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omg plz plz plz could you write baker natsuki with his gf who’s helping him bc they both quit the JCC to have a quiet life and they are acting like parents with mafuyu !! and natsukis gf is really kind and sweet and she’s an extrovert but kind of an airhead
Sweet Escapes
(Baker!Natsuki Seba x Reader + Mafuyu Seba)
I hope you like it!!( ╹▽╹ )
Natsuki Seba never thought he'd trade the sound of gunfire for the quiet hum of a bakery oven, but here he was—flour dusted on his apron, meticulously piping whipped cream onto a shortcake, and glaring at a batch of croissants that weren't perfect enough.
And here you were—twirling around in your own flour-covered apron, holding a tray of cookies like it was a priceless treasure, and chattering away about absolutely nothing.
“I think the pigeons outside are planning something,” you mused, carefully placing the cookies in the display case. “Every time I leave crumbs, they just stare at me instead of eating. Do you think they have, like, a pigeon mafia?”
Natsuki let out a slow breath, glancing at you from where he was delicately arranging strawberries on a tart. “They’re just pigeons.”
“But what if they’re not?” You gasped, eyes wide. “What if they’re secretly assassins from the JCC sent to make sure we don’t talk?”
Mafuyu, who had been sitting on a stool in the corner peeling an orange, made a disgusted noise. “Why do I have to listen to this nonsense while I’m trying to eat?”
“Because,” you said, spinning on your heel and poking his cheek, “you love us.”
Mafuyu scowled and swatted your hand away, but you caught the tiny, reluctant smile he tried to hide behind his orange slices.
The three of you had somehow settled into this odd little dynamic ever since you and Natsuki quit the JCC. You were supposed to have a quiet life—Natsuki was supposed to bake, you were supposed to handle customers (because he was hopeless at it), and Mafuyu was supposed to go back to being a normal kid.
Instead, it felt like you and Natsuki had adopted a particularly grumpy teenage son.
MORNING CHAOS
“Oi.” Mafuyu leaned against the counter, watching Natsuki aggressively knead dough. “You stayed up all night again, didn’t you?”
“Shut up.”
“You definitely stayed up all night.”
You peeked over Natsuki’s shoulder, gasping. “Oh no, did you do the thing where you obsess over getting the dough exactly right again?”
“I had to,” Natsuki muttered. “The consistency was off.”
“It tasted fine,” you pointed out.
“It could be better.”
Mafuyu sighed. “And then you wonder why you pass out mid-sentence.”
You patted Natsuki’s head, flour sticking to his hair. “You should take a nap after this batch.”
“I don’t need—”
“Mafuyu, back me up.”
Mafuyu raised an eyebrow. “What’s in it for me?”
“I’ll make you an extra batch of those chocolate scones you like!” you chirped.
Mafuyu shrugged. “Yeah, Natsuki, go take a nap.”
Natsuki shot him a glare, but you and Mafuyu simply stared at him expectantly. He groaned, finally giving in.
“Fine. After this batch.”
Mafuyu smirked. “Whatever you say, Dad.”
Natsuki nearly dropped the dough.
You clapped your hands. “Ooh! Does that make me the mom?”
Mafuyu looked between you and Natsuki, then snorted. “Yeah, sure. I mean, one of you actually acts like a responsible adult.”
“That’s definitely me,” you declared proudly.
Mafuyu and Natsuki both stared at you.
You blinked. “Wait. Is it not?”
CUSTOMER SERVICE DISASTER
Natsuki wasn’t bad at talking to people. He just... didn’t like it.
Which is why you handled all customer interactions. You were a natural—always smiling, always chatting, and somehow making regulars feel like they’d walked into a warm hug.
Except for today.
Because today, someone was blatantly flirting with you.
Natsuki stood behind the counter, gripping a piping bag way too tightly, watching as some guy leaned against the glass display case, smirking.
“You must be the sweetest thing in this bakery,” the guy said.
“Oh!” You beamed. “That’s so nice! But actually, the strawberry shortcake is the sweetest. Natsuki perfected the recipe after five all-nighters—he’s super dedicated!”
Natsuki fought the urge to groan. You weren’t even aware that you were being hit on.
The guy chuckled. “I was actually talking about you.”
“Ohhh.” You blinked, tilting your head. “That’s nice! Do you want a sample?”
Mafuyu, standing beside Natsuki, let out a wheeze. “She’s so oblivious it’s painful.”
Natsuki grabbed the sign, flipped it, and deadpanned, “Closed.”
The guy muttered something under his breath before finally walking out.
Mafuyu smirked. “You gonna admit you were jealous, or—”
“I’ll make your scones burnt next time.”
Mafuyu held his hands up in surrender.
You, meanwhile, just patted Natsuki’s arm. “That was kind of rude, Natsu.”
He sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “I know.”
“You should at least let him try a sample before kicking him out.”
Mafuyu doubled over laughing.
Natsuki wondered if retiring from the JCC was actually the hardest mission of his life.
FAMILY DINNER (SORT OF)
At the end of the day, the three of you sat at the small table in the back of the bakery, eating dinner together.
You had made the food (because Natsuki refused to cook anything that wasn’t dessert), and Mafuyu was leaning back in his chair, complaining about his school assignments.
Somehow, despite the flour fights, the exhaustion, and the occasional near-fights with weird customers, this was... nice.
“You guys are weird,” Mafuyu muttered, poking at his food.
You grinned. “You love us.”
Mafuyu rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”
Natsuki watched as you excitedly launched into a new theory about the ‘pigeon mafia,’ and despite himself, he smiled.
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That’s what Dazai said, anyway — with that same teasing smile that never quite reached his eyes. “Just a quick infiltration, belladonna. I’ll be back before you can even miss me.”
You should’ve known better.
You should’ve known.
Now you’re standing in the rain, the metallic scent of blood mixing with the stench of smoke, your heart pounding in your ears as your eyes dart across the wreckage of what used to be a warehouse. The Agency had sent backup after the situation went sideways. Kunikida’s voice crackles through your earpiece, but you can barely hear it — every sound fades under the roaring panic inside your head.
You find him sitting among the debris, blood seeping from his side, one hand lazily pressing a makeshift bandage against the wound.
And he’s smiling.
“Dazai!” you choke, running toward him, your knees scraping the gravel as you drop beside him. “You’re hurt! God, why—why didn’t you wait for backup?”
He blinks at you, rain sliding down his hair and over the dark circles under his eyes. “Ah, (Y/N). You’re even prettier when you’re worried.” His tone is light — careless — but the way his hand trembles against his wound betrays the truth.
You grab his wrist, forcing him to look at you. “Stop it. Stop pretending like this is funny!”
For a moment, the mask slips. His eyes soften, and there’s something so tired in them it steals your breath. “It’s not funny,” he murmurs. “But it’s… easier this way.”
You shake your head, tears already pricking your lashes. “Easier? You almost died, Dazai! You can’t keep doing this to yourself!”
He laughs quietly — a broken, empty sound swallowed by the rain. “If I had died, it would’ve saved you all a lot of trouble.”
You slap him. You don’t even realize you did until your palm stings and his head tilts slightly from the impact. He doesn’t react — just stares at you with wide, unreadable eyes.
“Don’t you ever say that,” you whisper, voice shaking. “Don’t you dare.”
For once, Dazai doesn’t joke. Doesn’t smirk.
He just looks at you, really looks — and for the first time, you see how lost he is.
The silence that follows is unbearable. The rain slows, the world narrowing to just the two of you — your trembling hand still gripping his wrist, his blood staining your sleeve.
Finally, he exhales. “You shouldn’t care this much, (Y/N). It’s dangerous.”
You let out a strangled laugh. “Dangerous? You think I get to choose that? You think I can just stop caring because it’s inconvenient for you?” Your voice cracks, and the words tumble out before you can stop them. “I’m scared, Dazai! Every time you walk out that door, I think— I think that’s it. That’s the last time I’ll see you.”
He flinches.
The wind shifts, carrying the faint sound of sirens. Kunikida must be closing in with the medics, but you don’t move. You can’t.
“I don’t want to lose you,” you whisper.
He looks away, jaw tightening. “You can’t lose what you never had.”
That’s the last straw.
You feel something inside you break — a quiet, sharp snap that echoes in the hollow of your chest.
“Why do you do that?” you breathe. “Why do you keep pushing people away? Is it that hard to believe that someone might actually love you?”
He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. The rain has stopped completely now, leaving only the faint hiss of the cooling metal around you.
You press your palms to your eyes, shoulders shaking. You can’t stop the sob that escapes, raw and painful, tearing its way out of your chest. “You think it doesn’t matter? That if you disappear, we’ll all just move on? You’re wrong, Dazai. You’re so damn wrong.”
You feel his hand — hesitant, trembling — rest on your shoulder. “(Y/N)… I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.” You lower your hands and meet his gaze, tears blurring the edges of your vision. “You meant every word. Because if you convince yourself no one will miss you, it’s easier to risk your life. Easier to pretend it doesn’t matter.”
His fingers curl weakly around your sleeve, gripping like a drowning man. “You shouldn’t cry for me,” he murmurs. “Not for someone like me.”
“I’m not crying for who you were, Dazai. I’m crying because you’re still here — and you keep acting like that doesn’t matter.”
He closes his eyes. For a long, fragile moment, neither of you speak. The medics’ footsteps crunch closer, but you wave them off when they try to separate you. You stay there, your forehead pressed to his, feeling his shallow breath ghost against your skin.
When they finally patch him up and bring him back to the Agency infirmary, you sit by his bed. Hours pass. He sleeps through most of them, his face softer without that familiar smirk. You trace the faint line of a bandage on his cheek with your eyes — the kind of detail you’d usually tease him about. Now, it just hurts.
By the time he stirs, the sky outside has faded into soft twilight. He turns his head toward you, blinking slowly. “You’re still here,” he says, almost to himself.
“Of course I am.” You manage a weak smile. “Where else would I go?”
He shifts slightly, wincing as he moves. “You should get some rest. I’m sure Kunikida’s already planning to lecture me for a few hours. You don’t want to get caught in that storm.”
You lean forward, resting your arms on the side of the bed. “You really think I care about Kunikida’s lectures right now?”
He opens his mouth, then closes it again. His eyes flicker — confusion, guilt, something fragile and unguarded. “Why are you doing this?” he finally asks, voice low. “I’ve done nothing but hurt you tonight.”
“Because you’re worth saving,” you say simply.
The silence that follows is heavy, but not the same suffocating kind as before. This one feels… real. Vulnerable.
“You know,” you say softly, “I used to think I understood you. The jokes, the suicidal comments, the way you brushed everything off. But now I see it’s just a shield. You keep people at arm’s length because you think if they get close, they’ll see the parts of you you can’t stand.”
He doesn’t deny it. Just stares at his hands, fingers twitching slightly where the IV runs into his arm.
You swallow. “But I see you anyway, Dazai. The parts you try to hide. And they don’t scare me.”
For the first time, he looks genuinely lost. “…Why?”
“Because you’ve spent so long trying to disappear,” you whisper, “and I want to be the reason you stay.”
The words hang in the air — fragile, trembling, terrifying.
Dazai’s breath catches. He looks away, and when he speaks again, his voice is barely audible. “You shouldn’t tie yourself to someone who’s already halfway gone.”
“Then stop leaving,” you say.
It’s not a plea. It’s a promise — quiet but steady, carrying every tear, every heartbeat you’ve given him tonight.
He closes his eyes, and a single tear slips free, tracing the curve of his cheek. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.
When he finally looks at you again, his voice is raw. “You’re going to get hurt if you stay.”
“I already am,” you whisper. “But I’d rather hurt knowing you’re alive than feel nothing because you’re gone.”
He exhales shakily, something breaking in him as he reaches for your hand. His fingers are cold, but they squeeze yours with desperate force. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, but there’s a faint tremor in his voice — the kind that sounds dangerously close to a sob.
You smile faintly through your tears. “And you’re an idiot.”
That earns a weak laugh, and for a moment, the tension softens. The moonlight spills through the window, catching on the thin lines of silver bandages wrapped around his arms. You wonder how many of those wounds he’s carried alone — how many times he’s stared death in the face and thought it would be easier to let it win.
He turns your hand over in his, studying it like it’s something precious. “You shouldn’t waste your tears on someone like me.”
“Then stop giving me reasons to,” you say gently.
He stares at you for a long time — searching for something, maybe forgiveness, maybe hope — before finally leaning forward. His forehead brushes yours again, and this time, his voice is soft enough to barely reach your ears. “I’ll try.”
You almost don’t believe it. But the way he says it — quiet, sincere, terrified — makes your heart ache in a new way. Because for Dazai, trying means something. It means he’s choosing to stay, even if just for now.
You squeeze his hand. “That’s all I ask.”
The night drifts on, quiet and still. You stay beside him until his breathing evens out again, until the exhaustion finally pulls him under. You watch the way his chest rises and falls, steady this time, and a small, shaky smile tugs at your lips.
When Kunikida pokes his head in an hour later, you just shake your head and whisper, “He’s resting.”
He nods, surprisingly gentle, and leaves without a word.
You glance at Dazai one more time — the man who hides behind jokes and bandages, the one who dances with death like it’s an old friend, the one who somehow makes your heart ache and heal all at once.
You reach out and brush a stray lock of hair from his face.
“Don’t you dare leave me again,” you murmur.
He doesn’t answer, but his fingers twitch against yours, holding on even in his sleep.
tiny little feet pitter patter into your dorm room, three bunnies hop from the door to your bed. there you were, sitting up and snoring. it’s an uncomfortable position, almost like you didn’t mean to fall asleep.
the bunnies have a clear goal, wake you up. one rubs its face onto yours, the second repeatedly hopping in your lap. much to their disarray, you don’t move an inch.
it isn’t until the third nibbles on your nose that you wake up, blinking a few times trying to flood the sleep from your system.
you look down and there sits three bunnies, they’re familiar, you’d know megumi’s cursed energy from anywhere after all. the alarm clock on your night stand is bright, almost screaming the time at you.
it reads 12:30 am
“i’m so kicking his ass for this”
while you mourn your lost sleep, one of the bunnies turns its back to you, revealing a note taped to its back.
it’s an orange post-it note, a simple two words written on it
“follow me”
as soon as you read it the bunnies are on the move, jumping down to the floor and sitting just outside of your dorm room, waiting for you to follow.
and you think megumi must be torturing you. first his mission runs exceptionally late, forcing you both to miss the dinner date he planned. and being the good partner you are, you decided to stay up until he gets back, doomscrolling in wait.
or you attempted to stay awake at least, somewhere along the way your eyes fluttered closed and your mouth hung open.
and now he’s sending his furry henchmen to not only wake you but also drag you out of bed in the freezing winter night.
begrudgingly, you get up anyways. throwing a blanket over your shoulders and kicking on a pair of slippers that you could only hope matched.
the bunnies move when you do, little hopping figures leading you down the hallway. theres one door open at the end of the hall, the light from inside leaking out into the corridor.
its a familiar sight, a familiar walk. his dorm was practically your second home.
the bunnies swing open the door, welcoming you in.
megumi sits on his bed and hes already looking at you. the show you’ve been forcing him to watch with you is playing on the tv, there’s two boxes of takeout in his lap along with your favorite drink and a small bouquet of flowers.
“gumi what is all this?”
he urges you to sit, patting the spot beside him.
“it’s a dinner date” he hands you the flowers and places the plastic food container into your lap, “i know it’s not the date we planned, i’m sorry”
you can’t help but smile, even tired from his mission he’s the most caring boyfriend you could ask for.
“it’s perfect megumi” you plant a kiss to his lips that he happily reciprocates, “i’m just glad you didn’t send the toads to wake me”
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ft. dazai, chuuya, fyodor + f!reader, desc. of blood & injuries, a little suggestive in chuuya’s part, au where fyodor survives wins in his part, s5 e61 & manga spoilers
DAZAI can’t believe he’s finally back home. your living room has never felt so cozy, with all the little pieces of your daily routine scattered around him. the same couch that he once complained was too small for his lanky legs feels heaven sent beneath him. his splinted leg is straightened in front of him, the other bent over the side of the cushions lazily.
he despised his tiny cell in meursault, with its transparent walls and bland food. it was impossible to sleep without you, waking up every hour and reaching over to empty, cold sheets. he only found solace in the messages ango left him ensuring your safety, and he left him secret codes to deliver to you in return.
it was like torture not being able to see you, not being able to touch you. he didn’t even feel the ache in his injured leg when you jumped into his arms when he first arrived home, holding you tighter than ever before. he never wanted to let you go again, but you slipped out of his grasp despite his whines, insisting on making him something homemade to eat after he snuck one last kiss.
even two rooms apart, his eyes never leave you. they trail down the curve of your spine, tracing the slope of your hips and the way they melt into the soft skin of your thighs. he’d yearned for the feeling of your skin beneath his hands every single day he was gone, and all he wants to do now is slide them around your waist. they’d fit perfectly there, like they always do; you were made for him, he swears it.
he thinks you look angelic when you turn towards him, with your pretty face enveloped by wisps of steam from the pan in front of you. a smile curls up on his lips instinctively when your gaze finds his, and he sits up.
“osamu,” you point your wooden spoon at him, spotted with miso and slices of green onion. he freezes, eyes big and blinking. “don’t move. you know you need to rest your leg.”
the cushions sink beneath him as he throws himself backward, a whine slipping through his pouted lips. “but i miss you, bella! i need your love to recover!”
he hears the click of the stove turning off and the soft clatter of you spooning his food out of the pan first, then the quiet steps of your socked feet approaching him. the bowl is hot against his hands when you hand it to him, full of warm, fluffy rice and fried vegetables.
your thigh presses against his as you sit on the edge of the couch. he’s blowing away the steam when you brush his bangs back, and he turns to you curiously. your thumb traces the spot chuuya’s bullet struck him, leaving behind a dull bump and a patch of discolored skin. you lean forward, delicately pressing your lips to the small bruise.
even after all this time, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to how gently you treat him, or the sheer amount of love he can feel through your every action. his palms are warm from the bowl when he cups your cheeks, pouring every part of himself he can into a kiss. you let him tilt your jaw and part your lips with his own, exhaling shakily through your nose.
you bury your head in his neck to ground yourself, breathing in the scent of him; not the smell of stale prison air and blood, but the mix of his body wash, the shampoo he stole from you, and his fresh, sterile bandages. he lets you hold him, even as his food cools against his lap.
“did you know?” you whisper, and he hums against you. “that you’d be come back?”
“no,” you can feel his bittersweet smile against your temple as he presses a kiss there. “not completely. but you trusted me, right?”
“always,” he feels the vibration of the world against his chest. “you just scare me sometimes. i need you, osamu. i can’t do this without you.”
“you won’t ever have to,” he squeezes you tighter against himself, eyes closing as he presses his nose into your hair. “just keep your trust in me. please.”
CHUUYA hated being away from you during the best of times. even a crowded sidewalk is enough for a gloved hand to stay pressed against your lower back, keeping you at his side.
the only place he can be completely certain you’ll be safe is with him on a regular day, and it heightens tenfold when half of his subordinates have turned into vampires. when mori calls him, telling him he’d have to fly out to europe, he stalls by the door to cup your cheeks, looking directly into your eyes.
“promise me something,” he whispers. “don’t open the door. don’t leave. just stay here, and if something goes wrong, you call ane-san. got it?”
“only if you promise to come back to me,” you whisper back. “or i’ll go over there and get you myself.”
he leaves with a desperate squeeze to your waist and a firm kiss goodbye, his promise pressed against your lips. he keeps it faithfully, welcomed home by you rushing into his arms as soon as he opens the door hours later, crying into his chest with a mumbled sob of his name.
“what’s wrong?” he pulls your face up to look at his. even with the smirk curled on his lips, you can see the relief in his eyes that he’s home, with you in his reach. “you didn’t think me and shitty mackerel would lose, did you?”
“never,” you sniffle. you brush your fingertips through his bangs, holding his face between your palms. he doesn’t mind that your nose is running a little bit when you kiss him. the cool leather from his gloves sinks into your warming skin as he cups the base of your skull, his thumb tracing along the soft cartilage of your ear.
“god, chuuya,” he smells like smoke and metal when you pull back, and you can only imagine what he’s gone through the past few hours. “i was so scared you’d get caught.”
“you know i’m not going anywhere,” he mumbles, thumb stilling against the pulse point of the side of your neck. “no one can take me away from my best girl.”
you tilt your head, tracing the corner of his lips with your fingertip, a small, teasing smile growing on your own. “you kept these on?”
he frowns, tongue poking at the fangs stuck to his teeth. “i can’t get them off. boss used fuckin’ super glue.”
“don’t,” you thread your hand through the long pieces of hair, twirling them through your fingers and pulling them over his shoulder. “you look sexy like this.”
“i do?” he leans closer, until his nose brushes yours, and squeezes your hips, fingertips spreading towards your rear. “what else?”
“we’re going to open the good wineー” you grin, draping your arms around his shoulders.
“my good wine.”
“our good wine,” you giggle, kissing his nose. “because i want to forget this whole shitshow ever happened and show my new vampire boyfriend how hot he is after he saved the world.”
“it was no big deal,” he grumbles, cheeks dusted pink as he looks down at your feet, stroking your hips in small circles. “but if you want to celebrate, then i guess we can.”
you cup his cheeks, peppering kisses all over his face. one to the bridge of his nose, another to the straight edge of his eyebrows, then another on the dip of his cupid’s bow.
“alright, alright,” he cups your jaw, pulling you back to his lips for a proper kiss. “c’mon. show me how much you really missed me.”
when FYODOR reaches to open the hideout door, he uses his right hand out of habit.
he looks at it with disdain as it throbs painfully against the ill-fitting bandages, white cotton heavy with blood and in need of a change. he wasn’t used to pain like this, and he swears he’ll never let himself come to physical harm again. he can’t afford to be so careless.
his eyes fall back to the door. you’re waiting for him behind it, aren’t you? he’d taken every precaution he could think of when he left you. it wasn’t like him to overcompensate, but you seemed to be the exception for everything.
he’d flown through the night to get back to you, and when he twists the doorknob open, he’s met with sunlight from the open blinds. he feels something he can’t explain settle in his stomach at the sight of you, safe and sound, curled in a blanket on the couch, one of his books on your lap. he thought you would’ve loved the starry sky outside of meursault, beautiful and unpolluted, but something about you in the glow of golden hour, coating the room in honey, felt more appropriate for someone as sweet as you.
“fedya?” your voice is still soft with sleepiness, lips trembling around the sweet nickname.
he smiles, but it drops as his vision swims and the room tilts as you dash off the couch and lunge at him. he steadies his wobbly legs as you wrap yourself completely around his lithe torso, his body weakened from blood loss and pure exhaustion.
“hello, my dear,” he kisses the top of your head, inhaling deeply. you smell so much sweeter than the stale air of meursault’s basement, and he catches the lingering scent of black tea in the air. he pets your head with his good hand, letting you bury your face into his chest, even if he wishes you wouldn’t. he didn’t want you to dirty your pretty face on his prison uniform, still damp from dazai’s trick.
when you pull away, your eyes are glassy, drawn to the saturated bandages and their stark contrast against his pale skin.
“oh my god,” he narrows his eyes at your language as you grab his wrist. “fedya, your hand…”
you push him down firmly to take a seat on the couch. closer to his height, you cup his cheeks, looking at him like you can’t believe he’s truly there. you kiss his forehead, lips lingering before you mumble a quiet “i’ll be right back.”
when you return, it’s with a first aid kit and another cup of tea. your eyes water as you unwrap the messy bandages from his hand, taking in the sight of his bloody, marred skin.
“you can’t afford to lose this much blood,” you whisper.
“it’d be ideal if i didn’t lose any blood at all. wouldn’t you agree?” he smiles, but you don’t reciprocate. this close, you look more exhausted than anything else, and he frowns that he didn’t notice sooner; you were worried sick about him, weren’t you?
“what if you died?” you ask, voice breaking around the words.
he cups your cheek with his good hand, thumb brushing beneath your tired eyes. he frowns at the thought of you losing sleep over his return without him being there to soothe you. he can tell you’ve been restless, with the mess of his books scattered around the room, the papers on his desk clearly reorganized and studied over in his absence.
“that’d never happen,” he presses his thumb firmer into your cheek, raising your gaze to meet his. “not yet. i still have to be here for you.”
you re-wrap his hand gently, more gently than anyone else has ever dared to touch him. your fingers are tender as they graze his skin, cotton and ointment cooling against his burns. you tighten it securely, finishing with a press of your lips against the bandages before you cradle it gently in your lap.
his eyes grow heavy, and before he realizes it, he’s falling forward, head landing on your shoulder. he scolds himself again, but it’s different this time. he’s safe here. your lips brush his temple, hands rubbing on his shoulder as you lean back, taking him with you.
“you can rest now,” your voice is soft, and he hadn’t realized how much he missed hearing it. you press a kiss to the crown of his head, exhaling deeply as your lips linger. he feels the kind of warmth you can only get from laying next to another body. your hand trails up the relaxed curve of his shoulder blades until your fingers thread through his hair. “you’re home, fedya.”
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➵ Books and Braun / @averysmolbear
☀️ Armin Arlet
➵ A Trip to the Sea / @crazychaoticizzy
➵ For You, I Would / @kingkonoha
☀️Megumi Fushiguro
➵ Best Friends Can Share Beds, Right? / @margumis
➵ I Want You All To Myself / @romantichomicide95
snowghoul
izzy806
prguitarman
amandla
discoholicmusic
