Danganronpa X Reader - Blog Posts

Yall pls give me request-

𝑴𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝑴𝒆 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑭𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝑳𝒆𝒂𝒅

[System Starting…]

[Choose your mission]

In a time when multiple of the same idea exist, our main character has to restore the balance to the world they are called on. You, Agent Z, are tasked with fulfilling the last wishes and regrets of these characters. Prepare yourself to become immersed completely in a new identity.

The Main objective, become the female lead.

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How To Stop a Tragedy

Danganronpa 3: The Anime (Despair Side)

So what do you do with yourself now? If you could describe life in a metaphor, you’d be drowning in lemons. Disaster is at every corner. A whole class is bullying one student. Another has a walking force of nature. The new recruits are looking iffy. Sister branches are a mess. The government is doing something sketchy. And you swear one of the freshman is planning world anarchy? Is it possible to graduate without a national disaster? Heck, is it possible to graduate alive? Asha is about to find out!

Boost Your Ego

Villians, Heros, and Issues, Oh My!

Paris in Peril: Revenge Against the Plot

Let’s Play Mind Games

So Have You Heard of Kingdom Hearts

First Mission: Can I Save A L-Light

The Humans, The Otherworldly, and The Help

If All Fails, Kill the Director

My Crafty Chronicles: Of a Girl Who Wants Better

Girl’s Gone Crazy, Boy’s Gone Wild, Tales From an Evil Child

I Will Live For Her, Not You

*Cough, cough*

A wheezing, grating sound was heard by none as the rain poured down. It muffled her annoying pleads for air. The oxygen refusing to fill her lungs. She had been running, was still running.

‘If they find me I’m dead.’

That singular thought is what pushed her aching muscles to keep moving. To keep running. In all honesty she was never the type to run. She was very much a doer. A solver, an investigator. And what she found this time would put the whole world in danger if she didn’t tell.

‘I have to find someone, anyone.’

She was amateur at best. Maybe that’s why she was being chased. Heck, she didn’t understand half of the stuff she found.

‘Experimentation? Ultimate Hope? Mother Goose Project? And what does it have to do with Hajime? What does it have to do with Class 77-B? Where is Emi? Is she alright? Oh my lord, is she dead? They shouldn’t chase after her, she’s not an Ultimate, but then neither am I. Maybe they’re going after me because I know some or maybe because I know about everything else. I wish I could have stopped it. If I knew it was going to divulge into this, I would have stopped it. No, no, this is what I want.’

She kept running, faster and faster, she was almost at the gate. She grabbed the sides and climbed. Like a madman, like her life depended on it. Because it does, because in the distance you could see the herd of reserve course students coming for her. She barely made it over the fence when they banged on it.

The fall wasn’t that far, yet it was far enough to cause a sprain. Limping towards freedom, towards civilization, to tell all that was found, hope was crushed. Stand there haughtily, was a tall 5’10 figure, donned in red, black, and white. An eerie smile creeping on her face as she watched you fall. Legs having prematurely given out, as they thought you were safe. As you thought you were safe. She’s laughing to herself. The crowd on the other side of the fence was now surrounding you. She stopped herself once every exit was closed off by the crowd. You still on the floor heaving and she comes and steps on your back, digging her heel into your spine. You see her face and freeze. She looks absent, like the horrors she inflicted don’t bother her. Neither a smile nor frown paints her features. She looks bored. Portraying and having absolute power over you in this moment should invoke some kind of emotion and yet she looks bored. Then as if breaking from a trance a smile snaps on her face. She leans down so you can see her better. Then starts speaking in a nasally, babyish voice.

“And you thought you were so clever. Phu hu hu! You’re an idiot, the worst of the worst. An untalented piece of scum. A poor cowering sheep. But I do have to give you credit. I couldn’t have done it without you. You saw all the weird stuff happening around you and did nothing. You knew something was going on but you didn’t do anything about until it was too late. You could have easily prevented all of this if you just tried to open your mouth. I mean you are the only reserve course student with power. This is all your fault!”

She was cheesing the whole time. Dread seeped into your bones as your spine continued to slowly crack under the pressure of her fat foot.

“It’s not all my fault. So what if I had decided to say something. And it’s not like there was any reason to believe it was foul play. And it’s not like anything would have changed.”

She stopped, raising her foot and letting you breathe for a second. Only to slam her foot down on your back again, breaking your ribs under the pressure and fracturing your spine.

“Are you stupid? You’re an idiot must be. To never understand others envy of you or your own power. No, you knew and didn’t use it. Not that I’m mad. It’s better for me. I’m glad you were stupid. Because of you my plan went off without a hitch. Not that I had any doubts. But you did help, so I gave you a small mercy. A head start if you will. I hoped you enjoyed it, your face of despair was delightful, but it’s time for us to move on. To better, to more exciting despair.”

She hops off your back leaving you to die out in front of the school. To be watched by your classmates as you writhe in your last moments of life.

‘Fuck. I’m going to die. There’s no point. I tried so hard for nothing. I wish I could have helped. I wish I did help. There was so much going on that I let slide. If only I helped. If only I acted the moment this were getting out of hand. I could’ve saved them. All of them. I could’ve stopped her. Why. Why? WHY?”

Tears stream down your face as your breath comes to a painful slow. The rain beats heavy on your face, as if to drag you down where you “belong”.

‘If only I did something. If only I didn’t sit around and wait. Things would have been different.’

Sluggishly you move forward. Pained breaths ring loud in your ear, as you struggle to move forward. Even just a bit. To make a difference, one you didn’t have the heart to do before.

“Please. Please!”

Weak pleas escape but you can no longer move nor speak. Blood fills your lungs and mouth giving you moments to spare.

‘I want to save my friends! I wish I could save my friends. If only I could save my friends.’

And that’s the last thought she had. As she choked on her own blood the life in her eyes and the hope in her heart died.

System Request Received

Now booting up. . .

Loading .

Loading . .

Loa-

Mission Accepted

Welcome Agent Z

Now Entering the world of the Danganronpa Anime

𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑡𝑜 𝑆𝑡𝑜𝑝 𝑎 𝑇𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑑𝑦

“I’ll help you fulfill your wish.”

Rainy Day

As the rain dropped from the sky in the quiet neighborhood, someone was not so quietly cursing themselves out. “Shit! I’m going to be late. My mom’s gonna kill me!” Running like a mad man down the street to her bus stop, cause only idiots run in the rain. To spare herself of the incoming incident she could have just walked. Or I dare say, get in trouble and have her phone taken away for the night. But no, she decided to test fate, as always, and risk running in the rain.

She would regret this decision

“Shouldn’t have stayed up all night watching YouTube. Just because there is like 10 MHA abridged’s, doesn’t mean you have to watch all 10 of them plus movies… I really don’t want my phone taken away.”

It was as if god(s), if any, heard her unserious plea. Because gosh be darned, she done this stick for 3 years now.

HOW THE FUCK WAS THIS THE FIRST TIME SHE TRIPPED!!! LIKE WAS THIS DIVINE LUCK OR WAS THE WORLD FUCKING WITH HER!!

Sticking the landing straight one her ass, letting her clothes get soaked to death, she sat there, stunned. As she was reeling from what one could call divine fuckery or karma, her day was about to get a whole lot worse.

Headlights dawned on her figure as she turned around. She couldn’t move, she was going to get hit. The bus couldn’t see her through the heavy rain and neither could her bus mates waiting not even a few steps away. She couldn’t move. She should be moving, she ain’t no horror movie cliche, she should be able to move. But it’s as if her whole body just gave in, like she wanted this. All she could think was of the end. That she would die to a school bus.

‘This is it. This is what kills me. Fucking school. I at least thought it was going to be me, or my mom, or hell, even a fiery blaze. Not a fucking school bus. I’m going to die. I never got to go to a convention by myself. I’ll never finish those fics I wanted to. I’ll never have a graduation or become 18 or vote or lose my virginity. Actually I can live without that last one. Oh my god, I never got to see my old friends, or finish SAO abridged… yeah the first one seemed more important. But what about my parents, my sister, my best friend? I just started caring about my life, I was going to live all my cliche high school dreams. I JUST turned 17, and that birthday sucked! What kinda bullshit is this! I don’t want this! I hate this! I was going to do so much! And now I can’t. I love my family, I love my friends, I love my life! If I’m gonna die I don’t want it to be to a school bus. It’s going to hurt like hell. And no one is gonna to benefit from it! THEY CANT EVEN SEE ME! What a waste! At least let me end it myself. I’m never going to see those around me grow up, I am never going to grow up. And screw heaven, I’m not even guaranteed that fake luxury. I’m never going to finish my favorite mangas. Or games. Or animes. Or anything.’

As the pain of getting hit by a 1,000 pound bus did, in fact, hurt like hell.

Crawling with her last ounce of strength reaching for the broken phone, she typed or tried to type her last words.

‘God, Buddha, Zeus, Cthulhu, Mother Nature, or who ever the hell is upstairs, if any, please at least let thi s se nd. A nd h o w d o e s B l ue L o c k

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Starting system…

Finding host..

System host found.

Welcome Host!

To the Female Lead System!

Do you want to join?

Yes No

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Choosing for Host…

Yes

Heavily inspired by: Cheating Men Must Die

And you can’t prove me for shit otherwise

chat... what if i write nsfw... and instead of fanfics... it was 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴fics...

Specifically on byakuya togami :3....

Random little relationship headcannons‼️💋

BYAKUYA TOGAMI x GAMER!READER

Warnings: none really, just romantic partner hc's, you play video games ig :3

Pairings: Byakuya togami x Gn!Gamer!Reader

☆Doesn't really do pda, but does kiss your forehead every so often while patting your head.

(Then you'd do the same to him, but like this⬇️)

☆ He's definitely the kind of guy to kiss the back of your hand to greet you.

☆you sometimes take pictures of him when he's sleeping and send them to him. (Hehehe)

☆thinks video games are childish, but he kind of stopped thinking that after seeing you play video games, seeing how competitive it can be. (At least for you, lmao) he won't admit to anything and will keep saying that "they're childish" !!!

☆while playing on your PC or console, he's 'reading' a book of his, but while he's reading, he began to stop paying attention to his book and watching your gameplay, hearing all the clicking of the keys or buttons and seeing all the complicated movement.

☆he's silently rooting for you to a round, silently watching your gameplay.

☆when you're playing on your switch, he insists you get in bed and get comfortable in case you get sleepy and lose progress.

☆(he just wants to hold you)

☆ Absolutely loves it when you wear a shirt of his. Most you'll get off a reaction is a smile or maybe MAYBE... a compliment <3.

☆Seems kind of overprotective whenever you two go out, but to him, he's reasonably protective.

☆sees how you're yapping about a game or a character you like, and you'll probably see a box on your (shared) bed with a plush, Keychain, figure, or a giftcard to buy something on the game you like.

Do you guys want me to write more of x GAMER reader??? LMKK!!

Hello my little stars! I’m Hayden! and here’s what I will and will not write!

This will be added too over time

Will write

• fluff

• character x male!reader

• character x gender neutral!reader

• suggestive stuff (making out, etc)

• hurt with comfort

• angst

• FtM

• sometimes MtF

I won’t write

• Smut (this could change in the future)

• topics like self harm and suicide as those are triggering topics for me

• racist or homophobic shit.

• abuse or things like that to humans or animals

• piss and shit kinks and others like that

• Murder in detail

• Female readers YALL have enough content (respectfully of course)

Fandoms I will write for

• the little vampier (the newish animated one)

• Undertale (Aus as well)

• Yuurivoice

• TWST

• TMNT (rise, bayvers, 2012)

• Danganronpa

• ATWOW

• Avatar

• Obey me! Shall we date

• Arcana

• Gravity falls (platonic only for dipper and mable)

• The Black phone

• The lost boys (1987 movie)

Requests/asks are closed for now! Maybe for awhile since I haven't had the motivation to write (〃ﾟ3ﾟ〃)

I'll get to the current asks/requests soon (it's only 2 and I'm suffering)

Also I'm lowkey straying away from my Leon obsession--I still love him, I've just been focused on other things!

I still love you all!!!

Hello! I wanted to ask some questions about the requests if that's fine.

Can you do a male reader with a male character?

Do you have a list of fandoms that I could ask from? (I found your account on a "Hajime Hinata x reader" tag but I wanted to make sure)

Thank you!

Ooohhh I haven't written stuff in FOREVER but I would totally do requests, no matter the gender (may or may not struggle with gender neutral terms but that's not relevant)

Anyways I could totally attempt a mlm drabble/fic/head cannons! o(〃＾▽＾〃)o

As for fandoms, I'm in a lot of them. I suppose the current ones I'm willing/motivated to write for are:

- My Hero Academia

- Danganronpa

- Kingdom Hearts

- Resident Evil

- Genshin Impact

- Honkai Star Rail

These are all I can think of at the moment! I'm probably able to write for more but I'm drawing blanks so if you got a question, ask it! :3

who's laughing now?

pairing: byakuya togami x gn!reader

summary: byakuya was an arrogant boy when you first met him, but an incident changes him, as he learns what loss means...

a/n: i saw some art with that quote on pinterest, but without credit. if anyone knows the artist or their tumblr, let me know in the comments so i can link to their art!

“one day, you'll lose something not even your money can replace. and when that day comes, i'll be the one laughing!”

for some reason, those words you said to byakuya a while ago came back to him at this very moment. he had laughed at you back then, thinking you were just another person jealous of his achievements and wealth. and yet, he truly had no idea what it was like to lose something money couldn't replace. until he lost you. 

your lifeless body was laying in his arms, as byakuya pulled you up from the cold grounds of hope's peak academy. he knew that anyone could die in this killing game and you weren't the first to be killed. but only when it was you who was the victim did the reality of it all begin to set in. 

he'd never get to see you smile again. he won't hear you lecture him again and he won't be able to roll his eyes at you. but worst of all, he won't be able to tell you that he finally understood what you meant back then. and you'll never be able to laugh at him, like you promised…

Mukuro x male!reader oneshot

Mukuro X Male reader

AU: Non-despair

Warnings: I guess swearing but besides that none

Summary: Junko drags Mukuro and Reader to a laser tag place for a date, I've never played laser tag before so sorry if this is innacurate, plus I've never been on a date and emotions are hard. I can always edit it anyway

Mukuro wasn't exactly somebody who had fun, she was more interested in getting work done and protecting those she cared about. Which was mainly Junko, her sister. Makoto, a classmate who treated her with kindness. And then (F/N), somebody who she met through Makoto and his sister when he took her to an event.

(F/N) was just a regular guy. No major talents, sure. But he still had some hobbies and even trained with her sometimes. He wasn't that good, but it was something they both seemed to enjoy. Mukuro mainly enjoyed it because it was a talent that she got to show off and practice, and (F/N) because he was just happy when spending time with her.

Mukuro was never sure why, but she always felt fluttery and almost found it hard to speak when she was with him, he was calming yet a rush of sudden feelings always came with him. It was strange, something she wasn't used to.

Junko teased Mukuro relentlessly and made fun of her when Mukuro told her about what she was feeling, even more so when she realised that Junko was planning on setting them up by spending the day at laser tag together. Before Mukuro could even object Junko was already halfway to (F/N)'s school.

He felt a sudden and sharp jab on his shoulder, wincing he turned around, facing Junko who was smiling deviously.

"Oh! Junko? Why are you here?" He questioned, the girl in question laughed, smirking as she looked behind her for a moment.

"A certain sister of mine is too shy to ask you out on a date." Junko turned to face (F/N) letting her voice grow to her louder and more obnoxious sounding tone, she spoke again "So, I wanna invite you to like a laser tag place thing. Mukuro and a few other classmates of ours are gonna be there."

"Uh, sure, but what did you mean by da-" He asked, Junko waved him off and began walking away.

"That's so great! I'll tell her, it's basically right after school so we'll pick you up and shit, see ya there!"

The rest of the day the only thing (F/N) could think about was the laser tag event and what Junko said about a date. If Mukuro did really like him and wanted to ask him on a date, then this would be the perfect time to tell her how he really felt when playing! That was if this was true, Junko was known to play pranks but he doubted this was the case.

After school, (F/N) could immediately guess which car was Junko's and Mukuro's without seeing the twins, a sleek black limo was parked outside the school. Students around him looked in awe at it, most people weren't too rich around here. Walking slowly towards it, Junko popped out and waved him over.

"Get your ass in here!" She yelled, (F/N) sped up his walking and Junko crawled back in when he got close to the car, she sat next to the door. His eyes locked on Mukuro the second he saw her, opposite Junko, he climbed in the back next to her.

"Where's everybody else?" (F/N) asked, confused as the only other people besides Junko and Mukuro in the car was the driver and himself. Sure most of them could have their own rides, but knowing Junko she wouldn't be caught dead letting anyone she was with show up in anything less than a sleek high class vehicle.

"What do you mean?" Mukuro questioned, looking suspiciously at Junko who was grinning at the two, looking down she began picking her nails and feigning innocence.

"Junko said that your other classmates would-" the girl in question laughed awkwardly and shook her head, looking out the window for a second before the laughter died down and she turned back.

"Poor guy! Delusional in my totally awesome presence." Junko uncrossed her legs when the car stopped, motioning for the two to get out after she opened the door next to her.

"Aren't you coming?" Mukuro asked, her voice low while glaring at her twin. Junko rolled her eyes and got out with her, closing the door and practically dragging the duo towards the building. They got geared up and were out in an arena with another team of three.

"So, given our position and current weapons, I believe the best and most effective cause of action that would garuntee success is-" Mukuro sat down, ready to tell us her plan which she took very seriously when Junko suddenly stood up.

"LETS FREAKING DO THISSS" She yelled, running and randomly firing her fake gun wildy in all directions, surprisingly, she wasn't caught and proved to be a great distraction for Mukuro and (F/N).

"Right, you remember when I taught you how to fire a gun?" Mukuro sighed, picking up her gun and squinting at her surroundings. Searching for any signs of danger.

"Let me guess, this is nothing like that?" (F/N) deadpanned, Mukuro nodded with a small blush on her face, just now understanding how close she was to him.

"Exactly, it's a lot easier but less deadly. Very ineffective." Mukuro mumbled, looking at her gun in annoyance but also relief.

"I don't think it's meant to hurt people, you know you can relax and have fun sometimes." She furrowed her brows at (F/N)'s comment, he just shrugged. "If you aren't enjoying it we can just leave, maybe some sparring will be fun." Mukuro's eyes widened.

"No it's fine, it's always enjoyable when I'm with you-" She went pink for a second then continued. "But, I don't know how to... Have fun? I can feel it but I can't... I don't know." The gun was discarded as Mukuro put her hands over her head, embarrassed and filled with a fuzzy feeling that was common with (F/N), but was far stronger in this occasion.

"Mukuro, do... Uhm, do you love me?" He whispered, staring into her eyes with a newfound shyness, (F/N) stuttered for a second before adding "Junko just told me you wanted to invite me for a date! She could've been lying and might just meant in a friend way but I just wanted to ask because it would be awkward if you did and nobody done anything because I do as well you're really awesome and stuff plus way out of my league and-" Mukuro put a finger over his lips, feeling her own slightly twitch up into a half smile.

"I don't understand emotions well, but with you, I believe what I am feeling is love. And, even if I'm wrong, I would still like to be your... Girlfriend." She muttered, leaning in closer as she lowered her finger, (F/N)'s face felt hotter even if it didn't show, he leaned in as well. Jumping as the helmet prevented them from kissing. He felt a laugh bubble in his throat, covering his mouth while Mukuro looked down awkwardly.

Suddenly, they felt two fake shots at their backs.

Another ’’where the hurt doesnt reach’’ with Chinki, akane and junko with male!reader please

A/N: Of course! Pretty sure I've made one of these fic's for most of the girls in the games now. That's fun :}

Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.6

pt.5 - pt.?

pt.1

Chiaki, Akane and Junko x Male!Reader

Warnings: Themes of Trauma/Abuse, Mentions of Assault/Threats, Mental Health Topics, Sensitive Touch & Boundaries, Social Anxiety/Avoidance

Word Count: 3794

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Chiaki:

The lights in the classroom flickered softly as the final bell rang. The hallways outside were already emptying, voices and laughter growing fainter with each passing second. But (Y/N) stayed seated at his desk, unmoving, his fingers curled tightly around the hem of his uniform jacket.

He hated this part of the day.

Not because of the classes, not even because of the exhaustion that dragged on his bones like weighted chains. But because eventually, he had to move. He had to walk out there. Past the boys who shouted too loudly, who bumped shoulders too hard, who laughed like threats.

His chest tightened.

"(Y/N)?" a soft voice floated into the room.

He flinched, halfway rising from his chair before registering the owner. Not a threat. Not him. Just... Chiaki…

The quiet girl who always carried her game console in her pocket, eyes half-lidded like she was constantly drifting through dreamy levels. She didn’t talk much, and when she did, it was often in game references and strategy hints. But somehow, she always noticed things no one else did.

Like the way he kept his back to the wall. The way he never raised his voice. The way he flinched when any of the boys clapped a hand on each other’s backs.

"...You didn’t leave with the others," she said, stepping closer, her bag hanging loosely from one shoulder. "Are you... waiting for someone?"

He shook his head silently.

Chiaki tilted her head. "Okay... can I sit here then?"

(Y/N) hesitated, then nodded. She took the seat beside him, setting her console on the desk between them. Her thumbs moved expertly over the buttons as a soft chiptune melody filled the space between them.

“I’m playing River Quest II,” she said, glancing sideways. “It’s about this kid who has to cross a haunted river to find his way home. But the boat he’s using keeps falling apart. So every night, he builds a new one. And even if he sinks, he tries again the next day.”

"...That sounds hard," (Y/N) murmured, voice hoarse.

“Yeah. But... I like it. There’s a lot of failure. But no matter what, the game lets you keep trying. Like... it wants you to win eventually. You just have to survive long enough.”

Her words sank into him slowly. Gentle. Understanding. Not pushing.

She didn’t ask questions like the counselors did. She didn’t talk about “opening up” or “dealing with trauma.” She just sat beside him in the silence, letting him exist.

"...You don’t talk to many people," Chiaki said softly after a while, her eyes still on the game. “Especially not guys.”

He stiffened. Instinctively. Reflexively.

She didn’t apologize. Didn’t backpedal or smother him with concern.

“I just thought you should know,” she continued, “you’re not weird for that.”

He turned to look at her. Her expression was unreadable- but not cold. Just... focused, like she was watching a really important boss fight play out in real time.

"I don’t like loud people either," she added. “Or people who stand too close without asking.”

A breath escaped him- something like a laugh, though it barely had the strength. His shoulders dropped.

"...Thanks," he whispered.

Chiaki gave him a small nod, then paused her game.

“You can play with me... if you want. I can set it to co-op.”

"...What kind of game is it?"

“It’s not about fighting. It’s about surviving. Together.”

She handed him a second controller- one she kept just in case someone needed it. As (Y/N) took it with hesitant fingers, their shoulders barely touched. Just enough to feel that she was real. That she wasn’t going to hurt him. That maybe, just maybe, this was his save point.

Later that evening, they left the classroom together.

The hallways had mostly cleared out, but a few stragglers still lingered- clusters of students chatting near the lockers or at classroom doors. (Y/N) kept close to the wall, his steps quiet, but his eyes wide and alert. Chiaki walked just behind him, humming quietly under her breath. The soft beeps of her handheld console were gone now- packed away- replaced by the dull echo of footsteps and laughter bouncing off the walls.

Then he heard it.

A sharp burst of male laughter up ahead.

He tensed.

There were three boys, loud and animated, joking about something and shoving each other playfully in the corridor. They hadn’t seen him. They weren’t even facing his direction.

But his throat tightened anyway.

His vision blurred.

The sound of their voices grew sharper, more distorted, like a tape warping and speeding up all at once. His legs stuttered to a stop. His chest locked up. His fingers went numb.

And suddenly, he was ten years old again.

Back in that hallway. Back in that house. The smell of beer and smoke choking the air. The sound of his voice- (Y/N)’s knees nearly buckled.

“Hey…” Chiaki’s voice came gently, like a hand through water.

He didn’t respond.

Her hand touched his sleeve. “(Y/N). It’s okay. Breathe.”

His shoulders shook. His eyes locked on the boys ahead, even though they were already walking the other way.

“They’re not looking at you,” Chiaki whispered. “They’re not coming over. You’re safe.”

It was a simple sentence.

But it anchored him.

He sucked in a shaky breath, then another. His heart was still pounding like it wanted to burst out of his chest, but the ringing in his ears began to fade.

Chiaki didn’t say anything else. She didn’t ask what happened. She didn’t need to.

Instead, she stepped in front of him and held out her hand.

“Let’s take the long way back to the gates,” she said quietly. “Less noise. Fewer people.”

He stared at her hand.

It was small, delicate, and open. She wasn’t pushing it into his. She just held it there, offering.

After a moment, his fingers brushed hers- tentative, like he was still afraid he might break something just by being too close.

She gently curled her fingers around his.

Her grip wasn’t tight. It wasn’t controlling.

It was just... steady.

Safe.

They walked the long way around the school, down the side halls that smelled like books and chalk dust, past quiet windows tinted gold with the sunset. She didn’t let go.

At one point, she spoke again. Her voice was softer than before.

“You don’t have to talk about it. Not unless you want to.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted.

“That’s okay. There are other ways to say things.” She gave a small squeeze to his hand. “Like staying. Or listening. Or letting someone walk with you.”

"...Thanks for walking with me."

Chiaki looked up at him, a small smile on her face, serene and real. “Thanks for letting me.”

And for the first time in a very long time...

(Y/N) didn’t feel like he was running.

He felt like he was choosing to walk.

Akane:

The cafeteria buzzed with the easy hum of student life- cliques forming in every corner, laughter and teasing flung across the bright afternoon. (Y/N) kept his head down, stirring the food on his tray without much thought. He sat at the farthest end of the cafeteria, away from the crowd, where the walls at least covered his back. Where he could see if anyone approached.

Most people didn’t. Most people knew he wasn’t exactly friendly.

And frankly, (Y/N) preferred it that way.

Another day where he could sit quietly and get through without an incident was a good day, by his standards. He flinched slightly when a chair scraped loudly against the floor nearby- too loud, too sudden- and his whole body stiffened instinctively.

When he glanced up, his stomach twisted. But then, calmed a bit as soon as his eyes met the scourse of the sound. It was Akane Owari, the wild, carefree Gymnast.

She plopped down into the chair next to him without even a hint of hesitation, swinging one leg over the other, holding a tray piled with food.

(Y/N) blinked in confusion.

"You’re not eating." Akane’s voice was casual but blunt, her brown eyes sharp even as she started shoveling food into her mouth without any embarrassment. "Why not? Food's good here. Kinda boring, but good."

(Y/N) opened his mouth, then shut it again. His throat felt tight. He didn’t know how to explain that sometimes eating was hard when everything inside felt wrong. That sometimes he could barely taste anything through the constant pit in his stomach.

Instead, he just muttered, "Not that hungry."

Akane squinted at him mid-bite. "You’re too scrawny," she said flatly, pointing her fork at him accusingly. "You’ll fall over if the wind blows the wrong way."

(Y/N) flushed and looked away. He wasn’t used to people pointing things out about his body- it made him feel exposed. Like when he was younger. When every flaw, every weakness, got punished.

A quiet panic itched under his skin. She’s too close. She’s loud. She’s noticing me.

But then something strange happened.

Akane... didn’t push. She didn’t laugh, or call attention to his weird reaction. She just kept eating, completely nonchalant, like sitting next to him wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t some kind of freak to be tiptoed around or mocked.

Minutes passed. 

(Y/N) felt himself starting to breathe a little easier.

It wasn’t much. But it was something.

Finally, Akane broke the silence again, her voice softer this time. "You can sit with me at lunch, you know. If you want. ‘Cause... you look like you don’t got anybody."

Her words weren’t pitying. They were just honest.

(Y/N) stared at her, heart thudding painfully.

He wanted to trust her.

He wanted to believe in even a scrap of kindness.

But fear clawed up his throat, memories flashing too vividly- other people pretending to be nice, only to hurt him worse when he let his guard down. His hands trembled slightly under the table.

Akane must have noticed. Because she leaned back in her chair, hands up, palms facing him.

"No touching," she said, like it was a vow. "I don’t like it when people grab me without asking, either. So, uh... promise I won’t touch you unless you say it’s okay."

(Y/N)’s breath hitched.

For a moment, he couldn’t look at her. His eyes burned. He squeezed them shut tight.

When he finally managed to look again, Akane was just sitting there, lazily chewing a piece of chicken, like she hadn’t just casually offered him something he'd been craving for years.

Safety.

Choice.

A promise.

(Y/N) swallowed hard and gave the smallest, almost imperceptible nod.

Akane grinned at him, It wasn’t a teasing grin. It was warm. Friendly.

Like maybe she really meant it.

"Cool," she said. "You’re mine now. My lunch buddy."

And just like that, she went back to eating, talking between bites about all the weird crap she’d seen on TV lately, as if nothing had even happened.

Days bled into each other, and somehow, (Y/N) found himself... used to it. Used to Akane plopping down beside him at lunch. Used to her rambling about whatever crossed her mind- fights she watched, food she wanted, weird dreams she had.

He didn’t have to talk much, she didn’t expect him to.

And when he did say something, she listened like it mattered.

It was easy, in a way nothing else was. Easy enough that sometimes he forgot to be afraid when she sat too close. Easy enough that he didn’t flinch anymore when she burst out laughing or swung her arms wildly mid-story.

Until today.

Today was different.

He didn’t see it coming. 

Didn’t see the group of boys from some other Class rounding the corner, roughhousing like they always did. (Y/N) shrank instinctively when they passed too close, ducking his head, praying they wouldn’t notice him.

But of course- someone did.

One of them, a tall boy with spiked hair and a cocky grin, spotted him instantly.

"Hey," the guy barked, jabbing a finger toward (Y/N). "Didn’t know they let scared little rats into Hope’s Peak."

The group chuckled. (Y/N)’s heart slammed against his ribs. His chest constricted.

He tried to melt into the wall, praying they'd get bored. 

It never worked… It never worked.

"You hear me, freak?" the boy said louder, stepping closer. His shadow loomed over (Y/N). "You think you’re better than us, sittin' all quiet and weird? Huh?"

(Y/N) flinched without meaning to- sharp, instinctive, the way a kicked dog would. His breathing quickened, the old terror clawing at his spine. His palms were sweaty and cold at the same time.

"Leave him alone."

The voice cut through the air, sudden and razor-sharp.

(Y/N) barely had time to blink before Akane was there, standing between him and the guy, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in a way (Y/N) had never seen before. Her whole body radiated tension- an animalistic readiness, like a jungle cat ready to tear into something.

The boy sneered. "Relax... We’re just messing around."

Akane tilted her head, cracking her knuckles one by one. "Yeah? Well, I don’t like it." Her voice was deceptively light, almost lazy. "Pick on someone else. Before I break your jaw."

The guy hesitated- maybe realizing that yeah, Akane could and would break something if she wanted to. He scoffed, tossing his hands up in mock surrender, before shoving past his friends and slinking away.

The group followed quickly, none of them daring to meet her gaze.

As soon as they were gone, Akane turned back to (Y/N).

Her expression softened immediately. No anger, no impatience. Just concern.

"You okay?" she asked simply.

(Y/N) opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He was shaking- trembling- with the aftershocks of it all. But somehow, looking at her, he didn’t feel trapped. He didn’t feel like he was seconds from breaking.

He just felt... Seen. Protected.

(Y/N) squeezed his eyes shut, breathing in deep, trying to steady himself.

Akane didn’t touch him.

She didn’t crowd him.

Instead, she dropped into a crouch right in front of him, balancing easily on the balls of her feet. She tilted her head again, smiling a little, almost sheepishly.

"I’m not good at this, y'know," she said. "The whole 'comforting' thing. But I don’t like seeing you scared."

(Y/N) opened his eyes slowly. His voice was hoarse when he finally whispered, "Thank you."

Akane grinned wide, her nose scrunching up.

"Hey, that’s what you do for the people you care about, right?"

Care…

The word landed heavier than she probably meant it to.

(Y/N) nodded slowly- another tiny, shaky nod- but it was genuine this time.

Akane rocked back on her heels, then stood up and offered him her pinky, wiggling it in front of him like a kid.

"Pinky promise," she said. "If anybody messes with you again, I’ll kick their ass. No questions asked."

(Y/N) stared at her hand for a long moment.

Then, hesitantly, so carefully, he hooked his pinky around hers.

It was the first time in a long time he touched someone and didn’t flinch.

Akane beamed. "Good. Now c’mon. You’re my lunch buddy, and i'm starving.”

Junko:

The world felt too loud for (Y/N).

The clang of lockers, the shrill excitement of new students meeting for the first time, the ever-present hum of fluorescent lights overhead- it all blurred into static in his ears. Hope’s Peak Academy was supposed to be a fresh start, but even walking these polished halls, (Y/N) felt a sinking pit deep in his gut. His scars didn’t show, not the kind that mattered. They throbbed silently beneath his skin, invisible to everyone else.

Everyone except maybe her.

"Ugh, could this place be any more boring?" a voice rang out like a bell, sharp and sugary sweet.

(Y/N) flinched instinctively, his shoulders tensing. He turned his head just slightly, not enough to draw attention. There she was… Junko Enoshima.

The Ultimate Fashionista. Long, wild pigtails, flawless skin, a magnetic presence that seemed to bend the very air around her. She was perfect. Perfect like a mannequin.

But as (Y/N) stared a little longer, he caught it- just a flicker behind those brilliantly blue eyes… Calculation.

He quickly dropped his gaze to the floor, panic prickling at his spine. Men were dangerous. Women... Women could be dangerous too, but less so. Still, people noticing him usually ended badly. He hoped she hadn’t seen him.

Of course she had.

Junko’s smile widened just a fraction as she sauntered closer, balancing on those towering heels like she ruled the world. She leaned down, just a little, to meet his hidden, downward gaze.

"Heyyyy. You're new, huh? What's your name?" Sweet voice. Thick with manufactured innocence.

(Y/N) opened his mouth, but his voice barely made it past his lips, "(Y/N)..."

She tilted her head, feigning a dramatic gasp. "Awww, you're shy! That's soooooo adorable~!" Her words dripped with honey, but her eyes... Her eyes stripped him bare.

It made (Y/N) take a trembling step back, his body recoiling before he could even think. He hated how obvious his fear must have looked.

Something shifted in Junko’s expression- so quick he almost missed it.

Interest.

"Ohhh, I get it," she chirped, standing up straight again, a hand resting lightly on her hip, "You're, like... scared of people, right?"

(Y/N) said nothing… He didn't need to. His silence said it for him.

Junko's gaze sharpened imperceptibly. This wasn't just shyness. This was deep, festering hurt. She knew the signs better than anyone. After all, wasn't she the Ultimate Analyst underneath all this glitter and glam?

"So cuuuute..." she said again, her voice softer this time. Real, almost. 

And dangerous.

Without asking permission, she hooked her arm through his and tugged him along, her perfume clouding around him like a net.

"Don't worry! I'll protect you from all the big, scary boys around here~!" she teased, but there was something underneath the sing-song words. 

A promise. 

A threat.

(Y/N) wanted to pull away. Every instinct screamed for him to. But her hand was firm. Not rough, like others had been. Not yet. And deep down, a pitiful part of him ached- ached for someone to cling to.

Even if it was someone as terrifyingly unreadable as Junko Enoshima.

Days bled into one another like spilled ink.

At Hope’s Peak, (Y/N) learned the art of invisibility. Keep his head down. Hug the walls. Speak only when spoken to, and even then, softly enough to fade into the static. 

But Junko wouldn’t let him disappear.

Every day, without fail, she found him. In the cafeteria, at the library, even once at the back entrance by the vending machines. A flash of blonde hair, a chime of mock surprise- "Omg, you’re here toooo?"- and she was by his side, smiling like they were childhood friends.

She never asked questions he didn't want to answer. Never touched him roughly… But she watched.

Always watching.

(Y/N) didn’t know if it was comfort or terror that curled tighter around his ribs when she was near.

But then… Something happened…

It happened three weeks into the semester.

(Y/N) was carrying a stack of books back to his dorm, arms full, vision half-blocked by the heavy tomes. He was focused only on keeping his breathing steady, moving quick but quiet down the mostly empty hall.

He didn’t see the boy until the shove came.

The books went flying, pages scattering like frightened birds. (Y/N) stumbled back, barely catching himself on the wall.

A tall boy, one of the rougher upperclassmen- he didn't even know his name- loomed over him, smirking.

"Oops. Guess you're just as useless as you look," the guy laughed, his voice a booming, cruel sound that cut into (Y/N)’s gut like a blade.

(Y/N) froze.

No breath. No movement. Like a rabbit in a wolf’s jaws. He barely registered the boy stepping closer, sneering down at him with twisted amusement.

"You even supposed to be here, freak? Weren't you scouted like, super late?" A hand grabbed at the collar of his shirt.

And then- 

Click clack click clack.

The unmistakable rhythm of high heels against tile.

The boy barely had time to turn his head before Junko Enoshima was there, stepping between them like a sudden wildfire.

Her smile was dazzling. 

Deadly.

"Uwaaah~ That’s not very nice of you," she sang sweetly, twirling a strand of her hair. "Picking on poor little (Y/N) like that. Don’t you know he’s, like, mine?"

The hallway seemed to shrink, the air thickening like a storm cloud.

The boy scoffed. "Tch. Whatever. I was just messing around."

Junko’s smile widened, a flash of white teeth. 

Still sugary sweet.

Still ice cold.

"Oh, I know~ You were 'just messing around'," she cooed, voice dripping fake sympathy. "But see, I reeaaaaally hate it when people mess with my stuff. Like, reeeeeally hate it."

Her tone never rose. She didn’t yell, didn’t threaten. She simply existed- so vividly, so suffocatingly- that the boy instinctively stepped back.

Smart boy.

"Don't let me catch you 'messing around' again, 'kay?" she said with a little wink, like they were just two friends sharing a private joke.

The guy muttered something under his breath and stalked off, disappearing around the corner.

(Y/N) was still frozen against the wall, every nerve buzzing.

Junko turned to him then, her expression softening into something almost... human.

"You okay, sweetie?" she asked, crouching down and beginning to gather his scattered books without waiting for him to move.

(Y/N) opened his mouth. Closed it… Nodded once, stiffly.

Junko smiled- really smiled this time- and handed him the top book.

For a moment, their fingers brushed. He flinched, but Junko didn’t push it. Didn’t comment. She simply dusted off his sleeve, brushing off invisible dirt like he was something fragile.

"You know," she said airily as they walked side by side down the hall, "Next time someone tries that? Maybe I'll just break their fingers~."

(Y/N) turned his head, wide-eyed.

She laughed brightly at his expression. "Juuuust kidding!~" she chimed, but her eyes stayed cold and glittering.

Not kidding. 

Not at all.

And somewhere deep in his hollowed-out chest, (Y/N) felt a strange warmth ignite- a tiny, desperate spark. 

Because even if it was twisted- Even if it was dangerous- For the first time in a long, long time, someone had chosen to stand for him.

Even if that someone was Junko Enoshima.

hello, can u make nsfw headcanons for sub!makoto naegi x male reader plisss

A/N: Absolutely! I can do that :}

Melt for Me

Sub!Makoto Naegi x Male!Reader

Warnings: MDNI 18+, Explicit sexual content, Dominance/Submission Dynamics, Praise Kink, Physical Restraints, Orgasm Control/Denial, Overstimulation

Word Count: 645

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

- Makoto is a naturally obedient mess: It doesn’t even take (Y/N) raising his voice. A firm look, a subtle command, or even a hand at the back of his neck is enough to have Makoto nodding, face burning, ready to do whatever he's told.

- He craves praise like oxygen: (Y/N) quickly picks up on it- a murmured "good boy" in his ear will have Makoto melting, his knees buckling, his face hiding against (Y/N)'s chest to escape how much he's blushing.

- Makoto has the softest whimpers when (Y/N) pulls his hair: Not rough enough to hurt, but firm enough to guide his head wherever (Y/N) wants it. It makes Makoto shiver- it always leaves him pliant and needy.

- (Y/N) loves the way Makoto fidgets when he’s being teased: Biting his lip, shifting his weight, fists clenching at his sides like he's fighting the urge to beg out loud. Sometimes, (Y/N) will order him to "keep still," just to watch him tremble from the effort.

- Makoto secretly loves being marked: (Y/N) trailing his teeth along his neck, leaving faint bruises hidden under his clothes? It makes Makoto feel claimed. It’s both humiliating and addictive.

- Punishments are almost worse because Makoto likes them: If he slips up- talking back, hesitating too long, or being bratty- (Y/N) makes him kneel, hands behind his back, eyes low. And Makoto aches to be forgiven.

- Makoto is so easy to overwhelm with dirty talk: A few low-spoken threats or promises from (Y/N) and he's a shaking, panting mess, barely able to function. (Y/N) teases him by whispering filth in his ear during normal activities, just to see him choke on his words.

- Makoto is absolutely weak for being pinned: Whether it's pressed up against a wall, pinned to a bed, or trapped on (Y/N)’s lap with no escape, it gets Makoto dizzy and breathless fast. (Y/N) loves using his strength to manhandle him a little, especially when Makoto squirms just to be caught again.

- Overstimulation Games: (Y/N) loves to tie Makoto’s wrists above his head, blindfold him, and just… take his time. Feather-light touches, whispered threats, teasing and denying him until Makoto’s begging- voice cracking- promising he’ll be "so good" if (Y/N) just lets him finish.

- "On Your Knees": Makoto reacts instantly when (Y/N) uses that tone. Doesn’t matter if they’re home, in a hallway, anywhere. His legs give out almost automatically, pupils blown wide, waiting for permission to move any further.

- (Y/N) trains Makoto to ask for what he wants: No more shy hints or hopeful glances- Makoto has to say it, clearly and properly. "Please, touch me." "Please, can I come?" And every time he does, (Y/N) rewards him devastatingly well. No vague whining- full sentences, clear language, desperate voice. "Please, I need you. I need you so bad, I'll do anything, please just-" (Y/N) watches, arms crossed, making him work for every reward.

- Orgasm Control: (Y/N) sometimes forbids Makoto from finishing until he says he can. Makoto's thighs tremble, his whole body tight with the effort to obey. The first time he accidentally came without permission, the punishment was so slow and deliciously cruel that Makoto apologized for days.

- Despite all the heat and dominance, there's a tenderness underneath it: Makoto knows, with unshakable certainty, that (Y/N) treasures him- every trembling, obedient part of him. Makoto gets pulled into (Y/N)'s lap, wrapped up tight, praised sweetly until he’s hiccuping little sobs of gratitude against his chest. - Aftercare Overload: No matter how rough (Y/N) gets, after it’s over, Makoto is tucked into bed, hair stroked, soft kisses pressed against every sore spot. (Y/N) whispers praises into his hair, calling him beautiful, perfect, precious- until Makoto falls asleep blissed out and safe.

I would like to request „where the hurt doesnt reach with kyoko, kaede and miu

A/N: Yes, of course! :} Slowly but surely getting through all of my requests.

Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.5

pt.4 - pt.6

pt.1

Kyoko, Kaede, and Miu x Male!Reader

Warnings: Themes of Trauma/Abuse, Mentions of Assault/Threats, Mental Health Topics, Sensitive Touch & Boundaries, Self-Harm, Social Anxiety/Avoidance, Mentions of Nightmares/Sleep Issues

Word Count: 2930

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kyoko: 

(Y/N) kept his head down in the dorm lounge, hands clenched around a cup of tea that had long since gone cold. The mug felt heavy- heavier than ceramic should- like the memories clawing at his chest had poured themselves inside.

The dorm was quiet. He had planned it that way. Early mornings were the safest. Fewer eyes, fewer voices. Fewer men.

He flinched as the door clicked open behind him.

Footsteps- measured, soft, deliberate- crossed the floor. No harsh breaths. No creaking floorboards from someone stomping in. Just silence.

“Good morning.”

He knew that voice. Soft and clear, like the first breeze after rain… Kyoko Kirigiri.

He didn’t answer. Just dipped his head lower.

But she didn’t mind. She never did.

“Do you want me to sit with you?” she asked.

(Y/N)’s grip on his cup tightened. His lips parted, but no sound came. He didn’t know how to say yes. Not without explaining the panic in his chest, or the constant crawl of anxiety under his skin. Not without revealing how he didn’t trust anyone- especially not the boys in this school, the ones with rough laughs and too-loud voices.

But Kyoko wasn’t like them.

She waited. Silent. Letting him answer in his own time.

“…yeah,” he breathed, almost inaudibly.

She didn’t ask any more questions. Just sat across from him, folded her gloved hands on the table, and looked at him- not with pity, but with understanding.

“You’ve been avoiding the others,” she said plainly, but gently. “The male students.”

His jaw tensed. Shame burned under his skin like acid.

“I’ve noticed,” she added, after a pause. “That’s all. I’m not judging you.”

“…I just… can’t,” he whispered. “I-They remind me of… Someone.”

Kyoko’s gaze didn’t waver. “Your stepfather?”

He froze.

“…How do you know that?” he murmured, eyes wide.

“I’m the Ultimate Detective,” she said softly. “But more than that… I noticed how your shoulders tense when anyone raises their voice. How you instinctively put space between yourself and any guy who walks near you. How you relax, just slightly, when you’re with me.”

(Y/N)’s breath hitched. Tears threatened behind his eyes, but he blinked them back, ashamed. He didn’t want to cry. Not in front of her.

But Kyoko reached across the table- slowly, so gently- and placed her gloved hand near his, not touching, just close. An offering. A silent I’m here. You’re safe.

“You don’t have to explain everything,” she murmured. “Not until you’re ready. And even then, only if you want to.”

The room was quiet again. But it wasn’t lonely. Not with her there.

“I feel… broken,” he confessed, his voice cracking.

“You’re not,” she said, firmly. “You’re hurt. But not broken.”

(Y/N) looked up- really looked at her- and for the first time in days, the crushing weight in his chest loosened, just a little.

Maybe, with Kyoko… healing didn’t have to be loud… Maybe it could start here.

In silence. In stillness.

 In the presence of someone who didn’t demand anything from him- except honesty, when he was ready.

Healing is quiet, but constant.

The halls of Hope’s Peak were always noisier in the afternoon, but (Y/N) found himself in the library. He liked the silence there. The weight of books around him felt grounding, the muffled sounds a safe sort of background noise.

He was flipping through a random mystery novel when a shadow passed the table- and without needing to look, he knew who it was.

Kyoko.

“Hi,” he murmured before she even spoke.

She stopped mid-step, slightly surprised… and then smiled faintly. “Hi.”

She took the seat across from him again, like it had become a silent ritual. There were no expectations between them. Just moments. Just space shared without pressure.

“You’re reading mystery novels now?” she asked, voice laced with a rare warmth.

(Y/N) gave a tiny shrug, fingers playing with the page corner. “Thought I’d try to understand what makes your brain tick.”

That earned him the smallest chuckle- soft and barely there, but real. His chest swelled with something fragile and new. He liked making her smile. Especially when she did it just for him.

“Do you want help solving it?” she asked, gesturing at the book.

He nodded, and they spent the next hour side by side- her pointing things out, him guessing and missing obvious clues, but laughing softly anyway. For a moment, the weight on his shoulders lifted, and it almost felt like he was just… a normal student. A normal boy. With a friend.

No- more than a friend. At least on his end.

He liked her. Liked the way she gave him space, but always showed up when he needed someone. Liked how she never asked about his scars but always looked like she wanted to fight whoever caused them.

Not all pain is visible. But she sees it anyway.

It happened in the courtyard. He hadn’t meant to go out, but he wanted air.

 Then a group of guys passed by- too loud, too close- and one of them bumped into him hard, muttering something under his breath that wasn’t even mean, but his chest clamped down instantly.

The panic came fast. Sharp. Ugly.

His breath caught. Vision blurred.

He stumbled back toward the wall, heart hammering in his ears, the sky spinning above him-

“(Y/N)!”

Her voice cut through the noise.

She was there in seconds.

Kyoko didn’t touch him. She didn’t crowd him. She just knelt beside where he’d sunk to the ground, her gloved hand resting lightly against the pavement, near his.

“Breathe with me,” she said. Calm. Grounding. “In… and out. Match me.”

She inhaled slowly. Exhaled even slower. Repeated. Over and over.

And (Y/N), shaking and pale, tried to match her. At first it didn’t work. His chest was too tight. His throat burned.

But she didn’t leave. Didn’t falter.

“In… and out.”

Eventually, the tightness loosened. The dizziness passed. His hands stopped shaking.

“…I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, voice barely there.

“Don’t apologize,” she said gently. “You’re not weak for surviving.”

Those words hit harder than anything else. He blinked hard, biting down the emotion swelling in his throat.

She sat beside him then, her shoulder close. Not touching- just present. Solid.

“I hate how scared I am,” he murmured. “How small I feel when they’re around.”

Kyoko was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “You’ve never been small to me.”

He turned his head toward her, startled. She met his eyes- clear and unwavering.

“You're brave,” she said. “Not because you’re unafraid. But because you keep going, even when you are.”

And- that was the moment he fell just a little harder.

Kaede: 

(Y/N) didn’t speak much when he first arrived at Hope’s Peak. He flinched at sudden noises, kept his eyes on the floor, and sat in the back of every room, as far from the boys as he could manage. Rumors spread quickly in schools like this- but Kaede never paid them any mind.

She saw him- really saw him- when she stayed after class to pack her sheet music, and he lingered a little longer than usual. Just the two of them in the room. She glanced up to say goodbye, and (Y/N) visibly tensed.

Her voice softened. “Hey… sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

(Y/N) didn’t answer at first. But he didn’t bolt either.

That was enough for Kaede.

The next day, she played a melody in the music room after class, loud enough for the hallway to hear. Just in case he passed by again. She kept doing it for days. Weeks.

Until one afternoon, she looked up between notes… and there he was. Standing in the doorway, holding his arm with a nervous grip, eyes unfocused.

She smiled, gentle and bright. “You can come in, if you want.”

He stepped inside- slowly, like the floor might give out under him.

Kaede kept playing. Nothing fancy. Just something soft and warm, like sunrise through a window. When she finished, she turned to him.

“…You okay?”

“…I don’t really like being around people,” he mumbled, “especially… guys.”

Kaede nodded, never once looking away.

“I get it. You don’t have to explain. But I’m not a guy, and… I promise, I’ll never make you feel unsafe.”

(Y/N)’s lip trembled slightly. But he stayed.

That became their quiet ritual- no words needed. He’d sit nearby while she played, sometimes reading, sometimes just… existing. In a room where no one could hurt him. A place where her music filled the silence he carried like a second skin.

One rainy evening, she asked gently, “Can I show you something?”

She pulled a chair beside the piano and motioned for him to sit.

“You don’t have to play,” she smiled. “I just… want you to feel what it’s like to be near music like that. To feel safe inside something.”

He hesitated, then slowly sat beside her. Their shoulders didn’t quite touch.

She began to play, her fingers moving across the keys in slow, deliberate tenderness. The piece wasn’t just music- it was comfort. A lullaby for someone long overdue for kindness.

Halfway through, she felt it- (Y/N) leaned in, his head resting against her shoulder. Light, like a bird settling onto a branch for the first time.

Kaede didn’t stop playing.

And for the first time in a long, long while… (Y/N) closed his eyes and let himself breathe.

The next day, he was there before her.

Kaede blinked when she opened the door to the music room and found (Y/N) already seated near the piano bench, a sketchbook in his lap. He looked up, startled- like he hadn’t meant to be caught.

“I… I wanted to hear you play again,” he said quickly, almost apologetically. “If that’s okay.”

She smiled. “Of course it is.”

As she sat down at the piano, she peeked at the edge of his notebook. Scribbles- music notes, little stars, a clumsy sketch of what might’ve been her fingers on the keys.

She didn’t comment. Just started to play.

Over time, it became something sacred. She'd play for him every afternoon. And when her fingers rested, they’d talk. At first, he only answered in nods or short phrases- but the wall between them was crumbling, brick by fragile brick.

One day, he surprised her.

“Do you… remember the first song you played for me?” he asked, barely louder than the hum of the heater.

Kaede paused, then nodded. “Yeah. Clair de Lune.”

“It reminded me of…” He trailed off, swallowing hard. “Of my mom. She used to play music on a little radio in the kitchen. Classical stuff. Before she met him.”

Kaede’s fingers stilled on the keys, but she didn’t say anything. She let the silence hold the space, like the soft pedal of a piano, gentle and unpressing.

“She stopped playing music after he moved in,” he whispered. “After a while, everything got quiet. Like… too quiet. I didn’t think I’d ever like music again.”

Kaede blinked slowly, heart aching.

“But I like yours,” he added, with the faintest smile. “I like… being around you.”

That made her heart flutter. Not with giddiness, but with something deeper. Like trust taking root.

She turned to him, her voice quiet. “I like being around you too.”

From that day on, something shifted.

He started waiting for her outside the music room instead of sneaking in early. He’d walk with her down the hall, always keeping a careful distance from the louder male students, but close enough that his shoulder brushed hers now and then.

And sometimes- when the room was empty, and the song was soft, and the sun hit just right- he’d smile. Not just at the music, but at her.

Kaede would smile back, her heart swelling.

She knew healing wasn’t a straight line. There were days when he still flinched at loud voices. When group activities left him drained and hollow-eyed. But he always found his way back to her.

One afternoon, after a particularly long session, he stayed behind after she packed up.

“Kaede?” he said, voice trembling.

She turned, instantly focused on him.

“…Can I hug you?”

The question knocked the wind from her.

But she nodded, gently, like she was answering a question from a dream. She opened her arms without a word.

(Y/N) stepped forward hesitantly. Then slowly- like a scared animal testing the air- he melted into her.

It wasn’t tight or desperate. Just a quiet press of his face into her shoulder, arms loosely around her waist.

Kaede held him with the kind of care reserved for breakable things. Her hand rubbed soothing circles on his back. “You’re safe,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Miu:

(Y/N) had flinched when Miu first barged into his dorm, voice carrying that usual volume and vulgarity like a storm in stilettos.

 “Yo, pencil-dick! You alive in here or what? You didn’t show up for breakfast and I ain’t got time to invent a search drone with tits just to find your sorry a-”

She stopped. Mid-rant. Her blue eyes scanned the dark room and landed on him, curled up in the corner with trembling shoulders, the edge of his sleeve wet where he’d been biting it to stay quiet. Not because he was hiding from her- but from the memories her voice had triggered.

“…Ah. Shit.”

It was the first time she didn’t call him a name.

Miu didn’t step closer. She dropped to sit cross-legged by the door, fiddling awkwardly with a spare screw in her hand, voice dipping just enough to feel like a whisper.

“Okay, so... maybe screaming like I’m in heat wasn’t the move,” she mumbled, chewing her bottom lip. “You wanna talk or should I just sit here and talk to myself like a damn lunatic? ‘Cause I can do both.”

(Y/N) didn’t answer. His voice was buried too deep behind the fear. But he didn’t tell her to leave.

She took that as permission.

Later that night, after hours of her rambling about new inventions- some genius, some dangerously stupid- he finally managed a small voice. Fragile.

“…Why’re you being nice to me?”

Miu blinked, caught off guard. Her usual grin didn’t come. Instead, she shrugged, arms resting loosely on her knees.

"'Cause I know what it’s like to hate being touched. To hear someone’s footsteps and feel your chest lock up. To build a thousand walls with your bare hands 'cause you don’t trust a single fucking person not to break you again.”

(Y/N) looked up at her, eyes wide. She wasn’t loud anymore. She was... real.

She smirked, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Plus, you’re the only guy who doesn’t try to touch me or tell me to shut up. That’s kinda hot.”

A breathless, broken laugh escaped him before he could stop it.

And that was the first night he fell asleep with her sitting beside him- quiet, steady, and real.

It wasn’t overnight. But it was something.

The next morning, Miu came back. Same knock, a little softer this time. She waited- didn’t barge in. When (Y/N) cracked the door open, she was standing there with a weird contraption in her hands.

“It’s a... uh... noise-canceling headset,” she said, trying and failing to sound casual. “If I yell too loud, it automatically dampens my voice before it reaches your ears. Like a built-in anti-Miu filter. Patent pending, dickweed.”

He blinked at her, then... laughed. A real laugh, quiet and airy, but genuine.

She flushed bright pink. “S-Shut up, it’s not because I like you or anything! I just got bored! You think I sit around all day worrying about your trauma baby brain or some shit?!”

(Y/N) smiled.

“Thank you.”

She looked like she short-circuited for a second. “…Whatever.”

Over the next few weeks, they started eating together- sometimes in the cafeteria, sometimes in his room. He talked more now, slowly. Haltingly. But it was there.

“I used to be afraid of falling asleep,” he admitted one evening, his fingers picking nervously at the hem of his sleeve as they sat cross-legged on his bed, a blanket pulled over both their legs. “If I stayed awake, I could hear him coming. I’d have time to hide.”

Miu didn’t answer right away. She just scooted closer, their knees brushing.

“If you ever need someone to sleep next to you,” she said softly, “I’m right here. I snore and occasionally yell ‘ORGASM!’ in my dreams, but like- other than that, I’m pretty fuckin’ cuddly.”

He laughed again, but this time, there were tears running down his cheeks.

One night, he reached for her hand.

She was rambling about a new sex robot idea (“It makes you breakfast and calls you daddy! Revolutionary!”), and he wasn’t really listening- just watching her, soft-eyed and warm.

His fingers brushed hers. Hesitant. Unsure.

She froze mid-sentence, cheeks blooming with color. “W-Woah. D-Don’t get all handsy on me, lover boy…”

But she didn’t pull away.

And when his grip tightened, just slightly, her own hand squeezed back. Gentle. Careful. A little shaky.

“…But if you wanna hold hands like some lame high school anime couple, I guess I can allow it.”

(Y/N) didn’t say anything. He just leaned his head on her shoulder.

And for once, Miu Iruma- Ultimate Inventor, self-proclaimed genius perv, filthy-mouthed storm of chaos- didn’t say a word either.

She just let him rest there.

hi hiii, could I request headcanons or a one shot (completely up to you) that's a shuichi saihara x reader where the reader is kaede's brother/sibling? that whole dynamic?

(if not, feel free to ignore)

thank you <3

A/N: Yes, absolutely! I kept the reader gender neutral, since it wasn't specified. Hope that's okay :}

A Little Too Close

Shuichi x GN!Reader Headcannons

Warnings: Grief/Loss, Trauma, and Nightmares

Word Count: 1527

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-Shuichi's first reaction to meeting (Y/N): He’s startled. Not because they’re intimidating, but because… They look like Kaede. Or maybe it's their energy, their expressions, the way they say his name. It throws him off. He fumbles with his hat almost immediately, tugging it low as he mumbles a polite greeting. “I didn’t know Kaede had a sibling…” (Y/N) smiles. “Guess she didn’t talk about me much, huh?” That makes him nervous. Not because of them- but now he’s overthinking what Kaede did say, and whether it was enough to prepare him for them. Spoiler: It wasn’t.

-They remind him of Kaede… but not quite: There are moments where they laugh or tilt their head just like she used to, and his heart squeezes. But then (Y/N) says something unexpected- sarcastic, bold, or quietly observant- and he realizes: They’re not her. And that’s… oddly comforting. They’re not a walking shadow of Kaede. They’re their own person. It makes him want to understand them more. Quietly. Carefully. Like a case he doesn’t want to mess up.

-Early awkwardness: He doesn’t know how to act around them at first. Should he treat them like Kaede treated him? Should he be distant, out of respect? (Y/N) catches him doing that weird thing where he hovers in a doorway, half-turning like he’s about to leave. They just raise an eyebrow and tell him to sit down. He does. Immediately. No questions asked. (They tease him about that later.)

-Accidental late-night conversations: The first time the two really talk is late- everyone else is asleep or gone, and the only sound is the ticking of a clock and some distant wind. (Y/N) asks him how he’s doing, really. He’s not used to someone asking without a motive. They don’t push, but they stay. That stays with him longer than their words do.

-Soft, silent comfort: He starts to notice how (Y/N) lingers when he’s feeling overwhelmed. How they never force conversation, but they offer it, like an open hand he can take or not. He realizes he likes their silence. It’s not awkward- it’s safe. Sometimes, they’ll just sit nearby with a book, or hum a tune Kaede used to play, and that’s enough to ground him.

-Little moments that get to him: (Y/N) fixes his collar without thinking. He freezes. They just go, “There. It was bugging me.” They bring him tea when he’s deep in notes. He thanks them with pink cheeks and a voice softer than usual. They laugh at one of his rare jokes, and he’s stunned for a second- then shyly smiles. He’s starting to look forward to making them laugh again.

-The turning point: He catches himself watching them one day- not analyzing, not deducing- just watching, with a kind of warmth in his chest that makes him anxious. He blurts out, “You’re… really different from Kaede.” “Yeah? Is that a good thing?” He hesitates. Then nods, voice low. “Yeah. It is.”

-Shuichi starts letting his walls down, little by little: At first, it’s subtle. He actually starts seeking them out instead of waiting for them to bump into him. They’ll catch him standing nearby when they’re talking to someone else, not saying much, just listening. He says it’s “out of habit,” but his eyes keep drifting to (Y/N). They ask if he wants to walk with them somewhere, and he says “Sure,” with this small, surprised smile like he wasn’t expecting to be invited.

-(Y/N) starts understanding his little tells: When he’s anxious, he tugs at his gloves. When he’s genuinely happy, his voice gets a little higher and softer. And when he’s looking at them- really looking- they can feel the intensity, even if he drops his gaze the second they meet it. They pretend not to notice when he stares a little too long, just to see how long it takes for him to turn red. (Spoiler: not long.)

-Domestic softness sneaks in: (Y/N) brings him tea or coffee without him asking now. They even remember how he takes it. Sometimes they sit beside him while he’s writing up notes on a case and rest their chin on his shoulder until he blushes and stiffens like a statue. He starts handing them his jacket on cold days without a word. He says, “You looked cold,” but he’s the one shivering.

-Kaede’s memory brings them together, not apart: One night, they’re both sitting in the music room. The piano sits untouched. (Y/N) says, “She’d hate how quiet it is in here.” Shuichi nods, staring at the keys. “She would’ve played something bright… even if no one was listening.” They play a few notes, a little clumsy at first, but Shuichi closes his eyes and listens. “You sound like her,” he whispers. “But… not.” They smile. “That’s the idea.”

-He confides in (Y/N), finally: He tells them he still has nightmares. About trials, about people he couldn’t save. They don’t try to fix it. They just listen, and then they tell him about their own fears. How losing Kaede still feels unreal. He reaches out, hesitates… then rests his hand lightly on theirs. No words. Just warmth. Just: I’m here.

-The “oh no I like them” moments: He overhears someone flirting with (Y/N) and nearly drops his notebook. He’s not jealous (he tells himself), but he definitely interrupts with something awkward and unnecessary. They ask if he wants to try cooking something together and he agrees way too fast, then spends the whole time pretending to be calm while he burns the rice. They fall asleep next to him during a late night chat. He watches them breathe for a while, then whispers, “I think Kaede would’ve liked this… us.”

-The shift: One day, (Y/N) brushes some hair out of his eyes without thinking. He catches their wrist mid-motion. “You always do that,” he says softly. “Like you’re not even thinking about it.” They shrug. “Maybe I just want an excuse to touch you.” Silence. His ears go red. Then, so quietly it’s barely there: “You don’t need an excuse.”

-The moment it finally clicks, for both of them: It happens quietly. No fireworks. No huge romantic gesture. Maybe they’re both watching the stars one night, side by side, shoulder to shoulder. (Y/N) says something like, “I wish Kaede could’ve seen this.” And Shuichi says, “I think she’d be happy. I mean… that we found each other.” There’s a pause. They both glance at each other. Something in the air changes. It’s not just comfort anymore. It’s something deeper. Something that’s been growing, slowly and patiently, in all the silences and half-smiles and lingering stares.

-Neither of them say it immediately… but it feels different: After that night, the way he looks at (Y/N) is different. More direct. Like he’s not afraid anymore. They catch yourself holding their breath when he leans close to show them something in his notebook. His fingers brush theirs and neither of them pull away this time.

-The first kiss: It’s so painfully gentle. Shuichi is careful, like he’s afraid to break something delicate. He hesitates right before, his lips just a breath away, and whispers, “Is this okay?” (Y/N) nods, heart fluttering, and he finally closes the gap. It’s shy and sweet and makes their knees go weak. When they pull back, they’re both red-faced and smiling like idiots. He covers his face with his hand and just goes, “Wow…” (Y/N) teases him: “What? Solved the case of your own feelings?” “Took me long enough,” he mumbles. 

-The “we’re official” moments: He doesn’t call them his partner right away. He just kind of… sticks closer. Sits next to them every time. Carries two drinks instead of one. He accidentally blurts out “my p- my partner.” in front of someone and then refuses to make eye contact for a whole hour. (Y/N) doesn’t tease him too much. They just take his hand and lace their fingers with his under the table. That shuts down his anxiety real quick.

-Soft, sleepy comfort: They take naps together now. Shuichi’s arms around their waist, his breath slow and steady against the back of their neck. He sleeps better when they're there. No nightmares. No tension in his shoulders. They kiss the top of his head before he falls asleep. He never says anything, but the way he exhales tells them everything.

-Domestic sweetness: He leaves them little notes when he’s busy, “Don’t forget to eat. I left your favorite tea by the kettle.” They write back on the same paper, “You’re cuter when you’re bossy.” He keeps that note in his pocket for weeks.

-The quiet confession (finally said out loud): He says it first. Not in a dramatic moment, but while they’re brushing his hair out of his eyes before bed. “I love you,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I just… I do.” (Y/N) smiles. “I know. I love you too, detective.” He exhales like he’s been holding it in for months. Then he pulls them close and doesn’t let go.

different anon but can you do another part to "where the hurt doesn't reach" but with a female reader? And with Mahiru, Toko and Maki?

Lmao just realised whilst writing that's one girl from each main game

A/N: Of course :} We love some wlw. Just so its made known, though, any time I write for Toko, I am going to add Jack into it as well. Just because there isn't exactly one without the other.

Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.4

pt.3 - pt.5

pt.1

Mahiru, Toko (Plus Genocide Jack), and Maki x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Themes of Trauma/Abuse, Mentions of Assault/Threats, Mental Health Topics, Sensitive Touch & Boundaries, Self-Harm, Social Anxiety /Avoidance, Mentions of Nightmares/Sleep Issues

Word Count: 3849

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Mahiru:

The afternoon light poured softly through the old windows of Hope’s Peak’s photography studio, painting the floor in golden strips. Dust hung suspended in the beams, undisturbed until Mahiru Koizumi walked through them, camera slung over her shoulder, her gaze sharp but kind.

She hadn’t expected anyone to be here. The studio was usually empty this time of day- most students preferring the courtyard or their dorms. But as she stepped inside, her eyes caught the figure curled in the corner.

(Y/N) sat on the floor, knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them like she was holding herself together. She flinched before Mahiru even said a word.

Mahiru stopped. No sudden moves. No loud noises. Just a steady breath, then another.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said gently. “I can leave, if you want.”

(Y/N)’s eyes flicked up. She didn’t speak- just shook her head, barely perceptible. Her gaze was wary, but not unkind.

Mahiru studied her for a moment. (Y/N) had always kept to herself in class. Quiet. Careful. Like she was bracing for something. Mahiru had seen bruises like that before- not the kind on skin, but the kind behind the eyes.

“I just wanted to develop some photos,” Mahiru continued, moving to her usual table. She set down her bag with deliberate softness, not looking at (Y/N) again right away. “You can stay. I don’t mind.”

Silence stretched. A quiet, fragile kind. But Mahiru didn’t try to fill it. She just got to work, letting the scent of developer fluid and the rhythmic motions of her craft fill the room with calm.

A soft voice, almost a whisper “You… take photos of people, right?”

Mahiru turned. (Y/N)’s arms were still wrapped around herself, but her gaze had shifted. Curious. Afraid, but curious.

“Yeah,” Mahiru said. “Not the posed kind, though. I like catching real moments. People being themselves.”

“…Is that hard?”

Mahiru tilted her head. “Sometimes. Depends on the person. Some people put up walls. Some people just… disappear behind a smile.” She paused. “But I think everyone deserves to be seen. Really seen. Not judged. Not used. Just… seen.”

(Y/N) blinked. Her throat moved like she wanted to say something else but couldn’t find the words. Mahiru didn’t push her.

Minutes passed. Then… “Can I see one?”

Mahiru smiled, soft and genuine. She handed over a photo- black and white, grainy but intimate. A girl laughing mid-step, barefoot in the rain. The joy in her eyes was unfiltered. Free.

“She looks happy,” (Y/N) murmured, almost like it hurt to say.

“She was. For a moment.”

“…I don’t think I’ve ever looked like that.”

Something in Mahiru’s chest tugged painfully. She crouched near (Y/N), keeping a careful distance, her voice quieter now.

“Then maybe one day,” she said, “I can take a photo of you like that.”

(Y/N) tensed. She didn’t look up. “I don’t… like cameras.”

Mahiru nodded. “Okay. I won’t take any unless you ask.”

A long silence followed, but it was different now. Less sharp. Less suffocating.

Finally, (Y/N) asked, “Why are you being nice to me?”

Mahiru looked at her, earnest and unwavering. “Because I’ve seen what cruelty does to people. And because being kind… costs nothing. But it means everything.”

(Y/N)’s eyes shimmered, and she wiped at them with the back of her sleeve. Not sobbing. Just letting go, piece by piece.

“Most guys I knew didn’t think that way,” she whispered.

“I’m not most guys,” Mahiru said simply. “And they were wrong. About everything.”

The room felt warmer now. Not fully safe- not yet- but safer than it had been. Mahiru turned back to her photos, giving (Y/N) her space, but the quiet between them no longer felt like a wall.

It felt like a bridge.

The next time Mahiru entered the studio, (Y/N) was already there.

She sat on the windowsill this time, knees tucked up, eyes on the light slanting across the floor. She didn’t look surprised when Mahiru arrived- just quietly acknowledged her with a small nod.

Mahiru smiled softly. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

That was all. No explanations, no apologies for taking up space. Just presence.

Mahiru began setting up her camera again, checking the prints she’d left to dry last time. Her hands worked by muscle memory, but her mind was half on (Y/N). She could feel the quiet shift in the air- not tension, but something fragile trying to grow roots.

“You come here a lot,” (Y/N) said after a while, her voice still soft but a little more open.

Mahiru glanced up. “Yeah. It’s my favorite place. It’s quiet, but not lonely. You know?”

(Y/N) nodded. “I think I do.”

They spent more afternoons like that- saying little, doing even less. Sometimes (Y/N) brought a book. Sometimes she watched Mahiru work in silence, eyes following her movements with a kind of wary fascination.

One day, after Mahiru developed a print and held it up to the light, she felt (Y/N)’s gaze linger a little longer than usual.

“…Can I try?”

Mahiru turned, blinking. “You want to take a photo?”

(Y/N) hesitated, like the offer might collapse if she reached for it. Then she nodded.

“Of something else. Not people. Just… I want to know what you see through the camera.”

Mahiru handed it over gently, careful not to overwhelm her. “It’s all about finding the moment,” she said. “Even if it’s quiet. Especially if it’s quiet.”

(Y/N) moved slowly through the room, camera clutched like something precious. She didn’t raise it to her eye right away. Just observed. Then- click.

A stack of worn books on a shelf… The light catching on Mahiru’s film strips. A photo pinned crookedly on the wall, curling at the edges like it had been there too long.

When she handed the camera back, her hands were shaking just a little. But her eyes were calm.

Mahiru reviewed the shots, brows lifting. “These are good.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m not.” Mahiru turned the display toward her. “Look. You’ve got an eye for the quiet things. The things most people overlook. That’s rare.”

Something bloomed faintly in (Y/N)’s chest- small, unfamiliar. Not pride. Something gentler. Like she mattered.

“You’re the only one I like being around,” she admitted quietly. “Everyone else feels… too loud. Too close.”

Mahiru set the camera down, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she moved to sit near her, again keeping distance but close enough to be felt.

“I’ll never be loud with you,” Mahiru promised. “Not unless you want me to be. And if you ever want space, I’ll give it. You call the shots.”

(Y/N) looked at her- really looked at her- and for the first time, the fear in her eyes wasn’t the strongest thing there.

“…Can I take a photo of you?” she asked. “Just once?”

Mahiru blinked. “Me?”

(Y/N) nodded, already lifting the camera. “You were the first person who made me feel like I wasn’t broken.”

Mahiru didn’t speak- just sat still, the warmth in her expression softening every line of her face.

Click....

(Y/N) lowered the camera. Her hands weren’t shaking anymore.

Toko (and Jack):

(Y/N) kept to the corners of Hope’s Peak like a ghost- silent, untouchable, half-there. Shadows had become home, and solitude, the safest companion. The halls were too loud, the stares too sharp, and worst of all, there were too many boys. Too many broad shoulders, too many lowered voices and sudden movements, too many ways for fear to bloom in their chest like a bruise.

So when Toko Fukawa noticed them- really noticed- it was like the page of a book folding open mid-sentence.

She was used to being invisible, too. Not that she wanted attention. Attention meant judgment. Meant whispers and the gleam of disgust in someone’s eye. But (Y/N) wasn’t disgusted. When she looked at her, it was like she was bracing for a storm that never came. Like she was holding her breath, and still chose to meet her gaze anyway.

It unsettled her. And fascinated her.

One afternoon in the library, the silence between them finally broke. (Y/N) sat at the farthest table, fingers twitching as she turned the same page over and over, unread.

“You’re… uh… you’re not doing it right,” Toko blurted, then flinched at herself. “I mean-! You’ve been on that page for six minutes and thirty-two seconds.”

(Y/N) startled like a deer, flinching before shrinking into herself. Toko nearly apologized- nearly- but the words died in her throat. She saw the fear then, tucked behind her eyes like a broken wing.

“I wasn’t watching you,” she lied, cheeks burning. “Okay, maybe I was, but not in a creepy way, I swear. I just- ugh! I mean-” She groaned, burying her face in her sleeves. “This is why I should just talk to paper…”

“…You’re not scary.”

The voice was so soft, Toko almost didn’t hear it.

(Y/N) was still hunched, but she looked at her with something new: caution, not fear. As if testing the waters of her presence.

“You’re not like them,” she said.

Toko blinked. Then flushed deeper.

“W-Well of course not! I’m disgusting and weird and hideous and- wait, no, that wasn’t the point-!” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “God, I’m screwing this up…”

But (Y/N) wasn’t retreating. Their lips twitched upward- not quite a smile, more like the idea of one.

A beat passed. Then Toko hesitated. “Do you… wanna read with me?”

The next few days were different.

(Y/N) didn’t talk much, but she didn’t have to. Toko would sit across from her in the library, the space between filled with the quiet rustle of pages and the faint tap of pencils. She’d sneak glances when (Y/N) wasn’t looking. Noticed how her shoulders flinched whenever someone loud passed by. How she always kept a wall at her back.

Toko knew trauma. Knew what it was like to live with the ghost of a hand too rough and a voice too loud. It made her stomach twist, thinking of what (Y/N) must’ve endured. But she didn’t ask. Instead, she gave her space- and safety.

At least, until Genocide Jack decided to make an appearance.

(Y/N) had been particularly quiet that day. Paler than usual. The bruise of nightmares still dark under her eyes. Toko barely had time to ask what was wrong before the pressure in her chest burst.

A jolt, a cackle, a sneeze- and she was gone.

In her place stood Genocide Jack, twirling scissors in her hand like they were an extension of her fingers.

“Well, hellooo, cupcake!” she sang, eyes glinting. “Didn’t expect to see such a sad little cutie on this fine, freaky day!”

(Y/N) froze.

Jack noticed.

Her smirk faltered, just a little. She cocked her head, lowering her scissors.

“Hey. Hey, woah. Easy there, sweetheart,” she cooed. “You think I’m gonna hurt you? Nah. You’re not my type.” She winked, but it didn’t carry the same manic glee. More… reassuring. Protective, even.

“You’re shaking,” she said, softer now. “Who did it?”

(Y/N)’s eyes flicked away.

Jack crouched down in front of them, still keeping a careful distance.

“You know, Toko’s real boring about this crap. She’d stammer and flail and write you a sad sonnet or whatever.” She tapped her chin. “But me? I get mad. Real mad. No one- and I mean no one- gets to hurt my little book buddy.”

That surprised (Y/N). “Book… buddy?”

“Damn right,” Jack said, grinning. “You’ve been sharing brain space with Toko. Which means, like it or not, you’ve got me too. Congratulations! You’ve earned a raving lunatic guardian angel.”

It was ridiculous. And terrifying. And oddly… comforting.

When Toko returned, blinking back into herself like a splash of cold water, she gasped. “Did she say something weird? She always says something weird-”

“She called me her book buddy,” (Y/N) murmured.

Toko froze. A flush crept up her face.

“She… she what?!”

(Y/N) chuckled.

It was quiet, fragile- but real. The first sound of real laughter that had left her in weeks.

And in that moment, for the first time in longer than she could remember, she felt safe.

Not because the world was safe.

But because someone saw her. Bruises and all. And stayed.

After that strange, oddly healing moment, something began to shift.

(Y/N) kept coming to the library, but now she didn’t sit across from Toko- she sat beside her. Close enough that their sleeves would sometimes brush. Close enough that when loud footsteps echoed down the hall, (Y/N) would inch a little nearer, and Toko wouldn’t say a word. She’d just keep reading, heart pounding but steady, letting her presence do what words couldn’t.

And sometimes, when things got especially bad- when the nightmares came back, when (Y/N) walked the halls like she was holding back tears with each breath- Genocide Jack would come out, unprompted.

Toko didn’t always understand it, but somehow, (Y/N) liked her.

Her. The maniac. The murderer. The sharp-toothed, unfiltered chaos hiding in her bones.

“You’re not afraid of me,” Jack had said once, tilting her head as she sprawled upside down across the library bench. “Why’s that, huh? You like girls with a little stab in their step?”

(Y/N) gave her a look that was half-smile, half-sigh. “You’re honest,” she said simply. “You never lie about what you are.”

Jack blinked. Then she gave a laugh that wasn’t manic at all- just warm.

“Damn. You’re weird. I like it.”

They became an odd trio, in their way. (Y/N), quiet and ghostlike, Toko with her words and shame and fragile pride, and Jack, blazing through it all like a storm with scissors and sarcasm.

When Toko asked, in one of her rare moments of boldness, why (Y/N) kept showing up, she answered without hesitation:

“Because you make me feel okay… just being here.”

That stayed with Toko. Long after the library closed. Long after (Y/N) had gone.

It haunted her in the best way.

One evening, the library was nearly empty. Toko sat with her knees hugged to her chest, notebook open but untouched. (Y/N) hadn’t said much all day. She was pale again. Too still.

“Bad night?” she asked quietly.

(Y/N) nodded, then hesitated. “He used to bang on the door before coming in. Even now… I flinch when I hear knocking.”

Toko’s hands clenched around her sleeves.

“…I know how that feels.”

She looked up, surprised.

Toko wasn’t looking at her- she was staring at the floor, trembling just slightly.

“I had someone like that… he never knocked, either,” she whispered. “Sometimes I think I still hear his footsteps. I hate it. I hate how my body still remembers even when I try to forget.”

(Y/N) shifted. Slowly, she reached out and placed her hand over Toko’s.

Just that.

Toko froze.

But she didn’t pull away.

Neither of them said anything for a while. The silence wasn’t heavy this time. It was soft. Tentative.

“Do you… wanna stay with me tonight?” (Y/N) asked. “We don’t have to talk. Just… I sleep better when I know someone’s nearby.”

Toko’s breath caught.

Then she nodded.

That night, Toko sat curled in a beanbag in (Y/N)’s dorm room, notebook in her lap, glasses slipping down her nose. (Y/N) was in bed, curled under her blanket, already breathing softly.

Jack didn’t come out. For once, she stayed quiet. Still. Maybe even… at peace.

Toko watched (Y/N) sleep for a while, blinking slowly.

She didn’t understand why she liked being around her- around them- but she felt it. Felt it in the way (Y/N) leaned into her presence. Trusted her. Wanted her there.

It didn’t make her feel disgusting.

It made her feel wanted.

Maki:

It started with a broken cup.

(Y/N) hadn’t meant to drop it- it was just a clumsy twitch of the wrist, a ghost memory of flinching at a voice that wasn’t there. The ceramic shattered on the dormitory floor, echoing far too loud in the quiet of the common room. Her breath caught, eyes wide, body frozen like prey expecting punishment.

Maki Harukawa stepped into the doorway at that exact moment.

Her expression was unreadable, the same quiet storm it always was. Sharp eyes flicked from the broken cup to (Y/N), then to the trembling in her hands.

“I’ll clean it,” (Y/N) said quickly, too quickly. Her voice was thin and shaky, like a thread pulled too tight. “I didn’t mean to- please, don’t-”

“I’m not mad.” Maki’s voice was flat, but not cold. She moved slowly, deliberately, as if approaching a wounded animal. “I’ll get the broom.”

(Y/N) blinked. That was all she said.

Minutes passed. The shards were swept into a dustpan. Maki didn’t ask questions, didn’t press. She simply crouched, scooped the last of the fragments into a bag, and threw it away.

Then silence.

(Y/N) stood awkwardly in the corner, arms wrapped tightly around herself. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

“You... wanted to?”

Maki finally looked at her then- really looked. Not with pity, but with a kind of quiet understanding that unnerved and comforted at once.

“I’ve seen that look before,” she said after a pause. “The way you flinched. The way your voice changes around men.”

(Y/N) stiffened.

Maki sat down on the edge of the couch, legs tucked under her. She didn’t ask (Y/N) to join her. She didn’t ask anything at all.

But after a moment, (Y/N) sat too. Not beside her- just near enough to feel the warmth of someone who wasn’t going to hurt her.

“It was my stepfather,” (Y/N) whispered, unsure why the words came out. “He was... angry. A lot. And when I couldn’t be what he wanted, he made sure I understood that.”

Maki didn’t look away. Her face didn’t twist in sympathy. She just listened.

“I’m afraid all the time,” (Y/N) admitted. “Especially around men. I know not everyone’s like him, but my body won’t listen. It freezes. I... freeze.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Maki’s tone didn’t change, but there was something soft behind it now. “Fear is how we survive sometimes.”

(Y/N) looked at her- the calm way Maki sat, so still, like a blade sheathed but never dull. She didn’t fidget. She didn’t reach out. She gave them space in a way no one else did.

“You’re the first person who hasn’t tried to fix me,” (Y/N) said, voice barely audible.

“That’s because you’re not broken,” Maki answered. “You’re hurt. There’s a difference.”

Silence wrapped around them again, this time not suffocating, but protective. Like a blanket pulled just high enough to hide behind.

Maki stood after a while, heading for the door. But before she left, she paused.

“I’m in the training room most mornings,” she said. “You don’t have to come. But if you do, I won’t ask why.”

(Y/N) blinked. “Are you... inviting me?”

Her eyes met (Y/N)’s. “I’m saying... it’s easier to fight ghosts when you’re not alone.”

And then she was gone.

But the room didn’t feel empty after.

It felt like the beginning of something quiet and kind.

It took three days for (Y/N) to show up.

She lingered at the edge of the training room, hands in her sleeves, unsure if she was welcome or just tolerated. But Maki didn’t stop mid-punch or raise an eyebrow. She just glanced toward her once, nodded like she’d expected it all along, and kept moving.

The rhythmic sound of fists against the sandbag was oddly soothing. Predictable. Controlled.

Unlike the chaos in (Y/N)’s chest.

“Want to try?” Maki asked without turning around.

(Y/N) hesitated. “I don’t really... fight.”

“That’s fine,” Maki said simply. “You don’t have to be strong like me.”

She offered a pair of gloves anyway, left them on the bench without pressure. (Y/N) didn’t touch them. Not that day.

But she came back. Again and again.

And slowly, something changed.

It wasn’t about the punching bags or the training. It was the routine. The silence. The way Maki didn’t push or prod or fill the air with empty words. She understood the language of people who flinch when spoken to too loudly.

(Y/N) started stretching beside her. Then mimicking the jabs. Then laughing- only once- when she tripped over her own feet, and Maki’s mouth twitched with something dangerously close to a smirk.

She was different when she let her guard down. Her sarcasm was dry and unexpected, her observations razor-sharp but never cruel. And (Y/N) found herself relaxing, just a little, every time she was near.

One morning, (Y/N) came in with a hoodie pulled tight over their head, shoulders hunched. Her eyes were puffy. She didn’t say anything.

Maki didn’t ask.

She just took a water bottle, cracked it open, and handed it over wordlessly.

“I had a nightmare,” (Y/N) whispered after a while. “I woke up and thought I was back there.”

Maki looked at her, silent for a moment. Then she said, “Sometimes I still dream of the first person I had to kill.”

(Y/N)’s breath caught.

“I didn’t want to,” Maki continued. “But I was told it was necessary. That if I didn’t, they’d kill me instead.”

A pause.

Then, gently: “You’re not alone in waking up afraid.”

(Y/N) looked down at her hands. “I hate how weak I feel.”

“You’re not weak. You survived.”

One week later, (Y/N) asked if she could walk with Maki to the courtyard.

It wasn’t much. Just sitting together in the chilly breeze, backs against the wall, sharing a peach Maki had taken from the kitchen like it was nothing.

Maki glanced sideways as (Y/N) chewed in silence. “You don’t have to stay near me just because I make you feel safe.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened. “That’s not the only reason.”

“Oh?”

“I... like you.” The words stumbled out in a rush. “I mean, not just the way you make me feel calm. I like you. The way you listen. The way you don’t treat me like glass.”

Maki blinked. For a second, she said nothing.

Then: “I like being around you too.”

She didn’t blush. Didn’t fidget. But she let her knee brush against (Y/N)’s, the contact featherlight but real. Present. Intentional.

“I won’t touch you unless you ask,” Maki said quietly. “But if you ever want to be close, I’ll be here.”

And (Y/N), for the first time in years, leaned in just enough to rest her head against her shoulder.

The air smelled like fallen leaves and something new.

Something safe.

can you do second part of where the hurt doesn’t reach with Sayaka, celestia and Sonia?

A/N: Yes, of course! A lot of people seem to be requesting this one :}

Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.2

pt.1 - pt.3

Sayaka, Celestia, and Sonia x Male!Reader

Warnings: Themes of Trauma/Abuse, Mentions of Assault/Threats, Mental Health Topics, Sensitive Touch & Boundaries, Self-Harm, Social Anxiety /Avoidance, Mentions of Nightmares/Sleep Issues

Word Count: 4145

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sayaka:

It was the first time (Y/N) had attended Hope’s Peak Academy in over a week. His teachers had stopped asking questions. Some students whispered behind his back, casting glances filled with a mix of curiosity and pity. He could handle that. What he couldn’t handle were the boys who walked too close in the hallways, who slapped each other on the back, laughed too loud, shouted too suddenly. His body would freeze, breath catching in his throat. He’d learned to keep his eyes down, hands tucked close, always calculating an exit.

The world had become a tightrope- and he was so, so tired.

Sayaka Maizono noticed him before anyone else did. She always had, in her own quiet way. The Ultimate Pop Sensation was used to being seen, followed, idolized- but something about (Y/N), the way he disappeared into corners and avoided everyone's gaze, made her heart twist. He didn’t look at her like the others. He didn’t really look at anyone.

She found herself lingering near him between classes. Close, but not too close. Humming softly under her breath, the gentle melodies filling the awkward silences. Not words- never words- until he was ready.

He always looked like he wanted to speak, but was too afraid to.

Until one rainy afternoon.

(Y/N) sat alone in the music room, the overcast light pouring through the tall windows. His sleeves were pulled down past his wrists, fists curled in his lap. He hadn’t meant to cry, but the storm outside had stirred something in him, a memory he wished would stay buried. His breathing was shallow, trying not to make a sound.

Sayaka slipped in without knocking, as if the world had gently told her exactly where to go. She spotted him immediately- curled in on himself, trembling in the dim. Her voice, when it came, was softer than the rain.

“Can I sit with you?”

(Y/N) didn’t answer right away. He didn’t move. But he didn’t say no. That was enough.

Sayaka lowered herself onto the piano bench beside him, careful not to brush against him. Silence lingered- but it wasn’t heavy. It was patient.

“I like this room,” she said after a while, voice low and soothing. “It’s quiet, but it echoes just enough that if you sing, it feels like the whole world is listening. Not judging. Just… listening.”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He was watching her now, his tear-streaked face blotchy and red, lips parted like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, voice hoarse.

“For what?” Sayaka asked, gently.

“I don’t know. Being like this. Broken. I- I can’t be around people. I can’t breathe when they get close, and I hate it, and it’s stupid, and-”

“It’s not stupid,” she interrupted, her tone gentle but firm. “It’s not your fault.”

His throat bobbed. He looked away again, ashamed.

Sayaka hesitated, then reached out- slowly, giving him time to pull away. When he didn’t, she placed her hand over his on the bench. Light as a feather. No pressure.

“I know what it’s like to smile when you don’t feel safe. To pretend everything’s okay because you don’t want to cause trouble.”

(Y/N) blinked. Her smile was sad now, wistful.

“I had to do that all the time. For the cameras. For the fans. For everyone but me.”

He didn’t speak, but his hand turned under hers, fingers trembling as they curled around hers in a tentative grasp.

“I can’t fix what happened to you,” Sayaka whispered. “But I can be someone who doesn’t scare you. I can stay. Sing, if you want. Or just sit here, holding your hand, and not expect you to be anything but you.”

A breath hitched in his throat. He squeezed her hand just a little tighter.

“I want to trust someone,” he admitted, barely audible. “I want it to be you.”

Her heart ached, full and warm. She nodded.

“Then let’s start with this. Right here. Just us. You don’t have to smile. You don’t have to pretend. Just… be.”

As the rain tapped against the windows, Sayaka began to hum again. A soft lullaby, meant for no one else. (Y/N) closed his eyes, for the first time in months allowing himself to lean- not away, but toward.

Into her voice. Into her warmth.

Into the beginning of something safe.

Weeks pass, and something changed- not all at once, but in subtle, careful ways. (Y/N) still struggled. Crowded hallways remained overwhelming, and loud voices still made his heart race. But in between those moments of fear, he found something else… Her.

Sayaka Maizono had a way of making herself feel like calm in a storm. She never demanded. She never pushed. She simply… waited. Always nearby, always smiling in that soft, understanding way that never felt fake. With her, he didn’t need to keep looking over his shoulder. With her, he could breathe.

They started eating lunch together. In the back corner of the school courtyard, under the old cherry tree. She’d hum while she ate, and eventually she started talking about her life onstage- the costumes, the nerves, the rush of performing. Sometimes she brought him little things. A sweet from the bakery near her home, a flower she found on the way to school, a charm from a fan that she thought was “too cute not to share.”

And when (Y/N) spoke, she always stopped to listen. Like his voice was the most important sound in the world.

“I think I’m starting to like being around you,” he said one afternoon, the words awkward and shy. “Like, I actually look forward to it.”

Sayaka blinked, then beamed, a flush rising to her cheeks.

“I’m really glad,” she said. “Because I feel the same way.”

He smiled. A small one, unsure, but real.

They began spending more time together after school. The music room became their place. Sometimes she played piano while he read. Sometimes he sketched while she practiced a new song. Once, she taught him a simple melody and guided his hands along the keys. He stiffened at first, but she noticed instantly and let go.

“No pressure,” she said, giving him space. “Just when you’re ready.”

He nodded. A week later, he reached for her hand.

It became a routine. Hand in hand at the piano, their fingers brushing like a secret only they shared.

One day, after walking her home under a pale orange sunset, (Y/N) paused at her gate. He looked down, biting his lip, unsure. Sayaka tilted her head at him, waiting.

“I, um…” he stammered. “I know I still flinch sometimes. And I still panic. But when I’m with you… I don’t feel broken. You don’t make me feel weak.”

Her expression softened, almost glowing in the fading light.

“You’re not weak, (Y/N). You’re brave. Every day, you choose to keep going. And I get to be here and watch you heal… That’s an honor.”

A lump formed in his throat. His heart beat hard against his ribs.

“I think I…” He paused, panic rising. But then her hand found his, grounding him. He exhaled shakily. “I think I’m falling for you.”

Sayaka stepped closer, and for once, he didn’t flinch. Her hands were warm against his cheeks.

“Then we can fall together,” she whispered.

Their first kiss was a ghost of a thing- barely there, more promise than anything. But it was safe. Sweet. And (Y/N), for the first time in a long time, didn’t feel afraid.

He felt wanted.

He felt seen.

And most of all, he felt hopeful.

Celestia: 

The hallway of Hope’s Peak Academy had long since emptied, save for the faint echo of heels clicking across polished tile. Celestia Ludenberg walked like a shadow with purpose- silent yet commanding. Every movement was deliberate, wrapped in her usual gothic lolita elegance.

Behind her, the silence was thick, but not as heavy as the quiet that clung to the dorm room she approached. His room.

(Y/N).

A boy with sad eyes and a habit of shrinking into himself whenever someone- especially a man- spoke too loud or too fast. Celestia had noticed from the first day. The way his shoulders tensed whenever Kiyotaka got passionate. The way his voice faltered in group conversations. The way he sat at the edges of rooms like a ghost hoping not to be noticed.

And most of all, the way he looked at her- not with desire or awe, like others did- but with a kind of cautious respect. Like he wasn’t sure how long kindness would last.

Today, he hadn’t shown up to class. Not even to the library. That was enough of a reason for her to knock.

A pause. Then a quiet, almost panicked voice- “Go away.”

Celestia didn’t flinch. “I’m afraid that is not an option.”

A rustle, a groan, the sound of someone stumbling across a cluttered room. After several seconds, the door cracked open just enough for one tired eye to peek through. That was all she needed.

He looked terrible. Eyes red-rimmed and dull. His shirt clung to him like he hadn’t changed in days.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

She tilted her head. “Because you are not where you ought to be.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.”

The door didn’t open wider, but he didn’t close it either.

“Let me in,” she said softly.

He hesitated. But something about the steadiness in her voice- the way she didn’t demand or pity, just... waited- made him move. The door swung open wider, revealing a room barely lit, its corners littered with open books and clothes. The air was stale with solitude.

Celestia stepped in without a word, gliding over to the chair near his desk. She did not sit yet. She turned to him.

“You’ve been hiding.”

(Y/N) looked down. “So what if I have?”

Celestia took a breath. “Then allow me to hide with you.”

His head snapped up, confused. “What?”

She shrugged delicately, shedding her usual smug detachment for something quieter. “Everyone has their limits. Even you, darling. But you do not have to suffer them alone.”

He stared at her. “Why do you care? I’m not... I’m not useful. Not like you.”

A shadow flickered through her expression, but it was gone quickly.

“You are mistaken,” she said. “You possess something quite rare in this academy of masks. You feel. Deeply. I find that... honest.”

(Y/N) sat on the edge of his bed, hands trembling in his lap. “I’m tired, Celeste. Of being scared. Of thinking someone’s going to hurt me every time they raise their voice. I hate this part of me.”

She moved slowly now, kneeling before him, her black skirts pooling like ink on the floor. She reached out, her fingers brushing his hand.

He flinched.

But she didn’t pull away.

“I would never touch you without permission,” she said quietly. “But I will remain here, if you let me. A Queen must protect her kingdom, after all. And you, dear (Y/N)... you are someone I have chosen to keep within mine.”

His breath hitched. “You make it sound like I matter.”

“You do.”

His eyes welled up- unwilling, ashamed.

Celestia leaned just slightly closer, her voice no louder than a whisper. “You are allowed to cry. Even Kings and Queens weep in secret.”

The tears fell then. He didn't sob- just quiet, broken rivers that refused to stop. He didn’t know why her words broke the dam. Maybe it was the way she made him feel safe without ever pretending to understand. Maybe it was the fact that she never tried to fix him.

She simply stayed.

Eventually, as the minutes passed, he spoke again. "I don’t know if I can be normal.”

Celestia offered the faintest smile. “Darling, who in this wretched school is?”

And for the first time in weeks, (Y/N) let himself laugh- just once, just a breath of it. But it was real.

She rose, finally, and sat beside him on the bed. She left space between them but let her sleeve brush his arm lightly.

“Sleep, if you can,” she said. “I will remain. Should the nightmares come.”

“Celeste?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Her eyes lingered on his, warm beneath their usual sharpness. “No need for gratitude. Loyalty is not something I gamble with.”

As he lay down, his body worn and mind frayed, he felt something foreign settle beside the grief.

Hope.

He wasn’t healed. Not yet.

But he wasn’t alone anymore.

It became routine after that night.

Not loudly. Not all at once. But slowly, like light slipping through the cracks in a boarded window.

Celestia began visiting (Y/N)’s dorm more often. Sometimes she brought books from the library, reading them aloud in her velvety, theatrical cadence. Sometimes she brought tea- actual tea, with tiny biscuits, because of course she did. And sometimes, they just sat in silence. Not the heavy kind that used to choke him, but the kind that felt like breathing next to a fireplace. Comfortable. Undemanding.

She never pressured him to talk, but when he did, she listened. Actually listened.

No judgment. No pity.

Just her gaze- calm, observant, like she was reading the finer print of his soul.

One rainy evening, (Y/N) found himself lingering outside her door, a half-wilted flower clutched awkwardly in his hand.

It was nothing special. A violet he found near the edge of the courtyard, a little bruised but still beautiful. He hadn’t planned to pick it, but he thought of her. And for once, the thought didn’t carry fear or obligation. Just… warmth.

He knocked once, then almost turned to run. But the door opened swiftly.

Celestia stood in a cascade of crimson and black lace, her usual elegant poise giving way to something softer as she took him in- damp hair, shy glance, the flower.

“I, um… saw this and thought of you,” he muttered, not quite meeting her eyes.

She took the flower gently, her fingers brushing his.

“A violet,” she mused, tone almost amused. “You know, in the language of flowers, it means loyalty… and affection.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

She stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter.

That night, they shared tea on her ornate sofa, the violet placed delicately in a small crystal vase beside her bed. (Y/N) talked more than usual. He told her about his mother’s lullabies. About how his stepfather used to slam cupboard doors just to make him flinch. About how he once hid under a table for two hours after a stranger accidentally raised their voice near him in public.

Celestia’s expression never changed. But her hands tightened just slightly on the teacup.

“I often pretended, as a child,” she said once he finished, voice lower now. “That I lived in a grand castle where no one could hurt me. Where those who tried were cast into the dungeon with no key.”

(Y/N) glanced at her. “Did it help?”

She smiled, a small, secret thing. “I am still here, am I not?”

He let that sink in, then nodded.

A few weeks later, he reached for her hand.

She didn’t say anything- just turned her hand palm up, letting his fingers settle into the spaces between hers.

He marveled at how easy it felt. How right. No panic in his chest. No memories clawing their way forward. Just her cool, steady presence. Her gloved fingers curled gently around his.

“You don’t mind?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Not at all,” she replied. “In fact… I rather enjoy being close to you.”

His heart fluttered- not in fear, but in something else. Something that might’ve been the early shape of love.

“I like being around you,” he said, more firmly now.

Celestia tilted her head, almost coy. “Of course you do. I am delightful company.”

He laughed- a real one this time. And she smiled, pleased.

That night, as she walked him back to his dorm, she paused before he stepped inside. Her hand lingered near his sleeve.

“May I ask you something, darling?”

“Anything.”

“When you are near me… do you still feel afraid?”

He met her gaze. Her crimson eyes, so sharp and calculating when playing others, now held only curiosity. Maybe even… vulnerability.

He shook his head. “Not at all.”

Her lashes fluttered. And in the hush of the hallway, she leaned in just slightly- not to kiss him, not yet. But close enough that her voice brushed his skin.

“Good,” she whispered. “Then I’ve kept my promise.”

“Promise?”

“To protect you. In my own way.”

(Y/N) swallowed. “You’ve done more than that. You’ve given me something I didn’t think I’d ever feel again.”

“What is that?”

He smiled softly. “Safe.”

And Celestia- poker-faced, invincible, untouchable Celestia- felt something stir in her chest that even she couldn’t gamble away.

Because she was beginning to realize something as well.

She liked being around him, too.

Sonia:

The first time Sonia Nevermind saw (Y/N), he was sitting alone at the edge of the academy courtyard, curled into himself like he was trying to disappear. The spring sun dappled through the leaves overhead, casting soft light across the bruised look in his eyes- not physical bruises, no. These were the kind you didn’t see unless you knew how to look.

Sonia noticed.

She wasn’t oblivious. Despite her bright disposition and the silken lilt of her voice, she had grown up in a world that required constant reading between the lines. The etiquette of royalty demanded it. But even more than that, Sonia had always been drawn to the fragile, the broken, the misunderstood. She saw nobility in endurance. In survival.

And (Y/N) had survived something terrible.

He didn’t speak much. Most of the other students found his distance unnerving- he flinched if someone raised their voice, seemed to shrink when a male classmate passed too close. Rumors whispered through the halls, cruel and speculative. Sonia didn’t listen to them.

Instead, she sat beside him.

Not too close. Just enough.

He didn’t look up at first, but she waited patiently, hands folded in her lap, gaze fixed on the swaying trees ahead.

“You don’t have to talk,” she said gently, as though she knew how the weight of silence could also be a comfort.

(Y/N) peeked at her from the corner of his eye. Her presence was soft. Not imposing. There was no judgment in her expression, only a quiet certainty that unnerved him more than her title ever could.

“You’re… the princess,” he mumbled after a long while.

“I am,” she said, smiling faintly. “But here, I am simply Sonia. I would like to be your friend.”

He stared at his hands. His fingernails were chewed raw.

“…Why?”

She tilted her head. “Because you seem lonely.”

He didn't say anything more that day. But the next day, she sat beside him again.

And the day after that.

Sometimes she spoke about her homeland, about peculiar customs and ghost stories and festivals that lit the sky with fire. Sometimes she said nothing at all. He found he liked that best. Just her company. The way she never reached out to touch him without asking. The way she always kept space between them, yet never felt far.

One day, after weeks of these quiet meetings, (Y/N) showed her a small scar on his wrist. He didn’t explain it. He didn’t have to. Sonia only looked at him with solemn eyes and gently, reverently, pressed a kiss just above it.

“You are still here,” she whispered. “That means everything.”

His throat tightened. He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t remember how. Not properly. The tears never came out right- they clogged up inside him like he didn’t deserve them.

But he nodded. Just once.

After that, he started walking with her between classes. Kept his head down, but her presence made it easier. When a male student bumped into him and muttered an apology, (Y/N) froze- but Sonia stepped between them, not protectively, but firmly. Like a wall of calm. She didn’t have to say anything. Her posture said it all.

Later that evening, when they sat together again under the trees, (Y/N) whispered, “Thank you.”

She turned to him, the last light of day dancing in her golden hair.

“I do not know what your past holds,” she said. “But I want to be part of your future.”

He flinched, not from fear, but from how gently she said it.

“How can you want someone like me?” he asked, voice barely audible. “I’m… broken.”

Sonia leaned in slowly, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead, fingers featherlight. She did not touch skin. She honored the space between them.

“You are not broken,” she said. “You are mending. That is a noble, brave thing. There is no shame in healing slowly.”

A shaky breath escaped his lips. He hadn’t been told that before.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, almost a plea.

“I know,” Sonia said. “I will not rush you. I will wait as long as you need. And when you are ready… I will be here.”

For the first time in a long while, (Y/N) let himself believe it might be true.

That maybe, someday, he could let someone in.

And if anyone could be the first…

…it would be Sonia.

Over the next few weeks, things began to change.

(Y/N) started speaking more during their time together. At first, it was in fragments- simple comments on the weather, shy questions about Sonia’s homeland. But slowly, those fragments became full thoughts, and then stories.

Sometimes he’d catch himself smiling without realizing it. And more often than not, Sonia would already be smiling back.

He never felt pressured with her. She never demanded his happiness or questioned his past. There was no pity in her eyes- only compassion. The difference meant everything.

She took to bringing him little things- a ribbon folded into a rose, a handmade charm for his keyring, a book of folklore from her Homeland. “For when the nightmares come,” she said softly, placing it beside him during lunch. “This one has a happy ending.”

He didn’t know how to tell her that her presence had already begun softening the edge of those nightmares. But she seemed to sense it anyway.

One afternoon, they sat beneath the trees again. The breeze was warm, and the leaves whispered above them.

(Y/N) was lying on his back, hands tucked beneath his head. Sonia sat beside him, legs folded, her gaze turned toward the sky.

“It’s peaceful,” he said, exhaling slowly.

“It is,” she agreed, her voice a melody in the quiet. “Do you know what we say in my Country when we find a moment like this?”

He shook his head.

“Magnificent silence” She smiled down at him. “It is sacred, because it means your heart is calm enough to hear the world.”

(Y/N)’s chest tightened at that. Because for the first time in what felt like years, the silence around him wasn’t terrifying. It wasn’t suffocating. It was full.

And she was there.

“…I like being around you,” he admitted suddenly. It tumbled out before he could stop it.

Sonia’s eyes widened slightly- but then her smile deepened, softened.

“I like being around you as well, (Y/N). Very much.”

His cheeks flushed. He turned his head away, but she didn’t tease him. She only continued watching the trees, allowing him his small, fragile vulnerability.

And then- “I’m… still scared, sometimes. Especially around guys. It doesn’t make sense. I know they’re not all like- like him.”

“You are allowed to be afraid,” Sonia said. “It is not a weakness. It is a wound still healing. We would never call a bandaged arm weak for needing time.”

He bit his lip. She always knew what to say, not because she had all the answers, but because she saw him.

“I’m trying to be better.”

“You already are,” she said softly. “Because you are choosing to stay. To trust. Even just a little. That is what bravery looks like.”

A quiet beat passed between them. The breeze lifted her hair like a silken banner.

“…Can I hold your hand?” he asked, voice small.

Sonia looked at him, gently surprised. Then, carefully, she offered her palm, open and patient.

He took it.

His hand trembled, but she didn’t grip tighter. She simply let it rest there, warm and steady.

They stayed like that, fingers barely laced, as the sun dipped lower through the trees.

It wasn’t loud or showy, what they shared. It didn’t need to be.

Can you do separate peko, Mikan and tenko with male!reader who is depressed and scared of males due to his past abuse of stepfather?

A/N: Yes, I absolutely can! You didn't specify what kind of writing you wanted, so I just made oneshots for each of them :}

Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.1

pt.2

Peko, Mikan and Tenko x Male!Reader

Warnings: Themes of Trauma/Abuse, Mentions of Assault/Threats, Mental Health Topics, Sensitive Touch & Boundaries

Word Count: 3628

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peko: 

The first time Peko noticed him, it wasn’t because of something loud or dramatic.

It was because he wasn’t loud.

(Y/N) sat alone in the corner of the classroom, always a little too still, a little too tense. His eyes rarely met anyone’s directly, and when they did, they flinched away like they'd touched something too hot.

Peko understood silence. She understood stillness. But this wasn’t the silence of focus or discipline. This was a silence built from fear.

She didn’t approach him right away. Observation came naturally to her. She watched how he gripped the sleeves of his uniform during conversations. How he edged closer to the wall when a male classmate got too close. How his breathing would subtly hitch anytime a voice raised near him- even in laughter.

It wasn’t hard to piece together.

What she didn’t expect was how he looked at her.

Not with fear. Not with pity. But almost... curious. Like he couldn’t understand why someone like her- stern and composed- was the only one he didn’t shy away from.

They shared the same routine. Arrive early. Leave late. Avoid the crowd. So one day, when they passed in the hallway, and he flinched from someone else’s raised hand when going in for a highfive with another student, Peko made a choice.

She stopped.

“You’re hurt,” she said bluntly, her tone flat but not unkind. “You mask it well. But I see it.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened, lips parting as if to protest, but nothing came out.

“I won’t ask what happened,” she continued, her voice steady. “But I’d like to offer... company. You don’t need to speak. I’ll simply sit.”

His throat bobbed. It was too much and not enough, all at once. He nodded.

That was how it started.

They began sharing quiet moments behind the school. No words, just the rustle of wind and the occasional time Peko pulled out her covered sword as she practiced her forms nearby. She never moved too fast, never startled him. The wood covering her blade slicing through the air with purpose, but her movements were deliberate- never violent, never chaotic.

(Y/N) started bringing a book. Sometimes he read. Sometimes he just listened to her breathe.

He trusted her long before he realized he did.

One afternoon, weeks into this fragile ritual, Peko put her sword down and sat beside him. Not close enough to touch- but closer than usual.

“I was trained to kill,” she said softly, her eyes fixed on the horizon. “But I don’t want to be feared.”

(Y/N) looked at her. Really looked. Her eyes were steady, but there was something buried deep- something vulnerable.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he whispered.

She turned to him. The softest flicker of something like relief crossed her face.

“You don’t flinch when I move,” she said.

“You don’t raise your voice,” he replied. “You don’t... look at me like I’m broken.”

“You’re not broken,” she said without hesitation. “You survived something that tried to destroy you. That takes strength.”

His breath caught. No one had ever said that before. Not like that. Not without expectation.

Peko looked down. “I don’t understand emotions well. But... I want to protect what’s important to me. You’ve become important.”

His heart stuttered.

He didn’t know what to say. But maybe he didn’t need to.

Because for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like he had to hide.

And Peko, the girl who had only ever known her blade, sat quietly beside him- offering a different kind of shield.

After a while, they both stood, going off in their separate directions, like any other day. 

The next day, around the end of the school day, (Y/N) was making his way to his loacker to gather all of his things.

The hallway was nearly empty, that sort of eerie quiet where footsteps echo too loudly. (Y/N) had stayed behind, as usual, hoping the other students would clear out so he wouldn’t have to squeeze through a crowd. But he hadn’t realized one of the seniors- Riku, loud and full of something bitter- was waiting around the corner.

“Hey,” Riku said, stepping into his path.

(Y/N) froze.

He recognized that voice. Recognized the way his tone coiled beneath fake friendliness. He backed up a step.

“Relax, man. Just wanna talk,” Riku smirked, inching closer. “You’re always glued to that sword-girl. Pretty sure she’s not into shy little losers.”

(Y/N)’s throat tightened. His breath came shallow. Riku moved fast- too fast- blocking his path with an arm against the lockers.

Something snapped behind his eyes. He wasn’t seeing the hallway anymore. He was seeing him. The stepfather who slammed doors. Who raised fists. Who spat words like nails. His body went rigid. Breath caught.

But then-

A voice, sharp and cold as steel, “Back away from him.”

Riku turned. “What the hell-?”

Peko stood at the end of the hall, eyes narrowed at Riku. She wasn’t holding it in an offensive stance. She didn’t need to.

Her presence alone was enough to shift the air.

Riku chuckled, but it was weak now. “Geez, you’re really babysitting him?”

Peko didn’t blink. “This is your final warning.”

Her hand moved slightly, her fingers brushing the handle of her sword on her back.

Riku scoffed but stepped back, muttering something under his breath. He wasn’t stupid. No one crossed Peko Pekoyama.

The moment he was gone, Peko turned her attention to (Y/N), whose back was still against the lockers, chest rising and falling fast.

“(Y/N),” she said, softly now. “He’s gone. You’re safe.”

It took a moment, but his gaze finally met hers. Wide, haunted.

She stepped closer. Slowly. “May I?” she asked, gesturing vaguely toward him- not to touch, just to be closer.

He nodded once.

They sat down on the bench nearby, the world narrowing to the silence between them. Peko waited. Patient. Steady. He clutched his sleeves tightly, knuckles white, before he finally broke the quiet.

“My stepfather…” he began. His voice cracked. He paused. Swallowed.

She waited.

“He used to do things like that. The cornering. The threats. And worse. I’d hear his boots coming down the hall and- I just- I couldn’t breathe.” His voice wavered, and he shut his eyes tightly. “I always thought it was my fault. That I wasn’t strong enough.”

Peko didn’t speak right away. When she did, her voice was low. Intent.

“You survived that,” she said. “Not because you were weak- but because you endured. And that kind of strength... is rare.”

His lips trembled. “Why don’t you run from me, Peko?”

She tilted her head slightly, frowning. “Why would I run from you?”

“Because I’m messed up. Broken. You could be with anyone-”

“I choose to be near you,” she interrupted, voice firm. “Not out of pity. Not out of duty. But because... when I’m with you, I feel calm. Like I don’t have to always be a weapon.”

His eyes widened.

She hesitated, then reached out- not touching him, just letting her hand hover, waiting. “May I?” she asked again.

Slowly, (Y/N) nodded.

She took his hand gently, her grip warm but never tight. Never controlling. Just… there.

And for the first time in years, he didn’t feel like a victim.

Mikan:

The first time Mikan saw him, (Y/N) was curled up in the corner of the classroom, sleeves tugged over his hands, eyes glued to the floor like looking at anyone might make him shatter.

She recognized it instantly- the stiffness in his shoulders, the flinch at every sudden movement, the way his breathing changed when someone walked behind him. Fear. Not the kind that faded with time, but the kind etched into the nervous system like a scar.

She understood that kind of fear too well.

Mikan had always been too much- too clumsy, too anxious, too eager to please- but she was never too much for pain. Pain, she'd learned, made people pay attention. She'd hated it, but she'd lived in it for so long that when she saw (Y/N), she knew. He lived there too.

It started small.

A quiet hello after class, barely above a whisper. A bandaid offered when she noticed he was biting the skin around his nails until it bled. He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t look her in the eye. But he didn’t push her away either.

That was enough for Mikan.

She didn’t try to fix him. She just sat next to him sometimes, talked softly about things that didn’t matter- how the nurse’s office was out of gauze again, how her hair wouldn’t stay right no matter how she brushed it, how the sky looked heavy with rain. He never responded, but slowly, he started listening. And eventually, he started nodding.

Then one day, he spoke.

“I hate being touched.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

Mikan froze. She didn’t ask why. She didn’t need to. She just nodded, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Okay. I won’t touch you,” she said.

(Y/N)’s shoulders relaxed, just a little.

Weeks passed like that. (Y/N) never told her what happened, but sometimes he’d trail off mid-sentence and she’d see the flicker of something behind his eyes- something haunted and heavy. She didn’t press. She just kept showing up. With warmth. With patience.

And one rainy afternoon, everything changed.

He was shaking when he stumbled into the nurse’s office, soaked through, bruises blooming across his ribs. He wouldn’t say who did it. Mikan didn’t ask. She only helped him sit down on the cot, hands trembling as she reached for the medical kit, then paused.

“I-I-I’m going to clean your injuries now, but… I won’t touch you unless you say it’s okay, okay?”

There was a long silence. Then, barely audible:

“…Okay.”

It was the first time he let her touch him.

Her hands were soft, careful. Every movement was slow, narrated in a gentle whisper. “I’m cleaning the cut now. It might sting a little, b-but I’ll be really careful, promise…”

He flinched, but didn’t pull away. His breathing hitched. She didn’t say anything when a tear slid down his cheek. She just handed him a tissue.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’m so broken.”

“No,” she said immediately, shaking her head so hard her hair slipped from its pins. “You’re not. You’re hurt. You’ve been hurt really badly, but that’s not the same as being broken.”

He looked at her then. Really looked at her. She saw the raw ache in his expression, the doubt, the exhaustion. But also, the beginning of something else. Hope, maybe.

In time, (Y/N) stopped flinching as much. He started sitting closer. Sometimes, he even smiled. It was small and fleeting, but to Mikan, it was brighter than the sun.

He wasn’t healed, not completely. Healing didn’t happen all at once. It came in pieces. In trust built moment by moment. In safety found in gentle hands and soft voices.

Mikan didn’t need him to be perfect. She didn’t even need him to be okay.

She just needed him to know he didn’t have to suffer alone.

And little by little, he began to believe it.

After that, the nurse’s office had become a kind of sanctuary.

At first, (Y/N) had only gone there when he had no choice- when bruises needed hiding or a panic attack left him too dizzy to think. But now, he found himself drifting there even on quiet days. Days when nothing hurt, at least not visibly. Days when the ghosts were just whispers, not screams.

Mikan was always there.

She never asked him to explain himself. She never pushed when the words got stuck in his throat. She just smiled- nervous, shaky, but real- and made space for him beside her. Sometimes she offered tea. Sometimes she rambled about classwork or clumsily spilled cotton balls across the floor. Sometimes she just sat with him, in silence, and that was enough.

(Y/N) found comfort in her softness, in how careful she was. How she always announced every move.

“I’m reaching for the thermometer now, o-okay? I won’t touch you.”

“I’ll sit here, if that’s okay. I c-can move if it’s not…”

He never realized how deeply he craved that kind of gentleness until she gave it to him.

It was a Thursday when something shifted.

(Y/N) was staring out the window, watching a few birds hop along the grass just beyond the courtyard. The sky was a dull gray, the kind that made everything feel a little heavier. Mikan sat beside him on the cot, legs drawn up beneath her, chewing nervously on her lower lip.

She looked at him, then down at her hands. “U-Um… (Y/N)? Can I ask something?”

He stiffened, but nodded.

“Have you ever… had anyone tell you they’re proud of you?”

He blinked.

“…No.”

Mikan’s lips parted like she might cry, but instead, she scooted just a little closer. “I am,” she whispered. “I-I mean… I’m proud of you. You’re so brave. You keep going even when it hurts, and you’re always so kind even when you're scared, and… I just think that’s really, really strong.”

The room was too quiet. Too still.

Then- without thinking- (Y/N) reached out. His fingers brushed her sleeve. Not skin. Just fabric. But it was the first time he’d reached for anyone in years.

Mikan didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“Is… is it okay if I stay like this?” he asked, voice trembling. “Just for a minute.”

Her eyes went wide with emotion, then she gave the smallest, warmest smile.

“Yes. Of course it is.”

Later that night, (Y/N) sat on his bed with the lights off, staring at the soft imprint of her touch left in his memory. His stepfather’s voice still echoed sometimes, cruel and sharp and impossible to silence. But for once, it was quieter than the sound of Mikan’s voice.

“I’m proud of you.”

Those words replayed over and over, like a lullaby.

Tenko:

The dojo was quiet- unusually so. Dust motes floated in the sunlit air like tiny spirits, dancing just above the polished floorboards. Tenko Chabashira stood barefoot at the center of the room, her dark hair pulled into a high ponytail that swayed with every practiced movement. Her breathing was controlled, sharp, matching the flow of her kata.

But she paused mid-strike, her sharp eyes flickering toward the door. Someone was there- hesitating. Hovering like a shadow.

"(Y/N)?" she called softly, letting her arms fall to her sides.

He flinched, half-hidden behind the sliding door, as if even hearing his name spoken aloud was too much. His knuckles were white where he clutched the edge of the frame, shoulders hunched beneath his too-large hoodie.

Tenko straightened and offered a gentle smile- not too big, not too forceful. She knew better than to rush him. Over the past few weeks, she’d noticed how (Y/N) never looked anyone in the eyes, how he avoided crowded hallways and jumped at loud voices. And worst of all- how he tensed around every man, like his whole body was bracing for a blow.

She had been careful. Always letting him choose the distance. Always making sure he knew she saw him as more than what the others whispered behind his back.

"I was just finishing up training," she said, wiping sweat from her brow. "You can come in… if you want."

He hesitated, then stepped forward like he was walking into an unknown world. Every step seemed like a negotiation with himself. He didn’t meet her eyes, but he sat at the far edge of the room, back to the wall, as if needing a way out.

Tenko didn’t mind. She simply walked to the corner, grabbed a bottle of water, and took a slow sip before sitting cross-legged across from him.

"You’re always welcome here, you know," she said softly. "No pressure. Just… a place to breathe."

(Y/N)'s hands curled tightly in his sleeves. His voice, when it came, was almost inaudible. “You’re the only one who doesn’t… look at me like I’m broken.”

Tenko’s heart twisted. She leaned forward slightly, mindful of her posture- open, nonthreatening.

"You're not broken, (Y/N). You've just been hurt. And healing... takes time. But you're strong. I can tell."

He shook his head. "I'm not. I can't even look at half the class without freezing up. I can’t-"

“You showed up here,” she cut in gently. “That’s strength.”

There was silence. A long, aching silence.

Then, as if asking for something he couldn’t name, he whispered, "Can I stay a while?"

Tenko’s expression softened. She nodded, voice quiet but firm. “As long as you need.”

And so they sat there, in the soft golden light, surrounded by the scent of pine wood and old paper walls. No fighting. No fear. Just two people- one offering calm, the other learning to breathe again.

Tenko glanced at him, watching the way his shoulders relaxed just slightly.

"I don’t usually like guys," she admitted suddenly, rubbing the back of her neck. "They make me uncomfortable. Scared, sometimes. I… guess that’s why I understand you a little."

(Y/N)'s head turned, just barely, and for the first time, their eyes met. Not for long, not intensely- but it was enough. Enough to see the sincerity in hers, the warmth behind the guarded strength.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Tenko gave him a soft smile- one that didn’t need words. 

After that day, the dojo became their quiet haven.

Most days after class, Tenko would finish her practice while (Y/N) sat nearby, always keeping his distance, always watching. Sometimes, he brought a book. Other times, he said nothing at all. But he came back- day after day- and that was enough for her.

One afternoon, when the clouds hung low and the wind rattled the paper windows, Tenko finished a round of sparring with the training dummy and sat beside him on the polished floor. She didn’t speak at first. Neither did he.

Instead, she handed him a cup of tea she’d brewed earlier. Chamomile. Something calming.

He took it slowly, hands trembling just slightly as he held the warm porcelain between his palms.

“I used to drink tea with my mom,” he said, voice low. “Before everything… changed.”

Tenko glanced over, surprised he’d spoken first. She stayed quiet, letting him decide how much to share.

“She used to hum,” he added. “All the time. While cleaning, cooking… even when things were bad. I miss that.”

Tenko looked down at her cup, her brow knitting softly. “I miss my sensei,” she said. “She taught me everything I know about Aikido. She said it wasn’t just about defense- it was about connection. With yourself. With others.”

She turned her head to meet his eyes.

“That’s why I started letting you sit here. I wanted you to feel safe… connected.”

(Y/N) bit his lip, shoulders curling in slightly like he was trying to keep himself small. But he didn’t move away.

“Sometimes I think I’ll never be normal,” he whispered.

Tenko scooted just a little closer- carefully, never pushing.

“What if you don’t have to be?” she said. “What if who you are now is already enough?”

He looked at her, eyes wide. There was no judgment there. No pity. Just Tenko-blunt, honest, warm. After a few moniutes, she suggested something. 

“Just stretching,” she promised. “You don’t even have to touch me. It’s just you and your body. Reclaiming it.”

(Y/N) was hesitant. The idea of his body being his own felt... foreign. But Tenko’s voice was soft, and her patience never wavered.

He followed her lead one day, mirroring her as she slowly bent forward, arms extended. His form was shaky, unbalanced, but she never corrected him harshly.

“You’re doing great,” she said gently. “This part’s about feeling. Not perfection.”

Each day, he got a little better. He started standing straighter. Breathing deeper. Letting his hands relax at his sides instead of fisting in his sleeves.

He even laughed once- when Tenko tried to show off a high kick and accidentally knocked over a training mat.

She flushed red. “T-That was intentional, of course! A lesson in humility!”

His laugh was small but real, and she smiled like she’d just won a gold medal.

It was late one evening when (Y/N) had a nightmare and ended up knocking on her door at the dorms, pale and shaking.

Tenko didn’t ask questions. She pulled him inside and handed him a blanket. Made him tea. Sat on the floor with him until the trembling stopped.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

He shook his head.

She nodded. “Then we don’t have to.”

But after a while, as the tea grew cold between his hands, he said, “He used to come into my room when the house was quiet. Said it was my fault. That I was weak.”

Tenko’s hands tightened on her lap, her jaw clenching with quiet rage.

“You were never at fault,” she said. “Not even a little.”

And then- carefully, with the softness of someone offering a bridge- she opened her arms.

“I can hold you, if you want.”

His breath caught, chest rising unevenly.

“…Okay.”

He leaned in slowly, as if expecting her to flinch. But she didn’t. Her arms wrapped around his narrow shoulders, strong but warm. She held him like she meant it- like she wasn’t afraid of what he carried.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered. “No one’s going to hurt you anymore. Not while I’m here.”