#tommy miller x reader

[ohhoneypascal]

I mean…. 🙂‍↔️

[strang3lov3]

Honey-Do

“You’re gonna work on these every day. And I’m gonna check to make sure you did ‘em all, and if you did, you get to put a sticker down. And if we fill this sheet all the way up by the end of the week, I’ll make ya cum,” Joel explains. “That’s how you can earn back your privileges, Pumpkin.”

Tags - one shot, smut, unprotected piv, creampie, orgasm denial, ddlg dynamics, fingering, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, sneaking around with bad influence uncle tommyyyyy, joel jerks off, sex before dinner, angst + tension, spankings, rewards and punishments, elements of abuse, hurt/lots of comfort, pinky promises, dark. this is a work of fiction, and all characters are adults.

A/N - have I ever not delivered. here’s your uncle tommy fill, as promised. thank you to two anons who know who they are for helping with the creation of this fic, and thank you to my dear L for editing with me! anyway, it's been a minute but i'm happy to see you all :) hope you enjoy. i wrote this through a splitting headache so i'm going to chill now.

Your bedroom door clicks as Joel unlocks it from the other side, and the hinges groan and creak as he pushes it open. He looks at your figure lying in your bed, warm sunlight painting over your skin. Joel knows you’re not sleeping. You’re just lying in the quiet room, soaking up the sun like a kitten. 

“Hi, kiddo,” Joel greets softly, smiling before taking long strides across the room to meet you. He’s stepping over your clothes and tripping on other odds and ends before he reaches you - you’ve been picking out your own clothes lately. Apparently you’ve been less than impressed with Joel’s sense of fashion. Ooohkay, he thought. You’re such a messy girl with the way you try on all of your clothes, then leave them all on the floor. Those, coupled with old, expired bottles of nail polish and lip gloss. Joel told you not to use those lip glosses, but they’re just pretty to look at sometimes. 

“Jesus, girl. Fuckin’ room’s a pigsty,” he says, and he sits on the end of your bed, springs creaking with the shift in weight. 

You ignore him. Joel leans over and kisses both of your cheeks and then your forehead, then your nose. “Don’t smile,” he teases, “Don’t you dare laugh.” And he repeats this, his facial hair tickling your skin, until you’re giggling and your eyes finally open. 

“Ohh, there she is. Mornin’, Pumpkin,” Joel says, chuckling at the way you squint through the bright sunlight. 

“Mmm…morning, D–” you’re interrupted by your own yawn, which makes Joel laugh. “Daddy.” 

Joel pushes some hair out of your eyes. “Lazy ass,” he mumbles. “Listen, kiddo. M’on patrol today, so you’re gonna be home all alone. Y’gonna be alright?” he asks, softly stroking the skin on your cheek. “Gonna be a good girl?” 

He wonders if he can trust you. If he can give you this inch, and you won’t take a mile. The doors and windows will stay locked, of course, but there’s other things he worries about. Joel knows you, you know. You’re never as sneaky as you think you are. 

“Mhm. I’m always good, Daddy.” 

Joel rolls his eyes. “Uh huh, fuckin’ smartass. You can make eggs an’ toast for breakfast, and there’s leftovers in the fridge for lunch. We’ll figure out supper later, hm? Maybe we’ll go to the cafeteria. See what they’re cookin’ up.” 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” you smile. 

“Good.” Joel pats his thighs and then stands up, knees popping loudly. “And I want you to clean all this shit up, alright? Didn’t raise ya to leave messes.” 

You sigh heavily. “I know. I’ll do it.” 

“Good girl.” Joel bends down and kisses your head one last time. “Eat all your lunch an’ have a good day. I love ya.”

You love days where you’re home alone. You used to hate it, and Joel wouldn’t let it happen a whole lot. You hated how lonely it felt, how quiet. You’d hear things go bump that weren’t there, and you’d feel just…nervous. Joel came home once and found you all scared and trembling, and he promised he’d be home with you as much as he could. 

He made good on his promise. And you liked being home with him until you didn’t, until you found it suffocating and boring. Scary. Joel’s house went from being a quiet safe haven away from the horrors of the world to a sort of horror in and of itself. A Sisyphean loop, where nothing ever changes. And it never will, no matter how much you tug on your windows that are bolted shut, or yank on your door that only Joel can unlock. You can never leave. 

You’d stare longingly out the window, hoping to go outside on your own. Just once, maybe. To go in the woods and wander, pick at strange flowers and plants and everything else. Just be alone. Joel grants you so much, and yet, you want so much more than that.

It makes you feel bad, if you’re being honest with yourself. You know what’s out there. What he saved you from. You know you’re safer with Joel, and you know everything he’s done to keep you safe and comfortable and happy. You’re in good hands with him, even if they’re hands that hurt you sometimes. Hit you. Spank you. Choke you. They’re still Joel’s hands, and they’re warm, right? And they love you. 

He said when the weather warms up some more he’ll take you to the lake. You really hope he does. 

You spend the day reading, drawing, watching birds and other critters that come by. Joel thinks it’s cute, the way you’ve named the chipmunks and squirrels that frequent his patio. How you recognize them like they’re your friends. 

Joel tries to leave his bad mood away from home. He knows he’s got a habit of carrying it with him, and regrettably, taking it out on you. You take your moods out on him too, though. Not that it matters. He curses himself for even acknowledging the fact. He’s older, he’s wiser, he’s more patient. You’re not. He’s the parent, you’re the child. But when he comes home, you can tell it was a bad day. You can hear it in his footsteps and in the way he breathes, and it makes you tense. “Y’ready for dinner?” he asks, voice tired. 

“Mhm.” 

“Didn’t hear ya, kiddo. Speak up.” 

“Mhm.” 

“No, no mumblin’. Use your words and tell me, yes or no,” Joel demands, feeling his blood pressure begin to spike. 

“Yes.” 

Oh, you fucking…you. You’re always going to match Joel’s temper. You stare at him and he glares back, balling his fists before turning on his heel to get changed. You both need something to eat, before this goes from zero to one hundred. 

But then Joel goes upstairs, and he walks past your bedroom and sees that nothing - nothing is picked up. He’s back downstairs before he even thinks it through. Before he showers and takes a moment to breathe, even. 

“What’d I fuckin’ tell you?” 

Your stomach drops at his tone. “What?”

“I asked ya to take care of your room, and I come home to see you’ve done fuck all.” 

“I guess I just forgot, Daddy. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Joel scoffs, “Yeah, uh huh.” He pauses for a moment, then puts his hands on his hips. “We talked about this, Pumpkin.” 

“Talked about what?” you ask, and it makes Joel fucking irate that you won’t turn your head to look at him. 

“Look at me when you’re speakin’ t’me,” he barks, startling you. Looking at him from across the room, you can see he means business. Joel’s eyes are already dark to begin with, but they’ve gone black - so depthless and so endless that you can’t tell what’s behind them. 

“You’ve been slackin’,” Joel says in a low tone, breathing heavily as he takes heavy steps toward you. “S’gettin’ old, kid.” 

“I know, I just–”

“Jus’ what?”

You pick at your chipping, poorly-applied nail polish as you roll the answer around in your mind. “I don’t really want to do chores. I mean, I know my room is…but the other stuff, I–” 

“Tough. You live under my roof, y’live under my rules.”

“Then it’s your roof, your mess.” 

The words come out before you can even think about them. You press your lips together immediately, shrinking in your seat a little at the way Joel cocks his eyebrow and puts his hands on his hips. “Wanna try that again?” he asks, and you know what this is, what it is he’s doing: he’s giving you an out. And it’s awfully generous of him, considering. “Don’t make this a bad night,” he warns.

You pause this time, thinking about what you want to say next. I’m sorry, Daddy is that fucking close to rolling off of your lips when you notice that little wren sitting on the windowsill. She’s a frequent visitor, and Joel says she’s just like you. Fiery, assertive, sometimes. Vocal. A pistol. 

She looks at you for a minute, then flies off. It sends a pang of longing through your heart, and perhaps even jealousy that that beautiful little bird can spread her wings and fly away and you…can’t. Not with the locked doors and windows, not while eternally existing under Joel’s fucking microscope.

“I didn’t ask to live here, Joel,” you bite. 

“Oh, s’that’s how we’re doin’ this? This is how tonight’s gonna go?” 

“Yeah.” You get up from your place on the couch and shove into Joel’s shoulder, but he shoves you right back down. He glares at you, and you glare back as hard as you fucking can. Staring at him like you wish you could fucking…you don’t even know. You’re blinded by the same rage and upset that Joel is at this moment, but without the agency to do one fucking thing about it. Joel, on the other hand. 

He takes your jaw in his hand, squeezing your bones tight enough to bruise the soft flesh that covers them. When you jerk your head away, he squeezes tighter. “You don’t get to walk away from me,” he growls, leaning in close enough that you can feel his hot breath on your face. “I do a lot for ya. Done a lot for ya,” he says in a low tone.

“You never let me leave,” you argue. “You trap me.” 

That gets Joel, wounds him a little. His face changes when you say that, before twisting back into something darker. “That’s what you think, huh? That I trap ya?”

You swallow thickly, then part your lips to speak. Joel cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “I keep you safe,” Joel whispers. “Fed. Happy. An’ all I ask is that you follow a few simple rules. That’s all. You wanna go back out there on your own, with the fuckin’ raiders and clickers, I can make that happen. Watch.”

Joel’s jaw ticks as he glares at you, fuming at the indignant little look on your fucking face. He could hit you right now, right across your cheek. Or maybe he’ll bend you over his knee and beat you until your ass is fucking raw and bleeding. That’ll teach you, that’ll fuckin’ teach you…

The anger flows through his veins like a fucking poison, and only when one of Joel’s knuckles crack, startling him, does he let your face go. He didn’t realize he was holding you so hard.

“I don’t like you,” you whisper. 

Joel makes a face at the statement, then nods, because he’s heard it all before. It hurt the worst the first time you said it, but you came back to him crying, hours later when you’d had a nightmare and needed him. Not want - that wasn’t the word you picked. You said you needed him, Daddy, and you were so sorry. You didn’t mean it. You love him and you need him. 

He clicks his tongue against his teeth. “M’not too keen on you either, right now, Pumpkin.”    

The room is tense as you and Joel stare each other down, and neither of you budge until Joel tells you to go to your room and stay there. He tells you that you can forget going out to dinner, and you can stay in your bedroom until he feels like looking at your face again. You’re grounded, too - he doesn’t say from what. Now get out of his sight before he fucking hurts you.

You’re in your room forever, the hours alone spent alone passing like days. The sun went down forever ago, and you can’t stop yourself from crying. You held it together long enough downstairs while fighting with Joel but the moment you stepped foot into your room, you burst like a dam. 

And it sucks to cry alone, to not have Joel there to hold you and wipe your tears. But is that what you’d want? Is that what would make it all better? Maybe. Joel has a special way of being your heaven and hell, all in one man. He’s both your nightmare and your solace after a bad dream. What are you supposed to make of that? What are you supposed to do other than cry like this?

You don’t bother wiping your tears when there’s a double knock at the door. “S’me,” Joel says. “M’comin’ in.” 

You keep your back turned to him as he enters your bedroom with a plate and a glass of water, and he sets both down on your nightstand. “Went and grabbed some food. I gotcha…let’s see here. Chicken, mashed potatoes, corn.” 

“Not hungry.” 

“Not even for some pumpkin pie?” Joel asks, noticing the way your eyes widen at the mention. “Still your favorite, right?”

You pause. “No,” you answer, eventually.

“No?” Joel asks. “Hmm. Guess I’ll eat it myself. M’gonna get even fatter than I already am…this is a very unhealthy thing to do to your dear old man, y’know,” Joel says, cutting into the pie with the side of his fork, which scrapes against the ceramic plate. You flip over and sit up, and Joel feeds you the bite instead of eating it himself. “There she is,” he murmurs. 

That’s how you got the nickname. Joel asked your name many times back in that cold, shitty cabin. You wouldn’t tell him. He understood, of course, and he told you his name anyway. You were always such a stubborn girl. For the life of him, Joel could not figure out why you wouldn’t come back to Jackson with him, why the hell you were so apprehensive about trusting him. Most people jump at the opportunity to stay in the cozy, warm settlement but…not you. 

You were a tough nut to crack. It took a lot of time for you to trust Joel. He used to sit in that cabin with you while on his patrols - Tommy would show up sometimes, too. He’d just sit with you, talk a little, the way you’d do with a stray dog in a shelter. He’d bring you warm thermoses full of soup or tea and sandwiches for you to eat, and he was just patient.

And it was pumpkin pie that finally got you to come home with him. He brought you a slice one day, and you scarfed it down quickly and asked if he had more. “Nope,” he answered. “Gotta come back to Jackson f’ya want more. Got all the pumpkin pie you could eat.”

You mulled it over in your mind more than you ever had. And this was after weeks of Joel visiting you, bringing you food, sometimes dry wood to keep your fireplace warm. You didn’t trust him yet, but you didn’t…not trust him. And you really wanted that fucking pie. 

It was your choice to live with Joel, too. When he brought you back, they offered to put you in a house with other girls around your age. Nope. You wanted to be with Joel. Somewhere deep down, you know you picked him to be yours before he picked you to be his. Doesn’t that make you a little responsible for where you are now? 

“Yeah, alright, Pumpkin. I guess I could make some room for ya,” he winked.

“Breakin’ rules here,” Joel murmurs. “It goes dinner first, then dessert. Right?”

You ignore him as you swallow your bite. He’s only teasing. And besides, this is not a battle he wants to fight. At least you’re eating, anyway. Joel puts his hand on your knee and speaks softly, “I shouldn’t have gotten on your ass the way I did.” 

“No. You shouldn’t have,” you snap, and Joel feeds you another bite of pie. You take the fork and eat the rest of the slice quickly, then lay back down and flip over.    

His poor, sweet, tender-hearted girl. Don’t you know that attitude of yours is only gonna get you in trouble? Joel thinks it's just where you’re at in life - he thought he knew the world like the back of his hand when he was your age, too. 

Joel turns your face and wipes your tear-stained cheeks, all swollen and raw. Eyes rimmed red as more tears well up, then spill down, back into your hairline. “Oh, sweetheart. What am I gonna do with ya?” he sighs, gently thumbing away those tears again. He wipes a few crumbs of pie crust from your lips, too.

You sniffle and shrug, avoiding his gaze. A hiccuping sob escapes your lips. “S'okay. Drink some water,” Joel tells you, pulling you upright. He gives you the glass, has you take a few sips, and he notices the way you look at his hand between your thighs. He notices your muscles twitching, eyes widening…knows exactly what you want as he rubs his thumb over the skin. Joel knows you want him to fuck you, to make you feel good, because you always feel better after he gets you off. Presses your little reset button. He’d reckon those pretty pink panties of yours are a little soaked, too. Poor thing. And isn’t this part of tonight’s problem? 

You can’t get anything past Joel. You’ll never be able to. 

“Daddy–”

“Not tonight, kiddo. Y’lost them privileges.” 

“Please,” you beg. Joel takes your glass of water and sets it down on the nightstand. 

“No,” Joel bites, pulling his hand away. He pulls your blankets over your shoulders, then turns off your lamp. “Daddy’s gonna have to think of a way for you to earn ‘em back.” He kisses you on the forehead, saddened by the way you turn away from him. “I love ya with my whole heart, Pumpkin, but you are gonna learn that there are consequences for your actions. Now get some sleep.”

Joel takes the glasses and checks to make sure the baby monitor is on, then leaves you. A night of sleep will be good for you both. 

But it is a hard night, isn’t it? You spend the night tossing and turning - Joel can hear it on the tinny, crackling speakers of the receiver. He doesn’t rest any easier either, so he gets in the shower late at night. Maybe the distant noise of the running water will soothe you to sleep. 

He washes his hair and his body, then grips his cock tightly in his fist. He strokes himself slowly, top to bottom and over and over again, building to a quicker pace in short time. “Ohh, Pumpkin,” he whispers, cumming over his knuckles. Joel rinses himself off and dries himself, then checks on you in your bedroom - you’re out like a light. Good. Fuck, he hates fighting with you. 

In the morning, you tiptoe down the stairs, stopping first behind the wall to steal a peek at Joel before he sees you. He’s got breakfast made already - French toast, eggs, hash browns. You take your place at the table, yawning as you twirl a fork between your fingers. “Mornin’, sweetheart,” Joel murmurs, pressing a kiss against the crown of your head. He serves you a large helping of breakfast, your Felix the cat cup is already filled with juice. “Sleep okay?” he asks, sitting next to you and serving himself. 

You shrug. 

“Yeah, me too,” Joel agrees. You and he eat in silence for a couple of minutes, the only sounds being the chirping birds and the cutlery scraping against the plates. Joel finishes his food before you do, and when he does, he gets up from the table. You watch him set his dish by the sink, then grab a couple of papers or something from the counter and bring them back to the table. “Been thinkin’ about how you can earn back your privileges,” Joel begins. Your attention is immediately caught by a few shiny, sparkly papers, decorated in little stars. “Stickers,” Joel explains, peeling one off and sticking it on your nose. “See?”

“Mhm.” You grab the packs of stickers, but Joel tugs them back. 

“Ah, ah, ah. Can’t have those yet. You gotta earn ‘em.” Joel shows you a larger paper next, something he made and drew up himself. ‘Pumpkin’s Honey-Do List’.

“What’s honey-do?”

“S’a chore chart,” Joel explains. “Honey, do this for me. Honey, do that. Get it?” You nod. “We’re gonna use this chart to keep track of your chores, okay?” 

Before you answer, you take some time to look over the chores Joel wants you to do. Sunday through Saturday Joel wants you to tidy your room every day. “Every day?” you whine, thinking of the enormous mess sitting in there right now. It’s gonna take for fucking ever to deal with all of that.

“Every day,” Joel answers. “F’ya stay on top of it, it’s not much of an issue. Been tryin’ to tell ya that, Pumpkin.” 

The rest of the daily chores listed are no surprise. Do the dishes, set the table, make the bed, sweep. But there’s some new ones at the bottom of the chart - dust all the shelves and baseboards, wash the windows, mop. Joel explains that they only have to be done once at some point this week. 

“You’re gonna work on these every day,” Joel says. “And I’m gonna check to make sure you did ‘em all, and if you did, you get to put a sticker down. And if we fill this sheet up by the end of the week, I’ll make ya feel good again. That’s how you can earn back your privileges.”

You think about it, looking over the chore chart. Joel’s all capital letter handwriting, and the silly pumpkins he drew at the top of the chart. “Hey, you,” Joel taps your arm. “We square?”

You still don’t know. You don’t know why you’re hesitant. You’re just…that’s just who you are. Stubborn, indignant. A rebel with a heart of gold. 

“Psst. Take the fuckin’ deal, kiddo.” 

“Okay, Daddy.” 

Joel holds out his fist, pinky finger extended. You wrap your pinky around his, and then he brings both his and your hands to his lips and kisses your knuckle.  

You get started after breakfast, cleaning up your room while Joel takes care of some other stuff around the house. It’s not so bad when you have a goal in mind and a better attitude about the entire thing. It goes by quickly, too, and you feel better when your room is put back together. You don’t know why you let it get so bad. Maybe it’s reflective of your mood. 

Dishes come next, and it’s made easier because Joel cleans as he cooks. It’s just a matter of washing and drying a few plates and forks and glasses, then putting them back into the cabinets. Sweeping comes after that, and then you’re done until dinner tonight when Joel needs the table set. 

It is nice to walk through the house with him as he inspects your work. The concentrated frown on his face as he looks in your closet at all your clothes all hung up and folded neat, and the way it splits into a smile of approval. “Y’did good, kiddo,” he murmurs as he kisses your head. It takes you a moment to decide how exactly you want to place the stickers down, but you like doing it. It’s going to look so pretty when it’s filled in. 

Tomorrow is the same, and the next day, and the next day. Joel does his walk throughs every evening, and then you do your stickers at the table. “Mm, doin’ some neat patterns there, I see,” Joel says gently. 

“Mhm.”

“Very pretty, sweetheart. I’m so proud’a ya,” he smiles. “Couple more days, right? Finish strong.” 

When you wake up on Friday, you feel excited. There’s really not much in your room to clean, not much to sweep around the house, not much of anything to do, really. 

…Until Joel reminds you about the specials. “Ahem,” Joel says, pointing to the chores at the bottom of the chart. “These need’a get done, too.” 

“Oh, fuck.” You cover your mouth before Joel has a chance to scold you. “Sorry.” 

He makes a face at you, but he lets it go. If letting a dirty word slip is the worst thing you’ve done all week, then so be it. You probably picked it up from him, after all. 

Joel quickly makes you a sandwich at the counter, then slices it in half and puts it in the fridge. That’ll be your lunch later. “Uncle Tommy’s coming by today,” Joel says. “But don’t think you can sweet talk him into helpin’ you with those chores, Pumpkin. This is still a punishment.” 

“Mhm. I know, Daddy.” 

“Good girl.” Joel kisses you quickly on the cheek, then he’s out the door. “I love ya. Be home later.” 

When Joel leaves, you go upstairs and shower, then pick out something to wear - just a pair of shorts and a tee, neither of which you particularly like, but that’s okay. You don’t want to dirty your favorite clothes. After checking your list, you get started with dusting first. You’ll work top to bottom, and then do the windows at the very end, per Joel’s suggestion. 

Dusting is tedious. It’s tedious to take every little knickknack and tchotchke off the shelves, but you do like the way the wood sparkles after you wipe it clean. And it feels better, too. There’s a noticeable difference when you clean the place, like you’re washing away everything bad that’s built up over time and starting anew. 

You pause cleaning briefly to eat the sandwich Joel made you, and then you’re back to cleaning, on your hands and knees as you wipe the baseboards. You still have some tall cabinets and shelves to dust, but you’ll figure that out later. 

The back door opening startles you, and in comes Tommy, handsome as ever and smiling so big when he sees you. “Hiya, sweetheart.” 

“Hi, Uncle Tommy,” you greet. You feel Tommy’s eyes on you as you dust, tracing over every inch of your figure. It’s awkward as you clean and Tommy stands there. You’re not exactly sure what he was sent here to do. Maybe he’s your babysitter or something. 

He peruses the house, and you wonder what he’s thinking. You have a more difficult time reading him than you do Joel, though that doesn’t mean Joel is always easy to read, either. Tommy notices your chore chart and smirks at it. Good fucking god. 

Baseboards are done now, so it’s time to finish those cabinets. You drag a chair over to the kitchen counters, but even with the added height, you can’t reach the tops. “Uncle Tommy?” you ask. 

“Yeah, honey.” 

“Do you know if Joel has a step stool or something around here?” 

Tommy holds up a finger before he’s off to check for you. There’s nothing in the closet, nothing in the garage, either. “Don’t think so, sweetheart.” 

“Hmm…” 

“Whatcha thinkin’?”

Joel would throttle you if he knew what you were about to do, but he’s the one who didn’t account for your inability to reach the tops of the cabinets he wants cleaned. You hoist yourself up onto the counter top with a rag in hand, wobbling as you stand up tall. 

“Woah, woah, woah. Let me use the chair an’ I’ll get ‘em myself, darlin’,” Tommy says as he stands behind you, his fingers tapping against your legs as he gets ready to catch you. He gets a nice look up your shorts from this angle, too, llikes the lace on your panties. “Gonna crack your goddamn skull open, girl.” 

“You’re not supposed to help me,” you tell him, frowning at how disgusting the tops of these cabinets are. “Ew.” 

“Says who?”

“Daddy,” you answer. 

“Ohhh. Daddy says so, huh?”

You sigh, “Yep.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Get down, honey. I don’t like ya up there like that.”

You know better than to argue with Uncle Tommy. He’s fun, sure. But he does have the authority to do whatever Joel does to you, too. Joel’s made it clear that when Tommy’s around, you are to listen and obey him the same as you listen to Joel himself. You turn around and bend down slowly, feeling nervous and unstable on your feet. “C’mere, sweet pea. I gotcha.” Tommy grabs your waist and steadies you, grunting as he helps you down. 

“Can’t believe your old man’s gotcha doin’ all these chores without any music,” Tommy says. You shrug, and Tommy’s off toward the living room where Joel’s got a turntable and some vinyls. He puts them on every once in a while, but you’re not always into the music he picks. 

Tommy puts on Jim Croce and does a little dance that makes you giggle. He wiggles his hips and snaps his fingers, biting down on his bottom lip. “Alright,” Tommy claps his hands together. “Let’s get to work.” 

He takes the rag from your hand and stands on the chair, dusting the tops of the cabinets himself. “I appreciate this, Uncle Tommy, but you really shouldn’t…if Joel finds out–”

“You gonna tell on me, sweetheart?”

“N-no…” you mumble, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. 

“Then your daddy won’t find out,” Tommy replies. 

He finishes the cabinets quickly, then gets off of his chair with a grunt. “Okay, darlin’. What else ya gotta do?”

“Uhmmm…” you trail off, mentally tallying the chores you’ve already done. With Tommy’s help, you’re just about finished. “Windows are last,” you tell him. 

Tommy nods. He grabs a spray bottle from a closet as well as two squeegees, then hands you one. “You wanna do the outsides or the insides, sweetheart?” 

“Insides,” you answer. “I’m not supposed to go outside without Joel.” 

Tommy makes a real show of looking around, raising his eyebrows and squinting dramatically. “Funny, darlin’, I don’t see Joel anywhere,” he says, then pauses. “Why don’tcha wash the outsides and get some fresh air, honey?”

“Okay,” you smile. Tommy gives you the spray, then opens the door and tells you to meet him at the kitchen window. You feel exhilarated as you leave and round the house, loving the sun on your skin and the breeze in your hair. When you meet him on the other side of the window, he motions for you to spray yours down, which you do. Then Tommy opens the window and reaches for the spray, then shuts the window. You flinch when he squirts it at you, and laugh when it hits the glass and not yourself. Tommy winks, then squeegees his side of the window as you do the same. 

He nods his head to motion to you to go to the next window, where you and he repeat the routine. You do the same with the next one and the one after that, and when you’re finished, you come back inside and rest on the couch. 

“Think that means we’re ‘bout done, huh?”

“Yep,” you answer, then pause. “You won’t tell Joel, right?”

Tommy sits next to you and zips his lips. “M’not a narc, honey. So we get to put stickers on your chart now, don’t we?”

You shake your head. “Nope. Joel has to do a walk through,” you explain. 

“Ahhhh,” Tommy nods, understanding. “So whatcha gettin’ for fillin’ in all the stickers?”

Your cheeks heat up at the question and you shy away from Tommy, which makes him laugh. You have no poker face at all. 

“Uh huh,” Tommy winks. “Oh, I get it.”

You squirm in place a little, wondering if you should talk more about it. You kind of want to, honestly. Joel tells you that you can tell him anything, but you know you can’t. Not just anything. “It’s been a week,” you admit finally to Tommy, and immediately you feel relieved to have someone else to talk to about this. About Joel. “Well, almost. Tomorrow makes a week.” 

Tommy scoffs. “Well shit, kiddo. Your old man’s a fuckin’ hard ass.” You shrug silently, and Tommy raises an eyebrow at you. “You can agree, y’know. Ain’t gonna hurt. An’ I won’t tell him if ya do, either.” 

“A little,” you admit, quietly. But Tommy hears, and he smiles. 

“Can’t go a day without it, myself,” Tommy tells you, stretching out on the couch a little. He rests his hand on your thigh, drawing little patterns down to your knee and back up again, patterns that make your skin tingle and make you feel funny inside. Nervous, excited…in almost the same way Joel makes you feel nervous and excited. But there’s an added layer here. You know you shouldn’t be letting Tommy do this to you.

“I think you should reward yourself, ‘f I’m bein’ honest. You did all your chores, after all. Right?” 

“...yeah.” Uncle Tommy has a funny way of making the guilt in your belly disappear, if not for just a moment. It’s in the way he speaks and the words he chooses, and it’s in his sparkling brown eyes and his charming smile.  

“Why don’tcha go to your room and take care of yourself, then? Hm?”

You shake your head. “Joel - Daddy says I’m not allowed to,” you reply. 

“Ohh. Not allowed to do it by yourself.” Tommy clicks his tongue and turns his head toward you. “S’too goddamn bad. Joel’s gotcha on a short fuckin’ leash, don’t he?”

He slides his hand up your thigh, inching his pinky finger past your shorts. Tommy likes the way your breath hitches in your throat when he traces the thin, damp fabric of your panties with just his fingertip. Sensitive fuckin’ girl.

“And you’re really hurtin’ for it too, I can tell. A fuckin’ week, good lord,” Tommy whispers, then pauses before speaking again. “Well, I’d reckon you’re not doin’ nothin’ wrong by lettin’ Uncle Tommy make ya cum, huh?” 

“I-” you stutter, “I really - I don’t know, Uncle Tommy.”

Tommy grins, his eyes so warm and so black, so endless. “Oh, sweetheart. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it in my book.” He wriggles his fingers up your shorts a little more, and slips them past your panties. That little gasp when he touches your lip, lightly teasing you there. Good lord. 

“Then s’gonna be our little secret,” Tommy whispers. “Somethin’ special, jus’ for me and my sweet girl,” he says. “How ‘bout that, darlin’?”

You nod before the little voice in your head telling you not to do this becomes too loud. You can trust Tommy, right? He wouldn’t do anything to get you into trouble with Joel. And like he always says, what Joel doesn’t know won’t kill him. 

You can’t ever pull one over on Joel, but you can try. And if Tommy’s right, and he probably is - you’ll succeed.  

“Good girl,” says Tommy, pulling your body into his lap. He unbuttons your shorts and pushes them down your legs, then cups your pussy with his large hand. You sigh at the relief that comes with the pressure, resting against Tommy’s chest. “C’mere, honey. I gotcha.” 

You spread your legs for him and he rubs you through your panties, just lazily at first, feeling you dampen the fabric. He traces your clit next, “Oh, fuck,” you moan, leaning into him. “More,” you gasp. 

Tommy slides his hand under your panties, touching your bare heat. You’re so fucking warm and so fucking wet, with that pool of arousal he’s created. And it didn’t take much, did it? No, no. Of course not, not when you’ve been starving for it for so long. Longer than a week, too. Tommy knows the way you look at him and what goes on in that head of yours. And if he were a betting man, he’d bet that when you do summon the courage to get yourself off on your own fingers, despite Joel’s rule, that you’re thinking of him. Maybe not every time, but enough.  

“Uncle Tommy,” you moan, eyes squeezing shut as you arch into his touch. You rock your hips as he circles your clit, reaching for his thick bicep. You hold him tightly, whimpering, “Oh my god.”

“Y’wanna hold onto me?” Tommy chuckles quietly, rubbing you slowly. “You can hold onto me, sweet pea. M’not goin’ nowhere. Jus’ you and me right now, sweet girl.” 

He’s so warm, and he smells so fucking good. It’s nice to be in a pair of arms that are safe and dangerous, but different from Joel’s safe and dangerous. You watch yourself in the freshly cleaned windows, all wrecked as Tommy pleasures you. 

He’s sliding his fingers down your seam next, then pushing two into your entrance. And it’s when he curls them rhythmically, looking for that special, sweet little place deep inside you, that you really start to moan. “Relax,” Tommy whispers, squeezing you tightly. “Hold still, honey. Be good.” 

Tommy shifts the positions a bit so he can rub your clit with his other hand while fucking you on his fingers. It’s not long before release is right around the corner, with all of that hot, sparkling pleasure blooming deep in your gut. Your thighs begin to shake and twitch, “You cum nice for me now,” he whispers. “Show Uncle Tommy how hard you can cum.” 

And that’s all it takes for you to fall apart, crying out loudly as he fucks you through your orgasm. Tommy doesn’t let up until you’re a shuddering, gasping mess, until he’s made certain that your needs have been met. A goddamn week, he thinks. That’s fucking ridiculous.

“You cum so pretty, sweetheart,” Tommy whispers, pulling his fingers away from your cunt. They’re all shiny and drenched in your arousal, and he brings them to his lips and sucks them clean. He pats you twice and you get up and off of him, all shy and bashful as he stands up and stretches, his rock-hard erection bulging through his denim. “Fuck, look whatcha do t’me,” he groans, pressing his palm against it. “I’m off, kiddo. Gonna let me leave without a hug and a kiss?” he asks. 

You wrap your arms around his thick middle quickly, perhaps needing the hug more than Tommy even does. You kiss his cheek, and Tommy squeezes your ass. “Alright. Keep outta trouble, honey. I’ll see ya when I see ya.”

A few hours later, Joel’s barely got a foot in the door before you’re taking him by the hand and leading him through the house, showing him how well you cleaned everything. “Jesus, girl. Can’t a man eat dinner first?” 

“No,” you answer. “Look at the windows.”

Joel laughs, “I know, I see ‘em, Pumpkin. They’re sparklin’.” 

“And the baseboards–”

“Are nice and dusted, I see it all, sweetheart. You did good. Wanna go get your stickers?” 

You show Joel that you’ve already got your stickers and your chart in hand. “Go ‘head and put ‘em on then, honey. Y’did good,” Joel says, then pauses as you put the rest of the stickers down. The only one that’s missing is dishes and table setting for today, but that’s because it hasn’t been done yet. Joel tells you he trusts you, and you can put the stickers down anyway. “And you did do it all by yourself, right, Pumpkin?” 

“Mhm,” you lie. 

“An’ if I ask Uncle Tommy if he helped, what’s he gonna tell me?”

“No,” you lie again. 

“Good answer,” Joel replies, then pauses. “Did you play with yourself this week?” he asks.

“No.” 

“Promise?” Joel asks. “Did anyone else play with ya?”

“Nope,” you tell him. Joel smiles, then kisses you on the head and sits down on the couch as you admire your chart. You join him on the couch, sliding onto his lap instead of taking your usual place right next to him.

“Hey, you,” Joel smiles. “What’re you makin’ me for dinner, hm?”

You shrug. “I’m not even hungry,” you tell Joel, and he makes a face. 

“Sure you’re not.” 

You think you know what that means, what he’s doing. He’s deliberately quiet, waiting for you to ask for what you want. But you say nothing as you sit on his lap, eyes wide as you wait and wait and wait for what you’ve earned, squirming on his lap a little. “Whatcha so squirrely for?” he asks finally. 

“You know, Daddy.” 

“Mmm. Don’t think I do,” Joel drawls. “M’not a mind reader, Pumpkin.” 

But you’re too shy to say it out loud. So you take Joel’s hand and stand up, yanking him with you. He groans as he stands up, knees cracking. You hold his hand as you lead him toward the stairwell, “Where ya takin’ me?” he asks. 

“Mmmuhno,” you mumble, walking up the stairs with Joel trailing behind. 

“You dunno, huh?” he teases, amused as you take him towards his room. “Mmm, Daddy’s room. Okay,” he sighs dramatically. “Guess it’s bedtime, since Pumpkin says so. And I was gonna let ya stay up an’ everything, but alright.” 

You’re such a quiet, shy girl as you sit on the end of Joel’s bed, swinging your feet as he undresses himself. You pull at a string on your shorts, waiting for Joel to get the hint. You’re sure he does, but he’s just dragging this out, the same way you are, really. 

Joel, standing naked except for his boxers, turns to you. “Y’look like you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart.” 

“Mm-mm,” you lie, unable to hide the smile that makes your lips curl up. 

“Oh, I think ya do. Wanna tell me what it is?” Joel asks. 

Finally, you relent. “Did I earn back my privileges?” you ask, biting down on your smile. 

Joel chuckles. “Was wonderin’ when you’d ask,” he says, leaning in close. He puts both of his hands on your knees, squeezing you there. “Yes. You earned ‘em back, Pumpkin.” 

You hum in delight and smile so big, then whisper something in Joel’s ear. “Well lie on down, then,” Joel murmurs. “You know what to do.” 

It takes no time at all for you to take off your clothes and lie on Joel’s bed completely naked, legs folded in half and swaying side to side as you wait for that inevitable dip in the mattress that comes from Joel settling between your thighs. It arrives all in good time, and Joel spreads you wide so he can devour you alive. 

He pushes your knees toward your chest and wears a crooked smirk at how anxious you look, ready for him to start. You’re wiggling your fingers, fidgeting with his comforter. Joel teases you with a couple of kisses pressed against your knees and your inner thighs. “Daddy,” you whine, pushing your hips toward his face. 

“Oh, I know, I know,” Joel murmurs, quieting your whines with a kiss to your pussy. “Iiii know, sweet baby girl.” He licks you from bottom to top with his tongue flattened, dragging it slowly through your slick folds. And Christ, how swollen you are - poor thing. But you did it to yourself, didn’t you?

“I am so–” Joel interrupts himself to suck on your clit a little, “So proud of you, Pumpkin,” he says, “My girl. You did so good for me, baby.” 

His beard tickles your inner thighs as he kisses you all over, then goes back to your clit. He circles it a few times with his tongue, then licks lower, burying his tongue in your soft, dripping entrance. You reach for his beautiful aquiline nose as he fucks you on his tongue, drawing up that gorgeous slope and past his forehead, tangling your fingers in his curly, graying hair. 

“Daddy,” you moan, whimpering for Joel as he drags his tongue back up and down your folds. He builds a rhythmic pace then, circling your clit repeatedly, all while allowing you to rock and grind against his face. He guides you orgasm quickly, savoring the way you gush into his mouth, your clit throbbing beneath his tongue. 

You’re fucking soaked, a mess of both Joel and yourself. Joel shoves his boxers down his thighs, erection springing against his soft tummy, and swipes his fingers through your folds. He collects your arousal on his hand, then uses it to coat his hard length. “Ready?” he asks, hovering over you. 

“Mhm.”

“Y’wanna help Daddy put it in?” 

You nod quickly. Joel knows you like to have some semblance of control over the pace at which he enters you, so he likes to grant you that. Not always, though. Sometimes he’ll split you in half just to remind you of who’s in charge here, usually when you get a little mouthy or something like that. 

You take Joel’s cock in your hand, tracing the bulbous head and the veins that climb up the shaft. You tilt your hips and drag him through your folds, sighing softly at the way you tease yourself. 

“You’re killin’ me here, kid,” Joel grunts, taking your wrist in his hand to stop you. 

“Sorry.”

“S’all good, baby.” 

You notch his tip at your entrance. “Your turn, Daddy,” you tell Joel softly. 

And in he goes. He slides into you slowly, filling you with the entirety of his length. “Ohh, big stretch. Attagirl,” he praises, grunting as he bottoms out. 

It always takes you a minute to get used to him. You do your little routine, make your little faces as you squirm and get used to his cock stretching you out, and when you’re ready, Joel begins to move. “Watch,” he says. “Look, look. Wanna show you something,” Joel tells you softly. You lift your head as he pulls out, his thick length all coated in your arousal. “Ain’t that somethin’?”

“Yeah,” you agree, letting your head fall back again. Joel braces himself on his forearm as he thrusts back into you, building to a slow pace. He’s in no rush, really, not when he’s sliding his big hand up your waist and over your ribcage and squeezes you there. He could crush you, you know. His delicate girl. He could do it. 

Joel bends down and skims his mouth and the tip of his nose over your breasts, taking time to wrap his lips around both of your nipples. He loves you so much, the elegant, gentle shapes of your body. All of those curves, all for him. 

The special way he fucks you - nothing comes close to this. No matter what, good day or bad, this will always be yours and Joel’s to savor. 

His cock is dragging against your g-spot, his pubic hair grinding against your clit. It’s all becoming too much, too sensitive for you to even cum. But Joel tells you to anyway. “Can’t, Daddy,” you whimper.

“Sure ya can,” Joel says. “S’been a week, honey. I know you’re needin’ it.” 

But are you, though? Not really, when Tommy took your punishment and reward into his own hands and made good and sure that you were well satiated before he left. And with the orgasm Joel pulled from you using his tongue, well. 

“One more, nice and big,” Joel encourages. “Show your daddy how hard you can cum on his cock, huh?”

Funny. Didn’t Tommy say the same thing?

Joel rubs your clit in practiced circles, coaxing along your release as he thrusts into you harder, faster, and deeper. And then it’s happening, and Joel’s name is spilling from your lips in breathy moans as you cum so hard on his cock, feeling indescribably full as your pussy pulses around him. It’s such a weighted, overwhelming feeling, and it washes over you in wave after wave. “Oh, baby girl.” Joel’s right behind you, breathing your name as he milks himself with your cunt, spurting rope after rope of his cum. “Take it nice an’ deep f’me,” he says, and like the most perfect girl you are, you take it all. 

Joel pulls out of you, not worried about the cum that spills on his comforter. It’s seen better days anyway, he thinks. 

After you both come down, Joel breaks the silence. “Think we should redo our date?” he asks, still breathing heavily. 

“Yes,” you answer. 

“I think so too,” he says. “Go pick somethin’ pretty to wear, and meet me in the shower to get cleaned up. Maybe we’ll see Uncle Tommy there or somethin’ too, huh?”

-

more dark daddy!joel here

anyway, i love ya. thank you for reading ♡ please dirty talk me in my inbox and reblog, because your words go a very long way in keeping me motivated to write. wouldn't be doin' this without ya.

aaaand the cat tax. remember that when it takes me a while to publish a fic, THIS IS WHO IS MAKING IT DIFFICULT TO DO SO!! okay!! do you see this! he's sitting on my arm like a fuck. fricken gizmo.

[millers-girl555]

i love a miller man and his belly

[tateypots]

Yes! 🙌 more Tommy Miller love is needed! Absolutely loved this.

Cupid's Chokehold

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

pairing: step uncle!Tommy Miller x f!Reader

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

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

wc: 12.1k

[masterlist] [AO3]

You’ve always been close.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His heart races a little faster at the thought. 

“Well?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tommy thinks green might be his new favorite color.

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

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

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

 And then—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then the next morning rolls around, and he’s picking Sarah and Joel up with dark circles under his eyes and a cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. He 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 sacriliege.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always,” he promises, and means it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, yes, please—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, fuck…baby, I don’t know if—”

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

This will damn him, he knows.

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

He’d do anything for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It can’t happen again. He knows that.

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

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

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

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

“Well, at least we’re together.”

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

Two peas in a fucking pod.

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

[divider by @bernardsbendystraws]

[illyrianbrat]

18 with tommy

Mornings in Jackson, Wyoming, were beautiful. Blossoming cherry trees, colorful flower beds, and chirping birds.

Tommy Miller was already awake. He was sitting on the porch steps with a mug of coffee in his hands, watching the sunrise. 

You watched from the doorway, barefoot and still wrapped in one of the woven blankets your neighbor had gifted you. Tommy didn’t look back, but he reached back to grab your hand. When you sat next to him, he gently squeezed it.

“Morning, darlin’,” he said softly.

“Good morning,” you replied with a smile, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders as well. 

You sat in silence for what felt like hours, enjoying each other’s company and how peaceful it felt as if the outside horrors didn’t exist. 

“You’re quiet today,” you commented after a while.

Tommy hummed. “Just thinkin’.”

You turned to look at him. “About what?”

“About this,” he sighed, gesturing to their surroundings. “Patrol has been finding more infected, they’re getting closer… It worries me,” he confessed.

“Oh,” you murmured. More infected meant more patrolling, more preparation in case something bad came to the gates. “Will you still be here tomorrow?"

“I plan to be,” he admitted. “I’m meeting with the council to figure out what to do if they get inside.”

You had many questions, but he spoke up before you could get a word out.

“We’ll deal with it,” he reassured you and smiled softly as he set his coffee mug off to the side. He turned to look at you, his soft smile slowly becoming mischievous. “My love,” he said, his voice low.

“Tomm-” you laughed, but it was too late.

He tackled you, wrapping his arms around your body as he chuckled. 

“Tommy!” You giggled, feeling his mustache tickling you as he peppered your entire face with kisses. 

“I love you,” he tells you, pulling back slightly to look you in the eyes.

“I love you, too,” you replied. When Tommy lowered his head to kiss you again, you pushed forward to roll around and be on top of him.

“Hey!” Tommy laughed. “No cheating.”

[toxicanonymity]

Big Papa, 18+

PAIRING: Tommy Miller x f!reader | 1.3k words

SUMMARY: Tommy unbuckles his belt at the bar, and reader takes it as an invitation.

WARNINGS: 18+ mutual groping in public, dirty talk, daddy kink, belly kink, fingering, grinding, coming in pants.

NOTES: Tommy is single and thicc. Buckle up!

Tommy Miller Masterlist

Tommy's had a couple beers, and his huge belt buckle is digging into his gut so bad he has to take it off.

He slides the tips of his fingers into his strained jeans, tugs the denim down a little more, dangerously close to pube territory, and rubs the underside of his belly.

“Hey, Tommy. This ain't that kinda place. Get your hand out your pants," a fellow bar patron teases.

Having just arrived, you look over to see Tommy holding up both hands with a good natured smile. He walks to the bar with his belt unbuckled and orders another round.

You invite yourself to join him for a drink, sitting next to him at a booth near the back. The longer you're talking, the more you settle in and feel at ease, and the more turned on you are by Tommy's state of partial undress.

After you glance at his pants one too many times, he follows your gaze with a raise of his eyebrows. You respond, “Belt's wide open as church doors on a Sunday. Is that an invitation to get on my knees?”

His stomach shakes with a chuckle. “still thinkin’ ‘bout big papa’s cock? That's sweet, darlin’. Shit, i'll pack that pussy in the girl's room if you'll let me.”

He glances down and adjusts himself.

You lower your volume and say, “I wanna feel you right here.”

Starting with your hand on the swell of his thigh, you rub the denim nice and slow without looking, feeling your way closer, making him twitch as you close in on the prize. When your palm reaches the warm lump near his inseam, he takes a deep breath through his nose.

You massage him, hardening his cock as you carry on the semblance of a casual conversation about perimeter wall reinforcements they're working on. The harder he gets, the less he keeps up the conversation, instead interrupting himself to tell you how pretty you are and what a good girl. His eyes become tired, entranced, fixating on your mouth. “Look at those lips. Mmm.” With two fingers under your chin, he lifts your face to his. You share a sweet kiss, and at the same time, the heel of your palm rubs along the hard shape of his cock in his jeans. You give his lip a little nibble as your mouths separate.

He watches your face and rests his massive paw on your bare thigh, with your hand still moving in his lap at a slow and steady rhythm. His palm slowly slides up your thigh, pushing your dress with it, and when you flinch, he murmurs, “Why do I get the feelin’ you ain’t wearin’ panties, hmm?” His eyes shine with a friendly glint of suspicion. You close your legs, trapping his fingers between them with a giggle.

“Bet you aint,” he smiles, pushing further.

“Don’t,” you laugh quietly.

“Why not?” he asks. “Don’t want the whole bar seein’ how wet ya get for Big Tommy?”

You gasp in playful objection and give his tummy a little squeeze before sliding your fingers down the curve of his belly and wedging your hand under the denim.

The button comes unfastened on its own, and Tommmy sighs as his jeans loosen and your hand slides down his happy trail. Your hand plunges through his warm, humid bush to find his hard package.

But you reach further and cup his balls first, squeezing a severed sound out of his throat.

“Shit, darlin’,” he exhales. “Bathroom's right there if ya wanna…”

“No…” you muse and press your palm against his stiff, fat cock. “I wanna take you right here.”

“Oh, you’re trouble, sugar,” he murmurs.

His hips rock up to meet your grip and the heat of his arousal seems to flow right up your arm to your chest, where it spreads and makes you weak with want.

You work your hand just enough to move the skin of his shaft over his throbbing erection. Your lips part, and so do your thighs. When his pinky finger reaches the wet mess between your legs, he cups your dripping pussy and a growl escapes his chest.

“You wanna take me right here?” He confirms

Nodding, you look down at his lap, cunt throbbing with your hand shoved down his pants. The sight of your wrist and forearm pressing into his belly remind you there's limited space between him and the table. He slides one finger, then another, into your cunt.

Yeah, you wanna take him right there. But what are you gonna do, straddle him backwards and plant your hands on the dirty floor?

“Fuck,” you whisper, stroking him harder, pressing your forearm harder against his belly. “I dunno, daddy. Can I fit in your lap?”

His cheeks puff out with an exhale. He looks down af himself, and your hand in his pants, and says, “How ‘bout papa takes care of ya right here?”

He slides his fingers out of you and up your clit to get it real wet. Then he rubs just the right spot in smooth, practiced strokes, at just the right speed. You moan out loud and your hand squeezes his girth, making him grunt.

“That's it, baby,” he encourages you. You whimper with the tension and hold your breath. “Nope, gotta breathe, sugar.”

You take a ragged breath in, more of a gasp, really, and he turns up the heat. “Yeah,” he breathes, watching your face with a smile in his eyes. Your brows knit, and you bite your lip. “Yeah, come for papa,” he coos, and the tension bursts, making you shudder and push your upper back into the seatrest, spine arching. “Good girl.” He stuffs his fingers back in your cunt and firmly cups your front as you come on his hand. “Fuck yeah, look at that,” he says.

Meanwhile, your palm in his pants is getting slippery with precum. God, you want that dick in you.

“Just lemme try it,” you plead, and whisper, “Let’s just see, removing your hand from his pants. You leave his fly as-is, half-unzipped, exposing some of his pubes. For now, the massive bulge you've aroused remains in his jeans.

You push the table forward a little bit and check to make sure no one's staring, then you squeeze yourself onto his thighs, leaning over the table as you do it. He spreads his legs to make room for you to try to settle in. “I dunno, sugar,” he chuckles. Your ass bumps into his belly and he grunts, “oof.”

Adjusting your position, you find his clothed hard-on with your cunt, and his hips jerk against you. “FUCK,” he whispers, and holds your hips. He thrusts against your cunt, “Oh, shit,” he pants, and warmth spreads through the denim, warming the thin cotton of your dress. “Alright, alright,” he hurries you out of his lap, holding his hand over his crotch, pressing down on the throbbing cock in his jeans, like that'll stop it. His hips jerk again and you watch his wrecked face as it seems to bloom pink under his freckles. “God damnit, sugar,” he curses with a sheepish smile.

You're both a mess. He tries to dry his jeans with a napkin, then maneuvers and leans back in the seat to try to button and zip them. “well that’s one way to find out, I gotta size up.” He chuckles and palms his belly, then gives you a look. “Yep, no more easy access. Ya can't handle it, can ya?”

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Thank you for reading 🖤 please lmk if you like it!

[warmestsugarcookie]

i NEED more tommy miller x reader content PLEASE

[deardev0teddelicate]

Tommyxfem reader Jackson era! She asks him to help fix something in her house and he fucks her against the counter🥰

hi, friend! so sorry it took like,, a month,, but i'm out of finals fuckin finally so i had time to write this up

i hope it's what you were wanting!

also thank you @ohhoneypascal for looking it over for me i hope you and all the other tommy lovers out there enjoy it!

"Shit," you muttered to yourself. You were squatted on the floor of your kitchen looking at the pipes under your sink and the puddle of water under them. When you returned home from patrol in the evening, you almost slipped on the slick floor of the kitchen where water had leaked out. Following the trail of water in the cabinet, you located the problem to the sink pipes.

And that's about the extent you could do. Practically growing up in an apocalypse made you a stranger to home owning. The first place you could call your own that you had to take care of was the small home you were assigned to in Jackson. You didn't know the first thing about taking care of a house.

Looking up, you debated on what you should do; fix it yourself and figure it out, or go to your next-door-neighbor, Tommy, for help. You had seen him around town working on construction projects with some of the others and had seen him come home late at night, covered head to toe in sweat and dirt. He seemed like he knew how to fix a leaky pipe. Couldn't hurt to ask, right?

Slipping on your coat you walked into the snow covered streets, making your way to his house next door.

You knocked on the door, and to your dismay, there was no answer. You knock again, and let out a disappointed huff of air when, like before, there was no answer. Turning away from his door, you trudge to the only other place where you've seen him this late at night.

Down the road, you stepped into the Tipsy Bison. Making a quick scan of the booze scented, smoke filled room, and there, you see him, with a glass one-third of the way full of whiskey in his hand while a pen rested in the other. He was sitting at the far end of the bar-top, hardly noticeable and deep in thought. You walk over to him, composing yourself. He was wearing that denim button down he always wore, only the top buttons were left open revealing a white Henley. His hair, once slicked back in a bun, now mussed and let go to just brush the top of his shoulders, patchy hair tracing his jaw.

He was messy, undone, making excitement rumble throughout your veins and in your chest. Shaking the feeling as you approached the rugged man, you sat down next to him, clearing your throat. He looked up from what looked like to be maps of the terrain surrounding Jackson. As quickly as he looked up at you, he looked back down at the map—you didn't miss the small smile that hid under his mustache.

"How can I help you, sweetheart?" His Texan drawl twined in and out of each syllable, making your breath hitch and your train of thought falter, briefly forgetting why you were ever here in the first place.

"Uh," you filled the silence while you gathered yourself, "I gotta leaky pipe in my kitchen. Don't know how to fix it, was hopin' to ask you."

Tommy looked up at you at that. "You can shoot a runner 200 yards away and ya can't fix a pipe?" His tone was teasing, playful, so you simply rolled your eyes back at him.

"Grew up on the move, hunting them for sport. Wasn't some fancy construction worker with a house in a big ol'city."

He scoffed at that, finishing his drink and folding up his papers into the inside pocket of his fleece-lined denim jacket. "Don't hear 'fancy' and 'construction worker in the same sentence usually." Getting up to leave, he paused and gestured you to follow him. "C'mon, let's go fix that pipe o'yours."

You stride over next to him, bracing the cold as he opened the door of the bar. The lights of the street highlighted his face, showing off the freckles that speckled over him like a thousand kisses. Oh, what you would give to softly connect each spot with your mouth, loving on him sweetly.

But you were shaken from your thoughts as he passed your house, leaving a frown to grace your features.

"Uh, Tommy-" You start.

"I know," he interrupted, tossing a look over his shoulder, a smirk gracing his lips. "Gonna need some tools from mine, so we'll stop there first and go to yours after." You sighed and nodded at his explanation, stuffign your cold-craked hands in the pockets of your coat. "You get any good shots today?"

At first, you're confused at his question before it dawns on you that he's asking about your patrol shift from earlier in the evening. "No, but I got a clicker yesterday. Head shot."

"Good shit."

The walk to his was quick, his tools practically in the entrance of it, as though they were waiting for him. The walk back to yours was even quicker than the walk from the Tipsy Bison to his house. You led him in, the old creak of the door breaking the silence of your space. Tommy followed you, his eyes staying on the door quizzically over his shoulder for a moment before he turned he eyes back to you. You had taken off your jacket leaving you in an old t-shirt that hugged your form, exposing your figure and your pebbled nipples from the cold.

Tommy's eyes wandered over your body, following you as you crouched down by your sink, opening the cabinets. Pointing to the leak, he shifted his attention from you to the pipes. It was a small leak, easily fixable, he thought.

He sighed, setting down his tools, "Shit, sweetheart."

You frown at him while he sat down next to you to get a closer look. Nervously, you chewed on your bottom lip. You didn't know what exactly he meant by his previous comment, which made anxiety push in on your lungs. But also, he was right there. Tommy was just inches away from you, in your home, away from the prying eyes of the outside. It was rare to be alone with him, with anybody, in a such a small town. And the proximity of the two of you made your heart race and your head spin, only amplifying the intensity of the current situation at hand.

"What's wrong?"

"Gonna have to take the whole thing apart." Your face fell, and a smile grew on his face. When you realize he was pulling your leg, you roll our eyes and smack his arm with the back of your hand playfully. He chuckled and shook his head before leaning into the cabinet with some tool you couldn't name. "Nothings wrong, a joint just get loose right here is all. Happens when the weather changes sometimes. You're just lucky it didn't freeze and bust the pipe, because that's when you'd be in trouble." He leaned back out to look at you and grab a small cloth.

You contemplated, and after a moment, you asked "Teach me?"

His eyebrow quirked up in quick surprise before he motioned you over. You leaned back down to lay on your stomach next to his broad frame, the heat from his body radiating from him making your breath catch in your throat.

"Okay, well take this then," he handed you a flashlight. "See this nut right here? This is the one that's loose, so we're gonna take this wrench and just tighten it up a bit. Rightie tightie 'n all that. Can ya turn on the faucet for me?" You stood up to do as he asked. "Yeah, there was just a loose pipe, wasn't tightened all the way." He stood up next to you, and you looked at his eyes shadowed by his brow.

"Thank you," you whispered to him.

"Don't gotta thank me, sweetheart, it wasn't anything." He packed up his tools in his bag and placed it on the counter top before he faced you again. He practically towered over you, looking down his nose, his chest almost pressed against yours. Just looking at him made your thighs clench involuntarily, your body craving his touch. "Besides, there are other ways I could think of for you to thank me, anyway." He whispered lowly.

"That so?" You asked, eyes flicking down to his lips. He stepped closer, bringing a hand to your jaw, thumb brushing over your lower lip. "Well, I think that could be arranged." His eyes shifted at your soft spoken words when you reached up to connect your mouth to his. He accepted you, kissing back, his eyelids fluttering shut. Pulling you in by the waist, his bulge pressed against you, eliciting a moan from your throat that slipped past your lips into him. He took the opportunity to slide his tongue into you, claiming you as his.

Tommy had one hand on your waist and the other on the back of your neck, holding you to him, walked you till your back hit the other counter top. Your hands rested on his chest, inching closer and closer to his neck and shoulders. With you sandwiched between the counter and him, you felt him grow harder against your clothed front, heat building up under your skin. As your lips meshed together, your moans swallowed by him, you let a hand slowly drag it's way up to the base of his throat putting hardly any pressure, just resting. He groaned into you, his rhythm faltering just a little before his eyes opened and he pulled away from you, his grip on your neck pulling you back so he could look you in the eyes.

"Oh, baby," he smiled, his voice sickeningly sweet. "No, no, no, no. We ain't gonna do that. Not tonight, at least. Y'hear me?" You looked at him, his voice sending a rush of arousal to soak your clothed cunt.

You looked him over once again, biting your lip. You shouldn't, but you just smirked as your eyes flitted back to his eyes and giving his neck a little playful squeeze.

"Why not?" You asked him with feigned innocence.

His eyes went dark and hazy before he clicked his tongue in disapproval. Practically manhandling you, he flipped you around so you wouldn't be facing him, leaving him out of your reach while you remained in his.

"Fuck, sweetheart, this what you wanted all along? You just pretend not to know how to fix the pipe to get me to fuck you in your kitchen?"

You whimpered as the cool counter pressed against your chest while he hissed in your ear. Kicking your knees apart, he pulled your pants down just low enough to give him access to you. He felt around, sliding two fingers up and underneath your panties gathering up your slick. He groaned, "Fuck, sweet girl, you're fucking soaked. This all f'me?" You just nod your head in response, shimmying to give him better access. His fingers slipped inside of you, just past your entrance, teasing you as he scolded, "Uh uh, answer me."

"Yes," you sigh, breathless from the state he had you in. "All f'you."

"That's a good, sweet girl," It only took a moment longer for him to make you tremble under his touch, moving his fingers in and out of you, hitting spots you never could reach on your own. His thumb brushed against your clit, drawing a gasp from you at the intense pressure it brought. He chuckled at that and kept his thumb on that little bundle of nerves, rubbing heavy circles.

"Tommy, wait, please—fuck," you exhale with effort, trying to get the words out in one try, but ultimately failing. "Fuck, please—just fuck me."

"Fuck you? Hmm," He pretended to contemplate, removing his hand from your sopping cunt. "I don't know, maybe I should save that for the next time you need me to come over and fix something. Maybe, when I come over to fix that window in your room? The one that's either broken or you purposely leave open so I can watch you fuck yourself on your fingers at night?" Your eyes widen and you look over your shoulder at him. The bastard was smirking, his mouth drawn up to one side before he said, "Oh, sweetheart, don't act so surprised. I know you put on those little shows for me. Yeah?"

He sent his fingers back into you, full force, his pace quickening. He was right, though. You did leave your window open for him to watch sometimes, but the thought of him actually doing so sent a gush of arousal around his hand, beginning to drip down your thighs.

"Fuck, Tommy," you muster up all your remaining strength to quip back at him, "Didn't take you for a tease and a perv."

"Yeah, you fuckin' love it though, baby." With his fingers deep in your pussy and his thumb circling your clit, you felt yourself begin to falter and clench around him, your release just on edge. "Shit, sweet girl, y'gonna come f'me? Need you to come all over my fingers." He whispered, his head resting on your shoulder as he panted and placed hot, open mouthed kisses across the skin of your neck.

"Tommy," you moaned, air being forced past your lips every time he pushed in his fingers just a little further. "Tommy, fuck, I'm gonna come."

"Soak my hand, sweet girl. You're being so good f'me, just finish all over me and I'll give you my cock." You let out a high-squeaked moan at his filthy words in your ear. "Fuck, you want that, sweetheart?" You nodded a soft uh-huh, your release practically imminent now. "There, you go, such a good, sweet girl f'me."

You let go, bands of white hot pleasure thrummed in your core and your head fell forward as you struggled to hold it up, struggled to breathe under his intense pressure and attention he paid you.

"Would'ya look at that?" He muttered in awe as he drew his hand from you, your cum coating his fingers in a sheen. "Fuckin' beautiful, sweetheart, I bet you taste so sweet." He brought his fingers to his mouth, languidly sucking his fingers clean of you, tasting the pleasure which he brought you. He let go with a loud pop, humming softly, before you heard him speak over the quiet clink of a belt buckle. "And wha'd'ya know? I was right."

"You're teasing," you whine at him, praying that he'll just fill the ache in your core, despite your release just moments ago. You just wanted to feel him entirely, feel him deep. He tsked once at your impatience, but he must've been impatient too, because before you knew it, he sheathed himself in you all the way to the hilt, in one long stroke. You gasped at his sudden presence, and he groaned lowly at the feeling of your cunt choking him up. The soft sounds of your noises mixed with the delicious sound of his skin slapping against yours.

"Fuck, Tommy," you groaned, eyes flickering back in your head as the waves of pleasure he offered you consumed your body. You found a new gratefulness for the counter top that you were rested on because the tremble in your legs was growing stronger, weakening support for your body. Sensing your trouble, Tommy moved his hands to grip your hips, steadying you—and also giving him easier access into your cunt.

"Shit, sweetheart, you're so fucking wet f'me. Like you were fuckin' made for me," he stuttered through shaky breaths as he pistoned in and out of you. His cock was fully enclosed in your pussy, pushing up into your stomach, and filling you out. Feeling him brush against your front walls sent you reeling into your next orgasm, still sensitive from the first. "Yeah, that's a good fuckin' girl. My sweet girl takin' me so well, that right?"

"Fuck, Tommy—Tommy," your breathing is coming out in pants now, and your heart beat is thundering in your ears mimicking the clench around his dick. "Tommy, it's too much, wait—"

"Oh, sweetheart, you can take it. You've been so good f'me," his pace faltered as he quickened, nearing his own release.

You mumbled out something unintelligible, drooling pooling from your lips.

"Yeah, you can fuckin' take it," he groaned into your neck, hips faltering. "Fuck, fuck, sweetheart."

He stilled, breathing heavily, while you felt yourself pulsate around him, thick ropes filling into you to the brim.

"Fuck, baby," he sighed, calming himself from the exertion of energy. Breathing in deeply, heartbeat still pounding, you pull up from your counter ever so slightly to look over your shoulder. Just to catch a glimpse of Tommy, as if you didn't it might've been all a dream.

But sure enough he was there. Sweat gleaming on his brow, his hair even more so disheveled than earlier. He looked utterly fucked out, as you surely did as well. You smiled up at him.

"So you look at me through my window, huh?" You chuckle at the pink that tinges his cheeks.

"So you leave open you window on purpose when you change?" He countered, smiling back at you. "Dangerous game you're playin' there."

"Well, maybe you'll just have to come back and fix it then."

[moonlight-prose]

through teeth and tongue

a/n: thinking about him has got me in a dreamy state of mind. which is probably why this is so filthy. it is also late and i genuinely can’t stop myself from writing this. or actually typing it insanely right into the app cause drafting this is a no go. i wanted to finish it and drop it in the morning, but something told me to just shove it into the open tonight.

summary: a man of such might, such strength, made your heart sing a tune only he could recognize. who were you to deny the power he held over your stuttering heart? OR giving tommy head until he passes out.

word count: 0.9k+

pairing: tommy miller x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, lewdly giving this man head, spit play, ball worship, cum eating, cumplay, dirty talk, sorta sub tommy vibes, fluff.

He can feel it in the grip he had on the chair, blunt nails digging into torn leather, a gasping moan bubbling past his tightly stricken throat. Tommy couldn’t say he was a man of few words—they flowed rather easily for a man of his character—but tonight he couldn’t find them. Thoughts leaving his mind the longer he sat there, on display for the keeper of his heart.

“Gonna make me wait?” he gasped, eyes rolling back hard enough to make his head hurt.

Your response is deafening. The twist of your palm, tongue flicking at the head of his leaking cock, was all he got. All he deserved after the night he had.

Long hours kept him from you, Jackson taking precedence in your relationship. But who were you to complain? You couldn't.

He kept this place afloat—fighting tooth and nail to maintain balance in the council, dragging himself through hell to watch this community bloom. Time spent away made your heart grow fonder, sightings of him putting blood and sweat into something he cherished had need clamping a fist around your throat.

“I’d like to see you beg.” Hot breath washed over his tingling skin, the jump in his hips involuntary. “But we both know you’re not there yet.”

Tommy knew he was messy. Years of needing towels to clean himself up after quick handjobs proved that he dripped like a fucking faucet. He smeared down your forearm, staining the edge of your shirt where you rolled the sleeves up. It still didn’t stop you from drooling spit down his twitching cock, smearing it with your palm—a smile stretched across your swollen lips.

“Just let me-” A soft lick rendered his body pliant—a melted man in the chair large enough for two. “Fuck darlin’”

You smiled. “Good?”

The stifled groan had your stomach fluttering, spit gathering along your tongue at the sight. Pumping your wrist you dipped low enough to feel his coarse hair brush your nose—his balls heavy and full and coated in the familiar taste of him. It would be so fucking easy to drag him over the edge—the sight of his mouth open and eyes rolled pushed to the forefront of your hazy mind.

Any other night you’d splay him beneath you, straddling his stomach as he gripped you close. Mouth running in an attempt to convince you to sit on his face. It’ll be the ride of your life. I need ya baby. You’re too fuckin’ sweet to keep that pussy away from me.

Tonight called for something different. He collapsed in the chair, exhaustion bleeding into the air and stress weighing on dropped shoulders. He remained strong in spite of the horrors beyond a heavily armored gate. The pinnacle of capability.

Your lips closed around the base of his cock, sucking gentle enough to feel his thigh twitch under your cheek. He dragged in breath—hand finding purchase on the back of your head, fingers digging into whatever part of you he could reach. Salt and the heady musk of him enveloped your senses. Blinding you to his incoherent mumbles.

“Fuckin’ killin’ me-”

Smiling, you slid lower curling your tongue around his ball. His knee jerked, a ragged gasp ripping through the air—hand tugging sharply at the back of your neck. You forced yourself forward with a laugh, sucking it into your mouth with a moan, spit drooling past your lips and gathering in down your chin. Something about tending to every part of him—watching him shut away the snarling wolf for someone docile—fed a piece of your aching soul.

“G-Gonna—shit—I’m gonna cum baby.”

“That’s okay,” you cooed, licking a line up to the leaking tip you sucked with a moan.

Releasing him with a soft pop you fixed your attention on the other side, rolling your tongue over the sticky skin—slick pooling between your thighs. His chest heaved and back arched, the mess pouring over your rapidly moving hand now finding it’s way down your wrist.

You felt them draw up in your mouth, saliva shiny and wet on your chin, before he came with a strained cry. His spend spurting along your face, gathering along your cheek, dribbling into the corner of your full mouth. Tommy mumbled familiar cuss words, bleary eyes finding yours between his thighs—back arched and knees screaming in pain. But it was all worth the fucking effort to have him look at you like that.

As if you stole the moon for his fluttering heart.

“‘S too much baby.”

You could get him to come again. One twist of your wrist and suck of your mouth and he’d push past the overstimulation to add even more to your face. He’d suffer the pain with bared teeth and sore stomach muscles. As long as you kept your mouth right where he knew you wanted it.

Licking up what you could, you swiped along your cheek, stuffing your sticky fingers into an open and waiting mouth. He groaned at the taste, hand tight around your wrist to keep you set in place—eyes burning a hole along your cheek. He’d lick it up with a pleased sigh, clean what he caused without question. And you just might let him if you weren’t gasping for your own air.

He stole it from your lungs, swallowing whatever you’d give him—thighs spread and cock soft against his stomach. What an irresistible sight. What a delectable meal.

“C’mere,” he murmured, tugging at your arm.

“To do what?”

He grinned, teeth flashing in the darkened space. “Whatever I want.”

[milla-frenchy]

This is maybe my favorite part so far. I just love to know more about them, the way they think and manipulate each other, and you describe it perfectly 🤌

“Yeah, yeah I’ll behave, promise.” Joel raised his eyebrows at him, disbelief written clear all over his face. Tommy heaved an exasperated sigh. He knew Joel’s doubt was not entirely unfounded, Tommy had not been known for his restraint even before the outbreak. But he planned to take it nice and slow with your training. He wanted you to love sucking his cock, wanted you drooling from both ends for him. He knew that would be hard to achieve if he traumatised you on the first attempt.

I loved to know this about Tommy, his temper 😍

“Interestin’. You seem awful cocky, care to make a bet?” “What are the terms?” “Winner gets her to themselves. Full 24 hours.” “How do I know you’ll play fair? Could just say it wasn’t the best and take her for yourself for the day.” “Tommy, if I’m able to think clearly enough to hide how much I’m enjoyin’ it, it won’t be the best blowjob of my life. If it is, she’ll suck all the deceitful thoughts right out through my cock, keep me honest.”

And I just LOVE how suspicious they are!!

He did tell Tommy about how he’d eaten you out in the shower after he’d washed you, about how red and swollen your pussy was after keeping him inside for so long. He left out the part where once you’d come on his tongue he forced you to your knees and told you to hold your tongue out for him to frantically jerk his cum onto. Because although he’d promised Tommy that his cock would be the first in your mouth, he’d been very careful not to promise that Tommy’s cum would be the first you’d taste.

They're... awful. AWFUL 😁 (I love it)

“Been a hard few weeks for you I know princess. Been hard for me too, you know that?”

SCOFFS

And though he’d never admit it, looking at the way you cling to Joel he feels the first pangs of jealousy clawing at his chest.

THIS. I love this SO MUCH. This jealousy 😍😍

As you get comfortable you think about Tommy’s seemingly genuine apology and the way Joel had rushed to you when he thought you were hurt. Perhaps you could be more than just their fuck toy. It seemed like there may be some genuine care in their actions. The thought sent a comforting warmth through your body as you relaxed into Tommy’s chest.

My poor girl 🥺🥺🥺 Can't imagine all her emotions...

“Yeah princess I can get you a book,” he promises, the green eyed monster within him retreating to its cave as you snuggle into him, “I’ll get you a whole goddamn library.”

This is such an amazing line!!

Wow, what a great chapter Kate 😍😍😍

Uncle Tommy's Mistake

18+ MDNI

Pairing: Dark!Joel Miller x f!reader, Dark!Tommy Miller x f!reader

Word count: 3k

A/N: Part 7 of Collared. Same as before, it’s dark so please heed the warnings and skip if it’s not for you.

Look. I don't know what happened here. This is not what I originally planned for this installment. I sat down to write and this is what came out. Less smut than usual (I'm sorry), also I think I may have gaslighted everyone into expecting blowjobs this chapter (and that is what I planned) but these 3 had their own ideas, I don't know what to tell you. Blowjobs for everyone in the next chapter, I promise.

Moodboard is for aesthetics only, reader is not described beyond having boobs and a vagina. Please refer to this post for more info on the series mooboards.

Summary: Tommy's plans for you go awry.

Warnings: Non-Con, dark Joel, dark Tommy, kidnapping, daddy kink, uncle kink, restraints, oral (f!receiving), joint showering, masturbation (m), cum eating, gaslighting, manipulation, orgasm denial, discussion of blowjobs and training. Let me know if I missed any.

Part 6 | Part 8 | Series Masterlist

You had to fight back tears as the lock of your collar snapped shut. Joel had insisted on a shower after your nap and now after the brief reprieve the feel of the metal against your neck felt suffocating. Normally you wouldn’t hold back, you’d let the tears flow but you were trying so hard not to ruin the goodwill you had built with him over the last few hours.

He dressed in silence while you sat on the bed hugging your knees watching him, unable to think of anything to say despite your earlier intimacy. When he finished buttoning his flannel he came over to you, tipping your head back with a finger under your chin and planting a kiss on your forehead. You hated how much that one simple action made you melt for him.

“You’ve been a real good girl f’me baby, Uncle Tommy will be in soon, I know you’ll be good for him too.”

Your heart sank at his words. A small piece of you had hoped that once you’d surrendered yourself to Joel that he’d claim you completely, that you wouldn’t have to repeat the same painful process with his brother. You should have known better.

He stared at you intently, waiting for a response so you just swallowed and give a jerky nod. With a smirk he leant in to give you another kiss, on the cheek this time, before making his way over to the door. As he shrugged on his coat you plucked up the courage to repeat your question from earlier, “Daddy, what will happen to me when you don’t want me anymore?”

He finished buttoning his coat before responding.

“You just keep being my good girl and you’ll never have to find out.”

______________________________________________________________

Tommy smirked as Joel exited the cabin and stalked over to him.

“I take it from the way I heard her screamin’ earlier that she was a good girl for you?” he asked as a weary Joel draped himself over the fence of the pig pen, a satisfied grin painting his face.

“She was a real good girl, fucked me within an inch of my life.”

Tommy’s cock twitched in his pants as he imagined you doing the same for him. He almost told Joel to take care of the rest of the chores on his own, aching to be inside you again, to feel you come around his cock. He’d missed it so fucking much.

“She’s a bit sore so might have to take it easy for a little while.”

Tommy’s face fell in disappointment before a grin spread across his face. “That mean I can start trainin’ her throat?”

“Go for it brother,” Joel huffed a laugh, “just go easy on her to start with. Been a big day, don’t want to ruin all our progress.”

“Yeah, yeah I’ll behave, promise.” Joel raised his eyebrows at him, disbelief written clear all over his face.

Tommy heaved an exasperated sigh. He knew Joel’s doubt was not entirely unfounded, Tommy had not been known for his restraint even before the outbreak. But he planned to take it nice and slow with your training. He wanted you to love sucking his cock, wanted you drooling from both ends for him. He knew that would be hard to achieve if he traumatised you on the first attempt.

“Look, scouts honour ok. I’m gona do this properly, you’ll see, by the time you get your first go she’ll be givin’ the best damn blow jobs you’ve ever had.”

“Interestin’. You seem awful cocky, care to make a bet?”

“What are the terms?”

“Winner gets her to themselves. Full 24 hours.”

“How do I know you’ll play fair? Could just say it wasn’t the best and take her for yourself for the day.”

“Tommy, if I’m able to think clearly enough to hide how much I’m enjoyin’ it, it won’t be the best blowjob of my life. If it is, she’ll suck all the deceitful thoughts right out through my cock, keep me honest.”

Tommy mulled it over for a second, “ok, you’re on. But I get to decide when she’s ready,” he agreed as they shook on it. “Now, tell me all about how it went down in there earlier, I need something to think about while I finish my jobs.”

Joel gave Tommy an edited highlight of your afternoon romp. He left out the part where you squirted on him. If Tommy put in enough effort he’d find out you could do it for himself but part of Joel hoped he would never make that discovery, that it would stay a little secret between the two of you. He didn’t think he had to worry about you spilling the beans to his brother. He’d had to explain to you what had happened when you’d awoken from your nap, still covered in your dried release. The sight of your confused face scrunched up in embarrassment made his possessiveness flare. He loved how innocent you were despite all he’d done to corrupt your body.

He did tell Tommy about how he’d eaten you out in the shower after he’d washed you, about how red and swollen your pussy was after keeping him inside for so long. He left out the part where once you’d come on his tongue he forced you to your knees and told you to hold your tongue out for him to frantically jerk his cum onto. Because although he’d promised Tommy that his cock would be the first in your mouth, he’d been very careful not to promise that Tommy’s cum would be the first you’d taste.

By the time Joel finished Tommy was rock hard, his dick pressing painfully against the zipper of his jeans. Joel took pity on him, waving him away from his latest task of splitting logs for the fire.

“Go on inside, you’ve done most of the work today, s’only fair.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, she’s waitin’ on you anyway.”

Gleefully Tommy handed over the axe and scurried towards the cabin, already working on his belt. Once inside he wasted no time stripping off his coat, boots and jeans. You were sat hugging your knees again as he stalked over to the bed, wearing only his flannel and boxers. He flopped down on the bed next to you, gently stroking your shin.

“Lay down next to me princess, c’mon,” he sighed, coaxing you onto your side so you were facing him. He gently stroked your cheek before cupping it in his big hand.

“I know todays been a lot princess but you’ve been such a good girl. Your Daddy told me that you and him had a chat and got some things cleared up. You feelin’ better about everythin’ now?”

“A little bit.”

“Been a hard few weeks for you I know princess. Been hard for me too, you know that?”

You wanted to laugh in his face, unsure what suffering he’d had to endure while still getting to use your body to get his rocks off. Usually several times a day. But your self-preservation instinct had kicked in strong and Joel’s thinly veiled threat from earlier was still ringing in your ears. They wanted a good girl and all out of other options at this point you had no choice but to be that for them. So instead you simply shook your head asked, “why?”

He pulled you in closer to him with his arm wrapped around your back so your head was nestled in the crook of his neck.

“Well because I couldn’t hold my princess like this, couldn’t cover her in smooches an’ tell her what a good girl she is, how proud I am of her. Couldn’t make her come, and I wanted to so, so bad.” He gently pushed you away from him and dipped his head to catch your eye.

“Will you let me make it up to you now princess?”

You wondered what he’d do if you said no. If he would skulk back outside and leave you be. Doubtful. Your poor pussy was aching from earlier but you knew it would only make things worse if you didn’t comply. So you nodded and rolled onto your back, spreading your legs wide for him.

“Oh princess, such a good girl.” He knelt between your knees and pouted as he looked down at your spread cunt. “Oh honey she’s all red and puffy.”

“I’m a bit sore,” you told him honestly.

“Yeah darlin’ I bet. But don’ worry I’m not gona fuck you.”

“You’re not?” you asked gently, genuinely confused as to what was happening.

“No princess, you’re hurtin’ and I wouldn’t be makin’ it up to you if I make it worse. Your Daddy told me he tried kissin’ it better earlier, did you like that?”

You honestly didn’t know how to answer that. When Joel had put his mouth on you down there you’d been slightly disgusted. You still were a little. But you had to admit that it had felt nice so you settled on an honest, “it made me come,” which Tommy took as a yes.

“Ok princess, you just lie back and enjoy yourself then, I’m gona make you feel so good.”

To your surprise he didn’t dive straight for your pussy, instead he leaned over you and latched his mouth over your left nipple, teasing the bud with his tongue until it hardened for him, while gently squeezing your other breast in his large hand. After everything you had been deprived of the last few weeks the soft touches felt incredible, you couldn’t stop the small moans that escaped as pangs of arousal radiated through you.

“Mmmmm such beautiful tits,” he murmured as he trailed kisses across your chest, making his way over to your other nipple. “Gona fuck these titties one day princess,” he told you. You had no idea what he meant by that but before the confusion could fully take hold he sucked the peak of your right nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing it ever so slightly. Your mind emptied and your hips bucked towards him, your clit throbbing and begging for friction, overriding the ache in your pussy.

He chuckled into your chest. “Yeah that’s it honey, feelin’ good now ain’t ya?” He chuckled again when he saw you nod your head. He detached himself from your breast and blazed a path of open mouthed kisses down over your belly and hips until he reached your mound. He inhaled deeply making you squirm in embarrassment underneath him. You felt so exposed with his face so close to your pussy but Tommy seemed completely oblivious to your discomfort.

“Mmmmmm you smell so fuckin’ good princess, bet you taste just as sweet,” he groaned as he gently spread your lips with his thumbs.

“Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he said, almost to himself before leaning forward and licking a thick stripe from your hole to your throbbing clit. Your moans reverberate around the room, hands fisting in the sheets as he repeated the action several times.

You cry out and your hips jolt upwards as he wraps his lips around your clit and gently sucks. You’re still sensitive from all the attention you received from Joel and as Tommy’s tongue starts circling and flicking your clit you feel the tension build within you. You don’t hold back the moans that fall from you, you’re lost in the sensations being lavished upon you. Just as you feel the pressure is about to boil over he pulls away, licking and kissing his way down your seam.

“NOOO!” you cry out as tears start to fall. You cannot do this again, the endless torture of denied rapture and you start to sob and chant “no, no, no.”

“Shhhh princess, it’s ok,” he tells your pussy, lightly teasing your entrance with his tongue, entranced by the look, smell and taste of you. “Don’t worry honey, I’ve got you, just need to enjoy you like this for a little bit longer.” With that he gently pushes his tongue inside of you, edging the hot muscle around your walls before withdrawing and doing it again and again.

You moan and choke through your sobs, distraught and desperate, too strung out to hear and comprehend his reassurances. Recognising he may have pushed you too far Tommy changes tack, working to get you off as quickly as he can, his tongue fucking into you with abandon as his thumb settles on your clit rubbing fast circles into the engorged bud.

Your hips grind into his face with a mind of their own, your body chasing its high independent of your mind which is still lost in a sea of panic and despair. He growls into your aching cunt as you rut against him, his cock throbbing and leaking in his boxers.

You come with a cry, your back arching off the bed as the waves wash over you. Tommy keeps tight hold of your hips, working you through your high with his tongue. As you come back to yourself you wriggle and squirm away from him, curling yourself into a tight ball and sobbing your heart out, more distressed than you’ve been since those first few days after they took you. Tommy tries to coax you into looking at him whilst babbling apologies.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?” Joel booms from the doorway, not bothering to take off his jacket or boots before storming over to the bed and scooping you into his arms. You’re shaking in his lap as your hands fist in his jacket and you bury your face into his chest, mewling a soft “Daddy,” through your tears.

“Did you hurt her?” he spits at Tommy, his fury evident on his face.

“No, of course not,” Tommy rushes to defend himself, “I edged her. I didn’t mean to, I just… she tasted so fucking good and I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t think.”

“Jesus Christ Tommy. After she’s been so good this is what you do to her?”

Tommy could kick himself for being so stupid. He should be balls deep in your mouth right now, not getting a telling off from his brother. He hadn’t thought about the impact these last few weeks would really have on you, too wrapped up in his own annoyance at not being able to feel you come around his cock. He needs to make this right. His dreams of you delighting in choking on his cock and riding him into oblivion are at stake.

And though he’d never admit it, looking at the way you cling to Joel he feels the first pangs of jealousy clawing at his chest. You were a shared resource. You weren’t supposed to favour one over the other. But through his own stupidity he’d driven you straight into his brothers waiting arms. Desperate to redeem himself, he starts grovelling, hoping that now you have calmed down somewhat he can salvage something from the wreckage.

“Princess please look at me, let me apologise properly,” he coos, crouching down so he’s level with you.

Joel coaxes your face out from his chest, “I think you should hear him out baby, I think he’s really sorry.”

You look at Joel for a moment before turning your head to Tommy without responding. Tommy heaves a relieved sigh before launching into his apology.

“I’m so, so, sorry princess. I wasn’t thinkin’ clearly. I was supposed to be making it up to you and I got selfish. I promise it won’t happen again, please forgive me.”

You look at him, bleary eyed and exhausted, chewing on your bottom lip. He looks and sounds sincere in his apology, regret and remorse splashed across his features. Something you had not expected. You also had to give him credit that once he had realised you were upset he had worked to correct it and give you the release you needed at that moment. You realised with surprise that you believed him. This wasn’t another manipulation, another way to punish you, it was a mistake made in the heat of the moment.

“I forgive you.” You ignored the voice in your head that told you it didn't matter either way.

Tommy sighed in relief, plopping himself down on the bed next to Joel, stretching out his arms.

“Come give me a cuddle princess.”

You look up at Joel, not really wanting to leave the comfortable seat of his lap but he leans forward to plant a kiss on your forehead before tapping your thigh to get you to stand up and patting your backside in his brother’s direction. You go without a fight and Tommy pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you as Joel heads back outside.

As you get comfortable you think about Tommy’s seemingly genuine apology and the way Joel had rushed to you when he thought you were hurt. Perhaps you could be more than just their fuck toy. It seemed like there may be some genuine care in their actions. The thought sent a comforting warmth through your body as you relaxed into Tommy’s chest.

“I really am sorry princess, what can I do to make it up to you?”

“No more today, please Uncle Tommy!” you begged.

“No, no princess, that ain’t what I meant. No more of that today I promise. What can I do to show you how sorry I am?” he asked, choosing to ignore the way his cock twitched as you called him Uncle Tommy for the first time.

You thought about it for a minute before mumbling into his neck, “could you get me a book?”

“A book?”

“Yeah. It gets a bit boring waiting around for you to finish your chores.”

“Yeah princess I can get you a book,” he promises, the green eyed monster within him retreating to its cave as you snuggle into him, “I’ll get you a whole goddamn library.”

______________________________________________________________

I've added some people who showed an interest to the tag list, please let me know if you want to be removed.

@aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @oldloganslittleslut @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @axshadows @justajoelsreader @ahintofkiwistrawberry @guelyury @rosebuds-and-moonlight @koshkaj-blog @shivispunk @ivoryandflame @tammythr @magpiepills

[xbeababyx]

I’m sorry but he’s so boyfriend coded.

I love him so much 🥹

[ohhoneypascal]

Just imagining a pre-outbreak date with Tommy Miller

[strang3lov3]

uncle tommy snippet, as requested

“It’s been a week,” you admit. “Well, almost. Tomorrow makes a week.” 

He laughs. “Goddamn, kiddo. Your old man’s a fuckin’ hard ass.” You shrug silently, and Tommy raises an eyebrow at you. “You can agree, y’know. Ain’t gonna hurt.” 

“A little,” you admit, quietly. But Tommy hears, and he smiles. 

“I can’t go a day without it, myself,” Tommy tells you, stretching out on the couch a little. He rests his hand on your thigh, drawing little patterns down to your knee and back up again, patterns that make your skin tingle and make you feel funny inside. Nervous, excited…

“I think you should reward yourself, ‘f I’m bein’ honest. You did all your chores, after all. Right?” 

“...yeah.” Uncle Tommy has a funny way of making the guilt in your belly disappear, if not for just a moment.. 

“Why don’tcha go to your room and take care of yourself, then? Hm?”

You shake your head. “Joel - Daddy says I’m not allowed to,” you reply. 

“Ohh. Not allowed to do it by yourself.” Tommy echoes. He clicks his tongue and turns his head toward you. “S’too goddamn bad. Joel’s gotcha on a short fuckin’ leash, don’t he?”

He slides his hand up your thigh, inching his pinky finger past your shorts. Tommy likes the way your breath hitches in your throat when he traces the thin, damp fabric of your panties with just his fingertip. Sensitive fuckin’ girl.

“And you’re really hurtin’ for it too, I can tell. A fuckin' week, good lord,” Tommy whispers, then pauses before speaking again. “Well, I’d reckon you’re not doin’ nothin’ wrong by lettin’ Uncle Tommy make ya cum, then, huh?” 

“I-” you stutter, “I really - I don’t know, Uncle Tommy.”

Tommy grins, his eyes so warm and so black, endless. “Oh, sweetheart. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it in my book.”

[andy-15-07]

Tommy miller going down on fem reader till she’s so overstimulated and saying it’s too much but he continues saying “just one more” and like his mustache is all wet and shit💕

Just One More

PAIRING: Tommy Miller x reader

Word Count:890| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

The Last Of Us Masterlist | Ain’t Got Nothin’ Left Part 2

You didn’t even remember how it started.

One second you were teasing Tommy on the porch,calling him cocky for fixing the fence with a smug little grin,and the next thing you knew, your back was hitting the bed, pants gone, legs being pushed open by strong, calloused hands.

“Say that shit again,” he muttered, dragging his lips down your inner thigh, voice low and thick. “Go on, call me smug.”

You gasped, fingers curling in the sheets. “You are smug.”

He glanced up, eyes dark. “You won’t be able to say a damn word when I’m done with you.”

You didn’t have time to throw another jab,his mouth was on you before you could even breathe.

“Fuck,Tommy,” you cried, hips jerking.

He groaned into your pussy like he’d been starving, tongue moving slow and deliberate at first, tasting every inch of you. His mustache brushed your folds with every stroke,soft, teasing, maddening.

“Jesus,” you whimpered, squirming under him. “You’re not playin’ fair.”

“That’s the fuckin’ point, sweetheart,” he rasped, locking his arms under your thighs and pulling you closer. “You taste like heaven.”

He licked you with more pressure, more focus, flattening his tongue against your clit, curling it, letting the wet heat of his mouth drive you wild. You were already close,embarrassingly fast,but he was relentless. Hungry.

You reached for his hair, tugging hard, your legs shaking.

“I’m gonna,Tommy, I’m,”

“Yeah, baby,” he growled, not letting up. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”

You shattered. Your whole body went tense, mouth falling open in a cry, thighs trembling. He didn’t stop,he dove in, moaning like your orgasm was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

“Fuck,” you sobbed, trying to push him away, too sensitive already. “Tommy,baby, wait,”

He pinned your hips down. “One more.”

Your chest rose and fell in rapid gasps. “I can’t,”

He kissed your pussy, so gently it made you twitch. “You can. One more. That’s all I want, baby.”

He didn’t wait for permission. His mouth found your clit again, slower now, but no less focused. His tongue circled it while two fingers slid inside you, curling expertly, hitting that perfect spot on every stroke.

You were whimpering, nearly incoherent.

“Tommy, it’s too much,fuck, I can’t, I really,”

“Yes, you can,” he whispered against you. “Be good for me. Just let go.”

His mouth was soaked. His mustache was glistening. You could feel the slick sound of him working you open, could hear it,Jesus, you could hear yourself. Your thighs shook uncontrollably.

You were close again,too close.

Your back arched violently. You grabbed at his shoulders, clawing, hips bucking, and when his fingers curled just right, something snapped.

You cried out, a strangled sob tearing from your throat,and then you gushed, a hot rush of wetness soaking his face, his hand, the sheets beneath you.

Tommy groaned like a man possessed.

“Fuuuck, baby,” he growled, tongue still lapping at you. “You just fuckin’ squirted for me,holy shit. You’re so fuckin’ perfect.”

You whimpered, trying to pull away, but he held you firm.

“Tommy,please,” you gasped, tears stinging your eyes. “I can’t, I can’t,”

“Just a little more,” he coaxed. “You’re doin’ so good, honey. Just give it to me.”

His fingers slid out and his tongue replaced them,hot, slow, wide licks now, dragging from your entrance to your clit and back. Not as fast, but no less intense. It felt like you were unraveling from the inside out.

You were sobbing his name by the time the third orgasm rolled through you,nothing pretty, just raw, high-pitched cries as your body convulsed, your pussy fluttering with aftershocks.

Tommy finally eased off, breathing hard, mouth and chin soaked with your slick. His mustache was wet, cheeks shiny, and his eyes,fuck,they were blown.

“Goddamn,” he murmured, voice hoarse with arousal. “You make a mess, sugar.”

You could barely form words. Your body was boneless. Twitching. Drenched.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned in and kissed your trembling thigh, murmuring soft praise.

“So fuckin’ beautiful. You okay?”

You nodded weakly. “You broke me.”

He chuckled and kissed your hip. “Nah. Just cracked you open a little.”

You didn’t even have the strength to laugh. “Everything’s wet.”

He smirked, proud. “Yeah. That was hot as hell.”

Tommy lay beside you, pulling you into his arms, not even caring that your slick was all over both of you. He kissed your forehead, stroking your hair back gently.

“You ever do that before?” he murmured.

You shook your head against his chest. “Not like that.”

He smiled against your hair. “That’s ’cause no one’s ever been this obsessed with makin’ you come.”

You gave a breathless laugh, still trembling in his arms. “Mission accomplished.”

Tommy tilted your chin up and kissed you,slow, sweet, deep. You tasted yourself on his tongue.

“Next time, I’ll take my time with that last one,” he murmured. “You’ll know it’s coming.”

You groaned. “There’s gonna be a next time?”

“Oh, baby,” he said, lips brushing your ear. “I’m gonna eat this pussy every chance I get. That okay with you?”

You moaned weakly, burying your face in his chest. “You’re evil.”

He grinned, pulling the blanket over your trembling body. “Yeah, but I make you squirt, so.”

“Smug bastard.”

He laughed,full and warm,and wrapped both arms around you. “Damn right.”

[tommysversion]

Stick To Me (Like Caramel): Tommy Miller x F!Reader

Summary: set in the same universe as Forbidden Fruit. You don't need to read that first for this to make sense. Joel has his girl, his kids, and a life. Meanwhile, Tommy seems to be losing everything of late. After the abrupt end of his marriage, he goes in search of comfort to drown his feelings. And after years of ignoring the tension between you? That seems like a good place to start.

Content/Warnings: Past thoughts of adultery | implied age gap (not specified, can be as large or small as you'd like, but I pictured reader in her early 30s) | unsafe & unprotected PIV sex | oral sex (f!receiving) | dirty talk (Tommy has a filthy mouth) | slight daddy kink (1x usage) | implied breeding kink | slightly dark!Tommy if you squint | Reader has no description physically aside from being female bodied, feminine pronouns & body terms are used |

18+ Only || MDNI || KO-FI Link || Word Count: 2.6k

- x. -

He thinks something in him must be broken. That, or he no longer has to pretend to be something he isn't, put all that effort into pretending he and Joel aren't cut from the same damn cloth.

"You're just too much like your damn brother. Only better at pretending you're a good man."

That's what Maria had told him, before she'd tried to soften the blow by telling him he'd still see his son.

Well what the fuck was he supposed to do? Shut his brother out? He'd already been separated from Joel once before, when he'd first come to Jackson.

Then he'd almost lost him completely thanks to a total stranger with a poorly planned vendetta. God. He was never going to be more glad that Ellie and Jesse were faster with weapons than that bitch and her accomplices.

It had been touch and go for a while there, but Joel was back on his feet now. Had Ellie and Dina and Jesse and some sweet thing who usually works in the stables or the clinic. Younger, but devoted to him.

And hell, Tommy would never begrudge his brother a damn second of it. Not the kids, not the peace, not the girl. Because he knows exactly what his brother has survived, what it almost cost him.

It definitely helps push him into going after what he wants himself, though. Starting with you.

Tommy knows you're sweet on him. Knows too damn well that for the duration of his marriage he's kept his eyes and his thoughts to himself... for the most part. If he's ever, hypothetically, thought about you, and what you may sound like, taste like, feel like? Well. They're just thoughts.

Only, now, they don't have to be.

The man he was trying to be, the good one, who forgets he used to murder and steal and threaten to survive, he'd probably have words for him about crossing town - freshly reinforced, still rebuilding, a long fucking process in itself - to visit a woman far too young for him.

The man he is, though? That man tosses a friendly wave to Jesse as he passes Joel's house, sees the younger man about to go inside. Figures it must be one of those nights where Ellie, Dina, Jesse, Joel and his girl all pile into his living room for a movie.

He remembers when Joel thought he'd never get another movie night with Ellie again. Let alone Ellie, her girl, their best friend, and a woman of his own.

It puts a smile on his face as he carries on up the street til he reaches your house. He knows he had that family thing going for him, but also understands why, he thinks, Maria decided maybe he wasn't the good guy he was trying to be.

So here he is. Months later, sans wedding ring, knocking on your front door.

You take a minute to open it, dressed warmly because Jackson has a habit of always being so goddamn cold, looking relaxed in jeans and a sweater.

"Tommy." You say, like you're surprised to see him, but also like he's your favourite person in the goddamn world.

You don't use that tone with just anyone. He's observant enough to note that. Still, he gets the sense that he's a welcome sight, which he appreciates.

"Hey, sweetheart. Can I come in?"

He suddenly feels awkward. Just a little. A rush of concern that maybe he's been misreading you this entire time, that every soft glance, every little smile, every time you've served him at the bar and been just that little bit warmer than you are with most...

His thoughts are interrupted by another bright smile, by you stepping aside to let him into your home. Your house is the smallest on the street, only one single floor. You've never complained.

The entire house smells like something has been baking, he notes, as he steps around you and closes the door behind him. Cinnamon, he thinks as he follows you through into your small living room. It's cosy, a few books here and there, a record player.

One large archway opens up into the kitchen, a small hallway leading off to the guest room and bathroom. He remembers the layout from when he repaired your hot water system a few years back. Then there's the door to your room, ajar. He catches a glimpse of messy blankets before he turns his entire attention to you.

"Tommy? Are you okay?" You look up at him, your eyes focused on him; you're no medic, no doctor, but you're looking him over like you're afraid he's hurt and you want to fix him.

He doesn't think he's really able to be fixed anymore.

"Yeah." He says, then again with a little more conviction. He likes the way you're looking at him, the way your lips part slightly as you try to figure him out.

Later, he'll pinpoint this as the moment any remaining reservations vanished, but he won't be able to specifically tell anyone why.

Giving it no more thought, he closes the two steps between you, pulls you against his broad chest, leans down and crushes his lips to yours.

You make a little surprised sound but you don't stop him; instead you lean into him, wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. There's a small part of you that registers that this is probably wrong, he's barely separated from Maria, but god, you're so tired of waiting and wanting from a distance.

All he needs is that little sign that you want this too, then he's lifting you up into his arms, carrying you the short distance into your room.

He sets you down, tugging at your sweater just as insistantly as you pull at the red plaid shirt he's wearing, the worn tee beneath it. A low groan rumbles in his chest as you run your hands up his bare chest; he's not all solid muscle anymore, let himself get a little soft in the middle over time, but you don't care, touch him reverently regardless.

"Fuck, honey..."

He gets your sweater off, your bra, drags you into another kiss before you work on the bottom layers; your jeans and soaked panties hit the floor next, then you're pulling away from him, sprawling yourself out on your bed for him, touching yourself, spreading your own slick as he groans again.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters as he undoes his belt, pauses just a moment to watch you run your hands up your body, play with your own tits, fully aware of his gaze and the way he's transfixed by you.

He tugs his jeans down, a slight smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he sees the way your eyes widen, watching his cock as it springs free, hard and heavy against his stomach.

Then he's crawling onto the bed, spreading your thighs wide for him. You whimper and he grins, tugs you closer to him.

"'s it, baby, c'mere," his voice is low and thick with lust as he buries his face between your thighs, groaning the moment your slick touches his tongue. He's dreamed about this, wondered how you taste for years, even though it's been so wrong up until recently.

The part of him that's a good man still feels shameful for it, but the rest of him takes precedence, doesn't give a fuck whether he's wanted this for longer than he should have, when he was still a good married man.

His tongue circles your clit, dips into your soaked pussy, drinking down your slick and shaking his head from side to side until his beard is soaked with you, your thighs tight against his head and shaking.

"Fuck yeah, sweetheart, taste so good-" he presses a soft kiss to your clit, sucks it into his mouth again, drawing another strangled moan from your lips. "Could fuckin' drown in this pussy and be a happy man."

His cock throbs against the sheets, pre cum dripping from the fat, weeping tip of him as he sits up, wipes his chin with the back of his hand, sits back for a moment and just admires the mess he's made of you.

"Need you-" you manage to almost whimper, reaching for him. He laughs quietly as he leans down again, cages you in beneath him.

"Need me, huh? Reckon you've been needin' me for a while, huh, sweetheart?" He drags his fingers through your slick, teasing you as his lips trail kisses down your throat, nuzzle into your collarbone.

He's slow and precise and it's damn near killing him to take his time.

"Y-yeah," you admit breathlessly, tilting your head so he can kiss at your shoulders again, liking the intimacy of it.

"Yeah? Even when you couldn't have me? You been lyin' in this bed every night thinkin' of me?" He kisses your sternum, nuzzles between your breasts with a low hum as he waits for your answer.

You make a little noise of assent and he laughs, a low rumble in his chest as he slips a hand up your curves, finds a hardened nipple and plays with it, rolling it between his fingers tauntingly.

"Bet you have. Probably had no idea how much I wanted to fuck you into this bed, huh?" He leans down and bites your nipple, drawing a little squeak from you, and he laughs. "Guess that patience is about t' pay off."

His tongue laves over the bite mark as he shifts, keeps himself propped up with one hand while the other wraps around his cock, throbbing and aching in his hand. Lightly, he slaps it against your clit, a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan forming when you moan for him.

"Tha's it, baby, fuck, c'mere, come to daddy-"

He groans as he feeds you his cock, inch by inch into your tight heat; you're so warm and wet for him, your cunt trying to pull him in deeper. It's almost a relief when his hips are flush against yours, his cock snugly sheathed inside you.

"Fuck, 's so big-" you gasp out, your fingers moving to cling onto his arms, desperate for something to hold onto as you breathe, feel him stretching you open.

"Deep breaths, now, sweetheart, c'mon-" he soothes you, nuzzles his face into your neck and presses open mouthed kisses to sensitive skin until you feel less pressure, less discomfort, just wonderfully, blissfully full of him. He feels the change, feels you relax, and then he starts to move, snapping his hips into yours, hard and fast.

You don't hold back for him, your moans loud and filthy and he loves it, loves the way you claw at his back, drag your nails up and down and cling to him. Fifty five years old and he's still got it, still got the stamina and the ability to make a woman scream for him.

He can feel your pussy tightening around him, as though trying to get him deeper; he shifts, lifts one of your thighs up and presses it against your chest so he can achieve exactly that. The change in angle is rewarded by a particularly filthy moan from your lips.

"Please -"

Is the only legible word from the stream of sounds falling from you, though he thinks he hears his name amongst it, too.

"Don't worry sweetheart, I gotcha. Go on now, y' can let go whenever y' want to." His words are a little strained from the effort, from how hard he's fucking into you; some of his dark hair is falling from the messy bun he usually wears it in.

You want to reach up, to brush it from his face, but your entire body feels like it's about to shatter like glass from the way his cock slams into you; before you know it you're coming apart around him, your slick soaking his cock as you gasp for breath, choking out ragged moans as your body trembles.

"That's it, that's my girl-" he groans as he pulls out of you, letting your still fluttering cunt ache around emptiness as he turns you onto your front; you catch sight of his cock, glistening with your slick, before he has you face down, ass up.

His big hands grip your hips and pull you close, one keeping hold of you as the other guides his cock back inside you. You both give a relieved little sound as he fills you again.

The hand not at your waist moves to your chest once more, fondling your tits as he starts to move again.

"Fuck, sweetheart, got such a tight little pussy," he pulls you up so your back is against his chest as he fucks into you, the hand on your hip moving to play with your clit as he kisses your shoulder. "Could just fuckin' die here an' be a happy man, Christ -"

The hand at your chest moves up, presses two fingers into your mouth which you suck, muffling your moans as you swirl your tongue, as if sucking on his cock. Just the thought of his cock in your mouth has you drooling, and he laughs a low rumbling sound.

"Dirty girl, ain't ya? Fuck, maybe once I've filled you up, I'll make you suck my cock clean. Y' like that idea?" He feels your cunt tighten around him at the words and chuckles darkly, "yeah you fuckin' do. That what you want? Me to fuck my cum into this pretty little cunt then make you suck my cock clean?"

You whimper around his fingers and he groans, pulls them out of your mouth and tilts your head back so he can kiss you; it's sloppy and greedy and you can taste yourself on his tongue, but you cling to him because it's everything you've possibly ever wanted from him and then some.

"Alright sweetheart, here it comes, be a good girl for me, c'mon-" he groans as his hips snap up, sharp deep thrusts that have you shaking in his arms, "- take it, honey, that's it, fuuuuuccckkkk-"

The last word is drawn out as his balls tighten, his cock aching and throbbing as he spills his load inside you, deep and far more than he'd expected, hips rocking steadily until he finally stills, taking ragged breaths against your shoulder.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Tommy -" you say finally, when he lets you down against the mattress, curls his larger frame around yours and showers your sweat damp skin with kisses.

"Seen you lookin'. Don't take a genius to know what you wanted." He chuffs a laugh and nuzzles into your neck, "just hope I lived up t' your dreams, ain't polite to keep a lady waitin' long."

You suppress a snort of laughter.

"You just fucked me like an animal after I've spent years wishing you would, my tits are covered in your bite marks and I have your cum dripping down my leg. I don't see any ladies present." You smirk and then roll onto your side so you can face him. "But yeah. You definitely did."

A pause before your expression changes, becomes a little more vulnerable, guarded.

"So what happens now? We just... Pretend this never happened?"

It's his turn to laugh, shake his head as he wraps his strong, freckled arms around you.

"Never. Ain't goin' anywhere, angel. Don't you worry your pretty head about that."

And he's right. You're like nicotine to him; now he's had a taste, there's no way he's going anywhere without you.

[xodilfluvr]

need that mustache to tickle me as we kiss🥺💋ugh I just know he’s so sweet with it definitely talks you through it and whispers sweet nothings into your ear pet names like sweetheart and baby fsfs💕 he’d be so gentle and sweet💕 would for sure give you his coat and freeze his ass off just so your warm🥺💗