Last Seen Blogs
mysteryfleshpit
Mystery Flesh Pit National Park
varsinax
Varsnax Castle Azeroth
thisangstriddenschoollifetragedy
A New World Kid
Text
my therapist has ur number btw
𑣲 PREPARED. ft. BLADE
⠀ — he will not be overcome. blade prepared for this day
⠀ OR
⠀ — you’re only human and blade isn’t as ready for your death as he thought.
⚠︎ angst, some gore (?) character death, gn reader, this is kind of old
blade prepared for this day.
he reminded himself of all whom he’d seen fall in his years of existence with every breath he took.
blade prepared for this day.
the stellaron hunter had become well acquainted with his own immortality and the grief that without fail would follow him for all eternity.
blade prepared for this day.
he knew it was best to keep his distance from others, especially from humans. friendships or relationships of any kind were feeble and short-lived for a man like him. if you could even call him a man.
blade prepared for this day.
…so why was he speechless?
why had his breath betrayed him?
why did his legs grow weak, how was he brought to his knees with such ease, skin scraping harshly against the concrete beneath him?
blade prepared for this day… hadn’t he?
well, perhaps he’s slipped up a few times. but he was allowed that much, no?
maybe he shouldn’t have indulged you in so many stories of his travels, or the kinds of people he’d met along the way. but it was only because you were always so eager to hear about them, and the dejected look on your face when he’d say no was irritating.
and sure, he probably could have done without the gentle touches and almost domestic intimacy, but that couldn’t have done too big of a number on him. the emotions blade felt ranged from numb to violent, and had not stretched farther than the between for the last hundred years at least. a kiss to your cheek or your arms wrapped around him from behind couldn’t have really changed that.
no. it couldn’t have.
because blade prepared for this day.
he repeats it in his head like a mantra as he cradles you to his chest, your blood staining his bandaged and scarred hands as it drips to the stone floor. there's a sea of bodies surrounding you, a sign of blade’s inevitable victory alongside your inevitable demise.
all blade could do was watch as the spear pierced through your flesh and bones like they were butter, time almost slowing down as he bolted to your side as fast as he could once he noticed the pointed steel hurling towards you.
he was too late, only arriving in time to catch you as your knees buckled before you could tumble to the ground.
it was clean shot through your heart and left lung, tip of the spear poking out of your chest and staring him menacingly in the eye.
blade prepared for this day.
he knew you would not survive.
humans were fragile. a piercing shot through some vital organs was more than enough to take your life.
he pulled it out as quickly as he realised the tragic truth, hoping to make you more comfortable. he whispers small, rushed apologies into your ear as you cry out from the steel ripping through you again, this time the opposite way.
ren fought to keep his hands steady as he held you tightly against him. he would not panic in your final hours, he would not be an addition to the turmoil of your unfair death.
blade prepared for this day.
he sucks down the urge to scream out and curse the aeons for doing this to him again. he swallows the desire to pierce himself with the very weapon that would take you from him as punishment to himself for thinking this time will be different.
a calloused hand is held to your cheek as your body clings to its life, small choked gasps leaving your lips as if your lungs could even hold the air.
ren rests his forehead against yours, swirls of tangerine and crimson and pale skin shining through your cloudy vision. your efforts to speak are in vain, he just shushes you quietly.
“just look at me.” his voice is quiet, eerily calm and surprisingly comforting.
his thumb rubs small circles on your cheek, he can feel the puddle of blood on his pants growing. you comply, gazing up into his hardened eyes as you swear you see grief shining behind them. perhaps it's just the blood loss.
“you’re okay.” ren’s voice is like silk, despite its natural rasp. he tries to will himself to crack the slightest of smiles for your comfort. he cannot.
blade prepared for this day.
your hand shakily raised up to try and hold his, and all you can do is weakly grab onto his wrist. yet you’re smiling. you turn your head slightly to the left and kiss his palm, and blade does not see fear nor anguish in your eyes. he sees a sea of peace, two lakes of adoration staring back at him.
“you’re okay.” he repeats, lips meeting your forehead softly. “i’ve got you.”
it proves harder and harder to keep his hands steady as your eyes grow heavier, fluttering shut. he pulls you closer to him, squeezing his own eyes shut as if just seeing your face was pushing him over the edge.
blade prepared for this day.
he can feel your breaths shortening, becoming more shallow. he sucks in a breath.
blade prepared for this day.
“i’ll find you.” he wouldn’t. the place your mind and soul would travel to was the only place in the galaxy he traversed across that he could not reach despite his endless and verying attempts. whether the empty pledge is a futile attempt at a comfort to you or him will remain unknown.
blade prepared for this day.
whether the words reached you or not also remains up in the air. ren watches as your chest stops attempting to rise. if you were anyone else, he would be jealous.
blade thought he prepared for this day.
but realistically, nothing could ever truly prepare him again and again for the feeling he knew all too well; loss.
⠀ 𑣲 MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?
#i seek finiancial compensation#this one shouldve stayed in the drafts#(thank u user k9wa for another banger)#(i hate you)#lovebug#blade#hsr#i dont even go here
399 notes
·
View notes
Note
stop fortnite posting
nno ....
0 notes
Text
just to finish off the trio, we have nobara "the tank" kugisaki + pocket mercy gf who Only Heals/Res'/Boosts nobara
itadori "#1 victory royale" yuuji + gf who gets downed from walking off a cliff
#fortnite#valorant#overwatch#the three necessary evils#at least i didnt say league of legends xP#push 2 talk#college au btw
51 notes
·
View notes
Text
alternatively there's megumi "i peaked silver 2 last year" fushiguro + gf who has to make multiple alt accounts so the game is still fun for everyone involved
itadori "#1 victory royale" yuuji + gf who gets downed from walking off a cliff
#megumi 'i play this game bc my gf like to play it ' fushiguro#+ gf who's main acc is practically collecting dust bc megumi's day is ruined when he gets one tapped too many times in a row#push 2 talk#ive just been thinking abt this#gamer bf + gf who Games
51 notes
·
View notes
Text
beach episode but im on my period bc i forgot when i agreed to the plans
3 notes
·
View notes
Note
Np one asked but I thought k9wa was ur other account 😭
live kawa reaction
#he loves me i swear#we r besties !!#(not clickbait)#push 2 talk#lovesick ; anon#i havw tried posting thos 3 times tumblr stop hatung me
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
itadori "#1 victory royale" yuuji + gf who gets downed from walking off a cliff
#college au btw#u steal all his loot#and his kills#but u always stay stacked on medlits and shields#so who's the real team player here#push 2 talk#jjk#i. yuuji#itadori yuuji x reader
51 notes
·
View notes
Text
when people ask why you and kirishima broke up, they never believe you.
they like to make a scoop out of it, prying and probing to find out who’s wrong, who fucked up, who the ‘crazy one’ was.
but there’s no answer to any of that.
you tell them the truth—that it just didn’t work out. things didn’t align; that’s just life.
“don’t be a stranger,” he tells you, the corners of his eyes puffed up red just like yours.
tears well up again.
you could feel it then, the last few minutes before the end of the call; the end of it all.
the decision was mutual, an amicable split that you both can see returning to the friendship you once had. kirishima is a great guy and you know he’ll still smile at you whenever he bumps into you. you know he’ll still be one of the first people to greet you on your birthday. you know he’ll still have a part of you that no one ever will.
nothing was wrong, everything was just okay.
you aren’t mad at him, can’t ever hate him. you still love each other, just not enough to stay.
and maybe, that’s what makes it hurt more.
#hey sel babe whst the FUCK#HELLO ??????#putting you in my pocket for safe keeping#lovebug#bnha#e. kirishima#i dont even go here
408 notes
·
View notes
Note
hi emmie i miss you hi emmie emmie hi hi emmie hello hiiii ^_^
waves hi !! hi kawa hi !!! hello !!!! haaiiii helloo !!!! hello kawa !! i miss you hellooo !!!!! get home soon pleeaaseeew hiii
1 note
·
View note
Text
⠀ — boothill thoughts that have been in my brain.
boothill who is so fond of cheek kisses and fingers on his jaw and nudging his face against yours— it’s the only way he’s able to feel how warm or cold you are, a thumb smoothing over your cheek is useless when he can’t feel your skin. he’d much rather press his to yours like a cat and leave a quick smooch or a playful bite to the soft skin there.
boothill who always puts his hands over yours when you cup his cheeks, leaving a kiss or two and a harmless nibble on your palms and holding them there for as long as he can. it reminds him of when his own cheeks were able to warm— but having you around to simulate it and gently squeeze at his face isn’t so bad.
boothill who is the kind of guy to pull your legs up over his lap, idly drum on your legs and give your thigh the occasional squeeze while he listens to you talk.
boothill who most definitely throws you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes to take you places— when you’re up too late and need to get to bed or procrastinating something he knows you have to start on. he gives you the chance to go yourself now and again, but 9/10 times you’re swept up out of your seat and hanging over his shoulders.
boothill who gets too into his own head every here and there and relies on the sound of your voice to pull his focus away from the whirring of his own internals.
boothill who really isn’t as tough and gruff as he’s chalked up to be— not with you, at least. he’s got a special little sweet spot for when it’s just the two of you.
#ohhh boothill the bitter#kawa with another banger#let me crawl inside ur brain and just live tjere please#i bet its so comfy#lovebug#hsr#boothill#love u tumblr user k9wa#i dont even go here
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
feel free to leave your reasons in the tags / comments :3!
#edit current pin but create new in a draft to copy and past the html code into the new one#so i can keep the new one in drafts in case i change but wanna one day go back to it#siu
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
i wanna bake so bad
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
with you.
五条悟・gojo satoru
wc. 822
cw. canon character death mention , the aftermath with the mourning process, angst with a sprinkle of comfort.
ෆ ₊ sometimes the strongest need a shoulder to lean on.
he couldn’t sleep.
it’s not like it wasn’t a new norm for him; tossing and turning in bed until he’d give up with a heavy sigh – the fear of waking you in his internal distress overtaking any immediate need to attempt at sleeping again. instead, he pushes away the covers that seem to hold him down like weights, careful to retuck them into your side while you remain asleep.
he’d settle on the couch, staying awake there until the morning comes. you’d find him in a few hours, sleepy smile on your face as you drape yourself over him in the kitchen.
“have you been up long?” you’d ask, take the cup of coffee he’s prepared so generously in time of your routine arrival.
“only a few hours.” would be his clockwork reply, a kiss to your forehead. you’d hum and sip your coffee before getting ready for the day and the cycle would repeat itself. for the past few weeks, it’s been like that every night.
except tonight, you catch his arm.
it makes him pause, fingers flexing when you turn over in bed and attempt to drag him back down with you.
“where are you going, satoru?”
his knee presses in the plush of the mattress with his effort to stay upright, not directly fighting against your hold but not immediately allowing himself to become pliant in your grasp.
“bathroom, be right back.” the lie passes his lips far smoother than he likes, not a second of hesitation as he attempts to withdraw himself from you again.
your grip loosens, only slightly, though your fingers do still remain laced around his wrist. gojo could break the contact easily, if he wanted. pull himself from you with a little more force than you’re currently using to hold him down, but the clasp you have sits like an anchor. it keeps him in place, no matter how insistent the need to leave burns under his skin.
“you’ll come back, though, right?”
you’re sitting up now, arm hanging loosely between the two of you as you rub your eyes with your opposite fist.
the question chokes him, unable to reply. he can’t lie to you. not again, not so outright – but how could he even try to explain what’s been keeping him up? he can’t even imagine the words escaping him, can’t begin to think how you’d react to it.
he flounders for a moment, mouth opening and closing before he sends a smile your way in the dark of the room, head tilting slightly, “whatddya mean? ‘f course i’ll come back.”
he wonders if he’d be able to pick up on the look you send him without his six eyes, disbelief held in your gaze, “i know you’ve been sleeping on the couch. you get up every night around this time and leave me all alone. figured if something was wrong you’d come talk to me when you were ready, but …”
your grasp on his arm falls completely, instead picking mindlessly at the comforter, “i am here for you, you know? for anything? till death do us part.”
again he hesitates. unsure of how to take the conversation, of where it could lead.
gojo sits on the edge of the bed. you stay in place to give him space.
“you remember suguru, right? my old friend?”
he doesn’t face you, but he knows you nod in understanding. he always knows.
his nails dig in the palm of his hand, trying to choose his next words carefully, “i … i had to kill him.”
he hears the way you stutter on an inhale, feels the way you tense from your spot behind him. he’s sure you have questions, far more than he could ever attempt at answering – even if he wasn’t so inarticulate at the moment. you remain silent, probably for his own sake, and he can’t help but feel the tiniest bit grateful. on his own time, he’d answer whatever he could. on his own time, he’d confess his sins to you. on his own time, he’d lay himself bare and reap whatever consequences you may sow.
but now, you ease yourself from your spot tangled beneath the blankets. he feels your arms envelop him, your forehead hitting between his shoulder blades with your attempt at comfort.
it’s not stifling like he imagined it would be. he doesn’t have the urge to push you away and create his own bubble, though he’s unsure if he’d be able to go through with that in the first place. you’re presence is grounding, all-consuming, and for a moment, brings him peace.
“thank you.” he says into the dark of the room. the words almost choke him, a rasp passing his lips with the need to stifle what sob wants to work its way out.
you squeeze him a little tighter in return, “it’s what i’m here for.” and he couldn’t ask you for more.
80 notes
·
View notes
Text
with you.
五条悟・gojo satoru
wc. 822
cw. canon character death mention , the aftermath with the mourning process, angst with a sprinkle of comfort.
ෆ ₊ sometimes the strongest need a shoulder to lean on.
he couldn’t sleep.
it’s not like it wasn’t a new norm for him; tossing and turning in bed until he’d give up with a heavy sigh – the fear of waking you in his internal distress overtaking any immediate need to attempt at sleeping again. instead, he pushes away the covers that seem to hold him down like weights, careful to retuck them into your side while you remain asleep.
he’d settle on the couch, staying awake there until the morning comes. you’d find him in a few hours, sleepy smile on your face as you drape yourself over him in the kitchen.
“have you been up long?” you’d ask, take the cup of coffee he’s prepared so generously in time of your routine arrival.
“only a few hours.” would be his clockwork reply, a kiss to your forehead. you’d hum and sip your coffee before getting ready for the day and the cycle would repeat itself. for the past few weeks, it’s been like that every night.
except tonight, you catch his arm.
it makes him pause, fingers flexing when you turn over in bed and attempt to drag him back down with you.
“where are you going, satoru?”
his knee presses in the plush of the mattress with his effort to stay upright, not directly fighting against your hold but not immediately allowing himself to become pliant in your grasp.
“bathroom, be right back.” the lie passes his lips far smoother than he likes, not a second of hesitation as he attempts to withdraw himself from you again.
your grip loosens, only slightly, though your fingers do still remain laced around his wrist. gojo could break the contact easily, if he wanted. pull himself from you with a little more force than you’re currently using to hold him down, but the clasp you have sits like an anchor. it keeps him in place, no matter how insistent the need to leave burns under his skin.
“you’ll come back, though, right?”
you’re sitting up now, arm hanging loosely between the two of you as you rub your eyes with your opposite fist.
the question chokes him, unable to reply. he can’t lie to you. not again, not so outright – but how could he even try to explain what’s been keeping him up? he can’t even imagine the words escaping him, can’t begin to think how you’d react to it.
he flounders for a moment, mouth opening and closing before he sends a smile your way in the dark of the room, head tilting slightly, “whatddya mean? ‘f course i’ll come back.”
he wonders if he’d be able to pick up on the look you send him without his six eyes, disbelief held in your gaze, “i know you’ve been sleeping on the couch. you get up every night around this time and leave me all alone. figured if something was wrong you’d come talk to me when you were ready, but …”
your grasp on his arm falls completely, instead picking mindlessly at the comforter, “i am here for you, you know? for anything? till death do us part.”
again he hesitates. unsure of how to take the conversation, of where it could lead.
gojo sits on the edge of the bed. you stay in place to give him space.
“you remember suguru, right? my old friend?”
he doesn’t face you, but he knows you nod in understanding. he always knows.
his nails dig in the palm of his hand, trying to choose his next words carefully, “i … i had to kill him.”
he hears the way you stutter on an inhale, feels the way you tense from your spot behind him. he’s sure you have questions, far more than he could ever attempt at answering – even if he wasn’t so inarticulate at the moment. you remain silent, probably for his own sake, and he can’t help but feel the tiniest bit grateful. on his own time, he’d answer whatever he could. on his own time, he’d confess his sins to you. on his own time, he’d lay himself bare and reap whatever consequences you may sow.
but now, you ease yourself from your spot tangled beneath the blankets. he feels your arms envelop him, your forehead hitting between his shoulder blades with your attempt at comfort.
it’s not stifling like he imagined it would be. he doesn’t have the urge to push you away and create his own bubble, though he’s unsure if he’d be able to go through with that in the first place. you’re presence is grounding, all-consuming, and for a moment, brings him peace.
“thank you.” he says into the dark of the room. the words almost choke him, a rasp passing his lips with the need to stifle what sob wants to work its way out.
you squeeze him a little tighter in return, “it’s what i’m here for.” and he couldn’t ask you for more.
80 notes
·
View notes
Text
with you.
五条悟・gojo satoru
wc. 822
cw. canon character death mention , the aftermath with the mourning process, angst with a sprinkle of comfort.
ෆ ₊ sometimes the strongest need a shoulder to lean on.
he couldn’t sleep.
it’s not like it wasn’t a new norm for him; tossing and turning in bed until he’d give up with a heavy sigh – the fear of waking you in his internal distress overtaking any immediate need to attempt at sleeping again. instead, he pushes away the covers that seem to hold him down like weights, careful to retuck them into your side while you remain asleep.
he’d settle on the couch, staying awake there until the morning comes. you’d find him in a few hours, sleepy smile on your face as you drape yourself over him in the kitchen.
“have you been up long?” you’d ask, take the cup of coffee he’s prepared so generously in time of your routine arrival.
“only a few hours.” would be his clockwork reply, a kiss to your forehead. you’d hum and sip your coffee before getting ready for the day and the cycle would repeat itself. for the past few weeks, it’s been like that every night.
except tonight, you catch his arm.
it makes him pause, fingers flexing when you turn over in bed and attempt to drag him back down with you.
“where are you going, satoru?”
his knee presses in the plush of the mattress with his effort to stay upright, not directly fighting against your hold but not immediately allowing himself to become pliant in your grasp.
“bathroom, be right back.” the lie passes his lips far smoother than he likes, not a second of hesitation as he attempts to withdraw himself from you again.
your grip loosens, only slightly, though your fingers do still remain laced around his wrist. gojo could break the contact easily, if he wanted. pull himself from you with a little more force than you’re currently using to hold him down, but the clasp you have sits like an anchor. it keeps him in place, no matter how insistent the need to leave burns under his skin.
“you’ll come back, though, right?”
you’re sitting up now, arm hanging loosely between the two of you as you rub your eyes with your opposite fist.
the question chokes him, unable to reply. he can’t lie to you. not again, not so outright – but how could he even try to explain what’s been keeping him up? he can’t even imagine the words escaping him, can’t begin to think how you’d react to it.
he flounders for a moment, mouth opening and closing before he sends a smile your way in the dark of the room, head tilting slightly, “whatddya mean? ‘f course i’ll come back.”
he wonders if he’d be able to pick up on the look you send him without his six eyes, disbelief held in your gaze, “i know you’ve been sleeping on the couch. you get up every night around this time and leave me all alone. figured if something was wrong you’d come talk to me when you were ready, but …”
your grasp on his arm falls completely, instead picking mindlessly at the comforter, “i am here for you, you know? for anything? till death do us part.”
again he hesitates. unsure of how to take the conversation, of where it could lead.
gojo sits on the edge of the bed. you stay in place to give him space.
“you remember suguru, right? my old friend?”
he doesn’t face you, but he knows you nod in understanding. he always knows.
his nails dig in the palm of his hand, trying to choose his next words carefully, “i … i had to kill him.”
he hears the way you stutter on an inhale, feels the way you tense from your spot behind him. he’s sure you have questions, far more than he could ever attempt at answering – even if he wasn’t so inarticulate at the moment. you remain silent, probably for his own sake, and he can’t help but feel the tiniest bit grateful. on his own time, he’d answer whatever he could. on his own time, he’d confess his sins to you. on his own time, he’d lay himself bare and reap whatever consequences you may sow.
but now, you ease yourself from your spot tangled beneath the blankets. he feels your arms envelop him, your forehead hitting between his shoulder blades with your attempt at comfort.
it’s not stifling like he imagined it would be. he doesn’t have the urge to push you away and create his own bubble, though he’s unsure if he’d be able to go through with that in the first place. you’re presence is grounding, all-consuming, and for a moment, brings him peace.
“thank you.” he says into the dark of the room. the words almost choke him, a rasp passing his lips with the need to stifle what sob wants to work its way out.
you squeeze him a little tighter in return, “it’s what i’m here for.” and he couldn’t ask you for more.
80 notes
·
View notes
Text
with you.
五条悟・gojo satoru
wc. 822
cw. canon character death mention , the aftermath with the mourning process, angst with a sprinkle of comfort.
ෆ ₊ sometimes the strongest need a shoulder to lean on.
he couldn’t sleep.
it’s not like it wasn’t a new norm for him; tossing and turning in bed until he’d give up with a heavy sigh – the fear of waking you in his internal distress overtaking any immediate need to attempt at sleeping again. instead, he pushes away the covers that seem to hold him down like weights, careful to retuck them into your side while you remain asleep.
he’d settle on the couch, staying awake there until the morning comes. you’d find him in a few hours, sleepy smile on your face as you drape yourself over him in the kitchen.
“have you been up long?” you’d ask, take the cup of coffee he’s prepared so generously in time of your routine arrival.
“only a few hours.” would be his clockwork reply, a kiss to your forehead. you’d hum and sip your coffee before getting ready for the day and the cycle would repeat itself. for the past few weeks, it’s been like that every night.
except tonight, you catch his arm.
it makes him pause, fingers flexing when you turn over in bed and attempt to drag him back down with you.
“where are you going, satoru?”
his knee presses in the plush of the mattress with his effort to stay upright, not directly fighting against your hold but not immediately allowing himself to become pliant in your grasp.
“bathroom, be right back.” the lie passes his lips far smoother than he likes, not a second of hesitation as he attempts to withdraw himself from you again.
your grip loosens, only slightly, though your fingers do still remain laced around his wrist. gojo could break the contact easily, if he wanted. pull himself from you with a little more force than you’re currently using to hold him down, but the clasp you have sits like an anchor. it keeps him in place, no matter how insistent the need to leave burns under his skin.
“you’ll come back, though, right?”
you’re sitting up now, arm hanging loosely between the two of you as you rub your eyes with your opposite fist.
the question chokes him, unable to reply. he can’t lie to you. not again, not so outright – but how could he even try to explain what’s been keeping him up? he can’t even imagine the words escaping him, can’t begin to think how you’d react to it.
he flounders for a moment, mouth opening and closing before he sends a smile your way in the dark of the room, head tilting slightly, “whatddya mean? ‘f course i’ll come back.”
he wonders if he’d be able to pick up on the look you send him without his six eyes, disbelief held in your gaze, “i know you’ve been sleeping on the couch. you get up every night around this time and leave me all alone. figured if something was wrong you’d come talk to me when you were ready, but …”
your grasp on his arm falls completely, instead picking mindlessly at the comforter, “i am here for you, you know? for anything? till death do us part.”
again he hesitates. unsure of how to take the conversation, of where it could lead.
gojo sits on the edge of the bed. you stay in place to give him space.
“you remember suguru, right? my old friend?”
he doesn’t face you, but he knows you nod in understanding. he always knows.
his nails dig in the palm of his hand, trying to choose his next words carefully, “i … i had to kill him.”
he hears the way you stutter on an inhale, feels the way you tense from your spot behind him. he’s sure you have questions, far more than he could ever attempt at answering – even if he wasn’t so inarticulate at the moment. you remain silent, probably for his own sake, and he can’t help but feel the tiniest bit grateful. on his own time, he’d answer whatever he could. on his own time, he’d confess his sins to you. on his own time, he’d lay himself bare and reap whatever consequences you may sow.
but now, you ease yourself from your spot tangled beneath the blankets. he feels your arms envelop him, your forehead hitting between his shoulder blades with your attempt at comfort.
it’s not stifling like he imagined it would be. he doesn’t have the urge to push you away and create his own bubble, though he’s unsure if he’d be able to go through with that in the first place. you’re presence is grounding, all-consuming, and for a moment, brings him peace.
“thank you.” he says into the dark of the room. the words almost choke him, a rasp passing his lips with the need to stifle what sob wants to work its way out.
you squeeze him a little tighter in return, “it’s what i’m here for.” and he couldn’t ask you for more.
80 notes
·
View notes
Text
casual by chappell roan + shoko ieiri
0 notes