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Hi, I need ANYTHING for Kid please and thank you 😃❣️

Disease of the Stubborn (Kid x Reader)

One Piece | Eustass Kid | 5.4k | Masterlist

The infirmary was barely lit, the only light coming from an oil lamp flickering at your elbow. It stretched the shadows of bottles and instruments across the steel walls until every shelf looked longer than it was. Antiseptic still stung the back of your nose from where you’d dropped the bottle earlier, sharp enough to cut through the oil and salt that usually clung to the Victoria Punk.

You sorted through supplies carefully. Bottles that had expired went into a heavy crate, clinking against each other. You wrote the names of emptied boxes carefully into a notebook before stacking them beneath the desk. It was tiring, repetitive work, but counting bottles and scratching down figures kept your thoughts moving in straight lines.

And you needed it occupied because otherwise… well, you had a lot to wonder about.

You’d found a petal earlier that day.

Not strange by itself although the bright red colour had caught your eye. Blood at the edge made you suspicious, even as you let it flutter off the edge of the balcony into the water below.

Thankfully, the source didn’t keep you waiting for long before it stormed its way in.

Kid never opened doors quietly. He always flung them open with enough force that you imagined he meant to rip them off entirely. You startled, hand bumping into a collection of small syringes. They scattered over the floor and you sighed.

“Evening,” you said as you knelt down to collect them. “Have you cut off a finger?”

Kid glared at you. A faint flush sat high across his face and his breathing came heavier than it should have, though he’d only crossed the doorway. Worse was the uncertainty beneath his glare. It looked so unnatural on him that you kept watching as you gathered the syringes from the floor.

“Need to talk to you.”

“About?”

He opened his mouth and almost immediately, a rough cough tore its way from his chest. His hand flew to his mouth. It was an awful, wet and choking sound. You winced in sympathy.

“You’re sick,” you said, walking over slowly. “Any other symptoms aside from the cough?”

“Fuck off,” he muttered.

“You came to me,” you reminded him. He hadn’t lowered his hand yet. “I’d like to know what you have before I treat it. And also, so if you drop dead in the middle of the deck, I can explain myself before Killer takes my head off.”

You’d meant it as a light-hearted tease. Kid was healthy enough that most illnesses he might contract didn’t bother you much. But the second he lowered his hand, the humour disappeared from your heart.

Lying amongst the specks of blood were two petals. One had folded against the wet centre of his palm, its edges trembling faintly with every rough breath.

Your heart and your stomach twisted at the same time. The medical knowledge blended together with a truly disgusting disappointment. One you had no right to feel.

And yet it almost broke your professionalism.

Almost.

“Ah,” you said.

“Don’t fucking ‘ah’ me!” he snapped.

You reached out slowly and picked up one of the petals. Its damp, bloodied state wrinkled your nose, but the petal itself was strangely delicate. You’d never thought the rumours of this disease were even true. And yet…

“Do you know anything about this ailment?” you asked.

“Ailment?” he snorted. “I just thought one of these idiots has been feeding me flowers.”

He scoffed but he knew that wasn’t the case. You could see it in the defensive set to his shoulders and the grimace of his lips.

“They’re growing in your lungs,” you said. “From what I know, the cause is fairly simple. Unreciprocated love.”

You hated saying it. Disliked it even more when Kid’s eyes narrowed at you in response and his expression told you that he’d already known that. You rolled the petal between your fingers and then put it on your desk carefully. You’d need it to do some further research in the morning.

“The good news is, you’re not going to die within the week,” you told him. “It’s in its early stages for now.”

“Yeah, I got that,” he muttered. “Started this morning.”

“So, what’s your plan to fix it?”

The syringes on your desk moved. Their needles turned toward Kid and you immediately reached for a box and placed it firmly over them before he could impale himself in irritation.

“You’re the doctor!” he snapped. “Why don’t you tell me how to fix it? How do I make this shit stop?!”

“The cause points fairly clearly toward the cure. If you fix the unreciprocated love, you fix the flowers. But I can’t do that for you.”

The boxes on your shelving were beginning to rattle. The metal tools inside shivered against one another with an awful, screeching sound. You looked toward them with a small sigh.

“Seems like a pretty stupid time to tell somebody you’re interested in them,” he said through gritted teeth. “What if they don’t care? You’re not going to change that by coughing up fucking flowers into their laps!”

“I need you to repel instead of attract,” you said as the needles of the syringes hit the sides of the box with soft plinking sounds.

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

“Watch me,” you responded. “Repel. Or you’re going to end up buried under a pile of my supplies and I’m going to have to dig you out.”

“Are you saying I can’t control my fruit?”

“Prove to me you can.”

He scoffed and the tools stopped moving. You eased some of the pressure on the box but kept your hand firmly over it. Kid had very good control over his magnetism but it never hurt to ensure he didn’t impale himself.

He coughed again, much softer as though he kept it locked in his chest through irritation alone.

“Thank you,” you said. “Now, my first actual question is do you know if it’s actually unreciprocated or are you assuming? Like have you said something, not yelled it, before?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“I’m trying to keep you alive,” you reminded him, even as it stung at the edges of your heart.

“Yeah, well don’t bother. I don’t need to sit here and worry myself over some stupid flower petals when we have actual problems.”

He turned on his heel and marched from the room. You watched the door slam shut and looked down at the petal on your desk. The bright red turned your stomach even as it began to dry. Kid wasn’t going to share the source of the disease. It was time to look for a cure.

But you had no idea where to start.

You told the rest of the crew he was ill and took to collecting the petals – despite his very, very loud complaints about both. Most of the petals were red and though a few varied in colour, the majority shared the same shade. You weren’t sure if it meant anything. But you were skipping over no details in your research.

Most of what you found was useless. There were artistically rendered plants curling through painted lungs, long passages about the purity and suffering of love, and far too many accounts that ended with a name and a date of death. Those were the only records that offered anything practical.

You bought every book that mentioned the disease. At each port, you cornered doctors in cramped offices and overcrowded clinics, asking for notes, case histories, anything they had kept. More than once, Kid’s coughing carried through an open window or down the street behind you, wet and unmistakable, and you kept talking as though you couldn’t hear it.

It wasn’t great. Desperation grew in you much like the flowers in his lungs. There had to be a solution but what it was…

When you worked out a progression chart, you cornered him in his workshop.

The room smelled of iron when you stepped in. There were too many petals here for your comfort, gathering on the desk and in the corners. They looked wrong among the wrought metal and iron dust, too soft and bright for anything in Kid’s workshop. He immediately gave you a look, mouth opening as though to tell you to get out. You beat him to speaking.

“The moment it progresses from petals to flowers, you need to tell me.”

“I’m not giving you a fucking inventory!”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “You came to me first. That means that I’m now responsible for monitoring how bad this gets. So, if it gets worse, you tell me.”

“I didn’t go there to get myself a fucking nanny,” he retorted. “Why don’t you go back and wait for an actual injury to arrive? Wire’ll probably slice his stomach open again.”

You put your hands firmly on the table in front of his metal arm. A thin layer of dust and iron shavings pressed into your palms. “And if he did, I think I’d have a better chance of keeping him alive than you right now.”

“I’m fine.”

“I firmly disagree.”

The door opened before he could retort. Both your heads snapped toward Killer, who paused on the threshold without looking particularly interested in whatever he had interrupted. Fine. If Kid wasn’t going to be forthcoming, you knew who actually respected your knowledge.

“Killer, if you see him cough up even one flower, tell me immediately.”

“Okay.”

“Hey!” Kid snapped. “Don’t set spies on me on my ship! If there’s a problem, I can tell you myself!”

“Will you?”

Whatever answer he wanted to give you was lost in a sudden flurry of coughs. You watched another red petal drift to the ground. It was a raw and uncomfortable sound; like air pushing through leaves. You winced in sympathy.

“Is it contagious?” Killer asked.

“Not from what I know,” you said. “It’s rare. Very much so but there’s always a chance of it developing if somebody chooses not to share. But it is fatal. If it gets worse, I think I’ll have to contact Trafalgar.”

Kid’s glare pierced through you. “What the fuck does he have to do with this shit?”

“I think he might be able to remove the infection,” you said. “He could take your lungs out with minimum damage and find out if there’s a physical source. It’s only speculation on my side but seeing as you’re insisting on the hard cure instead of the easy one…”

“There’s an easy cure?” Killer asked.

“Yes. Easier for most people at least. If he would just open his mouth and talk for a second, he’d be fine.”

“Would it still count if it was yelling? Because that’s more likely.”

“Don’t you start now!” Kid barked.

You gave him a look and made your way out the workshop, mind running far too fast. The Victoria felt colder than ever, even when you stood on the deck in the sun. Trafalgar wasn’t a bad option. If there was a physical plant, he would be the best choice to remove it.

If you could convince him to help.

It took less than two days for Killer to rap his knuckles against the metal door of your office. “He’s struggling to breathe.”

Kid had been very good at avoiding you. You’d hoped to observe him going about his usual day but that felt impossible anymore. Even finding him when you were looking turned out to be difficult until you cornered him near the helm.

You snuck up on him, feeling rather like a cat approaching a particularly skittish bird, and caught his arm, hands firm against his bicep.

“Hey!”

“No,” you said. “I’m examining you.”

He tugged on his arm. He could have taken it back. You knew he was strong enough to, even while he coughed up petals, but he followed you to the infirmary with little more than a barked complaint.

“Stay here,” you said after he was sitting on one of your beds.

He rolled his eyes. “You’re overreacting.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for. How’s your breathing been?”

“Still breathing.”

“Take a deep breath.”

“You’ve heard me breathe.”

You gave him a look and he dragged in an exaggerated breath, only for it to break apart into a violent cough. Petals splattered over his hand and the metal floor. At least six or seven, flecked with blood. You leaned down to pick them up, purposefully not looking at him until they were on your desk. You reached for your stethoscope.

“Has it been interrupting your sleep?”

“Listen to my damn lungs and leave the rest alone.” His voice rasped painfully before he cleared his throat.

He said it far too quickly for that to not have been an answer in its own right.

You stepped closer and put a hand on his right shoulder. He stiffened before he allowed you to push him straight, nudging his arm down so you could examine his chest easier.

“Do you know what I don’t understand?” you asked as you held the stethoscope to his side. “You’ve never had any problems telling people what you think of them before. What’s so different about this?”

That had long been the reason you never acted on your own feelings. You couldn’t imagine a world where Kid, of all people, didn’t immediately follow what he wanted. If he shared your interest, you felt confident that you would have known by now.

He didn’t answer you.

One lung was definitely stronger than the other. His right one made a terrible crackling sound every time he inhaled though the left wasn’t without flaw either.

You pressed your lips together. “Shirt off.”

For a second, he didn’t move. He was staring at you with an unreadable, almost accusatory expression. As though a forced medical exam for the disease was the same as making him jump into the ocean.

You tapped your foot impatiently. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Kid pulled the shirt off and dropped it to his side. You stepped around him and listened again, hoping to any god that would listen that you had just heard the fabric moving. His breaths rasped and the fear you’d been keeping at bay moved forward.

This wasn’t a mysterious disease that existed only as a name on a page. You could hear the obstruction in his lungs clearly.

You hung the stethoscope around your neck and stepped away. “If you die because of this, I’m going to be so fucking pissed. Have you coughed up any blood without the petals?”

“No,” he muttered. “Just these stupid things. Why are they red anyway? In all those books of yours, they’re pink or white.”

“No idea,” you admitted, not missing the confession that he’d been looking through your books when you weren’t around. “Maybe they’re taking the colour from your hair. They’ll turn you grey within the next month.”

“Funny.”

You hummed and picked up a tongue depressor. “Open.”

He clicked his tongue but followed your instructions. His throat was red and inflamed. You could see a petal stuck at the back and you gently pulled it out with a pair of tweezers. Kid’s nose wrinkled at the sensation.

You examined it under the light and sighed. “I wish you would help me here. I do like you alive and breathing.”

He immediately leaned away from you, arm crossing over his chest. “Really no other way to make this shit stop?”

“Not from what I’ve learned,” you said. “Maybe you can buy yourself some more time if you avoid the source but that’s mostly a rumour. No evidence to prove it helps. And I imagine it isn’t anybody on board the Victoria anyway so…”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

The words hurt to admit but you said them anyway. “I just can’t imagine you not telling somebody when you see them every day. That’s all.”

“Can’t say anything at all when there’s flowers everywhere.”

“That’s actually a pretty good reason to do it,” you pointed out.

“Why? To blackmail the ‘right’ response?”

Another coughing fit began and you quickly pulled the stethoscope free to listen at his side. His right lung was really struggling to draw breath. The laboured pulls made your heart twist horrifically.

The disease was progressing quicker than it should have. If there was another way to get this removed, it would have to be your solution.

“You’re being stubborn,” you muttered as he finished. “You know that right?”

“Shut up.”

“At best, you have a few weeks before you’re bringing up full flowers. And at that point, we’re almost out of options.” You stepped away to get a glass of water from the sink. “I think it’s time to decide what you’re going to do.”

Kid rubbed his chest and roughly thumped against it with a fist. A couple more petals escaped as he did so.

“I’ll figure something out.”

“Do I need to schedule a reroute?”

“No. Something else. Stop worrying about this, would you? I don’t want you fussing over flowers if somebody’s actually dying.”

“I hate to tell you this but you’re the one that’s actually dying.”

“Whatever. You done?”

You held out the glass of water to him. “With the examination, yes but –”

“Good.”

Kid stood, grabbed his shirt from the table and marched out the medical bay. You watched him go, water still held out in front of you until you stopped hearing his boots down the hall.

The petals worsened while you waited for him to ‘figure it out’ and you stopped gathering them, unable to store nearly enough. They weren’t helping your research anyway. You dumped most over the side of the ship and let them float away, swallowed by the surf.

Eventually, waiting was going to take too long.

Kid could hate you when he could breathe again. For now, you spoke to the others about possible rerouting to search for the Heart Pirates. It would be far from easy to track them down and your time was already short. If they even help… well, you’d have to figure that part out first then.

You were busy making notes of the progression of his symptoms, scratching down proof of his deterioration with a steady hand, when the door flew open once more.

The ink skipped over the page, bleeding through it steadily. You looked up.

Kid closed the door behind him this time before he approached, each breath lifting his chest in a shallow pull beneath his coat. His face was pale beneath his usual anger and fresh blood lingered at the corner of his mouth.

He crossed the room and threw something onto your desk. It landed across your notes with a wet, heavy sound. A complete flower lay across the paper, its crimson petals spread wide and slick with blood almost the same shade.

Kid didn’t meet your eyes. He glared firmly at the air beside you as you nudged the flower with the back of your pen.

“Alight,” you said. “We can’t mess around with this anymore. Either we speak to Trafalgar to see if he can remove it or you need to talk to whoever this is for.”

Kid’s jaw tightened. His arm twitched over his chest. You waited, unwilling to yield even as panic curled through your own heart like a traitorous poison. Part of you dreaded learning who the flower was for, but that selfishness had no place here. Not when the answer might be the only thing capable of stopping it.

“This is fucking stupid,” he muttered.

“Unfortunately, sickness is rarely fair,” you said. “I would be grateful that it’s something with a solution rather than something incurable. It could always be worse.”

He finally met your eyes. “And if I say it and they still don’t want me? Then what?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “I don’t know what’ll happen because this is a very rare disease to begin with. Any details I can find are anecdotal at best. But isn’t it at least worth a try if it can fix all this?”

He shrugged.

“You’re going to die choking on flowers if you don’t. Do you really want me to have to put ‘died from being stubborn’ on your grave?”

“Fuck off. If you put that shit on my grave, I’m coming back to toss you in the ocean.”

“Honestly, I’d rather not have to think about what I want to write on a headstone at all,” you said. “So, can I contact Trafalgar? I’ll talk to him and see if he’s going to be able to remove at least some of the blockage. It might not be a full cure but it can fix some of it until you grow a pair.”

Kid’s eye twitched faintly and his lip curled up. “Are you calling me a coward?”

Good. He was getting annoyed. Maybe if you pressed on his pride enough, he’d just snap and do it so you could eliminate it as an option. Either it worked or… or you had to keep searching but at least it was a chance.

You’d take any chance at this point.

“Yes,” you said simply.

Red was creeping up his neck as he turned to you fully. “You don’t know anything about this shit.”

“No,” you said. “I don’t and as much as I could guess, that won’t get me any further. I know you probably haven’t found some random woman on the coast and decided she’s worth dying for so at least it narrows it down to people I know. I suppose I should just ask Killer, right? You two have always had the same taste.”

“Don’t get him involved in this crap.”

“What other option do I have?” you asked. “I have no solution. You certainly haven’t brought me some miracle cure over the past few days and you can’t punch it out of your own lungs. I know of exactly one magical surgeon who has the potential to help and that’s it.”

Kid scoffed. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. You haven’t shut up about him for days.”

“What?”

“Constantly fucking yapping about Trafalgar,” he said. “Keep saying his name like that and I’ll dump you on his deck myself.”

You picked up the flower from your desk and created a small circle with your thumb and index finger. “Do you see this?” you asked. “This is the size of your trachea, okay?” You placed the flower against it and tried to tug it through. It barely fit. “Do you see why I’m so worried about the next one?”

“Obviously I know what the problem is!” he snapped. “I’m the one who brought the thing up!”

“Then why are you so annoyed that I’m asking somebody else to help keep you alive?” you asked.

“Never said I cared about it. Just mentioned that it’s all you’ve been going on about.”

“Because I don’t have anything else! Every book I read and every person I speak to says that this is fatal! And I think I have a better chance of nagging you into a surgery than I do at forcing you to speak about your feelings!”

He glowered but there was something closer to uncertainty behind his expression. “There has to be another cure.”

You tossed the flower down and stood finally, bracing your hands against the desk. “That’s why I’m thinking about the one fruit that I know might be able to help.”

“It doesn’t make sense anyway,” he said. “I’m not the only person on this ship who’s kept his mouth shut about something this stupid. How come nobody else has had to deal with a fucking plant in their chest?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Honestly, I don’t know why it chose you when it could have just as easily taken to my lungs. But what I do know is that if it had, I would be damned before I sat around here making the rest of you watch me slowly suffocate!”

“Guess it would have been easier if that happened, right? We’d just change directions and fix it within the week.”

“What are you on about?”

Kid gestured and your desk lamp began to topple. You caught it and shoved it under your table before it spilled paraffin over everything.

“If you caught this fucking disease,” he said. “And you were covering my ship in rose petals or whatever the hell they are –”

“This is a tulip,” you told him.

“I don’t care! I’m just saying it would be simpler because then we could load you up and send you to profess your love at the bottom of the sea without having to worry about fucking up anything here!”

He’d confused you enough that you had to take a second to respond. A small cough took over him while you processed the implications. Two petals dropped to the floor.

“Are you implying that I’m in love with some random surgeon I’ve met a grand total of once?” you asked. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“Only met him once but you never stop talking about him.”

“Because he’s the only doctor I know who could open your lungs without killing you! If that little rat thing on Straw Hat’s crew could do it, I’d have sailed us there instead!”

Kid blinked at you, the glare remaining as though he had forgotten to let it drop. The desk gave a low scrape beneath your palms. You glanced down as its metal feet dragged a fraction across the floor. Unusual. Even when annoyed, Kid rarely disturbed the furniture.

“Then who?” he asked.

“What?”

“You said you could have caught this,” he said. “Imagine you did. Where the hell would we be sailing to?”

You stepped around the desk and walked closer so you stood in front of him, head tilted up. “What? Do you want some kind of exchange? Where I give you my secret and you tell me yours? If that was all you wanted, you should have asked me days ago. I’ll tell you anything if you give me a solution.”

He breathed out through his nose slowly. You waited. His gaze flicked to the flower where it lay on the table and then back to you.

“Fine,” he said. “Where would we go?”

The confession lodged briefly in your throat. Then Kid dragged in another shallow breath, and embarrassment stopped mattering.

“We wouldn’t need to change course at all,” you said. “I wouldn’t even step out of this room.”

Recognition flickered over Kid’s face too quickly. It was replaced by an irritation that didn’t fit well enough; a default expression he couldn’t hide behind right now.

“Say it clearer.”

You gave him a look. “You’re not stupid, captain. And there’s no invisible man standing in the corner.”

“Doesn’t matter. Say it better than that.”

“It’s you,” you said. “If I got sick, I would have come to tell you.”

He grabbed your arm without warning and pulled you into him, lips against yours before you had a second to realise what was happening. He tasted like blood. Awful and sharp against your palate and yet you kissed him back without hesitation.

There was no thought behind it. No sensible pause to question why. Your arms were caught against his chest as he dragged you closer until there was no space between you. He kissed with the same aggression he brought to everything else; his teeth caught your lip, and his grip tightened when you tried to pull back for air.

Metal shifted throughout the room.

Something struck the floor behind you. Your chair scraped against the ground as the instruments in your drawers rattled against one another.

Years of wanting him rose through you all at once. Every feeling you had forced quieter broke loose beneath the pressure of his mouth. You could feel his heart hammering against your arms, could taste the blood on his mouth and your thoughts stumbled back into place.

You pulled back sharply.

Your breathing came unevenly and his was even worse, each inhale rough and rasping.

“Your turn,” you said.

Kid had frozen, his shoulders tense and his jaw tight. “You need more of an answer?”

You snatched the flower from your desk and threw it against his chest. “You nearly died for me! You absolute bastard, yes! I need more than a fucking kiss! Do you have any idea how much I’ve been worried! Any idea of how… I want to hear your fucking reason for why you didn’t just tell me at the beginning!”

The metal in the room quietened. Something clattered loudly to the ground nearby but neither of you looked to it.

Then he shrugged. “Didn’t want some pity lie just because I was choking.”

“Fine,” you said. “But why not before you brought up triple your lung capacity in flower petals?!”

“Just didn’t think you were interested.”

“In what?” you said. “In you? How would you ever think that?! I’ve been in love with you for so long that it’s a running joke amongst all the other women!”

He flinched at that. Good. He deserved to.

“I was going to tell you,” he said. “When I saw the fucking petals, I figured I’d just come here and say something to get it to stop. But then you saw the damned things and I couldn’t just say it anymore.”

“Yes, you could have.”

“You would have pretended even if you didn’t care.”

“Why would you think that?”

“You’d say whatever kept me breathing. Don’t act like you wouldn’t.”

“Yes,” you agreed. “Because I’m in love with you. And, by the way, you still haven’t told me.”

“Fine!” he snapped. “You need me to tell you it directly? You. It’s been you since that first time you came at me with a needle and told me my arm would rot off.”

You stilled, momentarily paused because that… that was ages ago. That was long before you’d even agreed to follow him around the world. That was back when you still found him intimidating and you’d yet to learn that for all the bluff, staring him down was the best way to quieten his moods.

“What?” he barked when you were quiet for too long. “Don’t stare at me like that.”

You shook your head. “Kid… You know… I just… fuck you.”

You gave up looking for words and just reached for him instead. He met you halfway, mouth harsh against yours as you dragged him to you. Relief pushed through the last of your anger as you focused on just him.

Then he coughed.

You tore yourself away immediately.

He bent forward, bracing himself against the edge of your desk as the coughs dragged through him. They sounded just as vicious as before, deep enough to turn your stomach and for a horrible moment, you feared the cure was as much a myth as you’d thought the disease had been.

You caught his shoulder just as something fell from his mouth and splattered over the floor.

Not another full flower. Nothing fresh or bright.

The petals were wilted, curling in on themselves. You knelt down to consider them and Kid wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he coughed once more and inhaled.

You looked up at him. “Go sit on one of the beds.”

“I’m fine.”

“You said that when you sounded like you had gravel in your lungs. Go.”

He glared but sat on one of the beds anyway, grumbling beneath his breath while you grabbed a stethoscope. You tugged up his shirt before he could protest and pressed it against his ribs.

The crackling hadn’t disappeared completely. His lungs still sounded irritated and you suspected they would be for some time after everything he’d put them through but the obstruction was easing. Air moved where it hadn’t before.

The relief almost hurt as you breathed out.

“Feels better,” he muttered.

“Good. Then it’ll feel even better tomorrow. You’re staying here to rest until I can be certain it’s continuing to improve.”

Kid’s eyes narrowed. “What? No.”

“You have potentially damaged lungs, and blood loss so I need to watch you. And it’s also punishment,” you said. “For making me stress so much.”

He gave you a flat look but didn’t try to stand again.

You kissed him once more, to be certain he was still there. His lips still carried a trace of iron but his breathing had steadied. Each inhale came deeper than the last, no longer catching whatever had been growing inside him.

Tags: @miwn8 ; @aceincase ; @chaeisrichnow ; @aceidentallyinlove ; @ilovedreming ; @moon-shampoo

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