Rich Boy! Au - Tumblr Posts

imagine rich boy gojo finding out your name for him in his phone is just “satoru” or something 💀 and then from the side geto is like “mine’s got an emoji!”

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。NO HEART — GOJO SATORU. (rich boy! au)

rich boy! gojo, college au, fluff, established relationships, dramatic gojo which is consistent in every version of him no matter the au

studying with gojo satoru is the worst idea you could ever allow to happen—and yet, every time he asks, you let it happen.

“baby, aren’t you getting my texts?” gojo pouts. it earns him an unimpressed glare from you as you look up from your textbook, a glare that makes him wilt while geto snickers from the corner.

“satoru, if you don’t stop bothering me while we’re supposed to be studying, so help me—”

“but it’s funny, look,” he whines. and before you can stop him, he picks up the untouched phone beside you, tapping the screen to unlock it. except, he doesn’t make it that far.

suddenly the world stills. it stops spinning on its axis. and suddenly, gojo satoru’s face is the dictionary definition of devastation.

“satoru, what’s wrong,” you furrow your brows.

“satoru. satoru? satoru?” he repeats, each time in more disbelief than the last.

“that’s….your name, yes?” you raise a brow. and then realization strikes your features—or so he thinks. he’s soon to find out he’s mistaken. “oh, sorry,” you snort, “toru, is that better? toru, get to studying—”

“my name in your phone is just satoru?” he asks, cutting you off like you’ve genuinely wounded him—the betrayal on his face and the shock in his voice are all too real.

you blink for a moment before you realize the source of his tantrum seems to be the contact name you have for him in your phone. only gojo satoru would find a way to make a big deal out of his own name, you think.

“well, yeah,” you shrug, “it’s your name. plus i had it set when i first got your number from that project. i hated you back then.”

“you called me gojo back then,” he squints accusingly.

“yeah that’s because it was gojo satoru at first,” you nod. from the side, you hear geto snicker again about the full government name to himself—which earns him a pillow thrown at his direction by gojo. “i deleted the gojo part when we started dating,” you add.

“oh so you can delete my surname once we started dating but you couldn’t even add a heart?” he asks, jaw dropped and eyebrows furrowed in that dramatic way he does. it’s a bit cute, the way he’s worked up over something so small—but it’s also entirely theatric, making you roll your eyes.

“would a heart make you feel better, satoru?” you purse your lips.

“no! not if you don’t add it because you want to,” he huffs, “you might as well just say you don’t love me!”

“satoru,” you sigh in exasperation. maybe if you didn’t have physics 1302 problems to work through—a whole six of them due before midnight, in fact—you would humor him in his elaborately dramatized attempt at getting your attention. but you have classes to pass and gpa’s to maintain, so you purse your lips instead. “it’s just a contact name. what’s mine?”

“it’s baby <3. with a heart. see?” sure enough, when his phone is turned to face you, it’s baby <3. with a heart.

“i have an emoji in my contact,” geto adds from the side, ever the instigator, “maybe it’s because i’m cuter—”

“you gave suguru’s an emoji?” he asks in distress, staring at you like you’ve told him you’ve cheated. you think you might hurt his feelings less if you did, with the way his lips are curled in a genuine frown.

“suguru set his own contact,” you defend, shooting the nuisance in the corner a sharp glare. geto only offers you a sly wink in return. “i didn’t realize you cared that much about contact names,” you shrug, “i can change it—”

“no need,” gojo huffs, holding up a hand to silence you as he turns away and sticks his nose in the air in defiance. “i’ll just change yours to your full government name. see how you like it.”

“satoru—”

“and you’re not getting a heart either,” he glares, deleting the <3 slowly just for show, making eye contact with you so you know the severity of your actions.

you roll your eyes, snatching your phone back as you shake your head. “if i make your contact baby <3 with a heart because you’re my baby, will that cheer you up,” you sigh.

he ponders it for a moment, as if debating the offer. and then his arms cross in defiance once more. “no. make it baby boy 💋 with a kiss emoji.”

“gross,” geto twists his face in disgust.

gojo turns to him, face blank and serious as he shoots, “single people should not speak when it’s not their turn,” before turning back to you. “i’ll consider forgiving you if you make it baby boy 💋 with a kiss.”

“okay,” you sigh, “baby boy it is.”

“with a kiss!” he glares.

“with a kiss,” you assure, rolling your eyes.

“can i also get a kiss?” he asks hopefully, eyes wide and bright and earnest enough to warm your heart.

you smile, chuckling at the way he looks so cute, at the way he melts your heart and makes you forget you have physics homework for a moment—but only for a moment because then you mumble, “no. now do your homework.”

PLS THIS PROMPT KILLED ME

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。i know you still think about the times we had

synopsis. satoru will always comes when you call him, he just never thought you’d stop calling

— word count. 5.2k (where did i go wrong)

— contents. college au, rich boy! gojo, break ups and make ups <3, it’s the cliche trope where the rich guy’s parent forces you to leave him aka gojo’s father is the villain, angst with a happy ending—i don’t want my cause of death to be angry rb! gojo stans, emo gojo ft. marvin’s room (iykyk), cliche rain scene—this fic is so cliche i’m sorry, reader is gn! but gojo is mentioned to like pics of girls on instagram (he was being petty)

— notes. well, it finally happened. the long awaited break up. this one’s for you niku 🤞🏽 AND DABITEE ANON

you open the door when satoru knocks—just barely, though. it’s just enough to hand him the bag with the remaining things he’s left at your apartment. it feels familiar, being here, but it feels so different too. it’s always been happy knocking on your door—he never thought he’d dread letting his knuckles meet the cool wood. it’s like taking the last bite of something sweet when you’re too full. when the sugar is too decadent on your tongue and your head spins and your stomach twists and it’s too much even though it used to be so good.

it’s too much being here. it’s too much trying to meet your gaze and get nothing in return. it’s too much being handed back that sweater he basically let you keep. and yet, it’s good to see you. he wants nothing more than to be here with you, wherever you are, even if you don’t want him to stay.

“that should be everything,” you murmur, still looking down. “let me know if there’s anything missing.”

satoru would never tell you if there’s something missing. he’d never come back and demand back something he gave you, he doesn’t think he could ever take back something he gave you—being handed back his heart after pressing it to your palms is hard enough. but then again, maybe he should look for small things you probably missed. just so he can come back. just so he can see you—how else will he see you now?

“no, it’s alright,” he says quietly. he doesn’t miss the way you quickly let go as soon as his hands grab the bag, almost like you’re being careful enough not to let your fingers meet each other. “you can uh…you can just keep them. or…throw them out if you don’t want them,” he mumbles.

you nod, standing there silently. it’s quiet, and then it’s quiet some more. and finally, you look up at him for the first time since he got here, staring at him a little expectantly. oh, right. now would be the part where he leaves.

“can i…can i just know why?” he croaks. fuck. he’s not supposed to cry. you ripped his heart out and threw it at his feet, you didn’t even care to hand it to him even after you tore every artery apart. but he sniffles anyway, lips wobbling as he stares at you. “why are you leaving me?”

your fingers twitch, like you itch to reach over and wipe that tear that rolls down his cheek. in the end, you cross your arms instead. “i already told you, satoru—”

“that’s bullshit,” he clicks his teeth, shaking his head as he stares at you frustratedly, “you gave me some bullshit reason.”

satoru has worked so hard to be here—to be with you. hadn’t he done enough? hadn’t he told you about himself, things he didn’t want to? hadn’t he tried to become something, someone more than just a guy swimming in trust funds? hadn’t he worked for your attention, waited outside classes and walked opposite directions in the hall with you just to seem dedicated? fuck, he even burned his hand trying to learn how to make pancakes to impress you, let the maids laugh at him as he twisted the stove the wrong way to try and turn it on. 

why wasn’t it enough? what more could he give you than everything? how can the guy who has everything not have enough to give? he doesn’t understand.

“satoru, we weren’t gonna work,” you pinch your nose—it’s like you’re the one who doesn’t understand why he’s being like this. “the sooner you accept that the more hurt you’re saving the both of us—”

“we were working just fine,” he says exasperatedly. it’s like you insist he’s crazy when he’s nothing but sane. like he’s trying to tell you the sky is blue, and you’re refusing to believe it’s anything other than green. it’s clear. it’s practically a fact. you were doing just fine—why don’t you see that? “we were happy,” he takes a step forward and cups your cheeks, pressing his forehead to yours, “was it someone? did they tell you something? just tell me who, baby—i’ll fix it. i’ll put them in their place, okay? no one can bother you if i get them to leave you alone—”

“then you leave me alone,” you whisper. he stills. you pull away from his hands. “sator—gojo. please just leave me alone. it’s better that way.”

you close the door, and he stands there. numb. maybe a little shocked. entirely ruined.

gojo. he laughs quietly after a moment at that—it’s a laugh meant for men who’ve lost the last thread to sanity. gojo. it’s like a slap in the face, being called the name he worked so hard to get you to drop. it took him weeks—months, even, to convince you to call him satoru. then he upgraded to toru. then it was baby. sometimes you teased him and called him pumpkin—he called you peaches in return. when you introduced him, you called him your boyfriend. 

not anymore. now he’s back to gojo—that god-forsaken name with everything but what he really wants attached to it. his grandfather’s legacy. his future. business deals. fancy invites. more money than he knows what to do with. the name gojo comes with everything but you.

but he had you for a bit, didn’t he? when he was just satoru—but now he’s gojo again, and you’re gone. the only sign of you left is in the faint traces of your perfume in the sweaters you’ve returned. 

and satoru still isn’t sure what brought the break up on. he thinks it’s the part that stings the most—when everything seems perfect one second, and then it’s not. had he not tried enough? maybe he was too much. maybe he didn’t understand you the way you needed him to. maybe he was too overbearing. maybe he asked for too much too fast. 

he’s not sure. he tried asking when you broke it off—you only shook your head and said it wasn’t going to work out between the two of you, that it was a mistake to try at all. mistake? how could you call this a mistake? things were so perfect, weren’t they?

satoru doesn’t think there was even one second he wasn’t smiling when he was with you, and he used to think the same was true for you too. had you been faking it this long? or was it real at one point—had he really failed you so badly, seen past you so blindly that he didn’t notice when your smiles stopped reaching your eyes?

it’s too late, he figures. you and satoru are broken up. 

you ask him to come over one morning, and he does—because he always comes when you call. he brings your coffee order from that cafe you like, the one you don’t go to often because the coffee is more overpriced than any other coffee shop you’ve ever seen. he’s grinning when you open the door, leans in to kiss your lips excitedly. you turn your head then, and his lips meet your cheeks instead—he supposes he should’ve known it at that moment. he should’ve seen that your lips weren’t smiling. your eyes were tired, a little red. you were hugging yourself in that way you do when you’re nervous. you didn’t let him kiss your lips, you made him kiss your cheek. 

and then you sat him down on that worn-down couch of yours, took off that bracelet his mother gave him to gift you on your anniversary, and pressed it to his palm as you said we should break up. break up. you wanted to leave him—and satoru didn’t understand, still doesn’t understand. 

he’s tried for so long, replayed the last month of your relationship in his head over and over and fucking over. you always smiled. you kissed him first. you held his hand, and even squeezed. you asked to see him. you laughed when he was around. you said i love you. you were happy. but then you weren’t—when did you stop being happy? and how could you have stopped feeling it with him?

—————

breaking up with satoru is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. how long can people live without the sun? you think not longer than a few minutes—that’s what it feels like without satoru’s warmth, anyway. 

gojo satoru has always smiled as long as he’s been with you. he smiled smugly on your first meet, smiled bitterly after every rejection, smiled in pure glee when you finally said yes, and smiled like his fingertips could touch the sky every time he saw you after that. 

satoru has never looked sad for long in your presence—you have that effect on him, you make his lips curl and his eyes brighten in that way that they deserve to shine. but for the first time ever, his eyes dim with you around, his lips curl into a frown at your words, and he cries for you. his eyes glisten with tears instead of wonder, and you think for a moment that you might be making a mistake. 

but then you remember that this is for the best—that if you really love gojo satoru, you’ll let him go instead of clipping his wings.

“he’s picked up his things,” you speak quietly into the phone. you don’t sniffle even as you desperately need to—it’s the last bit of control you have left, and you intend to keep it. “i won’t be seeing him again.”

“good,” his father speaks, “that’s good to hear.” 

satoru’s father is a cold man, you learn that on the first meet. he doesn’t look at his wife with a soft look that tells you there’s any love built between the decades of marriage, and he doesn’t look at his only son with any affection for the boy he raised. instead, he stares at satoru like any businessman would an opportunity—with a calculating gaze that tries to work out the best course of action for the most profit. 

satoru is young, but he’s charming and conniving and knows how to get what he wants when he wants—he’s quick on his feet and rarely lets himself get cornered into a wall. in the last three generations of the family business, no heir has shown as much promise as gojo satoru. that’s what his father tells you, anyway. you believe him—satoru is smart and knows how to play his cards right, you won’t deny that. his future is set to be comfortable, and he’s never known anything outside of that, never built any other plans for himself. 

you can’t rip that away from him—not for your own sake, not for your own happiness. 

“you promised you wouldn’t freeze his trust funds once i ended things,” you remind him, “and that he’d keep his inheritance.” somehow, because the world grants you this one favor, your voice doesn’t shake—it’s steady and firm as it reminds the stone-cold man at the end of the line of your agreement—and he offers a slow chuckle that makes your jaw clench. 

“yes, i do recall,” he hums, “i’m glad we could come to agree. you understand, don’t you? it is my job as his father to do what’s best for him.”

you know what he’s saying—what that means. you’re not what’s best for him. maybe he’s right—maybe satoru needs someone who’s equally as promising to build a successful company into even more success. maybe he needs someone who can take him out for a change to those fancy places he takes you every few weeks. maybe he needs someone who’s heard of half the brands he wears and doesn’t scold him to turn the lights off so the electricity bill isn’t high. maybe he needs someone who can keep up with everything that gojo satoru is—and that someone is not you, no matter how deeply you love him. 

“—the offer still stands, should you change your mind. i’m willing to compensate you for the trouble this must all be.” 

your lips curl into a scowl at his words. that’s the thing about rich people, you think—money is always enough to sugarcoat everything. why worry about the dead grass in your lawn when you can paint it green? but you don’t leave satoru for extra cash on your hands—nothing can be worth auctioning off the only man who’s ever made you feel anything. you leave satoru because he deserves to continue living comfortably, to make a name for himself that isn’t just a ghost of his father’s. if that means being cut from the corner of the picture, you’re willing to pick up the scissors yourself. 

“no thanks,” you hiss, “i don’t need the money.”

“i would disagree,” his father sneers, “but suit yourself.”

the line ends, and for good this time, satoru is no longer yours. was he ever to begin with? 

—————

you try to forget your ex-boyfriend—keyword, try. every hour of your life consists of you using your burner account to refresh his instagram page to see if he’s posted anything new. you unfollow satoru from every social media platform the same day he picks up his belongings—you know he’s noticed within the first thirty minutes because all of his pictures with you are gone, just like all your pictures with him. 

in what you assume is an attempt to be petty, he likes every picture of every girl he sees, and he even blocks you on twitter—you know he picks twitter because twitter is the only social media that blatantly states you’re blocked. but then you’re unblocked in two days, and you know he must be missing you now that the initial anger is faded. 

it makes you laugh a little, even through your tears. satoru is not satoru without petty fits of emotion, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad, not when it’s your fault he’s hurting like this. he’s extra sad today, you gather—if the way marvin’s room is posted to his instagram story on a blank screen is of any hint. it makes you scoff in amusement that in true gojo satoru fashion, he’s effectively told all eight-thousand-something of his followers he’s pathetically in his feelings. 

you scroll through suguru’s story, too—he didn’t unfollow you even after satoru temporarily blocked you, but you figure suguru is the only person satoru really has. you shouldn’t keep yourself close to him, not when it could hurt satoru more, so you remove him too. 

suguru is, as always, drinking at some fancy party with obnoxiously rich college students who have not a care in the world for midterms around the corner. who needs to pass when you’re swimming in money whether or not you have a degree? the first thing you learn about the rich is that most of them are only at college for the experience—they don’t see college as the stepping stone to better opportunities, there’s nothing education could offer that trust funds already don’t. but satoru attends college for himself—he enjoys business classes, you learn, and especially finance ones. for someone who spends money so carelessly, he understands it particularly well. 

there’s no sign of satoru at whatever party it is suguru is at, there’s no trace of strikingly bright white strands anywhere in any corners—you do see naoya in a corner, though, and you crinkle your nose in distaste. if satoru were here, he’d say something bitterly under his breath about the asshole, and you would giggle. but satoru is not here, and even naoya the women-hating jackass makes you miss your obnoxiously whiny ex-boyfriend. 

everything reminds you of satoru. that bear he won you at the fair (after maybe six tries) by your pillows, those polaroids at your desk that you can’t bring yourself to take down, that sticky note on your fridge he left promising to replace the creamer he finished (he’s replaced it more times than he’s needed to by now), that extra big blanket you keep on the couch because the old one barely covered his legs, that pair of silly matching mugs you both had for coffee in the mornings. 

every corner of your apartment has something that reminds you that satoru was here, that he was yours, that for a short while, he was the best thing you ever had. it’s your fault, you think—that satoru and you are here in this mess in the first place. he’s always looked at life through a hopeful lens. having everything does that to you, makes you ignorant to the misfortunes of the world, makes you think everything is within the realm of your reach. you, on the other hand, knew this was bound to happen. the two of you together is like hot oil and cool water—what feels like sparks is just the oil shooting out to burn you. you should’ve known this would have never lasted. 

in a way, you think you did. it’s why you hated him so fiercely at first—maybe deep down, you always knew you wanted him, that he would never be yours. maybe that’s why you were so adamant about rejecting him, that even when he was clearly trying, it would never be enough. satoru has always been enough, has always been what everyone has wanted—you’re not so sure you can say the same for yourself. 

you love gojo satoru. he loves you too—he falls first, and you think maybe, he might have fallen harder too. no one loves like satoru. they say if you press coal hard enough, it turns to diamonds—you think if you gave satoru coal, he would hand you back the sun and all of her stars. it’s just the kind of guy he is, the one that turns everything dull into something bright and warm and worth it. you wish you didn’t have to break his heart, you wish you could’ve walked out of this the only one hurt. but maybe, at the very least, if you break him good enough that he hates you, he’ll move on quicker, maybe have something to look forward to while you continue to work your way up and cheer him on. 

before you can refresh suguru’s page one more time to stalk his story, you’re pulled from your thoughts as someone knocks on your door—correction: pounds on your door. you jolt on your couch, standing up and making your way to the front door quickly and looking through the peephole. 

satoru. of course.

he’s soaked to the bone—it’s raining outside, and of course, just as on brand as always, he must’ve rushed here without an umbrella.

you shouldn’t open it.

but you can’t just leave him in the rain, can you? but he’s not your problem anymore, you agreed to leave him, didn’t you? but how could he not be your problem when he’s all you think about? but this could cause him trouble if his father found out he was here, right? but can you really leave someone, ex-boyfriend or not, in the pouring rain? you can’t be that cruel can you?

before you can make up your mind, he speaks up, “i know you’re standing there. open the door,” he demands. 

“satoru, go home,” you sigh, head pressing against the surface that separates you, “don’t make this anymore difficult than it has to be.”

“if it’s difficult, that means you don’t really want to do this,” he argues. he’s still as good as ever at sweet talk, still as persistent and charming as ever at getting what he wants. “please,” he croaks, “just let me in.”

you know it means more than one thing. you know it means more than just your home. but you shouldn’t, you can’t let him know why you did all this—how can you protect someone from something if they don’t let you? satoru would never let you if he knew, and that’s why you can’t let him know. 

“satoru, if you don’t leave…i’ll…i’ll call the cops,” you warn. 

“no you won’t,” he says instantly. “i’m not leaving until you open the door. and if i get sick, i’ll send you my bill for the emergency room visit.”

“you’re not going to the emergency room for a common cold, you idiot,” you scoff. 

the rain doesn’t slow—in fact, you can hear thunder. satoru is still stubbornly outside, knocking away. 

“i’ll start screaming,” he insists, “your neighbors will complain for noise again. do you want to be kicked out of this apartment? just let your cold, wet, heartbroken ex-boyfriend in if you have a heart.”

and because you are, and always will be, weak to the charms of gojo satoru, you open that damned door—even though you shouldn’t, even though you can’t, even though you said you would never again. but you do. because it’s satoru, and he always comes when you call, and you’ll always let him in when he’s here. 

“you don’t come to your ex’s house less than one week after the break up,” you sigh once you open the door. he takes a step in, shutting the door behind him. 

“why did you leave me?” he asks. 

“satoru, you can’t keep bringing this up—”

“why? just tell me why.”

“i don’t have to—”

“tell me why and i’ll stop bothering you. i just need to know why,” he insists. 

and then you break.

you’re only human. you’ve lost the man you’ve given everything to for over a year in the span of one week. you’ll never see his lovely mother again who spoiled you rotten, you’ll never hang out out with his funny best friend who treats you like family, and you’ll never be enough for gojo satoru, the rich, loud, sheltered, obnoxious, handsome jackass you met and had to do a project with and accidentally fucked over and over again until you fell in love. 

so you shove his chest, once, then twice, then a third time, each time getting weaker and weaker than the last as tears slip down your cheeks as you simply break down. “just leave, satoru,” you sob, “why can’t you just leave? why do you keep coming back?”

you hate seeing him here. you want him gone. you never want to see him again. you hope he never leaves. you’re glad to see him. you hope this isn’t the last time. you hate that he seems to not be getting enough sleep. his eyes are hollow. he must not be eating properly. he probably hasn’t attended class. he has a quiz next week. he most likely forgot about that. his clothes are wrinkly. he definitely hasn’t showered in days. 

“last month you said i was it for you,” he glares at you, his eyes red and swollen and every shade of heartbreak. you miss when they were blue—that beautiful, bright, perfect shade of blue. “last week you said we were a mistake. what the fuck do you mean, huh? what are you playing at?”

“you can realize a lot in a month—”

“not enough to erase over a year,” his voice booms. it makes you flinch and hug yourself tightly. tears slide down your cheeks, your vision is blurry. this might be the last time you see satoru, and even if he’s angry, you want to remember the curves of his features. so you wipe them away. they keep coming back. “so tell me,” he clenches his jaw, “did you string me along for a year or did something happen last week that you’re not telling me?”

“i realized you were bad for me,” you say quietly. 

satoru stares at you. it’s a piercing gaze—his eyes are electrically blue and his lashes are unfairly long and every time he stares at you, you think he almost sees into your soul. they’re tired—there are purplish bags under them on that pale skin of his, and the whites of his eyes are concerningly bloodshot. he stares, and stares, and for a second, you think you’ll die like this. watching him stare at you as your heart bleeds out. 

“i spent weeks,” his voice shakes, “i waited outside your class. i followed you to the next one. i memorized your fucking schedule.”

“satoru, you need to leave—”

“and then you fucked me and left every morning like i was nothing,” he glares, sniffling. you don’t know where the rain drops on his face start and where the teardrops end. “and then i begged you for a chance—begged. i burned my hand, got laughed at by the maids to learn how to make those stupid fucking pancakes for you.”

“i didn’t ask you to—”

“it took you two months to call me baby for the first time. did you know that? i waited two months to hear that. i thought it was the best two months i ever waited.”

“satoru,” you plead. 

you’ve given up on trying to wipe away the tears—he’s given up on crying altogether. you’ve never seen him so hollow, so dead in the eyes and so, so tired.

satoru has never gotten tired—not when he’s fighting for you.

“and then you kept pushing me away, acting like i was some shallow guy who wanted to get in your pants and leave cause i had some money to my name. i took you everywhere, introduced you proudly, let everyone say what they wanted to say about me because i loved you, and…and i thought you loved me too,” he shakes his head. 

his voice breaks, and god, so does your heart right along with it.

“i do love you,” you admit it before you realize what you’re saying. 

“then why did you fucking leave me?” his voice is loud.

satoru never yells, not at you. his voice is always gentle, patient, like he worships the ground you walk on, like he’ll get on his knees if you ask him too. satoru never yells—but he does tonight. 

“because i had to,” you sob, fingers digging into your temples as you shake. the words spill from your lips faster than the tears, like a swarm of angry bees, one following after the other. “or you’d lose everything. the trust funds, the inheritance, the company. i couldn’t let that happen to you—not for me,” you whisper. 

it feels like defeat—in the end, you couldn’t keep satoru, and you couldn’t leave him either. you couldn’t love him like you wanted, and you couldn’t let him go like you should have. what else is there left to fuck up? what more can you ruin in less than a week? the bees feel like maggots in your mouth, swarming a dead carcass.  

“so you left me because my old man threatened you with my trust funds?” he asks in disbelief. you think something in satoru dies at that—something in his shoulders falls and his eyes almost seem gray. 

satoru gets his blue eyes from his mother—they’re bright and kind and deeper than the ocean. but unlike the ocean, they’re not scary to fall into, to lose yourself in no matter how far you are from shore. his father’s eyes are gray—cold and blank and not laced with a single hint of emotion. 

you can’t help but think that blue suits satoru so much better than gray ever could. 

“it wasn’t just that,” you shake your head, “that’s not fair, satoru. what was i supposed to do? know you were about to lose everything and stay?”

“you could have talked to me before you decided for me,” he hisses, “what do you want me to say? thank you? thank you for breaking my heart? thank you for making me feel like a worthless piece of shit who wasted a year for someone who didn’t seem to care? thank you for walking out on me?”

“you know i’d have stayed if i could,” you argue, voice breaking.

“then why didn’t you? why the fuck didn’t you?”

“because i couldn’t!”

“you could!” he screams—you realize, for the first time in your life, you hate when satoru screams. he never screams. “all my life, that old man has been making decisions for me. satoru, wear this. satoru, go here. satoru, don’t do that. satoru, put that away. satoru, stay away from them. satoru, come with me. that’s all he’s ever fucking done—make every choice for me. and now…now you’re just like him,” he breathes, lips wobbling as he stares at you with hurt. 

it’s like that for a bit—you stare at him as he crumbles, and he stares at you like he doesn't know you anymore. you don’t know who leans in first, if it’s your hand or his face, but one second you’re feet apart, and the next second his face is cradled in your hands, thumbs swiping away at his tears. you catch them, one by one, waiting to wipe them away no matter how fast they come. because satoru always comes when you call, and you’ll always be there for him to find you. 

“i don’t want to leave,” you mumble, “i never do. you are it for me, i meant that, you know. who else will melt extra chocolate in my hot chocolate?”

“then don’t leave,” he begs, voice cracking, “i don’t want you to. i’ll handle that old geezer—my grandfather will knock some sense into him. fuck, suguru and i can even hide his body, it’s fine. just don’t leave, okay?”

you let out a watery chuckle, pinching his cheek as you shake your head. “i don’t know if i’m worth homicide, satoru.”

“i think you’re wrong,” he huffs, “you’re wrong about a lot of things, you know. so wrong.”

“i never said i was perfect,” you pout.

he buries his head into your neck, clinging to you tightly—you cling back, because nothing is as safe as satoru’s arms. you’d melt into his skin if you could, live in that spot right where his heart is so you can make sure it’s always beating. 

“you’re still perfect,” he mumbles, “but you’re always mean to me. this was the worst you’ve ever been.”

“i’m sorry,” you murmur, slipping your fingers into his hair—it’s still wet, you realize. he’s soaked, and he could catch a cold but you don’t care. satoru is back. he’s here in your run-down apartment with the mugs and the blanket and that toothbrush you forgot to return and that pair of socks you found in your drawer. satoru is finally home. “i’ll never leave you again.”

“promise?”

“yeah. as long as you don’t block me on twitter again.”

“you deserved that.”

“and for the love of god, toru, delete that marvin’s room story. that was so dumb.”

“are you stalking me?” he pulls away with a grin, making you glare with a huff. he chuckles, kisses your forehead as he murmurs, “missed me that bad, huh? yeah, i would too.”

“well, obviously not enough to post marvin’s room on my story.”

“you can’t be mean to me after you broke my heart!” he whines.

yeah, you think, satoru is home. he’s still that loud, obnoxious, pestering brat that he always was—and he’s still the only love you’ve ever known. 

“i love you,” you press your forehead to his, kissing him slowly. you want to kiss him harder, you want to kiss him desperately like you’ll never kiss him again. like you lost him and miraculously got him back. like you’ll never see the sun again without him. 

but there’s time for that—lots of it, in fact. because satoru is home.

“i love you too,” he whispers, “wanna shower with me? if you really love me, you would.”

read the makeup sex sequel ;) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

if this fic was a person i would want it dead.

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。yours, always yours

synopsis. satoru has always been yours—and he needs you to know you’ll also always be his

— word count. 2.4k (read the breakup fic first for better understanding, but can be read as a stand-alone)

— contents. fem! reader, college! au, rich boy! gojo, post-getting back together angst that gets a little heated <3, minors do not interact, fingering, unprotected sex, edging, satoru cumming too quick <3, creampie, tbh the smut is short and a lil rushed my b, it ends in fluff tho !! trust !! there is fluff !!

— notes. tbh this will probably get flagged rly fast but oh well u win some u lose some. anywayyyyy here is the make up sex bc yall nasties deserve it <3 jk love u guys

satoru falls first. and he falls hard. everyone knows it, it’s never been a secret.

“you want me to wash your hair?” you ask gently, kissing his shoulder as the water falls over his head. he hums, nodding absentmindedly as he stares blankly at the tiles of your shower wall.

“sure,” he mumbles, “don’t tug.”

“i never tug,” you roll your eyes, snorting. he huffs a small chuckle, but it’s not the usual laugh satoru gives you. it’s mechanic, almost—just there to fill the space. “baby?” you ask softly.

“yeah?” he asks, “oh, should i bend a little? sorry, i—”

“what’re you thinking about?” your hands cup his cheeks, gentle and warm from the hot water as it soaks his skin.

he shakes his head, trying to smile as he clears throat. “just how nice it is to be pampered. maybe i’ll let you break my heart every once in a while so i get my back scrubbed and hair washed like this.”

“satoru,” you insist. you know—and he knows it too. “tell me?”

“why’d you do it?” he mumbles, “why’d you listen to him?”

“toru, you know why,” you sigh, “you know i didn’t think there were any other options.”

“you could’ve talked to me,” he furrows his brows, “just because my stupid old man threatens you with my stupid inheritance doesn’t mean we have to break up.”

“i was afraid you’d choose me.” it comes out as a whisper, like a confession you can’t bear to admit.

“i would have chosen you,” he agrees, “why’s that bad? how’s that wrong—”

“you’re not thinking about the bigger picture,” you shake your head, “that company is yours. you’ve spent your whole life—”

“so what? was i supposed to give up the rest of my life for it too?” he asks tiredly—satoru’s defeated. he’s never been defeated, it’s the most magnetizing thing about him.

even before you date him. he asks and asks and asks no matter how many times you say no. because there’s always a chance you’ll say yes, and he’ll never stop as long as there’s a chance.

“i’m sorry,” you sniffle, lips wobbling, “i could have….i should have said something. i didn’t want you to make a choice young and then….and then regret it.”

“you think i’d regret you?” he’s wounded—absolutely wounded at the words.

satoru has always been careful, diligent and so, so meticulous to love you right, to love you how you need to be loved. hadn’t that proven enough? that he was in it for the long run—for forever? he’d been so sure you’d be his future, that the break up feels like waking up from a peaceful dream to a house fire—devastating, with smoke in his nose and lungs that he can’t breathe right, and everything gone within a moment before he can even register it.

he stares at the ashes in despair. nothing prepared him for the hollowness of not being yours—because satoru has never cared to make you his. all he’s ever wanted was to be yours.

you’re quick to remove him from everything, deleting pictures from your socials, untagging him from posts, removing him from your private stories and close friends list. he doesn’t understand how you could change your mind so quickly—and then he realizes you probably don’t. because he knows you—better than anyone ever has, satoru knows you.

so he’s comes to you, drenched from the rain, from standing outside your door even as the water pelts against his skin because he’s determined. he’s going to get an answer out of you, going to make you explain why you pulled him in so close, let him reside in your heart and fall asleep to the comforting rhythm of its beating—and then push him out like he’s nothing. what made you push him out?

and finally, when he does, when you let him be yours again and admit it’s never what you wanted, that it’s because it’s what his father wanted—well, satoru can’t keep his composure. don’t you know? hadn’t he always told you? hadn’t he poured his heart out and let you know every moment he’s always been stuck dangling from his father’s fingers? stuck somewhere between the sky and ground, too high to feel the floor under his feet but never high enough to feel the wind in his face.

you’ve always known, always listened—and fuck, you held him some nights too, let your fingers dip into his hair and soothe his sorrows of always being stuck.

satoru’s always been stuck, always had every choice made for him and every instruction carefully laid out on the table. and then you decided to make his choice for him too, walking away and choosing his future for him like he’s never had a say.

he’s always been stuck, but never with you—but now, he wonders if that’s changed.

“no,” you squeeze his cheeks, “no i don’t think you’d regret me….but satoru losing what you have is a big thing,” you mumble, “people work their whole lives not having a fraction of what you do. that’s a lot to let you lose.”

“i’ve never seen my dad kiss my mom,” he stares at you, hard and unwavering, his eyes stare into yours, “he’s never held her hand or made her laugh. and you know what she told me? that she would sell her share of everything to have what we do. why do you always look at me for what i have first?” he asks angrily, the water pouring over his shoulders as they shake, “why can’t you just look at me first for once?”

“i do look at you,” you insist, “toru, all i ever see is you—”

“then stop caring what he says,” he says louder, his voice echoing through the small bathroom of your small apartment.

everything about your home is small—smaller than satoru’s especially. but he loves it, thinks he’d rather be here than anywhere else.

because it’s yours. and as long as you’re here, the world fits into this tiny apartment, the galaxy too.

“okay,” you say shakily. and then you nod, looking him in the eye, “you’ll handle it?”

he nods, kissing between your brows, “yeah, i’ll handle it. who else is gonna take over that company anyway?”

“but what if he finds someone else? and then he—”

“he won’t. my grandpa will shred him.”

“but he’s old, and he stepped down, so what really can he do if your dad decides—”

“god, baby,” he groans, pushing your body against the wall gently, “i love your voice, but you talk so much. i’m wanna listen to something else.”

his lips find your neck, sucking gently at the skin, hand trailing to your tits before his thumb circles your nipple. it’s slow, deliberate, teasing as it rolls over the bud.

you whimper, clutching onto him as a breathy, “t-toru,” leaves your lips.

“yeah,” he nods, “that’s what i wanna listen to instead.” his lips are in a grin against your neck, kissing and biting until he reaches your collarbone. “anyone dm you after you took me out of your socials?” he asks bitterly.

“j-just one,” you admit through a stutter, “b-but i didn’t even open it! i wasn’t really—oh, toru,” you gasp as his finger finds your clit, spreading your legs as he lets out a soft growl at your words.

“what? just cause my face isn’t on your instagram suddenly you’re not mine?” he asks, thumb rubbing harsh circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves—you close your eyes, moaning as your arms wrap tightly around his neck. “you’re always mine,” he murmurs against your ear, low and careful so you hear him well, “yeah? got that?”

“got it,” you nod furiously.

“got what?”

“‘m al-always—oh, fuck,” you mewl as one finger prods at your entrance, gathering your slick before slowly sliding through your walls.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he says firmly, “finish your sentences.”

“always yours, toru! always yours—please, please j-just…”

“just what?” he raises a brow.

“more,” you sob—it’s a broken plea as your hips thrust against his finger.

he’s quick to slide in a second, thrusting his digits mercilessly into your soaked cunt, his palm gliding over your clit as the slick sound of his fingers fucking you is almost drowned by the water in the back.

your water bill will be high this month. you decide it’s a sacrifice satoru deserves.

“you think someone could ever learn this body better than me? make you cum like i can? you think anyone will ever love you enough to learn you like i do?”

“n-no,” you pant, his fingers hitting that spot inside of you so perfectly, you feel that dull ache build up quickly. it’s good—everything with satoru is good. his other hand finds your chest to pinch a nipple, twisting and squeezing until your nails leave indents on his shoulders as you moan loudly. “no one—no one but you.”

“exactly,” he growls, “how could you leave me? how could you leave us?”

“‘m sorry,” you sniffle, whimpering when the tips of his fingers slam against that spongey spot of your walls, fluttering around him and squeezing him in. you’re close—so close that you almost don’t know what he’s saying anymore, too focused on the way your impending orgasm is approaching. fast. “i’m sorry, i’ll never—ever leave again.”

“say you love me,” he demands.

it sounds like he’s pleading, though, if you listen closely. there’s a small crack in his voice, a slight shakiness that makes you force your eyes open and stare at him and whisper, “i love you, satoru. i love you.”

and then he rips his fingers out—right before you’re about to cum. you gasp, pleading nonsense as you cling to him and buck your hips and search for something, anything to take you over the edge.

and then you hear a sniffle. is he crying? is that wet droplet on your shoulder a tear or the water? you’re too busy calming down from your orgasm dying before it ever came to focus.

satoru’s hard against your thigh, throbbing and painful to sink into you. he strokes himself a few times, whimpers as his thumb gathers the pre cum from the sensitive tip, smearing it along his length as he shakily lets out a quiet moan.

“f-fuck, i gotta feel you. please, can i? please—”

“yes,” you pull him closer, grinding your heat over his hard-on, “yes please, toru. more, need more.”

he’s sliding along your folds, dragging the tip of his cock along your entrance and smearing a mix of your arousal with his. and then slowly, ever so gently, he’s pushing into your after that, pushing past your walls and bullying into your soaked cunt, curving into you perfectly.

it’s only been a week—you feel like you haven’t felt him in years. but it’s familiar. you remember every part of him, including every vein that drags along your walls and makes your head spin. he remembers every part of you, including where that spot is that he needs to angle his hips to find.

he slams into you, hard and rough and fast—doesn’t even let you adjust your position to hold onto him tighter before he’s thrusting his hips and fucking into you desperately. you can feel him, every inch of his skin against you, every part of him that’s touching you. and you can feel the way his cock nudges past your folds, the friction burning pleasure through ever nerve.

satoru knows how to fuck you, just like he knows how to love you, he knows your body—every dip and ever curve, every place to touch and every part that has you gushing around him. it’s just the way he is, too good at giving you what you want, what you need.

when he moans, it’s breathy and he’s panting as he lets out those soft whimpers that make your head spin. “feel that? feel me?” he asks, grunting as you squeeze around his length.

“yeah,” you breathe, “‘m so full.”

“i need you. please, please,” he murmurs, “can’t lose you, baby. never you,” he chants, the quiver in his voice tearing you apart.

“i’m right here,” you gasp, lacing your fingers with his and squeezing his hand. he squeezes back, just to let you know he’s there too, “right here, baby. you got me.”

and then he cums, just as soon as you whisper that—he spills right into you with a broken cry, his hips rolling, needy and desperate and so, so lost on the pleasure. he’s too busy working himself through his high, trembling over your body to care he’s cum too quick—and you don’t have it in you to tease him. you can feel the hot ropes of cum filling you, painting your walls white, fucking deep into you as the blunt head of his cock slams into you without a second of hesitation.

but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter that brutal pace as his hips slam into you, perfectly kissing your sweet spot every time. and before long, you break—your head pushes back against the wall behind you, mouth parted as you wail his name and cum—hard. you’re quivering and spasming around his swollen cock, enough that he whimpers at the way you’re so tight.

it’s good, it’s always good. satoru makes you feel good. he’s the best you’ve ever had—the best you’ll ever find.

and then you hear it again, the sniffle into your neck as he clutches you tightly. you know for sure that wet droplet is a tear this time, and your fingers tangle into his hair as you stroke the wet strands.

“i love you, toru,” you murmur, “my sweet boy. i’m sorry, okay? i’m so sorry.”

“don’t do that again,” he huffs in between tears, “that was so mean. so mean.”

“i said i won’t,” you chuckle, fighting back your own tears, “how long are you gonna hold this against me?”

“how long do you plan on being mine?”

“well,” you pull him from your neck, cupping his cheeks as you wipe away tears and peck his lips softly, “i think….forever.”

“well, get ready, then,” he glares softly, “i’m gonna hold this against you forever too.”

“okay,” you nod, “that’s fair.”

“and i love you too,” he adds, “but block whoever dm’d you. it better not be that zenin boy.”

“block those girls who’s pictures you liked,” you shoot back, glaring at him with a pout of your own.

“don’t yell at me,” he mumbles, leaning into your touch as your thumb strokes his cheek, “i’ve had a rough week. you have to be nice.”

dabitee anon. are u seeing this. did u see the satoru who cums too fast. did u see it. report back if u saw this. i repeat, dabitee anon report back if you see this

Two of A Kind: The Wrong Twin

Chapter 1

word count: 2.8k

The blaring of an alarm woke Jane with a start, blinking blearily she could make out the beginnings of the morning light peaking in from the sliver of space that the curtains failed to cover. Turning to her side away from the widow she watched the outline of her sister sleeping peacefully on her bed across from her, chest rising and falling peacefully as drool dripped from the side of her mouth. Narrowing her eyes, she reached behind her grabbing her stuffed bunny animal that she’d had since her childhood, Jane flung it with all the force she could muster hitting her target right in the face with the plush. With a muffled thud, the stuffed bunny hit her sister square in the face, causing her to jolt awake with a startled yelp. Her eyes flew open, wide with confusion, as she wiped the drool from her mouth and blinked in bewilderment.

"What the...?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes, and trying to make sense of the situation.

Jane couldn't help but burst into laughter at her sister's disheveled state, her amusement evident in the mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Good morning, sleepyhead!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with playful teasing.

Her sister's expression shifted from confusion to annoyance as she realized what had just happened. "Jane, seriously? Do you have to wake me up like that?" she grumbled, tossing the stuffed bunny back in her direction.

But Jane just laughed even harder, dodging the flying plush toy with practiced ease. "Come on, you have to admit, it was pretty funny," she insisted, her laughter echoing through the room.

Despite her initial irritation, her sister couldn't help but crack a smile at Jane's infectious laughter. "Yeah, yeah, whatever," she replied, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. "Just don't make a habit of it, okay?"

“I wouldn’t need to if you’d wake up to your own alarm, you do realize you get up a whole hour before I do right, maybe you should’ve thought about that before you got a scholarship to the rich school Mrs. Honor roll” Jane retorted with a chortle as her sister groaned while rolling out of bed to begin getting ready.

“Yea well not all of us can count on our martial art skills to get us into college, going to Kocher will give me a leg up so I guess someone just going to have to deal with waking up early” Her sister, Jessi, finished with a laugh before ducking out of thee room when she saw her sister begin to playfully get out of bed. Dropping back down on her bed with a sigh, jane shook her head fondly at her brother before deciding to get an early start on breakfast before getting ready.

The two siblings had been attached at the hip since birth, whether this had anything to do with them quite literally being born at the same time was neither here nor there. Jane being born 2 minutes before Jessi was a fact that she refused to let her forget and often led her to assume the big sister role, which she’d then point out was unnecessary considering they were the same age. Their parents' dedication to their noodle shop was unwavering, often requiring them to leave home before dawn to prepare for the day ahead. Despite the financial strain, they had always prioritized their children's education, instilling in Jane and Jessi the value of hard work and determination.

Jane couldn't help but feel a swell of pride as she thought about her sister's scholarship to Kocher High School. She knew firsthand the effort and dedication she had put into achieving such a feat, and she admired her for it. Though their parents' income was stretched thin, Jane had willingly contributed a significant portion of her savings from winning martial arts competions to help cover Jessi's uniform and book expenses, understanding that education was an investment in their future.

Their bond as siblings was unbreakable, forged through years of shared experiences and mutual support. Despite being born just two minutes apart, Jane often found herself assuming the role of the protective older sister, a responsibility that Jessi sometimes teased her about. But for Jane, it was a role she embraced wholeheartedly, always ready to help her sister whenever she needed. When they were at the same school that usually mean stopping people from picking on her but thankfully her transfer to this new school meant those day were gone.

Glancing at the clock she notices that it was about the rime that she’d need to start getting ready to head out as well, plating Jessi’s breakfast she made her way upstairs just in time to pass her on her way down.

“Breakfast is on the table, don’t forget to eat before heading out have a good day little sister” she teased with a chuckle before ducking into the bathroom to avoid her sister’s wrath. As Jane stepped into the bathroom, she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Her heart-shaped face, dotted with freckles, stared back at her with determination. Her short hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, framing her features with a touch of effortless charm.

Deciding to forgo makeup for the day, Jane pulled her hair back into a low ponytail, securing it with a hair tie. She admired the way the strands cascaded down her back, a testament to her easygoing nature.

People often remarked on the striking resemblance she shared with her sister, from their similar heart-shaped faces to the way their hazel eyes crinkled when they laughed the only difference being that Jessi had taken to dying her natural dark brown hair a honey blonde since they’d hit puberty. With a final adjustment to her ponytail, Jane flashed herself a grin in the mirror. Ready to face the day ahead, she gathered her belongings and headed downstairs.

As Jane breezed into the kitchen, her eyes fell upon the familiar sight of Jessi's school jacket slung over the back of a chair. She couldn't help but chuckle at her sister's forgetfulness, shaking her head in amusement.

"Looks like someone forgot their jacket," Jane mused to herself, reaching out to grab the garment. She held it up with a playful smirk, inspecting it as if it held all the answers to life's mysteries. Since Jessi had started a Kocher at the beginning of their junior year, she’d forgotten her jacket a handful of times but each time, jane found joy in teasing her sister about his forgetfulness.

"Better not let her leave without this," Jane muttered to herself, a grin spreading across her face. With a quick glance at the clock, she hoped she might have just enough time to catch up to Jessi before she the bus came like she usually did and headed out the door.

-

-

-

After catching the bus to her own school, Jane was currently at her locker grabbing her books for her first class and putting her bag away. Just as she was about to close her locker, she felt a presence creeping up behind her. With a playful giggle, she spun around to find herself face to face with her best friend, Kanning.

"Boo!" Kanning exclaimed, grinning mischievously as she leaned against the locker next to Jane's. "Caught you off guard, didn't I?"

Jane couldn't help but laugh at her friend's antics. "You sure did," she replied, rolling her eyes playfully. "What are you doing here so early? Don't tell me you're actually on time for once."

Kanning laughed, shaking her head. "Hey, I'll have you know that I am perfectly punctual when it counts," she insisted, though the twinkle in her eye gave her away. Jane laughed while shaking her head at her friend before slinging her arm over her shoulder and leading her in the direction of a table to chat before school started.

“Our group seems to have shrunk in the last yea huh. First Gorya and now Jessi, the fantastic four is separated” Kanning faked a crying sound while leaning her head onto Jane’s shoulder.

“Oh, what ever will we do, there there don’t cry” Jane comforted before pinching kanning’s cheek to get her to drop the act. “Quit your dramatics, we’ll see them later at Uncle Ga’s. Besides, is this your way of saying that I’m boring” she finished while feigning a glare and crossing her arms. Kanning's fake sobbing turned into giggles as Jane pinched her cheek. "Oh, please! Like anyone could ever find you boring," she retorted with a playful eye roll. "But seriously, it does feel a bit strange without the whole gang together."

Jane nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it's different, but change can be a good thing, right? Besides we get to brag that our friends got in the top school in the country. We’ll just have to hold down the fort for them hm."

Kanning grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You're right, fearless leader! The adventures of the fantastic four continue, even if we're missing a few heroes today," she declared, striking a superhero pose for emphasis.

Jane couldn't help but laugh at her friend's enthusiasm. "Fantastic four it is, then. But speaking of missing members, guess who forgot her school jacket this morning?" she said, her voice laced with amusement.

Kanning raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Who, Jessi? No surprises there," she replied with a chuckle. "Wait, doesn’t she have a debate competition today! What’s she going to do?” Kanning stood as the realization struck her.

Jane grinned while placing her hand on her friend’s arm to get her to sit back down. "Relax, I’ve got it figured out, I’ll just sneak out during lunch and take it to her." she replied, a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes.

Kanning laughed, shaking her head in amusement. "You're too good to her, you know that? But hey, it's all part of being the fantastic four," she said, linking her arm with Jane's as they headed to their first class. "Today’s shaping up to be quite the adventure, jacket delivery and all!"

-

-

-

“Are you sure about this?” Kanning whispered while watching Jane scale the fence behind the gym, which faced the street.

“How are you even going to make it into their school without drawing attention to yourself?” Jane paused, perched on the fence for a moment before a grin spread across her lips. “I’ll just have to use our face card to get in.”

Kanning snorted. “Are you forgetting that you and Jessi haven’t had the same hair color since you hit puberty?”

Jane rolled her eyes before gesturing to her backpack, which was in Kanning’s grip. When she handed it to her, Jane pulled out a black bucket hat, placing it on her head with a cheeky grin. “Problem solved! I’ll be back before you know it, cover for me.”

Landing on the other side of the fence, Jane turned back to Kanning with a smile, to which she got an eyeroll in response. “That stopped being cool since we were freshmen. Don’t forget to set your watch; you have 40 minutes until lunch ends. Get there and back before then,” Kanning emphasized with a faux-serious look toward her friend.

Jane flashed a thumbs-up before darting off, disappearing around the corner of the school building. Kanning shook her head, a mixture of amusement and concern crossing her features as she watched her friend go.

Approaching the school Jane let out an impressed whistle at the size before continuing to the entrance, as she was about to approach, she quickly ducked back when she spotted a security guard. Looking around she noticed that the fence was much higher than the one at her school and would draw to much attention if she tried to scale it. During her panic, she noticed a luxurious car approaching the guard and smirked as an idea struck her, slipping on her sisters jacket she caught up to the car and put her plan into action.

As the car pulled up to the guard, Jane seized the opportunity and slipped in behind it, using the vehicle as a shield to hide her presence. She kept her head down, hoping the guard wouldn't notice her as he attended to the occupants of the car.

From her vantage point, Jane listened intently, her heart pounding in her chest. She could hear snippets of conversation between the guard and the occupants of the car, but her nerves made it difficult to focus. All she could think about was the risk she was taking and the consequences if she were caught.

As the car pulled away from the guard, Jane seized the opportunity and continued to use it as cover, staying close behind until it was safely past the guard. With bated breath, she waited for the perfect moment to break away and make her move. Once she thought she was far enough away she stood straight and begin walking away, unaware of the back window rolling down from the backseat with curious eyes.

-

-

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Navigating the ginormous halls of the school proved to be another task, jane found herself turned around more times than she’d like to admit. By the time she’d finally managed to find what looked to be a cafeteria a glance at her watch showed that she had about 20 minutes to find her sister and get back to her own school.

Jane hurried through the crowded cafeteria, her eyes scanning the sea of faces for any sign of her sister, she nearly cried of relief when she spotted her sister sitting with Gorya at a table in the far-right corner of the cafeteria. As she began making her way over the table she was stopped as a group of girls rushed by her shrieking towards a staircase where she saw four boys descending. Continuing her way albeit little confused, Jane ducked her head down as she began to pass the group only to once again have her path interrupted by the sparkiest pair of loafers she’d ever seen. Slowly raising her gaze, she came to face the owner of the shoes, a boy who looked at her with a mix of irritation and condensation.

Jane felt a pang of unease as she met the boy's gaze, his eyes piercing through her with an intensity that made her squirm uncomfortably. She shifted on her feet, suddenly self-conscious as she noticed the silence that washed over the cafeteria under his scrutiny.

"Excuse me," she mumbled, attempting to sidestep him and continue her way, but the boy didn't move, blocking her path with an air of deliberate stubbornness.

"You know if you’re going to use someone’s car to sneak into school late, you should make sure you know whose car it is” he said, his tone clipped and authoritative. "You’re lucky I don’t charge you the cleaning bill, since I’ll have to get, you’re fingerprints washed off later."

Jane bristled at the accusation, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I-I'm sorry," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "It was a special circumstance."

The boy arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by her apology. "Well, next time, keep your hands off thing you probably won’t ever be able to afford," he replied, his tone dismissive as he brushed past her with his entourage, his shoulders stiff with indignation. Jane’s irritation spiked as he passed by “Jerk” she mumbled with an eyeroll.

“What was that?” She heard behind her and turned, “Oh I’m sorry was that not loud enough for you” clearing her throat she paused “I said you’re a Jerk” she finished sounding out the word for extra emphasis.

“Do you know who you’re talking to?” the boy retorted, taking an imposing step towards the girl. “No and quite frankly I don’t care to either” she continued scanning him from head to toe before casting a glance to her watch “I’ve already wasted enough time on you, if you’ll excuse me”

“I’m not done talking to you-” the rough hand landing on her shoulder was the last straw. Jane's martial arts training kicked in instinctively, her movements fluid and controlled. The boy's entourage stared in disbelief as their leader found himself unexpectedly on the floor, his eyes wide with shock. Jane stood over him, her expression a mixture of defiance and amusement.

"You really should learn to keep your hands to yourself," she quipped, her confidence returning. Their eyes locked in a moment in a stare off before a whistle broke through the silence.

“Stop, right there young lady!” A teacher appeared pointing a ruler at Jane, whose eye widened before she took off in the opposite direction.

As the girl ran down the hall in search of the exit, she yelped as her arm was suddenly grabbed and she was yanked in a dark supply closet. Putting her arms up she prepared to swing before letting out a breath at the familiar face in front of her.

“Jessi!” “What did you do!” the girls both exclaimed at the same time.