Everything you’ll find here sat in drafts until it got posted raw. No edits, no polish — just torn out, bleeding. That’s the honest way.
Fanfics, headcanons, reactions. Male or female reader, angst or clingy soft — doesn’t matter. This is for those who crawl into someone else’s story and aren’t afraid to stay there.
𖦹 Fandoms: aot, demon slayer, genshin impact, haikyu, my hero academia, tokrev and whatever else crashes the party
𖦹 Fight club rules: don’t even think about dropping homophobia or misogyny — straight to the void; comments? I hoard them like gold; работы на тгк не пиздим — по рукам бью без предупреждения
𖦹 Send carrier pigeons here: sometimes on [AO3] / often on [TG]
cast: arlecchino, beidou, heizou, itto, tartaglia, zhongli x reader
tw: mention of death, blood, ptsd
ARATAKI ITTO (player)
He’s loud, bright, and didn’t give in to fear when after the first round everyone scattered into corners. He didn’t betray himself in that awful place, even when after the second round people accepted the rules and just started surviving.
Itto kept laughing, shared food, fought. And he led others — who, somehow naturally, without pressure, ended up following behind him.
He wasn’t the strongest, and definitely not the smartest. But around him, it felt like there was a way out. For the first time since the games began, something like belief sparked in you — that maybe you could make it out without getting your hands dirty.
Itto believed in you too. Really believed, and said it out loud. Patted you on the back, smiled that crooked little smile.
When Itto was gone — it was like all the warmth got sucked out of your soul. You can’t get warm under the blankets, lying in his bed. Can’t feel full from breakfast or lunch. You snap at everyone.
Even in the fifth round, legs shaking as you step over other people’s bodies, you’re only thinking of him. And you keep going. For him. Because Itto believed in you, and he would’ve wanted this.
ARLECCHINO (frontwoman)
You stare at her on the subway. In a blazer, hair done up, tall and sharp. And when she looks back — you flinch. Ashamed of your greasy hoodie, worn-down sneakers, your face hollow from hunger.
“You know the rules of ttakji?” she asks, throwing a red envelope on the ground.
Soon you’re standing there with cheeks swollen from slaps. She hits without mercy. She sees the anger in your eyes, the kind you’re still swallowing. Hears your ragged breathing. Feels it in the tense air — how you want to hit her back, but keep yourself in check.
Arlecchino suddenly catches herself thinking: something about that quiet defiance of yours turns her on. Makes her want to grab your red cheeks, pull you close and kiss you. If you try to fight back — pin your arms and shove you to the wall. She knows for sure you wouldn’t mind. The game’s gotten too personal, and she likes it that way.
BEIDOU (former winner)
At night, you come to her. Sit down on the edge of the bed, sink into the mattress, brush your legs against hers. Sometimes you’re quiet, sometimes you whisper something dumb, but Beidou likes to listen. Just like it was before.
Beidou isn’t afraid of dreams. She likes when you come. Likes feeling the warmth of your smile, the living fire in your eyes.
Beidou’s only afraid of waking up. Every morning — all over again. An empty bed, hands clutching at air. A heart that refuses to believe.
She’s not ashamed of the tears. For the life she lost — turns out it wasn’t that bad before the game. For you — the most real thing in all that hell. Now you’re just a dream, and the crying slowly turns into something worse.
SHIKANOIN HEIZOU (detective)
Over a hundred people gone. It’s happened before. No bodies, no cameras. Just millions of won in debt left behind. Their families or coworkers report them missing.
The police say, “No one disappears without a trace.” Probably just debt collectors — they ran, changed their names, left the country even. Who wouldn’t, in their shoes?
But no gang could’ve pulled this off. What, operating all over Korea? No, the streets are just being cleared of those who owe too much.
But Heizou thinks differently. The picture doesn’t add up. Sometimes there are cards found in the homes — no text, just strange symbols — and the police couldn’t even be bothered to log them.
He gathers evidence alone. Keeps quiet. Waits.
And then — you’re in his office. Your hands are shaking, voice cracking. You talk fast, stumbling, not looking him in the eye. You speak of deadly games and survival.
He listens without interrupting. Then suddenly, leans in and whispers:
“I’ve been waiting for you for so long.”
TARTAGLIA (guard)
Tartaglia is supposed to stay hidden behind the mask. Unrecognizable in that oversized uniform. No speaking, no thinking. Just enforce the rules and stop trouble before it starts.
But for some reason — he thinks it’s in his head, until he’s sure — you notice him. You recognize his breathing, the faint smell of pine. You notice with a strange kind of gratitude how carefully he places the food into your hands. He doesn’t toss it, doesn’t throw it at you, but leaves it like “no one’s taking this from you — it’s yours.”
It all clicks for Tartaglia when he accidentally hears you talking about your younger siblings. You’re doing this for them. That’s enough for him to start rooting for you.
Behind the mask, he’s an older brother too, trying to pull his family out of poverty. He made a hard choice — maybe not risking his life, but still choosing between guilt and having food on the table.
Of course, there’s no miracle. Tartaglia doesn’t break the rules or secretly help. He stays a guard until the end. But after the games, he tries to find your siblings. To make sure they’re okay. To share what he earned.
Both families should have enough.
ZHONGLI (one of the VIPs)
He watched you play. Saw how afraid you were, but how even fear couldn’t make you betray others. How you never said no to helping someone — but didn’t know how to ask for help yourself. While everyone else hardened and learned to survive, you cried into your pillow at night. Quietly, so no one would notice.
And Zhongli didn’t exactly pity you — but he saw something real, something he’d missed among all the endlessly different people making the same hollow choices. He ordered the soldiers to protect you, to bring you to the final round.
The other sponsors said the weak shouldn’t survive. That’s what the games were for. But Zhongli didn’t see weakness in you — he saw screaming humanity.
And so he meets you in the final. A table set in luxury, the tablecloth stained with blood. He slowly removes his mask and congratulates you on surviving.
But instead of the purity in your eyes he’d longed to drown in — he sees hatred.
tags: soft nsfw, emotional intimacy, demons in love, tenderness after sex
cast: huntrix, saja boys (abby, mystery, romance) × reader
Mira
Mira stretches lazily in bed. Her legs are tangled with yours. She doesn’t bother covering her bare body — no point hiding from you. After all these nights, you know every inch of her skin — from freckles to faded scars.
She’s so easy with you like this. No makeup, hair a mess, that hoarse morning voice. A sharp contrast to the version on stage — bold, fierce, fire in her eyes. And you lose it over her, either way.
You move, trying to get up. She’s got training early tomorrow. But Mira, like always, catches your wrist.
“Don’t be stupid. Stay.”
She wraps her legs around you, keeps you down. That smirk, like a dare: “Go ahead. Try.” She doesn’t say it out loud, but her eyes make it clear — you’re no longer just a secret fling. You’re closer than family.
And if that bond weren’t real — if for even a second she felt out of place — Mira wouldn’t ask you to stay.
Rumi
Rumi is sitting in your lap. Her fingers tremble slightly as she ties fabric over your eyes. You don’t ask why. You don’t press her for an explanation.
And when you can’t see anymore, she lets out a quiet breath — and starts taking off her clothes. For the first time, she reveals her tattoos in front of someone else.
You feel warm thighs tighten around yours. Hear her uneven breathing. You stay still.
And Rumi, raised in the flash of paparazzi from childhood, suddenly believes — without doubt — that you won’t try to peek. That the thought hasn’t even crossed your mind.
She’s not hiding anymore, because she knows: you don’t want to take anything from her by force. Not like the demons who stole beloved fans. Not like her foster mother, who simply told her she was now a hunter.
You let her choose. And she chooses to stay.
Zoey
Zoey is lying on top of you. Sweaty, sticky. Her hair’s a mess. Lips swollen from kissing.
Silence fills the room. Usually, this is when she asks, “Well? Am I still good?” Cracks a joke even if she’s tired, makes a cute face, laughs. Then grabs her phone to check socials, sees missed calls from her manager.
But right now — she just lies there, settling into your breath. Not performing, not dazzling. Not watching your face for approval.
You take her hand — she doesn’t pull away. Run your fingers through her hair, nuzzle into the top of her head, shift her to rest more comfortably on you. She melts completely.
Little by little, Zoey starts to believe that maybe there’s no need for questions. Because the answer’s always the same: you love her not for the performance, but simply for her.
Abs Saja
Abby is all muscle. Big, solid, with the kind of abs that drive his fans wild.
And you press into him softly, trustingly, like he’s not a dangerous demon who could break you with a single move. You breathe against his cold neck and hold onto his shoulders, trying to match his rhythm.
Abby freezes. He wants to be gentle with you. Not fuck — but protect. Even if it’s from himself, or the world he was born into. That feeling is completely foreign to him.
But now that he’s realized it, you can feel the shift. He holds, not squeezes. Pulls you close, but carefully. And when he whispers your name in your ear, it’s not to turn you on — it’s to calm you down.
To remind himself that with you, it has to be different. That you’re something precious.
Mystery Saja
Mystery told you right away he was a demon. First date, over cocktails, no buildup. You either accept it, or there’s no romance here.
You still can’t tell if he was trying to push you away like some obsessive fangirl — or genuinely chose to open up. Maybe he just needed to know you loved him, not some sugar-coated fantasy.
But really, it wasn’t a test. For him, trust is the only way to end up in bed with someone. Not just physical, but emotional nakedness too.
Mystery notices how at first you flinch when claws trace your spine — then start to enjoy it. You used to turn away from kisses, scared he’d suck out your soul through them. Now, after a few times, you chase his dry lips, demand tongue.
Mystery would never hurt you. And that slow-growing trust — in tiny, wordless ways — that realization that it’s truly safe with him? That means more to him than sex ever could.
Romance Saja
Romance flirts and teases. He reaches for attention like a gentle cat for a pair of hands. He poses with fans, waves into cameras, winks with a smile.
But in his demon form, he’s exhausted. Truly. So worn out he can’t even lift his hands to form a heart for the crowd.
And maybe that’s why he values — though he’ll never say it aloud — that with you, things can be slow and relaxed. Arching his back with a sigh, lazily brushing his hair aside.
And you know Romance isn’t human. He just said “I’m a demon” when he leaned over you. Wanted to see how you’d react. If you’d be scared he’d steal your soul, or maybe laugh it off. But your simple “I know” made him flinch — and then quietly smile.
Because people think if it’s a demon, it must be wild sex. Clothes torn off, thrown on the floor, shoved up against a wall before even making it to the bed.
But Romance never fit into those expectations. He likes it slow and deliberate, after a long, tired day, ideally with you on top. And the fact that you don’t expect anything else — that’s a gift to him.
His colleagues glance at him and smile — like they already know everything. Even the things he doesn’t. Cyno is surprised that bits and pieces of the situation reach him through work chatter, the noise of the Grand Bazaar, and even from patrols deep in the forest — but never from you. It’s as if you don’t trust him enough to share your troubles. And even if that thought cuts deeper than he lets on, Cyno respects your choice and doesn’t bring it up himself. Instead, to keep from overthinking and spiraling, he throws himself into tracking the perpetrator — a real hunt. After all, no one escapes justice when it comes from the General Mahamatra.
Still, he can’t avoid the subject entirely. When he sees you again, he mentions that the criminal has been caught, hoping it’ll bring you some relief. But what he sees instead is pain flickering across your face — and that stuns him.
“Did I do something wrong? Should I not have gotten involved?”
He doesn’t understand your reaction. Maybe he should’ve stayed close, offered comfort instead? But it seemed like you were keeping the issue from him on purpose — to process it in your own space and time.
“I thought… it would hurt your reputation. You care about it so much…”
When Cyno hears the anxious thoughts you’ve been wrestling with all this time, something shifts. He cups your cheeks, catches your gaze, and says with quiet certainty:
“No, of course not… I wouldn’t turn my back on you just to protect my reputation. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
Though not someone used to touch, Cyno opens his arms for you — and doesn’t let go until you’re the one to pull away.
RAZOR
Raised by the laws of the wild, Razor doesn’t quite understand why what happened has shaken you so deeply. But he tries to comfort you. Slowly, step by step, he moves closer and tilts his head, gently nudging your shoulder like a she-wolf nuzzling her pup. The silence that follows — your total lack of response — unsettles him more than anything else in the world. A low whine, full of frustration at his own helplessness, escapes from his chest. Razor curls up at your feet, keeping just enough distance to not intrude, but refusing to leave your side. Whatever caused this pain doesn’t matter to him right now. What matters is that you’re hurting. And he’s made it his duty to bring back your sunshine smile and that voice that rings like a bell.
Later, Razor goes to Lisa with questions. After a patient and thorough explanation, after the truth settles in, his fists clench until his knuckles turn white, and his teeth grind together. He grabs his claymore, ready to tear the whole city apart if that’s what it takes to find the monster responsible. He doesn’t fully understand why, but the image of someone’s hands touching you without your permission drives him insane. There’s nothing he can do about it — not directly — but Lisa promises to look into it and talk to Jean to make sure no one else gets hurt.
He returns to your home. The curtains are drawn, everything’s untouched, and you’re buried under heavy blankets. It’s clear you haven’t left your room or eaten all day. Razor sits on the edge of the bed to let you know he’s there, and in a voice cracked with emotion, he says the only thing that feels right:
“I only have Lupical. I protect my Lupical. No one hurt. I fight for Lupical. Keep safe. I want make you feel good. Food gives strength. Makes happy. I make meat. Tasty smell.”
SCARAMOUCHE
Scaramouche doesn’t deal well with tears. During arguments, the moment he notices them, he either sends you away or walks off himself. It doesn’t make him a terrible person — some emotions just hit too hard and leave him feeling powerless.
“Calm down and explain it properly, I can’t make sense of your whining.”
That line comes up a lot. Not because he wants to hurt you — but because that’s how he tries to get to the point and help. Fix the problem. Give you money. Beat someone up. But not offer soft words. And definitely not hugs.
But today is different. Your cheeks are soaked in tears, and you don’t even seem to notice. You’re staring off, empty. Scaramouche forces himself to step closer. He asks what happened. And as he pieces together the broken parts of your story, something inside him snaps. Some pathetic insect thought they had the right to touch you — the parts of you that belong to him, wholly and without question.
Between shaky breaths, you confess that you can still feel it — those touches clinging to your skin like filth that won’t wash off.
“Show me where.”
His cool, familiar fingers follow wherever you point. He presses, massages, grounding you with each motion. Then he leans in and kisses every inch of skin you marked, slow and deliberate — replacing the memory of someone else's hands with his own, painting over it, erasing it.
“Imagine it’s only me touching you. Nothing else. No one else.”
He’ll find the bastard later — drag them out from under the earth if he has to — but right now, helping you is all that matters.
cast: asahi, bokuto, kageyama, kuroo, tsukishima, ukai x reader
Asahi Azumane
Despite the first impression given by his height, broad shoulders, and a bit of a beard, Asahi is a modest guy. He melts from gentle touches and makes a lot of noise during foreplay — so much that his own cheeks turn red. He bites his lip or covers his mouth with his hand. His moans are quiet and drawn out, more like hums, and combined with his naturally low voice, it’s absolutely mind-blowing. Sometimes, of course, you’d love to hear Asahi moaning out loud, just to enjoy it, but it’s the quiet that holds his true charm.
Kei Tsukishima
Tsukishima rarely loses his composure. Even in bed. His body is almost unresponsive to kisses and caresses, so it’s hard to get any sound out of him. He seems to enjoy the intimacy and trust more than the physical sensations. Instead of moans, there’s breathing that shifts from calm to quicker, and the occasional grunt. If you ask him to moan on purpose, Tsukishima will try to refuse. He feels awkward, the sounds seem weird, he just doesn’t know how. In the end, his quiet moans can only be heard when he’s suffering from a high fever.
Keishin Ukai
Keishin isn’t the type to lose his head easily. He’s an adult, reasonable, used to keeping himself in check even in the most intimate moments. His moans are rare, low, intentional. He doesn’t roll his eyes at every touch or start trembling, but when it hits him — when he finally loses it — you’re the one who’s blown away. Those rough, raspy exhales, unlike anyone else’s, slip out the moment he can’t hold back anymore, when he’s at the edge.
And of course, he notices how you react to them, how you go silent and catch each sound with a kind of greedy hunger. “Do you like that?” Keishin asks, and it sounds so filthy — because he already knows the answer.
And later, when you both collapse onto the bed, he wraps an arm around you, runs his fingers down your back, and says with a satisfied smirk: “Well… didn’t think you liked it that much when I lose control.” And that’s when you realize — he let himself go on purpose. Just to see you burn.
Koutarou Bokuto
Bokuto doesn’t know how to be quiet. All the neighbors already know what you’re doing with him — even if you’re just cooking and he lets out a drawn-out moan: “It always tastes so good!” It’s flattering, sure, but when he’s in bed moaning and commenting, calling your name while the neighbors start banging on the wall, you want to shut him up.
He playfully bites his hand, won’t let himself be silenced that easily, but he does fall for kisses — starts breathing into your lips, giggling from pleasure. He likes being loud for you, filling the room with his voice until it breaks into a rasp. And he couldn’t care less if someone hears. In fact, Bokuto almost seems like he wants the whole world to know you’re together.
Tetsurou Kuroo
Kuroo is a real tease. He moans during practice just to see your reaction. Moans when climbing stairs with heavy grocery bags — right in front of strangers — just to make you blush. He always puts it like: “They’re just jealous you’ve got me in bed.”
And then he moans as he strips you down, climbs on top, murmuring filthy comments right into your ear, soaking in the sight of your bare body.
But you realize the games are over — this is the real, vulnerable Kuroo — when he lets out a long whine. He really couldn’t hold back. He looks serious, warns you not to grab his hair like that again. Clearly, that’s his weak spot.
Tobio Kageyama
Sometimes you think Tobio doesn’t even know how to moan. Just grunts irritably, snorts in disdain, and sighs heavily. Until you realize — that’s just how he sounds, and there’s nothing wrong with it. Because when he’s judging someone, you have to look at his eyes. Cold, deadly, from under his brows.
But when you touch him, tug his hand or fix his hair, hug him by the shoulders or kiss his bruised nose after getting hit by a ball, Tobio still grunts, snorts, and sighs — but his eyes soften, and he visibly melts, every muscle relaxing. So you stop waiting for moans from him — this kind of reaction means more.
p.s.: “nobody will notice that keishin is my favorite” i thought…
➤ cast: hanma, mucho, sanzu, shion, taiju x reader
➤ tw: drug references, hint of murder, suicidal tendencies (hanma and sanzu)
Haruchiyo Sanzu
You came ready for a fight. Brass knuckles in one pocket, a knife in the other — but he doesn’t fight back. Doesn’t even raise a hand. Doesn’t reach for his own gun. Just stands there.
And you were scared to go up against him. He’s insane. Killed so many people — he’d kill you too, no hesitation. Even if you were... kind of friends.
His eyes, usually hazy with drugs, are clear now. Crystal clear. He’s sober. Sanzu sees everything — and he doesn’t run.
“Come on,” he says, challenging. “You’re not the first to try.”
He lifts his chin, and you notice the scars on his neck. And how his pale fingers tremble just a little. But it’s not fear — it’s anticipation.
He wants you to pull the trigger.
Shion Madarame
You think he’ll get angry — and his face is twisted, his voice shakes with something real.
Shion’s never been good at trust. After prison, the only thing he clung to was Tenjiku. Became their guard dog. Mean, vicious, never knew when to stop in a fight.
Then you showed up. Saw something in him besides the beast. Showed him there was still light in him — maybe even enough to change for.
And he really tried. In his own way: loyal like a dog, fierce and wordless. You became his pack. His person. The one he’d stumble to, face bloodied. He’d hiss and snap, but let you clean the wounds.
And now — you’re the one holding the gun.
Shion doesn’t quite believe it. He stands there, breathing hard. Eyes wide — not from fear, but from betrayal. He looks like a stray mutt that finally thought it mattered to someone, and got kicked for it.
Shuji Hanma
He raises his hands. For the first time, he isn’t smiling. And he says nothing. His face is endlessly blank, like someone wiped all the emotions away at once.
That’s what Hanma really is. What he was before Kisaki. And what he became again after his death. That’s how you found him — drifting aimlessly from gang to gang, hanging around graveyards sometimes. Maybe that’s where he belongs. He looks like a ghost himself — thin, pale.
But then, he started to come alive. Just a little. He got a chance to recover. Hanma began talking to you at night, just calling for no reason. Clinging to the phone like it was the first time in years someone actually listened.
He asked about everything: life, death, what comes after. It was a weird kind of friendship, but it meant something.
Now his face is blank again. Just like before you met. That means, to him, you’re already dead. From the moment you reached for that gun.
“Well, go on,” Hanma suddenly says, in a voice that’s way too cheerful. “You know I’m not scared.”
Taiju Shiba
Taiju doesn’t look away — he knows what he did, knows he deserves this. But he’s still scared. And hurt. Because he really did try. He wanted to do the right thing — it just turned out he didn’t know how.
He didn’t become their support. Or even a good older brother. He became punishment. Loud, absurdly strict, the kind of look that makes you apologize without knowing why. Deep down, he was just scared — of failing, of falling short, of losing his family all over again.
He was ten. They’d just buried their mother. He didn’t even have time to process it before the younger ones fell on him. Get up. Take care of them. Keep the house in order. No crying. No weakness — especially not that. But he couldn’t grieve with them. They barely remembered her.
You’re holding the gun. He doesn’t move. Just one tear runs down his cheek — he probably doesn’t even feel it.
“I really didn’t know any other way,” he whispers hoarsely, like he’s talking to himself.
There’s no excuse in it. No hope. Just the truth.
Yasuhiro Muto (Mucho)
The gun is pointed at him — but your hands are the ones shaking. You can’t even look him in the eyes. Too ashamed.
And the worst part — he’s not angry. Shocked? Yeah. He trusted you completely. Let you watch his back. But there’s no rage in his eyes now. No fear either. Just calm.
Like he’s already forgiven you.
He could be angry. He could slam you against the wall, knock the gun away, and yell, “What the hell are you doing?” He knows how to kill — he’s said it himself. “The kids’ games are over,” he said once, right before beating the hell out of Takemichi.
But Mucho just stands there. Looks you straight in the eye. Waiting.
And you remember how he always remembered your favorite food. How he’d silently slide over a coffee after your sleepless nights. How he listened to every word you said, with a soft smile, even when he didn’t talk much himself.
And now here you are, shoving a gun in his face.
“So?” he says. “You made up your mind yet?”
You realize — if you pull the trigger, he’ll accept it. No hatred. No curses. Just acceptance. Because somehow, you became more important to him than his own life.
cast: albedo, venti, noelle, rosaria, xinyan, tartaglia x reader
side b: baizhu, beidou, bennett, diluc, kazuha, mona
ALBEDO
Before your relationship, he never asked anyone to pose for him. Albedo used to paint landscapes, standing on snowy mountain slopes, leaving rough sketches in his notebook next to his lab notes.
But he wants to draw you all the time now. Against a sunset or a night lake, busy or resting on the bed, dressed or not. Albedo admires you like an artist does a muse he's been searching for.
And it’s not about appearance. He catches how you bite your lip when you’re thinking. How you fidget with the hem of your shirt when you’re nervous. How you fix your hair out of habit, even when it’s not in your eyes. He sketches those little things too. In a separate album, carefully, like he’s documenting them.
And sometimes he asks, “I need to draw you again.” But you can see it in his eyes — he doesn’t need to. He just wants to create with you.
VENTI
Before your relationship, he never wanted to stay. And now Venti catches himself thinking that freedom doesn’t feel as easy to breathe in as it used to. Without you, he can’t breathe at all.
He starts staying the night — falling asleep on the hard couch and saying it’s comfortable. Tries to make breakfast. Picks wildflowers and brings them to you. Settles in with you.
At first, it scares him, and Venti disappears into bars. Alcohol always used to help, but now it tastes bitter. He could’ve thought you cast a spell on him, but this wanderer trusts you more than he trusts himself.
Venti doesn’t know if this will work out — he knows his own nature. But for the first time, he’s not afraid to try. And he doesn’t run.
NOELLE
Before your relationship, Noelle only knew love from books. In them, people confessed right away, fights vanished within a chapter, and the characters understood each other without a word.
Real life turned out differently. You argued — sometimes even shouted. Learned to listen, to give in, to forgive. In those moments, Noelle looked away, and it seemed like she wanted to give up. To go back to the fairy tale where love didn’t hurt.
But she still kept your gifts in a neat little box. She even saved small things: a dried flower from the first bouquet, a theater ticket, notes scribbled on scraps of paper.
And in her journal, she wrote:
“I don’t know how it’s supposed to be. In books, it’s different. But if we’re together — I’ll manage.”
ROSARIA
Before your relationship, Rosaria had never prayed for someone else out of her own free will. Her faith had always been hollow — nothing more than a habit drilled into her by elders.
Now, when you set off on a journey, she kneels in the cold temple. In a whisper, almost angrily, she begs Barbatos to keep you safe.
“Let them come back. I won’t ask for anything else.”
She hates how her clenched fists tremble. Hates that there’s someone she’s afraid to lose.
But if she stops praying — there’ll be nothing left but panic.
XINYAN
Before your relationship, Xinyan had never dedicated a song to anyone.
Not because she didn’t write — quite the opposite. She had dozens of drafts and lines scribbled on scraps of paper. But every time, at the last minute, she threw them out. No one was supposed to know who’d made a home in her heart.
But now — she stayed up all night, finishing the chords, wrote the guitar riff herself, poured every feeling into the lyrics. She’d worked on it so hard.
And now she’s looking at you from the stage — finds you instantly in the crowd, just by your eyes and silhouette, could never mistake you for anyone else — and sings, no smile on her face, with raw honesty in her voice:
“Baby, what are you doing? You know you can always come to me.”
TARTAGLIA
Before your relationship, he’d never introduced anyone to his family. Sure, Tartaglia had had girlfriends, but it never got that far. So your arrival in their home is a real event.
His mother sets the table, his father puts on his best clothes, the younger ones calm down. They’re more nervous than you are, and Tartaglia — he’s just happy.
He introduces everyone by name. Wraps an arm around your shoulders, serves you food himself, pointing out the juiciest piece on the plate. Gives a full tour of the childhood bedroom. Offers you a toy he carved from wood.
Then his family pulls you into conversation, and to your surprise, you learn that before your relationship, there were many things Tartaglia “never did.”
He never let anyone talk while fishing. Never wrapped someone in his scarf during a snowstorm. Never taught anyone how to shoot or fence. And never shared so much of himself with anyone.
Inumaki Toge is in love with you. And you don’t even notice. You take all his hints and gestures as simple kindness. He’s just that kind of person — caring and attentive. A good friend.
He always carries a notebook with him. Half of the pages are filled with standard phrases for the team. The other half — is about you. “You have the most pleasant voice.” “You smell like an April rain.” “Everything feels easier with you.”
Even if he loses the notebook, he’ll still find a way to compliment you. He’ll point at the sun, then at you. In his eyes, there’ll be a confession: “You are my light.”
The stickers on the fridge in the shared kitchen have already become part of the decor. “Don’t forget to eat,” “You can do it,” “I’m here.” You smile every time you see them. He writes them for everyone — but only yours are decorated with hearts, flowers, and little cats. He remembers that you like them. And in each message from him — there’s a little more than just a reminder.
He always notices when someone on the team feels unwell and silently hands over a bottle of water, a chocolate bar, or bandages. But to you, Inumaki gives small gifts for no reason at all. Gum with your favorite flavor. A hair clip like the one you lost. A clover-shaped keychain. You thank him with a soft smile and think, “He’s so polite.”
He keeps a journal — not a regular one, no. Cutouts, collages, drawings across the pages — all of him and his emotions. One day, you ask if you can see it. He silently nods. On the pages — you. Your photos, your silhouette, phrases cut from magazines: “a breath of air,” “quiet happiness,” “you are my song.” He watches while you flip through it, tense like a stretched string. You hand the journal back and simply say, “It’s really beautiful.”
Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night — in a sweat after a dream where you whisper his name, kiss his neck, and he tries to respond but can’t. Even in his dreams, he holds his tongue. Even there, he doesn’t dare to break the safe silence. Because you matter too much, and with you, he can’t take the risk.
Inumaki doesn’t want to bother others, doesn’t like pity. Only with you did he share his secret: “It hurts when I speak.” That’s why he avoids harmless “hello” and “thank you.” That’s why there are always throat lozenges and mint drops in his bag. You squeezed his hand: “Thank you for telling me.” And he remembered it forever.
His greatest fear is forgetting how to speak at all. Sometimes at night, he goes up to the roof and whispers into the emptiness, just to remember what his own voice sounds like. Only you know about this. But he doesn’t let you listen — because losing you is scarier than being silent forever.
And you still remain blind and don’t see what Inumaki feels. Or maybe you don’t want to see. And yet, he stays by your side. Quiet. Steady. Until the very end.
p.s.: first drop in the tg fic channel. got applause. got praise. wasn’t ready. completely emotionally compromised.
