dare-writes

[dare-writes]

how do i become an older man fucker, i’m tired of these fucking stupid college boys

[dare-writes]

i’m not reading all that is lethal i need reader just as bad as tommy

STICKY

summary: Each time Tommy Miller calls you his girl, and the one time that it sticks.

pairing: possessive!Tommy Miller x maneater!f!Reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, porn without much plot, age gap(10yrs), infidelity but not against tommy or reader, toxic relationship dynamics, club culture, one use of the word daddy said as a joke, possessiveness, tbh reader is straight up mean to tommy but he's down bad and into it, protected & unprotected piv, phone sex, f!masturbation, facefucking, facesitting, degradation, praise, choking, public sex, lots of dirty talk, pussy pronouns, jealousy, tommy uses another girl to get your attention but it backfires, creampie, overstimulation, modern/no outbreak au, no beta

note: you know those couples that fight in the middle of the baking aisle and then fuck it out in the car before they leave the parking lot? yeah that's these two.

» alexa, play toxic by brittany spears

wc: 12.08k

[masterlist] [AO3]

The first time you meet Tommy Miller, you’re twenty five and full of life in the way that sticks. 

Creating memories that you’ll talk about when you’re seventy, going to every bar and club within a hundred mile radius. Making such a reputation for yourself that even the bouncers know you by name. Smile big and sigh heavy every time they see you as if to say, ‘Ah, shit. There she is. Here we go again.’

It was at a nightclub in Dallas where you first bumped into Tommy. Well, bumped into would be putting it lightly.

He’s standing outside with a pretty blonde girl, sharing a Marlboro Red and whispering sweet nothings.

And you’re shouting. Laughing, too, slung over the shoulder of a security guard, being kicked out for being disruptive. Whatever the fuck that meant.

For what it’s worth, he sits you back on your feet gentler than you deserve. “Oh, so bitches don’t know how to say excuse me and somehow it’s my fault? It’s fuckin’ bullshit, Dennis, and you know it!”

“Not my call, kid,” Dennis explains with a shrug. “Sorry. See you next weekend.” And without another word, the suited man disappears back into the nightclub, leaving you, and the blonde, and one Tommy fucking Miller.

You’d be embarrassed, if it weren’t for the six shots coursing through your bloodstream.

They stare. Both of them, but in different ways. Her gaze is concerned, maybe a little frightened. But Tommy’s is dark. Excited. Filled with lust, but you hadn’t known that yet.

“What? You never seen someone get kicked out before?”

“Sorry,” the blonde says quickly. “You okay?”

Nice. She was nice. That’s about all you remember. She helps you fix your too-tight dress and goes back inside. Tommy promises to follow her in a minute, once he finishes his cigarette. 

But that doesn’t happen.

Instead, he sweet talks you in the way he’s always been good at. Makes you feel real special. Puts his mouth to your ear and makes obscene jokes, the heat of his breath sending goosebumps down your spine.

He touches you softly at first. A simple brush of his knuckles across your cheekbone. He flashes that killer smile and his hand finds a home on your waist. Drifting lower and lower and before you realize it, he’s slipping it up the back of your dress.

In hindsight, that first night should’ve been the red flag to end all red flags. He’d been at the nightclub with someone else, and somehow you’d wound up in the back seat of his truck with his cock buried deep inside you.

No one had ever gotten you to the finish line before that night. A couple of boyfriends had tried, but mostly, you’d had to ignore their rhythm and circle your clit yourself just to get there.

But Tommy isn’t like that. Not even a little. Seems to know the way around your body better than you yourself do. Lifts you off of him and replaces his cock with his fingers halfway through, and moves them just right until you soak him, only to slide right back in with a deep groan and that prideful grin on his face.

He likes to talk real nasty in your ear. That much never changed. That first night, as the condom swells inside you, he looks right into your eyes and says, “Damn, baby. You’ve got the kinda pussy that’ll make a man go fuckin’ crazy.”

If his girlfriend hadn’t been the red flag, you think that should’ve been.

But you were young and dumb and Tommy was older and exciting and delicious.

So, you give him your number when he asks for it. 

Rookie mistake. 

Two weeks later, you get a text on Friday night.

Going to Club Orchid with some friends tonight. Could use a back seat girl.

Back seat girl. 

It makes you so fucking mad, so irritated that you complain about it to your roommates all day. And they all agree that it was a shitty thing to say.

Sure, Tommy was attractive. Tall and broad and rugged with that big Texas belt buckle that deep Texas drawl and those curls and the fucking mustache. 

But he wasn’t God’s gift to the Earth. And when you and your friends find your way to Club Orchid that night, you seek him out to tell him just that.

And you do. Give him a glare sharp enough to cut and call him an asshole in front of all his friends. You remind him that his access to you is a privilege because it is, and warn that you’ll end up in his dad’s backseat if he’s not careful.

But Tommy takes your insults and threats with ease. Smirks the whole time like you’re putting on his favorite show. Leans back with an elbow against the bar and a glass bottle in hand. Licks his lips when you’re done and says, “You’re fuckin’ sexy when you’re all worked up. You know that?”

You roll your eyes and blow him a kiss with your middle finger before setting out to find someone else to dance with. 

And you do. Some pretty boy from out of town who’s all too happy to let you grind on him in the middle of the dance floor. He buys you and your friends drinks all night and runs his soft hands up your thighs with no fear in him. The kind of boy you’d normally take home. Closer to your age. Nice, but not too nice.

You can feel Tommy’s eyes on you from across the room, though. Catch his gaze every couple songs, hot and lingering. You like the way it felt to have his attention. Like that he could have any girl in the room but he stares only at you.

A little after midnight, you step outside for some fresh air. And you can see him leave the bar from the corner of your eye, fully aware he’s following you and trying to ignore the way your skin prickles in excitement.

You don’t even make it to the backseat that night. Tommy shoves your dress up and your panties down and takes you right on the hood of his truck. Presses your face to the black chrome paint and fucks you hard. Tangles his hand in your hair and says, “Pretty girl got her feelings hurt, did she? S’alright, baby. You got me back good. Lettin’ that little boy touch you all night right in front of me. But pussy this good needs a fuckin’ man, don’t it?”

No one on Earth has ever irritated you more. But no one else has made you feel that good, either. 

Tommy likes it deep. Gives you those fast, punishing strokes that have your eyes watery and your head all fuzzy. He brushes his rough fingers over your clit with expert precision, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you with ease. Like it’s his fucking day job.

He kissed you afterwards. Rights your dress, squeezes your cheeks between his fingers and presses his lips to yours with such intensity it steals the breath from your lungs. He hadn’t done it the first time, and it leaves you a little confused. 

Enough that you consult the group chat the next morning. Half of the responses conclude that you’ve gotten the man pussydrunk, while the other half insist on blocking his number.

But you don’t, of course. Just chang his contact name to Tommy Miller - DNI. 

You ignore his messages for a while and avoid the clubs and bars you know he frequents.

But it does little to change the course you’re on. 

The next time you see him is at your favorite takeout place. You’ve already ordered and are waiting on the other side of the counter, wearing your comfiest pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt. A far cry from your best look, but it didn’t seem to bother Tommy in the slightest. 

He bypasses the woman behind the counter entirely, coming up to your side instead. He towers over you in a way that’s a whole lot clearer in the daylight. So tall you have to crane your head up to watch him speak. “Nice seein’ you here,” he says. “Best barbecue in Austin. Shame only the locals know about it.”

“I prefer it that way,” you admit, nose upturned, a cold edge in your voice. “Keeps away unwanted advances.”

He smirks at that. “Unwanted, huh? S’that what it was?” His eyes flicker down, right between your thighs. “Didn’t seem that way when she was cryin’ for me.”

You roll your eyes and bite your tongue, hoping he’ll take the hint and leave you be. 

But Tommy only doubles down. Leans in close and says the most obscene thing you’ve ever heard in your life up until that point. “You know, some people would call it cruel, keepin’ a little girl from her daddy.”

“Jesus Christ,” you scoff. “You’re disgusting.”

Tommy smiles real wide. Presses a chaste kiss to the top of your head and says, “I’ll see you later, baby.”

He would not see you later, in fact. You’d make damn sure of it. 

When he returns to the cashier, he tells her the name on his pickup order and you try to drown out the sound of his voice and the way he smiles at the girl behind the counter. Try to ignore the way she smiles back, and slides him a piece of paper with a phone number scribbled on it.

But when your order’s finished, and you pull out your debit card to pay, she informs you that it’s already paid for in full. 

You try not to let it get to you. Try not to convince yourself paying for your food means anything. You didn’t ask for him to buy your dinner, and so you don’t owe him a thank you or the last thirty dollars in your account.

But you have a weird feeling he’ll try to hold it against you. Which is why you open that one sided text thread and send a message, half hoping he’ll leave you on read. 

Thanks for buying my food. Didn’t have to do that, but I appreciate it. 

His response is immediate. 

Yeah I did. I always take care of my girl.

His girl. It makes your stomach flip. Makes you feel equally nauseous and elated. 

Not your girl. 

Those typing bubbles pop up, disappear, and then pop up again. He’s hesitating. 

Could be, though.

The hesitation is enough for you to make a decision. Tommy Miller doesn’t seem much the settling down type. You know guys like him. Take pride in seeing right through their facade and turning their own tricks back on them.

And, truthfully, you’re weren’t ready for anything exclusive or serious, anyway. You had no interest in being his girl. No interest in him at all. 

You don’t respond.

But you see him. That weekend at Club Orchid, the following weekend at Frank’s Bar. It seems that no matter where you go, he’s always there. And you try to keep your distance. 

Truly, you do. But it’s like Tommy Miller’s this beacon of light and you’re a brainless little moth. Sometimes he shows up in these too tight t-shirts that barely fit his strong biceps, sometimes he wears this cologne that’s sweet and musky and masculine and mouth watering, and you just can’t help yourself.

You always know he’s around when you walk in some place and you’re given a Jack and Coke before you even make it to the bar. It becomes a running joke between you and your friends. Like it’s his little way of saying ‘hey, baby. be seein’ you later.’ 

And god damnit, you do. 

You christen every god forsaken inch of his truck, the backseat of your friend’s Camry, both the restrooms at Club Orchid, the alley behind Frank’s. He makes you feel like a horny teenager, never satisfied, always hungry.

And it goes on for months. Longer than any other casual hookup you’ve ever had before him.

Tommy has no problem keeping up with you. Even though you always poke fun at him for his age, sometimes offering a viagra when you share a cigarette and ask for round two before you even make it back inside to the thrall of the party.

He says, “I’m thirty five, girl. Not seventy five. Bend the fuck over.”

Each time it’s a little more dirty and a little more depraved. He gets to know you, to really know you. Can hear the difference between a moan that says, that’s good and one that says, Jesus Christ, right fucking there. 

And you come to know him, too. Know just how hard to squeeze his cock to make his breath hitch, know when to suck and when to lick, know that if you look up at him with innocent eyes while he’s halfway down your throat it sends him careening off the precipice of release.

Tommy likes it when you’re sweet to him. He likes when you beg for it, likes when you say please. But you also know he likes the chase. 

Convincing you is half the battle, and if you didn’t know any better you’d assume he enjoyed it more than the sex. He doesn’t embarrass easily, and you find that the meaner you are to him before he spreads your thighs, the harder he is when his cock finds home.

But on one particularly bad Friday, you find yourself at Frank’s alone. Your friends are busy and your roommates bailed last second. Not their fault—food poisoning happens to the best of us.

It’s not bad because you’re alone. It’s bad because you’d been laid off that afternoon and now were in a frantic search for a new job. Something temporary until you made it through the screening process at someplace that paid decently. 

You’re drowning your sorrows when Tommy finds you. Ordering doubles all night and charging it to your credit card even knowing you shouldn’t.

He sits beside you at the bar. Doesn't say a word. Just exists with you in the silence and orders a drink for you both. 

You hate to admit it, but you think it might just be one of the nicest things anyone’s ever done for you. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong, doesn’t offer to fix it, doesn’t urge you to sneak off to the back to have a quickie. He’s just…he’s just there. 

And, after last call, he gently tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear and says, “C’mon.” 

You don’t know why, but you do as he says. End up sitting in the corner of the couch in his apartment, your dress in a pile on his bathroom floor, wearing a well loved Def Leppard t-shirt from his closet. He makes two cups of microwave noodles, sits beside you, and asks, “You like Pawn Stars?”

All you give is a shrug in response. Have never given a shit about reality television shows, really. But somehow, it’s exactly what you need.

Tommy sits there with you, arm draped around your shoulders, and watches reruns until you fall asleep. Doesn’t press you for answers or ask you for anything. He just…he takes care of you. In a way you’ve never been taken care of before. He’s kind and gentle and good.

He kisses your forehead when he turns the television off and retires to his bedroom alone. But, before he goes, your sleepy voice cuts through the silence. “Tommy?”

His heavy steps pause on the hardwood. “Yeah, baby?”

“Thank you.”

A soft smile curls at the corners of his lips. It’s the first time you see it; the love in his eyes. Not love in the typical way of the word. There’s no expectation tied to it, no hidden intention. It’s just good, simple, pure adoration. Given to you freely from a man who has a good heart but isn’t quite ready to give it away.

You wake up before the sun with a splitting headache and a clearer head. Even fully aware that it’s kind of a shitty thing to do, you slip out of Tommy’s apartment before he wakes. Send him a quick text that just says thanks again, and walk back to your car parked in Frank’s parking lot with your shoes in hand.

A little after you turn twenty six, James takes you by surprise. You meet him at a houseparty in Houston and hit it off quicker than you anticipate. He’s the sort of guy you’d bring home to your parents. And when he surprises you at your new office job with a dozen roses in hand just to ask you on a date, you can’t help but say yes.

He opens every door for you, gives you his jacket in the rain, walks on the outside of the sidewalk. Your friends like him, he’s funny, and he never once gives you any mixed signals. Even admits early on that he wants to take things slow because he’s dating not for fun but with the intent of eventual marriage.

James is a good guy. A really, really good guy. And you like him. Truly.

Which is why, several weeks into your relationship, you think it’ll be fine if you accompany your friends to Club Orchid on his arm.

You should’ve known better.

And you know it’ll be bad when that Jack and Coke is presented to you by a waiter before you’re four feet inside the door. 

Your friends give you worried glances, but you try to shake it off. It’s just a drink. It doesn’t mean anything. And so you simply thank the waiter and sip slowly from the glass and go about your business.

The heavy weight of his stare prickles at the back of your neck. James asks to dance and you say yes, trying to convince yourself you’re not doing it just to get a good look around the room. To find him. 

It takes a couple of songs. Club Orchid is busy, bustling with bodies and spilled liquor and the scent of cigarette smoke. But you do find him.

Sitting at a table near the back, feet extended, arms crossed over his chest and that fucking smirk on his face. He’s got on battered cowboy boots and an old pair of wranglers and that fucking Def Leppard t-shirt. The same one you’d slept in on his couch. 

You’re not a cheater. Would never slip off to the parking lot while James waits for you inside, oblivious that you’re getting your back blown out thirty feet away.

And yet, the image in your brain gets stuck. Roots in deep. Makes a home inside. 

But you’re not like that. You’re not. 

When you tell James you’re going to run to the restroom for a second, he can sense your unease. He asks if everything’s okay, asks if there’s anything you need. His concern only makes the obscenities that haunt you feel that much more depraved. 

You promise James that you’re okay, that you just need a second to yourself. 

But you can feel Tommy’s familiar warmth at your back the moment you step through the door.

The restrooms are dimly lit, dark walls covered in graffiti. There’s a couple making out near the sinks and a young woman beside them fixing her lipstick in the mirror.

You don’t turn to face him. Not until you’re inside of the stall at the end, and he closes the door and latches it behind himself. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Could ask you the same thing, sweetheart,” he says. As if he has any right to.

“I already told you. I’m not your fucking girl.”

Tommy laughs. A deep rumble in his chest. “Mhm. Sure. Keep tellin’ yourself that.” He steps forward, crowding you. And when you take a step back to create much needed space, he just keeps coming until your back is pressed against the painted concrete wall. “You're his girl now, s’that it?”

“Yes,” you tell him. But your voice shakes when you say it.

Tommy catches it. Hears your hesitance. “Fine,” he says with a playful smirk. “I’ll bite. Just answer one question.”

A crease forms between your brows. You cross your arms over your chest and find that your heart is beating so fast you can feel it hammering against your sternum. “What?”

Tommy gently takes hold of your wrists, unfolding your arms. He stares you right in the eye, his gaze filled with so much intensity and darkness it chokes you. He takes your hand in his and presses it against the bulge in his jeans, and asks with a syrupy voice, “He fuck you like I do?”

Though you try not to react, your muscles deflate and a quiet whimper slips past your lips. You know if you lie he’ll taste it like smoke in the air. So, you say nothing instead. Keep your lips sealed firmly shut. 

But your silence is answer enough. Tommy smiles wide and presses a kiss to your hairline. He rests his cheek against the top of your head—such a rare, affectionate caress that you almost don’t notice his free hand begin to gather the fabric of your dress at your hip. 

He keeps the other held firmly against his cock, puppeteering your fingers, stroking the hardness there just how you know he likes.

“Don’t know why I asked. Already knew the answer,” he mutters, fingertips dancing over the elastic band of your panties. He slides them from your hip to that spot just below your navel—back and forth, back and forth, feeling the smooth fabric. “He know about that special spot, baby? Hm? He get as deep as I can? He keep up with you?”

No, no, and no. “It’s better with him.” Lie. “He’s nice to me.” True.

Tommy snorts. “You don’t like it nice,” he says. And then he slides his hand between your legs, middle finger pressed against your slit through the fabric of your panties. “Tell me the truth. Tell me what you want.”

His hand stays there, caressing you, sliding against your clit over and over and over. You can’t think like this. Can’t move, can’t breathe. Your hips tilt against his hand and you can feel his smile as he presses another loving kiss to the top of your head. 

Corrupted.

You’re totally, completely corrupted. 

Fucked in the head because you’re going to let him do whatever he wants to you in this dirty bathroom stall while your boyfriend’s alone on the dance floor.

And then Tommy steps away, leaving you cold and wanting and soaked. 

Clarity comes trickling in and your stomach twists. But there’s a part of you, too, that wishes you’d been bolder. A part that regrets not saying yes faster. 

“S’alright,” he says. “If you want to be with some fuckin’ asshole who doesn’t know his way around that sweet pussy of yours then fine. Be my guest. Suit yourself. But don’t let me see him touch you again, cause I’ll bash his fuckin’ head in.”

The words sound so unbelievable in your ears that you laugh. “You’re insane,” you say through your giggles. “Like, actually fucking crazy.”

He grabs your face, gentle enough not to hurt, firm enough that your laughter dies in your throat. “Do what you want, but I don’t want to fucking see it.”

It’s only then that it becomes clear to you. Behind his anger, there’s injury. You’re hurting him. 

And you’d feel bad if you had a reason to. But Tommy’s not good to you. Doesn’t ask to take you on dates, doesn’t make the effort to get to know you, doesn’t even typically kiss you goodbye after he spreads your legs. 

You deserve better and you know it. You deserve someone more like James.

He leaves you alone in that bathroom stall and you fight off the tears that well in the corners of your eyes.

When you regain your composure, you find James at the bar. He asks again if you’re okay and you admit that you’re not. Tell him you’re just not feeling it, that you’d rather spend the night tucked into bed with him. 

And he’s all too happy to take you up on the offer. He makes you popcorn and rents that new romcom starring your celebrity crush. He gets ice cream delivered at midnight just because you say it sounds good.

You try not to think about Tommy. But that dull, thrumming ache between your thighs persists. As if your traitorous libido had been promised sweet, sweet relief, only to be let down.

And you try with James. Really, you do. You tell him what feels good and he goes down on you for half an hour with no complaints. But he’s…he’s kind. And you can only take so much trying before you’re just tired. You know faking it doesn’t benefit either one of you, but you don’t want to hurt his feelings, either. Because he’s so good in every other aspect and you’re terrified of scaring him off. 

And it’s not that big of a deal, right? It’s not like the sex is bad. It’s just not what you’re used to. Different can be good, can’t it?

After he finishes he’s kissing you and saying goodnight and he’s dead asleep in ten minutes flat. It’s fine if you slink off to the bathroom after he’s started snoring to take care of the ache yourself.

It wouldn’t be the first time and you know it probably won’t be the last.

Except…it doesn’t happen. 

You try every trick in the book. Even let your mind wander to places it shouldn’t, but you just can’t get there. 

Ten minutes go by. Fifteen. Twenty. Forty.

Your desire lingers, hot and heavy and suffocating. The entire night has got you so frustrated and worked up that you could cry. 

And you won’t be able to sleep, not with the pent up arousal that demands attention. So, you make a decision.

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard on your phone. Unsure and yet still determined. You type out the classic you up? text, only to delete it.

You settle on a different phrasing. Still no better, but at least it doesn’t make you cringe as hard. 

Are you awake?

Tommy’s response is instant. Like it always is.

Call if you’re serious.

It makes you roll your eyes and sigh in frustration, but you do it anyway. Move to the couch in James’s living room instead, further away from the bedroom to ensure he won’t hear you. 

And then you call Tommy Miller for the first time in your life. 

He picks up on the second ring. “I’ll admit, I didn’t think you had it in you, baby,” is his greeting. Voice dark and sultry as he taunts you, the word baby sliding through you all soft and sweet and buttery. 

It has your stomach fluttering, warmth slithering through your center. But irritation follows it. “Shut the fuck up,” you bite back. Mean.

Tommy just laughs and you can hear the amusement in his voice when he speaks. “Don’t think you called to tell me that,” he says. “Can I guess?”

His voice. Just his fucking voice.

Your heart rate kicks up, that familiar pressure forms between your legs, painful at this point. And you know it’s wrong but you don’t care. You just need relief.

Tommy continues to speak, even though you offer nothing in the way of an answer. Says, “I think I was right on the nose, huh? He might be nice, but he can’t fuck you right. S’why you’re callin’ me, ain’t it? Got that uppity, rich asshole wrapped around your finger, though. An’ it’s no surprise, really. So goddamn pretty in those little dresses.”

You put him on speaker and lower the volume as low as it’ll go, placing your cellphone on the back of the couch. Freeing up your hands so you can lift your t-shirt with one and slide the other beneath the waist band of your pajama shorts.

He continues, oblivious. “Got those sweet, innocent eyes an’ that smart ass mouth that looks like it was made to fit a cock like mine.”

Your head falls back, sighing as you circle your clit with the perfect pressure, the perfect speed. Pleasure shoots through you, building low in your belly. 

“You let him fuck your pretty mouth, baby? Hm? Tell me. You swallow him down easy? Or do you cry on it like mine? Get all teary eyed and messy?”

His voice is so dark, so deep. But he’s looking for an answer and you don’t have the patience for it, you just want to get there. So in the silence all you can think to say is, “Keep talking.”

Tommy hears it, the breathlessness in your words. The need, the desperation. “Oh, shit,” he hisses. But then he chuckles, low and quiet. “You touchin’ yourself right now, darlin’?”

You don’t answer, too ashamed. But you pick up the pace, press a little harder against the sensitive nerves, and you try to swallow a moan. It comes out as a breathy sound instead, stuck in the back of your throat.

Somehow, the cadence in which he speaks grows darker. Sinister, even. ”Dirty fuckin’ girl. Bet you just had him inside you, huh? He in the other room? Tell me.” 

“No,” you say. But it’s so unconvincing that Tommy laughs. 

“Ain’t gotta lie to me. S’okay, though. I know how you get with that little attitude of yours. Too bad your boyfriend don’t know that all it takes to fix it is to get all up in your guts. Ain’t that right, darlin’?”

“You’re so—hmm—so fucking annoying.” You don’t mean it. Not really.

It doesn’t phase him. “You got your fingers inside yet, baby? Or are you still touchin’ her all sweet and soft?”

“Not…God—not yet,” you breathe out, trying to ignore the way your voice sounds so desperate in your ears. The pleasure coiling around your spine is already better than it was before, heightened just because he’s there. 

Tommy clicks his tongue. “Got two hands, don’t you? Go on, now. Just one, greedy girl. Gotta pace yourself. Make it last, make it good.”

Even though you know he can’t see you, you follow his instructions to the letter. Use your free hand to slide a single finger inside—the middle one, pressing hard in just the right spot. 

Your breath stutters the moment it happens, and you can feel your walls clench and shiver around the digit at the sound of that liquid smooth laugh of his.

“Got no fuckin’ clue how hard I am,” he whispers, voice smokey. “Got my dick leakin’ just thinkin’ about ya. From hearin’ all those pretty noises you make.”

You roll your fingers over your clit faster, chasing relief. Somehow it’s both too much and not enough, and before long you find yourself begging. The way you always do when that thick Texas drawl floods your ears. “Oh—fuck. Fuck, please, Tommy—”

His breath hitches on the other side of the phone. There’s a long, shaky exhale—and you know you’re getting to him. Can feel the sudden shift, can hear the strain in his words. “Christ. Slutty little thing. Sayin’ my name while he’s in the other room.”

The shame of it all makes you whimper, but it only spurs him on.

“S’alright, pretty girl. Ain’t gonna tell. Slide another finger in, baby. Ya earned it. Let me hear you,” he says. 

And though your immediate compliance stirs something angry and irritating inside, you do as he says. Tell yourself it’s not because you have to, but because you want to. Would do it right at this moment even without his words. 

The stretch is sweet and aching, fingertips finding home with practiced ease, warmth pooling low in your belly. Quiet, breathy sounds leave your lips, refusing to remain behind your teeth.

“Ohh, that’s it, ain’t it? This all you needed? Wanted me to talk ya through it. You cum for him like you’re about to cum for me?”

It’s right there, right there—your eyes squeezed tight, thighs trembling, breath getting stuck at the top of your lungs. 

And then he laughs. A low, baritone sound that sends shivers down your spine. He says, “Nah. ‘Course not. That pretty little pussy ain’t his, is it, baby? My fucking girl. Not his. Mine.”

The way he says it—possessive, controlling, certain—sends you over the edge, diving headfirst into bliss. 

You have to turn your head and press your mouth against your shoulder, fighting back the noises threatening to spill out, trying to keep quiet but failing miserably.

“Sound so pretty right now,” Tommy mutters. “Wish I was there with you, watchin’ you make a mess of yourself. Fuck, baby. That’s it.”

The sensation sticks. Lasts and lasts and lasts until you’re fighting for air, until your thighs clamp down tight around your hands between them. 

And even after, as your orgasm slowly fizzles out and your muscles loosen considerably, your skin still tingles. You let your head roll back, falling limp into the couch cushions, trying to catch your breath.

Tommy says nothing for several seconds, but you can still hear him on the other end of the line. Can feel him. The tension changes. Not awkward, exactly. Reluctant. As if he wants to speak but is afraid to.

You’re the one who decidedly ends the silence. “Uhm…thanks. By the way.”

Whatever Tommy had wanted to say gets lost. Tucked away someplace else for a different time. “Ain’t gotta thank me for doin’ my job, darlin’. Told you, I always take care of my girl.”

With a scoff, you roll your eyes and pick your phone back up. Press it to your ear and deny his words, even though something about the way you say them feels like a lie. “Not your girl, Miller. Goodnight.”

You don’t let him get another word in before ending the call. But just before you hang up you can hear him laughing. 

Not long after, you break up with James. Give the classic, it’s not you, it’s me speech and pick up a box of your belongings from his rental a week later. 

It surprises you how relieved you feel afterwards. How little you care about his absence. Because while, yes, James is kind and honest and good—you realize you’ve gotten bored. Have begun to miss the excitement without realizing it. The push and the pull and the heady desire in the middle of a dance floor.

That first weekend, your roommates insist on going out. Say it’s their way of getting you ‘back out on the playing field,’ which you know is just an excuse to drink too much. 

Still, you go. Decide on one of those nightclubs in the college part of town. Too expensive and too crowded and too loud, but somehow it’s exactly what you need.

And it’s the first night in months you spend just for yourself. You dance with your friends and even though your roommate's boyfriend lingers, the energy is good. Youthful and relaxed and healing, the way all girls' nights are.

You don’t see Tommy’s text message that night until several hours after he sends it. 

Hey. Can we talk? 

It makes your stomach turn. Because it feels like one of those messages. The ones you receive right before you block a phone number, insisting they need more from you. More time, more attention, more.

And you’re not ready to give Tommy up before you even go back to him. Not just yet. 

Don’t want to be tied down after just cutting yourself loose, but you don’t want to lose him at the price of freedom, either.

Because he might be annoying and frustrating and too damn full of himself, but you like him. Like the things he does to you, anyway. 

You’d never admit that, though. Not to his face. At least not now. 

So, you wait until morning to text him back. Hope that time has given him some clarity. He asks to take you out for breakfast, and it only stirs up that anxiety once again. 

Because you’ve been here before. Already know exactly what the conversation will entail. 

If it were anyone else—anyone at all—you would’ve cut your losses by now and added his number to the graveyard at the bottom of your contact list. 

But…his dick curves upwards. He eats you like a man starved for it and grabs you by the jaw and looks you right in the eye while he whispers that perverse filth, all while buried deep inside you. 

You agree to coffee. Not breakfast.

Tommy’s already at the local shop when you get there. Leaning against the brick wall outside the door, silver belt buckle catching the light of the morning sun, one brown leather boot crossed over the other, cigarette hanging loosely in his hand. 

He smiles when he sees you. A big, toothy grin. Laughs when you’re close enough to hear and says, “Jesus. Would you fuckin’ relax? Stop lookin’ at me like I’m holdin’ a loaded gun in my back pocket.”

“Stop looking at me like you’d let me point one right between your eyes,” you chide, hoping to set the tone before it spirals. 

But Tommy doesn’t care. He never has. Just holds open the door and lets himself shamelessly ogle you as you walk over the threshold. 

You order first, listing off the specifics of your favorite drink. The one you use as both a hangover cure and a pick me up on those days that like to drag on. You say please and thank you when the interaction permits and try not to feel the way Tommy crowds you, his warmth seeping through the fabric of your jacket.

He orders a simple black coffee. No cream, no sugar. When the young woman with blue hair behind the counter asks if he’s sure, he says, “Definitely. I like ‘em when they bite back.”

Mortification comes fast. “Oh my god, ignore him,” you interrupt. “I’m so sorry. How much?”

Tommy pays. Insists on it. And even though he tips the barista on his card, you take the stray bills at the bottom of your purse and stick them in the tip jar on the counter, too.

Instead of sitting in the cafe, you decide to go on a drive. Tommy’s truck is clean and smells like old leather and the faint scent of pine coming from the tree shaped air freshener hung around the rearview mirror.

“You know, I don’t…” he shakes his head, eyes focused on the road ahead. There’s no traffic and the city is still wet with morning dew. “I don’t normally do stuff like this, so I’m gonna get right to the point.”

You sit there, silently sipping your latte from the passenger seat, feeling more awkward than you ever have in your life.

“I know we…we’ve got a good thing goin’, you an’ I. And I didn’t expect to want more but I like you. Think about you every damn day. Waitin’ by my phone, hopin’ you’ll text.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, completely oblivious to the way your insides begin to twist and turn uncomfortably.

He glances away from the road for a second, letting himself savor the sight of your profile and the way the rising sun paints the sky orange and pink behind you.

You watch his jaw feather, teeth clenched. He’s nervous, you realize.

“I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is I’d like to…I don’t know. Try somethin’ else, if you’re down for that. Take you out on a real date. See you more than just to get off. S’that…s’that somethin’ you’re interested in? With me?”

Even knowing it’s your turn to speak, the words refuse to form in your mouth. Get lodged in the back of your throat, sitting heavy like a stone. You find yourself wishing you would’ve called this off. Told him you were busy today and tonight and every day going forward for the rest of your life.

Tommy laughs. “Relax, sweetheart,” he says. “Assumin’ lookin’ like you’re about to hurl is the answer. I get it.”

You let out a long breath. “Tommy, I’m sorry. I like…” you stop. The word you doesn’t pass easily. Instead, you amend the phrase, saying, “I like what we have now. And I’m just not ready for anything serious so soon.”

“So you did break up with him, then?” He turns to you, a wicked smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Looking less like he’d just gotten rejected and more like he’d just found out the most satisfying news of his life.

The smug look only serves to irritate you. With a scoff you ask, “Are you saying you thought I still had a boyfriend and asked me out anyway?”

“Wouldn’t exactly call him competition,” he says, eyes narrowed in amusement. “You only liked him ‘cause he was sweet to you. F’ya want flowers and love notes, I can make it happen. The difference between me an’ him is that I can do all that and fuck you right, too.” 

“God. Do you hear yourself when you speak?”

“Only thing I wanna hear right now is you moanin’ my name,” Tommy says.

At first, you think he means it as a joke. Says it to get under your skin in the way he’s always been good at. 

But then his eyes turn molten as he looks over at you, one hand clenched tight around the leather steering wheel, the other laying loosely on the center console that separates you. His gaze drags down your body; over your neck, lingering on the curve of your chest, over your soft thighs. “Why don’t you go’head an’ take those off for me.”

And god fucking damnit, you do. Try to quiet your breathing as he drives, speed increasing with each inch of skin you expose as you roll your leggings down.

He starts off slow. Calloused fingers kneading the inside of your thighs, creeping ever higher. By the time he presses his hand hard against your aching center, over the lace fabric of your panties (that you promise yourself you didn’t wear in anticipation for this very moment), you’re already so wet that he laughs as your slick soaks through.

Tommy teases you for so long that you’re breathless and whimpering before he even slides the fabric aside and dips his fingers through your sticky folds.

As much as you try to fight it off, he gets his wish. Has you moaning and crying out his name in minutes, fingers buried deep inside you, making a mess on his leather seat.

The worst part, you think, is that he doesn’t even ask for you to touch him back. Just gets you off while he drives in the fast lane, as if he’s satisfied with just that. You can see the bulge in his jeans, pressing hard against the denim, but he doesn’t acknowledge it in the slightest.

And once your head falls back against the headrest and you use a handful of napkins he’s got stored in the glove box to clean the wetness between your thighs, Tommy drops you off near your car in the cafe parking lot.

You don’t really know what to say. Goodbye feels weird and formal. See you feels like you’re promising to see him again, even knowing you need to cut him off entirely before this gets too complicated.

So instead, you say, “Thanks for the coffee,” and try to slip out of his truck without another word.

But Tommy doesn’t let it happen. Grabs you by the back of the neck, pulls you close until you can feel his breath against your cheeks. Smirks in that annoying, confident way of his and says, “Don’t let me see you step out with another man.”

The words are said quietly, like a threat. You curse your body for tightening up at the sound of them in his mouth, muscles tensing, needy in a way you try and fail to fight off. “Then I suggest you stay the fuck home.”

His eyes flicker to your mouth. Attention fixed on the curve of your lips, your cupids bow, the glisten of your lipgloss.

But Tommy doesn’t kiss you. He rarely does. Instead, he licks the corner of your mouth and moans like it’s his favorite taste. “You try an’ get with someone else an’ I’ll ruin it,” he whispers. “Promise.”

The way he says it, like his unwanted possession is a form of devotion has you rolling your eyes and shoving his shoulder. “Go fuck yourself, Tommy.”

With an arrogant raise of his eyebrows, he leans over the center console as you climb out of his truck. “Oh, trust me, baby. I definitely will be. An’ I’ll be thinkin’ of you and that sweet fuckin’ pussy you’ve got the whole time.”

You slam the door in his face and return home both satisfied and angry with yourself.

And the worst part is that when you see him that weekend at Club Orchid, there’s a pretty girl sitting in his lap. 

She’s got her arms around his neck and her mouth pressed up against his ear, miniskirt riding high on her thighs, his big hands tracing the cobalt colored edge.

You try not to react. 

Really, you do.

But how is that fair? Promising to ruin every relationship for you just because he didn’t get his way, only to taunt you like this so soon after?

Your friends, God bless them, do their best to distract you. Buy shot after shot and pull you to the dancefloor. Tell you to ignore him, that you deserve better. Say that he’s an asshole and he’s always been. Encourage you to move on.

Tommy doesn’t look at you, and somehow it feels worse than if he had. Because if he touched the girl on his lap but gave you his attention, you’d know he was doing it on purpose. Goading for a reaction. You would know that he still cared.

But he doesn’t. Just tucks the girl’s hair behind her ear and kisses her knuckles and his hand sneaks higher and higher on her thigh.

It makes your stomach turn. 

Even knowing you rejected him and you have no right to be…jealousy is rarely coupled with sensibility.

You try to convince yourself it’s better this way. Better that he find someone else to twist up. To confuse. Tell yourself you shouldn’t feel jealous, you should feel sorry for the girl.

 When you slip away from your friends for some fresh air just before last call, you freeze when you see Tommy standing outside the front door. Cigarette held loosely between his fingers, smoke curling around his face.

Painfully handsome, even in the low light of the street lamp. He stares with his mouth curved at the corners, unmoving, like he’d been waiting for you.

He doesn’t speak, and neither do you. He just waits. To see who breaks first, to see who opens up the path to all that emotion you’ve both been fighting off. His posture is casual, relaxed, but his eyes are anything but. Sparkling with challenge, with temptation, with invitation.

It would be effortless, you know. To fly off the handle, to be mean the way you want to be. Call him easy, ask him if she could taste you on his tongue, to quote his previous taunts and say, ‘Does she swallow you down easy? Or does she choke on it like I do, crying for it just the way you like?’

But you don’t.

You look right fucking past him. 

Find the group of guys just a little further from the door. Slide into their little circle with no resistance, give the tallest one your sweetest smile and ask if you can share a cigarette.

You’re not sure how long Tommy waits before leaving the club entirely to find his truck in the parking lot. Not sure if he hears you introduce yourself to all three men and giggle when they compliment you on your peach colored nail polish.

The next morning, you wake up to a lengthy text message.

An apology. An explanation.

Tommy admits he has feelings for you. Plain and true and honest. Says he was only trying to make you jealous, to make you want him the way he wants you, that he never even kissed her. Couldn’t fathom tasting anyone but you.

He recognizes that the way he went about it was wrong and says this whole thing is new to him, that he’s never wanted to hold on to someone like this. Even confesses that your apathy had hurt him.

With the anger still fresh in your mind, your response is cruel.

Yeah I’m not reading all that.

He doesn’t respond. 

And for months, you stay clear of Tommy fucking Miller.

Focus on yourself. Your career, your health. You start taking vitamins and drinking less and cooking more at home. Get a promotion and a pay raise, and you’re doing good.

Until one fateful Friday night when you go to pick up your order at your favorite take out place.

He’s sitting there at one one of the tables, leaning back, arms folded over his chest, long legs extended and crossed at the ankles. There’s a black suede cowboy hat on his head and he’s wearing a leather jacket with silver hardware that matches the pointed boots on his feet. Starched blue jeans and that belt buckle, looking all big and Texas and devastating.

Like always, he smiles when he sees you. It’s less playful this time, though. Feels more like genuine affection instead of that teasing smirk he always wears.

You try to ignore him. 

But the brown paper bag sitting on the table in front of him has your name on it.

You try to grab for it, to be quick and get it from him so you can leave without speaking.

That doesn’t happen, though. Tommy’s hand flies out to grab your wrist. Not hard, just enough to give you pause. “Please,” he says, a desperation in his voice that you’ve never heard before.

A crease forms between your brows as you assess him, watching the way his jaw flexes, the way his throat bobs as he swallows hard.

“I can’t get you out of my fucking head,” he says. “Please. Just…sit. Have lunch with me.”

You know you shouldn’t.

But you do. 

Sink slowly down into the chair across from him and wait patiently as he pulls your food out of the bag. He sets it in front of you just as the woman behind the counter delivers him a separate order, as if he’d planned this.

And you think maybe he did, because his words are gentle when he speaks. Cautious. “Look, I’m…I’m sorry. I don’t know how to do this.”

“You mean how to treat a woman like she has feelings?”

You can see the smart remark on the tip of his tongue. But for what it’s worth, Tommy swallows it down. “I should have been better to you from the start,” he admits. “Should’ve done this whole thing the right way, but I didn’t know at the time that I would feel the way I do.”

Unsure of his intentions, you say nothing.

Tommy continues. “The last time we talked, I know you weren’t ready for anything serious. But I…I’ve never felt like this for anyone. And if you could try an’ give me another chance, I swear I’ll be better. Try to be what you deserve. An’ if you still don’t want anything serious, I’ll take whatever you wanna give me. Just friends, if you want. Or we can go back to the way things were before. Whatever you decide, I’ll take it. ‘Cause, Christ, sweetheart. I fuckin’ miss you somethin’ fierce.”

“You just miss the sex. You hardly know me, Tommy,” you say.

“But I want to,” he replies. “An’ you’re wrong. It’s about more than that. F’you want, give me a real chance. Take you out on a few dates. Walk you to your doorstep and bring you those flowers an’ love notes you want. Won’t even kiss you ‘til you say so. Promise.”

There’s so much conviction in his words. So much sincerity. But you know men like Tommy. Know they’re real good at saying exactly what you want to hear and even better at convincing you they’ve changed when really, they’ve just gotten better at lying.

Careful. You have to be so, so careful.

“Let’s just see how lunch goes,” you say.

And much to your surprise, it feels…good. You learn more about him in a single hour than you have in the almost two years that you’ve known him. Learn that his best friend is his brother and that he has a niece named Sarah who his entire life revolves around. 

It’s sort of endearing, the way he talks about her and how proud he was when she won her soccer tournament last week.

But he asks about you, too. About your family and your friends and your job, listening intently as you speak.

By the time you finish your meal, he hasn’t got you convinced exactly, but there’s a little softness around the edges now. He asks if you’d like to go see a movie with him next weekend, and you agree.

Your roommate knows something’s up the moment you walk through the door. And when she pulls the information out of you and the word Tommy falls from your tongue, she’s groaning before the second syllable. 

Still, you go see that movie. He takes you to dinner afterwards, too. And you return home with plans for coffee in the morning and a fresh bouquet of roses in your hands. 

It starts to trickle in slowly; the want. The desire. The need for him to touch you. 

He takes you to a baseball game and splays his big hand on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd, keeping you safe, touch warm and inviting and possessive in the way that only he can be.

Tommy doesn’t make any moves. But sometimes you can see it in his eyes when you’re talking and he’s watching your mouth, breath hitching in his throat, gaze dark and wanting.

When he takes you out late one night for ice cream, he swipes vanilla cream from your bottom lip with his thumb and sucks the sugar off his finger. Moans quietly at the taste, but doesn’t make the dirty comment you can see swirling in his head.

He starts to text you more often. Sweet, short messages that say good morning, pretty girl and hope you’re having a good day and need anything from the store?

Once, he texts you in the afternoon.

Thinking of you.

And you don’t respond. Not right away. Instead, you wait until the sun sets. Wait until you’re tucked into bed beneath your sheets, thighs pressed tightly together, warmth gathering low in your belly in a way that’s impossible to ignore. 

Thinking of you, too. Wanna come over?

He hesitates with his response, the typing bubbles disappearing three different times before an answer finally comes through.

I’ll bring you breakfast in the morning. Take care of her for me, my needy girl.

You’re not sure if you’re disappointed or satisfied with his response. The offer hadn’t been given with an expectation yet still, it softens you up just a little more.

You drag it out for weeks.

And not even once does Tommy complain.

Things change, though, the night you’re laying in the bed of his truck on top of a mountain of pillows and blankets, trying to see the supposed meteor shower that’s twenty minutes away. You turn on your side and ask, “Are you seeing anyone else? Be honest. I won’t be mad either way.”

You steel yourself in anticipation for his answer.

“Truth?”

You nod.

Tommy licks his lips. “I haven’t been with anyone else since I met you.”

It makes you laugh. You don’t mean to, but the amusement bubbles out of you anyway. “Jesus. You’re fucking lying to my face.”

“I’m not,” he insists. Doesn’t say it with any urgency or frustration, and the can tone gives you pause.

You try to search his face. To see an ounce of dishonesty in his eyes. But you come up empty, and Tommy just stares at you. The energy between you turns heavy. Meaningful in a way you’re not used to. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he says. “You’ve been stuck in my head since that first night. I think about it sometimes.” He chuckles, as if the information is amusing and not the most surprising thing you’ve ever heard.. “I remember that pretty dress you wore an’ the way you’d been screamin’ at the bouncer carryin’ you over his shoulder. Causin’ all kinds of trouble. Stole my heart right then and there.”

“Stole your heart, huh?” You say it with thick sarcasm, but you can’t wipe the grin off your face if you tried.

The realization hits you hard. Sharp and swift.

You want more, too.

More than these nights together. More than sweet gestures and breakfast in the morning and dinner on the weekends. You want to kiss him. You want to hold his hand and sleep in his bed.

You want to be his fucking girl.

Tommy laughs, shakes his head, and playfully shoves your shoulder. “Yeah, stole my damn heart. Fuckin’一thief…s’what you are. Don’t let it go to your pretty head. Forehead’s big enough already,” he teases.

But it’s too late. And you’re moving before you can think better of it, swinging your leg over him, straddling his hips, skin buzzing with anticipation. You take him by the jaw, delighting in the way his eyes darken and the air gets caught in his throat. “You love my big forehead,” you say.

An assumption. A risk.

One that pays off.

Tommy turns his head and presses an open mouthed kiss to your palm. “Fuck yeah I do,” he muses, lips curved at the corners in that way of his, the way that’s always made you weak. “Now c’mere. Let me taste you.”

You lean forward to kiss him, and the intensity skyrockets the moment your tongue touches his bottom lip.

Tommy rests his hand on your throat一not squeezing, just caressing. Feeling your pulse beneath his long fingers. He licks into your mouth, tongue gliding against yours, not just tasting but savoring.

When you start to roll your hips over his, he moans against your lips and his fingers twitch around your neck. “Goddamn, baby. We gotta…fuck. Gotta stop. Wanna do this right. Rose一hm一rose petals an’ shit. Champagne and一”

“I hate champagne,” you whisper, kissing a trail down his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. You slide your hands beneath the soft cotton of his t-shirt and drag your nails gently down his skin, feeling the softness turn to hard muscle, flexing beneath your touch. “But I like you.”

You shove the fabric up, exposing his sunkissed skin, and your lips immediately find it. He tastes warm. Ambery and masculine, like sweat and soap. Your mouth waters, leaving a trail of wetness down his chest, over his belly. When you kiss the left side of his hip, you suck a purplish mark there.

Claiming, without the need for words. 

Shifting lower, you settle between his spread thighs and look up at him through your lashes as you stick out your tongue and lick his bulge through his jeans.

Tommy’s hands fly to your head, twisting in your hair, pulling you back. “Jesus Christ,” he hisses, breathless. “Do you mean that? You fuckin’...you like me?”

“Truth?”

He nods. 

You smile. Can’t help it. “Yeah,” you answer. “I mean it.”

Tommy’s answering grin is full of elation and has you giggling. “My fuckin’ girl,” he states, and you can see the smug look in his eye. Can’t even really be mad at him for it, because there’s satisfaction in the words, too. Happiness.

With practiced ease, you unbuckle his belt and pull the zipper of his jeans down with your teeth. His cock is already hard and aching when you reach beneath his boxers to pull it free.

You start slow一kissing the tip, sliding your tongue over the veins on the underside of his cock. He pulses beneath your touch, his hands in your hair gentler now. Stroking the side of your head softly.

But that softness ends the moment you take him in your mouth and suck. You take him down as far as you can, fighting the pressure at the back of your throat. Wrap your lips tightly around him and watch the way his head falls back and his eyes squeeze shut.

“Shit, baby,” he sighs. “Been dreamin’ about that sweet mouth.” His hand finds the back of your head, pushing you further down.

Your eyes water and you struggle to suck in oxygen, but stay right where he wants you.

“Look so fuckin’ pretty like that, mouth all full’a me.” With his free hand, he swipes away the stray tear that leaks down your cheek with his thumb. “Doin’ so fuckin good.”

When you start to choke, Tommy lets up. Pulls you off of him, hand still in your hair, smiling wide as thick stands of saliva keep you tethered together. Spit coats your chin and your eyes are bleary, but the moment you catch your breath he’s guiding your mouth back to him, his hips bucking, forcing his cock to reach just a little further down your throat.

“Yeah, there you go. That’s it. Slutty little thing. An’ all mine,” he says. “Cryin’ for it. Bet you’re real wet, too. Lettin’ me fuck your mouth like a whore. Takin’ it like one.” You can hear his breath stutter, his grip in your hair tightening. Know he’s close before he even pulls you away again. “Lift up your dress, baby.”

You do just as he says, like you always have. Grab the ends of the flowing fabric and pull it up over your head until you’re sitting there in his truck bed, wearing nothing but honey colored panties, your favorite black bra, and the tears on your cheeks.

This time, you hadn’t anticipated it. Hadn’t anticipated him.

Tommy reaches behind your back and unclasps your bra with deft fingers, pulling the straps down your shoulders. When he traces the elastic band over your waist, he murmurs, “Cute. These, too, pretty girl.”

As soon as you shimmy your panties down your legs and toss them to the side, Tommy’s tugging you up his torso, hands firm on your hips.

“Bring that ass here,” he orders, sinking further down into the blankets beneath you. He pulls you up until your thighs bracket his head, hovering over him. Tommy stares up at you like you’re the most magnificent thing he’s ever laid eyes on, the intensity of it sending a shiver down your spine.

And he doesn’t break stride; holding that eye contact even when his tongue splits you open, flicking over your clit. “Oh, God.”

You can feel him smile against you, stubble scratching lightly against the inside of your thighs. He licks and sucks and leaves no inch of you untouched, tongue circling, your nerve endings spit slick and pulsing beneath his ministrations. 

Though you try to hover, to give him room to breathe, Tommy won’t have it. His arms wrap around your thighs and he pulls you down, pressing you against his face, moaning when you shift your hips and grind yourself against the flat of his tongue. Hot and wet and desperate. “Just like that,” you tell him, your own voice foreign in your ears. “Fuck, yes, Tommy, please一”

He groans and you can feel the rumble vibrate between your legs. His tongue makes obscene sounds beneath you, soft and delicate against your most sensitive parts. He takes your clit gently between his lips and sucks, and you can feel that familiar warmth begin to quickly build.

Tommy’s always known just how to touch you. Has your pleasure down to a science. So it’s not surprising when you thread your hands through his dark hair, silky between your fingers, and your head falls back. “I’m gonna cum一fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m一ohmygod一”

It hits you hard. Your thighs shake around his head and your vision gets all spotty. Your spine bends, arching against his mouth, seeking the friction that Tommy’s all too happy to give. He just sucks your clit harder, tongue swirling, until the overstimulation becomes too much to bear and you’re pushing yourself up on your knees.

He chases you. Leaning forward to press one last open mouthed kiss to your wet heat. “Fuck, baby,” he mutters, lips glossy with your arousal. “Look so goddamn pretty when you cum for me.”

And even though you can still feel the aftershocks of your orgasm, thighs still twitching, you find yourself insatiable for him. “Tommy,” you breathe. “Please, I need…”

“Tell me,” he urges. “Tell me what you need an’ I'll give it to you.”

“Want you inside me,” you say. “Please.”

You can see the flicker of disquiet as it crosses his face. Not disappointment, exactly, but…something despairing. “M’sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think we were doin’ this tonight. I didn’t bring anything with me. Here一why don’t you lay back. I’ll fill her up with my fingers, baby. Give that pretty little pussy what it needs.”

“It’s okay,” you insist. “I’m…I’m on birth control. If you want we can…” You’re not sure why the suggestion makes you feel shy all of a sudden. You’ve never done this, not with anyone. But you want it with him. With Tommy fucking Miller.

That smug smirk finds its way back to his lips. “You want me to fuck you raw, baby?”

When you nod in response, you swear you can see something shift inside him. As if he wasn’t head over heels for you already, he certainly is now.

“‘Course you do,” he says, tone full of adoration. “Christ, girl. C’mere.”

You straddle him again, sliding his cock through your slick folds, the head nudging your clit in a way that has you panting. You roll yourself over him once, twice一and then you’re tilting your hips at a different angle and he slips right in.

He lets out a groan and pulls you forward, arms wrapped tightly around your middle, chests pressed together. Tommy kisses you hard and begins to move underneath you, cock splitting you open, thick and punishing. “Best fuckin’ pussy I ever had, squeezin’ tight like it wants more. Greedy thing, just like you,” he mutters between kisses, fucking up into you. “So wet for me. No one else can fuck you like this, baby. Can they? Huh? Speak, girl.”

The words don’t come easy, all sense emptied from your brain and replaced with the way he makes you feel. Smothering, everywhere all at once. His heavy hands on your waist, his tongue against your skin, licking up the salty tears on your cheeks, his cock buried so deep inside you you can feel him in your belly.

You shake your head, dragging up the energy to cry out, “No, no one else一just you, Tommy just you一God一!”

“Yeah, that’s right,” he says. “Pussy fuckin’ belongs to me. Not even yours anymore, is it? S’all mine. Gonna fill her up, pretty girl. Fuck you full’a my cum till she’s all cute and sticky.”

That warmth builds again. Slower this time, but searing. Burning like a red-hot coil, curling up your spine. The perversion he speaks only heightens your desire, lewd sounds emitting from between your legs.

His thrusts grow sloppy. Harder, bruising. “S’like you were made to take my cock,” Tommy says. “Shit, baby. M’so close. You’re doin’ so good.”

Tommy doesn’t slow, even though you’re a moaning, writhing mess on top of him. His hold on you stays firm and his pace stays steady.

He grabs you by the throat, forcing you to look at him, squeezing just enough to make your head all fuzzy. “Say it. Tell me what I wanna hear. Tell me you’re mine.”

“I am,” you whimper, the truth burning like hot coals in your mouth. You think maybe you have been for some time, but only now are you able to admit it. “M’yours—fuck, feels so—so good. Your girl, Tommy—I’m your girl—” Your words are clipped, forced out in your haze, panting.

You can feel him pulse inside you, can feel the sudden increase in pressure as he empties himself with his cock buried to the hilt. “That’s right, sweetheart,” he praises, pressing his mouth to yours, moaning against your tongue, capturing your lips in an all consuming kiss that makes you feel robbed.

When you begin to pull away, trying to shift off of him, Tommy stops you with a firm hand at your hip. 

“Nuh-uh,” he says. “Not finished ‘til you cum again. Wanna fuckin’ feel it.”

“But you—”

“Still hard, isn’t it?”

You blink, a little startled.

But Tommy just moves his hand around your neck down your chest, pushing lightly, giving him access to slide his fingers between your legs to press them gently against your clit. “Go on,” he urges. “Take it. S’all yours. Fuck yourself on my cock, baby.”

His words are filthy and depraved and make your clit pulse beneath his thumb. One tentative, experimental roll of your hips has him tensing—but Tommy moans low and thrusts up in tandem, giving you what you need, giving you everything.

It’s euphoric—the way he opens himself up to you, letting you take and take and take, letting you be selfish. Encouraging it. 

All yours.

You find a good rhythm, his cock hitting the perfect spot inside you, buried deep. And with his fingers working between your legs it doesn’t take long before shocks of bliss shoot through you. 

Short bursts at first, chasing it, chasing release—

And then he looks you in the eye and says, “Cum for me, baby.”

It barrels into you without warning—unrelenting, strong, intense the way Tommy has always been. The way you’ve always needed.

He fucks you through it, hips slamming against the back of your trembling thighs, thumb continuing to circle your clit. The breath leaves your lungs completely and the only sounds you’re able to form are helpless whimpers. 

Tommy takes it in stride. Holds you upright when you fall forward, muttering all the while with his lips against your ear. “Yeah, that’s it. Fuckin’ take it, pretty girl. Shit—she’s squeezin’ me so tight. You like that? Hm? Cummin’ on my cock like the good girl you are. So damn cute when you get fucked all stupid.”

When you begin to come down, he slows his pace until he’s barely moving—just reverent, rocking movements beneath you. Tommy holds you close, arms wrapped around your waist, his embrace warm and safe and good. 

He kisses your cheek, your temple, the top of your head. The touches are careful, gentle, a stark contrast to the way he was only seconds ago. You find just enough energy to roll off of him, but Tommy doesn’t let you get far. Helps you tug your dress back over your head, tucks himself back into his jeans, and then pulls you back to his side.

The silence feels weighted, but not uncomfortable. Just…different. You lay your head on his chest, heaving with every breath, and his fingers gently trail over the curve of your spine, pressing into the tender muscle and tracing soothing patterns

And then quietly, he admits, “You’re stuck with me now. You know that, right? Gonna piss you off forever.”

It makes you smile. A wide spread grin, paired with a sudden flush that creeps up your cheeks. And even though no one has ever been able to get under your skin quite the way Tommy has, you find yourself with only one thought at the idea of being well and truly stuck with him. 

You tilt your head up, press a chaste kiss to his stubbled jaw and say, “Good.”

[dare-writes]

i need a best friend like him 🤨🤨

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 | tm ᥫ᭡.

ft: best friend! tommy miller x reader | no outbreak au wc: 3,8k

incl: 18+ mdni, masturbation, voyeurism, fingering, oral f receiving, p in v, safe sex, banter, teasing, praise, tommy being an absolute hunk of a man, not spec but all my readers + tommy have a slight age gap, dialogue heavy

summary: tommy has always had the worst timing. and you’ve always been bad at taking care of yourself. tommy teases you until you admit the truth: you haven’t had the big o. he’s outraged— you’re gonna get one today.

note: based off of this request. best friend tommy is my favorite tommy, you guys. literally have sooo many unpublished works around that whole concept. this one has a special place in my heart, thank you honey bun. i hope i did your request justice ♡

Your phone is still facedown on the nightstand, the little “do not disturb” moon winking like it’s in on the joke. The bedroom smells like your lotion and the warm, sweet bite of leftover soy sauce from the carton you never put away. You were right there—the kind of edge where your calves tremble and your breathing goes thin and mean—when the knock came.

“Hold on,” you snap, breathless, a little wild. You yank the first T-shirt you can find over your head and tug on cotton shorts that don’t bother hiding the damp patch you’ve been working into them.

You fling open the door with a bite. “What.”

Tommy stands there with a hand braced overhead like he’s been leaning on your doorframe for a hundred years. Dark henley, sun-brown skin, hair curled a little from the heat. That crooked smile that never learned manners.

“Well, hey to you too, sunshine.” His gaze sweeps your flushed face, your bare legs. “I offend ya in your dreams again or is this a daytime thing?”

You roll your eyes so hard it hurts. “Come in before a neighbor sees you staring.”

“Me? I’m not the one answerin’ the door lookin’ like a fire alarm,” he says, stepping past you. He smells like motor oil and cedar. He beelines for the fridge like it’s his place, finds the leftover Chinese, and pops the lid with a plastic fork he digs out of your junk drawer. “Missed lunch,” he mumbles, already eating cold sesame chicken like it’s the cure to everything.

You kick the door shut, arms folded, jaw clenched so tight your teeth ache. You stomp after him just to have something to do with your legs that isn’t clenching them together.

“What’s up with you?” he asks, around a mouthful. He eyes your pink cheeks, the sheen at your temple. His mouth quirks. “You got a… guest, sweetheart?”

“No, Tommy. I don’t.”

“Mm.” He chews, thoughtful. His gaze lingers on your mouth, then drops—one beat too low. “You… busy when I knocked?”

You stare at him like your face can kill. It can’t. He only grins wider.

“Gotta ask, ‘cause you’re standin’ there like I cut the wire on somethin’ important.”

You throw a hand up. “Can you not.”

He leans hip to counter, tapping the fork on the carton lid. “Oh, I can. Question is—were you?”

You glare. Silence stretches. His eyes light, slow and wicked.

“Oh, you were.” He laughs, low. “Well hell. Me and my bad timing.”

“Tommy,” you warn.

“I’ll be real quick,” he promises, tipping the carton to shovel in another bite like he’s trying to get out of your hair fast. Except then his eyes catch the way your thighs press together. The way you sway where you stand. His brow lifts. “Unless you want me to keep you from it. Keepin’ you from sin might be good for my karma.”

“Your karma’s a lost cause.”

“True.” He sets the carton down. “Where’s the emergency? Bedroom? Couch? Shower?” He looks at you, head tipping. “You doin’ the shower thing? People make a lotta promises about that one—it’s overrated.”

You sputter. “I’m not discussing my—my process with you.”

“Well, you ain’t gotta,” he says easily, pushing off the counter and wandering a few steps closer. “But since you look about ready to climb the wall, I could at least heat your leftovers for ya and get gone.”

“I was fine,” you insist, and even you hear the lie. “I was—God, forget it.”

He watches you for one long breath, then hums. “Call one of your little boyfriends, then.”

You blink. “What?”

“Those boys you go dancin’ with and then pretend aren’t starin’ at your ass the whole night.” He gestures vaguely. “They can come over, pick up where you left off.”

You scoff, sharp and humorless. “Yeah. No.”

“Mm?” He studies you like you’re a math problem. “Shy all of a sudden?”

“They never—” You bite it off, but the dam’s already cracked. Frustration leaks through, hot and humiliating. “They don’t… it doesn’t happen with them, okay?”

He frowns. “Doesn’t what happen?”

You give him a look like he’s being willfully dense. “It.”

The slow shock that breaks over his face would be funny if you weren’t vibrating with need. He sets the fork down, completely forgetting the food. “Hold up. You’re tellin’ me… not a one of those little bastards has ever made you cum?”

Heat crashes into your cheeks. “Tommy,” you hiss.

“No, I’m tryna understand.” His hands go out. “Not one?”

You throw your hands. “No! Okay? Happy? Can you go now?”

He stares at you like it’s a personal affront. “That’s—now, that’s a sin I can’t stand for.” He shakes his head, jaw tight with something that looks suspiciously like anger. “What are they doin’ down there, a guided tour of nothin’?”

“Jesus.”

“Nah, I’d be sayin’ Jesus too if I—” He cuts himself off, eyes narrowing. “Alright. I’ll let you take care of yourself. Clearly you were doin’ a better job than the roster.”

He turns toward the door, wiping his hands on a paper towel. You don’t think. Your hand closes around his wrist.

“I can’t either,” you blurt, soft, furious with it. “Half the time I can’t. I get—close—and then… I don’t know, I lose it.”

He goes still. Slowly, he looks down at your fingers around his pulse, then up to your eyes. Something changes in his face, the playful shine sinking to something intent and hot.

“Ain’t no way,” he says quietly.

You swallow.

He takes a slow breath, then nods to the couch. “Show me what you were doin’.”

Your stomach drops to the floor. “Excuse me?”

“I ain’t touchin’,” he says, hands up, mouth curving. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout.”

“I was a hell of a lotta things,” he drawls. “Teacher’s one of ‘em. C’mon. Lemme help.”

You should tell him to leave. You should die of embarrassment. Instead, you back toward the couch like you’re being coaxed by a wolf. You climb up, sit, then slide down until your shoulders catch the cushions and your hips perch at the edge. Your heart’s beating in your throat.

Tommy drags a dining chair over and flips it, straddling it backward like every bad decision you’ve ever made. He props his chin on his folded arms over the chair back, eyes dark and steady on you. “Attagirl.”

You stare at him.

“Shorts,” he says. “We both know they’re useless right now.”

And because it’s Tommy. Because you’ve known him forever. Because he makes everything so easy and familiar and simple. You listen. Your fingers hook in the waistband before your brain protests. You peel them down and kick them off. The T-shirt sinks to your waist when you spread your knees. Cool air kisses you and your breath hitches.

Tommy’s eyes drop, slow. His swallow is audible. The tips of his ears go pink. “Christ alive.” His voice roughens. “Pretty as I figured.”

“Don’t—” Your voice shakes. “Don’t say things.”

“Oh, I got a lot to say, but you’re the one runnin’ the show.” He nods at your hand. “How were you doin’ it?”

You wet your lips, then slide a palm down your belly. Your fingers find yourself like they always do—press, rub, a little too fast because you’re greedy, because he’s looking and it’s turned your bones to gauze.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Slow it down. You’re chasin’. You ain’t gotta chase it.”

You glare; your hips twitch anyway. “If I slow down it goes away.”

“Not if you keep the rhythm.” He taps his knuckles—one, two, three—an unhurried beat. “Match me. Little circles. Don’t hunt—invite.”

You try. Your breath catches and catches again. He watches the way your stomach flutters.

“Good girl,” he says, almost absent. “Now left a touch. Yeah.” He leans in like he’s squinting at a map. “There it is. That twitch right there. Stay there.”

You whimper.

“Feels like pressure buildin’ behind your navel?” he asks softly. “Little ache?”

You nod too fast. “Yes—fuck—Tommy—”

“Language,” he says, smiling, and you want to murder him until your thighs shake and the smile slides right off his face. His jaw hardens. “Keep your wrist loose, baby. You’re white-knucklin’ it. Relax.”

“I’m trying—”

“Breathe.” He breathes slow, exaggerated, and you match him because you’ll do anything anyone asks if it means you get there. “Better. Now, you can add a finger inside if you want. Just one. Shallow. Curl toward your belly button, not down. Like you’re beckonin’. Two knuckles, not three.”

You do it. The angle is… different. A bright little hook that makes your hips jerk off the cushion. Your voice breaks. “Oh—oh my God—”

“There she is.” His eyes burn. “You feel that? That’s yours. Don’t run from it.”

You want to, because your body always does—clenches, darts away, skitters to the edges. You force yourself to push into it this time, heels braced on the edge of the couch, breath shattering. You’re aware of him in the periphery—big hands wrapped around the chair back so tight his knuckles blanch, chest barely rising because he’s holding his breath like he’s the one about to fall apart.

“Tommy—” It comes out a whine. “I’m—”

“Keep the pace,” he says, voice gone sandpaper. “Don’t get greedy. Let it—yeah, just like that, baby—”

You break with a ragged gasp, spilling over your own fingers, thighs trembling. It feels like heat and weight and a relief so sharp you could cry with it. You ride it through because he doesn’t let you lose it, murmuring, “uh-uh, stay with it, that’s it, that’s my girl,” until your hand finally slows.

You blink up at the ceiling. There are little bursts of light at the edges of your vision. You swallow and lick your lips and realize your fingers are still between your legs, and Tommy Miller is still sitting three feet away watching you like a war is over.

He scrubs a hand over his face. When he drops it, his mouth is a line. “I’m about to be extremely stupid.”

Your laugh is a small, wrecked thing. “Join the club.”

“C’mere,” he says gently, and when you don’t move quick enough he stands, sets the chair aside, and kneels between your knees. He doesn’t touch. He braces his hands on either side of your hips and looks at you the way people look at altars. “Can I?”

All the air leaves you. “Yes.”

He leans in slow, giving you a chance to change your mind, and presses his mouth to your inner thigh first. A kiss. Another. Then his thumb slides to the place you’ve just made tender and he looks up to see the way your lashes flutter.

“Pretty,” he says, so soft you barely hear it. “You’re so pretty.”

“Tommy—”

“I know.” He breathes out. “I’m gonna show you. How this is supposed to feel.”

He doesn’t dive in. He tastes you with small, reverent swipes, learning the shape of what you like. His tongue is unhurried; his hands sure. When you start to pant, he hums like he’s pleased with himself and says, “There you go,” into you, the vibration making you jerk.

“More,” you whisper, and he gives you more like he’s been waiting his whole life to be told what to do. He drags two fingers through your slick and eases one inside while his mouth works you in patient, devastating circles. When he adds the second his knuckles nudge that bright spot again and your back arches.

“Right there,” you gasp.

“Right there,” he echoes, voice breaking against you. “Hold me if you want.”

You fist your hand in his hair and he groans like the sound is pulled out of him, moving his mouth just so. He doesn’t speed up when you start to chase—he keeps you on that same relentless edge until your thighs tremble around his ears.

“Let it happen,” he says into you. “Don’t think. Just take it.”

You fall apart so hard your heels drum against the couch frame. He doesn’t stop until you push at his shoulder, half-laughing, half-pleading. “Okay. Okay, okay—God, Tommy—”

He kisses the inside of your knee, then your hipbone, then the soft skin just under your T-shirt. He looks up, pupils blown, mouth wet and wrecked.

“Still with me?”

“Barely.”

“Good.” He stands, and you feel very small and very safe all at once with him towering over you. He thumbs a smear of you off his chin and licks it absently, eyes never leaving your face. “Lesson ain’t over.”

“You—” Your voice is a croak. “You think I’m gonna survive an advanced course?”

He laughs, chest-deep. “You’ll manage.”

He reaches for his belt, then stops. “Condom?”

You blink, hazy, then fumble end table drawer on the side of the sofa open and toss him a foil. He catches it one-handed without looking away and the little flare of competence should not be hot but it is; you feel your stomach drop like an elevator.

He steps out of his boots, pushes his jeans and briefs down, and for a second your brain pulls a hard blue screen. He’s thick, heavy in his palm, the blunt head flushed. He rolls the condom down with practiced ease, then leans over you, one hand braced on the cushion beside your head, the other cupping your jaw. Your eyes say keep going.

He drags the head of his cock through the slick he made of you, slow enough to make you whine, then presses. Your mouth falls open. The stretch is sharp, sweet. He pauses halfway, forearm shaking, eyes squeezed shut.

“You’re so warm,” he says, like a confession. “Jesus, baby.”

“More,” you say, and he huffs a laugh that sounds strangled.

“I’m goin’, sweetheart. I’m goin’.”

He pushes the rest of the way in and it knocks a noise out of you you’ve never heard yourself make. He’s deep, deeper than anyone’s ever felt, and you grab his shoulders without meaning to. He groans, low, into the hinge of your jaw.

“Look at me,” he says, and when you do his face goes soft and hungry all at once. “How’s that?”

“Like—” You struggle. “Like finally.”

He curses under his breath, like that hit him somewhere tender, and draws back. The first thrust is careful, gauging you, but the second rolls hard enough to make the couch creak. You gasp; he watches your mouth like he’s starving.

“Good?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He finds a pace you can’t name—not fast, but deep and steady, like he’s trying to carve his name somewhere no one will ever erase. One big hand brackets your thigh and folds your knee up, opening you wider. The angle tilts and your breath breaks.

“There,” you say, already wrecked. “Tommy—there.”

“Yeah?” His grin is quick and sinful. He snaps his hips just right and your nails bite his shoulder. “There, baby?”

“Don’t stop.”

“Not plannin’ to.” His voice goes rough, the edges fraying. “You feel me? Huh? Doin’ alright?”

You can only nod. He fucks you like he’s been dying to—like you’re both getting away with something and also like there’s nowhere safer than this. The rhythm pulls you higher; that curl of heat builds again and your eyes sting with it.

“Relax into it,” he says, almost coaxing. “Don’t run. Let me—yeah, just like that.” He grits his teeth, control fraying when you squeeze around him. “Goddamn, sweetheart, you’re squeezin’ the life outta me.”

“Don’t—” Your voice shivers. “Please, baby, please don’t stop.”

He laughs, breathless. “Bossy.” He cups the back of your head and kisses you, finally, nothing polite about it—his mouth hot and sure, claiming. You taste yourself on his tongue and moan into him, and he swears, deep, like you just took his knees out. “You sound so sweet when you call me baby,” he mutters against your lips. “That what i am now? Baby? Ruined me for bein’ your friend. You know that?”

“Been ruined,” you pant. “Keep—oh God, keep going—”

He reaches down between you, finds your clit with two slick fingers, and rubs the same exact rhythm he taught you earlier, like he’s memorized it. Your whole body lights up. You clutch the back of his neck and his thrusts turn messy, desperate.

“There she is,” he grits out. “C’mon. Show me. I want it.”

“Tommy—”

“Look at me,” he says, voice gone ragged. “I want your eyes on me when you cum.”

You do it because you always do what he tells you when he uses that voice, and the second your gaze locks with his the wave hits. You shatter around him with a broken cry, clamping down so hard he gasps your name like a prayer. He keeps moving, keeps rubbing you through it like he can’t stand the thought of you not getting every drop.

“Fuck,” he chokes. “God, baby—fuck.”

He folds over you as he drives deep and goes still, groaning into your neck as he comes, the heat of it pulsing even through the thin latex. The weight of him is everything—sweat-damp and solid and Tommy.

For a long minute, there’s only breath. His, yours. The tick of your wall clock. The way his thumb rubs your jaw like he forgot how to stop touching you.

“Tell me that was good,” he says finally, words muffled in your throat like he’s afraid to hear otherwise.

“Tommy.” You smile against his hair. “Good is rude. That was—” You breathe out, dizzy. “—that was missionary-position fireworks. That was baptism. That was illegal in some counties.”

He laughs, a burst that shakes his chest against yours. He tilts up and kisses your mouth again, softer. “Had to know. Had to show you.”

“You made your point,” you say, drowsy and warm. “Multiple times.”

“Damn right I did.”

He eases out of you with care, ties off the condom, and disappears to your bathroom for all of thirty seconds. He comes back with a warm washcloth like he’s done this in your space a hundred times, even though he hasn’t, and cleans you slow, almost reverent. You watch him with something like awe tugging at the edges of you.

“You okay?” he asks, finally meeting your eyes.

“Yeah.” You nudge him with your foot. “Hungry.”

He grins. “I can fix that too.” He helps you sit up and tugs your T-shirt back into place like you’re something precious he’s keeping warm. Then he pads to the kitchen in his socks and you admire the view as shamefully as you deserve to.

He reheats the sesame chicken and brings the carton and a fork back like it’s a prize. You take a bite and groan indecently.

“Careful,” he says, eyes dancing. “I’m tryin’ to be a gentleman for once.”

“First time for everything,” you tease, and he puts a hand over his heart like you shot him.

“Uncalled for,” he says, then sobers, mouth curving as he studies your face. He drags his knuckles under your chin, gentle. “Gotta say… I don’t like thinkin’ about those boys not… takin’ care of you.”

You tilt your head. “Jealous?”

“Pissed,” he admits, unabashed. “And yeah, maybe a bit possessive, which ain’t my right.” He shrugs one shoulder, eyes going a little shy in a way that doesn’t happen to Tommy very often. “You deserve to feel good. Every damn time.”

You stare at him. The room feels suddenly tender, the air thinner.

“You made me feel—” You break off, fighting a lump in your throat you didn’t invite to this party. “Like I could just let it happen.”

“Because you can.” He taps the tip of your nose with his fingertip like he’s the only person allowed to do something that sweet to you. “Because it’s yours. I just… helped you find it.”

You set the food aside and slide your hands up his chest. “Teacher,” you murmur, and he groans like the word does something to him. “You said lesson wasn’t over.”

His grin returns, slow and sure. “It ain’t.”

You crawl into his lap like it’s the easiest thing in the world and settle on his thighs, knees bracketing his hips. His hands come to your waist automatically, thumbs tracing the dip there.

“Second module,” you whisper, leaning in so your mouth skims his ear. “You show me how many times you can make me forget my name before I bite you.”

He laughs, husky. “Baby, I’m gonna have you forgettin’ your address.”

“Big talk,” you say, but the shiver that runs through you gives you away.

He stands with you clinging koala-style, mouth on yours. “Bedroom,” he says, already walking. “And for the record?”

“What.”

“You call any of those little boys again,” he murmurs, all grin and teeth, “they’re gonna have to submit a request in writin’ and I’ll get back to ‘em in seven to ten business days.”

You snort against his mouth. “Possessive.”

“Teacher’s prerogative,” he says, and then he’s laying you down, the afternoon light painting his shoulders gold, and you’re opening for him like it’s always been this easy.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

Later—after he’s wrung you out twice more by sticking to his own rules (“keep the rhythm,” “don’t run,” “breathe, baby, I got you”) and you’ve repaid the favor with your mouth until he cussed and laughed and said he was gonna have to build you a trophy shelf—he sprawls on his back with one arm flung over his face, the other hand idly combing through your hair where you’re draped across his chest.

“You know this changes stuff,” you say into his sternum, voice small in the big quiet.

“Yeah,” he says. “Kinda figured that when I had your knee by my ear.”

You bite his skin to punish his grin. He flinches, delighted, and drags that hand from your hair to your jaw, tipping your face up so he can see you.

“We can take it slow,” he says. “We can call it a very hands-on study group and see where it goes. Or we can—” He exhales, smile softening. “—we can just keep makin’ sure you feel good for a while and not call it anything yet.”

You think about his mouth on you, his hands steady, the way he said my girl when you came like he didn’t mean to.

“Study group,” you say, trying for lightness and failing because your voice wobbles. “You bring the notes. I’ll bring… snacks.”

“Already did,” he says, nodding at the abandoned carton on the coffee table.

You kiss his chest, grinning. “I meant me.”

He groans like you actually did kill him. “I swear to God, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Worth it?”

He looks down, all play gone from his face for a heartbeat. “Yeah, baby,” he says softly. “Worth it.”

He pulls you up and kisses you slow, the kind that rewrites history. And just like that, he’s shown you, patiently and then not, exactly how good it can be—how good he is at figuring out your body—until you’re breathless and bright and ruined for anyone who doesn’t know your rhythm like a favorite song. And just like that, that’s how friendships are ruined.

note ext: ah, this was just a joy to write. you guys can tell.. i love playful tommy so so so bad. ugh— this one gives me nothings gonna hurt you baby vibes. you guys are on fire with these requests omg.

[dare-writes]

F   A   U   L T L I N E .

you wake up in a vault with no recollection of how you got there, only flashes of the medical study you’d signed up for in malaysia — and come face to face with four strangers. three of them are trying to kill each other (and possibly you), and the other one is… bob.

masterlist. 

part i || part ii || part iii || part iv || part v || part vi ( or find it on AO3 here ! )

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find it here !

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[dare-writes]

Wedding Date

you need a date to a wedding. Tommy Miller walks into a bar.

Tommy Miller x Female Reader

wc: 6.6k

all content warnings (nsfw included): reader has a dad and brother, reader wears dresses, reader drinks, minimal age gap (mid-late 20s/early 30s), retired playboy Tommy, heavy Tommy POV, a little bit of both? Plot with porn, Tommy takes you out on dates, reader is in graduate school, i write a lot of plot… im mediocre at porn, brief men being men, your brother loves you! his fiance/wife Doesn’t, she’s irrelevant, Tommy uses a lot of nicknames (I lost track) Pretty, Pretty lady, Little Lady (because he’s just. a Texas polite whore), Mama, maybe… a slut or two, dirty girl! Cowboy hat rule. Tommy Miller and the Panty Thief! oral (f! rec) (2x), fingering, dirty talk, creampie! unprotected p-in-v! mutual dubious consent? (they’re intoxicated!), riding, Tommy’s a moaner and a groaner, Tommy has a little tummy on him, and a happy trail, praise the happy trail!, reader rides the happy trail a little, (cock:pussy) SIZE KINK, public sex, outdoor sex, in the bed of his truck, view point outdoor sex, parking lot outdoor sex, probably would cry too if you did enough, breast play, titty suckin’

so many warnings. I don’t think I gave reader body descriptions, but lmk.

I’m posting this for my birthday so let’s be nice 😊 (I have another Tommy post coming next week! I’m starting an all works tag list so, check my pinned!)

——

Tommy Miller was always a player. Bars every Friday, Saturday, and if he decided to play with the wraith known as Joel Miller, Sunday’s too. Every bar in Travis County knew Tommy Miller. Every bar also knew Joel Miller on speed dial if they knew what was good for them.

Even as he got up into his 30s he was slinking around bars. Everyone knew Tommy and Tommy knew a couple of faces. Almost every night Tommy always took someone home that night too, but remembering their name was up for debate.

So, when you, a 20-something-year-old with bright eyes and a bushy tail, new to town, came into the bar with a couple of friends, Tommy approached. You had the look of needing to get absolutely wasted, and was proved right when you mentioned a terrible romantic talking stage with a Hinge Match only a few weeks ago.

“You from Austin?”

“Nah, those two are getting married next week,” you pointed to a couple dancing in the center of the dance floor. The girl blond, the man looking similar in facial features to you slightly. They danced poorly, as most drunkards would. “Sister-in-law and my brother.”

“Why're you all on your lonesome? There were more people you came here with?”

“I’m the groom’s half sister. The uhm ‘Charlie bring your sister out with your friends,’ classic,” you snorted. Your tongue caught the two black skinny straws of your cocktail and drained the cup.

“Oh, it was me draggin’ my older brother around,” Tommy laughed.

“You the sociable one?”

“Enough,” Tommy grinned at the thought of his brother even being social, it would never happen. Joel was a home probably already in bed or watching a movie with Sarah. In time, Tommy took a seat, his dark blue jeans hugging him tightly as he spread his knees. If he did notice, he didn’t say anything as your eyes rolled down the fly of his jeans. A cold beer nursed in his hand as he looked back at you. “So why the Texas wedding?”

“Our dad, he’s from Austin and if he couldn’t raise us Texan, then he was gettin’ a Texas wedding from my brother or me.”

Tommy watched you speak like you were explaining the multiverse to him, in awe and complete encapsulation. “Ohhh, so you got dragged out from..?”

“Palos Verde, California.”

Tommy hissed through his teeth, before taking a swift swig from his beer. He clicked his tongue softly, “I think the Texas sun is better.”

“I think our beaches are better, at least we have them,” you snickered. Tommy gasped and threw his free hand up. “You got me there, hm, Little Lady?”

The two talked more, their drinks didn’t stop coming. Their drunken haze wasn’t past overly drunk or even near black out. You teetered between buzzed and drunk as you laughed a little too hard, smiled widely with no concern. Tommy was a certified party animal, so he was fine, buzzing and smiling at every giggle and wide grin from you. He wasn’t drunk on the liquor or beers, mostly just you and your enticing personality.

For once, the bartender wasn’t reaching for the phone by 1:28 AM for either 9-1-1 or Joel. It pleasantly surprised the bartenders on shift that Tommy looked tame for once. That and he wasn’t sloppy all over you, kissing, mouthing, whispering god knows what into your ears. You and Tommy had a real cohesive conversation, and Tommy was eating it up. You honestly thought Tommy was an average guy, not someone who was rolling home with a girl on his arm every weekend.

Tommy excused himself, needing to use the restroom. After a flushed look in his face, he stared back in the mirror like it wasn’t even him. Truly, it didn’t feel like him, the flush was either from his 6th beer or from the way you patted his thigh when he made a bad joke and you genuinely laughed like he was the best comedian ever.

On his return, he looked through the crowds, missing a certain man and woman who were once dancing together. Rather than take his seat, he leaned against the bar beside you.

“I don’t mean to alarm you, lil lady, but ‘seems like your brother is gone,” Tommy said as he peered out into the crowd. You spun around in your chair, standing with a wobble causing Tommy to steady you with his hand. Your eyes scanned the crowds, the tables, the boothes. Nothing but stupid college kids who were grinding and dry humping on the dance floor.

“Fucking assholes,” you mumbled. You shelled out your phone. 5 missed calls, and at least 10 texts. Tapping one open, your brother and his fiance.

Charlie & Cecilia

Where the fuck are you?

We’re gonna leave now

Jesus christ

Text me when you see these

Uber home we took the car

That last one made you grind your teeth together, maybe rip out your future sister-in-laws throat. Not because you hated her for taking your brother, for them not even trying to find you and her outright callous. Tommy tried not to look, but he couldn’t help himself when he saw the way your jaw tensed and your eyes bore glares into the screen.

You looked at one more text string from your brother.

Hey, seriously text me. I would’ve went to go look for you but she was getting antsy and she took an edible so she’s all kinds of paranoid.

Text me call me

Please be safe

Make good choices.

Love you

Instead of violence towards the blond brat with an even worse attitude problem than you, you opened it. I’m fine. Love you too. Then set the phone down back into your bag with a sigh.

“You alright there?” Tommy asked. He lowered you down into your seat and waved for water with a polite, thank you sir.

“They fuckin’ left an hour ago,” you answered. He took another straw from behind the bar and tossed it into your drink. Tommy whistled, “I’m sorry little lady, so why don’t we get you back home then?”

“Fuck no, I hate them,” you answered hotly. Still tipsy and upset, you had no desire to see nor hear your sister-in-law. Maybe from rage or drunken displaced emotions, you just glared into the floor for a second before looking up. Then you looked back at Tommy. Clean shaven, but no weird shadow from any incoming facial hair. Pretty eyes, real polite Texan man with a cute smile. He even sat up straight when he sat down. Fuck it.

“Whatcha doing next Friday?”

“Bar hopping?”

“Wanna get wasted at a wedding? Open bar, paid for by her daddy,” you referenced the bride.

“Free booze and a free meal? What do I gotta do?”

“Just be my date. I’m sick of her shit,” you said grunted.

Tommy took his phone out and offered the phone to you with the contact screen open. “And even if you don’t need me as a date no more, I’m glad to have a pretty ladies number.”

“That line work on a lot of people?” You asked while typing your number and name into his phone.

Tommy smiled and shook his head. “You finish that water, I’ll drive you back.”

“You’re drunk as I am,” you glared.

“Okay fine, I’ll call my brother to pick us up,” Tommy snickered as he grabbed his phone back. He raised his phone up, camera for a contact picture.

With a click, your eyes shot up at him. A flash came and went and Tommy was saving your new contact picture.

“Tommy—”

“You look real pretty, don’t worry. Do you really want a ride home? I’ll call my brother right now,” Tommy offered.

You weighed your options. Going home now means 1) meeting Joel Miller aka Tommy’s big brother. As much as you liked Tommy, you don’t know if you could meet the ‘stoic sonovabitch who got an attitude past 7pm’ while you were still intoxicated without laughing in his face. 2) it means seeing bitch face and her snobby friends.

Clearly, you had a different option in mind.

“Nah… can we just sober up and you drive me back?”

Tommy grinned at her, “Don’t wanna leave me just yet? Okay, then let’s order up some food for ya, hm? Whatcha want, on me.”

“On you? Expensive bar food? Are you already in love with me, Tommy?”

Yes.

“You never have a Texas gentleman? Good thing you met me, eh? We can let this be a date.” His smile was intoxicating. Like you never wanted it to leave his face.

“Sure, it’s a date,” you declared. Tommy lit up, grabbing your hand and kissing it.

“It’s a date.” Tommy leaned over the bar again, grabbing the menu and slipped it to you. He kept his hand steady on yours as you read it. You got two things. “You okay with sharing?”

“You? Absolutely not,” Tommy flirted. He knew what he meant, but didn’t care.

“The food, Tommy,” you smiled at him. You couldn’t stop saying his name, it was so fitting to him. The name seemed so kiddish, but it worked because he was playful, all smiles.

“Oh, of course I am darlin’” Tommy nodded.

Normally bar food was terrible but when you’re 6-7 drinks in on a semi-empty stomach, hot food that crunched at 1:45 AM was beyond perfect.

The food was piping hot, but that didn’t stop Tommy from grabbing the chicken tenders and splitting them in halves to cool them faster. Tommy pointed across the bar at an emptying booth for you to steal.

When the two of you settled in, Tommy wiped his fingers clean and let you eat first. Fries chewed, swallowed and you looked at the Texan, “Your full name Tommy?”

“Maybe,” Tommy smiled behind his hand. Your drunkenness was no fan of his little jokes, and he knew that because of the stare you gave him. “My daddy wasn’t that kind—givin’ me just Tommy while my brother is Joel huh?”

“Not all that kind indeed,” you replied.

“It’s okay, you got a pretty name so if we end up tackin’ Miller at the end, it only gets prettier,” Tommy winked. You blushed but paid no mind to it, still drunk and red was passable rather than blushing. “Shut up,” you glared.

“Shuttin’ up.”

After a little bit more eating, and a lot more sobering, You spoke in turn, “Okay, permission restored. You got a suit for this kinda thing?”

“Never been to a wedding really,” Tommy answered after setting his water down.

“You need one or? I can ask my dad what he’s planning on wearing, he got that whole cowboy thing goin’ on still. Think he’s reliving his glory days.”

“Probably, but no worries there, my brother and I just finished a big job. But if you can find out what else, it would be appreciated,” Tommy reassured. You nodded, grabbing your phone to text your dad as a Send Later at 9 in the morning so you don’t forget. Also another text to your brother, is that spot for my alleged date still available?

“What do you two do?”

“Construction, we’re contractors,” Tommy nodded.

“Oh, good,” you said. You pulled your phone out and slid across the screen before giving him the phone.

“I’m actually moving out here for work,” you started. “The housing market is crazy cheap here, and I came out here a week early to look for somewhere to live.”

“Oh? You're gonna be a Texas girl?” Tommy asked with a smile.

“Unfortunately so,” you sighed dramatically.

Tommy snickered and looked at the saved houses you had. “I can’t say much from pictures, we would needa go in person.”

“Then, are you free another day this week? Come judge houses with me. I’ll do it based on interior design and their decisions to use carpets. You can do it based on their structural integrity?”

“You wanna take me on another date?” Tommy smirked as he looked up from the phone.

“House hunting as a date? God, at least propose or somethin’” You joked back as you took the phone back. “Maybe I’ll just ask Joel,” You taunted.

Tommy pouted his pretty pink lips. You almost grabbed the cowboy by his collar and kissed him right then and there. “Awh, don’t do me like that, Pretty.”

“Do you wanna or nah?” You asked again.

“Joel’s doing a buncha walkthroughs this week, so I’m mostly free,” Tommy said leaning back in his chair. He slung an arm on the booth top behind him and tilted his head. “You got no fancy wedding preparing to do?”

“No, I don’t care enough to help the witch.”

He snorted and took a bite from one of the fries in the basket. “What are you coming out here for?”

“Technically work and school,” you answered. “I’m in my PhD program for History, I’m studying American Activism with a focus in Chicane history specifically. I’m at UT Austin, so I’ll be teaching simultaneously.”

“You a smart girl?”

“Yessir,” you nodded. Tommy hummed in satisfaction and pushed more food towards you.

By the time you two finished the food it was just past 2, but time didn’t matter as you two kept talking. An hour later, you two are walking out of the bar sober as you two came in. “Where yall stayin’ anyway?”

“An AirBnB like 15 minutes from the Venue,” you answered as you opened your phone.

Clicking his contact, you sent a couple of messages.

You like pretty girls right?

XXXX E 49 ½ Street

Tommy chuckled as he saw the notification, and looked up at you. “You eager? Let’s get you back home.”

Tommy opened the car door for you, holding your hand as you lifted into his truck. It makes your heart squeeze and speed up. He shut the door and rounded to join in the driver's seat.

The drive is easy, Tommy driving around and pointing places out for you to try or avoid.

“Best donuts is right there,” he notes. “And they’re open 24 hours.” He kept going as he drove, everything a tip or where to avoid. “Coffee here is okay, they’re open super early if that’s something you need,” he says on another street. Then he’s pulling up to the house, the porch lights off, in fact all of the lights are off.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Tommy said as he put the car in park and poked the hazard button. He rounded, then opened the door for you again. Crickets rubbed their legs quietly, the porch light flickered a warm yellow light. Tommy walked you with his hand on your mid back. At the door, Tommy smiled, leaning against the doorway.

“You have fun tonight?”

“More than I thought,” you nodded. Tommy grinned and nodded at you. His eyes lowered lazily to your lips, something you easily caught on to. He had been doing it all night but never made the move. “You want a kiss, Tommy?”

“Maybe.”

Pressing your finger against the keypad, the door unlocked. “Well, if it’s a maybe, then maybe I’ll give it to you when you help me house hunt,” you said coyly. You kissed his cheek and opened the door.

“Goodnight, Tommy.” You shut the door behind you with a wink.

“Goodnight, Pretty,” Tommy said fondly as you closed it. He leaned off the door, shaking his head with a big ol’ smile, hopping back into his truck and driving back home.

He was barely past the door of his apartment when he texted you.

Tommy: You’re a tease

Tommy: I’m free monday and wednesday

Tommy: please say both days pretty

Tommy: I might have a heart attack if I don’t see you soon

yearning this early is crazy

i’ve only just gotten into bed

Tommy: Don’t say that.

Tommy: Please.

Tommy: Or I’ll need a 15 minute break.

you’re funny too

god did i hit the jackpot

Tommy: I walked up to you though little lady

Tommy: I think I won the whole damn casino

maybe i was doing magic to lure you over to me.

Tommy wouldn’t put it past you. He remembered exactly what you looked like at that bar even after all the beers and a few shots. In a pretty flowy dress brushing your knees. The pretty gold jewelry that hung off your neck and wrists, the bright jewel tones that set in the rings you wore. The kicker was those cute cowboy boots that don’t look brand-spanking new, but not nearly as worn as his old boots.

Tommy: I’m glad you did. Keep me under your spell.

Monday?

pick me up?

Tommy: Anytime pretty.

12.

Tommy: What color are you wearing for the wedding?

green. I’ll send a picture in the morning.

Tommy: In the dress? 🤨

You want that, cowboy?

Tommy: Oh you know it, Pretty.

alright then.

i’m gonna go to sleep.

Seconds later, a large box sent. White recording lines with a play button.

There was a little bit of rustling in the background of the audio, the bedsheets she lied in. He could hear her lips part just to say, “Goodnight again, Cowboy.”

Tommy scrambled to sit up in his bed. The hell was that feature, he may be young but he rarely even looked at the updates notes. But he did know how to send videos. Tommy smirked and clicked the camera instead.

The dark room is illuminated by a dimmed night lamp and his phone screen. He cleared his throat before hitting the record and sent it, “G’night Pretty Lady. Sleep well.”

You threw your phone into your bedsheets and nearly took your panties off right then and there and looped the video. He wasn’t wearing a fucking shirt. Not even a wife pleaser. Just tanned freckled skin you could barely make out in the dark of his room.

You hearted the video and fell asleep, but not without rewatching the video another three times.

__

After two days of texting, Monday came. You were shaking with excitement. You woke up early, 9:30. Made tea instead of coffee because coffee would give you even more shakes.

You spent what felt like forever in the shower. By the time you were out, you had your teeth brushed, face washed, body exfoliated, clean shaven, and then lathering your body with lotion and a citrus scented body oil.

It was a date.

You hadn’t been on a date with someone this interesting and this interested in more than your tits in a while. It was refreshing, and refreshing deserved an Everything Shower.

Your makeup was easy, with just a glowy foundation, your cheeks flushed a pretty color, your lips plump and painted pink. No eyemake up, that’s too much. Not that the Everything Shower was too little or anything, but just in case.

At 11:30 Tommy said he was on the way. You stepped into your boots and waited.

Your dad’s picture of what he wore matched your brother’s suit well, a little more Southern style, but Tommy could pull it off better. You sent it last night to Tommy and he gave a big thumbs up and I got this. Don’t you worry, Pretty. I’ll look spick and span for you.

Tommy: 11:58, Outside, Pretty. Take your time.

You were ready 10 minutes, the anxiety running in you as you waited. You had touched your makeup up a few times, fixed your hair, and double checked your bag to just be safe.

Opening the door you jumped in shock, seeing Tommy already standing there, bouquet in hand and his bright smile.

“You’re a speedy one, huh?” Tommy asked.

“Yes, I am,” you nodded.

“I got you flowers, thought you would appreciate them,” he said softly as he held them to you. You thanked him, and let him come in real quick.

“I’ll find a vase, put it in my room and we can go,” you said softly. “No worries.”

Steps came running down the stairs, your name leaving the bride's lips in exhaust. “You’re being real loud for it not even being 12pm yet,” she complained.

“Sorry, Cecilia,” you apologized. “This is Tommy, the guy I’m takin’ to your wedding. Tommy this is Cecilia, the bride and my future Sister-in-law,” you said with a bitter smile.

Cecilia sized Tommy up. You did the same, but looked for more of his body rather than judge him, his posture and toned biceps in his cut off button up. Cecilia nodded and looked back. Noticing you two dressed up, ready to go out she just replied, “Whatever, Hi, Tommy. Glad she’s bringing a stranger, Bye.”

You put away your vase of flowers and joined Tommy out front to his car. He shut your door, back around to the driver side and began driving to the first place.

You two called last night, picking out a few places within your price range near the university. Tommy gave you all information about each area, how good they are, what she should look out for, and where she shouldn’t live on her own.

You set up the walkthroughs and Tommy promised to get you everywhere and then some.

“I’ll pay for lunch and dinner,” you said as Tommy pulled into the first one.

“No can do, Pretty. On me,” Tommy said as he opened your door.

4 hours, a lunch break, and five houses later, Tommy only approved of one and a half. The structures are bad in most, older everything, all shoddy jobs in the two newer places. The last one Tommy actually laughed at, and the third one was Tommy’s winner by 4:38.

“Number three was reworked by Joel and I,” he noted. He shifted in the driver's seat to face you better, and you mimicked his movements. “It fits you too, I think. It’s got a certain kind of whimsy that you got going for you.”

“I’m whimsy?”

“Whimsy, Pretty,” he nodded straight. That stupid smile as bright as the Texas sun flashing you too.

“Do you wanna get dinner with me?”

“Absolutely,” Tommy agreed. Shifting the car into drive, he was driving with a place in mind.

Dinner went better than expected. Splitting a bottle of wine over some of the cutest fine dining was the last thing you would’ve expected. Tommy made a reservation, flashing a wink at you when the hostess said “You can follow me, Mr. and Mrs. Miller.”

Tommy drove you to one last spot, rather than go home. A pretty cliff point. It was out of sorts, the stars being Tommy’s main attraction. It was prettier in Texas than it was in PV, where the sky overclouded with industrial pollution and LA smog. You two sat there together in the back of his truck. Your feet swung off the bed while Tommy lied back, hands cradling his head.

You two barely talked, just admired the sky above you guys.

“You havin’ fun, Pretty?”

“A lot,” you nodded. He sat up, leaned on an elbow and gestured you down.

“I would like to preface,” Tommy started. “I think you’re a whole lot prettier than you should be, and that I am no match for you.”

“Tommy?”

“I wanna take you on another date, a real one. Anytime you want, before or after that wedding,” Tommy whispered to you softly. His hand moved up, gently grasping your jaw and brushing his thumb against your cheek.

“I think these dates suffice—”

“Suffice and I shall never” he pointed a finger at your nose, “be in one same contextual sentence.”

Tommy tapped his finger against your nose before letting his hand rest in front of him. “Can I take you out on a date, Pretty?”

“You wanna go the whole nine yards?” You asked shyly.

“Little Lady, I want to go to the ends of the Earth for you,” he answered naturally—like he’s been thinking about that line for days at every hour and minute he could. Tommy could barely recognize himself. Whipped out of his mind, in love, and like a puppy. Never in his life has his stomach felt so welted with this full-yet-sickening feeling. God, Tommy a week ago wouldn’t recognize Tommy. Joel laughed at him when he told him he met the girl of his dreams, and Sarah begged for pictures and begged to meet her. At least Sarah believed in him.

“I wanna go on a date with you too, Tommy,” you agreed quietly. Before Tommy could roll onto his back to shout in pride you grasped his face this time. “And I wanna kiss you. Badly.”

“Ohhh, you evil temptress,” Tommy laughed under his breath. “You can also read minds.”

His lips slotted against yours quickly, like it was meant to happen even without permission. You were already swinging your leg over his thighs and leaning into everything he had to give. His hands left your face, grabbing your waist and dragging his hands up your torso. Mumbling against your lips like he was drunk out of his mind, he resorting to smile against your lips when his mind couldn’t think no more.

The fabric of your dress was thin. As soon as his hands dipped too low on your hips, he felt it. The lace fabric beneath your dress, and he moaned into your mouth as he taunted it off your body.

He leaned up, kissing you simultaneously and gently flipped you two. His hands are against your back, lowering you down further into the bed of his truck. Tommy kissed you one more time before hovering over your lips. “You gotta say no, Pretty or I’ll do somethin’ bad,” he grinned.

“Does yes mean do it,” you asked in a murmur. Chasing his lips he snickered before granting you one last kiss, humming positively to your question.

“Then yes.”

Tommy looked back at you, his eyes shot and his hands on your thighs under your dress. You nodded and he lowered his face, kissing your neck, your collarbones. His fingertips pushed higher, and higher until he met the lace again and he groaned into your chest. Lifting your dress with one hand, he almost bit down onto your sternum.

“Blue? For’me?” Tommy asked.

“Yes, Tommy, for you.”

He snickered and let his left hand move the gusset aside, not that it hid a lot. A pretty string rested right above your cunt, and Tommy dragged his rough fingers up and down it. Smiling to himself he looked up.

“All wet f’me too?”

“So help me, God, Tommy please,” you quietly begged.

“As the lady wishes,” Tommy said politely before he dove in. His tongue was lethal, each pass of it made your hand tighten on the back of his head like it was the only thing grounding you.

His right hand scooted beneath him. At the same time he licked up and in his tongues' wake, his finger slid inside. You cried out, arching into his mouth. “Mhm, mama, you taste fantastic,” he complimented.

“G’on, fuck my mouth, mama,” Tommy slurred as his tongue swiped circles over your clit. As your hips grinded up into him, your head hit the truck bed with a cry.

“Oh, god…” you moaned under him as he slid another finger and dragged it against your velvet walls. His fingers picked up speed, his lips sucked harder, and you squeezed around him like he was all you needed.

“Tell me baby, you feel good?”

“Feel so fucking good,” you moaned brokenly back. “A…all I need—oh..fuck…”

Tommy laughed at you as he kept humming and eating you like he was your last meal. Pulling off you, he marveled at your cunt as his fingers fucked into you. A loud gathering in his mouth until he spit right on your clit. The cold dribbled down with, mixing you with his saliva.

When Tommy found it, he used and abused that gushy spot while you writhed under him.

You were seeing stars as he played around with you, not only the stars overhead, but the spots in your vision. His fingers pumped in, suddenly it was too much. The squeeze of your stomach too much. Tommy was doing too much. “Tommy—I, oh fuck, fuck— stop-stop stop, I’m gonna-”

You tried to pull his head off you, off your cunt, but he was drunk. Tommy refused to let go of you and your cunt, there was no way he would stop now.

“No, no, no, Mama,” Tommy said tauntingly. He grabbed your hips and pulled you into him. You cried as you came around his fingers with a rush to your head and your legs trembling softly.

You fell limply into the bed, your head against the bed and your elbows holding you up.

“You’re a messy one,” Tommy said as he leaned up from your thighs. Under the moonlight was his shining smile with your arousal all over his mouth. With a quick lick across his lips he kissed your thigh, “That’s okay, I like messy.”

“Fuck,” you sighed as you laid to complete rest.

“Not today, Pretty lady,” Tommy said with a huff and smile. He lied beside you, his face more on par to your torso than your face.

“Wait let me—”

“I’m all good, Pretty,” Tommy stopped you. He readjusted his jeans, still a clear large bulge in his jeans. “I can wait for you, just wanted to say my thanks for saying yes to a date.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you sighed with a limp smile.

“I’ve been called worse.”

—

The next time you got to see Tommy was the day of your brother’s wedding. You two didn’t stop texting, but both agreed a date would schedule better when you were back in August to move in for school.

Tommy sent his suit, a new bolo tie with a gold crest around the green jewel that matched your dress and jewelry perfectly. The suit was a basic black and white with the bolo rather than a tie.

Tommy: You still wanna meet at the venue?

Yes please!

My dad wants to drive with me and my brother.

he’s excited to meet you

is it weird you’re meeting my dad bf we’ve gone on that date?

Tommy: maybe

Tommy: But do you mind?

with you?

never

Tommy: Cheeky.

Tommy: I’m gonna head out, gotta see Joel and his girl before.

Tommy: Can’t wait to see you gorgeous.

Bye Tommy

Drive safe

Tommy: Thank you kindly

Tommy: You be safe

Tommy arrived for the ceremony, sitting beside you behind your father. He sat kindly, clapped when needed, and stood for the bride. Throwing in a few cheers for the clearly in love couple.

And during the cocktail hour, Tommy was a hit with your dad. Not one issue, just jokes and Texan jokes you barely understood. A few old friends you knew from your brother's high school days hung around you, a little flirty for your liking, but nothing you couldn’t handle truly.

“Dad, Tommy, I’ma grab some drinks. Want anything?”

“Baby, no I got it—” Tommy said trying to stand before you. You settled your hand on his shoulder and shook your head.

“Go on and entertain my dad, I’ll be all good,” you reassured.

“Baby, you know I want a Miller,” your dad said. You and Tommy snorted.

“You can’t have no Millers,” you said with a pointed frown. Tommy wrapped his hand around your waist. “There’s enough of me to go around, Pretty, don’t you worry.”

“Oh you two know what I mean,” your dad huffed.

“No kissing Tommy while I’m gone,” you pointed before leaving. Your dad cackled and knocked his hand into Tommy’s shoulder. The bartenders were busy, your forearms pressed against the bar-top while you waited.

“Is that really you?” Someone said from behind. Your cheek turned slightly. Your brothers friend, a loser, not close enough to make it into the wedding party, fake enough to be condemned by a Barbie doll. He sauntered over with a beer in his hand. It was warm but barely drank through, so also a poser still.

“Yes, it is,” you dully said as the bartenders rushed around. Maybe they did need that third bartender.

The friend kept talking to you, but you didn’t even remember his name. You dropped a twenty into the bartender’s tip jar right as he served the Corona, Miller, and fruity cocktail. You walked away, two beer bottle necks between your fingers and your cocktail in your hand.

To your dismay, he followed, “You come with a date by chance?”

Before your mouth even opened, Tommy was next to you. Bright smile, eyes like the devil though. “Hiya, Pretty, need help?”

“Yes, baby, I do,” you replied.

Tommy damn near flew into the air and exploded as you called him baby, but instead he just nodded and took the two beers. “Who’re you?” Tommy asked the friend.

“Lucas, friend of her bro’s,” he said coolly.

“Cool, I’m her boyfriend. Bye,” he said with a fake smile before tugging you back to your dad.

Your dad just chortled when he saw Lucas stalk away unhappily. “You read my mind Miller, hated that boy when he came ‘round my house.”

Tommy just laughed it off, and when he looked back at you, his eyes still deeper than the devil’s lair. Leaning into your ear, he whispered his apology. “You’re not be my girlfriend yet, sorry, Pretty. Didn’t like how he hovered.”

Your dad left, leaving the two of you. Setting a hand on his jacket lapel, you smoothed it out. You shook your head and smiled, “All good, Tommy.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm.”

“Let me know if I needa make it up to you, now why don’t we go dance hm?”

But you don’t know how you got here. You were dancing, teaching you the line dances, swaying, teaching you poorly how to bachata. Then you were drunkenly whispering something into an equally drunken Tommy.

Walking out the venue, you took his hat in a taunt.

Now, you’re outside. Outside and in the bed of Tommy’s car, parked far enough from the wedding reception. He attacked you, the two of you making out like horny teenagers.

His fingers dragged up your thighs and back to your panties, another pretty blue pair. Lighter, still lacy at the trim but that’s it. “You only got blue panties, Pretty?”

“I guess I’m 2 for 2 right now,” you whispered.

Tommy slid them off, discarding them to somewhere you didn’t see [his pockets.] His lips hot on your skin, the low cut v of your dress that hung off you like a Goddesses’ toga wraps. Tommy couldn’t help himself but to suck marks into your skin as best he could.

He glanced up at you, his hat hanging on your head loosely. Tommy pushed your dress skirt up just to part your thighs for him to rest in. His fingers slid in, scissoring away to loosen you any amount. “My pretty lady, soakin’ wet for me.”

“G’na have you sit on me, n’ use me til your shakin’” Tommy said into your pussy before spitting again and licking it up your cunt. “Love this pretty cunt, matches you.”

It wasn’t long until you fell apart on his fingers with a cry. Every word he said dripped in sex, his presence between your thighs made you weak already, and you were sure your make up was long gone and a mess. With a stuttering grind into his face, “Tommy, wanna,” you panted softly before taking a deep breath.

Again, Tommy watched you like you were everything he needed. “Tell me.”

“Wanna ride you,” you quietly whispered. Tommy tucked the hat onto your head to solidify its spot and nodded. “Y’wanna ride the cowboy?” He smirked as he rolled onto his back. You nodded excitedly, arching your thigh over him and leaning down to kiss his lips.

He moaned at the idea of tasting yourself in the kiss, open mouthed and messy. Your hands snaked down, unbuckling that large brass and turquoise buckle, that shit made me drool. Lowering the jeans and his briefs down. Tommy unbuttoned his shirt, no tank top underneath. Just a pretty happy trail and a little pudge but tanned with pretty sun spots and a few moles.

A loud slap sounded against his stomach sounded and you rolled your hips instinctively, “Fuck,” you panted as you looked at it.

Thick, red, a little longer than average, thick. Gonna be a bitch to sit on. You felt yourself clench around nothing before you leaned onto your knees and looked down at him.

Your dripping cunt rolled over his hardness, his cock thick and long enough to reach his happy trail. Your bare cunt ground down, right onto the cute slightly tamed trail of hair to his cock. A slow moan left your lips while Tommy’s head thunked back into the trunk bed. “G’nna kill me little girl… playing with me like that.”

Tommy smiled at the sight of you. The moon illuminated you perfectly, the dress pooled perfectly until he glided his hands up your thighs and held himself up. “Need help, Pretty?”

With a flushed nod, Tommy groaned as he felt his head brush against your wetness. When the tip caught, you moaned with your head tossed back. You couldn’t look him in the eye, it was too much again.

“God, your little fuckin’ cunt taking my cock, huh? He too big for that little thing?”

Tommy just exhaled into the warm Texan air. Tommy grinded up and lodged himself, his hands dragging you down onto him. You fell forward with a cry as he stretched you open.

Your hands against the hot skin of his chest. You rolled your hips, eliciting the prettiest moan you’ve ever heard from a man. His eyes were hazy as he looked at you.

You looked like God, the way you allure him, the moon behind you illuminating your figure, and the way you look perfect in every way to Tommy. Through gritted teeth and a few pathetic rolls of his hips, “Pretty, I need you to move ‘for I do it myself.”

Lifting off, you raised just high enough for the tip to stay inside, and you slammed down. Then you did it.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Tommy grunted every time, a little less air between them each and his hips eagerly meeting yours. The callouses on his hands scratched your skin lightly every time. As you rode him to hell, his hands stayed there, keeping your dress kicked up above your hips.

Then it clicked for you, Tommy was watching you fuck him. Watching the way your cunt ate his cock up like your pussy needed to be fed. With a tight squeeze around him, he fell his head back and slowly rolled his hips into you.

The rhythm you two had didn’t match, didn’t matter to you either. As long as Tommy just kept fucking into you, you don’t care.

The skin slapping was ludicrous, the sticky sensation between the two of you, then his stupid fat thumb started teasing, circling, and playing with your clit in the tiniest sharp circles that made you cry again.

“Oh god,” you mumbled. Tommy bit through his moan, making the executive decision to lean up and push your dress top down. Instead of his fingers, the course pubes on his mound grinded into your clit, arguably worse than his fingers for you. Sure, he sacrificed the sexiest sight of watching you and him fuck, but these pretty tits are worth it.

Tommy mouthed at your tits like it was his business. Simultaneously, his hands made contact with the front clasp of your bra and in one swift single motion, it snapped away from each other.

Tommy groaned against you, licking and sucking, fucking into you like you were the last person on Earth. His hands held your back as he fucked you. “Such a pretty fucking lady, aren’t ya?”

“Pretty fucking slut,” he growled as he watched you from blow, watched you while he sucked your tit for you, fucked yoh for you.

You squeezed around him as he degraded you, something in your chest exploding. “Hm? Like that dirty girl? Fuckin’ knew you were nasty,” Tommy growled against your nipple. One hand left your back and tweaked at your hardened nipple.

His teeth grazed and sent a shock down your spine, jerking your hips into his harder this time.

“God, fucking feel like heaven.”

“Needa fill you up, hm? Bet a needy slut would want it, huh? Make you into the prettiest mama?”

“Fuck, your cunt feels so good. Gonna make it mine.”

“Wanna cum, Pretty? Wanna show me your cummin’ face?”

You nodded helplessly, the hat fell to the side, and Tommy grabbed your jaw. “You can cum, I know you wanna, dirty girl.”

“Gonna make me cum in you too?”

“Yes, fuck! Please, Tommy, please cum inside,” you panted pathetically. “On the pill,” you frantically said.

You tried to keep a steady pace, and when you couldn’t, Tommy did. Then he grabbed your hips and pulled you onto his cock, moving you like you were no more than a sex sleeve.

He hit the spot countless times and you squeezed endlessly. “Come on,” he egged on.

You toss an arm on his shoulder to stabilize yourself and while you feel it all at once. A squeeze and a cry and you were cumming all over Tommy’s cock.

That squeeze sent Tommy over, shooting straight into you, pumping it all inside. Keeping it all inside.

Tommy lowered himself back, pulling your torso with him to lie down.

“Fuck,” Tommy panted. He wished Texas summer nights were colder, his skin was sticky and his cock still softening inside you.

“You fuck good,” you mumbled into his neck. Tommy laughed as he brought a hand to your back and rubbed soothing circles around.

“Do I?”

“Yes. I can’t believe you let me hold out on that.”

“I don’t plan on holding out on you ever again, Pretty,” Tommy assured with a heavy breath.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and back to that wedding.”

“Oh fuck we’re at a wedding,” you realized as Tommy shed his jacket.

He sat you down on the inside of it, not caring for what remains of their sex dripped onto his new suit jacket.

“I got water I think… and probably some fuckin’ napkins… gimme a sec, Pretty,” Tommy grumbled. He tucked himself away and headed for the truck head and found what he needed.

Tommy was gentle, especially after you jerked your hips into his hands after the first pass to clean your thighs. He kissed everywhere to calm you; even your clit with a teasing wink.

“Alright, Pretty lady, ready?” Tommy asked as he tucked your skirt back down. He hauled you to the edge of the truck bed and offered his hand to help you down.

“Where did my panties go?” You hazily asked. You took it, Tommy grabbed your waist to lower you to the ground rather than hop off.

Tommy shrugged. “Couldn’t find ‘em anywhere. Come on, I’ll walk you back in and we can pretend like you didn’t ride me into the sunset.”

Tommy wasn’t giving those panties back, no way.

“Our next date is you pick me up from the airport, fuck me, then we do a date,” you declared before you walked back in.

“Alright, Pretty Lady. I’ll write it down.”

[dare-writes]

GOD THEY EAT EVERY TIME.

i love of!bob 🥲🥲🥲

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION!

pairing: OnlyFans Model!Robert "Bob" Reynolds x f!reader synopsis: When your best friend and her fiancée move out of the home you share, you're left looking for a roommate. You find one, a sweet, down to earth guy named Bob, but what do you do when you find out what he really does for work, and he asks for your help? content: 18+ MDNI!! smut, crazy buildup bear with me y'all, Bob is more confident in this one, he's a yapper during sex, yelena and ava are gay sowwy, bob has a big dick, reader wants that cookie so effing bad, masturbation, unprotected pinv (no glove no love everyone...), discussions about safe sex kinda, creampie, filming, slight hand kink, oral (f!receiving), aftercare word count: 12.3k author's note: I was just hungry as hell when I wrote this sorry. There's gonna be multiple parts for sure, not sure what the end goal is I just know they're gonna fuck nasty a couple more times. Joaquin mention too so maybe ... perhaps... threesome? Perchance? Anyways, happy Sunday everybody, likes and reblogs are always appreciated and jsyk I love reading the little comments people leave, I'm bad at responding but just know ur making me smileeee. :)

masterlist ☆ ao3

You hated looking for roommates. More than the search for a liveable place, searching for roommates felt like a form of torture specially designed to make you want to peel the skin off your body. You were lucky enough to have found a good place in the city— A 3 bedroom townhouse in Manhattan, with 2.5 bathrooms — heavily subsidised because your (rich) friend’s great aunt Elsie was the landlord and she considered you family. You’d taken the bedroom with an en-suite and turned the basement room into a combined hobby room and spare room. The only problemhad been finding a good roommate. The world, you had learned, was full of weirdos.

Your first roommate was a girl you’d gone to university with. A good friend by all means; kind, funny and one hell of an agony aunt. She was just a horrendous roommate. She refused to wash her dishes, letting them pile up and simply using yours instead. She didn’t vacuum, didn’t clean her bathroom. This lasted for about a year but then a pair of your best lacy underwear had gone missing, and three weeks later you’d found it in your drawer with faint skid marks and the waist band somehow torn to shreds. You’d asked her to find somewhere else to live, and when she left she took half the friend group with her after calling you a “privileged brat who leveraged her connections to deprive her of shelter”.

The next roommate had lasted only 8 months, and she’d been clean, but couldn’t resist having her sleazy boyfriend over basically 24/7. When you’d told her that he needed to pay rent if he wanted to live with you she’d accused you of being jealous because your own love life was stagnant. For the two months after you’d told her this, it felt like she’d made a point of having the loudest, most obnoxious sex she could if she knew you were home. When you started finding sex toys in communal areas, you told Elsie what was going on and she was evicted almost immediately. You made sure she paid for a deep clean of her room and the living room before she got her security deposit back.

After her, your friend Yelena had moved in with her girlfriend Ava, and thankfully they’d been normal. No underwear heists, no obnoxious sex, no dirty dishes. You’d had a good four years of peace, but now that they were engaged, they were moving out to live on their own in a townhouse two houses over, gifted to her by her parents. You were happy for them, really, but God, you didn’t wanna have to look for a new roommate. It felt like everywhere you turned there were new stories about increasingly worse roommates and you dreaded having to look for one.

“I’m sure Elsie won’t make you cover the rent for the other room. She loves you more than she loves me at this point,” Yelena says, clicking through her half of the responses to the room ad you guys had posted. She’s on her third glass of wine, lying on the living room floor with her feet in Ava’s lap. You’ve got the AC cranked up, some old Britney music video currently playing on the TV. Ava hums in agreement, massaging her calves.

“It’s not that I don’t want to cover the rent. I don’t wanna live in a house with an empty room. Besides, I’m sure someone here will appreciate having to pay like a quarter of what they’d normally pay for a room like this. The problem is some of these people might be freaks,” you mumble as you read through your half of the responses to the room ad you posted on SpareRoom. “God I wish it wasn’t unethical to hunt down people’s social media. I feel like it would tell me a lot more than some of these profiles. These people didn’t even follow instructions,” you note, deleting a response from “Anna, 27, major hippie who just wants to put love into the world.”

The ad had specified that you needed to know what they did for work, why they were interested in living there, any hobbies they have, and whether or not they were allergic to cats. You’d put the ad up about a week ago, and received so many responses that you needed to private it so you could filter through these applications and get back to people in time for viewings on Saturday and Sunday. You’d already sent some responses back, but it was currently Wednesday and you knew you’d be cutting it close if you didn’t have all these responses back by tonight.

“Okay, this guy Julian is 43, divorced accountant who enjoys chick flicks, hiking and trying new recipes,” she says cocking an eyebrow. “And he’s kinda sexy in a silver fox way.”

“Probably looking for a rebound too,” Ava chimes in.

“Wow, that would be great if I was trying to fuck my roommate, but I’m not trying to do that. Because it’s messy,” you say. She sends him an invite to a viewing anyway.

“Her and I started as roommates, and look at us now,” Ava says, squeezing her calf.

You don’t have a rebuttal for that, but you hope they can feel you shaking your head disapprovingly anyways.

“Okay, this girl Mariya is 30, works in marketing, no cat allergy, loves festivals, baking and rock climbing and is part of a monthly book club celebrating marginalised voices in publishing,” you say. “She also has really cool eyeshadow,” you add as you copy-paste and then send the viewings invite message to her. You still have about twenty applications to get through, but you’re almost done. From the hundreds of responses you received, you’d managed to narrow it down to fifteen possible roommates. Not that it was hard. Any applicant that didn’t fully follow the instructions was discarded, which took out almost half the responses. Anyone under the age of 24 was discarded too. No hate to them, you just knew it wouldn’t be a good fit, especially if they were still undergrad.

“What about this one,” Yelena says sitting up. “His name is Bob, he’s 31. Online content creator, loves to read, no cat allergy, hates cooking but promises to always do the dishes, and wants to live here because it’s central, the house looks really beautiful and he thinks he’d really feel at home here. He’s also cute,” she says.

“What does ‘online content creator’ even mean,” Ava asks, “like TikTok influencer? He could be an incel twitch streamer.”

“Or he could be on booktok,” you offer.

“Yeah right. If it’s funding his lifestyle it’s either redpill bullshit or OnlyFans,” Ava bounces back.

“No stop it, he looks sweet. And what if he’s like… a Minecraft youtuber you know,” Yelena defends, sitting up and turning the laptop so both of you can have a look. He does look very sweet. It looks like he’s picked his best casual picture, dark brown (possibly honey blonde) hair peeking out from beneath a cap. He’s outside, book in hand giving the camera a nervous smile.

“Please, just because he looks sweet doesn’t mean he isn’t an incel,” Ava retorts.

“Let’s just give him a chance, if he has weird vibes when he views we can just bin his application,” you say.

“But then he’ll know where you live,” she says.

“Along with like 25 other people. Relax,” Yelena says squeezing her girlfriend’s thigh, “I just don’t get bad vibes from him,” she says, sending him the viewing invite message.

You guys fall into comfortable silence again, filtering through applications and occasionally asking for the others’ approval.

When you finish screening applicants, Yelena and Ava leave to go pick up some pizza while you respond to the people who have RSVP’ed for viewings. You guys had decided to conduct group viewings, with two slots on Saturday and two slots on Sunday. Of the 30 people who made the cut, 15 have replied, all spread across the Saturday. You’re about to shut your laptop down and go find yourself a pre-dinner snack when you hear your laptop chime.

Bob Reynolds:

hi, thanks for getting back to me. Happy to do Sunday @ 3, very excited to see the place and meet you :) thanks again, see you on Sunday, have a good rest of your week x.

You stare at the message for some time before responding.

You:

speedy! See you on Sunday, will be nice to meet you too, enjoy your week :).

By the time Sunday rolls around, you’re more exhausted than you feel you have any right to be. Between working, tidying up and helping Yelena pack and move, a deep ache has begun to settle into your bones. This exhaustion wasn’t helped by the fact that yesterday’s viewings had been a complete waste of time. Of the final 20 who had ended up being booked in for Saturday, only one of them had seemed promising until he started trying to haggle for your room, saying he’d much prefer the en suite to the empty bedroom you’d advertised. He’d then gone on to take a dig at the decor, lamenting the fact that it was quite girlish even though you hadn’t changed a single thing between posting the ad and inviting him for a viewing. The final straw had been him taking a dig at your hobbies, noting that the clay figurines you made didn’t look like they were made by someone who had been making clay figures for years. God forbid a girl have a hobby she was a little bad at. You’d endured with gritted teeth and a thin smile, sighing in relief when you finally shut the door behind him. You’d watched him walk away with a pep in his step, and then turned around to your friend and thrown your hands up in surrender.

“If I don’t find anyone tomorrow I’m living by myself, fuck it.”

Sunday’s quieter, only 10 people opting to give up their Sunday afternoon to come view. The first batch had been a group of seven, and while none of them were bad per se, they just didn’t seem enthusiastic about living there. One had even balked at the sight of your cat, despite said cat being in almost every picture on the listing. No one had asked questions, just nodded and followed you around.The three of you are sitting on the steps waiting for the final group to arrive, praying for a miracle.

The first person to arrive is Mariya, the rock climbing, festival going marketer. She looks pretty chill, coffee cup in hand, decked out in a dark blue sweat suit.

“Mariya? Hi,” you greet, sticking your hand out for a handshake. She pulls you in for a hug instead, not caring about the fact that you have completely tensed up in her arms.

“Oh my god it’s so great to meet you. I’m very excited to see the place,” she says to you, before looking around you to greet your friend and her fiancée. You don’t hear what she says to them, because soon after, Julian, the accountant arrives. He’s tall, and he is sexy in that silver fox way, but when he shakes your hand he holds on for a bit too long, the look he gives you a little too ‘nightclub at 2:34 am’. You pass him on to Yelena, keeping an eye out for Bob while he introduces himself. You feel your phone vibrate and you pull it out to check. It’s a message from Bob.

Bob Reynolds:

going to be 5 minutes late I’m so sorry I’m maybe three blocks away, got off at the wrong stop. I’m so sorry, I’ll be there soon.

You look at your watch. It’s not even 3 yet, just before, but you appreciate the heads up.

“We’re just waiting for one other person, he’ll be here soon. You guys can go inside if you like,” you say, scooping your cat off the steps and into your arms.

“I’ll wait out here with you,” Julian offers, reaching over to stroke your cat. He pulls his hand away when she hisses at him.

“Sorry, she takes time to warm up to strangers,” you say scratching under her chin.

Mariya disappears inside with Ava and Yelena, chatting their ear off about niche indie bands. The air outside is thick, the only thing more uncomfortable than the humidity being the way Julian looks at you like he’s giving you a once over, assessing you.

He speaks first.

“So why’s the rent so cheap? Your boyfriend’s parents own the place or something?”

You know what he’s doing, but you’re too tired to dodge the question.

“No boyfriend, just a generous landlord,” you answer, keeping your eyes glued to the cars whizzing past you on the street.

“Shit, what does he expect in return?”

“Well she is just looking for some extra money on the side because the mortgage is paid off, she’s old, and I know her great-niece,” you respond. You swivel your head, looking for Bob. It’s only just hit 3, so you know you have a little more time to wait. You wish he’d teleport.

“So no boyfriend then huh. Single, or is a pretty girl like you working with a roster?”

You want to vomit. You don’t think forty-three year old men should speak to you about your non-existent roster. You sigh, busying your hands with petting Angie while she pushes her head into your chest. You can feel him staring at you, just waiting for an answer. You check your watch. 3:02.

“Just not looking for anything right now, too busy,” you answer, and it’s half true. You weren’t looking for anything, but only because it felt like dating in today’s dating pool felt like swimming in shark infested waters.

“With what?”

You hear a record scratch in your head.

“Sorry?”

“What are you so busy with that you don’t have time to date?”

He’s still eyeing you up like a car on sale, and you almost open your mouth to tell him it’s not wise to leer at the person who decides whether he gets the room or not when you hear footsteps.

“I’m so sorry, I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” a voice pants.

You check your watch. 3:04.

“Technically, you’re early Mr. Five Minutes Late. Did you run here?” you ask when you see the way he’s doubled over, face flushed. As if suddenly aware that you’re looking, he straightens up, pushing his shoulders back. He’s taller than you expect. And broad. The shirt he wears is a little tight around the shoulders and chest and you have to stop yourself from staring for too long.

“I speed-walked,” he corrects.

“Glad you made it,” you reply, sticking your hand out for a handshake. He looks at your hand then shakes his head.

“Real sweaty hands, I’m sorry,” he grimaces.

You shrug. From behind you, Julian clears his throat.

“I’m Julian, nice to meet you,” he says. There’s an edge to his voice that nearly makes you roll your eyes.

“Uh, Bob?” Bob replies, gripping his hand in a handshake. Julian lets go almost immediately.

“Your hands are sweaty,” he says, almost sneering.

“I know, that’s why I warned her,” Bob says.

The two of them follow you inside, and you let Bob wash his hands in the guest bathroom while Julian joins everyone else in the kitchen.

“Thanks,” he says when he comes out, “do you want shoes on or off?”

He’s the first person to ask, and you make a mental note of this as you tell him not to worry.

“What’s her name?” he asks, motioning to Angie.

“Angie, short for Angelicat but we only call her that when she misbehaves,” you say.

He laughs, scratching under her chin. “Misbehaves? But she looks like such a good girl,” he coos. She purrs in response, lowering her head and flattening her ears, letting him pet her. “A very good girl,” he amends.

“Oh and you have good girl radar, then?”

He locks eyes with you, and you swear you feel the air get knocked out of you when he replies: “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

You’re suddenly aware of how close he’s standing and you feel heat creeping up your neck.

You clear your throat, motioning to the door into the living room/kitchen space.

“We should probably join the others.” You bend down to let Angie out of your arms, and when you stand up again, he’s holding the door to the living room open, soft smile on his face. When you walk past him into the living room, you pretend you don’t feel the undercurrent of tension between the two of you.

“They’re here,” Ava says almost immediately, interrupting whatever Julian was saying.

Bob flushes, raising a hand in greeting.

“Yelena, Ava, this is Bob. Bob, Yelena and Ava,” you introduce, “They’re the ones abandoning me,” you say to the whole room. There’s an “ah” that ripples across the room as everyone gathers around for the tour.

“Right so, this is the kitchen,” you say, motioning to the kitchen, “it’s pretty new. Our landlord put in new appliances just over a year ago, everything runs like a dream. Lots of cupboard space,” you say opening up the cupboards to show everyone. “Any cookware you need for cooking or baking is here, but if you have your own stuff you’d be more than welcome to bring it,” you say as you shut the cupboard doors.

You move from the kitchen into the dining area, showing everyone the dining table you only really used when you had guests. You take them out the double french doors to the backyard. It’s open, with a stone path down the middle splitting the perfectly manicured lawn in two. “We spend most weekends out here in the summer, but we have gas patio heaters for winter too.”

“And a mini firepit,” Yelena adds.

“And a mini firepit. We get the grass mowed every two weeks?" You look to Yelena for confirmation, and she nods. “Every two weeks, but the cost is built into your rent so you don’t have to worry about it. I’m not much of a gardener, but if you have a green thumb you’re more than welcome to have a go at planting stuff if you feel like it. Landlord doesn’t mind as long as you don’t completely tear the place up.”

You let everyone have a look around the backyard, leaving space for any questions. Bob comes up to you, hands in his pocket.

“Good place,” he says, “lot more space than it looks like from the other side.”

“I know, I got real lucky with this place,” you say.

He looks like he wants to say something else but everyone is coming back, so he just holds the french doors open for you, letting you back into the house.

When everyone’s back inside you take them to the living room. “Big living room, nice bay window. The TV has Netflix, Prime, any other streaming service you might be willing to share,” you say to a couple of laughs. “Any questions before we move on to the next rooms?”

“Yeah,” Julian pipes up, “what are expectations around feeding the cat and looking after it.”

“You won’t need to worry about that I’ll do it,” you answer.

With no more questions, you guys move into the entrance way. You show the the guest toilet by the stairs and then lead them down into the basement where the hobby room is.

“So this is the hobby room, but there’s so much space it doubles as a spare room too,” you indicate, pointing at the twin bed in the corner. “Feel free to use it as an office, if you need to. If you don’t wanna share a desk with me and my crafts we can a hundred percent move another desk in here without compromising too much on space.”

You let everyone have a look around again, and you see Julian nudge Bob, and then hear him make a comment about the clay crafts, something about them being juvenile. Bob doesn’t respond, just leans down to pet Angie, who has been laying in the office chair. He stops to walk over to you, and she leaps off the chair walking with him, butting against his legs until he leans down to pick her up.

“Needy girl aren’t you?”

She just purrs in response, closing her eyes and settling in his arms.

“If I moved in and I wanted to use this room for making videos, would that be okay? I figure it might be a bit better… noise wise than using the bedroom… if I moved in.”

He sounds so nervous it’s endearing.

“Yeah, hundred percent. I’d probably just need an idea of when you were using it so that I don’t interrupt your filming.” You bite back the urge to ask him what kinds of videos he makes, but you decide that he’s definitely not an incel.

“How come you’re not renting this out as a bedroom?” Mariya asks. She has one of your clay figurines in hand and you swear you see her almost slip into her pocket before she realises you’re watching.

“I used to work from home and it was good having a designated office space. When I went back to the office I just didn’t see the need to turn it into a bedroom,” you shrug, leading everyone out. You take them back into the entryway, then up the flight of stairs to second floor, where the bedrooms and bathrooms are. You show them the bathroom first, pointing out the big sink and cabinet space. There’s a bath tub and a separate shower. The shower is spacious too, and you hear Julian make a crack about there being room for two. No one laughs, and you feel your skin crawl.

“Right, and this is the room,” you announce, nudging the door open with your hip. It’s empty, save for the bed, TV, and a couple of boxes Yelena hasn’t moved yet. “Lots of natural light, big closet. Enough space for a desk if you feel like you don’t wanna work downstairs. You do need to be careful when changing because the window looks out onto the street so y’know,” you mention.

“Does the cat come in here often? It’s just that I own some mice and I’d prefer not to have keep them in a cage all day and I need to be able to guarantee their safety,” Mariya asks.

“It should be no problem if you keep the door closed when you’re not home. But telling her she can’t come into the room will be fine too. She listens.”

You look over at her, still in Bob’s arms, eyes closed, purring softly. Mariya looks like she’s considering this information and she just nods, continue to poke around the room.

“What’s it like in winter?” Julian asks. “Temperature wise.”

“It’s good! Pretty well insulated, but there’s a remote for temperature control on the wall. Also really well ventilated, so doesn’t get damp,” you smile, leading everyone out.

“My room is down the other end of the hall, so you also have a fair amount of privacy,” you add on, sneaking a glance at Bob.

“What’s the policy on partners?” Mariya asks, “Like can we have them over, or do they have to be gone by the end of the night?”

“They can stay over, it’d just be great if they’re not sleeping over practically everyday. And you know, you’d have to be mindful, keep the volume down, limit intimacy to your bedroom, that type of thing.”

“You’ve had a roommate who was intimate with their partner outside of their bedroom?” Bob asks, incredulous.

“You don’t even know the half of it,” you say.

“Could be kinda hot,” you hear Julian say and you watch Bob grimace.

You usher everyone back downstairs, fielding the last of the questions and letting them know that you’re happy chat some more and to reach out over SpareRoom if they have any more questions. Mariya leaves pretty much immediately, but the two men stay, keeping the conversation casual. You’re on your third sexually charged comment from Julian when Bob puts Angie down.

“We should probably let you guys get some rest. Big decisions to make,” he says, heading towards the door. He looks expectantly at Julian who finally seems to get a hint for the first time that day.

You’re standing on the steps after saying goodbye when Bob stops in the middle of the sidewalk, and comes back, standing at the bottom of the steps.

“Look, obviously I’m biased, and obviously you’re an adult and this is your home, but please tell me you aren’t considering giving the room to him,” he nods in the general direction of where Julian went, “like good grief.”

He looks genuinely concerned, and you make a note of that too.

“Don’t worry he’s not even a contender, thanks for the concern though.”

He sighs in relief then waves back at you as he starts his journey home. You don’t need to think about it, you know who’s getting the room.

“Do we need to relist the room?” Yelena asks when you’re back inside.

“Nope, giving it to Bob,” you say throwing yourself on the couch.

“What? You weren’t charmed by Julian and his overt advances? Didn’t wanna play with Mariya and her mice?” Ava says.

You shoot, “Literally what was up with that? What do you mean you don’t keep your mice in a cage and why would you apply to a house with a cat?”

You guys laugh, settling in for a movie. You’re gonna miss this, you think. Movie nights with the two of them. You know they’re only moving a couple of houses down, but it’s not the same.

“You know you don’t have to decide today, right?” Yelena says to you, briefly taking her eyes off the screen to look at you.

“I know, but I think he’ll be good. Doesn’t give off incel vibes, was really polite the entire time and Angie already likes him. Literal miracle.”

“And she thinks he’s cute,” Ava says, and you can hear the smile in her voice.

“Irrelevant. Completely irrelevant,” you mutter, “I’m gonna go send the rejection messages for everyone else, I’ll be back in like 15 minutes,” you say heading upstairs to your bedroom.

You open your laptop, copying the rejection message from your notes and mass sending it to everyone who made the viewing but Bob. Some people reply immediately, thanking you for showing them around anyways and wishing you the best. Julian tacks on a ‘we may not have worked out as roommates but I’d be interested in hanging out anyways’ and you don’t even respond, just report him to SpareRoom.

You open up the chat with Bob, where there’s already a message waiting for you.

Bob Reynolds:

thank you for having me, great to meet you guys, especially Miss Angie :) give her head pats for me, please!

You:

No worries, thanks for showing up! And pending a successful reference check and a security deposit (3 months rent upfront), you’ll be able to give her head pats yourself when you move in :) congrats!

The response is immediate.

Bob Reynolds:

wow thank you so much! Didn’t expect to hear back so quick :) appreciate it, thank you so much future roomie. have a good week!

☆

Bob’s references all come back clean, and he moves in pretty much immediately after he pays his deposit, only a week after he viewed the place. Any nerves you had about him as a roommate dissipate after less than a month of living with him. He’s tidy and sweet, always does the dishes (even yours). You guys have fallen into a Saturday cleaning routine, with him handling upstairs (besides your room and bathroom), the living room and the guest toilet. You take the kitchen and hobby room, always taking extra care not to mess with Bob’s filming equipment. He’s got at least three expensive looking cameras, some microphones and a bunch of lights. You’re not sure you’d be able to replace anything if you broke it. You still don’t know what he posts, just that he’s normally alone when he films. If he’s not alone, his friend Joaquin is there, though that doesn’t happen often since he’s currently living in DC. He also sometimes has a girl over, pretty brunette who always lets you know that she loves your cute mugs and one day she might steal your cat. You haven’t seen her in a couple of weeks though. You wonder who she is. At first you’d thought she was his girlfriend, but when you’d said as much in passing, Bob had seemed perplexed, rushing to tell you that they weren’t together.

“I just know her through work,” had been his exact words.

By the time Bob has been there for six months it’s mid November and the whole world is getting ready for the holidays. The cold weather has both of you inside a lot more, choosing cozy movie nights over going out. Sometimes you ended up making dinner for the both of you, turning Bob into the perfect guinea pig for recipes you found online. Tonight was one of those. Dinner had been a pad thai approximation, a little suspect at first, but delicious after some wine. You guys were now seated in the living room, both on opposite ends of the three seater couch as some forgotten raunchy comedy played on the screen. You must be feeling confident after the wine because you turn to him, pushing his foot with your own.

He cocks an eyebrow, confused.

“I have a question,” you get out, trying to think of the best way to phrase it. “Your online video stuff. What is it?”

He relaxes.

“Oh I was wondering when you’d ask me,” he says. He sits up properly, facing you. “You actually lasted a lot longer than I thought you would to be fair. What do you think I do?”

“Well, I figure you’re a gaming streamer or something, but for cozy games, I can’t see you playing shooter games.Or maybe you’re on booktok or booktube. Yelena thinks gamer too. Ava thought you were either an incel,” you watch his eyebrows shoot up, “or OnlyFans. I don’t see it,” you say downing the rest of your wine. You should probably slow down, but you need the courage.

“You don’t think I can do OnlyFans?”

“Well, anyone can do OnlyFans it’s just you seem so… not an OnlyFans guy, I feel like they’re cockier.”

“Well Ava is right. I have an OnlyFans,” he admits. He’s trying to play it nonchalant but you can see the flush creeping up his neck. “Is that an issue? Should I have said something on my application? I know people can get a bit weird about it and-”

“Oh my god, no,” you rush to cut him off, “it’s not an issue you’re more than welcome to do whatever you want. I just never would’ve guessed because you’re so … quiet. And I figured you’d have more girls in and out for that kind of thing,” you say.

He laughs. “Nah. I do a lot of solo stuff. Sometimes I do collabs but uh, the girl I normally work with can’t work with me anymore, so solo until I find someone new,” he explains.

“Cool. How did you get into it?” You can’t stop yourself from asking.

“Started off on a cam site actually. Needed a lot of money fast and an old friend suggested it. I was pretty successful there and when OnlyFans started getting popular I moved there, gave me a bit more flexibility in terms of content.”

“Fully understand. University can be so expensive,” you say getting up to go refill your wine.

“Not university. I was funding my meth habit,” he says. It’s so casual you almost drop the bottle of wine.

“Meth?!”

“Yeah. It was a little rough for me.”

“You don’t look like you do meth,” you say when you sit back down, wine in hand.

“That’s because I’ve been sober for years now. What does a meth head even look like?” he asks, incredulous.

“Less teeth, I don’t know,” you say. You feel flustered. You mull your next question over carefully.

“Do you still stream?”

He tilts his head, curious. “Occasionally.” There’s a pause. “Why, d’you wanna watch?”

You almost choke, and he reaches over to pat you on the back, an amused smile plastered across his face.

“No.”

Yes.

“No harm in asking. Now I wanna know something.” He’s shifting nervously now, all the confidence he had prior seemingly vanishing. “Would you ever make an OnlyFans?”

You pause, thinking, and apparently that’s all the time he needs to start backtracking, apology spilling out of his mouth.

“Oh my god, relax. I’m not uncomfortable I’m just thinking. Knee jerk reaction? No. But I think if I could make content without showing my face I would try? I don’t know just the thought of looking at my own body doing… stuff… wigs me out a little.”

“So you don’t care that much about other people seeing you that way?”

“If I’m making bank?No; obviously it’s gonna be a little nerve-wracking at first but realistically? I would probably get over it after I got that first deposit. And again, no one would know it’s me. I’d be faceless.”

“Interesting. Follow up. Let’s say, hypothetically, a guy was looking for a girl, just for the moment because he promised his subscribers something special for Christmas, would you be down? Obviously you’d get paid, fifty percent of the profits-”

“You think I’d make a profit?” you interrupt.

“I never said it was me but,” he leans back and looks you over, nice and slow, “yeah, you’d make a profit.”

Your grip on the wine glass tightens, just a little. He doesn’t stop looking, his eyes resting where your legs disappear into your pyjama shorts, then travelling further up until he’s making eye contact with you.

“Uh, well,” you try to gather your thoughts, “I-I mean, hypothetically, as long as this guy wasn’t making me do anything insane I could probably give it a go. I’m not opposed, I’d probably have to think about it.”

You’re nodding your head so much you think you might shake something loose. He just laughs.

“I’ll let you think then,” he says, turning his attention back to the TV.

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding when he doesn’t say anything else.

On Monday evening you’re having dinner with Yelena and Ava, the three of you sitting at the dinner table for once, indulging in your weekly gossip session. You’ve just filled them in on your Friday conversation with Bob, and Ava is practically howling with glee.

“I told you guys, I told you. OnlyFans or incel!” she exclaims, punctuating her outburst with a strong slap of the table.

“I just don’t get it. He’s so twitchy sometimes when we’re around, and you’re telling me he gets on camera and has sex? He apologises to Angie when he has to stop petting her. I don’t see it,” Yelena argues.

“It doesn’t matter what you see, clearly he’s a different guy on camera. Have you had a look yet?” Ava asks.

Both her and Yelena are looking at you expectantly.

“No, I haven’t had a look yet. Not going to have a look in the future either. That would be weird, he’d think I’m weird,” you say.

You’d thought about it though. A lot. You were curious, no point lying about it, but you didn’t even know what his username was and you really didn’t want to ask. It felt pervy.

“Weirder than him asking if you want to guest star on his account?” Ava fires back.

You shush her, afraid Bob might come home and hear you guys discussing his work life.

“Well she’s gonna say no anyways. Remember she doesn’t fuck roommates,” Yelena points out.

There’s a beat of silence where Ava and Yelena turn to look at you, and then:

“No way. She’s considering it,” Ava says, “like actually considering it.”

“It would be a once off, and I’d make some money maybe. That’s it,” you mumble.

“You know, it’s okay to say you think he’s hot and you wanna sleep with him. He’s totally your type,” Yelena drones, “we will not judge you.”

“Well, yeah I also think he’s hot and I wanna sleep with him, sue me!”

You hear the front door open, and the three of you rush to find a topic of conversation that isn’t your OnlyFans model roommate and the possibility of starring in a video.

When Bob comes into view he’s soaked, his shirt clinging to him like a second skin. Holy shit, he’s got muscle under there? you think. You feel Ava nudge you under the table and she mouths ‘you’re staring’ when you turn to her in confusion. You feel your face get hot and watch her smirk, smug.

“Hi guys. It’s raining out there.” He sounds dazed. “Did anyone know it was going to rain?” he asks, “sorry, I’m getting water everywhere, shit,” he mutters as he puts grocery bags on the kitchen counter. “Fuck, I’ll clean it up, just let me get changed first, or maybe unpack the groceries?”

“I can do the groceries, go get warm,” you say, getting up from your spot at the table.

“On that note, we’ll get going before the rain picks up even more,” Yelena says, helping Ava up from her seat.

“Oh you guys don’t have to go,” Bob starts, falling silent when Yelena raises an eyebrow.

You start unpacking the groceries Bob got, and when you’re done you mop the floor. You’ve just finished mopping when you hear him come back. His hair is still damp, and he’s in an oversized grey sweater and sweatpants.

“Oh. I would’ve done that,” he says when he comes back downstairs.

“You can do it next time the rain catches you off guard,” you say as you put the mop out to dry. “You eaten?”

“Yeah, grabbed some food when I was out, thanks. What’d you guys have?”

You watch him pick Angie up gently from where she’s napping on the couch so that he can sit down. She settles back into his lap and falls asleep again when he starts gently dragging his knuckles between her ears. You cant help but notice how big his hands are, how gentle.

“Hello?” you hear him say, and you snap out of it. “Lost you for a minute there,” he says when you can finally look him in the eye. “Dinner?”

“Oh uh, mashed potatoes and steak. By me,” you answer.

“Bet it tasted real good then,” he says. The way he says it reminds you of the day he came to view the house, after he’d washed his hands. Something hidden, dangerous, lurking beneath an innocent comment. Or maybe you just really want to fuck him and you’re projecting. It doesn’t matter, all you know is that it makes you feel a good sort of funny. It makes you start imagining what it might be like to hear him say that to you under less platonic circumstances.

“Uh, y-yeah, yes. Tasted real good,”you manage, scrambling to piece your brain back together.

“I’ll have to try it someday.” His voice is low, almost a whisper as he breaks eye contact to plant a kiss on Angie’s head. You swear you can feel the air between you fizzing.

“Um. About that thing we spoke about on Friday,” he starts, still looking at Angie, “if the guy showed you the type of videos he makes, would that help you make a decision?”

That sucks the air out of your lungs and all you can do is nod.

“Cool, I’ll get on that,” he says. “Wanna watch a movie?” he smiles at you, moving over so there’s space on the couch. Against your better judgement you grab one of the blankets that has temporarily moved into the living room and settle in next to him. In an attempt to act normal you make sure you’re not too close, but not too far. Unfortunately the blanket you’ve picked up is a little on the small side so you end up sitting so close to him that your knees bump every time you shift.

You don’t know what you’ve chosen to watch, because all you can do is think about what he might choose to show you. You can’t focus on the screen when your thighs bump against each other and he’s apologising, low. It’s literally taking everything in you not to lean in further.

What on earth were you getting yourself into?

At lunch time on Wednesday you get a message from Bob.

Bob ☀️

12:00pm: hi. got something for you. 12:00pm: goldenboy has gifted you a free subscription to his profile. Join here: https://onlyfans.com/goldenboy. enter the code 12FREE when prompted at checkout. 12:03pm: sorry, probably shoulda picked a better time hahaha. sorry. for whenever you have time.

You see him typing for the next five minutes, the bubble with three dots appearing and disappearing and reappearing multiple times before you finally get a message.

Bob ☀️

12:08pm: hope you enjoy it :]!!

You spend the rest of the day uncomfortable, unfocused. How are you supposed to draft emails when he’s just said he hopes you enjoy seeing him naked.

When you get home you head straight to your room. You know Bob’s home because you can hear the soft murmurs of the TV from his room when you walk past. You head straight to your computer, entering the link he sent you into your browser’s search bar. His profile comes up and it feels like you’re looking at someone totally different. There’s a lazy grin plastered across his face, and the sleeves on his shirt are pushed all the way up. He’s got his arm behind his head, flexing the muscle in the most casual way possible. He’s wearing a backwards trucker cap, and you can see the way his hair peaks from beneath it, curling at the edges. It’s gold where the sunlight washes over it. His banner is him in nothing but some black briefs, the outline of his dick pressing against the material. That’s got to be an optical illusion or something, you think, feeling the saliva pool in your mouth.

You feel like you’re in a haze as you sign up. When it prompts you to set a name, you mull it over for some time before settling on the name Angelicat. You want him to know you’re here. After verifying your account, you head over to his profile again, subscribing and then browsing through the stuff he’s already posted. There are a lot of photos of him in various states of undress, taken from different angles with different poses. Sometimes he’s even in costume. You’re partial to the raunchy firefighter calendar shoot photos he has up. He’s flexing in ridiculous ways and he looks so confident, sure of himself. You click on a video. The thumbnail is him, sitting in a chair wearing nothing but some boxers. The video is titled “STREAM HIGHLIGHTS: FRIDAY 04/26/2024”. It’s only 30 minutes long. You have 30 minutes. You turn on your bluetooth headphones and connect to your laptop, hitting play immediately. His voice is in your ears immediately, low and husky. He’s talking to the chat, asking if they missed him. He’s palming himself over his boxers and you watch, thighs clenched together. As the video goes on, you listen to him sweet talk his viewers, telling the regulars he missed them, calling them by name. You watch as it skips ahead to a clip of him with his boxers off, briefs pushed down just enough for him to pull his cock out. It’s not an optical illusion. He’s thick, long and oh so hard, the tip leaking precum. He reaches over and pulls a bottle of lube out, popping the lid open and squeezing some into his hand. He wraps his hand around his cock and pumps slowly. He’s swearing, eyes fluttering shut, asking everyone if this is what they wanna see. There’s another cut, and suddenly he’s using a fleshlight, thanking a subscriber for the gift, telling them it’s perfect and he feels so good. There’s one more cut, and he’s asking you to cum with him, his thighs tensing as he finishes, spilling into his hand. It ends there. You immediately click out, looking for more. He’s got multiple stream highlights. In some of them, he’s in costume, a request or a reward for a paticular milestone. The really popular ones are the ones where he takes instructions from the viewers. The most popular ones are the ones where he edges himself, eventually begging the viewers to let him cum.

When you think you’ve had your fill of solo videos you finally click on a video labelled “Hot Soccer Player lets Hung Nerd Creampie Her for Study Notes [COLLAB WITH SPORTSBUNNY]”. The pretty brunette you’d sometimes seen around is in the thumbnail in a too tight soccer shirt, eyes staring seductively into the camera from between Bob’s legs. You click play. You sit through a jaw-droppingly corny roleplay where she pretends she really needs his notes to pass this semester, the two of them going back and forth before she offers to not just let him fuck her, but finish inside. Must be some crazy good notes, you think, unwilling to suspend disbelief. When they agree, he pulls her into his lap. Tells her how beautiful she is, slots his lips over hers. It’s not long before they’re both moaning into each other’s mouths, Bob’s hands resting on her hips so he can grind her against him. They detach, only so they can both remove their shirts and you feel something in your stomach clench when he flips her over easily, kissing down her chest. There’s a tent in his pants as he moves down, kissing down her body, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her shorts and underwear, and slipping them both off.

“Let me eat you out,” you hear him say, almost panting. You just hear her respond with a breathy yes, and for maybe the fourth time that night you’re absolutely stunned as you watch him pretty much dive in, hungry. You feel yourself ache when he sucks on her clit, muttering about how sweet she tastes, how he’s obsessed. Calls her a slut when she takes two of his fingers easily, and he shushes her when she whines. He alternates between sucking on her clit and lapping at her, the sounds obscenely wet. When he comes up briefly, his chin is glistening and his eyes are bright. His hair sticks up at funny angles where she’s been gripping it. He continues the slow pump of his fingers in and out of her, ignoring the way she begs him to go faster. You watch as he angles them so that the camera can see the way he fingers her better. She’s practically dripping and the sound it makes as he pumps in and out of her is so obscene you apologise to no one in particular.

“Shit, she’s so wet for me, you like that Bunny?”

She’s just mumbling, panting and keening as he continues, dipping his head back between her thighs. Soon she’s moaning, telling him she’s about to cum, and he encourages her, breathless, whispering against her clit, fingers still moving. He only slows down when she arches up pretty violently, his free hand flying up to steady her. You completely block out the next chunk of the video because your mind is stuck on the way he ate her out, wet and insistent. The way his fingers pressed into her and he seemed to enjoy feeling her buck against his lips, begging him for more. The way he had to adjust himself every time she said please. The way he didn’t give in until the very end. You can feel yourself aching, a reminder that you hadn’t gotten laid in over a year. When you tune back in he has her on her hands and knees, camera focused on where her ass is currently slamming into his hips, one of his hands on her hips guiding it. You’re struck by how big his hand is on her, how strong it looks as he guides her back and forth, unrelenting. He’s vocal, constantly encouraging her, telling her she can take it, that she just needs to hold on a little longer and then suddenly his hips still and you can hear him let out a broken moan. When he pulls out, the camera pans down to her lips as he spreads them, making you watch as he spills out of her before he takes his fingers and uses it to push the mess back inside, all the while telling her what a good girl she is, how well she’s done for him.

You exit out of the video. You don’t know how long you spend scrolling through his other videos, but by the time you finally exit out of his profile it’s like you can vividly see and feel him on you. You can see the way his hands slide over his scene partners’ bodies, strong and firm, keeping them where he needs them. You can see the way he moves and bends them to his will, putting them in whatever position he needs them to be. You can imagine all the ways you’ve seen him eating them out; sometimes they’re on their backs, sometimes he convinces them to sit on his face, other times he bends them over and eats it from the back, a hand on the small of their back to steady them. Every time, he makes them cum, guaranteed.

You check your phone. It’s almost 9pm, and you haven’t had dinner yet. You feel slightly ashamed of yourself, but that’s replaced by that familiar curl of lust when you see that Bob messaged you.

Bob ☀️

6:39pm: I like your display name. Does that mean ur gonna misbehave then?

You giggle. You can’t believe he even remembers that, the viewing feels like so long ago.

You:

8:47pm: No, just wanted your attention :). I’ll do it, but you need to promise to keep my face either off-camera or blurred.

You hit send before you can second guess yourself. Your phone chimes immediately.

Bob ☀️

8:47pm: Well you’ve definitely got my attention. Thanks you’re a lifesaver xx 8:49pm: I take it you liked what you saw then? Any favorites?

You do have a favorite. It’s a video of him and a model — not SportsBunny — in front of the camera as she sits on his face, back to the camera. He’s just in his briefs, and his bulge is pretty much front and center. You can see him getting harder as the video goes on, as he grinds her into his face and licks and sucks enthusiastically. He doesn’t even need to touch himself, you just watch as his abs and thighs tense and a telltale wet patch spreads across his front. You think you’ve watched it at least three times.

You

8:51pm: please just be happy with the fact that I’ve been stuck in a goldenboy rabbit hole (interesting name). I’ve gotta have some decorum.

Bob ☀️

8:51pm: lol okay i’ll take it. 8:58pm: if you decide you’re done having decorum we can always do a test run. just to make sure i’ve got a good set up you know, like a dress rehearsal. if you don’t like it we don’t have to film the real thing :)

You

8:59pm: when?

You want to do the test run. Why pretend otherwise? You’ve already committed to being in a video, why not see what you’re gonna be working with?

Bob ☀️

9:01pm: today. give me 30 minutes to set up downstairs. does that work?

You send a heart react. You can hear the faint creak of his door opening almost immediately and you feel your stomach turn, suddenly nervous. You know that it’s one thing to sleep with him, another thing completely to do it on camera for an audience. What if you looked back at the footage and you totally sucked; moaned too loud, or sounded too fake. You realise that you haven’t changed since you got back from work, and once again you feel a little ashamed of yourself for letting peeking through your roommate’s OnlyFans distract you from your daily routine. You take a quick shower, slipping into a cotton shirt and shorts, and deciding to go downstairs and see if you can fix yourself a quick bite before you have to go down to the hobby room.

When you get downstairs, there’s a container of fried rice with a sticky note attached. In thin, sprawling handwriting, you see the words “didn’t hear you in the kitchen, ordered Chinese and got you fried rice, hope that’s okay - Bob”. You smile to yourself, ignoring what you suspect are butterflies, and heat up a little bit of the fried rice, grateful. You take your time eating, letting yourself settle a little bit before you head down to the basement. He’s in there, sat at your hobby desk, shirtless and distracted by his phone when you walk in. He looks up when he hears the door click behind you and smiles, putting his phone face down on your desk.

You can’t help but stare, first at the broad planes of his shoulder, then down to his abs, much more defined than you’d imagined. Seeing him like this in person feel so much more breathtaking than seeing it through a screen. You let your eyes follow the trail of golden brown hair disappearing into his sweatpants, snapping back up when you see the shape of him along his thigh.

Jesus Christ, it was actually real.

“You okay? You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, really, my subscribers will be okay if they get this a little late, it’s all good I really don’t mind.”

“You’re so different on camera,” you mumble.

“Sorry?”

“Never mind. I’m fine really, just tell me what to do,” you say.

He motions towards a divider that’s been put up in the middle of the room, “Ladies first,” he says, standing as you pass him. You feel him behind you, hands ghosting over your waist as he ushers you into the mini studio he has set up. This half of the hobby room feels like a different world. There are posters on the wall that you recognise from his videos, and he’s got a mirror near the foot of the spare bed. He has a camera set up on a tripod, and you can see the red recording light blinking. Propped up on a mini table, out of view of the camera is a tablet playing a livestream of what the camera is recording. He has a hand held camera on the bedside table, red light also flashing. You see what you assume is a bluetooth remote on the bed, and you also notice that it’s brighter in this half of the room thanks to a set of lights he has in each corner.

“I don’t normally film my own stuff, but figured this would be more comfortable for you, since you’re not… you don’t do this.”

“I didn’t realise you had a camera man,” you say, more to yourself than him.

“Yeah. You’ve met him before. Joaquin. Real cool dude. Helped me get started on OF; let me pay him peanuts for filming some of my first collabs.”

He’s pressing himself closer to you, pushing you towards the bed. When you guys get there, he turns you around, pushing you so you’re sitting down. You feel the bed dip as he sits down next to you. He tilts your head so you’re looking at him.

“Don’t worry about the cameras, that’ll be my job. Look, if…if this makes you too nervous I can-”

You pull him into you, cutting him off with a kiss.

“It’s fine, I’m fine, I’m a grown woman who made this choice by myself. Stop worrying about me,” you say.

He seems to snap into focus, the air between you charged as he leans back in, pressing his lips to yours. He pulls you into his lap so that you’re straddling him, detaching briefly to stare at you with stormy eyes. You’re breathing hard, and his hands move around you, slipping under the hem of your shorts to cup your ass. He squeezes.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles, dragging his bottom lip through his teeth. “So soft,” he says into your shirt, kneading the flesh of your ass. His voice is so husky it’s almost unrecognisable. “I have to ask you. When was the last time you got tested?”

He’s still kneading, and it makes it hard to focus on what he’s asking. One of his hands moves to cradle your face, tilting it slightly so you’re looking at him when he asks again: “When was the last time you got tested?”

“Um, a year and a half ago I think. I’m clean. I haven’t had sex since,” you admit, embarrassed. He smiles, hand moving down to the side your neck, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Sorry to hear that,” he mumbles before he’s kissing you again, sucking on your bottom lip, pushing his tongue into your mouth. He repositions you so he’s got a thigh between your legs, and he’s holding you against him firmly when he pulls away again. “Hard nos? Anything you won’t do at all?”

He’s still using his free hand to move you against his thigh and you can’t think when you feel the muscle underneath you, dragging against your core. His other hand is under your chin, making sure you look at him. You’re doing everything you can to stop your brain turning into mush.

“Anal, no choking… I don’t mind a hand around my throat as long as you don’t squeeze. Um, I don’t think I can give you head yet-”

“Yet? So it’s in my future then?” He’s smiling at you, but there’s something dark in his eyes and you can feel your stomach tighten.

Maybe, you think. What comes out of your mouth is a shaky “Yeah.” Fantastic collaboration between your brain and your mouth once again.

“Anything else?” he mumbles, dipping his head to kiss at your jawline.

“I don’t know, I don’t think so,” you manage to get out.

He’s on you again pretty much instantly, hand coming down from your face to paw at your tits over your shirt. He pulls away from you briefly, hands feeling around the bed before he has the remote in hand. He’s eyeing the screen of the tablet and you can see the camera lens zooming in. Then he’s turning you — just a little — so that the camera has a better view. He’s back on you, kissing down your neck; one hand rocking you against his thigh gently, the other pushing the hem of your t-shirt up. You instinctively turn away from the camera when you feel the cold air over your chest.

“No, no honey it’s alright, c’mon let the camera see, they’re so perfect, ” he’s saying as he adjusts you again. He’s dipping his head, taking one of your nipples in your mouth, flicking his tongue over your nipple until it pebbles. His hand work the other one, before he adjust you slightly so he can wrap his mouth around the other one. He’s groaning into your chest, and when he pulls away with a light ‘pop!’, he looks at you. “Can I take this off?” he asks, tugging at the hem of your shirt slightly. You just nod, lifting your arms to make it easier for him. “Fuck, there we go. So much better for me,” he sighs as he nips at the flesh around your nipple, running his tongue over immediately after to soothe it. He still has a hand cupping your ass, moving you against his thigh where you can feel him hardening, even through the layer of your shorts and his sweats. it’s so dizzying that you need to put a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself. You’re whimpering, and you can feel him smiling against your chest when your thighs tense around his.

He detaches so he can lay you on the bed, and then he reaches over for the camcorder.

“Hold this for me, just point it at me, try keeping it steady.” He’s smiling into your skin as he kisses a path down your stomach. You’re watching him through the monitor as he licks along your waistband, electrifying. You feel stuck in place when he takes it between his teeth, pulling it down slightly, using his hands to get it down the rest of the way. He lets out a low whistle when he see the underwear you’re wearing. A very thin, very lacy lavender number that you’d pretty much given up on ever using. “You got dressed up for me?” he says, adjusting you, spreading your legs so that the main camera can see you better. You look up from the camcorder monitor briefly, checking the tablet. There’s an obvious wet spot, and if not for Bob holding you open, you would’ve snapped your thighs together. “Oh my god, you’re so hot,” he’s mumbling into the skin of your thighs, his knuckle grazing over the wet spot softly. “You good up there with my camera?” he asks, staring at you through the camcorder. You just nod. It’s taking all you have to hold it steady, and you can feel that resolve waning as he keeps running his knuckle over your clothed slit, so gentle but you still feel like you’re on fire. “Mmmm, good. You’re so good for me,” he says. he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, near your knee. Then another one, slightly higher. And another, moving up, peppering you with kisses until he’s right over that wet spot. He looks at you through the camera as he just… breathes over it. He uses his knuckle to push at your clothed slit and the pressure makes you buck your hips up and whine. “Easy. You’re so fucking sensitive. It’s really been over a year?” You just nod. You don’t think you can speak. When he presses his thumb over your clothed clit you whine, an embarrassing high-pitched sound that makes him smile.

He leans down again and places his mouth over you, still looking at you through the camera. “Holy fuck, honey,” he groans, tongue flat over that damn wet spot, and you feel him tense it as he runs it up and down your slit, flicking it over your clit. You’re trying to keep your eyes open, to focus on the task he’s given you, but it feels damn near impossible. You want more. You think he reads your mind, because he hooks his fingers into the waistband and pulls them down. You watch him pocket the damn thing, and that lazy grin from his profile picture is plastered on his face.

“You’re gonna let me keep them, right sweets?” You just nod, shaky. He soreads your folds open for the main camera, whistling. “You’re this wet already, haven’t even touched you properly yet,” he’s saying. “She’s so pretty for me, honey, fuck. You should look at her,” he says. And you do, watching on the tablet screen as he runs his finger along your slit, collecting your arousal on his finger before he brings up to his mouth and sucks on it, eyes fluttering shut. “Knew you’d taste good, fuck. Gimme the camcorder sweetheart, just for a little bit.” You hand it to him, and watch as he points it at your pussy. “Keep ‘em open for me okay,” he mutters as he uses his free hand to collect more of your slick on his fingers, spreading it around, laughing when you flutter around nothing every time he traces around your hole. “Needy girl aren’t you?” he says low. He hands you the camcorder. “Keep it steady for me, angel,” is all he says before he pushes a finger in, his mouth over your clit.

You’re not ready, and you yell out “fuck!”, camcorder tilting when your hands fall into the sheets. “Focus,” he says into your pussy as he curls his finger inside you, tongue still on your clit. You bring the hand with the camcorder up, point it at him again. Your other hand is gripping the sheets so hard you swear you can feel it in your shoulder. His free hand that was keeping you pinned to the bed, reaches up, curling around one of your tits, massaging as he works you with his mouth and fingers. Every whine and whimper he pulls out of you feels more embarrassing than the last, but he never stops. He just keeps going, pace consistent. The hand on your chest disconnects briefly, feeling around for yours. When he disentangles your fingers from the sheets he moves it over to his hair. “You can pull on it. I like it,” he says before he pushes another finger in. Your thighs tense, and you grip his hair hard. “That’s it, good girl,” he groans into your cunt, tongue and fingers moving faster. He’s alternating between sucking and just lazily flicking his tongue over you, looking up into the camera as he does. You can feel yourself climbing, a tight ball forming in the pits of your stomach. He must feel it too because he speeds up, sucking harder, flicking his tongue over you faster. “C’mon sweetheart you can do it,” he says when he feels you begin to flutter around his fingers. His free hand comes back down to pin you to the bed. “Fuck, you’re so close I can feel it, please. Need this, need to see you unwind,” he says, “wondered how you feel when you cum, wanna feel you angel, please,” he almost pleads. There’s something about this admission that pushes you over the edge, fills your head with a dense fog that you’re not sure you ever want to clear up. When it clears he’s staring up at you, proud.

“Still good?” he asks, taking the camcorder out of your tingling hands.

“Yeah. Are you?” you ask. He’s between your thighs and you can feel how hard it is. You’d probably be able to see it too if you were brave enough to look.

“I’m about to be,” he answers, putting the camcorder down so he can pull his sweats off. He’s not wearing underwear, you realise, when his cock springs free, tip against his abdomen. You clench around nothing when you follow the vein along his underside, watch as he wraps his hand around himself, uses the other one to pick the camcorder up. “We’ll take it slow alright, tell me if it’s too much,” he says. He spreads your legs a little further, still checking the view from the main camera. “Perfect,” he purrs, “so fucking perfect, oh my god I just knew you would be,” he’s saying as he runs his tip along your slit. He pauses for a moment, laying his length against you, just admiring.

“You ready?” he’s asking, when he finally lines the tip up with your hole, gently pressing in. You just nod. You can’t trust yourself to speak. You arch up pretty much immediately when he pushes the tip in. It’s just the tip but holy shit, it feels like so much, you don’t know how you’re supposed to take the rest. “Easy, angel,” he says stilling so you can adjust, “fuck, you feel good, and that’s just the tip. You’re gonna fit like a glove,” he’s mumbling. He draws circles around your clit with his thumb, slow and careful as he begins pressing in further, camcorder trained on the spot where he’s disappearing into you. It feels like forever until his hips are finally flush against yours, but he doesn’t move just yet. He squeezes your hip. “Still good?”

You nod. You feel so full, you might just cry when he starts moving. “Fuck, I was right. You fit like a dream, honey. You’re so soft, fuck, I could probably cum like this,” he groans. He shifts slightly, leaning back, pulling your legs so that they’re resting over his thighs. Then he starts rocking into you, gentle. You feel like you’re on fire, burning from the inside out. The drag of his cock along your walls is so delicious, even as you struggle to keep from crying out. You can’t stop the little whimpers and whines and pleas for more. “More? You want more?” he asks, speeding up. You’re whispering please, over and over and over again when he eventually just starts ramming into you, bodies connecting with obscene sounding slaps, his hand still pushing you down into the mattress as he moves, laser focused on watching you through the monitor. “Fuck you’re so good, baby. Taking me so well, better than I thought you would. This feel good for you?” he’s asking you. All you can do is moan, broken cries of “yes, so good,” slipping from your lips as he keeps pounding into you, relentless. He moves the hand that’s on your hip to one of your breasts, just squeezing it in his hand, still watching through the monitor.

“Play with them for me angel—fuck—please do it for me.” He’s got the camera angled so he can see everything below your neck, capturing the way your tits bounce with each thrust. You do what he says, hands coming up to cup them, squeezing, rolling your nipples between your fingers to a chorus of “good girl”s and “oh god you’re a star”s. He uses his thumb to rub your clit, and he’s still watching through the monitor as your own hands falter, hips jolting. “C’mon, angel you’ve got it, don’t stop,” he’s saying. His face is flushed, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. You can see the way his biceps flex when he moves his hand from your clit to your hip again, pinning you down. “Fuck, c’mon, you’re so good,” he says. He’s moving faster, chasing his own high and he leans over to reposition the camcorder on the bedside table so it’s shooting from the neck down. With both hands free, he keeps you pinned down as he rubs your clit. There’s nothing lazy about this anymore, he’s almost desperate, begging you to cum so he can cum too.

He must be a magician, you think as you feel yourself tensing, pulsing around him.

“Not a magician, just lots of practice,” he laughs from above you, still pounding into you, thumb still over your clit.

“Oh god, that’s so embarrassing,” you whine, hands covering your face. Embarrassment doesn’t stop your orgasm from washing over you, and you clench around him.

“Oh honey, don’t be embarrassed, you’re doing s-so good for… for me, shit.”

You’re sensitive now, and he slows down only slightly, still rutting into you.

“I’m almost there alright, where d’you want me?” he’s leaning down to whisper into your ear, chest flush against yours.

You don’t even hesitate. “Inside. It’s fine, I have an IUD.”

He groans, twitches and then his thrusting gets sloppy. “Fuck, you’re killing me. You’re so sweet, letting me cum inside like this… oh my god,” he groans out, stilling. You can feel him twitching inside of you as he finishes, panting in your ear. You feel him press a kiss to your forehead, and then he’s pulling out.

“Sorry,” he kisses into your cheek, when you hiss. You open your eyes, watch him grab the camcorder off the bedside table. He repositions himself so he’s between your legs, camcorder pointed at your pussy. He puts a hand on your lower stomach pushing slightly. “Think you can push it out for me?” he asks. You clench, unsure of whether it’s actually doing anything until you hear him whistle, “You’re a fucking natural,” he says, smiling. It’s soft, like he’s actually proud of you, and you try to ignore the way that makes you feel.

When he’s got all the footage he needs, he puts his pants back on, and promises he’ll be back. And he is, with a warm cloth, a glass of water and a mini packet of sour patch kids. “You probably need the sugar,” he says as he wipes between your legs, gently, taking care not to press too hard.

When he’s done, the sheets are changed, and you’re dressed again— sans underwear because he absolutely refuses to give them back— the two of you turn off all the lights and head back upstairs.

“I’ll uh, look through the footage and send you what something I’d upload would look like, and then you can decide if you still wanna go ahead with it,” he says when he gets to his bedroom. “Really, thanks for doing this for me. Goodnight,” he smiles, as he shuts the door softly behind him.

You don’t need to watch the test run video to know that you’ll be filming that video with him.

[dare-writes]

my creative writing prof is gonna find out i write fanfiction i know it

[dare-writes]

I LOVE NASTTTYY TOMMY FUCKKKK!

STICKY — in progress!

a little sneak peak for my babies in my inbox rn waiting for my next tommy fic!! no definitive date yet, but she'll receive my undivided attention once i finish and post the final chapter of cupids chokehold <3

pairing: toxic situationship!Tommy Miller x kinda maneater!f!reader (listen, they're both bad in this one idk what came over me)

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, infidelity (not against tommy or reader), seduction, implied age gap, public piv, car sex

Nice. She was nice. That’s about all you remember. She’d helped you fix your too-tight dress and gone back inside. Tommy had promised to follow her in a minute, once he finished his cigarette. 

But that hadn’t happened.

Instead, he’d sweet talked you in the way he’s always been good at. Made you feel real special. Put his mouth to your ear and made obscene jokes, the heat of his breath sending goosebumps down your spine.

He’d touched you softly at first. A simple brush of his knuckles across your cheekbone. He‘d flashed that killer smile and his hand found a home on your waist. Drifted lower and lower and before you realized it, he was slipping it up the back of your dress.

In hindsight, that first night should’ve been the red flag to end all red flags. He’d been at the nightclub with someone else, and somehow you’d wound up in the back seat of his truck with his cock buried deep inside you.

No one had ever gotten you to the finish line before that night. A couple of boyfriends had tried, but mostly, you’d had to ignore their rhythm and circle your clit yourself just to get there.

But Tommy wasn’t like that. Not even a little. Seemed to know the way around your body better than you yourself did. Lifted you off of him and replaced his cock with his fingers halfway through, and moved them just right until you’d soaked him, just to slide right back in with a deep groan and that prideful grin on his face.

He liked to talk real nasty in your ear. That much had never changed. That first night, as the condom swelled inside you, he’d looked right into your eyes and said, “Damn, baby. You’ve got the kinda pussy that’ll make a man go fuckin’ crazy.”

If his girlfriend hadn’t been the red flag, you think that should’ve been.

But you were young and dumb and Tommy was older and exciting and delicious.

So, you’d given him your number when he asked for it. 

Rookie mistake.

[dare-writes]

Seamstress

Tommy Miller x fem! Reader

wc: 3.7k

genre: fluff

Warnings: Reader wears dresses often, mentions death (of a minor character), and is a skilled cook and sewer, much like a picture-perfect housewife, but she's not described as such. FEM! Reader, fluff, slight angst, age gap, 50s/30s, undescribed age, Joel bullies Tommy, post-outbreak, so Jackson!Tommy, reader is so whimsy!

Requested by: @woantohae i hope you enjoy 🥹 I started adding some pizzazz to my fic layouts! Ty @/gradient-text for that tut. and also @/saradika-graphics for the dividers. idk, I might keep up with it!

Watching you down the road was like watching a woodland nymph flounce around her little fairy village. Being one of the town's few seamstresses, you wore a lot of your own things, from dresses to flowy skirts and blouses. Everyone made orders with you, as the frontman of the seamstress's little shop, and everyone had alteration or mending requests.

Before Jackson, you were a QZ kid, only a few years old when the outbreak happened. When the world ended, your mom mended it for you, in jackets, sweaters, button-ups, jeans, you name it, your mom mended it and taught you as well. Then you two left, found Jackson, your mom passed away naturally, Jackson’s doctors said cancer, untreatable in the conditions now. You and your mom accepted it. That was only 3 months into being in Jackson.

Tommy would not like to admit that he was part of the population watching you walk down the streets, as if you were a showstopper. Tommy also wouldn’t want to admit that he was a part of the crowd asking you for alterations on his jeans or mending the holes in his jackets.

Like today, Tommy is coming back around, just after his morning patrol. The bell rings upon his entrance, his summer button-up taken off, leaving him stranded in a white tank top. The button-up has splits in the seams, and the pocket practically ripped from them too. You emerged from the back, behind a flowy butter yellow curtain.

Your bright eyes look back at him, and his stomach twists in obsession. “Heya,” he said with a smile.

“Nice to see you, Tommy,” you greeted. “Got somethin’ for me?”

Tommy chuckles while setting the button-up on the counter, “I wish I could wash this one more time, but I need it for tomorrow.” You bat his apology away and smile. You take his shirt and look around it, “We normally wash intake anyways…jus’ don’ tell no one—woahhh Mr. Miller, this looks older than me.”

You don’t notice how he winces, lost in the weathered fabric in observation as you examine the rips and tears. It is older than you, the same one from outbreak day, rewearing what was his youth. Tommy shrilled lowly, “Maybe.”

Yet you remain unbothered about his reply, whether it’s blissful or just didn’t mind the tattered clothing. You look behind you and see rolls of fabric lining the walls. He doesn’t see it, but your eyes land on this thick, sturdy, but thin enough for summer fabric. It was white, even custom-patterned by you with some fabric paint someone managed to scavenge for you. You had one in the process of being made—meant to be exchanged at the town market they’d host soon.

It was perfect for Tommy, though. “Can I measure you? I got new fabrics in, I think you’d like ‘em,” you said with a grin.

“What do I owe you?” Tommy asked after nodding to your question. You tilt your head, “Nothin’ this time. I’m gonna rework this entire thing,” you said, lifting the solid red over shirt. The holes and tearing pocket weren’t the worst, but with your other orders, it would take a few days, especially if she needed the color to match her fabric to the red for the mending.

“I gotta probably color match it, so it’ll take a while. It’ll look brand-spankin’ new, though. I got one nearly done—like you could pick it up in the morning. I just needa make sure the sleeves, shoulders, and back fit.”

“I can’t ask that of you for free. What do you need? I’m going on a run tomorrow. I can get you anything,” Tommy said confidently. You laugh, shake your head, and unwrap the tape measure around your neck. “I got nothing I need, Tommy. Come on over here.”

With a frown, he shakes his head too, either mocking your reaction or genuinely enjoying this back and forth. With a gentle step to his right, his stride was big enough to reach, and he stood by the flip-up countertop. “I’m sure you need something.”

“Nothing,” you repeated assuringly. When you locked the countertop, you were finally able to stand almost face-to-face with each other. Tommy raised an eyebrow, his little smirk saying, ‘I’m sure there’s something.’

You huffed, knowing Tommy wouldn’t accept no, and he stood. “Get me what you think I’ll take as payment.”

“I dunno if I can give you the world,” Tommy said naturally. His eyes widened as soon as he said it, yet you didn’t flinch. With a tepid inhale and smile, you nodded with that pretty sparkle in your eyes, “Give me as close as you can then.”

“What’s the material?”

“I recently patterned it myself,” you said. “I’ll show you in a second.”

Tommy could barely handle himself when you touched his shoulder. What was he, a Victorian woman? Even as you measured him, with a smile on your face and nimble fingers, he just smiled, thankful for your attention. Each touch was smooth and confident with a gentle grace. Tommy knew there was nothing that could make you like him. It would be a travesty for you even to consider Tommy.

Every touch you blessed him with was like an angel connecting to his soul; he was lighter, holier than the man at the beginning of the apocalypse.

Snap out of it, dumbass.

You were 20-something years younger than him; he was already 30-something on Outbreak day, and you were younger than 10 at the time. He was a creep, a weirdo, someone who most certainly didn’t deserve someone like you.

Lost in his own mind, you were already finishing up. You scribbled numbers down, your thumb holding down the length of the measurements. “All done,” you said softly, and you retreated behind the counter. You traced your fingers gently along the seams, “Your shoulders are broader, so I’m gonna cut here and give some more flexibility, same thing here. You’ll look real handsome in it, swear, Tommy.”

Tommy could listen to you talk all day; maybe he would absorb the information, but watching you speak and smile expertly over some button-up made him want you all the more. His eyes followed your hands as if you were holding a ball, and he was a puppy. His eyes watched your nimble fingers, slightly rough from so much handiwork, but not as rough as his. Even his hands screamed, 'Older than you, tougher than you.' However, my endless work

“I’ll get it to you by 11, okay?” Tommy looked at the clock on the wall. “You sure, that’s enough time?”

“Plenty. Don’t worry, I’ll be quick.”

“Don’t needa rush, I got a patrol at three anyways.”

“That’s perfect then, you can come around 2? I go home for lunch, why don’t I bring some lunch too for you? I heard you’re doing construction too by the Tipsy Bison?”

“Yeah, someone’s pipe burst,” Tommy nodded. Then his mind caught up, busy daydreaming about your expressive eyes and big smile. “No, no, no, you don’t gotta make me food.”

“But I want to,” you said simply with a crease on your forehead. Tommy wouldn’t turn down a meal, especially one homemade by you. The food in the hall was bland so that everyone could eat it. Salt and pepper were anyone’s best friends when they craved taste. Homemade meal from you? Score.

“I’ll be damned,” Tommy smiled. “I’ll come by a bit early if you want, can’t wait.”

“Alrighty,” you nodded. Tommy just kept smiling. The time hit him in the head again. “Shit, I gotta get back to work—I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“See ya, Tommy! Be safe out there,” you bid goodbye. Tommy waved and tossed a glance behind him as he jogged out of the shop.

Coincidentally, Tommy was at the Tipsy Bison tonight. Sitting beside Joel, the two shared conversations over beer. Really about nothing, mostly contraction with Tommy tittering to other subjects. When you walked in, the whole damn bar stared. Well, except for Joel, you were just a confidant to Joel ever since you opened up to Joel on one of your last patrols. While Joel didn’t do the same in the moment, Tommy trusted you, so he did too.

With a tilt of his beer, Joel needn’t pay mind to you, so he didn’t. Tommy suspected because Joel didn’t want anyone to know that he trusted you just as much as he did Tommy. Although his mind was flooded with facts and tidbits about you, he was enamored by everything. Wearing a blouse and the tightest pair of jeans Tommy has ever seen on a person before, he thinks you’d make a great wife on a farm, pretty, delicate, definitely able to hold your own.

“Y’r staring, dumbass,” Joel spoke into his beer. Tommy knocks his open hand into his chest, sloshing the beer up Joel’s nose. “You fuckin’—“ Joel pinched Tommy. “Wake up, weirdo, and quit starin’ at her like that.”

That didn’t matter; our voice was clear across the bar, and after that, you laughed at someone’s joke. He wished he didn’t care. Tommy was obsessed, but you were just too fucking young for him. So, he listened to his big brother.

Tearing his eyes off you felt like his heart shattered on its own accord.

He listened to every word you said, smiled when you laughed, and sighed when you stopped for someone else’s turn to talk.

“You lovesick fuckin’ dog, I’m sick of you,” Joel grunted. “Gotta get home, got shift in the mornin’.”

Before Joel could do his old man, hand on the table, hand fixing his belt, you waltzed over with a drink in hand. “Tommy, Joel, how are you two?”

Joel would’ve laughed, honestly, Tommy knows it. Joel hid himself behind his beer while he spoke, “I’m alright, how’s business been at the shop?”

“Easier, everyone’s bringing in their thinner summer apparel, so it’s not too bad,” you shrugged. Ordering another drink, you leaned against the bar top. When your drink was served, you took a quick sip and pursed your lips. “How about you, patrol good?”

Joel hummed, “A bit harder, cause of the heat, the horses aren’t all that happy.” You ahhh’d, turning to Tommy with a gentle smile. “How ‘bout you?”

He cleared his throat, eyes a little wide and caught off guard. “It’s fine, I’m not a horse whisperer like Joel, so I've just been leaving that to him. Routes are clearer, prettier. Needa go on a run, look for what I owe you,” Tommy explained.

Tommy ignored the way you looked at him like he spoke the world to existence; you were just drunk.

“Take your time, Tommy,” you cheerfully smiled. With a glance to the side, your demeanor deflated slightly. “My friends want me to come back over. Thanks for the chat.”

“G’Bye,” Joel replied. Tommy said your name gently with his goodbye, and when you were far enough, Joel snorted at his brother. “You’re a fuckin’ loser. I’m goin’ home.”

“Man, fuck you.”

Tommy did come by the next day. He could smell the hot food in the back. The bell jingled, and you came out from the back with a smile. “Right on time, Miller. Come on back here.”

Tommy followed you past the lifted countertop. There it was. A clean table, where a scavenged sewing machine had once been, sat two Tupperware containers side by side, packed, with steam pressing against the clear lids.

“Didn’t know when you’d be by, so I just kept it warm in its container,” you said as you gestured to the chair across from another. You apologized in advance, saying you had made it. Pasta, and the meatballs, down to the sauce; everything had been made in your home kitchen by hand. Tommy took that first bite, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip as he groaned in satisfaction. Some simple ass meals, just pasta noodles, vodka sauce, spinach, and some meatballs. But these were all especially made by you. “Lord, this food is some of the best I’ve had,” Tommy complimented.

Shoveling food into his mouth like a starved man, he finished while you lagged. You would rather watch Tommy eat than eat yourself. With a groan, Tommy leaned back, patting his stomach lightly. “Thank you so much,” Tommy said genuinely.

You grew a little warm, and batted it away with your hands, “‘s just lunch, Tommy.”

“Doesn’t make it any less fantastic.”

He wished he could just eat lunch with you forever; he honestly did. But he knew the looks he would get, visiting you every day, not a clothing item in hand, coming out fuller than the moon. He was a council member, for God's sake, he shouldn’t be doing anything to ruin his image.

“I’m making pot roast on Sunday, do you wanna come over for dinner?”

Fuck. You evil temptress.

Of course, just of course, dumbass Tommy says, “If you don’t mind.”

“Oh, please, Tommy. You’re always welcome to my place.”

Lord, don’t ever say that again. I wouldn’t know what I might do with that information, he begged to whoever watched over the skies of the apocalypse. They were monstrous for landing you here in Jackson with him; he wanted you whole.

“Then, I’ll see you on Sunday?”

“Not without this, you won’t,” you stood up with a snicker. You unzipped a garment bag, pulling out his new shirt. White with brown-red fabric paint decorating the chest pocket, paint from the collar down to the shoulders that weren’t there before. The swirls and floral brushstrokes gave it a countryside-influenced look.

“Now, all that wasn’t there before,” Tommy said as he stood up to look at it with you.

Your shoulders barely touched, but Tommy could feel it. Feel you.

“Ehhh, may have gotten inspired. Saw it in an old magazine we have, tried it out,” you said nervously. Your thumb dragged across it; most of it was embroidered. Simple designs, it was still a rush job, but it was pretty.

“I love it,” Tommy whispered. His hand reached to trace it too, the embroidery a mix of red, brown, and a hint of orange.

“Good, it’s yours,” you smiled.

Tommy faced you, holding the fabric in his hands and gently clenched it, “This is amazing.”

“Tell me another time, you got work soon, dontcha?”

Tommy cursed and laughed at himself, “You’re right. I’ll see you another time.” You walked him back to the front, staying behind the counter as he passed and headed towards the door.

“Sunday at 6!”

“Sunday at 6!” Tommy replied, the bell chiming as he exited.

The entirety of Sunday, Tommy felt a little shaken. Like every nerve in his body was vibrating so fast he wasn’t real. His palms wrapped around a bouquet, flowers he’d seen at your shop, literally stopping to smell the flowers. It was tied off with skinny twine. The few days he was gone, he didn’t find a lot. Mostly shitty stuff, broken and unusable, but thankfully, spring gave summer beautiful flowers. Wrapping his hand into a fist, he knocked gently on your door. It had pretty flowers drawn onto it, hand-painted by you. The blue made it look like fine china.

You opened your door, wearing a white cotton dress with a sage green apron on top. Tommy stared with stars in his eyes.

“Hey, come on in, Tommy,” you said, breathing through your gentle smile. You stepped aside and gestured in.

“Couldn’t find nothin’ good, but I found these,” Tommy said awkwardly as he walked in, his boots causing some wood to creak under his weight.

“They’re perfect,” you hummed casually. “I’m sure you know your way around, all the houses look the same. You're welcome to join me in the kitchen if you'd like. I don't really use the dining room.”

Tommy followed, the flowers in his hands still as he crept behind you quietly, like he wanted to shrink himself to hide.

You noticed, but just said nothing. Your walk slowed, letting him catch up and bump shoulders. He muttered his sorry and pulled back. You had set up the table, with the pot roast still on the stove and dishes beside it to be plated.

“You want a beer,” you asked as you sidled up to the steaming pot and pulled the lid off. The over-stove fan ate the steam, and you set up the vase for Tommy’s flowers. Neatly settling them in with a good amount of water.

“No, I’m good with water,” Tommy said, looking over the ice water pitcher set on the cafe sized table. “Help yourself,” and Tommy did. He also poured your water. He joined your side, taking a finished plate into his hand and the other to walk it over.

“Tommy, you’re the guest—”

“Too late,” he smiled as he let the plate settle into the placemats gently. He even pulled out your chair.

You watched Tommy eat in silence as you picked at your food slowly. Eating food slowly just to watch him enjoy the meal.

“You’re awfully nice to invite me over for such a good god damn dinner,” Tommy sighed as he leaned back into his chair. His elbows rested on the armrests, and his hands were over his stomach again. He didn’t miss the way your tongue licked nothing at the side of your mouth.

With all your gall and confidence, you cleared your throat quietly.

“You know I invited you here as a date,” you said gently, finally taking another bite. You chewed in silence, like Tommy didn’t hear you. But he did, he most certainly did.

“What?”

“I like you—you really think I would give you a shirt for free? Man, Tommy, you really are a playboy, huh?”

“No! No, I am not!” Tommy cleared his throat. “No—I just don’t think this makes sense.”

Pouting your lips, “Whus’that mean?”

“You’re just…you… an’…” I’m old, I’ve got a shitty back, kinda shitter knees. You’re 22 years younger than me, you’re smart, kind, talented, too good for me?

“I’m just me,” Tommy poorly explained. Your stomach roiled and Tommy watched you closely for your reaction. You didn’t expect your eyes to water in rejection, but they did.

You dropped your head, scooted the chair back, and stood up.

“I should probably clean up,” you muttered as you gathered your half-eaten plate and his emptied plate. Tommy rose with you, taking the plates from you and settling them back down.

“No—baby, it’s just… ” Tommy paused to think. “I don’t deserve someone like you. You’re like an angel to everyone here, hell, I heard Dina talkin’ ‘bout how to ask you on a date two days ago. ‘Fore that the new group was askin’ if you were single—baby you’re too good...”

“That doesn’t matter; no one else matters,” you replied stalely. Tommy rounded the table and stood in front of you, arms open for a hug. You hesitated before leaning in, your face squished against him. “‘Cause I like you, Tommy. Don’t want no one else, they ain’t as good as you.”

“Oh, I find that hard to believe,” Tommy grunted. His hand swirled your back, the other rested by your neck as you relaxed into him. “You don’t need any old man, ain’t half as spry as the rest of the guys your age.”

“You’re only 22 years older,” you huffed quietly.

“Only? Girl, that’s two whole decades,” Tommy snorted.

“Doesn’t mean I want you any less,” you said, looking up at him, shiny eyes and hushed from gently crying. Tommy was a weak man; with a sigh, he watched your watery eyes shimmer. “You even cry pretty.” One hand left your neck and wiped your tears dry with his thumb. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Doesn’t make me stop wanting you.”

His heart sped up, and he was sure you heard it as you smiled up at him coyly. Your hand rested on his chest, and you drummed your fingers before taking his collar into your pointer and thumb, as if assessing the fabric. “Do you really?”

“I do,” you shyly said this time.

“Say it again, baby,” Tommy begged slowly. His chest rumbled under your hands, and your fingers tightened ever so slightly. He saw your little knuckles whiten slightly in anxiety. Tommy’s big hand squeezed yours, and you met his eyes again.

“I want you, ‘wanna be with you,” you mumbled. Your eyes watched Tommy eagerly before he leaned down. Kissing your lips was like the pearly gates opening for him. Tommy had kissed plenty of women in his time, but nothing matched your kiss.

It was gentle and sweet when you kissed him, like a secret meant for only you and him. You pulled away slowly just to whisper, “Do you want me too?”

“Hell yes, I do, baby,” Tommy laughed before kissing your lips one more time. He pulled off with a sly groan, “You taste like beauty.”

“You tasted like potatoes and carrots.”

“You little shit,” Tommy grunted before digging his fingers into your sides as you yelped under him.

“Tommy!” You shrieked in laughter, “Stop it!”

“Repeat it! Dare you!”

You laughed in giggles under his torturous hands. You were slowly slinking into the ground, him standing over you as he tickled your sides and neck. Your arms squeezed in to protect your body. In one last attempt, you shouted, “I want you!”

Weakly, Tommy groaned and kissed you again into the floor, his legs over yours. “Promise?”

“I promise, Tommy.”

“Goddamn,” he breathed. He slid off you and lay beside you on the kitchen floor.

“Tommy,” you sighed after a long moment of catching your breath. His head rolled against the floor to you, repeating your name back stately in response.

“You think you love me?”

“You love me?”

“Maybe.”

“Even if I’m old?”

“Even when you’re all gray.”

Tommy grinned as he teasingly replied, “Hm, then I think I do love you.”

“You better,” you said, flipping onto your side. “Because I love you too.” Untying your apron, you pulled it off.

“And because I had made this dress to maybe match that shirt I made you.” Under the apron revealed a similar pattern to the one on his new work shirt you had made.

Grasping your face in his hand, he stared into your eyes like they were magic. “God, you’re incredible.”

“Jus’ like you, Tommy Miller.”

“Yeah, jus’ like me, I suppose.”

taglist

[dare-writes]

Tommy! I’m stuck!

—

You get stuck in your window before a party. Thank God your hot stepdad is home.

Stepdad! Tommy Miller x female reader.

genre: porn. dirty ass step-dad porn MDNI, 18+

wc: 2.3k

(n)sfw warnings: porn with some plot, stepdad! tommy miller, age gap (22/34), college reader, reader has a nondescript tramp tattoo, unprotected p-in-v, creampie! rimming, fingering, oral (f! receiving), three reader orgasms, orgasm denial if you squint (Tommy), daddy kink, missionary, eating from behind, prone bone + headlock, munch tommy, anal fingering, mom bashing (sorry mom), tommy genuinely likes reader romantically, reader genuinely likes tommy romantically, spanking, couple of titty slaps, spit kink, implied sharing with uncle joel, Tommy uses little as a comparison of his cock to your pussy, Tommy Miller’s tummy heart eyes, implied aftercare. Halloween…..!

nicknames: baby, nasty girl, dirty girl, babygirl, one wild usage of slut.

__

You couldn’t believe this situation. It was straight out of porn, but here you are stuck in the window, your clothing caught on something while you writhed out to be freed from the window’s clutches.

Your grunts of irritation were quiet, but loud in the cold air. The hook of the screen you had popped out ages ago grabbed onto some part of your Loki costume, but you didn’t even know where from your position.

Luckily, your knees were able to rest against the bay window seats Tommy put in for you in your room. Lightbulb, speaking of your lovely Stepdad, you think he was home? Come on, shit for brains, think! Those two Tito’s shots can’t have fucked you up this badly!

Your stepdad had a soft spot for you; you both knew it. It was emotionally upsetting for you to see your mom with the charismatic contractor while you were stuck flirting with lame fraternity brothers. Not that your mom didn’t deserve love or whatever, it’s just that she doesn’t nearly do enough for Tommy as a wife or even as a housemate. Leaving behind messes, never takes out the garbage, eats food marked Tommy’s Lunch at the dead of night before you or him are awake.

You did the cooking and cleaning. Tommy brought home a lovely smell of himself, sawdust, and sweat. Your mom brought home a decent salary while working more than half the hours in the month.

Back on track! Tommy was fucking home, it was a Friday night, and ever since his party-boy era ended, he recluses to the garage. More importantly, he was home; your mom was not.

Tommy was also wildly hot. He was younger than your mom, but older than you by at least 12 years. Go cougar mom! But he oozed older daddy kink to you with his growing stache, his hair was either gelled back or just naturally fell back as it grew out from his summer cut, and that fucking tummy. Your personal work of art, stuffing Tommy full with your cooking and meals.

Most importantly, Tommy worked shirtless in the backyard while you tanned in a bikini in the summer.

More often than not, you saw him glance at the swell of your breasts or the subtle stare of your tramp stamp taunting him while you tanned your back. Your bikini’s got smaller in response. Tommy was outside more often.

You two danced around each other while your mom worked day in and day out.

A light flicked in your head when you saw the lights of the garage still on. Tommy worked late at night on something his brother made him pick up rather than drinking every weekend. Your room was also above the garage. You started hitting your knee into the wall as loudly as you could. “Tommy! Help! I’m fuckin’ stuck!” You cursed. It took another ten minutes of complaining for any response.

“Tommy! I’m stuck!”

A door slammed, and Tommy’s footsteps stomped up the stairs. Tommy rarely got mad, but his voice boomed from the stairwell, your name on his lips, “The hell are you making all that rucus for!”

The door swung open, and there it was on display. Your green thong with black fishnets and a green skirt with gold body jewelry stared back at him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tommy sighed as he pushed forward with a soft groan.

“I have been stuck for the last 10 minutes while you jerked off and drank in the fucking garage,” you hissed in annoyance.

“I’m not in the mood for an attitude, girlie,” Tommy responded. Not being able to see him was killing you. You wanted to see his face, let him see your tits in this stupid green lingerie we were calling a bra, or see his reaction to your semi-freshly waxed cunt.

“I’m not in the mood to be stuck in a window,” you grumbled back.

A swift smack against your ass echoed in your room, and you jolted in shock. “What the hell did I just say?” Tommy hissed as he smoothed his hand on the round of your ass, as if that would smooth the stinging he left behind. Your thighs, which were firmly pressed together by the window, had a growing wet spot.

“Tommy, what the fuck—” You challenged hotly. You had no intention of fighting him. This dance has gone on long enough; it was worse than sitting through a second rerun of Swan Lake back to back. Tommy muttered something you couldn’t hear through the barrier of the window.

“You get stuck? What, trynna sneak out to some party?” Tommy asked louder this time. You could feel him, close but not touching. Hovering your exposed skin, there was a warm presence near you that could only be Tommy. “Clearly,” you snarled back.

“Beg,” he repeated louder this time.

“What? Tommy, get me the fuck out—”

THWACK

He slapped your ass again, the other cheek this time. “I said to fucking beg, not none of this princess bullshit,” Tommy repeated hotly. You swore you felt something drip down your thighs.

You squeezed your plush thighs together and held in a moan with your teeth biting into your lower lip. That wasn’t what Tommy asked for, though, “Beg,” he demanded. You stuttered out as you felt him hook one finger on the string of your thong. You could feel his knuckle drag up and down your ass, never going between, but antagonistic.

At some point, you begin to think your thoughts are muddled together, and that this had to be a dream. Tommy would never cheat on your mother, let alone with you. He was a loyal lover, but you remember him staring at your tits in disbelief when he met you for the first time on your 20th birthday.

“Tommy… please,” you said into the night air. Tommy hummed disapprovingly. “Try again,” he responded. His touch got lighter; he was pulling away. The hot gold ring tickled your ass into another jump in shock. “Please, Tommy, help me,” you tried.

“With what?” He asked tauntingly. When you didn’t reply, he finally moved his finger. Now his finger tips glided back and forth tantalizingly, his fingers were sliding down your lips, grazing your clit too softly. “Do you want help? Help where? Here?” He asked as his finger tip pushed in finally. “Or maybe here,” he asked as his other hand grabbed something on the window. Perhaps whatever your costume got caught on, but you didn’t care.

“Tommy,” you panted pathetically. “Please fuck me,” you said airily, trying to push your hips into him. “Please fuck me, I want it,” you begged like he asked.

“Dirty girl,” Tommy started with a voice of disappointment. “But at least you beg pretty.” His two fingers slammed in with no hesitation, his thick fingers already stretching you wide open. It was sore, and your thighs pushed together definitely made the squeeze even better for you and Tommy.

“Beggin’ to fuck y’r stepdad? The hell is wrong with you?” he said behind you. You heard his belt unbuckle, but you felt nothing grow closer to you. Instead, his knees met the wood floor, his fingers left for a moment, and his tongue dragged a fat stripe up your pussy. You cried in pleasure as you felt the heat of his breath while he continued to tongue your pussy.

When he pulled away, you whined. Tommy ignored it, spitting onto your hole. Not your pussy, your asshole. His fingers dipped back into your pussy, then his tongue met your hole. Thank god for everything showers.

“Tommy—No, no no, not there—” You tried as you squirmed in the window. The arm that wasn’t fingerblasting you into oblivion wrapped around your thighs and pulled you into his face. “Yes, Tommy, yes here,” he taunted with his tongue against your tight hole.

His fingers were meaty, so when he put in a third, you felt real ba. The three punching into your g-spot while his tongue ate you up made you squeeze around him as you got closer.

Suddenly, you didn’t mind his mess, your wet tongue on your ass as you got closer to finishing. The arm wrapping around your thighs left, now holding the cleft of your left cheek, “Tommy, fuck please, please, please let me cum, Tommy!” Tommy smiled at you with a crude slurp, “Go on, y’can cum dirty girl.”

You felt his thumb catch on your tight hole when his tongue left. In just a few thrusts, you were bucking into his hands, chasing your high until your stomach churned and you cried.

Tommy whistled when you soaked his fingers, but he kept fucking you through your dissipating high. He took his thumb out slowly, and you whined, pushing your hips back into him. “So fucking good, so pretty too,” Tommy complimented before he spat onto your hole, letting it drip down to your pussy.

Easing his fingers out, Tommy pulled down his jeans, the metal buckle hitting the floor. “You gonna be extra good, beg for daddy’s cock?”

“Fuck, fuck please help… daddy help I’m stuck I wanna see you,” you moaned as you pushed your hips as much as you could back into him.

His tip slapped against your dripping hole. Drool pooled in your mouth, the cold air thankfully cooling the heat creeping up your neck. “Give me… please give me it.”

Wordlessly, his hand wrapped around your front and fiddled with it. Metal clinking and clanking until the tension on your hip was gone. Then he yanked you in, throwing you onto the bay window seating. “But I’m afraid I need to see these fuckin’ tits while you take me.”

It happened so fast, you barely even knew what was happening. Tommy was so fucking hot, towering over you, slightly sweaty, his lips and mustache still wet from eating you out. Then you looked at his fat cock, pressed against the belly you are responsible for with all your cooking.

His hands rested on your hips, above your thighs, while gently stroking them with his thumbs. “Ready?” Tommy asked. It was rhetorical because before you could get your head on straight, his tip was pressing in. You moaned loudly and threw your head back. “Fuck—no, no, it’s too big—”

Tommy laughed, “Am I babygirl? Too big for this slut?” Tommy stilled, halfway in, you assume. He wasn’t close enough to be balls deep.

One hand lifted from your waist and dragged down the lazy excuse for a bra you wore under black mesh. “Pretty fuckin’ tits, look at that-” he squeezed one, slapping it, testing your tolerance for the pain. When you moaned instead, he smiled.

Then Tommy slammed in, and you shouted. “Tight little fuckin’ thing,” he muttered as he pounded into you. His eyes didn’t watch your tits move.

“Makin’ such a pretty face—oh look at those pretty eyes roll,” Tommy complimented. His stiff cockhead hit your g-spot, and your thighs were shaking. After kneeling for nearly 15 minutes and being fucked into oblivion on your stepdad’s finger, you were feeling a little weak.

The hand left on your hip trailed down, lifting one leg to rest on his chest. His lips kissed your ankles and bit down. “Fuck you’re tight, fuck squeezin’ me so much, baby, I’m not going anywhere.”

“This pussy’s too good to leave it alone.”

“Never gonna stop fuckin’ her.”

“Please—wait, fuck, my—god Tommy I wanna cum,” you moaned brokenly. Each thrust was different in some way, but consistent. His fat cock raw inside you felt so good. Then he lowered himself down to hover over you. The squeeze and stretch as he forced you to bend in half made your eyes widen. Tommy hummed, “Go on, baby, you can.”

He kissed you.

Not hard either, a little hungry, but more for desire and need. Moaning into him while his untrimmed hair brushed into your sensitive cunt made you flutter around him. His thrusts deepened perfectly, knowing exactly what you needed. This orgasm was hotter than the last. It was driving you insane. He was so big while bending you in half. Here Tommy Miller was, making out with you like you were his lover when you were his step daughter.

“Wanna get on all fours, baby?” Tommy asked. You groaned in displeasure. That was a no. Tommy compromised, his cock still fucking your tight snatch, “Lay on your stomach.”

You leaned up, looking up at him dizzily. He laughed and kissed your lips again, helping turn you onto your stomach after he pulled out. Your pussy winked at him, and he groaned. Your face lands on a heart-shaped pillow in your favorite color.

With no time wasted, he slid back in with a guttural moan. “Such a good fucking cunt,” he breathed into your ear. His knee in the air as he put his foot onto the other side of you, his cock felt bigger this time, splitting you open like wood. You cried again, teary-eyed, and he crooned. “Oh, baby… don’t cry, I gotcha, baby.” His hands ran up and down your back. Spit landed back on your slightly stretched hole, and you breathed in shakily.

“Can I, baby?”

Before you even knew it, the dizziness in your head spoke for you, “Yes, daddy.” It was languid from

your lips all for Tommy to roll his eyes back with a deeper thrust into you. “Oh… baby, so good for daddy hm,” Tommy cooed as his thumb pushed in. Immediately matching the pace of his thundering claps into your pillowy ass. He lowered his knee to your side, his hot breath fanning against your sticky skin.

“Baby, fuck, I needa cum,” Tommy hissed through gritted teeth. His arms steadied beside your head. Kissing your neck and back, he praised you, “My baby’s pussy’so, tight had to change positions.”

“Fuck, nasty girl, came twice on me already, likes it in her ass too? What more can a man ask for?”

Tommy was rambling as he got closer, his dirty talk was worse than messy, it was just filthy. It was all going to your head, and he too, the compliments and slight degradation while he used your hole in the name of pleasure.

“Gonna fuck this next,” Tommy said, sliding one finger in place of his thumb. “N’ share you with Uncle Joel if you like it.” Your hips shoved back into him in a beg, yes, share, me, but I wanna be yours.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby don’t—” Tommy groaned. You pushing back into him disrupting his tactical rhythm to let him last longer. “Fuck, gonna make me cum, want it in you? Want it in your ass?” Tommy asked. “I know you’re on birth control,” he taunted.

“In…” You could practically hear Tommy smirk as you said in. “In where?” Tommy asked. “Tell me where, baby, your pretty pussy? Or your tight ass?”

You moaned “pussy” but that wasn’t clear enough. His slams sharpened, deepened, but slowed at the same time. His words slow too as he asked you for clarification. “Y’r’ pretty pussy or your tight ass?”

“Pretty… pretty pussy please daddy,” you cried. Tommy snaked his arm between your neck and the pillow, low, and you choked on your moan as he pressed up. “Paint your pretty pussy, baby?”

“No! Nonon—No, cum in my pussy please, daddy,” you huffed out as you wiggled under him. In the headlock, your cunt was even tighter as he asphyxiated your throat slightly.

“I guess I have, too, hm? Baby asked so, fucking nicely, squeezing Daddy, so fucking nicely,” Tommy said. With you moaning under him, tears streaking your cheeks, his load spilled into you, and you came again with a whine, liquid rushing out from you. Tommy leaned back, swiping his fingers around your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your thighs squeeze in a jolt.

“You always squirt, baby?” Tommy asked huskily into your ear. Your eyes widened, leaning up to see your reflection in the mirror. Your makeup was a mess, your face was red, and dried tears ruined your mascara. “N-never,” you weakly said.

Tommy tutted and patted your butt, nodding to lie back down. “Now you do, baby. Daddy’s so proud of you,” Tommy said with a kiss to your cheek. “Lemme get sumthin to clean you up, and I can drive you to that party.”

“No!—I, mean, no I’m okay,” you breathily.

Tommy wanted to smile, “Why’s that?”

“Can we just spend Halloween together?”

There it was, his overly shiny and slightly cocky smile. “Of course, baby.”

“Don’t tell my mom.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, baby,” Tommy said, leaning back down to kiss your lips. “I needa try your mouth and ass next anyway.”

Quickly, Tommy left and returned with a warm towel. Tommy cleaned you, dropping you into your queen sized bed and lied down with you, two beer bottles in hand offering to you. “Who’you dressed as?”

“Loki, God of Mischief and one of the coolest Marvel characters in my opinion,” you answered. You glared at the amber bottle and tiredly replied. “I hate beer by the way.”

Tommy rolled his eyes and wrapped his arm around your back. He pressed his lips against your forehead. “More for me.”

“I think Ghost Riders cooler though,” Tommy smiled.

[dare-writes]

I don’t typically do things like this but it would appear I’ve reached a rock and a hard place financially due to some severe mental health issues lately. So with a few suggestions by friends, I decided to make a ko-fi account for people to donate/tip if they like.

It would mean the world to me, especially if you enjoy my writing or graphics.

I’ve also decided that moving forward if you tip/donate $15, I will write a 700 max word drabble for you. Any character, any scenario, the cards are in your hand. You just need to message me with proof of your donation and your url included.

$20+ plus and we can negotiate a writing piece or even if you’d like a mood board, graphic made we can look into that. Just dm me.

I appreciate you all. Just reading my work is enough to bring me joy but if I’m going to focus on it more, I gotta find a way to save time instead of picking up a second job.

PLEASE DO NOT FEEL OBLIGATED TO TIP/DONATE ‼️

Thank you all so much. ♥️

Also if you can’t donate/tip, reblogging this post helps just as much.

[dare-writes]

i need to take a shower

Grinding on Tommy Miller's big ole belt buckle to get off after hes been working all day, white tank top all scruffy and showing the swell of his belly😌 not a want but a need if this inspires anything <3

holyyyyyy— let me tell you, the belt kinks i have now due to this man are insane…

ft: sweaty tommy miller x you, established relationship

contains: belt grinding ahh. genre: smut!

note: short bc omggg i just needed to get down to it, if i went longer, there would’ve been so much more sex and i wanted to focus on the belt buckle aspect ilysm honey bun hope u enjoy xoxo

just a buckle

The screen door banged open, rattling in its hinges. You were already waiting—lounging on the sofa in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and thin panties, legs tucked up, pretending like you hadn’t been listening for his boots in the porch all damn evening.

And then there he was. Tommy Miller, sweat-stained and sun-baked, dropping his toolbelt by the door with a grunt. His white tank clung to him, darker in patches across his chest and back. His hair was mussed, beard rougher than this morning, and his belly pressed against the hem when he stretched with a groan.

He looked wrecked. Wrecked and devastating.

His eyes landed on you, and he stopped mid-stride. “The hell’re you wearin’?”

You stretched lazily, feigning innocence. “A t-shirt.”

His gaze dropped to your bare thighs, the thin cotton barely covering you. “Where’s the rest of it?”

You smirked, patting the spot on the sofa next to you. “C’mere.”

Tommy sighed, but the corners of his mouth twitched. He tugged at his belt as he walked closer, boots heavy on the wood. “Darlin’, I been workin’ all damn day. Sweatin’ through this shirt. You sure you wanna get all over me like that?”

“Don’t care.” You hooked your fingers into his belt loops, tugging him between your knees. That big brass buckle gleamed under the lamplight, pressing against your bare skin when you pulled him closer.

His brows shot up. “Oh, I see what this is.”

You rocked forward, slow, letting the hard metal scrape over the thin cotton of your panties. Your thighs quivered instantly.

Tommy growled, deep and low. His hand slid into your hair, holding you steady as his belly brushed your chest. “Sweet fuckin’ girl. You waitin’ on me just to hump my damn buckle?”

You bit your lip, grinding harder. The buckle was cool at first, then warmed from friction, every scrape making you wetter.

Tommy laughed under his breath, the sound half-ragged. “Jesus Christ. Look at you.”

He hauled you into his lap and sank back on the sofa, tugging you over his thighs like you belonged there. The buckle pressed perfectly against your clit through the damp cotton, and you whimpered, clinging to his tank where it clung to his sweat-slick skin.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he rasped, holding your hips steady. “Ride it. Make yourself feel good for me.”

You rocked against him, shameless, the scrape of brass and leather against your panties making your breath hitch, thighs trembling. The sofa creaked beneath you, his boots planted wide on the floor, holding you in place.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” Tommy muttered, teeth grazing your jaw. “Little thing sittin’ here, grindin’ down on me like she can’t wait another second. You need it that bad, huh?”

“Yes,” you gasped, clutching his tank, your nails dragging down to the curve of his belly, sweat slick under your touch.

He hissed at the contact, pressing you harder against the buckle with one wide palm at your lower back. “Good girl. Get messy for me. Show me how bad you want it.”

The metal caught every shift of your hips, each drag sharper than the last. Your head tipped back, mouth open on a broken moan as heat coiled low in your belly.

“Tommy—”

“Yeah, baby. Lemme have it,” he urged, voice rough, beard scratching your cheek when he kissed you. “Come on my buckle. Let me feel you soak through those pretty little panties.”

You cried out, hips stuttering, grinding down until the friction ripped through you. Your climax hit hard, a flood of heat and tremors leaving you clinging to him, face buried in his neck, breath hot and uneven.

Tommy held you tight, chest heaving beneath your cheek, lips brushing your temple. “Hell of a sight, darlin’,” he murmured, voice still dark with hunger. “Comin’ on my belt like that. Ain’t never lettin’ you sit around the house half-naked again.”

You giggled breathlessly, still trembling, tugging at his sweaty tank. “Bet you will.”

And he smirked, wide and dangerous, pulling you impossibly closer. “Yeah. Bet I will, too. Now let’s go shower, you dirty girl.”

i love sweaty, hard working tommy miller fr

[dare-writes]

Tommy! I’m stuck!

—

You get stuck in your window before a party. Thank God your hot stepdad is home.

Stepdad! Tommy Miller x female reader.

genre: porn. dirty ass step-dad porn MDNI, 18+

wc: 2.3k

(n)sfw warnings: porn with some plot, stepdad! tommy miller, age gap (22/34), college reader, reader has a nondescript tramp tattoo, unprotected p-in-v, creampie! rimming, fingering, oral (f! receiving), three reader orgasms, orgasm denial if you squint (Tommy), daddy kink, missionary, eating from behind, prone bone + headlock, munch tommy, anal fingering, mom bashing (sorry mom), tommy genuinely likes reader romantically, reader genuinely likes tommy romantically, spanking, couple of titty slaps, spit kink, implied sharing with uncle joel, Tommy uses little as a comparison of his cock to your pussy, Tommy Miller’s tummy heart eyes, implied aftercare. Halloween…..!

nicknames: baby, nasty girl, dirty girl, babygirl, one wild usage of slut.

__

You couldn’t believe this situation. It was straight out of porn, but here you are stuck in the window, your clothing caught on something while you writhed out to be freed from the window’s clutches.

Your grunts of irritation were quiet, but loud in the cold air. The hook of the screen you had popped out ages ago grabbed onto some part of your Loki costume, but you didn’t even know where from your position.

Luckily, your knees were able to rest against the bay window seats Tommy put in for you in your room. Lightbulb, speaking of your lovely Stepdad, you think he was home? Come on, shit for brains, think! Those two Tito’s shots can’t have fucked you up this badly!

Your stepdad had a soft spot for you; you both knew it. It was emotionally upsetting for you to see your mom with the charismatic contractor while you were stuck flirting with lame fraternity brothers. Not that your mom didn’t deserve love or whatever, it’s just that she doesn’t nearly do enough for Tommy as a wife or even as a housemate. Leaving behind messes, never takes out the garbage, eats food marked Tommy’s Lunch at the dead of night before you or him are awake.

You did the cooking and cleaning. Tommy brought home a lovely smell of himself, sawdust, and sweat. Your mom brought home a decent salary while working more than half the hours in the month.

Back on track! Tommy was fucking home, it was a Friday night, and ever since his party-boy era ended, he recluses to the garage. More importantly, he was home; your mom was not.

Tommy was also wildly hot. He was younger than your mom, but older than you by at least 12 years. Go cougar mom! But he oozed older daddy kink to you with his growing stache, his hair was either gelled back or just naturally fell back as it grew out from his summer cut, and that fucking tummy. Your personal work of art, stuffing Tommy full with your cooking and meals.

Most importantly, Tommy worked shirtless in the backyard while you tanned in a bikini in the summer.

More often than not, you saw him glance at the swell of your breasts or the subtle stare of your tramp stamp taunting him while you tanned your back. Your bikini’s got smaller in response. Tommy was outside more often.

You two danced around each other while your mom worked day in and day out.

A light flicked in your head when you saw the lights of the garage still on. Tommy worked late at night on something his brother made him pick up rather than drinking every weekend. Your room was also above the garage. You started hitting your knee into the wall as loudly as you could. “Tommy! Help! I’m fuckin’ stuck!” You cursed. It took another ten minutes of complaining for any response.

“Tommy! I’m stuck!”

A door slammed, and Tommy’s footsteps stomped up the stairs. Tommy rarely got mad, but his voice boomed from the stairwell, your name on his lips, “The hell are you making all that rucus for!”

The door swung open, and there it was on display. Your green thong with black fishnets and a green skirt with gold body jewelry stared back at him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tommy sighed as he pushed forward with a soft groan.

“I have been stuck for the last 10 minutes while you jerked off and drank in the fucking garage,” you hissed in annoyance.

“I’m not in the mood for an attitude, girlie,” Tommy responded. Not being able to see him was killing you. You wanted to see his face, let him see your tits in this stupid green lingerie we were calling a bra, or see his reaction to your semi-freshly waxed cunt.

“I’m not in the mood to be stuck in a window,” you grumbled back.

A swift smack against your ass echoed in your room, and you jolted in shock. “What the hell did I just say?” Tommy hissed as he smoothed his hand on the round of your ass, as if that would smooth the stinging he left behind. Your thighs, which were firmly pressed together by the window, had a growing wet spot.

“Tommy, what the fuck—” You challenged hotly. You had no intention of fighting him. This dance has gone on long enough; it was worse than sitting through a second rerun of Swan Lake back to back. Tommy muttered something you couldn’t hear through the barrier of the window.

“You get stuck? What, trynna sneak out to some party?” Tommy asked louder this time. You could feel him, close but not touching. Hovering your exposed skin, there was a warm presence near you that could only be Tommy. “Clearly,” you snarled back.

“Beg,” he repeated louder this time.

“What? Tommy, get me the fuck out—”

THWACK

He slapped your ass again, the other cheek this time. “I said to fucking beg, not none of this princess bullshit,” Tommy repeated hotly. You swore you felt something drip down your thighs.

You squeezed your plush thighs together and held in a moan with your teeth biting into your lower lip. That wasn’t what Tommy asked for, though, “Beg,” he demanded. You stuttered out as you felt him hook one finger on the string of your thong. You could feel his knuckle drag up and down your ass, never going between, but antagonistic.

At some point, you begin to think your thoughts are muddled together, and that this had to be a dream. Tommy would never cheat on your mother, let alone with you. He was a loyal lover, but you remember him staring at your tits in disbelief when he met you for the first time on your 20th birthday.

“Tommy… please,” you said into the night air. Tommy hummed disapprovingly. “Try again,” he responded. His touch got lighter; he was pulling away. The hot gold ring tickled your ass into another jump in shock. “Please, Tommy, help me,” you tried.

“With what?” He asked tauntingly. When you didn’t reply, he finally moved his finger. Now his finger tips glided back and forth tantalizingly, his fingers were sliding down your lips, grazing your clit too softly. “Do you want help? Help where? Here?” He asked as his finger tip pushed in finally. “Or maybe here,” he asked as his other hand grabbed something on the window. Perhaps whatever your costume got caught on, but you didn’t care.

“Tommy,” you panted pathetically. “Please fuck me,” you said airily, trying to push your hips into him. “Please fuck me, I want it,” you begged like he asked.

“Dirty girl,” Tommy started with a voice of disappointment. “But at least you beg pretty.” His two fingers slammed in with no hesitation, his thick fingers already stretching you wide open. It was sore, and your thighs pushed together definitely made the squeeze even better for you and Tommy.

“Beggin’ to fuck y’r stepdad? The hell is wrong with you?” he said behind you. You heard his belt unbuckle, but you felt nothing grow closer to you. Instead, his knees met the wood floor, his fingers left for a moment, and his tongue dragged a fat stripe up your pussy. You cried in pleasure as you felt the heat of his breath while he continued to tongue your pussy.

When he pulled away, you whined. Tommy ignored it, spitting onto your hole. Not your pussy, your asshole. His fingers dipped back into your pussy, then his tongue met your hole. Thank god for everything showers.

“Tommy—No, no no, not there—” You tried as you squirmed in the window. The arm that wasn’t fingerblasting you into oblivion wrapped around your thighs and pulled you into his face. “Yes, Tommy, yes here,” he taunted with his tongue against your tight hole.

His fingers were meaty, so when he put in a third, you felt real ba. The three punching into your g-spot while his tongue ate you up made you squeeze around him as you got closer.

Suddenly, you didn’t mind his mess, your wet tongue on your ass as you got closer to finishing. The arm wrapping around your thighs left, now holding the cleft of your left cheek, “Tommy, fuck please, please, please let me cum, Tommy!” Tommy smiled at you with a crude slurp, “Go on, y’can cum dirty girl.”

You felt his thumb catch on your tight hole when his tongue left. In just a few thrusts, you were bucking into his hands, chasing your high until your stomach churned and you cried.

Tommy whistled when you soaked his fingers, but he kept fucking you through your dissipating high. He took his thumb out slowly, and you whined, pushing your hips back into him. “So fucking good, so pretty too,” Tommy complimented before he spat onto your hole, letting it drip down to your pussy.

Easing his fingers out, Tommy pulled down his jeans, the metal buckle hitting the floor. “You gonna be extra good, beg for daddy’s cock?”

“Fuck, fuck please help… daddy help I’m stuck I wanna see you,” you moaned as you pushed your hips as much as you could back into him.

His tip slapped against your dripping hole. Drool pooled in your mouth, the cold air thankfully cooling the heat creeping up your neck. “Give me… please give me it.”

Wordlessly, his hand wrapped around your front and fiddled with it. Metal clinking and clanking until the tension on your hip was gone. Then he yanked you in, throwing you onto the bay window seating. “But I’m afraid I need to see these fuckin’ tits while you take me.”

It happened so fast, you barely even knew what was happening. Tommy was so fucking hot, towering over you, slightly sweaty, his lips and mustache still wet from eating you out. Then you looked at his fat cock, pressed against the belly you are responsible for with all your cooking.

His hands rested on your hips, above your thighs, while gently stroking them with his thumbs. “Ready?” Tommy asked. It was rhetorical because before you could get your head on straight, his tip was pressing in. You moaned loudly and threw your head back. “Fuck—no, no, it’s too big—”

Tommy laughed, “Am I babygirl? Too big for this slut?” Tommy stilled, halfway in, you assume. He wasn’t close enough to be balls deep.

One hand lifted from your waist and dragged down the lazy excuse for a bra you wore under black mesh. “Pretty fuckin’ tits, look at that-” he squeezed one, slapping it, testing your tolerance for the pain. When you moaned instead, he smiled.

Then Tommy slammed in, and you shouted. “Tight little fuckin’ thing,” he muttered as he pounded into you. His eyes didn’t watch your tits move.

“Makin’ such a pretty face—oh look at those pretty eyes roll,” Tommy complimented. His stiff cockhead hit your g-spot, and your thighs were shaking. After kneeling for nearly 15 minutes and being fucked into oblivion on your stepdad’s finger, you were feeling a little weak.

The hand left on your hip trailed down, lifting one leg to rest on his chest. His lips kissed your ankles and bit down. “Fuck you’re tight, fuck squeezin’ me so much, baby, I’m not going anywhere.”

“This pussy’s too good to leave it alone.”

“Never gonna stop fuckin’ her.”

“Please—wait, fuck, my—god Tommy I wanna cum,” you moaned brokenly. Each thrust was different in some way, but consistent. His fat cock raw inside you felt so good. Then he lowered himself down to hover over you. The squeeze and stretch as he forced you to bend in half made your eyes widen. Tommy hummed, “Go on, baby, you can.”

He kissed you.

Not hard either, a little hungry, but more for desire and need. Moaning into him while his untrimmed hair brushed into your sensitive cunt made you flutter around him. His thrusts deepened perfectly, knowing exactly what you needed. This orgasm was hotter than the last. It was driving you insane. He was so big while bending you in half. Here Tommy Miller was, making out with you like you were his lover when you were his step daughter.

“Wanna get on all fours, baby?” Tommy asked. You groaned in displeasure. That was a no. Tommy compromised, his cock still fucking your tight snatch, “Lay on your stomach.”

You leaned up, looking up at him dizzily. He laughed and kissed your lips again, helping turn you onto your stomach after he pulled out. Your pussy winked at him, and he groaned. Your face lands on a heart-shaped pillow in your favorite color.

With no time wasted, he slid back in with a guttural moan. “Such a good fucking cunt,” he breathed into your ear. His knee in the air as he put his foot onto the other side of you, his cock felt bigger this time, splitting you open like wood. You cried again, teary-eyed, and he crooned. “Oh, baby… don’t cry, I gotcha, baby.” His hands ran up and down your back. Spit landed back on your slightly stretched hole, and you breathed in shakily.

“Can I, baby?”

Before you even knew it, the dizziness in your head spoke for you, “Yes, daddy.” It was languid from

your lips all for Tommy to roll his eyes back with a deeper thrust into you. “Oh… baby, so good for daddy hm,” Tommy cooed as his thumb pushed in. Immediately matching the pace of his thundering claps into your pillowy ass. He lowered his knee to your side, his hot breath fanning against your sticky skin.

“Baby, fuck, I needa cum,” Tommy hissed through gritted teeth. His arms steadied beside your head. Kissing your neck and back, he praised you, “My baby’s pussy’so, tight had to change positions.”

“Fuck, nasty girl, came twice on me already, likes it in her ass too? What more can a man ask for?”

Tommy was rambling as he got closer, his dirty talk was worse than messy, it was just filthy. It was all going to your head, and he too, the compliments and slight degradation while he used your hole in the name of pleasure.

“Gonna fuck this next,” Tommy said, sliding one finger in place of his thumb. “N’ share you with Uncle Joel if you like it.” Your hips shoved back into him in a beg, yes, share, me, but I wanna be yours.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby don’t—” Tommy groaned. You pushing back into him disrupting his tactical rhythm to let him last longer. “Fuck, gonna make me cum, want it in you? Want it in your ass?” Tommy asked. “I know you’re on birth control,” he taunted.

“In…” You could practically hear Tommy smirk as you said in. “In where?” Tommy asked. “Tell me where, baby, your pretty pussy? Or your tight ass?”

You moaned “pussy” but that wasn’t clear enough. His slams sharpened, deepened, but slowed at the same time. His words slow too as he asked you for clarification. “Y’r’ pretty pussy or your tight ass?”

“Pretty… pretty pussy please daddy,” you cried. Tommy snaked his arm between your neck and the pillow, low, and you choked on your moan as he pressed up. “Paint your pretty pussy, baby?”

“No! Nonon—No, cum in my pussy please, daddy,” you huffed out as you wiggled under him. In the headlock, your cunt was even tighter as he asphyxiated your throat slightly.

“I guess I have, too, hm? Baby asked so, fucking nicely, squeezing Daddy, so fucking nicely,” Tommy said. With you moaning under him, tears streaking your cheeks, his load spilled into you, and you came again with a whine, liquid rushing out from you. Tommy leaned back, swiping his fingers around your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your thighs squeeze in a jolt.

“You always squirt, baby?” Tommy asked huskily into your ear. Your eyes widened, leaning up to see your reflection in the mirror. Your makeup was a mess, your face was red, and dried tears ruined your mascara. “N-never,” you weakly said.

Tommy tutted and patted your butt, nodding to lie back down. “Now you do, baby. Daddy’s so proud of you,” Tommy said with a kiss to your cheek. “Lemme get sumthin to clean you up, and I can drive you to that party.”

“No!—I, mean, no I’m okay,” you breathily.

Tommy wanted to smile, “Why’s that?”

“Can we just spend Halloween together?”

There it was, his overly shiny and slightly cocky smile. “Of course, baby.”

“Don’t tell my mom.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, baby,” Tommy said, leaning back down to kiss your lips. “I needa try your mouth and ass next anyway.”

Quickly, Tommy left and returned with a warm towel. Tommy cleaned you, dropping you into your queen sized bed and lied down with you, two beer bottles in hand offering to you. “Who’you dressed as?”

“Loki, God of Mischief and one of the coolest Marvel characters in my opinion,” you answered. You glared at the amber bottle and tiredly replied. “I hate beer by the way.”

Tommy rolled his eyes and wrapped his arm around your back. He pressed his lips against your forehead. “More for me.”

“I think Ghost Riders cooler though,” Tommy smiled.

[dare-writes]

Tommy! I’m stuck!

—

You get stuck in your window before a party. Thank God your hot stepdad is home.

Stepdad! Tommy Miller x female reader.

genre: porn. dirty ass step-dad porn MDNI, 18+

wc: 2.3k

(n)sfw warnings: porn with some plot, stepdad! tommy miller, age gap (22/34), college reader, reader has a nondescript tramp tattoo, unprotected p-in-v, creampie! rimming, fingering, oral (f! receiving), three reader orgasms, orgasm denial if you squint (Tommy), daddy kink, missionary, eating from behind, prone bone + headlock, munch tommy, anal fingering, mom bashing (sorry mom), tommy genuinely likes reader romantically, reader genuinely likes tommy romantically, spanking, couple of titty slaps, spit kink, implied sharing with uncle joel, Tommy uses little as a comparison of his cock to your pussy, Tommy Miller’s tummy heart eyes, implied aftercare. Halloween…..!

nicknames: baby, nasty girl, dirty girl, babygirl, one wild usage of slut.

__

You couldn’t believe this situation. It was straight out of porn, but here you are stuck in the window, your clothing caught on something while you writhed out to be freed from the window’s clutches.

Your grunts of irritation were quiet, but loud in the cold air. The hook of the screen you had popped out ages ago grabbed onto some part of your Loki costume, but you didn’t even know where from your position.

Luckily, your knees were able to rest against the bay window seats Tommy put in for you in your room. Lightbulb, speaking of your lovely Stepdad, you think he was home? Come on, shit for brains, think! Those two Tito’s shots can’t have fucked you up this badly!

Your stepdad had a soft spot for you; you both knew it. It was emotionally upsetting for you to see your mom with the charismatic contractor while you were stuck flirting with lame fraternity brothers. Not that your mom didn’t deserve love or whatever, it’s just that she doesn’t nearly do enough for Tommy as a wife or even as a housemate. Leaving behind messes, never takes out the garbage, eats food marked Tommy’s Lunch at the dead of night before you or him are awake.

You did the cooking and cleaning. Tommy brought home a lovely smell of himself, sawdust, and sweat. Your mom brought home a decent salary while working more than half the hours in the month.

Back on track! Tommy was fucking home, it was a Friday night, and ever since his party-boy era ended, he recluses to the garage. More importantly, he was home; your mom was not.

Tommy was also wildly hot. He was younger than your mom, but older than you by at least 12 years. Go cougar mom! But he oozed older daddy kink to you with his growing stache, his hair was either gelled back or just naturally fell back as it grew out from his summer cut, and that fucking tummy. Your personal work of art, stuffing Tommy full with your cooking and meals.

Most importantly, Tommy worked shirtless in the backyard while you tanned in a bikini in the summer.

More often than not, you saw him glance at the swell of your breasts or the subtle stare of your tramp stamp taunting him while you tanned your back. Your bikini’s got smaller in response. Tommy was outside more often.

You two danced around each other while your mom worked day in and day out.

A light flicked in your head when you saw the lights of the garage still on. Tommy worked late at night on something his brother made him pick up rather than drinking every weekend. Your room was also above the garage. You started hitting your knee into the wall as loudly as you could. “Tommy! Help! I’m fuckin’ stuck!” You cursed. It took another ten minutes of complaining for any response.

“Tommy! I’m stuck!”

A door slammed, and Tommy’s footsteps stomped up the stairs. Tommy rarely got mad, but his voice boomed from the stairwell, your name on his lips, “The hell are you making all that rucus for!”

The door swung open, and there it was on display. Your green thong with black fishnets and a green skirt with gold body jewelry stared back at him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tommy sighed as he pushed forward with a soft groan.

“I have been stuck for the last 10 minutes while you jerked off and drank in the fucking garage,” you hissed in annoyance.

“I’m not in the mood for an attitude, girlie,” Tommy responded. Not being able to see him was killing you. You wanted to see his face, let him see your tits in this stupid green lingerie we were calling a bra, or see his reaction to your semi-freshly waxed cunt.

“I’m not in the mood to be stuck in a window,” you grumbled back.

A swift smack against your ass echoed in your room, and you jolted in shock. “What the hell did I just say?” Tommy hissed as he smoothed his hand on the round of your ass, as if that would smooth the stinging he left behind. Your thighs, which were firmly pressed together by the window, had a growing wet spot.

“Tommy, what the fuck—” You challenged hotly. You had no intention of fighting him. This dance has gone on long enough; it was worse than sitting through a second rerun of Swan Lake back to back. Tommy muttered something you couldn’t hear through the barrier of the window.

“You get stuck? What, trynna sneak out to some party?” Tommy asked louder this time. You could feel him, close but not touching. Hovering your exposed skin, there was a warm presence near you that could only be Tommy. “Clearly,” you snarled back.

“Beg,” he repeated louder this time.

“What? Tommy, get me the fuck out—”

THWACK

He slapped your ass again, the other cheek this time. “I said to fucking beg, not none of this princess bullshit,” Tommy repeated hotly. You swore you felt something drip down your thighs.

You squeezed your plush thighs together and held in a moan with your teeth biting into your lower lip. That wasn’t what Tommy asked for, though, “Beg,” he demanded. You stuttered out as you felt him hook one finger on the string of your thong. You could feel his knuckle drag up and down your ass, never going between, but antagonistic.

At some point, you begin to think your thoughts are muddled together, and that this had to be a dream. Tommy would never cheat on your mother, let alone with you. He was a loyal lover, but you remember him staring at your tits in disbelief when he met you for the first time on your 20th birthday.

“Tommy… please,” you said into the night air. Tommy hummed disapprovingly. “Try again,” he responded. His touch got lighter; he was pulling away. The hot gold ring tickled your ass into another jump in shock. “Please, Tommy, help me,” you tried.

“With what?” He asked tauntingly. When you didn’t reply, he finally moved his finger. Now his finger tips glided back and forth tantalizingly, his fingers were sliding down your lips, grazing your clit too softly. “Do you want help? Help where? Here?” He asked as his finger tip pushed in finally. “Or maybe here,” he asked as his other hand grabbed something on the window. Perhaps whatever your costume got caught on, but you didn’t care.

“Tommy,” you panted pathetically. “Please fuck me,” you said airily, trying to push your hips into him. “Please fuck me, I want it,” you begged like he asked.

“Dirty girl,” Tommy started with a voice of disappointment. “But at least you beg pretty.” His two fingers slammed in with no hesitation, his thick fingers already stretching you wide open. It was sore, and your thighs pushed together definitely made the squeeze even better for you and Tommy.

“Beggin’ to fuck y’r stepdad? The hell is wrong with you?” he said behind you. You heard his belt unbuckle, but you felt nothing grow closer to you. Instead, his knees met the wood floor, his fingers left for a moment, and his tongue dragged a fat stripe up your pussy. You cried in pleasure as you felt the heat of his breath while he continued to tongue your pussy.

When he pulled away, you whined. Tommy ignored it, spitting onto your hole. Not your pussy, your asshole. His fingers dipped back into your pussy, then his tongue met your hole. Thank god for everything showers.

“Tommy—No, no no, not there—” You tried as you squirmed in the window. The arm that wasn’t fingerblasting you into oblivion wrapped around your thighs and pulled you into his face. “Yes, Tommy, yes here,” he taunted with his tongue against your tight hole.

His fingers were meaty, so when he put in a third, you felt the burn even worse. The three punching into your g-spot while his tongue ate you up made you squeeze around him as you got closer. “Tommy! Holy—fuck, fuck,” you writhed under him.

Suddenly, you didn’t mind the mess he left behind on your ass as you got closer to finishing. The arm wrapping around your thighs left, now holding the cleft of your left cheek, “Tommy, fuck please, please, please let me cum, Tommy!” Tommy smiled at you with a crude slurp. His voice rumbling your cunt that felt too much even as you reached finishing, “Go on, y’can cum dirty girl.”

You felt his thumb catch on your tight hole when his tongue left. In just a few thrusts, you were bucking into his hands, chasing your high until your stomach churned and you cried. Your thighs squeezed around his head until he shoved one thigh firmly into the seating.

The sound of rushing water filled the room and you barely even noticed until Tommy whistled. Despite the flooding, but he kept fucking you through your dissipating high. Each plunge of his fingers made you seize up again, your thighs squeezing and dots fleeting your vision.

He took his thumb out slowly, and you whined, pushing your hips back into him. “So fucking good, so pretty too,” Tommy complimented before he spat onto your hole, letting it drip down to your pussy.

Easing his fingers out, Tommy pulled down his jeans, the metal buckle hitting the floor. “You gonna be extra good, beg for daddy’s cock?”

“Fuck, fuck please help… daddy help I’m stuck I wanna see you,” you moaned as you pushed your hips as much as you could back into him.

His tip slapped against your dripping hole. Drool pooled on your tongue, the cold air thankfully cooling the heat creeping up your neck. “Give me… please give me it.”

Wordlessly, his hand wrapped around your front and fiddled with it. Metal clinking and clanking until the tension on your hip was gone. Then he yanked you in, throwing you onto the bay window seating. “But I’m afraid I need to see these fuckin’ tits while you take me.”

It happened so fast, you barely even knew what was happening. Tommy was so fucking hot, towering over you, slightly sweaty, his lips and mustache still wet from eating you out. Then you looked at his fat cock, pressed against the belly you are responsible for with all your cooking.

His hands rested on your hips, above your thighs, while gently stroking them with his thumbs. “Ready?” Tommy asked. It was rhetorical because before you could get your head on straight, his tip was pressing in. You moaned loudly and threw your head back. “Fuck—no, no, it’s too big—”

Tommy laughed, “Am I babygirl? Too big for this slut?” Tommy stilled, halfway in, you assume. He wasn’t close enough to be balls deep.

One hand lifted from your waist and dragged down the lazy excuse for a bra you wore under black mesh. “Pretty fuckin’ tits, look at that-” he squeezed one, slapping it, testing your tolerance for the pain. When you moaned instead, he smiled.

Then Tommy slammed in, and you shouted. “Tight little fuckin’ thing,” he muttered as he pounded into you. His eyes didn’t watch your tits move.

“Makin’ such a pretty face—oh look at those pretty eyes roll,” Tommy complimented. His stiff cockhead hit your g-spot, and your thighs were shaking. After kneeling for nearly 15 minutes and being fucked into oblivion on your stepdad’s finger, you were feeling a little weak.

The hand left on your hip trailed down, lifting one leg to rest on his chest. His lips kissed your ankles and bit down. “Fuck you’re tight, fuck squeezin’ me so much, baby, I’m not going anywhere.”

“This pussy’s too good to leave it alone.”

“Never gonna stop fuckin’ her.”

“Please—wait, fuck, my—god Tommy I wanna cum,” you moaned brokenly. Each thrust was different in some way, but consistent. His fat cock raw inside you felt so good. Then he lowered himself down to hover over you. The squeeze and stretch as he forced you to bend in half made your eyes widen. Tommy hummed, “Go on, baby, you can.”

He kissed you.

Not hard either, a little hungry, but more for desire and need. Moaning into him while his untrimmed hair brushed into your sensitive cunt made you flutter around him. His thrusts deepened perfectly, knowing exactly what you needed. This orgasm was hotter than the last. It was driving you insane. He was so big while bending you in half. Here Tommy Miller was, making out with you like you were his lover when you were his step daughter.

“Wanna get on all fours, baby?” Tommy asked. You groaned in displeasure. That was a no. Tommy compromised, his cock still fucking your tight snatch, “Lay on your stomach.”

You leaned up, looking up at him dizzily. He laughed and kissed your lips again, helping turn you onto your stomach after he pulled out. Your pussy winked at him, and he groaned. Your face lands on a heart-shaped pillow in your favorite color.

With no time wasted, he slid back in with a guttural moan. “Such a good fucking cunt,” he breathed into your ear. His knee in the air as he put his foot onto the other side of you, his cock felt bigger this time, splitting you open like wood. You cried again, teary-eyed, and he crooned. “Oh, baby… don’t cry, I gotcha, baby.” His hands ran up and down your back. Spit landed back on your slightly stretched hole, and you breathed in shakily.

“Can I, baby?”

Before you even knew it, the dizziness in your head spoke for you, “Yes, daddy.” It was languid from

your lips all for Tommy to roll his eyes back with a deeper thrust into you. “Oh… baby, so good for daddy hm,” Tommy cooed as his thumb pushed in. Immediately matching the pace of his thundering claps into your pillowy ass. He lowered his knee to your side, his hot breath fanning against your sticky skin.

“Baby, fuck, I needa cum,” Tommy hissed through gritted teeth. His arms steadied beside your head. Kissing your neck and back, he praised you, “My baby’s pussy’so, tight had to change positions.”

“Fuck, nasty girl, came twice on me already, likes it in her ass too? What more can a man ask for?”

Tommy was rambling as he got closer, his dirty talk was worse than messy, it was just filthy. It was all going to your head, and he too, the compliments and slight degradation while he used your hole in the name of pleasure.

“Gonna fuck this next,” Tommy said, sliding one finger in place of his thumb. “N’ share you with Uncle Joel if you like it.” Your hips shoved back into him in a beg, yes, share, me, but I wanna be yours.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby don’t—” Tommy groaned. You pushing back into him disrupting his tactical rhythm to let him last longer. “Fuck, gonna make me cum, want it in you? Want it in your ass?” Tommy asked. “I know you’re on birth control,” he taunted.

“In…” You could practically hear Tommy smirk as you said in. “In where?” Tommy asked. “Tell me where, baby, your pretty pussy? Or your tight ass?”

You moaned “pussy” but that wasn’t clear enough. His slams sharpened, deepened, but slowed at the same time. His words slow too as he asked you for clarification. “Y’r’ pretty pussy or your tight ass?”

“Pretty… pretty pussy please daddy,” you cried. Tommy snaked his arm between your neck and the pillow, low, and you choked on your moan as he pressed up. “Paint your pretty pussy, baby?”

“No! Nonon—No, cum in my pussy please, daddy,” you huffed out as you wiggled under him. In the headlock, your cunt was even tighter as he asphyxiated your throat slightly.

“I guess I have, too, hm? Baby asked so, fucking nicely, squeezing Daddy, so fucking nicely,” Tommy said. With you moaning under him, tears streaking your cheeks, his load spilled into you, and you came again with a whine, liquid rushing out from you. Tommy leaned back, swiping his fingers around your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your thighs squeeze in a jolt.

“You always squirt, baby?” Tommy asked huskily into your ear. Your eyes widened, leaning up to see your reflection in the mirror. Your makeup was a mess, your face was red, and dried tears ruined your mascara. “N-never,” you weakly said.

Tommy tutted and patted your butt, nodding to lie back down. “Now you do, baby. Daddy’s so proud of you,” Tommy said with a kiss to your cheek. “Lemme get sumthin to clean you up, and I can drive you to that party.”

“No!—I, mean, no I’m okay,” you breathily.

Tommy wanted to smile, “Why’s that?”

“Can we just spend Halloween together?”

There it was, his overly shiny and slightly cocky smile. “Of course, baby.”

“Don’t tell my mom.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, baby,” Tommy said, leaning back down to kiss your lips. “I needa try your mouth and ass next anyway.”

Quickly, Tommy left and returned with a warm towel. Tommy cleaned you, dropping you into your queen sized bed and lied down with you, two beer bottles in hand offering to you. “Who’you dressed as?”

“Loki, God of Mischief and one of the coolest Marvel characters in my opinion,” you answered. You glared at the amber bottle and tiredly replied. “I hate beer by the way.”

Tommy rolled his eyes and wrapped his arm around your back. He pressed his lips against your forehead. “More for me.”

“I think Ghost Riders cooler though,” Tommy smiled.

[dare-writes]

HARDEST REPOST OF MY LIFE!

SINCERELY

A HISTORY MAJOR, HOPEFUL FUTURE PROFESSOR.

[dare-writes]

i need more angsty joaquin torres 💔

[dare-writes]

that ash garver fic was TOO GOOD. "bet you would have let me do this to you even without that drink" the worst part is that thats trueeeeee i would be SO cooked if he was real.

if you wanted another prompt for him could we get something where he and reader lowkey have an s&m thing going on with how rough they get and masochist reader is the type to cry during or after sex every time. and she finds it embarassing but sadist ash goes WILD for it after it was explained its bc she feels safe bc a) he thinks its cute on its own and a turn on how stupid and naive she is to trust him. but also deeper down, b) hes showing the authentic and literal worst of himself and she wants to stick around. genuinely does not fear him and believes he wont betray her somehow (shes actually a bit crazier than him for that- except for the fact that she might be right)

this is going straight into my google docs! i’ll try, im Not That Good at writing psychos so… 😞 i will definitely try tho