Someone Take Gojo Satoru To Therapy - Tumblr Posts
Gojo finds it hard to sleep most nights since meeting you.
2.2k, sfw, reader is gender neutral im pretty sure, maybe a little bit of angst with gojo’ s thoughts but honestly he’s a tall bottle of angst and wonderfully soft hair
You’re breathing steadily, chest rising and falling with each deep pull and push of your lungs. Your eyelids move occasionally, following along with some dream that he isn’t privy too. (You’ll tell him in the morning, something he always looks forward to as you retell those weird little dreams with too many hand gestures and the drink swishing around in your mug.) Your fingers twitch minutely and he wants to touch them- feel the breath in lungs, the blood rushing in your veins, the life in you. You’re breathing, moving, dreaming- all signs point to life.
Yet, he doesn’t believe it. Won’t believe that you can lay there so unaware of what could happen at any second. He doesn’t believe that you spent so many nights alone with no one to watch you, to keep you safe. It burns in his eyes and fingers to think of you sleeping so carelessly, so deep and sweetly. No matter how tired he is, the bags under his eyes and the lines creasing around his face, he won’t look away. He knows you would be upset- coaxing him so gently to lay beside you and slip into sleep. And he knows he would give in so easily to you, he always does. Your skin pressed to his as he finally relaxes and the tension spills from his bones- sleeping, dreaming, unaware, vulnerable, in danger, bloodied, scared-
He shakes his head a bit, white locks shifting with the motion as he blinks the fear away, blue eyes focusing back on your face. He shouldn’t be so fearful- the most powerful socercer who could rival God but won’t in fear of his own humanity. He exorcised every curse in the area, gotten rid of a few troublesome humans, even fixed that wobbly front step for you. Technically, this is the safest area in Japan after he cleared it out. Mainly as an over the top, grand display of his affection for you. Secretly as a grand display of his anxiety and stomach churning panic that happens whenever he thinks about you too much.
If asked, you couldn’t pinpoint when he started sleeping over; when his boots took up space in your closet or his cologne crowding your counter. You couldn’t tell for certain when preferred pillows became a thing (he needed the less lumpy one for his delicate hair) or when you would both wake up on early mornings pressed together. It seemed natural to you, just a common thing that happened- casual dating turns into a relationship at some point. Even with the great playboy Gojo Satoru (something you learn is greatly exaggerated; that image doesn’t match with the Gojo Satoru who gets excited over matching pajamas and rushes home with the newest B rated movie you both cringed over during the trailer. But most things with Gojo aren’t what they seem, you’ve learned).
He knows the exact time and date, the moment he knew he couldn’t, wouldn’t, leave you anymore. It was already a struggle, letting your hand drop from his as he left you at the front door, or reluctantly hung up the phone when he was away on missions and aching to hear you. It came one evening at the end of a perfect date. The sun setting in a blend of oranges and pinks, the spring breeze blowing the scent of cherry blossoms through the air as you both walked through your quiet neighborhood. Thats when the facade of ease broke within him- shattering like a thousand windows being blown out by a hurricane. Blood freezing in his veins, eyes widened behind his glasses, his lungs capsizing in the panic. The strongest sorcerer brought to a blood chilling stop by a foot tall curse wobbling on stubby legs nearby, some product of an angry neighbor. Fushiguro could have gotten rid of it as a child it was so low grade, but that was it for Gojo. A thickness coated his heart upon seeing you casually walk by- a sweet, wonderful, loving human unaware of slimy fingers reaching towards you, brushing the fabric of your clothes and soaking into you as it grumbled and teetered closer.
The attack was swift and unnoticed- a simple swipe of Gojo’s long fingers and it was gone without a trace. You didn’t even stutter as you continued talking about a work incident, swinging his hand in yours. Completely unaware of the dangers that lurked in your own neighborhood. He didn’t break either, throwing in little comments and light chuckles during your story. You didn’t notice subtle turns of his head sweeping over every inch of the houses cramped closed together. That was the last night he left you. A quick kiss on the doorstep, his forehead pressed to yours as he worked up the will to part with you. It took you a while to fall asleep, for him to see all of your lights go off from his spot down the street, hidden by the trees. He waited a few more moments before the stillness of your house assured him it was fine to leave. The last time he would.
The curse stayed with him long after- filling the corners of his heart and his mind that maybe if it was a higher grade, more than one, violent or a threat; the fingers that brushed you would have taken you from him too. After that night of no sleep and more exorcising than he had done in a while, he started leaving pieces of himself behind in your place, reasons to come over more often and reasons to stay. Reasons for him to show up unannounced on your doorstep with a wide grin and a loud greeting, lanky frame sliding past you with a lament of a forgotten shirt. Not that he truly needed a reason; not when your presence was the only thing that soothed him and made him feel alive for the first time in years. He knew how easily love could be taken from him, how easily you could be gone one day and leave him alone again. How easy it was for him to picture your mangled and bloodied body slumped against the wall. It feels like an illicit affair to him, the need to keep you hidden and safe, tucked away in his arms so nothing can touch you again. (Those thoughts came only when he was away, when your voice was staticky in his mind and the anxiety creeped up his throat at the thought of what is happening to you right now where are you who are you with they can’t protect you only he can only he can)
Somehow, in all of God’s graces that he doesn’t deserve, you accept it. Accept him staying over, intruding on your place and your life, welcoming him each and every time with open arms and a warm embrace. You don’t know, maybe never will, the thoughts and pain he goes through when he’s away from you and has flashbacks to the past like a never ending movie playing in his mind. It’s a loop in his mind- curses and blood and his name falling for the last time from lips he knew too well. It’s overwhelming for Gojo, heart-rate picking up and skin crawling from the tips of his fingers to his lungs. By God’s grace, the film stops, negative strip burning up whenever he sees you and hears the life in you- the heartache replaced with your soothing presence. Gojo can’t always have that calmness and night is where the anxiety sets in again, when he wants to swallow you whole and keep you safe in his bones. You’ll be safe with him, always with him only with him just stay with him forever and let him protect you because he can’t lose someone else again not you -
He’s broken out of his spiraling thoughts suddenly. Your breathing catches and he’s instantly dangling over you, limbs caging you in as his eyes frantically search for for wounds, blood, knives poking out or curses leeching from your lungs, perhaps a hand protruding from your chest with your bloodied, too good for this world heart in its claws, or-
“Fuck!” You scream, palms thrusting upwards and making him tumble from the bed. You follow quickly, catching him by the shoulders to push him flat on his back, an elbow finding its way to his chest. Just like he taught you and despite the sharp pain in his lung, he feels proud of you. You listen to him at his worst anxieties and take all his lessons with good graces.
There’s a few moment where your elbow increases in pressure with a confused daze until the moonlight catches his hair, dazzling eyes find yours. “Satoru what the hell?” You croak out, sleep still lingering in your throat that doesn’t match the scared eyes glaring down at him.
“Hi sweetie.” He huffs past your elbow crushing his throat and you let up with a gasp. “Nice turn around. That reaction time was great. You’re getting better and better. Maybe soon you can-“
“Toru,” your voice cuts him off and instantly he’s at peace. Heavily lidded eyes and a deflated chest as he looks up at your face. With the moonlight coming in, he’s never seen a more perfect angel and his heart seizes, those three devastating words on the tip of his tongue as he stares up at you. He wants to say them, every minute of every damn day, but just like always- it catches before he can admit the phrase that will once again damn him.
A sigh leaves your own tongue, head tilted to regard him. You know it’s pointless to argue, he’s too sly and silver tongued, and your bed is right there. Satoru might be over dramatic, an actor and outrageous at time- but you love him and can see the murkiness beneath his eyes. You give him slack for incidents like this. A lot of slack. And 3am is not the time to dig into his past no matter how much you want cradle him against your chest and let him release that pain. You sigh again, sitting back on his thighs and pushing yourself up. He stays underneath you, gazing up in awe with his lower jaw twitching with silent words. “Come to bed.”
That’s the true blow for him. The innocent in the command, the softness of your voice as you grip his shoulders and pull him up. He goes wordlessly, effortlessly, as you sit him on the edge of the bed. You catch his gaze, brillant blue looking up at you with such adoration it’s embarrassing and makes you shove him back onto the pillows. The two of you mold together seamlessly- your leg over his hip, his arm under your neck, you breath caressing his neck and his lips buried in your head.
He hates it. Hates how easily he melts, how quickly his guard is dropped with you in his arms. Hates how all his own curses and demons disappear with your touch. He thinks that you’re truly the most powerful, able to banish the curses in his mind that he cannot. How can he rival God when you’re the one who brings him to his knees, killing the demons surrounding him with a simple cradle of your fingers. Just a simple human and he’s broken.
He hates that he doesn’t notice the sun until it’s rising in the sky, late morning and even the birds are gone by the time his lashes flutter open. He hates that you have a sixth sense for when he wakes, you know that if you aren’t there then he will panic no matter how calm he seems. The sleep is still in his eyes when you come into view, padding into the room with a black shirt of his hugging your figure and full thighs barely visible. A cup, his cup, of something warm held carefully in your hands as you approach him.
“Morning Satoru.” You mumble, a kiss pressed to his temple.
It’s morning and he’s survived another night. He reckons you are the most powerful in the world as his heart settles once again behind his ribs and the warmth of coffee fills the space between you.
“Morning.”