liza

spiderman!tucker x reader, established relationship, birthday fluff!

shoutout to @sharkgirlie29 for this lovely idea!

For the past few months your social media has been taken over by Jellycats. The cute and fluffy stuffed animals had been constantly on your mind. Tucker knew this of course, considering you told him about them any chance you got. So to him, it was a given. Of course, he knew you’d love it, but there was also a nagging guilt. He knew that no gift would be able to fill the absence that often occurred at night when he had to go on patrol. You never told him, but he could tell. He saw the sadness that filled your eyes every time he had to leave. So, for your birthday, he was gonna kill two birds with one stone. He was gonna get you a Jellycat and spray it with his cologne so that his absence was just a tiny bit filled with a more fluffy and stuffed version of him.

When you walk into your apartment, Tucker is sticking to the ceiling, adding the finishing touches to the birthday decorations adorning your kitchen. It’s now covered wall to wall with balloons and streamers in your favorite colors. “Oh my god, Tuck!” your hand covers your mouth in pure shock. No one’s ever done this for you. He tilts his head back, smiling down at you before jumping down, landing right in front of you. “Happy birthday, baby.” He cups your face in his palms, his thumbs stroking your cheeks in pure tenderness. He presses a soft kiss on your lips, then on your cheek, then your forehead, you feel yourself blush with every single one. “I love you, honey.” He kisses you again, this one a bit longer and full of love. He pulls away, chuckling when you instinctively chase his mouth, “Hold on, baby, I got a gift for you.” He hands you a colorful gift bag from the kitchen counter.

The first thing you notice when you take open the gift, is the undeniable smell of Tucker. Well, as close as you could get–his cologne. “Oh my god, oh my god, holy shit! Tucker, you did not!” You look up, your smile as wide as it can get. You pull out the fluffy bunny from the bag, noting the Spider-Man fabric sewn in the ears, the red and blue ribbon around each ear, and the smell of his cologne. “You remembered, and you did it in the best way possible!” You squeal as you wrap your arms around him.

It was hard for him not to remember. 

He wraps his arms around you, his expression one of pure pride and adoration. “I’m really glad you like it, baby. Do you like the fabric?” His smile turns more cheeky as he points back and forth from him and the tiny spidey version of him. “I love it, I love that it smells like you too!” You bring the bunny back to your nose to whiff of its scent. “Me too. That way, when I'm gone, it’ll still be like I'm kinda here with you.” 

You smile more seriously at him, tears welling in your eyes, “Thank you, Tucker, this is like the sweetest thing ever.” He cups your face again, his thumbs wiping the tears that haven’t even fallen yet. “Has anyone ever told you that you're stunning when you're about to cry?” He smirks, but the love in his eyes is undeniable. “Oh, shut up.” you shove his shoulder lightly. 

🎶 vortex • lizzy mcalpine

desc: unfortunately, with fame, came tucker not being the best boyfriend. who’s surprised. you’ve already feared of this happening but you thought that with how good your relationship started, he’d never turn his back on you like this. yet, he comes home every few nights, drunk, and not understanding what he did wrong.

cw: drinking, swearing, pure angst. like seriously i don’t think i wrote anything happy in here.

wc: 1.7k

a/n - we’re so back but this is not cute… sorry not sorry enjoy maybe

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Mechanic Tucker x reader

Little bit of world building, mostly fluff.

The Gas Station 

The only gas station in town is the one on the very edge. It sells a little bit of everything. From energy drinks, to warmed up taquitos, to bags of ice, to live bait– anything you need in a hurry, you can find there. 

That’s why Tucker can be found there most mornings buying a breakfast sandwich wrapped in foil– one that will no doubt leave the first grease stain of the day on his pants– a pack of gum, and a small bag containing three strips of bacon for Socket. (The peppered kind. She’s picky.) 

The gas station always smells like old coffee, half stale pastries and bleach from someone scrubbing the floors at 5 AM. Ms. Mabel, who was working here before Tucker was even tall enough to see over the counter, is in her usual spot at the register when he puts his stuff down. 

“Rough night?” Mabel asks, clearly noticing the dark circles under Tucker’s eyes. He’d spent all night staring at a crack in the ceiling above his bed, thinking about the way she smiled at him. 

“Rough life.” He mutters back.

“I hear ya on that one,” Mabel agrees, the same mindless, polite conversation they have in different fonts each morning. 

He’s reaching into the back pocket of his coveralls for his wallet when he hears it. An engine. The low, familiar rumble of a red truck that’s seen better days pulling up to the pump right outside the window. 

“You gonna pay for those or just stand there and stare?” Mabel gently clears her throat, not even bothering to hide the knowing grin on her face. 

Tucker blinks, glancing back down at his wallet. He pulls out a few bills and slaps them on the counter.

“This will cover mine… and her pump,” He gestures outside towards the truck. “And whatever else she wants. Hold onto these for me, will ya?” He asks, shoving his sandwich and the bacon towards her. He doesn’t give her the chance to argue because he’s already heading outside. 

By the time he reaches the pump she’s just getting out of her truck– her hair is messy, wearing a cardigan over a t-shirt that says something about books, looking at him like she might still be in bed dreaming.

“Are you following me?” She asks, folding her arms across her chest.

“I am not following you,” He quips back, placing a hand over his heart to feign heartache at the accusation. 

“You’re at my gas station.”

“Your gas station? I get gas here everyday. This is my gas station.” He scoffs, dropping his hand to reach out and grab the nozzle from the pump. 

She blinks. “No it’s not.” 

“I’ve been coming here since I was twelve. I have a relationship with Mabel.” He argues while popping open her gas cap.

“You have a relationship with Mabel?” She raises her eyebrows at him.

“You know what I mean. She knows my order.” He rolls his eyes, placing the nozzle in her truck with a squeeze of his fingers. 

“I can pump my own gas.”

“I know,” He doesn’t stop. “That doesn’t mean you have to keep doing it.” 

She wants to argue. Wants to bump him off to the side and take the nozzle herself just to prove a point. But he’s leaning against her fender now with one hand in his pocket, the other one stretched out on the bedside panel, looking like he has all of the time in the world and nowhere better to be.

He finishes pumping, pops the cap back on the tank and closes the latch and puts the nozzle away, but he doesn’t walk away. He just stands there, both hands in his pockets now, watching the way the sunlight hits her freckles.

“You eat breakfast yet?” He asks.

“I was gonna–” She glances over at the gas station’s glass doors.

“Go inside. Whatever you want. It’s already paid for. Coffee too.” 

She blinks at him again, like he’d spoken a foreign language. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know.” He shrugs, already turning  towards the doors but keeping his eyes on her. 

“Tucker.”

“Sunshine,” He mocks. “Just let me do somethin’ nice, alright?” 

“Tucker…” She repeats. 

He finally turns back around, calling out her *real* name this time. Maybe so she’ll take him seriously. Maybe just to remind her that he still knows it. 

“Thank you.” She calls back, quiet and genuine.

He just nods, ducking back into the gas station to grab his stuff. Mabel is still behind the counter, still looking at him with those eyes that are begging for details.

“Who was that?” She asks as she passes him the grease soaked bag and foil wrapped sandwich.

“Nobody.” He answers dryly as he grabs them from her and heads back for the door.

“That wasn’t nobody.”

“Nobody that's any of your business, Mabel. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He salutes her with the hand holding his pack of gum.

The Bench 

It’s around 8:15 when the Bronco finally rolls up and comes to a stop outside of the shop. Tucker reaches over and pushes the passenger side door open from the inside to let Socket out. (It doesn’t open from the outside. He’ll fix it… eventually.) 

The old timers have already taken their unofficial assigned seats on the bench. The one they’ve been sitting on so long the wood has slowly molded to fit their asses. There’s Mr. Miller from the hardware store, who’s been retired for as long as anyone can remember but still shows up to move stuff from shelf to shelf. Red, who earned his nickname back before he lost all of his hair. The name stuck anyways. 

And in between the both of them is Tucker’s dad, Rusty with a thermos tucked in one hand that he’s been hauling around since he carried it under one arm and Tucker under the other. 

“You’re late.” His dad points out. 

“It’s my shop. It opens when I get here.” Tucker gruffs back as he searches through his keys. 

“You’re late.” His dad repeats. Tucker is never late. He lives behind the shop. He has no reason to be. 

“Yeah, yeah Pops. I heard you.” Tucker answers, clearly ignoring the question in his dads voice as he pushes his way into the office door. 

His mind is still somewhere else. It’s still at the gas station, thinking about the way her ears turned red when he called her sunshine. How her cheeks turned when when he called her by her real name. 

By the time Tucker flicks on the ancient coffee pot, turns on all of the lights and compressors, and lifts the bay doors he’s whistling without even realizing it. A tune he’s got stuck in his head. 

“Is there a damn bird out here?” Red asks, glancing up at the awning above their head. 

“That ain’t no damn *bird*, you old bastard. That’s the boy. I think he’s whistling a song.”  Miller grunts in response, lifting his paper coffee cup to his lips. 

“Whistling? Yeah, right. He don’t know how to.” Red ponders with a grumble of his own. 

“Huh,” Is all Rusty mutters. The one sound saying everything he’s thinking. I forgot he could still do that. 

“Never heard that boy whistle a day in his life.” Miller adds. 

“Maybe he’s sick.”

“Maybe he’s happy.” 

“I can hear you, you know?” Tucker speaks up, sliding out from where he’s just been under a mini van with a bad belt.  “And I’m not happy. I’m just—“ 

“Whistlin’,” His dad finishes for him. 

“I whistle, I’m allowed to whistle.” He argues with a scoff. The word ‘whistle’ is being said so much it doesn’t even feel like a real word anymore. 

“You hum. There’s a difference.” There’s a smile on Rusty’s face now, one that tells Tucker his dad is about to be insufferable about this. 

There’s a moment of silence between the four of them. The radio plays. Socket snores, Tucker wipes his forehead with the rag from his back pocket. 

“It’s just a song.”

“Oh I know what song it is. You Are My Sunshine.” Tucker freezes at his dads words, like even he hadn’t realized what tune it was until it was pointed out. 

“That’s a love song, ain’t it?” Miller asks with newfound interest, leaning forward in his seat. “Who is she?” 

“Nobody.” Tucker answers too fast. “And it’s a lullaby, not a love song.” 

“Oh it’s somebody.” Rusty laughs back, but doesn’t push any further than that. He knows his son is selective on his best day. 

“Don’t y’all have something better to do than be botherin’ me?” Tucker grumbles as he slides back under the van. 

“Nope.” Miller sighs and leans back in his seat to get comfortable.

“Not a damn thing.” 

Tucker’s dad just laughs again. 

pornstar! Tucker x pornstar! reader

warnings: smuuuuut, unprotected intercourse, dom Tucker if you squint

“So he brings a…” You trail off, already knowing that the intern in your green room has been thoroughly prepared for this line of questioning.

“An hourglass… yes,” The younger girl answers with a curt nod, trying to keep some level of professionalism as she clutches her clipboard to her chest like it just might save her the embarrassment of having this conversation. It won’t.  

“Right, and the point of that is?” You question, glancing at her through the mirror's reflection as you finish putting sweat resistant powder on your nose.

“Uh,” She fumbles with the clipboard, and notices when your eyes drop to her hands. You can tell she’s nervous and she’s well aware of it. “Well… I’m trying to figure out how to put it politely, what terms to use.” She finally offers with a soft huff. It could be a laugh or just the last of her dignity leaving her body.

“I’m a pornstar, darlin’. Put it in sex terms, yeah? Plain english, just spit it out.” You sigh with a shrug, having heard it all at this point.

“It’s a fifteen minute sand timer.” She finally spills, the words falling from her lips like they’d been begging to since you booked this damn shoot. “He flips it every time he makes you cum, and he starts all over again. He only lets himself finish after the sand has run out.” 

“And if the sand doesn’t run out?” You ask with a quirked brow.

“Then he just keeps going…” She supplies with a blush rising on her cheeks. “For as long as he can.” 

“Hm, an endurance guy, huh? Alright, what’s the set up?” You ask with an amused hum, already imagining exactly how you expect this to go. Tuck Timely, how corny even for a porn name, like a VHS tape straight from the eighties.

“Uh, old school set up is what he prefers, just you, him and… the camera.” She supplies, and she couldn’t look anymore sheepish if she was actually scratching the back of her neck. 

“That… tracks,” You roll your eyes, finally moving to stand up from your makeup chair. You’re only dressed in a thin silk robe covering lingerie. Despite the vintage aesthetics in the air this isn't some scripted– I can’t pay the TV repair man– schtick.  “Fine, show me the way?”

You follow her down a few corridors that all look more or less the same. There’s different doors that branch off to the left and right leading to all of the different sets. She stops outside one particular door, and the first thing you notice is that absolutely nothing sticks out about it from the outside. It’s just another door in another hallway. 

“Now it will be live, so as soon as you step in there… the stream will see you.” She reminds you like you haven’t done this countless times before. Like it’s not your job. “He’s not in there. He’ll come in after you.” 

“Oh great, a grand entrance. This should be good.” You huff out a laugh, unable (or unwilling) to hold it back this time. 

“Okay, yeah. Thank you. You can… go. I just need a moment.” You speak up after realizing the intern is still standing there waiting for permission to hightail it, and she does with a mumbled thanks and disappears down the corridor. 

You take a moment to steel yourself, letting your eyes close as you take deep breaths. 

As soon as you reach out and twist the door handle down, your cynicism about the situation takes a backseat to the paycheck you’ll get from this stream, and a smirk takes it’s place. 

“Showtime.” You whisper under your breath, shoving the door open to find a set that’s been dressed like some strange studio apartment. There’s a bed, of course, but there’s also a couch off to one side and a wooden table with whisky and lowball glasses on the other. There’s playing cards spread haphazardly across the table that you run your fingers over as you wait on him. 

The hourglass is an old wood and glass style time keeper. It’s bigger than you expected it to be and sits just on top of the headboard of the bed. 

The camera in the far corner of the room is already on and blinking. You’re not sure how many people are watching. It could be forty, or it could be four thousand. 

You’ve just poured yourself a drink, mostly to pass the time and have something interesting to do with your hands while you wait, when he finally comes in. 

He’s not wearing some ridiculous costume either— thankfully. Instead he’s wearing a pair of blue jeans held up by a bronze belt buckle. He’s forgone a shirt all together, deciding to just show off the countless works of art that create a patchwork canvas across his upper body. 

“You’re really confident in your ability to make me cum I hear?” You ask, breaking the silence before he can say something awkward or off putting. 

“Nah, it’s not that…” Tuck surprises her with a confident chuckle while shaking his head. He barely glances at the camera, giving it one quick scan before crossing the room towards you, towards the table. 

“I’m actually challenging myself.” He corrects you, wasting no time to crowd you with his hands on either side of your body, laying them palms down on the table with his back pressed to your chest. “How many times can I get you off before you’re so tired that you let me cum first?” 

“So not confident then…  just cocky.” You quip back in a hum, still holding the lowball glass halfway to your lips. You haven’t even taken a sip yet when you sit it down and turn to face him. 

“I can deal with that.” You conclude, wrapping one of your hands around the back of his neck to haul his face down to yours, lips and teeth touch in a biting kiss. His breath smells of mint and the faint taste of nicotine touches her tongue when he coaxes his into her mouth. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna be trouble,” He mutters more to himself than you, the sentiment vibrating against your neck as he bites his way down it. His hands are already twisting in your thin, black robe, lifting you onto the edge of the table without any effort. 

Letting go of his neck you help him untie and pull the robe off of your shoulders, leaving you in just your signature lingerie— practically painted on because it’s made to fit so well— and a pair of heels. 

“I can deal with that.” He echoes your earlier words when he pulls back to get a full view of you on the table, unwrapped and ready for him to devour. His words are teasing, but filled with praise. Like he sees a new toy he can’t wait to play with— one he wasn’t expecting. You. 

“Yeah, let’s get this started…” He decides, his hands gripping under your ass now as he lifts and carries you over to the bed, depositing you sideways on the mattress as his knees hit the rug. 

He stretches one of his long arms over to flip the hourglass. Fifteen minutes. Starting now. 

He wastes no time peeling open your legs and tossing your heels off to the side, murmuring as he trails his lips up your inner thigh with that same cocky smirk. 

“Don’t worry sweet thing, I’ll take good care of you.” He purrs against your skin. Before you can even react he’s prying your thighs apart with his big palms. His tongue finds your lace covered clit, closing his lips around it as he sucks. 

“Ah, fuuck,” Your right hand— the one that had been gripping the sheets until now— reaches out reflexively to tangle your fingers in his hair, pressing his face closer as your feet settle over his shoulders. 

You only let him pull away just long enough to tug your panties off of your hips, his mouth immediately finding your bare pussy once they’re out of the way. He buries his tongue inside of you and rubs his nose back and forth across your now sensitive clit. 

A low grunt of satisfaction leaves him at the feeling of your nails digging into the back of his head, holding on for dear life. The sound sends a warm set of sparks shooting through you— a sensation you instantly decide you want to feel again. 

His fingers join his tongue, eventually replacing them completely as he focuses on kitten licking your clit, his two fingers taking over as they push and hook inside of you. 

Your thighs tighten around his ears, and when you crack your eyes open to look down at him he’s already staring up at you. His mouth is far too busy for that stupid smirk, but his eyes are glittering with success. You’re close, and he knows it. 

He adds a third finger, one that has your toes curling against his back. His mouth never lets up as he coaxes you to the edge of ecstasy and dumps you right over it. A sinful moan bursts from your lips when you come, your whole body shaking with every thrust of his hand. 

He barely gives you time to come down before he’s standing from his knees and flipping the hourglass. It looks like there are about nine minutes left now. 

His free hand is sucking his fingers clean, and he sends her that same damn smile when he mutters, “Knew you’d be sweet, sweet thing.”

His reaches for his belt buckle next, and the sound of it thunking against the floor is the next thing you catch. He pulls down his jeans and his boxers along with them, pumping himself in his hand a couple of times. 

You can only lay back and watch— boneless and blissed out as he crawls on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress so he can slide his length between your folds. He lets out a satisfied hiss, leaning down to press his lips against yours. 

He distracts you with his mouth, his hands gripping your hip and the back of your head while he lines up with your entrance and presses himself inside. 

“Fucking… Christ,” Tuck groans out, his grip tightening on you to hold you still. He ruts into you until he’s buried to the hilt. 

Tuck’s mouth drops to your nipple, licking the sensitive bud. He wraps his lips around the thin skin and starts to suck while he thrusts. He finds a rhythm that satisfies him, his hands falling to cup your ass and hold you up at a new, much deeper angle. 

Your eyes follow his when he glances over at the hourglass. From what you can tell there looks to be five minutes left. You won’t need that long. He can tell by the way your cunt is gripping him, by the way your hands are clawing at his back. 

He pops your nipple out of his mouth to lean up and mutter that low, syrupy voice in your ear. “Cum for me, sweet girl. I know you can.” 

Whatever snippy comeback was on the tip of your tongue is lost to a fit of moaned babbling as the tip of his cock pounds relentlessly against your g-spot. The second the warmth of his breath hits your ear you’re falling apart again. The low grumbled hiss sound he makes should be illegal, but instead of focusing on it he’s already pulling out, flipping you and the hourglass in tandem. 

It’s back at thirteen minutes. 

“You gonna let me have this one?” He asks through breathy pants, pulling you down onto his lap. You fold your knees on either side of his thighs and sink back down onto him. “You tired enough yet?” The smirk in his voice is evident, the assuredness of his tone has your stubborn side flaring. 

Hands around his shoulders, his cupping your ass, you pick up and drop your knees. The movement is almost second nature to you at this point, to bounce, but you’re not used to having someone who fits so perfectly, who fills her this deep. 

“No… no, ‘m gonna cum again,” That stubborn side finally coming out to play. You can’t let him win even if your entire body is starting to tremble under his brown eyed gaze. 

“God damn it,” He grits through his teeth, his grip drifting to your hips where he guides you with a steely grip. “Fuck, sweet thing. I need to cum.” He adds, and the way he spits it out seems to take a hint of his cocky pride with it. 

“Nuh uh,” It’s your turn to smirk, slamming your hips down against his one last time. You grind against him restlessly as you finish for a more than satisfying three times. 

His voice cracks this time when your cunt squeezes him, and it takes every ounce of self control he has not to finish then and there, but he’s too pissed. Now he has a point to prove. 

He reaches over and slams the hourglass back on its head. There’s no pretense of gentleness left in his grip as he flips you around once again. 

Tuck folds your knees up to your chest, pressing your face against the mattress as he pins you down. He crawls up on the bed behind you, his knees on either side of yours. 

“You’re gonna let me… fucking cum… this time,” He punctuates each of his world with a rough thrust of his hips, “You hear me? Watch it. Watch the fucking timer.” He hisses, reaching up to grip a handful of your hair. He pulls your head up so you have no choice but to watch the sand slowly sink to the bottom of the hourglass. 

“Don’t you dare fucking cum again.” He chastises you, his palm coming down in a harsh slap against your ass cheek, followed by another one to the other side. And another. “Watch it. Let it run out.”

You’re a whimpering mess under him by now, any pretense of stubbornness being fucked right out of you.

A focused crease appears between his brows, his eyes bouncing back and forth from the sand to the place where your body meets his. 

As the last grains start to fall Tuck slams into her at a relentless pace. 

“Ah, fuck yes, sweet thing… Fuuuck, that’s it,” He moans, his grip shaking, his balls constricting against your clit as he finally spills hot and deep inside of you. 

His moans turn to cries when his orgasm pushes you into your own, both of you falling apart at the seams, lost in the heat of each other. He collapses over you, his chest pressing against your back while he catches his breath. 

“Holy… shit.” He pants and rolls over onto his back next to you on the mattress. He has enough sense left to grab the cameras remote from the bedside, pressing a button that makes the red light go dark. They’re officially offline. 

“Wanna go again?” He asks, that smirk making another, more tired appearance this time. He manages to cover his face as you blindly swat at him, but you’re both laughing and you both know… 

This will definitely be happening again.