won11luvs

[won11luvs]

About my Yume/Selfshipping and F/O(s)

I'm Won11luvs aka ChiChi which is what i'm known as on most platforms, and i am a Yume/selfshipper. 

I use my Persona that looks like what i want to look like irl, and a Persona that looks like irl me (both aged up!).  It's not oc x canon for me, but it's me/sona x Canon, i am a multi selfshipper. I don't mine doubles, or that, i do get very up and protective over some of my ships though, i will list if i'm Non sharing, Don't mind doubles, or Sharing, Selective sharing, which will clearly be listed outside of my F/O's name :3 My persona i use, is aged up, which means, she is legal, so DO NOT WORRY i am not shipping me, a minor, both my personas are me yes, one is what i look like irl, and ones not, they are both aged up, as i said. My F/O's: Alejandro Vergas - COD (I don't mind doubles, slightly Selective though) Kyle Garrick - COD (I don't mind doubles) Dean Winchester - SPN (Non-sharing, have been with him for 1 year, almost 1 year and 3 months as of writing this, we just had our 1 year and 2 months anniversary, 4 days ago, June 20th, aka my first ever F/O i ever got, and i feel like i have a deep connection with him so I wont and never will share him) Harvey Becker - SDV (Sharing!!!!!!! I LOVE SEEING OTHER SDV PEEPS WHO MARRY HIM PLS BE MY FRIEND) I am mostly sharing or doubles which i don't mind, but they also have to show me respect when i show them respect, i don't like the toxic yume/selfshippers yall need to dni!!!!!

[won11luvs]

My F/OS AND ONLY MINE

🍡 - what nicknames do you have for each other? - Dean: Baby, My apple pie, Honey, Angel - Alejandro: Amor, Mi Vida, Cariño, Mi alma, Corazón - Kyle: My darling, My beloved, My sweetheart - Harvey: Honey, Darling, love

🧊 - how would your f/o text you? would they use proper punctuation/capitalization, or type more informally? - Dean: he mostly used no capitalization or punctuation, because he is most definently either on his flip phone, or his iphone, which means; just get the text to me and she'll understand - Alejandro: He used everything, Punctuation and capitalization, and a lot of latin words, if he forgets them in english - Kyle: Straight forward, no punctuation or capitalization, he wants something? He texts it with no thought - Harvey: On the other hand, he'll do everything right, the right punctiuation, the right places to capitalize the words, (the big words...)

🍋‍🟩 - similarly, what would your contact names be for each other?

- Dean: For me it would be Sunshine, and his contact name would be Honey bun - Alejandro: For me it would be Carissima (Dearest), and his conact name would be Mi Vida - Kyle: (basic tbh..) For me it would be Baby, and his contact name would be Honey - Harvey: For me it would be Sugar, and his contact name would be probably either one of these two My favorite doctor(aka husband), or My honey pie

🪻 - what's your f/o's coffee or drink order? - Dean: Whiskey, double, neat - Alejandro: A rosé lemonade (because of me) - Kyle: Tea - Harvey: Black coffee with a teenee tiny squeez of milk

🫧 - what song(s) remind you of your f/o? -Dean: Rocket Queen by Guns N' Roses and Cherry Pie by Warrant - Alejandro: Vaquero by La Dinastia, Andres Castillo and Secreto De Amor by Joan Sebastian - Kyle: SOS by Rihanna and Shameless by Camilla Cabello - Harvey: Too Sweet by Hoizer and I Only Have Eyes For You by The Flamingos

proship/comship/neutral dni

[won11luvs]

AND WE LOVE YOU TOO

I love you non-sharing selfshippers! your f/os loves YOU and only YOU!!!!! no matter what anyone says, they'll always love and care for you. keep doing you!!!

I love you iffy-sharing selfshippers! your f/os value you so much!! your f/os love you so much!

I love you sharing selfshippers! your f/os love you! your f/o appreciates you!

I love you selfshippers who aren't sure what your sharing status is! that's okay! your f/os love you regardless!

I love you poc selfshippers! your f/os think you're so amazing and wonderful! your f/os love you so very much?

I love you fem selfshippers! your f/os think you're so beautiful! they're lucky to have someone like you in their life!

I love you masc selfshippers! your f/os think you're so handsome! they're grateful that you're with them!

I love you nonbinary selfshippers! your f/os love you no matter how you present or what pronouns you use! they think you're so valid!

I love you queer selfshippers! your f/os will always respect whatever label you go by! even if you change labels a few times!

I love you trans selfshippers! your f/os will always support your identity! they hope you know they love you so much!

I love you disabled selfshippers! your f/o hopes you know your disability is not a burden to them and they love you so much!

I love you mentally ill selfshippers! your f/o will always do whatever they can to help you! no matter what it is, they want to support you!

I love you selfshippers! please know that you deserve the world, no matter what hatred is spewed your way. your f/os love YOU. they love you. no matter what people try to say to you. with all the meanness going around in this community the last few months towards poc and women and folks with mental illness and disability and people who are nonsharing most recently, I want to remind you all how much you're valued here. I hate seeing anyone be sad or upset because they feel like they don't have a place here. you do have a place. your f/os love and appreciate you and you're so valued here in this community, even if people say otherwise. at the very least, me, and whoever reblogs this appreciates you.

no unkindness will be tolerated underneath this post! in fact, I implore you to maybe even tag your friends or mutuals to show them you care! spread the love and positivity. go say something nice in someones ask box (not mine, preferably a stranger or a mutuals who might need some kind words!)

if you ever need a pick me up, feel free to come back and look at this post for as long as you want. you're loved, you're valid, you're appreciated, and you matter. YOU have a place here. don't let ANYONE who treats you meanly make you feel otherwise.

I LOVE YOU SELFSHIPPERS!! I love you I love you I love you. /p TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES AND REMEMBER YOUR F/OS LOVE YOU TOO !!!! :DDD go do something nice today! even if it's something little for yourselves !!! :D

[won11luvs]

writing f/o gushes is so hard for me bc its Always just this

[won11luvs]

go take a nap with your f/o. that's it that's the post. reblog if taking a nap with f/o right now.

[won11luvs]

Yummy poetry, as a wannabe author who wants to try poetry, but cant start or figure out how, I love seeing poetry

𝔞 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔯𝔬𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔠

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

[won11luvs]

[won11luvs]

I LOVE YOU TOO MY FAVORITE GALLAGHER💕💕

This is how they view me

My best friend @won11luvs made this. On how they view me. ❤️❤️❤️

I love my sibling from another mother so muuucchhhh

[won11luvs]

My man. My man. My mann

Quiet Places, Loud Hearts

mads mikkelsen x gn reader

request: Fic idea: Mads Mikkelsen fluff. No smut. GN reader Mads dating a younger person, 20-35 years age gap i'm thinking off Park walks, where you two met Lots of cheek kisses and shopping, 5 months into the relationship Paparazzi releases photos of you two, becomming a dating scandal so he pulls you US to Denmark. where you stay in his house to stay out of the US paparazzis eyes, Baking together, snuggling up on the couch watching throwback movies, after all the scandals startes to ware down where you start being seen more with him in paparazzi photos and on red carpets, movie premieres ect.

- From the person you know and love, (Lip) :3

also yet again this picture is made by @won11luvs

You never meant to fall for someone like Mads. Not because of the age gap, though it was significant—more because he felt like someone carved from stillness, and you were used to the noise. Your life, up until that point, had been a whirl of traffic lights, half-hearted conversations at parties, and work emails at 2AM. You hadn’t known how tired you were until Denmark.

You met him on a bench in a Copenhagen park. The air was cool, your coffee too bitter, and he was feeding birds with gloved hands and a quiet focus that tugged at something in you.

You asked if you could sit. He gave a small smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Of course,” he said, his accent warm and gentle.

You sat beside him. Neither of you said anything for ten minutes.

Then he offered you a piece of his bread.

Then he asked your name.

Then he asked, “What are you running from?”

You laughed, and then, unexpectedly, answered.

It started slowly. Long texts. Sporadic phone calls. Quiet walks through L.A. neighborhoods when he was in town for meetings. He’d take your hand like it was second nature, squeeze it once, then release it before anyone noticed. It was like he was guarding something sacred. You didn’t mind the secrecy—not really.

But Mads had a way of kissing your cheek at the exact right moment: when you got good news, when you were lost in thought, or when he just wanted to let you know he saw you—even in a crowded place. They became his signature. Not showy, not performative. Just… constant. Like punctuation marks to the quiet sentences you were writing together.

You’d go shopping together in tucked-away places. He had a thing for bookstores, wool coats, and little Danish cafés that sold five different kinds of rye bread. You joked that he could recognize a good espresso by smell alone.

He’d smile, nudge your side with his elbow. “It’s a skill,” he’d say. “Older man’s instincts.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re not that old.”

He chuckled. “You say that like you mean it.”

The photos hit the tabloids overnight.

You’d been grocery shopping. That’s all. A cart with too many snacks, his hand casually brushing yours, your face tilted toward him in mid-laugh. Someone snapped three photos. By morning, your name was trending.

“Mads Mikkelsen’s New Love Interest Sparks Debate Online” “Power Couple or Problematic?” “‘Hannibal’ Star Dating Someone Decades Younger”

You found out before he did. Your phone buzzed with texts and frantic DMs. Your stomach dropped.

He read the articles quietly. Then looked at you. No anger in his eyes—just a fierce, steady kind of protectiveness.

“Pack your things,” he said, firm but gentle. “We’re going home.”

His home in Denmark was nothing like you expected. It wasn’t extravagant. It was warm. Wooden beams, tall windows, soft throws on every couch. A fireplace that worked too well. The kind of place that smelled like old books and fresh coffee. You felt safe the moment you stepped inside.

The first week, you stayed in. Turned off your phone. You baked together—badly, at first. He wasn’t great at measuring flour and you had no idea what half the instructions said. He taught you Danish words over cookie dough and stole frosting off your spoon with playful mischief.

You danced barefoot in the kitchen to old jazz records. He took polaroids of you licking icing off your fingers, tucking them into a drawer like precious artifacts.

Nights were for movies. He introduced you to old black-and-white films, cult classics, and the occasional ridiculous action flick “just for balance.” You’d curl under a shared blanket, his arm around you, your head on his chest. He'd narrate scenes in that low, comforting voice, pointing out lines he loved or performances that moved him.

“I didn’t think I’d do this again,” he said one night as the credits rolled. “Fall in love.”

You tilted your head up. “But you did.”

He nodded. “I did.”It took time, but the noise dulled.

The scandal cooled. The internet found new gossip. You and Mads slowly became something closer to known. Not quite public, not fully hidden. The two of you were spotted walking through Danish markets, hand in hand. Photos began to emerge—not tabloid trash, but snapshots of quiet joy. You at a bookstore. Him tucking your scarf tighter in the cold.

He took you to your first red carpet.

You were nervous. He noticed.

“Breathe,” he said softly, his palm steady on your back. “It’s only lights and cameras. You already shine more than all of them.”

He kissed your cheek in front of everyone. Boldly. Like he didn’t care anymore who saw.

You walked beside him, head high, heart full.

And later that night, curled in bed with his arms around you, he whispered, “I don’t care what they say. You’re mine.”

You smiled. “Always?”

He kissed your cheek again. “Always.”

[won11luvs]

BANNER REQUESTS

Yall can now request banners for any fanfic you guys are making, tell me the character, and a description to reader, like, reader is trans so it'll be something like top scars, or reader is a baker so it'll be someone baking or a bakery - by DMs

These are what I can show

Heres some banners i've made for @dukestags who makes some amazing fanfics

[won11luvs]

Ranting about anything i want

Musicians, Characters, anything i wanna talk about - David Bowie; Oh my good Lord, i love that man, his music, his acting, the way he dressed, he's the reason i'm finding my own style, his hair, the way he spoke, yes he had his controversies, but who doesnt anymore? I loved how colorful he acctually ended up being, wearing heels, his iconic lightning makeup, all his characters, like Major Tom, Ziggy Stardust (Who's litteraly one of my FAVORITES of David's characters), oh and The Thin White Duke, oh how i love them. And his acting, Goblin King, Jareth ; Labyrinth, my Lord i love that character, i LOVE the hair, so much, Screaming Lord Byron, from Jazzin' For Blue Jean, oh i loved that. His characters is all special in their own way; we have Ziggy Stardust, Halloween Jack, White Thin Duke, Aladdin Sane, they are all special in their own way. - I love the song Space Oddity, Station To Station, Changes, Life On Mars, Starman - His album Ziggy Stardust And The Spiders From Mars, is my top favorite albums ever His funny poses he did, the different sized pupils, the hair, makes me proud to be a ginger, i loved his ginger and blonde hair, the feminine urge to become him is so bad

Labyrinth: I have seen so many talk about his crotch, through out the movie, how some say thathis crotch was the scarriest through out the whole movie. Honestly, if the pants had been just a tini tiny bigger

[won11luvs]

Selfship list | doubles are fine

I'm a selfshipper using my persona Chi or Kitty, I am okay with doubles, but with some I am a non-sharer. So yeah, heres my selfships

- Dean winchester, |SPN| I have selfshipped with him for 2 years now, and we're 2 years strong, at the point of this post (non-sharing)

- Harvey Becker, |SDV| 6 months strong at the point of this post (doubles are fine)

- Larry Johnson |SF|, 7 months strong at the point of this post (doubles are fine)

- Thomas Hewitt |TSM| (non-Sharing)

[won11luvs]

Check out my mates fics, they're so good

Warmth in the Shadows

Thomas Hewitt (Leatherface) x Gender-Neutral Reader

warnings: Dark Romance, Horror, Slow-Burn Obsession, stalker

Summary: a killer who stalks a person who starts treating him with gentleness.

(made for my bestieee. Also they made the picture)

The Texas heat clung to everything like a second skin, and out on the edge of Travis County, silence ruled. You’d always wanted to get away from the city—away from the noise, the rush, the eyes—but this? This was too quiet. Not even the bugs chirped near the Hewitt property line.

And maybe that’s why you noticed him so quickly.

It started with the sounds.

Rustling in the brush when you went to bring the laundry in. Heavy footsteps behind the barn that vanished when you turned your head. Then came the sightings—brief, fleeting. A towering figure at the treeline. A shadow ducking behind the tool shed. Once, you woke up in the dead of night and saw a large silhouette standing just beyond your bedroom window… not moving. Just watching.

Your first instinct had been fear. Then anger. Then something... else.

Curiosity.

Loneliness.

Empathy?

He never tried to break in. Never made a sound when you screamed into the dark. He left no messages, no harm. Only… gifts. A carved wooden figurine. A smooth stone polished clean and warm like it had been held for hours. A jar of honey, half-full, and sealed with old wax paper. You knew the stories—everyone in town had one—but none of them prepared you for this. For him.

He was always there. Quiet. Steady.

And, in a way, you realized… so were you.

It wasn’t until the first cold front blew in that you made him something.

Banana bread.

You’d always baked when anxious—an old coping habit. That day, your hands had shaken too badly to fold laundry, so you turned to flour and eggs instead. When it was done—crisp on the edges and soft in the middle—you stared at the loaf cooling on the rack and thought: Why not?

You cut a slice, wrapped it in wax paper, and walked outside at dusk.

“I know you’re there,” you said softly to the trees. “I don’t… I don’t want to be scared of you.”

You knelt and placed the bundle on a flat stone near the fence line, where you’d seen his shadow last.

“I made this for you.”

You didn’t expect a response.

But when you looked the next morning, the bread was gone.

That became a routine. Once a week, sometimes more. Cookies. Cornbread. Even a pie once, when you were feeling brave. Each time, you left a note. Never asking questions. Just… simple words.

"Hope you’re safe."

"This one’s still warm."

"You must get lonely out here too, huh?"

And, over time, the forest answered.

He left you things. A single crow feather, perfect and black. A rabbit's foot charm. Flowers—ugly and awkwardly bundled but picked with care. And one night, you found a folded page torn from a child's coloring book, colored in with shaky lines. Crayons. Red and yellow and blue.

It made your chest hurt.

Then came the night it rained.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the couch, but when thunder cracked and woke you, the power was out. The house was pitch black—except for the back porch, where the lantern you’d forgotten to take inside flickered weakly against the storm.

And someone stood in its light.

You froze. Heart in your throat.

Thomas.

You’d only caught glimpses of him until now, but this was real. Raw. Massive and soaked, his leather mask glistening with rain. His hands clenched at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. He looked—hesitant. Afraid.

Not of you.

Afraid he would scare you.

And for some reason… that broke something inside you.

Slowly, you reached for the door.

“Wait,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Don’t go.”

He flinched but didn’t move.

You stepped onto the porch, bare feet cold against the wood. The rain hit your face in soft drops, and still, he didn’t run. Just stood there, looming and silent, the very image of a nightmare.

But you didn’t scream.

You held out your hand.

“I… I saved some cornbread from earlier,” you said. “It’s probably cold now, but… do you want it?”

Thomas stood still as a statue.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

You never invited him in—not at first. You didn’t have to. He stayed close. Close enough to touch, but never did. He listened when you talked, even if you rambled. He crouched just out of view when you read aloud from your favorite books. Sometimes you’d hear soft huffs of breath, like laughter. Other times, he’d disappear into the night like a ghost. But when you left food, it was always gone the next morning. When you tripped over a root and scraped your knee one day near the woods, a few hours later you found a jar of some old antiseptic and a roll of gauze left neatly on your porch. He watched.

He cared.

In his own, twisted, silent way. You still didn’t know what to call this… thing between you. Friendship? Obsession? Something more? The fear hadn’t disappeared completely—it lurked in your ribs like a coiled spring. But so did something else. Something warm and strange and desperate.

He didn’t have anyone else. And maybe… neither did you.

So, the next time you left out cookies, you left a note too.

“If you ever want to sit with me… I won’t run.”

That night, you heard footsteps on the porch. He didn’t come in. But he sat there for hours. You heard him breathe. And somehow, you slept soundly for the first time in years... and slowly.. he came around but.

You hadn’t said anything at first.

Not when you hugged him one night and your eyes watered from the sour, meaty stink clinging to his clothes. Not when you buried your face in his shoulder and immediately regretted it. And definitely not when the flies started showing up—only a few, lazy and circling, but persistent.

You’d grown used to a lot about Thomas: his looming silence, his possessive hovering, his tendency to appear without warning and vanish like mist. But the smell? That was harder to overlook.

So, one evening, when the summer heat clung like syrup and the humidity made everything heavier, you took a chance.

He was sitting out back, on the rickety wooden bench under your porch light. His giant hands rested on his knees, still as stone. The mask made it hard to read his expression, but his shoulders slumped like a child being scolded.

“Thomas,” you said softly, stepping outside with a towel draped over your shoulder and a clean shirt in your arms. “I wanna show you something.”

He tilted his head, slow and unsure.

You offered a small smile. “It’s okay. I just… I wanna take care of you for a little while. Will you let me?”

A long pause.

Then, a slow, reluctant nod.

You guided him inside, to the small bathroom at the back of the house. It was old, like everything here—cracked tiles, foggy mirror—but it was clean. Warm. Safe.

The tub creaked under his weight as he sat, fully clothed, too big for the space. You let the water run, warm and gentle, steam fogging the edges of the mirror.

“You can keep the mask on,” you said quickly when you saw his hands twitch near his face. “I don’t need to see you. Just… let me do this.”

His hands stilled.

You knelt beside the tub and reached for the shampoo.

The moment the warm water hit his hair, he flinched.

But you hushed him gently. “Shhh. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

You worked slowly, fingers threading through thick tangles and caked dirt. The water turned a murky brown as you rinsed out layers of grime and old blood. His breathing was shallow at first—sharp little gasps through the mask—but as you continued, something shifted.

You felt it.

His shoulders eased. His neck went slack under your hands. And then…

A sound.

Low and rough, barely there—but unmistakable.

Purring.

Your fingers paused for a second in disbelief.

“Thomas,” you whispered with a tiny smile, “are you purring?”

He grunted softly, embarrassed, and tried to shift away.

You gently pulled him back. “No—no, it’s okay. I like it.”

And you did. God, you did.

You’d never seen him this soft. This still. He was always the looming shadow, the watchful thing in the trees. But here, in your bathtub, he was something else entirely—childlike, vulnerable. Human.

You hummed a little as you brushed through the last of his tangles, fingers slow and tender. His hair was much longer than you realized—wild, thick, and dark. You washed it twice, careful not to tug too hard. Each time the water rinsed clean, you caught another low rumble in his chest.

He sounded like a damn cat in the sun.

Afterward, you helped him out of the tub, handing him a towel and turning your back to give him privacy. When he emerged, still masked but wrapped in clean fabric, you handed him the fresh shirt—a soft, oversized one that smelled faintly of your laundry detergent and home.

“You clean up nice,” you teased, heart fluttering.

He didn’t respond, but you saw the way his head dipped slightly, like a shy animal not used to compliments.

You hesitated only briefly before stepping close, reaching up to touch his damp hair. “Can I…?” you asked softly.

He didn’t move.

You began brushing again—slow, gentle strokes. He made another low, content sound, swaying slightly toward your touch. You swear, if he had a tail, it’d be flicking lazily.

“I don’t know what they did to you,” you whispered. “Or what you’ve done. But I see you, Thomas. I see the parts they tried to break. And I’m not afraid.”

That made him stop. His entire body froze like a deer caught in headlights.

You touched your forehead to his chest. “Not of you.”

He didn’t purr this time. But his arms came around you—big, trembling things that barely knew how to hold something so delicate—and pulled you in like you were the first thing that had ever truly belonged to him.

And in that moment, maybe you were.

[won11luvs]

HOYT APOLOGIZE NOW, YOU HURT THE BOY

Say sorry :(

[won11luvs]

I CAN'T, MY HEART BUBBA AND THOMAS

My heart can't handle it

don't ask why he has pigtails, just take him and this little sketch

[won11luvs]

MAKE HIM CHONKY LIKE HE IS, he's like a bear, big and.. big

Stop drawing/writing the Leatherfaces as skinny. That is the devil whispering to you.

[won11luvs]

My baby boy💫

I cant, he's such a cutie

He’s just a baby 🤍