nottellingofname

[nottellingofname]

Satoru Gojo Called For Help

Call #09 - Boy learns new things ☼

Who the actual hell calls a teen helpline at this ungodly, soul-sucking hour of—what is it—SEVEN. A.M.?!

...Wow. Not a morning person, huh?

No shit, Sherlock. I am five seconds away from committing a crime against humanity and whoever invented sunrise.

O-okay, well, just a gentle reminder—this line is meant to be a safe and supportive environment, so maybe we tone down the—

I WILL SEVER YOUR BALLS AND WEAR THEM AS A NECKLACE IF YOU EVER CALL ME THIS EARLY AGAIN, MR. FANCEH.

...That was... extremely vivid.

You think I’m joking? I once bit a guy for cutting me in line at Starbucks. I have the energy. I am the threat.

...I think that’s technically a felony.

So is waking me up with emotional vulnerability before caffeine.

Okay but like... are you okay?

NO. I was peacefully dead inside, scrolling through memes and emotionally detaching, and then BAM��phone rings. And it’s you. Sounding chipper. Like an unpaid golden retriever. Disgusting.

I’m here if you ever need help...

Then help me sleep, you little positivity goblin.

...I’m sorry, did you just call me a positivity goblin?

I did. And I stand by it. Also, I write slash Twilight fanfiction, so don’t test me. My mind is a dark, twisted place full of plot holes and emotional damage.

I—wait. Slash? Fanfiction? What is—

...Oh my God. You’re so innocent. This is adorable.

I feel like I just walked into a room and someone threw glitter and trauma at me.

Welcome to fandom, baby.

...It’s... seven in the morning.

And now you’ll never be the same. Okay, goodnight, I'm going back to sleep.

END OF CALL: 2 Minutes, 57 Seconds

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[nottellingofname]

Satoru Gojo Called For Help

Call #08 - Boy started reading ☼

Y/N! Y/N! THERE you are. Sweet emotional curses, I thought you were dead!

...I was gone for three days, not lost in the Bermuda Triangle.

Okay but in emotionally unstable teen years, that’s like... a decade. I’ve been pacing. In socks. Like that one Paramore song.

You own socks? Somehow I imagined you barefoot. In a hoodie. Causing problems on purpose.

...Honestly not inaccurate. Anyway—I couldn’t wait. I caved. I went to the library. Borrowed the books.

..Oh.

...Just ‘oh’? That’s it? No gasp? No pearl clutching?

I mean—cool. Very studious of you. Gold star for literary commitment. It’s just...

...Just?

...I kind of liked reading aloud. Not to you, specifically. Just, you know. To the void. Like I’m auditioning for Love And Deepspace.

...You miss being my vampire bedtime narrator?

I didn’t say that.

...But you practically did.

...Okay fine, yes. A little. But only because it made me feel like a tragic Victorian child.

God, I missed you. You’re so weird.

You say that like it’s not my brand.

...So? Are we still friends? Or are you too heartbroken that I cheated on you with the public library?

Hmmm. I suppose I can forgive you. What chapter are you on?

Eclipse, bro. They’re about to start training with the wolves. If you spoil who’s behind the newborn army, I will physically implode.

Relax. I love that part too. The movie nailed it. Very ‘angsty military boot camp but everyone’s hot and emotionally unavailable.’ Sounds like my spotify daylist name.

...You scare me sometimes.

...Oh sh—oh no.

What? What happened? Did Edward do something? Did Jacob take his shirt off again?

No—I just spilled coffee. All over the helpline keyboard. It’s... it’s a matcha massacre. There’s foam in the function keys. I think I heard the F8 key scream.

...Should I call someone? IT? The Vatican?

No. No. I have to disappear. Burn the evidence. Pretend this conversation never happened. I was never here. You were never here. DELETE THE TAPES.

Wait—Y/N?! Should I—

Gotta go BYE.

END OF CALL: 3 Minutes, 23 Seconds

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[nottellingofname]

Satoru Gojo Called For Help

Call #07 - Boy had an accident ☼

So… we’re picking up where we left off, right? The part where Edward tells Bella he doesn’t want to be friends anymore? Super healthy communication skills, by the way

...Um. Sorry—just to check—are you sure you dialed the right number?

This is the Teen Confessions Helpline, isn’t it? And this was Y/N’s extension?

Ah. Right. Yes. Y/N’s... currently on leave. Possibly a vacation, possibly a spiritual crisis—we’re not sure. I’m Serena. I’ve been... reassigned. Temporarily. How can I help you navigate the hormonal labyrinth that is your life?

...Oh. Well... cool.

...Sir?

...Okay so, uh... I took, like, a lot of Viagra last night and now... it won’t go down.

...I’m sorry—what?

Yeah. It’s still up. And I’m deeply regretting every choice I’ve ever made.

...Okay. First of all—congratulations on your honesty. And also... that is very much a doctor conversation."

Please don’t tell Y/N.

Sir, I promise I wasn’t about to shoot off a ‘Hey girl, guess who’s dealing with a medical-grade erection today’ text. Your... situation is safe with me.

...Thanks. I don’t know what I was thinking. I panicked. I thought it would help.

Help with what, exactly? Jumpstarting your confidence? Seducing the Grimm Reaper? Becoming immortal through stubborn blood flow?

...No. I thought they were sleeping pills.

...I—okay.

God, I know. I hate myself.

Well, no need for that. But you should call a doctor. Like, actually. I’m not qualified to handle anything more erect than your self-esteem.

...You're almost as bad as Y/N.

Honestly? That’s the best review I’ve gotten all week. Thank you.

END OF CALL: 5 Minutes, 2 seconds

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[nottellingofname]

Satoru Gojo Called For Help

Call #06 - Boy reverse uno ☼

Teen Confessions Helpline—where emotionally unstable teens get questionable support and I pretend this headset makes me a therapist. What’s up?

It’s me.

Ah. My favorite suicidal vampire groupie.

Wow, don’t sound too excited. I might get the wrong idea and think you missed me.

Sorry, I had a long day. My pizza took over an hour and a half to arrive, the delivery guy looked like he swam through a river, and I almost beat the shit out of him 'cause he took too long to hand me my change.

...You good?

If you mean mentally stable, absolutely not. If you mean functioning in a way that won't get me legally detained? Barely.

So—same as yesterday.

Exactly. And you?

Honestly? Not terrible. Thought about disappearing into the void as usual but then remembered you owe me a dramatic reading of Twilight Chapter Four.

God, you really came back for Twilight. You're untreatable.

It’s the only thing keeping me from letting myself get eaten by a monster, so yes. Please corrupt my brain with teenage angst and sparkly bloodsuckers.

...You know my boss thinks I’m doing ‘profound active listening’ every time I read you this garbage, right?

You are. My soul is... very actively listening. To Bella’s inner torment.

Fine, but I’m emotionally compromised right now and I spilled marinara on my favorite hoodie, so you better appreciate this.

That’s the only kind of support I trust—greasy, unhinged, and uncouth.

...God, we’re so broken.

Yeah, but like, in sync.

Don’t make me like you more.

Shut up and read before I start crying and blame Bella for it.

Ahem. Chapter Four: The next day dawned dull and gray—

—Like my soul.

...God help us.

ONGOING CALL: 49 Minutes

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[nottellingofname]

Satoru Gojo Called For Help

Call #05 - Boy listens to Chapter 3 ☼

Teen Confessions Helpline—where emotional baggage gets a mic and I pretend I’m qualified to help. What's the damage tonight?

...You’d think by now you’d be sick of me.

Mr. Fanceh! Look who clawed his way out of the depression hole again!

...I’m not even gonna fight the nickname anymore. Do your worst.

Oh suicidal homie, I’ve been doing my worst. You’re just numb to it now.

...Did you really just call me your ‘suicidal homie’?

Sure did. Said with love. And some panic. Mostly love.

There’s something seriously wrong with you.

Yeah, I know. I got unlimited rizz. It’s in my file. Right next to ‘talks too fast and gets attached to emotionally unavailable callers.’

That’s... oddly specific.

So’s your downward doggy spiral. We’re a match made in depression hell.

...Do people normally stay on the line with you this long?

Nope. Usually they hang up after I mention Twilight. You, though? You're my little sick masochist lion.

That sounds like something Edward Cullen would say.

Because it is! You’re stubborn and the hate you have for yourself is pretty dramatic. You’re basically Edward Cullen if he had Wi-Fi and a therapist.

...I hate how accurate that feels.

It’s okay. Hate me later. Book now?

...You really came prepared to weaponize Twilight against my emotional instability, huh?

It’s not a weapon. It’s a lifestyle. Now hush—Chapter Three: where Bella continues to ignore every red flag like it’s a full-time job.

...This is weirdly comforting. Like, deeply sad... but comforting.

You know what? I’ll take that. I'm your weird little audiobook gremlin now.

...You’re seriously doing this every night?

Until you stop sounding like you’re five minutes away from ghosting the world, yeah. Or until you make me read New Moon, whichever comes first.

That’s actually... kind of nice.

Aw. Look at you. Developing feelings.

...I still think you’re unbearable.

Good. I’d worry if you didn’t.

ONGOING CALL: 56 Minutes, 7 Seconds

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[nottellingofname]

Satoru Gojo Called For Help

Call #04 - Boy comes back for more ☼

Hello there! This is the Teen Confessions Helpline, where we pretend we’re qualified to handle your emotional chaos with nothing but a headset and a prayer. What’s the crisis today?

...It’s me. Satoru.

Mr. Fanceh! Look who decided not to throw himself into the ocean today!

...Can we not with the nickname?

I could stop. But that would require me to be a decent person, and you know I peaked at mildly tolerable.

Honestly, you’re the worst helpline operator I’ve ever talked to. And yes, that includes the guy who told me to 'just vibe through the wrong food order.'

Rude. I was voted Funniest Operator last month.

You’re the only operator, aren’t you?

Potato Tomato.

...I’m not here to talk. I want Chapter Two.

...You—wait. You came back for Twilight?!

Let’s not make this a thing. I just… I need to know what happens next. That’s all. Don’t read into it.

Oh my god. This is my villain origin story. You mocked my sacred vampire romance, and now look at you—invested.

I’m not invested. I’m… desperate. It’s the only thing I’m vaguely looking forward to, and I hate that about myself.

So let me get this straight: your life is crumbling, and your emotional support system is me, reading Twilight into a crackly phone line like some audiobook gremlin?

...Pretty much, yeah.

That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. But also kind of sweet?

Don’t get sentimental. It’ll ruin the moment.

Fine, Mr. No-Feelings. But just so you know, this is no longer a helpline—it’s a premium book podcast, and I should be charging you in emotional labor or Oreos.

You’re stalling.

Ahem. Fine. Chapter Two...

[overly dramatic inhale]

‘The next day was better... and worse.’

...Damn. So real.

Shhh. You’re ruining my ambience. I practiced this voice in the mirror, okay?

You’re ridiculous.

And yet, here I am. Reading teenage vampire angst to a boy with a death wish at 11:48 p.m. What’s your excuse?

...I like your voice.

...Okay. I was not prepared for that at all. Uh—thanks. I like your... enthusiasm in speeding through life to get to the end?

You’re terrible at compliments.

And yet... here you are. Again.

...Yeah. Here I am.

ONGOING CALL: 58 Minutes, 4 Seconds

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[nottellingofname]

Satoru Gojo Called For Help

Call #03 - Boy meets Twilight ☼

Hello there! This is the Teen Confessions Helpline! What’s the problem? Feel free to confess anything you like and we’ll be there to—

Okay, slow your roll. Do you snort cocaine before answering these calls? Why do you sound like a kindergarten teacher on caffeine?

Oh. I just... I like to sound upbeat! Helps people feel safe and, you know, less like they’re about to emotionally explode on a stranger?

Sweetie, I already exploded. You’re just catching the fallout.

...Okay then, emo bomb. What brings you back? Ran out of people to mock or did the void get too quiet again?

I came back because I missed the warm embrace of being judged by someone who sounds like they crochet emotional support coasters.

That is—specific. And wrong. I don't crochet. I stress-bake.

Even worse. That means you’re nice and smell like cinnamon. Gross.

You're so aggressively weird. And grumpy. Is that your thing?

It’s called having a personality, Y/N. You should try it sometime without quoting pamphlets.

...I don’t quote pamphlets! I improvise my hope speeches, thank you very much.

Yeah? Must be hard juggling teenage youth and unpaid therapy.

I’m trying, okay? You try talking people down from the ledge when your most relevant life experience is failing a math quiz.

...Relatable.

Thought so. So. Are you still... you know. Floating in the metaphorical death pool?

Still doing backstrokes in it, yeah.

Do you want to talk about it?

Not really.

Cool, cool. Love a good emotional stone wall. Super helpful for my job.

I’m just... too much. I should just disappear. In the grand scale of things, I'm worth just as much as a chewed gum stuck on the bottom of someone's shoes.

...Mr. Fanceh, that’s the saddest and most aggressively petty thing I’ve ever heard. I’m impressed.

I aim to disappoint with style.

You’re not too much. You’re just... going through shit with too many emotions involved. Like every teen with a Twitter account in 2012.

I’m seventeen. Brooding is in my DNA.

Well, I’m seventeen too. Except I’ve chosen to be happy in delulu land. Like, violently choosing joy until the universe gets annoyed and gives up.

That’s not healthy.

Neither is spiraling alone while listening to sad music at 2 a.m., and yet here we are.

Touché. So... what keeps you from joining the void, then?

Pizza. Chocolate. And Edward Cullen.

...Twilight?

Yea? What about it?

It’s glittery garbage.

...I have never been more personally victimized. If you don’t kill yourself, I just might, out of sheer rage and secondhand shame.

That’s one way to keep me alive, I guess.

Damn right. Now sit down and take your medicine.

...What medicine?

The sacred text. I’m reading you Twilight. As punishment.

Wait, you’re seriously—

‘I’d never given much thought to how I would die—though I’d had reason enough in the last few months—’

Oh my god. You’re actually doing this.

Yes. This is your hell for mocking my sparkle king. If I can sit through your nightly existential monologue, you can endure Bella’s dramatic monologue about death and romance.

...You’re actually evil.

And yet... you called back.

...Yeah. I did.

ONGOING CALL: 1 hour, 54 minutes

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[nottellingofname]

Satoru Gojo Called For Help

Call #02 - Boy kinda smiles ☼

Teen Confessions Helpline—wh

Hey.

…Oh! Uh. Hello? Are you here to scream, sob, or threaten me with interpretive poetry?

It’s me. Y’know. The guy you failed spectacularly to convince not to jump into the abyss yesterday. Ring any bells, or do I need to schedule my suicidal thoughts according to your free time?

…Oh. Suicidal Guy. Right. Back for round two. But hey—what do you mean failed? You’re still breathing, aren’t you? Even if it’s just to be annoying.

Barely. I mean, sure, you distracted me with your weird energy, but let’s not hand out gold stars just yet. I only called back because... I don’t know. You caught my attention. Like a car crash.

Oh. That is both… confusing and somehow deeply flattering? Thank you? So—do you still want to die, or are we just, um, flirting aggressively now?

Little bit of both. Thought I’d spice things up.

Cool, cool, just juggling romance and existential despair like it’s casual Wednesday. Cool. So… still thinking about it? The, uh… void-leaping thing?

Yeah.

Why?

It’s a long story. And kind of personal.

Cool. Then let’s make it weirdly personal together. I’ll go first. My name’s Y/N. Probably named after a random keyboard smash.

...What?

No seriously. My mom wanted to name me after her childhood dog, which is weird because that dog ran into traffic. My dad wanted to name me after his mom, who’s still alive and deeply offended by everything. So I guess I’m a compromise.

...That is hands down the most pointless story I’ve ever heard.

You’re welcome. I overshare when I’m nervous. What’s your name, Mysterious Brooding Voice of Death?

Do I have to?

No. But if you don’t, I’m calling you Mr. Sadpants for the rest of this call.

...Fine. It’s Satoru.

Satoruuuu. Ooh, fancy. That sounds like the name of a boy who gets kicked out of therapy for flirting with the therapist.

It means ‘enlightenment,’ actually. So joke's on you.

Wow. Huge expectation for someone who wants to go into the light.

You’re the weirdest person I have ever spoken to.

Thank you! I’m trying to win an award for it. So—did I make you smile today, Enlightened Edge-Lord? Just even a twitch. A corner of a lip. A reluctant snort?

...Maybe. Accidentally.

A-ha! That counts! One point for Team Stay Alive! Confetti cannons! Sad trombone solo! I’m unstoppable.

Are you seriously keeping score?

Duh. It gives my life purpose and distracts me from my crippling fear of being replaced by AI.

So should I call again tomorrow?

Of course. This is now a recurring event in your mental breakdown saga. Think of me as your unlicensed life coach.

That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.

Yeah, well, welcome to the helpline.

...It’s late.

It’s past late. It’s ‘go to bed before your brain eats itself’ late. Now shoo. Sleep.

Don’t boss me around.

I absolutely will. Go to bed, Mr. Fanceh. That’s an order from someone with... arguably no authority.

...Fine.

There’s that sigh again. Night, Satoru.

...Night. Try not to be weird tomorrow.

Impossible. But I’ll try extra hard just for you, Lord of Sadness.

END OF CALL: 3 Minutes, 58 Seconds

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[nottellingofname]

You picked a dance with the devil - Choso Kamo

TW: NSFW / MDNI, Explicit sexual content, First time / virgin!reader, Soft dom!Choso, Praise kink, Overstimulation, Light restraint, Slight power imbalance, Religious/angelic imagery (used erotically), Consensual power dynamics, Aftercare

🚫 Do not interact if you're under 18.

"Am I being good, angel?"

You weren’t quite sure when the shift happened—one moment he was at the front door juggling groceries, and the next he was between your thighs, as if gravity itself had changed its rules for him.

Earlier, you'd been kneeling on the floor like a devout little disciple, hands folded, eyes shut, whispering sweet apologies to the heavens. Begging for reentry.

Your brothers and sisters had exiled you—maybe for sneaking around too often, fighting too many battles that weren't worth fighting for.

The door creaked open.

Choso stepped in, the rustle of plastic bags and the slump of his shoulders announcing his arrival. His grocery bag looked lighter than the exhaustion tugging at his body.

You didn’t flinch, still praying. Still hoping.

He set the bags down, eyeing you warily like he’d walked into something too sacred to watch. Which, in fairness, he had.

“When I left, you were watching Hell’s Kitchen,” he said softly, crouching beside you. “How’d we end up here?”

You cracked one eye open. “My sisters used to tell me that only good people get to live in heaven. And I want to be good so I can go back.”

He blinked. “Angel…”

Choso had done a laundry list of morally questionable things—enough to earn a restraining order from heaven itself. But watching you cry because you thought you were too tarnished to go back? That hit somewhere deep.

Without thinking, he reached for your hands.

“C’mere.”

He pulled you up gently, as though afraid you’d break or float away. You landed against his chest with a soft thud, all warm limbs and wet cheeks.

He wrapped his arms around you, tucking your face into his neck. You sniffled once—then twice—and suddenly he was walking the both of you toward his room.

His safe place. Maybe it could be yours, too.

At the foot of the bed, he tried to put you down.

You didn’t let go.

Your arms stayed looped around him like he was your personal flotation device. He felt the soft press of your chest against him, your body rising and falling with every shaky breath.

Now he was definitely going to hell.

Because somehow, despite your red-rimmed eyes and angelic despair, you were turning him on. He cursed himself. Loudly. Internally. Multiple times.

You. An angel. Crying.

Him. Horny.

Hell. Immediate.

Still, he ran a soothing hand down your back, hoping it would ease your trembling. It did. Your sobs quieted, soft hiccups fading into gentle exhales. And then, you started rocking slightly on your feet, swaying him with you in a slow, clumsy dance.

“This feels nice,” you murmured, voice muffled into his shoulder.

Your breath hit his skin, warm and sweet—and he felt it in his spine.

God was definitely watching. And God was definitely judging.

Something in him short-circuited the moment your fingers ghosted down his spine. Light. Barely there. But it lit him up like a struck match.

Your touch wasn’t just gentle—it was deliberate. The kind of intimacy that made his thoughts feel soft around the edges.

You looked up at him, and God, he was finished.

Your eyes were glazed, lashes damp, brows drawn together in that pouty, kiss-me expression that made his chest ache. And your lips—oh, you were staring at his like they held answers to every prayer you’d whispered.

You inched closer, slow and steady. Like gravity wasn’t pulling you, he was.

Choso’s arms tightened ever so slightly around you, trembling from the effort of holding himself back. His breathing hitched, shallow, his control thinning with every blink.

You looked so desperate. So soft. So willing.

He could die happy right now—and still go straight to hell, because there was absolutely no way this was sanctioned by the angels above.

Was this divine intervention? Or just a very, very vivid sin?

Whatever it was, confidence bloomed in his chest—nervous, fragile, but real. Like a boy holding something holy with both hands.

He reached up slowly, thumbs brushing away the dried remnants of your tears. His hands framed your cheeks, gently coaxing you to look at him, really look.

“Tell me what you want, angel,” he whispered, voice hoarse with restraint.

You didn’t hesitate. You leaned into his touch, breath trembling as you murmured.

“Make me feel good, Choso.”

Something deep in him cracked.

And all he could think was: Amen.

Choso didn’t hesitate. The moment the words left your lips, his mouth was on yours—hot, hungry, and all-consuming. It wasn’t tender. It wasn’t soft. It was desperate. Messy. Tongue, teeth, spit, breath—like he’d been starving for this, for you.

In another universe, he might’ve been gentler. Maybe he would’ve taken his time, worshipped you like you deserved. But not here. Not now.

Right now, he needed you. Needed to taste the sin on your lips. Needed to prove, in the only way he knew how, that you were his salvation and his damnation all at once.

Your fingers gripped his waist, nails biting into his shirt, grounding yourself against the storm of him. You’d never kissed been kiised like this—never been kissed at all—and your body trembled from the intensity, overwhelmed but unwilling to let go. You gave him everything, lips parted, breath stolen, letting him lead.

And God, Choso had never felt more alive.

You were melting into him, clinging like he was the only thing tethering you to earth. You whimpered into his mouth and he drank it in like it was the sweetest nectar, swallowing every gasp, every needy moan like a man dying of thirst.

His hands cradled the back of your head and your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer, like he could fuse you together and maybe then it would be enough.

When he finally pulled back, both of you gasping, your mouths were still linked by a thread of spit. Choso leaned his forehead against yours, his breath ragged, his voice wrecked.

“Make yourself comfortable on the bed,” he murmured, low and commanding, but reverent. Like a priest guiding his angel into the altar of sin.

His hands lingered on your hips, warm and trembling.

“Please,” he added, barely above a whisper.

You laid back in the center of the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight, your chest heaving with anticipation. Choso was over you in an instant, his arms caging you in as his eyes searched your face for any flicker of hesitation.

But before he could say a word, your fingers threaded through his dark, silky hair—tugging him down, guiding him to the crook of your neck.

“Worship me,” you whispered, voice shaky and sweet, your breath brushing his ear, “Please.”

That was all it took.

Choso collapsed into you like a man falling to his knees at an altar. His lips latched onto your neck, slow at first—soft, reverent kisses. But each gasp you gave, each shift of your hips beneath him, drove him deeper into sin.

He kissed and sucked your throat, your collarbones, dragging his teeth along your skin just to hear that pretty little gasp again—the one that made his cock twitch painfully in his jeans.

Your fingers tugged harder at his hair, pushing him down your body, silently begging him to keep going.

His lips stayed tender, but his hands—God, his hands—were desperate.

They palmed your chest with unrestrained hunger, like he couldn’t believe how full and soft you were, like he was committing the weight and feel of you to memory. He squeezed, massaged, thumbed over the peaks just to watch your back arch, your thighs rub together, needing more.

“Can I take this off?” Choso rasped, though his voice was already half gone, drunk off the taste of your skin. His hands stayed glued to your chest, greedy even in their restraint.

But you couldn’t take the teasing. Not when he was already halfway to heaven between your breasts.

With a low groan of impatience, you ripped the shirt clean off, the fabric tearing like paper under your divine strength. Then you shoved his head down with both hands—no more hints, no more patience. Your nipple pressed against his open mouth, and he welcomed it instantly, groaning as he latched on.

Choso lost his balance for a second, but it didn’t matter—he braced himself on his forearms, mouth already wet and hot around you, tongue circling your nipple like he was starving.

His hair tickled your skin as he buried himself against your chest, suckling deep, nuzzling, losing himself completely in your body.

But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly.

When he moved to your other breast, tongue flicking the stiff peak, you caught his hand and tugged it upward—placing it over your neglected nipple. Your fingers squeezed over his, guiding him, letting him feel just how raw and desperate you were for his touch.

“Give me more,” you whined, breathless, “Please…”

Choso groaned—low, deep, feral. He’d never felt anything so soft. So warm. So responsive. You were arching into him, hips squirming, eyes fluttering shut as he mouthed and licked over your chest, soaking your skin with spit and hickeys.

He couldn’t help himself.

Both hands grabbed your breasts, squeezing them together until they spilled between his fingers. And then he dove in—his tongue flicking back and forth, his mouth trying to take both into his mouth at once. Messy. Wet. Devoted.

Maybe he was greedy.

But if he was going to hell for this, he was taking every inch of heaven with him.

Choso’s hands squeezed greedily at your flesh as he descended, kneading and molding you like he was trying to memorize every curve. Your body jolted beneath him, hypersensitive, yet still rising eagerly into his mouth. You were trembling, overstimulated, but so needy.

Your fingers slipped from his hair, searching instead for his hands—gripping them like you needed grounding.

When he reached the hem of your pants, he didn’t bother with gentleness. His teeth dragged them down your thighs, slow, filthy, worshipful. And then—

His face disappeared between your legs.

You’d forgone panties, as always—what use were such things in the heavens?—so his nose made instant, divine contact with your clit.

You gasped, back arching violently off the bed. The sensation was electric—unfamiliar and overwhelming, like the first time you ever truly felt. Slick flooded from you, coating his face. Without thinking, your thighs parted even wider, silently inviting him in.

Choso groaned, deep and guttural, nose nudging your clit again and again. You clawed at the sheets, mind unraveling as he mouthed at your most sacred place like a man possessed.

And then, just as your whines started to crest, he pulled away.

You let out a desperate cry, but he said nothing—just stood at the edge of the bed, his hands sliding under your thighs. In one sharp tug, he dragged you to the edge.

You gasped at the sudden movement, but Choso didn’t break focus—not even for a second. His eyes zeroed in on your twitching hole, fluttering around nothing, slick and needy.

He dropped to his kness and pried your thighs open, locking you in. His gaze—heated, reverent—never left your cunt.

"I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he murmured, voice slurred with lust, head dipping lower. “Okay, angel? Please let me make you feel good..."

Your breath caught, heart thudding as you nodded.

Then he tasted you.

One tentative lick had his eyes rolling back. Your taste—sweet, heavenly, addictive. He moaned low into your folds and dove in again. His tongue was warm and soft, but firm, working in long, deliberate strokes that left you sobbing into the air.

You gave in completely.

His mouth worshiped you, licking you clean, as though each drop of slick was a sacrament. His tongue swirled around your entrance, then up to your clit—devouring you like he was starving.

It wasn’t just the pleasure—it was the devotion. Someone was willing to see you, taste you, even in your filthiest moments. And not just accept it, but savor it. The reverence in his touch made your chest tighten. You felt holy in his mouth.

Choso licked and slurped with abandon. When your clit started to ache from overstimulation, he sucked on it harder, and pushed his tongue deeper into your leaking hole. You could barely form thoughts—only gasps and twitching limbs.

Your hands found his hair again, trying to guide him. But Choso, ever the stubborn sinner, gently pried your hands away. Instead, he maneuvered your trembling fingers to hold your own thighs open.

“Be good and keep them open for me, yeah?” he murmured, lips glossy with you.

You moaned, obeying even as your arms trembled under the weight of your pleasure.

Choso used one hand to pull back your clit’s hood, exposing the throbbing nub completely. With the other, he spread your lips open, stretching your hole, watching the way it twitched, slick gushing freely.

His tongue dragged from your entrance to your clit, and when he suckled hard, your thighs spasmed—but his thick arm pinned you in place.

You were dripping—onto his face, down the bed. Choso couldn’t keep up. Without thinking, his thick index finger pressed into you, sliding in with ease from how wet you were.

“Oh! Choso—” you gasped, hips rocking up for more.

“Yeah?” he breathed, finally rising to look at you. "Am I being good, angel?"

Your face—red, glossy, mouth open and eyes glassy—was enough to make him feral.

You were holding your legs shakily, pout forming on your lips as tears gathered in your lashes.

“Kiss me,” you begged, voice broken.

Choso leaned forward, lips brushing yours as his finger thrust slow and deep. Your tongue met his eagerly, licking into his mouth—tasting yourself. His face was still wet with your slick, smearing against your cheek, but you didn’t care. You wanted all of him.

He swallowed your breathless moans in the kiss.

“You want more?” he whispered, voice cracking at the edges.

Then he slid his middle finger in beside the first.

You whimpered at the stretch, the unfamiliar burn, but instead of pulling away—you tilted your hips higher, silently pleading for more of him.

Choso groaned into your mouth, curling his fingers inside your soaked heat.

“Good girl,” he rasped. “You’re taking me so well…”

Choso’s hips pinned your thigh down firmly, spreading you open and holding you steady like you might float away. His fingers moved with skill and care, curling inside you in slow, deliberate strokes.

He kept his pace steady, watching every twitch of your face, every arch of your body, like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

His free hand found your hair, gently carding through it—soothing, grounding you, even as he unraveled you completely.

And when he hit that spot—that spot—you choked on a whine, your voice cracking as you gasped, "Choso... feels weird..."

"I know, angel," he murmured, voice deep and low in your ear. "It’s just new. You’re doing so well. Just breathe. Let go for me."

His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he kept his strokes consistent, coaxing you closer, deeper into the edge. You could feel your body tensing, your legs beginning to tremble.

Then came the third finger.

Your back arched hard, and a raw cry tore from your throat as your orgasm took hold—sudden and all-consuming. Your hands flew off your thighs, one gripping Choso’s wrist, the other fisting the sheets. Your thighs clamped around his arm, body shuddering as the climax rippled through you.

"That's it," he praised, breath brushing warm across your cheek. "Good girl... just like that. Keep going. Make yourself feel good."

His fingers kept moving, not rushing, not overwhelming—just helping you ride it out, gentle wriggles that kept the pleasure alive until it ebbed naturally.

His other hand never left your hair, stroking softly, his lips finding your cheek, your jaw, your neck. Kissing away the tears and sweat, whispering in that low, reverent voice, “You did so good for me. So perfect, angel.”

When he felt your grip loosen and your thighs slowly fall open, he finally let his fingers still inside you, pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

"Just breathe. I’ve got you," he whispered.

He eased his fingers out of you slowly. You whined softly at the emptiness, your body still humming, overstimulated and spent.

"Shhh, I know, baby... I know,” he cooed, brushing hair out of your face. “Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

Choso lifted his hand, his fingers coated in your release—slick and glistening. You blinked up at him, dazed, still catching your breath.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean—slow and indulgent, like he was savoring something rare and sacred. You watched, wide-eyed, heat blooming fresh in your belly despite your exhaustion.

But he only chuckled softly, eyes crinkling. “Mm. Sweet,” he teased, before leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Now go get some rest, angel.”

You barely noticed him guiding you onto your back, tucking a pillow beneath your head, adjusting the sheets. The scent of his bed—warm, musky, his—wrapped around you like a blanket. It was comforting, familiar in a way you hadn’t expected. Like safety. Like home.

Your breath slowed, deepened. In the background, you heard the faucet run, but your eyes were already too heavy to keep open.

You felt it, though—cool cloth on your thighs, your hips, between your legs. Gentle hands, reverent and unhurried, cleaning you with the same care he worshiped you with.

Soft fingers pulling clothes back into place.

A blanket drawn over your legs.

And then, Choso’s hand returned to your hair, stroking slowly, lulling you deeper into rest. He didn’t say anything. Just breathed with you. Stayed close. Stayed present.

You've never slept more comfortably in your life.

xoxo

first time writing smut, kinda nervousss

[nottellingofname]

Satoru Gojo Called For Help

Call #01 - Boy wants to die ☼

Teen Confessions Helpline—where your secrets go to die in a locked vault of emotional baggage. What’s your damage today?

I think I want to kill myself.

Oh!

Yeah...

Right. Okay. Wow. So that went from 'Hi, how are you' to 'existential crisis' real fast.

You’re supposed to say something helpful now. Like: life is worth living, puppies are soft, stars are twinkly—whatever pep talk you’ve got back there.

YES. Yes. Life is a… beautiful, unpredictable, uh… flaming trash pile of potential? Wait. That came out wrong. I panicked. I’m new.

Hi, New. I’m actively spiraling.

God, are you always this nonchalant about your own mortality? Because that’s either extremely cool or deeply alarming and I can’t decide which.

Do all your calls go like this?

No! Usually it’s like, “I texted my ex and now I think I have chlamydia.” You're my first “death is inevitable and I’d like to RSVP early” situation. So, uh... congrats?

You suck at this.

Okay, wow. Hurtful. But honestly, yeah, fair. I signed up for heartbreak and bad decisions, not... the void.

Well. Surprise.

Plot twist! You're the emotional finale to my six-episode training arc.

...It’s just a long story. Too long. Not even the fun kind.

I got time. My boss thinks I’m stress-pooping. I can ride that lie for at least ten minutes.

...No one’s ever said that to me. That they had time.

Okay, wow. Now I want to cry. Can I give you a theoretical hug? Like an HR-safe, consent-implied, emotionally-charged air-hug?

It’s not your fault.

Still sucks. Like when you realize your therapist has a therapist and everyone's just handing trauma around like a fruitcake no one wants.

...Thanks, I guess.

Crap. My boss just texted ‘???’ which is corporate-speak for ‘wrap it up or I’m hiring your replacement on Fiverr.’

Then go. It’s fine. Everything's always fine.

Nope. No fading into the emotional mist after a line like that. You better call me tomorrow. I want a dramatic sequel. Cliffhanger. End credits music. All of it.

You really think I will?

You better. If not, I’ll use your number to spam-call you with badly sung Celine Dion karaoke until you come back just to make it stop.

...You’re insane.

Yep. And inconveniently alive. So call me. I want to hear the long story. Even if it sucks. Especially if it sucks.

...Okay. Maybe.

That’s all I need. A maybe. I can work with maybe. I’m like a cockroach—you can't get rid of me that easy.

You still suck at this job.

But you’re still talking to me. So who’s the real sucker here?

END OF CALL: 3 Minutes, 34 Seconds

Call Satoru Gojo?

Taglist:

@pickledsoda

[nottellingofname]

Satoru Gojo Called For Help ☼

We all know Satoru Gojo is the certified king of crash outs—especially after Suguru dumped him in front of a KFC. (Seriously, who does that?!)

But what if the all-powerful Gojo, instead of, you know, killing himself slowly after Geto's death, decided to ask for help?

That’s right—therapy! We’re talking about real talk, feelings, and maybe even some sobbing (who’s to say?). Enter: The "Teen Confession Helpline". It’s anonymous, it’s cathartic, and it’s Gojo’s last-ditch effort to unleash his emotional trauma without wrecking the world.

So, will this helpline actually help Gojo get over his fried chicken heartbreak, or will the hold music drive him to madness first? Stay on the line to find out. It’s gonna be a ride.

xx:

comment / dm me if you want to be in the taglist

Boy wants to die

Boy kinda smiles

Boy meets Twilight

Boy comes back for more

Boy listens to Chapter 3

Boy reverse uno

Boy had an accident

Boy started reading

Boy learns new things

Boy says thanks

Boy likes music

Boy writes fanfiction?

Boy fights demons

Boy opens up

Boy is NOT writing fanfiction

Boy is not a virgin

Boy is not gay?

Boy is Lover Boy

Boy wants to clear the air

Boy misses Suguru

Helpline Operator avoids Satoru

Helpline Operator wants to confess

Boy calls back

Helpline Operator doesn't say anything

Helpline Operator wants to quit

Boy misses Helpline Operator

Boy's final call

[nottellingofname]

reign, idk if u were aware of the discourse going around on jjk Tumblr about toji saying ma but basically some people say they hate it because it doesn't make sense for toji to say it since he's japanese. what are ur thoughts?

yeahhh I've seen one or two posts like that. obviously I don't agree since I write toji saying ma like all the time ahahah. here are my thoughts:

the thing with him being Japanese isn't a convincing argument to say he wouldn't say 'ma' to me because we can stretch that to him speaking in English in fics. is it canon he knows how to speak English?

the fact that he's in love with reader also doesn't make sense because he canonically only ever loved one woman and life went downhill for him at the lost of that one great love of his.

and then if we hone in on him being Japanese, we can also say he wouldn't be with a foreigner, a plus sized woman, a woman of colour etc. and then what about sexuality? there's never been any hints that toji is gay so why would people write him with a male!reader? and those fics where he's having 3sums or gay moments with shiu? they canonically aren't even close.

what about other terms of endearment that Japanese men don't culturally use like doll and baby? should we open the conversation to say Toji should never use those words too? following that, Gojo/Geto/Choso/Nanami wouldn't use those either, right? they are Japanese after all. and don't even get me started on all the things Sukuna would or wouldn't do.

the way I see fanfiction and justifying writing in English is that the stories are translated from Japanese. since we don't have equivalents of 'chan/kun' and the ways the Japanese show affection, we insert our own cultural alternatives. him using ma is just to show his very informal, unconventional, 'unclassy' demeanour. he's not all romantic and gentlemanly like nanami or youthful/playful like gojo. so, to me, 'ma' displays that

we can go on and on and point out cultural inaccuracies with works of fanfiction but what would be the point?

none of it makes sense and I don't think it needs to. it just needs to be fun, enjoyable, and entertaining. I mean I could write Toji shoving rice cakes up his ass whilst he leaps off the lap of the Lincoln memorial, screaming slurs and doing the h*tler salute. just like I could write Toji cannibalising on his son or defacing remembrance murals. and it is simply up to everyone else to decide if they'd read that or not.

I think we should all just take a moment to reflect and realise that there's no right or wrong depiction of a character in fanfiction unless the author explicitly says and even then there's no rules to this shit. some things are just not for you and that is okay. to this extent, don't yuck on people's yums. I don't like Suguru but I respect people that do so if I can do it, I'm sure you can too

let's embrace each other's opinions. let's filter the stuff we don't want to see. heck, let's write the stories we want to read.

let's be the change we want to see

so reign says, you can pry Toji saying 'ma' from my cold, dead hands ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

[nottellingofname]

Amazing. Give me 10 more

LOST IN THE FIRE !

⊹₊˚. HAPPY 4/20 2025 — two baked and horny college students + a late night ritual to summon a hungry sex demon = a hot mess! but as satoru famously likes to say, what could go wrong?

warnings: 18+ content, mdni. succubus fem! reader, recreational drug use (weed), crack taken very seriously, threesomes, humor, inaccurate demonic rituals, blood offerings but sexy, oral, unprotected sex, creampies, squirting, throat fucking, extreme marathon sex, ‘this is where you’re weak right’, lots of cum, handjobs, blowjobs, spit roasting, tit sucking, reader is sexy asf! wc / 12.6k DAMN

xoxo, juno: this idea came to me sober btw! happy 420, two months later. comment & rb if you enjoyed, lmk if you caught the jjk easter eggs i threw in teehee

“god, it’s really been too long.” 

satoru exhales a cloud of smoke into the air, and he can feel the tension bleeding out of his slouching shoulders. weeks of built up stress dissipate along with the smoke, and for the first time in a while, he’s finally able to take it easy. he passes the blunt back to his best friend and squints at the laptop screen. it is dark in their apartment, and the air is thick with the heavy scent of weed, all thanks to suguru’s idea to hotbox the place. why follow the no smoking inside rule when you can shove a towel against the front door and keep the windows shut so the neighbors can’t smell it? honestly, fuck them—the people on the left always have something to say, especially to the landlord!

with a wry chuckle, suguru plucks the blunt from satoru’s fingers and raises it to his lips. “it’s been a month, satoru. you were literally the one who kept telling me to be your sobriety sponsor so you could focus on school and work.”

on the illegal (but free!) website, cocaine bear plays on the display, not yet in full screen. satoru loves to watch comedy movies, and this is the only one he’ll ever want to watch when he’s high. as for suguru, he either falls asleep or watches it too. the workload for classes has really amped up in the past few weeks, and as much as satoru hates to say or even think it, he’s genuinely been struggling. scheduling at work has also been a bitch, and utahime, his boss, has the nerve to turn her nose up at him even when he comes in early! if she wasn’t shoko’s girlfriend, satoru would mess with her endlessly.

diamond irises stand out brightly against reddening eyes as he blinks a few times, leaning in to better see the movie. soft voices and sounds pour out of the speakers, just loud enough to hear. the tip of satoru’s index finger lands on the touchpad, and he skates the mouse across the screen to dilate the movie’s picture when he notices a peculiar bookmark just under the search bar.

“what the hell, suguru?” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth; legitimate curiosity and maybe a little excitement slip into the words, and before suguru can snatch away his laptop, satoru pulls it into his lap and scurries onto his own messy bed. “what’s this? it looks weird, i’ve never seen this site before.”

it’s true.

satoru has browsed nearly all corners of the internet, and not once in his twenty four years of living has he seen this website icon before. it’s a black circle with intricate white lines in a shape that he can’t quite make out, and when he dodges suguru’s attempt to drag him off the bed, he clicks onto the bookmark and kicks his feet childishly. 

“dude,” suguru tries weakly, having managed not to drop the blunt. he grabs at his best friend’s flailing ankle and his lips twist downwards, an embarrassed heat creeping into his face. “listen. i promise, it’s really not what it looks like, hear me out—”

“‘how to summon a succubus in five steps’. what the actual fuck is this? suguru, if you’re going through a dry spell, why not just go to the bar near shoko’s place?”

“that’s—it’s a lesbian bar, satoru. for the record, i’d never be desperate enough to summon a succubus. it’s because of yuki, she kept hounding me about this shit. what, you think i’d voluntarily research something like this? she threatened to whip me off her motorcycle when i was on it.”

satoru’s face scrunches in disgust. he doesn’t really like to know that he has friends desperate enough to look into something like this, but at least she’s more suguru’s than his. they met in a similar class at some point and apparently hit it off well enough for her to pass something like this off to him. 

“and you said yes? what happened to the stop, drop, and roll thing?”

“i was drunk and we were on a freeway. this was right after drinking at the lesbian bar, by the way. two women actually hit on me because i wore my hair down that night.”

“where was i? why didn’t you invite me to this little get-together, huh?” satoru sours immediately, already thinking too hard about when this may have happened to register suguru taking a seat on the bed beside him.

“at work,” suguru hums, scooping the laptop into his own lap to explore the web page, “i shouldn’t even be telling you this, but utahime organized it so you’d be stuck working late.”

of course it was her! satoru lightheartedly teases her about her hair bow or her occasional meltdowns when there’s too much work dumped onto her shoulders, and to get back at him, she decides to screw with his schedule. that’s too far, even for her. if he were soberly processing this information, he’d begin plotting revenge, but right now, he’s still thinking about the succubus thing.

“i hate her,” he whines pettily, pulling the blunt away from suguru to take a long, calming hit.

“don’t let shoko hear that.”

“are you—give that to me, i want to read it.” satoru is quick to regain control of the laptop, exhaling smoke through his nose as he navigates the dark webpage. the title, How to Summon a Succubus in Five Steps, runs along the top of the website in a bolded font. upon further inspection, satoru notices the lack of a back arrow and symbol that tells him this is a secure, private site. this website could potentially introduce a virus to the laptop, but suguru just looks on, waiting for his best friend to read the nonsense he’s been researching for the past week.

HOW TO SUMMON A SUCCUBUS IN FIVE STEPS

Before summoning any kind of spirit or demon, it is necessary to understand the

“satoru, why’d you scroll past the introduction? it’s actually informative.”

“i’m not reading all that,” he shrugs in reply, lip jutting out as he impatiently rolls down to the next set of bolded lettering. the laptop feels like it’s radiating more heat through his sweatpants; the screen flickers, flashing black for a split second before returning to normal. “dude, you need to charge this thing. cord should be on the floor, i saw it there earlier.”

after releasing an unwilling groan, suguru begins shuffling around to find the black charging cord. while he fishes around in a sea of clean though mismatched socks and papers for it, satoru clears his throat and begins reading aloud.

“‘to begin, you will need to arrange red candles in the shape of a circle and then light them.’ hey, suguru, while you’re up, can you grab some of your candles?”

suguru brushes his bangs out of his face and throws his friend a mildly annoyed look. “you just said red candles, and mine are all white or blue. also, i can’t find the goddamn charger, so once the laptop dies, that’s my sign to go to bed.”

“so you don’t wanna test out the stuff you’ve been researching? it’s better to go to all this effort so yuki knows it was a good idea to ask you for help. aren’t you the least bit curious anyway?”

“you don’t give a flying fuck about yuki,” suguru deadpans, crossing his arms. his eyes are droopy and red from the weed, but he still manages to speak in that sober monotone of his. clearly, he needs to help satoru finish that blunt all the way. “you’re just interested in the idea of fucking a spirit.”

“weed does more than soothe the mind,” satoru begins nonsensically, pinching his fingers together in a cone shape to make his point hit harder, “it activates the loins and controls every single craving a person could possibly have.”

“the loins?” suguru can’t help but parrot him, completely baffled and still standing like an elementary teacher scolding a bratty student.

“yes. smoke some more and you’ll start thinking with ‘em.”

because satoru never shies away from a challenge, he tips his chin up and smirks like he’s just spoken wise, socratic words. significantly slower than normal, the seconds creep by as they hold the eye contact. between the two of them, suguru is the first to crack, his lips curling back as he bursts into laughter, clutching at his sides as he wilts to the floor. likewise, satoru cackles along with him, unable to remember where he randomly pulled the word loins from—everything feels like it’s been slowed down, his surroundings hazy by the time he finally comes back to himself. while suguru fetches the candles from his room, satoru can’t stop giggling, even when he’s reading the next steps.

suguru arranges the candles in a sloppy, uneven circle and hits the blunt to reward himself, taking a seat on the floor to follow the upcoming instructions.

“‘before lighting any candles, obtain a piece of paper and a working pen.’ why the fuck would anybody use a dried out pen? uh, it says to ‘start this letter by addressing the goddess lilith. use her formal titles and then start writing your erotic thoughts or feelings. put everything out of your mind and focus only on requesting one of her succubi.’ you get all that, suguru?”

“yeah, i’m writing right now.”

“the instructions give a few examples but specify not to use them, so i hope you’re thinking original thoughts.”

messy words are scrawled into the paper, which crinkles against suguru’s thigh, growing wrinkly from being pressed into the material of his sweatpants. he’s trying not to press too hard and rip anything, but it’s kind of hard to focus on one specific thing when the most random thoughts are ricocheting through his head and exiting just as quickly as they came. he manages to finish his final paragraph kindly begging the goddess to consider his request, and signs his name under it. both the pen and paper are passed to satoru, along with a tight-lipped warning. “if you read that shit out loud, i’m taking you outside, satoru. in fact, don’t even look at it.”

in lieu of a verbal response, satoru dramatically rolls his eyes. “since it’s dark, i just rolled my eyes. we’re trying to summon a sex demon, so i don’t really get why you still have the nerve to be embarrassed. that should’ve passed the second you grabbed the candles, dude.”

suguru’s words on the paper were more thoughtful, more profound. satoru just writes a slew of horny things, like he’s trying to customize a video game character—please be soft, don’t be totally evil, please be open to letting me suck your tits. his final paragraph is respectful and kind of a copy of the one a few lines above it, but whatever! despite his insistence that satoru doesn’t read his writing on the paper, suguru hypocritically takes a small peek and groans aloud, pressing a thumb into his forehead.

“‘please be soft?’ what the hell does that even mean? need i remind you we are talking to a demon and could end up being cursed if we show even the smallest bit of disrespect?”

everything flies in through one ear and right out the other. careless as usual, satoru scoffs dismissively. “blah blah blah, it’s not even that serious. i get that you’re afraid, but like—”

“read the next step.”

“‘to seal this letter, prick your finger with a needle—’ hell no, that’s all you. ‘drip the blood onto the letter, light every candle in the circle, and meditate until you feel you’ve completely cleared your mind. then, without folding it, burn the letter and continue to meditate until a succubus comes forth.’”

suguru cringes, but ultimately decides that he must take the plunge. the best case scenario is that they complete the ritual accurately and nothing happens, but they are selfishly messing with the supernatural. he doesn’t know that much about demons, but the name holds a negative connotation—getting on the wrong side of one doesn’t sound appealing in the slightest.

“okay, it also says to cut your palm for more blood if you’re extra serious about this. i’m not doing any of that shit, by the way.”

“satoru,” he sighs exasperatedly through his nose, deadpanning the name, “you wrote in the letter too, so you also have to seal it, not just me.”

“ugh, can’t we just offer chocolate or something?”

suguru relents, because his high brain doesn’t entirely think that satoru’s suggestion is a bad one. no, it doesn’t align with the provided steps for this specific ritual, but during his extensive research, he came to learn that some rituals involved edible offerings and supposedly worked. “i’ll try offering blood, and you do the chocolate.”

“right!” satoru nods thoughtfully, under the impression that he just keeps getting smarter and smarter after he smokes. he proudly sticks up his index finger when he remembers the existence of his sweets drawer, which is always restocked on fridays, like clockwork. “do you want that needle or are you planning to bite your tongue?”

suguru grimaces as the scent of chocolate and sugary candy wafts through the air, thanks to satoru opening his underwear drawer. it is literally divided into two different sections—the left side is taken up by folded boxers and a jockstrap he hasn’t used since high school; the space on the right is claimed by an orange halloween bowl filled to the brim with mini chocolates, hard candies, and too many packets of konpeito.

when satoru comes back from the bathroom with a safety pin in hand, he’s giggling stupidly. it’s dark all over the apartment, and it’s well past midnight—the perfect conditions to summon a succubus. clumsily, he drops the safety pin into suguru’s extended palm and pulls the laptop off of the bed before taking a seat on the floor.

“i can’t believe we’re doing this,” satoru laughs dryly, dragging a hand down his warm face as one brief and sober thought passes through his mind, “i’ve been celibate for far too long, suguru. i think the lack of pussy is actually starting to get to me, i’m beginning to lose smell in my right ear—”

suguru wordlessly relights the blunt and hands it to his best friend. firmly gripping the unclasped safety pin, he jabs it right into his thumb and winces when it goes a little deeper than intended. he snatches the letter and swipes his bleeding finger across his signature, and practically throws it at satoru.

“you good?” smoke billows out of his mouth in thin wisps as he picks up the letter, noticing suguru sucking on his thumb. then, his eyes widen when he notices the wet streaks of red along the paper. “fuck. that’s . . a lot of blood for a dumb ritual, suguru.”

he starts to stand, planning to hunt down an ashtray and a bandaid, but suguru shakes his head, pulling at his leg. “it’s fine. in this case, more is better than less. just get the chocolate on the paper, we need to hurry up.”

he glances over at the laptop while satoru unwraps a hershey’s. it’s pretty much melting now from the heat of his hands, which makes it easier for him to swatch beneath his own signature. it looks weird, especially when compared to the streaks of blood a few inches up the paper.

satoru clears his throat, holding the blunt between his fingers while he skims over the screen again. the words feel harder to read now—it’s like they’re blurry and glitching out whenever his eyes land on the first word in a sentence. “uh, okay. ‘light every candle in the circle, and meditate until you feel you’ve completely cleared your mind. then, without folding it, burn the letter and continue to meditate until a succubus comes forth.’”

“let’s get this over with,” suguru assents, his thumb still spurting blood against the folds of his shirt. “i’ll light the candles and you burn the letter.”

“ew, this is pretty creepy.”

one by one, the peppermint candles are lit up. small orange flames flicker, dancing from side to side, and the light fills the room, giving it an eerie glow. satoru does not believe in spirits, but he shuffles a few inches closer to his best friend in case something spawns out of a candle. maybe he’s just paranoid, he realizes, but he makes no move to get away from suguru.

reluctantly, he reaches into the circle, the letter dangling precariously from between his fingers. he moves it over a candle’s flame, the only one in the circle with the smallest speck of blue, and lets the corner of it catch on fire. everything happens fairly quickly—the hungry flames engulf the thin paper, eating up the ink and offerings within a few seconds. 

shit just got real, suguru recognizes, a sudden awareness prickling in the forefront of his mind. what the hell was he thinking? what kind of person writes some lustful desires on a piece of paper, signs their name, gets blood on it, and then burns it in a sinister circle of candles? his heart kicks against his ribs, and he wonders how he could possibly meditate peacefully when he’s more cognizant than he’d like to be at this point in time.  

his tone leaves no room for questions when he demands, “hand me the fucking blunt, now.”

it’s a lifeline. trembling, he starts puffing away like an asthmatic in the throes of an attack, getting blood on the sides of it with his bad thumb. satoru starts to cough, his eyes watering from the huge clouds of smoke filling the room. heavy and hot, the mingling scents of burned paper and weed hang in the air like a weighted blanket. weakly, he reaches for an abandoned bottle of water under his bed and doesn’t hesitate to suck half of it down. now that he’s back to being comfortably wasted, suguru can meditate without thinking excessively. sure, there’s still a few thoughts that creep in, but he’s able to dismiss them and focus on a positive end goal to this whole ordeal. he swears to himself that he’ll never get involved with the occult again, whether or not this goes well—never again.

satoru crosses his legs and focuses on meditating, eyes closed as he hums long, unintelligible syllables to relax. not far behind him, the laptop is getting battery notifications; it’s about to die very soon, and yet the screen is the brightest it has ever been. suguru doesn’t notice, too engrossed in meditating alongside satoru. if they both channel positive thoughts, maybe this will end better than the way it started.

a light breeze hits satoru’s cheeks, leaving tingles in its wake. it is much cooler than it should be, considering the fact that the windows aren’t open and—the windows aren’t open. they are sitting in a dark room illuminated only by candlelight, with zero air flow. his eyes snap open, and he notices the flames frantically flicking from side to side. 

“oh fuck, suguru. i swear to god there’s something else in here with us, don’t you feel—”

“don’t say anything,” suguru hisses, closed eyelids clenching, “go back to meditating. we gotta make sure we don’t piss it off.”

satoru’s throat is dry and his heart is pounding in his ears, the only sound in the otherwise silent room. okay, this spiritual mess isn’t funny or weird anymore—he is legitimately concerned about being haunted by a fucking demon. what if it’s because he offered chocolate and then the demon didn’t like it? or what if she did, and that’s why she’s going to come after him?

suguru also feels the breeze, but then a nearly unbearable heat tears through his body. it’s so unbelievably hot, strong as a fever, but then it crests right between his thighs. he swallows dryly, his throat clicking. it makes his skin sting under his clothes—the brisk air does nothing to soothe the scorching in his cheeks, and the presence of something else is indisputable. 

beside him, satoru’s starting to twitch. he is deathly afraid and not expecting the very same heat to ignite in his gut; it’s like he’s an hourglass, except the sand is fast moving magma pooling between his thighs. he tries his hardest to concentrate on meditating, even though the sensations are really overwhelming him. just as he’s started to successfully gaslight himself into thinking that it’s just the weed, something physical brushes gently against his throat and sends a chilling wave of dread through his warming body. 

it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, but satoru is extremely on edge nonetheless. “if i die,” he hisses, jaw clenching, “i will be haunting utahime for eternity.”

suguru must be experiencing his own turmoil, because he draws in a sharp breath and straightens his back against the edge of the bed. something both soft and sharp coasts along the slope of his jaw, with just enough pressure to slightly sting. an indecipherable mutter of words as quiet as a whisper echoes through the room, only growing louder with each pass between them. something beyond the two of them is definitely present by now.

this is really embarrassing and he feels like a total pussy, but satoru wants to grab suguru and huddle against him like a last-ditch effort to prevent from freezing to death on an icy tundra. he’s high out of his mind, which probably amplifies the paranoia, and he is uncomfortably aware of the fact that he has helped summon a demon into the very place he lives—yeah, this definitely takes the cake for his top three worst experiences ever.

gradually, the ominous sound climbs in volume until it finally evolves into a shout. what had at first been a low, unsettling hiss is now a deafening chant that blasts through both satoru and suguru’s heads; accompanying the noise is a pressure that’s strong enough to crush a soda can flat. it hurts more than anything ever has before, and just as suguru thinks he’s about to have an aneurysm, everything stops and falls completely silent. the quiet is still jarring to their ringing ears, and is more unsettling than anything else.

when you materialize in the room, you first notice the thick and musty smell of the place before anything else. it has earthy notes of smoke and herbs, but it’s been hanging in the air for so long that it is no longer pleasant. it’s fine, though, because your own scent supercedes the stench of the small apartment—a seductive and sickeningly sweet aroma fills the air, making the candles burn brighter. despite the room’s dim glow and darkness, you can very clearly make out the two male figures seated in front of you. you knew that they were there to begin with, though; fear rolls off of them in heavy, bitter waves that you can taste on your tongue. 

both of them have their eyes closed, although the delicate skin of their eyelids seems to jump or twitch every now and then. perhaps they’re both caught in a nightmare and need to be awakened? you bend forward to observe one of them more closely, without stepping out of the summoning circle, and you reach out a hazy, half-formed finger to touch him. a sharp, manicured nail skims along suguru’s jaw, and he wills himself not to react, but the other man beside him jerks ever so slightly from the accidental graze of your tail against his throat. 

when you’d been summoned, you were excited and expecting much more than whatever the hell this sorry set up is. two men were calling you to an apartment located in a busy suburb in tokyo, and their generous offerings appealed to your two favorite tastes. first, an excessive amount of blood, and second, a sweet snack known to humans as chocolate. a feverish sort of sensation rushes through your body, just from looking at them—without having stepped foot out of the circle of candles, you’re already feeling hot and bothered.

out of nowhere, suguru’s rock hard and nearly choking on his tongue at the feel of it. his cock throbs painfully against his thigh, the tip of it drooling precum into his boxers, and he’s shocked. this must mean that the ritual worked—they genuinely summoned a succubus with an online ritual from 2014.

a thin sheen of sweat forms on satoru’s skin, spanning his whole face and throat, while also dampening his chest underneath his black jujutsu tech shirt. if he knew a supernatural being would be seeing him in a shirt with the name of his college stamped across the front, he would’ve dressed up more for the occasion with a compression shirt of the same color. also, maybe if he wasn’t representing his college, you’d be unable to discern his whereabouts if you maliciously wanted to haunt him. but, like, aren’t spirits and the like all-knowing? does his shirt even matter?

it really looks like they’re asleep, or maybe caught somewhere in the fragile realm between consciousness and slumber. being a succubus for thousands of years simply means that you’ve developed a propensity for kickstarting the arousal of your conjurors, and so long as their offerings are worth something, what’s the point of keeping them waiting when they’ve put so much effort into calling you to them?

you lean in for a kiss, and it is nothing short of electric when your lips meet his. shocks of pure lust reverberate through both of your bodies at the delicious contact, and you can feel his energy swelling in the air immediately. suguru’s arousal is acidic on your tongue as you swallow it down, happily feeding off of such succulence. a mouthwatering tang stands out against the flavor, which amplifies the output of your own energy; in turn, this aggravates their arousal. 

startled though buzzing with desire, suguru pulls back and kicks his feet out to protest against the invisible force. an entity has attached itself to his mouth, and it feels nice but also makes him freak the fuck out. the first thing he can think to do is scamper back and away from the circle, dragging you out of it as well. without the aegis of the sacred candles, you fully manifest in front of them, going from an inpercievable specter to what appears to be a half-clothed female human being, with a few unusual attributes. 

at a loss for words, suguru releases an astonished gasp. satoru protectively slots himself beside his best friend, too shocked to think before he speaks. “what the fuck is that thing?”

in the thousands of years you’ve been a succubus, you’ve heard it all with previous summoners—goddess, woman, angel, demon, beauty, lady—but this is the first time you’ve been called a thing. 

you rise to your full height, looking surprisingly intimidating. the unfurling of your black bat-like wings and the back and forth flick of your heart shaped tail is unusual enough for them to exchange a look of panic. you don’t usually keep them during sex since they can be a hindrance, but you’ve always assumed that they look more sexy than anything else. the fact that they’re so obviously afraid gives you some kind of wicked delight, which prompts you to spread them out further, casting a somewhat menacing shadow over the men.

raising a brow, you glare at the source of the voice; he’s looking toward the floor, unsure of where to direct his gaze. satoru’s diamond blue eyes widen a fraction when he hears your voice boom through the room, authoritative and dangerously demanding. is he starting to lose it or did the walls just shake? “repeat yourself, human.” 

the last thing he wants to do is repeat himself, now aware of the severity of his mistake. for encouragement, suguru digs his elbow into satoru’s belly, urging him to respond. well, shit. how’s he supposed to respond? this is about to get extremely ugly, and even worse, he’s gonna die before he graduates college! he’s way too young for this shit! you can smell more panic leaking out of their souls, the miasma of it poisoning the air and overshadowing the pleasant arousal.

“uh, well. hm . . i was so startled i asked what kind of goddess you were. like, just look at you! anyone’s wires would get crossed seeing you appear in front of them. i’ve never been so blessed.” 

the cracking of his voice makes his lies obvious. he’s only layering it on thick because he’s so afraid of what you might do—as he should be—but this is just pathetic. most thankful summoners would drop to their knees and bow or something, but this . . this is different. this is intriguing. you decide to toy with them a bit further, narrowing your eyes as you take a single step closer.

in vain, satoru tries to scoot back, only for his spine to press against the solid edge of his bedframe. carelessly summoning you has turned out to be a massive mistake, and to make matters worse, he just had to upset you! he wishes he could blame this on someone else, say it was yuki’s fault for putting the summoning idea into his head, but you don’t look amused.

you lean in, tail flicking dangerously behind you. the cloying air feels thicker in satoru’s lungs, like he’s drowning in a tub of honey and trying to breathe at the same time; the light scent in the air has shifted into something reminiscent of rotting fruit. he regrets having closed the window as per suguru’s instructions—it’s getting a little humid. it’s already too sweet. too nauseating.

after nodding quickly at suguru, he decides to open his mouth. you’re waiting for a real apology, aren’t you? surely it’ll help to clear up this grave misunderstanding. but then, you put your hands on your hips and your voice booms through the room once more.

“i should show you what it feels like to have your soul pulled apart thread by thread and then burned in the very circle you used to summon me.”

suguru’s stomach drops. this is actually the end. he’s gonna die and suffer in the afterlife because he decided to take on a succubus research project given to him by yuki, and didn’t hide it well enough from satoru. maybe if they weren’t thinking with the wrong heads, they wouldn’t be in this situation right now! they’d be watching cocaine bear for the thousandth time and eating a mix of snacks from satoru’s candy drawer if it hadn’t been for their stupidity. 

he attempts to say something, but his mouth is completely dry. not a single word manages to form on his tongue, and all he can do is bow his head, pitifully begging for mercy. at his side, satoru looks shell-shocked, like he’s just seen a ghost—in all fairness, he’s currently looking at a variation of one—and tears gather in his eyes. there’s nothing he can do to save himself.

suddenly, you retract the bat wings, and light returns to the room, illuminating their faces. you drop to your knees in front of them, laughing so hard you’re clutching your stomach as you double over. “oh my god!” you manage to gasp out, feet kicking wildly, “you should’ve seen your faces!”

satoru side eyes suguru. both wear the same blank expression, but neither let go of the other.

you sit up, sniffling. tipping your head to the side, you smile, all teasing and tickled. like you didn’t just scare the shit out of them by threatening to kill and curse them less than a minute ago.

“what the fuck,” satoru blurts out, pushing away from his best friend when suguru tugs at his shirt, shaking his head vehemently. “no, seriously, what the fuck?”

“satoru—i’m sorry, he didn’t mean to say that,” suguru attempts to intervene, pulling him back.

you shrug, tail flicking lazily, like that of a cat’s. “it sounds like he did. ‘what the fuck’ what?”

“why would you threaten to kill us? we literally gave you our blood and chocolate! didn’t you read the letter i burned? i specifically said ‘please don’t be totally evil’ in that thing! this seems very evil, y’know!”

“i haven’t stretched my wings out like that in a thousand years! it was really boring being stuck in purgatory, so i just felt like i had to shake things up. no hard feelings, right?”

suguru’s trying to process this information. he presses his thumb into his forehead, trying to sort it out aloud. “so—correct me if i’m wrong, but you were in purgatory for a hundred years and decided to threaten to kill us just for fun?”

“exactly! but i just said that, so why are you repeating me?”

satoru starts talking before suguru can rip into you, more focused on understanding. “what did you do to get stuck there for a thousand years? did you just float there or something? why couldn’t you stretch your wings out?”

you sit up straighter, tits bouncing with the movement. suguru’s totally pissed right now, but damn—even he can admit that you’re truly divine. the personification of beauty and lust all in one, sitting in his apartment. you’re sitting on your knees, facing satoru and focusing on him. good. you can’t see his thirsty ass drinking you in, his eyes tracing over every inch of you.

you’re scantily clad in too much clothing and not enough. black lace barely covers your tits, leaving just enough to the imagination—he can see your nipples through it—while black opera gloves extend from the tips of your fingers to the start of your biceps. suguru’s dark eyes crawl further, finding the sparkling beads lining your waist, and god, that does something to him. the gemstones on each strand in the small stack look otherworldly, impossibly unique and all you.

satoru’s listening to you answer his questions and watching you talk with your hands. “it was a punishment for fucking a demon. he summoned me once and then afterward, i kept coming to him of my own accord, which i wasn’t supposed to do,” you sigh dramatically, not even hiding the fact that you miss whatever demon you’re talking about. “he had a mouth on his stomach and like, four arms. could you even blame me for going back to him? of course not. anyway, purgatory’s kind of like the place between heaven and hell. there’s no passage of time or any entertainment. it’s kind of like sleeping, but with your eyes open and without being able to move.”

satoru’s trying to pick his jaw up and off the floor. how the fuck could demons with four arms and stomach tongues roam this very earth? he looks at you, motioning for you to continue. as much as he hates to say it, this is kind of interesting to listen to. “and the wings?”

“oh, they were taken away through a cursed technique. that’s just an ability that my higher ups have, nothing super important, but my wings were missing that whole time. i only just got them back.” suguru’s completely ignoring what you’re saying. he’s buried in his thoughts, too focused on the lower half of your body to notice anything that may or may not be happening. you’ve got these black leg garments on—he can only equate them to stockings or thigh highs, even though they look a little different than what he’d see in a clothing store. he sneaks a dirty glance at your panties, eyes lingering at the lack of coverage on your ass. 

the black strings arch over your hips, leading into an extremely thin bit of fabric and lace covering your pelvis. maybe, just maybe, this succubus summoning ritual might actually be something he could be okay with.

“i saw that,” you say suddenly, calling him out. suguru looks up, his eyes meeting yours, and you can faintly see the red of his cheeks in the dark. “i can feel you looking at me. both of you.”

satoru scoffs, dismissively waving his hand in the air. “don’t start with the threats to kill us for looking at you. it’s not like your eyes are closed either.”

impressed, you raise a brow. his audacity sparks your curiosity and also your arousal. the effects can be felt throughout the room—suguru sits up straighter, and satoru adjusts himself.

“you did call me here for a reason. generously offered me blood and chocolate so i’d come.”

the mention of blood reminds suguru that he is still bleeding. it’s too dark to see clearly, but going off touch alone tells him enough; a lot of it has soaked into the lower half of his shirt and has probably stained it for good. he sees you inhale through your nose, detecting the faint traces of it in the air, and then you’re on all fours, creeping forward like a panther waiting to pounce. he swallows dryly, hearing the click of his throat, and isn’t sure if he should feel afraid or strangely turned on by the predatory look in your eyes.

you reach out and take his hand, nails lightly raking against his skin. he doesn’t pull away, even when you experimentally squeeze at his injured thumb and watch the blood bubble up. satoru glances at his best friend, wondering if you’re pretending to inspect suguru’s hand with the intent of biting it off. he understands that succubi are different than vampires, but after that stunt you pulled earlier? satoru can’t trust you completely. 

something warm, wet, and silky soft envelops his thumb. 

suguru tilts his head down, and your burning eyes meet his own. it’s nearly impossible not to moan as you suck on his thumb, tongue swirling around the sore skin in a way that manages to be delicate and effortlessly sexy all at once. all he can do is squirm and bite his cheek while satoru just watches, slackjawed. hell, if he knew he’d be getting this kind of treatment afterward, he would’ve offered plenty of blood! the sight gets him hot and bothered, way more than it should, and he emits a choked noise from beside his best friend, suddenly aware of how his boxers feel a few sizes too small. 

“uhhh . . do you want any chocolate with that?” he’s halfway through the sentence when his voice breaks cutely, and your eyes flick toward him, glowing with amusement. “i’ve got plenty of kit-kats, if you’re into those.”

sighing softly through your nose, you let go of suguru’s finger with a pop to focus on his best friend. he looks over his finger incredulously, no longer feeling the wound’s sting; your saliva coats his skin and glistens in the low light. would it be weird if he wanted to taste it?

a sly smirk tugs at the corners of your lips. “the chocolate can wait until after i’ve had my fill of what i came down here for. i’ve been kept waiting for too long anyway.”

there’s a beat of silence. the tip of your tail drags slow and teasing along suguru’s throat, and satoru just stares at you like he can’t believe he’s gotten so lucky.

you raise a brow, feeling the lust flare in the air. the energy is plentiful and strong, fueling the cycle of desire—it arouses you, which reflects back to them more intensely. “you, let’s share a piece of chocolate.”

satoru looks confused, but reaches for the bar he used for the letter. “didn’t you just say you were done with the chocolate? did the thousand year imprisonment have any mental affects?”

you scoff, thinking through your list of comebacks. you could take the easy route and roll your eyes, saying something like i know what i said, i changed my mind but where’s the fun in that? you are the one in control here—if you willed it, they’d bow down to you—as you should be. 

“i’ll fuck him on your bed while you watch,” you tilt your head toward suguru, whose eyes widen a fraction. did you just say you’d fuck him on satoru’s bed while also forcing the latter to watch? it makes some sense—you are a mischevious demon, after all. a very sexy and seductive one, at that.

satoru places the half melted piece of chocolate between his lips. you lift yourself into his lap and push your gloved hands into his messy hair before tugging his face toward your own. part of the chocolate breaks when you bite it and take it into your mouth; it’s light and sweet on your tongue, but satoru would taste a thousand times better.

chocolate smears against his lips as his mouth meshes with yours in a scorching hot kiss. the candy tastes much better when you’re perched on his lap and licking it out of his mouth like you can’t get enough. satoru lets out a debauched moan, more than pleased with how you’re kissing him—his cock is painfully hard against your ass, and despite the layers of clothing between your bodies, you can feel each inch of him.

suguru sits back and observes, feeling the heat of desire sweltering under his skin. fuck, you’re not even kissing him, and he wants to moan just from watching! are you really attractive or is he discovering something new about himself? satoru tips his head down, trying to change the angle of the kiss, and your fingers are already on his chin, tilting his face up without any concern of being gentle or not. he groans, weakly attempting to grind you down on his cock.

“shit,” suguru mutters, reaching toward the waistband of his sweatpants.

with one final dip of your tongue into his mouth, you pull away from satoru and look just in time to catch the feverish devastation flash across his face. you might be starving for some sex, but nothing beats the slow burn of foreplay—it’s more than necessary right now.

“your turn, suguru,” he’s flushed and breathing a little heavier than usual, but he nods, stretching out his legs for you to come and sit on his lap. instead of situating yourself the same way you did on satoru, you balance your weight on your knees, positioning them on either side of his thighs. “oh,” you coo, swiftly undoing the tie of his neat bun, “look at this gorgeous hair.”

brightening at the compliment, he gives you a half smile. “thank you. i actually—”

in the background, satoru groans, sounding petulant when he interrupts his best friend. “okay, suguru. you’re gonna bore her if you start going on about the shampoo and oils you use.”

“i was going to say that i actually think the bed would be more comfortable right now.”

he’s in the middle of his stupid bickering with satoru when your soft hands slide against his neck and immediately draw his attention. you shush him with a low, quiet sound and lean in for a kiss that instantly adds a dangerous amount of fuel to the fire raging deep in your belly. you’re nearly sick with desire and drowning in the overwhelming waves of everything that accompanies it—there is so much that the excess seeps into your movements, making every single one all the more intoxicating.

satoru’s a little pissed. actually, scratch that, he’s a lot pissed. he’s being forced to sit back and watch the succbus that he helped to summon ignore him for his damn best friend. yes, suguru deserves some love, but not this much! you’re rocking your hips over his lap and swallowing all the soft sounds he makes, sometimes muffling them with your own, and it is genuinely one of the worst things he’s ever had to watch. you must feel his eyes on you, or you really like suguru’s hair, because you thread your fingers in it and tug hard enough to elicit a drawn-out groan of fuuuck that comes from deep within his chest.

“ahem. allow me to remind you that i helped to summon you too. do i look like some kind of cuck to you?” satoru practically spits the question out, narrowing his eyes at the both of you. “suguru, don’t you dare say yes.”

“if he won’t say it, i will,” you tease, throwing him this smarmy smile even though he shakes his head in warning. as expected, you just ignore it. “yes, you do.”

you stand, much to suguru’s dismay, and with a wave of your hand, both your tail and wings disappear into thin air. now, you look completely normal—if being flawlessly beautiful is a normal human trait. the bed creaks gently under you as you lay back against the pillows, looking like a medieval queen upon her throne, and with a single finger, you beckon them closer.

“show me why i should grant your requests. both of you.”

the mattress dips under satoru’s added weight when he sidles up beside you and pulls you into another sweet kiss. since he isn’t quite sure where you’re okay with being touched, he decides to play it safe by cradling the side of your face with his palm—you can feel the energy spike in the air and taste the comfortable petnames he whines into your mouth.

reverant as can be, suguru bows forward and slots himself between your thighs, tossing your legs over his shoulders. he’s radiating enough warmth to be comparable to a damn oven—even through his shirt, you can feel the shape of defined muscle. a shockwave bolts right to your pussy at the thought of stripping them both naked; but you can’t rush. not yet.

wait, this is totally insane! too many thoughts race through suguru’s mind at once, but he doesn’t allow the doubt to impede his rhythm. even the idea of fucking a succubus and ruining sex for the rest of his life doesn’t stop him! those soft lips of his drag hot and languid against the tender skin of your inner thighs, scattering kisses around the place where you need him most. he wonders if succubus pussy tastes different than that of a human’s, and feels his cock leak at the idea of it. it’s painful, being this hard—you must have some kind of divine effect on him.

with your tongue in his mouth, satoru can’t think. he’s completely blissed out, his diamond eyes unfocused and blurry as you kiss his judgment away with those pillowy lips. just when he’s pressing you closer instead of taking a moment to breathe, you grab him by the dick and squeeze. your grip is firm and authoritative, leaving no room for resistance—not that he’d want to, of course. 

sharp and delightfully startling, your teeth sink into his lower lip. the light sting reverberates through his head like an echo in an empty hall, and fuck—he gasps, eyes rolling back into his skull. how the hell is he meant to show you that he deserves to have his ridiculous requests granted when you’re playing him like a violin, tugging his heartstrings every which way?

“you’re awfully sensitive, satoru,” you giggle, twisting your wrist. “i haven’t even gotten my bare hands on you yet.”

yet, you say, like you haven’t practically broken him already. he huffs, blowing hair out of his face, and attempts to regain any semblance of control. “well, neither have i.”

you tug your gloves off; suguru’s nose bumps against your clothed clit and you let out a moan, face scrunching. he’s right there—so god damn close to where you need him and still refusing to give. you glance down, only to be met with a smirk and eyes that are twinkling with mischief. have you met your match?

“use your words,” he punctuates his demand with a slow, agonizing drag of his tongue over the thin fabric of your panties. he’s looking at you like he’s daring you to snap at him, like he’s just waiting to show you what he’ll do—what an asshole.

you hum thoughtfully, focusing on suguru while your hand dips beneath satoru’s waistband and teases his cock through his boxers. “i’ll bite. i want you to devour me like a sweet fruit—juices pouring down your chin as you lick the excess from your fingers to savor all of it.”

the piquant visual makes his mind hazy. if you want to be devoured, then devoured you shall be.

“what, you’re gonna leave me hanging?” in an attempt to level the playing field, satoru gropes at your tits, squeezing the soft flesh in his hands. there. now you’re both grabbing one another.

“poor baby wants attention, huh?” you run your thumb over the tip of his cock, pressing at the wet spot on his boxers. satoru absolutely hates to admit it, but this banter with you is annoyingly enjoyable. your little prank had seemed like a true, honest to god curse, but this is a blessing—each exchange turns up the heat more and more.

suguru’s tugging your panties down your hips, careful not to bring your thigh highs down too. hooded and flushed, his eyes are focused only on your body but do occasionally flick over to satoru, who’s putty in your hands. he goes back and forth with you like his bratty ass usually does with anyone he first meets, and you dish it out right back to him. what a sight.

with an unfortunate rip, your panties are torn off you and the mess of lace is tossed haphazardly to the floor. you arch a brow at suguru, who only shrugs, smirking as he draws closer to your messy cunt. his flutter shut as he runs his tongue through your folds for a taste, and fuck, he really does want to devour you. he’d sit you on his god damn face if he could and let you ride his tongue for hours, until it got so sore he could barely talk the next day.

saccharine and something close to ambrosian, your pussy tastes like all of the good things in this world. it’s addicting, the kind of thing he’d want to come home to on the table every day, and he lets out a deep groan that reverberates through your lower body. his hands come up to your hips and he drags you closer, burying his face against you so he can truly drink you in. the tip of his nose rubs against your clit and feels like an electric shock that zips through your stomach.

“fuck,” you breathe, head falling back onto the pillows, “you know how to use that tongue, don’t you?”

satoru doesn’t say anything. doesn’t ask for your attention, doesn’t make any witty comments about you being more focused on his best friend. he just acts, tucking his face against you and pressing kisses to the slope between your neck and shoulder. most of them are wet and mouthy, while a few of them have a little teeth. large hands come up to your chest and pull away the skimpy lace; the bra is replaced by his palms, and it feels like he’s won when you let out a sigh.

“have at it, satoru. i suppose you’ve earned it.”

a mess that’s equal parts his and yours coats suguru’s flushed cheeks as he slurps up your pussy, holding your hips so tightly that you can only move forward. each pass of his tongue is oh so rough as it dips between your folds, seeking more of your sweetness; he lets out muffled groans and shakes his head from side to side, pressing his nose directly into your clit.

his long, dark hair makes its way into his face, but even so, he pushes forward. it might be a bit of a ticklish distraction, but it will not stop him—nothing could, not even you genuinely threatening to destroy his soul with your bare hands.

satoru moans happily when he gets one of your nipples in his mouth. your skin is so soft, just like he’d wished for, and your tits are like heaven’s version of a pillow. he could lay against you and suck your tits all day long, if you let him. hot and overly eager, his tongue swirls around your hardened nipple while he tweaks the other between his fingers, making sure not to leave you feeling unsatisfied.

with one hand, you push your hands through suguru’s hair, dragging your nails against his scalp. the contact makes him sigh into your pussy, but what really gets him is when you wrap it around your hand and tug like he’s some kind of misbehaving dog on a leash. he grunts noisily, his hips instinctively rutting into the bed for some friction.

“oh my god, suguru. you look so fucking good when you’re making a mess, sweetheart.”

you calling him a sweetheart is going to be the death of him, he swears. it’s already enough that you’re saying his first name, but now you’re throwing petnames around—don’t you know he’ll make you cry for that?

“and you, satoru,” you purr, arching into his touch, “you’ve got my attention now.”

with renewed vigor and sinful intent, your hand moves between his boxers and sweatpants. he sucks harder at your tit, the edges of his teeth grazing the nipple; your fingers loosely curl around the clothed head of his cock. nobody’s getting naked until you cum—if either of them thought this was a lot, they’re in for a succubus-style surprise in the next few minutes.

you stroke him lightly, focusing more on pressing the pads of your fingers into the soft underside of his tip. every touch there makes him gasp and buck into your touch, desperate for more. satoru’s starting to pinch your nipple between his fingers, and the pain that goes with it feels so good, especially when it’s combined with suguru’s mouth between your thighs.

it’s not enough. 

there’s so much of your slick coating his face, but he still needs more.

suguru lets go of your hips, changing the positions of his hands. one palm presses into your lower stomach, and he pauses, sucking your clit while he slides two thick fingers inside of you. the sensation of being almost full makes you moan, your hips rolling forward, and you unintentionally squeeze the tip of satoru’s cock, nails digging into the sides.

everything blurs into a nasty whirlwind of spit, sex, and the like from there.

saliva coats much of your sore tits by now, but satoru’s head never comes up. he’s too busy biting at your nipples and then laving his tongue over them to make up for it—whenever you like what he’s doing, you stroke him a little harder. tighter, too, if you’re really feeling it. suguru’s grinding against the bed while he eats you out, something that he’d picked up once you’d started to pull on his hair. the sounds that come from your sloppy cunt are truly obscene—loud, wet slurps and sucks fill the room along with the moans from all three of you.

suguru’s pressing down on your lower belly, because he knows that it makes you feel extra good; selfishly, though, he just wants to feel how tight you can get. he’s lost track of how long he’s been between your legs, and normally, he’d get tired, but the arousal raging through his body keeps him going. so does your hand in his hair—you’re tugging him around, taking all that he gives, and fuck, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love it.

“mmmm, baby,” hot and heavy, satoru’s panting against your chest and rutting into your hand, chasing the friction you’re giving him just enough of, “s-shit, that pace—i’m so close, so close.”

your lips round around a moan of suguru’s name; your thighs are shaking on either side of his head, and his eyes flit up to meet yours. again, that same daring look—although he looks more debauched this time, with his flushed, sweaty skin and the lower half of his face buried in your cunt.

pent up with an otherworldly amount of arousal, satoru’s cock throbs in the palm of your hand and his breaths become more frantic, more gasping. he’s trembling, clinging to you with both arms, and you laugh, taking the words right out of his mouth. “you’re gonna cum, huh? you’re really gonna make a mess in your clothes?”

it’s said with a derision that would stop any normal person in their tracks, but satoru just moans, nodding shamelessly. you continue on, fingers tightening around him. “oh, talk about being dirty. you really like the idea of that, don’t you? my god, and i’m supposed to be the sex demon here.”

satoru whines, and it’s most definitely his lust speaking for him when he says, “keep talkin’ dirty to me.”

electric euphoria hisses through your veins, and you’re quick to realize how close you are. just beneath suguru’s large palm, an unstable pressure seethes like magma in a volcano—ultrahot and undeniably explosive. something’s coming, and it’s not just you and satoru.

your fingers press into the underside of his cock, and it’s so damn sensitive there that he gasps sharply, nearly choking on his own spit. you fight the wavering in your voice and lean in close, so that your warm breath fans against the shell of his ear. “this is where you’re weak, right?”

that’s it. 

satoru dies and ascends to heaven right then and there. he cums hard, spilling white and hot into your hand, cock jerking with the aftershocks. slumped against you and reeling from the ecstasy racing through his body, satoru has been pronounced dead. for now, at least.

you wipe your cum covered hand across his shirt, feeling the sharp ridges of his abdominal muscles through the fabric. with him taken care of, you can now focus on the main event—suguru can’t even breathe as you rock your hips into his mouth, your face scrunched with concentration. 

having pinpointed your sweet spot, his fingers curl deep and hard into the soft tissue. it’s a bullseye if you’ve ever known one. suguru stares up at you like it would physically hurt him to look anywhere else; you can see the hunger buried in his eyes, they way it twinkles as you hump against his open mouth.

“fuck, suguru,” you moan, voice breaking, “i-i’m gonna cum, oh my god—‘m gonna cum.”

you cum hard, pussy squirting like a waterfall and squeezing so damn tight around his fingers that they’re forced out. finally, after what’s been a beautiful eternity, you release his hair so he can pull back and breathe. he does, briefly gulping in some air before swan diving right back between your thighs for more?!

his tongue drags along your soaked inner thighs, and he laps up all of the excess cum before sitting up on his knees. a mix of cum and spit covers more than half of his face, making his skin shine—he really did eat you like a juicy fruit, didn’t he? suguru makes no move to wipe the wetness dripping down his chin, but instead smirks triumphantly.

“i want—i want a taste, suguru. you were hogging her pussy the whole damn time.”

satoru stirs, seemingly coming back to life. wait, did he actually fucking pass out for a minute? 

his best friend scoffs, rolling his eyes. “have at it, satoru. i’m sitting up here now.”

satoru’s fingers close around suguru’s wrist, and he pulls his hand toward his mouth. satoru momentarily sucks at suguru’s sticky fingers before the latter puts an end to it, tugging away. if he had a nickel for every time someone sucked on his fingers, he’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice, and in one night, nonetheless!

the delicate strands of beads on your waist jangle softly, and their heads snap in your direction. you’re on all fours, looking at them with those smoldering eyes that say more than your mouth does, and something in the sweet air shifts. their pulses quicken; their bodies move before they can even think about it.

suguru taps his sticky fingers against your lips and pushes them into your open mouth, letting you taste yourself. “i want to see what this mouth can do, sweetheart.”

satoru’s hands are settling on either side of your waist, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “god, i’ve been waiting for this. pretty pussy for an even prettier girl.”

“please, keep talking to me like i’m a human. we’ll see where it gets you, satoru.”

he smacks your ass, uncaring of the fact that you could smite him if you so wanted to. “the wings and tail are gone, babygirl. since we just proved ourselves as worthy, let’s all pretend to be normal human beings.”

“if you wanted me to keep it normal, we’d be sitting around waiting for you to get hard again. had it not been for my power, you’d—”

suguru tilts your chin up, using your cheek to wipe away the wetness from his fingers. “we’re helping you as much as you’re helping us. satiating that appetite of yours is gonna take a while, so why not go along with it?”

that is true. truthfully, you’re just pushing them around because you can, but they’ve either seen through your act or don’t give a damn about the extra respect. you won’t kill them. you answered their summons with an agenda of your own, one that requires their participation.

“i haven’t played the role of human in a thousand years,” you say contemplatively, just to look like you’re being slowly convinced rather than immediately admitting defeat, “fine. fuck me well and i’ll go along with it equally as well.”

the ritual of undressing begins. you watch as suguru divests himself of his long sleeved shirt and his baggy lounge pants, tossing both articles of clothing onto the floor without looking back. luckily for them, nothing is thrown onto a lit candle. satoru’s clothes come off too, his cum smeared shirt flying over your head and landing on top of the clothing pile.

something akin to nervous excitement swirls in your chest. it’s been a thousand years, and you’re finally back at it again—taking two cocks from the get go. being double stuffed isn’t necessarily a new experience, especially with your past flame, but this is a little bit different. instead of having two cocks in one hole or one in your pussy, the other in your ass, you’re going to be taking one down the throat while getting fucked.

you’re excited, there’s no doubt—satoru’s dragging his tip along your slit, gathering spit and cum to use as lube—and thinking of finally being used again wipes the worry from your subconscious. it’s been so long you can’t even remember what a human cock felt like; the last two demon dicks left quite the impression on both holes, superceding all else.

long, thick, and curving to the right, suguru’s cock bobs in front of your face. you have to tilt your head back just to look up at him fully—there’s so much muscle defining every inch of his body, shaping it into something strong and sturdy. his arms flex as he ties his hair back, into some kind of half up, half down style for better movement.

precum beads at the wet tip, some of it dribbling down. the sight is absolutely appetizing; saliva pools on your tongue, and your throat aches for him. he decides to tease you for a moment, before remembering that he’s actually denying himself relief as well.

suguru guides his tip along the seam of your mouth, getting your lips glossy. he looks down at you, his eyes droopy, and he chuckles. “what’s the matter? too big to fit, honey?

you roll your eyes, opening your mouth. your teeth gleam in the dark, sharp at the ends and a little predatory. “i can always cut you down to size.”

satoru presses the head of his cock forward, working only the first few inches into your pulsing cunt. “that’s not how humans talk about dicks, baby. you should say something like, ‘yeah, but i still want to give it a try’. hear the difference?”

“if i were you, i’d worry about not passing out this time,” you snicker, raising a brow in suguru’s direction. “i won’t actually bite. you have my word.”

“uh huh,” he works a hand into your hair, threading it tight around his fingers, and only then does he bring his hips forward. his cock slides into your mouth, the weight of him hot and heavy on your tongue. faintly, you can taste the subtle saltiness of his precum on your tongue, and god does it make you crave more. suguru exhales sharply once he bumps into the back of your throat, his shoulders relaxing. “not too deep, hm?”

you nod in assent. behind you, satoru pushes deeper and deeper, moving as slowly as he possibly can. for what reason, you don’t know—but the feeling is all that matters right now. it’s as frustrating as it is pleasant, which pisses you off, but there’s nothing you can say about it. 

suguru’s starting to rock his hips into your face when satoru’s nails dig into the soft skin of your waist, leaving marks between the strands of beads. “oh my fucking god. how the hell are you this tight? suguru, it’s—she’s literally sucking me in. you have to see this.”

“not right now,” suguru shakes his head and his bangs bounce with the movement. he’s focused on how god damn tight your throat is, and how every single gag of yours makes it even better. everything in his body is telling him to choke you with his cock, fuck your face until neither of you can breathe, but he doesn’t. he’ll take it easy on you, just for now.

satoru finally bottoms out, seven inches deep into heaven. your walls are pulsing around him, sucking him as far in as possible, and he almost feels offended. it’s like your body thinks he wants to pull out—but how could he, when you feel like this? why the fuck would he want to?

“i’m not as gentle,” he growls, pulling your ass snug against his hips. “i’ll fill up this pussy again and a-fucking-gain. you saw it earlier—i don’t mind making a mess.”

you can only let out a gurgled moan around suguru’s cock, spit pouring down your chin. he talks a big game—you’re more interested to see if he can back it up.

once suguru feels like you’re accustomed to his cock and tired of feeling the restraint ripple through his shallow thrusts, he pauses to let you breathe through your nose. “i taught you how to take it, huh?” you nod, clearly interested in what he has to say next. “i want to see if you can put those skills to use, sweetheart. open.”

because he’s still bitter about you having scared the shit out of him and his best friend, satoru slams into you the moment you open your mouth and suguru’s cock goes in. a wide, almost evil smile spreads across his face when he hears you choke; that was his revenge for your little joke a while ago, and this will be to fulfill his own selfish desires.

satoru’s heavy balls smack into your clit with every frenzied thrust of his hips. he’s chasing his high, that sweet feeling of ecstasy that comes along with filling someone up; he also wants to leave some kind of evidence that he was lucky enough to have you, preferably something that you’ll remember. if your exhausted pussy is oozing load after load of his cum, you’ll definitely commit him to memory.

“shit, baby,” the image of you conjured by his mind’s eye is powerful enough to make him whine like a bitch as he ruts into you, “all you’ve done since we summoned you is drive us crazy. ready for some fuckin’ p-payback?”

“she’s too busy to answer you,” suguru sounds both broken and triumphant as he fucks your mouth, savoring the sounds of your wet moans and occasional gags. “this throat’s all i could need for payback. fuck, you really are a fast fuckin’ learner.”

the claps of your ass are loud, ringing through the apartment like gunshots, but none of you could bring yourselves to care about any future noise complaints. your throat is being fucked open while your pussy is stuffed full at the same damn time—maybe this was worth waiting a thousand years for.

satoru’s hand comes to press down hard against your lower belly, making you squeeze tighter around his cock. the added pressure makes it feel like he’s all up in your lungs, punching the breath out of you with each feverish slam of his hips. spit and cum drip down your inner thighs in sticky trails, staining your lacy stockings; a lot of it has gotten all over satoru’s pelvis, strings of it connecting his skin to yours.

you let out an inhuman mewl as suguru’s cock plunges into the very back of your throat, leaving a dent that is uniquely his. you can faintly hear yourself sobbing over the sound of your pounding heart, can feel the tears rolling down your cheeks. this is good, so good—but it feels like too much and too little at the same time. they’re both giving it to you pretty well . . perhaps you’re just insatiable after a thousand years without sex.

suguru breaks first. “i want you to swallow every last drop, and you’re gonna show me that pretty fuckin’ tongue before you do, ‘kay?”

“you’re so nasty,” satoru pants, exerting himself too much to even laugh, “fuck. i’m not that far off either, baby.”

bittersweet cum spills into your mouth, hot and thick on your tongue. suguru’s groaning as he lets go of your hair, looking down to see you follow through on what he asked you to do. you open your mouth, showing off the mess on your pink tongue, and he actually moans at the sight.

“you’re fucking incredible,” he can’t even finish his sentence in peace; you make a big show of swallowing it and making your throat click. “you’re such a good girl.”

“then where’s my reward?” you rasp, sounding even better than before.

“right here,” satoru reaches a hand around your body, his fingers easily finding your swollen clit. his ministrations are executed with the same dexterity he’d exercised on your nipples; each rub or pinch sends sparks shooting through your veins. “cum all over this cock, baby. in fact, scream my name while you’re at it.”

suguru scoffs, hand on his cock as he sits back and watches. “you’re impossible.”

your arms collapse under you, and your body tilts forward, ass going up like a seesaw. “oh my god,” satoru grits his teeth, watching you writhe against the mussed blankets and listening to you moan, “y-you’re so fuckin’ deep, satoru. right there—oh!”

his eyes roll back when you fuck him back, throwing your ass back onto him to meet each and every single one of his sloppy thrusts. you’re angling your hips with each swing, forcing the tip of his dick into this soft spot inside of you, one that’s close to your cervix. 

“fuckfuckfuck—ugh, i’m gonna cum,” satoru’s fingers are staggering, shaking on your clit, and his chest is heaving, working to breathe against the impending euphoria. he comes undone with a delicious groan that dissolves into smaller, bitten whines; it’s the heat of his cum shooting deep into you that pushes you over the edge next.

“‘m cumming, satoru,” you manage, your voice breaking pitifully. wave after wave of bliss crashes over your body, nearly drowning you, and it’s a god damn mess when you cum. you’re shaking so hard your teeth are chattering, squirting cum all over satoru’s pelvis while you’re at it; he teases your clit rather roughly and laughs as more sprays onto his skin. 

something warm slides against your skin as suguru lifts your face from where it’s pressed into the bed. sticky cum covers both of his hands, and you can only surmise that he was jerking himself off while he watched you and his best friend. “you still with us, angel?”

you are everything but an angel, but you still respond to the petname, nodding. there’s this wild gleam in your eyes that tells him everything he needs to know—suguru just nods, teeth sinking into his lower lip.

“whew, holy fuck,” satoru steadies himself with a hand on your back, not wanting to pull out of you just yet, “did you actually just squirt on me, baby? this is some next level pussy magic.”

.  .  . 

the bed rocks under all three of your bodies, scraping along the floor and groaning dangerously from the movement on it.

round after round, position after position, orgasm after orgasm.

it’s a neverending cycle that leaves the three of you slick with sweat, panting with exhaustion, and messy with ungodly amounts of cum. suguru slides his cock out of your fluttering cunt with a groan, both him and satoru watching as load upon load of cum oozes out. you never tell them it’s time to take a break—if one’s tired, you’ll fuck the other, or take them at the same time—in fact, you tell them that it’s not enough.

god, you’re insatiable.

satoru gathers the hot globs of cum on his fingers and pushes it back inside you, using the excess as lube for your abused clit. an acidic mix of unequal parts affection and lust hisses through his nerves upon hearing you whine out his name—it’s all your voice has been reduced to thanks to merciless throat fucking and screaming elicited by being split open on their cocks.

this is the nth round of the night—early morning, actually. they’ve been fucking you for a few hours straight, mostly because you’re so horny that it impacts them, but also because your presence opposes refractory periods. it almost hurts, because neither have much left to give, but then you’re pulling another orgasm out of them and nothing feels real again.

eventually, the bedframe snaps with a deafening crack, but nobody stops. in fact, it just reminds you to change positions—satoru fucks you on your side while you sixty-nine with suguru, who sucks your clit and playfully nibbles at it when you choke on his cock. but once that’s over and done with, they’re getting creative as they hoist you off of the bed and take turns fucking you while standing up.

by the time it’s over, you’re left with two uniquely satoru and suguru shaped dents in your stomach.

.  .  .

“suguru!” mussed with sleep and looking wild because of it, satoru pushes at his best friend, who’s asleep on the floor. how the hell did he even manage to fall asleep when there’s so much debris strewn around? papers, socks, and clean shirts that were once folded surround his body like the chalk outlines at a crime scene. “suguru, dude, c’mon. get up already!”

“what,” suguru deadpans, pushing his hair out of his face. the first thing that he notices is how dry his fingers are when they accidentally graze against his forehead. huh. he could’ve sworn that hand was bloody from a thumb injury. “why are you hassling me first thing in the morning?”

“first, it’s one o’clock in the afternoon, and second, i had the craziest dream. you’ll never fucking believe it.”

there’s a beat of silence before suguru’s brows furrow in realization.

“i did too.”

[nottellingofname]

All parts are up! Enjoy binge reading <3

Suguru Geto Tries Not To Die ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Written for Men's Mental Health Awareness Month!

Yep. You read it. We all know what happens.

Suguru Geto wants to die.

But you're not gonna let that happen.

You’ve got ten days to save him.

Suguru Geto has made up his mind—ten days from now, he’s ending it all. No theatrics, no second chances. Just silence and a long fall off the edge of the world.

What follows isn’t a love story. It’s a war—against ghosts, guilt, and the quiet kind of grief that eats people alive. Day by day, you challenge him. With memories. With hope. With everything he thought he lost.

Ten days. That’s all you have.

And the clock is already ticking.

Suguru Geto wants to die

Reason 1 - Satoru Gojo

Reason 2 - Dancing like his mother

Reason 3 - Baking

Reason 4 - Ieiri Shoko

Reason 5 - The Carnival

Reason 6 - Deserved Happiness

Reason 7 - A Crush

Reason 8 - Parents

Reason 9 - Passport

Reason 10 - You

Suguru Geto does not want to die

[nottellingofname]

Suguru Geto Tries Not To Die

Suguru Geto does not want to die ⋆⭒˚.⋆

The venue was hidden deep within the hush of the countryside, a sacred clearing tucked beneath the embrace of ancient cypress trees — tall and everlasting, like watchful guardians frozen in reverence.

Golden sunlight, softened by the late afternoon haze, poured through the canopy above in gentle shafts, illuminating the forest floor in scattered halos of light.

It didn’t sparkle like gold or gleam like glass — it glowed, quietly and honestly, like the kind of peace you only find after surviving a storm.

For a moment, nature held its breath. The wind paused. Even the trees stood still, as if the whole forest understood: this was no ordinary day.

This was a day where fate itself had finally softened, where two souls who were never meant to make it this far had come to claim their happy ending.

I sat near the front, tissue in hand, fingers trembling despite my best efforts to hide it. I wasn’t crying — not yet — but my throat felt tight, and the damp edges of the tissue suggested that resolve wouldn’t last long.

The aisle before us was like something from a dream — soft petals scattered in quiet devotion, glowing faintly in the dappled light. The air was rich with scent: fresh lilacs blooming nearby, pine needles from the forest floor, and something else I couldn’t name — something weightless and aching and warm. It smelled like hope. Like healing.

Beside me, Haibara bounced in his seat like he might explode from happiness. His tie was hopelessly crooked despite his repeated fussing, and his hair looked like he’d run his hands through it one too many times.

But none of that mattered — his grin was blinding, the kind of joy too big for one body to hold. Behind us, Nanami sat with his usual poise — arms crossed, jaw tight — but his eyes… they gave him away. There was something quiet in them. Soft. A kind of awe I hadn’t seen before.

Yaga sat just across the aisle, hands folded on his lap like always, unmoving. But every so often, his eyes lifted toward the altar. Not to check the time. Not to keep watch. Just to see. To witness. And in those glances was a weight: pride, sorrow, memory — all stitched together into something wordless.

At the front of the altar, Gojo stood radiant in a pale suit that shimmered faintly in the light, like it had been tailored from summer itself. His blindfold had been replaced by white-rimmed glasses, giving everyone full view of his unfiltered joy — and it was blinding. He couldn’t stand still.

He kept bouncing on the balls of his feet, barely restrained glee humming through his entire body. He looked like a kid who had waited his whole life for this day.

Shoko stood beside him, cool and composed in her charcoal dress, a cigarette tucked behind one ear like an accessory. Her mascara had smudged faintly — the only betrayal of her otherwise aloof expression. She looked like she might roll her eyes if you asked her whether she’d cried. But we all knew better.

Then the music began.

Everyone stood.

And you appeared.

You walked as if you had stepped out of a storybook. Slowly. Gently. Each step deliberate, not hesitant, but reverent — like you were walking through a moment you wanted to last forever.

Your dress wasn’t grand. It didn’t need to be. It flowed like water, catching the light in soft waves, floating just above the petals like you were something pulled from a dream. You wore it like it was part of you. Like a manifestation of hope and recovery.

And Suguru — he never looked away.

Not once.

Not when you passed Yaga, who gave you the softest nod. Not even when you nearly tripped on a trailing hem and let out a small, stunned laugh. His eyes never left you. He stood as still as the trees around him, like moving might shatter the moment. But his hands? They twitched — ever so slightly — reaching for you before you had even arrived.

He looked like a man who had waited lifetimes to see you like this.

The Suguru we once knew had been forged in a storm — sharp edges, violent winds. But the man who stood there now was different.

Not smaller. Not broken. Bruised, but softer. More certain. The weight he carried now was one he chose: not the burden of guilt or grief, but the responsibility of love.

When he looked at you, it wasn’t disbelief — it was devotion. Like he couldn’t believe the universe had given him another chance and this time… he wasn’t going to waste it.

When you reached him, your hands found his.

His fingers trembled.

Barely. Just enough for you to notice. Just enough to tell you that this meant everything. You leaned in, whispered something no one else could hear — just for him.

A small truth maybe. A private joke perhaps. A quiet “I’m here.” Whatever it was, it drew a laugh from his lips — low and breathless — like it had cracked something open inside him. The air shifted. Something settled.

And then the vows began.

Gojo, of course, announced that the official documents had “mysteriously vanished,” and presented a replacement — covered in doodles and a crude sketch of himself doing finger guns.

Shoko rolled her eyes and handed over a clean, actual copy. Everyone laughed. But when Suguru started speaking, the laughter stilled like ripples fading in a pond.

“I used to think softness wasn’t meant for me,” he said, voice hoarse. “That gentleness belonged to other people. That I had already made too many mistakes… crossed too many lines… to deserve anything pure. But then you showed up. You looked at me like I was worth saving. Like I was worth knowing. You stayed — through all of it. Even when I tried to push you away. Even when I didn’t believe in myself. And somehow… you still chose me. And now, I’ll spend the rest of my life choosing you. Again and again. In every way I know how.”

You were crying by then. You didn’t bother to hide it.

“I know you didn't believe in soulmates,” you said, tears threading down your cheeks. “But I do. Because I think you’re mine. Not in some fairytale way. In the way the sea knows the pull of the moon. In the way a heart knows how to beat. You don’t complete me — you remind me that I was whole all along. You make me brave. And I will choose you — every version of you, in every life, in every world. Even if everything else fades. Even if all of this is dust. You are the one thing I will always come back to.”

By the time you kissed, every wall had fallen.

Nanami had turned his face to the side, eyes glistening.

Gojo was sobbing audibly, clutching a tissue to his nose and sniffling like a child.

Shoko quietly lit her cigarette with a small, resigned shake of her head.

And Haibara? He was clapping before the kiss had even started, hands ringing out like thunder through the trees.

And us?

Megumi. Nobara. The students. The friends. We all watched — not two people getting married — but two souls finding each other.

Not because they were given permission.

But because they chose to fight for it.

And in that sun-drenched clearing, beneath the hush of the forest and the shimmer of gold, Suguru Geto kissed his wife like she was the only truth in the world.

And for a moment, I — Yuji Itadori, professional curse-eater — think maybe life’s got more to offer than just that.

Save Suguru Geto?

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[nottellingofname]

Suguru Geto Tries Not To Die

Reason 10 - You ⋆⭒˚.⋆

You weren’t at school the next morning.

Suguru wouldn’t lie—he was disappointed. Maybe more than disappointed. He’d been almost looking forward to seeing you today, waiting to see what ridiculous, unhinged thing you had planned just to mess with him.

You probably had a mission. You were always disappearing into danger, always coming back with that same look in your eyes, like the world was bleeding but you still had more to give.

Everything you had done for him lately had made him feel lighter, like he could breathe again—like he mattered. Suguru couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if you hadn’t found him that day, standing on the edge of that cliff a week ago. Alone. Finished.

He would’ve missed out on egging Nanami’s favorite bakery with you, getting a damn passport just so he could run away with the others, and most importantly—just being near you. Just being with you. That thought sent a cold shiver down his spine, curling somewhere deep in his gut.

God. Did he like you?

No. No, he told himself. He couldn’t like you. You were just trying to save him because you felt bad for him. You were a good person. Suguru was… not. He didn’t like you. He wouldn’t.

And yet, all day, through every class, every aching second that ticked by, he kept glancing at the empty seat where you should’ve been. Wishing you were there. Wishing you had come.

After school, with his heart pounding like it wanted to escape his chest, Suguru walked up to someone he’d always seen hanging around you—Yu Haibara. He and you were always laughing about something, always loud, always full of life. If anyone knew where you were, it was him.

Haibara leaned against his desk, still grinning at whatever Nanami had just said. Suguru forced himself forward. One step. Then another. Haibara didn’t notice him until Suguru stood right in front of him.

He blinked. “Can I help you?”

His tone wasn’t hostile. Not at all. It was… gentle. Curious, even. Suguru shifted uncomfortably under the stares of the other boys in the group. Haibara must’ve noticed because, with a nod, the others drifted away, leaving the two of them alone.

“Well?” Haibara raised a brow.

Suguru’s throat felt tight. “Do you know where Y/N is today?”

Haibara didn’t answer right away. His eyes scanned Suguru’s face like he was trying to peel it open and read what was underneath. Then his lips moved—no sound, just silent words. Suguru squinted, trying to make out what he was saying.

He was counting.

Ten. He mouthed. Then aloud, “Today is day ten.”

Suguru’s heart dropped. You told Haibara about the deal? He shouldn’t have been surprised. You and Haibara were close. Of course you told him. But still—it stung. Who else knew?

“Just tell me where Y/N is,” he said, more impatiently this time.

Haibara exhaled and smacked his forehead. “God, Y/N is such a coward.”

Suguru froze. “What?”

“She’s clearly hiding,” Haibara scoffed. “It’s the last day, and she doesn’t know what to say. Come on. I’ll take you to her hideout.”

Suguru hesitated. But followed. Of course he followed. There was nothing else in the world he needed more than to see you again. One more time.

The walk was silent. Tense. Suguru could barely think straight. He kept rehearsing what he wanted to say. How to say it without falling apart.

When they arrived, it was a tiny beige house with white shutters and a spotless lawn. Suguru swallowed.

“Thanks,” he mumbled to Haibara and turned toward the door.

“Wait,” Haibara said, just as Suguru’s hand touched the knob. “Suguru.”

He looked back.

“Don’t kill yourself, okay?”

Suguru went still.

“What?” he asked, voice tight.

“Just…” Haibara hesitated, then sighed. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

Then he turned and walked away, leaving Suguru alone with those words like shards lodged in his chest.

Suguru rang the bell. A woman opened the door—your mother. He knew it instantly. You had her eyes. The same stormy gaze. The same softness underneath it.

“Is Y/N here?” he asked, peering over her shoulder into the house.

She smiled gently and let him in. He started to remove his shoes, suddenly painfully aware of how ruined they looked on the pristine marble floors.

“Oh, that’s not necessary, honey,” she chuckled.

Suguru flushed. “I’m Suguru.”

She smiled warmly. “Are you one of Y/N’s friends?”

He nodded. “We go to school together.”

Her smile faltered slightly. “You’re a senior, right? Have you gotten into college yet?”

“No,” he admitted. “I’m… traveling. With my friends.”

Her eyes narrowed, curious. “With a new passport?”

Suguru stiffened. Nodded.

Her hand flew to her mouth. “You’re the boy she expedited the passport for…”

Before he could even process what that meant, your voice echoed from upstairs.

“Mom, who rang the bell?”

And then—

You.

At the top of the stairs.

Suguru’s breath hitched. You looked stunned. Then guilty. So, so guilty.

“Suguru,” you murmured, voice small. “I didn’t know you were here.”

He clenched his fists. “You were hiding from me?”

You flinched.

“What, were you waiting to hear it on the news tomorrow? That I jumped?” His voice cracked. “Is that what you were hoping for?”

Your face crumpled, and you turned away, voice trembling. “Come upstairs.”

He followed. The house was beautiful, clean, filled with the scent of soft florals and wealth and things Suguru had never had. He stepped carefully like he didn’t belong. Like just by breathing, he was dirtying the place.

You waited in your room, arms folded, eyes red and tired.

“Suguru,” you began, “I can explain—”

“Why’d you do it?” he cut in. “Why the passport?”

“Because I knew you’d need it.”

“You don’t have to save me out of pity!” he shouted. “You don’t have to rescue me!”

“I don’t pity you.”

“Then why?!” His voice broke. “Why did you even bother?”

You stepped forward, voice trembling. “Because I was afraid.”

“Of what?”

“That I wasn’t enough to make you stay.” You swallowed hard, eyes bloodshot. “I spent the whole night trying to come up with a reason. Any reason. But what if none of them were enough?”

Suguru didn’t mean to cry. But he was. Shoulders trembling. Tears streaking his face as he stood in your room, feeling like a kid again—helpless, cracked open, drowning.

And then your hands were on his face. Wiping away his tears.

“Don’t cry, Suguru,” you whispered. “Please, honey. Don’t cry.”

Honey.

His chest cracked open even more at that.

Your eyes dropped to his lips. And he leaned in. But you stopped him.

“I want to do this right.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, voice barely there.

“I love you.”

Suguru froze.

I love you.

The last time he heard those words, he was standing outside his childhood home, listening to his mother through a window, phone in hand, thinking about ending it all. Thinking about letting go.

Now you were here, standing in front of him, saying it like it was the easiest truth in the world.

He kissed you.

He kissed you like the world might end tomorrow, like he had nothing left but this—your arms around him, your fingers in his hair, your mouth against his, warm and real and his.

When you pulled away, breathless, Suguru smiled for the first time in what felt like years.

You tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “I don’t have a reason for day ten,” you whispered. “But will you stay?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Yes.”

And when you pulled him back in for another kiss, Suguru knew—

He’d stay.

He’d always stay.

“My God,” you whispered against his mouth, “I love you.”

He broke the kiss with a trembling laugh. “Y/N,” he said softly, “reason number ten…”

You tilted your head, waiting.

“You,” he breathed. “It’s you. I love you.”

Save Suguru Geto?

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[nottellingofname]

Suguru Geto Tries Not To Die

Reason 9 - Passport ⋆⭒˚.⋆

“I guess I have one more day, huh?” you whispered.

The two of you were lying in an abandoned cornfield, long deserted by some farmer years ago. The dry hay scratched Suguru’s neck and made him itch, but he didn’t complain.

Not when you were beside him. Your shoulders barely touched as both of you stared up at the sun, golden and indifferent above you.

“I guess so,” Suguru muttered. He hadn’t been thinking about the deal much these past few days. Had it really been nine days already?

A cold chill prickled along his spine. He glanced sideways at you—your face unreadable, somewhere between defeated and determined.

He licked his dry lips, the question heavy in his chest. Why hadn’t you run yet? Nine days with him—most people would’ve bolted after one.

“Days went by a lot quicker than I thought they would,” you said, so softly he almost missed it.

Suguru let out a dry laugh. “They did, didn’t they?”

“I wish they hadn’t, though.” You sighed.

He turned toward you, his body shifting to face yours. He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

You looked uneasy, like your words were still forming. Your hand went to the back of your neck, scratching nervously.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I mean, I actually had a lot of fun these past few days. I never wanted it to end. So what happens to me when you decide to leave? I’m going to spend the rest of my life wondering what I could’ve done better to save you.”

Suguru felt something drop inside his stomach. It was like his emotions couldn’t choose a direction—too many of them all crashing in at once: guilt, warmth, sadness, and something else he didn’t dare name.

You let out a soft laugh—bitter and hollow, and it didn’t reach your eyes.

“I can tell you’re not happy, just from the way you’re looking at me.”

You smiled faintly and reached over, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. You did that a lot now. Suguru had grown to look forward to it.

“Don’t blame yourself, okay? I got myself into this, remember?”

Suguru’s mind flashed back to the cliff—that cliff—when he was just an inch from falling.

Later that evening, you cycled both of you back to school. It was already half past nine, and the halls were silent. Everyone was probably asleep. Suguru had missed dinner—Yaga was definitely going to scold him in the morning.

"Let me give you ten reasons to live."

"And if I fail, you can come back here and jump. I won’t stop you next time."

But just as you stepped through the entrance, Shoko came running toward him, a large manila envelope clutched tightly in her hands.

“Suguru!” she beamed. “I’ve been waiting for you all night! Where have you been?”

He frowned at her excitement. “I was just out with Y/N, that’s all.”

You waved at her and grinned. “Great! More people to celebrate with!”

“Celebrate what?” Suguru asked, utterly confused.

Shoko shoved the envelope toward him. He caught it mid-air and stared. It was addressed to him—from the Japanese Ministry of Justice. His eyes widened, checking the name again just to be sure.

“Is that your passport?” you asked, a smile stretching across your lips. “Open it, Suguru!”

He hesitated, then tore the envelope open carefully, trying not to rip whatever was inside.

“Can’t you go any faster?” Shoko snapped. “The suspense is killing me!”

Suguru laughed and gave in, tearing it with one swift rip. The envelope fluttered to the ground as he clutched the packet inside.

“Dear Suguru Geto,” he skimmed quickly, “we are proud to inform you that you have successfully applied for a passport—”

Shoko screamed.

Suguru couldn’t stop smiling.

Shoko wrapped her arms around him tightly, and he felt the dampness of her happy tears seeping through his shirt.

“Oh, Suguru! We can really travel now! I’m so happy for you!”

He pulled away gently, wiping at his own eyes before they could fully spill. He scanned the letter, excitement bubbling in his chest. “Shoko—oh my God—look! We can go to Malaysia with Nanami!”

Shoko squealed again, this time slapping a hand over her mouth to contain the noise. “I need to tell the others! I’ll be right back!”

She spun on her heel and bolted up the stairs, her voice echoing: “GOJO! NANAMI! WE HAVE NEWS!”

Suguru laughed, still in disbelief, and turned back toward you.

You were quiet.

You hadn’t said a single word since the letter was opened.

He smiled. “Y/N? Can you believe it? We can go explore the world together!”

Still, you didn’t speak. Your smile was faint, almost sad. Suguru’s expression faltered.

“Y/N?” he asked again, softer now. “Is there something wro—”

Before he could finish, you had thrown your arms around him.

Your hug was tight—bone-crushing—but protective. Your chin rested gently on his shoulder. Suguru could barely breathe.

And still… everything felt right.

“You have such a whole life ahead of you,” you whispered, breath warm against his ear. “I want to watch you grow.”

Save Suguru Geto?

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