#maybe smut

[darkmermaida03-bnha]

I seriously have a problem, my love of Shigaraki is stupid and now here I am, obsessively writing a college AU fic and sorta making him a fuckboy. Listen though, I think if AFO had raised him with confidence, that man would a menace to women. Dabi gets talked about all the time about being a fuckboy and being suave and that jazz but I really think that Shiggy could give him a run for his money had he been raised with self-confidence. So that’s what I’m working on portraying because I mad simp for that man 🖤

[midwestgal66]

far from any road (Rust Cohle x F!Reader)

(reader is 21 and rust is 35, takes place season 1)

song rec: train song by vashti bunyan :)

word count: 3.1k

*ding ding*

The sound came from the market door opening. You were sitting in your usual spot, on the stool behind the counter you came to know after the past few months working there. It smelled like rustic wood, cigarettes, and leather all around. 

You looked up from the crossword puzzle you had been working on since your usual morning shift started, 7am. Walking in with his eyes straight ahead, already looking done with his day at 9 in the morning, was your favorite customer: Detective Rust Cohle.

You sat up straight and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "Goodmornin', Mr. Cohle," you say in a casual voice. 

His eyes shift over to you, eye bags present. "Hey. How's it goin'?" He responds, his body slightly turned toward you, not waiting for a response before approaching and looking at the cigarette options stocked behind you. 

"Goin' alright. What's it gonna be today, Camels again?" you say with a slight tinge of humor in your voice, trying to uplift his mood. All you wanted to do was to take his mind off of whatever was going on for him that day, the market being a place where you could offer him someone to talk to and feel comfortable around. You knew Rust was pretty closed off, but you were determined to win him over a little.

"Yeah, you know me," he says, eyes meeting yours, picking up on your friendliness. You could've sworn his eyes turned a shade lighter at recognizing how you'd paid attention to his usual purchases. 

"Comin' right up." You get up and turn around, jean shorts and tank top offering him a nice view of your tanned backside as you reach up to grab them off the shelf. You turn back around place them on the counter in front of you, standing before him. 

"Will that be all for today? Can I get you anything else? Cold beer?" you say, just wanting to hear his voice so he can stay a little bit longer. 

"Uh..." 

As you reach down into the cooler where you keep a few beers for yourself by your feet, you hand him one. "It's on the house," you say with a smile as it lands on the counter with a clunk. 

"Well. Thank you, I appreciate that." 

"Of course," you say with a sweet smile. "I know what you do for this town Mr. Cohle..." you look down. "It doesn't go unnoticed. Least not by me," you say, trying to engage him further. You look up at him and find his blue eyes boring into the counter below you.

"Yeah, well, pretty sure whoever's behind all this isn't noticing much. But thanks anyways," he answers, eyes flitting back up to meet your rosy cheeked face. Maybe you imagined it, but you could've sworn the blues of his eyes flicked down to your lips for a moment.

"I'm here if you need anyone to talk to, y'know. Just swing by. I'm here five days a week," you say, tilting your head, hands on the counter, offering him your best comforting smile.

He reaches for the cigarettes and the beer before saying, "Alright then sweetheart, I'll see you around. Stay safe." He turns and heads out.

"I will," you call out after him. "See you around, I hope," you say to yourself with a wide grin once he's out the door, proud of your little interaction with him. Did he just call me sweetheart...? You thought as you felt butterflies in your gut. Rust, the man you are.

..............................................................................................................................

The week went by quickly, and to your disappointment, Rust didn't exactly show up at the store. But as you thought about it further, and instead of taking it personally, you realized he was probably just swamped with work.

As your shift ended on a Thursday afternoon at 2:00pm, you gathered your purse and headed home on your bike. The warm, dry breeze flowed through your hair as you rode along the dirt road to your humble abode.

You lived with your roommate, Cassie. She wasn't home, and you knew she wouldn't be until late at night. You went to make yourself some iced lemon water and brought your little radio out to the back porch to listen to some music as you sat back and thought about Rust.

His hands grabbing the cigarette pack, the way his veins showed on his hand when he strained his arm to open the door when he left. His tanned skin, disheveled hair, tired eyes, and all you thought was: I could fix him. You giggled to yourself at that last thought. Rust didn't need fixing, he just needed someone who understood his complicated character and unpopular opinions. Or someone to hold him at night, you thought. That's when your thoughts traveled further...

Your hand caressing his cheek, a soft moonlit glow illuminating both your features in the early hours of the morning. Your fingers gripping his back muscles, his hot breath in your ear, the sweat trickling down his forehead as he collapses on you...

Okay. Calm down, you told yourself. You've had a couple interactions and you're fantasizing about him already.

After attempting to read a book and painting your toenails red, you needed to get out of the house again. It was around 5:00pm, and the temperature and lighting was begging you to take a walk outside.

You put on your ratty cowboy boots, color fading, and slipped on a simple linen white dress with straps. You liked the way the fabric came down and fluttered against your mid-thighs in the wind. You grabbed a brown bag to put your wallet in case you bought something and headed out, locking the door.

With nothing really on your mind, other than the smoking detective that for some reason you craved like nothing else, you head out by the side of the old road, fields on your left and right that went on forever.

After what seemed like 20 minutes, you came up to an old gas station you knew well. You went inside, nodding politely at the man working there whose eyes were already boring into your ass. You quickly went to the refrigerated drinks aisle and got your favorite: a peach Snapple iced tea. You walked up to the register and greeted him politely, trying your best to ignore his crooked smile and creepy comments.

"Thank you, have a nice day," you said as you grabbed your change and drink and turned toward the door.

"Anytime, sweetheart," he said with a grin that made you uncomfortable. The way he said it was nowhere near how Rust did. You just wished he was here.

You walked outside into the barren landscape toward the bench on the side of the building. You sat down and opened the drink, slurping down the sweet liquid. You reached into your purse and pulled out some vanilla lip balm, and that's when you saw it.

Coming down the road, a 1997 Ford F250HD XL pickup, red paint glistening in the evening sun rays. Rust's car.

You put away the lip balm in your purse and shuffled to smooth down your hair. Sipping your tea, your eyes glanced over at his truck approaching the station, watching his dark silhouette get out of the car in his work uniform, hair once again disheveled, eyes, once again looking exhausted. But your stomach ached for him. As he filled up the car, you wondered if he would notice you. Would it seem too desperate if you got up and went up to him?

Your leg bounced in indecisiveness. But before you could make a decision, the greasy man working at the register walked outside, side glancing Rust. Rust looked back, giving him a dirty look, almost like he could already tell what kind of man he was without even talking to him. You sat back in the bench, trying to look the other way and focus on your nails rather than looking his way.

"Hey there honey," the man's voice came out in a drawl. "You look pretty lonely out here by yourself... why don't ya come inside? We could have a good time together..." he said.

Heart now beating faster, you replied, "Um, I'm alright out here, but thank you." You immediately felt uneasy.

"C'mon now, don't be like that... It's real lonely in there," he said in return as his dirty, eager hand reached down to touch your hair. You jerked back and stood up off the bench, wide eyed and not sure how to tell him 'no' in a way he could comprehend.

But before you could formulate any sort of incoherent mumble, a tall figure appeared behind the stocky man. Your slightly scared eyes moved up to meet those unmistakable blue eyes.

"Everything ok over here?" said Rust. The man turned around and looked him up and down, recognizing the detective's uniform, grumbling out, "Yeah, everything's fine here. Why, is there a problem or somethin'? I ain't done anything wrong," he answered, a bit of sass in his voice.

You slowly took a step back but the grump noticed and whipped his head back around. "Now where do you think you're goin' doll?"

You opened your mouth to answer but Rust's response came first. "I think she's specified she does not want to talk to you anymore. How about you just head on back inside? Register's gettin' cold."

The man gaped at him and physically huffed before walking back inside. Rust eyes moved to you, seeing you looking a mix of concerned and relieved at his presence. You looked back up at him with a grateful expression.

"Hey, thanks for that. Sorry about him," you said with a sarcastic chuckle, your voice still slightly shaken as your eyes flitted down to the dirt you were playing with on the toe of your boot.

Rust could tell you were nervous to be talking to him, but he didn't understand why when it was just him. "Don't be sorry," he said with that deep southern accent you loved so much. "He needed to be told off. Not your fault."

You felt heat rise to your cheeks at his words and looked back up at his face. His tanned skin looked too good bathed in sunlight.

"Well, thanks again. I should get home now anyway. Getting late," you said, fiddling with the ends of your white dress.

"You need a ride?" he asked.

Once again, you felt butterflies in your stomach at the thought of being in the passenger's seat with him driving, strong hands gripping the wheel as you fought the urge to grab his face and kiss him.

"Uh... I-I mean, it's not too far a walk from here," was all you could stutter out.

The corner of Rust's mouth twitched up for half a second, amused at your shyness. "C'mon, let me drive you home. It's no trouble."

"Alright. That would be great. Thank you, Mr. Cohle." You started walking forward and the two of you headed to his truck.

His frozen heart seemed to warm at your soft spoken voice, your politeness. So many nights he lay awake thinking of the horrors he encounters on the force, what a horrible man he must be for the things he has to do. He always thought of himself as too powerful, a cop, who could do terrible things to people, with immunity. But your presence brought him back down to earth. He wasn't sure why, but all of a sudden, he felt an urge to protect you from all the gas-station men of the world. From the evil that he knew lurked in the marshlands of Southern Louisiana. You didn't deserve to be exposed to the same things he did.

He wordlessly went and opened the passenger's side door for you. You caught his eye and smiled the sweetest smile he'd ever seen. His face remained hard as stone, but his eyes smiled for him. He shut the door and walked around to his side.

Wow. I'm in his car right now. He's driving me home. Is this real? You thought. You brought your knees together and put your hands in your lap, turning your head to look out the window as Rust drove away from the station you likely weren't coming back to.

After a few moments of silence, you asked, "Mind if I open the window?"

He glanced over at your soft skin, your long hair. "No, go ahead," he said.

You opened the window and felt the warm air hit your face, sticking your hand out to wave it around in the wind like you'd done since you were a kid.

"Y'know if you lay your hand flat against the wind and then slowly tilt it up, you feel how a plane takes off? Like, your hand is the plane, and it's lifting off 'cause the wind is pushing it up," you say with a soft giggle at the end at your childish comment.

Once again Rust felt that feeling of protectiveness. You were too sweet to let any harm get to you. For the first time in a long time, he smiled. At your words. "Yeah, I'd assume that's what the plane would feel at that time," his smile not yet fading.

You giggled again quietly before tilting your head toward him with a smile, hand still waving around outside. "C'mon, try it."

"You want me to try?" He said, still smiling softly at your innocence, eyes glancing between your face and the road.

"Yeah, c'mon Rust."

He rolled down his window and stuck his hand out. He waved it around, flat and then up, echoing your movements. "Yeah, I'm definitely feeling pretty aerodynamic right now." You laughed softly in response.

Both of your hands waving around in the wind, you felt better than you had in a while. Finally sitting with this gorgeous man next you, you felt like you'd manifested this moment.

You put your hand back inside and he brought his back over to the wheel, resting his right hand on the gear stick between the two of you. You tilted your body toward him, eyes raking over his form as he looked out at the road in front of you.

All of a sudden, in a rush of boldness, you reached your left hand over to his, your fingertips grazing over his rough hand on the gear stick. he flinched slightly at your movement, not used to the physical touch. But one look from his eyes at your delicate form, doe eyes looking back up at him sweetly, he didn't move his hand. He actually enjoyed the touch. Wanted more of it.

You continued to trace patterns up his hand, tracing the path of his veins. When you felt like he wouldn't resist, you gently picked up his strong, heavy hand and placed it on your left thigh, just above your knee. His hand hovered slightly in hesitation before relaxing it on your warm, smooth skin.

He looked over at you again to see you smiling up at him, reassuring him that it was okay, that you wanted his hand there. His grip tightened ever so slightly.

Then, he spoke words you never expected to come out of his reserved mouth. "I like that dress you're wearin'. You look... good."

You felt the heat rising up to your throat and cheeks again. "Thanks, Rust. I'm glad you like it." Then, feeling another surge of confidence, you said, "Might just have to wear it more often, just for you." You met his eyes and he smirked in response, looking down at his hand on your thigh.

"I wouldn't mind that at all." His hand then began to gently move up and down your thigh, making sure to not go past the hem of your dress, and you tilted your head slightly back in response.

The rest of the car ride stayed like that, and when you got closer to your house, you directed him on where to go. His hand didn't leave your thigh, and you were glad. I want to be his support system. Someone he can come home to and just lay out all his frustrations and feelings on. Someone he can touch wherever he wants. I want to comfort him, you thought. You were not gonna let him go after this car ride. You were going to stick by him.

As he approached your driveway, you said to him, "Thanks again for the car ride, Mr. Cohle. You didn't have to."

"Of course. I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to someone like you," he said, eyes still looking at the road, but you could hear the sincerity in his tone.

"Not if you're here," you said back with a gentle smile.

He turned to you for a moment, your words settling in. So she wants me around, he thought. Yes, I want you around, you thought, as if you could read his mind.

He pulled up in front of your house, finally taking his hand off your thigh to turn the car off, leaving a cold spot where his warm skin had just enveloped.

You turned to him in this moment of silence, and leaned up to his heavenly face. His features took on a form of surprise as you kissed him on the cheek.

"I'll see you around, Rust. Don't be shy to stop in the store. Those Camels won't buy themselves," you said as you got out of the car. Standing outside on the curb, one hand on the door, dress and hair blowing in the wind, you said, "Thanks for the ride," for what seemed to be the tenth time.

"Only for you, sweetheart."

"Bye, Rust."

You closed the door and left him still following your form up into the house. I can't wait to tell Cassie about this, you thought.

As he drove back to his lonely house, he wished you would accompany him one of these cold nights. He realized that no matter how many times he told himself he was better off alone, you might actually be someone he wouldn't mind having around.

[mamapansexual]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐎𝐮𝐫𝐬: Alpha 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐂 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐱 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 Omega 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑: 1

It was a day like any other day of your 8 month pregnancy. The bodyguard you had, trailing behind you menacingly. Though he was an absolute sweetheart at heart. He never let you carry anything even remotely heavy or dangerous. Though it irked you sometimes, you knew he was just doing his job. The two of you walked to the parked car ready to go home. Though out of the corner of your eye you notice an ice cream shop. You rub your belly as you felt the cravings start to kick in. The bodyguard noticed right away, chuckling. “I’ll get you your favorite Ms.Wayne. Just sit in the car and wait.” He said with a smile. You nodded as he opened the door for you. Once in, he gently closes the door behind you. He then walks to the ice cream shop, leaving you to your thoughts. You really wanted to go home and relax your ankles.

Little did you know.. when you got home, you’d be in for the worst day of your life.

𓅓|_|_______________|_|𓅓

Once in the driveway, the bodyguard let you out the car. You waved to him as you walked inside but the atmosphere seemed.. off. You looked at is over to Alfred who seems to look at you with a form of pity. You didn’t like that look but decided to carry on, on your marry way. When you walk into the main room, you’re met with a terrible sight. Your husband had his hands all over another woman, as the woman in question rode him. You clasped a hand over your mouth in utter disbelief. Tears began to fall down your face. Slowly you stepped backward toward the door about to leave. Only now though does Wayne decide to look around and is shocked at seeing you.

“Hunny wait, I-it isn’t what it seems! You haven’t been able to tend me so I bought out a prostitute!” He hurriedly explained. He looked at you as if you had ruined a surprise. And what a surprise it was. He reached out to grab you but was met with Alfred stopping him, allowing you to run out. Your thoughts ran rampant as you ran away and away. How long had this been going on for? Was this the only woman or were there more? Did he even truly love you? Was he just lying to you so you’d give him a heir? Was he planning to throw you out afterward?

Tears streaked your face as you tripped, crashing down on a dirty mattress in an alleyway. You leaned against the wall and cried your heart out in silence. Rain started to come down but you couldn’t care less. After minutes of sitting in the cold drowning rain, something covered you from it. “Well well, look at this. What beautiful prey I’ve captured.” A silky voice said as a hand softly ran through your hair. You looked up, meeting the red lipped smile and beautiful green eyes of Poison Ivy. A giant leaf covered the both of you from atop. “What could have such a beautiful young woman like yourself crying?” She asked, sitting beside you.

You hugged her tightly, burying your face in her shoulder. Her eyes widened in shock at your reaction as she gently pulled you on her lap. “There there.. cry it out. It’s alright dear.” Her voice was calming as she soothed you. Soon enough your sobs turned into sniffles. “Are you alright now?” She asked in curiosity. You slowly removed your head from her shoulder. You were a mess. The bit of mascara you had running down your cheeks. “M-My husband cheated. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” You tell her. Her hands reach into her pocket grabbing a handkerchief, slowly removing the makeup, snot, and tears. “Oh darling.. some men truly are just despicable.” She said, pulling you into her again. She liked the feel of you, plump in all the right places. Only thing wrong was a man’s seed was in your belly instead of hers.

“As for where you’ll go.. you can stay with me.” She crooned to you. You look at her shocked as she smiles. “Really? I won’t be a bother to you?” You asked. She nodded once more, getting up while holding you bridal style. You were in slight shock. You thought only your.. ex husband, could pick you up. This woman was stronger than she looked. Only now did you notice her scent. Her cinnamon fresh forest scent with an undertone of musk. She was an alpha. She smirked down at you as you realized this. Her legs had already started moving you two, to where she lived. You took in a deep whiff of her scent as you slowly fell asleep in her strong arms.

[someannoyingbrunette]

Update on the SDV College AU I’m working on:

Soooo I was originally planning on posting the first chapter like a week ago but I’ve decided I wanted to post the first 3 chapters all at once. I didn’t forget about it dw babies 😌

Unfortunately, I don’t have a set date on when I’m going to release them. But I pinky promise to keep everyone updated on my progress :)

I’m totally not using writing this as an excuse to not study for my board exam

[herarcadewasteland]

officially working on a demon!ateez fic that miiiight get a little spicy. mostly going to be horror ish (i hope) but demon!ateez begs for smut 😔 we shall see if i gain the ability to write smut suddenly

[1970sgothfreak]

Your ideas…

Hand em over 🖐️

[tokkiheart-writes]

I Wanna Teach You How Forever Feels

Summary

In a universe where Oh Seung Moo’s famous thriller webtoon W is also an omegaverse story, his main character Kang Cheol is a Beta who is hiding the fact that he is by using scent blockers so as to appear like an alpha to the general public.

When the author’s daughter, Oh Yeon Joo, is pulled into his webtoon by Kang Chul to save him, she discovers gradual changes occurring to her the more she interacts with Kang Cheol and becomes the lead female.

————

In other words: An AU re-imagining of the show with A/B/O elements which results in a massive overhaul (honestly, the story may end up almost unrecognizable, who’s to say?)

I only have 14 followers on AO3 and 3 here on Tumblr and I’m probably going to lose them all because of this lol

Anyway, sorry for bringing this into creation, my brain wanted to write my first A/B/O fic and wanted to make one for W: Two Worlds.

Not that it had a choice, this is the only fandom I write for lol

[adeptusappreciation]

New project in progress!!!

If you like the character xiao or an all inclusive y/n x xiao stories, this is your place!!!!! Updated as often as possible!

[laudthingcat]

Horror movies date nights with bf!toji are always entertaining. While he doesn’t get scared at any of them, you do;

You jump as the eerie sounds from the tv suddenly come to an end, soon being replaced by both your and the victim’s screams when the jumpscare rolls on the tv.

The hand resting on your waist tightens its grip and a groan slips past your boyfriend's lips, "if you keep movin' like that imma give you a reason to scream."

Your pussy clenches tightly around his cock in response to his suggestion but you’re too busy staring at the tv, totally absorbed in the movie.

“ 'm sorry, toji" you whisper absent mindedly, hearing him hum before reverting his attention back to the movie.

Something bout the way you said his name has him struggling to not push your face against the mattress and rutt into you from behind. But he only sighs and goes back to watching the movie.

Or at least trying to.

But, when you shift again trying to adjust your position, and your walls tighten around his cock as response to a sudden wave of fear caused by the movie, toji loses it and grabs a hold of your hips, easily lifting you up his cock only to slam u back on.

The groan that escaped his lips was something between that of satisfaction and greed. And hearing you squeak for him was enough to lose any restraints he had left.

You're pushed against the bed, cheek pressed flush against the cool sheets with his hand gripping the back of your head, holding you down while his other hand held your hips to keep you from squirming, "but the movie-"

"you'd rather watch a trashy slasher flick than fuck your boyfriend?" his words are accentuated by a deep thrust, “I must say that the knowledge bruises my ego a bit.”

another harsh roll of his hips has your moan tapering off to a muffled scream into the sheets,

"fuck, fuck-toji!"

And then you hear his voice right next to your ear, lips brushing against your earlobe as he leans in to whisper, "told ya' I'd have you screaming my name, bunny."

[softaestluv]

obsessed with the idea of onlyfans model! reader x Simon

Maybe you’re one of the biggest creators on the platform and you’re very well known after doing it for a few years. Except, you only do solo content, despite your peers constantly asking to collab or getting requests from fans to see you getting fucked.

Then, one day you post a video showing off some new panties and Simon’s tattooed and scarred hand just appears, squeezing the meat of your ass, claiming and possessive. A subtle message he’s sending to your audience as he spreads your cheeks apart, sliding your panties to the side and shows off your pretty pussy dripping with his cum.

[monstersflashlight]

Monster boyfriend who would whine until you flash him your boobs. He's sad? Nah, he just wants to see your boobs. He's enjoying a snack but feels bored? He def wants to see your boobs... He's just a bit obsessed with you and how good your boobs look when he grabs them with his too big hands. How pretty your nipples look when he runs his claws over them until they are hard peaks and he can flick them until *you* are the one whining.

[polyphemusboo]

I already wrote about pathetic simon who begs for your forgiveness, but what about really pathetic simon who's ready to get on his knees for you as soon as you get home??

he's been retired for a while, little beard he gets sometimes it's slowly becoming whiter, just a bit! and he just stays at home, really. he's a good little house husband, he loves it when the house is clean and you smile at him because he did a good job! he also made dinner so, really, don't even bother cuz he's got that covered for both of you!

so of course, after such a hard day and such a yummy dinner prepared by him, you let that ridiculous man get you on your back right there on the couch, all your clothes off in a minute, and he's oh sooo eager to bury himself between your legs, tongue and jaw working overtime, and hey! don't even dare touching yourself, because he'll bite those fingers off. it's his to enjoy now.

and even if you're sensitive, pushing on his head for him to give you a break, pretty little simon only grips your hips to keep you still and chokes on it, slurping it all the way because you taste so good on his tongue and he can't have enough.

and really, who can say no to those beautiful puppy eyes looking up at you from between your thighs? certainly not you

[skyrigel]

and then it's the hottest thing ever

[cuntphoric]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ masterlist

satoru gojo

big stretch spiderman!gojo webs you up mwahs your tits video games after sex making out with rival!gojo gojo sucks tits when he's bored gojo and geto overstimming your tits desperate gojo deepthroating you wearing gojo's blindfold while he plays with your folds gojo masturbates over your photos overstimulation with gojo praise & degrade gojo loooves edging you just to see you beg shower sex

what a game threesome gojo's hands good kisser gojo gojo loves you and your dick sucking skills cumplay small or large he's good gojo misses your titties and fucks you later on softdom!gojo loves worshipping gojo IS the present male lactation LOL bad time? geto x gojo x you first time sucking him aftermath

happy trail gojo gojo's dick is pretty he knows how to use it gojo's dick hcs getting off to your reactions giving your bf gojo head gojo loves missionary bf gojo overstims you A LOT while eating you out tits, ass, or thighs? this man fucks hard aftercare with gojo making out & tits gojo loves getting praised so he'll do the favor right back gojo would not complain eating you out for a long time

bratty gojo mirror sex spooning sex late christmas shopping fucking i feel like gojo's top five positions on a certain day would be this subby gojo handcuffed, laying on his back as you ride his face pegging gojo gojo with a pussy hanging by a thread he's all yours i miss gojo ☹ surprise fluff post sub!satoru thoughts another fluff post!! bathroom fun (this can go for really any character but i thought of him while writing it LOL)

actor!reader and actor!gojo has some fun in her dressing room prof!gojo and collegestudent!reader gets it going oooonnn indian!reader and gojo fluff he loves you baddd gojo + handjob heros always gets the job done - spiderman!gojo old draft i forgot to post idk... teasing him i guess IDK WHAT TO NAME THIS???

suguru geto

gojo and geto overstimming your tits bad time? geto x gojo x you pegging geto calm mean man tongue piercing suguru 1/3 tongue piercing suguru 2/3 tongue piercing suguru 3/3 soft nsfw hc's with cult leader!suguru 1/2

kiyotaka ijichi

dry humping & making out ijichi + handjob

hiromi higuruma

higurama loves you and your cum!

takuma ino

soft dom ino my birthday gift to my birthday girl

ryomen sukuna

fem!sukuna degradation

toji fushiguro

small titty worship toji just needs to eat out chubby!reader

choso kamo

tongue piercing choso 1/3 tongue piercing choso 2/3 tongue piercing choso 3/3 a silent mean man choso + handjob

kento nanami

polite teasing nanami (i can't write mean nanami it hurts me) nanami + handjob pregnant reader fluff

shoko ieiri

impatient girl ! utahime x you x shoko shoko loves using her strap on you

utahime iori

impatient girl ! utahime x you x shoko more!!

p links

gojo p links #1

smaus

you pretend to be mad & they offer themselves as a peace offering. you win. your text convos with gojo satoru

[bunnibombz]

Alpha! Simon who packs his overnight bag when Price called him for assistance, though a little apprehensive despite the other Alpha's reassurance. It would only be for a night or two. Your heat had gone on longer than it ever had before and showed no signs of stopping, John hadn't slept in nearly four days despite breaks and had reached his limit.

Alpha! Simon who is immediately on edge the moment he steps into the house. Filled with the scent of your heat and the protective pheromones of the Alpha chugging a bottle of water in front of him. The older Alpha reassured him again, running through the game plan like the military Captain he was. John would shower, eat, and sleep for an hour or two and then take over when need be.

Alpha! Simon who felt better about this situation knowing that you weren't bonded yet, wanting to wait until you were married next year. and also knowing that this scenario had been discussed in length before your heat with Simon in mind. Knowing you trusted him so much had his heart pounding.

Alpha! Simon who knew it wasn't conventual for an Alpha with their Omega in heat to ask another for help but was willing to do anything, especially for you.

Alpha! Simon who was all soft rumbling purrs and hushed tones when he opened the bedroom after being bid upstairs by Price when he heard you begin whimpering. You showed no signs of distress as he laid a warm hand against your shoulder, your scent brightening a bit and untying the knot that had formed in his stomach.

Alpha! Simon who practically melted under your touch as you pulled yourself into his arms, rubbing your scent on any bare skin you could find, his cock swelling and teeth aching under the thick pheromones of your heat

Alpha! Simon who, in an attempt to control his instincts, lays you down against the sheets despite your whines of protest and slots two of his fingers in your wet pussy with ease, stifling the satisfied growl that threatened to spill as your slick leaked down his fingers.

"s'allright Lovie, I'll take care of you for a bit," Simon murmured, throbbing in his pants when you began fucking yourself on his fingers as he curled and flexed them to reach that soft spot inside of you, "sweet little bunny, cum for me and I'll give it all to you"

[pearlessance]

Cupid's Chokehold — part one!

FEEL SO CLOSE

[next chapter]

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

[series masterlist]

[main 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 sits on the front steps and glances over his shoulder when the 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 sacrilege.

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 every 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]