#Lizzy fic

[tellbrina]

how i look at my phone's screen reading angst near someone and having to hold back tears

[generalbs]

Runnin' from the authorities

The Bamboozlers from Midnight Strangers by @seriouslycalamitous

[cameronsbabydoll]

“IM ALLOWED TO SWITCH”

rafe cameron x cherry!pie!reader x barry

WARNINGS: toxic relationships, humiliation / degradation, possessive behavior, emotionally manipulative language, sexually suggestive content (non-explicit) implied sexual history (reader x rafe, reader x barry) jealousy / obsession, power imbalance dynamics

A/N: based off the song “can’t go broke” by zeddy will & babyfxce E (kinda cringe but whatever)

he used to call you cherry pie.

he used to say it like a joke—mocking, syrupy sweet.

he used to drag you into his truck and let you ride him with your pink nails scratching down his chest, then tell you to pull your skirt down and get the fuck out like it didn’t mean anything to him.

and you let him. every single time.

until you didn’t.

until barry came along.

because if rafe wanted a sweet thing to ruin, barry wanted one to keep—dirty little doll in mary janes and lip gloss, the kind of girl who blushes when he spits in her mouth and says good fuckin’ girl after.

it starts with a rumor. as always.

someone sees you get out of barry’s beaten down truck. someone says he had his hand on the back of your neck, steering you like a pet. someone says you giggled when he called you mama in the parking lot.

rafe hears it thirdhand. and then again. and again.

but it’s not until he sees you at the local gas station—standing there in your white ruffled socks and ruby red gingham dress, handing barry a slushie with both hands like you’re scared you’ll spill it—that it sinks in.

you really did it. you switched.

barry looks him dead in the eye when he licks the straw. doesn’t even blink.

“she got tired of bein’ treated like a side bitch,” barry drawls. “figured i’d treat her like a prize instead.”

rafe laughs. it’s mean, too loud, forced.

but he’s shaking.

“you really lettin’ her suck you off with that stupid voice, man? she don’t even know how to—”

“nah,” barry cuts him off, slow and smug. “she learned. real fuckin’ fast.”

you don’t say anything. you don’t look at rafe, don’t flinch when barry’s hand drops to your thigh like he owns it. you just sip your drink and smile around the straw, cherry gloss smudging the plastic.

he corners you later.

he waits until you’re walking out of a party, alone, your cardigan pulled tight around your shoulders, your hair curled sweet like always.

“you done whoring around now?” rafe says, stepping in front of you.

you blink up at him, soft and wide-eyed. cherry pie, just like always.

“thought i was never good at it,” you whisper.

he clenches his jaw. there it is.

“you really good at everything but head,” he snaps, voice too low to be heard over the music. “i don’t want your throat.”

you look up at him, lashes fluttering.

“good,” you hum. “barry says i taste better somewhere else anyway.”

he stares at you, lips parting. his breath catches, just for a second.

“matter of fact,” you say, soft and breathy like you’re reciting scripture, “i want your friend. i’m allowed to switch, right?”

and rafe’s face breaks.

he doesn’t speak. just watches you walk away in your little white mary janes, all bow-legged and glowy like you’ve been ruined by someone else.

barry’s waiting by the truck, leaned against the hood, smoking and smiling like he already knows.

you climb into his lap like it’s nothing. like you were never rafe’s.

and maybe you never were.

[skyrigel]

— Sylvia Plath, the unbridged journals of Sylvia Plath

[wandasgirl69]

A simple request—

Paring(s): Wanda Maximoff X female!reader

Summary: After a long, exhausting day, all you want is to unwind in your girlfriend's arms.

word count: 1.9K

tags l content: established relationship, smut, breeding kink, mommy kink, cockwarming, breastfeeding, induced lactation, sub reader, Wanda has a cock, abandoned movie lol.

A/N: I'm excited and nervous to post this lol, it's just a short drabble. I hope you guys enjoy! (and yes, it's about me and my girl— again.)

The day had drained you completely. Endless lectures, overwhelming assignments—your mind felt like it was on the verge of shutting down. As you stepped into your apartment, the familiar scent of home instantly soothed you—a mix of fresh linen, vanilla, and something distinctly Wanda. With a deep sigh, you dropped your backpack by the door, kicking off your shoes without caring where they landed.

All you wanted—no, all you needed—was to unwind. Just you, Wanda, and a movie. That was your simple request.

As you made your way into the bedroom, Wanda lay sprawled on the bed, a steaming cup of tea cradled in her hands, her crimson-painted nails tapping idly against the ceramic. A book rested open in her lap, though she seemed more focused on the warmth seeping through her fingers than on the words before her. The soft glow of the bedside lamp bathed her in warm light, making her look almost ethereal.

"Hi, my love," she murmured, her voice like a gentle caress.

Just hearing those words made something in your chest loosen. The tension that had gripped you all day dissipated, if only for a moment. You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding and walked over to the bed, practically collapsing onto it.

Wanda shut her book, setting it aside as she turned toward you, concern flickering in her eyes.

"Long day?"

You groaned, pressing your face into the pillows. "The longest. I don’t want to think, don’t want to talk about assignments, and definitely don’t want to see another professor’s face for at least a week." You rolled onto your side, gazing up at her.

"I just need to watch a movie. I need to turn my brain off, cuddle under the blankets, and just exist for a while. That’s all I want."

Understanding flashed across her face, and without hesitation, she nodded. "Okay, baby. That sounds perfect."

She reached for the remote, shifting closer to you. "What do you want to watch?"

Your lips curved into a small smile as you answered without hesitation. "Rom-com."

Wanda chuckled, shaking her head fondly. "I should've guessed."

"You should've," you teased, nudging her arm. "They're the best. They’re funny, they’re sweet, and they make everything feel a little bit lighter."

With an amused sigh, Wanda scrolled through Netflix, already knowing you wouldn’t settle for anything else. "Alright, one predictable, overly romantic, cliché-filled movie coming right up."

"Masterpiece," you corrected, grinning as you reached for her.

Before you could say anything else, Wanda set the remote down and gently pulled you into her arms, shifting you so you rested against her front, nestled between her legs. The warmth of her body instantly soothed you as she wrapped her arms around your waist, holding you close.

"Are you comfortable?" she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. You hummed in response, melting further into her embrace. The movie played on and she continued to caress you, her hands slowly making their way under your shirt. 

"Wanda" you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. 

"Yes, baby?" she asked, before  nipping at your neck, her teeth grazing your skin. 

“We’re supposed to be relaxing,” you mumbled. She chuckled softly, her breath warm against your ear.

“This is relaxing, no?” You let out a shaky breath, nodding as you surrendered to her touch, letting the movie fade into the background. She continued to explore your body, her fingers trailing along your stomach and then up your ribs, teasing the underside of your breasts. You let out a quiet whimper, arching into her touch.

"So responsive for me," Wanda whispered, her voice low and husky. her slender fingers eventually made their way into your shorts, slowly dipping into your folds. She let out a groan at the wetness she found there, her fingers parting your folds and sliding into your entrance.

"Fuck, baby," she breathed, her voice thick with arousal. "You’re so wet."

She began pumping her fingers slowly, eliciting a moan from you. Your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more friction. But then suddenly, it stopped, and a whimper escaped your lips. You opened your eyes to see her smirking at you, a playful glint in her eyes.

"What happened to relaxing?" she teased as she removed her hand from your shorts and brought her fingers up to her mouth, sucking them clean. The sight made you shudder, and you could feel the heat building between your legs.

"I- I am relaxed," you managed to stutter out.

"Mmhmm," Wanda hummed, her lips curving into a smirk. "Let's see if we can help you relax a little more, shall we?" her cock pressed against your back and she ground herself into you, making sure that you could feel how hard she was.

"Yes please," you breathed, squirming slightly as she continued to tease you.

"but we need to focus on the movie" she reminded you as she trailed her hands up and down your body.

"It's hard to focus on the movie when you're touching me like that," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Wanda's chuckle was playful, "Maybe we can multitask," she suggested, her breath hot against your ear. "We can watch the movie, and I can... help you relax at the same time."

"I think that can be arranged," you breathed

"Shhh” she murmured as she pulled your shorts down as well as her own. 

"warm up my cock, hm?" A groan escaped your lips as she guided her tip to your cunt, your wet folds allowing her to push right in. The feeling of her stretching you open was almost too much, and you felt yourself trembling against her. She wrapped her arms around you and pulled you flush against her chest as the movie continued to play in the background. 

Wanda made sure to keep a steady pace of small, shallow thrusts, just enough to tease you without being too distracting. Every so often, she would buck her hips, eliciting a soft moan from you as her cock hit that perfect spot inside you.

"You're doing such a good job, keeping mommy's cock nice and warm." Your response was immediate, a whimper escaping your lips as your hips rocked back into hers, driven by a primal need to be closer, to be filled completely. 

"Please, Mommy," you whispered, your voice a faint, desperate plea that lingered in the air as you rested your head back against her shoulder. 

"I want you to breed me." As soon as the words left your lips, Wanda's entire demeanor changed. Her eyes, which had been gleaming with a mixture of desire and playfulness, suddenly burned with an intense urgency. She pulled you closer, her arms wrapping tightly around you as she deepened her thrusts.

Her movements became more frantic, more desperate, as if she was driven by a singular focus to give you what you wanted. The air was filled with the sound of her ragged breathing, her gasps and moans mingling with the creaks and groans of the bed as she pushed up against you with increasing intensity. 

The movie, which had been playing in the background, was forgotten, the sounds and images on the screen fading into insignificance as Wanda's actions became the sole focus of your attention. You felt yourself getting lost in the sensation of her body moving against yours, the friction and heat building as she drove herself deeper and deeper into you. 

Wanda's hands were everywhere, grasping and clutching at your skin as if she was trying to pull you closer, to merge your bodies into one. Her lips were on your neck, your shoulder, your ear, her breath hot and urgent.

As her movements continued, you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps.

"That's it, baby," she whispered. "Take mommy's cock. Take it all." Her hands reached up and cupped your breasts, her thumbs brushing over your nipples. Her fingers lightly pinched, sending a spark of pleasure through your body. You moaned, a soft, breathy sound, as your hips instinctively bucked back into hers.

You were on the verge of losing control, and you knew it. 

"I'm going to—" you whispered, your voice barely audible as the sensations overwhelmed you. The words trailed off, lost in the tidal wave of pleasure that threatened to consume you.

"Cum, baby," Wanda grunted. "Cum all over my cock. I'm going to fill you up." As she spoke, her body tensed, and you felt her release inside you, a warm, gentle flood that seemed to never end. She didn’t stop her movements, instead increasing them to ensure you took every drop of her seed. 

You cried out, your body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. Wanda held you close, her thrusts slowing as you came down from your high and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the two of you panting, struggling to catch your breath. 

"Ohh, my love, you were perfect," she whispered, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck as she pressed soft, gentle kisses. With a gentle movement, she shifted your body, turning you around to face her, her cock still nestled deep within you— exactly where you both loved it to be. As she held you, you whimpered a little, your body squirming subtly to press against hers more intimately. 

Wanda's arms tightened around you, holding you close, the steady rise and fall of her breath soothed you. Your body felt heavy with exhaustion, a weariness settling in as you melted against her.

“Sleepy, baby?” Wanda murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from your damp forehead.

A small hum left your lips as you shifted slightly, seeking more of her comfort.

“Mama…” you breathed, half-asleep but still aware enough to know what you wanted.

“I’m here, my love,” she reassured you, tucking you even closer. “What do you need?”

Your fingers curled against her skin as you whispered, 

“Milky.”

Wanda’s chest rose with a quiet chuckle, her amusement laced with tenderness. 

“Oh, my sweet girl,” she murmured, adjusting her position so she could take off her shirt. She bared the soft curves of her breasts to you, her warmth and scent enveloping you in familiar safety. Her hands guided your head back to her chest, where the sweet aroma of her milk mingled with the lingering notes of vanilla that were uniquely hers.

As you latched on, the steady, pulsing rhythm of her heartbeat filled your ears, lulling you further into the depths of relaxation. Wanda’s fingers twisted through your hair, scratching your head absentmindedly. 

“That’s it, baby,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“Just relax, I’ve got you.”

The gentle pull of warmth, the rhythmic rise and fall of her breath, the way her arms held you so securely—it was all you needed. 

The weight of the day faded, the last remnants of tension melting away as your body sank fully into her embrace. She shifted slightly, her fingers gently brushing against the corner of your mouth to wipe away a stray drop of milk that had lingered there. And with a gentle motion, she wrapped the blankets more securely around you both. Even as she started to drift off, she was aware of your tight walls still wrapped around her cock. 

"Sweet dreams, my love," she whispered, her voice barely a breath, as the warmth of her heartbeat pressed against your cheek. You felt her hold you just a little tighter.

[zackmartin]

HENRY DANGER: THE MOVIE (2025) ● dir. joe menendez

[everymangetshiswish420]

Whatever the pic said 😇

[dandelions4us]

no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while i gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling, teeth jitterbug, mind blogging, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy, moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, can’t walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell dissolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, slendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tango ever.

[erinwantstowrite]

had to design what Peter looks like when he's an adult and got carried away so here's a big ass doodle page

[tellbrina]

how y/n feels after saying the most stupid thing she could've said in an argument

[renthedevil]

have jimmy on the brain so here's some doobles of an au that i've had in my brain for a hot minute :]

(au notes below)

STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS PLOT ABOUT THE AU

FEEL FREE TO STEAL THIS I'M NOT PLANNING ANYTHING WITH IT :D (and please keep in mind that i haven't seen everyones pov so some stuff is not cannon accurate lol) this is set in empire season 2 (around the time the rift open so we can have ranchers), with the empires 1 characters being a sort of greek pantheon(?) that pix is studying. Anyway- the codfather is supposed to be a god of the forsaken, forgotten ,and the damned who is either reincarnated as jim or is giving his power to jim cause he's deemed worthy of it. never quite worked out that part. so jim starts getting codfather features and is like 'o shit fish powers'. tumble town also starts turning into an oasis. he goes to the great witch shelby cause he thinks someone cursed him but she's like 'hm, no you somehow got ancient power somehow? let's go to pix and see if he knows anything about it.' then they go to pix who's all 'HOLY MOLY YOU GOT CODFATHER POWERS THAT EXPLAINS THE FLOODING-' turns out that other kingdoms (particularly anyone who makes fun of jim *cough cough* joel) are flooding really badly and nobody knew why. pix and shelby start working with jim to control his new abilities. they all agree to keep it on the down low but jim tells tango cause ranchers :] the whole thing comes to a head when joel finds out it's jim who's been (unintentionally) destroying his kingdom with floods and storms. he yells at jim about it and in turn jim goes absolutely ape shit- turns into a kaiju or smth and erases the very memory of joel from existence (or something like that) eventually they're able to calm him down steven universe future style. jim puts the memory of joel gets put back into existence and the two learn the importance of communication. yippee! happy ending for all!!

[actuallybean]

National Anthem*

You were his American dream—wrapped in red silk and bad decisions, legs over his shoulders while fireworks lit the sky. Inspired by National Anthem by Lana Del Rey *Contains sexual material: Minors DNI. Pairing: Steve Roger x reader Tag List: @mostlymarvelgirl Marvel Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You knew from the beginning that loving Steve Rogers wouldn’t be simple. It would be heavy. It would come with baggage. Dog tags and dead friends. War wounds and morning coffee laced with silence. But nothing—not the way he gripped his shield like a prayer, not the tragic little smiles he gave you in dark hallways—could’ve prepared you for how he’d love you in return.

He was the poster boy for restraint. Until he wasn’t. Until the gloves came off and the door was locked.

That’s when you saw him for what he really was—not just the good soldier. But the man who lived through war and loss and chose to survive it all for something.

Or maybe for someone.

Tonight, that someone is you.

✦

It starts with the quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that means peace—but the kind that carries static, like the air just before a storm.

You’re standing barefoot in the kitchen of the Stark Tower penthouse. The 4th of July gala is over. Empty champagne flutes litter the marble countertop. There are lipstick-stained napkins, discarded ties, and Tony’s voice still echoing in the hallway, bragging about firework permits and diplomatic immunity.

But you barely notice.

Because Steve is watching you from across the room like you’re the only person left on Earth.

He’s still in uniform—well, most of it. The navy-blue jacket is off, white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up past his elbows. His dog tags glint against his chest.

There’s tension in the air. Not anger. Something worse.

Need.

“Everyone’s gone,” he says softly.

You nod. You don’t look away.

He walks toward you slowly, his boots silent on the polished floor. You feel your breath hitch as he gets closer, the heat radiating off him like a furnace. His hands slide around your waist, grounding you, pulling you into his chest.

“You wore red,” he murmurs, voice low, lips brushing your temple. “Was that for me?”

You smile. “Of course it was.”

His grip tightens, possessive. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Dress like that for anyone else to see.”

You tilt your head back, meet his eyes. There’s steel behind them now—sharp and unyielding. You recognize that look. It’s the same one he wears when he goes into battle. When he chooses to fight for what’s his.

You press a hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat thrum beneath your fingers. “No one else sees me, Steve. Not really.”

He kisses you then—rough, hungry, almost angry with how much he wants you.

And just like that, restraint shatters.

✦

He lifts you easily, strong hands under your thighs as he carries you to the living room like you weigh nothing. Your back hits the velvet couch, and his mouth follows—crashing down against yours with a force that makes your head spin.

He kisses like he fights—strategic, overwhelming, calculated to destroy.

He tears the dress from your body like it offended him. Fabric rips, silk slips to the floor. You’re bare in front of him now, breathless, heart pounding in your chest like a drumline.

His eyes rake over your body like you’re something holy.

“Christ,” he mutters. “You’re beautiful.”

You reach for his shirt. He lets you take it off slowly, his muscles flexing under your touch. You kiss the scar over his ribs. He flinches. You kiss it again.

“You think about them?” you whisper. “The ones you lost?”

He nods once.

“I think about what I could lose every day,” he replies. “Especially you.”

You pull him into you, legs wrapping around his waist, needing to feel every inch of him. He presses against you, cock hard through his pants, grinding slowly, teasingly.

“Don’t make me beg,” you whisper.

His lips twitch. “Why not? You sound pretty when you do.”

He drags a hand between your thighs, two fingers sliding through your slick folds. You gasp, bucking into his hand. He doesn’t rush. Captain America is nothing if not patient.

But Steve Rogers? When he’s in this mood?

He makes you work for it.

“You think I’m something to be proud of,” he says, voice low. “You put me up on a pedestal like I’m not just a man. But I am. I’m flesh and blood, sweetheart. And I want to ruin you.”

Your stomach flips.

He pushes two fingers inside you and your moan spills out before you can stop it. His other hand covers your mouth.

“Shhh,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “Let them hear the fireworks. Not you.”

He pumps his fingers slowly, deliberately. His thumb finds your clit and circles in soft, dangerous strokes.

Your back arches.

“I could come just like this,” you whimper.

“But you won’t,” he says, pulling his fingers away. You whine. He silences it with a kiss.

“I want you to come on me.”

✦

He strips the rest of his clothes with military precision. No theatrics, no teasing. Just need. Raw, direct, all-American need.

His cock is thick and flushed, dripping with precum as he strokes himself, eyes locked on your trembling body. You reach for him, desperate to feel him inside you, but he catches your wrists and pins them above your head.

“You want your anthem?” he asks.

You nod.

“Then sing for me.”

He sinks into you in one slow, devastating thrust. You cry out, back arching off the couch. He doesn’t move yet. He just stays there, buried deep, eyes dark as he watches you fall apart beneath him.

“Look at me,” he growls. “Let me see how good I make you feel.”

You meet his gaze and it’s like being lit on fire.

He starts to move—long, deep strokes, the kind that make your eyes roll back and your thighs shake. He leans in, burying his face in your neck as he fucks you like he means it. Like he’s imprinting himself inside you.

You wrap your legs around him tighter, nails digging into his back.

“You’re mine,” he breathes.

“All yours,” you gasp.

“I’ll never let you go.”

“I don’t want to be let go.”

He picks up speed, each thrust hitting deeper, harder. You’re close. So is he.

“Come with me,” he begs. “Don’t leave me. Not now.”

And you do.

You fall over the edge together—your moans swallowed in his kiss, his name punched out of your lungs as you clench around him. He follows seconds later, groaning into your mouth as he spills inside you, hips stuttering, body trembling.

For a moment, everything is quiet. Just skin against skin. Breath against breath.

The world could end and you’d never notice.

✦

Later, after he’s cleaned you up, after he’s pulled you onto his lap on the balcony wrapped in his flag and kissed your shoulder under the stars—he whispers the words he never says during the day:

“I love you, you know.”

You smile.

“I know. You don’t have to say it.”

He kisses your temple and pulls you closer. “No. I want to say it.”

Because Steve Rogers is a man of honor.

But he’s also a man of desire.

And you?

You’re the anthem he pledges allegiance to.

Forever.

[str4wb3rrym1lk9]

Fic idea (not really):

Prince Scott of Rivendell falls in love with Cameron (Cambam) the peasant flower shop owner and is absolutely devastated about it. Not because their love is forbidden or anything but because Cam's just kind of a loser

[wandasgirl69]

Make a wish, Wanda —

Paring(s): Wanda X female!reader

Word count: 984

Summary: it’s Wanda’s birthday and you make her special day even more special

Tags | content: it’s all just fluff, established relationship, trip to Disney!!

A/N: I know it’s not Wanda’s birthday today but I just had to write this. Enjoy<3

You woke up early, the sky just barely beginning to glow with morning light, and you could already feel the soft heat of summer brushing across your skin. It settled into your bones slowly, like warmth blooming from the inside out. The sheets were tangled around your legs, one arm outstretched toward Wanda’s side of the bed. She was still there, curled into the pillow, her breath steady and soft.

Your heart thudded a little faster than usual. Full of quiet excitement, yes, but also this overwhelming need to get everything right.

Today was Wanda’s birthday.

You’d thought about this day for weeks. Rerun it in your head a hundred times, rewriting each little detail to make sure it felt like her, meaningful, not flashy, but full of love. She didn’t like big crowds or attention. She liked soft mornings and handwritten notes. She liked being known, not just celebrated.

And God, you wanted her to feel known today. Down to her bones.

You turned to face her in bed, her long lashes still resting softly on her cheeks, lips slightly parted, one arm tangled loosely around your waist. She looked so peaceful, you took a moment just soaking her in.

You leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

She stirred slightly.

Another kiss, this time on her cheek.

“Mmm,” she hummed, eyes still closed.

You grinned. “Wake up, birthday girl.”

Then you kissed the tip of her nose. Her jaw. Her eyelids. You trailed kisses all over her face, slow and sweet and a little relentless until finally

“Okay, okay, I’m awake!” she laughed, blinking up at you with that crinkly-eyed smile that always made you fall in love all over again. “Are you trying to smother me or seduce me?”

You grinned, cupping her face. “Both.”

She raised an eyebrow, playfully suspicious. “What’s going on?”

“I have one word for you,” you said, climbing out of bed and motioning for her to stay put. “Breakfast.”

Wanda sat up against the headboard, tousled yet completely gorgeous, and waited while you returned with a tray. Freshly made pancakes –with strawberries, of course– scrambled eggs, orange juice, and a tiny vase with a single red rose.

“You did all this?” she asked, delighted.

You set the tray on her lap and kissed her cheek. “Only the best for my girl.”

She took a bite and groaned in satisfaction. “Marry me.”

You laughed. “Eat your pancakes first.”

She rolled her eyes playfully but took another bite, clearly enjoying the attention.

When she was about halfway through breakfast, you shifted slightly, reached down beside the bed, and pulled out two folded pieces of paper, holding them up with a small smile.

“Tickets,” you announced, “to Disneyland. For today.”

Her eyes went wide. “No way.”

You nodded. “We’re gonna nerd out so hard. Star Wars rides, churros, matching Minnie ears, you name it.”

Wanda threw her arms around you, this time with more force, and kissed you. “This is already the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

You whispered against her lips, “We haven’t even gotten to dinner yet.”

—

Disneyland was everything you'd hoped: warm sun, shared popcorn, your girlfriend’s wide-eyed wonder as you both rode Rise of the Resistance twice in a row. Wanda practically skipped around the park, hand-in-hand with you, taking selfies, pointing out characters, and getting chocolate on her nose from too many snacks. You wore matching star wars shirts (even though you hadn’t a clue what being a ‘jedi’ meant). By sunset, you were both exhausted in the best way, sun-drenched and smiling.

“Dinner next,” you said, glancing at your phone. “You ready?”

“I’m always ready when you’re in charge,” she teased.

—

The restaurant you chose was quiet and elegant, lit by soft golden light and tucked away from the city’s noise. You sat across from Wanda at a small round table near the window, the hue of the lights catching in her hair and casting a soft glow on her cheekbones. She looked stunning, undeniably so. Not in a loud, glamorous way, but in the kind of way that made your chest ache, her eyes shining across the table as you sipped wine and shared a plate of truffle ravioli.

But the best part hadn’t come yet.

When the waiter cleared your plates, you subtly nodded. The lights dimmed just slightly, and soft birthday music began to play as a small cake was brought out, topped with fresh strawberries and delicate swirls of whipped cream. A single candle flickered at the center, casting a warm glow across Wanda’s surprised smile.

Wanda covered her mouth, blinking rapidly. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

The candle on top flickered.

You leaned across the table, taking her hands in yours. “Make a wish, Wanda.”

She stared at you for a long second. Her eyes softened.

“I already have everything I want,” she whispered.

Your voice dropped too, just for her. “Wish anyway. I’ll do anything to make it come true.”

A long pause. She looked down, then back at you, as if trying to choose the right thing and whispered, “Okay.”

She closed her eyes, made her wish, and blew out the candle. You watched her the whole time, your heart so full it almost hurt.

“Can I ask what you wished for?” you said gently.

She smirked. “Then it won’t come true.”

“Fair,” you said, but you were already making your own vow in silence. Whatever it was, whatever she wanted, you were going to make it happen.

Because loving her was easy. Loving her was the one thing you’d always wish for, too. She reached across the table and laced her fingers with yours, her thumb brushing lightly over your skin.

“Thank you for everything,” she said quietly, eyes soft.

You gave her hand a gentle squeeze, then lifted it to your lips and kissed her knuckles.

“Happy birthday, my love” you murmured

[sillyandsensibleheart]

Excerpt from Letters from Hertfordshire (upcoming chapter) on Ao3:

"Though he was certain Bingley’s wife would soon be recognized as one of the greatest beauties in London, Darcy’s gaze lingered only briefly on her before shifting to the woman beside her—whose beauty remained as indefinable to him now as it had ever been. Elizabeth Bennet was more than a collection of fine features, with correct proportions and rosy hues. She was, to Darcy, something far beyond that.

Whatever essence it was that made mere flesh human, she possessed it in greater measure than anyone he had ever known. To look upon her was to feel, to touch, to taste, to see.

Even now, when seeing her was a torment, he knew to his bones he would never look away. He felt the warmth of his own blood in her nearness, and whatever pain it cost him, he would endure it– if only to remember what it was to be alive."

****

Writing is going very well, just beginning the editing process of chapter 20. :)

For those of you new here and interested in reading this story, here is the summary:

After accidentally overhearing a conversation between Elizabeth Bennet and Charolette Lucas at the Netherfield ball, Darcy is forced to admit that he has made an embarrassing misjudgment. Elizabeth Bennet detests him. The trouble is, she might be the very person he needs most to help his sister out of her depression. Darcy must overcome his pride to ask a woman who does not even LIKE him to befriend his lonely sister, while Elizabeth must open her heart to a young woman in need.

Darcy and Elizabeth learn to know each other in broken pieces through letters sent to a mutually beloved girl.

Elizabeth Bennett and Georgiana Darcy become 'pen pals'.

Read it here:

Letters from Hertfordshire

PC: occasional.angel

[cameronsbabydoll]

TEXT BOOK — ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

WARNINGS: toxic relationship, daddy issues, themes of parental neglect

The first time you saw Rafe, you weren’t thinking about love.

You were thinking about your father.

It was stupid, really. The way your heart stuttered when you caught sight of him, the way something in your gut twisted like recognition. But it wasn’t recognition, not really. You didn’t know Rafe Cameron, not then. You only knew the way he stood—feet planted firm like he owned the ground beneath him, shoulders squared, eyes cool and unreadable.

Your father used to be like that.

And maybe that’s why you listened when Rafe spoke, why you nodded when he told you what to do, why you followed him without question when he held out his hand.

Because deep down, you wanted someone to lead you.

Someone to tell you where to go, what to say, what to be.

You wanted someone to make you feel small in the way that made you feel safe.

And Rafe made you feel that way.

Maybe that’s why, all these months later, you’re still here—wrapped in the passenger seat of his car, legs curled beneath you as the city lights blur past the window.

“You’ve got a Thunderbird, my daddy had one too.”

The words slip out before you can stop them, quiet and pensive.

Rafe glances at you, then back at the road, exhaling a slow breath through his nose. “That supposed to mean something?”

You shrug, watching the way his hands tighten on the wheel. “Just reminds me of him.”

He hums, unreadable. “Didn’t know you had daddy issues.”

You huff a soft laugh, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

Did you?

You think about it—about all the times you wanted him to look at you, to see you, to love you the way a father is supposed to. You think about the nights you spent waiting for him to come home, the way your mother’s face fell when he never did. You think about the times you asked him something, anything, just to hear him say your name.

And maybe that’s why you’re here now, chasing something you lost a long time ago.

“I was looking for the father I wanted back.”

You don’t say it out loud, but the words live in your head like a quiet confession.

Rafe never asks about your father again.

—

He doesn’t love you the way you want him to.

You know that now.

It’s in the way he orders for you at restaurants without asking what you want. The way he doesn’t look up from his phone when you speak, doesn’t touch you unless it’s casual, absent-minded.

It’s in the way he disappears for days, maybe weeks, and never explains where he’s been.

But then he comes back, and his voice is smooth like whiskey, like the scrape of money against silk, and you think—maybe he does love me.

Maybe this is just how love looks on him. Maybe it’s not soft, not sweet, not kind. Maybe love isn’t supposed to be like that at all.

“It wasn’t like the movies, it wasn’t like the songs.”

But you never wanted a movie kind of love. You only ever wanted to be seen.

And Rafe sees you.

Doesn’t he?

—

It takes months before you realize what you’ve done.

That you didn’t find a replacement. That you didn’t find the love you were missing.

You found something worse.

Because at least with your father, there was hope.

Hope that he could change, hope that he could love you like a father is supposed to.

With Rafe, there is no hope.

There’s only the way he tells you what to wear, what to say, what not to say. The way he doesn’t ask what you want—just assumes, just takes.

There’s only the way he disappears when he gets bored, then comes back like nothing ever happened. And you let him, because what else do you know?

Because Rafe keeps you close, but never with him.

Because Rafe feeds you just enough love to keep you starving.

And maybe, deep down, you knew it all along.

—

One night, you ask him the question.

“Do you think if I go blonde, we could get our old love back?”

You ask it softly, hesitantly, like a prayer.

Rafe shifts beside you in bed, his fingers ghosting over your arm before they still. He doesn’t answer right away. Just sighs, long and slow, before murmuring, “What old love?”

And that’s when you know.

There was never any love to begin with.

Not from your father. Not from Rafe.

Not from anyone.

You lie awake long after he falls asleep, staring at the ceiling, remembering what it felt like to be a child, sitting by the window, waiting for headlights that never came.

You turn your head, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of Rafe’s chest, the peaceful way he sleeps beside you.

He won’t leave you.

Not like your father did.

No—he’ll keep you.

And somehow, that’s worse.