liza

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

[camouflagedinglitter]

“nobody’s watching me write in my room”

my masterlist!

aliza. minor.

i try to write sometimes. role model. laundry day. audrey hobert. malcolm todd. beach bunny. billie eilish. strawberry shortcake dolls. sonny angels and smiskis. the color pink. freckles. sewing. digi cams. reading. physical media. rabid fangirl. baking. musical soundtracks. needohs. lottielee is a sensitive subject.

@bigpinkbubble my mc71

[thewineranout]

vortex | tucker pillsbury

🎶 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

————————————————————————————————

he let himself in like he always did. no hesitation. no knock. just the sound of the lock turning and the door shutting behind him a second later, too loud for how late it was.

he stood there for a moment in the hallway like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to say something first or act like nothing had happened.

he went with nothing.

she didn’t move from the kitchen counter, a half-empty glass of wine on the counter, her robe tied at her waist loosely like she’s been in bed for a while now. “you’re back,” she said.

flat. not emotional. just fact.

he glanced at her, then away again, already reaching for the fridge. “yeah.” he opened it then closed it. it’s not like anything in there interested him anyway.

“you’re drunk,” she added.

“i’m fine,” he said automatically.

that was enough to start it.

she exhaled through her nose. “stop fucking saying that. it doesn’t change what i’m looking at.”

he finally looked at her properly then. “what, are you counting drinks now?”

“don’t do that.”

“do what?”

“turn it into something dumb so you don’t have to give a serious answer.”

a beat.

he set his hand on the counter, leaning into it slightly. not aggressive. just there. occupying space like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“i didn’t come here for this,” he said.

“you never fucking come here for anything!” she shot back before she could stop herself.

that landed. she saw it land when his jaw tightened just a little.

“i came here because you asked me to,” he said.

“no,” she said. “you came here because you had nowhere else to go tonight. and this is our goddamn apartment. you’re never here. what am i supposed to do?”

silence.

then, a short laugh from him. no humour in it. “that’s what this is now?”

“tell me what it is then?”

he pushed off the counter just slightly, standing straighter. too straight. “i don’t know what you want me to say,” he said almost lazily.

“that’s not an excuse. stop saying that,” she cut in.

“because it’s true.”

“it’s not an answer!”

“it’s the only one i’ve got right now.”

he said it like that should end it. like that should make her step back. it didn’t.

instead, something in him shifted — not instantly explosive, but sharper, like the patience had already been worn thin long before he walked through the door.

he straightened again, jaw tightening, eyes locked on her now in a way that wasn’t wandering anymore. “no,” he said. just that. cold.

she blinked. “what?”

he let out a short laugh, but this one had an edge to it. “don’t do that. don’t stand there like i’m supposed to just—what—perform answers for you at two in the morning.”

“i’m not asking you to perform anything,” she said immediately. “i’m asking you to talk like a normal person for once.”

“a normal person,” he repeated, like he was testing how ridiculous it sounded on his tongue.

she didn’t move, didn’t give him anything to bounce off of. that made him even more irritated for whatever reason.

he pushed off the counter fully now, stepping away from it like he couldn’t stand being anchored to anything in the room. “you want normal?” he said, voice rising. “you think this is about me not knowing how to talk?”

“it’s about you never being here,” she said immediately.

“i’m here now,” he snapped.

“after days.”

“so what do you want, a schedule?” he shot back. “you want me to clock in? check in? what, do i need permission now?”

“don’t be dramatic,” she said, but her voice was tighter now.

that made him stop pacing just long enough to look at her properly again.

“i’m being dramatic?” he said, colder. “you’re standing there acting like i’ve been gone on purpose to punish you!”

“you disappear and come back drunk like nothing matters,” she said, voice rising now to match his. “you’re slurring and i’m supposed to just—what—be fine with it?”

“i didn’t ask you to be fine with it,” he said. “i didn’t ask you to be anything.”

that landed differently.

worse.

her face changed first. not anger now, something thinner underneath it.

but he didn’t stop. he was already in it. already too far past where he should’ve stopped.

“you know what this is?” he said, pointing vaguely between them. not at her. not exactly. just the space. “this you deciding what i’m supposed to be when i’m not even here half the time. you’re trying to fucking hold me back.”

“that’s not what i’m doing.” she adds on almost weakly.

“it is,” he cuts in, not letting her say more. “you want me here but only if i’m here the way you want me to be.”

she let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “i want you here sober enough to have a conversation.”

that hit something raw.

his expression twisted slightly — not hurt exactly, but something defensive and personal.

“don’t talk to me like i’m a problem you’re managing,” he said.

“then stop acting like one,” she shot back.

silence. then he stepped forward again. closer this time. not slow. not controlled. just movement driven by something uglier than either of them wanted to admit.

he was too tall in the space again, and she hated that her body registered it before her mind did. hated that her breathing shifted before she even decided to react.

but she didn’t step back.

“you always do this,” she said, voice lower now. “you get like this, and you just—take up the whole room like it’s supposed to make you right.”

his eyes flashed. “i’m not doing anything,” he said.

“you are right now,” she said, firmer now. “you’re doing it right now.” she could be manic at this point.

“you think you can talk down to me because you’re sitting here waiting for me to be better than whatever version of me shows up?” he said, voice louder now. “that’s not how this works.”

“i’m not waiting for you to be better,” she said, and her voice cracked slightly on the edge of it. just barely. “i’m waiting for you to be consistent.”

he scoffed. “i’m not a fucking routine.”

“no,” she said, and now her eyes were glassy, but she didn’t stop. “you’re just chaos when it suits you and distance when it doesn’t. i don’t know what the fuck happened to you, tucker! you’re not the same person i started dating!”

that stopped him. just for a beat. then it came back sharper.

“you don’t get to say that,” he said.

“why not?” she asked immediately, and now there was something breaking in her tone too. “because it’s true?”

he stared at her, and for a second, it looked like he might actually say something real. instead, he shook his head once, hard.

“you know what your problem is?” he said.

she didn’t answer.

“you act like you’re the only one getting hurt,” he continued. “like i don’t come back here and deal with you looking at me like i’m something you regret letting in.”

that made her go still. not because it was fair—because it wasn’t. and he knew it. but since he’s him, he continues.

“you don’t even like me half the time i’m here,” he said, voice rising again. “you just like the idea of me when i’m not around to mess anything up.”

her breath shook just slightly. “don’t,” she said.

but it wasn’t strong enough and he saw it.

and instead of stopping, he doubled down like he couldn’t help it.

“what, am i supposed to feel bad for showing up like this?” he said. “this is what i am when i’m not on some schedule you made up in your head.”

“i didn’t make anything up,” she said, but it came out smaller now. more fragile.

he laughed again, but it was ugly now. “you did. you built this whole thing where i’m supposed to be here and not be me at the same time.”

that did it.

her face tightened, and she looked away for half a second like she needed air more than she needed to win anything.

when she looked back, her eyes were wet.

that changed the room instantly. even he froze slightly. but neither of them backed down yet because they’re one hell of a stubborn couple.

“you’re not even listening to yourself,” she said quietly now, voice shaking but steady enough to land. “you come in here, you blow everything up, and then you act like i caused it because i reacted.”

his mouth opened, then closed. for the first time, there was no immediate comeback.

she wiped under her eye quickly, annoyed at herself more than him. “you leave,” she said, softer now but sharper in meaning. “and you come back like it resets everything. and it doesn’t. it never does. it just keeps—”

she stopped. because she couldn’t finish it without breaking.

he looked at her then. and the anger didn’t disappear, but it lost something underneath it. like he was finally seeing the cost of it instead of just the heat of it.

“i don’t know how to stop doing it,” he said, quieter now.

not an excuse. just a fact that made everything worse.

she let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh, but didn’t. “yeah,” she said, voice barely holding. “i know.”

a long silence followed. not peaceful at all, no. heavy, for sure.

he ran a hand over his face, dragging it down like he was trying to reset himself physically. when he spoke again, it was lower. less sharp. “i didn’t mean—” he started.

then stopped. because that wasn’t enough. and he knew it.

she nodded slightly anyway, like she understood what he couldn’t finish. but she didn’t soften fully.

because understanding wasn’t the same as surviving it.

and they both knew, standing there in the middle of the apartment they kept ruining in different ways, that this wasn’t the first time it had ended like this.

“i hope you’re sober enough to remember this in the morning, tucker. goodnight.”

and it wouldn’t be the last.

taglist: @gracieabramsluver @comehearthemusicplay @tuckerpillsburyswife @wineranoutwithtuckandross @bigpinkbubble @slutevainterlude @jocelynlovesharrystyles @faultqline @everythingaboutbags @tayscrystalskies-blog @crossingrmind @camouflagedinglitter @irecalllatenovember1 @sofargoneauds @sturnzbae @pissylivvie @carolinaastyles @tuckerpillsburyistheloml @thedinnerry55 @oldrrcliners @kathh01 @bndnrry @cherriesnkisses

[camouflagedinglitter]

LIZA'S LIBRARY

TUCKER PILLSBURY

billie bossa nova

MALCOLM TODD

juno 1 + 2

golfer!malcolm

his + hers intros

insta posts

[tuckshoney]

Does Love Come Around? Pt.2

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. 

Tag list:

@saddleagain @anaso12 @slutevainterlude @charliesmustachee @thewineranout @lowkeyinslutera @oldrrcliners @tuckerpillsburyistheloml @blockme0utt @dieformybitch @honeyeyesworld @crossingrmind @cmprmise @jocelynlovesharrystyles @bigpinkbubble @harryslttlefreak @bndnrry @camouflagedinglitter @prettyfortucker @sunsh1n3s

[tuckshoney]

Tuck Timely and the Hourglass

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. 

A/N- heeeeey y'all. How y'all doin'? (I'm sweating.) It's two in the morning so please excuse any typos. BIG shoutout to Liza for giving me the idea and being my cheerleader on this. Let me know what you think! Okay, love ya bye.

Taglist:

@saddleagain @anaso12 @slutevainterlude @charliesmustachee @thewineranout @lowkeyinslutera @oldrrcliners @tuckerpillsburyistheloml @blockme0utt @dieformybitch @honeyeyesworld @crossingrmind @cmprmise @jocelynlovesharrystyles @bigpinkbubble @harryslttlefreak @bndnrry @camouflagedinglitter @prettyfortucker @sunsh1n3s

[bigpinkbubble]

watching primavera sound rn and im gonna get a little sentimental and parasocial

i LOVE role model so much. i think nothing will ever come close to him for me he’s just so special. obviously i love his music so much but i love the community that comes with it @slutevainterlude @camouflagedinglitter @tuckshoney and i are all messaging during this set and im just having so much fun! i love these girls so much i love role model so much i just love him. i’m so glad i found his music he’s changed my life so much i love life

[camouflagedinglitter]

i loooooove you so much sister you are my actual bff forever and so is honey. i get sentimental about us alllllllllll the time. praying for phoebechella <3

[plushworldz]

trust i got yall fr 💯💯💯

[tuckshoney]

Does Love Come Around?

Mechanic Tucker x reader is heeeere.

She pulls up to the shop just after three.

The afternoon sun is just past the crest of midday, hitting the garage floor and scattering it’s warm light over the dark stone. There’s a gentle breeze, the movement in the trees being cast in shadows that dance across the dusty flooring. The sign on the shop still flickers, as it has for a couple of years now– Pillsbury Auto And Repair, Est. 1982. 

The bench next to the bay doors has been long since abandoned, the only sign that the morning gossiping session between the town’s elderly men happened is three empty coffee cups, the paper ones from the gas station, sitting in a near perfect little row. 

She kills the engine and tries not to cringe when it shudders before going quiet. The check engine light that she’s been ignoring with a convenient tilt of her chin still stares back at her. It’s mocking at this point, as if it’s screaming I told you so.

“I know, I know,” She mutters to it and herself. “I’m going.”

The bell over the door dings when she walks in. 

The shop is exactly how she remembers it from coming here as a kid with her dad. It smells of burnt coffee, engine oil and something new, something distinctly him. Cologne, maybe? Something leathery and warm that fills the whole space.

A white and black dog– one ear perked and the other flopped– picks up it’s head. It gives her a silent scan before thumping it’s tail once against the floor and collapsing back into it’s spot. This acknowledgement is an approval, it seems. 

Tucker is under a car.

She can see his boots sticking out, the long leather laces wrapped around the top of the shoe. His signature coveralls are nowhere to be seen. He slides out from under the vehicle wearing a white t-shirt that’s a touch too tight around his arms. It’s dirty, of course, with a small tear at the collar. His faded black jeans are held up by a bronze belt buckle, and he looks unfairly soft in this light.

He doesn’t look up when she walks in, doesn’t say anything. There’s no rush in him, nothing hurried as he unfolds himself, long and slow until he’s sitting up on the creeper. He reaches into his back pocket, having to transfer his weight to one side to do so, and pulls a rag from it. He takes his time to wipe his hands and the wrench he’d been using. There’s a radio on a high shelf humming a song she might recognize if it were playing any louder. 

“You brought it,” He says. His voice echoes off the concrete, low and easy.

“You said to.” She answers, and it’s followed by a pause. “So I did.”

“You’re early.” He finally looks up, still wiping his hands on the rag. His hair is pushed back out of his face, but one stubborn piece has fallen that he doesn’t bother trying to fix. 

“I’m always early.” She shrugs.

“Mm,” is the mumble of a response she gets. He stands, tossing the rag off to the side haphazardly. He’s too busy looking at her to care where it lands. She looks back at him. The afternoon light spills in from the bay doors and big window, catching the dust motes floating in the air between them. 

“You gonna just stand there all day or you gonna help?” He asks, the corners of his mouth twitching up.

“Help?” She asks, a soft incredulous laugh escaping her lips.

“It’s your truck. You should learn how it works.” 

“I don’t know anything about cars.” It’s an excuse that sounds a lot like a warning.

He tilts his head, his mouth quirking up again. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s a preview of one. “You don’t need to know anything. You just need to listen.” 

She should say no. She should go sit in the waiting room like a normal customer and pretend she’s not staring at him by scrolling on her phone, but the challenge in his voice is what stops her. Like he’s in on a joke that she wasn’t aware she was telling.

She looks down at the wrench he’s now holding out to her. She studies his hands, then his face. There’s a smudge of something dark across his jaw that he doesn’t seem to notice is there. His smile grows wider, more crooked when she says, “You’re enjoying this.”

“I’m not not enjoying it.” 

They eventually get the truck pulled into the empty bay, her hands gripped tight around her steering wheel like she didn't just watch every muscle in his inked arms ripple when he stretched to lift the rolling door. 

Once it’s parked she hops back out while he pulls the level and props the hood open. She stops next to him, close enough to feel the warmth coming off of the engine. Close enough that she can smell him now. That same leathery cologne mixed with coffee, grease and the mint gum he’s working in his sharp jaw. 

He passes her a wrench, neither of them blinking when his warm, calloused fingers brush hers. 

“You see that bolt?” He gestures towards the engine block as an entirety, trying not to crack another smile at the clueless crease between her brows.

“Which one? There’s like a million of ‘em.” She asks, having to stand on the tips of her toes just to get her chest across the front fender. 

He reaches for her free hand not to hold it, but to guide it. His palm is rough over the back of hers, but his grip is gentle. He stretches both of their arms out until he’s pressed her fingers over the bolt in question.

“That one. Feel that?” His voice is lower, and much closer than it had been. 

He leans in, his arm still stretched around her shoulder and reaches past her arm for something else, something deeper. There’s a metallic clink as he fiddles, but all she can focus on is the warmth of him, the solid weight of his chest against her back. He’s not quite touching her, but she can feel every place he almost is. 

He must have been satisfied with whatever he was checking, his breath against her ear now. He helps her position the wrench over the bolt, both of their free hands falling away as he speaks. “Okay, just like that. Now turn it.” 

She turns it. The bolt shifts and something clicks.

“Good.” He murmurs, and she can hear the grin he’s hiding in his voice. “Now turn it the other way.”

She turns it the other way. The bolt loosens and he makes a sound. It’s not quite a sigh, nor is it a hum. It’s a satisfied noise that rumbles from deep in his chest– like she’d done something right.

“See, you’re a natural.” He adds after a moment, and she can’t tell if he’s joking. 

“I’m just following instructions.” She quips back, surprising herself for keeping her voice as steady as it is.

“Same thing.”

He finally leans back, the heat of him fades, but not all the way. He’s still close, still watching every little movement of her hands. Still not looking at her face. She wishes he would, but is glad he doesn’t. He hands her another tool. One with a handle and a hinge.

“This part’s trickier,” He warns, the sight of him in her peripheral vision makes her pause. “This is the part where you really listen.”

She does, gladly.

He talks her through the process step by step– slow, patient, every step measured like he has all of the time in the world. Tighten that. Careful not to strip the bolt. There you go, just like that. His voice is something she could lean into. 

She doesn’t close her eyes, but the temptation is there. She keeps them on the engine, on her own hands, on the various tools he places in her palm. But she feels him there beside her, behind her. Everywhere. 

When it’s finally done, a new belt in place and the bolt tightened once more he let’s up while taking the last tool from her hand. “Go try and start it.” He instructs, already reaching for the discarded rag to wipe his hands on. 

She climbs back into the truck and watches through the windshield as he shuts the hood, swiping his wrist over his forehead to push back more hair that’s fallen. She turns the key and the engine starts– no groaning sound, no engine light. Just the slow and steady hum of success.

“It’s fixed!” She says, cracking a grin as he rounds the hood and pulls open the driver’s side door before she can do it herself.

“It’s fixed.” He confirms.

“We did it.” 

“You did it.” He corrects her, not even bothering to hide his lip twitch this time as he holds out his hand to help her back out of the seat. She takes it with no hesitation despite not needing it. She hops in and out of it every day, but if he’s offering then she’ll certainly accept.

“So what do I owe you?” She asks, dropping his hand as she turns to face him properly.

“How much do you have?” He asks in return, lifting one of his brows.

“Probably not enough.” 

“Then we’ll settle it later.” He decides, giving her a swift nod of his head. A reason to see him again.

“Okay.” She agrees.

“Okay.” 

She looks at him one last time. The afternoon light is now fading as the sky turns syrupy with the beginnings of a sunset. His hair is falling back in his eyes. He’s not trying to be anything he’s not. He’s just standing there, grease on his hands, his white shirt even dirtier than it was when they started, looking at her like she’s the only thing in the room that matters.

“I’ll see you around, Tucker.” 

His face splits into a small smile when she says his name, he turns on instinct when the radio changes and then turns back to watch her climb in the truck.

“See you later, Sunshine.”

She’s heeere. Sorry this took me so long I’m literally so sick. :( I’m really proud of this one tbh. Okay, love ya bye.

Taglist:

@saddleagain @anaso12 @slutevainterlude @charliesmustachee @thewineranout @lowkeyinslutera @oldrrcliners @tuckerpillsburyistheloml @blockme0utt @dieformybitch @honeyeyesworld @crossingrmind @cmprmise @jocelynlovesharrystyles @bigpinkbubble @harryslttlefreak @bndnrry @camouflagedinglitter @prettyfortucker @sunsh1n3s

[saddleagain]

like a goddamn dog

summary: chuck timely x reader. he’s the best man and you’re the maid of honor at the same wedding.

rating: e

warnings: smut, minors dni. submissive tucker/chuck and unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it). angsty ending. might become ooc later if we learn more about chuck timely.

a/n: tumblr’s first ever chuck timely fic.

—

September 2025

The bride and groom are tired of Chuck’s antics before the wedding even starts.

First, he’s late.

Then he shows up hungover, sneaking in halfway through the ceremony and taking his place like nothing happened. He’s unapologetic afterwards, grinning for photos while your mutual friends just tolerate him.

“You reek of alcohol,” the bride complains.

“Hey, at least I made it at all, huh?” Chuck says, patting the groom on the back.

“You’re the best man, Chuck! That’s not good enough.”

“You threw off the whole wedding,” the bride adds.

“Ah, come on, it wasn’t that bad!” Chuck throws a playful arm around his friend.

The groom shoves him off. “I don’t know why I even expect better from you at this point. You always pull this, showing up hungover, if you don’t just flake. You’re a shitty friend.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Chuck says, putting his hands up in surrender. “That’s a little harsh.”

“Get out, Chuck,” the bride says.

“Alright, I’m going,” he laughs. “I’m going.”

After he leaves, you attend to the less-than-happy couple, trying to cheer them up from what just happened.

***

You go out to get some air during the reception. It was getting too loud inside.

Chuck is sitting on the hood of a car about ten feet away, tapping ashes off his cigarette on the hood ornament before taking another drag. You approach.

“Well, look what the cat dragged out here,” he drawls.

“Is that your car?” you ask.

“No.”

He doesn’t elaborate.

You sit down next to him on the hood of the car.

“He’s right, you know,” he says, handing you the cigarette.

You take a drag. “What do you mean?”

“I’m a shitty fucking friend.” He chuckles. “Shitty fucking boyfriend too. That’s probably why I’m not married yet.”

“I don’t think you’re that bad.”

“Oh, yeah?”

You take another drag, a deliberately long one, before passing the cigarette back to him. “Well, aside from ruining a once-in-a-lifetime special occasion for everyone.”

“Fifty percent of marriages end in divorce. There could still be a next one.”

“I take it back,” you say, grabbing the cigarette from him again. “You’re an asshole.”

“Are you still seeing that guy Jessie?”

“Not really.” You inhale, then blow out the smoke.

“Good. I didn’t like him.”

“Okay. I didn’t ask you.”

Chuck shrugs. “…You wanna go back to my place?”

Your fingers brush as he takes the cigarette.

“Maybe. You live around here?”

“Sorta. ’S a motel room. I never stay anytime”—he coughs—“anywhere for very long. That’s the thing, isn’t it? Best man and the maid of honor?”

“I guess, yeah.”

“Is that a yes to hooking up or yes that it’s the thing?”

You kiss him. He freezes only for a moment before he reciprocates and his free hand comes up to tangle in your hair. He pulls back for air, bringing the cigarette up to your lips. You inhale deeply, then exhale the smoke in his face. He grins.

***

Back at his motel, he helps you out of your satin gown and then pins you down on the bed, lips hot and wet on your neck. You make quick work of his suit jacket and white V-neck tee, peeling them off to expose the patchwork tattoos littered across his arms and torso. Then you undo his belt, tossing everything on the floor as you go.

“I’ve wanted this for a while,” he murmurs against your jaw. “You’re so hot. You’re gonna be screaming my name by the time I’m done with you.”

“Oh, will I?”

“Yeah,” he says, yanking your panties down. “If you can still form thoughts.”

“We’ll see.”

“You don’t believe in me?”

Your fingers dip beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs, carefully tugging them down. You brush your thumb against his hipbone, eliciting a small sound from him. You leverage your weight to roll the both of you over, straddling him.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

There’s nothing to tie him up with, so you have to make do, pinning one of his wrists behind his head. He gasps softly, his free hand coming up to rest on your hip.

You sink down onto him slowly. He stares up at you in awe as you begin to move at the angle you want. It doesn’t seem to matter to him what you do, he’s into it. He’s vocal about every thrust, his own hips bucking in response. The minute you let go of his wrist, it’s on you as well, running over your torso and squeezing lightly wherever he feels like it.

“Ah, fu—”

You lean down to kiss him. The rest of his words and noises are muffled against your lips. You prop yourself up on one elbow while your free hand tangles in his hair, pulling slightly. Chuck nearly whimpers. You don’t let up. His hands flex against your skin, his short fingernails digging into the soft flesh of your waist (you try not to think about the grease under them).

“I can’t, I can’t…” he gasps out. “Are you…? Fuck. Fuck.”

“Not yet,” you breathe, sitting up straight again. “Don’t you dare.”

“Okay, I… I’ll try my best,” he manages, his voice cracking from the effort. “Fuck!”

You’re getting close, but not quite there, so you don’t want him to come yet. He’s barely holding it together. Not that that’s your problem. This isn’t about him.

Chuck wets his thumb with his mouth and reaches down to circle it around your clit, making you cry out.

“That’s it, honey, please, please…” His words are desperate and a bit slurred. That does the trick, and you fall apart around him, collapsing onto his chest. He can’t hold on anymore, and you feel it when it gets the better of him, warm and satisfying inside you. You stroke his bicep, it’s meant to be a soothing gesture as it washes over him.

“Y/N,” he says. His voice is hoarse, broken, and awed.

“Yeah? Did you have a nice time?” you drawl.

He nods weakly.

“Good, I’m glad, baby,” you reply.

Even in the dark, you’re pretty sure he’s blushing. When you slowly climb off of him, he whines in weak protest.

“Shh, it’s okay.” You brush the damp hair off his forehead, laying down next to him.

His heavily tattooed arm encircles your waist as he buries his face in your neck and inhales deeply. After a few minutes, his breathing evens out into sleep.

You lie awake weighing your options, whether to stay the night or sneak out once you’re sure he’s out cold.

***

You’re gone before he wakes up.

[saddleagain]

the way i would let mechanic!tucker/blue collar!tucker ruin my life

[bigpinkbubble]

how long will it take for my parents to realize i don’t believe in god and i never have

[tuckshoney]

🔧 Mechanic Tucker Headcanons (continued) 🔧

Ky-

-Ky has been Tucker's best friend since high school, when he was forced to take shop class.

-He knew nothing about cars. Tucker took pity on him and they've been inseparable ever since.

-He has a day job at the town's only bank as a loan officer.

-He wears a tie to work. He hates the tie. He takes it off before he even walks in the shop doors.

-He's more lean and shorter than Tucker.

-He wears glasses that are always slipping down his nose. He pushes them up with his middle finger. It looks rude, but it's just a habit at this point.

- He 'manages' the front office part time, for free. (It's just an excuse to hang around.)

-He mostly answers phones, drinks the terrible coffee and entertains Socket while Tucker's under a car.

-He's the only one who remembers to order hand soap for customers (not just the gritty orange soap Tucker uses) and refills the ancient vending machine.

-Ky is also the only reason that the shop has a functional website.

-He's set Tucker up on two dates in the last year.

-Neither of them called him back. Ky says it's because he has "the romantic instincts of a rock." Tucker tells him it's because Ky's taste is bad. They're both right.

-He handles the shop's books because Tucker "doesn't do numbers that aren't a firing order."

-He organizes the car club that meets up at the shop once a month. He still doesn't know much about cars, but he likes the people and the gossip.

-He's the talker to Tucker's listener. He tells long winded stories that go nowhere and complains about his day job, but Tucker just lets him fill the silence.

-Ky worries about Tucker constantly. Tucker's diet, his lack of social life, his back.

-Ky can't keep a secret to save his life and he meddles, but he's fiercely loyal.

-He is the only person who can make Tucker laugh when he's in a bad mood. Even if it's a breathy huff he considers it a win (and a public service).

Socket-

-She wandered up to the shop four years ago, skittish and skinny with ribs showing through her matted fur.

-Tucker was sitting on an overturned bucket by the bay door, eating a gas station breakfast sandwich.

-He tried to act like he didn't see her. She sat close to the dirt road between his place and the shop and just stared at him.

-He eventually pinched a piece of sausage off of his sandwich and threw it. She flinched, but eventually ate it.

-This continued for about a week. By the fourth day she let him touch her. On day five he bought a second sandwich just for her.

-On day six she slept under the front counter and just... never left.

-Tucker still lies and says she's not his dog, she "just hangs out here."

-Now she lays across the doorframe between the waiting room and shop like she owns the place and picks her head up to grumble when the door bell chimes.

-Tucker says she's a good judge of character. She's skeptical of strangers, but warm once she approves.

-Some people walk in and she is belly up, begging to be scratched. Others she watches from under the counter, unmoving until they leave. She's never been wrong.

-Socket has opinions. She barks when the bay door squeals too loud. She sighs heavily when Ky is talking too much.

-She's fluffy. Tucker says she's "Half mutt, half garbage disposal.'

-Tucker's dad always brings her a piece of bacon from the diner. She expects it now.

-She has one ear that flops and one that's always standing at attention. They're her top two features and she knows it.

-Tucker has a habit of rubbing the floppy ear between his fingers when he's thinking too hard.

-She's black and white with two white 'socks' on her back paws. The left one comes up higher than the other, and Tucker thinks it's hilarious.

-She wears a red bandana that's slightly grease stained from rolling on the concrete floor. Tucker has given up on trying to stop her.

-She's not a cuddler, except with Tucker. She follows him back and forth from the shop to the house like a shadow and sleeps curled at the foot of his bed.

-She loves car rides. She sits in the passenger seat of the Bronco with her head out of the window and her floppy ear blowing in the wind.

-There's always nose prints on the glass that Tucker can rarely force himself to wipe away.

-She's filed under "Socket Pillsbury" at the vet. Tucker will take this knowledge to his grave but also won’t change it.

A/N- Oop, hi. It's me again. I've been working on this for a while. Next will be the introduction of reader and how she ties in to everything.

Tag list:

@saddleagain @anaso12 @slutevainterlude @charliesmustachee @thewineranout @lowkeyinslutera @oldrrcliners @tuckerpillsburyistheloml @blockme0utt @dieformybitch @honeyeyesworld @crossingrmind @cmprmise @jocelynlovesharrystyles @bigpinkbubble @harryslttlefreak @bndnrry @camouflagedinglitter @prettyfortucker @sunsh1n3s

[camouflagedinglitter]

Heyy! I just have a request for Malcolm:) I love the whole new golf au especially with the baby could you do a short fic about family life with them?

trust it’s in the works!! it’ll be out before the weekend!!

[camouflagedinglitter]

GOLFER!MALCOLM TODD X WAG!READER

macdaddy_ has posted!

Girl, so confusing featuring lorde • Charli xcx, Lorde

macdaddy_: finally mastered something

liked by rorymcilroy, adamsandler, y/ntodd, and 97824 others

34,127 comments:

y/ntodd: delete the last slide and put me and blair

⤷ macdaddy_: no. i took that pic all by myself

user453: goated with the sauce

⤷ liked by author!

rorymcilroy: the cigar intake should be studied

⤷ macdaddy_: how do none of the alum have popcorn lung

audreyhobert: why didn’t you use my song 💔☹️

⤷ macdaddy_: because i wasn’t at a bowling alley??

adamsandler: congrats man 🙌

⤷ y/ntodd: adam sandler what are you doing here

⤷ macdaddy_: thanks man. happy is my inspo

y/ntodd has posted!

My Man on Willpower • Sabrina Carpenter

y/ntodd: so so so proud of you mac, love u xx

liked by macdaddy_, rolemodel, audreyhobert, 42,169 others

9,412 comments:

macdaddy_: hi who’s the cutie on slide 1

⤷ y/ntodd: i want to block you so bad.

scottiescheffler: congrats, rookies!

⤷ liked by author

audreyhobert: baby brother is living the dream!

⤷ y/ntodd: he’s lucky i love him 🙂‍↕️

[camouflagedinglitter]

INTRODUCING..

golfer!malcolm todd x wag!reader

wag!reader:

23

malcolm’s good luck charm

the birkin malcolm got her after winning his first masters is her everything bag and she takes it everywhere

eats at least 2 string cheeses a day

passenger princess

always has a spare pair of sunglasses, malcolm has a hobby of breaking his own whilst golfing.

biggest ragebaiter

spoils blair rotten

after blair goes to bed, she plays tomodachi life while malcolm plays minecraft

cuts malcolm’s hair for him

has constant baby fever

has an extensive record collection

when there’s not golf, she’s shopping!

whimsiest woman you’ll ever meet

a/n: hi yall i’ve been MIA for three months , i got bored of that fic so ive decided to do an au i haven’t seen much of from anyone! hope you enjoy!!

taglist: @bigpinkbubble @cmprmise @billericious @thewineranout

[camouflagedinglitter]

INTRODUCING..

golfer! malcolm todd x WAG! reader

golfer!malcolm:

23.

won his first masters at 22

married reader at 20

absolutely adores his 18 month old daughter, blair

always has a tee in his pocket

occasional smoker

he does in fact cry at nemo

has a guitar but can only play wonderwall and taylor swift

makes crazy good chocolate chip banana bread

his favorite book to read blair is the smart cookie by jory john

has a hype playlist before his tournaments

gets teased by all the older men he golfs with, but specifically prefers to golf with said group.

was forced by his agent to change his instagram from macdaddy_ to malcolmtodd after gaining popularity

at every tournament, reader is right beside him as a “good luck charm”

has a crazy minecraft world he’s added onto daily for 7 years

a/n: first fic tonight- just a teeny blurb

taglist: @bigpinkbubble @cmprmise @billericious @thewineranout

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