#maki zenin fluff

[dadsbongos]

jennifer's body - z.maki

part of the jjk movie marathon event / movie selection

...

warnings - vaginal fingering *nerd emoji*, thigh riding, maki's the top as per usual, car sex, you're a whiny bitch but maki's into it, potential cum eating

word count - 2.2 K / rating - R

Maki detests a lot of things, but above every single one of those things - she detests being put on missions with you most of all.

“Eek!” Maki’s balance is hardly thrown off despite the way you rip her arm to your chest. You hug her close and push your cheek to her shoulder, “Please protect me, Maki!”

She snorts, looking down at you curled around her form, “You’re a grade two, you know? You don’t have to hide behind me.”

Feeling the impression of your lips molding into a pout against her, you ‘hmph’, continuing down the creaky, dank hall, “A grade two can still be scared!”

Naturally, yes. However, the degree of fear you commonly express makes teaming with you such a hassle. Though not necessarily because she finds it annoying.

Maki feels your skittish fingers dance down to hers, and she clasps your hand tightly. Her heart throbs uncomfortably at the idea of your poor brain all stressed and overheating, skin chilled, and throat too tight to speak. A terrible thing that is. Yes, she hates it more than anything else in the world.

So Maki walks just a pace quicker than you, ensuring she’s upfront. But no matter that, she is not the one to suffer this mission’s great blowback.

As if freshly blistering up from between the floorboards, a puffy, mushroom-shaped spore oozes from beneath your boot. Mustard yellow curd gushes onto the ground from each pore with a soft puff of orange gas into the air.

“Damn!” Maki curls an arm around your waist and tucks you behind her.

The particles cling to your nose, itching and irritating; they claw down your throat and paint over the front of your uniform.

By the time Maki has splattered the curse, you’re feverish. Still coughing up dust and reaching out for her.

“Are you okay?” she cradles your sweltering frame in her broad hands.

“Car,” you wheeze out, falling into her stronger frame, “We need to get outta here.”

Your thighs squeeze together, hips mindlessly squirming into the sticky leather of the backseat. Leaning into Maki, you take her arm again, breasts squishing against her firm muscles and pressing her hand between the clench of your thighs. Her palm digs into the meat of your inner thighs and it takes about 60% of your brain power to keep from humping her hand.

Pressing your face to her neck, you know she can feel the softness of your lips on her smooth skin. You know she can feel the hot puffs of your words, “Maki… Maki I think we should pull over…”

“What?” her cheeks go pink, eyes falling to you from beneath her lenses. Her other hand comes up to cup your cheek, it burns beneath her skin, “Talk to me, huh? What’re you feeling?”

“Hmm,” you turn into the feeling of her cupping your cheek, and your gaze finds Maki’s crinkled face. Eyes wide beneath furrowed brows, lips down in a frown, “I feel so hot, Maki, please- “ you jerk up, rutting against her hand, “Please pull over!”

The car doesn’t stop. Maki moves her hand from your cheek to press against your feverish forehead. She barks over at Ijichi, “Hey, pull over!”

You all jerk at the sudden stop before Ijichi shamefully restarts the car to more carefully move off the side of the road. He turns in the driver’s seat to look at the pair of you, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. You think it’s cuter when Maki does it.

Oh, Maki.

You blink up at her lazily. Lashes fluttering. She reddens more at the movement, you like that.

“Maki,” you whisper, low enough so even Ijichi can’t hear, “I think it was an aphrodisiac.”

She looks away, pointlessly, to the back support cushions behind you. Her chin tucks close to her chest and you can hear the strain in her throat to whisper back just as low, “Can you hold out until we see Ieiri?”

“Mh-hmm,” you shake your head, thighs tightening around Maki’s hand and now using 80% of your brain power to not shamelessly grind on her, “No way…”

You need her. ‘Starved in a dungeon for weeks, and you finally see a fresh loaf of bread’ kind of need.

Maki feels something ugly burrow into her chest at the idea of Ijichi seeing you so weak and bothered. And something uglier arrives when she realizes it isn’t just because you’re an impaired friend - she doesn’t even want Shoko seeing you like this if she can help it. Looking over at Ijichi, Maki jerks her head towards the door.

“Wh-what?” Ijichi stutters out, head lowering.

“Get out!” she snaps.

“Yes, ma’am!” Ijichi jumps out of the car, slamming the door shut in the process.

Maki watches him shuffle towards the trunk and stand with his back facing the vehicle. He twiddles his thumbs and stares down the empty road. She thinks he might be pouting after getting yelled at. She doesn’t spend much time on the thought before you’re sitting up on your knees.

Her hand is (sadly) free from between your legs and you drop her arm to shakily place both your hands on her shoulders. You settle onto one of her thighs, arms curling around her neck. Your nose nudges hers and you press a kiss on Maki’s cheek.

She can feel how warm you are through your thin tights. Unsurely, Maki’s hands find your hips, “What should I…?”

You hum, moving to her other cheek and kissing there, too, “I need you, Maki.”

Her hands squeeze your hips. To stop you or ground herself, she isn’t sure. Both works, probably. Right?

“You’ll regret it later,” now, Maki’s hands try lifting you off of her thigh, “It’s not a good idea.”

“No!” you wail, nails digging into Maki’s shoulders, hips stubbornly remaining in place. You rear back to bat your lashes at her again, chest rising and falling with your gasping breaths, “Won’t regret it, I promise…” your hips lower on her thick thigh, she tenses below you, “I love you, Maki,” you kiss her cheek again, hoping to tempt her, “Love you so much. Need you so bad.

90% of your brain power goes towards not humping her leg like a dog.

She’s frozen solid, your feverish cheek presses to hers and you pray it melts through her icy exterior.

“So jealous of Yuuta,” you murmur, moving to ghost your lips over hers. They’re so much softer than you thought they’d be, and they taste like cherry chapstick. The kind that reminds you of cough syrup, “Talking about him ‘n’ how strong he is… I hate it. ‘m not stronger than you, Maki, but ‘m better than Yuuta,” you feel her grin, her body jolting to life as two hands find the sides of your face, “Just wanna show you that I’m better than Yuuta.”

“You’re jealous,” she ‘tsk’s, “but you’re the one calling Okkotsu by his given name.”

“Don’t be mad…” you fight against her hold on your head and purse your lips against hers, a chaste kiss from you to her, “I love Maki, not Yuuta.”

100% of your brain power is put into your self-control. It overheats your brain and Maki can almost hear the gears churning, smell the smoke pouring from your ears when you finally give up and rut down into her thigh with a shaky gasp. You roll your hips against her thigh once again to test her reaction - she flexes her leg and her hands fly down to your hips to guide your movement.

“Are you sure?”

You sigh against her lips when your clit catches sweetly on her thigh, nodding frantically and rubbing against her thigh faster, “Please, Maki? I’ll go totally crazy if you keep making me beg…”

She snickers against your lips, pausing to kiss you again while dragging your cunt over her flexed thigh, “Sorry.”

A pitchy whine is strangled in the back of your throat, the fire in your gut only burning hotter. Quickly unsatisfied with the dulling sensation between your legs, “Need more, Maki. ‘s not enough.”

Pulling back, Maki pushes up the leg you sit on, hoping to dig out the burning spores under your skin. She tilts her head, “What should I- what do you want?”

But you simply whine in response. Throwing your head back and grinding fruitlessly against her muscled thigh.

“Sorry, sorry,” she muttered, fingers abandoning your sides to dance up under your skirt, “So needy, you know that?”

“Hmph!” you lift your bobbing head to glare at the woman beneath you.

“What?” her nails bite into the snug, thin material of your tights. You gasp when the sharp pop of her fingers bursting the cloth rings out, she snickers at your doe-eyed stare, “They COMME des GARÇONS or something?”

Before you can begin jutting out your bottom lip and squirming off your tights by yourself, Maki worms her fingers through the gape and rips sideways. The warmth of her hand cups against your hot sex, the wet patch on your panties clinging to her skin. The sensation sends tingles down her spine. Down her spine and swirling around to her gut, swelling as you grind down into the heel of her palm.

“Please,” you lean down, pressing your forehead to hers. Heat fanning from your cheeks, and Maki can feel it. You know she can. You know she likes it, “Need you inside me, Maki.”

Her lithe fingers pull your panties to the side before running the pads of her middlemost fingers along your slit. Wetness glides down her skin, her head pitches up and her lips pucker. You meet her in the middle - soft and cherry-flavored - as her fingers slide inside you.

“So wet,” she muses against your lips, “I just slipped in, honey.”

“Need you,” you cant your hips down onto her fingers, “Need you so bad…”

“You really love me?” it could be teasing, but if you pry back the thickened, scarred skin beneath her uniform - you could feel that mushiness in her question. That softness of needing to know how you feel. Needing to know this isn’t a lie that some infection has conjured inside you.

“I love you!” her thumb nudges into your puffy clit, loosely swiping the characters of her name across the bundle. Fingers crooking up in an almost frenzied search for the little spot to put hearts in your eyes. You squeeze your arms tight around her neck, back arching and chest pressing close to Maki’s face, “Love you s’much, Maki! Wanna be your girl…”

She barely catches the admission over your whining moans.

“I’ll make you mine,” she juts her chin at you, “I’ll make all you mine.”

You squeal as she stirs the bubbling, electrified pot inside you, hips rocking down so you’re practically riding her fingers. Arms pulling back, you cup Maki’s soft cheeks and trap her head in place. Once again, your lips find hers.

Her wrist flexes with the force of her thrusting fingers, eagerly chasing the sensation of your velvety cunt sucking her deep inside you. The sloppy, crude sound of your wetness squelching out with every stroke inside your cunt makes her lightheaded. Her thumb quickens against your clit, and your thighs quiver on either side of her own.

“So pretty when you’re falling apart for me,” Maki rests her head against the seat, eyes lazily crawling along your form. She grins, wolfish in nature - like she could scarf you down whole if she pleased, “Really wanna be my girl, baby?”

She could.

“God, yes!” you firmly plant yourself against the heel of Maki’s palm, knocking her thumb off balance and grinding into the meat of her hand. Your juices drip down her hand as she continues to finger you in the backseat, watching the muscles in your thighs tense.

You’d let her.

“Then cum for me, yeah?”

A final press into your g-spot. One last nudge of your clit against her palm. Only one more peck of your lips to hers.

And you’re going limp, save for the unsteady twitching of your hips as the last of your release drools into Maki’s hand. Your head crashes down onto Maki’s shoulder, eyes drooping.

You yawn and Maki slowly pulls out of you, bracing her other hand against your hip to keep you from collapsing entirely. She settles you to slump fully on her lap. Her eyes stray to your cum, webbing between her fingers.

She wants it in her mouth. To slurp up the very essence of you and taste you on her tongue. But she pauses before committing.

That gas - powder? particles? poison? - could be contagious.

Though, if it were, she would’ve gotten it when kissing you, right?

But it could also be the sexual nature - the fact she’s ingesting your cum - that would spread it.

Looking down at you, your closed eyes and parted lips - if you aren’t sleeping, you’re definitely on your way. The heat is subsiding and your breathing has evened out.

There’ll be more opportunities later, she supposes. Mournfully, Maki wipes her sodden hand against her skirt before calling a shaky, flustered Ijichi back to the car.

[vienssunshine]

What do you think maki looks for in a girl? :0

pairing: Maki Zenin x Reader author's note: so I was originally gonna do headcannons but then i just wrote about it and it turned a little angsty? cw: manga spoilers, angst

A lot changed when Maki awakened her true strength: her body, her abilities, even the state of the world. In addition to these massive shifts, there was a slight difference, seemingly inconsequential compared to the rest, in her dating preferences. When Itadori had flung himself towards her with a camera—he used to do little interviews of the students at school—and asked her what she looked for in a partner, she had answered that she’d like to be with someone stronger than her. Maki thought it was best to pursue a partner who could protect her, someone who could help destroy the Zenin clan. However, now that she’s one of the strongest humans in Japan, her previous preference has become unrealistic. Which actually is a good thing, because it opened her up to seeing you in a different way.

Maki’s always found you attractive—more than that, really—but ignored it, writing it off as nothing but a distraction. It wasn’t the right time, she had to focus on getting stronger, getting revenge. But now that her whole world is crumbling around her, she’s realized she needs someone like you.

You’ve known pain—she can remember when you recounted your past, crystalline tears shining in the gentle candlelight illuminating her dorm room—and yet you’re still able to put a smile on that pretty face of yours as you go through this life. Maki’s not sure she has the strength to do the same on her own, not after losing everything. But you’re there for her, able to pull her out from drowning in the darkest parts of herself.

You look at her so fondly, even if she hates how her body is now striped with scars. You don’t seem to mind, kissing her skin as if it were as soft and smooth as your own. Your hands cup her face as you tell her how beautiful she is despite her claims of the opposite. Maki was unsure if she’d ever be loved after becoming more monster than human, but as you work tirelessly to prove her wrong—your stubbornness is adorable to her—she’s beginning to change her mind.

[todayisawthewhxlewxrld]

“you can call me on my phone i’ll run to you, you won’t ever have to Sleep Alone”

“but if you want it you can have it, you can have me in full”

synopsis// the lines between platonic and romantic become even more blurred for you, if possible, when you realize your best friend truly would do anything for you.

pairing// maki zenin x gn!reader

word count// 1.8k

contents// ages arent specified but everyone is adults, angst if you squint maybe, ooc maki/soft maki, hurt/comfort?, mentions of nightmares

notes// YES THIS IS INSPIRED BY ANOTHER WATERPARKS SONG LMFAOOOO. i cannot be stopped but cmon its sleep alone!! sleep alone supremacy!! my fav!!! also also this was supposed to be wayyyy more light hearted n then it suddenly got kinda deep for a moment idk how that happened... anyways do ppl even read maki ff?

Nightmares were nothing new to you; you had them quite frequently, if not all the time, and your best friend had repeatedly told you to call her when they occurred, and she would be more than willing to come and comfort you. But how could you do that? You couldn't for two reasons.

The first being that your best friend was Maki, and she wasn't much of a touch person (or really a people person in general), which is all you wanted in those moments: to be held. and two, that your best friend was Maki. the girl you are quite literally in love with. Is it silly to be in love with the oh-so independent girl who demands to do things herself? Yes, very much so, and you know that considering you’re the exact opposite. Neither of which is a bad thing; it just makes things difficult— well it would if you two were dating, you think. 

Tonight was just like any other night: you got yourself comfy in bed, scrolled through your phone for a few minutes before texting a sweet little goodnight to Maki, who quickly replied back, wishing you sweet dreams; it was just like any other night, nightmares included. which is why you woke up in a cold sweat, practically panting; the only thing illuminating your room was the moon.

Once you had slightly calmed down, you sat up and grabbed your phone. You flinched away from the bright screen until your eyes could adjust, finally seeing that it was around two a.m. You sighed as you unlocked your phone and called Maki. You constantly refused her offer of coming over at times like this, but you always accepted her offer of calling; you’d take what you could get— which could be quite literally everything you want, but alas, you’re not aware of that yet.

Maki hums over the line. “Hey, you ok?”

You hum back. “nightmare.”

Maki clears her throat. “I’ll call you back in, like, ten minutes, maybe, ok?”

You go wide-eyed at her statement, and you can feel your heart drop a bit. Were you bothering her? “I'm sorry, are you busy?”

“Yeah, something like that, but i promise we’ll talk ok?" Maki says goodbye almost too eagerly before hanging up. 

You sigh and practically throw your phone back onto your side table as you flop back down in bed. You knew this day would come, where she’d get annoyed with how you called almost every night, with how you weren’t as self-sufficient as she was, and besides, what could she be doing at two in the morning? You don't know how long you lay there staring at your ceiling, feeling like you wanted the world to swallow you whole, but you know it's been awhile. You probably would have stayed like that until morning if it hadn't been for the knock on your front door bringing you back to your senses.

Your feet dragged as you begrudgingly made your way toward the door, opening it only to see Maki there with a slight tired smile on her face as she held a bag full of things you couldn't quite make out in one hand. Standing there in your pjs, you suddenly felt very vulnerable; yes, she's your best friend, but you didn't want her to see you like this, see you as a person? It would complicate things, complicate your feelings even further. Your face feels hot and blue as the two of you stand there in silence for a few moments. 

“Are you gonna let me in?” she asks flatly with a slight tilt of her head. 

You don't say anything; you just move out of the way and let her in, and she walks toward your room as if she'd been here before, which she hasn't.

“Maki, what are you doing here?” you ask in disbelief as she sits on your bed. 

“Well, I had a feeling you’d call, and I don't know; I thought it would be better for you if I was actually here, right?” She speaks so softly to you, which isn't much of a surprise; Maki was softer in general with you than she was with other people, and it always leaves you with butterflies, it always leaves you with a hope you know you shouldn’t entertain for your own sanity. 

“You could’ve told me,” you huff as you sit next to her on the bed. 

Maki laughs slightly. “Why, so you can tell me not to come? Yeah, right," she says jokingly.

You hum in agreement; she’s right; you'd never willingly let her come. “So what’s in the bag?”

Maki looks at the bag in her hand briefly before placing it on your side table. “Just some snacks; I wasn’t really sure what we’d do when I got here…”

You hum sleepily; you weren’t sleepy a few seconds ago, so why now? Why does just being around Maki soothe you like a lullaby? 

“Or we can lay down,“ she adds when she realizes how droopy your eyes are getting now. 

You don't try to protest her suggestions; you're too tired at this point, and your sole wish is just to lay down with her. You nod and get up to turn off the light you had turned on earlier when you heard the door. While you're up, Maki gets herself comfortable on the far side of the bed, and you quickly join her. The two of you lay there stiffly on your backs, and although you were sleepy and happy in her presence, it's not enough; you need to feel her, be held by her. 

“Maki?” you question meekly. 

“Yeah?” she hums.

“You can totally say no, but, um, do you think you could hold me?” You ask nervously as you fidget with your hands. 

Maki turns her head to look at you and doesn’t say anything; she just smiles sweetly at you while she lifts her arm, which you can see from your peripheral vision; she’s giving you access to lay on her. You look at her wide-eyed briefly before practically scrambling to get your head on her chest, your arm draping over her torso as she brings hers back down to rest on your back. You two lay still for a few moments before she starts to rub her hand up and down your back soothingly, an action she never thought would come naturally to her, yet here she is, and she has to say it might be the best feeling in the world—even better than proving her “family” wrong. 

"Y/N, how come you’ve never let me come over before?” She asks out of the blue, fingers still trailing up and down your back, which, along with the question, sends shivers down your spine that you hope she can’t feel. 

“I don’t know. I guess I’m embarrassed?” You murmur against her. 

“Embarrassed?” she asks, clearly confused. 

You groan slightly. “Haven’t you ever noticed how different we are?” 

Maki tilts her head down slightly to look at you, eyes and eyebrows narrowing at you in confusion. “what?” 

“You’re so self-sufficient, so independent, and I’m what? can’t go a night without a nightmare? need you there for me every night?” You respond back almost bitterly, disgusted by your own needs. 

maki scoffs. "Y/N, you might be more “independent” than I am.” 

“what? "How—I mean, look, you're here because of me!” you exclaim. 

“Did you ask me to be here?” she asks. 

you frown. “well no but-“ 

She cuts you off. “Have you ever asked me to be here?” 

“no…” you reply quietly, unaware of where she’s going with this. 

“exactly! You deal with all your shit by yourself, even when I’ve made it abundantly clear that I’m more than willing to be here for you. maybe you aren’t independent because you want to be, but you’re still independent,” she states matter-of-factly. 

“Isn’t being independent a good thing?” You ask quietly, your voice shaking slightly.

She shrugs slightly, as much as she can with you on top of her. “To an extent, but you can be independent and still let me be here for you; they aren’t mutually exclusive.”

You nuzzle your face into her and sigh. This is nice—nicer than you could’ve ever expected. Cuddling with Maki while she rubs her hand up and down your spine, comforting you in more ways than one, is something you could only dream about, but your dreams don’t even come close to this; the real thing is so much better. and suddenly you're clutching her shirt as words fly out of your mouth faster than you can keep up.

“Maki, I like you,” you murmur against her considering your face is practically shoved into her, almost like you're trying to become one with her, which to be honest, you kinda are.

She stifles a laugh. “i know.” 

You shake your head and reiterate, “No, I like you.” 

She hums and repeats, “I know.”

You blink a few times before you abruptly lift your head to look at her. “wait what?” 

She nods and smiles at you. “Oh yeah, I’ve known for a long time.” 

“How?” you exclaim. 

“You’re very obvious,” she replies nonchalantly. 

“And- And you’re okay with it?” You ask nervously, this was not how you were expecting your night to go at all. You were expecting to just call Maki for a little bit until you inevitably felt like you were bothering her and hung up, but not before she tells you she’s more than willing to go over, but you say no, and then you’d stare out your window until you eventually fell back asleep and maybe or maybe not get woken back up from another nightmare. That’s how you were expecting this night to go.

“Of course I’m okay with it; I like you too, moron,” she replies back playfully. 

You try to stop your mouth from dropping open, but to no avail; you’re absolutely shocked. You would have never guessed that she liked you back—okay, maybe you could considering how soft she was with you compared to everyone else, but that’s just how best friends are, right? Oh my god, are you seriously trying to convince yourself that she still sees you as just a friend when she just confessed otherwise? you’re insane.

Sometime while you were lost in thought, staring at Maki with your jaw dropped, she brought her free hand that wasn’t caressing your back up and shut your jaw for you, her hand on your face quickly bringing you back to earth.

You clear your throat and blink a few times before stumbling over your words, “So, uh, um, what now?” 

She hums and pretends to think for a moment. 

“Well, I think now you won’t ever have to sleep alone.” 

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

“If you tell anyone about me cuddling you, I’ll kill you, by the way,” she adds on not even a few moments later. 

You giggle before littering kisses on her face, speaking through the kisses, “Yeah, I know.” 

© LITTLEXBIMBO

[chiquititaosita]

Maki Zenin x Latina fem reader 🫶🏼🌶️👹

¡! ❞ synopsis: maki x latina reader varying headcanons, with slight mentions of nsfw descriptions, and suggestive writing

osita note: yall im making more soon asap, writing is back in the groove more gay shit coming soon! hope y’all love it @kenruu @sanjisblackasswife @yourrfavzxri @chrollohearttags @chocolatetheoristcloud @sanjis-all-blue @euphofic @roronoaswifey @cookiepie111 @sierae @hqkalon

maki being the girlfriend to write you notes on a sticky note in places you’ll be looking for stuff. “have a good day at work! fuck that bitch (coworkers name).”

Maki who spoils you by buying you food, and even cooking sometimes. She comes to terms with accepting the use of vicks vaporub and newspaper cones.

Maki Zenin being the girlfriend that literally checks you out unintentionally, and her sister calls her out.

“You’re checking her out aren’t you?”

“So she’s not your type.” “but that’s my girlfriend.”

“Hey she’s mine back off!” she gets jealous so fucking easily, and is kinda tóxica but we stan it.

You yelling at Maki and slapping her hand with a wooden spoon with a small hit. Then itadori with a PAM! because they attempted to eat your cooking that’s still raw and needs to be cooked thoroughly.

“Wash y’all’s damn hands!!” You’ll be yelling that in Spanish and putting your hands on your hips.

I mean if you you yell at Maki or anyone in español She’s gonna get her pushy wet, call it Niagara Falls up in this bitch.

“AYO THOSE ARE MY TITTIES!!” she’s gonna cover you up if you have a nip slip or a fashion mishap. Or get nobara to help you. She don’t mess with taken women, nobara goes after married men PURR

here y/n is just being fussy; and crying if she gets hurt, “who did this to you!?…” at first in her head she’ll be like oh shit.

“What happened…?” bitch will fight the whole jujitsu society and even risk her life as a sorcerer for you. BECAUSE SHE LOVES YOU SO DEARLY INTO HER HEART.

ms girl loves your cooking and your body with stretch marks and freckles. “And I thought you were my breakfast.”

FaceTimes you when you’re on break, ALWAYS COMES HOME TO YOUR COOKING AND CLEANING. Because she’s never been taken care off because her dads a bitch. she starts showing affection to you slowly.

“i know you’re homesick, so i brought you pan dulce from the panadería.”

“you want me to help you with anything?” she really doesn’t know how to ask you for help, but instead she takes over the whole task on doing it.

“you need to be careful, okay?” overprotective 11/10

cuddles are necessary with her always

she’s always gotta be touching you on your thighs your ass or your titties, even the small of your back

“My girlfriends coming! And she’s gonna kick your ass!” The minute she feels somethings not right! 🏎️ nyooom!! She’s gonna use her cursed objects to find you AND KILL THEM MFS

Maki to the rescue. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” She’s gonna kill these bitches with no mercy. Maki has already lost her mother and she can’t risk the chances of losing you.

She calls you mama, princess, baby, y/n love, love, love bug, sunshine.

Actually is learning Spanish for you. Even though it’s easy to understand by how you’re yelling at someone she’s just encouraging you with her hands up having a smirk on her face. “that’s my girl.”

especially for her voice being low and sounding like honey, when she calls you baby. she’s obsessed at how y’all dance together. Mai approves of you 9/10! only because maki didn’t tell her about you sooner.

if your cousins ask maki why her hair looks like mocos, she’ll just just not care. and whisper something super sinister in your cousins ears that’ll leave them terrified, and go back to eating.

kisses with maki are sweet and slow, even passionate at times, of course when it comes to pda she’ll show you off, but when y’all are alone and in private she’s mostly affectionate, and at her most vulnerable state

when you teach her how to flip a tortilla she instantly burns her finger, because the comal was hot. “fuck!” that leaves you to helping her with it. but you or maki wouldn’t change a thing

[bxd-decisions]

#HOW THEY CUDDLE YOU ⸻ Jujutsu Kaisen (2)

#SYNOPSIS︙Just some headcanons of how they cuddle you!

PAIRING︙Maki Z'enin x Reader + YUUTA Okkotsu x reader

GENRE︙fluff, headcanons

WARNINGS︙None

AUTHORS NOTE︙Maki was very self indulgent🥺

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK APPRECIATED

◈ MAKI ◈

She definitely makes you think you're forcing her to hold you at first. She always has her own ways of making you feel small. But if you know her well, you know that's her way of trying to protect herself. 

She's very mopey and miserable about it, laying there like a starfish while you happily lie on top of her and enjoy her warmth. 

But that doesn't mean she doesn't enjoy it. As time goes on, she definitely starts to enjoy your affection and will definitely return the favor to you. 

It does take time however. Maki loves you dealt but her conveying those feeling are hard, as she isn't used to affection or any sort of positive touchwa towards her. She is so used to people looking down on her so it takes a lot of work on your part to show her how much she means to you. 

Make her feel like she is in charge, be the small spoon! When she is the big spoon, it makes Maki feel like she can protect you, it makes her feel strong. 

She loves to play with your hair and watch you sleep, she thinks it's adorable. She will smile to herself wondering how she got so lucky. 

Maybe on bad days, Maki makes herself vulnerable for you, making you be the big spoon. She will have her eyes shut, enjoying when you caress her back, or play with her hair. She appreciates it a lot and will definitely fall asleep!

10000000/10. She is the best cuddle buddy to have when she warms up to you. 

◈ YUUTA ◈

A baby! The sweetest and softest boy. Aside from Rika being batshit crazily protective over though. 

He is suuuuuper shy at first. The first time you two 'cuddled' was when you were watching a movie with him and you fell asleep halfway through it. You slumped over onto his shoulder, and the poor boy was blushing and so tense. 

He refused to move a muscle the entire time, until you unconsciously moved closer to him and snuggled up to him. It made him even more flustered. 

But he relaxed, embracing you and gently caressing your back as he held you. He cherished that so much. 

But upon waking up, he was apologizing to you nonstop, thinking maybe he did something wrong by holding you. The poor guy was a nervous wreck. 

You smiled at him, laying your head back onto his chest and once more enjoying his embrace, but consciously this time. 

Yuuta was so shy, but so giddy on the inside as he held you. He loved you more than words could describe, and moments like that are always his favorite. 

10/10. He is so hungry for affection, although if flusters him, he will never turn it down. 

TAGS: @tokyometronetwork @benkeibear @httpghostface @wildartist @midnightshade @rindousfavoritewife @azxremoon @simp-lauren

[cinnablu3]

THE OTHER WOMAN

Featuring the first and second years

Author Note: debating writing an angst ver or just doing the adult version like Gojo etc. Today inspo was Lana del Rey cover of the other women and roach I saw on the sidewalk..

If you can check out my new smau series called Beautiful stranger which is Inumaki x reader if you haven't already :)

[congimyun]

🗯️ JJK REACTING WHEN YOU DATED THEIR FRIEND B4 ..!

note: eng is not my first language so bear with me!

characters : gojo satoru, megumi fushiguro, inumaki toge, yuta okkotsu, maki zenin, choso kamo

warning : swearing, cheating (jokingly), idk bro 😔😔

notes : hey bros 😝😜 my first work and its kinda shitty because i just got back from a 12 hour ride ☹️☹️ this was in my drafts for months broo anyways please reblog because if this flops bro 😢😭

[jjkamochoso]

How You React To JJK Characters Describing You as Their Type When Todo Asks

Fluff

Request from anon! This was a super fun one, thanks again for the request!! Also, I didn't do Mai, Miwa or Momo with this one, but added in Nanami; if you would like me to add the other girls back in, lmk and I absolutely will!! :)

JK Men x gn!reader

Warnings: none

Part 2 to this fic; same premise here, the students are all in a big group when the question was asked! <3

Yuji:

“Yuji! What kind of person is your type?”

“My type? Uh, let’s see,” he said, putting his thumb and forefinger to his chin in thought. After he gave his reply, you noticed everyone glancing between him and you.

“What? Is there something on my face?” you asked, wiping your cheek.

“No, you dummy,” said Nobara, “didn’t you hear what Itadori’s type was?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So? So? He described you perfectly,” she hissed. You thought back to his answer and your eyes went wide, realizing she was right. You looked over at the pink haired boy.

“Is that true? Your type is me?” you asked him, not caring that everyone was deeply invested in your conversation.

“Yeah. Is that… okay?” he asked, nervously ruffling his hand through his hair.

“Only if you ask me on a date,” you said with a playful wink, walking away. Yuji just stared at you, hearts in his eyes, until Nobara smacked him.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Go ask them!”

He hurried after you, eager to ask you out.

Megumi:

“Tell us, Fushiguro, what kind of person is your type?”

Megumi rolled his eyes. “Things like that are so unimportant. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters more than you think. It tells you everything you need to know is about a person. Like how you’re a wimp for not answering,” said Todo, crossing his arms with a triumphant smirk.

“Fine,” replied Megumi through gritted teeth, tired of Todo’s pestering, “you really wanna know? I’ll tell you.”

As he described his dream person, you felt your face get warmer and warmer.

“That, um, kind of sounds like me, doesn’t it?” you whispered to Yuji.

“There’s no ‘kind of’ about that, y/n,” he whispered back, just as surprised as you were. When Megumi saw you looking at him, he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away, clearly embarrassed. You ran after him as fast as you could.

“Megumi, wait! I have to talk to you!” you exclaimed, halting him with a grip of his arm.

“I’m sorry, that was a big mistake, I shouldn’t have said anything-”

“I like you. A lot,” you confessed. “You’re my type, too.”

“R-really?” His voice squeaked and he quickly cleared his throat. “I mean, really? That’s good. Great. I’m… relieved.”

You chuckled at his adorable flustered state. “Me too. I guess Todo is good for something after all.”

Nobara:

“Kugisaki! What’s your type?”

“My type? That’s simple,” she answered, her bright bob swinging. As she described the kind of person she found attractive, you couldn’t help the giddiness bubbling up inside; she was describing you!

“Kugusaki? Can I talk to you over here for a second?” you asked, signaling her to follow you away from the group. Yuji, understanding what was happening, gave you a thumbs up.

“Do you have a crush on me?” you questioned. “Because the person you described sounded exactly like me.”

Nobara immediately went into the defensive, crossing her arms defiantly.

“Huh?! Nuh uh, that could be anybody here,” she replied, her face lighting up with a small blush.

“Oh. What a shame, I’ve had a crush on you for a long time,” you said, preparing to walk away. Nobara’s hand darted to your own, prompting you to stop.

“Wait! I… do like you, okay?” she mumbled, not meeting your eyes. “It’s just a crush, though, it’s not like I’m in love or anything stupid.”

You laughed lightly at her attitude. She was a piece of work, but if everything went well, she’d be your piece of work.

Maki:

“Zenin, spill. What kind of person is your type?”

“Do you really have nothing else rolling around in that tiny brain of yours?” Maki asked, obviously annoyed.

“Who would’ve thought someone as fearless as you would be scared by a little question, hmm?” a vicious voice from Mai said.

“I’m not scared, it’s a dumb question,” Maki replied, “but I’ll answer it anyway to get you idiots off my back.”

When she was done describing her type, you felt Yuta nudge you softly.

“Y/n, I think she likes you,” he said in a hushed tone.

“So what if I do, huh?” she said aggressively, overhearing what Yuta told you. The tension that overcame the group was uncomfortable, so much so that everyone left, leaving you and Maki by yourselves. She kept her eyes trained elsewhere, not wanting to meet yours.

“This whole thing was stupid. Forget I said anything,” she snarled.

“Maki,” you said with such softness that she actually looked at you, “I really like you. You’re my type, too.”

She scoffed as she looked away once more, hiding her warmed face. “You’re such a sap, you know that?”

Inumaki:

“Inumaki! What’s your type?”

“He can’t talk, you jerk,” you exclaimed defensively. You turned to Toge. “Just ignore him, okay? You don’t have to answer.”

“Salmon,” he responded, placing a hand on your arm to signal he was alright. He sighed as he approached Todo.

“Salmon salmon,” he told him, earning a confused look from Todo.

“Anyone care to translate?” the tall man asked. Toge rolled his eyes and tried again.

“Salmon salmon,” he said, this time making his pointing toward you more obvious.

“Your type is… L/n?” wondered Todo. Toge nodded meekly as you were overcome with butterflies in your stomach. He turned away from the group as Todo asked the same question to the next victim.

“Toge, I’m your type?” you asked, your voice shaking a little.

He nodded.

“Does that mean you like me?”

He nodded again. You immediately wrapped him in a hug, making him stumble back before wrapping his arms around you as well.

“I’ve liked you for so long now. I never thought I’d have Todo to thank for this, but I guess weirder things have happened.”

Yuta:

“Okkatsu, tell us, what kind of person is your type?”

“I can appreciate all types of people,” Yuta answered happily, making you smile. He was always so kindhearted!

“I don’t believe that,” replied Todo, narrowing his eyes. “You have to have one certain type of person you always find attractive.”

“I mean, I guess so,” he replied, starting to look nervous.

“And that is?” Todo raised an eyebrow.

“Um, let’s see…”

When Yuta was describing that person, you felt a tug on your sleeve. Inumaki was looking at you and you nodded in understanding.

“You picked up on that, too?” you asked, getting an enthusiastic nod in response. Yuta blushed when he noticed you watching him and quickly encouraged Todo to ask the question to someone else to keep him from embarrassing himself more. What he didn’t notice, until it was too late, was who Todo asked next.

“L/n! What’s your type?”

“That’s easy,” you said, your eyes never leaving Yuta’s as you smiled. “It’s Okkatsu.”

He could’ve sworn he died and went to Heaven right there!

Gojo:

“Gojo-sensei! What kind of person is your type?”

“Ooh, are we all playing a little get-to-know-each-other game?” asked Satoru excitedly. “I love it when the students bond like this.”

You were walking by the group when you overheard your fellow teacher getting involved in the kids’ antics so naturally, you stopped to watch.

“My type, hmm?” He was deep in thought, his forefinger to his chin. “Ah! Got it.”

As he was describing the person, the kids started snickering while looking at you. At first you didn’t understand why, but when it clicked, your first instinct was to grab Satoru by the back of his shirt collar and drag him away.

“Thanks for the fun!” he yelled, waving goodbye. When you were far enough away, out of sight and earshot of the students, you punched him in the arm.

“Ouch! Trouble in paradise already?” he teased.

“What the hell, Satoru? Our students aren’t supposed to know about teachers’ crushes on each other,” you reprimanded.

“What happens when we get married? They’ll know when they have to address you as Gojo-sensei. Or address me as L/n-sensei, I don’t care about the whole name situation,” he said airily, waving his hand around.

“You are truly impossible,” you said, rubbing your fingers on your forehead to ease your oncoming headache.

He poked your arm. “But you love me, don’t you?”

“I like you. And that’s trouble as it is,” you groaned, earning a smile and arm slung around your shoulder from the man.

“That’s enough for me, baby.”

“Don’t ever say that again.”

“Noted.”

Noritoshi:

“Kamo! What’s your type?”

“I don’t want to play your nonsense games, Todo,” remarked Noritoshi, frustrated.

“The next head of the Kamo clan refuses to answer such an easy question? That tells me everything I need to know about your character,” smirked Todo.

Noritoshi scowled. “Don’t question my character over my disbelief in your stupid qualifications.”

“Admit it, Kamo. You’re scared,” teased Mai, which sent him over the edge. He explained his type to the group, finishing with, “-don’t ever ask me something so idiotic in the future.”

“So… your type is L/n,” said Todo.

“Yes.” Noritoshi’s eyes widened when he realized what he said. “No! Wait! I don’t…”

He stopped, coming to terms that the damage was already done.

“All of you get on my nerves,” he barked, walking away quickly. You hurried after him.

“Noritoshi,” you said after catching up with him, “I really like you. You’re exactly my type too.”

He studied your eyes for any sign of deceit, but he didn’t find any. Breathing out a sigh of relief, he let a small smile fall upon his lips.

“Maybe the brainless question was useful after all.”

Todo:

“Todo! What’s your type?” you asked the muscled man. He looked surprised at you speaking up, but immediately replaced that expression with a wide smile.

“You.”

You burst into laughter. “No, I’m being serious, Aoi. What kind of person are you into?”

“I am serious, you’re exactly my type. I think you’re really attractive.”

You were about to laugh again when you noticed he was being genuine.

“You’re not… joking?”

“You seriously didn’t know? You’re all he talks about or looks at,” said Noritoshi. “Even I’ve noticed that much.”

“So, what do you say?” Aoi addressed you with another smile. “You want to go on a date with me sometime?”

“Yeah. That would be amazing,” you breathed out, still shocked at the outcome you weren’t expecting but would gladly accept.

Nanami:

“Nanami-sensei! What kind of person is your type?”

Todo’s loud voice made Kento stop abruptly in his tracks.

“I’m not a teacher so don’t address me as such,” he sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Secondly, that’s none of your business. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Nanamin!” Yuji exclaimed, blocking the exasperated man’s path. “It’s a harmless question! We just wanna know more about you.”

Kento observed the shining eyes of the children staring at him and he sighed again, this time more forcefully.

“My type is a person who is smart enough to stay far away from this troublesome group,” he grumbled, making a beeline for your laughing figure as you watched from afar.

“Not a fan of my students’ curiosity, Nanami-sensei?” you teased, causing him to groan.

“They’re much too nosy. I have no interest in delving into my love live with children.”

“How about with another adult, then?” you asked.

He raised an eyebrow. “I’d hardly call you an adult with the way you’re acting right now.”

“I’d be hurt if you weren’t right,” you replied. “C’mon, we trust each other. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

“Fine,” he relented, “but this isn’t how I pictured telling you. I was hoping for a more mature environment when confessing my romantic feelings towards you.”

You stood in shock at his sudden confession. You were joking with the man, not expecting him to come up with a real answer, but instead, he admitted he liked you.

“To make myself clear,” he said, noticing your lack of a reaction, “you’re my type.”

You stumbled over your words in your surprised state. “I… wow. I wasn’t expecting that.” You took in a deep breath to calm yourself. “That does make it a lot easier to say my type is overworked blondes named Kento.”

His lips quirked up into a hint of a smile. “You think I’m overworked?”

“I know you are.” You mustered up all your courage before continuing, asking, “How about you take some time off and join me for dinner later?”

Kento’s smile became much more prominent. “That was supposed to be my line, but that would be lovely nonetheless. I’ll pick you up at 7.”

[dyaz-stories]

JUJUTSU BOYS + PDA

how the jjk boys are when you're in public with them

including: gojo, nanami, choso, yuuji, megumi, maki

word count: 3.6k (500-600 words for one character)

cw: intended as canon compliant, established relationships, fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, kissing, public demonstrations of affection, can't think of anything else tbh

a/n: been reading some fics in this format so wanted to try my hand at it again. it's been years since I wrote short pieces like that, so I hope you'll enjoy them!

GOJO

Gojo has no concept of personal space, and that is something you had to get used to since you started dating — if anything, since before you started dating. Even when the two of you were at a more flirtatious stage, he’d always be leaning towards you to talk to you, face inches away from yours, hands on your hips if he needed to move past you, arm casually around you if you were sitting next to each other. It was all the better if it flustered you.

None of this has changed, except that he’s much more extra about it now. Holding your hand while walking? Nah, that’s boring. He’ll have his arm around your shoulders, even if it’s not convenient given the height difference. He’ll also try to put his hand in the back pocket of your jeans, pout if you tell him not to do it. If you’re waiting in line with him, he has both of his arms around you, is resting his chin on top of your head, and wants nothing more than for you to lean back into his chest, relaxing into his embrace. You can both be doing totally unrelated things — you’re reading and he’s checking his phone — but you’re slotted against each other, and that’s how it is ideally for you.

You’re waiting for him to show up to your date when you feel yourself surrounded by familiar arms, and then his cheek is pressing against yours as he surveys the book you’re holding in your hands.

“Whatch’ya reading?” he asks, breath warm against your cheek.

“Just doing some research on emerging curses,” you say with a shrug as you close it and put it in your bag. “So, did you want to check out that new bakery?”

He hums in reply, and you wait for him to move so you can start walking.

He doesn’t.

“…do you plan on letting go of me?” you ask after a while, turning your head to look at him.

He pouts at you, inches away from your face.

“I haven’t even gotten a kiss yet…”

“We’re in public, Satoru,” you say, feeling your face heating up.

“So? Let ‘em stare. They might as well, if you ask me.”

You want to roll your eyes — one day, you’ll have to talk about that exhibitionist streak of his — but in the meantime, you just have to crane your neck a little to peck his lips. They’re soft, as always, and he follows greedily when you pull away, his hand coming up to tilt your chin up gently as he presses more kisses on the corner of your lips, then on your cheek.

“You’re impossible,” you say, badly hiding your laughter. “Let’s go, or we won’t make it to closing time. You’re late, by the way.”

He lets out a heartbroken sigh, but finally frees you, keeping his arm around your shoulders as the two of you start walking towards the bakery. He keeps his strides short, so you don’t have to run to keep up with him, instead allowing you to keep a comfortable pace.

“Yeah, well, what can I say? I’m just too good at my job, they can never get enough of me.”

“Aw, poor darling,” you say. You grab his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, and bring it to your lips to press a kiss on the back.

He lets out a cough that doesn’t do much to disguise the fact that he’s getting flustered, and you grin, satisfied. Two can play that game.

Fortunately, neither Satoru nor you have any intention of forfeiting any time soon.

NANAMI

Nanami is a private man. There is no reason for the whole world to know his business, and he doesn’t feel the need to put his relationship on display for everyone to see. His softness for you is still plain to see in how gentle his voice gets when he speaks to you, in how carefully he chooses his words, in how fond his eyes are when he listens to you tell him about your day. He knows you like him holding your hand, though, so he’ll indulge you, especially when you’re walking by his side through crowded streets.

That is for practical reasons, of course. First, it just wouldn’t do to lose sight of you. Second, people tend to steer clear of him, his serious expression and his broad frame, and that means they realize quickly to steer clear of you. It has nothing to do with how soft your hand is in his, or how the way you use your thumb to stroke his skin sends shivers down his back.

“That’s a lovely restaurant,” you comment, eyes drinking in the elegant decor while Nanami is examining the menu.

“It had excellent reviews,” he answers, not going into details as to the great lengths he’d gone to in order to ensure that this date was as perfect as humanly possible.

“I’ve been in the neighborhood so many times, and I had no idea this was here,” you say. The place is very small, only a handful of tables, all of them now filled. You’re sharing an alcove with Nanami, creating some distance with other customers.

“There aren’t many tables available, so they don’t advertise much,” he explains as he sets the menu down. “But they’re known for their excellent cuisine.”

You give him a smile, then lean closer to him to kiss him on the cheek. Your lips linger just a little too long, and then you move them close to his ear, which is already turning quite red.

“Thank you for planning all that,” you say sweetly. “It looks wonderful.”

He clears his throat when you pull away, avoiding your eyes.

“Of course,” he answers, voice wavering imperceptibly. “Anything for you.”

And you know he means it, too.

Under the table, his hand finds your leg, large palm easily covering your knee while calloused fingers carefully rub your calf. You bite your lip, welcome the warmth that spreads in your body. You know Kento well enough to be sure that that’s as far as he’ll go, that he wouldn’t dare to do anything more in such a public setting, and that makes you enjoy the intimacy of the gesture all the more.

Later that night, while the two of you are walking out, his jacket is around your shoulder at his insistence — “It’s cold outside” — and he’s getting ready to call a taxi.

“Kento?”

He lowers the phone to look at you, and you push yourself on your tiptoe, hand closing around his tie to pull him down towards you.

It’s late at night, he tells himself. There’s no one around, he tells himself. That’s why he closes his eyes and allows himself to melt into the kiss, regretting it when you pull away too soon and catching himself before he grabs you by the hips to get you closer to him.

“I had a great evening,” you say. “Should we take this to somewhere more private?”

How much more merciless can you get?

“Certainly,” he says. “Just give me a second.”

There is nothing he can deny you.

CHOSO

Choso cannot wrap his head around what he can and cannot do around you. The rules for what is proper, what is acceptable, have shifted so much since he was last around, and he would die before he embarrassed you — or worse, before he did something that would make you push him away. He knows that you wouldn’t, and yet the fear is like a weight that tugs on his heart every time he thinks about it. He walks by your side, glancing at your hand that’s freely hanging between the two of you, and though he brushes his knuckles against yours, he just cannot bring himself to do it. It’s to the point where it’s the only thing he’s thinking about — and he just can’t do it.

Then you see something that catches your eye and you grab his hand and pull him with you in that direction, and he thinks his heart could just fall out of his chest. You make it look so easy, so natural, being with him coming as easy to you as breathing, and he couldn’t possibly ask for more. It takes him many other tries, many other dates, before he can take your hand in his. When he does, you glance down in surprise, then grin at him, and kiss his knuckles softly — and he’s so happy he could die.

“So,” you say, sitting on the park bench, knee pressed against his while you’re leaning into him to show him your phone, your hair tickling his neck, “that’s the movies they have on tonight. Think we should call Yuuji to ask him what to watch?”

“Hm,” Choso says, not really focusing on anything you’re talking about, not when you’re this close to him, “isn’t— isn’t that the one franchise he’s always talking about?”

You burst out laughing, then rest your head on his shoulder.

“No offense, babe, but there is no one in the world I’d go see a Human Earthworm movie for. Even if this one is supposed to have romance in it,” you shudder at the thought, “I’d like to go see something actually. You know. Watchable.”

Choso’s mind is going in overdrive. You’re so close, and he knows he should have gotten used to this by now. He isn’t usually like this, but some passers-by are looking — not necessarily being judgmental, though there was an old lady earlier who scoffed and shook her head, but… looking.

“Then I don’t know if Yuuji is going to be much help,” he manages to say as you keep scrolling on the cinema’s website.

“That’s fair,” you sigh, standing up from the bench, and even if he can now think again, he misses your warmth and your smell right away. “Well, maybe we drop the movie and just go get something to eat, what do you say?

“Sounds good,” he answers, standing up after you.

Hesitantly, almost clumsily, he reaches for your hand, fingertips brushing against your thigh as he does, then tightens his grip around your palm, ensuring that it wouldn’t slip away from you. You give him a fond smile, then take a step to get closer to him, and kiss him gently. His breath hitches, and his eyes dart around the mostly empty park.

“T-there’s people around,” he says quietly, and he hates that you step back to look around.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—”

He takes your hand to pull you with him, and you follow him through the grass as he finds a more secluded spot, behind a tree.

“There,” he says, and you chuckle at how satisfied with himself he sounds.

“Oh Choso,” you coo, leaning against the tree while you grab his shirt to pull him down towards you. His mouth is warm, eager, and his cheeks remain a fierce shade of red as he kisses you back insistently.

You would have missed the beginning of the movie anyway.

YUUJI

The thing about Yuuji is that any type of public demonstration of affection feels so natural coming from him. It’s almost never meant to be suggestive, it’s not something he thinks through, it’s just something he does. You’ll be sitting with Nobara when he appears, and he just puts his arm around you while talking to her, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You’re walking with him when he lifts his head up like he’s forgotten something, and what he forgot was to hold your hand, silly him.

If you walk by him while he’s sitting, he’ll grab your hips to pull you in his laps, fingers rubbing circles on the skin of your arms, absent-mindedly playing with your fingers as he holds your hand. After all, why wouldn’t he? He doesn’t even realize that it flusters you, and it just feels so natural for him to show his affection like that. He’ll look at you with stars in his eyes while you speak, not seeming to realize that his face is so close to him while you’re sitting in his lap.

No one pays attention to it anymore. You arrive just as Nobara is starting the movie — she’s putting on an action movie, thank you very much, even if Gojo just bought the collector edition of Human Earthworm 4 for Yuuji, with the director’s cut — and with all the students crammed in the room, including Panda, who’s taking most of the space on the couch, there’s nowhere left for you to sit.

“Come here,” Yuuji says cheerfully, waving you towards the armchair where he’s found his spot, “it’s about to start.”

You glance around the room for a reaction, but no one is paying you any mind. You walk over to him, perching yourself on one of the arms, legs over his. He doesn’t seem puzzled by it, just puts an arm around your waist casually.

Of course, you end up still sitting in his lap eventually, just slipping in it at some point in the movie. Can you be blamed? He’s warm and comfortable, and he wraps both arms around you so he can tuck his chin in the crook of your shoulder, nose brushing against your cheek when he turns his head. Not that he seems to notice how it makes your pulse quickens, eyes focused on the movie.

“What are the themes even supposed to be,” he mutters under his breath, eyebrows knitting together in annoyance.

“’Military good’?” you suggest quietly as a guy gets blown up on screen.

“The first half of the movie was about military bad,” he protests. “They can’t just act like that never existed.”

“Would you two shut up,” Nobara shouts from her spot, “or Maki will come beat you up!”

The two of you pipe down, knowing the threat is very serious and not one to take lightly.

When the movie ends, everyone gets up, stretching, but you’ve gotten comfortable against Yuuji’s chest, and you don’t feel like doing that just yet.

“That was terrible,” Yuuji comments, and you let out a brief laugh. Gojo has somehow made a cinephile out of him, and you love how worked up he gets over that stuff.

“Yeah, we should have been watching Human Earthworm 4 instead,” you say.

“Exact— oh, you’re making fun of him.”

You giggle, then tilt your head to kiss him. For a second, he freezes, eyes going wide. Kissing is the one thing he rarely initiates — but when you do, you get to see his gaze soften, before his whole body goes soft. His hold on your waist tightens — and then a pillow thrown with impressive precision hits him, and only him, on the ear.

“Not in public,” Maki shouts from all the way into the kitchen.

“Hey,” your boyfriend protests, “I’m not the one who—”

“You’re such a traitor,” you gasp, struggling to pull yourself free from his arms — but it’s no use against his strength, and he refuses to let go.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says. “Now, where were we?”

You might have been at fault for the first pillow, but that second one is all on him, as far as you’re concerned.

MEGUMI

Megumi is a private guy. He can be affectionate in public, but there is a side of him that he only wants you to see. He especially doesn’t want any of your nosy friends, or worse, his adoptive dad to see how he can be around you. They would never stop teasing him after, and he doesn’t think he could live with that.

Or that they could live with that. Because he’d kill them.

It does annoy him that he’s supposed to deny himself because of them. If it was up to him, he’d spend most of his time alone with you, preferably in a small house in the middle of a forest with no one around, no curses, no sorcerers, no nothing. That, sadly, isn’t an option though, so he has to find his own way to do things.

“Don’t move,” he says sternly. “You have something on your face.”

You roll your eyes, but tilt your head up towards him, as he carefully runs his thumb under your eye, then over your cheek, blowing on it once it’s done.

“What was it?” you ask.

“Just an eyelash,” he says with a shrug. “You’re good now.”

You study him, waiting for him to give something away, but he doesn’t, just staring at you with the same expression he always wears.

“Should we get going?” he asks. “I thought we were supposed to catch a movie.”

“Sure,” you relent. “We should get moving.”

The streets are quite full at this time of the day, and you have to step aside frequently to let people pass, sometimes losing sight of Megumi. Eventually, with a sigh, he grabs your hand, pulling you with him as he walks, sending murderous glares to anyone who stays in his path.

“You’re going to get lost at this rate,” he mutters as he pulls you with him.

“I mean, worst case scenario we meet back at the theater,” you say, and you grin at the offended look he gives you. He notices it, but doesn’t answer, a light pink dusting his cheek as he glances away.

He hates the idea of being away from you on a day that’s supposed to be about the two of you — but since he refuses to say the quiet part out loud, you get to tease him all you want.

To be fair to him, having Megumi as your scary guard dog does make it much easier and much faster to reach the theater. He gives you a pointed look when you get there, and, to your regret, lets go of your hand quickly, though his touch lingers there a second longer than necessary.

“Should we get a couple seat?” you ask innocently as you approach the register.

Megumi glares at you once more while you give him a sweet smile.

“It’s better that way, right?” he says, clearing his throat. “Otherwise strangers might have to share one.”

“Sure,” you nod, not even bothering to hide your grin. “It’s just more practical, right?”

“Right,” he says stiffly.

Even once you are in the couple seat, he keeps a thoroughly appropriate distance from you, one that you might find a little hurtful if, at the end of the commercials, he didn’t fake a yawn to put his arm around you, in the least smooth way known to man.

“You know you can just do it,” you say quietly as the lights turn off, resting your head on his shoulder. “You don’t have to go through all that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbles.

Reaching for his face, you tilt his head towards you, and push yourself to meet his lips for a sweet, soft kiss. For the first time since you’ve stepped foot outside, his whole body relaxes into yours, and he stops trying to pretend.

“You had something on your lips,” you whisper when you pull away.

He snorts, then quickly goes back in to steal one more kiss from you before the movie starts.

“Liar,” he says.

As if he’s one to talk.

MAKI

Maki isn’t a demonstrative person as a general rule. She does compliment you without hesitation, words falling from her mouth so genuinely that it never fails to fluster you, but physical demonstrations of affection don’t come easy to her, maybe because she received so little of it as a kid. She does it sporadically, and she does very much enjoy teasing you, loves knowing that she can get those reactions out of you.

It’s the more spontaneous gestures that get to you though. She’ll kiss your forehead after a battle that left you bruised, a way of comforting you. She’ll pat your head after you managed to pull an impressive move during training. On one occasion, when you got injured, she carried you in your arms to Shoko, demanding that you be taken care of right this instant. She’d been the one to get flustered after that, hiding her face in her hand in embarrassment when it was brought up later on.

It might not come easy to her, but she does love it when you do it — when you show her your love in that way.

“You’re late,” she scolds you when you reach her for one of your dates, needing to take a second to catch your breath because you’ve been running since getting out of the subway.

“Sorry,” you say between deep breaths, “there was an emergency.”

Worry flashes on her face immediately.

“A curse? Were you hurt?”

She reaches for you, tilting your face towards her as she examines it, then study your body to make sure you weren’t injured. You let her, surprised at first, then endeared.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she frowns once she realizes how soft your gaze has become.

You grin, then push yourself closer to kiss her. You don’t care that you’re in public, and though it wouldn’t have occurred to her to do it, neither does she. The kiss is sweet, gentle. I’m alive, you’re alive, it says. No need for more.

“See?” you ask cheerfully. “All good. Now, I’m pretty sure you were going to buy me dinner…”

She clicks her tongue, but she’s grinning. It’s nice to see her so at ease, so relaxed. It’s a side of her you’d never see within the walls of Jujutsu High, nor on a mission. You’re the only one that can bring it out of her, and man do you love it.

“I’m buying? Again?”

“I did almost just die.”

“Nice try, but you told me you were fine.”

“I’m fine now,” you insist, “but…”

“Well, I was disowned by my family, so I don’t have money. You’re buying.”

The two of you keep bickering, but, as you walk, you reach for her hand. She pulls away at first, years and years of reflexes kicking in instinctively, and once she realizes what you were doing, she’s the one who takes your hand in hers. She holds it delicately, careful not to break it — to be fair, her strength would probably allow her that.

It’s so sweet and light, being out there with you like that. So normal. She hopes it never ends.

You squeeze her hand, and she lets you guide her across the street, content with just following, knowing that she can trust you to fill in her shortcomings in the relationship, like she does it for yours.

The sky is grey, the forecast said it might run later tonight — Maki’s planned an umbrella, she’s sure you didn’t think of it — but as far as she’s concerned, the day is as beautiful as it could possibly be.

this is my first time writing for... pretty much everyone here except gojo lol. i hope you enjoyed it and that the characterization wasn't too off, but any feedback is welcome! if you want to support me and my writing, please reblog/leave a comment or send me an ask, i'd love to chat! i'll see you later for some more jjk writing ^-^

you can find my gojo x reader work here

[pilloyz]

Guess who😜💋

[mikikkoo]

𝖠𝖼𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇!! *。、⋆ ˖ ࣪

.𖥔 ݁ ˖๋ ࣭ summary -> the Tokyo Jujutsu High students accidentally confess to you (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ .𖥔 ݁ ˖๋ ࣭ notice -> gender neutral reader (use of she/her pronouns in megumi's portion bc i messed up..); kms/kys jokes; crack/fluff; sfw; bad grammar + spelling (intentional); kinda ooc; brainrot; cursing; one(?) use of "pretty" but all terms can be used for any gender!; NOT PROOFREAD; i kinda ran out of ideas for maki.. sorry !!; notes at the end

.𖥔 ݁ ˖๋ ࣭ includes -> jjk tokyo first years (nobara, yuji, megumi) + jjk toyko second years (toge, maki, yuuta)

─ ⊹ ⊱꒰☆꒱⊰ ⊹ ─

First Years!!

─ ⊹ ⊱꒰☆꒱⊰ ⊹ ─

Yuji Itadori

Megumi Fushiguro

Nobara Kugisaki

─ ⊹ ⊱꒰☆꒱⊰ ⊹ ─

Second Years!!

─ ⊹ ⊱꒰☆꒱⊰ ⊹ ─

Toge Inumaki

Yuta Okkotsu

Maki Zenin

─ ⊹ ⊱꒰☆꒱⊰ ⊹ ─

Notes

─ ⊹ ⊱꒰☆꒱⊰ ⊹ ─

AAAA first post... how are we feeling sigmas.. 😈

im so brainrotted someone save me

UT$GHGTINTEGINUGT$IBNTG this feel SOO OOC im sorry chat.. 💔

I HIGHKEY hate this but.. i rlly wanted to post smthing and im not creative enough to make smthing good soooo....

made this on the ride to my house...

im so scared... why am i scared to post this....

i hope ppl see this but i also dont cus like then everyone will know how bad my writing is (spare me PLEASE)

requests VERY welcome 🤗

this idea is not original ive seen it on my feed like 10 times (not complaining tho 😍)

i think i spelled some of their names wrong... 😭

COMMENT FOR CREDS!!!!

masterlist in blog heheh :3

AABHEFBHUBERBREFBR I JUST NOTICED THAT I USED SHE/HER PRONOUNS IN MEGUMIS IM SO SORRY GUYSSS I DIDNT PROOFREAD IT IM SO SORRYRYYYYYYY :((

I WILL PROOFREAD NEXT TIME I PROMISE

SO SORRY

[basicallyjeankirschtein]

Left On Read - Yuta x Reader SMAU

chap 5: crash out masterlist

you didn’t want to forgive toge, considering how he called you a hoe and all. but, you’re open to the aspect of meeting his friend panda. you also appreciated his apology, much better than yujis, who’s supposed to be your best friend.

after sending the last text, yuta turned his phone on do not disturb and got smile ready for you.

“it’s a bit scary, but don’t worry, i’m here for you.” he said with a genuine smile.

for once in your life, you didn’t feel like the second choice.

-

hai guys! i’m glad everyone is in agreement that they do NOT deserve forgiveness 😭 watching you guys tweak out in the comments is the funniest thing ever DO IT MORE I HATE THEM ALL!

also guys would it be whorish of me to make multiple guys have one sided crushes on yn.. main love interest will be yuta my glorious king but i think it’d be funny for everyone to switch up after her immaculate glow up from moving on to a dif friend group 🤤🤤

@shokosbunny @kalulakunundrum @tenthmilo @maddietries @genxnarumi @reiluvr @love-me-satoru @crystal-freak24 @gigiiiiislife @juujujs @heartz4nanami @justmare @noomimi @thirtykiwis @luvsymai @walllflowerrrsss

[vienssunshine]

GUAAA you’re the best maki writer on this app istg /&;&;@/@/@-“&/ could you please write smth nsfw where the fem reader like gets jealous of yuuta cause she thinks something is going on between them?

She likes a boy but I'm not a boy

pairing: Maki Zenin x fem!reader sfw: love confession word count: 1.5k author's note: thanks for the ask! not smut but def jealousy! enjoy! description: it's hard to find out maki and yuta have a thing, maybe a conversation with her could clear some things up

“Last lap!” Yuji calls out, his breath labored despite being far ahead of anyone else circling the track. It’s been twenty minutes of this drill—sprinting until you can’t feel your legs anymore—and with the sun beating down on you, it’s utterly grueling.

You were psyched to have the earlier training sessions this week along with Nobara, Panda, and Yuji, because, though getting up before sunrise is a challenge in itself, it tends to be cooler in the morning. With summer approaching quickly, having the afternoon sessions like Maki, Yuta, Inumaki, and Megumi do is a near death sentence.

However, this morning is uncharacteristically hot. The sun has only been up for the past hour, but its rays are blinding and oppressive. With no shade offered by Jujutsu High’s training facilities, all one can do is suffer until practice is over.

You cross the line and stumble off the field, making your way to the bleachers to lean back on the metal that’s too warm to cool your overheating body.

“I thought that would never end,” Yuji sighs, draping the shirt he had taken off over his forehead and pouring water onto it.

You reach for your water bottle, taking in the cool liquid in clumsy swallows before saying, “I don’t think I’ll be able to get back up.”

“Same here,” Nobara says, lying like a starfish on the grass in front of you. She glances at her watch and groans, “Only thirteen more minutes ‘til we go again.”

Panda sits up, somehow full of energy—you suspect he’s been using gorilla mode to make the drill easier—and says, “That should be enough for some of my favorite kind of break-time talk!”

Yuuji pulls his t-shirt off of his face, “Is it–”

“Sexy talk!” Panda exclaims.

“Gross,” Nobara says, throwing her empty water bottle at him.

“Not gross,” Panda counters, deflecting the bottle. “A necessary bonding experience for those on a team. Haven’t you ever heard of locker room talk?”

“I think that’s different,” you say.

“Yeah,” Nobara agrees, glowering.

“I’ll start,” Panda says, “Yuji, who do you think would make the best couple in Jujutsu High?”

Yuji crosses his legs and strokes his chin. “Umm…I don’t know…”

Nobara eyes him. “Spit it out.”

“Thought you didn’t like this kind of talk?” you say.

Nobara folds her arms, “Doesn’t mean he should take forever to answer.”

“Come on, Yuji!” Panda says, clapping his paws together.

Yuji sits back on his hands, “Maybe…Yuta and Maki?”

You furrow your brow. That’s a strange pairing.

“Great choice!” Panda says, looking smug, “I would agree.”

“What? Totally wrong!” Nobara objects, offended by the idea, “Maki isn’t interested in anyone, she doesn’t have time to be in a relationship.”

This isn’t making any sense. You sit up so you can face them. “Are you guys being serious?”

“Uh, yeah,” Yuji says, puzzled, “I thought they were kind of a thing?”

“Definitely,” Panda says, “I’ve always known.”

You pull your legs into your chest and rest your chin on your knee. This is not what you expected, or understood to be what was going on.

You’ve known Maki for a while, and she’s always been very friendly to you, well, as friendly as Maki can be. But still, she pays you extra attention, noticing the little differences in your appearance—like if you changed your hair or wore a new outfit—and following it up with a compliment that feels strangely intimate. She tends to touch you a lot as well, opting to brush by you rather than go around, or have her hand graze your forearm as she laughs at one of your not-funny jokes. So you’ve been thinking that maybe, after all this time, she might see you how you see her. But this conversation is making you wonder if it’s all in your head.

“Well, I guess if it had to be someone,” Nobara concedes.

“Just admit it, they’re made for each other,” Panda says dreamily.

You huff. Yuta and Maki are definitely close, but made for each other? What makes him so great? Just because he’s a special grade doesn’t mean he’s equipped to handle someone like Maki—he always looks like he’s two seconds away from crying. If what they’re saying is true, if they’re actually together…you’re not sure what you’ll do, but just thinking about it is heating your blood.

The conversation devolves into discussing what everyone’s type is, but you tune it out, instead searching your memory for the signs of Yuta and Maki’s special connection. You're not sure how you could've missed it if it was so obvious to everyone else.

The rest of training is easier now that you’re pissed off. Your form is sloppier as you run around the track, feet hitting the ground in hard, careless pounds, but you’re going much faster than you were; there’s less of a gap between you and Yuji.

You’re still angry when you shower, change your clothes, put on shoes, and go to class for the rest of the day. It’s good that Yuta and Maki are in the afternoon sessions of training, you’re not sure you’d be able to stay composed with how you’re feeling right now.

The day cools as the sun goes down and, after trying and failing to talk your feelings out to one of your stuffed animals, you resort to finding a late night snack in hopes of soothing your inner turmoil.

Only, when you get to the communal kitchen, there’s a light on, and under it, sitting at the table, is Maki watching something on her phone.

She looks up when you walk in. “Hey,” she says, an interesting smirk on her face.

“Hey,” you respond, passing by and heading to the cabinet to grab some chips. You debate going back to your room—you’re not sure if hanging out with her tonight is a good idea—but the urge to stay wins, so you sit down in the chair next to her and open the bag.

Maki puts her phone down and rests her elbows on the table, clasping her fingers together and tilting her head as she says, “I heard you were talking about me today.”

Looking straight ahead, you say, “Did you?”, and put a chip in your mouth and chew. “Maybe you should tell Yuta about it.”

There’s that attitude you were worried about slipping out. You don’t want to give her a hard time, you’re just frustrated, because Yuta? Over you? Really? But then she laughs, and despite everything, it’s immensely gratifying.

“Yeah, you guys were saying we’re a thing or something,” Maki says, expression calming into a soft yet devious smile.

She’s baiting you, though you don’t know why. Her golden gaze is as heavy and intense as the sun this morning as she searches your face for any reaction. It’s peculiar behavior if she likes someone else—unless you’re misinterpreting again.

You’re as casual as can be when you ask, “Aren’t you guys a thing?”

Maki responds matter-of-factually, “Yeah, we are.”

You cough, nearly choking on your chip. That confirms it, confirms everything you were worried about. Maki likes someone else. A boy. Your mind spins, trying to make sense of the situation. Panda and Yuji had a better read on the situation than you? You had just imagined the tension with Maki? The one thing you can conclude is that you were totally wrong.

Maki hands you her glass of water, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you force out, taking a sip. “That’s great,” you say, “For you and Yuta.”

She laughs again. “Don’t ever become an actress.”

You break out into a stupid smile, “I’m serious.” Putting the chips down, you try to recover. Obviously this is terrible news, but you still have to be a good friend. “Really, that’s great. I’m happy for you.”

“Stop,” she says, waving her hand, “We aren’t really.”

“Uh…what?”

“We aren’t really a thing,” she says, her hand landing on your forearm like it always does. Only, this time, it stays there. “I just wanted to see how you’d react.”

She moves her thumb along your skin, and though her strokes are gentle, the sensation is electric. No doubt she’s noticed how your arm has lit up in goosebumps.

“Why?” you ask, your voice quieter than it was, anticipatory. You don't want to be wrong again.

She speaks slowly, her gaze holding steady. “Because, I don’t want to be a thing with Yuta”—her fingers give your arm a squeeze—“I want something with you.”

It doesn’t register at first, the words not sinking in, rather just sitting there, utterly impactful. Her amber eyes watch yours as you tell it to yourself again: Maki doesn’t want Yuta, she wants you.

Your friend, who for months you’ve longed for, dreamed of, desired, Maki, she likes you back.

There’s no room for air in your body, not with the surge of excitement pushing up through your chest. Everyone else—Panda, Yuji, Nobara—they didn't know what they were talking about. Maki wants you.

Your hand lands on hers without consulting your head first. Then you’re leaning forward, leaning closer to her, and you echo the sentiment, whispering you’ve much you’ve wanted this. She smiles before your lips meet; the kiss was mutually long-awaited.

And so, in the dimly lit kitchen, a secret romance was born. Would the others get it right this time?

[hoseokslefteyebrow]

In which the first years find out you're engaged, and to whom.

Arranged marriage au.

In which you meet for the first time.

" You're already engaged?!" 

Nobara Kugisaki's mouth is wide open as she grabs your hand, studying the ring that fits you taste.

You smile at her reaction as you nod, allowing her to look at it. 

Today, you, along with the other second years, are training the first years, as Gojo was sent off to a mission. 

Currently, everyone was seated on the lush ground.

Nobara can't see it, but from opposite you, Toge grins, his blush and expression hidden behind his high collar.

" Why? You're so young! He must be amazing if he managed to pull you!" 

You blush at her words.

" Thanks. It started out as an arranged marriage actually."

" What?- Wait so you don't love him? Do we need to help you get rid of him and escape?"

Nobara is serious, and you can't help but snort.

" Ah, don't worry-"

Your gaze shies away, the hand she's holding pulling away as you pluck at the grass below you. You blush as you continue to speak.

" We might've started out arranged, but we've fallen for each other along the line."

Nobara blinks, taken by surprise.

" How long have you known each other?"

" Since halfway through middle school. We were introduced with the announcement of our marriage."

" I see. When are you getting married?- Oh, I'm invited too, right? Do you need a maid of honor?"

You smile at her enthusiasm.

" We're set to marry once we graduate. And of course you're invited. Maki's already my maid of honor though."

From beside you, Maki smiles.

Meanwhile Nobara's eyes widen in realization.

" Once you both graduate? Your family is a Jujutsu clan right?!-"

" Are you going to marry Panda?"

Everyone turns to Yuuji with an obvious questioning expression in their eyes.

From beside him, Megumi smacks him upside the head.

" No, idiot. She's engaged to Inumaki." 

Yuuji whines as he holds his head.

" That was my second guess."

Nobara blinks between the two of you. Opposite you, Inumaki gets up, moving over to plop down closely besides you. You smile as he does so, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek in greeting.

This time, everyone notices the blush on his cheeks.

" No way! You?!"

You're not sure if that's a negative or positive reaction.

" Salmon."

" Is there something wrong?"

Nobara hurriedly shakes her head.

" No, I just didn't know. I'm surprised. I've rarely seen you two sit beside one another in class, or spar together, or do anything together except for eating lunch side by side, so- and how do you even communicate?"

You grin at her. From behind his pulled up collar, Inumaki does the same.

" We've been dating since before Jujutsu Tech. We know each other well and respect each other's space. Besides, our class is small, and we already hang out a lot outside of class as well. Besides, once you're together for long enough, you kind of just know how to communicate without communicating, you get me?"

Nobara's looking at you with wide eyes, obviously intrigued by this newfound information. 

" So you're basically already married?"

You and Toge exchange looks, the both of you shrugging.

He picks up your hand which was resting on the ground, holding it in his lap as he messes with the engagement ring he willingly got you. Just like every clan marriage, it was mostly meant for on the papers. To continue the bloodline eventually. He had never been given a ring to give you, and you never asked for one.

Nonetheless, he's happy he did, proud to show you off and already be able to call you his.

" Almost."

[A/N: Lowkey crave a full blown story for Inumaki in an arranged marriage au tbh.]

[chiquititaosita]

maki with a teen mom reader

osita note: I swear working at daycare has given me so much more energy to come up with ideas to write for myself and to post ofc

contents: wlw, teen pregnancy, single mom reader adorable baby girl!! , wholesome shit, (reader and maki are 20)

tags: @euphofic @luffyinlove @hangeslovers-world @abbyslev @hangespublicist @neptunes1nterweb @zarihaaa @yeagerzprettyblnt @sanjisblackasswife @roronoaswifey @roronoacherries @hqkalon @br4tphobia @kazushawty @ginger4sugar @noawithlove @backwzzds @killxio @mommypieck @etherealxmaya @chocolatetheoristcloud

- you work at the local daycare in Tokyo.

-knowing how maki reacted to y/n having a baby when she was in high school is very shocking to her.

- your first kiss with maki was super romantic because they took you out on a date. y’all instantly clicked fr fr.

-she didn’t even expect you to be a mother, of a beautiful little girl

-“Wait you have a kid!?” It was shock to maki’s eyes, as you told her during y’all’s dinner date.

- “I do.-“

- maki knowing that she growing up didn’t know what a family is like. Her clan is so fucking dysfunctional she doesn’t even understand, how a baby is. she’s heard a few things about babies ngl.

- Really it doesn’t bother her that you have a baby. It just shows that to her that you’re more capable and stronger than she thinks you are.

-so in order to reassure you while she dozed off “Maki??” And then she just shuts you up by kissing you again when y’all are staring at the moonlight near a park. holding your face cradling your head, as she embraced you.

-“do you have a picture of them?” your eyes smiled gently as you have sparkles in your face brightening your world.

- when she first meets you with your baby girl Hana who is 18 months old (she’s a year and 6 months old) she’s in shock by how tiny she is.

-Hana looks just like you, and knowing you had her at a young age it’s crazy, she says mama and DADA!

-Maki loves her and you. When she finds out how much you’re willing to protect her from curses.

- That’s when maki fell in love with you even more of course

- but when Hana is eating in her high chair. She’s watching maki cook and wash dishes.

- “damnit it’s cute.” maki hates to admit that, but she finds your baby to be the most adorable out of all babies.

- “bring Hana.” that’s one time maki sent a text and you brought her. Y’all went to the aquarium together. Hana loved it fr..

- even when you had to close you asked Maki to pick hana up from daycare aka your job that you work at. she doesn’t even say no.

- the minute hana saw maki, she’s smiling happily, and yelled “MAKI!” her black eyes sparkled. When one of the infant teachers saw maki. They were so happy for you fr

- “hi princess.” maki will say in a motherly like tone hugging Hana. She’s is like one of her own. “mama?” Hana is calling out softly and looking at Maki. With those big dark eyes.

-“Mama is going to meet up with us.” Maki is super reassuring to Hana, like her mother always was before she passed (Makis mom btw)

-“you wanna go see the deer??” Maki will ask Hana, as she says yes, hugging Maki. Like a second mama. “I love you maki-san.” That was the very first sentence that Hana has ever said to Maki. She full blown cried and hugged the baby. “I love you too Hana-Chan.” She’ll smile happily.

-“im gonna take care of you and your mama okay?”

- when maki confesses you. You start crying because you’re overwhelmed at the fact that maki loves your daughter. She melts her stone cold heart.

-maki is always including Hana into ways y’all can spend time together. Like a family.

-“ but you’re not her father.-“

-“so, he’s a shit bag. He left a responsibility that I’m willing to take upon myself.”

-“I rather be the cool stepmom anyway.” She’d give that sexy smirk, and also would sometimes eat you out when babygirl is asleep in her room.

-“look y/n I know this is very sudden. But I want to be there for you and Hana.”

- the moment they told you they’re willing to step up they’re going to make it. And be the best second Mother to ever exist.

- let alone they’ll be so sweet and kind to their child

-“Maki-chan!!” Hana will be running to see her and hug them tightly just to be showered with kisses.

-“Hey pumpkin, everything good??”

-“yeah! I got to be a dinosaur!!”

-moments with them are super pure. Maki only has pictures of you three. Hana, You and Hana. Maki and you. Even some with maki and Hana.

[admiringlove]

➵ pairing. gojo satoru x fem! reader.

➵ summary. after an unexpected encounter, you find yourself unraveling in ways you never expected—especially when just the mention of gojo leaves your heart pounding for all the wrong reasons.

➵ warnings. gojo being gojo; pureblood families being toxic and abusive; mentions of grievous injury; mentions of rough sports (quidditch, duh); profanity; slight timeline inaccuracy in the wizarding world; etc.

➵ genre. wizarding world au; academic rivals to lovers; enemies to lovers; angst; fluff; adventure; SLOWBURN; etc.

➵ word count. 14.3k.

➵ author's note. lowkey. was stressful writing this one but I HAD SM FUN WITH THE PLOT <3 ty for proofreading to @gojofile // @fxstpace my love for u is endless :3 and also taglist is only open until chapter four comes out, so pls sign up if you'd like !!

➵ navigation. previous, masterlist, next.

Three weeks. That’s how long it takes to narrow down the bloody list.

Between Quidditch practice, Prefect duties, the Dueling Club, and the endless demands of the Marauders’ secret requests, you’re barely treading water. Sleep is a luxury you haven’t afforded yourself in days—not with everything weighing on your shoulders. The vials of Invigoration Draught are the only reason you’re still standing, stolen in the dead of night from Snape’s private stores or brewed hastily in the second-floor girls’ lavatory where no one ever ventures. Not even Moaning Myrtle bothers you anymore, at least not when she isn’t in the mood for company.

But those are just the mechanics of survival. The true strain is Gojo, who has taken your fight three weeks ago as a cue to abandon all responsibility, leaving you to shoulder the entire burden alone. You can feel his smugness radiating across the Great Hall whenever you arrive late, ink smudged on your fingers and hair sticking awkwardly to your face, while he sits surrounded by friends, ever unbothered, ever insufferable. You hate him with a passion that burns in the marrow of your bones. The kind of hate that keeps you awake at night, staring at the ceiling of your dormitory, imagining all the ways you could wipe that stupid grin off his face.

And yet, here you are. Dragging your exhausted body to the Courtyard because Shoko, the anchor in your spiraling chaos, demands it. She cornered you after Charms today, catching you slipping into a seat at the back of the classroom—your usual place in the front row long since abandoned. You can’t blame her for being worried. If the roles were reversed, you’d do the same. And honestly, she has a point. You can barely stand to look at yourself in the mirror, the dark hollows under your eyes brutally attesting to the past few weeks.

Still, there’s a spark of triumph burning faintly inside you. The list is done. Finally, mercifully, it’s done. You can rest, even if just for a little while. That is, after you give Gojo a piece of your mind. He deserves it, the arrogant twat. But then, perhaps your pride is to blame too. You could have asked him for help—should have, really—but the idea of admitting defeat feels like swallowing broken glass.

The air is sharp as you make your way down the corridor leading to the Quad Courtyard, the early spring chill biting at your skin. Your hand finds its way into your robes, curling around the cool glass of the vial nestled there. The Invigoration Draught is your lifeline now, a quiet little secret you cling to in the absence of sleep. Turning the corner, you pull it free and uncork it with a quick twist of your wrist, tipping the contents back in one practiced motion. The liquid burns as it slides down your throat, a fleeting heat that settles into your chest before dissipating. It won’t undo the ache in your limbs or the weight in your head, but it will keep you upright. That’s enough.

You slip the empty vial back into your pocket, adjusting your robes as you approach the Courtyard. It isn’t just exhaustion you’re trying to hide—it’s the unmistakable fragility of being stretched too thin, the fear that anyone might look too closely and see how close you are to breaking. You know Shoko will notice anyway. She always does. But with the list finally behind you, maybe you can let yourself breathe. Just a little. For now.

You wave to her as you cross the Courtyard, the grass soft and damp beneath your feet. Shoko is perched on the edge of the fountain, her posture casual, but her gaze sharp. You manage a smile, hoping to mask the exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin. Her eyes narrow the moment they meet yours, and you realize your facade is paper-thin.

"You look horrible," she says bluntly, skipping any pretense of pleasantries.

"Well, hello to you too," you reply, sinking down onto the stone beside her.

"You look like you haven’t slept in weeks," she presses, her tone half-concern, half-reprimand. Without waiting for a response, she hands you a neatly wrapped snack—a gesture so quintessentially Shoko that it almost makes you laugh. You peel back the parchment to reveal a warm pumpkin pasty and a delicate square of butterbeer fudge. Both are undoubtedly pilfered from the kitchens, no doubt acquired through her uncanny ability to charm the House Elves.

“Thanks,” you mutter, taking a bite of the pasty. The buttery crust crumbles perfectly, and for a brief moment, you let yourself enjoy the comfort of the warm filling. Shoko doesn’t waste a second diving into conversation, her voice animated as she talks about the upcoming Slytherin vs. Gryffindor Quidditch match.

You nod along, interjecting with the occasional quip to keep the banter alive. It’s easy, familiar, a rhythm you don’t need to think about. That is, until she drops the bomb.

"If you keep showing up like that, Utahime’s going to bench you tomorrow. Before the match.”

You freeze mid-bite, blinking at her. “Wait, what? The match is tomorrow?”

She stares at you, wide-eyed and disbelieving, as if you’ve just confessed to a crime. “What day do you think it is? Tomorrow’s Saturday. We’re halfway through October.”

“Oh my God,” you murmur, the realization hitting you like a Bludger to the gut. “I haven’t practiced at all.”

Shoko bursts out laughing, the sound light and unapologetic. “Utahime is so going to bench you,” she says through her giggles. The certainty in her voice makes your stomach sink even further.

“I should go practice,” you murmur, your voice almost swallowed by the rustling leaves in the Courtyard. “I don’t want to be benched. It won’t look good on my record. Applications to St. Mungo’s are next year, and—”

“Hey.” Shoko’s voice interrupts, her hand settling gently over yours, grounding you. Her fingers are warm despite the chill in the air. “You’ll be fine. It’s okay. Go practice. I’ll see you on the field tomorrow. Just don’t stretch yourself too thin, alright?”

Her words are simple, but the weight of them pulls at something fragile in you. You hum, nodding, as you push yourself up from the edge of the fountain. The flakes of the pasty and fudge in your fingers now feel like a lifeline—a small kindness amidst the chaos you’ve made of your routine. “Thanks for the food. I owe you one.”

“Stop thanking me for feeding you!” she calls out, exasperation softened by amusement. “I wouldn’t have to if you’d actually show up to lunch!”

You don’t answer, already halfway across the Courtyard, the sound of your shoes muffled against the cobblestones. The air grows cooler as you slip back into the castle, the familiar draft of the corridors tugging at the hem of your robes. Your legs move on autopilot, carrying you up the winding stairs toward your dormitory. You need your broom; you need to practice; you need to prove to Utahime, and to yourself, that you can keep up.

Your thoughts spiral inward, full of determination, until—

Bang.

You collide with something—or someone. The impact is jarring, sending you staggering backward. Pain blossoms in your nose, sharp and immediate, and your ears ring with the aftermath. You instinctively clutch at your face, the warmth of your hands doing little to soothe the throbbing ache.

“Shit,” you hiss, your voice muffled as you press your palm to your nose.

When you finally look up, the world tilts slightly off-center. Standing before you is Fushiguro Toji, tall and imposing, his presence cutting through the haze of your pain. His green eyes, flecked with a sharpness that always seems to watch too much, narrow slightly as they take you in. For a moment, his expression is unreadable, but then his brow furrows—not in irritation, but in something softer, something that almost looks like concern.

“Sorry,” you stammer, the word tumbling out before you can stop it.

Toji shakes his head, slow and deliberate. His voice is low, rough like gravel underfoot, but not unkind. “Don’t apologize. I wasn’t lookin’.” His gaze flickers to your hands, still cradling your face. “Your nose okay?”

“Y-yes,” you manage, wincing as the sharp throb in your nose intensifies. “I’d like to think so. I have to practice for tomorrow’s Quidditch match.” Your voice comes out weaker than you intend, more brittle.

Toji tilts his head, his lips curving into the faintest semblance of a laugh. It’s not cruel, but it’s amused, the way one might humor a child determined to do something reckless. “Yer nose is literally bleedin’,” he says, gesturing toward your face as if you hadn’t noticed. “I think you should pay a visit to Madam Pomfrey instead. Besides, we’re winning anyway. We’ve got two new additions to the team, and, well—there’s me.”

His confidence borders on arrogance, but it’s casual, unforced, as if he’s simply stating a fact. You roll your eyes, already feeling the exhaustion creeping back in, but you muster enough energy to counter. “Ah, you forget. There’s Gojo, Suguru, and Shoko too.”

“And me,” he replies sharply, narrowing his eyes at you like you’ve just insulted his entire lineage. “I’m literally one of the most important players. The Keeper is arguably more important than anyone else.”

“Sure,” you say, tilting your head in mock consideration, a smirk tugging at your lips. “And the Seeker isn’t?”

Toji groans, dragging a hand down his face, muttering something about Gryffindors being too smart for their own good. But there’s no venom in it. Instead, he studies you for a moment, his gaze dropping to the way you’re wiping blood from your nose with the sleeve of your robe. He sighs. “We really should get that nose checked out,” he says, his tone softening despite himself. “I think yer brain stopped workin’. You also look…” He hesitates, as though weighing whether to say what he’s thinking. “Weird. Like you haven’t been sleepin’ or somethin’.”

The comment cuts through you—not because it’s cruel, but because it’s too accurate. You feel weird. You feel like a ghost haunting your own body, trying to move through the day with a willpower that’s stretched far too thin. His observation, though unintentional, feels like being caught in a lie you’ve been telling yourself. For a moment, you don’t know how to respond.

"I'm fine. I-I need to—"

The words falter as your head swims. Your eyelids feel unbearably heavy, as though weighted by lead. You blink once, twice, trying to summon the rest of the sentence from the haze that clouds your mind, but nothing comes. A sharp pang of embarrassment flares briefly before exhaustion crushes it, leaving you too drained to care.

Your legs wobble as you sway slightly, and Toji's hand snaps to your arm, steadying you. His grip is firm but measured, and a faint warmth radiates through his palm. He does this a lot, doesn’t he? Always having his palm around your arm. Like something protective.

"Alright," he says with the kind of certainty that brooks no argument, "yer comin’ to Pomfrey’s with me. Now." His tone leaves no room for protest, not that you have the energy to muster one.

He starts guiding you toward the Floo near the Great Hall, his hand never leaving your arm. The pressure of his grip is oddly comforting, gentle despite its firmness, as though he’s mindful of not making you feel worse. You let yourself be steered, your legs moving sluggishly beneath you as if they belong to someone else. The green flames of the Floo engulf you, their roar oddly soothing in your dazed state.

Moments later, you find yourself in the Hospital Wing. Toji doesn’t let go of your arm until he’s eased you onto a stretcher, his brows furrowed as he glances down at you. Madam Pomfrey appears from her office, her expression a mixture of concern and exasperation, though it’s her pristine white headscarf—tucked neatly around her dark hair—that catches your eye first. You blink at it, momentarily distracted by its perfect symmetry.

“What seems to be the matter?” she asks briskly, her eyes sweeping over you before narrowing in that way of hers that makes you feel six years old again.

You try to speak, but Toji beats you to it. He glances at you, waiting for you to explain, but when you don’t, he lets out a low sigh, clicking his tongue in irritation. “This one looks like she’s gonna pass out any second,” he says, jerking his chin toward you. “I doubt she’s slept at all in the last week.”

Madam Pomfrey’s sharp eyes land on you, brimming with a knowing disappointment that makes your stomach sink. She doesn’t even need to ask—you can tell she already knows. “Oh, come on, [L/N],” she chides, her voice tinged with exasperation. “How many times have I told you not to rely on Invigoration Draughts to get through your workload?”

Toji’s head snaps toward you, his brows drawing together in disbelief. “You mean she’s done this before?”

“Oh, yes,” the matron replies, her voice rising slightly as she straightens. “Multiple times. Ever since she figured out how to brew it, really. She’s got a knack for pushing herself too far. Hold her here while I fetch the Sleeping Draughts. She has the tendency to run away if I don't keep an eye on her.”

She turns on her heel, muttering about stubborn students as she disappears into the back room. Toji looks at you with narrowed eyes, his arms crossing over his chest.

“You're telling me you've done this before?” he says, half-scolding, half-incredulous. “And you ran away instead of listenin' to her?”

You let out a soft groan, covering your face with your hands. “Shoko dragged me here, anyway. There was no point.”

“And I’m supposed to make sure you don’t pull the same shit this time, huh?” he mutters, shaking his head. His voice carries a layer of irritation, but there’s something else beneath it, something softer, something you’re too tired to untangle.

“I really can’t afford to be benched tomorrow at Quidditch,” you say, your voice almost pleading as you push yourself upright. Your legs swing over the edge of the stretcher, and you fix him with a look—eyebrows knitted, lips pressed into a determined line. Tilting your head slightly, you let out a weary sigh. “Please, just let me go. I promise I’ll sleep after the match tomorrow.”

Toji takes a step closer, his arms crossing in front of him as he raises an unimpressed brow. “Absolutely not. Trust me, the puppy-dog eyes? They don’t work on me. Too many have tried, and every single one of ‘em failed.”

You roll your eyes, exasperation flickering through the fatigue that weighs you down like a heavy cloak. “Ah, yes,” you say dryly, “I forget. Your list of never-ending girlfriends never stops growing, does it?”

He smirks, a lazy, lopsided thing, and shrugs. “Gotta earn my keep somehow, right?”

“By ‘earn,’ you mean leech off people who actually like you?” you counter, the faintest spark of mischief finding its way into your smirk. It feels oddly warm, this exchange—like a fleeting ember in the cold fog of exhaustion that clouds your head.

Before he can retort, Madam Pomfrey strides back into view, clutching a small vial of Sleeping Draught. She stops in front of you, her expression a familiar mix of exasperation and maternal sternness, and uncorks the vial with a sharp twist. Toji steps back, leaning against the wall with his arms still crossed, his dark eyes watching with an amused tilt as she turns her focus to you.

“You will drink this,” Pomfrey says, her voice clipped and no-nonsense. “And you will drink it now, [L/N]. I do not want a repeat of last year when you fainted during Transfiguration. Open your mouth.”

“Can I just take it with me to the dorms?” you ask, a too-bright grin spreading across your face. It’s feigned, of course, but you try to sell it anyway, knowing full well it’s a futile effort. “I mean, I might be occupying a bed that someone else actually needs, someone truly in need of it—”

“Open your mouth,” she interrupts sharply, her glare unwavering. “Or I’ll have Fushiguro over there hold your jaw open for me.”

Toji snickers softly, the sound low and grating, and you shoot him a withering look before turning back to the matron. Your grin melts into a resigned frown as you let out a long sigh. “Fine. But how long will I be out?”

“That depends,” she says, her tone sharp as a scalpel. “How long have you stayed awake?”

You hesitate, glancing down at your hands as if the answer is written in the creases of your palms. “F-five days,” you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. “I think.”

Pomfrey exhales sharply through her nose, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’ll drop dead before you even apply to St. Mungo’s if this is how you intend to spend your time here,” she says, rolling her eyes as she tips the vial to your lips. The liquid is bitter, and slightly tingly as it slides down your throat, and she doesn’t stop until the vial is completely empty.

“Count to ten,” she instructs, already moving to tidy her tray of potions. “You’ll be out before you get to six. You’ll wake up in the morning before the match—or if you don’t, I’ll make sure you do. Now lay down and sleep.”

The mattress beneath you feels impossibly soft, like it’s absorbing all the tension you didn’t even realize you were holding. Your eyes flutter shut almost involuntarily, the exhaustion pulling you under like a wave, and you hear Toji’s low chuckle somewhere in the distance. By the time you reach four, the world around you has already dissolved into quiet darkness.

You don’t know why, but your sleep is restless, plagued by whispers that seem to coil in the corners of your mind. They slide through the darkness like snakes, hushed and slithering, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t make out who they belong to. Only the words—if they can even be called words—linger, hissing and sharp, brushing your ears as if they’re alive.

The darkness is suffocating, so complete it feels like you’ve dissolved into it, lost all shape or form. You can’t see, but you hear them—those voices, too close and yet distant enough to elude you. A strange chill prickles down the back of your neck, and though you can’t feel your own limbs, the sensation of being watched settles into the base of your spine like a weight.

And then it changes. It twists. The hissing grows louder, more distinct, more serpentine. Parseltongue.

Your eyes widen instinctively in the black void, though they don’t open. The sound burrows into you, unwelcome, curling around your ears like the coils of a viper. You don’t understand the words—just the feeling they bring, cold and sharp as steel. You try to move, to shout, to demand to know who or what is there. But you can’t. You are utterly frozen, utterly powerless.

The whispers grow closer, pressing in like invisible hands, and for a moment, you’re sure you feel something brush against your skin. And just as you think you might suffocate under the weight of it all—your eyes snap open.

You sit up sharply in the infirmary bed, your chest heaving as you gulp down breaths. The air feels thinner here, the light too bright, almost blinding. It takes several blinks for your vision to adjust, for the trembling in your hands to ease. The infirmary is quiet, eerily so, and when you glance at the clock on the far wall, it reads seven-thirty.

The world outside is awake, alive. Breakfast is probably in full swing in the Great Hall. You can almost hear the buzz of voices, the clatter of plates and goblets, and the excited chatter about the first  Slytherin versus Gryffindor Quidditch match of the season. You should feel excitement, anticipation, something other than this lingering dread sitting heavy in your chest.

But the memory of the dream—or was it more than a dream?—clings to you like cobwebs. You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, your feet brushing the cold floor, and push yourself up. There’s a sink on the far side of the room, and you stumble toward it, splashing water onto your face in a desperate attempt to scrub away the lingering unease. The cold jolts your senses, loosening the tightness in your jaw, but it doesn’t wash away the whispers still echoing faintly in your head.

When you return to the bed, you notice something on the bedside table. A neatly wrapped square of chocolate bark and a vial of something pale and glowing. Madam Pomfrey’s unmistakable touch. You know better than to drink the potion without her supervision—she’d have your head for it—but the chocolate feels safe, comforting. You unwrap it carefully, breaking off a corner and nibbling on it. The taste is rich, sweet, melting on your tongue like a balm for your nerves.

You don’t hear the footsteps at first. It’s only when they’re close—so close—that you look up toward the infirmary entrance. Fushiguro Toji.

He steps into view with an expression you can’t quite pin down. For a fleeting moment, you think it’s concern. But then his usual smirk appears, a practiced mask, and he makes his way toward you with the casual confidence he seems to carry everywhere.

“You look better than yesterday afternoon,” he says, his voice low but teasing.

You narrow your eyes at him, more out of habit than any real annoyance. “Something wrong? You looked worried.”

“Worried?” he echoes, as if the word itself is foreign. He waves a hand dismissively, though his gaze lingers on you longer than it should. “Nah. Just figured I’d check on the Gryffindor martyr who thinks five days without sleep is a brilliant idea.”

You grimace at that, your teeth sinking into another corner of chocolate to avoid answering immediately. “I had things to do,” you mutter, avoiding his eyes.

“Right. ‘Things.’ Another one of your little secrets, huh? Like the library thing a few weeks ago?”

“It’s not something I can talk about,” you admit, shrugging. “Not with anyone. Not even Shoko or Utahime.”

His smirk fades into something sharper, his jaw tightening. “You passed out in the corridor,” he says, his voice louder now, firmer.

“I didn’t pass out,” you argue. “I just... lost myself for a moment.”

"That's... the stupidest thing I've ever heard," he scoffs, his voice sharp but softened by the exasperation etched into his features. His words hang in the air, cutting, but there’s something else simmering beneath them—something harder to name. He doesn’t say anything else at first, just sighs heavily, dragging his fingers through his hair as his gaze flickers around the infirmary like he’s searching for some invisible lifeline, some tangible object to anchor himself to.

Then, without warning, he steps forward, fingers curling around the curtain at the edge of your bed, yanking it closed in one smooth motion. The sound is soft but decisive, the scrape of the curtain rings along the metal rod unnervingly final. Suddenly, the world outside this small, sterile cocoon ceases to exist, and the air between you grows heavier, charged with something you don’t entirely understand.

Your breath catches as his actions register, and instinctively, you set the chocolate aside, fumbling as you place it back onto the wrapping paper on the bedside table. Your heart picks up pace—loud, insistent, beating so fiercely in your chest that it feels like the sound of it might echo in the confined space.

And then, Toji moves toward you. And despite all the things you’ve been busying yourself with for three weeks, you feel yourself wanting him closer. 

There’s something about the way he walks—slow, deliberate, as if each step is calculated. His eyes are locked onto yours, sharp and assessing, and there’s an intensity in his gaze that makes you feel like he’s sizing you up for a fight. Your breath grows shallow, your fingers curling over the edge of the mattress as if it might steady you somehow. You don’t know why he’s here—not now, not when he should already be heading to the field to warm up. The match starts at ten, and it has to be close to eight by now. He shouldn’t be wasting his time here.

And yet, he is.

When he finally stops, he’s standing between your legs, close enough that the wool of his sweater brushes against your knees. Too close. You tilt your head up automatically, craning your neck to meet his gaze, and your pulse thrums louder in your ears. His presence is overwhelming, suffocating in a way that makes it impossible to think straight.

He’s tall, towering over you in a way that makes you feel small, and the sheer proximity makes your skin buzz with awareness. His breath fans against your forehead, warm and steady, and the thudding in your chest grows louder—so loud that you swear he must be able to hear it, too.

“You’ll be good on the field today, yeah?” he asks, his voice low, rough in a way that sends a strange shiver down your spine.

You blink up at him, your lips parting instinctively as you nod. The movement is small, jerky, as though the words you want to say are lodged somewhere in your throat, refusing to come out. His gaze doesn’t waver, doesn’t soften, but there’s something about the faint curve of his lips that feels oddly tender, almost mocking.

A ghost of a laugh escapes him, barely audible, as his hand comes up to tilt your chin upward with his thumb. The touch is light but deliberate, his thumb pressing just enough to guide your face to meet his. “Would you like…” he starts, his words slow, deliberate, “let’s say, a small distraction before our game?”

“A distraction?” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

You feel it then—his chest brushing lightly against your chin, the contact subtle but enough to make your skin prickle with heat. He nods, the corners of his lips twitching faintly as though amused by your reaction. “A distraction,” he hums, his tone almost gentle, though there’s something darker lurking beneath it. “Something to take the weight off your mind.”

Your hands move without thought, reaching up to rest against his chest. The wool of his sweater is soft under your palms, warm, grounding in a way you hadn’t expected. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch, and it’s almost unnerving how solid he feels, how real.

He watches you with an intensity that makes your throat tighten, his eyes flickering over your face like he’s trying to memorize every detail. There’s a softness there that catches you off guard, an unspoken question lingering in the air between you.

Your heart thunders in your chest as his other hand moves, his fingers brushing against the curve of your jaw. His touch is light but sure, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded patterns along your cheek. It’s tender in a way that feels almost unbearable, and you find yourself leaning into it without meaning to.

The way he looks at you—like you’re something fragile, something worth handling carefully—makes your breath hitch. It feels too much, too intimate, like he’s reaching into parts of you that you didn’t know existed. And yet, you don’t pull away.

He leans in closer, so close that the space between you is barely a whisper, and his breath ghosts over your skin. Your fingers tighten slightly against his chest, the fabric of his sweater bunching beneath your grip, and you feel the tension in your body coil tighter and tighter.

His voice is quieter now, softer, as he murmurs, “Let me help you.”

And then, slowly, carefully, he closes the gap.

You realize, with a sharp twist of embarrassment, that you’re far more inexperienced than you thought when it comes to kissing. That truth becomes glaringly obvious the moment Fushiguro Toji leans in, his arms bracketing you on either side, trapping you against the infirmary bed. His lips crash against yours with a fervency that’s all-consuming, his movements filled with a raw, unrestrained hunger that makes it hard to think, to breathe, to do anything except feel.

There’s a desperation to the way he kisses you, as though he’s been starved of something essential, and for some reason, you’re the only source of relief. A soft, involuntary sound escapes your lips—a moan, more a surprise to you than to him. Your hands find their way into his hair without thinking, your fingers threading through the dark strands, tugging lightly, experimentally. You feel him smirk against your lips, the hum of approval rumbling low in his chest, and his grip on your face tightens just enough to keep you firmly in place.

The kiss deepens, the press of his mouth becoming surer, more insistent, and you find yourself responding without hesitation, your body acting on instincts you didn’t know you had. There’s something dizzying about the way he makes you feel—like you’re teetering on the edge of the vast and uncharted, and you can’t decide whether you’re terrified or exhilarated.

But then, just as you’re pulling him closer, just as your body is tilting dangerously into his, he pulls away. The absence of his lips leaves you breathless, blinking up at him in dazed confusion as his smirk reappears, infuriatingly self-assured.

“I said, a distraction, [L/N],” he drawls, his voice low and teasing. “You’re getting carried away.”

You stare at him, chest heaving, your lips tingling from the kiss. Heat rises to your face, and you stammer, “I-I... I haven’t done that before. Sorry.”

His expression shifts, softening slightly as he processes your words. His hand still cradles your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone in a gesture that feels far too intimate. “Yeah?” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. “And how’d you like me being your first?”

Before you can answer, the distant sound of bustling breaks through the charged silence. Footsteps echo down the hallway, voices carrying—Madam Pomfrey’s voice among them. Toji stiffens, clearing his throat as he steps back abruptly. His composure returns in an instant, and he moves to pull the curtain aside, leaving no trace of the moment you just shared.

You feel the loss of his presence acutely, the warmth of him fading as Madam Pomfrey strides into the room, her sharp gaze sweeping over you.

“I trust you took the chocolate?” she asks, her tone brisk but not unkind. Her eyes flick to Toji, her brows lifting slightly. “And Fushiguro, you’re here already, I see.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Toji replies smoothly, his voice steady. “Came from breakfast to remind her about Quidditch warm-up. We’re supposed to leave in twenty minutes to meet at the field by nine.”

Pomfrey hums, nodding in approval as she turns her attention back to you. “Drink the vial before you go,” she instructs, pointing to the small glass container on the bedside table. “It’s a lesser dose of the Invigorating Draught to keep the body pain away. But mind you, you still need more sleep.”

You nod quickly, offering her a sheepish smile. “I’ll make sure to get back to my normal routine from today,” you say earnestly. “Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. Really. It won’t happen again.”

She gives you a knowing look, her lips twitching with faint amusement. “We both know you’re lying, [L/N]. But all right. Go on, then. Do well today, yes?”

You hop off the bed, grabbing the vial and uncorking it as you make your way to the door. The draught is bitter but effective, the warmth spreading through your body almost immediately. Toji trails behind you, offering Pomfrey a quick goodbye before the two of you step into the corridor.

The air feels cooler out here, sharper, as you glance at your watch. It’s later than you thought. You pause, turning to Toji. “I should get going,” you say, adjusting the hem of your Quidditch robes. “Utahime’s probably waiting for me in the Common Room.”

“I bet she is,” he replies, his voice laced with amusement. His eyes linger on you for a moment, and you find yourself drawn to the faint scar across his lips before meeting his gaze again.

“Good luck,” you say with a small smile, your tone teasing. “I hope you lose.”

“Of course you do, Gryffindor,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Don’t go fainting again.”

There’s a tug in your chest, a strange reluctance to leave him, but you force yourself to turn away. Hugging yourself lightly, you walk down the corridor, the sound of your footsteps echoing faintly. You don’t look back, though you can feel his gaze on you, and as you round the corner, a small smile creeps onto your lips.

By the time you reach the Gryffindor Common Room, the team is already assembled near the exit. Utahime spots you immediately, her sharp voice cutting through the chatter.

“And where in seven hells have you been?” she demands, her tone half-scolding, half-concerned. “I’ve been missing a Chaser since yesterday, and you didn’t even bother to show up for practice last night!”

“Infirmary,” you say simply, shaking your head lightly as if to tell her you’ll explain later.

Her eyes narrow for a moment before she sighs, exasperated. “Get in line. We’ll talk formations and head to the field. Got it?”

You nod, falling into step beside the other two Chasers. It's when your eyes land on Maki Zenin and Itadori Yuji, as they stand nervously on the other side of the line. You offer them a small smile, which they return, though their focus is already shifting to Utahime’s instructions.

As she outlines the strategy, your mind drifts momentarily, lingering on the weight of the match ahead. Slytherin has improved—everyone knows it. With players like Gojo, Shoko, Geto and Toji being good as they usually are, new players like Inumaki and Mai, the game will be anything but easy.

You sigh, steeling yourself. There will be teasing if you lose, no doubt about it. But you know that, whatever happens, today will leave its mark.

When you reach the field, the morning air is crisp, the sky a dull gray with the promise of clearer weather later in the day. The scent of damp grass lingers in your nose as you make your way toward the locker rooms, the sound of Utahime’s voice rising over the clamor of your teammates. She’s already rallying everyone together, going over strategies, but you barely hear her. You tune it all out, focusing instead on the motions of getting your gear on—shin guards, arm guards, knee guards. You secure your goggles, adjusting the strap until it sits comfortably over your forehead. Your broomstick leans against the bench beside you, ready to be picked up at a moment’s notice.

You’re tightening the straps on your gloves when Utahime approaches, her presence unmistakable even before she speaks. “You okay?” Her voice is quieter now, less commanding, edged with something close to concern. “Why were you in the Infirmary last night?”

Your hands still for the briefest second before you force yourself to continue lacing up your gloves. You glance up at her, hesitant, guilty, and the shift in her expression is immediate. Her eyes harden sharply, knowingly, the same way they always do when she pieces things together before you’ve even said a word. Shoko and Utahime have always been like this—able to read you like an open book, no matter how hard you try to shut them out. It’s been that way since your second year, and you’ve never stood a chance at keeping anything from them.

She crosses her arms over her chest, her nostrils flaring as she whisper-yells, “What is your problem? Before our first game? Really?”

You wince, your shoulders sinking slightly. “I’m sorry,” you mutter, bending down to grab her chest gear from the bench. You hand it to her carefully, the weight of her disappointment thick in the air between you. She snatches it from your hands, her jaw tight, her frustration radiating off of her in waves.

“Don’t apologize to me,” she says sharply. “Just try not to get yourself killed during the match. We already have our work cut out for us as it is.”

You frown, straightening up. “What do you mean?”

She exhales through her nose, adjusting her gear as she casts a glance toward the field. “Toji as Keeper. Gojo as Seeker. Geto and Shoko as Beaters, as usual. But now they’ve got Mai Zenin and Inumaki Toge. It’s practically a pureblood soup, except Suguru.” Her voice drops slightly, her lips pursing. “Shoko’s betting against us. She doesn’t think we’ll be able to win.”

Your stomach twists at that. You follow her gaze, taking in the sight of your teammates—some stretching, others already geared up, adjusting their grips. The weight of the match presses against your ribs, heavy and insistent, but you shake it off.

You reach out, placing a hand on Utahime’s shoulder, grounding both of you. “Hey,” you say, your voice steady, “we’ll be fine. We have you. Their Chasers have nothing on you.” You offer her a small, confident smirk. “You’re better than Fushiguro at what you do.”

Utahime stares at you for a moment before scoffing, but you see it—the slight easing of her shoulders, the flicker of amusement that softens her scowl. And that’s enough.

The game begins in your favor, if only just. The sky is a pale, grey blue, and the wind howls against your ears as you navigate through the rush of players. Itadori hovers high above the field, surveying the chaos beneath him like a hawk circling its prey. He hasn’t moved much—not yet. He’s waiting, watching. Below him, the match unfolds in frantic bursts of movement, the Quaffle trading hands so quickly it’s impossible to keep track for more than a second at a time.

Gryffindor leads by twenty points. It’s not much, but it’s enough to feel like the momentum is yours for now. You push forward, the Quaffle slipping through your fingers into Nanami’s waiting grasp. He flies in tandem with Mei Mei, their movements precise and effortless as they cut through the green and silver defense, closing in on the goalposts. You stay back, slightly behind them, your fingers tightening around your broom handle. You’re the safety net, the last line before a counterattack.

And then you see him.

Toji looms in front of the goalposts, watching the play unfold with infuriating calm, his body tense but unreadable. His grip on his broom is casual, effortless. He isn’t worried—not yet. And then, just as Nanami throws, he moves.

You see the smirk before you see the save.

The Quaffle rebounds off his forearm, spinning wildly into the open air before two blurs of green streak across your vision—Mai Zenin and Inumaki Toge, moving like twin daggers slicing through the sky. The Quaffle is gone in an instant, stolen from your team’s grasp before anyone can react.

And then you realize what’s happening.

Your heart pounds as you scan the field. At first, you think it’s coincidence, but then you see it for what it is: a mirror. Every movement your team makes, they replicate. Slytherin has stopped playing their own game and started playing yours. Every formation you attempt, they counter with eerie precision. A third Chaser lingers behind, watching—an old player, you realize, Kamo Noritoshi, slotted into the team like a missing puzzle piece. He isn’t rushing, isn’t chasing. He’s studying, reading your patterns, your movements. Feeding them back into his team like a conductor leading a symphony.

Nanami glances back at you, waiting for direction. But what do you do when your own strategy is turned against you?

You swallow, gripping your broom tighter. The hesitation lasts for only a second before you shake your head, motioning for Nanami to push forward. It doesn’t matter if they’re mirroring. You just need to break through. He understands immediately, nodding before diving forward, weaving past two defenders. He’s close. So close.

And then your stomach twists.

Across the field, moving like shadows on the edge of your vision, you see Geto and Shoko. Not advancing, not playing. Something worse. They pass a Bludger between them with their bats, calculated, measured, the way an archer tests their aim before loosing an arrow. Their eyes are locked on Nanami, tracking him with frightening precision.

They’re going to hit him.

If they land the shot, Nanami won’t just drop the Quaffle—he’ll drop out of the sky. You don’t think. You move.

Your fingers tighten around your broomstick as you surge forward, urgency sinking its claws into your chest. You barely have time to glance at Maki and Todo Aoi before signaling them to move with you. You need your Beaters with you. You need to get there before it’s too late.

Nanami has no idea what’s coming. And you don’t know if you’ll reach him in time.

"Guys!" Your voice cuts through the wind as you glance back at Maki and Todo, motioning for them to close in. They don’t hesitate. They’re right behind you, the three of you moving in tandem like cogs in a well-oiled machine. You barely notice the way your palms slick against the handle of your broom, the way your heart pounds so violently it drowns out the roar of the stadium. You’re too focused. Too set on the scene unfolding ahead of you.

Nanami is a target. He doesn’t even realize it.

You streak past Inumaki Toge, your breath sharp in your chest. A misstep, a fraction of hesitation, and you might fall off your broom—but that doesn’t matter now. The game isn’t fair, not today. Slytherin isn’t just playing to win. They’re playing to maim.

Your gaze locks on Geto, the way he maneuvers with that same unsettling calm he always carries. Too calculated. Too easy. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

"Maki, slow down!" you yell, jerking your broom lower, making yourself a smaller target. She listens instantly, adjusting her grip, her sharp gaze flicking toward you for the next instruction.

"Dopplebeater Defence," you call, your voice cutting through the wind. "Both of you—hit the Bludger at the same time! Make it collide with theirs!"

You don’t need to explain. Todo has been a Beater long enough to understand, and Maki was impressively experienced, despite being a new player. It’s a risky move, a technique Gojo had shown you in second year—one that required ruthless precision, perfect synchronization. Two Beaters striking a single Bludger at once, doubling the force behind it. Enough to knock another Bludger off-course.

It has to work.

You take a deep breath, lower yourself until you’re nearly horizontal against your broom. The Bludger is hurtling toward you now, whistling through the air like a bullet. If you miscalculate the timing, it’ll knock you straight off your broom. You hear the crack of bats against iron—Maki and Todo, perfectly in sync.

And then—impact.

The Bludger screams through the air, missing you by inches. You feel it graze just over your head, a rush of displaced wind knocking your hair into your face. It streaks across the pitch, colliding mid-air with the one Geto and Shoko had aimed at Nanami. The sound of impact is sharp, brutal, metal on metal, sending both Bludgers spinning wildly into the open air. Nanami’s eyes find yours, wide, startled, grateful. And then, he moves.

Before Toji can even blink, the Quaffle is through the hoop.

A triumphant grin spreads across your face as the stands erupt into cheers. You catch Shoko watching you from across the field, unimpressed, arms crossed. You wink at her. She exhales sharply, shaking her head before retreating back into formation.

Nanami loops around, keeping pace with you as you hover near the midfield, watching the play unfold. He’s still breathing hard, but his expression is calmer now.

"Thanks for that," he says, tilting his broom slightly so he can glance over at you.

"Anytime," you reply, rolling out the tension in your shoulders. Then, lowering your voice, you add, "I’m more worried about the Snitch. I can handle the field."

Nanami hums, scanning the pitch. "I haven’t seen Gojo."

You sigh at the mention of his name. "Don’t worry. He’s lurking around somewhere."

Nanami frowns, dodging a Bludger with an effortless twirl before shooting you a glance. "What do you mean?"

You shake your head. "He won’t let himself be seen until he’s seen the Snitch. He’s done this before, once or twice."

"Then we’re screwed," Nanami mutters, his tone dark, but there’s a glint of something sharp behind his words.

Your brows knit together just as the two of you dart past Mai, weaving through the chaos to steal the Quaffle. You flick a quick signal to Mei Mei, who shifts position to defend as you lead Nanami toward the goalposts.

"Why?" you ask, glancing sideways at him.

Nanami doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, his grip tightens around the Quaffle. He exhales sharply through his nose before finally saying, "Because Gojo Satoru is above us."

Your breath catches.

"Fifteen, maybe twenty feet," Nanami continues, voice edged with tension, "but exactly above us."

Your fingers fumble momentarily around the Quaffle before you recover, instinctively passing it off to Nanami. You don’t even process the movement. Your focus is elsewhere. You tilt your head back, searching the sky.

And there they are. Gojo and Itadori. Side by side.

The Snitch—glinting, flitting just ahead of them like a trick of the light. Your breath catches. Holy shit.

"Kento, get Mei Mei here," you call over the roar of the game. "I’m going back. I have to play defense, or get Gojo off Itadori’s tail."

Nanami’s head snaps toward you, his brows knitting together in confusion. "You—what?"

But his broom never wavers. He exhales sharply, glancing at Kamo Noritoshi and Mai Zenin before his grip tightens around the Quaffle. You already know what he’s about to do. A clean, brutal check—one he’s perfected over the years. And sure enough, just as two Slytherin Chasers align for a pass, he cuts between them, intercepting the play with ruthless efficiency so they can’t steal the Quaffle.

You don’t wait to see the outcome. You tilt your broom upward, signaling to Mei Mei, who swoops in seamlessly to take your spot. And then you’re climbing—higher, higher, higher—pushing your broom for all it’s worth.

The wind cuts against your face as you rise above the rest of the players, the field shrinking below you. You barely think, barely breathe. Your focus is locked ahead. On Gojo. On Itadori. On the sliver of gold flitting just beyond them.

Gojo is gaining on him.

Your broom is old, sluggish compared to Gojo’s Firebolt, but you push it harder, forcing every last ounce of speed from the worn handle. Your arms burn, your fingers aching from the grip you refuse to loosen. You won’t let him win. Not today.

You’re closing the distance now—just a few feet between you and him, the faint scent of broom varnish and wind catching in your nose. He doesn’t see you coming.

And then, he looks back. Gojo Satoru looks behind him. It knocks the breath from your lungs.

Because in all the years Gojo has played, through every brutal match, every near-impossible maneuver, he has never once looked back. He is always the fastest. Always ahead. Always calculating three—no, ten—moves in advance, too confident, too untouchable to ever check behind him.

But today, he does. At you.

"What in Salazar’s name are you doing?" he shouts, his voice almost incredulous. You want to roll your eyes, maybe even laugh, but you don’t. Because that’s when you see it—Itadori.

His body lifting, shifting, hoisting itself up. Your heart stops as you realize what he’s about to do. He’s standing. Itadori Yuji is standing on his broom.

A gasp rips through your throat as you force yourself forward, pushing until your fingers graze the fabric of Gojo’s robe. You have him. You could pull him back, could send him reeling, could foul him if you wanted to—but you don’t.

Because in the next breath, Itadori dives. His broom plummets beneath him, and for a single, terrifying moment, he’s free-falling. You hear a collective gasp from the stands, a sharp intake of breath from Gojo himself. But Itadori doesn’t panic. His fingers latch onto the handle at the last possible second, his body swinging with the momentum of his own reckless descent.

And in his hand, the Snitch. Golden, fluttering wildly, wings beating against his grip.

The stadium erupts.

Your brain stutters, your vision blurs, and you can’t quite grasp the moment as it happens—because Gojo is yelping in disbelief, because your own breath is caught somewhere between a laugh and a curse, because Gryffindor just won the match.

And just as you’re about to pull away, just as the weight of the moment settles, you realize something else.

Gojo let you catch him. On purpose. He let you win. On purpose.

The silence of the locker room is thick, settling over you like a second skin. After promising Utahime you’d lock up, you let yourself sink onto the bench, exhaling, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes. The exhaustion isn’t just physical; it’s marrow-deep, a slow ache that radiates through every part of you. Your shoulders throb, your fingers cramp from gripping the broom too hard for too long, your shins sting beneath the tight guards still strapped to your legs. You should take them off. You should get up, peel the sweat-damp gear from your skin, but your body refuses to move, leaden and sore.

Then, a knock. Then another.

You blink, lifting your head, gaze hazy, breath slow. A shadow lingers just beyond the door, broad-shouldered, heavy in its stance.

"Hello?" your voice comes out rough, hoarse. No answer at first. Then, the door creaks open, and you recognize him before he steps inside.

Toji.

You sigh, setting your goggles down on the bench beside you. “You can come in, you know,” you say, voice still heavy with fatigue. “I’m decent.”

He chuckles, low, throaty, the sound flowing around the dimly lit room. And then you see him—hair mussed with sweat, a smirk tugging at the scar on his lip, his eyes sweeping over you in that slow, assessing way of his.

"No enchantments?" he muses, stepping in. He leans against the lockers, arms crossed over his chest. "How’s a Slytherin like me walking in here without getting hexed?"

"I took them off," you mutter. "Sometimes Shoko comes in after games. Didn’t want her getting cursed by accident."

He nods, thoughtful, then grins. "Guess you got lucky. It’s me."

"Guess so."

Your voice is even, but there’s something in the air now, something heavy and pressing, shifting the room into something smaller, more intimate. He moves, pushes off the lockers, steps closer. Close enough that the space between you barely exists. Close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off of him, the scent of sweat and something sharper, something dark.

“What, you didn’t wanna see me?” he says, voice playful, but his eyes flicker with something else, something more knowing.

You shake your head, letting out a tired chuckle as you lift one leg, fingers moving to unbuckle the straps of your shin guard. He doesn’t move away. He watches. And then, his hand closes around your calf. You freeze.

Your breath stutters. His grip is firm, warm, but not rough. He lifts your leg with ease, braces your foot right against his chest. Beneath your sole, the fabric of his shirt is warm, damp, the muscle beneath solid and unmoving.

A slow, quiet inhale. His thumb skims over the edge of the shin guard, almost absentmindedly, then he tugs at the straps, unfastening them with a precision that makes something coil hot and restless in your stomach.

A sharp gasp escapes you. Toji smirks.

“Never been touched there, have you?” his voice is low, a murmur meant only for you, but there’s something teasing in it, something that makes heat prick at the back of your neck.

"Shut up," you mutter, trying for irritation, but it comes out weaker than you want. Your fingers curl at your sides, gripping the edge of the bench. "You already know I haven’t."

He hums, amused, like he enjoys hearing you admit it.

"Just teasing, princess," he murmurs, softer now, almost gentle.

Princess. The word rolls off his tongue, something smug about it, something easy. Your pulse flutters against your throat. You hate how easily he affects you, how effortlessly he reads every twitch, every breath, every shift in your posture.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he presses your foot more firmly against his chest. Your breath catches. The heat of him seeps through the worn cotton of his shirt, his ribs expanding beneath your heel with every slow inhale. His fingers work at the last strap, pulling it free, peeling the shin guard away from your leg. The air feels sharp against your bare skin, exposed in a way that feels ridiculous, but Toji doesn’t look away. He watches you. Watches the way you tense, the way your breath shudders, the way your fingers tighten against the bench.

He knows. And worse, he enjoys it.

“Toji—”

Your voice is barely above a whisper, something uncertain curling at the edges of the syllables. He exhales, slow and measured, before releasing your leg. It drops to the floor with a dull thud, the absence of his touch leaving behind an invisible imprint, like a lingering heat in the air. You barely have a second to regain your balance before his hand is at your chin, fingers curling with a gentle but insistent pressure, tilting your face up toward his.

You go still.

His palm is warm, the pad of his thumb dragging lightly along your jaw, grazing over the rapid flutter of your pulse. He watches you with an expression you can’t quite name, something teetering between amusement and something deeper, something weightier.

“We can’t,” you murmur, wide-eyed. “Someone could walk in at any time—”

He scoffs, the sound low and unimpressed, tilting his head as he considers you. “Have you always been such a goody-two-shoes?”

You swallow hard, nodding before you can stop yourself, and Toji has the audacity to smirk, slow and knowing, like he’s already anticipated your reaction before you’ve even processed it yourself.

“You always answer questions honestly?” he asks, voice nothing more than a murmur.

“No,” you admit, quiet. “Only when I want to.”

His smirk deepens. “That’s my girl.”

Your breath stutters, your skin prickling under the slow, deliberate way he traces the slope of your jaw with his thumb. It’s not rough—not exactly. It’s careful and intentional, a touch that holds its own kind of weight.

You shift, fingers twitching at your sides. “Toji,” you try again, barely recognizing the way your own voice wavers. “What if someone comes in?”

“No one’s here,” he says, quiet, certain. “I checked. Both teams are back in their common rooms, every other student’s at the castle by now. There’s a few idiots still outside, loitering, but no one near here.” He tilts your chin just a little higher, like he’s forcing you to take in the certainty in his expression. “Trust me, princess.”

You exhale.

“Oh,” is all you manage.

Slowly, you push yourself to stand, your muscles still sore from the match, exhaustion settling deep into your bones. But even standing, you’re still nowhere near his height. The top of your head barely reaches his collarbone. He’s looking down at you with something unreadable in his gaze, something patient but expectant, like he’s waiting for you to come to some kind of inevitable conclusion.

You blink at him, slow and heavy-lidded. “‘M exhausted, you know,” you say finally.

His lips curl. “Want me to do all the work, don’t you? Brat.”

There’s a low amusement in his voice, a knowing edge to it, and you barely manage to hold back your grin as you let your hands rest lightly against his chest as you ask, “Would that be so bad?”

"I'm starting to think not," he murmurs, voice rough with something low and amused, something that simmers just beneath the surface. Then he’s leaning down, closing the distance between you, his lips pressing against yours with an ease that makes your stomach drop. The kiss is slow at first, exploratory, before you sigh into it, parting your lips just enough to let him in. He takes the invitation immediately, tongue sweeping against yours, tasting, teasing.

He laughs into your mouth, a low, satisfied sound, smiling even as he deepens the kiss. His grip tightens at your waist, pulling you flush against him, as if he’s intent on anchoring you there, on making sure you feel every inch of him, every shift of his muscles, every deliberate press of his fingers.

"I enjoyed losing to you," he breathes, mouth brushing against the corner of your lips.

You hum, tilting your head to press a kiss to his jaw. You have to rise onto your toes just to reach it, stretching up, but the effort is worth it when you feel the way he reacts—his breath stuttering, his hands gripping you even tighter. The kiss is messy, warm, damp from sweat, but you don’t care. You like it this way. You like having the burden off of your shoulders.

"I enjoyed winning," you whisper against his skin, grinning as he grunts, pulling you closer.

"I'm starting to think you enjoyed it a little too much," he mutters, voice low, teasing.

"I did," you admit, giggling, before trailing your lips down the column of his throat, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses there. His skin tastes like salt and heat and something distinctly him. You let your teeth graze lightly, sucking just enough to feel him tense beneath you. He makes a quiet sound, something between a wince and a hum of approval.

“And you said you weren’t experienced,” he rasps.

"I read," you murmur, lips brushing over the dip of his collarbone. "It’s the only experience I’ve got. Muggle romance books are quite... vivid, you know."

He exhales a laugh, low and gravelly. "Oh, are they?"

You nod, fingers tracing absentminded circles at the nape of his neck.

"They teach you how to kiss a man's neck in those books?" His voice is all amusement, all dark-edged curiosity. "Might have to get my hands on one of ‘em."

"I bet you'd put it to good use," you tease, looking up at him, tired but still wanting, still pressing as close to him as you possibly can.

His hands slide up, firm and deliberate, as he leans down, his nose brushing against your throat before his lips follow. His kisses are open, hot, unhurried. The first press of his tongue against your skin makes you gasp, legs suddenly unsteady beneath you. You grip the back of his neck instinctively, fingers threading through his damp hair.

"Oh, fuck," you breathe, eyes wide.

He smirks against your skin, dragging his teeth over the spot he’s just kissed. You shudder in his arms, a quiet moan slipping out before you can stop it.

"Didn't know it felt that good, huh?" he murmurs, still working his way along your neck, sucking, biting just enough to make you tremble.

You shake your head, fingers curling against him. “M-more,” you manage, voice barely above a whisper.

Toji stills for a second, then pulls back, studying you with something unreadable in his expression—half amused, half something else entirely.

"You keep saying things like that," he says, voice rough, "and I might start to lose control."

You blink up at him, dazed, breath uneven. "O-oh. We should stop before that happens, then."

He huffs a quiet laugh, running his thumb over the side of your throat, tracing the places where his mouth had just been. "Yeah," he agrees, though he doesn’t look entirely convinced. "Probably should."

You’re halfway up the stairs to your dorm when Utahime calls out behind you, "[L/N], are you coming to the party tonight?"

You pause, one foot on the next step, and glance back at her, brows furrowed. "What party?"

She gives you an incredulous look, as if the answer should be obvious. "To celebrate our win against Slytherin, of course," she says, shrugging. "Or, you might want to sleep, actually."

You shake your head, suppressing a yawn. "I’ll come for half an hour. Not more than that, though. I’m exhausted."

Utahime hums knowingly. "Alright. But beware, some of the students might be sneaking in Firewhiskey," she says, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. "I’m so happy today, I might just drink some."

"You’re of legal age," you deadpan, rolling your eyes. "You’re allowed to drink. Just make sure Kento or someone responsible keeps an eye on the younger ones. Last thing we need is a bunch of first-years drunk on our watch."

She snickers, nodding. "Right. Oh, by the way, no trouble locking up the locker rooms? You were in there for a while. I was going to check in case you fell asleep, but then you came back."

Your breath hitches—just for a second. The memory flashes through your mind unbidden. The press of Toji’s hands against your waist, his lips dragging over your neck, the weight of his body caging you against the lockers. A shiver runs down your spine. You clear your throat hastily.

"Oh, yeah," you mumble, patting your pockets. "Here, sorry." You pull out the keys and hand them over.

Utahime takes them, bumping her shoulder lightly against yours. "No problem, dummy," she says. "I trust you with it."

You blink at her, forcing a casual smile even as the phantom sensation of Toji’s breath against your skin lingers. Your voice comes out a little too high when you say, "I’m going to freshen up."

She doesn’t seem to notice, waving you off as she heads in the opposite direction. You exhale, shaking off the thoughts, and ascend the rest of the stairs.

The dorm is mostly empty when you step inside. Mei Mei lounges on her bed, a book held lazily in her hands, flipping a page without looking up. The other beds remain untouched, their occupants likely already at the party.

"Hey," you mumble, dragging yourself toward your desk. Your owl hoots softly as you run your fingers over its feathers, offering a half-hearted scratch behind its ear before collapsing onto your bed with a heavy sigh. For a moment, silence settles over the room. Then, a knock. Light, but deliberate, against the windowpane.

You groan, rolling onto your side to squint at the glass. Outside, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, a snowy owl perches on the ledge, its brilliant white feathers speckled with black and grey. Even before you open the window, you know exactly whose bird it is.

Hedwig. Satoru’s owl.

Scrambling up, you unlatch the window, letting her swoop gracefully inside. She lands on your desk, tilting her head as if scrutinizing you before dropping a neatly folded piece of parchment onto your lap.

"Thank you," you murmur, rubbing a gentle hand down her feathers. She preens under your touch, blinking slowly. Your owl simply watches her as she does.

Reaching for the box of owl treats, you grab a few and offer them to her. She takes them eagerly, nibbling at them as you unfold the note. The handwriting is unmistakable—looping and careless, yet undeniably elegant.

Meet me at the Room.G.S.

You sigh, rubbing a hand down your face, and glance at the snowy owl still perched beside you. Her pale feathers gleam like stardust against the dim candlelight.

"He works us both too hard, doesn’t he?" you mutter, scratching lightly under her chin. "Quite a twat, Gojo is."

You flip the parchment over with quick fingers, already reaching for your quill, the ink bleeding into the fibers of the page as you scrawl a simple reply—on my way, your initials curling sharply at the end. The response is short, dismissive, but Gojo will understand. He always does.

Hedwig tilts her head, watching you with intelligent amber eyes as you fold the note back into her talons. You run a hand over her smooth feathers, a quiet smile ghosting over your lips. “Take this to him, yeah?” The owl blinks once, as if unimpressed by the errand, before spreading her wings and taking off into the night.

Your gaze drifts to your own owl, Aether, perched regally near your desk, his feathers a luminous blend of rich browns and burnished golds. He reminds you of the morning sun, with how warm and gentle he is. 

“Mei, I’m heading out,” you call, stepping toward the dormitory exit. Mei Mei doesn’t glance up from her book, only flicks a wrist in acknowledgment, and you take that as permission enough.

The castle corridors are dim and hushed, the distant drip of unseen water echoing through the stone walls as you descend into the dungeons. Shadows stretch long across the damp floor, torchlights flickering weakly against the cold stone. It’s quiet—too quiet—but you know these halls well. You navigate them with the ease of someone who has long since memorized every crease on the stone floors, every whispering draft of wind.

By the time you reach the Room, your shoulders ache, exhaustion creeping into your bones. You sink into the sofa the second the door closes behind you, melting into the cushions with a relieved sigh. The air is warm here, the fire crackling softly in the hearth, its glow casting golden halos against the old wooden walls.

Your body is still, your eyes fluttering closed, when the fireplace erupts in a violent burst of green flames. You groan.

“Wow,” Gojo drawls as he steps through the Floo, dusting off his robes with an exaggerated flourish. "Look how happy you are to see me."

He’s already moving toward the long table at the back of the room, parchment and ink scattered across its surface in half-organized chaos. You push yourself up with sluggish movements, trudging after him, your limbs heavy with fatigue.

"The list is narrowed now," he says, tapping a finger against the board in front of him. "We check their ancestry next. Whoever’s closest to Salazar Slytherin is our culprit."

You barely hear him. Your mind is elsewhere, still lingering on the Quidditch match, on the way he had turned back—looked at you—let you win.

"Gojo," you say, voice tight, "we need to talk about what happened on the field today."

He doesn’t turn around. "This too, obviously," you continue, gesturing vaguely at the board, "but you let us win. That’s not fair—"

"Can you just shut up and focus?" His voice is unusually sharp, his head bowing slightly as he rubs his temples. "Let’s just finish this. Our usual work, this investigation—whatever you want to call it. Then I’m getting food and going to bed. Please."

You stare at him, stunned for a moment by the uncharacteristic irritation.

"What?" Your voice raises slightly. "No. You let me win. You gave up the Snitch to Itadori. You looked back. At me. And you never look back, because, in your words, you’re the greatest Seeker of our generation at Hogwarts."

Gojo exhales sharply through his nose, finally facing you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something guarded about the way his jaw locks. "Well, I lost, didn’t I?" He tilts his head, eyes impossibly blue beneath the dim light. "You won, so just be happy with it, will you?"

"No," you step closer, refusing to drop it. "Tell me why you looked back."

"Fucking hell," he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I just did, okay? Now, why are you—" He stops abruptly, his entire posture shifting. His eyes narrow, sharp and focused, his lips parting slightly as if he’s just noticed something out of place.

"What’s that?"

His tone is different now. Not lighthearted, not teasing. Something else entirely.

You blink. "What’s what?"

His gaze flicks to your collar, his expression twisting into something unreadable. Slowly, his hand raises, finger pointing toward your neck. His brows draw together, knotted like a ship’s rope, a thread of unease laced into his voice.

You don’t understand at first. But then—oh.

Your breath stutters in your throat as realization dawns. The dull ache along your skin, the faint, lingering tenderness when his eyes bore into it. Hesitantly, your fingers reach up, pressing lightly against the spot. And, fuck.

It’s sore. A faint, blossoming bruise. Toji. Your stomach tightens.

"It’s nothing," you say, too quickly, dropping your hand like you’ve been burned.

But Gojo isn’t buying it. His gaze sharpens, scanning your expression, your hesitation, the way your shoulders have gone rigid. "What have you been doing?"

"What do you mean, ‘what have I been doing’?" You force a laugh, too light, too unnatural. "Why are we—"

"I should really be asking who you’ve been shagging," he cuts in, his voice lower now, his jaw tight. There’s something unreadable in his expression, something edged, almost mocking, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Your stomach flips, panic flaring at the edges of your mind. "Who I sleep or don't sleep with is none of your business," you snap. "Can we just get back to work?"

"So you only want to work when it’s convenient for you. Got it," he mutters, voice low, almost an afterthought, but laced with something sharp, something needling.

It’s infuriating, how easily he gets under your skin. Your hands clench at your sides, your jaw tightening as you walk past him, moving toward the board. "I did my part. You do yours. Check everyone's ancestry."

Gojo exhales, slow, measured, but you can hear the irritation in it, the way it sizzles between you like static. "It won’t take me as long as it took you to do yours," he says, and there is venom in it now, an unmistakable edge, something raw and unpolished in the way the words scrape against his teeth. "Three weeks is too fucking long to narrow down a list, especially when you know someone’s practicing dark magic right under our noses."

His voice is a weapon, cutting deep, slicing through flesh and bone, right into the most fragile, buried parts of you. Your fingers twitch at your sides, a heat rising up your spine, slow and simmering. His words actually contained malice now, and that made you seethe more than ever.

"I’m sorry, what exactly is your problem?" you turn to look at him, voice measured, though you can feel the sharpness curling at the edges of your words, barbed and coiled, ready to strike.

Gojo exhales again, longer this time, running a hand through his hair like he’s barely holding himself together. "You tell me," he bites out.

"I was in the Infirmary since yesterday, not that you care," you snap, crossing your arms over your chest. "But if I wasn’t, I would’ve gotten it to you sooner. Believe it or not, I have other responsibilities."

The room stills.

For a second, a single breath of time, his expression falters. His mouth parts slightly, and it’s as if the words have lodged themselves in his throat, unable to move past the disbelief settling over his features. He’s trying to say something, but nothing comes out, and then—

"You were in the Infirmary?"

The words are different now. They lack their usual sharpness, their casual cruelty.

"Yes," you say, rolling your eyes, refusing to acknowledge the slight shift in his expression. You turn back toward the board, hands moving with the precision of someone determined not to be affected as you point to a piece of parchment. "Most purebloods are in Slytherin and Gryffindor. We've only got around six or seven in Ravenclaw—"

"Fawkes."

His voice is lower this time. Steady, but heavy.

You don’t turn around.

"Just stop, for a second," he says, and there’s something unfamiliar about the way he says it, something unsettled in the spaces between his words. "What do you mean you were in the Infirmary? You seemed fine at the game—"

"Does it matter?" you cut in, finally looking at him, eyes sharp. "We’re working now, aren’t we? I’m not hindering your progress on this very serious matter."

Gojo’s nostrils flare slightly. "You were in the Infirmary and you didn’t tell me," he says, like he’s trying to understand it, like he’s trying to piece something together that doesn’t make sense in his head. "Obviously, that’s a problem. Of course it matters."

"Why?" you challenge, tilting your head.

His jaw tightens. "Don't tell me you've been skipping sleep and dosing yourself with Invigoration Draughts again."

You hesitate. Just for a moment. A flicker of guilt crossing your face before you school it away, pressing your lips together. "It doesn’t concern you," you say instead, carefully, deliberately. "You’re the one who gave me more shit to do, anyway."

Gojo exhales sharply, his hands flying up in exasperation. "I would’ve helped if you just asked!" he says, voice rising, incredulous. "All you had to do was ask for help! But no, you want to be the greatest, the most competent—"

"Oh, excuse me for wanting to be more like you!"

Your voice cracks, breaks open with something raw and burning, something pulled straight from the depths of your chest.

"Not all of us," you continue, breath hitching, "can afford to sleep in class and still pass every subject effortlessly. Not all of us can juggle being in every damn club, playing Quidditch, and somehow still come out on top without breaking a sweat!"

Gojo doesn’t say anything. Not immediately. His face is unreadable, but his hands have curled into fists at his sides, shoulders squared like he’s holding something back. Something unreadable flickers across his expression.

And for the first time tonight, you think you might have finally caught him off guard.

You leave the Room of Requirement not long after, shoulders stiff, pulse an uneven thing against your ribs. Gojo doesn’t stop you, doesn’t call after you, doesn’t do anything except turn back to the board and continue working, as if the argument hadn’t happened at all. As if you hadn’t just torn into each other like wolves snapping at the same scrap of meat.

Fine. Let him do what he wants.

You tell him, stiffly, that you’ll handle the usual Marauders’ business while he works on the genealogy of the people on the list. You don’t wait for his response before slipping out the door.

By the time you reach the Gryffindor common room, you can already hear the noise—laughter spilling through the corridors, the faint hum music. You hesitate for only a second before stepping inside, and immediately, you’re assaulted by the sight of it.

The room is alive with celebration, every corner threaded with streamers and floating ribbons. A long table in the back groans under the weight of drinks and plates stacked with food, the rich scent of butterbeer and treacle tart hanging thick in the air. Someone bursts into laughter near the fireplace, and you catch a glimpse of a pair of students dancing precariously on one of the sofas.

Your gaze drifts toward the drinks table just in time to see a sixth-year spike the punch. You roll your eyes but say nothing. You’re not in the mood to play prefect tonight. Then—

A hand grabs your arm, warm fingers curling around your wrist. You flinch, instincts sharp, but when you look up, it’s only Shoko. Her dark eyes are alight with amusement, a slow, knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Hey," she says, voice bright over the hum of the party, "Congrats on the win today. I certainly didn’t expect you to see through Geto and my tactics."

Standing just behind her, Geto Suguru lifts his drink, nodding at you in quiet acknowledgment. His lips barely curve, but there’s something teasing in the way he holds himself, something easy.

You smirk. "I can read through you like a book, you know."

Shoko scoffs, looping her arm through yours. "Yeah, yeah," she says, before her eyes flick over you, sharp and assessing. "You also look better than yesterday. I’m guessing you finally went to the Infirmary?"

"I did," you groan, rolling your head back slightly. "She made me sleep all afternoon. And then through the night as well. Only woke up this morning before the game."

"And yet," Shoko says, tilting her head slightly, voice lilting, "you already went and snogged someone."

Your stomach drops. For the hundredth time today. 

"What?"

Her grin widens as she gestures vaguely toward your collar.

"Your neck is visible to everyone," Geto murmurs, voice smooth, almost lazy, as he sips his drink. "You might want to wear something that hides that very obvious bruise. Or at least, heal it. It’s about to turn purple."

And then, slowly, carefully, you bring a hand up to your throat. Again.

The skin is sore when you press against it. Warm. Tender. A telltale sting left behind by lips and teeth and hands that had pressed too insistently against your skin.

You exhale sharply, looking down at your hands, then back at them. "I should probably head in and heal this, huh?"

Shoko blows a loud raspberry, waving a dismissive hand. "Absolutely not. I say, you flaunt it. Look over there—two fifth-years snogging like they’ve just received their last rites. And there—our oh-so responsible seniors, already one button away from indecent exposure."

Your eyes follow where she’s pointing. Across the room, a pair of younger students are tangled together on a loveseat, oblivious to the world, and just beyond them, a group of seventh-years are laughing too loudly, half-drunk and clearly daring each other into something that will, inevitably, lead to detention by morning.

You share a pointed look with Geto, who only raises an eyebrow in that slow, unbothered way of his before you turn back to Shoko. "Yeah, well, I don’t exactly want my entire life on display like these people—"

"Oh, live a little," she interrupts, rolling her eyes as she grabs your wrist and tugs you forward, already leading you toward the drinks table. "Suguru, I’m getting this one a drink. Stay here in case Satoru shows up!"

"Shoko, no—"

"Stop protesting," she huffs, slinging an arm around your shoulders. "Your team won because of you. Those idiots wouldn’t have been able to do a thing if you hadn’t saved Nanami or chased after Gojo. So, come on, let loose for once."

You pout. "I told ‘Hime I’d go to sleep. If she sees me around, she might feel bad."

Shoko waves you off as if that’s hardly a concern. "I got it, don’t worry. I’ll cover for you." She pauses only long enough to grab a cup from the table, dipping it into the bowl of spiked punch before pressing it into your hands. "Here. Drink this."

You hesitate, staring down at the liquid, pink and unassuming, but when you glance up, Shoko is watching you expectantly, an eyebrow raised in challenge.

With a begrudging sigh, you lift the glass to your lips and take a sip.

The sweetness hits first—fruit, sugar, something deceptively light—but then comes the burn, slow at first, then sharper, threading fire down your throat. You wince slightly, swallowing against the heat. It’s not unbearable, but it lingers, warm and curling in your stomach.

Shoko grins, smug. "Not that bad, right?" She wiggles her eyebrows at you. "Told you so."

"Now tell me," Shoko says, tugging you back toward where Geto stands, her grip firm, her tone lilting with amusement. "Who have you been snogging?"

You shake your head, quick and dismissive. "It’s nothing."

But Shoko looks at you in that way she does, like she sees right through the layers you’ve tried to tuck yourself beneath, and suddenly, you feel bare. Exposed. A flicker of something unreadable flashes in her eyes before a slow, knowing smirk curls onto her lips.

Suguru, beside her, exhales a small chuckle, shaking his head. "This is fun to watch."

You pout, trying to glare at him, but it lacks any real weight, and Shoko merely doubles down. "Oh, come on. I told you about my first kiss being with Suguru, and how we both immediately regretted it because it felt like kissing my own brother. You don’t get to keep secrets from me." She leans in slightly, brows raised in expectation. "So, spill. Who was it?"

"This feels an awful lot like an interrogation," Geto mutters, taking a slow sip of his drink. "And manipulation. Also, what? You told her about that?"

"Obviously," Shoko deadpans, as if there could be no alternative, before turning back to you. "Now, [Y/N], I might as well know."

You swallow, shoulders curling in on themselves as if you can make yourself smaller, as if you can disappear beneath their scrutiny. The common room is too warm, the dim glow of floating candles too intimate, the chatter and music too distant for this moment to feel like just another conversation.

But at least it’s only them. No Gojo. No Utahime. No Nanami. No one else who could make this more of a spectacle than it already is. No one to guess that it had been Toji, that you had let him press you against the cold lockers, that his lips had been warm and rough against your skin, that you had wanted it.

You inhale, steadying yourself. Then, cautiously, you begin, "It was in the locker room. I’d removed the enchantments because I thought you were coming by, but—"

"I did not think we’d be getting details. Way to get a man invested," Suguru cuts in, grinning as he leans against the armrest of a nearby chair.

You shoot him a glare, then turn back to Shoko, whose smile is growing by the second, bright with amusement, with intrigue, with that deep, insatiable curiosity of hers.

"It’s…" You hesitate for half a second before finally letting the name fall, quiet, barely above the clatter of distant conversation. "Fushiguro."

Silence.

Shoko blinks. Once, twice. "I’m sorry—who?"

"I think you heard her well enough," Suguru supplies, his tone thoroughly unimpressed as he swirls his drink, watching you with mild interest. "But why him? Gross, he’s a leech."

You roll your eyes. "He’s nice enough to me." The words sound weak even as you say them, trailing off under their combined scrutiny. But you press forward, feeling the weight of their anticipation. "And we kissed in the Infirmary when I was there. Before the game."

"Oh my God," Shoko says, blinking rapidly, as if her brain is short-circuiting, her fingers pressing into her temples like she’s physically trying to process the information. "This is horrendous. How dare you not tell me the second it was happening?"

Suguru exhales an amused laugh, slow and easy, his head tipping back against the armrest of the chair. "Oh, look," he says, in the most nonchalant voice imaginable. "Satoru’s here."

Your heart drops so fast it feels like a free fall. The blood drains from your face, and for a horrible, disorienting second, you think you might actually be sick. You spin around so quickly your neck twinges, looking toward the entrance of the common room, eyes already scanning—

Suguru snorts.

You whip back to face him. "I ought to punch you. Why would you do that to me?"

"You’re too tired for a fight," he giggles, eyes half-lidded, thoroughly pleased with himself.

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. "I really am." The exhaustion in your bones has settled in deep, an ache at the base of your skull, a dull weight pressing down on your limbs. "I think I’ll head in now."

"Alright," Shoko says, but she’s still shaking her head, still reeling from the revelation. "I’m still trying to recover from the shock you just gave me."

"Oh, pipe down," you roll your eyes, stepping back, reaching for some semblance of normalcy as you point to Geto. "You kissed him."

Suguru groans like he’s in physical pain, immediately shrinking into himself, his face twisting with mortification.

You wince, murmuring a quick apology before waving them both off, and then you’re climbing the winding stairs to your dorm, the noise of the common room fading behind you. The further you get, the quieter it becomes, the muffled chatter dissolving into nothing but the sound of your own footsteps, your own breath.

And yet, something twists inside you, something restless.

Because why had the mention of Gojo’s name sent a bolt of fear through you? Why had it made you sweat, made you press your palms against the fabric of your shirt just to ground yourself? Why had it stuck with you, clung to the back of your mind, even now, even after the conversation had ended?

And why—why is it that all along, all you can think about is the way Gojo looked at you earlier that night?

The way his face had twisted. The way his voice had shifted.

The way he had seen the mark on your skin and had immediately known, even before you had, that it was going to change something between the two of you. Perhaps forever.

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