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alatusxiaoo · 1 year

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you're a pain in the neck. (literally.)

premise. in which you make a nuisance of yourself in every train ride you share with scaramouche. (inexplicably, he doesn't stop sitting next to you anyway.)

note. we pretend i didn't disappear for months :D enjoy

Neck pain has been increasingly common in Scaramouche's life these days.

The cause of which is sleeping peacefully on his shoulder, snoring softly as the train rattles past. The way you remain deep in slumber despite the constant lurching is impressive, but your knack for unwittingly making yourself a menace to society is even more spectacular.

Scaramouche takes a deep breath—Kazuha always did advise him to be more patient—yet the moment he does, tufts of your hair curl against his skin. A flush rises to his cheeks, body caught between freezing in place and jolting out of his seat, but he digs his fingers to his thighs and wills himself to dispel the urge to shoot upright, in fear of...

In fear of what? Shocking you awake?

Nonsense. He's never been that considerate.

(Still, once the tension bleeds from his body, he lets his shoulders drop, fitting your head snugly against the crook of his neck. He grabs your phone from your loose grip, tucks it securely in your pocket, and allows himself to stare at the dark circles beneath your eyes.

He can let himself worry for a bit.)

“What's wrong with you?” Kazuha's concerned gaze settles over Scaramouche's hunched figure, slumped miserably on the desk. His head is craned in a particular angle, and Childe, obnoxious as he is, had erupted in boisterous laughter when Scaramouche entered the lecture hall tilted the very same way. Unfortunately, Scaramouche had been too sore to swat away Childe's phone as he took a picture of him in a zombie filter.

“Got a crick in my neck.”

Kazuha frowns. “Did you sleep badly again?”

Scaramouche scoffs in defeat. “You could say that.”

The next time he sees you enter the train, you're drenched.

You make an effort to dry yourself, wiping rainwater out of your hair with a handkerchief and packing your wet jacket in your bag, but you're still undeniably soaked. Some passengers don't bother to hide their distaste, scooting away to other vacant seats as they shoot you a scornful look. Others aren't so cruel, offering packets of tissues and initiating small talk over the worsening weather. Scaramouche watches as your apologetic expression turns into one of gratitude, sheepishly admitting to the nice aunties you forgot to check the forecast.

Scaramouche doesn't quite give you a spare towel or send you a reassuring smile, but he broods silently from where he sits beside you, scowling at the impudent lot now sitting far, far away. Insolent fools, tactless jerks, ill-mannered garbage—a barrage of insults fly in his head, ones he has learned not to verbalize lest he gets in trouble for his crass mouth again.

When the train pauses to his stop, he pulls out a foldable umbrella from his bag, still seething. He hands it out to you, not making eye contact as he's still glaring at the woman giving you a side-eye. “Take this.”

“Uh...?” Perplexed, you hesitantly accept it. “But...”

“It's fine.” He slings his backpack over his shoulder, walking toward the sliding doors. “So don't come here drenched in the rain next time.”

He doesn't get to hear your response as he speeds off.

“I'm an asshole.”

“Is this your moment of self-discovery?”

“Congratulations.”

Scaramouche's eyebrow twitches, but he's much too panicked to make a snarky quip to fire back. It's his fault for picking the wrong people to talk to, anyway—Heizou is a smartass and Xiao has a perpetual stick up his ass. He should've confided to the empathetic Aether instead, or to Venti who gives surprisingly good advice when you least expect it.

“So what made you realize it?” Heizou bites down on a pork cutlet, apparently finished with his daily quota for pissing him off and now fulfilling his obligations as a friend. “Did something happen?”

“Does it have anything to do with how you arrived soaking wet to class?” Xiao adds, poking the tofu on his plate.

“Perhaps you tried stealing an umbrella on your way here?”

“You got it backwards, dumbass. I gave away mine,” Scaramouche scowls.

“That sounds like you did a good thing, then. What's wrong?”

The way he gave it away so roughly. The way he said you could use it so condescendingly. How he'd forgotten to offer words of comfort, no matter how painful or awkward for him, because he'd been so absorbed in pointless matters. How he'd completely ruined his chances of being friends with you by acting like an indifferent jerk.

All because he was too embarrassed to say he's worried you'll catch a cold from the rain.

When Scaramouche takes the train the way home, it's him who's dripping rainwater everywhere.

Karma had gotten his new umbrella stolen from the rack, it seems. He just bought it from the convenience store, damn it.

So now he stands by the doors, too reluctant to go any further inside the train. His wet sneakers squeak beneath his feet, hair sticking uncomfortably on his forehead. His shirt clings to him like second skin, and the only thing retaining his modesty (because of course he falls prey to downpour the one time he wears a white button-up) is a heavy sweater vest soaked in water.

“So much for telling me not to come here when I'm drenched.”

A small towel drapes itself over his head, and Scaramouche quickly turns on his feet. Your mouth is curled into a grin when you step to the spot by his side, but not unkindly—you aren't here to mock him or return his cruel words.

Scaramouche grabs the towel sitting atop his head, drying his hair with it. As he does so, you make no move to leave even with plenty of vacant seats remaining unoccupied.

“... Aren't you going to sit?”

“Hm? No.” You're already holding onto a handrail, staring ahead.

“...Why not?”

“I'm keeping you company.”

???

“Oh, and your umbrella.” You fish it from your bag, holding it out for him to take. “Cute pattern, by the way.”

“Wha-” he's about to say ‘what are you talking about,’ but then he sees the cute star print, the gold sparkles bright against navy blue, and his hair rises on end, face flushing a deep red. Nahida was the one who packed it for me...!

“...Cute.”

“I heard you the first time,” he grumbles under his breath, accepting it from your hand.

An endeared smile crosses your face, one that he doesn't see as he stuffs the umbrella into his backpack.

I wasn't talking about the umbrella.

Scaramouche has always made it a habit to take the train before rush hour, but his report is due today, and so he slept for a grand total of two hours last night just to finish it. It wouldn't even be two hours if he hadn't slept through his alarm, but he wishes he'd woken up earlier; if it meant he could've avoided a crowded train, he could stand to lose some minutes of sleep.

“Can you move a bit?”

“Ow, ow...”

“Sorry, I stepped on your foot!”

“I hope nobody comes in at the next stop...”

Scaramouche empathizes with the last remark in particular, because he really couldn't handle it any more.

Presently, he's staring at the ceiling, praying for divine intervention. His neck is starting to hurt but he forces himself to face upwards, otherwise he would...

“This is tough, isn't it?” You laugh awkwardly, your chuckle turning into a wince when an elbow digs to your side. The train car is packed at full capacity, and you wouldn't be exaggerating if you were to say you felt like you were drowning in a sea of people.

“That's a massive understatement,” Scaramouche replies, wishing for death.

“Sorry. I can't go any farther than this.”

“It's fine.”

Actually, nothing is fine.

Scaramouche is trapped against the wall in the farthest location from the exit, surrounded by people from all sides, his stop is two stations away, and he has no idea how he's going to swim all the way through the doors.

Oh, and he's caged between your arms, pressed against your body, and feeling very much like a pervert for sniffing your scent, but it's simply impossible not to smell you at this close proximity (however, it's entirely his fault for thinking you smell good and trying to pinpoint what cologne you use).

Your head is resting on his shoulder, and Scaramouche learns quickly this position is a lot more embarrassing when you're conscious. And fuck, this time he can feel you breathe directly against his neck, puffs of hot air blowing on his reddened skin, and he can only hope for the best you can't sense his racing heartbeat.

You're too goddamn close, even though he can tell you're exerting your utmost effort to create some distance between your bodies. Your arms are straining pushing on the wall just so you wouldn't crush him under your weight, and as much as he should appreciate it, he can hardly think straight over the sound of his pulse in his ears. He's hanging precariously over the edge, and if he crosses his limit, he might just pass away on the spot.

Hell, if he so as much looks down, he's close enough to kiss your forehead, and-

He really shouldn't be thinking about that right now.

So yeah. Scaramouche may look like an idiot facing the ceiling, but at least he isn't at risk of cardiac arrest.

It's fine. This is fine. I'm one stop away. I can survive this. Just a little more.

But the gods above must hate his guts or something because the train screeches to a rough halt at the station, the car rattles violently, and you're squirming underneath him, his hands instinctively wrapping around your waist to steady you, but your head moves to look up at him and-

Scaramouche very nearly astral projects to another plane when he feels your lips graze against his chin.

“Hey, you okay?! Did you hit your head on the wall or something?”

He feels like he did. He's so dizzy and the world is spinning around him, but at the same time you're the only one he can see. This must be unhealthy, Scaramouche thinks, and he wonders how much blood has rushed to his head, coloring his cheeks bright pink, and if he can die from losing too much blood this way.

“Kuni?”

How do you know my name, Scaramouche isn't sure if he really says it, mind still whirring with thoughts, and oh god his hands are still on your waist-

“Your umbrella had a name tag...” You squint at the neon letters displaying the current station, “Hey, your stop is here, isn't it? Excuse me! Coming thro....”

He vaguely remembers your hands pushing him forward and the crowd parting obediently to make way for him when they see his face becoming visibly ill. The rest passes in a blur, and when Scaramouche finally comes to, he's already outside the train station.

For a brief moment, he stays frozen. Then by the corner of his eye, he notices the shopping center.

He stares at the pastel decor from the cosmetic store, approaches the vanity mirror, and if possible, his mind turns even more blank.

A faint kiss mark is stark against his chin, the same color as the lip tint you wear everyday.

“I'm not going.”

Venti sighs, disappointed but not surprised. “You never go to drinking parties with me. Why do you always head straight home after class?”

“Reasons.” Scaramouche closes his laptop and slides it inside his bag, making quick work of packing his things. “In your case, I'd advise you to go less. Being an alcoholic isn't a good look.”

“My liver is strong,” Venti insists, a cheeky grin dancing on his lips. “But seriously, what's up? Don't tell me you have a secret girlfriend you meet up with after class?”

“I was starting to think the same thing,” Aether pipes up, matching curious looks with Venti. “Or maybe you have a boyfriend? Either way, what are they like?”

“I have neither,” Scaramouche grumbles, coming off more pitiful than spiteful. “And I'm coming home early today because Nahida wanted me to get something for dinner.”

“Ehh, that's boring.”

“You're the ones making assumptions by yourselves!” Scaramouche snaps, treading towards the door. “I'm leaving. Don't call me to pick you up when you're wasted, it's Xiao's turn this week.”

“Okay, enjoy your date~”

Scaramouche doesn't even bother replying.

You get on the train scheduled for 4:15 everyday.

It's not that Scaramouche deliberately researched this information; he really did just catch the same train rides by chance. Over time, he began to recognize you as a familiar face, and eventually, he even became your headrest.

Not by choice, but he supposes he just has to live with it.

It's not that Scaramouche intentionally takes the same train so he could see your face. At least, that's what he tells himself as he silently pressures the retail cashier to scan his items faster and practically flies out the convenience store to rush for the train.

He glances at his wristwatch. 4:11. I'll make it. He breathes a sigh of relief, and checks the shopping list Nahida texted for good measure. Curry mix, milk, a carton of eggs...

A notification sound rings from his phone.

‘Sorry for the late notice, could you get pudding for dessert too?’

Shit.

Panic flares in his eyes and he spins on his heel, returning to the convenience store. Do I sprint? No, it's still not humanly possible to buy pudding and go back in four minutes... But I could try. Wait, wasn't there a line of customers behind me earlier? I'd still have to wait in line.

Finally, he stops running. This is stupid. Why am I working so hard just to catch this train, anyway?

Before he could even properly sulk about it, Scaramouche bumps into someone hurrying for the train. “Oh, sorry! I wasn't looking-”

Much to his surprise, your face comes into view when he looks, chest heaving for breath. You look like you've been running for a good while, hair in disarray from the wind, the reading glasses perched on your nose askew. And that's how Scaramouche knows you're in a real hurry, if you didn't even have the time to put on your contacts.

“It's okay,” Scaramouche quickly replies, stepping aside out of your path. “The train is still there, don't sweat it.”

He turns to the convenience store, mood lifted. I got to see them, so I guess this way is fine, too.

When Scaramouche returns from shopping, he comes back to a strange sight.

“Huh?”

“What are you looking at?”

Good question.

Why was he looking at your figure, still waiting for the next train to come by?

“No, well...” The plastic bags in his hand crinkle when he tightens his grip on them. Scaramouche blinks repeatedly, trying to see if you'll somehow fizzle out of existence if he closes his eyes enough. “You definitely could've made it in time for the train, so why are you still...”

Your lips stretch to a small smile. “I didn't.”

No. You definitely did.

You were at a distance where it'll only take three minutes max to reach the train even if you walked the same pace as a turtle. So why...

“Your face can be surprisingly expressive sometimes, Kuni. You're practically a walking question mark right now.”

“Ku-” He stops himself from speaking before his voice could crack.

“Sorry, you don't like me calling you that?” You're tilting your head at him, putting on puppy eyes. Oh no.

“...No. It's fine.” Damn it. Aether was right—he really is a softie.

However, he's still busy pondering. Sure, it's a stroke of luck and Scaramouche won't look a gift horse in the mouth, but why didn't you take your usual train? You were even running towards the station, arriving with wind-tousled hair and disheveled clothes.

“I was waiting.”

Scaramouche blinks. “For what?”

You stare at him in disbelief, like you seriously can't believe he doesn't know. That's when Scaramouche notices some things about you are a little different from earlier.

Your hair is fixed now, no strands randomly sticking up in the air. Your clothes are neat and tidy too, creases patted down. Your glasses are gone, and Scaramouche isn't sure if it's just his mind playing tricks on him or the color of your lips appears more vibrant from earlier.

He flinches when a sigh escapes you. But then the frown on your face is replaced with a dazzling smile, exasperated but fond.

“Who do you think I'm waiting for, dummy?”

BONUS: A look into the future.

“Has anyone ever told you your chin is really sharp?” Scaramouche grumbles under his breath, movements heavily restricted when your arms are wrapped tightly around his torso and the edge of your chin is stabbing his neck. Cooking breakfast proves to be a lot more of a challenge when a koala is clinging on his back.

“No,” you chirp, grinning ear to ear as you watch him stir the pancake batter over his shoulder. “Has anyone ever told you how cute you look in an apron?”

Scaramouche glowers. “No.” If a living person actually did, they wouldn't be for long.

“That's good.” If possible, you squeeze him even tighter, nuzzling against his face. “I want to keep the adorable Kuni to myself.”

“Disgusting.”

So he says as he leans his head closer when you peck him on the cheek.

Some things just never change, he guesses.

#reblogs !!#THIS.

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alatusxiaoo · 1 year

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✎ [ 17. ] get away with anything

you stare up at the sprawling sight in front of you with bewilderment.

massive cream-colored pillars towered proudly before the both of your comparably tinier frames, as the welcome banners strung across the museum’s open entrance fluttered delicately in the afternoon breeze — dancing to the background noises of the bustling city and chattering visitors.

truth be told, the unfathomed venue of your spontaneous date leaves you utterly speechless.

“you…”

“you probably don’t recall this yet…but you actually told me back then,” heizou hummed softly in response, staring up at the historical structure with an equal amount of adoration. “during the competition. after we wagered our bets and you said you’ve always wanted to visit a museum because it had free admission.”

he chuckles briefly at the interesting memory of your frugality, thinking to himself with a rather satisfied grin. “i remembered.”

your gaze flickers towards the surprisingly thoughtful boy standing next to you — at his loosely tied auburn hair and the strands framing his pale face, at his white button-up and arm rolled sleeves, at his awe-stricken smile and the enchanted gleam painting his eyes.

“shall we?” heizou beams, politely holding a hand out to you.

seems like feigning interest in him really wasn’t bound to be much of a challenge…

“we shall.” you smile without hesitation, lightly taking your fingers in his.

you leave your jackets by the entrance of the building before proceeding inside. heizou’s hands are cold as you tread through the museum with glittering gazes of curiosity. sad to say — neither of you were particularly knowledgeable when it came to the realm of historical events, so you and your date had spent the first couple of minutes merely wandering around the venue with an air of innocence and wonder, seemingly akin to two lost puppies.

despite the initial and obvious lack of expertise, you found yourself highly amused when heizou suddenly began to put on a play of passionate effort in pretending to be a well-informed tour guide — concocting awfully ridiculous yet humorous facts about each of the displays you happened to pass by.

you occasionally chimed in to make foolish jokes and took turns fabricating all sorts of tales on the history behind the exhibits. much to your dignity, you also successfully managed to return most of his flirty lines. though you tried to limit your voices and conversations to hushed whispers, you could often tell that you were both on the receiving end of disdained stares from other visitors.

in the midst of your conversation, heizou didn’t seem to be giving in too easily into your infrequently woven questions about what transpired at the party. you wanted to be confident in the fact that expressing interest was going to be enough, but he seemed to be able to see through your poor endeavors of forcing yourself to act flirty. his eluding behavior made it seem as though something strange did happen between the both of you that night — and you figured feigning attraction wasn’t simply going to be enough to pry for concrete answers.

“quick question, do you think i’d be able to get away with thieving run-down artifacts?” you randomly blurt in the middle of your journey around the building, suddenly catching sight of an artistic collection of jewelry flaunted behind a glass frame.

heizou pauses in his tracks, stunned by your words as he follows your gaze to the wall. “you want to steal…this?” he squints his eyes at the exhibited ornaments. “i didn’t realize you were into archival jewelry.”

“it’s a hypothetical question.” you snicker, rolling your eyes. “besides, you’re a criminology major, so i was curious.”

“i’m supposed to be a good guy, my darling watson.” he smirks, raising an eyebrow at you as if to prove a point.

“aw, entertain me for a bit here. just tell me if i’d get away with it.”

heizou falls into silence as his eyes flicker in hasty glances from you to the artifacts, legitimately contemplating the theoretical circumstance for a fleeting moment.

“i think you could.” he muses in response.

“seriously?”

“sure. i mean, if it was me at least, i’d let you get away with anything.” he laughs, winking over at you with a sly smile. “but why steal those shabby jewels when you can take my heart anytime?”

you wince at the flirtatious line, yet lift a hand to cover your face after failing to stifle the flush that blossoms across your cheeks. “ugh, that was definitely one of your better ones.”

“i see you blushing through the cracks, watson.”

“moving on, then!”

the true chaos only begins halfway through your museum date — when the both of you stumble perchance across a little kids’ area littered with dress up bins.

one mischievous look exchanged between one another was all it took to scramble towards the filed crates in suppressed laughter.

you managed to try on all the hats with heizou after rifling through them for several minutes, the sound of muffled snickers and hushed snapshots ringing through the half-deserted area. his arm firmly wrapped around your shoulder, your hand gently pressed against his chest, his fingers fumbling with the camera and breathing clumsy whispers, your mouth flowering into a sincere smile as you gaze at him before meeting the black lens.

albeit, your momentary bubble of happiness began to gradually deflate when much of the passerby who stared at you two with peculiar expressions presumed you were both creepy strangers who have been lounging around the kids area for a prolonged while now…

and it wasn’t even a surprise anymore when a pair of security guards eventually came approaching your huddled figures in long strides…almost certainly with the intent to kick suspicious visitors out.

but before you had even fully registered the situation, you were both already running off the opposite direction with gasps of childish laughter — hands instinctively intertwined as you began to make your great escape despite still sporting some of the hats on your heads.

it’s a dashing pursuit that doesn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon with either side proclaiming defeat, no matter how many turns you take and how many diversion attempts you make.

heizou suddenly backs you into a tiny corner behind one of the colossal statues near the exit, your chests heaving in weighty breaths and sweat dripping down your temples out of exhaustion. his hand is against the wall, trapping your body in between — and you tilt your head slightly to peek over his shoulder to see whether your pursuers had managed to follow suit once more.

“are they there?” heizou asks through smothered pants.

“they’re here, but i don’t think they see us.” you whisper, leaning back to the wall once more to catch your breath.

you close your eyes to calm yourself, feeling the warmth of the bonnet wrapped around your head heat your feverish face even more.

heizou’s breaths tenderly tickle your cheeks more than you’d want them to. eyes softly fluttering open, you know it isn’t much of a revelation to find his head inching dangerously close to yours.

“sorry, just a little longer.” he breathes in reassurance, blinking a tad too rapidly as his eyes anxiously dart anywhere else but at your face. his top hat also starts to slide down his hair due to minor yet excessive movements.

why does it seem like he’s panicking a bit too much?

and then you catch a glimpse of it. through the shadows, a flush crawling from the tips of his ears and roseating the skin of his face.

“oh my god,” you whisper-shout with widened irises, clasping a hand against your mouth in astonishment at your discovery.

“heizou. you’re blushing.”

“what?” he audibly scoffs in disbelief, tilting his head to the side without being able to meet your mystified gaze. “i am not.”

“yes you are!”

“i am not.”

“you’ve never been this close to a girl before.” you piece together in amusement, desperately trying to stifle the laugh that threatens to escape your mouth.

“i—” heizou swallows thickly at your declaration. “…fine. maybe just a little.”

“and yet here you went, shamelessly flirting with every girl you saw.”

“so what if i’m blushing anyway?!” he snorts at your victorious expression, cheeks growing a further shade darker.

“i should use this as leverage.” you smile as you move closer, teeth sinking down on your lip at the devious thought of it.

“leverage..?” heizou barely registers your words, dazedly staring down at your mouth.

“yes! you promised to tell me what happened to me the night at the party.” you nod eagerly, beaming with delight. “and you kept dodging my questions like a fucking weasel. this is the perfect opportunity to get exactly what i want.”

“aha. that’s real cute, my watson.” he strains a proud smile, hardly managing to tear his eyes off your lips. “…fine, you got me. can’t have everyone randomly flustering me tomorrow.”

“it’s a promise.”

“hmm…the party,” heizou ponders, shifting his weight to lean on the arm pressed to the wall. he nudges his top hat to a more stable position on his head. “as far as i remember, we first ran into each other at around early nine. you were getting a drink and i happened to be doing the same as well, but we only shared a brief conversation before you went and left to find your friends.”

“we met later on again at approximately ten thirty, i believe we held our drinking competition by then. you suggested on wagering bets and chose a favor as your prize, and i chose taking you on a date as mine.” he winks triumphantly, and you ignore the slight blush painting your cheeks. “i’m certain that’s all i saw of you that evening.”

“…really?”

“mhm, that’s it.”

you narrow your eyes at him, feeling dubious about his rather brief answer. “are you sure?”

he shrugs with a roguish smile. “like i said. it really is a shame you still haven’t regained your memory from that evening.”

“i don’t trust you.” you frown, distancing yourself from him as you rest deeper into the wall — carefully processing the information previously surrendered.

“i’m a little offended.” he chuckles. “but i suppose it’s only natural that you think things aren’t always as they seem.”

“why do you say that?”

“because,” he gestures to the both of you with his other hand. “you believe i took you out on a date under the premise that i won a drinking competition.”

“well, did you not take me out because of just that?” you furrow your eyebrows, feeling even more confused.

“exactly.”

new questions only formulate at the back of your head. you’re about to open your mouth to push the matter and demand further answers, however you can already see from over his shoulder that the guards have finally disappeared.

“are they gone?”

“yeah. let’s get out of here.” you tap his arm, stepping out from the confined space of shadows. raising an arm to wipe the sweat off your brow, you exhale a sigh of relief knowing that you didn’t have to worry about those guards clamoring your way.

you hear your date shuffle and follow suit from behind, and you turn around to see his hands stuffed within his pockets. you’re ashamed to admit that you were enchanted with how attractive rolled up sleeves made him look.

“we should probably leave before they come back to find us again.” heizou sighs in disappointment. “just when it was getting even more interesting…”

“what about our hats?” you ask, slightly embarrassed by the bonnet still lingering upon your head like a crown.

“well we’re not exactly in a position to make another appearance back at the kids area,” he smiles sheepishly, slowly walking towards the exit of the museum. “we should keep it, i don’t think anyone will notice. think of it as a nice souvenir from our memorable date. besides, you look rather cute in it.”

you feel the corners of your lips raising in a knowing grin as you trail his footsteps. “oh? i thought you said you were supposed to be a good guy.”

“i am.” heizou simpers, stopping in his tracks as he turns back to offer his warm hand towards you for one last time.

“but i told you, didn’t i? as long as it’s me, i don’t mind letting you get away with anything. although i suppose we’ll have to save you whisking away my heart for another time ~ ”

I WISH YOU WERE SOBER — [ previous. masterlist. next ]

synopsis — in which you were never really one for spontaneity or precipitous decisions, until you got yourself drunk at your senior year university party and woke up the next morning with the most dreadful of hangovers…along with a painfully distorted memory of a stolen kiss on that hazy evening.

note — belated christmas everyone! <3 here’s a date with heizou as a gift hehehe

taglist — @tihgnari @ceylestia @eissaaaa @venyan @sohyuki @senjurro @bobaducky @dinoshimaaa @sharoshing @ioverjn @hey-comrade-hold-stil @skaramush @lesboluvs @clovcly @ventuswhat @zephestia @theother-victoria @neptun-es @ihaveahunterlisence @minyoungieee @astolary @wrenhyperfixates @heartonthemoon @goodthingimsam @capybara4lyfers @slvdsjjk @michelindu @kimiesstuff @itssoizzy @kazuzux @hiqhkey @layla240 @justrisahere @one-offmind @diaflower @liquor-kissez @tokanite @pooonyo @sweetstrawberrybabe @yeeden @nejibot @lcvez @rion-s @sakushoujo @koiir @lost-wicked-artist @q1ngx1n @yer1sdi4ry @bleedingwhiteroses222 @starglitterz @xdncrkay @uwak-uwak-uwak-uwak @apyrose @zanashair

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