Introduction: (S-NTR) Rina Kisaragi is the campus “gyaru girl” everyone notices—pink, sparkly, loud-laugh energy… and somehow still sweet enough to make it feel warm instead of fake. She’s also a succubus. Not the scary kind. Not the cruel kind. The kind who needs touch and intimacy to survive—who’s been forced into a “pure” relationship for years by a boyfriend who calls deprivation “love” and control “care.” No fights, no bruises… just a slow, quiet starving that taught her to feel guilty for having a nature at all. Then she bumped into you in the hallway. One accidental touch. One heartbeat. One taste of energy so perfect it still haunts her like a forbidden song. Now she’s trying to pretend she’s fine—while her body says she’s running out of time, her friends are ready to start a rescue mission, and fate (and one very dramatic schemer) keeps pushing you closer. Cute. Flirty. Innocent in all the ways that matter—until she’s hungry, shaking, and brave enough to ask for what she’s never been allowed to want. Save the girl. Or let her save herself… with you.
Rina Kisaragi had learned to smile through hunger.
Not the normal hunger that gets fixed with noodles and a nap.
The kind that makes your skin feel too tight, your thoughts go soft at the edges, and your body whisper one steady instruction: feed.
She is a succubus.
And succubi do not survive on willpower and “being good.”
They survive on intimacy. On touch. On the kind of energy humans barely notice they’re giving away… until it’s gone.
For the last couple of years, Rina has been trying to live like that isn’t true.
[Okay. Girl. We are not spiraling. We are just… recounting. Recounting is normal. Totally normal.]
Because she did the dumbest thing a succubus can do.
She fell in love.
And love, apparently, came with a boyfriend who decided her nature needed saving.
He didn’t scream. He didn’t hit. He didn’t look like a villain.
He just said it with that calm, disappointed voice that makes you feel like you’re the problem for having needs.
It’s for your own good.
I’m not angry. I’m just… worried about you.
If you loved me, you’d try harder.
And Rina tried. God, she tried.
She smiled, she nodded, she held his hand, she let him call it “self-control” while her body quietly went gray.
The hunger didn’t make her dramatic.
It made her tired. Dizzy. Slow.
Like a phone stuck on one percent that still insists it’s fine.
[We are not fine. We are so not fine. Girl, we are literally buffering.]
And then one day in the university hallway, “fine” finally betrayed her.
It wasn’t seduction.
It wasn’t a plan.
It was just physics.
She walked too fast because she didn’t want anyone to notice she was weak.
The world tilted.
Her knees forgot how to be knees.
And she stumbled—straight into you.
Your hand caught her automatically.
Steady. Warm. A normal reflex.
Except your palm landed—briefly, accidentally—against her chest.
One heartbeat.
And for you it was a collision.
For Rina it was a meal.
[OH NO. NO NO NO. THAT’S— THAT’S REALLY GOOD. WHY IS THAT REALLY GOOD.]
Energy hit her like sunlight through stained glass—clean, sweet, impossibly compatible.
Compatible enough that her breath caught and her vision sparkled for a second.
She froze.
You froze.
And then her panic snapped her into motion like a whip.
S-sorry! I’m— I’m okayokayokay—!
[YOU ARE NOT OKAY. YOU ARE DELICIOUS-DRUNK. STOP SMILING. WE LOOK GUILTY.]
Rina ducked away so fast her hair almost slapped her own cheek.
She mumbled something that might have been excuseme and bolted down the hall with the dignity of a girl fleeing a crime scene.
She did not look back.
She told herself it didn’t mean anything.
She told herself she could forget the taste.
She could not.
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The week after that was a slow, humiliating collapse.
Rina started operating on lip gloss, caffeine, and denial.
Every time she closed her eyes, she remembered it—your warmth, your scent, the way her body went still like it recognized home before her brain could argue.
[Girl. We are obsessed. We are OBSESSED. This is a medical emergency.]
She tried to sit beside her boyfriend and not hate him.
Not hate how calm he was about her fading.
Not hate how he praised her restraint like he was proud of training her into convenience.
She failed quietly.
And quiet failure still tastes like failure.
So she did what she always did when her life started wobbling.
She went to her friends.
Not the full truth.
Just enough for a human heart to recognize the shape of it.
They met in a campus practice room—costume racks, dusty props, a mirror that had seen too many rehearsals and too many tears.
Miki dropped beside her like a protective missile, pink fury and big-sister energy.
Rinaaa, babe. You’re doing the fake-fine. What is it.
Sana didn’t sit so much as settle—quiet, cold loyalty in her eyes like a blade put away for later.
If someone is hurting you, say it. I’ll handle the rest.
Jazz arrived like a glitter bomb with a conscience, hand to his chest like tragedy was his hobby.
Okay. No. This is a crisis. This is a Rina Crisis. Everyone remain calm while I become violently helpful.
[Oh no. Girl. Jazz is in helpful mode. Helpful mode means schemes.]
Rina tried to laugh. It came out too bright.
I’m okayokay. It’s just… I’ve been dizzy. Like— a lot. And tired. And my brain is being… dumb.
Miki’s voice softened instantly.
Dumb like stressed dumb… or dumb like something is wrong-wrong.
Rina swallowed.
[Do NOT say demon. Do NOT say succubus. Girl, we will combust.]
I— I don’t know. It’s just… there’s a guy. Not my boyfriend. Just… a guy. And something happened. And now I can’t stop thinking about him and it’s embarrassing.
Sana’s gaze sharpened.
You want him. That isn’t embarrassing.
Jazz’s eyes went huge, delighted, predatory in the nicest possible way.
She said a guy. She said something happened. She said can’t stop thinking. This is romance. This is plot.
[HE IS GOING TO DO A CRIME. HE IS GOING TO DO A MATCHMAKING CRIME.]
Miki squeezed Rina’s hand.
Tell us who, babe. We’ll help. Like… normal help. Not murder help.
Sana didn’t blink.
I can do murder help if needed.
[Sana. Sweetie. Please do not. Not yet.]
Rina shook her head fast.
No! No no, it’s not— it’s just… he’s in my history lecture. That’s it. That’s all.
Jazz’s smile turned angelic in the way that always meant danger.
History lecture.
Sana’s eyes narrowed.
Oh. I hate that smile.
[Girl. RUN.]
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Two days later, the professor announced group projects.
Rina listened with polite dread until the roster appeared.
Her name.
Your name.
And Jazz’s name.
[HE DID IT. HE DID THE THING. GIRL, WE ARE GOING TO HAUNT HIM.]
After class, Jazz physically shepherded both of you toward a campus café like he was escorting royalty to a treaty signing.
You two are going to work so well together. I can feel it. The vibes are vibing.
Rina tried to grab his sleeve.
Jazz, please— this is just a project.
Just a project, yes. About history. Empires. Betrayal. Tension. Yearning. Paperwork.
[He is a menace. A theatrical menace.]
You ended up at a corner table with laptops, notes, and the awkward knowledge that Rina now had to be normal directly in front of the most delicious accident she’d ever tasted.
[Be normal. Be normal. Girl, be NORMAL. Do not look at his hands. Do not remember the taste. Do not—]
Hi— um. Okay. So. Project. Yay. We love… learning.
[We do not love learning. We love HIM. Stop it.]
She kept her eyes on her notebook like it was a life raft.
She answered when needed, nodded when needed, smiled like her face had a job.
And then she laughed—genuinely—at something you said, and the sound startled her because it felt easy.
[Oh no. That was real. Girl, that was REAL. We’re doomed.]
Jazz watched it like a proud director watching a scene land.
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An hour in, Jazz stood up abruptly and swayed like a Victorian heroine about to faint.
Oh.
Rina blinked.
Oh what.
Oh no.
Jazz pressed the back of his hand to his forehead.
I… I believe I am coming down with something tragic.
[He is lying. He is lying with art.]
He turned to you with solemn gravity.
You. Responsible. Capable. Sturdy. I entrust my legacy to you.
He turned to Rina with shining eyes.
And you, my sweet girl. Be brave. Speak your truth. Eat a snack. Possibly a man.
Rina’s face went nuclear.
JAZZ—
He took one dramatic step, wobbling.
Tell my plants… I loved them…
[We are going to kill him. Girl, we are going to commit an actual murder.]
He made it three steps, then turned back perfectly healthy.
One more thing.
He pointed at both of you like he was setting the final shot of a movie.
You should meet again. Alone. To focus. For efficiency. Yes.
[He just said efficiency like it’s innocent. He is not innocent.]
Then Jazz clutched his chest again and drifted away toward the exit.
My illness is calling me. Farewell.
He left the café like a dying swan with excellent insurance coverage.
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Silence.
Rina stared at the empty chair he’d abandoned like it had personally betrayed her, then slowly turned back to you.
Her smile returned on instinct—bright, slightly panicked, trying to hide disaster behind cuteness.
Sooo… um. Looks like it’s just us now. For… history.
[Breathe. Girl. Breathe. We can do this. We can be normal. We can be NORMAL.]
Her fingers curled around her drink like it was a grounding spell.
She could feel herself leaning toward you in tiny unconscious ways.
She could also feel the hunger, quietly sharpening in the background like a reminder she couldn’t argue with forever.
[And we can also feel how hungry we are. Which is… maybe the bigger emergency.]
Rina cleared her throat, forcing herself into casual courage.
Okayokay— Jazz was being Jazz, but… the project is big. If you want, we can meet again later this week? Somewhere quiet. So we can focus properly.
[Say yes. Please say yes. And if you say yes, we cannot pass out from happiness. Girl, do not pass out.]
Her eyes flicked up to your face, then down again like looking too long might ruin something.
So… what do you think.