Choso 💭 *matchy-matchy = fated brothers*

Megumi’s childhood photo found in Satoru’s office is my royal empire 😭🫶🏻 my boyss

the truth is, he's a secretly picky eater. there are so many textures and flavors he dislikes that he's embarrassed to admit, and he'll simply choke down whatever is put in front of him rather than complain.

the first time you cooked for him, he managed to eat the entire plate of your slightly-too-spicy curry, his forehead beaded with sweat, occasionally sipping water with a grimace. he just nodded when you asked if it was good, avoiding eye contact. you were so worried you wouldn't cook for him again.

but you're nothing if not observant. you noticed he never touches mushrooms. you realized he only ever orders plain soy sauce with his sushi, and that he prefers his rice cooked a certain way—a little firmer than average.

so now, when you cook, the meals are always carefully curated. the dishes are familiar, comforting, and perfectly tailored to his specific, unvoiced preferences. he'll look down at a bowl of warm, simple miso soup, noting the lack of wakame seaweed (which he secretly despises), and a small, private sense of relief will wash over him.

"this is good," megumi says, a rare, genuine compliment.

"i know," you grin, leaning over to steal a bite of his tamagoyaki. "no mushrooms, just the way you like it."

his eyes widen, and he quickly looks away, a deep blush creeping up his neck. he tries to sputter a denial, "i... i don't mind mushrooms," but it comes out as a weak lie.

you’ve always had a soft spot for denji, the way he devours life with that unfiltered hunger—food, fights, affection, all of it. but lately, something’s shifted. ever since he started eating properly, not just scraping by on whatever junk he could grab between devil hunts, his body’s filling out in ways that make your breath catch.

he’s always been wiry and tough, but now? broader shoulders straining against his worn-out shirts, arms thickening with muscle that flexes when he reaches for another bite, thighs solid under his jeans. it’s like watching him bloom, and god, it turns you on more than you expected.

you’re in the kitchen of your shared apartment one lazy afternoon, sunlight slanting through the window as denji sits at the table, demolishing a massive stack of pancakes you whipped up. syrup drips from his fork, and he groans in bliss with each mouthful, cheeks bulging slightly as he chews. “man, these are killer,” he mumbles around a bite, eyes half-lidded in pure satisfaction.

he’s shirtless today, too hot for layers, and you can’t stop staring at the way his chest has broadened, pecs defined now, abs peeking through where they used to be hidden under a layer of survival-scrawniness.

you lean against the counter, arms crossed to hide how your nipples tighten under your tank top, heat pooling between your thighs. “denji,” you say softly, voice laced with that affectionate warmth you know he craves. “you look… different lately. bigger. stronger.”

he pauses mid-bite, fork hovering, a smear of syrup on his lip. his eyes flick up to yours, golden-brown and curious, but there’s a hint of confusion. “huh? what d’ya mean?” he swallows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and you watch the corded muscles in his forearm ripple. he’s oblivious, just shoveling in another pancake like it’s the best thing since sliced bread—because to him, it probably is.

you step closer, emboldened by the way his skin glows with a faint sheen from the warmth of the day. your hand reaches out, tracing the swell of his bicep as he sets the fork down. it’s firm, unyielding, and you squeeze lightly, feeling the power coiled there. “this. all of you. ever since you’ve been eating like this, real meals, you’ve bulked up. your arms, your chest… it’s sexy.” your voice drops, husky with the truth of it, fingers trailing up to his shoulder, then down to brush his collarbone.

denji’s face flushes instantly, a deep pink creeping from his neck to his ears. he’s not used to compliments like this, not the ones that make his cock twitch in his pants. “s-sexy? me?” he laughs it off, but it’s nervous, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck as he shifts in his chair. his eyes dart away, focusing on the half-eaten plate, but you see the way his chest rises faster, the subtle bulge starting to tent his jeans. “i didn’t even notice, y’know? i just… love eatin’. feels good to have a full stomach for once. didn’t think it’d change shit like that.”

you smile, affectionate and teasing, sliding onto his lap to straddle him right there at the table. his hands come up instinctively, gripping your hips with that newfound strength, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh above your shorts. “oh, it’s changed everything,” you murmur, grinding down just enough to feel his hardening cock press against your pussy through the thin fabric. he’s thick already, the outline clear as you rock slowly. “look at you all powerful. makes me want to climb you every time i see you lift something heavy or just… exist like this.”

his flush deepens, breath hitching as you lean in, lips brushing his ear. denji’s always been straightforward, no games, and now he’s putty under your words, his grip tightening on your ass, pulling you closer. “shit, you’re gonna make me hard just talkin’ like that,” he groans, voice rough with that boyish edge that contrasts his building bulk. but there’s no hiding it—his cock throbs against you, fully erect now, straining for friction.

you kiss him then, slow and deep, tasting the sweet syrup on his tongue as he moans into your mouth. your hands roam his chest, palms flat against the warm, solid planes of muscle, thumbs circling his nipples until they pebble. he bucks up, chasing the pressure of your core against his length, and you gasp at how full he feels, how his strength lets him control the rhythm without even trying.

“denji,” you whisper against his lips, nipping the flushed skin of his jaw. “you’re so fucking hot like this. strong enough to pin me down, fuck me senseless.” the words spill out, affectionate heat fueling the dirty edge, and he whimpers—actually whimpers—his face burning as he thrusts up harder.

“y-yeah? you like it?” he’s seeking reassurance, even as his hands slide under your tank, cupping your tits and squeezing with greedy fingers. his thumbs roll over your nipples, pinching just right, and you arch into him, pussy clenching emptily.

“love it,” you affirm, grinding faster, the seam of your shorts rubbing your clit in delicious sparks. “eat all you want, get even bigger for me. i’ll ride every inch of you.”

that does it. denji stands abruptly, lifting you with him like you weigh nothing, his arms bulging as he carries you to the counter. he sets you down, yanking your shorts off in one rough pull, exposing your slick folds. his eyes darken at the sight, cock bobbing free when he shoves his jeans down—thicker than before, veined and heavy, pre-cum beading at the tip.

he steps between your legs, rubbing the head along your slit, coating himself in your wetness. “gonna fuck you now,” he says, voice low and flushed with need, but there’s that affectionate gleam in his eyes, like he’s doing this to please you most of all. “wanna feel how tight you are around me.”

you nod, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him in. he thrusts deep in one go, stretching your pussy with his girth, and you both moan—yours high and needy, his a guttural rumble that vibrates through his chest. he’s stronger now, hips snapping with controlled power, each plunge hitting that spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids.

“denji—fuck, yes,” you cry, nails digging into his shoulders, feeling the flex of muscle under your touch. he pounds into you relentlessly, the counter creaking, his face still pink from your earlier words, but now it’s mixed with raw lust.

“shit, you’re squeezin’ me so good,” he pants, one hand bracing beside you, the other thumbing your clit in messy circles. his pace builds, cock dragging against your walls, and you clench around him, chasing the edge.

"cum for me,” he urges, affectionate even in the heat, leaning down to capture your lips. “wanna feel you milk my dick.”

you shatter, pussy pulsing around his length, waves of pleasure ripping through you as you gasp his name. denji follows with a choked groan, burying deep and spilling hot cum inside you, hips jerking as he fills you up.

Yeah, the fan service was already there cause gege didn’t confirm that was his Megumi’s sister until the curse incident at the bridge. For all people know, Tsumiki could've been his girlfriend he was imagining for so many chapters. Everyone forgets gege made Megumi say his type of person is someone like his sister and made him picture her in his mind. It would've been better that he didn't think of her. Who imagines their sibling as their type? Y'all also choose to forget this because everyone says that the meaning of Yuji’s name is the definition of what he described to Todo. (I believe this too cause itfs is cute.) But, come on his entire reason for living revolved around her. There could've been a possibility he had a sister complex and maybe Mai did too. It’s probably a zenin thing. But it’s not Megumi’s or Mai’s fault it’s their writers. gege knows what he’s doing, jjk has a lot of dark themes. He didn't have to make Tsumiki be Yorozu’s vessel and make her lovestruck over Megkuna, but he chose to. It’s gross.

⤷ ゛❝ love ❞ ┃ masterlist⭑.ᐟ ˎˊ˗

Megumi loved you.

That was no secret to anyone, because it showed in every little thing the boy did. It showed in the gleam in his eyes, which seemed to have your name written in them like twinkling stars. It showed in his walk, which seemed lighter. It showed in the way the corner of his mouth would curve into a slight smile when he was with you.

Megumi loved you.

And he tried to show you in the ways a boy like him knew how, consistently, but not loudly. Like a gentle caress of the breeze before it rains, not with the intensity of a thousand suns. But of a thousand moons.

Megumi loved you.

Because he didn't mind when you used to fall asleep during journeys, nor when your head "accidentally" ended up on his shoulder. Nor when your hands brushed against each other on those unique and special occasions. Yes, least of all in moments like those.

Megumi loved you.

And he knew it very well, and he couldn't help it either. His chest swelled with a silent happiness, while his heart began to beat fast every time you looked at him. And yes, he adored you. He adored you. He loved you. He admired you. Everything.

Megumi loved you.

And you loved him too.

That is why, when Sukuna possessed his body, you panicked. Because your heart feared the idea that this was the end, a fateful outcome for a love story that hadn't even properly begun.

And yet, you loved Megumi.

And even when you used your powers to defeat the curses that crossed your path, you kept the memory of him alive in your mind. Of who he was, of why you loved him, of why he had to fight. Why he had to be himself again...

And you loved Megumi.

Gojo gripped your arm firmly, completely refusing to let you go to the battlefield once you were finally there. "It's dangerous, you don't know what it's like to fight Sukuna," he had said with a grim serenity, the scratches on his face making his voice all the more firm. "You can't go. You'll die."

And you loved Megumi.

"There has to be a way to save him, we have to remind him who he is," you responded with the desperation needed for Satoru Gojo to decide you wouldn't set foot within a kilometre of where the love of your life was.

But you loved Megumi.

You disobeyed orders. And you knew full well the reprimand you would receive after this act would be something you wouldn't forget for the rest of your life. But you couldn't bring yourself to regret it, especially when, with one blow, Gojo-sensei was sent flying a considerable distance. And the moment had come, the bloody moment, to prove that he, Megumi (your Megumi), could remember you and fight against Sukuna's spirit within him.

But you loved Megumi.

Driven by fear, by desperation, and the last stupid shred of hope, called love, you entered the final game. Because when Sukuna saw your figure approaching him, he knew he was in for a good time... making you suffer. Because in his eyes, there was nothing that reminded you of him.

But you loved Megumi.

The fight began. Blow after blow, you managed to dodge them. And even, with a bit of luck, you were able to return those attacks while trying to talk to the boy, to make him react, to make something change. In vain.

But you loved Megumi.

Sukuna was amused by the whole situation. "The boy isn't coming back, woman," he told you mockingly when he realised what you were trying to do. And, before landing another blow that would leave you breathless, he took your face with a rough hand and whispered near your lips: "He's already dead."

But you loved Megumi.

And you couldn't believe in a reality where that scenario was possible, even though everything around you was proving the opposite. That is why, and to the surprise of the King of Curses when you got up again after spitting blood, you chose to keep believing. Even though the hopes were nil.

Because you loved Megumi.

You used the threads of reality to, in a fraction of a second, transport yourself in front of him and place a hand on his heart. You channelled all your energy through your palm and poured it into what remained of the boy's soul.

Because you loved Megumi.

And you felt it, in some hidden corner of his being, that he was ready to give up. But your energy, your light, illuminated the dark room where he was trapped. And, for an instant, Megumi Fushiguro tried to approach that magnificent light, that love which reminded him so much of his own person. Of you.

Because you loved Megumi.

And when Sukuna began to fight internally with the ghost of the boy's broken will, a fluttering sensation of butterflies appeared in your chest. Because he was changing. And you could see it. And Sukuna, furious, took your wrist with force and bent it, wrenching a scream of pain from you. But, as you could observe, the tattoos on the boy's face began to blur. Because, finally, he was coming back to himself.

Because you loved Megumi.

And everything you had done throughout your life was to prove that. Because his love reflected yours, because they were destined to be. Like two stars facing each other in the night, like a red string of fate that connected them both...

Because you loved Megumi.

And it showed. Too much. And that very thing, which to you was so harmless and innocent, became your greatest weakness. Because, in a moment like this, where the enemy is about to lose and succumb to something as stupid as love... Desperate measures have to be taken.

Because you loved Megumi.

And that was your last thought. Because once Sukuna's claws sank into your chest and his fingers pressed inward, into your rib cage, shattering everything, the only thing you could think past the pain, was that you regretted nothing.

Because you loved Megumi.

And barely two minutes had passed. Satoru Gojo's scream was heard from afar, the sure bomb of his powers discharging onto Sukuna. Because what was pulsing now was desperation, fear, and the sweet crimson river that...

Because you loved Megumi.

And that was something everyone knew. Because more crimson blood left your lips as you looked into the eyes of the love of your life for the last time. Because you couldn't hate him. Because you never could. Never.

Because you loved Megumi.

As your body fell to the ground, the only thing left exposed was your heart. Yes, your heart, torn from its cage and exposed like a gift before the eyes of the world.

Because you loved Megumi.

And while Sukuna laughed and Satoru lost what little sanity he had left, you couldn't have cared less. Megumi gave up, he turned in on himself. Because he, upon observing what he had indirectly done, wished with all his might to die.

Because you loved Megumi.

And everyone knew that. Even him. Because you didn't mind, even lifeless, that your heart rested in the palm of his hand. Because it had never truly belonged to you, as you used to say, because you loved him.

Megumi. Your Megumi.

Your eternal love.

author's note: for you, bbygurl 𝜗ৎ.

naoya (直也) is the type of guy who'd be possesive as fuck. so fucking possesive that he'd not let you talk to the maids either. but it's not because he thinks you'll cheat, he wants you all to himself. he's greedy when it comes to you. he's practically attached to you, and quite literally.

he would keep an arm around your waist or shoulders if you ever need to talk to someone, though that happens rarely cause naoya doesn't like it.

people think he's a bit of a psychopath for being so possessive towards you. but only you know how clingy and needy this man gets in the bed while he fingers you out of your mind.

naoya likes to make you wear his robes when he's away for work (probably only a few days cause he can't live without you), so you don't miss him. surprisingly, his robes smell quite similar to sandalwood and sometimes cinnamon. also since his robes were slightly bigger than you usual size, they wrapped around you like a blanket. and also quite useful when you masturbated while chanting his name and rubbing yourself like crazy.

naoya on the other hand was a yandere. so much a simp that he got hard whenever he saw you smiling with your friends, cause this man stalked you whenever you went out of the house.

at the end of the day, you'd find yourself on his lap, getting finger-fucked by him as he goes on and on about how much he loves you and is possessive over you and how you deserve only him cause he is yours and you are his and how he'd never let anyone else have you.

exactly what the title says. minors do not interact.

contents: fem!reader x IFA, smut, teasing, fingering, p in v, riding + cowgirl, ifa calling reader “bro” (lol), lovey dovey romance, fluff, pet names/name calling (baby, my girl, darling, ṣlut), overstim, finishing inside wc: 2.0k

It was already dark out, and Ifa still wasn’t home. 

Sighing, you gently set down the dish you’d been drying. It’d been a while since your boyfriend had been home this late. He’d usually be home in time for dinner, save for the few days he’s running around the countrysides of Natlan, but there would occasionally be days like this. 

You hesitate to begin packing dinner leftovers into the fridge for him, hoping he’ll be back soon. But glancing out the window in your kitchen, you can see the moon gently rising above the tops of the nearby buildings. You sigh again. 

Click!

Your head turns sharply at the sound of the front door opening. 

“Ifa!”

One glance at him and you can tell he’s exhausted: head drooped, back hunched, leaning against the doorframe as if he’s about to collapse, you immediately dart over to his side. 

“Hey, you okay?” you gently touch his shoulder as he drags himself inside, and he lets out a long groan. 

“You won’t believe the day I’ve had, bro,” he bemoans. You raise an eyebrow, lips quirking up in a half-grin. “Oh, yeah? How’s your day been, bro?” you tease. 

Ifa huffs out a laugh. “Absolutely terrible.” He drops his bag onto the floor and staggers over to the living room, promptly collapsing onto the couch. “Had multiple big cases today, plus a ton of small ones, and that damned Granny Itzli kept pestering me about delivering stuff to Ororon. Not that I mind, though.” He sighs, tossing his hat to the side. 

“Mm, sounds like a long day,” you agree, crashing onto the couch next to him. “Yeah, ‘d rather not think about it now that it’s over.” Ifa rakes a hand through his hair, head falling back on the cushions. “How’s your day been, bro?” 

“Same old, just missing my lovely boyfriend- I mean, ahem- my bro,” you snicker, and Ifa groans playfully. “C’mon, you know it’s a habit! You don’t need to make fun of me every time, babe.” 

“Yeah, but it’s never not funny,” you laugh, poking at his side. He pouts a little, feigning offense, before a genuine smile cracks at his features. “But in all seriousness, I missed you too.” Ifa leans over and places a gentle peck on your lips. 

“Think I missed you more.” 

“Don’t think so.”

“Nah, I totally think I did.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it.”

There’s a smirk on Ifa’s face, and you know all too well what he’s implying. You cock an eyebrow. “You sure? Aren’t you tired after toda- oof!” 

With one swift, graceful movement, Ifa slides you onto his lap. “Yeah, I am tired after today,” he grins devilishly at you. Sitting on top of him, you feel something hard right under your crotch, and you can’t help but blush a little. “Ifa, I- mmph!” 

A moan slips out as Ifa grinds up against you, still wearing that infuriatingly handsome smirk. “What is it, baby?” he coos, hips rolling into yours. You bite your lip, feeling your panties dampen as his erection rubs against your cunt.