Victoria Neuman x fem! reader
warnings: mentions of stalking, mentions of blood, illness (cold), stupid jokes, reader (and Vicky) is useless sapphics.
Victoria doesn’t like how nervous she feels around you.
Logically, it makes no sense for her to feel this way, for her heart to flutter whenever she catches your smile. You're just a ordinary woman who she met through a mutual friend - nothing more, nothing less. Maybe it's the fact that you're different from everyone else in her life, all the political snakes and heroes she deals with on a daily basis.
She's always had a soft spot for people like you, those who are slightly weird, but also smart. When you talk, your words flow like a river, and your eyes light up with an intense enthusiasm that is so endearing.
When you first met, Victoria was expecting the usual reaction from you, the typical swooning at her status, her money, her beauty. But no, you remained completely unfazed by it all. You just spent hours talking about Sylvanas Windrunnner of all topics, passionately discussing the portrayal of women in media. And it wasn't even a deliberate attempt on your part. To you, she was just a woman who had opinions on a game. A woman you could nerd-out with.
Her daughter approval was a significant factor. You didn't try to impress her, didn't talk down to her or make false promises. It wasn't some strategic move to win points with Victoria. You weren't trying to impress or manipulate anyone. You just treated Zoe like any other person - sincerely.
Zoe appreciated that. She was used to the fake smiles and the veiled attempts to get close to her mother through her. She is a smart kid, sharp and more mature than many kids her age. She is also cautious and wary of adults, a effect of her mother's fame and her own intelligence. But she seemed to... tolerate you.
Those casual meetings in a café, the occasional lunch visits, the funny memes shared back and forth. The way you looked at Zoe's homework with a mix of horror and awe, knowing that she was already taking advanced classes and soaking up knowledge far beyond her years.
The way the corners of your mouth would twitch up into a smile or down into a pout as you spoke passionately about something that fascinated you. Victoria could feel her heart skip a beat every time, but she convinced herself it was just the alcohol, just exhaustion, just something that was causing the flutter in her chest.
She found comfort in this little bubble of normalcy, in the charade where she wasn't the politician, the Head-Popper or Nadia. Just Victoria and you, no other bullshit attached.
And then Hughie Campbell ruined everything.
Victoria knew he had been your friend, after all, it was thanks to him that you and her had even met. She believed that he had left your life behind when he started running with The Boys. That your friendship would have faded into the past, like a distant memory.
Oh, she knew that Hughie and the Boys had finally figured out her true identity. It was only a matter of time, really, but she hadn't expected it to be this way.
But the silence from you... that, she hadn't expected. At first, Victoria didn't notice, as she was preoccupied with Homelander's bullshit and the pressures of politics.
Victoria couldn't help but know details about you, your routine, where you lived, who are your colleagues, your family, your friends. She told herself it was just a product of her paranoia, that she needed to make sure you were safe and unharmed, but deep down she knew it was more than just that.
It might have bordered on a bit too much knowledge for a regular friend to have, but Victoria couldn't help but want to keep tabs.
It was far from a coincidence that you suddenly fell ill just a couple of days after Hughie stumbled upon the truth about Victoria's secret. Your colleagues and boss mentioned that you were unwell, that you had taken work home. But Victoria knew better. You rarely got sick, and if you ever did, you never failed to keep in touch. Yet, since then, you had barely sent a text or even responded.
Anxiety, horror, nerves, fear - coursed through her veins like a toxic poison. You'd been quiet for days, she knew why - she understood why. That just didn’t make it hurt any less.
The secrets, the past, all the blood on her hands. It was laid bare, exposed for you to see in all its bloody and monstrous glory. Was this the end? Did you despise her now?
Maybe you were even packing your bags at that very moment, ready to flee from Victoria's presence, putting as much distance between yourself and her as possible.
Victoria tried to act as if she didn't notice the way your eyes widened in surprise, she tried to act as if her heart wasn't trying to escape her chest and her breath wasn't being caught in her throat. She tried to act as if she didn't realize how nervous she felt either.
For a moment, she just stood there, watching you, before she remembered herself and smiled slightly “Can I come in?”
You look genuinely unwell - pale skin, parched lips. You hadn't even cared to dry your hair properly after a shower, and your T-shirt still had remnants of dampness from the water. Oddly enough, you don't seem afraid. No fear etched into the lines of your face.
You just...smile. Softly, awkwardly, a pale shadow of your usual cheerful self.
Victoria had been there many times before - in better circumstances, of course.
Your apartment was always messy and chaotic like that, it was your way of being. There was a certain level of warmth and comfort in the chaos.
She looked around, taking in the current mess before turning to look at you again. Her smile faltered as she took in your pale skin. You looked like you hadn't slept for days, and judging by the pizza box, you clearly hadn't eaten properly either.
Usually, you would offer a warm cup of tea when Victoria visited, but today, you seem too exhausted, both physically and mentally. Instead, you let yourself collapse onto the couch.
She follows you to the living room and sits down in the armchair, facing you in the couch. She crosses her legs, pretending she's totally calm and relaxed, but she's not, she's dying to know what's going through your head. She wonders if you suspect anything, if Hughie told you anything.
"No offense, but you look like crap," she tried to make the comment sound casual and sarcastic, like usual, but it came out more concerned and worried than anything else, and she hated it. She didn't want to show how concerned she was.
What if you hate her? The thought makes her heart ache, but she tries to keep her face neutral. Victoria hates being like this. She always knows what to say, what to do, how to behave. She always knows how to be in control.
But now she feels so damn lost.
"You are as charming as always, Vicky," you laugh lightly, a small, quiet sound that fills the room.
Victoria's heart skips a beat at that little sound you make. It was such a familiar laugh, it was your laugh. She could be in a crowded room and still pick out your laugh in a heartbeat.
She inhales deeply, and there it is again - your familiar scent, now tinged with the unmistakable aroma of medicine. You smell of the shampoo she gave you, the same one she bought specifically because she saw you eyeing it in a store once.
As she looked around the living room, Victoria could see bits and pieces of her everywhere. A cup from the mug she got you two Christmases ago, the blanket from last year's birthday.
The memory hits her - the way you held that Sylvanas Windrunner figurine, the pure delight on your face, how you had thanked her over and over again. The ugly, disgustingly pink slippers she gave you as a joke. Each gift holds its own memory - laughter, gratitude... love.
Those pink damn slippers were stupid. They should have been the first thing you threw away after finding out the truth about her.
"But I'm fine. The cold is almost gone, I feel much better than I look."
"Bullshit," Victoria says immediately, a little sharp.
Her heart is almost beating out of her chest. She's dying to ask you if you know. If you've found out the truth. She even opens her mouth, almost asking, but closes it at the last moment.
"Why did you ignore my texts?" She asks instead, trying to keep her voice steady.
A beat of silence passes between two of you, and in that moment, everything becomes so clear.
Silence is not your thing; you thrive on noise, on conversations, on laughter and music. Your words always flow freely, unfiltered, and yet right now, you're silent, thinking, contemplating how to frame the next words.
You know who she really is. She's exposed, vulnerable, naked before you. What are you going to say? Are you afraid of her now? She's the Head Popper, after all. Or maybe you feel betrayed? Deceived?
Victoria clenched her jaw, hating how her mind started to consider the option of eliminating you. This was the way she had been trained, conditioned to think by Stan. She can almost hear his voice in her head, as clear as if he were sitting next to her. Your safety is priority. Eliminate every source of danger. Never leave a risk.
"Well, I was very unwell the entire time. I suppose work got to me. Fucking reports," you rubbed your temples, even now cursing at the endless paperwork. "And then Hughie with his british boyfriend unloaded a bomb on me."
Honestly, you were freaking out at this plot twist. You love Victoria, both as a person and as a friend (and maybe a little more, but you try to ignore that part). When Hughie told you his story, it sounded so unreal.
But then he brought proof - a folder bursting with photos and even videos on disks, like some kind of old-school spy movie. Who even uses disks anymore?
You spent every waking hour staring at the blood-stained pictures and text in the folder, the horrific details of what her past and present. Your tea intake had reached a record-breaking level, and if your illness hadn't been holding you back, you probably would have drowned yourself in alcohol.
Conflict warred within you. Anger for the things Victoria had done and for the fact that she’d kept it hidden. Confusion over how to feel about all of it. But most importantly, the pain of being deceived by someone you held so close. You trusted Victoria, saw her as the most important person in your life.
But at the same time - how would she have even told me?
The enormity of her secret, the danger it posed, it was a crushing burden. You knew deep down she couldn’t have told you. She probably didn’t know how to.
You vividly remembered the day of the court, how your heart was in your throat as you watched the live broadcast at home. You recall the day clear enough. Wanting to be there to support her...only for her to gently persuade you to stay home. You gave in, thanks to a simple kiss on the cheek that had your brain short-circuiting.
During the broadcast, you found yourself praying to any and every deity, even though faith had never been a part of your life. You prayed for her survival, to see her again.
You thought that Victoria slept so much after the court because of PTSD, but fuck, she likely needed all that sleep to recover from the effort of exploding a whole shitload of heads.
A cruel, bitter joke indeed.
The memory replays in your mind, and suddenly you remember something - something that was so insignificant at the time, but now takes on a whole new level of significance.
You recall the time you was at her office, and you noticed a smudge of blood on her clothes. You remember the unease, the concern, how she’d made you think it was just a small, unimportant thing. And at the time, it had been easy to let it go, to trust her. But now?
And how carefully, casually, Victoria probed you about your thoughts on super-powered humans. Unlike others, you don’t idolize them as infallible heroes or hate them as dangerous threats. After all, they were all just people. It was only after that conversation, it seemed, that she opened up more, allowed you glimpses behind her masks.
As you look at Victoria, it's like seeing her for the first time. All the little quirks, her tells, everything about the person you've come to know so well...unmasked.
She's wearing the dark red suit (blood, your mind whispers), the one she usually chooses for tough debates. Another armor. A defense.
But you know her much better now, past her careful masks and smiles. You recognize the tension in her jaw, the dark flicker in her eyes. She's preparing for the worst.
"What bomb?" She asked despite knowing the answer.
The small smile you offer is careful. You raise your eyebrows and gesture towards the pile of papers on the table by the sofa, the folder among them, buried in notes and drawings.
"I think Victoria fits you better," you remark, voice soft. "But you know, Nadia sounds beautiful too."
Hearing you speak her real name sends a shiver down her spine. No one had called her that in years, and from your lips, it sounded too intimate, too personal.
It's all there, the documents, the evidence, the photos. Things that should never have seen by anyone, much less by you.
"I prefer Vicky," she says carefully, but when she looks at you, she doesn't see fear or anger. You just seem tired. “You've read all that?”
Death, blood, shattered lives - you used to think red suited her, but you hadn't comprehended just how much.
"Of course. When have I ever left anything unfinished?" you murmurs, with just a hint of irony in the voice.
She doesn't know if she should be amused or offended by your comment.
On one hand, it's a normal reaction from you, sarcastic and cheeky. The same person she got to know during all those days and nights spent together in each other's company. On the other hand, you're talking about her greatest secret like you're talking about a crime book.
"And?" She asked quietly, hating how nervous she feels.
She's acting almost as awkward as that time she got soo drunk and you stayed up all night holding a bucket next to her, so she didn't puke all over the carpet. Now that you think about it, she's downed a lot more alcohol than a human ever could. The memory bubbles up, almost making you want to laugh.
You reach up to rub at your throat, grimacing slightly at the lingering soreness. Your cough hasn't quite gone away yet, and you pick up a bottle of water from the table, taking a few gulps to soothe the ache.
You place the bottle back down next to you and your tone is calm and measured as you speak.
"I've got exactly two questions," you state, eyes fixed on her.
Her fingers dig into the fabric of her pants, knuckles turning white. How can you be so calm, so matter-of-fact? She wants to snap, yell, scream at you, for how can you look normal after everything?
Another fact about you that's worth mentioning: you're a fucking clown. If Victoria ever dragged you to any important event, you would have been easily mistaken for a court jester or shot down as a threat to the sanity of every politician there. It's how you cope with the cruel world of capitalism and heroes, after all - if you can't laugh, you'd probably cry.
"So you felt it every time I had a period?"
She can practically feel a vein in her temple ticking in annoyance. You know her secret and this is what you're asking her?
Typical you, to focus on something as unimportant as this.
"What do you think?" she replied bluntly, her shoulders relax.
Somehow, the tension in the air has lessened. The conversation has fallen into more familiar territory, much like a well-practiced dance. You and Victoria have often discussed the powers of various supers, real or fictional, and now is no different.
Blood manipulation. You can't help but admit that exploding heads is a impressive move, yet horrifying all the same. It was a dramatic and effective ability, perfectly fitting for Victoria, the woman who always loved a good show.
The file had mentioned that she used to struggle with controlling it, but clearly, she'd mastered it now. It fit her personality perfectly: she always needed to be in control, no matter what.
"I think you can feel everything around you," you say, your voice quiet but sure. "You can hear the beating of hearts, can't you? That's why you always know when someone is lying. But for details, you need to concentrate."
You had always been good at puzzles, connecting the dots, thinking. That's why she love you.
You're surprisingly spot on in your assumptions. Victoria can feel blood, she's always felt it, even if she hasn't always been able to control it. She felt your periods. She's felt your heart rate changing in times of excitement or fear.
But what surprises her is not the fact that you've figured that out, but the fact that you aren't afraid of her even knowing all of this.
"Sometimes I try not to pay attention to much," she confessed, her voice almost a whisper, like she's sharing a secret. "It's... overwhelming."
Your eyes soften, a gentle understanding. All this time, this power of hers, and you hadn't noticed. Or maybe she just never let you see this side of her, this hidden weakness. Something inside you aches.
Victoria used to think you were simple, naive. You wore your heart on your sleeve, you trusted everyone too easily. She didn't see it, didn't realize that deep down, beneath that all, there was a sharp mind, capable of seeing through all her bullshit facade. Now she sees it especially clearly.
"Second question." She demands, her voice almost a whisper.
You should be afraid. After everything, the lies, the manipulation, the hidden life...you should fear her.
She's woven into the fabric of your life, tangled up in a web of memories, gifts, and shared moments. She's the one who showers you with gifts just because she thought of you, the one who patiently listens to your theories and debates.
Vicky, Vicky, always Vicky.
Your lip quirks slightly, a soft smile touching the corners of your mouth. You feel like you see her better now, more than ever before.
And so, your second and final question rolls off your tongue, quiet and calm. "Will you kill me?"
Victoria's heart practically stops at your question.
She was prepared for anger, sadness, disappointment. But this? Not in a million years.
"You..." Her voice is choked, a thousand thoughts swirling in her head. She looks at you, searching for something, anything in your eyes, that you're not serious.
But, ironically, this is possibly the most serious you've ever been.
"Well?" you continue. "Don't deny it. We both know you're paranoid and I know too much now. It would be logical for you. So answer the question. Will you kill me?"
Logical is exactly the kind of word that Stan had used to describe Victoria. It's who she is. So yes. This is exactly what she would have done a long time ago. Of course you think she would kill you. She should. You know too much.
But you're you, with your soft smiles and endless patience, stupid curiosity and unwavering loyalty. Despite everything, she loves you.
How can she kill the one person she loves?
Finally, in a low, strangled tone she answers.
Wow, you must be utterly and hopelessly in love with her, considering how willing you are to accept death at her hands. A sick, twisted kind of humor bubbles up in your mind as you muse to yourself that it's nice that Victoria won't be exploding your head anytime soon.
Your shoulders sag a little. Okay.
Your entire body aches and throbs from the sickness that's kept you in your apartment for the past week.
And the fucking folder has only made the simple cold worse. Right now, all you want to do is disappear under the covers, crawl into the warm darkness, and shut out the world.
You gesture to the papers on the table, your voice tired but steady. "I need some time," you say, a hint of hurt underlying your words. "Will you take the folder with you when you leave? I don't want it here."
Victoria drops her gaze, averting it to look at the table, the stack of papers, the folder that started this whole mess. She feels an irrational urge to throw it all out, to burn it, and she will. Later.
Part of her is too wary to say something she'll regret, and the other... she's just too cowardly. Victoria nods slowly, standing up to grab the folder.
So all she does is watch you a moment longer, the folder clenched tightly in her hands, before walking out the door.
Time drags out slowly. Never before has a month felt so long and painful. Even during your worst fights, both of you would still text each other, however small the dialogue might be.
But now, you don't call. You don't text. You don't even send her memes filled with passive aggressive hints of your anger.
Every time her phone vibrates, her heart skips a beat in foolish hope. She almost feels like a teenager with a crush, looking at the screen eagerly, only to be disappointed every single time.
You had asked for time, and Victoria knows she should honor that.
However, you've been kept under close watch. She's not worried that you'll reveal her secret, no - that option was clearly not even in the cards. The surveillance now, the protective measures, it's not to keep an eye on you. It's for your safety. To make sure you're okay and not in any possible danger. You were right when you called her paranoid.
Her daughter starts to notice. Even she's beginning to look at Victoria differently. It's no secret that you usually spend plenty of time visiting, but it's been a whole damn month since you've vanished.
Zoe isn't your biggest fan, but she can see how much it hurts Victoria not to have you around.
"Mom, did you screw something up?"
Victoria practically jumps when she receives a text message, inviting her to meet in a local cafe. Nothing more, nothing less. Just a simple request for cocoa and conversation.
That day, you both chat about nothing and everything, carefully avoiding the painful subject that weighs heavily on both of you. It's not much, but it's a start. A fragile first step.
When she sees the vampire memes you've sent, a wave of relief washes over her face. Victoria breaks out into loud, relieved laughter, startling her colleagues with the unexpected outburst.
She almost feels like she's back in your apartment again, sprawled on the couch, arguing about which anime to watch, or which one of the characters you're obsessed with is the most attractive.
You're insufferable, just as Victoria had expected from you. You torture her with a nonstop fload of puns, innuendoes, jokes, and memes all related to blood. Even Zoe joins, to Victoria's combined amusement and horror.
Victoria endures through Zoe's torturous plan to force her to watch the Twilight, making it her own personal mission to survive the whole series without jumping out of the nearest window.
You'll find out that Victoria has genuinely been trying to ignore the rhythm of your heartbeat since your friendship became genuine. But, before that, yeah, she used to monitor your heartbeat all the damn time.
When she casually mentioned it, you damn near choked on your tea. How in the world could Victoria, the most intelligent woman you knew, not recognize that you were madly in love with her all this time, even with super-duper powers?
After clearing your throat (with a bit of help from Victoria's powers), you laughed until your ribs hurt. Then you granted her permission to listen to your heartbeat whenever she wanted.
One day, while enjoying a casual lunch together, she asks you why you haven't run away to some sunny spot in Spain. After all, she has killed people, and it's not something that's likely to change. You rolled your eyes so hard it genuinely hurt. Seriously, your favorite characters are female war criminals for whom committing murder is just as natural as blinking.
Jokes on you, Vicky, I'm into that shit.
Of course you didn't say that. You're not ready to come out (ha!) of the illusion of friends yet.
You didn't have a damn clue how messed up the world truly is. Of course, you knew it was a cruel, cruel place, you're not naive. But, fuck, it's worse than you could have ever imagined.
And Victoria, she knows this better than anyone. She can now share her own personal horror story, revealing the truth about Vought, her father, the sadistic experiments, and her genuine desire to change the world for the better.
Things are strangely different now, better now that there are no more secrets. She finds herself hyper-aware of your heartbeat, your eyes on her, the way you move, the sound of your voice. It's like she's suddenly woken up to a new reality, where the line between friends and something more is slowly starting to blur.
And just when things were finally beginning to settle back into a shaky sense of normalcy, that fucking Hughie had to show up again.
you know who and his british boyfriend were at my house again
Victoria doesn't even bat an eye at the stupid pun, her mind immediately focusing in on the second part.
Hughie and Butcher was in your house again. Again. And somehow, her security had missed their presence. She clenches her jaw at the thought. How incompetent can they be? Stupid amateurs.
But she'll deal with them later. Victoria rearranges her schedule, sends a text ordering you to stay home, and quickly hops into her car, driving over to your place.
Victoria arrives at your apartment in record time. She can feel the tension coiling inside her, the need to make sure you're safe, to see you with her own eyes. Without even a knock, she pushes the door open and steps inside.
You're predictably sitting in the kitchen, calmly sipping away at a cup of tea. There's not a single bruise or scratch on you, no sign of fear or distress etched on your face. It's as if you didn't have two wanted terrorists in your damn house.
You glance up at the clock on the wall, "Wow, ten minutes. You won't get any fines?"
Victoria is not amused. Your humor would have usually been endearing, but right now it's just fueling her anger. She steps closer, her voice strained from the effort to keep her temper in check.
"You had Hughie and Butcher in your house, and you didn't think to call me?"
You set down your cup on the table with a weary sigh. Of course, you weren't particularly thrilled about the surprise visit, but there was no point in stressing about it now that they were gone.
"I was too busy trying to decipher british accent." Yikes, more jokes. "They were just trying to figure out why I was still hanging out with you. You know, after I discovered your secret."
Victoria's hands curl into fists, her patience with your humor wearing thinner and thinner with each passing second. Victoria doesn't even understand why her anger is slipping out of control. Perhaps it's because you were in danger. Or maybe it's because she's still at risk of losing you.
"And what exactly did you tell them?"
You can't help but flinch ever so slightly at the question. Damn it, you suck at hiding your expressions, even when you really want to. Victoria's eyes flick down to the slight flinch that you tried to hide, her shoulders tensing at the sight.
Oh, Hughie, always trying to be gentle. He attempted to appeal to your sense of morality, your humanity. It's unfortunate that he doesn't grasp how deeply, how foolishly in love you are with Victoria.
It's a shame, really, since he's known you practically since school days, he of all people should have understood. When it came to the people you cared about, your moral principles usually went on vacation.
But, like what fuck, Butcher understood.
There's something about him, something rotten and dark, that sets off alarms in your head. This man is dangerous, like a ticking time bomb waiting to burst. And when he explodes - because sooner or later, he will - he'll take a hell of a lot of people down with him.
Amor caecus. That's all he said and led Hughie out.
You swallow, forcing down the memory and pushing it to the back of your mind. Are you really that blind?
"I told them to go suck Homelander's dick," you manage to say, and even to your own ears, your words sound pathetically weak.
Victoria almost lets out a bitter laugh at your response. Trust you and your blunt, unapologetic attitude. But the way your voice falters when you speak, tells her everything she needs to know. There's something you're not telling her, something that clearly shook you.
"Is that all?" She asks, her tone firm. "Or is there something else they said that's got you rattled?"
It's a harsh reminder of the tension between you when you discovered the truth about her and how uncomfortable things had become.
You stand up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor with a sickening screech. Nope, you're not ready to confess your love to your friend right now.
That instinct to flee, to hide, an almost primal urge to run away...it influences your choices. How many times could you have confessed your feelings to Victoria? You're not stupid. And she's not stupid either. What's between you is not friendship, not really.
You try to walk past her, insisting, "That's all, Victoria. I didn't tell them anything else."
Victoria despises the way your blood sings with anxiety, fear, and fatigue that has seeped into your very bones. Victoria reaches out on instinct, preventing you from walking any farther, her grip tight around your wrist. She's not letting you run away, not this time.
There were so many words on the tip of her tongue, so many things she wanted to say. Like ‘Do you know what you’re doing to me?’ or ‘I think I love you.'
"Stop," she commands, her voice betraying a hint of desperation. "I know you're hiding something, dammit. I can feel it. Please, just tell me."
It's ironic, really, for her to expect such openness and trust from you when she kept an entire box of sketches from you for so long. But when she turns those big, sad eyes on you, silently pleading for trust... love truly is blind, isn't it?
You're weary and exhausted. You want it all to go back to the days when you were still oblivious, when she was simply Vicky, your ambitious friend who could down a shot of tequila without a second thought and feel fantastic.
Life was simpler then, and it was easier to suppress your longing, to resist the urge to touch her in ways that friends shouldn't.
You're just so damn tired. Maybe it's time to stop being a cliché, a useless sapphic who fell in love with her not-so-straight friend.
"Just promise you won't blow my damn head off?"
Please, just promise me that everything will be alright. That nothing will change between us.
You don't give her a chance to respond, quickly pulling her close and crashing your lips against hers.
Victoria freezes for a moment, her mind struggling to catch up with what's happening.
But then her body responds, her arms wrapping around you before she even realizes it. She's kissing you back, her lips moving urgently against yours, years of pent-up yearning and love, fear and desire, finally finding a way out.
When you break away, both of you gasping for breath, Victoria meets your eyes.
You're fully aware of the path you're heading down. Love may be blind, but you're perfectly aware of her paranoid nature, the blood staining her hands up to her elbows. She's a monster, there's no denying it, and you just offered yourself up to her on a goddamn silver platter.
There's no turning back now, but even if there was, you wouldn't change a damn thing.
theartofmadeline
discoholicmusic
germansingergirl
kaledo-art
dailybridgerton
annaxmalina
titsay
stormborns
