Experience Tumblr like never before
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 :}
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.
If you're willing do you mind doing that last prompt you did (the one with Mahiru and Kaede, also fuck that Hina guy wtf) but with Kyoko, Celeste and Toko? I really enjoy subby readers and my gay heart is screaming ♥️
A/N: Absolutely! I tried to make it more subby, I hope this is what you wanted :} Also, yeah, I agree. That guy was super fucking weird. Hopefully, it won't be a problem anymore, though.
Kyoko:
- The Talk Comes First: Kyoko doesn’t act without knowing the full picture. She’ll sit beside (Y/N), voice calm and soothing, hands gently folded in her lap. “Are you sure you’re ready?” she’ll ask- not to test her, but to assure her she’s not going anywhere if she’s not. The detective always makes sure the emotional groundwork is solid before taking any step forward.
- Subtle Nervousness: She seems composed, but the truth is in the little things: how her fingers linger longer than usual, how she hesitates before speaking, how her eyes flick to (Y/N)’s lips then away again. It’s not fear- it’s hope. Quiet, careful hope that (Y/N) will want this just as much as she does.
- Soft, Private Setting: Kyoko prepares everything in advance: the room is clean, the sheets are freshly changed, the lights are low and warm. Maybe there’s a playlist in the background- instrumental, minimal vocals. She creates an atmosphere that wraps around (Y/N) like a protective spell.
- Guided Reassurance: She reads (Y/N)’s every reaction like she’s solving a case. If her breath catches or her fingers twitch, she slows. “Is this okay?” she murmurs. “We stop the moment you say so.” There is no judgment in her voice, only care.
- Uncharacteristically Soft Words: When the walls fall, they fall completely. “You’re beautiful,” she whispers against (Y/N)’s skin. “I’ve never trusted anyone this much.” Her words are rare gems, only shared when they matter most- raw and real in a way that Kyoko doesn’t allow herself to be often.
- Taking Her Time: She savors every kiss, every brush of skin. Her touches are slow, almost reverent, like she's memorizing the love of her life. She’s not rushing to an end- she’s exploring, mapping, learning. Her pace says ‘you matter to me’.
- Detective Instincts… for Love: If (Y/N) tenses, if her voice falters, if her expression shifts even slightly- she knows. She adjusts instantly. “We don’t have to go further. We can just be here.” Kyoko is attentive in a way that feels like she’s holding your soul in her hands.
- She Makes It About (Y/N): This isn’t about her. Kyoko pays attention to (Y/N)’s sighs, her shivers, her breath. She adapts to what she needs, and finds joy in giving her pleasure- not just physically, but emotionally. She’s endlessly patient, giving without asking for anything back.
- Detective-Level Focus: The way (Y/N)’s back arches? Noted. The little gasp when she kisses a certain spot? Locked in. She pieces it together like evidence, each detail helping her uncover exactly how to make her unravel.
- Hands First, Always Controlled: Kyoko’s fingers are her most precise tools- slender, confident, and deliberate. Even with gloves, she’s devastatingly effective. She doesn’t rush, she doesn’t falter. “I want to feel you come undone for me,” she murmurs, and she does.
- Kisses Between Commands: While her fingers do the work, her mouth follows: trailing kisses down (Y/N)’s neck, teeth nipping her collarbone, lips warm and firm. Her voice is low: “Don’t run. Let it happen.” She grounds her with both command and comfort.
- If She Uses Her Mouth… (Y/N)’s Doomed: Kyoko between her thighs is a study in devotion. She licks with purpose, pressure, and slow-building heat. Her hands keeps (Y/N) open, her eyes locked on hers. Every look says, ‘don’t look away from me’. And (Y/N) can't.
- She Talks (Y/N) Through It: “You’re close.” “That’s it, stay with me.” “I want you to let go.” Her voice alone is enough to push her over. She speaks in that even, warm tone (Y/N) trusts more than anything.
- Body Language Queen: When (Y/N) starts trembling, she grounds her. “Breathe. I’ve got you,” she whispers, and she does. She’s right there, adjusting her pace, never leaving her to ride it out alone. She breaks her down just to hold her through it.
- Finishing: When (Y/N) finally falls apart, she catches every piece. Shes in her arms before she can even think. “You did so well,” she murmurs against her temple. “I’m here. I’ve got you.” Her embrace is firm, warm, and unshakable.
- Gentle Aftercare: Warm water, soft clothes, slow fingers brushing through (Y/N)’s hair- Kyoko takes care of her like it’s second nature. Not for show, not for reward, but because (Y/N)’s hers, and that means everything. She wipes her down, tucks her into bed, kisses her wrist or her knuckles. The silence is not awkward- it’s safe. It’s filled with everything she can’t say aloud yet.
- Protective Instincts: She doesn’t move far. Her arm stays around (Y/N)’s waist, her forehead rests against hers, and she whispers, “I’m proud of you.” Even in sleep, she keeps her close, like she’s guarding something precious.
- And Later, When (Y/N)’s Ready: Kyoko brings it up again, gently. “How did that feel for you?” she asks, genuinely curious. She’s not looking for praise- she’s looking to learn, to understand, to grow. “Tell me everything. I want to know you.”
- A New Level of Bond: Afterwards, something in her softens permanently. She reaches for (Y/N)’s hand more in public, touches her back when she’s nervous, sits a little closer when she’s quiet. Her gestures stay small but deeply meaningful.
Celeste:
- Velvet Patience: Celeste is unnervingly calm, even in the most delicate situations. Her voice is a steady lull, her touch a whisper. She picks up on every nervous glance, every stuttered breath, and treats it not as hesitation- but as precious vulnerability to be cherished, not rushed.
- Curated Intimacy: Every moment is an event to Celeste. She crafts the room like a stage deep crimson sheets, flickering candlelight, the warm scent of roses and cinnamon tea. It's a soft fantasy she’s prepared just for (Y/N)- a world where tension melts away.
- Gentle Consent: Before anything begins, she cups (Y/N)’s cheek and asks, “Are you certain, my dear?” Her tone is so gentle, it borders on reverent. Consent, to her, is sacred. One “stop,” and she’ll halt without hesitation, offering warmth and cuddles instead.
- Experience Without Arrogance: Though she’s clearly confident and well-versed, Celeste never flaunts it. She leads with grace, not dominance. Her touches are exploratory, not possessive. She lets (Y/N) guide the pace, only stepping in to soothe or steady with tender encouragement.
- Laughter in Lace: If things go clumsy, she doesn’t blink. She just smiles, maybe chuckles, and says something like, “Perfection is dull, darling. I much prefer sincerity.” It eases the moment, makes (Y/N) feel seen and safe.
- Emotional First, Physical Second: For Celeste, intimacy without emotional resonance is meaningless. She watches (Y/N)’s face more than anything, whispering things like, “You’re doing beautifully,” or, “You have no idea how radiant you are when you trust me.”
- Slow, Intentional Control: Celeste doesn’t rush pleasure. She draws it out like a skilled gambler playing the long game. Her voice drops, sultry and steady: “Relax, mon amour. I know exactly how to make you tremble.” She plays (Y/N) like a prized deck of cards- every shuffle intentional.
- Bare Devotion: She begins with her hands- every movement is slow, studied, circular. One hand soothes while the other teases. If (Y/N) starts to shake, she holds her steady, whispering praise like silk over skin.
- Sweet Words, Wicked Edges: Celeste’s mouth is poetic even in passion. “You’re already this wet? How delightful…” Her tone stays elegant, teasing, yet never crude. She relishes how (Y/N) blushes, coaxing out gasps with every breathy murmur.
- Worship with Her Mouth: Between (Y/N)’s thighs, Celeste becomes reverent- like a queen worshiping a goddess. She alternates pressure and tempo with the finesse of a maestro. Occasionally, she pauses just to listen to the whimper she elicits, then resumes with a devilish glint in her eyes.
- Gentle Restraint: When things peak, Celeste adds pressure with a steady hand on (Y/N)’s hips. If she tries to squirm away or close her legs, Celeste parts them again, whispering, “No hiding, mon trésor. Let me see all of you.”
- Intuitive as a Card Shark: She reads (Y/N)’s reactions like a pro- breath catches, legs tense, voice cracks. Her every move is adjusted in response, keeping (Y/N) right at the edge until she knows- now. Only then does she let her fall.
- Hidden Softness: Only (Y/N) sees her like this- bare-voiced and slightly trembling when she says, “Thank you… for trusting me with something so precious.” It’s the rare crack in her otherwise theatrical façade, and it makes (Y/N) fall even harder.
- That First Finish- Her True Victory: The moment (Y/N) comes undone, Celeste doesn’t let go immediately. She eases her down slowly, lips softening, drawing out every last tremble. Her reward isn’t the climax itself- it’s the broken, blissful trust in (Y/N)’s voice afterward.
- Post-Climax Bliss: Afterward, Celeste is all silk and silence. She brings tea, tucks (Y/N) into bed, and curls around her like a shield. Her parting whisper? “You did beautifully… I hope I was unforgettable.” (Y/N) clings to her, dazed, and Celeste’s smile lingers in the dark.
- Aftercare Royalty: She doesn’t just do aftercare- she elevates it. Warm tea, gentle cleaning, luxurious sleepwear, and the softest embrace. (Y/N) gets to lie on her chest, feeling her fingertips move slowly through her hair as she whispers, “You are safe. You are adored.”
Toko (plus Jack):
- Nervous to the Core: The moment intimacy even approaches the conversation, Toko’s stammering like her life depends on it. “I-I-I- this is m-m-moving so fast! W-We haven’t even talked about lighting conditions!!”
- Hopeless Romantic: Her ideal “first time” is something out of a tragic Victorian novel- faint candlelight, whispered poetry, trembling confessions. She would kill for rose petals.
- Check-in Queen: “A-Are you okay? Did that hurt? I-I can stop- no really, just say the word!!” She checks in every ten seconds, desperate to get things “right.”
- Overheats Instantly: Compliment her? She short-circuits. “You’re so gentle, Toko.” - Cue wide-eyed stare, open mouth, and total emotional collapse.
- Tactile Panic, But Devotion: Touching (Y/N)? Terrifying. But she still does it, hands shaking, because she wants to. She takes her time, watching her reactions like she's memorizing scripture.
- Sacred Kisses: Every kiss is given with shaking lips and reverence. Like she’s afraid she’ll break the moment if she breathes too hard.
- Miracle Complex: When (Y/N) moans? She looks like she’s seen God. “I-I did that? You… because of me?” It's part pride, part panic, part euphoria. “I n-never thought anyone would… want me… Like that.”
- Taking the Stage-: When things get too intense for Toko- sneeze, slice, cackle- Jack’s on deck with that wild grin- “Well helloooo, lover~”
- Confidence on Fire: Where Toko panics, Jack thrives. She's flirty, bold, and loves teasing (Y/N) just to watch her squirm. Even so, shes weirdly considerate? She knows when to reel it in. If (Y/N)’s nervous, she dials it back (still grinning, of course). “Don’t cry on me now, babe. You’re doing sooo good~”
- Romance, But Make It Unhinged: Kisses (Y/N)’s knuckles while whispering, “You're the only one who makes me wanna play nice.” And she means it.
- Tongue Game- Dangerous: She’s filthy. Loud, wet, teasing- moaning like she’s the one getting off from tasting (Y/N). “Damn, sweetheart, you taste like sin~”
- Edge Queen: She loves dragging it out, edging until (Y/N)’s thighs tremble and she’s breathless. All while praising and taunting in equal measure.
- Orgasm Hunter: When she knows (Y/N)’s close, she gets feral. Eyes wild, tongue relentless, chasing her climax like it’s prey.
- Takes Care Afterwards (Sorta): Gently kisses (Y/N)s thighs, helps her clean up… while making a very inappropriate joke. “Can’t break my toy on the first playdate~”
- Balance of Soft and Savage: Toko builds the emotional intensity, Jack brings the fire. (Y/N) learns which version she wants depending on her mood. Toko starts it, slow and shaky. Jack finishes it, wild and ruthless. Tag-team of the century.
- Loving Navigation: (Y/N) learns how to hold Toko through the panic and keep Jack from going full menace. It's a labor of love- beautiful, weird, messy. Despite all the madness, both parts of Toko genuinely want to love and worship (Y/N)… they just express it very differently.