maki squints at you with sleepy eyes from her place in bed beside you. “no,” she says, stretching her legs under the covers. her knee knocks into yours. “but i can make you worse.”
you crack a smile. “you’re an enabler.”
“‘enabler.’ ‘girlfriend.’ same shit.”
her eyes are fluttering shut again, sheets jostling as she turns over. you tug on her sleeve insistently, trying to get her attention back.
“but do you think i’m evil?”
“i think you’re up past your bedtime,” she replies through a long, teeth-bearing yawn. “and so am i.”
you pull the covers up to your chest, staring up at the ceiling and whispering into the dark, “i think i’m evil.”
maki’s next words are muffled into the pillow, face-down and halfway to dreamland. “you’re not evil. you just haven’t washed your hair in three days and have an eight hour screen time report.”
damn. you hate it when she’s right. all you can do is let out an unsatisfied “hmph.”
“go to sleep.”
you try to make evil eyes at her, but it’s too dark and her face is fully buried in the pillow anyway.
you huff and try to wriggle under the arm sprawled across the middle of your bed. you don’t stop squirming until you’re wearing her like a scarf.
꒰ 呪術廻戦 ꒱ › shopping with masc! girlfriend maki. sfw
maki zen’in x f! reader. toothrotting wlw fluff. set in canon
it’s one of those rare afternoons with no curses. you’re dragging maki through another high-end department store, gojo-sensei’s black credit card in your back pocket. you’d barely had to ask, he’d just tossed it at you with a wink and a “have fun, try not to bankrupt me.”
maki — bless her — is laden with bags from the last three stores against her toned biceps. she doesn’t complain, just follows you diligently in her street clothes
you stop at a perfume counter, a rainbow of glass bottles glinting under the lights. you spritz a few on cards, wrinkling your nose at a floral that’s too sweet and a woodsy one that smells like air freshener. then you find one you like, something soft and citrusy, and spritz it on your wrist. you hold it out to maki, extending your arm so your pulse point is right under her nose.
“what do you think of this one?”
she leans in, sharp amber eyes scanning your face before they flick down to your wrist. she takes a short, sniff. then she straightens up.
“smells fine,” she says, “but your sol de janeiro is better.”
you pocket gojo-sensei’s card without buying the new perfume. “fine. i’ll stick to mine.”
next is makeup. you’re drawn to a display of new lipglosses, tubes filled with shimmering, syrupy colors. you pick out a rosy nude and swipe it on, then turn to maki. she’s watching you, one eyebrow slightly raised.
you don’t ask for her opinion. you lean in and press a soft, sticky kiss to her lips. she hums and when you pull back, a faint, glossy sheen is on her own mouth. she licks it away.
“tastes like cherries,” she comments.
you try a shimmery peach next. this time you cup her jaw, thumb stroking her skin as you kiss her again, a little slower. when you part, you search her pretty amber eyes.
“and this one?”
she considers it, her gaze dropping to your mouth. “peachy. it’s fine.”
“maki, you’re not helping.”
“i like ‘em all,” she says, a smirk playing on her lips. “especially when you’re the one wearing them. now pick one so we can go.”
you end up buying both.
finally, clothes. you find a section filled with soft, flowy tops. you pull out a navy blue halter top with lace trim and hold it against yourself. “what about this?”
maki’s leaning against a nearby pillar, arms crossed over her chest, looking bored out of her mind. she glances over. “it’s a shirt, babe”
you sigh, putting it back and grabbing a black skirt instead, holding it up to your waist. “and this?”
“it’s a skirt.” she shrugs “shorter than your other ones. congrats on finding a new way to flash me.”
“maki,” you whine, stomping your foot just a little. “be helpful.”
she pushes off the pillar and walks over. she stops right in front of you, so close you can feel the heat radiating from her. her eyes scan you from head to toe. she reaches out, her fingers hooking into the belt loops of your jeans and tugging you just a fraction closer.
“they all look the same to me,” she says, lowering her voice. she makes your stomach flip. “you’d look good in a paper bag, now stop wasting time and pick something.”
her thumb rubs a small circle on your hipbone, and your breath hitches in your throat. being nonchalant and curt is her version of being romantic. you know, with a certainty that settles deep in your bones, that she loves you. you grab the top and the skirt, and a soft sweater you’d just spotted, and head for the register.
then maki’s pulling you along again, her expression once again a mask of indifference. she’s still holding all your bags, including the new one. you fall into step beside her, your shoulders brushing.
“you didn’t like anything?” you ask, when you realize she hasn’t picked out anything for herself all morning
“i liked watching you try stuff on,” she says. she doesn’t look at you, just keeps walking forward. “now are you grabbing food or not? i’m not carrying all this shit around for free.”
ꨄ︎ author's note : another cute request from the lovely kayz ♡ i hope i did your req justice, it’s super adorable. all support is appreciated, hope you enjoy jokitties 🪽
sunday mornings were always your designated lazy hours. staying inside, pyjamas on, wrapped up in blankets on your bed.
so it only made sense that you insisted on dragging maki back to bed after cooking breakfast. the scene was too cute not to evoke your clinginess - maki stood at the stove, apron slung over his shirtless torso and sleep shorts, flipping the eggs carefully in the pan. it was so domestic. your heart was full of warmth as you ate breakfast, his hand resting on your thigh.
“was that good? you want anything else?” maki asked, mouth full of egg. you shook your head, taking your empty plate and dumping it in the sink. the dishes could wait until later.
once maki was done, your hand slid into his, and you began tugging him back to the bedroom.
“where are we going, hm?”
“to bed. i wanna cuddle.” you answered, a pout visible on your lips. maki chuckled, finding your insistence endearing.
“you’re too cute, angel. alright, let’s go.”
---
once back in bed, maki’s arm wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. with your legs tangled, skin pressed against skin, you were right where you wanted to be.
“maki, i love you so much,” you whispered, your eyes opening to look up at him. “you always make me feel so loved. i’m grateful to have you.”
you watched as maki’s face heated up, a soft pink tint dusting his cheeks and ears.
“i love you too, baby. where’s this coming from?”
i was just thinking about us. our relationship. from the start until now.”
“well, i hope they’re good thoughts, angel.” maki replied, kissing your forehead.
“yeah, of course.” you giggled. “i was thinking back to when we first met. how hopelessly in love i was after five minutes of talking to you at school. and how pathetically obvious i was about having a crush on you.”
“i remember that. yuma’s teasing didn’t help your case, to be honest.” maki added, a sly grin appearing on his face. you digged your hand into his side playfully, earning a groan from maki.
“don’t remind me. it was awful.” you sighed, maki’s lips pressing to your neck as you continued. “it felt magical to have a crush on you, y’know? it felt so easy. you were so sweet to me all the time. i was always giddy around you.”
as you spoke, maki quietly kissed along your jaw and neck, kisses pressed light enough as to not disrupt your romantic tangent. he was entranced by your voice, your heartfelt words. by you. and his kisses were what portrayed these feelings.
“oh, i remember how pathetic i must’ve sounded to my friends. i was always ranting about you, our conversations, whenever you accidentally touched my hand.” you admitted, maki’s lips still attached to your throat. “i was obsessed with you.”
---
as your ranting came to an end, you glanced down at maki, whose face was buried in the crook of your neck. he looked up at you for a brief second, but you still caught it. he was blushing.
“maki? wow, is my baby shy?”
“wait-” he mumbled, trying to hide his face even more. the poor guy was so flustered. “stop… stop being so nice, it’s killing me.”
as you’re about to say something in return, maki’s hand flew to your mouth, cutting off your words.
“seriously, it is making me shy.” he chuckled. you pulled his hand from your mouth.
“can’t i tell my boyfriend how much i love him?” you teased, and maki buried his face back into your neck out of sheepishness. “i love you so much, you already know that.”
“i love you too, angel. even when you tease me on purpose.”
*ੈ✩‧₊˚ note ! that was supposed to be super cute… whatever girl…
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ @fantasia-films, @k-records, @lune-net
you let out a deep sigh and let go of the rolling pin. maki's mom giggled at your reaction and shook her head.
"it just won't budge" you smiled apologetically. you tried everything to roll out the dough for the cinnamon rolls you wanted to make with maki's mom.
"just… go call maki for help, please. i'll make the filling in the meantime" she asked you and you nodded, rushing to his room.
you barged in, not even bothering to knock. maki was doing bicep curls, gaze stuck somewhere outside the window.
"maki" you grinned and closed the door behind you, coming up to him. he snapped back to reality, quickly putting away his dumbbells. you eyed his toned bicep that was on display, all for you to admire.
"finally!" he huffed. you let out a small squeal when he pulled you closer. your hands wrapped around his waist, giggling. "can't believe my own girlfriend came over and didn't even kiss me once!"
you rolled your eyes playfully. maki cupped your cheeks and wiped flour off your skin.
"you know why" you whined, a small pout forming on your lips.
it's not like you didn't want to kiss him like, all the time. but the thing was… no one knew you were dating.
you were like a part of the family since you two met in middle school; you were his best friend. the lines between your friendship and something more were getting blurry, and it was only a matter of time before you turned into lovers.
the issue was that his (and your) parents didn't know yet. and you preferred it stayed this way, since even though it was maki, your maki, your parents wanted you to focus on school.
and his… well, you were sure they thought of you more like a daughter of theirs.
"are you done with the baking? can we do something fun now?" he asked, swaying you both gently.
"well, actually…" you hummed, tilting your head. "we need your help with the rolling pin. the dough won't budge"
"ah" maki rolled his eyes. "using me for my muscles… rude"
"okay, shut up. first, your mom asked me to ask you. second of all, i know you just looove bragging and putting your beefy arms to good use" you whined and playfully jabbed his waist. maki let out a small squeal.
"fine, i'll do it. just to pretend i don't see you staring at them by the way" he teased and grinned. "for a kiss, though"
"offer accepted" you stood on your tiptoes and placed your lips against his. maki smiled into the kiss, the evidence of you snacking on the chocolate very much palpable on your lips. your hands sneaked to the pockets of his jeans, while his just manhandled your head for a better angle.
"y/n!" maki's mom voice reached you unexpectedly, and you two jolted away.
"coming!" you yelled back and stepped away.
"me too!" maki added. he went to open the door but felt a sudden slap on his butt. he turned around, wide-eyed. "girl!"
"sorry, it was stronger than me!" you just laughed and signaled him to go.
you didn't realize that your hands left a floury hand print on his ass.
"thank you, dear" his mom smiled upon seeing her rosy-cheeked son. maki got to work, heart bumping in his chest with adrenaline/ and just when he heard you come into the kitchen, his mom let out a small gasp, looking at the white trace on his jeans. "what's that?"
𓎟𓎟 maki can't help but want to kiss and touch you 25/8
wordcount 414 fluff mentions of kissing skinship
maki craves physical touch.
in more ways than one, he loves when you have your hands on him, sexual or not. maki is obsessed with the feeling of your soft skin, how you treat him like something fragile.
he loves to be pampered, like when you run your fingers through his hair on lazy evenings. or when you massage the tension out of his shoulders after an eventful day.
but there's nothing he loves more than those soft, domestic mornings where it's just you and him—no clothes or unnecessary barriers coming between the two of you. just the soft duvet and far too much time on your hands.
maki likes the mornings where you wake up first and pepper his face in gentle kisses to ease him into consciousness.
his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, lips already curling into that familiar, puppy-like smile. his dimples dig so deep into his cheeks that you're convinced he can't possibly smile any harder.
"morning, baby," he'll murmur, voice still hoarse with sleep.
then comes his favorite part, the part where he gets to trail his hands across your skin and not worry about anything.
just feel—your warmth, counting the freckles on your skin and the beauty marks littered across your body.
his hands circle the round of your ass, just tracing without his usual hints of tease. maki presses gentle kisses to wherever he can reach; your collarbone, that sensitive spot in the crook of your neck, and his absolute favorite spot to kiss, your lips.
maki's kisses aren't rushed, they're soft and slow, like he has all the time in the world. he'll brush the corner of your mouth like a test, eyes fluttering shut before he really presses his lips against yours.
oh, and when you do the same? he folds. completely.
whenever you cup his jaw or run your fingers along his biceps, his heart beats faster, so fast that he thinks it might burst. not that he minds. if he spent his last moments your arms, maki would die a happy man.
"love you so much, y'know that?" he'd whisper softly, like it's a secret for just the two of you.
when you nod, he can't help the grin that tugs at his lips.
you make him soft, but maki doesn't mind. not when he gets to wake up to this every morning—the sounds of your soft giggles and the sight of your sweet smile makes all of his stress melt away.
Biker!Maki who takes you on random late-night rides when you’re stressed. She knows you don’t like being crowded or pressured into talking when you’re in this state, so she opts to get you some fresh air and a clear mind instead.
Biker!Maki who lets you lean against her when you stop by a large tree. She’ll have an arm wrapped around your shoulders with your head rested on one of her. Maybe she’ll even kiss your forehead if she feels like it.
Biker!Maki who always stops and gets your favorite treat on the way back home, even if you’ve already calmed down. She likes seeing how happy you are when eating your favorite food.
Biker!Maki who holds you close when you get home, refusing to let you go back to whatever made you stressed in the first place. She’ll wrap you up in a blanket and hold you tight against her until you either give in or fall asleep.
Biker!Maki who occasionally lets you drive her bike. She’ll guide you the whole way, making sure you’re comfortable and going at a steady pace. She’ll reassure you when you get nervous, her thumb lightly stroking your waist while she does so.
Biker!Maki who hypes you up when you eventually get the hang of it. She’ll kiss your cheek and hug you like there’s no tomorrow just so you know how proud she is. She loves the way you smile when she does it.
Biker!Maki who is an absolute beast in bed. She’ll bend you over and go for hours with her strap-on. She’ll praise you the entire time for being so good for her, too.
Biker!Maki who makes sure to always take the best care of you afterwards. Gentle massages for the sore spots, a warm bath, some food, and endless cuddles are what you get every time.
Biker!Maki who teases you about some of the mistakes you made when trying out her bike, but backs off if you get pouty. She’ll stroke your hair and until you fall asleep, whispering a small “I love you,” when you do.
A/N: I need to study her character more mb if this is ooc 💔
Synopsis: Unravelling the day with your beloved boyfriend.
Pairing: bf!Maki x fem!reader
Warnings: floofy floofy fluff, hurt/comfort, reader has a shitty day, hyperindependent reader, maki being my cutie son i love him
A/N: a surprise not really i already told her for my personal maki @makizdoll yes this fic is very targeted towards Kayz love you baby mmwah mmwah yes i put short blonde maki because you love him ehehehe. As always, enjoy, my darlings!
Word Count: 3.8k (yeah idk why all my fluff fics are so short)
How could humans possibly be solitary creatures when the dip of every neck and the curve of every palm is almost sculpted to hold a face in it?
In biological terms, they call it the pack instinct—the urge of every living creature to bond with another. It doesn't have to be one of their own. It could be another creature entirely unrelated to them.
As long as there is love, there is life.
For you, after a few long years of searching for your own pack-mate, you stumbled upon him in an elevator.
At first, you didn't really notice him.
The elevator was always crowded in the mornings. People squeezed shoulder-to-shoulder, clutching coffee cups and briefcases, staring at their phones with the hollow expression of those not yet fully awake. You stepped inside, pressed yourself into whatever space was available, and rode to the seventeenth floor. Every day, this was your routine.
And every day, he was there.
Tall enough to see over most heads, with short blonde hair that always looked slightly windblown. He stood near the back wall with his hands in his pockets and an expression that hovered somewhere between sleepy and amused.
You learned his routine before you learned his name. He got on at the same lobby, got off on the same floor as you and without fail, turned left while you turned right.
At five-thirty every evening, you found yourselves together again. The elevator doors would open. There he'd be. You'd ride down in silence. Then he would disappear into the city while you headed in the opposite direction.
Weeks turned into months. Months turned into a year. You learned tiny things about him. He liked listening to music on his commute. He sometimes wore old band t-shirts beneath his work jacket. He laughed quietly to himself whenever he read something funny on his phone.
And every time he smiled, two absurdly deep dimples appeared in his cheeks. The first time you noticed them, you nearly walked into a wall.
After that, you found yourself waiting for them. Waiting for the smile. Waiting for the elevator. Waiting for him. It became the favorite part of your day.
Neither of you spoke. There were occasional nods, a muttered "morning." Once, during a power outage that trapped everyone for twenty minutes between floors, you'd exchanged actual conversation.
You learned his name was Maki.
Maki with the blonde hair, Maki with the ridiculous dimples, Maki who always stood close enough for you to notice the faint scent of his shampoo, Maki who somehow made thirty seconds in an elevator feel important.
The realization hit you one random, rainy Tuesday.
You were both standing in the lobby. The elevator was late. Maki wasn't there. And you felt disappointed.
Then the doors opened at the last second and he hurried inside, slightly out of breath. The relief that flooded through you was embarrassing. You looked up. He looked down. His dimples appeared.
"Oh good," he said. "I thought I'd missed you."
Your heart stopped functioning normally "What?"
He laughed. "That came out weird."
"No, no," you said quickly. "Keep talking."
His ears turned pink. "I was just..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "We've been riding the same elevator for almost two years." The grin that spread across his face revealed both dimples at once. "You know," he said, "I was trying to figure out how to ask you out without sounding like a complete creep."
You stared at him. The elevator dinged. The doors opened onto the seventeenth floor. Nobody moved. People shuffled around you with annoyed sighs. Neither of you cared.
"You wanted to ask me out?" you finally managed.
Maki nodded. "Preferably before we retire."
You laughed. He laughed. And suddenly it felt absurd that you'd spent years riding up and down together without doing this.
"Then yes," you said.
His eyebrows rose. "Yes?"
"I'll go out with you."
The smile that followed was so bright you thought it might power the elevator by itself. "Good."
"Good?"
"Yeah." He stepped aside as the last people filed out. "Because I've been sharing an elevator with my favorite person every day for two years."
The warmth that settled in your chest felt strangely familiar, like finding something you'd been missing for a long time.
Maybe because you'd spent most of your life feeling like a puzzle piece from the wrong box.
You fit everywhere, technically. You had friends, you got along with people, you could hold conversations and laugh at the right moments and blend into a crowd when you needed to.
But there was always something slightly off. Like everyone else had been handed a script you never received.
You were never completely part of things, only adjacent to them.
Most of your real comfort came from your online friends—the people who knew the strange corners of your personality that never seemed to surface around anyone else. The ones who understood your niche references, your bizarre trains of thought, your tendency to spiral from discussing grocery lists into debating whether penguins would thrive in a corporate office environment. The people who never looked at you strangely when your brain jumped three conversations ahead.
Then Maki happened.
One evening you'd spent twenty straight minutes making increasingly ridiculous arguments about why a goose would be a terrible roommate. Instead of looking confused, Maki had immediately joined in.
"No, you're missing the biggest issue."
"What biggest issue?"
"The goose would steal your socks."
You had stared at him. "What?"
"Think about it."
"Why would a goose steal my socks?"
"To establish dominance."
And somehow that conversation had lasted another hour. It was stupid, completely stupid. And you'd laughed so hard your stomach hurt.
That was the thing about Maki. He never seemed interested in some simplified version of you. He wanted all of it—the weird parts, the difficult parts, the parts you usually kept tucked away because they were too complicated to explain.
He asked questions, remembered answers, paid attention. Months after an offhand conversation, he'd bring up things you'd forgotten you ever mentioned.
You once casually told him that thunderstorms helped you sleep. Three months later, during a particularly loud storm, your phone buzzed.
Maki: Bet you're having the best nap of your life right now.
You stared at the message for a full minute, because he'd remembered and people rarely did.
Then there was your hyper-independence.
If you needed something, you handled it. If something was difficult, you dealt with it. If you were struggling, you figured it out alone.
Maki hated that.
Not because he thought you were incapable, quite the opposite actually. He knew you could do everything yourself. He just thought you shouldn't have to.
The first time he discovered you'd been carrying three overloaded grocery bags home alone, he'd looked genuinely offended. "You could've called me." He'd said, immediately yanking two of the bags away before any protest could fall from your lips.
Another time, you'd spent hours assembling a bookshelf by yourself. When Maki arrived and found you sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by screws and frustration, he'd dropped to the ground beside you without a word.
"I can do it myself."
"I know."
"So why are you helping?"
He'd handed you a screwdriver. "Because I love you." As though that explained everything. To him, apparently it did.
The biggest fight you'd ever had started because you'd gotten sick and deliberately not told him.
When he eventually found out, he stared at you in complete disbelief. "You had a fever."
"I was fine."
"Baby, you almost collapsed." He said, placing a cold towel on your forehead with utmost care, "You don't always have to carry everything alone, you know?"
Patiently, stubbornly, Maki had spent years teaching you that relying on someone wasn't the same thing as burdening them.
That love wasn't just showing up for the easy things. It was showing up for the annoying, inconvenient, ordinary things too. The grocery bags, the flat tires, the bad days, the random Friday afternoons where your brain convinced you the entire world had shifted two inches to the left. Especially those.
Like today, for example.
Nothing catastrophic had happened, which in some ways made everything worse.
The train had been delayed. Someone had sent you three separate emails asking questions already answered in the original document. Your lunch had somehow ended up tasting like disappointment. A meeting that should have lasted twenty minutes stretched into an hour and a half.
Every small inconvenience stacked neatly on top of the previous one until your patience resembled a tower built from wet cardboard.
By three in the afternoon, you were already exhausted. By four, every conversation felt slightly too loud. By five, even answering a simple "How was your day?" sounded like a task requiring extensive preparation.
The worst part was that strange, hollow feeling underneath everything, the sense that you were moving through the day rather than living it. Like your body had shown up to work but the rest of you had gotten lost somewhere along the commute.
By the time you finally got home, your shoulders ached from tension you hadn't even realized you'd been carrying.
You unlocked the apartment door, stepped inside and immediately spotted your boyfriend.
Maki was stretched out on the couch with one arm draped across the backrest, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. The television was on low volume, filling the room with soft background noise.
The moment he looked up, his expression softened into something that made your chest swell.
"Hey, sweetheart."
That was all it took. You dropped your bag near the door, kicked off your shoes and crossed the room without a word.
Maki barely had time to set his phone aside before you folded yourself directly into his lap and buried your face against his chest. His arms wrapped around you instantly. Automatically, like muscle memory or like breathing.
Neither of you spoke for a moment. You just stayed there, pressed against the familiar warmth of him, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear.
One of his hands moved slowly through your hair, gentle and patient—the way he always did when he knew you were running on empty.
A soft kiss landed against the crown of your head. You felt him rest his cheek lightly against your hair.
"That bad?"
A muffled noise escaped you, something between a groan and a whine.
Maki laughed quietly. "Got it."
His fingers continued combing through your hair. The apartment felt warm and safe, the rain tapping softly against the windows.
After a while, Maki tilted his head so he could look down at you. His expression was soft in that way it only ever was around you.
"Would you like to take a shower?"
You considered the question. The hot water, clean clothes (preferably his), washing away the entire miserable day.
Eventually, you nodded against his chest. "Yeah."
Maki pressed another kiss to the top of your head and tightened his arms around you for a few seconds longer.
As if he understood that right now, more than the shower or dinner or anything else waiting to be done, what you really needed was this.
A place to rest. A place to stop carrying everything. And, as always, Maki seemed perfectly happy to be that place.
The world outside the apartment faded completely as Maki held you. The rain continued its soft rhythm against the windows, but inside, everything had gone still and warm.
After a long, comfortable silence, Maki shifted beneath you. His arms tightened once—a quick, reassuring squeeze—before he spoke again, his voice low and gentle.
"Alright, baby. Up we go."
Before you could even process what was happening, he slid one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back, lifting you off the couch,
You let out a small, surprised sound, your arms winding around his neck. "Maki—"
"Shh," he murmured, his lips brushing against your forehead. "I've got you."
He carried you through the apartment with the kind of effortless certainty that made your chest ache. The hallway lights were dim, the bedroom door already open, but he bypassed it entirely, heading straight for the bathroom.
The tiles were cool beneath his bare feet. He nudged the door open with his shoulder, then set you down carefully on the edge of the counter, his hands lingering at your waist to make sure you were steady.
You sat there, legs dangling, looking up at him. The bathroom light caught in his hair, softening the angles of his face. His eyes were warm, patient, full of something that made your throat tight.
"Okay," Maki said quietly, his thumbs tracing small circles against your hips through the fabric of your work clothes. "Let's get this day off you."
He started with your shirt.
His fingers found the buttons, working each one free with a care that felt less like undressing and more like unwrapping something precious. With each button, he pressed a kiss to the newly exposed skin—your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder, the hollow at the base of your throat.
"You don't have to—" you started, your voice barely above a whisper.
"I want to," he said simply, and his dimples appeared as he glanced up at you. "Let me take care of you tonight. Please?"
The word please undid something in you. You nodded, and he smiled—that bright, ridiculous, dimpled smile that still made your heart stutter after all this time.
Your boyfriend slid the shirt off your shoulders, letting it fall somewhere behind him. His palms smoothed down your arms, warming your skin, before he knelt in front of you to undo your pants. His movements were unhurried and reverent. He pressed a kiss to your knee as he worked the fabric down your legs, then another to your ankle when you stepped out of them.
When you were left in nothing but your underwear, he rose again, his hands cupping your face. He studied you for a moment, his thumbs brushing gently across your cheekbones.
"Beautiful." He said, so softly it was almost to himself.
Steam began to fill the small space as he turned on the shower, fogging the mirror, softening the edges of the room. Maki tested the water with his hand, adjusted the temperature, and only when he was satisfied did he turn back to you.
"Ready?"
You held out your hands to him. He took them, helped you slide off the counter, and guided you into the shower.
The hot water hit your skin like a release. You let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding, your shoulders dropping as the tension began to unspool. Maki stepped in behind you, the water catching in his hair. He reached for the shampoo.
"Close your eyes." He instructed softly, and you obeyed.
His fingers worked through your hair with a gentleness that made your knees weak. Maki massaged your scalp in slow, firm circles, working the lather from your roots to your ends. Every movement was designed to soothe rather than simply clean. When he was done, he guided your head back under the spray, rinsing until the water ran clear.
Then came the conditioner. Then the body wash.
Your beloved's hands traveled over your shoulders, down your arms, across your back. He worked the soap into your skin with the same patient attention, finding every knot of tension and pressing gently until they began to loosen. His thumbs dug into the tight muscles at the base of your neck, and you couldn't help the small, involuntary sound that escaped you.
"Found it," he murmured, amused.
"Shut up," you mumbled, but there was no bite to it. He laughed quietly and kept working.
By the time Maki was done, you were barely standing—not from exhaustion, but from the sheer, bone-deep relaxation that had settled into every part of you. Your limbs felt heavy, your mind blissfully blank, your heart full.
Maki turned off the water and reached for a towel.
He wrapped it around you first, drying your arms and shoulders with careful strokes. Then he knelt, patting dry your legs, your feet, even between your toes, which made you giggle sleepily. He rose, dried your hair with a second towel, ruffling it until it was damp and soft and sticking up in every direction.
"There," he said, surveying his work with satisfaction. "All better."
He helped you step out of the shower, then guided you to the bedroom. He pulled one of his t-shirts from the drawer—soft, worn, smelling faintly of him—and helped you pull it over your head. Then a pair of loose shorts, because he knew you liked having the option.
You stood there, wrapped in his clothes, your hair still damp, your body warm and clean and completely at ease.
Maki looked at you for a long moment. Then he stepped forward, wrapped his arms around you, and pulled you into a hug so full and steady that you felt something inside you finally, fully, let go.
"I love you." He said against your hair.
You buried your face in his chest and held him back.
"I love you too."
He pulled away just enough to look at you, his dimples deepening as he smiled. "Feeling better?"
You thought about it. The terrible day, the hollow feeling, the weight you'd been carrying.
Then you thought about Maki carrying you to the bathroom. Undressing you with his kisses, washing away every trace of the bad hours, dressing you in his clothes and holding you like you were something worth holding.
"Yeah," you said, and your voice came out steady. "I think I am."
Maki kissed your forehead. "Good. Now come on." He tugged you toward the bed, pulling back the covers. "Let's go lie down and watch something stupid until we fall asleep."
The bed welcomed you both like an old friend.
Maki pulled the covers up over your shoulders, tucking the edge beneath your chin with the same careful attention he gave everything else. You shifted closer, molding yourself against his side, your head finding its natural resting place in the hollow of his shoulder.
His arm came around you, palm flat against your back, fingers tracing lazy patterns through the soft fabric of his old t-shirt. His other hand found yours, threading your fingers together and resting them on his chest, right over his heart.
The rain had softened to a whisper against the windows. The apartment was dark except for the faint glow of city lights filtering through the curtains. It painted soft shadows across the ceiling, cast gentle silver lines along the curve of Maki's jaw.
You let out a long, slow breath. The kind that came from somewhere deep. The kind that said I'm home.
Maki pressed his lips to the top of your head and let them linger there.
"Comfortable?" he asked, his voice a low rumble against your hair.
"Mmh."
"Warm enough?"
"Mmh."
"Need anything?"
You nuzzled closer, your nose brushing against his neck. "Just this."
His chest rose and fell with a quiet laugh. "Yeah, me too."
Your breathing began to even out, growing slower and deeper. The tension that had coiled in your shoulders all day had finally dissolved completely, leaving you soft and pliant in his arms. Your fingers curled loosely around his, your body relaxing into his as though you were made to fit there.
Maki stayed awake.
He listened to the rain, felt the gentle weight of you against him, counted the soft rhythm of your breaths until they became predictable, steady and peaceful.
And in the quiet of that dark room, with you safely tucked against his side, his thoughts drifted.
He thought about the first time he saw you in that elevator. Head down, earbuds in, a small frown of concentration on your face as you scrolled through something on your phone. He'd thought you were beautiful, but more than that—he'd thought you looked like someone he wanted to know.
He thought about the months of silent rides. The gradual progression from strangers to familiar faces. The morning you'd both reached for the same elevator button at the same time, your fingers brushing, and how you'd both laughed nervously and said "sorry" at the exact same moment.
He thought about the power outage. Twenty minutes trapped between floors. How you'd been the one to break the silence with a joke about the universe trying to give you both a forced bonding experience. How he'd laughed so hard he'd snorted, and how you'd looked at him like that was exactly the reaction you'd been hoping for.
He thought about asking you out. The terror of it. The way his heart had hammered against his ribs as he'd stepped into the lobby that rainy Tuesday, determined, terrified, completely unprepared for how you'd say yes before he'd even finished his sentence.
He thought about every moment since. Every laugh, every conversation, every time you'd looked at him like he was something special, when really, he was just a guy who'd been lucky enough to find you.
He thought about the way you'd curled into him. How you trusted him enough to fall apart in his arms, to let him put you back together. How you'd let him wash your hair and dry your feet and dress you in his clothes like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He thought about how you always smelled like sunshine and something floral, even after a long day. He thought about how your laugh sounded like coming home.
He thought about the future. About mornings and evenings and grocery runs and lazy Sundays. About arguments they'd have and make up from. About growing old, about gray hair and wrinkled hands and still reaching for each other in the dark.
Maki thought about forever.
And he realized, with a certainty that settled warm and solid in his chest, that forever with you still wouldn't be long enough.
His arm tightened around you, just slightly, pulling you closer. You stirred, making a soft, sleepy sound, and he pressed another kiss to your hair.
"Love you," he whispered into the darkness. "So much."
You didn't answer. You were already asleep. But your hand, still resting on his chest, curled a little tighter around his fingers and that was answer enough.
Maki closed his eyes, your warmth seeping into his bones, your scent filling his lungs, your heartbeat a quiet lullaby against his ribs.
He smiled to himself—one of those soft, private smiles that only existed in moments like this. His dimples appeared, even in the dark.
You snuggled closer to Maki, fitting yourself against your side like you'd been doing it your whole life. And maybe you had been.
Maybe you'd just been waiting for the right elevator.
fin.
A/N: oh to have a love like the one Maki gives :((( yeah i had the saddest playlist on whilst writing this
divider by @diviniyae
@eu1joo @7yataki @frenchkisstheabyss @yumangel @nichozzystuffs @blueuijoo @pglpblm @ikigaijo @antonh0lic @dearvampyr @riri4andy @tokunodoll @sunsoomi @makizdoll @solairemelo @cece0710 + Shoot me an ask or comment to be added
You wonder how much will it take her to realize that you chose that specific shade of green to match her hair, but Maki is extremely focused on not getting any nail polish on your fingers that she might as well never find out.
Her tongue pokes out just the tiniest bit between her lips, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling out loud. She’s got your left hand cradled in hers like it’s made of glass, brows furrowed, applying the second coat with surgical precision. Every now and then her thumb absentmindedly strokes the inside of your wrist, soft little unconscious circles, and it makes your whole chest feel like it’s full of warm honey.
“You’re staring,” she mutters without looking up.
“Can’t help it. You’re cute when your eyebrows furrow.”
“My eyebrows aren't furrowed,” she grumbles. “I’m concentrated. There’s a difference.”
“Mhm. Super concentrated girlfriend, my favorite kind.”
She flicks her eyes up to you then and you feel your heart do that stupid flippy thing it always does when she looks at you more than two seconds.
“Stop moving,” she scolds, but there’s no heat in it, her voice has gone all low and velvety.
“I’m not moving! You’re the one petting my wrist like it’s a kitten.”
Her ears go faintly pink. She doesn’t deny it though, just ducks her head lower so her bangs fall forward and hide her face. You can still see the corner of her mouth twitching like she’s fighting a smile.
You wait until she’s carefully capping the bottle before you lean in, bumping your nose gently against her temple.
“Hey.”
“…What.”
“Thank you for doing this. Even though you said painting nails is pointless and messy.”
She snorts despite herself. “I still stand by that.”
“But you’re doing mine anyway.”
Maki finally looks up properly this time. Her gaze softens so dramatically it almost hurts to look at. Dark eyes going all warm and molten, the perpetual little scowl melting away until she just looks… helplessly, stupidly in love.
“Yeah, well,” she mumbles, brushing her thumb over your freshly painted pinky one last time, “someone’s gotta make sure you don’t look like a toddler attacked your hands with a paint roller.”
You beam at her, bright enough that she actually has to squint a little.
“I love you,” you say, because it’s true and because you can’t not say it when she’s looking at you like that.
Maki freezes for half a second. Then she sighs (the long-suffering, put-upon sigh she always does right before she gives in completely) and leans forward to press the softest little kiss to the tip of your nose.
“…I love you too, idiot,” she mutters against your skin. “Now hold still. Top coat’s next and if you smudge it I’m starting over and making you sit here for another hour.”
You laugh, bright and sunny, and wiggle the fingers of your free hand just enough to tangle them with hers on the table.
“Yes ma'am.”
She rolls her eyes so hard you’re surprised they don’t fall out.
