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joelsicle · 4 hours ago

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Abra-cum-dabra

Stepuncle!Tommy x F!Reader

Summary: Tommy gets a side job as a magician.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, porn with plot, stepcest, unprotected p in v, oral (m and f receiving), (semi)public sex, so much spit, Criss Angel mention, magician fucking, age gap (bc of the nature of the relationship lol i pictured 24-25 but im not the boss of you), no description of reader except being able-bodied, established sexual tension, but weird dynamics cause author doesn't know any other type, not beta read

WC: 7.7k

A/N: this is a silly premise but none of this could've been possible without the uncle!tommy brainrot i got from the lovely @pearlessance fic Cupid's Chokehold. (everybody cheered)

As a person who has a big ol’ miserable time trying to sleep in the heat, the delightful endeavor of staying in bed for hours is no longer a viable option, especially since so much of the sunlight that comes into your bedroom sits nice and warm on your bed for the better part of your day. You sit up on your elbows, and bring one of your hands to wipe the sweat off your face and the bit that pooled in the crook of your neck. The house is usually quiet at this time save for the creaky and sometimes leaky old refrigerator that your stepdad Joel just refuses to let go of because “they just don’t make ‘em like that anymore”. So cue him ‘fixing’ it every couple of weeks, and the fridge gets progressively more loud in its complaints thereafter. You stretch in that cat-like fashion that your back and limbs appreciate after every long period of rotting in bed and pad off to the kitchen.

Your mom and Joel must be at work by now, you gather. The ancient clock hung up above the kitchen windows marks sometime past eight. Your mom’s a nurse at the local high school, which in hindsight sucked, because you never got to be one of those kids who just pretended to get a stomachache and stayed at the nurse’s or got sent home. Safe to say it didn’t earn you any cool points, but it was nice to know you never actually had to get your own gas to get to and from school.

As for Joel, he’s the owner of a self-described ‘no-bullshit’ construction company. It’s only no bullshit because he loves to describe himself as a ‘no-bullshit’ guy. But with time, you’ve learned that he can take a little bullshitting, especially from you. Just a liiitle. And you’ll tease him about it, you know? And his nostrils will flare a little and he’ll put his palm on the table, and he’ll go “Yeah, okay, real cute, no car for a week.” But he won’t mean it, and he’ll bring you a Big Gulp of your favorite soda after work as a little sorry token. And he’s sweet. He treats you with the same love and respect as he would a kid of his own, and it feels warm inside your chest. He’s really a great dad, under the gruffness and all those angry grumpy layers he’s put up over the years.

Anyways, he’s got his construction company, and his brother Tommy works with him there, and he’s just straight trouble. He is your typical ‘cool uncle’ type, letting you bum cigarettes off him, driving you to and from places you definitely shouldn’t be, sneaking you sips off his beer; always has been. And he takes pride in it, he’d never say it, but he loves it when you call dear Uncle Tommy for help. Besides, he comes around most evenings after work, even crashes on the couch a few times a month. But it’s okay, you enjoy having him around and Joel would never find it in him to kick him out. Maybe he’d swing by tonight, join you in your plan to beg Joel to order Chinese for dinner. He’s always kinda had a soft spot for you, and you candt lie and say you don’t love his attention. In some sort of fucked up way, he’s like you know when your brother’s got like a really hot friend who’s like super nice to you and you have a crush on him? Yeah, something like that, except it’s your stepdad’s brother. But, you know, semantics.

As you walk into the kitchen, the light bouncing off the faded yellow wallpaper makes you wince, squinting your eyes for a second while you adjust your eyes. You grab a cup from the drying rack, and fill it up with water, when something catches your eye on the counter. It’s a cold grilled cheese that’s gone cold. You poke it curiously. Now, as much as your mom loves you, she long before announced she’d stop babying you and making breakfast for you now that you’re a grown woman. So, you can cross that possibility off, maybe Joel? Doubtful. Joel leaves at the asscrack of dawn. You pick it up and take a bite off it, pacing around, your bare feet making little ‘plap plap’ noises on the ground.

In the living room, the door is ajar. No one would be reckless enough to leave the door open like that. And after swallowing, you hear it, the gentle rocking of the rocking chair on the porch and the metallic clanking of a can being put down on a table. You managed to stay quiet and stealthy until the front door creaked like it was a horror movie. After wincing at the sound, you peek your head out and are met with Tommy’s amused expression. His eyes fall to your hand. “You found your breakfast. Did you even warm that up?”

You bring the grilled cheese back to your mouth and munch on it. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” you ask with your mouth still full of food. You peer down at him, he’s holding a book in his hands. “And reading? Are you okay?” you wipe your hand on your pajama shorts and put it to his forehead.

He swats your hand away playfully. “Your old man didn’t tell you? I’m benched for the rest of this job,” he scoffs.

A mean giggle escapes your lips, “Whaddya mean, ‘benched’? What’d you do?” You press your fingers to your mouth to lick off the remaining crumbs off them. Tommy’s eyes follow your hands, then he lifts his own, pointing at your chest. “Forgot some there,” he says, and as you look down to check, he drags his fingers up and flicks your nose. His grin spreads like a little kid, and his eyes crinkle at the corners, his laughter making his throat bob.

“Yeah, fuck you,” you roll your eyes. “So, why’d Joel bench you? You set fire to the whole construction site or what?”

He runs a hand down his face, letting his laughter die down. “So allegedly, I maybe cut all the wooden beams a few inches short ‘cause I misread the number on the goddamn thing and, uh, maybe I was a bit hungover.” He smacks his lips once. “But you know, it was a total misinterpretation of the facts. Still, Joel was super pissed about it, so…”

You raise one of your eyebrows, and he knows you know it’s bullshit, but he just shrugs and goes back to his book. “I came to spend the day with my lovely… niece, but somebody was still asleep when I came in.”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting company so early in the morning.” You pluck the book off his hands. Magic for Dummies. You purse your lips, trying to hold back your laughter. “See, Uncle Tommy, when I pictured your mid-life crisis I expected you to pull up on a Harley with a girl half your age, you know? The regular. Not… Criss Angel wannabe.”

His big hands take the book back, tossing it on the table next to his chair. “Who says I can’t do both? Chicks dig magicians. And besides, I’m told I’m real good with my hands,” he quips, shrugging nonchalantly.

You hold his gaze for a second longer, then drop it to watch his long fingers and the way they’re splayed on his thigh for another second. “Okay, yeah, sure. So that’s your plan? Go around town doing tricks and hope some girl likes it and doesn’t think it’s totally creepy?”

Tommy’s eyes narrow, looking at you, and he connects his pointer and thumb to emphasize. “Not tricks. They’re illusions. Also, you’re a little shit, anyone ever tell you that?”

“Must take after my uncle then, huh?” You retort, the corners of your mouth curling upwards.

At at. He wags his finger at you. “Step uncle. I had nothing to do with this,” he gestures vaguely at you. “You came straight out the factory like this.”

You purse your lips a little, biting the inside of your cheek. It always makes your insides feel funny when he talks to you like that. It feels so comfortable and right, and whatever. His hand drops and gently brushes against yours. He looks entertained, like he’s enjoying it just the same way you are, he’s got that glint in his eye. “Ran out of witty comebacks already? It’s not even nine yet.”

You groan in annoyance. “How ‘bout you tell me why you’re actually looking at that fuckin’ book? Hard as I try I cannot imagine magic’s seriously your gateway to gettin’ laid.” He took a box of cigarettes in his hands and placed one between his lips while fishing for a lighter in his pocket with his other hand. After lighting it, and letting the paper burn for a second, he gives you that exasperated look. Every time he smokes, you bat your lashes at him and ask him for a cigarette, and every time, he lets you take a drag off his and no more. He beckons you closer and when you crouch closer, he puts his cigarette to your lips. His eyes don’t leave your mouth, and slowly drag up to your eyes. You breathe slowly, allowing the gray bluish smoke to curl between both of you like a screen. The warm air around you is stagnant and hot, and the floor creaks under your feet.

You straighten up and lean back against the door once more. Tommy’s lips curl into this sort of knowing smolder before breaking into a stupid grin and taking a long drag of his cigarette. “This guy at the bar offered to pay me to do a magic show at his kid’s birthday party this weekend.”

“Seriously?” you giggle.

“Job’s a job,” he says with a straight face. He wants to laugh as much as you do. He’s aware it’s lame and embarrassing, but deep down he knows he could be the lamest guy on Earth and your eyes will still shine the same when you laugh, so it doesn’t bother him, not really. “Maybe you could be my lovely assistant, hm? Make it fun.”

“Will you split the money with me?” You pick at a chip in the paint on the wall.

Tommy chuckles a little. “Absolutely not,” he lets himself really stare you down. Sometimes he allows himself to, in a really shameless way. He doesn’t know if it bothers you when he does it, if it does, you’ve never said. “But I can get you a sequined bodysuit, you know, just to really sell the experience.”

You scoff. “Uh huh, yeah, that’s totally for me and not for every dad at the party to ogle me, you’re a really bad uncle, y’know that?”

“One thing has nothing to do with the other, sweetheart.” He smiles, running a hand through his hair. “You know I’d never let any man near you.”

Butterflies, canaries, toucans, it feels like every species of flying creatures is fluttering around inside your stomach. It becomes impossible to stop the wide-toothed grin that creeps onto your face and the rouge that seems to invade your cheeks.

Tommy hums quietly and pulls you into his lap. “Yeah, you already knew that, though, didn’t you?” He pokes his long finger into your ribs. “You’re your uncle’s girl through and through.” You slap his hands away, laughing in a sort of careless way, if you snort, it won’t matter.

Your head finds its way to be buried into his neck, sticky with sweat and the humidity that plagued your town this time of the year. Musky, and salty, but unmistakably Tommy. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You’d sell me out for a beer. And a cheap one at that.” You pull back, and using the hairtie on your wrist, tie Tommy’s hair back into a bun.

His brown eyes seem brand new when you look at them, there’s that deep sense of familiarity, but it’s as if they’d never before looked like this. One could track their minuscule movements as they traveled from one of your eyes to the other. The hair on the back of your neck sticks up, and a shiver travels down your spine. Life could end right here and right now and you’d be content.

Then his sugary voice cuts through the fabric of this moment you were having. “As much as I’d love to sit here and fuckin’ commit every inch of your face to memory, I do actually have like four days to learn a bunch of illusions.” He kisses the middle of your throat in a way that could almost be considered innocent before pulling his head back. “You gonna help me out or not?”

You pout your lips, and lean backwards like you’re sizing him up. “That depends,” your hands drop to his chest. “Are you gonna wear a cheesy tux? And a top hat?”

“Baby, if you want to I’ll even go the whole nine yards and get a fuckin’ cape,” he quips. You can feel his erratic heartbeat under your hands.

“Hot,” you taunt, already getting off his lap.

Tommy narrows his eyes at you, annoyed, and readjusts himself on the chair, picking the book back up.

“I’ll go take a quick shower and then I’ll help you practice, ‘kay?”

He gives your ass a quick smack before you disappear through the door and returns his attention to the book.

In true Uncle Tommy and you fashion, you go the rest of the day without eating, instead spending the day out on the porch with your big iced water tumbler and him plucking beers from a red cooler he always keeps in his truck. You’re on the rocking chair, with your bare feet propped on his lap, giving him step by step instructions on how to do the tricks from the book, and laughing at him whenever he inevitably fails.

“I gotta say,” you lean back on the chair. “Maybe magic isn’t your calling, huh, Uncle Tommy?”

He reshuffles the cards, giving you a dirty look. “Shut up, I just gotta get like three of these just good and I’m golden.”

“Well, that is if you get ‘em,” you sneer.

He brings your leg up to his mouth and bites down on your shin. “Keep actin’ funny,” he warns. You’re entranced looking at the little teeth pattern now indented and glistening with saliva on your leg. He runs his hand on it as if trying to soothe it better. All it does is spread the spit around like a shitty mop.

“Still don’t see why you need an assistant if all you’re planning on doing is those stupid card tricks,” you note absentmindedly.

After wiping his hands down, he goes back to moving the cards around. “It’s called sleight of hand, sweetheart. and besides, it pains me you need another reason to hang out with me other than the pleasure ‘f my company.”

You look behind you to catch a glimpse of the sky beginning to turn a cotton candy shade of pink. Your eyes track the way everything is being bathed in this sort of dreamy golden glow, making a sudden halt on Tommy’s concentrated expression. Light seems to bounce off him, a slight sheen from the sweat on his furrowed brow, and the faintest on his lips. You’re not clear on the logistics, but you could feel the air get this sweet scent to it, like honeysuckle sticking to your nostrils. All his attention is on his hands, not yet having noticed your eyes stuck on him like a fly on a trap. Then it’s okay, you convince yourself to keep watching him, the pronounced veins on his forearm and the way his long digits curl around and manipulate the playing cards at his will. If you were more poetic, you’d describe the little piano melody you can hear at the back of your head.

“Ha! Fuck you!” He’s beaming with joy. He brings your foot to his face and kisses it relentlessly, eliciting a tiny kick in the face from you. He should know better than to do that to someone so ticklish. He raises his hand to rub where you hit him, with the same goofy smile still plastered on him. “I fuckin’ got it!” He says, quickly reshuffling and doing the card trick, right this time.

“Oh, hell yeah!” You squeal, kicking your feet a little.

He throws his head back, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. He runs his hands down his face and perks his head back up to look at you. “I think I deserve a prize now,” he wiggles his eyebrows.

“Yeah?” You stand up, and step closer to him, brushing your fingers on the back of his head.

His head is tilted backwards to look up at you. “Yeah,” he says, his voice a tinge more gravelly.

You straddle his thigh, sitting on it. “I can think of a prize for you, Uncle Tommy.”

“Can you, now?” He smirks, extending his neck and pressing a coy kiss on your jaw. It pushes an innocent giggle from you.

“Your prize is helping me convince Joel to get Chinese tonight,” you taunt, kissing his temple.

Tommy puts his arms around you and dips you backwards, your head getting close to the ground. “Now what'd I say about actin’ funny, huh?”

You squeal and flail your arms, trying to get him to pick you back up. “Uncle Tommy!”

He laughs heartily and brings you back up, pressing you to his chest. “Shoulda seen your fuckin’ face, sweetheart!”

You smack his chest, “You’re the worst! And you will get me that Chinese. You haven’t fed me all day!”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll bat your pretty lashes at Joel and he’ll agree; and I’ll pitch in like twenty bucks and you’ll be happy, hm baby?”

——

At the dinner table, you’re sitting across from Joel, next to Tommy, telling him and your mom all about Tommy’s magic tricks.

“For the hundredth time, angel, they’re illusions.” He says, annoyed.

“That’s really fuckin’ somethin’, Tommy,” Joel says, with a tight-lipped grin, fully holding back. “Magic is uh, certainly an interesting career choice. Just be sure to not show up hungover and creep the kids out,” he chews his food, smirking.

“Hardy har, asshole,” Tommy mumbles. “If you weren’t such a hardass I wouldn’t have to resort to this.”

Joel shrugs, leaning back in his seat. “It’s a lesson, it’ll be good f’you.”

Tommy wraps his arm around your shoulders. “You already got a kid to teach lessons to, Joel, no need to be teachin’ me any goddamn shit.”

Joel takes a long swig from his beer. “Yeah, well, she ain’t ever given me shit to worry about, have ya kid? She’s good, and smart, and makes good choices. Can’t say the same about you.”

“Oh-kay!” You say, wriggling away from Tommy’s hug. “Thanks for the food, Joel,” you nudge Tommy with your elbow. You make it a point to pick up everyone’s dishes and clean them up.

“Same time tomorrow?” Tommy’s voice materializes behind you.

You nod sweetly, looking back at him over your shoulder. He stays silent for a beat before speaking again. “Walk me out? I’ll let you have a drag from my cigarette.”

You pat your hands dry on a tea towel and trail behind him to the porch. He felt a strange pinch in his stomach, guilt maybe? His cigarette feels heavy, once he’s put it to his lips. You stand against the porch railing, looking out, it’s a clear night. The honeysuckle smell you’d felt earlier has now been replaced by the smell of cigarette smoke and dirt. You don’t ask for the cigarette and Tommy doesn’t offer. You twist your finger into his belt loop and stand by him silently.

“You gonna split me in half?” You ask, eyes still heading forward.

Tommy goes into an intense coughing fit, bending himself over the railing, “‘scuse me?” He asks with eyes like a deer in the headlights.

You giggle a little bit. “You know, like the saw the lady in half trick,” you say as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

He wipes his eyes, blowing out a thick cloud of smoke from his nostrils. “Jesus, girl.” He shakes his head, his lips curling upward.

You tug at his belt loop a little, shooting a stupid smile his way. “The other kind is also on the table.”

His eyes widen again and he sticks what little is left of the cigarette into your mouth. “Will you can it? Jesus, if Joel hears you he’ll Batista Bomb me into next week.” He looks behind him nervously, half expecting Joel to be standing there, already reeling back to punch him.

You huff the last of the cigarette and put it out on the ground. “Will you relax? You heard him, I’m a good girl, making good decisions.”

His eyes flicker to you, the pupils like dark pools. “I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“Night Uncle Tommy,” you smile cheekily, waving as he crunches down the driveway to his truck.

Next morning went about the same, Tommy practiced a bunch of his tricks, finessed that card thing he’d managed to do yesterday and had even accomplished one of those coin tricks where you materialize a coin from behind someone’s ear. The sun is higher and hotter today, ain’t Texas heat the gift that keeps on giving? Tommy stood from his chair slowly, stretching upwards, allowing for a tiny peek at his stomach under the wifebeater he’s wearing today. Your mouth salivates at the little patch of hair that hides into his jeans.

“Whaddya want f’lunch? Can’t have my girl go hungry again,” he says, hands on his hip as he waits for your answer.

“Whatever you can make, I guess,” you shrug, watching him from under your lashes.

He grumbles something under his breath and languidly walks inside, leaving you alone on the porch.

You stretch your legs up on the opposite chair and let the quiet rumble of life lull you to a light sleep-like state. It felt like you could see your life captured by a film camera. The yellowish dried grass, the rings of moisture on the coffee table, the faded pattern on your t-shirt. Tommy’s voice, of course, interrupted all of it by calling you to eat. It hadn’t felt like it had actually been all that long, so either he warmed a Campbell’s soup and called it a day, or you’d actually fallen asleep.

The table is laid, one plate at the head of the table and the other next to it. You take the one on the side, something doesn’t feel right about sitting at the head of the table. The cream-colored sludge greets you against the stark white of the disposable plate Tommy served the food in.

“What… is this?” You ask, poking at it curiously with your (also disposable) cutlery.

Tommy takes a bite, and you don’t miss the slight grimace that flashes on his face. “Uh… casserole? Don’t know, I mixed a bunch of shit from your pantry and put it in the oven for a little bit.”

“I’ll try it ‘cause you made it for me,” you take a minuscule amount of the “casserole” into your little plastic fork and savor it slowly. You swallow it, and then brave your way through a few more silent bites. At about half way, you push your plate back. “You really are a terrible cook.”

He’s emptied his plate, but with whatever the opposite of gusto is. “Yeah, well, I appreciate the effort.”

“But I’m afraid that I’m still a bit hungry,” you pout at him. He looks apologetically at you, but before he can open his mouth, your hand’s already creeping up his thigh. “I’m sure there’s something else you can give me, right Uncle Tommy?”

You can hear him swallow, and his knuckles crack with the way he’s gripping the edge of the table, eyes shut hard. “You sure y’wanna do that, sweetheart?”

His button and fly are undone in a swift motion, and you’re already on the floor, kneeling before him. “I won’t if you don’t want me to— but you said it yourself, can’t let your girl go hungry, right?”

For maybe the first time in his life, Tommy Miller had no witty comebacks, snarky comments or dirty jokes. His breath went ragged and his elongated hand covered the lower half of his face. He watched you cautiously, but didn’t lift a finger to stop you as you inched your face to his crotch, where his cock was already hard and begging to be freed from its restraints. You pull his jeans down along with his underwear with a little help from him, allowing his cock to spring free and slap the little swell of his stomach. Before even touching it, you smile at him in a squirmy, innocently excited way. His fingers twitch on top of his mouth, and his eyes glued to you.

You kneel a bit forward and kiss gently the whole strip up his shaft until you reach the tip. Using your hand, you stroke him lazily a few times before swirling your tongue a little on his head, something reminiscent of the first time you had a French kiss. A deep, guttural groan leaves Tommy, and almost bounces off the walls. You take what you can fit in your mouth until you’ve covered all his cock in your saliva, allowing it to glide easily when you pick up your pace, bobbing your head up and down rhythmically until you feel the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. It’s salty, the same way his neck sometimes smells salty. But it’s also salty in the same way the first bite of food tastes when you’re really hungry.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he grunts, his hand dropping to the back of your head. “I know you can go a little further, right? Y’just need some — shit, some— help.” His hips thrust upward, making you effectively gag around his cock, doubling the mess and the sloppiness, your saliva already beginning to pool at his base. Your eyes are rolling back and tearing up. You gag again before he lets you go, and you gasp. He digs his fingers into your cheeks gently and wipes your tears away.

“My girl, so fuckin’ good,” he coos. “C’mon baby, y’didn’t finish your lunch. Y’gotta let me feed you properly, go on now.”

With that same grip he has on your cheeks, he pushes your head back down his length, rocking his hips up slowly. You flatten your tongue so you can feel every vein as his cock slides in and out of your mouth. One of his hands falls to your jaw, clutching it tightly, just coaxing him further down his throat. “Just a little more baby, Uncle Tommy’s super close—“ he growled. “Just need you to go for a minute longer, ‘kay?”

Your spit is everywhere from your chin down to your lap, and the only noises coming from you are those gag-whimper hybrids.

“Shit,” he groans, his hands on you tightening even harder as he feels the familiar pressure at the bottom of his stomach and the familiar tightness in his balls. His whole cock is throbbing as he pushes himself into your mouth, only a few strokes from release. A string of muttered profanities announce his climax, every throb of his cock releasing a rope of warm cum into your throat. His head is thrown back and his hands release your face, leaving your face hot in every spot he was holding. He tucks his softening cock back into his jeans and looks down at you, and the way he’s fuckin’ ruined you; lashes wet and stuck together, face flushed, nose and chin coated with your spit. “Open up baby,” he instructs quietly, “I wanna make sure you swallowed all of it.”

You open wide and stick your tongue out, letting him look closely at your now empty mouth. The salty taste of his cum had burned down your throat the way the first sip of whiskey does when you haven’t had a drink in a while.

“Good job, sweetheart,” he praises quietly, helping you stand. He takes your hands and brings them to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “You think that’ll hold you off ‘til dinnertime?”

You wipe your mouth with the back of your forearm. “Yeah, I think so.”

He chuckles heartily. “Maybe I should cook for you more often, hm?”

The entirety of your face scrunches at the thought of having to eat more of his food. “I’ll pass. You stayin’ for dinner tonight?” you ask with a hopeful glimmer in your eyes.

He shakes his head. “Got some stuff t’do. and I’ve gotta go buy the stuff, props or whatever. So don’t reckon I’ll see you tomorrow, neither.”

Your lip curls, and a little scoff leaves your lips. “Fine, fuck you. I’ll just make something really fuckin’ delicious for dinner and you’re not getting any.”

Tommy pulls you closer, holding you by the hips. “And I’ll be very sorry to miss it, angel.”

You roll your eyes, pushing him away slightly, but he wraps his big hands around your wrists and pulls you back towards him. “Say goodbye properly, will ya?”

“Bye Uncle Tommy,” you say begrudgingly. You glance at him, and he’s looking sternly at you, so you bow down a little and peck his lips softly.

Once you pull away, he stands up at once, swats your ass playfully and starts heading for the door. “Atta girl, remember manners are everything. Can’t be goin’ ‘round bein’ rude to people, everyone’s gonna say I ain’t teachin’ you anythin’ good.”

You stay still, with your arms crossed where he left you, hoping that he’ll turn back, but he doesn’t. In fact, you can hear him take off. You huff in annoyance, picking up the mess he left behind with his godforsaken “casserole.”

As promised, you didn’t hear a peep from Tommy again until Saturday. Joel asked about the monstrosity wrapped in cling wrap that sat in the fridge. He warned you about letting Tommy cook again. You’d made this buffalo chicken mac and cheese that you know he loves for dinner, even if it was only to fulfill your petty promise of making something tasty just because he wouldn’t be here. Not that you’d admit it to him, but the fact that he fucked your mouth and immediately took off just left your stomach feeling funny, not to mention he didn’t even offer to return the favor.

Whatever.

You’re already in the kitchen, nesting a cup of coffee when you hear the sound of stomping boots you know all too well. Tommy walks in, holding a bag, and tosses it on the counter in front of you. You say nothing, instead just cocking an eyebrow and peeking into the bag. It’s a bunch of red and purple sequined fabric. “Oh, oh, you didn’t.”

“Y’gon oblige your dear Uncle?” He smirks in this sick cheeky way.

“Uh, doubt that,” you grumble, pulling the shiny outfit from the bag. It’s got a barely there skirt, long sleeves, and there’s a pair of skin-colored tights at the bottom.

He pushes off the doorway and comes over, looking at it in front of you, his mind already conjuring an image of you in it. “C’mon, I got myself a little tux number, hat and all.”

You sigh, in your chest you know you’d always agree anyways. “I’ll change there, I think. Don’t really think I want Joel and mom seeing me in this.” You scratch the back of your head.

“Go on and bring Joel’s hair gel here f’me, will ya?” He asks, already going back to the truck.

You disappear into the bathroom, and come back with the gel and a comb. He’s back with a long garment bag and a hat on the other hand. He’s smiling wide, again. That odd pleasure of knowing he’s making a fool of himself in front of you spreads across his body, from the top of his head to the ends of his hands and feet. You mirror his smile with one of your own.

“Now, I know ain’t nothin’ here y’ain’t seen, but the possibility of flashin’ my brother ain’t doin’ it f’me so I’m gonna go on ahead and change in y’room, f’ya don’t mind,” he squeezes your butt as he walks past and closes the door to your room with a thud.

A few minutes later, he opens the door and emerges in a full three-piece tux. You feel your jaw drop, eyes scanning every detail of his appearance. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a tux before.”

He opens his hands and does a little spin, and you can see how the fabric clings to his broad form, his long arms and legs, the perfect fit on his ass. He’s all but glowing. Your eyes speak much more than your mouth ever could. But you feel it all weigh you down inside your stomach.

Tommy sits down wide spread on the couch and pats his thigh. “Help me do my hair. Make me look real nice and handsome.”

“Don’t know if hair gel can perform that kinda miracle,” you giggle, already straddling his lap. You shoot a quick glance at Joel and your mom’s bedroom, just making sure.

You dip your fingers into the gel and begin to push his hair back, letting his curls fall to the back of his neck. His warm breath is tickling your skin as you work the hair into place with your hands.

His big hands creep from your hips and up your back, then back down to rest there. “Can I do your mustache all magician-y?” You ask, combing down the last pieces of hair. He responds with a silent irritated glare. “Please?”

“Fine, but if I look like a creep I’m shaving it, like, ASAP.”

You furrow your brows, snickering. “Don’t be so fuckin’ dramatic,” you say. You dip the tip of your fingers and begin to twist the ends of Tommy’s mustache upwards. Admittedly, maybe you’re biased, but he looks fan-fuckin’-tastic.

He pushes you off his lap and goes to look at himself in the mirror. “Well, shit, baby!” He smiles, posing for himself in the mirror. “I am so rockin’ with this.”

Once you’re off the couch, you swipe the hat and jog to him, placing it on his head. “Oh, hell yeah!” You giggle, looking at the full get-up.

Your mom opens the door, and bursts into an uproarious laughter when she sees Tommy standing at the door. “Joel, honey come look at this!” She pulls Joel out of the room, who just looks at Tommy quizzically. Your mom’s already put her reading glasses on and is already snapping blurry pictures of Tommy.

Once you’ve arrived at the party, you turn to Tommy in the cabin. “Can you like… watch the car while I change? Just, you know.”

“Why don’t you just change inside like a normal person?” He plucks a pair of gloves from a white bag under his seat and begins to put them on, and your entire train of thought just kinda derails while focusing on the way his hands move.

“Errgh, I just don’t want to change in a stranger’s house? What if the lock’s all fucky and someone walks in?” Your eyes snap back up at his face. He’s got that shit-eating grin like he knows exactly what was going on in your head.

“Can I get a peek?”

You roll your eyes, and punch him softly on his arm. “Pig.”

Laughing, he raises his hands before exiting, and leaning against the back of the truck.

The godforsaken inside of this truck is cramped, and full of miscellaneous stuff. There’s receipts everywhere, there’s socks, empty water and soda bottles, spare change and even a (hopefully) clean sock lying there. It smells like a pillowcase you haven’t washed in way too long, but you can’t bring yourself to. You make quick work of disposing of your clothes and putting on the tights, trying your best not to rip through them. But the sequin contraption is the true challenge. You zip it down and put your limbs through it, and by the time you finally get it, you’re already sweating and pretty much over this whole thing already. You hop out of the truck, and stomp over to Tommy, who lets out one of those low wolfish whistles, looking at you. “I did good, didn’t I?”

“Man, one more fuckin’ word and I’ll tell all the kids in there that Santa isn’t real, let’s go,” you groan.

In front of all the children, he presents himself as the Terrific Tommy, and he adorns your name with three more adjectives. He begins easy, using this like drooping magic wand, and gets a big round of laughter from the kids. You stand behind him, unable to peel your eyes off him as he interacts with the kids.

“Will my lovely assistant bring me my deck of cards?”

He shows the audience the deck, letting them check it. “See? Just a normal deck ‘f cards here.” He invites one of the kids up and with a lot of flourish, he does that trick you had practiced days ago in your house. The crowd goes wild. There’s kids jumping out of their seats, girls shouting and pointing, it’s like nothing else exists outside of Tommy. And sometimes it does feel that way. For his final trick, he’s pulled the birthday kid up, and after a long-winded introduction, he begins to just pull a bunch of coins from behind the kid’s ear. Like, they just keep fuckin’ coming. Even you’re a bit in awe, if you’re honest. The kid goes crazy, pawing at his own ear, trying to see if he can do it too, but to no avail.

After sending the kid back to his seat, he calls you over, you both bow to the kids and he gives your cheek a big kiss, which sends electricity through every vein in your body. There is no amount of self-control you could’ve exercised in this moment to stop the way your ears and face heat up. He pulls you by the hand and pulls you in a hurry out of the house, pushing you up against the truck. He puts his hands on you like they’ve got a damn mind of their own, and his mouth is just crashing into yours like he’s never been hungrier for something.

“You look so fuckin’ good, sweetheart,” he murmurs, snaking his hand around your neck and kissing you again. “Wait,” he opens the door and tosses his hat and gloves inside. “A man’s got limits.”

He slams the door shut and presses his fingers harder against your throat, just enough. Your eyes flutter up to look at him, your breath all unsteady and shaky. “What if someone sees us?”

“Well, first of all, hot. Second of all, everyone’s at the fuckin’ party. No one’s gonna come out anytime soon,” he nips at the spot right under your ear and then laps at it gently with his tongue.

You bite your lips to contain a whimper that’s on the verge of spilling. The vibrations of a small chuckle from Tommy reverberate all over your body. “Y’like that, angel?”

He bites you again, but scoots his hand to unzip your little costume. “I bet you do, don’t you? Let’s just—“ he pulls the costume down and with two fingers rips the tights right at your crotch. “Baby, you soaked through to the tights, I didn’t know you liked magic that much.”

You pull his head back by his hair, looking down at him disapprovingly. “Shut the fuck up.”

He runs a finger over your clothed slit, feeling the way the wet fabric sticks to your skin. He’s still kneeling in front of you, his eyes going back and forth between your cunt and your almost desperate face. “I think I owe you somethin’ from last time, huh?”

Your hips buck into his finger, but he pulls his hand back. “Only if you ask nicely.”

“Please, Uncle Tommy,” you whisper.

“What was that?” He turns his head, pretending he didn’t hear.

You groan, all worked up and annoyed. “Please, Uncle Tommy.”

He purses his lips. “Please what sweetheart? C’mon, I can’t read minds and y’know that.”

“Go down on me, please.” You whisper, more desperate now.

He smiles and presses a kiss to your mound before pushing the sheer fabric from your panties to the side and immediately pressing the tip of his tongue to your clit. He presses it harder, gauging your reaction, before taking your clit into his mouth and sucking on it a few times. Your thighs close his head in, and he pushes them open. You hiss, but grind your cunt onto his face. He blinks and then looks up at you, that look in his eyes like a warning. He dives greedily into your cunt, lapping at it viciously, stopping every few times to graze his teeth softly against your clit. You’re biting down on your forearm, hard, trying to keep yourself quiet. He pulls his face away, a string of your arousal and his own saliva following him. “You’ll give me two, alright baby? Then I’ll give you what you really want.” He raises two fingers, and then drags them up and down your seam, slowly inserting them into you.

He stays back, pumping his fingers in and out of you, watching your face carefully. You can see your arousal making his groomed mustache glisten. His fingers speed up and he reconnects his mouth with your cunt and resumes, catching his licking speed up with his fingers, already creating a pressure building in you. “T-Tommy..” you moan, your hand pushing his face closer to your pussy, if that’s even possible.

The way he crooks his fingers seems to just flip a switch in you, making you a trembling mess as your cunt begins to tighten against his fingers. Your breath grows more and more shaky, and the pressure just keeps climbing. Your abdomen contracts spastically as your cunt tightens, a whole wave of release rippling through you. Your teeth dig into your skin, and it does little to muffle the sound of your moan as you ride out your orgasm.

You can feel Tommy’s own groaning and grunting against your pussy. “That’s it, sweetie. That was fantastic. Just one more, can y’do that f’me?” He retracts his fingers out and sticks them into your mouth, letting you suck your own juices from his long fingers. Then he drags them down from your mouth, down your chest, and your tummy all the way down to your pussy, leaving a shiny trail of your own spit and cum on you.

He kisses your throbbing and sensitive clit a little, before using his moistened fingers to circle it, gradually increasing the pressure and speed. Your hips shake involuntarily, and you feel like this orgasm’s gonna come quick already. Already, you’re clenching around nothing, just from him toying with your clit. “Shit—“ you breathe.

“‘S good baby? Feels good?”

You nod, breath already hitching, and you’re effectively chasing even more friction against his hand, cunt already leaking. “Uncle Tommy— I don’t think I— fuck,” you whine, your head falling back and thudding against the truck window.

Tommy’s concentration is evident, in the little wrinkle between his brows, in the way his lips are ajar, and it feels like he’s managed to concentrate everything into his hand.

And it comes again, that fuckin’ pleasure that knocks the air out of your lungs. You shake all over, and he looks up at you the way people look to the sky as if looking for answers. And it seems to him that this is all life was ever meant to be, your strained moaning, the taste of you on his tongue, and all because of him.

In one quick motion, he gets back on his feet and turns you around, using his hand to push your head against the window. With his other hand, he quickly undoes the button and zipper on his fancy trousers, his aching cock ready and leaking. “Can’t fuckin’ believe this took me so goddamn long,” he hums into your ear, leaning closer to bite your lobe. He pulls his pants down only enough to pull out his cock from both his briefs and the pants. Immediately, he’s lining the tip of his dick into your entrance.

Your hand snakes back to hold onto him, and he uses his foot to kick your feet so you open your legs wider. The first thrust is slow, and he watches your expression to see how you’re reacting to his size. You wince a little, but your pussy quickly adapts to him. “Look at ‘er, so nice and well-behaved,” he picks up the pace, going at you harder each time. You look at him with a blissed-out expression, even smushed against the car window.

“Feels so fuckin’ good, Uncle Tommy,” you mutter, each word punctuated by a thrust.

Tommy scrunches his freckled nose, and bites down on your shoulder. “Not gonna—fuck,” he pants, “not long, sweetie.”

You smile, and even a little taunting giggle leaves your mouth. “‘S okay Uncle Tommy.”

The mist guttural groan leaves him, and you feel his back arching around you, and him bottoming out, shooting his warm load into you. His head slumps on the back of your neck as he’s trying to regain his breath.

He pulls his cock from you and slips a finger into you, stuffing his cum further into you. “Turn around, look at me.”

You turn, looking at him with that wonder he doesn’t think he can go without, and begin putting your costume back on. He helps you this time, zipping you up and everything like a true gentleman. “Hey, you’ve got a little something there,” he points near your head.

Your hand instinctively moves to check, and then he pulls a quarter from behind your ear.

“Told you, chicks dig magicians.”

#do you know how much i had to convince myself not to write “tricks are things a whore does for money”#cw stepcest #uncle!tommy #step uncle!tommy #tommy miller #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x you #tommy miller smut #tommy miller fanfiction #tommy miller tlou #self insert

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