I Can’t Sleep Unless You’re Here
Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader
Tags: fluff, dramatic boyfriend behavior, clingy Gojo, soft cuddles, established relationship, long-distance (but only for one night)
Summary: Gojo Satoru has survived cursed spirits, assassins, and political meetings—but Gojo Satoru has known suffering.
⊹ ࣪ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ๋࣭ ⭑⊹ ࣪ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ๋࣭ ⭑⊹ ࣪ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─
He has faced cursed spirits the size of buildings. Watched friends die. Carried the weight of the strongest on his shoulders since he was fifteen.
But nothing could have prepared him for the bone-deep agony of spending a night without you.
9 hours and 36 minutes. That’s how long it’s been since he left for Kyoto.
His hotel room is too quiet. Too sterile. The sheets smell like laundry detergent instead of you. The thermostat is set to the perfect temperature, and yet he’s freezing. Inside.
He lay spread-eagled on the bed, silk robe, damp hair, sunglasses on. The shower hadn’t helped
The group chat with Nanami and Shoko is left on read. He’s already called you twice. You said you were going to sleep. You sounded tired. You sounded adorable.
He replays your voice in his head like a junkie going through withdrawal.
“I miss your dumb face.”
He clutches his chest.
“You better be resting and not seducing the entire Kyoto branch.”
He lets out a soft whimper.
“Goodnight, baby. I love you.”
He rolled over and screamed into the pillow
12 hours in. He can’t do this.
He sends you a photo of himself dramatically laying across the bed, captioned:
“Empty. Like my heart.”
No response.
He texts again:
“If I die tonight, know that I loved you with all the passion of a thousand suns and the recklessness of a man who’s seen your thighs in shorts.”
Still nothing.
He leaves a voice message.
“Hey… it’s me. Again.”
“I just… I tried. I really did. I fluffed the pillow. I cuddled the hotel robe. I even sprayed your perfume on a towel and slept beside it… like some lovesick stalker. Nothing worked.”
“It’s not the bed. It’s not the blanket. It’s you.”
“I can’t sleep unless you’re here. And that’s not even the worst part.”
“The worst part is that I did sleep. For five minutes. And I dreamed you were holding someone else’s hand. And when I woke up, I cried. Real tears. I saw a bellboy. He looked concerned.”
“I think I’m unraveling. Come back. Or let me come home. I swear I’ll behave. I’ll even stop stealing your chocolate… Even the fancy ones you hide behind the cereal box.”
He stares at the message, debating whether to delete it.
He doesn’t.
You blink awake in the dark, glance at your phone, and roll your eyes. He’s lost it. Fully lost it. You set the phone back down—and smile.
God, you love that idiot.
18 hours.
He cracks. He packs his things in a flurry. Leaves a note for Nanami:
“Tell them I had a curse emergency. (The curse was my loneliness.)”
Nanami will kill him.
He doesn’t care.
He books the earliest train, dressed in your hoodie and yesterday’s sweatpants, looking like a sad anime protagonist halfway through his redemption arc.
4:36 AM.
You open the door to find a very tired, very clingy Gojo Satoru standing in your hallway with a suitcase and a 7-Eleven bag of snacks.
He stares at you like you’re salvation. Like you’re sunlight. Like he’s been through a war zone made entirely of cold pillows and too much silence.
You blink. “Satoru…”
“I came back,” he says. His voice cracks. Cracks.
“You… left the summit?”
“I almost died,” he says solemnly. “I was slipping into madness. I heard voices. One of the hotel pillows whispered your name.”
“…Are you on drugs?”
“Only the drug of love.”
You drag him inside.
He throws himself into your arms like a soldier returning from war. Clings to you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. Smushes his face into your chest and lets out the most pitiful groan you’ve ever heard from a grown man.
“I’m never leaving again,” he mutters. “Not unless you come with me. Not even to the convenience store. We’re attached at the hip now. Fused. Merged.”
“Satoru, it was one night.”
“A lifetime. In heartache years.”
You collapse into bed, and he’s on you in an instant—arms around your waist, legs tangled with yours, his entire 6’3 frame practically melted into your body like a clingy marshmallow.
You run a hand through his hair.
He lets out a breath. “See? That’s it. That’s what I needed. Your fingers in my hair. Your breath on my neck. Your weird little sleep grumbles. That’s home.”
You smile, soft and sleepy. “You’re such a drama queen.”
“I’m your drama queen.”
⊹ ࣪ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ๋࣭ ⭑⊹ ࣪ ───
The next morning, your phone buzzes.
Shoko
“Tell Gojo the elders are putting together a formal complaint. And Nanami wants to punch him.”
You glance over at your boyfriend—passed out, hugging you like a body pillow, one sock missing, face buried in your shoulder.
You text back:
“He says it was worth it.”
And then he rolled over and said he dreamed of me holding his hand at our wedding.
So. Worth it.
₊✮⊹.₊⋆⭒˚𓇼.‧⋆⊹⋆.✮𓇼✩‧₊˚₊✮⊹.₊⋆⭒˚𓇼.‧⋆⊹⋆.✮𓇼✩‧₊˚₊✮
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