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Megumi can’t sleep.
He’s tried everything – Melatonin, candles, breathing exercises. Nothing works. Not when he’s constantly plagued with thoughts of you.
When you first started at Jujutsu Tech, he didn’t think much of you. Just that you were another classmate to train alongside. That was before he knew just how goddamn nice you were.
You were always fussing – asking Itadori if he was alright every time he swallowed another one of Sukuna’s fingers, letting Kugisaki give you makeovers, even helping Gojo-sensei with his grading. It would have been easy enough to ignore if you didn’t also do the same thing to him.
Every day, you asked him if he slept alright. If he was hurt after a battle, you were the first to offer to patch him up. You’d always run over to him eagerly, short skirt swinging, your legs delicately encased in black tights. Megumi never thought much of the school uniform, but after seeing you in it, he wants to thank whoever made it.
And if that wasn’t enough, you also had to be sleeping in the room right next to his.
Megumi lies back on his bed, sighing. He risks a glance at the wall directly next to him. He’s seen the inside of your room once – he knows that your bed is right next to the wall that borders both your rooms. With how thin the walls are, your bed might as well be right next to his.
This has become part of his nightly routine, and he knows he should feel bad, but at this point, Megumi can’t bring himself to care. Slowly, he pulls down his cotton sleeping pants. His cock springs up eagerly, already hard. Of course, it is. He’s thinking of you, after all.
As he palms it, giving it a tentative stroke, he freezes at the sound of shuffling coming from the other side of the wall. You must be tossing in bed. If he focuses hard enough, he can almost see you – hair spread delicately over the pillow, your blanket layered over your supple skin, tits rising and falling with each breath you take.
What would you say, he wonders if you knew about this? Would you be disgusted? Or, he dares to hope, would you instead see it as simply another way you could help him?
“Fushiguro-san,” he can almost hear you say, “getting enough sleep is important! If you can’t sleep, you won’t be able to fight as well. It’s my duty as your classmate to help you.”
Megumi slides his hand slowly up his shaft, picturing the sweet smile you’d have on your face. Your hand would feel so much better than his, smaller and softer. He’s seen how focused you get when you’re concentrating. You’d probably give him the same treatment, tongue poking out through your plush pink lips, that adorable little crease present between your eyebrows.
You always compliment him in battle – you’d probably be the same in the bedroom. “Fushiguro-san,” you’d say, and his mind savors the way your mouth shapes the syllables of his name. “You’re so big, I don’t think my hands are enough to help you.” Megumi’s hips unconsciously buck, picturing the way you’d look on your knees in front of him. Fuck, you’d be so good, your warm mouth enveloping his cock. His other hand fists in the sheets, as he thinks about how much he’d rather be fisting your silky hair.
From behind the wall, he hears you let out a soft moan in your sleep, and that sends his thoughts trailing in a whole other direction. He’s sure you look pretty in your bed, but he knows for a fact that you’d look a hell of a lot better in his.
God, he can almost picture it. Your face flushed from exertion, panting, looking up at him with glossy eyes. He’d trail his fingers slowly down your neck, to your breasts -- he’d roll one of your nipples gently between his fingers, and you’d let out an adorable little gasp.
Your skin would be soft, he’s sure of it. All those beauty treatments you do with Kugisaki must be paying off. Even after a long day of training, when everyone’s soaked in sweat, you still smell good. Megumi can’t help but wonder if you taste good, too.
“Fuck,” he grits under his breath as his hand speeds up. His other hand lets go of the sheets long enough to lift the ends of his t-shirt to his mouth, clenching it between his teeth.
You’d look so fucking hot, cumming on his fingers, his tongue, his cock. God, he’d fuck you so good. His hand tightens, squeezing the base of his cock as he imagines thrusting into you. He’s spent so long thinking about it, he can pretty much picture exactly what you’d do. He’d make you say his name, his actual name.
“Megumi,” you’d moan out, “you’re so good, just like that, please don’t stop!” Your slick walls would tighten up, clenching around him deliciously as he sucked dark bruises into the sensitive skin of your neck. He’d make you scream for him, loud enough that the entire dorm knew exactly who you belonged to, exactly whose bed you were in.
His hips jerk and he bites down harder on his shirt, trying to stop himself from saying your name, from letting you know just how much he wants you. He can’t get the image out of his head – you’d look so fucking good with his cum seeping out of your pussy, his hands leaving fingerprint-shaped bruises on your hips. With a strangled groan, he cums, shooting thick ropes of white all over his hand and the bed.
Megumi lets his head fall back on the pillow, taking deep breaths. Once he’s sufficiently composed himself, he leans over to the nightstand, grabbing a box of tissues to clean himself up. As his heart rate slows, he can finally feel exhaustion creeping up. He closes his eyes, letting it overtake him.
His last thought before he falls asleep is that he can’t wait to do this again tomorrow.