grieving.
4,083 words, bakugou katsuki, kaminari denki, kirishima eijirou, midoriya izuku, todoroki shoto, uraraka ochako [ separate ] x gn!reader, fluff, angst
hala's announcement ★ grieving chronicles how the characters, as mentioned above, would deal with your death. this took about two months to write cause of school, but i'm so glad i pushed through and finished it! the only warnings i have to give are for body horror and gore in katsuki and ochako's, but other than that, everything should be fine! apologies in advance for the heartache and possible errors.
bakugou katsuki.
it takes four days to find your lifeless body under the collapsed buildings. four days of endlessly surveying the crumbled streets of musutafu. four days of hoping you'd simply gotten lost or fallen into a coma. katsuki is the one who found you. or, a part of you at least. the scene is covered in different colored flags. yellow is for oil spillage. blue is for water damage. red is for body parts. katsuki heard one of the emergency workers talking; it’s how they keep track of whose parts are whose.
he places the first red flag with your initials on the scene. the scream of horror your mother let's out at the sight of you is something he'll never be able to shake. it takes another two weeks to carefully bring your body back together. he’s left to watch the world slow as they place your remains into that fateful black bag. it feels like the strings keeping his heart together tighten even further to keep him from falling apart again.
it’s against doctor’s orders for him to be there in the first place. the sight too rough and crippling for his recovering body, especially his heart, to be under such stress. (katsuki would argue he doesn’t have a heart left now that you’re gone.) but in his stubbornness and despair, katsuki's there for all of it. he practically barks at the workers when he deems they handle your body too roughly. his anger is volcanic, always active, simmering, waiting for anything to piss him off. he doesn't eat. he barely sleeps. on the rare occasion he does, mitsuki and masaru find him whispering your name in the heat of his brief rest. they know not to stare too long or he'll awaken to the reality of your death.
your body wasn’t fit for an open casket. katsuki doesn’t remember the exact reason why. (he knows the reason why, but he can't shake the finality of being unable to see you again). everyone remembers how he yelled and cursed at the mortician for failing to do his job before breaking down into sobs he didn’t even know he had left. it was the first time in a long time mitsuki held him in her arms.
when he stands over your closed casket, katsuki still can’t accept how he’ll never see you again. how the last image of your face in his mind isn’t of peaceful surrender, but brokenness and dismemberment. the image so vivid, katsuki can see it nestled into your casket’s confining walls. he stands in horror. teary crimson eyes only shifting away when your mother carefully pulls him into her arms, allowing for his tears and pain to stain her funeral dress.
kaminari denki.
the air hums around denki and your son, reflections in the mirror blurry from the steam. denki's on his knees while checking the bathtub's temperature with a hesitancy reserved for open heart surgery. his sleeves are rolled up, away from the water and he can feel the electricity rolling against his skin.
this is the first bath time your son daiki has had with denki since you passed a few days ago. there's grief buried beneath the crevices of his eye bags and he's sure the fogginess of the room hides his pinkish, tear-ridden eyes. denki's nervous, baths and electricity are never a good mix. but daiki refuses to be bathed by anyone else any longer, not even tolerating bath time with either set of his grandparents.
denki finds it endearing, but the anxiety of accidentally sparking your son looms over him as a thundercloud would an unassuming village. daiki's patiently quiet, holding the towel wrapped around him as he watches denki carefully pour two and a half teaspoons of soap into the bath just as you always did. it makes the room smell of cinnamon and vanilla, one of the only scents daiki enjoys.
he copies the way you would stir the mixture: twice left, once right. the gesture makes daiki rest his head against his father's backside. denki tenses, the electricity flowing through his veins swirls.
"hey, little man," he says, voice soft with adoration and caution. "bath's almost ready, promise."
daiki huffs, not out of annoyance, but acceptance. it's a trait denki's always said he got from you. denki continues, tossing in the toys daiki loves the most before reaching to turn off the water once it reaches the max amount of bubbles daiki tolerates. the water from the faucet comes to a smooth finish, heat fogging the bathroom mirror.
"okay, c'mon, buddy," a sound dancing between a huff and a laugh escapes daiki as denki lifts him in the air. he's a tad rough when lowering daiki into the warm water, something he can tell by the slight tilt of his son's head. "'m so sorry, man."
you have the softer hands between the two of them, always lowering daiki into the tub with the care of a cloud carrying a star in the night sky. denki wonders if daiki already misses you more than he does.
but now that he's in the water, patiently waiting for denki to wash him, his electric father can't help but freeze. a part of him blames his anxiety on electrified nerves, but the main half knows the simmering fear of hurting daiki in some way while washing him. oh, how badly he wants to talk to you for advice, bask in the sunshine of your words once more. as if on cue, daiki splashes him, warm water soaking his shirt and jolting him back to reality.
you're not there, not physically anyway. there's the ghost of you in the room. your hair strands still wrapped around the hair tie keeping denki's hair from his face. daiki has your eyes, denki can feel your eyes bore into him with trust and guidance. (he can also feel how in some way, you're jokingly calling him dramatic for his antics). this is nothing new for him but the thought doing it without you causes an unnatural unease to seep into his bloodstream. daiki tilts his head further, as if awaiting the warm water to cascade down his back. denki chuckles, following his boy's soft command with ease, grabbing the nearby cup you always reserved for bath time, filling it with water, and carefully, oh so carefully, pouring the liquid over daiki's body.
some of the water escapes the makeshift barrier denki's hand makes but daiki only hums in content, accepting the impromptu face wash of warmth and love. daiki's hair moves, almost as if you're there wiping it from his face. the following motions fall into a rhythm you set while you were still alive. denki washes daiki, making sure to be swift but caring as the boy always deserves. there's an accidental splash of bubbles every once in a while but it pulls the first giggles from daiki's lips since your passing. the sound cools his buzzing nerves, easing the heat of the room against his skin. he rinses the way you always did, pulls the plug on the bath, and remembers to make sure daiki's toy sea leopard doesn't come anywhere near the drain.
"okay, are you ready?" denki asks, and daiki raises his arms without hesitation. tears gloss over denki's eyes. before the routine was simple, you would rinse, the now lukewarm towel brushing the excess soap from daiki's skin, and denki comes with the big towel to keep your son from the jolting at the shift in temperature once he's out the bath. daiki notices your absence, arms in the air faltering for a split moment as denki reaches for his favorite towel.
there's a breath of air stuck in his lungs as he takes daiki in his arms. the water always makes him heavier but it seems to cling to his grief instead of his skin this time. denki hums, pressing kisses against the boy's head, swaying from side to side. "i got you, it's okay i promise,"
the dam breaks as denki rubs circles into his backside, "aw, baby boy, you can cry all you want it's okay."
"you're not alone. i miss them too," denki finds himself sniffling as he sways, his tears mistaken for the leftover drips of water from the bath.
the bathroom exists in its own spacetime, full of grief, love, and the cinnamon vanilla scented soap clinging to their skin. the mirror blurs the image of them. suddenly, there's three instead of two. you're there, somewhere in the warmth of the foggy room.
kirishima eijirou.
he doesn't fully understand why he's doing this. your camera is in front of him, the red light flashing to indicate it's recording. his therapist suggested recording himself talking to a camera as if he's talking to you. eijirou remembers laughing, waving off his therapist's suggestion. but here he is now, listening as the old camera whirls on with the sound of reminiscence. a familiar sound bringing eijirou back to your earth.
before he even press the record button, eijirou scrolls through the old pictures and videos of your life. you've had the camera since your first year at u.a. he remembers hearing you talk about your passion to mina once, sharing that you had a fear of forgetting the good times before you got older. tears stain his cheeks as he watches you grow older with each passing piece of media.
the day blew through him like a tornado through a childhood home. he couldn't tell if it was the onslaught of rain on patrol or his horrific luck. a couple months ago, eijirou wouldn't hesitant to kick off his shoes in the walkway of your home and situate himself on the plushness of your front side to recover. you'd welcome him with a look of concern but a sweet smile on your face nonetheless, fingers carding through his hair to soothe the pain of recounting his day. he misses the way you'd tell him a joke to get a laugh coursing through his system.
it's the first time the camera catches his laugh in a while. it's airy and lacks base but it comes from the thought of you and that's progress.
"i had a real shitty day today, baby," the breath caught in his lungs finally releases. "a real shitty day."
crimson eyes drift toward the picture of you on your shared dresser and suddenly it's easier to divulge everything. a late night of paperwork led to sleeping through his five am alarm. in his haste of running around the house to get ready, eijirou accidentally cut his own skin a few times with his quirk, his hair wouldn't cooperate, and then it's pouring outside. the rain amplifies his misery and even the villains on patrol seem harsher than usual.
"i really wish you here with me," he confesses, resting his head on the tops of his knees. he's on the floor, always remembering to keep his outside clothes off the bed. another sound mirroring a chuckle escapes his lips. "i miss you, baby."
he reaches towards the camera, shutting off the electronic with a sigh. the days after improve, albeit slowly. he still struggles to give a smile whenever he's finished a shift or laugh without it feeling stiff. when his therapist asks if the method is helping, eijirou only shrugs but it's more than what he's responded with in the past so it's improvement. the vlogs he records as the weeks pass are longer and he's visibly more expressive within them.
"baby, i saved this cute puppy the other day, and boy, was he adorable," eijirou cheeses into the camera. the lenses struggle to focus because of how happily he reiterates the story.
there's more happiness in his recollections than there is sadness. he starts writing letters to you too. pages upon pages of memories. the good and bad, the beautiful and ugly. he seals them away in envelopes only meant for you. denki, sero, and mina notice his shoulders are more relaxed and the scowls on his face only come from jokes or his quirk. the memory of your loss fades as he writes and speaks to the happy memories of you.
midoriya izuku.
when the sun sets earlier and the afternoon ceases to exist, izuku finds himself drifting through the streets of tokyo late into the night. the city still bustles with all sorts of life and ever since you died, it feels like it flows straight through him. he passes by the shop where he'd bought your wedding rings. tears simmering in his eyes as he recalls the look of pure joy on your face as he asked to spend eternity with you. an ache seeps in his chest as he watches a couple pick out their eternity. izuku knows there's jealously swimming in the darker parts of his eyes.
a feeling he tries to shake off as he continues his descent deeper into the crowd. he takes the path he always does, subconsciously visiting all the places where you existed the most. the closed down gas station where you two stopped after a hero's gala. izuku remembers the press photos blasting on the internet the next day, even in the chaos and flash he could feel the warmth radiating from the pictures of you two sharing a cherry berry slushie. he passes by the lego store too. you'd mentioned being allergic to flowers, so he bought various types of lego flowers to build a bouquet for you. it sits on the untouched side of your office, never wilting.
the cat cafe you favor over all the the other ones in japan still has a light on, a child's night light displaying makeshift stars (and a collection of them suspiciously looking like your favorite constellation) on the ceiling.
"it's to keep the cats from being scared in the dark," he remembers you saying, eyes still on the last cat stubbornly refusing to sleep. it was after you two finished your date there. you two were able to stay longer than the other customers, a courtesy granted after the owner recognized the two of you from the figurines he'd bought for his granddaughter.
there's a small ramen diner tucked away up the street. usually only off duty heroes and the occasional tired college student inside. they come for a warm meal to uplift their spirits. he remembers you telling him about how you found the place while trying to escape the paparazzi who'd been following you for a few blocks. you'd brought him to the place on your third date. izuku remembers everything about it.
he'd been running late, caught up helping a student of his prepare for their upcoming history midterm. he recalls the fond look in your eyes as he recanted how the student was confusing all might's bronze and silver eras. how you listened attentively, scent overwhelming his senses when you leaned closer and pressed your thigh further into his when he'd said something particularly funny. you shared a large bowl of ramen with him, giggling as he struggled to take all the spices you'd added to the noodles without crying. everything about the moment told him you were forever, forever and always.
izuku will miss you forever, but especially now, standing in front of the glass window of your favorite ramen spot. he's eyeing the "gone, but never forgotten" poster of you in your hero suit. at the time of your death, you'd been the number one hero in japan, soaring through the skies and uplifting the world in your wake. the photo was a testament to that. you're holding a small child in your arms, beaming as you high five her. the smile on your face feels almost palpable, as if you're still there shining at him.
the bell chimes and it pulls him from the daydream where you're still alive. the owner watches him from inside the window, nodding her head toward one of the open seats. izuku sighs, shaking his head while pointing at the time on the wall. it's tuesday, a school night. the woman shrugs, offhanded to someone else but izuku knows it's her way of welcoming him back anytime.
he turns to leave, only stopping when he hears your voice floating through the speakers of a nearby television. it's you. you're there, even if it's an old video, even if it's just the memory of you. it's still you. and oh, how he misses you.
todoroki shoto.
"do they still get to dream too?" your daughter koharu asks while lying against the plush cushion of her bed's comforter. she's reaching to fiddle with her bonnet as she questions her father, a habit she gained from you. shoto already knows that it'll be off her head come morning.
her blankets swallow her small frame whole, providing her the warmth she lost when shoto moved his hand away from her forehead. his head turns slowly toward your daughter, eyes slightly widening at her sudden question.
"and where did this small, little inquiry come from, honey?" he questions, shifting to face her once more.
"well, uhm…ev'rybody talks about how they watch ov'r me all the time," a nervous pause follows after koharu's sigh, "…but then i started wondering if they ever get to sleep and dream like me,"
it's true. when you passed away a few years ago, days removed from koharu's fifth birthday, through tears, you promised to always watch over them, even at night when the stars were the only light left in the sky. every notion of good luck is seen as a sign of your watchful eye, carefully looking after them. from every round up to get her an a-plus to the extra scoops given to her at the local ice cream shop, it's all been you.
shoto's seen your daughter whisper a 'thank you' to you under her breath on multiple occasions after experiencing something good. the last time came after she'd nearly tripped and fell down the stairs but caught herself at the last moment. he can't help the smile that comes from watching your endearing goodness live through her in a way.
of course, in all your looking out for others throughout your life and even in your death, your trait was passed on to your daughter. a certain fondness only reserved for the two of you wraps around his heart at the sight of koharu playing with the lonely child on the playground or ensuring everyone has a gift at the end of the academic year, even her teachers.
shoto blinks, a small smile coming across his face. "they get to dream of you too, my love,"
"…really?" she's hesitant to believe it, head tilting in the way her father's does when he's confused.
"yeah, well, they're not up all the time," he begins, hand moving to poke at her cheeks to pull out a smile. "you know how much they love their naps."
the statement pulls a giggle from koharu's lips, a sound as familiar to him as the sun's rays. she whines a whine of joy at her father's antics, and shoto can feel his heart burst with a love reserved for her and only her.
"…d'you dream of them too?" her eyes are wide, waiting to capture the feeling shoto gives at the mention of his dreams of you.
he smiles, the same one he wore when he saw you walk down the aisle, "all the time, honey,"
"they're always nice dreams," he continues, tracing the flowers on her comforter. "sometimes you're in them too."
"did i look pretty?"
"yes, of course, my gorgeous girl," he chuckles, pressing kisses against the tips of her fingers. she carries more warmth than he does. you'd always said it was a mixture of her quirk and the love you two had for her.
she hums, one of her tired ones, and shoto's quick to begin tucking her in. he only stops when her small hands reach out to grab his, "can i sleep with you tonight?"
he pauses before a smile takes over, moving to lift her up into his arms. he carries her and her stuffed bear in his left arm with the type of ease that always made you swoon. koharu's already asleep by the time he makes it to the master bedroom. he's careful when dimming the lights and laying her beside him.
"good night and sweet dreams, my love," he whispers, not only to her but to you too.
uraraka ochako.
“uraraka?” the voice of her government-assigned therapist is still fuzzy after refocusing her eyes on the woman in front of her. “uraraka?”
“uhm…yes…yes, i’m sorry, i lost my…uhm train of thought,” ochako finally responds, “what were you asking?”
“do you still have nightmares about them?” the question comes again, still stinging as much as the first time.
next week marks ten years since you died. the loss of blood was too much for your body to handle after taking a fatal stab by toga. you took your last breath while lying in her arms, and ochako feels like she's been guarding it in her chest ever since.
“uhm, no…no i don’t," a lie, one that stings too. like your ghost pokes at her insides for the lack of transparency.
the doctor presses her lips into a straight line, eyes drifting from ochako’s lengthy file to eye her in the current state she’s in. a black void takes the place of her joyous brown eyes from photos taken before the war, and the eye bags under them only heighten the despair swimming in them.
“…we’ve been doing this for so long that i know when you’re lying,” the rebuttal is swift, along with the disappointed sigh. it makes ochako’s left eye twitch in a cringe. there's an underlying feeling of embarrassment at being caught too.
"so, uraraka…i'll ask again," her therapist sighs, an empathic one. "do you still have nightmares of them?"
"…yes," ochako confesses, hands running down her face, wiping away at the light makeup she used to cover the dark circles under her eyes. "they're haunting."
"can you describe them to me?" the woman asks, the sharpness of her words replaced with concern. it's taken years to get to this point.
on most nights, ochako's mind leads her into a false sense of security. you're always there, smiling and laughing at something, anything really. the last time it was a rushed joke from denki that had you clutching your stomach. everyone's gathered around to soak in the goodness spilling from your laughter. ochako would relax, accepting her reality as nothing more than a sick nightmare. your laughter grows into groaning, and suddenly, the clutching of your stomach doesn't come from how overwhelmed you are at the silliness of denki's joking, but from the sharp incision taking the light from your eyes.
ochako nearly chokes on the air in her lungs while calling out your name in hopes of bringing you back somehow. the air's tainted with an iron smell eerily similar to your blood-stained suit. even the cleaned garment, deeply tucked into the back of her closet, pulls her senses back to the haunting moment. you're still lying there, bleeding to death with the blade meant for her stuck in your chest. sometimes she can hear your voice telling her it was her fault. a side effect of the immense grief and stress, as her therapist says, but it feels like more. as if you're punishing her in a way.
"are your nightmares of them always violent?"
on the more calmer nights, it's the two of you, blood still seeping your clothes and dirt still under her fingernails. sometimes you talk to each other. ochako asks you about your day, and you shrug as if to say same old, same old. your words come out muffled at times, as if ochako's forgetting the way you sound. the fear fades when you smile. the look of love and adoration on your face gives your mouth its voice instead. yes, it is a nightmare because you're gone, but when the nightmare isn't so harsh, you're soft, sweet, and ochako wants nothing more than to be with you again. to make up for how you left, to bask in your existence just one more time, even if she knows she'll greedily ask the sky for more of you.
© 2025 NAHDRAS. please do not copy, modify, profit from, or translate my content and do not feed it to ai. all rights are reserved to me.
