-ˋˏ✄— Dear Fellow Harbinger

AH, ITS OKAY TAKE UR TIME!! don’t forget to rest!!

-anon who requested a part 2 of akito fic

ANONNN AGAIN IM SO SORRY FOR THE IDK HOW LONG THE DELAY OF REQUEST IS, AND EXAM IS NEARING TOO IM SO SORHEHDUSJ

Hi!

Can I request: Childe

Prompt: "It's not time for us to say Goodbye" Type: Hurt/Comfort.

Scenerio: Reader gets injured, maybe taking a hit meant for Childe? They're hurt pretty badly and he has to get them to a healer/doctor. As he's carrying them, the reader tries to tell him how they Love him so much, and getting ready to say goodbye but he won't let them. Happy Ending please? Thanks So Much!

Goodbye - Childe

Word count: 1.0k

Genre: Hurt/comfort

c/w: blood, mentions of his real name

No one will disagree that Childe is a bloodthirsty warrior who was meant to be dressed in blood. He belongs to the battlefield with a blood-streaked face. But your blood was one that he would not want even a pint of, yet it begins to taint his grey jacket from its tips.

Childe carefully moves your head from his forearm to the grass. He yanks his jacket off and drapes it over the wound on your torso to cover it from the rain.

With a weak voice, you quip, “Wow, you’re so hot, especially with that drenched hair of yours.”

The drizzle starts to become heavier. There’s a tinge of annoyance in his voice.

“Cut it out.”

He helps you up onto his back, afraid to move whenever you wince.

You force out a laugh, making jabs at him, “Seeing fear all over the eleventh harbinger’s face is a once in a lifetime sight to behold.”

“Archons, [name], enough!”

It’s a downpour at this point but the rain doesn’t hide the distress that his voice contains. You finally desert the forced smirk on your face.

You reach up to his face but his hand squeezes it before your fingertips touch his cheek. He lifts you onto his back. He doesn’t let go until you’re fully on his back.

He stands up and commits the mistake of looking back behind him. A patch of grass stained red where you lay churns his stomach and turns it upside down. He runs.

Mount Aocang is a distance from Liyue Harbour and while he’s usually cocky about his abilities, his confidence wavers. He doesn’t think he can make it there in time.

“Childe.”

With the blood that trickles down his bare back, he knows where this is going.

“Ajax.”

He bites the inside of his cheek.

“Don’t talk. It’ll worsen the injury.”

The water droplet pelts his eyes and he curses under his breath. You take a deep inhale. “Ajax, please don’t blame yourself. No one saw that coming.”

After a moment of silence, you say, “I love you and g-”

Your words reach him even before it falls off your lips. He snaps, voice a little loud, “Please. I don’t want to hear any of it.”

It startles you, but it doesn’t do much to drive away the temptation of closing your eyes. He apologises to you, choking on the last syllable of his ‘I’m sorry’.

The rhythmic movement of your breathing against his back becomes faint elicits anxiety from him.

“[name]?”

Taking his eyes off the path ahead, he turns to see your eyes flutter open. You give an almost inaudible hum. He almost slips on a puddle and he clenches his jaw.

He contemplates whether or not he should tell you all that he ever wanted to say to you. That he should have been warier of the hilichurls while he was clearing the camp. That he thought that he never deserved love, yet the blood on his hands never stopped you from giving him all that you could. That you are the brightest star he’s ever seen since he fell into the abyss.

But he bites back his words. Saying them would be equal to admitting defeat. If you couldn’t hear it in this life, then he’d carry the words to his next.

Instead, he repeats your name over and over with increasing loudness, even when you stop responding to him. He says it as an assurance. As a plea for help. As a prayer.

The torrential rain stops as his feet step on the wooden bridge into Liyue Harbour. You hear ragged breaths and desperate cries for help just before you black out.

You wake up to warm hands that envelope yours. Childe sleeps on the seat by the bedside. He wears a grey Liyue tangzhuang that fits him just right. Your eyes trail up his arm that was usually concealed, to his faintly red, tear-stained face.

Herbalist Gui walks into the room with some medicine and makes his way to your bedside. He keeps his voice hushed not to wake Childe as he gives you a rundown of your condition. You shoot glances at your boyfriend, expecting the light sleeper to awaken.

But Childe doesn’t and Herbalist Gui catches on your worry.

“He’s having a slight fever due to the rain and exhaustion. He sat outside the operating room and refused to budge when we told him to take a shower and get changed. When he comes to, please try to persuade him to take his meds and rest in the bed right beside yours.”

You nod and he leaves you to rest. As you are about to drift off to sleep, Childe stirs in the chair. You force your eyes to open and you squeeze his hand.

His grip on your hand loosens and one of them cups your cheek.

“Don’t you dare pull that shit ever again.”

You’re about to protest that he would protect you from danger any day, so he shouldn’t tell you not to. But he doesn’t let you continue.

“It’s not time for us to say goodbye,” he mumbles, “Not now. Not in the near future. Not in our next lifetimes.”

“Alright, there’ll never be goodbyes between us. Only ‘see you’s.”

Both of you don’t realise that he’s been holding his breath until he lets out a long exhale. You get him to eat his medication and persuade him to get some proper rest. But he ends up wrapping his arms around one of yours, whining about how he doesn't want to be separated.

You think about teasing him for the big baby he is, but you spare him due to your fatigue. Without trying to aggravate your wound, you shift your body to make space for him. You pat the small space you’ve made on the bed and he climbs onto it.

Both of you shift around a little more to make some space for each other on the tiny bed meant for one. You finally settle in his arms around your body. Not long later, his breathing steadies and you figure he’s finally gone into a deep sleep.

Resting your other arm on his side, you drift off to sleep. Bodies flushed against each other, the thought parting ways distances itself from your mind. Neither of you will admit it, but a ‘see you’ would hurt all the same too.

a/n: to the anon who sent this, I'm sorry I took a while and I hope you'll see this :">

Taglist (open): @tiredzephh @rxspbrrry @almondoufu @bluexiao @yeetmeoffjueyunkarst @chichikoi @bookuya @under-a-starry-night @mikachuchu @serenenation @shxnosuke

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don't you realize our bodies could fall apart any second?

141 x male!reader

⚠︎ REPOST FROM PREVIOUS BLOG ⚠︎

warnings: gore, cod typical violence, foul language, kinda angst-y, could be read as either romantic or platonic, actually scratch that very angsty, death, alot of contemplating death, honestly mostly price centered lolz, its also like basically the convoy chase scene so yeah

notes: ⚠︎ this was a request from my previous account!! so uh 🪷 if u see this then here :3 ⚠︎ tsym for requesting !! this was crazy fun to write and i was really excited to work on it!! i had to fudge around some details for it to make a little more sense logistically speaking -- also sorry for taking a long ass while to get it done, but i hope you like regardless :)

(and yeah 🪷 is fine lol)

The horizon of the young night, painted in soft, deep blues, and splattered with stars like the flick of a paint brush, almost completely takes you out of your head. You don't often get the chance to enjoy the beauty around you, and even as you do in this moment, there's shouting and gunfire ringing in the background. Even the heavy pitter patter of rain can't deafen. It was ironic in a way--  you could probably find a cliche metaphor in there somewhere.

The huff of the helicopters rapid blades muffle what you can hear, even with your headset securely cuffed around your ears. The relentless wind beats against your skin, grabbing and pulling at your hair ferociously.

Even after all this time, these missions never fail to get your nerves up.

You feel your heart pound against your chest as Captain Price, in the seat besides the pilot, continues to bark out orders and directions. Pursing your lips, you bring your guns scope back to your eye, grip so tight you might've thought you've left your fingerprints indented into the plastic. You're squatted down on the helicopters floor, leaned against the wall as you use it for cover. Your bullets fly from the open door, aimed for the hostile vehicles set on evading your team.

Sergeant Kyle Garrick, or rather Gaz, mirrors your position on the adjacent side of the door-- Soap and Ghost no doubt holding similar positions behind you.

It's almost looking like this whole thing might go your way.

"Gaz-- [L/N]!" Price calls out over coms. "Anti-Air teams locking onto us-- your side!"

Your aim almost instinctively finds them-- large red lasers all seeming to be pointing directly at you. You squeeze your finger against the trigger, a cold sweat washing over you as you realize your bullets are doing nothing to their body armor. You felt the rhythmic jolt of your gun in your arms-- realizing you were swiftly running out of time, you called by to price, finger never leaving the trigger. "Captain-- They're wearing armor, we can't---!"

"INCOMING!" The frantic shout from Gaz cuts you off, eyes widening as you attempt to shield yourself from the missile blazing towards you. 

Your breath hitches as the heli begins to shake and spin-- you move from the door, pressing your back against the wall, madly grabbing onto whatever you can.

The pilots voice sounds in your ear, her voice strong, yet clearly frenzied. "We're going down, Y'all-- I need to execute an emergency lan-" Another large boom cuts her off, sending the heli plummeting to the ground, violent jerks being an attempt from the pilot to keep you from being obliterated the moment you'd make impact with the ground.

You try to maneuver to a more secure position as the heli grows unstable, but feel as the ground slips from under you, your back crashing again the floor with a heavy thump, head bouncing roughly against it.

Smoke fills the air, and your lungs, as alarms blare from the helis systems. There's a frantic cacophony of shouts as you fumble for anything to hold onto, nails screeching against metal as you claw to keep yourself alive. You feel your body lose to gravity as you begin to slip out, your gun now long gone.

your body dangles outside the heli, as chaos ensues. Your breath is rapid as you're just almost able to lift yourself back into 'safety.' but the rain has made everything slick and unstable. Your grip, your clothes, the metal.

Another hit to the tail end sends the helicopter to the point of no return. Plummeting downwards at seemingly impossible speeds-- in just a few seconds the chopper dove nose first into the ground, the screeching of metal aching on before coming to a silent hault.

The wreckage is still-- silent for a moment.

A sore groan stumbles from Prices throat as he forces his eyes open, a dull pain spreading through his body. On instinct, his hand goes to reach for the pilot, still sitting besides him. He stops as his eyes reach her-- her eyes wide open, empty, a strange glassy eyed stare bore into him. Broken glass litters her deep completion, the hair that had escaped her once neat bun lay stuck to her forehead as sweat and blood coats her flesh.

His chest tightness as he looks past her, into the cabin. After a moment of deadly silence, as if he were scared to ask, he finds his voice. "Are you-" a cough cuts him off, he almost instinctively turns away as he continues to hack through his sentence. "Are you alright!?"

He's partially relieved when a slew of groans answers him. Turning back, ignoring the stare of the pilot, he tries for an exit from the windshield, having been shattered upon impact. As he climbs from the cockpit, he hopes his voice is still loud enough for his team to hear. "Gaz?"

His head snaps as a figure emerges from the wreckage, pushing heavy scraps of metal from its way, and stumbling out from what remained of cabins open door. "'m alright..." He groans out in a hushed whisper, blood coating his forehead. It seems Gaz is still trying to process what's happened.

"Soap?"

As if on cue, Soap follows in Gaz's steps, footing unstable as he attempts to climb out. A string of barely legible curses are spat from his mouth before finally answering with an "I'm fine." The mostly agitated sort of growl sounded like it'd hurt his throat.

Soap extends a hand into the wreckage, a skeleton clad glove reaching for it, gripping it with a grunt as Soap pulls him up.

"Ghost, you alright mate?"

"Not dead yet." Is all he responds, stumbling from the rubble. 

"[L/N]?"

Again, everything's still.

Rain pounds against his head, soaking his hair. He must've lost his hat somewhere in the wreckage.

"[L/N]!" He calls again, straining to listen for your reply. He hisses out a curse as he moves to the demolished, Ghosts voice stopping him mere seconds later.

"Price." He says it like a whisper, not even turning to look at his Captain. Its like he's frozen in panic.

Price turns, his gaze following ghosts a few feet from the crash. barely visible through the rain is a still body.

Your body.

Price doesn't register the fact that he's moving, his feet almost slipping against the mud, till he practically falls to his knees, the momentum of his movement pushing him into your body when he comes in close. His hands hover over your form, fearful his touch might shatter you.

You're on your side, limp as Price continues to mindlessly call your name, as if pleading with you to just hop up, pretending like the crash was just a scrape to your knee. "No, no, nonono- [Y/N]-!"

He rolls you onto your back eyes shooting to a large shard-like piece of metal stabbed into your side. Smaller pieces of shrapnel have torn into your clothes and buried themselves under your skin. His hope begins to falter just before you force out a breath, face twitching on discomfort as you shakily come to. You force your eyes open, meeting the fear-stricken frown of your captain.

Price lets out a breath of relief, putting on a smile to mask his panic. It doesn't work well.

You know something's wrong.

Scoffing at his almost fatherly attempt at comfort, you crack a smile, speaking through a sickly, dry throat. "Now be for real with me, old man; just how bad is it?" He's looking at you like you're a dog about to be put down.

He doesn't answer you.

Heavy boots bound towards you, snapping Price from his poorly concealed panic. His head snapps towards the rest of the team-- but he doesn't have to say a word. They're already doing what they have to.

You hear a certain sort of zip of fabric before you feel Ghosts unmistakeable warm hands pressed against you. You're covered in rain, dirt, and your own blood.

Price is still knelt by your head, trying to keep your attention on him-- trying to keep you talking, to keep you conscious. So it's that bad, huh?

"Kid, can you feel anything?"

You ponder the question, a strange happenstance that you don't know quite how to answer that question. "I feel..." You notice the gush of warmth flow out of your body, and a pulsing dullness. Nothing else. As you breath in to answer, you feel more blood gush from you. "Warm. It's kinda gross, actually." You went to laugh, but your chuckle is caught in your throat. You feel a strange sort of painful stabbing sensation in your legs-- like pins and needles amped up to a hundred. You don't say anything, just silently wince.

Price wordless stands, shouting into his walkie-talkie, as you look to Ghost. You don't dare look at the damage you've been dealt, just barely catching a glimpse of his scarf pressed against your skin, your red staining the once tan fabric.

You snap your eyes up, attempting to focus on the breath you're swiftly loosing. Your breathing grows shallow, despite your efforts to swallow back more air-- it's as if your lungs are simply refusing to work. Your chest aches as you fight for deeper breaths, as if your a fish fighting to survive above the water-- breathing a painful chore.

You try to move, to put a hand around your throat to sooth yourself, but your limbs all feel numb-- heavy, yet jelly-like all the same. It's as if some invisible force is holding you down.

your hearing begins to distort-- almost sounding like your head was plunged underwater, all voices and sounds fading beyond much of your understanding. You recognize Prices voice, shouting into his coms. His words echo three or four times, yet to you it's devoid of any substance or meaning.

Your vision blurs-- maybe it's the rain getting in your eyes, or maybe you're really just dying. You scowl at the cliche you're living through. At the very least, you now know all those books and movies held some truth to them.

he pain worsens as you try to speak to Ghost. "I swear to God, L.T, if I start rambling about seeing a bright light, just shoot me." Ghost doesn't find your attempt at humor very funny.

You're vision begins to go black, fading from the sides until only a fuzzy circle of your vision was left. For a moment you're struggling to figure out whether or not your eyes are closed.

Price continues to shout about medical evac, Gaz is at Ghosts sides, applying pressure to the multiple puncture wounds littering your abdomen as they try to work out a plan to move you to evac without potentially further harming you. Soap is at your side, his gloved hand protectively grabbing onto yours. You think he's talking to you, and you think you're answering, maybe offering him a joke or two to comfort his panic, but you can't be sure. This goes on for awhile, like you were stuck living the same minuet over and over again.

A ringing slowly floods your ears, and all at once your pain is eased. In the midst of such chaos around you, you find a quiet. A stillness. A sort of comforting peace washing over you.

The warmth of your blood is strangely curing. It reminds you of various memories from deep within your childhood-- lost instances of a tender embrace, being lulled to sleep in the arms of a loved one, dark and silent.

Death was an inevitable thought in your line of work. Honestly, the thought was probably the most consistent thing you had in your life. It was always pretty scary-- you didn't know when you'd die, how, what would come after-- frankly it scared you. But now, in the ease, there was a mysterious certainty in the cradle of death, you found yourself accepting the idea as if it were a gift you'd been waiting for.

"[Y/N]?" You've stopped answering Soap. Your instinct is to fight heft in your eyelids, but you're just so tired. As you begin to surrender to the peace, Soaps thick accent cuts through it. "No-- stay with me, [Y/N]!" He shifts his position, laying your head on his lap as his hands rest on your face, shaking your head to keep you awake.

His shout of protest gets Prices attention. Price approaches yet again and takes Soaps former place. He places a hand on your chest and shoulder, shaking you lightly. As he begins to speak, you roll your head towards him, barely making him out through the fuzz. "C'mon, stay with me, son." He sees that sort glassy glint in your eyes. "Don't close your eyes-- close your eyes and you're a goner. Jesus fuck--! Don't you fucking die on me-- that's an order!" His voice shakes despite himself.

You aren't afraid of death. You always thought you'd die slow and painful, but this was....Nice. There's no pain, no fear, nothing but numb. You struggle for a reason to not simply give into yourself-- maybe this was just your time. You're tired-- you're young, but so fucking tired. Why not let go? What are you holding on for?

Your head rolls to the other side. Ghost and Gaz's hands are coated in your blood, their clothes possibly forever stained with the memory of your life fleeting from under their palms. You can feel the warmth of Soaps lap from under your head, one hand lightly slapping your face, and the other combing back your hair with tender care. Weather its to sooth you, himself as a nervous tick, or to just keep your mud soaked hair from your face, it's still appreciated. Price has screamed his throat raw. You never thought you'd see the man falter, but you could feel his once strong hands seem to crumble again you as they gripped almost pathetically at your vest and shirt.

Suddenly you had your answer.

You draw a shallow breath.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Cap."

*knock knock*

from

" Good afternoon, sir. I will bring your daughter at 8!"

to

" I never said AM or PM "

Warnings: Profanity, angst.

“Again, does anybody have a lighter?” Price asked a little louder this time.

Soap gently elbowed Ghost on the side. Ghost only turned to look at him, tilting his head a little to show his annoyance.

They were almost in the middle of nowhere. At least they had electricity and water. What they did not have was a lighter, thus Price’s moaning. He was going to light up a cigar.

Ghost knew why Soap was elbowing him. Soap was referring to that lighter in Ghost’s pocket. The one he held personally for himself and himself only.

So, Ghost ignored the sergeant. Price had arrived in front of them by then.

“Simon, you smoke,” Price brought up.

“I don’t have a lighter,” Ghost said.

“You pray with it every night,” Soap muttered.

Price and Ghost looked at him. Ghost was practically glaring at Soap. Soap looked like he wished he had not said a word.

“Am I missing something?” Price asked.

Ghost said nothing and now Price was also looking at Soap rather intimidatingly.

“I… Ghost has a lighter,” Soap said.

“I don’t,” Ghost insisted.

Price now turned his expecting glare at Ghost. That got Soap a little confident to proceed.

“As I said, he basically prayed with it every night before he sleeps,” Soap continued.

“Just this once, Simon, I will lose my shit if I can’t get this cigar lit up,” Price said.

Ghost did not react at first, but seeing that the two of them were not going to let this go, he shot a final murderous glare at Soap before putting his hand into his pocket. He held the lighter in his palm and pulled it out of his pocket. 

Looking at the captain, Ghost almost did not want to hand out the lighter. However, he ended up opening his palm and revealed the lighter that sat on his palm.

It was as if the whole area turned frozen. Gaz had just walked in and saw the reveal. Even he stopped at his track.

The lighter was yours. It used to be yours. It did belong to you. It did not belong to you anymore. It belonged to Ghost now. You gave it to him before your last mission. The mission that got you killed.

Every thing was fine before that—no, every thing was perfect.

Ghost and you were basically a nightmare couple. A nightmare as in badass motherfuckers who got shit done effectively. Sure, there were flaws such as the constant passive-agressive flirting, recklessness, and tense eye contacts, but, damn… the two of you were great at your job together.

That last mission was indeed going to be your last mission because you decided to not renew your military contract and you both were about to get married. Without telling anyone. However, the others just knew. They always knew that the two of you would end up together one way or another.

Then, shit happened. The worst happened. The irony.

You ended up buried under the ground and became a memory. Ghost ended up here, with these three, more bitter than he ever was.

You always had his heart and it was buried with you. Whatever sentimental left in him, it was out of respect of the memory of you. Of the memory you both were about to make and never did.

Price, Gaz, and Soap never brought you up. Not since the funeral. Price tried and Ghost ended up walking out of the room without saying anything, slamming the door on his way out.

This would be the first time anything about you ever came up ever since that incident. Soap had no idea it was the lighter. Ever. So, his heart did not only stop when he saw it, it would blow up if it could. Gaz used to borrow the lighter to do tricks, so he would recognise it from afar. Price had his cigars lit up by the lighter a few times before.

The four of them were frozen there for quite some time.

“So, we don’t have a lighter,” Price concluded before anyone of them started bursting into either anger or tears.

“Yeah, we don’t,” Soap nodded. “Steamin’ Jesus.”

“You know, there’s a stove in the kitchen. You can light your cigar up with it,” Gaz brought up. “I’m about to cook something, too.”

“Right, right,” Price nodded before walking away.

“I’ll help make sure no one’s burning anything down and get us compromised,” Soap stated before leaving the area.

Ghost stayed where he stood a while after they left. He stared at the lighter for some time, thinking about what you might say if you were still here. None of them would be this messy. The four of them would likely be laughing right now of some stupid joke you made.

Maybe you were still here. He might be the Ghost, but you were the ghost now. Maybe you were laughing at them right now.

“Would’ve been nice if you’re here,” Ghost said under his breath before pocketing the lighter back.

𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐋𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡

❝ May I request the “making him laugh” prompt you did before, but with albedo, kazuha and scaramouche, please? ❞

; I’m so sorry this took so long! Keyboard issues- but I hope it’s okay regardless :D

; 4/4/22

; Fluff

; CW: physical touch, gossiping (scaramouche)

pt. 1 !

     𝗔𝗹𝗯𝗲𝗱𝗼 ‘𝗞𝗿𝗲𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗻𝘇’

✧ All you have to do to make the renowned Chief Alchemist burst out into honey-sweet laughter is make a fool of yourself: being clumsy with equipment, acting silly to appease Klee, anything like that. Obviously he’d be somewhat upset if you managed to knock over or soil really important notes, but watching you stumble around all flustered just brings a smile to his face. You just look so…adorable; scrambling to apologize and simultaneously clean up the spilled bottle of water that you mistook for something severely important- why is he laughing so hard, this is serious!! You’d sigh, picking up the bottle before you fully caught a look at him- then you were awestruck. He’s beautiful when he laughs, and his laughter itself sounds like a song even a renowned bard wouldn’t do justice.

Keep reading

ˊ˗ ꒰🐚꒱ good morning, sunshine

waking next to marius von hagen, you’re guaranteed to not have a dull morning.

The sun’s light illuminated the room with a soft glow, the usual harsh rays softened by the billowing white curtains framing your windows. You were the first to wake up that day, groggily brushing your hair off your face with a huff. Reaching for your phone to check the time, you were only able to go a few inches off the bed before being stopped by a heavy force on your lower torso, where an arm was casually draped across your waist. Turning over, you were presented with one of the most beautiful sights you had the privilege of seeing in your short life. 

Marius has always been known to be a pretty boy, but seeing him under the enchanting glow of your bedroom was certainly a sight for sore eyes. The way his hair was ruffled after moving around during slumber, the way his eyelashes fluttered ever so slightly, his slow-rising chest accompanied with little huffs and puffs escaping his slightly parted lips looked nothing short of the paintings he oh-so-happily shows you after he finishes them. An absolute work of art.

Your heart swells at the sight of him. He looked absolutely stunning, so much so that you couldn’t help but reach over to cup his face, running your thumb over his features softly, feeling every inch of the face you often found yourself daydreaming about at random times of the day. 

Eventually, your soft caressing ended up waking the young heir, not really registering what was happening until he opened his eyes, seeing your love-filled ones staring back at him. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He said in a groggy manner, his lower-than-usual voice sending a pleasant chill up your spine.

“If I could, I would have done so.” It took you a bit to recover from the embarrassment of being caught, but once you did, you were immediately able to quip back. “It would have been nice to have a reminder of how much prettier you look when you aren’t annoying me.”

“So you think I’m pretty?”

“What? When did I…” You ended up sighing, as he grinned brightly at the fact that he managed to outsmart you once again this early in your day. But just like that, his proud smile turned into a pout at the next few words you uttered. “Just for that, I’m not giving you your morning kiss.” 

Ignoring his whines, you pushed his arm off you to get up, stretching briefly before heading to the bathroom to freshen up. You hear heavy footsteps follow you there, accompanied by pouty exclamations by Marius himself. I swear, he’s such a baby.

“Jiejie, I said I’m sorry, please give me my kisses now!”

“No.”

“Please.” He whined again, dragging out the e sound.

“If you get ready quickly today, maybe I’ll consider it.”

The resounding sound of drawers hastily being opened and closed, along with the shower starting behind you made you laugh. Mornings are hard to deal with alone, but luckily you had Marius to make it a hundred times better.

© natsuhikous, 2021

Going to pride with them

since today is the last day of pride month, here’s some headcanons over how these characters would act at pride

Itadori 

-Itadori is super excited to go to pride because he genuinely wants to show his support and learn new things about the community.

-He is legit decked out in a rainbow shirt along with a ton of colorful necklace beads and vibrant face paint drawn across his face.

-Itadori just has the biggest smile on his face as his eyes take in all the lively surroundings around him. He’s waving a tiny flag around in his hands while cheering loudly when he notices that everyone else is as well. 

-People would start to sense Itadori’s enthusiasm to be here right now, so Itadori has a lot of people who come up to him and give him things such as flower crowns, glasses, and pins. There are also people who would call him over and start dancing with him to the music playing loudly on the speakers.

-He’s complimenting everyone’s fashion as he walks by them and somehow finds himself taking pictures with a lot of random strangers.

-He’s listening intently to the stories and experiences of others when they’re giving speeches and he slowly starts to become educated of the history and significance of this festival. By the end of the day, Itadori appreciates and acknowledges how important pride month is to many people and will now have such an happy memory forever ingrained in his head.

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reblog if you’re a safe place for:

lesbian

gay

bisexual

transgender

queer

pansexual

demisexual

ace

hopeless romantics

cis-men

cis-women

non binary folks

the whole spectrum etc…

follow everyone who reblogs ;)

I finally finished this navigation thingy, doesnt took me that long tho