Ghostly | B. Katsuki, K. Eijirou

ghostly | b. katsuki, k. eijirou

characters bakugou katsuki, kirishima eijirou, slight kaminari denki, mentioned shinsou hitoshi, reader prompt you were never one who believed in ghosts, not until you woke up and watched paramedics wheel out your dead body. tags major character death, minor angst, slowburn(ish), pining, no-quirks!au, slight uni!au, aged up characters (everyone is in their twenties) word count 7.6k author's note that's right !! it's ghostly rewritten hehe just like the old ver., there will be a second part to this :) i've also decided to make it a kiribaku fic instead of just kats bc i've hopped onto the kiribaku brainrot train

You were never one for superstitions. Your roommate and friend, Ochaco, was much the opposite. She’d freeze on the spot when a little black cat, a cat that you’re almost positive belongs to your neighbour, walks your path. You’ve seen her cry after accidentally dropping a hand mirror, bawling about bad luck and curses. Stuff like that just sounded implausible, ridiculous even.

To you, everything had a reasonable explanation. Creaky bedroom doors can be blamed on open windows and cool drafts. Sudden chills down the length of your spine are attributed to nothing more than a little anxiety. You never made fun of Ochaco or any of your other superstitious friends, but you couldn’t help but roll your eyes whenever it came up.

In your head, superstitions and ghost stories were nothing more than make-believe tales you would tell misbehaving children to scare them into being good. In your twenty-something years of living, you were sure that nothing could change your mind.

Well — almost nothing.

Almost nothing would have prepared you for that night. Everything had been normal. You fell asleep to the sounds of some Asian drama that Ochaco liked to watch. Sleep had come to you quickly as if you blinked into slumber. When the sun shone, and the birds outside sang, you weren’t sure what was happening.

You weren’t sure why Ochaco was screaming your name, violent sobs racking her body as she fell to her knees in your doorway. You weren’t sure why two strangers, paramedics, had come in with a gurney in hand. You most definitely weren’t sure why you were watching these paramedics yell at each other for tools as they tried to restart your heart. With the invisible hands of shock pressing against your pounding ears, the world faded away with your lifeless body.

You don’t know how long you stood there in the corner of your now-empty room. Aside from tossed blankets and dirty shoeprints on your carpet, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It wasn’t until Ochaco came back in the dead of night that you moved. You came to her and begged for an explanation for her tear-stained cheeks.

You discovered that she couldn’t hear or see you early on. Though nothing could surpass the shock you felt when she seemed to walk straight through you. You thought to yourself that that had been enough of an explanation.

You stayed in your room. You didn’t have the strength to watch over your best friend, and she cried herself to sleep. It didn’t help. You could still hear the sound of her muffled sobs through thin walls.

It didn’t take long for Ochaco to move out. As much as you wanted her to stay, your begs falling on deaf ears, you knew it was for the best. It hurt you to see her fall into a depressive hole, a mere shadow of your bubbly best friend. If staying here with you, even if she didn’t know it, would help her, it became easier to stomach the sight of the moving truck towing her away.

You wanted to say goodbye. To walk her to the door and give her a hug. To tell her, ‘I wish you the best in life,’ since you weren’t offered that grace. When the day came for Ochaco to leave, you realized something bigger. You hovered behind her as she struggled with one last box and stepped out to follow her. Only — in the blink of an eye — the second your foot passed the threshold of the small apartment, you found yourself staring at your bedroom door instead of the outside.

You couldn’t leave.

Next to the living room window, you watched as the moving truck drove away, Ochaco’s face barely visible in the passenger’s seat. A looming dread pulled you deeper into the vacant apartment. You were stuck in the space where you took your last breath. 

You waved goodbye to no one at all.

...

You didn’t know how many days had passed since Ochaco left. Or how long it had been since you’d seen another living being. With her boxes, Ochaco took the puppy calendar from the wall, so you had no idea what day or month it was. The colourful leaves that fell to the dying grass gave you the indication that autumn was coming, a thought that made your stomach churn.

You had died when cherry blossoms bloomed outside your apartment.

Life as a ghost was empty. Of course, it was. With nothing else to do and no one to talk to, you focused on figuring out what limitations you had. After a while, you figure out how to conjure up enough energy to interact with things, even if for a blissful second. The day you were able to open Ochaco’s old door, you were ecstatic. Glee filled your unused heart and lungs with a warmth you hadn’t felt in a long while.

After a while, you get used to the vacancy. It was boring at first, but not so much after what you assumed was a year. Or maybe you just got used to the silence. You found entertainment in the living room window, finding joy in watching passersby. You even found an old magazine coated in dust and mildew under the sink.

You were in the middle of your third reread when you heard the familiar, yet oh-so-unfamiliar, sound of the front door clicking, and it was unlocked. You held your breath unknowingly, holding nothing in your lungs. You watched as your old landlord crept into the foyer. The crinkle of the magazine’s already wrinkled pages garnered her attention, prompting you to let go of it and hurriedly move into the corner of the room.

She didn’t see you, humming as she pushed up her 80s-style glasses. She came up to the kitchen counter, where you had been reading, and furrowed her brows in confusion at the sight. When she took it, a pout pulled at your lips, mumbling something about throwing it in the trash. There goes your only form of entertainment.

You could only watch in intrigue as she bustled around the tiny apartment, sweeping the floors and wiping dust off surfaces that no one but you has touched in a year. Some of you hoped that someone was moving in, but another felt tepid terror creep up the back of your neck. If someone were moving in, you wouldn’t be alone anymore. You couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or not.

Lo and behold, a few days later, the door clicked open again. This time, you stood in the foyer, watching with wide eyes as newcomers bounded into the space as if they owned it. You suppose they do now. There were three of them, one too many for such a cramped space, in your opinion. Something about them seemed familiar, you thought as you inspected them closely.

The first one to come in was tall. Like, very tall. His arms pushed against the confines of his bomber jacket, muscles seemingly aching to be rid of such restrictions. His hair, however, took up most of your attention. Bright ruby red, just like his wandering eyes, and spiked in all directions. If it were anyone else, you might’ve thought them to look stupid. On this man, oddly enough, the bold hairstyle looked good.

The next person to walk through the door was a little shorter than the first, though no less buff. His hair, just like the red one, was tousled. Blond strands stuck up almost at random, spikey and loud. His lips were tugged into a deep scowl as if he were being forced into the apartment. Although you called it cozy, you knew it was pretty fucking tiny, so you couldn’t blame him for the distaste that filled his expression as he gave the foyer a once over.

One more man walked in, all smiles and excitement. He was the shortest of the three, with longer blond hair. His hair was partially dyed, a charcoal lightning bolt sticking out like a sore thumb against his light hair. He pursed his lips as he whistled, dropping his duffle bag on the ground next to his abandoned shoes. “It’s a little small,” he piped as he bounded into the empty space.

You moved away, shivering as he brushed past you.

“But it’s nice, isn’t it, Kiri? I mean, look at that view!” With outstretched arms, he opened the balcony door with sparkling eyes. You stared out with him, eyes quickly growing bored with the sight you’d been forced to look at for god knows how long.

“Not to mention that group of cuties we saw in the lobby. Man — do you think the one with purple hair would agree to go on a date with me?”

The redhead, who you assumed was ‘Kiri,’ rolled his eyes as he kicked off his shoes. The spikey blond one was doing the same behind him. “No,” he smiled, revealing a row of shockingly sharp-looking teeth. “But you can try, dude. You’re right, though,” Kiri grinned as he came closer to the balcony. “Hanta would be downright jealous if he came over. This place is worlds better than his dumpster and at half the price.”

Kiri looked over his shoulder and eyed the grumpy one. “What do you think, Kats? Good enough for ya?”

‘Kats’ looked around, seemingly unimpressed. “Shit looks ancient,” he said, kicking the stove lightly. It groaned at the sudden aggression, only proving his point. You winced, biting your tongue. You and Ochaco had meant to replace that thing years ago, but you never found the spare money to do it between tuition and rent. “But I guess it is real fuckin’ cheap.”

You zoned out as the three of them gathered, talking with the landlord, who had also made an appearance. You stood in the kitchen, watching them curiously. Your eyes drifted over the four of them, the landlord’s back to you, examining their faces closely. When your gaze fell on Kats, who you’ve learned is actually named Katsuki, you gasped quietly. Red eyes bore into you for the briefest moment before he looked away.

Your jaw was left ajar as you stared at him hard. There was no way he could see you. No one had been able to see you thus far, so that little moment had to have been a coincidence. 

Right?

Katsuki didn’t say anything about you, nor did you ever meet his eyes again. You chalked it up to a weird coincidence. You knew it’d be in your throat if your heart could beat.

A week had passed — you counted — when the three boys finally moved in. Katsuki, Eijirou, and Denki, as you learned. You observed as they unpacked and got to know their personalities a bit more in the few moments they stayed in the main living areas. You didn’t dare breach the borders of their rooms, as if they’d catch you if you did. 

The first time Katsuki left his door open for you to peek in, you were shocked. Atop his pristinely clean desk (did he even have anything in the drawers?) was a singular framed photo. It seemed like a graduation photo; the familiar black gowns and gold sashes of Yuuei alumni hung around the necks of each person. You recognized Katsuki, Eijirou, and Denki immediately, but they weren’t the ones that surprised you. There were two more boys in the photo, one of which you knew quite well. Next to Katsuki, who had an arm around his shoulders, was Izuku. Your Izuku, your best friend besides Ochaco.

Your fingers itched to pick up the picture frame and inspect it in better lighting. Perhaps you were imagining things, or maybe the dim light of Katsuki’s room was messing with your vision. You rubbed your eyes once, then twice, but there was no doubt about it. You could hear Katsuki fumbling with his things behind you as you bounded into the room, impelled by the first bit of familiarity you’ve seen since Ochaco left. 

Words died on your tongue as you looked at Izuku’s smiling portrait, unspoken questions lodged deep in your throat. You spun around quickly, wanting to ask useless questions that would fall on deaf ears.

To your surprise, scarlet hues were staring back at you. Unlike before, his gaze was unwavering, looking at you rather than through you. Katsuki’s expression mirrored your own, rounded eyes and dropped jaws as you stared at each other in shock. You stumbled back as if he had punched you straight across the face, phasing through his desk — something you hadn’t done in months.

“You—” he choked out as he watched you appear in and out of his vision. He shut his eyes briefly before peeling them open, just barely catching the sight of you disappearing through the wall.

Appearing in your old bedroom, you held a hand over your heart. Even if it didn’t beat for you anymore, you still felt the nervous tugs at your chest as you gawked at nothing. He saw you. How was that possible? You’ve gone months without being seen, and suddenly you were visible?

As you wracked your brain for possible answers, the thud of a heavy object falling to the floor caught your attention. 

“What the hell…?”

Eijirou’s voice ripped you out of your stupor, his terse voice quickly boggled your mind. A dumbbell sat next to his feet, probably the thing he’d dropped. To your surprise, Eijirou was staring at you with an expression akin to Katsuki’s. You felt the ground spin beneath you as you flickered in and out of Eijirou’s view. Your knees buckled under the stress, and you felt yourself seemingly melting into the carpeted floor. “You…” you stuttered, “you can see me?”

Eijirou’s mouth fell open even wider at the sound of your voice. He turned on the spot and held his palms against his eyes. “I’m losing it,” he mumbled to himself, “truly. Man, I knew I shouldn’t have eaten Sero’s food. That dumbass probably put weed in it, and now I’m seeing people walk through walls. Yeah, that’s it. I’m not crazy. I’m just high.”

You reached out a feeble hand as if to appease his worries, though you were spiralling just as much. Not just one person had seen and talked to you for the first time in over a year, but now two? What’s next, Denki too?

The redhead continued to mutter to himself, eyes wide as his gaze flicked from the ground to you. You opened your mouth to say something, but the slam of Katsuki’s door against the wall interrupted you. It wasn’t long before Katsuki made an appearance in the doorway, a glower in his eyes when they met yours. “You see her too, right?” he presumed, a slight growl to his words as he sneered at you.

Eijirou looked up at his friend before whipping his head back to you, tresses of red falling into his eyes. “Too?!” he repeated. “Dude, are you high too?”

Compelled by the commotion, Denki opened the adjacent door with a frown. “You guys got high without me?” he asked with a pout before his gaze landed on you. “And you have a cute girl over? You guys always do all the fun stuff without me.” You couldn’t move, glued to the floor in astonishment. Denki maneuvered his way around the two and towards you, ignoring Katsuki and Eijirou’s words of caution and disapproval. “Hey, pretty, I’m Kaminari, but you can call me—”

His hand phased through your shoulder, sending him tumbling through you and onto the ground.

There was a pause, the tense air growing thick around your unused lungs.

“What the fuck?!”

Your eyes widened as you hastily moved so Denki wasn’t lying where you stood, feeling the telltale signs of nausea as you moved through him. “Wait! I can explain!” you rushed out, making a noise of terror when Denki’s eyes rolled back and his body went limp. “Oh my god, he passed out,” you gaped. You reached for him, flinching when Katsuki barked at you to stay where you were.

As told, you held your hands against your body tightly, shuffling so you were in the furthest corner of the room. You watched with trembling eyes as Katsuki moved to pick up Denki, willing your mouth to stay closed when he hauled him over his shoulder like a bag of rice. Without breaking a sweat, he locked eyes with you. His stare was intimidating, deep reds boring into your very soul deeper and deeper with every passing second. Behind him, Eijirou placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s go out into the living room, Kats,” he said, almost breathlessly, as his eyes stayed on you. “We can put Denki on the couch and… and figure out what’s happening here.” He swallowed thickly, ignoring your look of gratitude as he made his way out of the room. Katsuki followed, his sock-clad feet hitting the ground. It was almost deafening in the silence of the room.

When you didn’t move, he scowled over his shoulder at you. “Well, ghosty? You coming or what?”

“Yes,” you stammered, quickly urging your legs to move. You kept your distance, pausing a few meters away from Katsuki. His eyes narrowed at you before he clicked his tongue, exiting the room first.

The three of you sat in the living room, waiting for Denki to wake up. Again, you stood in the far corner of the room, though it was clear that they had made room for you on the loveseat. Your lips were sealed, glancing between the three of them guiltily. Eijirou and Katsuki whispered things to each other, the latter sounding much harsher than the prior. You didn’t need perfect hearing to know what Katsuki was saying.

After what felt like eons, Denki came to his senses and awoke with a stir. Eijirou was quick to check up on the blond, asking if he was okay. When Denki hummed, slowly sitting upright, all attention turned to you. You unknowingly flinched, backing up into the corner further.

Eijirou gestured for you to talk while Katsuki crossed his arms as he stared at you, scrutinizing you. You cleared your throat before briefing them on the fact that you were dead and couldn’t leave the apartment no matter how hard you tried. “Please don’t move out because of me,” you frowned, hugging your middle tightly as you tried to make yourself seem smaller in the corner. “I’ll stay out of your way, I promise. I won’t haunt you or whatever, like in the movies. I’m not out to kill anyone either—”

“Oi,” Katsuki’s harsh voice interrupted your rambles. “Dumbass. You lived here before, didn’t ya? You should know that the old hag has residents sign a shitty two-year lease. We can’t leave either, and we aren’t a bunch of pussies to run away with our tails behind our legs just ‘cause someone can walk through walls or some shit.”

In contrast to his words, Denki still looked a little pale.

“Kats is right,” Eijirou injected, offering you the first smile directed to you in a year. “So long as ya don’t haunt us, I’m okay with you being here! Just… uh, warn us? When you’re going to walk through walls and stuff.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Kinda scared the shit out of me personally when you did it earlier.”

Snapping out of his daze, Denki nodded enthusiastically. “I’d never complain about a cutie like you living with us! Ghost or not!”

You were a bit weary at his enthusiasm but nodded in thanks. “I’m sorry. This probably wasn’t what you expected when you moved here. If I could leave, I’d be out of your hair as soon as possible, really.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes, slouching against the back of the couch. He clicked his tongue at you, the ever-present frown on his face remaining steady. “‘S not like you could tell the old hag or anything that you were still here. Stop apologizing and just stay outta the way, got it?”

You bit the inside of your cheek as you nodded.

After that day, you found yourself growing closer to the three. You didn’t have much choice in the predicament; you were practically roommates after all, but you let them come to you first, not wanting to scare them off. You made easy friends with Eijirou after you managed to convince him that you were, in fact, the real deal and not an afterthought from the result of an edible. It took him reaching through you a few times and a couple of waves of nausea, but it got through to him eventually.

Denki was also easier to get close to, eventually warming up to you and growing past his fear. You eventually bonded over his (not so) minor crush on a neighbour a floor above, someone you actually knew.

“No way,” you scoffed in disbelief, an amused grin tugging at your lips as you crossed your arms at Denki. “You like Shinsou? Mr. Eye-bags? Mr. I-haven’t-slept-in-ten-years-and-now-that’s-your-problem?”

Denki’s face had burned redder than Eijirou’s ears as he shushed you as if Shinsou would be able to hear through the walls. You’ve interacted with Shinsou a fair bit since you moved into the apartment building, a result of Ochaco making it a personal mission to befriend everyone in the goddamned building. You knew his type. When you let Denki in on the type of flowers he liked and the music he listened to, Denki tried to hug you. You couldn’t help but laugh at his tossed hair, dumb-faced as he winced away the pain. 

He deemed you the best ‘wingman from another dimension,’ the wordy nickname earning a snort from Katsuki when the blond announced it proudly. On the other hand, Eijirou pouted at getting his spot taken away. “I thought I was your best wingman?” he whined, the kicked-puppy look feeling out of place for a man of his impressive stature.

“‘Course you are! But you’re the best wingman from this dimension,” Denki refuted.

“Yer’ all dumbasses, that’s what.”

Out of the three, Katsuki was difficult. You hadn’t expected any differently, learning very quickly how hard it is to get close to the man. Even as days grew colder and the windows began to frost over, it was clear that Katsuki wasn’t trying to make friends with you. Admittedly, you tried. Seeing him joke around, albeit aggressively, with the others, it was obvious that the hardheaded male was a real softie for his friends beneath all those curse words. But whenever you tried striking up a conversation with him, you’d either get no response, or he’d tell you to ‘shut up and leave him the fuck alone.’

You persisted, though. When he’d get home from university, you’d ask him how his day went, only to get his room door slammed in your face, the lock clicking moments after. It didn’t deter you much, physically anyway, since you could just walk through. However, you respected him enough to leave him be after that, opting to walk away with a pout.

There were days, however, when he was nice to you.

Old Christmas songs vibrated in your throat as you hummed, helping Eijirou and Denki put up lights. Katsuki was in his room, opting out of the festive activities because it was ‘stupid and fuckin’ childish.’ Eijirou’s speaker was propped up against the base of the TV, skipping every now and then with how old the device was.

As you floated higher to the ceiling, a feat you recently discovered you could do due to some curious inquiries Eijirou had, you lined the living room with the glittery gold tinsel with much effort. Interacting with physical objects was still just as tiring.

From below, you heard Denki drawl out a swear. “I forgot to buy gifts,” he whined, clumsily getting off the couch and walking over to where his coat hung in the foyer, digging around the pockets for his wallet. “I’ll be back. I think I saw a scarf I think Shinsou might like…”

Although he rolled his eyes in disbelief, Eijirou got to his feet and sauntered to the blond. “I’ll come with. We ran out of gift wrap, and Mr. Grouch in there didn’t wanna grab some while he was getting groceries,” he huffed, nodding over at Katsuki’s room. He looked over his shoulder at you for a moment, pausing before offering you one of the bright smiles you had grown to love. “We’ll be back. We’re pretty much done anyway. You can leave the lights for us, yeah? You’ve been working hard all day.”

True to his words, you were dead tired — no pun intended. Hanging up all the decorations would’ve tired you when you were still breathing, but mustering up the energy to do it felt like a tonne of bricks on your shoulders. Smiling, you nodded, falling onto the bauble-covered loveseat. “Will do.”

Eijirou laughed quietly at your expression before turning around and leaving with Denki. When you heard the soft click of the door, you turned your attention to the box of lights. You occupied yourself with untangling them — still tiring, but not as bad as hanging them up. As much as you would’ve loved to sleep, the task was out of your reach. While you could feel tired enough to hibernate for a year, you couldn’t fall asleep. Not being able to rest in the arms of slumber was infuriating at first, but you had gotten used to it.

Sucked into the task, you didn’t notice the snow outside falling. In the morning, it had been a light dusting. A thin veil of white covered the ground, enough to tell you that winter had arrived but not enough to raise concern. But now, as the sun set behind clouds of grey and black, it fell to the Earth mercilessly. Raging winds slapped against the old siding of the apartment building. The howls of wind that once had little effect on you made you flinch.

You eyed the blanket of white outside warily, jumping when the windows shook with the vicious gales screaming outside.

“Never thought I’d see a fuckin’ ghost scared of a little wind.”

You jumped. “Katsuki!” you harshly breathed, his sudden presence scaring the shit out of you. “Warn a girl next time, please.” Weakly glaring at him, you moved far away from the window. Small tremors coursed through your body as you willed for them to go away. The last thing you wanted was to look weak in front of Katsuki, the one man who would never let go of the sight of you cowering in fear because of a storm.

He studied your face for a moment longer before scowling. “C’mon, dumbass,” he grumbled, walking away. He reached his bedroom, stilling his hand over the knob as he looked over his shoulder to where you stood. You hadn’t moved. “Are you coming or what?”

Snapping out of your surprised stupor, you dumbly followed, trudging into his room only to jump into him when another round of harsh winds screeched at the apartment. Or rather, you jumped through him. His face turned a little green, waves of nausea seemingly drowning him for a moment before he shook it off. “Careful, dumbass.”

You watched as he grabbed his laptop off of his desk, haphazardly unplugging it before flopping onto his bed, perusing Netflix with a bored expression. Watching you from his peripheral, he clicked his tongue, a habit you noticed he did whenever he was annoyed. “Sit down. It’s fuckin’ creepy when ya just stand there like a ghost.”

“... Katsuki. I am a ghost.”

“Shut the fuck up, you know what I mean.”

Giggling, you made your way over to the edge of the bed, watching over his shoulder as he put on some movie you’ve never heard about. “It’s new,” Katsuki mumbled when he caught your intrigued expression. “Shitty Hair kept going on and on ‘bout how good it is. Something about some rich assholes who have a person living in their basement. Bunch’a dumbasses if you ask me. How can you go years without knowing there’s someone in your fuckin’ house?”

You chuckled at his displeasure but eyed the screen with interest. You hadn’t watched a movie in so long.

…

Eijirou and Denki stood before the bed, flabbergasted at the sight before them. End credits music quietly poured out of Katsuki’s laptop, the dark screen dimly lighting the otherwise pitch-black room. Katsuki was under the blankets, pulled up to his chin as he snored quietly. Eijirou’s eyes trained on his friend’s expression; the usual sneer or irritation that twisted his face wasn’t there. Instead, his features relaxed into neutrality. He smiled at the sight before his gaze fell on you. 

You sat up against the wall, looking up at him with warm cheeks. Katsuki’s hand, the only part of him that left the blanket aside from his head, was placed over yours as if he’d fallen asleep like that.

“You like him,” Denki mumbled after a while, tearing his gaze off of your ‘connected’ hands. “You like Katsuki, don’t you?”

Eijirou’s eyes widened as he nudged Denki, a silent way of telling him to shut up, something you quietly thanked him for. The sound of Katsuki groaning awake stopped the three of you, holding your breath as you all watched him shift under the covers. He simply rolled onto his side, his back facing the room to your relief.

Denki rubbed the back of his neck. “Isn’t that kind of pointless, though? You’re dead, and he’s not. ‘S not like you could get together or anything,” he wondered aloud with a shrug as if he hadn’t just pierced your heart. Eijirou was quick to smack his shoulder lightly, scolding him for being rude, but it was too late. The words had already settled into your head.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, staring at your joined hands before moving off the bed. “It is kind of pointless.” You cleared your throat before offering the boys your best smile. “I’m gonna go on the balcony for a second. It’s… nice to see the snow.” Without much else, you left the room by phasing through the wall, something you hadn’t done since they moved in.

Denki blinked at where you used to sit. “Did I say something wrong?” he asked Eijirou, who pinched the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh.

“Maybe a little,” he sighed, pushing his red locks out of his face. “Don’t wake Kats. I’ll go talk to them.” Denki frowned as he watched the redhead leave the room, a slight shake to his head as his shoulders heaved in a sigh. The blond was left to his thoughts, promptly taking a seat on Katsuki’s desk chair as he mulled over his words.

Your name left Eijirou’s mouth in whispers, his eyes searching for your presence when he made it to the living room. He saw you, barely, sitting on a stool out on the balcony. The awning, thankfully, kept the balcony mostly clear of snow. For a moment, he didn’t dare come closer, holding his breath as if interrupting you was sin itself. His garnet eyes bore into the expanse of your back, your shoulders curving as you tried to make yourself smaller. Your legs were up on the stool, your arms dangling over your knees limply. 

The snow fell around you like gently dancing fairies, twisting and twirling as flakes of white made their way to the ground below. The street lamps barely illuminated the scene, leaving you to bask in the dim lighting. Eijirou swallowed thickly, gently tapping on the sliding door with his knuckles. He waited for you to turn your head before he slid it open.

You watched him with an unsteady gaze as he made himself comfortable beside you, leaning his forearms on the railing and staring outwards into the white abyss. A few snowflakes managed to make their way under the awning, landing on his freckled cheeks and melting just as fast as they’d come. 

Your eyes fell, tracing over his arms. The t-shirt he wore did little to protect him from the cold that you were immune to; raised skin gave away how frigid he was. “You don’t have to stay out here with me,” you all but mumbled as you nustled your nose into your crossed arms. “I know you’re cold.”

Eijirou smiled at you over his shoulder almost bashfully. “It’s a little chilly. Nothing I can’t handle, though, so don’t worry about it,” he chuckled at you, closing his eyes as he relished in the silence of winter. You looked at him passively before averting your gaze, picking at your nails that never seemed to grow.

“I’m sorry about Denki. What he said was out of pocket,” Eijirou whispered, his voice just barely carrying over to you. He stayed leaning over the railing for a moment longer before he settled down beside you, sitting on the balcony floor with his back to the door. When you met his eyes once more, you could see the sincerity floating around in those ruby reds.

You frowned, biting at your lip as you stared at the snow. You missed how his eyes followed the movement. “He’s right, though.” You sighed, nestling yourself further into your arms. “I don’t actually have a crush on Katsuki,” you explained, “the way you guys found us was really just a coincidence. I was more… embarrassed, I guess, to be caught like that. Like we were two awkward teenagers dancing around our feelings.”

Eijirou’s fingers twitched as he resisted the urge to reach out to you, instead nodding in an attempt to get you to continue. When you did, his eyes remained on you as you spoke, hanging onto every utterance. “I felt normal,” you laughed. It was an empty laugh, the supposed amusement in your statement gone. “For a moment, I forgot I was, y’know, dead. It was nice. Really nice. What Denki said wasn’t out of pocket at all. He was just reminding me of the truth.”

Eijirou’s frown deepened, his chest tight as he inched closer to you. “You deserve to feel normal.” He mumbled your name once more, making you look at him. Even sitting on the stool with Eijirou on the floor, he was almost at eye level with you. 

“Maybe. But normal hasn’t been an option for me for a while now.” You offered him a weak smile, but it didn’t meet your eyes like it normally did. If Eijirou noticed the unshed tears that lined your eyes, he didn’t comment on them. “What does it feel like? The snow, I mean.”

At that, Eijirou tilted his head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed before looking up at the night sky, an endless abyss of obsidian lined with white. “I used to hate the snow. Would dread the thought of going outside whenever it stormed like this. Whenever it started snowing, I’d get really miserable. ‘Chaco would have to deal with my mood swings, but we always made it work. Had a lot of movie nights with hot chocolate and stuff,” you drawled on; the memories of your best friend sent a painful pang to your chest.

“But now… I guess I just wish that I didn’t take feeling for granted. I can interact with things, yeah, but I can’t really feel what I touch. I’ve been trying to remember what snow feels like since it started storming.”

You realized you were rambling on and looked at Eijirou bashfully. “Sorry! You can honestly ignore me. It’s a stupid question anyways—”

“It feels like the night after Christmas. When everyone’s opened their gifts, and they’re full of all the good food. The lights are still up, but you know the day has passed. It feels like that night when you’re curled up in your blankets, but you can still feel the cold from outside,” Eijirou’s voice came out quietly, almost shy, as he reached out with his hand. You watched as each snowflake drifted peacefully onto his fingertips before melting away.

“It feels like holding someone’s hand on a cold day or giving them a hug. It’s cold, but something about it makes you feel all warm inside. Kinda like drinking hot chocolate when it’s storming.”

The two of you sat there for a while as his words lingered in the air. Eijirou avoided your stare, the tips of his ears growing bright red — though you weren’t sure if it was from embarrassment or from the cold. You felt your eyes sting as emotions bubbled in your throat, a look of nostalgia painting over your features as you closed your eyes to imagine the scenes he had described.

When you didn’t speak, Eijirou glanced at you from the corner of his eye, mouth opening when he realized there were tears flowing down your cheeks. He uttered your name as gently as the snowflakes that fell around you. You finally opened your eyes, taking a deep breath as you gave him the first genuine smile since you went onto the balcony.

“Thank you,” you murmured, grinning widely despite your tears. “The snow is really beautiful tonight.”

Eijirou let himself smile at the sight of your joy. He nodded, leaning against the glass as he looked out into the storm with you.

“Yeah. It really is.”

...

After that night, not much else changed. Katsuki was none the wiser about what had happened, and you didn’t plan on letting him in on it either. You still got along with Eijirou and Denki, though it was slightly tense between you and the latter for about a day before he crumbled. He came to you with teary eyes, apologizing on his knees for saying something so insensitive. Even when you assured him it was okay, he promised to make it up to you somehow. Eijirou, who was watching the whole thing, had belly laughed at how much grovelling Denki had done.

You tried to remain the same around Katsuki, who apparently didn’t remember anything about holding your hand when Eijirou teased him about it after the whole thing. “His hand just fell there, and you came in at the same time,” you argued weakly when the redhead brought it up. “We weren’t holding hands. We can’t anyway.” You winced at how you spoke. Bitter feelings you had tried to push away had bubbled to the surface. You didn’t miss how Eijirou and Katsuki eyed you curiously at the comment.

“How was school?” you asked for the nth time when Eijirou and Katsuki got home from their first day of classes after the winter break. They shook off the snow from their hair, reminding you of dogs as you laughed quietly at them. “The apartment is so boring without you guys here,” you pouted. “I’m abandoned every day.” To prove your point, you fell dramatically over the armrest of the couch, covering your eyes with the back of your hand.

Eijirou only laughed at your antics, mumbling something about taking a shower as he dumped his bag against the couch. He sent you a toothy grin before disappearing down the hallway. Katsuki, on the other hand, rolled his eyes at you, throwing his bag against the couch as he made his way to his room. You followed behind, waiting for him to answer your question.

“It’s the same thing every time. Dunno’ why you bother asking,” he grumbled. You paused in the doorway, waiting for the slam of the door in your face that awaited you every day. Without fail, he shut the door behind him. You hummed as you rocked on your heels, waiting for the telltale click of his lock.

When a minute of silence passed, you realized he didn’t lock the door.

He didn’t the day after that, the next day, or the next. Realizing the trend, you grinned ear to ear when Katsuki slammed the door in your face. Easily phasing through the old wood, you smiled at the sight of him hunched over his chair, homework for the night laid out neatly. “You want me here!” you exclaimed, pointing at the door. “You didn’t lock it!”

Katsuki only peered at you, the faintest hint of exasperation on his face, before he clicked his damn tongue again. “You’re so fuckin’ slow, ya know that?”

...

Months passed by, with you getting closer to each of the boys. True to his word, Denki made it up to you by serenading you with his electric guitar. Much to your delight, he sang a song you mentioned liking a few weeks prior. Apparently, he had been sneaking off to a certain purple-haired neighbour’s apartment to practice. He treated you like his little sibling, and you were overjoyed with the new development.

Eijirou, ever the gentleman, always ensured he was spending time with you when he wasn’t busy working out or in class. At some point, you even realized that you had taken some of the classes he was struggling with, and it became routine to tutor him through the content. He was vigilant in making sure you never really felt alone in the apartment, always including you in game nights and movie nights. He had even brought home bouquets from time to time after learning that you liked watching them bloom. It reminded you of spring.

To an outsider, your friendship with Katsuki hadn’t developed at all. He was as aloof as ever, still blowing up over tiny things. It was odd to go a day without one of his outbursts. It was more amusing to you than anything, watching the man lose his mind over Denki’s mismatched socks or Eijirou’s hair. But in truth, you got along in silence. He kept his door unlocked and never argued when you’d spend a couple of hours reading one of his novels on his bed as he studied at his desk. He wasn’t even mad when you interrupted his schoolwork to rant about a drama you had been watching.

They were all out, either in class or bustling about town. Birds sang outside the window as you stared at them longingly. The snow had begun to melt earlier that week, and the sounds of children going outside to play started resonating in the air again. 

It was almost your two-year death anniversary. By your request, the boys had pinned a calendar to the living room wall, and you felt odd knowing the date was soon approaching. Almost two years after your death, you found yourself wanting to go out into the world so desperately for the first time in a while. Throughout the winter, you were content. Old habits rang true as you found no issue in holing up inside. But now, as the snow melted away and flowers began to bloom, you really started to miss being alive.

You missed going for walks to clear your head before exams. You missed going to bars with your friends. You missed studying at the cafe downstairs with Ochaco when you both had days off. You even missed having to run for the bus because the driver was too cranky to wait even after seeing you running to the stop.

There was a brief thought, a flicker of uncertainty and festering insecurity that filled you as your eyes landed on the calendar again.

You lived here before, didn’t ya? You should know that the old hag has residents sign a shitty two-year lease.

You wondered if the boys would leave you alone when spring came around once more.

The front door clicked as it swung open, but you paid no heed to whoever entered, staring out the balcony doors. Your silhouette was outlined by the stark brightness outside, from the shining sun and the remaining kisses of snow. You didn’t even look up when you felt the couch dip beside you.

Your name left Eijirou’s lips, prompting you to finally tear your gaze off of the coming spring. When you looked at him, his expression was pulled taut, as if he had been delivered awful news. Your eyes drifted beyond him, at Katsuki, who stood at the foot of the couch with a similar look.

You frowned, worry easing you out of your reverie. “What’s wrong?” you asked, reaching out to hold Eijirou’s cheek as you glanced at the two. Your hand stopped an inch short of its goal. “Did something happen? Are you hurt? Where’s Denki?”

Katsuki halted your slew of questions with a simple statement. “We ran into Round Face today on the way home.”

You blinked.

“Ochaco,” Eijirou corrected, his low voice ringing in your ear. His warm breath fanned across your cheek. “You said she was your old roommate before.” You felt your mouth go dry as you looked into Eijirou’s eyes, silently willing him to continue. “I… We asked her about… how you died.”

You felt the world stop. You tensed, your hands clenching into fists at your sides as you rose from the couch. You backed away subconsciously. “You what?” your voice barely broke a whisper, your lips curling into a frown. You never explicitly told the three about how you died. You didn’t really know how either — you had been too shocked at the time to hear what the professionals had to say when they found your body. There hadn’t been any blood, and your body hadn’t been injured, so you always assumed you had a stroke in your sleep or suffered from an aneurysm.

Katsuki furrowed his brows as he stared at you, focusing on the fuzzy image of your presence and how he could see through you slightly.

“You aren’t dead,” he spoke clearly, a hint of disbelief behind his crude tone. “You’re at the Musutafu Hospital right now, in a coma.”

to: tokyo. love, hyogo.

a/n: first time writing osamu in honor of my smol friend’s birthday ♡ thank you for prying open my colorblind eyes and being my go-to for advice. thank you for being a slandering tag team with me and always indulging me with your story times and going all mafia on mean coop jerks. i appreciate u more than u know and love u lots, aki :D <33

content: angst, fluff

word count: 15k+

[ osamu x reader ]

–––––

The whisper of a memory echoes through your mind when you read the painted sign above the doorway, hand shielding your eyes from the glint of the sun reflecting off the silver handles despite the wide awning and its generous shade above.

Your mind wasn’t tricking you when it caught sight of this name from across the street you rarely frequent; it remains the same name even as you stand directly below now and reread that sign again.

…I’ll meet you in Hyogo.

The same echo.

The same memory.

Keep reading

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Your wedding is a beautiful event.

Everything is arranged just so. Although it’s a small affair, only your own family joining you, it’s a grand event. You suppose that if your father has the money to spend he can do as he pleases. You don’t feel like you’re being held prisoner, or forced, but there isn’t much you have a say in about all of this.

You decide on smaller things. Carefully selecting the flowers that line the ceremony room. The scent of incense floats through the air. Natural, slightly muskier smells complement the florals. The candlelight bathes the room in softer yellow shades. It does little to battle the cold outside, though your heavy layers of cloth do well to warm your skin.

The robe, and accompanying headdress, are made from piles and piles of silk. They are hand-painted with soft pink camellias, outlined with a subtle silver. The pale colors melt perfectly into the rest of the white fabric. Your tsunokakushi accompanies it, made in the same expensive silk. The white stays perfect and pure, though fresh flowers are helping to accent it. The uniform weighs you down and helps to keep you from squirming. Nerves would get to anyone on a day like this.

Your husband is beautiful as everything else.

His raven hair is combed back, bangs brushed out from his face. The color blends in perfectly with the dark kimono. All the black points your focus towards his pale face and crystal blue eyes. They stare forward at the priest and paintings behind the altar.

He is a complete stranger to you.

Though you’ve only met the man once there’s a strange lack of apprehension. The first meeting didn’t even count, not really. It was negotiations and talks of money while you bowed timidly in the corner.

Despite the lack of any sort of acknowledgment you have some admiration for him. Silent and solitary he carries a sense of dignity. Knowing his occupation only makes your heart grows fonder.

The first time you touch him is as you exchange saki cups. His fingers barely brush against yours as the cups get passed over. The tiny touch sends electricity racing up your arm. Eyes softly evade your own piercing look.

Warmth makes its way down your throat with each sip. The alcohol isn’t enough to do anything more than heat your blood, but it’s a welcome feeling. Glancing over at Tomioka you admire his reddened cheeks. The thought of his lips touching the same cup that yours now linger on is embarrassing.

You wonder if the same feelings pass through the man as you drink from the second cup first.

Once more the cycle goes around. Giyuu drinks from the cup, his fingers brush yours, and you linger on the taste of his lips.

As each cup is whisked away you grow more and more nervous. The ceremony rushes by before your eyes. On the table, alongside other offerings, lie your wedding rings. They’re simple woven bands, a subtle golden white.

Giyuu’s mouth opens to recite his vows. His flat and quiet voice is soothing. The words disappear in your mind the moment they’re spoken. You don’t mind that the vows are simple and standard, inspired instead by the music of his tone. He never hesitates as he speaks the pages of words all tucked inside his mind.

The rest of the ceremony holds the same kind of quiet reverence.

Everyone performs their duty exactly as instructed. It passes by quickly without you even noticing. Offerings are brought forward, rings are exchanged. Your head is filled with rushing blood. As you’re shuffled the world around you warps and rushes.

Within a few moments, you have become a married woman.

A thin band sits on your finger. You can hardly remember the hand sliding the ring onto yours. The feeling grows until it nearly bursts your heart open. It’s a combination of joy and apprehension and a million other things that race through your mind.

There is not a single moment for you to rest. Even though there is no celebration afterward, you don’t get time to focus on anything that’s happening. Once you have completed all pieces of tradition, sent offers, and exchanged every bit of your life, you are whisked away to change. The excitement of all the women around leaves no room for a proper conversation. The dress you’re pulled into is simple, less intricate though just as elegant. It’s a softer blue, a strange combination of modern and traditional styles. Finally, you have graduated to shorter sleeves that don’t weigh down your arms quite as much.

Your hair is still done up in an awful complicated mess. Pins don’t quite stab your skull, but they come close. Later tonight you’ll have to spend hours undoing every decoration on your head and skin.

There is little to keep you distracted now. The tender hands of your mother and sisters continue to run over the fabric of your dress. It stands a few inches above the floor, unlike your wedding kimono which had to be carried. There is little they can do now too.

Outside the engine of a car roars to life. Your father should have loaded most of your luggage by now. Most of it is frivolous material possessions, clothes, trinkets, and anything else deemed important enough to carry into your next life.

Your husband is already seated. He does not glance at you as you exit your home.

The goodbyes are short. Your family already spent much of last night saying everything that could be said. There’s little to do now except hug and be sent off.

You climb into the seat beside Tomioka. He does not greet you. Hesitance floods through you for a moment, but in the end, you make no effort either. His silence is unsurprising.

In fact, the ride home is silent, as equally expected. A thousand questions are racing through your mind. Despite the excitement buzzing underneath your skin your lips stay sealed shut.

Holding your hands in your lap you force yourself to gaze out the window. It’s not your first time inside an automobile, but you find it fascinating how fast the scenery moves by.

Tomioka does not hold the same kind of interest. His eyes burn holes into the headrest in front of him. The stiffness he sits with is nearly funny. The man’s spine is perfectly straight, hands folded in front of him. If he notices your eyes occasionally flicker over to trace his face, he doesn’t say anything about it.

The driver in the front remains quiet too. He’s some friend of a friend of your father’s. Which makes him a complete stranger to you. You’re still glad for the company. You haven’t been alone with a man, only boys when you were small enough to not understand the importance of anything.

It occurs to you that you’ll have to get used to it. There’s a myriad of new experiences that you’ll face within such a short period of time. You don’t know whether to be excited or terrified.

—-

The car ride passes much too quickly. Although Tomioka’s estate is a good ways away from your smaller town, the car travels over the terrain with ease. Even as you pass through rural areas and up the large winding path to his home the machine never stutters in its ascent.

Just before you disappear into the small grove of trees, you pass a small town. Several of the residents look up into the car as you go by. One small child waves to you. Though you can’t particularly focus on anything, you try to map out the businesses and homes you see. Within the blink of an eye, you’re carried into the forest, eyes shielded from the town.

The last stretch of the journey is as grand as the house itself. A long pathway leads up to the gate, lined with stones and tall skinny trees. As you grow closer the flora only grows more spectacular. Bamboo begins to rise to accompany the rest of the scenery. It shoots up and stretches backward until you can’t see where it ends.

The gate hangs open, showing off a glimpse of the estate. It’s several floors tall, balconies coming off the side. The building leads perfectly into the stone garden, intertwined with a small river. Everything is grand and perfectly groomed. It looks like something out of a photograph rather than somewhere a human could live.

The car stops just beyond the front door. You remain immobile even as the engine shuts off. Without the rumbling of the automobile, it is completely silent. It’s engulfing. Every rustle of your clothes and shift against the seats is loud.

“I can take your bags inside.” It’s the first thing Giyuu has said to you, directly to you, all day.

Your lips grow suddenly dry. No response can be mustered other than a quick nod of your head. Internally you curse yourself.

Leaping down from the car you feel the stones move beneath your feet. With only a small second of delay, you make your way to the entrance.

The door would slide open easily. Your hands rest against the thick wood. Looking back Giyuu is still unloading your luggage from the trunk. Despite the size and volume of the bags, he manages to balance everything within his arms. Hoping to be at least somewhat helpful you decide to slide the door open.

Holding yourself off to the side you let the man pass you. His eyes still don’t stray even close to your face. Looking straight ahead he slows his pace slightly, just until you perk up and follow behind him.

Giyuu is still dressed in the dark and elegant groom’s kimono. The wide legs and arms obscure his true figure. You had seen a glimpse of it during your first meeting, less hidden underneath the form-fitting demon slayer’s uniform. His broad shoulders stretched the sleeves of the shirt, visible even below his unique haori.

Suddenly it occurs to you what most couples do on their wedding night. Almost dizzy you brush the thought from your mind. The idea of his muscular body is as enticing as it is terrifying. Those kinds of ideas should be saved for when you’re absolutely alone and can’t be caught in your shame.

Tomioka opens the door to (presumably) your bedroom with such force that you nearly scamper backward. If he was surprised by the clanging of the door he shows no visible reaction.

Looking around the space it’s… empty.

There’s a bed in the corner, covered in plain gray sheets. It’s accompanied by an equally boring nightstand and matching dresser made from dark wood. They’re perfectly square with perfectly round handles.

Everything is completely devoid of personality. You had noticed the blank hallways only accented with an occasional floral arrangement but assumed such a personal place would not carry the same stale feeling. This looks like the kind of place only a psychopath could live.

“This’ll be your room. It’s rather empty now, but you’re free to do what you’d like with the space.”

Again you can only nod.

He only stays for a mere moment to stack your luggage neatly in the corner. Without a word of goodbye, he disappears around the corner. The man only acknowledges you with a dip of his head. You have the feeling that this time you aren’t meant to follow him. You close the door slowly, silently, as he makes his exit.

Down the hallway, you hear another door open and shut. It feels like the period at the end of a sentence. The action effectively marks the end of your wedding day. The large window in the center of his room shows you the dark moon rising.

Though the thick layers of makeup on your face feel like they're melting and the kimono you wear is slightly too tight, you make no action to undo anything. You move carefully, making your way to the bed instead.

It’s almost frigid when you sit on it. The mattress is stiff beneath you, a clear lack of use. There’s a nightstand to your right. The drawers you check are all empty. When you move off the bed, it’s chill clinging to you, you check the dresser drawers as well. Those are empty too, it’s clear the place has not belonged to anyone else.

Following the outline of the your bedroom you find nothing other than plain white walls and dark trim. There’s a door that connects to a bathroom. In theory, it’s as grand as your bedroom, in the fact that it’s wide and spacious. The tub is large enough for a few people, sunken into the floor, and surrounded by stone. Snooping around the cabinets you find basic amenities and not much else.

As you fiddle with the faucet it sputters before spewing forth scalding water. You’re hand turns an angry red for a minute until the temperature shifts to something bearable. Watching water cover the pebbled bottom you sigh and turn back to your room.

Opening your luggage you sort through the piles of clothes until you find a soft cotton robe. You unbutton your dress slowly. In some way, you wish you could’ve been putting on a show for someone. Underneath your kimono, you wear a sinful chiffon slip. It’s hidden below several other layers of fabric, that you slowly reveal with no one to see.

The light pink fabric casts a light shadow over your breasts. Along the edges, it’s patterned with frills and ribbons. The slip was one last gift from your mother, opened only in the privacy of your own room. Stripped down almost bare you can feel the air tickle your skin.

Making your way back to the bathroom you remain in the gentle slip. As water crashes down to continually fill the tub, steam rises to warm your chilly skin. Though the small set is beautiful, it does little to keep heat in.

The only other article of clothing remaining is your thin socks. Slipping them off you test the water again, perfectly heated. Soon after the translucent slip disappears too. You’ll banish it to the back of your drawers soon after, no reason to try it on again.

Sinking into the tub you rub at your face first. White and red and pink mix with the water. As heat and steam engulf you, you keep rubbing until your skin feels raw. You pull pins from your hair after you’ve effectively taken off a few layers of skin from your face. They scrape over the fragile top of your head, hair coming undone in tendrils. There’s an awful throbbing behind your temples, blood rushing to the tender spots on your scalp. You can hardly touch the area without wincing in pain. It’s hard to decide whether putting on the ensemble or taking it off was more painful.

You soak until the water is barely warm and your fingers are wrinkled. The soft floral scents of whatever soap was under the cabinet have soothed you somewhat. Tears, from physical pain or emotional, have fed the bath and let its line grow up to your chin. It weighs down heavily on your chest until you push yourself out from the water and take a clean breath.

The shock of cool air is awful on your way out. It strips you of everything again, shivering as you stalk back to your luggage.

You pull on a heavier robe, something to protect your wet and naked body It’s mostly plain, only accented with patterned edges. You had a softer and prettier one right on top of everything. Seeing as you’ll be bedding alone tonight you choose what’s more comfortable. You haven’t heard a single noise from anyone since you were essentially dumped into your room.

The bed is still cold. It’s a Western-style frame, lifted up from the ground and leaving you aloft. Springs seem to pierce into you from below.

As you drag yourself into bed alone you finally feel something familiar. It creeps in during the quiet night when everything is perfectly still. You’re not quite alert, but nowhere near sleep either. No matter how much you try, your eyes can’t close. They stare across the bed towards the wall, an empty side waiting to be filled.

Lying on your side it squeezes wetness from your eye. It’s not tears, but feeling the water trace your cheeks, inspires real sadness in their wake. Stubborn, you refuse to curl up into the sorrow. With a stone face, you let the pillow soak up the tears. They haven’t dried by the time you finally fall asleep.

—-

In the morning you feel no grogginess. There are no clocks within the room, but the outside window tells you that it’s later in the day. You move quicker than last night, putting on a much simpler kimono, barely messing with your hair. You still bother with makeup, making sure you look at least somewhat proper.

It’s quiet as you peer out into the hallway. With no lights on it’s painted in a dusty blue hue. There’s only a sliver of light coming from the window, which fails to illuminate the edges of the walls. There’s a light switch towards the end of the wall, which you creep out to flip on.

The hum of electricity sparks to life a row of lights. They produce a warm golden glow that inspires you to wake up further. Looking down the hall you assume one of the doors towards the end belongs to Tomioka’s room. All the spaces look the same.

Turning away you trace your way back through the route Giyuu had taken you down the way before. As you walk nearly silently you keep your ears out for the sound of another human.

Yesterday’s tour, if it could be called that, only covered the most basic of rooms. Dragging your hand against the wall you trace your way to the kitchen.

Going through the cabinets you find a pitiful amount of food. It’s mostly dried materials, beans, and rice, alongside a few fresh vegetables that already look slightly wilted. The sight isn’t completely unappetizing on its own, but coupled with the empty feeling in your stomach you wish you had something already done. You start some oats right away and chew some dry carrots in the meantime. They do nothing to fill you.

Almost immediately you’re already visualizing a list of things to buy. More veggies, fresh fruit, and probably a treat or two to try and satisfy your insatiable sweet tooth. Thinking about food only serves to make you hungrier, for now, you try and distract yourself with thoughts of anything else.

Listening quietly you hear nothing besides the sizzling of the porridge. There’s no creaking of wood down the hall. As hard as you try you can’t sense the presence of any other person. The idea that Giyuu has already left the house seems unlikely, but it also seems that you don’t know much about his habits at all.

Still, the silence remains throughout breakfast. The porridge is bland despite the brown sugar and cinnamon you’ve mixed in. Fresh fruit is definitely at the top of your list. The paste moves down your throat at a slow pace.

You barely finish a few bites of the meal before brushing it off to the side. Your stomach is still empty, but you can’t bring yourself to eat anymore. Though you should force yourself to eat more, something substantial, you can barely push the food around in the bowl.

Instead, you stumble around the house trying to find anything. Each room is blank and empty, and that’s without even traveling upstairs. It’s not anything different than what you saw yesterday, white walls and dark wood and nothing else.

You don’t bother with looking around more, expecting to find most of the same. Instead, you wander back toward the direction of your room. There’s not much waiting for you there, but you can at least busy yourself with unpacking.

You find a note stuck to the door when you make your way toward it. If it was there before you must’ve missed it.

‘Gone on a mission, will be back.’

And you suppose that’s that.

—-

He’s gone for long stretches of time. Though nothing is ever explained to you, some things become clear through observation. A paycheck comes every few days, you assume whenever he’s finished slaying whatever creature he’s been sent after. Tomioka arrives home only once a month at most, usually after long stretches of silence. If you’re lucky his crow will be sent ahead to announce his presence.

The bird ends up being a better companion than his owner in many ways. The crow, Kanzaburou, is old. He’s senile in the way an old man is, sweet and a bit air-headed. In many ways, he has more personality than your husband.

None of that changes the fact that you spend most days alone. Every single one since the first seem both eternal and yet much too quick. With little to keep you busy once things are put into place, you feel as if you’re going insane. Cleaning only takes up so much time, and there is little you can dirty on your own. The two or so dishes you use in a day take a week to fill up the sink. There’s no point in changing, not most days, but even then your laundry doesn’t fill up often. Sometimes you purposefully spill something just to have an actual purpose to your scrubbing.

Nothing changes when Giyuu comes home, not the first time or second or third. He hides inside his room. The only sign he even exists is the food that disappears from the freezer and cabinets. You always make extra meals, things with real substance, and those disappear too. Whether he actually enjoys your cooking is a complete mystery.

At first, you try to remain in common areas, with the small hope that he’ll stumble across you. You save most of your cleaning for the time he is home, simply for appearing useful. Standing outside to hang up sheets or sitting in the living room to rearrange the florals could entice him out.

Within the first few months, you give up.

If Giyuu does ever stumble upon you he’s quick to mumble an excuse and exit. Every time you feel scorned and scolded, despite the man’s gentle nature. You resign to hiding within your room. Despite your attempts to bring some color into the area it still feels rather depressing in there.

For a long time, you coexist in that quiet sort of way. You hate it more than if he just admitted to despising you, or didn’t come home at all. It’s the barest hope that something will change, keeping you strung along and nearly begging that he’ll even talk to you one day.

Not even the small town can comfort your lonely soul. Most of the typical shop owners and citizens seem wary of your presence. They conduct business and make small talk, but do almost nothing else. Your shyness engulfs you before you can even consider reaching out for company.

The weeks pass in a bit of a blur. The only contact you get is from Giyuu’s crow. He comes unpredictably, and yet somehow remains a single constant within your life besides the loneliness. You look forward to the sound of his slightly too screechy calls more than you do the paycheck he brings.

Most of the money stays put anyways. It’s more than you could ever know what to do with. Even after spending an extravagant amount, you have piles of it left. The things you do spend it on go towards brightening up your home. Collecting anything that captures your eye has become a common practice. Tapestries and paintings and all kinds of knickknacks cover the walls of your home. You buy things in bright colors to contrast the pale walls and dark ceilings. Your room is the worst case of this, crammed completely full of anything remotely beautiful.

If Tomioka dislikes the changes he again says nothing. If you hadn’t heard him speak wedding vows you’d be convinced the man was mute. Almost nothing else gives away his emotions either. No longer above spying, you try to peek and see any sort of twitch in his features. On occasion, he’ll pause his trek down the hallway and gaze at a new addition to the area. Despite this, you can’t tell if his blank eyes express any kind of adoration or distaste.

Your mental state is much more apparent. Tears become a common companion. They creep up suddenly when you’re cooking or leaving the town or just trying to sleep. It’s annoying more than anything. You’re already painfully aware of the fact that you’re not particularly happy. A reminder does nothing for you.

It gets worse when Giyuu is home. You can’t help the way your sobs increase in volume when his shadow moves over your door. Sometimes you swear he lingers there.

After that, you try to rebel, or at least do something interesting enough to spice up your days. Sometimes you’ll buy hideous decor, clashing curtains that sit in the living room, or twisted vases. You even start venturing into Giyuu’s room.

It’s the one place you haven’t entered. As you push the door open you’re surprised by how crowded the room is. The walls are still relatively blank, but they don’t feel empty. There’s a desk in the corner, it’s covered in papers that you at least have the sense to let be. On the opposite side of the room sits a bookshelf, though the stories that lie in there seem almost random. There’s an assortment of genres, action and romance and tragedies, and an assortment of styles. There are a few books even written in English, alongside one in what you think is Mandarin, though that one looks untouched. Occasionally you’ll steal one for a night or two. Most of the stories are in good condition. When you stumble across a dog-eared page or wrinkled edge you’re pleased by the touch of humanity. Still, when you tear through each book you’re left much in the same position by the end.

His closet is full of mostly extra uniforms. There are a few casual clothes, mostly in dark blues. He seems partial to the color, though the haori he wears constantly is a shocking red. In the corner, his groom's outfit has been carefully folded and stored. You suppose there’s no reason he’d need to hang it, having fulfilled its use.

There’s not much else there. Tomioka uses a futon, that sits folded up in the corner. Your room came with a Western-style bed, and you don’t care enough to push it out somewhere and replace it. His is a simple black, with no pattern other than the small grid made from the stitches.

One night you sleep on it. The mattress in your room is slightly too soft, you prefer the firm feel of sleeping over tatami flooring. With your face surrounded by fabric, you catch the scent woven within it. It’s musky and a little salty but in a pleasant way. The smell is outdoorsy, not dirty, but rather a natural tone. Underneath all of that is the scent of wisteria. All of it wound together is rather pleasant. You feel slightly less alone, being surrounded by the warm fabric that’s different enough to be new without sacrificing the comfort of its familiarity.

It becomes a habit.

You creep into his room once a week or so to cuddle in the space. Often you enter with some excuse, to dust his shelves or pick out a new book or leave any trace of your presence. Shambling around for a bit and doing much of nothing you wait until the sun rests on the horizon.

Once you notice, you pull out the futon. It doesn’t carry the same scent the third or fourth time you tuck into the sheets, but it’s still warmer than your bed. You stick your face into the pillows to try and let the smell linger.

You’re terrified of him coming home to you sleeping in that bed. It’s not the thought of him getting angry, but the embarrassment of it all. You feel like a child sneaking into her mother’s room rather than a proper wife. The feeling is mostly constant, only ebbing away as you sleep.

—-

You’re surprised that life can be this stagnant. Wallowing in your sorrow doesn’t do much other than dig a deeper hole.

There is some quiet joy to be found. Beyond the house, there are calm gardens. When the sun is out and the wind isn’t strong you find more comfort outside than trapped within the walls.

Living so far away from everything has one advantage. Not only do you have acres of sprawling forest to explore, but it tends to attract all kinds of wildlife. The chatter of birds sounds human enough to keep you company. If you’re lucky they’ll come so close you can feel the beat of their wings.

As the weather slowly gets warmer your mood lifts as well. You turn your thoughts away from your husband's absence, the loneliness slowly easing its touch on you. There are still sudden pangs of regret when you get a coin bag with no letter, or the sound of his footsteps passing you, but the days without him aren’t so unbearable.

The habit of you sleeping in his bed isn’t broken, if anything you start to spend nearly every night there. There’s a certain pattern to when he comes home, usually a week or so after his crow gifts you his paycheck. It’s a gamble if he’ll return or simply be set off on another mission, but either way, you learn to hide away in your own room.

You’re careful to leave his room mostly alone. Though you dust the few shelves and scrub the floors you strive to make your presence there unnoticed. It appears to be working, but again you’re mostly left in the dark about his thoughts.

The town remains just as wary, though more used to your presence. A few of the shopkeepers who you visit often enough smile as you sort through the wares.

Routine builds a softer kind of comfort, one that doesn’t brush away any of the other sorrows, but mutes the noise of them somewhat.

—-

And just as you settle an abrupt change knocks you off your feet. Tomioka coming home isn’t a particularly new development. You’re in the middle of preparing dinner, barely looking over as he passes by the doorway. You don’t even move until he’s out of sight, moving to peek at his back beyond the door.

As you approach you notice the spattering of blood sinking into the tatami. Looking upwards you notice his shamble of a walk. His uniform is missing a sleeve, arm wrapped sloppily with bandages. Blood has soaked through as it's slipping down his hand, leaving a trail behind.

If he hears your loud gasp he doesn’t signify it in any way. Instead, the man wanders towards his room while you retreat back into the kitchen. You stare at the pot of curry sizzling over the stove. You can’t focus on the food, although the smell of it is incredibly enticing. With shaky hands you attempt to stir the meal, even raising a spoon to taste it. You hope the spice will entice you more and attract your attention, but the combination of meat and curry powder is a beautiful deep red color that looks a little too much like blood.

Eventually, you have to force yourself away, your stomach twisting in knots. Still striving to be useful, even after months of being ignored, you instead fill a bowl with cold water and grab some washcloths. You move far too slowly, held back by hesitance. There’s a clear line of red that points you toward his room. It pulls you forward slowly. In the back of your mind, you mourn the freshly cleaned flooring.

Without knocking, slight fear in the response you’ll get, you nudge the door to the side. Barely peeking through you spot him laying in the corner of the room. He hasn’t unfolded the futon, rather leaning against the block of fabric.

As you move in slowly his eyes flicker toward you. Even from his far position in the corner, you can hear his labored breathing. Holding back a whimper at the sight of blood you approach the man more like you would a wounded animal.

Absolute silence engulfs the room, even as you sit beside him. You’re worried that you won’t be able to speak at all, throat sealed shut from misuse. Words bubble up until they finally loosen the cement keeping your lips closed.

“Can I help?”

The words are deviously simple, quiet, and barely audible. Despite the dry whisper that struggles out from out, the noise seems to take over everything else. The only other thing you hear is your heartbeat within your ears.

Giyuu seems to consider your question earnestly. As he shifts you can see the way his brows knit together, drawing closer whenever his arms shifts. “I admit that bandaging the wound was much more difficult with only one hand.” It’s not exactly a direct answer, but the way his body relaxes slightly seems to indicate a yes.

You still move a little too slowly. Watching the ground you’re careful to not let the water spill, while also trying to stop yourself from staring too hard at the crimson staining. Your sleeves are already pulled back, hands dipping into the bowl of water to grab the towel within it.

The warmth calms your nerves only slightly. It emboldens you to find the edge of the bandages and unwind. You’re surprisingly unbothered by the sight underneath, a mass of blood and flesh that is mostly unrecognizable.

The wounds are long stripes that wind down his arm. They don’t seem to be particularly deep, or even wide, but there’s a myriad of them stretching down the limb. Some of the smallest ones have already clotted. The largest are still spewing out red.

“You should get stitches for these.” It’s amazing that he even walked home in this condition. You’re not very aware of the inner workings of the demon slayer corps. Some knowledge was granted to you by your father, other things overheard in conversation. At the very least you know that they are prepared to treat injuries.

Despite your light chastisement (which receives no response) you still pull the soft cloth from the water. Fresh blood oozes out as you rub away the dirt and slightly crusted scabs. The sight gets worse to look at when it’s not hidden behind gauze.

There’s absolute silence taking over again. You’re too nervous to look up and possibly meet his eyes, instead focusing solely on his arm. Though you’re no professional you manage to wipe off most of the blood. It’s slowed down to a weak dribble, that stops when you put a slight amount of pressure on it.

You’ve piled the old bandages off to the side. They don’t look very old, but considering the state they’re in, you’re not very inclined to reuse them.

“There’s more in the bathroom.” Tomioka gestures off to the side. “2nd cabinet below the sink.”

You trot off with your head low. It's tempting to snoop, already having indulged in the bad habit plenty. Brushing the thought away, you dig through the medical supplies until you can find the roll of bandage.

He hasn’t moved a single inch in the quick minutes you’ve been gone. Tomioka’s eyes again look anywhere that isn’t where you are. Even as you hold his arm and feel the warmth of blood rushing through it, he acts more like a doll than anything.

You work slowly. Though you don’t have much experience, wrapping the gauze around his arm isn’t too difficult. At the very least it’s leagues better than the sloppy job he did himself.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Internally you’re begging for a reason to linger. His skin is still hot against your fingers. The pale skin is deceptive, giving him a cool appearance. Your eyes are tracing his hands, imagining them pressed against your own.

As your sight flickers towards his other side, you notice the fabric balled up in his fist. It’s the two-toned haori you normally see the man wearing. You hadn’t noticed its absence earlier.

He still hasn’t answered. You dare to prompt him a second time. “Or I could clean that for you.” You’re surprised that the man chooses this moment to look directly at you. For once you can read the emotion on his face, see the surprise in his blue eyes.

“It’s fine.” His voice sounds a little dry. “I’m sure the fabric is ruined.”

It’s easy to keep talking, now that you’ve dared to open your lips. “Oh, I’m sure I can fix it! If it’s blood you’re worried about then that’s no problem.” The tone you chose is perhaps too cheerful, but you feel a bit excited and the prospect of being truly helpful.

Tomioka’s fist loosens slightly. “I’m sure it’ll be a struggle, but there’s not much that could make it worst at least.” He’s not very encouraging, which you try to not let dampen your mood.

As you pull it from his grasp you can already tell the fabric is in tatters. The soft maroon sleeve has turned into strings of fabric dyed burgundy from blood. Some parts are crusted together, other pieces are barely attached by a thread. You certainly have your work cut out for you.

With one last smile, you carefully fold the haori and leave his room.

—-

You still can’t tell if you like the change or not. Tomioka still seems set on seeing you as little as possible. You bring him dinner and on occasion rewrap his bandages, but other than that he likes to hole up in his room.

His haori keeps you busy most of the time. It takes 3 washes just to get the blood out, carefully peeling the red free from the thin threads. As you wash you ultimately decide to chop off some of the strings that barely cling on. Anything thinner than the width of your finger gets discarded, a pile to find its place somewhere else.

Weaving the salvageable pieces back together is a near-impossible task. Trying your best to make the seams invisible you carefully line up each thread. Staring so intensely at the woven pattern makes your eyes water. It’s hard work to make sure the needle punctures exactly where it needs to so the flow remains. Several times you puncture the skin on your fingers. It’s never deep enough to pull blood out, but it turns your skin a bright throbbing red.

Even with the careful work only about a fourth of the sleeve can be salvaged. It’s a pitiful sight, strings hanging from the short shoulder. Days of work and sore thumbs have amounted to only a few inches of fabric.

You try to color-match the piece so you can fix the rest. It’s a difficult color, softened with years of use and age. Even when you bring the hoari along with you all the colors you find are too bright.

It’s twice as expensive to get something custom dyed, but you don’t have the expertise to do it yourself. You certainly have the money for it, coins and bills shoved away in the back of your drawers. Though the order adds a few weeks to your small project, you can’t settle for anything less than perfect.

Tomioka says nothing about the piece. He spots you once scrubbing away the blood outside. At that moment he stays for a few short seconds, watching your hands work. They’re dry from the rough cleaning chemicals and wrinkled from the soapy water.

—-

Just as your hands stop twitching and aching the replacement fabric arrives. Tomioka leaves sometime while you’re waiting for the package. The briefest contact keeps your heart light, even as the solitude creeps back in. There’s an actual purpose to your actions now, something to take up hours of your time.

The few short yards of burgundy fabric that arrive are still slightly too bright. It’s the shine of new cloth that differentiates it from the well-worn pieces. Regardless you go through the same tedious act of lining up the woven fabric and sewing it together.

There’s a thin line that marks the transition. Once you step a few feet away it’s harder to mark where the difference begins. The work is good, but you can only scrutinize it with the patterns burned into your eyes.

Several mistakes are clear over the rest of the fabric. They’re not your own doing, more likely Giyuu’s attempts to fix earlier tears. It’s cute to see the fumbles stitches, done in a hideous dark black. In most places, it stands out clearly from the pattern, even more so with the blank side.

You decide to fix those pieces, using a gentle green or maroon when appropriate. Though the seam holding the two pieces together makes you cringe, you don’t touch the threads. It’s uneven, both in length of the stitches and space between them. The other “fixes” were clumsy too, but the lines here seem childish almost. You’re sure that the pieces of Giyuu’s haori were bound together by the man himself.

As tempting as it is to make the piece look brand new, there’s history in its torn edges and paling fabric. You wonder if he’d tell you the story behind it.

Probably not.

—-

You haven’t entered Tomioka’s room in quite some time. After he was home for a few short weeks you grew too embarrassed about the actions. In your arms, you carry his carefully folded haori. After giving it one last wash you have no more reason to mess with it. If anything, picking at your work will just ruin it.

Ultimately you let it rest atop his desk. You think for a moment about hanging it up in the closet, but it feels too embarrassing to let him know about your snooping, even inadvertently.

Back inside the room, warmed from the sun and painted in a low gold, you’re tempted to wrap yourself up in his futon again.

For some time you repeat your old routine. After over a month without indulging yourself in old ways, the process comes a little unnaturally. You dust his shelves, fingers dancing over his array of trinkets. They seem almost random, stuffed dolls and broken pieces of painted wood. You’re extremely careful as you move them to clean.

It’s hard to keep yourself busy as you did before. You entered his room earlier in the day, not expecting to be tempted again by the lull of sleeping enveloped in traces of your husband’s warmth.

Still, as you manage to keep yourself busy the sun slowly drifts downwards. It’s on the opposite side of the window, but you can see the moon rise in turn. Though the sky isn’t particularly dark, your quick to pull out the futon.

Before you tuck yourself fully into bed you draw another book from his small shelves. For a few hours, you’ll be able to keep yourself busy with stories. Once it gets truly dark you can simply slide under the sheets and fall asleep.

—-

Beyond the edges of your consciousness, there’s movement that grows steadily louder as it urges you to wake. Eyes open slowly, useless in the dark. Instead, you wave a hand in front of yourself, which is also mostly useless.

It takes a moment for you to adjust to the dim room. As your pupils dilate there’s a sudden figure standing on the edge of the futon. With your position on the floor, he towers over you, face invisible still.

Thinking through the sleep you let your hand sweep over the floor. It bumps into the man’s ankles, forcing you to pull back.

A startled gasp leaves your lips as you move further into consciousness. You don’t scream, but you’re immediately on edge. Panicking, you mostly flail around for a bit until you realize it’s Tomioka standing before you. He’s tilted his face down to stare at you, letting you recognize him even within the darkness.

Instead of the tired fear you felt before, you’re mostly filled with shame. It’s the worst amalgamation of all your fears, caught cuddled up in his sheets.

For a moment you’re unsure of how to proceed. You’re mostly frozen for now, clutching his blankets against your chest.

“S-sorry!” The word comes out quietly, muffled by the lingering sleep in your head. It’s hard to think, brain muddled by all sorts of different things. If Giyuu would speak for once it’d let you put your thoughts in order.

You don’t know why he’s still staring at you. It’s hard to find his eyes, clouded by darkness. The dim lighting masks any emotion you could hope to find on his face.

As the adrenaline leaves your body you’re left feeling tired again. Rubbing your eyes, it seemingly prompts him to move again. The situation had somewhat halted in the pauses between your words.

“I’ll leave.” There’s a certain air to his voice, not angry, but certainly not welcoming either. You’re still not fully awake, a glance towards the window tells you that it’s too early to be awake. There’s possibly a shimmer of pale blue that signals the sun's arrival, but it won’t develop into an actual light until much later. It explains the bleariness in your eyes.

You look like a ghost as you sit up, fabric wrapping around your form. Hair hangs over your head, reaching downwards.

Halting his actions you mumble a combination of words that doesn’t really make sense. There’s a “wait” buried somewhere in there, which is what makes the man pause. You have nothing to follow the sentence up with, still trying to figure out exactly what’s going on.

You’re still shocked by embarrassment. Giyuu has finally stumbled upon you hiding in his bed. The habit was bound to get you caught eventually, so of course it happens right as you start up the trend again.

The room is filled with silence as you try to jumpstart your brain. “I’m uh-“ You pause again. Averting your eyes you find the words again. “I’m the one who’s intruding. I shouldn’t have…” Trailing off you stare at the ground again.

Your chest fills up with something akin to shame. It’s slightly less painful than before, but as your hands hold your face you can feel the blood rushing to your cheeks.

He completely ignores your blubbering. “You fixed my haori.” The sudden topic change catches you off guard. It brings your eyes back to him, despite the fact that your heart is still racing.

Furrowing your brows you nod. “I said I would.”

“It was ruined.”

Your brain is working very hard. “It was hard, but I didn’t mind the work. I don’t think that excuses me being so intrusive.”

“Thank you.” His voice is hoarse, barely audible. You can see that he holds the cloak in

his hands. They grip the fabric so tightly you’re worried it might rip again. The show of emotion renders you silent.

As the room settles back down you shuffle your robes around you and move to stand up. “I can um-“ You lick your lips. At a constant loss for words, you vaguely gesture toward the door.

Tomioka moves back to the conversation at hand. Though his fingers continue to skate over the fabric his eyes turn back to you. “You can stay where you like, the house is as much yours as it is mine.”

That really isn’t true at all. Tomioka pays for everything, in money and blood. Your only contribution is decorating and occasionally throwing a fit in one of the rooms.

“I didn’t think you’d want me here. I should’ve asked but I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me either.” The truth slips through your lips easily. You can’t quite look him in the eye, but you don’t hide from his gaze either. Stepping self-consciously off the futon you shiver at the cold wood against the soles of your feet.

When you steal a glance at the man you’re surprised at the confused look on his face. Giyuu’s mouth is pulled into a slight pout, head tilted. It’s an attractive look, a distracted part of you points out. It’s times like this that you don’t mind being married to him.

Shaking off the thoughts you open your mouth again. “You gave me my own room, so I guessed that you wanted me there.” You dig your nails into your palms. “And you didn’t talk to me after or anything.” Remembering the feeling makes your heart squeeze. Tears well up in the corner of your eyes.

“I thought you hated me.” He admits it so simply. There’s no regret in his voice about the sentiment. The thought forces a whimper from your throat.

“What?” Your voice is wobbly.

Carefully the man sinks to his knees. guiding you down with him. One fist clings to his wrist. The other ends up wound in the fabric of your sleeping gown.

Tomioka at least seems softer about this bit. “You cry often.”

Calming down you try to focus on the feeling of his arm on your back. You’re glad you’re wearing one of your worse kimonos because the sleeves have become impromptu handkerchiefs. With the sudden onslaught of your tears, you’re left unprepared. You’re not sure whether it’s the result of your body begging to go back to sleep or the wave of months of emotions catching up on you. It’s probably a combination of both. Using the piles of fabric you wipe at your nose and under your eyes.

“I thought you hated me because you didn’t talk to me at all, ‘nd you made me stay in another room, ‘nd you’re always gone.” He looks a little pained, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. “And you never sent letters. So I was just stuck here all alone and I thought I would die.” The last part isn’t true, but you’re small tears have started to turn into full-on sobs.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Giyuu sounds much more unsure of himself. His fingers on you twitch whenever your back shakes. It’s horrible reasoning considering that he’s already married to you in the first place. You say as much to him.

Tomioka is showing the biggest amount of emotion possible. His face is twisted into an expression that suggests deep thoughts. It’s nearly enough to shock you out of the sadness, but not quite.

Under his breath, he mumbles an apology. It’s not very meaningful, but you suppose he’s at least trying. You continue to rub at your face, trying to stall your tears.

For a moment you simply sit, facing each other. Though you can’t bring yourself to look anywhere other than your lap. A hand finds its way to your back, creeping hesitantly. You can’t think of a time he’s willingly touched you otherwise.

Finally, overcome you fling yourself into his side. With the sturdiness of his uniform, it’s not particularly soft against your face, but heat radiates from his body. Tomioka doesn’t hold you particularly tight. His other arm wraps around your back, though the grasp is loose and hesitant.

Whether he cares about your tears or not he doesn’t seem to mind that you’ve seated yourself in his lap. Your crying shows no signs of stopping anytime soon, built up behind months of feeling stuck. It’s a horrible mess of wet and snot and a very ugly grimace that you’re glad is hidden.

His hands eventually wander up to your hair, ghosting over the top of your scalp. You can feel how rough they are now, covered in callouses. They’re warm against your head. Almost fiery hot they brush back stray hairs.

Focusing on the repetitive feeling of his hand, alongside the steady beating of his heart, you’re able to stop the tears. A small hiccup or gasp manages to leave you every few seconds, but it’s much less intense than before.

Not very inclined to move, you’re content to keep your face buried within the body in front of you. His hands don’t stop their gentle motions even as you stop your small noises. It’s perhaps the most comfortable you’ve felt in a very long time. Giyuu smells like his futon, but a thousand times more powerful.

As your eyes dry they also begin to drag downward. It’s the inevitable end to every single one of your emotional explosions. Your arms are drooping, their grasp loosening. Distantly you realize that you should move, excuse yourself to your room or do anything to move. Instead, you bury yourself deeper into his chest.

As he begins to move you almost pull yourself back from him. Arms flex around you and tighten their hold. Just when you muster the energy to uncurl your fingers and force your eyes back open, he lifts you up. You’re not surprised by the strength, you’ve seen it before, but it does set a little shock through your stomach.

Suddenly you’re not very inclined to do much of anything.

If he notices the way your hands dig back into his shirt, he doesn’t say anything. You’re pleased by the feeling of muscles flexing around you. Giyuu’s actions aren’t entirely discernible, not from your position, but the way he moves is slightly soothing. It’s reminiscent of being rocked to sleep, his movements graceful.

You let yourself remain in the limbo between rest and wakefulness. The edges of the world ebb away until you’re sat back down, nestled within his futon. It’s been smoothed again, rustled from your whining. It offers the same comfort it always has once you’re enveloped within the warm sheets. As his arms pull away from you, your lips form a ghost of his name.

—-

In the morning you keep your eyes shut for as long as possible. Your mind has snapped awake, reminding you of last night's events. There’s a dryness around your eyes from where your tears have evaporated. As tempting as it is to reach a hand up to rub away the grogginess you keep them in place for now.

Feeling your surroundings gives you almost no clues. All you know is that it is very warm, and you are very comfortable. Slowly you let your eyes barely peek open, a small slit to peer through.

Giyuu is lying next to you, in the sense that he is curled up in on himself at the opposite end of the futon. It’s not a very great length, but the gap between your bodies stretches endlessly in your mind. His back faces you, to which you let your eyes open almost fully. There are small imperfections to his posture, his spine shifting with his breath. It's a slow movement, a reassurance that he’s still slumbering.

You don’t trust yourself to escape without notice. Every sound you make as you settle seems to make the man pause. You’re not sure what that might accomplish either, the events from the night before too embarrassing to accept, but too poignant to ignore.

Softly you let your body relax again. For now, you’re content to watch his body move slightly with each breath. It’s convincing to reach across the gap and feel the warmth you’ve longed for more directly.

Is peaceful, the sun still low enough to not pierce through the window. It still allows faint light inside, illuminating the area.

You’re feeling surprisingly well-rested. There’s a deep calmness in your bones. Lazing about in the bed feels nice, natural. It reminds you of celebrations back home when you were free from responsibilities. There are whispers of summer streaming through the window.

For a few moments, you bask in the light starting to make its way across the floor. lt caresses your face and finally prompts you to move.

Slowly you rise upwards. Tomioka seems to rest still, unmoving. Slowly you creep out of the room, and back towards your own.

It’s chilly in your room, making the hairs on your neck stand on end. With the window facing West, no sun will warm it until the evening. The temperature makes the changing process nearly impossible. Your holding your chest, shivering before you can slip on another dress. Bouncing on your feet you shuffle around until you’re fully clothed again.

It’s easy to move around the house with a light heart. Whether Tomioka has awoken yet or not is a thought that hardly crosses your mind as you cook. Mostly you hope he’ll dine with you, tired of eating in months of silence.

Your hands move quickly as you shuffle around rooting through cabinets. Over time you’ve switched to much more appetizing meals than rice porridge. For today, with your want for a quick breakfast, you mostly work with eggs and fried rice. Throwing in a couple of diced peppers and onions your stomach growls as the sizzling veggies.

The presentation is important to you too. It feels like you’re actually doing something, being a wife. Maybe. You still don’t know if this is right, but you shared a bed last night with your husband. He wasn’t particularly close, but closer than a hallway and walls that separated you before.

So you balance the plates on your arms and move carefully back towards his room. The sense of nervousness creeps up again but isn’t as fierce as before. It at least isn’t enough to deter you from using your foot to slide the door open.

Tomioka has finally risen. His hair is sticking in all sorts of directions, sleep evident in his eyes. You’re surprised at how late he’s slept in.

“Good morning.” A blush creeps back onto your cheeks. It raises your temperature by a few degrees at least, bringing warmth to your face.

“I uh-“ Your mouth is suddenly dry. “I brought food.” The words come out a shy squeak. For a moment the plates wobble in your hold until you square your shoulders and regain control.

He regards you with a surprising amount of warmth, what you think is warmth at least. It’s not indifference, or anger, something kinder.

“Thank you.” He doesn’t smile as he talks, not exactly a frown either. The man exists in the crevices between emotions, which is how he manages to be completely indecipherable most of the time.

You manage to look somewhat graceful as you lower yourself, plates still balancing in your hands. Once you’re close enough he swipes one from your hand, instead letting it sit in his lap.

“You can eat with me,” Giyuu says in a matter-of-fact way that makes your eyebrows raise. He waits for only a second, letting the silence hang, before continuing. “I thought I should be more direct.”

His explanation forces a small light laugh from your lips. “Right, I’m glad. I’ll be sure to do the same.” The corner of his eyes curl up, even though his lips don’t form a smile quite yet. You’re not even sure if he can smile, maybe the man has some sort of disease.

He eats though. And though he’s careful there are little bits of rice stuck to his face. In the corner of his mouth is a little line of ketchup. It’s such a human sight, a clumsy eater that doesn’t know anything about romance or women. There’s some sadness too, the lack of proper social understanding, formed by a life dedicated to fighting.

Realizing the fact that you’re staring quite obviously (something that he somehow does not notice) you look down to eat your own food. The sound of chewing is slightly grating on your ears, but you cannot muster up anymore to say.

Within just a few moments, when you’ve only finished a few bites of food, his fork is scraping against the plates. There’s a decent amount of rice still scattered over his face, some on the floor and his shirt, but most seem to have made it into his mouth. It’s hard not to laugh at the sight, of crumbs sticking to the corner of his lips. Though you’re able to remain silent, your nose scrunches up, eyes narrowing as your lips tug upwards.

“I can make more if you’d like.”

Tomioka still seems half-asleep as he turns to you. “It’s fine.” Despite his appearance, the man’s voice is soft and even. “But I did enjoy it.”

Your lips move into an even bigger smile. It’s half hidden behind your hand, fear of food stuck in your teeth, but the message is still translated clearly. “Did you like the egg too? I don’t know your tastes, so I’ve mostly been guessing.”

His eyebrows furrow again, that concentrated look crossing his face. “I like salmon, salmon daikon. Though I don’t know if that’s appropriate for a breakfast.” He answers quickly.

“Dinner then,” you offer.

He shakes his head. “I’ll have to leave for another mission tonight.” Your shoulders deflate slightly. At least a warning is more than you’ve gotten before. “But I can send you a letter before I arrive back.”

The offer brings your smile back. “I’ll make sure to buy some things for Salmon Daikon. It’ll be the best you’ve ever had!”

—-

He lets you spend most of the morning bothering him. Tomioka says that there’s no point leaving for a few more hours, which you don’t really get, but he probably knows best. While you anxiously watch the sun climb higher into the sky Giyuu gets ready. He doesn’t give you any warning, or tell you to leave, before stripping off most of his clothes.

His back is covered in long strips of scar and muscle. You’ve once again tucked yourself into the folds of the futon, content to watch from there. It’s pleasing the way his shoulders move as he strips the shirt off.

As he moves to remove his pants too, you have the decency to look away. The man doesn’t seem concerned with your presence, but even the thought of seeing him mostly bare makes your eyes screw themselves shut. They don’t crack open until the rustling of fabric and movement stops.

He’s donned the common uniform once again, haori placed overtopped. Tomioka looks so normal again, like he used to every time he flew in and out of the house. You’re staring at the junction where you fixed the sleeve, wondering if he too has noticed the shift.

“I think it looks good,” he tells you. “Much better than anything I could do. I’m not very good at mending things.”

“I can tell,” the words slip from your lips easily. It’s a careless comment, meant to be taken as a joke, but sounds a little too cruel. Your eyes widen, mouth quickly covered with your hands. “I didn’t mean, I uh-“

“You’re fine.” His mouth has quirked upwards just slightly. “It’s true, but I do like to think I’ve improved over the years.”

A hand is still raised over your lips, hoping to keep another dumb comment from slipping through. Once you’re sure you’ve stopped yourself from spoiling the moment you let your hands drop back to your lap. “I’m sure you have.”

He takes sword from where it’s stood carefully in the corner. You watch as he slides the sheath into place along his belt. It completes his ensemble, making him look like a proper soldier. If it were possible (which is to say, if it didn’t put you in mortal danger) you’d like to see him in action. Maybe he’ll let you watch him train sometime.

“Are you going then?”

He nods. “It’s not too far. If I’m lucky I can come back before getting another notice. So you won’t feel so lonely.”

His concern makes your heart throb. Biting your lower lip you try not to let it quiver. “I’ll make you something, give me a few minutes. That way you won’t starve.” Without waiting for his answer you leave the room and rush to the kitchen.

The truth was that you had already prepared some onigiri earlier, tucked away inside the fridge. It’s stuffed with tuna and onions are you’re trying hard not to eat them as you tuck them into a bento. There’s plenty of extra, and you can leave the more… unsightly ones for yourself.

Tomioka comes down the hall just a few moments after you finish. It’s perfect timing. There’s a small sack on his back, which he lets you tuck the lunch into. “Don’t wait too long before eating it though,” you instruct. “I don’t want it to go bad.”

“Right.”

“And be safe!”

“Ok.”

“And-“ You have to curl your hands into fists to force the words the words out, “Iloveyou.”

You’re prepared to turn tail and hide back in your own room (and probably cry—or die—from embarrassment). Before you can even point your feet in the right direction he’s caught your wrist. Though you can barely look at him, you are welcomed to the sight of his pretty pink cheeks. He pulls you toward him, perhaps with more force than necessary, and plants a kiss on your own fiery skin.

You’ve barely registered what’s happened when he’s disappeared beyond the doorway. You don’t know if you’ll be able to drag your feet anywhere else until he gets back, scared of loosing this feeling.

🡦  minazuki mini series (COMPLETED) 🡦  F!reader x gojo satoru

genre. mild angst, action, psychological/thriller, mystery, romance, mature themes, enemies-to-lovers, very slow burn, arranged-marriage au (tokyo metropolitan arc to shibuya arc; canon compliant-ish). description. In which Y/N L/N is placed under a union she has no choice but to partake for the sake of her survival.

series warnings.  dark themes, very heavy manga spoilers, paranoia, future sexual themes/smut, violence, blood, heavy objectification of women,  mentions of rape, harassment, heavy themes on misogyny, child abuse, mentions of child destruction, heavy degradation, bride-market, breeding talks, compliance to abuse/harrasement/patriarchal system, false constructs on virginity, murder/man slaughter, blood, anti-hero!Y/N, mentions of suicide, self-harm, not beta-read. MINORS DNI (this story has a lot of questionable stuff)

Playlist + taglist is closed + main jjk masterlist + minazuki extras/omakes + Ao3 version

Keep reading

fbi open up // my hero academia (social media au) [completed]

amongst search histories and private youtube videos

bakugo katsuki x fem!reader

genre: university/college au, fluff, crack, angst

warnings: swearing, sexual themes, adult stuff in general, jokes about dying, bakugo, slow burn, violence

disc: all pictures i used were found on pinterest and belong to their respective artists! i’ve only watermarked edits i’ve made!

taglist closed! thank you for your interest, reblogs are appreciated! <3

part one: todoroki shoto step on me

part two: squash me with your biceps

part three: this isn't about you anymore

part four: you can't threaten me with a good time

part five: we don't ice our drinks like pussies

part six: say sike rn

part seven: they're not so nice anymore

part eight: i'll do anything for a spicy man

part nine: payback for puking on my shoes

part ten: teasing AND threatening

part eleven: i'll cut you

part twelve: how is he hotter when i'm sober

part thirteen: like some eboy

part fourteen: i don't really care if you're into turtle porn

part fifteen: "what i want shinsou hitoshi for"

part sixteen: bakugo this is not a drill

part seventeen: everybody press the red button

part eighteen: please put the baby aside

part nineteen: you're a menace to society, cupcake

part twenty: i haven't invited you yet babe

part twenty-one: oh

part twenty-two: you don't mean anything to me

part twenty-three: can't a girl crave some ramen

part twenty-four: being a bitch for bitch's sake

part twenty-five: hiding in your room like pussies

part twenty-six: what, no cupcake?

part twenty-seven: i'll break all your teeth

part twenty-eight: i’m not whipped

part twenty-nine: it’s not very baby of you

part thirty: be my girlfriend

part thirty-one: who do you want?

part thirty-two: he says he doesn’t care

part thirty-three: a knife in my bedside drawer

part thirty-four: bubbly fun wheat juice

part thirty-five: can't cut carrots for shit though

part thirty-six: i'm going on a bird hunt

part thirty-seven: get in line bakuhoe (written)

part thirty-eight: don't be the dumbass now, love

part thirty-nine: i think my boyfriend's been kidnapped

bonus part forty: love you too babe

afterword

thanks for reading!

main masterlist

☆– a.n; here's a lil piece for valentine's day, even tho it was yesterday <3

Your first kiss with Bakugou was nothing like you expected. You thought, because of his fiery personality, that it was going to be fireworks and heat and passion all over. 

How wrong you were.

Bakugou Katsuki was a massive bundle of nerves, completely clumsy even in his walk–and Jesus, seeing that big mass of muscles trip on his own feet each two or three steps in your walk home from your date, gave you several heart attacks thinking he might kiss the ground at any minute. 

You were not expecting this at all. He was so confident when it came to his job, to his friends, to any situation he was in. Except you. Least to say, it took him for-fucking-ever to ask you out, and when he did, he stumbled upon his words and instead of asking you dinner he asked you, "would you like t'go hungry wit' me?" It took you a minute to understand, he almost backed down due to the embarrassment. Obviously, you grabbed his arm, avoiding him to run away –or better said, explode himself away– and said yes. That night, at the door of your apartment, he tried to kiss you. He bumped his forehead with yours in the rush to get his face closer down to you. He apologized and left.

You remember thinking, that was all. He was not going to speak to you ever again, or at least until his embarrassment backed down a bit, which could be months. It surprised you to see him the next morning entering the little coffee shop you owned with a bucket of roses in his hand, cheeks cutely tinted pink and a funny scowl in his face, lips slightly pout.

You decided then that it was your turn to ask him on a date. Of course, he said yes. But this time, you decided to eat something at your apartment and watch movies. Something easy and comfy. No need to let the pressure of going outside invade him, considering who he is and what it means to be seeing outside on a date with the Number Two Pro Hero. You still didn't know how people hadn't already said something about your first date, when Bakugou took you to a very expensive and recognized restaurant.

After dinner, clearly prepared by him and shared in between cheeky jokes, laughs and innuendos, you were finishing washing the dishes while he dried them. It was that domestic kind of view, him smiling relaxed and amused, his big hero body taking a big portion of space in your small apartment kitchen, his hip resting on the counter, hands busy with his task, the lines at the corner of his eyes showing how happy he actually felt, it was all of him that made you realize…

It’s him.

Bakugou Katsuki is the one.

When he finished, he folded the cloth he was using to dry the last plate and placed it on the counter behind him, before he turned to you, the amusement of the last funny thing you said still printed on his face. “What?”

“I’m going to kiss you, Bakugou Katsuki, so don’t move.” You don’t want a repentance of last time and the bump he left on your forehead thanks to his nervousness.

He visually gulped and you chuckled, but still gave him time to assimilate your words, and your actions, so you moved slowly as if it was a scaredy cat you were dealing with. His breathing was loudly heard with each movement of yours and his hands grabbed the counter strongly like his life depended on that grip. He was serious now, concentrated even in not moving. And that was so cute, that even if he looked that desperate to get close to you, he also wanted to do as you said.

You stepped closer, hand coming to rest just above his heart, and his chest loosened. Katsuki let go of his anchor at the kitchen counter and slipped his hands around your waist immediately and tugged you against him, brushing your noses together. Choosing to dive into whatever ocean you were living as a siren in.

 “If you don’t want to…”

Oh, yeah. You were going to make him say it. Because he was Bakugou freaking Katsuki and you were on fucking cloud nine at the knowledge that he wanted you as much as you wanted him.

“If you don't kiss me right now…” he murmured, voice trembling, and you couldn't avoid the smirk that appeared on your face.

“Then what?” You whisper, your other arm surrounding his neck as your fingers interlace with the short hair at the back of his head, and he breathes out loud.

“Then I'll… I’ll have to do it myself.”

You looked up at him through your eyelashes, smiling one more time, before your lips finally pressed over his. This time softly, generously and carefully loving.

His arms around your waist tightened just as his heart beated fast and strong under your hand. A clear sign that he was as human as you. And he felt as deep into you as you to him.