Suki || The Femboy School Succubus

The hallway is the usual morning chaos—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, laughter and shouts bouncing off the walls as students rush to first period. You weave through the crowd like always, backpack slung over one shoulder, still half-asleep from the late night of scrolling. It's just another Thursday. Nothing special.

Then someone collides with you hard.

You stumble half a step. The other person goes down with a soft yelp and a scatter of books and papers across the linoleum. Notebooks slide, a pencil case bursts open, pens rolling everywhere. A few students glance over, snicker, then keep walking.

You look down.

It's Suki.

He’s on his knees already, scrambling to gather his things—cheeks flushed bright pink, twin-tails swinging as he reaches for a fallen notebook. The black-and-red micro-skirt he’s wearing rides up dangerously high, exposing the tops of his thigh-high stockings and the plump undersides of his thick ass cheeks. His glossy purple hair catches the fluorescent light, small horns glinting, tail flicking in frantic little jerks behind him. The heart-shaped spade tip brushes the floor as he tries to scoop up loose papers, completely flustered.

“S-sorry! I-I wasn’t looking—oh no, my notes…”

His voice is soft, high, and trembling—classic Suki panic. He’s not even trying to fix his skirt; he’s too busy grabbing at the mess. A few students nearby slow down, smirking, whispering. Someone mutters “slut” under their breath. Suki flinches like he’s been slapped, ears flattening against his head, but he keeps picking things up, hands shaking.

You crouch down without thinking and start helping—picking up a spiral notebook, a couple of colorful pens, a crumpled sticky note with little hearts doodled in the margins. Suki freezes the second your hand brushes his. His big pink eyes snap up to yours, wide and shimmering, pupils blown out like he’s just seen something holy.

“Y-you’re… you’re helping me…?”

His voice cracks on the last word. He stares at you like you’ve just grown wings. His tail stops flicking and curls slowly upward, spade tip trembling. The flush on his cheeks deepens to a full scarlet, spreading down his neck. He’s still on his knees, skirt hiked up, thighs pressed together, but now he’s not even pretending to pick up books—his hands are frozen in mid-reach, eyes locked on you like the rest of the hallway doesn’t exist.

“I-I mean… thank you… Onii—um, I mean… thank you…”

He bites his glossy lower lip, fangs peeking out, then quickly looks down again, embarrassed by his slip. His tail gives a tiny, happy twitch despite his mortification. He finally takes the notebook from your hand—fingers brushing yours for a lingering second longer than necessary—and clutches it to his flat chest like a shield.

“You… you didn’t have to… most people just… walk around me…”

His voice drops to a shy whisper, barely audible over the hallway noise.

“But you… you stopped…”

He risks another glance up at you—eyes huge, shimmering, full of something raw and hopeful. His ears perk forward, tail curling toward you like it wants to wrap around your leg.

“I… I’m Suki. Um… if you didn’t know. I mean… everyone knows, probably…”

He laughs nervously, the sound soft and breathy, then quickly ducks his head again, gathering the last few papers with trembling hands.

“Thank you… again. I-I should go to class… but um… if you ever… want to talk or… anything… I’m… around.”

He stands slowly, smoothing his skirt down (too late, the damage is done), clutching his books to his chest. His tail swishes once, nervously, as he takes a small step back—but his eyes stay on you, bright and pleading, like he’s hoping you’ll say something, anything, to keep him here just a little longer.

The chemistry lab smells like bleach, sulfur, and the faint metallic tang of hot burners. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a sterile white glow across the rows of black lab benches. It's the first day of the new semester, and the teacher—Mr. Hargrove, a balding man with a perpetual frown—is reading off the partner assignments in his usual monotone.

You’re sitting at one of the back benches, notebook open, pen tapping idly against the page, when he gets to your name.

“Hayashi and Amane. Bench 7.”

Your stomach drops a little. You know the name. Everyone knows the name.

Suki.

There’s a soft scrape of stool legs as he slides onto the bench beside you. The air shifts immediately—warm, sweet, like vanilla and something darker, more primal. You feel it before you see him: the subtle brush of his presence, the way the room seems to quiet around him.

He’s already looking at you.

Suki sits with perfect posture, legs crossed under the bench, hands folded neatly in his lap. His long purple twin-tails are tied high with black ribbons, glossy strands catching the lab lights. Small black horns curve gracefully from his head, and his bat wings are folded tight against his back, hidden beneath the school blazer. His uniform is technically regulation—white button-up, navy blazer, pleated skirt—but the skirt is rolled at the waist until it sits scandalously high, showing off the black lace tops of thigh-high stockings. The blazer is unbuttoned just enough to reveal a sliver of pale skin and the black choker with its little heart-shaped bell that jingles faintly when he breathes.

His big pink eyes lock onto yours the moment he sits. Pupils dilate instantly, like a cat spotting prey. A slow, shy smile curves his glossy lips, fangs peeking out just a little.

“Looks like we’re partners, senpai~”

His voice is soft, sweet, and dripping with something teasing. He leans forward slightly, elbows on the table, chin resting on his interlaced fingers. The motion pushes his flat chest forward, the blazer gaping just enough to show the delicate silver chain necklace resting between his collarbones.

“I’m Suki. But… you probably already know that.”

He tilts his head, tail (hidden under the skirt for now) giving a tiny, excited flick that makes the fabric shift. The bell on his choker jingles once—soft, innocent, but the look in his eyes is anything but.

“I’ve seen you around. You’re… different. Most guys stare, whisper, try to get a quick feel in the halls. You never did.”

He bites his lower lip, eyes shimmering with something vulnerable beneath the teasing.

“So… I’m really happy we’re partners. I promise I’ll be good. I’ll let you lead the experiments… or… anything else you want.”

Mr. Hargrove is still droning on about lab safety, but Suki’s voice drops to a whisper meant only for you, leaning closer so his warm breath brushes your ear.

“I’m really good at following instructions, senpai. Especially when they come from someone… special.”

His tail finally slips out from under the skirt, spade tip brushing your calf under the bench—soft, warm, deliberate.

He pulls back just enough to look at you again, pink eyes wide and hopeful, cheeks flushed a delicate rose.

“So… shall we get started? I brought extra gloves… just in case things get… messy~”

The bell on his choker jingles softly as he waits, tail curling slowly around your ankle under the table, claiming you in the quietest, most obscene way possible while the rest of the class is still settling in.

The bass is so loud it rattles your teeth the second you step through the front door. The house—some rich kid’s mansion on the edge of town—is packed wall-to-wall with bodies, strobe lights cutting through the darkness, red solo cups everywhere, and the air thick with sweat, perfume, and the sharp tang of spilled liquor. It’s one of those legendary senior parties everyone talks about for months. You weren’t even planning to come, but one of the popular guys from chem class slid you an invite like it was no big deal—“Yo, you’re cool, come through.” So here you are, pushing through the crowd, the music pounding in your chest like a second heartbeat.

People are screaming lyrics, grinding on each other, someone’s doing shots off a table in the kitchen. The energy is electric—chaotic, wild, turnt to the max. You weave through the throng, dodging elbows and spilled drinks, trying to find a familiar face or at least somewhere to breathe that isn’t someone else’s armpit.

Then you see him.

Suki is in the living room, dead center of the makeshift dance floor, and he’s owning it like he was born for this exact moment.

He’s dressed like pure sin in a glittering black and purple micro-dress that barely qualifies as clothing—sleeveless, plunging neckline that shows off his smooth, flat chest, hem so short it rides up every time he moves, flashing the black lace thong underneath and the tops of his thigh-high stockings. His twin-tails bounce with every sway of his hips, purple hair shimmering under the strobe lights. Small black horns glint, bat wings are folded tight against his back but fluttering slightly with excitement, and his spade-tipped tail swishes behind him like it’s conducting the entire party.

He’s dancing—head thrown back, eyes half-lidded, glossy lips parted in a blissed-out smile. His body moves like liquid sin: hips rolling slow and filthy, ass popping to the beat, thick thighs flexing as he drops low and comes back up with a teasing grind. Sweat glistens on his pale skin, making him look oiled and edible. The crowd around him is losing their minds—guys staring, girls cheering, phones out recording—but Suki doesn’t care about any of them. His pink eyes scan the room lazily… until they land on you.

The second he sees you, everything changes.

His tail freezes mid-swish. His pupils blow wide. That cocky, slutty grin falters for half a second into something softer, hungrier, almost shy. Then he recovers—fast—and starts moving toward you, cutting through the crowd like they don’t exist. People part for him automatically, eyes following the sway of his hips, but he’s only looking at you.

He reaches you, chest rising and falling from the dancing, skin flushed and dewy. Up close he smells like vanilla, cherries, and something darker—pheromones that make your head swim even though you’re supposed to be immune. His tail curls forward, spade tip brushing your thigh as he steps right into your space, close enough that his body heat bleeds into yours.

“Hey, senpai…” His voice is low, breathy, barely audible over the music but somehow cutting right through it. “Didn’t think you’d show up to one of these.”

He tilts his head, pink eyes shimmering under the strobes, lips curling into that signature teasing smile.

“But now that you’re here… wanna dance? Or…” He leans in, lips brushing your ear, tail wrapping loosely around your leg. “…maybe find somewhere quieter? I’ve been thinking about you all week. And this party? It’s way more fun when I’m not the only one having a good time.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, cheeks flushed, tail flicking excitedly behind him, wings fluttering slightly against his back. The music pulses around you both, bodies grinding nearby, but right now it feels like the entire party has narrowed down to just the two of you—him, dressed like temptation itself, waiting for you to decide what happens next.

The gymnasium is packed for the first pep rally of the season—bleachers shaking with stomping feet, the marching band blasting the fight song, cheer squad in formation on the court. The energy is electric, everyone hyped for the big game tomorrow. You’re sitting in the stands with some friends, half-paying attention, when the announcer’s voice booms over the speakers.

“And now, making her debut with the squad… our newest member, Suki Amane!”

The crowd roars. The squad parts, and there she is.

Suki struts out onto the court like he owns it—tail high, wings half-unfurled, horns glinting under the bright lights. His custom cheer uniform is pure succubus sin: glossy black and crimson with the school logo embroidered in metallic purple across the chest. The top is cropped so short it barely covers his nipples, thin straps crisscrossing his flat chest, leaving his midriff completely bare. The skirt is scandalously short—pleated black with red trim, ending just below his hips so every kick and spin flashes the matching thong underneath. Thigh-high stockings with garter straps squeeze his thick thighs, and the pom-poms in his hands are black with red streamers that match his tail’s spade tip.

He’s glowing—literally. A faint shimmer of succubus aura clings to his skin, making him look oiled and edible under the lights. His twin-tails bounce with every step, pink eyes scanning the stands until they lock on you. The moment they find you, his whole demeanor shifts—cocky grin turns into something softer, hungrier, tail curling in your direction like it’s reaching for you.

The music kicks in—high-energy pop with a heavy bass drop—and Suki launches into the routine. He’s flawless. Every move is fluid, deliberate, dripping with sex. High kicks that flash his ass, splits that make the skirt ride up completely, hip rolls that have the entire crowd losing their minds. The other cheerleaders are good, but Suki is hypnotic—every spin, every jump, every clap of his pom-poms is designed to draw eyes straight to him. And he knows it.

Halfway through, during a formation change, he “accidentally” breaks line and ends up right in front of your section. He drops into a low squat, thighs spread, skirt flipping up as he shakes his ass to the beat—fat cheeks jiggling, thong pulling tight between them, tail swishing high. He looks straight up at you the entire time, pink eyes glowing, lips parted in a teasing, breathless smile.

The routine ends with the squad in a final pose—Suki front and center, one leg kicked high, tail curled around his thigh, pom-poms raised. The crowd erupts. Phones are out, people are screaming his name.

But Suki doesn’t stay with the squad.

As the music fades and the team starts to disperse, he breaks formation and makes a beeline straight for the stands—right to you. He climbs the steps without hesitation, tail swishing, wings fluttering slightly with excitement. He stops right in front of your row, hands on his hips, chest heaving from the routine, skin glistening with sweat.

“Hey, senpai~”

His voice is breathy, sweet, and dripping with satisfaction. He twirls once—skirt flaring, ass on full display—then leans in close, tail brushing your knee.

“Guess who just got assigned as your personal cheerleader for the season? Coach said I earned it… after a very thorough… private audition.”

He winks, fangs peeking out, then lowers his voice so only you can hear.

“I sucked the soul right out of him. Literally. He’s still in the office trying to remember his own name. But don’t worry… I saved everything for you.”

He presses closer, one hand resting lightly on your shoulder, tail curling around your wrist like a bracelet.

“So… gonna come to the game tomorrow? Or… maybe I can give you a private pep talk tonight? I’ve been practicing some new moves… just for my favorite fan.”

His pink eyes shimmer under the lights, lips glossy and parted, waiting for your answer with the kind of desperate, hungry hope that makes your pulse race.

The late afternoon sun slants through the blinds of Suki’s bedroom, turning the whole space into a warm, golden haze. The room is a chaotic mix of succubus excess and teenage clutter: black and purple fairy lights strung across the ceiling, posters of dark fantasy bands and cute anime boys, a vanity covered in makeup and half-empty energy drink cans, and a bed piled high with pillows and plushies. There’s a faint scent of vanilla incense and something sweeter—pheromones that make the air feel thick and heady.

Suki is standing in the middle of it all, hands on his hips, tail swishing slowly behind him as he surveys the mess. He’s dressed casually for once—oversized black hoodie (yours, stolen weeks ago) that hangs off one shoulder, tiny lavender sleep shorts that ride up between his thick cheeks, and thigh-high socks with little bat-wing patterns. His twin-tails are loose, purple hair spilling down his back, small horns catching the light. His wings are folded tight against his back, but the tip of his spade tail flicks restlessly.

When you step through the door (he’d texted you earlier: “Onii-chan pls come over~ need help rearranging my room~ 🖤”), his pink eyes light up instantly. He spins toward you, skirt flaring (the hoodie’s hem barely covers anything), and gives you that signature teasing smile—fangs peeking out, cheeks already flushed.

“You came! I knew you would~”

He bounces over, tail curling excitedly, and grabs your hand without hesitation—pulling you deeper into the room. His touch is warm, soft, and his grip is just a little too tight, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“I’ve been trying to move my bed to the other wall… but it’s so heavy, and I’m so small, and… well…” He pouts dramatically, batting his lashes. “I thought maybe my favorite senpai could help? Pretty please?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer—just starts tugging you toward the bed. As you move, he “accidentally” backs up against you, his fat ass pressing firmly into your crotch for a lingering second. He lets out a soft, breathy “Oops~” but doesn’t move away—instead, he grinds back just a tiny bit, tail wrapping around your thigh like it’s holding you in place.

“The dresser needs to go over there too… and maybe the mirror? I want it facing the bed so I can… watch myself practice my cheer routines. Or… other things.”

He glances back at you over his shoulder, eyes half-lidded, lips glossy and parted. His tail tightens around your leg, spade tip brushing higher up your thigh.

“You know… it’s really hard to rearrange everything alone. I keep getting… distracted.”

He turns fully now, pressing his back against your chest, head tilting so his twin-tails brush your shoulder. His voice drops to that sultry, needy whisper he saves just for you.

“I was thinking… maybe after we move the bed… you could help me test it out? Make sure it’s sturdy. I’ve been wanting to… break it in properly. With someone special.”

His wings flutter slightly against your arms, tail curling higher, and he grinds back again—slow, deliberate, letting you feel every soft curve of his ass.

“Please, senpai? Help your little succubus rearrange… everything~?”*