pennameplatypus

Latest Posts by pennameplatypus

🖤🎀💫shadamy

commission !!

I drew another picture of Tomioka, I don’t draw him much cause he never comes out quite how I want him to but I think he looks nice here :) I also added some other drawings I did. If you happen to see this please enjoy!

for ur shadow sitting prompt ;w;

–

((Fanart for this story))

:OOOOOOOOO

This is so sweet and adorable! I love it! Thank you sooooo much! I love how soft and colorful everything is, and it’s really well-framed. I can’t thank you enough!

Although it’s only been 3 months since my last Tomioka drawing he still managed to look completely different than last time. (His hair was hell to draw)

Loved every second of this, can’t help but wish it was longer :))

pairing: tomioka giyu x gn!reader tags/warnings: kimetsu au, reader is the home ec teacher, self-indulgent genre: fluff wc: 6,269 note: this fic is 4 months in the making and i'm glad to be finished finally LMAOOOO. this fic is horribly self-indulgent but i hope it is enjoyable either way,,,

The vending machine closest to the school—across the street at the corner of the sidewalk, visible from the campus’ baseball field—is almost always empty by 5:07PM.

Students engaging in sports after school are the main culprits—bodies flocking to the poor machine to drain it of precious resources: sports drinks and tea and even coffee. It’s the milk and yogurt-based drinks that are coveted, leaving only the bitterness of unsweetened, black coffee behind.

You’ve established a familiar weekly routine: waking early enough to buy lunch at the convenience store, paying with bills and saving the coins to buy a drink at the vending machine during lunch period or after school. It’s an excuse to get out of the faculty office and stretch your legs during an otherwise mostly stagnant day. It’s a foolproof system you’re exceptionally fond of.

At least, it is until summer, when the sports clubs are in full swing.

The sun is hot on your head and shoulders. You have an itch for something cold and refreshing to combat the heat, but it’s already after clubs—you’ll probably end up with something cheap, only 120 yen in coins to your name on this particular day.

You greet a group of students from the baseball club filing down the street, branching off to walk home, but suppress a grimace at the sight of various cans and bottles in their hands: spoils from the vending machine. But this is to be expected, and you steel yourself, cycling through what drinks might be left in your brain—hoping for jasmine tea but expecting milk tea instead.

You’re just turning the corner when you see another body moving in the same direction, their gait purposeful but languid.

It’s your brain that recognizes him first—catching that tracksuit (white with blue trim for the summer) and the thick mess of black hair pulled into a ponytail—before your eyes catch up, and then your legs bring you to an abrupt halt as Tomioka Giyu steps into your direct line of sight. It shouldn’t surprise you that he’s here: his duties around school mean he’s often one of the last teachers to leave. If memory serves, he’s usually the one double-checking that everything is put away post clubs—surveying the school’s sports fields and gym with an eye stricter than the coach’s.

Though you’re pleasantly surprised to see him, your brain is too fried to consider having a conversation—focused too tightly on what to buy at the vending machine and too occupied with remembering the stack of papers that need grading back at your desk.

Kanae’s sister—Shinobu—has teased you about it before: the vacant, sometimes empty look you get after a long day of grading papers—the way you space out and can only remember one thing at a time when the after school bell rings.

Freezing abruptly alerts him of your presence. Giyu pauses and turns, locking dark blue eyes with yours. His expression is unmoving and unreadable; it’s an awkward stare-down before you manage to clear your throat, offering a smile.

“Tomioka-san, hello. Did you just finish your last patrol?”

“Yes,” he says. “Have you seen any students loitering around here?”

“No,” you tell him, offering a half-apologetic shake of your head. You continue walking; it would be even more embarrassing to let a potentially awkward encounter prevent you from treating yourself to a drink. Your throat is dry and the air is heavy with thick summer heat. The coins in your hand are warm and damp with sweat.

Plus, you’d look silly walking away after so obviously stopping in your tracks on the way to the vending machine. Maybe Giyu would think you thought he smelled.

It takes no small amount of effort to keep a pleasant, half-smile on your face, hoping it doesn’t slip into the natural, sunken facade of exhaustion.

Giyu lets you select a drink first, which is weird because he was definitely closer than you were to the vending machine, and it’d taken a good several paces to catch up to him. But you scan the options quickly, no longer blessed with an ample amount of time to hum and haw about what to choose.

You insert the coins one by one with a familiar rattle of metal against metal. You choose a Royal Milk Tea without much thought, the button beeping beneath your finger. The can clanks and thuds to a stop in the pick-up slot below, and you reach inside to collect your prize, quick to step aside and make room for Giyu.

The can is stubby and cold in your palm, condensation collecting quickly now that it’s been exposed to hot afternoon air. The white and blue design is soothing to look at, even if it is a little embarrassing when you glance at your fellow teacher amidst the hiss and click of the top popping open, and realize it perfectly matches his clothes.

Dammit, you think, and remember to give him a small smile behind the cool metal of your drink as he picks up his own bottle—a Pocari Sweat.

To your surprise and slight horror, he decides to linger as well, the plastic crackling as he twists it open. You stare ahead in favor of watching him drink, taking sips from your own can.

It’s sweet: very sweet, and doesn’t so much hydrate you as it does overcompensate a sugar craving that hadn’t existed until just then, sitting thickly on your tongue after swallowing.

Giyu downs half of his bottle with much more ease. Nothing is said between you for a long moment: you count the seconds in your head, wondering when an appropriate time to leave would be without looking like you’re trying to escape.

“I saw you grading papers. Does it take long?” he asks. You barely miss biting the tip of your tongue off, looking up at him with what you hoped wasn’t obvious surprise at his inquiry.

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” you tell him, playing with the condensation at the bottom of the can. “Since we have grading sheets it’s more of a matter of getting into a rhythm.”

“I see.”

It occurs to you that while Giyu doesn’t grade papers and tests, he’s more often than not left with taking care of heaps and heaps of paperwork—administrative documents, permission slips and other important papers that require a thoughtful eye—and shudder at the thought of being in his position. Not to mention, he’s decided that Sanemi should be the middle man between the faculty and the students. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’d chosen Sanemi to antagonize the poor bastard on purpose.

Perhaps the ache in your back from being hunched over all those papers was a blessing compared to what Giyu has to deal with.

“Um, what about you, Tomioka-san? You’re always walking around school. Doesn’t it get tiring?”

“No,” he replies swiftly, fingers poised around the bottle’s neck. “It’s a necessary part of keeping the school’s image clean. I like walking.”

You nod, smiling, and wonder if he would look at you funny for downing the rest of your drink.

“It’s impressive—what you do, I mean. Not all of us have an affinity for that.”

When you were a student, it was natural for you to try and find ways to skirt around the rules: toeing the line of misbehavior without actually getting in trouble. And you recall the exasperation and sneering faces of fellow students that ridiculed those who tried to put the troublemakers in order. Though you get the feeling that Giyu did none of that—that he was a strait-laced, quiet, good student.

Thinking about it, though, you knew more about Obanai than Giyu. The science teacher, though prickly and abrasive at best—even with his fellow faculty—did not stray away from group settings and offered his speech freely compared to the stoic personality standing beside you.

Giyu is difficult to read, even beneath the blazing sun, fingers and palm damp from holding his drink. You wipe your hand dry on your leg absentmindedly, feeling vaguely ill.

“Is it not to your tastes?” Giyu asks. He’s looking at you this time, his gaze coaxing a thin, flushing heat over your face down your nape.

“It’s good,” you say reflexively, and then glance at the drink. “It’s just, um, really sweet.”

“Do you not like sweet things?” he asks, glances at the blue and white can.

“I wasn’t expecting it,” you admit, rotating it to read the label. “I didn’t really look at what I picked.”

“A lot of the slots are empty,” he says.

“Yeah,” you nod, “but it’s good to try something new once in a while, right? So it’s not all bad.” Your smile feels a little realer this time—readily given to him now that you’ve exchanged a few words. “Do you like milk tea, Tomioka-san?”

“I don’t,” he says. The blunt finality of his tone makes you chuckle.

“I thought not. I always see you with water or green tea. Though you seem like the kind of person that likes red bean soup in the winter,” you say, and then balk. “I mean—green tea is good for you! And, um, I’m a fan of green tea myself. Though sometimes I’ll get those yogurt drinks, but they’re mostly gone by now. They’re popular amongst the students, so it makes sense.”

Rather than look disturbed by your outburst and inability to control your stream of consciousness, Giyu looks rather interested. Or at least, he’s good at disguising his true feelings with that intense, quiet stare. You recall more than one occasion where he’d accidentally sparked tension between Sanemi and Obanai, mainly due to his bluntness—though in most of those cases, it might have resulted more from their short tempers rather than Giyu’s quiet, aloof personality.

“Red bean soup is alright,” Giyu says finally, staring into the open mouth of his water bottle. “Though during the winter I prefer regular tea.”

“I’m a fan of red bean soup too.” You smile. “It’s good if you want something to warm you up, and it’s sweet but not too sweet. It’s a good pick-me-up when the days get shorter, I think.” You take a sip of your sickeningly sweet drink and shudder, lowering it from your lips for the last time. When your tongue darts out along your bottom lip, you can taste the heavy sweetness lingering there. Maybe you should dump out the rest and fill the can with water from the fountain.

Instinct pulls your eyes up.

Giyu is watching you, midnight irises illuminated cobalt with the high afternoon sun.

Impulse has your tongue darting out again, the reflex too strong to quell in time. It’s another mistake, you think, because his eyes flicker down for just a split second to watch before you turn away, heat swelling across your face.

“Um, well, it’s getting a bit late, so um, I’ll see you later, Tomioka-san,” you say, and gesture with a weak hand. “I’m going this way, so…”

The water bottle in his hand is nearly empty. “See you,” he says, nodding.

You do not accidentally crush the can in your fist when you walk past him; do not trip over your own feet in the process; do not focus on how aware you are of the way you walk as you leave him there, tongue achingly sweet, the milk tea sitting in the pit of your stomach.

When you next bump into Giyu at the vending machine, it’s during lunch that same week. Your own meal—a simple cup ramen and a rice ball from the store—was tasty but salty. You count coins in your palm: today you have 145 yen, enough for a yogurt drink if desired, but the thought of drinking something with a consistency even slightly thicker than water is enough to deter you this time.

The selection is much more abundant, you’re pleased to see, and the machine chokes out your drink of choice with a rattling mechanism—depositing a stocky bottle of lychee fanta, perfectly chilled and promising to quench your thirst.

Swaddled in humidity even beneath the shade of a cleverly placed tree, away from the chaos of other people, you sweat. Tracing asymmetric patterns in the pavement, focusing on nothing but the cool plastic of your drink and the heat settling over you like a second skin. Deep in thought, you allow yourself to drift a little.

Which is why, when the machine beeps and spits out a second drink with a rumbling noise—you nearly jump out of your skin.

Giyu is there, watching you as adrenaline strikes like lightning at the center of your chest.

“Apologies,” he says to your startled expression. “I didn’t want to scare you by speaking so suddenly.”

“I-I see,” you laugh weakly, drink clenched in both hands. “Don’t worry about it, Tomioka-san.”

He’s bought another bottle of Pocari Sweat. The cap of his drink crinkles and clicks as he twists it open. You uncap yours to take another sip, tiny grooves pushing into the give of your fingertips. Aside from the little burst of subtly scented air when you’d first opened it, the drink doesn’t smell like much. The taste is a little underwhelming, too—surprising you despite expecting a lighter flavor. Still, it’s refreshing and chilly on your tongue, cooling your throat when you swallow.

“Did you eat already?” he finally asks.

“Ah, yes. I bought lunch from the store this morning,” you explain, remembering the raisin bread on his desk, arranged neatly besides a completed stack of paperwork. “I just like getting drinks here because it’s outside.”

Giyu glances at your bottle. “Fanta,” he says, flat and matter-of-fact. He doesn’t sound judgmental, but you resist the urge to hide it behind your back all the same. “I usually get the same thing, so I’ve never tried it.”

“It’s—it’s good!” you tell him. “The flavor is a little subtle, but it’s refreshing. I just thought a yogurt drink might be a strange combination with my lunch.”

“I see,” he says.

“Um, and what about you, Tomioka-san? Did you only have raisin bread?” you ask, fiddling with the cap.

“It’s enough to supply me with what I need,” he says.

“I see.” You smile. “Have you taken your patrol yet?”

“Not yet. Rengoku said he would take care of Kamado and the others,” he says, swirls the water in his bottle.

You nod, electing not to mention that ‘take care of’ likely meant hosting another recreation of a historical battle with paper swords and armor. Maybe you should stop by his classroom before going back to your desk just in case…

Two students emerge from around the corner, carrying a suspicious amount of baseball equipment. Oh no.

It’s not uncommon for students to visit the gyms after they eat and play basketball, or to kick soccer balls back and forth. But Giyu keeps the keys to the storage room in his desk to prevent students from making a mess. That leaves you with only two possibilities: either they broke into his desk when no one was around—which would warrant more than a disciplining smack from Giyu’s shinai—or one of the teachers (Sanemi, most likely) voluntarily gave it to them just to mess with him.

Both realities mean one thing: Giyu would be making use of that shinai, and Tamayo would not be happy to have two more students sent to her office.

The two students spot him right before Giyu notices your gaze and motions to turn around.

“Um, Tomioka-san!” you burst out, reaching forward to grab onto his sleeve, forcibly pulling his attention back to you. “Did you know—that this drink has salt in it to enhance the sweetness? I mean, I know it says ‘salt and lychee’ on the label, but you can’t even taste it, so how much are they putting in, right? Isn’t that amazing?” You offer a smile, showing him the label. “Look at that! It says right here, um…”

Giyu is looking, but not at the drink: his eyes are wider than usual, enough that his irises are rounded, unmoving from your face.

The students have already left—turned tail and ran the moment you distracted him, but you’re realizing the weight in your hand is from his arm, having gone limp when you grabbed the sleeve of his tracksuit.

Your heart chooses that moment to flip. A strange thing, really, because there’s nothing for your heart to be flipping about.

“Um—I’m sorry,” you whisper, releasing him. “It’s just—I thought it was interesting.”

“I see,” he says. “You read the ingredients?”

“My parents taught me to,” you say, swapping the bottle into your other hand to forget the texture of his sleeve. “Isn’t it only natural?”

“I suppose,” he says. You’re still standing close, almost close enough to be able to count his eyelashes, to see the mismatching patterns in his irises. You take a step back. He has a strange expression on his face—something a little distant, a little nonplussed. it was probably a bad idea to grab him out of the blue like that. You’re lucky he didn’t smack you with that shinai.

Giyu turns his gaze sideways for a moment.

“Well, I’ll see you,” he says finally, nodding.

“Y-yeah.”

Oh no, don’t let that be the last part of your interaction with him, for the love of god—

“Um, Tomioka-san! I, uh, never see you around during lunch even though everyone else usually eats in the faculty room.” With the exception of Kyojurou, who’s often accosted by students wishing to hide from Sanemi or be a little rowdier than they could in their own classroom. “I was thinking—it might be fun to switch things up. Would you, um, like to eat together tomorrow?”

Idiot! You hope your smile doesn’t twitch. Idiot, why would you ask that suddenly! Look at him; he doesn’t even know what to say!

It takes Giyu approximately three seconds to blink, in which he appears to gather himself before responding:

“No, thank you. I prefer to eat alone.”

And look, he even rejected your offer! You made yourself look like an idiot for nothing!

“Ah, no problem,” you say, trying to smile wider. “Um, I hope you enjoy, Tomioka-san. See you!”

You spare him the embarrassment of leaving first and speed away, avoiding the eyes of curious students. Kanae teases you as you pass her desk, saying you look like you’ve seen a ghost.

With the door at your back, you don’t see if Giyu comes back to the office. Instead, you take a seat, eat your lunch, and don’t look up until the bell rings for class.

On the rare days you can’t make it to the vending machine, you make do with tea from the infirmary.

It’d been an accident that you happened upon Tamayo making tea in her office, and had gratefully accepted a cup while she coaxed you to take a break from the constant movement of preparing for exams.

You’re nursing a cup of sencha when Giyu steps through the door, a half-finished bottle of Pocari Sweat in his hand.

“Did you take a trip across the street?” Kanae asks, smiling pleasantly. “That vending machine has been getting a lot of use lately.”

“It’s always been popular,” Sanemi scoffs from his seat, flipping through a stack of papers. “Who cares where Tomioka gets his drinks?”

“Our lovely home ec teacher goes almost every day,” Kanae continues, catching your attention. “I didn’t see you go today, though.”

“Ah, no,” you say, a little embarrassed. “I couldn’t today.”

Her expression is passive and unassuming—never a good sign when coming from the Kochou sisters. “Tomioka-san started going more just recently. Is it your new favorite spot?”

“Not really,” Giyu says.

“Fuckin’ creepy,” Sanemi leers. “Isn’t slinking around the school enough?”

You sigh.

Giyu is not immune to surprising you, you find out.

He’s already staked out the vending machine, for one—standing beside it, looking innocuous enough to passersby, but keeping that flat, blank look on his face. It’s enough to keep most students away, or at least the ones that have tasted the sting of his shinai.

“Tomioka-san?” you ask, confusion obvious in your voice. “Are you okay?”

He perks up when you approach—at least, you think he does: it could easily be a trick of the light, how when his weight shifts, he stands a little straighter; how, when he blinks, his eyes are open a fraction wider, as if to see you fully, as you are.

“This is for you,” he says, and holds out an unopened bottle of green tea, “for the other day.”

“The other day?”

He blinks. “When I said no to lunch. It was a bit thoughtless of me.”

“Ah, oh no, you don’t have to worry about that. You don’t have to say yes if you didn’t want to,” you say, hands coming up in protest, alarmed. Had he been thinking about that all day? It’s hard to tell what’s on his mind—he’s skilled at not letting any wayward emotions show on his face. So skilled that you sometimes find yourself wishing he would allow them to run a little more freely.

This is one of those times.

“It’s not that I—” he says, and then quiets himself. You don’t hear him do that often—he may be frugal with words, but Giyu is a person that speaks with purpose: you’ve never thought of him as one to talk superfluously. “I should have given it more thought.”

You swallow dryly. “Um, ah, if… if you’re sure then I’ll gladly accept.” And then, “Oh, I have change for the—it might not be enough, though…”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Giyu says, borrowing your earlier words. “I wanted to.”

“But—”

“I wanted to,” he repeats, takes half a step closer. The drink is still in his hand.

It’s surprisingly difficult to say no to Tomioka Giyu.

Your gaze drops. Then rises to meet his again, the moment turning you demure. You nod.

“Okay. Thank you, Tomioka-san.” You take it with both hands, feeling oddly sweaty, weight shifting from foot to foot. The tea is cold, still, against your palms. Emotion blooms behind your ribs. The weather might be cooling down, but for some reason, a gentle, comfortable heat is soaking up the length of your spine, has you smiling up at him. “I appreciate it.”

His gaze drops sideways. “Don’t mention it.”

The tea is sweet and refreshing, cold on your teeth. A familiar sensation that has you shivering.

“Have you had something to drink yet?” you ask, twisting the cap back on.

“I finished mine already,” he says, gestures with an empty Pocari Sweat bottle to show you.

“I see.” You look back at the tea. “Is there a reason you chose green tea?”

Giyu doesn’t look at you when he answers. “You said you enjoy green tea.”

That was months ago, now. You blink the surprise out of your expression, directing your gaze forward.

“I guess I did.”

Though it shouldn’t surprise you, there is a hollow sense of disappointment when you’re unable to make it to the vending machine twice in one week.

Midterms draw much of your attention away from superfluous tasks, and though a chilled Fanta would do wonders to boost your mood, the translucent pink of this bottle’s wrapper and contents wonderfully cute and eye catching.

You’re halfway up the stairs to the faculty office when a shadow crosses your face, blocking light from the windows.

“Oh, Tomioka-san,” you smile, nodding, “good morning.”

“Good morning,” he says, eyes dropping to the drink in your hands. He blinks. “That drink looks new. Did you already go to the vending machine today?”

“Ah, no,” you say, smile sheepishly. “I figured I wouldn’t be able to make it today, with midterms to grade. I bought this from the convenience store just now. I’ve never tried it before, so I thought I’d give it a shot.”

“I see.” The inflection of his voice confuses you. He sounds resigned. Disappointed, almost—if you dared pinpointing the meaning behind the subtle droop of his shoulders. Though calling his reaction disappointment—even in the safety of your own head—feels a little conceited: he could just be put off by the drink you’d chosen, the near-violent pink not exactly a natural color.

Still, you decide to push your luck.

“Is something wrong, Tomioka-san?” you ask.

Giyu blinks. “No, not at all.” He glances away. “It’s important to take a break to prevent eyestrain. A short walk would help.”

You nod. “Hopefully there’ll be some time today, but if not…” You hold up the drink with a little grin, feeling silly. “Say hi to it for me, if you end up going. The vending machine, I mean,” you joke, and immediately regret it after his expression doesn’t budge.

Ducking, you take a moment to grimace to yourself, embarrassed. “See you later, Tomioka-san,” you say, climbing the last few steps and hurrying to the staff office.

You’re late. The sun has already begun to set, an unmistakable tell of winter’s arrival.

The vending machine is probably empty by now—you’re one of the only teachers left. Tengen is floating about in the art room, supposedly critiquing student works despite midterms having passed.

Maybe you should just go home: the building is warm but the weather promises snow. It’s already cold outside, why waste the body heat buying a drink when you could simply enjoy one for free in the comfort of your apartment?

There’s a pull in the air—like the invisible workings of a magnet that urges you to pause, placing your pen onto the desk with a quiet thud and rolling your chair out—arms stretching high towards the ceiling.

It’s not that far; plus you still have a handful of papers to grade. It’ll be a well-earned break.

The hallways are empty, the quiet squeak of your shoes inoffensive as you descend the stairs and leave through the door closest to the baseball field. Even if there’s no hot drinks left, you should probably have something—your water ran out a few hours before the last bell rung. The dry air is uncomfortable in your throat.

“Shit.” Cold air swallows you only a couple steps from the door, sweeps over your face and seeps beneath your clothes despite the scarf and layers of fabric. Shoulders hunched towards your ears, you step over a patch of ice and make a beeline for the vending machine, sticking your hands in your sleeves to keep them warm.

You’re walking quicker now that you’re outside—you can already see the vending machine. But when your gaze draws up, you pause mid-step, eyes going wide, disbelieving at the sight before you.

Tomioka Giyu is there again, waiting.

Waiting for you, a part of your brain whispers before you quiet it, unwilling to assign meaning to the moment before it even happens.

“Tomioka-san? How long have you been out here?” you ask upon approaching.

Giyu breathes out. The puff of air that leaves his mouth is visible, a fleeting translucent cloud.

“Not long,” he says. But the swell of his cheeks are pink, the rosy color splashed across the bridge of his nose for good measure. You consider telling him this, head tilting, assessing.

Instead, a little, quiet laugh escapes. Good-natured and amused as you smile at him. He blinks. Drops his gaze. Then looks back up.

“This is for you.”

It’s a hot drink. Lemon tea and honey, that bright label contrasting against the backdrop of his track suit.

“It’s cold today,” he says, eyes unmoving on the bottle in his hand. “I thought—…It’s important to make sure you stay warm.”

Stunned into silence, you simply look at him, aware of an unnatural heat creeping up your nape, pooling around your face.

It’s fascinating, then, to see the color on his cheeks deepen in real time, the spread of it disappearing beneath his jaw. Your thumb twitches. For a wild, fleeting moment, you consider reaching out to touch him: he’s probably warm from holding the drink. But then your lips part to speak, and the feeling dissipates.

“Thank you, Tomioka-san,” you say, allowing him to place the drink in your hands.

The bottle feels good, but you’re far from needing to rely on its warmth. Your palms are hot. Your face is hot. The indicator light tells you the slot for honey lemon tea is empty. Did he get the last one? Or maybe… maybe, considering how pink his face is from the cold, he’d come here to save one for you—picking it before the clubs could get to it, selecting the drink with you in mind.

“Have—did you—” Hasty, you clear your throat. “Did you have a chance to drink something warm, too?”

“After my patrol,” he says, pocketing his hands.

That was nearly an hour ago: almost all the clubs have gone home; the school is nearly empty. He hasn’t been waiting for you all this time, right?

“You should worry about keeping yourself warm too, Tomioka-san,” you tell him. “Here, let me—”

He shakes his head. “No, there’s no need,” he says. “I’m fine.”

“In that case, promise you’ll drink something warm when you get home,” you say, hands tightening around the tea he’d given you.

He blinks. Nods.

You smile up at him. “Good.”

Giyu exhales a wispy, translucent cloud. He says nothing more, and you bask in the silence, comfortable and warm, twisting the cap open.

The drink is pleasantly warm and tangy—a hint of sweetness from the honey. The taste tingles along your salivary glands, makes them water.

“Thank you again, Tomioka-san,” you say. “It tastes good. Would you like to —”

Would you like to try, is on the tip of your tongue, but your brain catches up before your mouth can form the words, and you nearly bite the inside of your cheek in the attempt to backtrack.

“Would you—would—would you like to go back inside? It’s, um, cold out here,” you stammer, capping the drink and ducking your face deeper against the soft threads of your scarf.

He nods, leads the way back towards the building. You follow closely behind, cradling the bottle in your arms.

The sky is darker, now, only a hint of blue peeking into the thick stretch of midnight horizon. The school is mostly empty, except for a handful of essential staff. You’d planned to finish grading at your desk, but going home would probably be a better idea—dinner would take some time to make, and you could already feel exhaustion creeping in.

Ice catches your eye just as your foot hits it, the frictionless collision sweeping your unsuspecting weight forward, threatening to collide your body with the door.

Your lungs suction in a gasp, feathering on the edge of a shout, but you’re quick enough to grab the wall, cushioning what would’ve been a nasty fall on concrete and cut stone. Your fingers slip as Giyu rushes forward to stabilize you.

It’s only a little surprising that Tomioka Giyu feels human. His stoicism and placid expressions are usually so easily misconstrued, you can’t help the fractional widening of your eyes when you register the warmth of his body. Predictably, Giyu seems less taken aback by the contact, but you can feel his eyes on your face, dipping to the coy part of your lips—lost in a swooping surge of tingles that spider from your nape to the very tips of your fingers.

His arm is a strong, unmoving presence across your back, meeting you easily, his breath puffing around your temple in a visible cloud.

Without him, you’re steady enough, but you meet his eyes, and all attempts to speak are wrung from your throat. The proximity and touch robbing you of everything but a desirous rush to grab him.

“Are you alright?” he asks. You’ve been staring. Your throat and face are hot.

“Yes, thank you. Just, uh, caught me off guard, is all,” you say. His gaze sticks to your face.

Giyu blinks, nods. “The ice is sometimes hard to see. Be careful on your way home,” he says.

There’s an offer on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow it with what you hope is a grateful smile.

“You too, Tomioka-san.”

The sun leaves a faint blue streak on the horizon when you finally part ways, honey-lemon lingering on your tongue.

Above you, the sky is blue and clear. Students linger on school grounds—loitering in their clubs, playing a universal game of keep away with Giyu as he takes care of patrol. You leave not long after after, dipping out from your desk—hoping to reach the vending machine before him when he circles back.

The smile is hard to hide as he approaches. He redirects himself away from the school’s entrance, deviating from a concrete path onto dirt and then sidewalk as he crosses the street to meet you.

“You’re here early.”

“I thought it was about time I made it out here before you.” The tease is lost as he blinks, but the lack of response is not a deterrent as you extend a bottle towards him. “For you.”

The green tea label faces out, the plastic taut and unopened—still hot.

“For me,” Giyu parrots.

“It’s still cold out,” you explain, “and I remember you said you like tea. I thought… well, I’m returning the favor late.”

“You didn’t have to,” he says.

You nod, patient. “I wanted to.”

The line of his shoulders softens. His mouth twitches, you could almost hope for a smile. When he reaches for it, the weight of your lungs swoop in your chest, hoping for a fleeting touch. None comes.

“Thank you.” Belatedly, he glances towards your hands. “Did you buy anything?”

“Huh? Oh, yes—just a little something I thought would be interesting,” you say, and show him the label.

“‘Sparkling peach-apple’,” he reads from the label.

“It’s not quite conventional, but it sounded interesting,” you say. “It’s not too sweet, either.” He twists the cap to his drink open. “By the way, Tomioka-san,” you begin, “I know most teachers either bring their own or swipe an extra from the junior high class—Shimada-san said they stock up on extra just in case. Do you not like milk?”

“I do,” he says.

“I’ve been wondering for a while, but, wouldn’t getting your drinks from the cafeteria more convenient?” you ask, realizing your mistake when he freezes. “Oh, it’s not that I’m suggesting you should,” you amend with a frantic gesture of your hand. “I just mean—usually people try to save money with something like this. I just thought…” He does not look at you. “Sorry.” You wince.

“No, it’s,” he says, and then stops, “I used to bring my own.”

“Oh.” Thinking about it, you do recall seeing the occasional reusable water bottle at his desk. An energy drink or two during the colder months that he’d drink in the morning at a somewhat alarming speed. “Is it inconvenient to buy them at the store?” you ask, curious.

“No,” Giyu says, looking down. He’s fiddling with the label. “But you… you come here often.”

The laugh that escapes is reflexive. “Yes, I like getting my drinks here. It’s convenient to save my change.” His words loop in your head on your next breath. Over and over you hear them. Giyu continues to fidget. Your jaw is slackened.

It’d crossed your mind a few times since this little routine was established; wondering why he’d decided to frequent the vending machine when he showed no prior interest in the bottles you brought back, or the offers you’d extend to the others to buy something for them.

“I’m glad,” you say around a blossoming smile. “I enjoy talking to you like this, Tomioka-san. I think we’ve become quite a bit closer, haven’t we?”

The jest is light, familiar. Giyu meets your gaze. A handful of months ago, his expression would’ve been hard to interpret. There’s a furrowed little spot between his eyebrows. Barely there, but noticeable. You can read his subtle line of tension, the bumps of his knuckles as his fingers tighten around the bottle.

“I hope so,” he says. You swallow another laugh, giddy with his eyes on you.

“If you like—it’s too cold to eat outside just yet—but if you’d like to join me for lunch I’d be happy to have your company.”

Giyu’s mouth presses into the smallest of smiles. It softens his gaze, tempting you forward. The memory of his arm against your back could make you selfish.

“I’d like that,” he says, and the nerves in your chest soar.

“Tomorrow?” you ask, and then backtrack. “Or, uh, if that’s too soon, then what about the day after? It can get a little noisy in the staff room, but my classroom is free during lunch as long as there’s no students there. Or we could, uh, eat in the gym? Oh, but students usually go there after eating.”

“Tomorrow,” Giyu says, mercifully stopping your tirade.

“Okay,” you smile, “I look forward to it.”

The peach and apple flavor fizzles pleasantly on your tongue. Brings a gentle kiss of sweetness and the promise of a gentle tomorrow.

Haunt him funny style

Made this on my lunch

Tomioka giyuu because I love him 🫶

I’ve been drawing lots of fanart lately which I hardly and hate doing? Idk what’s done is done. His hair was originally WAYY too light so I just slapped some black over it and it looks fine :b

More fanart for @ckret2 because I cannot stress enough how much I enjoy their fic. For this one more time was spent on it but I really don’t mind because I like how it came out and I’m happy to contribute some more fanart for this cool fic :))

Art dump

I’m dumping art here mostly because I’ve been drawing in my lazy art style lately and I don’t want to give off the impression that all my art is like that.. since most of the drawings I’ve put on this account have been for fun they don’t look as good as my normal art. The first pic is a drawing done minutes ago. If you couldn’t tell I don’t typically color my drawings so my bad that the colored drawings on my account kinda suck but wtv. A lot of different characters because I love making up ocs I just don’t do much with them..

That’s it bye!

Another drawing of my version of Bill (although a little lazily done) he’s one with nature basically and he’s covered In dirt. He recognizes that being in cloths caked with dirt is not that comfortable and goes through the trash for discarded cloths. He gets dirty easily though so he doesn’t replace his cloths until they are simply unlivable anymore.

Well yeah that’s it I’m making shit up as I go this is js for fun :)

Wabit

This was fun to doodle. Bills very homeless and living off of berries and spite. He kinda shows up and offers favors like helping them get out of messes in exchange for them to find a way to send him home. He ends up helping them anyway and Mabel gives him a sticker as a thanks (to the displeasure of dipper). Bill would never admit it but he does help in small ways to get these stickers because he finds the puns on them funny (also he likes the validation)

My take on human bill. This is a design for AFTER his death with the whole “turning human thing”. I kept thinking abt how I wanted to make him so that he was unique in SOME way. When I was looking at other designs most of them he was in a suit so I gave him a more laid back kinda suit. Curly hair because it’s easier to shape ina. Triangle sorta way.. the top left sketches are mostly trial n error. this is a take where he comes back as a human with little powers ofc but he’s restricted to gravity falls. Once the twins come back next summer he goes over there and demands them to find a way to send him back to the nightmare realm. They OBVIOUSLY say no and throw shit at him to get them to go away he tries to attack them with his powers but he can’t really do much damage so he flees. Since their grunkles haven’t arrived back yet they can’t really do much. But once they get there the twins tell them of what happened with bill and from then on are on high alert. The idea is that bill just kinda shows up with schemes n shit and hijinks ensue as the pines become less intimated by the guy since he can never seem to land a blow (not that their guard is completely low). Bills body isn’t very strong either, he’s basically been eating berries n grass. He spawned with the cloths dont question it.

I tried my best to put together a decent story to go along with the design so uh yeah

Another drawing of Goldilocks bill. Not a lot to this one. I want to draw more interesting things for this fic because this is the only fic I regularly keep up with and I really do love it but to do that I have to get used to drawing fanart of other characters nonetheless enjoy :)

@ckret2

MORE OF @ckret2’S GOLDILOCKS BILL!! THE BRUSH TO THE HAIR GAVE ME BRAIN DAMAGE WHEN I FIRST READ IT SO I MADE HIS HAIR A LITTLE PUFFY AND ADDED A LITTLE HAIRSTYLE >:D

Dead animation

I should probably draw more often 😅

I love love love the goldilocks bill fic and I had to draw him @ckret2

Masterpost for Bill "Goldilocks" Cipher fic

If you're new here, this is one of those fics where Bill comes back in a human body and is imprisoned in the Mystery Shack until the Pines & friends can figure out how to kill him (which they won't, because this is also a "Bill's redeemed through the power of improbable friendship" fic). The "Goldilocks" is because the Pines need a code name other than "Bill Cipher" to call their prisoner, and Bill liked Mabel's suggestion best.

For all my fic, art, doodles, upcoming scene excerpts, and posts about characterization & plot plans, see my #bill goldilocks cipher tag.

For just the fic itself, here are all the current chapters:

Bill returns, in a bedsheet toga.

Bill tries to murder the Stans and Soos (with time travel).

Dipper and Mabel save the day (with time travel).

A tense evening as the Pines prepare to get rid of Bill.

Plot twist: the Pines physically can't get rid of Bill.

The gang goes to a diner at 3 a.m. for hostage negotiations.

"How did Bill get here" flashback; plus, entering his new prison.

Bill gives himself a haircut and depression.

Bill & Ford grudgingly have a sincere conversation and regret it.

The kids decide they won't let Bill ruin their summer. Also: Pacifica!

Mabel gives Bill the most beautiful makeover on Earth. (It's not.)

Pacifica advertises Harry's Hairy Fairy Formula. Bill wants it.

Pacifica refuses to share HHFF; the twins discover its side effects.

Mabel wins Bill's eternal friendship with arts & crafts.

Bill, Ford, and Dipper have nightmares that are Bill's fault.

Ford has a fun day with Mabel but everything goes wrong.

The fun day goes right again thanks to healthy communication.

Mabel's Guide To Local Animals, co-starring Bill Cipher.

Wendy snoops into the weird things happening in the shack.

Wendy meets the weird thing (it's Bill).

Stan & Ford's birthday party! Bill gives evil gifts.

Bill "helps" with Dipper's nightmares; no one can figure his motive.

Bill's ex is back in town and nobody's happy about it.

Everyone's even less happy to learn Bill has a sex life.

Mabel and Bill make friendship bracelets! :)

The Pines take Bill to the mall. He wears terrible things.

Bill breaks Mabel's heart (and panics to fix it).

Bill fast talks his way into going with Wendy to Rainbow Club.

Summerween morning: Bill contacts the Henchmaniacs.

Summerween day: Mabel pries out a bit of Bill's past, with crayons.

Summerween eve: The Trickster's pals visit and Bill terrifies Dipper.

Dipper & Mabel make a poppet to control Bill.

COMING SOON: Stan takes Bill to the dentist. In handcuffs.

I'll start crossposting this fic to Ao3 once I'm far enough in I don't feel like I'll be editing early chapters anymore. Until then, read it here!

This post was last updated December 29, 2023! If you're seeing this post as a reblog and it's been a while since then, check back on the original post to see if more's been added!