#after literally resurrecting her but oops now she's buried alive

[mermaidsirennikita]

Do you think St Vincent would have lost his shit if he wouldn't have prevented the bullet to hit Evie?

Yes I think his duty as a romance hero is to wither up and die if that happens and I am being 100% serious

[lovesick-feelin]

i might just keep sending these cos theres so many wonderful ones

willex, 34?

Oh my lord this got away from me I am SO sorry. (I'm not sorry, though, because I had so much fun writing this. Like, wow.) I will get to the other prompts as soon as possible but in the meantime enjoy almost 3k of literally just fluff.

This started as a cute scene in the studio and turned into a study on Willie's obsession with Alex's hands and then suddenly it was a love confession. Oops.

Prompt me! | Read on AO3

=

The first time it happens, Willie chalks it up to nerves.

Alex is new to the whole ghost thing, Willie reasons. He might not still be super comfortable phasing through doors like it’s nothing. It’s been forty years since Willie had any sort of pulse, but he knows it would be pounding right now as he puts on a casual front, swinging his arm forward and then back to grab Alex’s hand.

Alex jumps like he’s been shocked with static electricity, eyes flying down to their joined hands and then back up to Willie’s face. He doesn’t pull away, though, and the tension that appeared in his shoulders is gone as quick as it arrived, and then he smiles, so Willie knows he’s good.

They’ve hung out three or four times since they first met on Sunset Boulevard, and Willie has decided he’s starting a catalogue of Alex’s smiles; this one is new. It’s shyer than the “Grateful You’re Answering My Questions” smile Willie got on the bench, not touched with laughter like the “Oh, This One Time” smile Alex uses when he tells stories about his bandmates. This one is startled, a little awkward, but soft and open, and Willie has a good feeling in his chest that Alex doesn’t share this smile with a lot of people.

Willie knows that if he lets himself keep staring at it, though, it’ll become the “Kissed Right Off My Face” smile, so he tears his eyes away from Alex and tugs them both into the museum, never letting go of his hand.

Somehow they’ve moved from palms clasped to fingers interlocked in the five seconds before they jumped through the doors, and Willie can feel the rough drumstick calluses on Alex’s palms and fingers, some edged with torn skin and others worn to permanence with the passage of time, all now permanently affixed in whatever state they were in when Alex died. There’s a large one right on the pad of Alex’s thumb that keeps brushing over the back of Willie’s hand, smaller ones tucked into the insides of his knuckles, and Willie wants to memorize all of them, all these little reminders that Alex bled and breathed and played music and was alive.

Willie kind of wants to never let go of Alex’s hand ever, but he didn’t drag Alex to this empty museum just to be weird and hold his hand, and Willie’s already caught sight of three different potential jumps that look just sick enough to impress the cute boy to his left, so it’s with some reluctance that he releases his grip on Alex to put his helmet on and cruise the gallery.

Willie finds himself tracing the smooth lines of his own palm later, after Alex leaves, remembering how the calluses felt against his palms and the way Alex gripped his hand, hesitant at first but then with intention, like even if Willie hadn’t grabbed his hand, Alex would have wanted him to.

=

When Willie grabs Alex’s hand at the Hollywood Ghost Club to help launch him over the tables and onto the dance floor, there’s that same initial shock that flies through Alex’s body, but it’s gone too fast for Willie to even be conscious of it, swept away by the adrenaline of the music and the way Alex is smiling at him, looking alive. This is the closest Willie has to any sort of home turf in the afterlife, and Alex is here, eyes lit up under the glow of the stage lights. Willie wants to take the memory of Alex’s face when he got up to dance and etch it frame for frame in stone: Alex’s tongue pressed against the side of his cheek, the way his bandmates cheered and jostled his shoulders but Alex’s eyes stayed on Willie the entire time. Willie didn’t know his cheeks could flush anymore, doesn’t know how it’s possible, but Alex sends him reeling that way, pink and warm and like he’s glowing.

Willie squeezes their hands together briefly, finding the callus on Alex’s thumb and sweeping his touch over it quickly enough to make it seem like an accident, and he swears he hears Alex’s breath catch above the roar of the music, their eyes meeting like an electric charge.

Luke and Reggie find themselves swept away by dance partners right away, and Willie’s just summoning up the courage to grab Alex and show him all the partner dances he knows when a lifer in a steel gray ball gown asks him for directions, and Willie has to show her to the stairs. He ducks and weaves his way through the crowd, laughing with delight as he watches Maya shred on the piano, and then Caleb catches his eye with a flashing grin and jerks his thumb towards the dance floor.

And there’s Alex, being twirled around by Dante, feet flying, and his smile is wide and startled and Willie wants to be the recipient of it so bad it aches. Fuego appears out of nowhere to catch Alex by his other hand, and Willie finds himself bowled over by a wave of ice cold envy, that anyone else should be granted the privilege of Alex’s touch without earning it.

Alex catches his eye and brightens like a fucking sun, beckoning Willie onto the dance floor, but the dancers twirl everywhere and everyone wants to touch Alex and Willie is in stupid, hopeless, maybe-love after knowing this boy for two weeks and it’s all too much, threatening to knock him over, so Willie tries to salvage what’s left of his crumbling foundations and bolts.

=

Willie doesn’t get to hold his hand again until suddenly it might be for the last time ever.

Everything is too fast, too sudden, and Willie doesn’t even get the chance to stop Alex from backing away before suddenly he’s sweeping forward and clutching onto Willie’s shoulders like he’s a buoy in a violent storm. Willie’s brain catches up after a moment. He buries his face in Alex’s neck and Alex smells like springtime, peony and cucumber and rainwater, like things waking up and coming back to life. Willie holds him like a lifeline, like hope of resurrection, and tries not to think about going back to the way things were before, trying to exist around the gaping maw Alex created when he crashed into Willie’s afterlife.

When they pull apart, it's out of some kind of necessity that Willie twines their fingers together. Alex tenses but doesn’t flinch, and Willie wants to ask about it, would ask about it if they had the time they deserved, but they don’t, because the universe is cruel and Willie is selfish and unthinking and so, so in love, and so he doesn’t ask and he settles for squeezing Alex’s hand one more time, memorizing every callus as if the phantom sensation of their hands intertwined might lead him to some sort of healing.

“I’ll see you around, Hot Dog,” Willie says just to watch the blush of indignance color Alex’s cheeks one more time before he forces himself to drop Alex’s hand and skate down the block out of sight. I would have still followed you, Alex had told him on the back of that couch in the Orpheum, face open and vulnerable, the closest he’ll ever come to a confession of what lay between them, and Willie has to force himself not to look back. If Alex could take Willie’s hand and tug him to the other side of whatever limbo this is the way Willie tugged him through those museum doors, Willie would follow him too, because he’d follow Alex anywhere. It just seems like fate has other plans.

=

It turns out, Willie thinks later, standing in the late night dark of the museum with Alex’s callused hands cradling his jaw and their foreheads pressed together, bathed in an impossible golden glow, that fate might just know what she’s doing.

=

“Why do you always do that?”

“Huh?” Alex looks up from the sheet music he’s studying, something Luke had shoved into his hands as he sprinted out of the garage that was just too good for Alex not to read right now. Julie is at school and Luke is with Reggie scoping out new venues for the afternoon, so they’ve got the studio to themselves, the concrete floors bathed in sunlight that turns Alex’s floppy hair to gold. He’s wearing Willie’s favorite shirt, the olive green Bowie one, and his jacket has been abandoned to the back of a chair. Willie is definitely not ogling his arms.

Willie holds up their joined hands before letting them fall again to rest between them on the couch. “Whenever I grab your hand. You, uh, you always flinch a little.”

Alex blinks, setting the sheet music down and suddenly looking self conscious enough that Willie almost regrets saying anything. “Oh. I didn’t realize I was doing it.”

“I didn’t think you did,” Willie says easily, shifting his body to face Alex fully and tucking his feet up underneath him. “Everything okay? We don’t, um,” he continues, fumbling over his words, “if you don’t, like, like holding hands, we don’t have to --”

“No, no, no!” Alex cuts him off quickly. “I like it. Like, a lot. We don’t have to stop.”

“Oh.” Willie knows his face is as pink as Alex’s hoodie. “Good. That’s - that’s good.”

Alex shrugs. “I don’t know why I flinch. Just embarrassed, I guess.”

Here Willie has to pause. “Embarrassed?”

“I guess.”

“About what?”

Alex shrugs awkwardly, bringing his socked feet up onto the couch to hug his knees, their joined hands still tucked between them. “I’ve just always been weird about my hands,” he says, staring at his free hand, Luke’s sheet music forgotten. “I have all those ugly calluses. You know, from my drumsticks. Never liked them.”

Willie can’t help the giggle that bursts out of him, and Alex’s eyes fly to his face. “What?” he asks, mouth quirking up in what Willie’s now categorized as his “I Don’t Know What’s Going On But You’re Cute” smile, and Willie hums.

“Just ironic,” he muses, bringing Alex’s hand up to hold in both of his. “I’ve always loved your calluses.”

It’s Alex’s turn to blush. Willie earns himself a “Museum Date” smile and high-fives himself internally. “Really?” Alex asks, and Willie nods earnestly, turning Alex’s hand over to rest palm up in the cradle of his hands.

“Honestly, man? I’m, like, kind of obsessed with them.” He skims the lightest of touches over the small calluses tucked in the creases of Alex’s fingers and revels in the soft gasp Alex lets out. “Like, you loved something so much,” Willie murmurs, smoothing his thumb over a large one on Alex’s palm below his pointer finger, “that it tethered itself to your soul. Calluses are, like, proof of that passion. You were alive, and you loved this.” Willie reaches with his other hand and traces the edges of the callus on Alex’s thumb. “Even when it hurt you.”

He looks up and Alex is so still in the afternoon sunlight, like he’s suspended in amber. He’s so gorgeous it hurts. “I never thought of it like that,” Alex manages, voice hoarse, and Willie nods, suddenly finding that he can’t speak at all. He brings Alex’s hand up and presses his lips to the pad of his thumb, the seam of his mouth meeting the center of the time-hardened scar. Alex looks like he might faint.

“You really like them,” he breathes, and Willie nods again, not breaking eye contact as he moves, pressing feather-light kisses to the calluses on Alex’s fingers and palm.

“I really like you,” he answers, pulling Alex closer still to kiss the nonexistent pulse on the soft inside of Alex’s wrist. If Willie’s heart still beat it would be pounding out of his chest. Alex goes so easily, like clay in Willie’s hands, and it’s so easy for Willie to take his other hand and draw Alex’s legs out flat on the couch, all guardedness abandoned. Willie slides into his lap, knowing full well that he isn’t fooling anyone, that Alex can feel the way Willie’s breath stutters as he trails kisses to the crook of Alex’s elbow. Alex’s hand falls to the dip of Willie’s waist, the hem of the tie-dye crop slipping up so that Alex’s palm is pressed fully against the bare skin there, and it’s a crime how well it fits, like it was supposed to rest there, like nature intended it.

“I like your hands,” Willie murmurs, and he knows he couldn’t control the words spilling out of his mouth right now even if he wanted to. “I like holding them. I like the way the calluses feel on my palms.” He presses a kiss to Alex’s upper arm where the sleeve of his shirt meets skin, and when he drops it Alex’s other hand flies automatically to the small of Willie’s back, anchoring him like a magnet. Willie meets his gaze and Alex’s pupils are blown wide, eyes so blue Willie could drown in them, and his hands. Willie feels like he’s on fire everywhere Alex is touching him and somehow it isn’t enough.

“I like how steady they get when you play the drums,” Willie hums, steadying himself with two hands on Alex’s chest and dropping a kiss to his shoulder. “I like watching. I love,” and here he kisses Alex’s exposed collarbone, revels in the catch of his breath, “when you twirl your drumsticks. So easy, like you’re not even trying.”

Willie noses up and kisses the curve of Alex’s neck. Alex’s grip tightens on Willie’s waist, head tilting pliantly to the side to give him easier access. “Willie,” he breathes, but he doesn’t need to say anything else. Willie knows.

“I love it when you hold me,” he murmurs, still trailing kisses up Alex’s neck. “I love your hands on my waist, and my back, and my shoulders.” He mouths at Alex’s stupidly perfect jawline, kissing the corner. “I love your hands on my face when you kiss me.” Another kiss pressed to Alex’s cheekbone, just by his ear. “I love when they’re in my hair.”

Alex inhales sharply and then the hand on Willie’s back is skating up to thread itself in his hair, always so careful and gentle and intentional, even now, when Willie’s got him completely undone. Their foreheads are pressed together, breath mingling in the space between them, and Willie kisses Alex’s cheek again, each corner of his mouth, the lightest touch to his cupid’s bow, and the words that have sat inside of him since that day on Sunset Boulevard and maybe since the universe was created, well, they don’t seem so heavy anymore.

“I love your hands,” Willie breathes, everything around them impossibly still, “because I love you. If you can believe it.”

The shaky sigh that Alex lets out is audible, almost a cry, and then he’s kissing Willie, using the hand in his hair to guide the tilt of their heads and slotting their lips together so perfectly that Willie kind of wants to cry. He steadies himself with an arm on the back of the couch and reaches with his other hand for Alex’s arm. Without breaking the kiss Willie guides Alex’s other hand to cup his face, wrapping his own hand around Alex’s wrist and losing himself in the easy give and take of kissing this boy. This boy, who loved Willie so fiercely that he saved his soul, whose touch unravels him like spun sugar, who Willie could spend an eternity with. He will, if Alex will let him, and Willie just thinks he might.

They separate just enough to breathe, eyes closed and foreheads touching. Willie blinks his eyes open first, slowly, and the sight of Alex right there, flushed and radiant and gorgeous, is enough to knock the wind out of Willie’s lungs. He drops his hand from Alex’s wrist to reach up and brush some of the hair off of his forehead, pressing a kiss to his hairline. Alex hums, leaning into the touch, skating his thumb over Willie’s cheekbone before dropping his hand back to the dip of his waist.

“Wow,” Willie says quietly, the first to really break the silence, and Alex huffs out a quiet laugh. He runs his fingers gently through Willie’s hair all the way to the ends, lets his head flop back on the arm of the couch, blue eyes warm and his smile easy and open, and he’s the most beautiful, devastating thing Willie has ever seen.

“I love you too,” Alex says hoarsely, and then clears his throat. “By the way,” he adds, and there’s the rest of the Alex that Willie knows, always a little anxious but never unsure. Willie’s helpless to do anything but lean in and kiss him again, because he loves him. Golden, gentle, awkward, beautiful Alex, who loves Willie so intentionally, who guarded his heart so carefully even when it had already given itself away, who sees Willie for all his mistakes and jagged edges and broken parts and loves him for all of it, on purpose, but still worried over the calluses on his palms as if they made him anything less than perfect.

Alex kisses him back and Willie’s heart sings, and it feels just a little bit like forever.

[were-cheetah-stiles]

The College Years - Freshman Year (Chapter 15) -Stiles Stilinski

Author: @were-cheetah-stiles​

Title: “The Big Easy Resurrection, Part II”

Characters: Stiles Stilinski & Reader/OFC

Warnings: Smut, FINALLY. Just a good old fashioned fuck, nothing fancy. It’s their first time, let them live. It gets smuttier/dirtier as the chapters go on and Stiles becomes an actual man.

Summary: Y/n and Stiles discuss the conversation that y/n had with Sylvie Ducette, the coven witch who brought Allison back to life, after the ritual. They finally move their relationship to the next level...

Chapter Fourteen - Chapter Fifteen - Chapter Sixteen

Stiles closed the door to their hotel room behind him, and watched as his girlfriend sat down on the edge of their king sized bed. You rubbed your fingers into your eyes, as you leaned forward, your feet hanging over the floor.

"Y/N, what did Sylvie say to you before you got in the car?" Stiles asked, standing in front of you, wringing his hands together in a stressed-filled manner.

You sighed. "She said that the only reason that they did this for us in the first place was because Gerard was the sacrifice. He... I don't know... he fucked with her coven a long time ago, and they wanted him dead." You explained, as you then covered your mouth in horror, thinking about what you had just facilitated.

"Is that all?"

"No.. then she said that what she was going to tell me next was because she liked me and she thought I was powerful...."

"That's ominous." Stiles began biting his thumbnail.

You raised your eyebrows quickly in agreement. You pushed your hair out of your face and continued. "Sylvie said, and I quote, 'You need to look to your studies, Y/N Y/M/N, they hold the answers you'll seek..... for something is coming your way.'"

Stiles narrowed his eyes, pushed his head forward and threw up his hands. "That's literally the most ominous thing I have ever heard... I hate the coven witches. Really, I do, I hate them.... Was there more?!" He was now pacing and biting his thumbnail harder than he should.

You nodded. "I asked her if it had to do with the vampires, and she said 'Mon chéri, non. You know how to take care of them already.'" You imitated Sylvie's French-Cajun accent.

"Whaaat? What does that mean? Then what?" Stiles asked, his anxiety radiating off of him.

"Then she said 'À bientôt', and walked away."

Stiles put his hands up in front of him and shook them in frustration at his girlfriend. "I don't speak French..."

"It means 'see you soon'." You sighed.

Stiles opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and frowned. "Maybe it's because I just watched her kill a man by slicing his throat with a fucking scythe, but I swear, I think only that woman could make 'see you soon' sound like a threat." Stiles said, exasperated.

"I know..." You sighed, and Stiles finally sat down next to you. "Look to my studies? and something is coming our way, and.... like what the fuck?!...I now have like a hundred more questions than I had before today started." You balled your fingers up into fists and held them against your thighs. Stiles looked down and grabbed your hands and placed them in his, resting them in his lap.

"I know, and I do too, but we can't answer any of them until we get back to school, so why don't we just try to get to bed, and we'll be back in Berkeley tomorrow." Stiles suggested.

You turned off the bathroom light and fussed with your hair. Stiles watched you as you walked to the window, your ass cheeks hanging out of the bottom of your lacy, black boy short underwear as you reached to pull the curtains closed. You climbed under the covers with Stiles and wrapped your leg over his. Your skin was smooth and soft. You nestled your head into his chest, as he sat propped up against his pillow and the headboard.

"That was... so emotionally taxing... and I didn't even know Allison." You admitted to Stiles, fixating on a random point on the wall by their luggage.

"Yea, it was, but I still think it was the right thing to do." Stiles replied, as he brushed your hair with his fingers.

You reached your hand under his t-shirt and rested it over his heart. You closed your eyes. "It's amazing the lengths that Scott has been willing to go to in order to get Allison back. He must have really loved her."

Stiles paused for a moment. "You know, Y/N, if something ever happened to you, I would have gone to the ends of the earth to bring you back too. I would just go insane if I lost you. I'd find a way to get you back. I'd have to."

You sat up on your knees, your hand retreating from under his shirt. "You're saying that you'd sacrifice someone to bring me back to life?" You sounded both moved and annoyed.

Stiles sat up straighter in bed. "Yes. I'd find someone and I'd bring you to Sylvie."

"I don't have any grandparents left to sacrifice, remember?" You reminded him.

"Fine, then I'd sacrifice myself, if it meant that you'd be alive in the world doing good again, I'd give my own life." Stiles said firmly.

"Miecyzsław Stilinski, if you ever brought me back into a world, where you didn't exist, I would never forgive you. Don’t you ever do that." Your voice got caught in the back of your throat and your eyes began to well up as you spoke.

Stiles, caught up in the moment and his strong feelings for you, took your face in his hands. He pressed his lips hard against yours. You threw your leg over his, and began straddling him. You pulled his shirt off over his head, and he reached up under yours, feeling the warm skin over your spine against his fingertips. Stiles pulled you close to him and kissed you harder than ever before. He kissed you frantically.

Stiles paused and looked at you for a moment, his eyebrows raising. You nodded in consent. He pulled your t-shirt off of you and took in the curves of your body. He felt the blood flowing quickly to the lower half of his body.

He began kissing your neck, and you lost yourself in the kiss, eyes closed, head rolling backwards and hands lightly tugging at strands of his soft brown hair. Stiles moved his lips down to your shoulders, which made you moan slightly. He began reaching behind you, trying to pull the covers off of his legs.

When he was finally free, he wrapped his arms around you and swung you onto your back, laying on the bed facing him. He kissed your lips for a few moments, as he laced his fingers up with yours and placed your hands above your head. He began kissing his way down your body again. You moaned softly, as he dragged his tongue down your neck. You then let out a loud exhale as he kissed your breast.

Your hands squirmed under his, wanting to grab at him, but he kept your arms pinned above your head. Your back arched towards him as he lowered his mouth and began sucking on your nipples.

"Stiles..." You managed to whisper, breathlessly.

Stiles finally released your hands and moved his lips to your stomach. You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly as he left wet, long kisses down to your belly button. He reached up and grabbed a fistful of your breast in his hand. He massaged them slowly as he began kissing below your belly button. You moaned loudly, and began gyrating your hips below him.

"Stiles....." You whispered again, slightly propping yourself up. Stiles glanced up at you, his hands gripping your hips. You paused for a moment. "I need you." You admitted.

"God, Y/n." Stiles whispered back, feeling his heart skip a beat with the words you said.

He quickly leaned forward, cupping his hand behind your neck, the other resting against your cheek. He tilted his head to the side and kissed you hard on the lips. He felt all of the emotions he felt for you swelling in his chest, and he couldn’t take it anymore. Stiles needed the deeper connection.

He broke the kiss and somersaulted off of the bed, rushing to find his wallet. He pulled out a condom and began ripping at the packaging as he rushed back over to the bed.

Stiles pulled his basketball shorts and boxers off and left them on the floor. You watched his tricep flex as he rolled the condom onto his erect shaft. He climbed back onto the bed and knelt over you. He leaned over to kiss you again, his hands working their way down your body, to the fabric hugging your hips. He pulled at it and heard a rip. He looked down and saw a tear in the lacy underwear leaving indents in your soft skin.

"Oops..." Stiles said quietly as he looked at you. You softly smiled and shook your head.

You lifted your ass off the bed and he pulled your panties off, throwing them on the floor. He went back to kissing you, one hand holding yours above your head, the other was searching for your pussy. You moaned as he positioned himself on top of you, and pressed his thick cock against your dripping opening. He dragged the tip to get it wet and used it to lubricate the rest of you. As he rubbed his wet tip against your throbbing clit, you both moaned in unison. He finally guided his dick back towards your pussy and glided right in.

"Oh god." Your body shuttered, as you let out the words breathlessly.

Stiles moaned loudly as he began sliding back and forth inside of you. He scrunched his face and closed his eyes, and concentrated on what he was doing. You watched as he bit his lip. You loved every single inch of his face. You pulled his head towards you for a kiss, with your free hand.

"Oh god fucking damnit, you're so tight." He said into your lips before pulling away, a worried look on his face.

"Go slow." You whispered.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, and he ran his hands into your long strands of hair. He began kissing you wildly on the lips, stifling your moans as he thrust deeper into you. Your fingernails dug into his biceps. The position you created by wrapping your legs around him made it easy for him to bury his cock deep inside of you. He thrust and thrust, and watched as your tits bounced with each hit. He began fucking you faster.

He sped up and thrust harder and deeper, then he let out a great moan. He pushed all of his weight into your pussy and you felt his huge dick throbbing inside of you. You moaned as he pushed his cock as hard as he could inside of you; your sharp fingernails digging into his shoulder blades.

"Stiles..." You said, breathing heavily.

He bent down and kissed your neck and jawline, working his way back up to your lips. He kissed your lips long and hard, and smoothed your hair out of your face. You stared up at his big brown eyes and felt euphoric. You finally got to be one with Stiles Stilinski, your bodies finally connected in the most intimate of ways.

He climbed off the bed and walked into the bathroom. You heard the sound of the condom falling into the plastic wrap around the trashcan. You rubbed your forehead and sighed. He walked back into the room with a towel that he handed to you.

"I've been wanting to do that for months, but I am so glad that we waited until now." He said to you, as he leaned over and kissed your bare stomach.

"I am too." You said with a smile, playing with his hair in between your fingers, as he rested his head on your stomach, his arms wrapped around the rest of your body. "I don't want to leave this hotel room." You admitted quietly. You felt him nod his head.

"Let's just lock ourselves in here and never go back to school." Stiles joked. You laughed and shut your eyes, but you'd dream about just that tonight.

Fourteen <- -> Sixteen

So i know this isn’t the most wild smut in the world, but Stiles has literally just turned 19 at this point and he is realistically not going to learn how to make a woman orgasm for a while unless someone teaches him. sex at 19 though *rolls eyes* it gets better. Stiles is a fast learner :D

Let me know what you think! 

@alexhmak @dontstopxx @iloveteenwolf24 @chivesoup @vampirepinary @parislight @surpeme-bean @snek-shit @mayahart02 @fuxkdean @teenage-dirtbagbaby @sorrynotsorrylovesome @iknowisoundcrazy @lovelydob