Satoru Gojo Mangá Icons

love me anyway — fushiguro megumi.

Megumi was quiet for a moment, his gaze steady and thoughtful. Then, he asked quietly, “Do you love me?” The question took you by surprise, but you nodded without hesitation. “Of course, I do. I love you more than anything.” Before you could say more, he cut you off, his voice firm yet tender. “Then love me anyway.” he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ll love you like that too. But in my way. Okay?”

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Idol AU!

WARNING/s: General Audience, SFW, Fluff, Romance, Mild Angst, Comfort, Care, Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Crying, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Confessions, Mutual Affection, Love, Hugging, Idol! Megumi, Idol! Reader, Someone Love Me Like Megumi Loves Reader;

WORDS: 5k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: the kanji translates to 1st bubble - 'love me anyway' and 2nd bubble - 'i'll love you like that too'; i was also supposed to publish this last night, but i was exhausted from the nightmare of trying to get admitted for classes at our unprepared uni. but alas, it is what it is. also, i keep thinking - would people be interested to ask commission me for fiction work??? if so, tell me~ anyway, i love you all!!!

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IF ANYONE ASKS ABOUT YOU, MEGUMI SAYS NOTHING. When Megumi Fushiguro was asked about his personal life, especially concerning his relationship status, he always took a measured approach. His calm demeanor, coupled with his reluctance to divulge details, created a mystery that intrigued fans and media alike. 

Interviewers would frequently probe with questions about who he might be dating, their curiosity piqued by his silence. Yet Megumi, skilled at deflecting attention, would maintain an air of nonchalance. He would often sidestep the inquiries with practiced ease. "I prefer to keep my personal life private." he’d say with a polite smile, steering the conversation to his latest projects or upcoming performances.

When pressed further, his responses would be deliberately vague. "I’m not seeing anyone special at the moment." he’d offer, though his tone hinted at something more, leaving room for speculation. Occasionally, he’d indulge in playful ambiguity, saying, "That’s a bit of a secret." allowing the press and his fans to indulge in their wild theories.

In truth, his silence was not a mere avoidance of the topic but a carefully crafted shield. The reality was that he was deeply committed to you, his fellow pop singer. To the outside world, he remained an enigma, but those who knew him well understood that his reluctance to discuss his personal life was his way of protecting something precious. 

Away from the spotlight, Megumi cherished the moments he spent with you. In the quiet of your shared spaces, there were no prying eyes, no pressure to perform or maintain a facade. Here, he could be himself—a man deeply in love, unguarded and tender in ways the world never saw.

He would often steal glances at you when you weren’t looking, a soft smile playing on his lips as he marveled at how effortlessly you fit into his life. It was in the little things—the way you brewed his coffee just the way he liked it, the shared laughter over inside jokes, the warmth of your hand in his as you walked through the city late at night, hidden from the world. These were the moments that mattered to him, far more than any public adoration or recognition.

Megumi's commitment to keeping your relationship private wasn’t just about maintaining his image—it was about preserving the sanctity of what you both had built together. The love you shared was too precious, too delicate, to be exposed to the scrutiny and speculation that came with fame. He wanted to protect it, to keep it safe from the prying eyes and intrusive questions that would inevitably come if your relationship became public knowledge.

In those rare instances when the pressure of the media became overwhelming, and the rumors started to swirl, you both found solace in the understanding that this was your choice. The secrecy wasn’t a burden but a conscious decision to prioritize each other over the demands of the world outside.

Megumi knew that one day, when the time was right, he would be ready to share his happiness with the world. But until then, he was content with the quiet, intimate life you shared—one that was filled with love, trust, and the unspoken understanding that you were both in this together, no matter what.

Fushiguro Megumi thought of this bubble as something sacred, a secret he held close, not meant for the public but for himself alone. It was his way of preserving the tenderness and intimacy of what you shared, a private world far removed from the demands and expectations of his public life.

If anyone took a closer look, they might notice the subtle signs—the small but significant traces of you woven into his daily routine. The Polaroids tucked into the inner pocket of his coat when he traveled were a tangible connection to you, a reminder of moments that were too precious to be left behind. These photos, capturing the essence of your time together, were his silent companions on the road, offering comfort and a sense of closeness no matter how far away he was.

Then there was the worn edge of the photo he kept in his wallet, a picture he glimpsed every time he paid for his usual iced Americano. The photo, though small, held a world of memories within its faded colors—a candid shot of you laughing, the kind of smile that made his heart feel lighter even on the toughest days. This simple act of seeing your face, even in passing, grounded him, reminding him of the life you had together beyond the stage and the spotlight.

During his live broadcasts, there was yet another clue—another Polaroid placed on his nightstand, visible only to those who looked closely. To the casual observer, it might seem like just another photo, but to Megumi, it was a piece of home, a visual anchor to the life he cherished with you. This photo was a quiet declaration, a subtle hint at the love that defined his private world, even if he chose not to speak of it aloud.

Each of these small, deliberate choices was Megumi’s way of carrying you with him, of keeping you close even when you were apart. It was a way of acknowledging your presence in his life without exposing it to the world, preserving the purity of what you shared. In this carefully constructed bubble, you were safe, your love shielded from the chaos and noise of the outside world. And for Megumi, that was all that mattered.

To the world, he was enigmatic, but in the quiet moments away from the cameras, Megumi’s heart was unmistakably yours. And he absolutely loved it. He adored having to see these polaroids, the ones only for his eyes and be reminded that you took them for him. Each one had notes behind it — the date it was taken, the place it was taken and unique declarations of love from you. One after the other. Only for him to see. 

It’s not that Megumi wants to keep you a secret—far from it. He dreams of the day when he can hold your hand in public, fingers intertwined without a second thought, and kiss you on the street, feeling the world fade away as his lips meet yours. He imagines looking up during a performance and spotting you in the VIP box, your face beaming with pride as you cheer him on, your presence a source of strength.

But he knows you’re not ready for that step yet. And he gets it, truly he does. Being public together is a huge deal, something that would bring your relationship under the intense scrutiny of fans and the media. The thought of everyone speculating, commenting, dissecting every interaction between the two of you—it overwhelms you. And Megumi loves you too much, loves you too much to ever subject you to something that could hurt you.

So he waits, never pressuring, always patient. He works hard to ensure you know how much he loves you, showing it in the quiet moments, in the little things he does just for you. He’s there for you in ways that matter most, understanding your needs, your boundaries. And you know that, feel that love in every glance, every touch, every word he doesn’t need to say.

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SOMETIMES, YOU THINK THAT YOU AREN’T GOOD ENOUGH FOR HIM. You know you really shouldn’t even be thinking that. But It was really hard not to think that. Even little things like this, being able to be together, he’ll make it possible. Just to be with you, he’ll move every schedule he has around. You watched him intently as he prepared for song rehearsals, the familiar rhythm of the venue buzzing around you.

Both of you had been invited to perform at the same song festival—two stars in your own right, each with a dedicated following and a unique presence on stage. Yet, despite the individual paths you had carved in the industry, there was an undeniable connection between you, something that always seemed to draw you closer, even in the vast world of music and fame.

The festival was a high-profile event, a convergence of talent and star power, where each performance was eagerly anticipated by fans and critics alike. You were no exception; your name alone was enough to generate buzz, your performance a highlight on the festival's lineup. But this time, there was something more personal, more intimate at stake.

His stage was scheduled right after yours, a coincidence that felt almost too perfect to be real. It provided you with the perfect opportunity to linger behind after your set, slipping into the shadows to watch him perform without drawing too much attention.

It wasn’t unusual for artists to stay and support their peers, but for you, it was more than just professional courtesy—it was a chance to savor the moments you had together, to see him in his element, knowing that soon, he would be gone, and the time you had now would be all you could hold on to for a while.

Megumi had only decided to attend the festival because he knew you would be there. The invitation had come at a time when his schedule was already packed with album promotions and interviews, and truthfully, he could have declined without anyone questioning his decision.

But the thought of spending even a few hours in the same space as you, of sharing the stage at the same event, was enough to make him rearrange his plans. It was rare for your paths to cross like this, and he wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip by.

The festival was not just a performance but a brief, precious reprieve from the hectic lives you both led. It was a chance to be together, to share a moment that was yours alone, even if it was in the midst of flashing lights and roaring crowds. The fact that you were both attending had turned what might have been just another event into something special, something you both looked forward to with a mix of excitement and bittersweet anticipation.

Because after the festival, there would be rehearsals, and then he would be off again, flying halfway across the world to promote his album. It was the nature of your lives, always moving, always in demand, but it didn’t make the goodbyes any easier. You knew that once he left, it would be weeks, maybe even months, before you could see each other again. The distance would stretch between you, filled with phone calls and texts, but it wasn’t the same as being together, as feeling his presence beside you.

Megumi was focused, his expression serious as he adjusted his in-ear monitor, the slight furrow in his brow showing his concentration. For a brief moment, his gaze shifted, landing on you. There was a quiet acknowledgment in his eyes, a connection that needed no words. You couldn’t help but smile, the simple act of being there for him filling you with warmth.

He caught the smile, and something softened in his features, though he quickly averted his gaze as the stage director’s voice echoed through the space, calling for attention. Megumi turned his focus back to the task at hand, but you knew that brief exchange had said everything it needed to.

In truth, it weighed on you—the thought that Megumi was always the one making adjustments, bending and reshaping his life around you. You couldn’t help but think it was unfair to him, that relationships were supposed to be a two-way street. Yet, here he was, always the one who seemed to be giving more, doing everything he could to be with you.

When you were upset and didn’t want to talk, he’d still reach out, calling you even in the middle of his hectic workday just to make sure you were okay. When you were sick, no matter how busy his schedule was, Megumi was always the first one by your side, taking care of you with a quiet devotion that left you both comforted and conflicted.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t doing enough to reciprocate the love he so freely gave. It gnawed at you, a constant reminder that no matter how much you loved him, it felt like you were falling short. And that hurt—hurt because you loved him so much, and the thought of him always giving more than he received felt like a wound you couldn’t heal. You wanted to do better, to be better for him, because he deserved nothing less.

That feeling lingered, a quiet ache that settled deep in your chest every time you thought about how much Megumi gave and how little you felt you were able to return. He never complained, never once made you feel like you were a burden. If anything, he seemed happiest when he was with you, when he could be there for you. But that only made it harder to bear, because it felt like you were taking advantage of his kindness, his patience, his love.

You wanted to be the one to call him during a tough day, to show up unexpectedly and take care of him when he needed it most. You wanted to be the one making the sacrifices, the adjustments, to show him that your love for him was just as strong, just as unwavering. But every time you tried, it felt like your efforts fell short, like you couldn’t quite match the depth of his care.

The guilt was a constant shadow, always reminding you of how much he did for you. And no matter how many times he told you that it was enough just to be with you, that he didn’t need anything more than your presence, the doubt remained. Because deep down, you knew how much he meant to you, how deeply you loved him, and the thought of not being able to show that love in the way he deserved made your heart ache.

You resolved, quietly and firmly, to find a way to show him—to let him know just how much he meant to you. Because loving Megumi was the easiest thing in the world, but making sure he felt loved the way he made you feel was something you were determined to do, no matter how long it took. He deserved nothing less, and you would do everything in your power to make sure he knew it.

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IT WAS UNCOMFORTABLE TO SIT THERE AT THAT MOMENT. The ride home was quiet, the hum of the car engine the only sound filling the space between you and Megumi. The silence was thick, not with anger or resentment, but with the weight of unspoken emotions.

You sat beside him, staring out the window, lost in your thoughts. The city lights blurred as they passed by, each one a fleeting reminder of the moments that had slipped through your fingers—moments where you felt you hadn’t done enough, where you had fallen short as his partner.

The guilt gnawed at you, growing heavier with each passing mile. It was the little things that lingered in your mind, the times when you were too tired to ask about his day, when you were preoccupied with your own worries and missed the subtle signs of his struggles.

You replayed the conversations where you had said the right words but lacked the sincerity behind them, or the moments when you were present physically but your mind was elsewhere, distracted by the pressures of your own life.

You stole a glance at Megumi, hoping for some indication of what he was feeling, but his expression remained unreadable. His hands gripped the steering wheel, his focus seemingly on the road ahead, yet you knew his thoughts were likely miles away. You wondered if he, too, was wrestling with his own thoughts, if he was questioning your connection, or if he noticed the same cracks you did.

The guilt weighed on you like a leaden blanket, stifling the words you wanted to say but couldn’t find the courage to voice. You wanted to apologize, to explain that your distance wasn’t a reflection of your love for him, but rather your own struggles—struggles that had nothing to do with him but had somehow seeped into the space between you. But the words remained trapped in your throat, swallowed by the fear of making things worse.

As the car continued its journey, the silence grew more oppressive, filling the space where once there had been easy conversation and shared laughter. You could feel the distance between you, not just physical but emotional, a chasm that seemed to widen with every unspoken thought, every missed opportunity to connect.

Megumi, ever perceptive, noticed your silence. The way you stared out the window, lost in your thoughts, didn’t escape him. He knew you well enough to recognize when something was weighing on you, even if you didn’t voice it. The quiet between you wasn’t the comfortable silence you usually shared; it was heavy, filled with the unspoken tension that had settled in the car like a third passenger.

He glanced over at you, his eyes softening as he took in your expression—the slight furrow of your brow, the way your lips were pressed into a thin line. He could sense the turmoil swirling inside you, even if he didn’t fully understand its cause. Megumi had always been good at reading between the lines, at noticing the subtle shifts in your mood, and this time was no different. He could tell that something was off, that you were shouldering a burden you hadn’t shared with him.

His voice was gentle as he broke the silence, careful not to startle you from your reverie. “Why don’t you stay the night at my place?” he suggested, his tone laced with a warmth that he hoped would ease some of the tension you were feeling. “I’ll cook for you.”

He offered you a small, reassuring smile, trying to coax you out of your thoughts, to remind you that you didn’t have to carry whatever it was alone. Megumi knew that sometimes, all it took was a simple gesture to bring you back to the present, to help you feel grounded again. And cooking for you, spending time together in the quiet comfort of his home, was something he hoped would do just that.

“And then we could watch a movie,” he added, his smile growing a little wider, a bit more playful as he tried to lighten the mood. “I know you wanted to see a film recently, and I finally bought the CD for it.”

His offer was more than just an invitation to spend the night; it was his way of showing you that he cared, that he was there for you, even when words failed. Megumi knew you well enough to understand that sometimes, the best way to show his support wasn’t through grand gestures or deep conversations, but through the simple act of being there, of sharing a meal, a movie, a quiet evening together.

He hoped that by offering this, he could help ease the guilt he sensed you were feeling. He didn’t want you to think you had fallen short as his partner because, in his eyes, you never had.

Fushiguro Megumi had always valued the quiet, unspoken moments between you—the shared silences, the comfort of your presence, the way you understood each other without needing to say much. And tonight, he wanted to remind you of that, to let you know that no matter what was weighing on your mind, you didn’t have to face it alone.

As he waited for your response, his hand reached out to gently touch yours, a silent promise that he was there for you, no matter what. The warmth of his fingers against your skin was a quiet reassurance, a reminder that in the midst of all your doubts and worries, you had someone who loved you, who would always be by your side, ready to lift the weight of the world off your shoulders, even if just for a little while.

You looked at him, the sincerity in his eyes making the guilt even harder to bear. “I’m sorry, Megumi.” you started, your voice wavering as you spoke.

He furrowed his brow, turning his full attention to you. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, his tone full of concern. “You don’t need to–”

You hesitated, struggling to find the right words. “I… I’ve been an inadequate partner to you.” you confessed, your voice heavy with emotion. “It’s not fair to you, Megumi. You’ve done so much, and I feel like I haven’t done enough in return.”

Megumi let out a soft sigh, shaking his head as he reached over to take your hand in his. “Don’t think like that, hm?” he said gently, his thumb brushing against your knuckles in a soothing gesture. “You’re always worthy of love, of my love. You’ve done well to love me too, you know?”

“But it’s true!” you insisted, your voice cracking as the weight of your feelings pressed down on you. “I feel like I’m always taking, and you’re always giving. It’s not fair to you.”

Megumi was quiet for a moment, his gaze steady and thoughtful. Then, he asked quietly, “Do you love me?”

The question took you by surprise, but you nodded without hesitation. “Of course, I do. I love you more than anything.”

Before you could say more, he cut you off, his voice firm yet tender. “Then love me anyway.” he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ll love you like that too. But in my way. Okay?”

The simplicity of his words hit you with unexpected force, the sincerity behind them bringing tears to your eyes. Your Megumi always knows what to do. He knows how to reach you, to calm you down. To love you back to life. He reached up, wiping away the tears that had begun to fall, his touch gentle and full of affection.

“Don’t worry so much about what you think you should be doing.” Megumi continued, his voice soft and reassuring. “Just love me, and let me love you. That’s all that matters.”

His words wrapped around your heart, easing the guilt and replacing it with a deep sense of peace. You leaned into his touch, nodding as you let his words sink in, knowing that with him, it was enough just to be.

You leaned into Megumi's touch, feeling the warmth of his hand against your cheek as he gently wiped away your tears. His presence was soothing, a quiet strength that you could always rely on, and in that moment, the weight of your worries began to lift, even if just a little.

Megumi pulled you closer, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he held you against him. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat was a comforting anchor, grounding you in the moment. He didn’t say anything more, allowing the silence to fill with the unspoken understanding between you. 

As the car continued down the quiet streets, Megumi rested his chin on top of your head, his fingers tracing calming patterns on your arm. “You don’t have to be anything more than who you are, okay?” he murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I love you for you—not for what you think you should be.”

His words, so simple yet so full of meaning, resonated deep within you. The guilt that had been weighing you down began to fade, replaced by a warmth that spread through your chest. Megumi had always been like this—steady, unwavering in his love, never asking for more than you could give.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself relax into his embrace, feeling the tension leave your body as you allowed yourself to be vulnerable with him. “I just want to make you happy, Megumi.” you whispered, your voice tinged with emotion.

“And you already do.” Megumi replied without hesitation, his hand finding yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Just being with you makes me happy.”

His sincerity brought another wave of tears, but this time, they were tears of relief, of gratitude. You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, your heart swelling with love for the man who held you so tenderly, who accepted you with all your flaws and insecurities.

“Thank you, Megumi.” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly as the emotions overwhelmed you. “Thank you for loving me.”

Megumi’s eyes softened, and he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment. “You don’t need to thank me, you know?” he murmured against your skin. “I love you because it’s you. And nothing will ever change that.”

He pulled back slightly to look at you, his eyes searching yours, filled with an affection that made your heartache in the best way possible. “We’ll figure everything out together, okay?” he said softly. “We don’t have to have all the answers right now. As long as we’re together, that’s all that matters.”

You nodded, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through the tears. “Okay.” you agreed, your voice steadier now. “Together.”

Megumi smiled back at you, a look of pure love and reassurance in his eyes. “Together.” he echoed, pulling you back into his arms, holding you close.

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epilogue

A few weeks had passed since that quiet ride home, and in that time, something had shifted between you and Megumi. The weight of your insecurities had eased, replaced by a growing confidence in the love you shared. You found yourself cherishing the little moments even more—the quiet exchanges, the smiles, the unspoken understanding that connected you both.

One evening, after one of Megumi's performances, you found yourself backstage, watching as he wrapped up his set. The energy in the room was electric, the audience’s cheers still echoing as Megumi made his way off the stage. He spotted you immediately, his eyes lighting up as he walked over. Without a word, you reached for him, pulling him into a kiss, a moment of pure connection amidst the chaos around you. A friend snapped a quick Polaroid of the two of you, capturing the tenderness of the moment.

Later that night, as you looked at the photo, an idea came to you. You carefully positioned the Polaroid against a backdrop of Megumi’s stage gear, the memory of that kiss still fresh in your mind. With a smile, you snapped a picture of the Polaroid and opened your social media, ready to share this piece of your world with him—and everyone else.

The caption came naturally: "Here's more Polaroids for you to hide." It was a playful nod to the many photos Megumi had tucked away over the months, small tokens of your relationship that he kept close even when the world wasn’t looking.

You hesitated for a moment before hitting ‘post,’ but something in you felt ready—ready to share this part of your life, ready to take that next step with him.

It didn’t take long for Megumi to see the post. Almost immediately, he shared his own Instagram story, adding his own words beneath your caption: "Only if you let me love you anyway."

His words were simple, but they carried the weight of everything you both had gone through, every doubt, every moment of reassurance, every bit of love that had brought you to this point.

You smiled as you read his response, feeling a warmth spread through you. It was a promise, a reminder of the love you shared, a love that was strong enough to weather anything.

And as the notifications began to roll in, the world catching a glimpse of the two of you together, you felt at peace. Because you knew, no matter what came next, you had each other. And that was enough.

As soon as you posted the Polaroids on your Instagram, the reaction on social media was immediate. Especially on Twitter. Fans of both you and Megumi began flooding the comments with a mix of excitement, surprise, and overwhelming support.

Fan 1: "Wait, are they… official now? My heart can't take this! 😭❤️"

Fan 2: "These Polaroids are so cute! Megumi must be over the moon!"

Fan 3: "I knew something was going on! They’re perfect together. Look at that smile in the last photo!"

Fan 4: "This is the content we've been waiting for! I can't believe it's finally happening!"

Fan 5: "Only if you let me love you anyway" — Fushiguro Megumi, you romantic! 😍"

As you scrolled through the comments, your phone buzzed with an incoming call from Megumi. You know he must be excited. More than he would let on to show. And you knew only you would know. You answered with a smile, hearing the familiar warmth in his voice.

"You saw the post, huh?" you teased.

"I did, I did." Megumi replied, his voice soft but filled with emotion. "I wasn’t expecting you to share those photos just yet. But I want you to know that I’m really glad you did. I finally get to love you in front of everyone.”

"Yeah, I know." you admitted, your heart fluttering. "I just… I wanted to take that step with you. I’m ready, Megumi. Don’t worry. Just let me love you the way you deserve, okay?”

There was a brief pause on the other end, and you could almost picture the gentle smile on Megumi's face. "You already do love me. But let’s keep taking polaroids for me to hide, okay? I still want some things that are just for me, from you.”

You laughed, feeling a wave of affection for him. "I wouldn’t have it any other way."

“I love you.” He whispers on the other side of the line.

You smile, feeling butterflies. “I love you too.”

The Widow's Keeper

Marrying again after losing your husband in Shibuya was never part of your plan. Then, Higuruma Hiromi came along.

Warnings: Character death, grief, angst, fluff

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A hysterical shriek-- a frantic cry for a man long dead-- rang through the bedroom, enveloped in the dark warmth of night, and broke down into anguished sobs. A soft shout of alarm, and hurried reassurances, sobs muffled, hands stroking, soothing, kisses on foreheads.

Hiromi held you to his chest, his pyjama top damp with your grief, his eyes gritty from sudden wakefulness. You cried away your grief, still so raw, replaying over and over in your dreams-- taunting you with 'what if's and 'if only's. Hiromi's nose nuzzled into your hair, both arms tightly holding you lest you fall apart against him, mumbling his sweet love in humid little breaths to your head.

It had been a while since you had dreamed of Nanami Kento, he pondered, rocking you gently from side-to-side. Dead and buried for almost 4 years now, Hiromi had married you and your trauma, your loss, your fallen love. He had taken you as the package you were, a complex parcel, and the mother of the second love of his life.

Little footsteps approached the door; little hands, cautious against the cool wood, pushed it open with a squeak.

"Mummy? Daddy? Is it a bad dream? You woke me up," grumbled your little girl, blonde and brown-eyed, with sharp delicate features. You sat up hurriedly, wiping your eyes and plastering on a damp smile. As you began moving to get out of bed, Hiromi laid a gentle hand on your thigh, kissing you on the temple.

"I'll take it from here," he hushed, and you sniffled, threatening tears again, "go back to sleep. I love you."

Planting a watery kiss to Hiromi's lips, you laid down in bed, burrowing your nose into his pillow, his smell, always feeling your adoration for him with the sting of guilt.

Hiromi scooted to the door, his loud shuffling footsteps pretending to be sneaky as he scooped his daughter up in his arms, nosing at her with deliberate snuffles. She giggled, batting him away, capturing his face in her little hands, slanted eyes narrow and delighted.

"Back to bed, little one. Your teddies can't sleep without you." Hiromi's playful bargaining wasn't needed, his daughter half-asleep in his arms already, while her arms wound around his neck to snuggle her head under his chin. By the time he had tucked her back into bed, she breathed soft snores, her bed still warm from the nest she had made.

Hiromi crouched by your daughter's bed, watching her, committing all of her features to memory; never this small, ever again, he thought, bittersweet as she grew, blooming. He stroked her hair, nursing the stale guilt of feeling he had stolen this life from another man, and feeling so deeply undeserving, so ashamed because of it.

While Hiromi knew his daughter-- your daughter, Kento's daughter-- more than Kento ever would, there felt to be an impenetrable wall to his love, an absence of a blood bond, stolen away from a man who did not want to leave his wife, and had not even known he was to become a father. Hiromi felt responsible, as if he had spirited you both away himself. He did not deserve to hold you through your grief; he did not deserve to be daddy.

Planting a last kiss to his daughter's forehead, a long-fingered hand stroking blond flicks out of her eyes, Hiromi tiptoed to the door. He hesitated for a moment, then tiptoed back. A brown teddy with its familiar, well-fiddled-with and far-too-large-for-teddies yellow leopard-spotted tie, belonged in his daughters' arms, and not on the floor.

Padding back to your bedroom, a thief in the night, the sheets played a gentle susurrus over your bodies as Hiromi tangled his legs through yours, lying on his back so you could tuck across his chest. You slipped a hand under his t-shirt, travelling up to his chest to stroke its patch of downy black hair. Hiromi's fingers tangled through your hair, examining the whorls of your ear, rolling your earlobe in thought.

"I'm so sorry," you hiccuped into Hiromi's chest, and you heaved with sobs when his reassurance began before you had even finished apologising, his arms tightening around you. He cupped your face in his hands, tilting it, look at me, come on darling, please, look at me.

Hiromi held your face, your cheeks squashed and blotchy with tears in his palms. He felt a trickle of disgust with himself run down his throat, as he stole his role as your hero from Kento, "None of that. You know you don't have to apologise for anything--"

"But I love him," you sobbed, voice cracking with devastated guilt, feeling like a filthy liar, a cheater, a bigamist, "I love him so much and I want him back, but I want you, Hiro, I-- I--" Hiromi nodded, still gazing into you, hooded dark eyes like little embers in the night. You felt a surge of appreciative, grateful love as he drank down your proclamations of love for another man, and wanted you anyway.

"If it were the other way round," Hiromi started, slow and deliberate, "if it were me who had died, and Kento loved you after...I would trust him completely to carry the torch for me. To give you two everything that I wouldn't be able to give."

You wept again, your face and chest aching, loss heavy in your soul. Hiromi kept you close, tethering you, repeating in a tender mantra; "You can love us both. You can love us both, because we both love you. You can love us both."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"I...I'm not very good at this sort of thing."

Hiromi's words fell weakly, unanswered by the dead. Nanami Kento's grave was pristine under the hands of his many friends, his lover, his students, those he had saved. He was popular in death as he had been in life; not inundated with true friends, but awash with Bannermen and admirers, those who aspired to be like him, and those who aspired to be liked by him. An admission of guilt writhed in Hiromi's chest, bursting out in one strained cry.

"I can't feel sad that you died," Hiromi spat, disgusted not with Kento, but with himself, "because if you hadn't died, I wouldn't have them, and I'm a real piece of shit--"

"No you're not," a friendly voice drawled to Hiromi's left. Hiromi froze, eyes wide and paralyzed, dread creeping through him that someone had heard his biggest shame--

"-- and Nanami wouldn't have thought so, either. I bet she was the last thing he thought about-- worrying about her, who would look after her. He'd be happy. For her to have a good man. Like you."

Ino Takuma leaned down beside Hiromi, speaking a brief prayer above Kento, a wrapped, spotted blunt blade harnessed onto his back. Placing some fresh flowers down, he stood up again.

Hiromi and Ino were silent together amongst the rustling willows, the smooth dappling sunlight, the whispering babble of the shallow river. Ino rocked on his heels, smiling, hands pocketed. Hiromi hung his head in shame.

"You can...you can feel both, Higuruma. Regret for him dying and leaving her, and...and loving her, I guess. You're not a bad person. I bet she beats herself up for marrying again, right?"

Hiromi swallowed, nodding quickly after a breath's pause. Images flitted across his mind-- you, resplendent in your gown. Your daughter, so solemn on her big day, scattering petals down the aisle. Your earnest kiss, your joyful dancing, your gracious speech. Your wedding night breakdown, holding you in a hot bath in innocent intimacy, folding your lingerie away in favour of a soft nightdress, nothing expected, nothing lost, in life and in death, in sickness and in health.

"You've just...you've just got to be his wingman, y'know?" Ino stated, arms crossed up behind his balaclava'd head, "You and Nanami...you're both her husband. You're both my niece's dad. So big him up a bit for us, huh?"

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Hey, dad?"

Hiromi leaned round the fridge door, crows feet crinkling around his eyes as he popped a cube of cheese into his mouth, busted.

His daughter smirked at him, fine eyebrows raised under a smooth honey-blonde fringe. As tall as Hiromi, leggy and sarcastic, Hiromi didn't so much tell this young woman off now, as get savagely roasted by her dry wit. Hiromi took it with all of the frustrated joy of a father trying to parent a young woman with unparentably excellent traits.

"Cheese?" Hiromi offered, flicking a cube deftly at his daughter. She caught it, seamlessly, eyes narrowing at him. For all the bravado she was putting on, Hiromi knew she was putting it on. He headed over, pulling her to him with one arm, blonde head against black-grey head.

"Penny for them?"

She sighed, and began: "Did you...meet him?"

Him. Ah.

"I did not," Hiromi admitted, "but I know he was exceptional. Your mother has wonderful taste." He accepted the slap to his arm, well-deserved.

"I can never...I don't think I'll ever be as good as him." Hiromi's heart swelled and ached for his daughter; he felt an odd kinship, one of them in such a powerful shadow, one of them in such enormous shoes. Hiromi nodded, his throat thick.

"You're right," he said, his daughter's lips puckering up in grim acceptance, looking at the floor, "your dad was a hero. He protected the weak when nobody else wanted to. He took on the messy jobs with nothing more than a glass of whiskey and your mum's love behind him. He was funny, kind, patient, empathetic... he was the best of the best. The best sort of man. He's a legend even now."

"So, no, sweetheart, you're never going to be as good as him," Hiromi turned to his daughter, cupping her high-cheeked face in his hands, pressing her to look at him, "you're going to be better. You have all three of us in you, and you carry it so well."

Hiromi's daughter let out a dry sob, refusing to let tears fall. She sniffled, pulling close to Hiromi, letting herself be held. Rubbing her nose and pulling her hair behind one ear, she reached behind her onto a chair, revealing a black, rectangular handled case.

"Uncle Ino gave me something, today," she started, unclipping the case, "he said it was dad's. I thought I...I want to use it. Like he did."

Hiromi gazed fondly down at the blade of legends, white wrapping yellowed at the edges with age, but still just as deadly. He smiled, and your daughter relaxed into his wordless reassurance.

"Yes. Absolutely. It's the only...you're the only one who could do this old thing justice, now," Hiromi pressed, eager to hold Kento and his child together across the impenetrable veil of death, "but I have to warn you."

His daughter glanced to Hiromi, anxious. He took a deep breath, and continued;

"Your mother will cry when she sees this."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

A few tears slipped out while I wrote this.

cannot believe gojo dies with nanami basically calling him a heartless weirdo that only cares about winning

when he’s literally not that at all and loves his students so much—

I’m about to start crying honestly — I had so much hope going in (and that was definitely misguided because Gege) but fuck this shit

this is the worst possible ending for gojo ever — I don’t care, I refuse to accept canon

ENTRY #11 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // I starve for your touch yet fear to savor it.

contents: arranged marriage!au, nudity, reader discretion is advised — wc. 1690

a/n: there was no way i wouldn't write a fic based on this picture. just no way.

series masterlist

Satoru loves to sleep naked.

The beauty of his innate technique, the blessing that he mastered to no end, has stripped him off one of the most basic human needs — touch. He wasn’t missing it that much, he thought, but there was something in letting go of everything and allowing himself to be wrapped in the silky layers of bedsheets that made his body crave the feeling.

He has always picked expensive garments, the ones with soft fabrics and luxurious feel, despite everyone telling him it’s unreasonable to spend so much on a shirt or a pair of trousers, but to him, it did matter. To him, that was the only thing touching his body when a thin layer of infinity effectively forced everything else back. To Satoru, touch was forbidden, threatening. It was a vulnerability that he, the strongest, couldn’t afford.

But that until he’s met you. Until he’s married you.

You were one of not many people he’s made an exception for. You were able to touch him whenever you wanted because the protective surface of endless matter let you in. Because he himself altered his technique to make you capable of laying your hands on his body.

He longed for your touch. So soft, and delicate, and warm. He craved more of it and yet, despite being shameless and confident, he has not allowed himself to sleep bare even once since the day you and him were bound by the knot of matrimony. It would cross boundaries he wasn’t sure you’d wish to cross; it would make you uncomfortable, awkward maybe — and he liked the way your relationship looked like now. He liked the late evenings you talked quietly, alone and intimate in the warm embrace of sheets and your own house.

For you, he let go of the way he used to sleep before because you were worth the sacrifice, but now, you were gone for few days. You were sent on a mission away from Tokyo and the hours Satoru spent alone in bed, thinking of nothing more but your fingertips on top of his skin, made him desperate — and so, he allowed himself the comfort of soft cotton and silk.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You were tired. Exhausted even, by the intense fight you had to pull through, by the uncomfortable nights spent in the dingy hotel room, by the humid weather and rains. In moments like this, there was nothing you envied more in the world than your husband’s ability to warp from one place to another, but you got lucky. Incredibly so, because Ijichi offered you a ride home two days earlier than you were supposed to head back and you thanked all gods and devils for that man’s kindness. He was willing to put on some more road just to get you home.

“Thank you so, so much, Ijichi,” you kissed his cheek — a ghost of a peck that made him all red and steamy and you felt giddy for a moment, seeing the tips of his ears turn crimson. Adorable. You liked him, he was dutiful, polite, trustworthy and constantly terrorized by your husband, so you were determined to at least be the Gojo he likes.

“You’re very welcome,” he mumbled and fixed the frames on the bridge of his nose, pushing them up with the tip of his pointer finger. “Have a good rest.”

“You too, Ijichi.”

Then, he was gone and you were stepping into the house with a deep sense of relief washing over you. Home sweet home. If you were to guess, it was most likely somewhere around 4 am, way too early for anyone to be up — especially your husband — so you gave it your all to stay as quiet as possible. The sun was just showing its first rays from way below the horizon line, crawling up with golden hues and breaking the nightly, navy darkness.

On your toes you moved across the house. It seemed as if Gojo was spending his time alone quite ordinarily — you saw a modest stack of empty takeout boxes, much less humble pile of candy wrappers and his uniform jacket thrown over the couch backrest, along with few other little items that you struggled to differentiate in the nocturnal haze.

You put down your bag, hung up your coat and pushed off the shoes. Ghosting your way towards the bathroom, you were desperate to wash away the combat residuals. You lathered up the shower gel in a rush, desperate to rest and sleep in the comfort of your own bed and then, wrapped in the towel, you tippy-toed to the bedroom, but—

“Came back earlier?”

—you truly didn’t expect to be met with a sight like this. Your husband was awake, just barely, most likely awaken by the water running in the bathroom. His eyes were closed, hidden underneath his forearm and shielded from the lights that were slowly creeping inside, between the dark curtains and onto his face. His body seemed relaxed between the sheets. The softest, gentlest lines of golden glimmer that painted its patterns over his uncovered chest and leg, his hip and one of the muscular arms. The duvet was covering less than half of him, hiding a part of his stomach, the other leg and—

“You’re staring.”

Satoru didn’t even have to look at you to know that your gaze was lingering on his frame. On his very, very naked frame, just barely concealed by the comforter.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, feeling the heat creeping up your cheeks and reaching the tips of your ears and you thanked the darkness for hiding it away. You walked around the bed, hoping to find your pajama where you left it and trying to force your head out of the gutter. You heard your husband letting out a deep exhale and then, a soft hum. His voice was as melodic as always, though you could tell how much sleepiness was laced into it.

Satoru should’ve notice you when you entered the area of your house, but he didn’t. Tired by his own job, by the classes and all of the meetings, he allowed himself to lower his guard and when he realized you’re home, he contemplated for a moment getting up and dressed, but he just didn’t want to.

“You’re exhausted, screw pajamas, just come here,” he said before he managed to think twice about it. It was a daring offer, inappropriate even and he opened his mouth to apologize for it, but then, you rendered him speechless.

Your weight felt good on top of him. You lay your body over his own with feathery gentleness and carefully maneuvered your way to rest on his chest completely. The touch of your skin flush to his own made his brain to short circuit, it felt divine, too good to be true and just so very right, he couldn’t say a word.

“Is that alright?” You asked quietly, pressing your ear right above his heart and letting out a breath that you held for a little too long. Your face felt hot, you were flushed and flustered but also oddly at ease with the current position and you wondered for a moment if it was the tiredness that made you so bold.

“More than that,” he replied, pulling the covers to hide you beneath them. He allowed one of his arms to snake around your waist and his lips to kiss the top of your head. “Rest. Sleep well, wifey.”

“Good night.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

10:19 AM

Satoru thought he was dreaming, but the weight on top of him felt too real. The soft scent of citrusy shower gel that lingered on your skin filled in his lungs each time he took a breath in and there was a tickle, he realized — every time his chest raised, a strand of your hair seemed to be moving against his jawline. You were not a dream.

He opened his eyes, blinking few times, adjusting them to the bright light that forced its way into the bedroom and then, he looked at you. You were still very deep asleep, he could tell based off the long inhales you were taking, slow and relaxed, fanning against his peck rhythmically. Your body was mostly on top of him, you were on his chest, your leg was between his and only your hips were resting on the bed. He still had his arm around you, as if making sure you were as close as possible.

It felt incredible. Intimate. It was everything he could have wished for. A touch, skin to skin, so intense it almost took his breath away. He felt nauseous at the thought, realizing that it’s the first time in his life, he’s that close to someone. So impossibly close that just a little bit more and you’d become a part of him. His heartbeat quickened.

It was so right. So awfully correct and at the same time, so very threatening. He felt helpless. Vulnerable. He was at your mercy, he was robbed of everything what made him the strongest, because at this very moment, he was bare. Uncovered before you, wrapped in an embrace that felt loving, that felt soothing, addicting, but if you only wished to hurt him, you’d—

You moved, shifting your weight a little bit, adjusting the position and the way your hand run down his side made him shiver. A soft sound escaped your throat when you let out a deeper exhale. He felt your fingers squeezing the flesh above his hip and then, you relaxed again.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” you whispered, not bothering to open your eyes, and Satoru held his breath. “Relax…”

And he chuckled. His chest vibrated below your ear and the adorable sound of displeasure you let out made him lose all of the tension. He turned, twisting his body inside your embrace to face you fully and he squeezed you with both of his arms, pulling you close. So impossibly close, and you whimpered, suddenly enclosed in a tight hold of your husband’s limbs. That was it for your sleep.

You could get used to it.

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"You know, Nanamin," Yuuji started, between mouthfuls, "when we first met, I thought I wouldn't like you at all."

Kento raised one thin eyebrow over the rim of his paper-cup coffee. He sat with you, and Yuuji, at a dirt road Konbi overlooking Tokyo. The sun was setting, casting the city as a silhouette against oranges, purples. You could smell the earthy petrichor of an incoming storm. Yuuji did not mind, thoughtful as he slurped at an instant ramen.

"Like, really," Yuuji continued, his mouth puckered up, "I thought you were boring. Unfunny, grumpy, miserable. Maybe even a little bit mean." Yuuji laughed now, becoming gradually more animated as he set the scene. "And when you tried to lecture me, while I was fighting that curse? Insane. I was like, 'Who the hell is this guy?'"

You covered your mouth, hiding a smile, eyes flicking between your unreadable husband, and the bubbling boy opposite him. Yuuji finished laughing, wiping his eyes and sighing into another slurp of noodles.

You placed a surreptitious hand on Kento's thigh under the table, and he barely reacted, but to tense and cross his arms. Yuuji rested his chin on one hand, eyes softening as he looked over the ant-like lights, moving in scattered formation across the city.

"But then...I realised. You just cared. I mean, really cared. About me. And if I wasn't being treated right. And if I was gonna be okay." Yuuji swallowed, his voice thickening. "And I...didn't have anyone left like that. The only person I ever did have was my grandad, and maybe he just took care of me because he had to, y'know? But you chose to. Even though I'm...I'm a monster."

You saw Kento squirm within. You knew he'd had his misgivings about Sukuna's Vessel, before Kento knew him as Yuuji. You knew the shame and guilt Kento carried for that. His shoulders ached, a pall-bearer of emotions for so many.

"And you're hilarious. Anyone can see it, really. And you're a rebel. And a protester. And you stand up for the little guy when nobody else wants to. And you don't do it to make us like you. You just...believe it's right. And don't get me wrong, I like Gojo-sensei too, but I love you."

You pursed your lips, closing your eyes and trying not to tear up on Kento's behalf. Kento remained silent, arms crossed and frowning down at his steaming coffee. Yuuji looked at you, uncertain. You gently flapped one hand; don't worry, you're alright, you're okay.

Kento eventually broke his silence, his voice gruff. He pushed his bank card across the table to Yuuji.

"Itadori-kun." Yuuji sat to attention, wide-eyed. "Go and get yourself some snacks. As much as you like. And the other students, too, if you know what they'd want."

Yuuji took the card in confusion, with both hands and a little bow, and disappeared inside the shop, the automatic doors booping behind him.

Kento stood, your hand falling off his lap, and grasped the metal railings overlooking the city, with his back to you. His shoulders were taut, stiff, occasionally hitching with emotion. You felt him, as you always had.

"...Kento? Are you alright?"

A thick swallow and a sniffle before a single gravelly, "Yeah. I'm fine, I...I'm fine."

there for you, i. takuma

A/N: ino deserves more fics so this is that. not proof read. PROMPT: a surprise visit from ino when you're having a hard day WARNINGS: none WORD COUNT: 0.8k

The sounds of cracking knees draws your attention forward, the sight of long brown hair and a smiling face meeting your tired eyes.

“Well, hi there sweetheart.” Ino’s expression softened when he spoke to you, his knuckles reaching out to brush against your knee, “You don’t look so good.”

His words were honest, but as soft as silk, genuine worry woven into every word. And his hands, even softer, spreading warmth across every inch of your skin with every touch.

Sitting on the couch, your knees tucked tightly to your chest, you had to tilt your chin to rest against the bone to fully look at your partner’s softly smiling face.

“I don’t feel so good, Ino.” The quiet confession wasn’t something he needed to hear to know, but your honestly warmed his heart nonetheless.

He humms, leaning forward until his forehead pressed to yours, “And why’s my love not feeling good?” You shrug your shoulders, falling silent once more. “You feeling sick?” When you shake your head, he hums again, pressing his lips to the bridge of your nose, “Just having one of those days?”

“Yeah.” Your voice is whispered, ragged as you force an answer out.

Patient as ever, Takuma acknowledges your response, his hands moving to rub along your calves. “Want me to stay close to you?” He pauses, taking you in, “I don’t mind being around in another room, either.”

Your hand peeks out from where it had been nearly tucked under your leg, interlocking his fingers with your own, “Would you stay?”

A bright smile, one more signature to the sorcerer, blesses your view, “Honey, you’d have to ask me to leave before I’d even think about going somewhere else.” Emboldened by how you held one of his hands, he reached for the other, intertwining his fingers with your other free hand. “We’ll probably be more comfortable on the bed if you want?” His smile grows, “Or you could always lay on me if you want to stay on the couch.”

A light giggle leaves you from his candid chatter, “Bed would be more comfortable.“

“Alrighty, love.” Rising from his knees without letting go of your hands, Takuma helps you to your feet. “Have you eaten at all today?” You expected the sharp tsk from him the moment you shook your head no. “Well isn’t today your lucky day,” Your partner let your hands go, padding over to your front door and retrieving a bag, “it’s not proper food, but I picked up some snacks on the way over here. We can have these and I’ll be sure to make us dinner tonight.”

His hand finds yours without hesitation, holding the plastic bag of goodies in the other as he tugs you to the bedroom. “I know you don’t like eating in bed,” he starts, smiling back at you as he steps into the bedroom, “but how about I change the sheets before dinner anyway? New sheets can do wonders when you’re having a bad day, I swear by it!”

It’s hard not to agree to his earnest smile, always all too happy to be there and support you. Letting him gently guide you to bed, watching with a small warmth as he pulls back the covers for you to get underneath, he starts to list off all of the goodies he got on his way over.

“Could I have the black sesame bun?” Takuma’s eyes shoot forward, all too pleased with your request.

“Course, love, they’re you’re favorite, right?”

“You only got my favorites, Ino.” Your partner laughs at the slight whine on your tone, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Only the favorites for my favorite.”

Quiet, love driven bickering continues as he slips into bed besides you, not hesitating to gather you up into your chest. As a comfortable sigh leaves him, the steady beat of his heart soothing your state of mind, a comfortable silence washes over the room as you both chew quietly on the food.

Takuma’s free hand roams your back, stopping to massage more tense areas as he finds them, letting his cheek rest on top of your head. It feels a little silly, his jaw moving against your head as he chews, but you couldn’t be more grateful for the unwavering support he always would show you.

“Hey, Ino?” You’re not sure how much time had passed, eating snacks having long passed into sharing a bottle of water. When he hums against you in response, your hand grips onto his shirt, voice wavering a little. “I love you.”

A quiet, joyful laugh breathes on the top of your head. “You know I’m always gonna be there for you, right?” This time, Takuma hears your hum in response. “I love you.”

Warm on a Cold Night

Pairing: Takuma Ino x f!reader

Word Count: ~3.5k

cw: fluff, canon universe, alcohol consumption, Ino and reader are both in their early 20s, suggestive (blink and it’s gone), mentions of minor injuries, love confessions

Summary: You and Ino learn all the different ways to keep each other warm on a cold night in Tokyo. 

Author’s Note: Inspired by the song Warm on a Cold Night by Honne. I’ve always loved this song and it gives me major winter vibes. Thought it’d be cute to imagine it with our boyfriend Ino. Enjoy! Divider credit to @/cafekitsune. Tagging @kodzukein @crlyhairedwxtch @chicken-fifi @thisisnotashley @saerotonins @batafuraikisu @kentoslvt @rxmbzzz @yoshikasworld, thank you for the interest in this ♥️ also tagging my fellow ino lover @antique-remains, I hope you like this :)

On the first of December, Takuma Ino walks into his favorite Korean barbeque restaurant down the street from his humble studio apartment. His stomach grumbles with hunger; he hasn’t eaten since breakfast, right before he met with Nanami in Ginza to exorcise curses in an abandoned department store. As soon as he made it back home, he collapsed on the couch and fell asleep without meaning to. Now, he hustles, feet shuffling on the pavement, beanie pulled over his ears, though the crisp air still bites his skin. He knows it’s going to be packed on a Friday night such as this. He isn’t sure how long he can last, given how starving he is. He slips inside anyways, the familiar bell ringing above him announcing his presence, ready to try his luck. As predicted, the tables are all occupied. Fortunately, there’s only one other person waiting. 

You sit on the chair next to the hostess stand, scrolling through your phone. There’s a ding and rush of breeze as the door swings open. Glancing up on instinct, your eyes meet his and you give him a cordial smile. He nods, acknowledging you. Yuki, the hostess, greets him happily, recognizing him. “Ino!”

“Hey Yuki!” he grins. “Table for one, please.”

She does a brief scan of the restaurant. “Fifteen minutes, okay?”

“Cool.” He takes the empty seat beside you, shaking his knees, rubbing his hands together, breathing into his palms. “Chilly out there,” he says to no one in particular. 

Yuki doesn’t seem to hear him, walking away to tend to customers. Feeling obligated to answer out of politeness, you agree. “Yeah, freezing.”

“It smells so good in here, I can’t wait to eat. I’m absolutely starving.” He rubs his belly, slouching in his seat. “This type of weather always makes me crave Korean barbeque. I guess everyone has the same idea.”

He’s a chatty fellow, though you don’t mind it. He seems friendly enough, so you entertain him. “This weather is a good excuse to grill meat over a fire. And maybe warm up with a few shots of soju.”

“Now that sounds like a great idea. I could definitely use a drink.” He couldn’t finish an entire bottle himself, just a taste wouldn’t be so bad, right? If only he had someone to share it with.

Another breeze sweeps through as a couple exits the restaurant, hand-in-hand, snuggled in their long coats and scarves. Yuki approaches you with a menu in her hands. “Your table is ready!”

You stand up, ready to follow her. “Enjoy your meal!” Ino calls out.

Something clicks in your brain; you’re not exactly sure why you decide to do this. Maybe deep down, you pity the guy who has to wait another fifteen minutes to eat. Or maybe you want some company on a cold night like tonight. Whatever the reason is, you end up blurting out, “Want to join me?” 

Pleasantly surprised and too famished to deny the offer, he hops out of his chair. “Are you sure?”

You shrug, grinning at him. “Yeah. It’s always more fun with friends, right?”

He can’t argue with that. There’s a strange glow that begins to surround his chest at those words. This might be the fastest friend he’s ever made, and his stomach is more than grateful. They walk together to the table, sitting across from one another, avoiding each other’s gaze while Yuki fires up the grill. Before she leaves, you place an order for appetizers and a bottle of strawberry soju to share. 

Quick to fill the silence, Ino asks, “Do you come here often?”

You shake your head, looking at the plate and utensils in front of you. “I moved in nearby and found this place online. Decided to give it a shot tonight.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat! This is the best Korean barbeque in the neighborhood. I take my mentor out here from time-to-time and even he likes it. And he’s a hard one to please.” He shrugs his beanie off, revealing messy brown hair that you happen to find adorable. Your gaze lingers for a second longer than you intend because when he catches you, he runs his fingers through his brunette locks to fix it. “I wear this all day long, so my hair is probably a mess right now. Sorry.”

You smile at him. “There’s nothing to apologize for. I like your hair. It’s cute.”

He blushes, rubbing the nape of his neck, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you.” He clears his throat nervously, flushed despite not having a single drop of alcohol in him yet. 

The liquor and appetizers come out shortly. Ino gives you the honors to break the seal, handing you his glass to pour his serving. You cheers with a clink, sinking the first shot easily. It’s smooth going down your throat and you start to ease up in his presence. While you wait for the meat to arrive, you both indulge in corn cheese and the standard fair of banchan, continuing your small talk. He’s cryptic with what he does for a living, unsure how to explain Jujutsu Sorcery to a stranger. You’re honest about your office job, claiming it isn’t the most glamorous. It’s enough for you to be content in life. 

When the meat is served, Ino volunteers to grill it, which you happily let him. He cooks each piece to your liking, plopping it on your plate as he finishes. In between, you continue to take shots until you’re near the last drops of soju. Conversation flows easier with alcohol and yummy food mixed in. Whatever awkward tension there was in the beginning has since faded. It also helps that Ino is naturally a cheerful person who’s easy to talk to. You find yourself enjoying his company more and more as the night progresses. The bitter cold outside is completely forgotten as your cheeks swelter from the sweet soju and smoke surrounding you. The charming smile of the man across the table also contributes to the ember kindling inside you. You wonder if he’s enjoying this as much as you are. You hope that he is. 

Ino’s thankful for the puffs of smoke that obscure him. If not for that, it would be completely obvious how fond of you he is. He hasn’t stopped grinning since you first clinked glasses an hour ago. There’s a tiny part of him that wishes this night wouldn’t end. 

It's only when Yuki approaches you, informing that it’s last call for the kitchen, that you realize you’re the only remaining customers in the restaurant. You’re both stuffed, barely picking at the last bits of banchan, chatting about nightlife in the area. Ino mentions a karaoke bar down the block that he likes going to with his friends. “You should join us sometime,” he suggests, nonchalant. 

Your heart pounds at the invitation; you convince yourself it’s merely a friendly gesture, nothing more. “I’d really like that.”

He hands you his phone, his fingers grazing yours as you accept it. “Let’s exchange numbers. I’ll text you the next time we go out.” A jolt of excitement rushes through his veins at the contact. He yearns for more of it, though he knows it wouldn’t be appropriate to continue touching her, so he twiddles his thumbs beneath the table as he watches you type in your contact information. The next opportunity is immediately after, when the bill comes and both of you reach for it at the same time, Ino’s hand on top of yours, squeezing you gently, trying to pry the check from under you. This time, his entire body is buzzing with electricity, blazing every inch of his skin with a pleasant heat he’s unfamiliar with. 

You smile at him, letting him hold you, relishing his touch. “How about I get this one and you get the next one?”

“I can’t let you pay on the first date. It’s against my morals,” he insists, shaking his head.

You smirk, raising a brow at him. “Oh, so this is a date now?” 

He chuckles, thumb brushing your skin delicately. “I don’t know. But whatever it is, I’d like to do it again with you.” 

You bite your lip, holding back a giggle. “Promise you’ll call me and I’ll let you pay for the next one. Deal?”

It takes him a minute to contemplate, then he eventually agrees. “Deal.” 

You bid Yuki and the rest of the staff farewell on your way out. Ino slips the beanie back onto his head then helps you into your coat. As soon as the door opens, your face tingles from the frigid air and you immediately want to retreat back inside with Ino, but you know you can’t. He walks beside you down the street, fingers less than inches apart from yours. His hands are already freezing; he wants to hold you to feel that warmth again, but he knows he shouldn’t. 

When it’s time for him to go his separate route and you to go yours, you face him, the chill coming out as wisps from your mouth. “Thank you for a fun night.” 

“Thank you too. I’ll call you.” Would it be so bad to lean closer? To feel your lips on his? 

You drift towards him, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. It radiates throughout his entire body and suddenly, he’s almost feverish in this icy weather. He’s flustered, repeating, “I’ll call you, okay?” 

Reluctantly, you turn to walk in the opposite direction while Ino stands there watching you, touching his cheek with a goofy grin on his face. 

The cold isn’t so bad the rest of his way home.

~~~

A week later, Ino invites you out to karaoke with him and his friends. As expected, they are as friendly and easy-going as he is, so they welcome you with open arms. His buddy Takashi currently sings a power ballad, belting it out with his whole heart into it and sweat beading on his forehead while the rest of the group cheers for him. Ino sits beside you, leaning in close to make sure you hear him through the noise, breath hot on your ear. “Are you having fun?” 

You face him, noses nearly touching. “I’m having lots of fun.”

“Good,” he smiles. “I’m really happy you’re here.” He lingers on your lips. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you since that first night, when you kissed him on the cheek. He swears he can still feel the heat from it. What would it be like if you kissed the other parts of him? How cozy would he be from your gentle kisses? Before he gets caught up in the moment and makes a dumb decision, he pulls back, distracting himself by flipping through the song catalogue. From his peripheral, he notices you studying him intently. You don’t say anything, eventually going back to watching the performances. 

At the end of your session, you bid farewell to his friends. Ino offers to walk with you halfway towards your homes, pausing at the same spot you did a week ago. “Well,” you start, “Thank you for another great night.”

“Thank you too.”

There’s a tense silence, neither uncomfortable nor awkward. It’s just there, palpable and heavy in the air between you. As if you’re both waiting for either of you to say the one thing you’re both thinking. 

He catches on quick. “Want to come over?”

You agree immediately, beaming as you follow him to his apartment complex. He unlocks the door, beckoning you inside. “Sorry it’s so cold in here. The insulation in this apartment is the worst.” He stands above a space heater, clicking it on to the highest setting, carrying it towards the couch. “It’ll warm up soon, give it a minute.”

You sit, scanning the room, noticing the few trinkets he has scattered as decor. Gaming consoles neatly tucked inside the TV stand. Framed pictures displayed on a bookshelf of him and his friends you just met, some with who you assume is his family. There are a couple of posters hanging on his walls, one of a cult classic movie you’ve heard about but never watched, another of unique artwork that catches your attention with vibrant colors. His bed is several feet behind you, the sheets twisted, mostly barren. You shiver in your seat, fully understanding what he meant when he said that the insulation is the worst here. 

He returns with a fleece blanket in his hands, taking his place beside you. “Sorry. It’s like a refrigerator in here,” he jokes, laying it over the both of you. The space heater must finally be kicking in because now, you’re almost too hot, sharing this intimate space with Ino right next to you, his knee brushing yours, shoulders touching. He reaches for the remote, turning the TV on. “So, what are you in the mood for?” He begins listing genres of movies. “Action, horror, comedy…?”

You don’t let him finish, snuggling closer to him, peering into his eyes. “How about romance?”

He laughs, licking his lips, gazing at yours. “That’s exactly what I was thinking too.”

You meet him for a kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him in deeper. His hands are gentle, caressing your back while his tongue explores your mouth. Soon, you shrug the covers off, sweltering beneath him as he surrounds you, trailing your neck, moving to your ear, whispering, “I’ve been thinking about you all week.”

“Me too,” you breathe out, ready to strip out of your clothes.

“Not yet,” he purrs, nipping at your ear lobe. “I want to take my time with you.”

And so he does, making love to you slowly, cherishing every inch of you. You’re supple beneath him, yielding to every kiss, every lick, every gentle touch he graces you with. You moan into his mouth as his fingers move swiftly between your legs, pleasuring you until you’re stirring with ecstasy. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, calling you endearing pet names that make you putty in his grip. Sweetheart, beautiful, my good girl. It rolls off his tongue naturally, as if the two of you were meant to be like this from the very start. You’ve never been treasured like this by anyone else.

When he’s inside you, his cheeks are flushed, expression hazy, nose nuzzled to yours. You watch him carefully, marveling at his toned physique, running your fingers through his soft hair, tugging lightly at the strands. He smiles at you, blushing. “I’m so into you, it’s crazy.”

You trace his lips with your thumb. “I’m so into you too, Ino.”

He smooches the pad of your finger. “Takuma. Please call me Takuma.”

Giggling, you tease, “How about Taku?”

“You can call me whatever you want, as long as I’m yours,” he answers, stilling his movements.

You kiss him passionately, squeezing him in a tight embrace. “You’re all mine, Taku. And I’m all yours.”

It sounds crazy to be so smitten with someone you barely met after only a week. It is crazy. But something about him excites you, ignites a spark in you. It’s enough that you want to give whatever this is a fighting chance. 

~~~

Ino hobbles out of the train station, limping slightly on one foot, a prominent gash across his cheek that has since clotted from the cold, January air. His beanie is scorched at the top, his sweater ripped at the sleeves, and aside from the obvious cut on his face, it’s dusty with soot and debris, all from the aftermath of today’s battle. He’s a mess right now; it’s been a rough night, exorcising a grade 2 curse in Harajuku. Nanami offered to accompany him back to Jujutsu High to get patched up by Ieiri, but Ino insisted he’s fine, not wanting to appear weak in front of his mentor. 

Halfway on his route home, he stops, contemplating for a good minute before turning on his heel and heading the opposite direction, towards your house. Rather than being alone and cold in his dinky, lonely apartment, he’d much rather be with you. His warm, wonderful girlfriend.

It’s been more than a month now since you started dating, and so far, it’s been going great. Ino can’t remember connecting to someone this well before. Maybe he never has until you. So, when he climbs two flights of stairs up to your apartment, wincing step-by-step because of his sore ankle, he reminds himself that all of this is worth it just to see your bright, shining face tonight.

He knocks quietly on your front door, leaning against it, sighing with exhaustion. It doesn’t take you long to answer, greeting him with your sunny demeanor. As soon as you notice the cut on his cheek and his tattered clothes, your expression turns wary. You pull him inside gently, asking, “What happened?”

He tries to chuckle, which results in him coughing instead, each breath sharp in his chest. “Overtime,” he rasps, flashing you a weak grin. He doesn’t realize how freezing he is until now, enveloped by the residual heat inside your apartment and the presence of you. 

Despite his poor attempt at a joke, you still return his smile, indulging him, not pestering him with any more questions. Ino revealed the truth about his profession two weeks ago, and while you’re still not entirely certain of every aspect of Jujutsu Sorcery, you’re aware enough to recognize the type of danger he faces in order to protect society. The least you could do is keep him warm on a cold winter night. 

You grab the nearest blanket, covering him in it. His beanie is ruined, a giant hole at the top, exposing his brown hair. You remove it, inspecting his face carefully, taking note of the dirt on his skin and the wound on his cheek. He stares at you with tired eyes, this close to falling asleep. You plant a smooch on his forehead, whispering, “Don’t worry, Taku. I’ll take care of you.”

He sinks into the cushions, letting himself relax amidst the soft fabric. Not only is it toasty, it also smells exactly like you, putting him at ease. He’s never been taken care of like this since he was a little kid. He doesn’t remember how nice it is to have someone to lean on.

You remove his sneakers, the soles almost rubbed completely raw from overuse, tossing them with the rest of your shoes by the front door. In the your bedroom, you search your drawers for the first aid kit and cleaning wipes. In the kitchen, you start a kettle of water for tea, something comforting to soothe him. When you return to him, his eyes are half-lidded, head lolling on one shoulder, on the verge of sleep. You giggle, sitting beside him, patting his knee. “Poor baby.”

He nods lazily, turning to face you. “Yes, I am. You know what will make it all better?”

You pull a wipe from the container, carefully cleaning his face. “What?”

“A kiss,” he smirks, pouting his lips.

So cheeky, even when he’s spent, you can’t help but laugh. You use a second wipe to completely remove the grime on his skin, particularly around the cut. “I’ll kiss your boo-boo once it’s all bandaged up. Deal?"

He exhales deeply, satisfied. “Deal.”

This time, you use an alcohol wipe to disinfect the cut first, blowing on it to reduce the sting. Ino sucks in a breath, handling it as best as he can. With a cotton swab and gloves on, you apply the ointment meticulously, making sure not to miss any spots. Then, with gauze and heavy-duty bandages, you finish treating him, happy with your work. 

He watches your every move intently, touched by the amount of care you put into this. His heart races; he’s never been this precious to someone else. He swallows hard, holding your hand in his. “I love you,” he confesses, waiting for your reaction. 

You blink at him twice, in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

He nods slowly. “Yes. I am seriously in love with you.”

“You love me?” you stutter, chest pounding. 

He presses his forehead to yours. “I love you.”

Your throat is tight, struggling to get the words out, the ones that have been lingering on your mind for the past couple of weeks now. “I love you too, Taku.” It’s easy, natural. 

He closes the gap, kissing you, lips soft against yours. And it doesn’t matter that his head is throbbing, that his muscles are aching, or that the tea pot on the stove is whistling it’s high-pitched tune. All that matters in this moment is that the two of you love each other and that you’ll be basking in one another for the rest of your lives. 

Nanami is such a daddy 😮‍💨

An alternate universe in which Higuruma works as a shaman and is on the same team as Kusakabe, Nanami and Ijichi.

trio sketches