Futile Devices | Childhood best friend!Megumi Fushiguro x Reader
The air in the training hall was thick with the scent of floor wax and the lingering humidity of a Tokyo afternoon. Megumi approached you with his usual guarded gait, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his dark hair messy in that way that always seemed effortless.
He stopped a few feet away, the slight furrow in his brow deepening as he looked at you. To anyone else, he looked annoyed—perhaps even cold. But you? You saw the way his shoulders dropped just an inch when he reached you, a subtle sign of relaxation he only ever showed in your presence. “Megs! You came!”
"Stop calling me that," he muttered, though the bite in his words was gone, replaced by a weary sort of fondness he couldn't quite suppress.
"Aw, come on, Megs. You know you like it," you laughed softly, leaning back against the wall. "It’s been ten years. If you really hated it, you would’ve summoned Divine Dogs to chase me off by now."
He went quiet, his gaze shifting to the side. "It’s unprofessional. Especially with Gojo around. He doesn't need more ammunition to be annoying."
"Is that the only reason?" you teased, stepping closer.
Megumi didn't move away. Up close, you could see the faint exhaustion behind his eyes—the weight of being a sorcerer, of being a Fushiguro, of carrying the world on his shoulders. For a moment, Nobara’s words echoed in your head: He wants you as much as you want him.
Looking at him now, the "weird but calming" feeling flared up in your chest. It wasn't just a phase. It was the realization that while Megumi sucked at words, he was always there. He was the one who remembered your favorite tea after a rough mission; he was the one who positioned himself between you and danger without a second thought; he was the one whose silence felt like home.
"Y/n," he said, his voice dropping an octave, breaking your train of thought.
"Yeah?"
He looked at you then, really looked at you, with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "We should go. Nobara and Itadori are going to start a riot if we keep them waiting any longer." He paused, his hand moving tentatively as if he wanted to reach out, before he settled for a brief, fleeting touch to your elbow. "But... thanks. For waiting for me."
He turned to head toward the door, but he didn't speed up. He lingered, keeping his pace slow enough for you to fall in right beside him, his shoulder occasionally brushing yours—a silent invitation that spoke louder than anything he could have ever said.
The walk to the school entrance was quiet, but it wasn't the heavy, suffocating silence of a mission. It was the kind of quiet that felt like a shared secret. Every time your hands brushed against each other as you walked, a small spark of electricity seemed to jump between you, making your heart do a nervous little dance.
As the heavy doors of the Jujutsu High main building swung open, the afternoon sun hit you both, casting long shadows across the stone path.
"Finally! We thought you two had retired or something!" Yuji shouted, waving a frantic arm from the top of the stairs. He was practically vibrating with energy, likely fueled by the prospect of the dinner Nobara had promised.
Nobara stood beside him, her arms crossed, looking smug. She caught your eye and gave a subtle, knowing wink. She didn't say a word, but her expression said everything: See? I told you.
"We're only five minutes late, Itadori. Relax," Megumi sighed, though he didn't pull away as you stayed close to his side.
"Five minutes is an eternity when we’re headed to that new ramen spot," Yuji countered, already starting to jog toward the gate. "Come on, Fushiguro! If we're late, the line will be around the block!"
As the group started to move, the chaos of Yuji and Nobara bickering about toppings provided a perfect veil of noise. Megumi slowed his pace just a fraction, letting them get a few steps ahead.
"Y/n," he said softly, his voice barely audible over the wind.
You looked up at him, heart hammering. "Yeah, Megs?"
He didn't look at you this time; instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the path ahead, but his hand moved, his fingers briefly hooking around yours in a quick, firm squeeze before letting go. It was a gesture so fast anyone else would have missed it, but to you, it felt like a confession.
"Don't listen to them," he muttered, a faint trace of pink dusting his ears. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."
The confusion you felt back in the room started to melt away, replaced by a warm, solid certainty. Nobara was right. You only lived once—and if "making the best of it" meant walking through this dangerous, unpredictable world with Megumi Fushiguro by your side, then you were exactly where you needed to be.
The walk to the restaurant was a chaotic blur of Yuji sprinting ahead to check the line and Nobara loudly debating the merits of extra bamboo shoots. But for you, the world felt like it had narrowed down to the few inches of space between you and Megumi.
The ramen shop was tucked away in a narrow alley, glowing with warm lanterns that cut through the cooling twilight. As you all squeezed into a corner booth, Nobara practically shoved you into the seat next to Megumi, sliding in across from you with a triumphant smirk.
"I’m getting the extra spicy miso," Yuji declared, scanning the menu like it was a mission briefing. "Fushiguro, you’re getting the ginger one, right? You always do."
"Yeah," Megumi replied curtly, though his arm was pressed firmly against yours in the cramped space. He didn't pull away. In fact, as the steam from the open kitchen began to fill the room, he seemed to settle into the closeness.
The conversation flowed around you—Gojo’s latest antics, the upcoming training schedule, Yuji’s failed attempt at a viral dance—but you found yourself watching Megumi’s hands. They were scarred from combat, steady and strong. Suddenly, he reached for the shared water pitcher, his sleeve pulling back to reveal the thin line of a fading scar on his forearm.
Without thinking, you reached out and lightly traced the mark with your thumb.
Megumi froze. The table noise seemed to fade into a hum. He didn't look up, but you felt the tension spike in his frame before it bled out into something softer. He set the pitcher down carefully and, under the cover of the table, his hand found yours.
He didn't just squeeze it this time. He entwined his fingers with yours, hiding the gesture beneath the edge of the dark wood table. His palm was warm, his grip grounding.
"You're remarkably quiet today, Y/n," Nobara teased, her eyes darting between your face and the suspicious positioning of your arms. "Cat got your tongue? Or maybe a Dog?"
Yuji snickered, oblivious to the subtext. "Actually, the Divine Dogs are pretty quiet unless they're—"
"Eat your noodles, Itadori," Megumi interrupted, his voice stern but lacking any real bite. He didn't let go of your hand. If anything, he held on tighter, a silent confirmation that whatever was happening wasn't just in your head.
As the bowls arrived, steaming and fragrant, you realized the "confusing" feeling had finally found its shape. It wasn't a phase, and it wasn't just a childhood bond. It was the quiet, steady heat of someone who had chosen you a long time ago and was just waiting for you to notice.
Just as you were starting to melt into the comfort of Megumi’s hand holding yours, a familiar, tall shadow loomed over the booth. The sliding door of the restaurant hadn't even finished closing before a boisterous, sing-song voice cut through the steam and chatter.
"Now, now! What do we have here? A secret meeting of my favorite students without inviting their favorite teacher?"
Satoru Gojo stood there, leaning over the table with that trademark grin, his blindfold pushed up just slightly so one piercing blue eye could survey the scene. He didn't even wait for an invitation before pulling up a stool from a neighboring table and squeezing himself into the end of your booth.
"Gojo-sensei! You're late! We already started," Yuji chirped, mouth full of noodles.
"I’m never late, Yuuji-kun, I’m just fashionably delayed by the pursuit of the perfect strawberry daifuku," Gojo leaned in closer, his gaze dropping pointedly to the space beneath the table where you and Megumi were still desperately trying to look natural.
Megumi’s grip on your hand tightened for a split second before he tried to pull away, but you held on, a sudden spark of defiance hitting you.
"Something wrong, Megumi-channn? You look a little... flushed. Is the ramen too spicy? Or is it something else?" Gojo’s grin widened, practically glowing with mischief.
"It’s fine," Megumi snapped, his face turning a shade of red that rivaled Yuji's spicy broth. "Why are you even here?"
"To check on my precious students, of course!" Gojo leaned his chin on his hand, looking directly at you. "And to see if Y/n finally took my advice. You know, Y/n, in the world of Jujutsu, we never know if tomorrow will come. So, if you have something to say—or someone to hold onto—you really shouldn't waste time hiding it under a table."
The table went dead silent. Nobara choked on her tea, trying to hide a laugh, while Yuji looked back and forth between everyone, finally catching on.
"Wait... are you guys...?" Yuji’s eyes went wide.
Gojo laughed, clapping a hand on Megumi’s shoulder, nearly knocking him into his bowl. "They’re young, Satoru-chan! Let them have their mystery! Though, Megumi, your Cursed Energy is fluctuating like a middle-schooler's. Quite the giveaway."
Megumi looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole, but he didn't let go of your hand. Instead, he took a breath, looked Gojo dead in the eye, and said, "Go buy some sweets and leave us alone."
Gojo didn’t just sit there; he dominated the space, leaning back with his arms spread across the top of the booth’s headrest. He looked like he was settling in for a five-course meal and a feature-length film, his grin only widening as Megumi’s scowl deepened.
"You know, Megumi-chan," Gojo started, his voice dropping into that faux-serious tone that usually preceded something incredibly embarrassing, "I remember when you were seven. You used to follow Y/n around like a lost Divine Dog. And now look at you! All grown up and still—"
"Gojo-sensei, please," Megumi hissed, his face now a vivid shade of crimson. He finally pulled his hand away from yours, but only to bury his face in his palm, his shoulders shaking slightly with the effort of not summoning a shikigami right there in the middle of the restaurant.
"Still what, Sensei?" Nobara leaned in, her eyes gleaming with mischief. She was enjoying this far too much.
"Still acting like he doesn't have a heart of gold under all that brooding!" Gojo laughed, reaching over to ruffle Megumi’s hair, effectively ruining the spiky style. "But really, it's nice to see. The youth! The romance! The tension so thick you could cut it with a cursed tool!"
He then turned his attention to you, his one visible eye sparkling with a mix of genuine affection and relentless teasing. "And Y/n? You’ve got great taste. He’s prickly, sure, but he’s loyal. Just don’t let him get too moody on you."
"I'm sitting right here," Megumi muttered through his fingers.
"I know you are! That's what makes this fun!" Gojo chirped. He suddenly stood up, tossing a handful of yen onto the table—more than enough to cover the entire bill and then some. "Anyway, I've got a date with a limited-edition melon bun across town. Enjoy your dinner, kids! And try to keep the hand-holding above the table next time; it's better for your posture!"
With a two-finger salute and a wink, he vanished toward the door as quickly as he had appeared, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.
Yuji blinked, looking at the pile of money. "Did he just... pay for us?"
"He paid for our silence," Megumi groaned, finally dropping his hand from his face. He looked exhausted, but as he glanced at you, the embarrassment in his eyes softened into something else—something private and warm.
He didn't put his hand back under the table. Instead, he reached out and rested his hand plainly on top of yours, right there in front of Yuji and Nobara.
"Ignore him," Megumi said, his voice steadying. "He’s an idiot."
"An idiot who just bought us free ramen," Nobara pointed out, already waving the waiter down for more side dishes. "So, Y/n... since the 'strongest' just outed you both, care to share the details?"
The table fell into a strange, charged silence after Gojo’s departure. Yuji was busy slurping his noodles, trying to pretend he wasn't eavesdropping, while Nobara leaned back, spinning a chopstick between her fingers with a look of pure satisfaction.
Megumi didn’t look at them. He didn’t even look at his ramen. His focus was entirely on your hand, his thumb tracing small, rhythmic circles over your knuckles. It was the most public display of affection he had ever shown, and you could feel the heat radiating off him.
"You don't have to answer her," Megumi said quietly, his voice cutting through the restaurant’s hum. "Nobara just likes to hear herself talk."
"Hey! I’m an investigator of the heart, Fushiguro! There’s a difference," Nobara retorted, though her tone was softer now, less teasing and more genuinely curious.
You looked at Megumi—really looked at him. The boy who had been your shadow since you were seven, the teenager who had survived finger-bearers and special grades, and the man who was currently holding your hand like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. The confusion that had plagued you all afternoon finally evaporated.
"It's okay, Megumi," you said, your voice gaining a bit of strength. You looked over at Nobara and Yuji. "Gojo-sensei is a nuisance, but he wasn't wrong. I think... I think we're figured out."
Megumi finally looked up, his dark lashes fluttering as he met your eyes. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—the kind of smile he only saved for you.
"Took you long enough," he murmured, his voice laced with a rare, dry wit.
"Me? You’re the one who’s been brooding for a decade!" you laughed, nudging his shoulder with yours.
The tension at the table broke instantly. Yuji cheered, nearly choking on a piece of pork, and Nobara let out a triumphant "I knew it!" that turned several heads in the restaurant. For the rest of the meal, the conversation returned to its usual chaotic energy, but something had fundamentally shifted.
As you all eventually stood up to leave, Megumi didn't let go. He kept your hand firmly in his as you walked out into the cool night air, the neon lights of Tokyo reflecting in his dark eyes.
"Y/n," he said as the others ran ahead toward the train station. "About what Gojo said... about not wasting time." He stopped, pulling you gently toward the side of the path, away from the crowd. "He’s right. I don't want to waste any more of it."
The crowd of the city began to thin as you both took the long way back, eventually scaling the stairs to the rooftop of one of the school’s taller buildings. The air up here was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and the distant hum of Tokyo’s expressway.
Megumi walked to the edge, leaning his forearms against the cold metal railing. He looked out at the horizon, the moonlight catching the sharp lines of his profile. He stayed silent for a long time—not the awkward silence of before, but a heavy, contemplative one.
"You know," he started, his voice low and raspy, "Gojo wasn't just being annoying. He’s seen a lot of people... lose their chance. In this life, things disappear fast."
He turned his head to look at you, his green eyes dark and intense.
"I've spent years telling myself that having someone to lose was a weakness. That if I kept you at a distance, I was protecting you. Or maybe I was just protecting myself." He let out a short, self-deprecating huff of a laugh. "But seeing you today... knowing Nobara and the others already saw right through me... I realized how much time I've wasted being afraid."
You stepped up beside him, the wind whipping your hair across your face. "You don't have to be afraid with me, Megs. You never did."
"I know that now," he murmured. He reached out, his hand hovering near your face before he finally gained the courage to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered there, warm against your skin. "I don't just want you around because we grew up together. I want you because... because there isn't a version of my future that makes sense without you in it."
The raw honesty in his voice made your heart ache in the best way possible. He wasn't a man of grand romantic gestures or poetic speeches, but this—this quiet, steady confession under the stars—was perfectly him.
"So," he said, his thumb grazing your cheekbone, "no more hiding. No more 'weird but calming' phases. Just us."
He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, closing the final bit of distance that had been between you for a decade. "Is that okay with you?"
The night air was cool, but the space between you was electric. Megumi’s hand remained steady against your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw as if he were memorizing the moment. He had spent so many years guarded, building literal and metaphorical shadows around himself, but in this moment, he was entirely open.
"It’s more than okay," you whispered, your voice barely a breath in the wind.
He didn't wait for another word. Megumi leaned in, closing the final inch of distance. When his lips finally met yours, it wasn't the tentative, hesitant thing you might have expected from someone so reserved. It was firm, certain, and grounded—a silent promise kept for ten years.
It felt like the clicking of a lock, the resolution of a chord that had been vibrating in the air since you were seven years old. The "weird but calming" feeling finally made sense; it was the feeling of coming home.
His other hand found your waist, pulling you slightly closer as the kiss deepened, tasting faintly of the night air and the lingering warmth of the tea from dinner. For a few seconds, the curses, the missions, and the weight of the Zen’in lineage didn't exist. There was only the steady beat of his heart against yours and the quiet rustle of the wind over the rooftop.
When he finally pulled back, he didn't go far. He kept his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes closed as he took a shaky breath.
"I should have done that a long time ago," he admitted, a small, genuine huff of a laugh escaping him.
"Better late than never, Megs," you teased softly, leaning your weight into him.
He pulled you into a proper hug then, burying his face in the crook of your neck. It was a rare moment of total vulnerability, one he would likely never show anyone else. Out here, under the vast Tokyo sky, you weren't just two sorcerers waiting for the next fight. You were just two people who had finally stopped running from the one thing that made the world make sense.