Inumaki 💜

Inumaki Toge was used to silence. . It wasn’t the comfortable kind, the kind people filled with soft laughter or unspoken understanding. His was the kind of silence built from necessity, from fear. . His voice was a weapon. A whisper could bring an enemy to their knees. A single slip of the tongue could shatter bones, break people. It wasn’t a gift; it was a curse—one that weighed on his throat, his body, his mind. Every word spoken in battle came at a price, ripping through his vocal cords, leaving him raw and exhausted. And the worst part? . People feared him for it. . His teammates trusted him, sure, but there was always that brief flicker of hesitation in their eyes when he opened his mouth. That unspoken thought: Don’t slip up. Don’t let it be me. . And then you showed up. . From the moment you joined the team, you were impossible to ignore. Not because you were flashy or arrogant, but because you would not shut up. . You talked about everything—the mission, the weather, what you ate for breakfast, some random show you were watching. It didn’t matter if anyone was listening, you just filled the silence. At first, it irritated him. Not in a cruel way—just… frustration, edged with something he couldn’t name. . Because you made him want to respond. . He was careful. Always careful. But sometimes, when you tilted your head at him expectantly, when you kept talking like you were waiting for him to say something real, he felt his grip on his self-control slip. . So, he started testing you. Quietly. . A murmured “Stop.” A soft “Sit.” Nothing happened. You kept moving, kept talking. . Maybe he was being too quiet. Maybe he wasn’t using enough cursed energy. He didn’t push it, not yet. . Then, one day, he found out for sure. . You were walking side by side after a mission, phone pressed to your ear, talking nonstop about something stupid. You weren’t even talking to him—just rambling to whoever was on the other end. It was relentless, grating, distracting. . And before he could stop himself, he muttered, “Shut up.” . Nothing. . You kept talking, laughing at whatever the person on the other end had said. Didn’t even pause. . His blood ran cold. . His steps faltered as the realization settled in. He knew he had used cursed energy that time. He had felt it coil around his throat, press against the words as they left his mouth. And yet… nothing. . You were immune. . His hands curled into fists. His breath was shallow, heart hammering in his chest. . This changed everything. . Because for the first time in his life, he could say anything to someone and it wouldn’t matter. He wouldn’t have to hold back, wouldn’t have to weigh every syllable like a loaded gun. . It should have been relieving. . But instead, it terrified him.

. The room was dim, the only light coming from the flickering glow of the TV. The team was crammed onto the couch, limbs overlapping, bodies squeezed together in the limited space. Someone had stolen the blankets, someone else was hogging the popcorn, but no one complained. . Now, a couple days after the mission, you sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Inumaki, his presence warm beside you. He didn’t say anything—he never did—but he didn’t move away either. His eyes stayed locked on the screen, unreadable as ever, but every now and then, his hand would shift just slightly, brushing against yours in the tiniest, most accidental way. . Neither of you acknowledged it. . The movie played on, but you weren’t sure either of you were really watching anymore.