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thisisajdesing · 16 days ago

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Cupid's Chokehold — part four!

LUCK OF THE DRAW

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summary: Uncle Tommy teaches you about the gambler's high in Stratford. And when you return home, you're forced to put that poker face to good use.

pairing: step uncle!Tommy Miller x f!Reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, stepcest, age gap, gambling, allusions to addiction, oral f!receiving, tommy 'let me eat it before we go' miller, unprotected piv, praise, breeding kink, light angst, teeny tiny bit of exhibitionism, orgasm delay, creampie, no beta, this part ends on a cliffhanger im so sorry

note: full disclosure i know absolutely nothing about poker or casino games so like...let's not look too hard at that

wc: 11.6k

[series masterlist] [main masterlist] [AO3]

The consultation goes far better than Tommy expects.

You meet with a woman named Miranda. She’s tall as hell and wears one of those pinstripe blazers that reminds Tommy of his high school principal.

He lets you do most of the talking. You’re real good at it and have Miranda laughing five minutes in. The three of you walk through the house and Tommy’s critical in his observation. There’s ten bedrooms and four balconies and marble floors that shimmer and shine. The backyard has a goddamn waterfall in the heated pool and ten acres of woods behind it with a private lake and a brand new dock. Secluded and quiet. It’s beautiful. The most expensive house Tommy’s ever stepped foot in.

Miranda explains that she wants to keep the house's old bones. Likes the charm of the curving archways and the transom windows and the laundry chute in the hallway. But the rest of the house is rather dated.

The roof needs to be completely redone—something she failed to mention in the email exchanges. Tommy clocks that one before they even step foot out of his truck.

The plumbing needs updated, there’s only power going into the left half of the house, the insulation needs to be switched with something more modern, and the wood that makes up that big, wrap-around porch is so dry rotted that it needs to be fully replaced.

Tommy makes note of all of it. Is overly observant because he knows Joel will want every little detail. And he tries not to get too excited. Truly, he does.

But…they could do it with their fucking eyes closed.

Five million dollars.

Even after labor and material cost and everything else, for this one job Tommy alone would get paid two hundred grand easily. And he can’t imagine everyone on the crew would want to go all the way to Stratford for a month, and so that paycheck would likely be even more than he thinks.

Truthfully, he’s never cared much about moving out of his apartment. It’s always been just him there with the occasional on and off again girlfriend. There’s space to fit his things comfortably and his neighbors are nice enough, so he’s never given a place of his own much thought.

But when Tommy thinks of his future now, his brain subconsciously makes room for you in it.

He can see it clear as day when he dreams. Sees himself cooking dinner in the kitchen while you sit at the butcher block island he built with his own two hands, sipping whiskey from an icy glass. Sees you on the front porch steps while he’s out mowing the lawn. Sees you standing at the refrigerator late at night, bare feet on the tile, wearing nothing but his old t-shirt, trying to twist off the cap on a jar of olives that he always tightens just a little too much because he likes when you ask for his help.

You’re in everything he does. Present and future. Sometimes Tommy thinks even his past decisions had been made with you in mind, leading him right here. Right to you.

Miranda has lunch delivered during the consultation. A big spread of meats and hard cheeses and whole grain breads. She pours mimosas for you and herself but Tommy declines her offer. Wouldn’t be caught dead behind the wheel with an ounce of champagne in him if you’re the one in the passenger seat.

The two of you talk about labor pricing while you eat. Tommy sits silently beside you, taking slow bites of his turkey club concoction he’s put together, and lets you do your thing.

Isn’t surprised at the easy way you make conversation. Slipping in those personal questions between the ones about dollar signs to make Miranda more comfortable. You ask how her husband’s doing on his business trip to Italy and about her son’s basketball tournament. If he didn’t know any better, Tommy would think the two of you have been friends for years and not just the two weeks you’ve been emailing back and forth.

And when Miranda offers to pay another half million at the end of the consultation, Tommy isn’t surprised about that, either. She says, “My husband and I really love the work Miller Contracting does. And what’s even better is you’re good people. At the end of the day, that’s what we’re paying for.”

You tell her it was nice meeting her. Explain that Joel makes all final decisions so you can’t promise anything, but you’ll do what you can to sway his favor.

Miranda understands his hesitation. Knows it’s a long process and far away from home but swears to make the distance worthwhile.

Tommy hasn’t even pulled fully out of the long, winding driveway before you’re plucking your phone out of your back pocket and dialing Joel’s familiar phone number. You put it on speaker and hold it between the two of you.

It only rings twice before he answers. “Hey, kiddo. How’d it go?”

“It’s real, Joel,” you say, the smallest bit of pride in your voice. As if to say, I told you it would be. It’s almost undetectable, but Tommy hears it. “Everything she said in the emails was true.”

“Did you check the basement? The plumbing down there, is it accessible?”

“Sure is.”

“And the furnace?”

“Yep. And the water heater and the HVAC and the foundation. I triple checked it all. Just like you taught me.”

“An’ she didn’t leave anything out? Nothin’ at all?”

“The roof,” you say. “But we figured as much from the exterior picture she sent us.”

“So she did lie.”

“It ain’t that bad,” Tommy interjects. “Would take us less than a day to fix. An’ I don’t think the roof was even in the proposal plan, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t,” you answer. “Not once has she asked about us redoing her roof. Could be something she wants someone else to do.”

“Alright, fair. But the cost of labor—”

“How much would it be? For housing and food and travel expenses and everything else. Including pay for each day for everyone who wants a hand in it. How much would it be?”

Joel’s hesitation translates, even through the phone. “A lot. I don’t—I don’t know off the top of my head.”

“Highball it.”

Tommy can’t hold back his grin. Has never in his life heard someone talk that way to his brother during one of his stubborn moods. You speak clearly. Concise. Your voice holds an edge that’s devoid of fear and cowardice. He can hear Joel’s teachings in the way you speak.

Joel sighs heavily, and Tommy would bet money that he’s squeezing his jaw or massaging the incoming headache from his temple. And then, finally, he says, “Four hundred thousand, maybe. I can’t imagine Cooper or Adam are going to want to go, they’ve got those young kids an’ all.”

“And what if I told you it would all be paid for and then some? Outside of the five million,” you say.

“Where are we gonna get the kinda cash for—?”

Before Joel finishes, you’re explaining, “Miranda just offered another five hundred thousand. That means three and a half million dollars in profit after max material cost.”

“But Christmas bonuses and—”

“Joel.”

He stops. Silence hangs in the air, and Tommy knows it’s not because he doesn’t trust you, it’s because he doesn’t trust Miranda. The offer seems almost too good to be true. It’s taken them so long to get this far, and now that they’re here, Joel’s having trouble wrapping his head around it.

Tommy wishes he had something wise to say. Something to sway his brother, something to calm the anxiety he can see written plainly on your face. But he isn’t like you—doesn’t always have the right words. And so he holds tight to the steering wheel with one hand and extends his other, giving you a soft smile when you thread your fingers between his.

“Look, I know it’s a lot,” you say. “The three of us are the only ones who know, so if you decide not to take the job, no harm no foul. And you know I’ll have your back no matter what decision you make. Okay? But一if we get half before the job, half after, we won’t need to spend a dime out of our pockets. It’s real. And you’ve worked hard for it. It’s not a hand out and it’s not charity. You built this business from the ground up. You deserve this, Joel.”

Tommy knows his brother’s done for before he even speaks. He’s been on the receiving end of these talks with you, the ones where you say everything he wants to hear with so much conviction in your heart it’s impossible to discount it.

Joel sighs again but it’s a little lighter this time. He says, “Alright, let me…just let me talk to your mom first. I’ll tell you as soon as I make a decision.”

Before you even make it back to the hotel parking lot, Joel sends you a wordy text explaining his agreement terms. He wants to wait a month before they start construction. Says he needs to figure out who’s able to lend a hand and give them time to inform everyone they need to. He needs to replace Noah with a new hire and find a decent job for everyone who stays in Austin so they still get paid, too. Says to put the words ‘half the payment at signature, half after completion’ in the first draft of the contract.

The second you’re back in the hotel room, you’re pulling out your laptop and setting it up on the edge of the bed to tell Miranda the good news. You promise to have a complete breakdown of Joel’s terms sent by Monday afternoon and a revised agreement sent by Friday.

Tommy waits patiently while you work. He flops back on the mattress beside you and admires the way you look and the soothing sound of your fingers as they hit the keys.

He doesn’t rush you. Gives you all the time you need and concocts a plan of his own while he lays beside you.

And when you finally close your laptop, there’s a satisfied smile on your face. “This is going to change everything,” you say. “I mean, if Miranda has people tour her house when it’s finished they’re gonna want to know who did it, right? This opens up a whole new world of clients for us.”

Truthfully, he’d never thought that far ahead. Supposes that’s why you’re so good at what you do, always seeing opportunities before they’re staring you right in the eye. “I think this is cause for celebration,” Tommy says. “You bring some goin’ out clothes?”

That troublesome smirk finds its way onto your pretty face. “Picked an outfit as soon as Joel told me you’d be my chauffeur.” You stand to your feet, fingers already working at the buttons of the white blouse you’d bought specifically for the consultation. “Where are we going?”

“You’re gettin’ a birthday do-over,” he answers, a tone of finality in his voice. “S’been eatin’ at me, so I’m gonna make it right.”

Tommy pushes himself to his feet and comes to stand in front of you. His hands take over for yours, undressing you slowly. You tilt your head back to stare up at him, lips parted just slightly, eyes beginning to darken with desire he’s familiar with now. “You already did,” you say, and it warms his heart to hear it.

But it’s not just the end of the night he wants to fix. It’s the beginning, the middle, the aftermath. He has a chance to give you everything you wanted that day without fear of prying eyes, and Tommy thinks he’d be a fool not to take it.

He pushes the pearlescent buttons through the satin fabric of your blouse. One by one. Revealing the red lace you wear beneath. “Y’know, I’ve got this…this errand to run.”

The prettiest crease forms between your brows. Tommy presses a kiss there. “We have errands?”

It takes considerable effort to fight his grin. He likes the way the word we sounds in your mouth. And that assumption is no surprise, really. He can’t remember the last time he did anything without you at his side. But he shakes his head. Says, “Nah, just me. You go ahead an’ get all dolled up. I’ll be back in an hour. Yeah?”

The confusion on your face persists. And Tommy knows you like the back of his hand, so he tries to ease your mind. To put some of your uncertainty at ease.

“I just gotta pick something up,” he clarifies. “An’ it won’t be a surprise if you’re there the whole time, now would it?”

You narrow those pretty, suspicion filled eyes at him, but that grin gives you away.

Tilting your head up with gentle fingers beneath your chin, Tommy kisses you once, twice. Three times for good measure. “Be good,” he says.

“Never.”

He’s still smiling when he slides into the leather seat of his truck. It’s so easy, being with you. Loving you. Like second nature. As if it’s what he was made for.

And while he drives through the streets of Stratford, Tommy can’t help but think about a future with you. Even though there’s a little voice in the back of his head, reminding him that fantasizing about it will only make the inevitable devastation worse.

But it’s just too good. It makes his heart race, thinking about the way you’d look with a diamond ring on your finger and a belly swollen with his baby. He’d ntroduce you to all his friends as his pretty little wife and when they tell him to stay for one more drink he’d say, ‘nah, gotta get home to the misses’ with a big grin on his face.

He’d buy a plot of land and build your dream house with his own two hands. Tommy knows just what you like—has seen all those Zillow links you send him when you’re tucked behind that desk on the job site. He’d make sure it had a big window in the kitchen above the sink and hardwood floors and all the hardware in the house would match. Brass, of course—because that’s the metal you always notice.

But most of all, Tommy would keep you happy. Satisfied. If you wanted to work, he’d drive you every morning. If you wanted to stay home, he’d pick up extra hours if need be. He’d take you to see the sights of the world or spend the weekends cozied up on the couch—whatever you wanted.

He’d indulge your every whim and never let you participate in a bad idea alone. Whatever kept those stars in your eyes and that troublesome smirk on your sweet mouth.

And Tommy knows he’d be happy regardless of place or time. As long as you’re there with him.

When he arrives at the locally owned jewelry store he’d found online, he doesn’t linger. Does what he came to do and gets back to you with a sense of urgency.

Tommy hates being apart from you. Even if it’s easier knowing you’re waiting for him, the distance feels heavy. Like a waste of precious time. And you must feel it, too. Because as he’s pulling back into the hotel parking lot his phone buzzes in his pocket.

Your text simply reads ‘miss you.’ His favorite one to receive.

Tommy thinks he’ll never get over the way you make him feel. Wanted, needed, like he’s the most important man in your life. It doesn’t make sense to him, truthfully. He’ll never understand what the hell you see in him.

But he’s well past the point of rationizing any of what lies between you. So he just sits with it instead. Feels the love you have for each other and the near paralyzing fear that comes with it. Lets that heaviness fill him to the brim because it’s you, and he’s greedy for it all.

When he opens the heavy hotel room door, he finds you fixing a stray piece of hair in the mirror. You smile wide and your eyes light up as they meet his in the reflection.

You’re beautiful, Tommy thinks. Breathtaking.

His hands itch with the need to touch you, like they always do. Insatiable. And so he does, because for this weekend he can. He comes up behind you and places his broad palms on your hips, right over the waistband of your jeans. Light washed and distressed with glittering pockets, tight and casual but sexy. He presses a kiss behind your ear and promises, “Missed you more, sweetheart.”

Your hands find his, guiding them beneath the smooth satin of your black halter top, pressing them against your soft skin. It’s not an inherently sexual caress, it’s just there. Grounding. As if you need the touch just as much as he does.

“Got you somethin’,” he says. He fishes the small package from his pocket. “Close your eyes.”

When you do just as he asks, Tommy carefully unwraps your gift, turns one of your hands over, and sets the dainty piece of jewelry there. He can feel your excitement as if it were his own. Sees that pretty smile and mirrors it. “A present?”

“Mhm.” His stomach twists with nerves. But he’s not really sure why, because it’s you. Knows it’s something you would’ve picked out for yourself if given the chance. But he wants to impress you. Wants to make sure you feel loved. “Alright,” he says. “G’head.”

You laugh softly and your grin widens, fingers coming up to trace the thin chain of the necklace. In the center of it sits a single, pearl pendant. Small but pretty, not dissimilar to a lot of the jewelry you normally wear.

“I know when you asked for a pearl necklace that you meant the Uncle-Tommy-made one,” he says with a laugh. “But you still asked for it. So I wanted to get it for you.”

“I love it,” you say. And then you're handing it back to him and gathering your hair in your hands, a silent instruction.

Tommy unclasps the necklace and lays it delicately in the center of your chest. “You know, the jewler lady was tellin’ me all this stuff about gemstones. Said they all kinda mean different things. Like emeralds are for growth and diamonds are for strength or whatever,” Tommy explains.

When he secures the necklace, he gently runs his knuckles down the back of your neck. Feeling you; your skin, your warmth, your pulse.

“And when she started tellin’ me about pearls, at first she said they’re for purity and innocence.”

“Purity and innocence?” You laugh at that—one of those sweet, belly laughs he loves so much.

Tommy shakes his head, smiling so hard the apples of his cheeks hurt. “I know, I had the same reaction,” he tells you. “But just—just listen. Stay with me.”

With a nod, you press your lips together, trying to fight off your amusement.

“An’ then she said they could also be for spiritual connections," Tommy continues.

You quiet a little then, hearing him, seeing his point before he even alludes to it. Reading his mind in that way you do.

“I asked her to explain it to me. So I knew I was understandin’ right. An’ she told me a spiritual connection ain’t somethin’ you can control. Doesn’t matter if it’s someone you shouldn’t want, doesn’t matter if…if it makes sense or if it’s right. It just is. Said those that experience it are lucky. Cause sometimes, for some people, somethin’ like that never happens at all.”

You stare at him in the reflection of the mirror, pupils blown wide and filled with the same intensity he feels. A shared understanding.

A shared devotion.

When you reach for him and your fingertips snag against the shiny, new hardware on the ring finger of his left hand, you immediately notice it. Can feel the difference, the change from what’s normal.

He smiles as you turn in his embrace, holding his hand up in the space between you. Your brows furrow the smallest bit, and Tommy feels his gut twist with nerves as you closely examine the simple gold band. Thin but masculine, with a single pearl stone set in its center. Twin to the pendant around your neck, one more shared thing between you. Something tangible, something physical that will remain even after the weekend is over.

“They’re the same,” you say. “Like us.”

His heart pinches in his chest at the softness in your voice. “Yeah, darlin’,” he mutters. “Jus’ like us.”

You turn his big hand in yours and press it to the side of your face, and his thumb instinctively caresses the delicate curve of your cheekbone.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about what you said last night,” he whispers. “About…about how mad they’d be if they found out. Now, my brother, he’ll hate me for this. I think we both know that.” Tommy swallows hard. “But I…the risk一to me, anyway…it would be…it would be worth it. You…you are worth it.”

The words come out stumbling over one another. Tommy’s not used to this, to laying the truth of his heart out in the open for someone else to see. But he reminds himself that it’s not just someone he’s letting in. It’s you.

And you’re everything.

He can feel your pulse beneath his palm. Steady and unafraid, a direct contrast to the way his heart thrums against his sternum. “Are you saying you want to tell them?”

“I’m saying that I’ll do whatever you want,” Tommy explains, hearing the surrender in his own voice. “If you want to tell them, we’ll tell them. If you wanna keep carryin’ on the way we’ve been, just these stolen moments when no one else is lookin’, then we’ll do that, too. An’ if…if one day you find someone else, then I’ll step back. Won’t blame you, won’t hold you to nothin’ cause I know this一this ain’t the way it’s supposed to go.”

The thought alone leaves him feeling hollow, but he means it. You squeeze his hand a little tighter, no doubt seeing the flicker of disquiet in his eyes.

“What I’m sayin’ is that I’m yours, darlin’,” Tommy explains. “As long as you’ll have me. After that, even.”

For the rest of his disappointing, god forsaken life, all things good about Tommy Miller belong to you.

“I’m all in,” he says. “An’ I mean it. You just gotta say the word, darlin’.”

You stand there, staring up at him, wide eyed and grinning like you’d just won some prize. And he wants you to say it一wants you to tell him that you’re ready to risk it all. To step outside of what’s comfortable and damn every last consequence.

And you want it, too. Just as badly. He can fucking see it.

But then something flickers across your face. The reality of it hits. You remember who exactly it would hurt in the process.

And Tommy knows the decision you make before you speak. Watches you silently take all that temptation and bury it deep. His sweet, selfless girl.

Your eyes flutter closed, and you lean into his touch. “I love you,” you say, and he knows you mean it. But you love them, too. Just as much.

He gets it. Reminds himself you still have the weekend. You still have now.

You press a kiss to the pad of his thumb, lips velvet soft. With that smirk on your face, you say, “All this cause I wanted a facial.”

Tommy laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m kidding,” you say, but the intensity of the moment has passed. Replaced with something lighter yet filled with just as much love. More, even, because this is the kind of airiness that only ever exists when you’re together. The feeling he’s come to crave.

“Drive me fuckin’ insane,” Tommy tells you, but there’s no salt to his words. They’re filled with affection instead. His joy persists, even as he shakes his head and says, “Spillin’ my guts an’ you gotta make it about that damn pearl necklace. Oughta teach you to respect your elders.”

Your giggles bubble out of you, a familiar sound that eases all of his ache. But once your laughter begins to die down, you take him by the jaw. “Hey.” You tilt his face down so he’s staring right at you. Into you. “You are my home, Tommy Miller,” you say with such finality it makes his ears ring. “Don’t ever doubt that. Not for a day in your fucking life.”

He smiles wide. Lets himself soak up the heat of this moment in case he never gets to experience it again. His hands find your skin, sliding easily beneath your top, stroking just beneath your ribs. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy when you get all bossy,” he says. “You know that?”

“Bossy?” You scoff. “I do not get bossy.”

The lie bleeds through, and Tommy thinks about giving you examples from the consultation and the phone call from this morning, but he’s got something a little different on his mind. A matter that’s a little more pressing. “Mmhm,” he hums, leaning down to kiss the exposed junction of your shoulder. “Sure. Right.”

You shiver beneath the warmth of his tongue, the sharpness of his teeth against your skin. “We’re supposed to be going out,” you say, but you tilt your head back anyway. Giving him more access. “You keep this up and we won’t make it two feet out the door.”

“We will, baby,” he promises. “We will. Wanna show you the city lights. But just…” Tommy kisses a trail down your chest, lips hot and heavy. And then he hooks an arm around your waist, lifting you up and sitting you on the porcelain edge of the sink. “I just gotta take care of somethin’ first.”

He squeezes the supple flesh of your thighs, spreading your legs to make room for the width of his hips. His fingers are careful, moving with the kind of familiarity that only he could ever possess. “Take care of what?”

“Of you.” Tommy smirks. “Look so fuckin’ pretty.” He unfastens the button of your jeans and slides down the zipper to find you bare beneath一and there’s something about it that sets him off. Makes him a little more desperate for you. The knowing, maybe. The realization that you’d planned for this, that you’d gotten all dressed up with the expectation to be dressed down by his rough hands.

He sinks to his knees before you, head positioned perfectly between your knees. “But I never have enough energy after,” you whine, but you arch into his touch as he slides a hand beneath your top and palms your breast anyway. Not an ounce of resistance to be had. “If we fuck now, I’m just going to want to stay here and do nothing else for the rest of the night.”

“Who said anything about fucking?” Tommy hooks his fingers in the waist band of your jeans and pulls them down. “Said I’m gonna take care of you. Just wanna eat it before we go, baby. S’that alright with you?”

A flush crawls up your neck, and Tommy would bet that if he pressed his fingers to your cheek that they’d be full of sweet, summertime warmth. He wants to feel it, to taste it. But then you press your teeth into your bottom lip and nod, giving him the green light, and Tommy returns to his trajectory. “Be fast,” you say, a teasing lilt to your tone.

Tommy takes it as a challenge. Pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and hands it to you. “Five minutes,” he says, mirroring the silly smile you wear. “Go ‘head. Tell me when you start it.”

You shake your head in disbelief but settle in anyway, leaning back against the mirror. You put in the passcode to his phone, set the timer for exactly five minutes, and lay it on the sink beside your thigh. Your finger hovers over the start button. “You’re a little confident,” you say. “There a reason for that?”

He turns his head and bites the inside of your thigh, flicking his tongue over the hurt the moment your breath catches in your throat. “S’cause I know you, sweetheart,” Tommy explains. “Got you memorized. Know your favorite color, your favorite song.” He moves closer, sucking bruises into your thighs in the shape of his mouth. “Know how you like to be touched.”

Your knees drift further apart, breath coming fast. Anticipating what’s to come.

“Start the damn timer,” Tommy demands. And the moment you do, he’s leaning forward and getting his fix. He pushes your thighs apart and lays wet, open mouthed kisses against your clit. Circles it with a pointed tongue that works you up with precision.

He revels in the broken moans that you let slip, in the way your fingers tangle in his curls. You’re so wet, so responsive, so needy. But this is more for him than it is for you; a controlled release, a hit to tie him over while you’re out.

It’s damn near over when he slides two fingers inside of you. Your body accepts him so naturally, greedy in a way only he understands. Your fingers curl around the sink’s edge, blanching as you try to fight release.

But Uncle Tommy does have you memorized. Presses his fingers against that spot inside that has you gasping, flicks his tongue just right.

In the end, it only takes him two minutes and twenty-eight seconds before your pussy pulses around his fingers. Your spine bends and your clit throbs beneath his soft tongue, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

Tommy doesn’t stop until your thighs shake. Doesn’t come up for air until his lips are swollen and his chin glistens with your arousal.

But when he does, you wear this sweet smile. And even though his cock throbs painfully in his jeans, Tommy feels satiated at the sight of it. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, helps you back into your jeans, and zips them up all before the timer goes off.

And when the two of you finally leave the hotel room, you lace your fingers through his and cling to him with that sweet smile still on your face. Safe and satisfied and happy.

You cling to him as he leads you through the busy streets of Stratford. Leaning into him, pressing your cheek to his shoulder. It’s such a small, intimate thing, but it pleases him. He likes knowing that if anyone were to look in your direction they wouldn’t assume there was anything wrong about the way he holds you.

Not once do you question where he leads you. You just trust him. Fully and without any reservation. No one has ever trusted him like you do, Tommy thinks. Not any of his friends, not any of the women he’s been with, not even his own brother.

He gets high on it. On your faith. You know him better than anyone and are fully aware that he’s an impulsive man, that he follows his heart without giving the consequences much thought. And yet, still, you trust him fully. To be good to you, to be good for you.

Thoughts of the potential tomorrow he could have with you persist once more, begging to be acknowledged. He tries to stay grounded in the moment. Holds your hand a little tighter, inhales the sweet scent of perfume that clings to your skin. The sun sets in the distance, just now dusk, still bright. Still day. Still time.

When you round the last corner and Tommy steps into the short line at the entrance, you look at him with an expression that’s a little lighter. Bright eyed and curious. “A casino?”

He grins. “What kinda uncle would I be if I didn’t introduce you to some bad ideas of my own every now and again?”

You turn to the bouncer and present him your shiny new ID; the horizontal one that’d come in the mail not too long ago. They wave you through, and Tommy follows suit.

It’s darker inside. Busy, too. Filled with people of all kinds; some in jeans and work boots, not dissimilar to Tommy. Others in three piece suits and cocktail dresses.

The air smells like smoke and booze and the lingering scent of pine cleaner. Colorful lights cascade over the space, over your soft skin. Hues of blues and yellows and greens. He can hear the faint electrical whirring of slot machines in the distance, mixed with sighs of defeat and the clink of coins and gasps of celebrations. All mixed together, a low thrum that slithers through him, the energy alight and buzzing.

The lights reflect beautifully in your eyes, and Tommy can’t help but get a little lost in it. In you. The prettiest girl he’s ever seen. He wishes he had the words to explain it, to make you understand that you’ve uprooted his entire life.

Tommy realizes then that he’d been right all along. In the beginning, knowing that the moment he touched you everything would change. That he would change. Red to blue, green to yellow. He’d known it then and had indulged in you anyway. Completely, lucidly aware that nothing would ever be the same for him.

And if he had a chance to redo it all, if he could go back to that night at the warehouse party, Tommy knows with certainty that he’d do it all over again.

Even if you never say the word. Even if you tire of him and find someone your own age who you don’t have to kiss behind closed doors or ten hours away from everyone you know.

Even then, the time you’ve given to him has been worth it.

You extend your hand, palm out and open. “Drinks first?”

He slides his rough fingers through yours. “Drinks first.”

Tommy leads you to the bar, orders two whiskeys, and pays with his own card. While you wait for the bartender to finish pouring, he hands you a hundred dollars in cash and says, “Now, the trick is to go slow. I know it’s real exciting, ‘specially when you get the hang of it and start winning. But you gotta keep yourself in check. Yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear you. Slow and steady. Easy does it.”

“A hundred bucks each,” he explains. “An’ once you’re out, you’re out. We’re here to have fun, not start any new bad habits.”

You jut out your bottom lip, forming a pout. “Damn. And here I was, thinking we were gonna remortgage the house and sell your truck.”

Tommy snorts, shaking his head. He thanks the bartender when he sets the two whiskeys in front of you and you clink the edges of the crystal glasses together. “We’ll start wherever you wanna go,” he says. “Lead the way, baby.”

It takes you a while to decide. You walk around the carpeted casino floor hand in hand, sipping whiskey and asking a million questions. Sometimes, you linger at some of the tables.

“What’s that one?”

“Baccarat,” Tommy tells you, watching the dealer shuffle the cards in a dramatic fan. “Sometimes you win, sometimes your opponent wins, sometimes the banker wins. Kinda complicated.”

You walk further, past the slot machines and to another small crowd of players. You point to the spinning wheel attached to the table, striped black and red and numbered. “Roulette,” you say. “Right?”

“Supposed to be about math.” Tommy tuts. “Mostly just about luck.”

When you reach the poker tables near the back of the game floor, you move a little slower.

You don’t say anything, but Tommy knows you. So he takes your hand and leads you to the dealer. Buys twenty dollars in poker chips and takes a seat at the table. You do the same, sitting right beside him.

There’s an older gentleman at his other side, graying and drenched in the heady smell of cigar smoke. Beside him sits a woman a little older than you, wearing a sequined dress that casts rainbows over the green table.

The dealer looks to you, and you place the minimum bet in the center of the table. Two blue chips.

Tommy goes next. Adds a red chip to the pool.

The old man places his, and then the woman. And when the dealer places two cards in front of each player, Tommy lifts just the corners of his up and nearly laughs. He’s got an ace of spades and a seven of hearts.

Tommy’s got shit for luck. Always has.

He turns to you, tries to read the look on your face. You just smile at him, maybe a little smug. But he can’t tell if it’s because you’ve got a winning hand or if it’s the excitement of it all.

The dealer discards the card on the top of the deck. Lays it face down off to the side. And then he flips three cards into the center of the table; three of spades, five of diamonds, seven of clubs.

“Bets,” the dealer says.

You lean forward, stacking another blue chip onto the steadily growing pool. “Raise.”

Tommy tries to keep a straight face, but he can’t. The amusement bleeds through, his mouth pulling up at the corners. “Call.” He places the same bet, another blue chip beside yours.

The man beside him folds, and Tommy thinks he must have an even worse hand than the one sitting in front of him.

The woman calls, too. Matches your bet.

The dealer places another card in the center of the table. Six of hearts.

He sees your leg twitch beneath the table. The only tell he’s noticed since the beginning of the game.

“Bets?”

“Raise,” you say again, putting in two red chips now. Worth more. Nearly doubling the pot.

Tommy shakes his head, rubbing the stubble along his jaw. “Fold,” he says, pushing his cards face down across the table to the dealer. It’s just you and the woman at the end of the table now.

And it seems she’s got a hell of a poker face, too. Because Tommy can’t pick up on a single cue between either one of you.

The old man beside him nudges Tommy with an elbow. “Guess we got shown up, huh?”

He laughs. “Guess so.”

Just beneath the table, he holds a five dollar bill between two of his fingers. “Got five bucks on my daughter,” he says. It surprises Tommy at first. But as he looks a little closer, he sees the resemblance there; they share the same blue eyes, the same aquiline nose. “How much you got on your wife?”

It’s stupid, he knows.

But Tommy can’t help himself. Not when it comes to you.

He pulls the remaining cash out of his wallet. “Got eighty bucks in my pocket,” he says, his confidence coming out more arrogant than he initially intended. “On her?” He clicks his tongue. “I’m all in.”

The man holds out his hand, a glimmer of excitement in his pale eyes. “Deal’s a deal.”

Tommy grins. Shakes his hand with a firm grip. “Deal’s a deal.”

When he returns his attention to the game, Tommy sees the dealer lay another card on the table. Six of hearts.

You raise again, adding one more blue chip, leaving you almost empty.

The woman at the end of the table hesitates. Just for a moment, but Tommy sees it. She calls, matching your bet.

The dealer lays the final card on the table, face down. He waits, lets the anticipation simmer. And then he flips it with a quick flick of his wrist. Practiced, meticulous. Eight of diamonds.

The woman lays her hand down first. She’s got an eight of hearts and eight of clubs. And with the eight of diamonds on the table, she’s got three of a kind. A win.

Tommy’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. Starts to wonder how the fuck he’s going to explain that he’s lost every last dime before the first game’s even finished.

But then you reveal your hand.

Two of diamonds, four of diamonds.

Four of a kind, and a seven card straight.

“Aw, hell.” Tommy’s eyes go wide and it takes everything in him not to jump to his feet. Still, the excitement spills out of him. Won’t stay contained no matter how hard he fights it. He takes your face in his hands and presses his mouth to yours, needing to touch you, to feel you, to taste you. “Now that’s what the fuck I’m talkin’ about, baby!”

Your giggles are girlish and blithe, filled with so much joy you’re damn near swimming in it. You lean in and gather the chips on the table, pulling them toward you. As you stack them neatly at your side, you sip the whiskey from your crystal glass. “Another game?”

“You bet your sweet fuckin’ ass we’re playin’ another,” Tommy says.

The old man at his side claps him on the back, forks over eighty bucks worth of poker chips, and says, “Ya’ lucked out on her, kid.”

The words stop him in his tracks. They’re said so casually, but they give him pause.

Because they’re fucking right.

He’s lived his entire life in the wrong places and the wrong times. Has never been dealt a good hand and if he has, he fucks it up in a minute.

But he did luck out on you.

Was in the right place, at just the right time. Said just the right words, did just the right things.

He fell hard and fast. But you did, too, and Tommy knows it’s the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to him.

And this old man who doesn’t even know your name can see it just as clearly.

Tommy nods. Swallows hard. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I did.”

The man and his daughter both step away from the table, and two others take their place, leaving Tommy to reassess the way he’s viewed his entire life up until this point.

Because maybe all those mistakes prior to the day he met you were worth it, meant to bring him here. To Joel’s that first evening, to the warehouse party, to the crowded bar on Sixth Street, to that diner in the middle of nowhere, to the poker table you sit at now.

He thinks about the jewelers take on a spiritual connection. How it only happens once in a lifetime or sometimes not at all.

He thinks about the words you’d whispered to him last night. Surrounded by chlorinated water and sandstone walls, safe enough in his arms to ask the one selfish question he’s ever heard uttered from your lips.

What if it wasn’t my mom and Joel who were meant to meet. What if it was us?

All that bad luck for all those years because he was saving it for you.

The dealer shuffles the cards, fanning them across the table.

You sit there for five more games, all of which you win. You came to the table with twenty dollars in poker chips and leave with over two hundred一up higher than Tommy’s ever been himself.

You ask to take a break after the last win. Tell him you want to try something else, to see if you’re any good at the slot machines or blackjack. But the moment you’re away from the table, you’re throwing away that facade you’ve mastered in the last hour and looping your arms around his neck, smiling wide. “Can you believe that? I did good, didn’t I? Six games in a row!”

Tommy laughs and holds you tight against him. “You did so good, baby,” he says. “C’mon. Let’s see who else’s pockets you can run.”

The slots are a let down. An experience, for sure—but not a single round do you or Tommy win more than a single dollar. Yet, still, you sit beside one another and stick coins into the machines and cross your fingers and hope for the best.

Once, you try to mimic the mechanical whirring sound of one of the penny slots, and it’s so accurate that you have Tommy laughing hard enough his side aches.

You go through more drinks—another round of whiskey and you share a frozen, lime flavored margarita tower that’s nearly as tall as you are.

Tommy wins twice at blackjack, and you lose so badly that you’re back down to the same hundred you walked in with. He wants to try another round, but you call it quits and sit in his lap while he plays.

It’s a hell of a lot more difficult to focus with you so close.

He’s supposed to be counting up the value of his hand, but all he can think about is the curve of your shoulder when you pull your hair back and expose it to him.

Tommy presses a kiss beneath your jaw, trying to curb the craving to taste the salt of your skin.

He watches goosebumps rise on the back of your neck in response, watches you press your lips together to keep that troublesome smirk from forming on your face. You take his hand that rests gently on your hip and slide it just a little higher, beneath the satin hem of your top.

It’s different than when you’d done it in the hotel room. Less about feeling him and more about being touched.

You shift in his lap, rolling your hips forward, spreading your legs a little wider to make room for the thick plane of his thigh. It’s the smallest change, barely there一but Tommy sees it. Feels it. The warmth, the need.

There’s six other players at the table. The one on your left is close enough that you could touch your elbow to the fabric of his black suit if you leaned over just a bit more.

Filthy, shameless girl.

You shift your hips over his thigh again. More intentional, more obvious.

Tommy’s hand tightens at your side in warning.

That smirk of yours is on full display now as you glance at him over your shoulder, eyes filled with equal amounts of challenge and devilry.

The other players around him show their hands. One by one. And when it’s Tommy’s turn, he lays his cards down to reveal the winning numbers. A ten of hearts and a ten of spades.

He leans forward to collect the chips in the center of the table, and slides his hand a little higher on your waist in the process. Feels your soft skin beneath his calloused fingertips, pressing into the divots between your ribs.

Tommy always feels that gravitational pull towards you, but it’s different knowing what the end of the night holds. He’s less guarded, less careful. He touches you without shame.

There’s nothing hesitant about it. No guilt. Tommy likes it more this way, he thinks. It makes him feel impossibly closer to you. Makes him feel free. Weightless.

His subtle touches are a little different for the remainder of the night. Heavier, full of intent. His hand at the small of your back as you try a rounds of pool, his forefinger beneath your chin, forcing you to look up at him when you ask for another whiskey.

But there’s no rush, no race to get home to feed your desires before the moment passes.

You’re gifted a round of shots from a girl you make quick friends with in the restroom, and the luck of it convinces you to go back to the poker tables. They’re busier now, the night in full swing.

But it makes no difference. You still wipe the floor with the other players every damn game, Tommy included. Even the ones where you’re dealt a losing hand, you’ve got such a winning streak that he finds himself folding out of intimidation.

A little before eleven, the two of you step out onto the balcony to share a cigarette that Tommy lights with the chrome zippo that lives permanently in the front pocket of his Levi’s. You leave the poker table with nearly five hundred dollars worth of chips in your pockets and a carefree smile on your face.

You lean back against the railing on the balcony, smoke swirling around you in an angelic halo. “I can see why people get addicted to this,” you say, lighthearted.

Tommy laughs. “Yeah, well. Let’s keep that little confession to ourselves. You develop a gamblin’ addiction an’ Joel finds out it was ‘cause of me, he’ll have my ass.”

With the roll of your eyes you say, “Oh, please. If I’m going to develop any addictions it’s not gonna be something lame as hell like gambling.”

He gives you a crooked smirk. “Booze, then?”

“Was thinking heroin,” you joke, passing the half-smoked cigarette back to him.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” he says with a shake of his head, but his wide smile only grows. He takes a long drag, letting the nicotine dull the alcohol head buzz that’s well and truly set in by now.

You giggle softly, always happy to present him with that crude humor. But as he exhales slowly, your smile begins to fall. Just a little, as if you’re unsure of exactly how you’re feeling. Caught between one emotion and the next.

Tommy reaches out his hand. Strokes his knuckles gently across your cheek. “Tell me, baby.”

You cast your eyes away, nudging a small pebble beneath the tip of your sneaker, resigned. And then you admit, “I don’t want to go home tomorrow.”

It pulls that anxiety that’s been building in his chest all day to the forefront of his mind. The fear that this feeling won’t last, that it’s coming to a rapid close. That this high has gone on for too long and the come down is like a slab of concrete rushing up to greet him from below.

Tommy wishes he had the answers for you. Wishes he could carry the weight of it all just to grant you peace. He’d do it without complaint if it meant you didn’t have to feel this emptiness, too.

”C’mere.” He opens his arm and you fit yourself naturally beneath it. “My sweet girl,” he murmurs, lying his cheek on the top of your head, holding you as close as his anatomy will allow. His grip is firm, unrelenting, squeezing tight like his body could grow roots into yours if only he could get close enough.

With a long exhale, you say, “I wish we could stay here forever. The pretending gets so tiring. You go home after dinner every night and it’s the worst part of the day. I just…I miss you. All the time.”

His stomach twists and his throat gets tight in the way it always does when his emotions start to choke him. “I’m right here, darlin’,” he whispers. “Not goin’ anywhere. An’ you never have to pretend. Not with me.”

Tommy keeps you close until your shoulders relax and the cigarette burns to cinders between his fingers. And when you finally pull away, you stare at him hard. Like you’re searching for something hidden in his eyes.

He opens his mouth to speak. To remind you that whatever turmoil’s swirling around inside that pretty head of yours is his to shoulder, too.

But then you let out a dramatic groan. Loud enough to attract the attention of the other smokers out on the patio. You pay them no mind, though, and neither does he. You throw up your hands in surrender and say, “You know what? No. No. Fuck it.”

Tommy thinks the rapid shift in energy may just give him whiplash. He’s got no clue about the silent conversation you’ve had with yourself, but he knows that he loves you. Knows that he’s never had a bad day if you were at his side. Knows that as long as you’re together, he’d do anything.

Anything.

A short, clipped laugh escapes him, and then Tommy throws his hands up, too. “Fuck it.”

You grab his hand and lead him back inside. There’s a newfound determination in the way you move, and it frightens him and makes him feel alive simultaneously.

The roulette table is still just as busy as it was in the beginning of the night. Bustling with players and onlookers alike. Tommy stops you just before you start pushing your way through the crowd.

He wants to know what’s changed. Has the faintest hope that you’re being selfish for once. But he can’t be certain. Not with this.

And so he says, “Hey, wait. Hang on. What, exactly, are we fucking?”

“Each other,” you answer with the happiest smile on your face. “I mean, Christ. I’m not…I’m not doing this anymore. I love you, and I’m tired of feeling bad about it.”

Tommy blinks in surprise. His heart hammers behind his ribcage.

With a sigh, you say, “Look, I don’t一I don’t know a thing about this, alright? I know fuck all about soul connections or how any of this is supposed to go or how it’s supposed to look. What I do know is that Joel’s gonna be pissed and my mom’s gonna think I’m having a crisis. But, like…fuck it, right?”

He couldn’t fight his face splitting grin if he tried. You’ve always been close. Always understood each other in ways no one else could possibly comprehend. But this is something else entirely, like coming home after a long day. Like taking a fresh breath of air. “Fuck it,” Tommy echoes.

Your eyes glitter, neon lights reflected in them as you dig out all of your casino chips from the pockets of your jeans. “We’ll tell them tomorrow,” you say. “The second we get home. I’m all in, Uncle Tommy. Are you?”

You already know the fucking answer.

And Tommy Miller, impulsive and obsessed man he is, adds the chips in his pockets to the pile in your hands. He says, “Put it all on red, baby,” and you do.

Pushing your way through the crowd, you set every last casino chip on the table. The other players raise their eyebrows in concern or see the opportunity and sport a wolfish smile, but you hardly notice. All your poker earnings, all of his from blackjack, sit in a messy pile on the green game table. You look at the dealer and say, “All in on red.”

“Bold,” the woman says with a nod of approval. “Number?”

You glance back at Tommy over your shoulder. “Twenty-one,” he answers. “For your birthday.”

You quickly stack your chips on the table over the red circle with the number twenty-one written on the inside, hands moving with precision.

The dealer spins the wheel, colors blurring and shifting together. She waits one second, two seconds一and then she drops the ivory-coated ball into the wooden bowl and everyone around the table goes silent. Waiting with bated breath, listening to the steady tick, tick, tick of the dial.

You and Tommy walk back to the hotel with empty pockets. No casino chips to be found, not a single dollar to either of your names.

But it doesn't matter. Not really. Because you’re laughing and the stars are bright beneath the night black sky and his heart has never been so full.

He put it all on red. High risk, high reward. Lost every damn dime and still walked away from that roulette table the luckiest man alive.

You race down the side of the busy city streets, sharing rushed and messy kisses that leave him feeling intoxicated in a whole new way. Tommy gets high on you, on your sweet affection, on the unrestrained version of your love.

Once you’re tucked safely back behind the hotel room door, you can’t get each other’s clothes off fast enough. He struggles to untie the satin fabric at the back of your neck, so you resort to pulling it over your head instead.

And when you shove him back against the crisp, white sheets, Tommy’s t-shirt is on the floor but he’s only got a single boot kicked off. You have time now, he knows. Could take things slow, could savor it.

But you don’t have to. You can rush into it tonight because there’s always tomorrow.

The word clings around in his head. Tomorrow. With you. Something he’d always hoped for but never quite let himself believe was possible until you’d said those two pretty words. All in.

Tommy thinks he’s been all in with you from that very first night in Joel’s kitchen. Had placed his bets before he lifted that bottle to your mouth, before that whiskey ever touched your tongue.

When you kick your jeans off onto the floor, Tommy shifts further up the mattress. Leans back against the headboard as you crawl in his lap wearing nothing now but that pearl pendant around your smooth neck.

His cock rests against his stomach, thick and heavy, and his lips part as you situate yourself just above it and slide him through the syrupy wetness that’s gathered between your legs.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, baby.” Tommy presses his fingers into the softness of your hips, letting you set the pace. He matches your rhythm and helps guide you. “And I—Christ. I’m so god damn in love with you.”

You smile wide, lighthearted laughter filling the space. And you’re so perfect above him—so happy, that it has warmth spreading through his veins. Not just the hot, needy sort of desire he’s used to, but something warmer. Something that only ever exists when he’s with you.

Tommy knows it’s irrational, the idea of soulmates. Knows that people aren’t cosmic matter wrapped up in human skin. But, fuck. He doesn’t care that it’s senseless and illogical—you are the best goddamn thing that’s ever happened to him.

He lifts his hips, angling them just right so when you roll yourself against him again he slides right in. You sigh in tandem, basking in the sweet, aching relief of finally being close enough.

With your hands braced on his shoulders, you begin to move slowly at first, working up to it, accommodating to the size of him. A steady but incessant rocking, thighs bracketing his waist. Gentle but desperate all the same.

“You got it,” Tommy encourages softly. “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. Made for me, weren’t you? Hm? Made real special, just for Uncle Tommy.”

He can never get enough of you. Feels drunk on the way you look on top of him when you start to quicken your pace. Feels high on the way you breathe out his name and the way your nails dig into the strong muscle of his back.

You feel so fucking good—messy and wet and so warm it makes his head spin. Tommy lifts his hips in sync with you, getting that much deeper. His cock throbs and twitches with each pass of your sweet pussy, arousal making a mess of the thick curls at his base. “Squeezin’ me so tight,” he says. “Look so pretty ridin’ it.”

The sounds you make are pornographic. Sexy and sultry and mouthwatering.

But Tommy can see that little wrinkle of frustration as it forms between your brows. Knows you need a little more, always just a little more, his pretty, desperate girl. “How’s it feel, baby? Talk to me.”

“Good, so一so good, but…I can’t, hm一please一”

He knows. Of course he knows.

“You need my help? S’that it, huh?” You nod frantically, chest heaving with each ragged breath. And Tommy gets it. He understands.

So he surges forward, bracketing his arm around the center of your waist. He holds you close, your breasts pressed flush against his chest. He lifts you just enough to make room for himself below you, and the new angle has him craning his neck to look you in those pretty, starry eyes.

And then he’s thrusting hard, fucking up into you, reaching deeper than you could get alone.

A sharp gasp leaves your throat, a wrecked sort of sound, and his lips curl up into a crooked smirk. “There she is,” he whispers against your collarbone. He does it again, rolling his hips, sinking in deep. “My favorite girl.”

“Oh god一” You loop your arms around his neck, holding tight. The most intimate embrace he’s ever been a part of, a merging of souls.

He finds a good, steady rhythm. Full of longing and love and promise. He lays wet, open mouthed kisses over every part of you he can reach; the curve of your shoulder, the column of your throat, the arch beneath your jaw bone. “Wanna spend the rest of my life with you,” he says, breathing hard as he feels your walls squeeze tight around him. “Build you a big ol’ house and fuck you to sleep every night in it. Jus’ like this. Put a fuckin’ rock on that finger an’ make you a real Miller, baby. Through and through.”

“Tommy, please,” you whimper. “You’re gonna make me cum一”

“Nuh-uh, not yet.” He slows his hips just enough to keep you there, right on the edge.

You toss your head back and he can feel you pulse around him, can hear the wet sounds from between your thighs with each thrust. “But I’m so close.”

“I know, sweetheart, but you got it,” he says tenderly. “Just a little longer, hm? Be good. Be good for me.”

And you do, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your sweat-dotted forehead to his. Resisting, fighting it hard. His perfect, filthy girl.

His release gnaws at him. An intense heat that builds low in his belly, flames licking at his insides, growing and growing until it becomes an inferno. Tommy snakes his free hand down his middle and presses the pad of his middle finger against your swollen clit. “Could put a fuckin’ baby in you,” he grunts out, words feral and breathless.

“Fuck, please, please, I can’t一”

Tommy’s vision goes blurry with the way you squeeze him like a vice, but he only doubles down. It’s vulgar and depraved and disgusting, but he loves it. And he knows you do, too一you’re one in the god damn same. “Ain’t nothin’ they could do about it then. Be mad all they want, but it’ll be my baby in your belly. Fill you up ‘til it sticks.”

He knows you’ve lost control before you even say it. Can feel the way you pulse around him, can feel the rush of liquid that trickles down his cock, coating him.

“Shit, baby,” he hisses, fucking you through it, pressing his rough fingers into the soft flesh of your side. “So fuckin’ pretty when you cum for your Uncle Tommy. Deserve to feel so good. My favorite girl.”

You slide your hands into his hair and crush your mouth to his in a bruising kiss. It’s hot and messy, a clashing of tongues and lips and teeth, desperate in its own right. You say, “I want everything with you, love you so much.”

And your raw adoration is his unravelling. The way it always is.

Tommy spills himself deep inside you, doesn’t stop until you’re both a mess of trembling limbs and satisfied laughter.

You fall back into the sheets, laying on your side, facing one another, fingers threaded together. Tommy kisses the tip of your nose while he tries to catch his breath. Swipes away the strands of hair that stick to your forehead.

He feels faint with the amount of love that fills him in this moment because there’s no reason for him to fight it. No use in worrying about what happens tomorrow, because it’ll be you, and it’ll be him, and not much else on God’s green earth truly matters.

You’re nearly asleep, eyes closed and breath shallow, when he asks, “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“Everything,” he clarifies. “Do you really want it all? Marriage and kids and everythin’ else. You want that? With…with me?”

You don’t open your eyes, but you begin to trace the curves of his face with gentle fingertips. The arch of his brow, the slope of his nose, the shape of his mouth. He doesn’t flinch, not even once, because you move like it’s muscle memory.

The thought crosses Tommy’s mind that no one has ever truly loved him before. Not like this. Not like you have.

“Sometimes I think about things that happened before I met you,” you tell him. “Parties I went to, bars I snuck into with my fake ID, vacations and my graduation and road trips. And all I can think now is how much I wish you’d been there, too. I don’t want to have to do that anymore. The wishing.”

He smiles, and when you feel it beneath your touch you smile, too.

Through a sleepy voice, you say, “Everything is better with you.”

Tommy has never slept so peacefully in his life.

Has never been so happy to wake up to his alarm at the ass crack of dawn.

You spend the ten hour drive back to Austin talking. The radio hums low in the background and the air is just warm enough to have the windows down. You put your bare feet in his lap while he drives and you talk about everything the future holds for the two of you.

It’s going to be hard, you both know. Laying out your worst grievances on Joel’s kitchen table. But it’ll be worth it, too.

And after, once things have settled down, and the job in Stratford is complete, you talk about buying a plot of land not unlike the one you’d viewed during the consultation. A couple of acres just outside of town. You talk about getting a dog and raising chickens and painting the kitchen cabinets navy blue and adorning them with brass hardware.

You show him pictures on your phone that you find on Pinterest of cute little farmhouses with big windows above the sink and wood flooring and wrap around porches.

When he asks about marriage and kids, it doesn’t feel weird at all. It feels easy. You tell him you want to wait until you’re twenty five but insist on having at least two.

It feels like the shortest ten hours of his life.

And when you pull into Joel’s driveway, Tommy’s stomach twists and his mouth goes dry.

But then you grab his hand and kiss his cheek and whisper, “All in.”

And Tommy’s ready. He is. To tell his brother, to deal with the mean right hook that’s likely coming, to start his life. Because it had never really had much meaning until he’d met you.

Your mom and Joel greet you on the front porch. He’s got his arm draped over her shoulders and there’s this look on his face一happy. Elated, even. No scowl to be found.

Tommy thinks there must be good news and feels the smallest bit of guilt, knowing that whatever it is, he’s about to ruin his big brother’s joyful mood.

You don’t make it two steps into the house before your mom takes your hands in hers. She’s nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet, sporting a face splitting grin and bright eyes not unlike your own.

She looks at you, and then at Joel. “I can’t wait. I can’t! It’s killing me.”

Joel laughs. “Alright, then. Go on, tell her.”

Something dark swirls in Tommy’s stomach.

And then your mom holds out her left hand. Nails manicured and painted pale blue and一there. Right there on her finger lays a silver band with a small diamond set in its center. “We’re getting married!”

Your hand jolts back behind you, searching for him, fingers finding the hem of Tommy’s t-shirt and squeezing tight.

For what it’s worth, you put that poker face to good use.

You hug your mom and gush about the ring and tell her how happy you are for her. Joel embraces you and kisses the top of your head and holds you in this fatherly sort of embrace.

But Tommy knows you. Sees right through it. Picks up on every last one of your tells.

Can hear the shake in your voice, sees the tremble of your bottom lip, notices the way you try to touch him every chance you get, reaching out for safety. A brush of your knuckles, a press of your arm against his, scrambling to pick up the pieces of the security you’d just found.

He and Joel share a drink in celebration in the kitchen and Tommy claps him on the back. Congratulates him while trying hard not to lose his footing, to fight off the dizziness.

They offer to take everyone out to dinner. Your mom says, “Sarah will be home soon. She already knows, but we can all go out to that Mexican place to celebrate. How’s that sound?”

Tommy’s the one who answers. Lies and says the drive has exhausted him. That all he really wants is a nap.

Your mom and Joel are understanding, of course. Promise a rain check. Next weekend, maybe.

The ringing in his ears doesn’t stop until he’s back in his apartment. Empty and silent and smothering in the worst ways.

And it’s right then and there that Tommy Miller knows his luck’s run out.

note: hi hello i just want to say thank you to everyone who's been so unbelievably supportive of this fic it makes me so happy to hear everyone's thoughts and to share my excitement with you :') i also want to thank all of you who've recommended this little series of mine over on tiktok in the comments of tommy edits i see u and i love u and i would die for u <3 and if you're interested in some edits inspired by uncle tommy, @feelherlove has made some really beautiful ones so be sure to go check those out!! also, i've made a playlist over on spotify for this series as well and have been slowly adding to it for anyone who's interested in that!! or if you have any recommendations let me know!! ok bye love u so much <3

@theretrofuturista @chuutu @gabymalikk @nana90azevedo @alidiggory92 @marisemonteiroo @ivyinthesun @hollowgracie @moyavsemoya @feliciahardysgf @polkadotsocks1993 @malewifejoelmiller @mmmunson @ssssc0m @skye-44 @tateypots @joelscowgirl69 @dbs5647 @cuntyhunty22 @thaliagracesgf @whossbunny @jamespotterismydaddy @whatdoyoumeanhesnapped @rainydayathogwarts @urfavhanna @subconsciouscollapse @worhols @joyridinginzombieland @emmaaas-posts @millers-girl @strawberrytreecake @atjlovverr @magicxmiller @reidswifeyyyyyy @avaluna @joelsslutt @krystal---meth @bbhfilms @virginesquee @njdluvr @royaltyinlife @bunniacula @gojosanna @streamermattsgf @emmasveinyahhdih @yslgreen @dissentientss @rubyscooby @thisisajdesing @millersdoll

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