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dearestgojo · 4 days

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SHADE OF BLUE | GŌJŌ SATORU

✮ WC. . 2.6k

✮ tags. . canon au, yan gōjō, fem reader, blood, fluff (?), the descriptions could imply that the reader is depressed (tho I don't think so), suggestive. 18+ mdni. divider creds: cafekitsune.

Your vision is tinged with red, just like the sunset that paints the clouds above your head. However, this color is not as intense as the fresh blood that stains Satoru's hands, part of his arms and blue shirt. It seems that the violently inflicted wound caused some drops to reach his cheek, leaving a silhouette that would mimic the stroke of a wet brush. In the distance, as if planned, a bird squawked, causing your muscles to twitch as the cold breeze bites at your bare legs.

At first you fear for the blood being his but that doesn't make sense, you quickly cross out that idea.

"Wh-"

"May I come in?" his voice interrupts you, tired, raspy.

His white hair is wet like he's been running to get here or like he's been standing in the drizzle that started falling a few minutes ago.

"What happened?" Initially, the voice you hear is unfamiliar, echoing distorted in your eardrums.

"Please?" your fingers expose your unsure thoughts as you squeeze and cling to the doorknob. Satoru takes a fleeting glance at your chest made transparent by the pink fabric of the bathrobe hugging your figure, only to snap back into your eyes. "You're not afraid, are you?"

You take a deep breath of air; the rusty iron smell of blood stirs your insides. Finally, you exhale your doubts and push the door a little further to give him room and allow him to enter the cozy cabin, still with the thought hammering at the back of your neck that this is a mistake.

Satoru tilts his head down as he passes through the doorway, his long strides taking him straight into the heart of the cabin without pausing to look back. The cabin, which you rented to be close to the mountains and escape the horror your life had become a few weeks ago, has a rustic and cozy atmosphere, splashed with brown colors wherever you look.

The wooden floor creaks softly under Satoru's feet as they pause in front of the lit fireplace, while the dim light from the lamp overhead dances across his broad back and the walls.

Satoru turns to look at you. The tension from earlier when you opened the door seems to have disappeared from his face, his cheeks pale from the cold and his rose-tinted lips grateful that you have given him shelter.

"It's a cozy place." Satoru is playing with the silver ring on his finger as he holds your gaze. Your lungs empty, you should have known it wouldn't be so easy for him to explain what happened. With Satoru nothing is easy.

Your folded arms press closer to your chest, hiding your hard nipples from his all-seeing eyes.

"Thanks," is all you say in regards to his compliment because after all, why pretend this is a normal visit.

"That's funny. We could have both been here together."

A smile laden with irony stretches your lips. Your arms fall to either side of your body showing him your vulnerability. "It's funny indeed, considering it was you who broke up with me."

His laughter echoed with a sarcastic tone full of disdain, as if he was mocking the situation. "You know what…"

"Whose blood is it, Satoru?" You get right to the point and he grins now, combing back strands of hair that immediately take on the red color trapped in his fingers.

"I need a shower first." His long strides catch up to you as he slips past you, his eyes scanning you up and down undisguised before he turns his gaze back to the front. You call out his name turning on your heels only to catch up to see him disappear up the small steps that would take him toward the second floor and the bathroom. "Don't worry! I know where the bathroom is…after all, I was the one who sent you the pictures of the cabin, remember?"

You want to just sit there near the fireplace, feel its warmth on your hands, face. Sink your fingers into your forehead, massage your temples and finally wake up and realize that this is nothing but a dream… no! A nightmare. What was Satoru doing here? It was just one of dozens of questions bombarding your head, your temples beginning to throb with pain.

You command your feet to walk over the Persian carpet, its soft cells massaging your feet guiding you towards the steps previously trodden by your ex-lover. As you enter the hallway the rope that suddenly began to bind your temples like a rubber band tightens with more intensity, the floor is covered by the trail of his dirty clothes: shirt, pants, socks, boxers….

In front of the bathroom and thanks to the half-open door, you hear the water running. Your fingers push unwillingly the door relieving in front of you a completely naked man smelling the shampoo you had left on top of the sink, even without looking at you, Satoru could recognize your scent at least ten kilometers away so seeing him smiling when you stand still in the door frame is not a surprise for you.

"Satoru."

"I was missing hearing my name in your voice." His long eyelashes close as he utters these words, fluttering as he squeezes the bottle of shampoo to release the scent of coconut and vanilla. "Damn." Smells like you. His grip on the plastic bottle grows tighter before he finally sets it aside. He contemplates himself in the mirror for a moment before speaking again. "Come closer," he tells you, disguising his command as a request.

You don't know if it's because you don't feel like fighting that draws you toward him like a sailor to a siren's song, or if you really miss him and would be willing to do anything he asked of you to have his attention on you again. The only thing you recognize at this moment is his presence, which makes you feel overwhelmed and nervous, just like before when you were together.

Satoru turns to acknowledge your presence. "I asked you a question earlier." He stretches out his hand, and though your body tightens from the inside, you don't move a muscle. "Are you afraid of me, angel?" His fingers, which were hovering over your collarbone without yet touching you, descend along your sternum, brushing a nipple that hardens further by his presence as you try to pretend nothing affects you.

"No."

"Good." Satoru licks his lips. "Because I would never hurt you." As he continues to amuse himself with his fingers making circles you can't feel on your chest, your attention focuses on the details of his face; his pale skin and the red spot on his cheek that breaks the harmony of the color palette. "Now. Ask me."

You weren't prepared to hear what she had to say. Whatever his answer or justification, you could feel the weight of guilt of being complicit. Still, you dare to ask directly, "Whose blood is it?"

"I had to clean up," he replies with an exhausted sigh, then pulling his hand away from you and causing you to whimper almost like a wounded puppy. "The higher-ups," he finally adds, punching you in the lower stomach.

Immediately, something acidic pours into you, burning your insides, your esophagus, filling your mouth with saliva.

"Satoru?" you mumble barely audible, horror marking your frown and a brief pout warped by dismay. You needed him to tell you it was a joke. He took the hem of the blindfold and pulled it over his head like a bandana, only to let it rest beside you over the sink.

"Hm?" He's not looking at you, and you desperately look for him to continue the conversation.

"Did you kill them?" It's the question you don't want him to answer, even though deep down you already know the answer; you just need confirmation.

"Come with me."

Instead of answering your question, Satoru entwines his still-cold fingers with yours and guides you toward the shower that continues to spill water onto the tiles. You, on the other hand, don't move a muscle; your feet cling to the floor like roots as adrenaline floods through your bloodstream.

"Did you?" you insist.

"Just a few," he replies with the same relaxed expression.

"Just a few?! You can't…"

"Oh, but I did. I can, as a matter of fact. And I'll do it again if they dare speak to my future wife like that again."

In a matter of seconds, a lot happens. His fingers squeeze yours, proving to you that this was real; unlike the dreams and nightmares you've had about him over the past few days. His blue eyes finally stay locked on yours, burning your heated self with their icy presence as he tries to decipher what exactly is going on in your mind. You stumble over your own breath as you struggle to inhale deeply, rushing oxygen to your brain.

Something warm spills down your cheeks, descends into the depths of your belly and finally settles in your pelvis, riotous and intense, as subtle as the wings of a butterfly.

"I don't understand," is all you manage to say, your brain trying to process hundreds of stimuli at once. "Did you do it for me?" Guilt. Guilt.

You should feel guilty, your inner morale accuses you.

Once again, Satoru ignores you and pulls your hand to walk you towards the shower. This time you don't insist on standing still; your legs obediently respond by automatically moving toward the glass cubicle, giving his fingers permission to remove your clothing. Your tense body is grateful for the warmth of the water that immediately drenches you, for before he came to break what little stability you had managed to create, you were about to step into the shower.

For his part, he grabs the sponge and offers it to you, and it takes you a few seconds to accept it amidst the disheveled blinking that chases away the tears that threaten to spill. Then he drops a stream of the liquid soap and turns his back to you.

Moles and freckles hug it, from his broad, strong shoulders to the small of his back. Memories lash you; you remember tracing those moles when neither of you could sleep, you remember kissing them, you remember your fingernails creating red moons on it.

You carefully round his waist, your forehead rests right in the middle of his shoulder blades and the rain from the shower now falls directly on your head, making it a little difficult to breathe, but you stay there, tucked in your safe place. You remain silent like that for a while, feeling the warmth of the water wash away the dirt into the plumbing as everything he has said sorts itself out in your head like a jigsaw puzzle.

Last month, your life and everything you knew as stable came crashing down after a mission gone wrong. The bloodied faces of the civilians who died because of you haunt you every so often at night. This resulted in your demotion in rank as a sorceress and a six-month suspension. No missions. You couldn't set foot in the academy, which equaled no financial stability, not being able to help your parents pay for the house, much less pay for your own apartment.

You thought things couldn't get any worse until, a few days later, your boyfriend of two years broke up with you, leaving you adrift in a sea of unpleasant emotions that you couldn't control. So having Satoru here in front of you after days of not going out to see sunlight and having no contact with other human beings, feeling his presence under your body is overwhelming, almost unreal. You allow yourself to sob quietly, being cradled and coddled in his arms as he turns you to press your body much closer to his.

He cooing to you, murmuring sweet words that only he can say and that you long to hear.

"I'm sorry I left you when you needed me most. I had to pretend that the disappearance of a couple of higher-ups wasn't related to you. I would never put you in danger," he says once you've finished your shower and the jet of water has stopped.

Satoru holds your cheeks, looking at you as if you were the most precious thing to him. Inevitably, more tears spill down your cheeks and he hurries to wipe them away with his thumbs.

"Sh. I'm here now," he murmurs, keeping his gaze fixed on you, on your lips. "Can I kiss you?"

Your throat is still in a lump, but you nod slowly giving him the permission he needs and Satoru doesn't wait to place his mouth on yours taking you into a trance where you feel only his soft lips molding yours, purring as he pushes his mouth against yours. You feel him exploring every space, roaming every nook and cranny as the kiss intensifies accompanied by a soft chant of moans that grow louder each time.

Your ribs are pressed into his palms, his fingers defining the contours as he slowly pushes you against the wet wall.

"I missed you," he admits between kisses, finally pulling away to rest on the line of your neck and leaving a mark with his teeth.

. . .

Silently, Satoru guides you into the room, holding your hand the whole time. He helps himself by the dim light of the night lamp to move naked around the room. Seeing him act the way he used to, when everything was fine, fills your chest with nostalgia.

After a moment, he gets an extra towel from your suitcase along with essential oils that you always carry with you and with a kiss on the forehead followed by a brief giggle, he asks you to sit on the floor next to the bed to help you dry your hair. It's the first time in a long time that you don't have to worry about feeling guilty or sad, because all you can feel is him, his fingers, the way he interrupts his massages on your skull to kiss your face.

Satoru holds you against his chest all night. Your naked bodies melt as one under the silk sheets, he presses you against him as if he fears you will run away. His legs entwined like vines keep you safe.

In the middle of the night satoru turns his back on you releasing you from his prison and letting you be the one to protect him now, you circle his waist and hide your face in his silky clean hair, the strands tickle your face but you refuse to move away from the safety this moment brings you, the smell of your shampoo on him has never smelled so good.

"Satoru." You call out to him in a whisper so low you wonder if you've woken him. You don't want to interrupt his sleep and are surprised when he mumbles a Hm? Are you okay? "I didn't mean to wake you," you reply.

"I wasn't sleeping." This time he turns his body to look at you, holding his face with one hand while the other is on your waist, keeping you still. From the tired look and the slight dark circles under his eyes that begin to form, you wonder when was the last time he had a good night's sleep. "What's wrong?"

What you're about to say to him makes you embarrassed for some reason.

"You mentioned you wouldn't let anyone talk to your wife like that…" you blurt out the sentence, letting it float into the room unfinished. Hearing your words immediately makes him smile and you feel his fingers tighten on your skin.

"Yeah. I said that," he states proudly.

"You were serious?"

"There's nothing that would make me happier. So yes, you will one day be my wife when you're ready."

You are driven by emotion to throw yourself on top of him, pressing your body to his and melting into an embrace that neither of you wants to break first.

notes. yeah, he kills people but he's my little meow meow and have you considered that he's a good husband too? yeah that's what I thought.

#to read later

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