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@missharper33
Reblog if you’re black tumblr
and yes you have to be black, this isn’t an all access typa club
I need some more Jackie Jackson x reader and Marlon Jackson x reader!!
you’ve really got a hold on me | jackie jackson
caught between a lifelong obsession and the harsh reality of his reputation, you have to decide if one night with jackie jackson is worth the risk of sharing him with the rest of the world.
one, two, three
the obsession started the exact moment rebbie brought you through the front door of the hayvenhurst house. you were supposed to be rebbie’s friend, just a girl from the neighborhood hanging around, but your eyes never really stayed on her. they were always tracking the oldest jackson brother and his were always tracking yours.
you were just a little bit younger than jackie, right in that sweet spot where you were old enough to know exactly how fine he was, but young enough that daddy would kill you for having a boyfriend.
back then, you made it your mission to ensure he couldn’t ignore you entirely. what’s wrong with a little shameless flirting?
you practically lived at their house during the summers, lounging around their pool in a tiny, bright bikinis that did a terrible job of keeping you covered.
you’d catch him staring from the balcony or the edge of the patio, his jaw slightly tight before he’d shake his head and flash that smooth, blinding smile.
you got along with everyone—the brothers thought you were cool, mrs. jackson loved your manners, and the whole family took a massive liking to you.
then, everyone grew up. the brothers went on major tours, conquering the world, and you went off and built a life of your own. a career. the years flipped by, stretching the distance between those hot summer pool days and the present.
that is until, the jacksons had just gotten back from a massive tour, and jackie stopped by rebbie’s place to drop off a package. you happened to be sitting on rebbie’s living room couch, sipping tea. when the front door opened and he walked in, time just stopped.
he wasn't looking at a teenage girl in a skimpy swimsuit anymore. he was looking at a woman—curves fully formed, carrying herself with an effortless, breathtaking confidence. this was grown woman fine. and for you, seeing him was a physical ache. he was gorgeous, sculpted to absolute perfection, with that same magnetic energy that used to make your knees weak when you were sixteen.
the shift in the room was instant. jackie’s eyes locked onto yours, his usual smooth talk completely deserting him for a solid five seconds. he barely said two words to rebbie before he was completely focused on you, his voice deep and honey-slow as he asked how you’d been.
according to rebbie, the moment jackie left the house that night, he vowed he was going to have you.
by noon the next day, the campaign began. a massive arrangement of deep red roses arrived at your apartment, followed by a sleek silver box containing an elegant silk scarf. attached was a neat, handwritten card:
just one night, the two of us. xo, jackie
you traced the ink of his signature, your heart doing a violent flip against your ribs. the teenage version of you would have fainted on the spot. the current version of you wanted nothing more than to say yes, to feel his frame pressed against yours, to finally have the man you’d spent years dreaming about.
but you weren't a teenager anymore, and you knew the rules of the game.
jackie jackson was a notorious ladies' man. he was charming, brilliant, and possessed a smile that could manipulate the weather, let alone a woman's heart. he had women throwing themselves at him in every city across the globe. he was used to getting exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it, and you knew that "just one night" with a man like him would ruin you for anyone else forever.
you couldn't do casual with him. your love ran too deep, too native to who you were. if you couldn't have every single piece of him—his loyalty, his quiet moments, his exclusive attention, and his whole heart—then you didn't want him at all. hiding him from other women or sharing him with the world wasn't an option.
picking up the phone, you dialed the number left on the card. it rang twice before his smooth, velvety voice answered.
"hello?"
"the flowers are beautiful, jack," you said softly, leaning back against your kitchen counter, "but a ladies' man only gets to look.“
and with that, you hung up the phone before he could respond, leaving jackie completely stunned on the other end. he wanted you, bad. and he was going to get you.
A MUST read!
I NEED SOME BLACK CELEBRITIES/ CHARACTERS X BLACK!READER FICS!! FLUFF AND SMUT!
the way white/non black people people write parker is so ….
first her hairstyle is called locs.
second, i thought we established that we don’t compare people’s skin tones to food? also, if she’s just mentioned in passing why need to mention her race at all? we all know parker is black you don’t need to write ‘and this strong BLACK doctor came to help me’ (yes, this is something i’ve read). there are so many other ways to describe her (hair, tattoos, personality, SKIN TONE, etc.) it’s ONLY with her, none of the other doctors (poc or not) are described like that.
lastly, i’m convinced none of them know how black people talk. why is this DOCTOR calling patients she just met ‘ma’ or ‘mamas’… just because you have a one track mind on how you think black people talk, doesn’t mean it has to show up in your fanfics.
THIS!!
Update Your Emergency Contact
Summary: Following the shooting, your life is left changed in ways you can barely comprehend, but Parker is there for you through it all.
Word Count: 7.38k
Warnings: no use of Y/N, mentions of blood, and a g*nshot wound are mentioned, mentions of PTSD,
Masterlist
Part one: Here
Please give this a read if you love Parker Ellis!! *P.s: Read part one first*
Can someone help me?! I have an idea for a fic for the "The Pitt" fandom: Reader works in the hospital (job is up to writer) and is dating Langdon (while he is in rehab. Also they have been together for a while) and Santos is trying to get reader to leave Landon before and after he comes back to the ER. Reader tells her that she is going to stay and help him get and stay better. This leads to tension between the two(reader and Santos), so now everytime they see each other Santos is making remarks and mean things while reader is minding her business. After a while reader has enough and decides to go to HR (or whatever writer chooses) and says that if Santos doesn't get transferred them reader will leave. *Also maybe we can add an appearance from Yolanda Garcia and Dennis Whitaker.*
I need Parker Ellis x fem!reader!!! Preferably with no smut
True Blue
based on this request <3
pairing - dennis “huckleberry” whitaker x reader
word count - 6.9k (nice)
summary - dennis' blue eyes are the calm in your storm.
cw - workplace assault, choking, men (derogatory)
a/n - lowk wanna do something like this for all the pitt babes. already have one kind of planned for robby. happy pitt finale🥲
---
Pls read!!
If you see this on your dashboard, reblog this, NO MATTER WHAT and all your dreams and wishes will come true.
Oh hey! Haven’t seen this in forever! Didn’t reblog it when it came across me before, not gonna skip it this time, I need some good vibes.
i hate when i see black!reader fics and the a/n says “black reader in mind but no details” like bitch i need shea butter and knotless braids all over my fics lol. and what’s the point of making the fic for black readers if it’s not going to have any details.
if you’re a black fics creator and u do this, pls do better…
I better see the black!reader tags skyrocket this month!!!
hiiii!! i love your writing!! can you please do a steve x henderson reader? but very angsty?!- reader isn’t invited to things- hell she doesn’t even know what’s going on in hawkins- dustin is being so mean to her, steve is pulling away- literally. reader reaches for his hand- he pulls away- she begins to notice the way he looks at nancy - the same way he used to look at reader 💔💔 maybe they don’t even notice reader has been taken by vecna until it’s too late
this was fun to write... i hope this breaks all your hearts... i mean
The Art of Disappearing
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The first time you realized something was wrong was when Dustin came home with a black eye and wouldn't tell you how he got it.
"It's nothing," he'd said, pushing past you to his room. "Just leave it alone."
"Dustin, I'm your sister. If someone's bothering you at school..."
"I said leave it!" He'd slammed his door in your face, and you'd stood there in the hallway feeling like you'd been slapped.
Dustin never talked to you like that. You were close, always had been. When your dad left, when mom worked double shifts, you were the one who made sure Dustin ate dinner and did his homework and had someone to talk to. You were more than siblings; you were best friends.
Or you had been.
That was three weeks ago. Now Dustin barely looked at you. He spent all his time with his friends, Mike and Lucas and Will and Max, and whenever you asked what they were doing, he'd snap at you to mind your own business.
"It's just friend stuff," he'd said yesterday when you'd asked why he was going to the Wheelers' house again. "You wouldn't understand."
"I could if you'd explain..."
"Just drop it, okay? God, you're so annoying."
You'd watched him bike away, that familiar ache settling in your chest. The ache that had been growing steadily worse since Steve started pulling away too.
Steve. Your boyfriend of eight months. The boy who'd kissed you for the first time in his car after driving you home from work. The boy who'd held your hand and told you that you were the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Except now he barely touched you at all.
You'd noticed it starting about a month ago. Small things at first, he'd make excuses not to come over, would be distracted when you were together, would pull away when you reached for his hand.
Like yesterday, when you met him at Family Video during your lunch break. You'd reached for his hand across the counter, an automatic gesture, something you'd done a hundred times before, and he'd pulled back like you'd burned him.
"Sorry," he'd said, not meeting your eyes. "I just... I need to restock these tapes."
Robin had given you a look that might have been pity, and you'd left feeling small and confused and increasingly certain that something was very, very wrong.
The headaches had started around the same time.
Nothing major at first, just a persistent ache behind your eyes that Tylenol couldn't touch. But they'd been getting worse, accompanied by strange visions, flashes of things that couldn't be real. Your father, whom you hadn't seen in years, was standing in your room. The wallpaper peeling away to reveal something dark and twisted underneath. A clock chiming in the distance.
You'd mentioned it to Dustin once, asked if he'd been having weird dreams too. He'd looked at you with something like panic in his eyes and said, "No. And you shouldn't either. Just...just ignore it."
Then he'd left before you could ask what he meant.
You tried talking to Steve about it. Called him one night when the headache was so bad you could barely see, when you'd sworn you heard that clock again, chiming impossibly loud.
"Steve? Can you come over? Something's wrong and I..."
"I can't. I'm busy."
"Busy with what?"
A pause. "Just stuff. Look, maybe you should call your mom or something."
"My mom's working a double. Steve, please, I'm scared..."
"I have to go. I'll call you later."
He didn't call you later.
You spent that night alone, curled up in bed with the lights on, trying to ignore the feeling that something was watching you from the corners of your room.
The next day, you went to Family Video. Steve looked surprised to see you, which hurt more than it should have.
"Hey," you said, trying to smile. "I thought maybe we could do something tonight? We haven't hung out in a while."
"I can't. I have plans."
"Plans with who?"
"Just... friends. It's a group thing."
Your stomach dropped. "What group thing?"
"It's not... look, it's complicated."
"So un-complicate it. Steve, what's going on? You've been avoiding me, Dustin won't talk to me, and I feel like everyone knows something I don't."
Steve's jaw tightened. "It's not like that."
"Then what is it like?"
"It's... " He stopped, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "There's stuff happening that you don't need to worry about."
"Stuff involving my little brother? Stuff that has you acting like you can barely stand to be around me?"
"That's not... I'm not acting like..." Steve stopped again, and this time he looked at something over your shoulder. "Nancy. Hey."
You turned to see Nancy Wheeler walking into the store, looking beautiful and confident in a way that made your chest tight. She smiled at Steve, and you watched something shift in his expression, a softening, a warmth that you hadn't seen directed at you in weeks.
"Steve, we need to talk about... " Nancy stopped when she saw you. "Oh. Sorry, I didn't realize you were busy."
"I'm not busy," Steve said quickly. Too quickly. "What's up?"
And just like that, you'd become invisible.
You stood there while Steve and Nancy talked in low voices by the counter, their heads close together, and felt something crack in your chest. The way Steve was looking at her, God, you recognized that look. That's how he used to look at you. Like she was the most important person in the room. Like nothing else mattered.
When had he stopped looking at you like that?
Robin appeared at your elbow, her expression sympathetic. "Hey. You okay?"
"I'm fine," you lied.
"You're really not a good liar." She glanced at Steve and Nancy, then back at you. "Look, I know this is weird... "
"Weird is my boyfriend apparently having secret meetings with his ex-girlfriend while he can't find time to see me?"
"It's not like that. They're just... there's stuff going on that..." Robin stopped, looking frustrated. "I can't explain. But it's not what you think."
"Everyone keeps saying that." You grabbed your bag. "But no one will actually tell me what's really going on."
You left before Robin could respond, before Steve could notice you were leaving, before you started crying in the middle of Family Video.
That night, Dustin came home late. You were in the kitchen, nursing your third cup of coffee because sleep had become impossible with the headaches and the visions.
"Where were you?" you asked.
"Out."
"Out where?"
"Does it matter?" Dustin opened the fridge, not looking at you.
"Yes, it matters. You're my little brother. I'm supposed to know where you are."
"No, you're supposed to stop treating me like a kid." Dustin slammed the fridge door. "I'm not a baby anymore. I don't need you hovering all the time."
"I'm not hovering. I'm trying to make sure you're safe."
"Well, maybe I don't need you to keep me safe! Maybe I have other people for that!"
The words hit like a physical blow. "Other people? Like who?"
"Like Steve and Nancy and everyone else who actually..." He stopped, looking guilty.
"Everyone else who actually what?" Your voice was shaking. "Who actually cares about you? Is that what you were going to say?"
"I didn't mean..."
"No, you meant it. You meant that I'm not... that I don't..." You couldn't finish the sentence around the lump in your throat.
Dustin's face twisted with something like regret, but he didn't take it back. "I have to go to bed. I have plans early tomorrow."
"More secret plans?"
"They're not secret. They're just none of your business."
He left you standing in the kitchen, and you finally let yourself cry. Big, ugly sobs that hurt your chest and made your headache even worse. When had you become the outsider in your own family? When had your brother decided he didn't need you anymore?
When had Steve decided the same thing?
Your nose was bleeding when you finally went to bed. You wiped it away, added it to the list of things that were wrong, and tried to sleep.
The clock chimed all night long.
The next day, you saw them all together.
You'd gone to the store for your mom, taking the long way past the arcade because you'd thought maybe Dustin would be there. Instead, you found them in the parking lot: Dustin, Steve, Nancy, Robin, Max, Lucas, and Erica. All of them standing in a circle, talking in urgent voices, looking like they were planning something big.
Something you weren't a part of.
You stopped your bike just out of sight, watching. Steve had his arm around Nancy's shoulders, pulling her close as they looked at something Lucas was holding. Nancy leaned into him, comfortable and familiar, and Steve smiled at her the way he used to smile at you.
Your hands tightened on the handlebars. When had that happened? When had they gotten close again? And why hadn't Steve told you?
Dustin was laughing at something Max said, looking happier than he'd been around you in weeks. All of them together, a united group.
A group you weren't invited to join.
You started to bike away before they could see you, before they could know you'd been watching, before the hurt could show on your face. But as you turned, you heard Nancy say something that made you stop.
"... spreading. We can't wait much longer, or more people are going to... "
"We should tell her." Steve's voice, and your heart leapt. He was talking about you. He wanted to include you.
"Absolutely not," Dustin said immediately. "It's too dangerous. I'm not putting my sister at risk."
"But she's already..." Robin started.
"I said no!" Dustin's voice was sharp. "She doesn't need to know about any of this. We keep her out of it. That's the whole point of doing this... to keep people like her safe."
"Dustin's right," Nancy said softly. "The fewer people who know, the better. And she's been through enough without adding... this."
Been through enough? What did that mean? What didn't they think you could handle?
You biked away before you could hear more, pedaling hard, trying to outrun the hurt and confusion and the growing certainty that everyone in your life was lying to you.
The visions got worse that night.
You were in your room, trying to focus on homework, when the wallpaper started peeling. You watched, frozen, as it curled away to reveal that dark, twisted something underneath, vines, maybe, or veins, pulsing with a red light that made your head throb.
Your father stepped out of the corner, exactly as he'd looked the day he left. "You're not enough," he said in that flat, emotionless voice. "You've never been enough. That's why Dustin doesn't need you anymore. That's why Steve doesn't want you."
"You're not real," you whispered.
"Aren't I? Or am I just saying what everyone's too kind to tell you?" He moved closer, and you could smell his cologne, could see every detail of his face. "You're ordinary. Forgettable. The kind of person people don't notice when they leave. Dustin's moved on. Steve's moved on. Soon your mother will too, and you'll be completely alone."
"Stop."
"They're all together right now, did you know that? Planning things, saving the world, being important. And you're here. Alone. Like always."
The clock started chiming.
You pressed your hands over your ears, but the sound just got louder. Your father's voice mixed with it, listing every way you'd failed, every reason people left you, every proof that you were forgettable and ordinary and not worth keeping.
When you finally passed out, you were bleeding from your nose and your head felt like it was splitting open.
You woke up in your bed with no memory of how you got there. It was morning, Saturday morning. You had plans with Steve. An actual date that he'd agreed to, probably out of guilt, but you'd take what you could get.
You got dressed carefully, covering the dark circles under your eyes with makeup, trying to look like someone worth loving. The headache was still there, a constant presence now, but you ignored it.
Steve was supposed to pick you up at two. At 2:15, you called him.
"Hey, can't talk right now. In the middle of something."
"We have plans," you said. "You were supposed to pick me up fifteen minutes ago."
A pause. "Shit. I forgot. Look, something came up... "
"Something came up," you repeated flatly.
"Yeah, I'm really sorry, but I can't make it today. Rain check?"
"Steve, this is the third date you've cancelled."
"I know, and I'm sorry, but this is important."
"And I'm not?"
Another pause, longer this time. "That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean? Because from where I'm standing, it seems like I'm the only thing in your life that isn't important anymore."
"That's not fair."
"You're right. What's not fair is my boyfriend ghosting me. What's not fair is my brother treating me like I don't exist. What's not fair is everyone in my life acting like I'm too fragile or too stupid or too something to be trusted with the truth!"
"It's not like that... "
"Then what is it like? Explain it to me, Steve. Please. Because I'm losing my mind trying to figure out what I did wrong."
"You didn't do anything wrong." His voice was tired. "It's just... everything is complicated right now."
"So un-complicate it. Let me in. Let me help with whatever's going on."
"I can't."
The finality in his voice made your chest tight. "Can't or won't?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes!" You were crying now, couldn't help it. "Yes, it matters! You matter! We matter! Or... or we used to. Did we stop mattering? Did I stop mattering?"
"Of course you matter... "
"Then act like it! Stop pushing me away! Stop looking at Nancy like..." You stopped, but it was too late.
"Like what?" Steve's voice had gone quiet.
"Nothing. Forget it."
"No, say it. Like what?"
"Like you used to look at me," you whispered. "Like she's the one you want to be with instead of me."
Silence on the other end. Long enough that you knew it was true, that your worst fear was confirmed.
"It's not... I'm not..." Steve stopped. "I should go."
"Steve..."
But he'd already hung up.
You sat on your bed, phone in hand, and felt something fundamental break inside you. The headache was so bad now that you could barely see. The visions were constant: your father, your empty room, everyone you loved walking away and never looking back.
The clock was chiming again.
You should call someone. Tell someone that something was wrong. But who would you call? Steve, who didn't want to talk to you? Dustin, who'd made it clear you were annoying? Your mom, who was always working?
There was no one.
You're alone, the voice in your head whispered. You've always been alone. They just finally figured out what you knew all along, you're not worth the effort.
You lay back on your bed, closed your eyes, and let the darkness take you.
It was easier than fighting.
They didn't notice you were gone until Monday.
Your mom assumed you'd left early for school. Dustin didn't check your room... why would he? You'd been avoiding each other for weeks.
Steve didn't call. Neither did anyone else.
It wasn't until your mom came home Monday evening and found your bed empty, your school bag still packed, that anyone realized something was wrong.
"Dustin!" she called. "Have you seen your sister?"
Dustin looked up from his homework, annoyed at the interruption. "No? She's probably at work or something."
"She's supposed to be home for dinner." Your mom's voice was worried now. "And her boss called asking why she didn't show up for her shift on Saturday."
Saturday. The day Steve had cancelled on you. The last time anyone had seen you.
"Maybe she's at Steve's?" Dustin suggested, but something cold was forming in his stomach.
Your mom called Steve. Steve said he hadn't seen you since the week before, when you'd come to Family Video. His voice sounded panicked when he asked, "Why? What's wrong? Is she okay?"
"I don't know," your mom said. "She's missing."
Steve was at your house in ten minutes, Nancy with him. They'd been together when your mom called... planning something, strategizing, doing all the important things that didn't include you.
"When's the last time anyone saw her?" Nancy asked, already in investigation mode.
"I saw her Saturday morning," your mom said. "She was getting ready for a date with Steve, but... "
"We didn't have a date," Steve interrupted, then stopped. "Wait. No. We did. I cancelled. I forgot about it, and then something came up and... oh God."
"What?" Dustin demanded.
"She called me. She was upset. We fought about..." Steve looked at Nancy, then away. "We fought. And I hung up on her. That was Saturday afternoon."
Two and a half days ago.
"She hasn't been to school," your mom said, checking her phone. "The school called today asking if she was sick. I thought... I thought she'd just left early this morning and..."
"Her car's still here," Steve said, looking out the window. "And her bike."
They all turned to look at Dustin, who was still standing in the doorway, his face pale.
"When's the last time you talked to her?" Nancy asked gently.
"I..." Dustin swallowed hard. "Friday night. We fought. I said... I said some things I didn't mean."
"What things?" Steve demanded.
"I told her she was annoying. That I didn't need her. That I had other people who..." Dustin's voice cracked. "Oh God. Oh God, what if something happened and it's my fault?"
"It's not..." Steve started, but he couldn't finish because he knew it might be exactly their fault.
Nancy's face had gone white. "The headaches. She mentioned having headaches, didn't she?"
Steve nodded slowly, remembering. "She called me one night. Said something was wrong. I told her to call her mom."
"Did she say anything else? Anything about visions or hearing things or...."
"A clock," Steve interrupted, his heart dropping. "She said she heard a clock chiming."
The silence that followed was deafening.
"No," Dustin whispered. "No, no, no. She can't be... we would have known! We've been watching for signs!"
"We've been watching other people for signs," Nancy said, her voice tight. "We never thought to watch her because..."
"Because we were too busy keeping her away from everything," Steve finished. "Too busy protecting her to notice she needed protecting from something else."
Robin burst through the door, out of breath. "I got here as fast as I... is it true? Is she really... "
"Missing," your mom said. "For two and a half days."
"Oh God." Robin looked at Steve. "The nosebleeds. She had them at the store last week. I thought it was just... I didn't think..."
They'd all missed it. Too caught up in keeping you away from the Upside Down to realize the Upside Down had found you anyway. Too focused on protecting you to see that you needed help. Too busy with their plans and secrets to notice you were falling apart right in front of them.
"We have to find her," Dustin said, already moving toward the door. "Now. Before he... before it's too late."
"Where do we even start?" Max asked. She'd arrived with Lucas, both of them pale and scared.
"Her favorite places," Steve said immediately. "Places she'd go to feel safe. The library, the park, anywhere she... "
He stopped, and everyone turned to see what he was looking at.
Your music. Your Walkman, sitting on the kitchen counter where you'd left it. The one defense against Vecna they'd all been using, the one thing that could bring someone back.
And you hadn't had it with you.
Steve grabbed it, his hands shaking as he pressed play. Your favorite song started, the one you'd made him listen to a hundred times, the one he'd pretended to find annoying but secretly loved because it made you smile.
"We'll find her," he said, but his voice was shaking. "We'll find her, and we'll bring her back, and I'll... I'll tell her everything. I'll explain about the Upside Down and Vecna and why we were keeping her away. I'll tell her I'm sorry and that she matters and..."
"And that you love her?" Nancy asked quietly.
Steve looked at her, then nodded. "Yeah. That I love her. That I never stopped, I just... I got scared and stupid, and I pushed her away because I thought I was protecting her, but all I did was..."
He couldn't finish.
They spread out across Hawkins, searching desperately. The library was empty. The park, the arcade, the movie theater, all empty. No trace of you anywhere.
It was Max who found you.
She'd insisted on checking the old cemetery on the edge of town...the one you'd told her about once, how you used to go there to think when everything got too loud.
You were there, lying in the grass between headstones, your eyes rolled back, your body seizing, blood running from your nose and ears.
"I FOUND HER!" Max screamed, and within minutes the others were there.
Steve dropped to his knees beside you, grabbing your hand...the hand he'd pulled away from so many times in the past weeks. "Princess, please. Please wake up. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
He put the headphones over your ears, turned the volume up as loud as it would go. Your favorite song poured out, but you didn't move, didn't respond.
"It's not working," Dustin sobbed. "Why isn't it working?"
"She's too far gone," Nancy said, her voice breaking. "He's had her for too long."
"No." Steve was crying now, clutching your hand. "No, she's going to be fine. She has to be fine. I can't...I can't lose her. Not like this. Not when I never told her...."
Your body arched, bones cracking audibly, and everyone screamed.
"DO SOMETHING!" Dustin shouted at no one and everyone.
But there was nothing to do. They could only watch as Vecna broke you, piece by piece, while your favorite song played and Steve held your hand and whispered "I love you, I love you, please don't leave me" over and over like a prayer.
They were too late.
They'd been too late the moment they'd decided to push you away, to keep you in the dark, to treat you like you were too fragile to handle the truth.
And now, watching you die in the grass while Steve finally said all the things he should have said weeks ago, they understood: they hadn't been protecting you at all.
They'd just been making sure you faced the darkness alone.
The way you'd always been alone.
The way they'd made sure of it.
I love this!
The Money Tubbs only comes around every 5628 seconds. Reblog the Money Tubbs and you’ll find money!
Bitttchhh the last time I reblogged some bullshit like this I booked a 2k 30minute shoot lmao
I received 2k 2 days after reblogging this
The issue I have with writers doing a "plus-size reader being insecure, so sex is the solution" trope is that it just sexualizes us. Insecurity can also stem from sexualization, just like it can from rejection. Plus-size people face objectification every day, and you're a part of it. It's also so unrealistic; if I'm feeling insecure about my body, the last thing I'd want is someone groping my naked body. Imagine if you were really thirsty and instead of someone giving water, they spit in your face and say, "Well, it's a liquid." That's what y'all are doing with those fic tropes. You're saying, "Oh, you have insecurities? Here's a fic about you getting your puss ate." Also, 99% of these authors who write plus-size characters like that are not plus-size themselves. So, instead of doing research or even talking to a bigger person, they write a crappy, half-assed fic that they think is so different. They praise themselves like they're fucking Liberace. I can give you a quick outline of these fics.
•reader tries on dress
•reader is insecure
•character comes in
•reader cries
•character and reader have sex.
You're like everyone else who treats us like we are not more than our bodies, you're just doing it in a performative way. You're not different, nothing you're doing is new, and if I'm being honest every insecurity->sex fic I've seen has been fucking trash.
The One Who Stayed
Oscar Piastri x single mom!Reader
Summary: you’re leaking through your shirt, your newborn won’t stop screaming, and you’re about to have a breakdown behind the Haas motorhome when Oscar stops — not to judge, but to gently ask if he can hold her. What starts as one quiet act of kindness becomes the slow, steady building of something you never thought you’d be allowed to want: a family, a partnership, and a love that shows up even when the world tries to tear you down
It’s just past 9 a.m. on Friday, and the paddock is already thick with engine noise and espresso breath. Behind the Haas motorhome, half-shielded by a stack of equipment cases and a trailer that smells faintly like burnt rubber and Red Bull, you stand rocking a howling baby in your arms. One hand on Maisie’s damp back, the other awkwardly wiping at your soaked shirt with the sleeve of your team polo.
You’re leaking through the thin white fabric — perfect. And Maisie won’t stop screaming. Won’t latch, won’t sleep, won’t be soothed. Your hair is stuck to your neck with sweat, and your brain feels like it’s being grinded down by the steady thrum of noise, exhaustion, and adrenaline. You haven't slept more than two hours in a row in weeks, and you're so tired you actually feel nauseous.
“Shhh, baby, come on, please, please,” you whisper, voice trembling as you bounce on your heels in that desperate rhythm new mothers know like instinct. But it’s not working. She’s red-faced, tiny fists flailing. You taste salt in your mouth before you even realize you're crying.
Please give this a read! This is so brilliant!