notice it even if you were across the room. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know.”

“Well, then you’re a fucking idiot, Tommy Miller.” You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. The words are sharp, icy. You take a long drink from his stolen glass. “What stops you?”

His brows furrow. “Stops me…?”

“From doing what you want to me.” It gives him pause, laying it out so boldly like that. The truth he’s never spoken aloud falls so easily from your tongue. “We get so close,” you elaborate. “Just one moment, one choice away…but you never do it. You always hesitate, and then the moment’s gone. So what stops you?”

His morals, your age, your vibrance. You’re so good, so lively and carefree and happy. How does he explain that he doesn’t want to ruin this? Ruin you? How does he explain that taking that next step with you would tarnish both of you forever? Red to blue, green to yellow. It would never be the same. 

He’s supposed to protect you. Supposed to give you a shoulder to cry on and a soft landing in your time of need and spot you a twenty when you’re short on cash. Supposed to be a guiding hand as an uncle should. He’s not supposed to be…whatever this is.

Tommy’s relieved when the bartender hands him his drink. “You know what stops me,” he says as if it’s obvious, throwing back half the glass in one long drink. The whiskey burns.

“Would it be different if you didn’t know me?”

“Very,” he answers honestly, his mind filling so easily with those obscene possibilities. “But I do know you, so it doesn’t matter.”

That familiar, troublesome smirk finds its way to your glossy lips. You toss back what remains in your glass, set it on the bar, and say, “I’m going to walk away. Okay? And you’re going to have one of those cases of temporary amnesia.”

Tommy laughs and shakes his head. “You’re crazy,” he says.

But you don’t pay him any mind. “You’re going to forget everything you know about me. Every last detail. I’m just some girl at a club, and you’re just some guy at the bar.” You put your hands on his shoulders, shaking lightly, staring up at him with starry eyes. Tommy’s heart races behind his sternum, but he can’t stop grinning. “I’m not me, and you’re not you. And tomorrow, you’ll be cured. Everything will go back to normal, just like it was. Okay?”

“S’a real bad idea, darlin’,” he warns.

“So don’t make me do it alone.”

Tommy swallows hard. He’s never said no to you in all his life, and it’s just…it’s just one night, right? Maybe it’s what he needs. A slow release of pressure, a controlled indulgence to prevent an explosion.

You see the decision as he makes it. Know what he’s thinking without him speaking a single word. Tommy covers his mouth to stifle his rugged amusement as he watches you take five steps away from him, turn in a complete circle, and then make your way back to the bar.

In a dramatic show of film-esque seduction, you lean against the bar and say, “Well, aren’t you a tall glass of water?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Tommy mutters to himself, smiling so hard the apples of his cheeks hurt.

You playfully slap his bicep with the back of your hand. “Aren’t you going to ask if you can buy me a drink? Wine and dine me?”

He recalls your very first conversation, that one in Joel’s kitchen when you’d promised not to let any man inside your mouth without properly romancing you first. “Alright, then,” he resigns. “What’re you havin,’ sweetheart?”

“Whiskey,” you say, and he’s not the least bit surprised.

Tommy buys your drink and says, “You look…really beautiful.” You’re wearing a silvery satin dress, sinfully short, tight in all the right places. The straps are thin against your otherwise bare shoulders, and he reaches out and gently runs his knuckles down the curve of your collarbone. He thinks it might be the very first time he’s ever touched you here, and it’s not inherently a sexual caress, but it feels so… intimate. Heavy.

You glance down at yourself, at the strappy black heels on your feet. “Thank you,” you say. “But I think it’d look even better on your bedroom floor.”

“Fuck yeah it would,” he agrees, chuckling.

“Do you wanna dance?”

Tommy’s never abandoned a drink so fast in his life. He takes your hand in his and says, “I thought you’d never ask.”

He leads you through the crowd while the DJ plays some bass-heavy pop song he’s heard on the radio a hundred times. He finds a reasonable space and raises your hand above your head, turning you so he can properly appreciate the sight of that dress.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he says. “Do you know that?”

You roll your eyes like it’s a joke, but Tommy’s being dead serious. You say, “Shut up.” But he sees the way your cheeks heat, even beneath the flashing lights.

You sway your hips in time to the beat, body moving in sync with the music. There’s nothing shy or timid about it; that allure of yours comes so easily, glowing from the inside out.

Tommy’s never been a good dancer, and he knows it, but it doesn’t feel that way at all. You seem to find such amusement in his nonsensical movements, not a drop of apprehension trickles into his psyche. 

When you grab his hands and place them on your hips, he lets his instinct take over. Pulls you in close, chests pressed together, his thigh between your legs. You sing the lyrics as if every song is your favorite with a face-splitting grin and those sweet giggles falling from your lips. He pushes you away and spins you around, only to pull you right back. Right into his waiting embrace, right where you belong. Your breath comes fast, but you don’t slow down, and neither does he.

He’s not sure he’s ever felt like this in his entire life. This open, this full. A strange sort of nostalgia passes through him, a homesickness, missing the moment before it’s even passed, knowing he’ll eventually look back on this night as the best he’s ever had.

The air is hot and stiff, but he breathes in your oxygen, and it gives him life. You move together so seamlessly, and Tommy thinks about how he’d come here seeking the possible love of his life and wonders if it’s fate that you were here.

Fate that you had a fake ID, that you somehow knew about the same exclusive pop-up party he’d declined and then came to anyway. Fate that you’d be here alone, that you’d choose one bar out of three others, and that he just happened to be standing there at the very same time. In a warehouse filled with a thousand strangers, you’d somehow found him.

The songs flow and fade, bleeding from one to the next. You dance and dance, and Tommy watches you—enthralled, obsessed, in love.

He loses track of the time, thinks hours could have passed without his notice, and he wouldn’t have even cared. But when he sees a bead of sweat trickle down your neck, he asks, “Wanna step out for a minute?”

You nod once, and Tommy grabs your hand again and pulls you out of the crowd. He gives the bouncer a tight-lipped smile as you slip out of the wide doors. There’s a designated smoking area near the entrance, and that’s where Tommy leads you. 

The music can still be heard outside, muffled and low. He pulls the pack of Marlboros out of his back pocket, lights one, and inhales deeply. When he looks up, he finds you watching him, leaning back against the concrete wall of the warehouse, the blue light of the moon reflected in your eyes. 

You outstretch your hand and take the cigarette from between his fingers, taking a slow drag. “Do you bring girls you don’t know home often?”

Tommy can see right through you. Sees that unease beneath your smile, sees the way you feel the need to ask but don’t want the answer, and relates to it. It makes his stomach turn, though. Because he doesn’t ever want you to think of yourself that way, doesn’t want you to think for a single second that this is anything like that.

Because you’re not a girl he doesn’t know. Not just a means to an end. You’re you.

You’re everything.

“I don’t like this,” he admits quietly. “The pretending.”

You pass the cigarette back to him, and when he puts it to his mouth, he can taste the cherry flavor of your lip gloss on the orange filter. “Would you have as much fun, though? With all that added weight.”

Tommy doesn’t know. Has never had a fucking clue about anything in all his life, really. Never knew what he wanted to do or who he wanted to be.

The only thing that has ever been clear to him is you.

“If we stopped pretending,” you say. “What would you do?”

He hesitates.

And then decides not to let this moment pass him.

He places both hands on either side of your face and kisses you hard, hungry. Tasting you feels like a breath of fresh air, like relief. Your bottom lip slots between his so perfectly that he thinks you must have been made for him, that there could never be anyone else. When you let out the most delicious whimper he’s ever heard, Tommy slides his tongue into your mouth and moans.

It feels like time wasted, like this is what he’s been meant to do his whole life, and now he has to make up for the opportunity lost.

When he pulls away, it’s reluctant, still cradling your pretty face in his hands. Your eyes are wide, and your breath is labored. 

“That’s what I would do,” he says.

A minute passes, and you just stare at him, searching his eyes for something. Doubt, maybe. But you won’t find any, because Tommy Miller has never been more sure of anything in his entire life.

And then, finally—

“Uncle Tommy?”

No more pretending. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I want you to take me home. Right now,” you say.

“Now?”

“Yes. Right the fuck now. Please.”

He smiles widely. “C’mon, baby.”

Tommy takes you to his truck and buckles you in. The ride back to his apartment feels like a blur. He’s barely had two drinks, but you make him feel drunk.

You can’t keep your hands off him. It only takes three seconds once he pulls onto the road before you’re unbuckling your seatbelt and sliding across the cab. You press wet, open-mouthed kisses to the side of his neck and run your hands over his strong thighs, giggling all the while.

He has to reel you in a little after almost running a red light. “Careful, now,” he says, taking your hand in his free one and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “If I die before I get to eat your pussy I’ll come back and haunt the fuck out of you.”

You throw your head back and laugh, but Tommy means it.

It’s a relief when he pulls in the parking lot in one piece, but before he even cuts the ignition, you’re crawling into his lap.

His pretty, desperate girl. 

You kiss him deep, tongue sliding against his, hips tilting over the already hard cock in his jeans. He could cum just like this, Tommy knows, with you on top of him and your hands tangled in the curls at the nape of his neck. You smell sweet and seductive, and he can think of nothing beyond this singular moment.

“Let’s just do it right here,” you say, panting, hands sliding beneath his t-shirt. “I want you so bad. I’ve wanted it for so long, please.”

There are no words to describe how much it satisfies him to hear it, to hear you beg for him. But you deserve better than this. Deserve so much more than a back seat fuck. He wants to give you everything, wants to give you all of him. “I know, sweetheart, I know,” he says. Because he does. “Wanna see you in my bed, though.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, and Tommy uses it to his advantage, holding you close as he quickly gets out of the truck and locks it behind him. You’re a giggling mess, pressing kisses to his face as he makes his way inside and up the stairs to his apartment. “You’re so handsome,” you say. “Have I ever told you that?” 

“A hundred times,” he says, kicking the door closed behind him. “But one more won’t hurt.”

His apartment is a mess. There are dishes in the sink and clothes on the floor and an empty plate on the coffee table, but just seeing you here makes his heart swell in his chest. 

He begins to wonder if this is where you’re meant to be; taking up room in his space, kicking off your shoes at the front door.

Tommy’s cock pulses in the confines of his jeans.

“Kiss me again,” you say. “Kiss me like you mean it.”

He does. His mouth clashes against yours, tongue licking into your sweet mouth, savoring the taste of what remains of your shimmery lip gloss.

Tommy’s hands drift lower, squeezing at the round globes of your ass, pulling you impossibly closer. One of his hands dips between your thighs, feeling the soft lace you wear beneath that sinful dress. “Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck, I need to taste you. Been dreamin’ about it.”

“You dream about me?”

He wraps his big arms around your waist and lifts you. “Every fuckin’ night,” he admits, turning towards his bedroom. 

Doesn’t make it very far, though. Because when you wrap your legs around his waist and rut against him, Tommy lets out a low sound from somewhere deep inside his chest before laying you back against the kitchen island. 

“Fuck it,” he murmurs to himself. Close enough, he thinks.

You look so fucking pretty like this. All sprawled out for him, flushed with your swollen lips parted and your pupils blown wide. He’d always known it would be a sight to behold, but this…it’s something else entirely. 

Cataclysmic. Divine sacriliege.

He leans over you and kisses your chest softly. “Tell me you want this,” he says. “That you want me.”

Your answer comes fast. “I want you, Uncle Tommy.” 

And he feels a deep-seated desire swirl low in his abdomen. Because it’s fucked up. He knows it is. Is completely, lucidly aware that this is all wrong. Filthy and twisted.

Yet he wants it anyway. Maybe not despite it, but because of it. Pleasure heightened with this sick perversion.

He slides his hands under your dress and hooks his fingers around the lace, pulling it down your legs. You’re so wet for him he can see it stick, webs of slick snapping as he groans at the sight. “Goddamn, sweetheart,” he whispers. “Didn’t tell me it was like this.”

“I need you so bad it hurts,” you tell him. “Get so wet just thinking about it.” Your voice is low and desperate, almost a cry. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” he says. “Uncle Tommy’s going to take care of you, okay? Gonna make that ache go away.”

He kisses you slowly. Starts at your ankle and slowly works his way up. He kisses and bites the insides of your thighs, savoring the moment not for you but for him, leaving indentations of his teeth in your flesh. A memory, he thinks. A promise that you’ll think of this tomorrow and the next day. That you’ll remember the way he made you feel.

Then he’s rolling your dress up your hips, delighting in the way you get all shy and squirmy as he takes you in, unashamed in his study. “Such a pretty little pussy,” he says. “Gonna make her feel real good, sweetheart. Don’t you worry.”

He surges forward, licking through your folds. memorizing the way your slit feels beneath his tongue because he never wants to forget this. Never wants to forget the way you gasp beneath him or the way your hands pull at his hair. “Oh my god.”

“Shhh,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you, pretty girl.” he kisses your clit. Once, twice, before sucking it between his lips. He spreads your legs wide and presses his mouth to you, nose crinkling against your pubic bone. 

He could die here a happy man. You taste divine, better than anything his mind could have ever conjured up. He licks and sucks until you’re writhing, and when he presses two fingers gently into your opening, your back arches off the counter top. 

Tommy hooks two fingers inside you, hitting that sweet spot, your perfect moans echoing through his kitchen. He wraps an arm around your thigh and pulls you roughly to the edge of the counter. His tongue is warm and wet as he uses it to circle your clit, groaning against you, sending vibrations through your body.

His name falls from your mouth between gasping breaths. You grind yourself against him, making a delicious mess of his face and pulling at the roots of his hair.

He can feel you clenching around his fingers, chasing that high, chasing release. Tommy decides to give you a little encouragement. “Go on, now,” he mutters against your spit-soaked clit. “Take it, baby. You deserve it. Been so fuckin’ good for so long. Deserve a reward.”

Your breath halts, just for a second. And then you let out a long, salacious moan and your legs tremble around his head. Tommy feels your walls pulse around his two fingers, squeezing them hard. “Fuck, fuck—”

“That’s it,” he praises, flicking his soft tongue gently over your clit, fingers working you through it, pressing in deep. “There you go, shhh. Just like that.”

He looks up at you, branding this image in his brain. The arch of your back, the strain in your throat as you desperately take in oxygen, the way the shimmery, silver sequins on your dress cast little rainbows across his apartment. He’ll never forget it for as long as he lives.

“You look so beautiful, darlin’,” he says. “So pretty when you cum for your Uncle Tommy.”

Only when your writhing stops and your breath evens out does he slow the rhythm of his fingers, caressing your insides slowly, gently, making sure he coaxes it all out of you and delighting in the little whimpers you make in response. And then he carefully slides them out of you, digits slick and glossy with your release. Your eyes are glued to his as he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean, not wasting a single drop. That smirk of yours forms as you say, breathless, “Kiss me.”

Tommy grips the back of your neck and pulls you forward, grinning as he gives you what you need. He kisses you eagerly, tongue finding yours, licking into your mouth.

“Can taste it,” you mutter, giggling against his lips. “I made a real mess of you.”

In more ways than one, Tommy thinks. “Tastes fuckin’ good, though,” he says. “Just gettin’ started, anyway.”

He lifts you off the counter, laughing as you squeal in surprise when he tosses you over his shoulder so easily. You fist your hands in the bottom of his wrinkled t-shirt, seeking stability. “I bet you have blue sheets,” you say.

Tommy snorts. “You’ve thought about the color of my sheets?” Such a simple thing, an irrelevant part of his life that has never mattered to him in any capacity.

“Duh,” you say as if it’s obvious, and Tommy’s suddenly overwhelmed with warmth. He likes that you think about it—his sheets, his bedroom, him. Likes knowing he’s not been alone in his mania. “Always knew I’d end up in them.”

He laughs darkly as he pushes open the door and shoulders you onto his bed, right in the center of his navy blue sheets.

You smile up at him, beaming with pride, and he shakes his head as you say, “Told ya.”

It doesn’t surprise him that you’d guessed correctly because you know him. Better than anyone else ever has. Because you and Tommy are one and the same, two sides to the same twisted coin. “Yeah, yeah, alright,” he teases, crawling over you, knees braced on either side of your thighs. “S’enough outta you, know it all.”

You open your mouth, probably to make some filthy joke, but whatever it is never sees the light of day because Tommy hooks his fingers around the thin straps of your dress and pulls them down your shoulders. He tugs at the fabric until your breasts are bared to him, pretty and soft and perfect.

He cups them tenderly in his hands, thumbs grazing the hardened peaks of your nipples. He watches goosebumps rise across your chest, and it brings a sick smile to his face. “S’that feel good, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes heavy. “Touch me more. Wanna feel you.”

Tommy’s never heard a more tempting request in his life. He leans over and presses his mouth to your chest, hands roaming over your skin. He takes your nipple in his mouth and flicks his tongue over the sensitive flesh, sighing against you at the sound of your moan.

He pushes your dress down to your hips and lets you shimmy the rest of the way out of it, kicking the shiny fabric onto the floor. You lift your hips to meet his, and his cock is so hard and needy that the smallest bit of friction nearly knocks him on his ass. “Shit,” he hisses, trailing kisses across your chest, spreading his worship. He plans to take his time, wants to see just how close he can get you with just his mouth on your tits.

But then your voice breaks through your breathy whimpers. “Uncle Tommy,” you say. “Wait. Wait, I—”

He stops, pulling back, giving you room to breathe. The coldness of fear begins to trickle in as he anticipates your next words. Has he gone too far? Said too much, moved too fast?

“I want you in my mouth,” you say with those pretty eyes, and he convinces himself he’s dreaming. “Please.”

Because this can’t be real. There’s no way in hell he’s looking at you, naked in his bed, begging to suck his cock. His pretty, perfect girl. Tommy runs his hands down his face, and a sound of utter disbelief escapes him. But then he’s nodding, just as eager. “Yeah, baby,” he says. “Course you can.”

Your responding smile sends a shiver down his spine. Carefully, you move from beneath him, hands tugging at the buckle of his leather belt. He can do nothing but watch with reverence as you unbutton his jeans and pull at his zipper, tongue wetting your lips. 

The air gets stuck in his lungs as you reach into his boxers and pull him out with gentle fingers. It’s hypnotic, the way you touch him. You press a sweet, chaste kiss to his tip and with that one touch alone he’s already fighting for his fucking life.

But he lets you do what you want to him. Lets you move at your own pace. Tommy’s grateful you’re slow in your pursuit, though. Tasting him, tongue gliding down the underside of his shaft, savoring.

When you finally take him fully in your mouth, his head falls back and he sighs deeply. It’s almost too much to feel you and look at you, but Tommy doesn’t want to miss it. He strokes your hair as you hollow out your cheeks and greedily swallow him down. “Fuck,” he groans. “Look so good with my dick in your mouth. Yeah, there you go. Just like that.”

You suck harder, take him in deeper. His vision blurs, and pleasure builds and builds and builds, rushing to the surface of his skin. 

“Easy,” he warns. You look at him through your lashes, lips parted around his heavy cock. It’s the most pornographic image he’s ever fucking seen and it’s going to have him cumming down your throat. “Easy, easy, easy—” Tommy takes a handful of your hair and pulls you back, dick pulsing as he watches strands of your spit stick to him. “Jesus Christ, sweetheart.”

Pure, sprightly giggles bubble from your glossy lips. So beautiful it hurts him. “Can I tell you what I want?”

“Always,” he promises, and means it.

You move across his bed, crawling back towards the headboard. Your voice is low, a seductive whisper as you tell him, “I want you to take off your clothes.”

He does. Starts by pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor. Then he takes off his boots and shoves his jeans and boxers down, discarding them beside your pretty little dress.

“I want you to come over here and kiss me,” you say. Tommy moves on instinct, crawling towards you. He’s nearly there when you speak again, mouth hovering over yours. “And then I want you inside me, Uncle Tommy.”

He shivers as you spread your legs slowly, putting on a sweet little show. All for him. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm,” you murmur. You slide your hands down your body, that troublesome look on your face, teasing. As you glide your fingers through your pussy, slick and glossy, you continue. “Wanna watch it go in. Wanna see it here,” you say, pressing hard against your lower abdomen.

Tommy’s always given you everything you’ve ever wanted. Has never had any problem satisfying all your needs. And that doesn’t change now, either.

He kisses you slowly. Meaningfully. There’s intent behind it. Love. Adoration. He hopes you can feel it. Hope you can sense it.

With his forehead against yours, he lines himself up at your entrance. He cradles your face with his hand. Says, “Tell me if it hurts.”

And then he’s pushing inside you, and his hands shake. You watch it, just as you wanted. Watch his cock split you open, watch your pretty pussy make room for him. And Tommy watches you, delighting in the way your eyes go wide and watery, in the way your lips part in a gasp.

He sinks into you all the way, hips pressed tight against yours. And when he pulls back out his cock is covered in your slick. “How’s it feel, baby?”

You nod frantically, chest heaving. “S’good,” you answer. “So fucking…God. You’re so big.”

Tommy tilts his hips, quickly finding a cadence that makes you cry out his name. You feel like heaven. Warm and wet, soaked. The sounds echo in his bedroom, obscene and filthy. He kisses your forehead, your nose, your temple. Every part of you he can reach. “This what you wanted? Hm?”

“Yes, yes, please—”

“Shh, s’alright, darlin’. Ain’t gotta beg me. Uncle Tommy’s got you.” Your silky walls grip his cock tighter as he says it, and he knows then and there that you’re the same in this, too. Knows that you like the perversion, the corruption, the filth. 

He thrusts harder, deeper. Your back arches, and your hand reaches for his. Tommy laces his fingers through yours and has never felt closer to anyone in his life. You say, “I needed you,” and he agrees.

“I know, baby. Me too. I’m here now. Gonna make you cum for me.” He uses his free hand and presses it to your lips. “Open your mouth.”

You do. His perfect girl. He presses his fingers past your lips, into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around them, coating them in your spit. And then he snakes his arm between you and circles your clit, tortorously gentle. “Oh my fucking God,” you cry, squeezing your eyes shut.

But Tommy won’t have it. “Nuh-uh. Look at me, baby,” he says. “C’mon. Wanna see the way you look cumming on Uncle Tommy’s cock, huh?” You do as he says, and a tear rolls down your cheek. “There you go. Just like that. Good job.”

“Tommy,” you whimper, pussy fluttering around him. He’s not going to last long, not like this. Not when you cry for him so beautifully. 

He circles your clit faster, fighting off the bliss that creeps up his spine. “Right here,” he says, kissing your tears away, salt clinging to his lips. “Stay right here with me, sweet girl. Takin’ it so fuckin’ well for me.”

Your fingernails dig into the back of his hand and he knows you’re there, can feel your pussy sucking him in deeper. “Cum with me,” you say, breath ragged. “Cum with me, please.”

“Fuck, fuck…baby, I don’t know if—”

“It’s okay, I promise,” you tell him, voice pleading. “I’m on birth control, I swear. Just…I want to feel it, Uncle Tommy. Want you to fill me up.”

This will damn him, he knows.

“Please, please, please. I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum, oh my God—”

He’d do anything for you.

“Always gonna give you what you want,” he says. “My favorite girl.”

Your eyes are starry as you crest that high, somehow even more exquisite than the first time. Sweet moans fill the room, and your thighs shake as your release rocks through you, spine bending off his blue sheets. You cry out his name, and that’s what sets him over the edge.

His cock pulses inside of you, painting your insides with thick, sticky ropes of cum. It’s the most intense orgasm he’s ever had, and he knows he’ll chase this high for the rest of his fucking life. “That’s it,” he whispers, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. “Such a filthy little thing, beggin’ for your Uncle Tommy to fill you up with his cum. You’re so perfect for me.”

He gives you ever last drop, thrusting in deep until his cock is so overstimulated it almost hurts. But he circles your clit with his spit-soaked fingers until you come down, walls spasming uncontrollably around him.

When he finally pulls out of you, he does it gently. And then he collapses on the bed beside you, panting to try and slow the racing of his heart. He turns his head to look at you and catches your eye, and he’s not quite sure why, but you both grin and just laugh.

There’s no dirty joke or any sort of amusement. Nothing’s funny, but Tommy supposes he’s just…well, he’s happy. Seeing you on the right side of his mattress, all naked and fucked out and satisfied, it just feels so right.

And he knows it’s not. Knows it’s so far removed from the idea of right that it’s absurd, but you’re stifling your laughter behind your hands and turning away from him to try and find some sort of composure, and Tommy thinks maybe he just doesn’t fucking care.

Doesn’t care about right or wrong, doesn’t care about what anyone would think or say. Because how could he when you’re at his side? How could anything else on God’s green earth ever matter to him as much as you?

It can’t happen again. He knows that.

But this is enough, Tommy thinks. This one night. A stolen moment in time that will forever belong only to the two of you, where nothing and no one matters beyond his apartment. The life here, the love between you, encased so perfectly in these four walls…it’s a gift. One he doesn’t deserve. Sweet as maple syrup and warm as the hot summer sun.

And yet it’s been given to him anyway, and Tommy Miller’s going to cherish it for the rest of his life.

When you finally turn back to him, you lie on your side with a face-splitting grin. “We’re so fucked,” you say.

Tommy laughs. “Oh, absolutely,” he agrees, pulling you close. He wraps his arms around your waist and treasures the weight of your head on his chest. “Totally, completely fucked.”

“Well, at least we’re together.”

He smiles. Presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah,” he whispers. “At least there’s that.”

Two peas in a fucking pod.

(ermmmm ik i said i wanted to write more single part fics this year but if literally just one person asks for a part two I'll cave)

[divider by @bernardsbendystraws]

[sourappl3s]

heyy I was wondering if you'd be okay with sharing about how ur life feels finally after manifesting your dream life and a bit of your journey. Like what all did you manifest? How do ur days look like rn? Do you feel like an absolute God? Like go into detail as much as possible, if u can cz I loveeee hearing ppl talk about living their dream life. Also, I RLLY love your blog❤ thankyou.

long post ahead!!!

my life NOW, feels like a fever dream, its fun, exciting, full of happiness and enjoyment, like i finally found myself not surviving and i’m just living my once desired life. i used to suffer with ed, being the friend that was never picked, not seen as attractive, my family was torn apart, low self-esteem and so much more but i won’t get into since thats not the internets business. i manifested my desired face because i didn’t wanna just look like one person, so now i’m completely unrecognizable, my dream body, dream life, dream everything. i’m always going on like fun trips and my school life is entirely romanticized, i love studying now (even though i don’t have to since i make straight A’s now). my life is similar to a j-drama (no i don’t see japan as a glorious country) and sounds like the song Roses by Chainsmokers and Midnight city by M83. i’ve been to countries i thought i would’ve never been before, so now i get to take those aesthetic pictures, im seriously photogenic/videogenic like i look good in any angle no matter how far i am or how close i am, you can use the silliest filters on me and i’ll still look drop dead, head turning, and extremely beautiful. i’m getting scholarships left to right, AS A FRESHMAN IN HIGH SCHOOL (its never too early to apply for colleges) i’m everyone’s comfort person and i have no problem with being that, love confessions left and right, rich, like RICHHHHH. got rid of my hyperpigmentation, literally everyones type and i don’t feel guilty for it, like i respect preferences but this is my reality so im GOING to make myself your type. straight teeth, natural fresh bakery scent. my family is not even torn apart anymore like everyone just made up and now theres fun days with my family every single day. my wardrobe is literally like barbies wardrobe..its HUGE. a huge friend group.

like i’ve feel in love with my life and thats not even half of what i manifested, like i can still sob from when the time i first induced the void state and immediately affirmed for what i wanted and i woke up with it all. that memory sticks with me for absolutely ever, i don’t wanna say i feel like god, not because im a religious person but since thats what i’ve grown to know and understand thats who i am in soul.. then i can say it feels absolutely amazing. my days are always sunny and bright, i guess i can say it also sounds like good days by SZA. theres so much more i could tell you but i’m currently busy as of now and found some time to type this all out, you can be just like me i promise. make that decision.

make that decision now.

[dannyriccsystem]

3, 7, 18 for Carlos I'm gonna melt - also congrats!

AND I JUST CAN’T CONTAIN THIS FEELING THAT REMAINS!

1K SPECIAL - CS55

Soft make out session + dancing in the kitchen + comparing hand sizes

SUMMARY: Making pancakes with your boyfriend :)

WORD COUNT: 876

WARNINGS: FLUFF, Reader and Carlos are both parents, Carlos making pancakes deserves a warning

FEATURING: Carlos Sainz x Wife!Reader

NOTE: That picture, why does he look so pretty I love him so… sooo…. soo much

YOU AWOKE TO A KISS. The room had erupted into small giggles and a deep chuckle, no doubt sourced from both your husband and your daughter. You grinned in your sleepy state, eyes still shut as you rolled over onto your side, away from them. Carlos drawled out a quiet laugh, yanking the covers away from you.

You groaned, reaching out with grabby hands for your blanket. When it wasn’t handed to you instantly, you gave up and let your arm fall to your side again. With a deep breath, you sat up, earning a kiss atop your scalp. “Good morning,” He muttered into your hair.

“HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!” Your daughter cheered, tugging on your hand to drag the attention back to her. You laughed, ruffling her hair affectionately, thanking her softly. “I gotta go work on your gift mama, so papa is gonna take care of you.” She lightly pulled on his index finger.

“Oh thank you baby,” You spoke dramatically. “I’m definitely in good hands then.” Your daughter scampered off, presumably to finish up your gift, whatever that meant exactly. You turned your attention to your husband. “I hope you know I don’t expect you to take care of me,” You teased.

“Nonsense, amor.” He pulled on your hand, dragging you out of bed. “First we have pancakes, and then lunch, and then your mom is paying a visit— Don’t forget that I need to send my mamá a gift as well.” You slid on the slippers that sat by your bed as he pulled you along to the kitchen. He had all his ingredients out, but no product yet. “Just sit while I cook you breakfast.”

“Mmm, no, I want to help.” You insisted. It was a simple recipe, but cooking was always much more fun when two people were involved. He gave you a look that was nearly offended.

“On Mother’s Day?” He asked incredulously, like he couldn’t believe such a suggestion.

“Yes, Carlos.” You giggled, adjusting the robe he had thrown on you. It was fluffy and soft; something you usually only wore for special occasions. “On Mother’s Day. I like cooking with you.”

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes playfully, a strong hand on the small of your back as he guided you into the kitchen. “Pancakes. You know what to do.” You did indeed. It was his signature recipe, you were bound to know.

Soft music played in the background. The TV was set to the station that played music, most of it being slow songs. If you listened closely, you could hear your daughter humming and singing along from the living room, accompanied by the scribbling sounds of crayons on paper.

You both worked deftly in the kitchen, combining your skills to make the journey more efficient. When you had finished whipping the egg yolks, or ‘zzzz-ing’ them, as your husband liked to say, he had subconsciously scooped some up onto his finger and into his mouth. You blinked, staring at him with confusion.

He swallowed, and then you both erupted into a short fit of laughter. “Not sure why you did that,” You teased.

“Ay, mi amor. I have no clue myself.” He slyly placed one hand on your waist as the song transitioned, and you turned in his hold to face him. Your other hands joined in a closed dancing position, causing you to laugh.

“Sneakily dancing with your wife?” He shrugged suspiciously in response. You both swayed to the music, sharing a look of utter love. “Your hands are huge, Carlos.”

He laughed, shaking his head softly. “You had my child and you’re just now realizing that?” Your cheeks grew warm, and this time you were the one dramatically shaking your head. “Maybe your hands are just small.”

“No way. These things are monster-like.” You both shared laughter again, filling your kitchen with temporary mirth. He even twirled you, your slippers sliding against the hardwood flooring. When he tugged you back in, his grip firm, he pressed his lips to yours.

The kissing didn’t stop there, though. You both swayed along to the music still, but this time your lips seemed to join in the rhythm. In between each peck was a soft giggle from either side, or a witty little comment.

It wasn’t until your daughter marched into the kitchen, gasping at the sight of her parents sharing a sneaky kiss, that you broke apart and realized just how long it had been. The half-finished pancake mix was just sitting off to the side, waiting to be finished.

“Gross!” Your daughter squealed, laughing along. “Look mama!” She held up the drawing, which featured the two of you as stick figures, holding hands in a grassy field with a sun peeking out in the corner, adorned with a pair of sunglasses. She even wrote ‘Happy Mother’s Day’ at the top in her messy handwriting.

You broke away from his hold, leaving him to lean against the counter and watch the heart-melting moment from afar. You crouched before your daughter, accepting the gift and pulling her into a hug. “Thank you baby, it’s beautiful! Best gift I’ve ever received.”

“Even better than papa’s kisses?” She grimaced, like just thinking about it grossed her out.

“Way better.”

“Hey!”

[writingjourney]

⛧ BERLIN RITUAL RECAP ⛧

first of thank you all for being so kind yesterday. i tried to add everything i could think of, but my brain was fairly fried and i was so incredibly immersed in the moment that i did not pay attention to every single detail. but here goes ✨

Our seats ended up being super amazing, I had a sort of steep sideways angle to the stage from Phantom’s side and except for some people around me standing to block some of the views at times it was super nice to see the whole stage and screens, we were exactly on eye level whenever they went onto the left side platform which made it all super nice and interactive

Generally, Papa was really chatty when he did speak and also was trying to engage a lot with Berlin personally, like he made many references to how the band was here before (not he himself, it is his first time of course!! which was a very fun and sort of fourth wall breaking moment) and that he enjoys Berlin and we’ve always been so good to the band

His voice to ME was veeeeery different from Copia’s especially during his first little speech, it sounded a bit higher, less cackly and more peppy, sort of. He sounded very distinct to me but I can’t really explain what exactly it sounded like, he did not make overly crass jokes like Copia but he did curse like him and he WAS hooooorny in his movements

His voice sounds incredible live, Peacefield went so incredibly hard but the crowd really popped during Lachryma, Satanized also really hit the crowd around me, as did Rats and of course the encore songs and year zero

They played Pinnacle and CMLS and seeing the propped up Papa on his little column in the back from my side by the stage was a hilarious angle of it

Priest-bias on the screen during Satanized!!

He said we are in times with a lot of turmoil and the world is not as nice as it should be, and he then said things are kind of scheiße-esque which will now forever wander into my vocabulary😭

hearing TFIAFL in East Berlin hits different, him singing about the Stasi guard while a big remaining chunk of the Berlin Wall is right across the venue did really get me

In general TFIAFL got me good, the energy was incredible and everyone in my area was belting it, I was half-crying but it was such a good, affirming feeling

Somehow I hadn’t heard that they have a lit-up Ghost logo in the background of one song, I can’t remember which one it was though but it was super cool (Luise tells me it was Squammer!)

During Ritual Papa was on our side for a bit and the hip movements were SENSUAL, I’m telling you, he also did the microphone penis bit here I’m sure

Where I sat, we got allllll the Phantom action, like SO MUCH. He was SO interactive and charming and he at some point played the guitar underneath his leg that was propped up for a pretty long time, absolutely slayed and engaged with us so much, blew kisses, had us react to specific song parts

Before Cirice he did the thing where he had each side of the crowd go loud and then quiet again, it was super entertaining and the people around me were fucking with him by whistling when he tried to get us to be quiet and he made some playfully angry gestures

I didn’t see much of the other ghouls on my side tbh but Cirrus definitely slayed once again with the solo and also I saw a lot of the ghouls interacting with each other really sweetly, getting each other hyped up

He let us sing a good chunk of DATHOML which ended up working out WAY better than I thought, usually this type of thing with Germans is very risky lol, I loved the song live, he sounded so good

The Umbra run was back for sure and it was greatly amusing

KTGG speech: He talked about how he always comes to Berlin in spring time and it makes him want to hug someone, he said he wants to hug all of us but that would just take too much time because look there are so many of us, he CAN offer us a kiss though

Also the background during KTGG with the goat/anus imagery made me cackle, but in general the backgrounds were SO nice

At some point Dew grabbed Papa’s butt and they were half-hugging while Papa praised him for playing so amazing with his broken foot

Encore bit: In a very funny mocking German accent he did the thing where he says, oh you think we’re so predictable, you think we’ll play another song!! well, we’re not like other bands, we played all our greatest hits already, we’ll play you a song that is 10 minutes long, a kind of jazz rap number, Krautrock (very apt reference for the German crowd), and he also brought the lowkey aggressive NEIN NEIN NEIN back

He said it was a school night, actually pronounced Mittwoch perfectly in German and then was mighty confused that Berlin has a holiday tomorrow, so it was in fact NOT a school night, so he asked if the crowd was fucking with him when they answered no

He also said something else in German (I think) instead of one last one up the poopchute but I did not acoustically hear it, in general sometimes when he talked I just could not make out the words

As I said in my post, after the ritual was over, I thought I’d take the chance to see if the kind security people would maybe hand me some mummy dust and I honestly kinda just forgot that papa was still doing his rounds on stage and happened to run exactly up to that barrier as he came onto the platform one or two meters away, a handful of others were standing there with me as well and he blew us kisses as he does and waved and he stayed a LONG time while we interacted back with hearts and I blew him a kiss back. He was SMILING SO MUCH. It still makes me want to cry how genuinely happy he seemed. (I did get mummy dust, luise also collected one for me <33)

Some infos about the Pop-Up store and merch etc. for those who might be wondering:

It was not close to the venue, idk if that’s the case for other cities but it was quite the annoying mid-berlin-traffic drive, so maybe plan in some extra time and check where it is if you’re not familiar with the city

Suuuuuuper kind staff, like genuinely they were so lovely and chatty (but the venue staff as well, sooooo nice which tbh in Germany is something to point out but that is my general experience in Berlin, they are lovely there)

I got the Berlin exclusive shirt but they actually ALSO had a Berlin exclusive shirt at the venue merch stall that was different (in the style of the regular tour shirts), so I actually have two versions now and both are very nice

There was this big sort of poster wall of Papa with a carpet where I think you could have taken pictures

Prices are similar to the merch at the venue I would say, only the shirt was 60€ (the shirts are 50€ at the venue) and they had a lot of bits and bots that were kinda pricy, I did not get the exclusive necklace because I don’t wear silver but it looked cool! I got a cute pin instead

They also had three different Ghost cups at the venue (which the kind staff allowed us to buy without drinks after the ritual was over) so get your drinks friends lol

[linafinsterwald192]

beautiful recap and i wanna add to it!!! more spoilers. duh.

as a first time proper concert goer: the venue was super easy to find and navigate, the staff was friendly and helpful and i have never in my life felt so save DESPITE THE FACT that i have social anxiety. 17000 people, and i was literally all good. beautiful. amazing. it was also super fun hearing all the languages and as someone who got into ghost after copia became papa, there was SO MUCH merch i had never seen before. some dude wore a popestar shirt. it was awesome. also the bass was physically in my chest which i didn't know was actually a thing but it slayedddd.

when papa did the whole "I have never been here" spiel, the guy who got declared boss actually got declared "king. king SHIT-" and it was glorious. i thought it was super funny that papa for once wanted to "hug" everyone (not fuck) and swiftly followed it up with "but that'd take a lot of FUCKING TIME" or something similar. the national holiday did make things confusing for a hot minute. i am very glad it's happening though because my throat is dying and im, at 12:20 slowly comprehending my existence at last.

i did admire him putting us to the test with letting us sing a bunch, too. i thought we did pretty well for being German xD the clapping was definitely shit, tho xD peacefield was AMAZING live. dear god. 17k people shouting YOUR LOVE! BRIGHT AS THE STARLIGHT!" and "OH CHILD! STAY CLOSE TO ME!" and darkness at the heart of your love OMG it was brilliant. amazing. simply amazing. big shoutout to the "blasphemy! heresy!" ghoulette playing "he is" after all the shouty loud songs was cruel to my throat but im glad we got it during the last "mary on a......" he did his whole 'cross' foreplay and then played dance macabre i can also confirm that the idea of papa v doing improv jazz rap for an encore was an absolute crowd banger with the crowd. as for his german: the "deutsland" was very cute and he invented the word "scheißous" which should be jugendwort des jahres next year thank you very much. also bring back susanne daubner for reading out the jugendwort des jahres. pleasee. i loved the ghoul shenanigans as per usual playing umbra live so shortly after bringing out the new album was a decision but i thought it was fun because you could hear more of tobias than with other songs since the lyrics are new xD

Berlin 2025 skeletour recap!

Tl;dr: no underwear confirmed by showing off ✨hair💫, continues tradition of papa giving Berlin extra love

More under the cut

Peacefield live is always so so so good, god what a great opener

One (1) song in and papa already showed skin

He's gotten much more creature since I last saw him in Frankfurt and I love thst for him

Spent a lot of time being in a creature competition with mostly rain, but also cirrus

He's also become much more of a diva in some interactions with ghouls and the audience, also after he did some vocals, I think it was the high bit at the end of spirit, very well and the audience cheered, he had this smug face (good for him and also deserved, his vocals are exceptional)

They played cmls and ftpttp again

He was very smiley today!!!

Dew is much more mobile now, still has the boot of course, but walks/limps around on stage a lot and is almost back to his usual little shit self

Phantom still carries the show, once again: he's so good!

Rain is very creature, headbangs so hard thst his headpiece flops around; did a very funny tired-of-your-shit bit when dew does his annoying guitar thing at the end of ritual

Cirrus is the queen, lots of tongue during her keytar solo, we stan. Her and dews sexy instrumental in umbra is SO well executed, they harmonise so so well

The other ghoulettes are very cute and joined dew again at the front of the stage, the cowbell still rules

The no jacket, only the silky shirt look is deadly and he KNOWS it. People need to stop the "perpetua is shy" thing, he's hot shit and he knows

He did quite a bit of fingering during cirice bye

And ALSO during dathoml (towards dew, too and dew did some filthy guitaring at him in response, sluts, both of them). German audience loved the song and he let us sing bits of it successfully!

Papa goes through it during satanized, especially during the guitar solo, but also the Latin part (featuring monkbias now on the screen??? Big cheer from the audience)... BUT I think he got the paralysed, laicised etc thing correctly this time???

Oh BTW the teleprompter is back, bht being the showman he is, he didn't look at it a lot tbh, he's VERY busy interacting with the audience and it's so nice to see

The way papa raises from below the stage with the cowbell raised above his head triumphantly before snapping out of it nd staring at it confused kills me

What also killed me was how he stared into my eyes again at the beginning of umbra for a LONG time and I just can't handle this, riperoni

Year zero live. Nuff said. Wonderful experience always. No serpent deceiver though, but he did count oddly

He was rather chatty today, he spoke some German again, talked about that he loves Berlin and thst he of course wasn't here before, but the other guys were. Mentioned the first show some 15 years ago and asked if someone was there (a guy cheered and was declared the boss now). Tf truly seems to enjoy Berlin, he always has very warm words for it (beyond the usual pleasantries singers always say for the place they're currently playing in)

Ktgg featured very bouncy papa again, and lots of skin when the shirt went up with his arms, he seemed to have a ton of fun, which is always nice to see

He blew a perpetua cosplayer a big prominent kiss which was hilarious

I think this is a good moment to mention that his shirt goes higher up thst usual when he really lifts his arms and leans back and thst his already very low riding pants slip even lower all the time and combining these two things ended up showing us definite proof that there's no underwear anywhere, yeah, uhm. So. There was hair.

Absolute slut.

Taint tickling is BACK for mummy dust

He started mummy dust with thrusts right away, touched the ghulge intensely, deep thrusts for the usual thrusty bit, all around very horny, very growly, nice.

He did the school night bit again but didn't take into account that Berlin has a holiday tomorrow and was like "are you fucking with me????" 😂(same tbh bc I also only learned about the holiday today); always impressed with how good his German pronunciation is, he said Mittwoch perfectly

I can't express my love for monstrance clock as a closer enough. It was my first ghost song ever and it's such a fantastic closer with everyone singing it. Truly wonderful. And horny.

His encore speech was very funny, I forgot almost all of it sadly, but he mocked us in a fake German accent for being predictable and then said they're not like other bands, they don't have any good stuff for an encore left, they'll now play some improvised jazz rap or krautrock (I would kill for him to perform krautrock pls), he really was so relaxed and chatty!

Bouncy papa for Dance Macabre and we got a single "wobble!", more skin, more touching, more dying (I was the one dying)

Squammer ended not with the long note but "right here, right... That's it, we are done Berlin" (or something like that, I don't remember the exact words but it was so funny)

I wish they'd turn up papas mic during some songs more and ESPECIALLY during his talking bits bc often you can't really hear him (often the drums are still going etc, it's very difficult to understand what he says sometimes)

Honestly these shows are so much fun, there's so much going on, they have figured out almost all the technical issues, it's so so good

He let the audience sing multiple bits, which is incredibly brave with German audiences, we are notoriously horrible and shy, but it worked WELL! Proud of us

I managed to smuggle a 750ml bottle into the venue in my bra so that's my big brag of the night, it saved my life - only for then to be killed by multiple papa eye contact incidents and the....... Other situation

[somanyideassolittletime]

you're gonna live forever in me

Pairing: Jack Abbot x fem!reader (3rd pov)

summary: John Mayer makes great sad song.

Warnings: angst, angst, angst.

He doesn’t even remember having this song in his phone, she must’ve added this a long time ago, he thinks. 

The great big bang and dinosaurs 

fiery rain and meteors 

It all ends unfortunately. 

But you're gonna live forever in me

I guarantee, just wait and see

Jack's hands grasped the steering wheel hard when the familiar music played in his car. He knows the song by heart – listening to an artist's discography repeatedly does that to someone, he supposed. His mind tells him to change the song and to throw away every memory he has associated with this song, but his heart tells him to listen; to reminisce about all the good times he’s had the privilege to experience. Ironic really, he’s pulling up in the driveway and this song decides to play.

“Why do you like sad songs so much, I never understand,” he once asked her, driving around the city at night, no destination on mind. “It’s not sad, J. It’s beautiful.-” She looked at him like he hung the moon, she always does. “Imagine loving someone to the point that they live forever in you,” he chuckled, “I don’t have to, you already are.” And she had cried that night, hearing him mutter those words. 

J, a nickname he once hated – how hard it is to just say Jack? He once thought – but hearing her call him J for the first time, he couldn’t help but erase his forethought on how much he hated that nickname. Hearing her call him J makes him feel young again; her tone always holds no malice every time she calls him that, for him, hearing her mutter those one letter is like a prayer, a beacon of how close she held him in her heart. 

Parts of me were made by you

And planets keep their distance too

The moon's got a grip on the sea

And you're gonna live forever in me

I guarantee, it's your destiny

His mind wandered to the one time they went to The Museum, looking around hand in hand, talking about everything all at once. 

“J, did you know that in some interpretations of the Greek mythology, human beings are made with four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces. But fearing what they could do, Zeus split them into halves, and they spend the rest of their lives finding the other half.” she had said to him, he laughed, bringing their intertwining hand to his lips, kissing it, “what a weird fact to tell me when we’re looking at a sabretooth, hon.” She had laughed too. “yeah, the timing was off, sorry” he turned to her, looking in her eyes, leaning in, “never be sorry, I love it.-” he whispers to her “also I would love to kiss you, but we’re kinda in the museum.” he leaned back, both smiling at each other like nothing else in the world mattered, both silently agreeing that they have found the other half. 

Life is full of sweet mistakes

And love's an honest one to make

Time leaves no fruit on the tree

But you're gonna live forever in me

I guarantee, it's just meant to be

The car is parked, but he can’t will himself to turn it off, not when his mind is currently preoccupied by the thoughts that kept him up most nights. He never stopped loving her, he still finds her in every day small things; a book he thinks she will love, a song he knows she’ll play in their home repeatedly until he can recite the entire lyrics. She still occupies his thoughts a lot, even after all these years. 

His mind kept repeating the night he called it off before he went to bed every night – he kept reciting all the hurtful words he had said over and over again, wishing he had said something different, something that could make her stay. And on one of those nights, when he’s been too deep in his own thoughts, he would twist the memory to the point that he can picture her in bed beside him, holding him, telling him to go to sleep, and that all that has happened was just some twisted nightmare he conjured up. 

How he wished that he would give in to the fight when he called it off instead of doing what he had always been doing, retract himself. I don’t like it when you don’t argue back, it’s like what we had is not worth fighting, J. had once said to him in one of their first fight. 

And when the pastor asks the pews

For reasons he can't marry you

I'll keep my word and my seat

But you're gonna live forever in me

I guarantee, just wait and see

He wonders if she’s moved on, if she’s found someone worthy of her love, if she’s found her a husband. If she is married, in a way, he’s glad; glad that he doesn’t have to bear seeing her walking down the aisle, glad that she’s happy, that she found herself her other half. 

She’s gonna live forever in him, that’s her destiny for him, he supposed. No matter where she is, no matter what she’s doing, what she’s thinking, part of him will still always live for her as part of her will always live forever in him. No matter what he’s doing, the memory of the time he spent with her will always live in the back of his mind, like a reminder of what he has lost. 

The song has changed now, he wills himself to turn the ignition off, walking into his home, bag slung on one shoulder.  Putting the key in the slot, he can’t help to think that maybe, just maybe, she’ll greet him on the other side of the door, hug him, and kiss his cheek like she always does. But he knows better than to hope. 

He emptied his pockets on the table, looking around the house – now feels too big, too empty, too cold – and sighed. His phone lit up with a notification, one he knew not from her. He picked up his phone, with a recent game score notification on the front screen. Not knowing what to do. 

It's like his hand has a mind of its own, his thumb now hovering over her number, and suddenly his phone felt hot in his hand. He contemplates longer than he usually does. 

So he did the best thing he should’ve done all those years – he listened to his heart – and pressed the call button. With his heart hammering in his chest. 

She picked up in the third ring. She had, after all, promised him that she was just one call away, but that was when they were together. She hadn’t backed up from her promise, it seems. 

“Jack?” 

Not J, not anymore, not to her. But maybe he wanted to be reckless and let himself hope.

[call-me-chips]

Can I request headcanons for Monoma? :)

Heyyy

This was asked nearly a month ago...

DEEPEST pologies, my inbox has been full for a while 😅😅😅😔😔

Anyways

Got a bunch for you to compensate

-

First of all, I hc him to be a natural blonde, with lighter eyelashes and blonder eyebrows as well. He never dyes and will never dye his hair and he takes great pride in that

I feel like he also drinks milk casually, tho never straight from the bag. He's gotta have it in a cup/glass

And he will FIGHT you that Hawaiian pizza is good and those who hate it haven't actually had it and hate it just for the sport

Class 1B will semi-often have game nights, where the class plays either a board game or video game together. Monoma has never lost a game of risk, however, he has, a few times, come close to losing by Itsuka's hand

Swiftie. 100%. Has listened to every single Taylor Swift song. If he's driving somewhere with Itsuka, they'll both be belting her songs for the entire trip with the music on blast and windows rolled down (this would work both platonically and romantically)

Monoma is typically the one assigned to go get coffee for his friends/class, and he has everyone's coffee order memorized down to the tiniest detail (I would give examples, but I've only ever ordered iced coffee lol)

He also loves scrabble, but his turns typically take a but longer than others' because he's sitting there trying desperately to think of a long and obscure word to play. Most of the time he finds one and racks up a ton of points

He sleeps with a stuffed animal and is not ashamed by it

I feel like he's a casual kpop fan. He doesn't have a preference on girl groups vs boy groups, and has probably learned a few of the dance challenges

I also feel like he figure skates, whether that be competing or just as a hobby

Bit of a longer one, and tis going off of the hc that Bakugou is hard of hearing. During some event where multiple UA classes were present, Monoma saw Bakugou using sign language to talk to his friends and Monoma thought he was talking shit about Class 1B, so he decided right then to learn sign language, just so he could understand what Bakugou was saying. He was fluent within a couple months. And yes, Bakugou was shit talking Class 1B, as well as everyone else that crossed his path ever. And now Monoma gets to watch the gossip

-

Some of these might not be the most accurate, but I tried 😅

[hwanwooyoung]

[250130] Gayo Daejejeon :: pocket locket (cover) :: Yuna

[gods-favorite-autistic]

Track list for Fig and the Cig Figs independently published Junior Year album (officially named “Infaethable”)

Teenage Rebellion

Night Yorb (a heavy metal banger)

Summer Scaries

Devils Nectar

Time Quangle (a love song about Ayda)

Multiclass (Gorgug sings on this!)

The Ballad Of Lucy Frostblade (Kristen was the one who convinced Fig to write this)

So Late, So Tactical

Do You Have A Fucking Warrant

Cassandra (Can You Hear Me)

Hall Of Mirrors

President Applebees (written entirely in the night after Kristen gets elected by a drunk Fig with extremely drunk notes by Kristen)

Raging For Love (inspired by Gorgug, of course)

The Elven Oracle (Has A Day Job) (So Stop Bothering Her)

Maximum Legend

Fury Of The Ball

Cursed

Infaethable

The Bad Kids

[a-whole-lot-of-things]

i love dead boy detectives to death, and hope with all my being that we can Somehow pull off getting it back (through netflix or otherwise)

but honestly if we cant? if we get stuck at where we are now forever? i honestly think ill miss the potential s2 soundtrack the most

[seaofreverie]

Watched some clips and live videos and stuff from the 2022 tour this weekend... It was so awesome

[androgynouspenguinexpert]

Golden feathers touch the ground

He tears his hair, 'Who made this mess?'

[3416]

haven't listened to the anthology yet, but i do think her music is suffering from the sheer quantity she's putting out while doing all this other stuff tbh. feels more like an overproduced electronic cashgrab than real layered music despite some tortured lyrics. like ttpd the first half has such a sameness to over half of it.... and that sameness is tied to midnights too imo. i really wish i could experience the joy of albums like 1989/folklore/evermore and def her country earlier stuff but. she can be a lyric writing machine (she needs someone to veto some of it thoughnfjdkfjd feels like no one can tell her no) but not lean on the exact same production style for this long bc it's kinda getting old to me and i really do enjoy so much of her discography like 😭😭😭 idk. i know swifties are just gonna eat up whatever she does, and i've always been in between the absolute worshipping crowd and the absolute hater crowd but some of the music/production part is so uninspired.

[inkykeiji]

sobbing over this new chase atlantic album!!!!!!!!!!!!

[dearmrsawyer]

on the loose live my beloved

[whatudottu]

Scalding hot take probably only I agree with: “Ancient Aliens” by Lemon Demon is such a Ben 10 Cinematic Universe coded song

If this were an elaborate scheme to get me to listen to a song at random this is how you’d do it, link it back to Ben 10 (or some other on of my fixations, thank you NSR fandom for TheFatRat’s Electrified), though it might be my headache or my dislike of songs that are glorified broken records but I… :P don’t like Ancient Aliens (fitting for my loathing of the conspiracy itself). Either way though I do see the vibes in the lyrics, probably my preferred Ben 10 x Ancient Aliens combo, at least it doesn’t try to claim the work of ancient Egyptians were the work of tetramands only call THAT fake by sourcing it to the bumbling of the galvan duo Blukic and Driba-

Sorry, got sidetracked :P

Your ask reminded me of a song that I’d often connect to Ben 10 - Alien Boy by Oliver Tree, if you’ll allow me to exchange songs with you - and the lyrics always made me think specifically about omnivoracious, but “I’m an alien among the human beings” stood out to me. I don’t know where that ranks on the take scale nor if it makes the song any good (roast me, it’s only fair for what I’ve said), but the power of ‘making everything about the character’ has lead me to wilder journeys that i can’t remember woops eto bleh