sweet nothing
tucker pillsbury x fem!reader
faceclaim olivia rodrigo
summary you moved to a different city for your job and you meet your pretty neighbor
a/n what do you mean theres zero fics on this man, this diva needs a fic!!! also i’ll probably make two more chapters
chapter 2
you had spent your whole life in new york, a city that ran on chaos and ambition, so when your company transferred you to portland for a year, you were caught completely off guard. your best friend almost threw herself off her couch when you told her, and the night before your flight, you both cried over takeout and a half-empty bottle of wine. the goodbye at the airport was even worse—dramatic, tearful, complete with her clinging to your arm like you were being shipped off to war.
but now, sitting on the plane, you realized maybe it wasn’t that serious. your job covered everything—rent, furniture, relocation expenses. you even got to pick out your apartment, a sleek space downtown that would probably be filled with unopened boxes when you arrived. and, of course, it was. for a week, you lived in organized chaos, setting up furniture between long workdays, learning to navigate a city that moved at half the speed of new york. but there was one thing left: your refrigerator.
it had been delivered, but instead of making it to your unit, it was left stranded in the lobby like a lost puppy. you stood in front of it, hands on your hips, scanning for the landlord who had been so helpful before. nowhere to be found. great.
after a few minutes of attempting to budge the massive appliance, you were sweating and annoyed, ready to admit defeat. that’s when the lobby doors swung open, and a group of guys walked in, loud and easygoing, their conversation filling the space.
“yo, you need help with that?”
you turned to see the one who spoke first—a guy with a ridiculously pretty face, all soft features and warm eyes, but his arms were covered in tattoos, the contrast making him look effortlessly cool.
“uh—yeah, actually,” you admitted, stepping back. “i don’t think i can carry this thing up alone.”
“no shit,” one of his friends laughed, already grabbing one end. the other followed, and the tattooed guy—clearly the leader of the group—took the other side. together, they made it look easy, lifting the refrigerator and maneuvering it toward the elevator.
on the way up, you learned a few things. the guy with the tattoos lived in the building. his name? still a mystery. but he was funny, effortlessly charming, and had the kind of confidence that made you think he was used to people paying attention to him.
when they finally got the fridge into your apartment, you tried to insist on paying them back somehow—pizza, beer, literally anything—but they waved it off.
“don’t worry about it,” tattoo guy said, stepping back toward the door. then, as if remembering something, he turned around. “by the way, i’m tucker. i live right below you, so if you need anything, knock.”
you smiled. “sofia. and thanks. i’ll keep that in mind.”
a few days passed, work kept you busy, and before you knew it, the holiday weekend rolled around, giving you some much-needed time off. that’s when you remembered—brownies. a thank-you gesture for tucker and his friends.
so, you spent the morning baking, your apartment filled with the smell of melted chocolate and sugar. once they had cooled, you packed them into a container, hesitated for a second—was this too much?—then shook the thought away. he had literally carried a fridge for you; brownies were the least you could do.
taking a breath, you made your way downstairs and knocked on his door.
the door swung open almost immediately, and there he was—tucker, standing barefoot in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair a little messy like he had just woken up. he blinked at you, then smiled.
“hey,” he said, leaning against the doorframe.
you barely gave him time to react before blurting out, “i made brownies as a thank-you for the other day, but i’m burning my hands, so you have to take them, and don’t say no.”
his eyebrows shot up in amusement before he let out a laugh, quickly grabbing the warm pan from your hands. “jesus, okay, bossy,” he teased, stepping back into his apartment. then, without missing a beat, he called over his shoulder, “come over.”
you hesitated for a second—was this too forward?—but he had already disappeared inside, so you took a careful step in. his place was effortlessly cool, a little messy in a way that felt lived-in rather than chaotic. a few guitars leaned against the wall, a record player sat on a low table, and there were scattered polaroids taped around.
he placed the brownies on the kitchen counter, then turned to you with a grin. “so, my friends don’t know you made these, which means i’m gonna eat them alone. even though i probably shouldn’t.”
you giggled, leaning against the counter. “it’s not like you have diabetes.”
he gave you a look—one of those slow, amused stares, his lips twitching like he was holding back a laugh.
“i do, actually.”
your stomach dropped. “oh my god.” your hand flew to your mouth in horror. “i’m so sorry, i shouldn’t have said that. and now i gave you brownies—fuck, no.”
tucker, meanwhile, was fully laughing now, shaking his head as he leaned against the counter. “it’s okay, you didn’t know.” he softened, looking at you like you were the funniest thing he’d seen all day. “it’s really sweet of you, but i can eat them—i just have to be careful.”
your face felt hot, embarrassment washing over you. “i swear i’m really, really sorry.”
he smirked. “if you keep saying sorry, i’m gonna tell the administrator to kick you out of your apartment.”
your eyes widened. “okay, yes, sorry—i mean, sorry for saying sorry.”
“stop it.”
you clamped your mouth shut, pressing your lips together to keep from apologizing again. tucker watched you, clearly entertained, then pushed the pan toward you.
“you wanna test them with me? make sure you’re not secretly poisoning me after that little incident?”
you exhaled a laugh, finally relaxing. “yeah, okay.”
and just like that, you found yourself sitting in his kitchen, sharing brownies with your downstairs neighbor who, apparently, could make fun of you all day if you let him.