Women of color are saving lives

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ saw the hickies on your neck when your collar would slip when you weren't looking. dark and red. all over your neck. like a mark— a claim— but they'd fade.

he'd see the dreamy look in your eyes when you'd sometimes leave a classroom, or satoru's office, or even a closet on a few occasions.

he felt the racing in your heart. the dreamy look in your eyes. the temporary smile on your lips. and he knew, of course he knew. even a person with one eye could see that you and satoru were something. more than friends, less than lovers, something that told others to back off.

but what yuta also saw amidst all the haze?

the void in your heart.

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ took care of you in ways you never noticed. your coffee was always on your desk, a habit he'd started in fourth year. documents were always neatly in your office. you never walked home late or took the night train alone. he'd nudged his shoulder closer when you'd fallen asleep beside him on the ride back home. helped you to your apartment and made sure you locked the door after.

your apartment was an address he'd memorised. popping by with takeout and treats at the end of the week. leaving before you could question it too much.

if there was a mission on the roster that was particularly daunting, yuta would make sure he was there to assign to it first. he knew of your habit of trying to lessen the load on satoru's shoulders. and while he found it admirable— you were a person too.

he carried an extra water bottle. made sure you took your lunch breaks. helped with your students. he took care of you not because he wanted you to see him as anything more, but to simply repay you for the way you'd taken care of him in his younger years. he did it because he cared. not because he was waiting.

˖ ࣪꒰ SATORU GOJO ꒱ ˙˖ couldn't take care of you in the way you wanted. he couldn't be the one waiting for you after school or on your train platform. couldn't show up to your apartment with emergency packages because missions were always more important.

not more important than you. never more important than you. but definitely more important that vulnerability, which directly involved you.

he couldn't be the shoulder you leaned on. he was just the body you were supposed to take your frustration out on. not the hand that held yours, but the one that held yours down as you both burst in that wrecking, temporary passion.

temporary, limited, fleeting. but in those moments— you were his.

he gave you what he could, because he cared. of course he did. but he couldn't commit. so instead he'd keep you waiting.

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ felt a little at ease when you were both assigned to the latest mission. but that faded the second he noticed how tense you were. it was easy to do so; or maybe he'd just grown accustomed to your tells. he knew when you were happy, sad, tired, stressed—

right now, the way you sat in the backseat of the assistant manager's car beside him. arms folded and leaning on the door, staring out of the window as your thoughts were faster than the cars zipping by.

you seemed upset. drained. yuta wondered if it was because of another argument with him again.

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ didn't really have the time to ask you if were alright. you were thrust head-first into the mission. sorcerers never really delved in the matters of curse users, but it seemed today was one of those special occasions.

these kinds of missions often called for stakeouts. controlled cursed energy and reduced residuals. a steeled mind and a steady heart.

and right now, it was taking all the endless, thousands of hours he'd spent training to keep his heart from thumping straight out of his chest when he had you with your back to his chest, pressed into every inch of him and your shampoo in his nose.

stakeouts. right.

the supply closet was more than just cramped, it was a test of his resolve. here you were, the woman he'd had heart eyes for since the first day he showed up all dull-eyed and bushy-tailed, now pressed against him in every meaning of the word. his knees against your thighs. your shoulders on his chest. his spine hunched to accommodate with the tiny closet but in turn flushing him further up into you.

he didn't know where to put his hands. so they were flat on the wall in front of you. which— wouldn't you know? trapped you even further against him.

his breath was thin. eyes unblinking. every internal thought praying to whatever was listening for him to think about something. anything. but the softness of you up against him. the scent of your shampoo. the feel of your breath, your thighs, your ass—

stop.

stop. stop. stop it.

think about flowers.

your hair smelled like flowers. . .

NO. think of something else. think of curses. scary things. disgusting things.

his mind was certainly thinking disgusting things. thinking how he wanted to press you into the wall and kiss you like a curse. until your soul left your body and he could swallow it. hold you, caress you, have you.

fuck.

his eyes squeezed shut. he sucked in a breath. he could do this. he'd worked so hard on his nerves. he could put on a mask. focus on the mission.

that was until, he heard your heart racing.

wait.

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ wanted to take a peek at your thoughts. just for a moment. he'd trade anything in the world for just a second. just to know why your body was so stiff, why your breath was shallow, why your heart— was pounding.

little did he know how you stared at the wall. unblinking too. little did he see how your palms sweated as they too were pressed on the wall, between his.

his hands had gotten bigger, you'd noticed. hell, yuta had gotten bigger. when did he get so tall? tall enough that he had to crook in the supply closet and somehow he still loomed over you?

you tried to steady yourself. tried to think. think of anything else but the heat spreading on your face and the way your feet pressed closer. why. . . why were you feeling like this?

were you flustered?

not a cold day in hell. you'd never be flustered. not over your former student. not over yuta okkotsu, the boy you'd taught how to use a sword. who looked up at you with those big puppy eyes and followed you around like one too back then

no. absolutely not.

"you remember the plan, right?" he murmured to your ear.

fuck. when. when did his voice get so raspy?

it was low, emphasising the rasp that stuttered your heart. muttering to your ear as to not give away your hiding spot. he spoke about the plan of action. refreshed you on what his stance would be. what yours would. everything vital for the mission to go smoothly.

but all you could think of was. . .

when did yuta grow into such an attractive man when you weren't looking?

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ had his mind racing by the time you both returned to the hotel. he entered his suite, shut the door, pressed his back to it and drew a shaky breath. fuck. was he thinking things? did he hear wrong? was it just the fantasies?

he's always been so acutely aware when it came to you. so he knew without a doubt: your heart was racing.

not only that, but you weren't listening. he swore he saw the tremble in your knees. heard the hitch in your breath. you were flustered— and that thought excited him, as it wedged into his own stuttering heart and bloomed possibilities.

were you attracted to him?

could he actually have you?

he wanted to be a good guy and say that he shook the thought off. chastised himself. but yuta was hardly the boy that he once was. still sweet— but with an edge. so tossed off his jacket. sat on the bed. nurtured the thought like a flame dancing in his palms. dangerous, scandalous, and everything in between.

long legs kicked onto the bed. his dark hair that had grown out a bit since his teen years splayed over the pillows as he stared at the ceiling. recalling your softness that pressed into every inch of him. the weight of your back on his chest, your hands trembling between his, your perfume enveloping him.

fuck. you were so close. so right. it took everything within him not to bury his nose into your neck and inhale your sweet scent. drag his lips on your pulse. seize your waist.

wait.

wait wait.

stop it.

he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as that familiar, uncomfortable strain tightened his pants. no— he wasn't gonna do it. he wasn't. he wasn't about to touch himself to the thought of you when you were on the other side of the wall.

it's a miracle his dick even behaved in the first place when it was wedged up against your back like that. your ass— shit.

he needed some relief. just a little. lest he drive his cursed energy into a spiral and have you knocking on his door to check on him cause you sensed it. he didn't think he'd be able to hold back at all then.

so he reached down. slowly. stroked his thumb along the bulge in his dark pants and hissed a soft breath. slow. gotta go slow.

the callouses from his swords-wielding dragged over the curve of his erection. pushing his thumb to his already leaking tip through the fabric. rubbed slow and steady. shattering his sanity bit by bit. as he gulped down moans and whispered whines.

dark, hazy eyes fluttered. blinking up at the ceiling as he tried to imagine your face. tried to pretend it was your soft hand wrapped around his dick. your thumb swiping on his dripping slit and jerking him off so messily.

no— you wouldn't be messy. nothing about you was clumsy. not like him. not like the way he fucked his fist and chewed his lip so hard it broke skin. not like the way he grunted, and panted and whined your name from the back of his throat.

no. you were perfect. so so perfect. it's why he was able to spurt all over his hand without so much as a few minutes. his mind spinning, breaths ragged and his eyes hazy hearts. for you. only you.

he needed to have you. in any way he could. and now that you'd given him an in? he finally had hope.

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ decided he was going to start small. whether you made the move or not, he wanted to show you that there were other options. safer ones. warmer ones. that didn't involve you getting your heart shattered every friday.

it started with being there for you more. being there in the morning when you clocked in for work to give you the coffee himself. bringing you lunch. walking you home and making sure he finished missions as early as possible so that he could.

he'd carry your bag for you. fill out extra paperwork so you wouldn't have much to do. offer to grade any outstanding papers from your classes for you.

yes, every action was more charged now. every time he saw you relax there was a brighter flicker of hope within him. but this was more than just trying to show you a better option— no. it was intimacy.

intimacy in the form of taking care of you. showing you his love in small, meaningful acts. showing you he was there. that he cared. because love was earned. much like trust. and he was willing to do whatever it took to show you that he could be trusted.

that he could take care of you.

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ got a little bolder. just slightly. not pushing— never pushing. but persistence. he locked eyes with you whenever he could. held the state until you looked away or he absolutely had to. let you know that he was seeing you. that he always saw you.

his hand would brush yours as he handed you your coffee. shoulders nudging, fingers feathering. in all the ways that were natural but there. enough to notice. enough to get a reaction out of you.

he listened close. always. listened for your heart. looked at your eyes. for signs of discomfort. for something that told him to stop. but there was none.

did you feel it too?

the spark when his hand cupped your shoulder to guide you into your apartment? when his arms wrapped around you to give you a hug every morning? when your knees leaned on one another on the train ride back home?

he saw it. you were beginning to realise. beginning to entertain that flame that danced between the both of you. tempting. alluring.

but why— why, why. why.

were you denying yourself?

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ found himself frustrated when he was alongside satoru and his mentor let something slip.

he's always looked up to him. appreciated him. cared for him. nothing would change that. hell, satoru was the one who saved his life. gave him a home. satoru was the reason he met you in the first place.

but that didn't change the fact that he was still the reason you shed tears.

it was silly, really. fleeting. satoru probably didn't even realise that he had said it with how absentminded it was as he walked down the hallways alongside yuta.

"you know how woman can be. hard to please."

hard. to please?

it was a pleasure to please you.

"you know, sensei," he couldn't even begin to stop himself. his voice lower than intended. eyes deader than he realised as he glanced over at satoru who spared him a small look. probably surprised at the tone.

but that hardly stopped yuta, as he spoke flatly. too bluntly.

"you really should appreciate the things that are right in front of you more."

˖ ࣪꒰ SATORU GOJO ꒱ ˙˖ had always appreciated it. he would never not appreciate you, the girl from his childhood who chased him down when he stole her dango and offered her shoulder for him to bawl into whenever the world became too much.

satoru had always wanted you. in a way that was dangerous for the person he was raised to be. it was selfish.

which was exactly why he couldn't.

there were too many risks. too many possibilities. too many things standing in the way of him, you, and the life he'd always wanted to give you. something other than the sorcerer world and endless missions and never a concrete forever.

vulnerability was weakness. and even if he could get over that; he never would be able to give you everything that you deserved.

˖ ࣪꒰ SATORU GOJO ꒱ ˙˖ knows it was even more selfish to keep you around even when you deserved so much more than him. deserved to move on and find something that wasn't his scarred body or his weapon soul.

he loved the sex. loved the velvet of your skin against his. the sin of your lips on his. your body, everything about it— but he wanted more. craved it in the fantasies that he laid awake thinking about when you occupied the place that sleep should.

right now though, sex was the only way that he thought he could have you in. in the raw physicality of it all. outside of feelings, and heart, and soul. outside of the risks, the complications. when you were under him. nails scratching on his back and voice calling for him so sweetly, so sinfully, like he was just satoru rather than gojo satoru.

just his. in that temporary, aching way.

˖ ࣪꒰ SATORU GOJO ꒱ ˙˖ hated leaving you the morning after. when you were your most beautiful. covered in his scent, his marks, his love. yes. the love he denied time and time again even when it'd branded itself in his heart.

you were beautiful when you slept. curled in the sheets and hugging around a pillow he'd substituted himself for. he couldn't bear it. to have you reach out for him while he'd love and leave you all over again.

but he was afraid.

so maybe, keeping you at arms' length was the better option. selfish, yes. but chaining you to a broken and dutiful being like him felt even more selfish.

˖ ࣪꒰ SATORU GOJO ꒱ ˙˖ hated the fights, but he always got so overwhelmed. he never learnt how to regulate those emotions. not when you're raised in a clan and given everything you want— and the times that you aren't resulted in painful punishments if you asked too much.

he always said the wrong thing. always wound himself up. let all the thoughts bunch in his head and boil over until he was spitting fire at you.

he remembered everything single fight. everything single thing he'd said to you. every time you tried to pretend you weren't crying and all the times you couldn't.

he'd remember this fight, too. as you stood in the centre of his living room. your face twisted as much as his. your hands gestured while his balled. when you both clashed it was ugly. like metal scraping on metal and trying to shatter the other.

he'll remember what he told you. when it all got too much and everything zeroed it. when he told you to get the hell out of his house, and snapped a piercing blue glare over his shoulder at you.

"you're just an overgrown friend."

cutting— stabbing. aimed to carve out any fight in your heart and poison it with the lie that he thought you were a bother. that he'd outgrown you. that you were just a leach of the past.

he'll remember how you stormed out of his apartment.

he'll remember your tears on his carpet.

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ nearly dropped the files in his arms when he'd answered the call to your sniffling.

"are you— are you okay? hey, hey, shhh." he hushed over the line, brows pinching and mouth frowning. how he hated hearing you cry.

"I'll be there, okay? just wait for me, deep breaths." it took everything within him to bite back an endearment at the end and hang up.

he was there in twenty minutes. with your favourite takeout in one hand and dessert in the other. but when you answered the door, with glossy eyes and a blotched face— he nearly dropped both in favour of bundling you up into his arms.

once yuta got his arms around you, he wasn't sure he was ever letting go again. not with how you curled into him and you both sat on the couch. as you clung to his jacket and trembled. how you sobbed into his shoulder as if you'd choke up your heart.

he held you. close. protective. one large hand to the back of your head while his other arm wrapped around you. tucking you under his chin and hiding you away. shielding you from the world that dared to hurt you.

"it's okay, I'm here. I promise I'm here." he murmured to your ear. as he listened to your hiccups and chokes. as you spilled everything that happened between you and satoru.

he was so glad that you were too shaken to notice how his cursed energy crackled.

but he sucked in a breath. shut his eyes. counted to five. calmed down because he didn't need that right now. not when you needed him.

he held you until you were calm. cuddled you until your tears were dry. listened to whatever you wanted to say.

he was there for you. in every definition of the word.

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ wasn't impressed when your phone lit up on the coffee table beside the couch with satoru's name on the screen. what did he want? after making you cry your eyes out like this he shouldn't even be breathing your name, let alone trying to talk to you.

what frustrated him even more was how you shifted. like it was automatic. like it was fucking natural to just let the guy who hurt you over and over back in yet again. he felt your arm move, knew you were reaching to answer.

his grip tightened. "you don't have to answer that, you know." he spoke, soft. soft enough to mark the twinge of irritation. "you deserve to be upset too."

you sniffed. rubbed your eyes and nodded your head before you leaned back on his shoulder. clinging to him. close to him. in a way that was hardly appropriate but none of you cared to admit in the moment.

the ringing stopped. his grip loosened. yuta nuzzled his head into yours and enjoyed the silence, even if your broken heart spilled in it. he simply held you. loved you.

and then the blasted phone rang again.

and then you hesitated again.

and then you reached out. fucking. again.

"what if it's something important," you murmured. he hated how naturally you could make excuses.

"well then he'll show up," yuta tried to offer. tried to steer you away as you shifted in his arms. reaching for satoru, slipping from yuta's fingers. as you always did.

"you really shouldn't answer—"

"just let me hear him out."

it should have ended there. he should have let you. should have just shut up and listened as satoru apologised over the line and you forgave his every sin because you never realised how much more you deserved.

yuta couldn't take it. not anymore. so as your fingers slipped around the phone— his shot out.

his arm around you had snapped over. easily outdoing yours as your hand was dwarfed by his. snatching the phone and gripping tighter. steeling it from your hold.

he wouldn't let you hurt yourself. not again. not even when you snapped your stare over to him and jerked to face him. that same strict look from when you trained him striking in your stare.

defensive, weren't you? for what— satoru?

"who do you think you—"

but you hadn't realised. that as you jerked to face him you abruptly shoved closer. too close. too close for someone who was about to scold him as if you were still his teacher when you flushed up against him in a way that was anything but.

your breath hitched. he heard it. just like he heard your heart stutter. again.

for him.

yuta didn't flinch. even as your face brushed dangerously close. as your glare quivered. as your chest flushed into him.

his brows narrowed. eyes darkened. not with anger, not with frustration, but something more deadly:

love.

"why do you insist on hurting yourself over and over again? you deserve something good." he spoke, even. calm. like a man who meant every word and how to give it to you.

you hesitated.

you did that a lot with him.

why? because you felt it too? because you knew it in your heart that only ever said satoru's name?

you cleared your throat. not flinching away but not pressing closer. even as his fingers curled around your shirt and his arms steeled you into him.

even as he stared into your eyes with his half-lidded ones, as if he was trying to crawl into your very soul and hold it as his own.

even as your breaths mingled. your hearts slipping into the little space between you both.

skipping.

yearning.

"and how—" you steadied yourself. pressed your lips together. bracing that pesky resolve—

"how would you know what I deserve?"

"because I want to give it to you."

— as his shattered all together.

and his lips crashed onto yours.

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ kissed you.

he kissed you.

hand bunching the back of your hair and the other clinging to your waist. his mouth molding on yours and your breath stolen in his lungs.

like a collision of stars. hot, burning, and oh so messy.

he kissed you with everything that he had. everything that he was, everything that he wasn't, everything that he wanted to be for you.

because you deserved more than being forgotten.

deserved something good.

something new.

yuta hadn't kissed many people in his life. it showed in the way his knuckles cramped. you noticed it in the clumsiness of his kiss that doubled down as roughness. in the way he hardly let you breathe before he pulled you back in. like he was trying to gulp down your very soul.

his lips were soft. his kiss was scathing. he pulled away to hear you gasp on his mouth only to drag you back in.

you should push him away. push him away and tell him to leave. push him away. push him away.

instead, you melted.

into something ruinous, something raw, something ravenous for love from the depths of your very soul. and you— kissed him back.

like he wasn't your former student. like he wasn't ten years younger than you. like he wasn't the relative of the reason tears were dried on your cheeks.

your fingers curled around his jacket. gasping for air as he parted. trying to call his name— to grasp reality— to stop yourself.

"don't," he rasped. fingers coiling tighter. eyes whispering the abyss yet alluring you all the same.

"just let me have this. just once. just let me love you, please."

and then he kissed you again. hotter. rougher. an inexperienced mouth, and yet it sought to worship you. tongues tangling and teeth knocking. as his blunt nails dug into you and flushed you into him.

old against new. inexperience against experienced. scared against sure.

skin-to-skin. heart-to-heart.

you whimpered. broken, ashamed, raw and — wanting. god. what were you doing?

it ended softer than it began. his kiss melted off of your lips. left your heart hammering and soul shaking.

dark lashes fluttered. pupils dilated. his lips just as swollen as yours.

yuta whispered something against your mouth.

three words.

sinful. scary.

oh, so, sure.

and you shattered.

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ looked confused when you told him to leave. when you shoved at his chest and pulled away from him. curled into the corner of the couch as you ripped yourself from his embrace.

did he have the wrong impression? did he hurt you? force you?

no.

no, you kissed him back.

and that was the problem.

"you—" you choked, tucking your head away. like you couldn't bear to look at him. "you should leave. please leave."

he listened.

because he respected you too much to oppose. loved you even more to disobey you.

"okay," he spoke, soft. steady. as if you both hadn't crossed a line. well over danger and knee-deep in scandal.

as if his mouth wasn't on yours.

as if it didn't feel so right.

"okay, I'll leave," he assured. tender as he put space between you both. eyes selfishly lingering on you even as you quivered. holding yourself back from the reality that you both already knew.

he stepped away. easy. too easy. heading for the door and giving you your space. because loving you meant listening to you.

but not before he called from the door.

"just don't regret it, okay?"

not scared, or sinister, or even smug.

serene.

sensual.

"don't ever regret wanting something new."

he left. with his kiss still a ghost on your lips. and his words a phantom that would haunt your very being.

a curse. a caress.

I love you.

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/cursed-carmine & @/pixopix . art cred: @/相田 (twt) & @/udaysharmaarts (ig)