♡ snyopsis. solid, gas and liquid that's what you called the three of you. but your heart had long since frozen over, suguru's gentleness had vapourised and choso had melted. leaving your best friends in highschool behind, you sought to grow your confidence and detach from the title of 'weirdo'. but college is stressful, the boys are dreadful and between choso writing your memories into song and suguru stealing your panties, you might just have a meltdown. wait. run that last part by you again?

♡ cws. college au :: slight angst :: drifting friendships :: punk & emo culture :: mentions of parties :: threesome :: f.masturbation :: m.masturbation :: panty stealing :: penetrative sx :: riding :: getting caught :: degradation :: rough sx :: praise :: f.oral :: m.oral :: choking :: hair pulling :: creampie :: spitroast :: overstimulation :: dumbification :: marathon sx

♡ wc. 11.2k

One sleepless night, two cups of cheap instant coffee and three seconds away from materialising the existence of god so that you could fight him yourself for putting you in this hellish semester— yeah. Your Monday morning was off to a great start.

As you stepped through the bustling halls, you listed off Pierre-Simon Laplace's laws in your head, lest you became Laplace's Demon before the day even ended.

You were beauty, you were grace, you were five seconds from punching Albert Einstein in the face.

Grey bags glued beneath your eyes like medals of honour for any valedictorian. Grip so tight on your book bag they might have to rewrite the definition of tension. And stare so sharp it gave botulinum toxin a run for its money— anyone who took one look at your face knew to stay clear. Look away fast and spare their eyes.

Well, everyone except for him.

Leather boots. Leather pants. Leather jacket. You're sure if you took a bite out of his infuriatingly sharp jawline, you'd taste leather too. Sure he wouldn't mind one bit with the way his stare locked to yours like fated magnetic poles.

Geto Suguru.

The university's heartthrob and every 2000s girl's wet dream. Studs and spikes and silver for days. Ripped jeans and rebellious charisma never looked so good.

Propped against the locker like it owed him something. Arms crossed and head tilted so that the silky dark strands that weren't held up in his messy bun perfectly framed his sun-kissed face. Serene. That's what he was. Even with a spiked collar and smudged eyeliner.

His stare held yours. Audacity glinting in every one of those piercings that littered his face. In the smirk that curled on his black lips when you reinforced your glare.

The bastard winked...