#survivor!reader

The Ghostface is confused as hell watching Hyde!reader pacing the room. You're killer side is usually scarily calm most of the time. However you look ready to lash out. Ready to pounce and shred the next person who so much as looks at you. You turn around seeing him there and he was bracing himself to get rushed and pinned against the wall, but it never came. Instead he watches you slowly move to him picking him up holding him in your arms as you move to the couch slumping down. You don't say anything to him, but you do hold him almost painfully tight against your chest. "Everything alright?" He asks you. Not sure how to feel about the non-committal grunt you give.

The Hillbilly doesn't think twice already wrapping you tight in the warmest knit blanket he's got, he's got popcorn, hot cocoa, and all the sweets you can gorge yourself on. Your favorite movie is on and he's just enjoying your company as you both lay on the couch, though if you don't calm down he might be inclined to help his little critter out by using other methods of getting your brain to shut down.

The Trapper doesn't react much just pulls you into bed and asks you to just speak. It doesn't matter if he understands he just wants to listen. He wants to hear everything, wants to make sure you feel heard. He smiles when you finally break your worries spilling like a faucet as he takes everything in asking questions when you pause. You seem at ease once you're done looking so peaceful tucked up under his arm. His Brat looks so sweet when they lay in bed next to him so peacefully. Burden him will you, it makes him feel less alone to hear you. Makes him feel lighter when he helps you share the emotional load.

The Executioner is use to it. You're already stressed about this and that. You aren't dating, but he does know how to get you calm down, you pinned beneath him in the bed as he humps against your ass. So fucking perfect he thinks feeling you melt against his touch. Such a needy toy, maybe he'll force you on your knees as he sharpens his knife, your face pressed against his thigh nose buried into his clothed groin. You're surrounded by his musk and for some reason that pacifies you. Not that pyramid head can complain.

It took a really long time for him to realize it, or maybe just for the emotions to develop. He wasn't sure.

You had appeared months ago, or whatever the equivalent was in the realms. Time wasn't exactly an easy concept to pin down here.

For a long time you were just another survivor, someone his knife sliced through with delicate ease. Someone to hunt and kill, that was his job, and entity if he didn't love every fucking second of it.

He liked to stalk his victims, both in and out of trials. Especially the new ones, he loved to see what made them tick. What really fucking scared them.

So he was keeping an eye on you, taking his usual notes, keeping an ear out for anything to use against you later.

But it started to develop into something a bit...more than that.

Suddenly he noticed his notes becoming less about what you feared and more about what you liked.

The way you smiled, how you laughed at Ash's jokes, the way you bit your knuckles when you were worried. The way your eyes lit up when seeing your friends and fuck he wanted to see your eyes light up for him like that.

He shook it off, had to shake it off. It got in the way of what he did. What even was this feeling?

Sure he had flings before he was taken, but he never really had feelings for them. It was part of the game, part of his job. Something to keep him low on the radar. That's all.

Was that what this was then? What it felt like to properly fall in love?

He hated it.

He hated every feeling, he hated the way your smile made his chest light up. He hated how distracted he was, so fucking distracted.

He hated you.

He couldn't stop thinking of you.

Quit laughing at Ash's stupid fucking jokes they aren't even that fucking funny.

More scribbling, more anger, why did you have to appear here? Was it some sort of taunt by the entity? Some kind of damn punishment? Fuck you and fuck whatever feelings you gave him.

For a long time it was like that, if you were in a trial with him you were the first hooked. You were too much of a distraction to his work.

And maybe he loved the feeling of holding you like this but fuck he wouldn't admit that.

------

Eventually you got fucking tired of it.

Every damn trial he would tunnel in on you and only you. Wouldn't focus on anyone else while you were around.

You realized quickly killers couldn't truly kill you. You felt it, every last agonizing slice into your flesh, every bruise, every broken bone, but you would just wake up at the fire at the end.

And you needed to figure out what the fuck his issue was.

Your fellow survivors tried very hard to convince you out of it, but they understood being pissed about it. So in the end, no one stopped you.

So there you were, in front of Autohaven Wreckers. A few survivors tipped you off that Ghostface liked to hang out around this area. Beats you as to why, the place stank of burning rubber and old oil. It made your stomach turn, but you entered nonetheless.

As you walked through the old junkyard, it dawned on you, you didn't really have a plan. You had done this mainly on a whim, annoyed at constantly being targeted and harassed by the white faced freak. Where were you even supposed to look? What if the Wraith saw you? This was fucking stup-

Before you could react a leather gloved hand covered your mouth, pulling you back as the cold steel of a sharp blade touched your throat.

"You scream and this is going into your fucking back, got it?" The voice was husky in your ear, unfamiliar. It made you realize you had never heard Ghostface speak before. So you nod, and he make an approving noise before releasing you. You run a hand over your throat where his knife had bit into it, leaving a light red line against it.

"So," He spoke again, letting you turn to him finally to confirm your suspicions. There he was, the Ghostface in the flesh, mask and all. "What do I owe the pleasure, Doll?"

"Well," You started, feeling your anger bubble up in you again. "For fucking starters, I have some damn questions for you, asshole."

Oh he loved when you spoke like that, some real final girl trope shit.

"Ooo, questions for the killer?" He cooed, leaning against a nearby car and watching you intently. "Brave of ya, Doll. I like it."

"Oh fucking can it, you damned halloween drop out!" You spat, and though you couldn't see it under his mask, your words had him grinning ear to ear. He loved when you were angry like this. "Why the fuck do you keep tunneling me, huh?! Every fucking trial we have you steamroll me and kill me as quick as possible. It's fucking bullshit, dude!"

He laughs a bit, removing his leather glove and using his knife to pick the dirt from under his nails.

"I dunno what you're talkin bout, babe." He says nonchalantly. "You're mad because what, I'm killing you during trials? Come on, that's my job-"

"Bullshit, this is more than that and you know it!" You seethe, god if you knew you wouldn't die you'd punch him. "What's your fucking damage? Hell, I've heard stories about other trials, you're even fucking friendly with some of the survivors sometimes! What the fuck did I ever do to you?!"

His eye twitches.

"Like I said, I'm just doing my fucking job. Now if you would just-"

"NO YOU AREN'T!" You shout at him and he's on you in an instant, hand over your mouth and you can see his eyes through his mask. A deep red brown and angry.

"Listen here you stupid bitch, one more outburst like that and I'm gutting you like a fucking fish, understand?" He snaps, his grip on your face almost bruising. Fear grips you again and you nod. He sighs, letting you go again with an unspoken warning that he would follow through if you got loud like that again.

"Look, it's fucking...it's complicated." He mumbled, looking almost shy as he played with one of the ghostly strips of fabric attached to his outfit. "You're just...you're a fucking distraction. Every trial I'm in with you it's hard to fucking focus, and I have a fucking job to do god damn it." He grumbles. You almost feel bad for him, almost.

"What, and that's my problem?" You snap in return.

"Yeah, it fucking is." He snaps in return, starting to pace back and forth. "I have work to do, people to kill, fear to harvest, the whole nine fucking yards. But you," He points, "You get in the fucking way, you make me lose track, you make me...you...fuck, you make me feel something, OK?"

You blink dumbly at him, finally speechless, and he continues.

"I get this stupid fucking feeling in my stomach and it makes me fucking twitchy. It makes my damn mind race and I can't tell if it's because I want to fucking dissect you or..." He trails off.

"...Or?" You question.

"I don't know!" He snaps, growling a bit as he continues pacing. "I haven't fucking felt like this before, I didn't think I fucking could. I just..." He takes a breath, looking back at you. "I need you to stop."

Your mouth hangs open, shocked by his...confession? If you could call it that.

"What?" You question again.

"Stop! Stop making me feel...whatever the fuck this is!" He snaps again, and even though you can't see his eyes anymore, you can feel the frustration wafting off him.

"How the fuck am I supposed to do that?!" You snap in return, annoyance rising in you as well. "It's not my fault you have a...a fucking crush on me or something!"

"Yes it is, it's absolutely your fault!" He throws his arms up, almost like an annoyed toddler. "It's your fault because you have this soft fucking face and this pretty laugh and that stupid fucking smile! You have these fucking eyes that light up whenever you get to talking about what you love, and fuck I just wish for once that was ME and-" He cuts himself off with a growl, kicking a nearby stack of tired and knocking them down. "It's bullshit, you're bullshit, it's all fucking bullshit!"

You're left speechless until he finally looks at you again.

"There, you happy? Now could you fucking make it stop?!" He breathes out, his eyes just barely visible through the black mesh of his mask.

"I...Well...fuck uh..." You mumble, shifting your weight from foot to foot. "I...don't think I can do that? I mean..."

"Fuck, yeah, course you can't." He grumbles, fidgeting with the fabric strips of his costume again. "I just...this is a stupid, distracting fucking feeling and I hate it."

"Well...I mean..." You take a breath, not really sure how to approach the situation. "Maybe we could like...I dunno...start over?"

He looks at you, and you swear he thinks you're insane.

"Start over?" He questions, "The fuck you mean start over?"

"Like, I dunno. Figure shit out from the beginning, like...get to know each other or something?" You say awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck.

"...Are you fucking crazy?" He questions, and yeah, you expected that. "Like, hello, earth to Dollface, I've killed you dozens of times now. I have murdered your friends in front of you." He snaps his fingers, impressive considering he's still wearing his gloves. "Like sure, sounds nice and all, but how the fuck do you expect to just start over? Hi, what's up, the names Ghostface. Wanna get stabbed?"

"Don't be a fucking dickhead." You snap in response and huff, "Look, I don't know what you want me to do about...whatever this shit is," You motion to him vaguely. "Like I dunno dude, you need a good therapist or something?"

"Fuck you." He growls.

"Yeah, whatever." You breath out. "Look, I don't care what you do, but I'm sick of you pulling bullshit during trials because of...whatever your feelings are. So you either talk to me about it and we get it sorted, or I start making offerings to the entity to make your job even harder than I apparently already am." You cross your arms and look him up and down before sighing. "I'm heading back to camp, if you want to fucking talk-"

"Wait," He grabs your arm and you stop, looking back at him before he sighs. "OK maybe...maybe you're right. Maybe we can like, try that? I dunno."

You smile at him, sighing in relief.

"Good, I prefer that." You turn to him, extending a hand and telling him your name proper, even though he already knows it. "Nice to meet you, Ghostface."

He stares at your hand for a second, but slowly, he takes it.

"...Ghostface is fine for now." He mumbles, shaking it awkwardly. "So...uh...how do we do this?"

"Well...what kinds of movies did you like? Before you got taken."

His eyes light up, and suddenly he's on a kick. Rambling happily about his favorite horror movies while you listen.

Things get better after that.

Rather than being targeted, you're more often than not spared during trials.

Of course people get suspicious though, so you have to cut a small deal with him to either spare all of you during trials or kill everyone including you.

He's not personally a fan of the second option, so he ends up sparing your little party whenever you're involved.

You two get closer and you start to have your own feelings for him in return.

Eventually he tells you his real name. Danny, it rolls off your tongue nicely.

He's nervous at first, but eventually his smooth charm comes back and it's rare for him to not leave you flustered and blushing when you two talk.

When you finally get the courage to tell him your feelings, you swear he's on cloud nine. immediately talking about how happy he's going to make you and how he'll make sure no one in this fucking realm ever touches you.

You have to talk him down from that, knowing that your other survivors would hate you if you were the only exception during trials. And while he says "fuck em" you know you can't have him as your only friend in the realm, as much as part of him would love that.

But it's nice, he treats you like royalty. Like you're his entire world.

It might not be a real happy ending, but it's probably the closest you'll get in this hellhole.

You’ve been seeing them.

Not clearly. Not directly.

But it’s there. That prickling between your shoulders. The faint scent of dried flowers in places where no flowers should be. Strange offerings—notes, shiny things, half-rotted Polaroids with the faces scratched out, a scarf you swore you lost two cities ago now neatly folded on top of your ration pack.

You’re being followed.

Stalked.

Watched.

But the strangest part?

You don’t feel afraid.

Not exactly.

Not yet.

You find the first note three days after the arcade.

Tucked into the hollowed skull of a long-dead runner, its paper edges curled like petals, ink smeared with care. You hesitate before touching it, unsure why your fingers tremble. You haven’t seen handwriting like this in months. Too slow. Too human.

The message is short:

I saw you limping. Left you something in the back stairwell. It’s not much, but it’s soft. You always loved soft things. —Yours

You turn the note over, half-expecting a signature. There’s none. But taped to the back is a bit of fabric—plush. Purple. Familiar.

Your old hoodie’s sleeve?

You blink and look around, half expecting someone to laugh and pop out of the shadows with a camera.

Nothing.

Just wind and ruin.

Just the echo of your own name whispered through brick and dust.

That night, you don’t sleep well.

You dream of the safehouse tunnel. The one that collapsed. You dream of dragging someone out of the pile, coughing, shaking, their face smeared with ash and blood, and you remember the way they clung to you like your hands were the last light in the world.

But you can’t remember their face.

Only that they didn’t scream when the scanners went red.

Only that you let them go.

You wake up sweating, hand on your crowbar, heart pounding so hard it drowns out the moaning of the horde outside the barricade.

You think you hear someone crying.

But when you sit up, it’s gone.

Day four, there’s another note—left near your fire pit this time.

Folded into a tiny triangle. Stuck between the teeth of a dismembered mannequin.

You pry it loose.

I saw what they did to the last camp. You made it out. I’m proud of you. But your leg’s getting worse. I’ll fix it. You can rest when I find you. I’ll carry you.

There’s a flower pressed between the folds—Hollow Pine bloom again, radiant and unnatural, edges glowing like veins in moonlight.

Your mouth goes dry.

You pocket it anyway.

You start changing your route.

Backtracking. Making false trails.

But they follow.

You leave a can of tuna as a test—placed on a pile of bricks near the collapsed freeway. Hours later, it’s still there, unopened… but now it’s sitting on a folded square of newspaper, like it’s been served to you.

Next to it is a scarf. Yours again.

Someone’s laundering your clothes.

You tell yourself it’s a rogue survivor. Maybe one of the Runners messing with you.

But you’ve seen Runners.

They don’t leave notes.

They don’t press flowers.

They don’t fold blankets over your pack while you sleep and tuck a piece of chocolate in your pocket like they remember what brand you used to like.

It’s getting personal.

It’s always been personal.

The sixth night, you find a message scrawled on the window of an overturned bus, written in some kind of slick, sticky ink that glistens faintly under UV.

You shine your flashlight on it.

YOUR HANDS SHOOK WHEN YOU HELD ME. I STILL FEEL IT. DID YOU MEAN IT?

You stumble back, breath catching.

How could they know that?

You press your palm to the glass. It leaves a smear.

You sit in the bus and wait.

But no one comes.

When you finally speak to them, it’s accidental.

You’re rounding the corner of a broken hallway, sidearm drawn, when a voice—clear and low—croons from above:

“You dropped something, sweetheart.”

It’s calm. Polite. Warm in a way that shouldn’t exist in this world anymore.

You spin and spot a figure perched on the remains of a collapsed floor above—tall, stylish in a weird, DIY way. Their face is obscured by a broken lens-mask. Their skin is sickly but smooth, veins black and glowing faintly along their throat and wrists. They toss you something.

Your lighter.

The one you lost near the canal three weeks ago.

Your blood goes cold.

They tilt their head.

“You used to flick it open five times before lighting it. I always liked that.”

Your grip on the pistol tightens.

“Who are you?”

They pause.

Their voice cracks a little when they answer, like it hurts.

“You don’t remember me.”

There’s silence.

Then a hollow, trembly laugh. A buried sob.

“That’s okay. I remember enough for both of us.”

And before you can ask anything else—they’re gone. Slipped between concrete and night like a ghost.

You don’t see them again for two more days.

But the gifts return.

A scarf. A new set of boots. Bandages. A handmade trinket in the shape of a crow.

And a final note:

When you love someone this much, it doesn’t rot. Not even here. Not even me.

You don’t sleep after that.

You wait.

Crowbar by your side.

And maybe… maybe you’re not entirely afraid anymore.

Just curious.

And something else you won’t name.

Not yet.

Tsumugi, Shuichi, Maki, Himiko, and (Y/N) will receive punishment.

Time to destroy the Ultimate Academy!

There wasn’t time to feel an ounce of regret, even if (Y/N) did. She wasn’t really sure what to feel at all, listening to an almost rhythmic sound of Tsumugi’s laughter as Keebo shot away. It almost felt familiar, when Tsumugi’s laughter felt like nothing but white noise, watching Keebo shoot away felt reminiscent of Kaede, in some odd, demented way.

She was ending Danganronpa, along with everyone else. At the cost of her life. 

There was one loud explosion, the windows of the room beginning to crack from the shock wave, and dust and rubble that began to pour from the ceiling. In that moment, Tsumugi had disappeared. 

“Are you guys… afraid?” (Y/N) asks.

Explosions cause their ears to ring as they all looked at each other. 

“I don’t think I can say for sure.” Maki sighs. 

Himiko’s holding her hands over her ears, pulling her hat down over them. “Wish I could die in a quieter way…!” 

“I think..” Shuichi starts. “No matter what.. We should be proud of what we’ve done.” 

(Y/N) nods slowly, wondering for a second as explosions continue to rock the ground. Looking at those left and what they had lost- would they be proud of this? Those who had sacrificed, killed and died in order for them to survive.. How are they feeling? 

A particularly loud explosion rocks the ground, and Himiko jumps, before latching onto the person closest to her, happening to be (Y/N). Himiko buries her face in (Y/N)’s chest, hugging her tight and muttering something.

(Y/N) didn’t have a heart to shove her away. She held her close, rubbing her back and sighing. Himiko was shaking. As much as she accepted what was to happen, in the end, the thought was terrifying. 

“What do you think’s happened to Tsumugi?” Maki asks.

“I imagine..” Shuichi starts. “She’s already.. Gone. Since she went outside.”

“Should we.. go outside as well?”  (Y/N) asks. Maybe it was to make it end faster. Maybe it was just to see Keebo one more time.. 

They both understood as they nodded. (Y/N) moved slightly, pulling Himiko away from her slightly and guiding her to walk with her as they went outside.  

The sky, in all theory, was blue. Though clouds of dust and falling rubble covered it, it was blue. 

“There he is.” Maki says, pointing up to one side of the ‘dome’ they had been contained in for what felt like so long. There Keebo was, in the middle of the air, watching something explode for a moment. He was so hard to see, but it looked like he moved his head to see them. 

(Y/N) sighed, even as she was pulled closer by Himiko, even as Himiko pulled Shuichi and Maki close as well, huddling the four together in a sort of one last hug. A comforting warmth that they’d possibly never feel again. 

She couldn’t help but watch. Watch as he.. Moves to tap some sort of button on his chest, and then he’s moving, headed straight towards one side of the dome, doing nothing els..e…

“Oh my god..” She mutters, the tears already beginning to well in her eyes, knowing what’s about to happen. She breaks away from the group suddenly, drawing all of their attention towards the same thing she was seeing. “NO!” She screams, beginning to take off toward him, as if someway, somehow, she can stop him, and get her Keebo back, and everything would be fine, and..

Someone catches her wrist and pulls her back, and even that doesn’t stop her from screaming. “KEEBO! KEEBO, NO, PLEASE!” She screams, louder than she had ever screamed before. She keeps fighting, feeling whoever had grabbed her, pulling her back, wrapping their arms around her torso and holding her flush towards their own body, keeping her from running out and getting herself killed. “(Y/N), you can’t- do-!” Shuichi was the one holding her, trying to tell her to stop, and that there was nothing they could do, and he could feel the pain in his own chest watching this with her, but there wasn’t anything else they could do.

“LET ME GO!” She screams, fighting wildly against the surprisingly strong detective. “LET- PLEASE! I NEED TO-!” She keeps flailing, but she hasn’t even done much. Eyes clouded with hot tears, pouring over her face and clouding all sense of sight and sensibility. She was reaching out, as if she could just grab him and stop him. “I CA- IF I CAN’T-” “Please, (Y/N)!” Shuichi pleads, holding her as tight as he can. The arguing, the screaming, and the pleading, none of it stops the inevitable, what is bound to happen, and though Maki is holding Himiko reluctantly, in place of (Y/N), she knows to act fast enough. “Get down!” She shouts, grabbing the fabric of Shuichi’s blazer, yanking him down towards the ground and (Y/N) going with him, as she can’t help but wince, closing her eyes as Keebo collides.

The explosion was huge and left all of their ears ringing, the shockwave forcing them to stay down on the ground. The glass of the entire cage, or dome, or whatever the fuck it was begins to shatter, and the explosion felt blinding, like everyone’s visions was going black.

It could’ve been 30 minutes. It could’ve been 5. It could’ve been an hour, it could’ve been a second, no one really knew how long their vision went black, and their hearing felt damaged, and everything felt numb.  

(Y/N) sat up, looking at the now hole in the shattered dome. She didn’t bother to stand up, just barely pushing herself off of Shuichi. 

“We survived..” Maki mutters. 

(Y/N) doesn’t say a word.

“How..?” Himiko asks.

She just stares. She can’t even see it right, the tears blurring everything and making it so hard to see.

“He.. made a sacrifice..” Shuichi says, pushing himself up slowly and dusting himself off, before looking at (Y/N), worried.

It didn’t matter. She didn’t think she really wanted to see. 

“So what’s next..?” Maki mutters.

“(Y/N)?” Shuichi asks, scotting closer to her. She hadn’t even lifted herself off the ground. She was just sitting there. Hadn’t dusted herself off, hadn’t really moved.

She sniffles. “He..he’s gone.” She turns to him, lips quaking and the tears won't stop pouring. “Keebo’s gone, Shuichi.” She sniffles. And she moves, but it’s only to bury her face in his chest, crying ever ever loving eyes out as the sobs come back.

He waits, for a second, before accepting it and rubbing her back slowly. “I know, (Y/N).”

“Di- did he.. He sacrificed.. Himself..” She takes a shaky breath. “for … for us?” 

“I imagine his only intent was to save us.” Maki says, brushing herself off and helping Himiko off the ground. “I imagine.. Tsumugi has already..” “She’s probably gone.” Himiko said, gaining her balance. 

“I promised.. We.. we’d get out toge...together..” (Y/N) says, sniffling.

They all hesitate.

All of them had promised people they’d get out together, alive.

What had happened then?

“..We just have to go on to the next world.” Shuichi says, still rubbing her back.

She pulls away slowly. “Is this..this is really.. The right thing to do?” 

Shuichi pushes himself up slowly. “I don’t think.. We can say which is right or wrong in the end.” He extends a hand out to (Y/N). “We just have to keep on going.. For them. For those we lost, and..”

He doesn’t have to continue, as (Y/N) nods slowly. “O..Okay..” She takes a shaky breath, taking Shuichi’s hand and letting him pull her up.

She had to keep going. She had to take all she learned from this world, and the sacrifices, and the losses… and move on to the next.