GojoSatoru x BlackFem!reader
CW: Comfort
You’re lying on the bed, on top of the sheets, back against the headboard. The soft hum of the city sneaks through the open window.
Your bare thighs press into the cotton sheets. It’s warm out, and you didn’t bother with pajama pants. The deep brown of your skin stands out against the pale linen. A stretch mark near your hip catches the light as you shift. The faint scent of cocoa butter still clings to your skin. The silk bonnet you tossed aside earlier is crumpled near the pillow, forgotten.
Satoru’s shirt is somewhere on the floor. Not because anything happened—it didn’t. He just said he felt "too warm," like he always does when he’s anxious and trying to pretend he isn’t.
He’s sitting at the edge of the bed, facing away from you, elbows on his knees, hair a little wet from the shower he took an hour ago. You’ve both been quiet since then.
But the quiet this time feels… charged.
Not uncomfortable but not peaceful either. Like something is waiting.
You watch the curve of his spine, the ridges of muscle beneath skin, and the slope of his shoulders, usually so confident, now low and almost defensive.
"I’m scared" he says suddenly, softly.
It takes you a second to realize he’s speaking to you.
He doesn’t turn around. "You see things in me I don’t want people to see. I’m scared one day you’ll look too close… and change your mind."
He finally says it, and the words hang between you like a weight pressing down on your chest. Your breath catches, your lungs tightening. All you can do is blink, stunned silent.
You slide down the bed, slowly, until you’re sitting behind him. Your legs on either side of his, arms folded around your knees.
"Satoru," you murmur, "I don’t want the perfect version of you."
He swallows but still doesn’t face you.
Being in a relationship with Satoru was nothing like people assumed. Far from the cold or careless image he sometimes gave off, he was always trying to be the best for you. He smiled so wide every time you were together, like just seeing you made his day.
He always brought back a little gift after missions, something thoughtful. And he actually listened whenever you talked about your interests. He mentally noted every detail just so he could surprise you later with something related, or simply learn about it because you liked it.
So when he finally opens up to you after seven months of being together, your heart warms at the thought that he trusts you enough to let you in.
But at the same time, there’s a quiet ache in your chest because knowing he still fears you might leave if he shows you his weaknesses… that hurts, too.
"I don’t need the strongest sorcerer in the world. I don’t need the guy who always has the last word. I don’t need Gojo Satoru with the sunglasses and the jokes and the whole… ‘untouchable God’ thing you wear like armor."
He turns his head slightly. Just enough for you to see the edge of his profile.
You reach forward. Place your hand flat between his shoulder blades.
"I want the man who gets overwhelmed sometimes. The one who doesn’t know how to deal with silence. The one who talks too much because he’s scared people won’t stay if he’s just quiet."
"I want the version of you that’s messy. Self-doubting. Tired. You don’t have to protect me from that, Satoru. I can handle your dark shit. But I can’t keep fighting for space beside someone who only wants to show me the highlight reel."
And the look in his eyes. It’s like something is breaking. Not in a destructive way. But in a way that lets light in. Like something fractured just enough to let you reach him.
"I don’t know how," he says barely audible. "To be soft. For real. Not performative. Not charming. Just… honest" He swallows thickly. "Every time I try, it’s like…there’s this thing in my chest that tightens. Like if I stop being the joke, then people will remember I’m human. And they’ll leave."
You reach for his hand and lets you take it this time.
"I’m not people," you whisper. "I’m me."
His thumb brushes your knuckles absently, nervously, like his body’s still catching up to what his heart already knows."You are. That’s why it terrifies me. Because you’re the only one who makes me want to take the mask off. And that means if you leave…"
You cut in gently, your voice steady but full of tenderness. "I won’t."
You see the flicker of pain cross his eyes at your words, the vulnerable crack in his armor. He nods slowly, lips parted as if he’s searching for words but can’t find any.
Then he leans in, pressing his forehead firmly against yours, his breath mingling with yours. His hands slide from your neck down to cradle your face, thumbs brushing lightly over your cheekbones as if memorizing every detail.
You close your eyes, letting the moment settle over you like a soft blanket.
"I want to be better," he says, barely above a whisper. "I want to show you all of it. Even the parts I hate. Even the parts that don’t make sense."
You squeeze his hands gently, your heart swelling. "I’ll be here," you promise, voice steady and full of warmth. "But you’ve gotta meet me halfway."
He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye. "Okay."
And for once, he’s not smiling. Instead, his expression is honest, unguarded, like he’s finally letting you see the real him.
You reach up, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, and whisper, "Thank you for trusting me."
He leans in again, His mouth finds yours, gently at first, then deeper, like he’s trying to anchor himself in the shape of you. His breath hitches at the familiar softness of your two-toned lips: the deeper, duskier top and the flushed pink below. It’s the kind of detail he never mentions out loud but always notices. Always loves.
Just a man trying to learn how to love.
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