i’m a sucker for “fangirl” behavior sooo since you write for tucker, could i request a tucker x fashionista / fashion student!reader who goes to all his concerts in outfits designed by herself and inspired by his albums / album covers
idk maybe it gets him all giddy because it’s a surprise for him everytime and she’s like his #1 fan
pretty
tucker pillsbury x reader
val speaks - i luuuuv this req alsoooo first time writing for tucker on here how fun
word count: 930
you spent all week on the shirt.
between classes, late nights in the studio and with scraps of fabric scattered across your apartment floor.
it slowly came together exactly the way you pictured it in your head. soft white cotton, slightly oversized, cropped just enough to sit perfectly with your jeans and across the front, in your own hand-drawn lettering, the words slipfast get carried away curved gently across the chest in washed blue ink. beneath it, stitched delicately near the hem, was a tiny little design, a pair of wings wrapped around a star.
that was your thing.
every show, every city, every time you went to see tucker, you made something new.
sometimes it was lyrics, sometimes it was little references the fans would understand and sometimes it was artwork inspired by melodies.
tucker loved every single one.
more than loved them, honestly.
he waited for them.
it had become a quiet little ritual between the two of you, one that made his heart race in the stupidest, sweetest way. no matter how packed the venue was, no matter how bright the stage lights burned in his eyes, some part of him was always searching the crowd for you. not just for your face, though god, he could find that anywhere, but for your shirt.
he always wanted to know what you'd made, what lyric you'd chosen, what piece of him you'd turned into something beautiful with your own two hands.
and tonight was no different.
the venue was electric, bass humming through the floorboards, lights flashing silver and blue, voices screaming every word back at him, but somewhere in the middle of it all, tucker caught sight of you.
front left, just where you always somehow ended up.
his breath caught for half a second.
there it was.
slipfast get carried away.
and even from stage, he could make out the little design on the front, could see the careful detail. he smiled mid-lyric, soft and helpless, and shook his head to himself, laughing quietly because of course you'd somehow outdone yourself again.
of course you did.
suddenly the whole show felt lighter, warmer.
he played like he always did, poured everything into it, but there was this little glow tucked right beneath his ribs the whole night, this giddy little feeling that made him feel sixteen and ridiculous, because his girl was out there wearing something she made for him, inspired by his music, proudly loving him in the most thoughtful way anyone ever had.
it made him feel like the luckiest man alive.
backstage, when the show finally ended and the adrenaline was still buzzing through his veins, he barely had patience for the usual post-show chaos. he was distracted, eyes flicking toward the hallway every few seconds, waiting.
waiting for you.
and then you walked in.
your cheeks were flushed from singing, hair a little messy, eyes bright, still glowing from the concert, and there was your shirt up close, somehow even prettier than it looked under stage lights.
tucker's entire face lit up.
"baby" he said immediately, like the word had been sitting on his tongue all night, warm and full of affection.
he crossed the room in seconds.
his hands found your waist, pulling you close, and he leaned back just enough to look properly at your shirt, fingertips brushing lightly over the lettering, over the little stitched wings near the hem.
his smile turned soft. the kind that reached his eyes, crinkling at the corners.
"you made this?" he asked, even though he already knew you did.
you laughed quietly. "yeah."
he looked at you like you'd hung the moon.
"it's so good" he said, voice full of genuine awe, shaking his head like he couldn't believe you were real. "seriously... you always do this n every time i think there's no way you can top the last one, then you show up wearing something like this."
his thumb rubbed gently against your side.
"you have no idea what this does to me."
you smiled. "what, embarrass you in front of your whole crowd?"
he laughed, that warm honey laugh that made your chest ache.
"no," he said softly. "makes me ridiculously happy."
his eyes dropped to your shirt again before lifting back to your face, lingering there, full of that unmistakable tenderness he only ever seemed to have for you.
"and you look all pretty in it," he murmured. "always so pretty."
then, because he couldn't help himself, he leaned down and kissed you. big and lingering and full of affection.
one hand cupped your cheek, the other still resting at your waist, pulling you just a little closer like he wanted to memorise the feeling of you there.
when he pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours, grinning like a fool.
"already excited for the next one" he admitted.
you laughed. "the next shirt?"
"yeah."
he kissed you once more, quick and sweet.
"but mostly seeing you in it."
and the way he said it made it clear that it had never really been about the shirts at all. it was the thought.
the love tucked into every stitch, the way you listened so carefully to what he created and turned it into something tangible, something beautiful.
to everyone else, it was just a shirt.
to tucker, it was proof, over and over again, that someone loved him enough to make art out of the pieces of him he left behind in songs.
and every single time, without fail, it made him fall for you all over again.
