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lorelune · 3 months

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bathtime

|| blade x reader || M || captive reader x necrobiome blade || wc: 5.1k || ao3 || previous + next ->

Even the best bath water will find it difficult to cleanse 'sin'.

minors, antis, and ageless blogs dni

notes: well hello :3c welcome to part 3 of the architect-verse :3cc been cooking on this one for awhile 🙏 yandere blade is such a guy and scummy manipulative mommy kafka is so fun to write :3ccc thank you for beloved @ofmermaidstories for doing a read through on this one 🥺♥!! enjoy enjoy enjoy 💓

CW: dark content, yandere blade, captive/pet reader, discussions of noncon, references to past noncon on blade while he was underage and as an adult, references to past noncon on reader, use of the word rape, violence/thoughts of violence, past yingxing/dan feng, toxic blade/kafka

It’s normal for Blade to return to the Stellaron Hunters’ main vessel covered in assorted types of gore. Scraps of rent flesh, smears of blood, bile, scales— tendons and sinew wrapped under his forearms, clinging from the pressure of impact light-years away. The smell of it clings to him, still fresh, just barely beginning to rot. He stews in it during his typical return in small, covert starships. He half-suffocates with the stench of death.

This is typical. Blade does not carry any opinion about it. If anything, he welcomes the potential of asphyxiation, though it never comes.

Most routinely, Kafka will greet him as he returns and take him to clean up. Occasionally, when she is indisposed, Silver Wolf will be forced to hose him down in the communal gym shower or Sam will dunk him in the bath by the scruff of his neck. Blade does not... particularly enjoy the latter two options. Though he isn't sure entirely why, and he doesn't tend to dwell on it either.

When Kafka collects him, it is easier, if nothing else. Less fuss, less grimacing over the smell of burgeoning rot and complaining that Blade should do this prior to arriving home. Blade doesn't care about the other Stellaron Hunters’ complaints, not really, but it does make the ordeal longer than it needs to be.

(And maybe, maybe, he does not like being drenched in bone-chilling water and soaked clothing. He hates it.)

Kafka will lead Blade back to her own room, strip him, and give him a warm bath. Frequently, she’ll take off her own clothing and join him. She’ll hold him close, his back to her front. Kafka likes when she is able to cow him into resting against her front, cow him into resting his cheek against her breasts while she scrubs away the worst of the grime.

Never mind that they share the same, red-tinged bathwater.

(Occasionally, things escalate. Touch that volleys between innocent and clinical and sexual. Kafka will stroke down the planes of his body, reach for his cock, and bring him to release. It’s— it's nice. He thinks. He can't tell.)

It's hard to tell anything in the steam of the bath. Though Kafka's presence renders his mara mute, proximity makes it writhe regardless. It is not a soundless beast, though it loses its words. Muddy feelings, rather than anything clear cut. It's a reprieve regardless.

This is why Blade prefers to be cleaned by Kafka.

...

This mission, however, Blade receives a text from Kafka during his return journey that she will be out. Along with Silver Wolf. And that Sam is charging and shouldn't be disturbed.

However—

Kafka:

why don't you see if our little stray is up for a bath, bladie?

There's a thought. One Blade hadn't considered.

(There's a whisper of a refusal in the back of his mind. 'No'. Blade is not sure why. It is quiet but sure of itself.)

Blade:

When will you be back.

Kafka:

tomorrow. don't wait up until then. listen, just ask.

Kafka's mind weaving does not work over text. But it is, regardless, difficult to resist her command. This is habit.

Blade idles outside of your room. He has dripped mess across the vessel and left little piles of flesh and muscle in his wake. The quiet sound of blood splattering against the floor (his, maybe, though his regeneration should be almost complete) makes him aware of this.

It feels uncouth to enter your room like this.

Blade shakes himself off and leaks scarlet droplets against the metal paneling. methodically, he releases the five locks on your door. Each clicks when fully disarmed, and by the time Blade enters, you're already looking up at the door, eyes wide.

You're tucked into bed with a soft blanket over your lap. A tablet (a gift from silver wolf at Kafka's behest. For 'good behavior'. Not connected to any internet, but you've told Blade it helps pass the time.)

The device is promptly forgotten as you push yourself out of bed, "Aeons, Blade, what happened? Are you hurt?"

You approach him with no caution. It's reckless. It's foolish, especially with this much adrenaline tumbling around between his eyes and in his veins. He has the distinct urge to shove you away and into the floor. Compress you until you break and bleed and bleed and break.

Blade does not.

Instead, he lets you flit around him. He lets you draw your own conclusions.

You are not foolish. You know he is dangerous; he knows you know this. It is your... good nature that creases the surely-soft skin between your brows. It's your kindness that has you frazzled, shaking in your hands as you hover over him. Searching for wounds that are mostly healed.

"Blade, I said, are you hurt?" You ask, voice strained, bent at the waist while examining a slice in his pants. A lance had torn his calve wide open. It has already healed.

"I'm fine."

"Sure." You don't sound convinced, frowning. "You look like shit. Am I really supposed to believe that?"

"I have already healed. my injuries are no longer a concern."

"... Really?"

"I am an abomination of Yaoshi. This is my nature."

You already know this, yet you look defeated. Your jaw is tight. "Uh-huh. Alright. Fuck, do you feel alright?"

"I'm fine. I need to be clean."

"... Alright?"

"I need to bathe."

"... I see that... Do you want me to call Kafka?"

"She's off ship."

"Oh, fuck." you curse and shake your head. "I-is she going to be back soon?"

"No. Help me instead."

"M-me?" Your voice trembles and you take a fearful step back. Ever the skittish thing. something in him— sort of him— vibrates.

"Yes."

"Can you— not?"

"It's cumbersome to wash on my own."

"I see." You run a hand over your cheeks and adjust the wide collar of your shirt. It’s too big. It’s one of his— probably? A sleep shirt. One that Kafka stole from him to give to you. He knows you own several. "Alright. Okay. Fine. Fuck, I-I can help."

You shoo him into your bathroom.

You turn away from him almost immediately, poking around in a cabinet, plucking brightly colored products and muttering under your breath. Kafka mentioned that isolation is getting to you more than you think. She thinks it's cute.

Blade wordlessly begins to strip. First off is his blood-soaked overcoat, shredded around his ribs and with massive gouges taken out of the back. Then his undershirt. Followed by his pants. One of his belts rings a metallic clink as he undoes it.

You choose this moment to turn around and your eyes go wide.

"BLADE!" You cover your eyes, dropping a bottle. "What are you— you can't just do that."

"Do what?"

"Get... naked?"

"You are going to help me bathe. This is necessary."

"I understand that." You sound exasperated. Your voice is shaky. The tone is pulling something in the back of his mind. The corners of his lips almost want to curl upwards. "But you can't just strip without warning. Aeons, have some manners."

Blade nearly laughs— good-naturedly. The urge to is something dormant and poisonous. Seldom used. Usually it's a sharp impulse, but it's almost warm now. Tepid and pleasant.

(All for you.)

You cover your eyes as you fumble to turn on the tap, "At least go rinse off a little in the shower first, please?"

Doable, albeit difficult. Blade grunts something akin to an affirmative and finds your shower. He turns the water on (hot or cold doesn't seem... relevant) and steps in. The spray pours down from the ceiling, sending the worst of the gore down the drain.

Blade does not move for quite some time.

"Blade?" you ask warily. "You... done in there?"

It takes him a moment to reply. The cold spray lags him, "Yes."

"... Can you come out? The bath is ready."

He idles, thinking about your question. The softness of your voice. The candle that he can smell, lit on the countertop. You yourself, dressed in soft lounge clothes and covered in scars that strangers gave you. He thinks about the way skin and muscle rend under his blade. The way yours could. Under him. Under—

"Blade."

You open the glass shower door, worry-eyed.

He blinks at you.

Gently, you grab his arm. He flinches with it. Has half a mind to slam you into the tile until you pop like an perfectly ripe fruit—

But he doesn't.

"C’mon, bath time," you coax him out, dripping, careful to not look down. It’s a preservation of modesty. It feels useless, Blade thinks, as he pulls away to clamor into the bath.

... There are bubbles. Fragrant and herbal, with a soft oil shimmering on the top of the water. It is the perfect temperature. It feels... good. He forgets how nice warmth is. He softens. You heave out a sigh and settle next to him, outside the bath. There's a dampened washcloth, already in your hand.

"Is it okay if I touch you?" You ask.

"I don't care."

"Give me a yes or a no,” you press him, glaring a little. You roll up your sleeves and rise to your knees.

"Yes, then." He does not care. Do you not understand?

(You probably don't. You definitely don't.)

Your expression is unreadable as you dunk the rag into the bathwater and begin to wash him. First his right arm, then his left. Gently rubbing him down, taking extra care with his hands. The rag is gentle over his stiff fingers. You check under each of his nails individually.

You’re meticulous.

You ask a question or two about how he washes himself, specifically his hair, but Blade can't give you answers. Kafka stocks his bathroom. His bottles are numbered, and he never deviates from their preassigned order. It is easier that way. Even in Kafka’s tub, she tends to use the same order of expensive-looking products that she favors.

The treatment you’re currently giving him is not routine.

The ends of your sleeves dip into the water as you stretch over the tub, toward his legs. Your tongue peaks out from your lips, bitten in concentration. (It’s cute.) Blade feels... compelled to assist you. He raises his leg up at the knee. Just as carefully, you scrub him down, and then focus on his other leg.

The experience fills him with a sense of unease.

(It’s too tender.)

(You treat him too delicately. Even Kafka acknowledges the damage he carries, and her touch is only gentle to punctuate a roughness later on. She toys with him— it’s a farce. The way you touch him is too kind. You are too kind for him. It reminds him— makes him feel the ghost of a touch from hands more delicate and powerful than your own. From a different lifetime, blotted by Mara, corrupted and molten in his mind—)

“Blade—?” Your voice is shaking, shattering. You’re frozen at the side of the tub.

Blade blinks.

He has his hand wrapped around your wrist; his grip swallowing the fragile limb. The force of it is bruising. He holds it under the water, forcing you to lean over the tub. You are submerged up to your elbow. Your expression is pinched, afraid. Your pupils pinpricked.

An animal snared.

His grip tightens.

“Let go, please.” You ask, lip wobbling.

He does not want to let go. He really does not want to let go. Blade cannot trace the feeling, it’s miasmatic. It was a bad idea to have you assist in bathing him. Mara webs itself behind his eyes. His jaw locks and breathes hard through his nose. He wants to sink his teeth into your throat.

“Please, stop,” You whine— whimper while tugging against his hold. You are half bent over the bath. Your eyes water, all shiny.

The tone does something to him. Many people plead around him— for their life, mercy, favor. It’s useless. He does not care. He has no reason to care. There are scripts to follow. However— there’s no script here. Just the warm suds, the blood pumping through your veins, and Blade’s tunneling vision.

With a sharp pull, he drags you into the bath.

You fall in headfirst. Instantly, you clamor at the side of the tub and his submerged legs to get yourself back above water. You scramble. It’s— cute. Your hair is slicked down around your face and forehead, eyes wide as you pant. His legs bracket your body. He tightens his thighs around you.

Your thin clothes are soaked and cling to you. Fabric over curves and folds over your flesh. Blade’s half-hard and feels bad about it.

(He can’t trace why. It’s far from the first time he’s been physically aroused in relation to you. It always makes him feel bad. Not with Mara, but something personal and sour and less mad. He hates it. He’s almost torn out a rib over the feeling.)

You hover, frozen, between his legs. The only sounds in the bathroom are your panting breaths and the drips rolling off your body, into the bathwater. You swallow, trembling, but remaining otherwise unmoving. It occurs to Blade after a few tense moments that you are waiting for him to strike.

Always like a little, frightened animal.

(Something in him writhes.)

He moves quickly, shooting a hand out to fist into your hair. His grip is unyielding, giving you no slack (though, he doesn’t yank and pull as he could. He could tear out chunks if he wanted. He just doesn’t want you to move.) He wants you closer— maybe. He wants you far away, thrown through one of the ship's thick windows and into the vacuum of space and dead.

(Though, it wouldn’t be as satisfying for the void of space to kill you. He’d rather do it. He wants to do it, if you’re going to die.)

You whine and paw at his wrists, babbling something.

Blade feels disgusting as he drags your body to his, his chest to your back, and he curls over your form. His arms wind around your waist and squeeze. You scratch at him, beg maybe— he can’t tell, his ears are ringing. Your fists that slam into his shoulders and skull feel like swats from a declawed kitten. He doesn’t budge despite your protests.

You stop fighting when you realize he isn’t hurting you.

Blade doesn’t... want to hurt you. He thinks. Not really. Not in the way that Mara is screaming at him to. He isn’t content, you’re too warm and too alive to be this close to his body, but it's not bad. Contact both scratches an itch under his skin and aggravates a wound. It’s like a bath with Kafka, but worse—

(Because part of him wants this.)

Blade flinches when you go slack against him, chest heaving out breath. Even this little ‘scrap’ has tired you out. You’ve become weakened in your confined state— even if you really wanted to fight him, you don’t have the physical strength to be able to.

You sniffle, covered in soaked clothes and soap suds.

“Don’t cry.” Blade says without thinking. His voice is shot, dead-pan.

Trembling, you shake your head, “I w-won’t.”

It’s a lie. You’re already shaking in his arms.

It’s— unfair. You’re most used to him, and less wary of him than Kafka. Part of him, a loud but small part of his mind, thinks that a bath together could be enjoyable— if he wasn’t washing blood and filth from his hair, and you weren’t shivering in your soaked day clothes.

(‘This could be nice’, it urges.)

His hands rub over your sides in small circles at the idea.

You gasp and squirm, looking back at him with wild eyes, “Blade, please—”

He stops, but his hold around your waist doesn’t waver. You sigh and lean back into his chest, deflating. Your eyes go half-lidded as you look toward the ceiling. They look— dull. Light and life drained. Like how they did when he and Kafka first collected you from that gilded planet.

Blade knows that look— a dull mind and an active body. Your breath is still a bit too fast. Your heart is the same, running a prey-like rhythm. He assumes that you have left your body, gone elsewhere.

“Hey.” He shakes you lightly, dragging you back to the cooling bath. “Help with my hair.”

“... Hair?” You ask, voice soft and dreamy. “... Do you need me to wash it?”

“Yes.”

“... Okay.” You nod after a moment and rotate in his lap.

Your shoulders sag forward as you fumble for shampoo and squirt a generous amount into your palm. Half of it misses and the gel sinks into the bathwater below.

It’s unfair— part of him says again— he wants to tear it out and shred it between his teeth or under his blade. It screams that it's unfair that you dote on a creature like him. It’s unfair that you must shiver while lathering and rinsing his hair. That your pretty lips tremble with fear.

The Mara writhes. He has not been human in so long. He does not deserve the gentleness you so often give him. Especially now, when he has dragged you closer, made you filthy with the stench of blood, and forced you so close. He wants to bite out your throat as you tip forward to grab a brightly colored bottle of oil and begin to work through the knots in his air.

You are frowning. You are crying.

He wants to eat you.

Blade reaches for your chest, studying the way that the fabric clings to your skin-gone-gooseflesh. He finds the top button of your soft blouse in his own unsteady hands and undoes it. You freeze when he does, breath catching.

You don’t breathe as he undoes another button.

Then another.

And another.

You don’t breathe until the garment is nearly off. Just one button secures the fabric. He can see the peak of your breasts under the fabric, nipples pebbled in the cold. You’re so cold.

(Blade wishes, dead Yingxing wishes, that he were warmer.)

Your hand shoots out and wraps around his wrist, and in a small voice, you beg, “Please, d-don’t.”

“You’re cold.” Blade says. He reaches past you, sloshing water, to turn on the spigot for hot water. “You will stay cold if you wear wet clothes.”

You look at him strangely. At first, it’s wounded. Like you’ve been lanced through with Shard Sword, and now bear the gaping wound. It morphs to one of confusion, then you bite your lip. And grab his hands in your own and stare at them.

“... That’s all?” You ask.

“Mostly.” Blade replies. There’s— more. Far more. But nothing that is concrete enough, or important enough, to share with you. It would more than likely aggravate his spitting Mara.

“Okay.” You reply, looking up from your joined hands. Your eyes are round and watery. “You’re not trying to rape me?”

He freezes.

The word ‘rape’ pulls something disgusting and festering up from Blade’s guts. Something he wants to purge. He has the distinct urge to lean over the side of the time and vomit, but he hasn’t eaten in the last forty-eight hours, so there’s nothing to heave up. So instead, he is still.

It’s like he can feel the rot. He’s not sure why. He knows what the word means, he is pretty sure he has been raped. Probably. Either when he was a young child, a refugee fleeing a massacred world, or maybe when he was the bedmate to a dragon. Maybe, probably, from Kafka, any number of times. Maybe last week. His mind is cloudy.

What constitutes rape is foggy.

He knows it would mean that he wants to have sex with you, and you wouldn’t want to have sex with him.

And Blade—

(He— He— doesn’t want to have sex with you? Or he does. Maybe. He wants to be close to you, inside you. He wants to curl around you and make you swear to never leave. He wants— he wants so much. Blade is selfish. But—)

Not like that, he doesn’t think. Others have been, he’s sure— he’s sure.

Mara pours into his mind, and he remembers then. Pieces of times, fragments of old memories, of rape. Of violation of all kinds.

(At the hands of borisins holding him down as he screamed and cried, his body too little to do any fighting in the jaws of an Abundance beast.)

(A tradesman who allowed him to stowaway on a cargo ship, destined for the Luofu. ‘Payment’ — the man had called it. For safe passage and a little sack of rice.)

(Dan Feng, during one of his draconic ruts. He was the Child of a Cosmic Horror, ultimately. That’s all Aeons are, anyways. Yingxing had been split on his cock so many times, so full, he bled for a day, even with Dan Feng fussing over him with his cloudhymns, lucid-in-mind and torn apart by so much guilt for a wildly proud man.)

(Kafka, a few days after she first picked him up from the surface of the asteroid Jingliu had been beating him into. Kafka, a few weeks after that— in a hotel that stank of blue emory roses. Kafka, a few weeks ago, draped over his shoulders between missions. There’s more. Memories drenched in the smell of her rich perfume. They tangle in feelings of comfort and revulsion.)

Blade doesn’t want to do any of that to you.

(He wants something with you— but—)

(Not like that. He doesn’t want you to hurt.)

“I’m not going to rape you.” He tells you. He hardly sounds like himself as the Mara quiets.

He thumbs over your lips. There’s a scar in the middle of them where they had been split, repeatedly, and then healed over. You’d told him once that one of your old keepers used to deprive you of water if he felt like it. Your breath is hot against his fingertip.

You say nothing, but your breath is still fast and shaky. Your eyes are wide. A feral, wild animal.

“I’m not.” Blade tries to reassure you. You flinch with the sound of his voice. “You’re freezing. The bath can be refilled with warm water. Bathe.”

Tears break over your lower lashes as you stare at him. He stares back.

(He wonders what you’re thinking. If you have as much trouble thinking as he does— you probably do. You’ve sustained head trauma. Traumas. You’re both torn-up wrecks, maybe. It could provide him with some solace.)

“... Okay.” You rub your eyes with balled up hands and laugh. “Okay.”

Blade then helps you peel off your shirt. Then your shorts and underwear. When you’re bare, Blade drains most of the water from the, leaving you both with a layer of clinging bubbles protecting the barest bits of your modesty. You cover your chest and center with your hands, keeping your head down. Hiding your throat.

He refills the tub with more soap— too much probably. Mountains of bubbles appear as he dumps in a glug of shimmering, emerald-colored oil. It swirls into the water as it rises. You relax as it rises over your chest. Your eyelids droop. You look so tired.

Blade washes you like you did him.

You face each other as he does. Your gaze never leaves him, though it goes glassy again. Unfocused. Blade can feel your heartbeat through your skin, slowing more and more with each pass of the warm, soapy rag he is using. He massages products into your hair. He thinks that he may be doing so in the correct order. He hopes he is.

This close, he can see all of you. Most of you. Feel you too. He feels ridges and bumps of scars. Chunks of flesh that have been torn from you, replaced by cicatrix, uneven and unnatural under his touch. You shudder when he touches you, shivering despite the heat of the room. You’re sensitive. He doesn’t want Kafka to know.

You feel different like this. Blade is unable to place why.

When he is through with you, steam and bubbles still rising from the bath, you drag him closer. Your fingers dig into his biceps, latching on and scrambling to get closer.

“... You really mean it, don’t you?” You ask. Your eyes are still unfocused. “You’re not going to? You’re not fucking with me?”

“... What are you talking about?”

An unrestrained smile stretches over your face, “You do mean it. You do. You do.”

Blade can only guess what you mean. You clearly will not (or cannot) tell him. You shiver against a full body thing against him. It makes him uneasy. He flips you by the hips, so that your back is to his chest, and he can curl over your shoulders. He cast a shadow into the water.

Indulgently, he presses his nose into your cheek. You smell like fresh soap and skin. He thinks if he licked you, you’d taste like salt.

He doesn’t.

When that’s all he does, you laugh.

It’s a belting thing, the kind of sound that’s punched from your gut with the same force that could break ribs. Blade can imagine the sound and sensation of it obliterating your insides as your laughter bounces around the tile of the bathroom. It’s manic. It’s an unwell sound. You clutch a fist over your chest as you howl.

You don’t stop for a while.

It’s clearly too much. Blade can feel it. The sound echoes in his chest. It must be shredding yours.

His arm wraps around your midsection as you do, and he tries to press you closer— he thinks. He thinks it might help. Your breath starts to shake, each inhale pitching high and sharp. You’re hyperventilating around your laughter. You’re hysterical, but don’t fight his hold. Even as tears drip down your cheeks, splattering into the bathwater.

Blade says your name— it should come out sharply. He means it to.

However, it is gentle. His voice is hushed and rough.

“You’re alright.” He squeezes you until the breath is forced from your lungs, and there’s no fuel for your laughter anymore. “You’re okay.”

With a choked, quiet sob, you reply, “I know.”

...

It’s later— much later. Maybe the next day.

Your room still doesn’t have any way to keep time other than your little tablet, which has been powered off and charges across the room on top of your dresser, so Blade can only guess.

He lays beside you in bed, propped up on an elbow. You sleep next time to him, relaxed and soft-jawed. The soft duvet is pulled up to your collarbones, and you curl into Blade. He’s— warmer than the rest of your room. Even if he does run too cold to be properly alive.

He runs the side of his index finger over your face.

You had been so tired after leaving the bath, you’d hardly been able to dress yourself— you hadn’t been able to. Blade to pick out sleep clothes and help you get into them. He chose whatever he could find that seemed. Soft.

(A flowing, soft teal top and white shorts with golden thread sewn in the seams.)

You fell asleep quickly after that and have been ever since. Blade had only meant to sit on the edge of your mattress.

That did not happen.

Instead, he’s tucked next to you. One of your hands fists the front of his shirt, and your body is angled toward him. Seeking. Wanting.

Blade could take.

He recognizes that.

It’s a thought, though, not a temptation. Not after the bath. Not after feeling the ways in which your body has been torn apart and so painstakingly put itself back together. You are not a creature of Abundance, you are not built to live forever and to repair yourself endlessly like he is. Your vitality is finite. Every scar your flesh must restitch takes something from you and it will not be replaced.

You will end.

Your bedroom door clicks, five times, then opens with a whoosh of air. Kafka stands in the doorframe. A sickly-sweet smile stains her mouth. Her lipstick is the is freshly applied and glossy.

“I see you got all cleaned up, Bladie,” her voice is silken and smooth. He could drown in it. “Was our little pup helpful?”

“... Yes.”

“Good.” Kafka hums. Her heels click against the floor, and she takes a place next to you. Even as the mattress dips, you don’t stir. “You’re so helpful with training them. Good boy.”

Blade pauses his petting of you to glare and grunt at Kafka. She looks delighted.

“I wasn’t aware I was assisting with any sort of training.”

“It’s all implicit. As long as they’re getting comfortable, that’s what counts. Don’t worry your pretty little head about anything else.”

Blade doesn’t like that answer.

“I don’t want to see them hurt,” Blade says.

“That’s sweet of you.”

“I mean it, Kafka.”

“I know, I know.” Kafka laughs. She sighs and falls into the bed, over the cushy duvet. She spoons you, flattening herself to your back and winding her arms around your waist. Your brow wrinkles and a little whimper scratches from your throat. “I’d like to see our new puppy kept in one piece too, Bladie. I’ve grown quite fond of them. However, we are both beholden to Destiny. If one of Elio’s scripts—”

“I know.” Blade snaps.

He does not want to think about it.

His hand that had been petting you winds tightly into your hair and your face scrunches up.

“Listen, Bladie, everything’s alright. You’re okay.” Kafka soothes, dropping a kiss onto your cheek. It leaves a smear. Kafka works Blade’s hand out of your hair. “Be good and keep them company while I give Elio a mission report.”

“That’s what I have been doing.”

“Then, keep it up.”

Kafka rolls out of bed with a sigh, not a hair out of place. She leaves the room almost soundlessly, the door clicking as it relocks. Five times.

Blade does as Kafka says. He keeps you company, sinking down into the mattress beside you. He wipes away the lipstick left over your cheek and presses a kiss to the spot. He lingers there.

Kafka can have— a lot of him. But, perhaps, he will covet you, all for himself.

(If the Mara in his mind had not been suppressed, perhaps he would have heard:

(FOOL FOOL FOOL! DO YOU NOT REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU COVET AND CLING? DO NOT FORGET YOUR SINS! DO NOT FORGET HIS SINS—!)

Instead, his mind is quiet. He pulls you closer and sleeps. Space is dead around him, and you are dead to the world in his undying arms.

Blade thinks he likes when you bathe with him.

#lore writes #blade x reader #ren x reader #blade x you #hsr x reader #tw yandere #tw dark content #tw noncon #LETS GO!!!#PLEAAASE mind the tags but otherwise enjoy!!!

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kedsandtubesocks · 8 months

Text

in the shadow (of your heart) - Mandalorian!Bakugo

pairing: Mandalorian!Katsuki Bakugo x Jedi!Reader

tags & warnings: (all characters aged-up 25+) Star Wars AU, intense yearning and light angst, brief discussion of raising children, a surprise Jedi!Todoroki x Smuggler!reader appearance, Monoma bestie supremacy, exploration of mandalorian lore and customs, inexperienced Bakugo and the endearing fluff that comes with him

wc: 7.6k

a/n: here it is…the cultivation of all my other snippets and ficlets that have led to this moment, you don’t necessarily need to read them before to understand this but I think it would just add to the goodness of reaching this point, biggest and dearest thank you to @willowser & @ofmermaidstories always being my mando bakugo squad, also the title of this piece comes from the always lovely Florence + the machine & her song ‘cosmic love’ - thank you for reading!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ .𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

It’s been a galactic month since your entire world collapsed.

A month has passed since the Jedi temple was attacked. A month since you woke up and found yourself in the bedroom of the mandalorian that conquered your heart.

And a month since you…

The thought of what you did has you flinching in pain like you just touched an exposed live wire.

Someone calls out your name. When you turn there stands Shouto along with his intriguing friend - the scavenger pickpocket who could speak seven and maybe even more languages.

“We plan to explore Tatooine tomorrow.” Todoroki is patient and calm, a true honor to his Jedi title. “You’re more than welcomed to join us.”

Even his friend, the pickpocketing smuggler who still does not seem trustworthy, wears a rather understanding look mirroring Shouto’s.

You think of the heat on Tatooine, the blistering mirage of the sand and the change of scenery it might bring.

So you agree to go.

Shouto smiles a reassuring grin that whispers of how proud he is for you to take this step.

His smuggler friend grins wider. “Sweet, guess that means I get to steal a bigger means of transport for us.”

“No.” Shouto flat out swiftly shuts the idea down.

Something hollow, the echo of a laugh leaves you but you hope even this is the start of returning back to yourself.

You send Monoma a private message over your jailbroken data pad about your upcoming trip. He immediately calls as you pack.

“Sure Tatooine is boring but...” Neito begins, a bit bored himself. “You can go snag me one of those nice satchels the vendors there sell.”

The truth is easy to find under his words.

I’m glad you’re getting out, I’m glad you’re trying to move forward.

You ask if the Jedi council has anything new to stay and just thinking about it draws a deep ache in your soul.

“Nah. They’re mainly keeping busy overseeing the rebuilding process and there’s been no update on the hunt for the culprit.”

You sigh. There had been no leads or luck on your side of the search either.

“I’m not surprised. Leads are going cold. Even with Sir disgusting picture perfect Jedi knight Deku still on Naboo, we got nothing.”

Oddly enough you missed hearing Monoma complain about the shining star that emerged from your academy class.

“Let’s hope Tatooine has something.” You hope.

“Well now with you on the investigation team I know we’ll get shit done. And if not, I’m getting so close to blowing something up myself.”

“Hey now.” You playfully chide Monoma. “No threats of violence now, Jedi Knight.”

Monoma chuckles weakly but the comment draws blood at a barely healing wound.

A silence settles between you and your dear friend. Its heaviness over the call clogs your senses and painfully crawls over your skin.

“Miss you dummy.” Nieto coughs out through tears and you furiously blink back your own.

“Miss you too, you annoying ass.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Tatooine’s heat bears down unforgivingly.

The planet’s two suns stings your eyes. There’s even sand in places you didn’t think it could reach. But the liveliness of Mos Eisley, the commotion of the markets, comfort you and raise your spirits.

Under the dry air it feels as if you are resurfacing, emerging from a fog you have existed in for an entire month.

It’s invigorating, has you strolling through the markets with a relaxed ease.

Shouto and his smuggler, who is notoriously friendly with the Jawas, decide to check the junkyards first for any new information and leads. You instead head to the city to hopefully pick up any chatter about the temple.

After all, you are no longer in your Jedi robes.

So any fear of someone not speaking about the temple around you is gone.

Among the bustling marketplace in the heart of the city, a stall with shimmering jewels and trinkets twinkling under the two suns snags your attention. Specifically a beautiful iridescent gem like pendant immediately catches your eye. The jewel hangs off a simple sturdy leather thread and allows the stunning crystal to be center focus. Your fingers trace over it gingerly and fondly.

“Oh, are you planning to propose soon?”

The vendor suddenly asks intrigued and brightly curious. Her words make you choke out a wild dry cough.

“Excuse me?” You politely and weakly laugh.

“That’s an engagement pendant!” The older twi’lek woman beams excitedly with a twinkle in her eyes almost rivaling her jewelry.

“You have someone special in mind?”

The image of who you have in mind flashes fast. His striking black beskar armor, the electric orange and green trimming… his loud voice…

Your heart starts crumbling in your chest.

“No.” Your reply is rather hollow. “Just thought it looked beautiful.”

Whatever else the woman hears in your voice is enough to quiet any more questions she might have. You return to browsing the other jewels offered on the stand. But even with the beautiful craftsmanship before you, a slow poison seeps into your mouth and you try swallowing it back. But your heart remains an open wound thinking of that mandalorian.

And you think it always might be now.

The stall vendor who went silent now gasps so sharply it spooks you. You snap your gaze up to her.

Her eyes staring beyond you are wide and hypnotized.

“A mandalorian.” She whispers.

A terrifying dread runs up your spine. The rational voice screaming inside your head argues it could be any mandalorian, that you shouldn’t be getting this worked up.

You decide to see and prove to yourself that it is not the mandalorian haunting your existence.

When you turn off to the side -

You discover striking obsidian beskar armor, a beautiful ink dot against the shimmering sands.

Your heart collapses. Your legs almost buckle.

The familiar beskar helmet stares straight at you.

“Shitty Jedi!”

Then the mandalorian screams so gutturally loud that half of the market turns towards him.

You turn the other way and run.

Your heart races wildly loud in your ears, a horrifying war like drumbeat.

It can’t be him.

But in your heart of hearts you know it is. You would know it’s him in every lifetime, in any other reality.

In such a wild panic you can’t fully comprehend your focus. You even forget to use the force to run away.

A dead end hallway stops you in your tracks. Before you can bolt in another direction, a mandalorian descends down from the sky. He lands before you a fiery man of myth immortalized straight from his people’s creed.

“What the fuck?!” Bakugo screams at you raw and demanding.

“Stop screaming!” You hiss back but your voice already begins cracking.

“No!” He snarls back.

��You’re going to cause a scene.” You snap back harder and glare fierce at him.

“I don’t fucking care!” He punches out every word not wavering once. Standing across from you, Bakugo is an intimidating force so broad and filling up the space with his armor.

It’s a simple staring contest. No words are spoken for what feels like hours. A part of you wonders if maybe this is all just a heat mirage illusion brought on by your sad heart.

You end up sighing defeated.

You weren’t going to have this discussion, this reunion, here in an alleyway of the city. You and him deserved better than that.

So with a silent nudge of your face beckoning him to you, the mandalorian wordlessly follows you back to the hostel Shouto’s smuggler booked.

A rapid nostalgic haze tugs at you. This feeling of him so close to you, walking through a crowded planet is as if not a day has gone by.

Yet, an entire month hangs between you and him.

Thankfully your two travel companions are still out when you return to the suite. In the eerie stillness of the cramped room, you turn to the tense warrior.

“What are you doing here?” You don’t even have the energy to yell at him.

Out of all the planets in this grand universe, how did you have the luck of stumbling into this man here?

“That annoying fuckin’ blonde Jedi friend of yours.” Bakugo replies gruffly and his words rattle your brain.

“Wait, Monoma?!” You’re the one shrieking now.

The helmeted warrior nods.

“He told me you’d be here…” Bakugo’s voice trails off.

Even with the rabid confusion consuming your brain, you remember Neito was planned to be sent back to Mandalore. However, he never spoke about it with you. So you began to wonder if he ever did go. Now it makes sense and only confirms your suspicions.

“Why did he tell you?” Your voice wavers frustrated.

The mandalorian’s fist clenches. “Because I told him I needed to talk to you, shitty Jedi.”

The term claws at your soul.

“I’m not a Jedi anymore.” You flat out tell him.

A moment passes.

“Yeah…blondie told me about that too.”

Your heart drops. Of course Monoma told him. He always was a damn gossip.

All you can do is shakily exhale.

The memory still stings so raw.

Leaving your lightsaber at the ruins of the temple, crying with Neito over your decision, sitting with a thick confusion that had you in a daze for days…

“Why?” Bakugo asks, confused, dare you even say genuinely concerned.

“Why did you leave the order?” He clarifies.

The question you knew was coming.

The weight of its answer still feels too grand, too out of reach even for you. It’s like your heart and mind can’t fully comprehend into words the complicated sticky reason.

You tried to justify that your confusion mainly stemmed from the trauma of the temple attack and that you needed time to mediate, to heal. But the truth, your answer, is that you wanted more.

You wanted to yank off the shackles keeping you from reaching for him, that kept you from embracing every aspect of your heart.

So you half heartedly lie.

“I couldn’t wholeheartedly serve the order anymore.” Even stripped of the title of Jedi knight, your answer surprises you. So noble and composed as ever, a hard habit you think you might never fully be rid of.

“What’s that supposed to fuckin’ mean?” Of course Bakugo sees through your words, tries digging through them.

“It means what it means.” You reply back sharply. “I couldn’t stay in the order. I had too much on my mind and I knew…”

You knew that everything in you ache to break everything you were raised with. Because after you faced ruin and destruction, you ached to step forward into a future full of life without anything holding you back, without worrying if you were disappointing anyone or even yourself.

“I knew I couldn’t honor the Jedi.” You finish simply.

You were thankful those like Shouto and Monoma especially understood and helped guide you. They supported you even after your path diverged from theirs.

It’s why you would continue to still help look for the culprit who attacked the temple. You might not see yourself as a Jedi anymore but that didn’t mean you would truly abandon them.

So absorbed in your thoughts you don’t realize how quiet the room has gotten until Bakugo suddenly breaks it.

“Sorry…Knew how much it meant to you.”

It did. But you realized there are things that might mean more.

All you can do is weakly thank him.

You sigh again as the weight of this moment slowly curls over your shoulders and tries to dig past your skin.

“Is that why you left without saying shit? Without even saying goodbye?” His voice gradually fluctuates with tension and hurt. It shreds apart your heart with a jagged edge.

After you had woken up in Bakugo’s room, you stayed in a pretend sleep whenever he returned, not ready to face him yet. You couldn’t continue to keep bringing him into your path of trouble. Even after meditating, even after deciding to leave the Jedi order, you came to the same conclusion. You needed to leave this mandalorian.

For his sake and maybe mainly yours.

So you tell him how you managed to leave like a wordless ghost.

In your first true selfish act, in your first step at shattering your sense of self as a Jedi, you used the force to sense when Bakugo left. Once he was far away enough, you slipped out of the hut. Using the force to cause diversions, you bolted straight to the planet’s port of entry. After that you slipped away onto the next transportation shop.

You cried the entire time on the way back to Coruscant.

You do not tell him this.

Now the consequence of all these actions, your actions, stands before you hurt and anger forged in a man of beskar armor.

“You didn’t even tell me.” His voice cracks and your eyes blink through cloudy tears to stare at him.

You ache to see his eyes, to know what this man looks like.

“I have my reasons, and I’m sorry. I really am.” You apologize, wiping your tears away.

“Yeah? Those reasons better be real fucking good!” He snarls and you glare furious at this mandalorian.

“You wouldn’t understand.” You snap back like a cornered loth cat. You’re tired. You’re emotionally drained and the heat of the planet is catching up to you. You wearily move to sit on the creaky dusty couch.

“To have something control your life that keeps you away from someone…from somethings-”

You quickly correct yourself, but your voice continues wavering more and more with the frustrated tears threatening to spill.

“You’re so loyal to your own creed and I…I couldn’t face you.”

You don’t tell him the whole truth.

You don’t utter the truth that you loved him so much that it alerted your entire world. You wanted to let yourself love him against all odds. But, you wonder if this myth of a man could even possibly hold the same feelings towards you.

Every emotion tears you apart all over again. Inside of you rages a storm ripping apart every safe harbor you had built. All you can do is close your eyes to stop the tears from the storm raging.

“You said it kept you away from someone.” Keen as ever, Bakugo catches your comment.

That’s when you also notice his voice is closer.

Your eyes snap open and your heart drops into your stomach. The explosive mandalorian kneels before you.

“Who?” He asks calm, firm and surprisingly low.

You can’t even say his name and instead stare at him, stubborn and your tongue locked up tight

Bakugo says your name in the same direct tone except now with an undercurrent of urgency.

“Who?” He repeats again.

Out of frustration or maybe finally the weight of your emotions cracks you. Angrily shove away tears until you eventually cry into one of your hands not even able to look at him.

“I knew we could never be together.” You croak out a whisper. “You’re engaged. And with your creed, even when I stopped being a Jedi I just…”

The words escape you on another sob.

Large gloved hands suddenly rest gently on your thighs. Panic snaps your eyes open and there his striking black helmet stares unwaveringly at you.

Bakugo firmly says your name and you wait for the heartbreak that’s about to come.

“Marry me.”

It doesn’t.

“What!?” You ask through tears and snot.

“Marry me.” Bakugo repeats as unflinching and true as he did the first time.

“You… you’re engaged!” You stammer out.

“Obviously not! I’m in love with you but I’m not a fucking asshole! I wouldn’t have asked you if I was still engaged!”

His words knock you breathless, throw you out of orbit and you’re surprised your body has not floated away.

“You love me.” The words don’t sound real even from your mouth.

He coughs out a watery sound and moves forward. His bodily slots between your legs effortlessly. He curls against you and presses his helmeted forehead to yours.

“More than you know, shitty jedi.” He croaks while his strong arms wrap you in his embrace.

“Not a Jedi anymore.” You mutter watery as you clutch onto him.

“You’re not.” Bakugo confirms as he moves to rest his helm against your face.

“Be my riduur instead.”

During your time in Mandalore you picked up on plenty of Mando’a phrases and words. You even flirted with the idea of trying to learn the language fully.

You did learn some mandalorian words held a sacredness that set them apart because of their layered holy weight.

Riduur is one of those words.

It translates to wife, husband, spouse. But riduur held the weight of a partner forged in such a deep love that the basic term of spouse couldn’t capture the bond a mandalorian marriage would bring.

Your eyes widen and a storm of tears blur your vision. This time however, it’s the overwhelming overflow of emotion filling your heart and spilling over.

Nodding you holding onto him tighter.

You try joking about wanting to be the only one who gets to annoy him for the rest of his life. But your voice comes out a ridiculous sob.

Bakugo barks a wild chuckle and his arms tighten around you as well.

“S’why I asked you. Couldn’t put up with any other extra.”

Your eyes close right as you now hold onto your fiancé, and the thought of that makes your brain trip over itself.

“We’re getting married.” You mutter out mainly to yourself still not believing it.

“Damn right.” Bakugo growls low and proud.

“Congratulations.”

Your eyes snap open wide and horrified at hearing Todoroki’s simple flat comment.

Your mandalorian scrambles away from your embrace to instead lean in front of you, as if to shield you.

Standing in the door’s entryway is Todoroki and his smuggler friend who smacks your once fellow Jedi knight.

“I told you to keep quiet!” The smuggler cries out horrified at being caught.

You’re embarrassed. Bakugo is screaming obscenities but for some reason, you laugh. It’s a buyout laugh filling you bright and beautiful. That’s when the force suddenly surges through you warm and celebratory.

Earlier this month you thought it had slipped away. That even the force itself began to pull away because of your decisions.

But now it hums beautifully in and around your body, exhilarated and electric. You think you could power an entire planet.

You laugh and simply lean against your fiancé who continues to threaten to blast poor Todoroki out the window. But his hand suddenly reaches out to your knee and he squeezes it tight, reassuring as if to say I am here.

You came to Tatooine simply looking for a lead on the temple attack.

Now would be leaving it engaged with a mandalorian by your side.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

“Come back to my ship with me.” He mutters softly after you manage to drag him away to a local cantina to grab something to eat.

You don’t hesitate to follow him.

The inside of his grand sleek starship, modified to fit a whole room compartment, greets you like the warmest old friend. You even take a stroll around trying to see if he added anything new.

“So you wanna to get married now or what?” Bakugo simply asks.

Your mind feels as if he just set off one of his explosives inside.

“Now?!” You shriek shrill and chaotic.

“Yes now.” You’ve been with him long enough to know this tone suggests he’s rolling his eyes.

Trying to process this your mind sputters in a spiral like a broken speeder bike.

You understood mandalorians held certain courting rituals that you vaguely heard of. You voice this concern to your mandalorian who crosses his hands over his chest in a pouting type manner.

“That’s for potential marriage partners. We’re already engaged aren’t we?” Bakugo challenges.

“So we just skipped an entire courting process?” He seemed like such a traditionalist and would be upset over this. You even sound more upset than he does.

Especially when your fiancé simply shrugs.

“You’re not mad?” Now you have to ask and he shakes his head a casual no.

“Didn’t need to court anyone else.” He gruffy asserts confident and true.

So that meant jumping straight into marriage?

Whatever lies on your face, whatever is clouding your heart, your fiancé notices it and sighs.

He explains how Mandalorians typically didn’t have long engagements. When someone proposes marriage it’s with the acknowledgment they would be wedded moments or at the latest days after.

It mirrored the same direct quickness the first mandalorian vows were rumored to have been said in the creed’s legend.

“Look,” Bakugo continues with all the conviction a warrior pursuing victory holds.

“I know that’s my culture and shit but…We can wait whenever you’re ready.” He reassures you.

“I’ll wait for as long as you need because I know the ending s’always going to be the same. And that’s me as your husband. So if we do it today or fuck a year from now, I’ll wait.”

Love crashes into you in waves and you cannot fight the current any longer.

“So whenever you’re ready.” Bakugo’s beautiful beskar helmet nudges towards you. “You let me know.”

Now, you want to marry him now.

“Bakugo-” You are about to say your answer when he cuts you off.

“Katsuki.” He corrects you, a gentle firmness that speaks of his kind understanding.

His first name.

The most precious of gifts he can give to you and now here it is ready for yours to hold.

“Katsuki.” And you find to tastes like the most reverent prayer.

Mandalorian weddings, from what you remembered, were quick and privately intimate ceremonies. Here in his ship, away from his home planet and far away from yours on Coruscant, it’s as if this space is carved out just for you and him.

You don’t care about how long it’s been since you last saw him or that you only have been engaged for less than a day.

You want this, to be married to him, for him to be your husband.

And maybe it’s the shackles of the Jedi order being released from you but you want to be selfish. You want to grab at anything you want and greedily say yes it is okay to want without any guilt. It is beautiful to embrace it.

“Guess you’ll be the one having to call me Bakugo then huh?” You tease light but adoration coats your voice thick.

His shoulders tense. You can almost sense, almost see the suspended hope hanging on by a thread.

“So…you saying yes?” He tentatively ask.

You nod repeatedly and firmly.

“I want to marry you now.”

Katsuki walks closer to you, gently holding your hand in his.

“There’s this saying…” he begins low as if someone outside the ship might hear him.

He says a phrase and you can’t process what it is. You barely even pick up a word of Mando’a

“It’s a way we say I love you.” Katsuki explains. “But translate into basic it means something like… I’ll know you forever.”

To know is to love and to love is to know a person.

“That’s beautiful.” You admire and he nods silently.

“You know me, more than anyone else has.” Your mandalorian tells you. “And I know you. And even when I think I didn’t want to. I wanna keep knowing you for as long as I live.”

You swallow back a sob threatening to escape as you nod. You want that too.

He squeezes your hand.

“You ready?”

You squeeze his hand back. “I am.”

For a moment you think of the oath you took when you became a Jedi knight. How you swore to consecrate yourself to the universe, to a grand idea that would tie you to preserving an ideal and cause until your last breath.

Here you are now taking another vow, another oath, that you swear to honor for the rest of your days.

“Repeat after me.” Katsuki says and you don’t miss the slight waver in his voice.

“We are one when we are together or apart.” He declares and you repeat.

We are one when we are together or apart.

“We will share everything.”

We will share everything.

“And…” he pauses for a moment, but quickly gathers himself.

“We will raise warriors.”

The implications are not lost on you. You knew how open the mandalorians were about adoption, about raising children communally. This was a topic you would have to deeply discuss with him.

But the idea of simply guiding and watching over any young ones, even if they were not your own, even if you and him decide to not have children, shifts your world. Because just being by his side to help guide the next generation as you grow old with him is more than you can ever imagine.

We will raise warriors.

Once the words leave your mouth suddenly a shaky modulated exhale escapes your mandalorian.

Katsuki breathes out your name.

His bare hands move to cradle your face and a wide range of beautiful emotions begin to bubble in you.

“You shitty Bakugo.” Your husband, your husband, croaks to you tear soaked. You laugh loud and just as watery as he sounds.

That was going to take some time to adjust to. But this, in every way, is better than hearing him call you a shitty Jedi. Because you are Jedi no more. And now you exist as a Bakugo.

The excitement and giddiness bubbles over, illuminates you from the inside out. Katsuki presses his helmeted face against yours as you embrace him tight.

“I love you.” You breathe out to your husband.

Katsuki squeezes you firmer. You simply exist in this moment in his arms soaking in the quiet but powerful conviction of this new existence. You are someone’s spouse. You are his, just as irrevocably he is yours.

Katsuki mutters out your name.

“There’s…still one thing we gotta do.” He adds.

Oh?

Slowly Katsuki untangles himself from you and you already miss his warmth. His shoulders slightly curl over and his helmet can’t even face you.

A tinge of fear bubbles in you fast and threatens to poison the barely moments old wedding bliss.

“I’m going to have to fight your ex fiancé for stealing you away, aren't I?” The idea that pops into your head so fast and quick you can’t even stop it.

The beskar helmet turns back to you.

Then, Katsuki bursts out laughing. A true warm gruff cackle that shakes his shoulders and makes you want to smack him.

“What?! That’s it, isn’t it!?” You shriek. You immediately dreadfully think of having to go hand to hand against the red and white armored mandalorian of Yui Kodai, who you only met once.

Katsuki continues to laugh even after you begin pouting. He even shakes his helmeted head a solid no.

“Fuckin’ love your ridiculous ass so much.” He breathes out a wonderful modulated sigh.

His hands move up towards his helmet.

And then he begins to raise it.

The action clicks instantly in your mind. In many cultures and customs a kissing vow is exchanged after weddings. You wondered if that was a secret only known by mandalorians.

So out of respect for your new husband you naturally close your eyes.

The hissing sound of his helmet being removed fills the small space of his ship. You didn’t realize how much you had missed the quiet but electrifying sound.

You wait for the pressure of his lips against yours.

Nothing comes.

The force even retreats away from you so softly like a loth cat returning to its bed to nap and you feel a chill in the air.

Katsuki sighs slightly shaken and heavy.

You’re about to ask if he’s okay, want to comfort him already when he speaks up first.

His voice crystal clear calls out your name.

“Open your eyes.”

The words clutch your throat and ignite an electric wave throughout your body.

“What?” You ask a bit confused because maybe you had misheard.

“You heard me.” Katsuki urges gruffly but gentle, so truly like him. “Open your eyes.”

You couldn’t.

It was against the code, against everything he stood for, everything his people stood for.

The surprise brush of his fingers against yours provides a solid stability.

“What?” He teases light. “Afraid of what you might see?”

No. That wasn’t it at all.

You even shake your head a furious stubborn no that makes him chuckle.

You know without even seeing him that he’s beautiful, probably one of the most striking forces to ever be seen in this galaxy.

“You know I can’t.” A fervent urgency leaks into your voice as if you want to remind both him and yourself of the danger behind this act.

Defiance, banishment, excommunication.

The words sting you fierce.

Like the solid lifeline he is, the back of Katsuki’s bare hand tenderly running across your cheek floats you out of your hectic thoughts.

“We’re married now, idiot.” His voice wavers. “Clan members are allowed to see our faces.”

Something deep inside of you shifts so effortlessly.

You are a clan member now. The answer hangs so truthfully and effortlessly in the air you almost can sense the force itself giggling at you.

You want to see him. You’ve wanted nothing more than this, to know him and know the face of your husband.

So you open your eyes.

The first week after you left the Jedi order, Shouto’s smuggler friend took you out for a drink. There on the sips of alcohol and the freedom it tasted of, you spilled your heartache.

“In love with a mandalorain.” The scavenger had sighed almost a bit apologetic. “And you have no idea what he looks like?”

You shook your head no.

“I have imagined it though,” you instead added boldly because you had.

At first you couldn’t picture what this man of fire and beskar, who would fight a galaxy with his bare hands, would look like. But for some reason you always pictured his eyes bright, like the fiercest force that could never be dimmed because that’s the type of man he is. You believed his eyes would reflect that.

And now you find they do.

The most stunning crimson eyes stare at you so openly, honest, hesitant and guarded slightly. The bold red color is beautiful. You don’t even think you’ve seen eyes so gemlike.

You think of how red for a Jedi is aligned with the sith. It’s not a color one wants to encounter in a lightsaber. There was even a legend that spoke of how the first red kyber crystal was created when a sith held a white crystal in their hand until they bled and let the color soak into the gem.

The color that was once a warning sign now stares at you as a promise of your future, wonderful and warm like the red sky in the evening.

It fits him too.

The color of war, blood and passion so vividly mixing with the color strongly associated with love…

You think you fall in love all over again with this mandalorian.

Then you finally soak in his entire face and feel your soul leave your body.

He’s handsome. Of course he’s handsome you knew he would be. But he’s stunning in a way that has your thoughts clustering together in a collision.

A strong sharp manly jaw, high cheekbones, and the softest spikes of blonde hair -

You can’t believe it. He’s a blonde. He’s gorgeous.

And he’s yours.

“You’re beautiful.” You croak out freely and tear soaked.

You get to see his emotions flash across his face now, see how his eyes shimmer so glossy as his eyebrows furrow.

“Shitty riduur, that’s my line.” Katsuki replies back just as thick and his hand now simply cradles your face once again.

What did the vows say? That you and him were now one whether together or apart?

That already seems to be so true. Or maybe it always was.

The way you and Kastuki seemed to both mirror and repel each other like planets trying to fight a gravity bigger than your orbits. Now here you are.

You can’t help it.

You laugh a watery jubilant thing and clutch onto his hand still resting on your face. You happily burrow closer into his hold.

Slowly but so firmly Katsuki draws you into him. His bare face goes to rest against yours. His nose even burrows against your forehead as he towers over you.

Shakily your mandalorian exhales, relieved and gentle and you melting into him more.

“Thank you,” you whisper softly to him. “For showing me…for letting me know you.”

Katsuki’s arms wiggle out to now wrap you in a true warm embrace.

“Yeah, yeah.” He mutters back and your heart jumps at his lips tickling against your skin.

“You smell s’good.” His molten syrupy voice seeps into the very core of your being.

Your mind feels cloudy but in the best way so much that you can only hum back a quiet thanks as you press your cheek against his warm face more.

He says your name and your eyes, which had closed in pure content bliss, open wearily.

“There’s…there's somethin’ else…”

What elses could there be?

Begrudgingly you draw back from his warmth and glance up at him a bit curious now.

It’s so interesting and even a bit funny to see how expressive your husband truly is now. His crimson eyes are averted from you. His pretty blonde brows furrow so hard and faintly a hint of pink begins to color his cheeks.

Embarrassed, he seems embarrassed.

You’re about to ask what he means when suddenly those gemstone eyes of his snap back to you quickly and fierce.

“I wanna kiss you.”

He flat out says it but with unwavering solid sharpness.

The thought almost makes your body buckle. You even almost choke on the sharp inhale you take.

“O-oh.” You stammer out.

“Yeah.” Katsuki mutters out low and slightly bashful.

At just the thought your eyes immediately flicker to his lips. You noticed them earlier of course when you first saw his face but didn’t want to stare. Now you find they are soft, plush and you want to press your lips against his more than ever.

“I haven’t…” your mandalorian begins then his voice trails off.

He hasn’t kissed anyone.

It makes sense. He’s so abstinent in his loyalty that he would never remove his helmet for a simple kiss.

And, for some reason that truth licks a dangerously warm heat up your throat that also seizes your heart. To know you’d be the first and only one to kiss him awakens something clawed and pleased inside of you.

Katsuki swallows hard.

He’s hesitant, embarrassed, maybe even worried. It paints his handsome face so easily.

Very cautiously your hand rises up to his face.

After having his face covered for most of his life out of instinct Katsuki immediately snaps his attention to your hand with a hard cautious scowl. You freeze, wondering if this is all too much.

But then realizing what you are trying to do, your mandalorain’s scarlet eyes soften instantly. When your hand softly rests against his face, mainly against his sturdy jaw, Kastuki exhales heavily as he closes his eyes.

The weight of this force of a warrior melts against your hand as he leans against it fully.

“You’re considered the best of the clans,” you begin. “The best out of all the others.”

“Damn straight.” He mutters out still looking like a blissful lothcat against your hand.

You hold back a chuckle that still manages to trickle your lips.

“Then you have nothing to be afraid of.” You reassure him. “You’re a natural and the best for a reason.”

But you also realize that yes, even though he said he wants to do this, this does not have to be done right now.

“Plus, there’s no rush…We can wait whenever you’re ready, I’ll wait as long as you need.” You repeat the same words he told you, feel their weight and devotion, patience and love, weave deep into your bones.

You even feel a smile tug your lips.

Hazily, almost sleepily, his eyes halfway open to stare out at you with such an intense warmth you feel as if you are staring into his heart's core.

He’s so unbearably gorgeous you almost can’t stand it.

Then without any warning, Katsuki leans forward and presses his lips against yours.

The surprise of him acting so quickly mixes with the surprise of finally getting to kiss him that you wonder if your heart is going to give out from the rush of emotions. But then your mind melts to simply solidify into this moment.

You’re kissing him, your husband, your mandalorian. You’re kissing Katsuki.

His lips are so soft, warm and the faintest smell of his herbal soap suddenly fills your senses.

Slowly his lips begin to pull back ever the slightest before you jump back at him with the same energy of acting without hesitation.

Your eyes close as pure bliss fills you to the brim.

Your lips meet his once, twice in sweet simple kisses but each time he presses closer and closer to you.

Katsuki’s lips now chase yours as if to ask for another kiss every time as if he wants to slowly kiss you again and again until he can’t any more.

You almost want to snicker, but you believe if you do your secretly tender hearted husband might storm away in embarrassment. But it’s not out of humor why you want to laugh. It’s out of a giddiness you can’t describe.

Until you realize the giddiness is simply love.

It is a love stitched into your bones and so overjoyed to finally be free, to finally be in this moment with the man with crimson sunset eyes.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You came to Tatooine with Todoroki and his scavenger. You now would be leaving the planet with your husband.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just come back with us?” Shouto asks with the most intense sincerity in his dual colored eyes. He stares so directly into you wanting to gauge if you give him a secret sign saying otherwise.

“My ex jedi is coming home with me!” Bakugo barks back angrily at Shouto who ignores him flat out.

You laugh and even the scavenger who you now feel is slowly actually becoming a friend, laughs too.

You can’t thank this pair enough for what they have done for you. They gave you shelter when you were lost and aimless and a home when you had nowhere go. They became almost your strongest support system besides Monoma. Your heart would hold them tight together.

And when you bid them goodbye you hug the two of them just as right. You vow to contact them when you return to Mandalore.

Just because you are married now did not mean you would abandon any of your friends or the task of finding who attacked the temple.

As you watch them take a speeder bike to head out to the other city here on Tatooine you say a silent blessing to the force to keep them safe.

“When we get back home,” Katsuki mutters. “We’ll start figuring out what leads we can track.”

Seems like you would not be alone in your search.

Then the word hits you gently.

Home.

Mandalore would be your new home. Or mainly, Katsuki is your new home now.

Overwhelmed with emotions you turn back to stare at your husband.

Katsuki wears his helmet now but you can so clearly picture his handsome face composed with determination. You even itch to lean forward to just kiss the side of his curved helmet cheek. Instead you playfully nudge your armored husband who stiffens at your playful action. Then he nudges you back harder.

You snicker amused at how childish he can be.

“Damn weirdo.” He even mumbles out annoyed.

But his fingers continue to brush against yours as if to simply chase after your presence or simply remind him

how close you are.

The markets once again liven up the streets of Mos Eisely. You wanted to do one final look through the shops and vendors before your trip back. You even mention finding something for Monoma, specifically maybe that satchel he hinted about wanting.

“Fuck you and him are gonna be damn headaches together.” Katsuki even sounds as if the thought stabbed his side.

“Oh hush.” You chide him gently as you scan the market place.

That’s when you spot the familiar jewelry stand. The same elderly twi’lek woman is there working. Her eyes grow wide seeing you and then they eagerly flicker to the mandalorian with you.

Naturally you walk back to the stall.

“I’m thinking you might need that necklace now huh?” She grins wide and your face heats up.

“I was worried when I saw him chase after you but I should’ve known it was a lovers quarrel.” She adds and the thought of her being worried is endearing.

“Ha?” Your mandalorian asks so rudely and you lightly shush him as you buy the necklace.

The sweet elderly twi’lek giggles the entire time. Especially when Bakugou swoops in to hand the vendor credits.

“I could’ve paid for it.” You huff.

“No, cause that’s my job now.” He bluntly tells you like it’s the most obvious thing in this galaxy and you don’t even want to argue with him.

“Besides, s’nice.” He admires low, only for your ears.

“It’s an engagement pendant.” You explain. You even add how you’re just holding on to it until you can give it to him later.

“To mark our engagement and all that.” You casually and a bit cheekily say.

“We’re married!” He snaps back insulted and horrified that you’d even make the mistake of even forgetting.

“Oh you’re married?!” You’re not that far from the stall for the vendor to catch that. Or it could be that Katsuki is just that loud.

Either way you and him turn back to her. Her warm eyes shine with excitement.

You sleepy grin back to her. “So he says.”

“We are!” Your poor husband cries back furious.

You think this is it. This is the true blessing of getting to be married to this mandalorian for the rest of your life and that is getting to tease and annoy him.

You can’t help but snort. Then the rush of footsteps on the sandy gravel come towards you. When you and Katsuki turn back your dear vendor approaches with something in hand.

“Here, the companion piece!” She warmly hands you the twin of your necklace.

“Once someone gets married the spouse is meant to come back to retrieve the matching necklace so that the two are now together forever.”

It’s a sweet tradition and you happily hold the two necklaces together as you ask how much for both.

“Oh no young one, it’s fine.” The vendor waves you off warmly. “Think of it as a wedding gift from me and the city.”

You’re overwhelmed by the gesture, the pure genuine sweetness of it and the force even dances beautifully in the air.

“You’re too kind please let us-”

Before you can finish Katsuki moves beside you and places down two solid gold credits on the stall’s counter. That’s triple the amount that you paid and you’re pleased at your husband’s action.

The vendor exclaims in huttese and almost looks petrified seeing the money on her stand. She tries to sputter out something but you simply give her a warm thankful nod.

“Think of it as our thank you for the gift.” You tell her earnestly and even Katsuki beside you nods in quiet agreement.

With her heartfelt thanks you find yourself already walking back to the ship. Monoma’s satchel would have to wait for another day. Your eyes are focused on the two necklaces sitting in your grasp.

“I’m counting this as my wedding gift to you.” You say matter of factly to your husband.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup, deal with it.”

He chuckles low at your reply.

“Moron.” Is all he says but you hear the truth happily buried beneath it.

Thank you, it’s wonderful. I'll cherish it forever…

You glance down again to look at the two necklaces with a fondness before you move to place them in your bag

“You’ll get your gift when we get back home.”

Then his words almost make you trip and drop your precious jewelry pieces.

“What wedding gift?” You ask again as worry leaks into your voice.

Even with the helmet on you know he’s staring dryly at you.

“What? You can get me somethin’ and I can’t get you shit?”

“You know that’s not what I mean!” You reply back huffy.

He stays quiet.

“What did you get me?”

Again he stays silent and doesn’t answer.

“Katsuki.” You hiss out and you believe this ridiculous mandalorian is now grinning at you victorious.

“It’s meant to be a surprise, shitty Jedi!” He barks back and you’re too wrapped up in this conversation to even correct him.

“Shit…thinking about it, it won’t be a surprise when you gotta get measured.” He mutters mainly to himself as if he realized this fact.

The words stop you dead in your tracks.

You stare at him a bit petrified and confused. So all you can do is ask him again, low and even a bit serious about what he got you.

You’re thankful to have made it to the edge of the market and it is mainly vacant.

Because your spirit leaves you the moment you see Katsuki move to tap at his beskar shoulder pauldron.

And it clicks.

Armor.

He means to give you beskar armor.

#I am… seriously so nervous about posting this I’m not even joking 🤡#what’s keeping me solid is knowing that about five people will read this and that’s what matters #across the stars: mandalorian bakugo #mandalorian bakugo or aka erika stop talking about Star Wars #in a galaxy far far away: a sw mha universe #Katsuki 🧡

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keulixeutin · 2 years

Text

Snapshot 3: A Heated Nest (Midoriya)

a/n: inspired by ofmermaidstories's banging, bomb-ass story, something (just like this). (idk i feel weird tagging the author so take the link instead lmaoo). i still haven’t read the manga LOL so i hope he doesn’t come off crazy ooc? anyways, i refer to deku as izuku in the fic bc it didn’t feel right to do either midoriya or deku. anyways, hope u like.

summary: snapshot series. a snapshot of you taking care of the man who takes care of japan. midoriya x gn!reader. no pronouns used.

cw: gn!reader. no pronouns used. established relationship; slight angst?? mostly just deku being guilty and not wanting to talk about his emotions, and you having to reassure him; no smut but slight steamy-esque moment in the bath (just a little offer which deku declines). nakedness, fluff, deku being kind of bratty. reader uses petname for deku: chubs (because i hc that he’s still got some baby fat on those cheeks forever! lil baby face!!!)

word count: 2,881.

You hear a thump outside on the lit balcony and sit up, closing your book on your thumb to mark the page. In the faint silver of the moon, quickly fading against the rapid clouds, Izuku opens the glass doors and steps in, shoulders hunched and eyes downcast.

His choice of arrival tells you how desperate he was to make it home.

“Hey, chubs,” you greet gently. “You okay there?”

He closes the door behind him, locks it, undoes his gloves, and then answers you softly, tiredly, “Yeah.”

—Which means he isn’t, of course, but leave it to the Hero of Japan to make his emotions another burden for him to bear.

You close the book fully and set it down on the end table. You sit up, your thighs pressing into the back of the couch and your hands gripping the edge for support. You watch him closely. Izuku keeps his face downturn, taking advantage of his bangs and the dim light of the kitchen and balcony to hide his eyes from you, his only weak point. He could never harden his gaze; his expression has always been—will always be—expressive, and open, and vulnerable. Anyone can see the hurt flashing across his bright green eyes, but you can see the nuance, the details—you can see whenever the hurt shifts to responsibility, to shame, to a question of what he did and how to fix it, a question of how much more can he give—how much more does he have to give.

“I saw the news,” you say carefully. “You guys did great tonight.”

Izuku flinches imperceptibly as he folds his gloves onto the table. He’s gotten better at hiding those winces, improved out of necessity—it’s a push and pull between the two of you: you honing in on his movements and him learning to hide them in response. You don’t know if it’s a man thing, a hero thing, or an Izuku thing. Maybe a sick, twisted combination of all three.

It doesn’t matter, though. You still see it. Always. Every time. You’ve loved him for so long that you can tell when you’re pressing down on a bruise before it has purpled. He could be shrouded in pitch blackness and you could still hear the catch in the throat, feel the shifting in his breath, see the outline of his hunching in the shadows.

When he still hasn’t said anything, when he still hasn’t moved from where he lingers near the kitchen table, you decide to ask him directly, “What’s wrong, Izuku?”

He tries for a smile, one with his eyes closed. Too obvious, you think.

“It’s silly,” he says, but his voice is soft and hollow. “It’s fine.”

You continue, using your words to press him, searching for the bruising, the hurt. “You saved everyone,” you say. “You stopped the bad guy. No fatalities. Why are you beating yourself up?”

He doesn’t answer.

“…Is it the building?” you probe. Still no reaction, but you push on. “So it collapses—it was on fire and unstable anyways. No one was in it because you got them all out. That’s what’s important.”

He doesn’t respond still.

“Come here,” you say. “Why are you so far?”

At your words, Izuku gradually moves closer to you, leaving the dim light to step into brief shadow as he crosses the room quietly. When he makes it to your couch, he’s illuminated by the small table lamp that you have been using to read. His face is still turned away from you, but at this angle, you can see up beneath the bangs, see the glow of a haunted gaze. There are several inches of space between the two of you; he maintains the distance, stubbornly, masochistically maybe, even though you know he wants nothing more than to throw himself over the back of the couch and press into you, searching for whatever warmth you can give him against your diaphragm. For all the hovering that he does, it’s sweet—and a little heartbreaking—that he seeks you out as a heated refuge in the dark.

He opens his mouth, inhales, holds his breath inside his lungs for seconds too long before finally speaking, his voice softer than his exhale. “There was a boy. I…didn’t make it in time.” He hands clench and unclench. “I wasn’t—wasn’t fast enough. The boy—he was almost crushed—I couldn’t find a way back in, but Tokoyami was there, and he—what I couldn’t, Dark Shadow—”

You pause, waiting for him to continue. You can almost see the building’s fire in his eyes, the screaming boy, the guilt descending like rubble, as he relives it.

When it doesn’t seem like he’ll say anything more, you delicately offer, “That’s good, then, that you can count on the other Pros—on your friends—to help.”

“Yeah, but—” He stops himself, but you know what he wants to say, what is unspoken: the Symbol of Peace should to be strong enough on his own. The Symbol of Peace, for whatever reason, has to receive the least help, has to uphold the most weight, has to carry the heaviest burden.

“Come closer,” you say.

He hesitates, unsure, uncertain, probably, if whether or not he deserves your absolution.

“Come on,” you urge.

Slowly, Izuku closes the distance until all that separates you two is the back of the couch. You cup his face, rub your thumbs against the soot on his cheeks. He hasn’t quite lost all of the baby fat on his face; you don’t think he ever will, a testament to how soft he is no matter the training or pain. You tilt his head so his bangs shift and show what you already know to be glossy, frustrated eyes.

“Izuku,” you begin, firm but gentle. You’ve had this talk before with him, but you’ll say it again and again, as many times as he needs. “You are not a superhero.”

He flinches, this time more physical and apparent, the rippling of it felt against your hands.

“You are a super man,” you continue. “You are a super human.”

You lick your finger and rub a dark spots off of his forehead. Then, you run your fingers gingerly through his green curls, brushing out debris and dirt and dust.

“You are a human.” You pause, eyes flickering across his face to see if the words settled appropriately. “A human with some really cool powers, but a human nonetheless—and that is not a weakness.”

He makes eye contact with you finally, his jaw clenching stiffly.

“You do so much. You do the best you can, and that is so much more than anyone else can say.” Your voice drops low as though the softest sigh would further fracture the man in front of you, so small in the quiet of the room, in the shadows of the night. “You saved so many people today, and you will save so many people tomorrow—you and your friends. Together.”

It’s not something that can be easily fixed with words and ginger touches. You know this, but even though it’s more like glueing fractured pieces together rather than reforging metal in the fire, you’ll do it time and time again. You’ll always reach down into the depths to lead him back up to the surface.

You rest your hands back on his cheeks. Instead of staying still, Izuku leans toward you, holding your wrists lightly—it’s a good sign.

You kiss his forehead. “You did amazing today,” you finish. “I was very proud. You should be proud.”

“I should’ve done better,” he whispers, fingers tightening. “I should’ve—I should be better.”

“You are so good,” you tell him. “So, so good.” You kiss his left eyebrow. “You are enough,” you say, and then you kiss his right eyebrow. “You are more than enough.”

He manages a nod—an unwilling one, you’re sure—and doesn’t say anything more. It’s not resolved—it’ll never be resolved, not when he’s been given such a weight on his shoulders, not when he insists on carrying it alone—but it’s done for now.

“Come on, chubs.” You run your hands down his neck and his shoulders, down to his bare hands, scarred and coarse and smaller than most people know. “You wanna lay down for a bit? With me?”

“…Yeah. Yes. Please.”

Without taking off his shoes—and with you biting back the urge to nag—he climbs over the couch ungracefully, following you as you lay down. Izuku lays on top of you, wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing his face into your chest briefly as though he is trying to hide. Then, he settles his ear against you, listening to the strong pulsing of your heart. Slowly, second by second, you see his shoulders sink and sag, his back and hips and legs following suit. As he rests, dipping in and out of a light sleep, you pick the debris out of his hair, wondering, not for the first time, how he spent those nights without anyone to hold him steady in his turbulence.

Eventually, when he tries to reposition himself, turning his face the other way, and when you’re finally tired of his hard arms digging into your back, you tug at his ear.

“Can’t sleep here, Izuku,” you advise gently. “I’ll run you a bath, and then you can sleep properly in the bed.”

He protests instantly by tightening his grip around you.

“Izuku, I’ve been pulling concrete out of your hair, and I bet I’ve got soot stains on my pajamas because of your face—”

“Five more minutes.”

“The longer you delay it, the longer it’ll be before we can cuddle in bed.”

He mulls it over; you see him blink groggily as he pushes through the tantalizing threads of sleep. Then, with a childish and exaggerated sigh, Izuku pushes himself off you—“Fine,” he mumbles—and heads into the bathroom first to shower off. You see him scratching at his head while he walks, and you roll your eyes.

You enter the bathroom behind him, filling the tub with hot water, bubbles for the scent, and salt for the ache. Through the clear shower stall, you can see that he’s staring into a corner of the room as he goes through the motion of lathering the soap. You can see he’s still thinking about the mission, still analyzing all his mistakes and all the ways he can improve. You wonder if this is another habit developed by the heavy weight of being a Pro Hero. Or, maybe it’s the untouchable weight of being the Symbol of Peace. Or, once again, perhaps it’s just Izuku, whose heart is too big for his body.

You purse your lips and turn back to the task at hand. You’re doing the best you can, too, trying to let him know that home is safe, that here, with you, he can unwind and off-load and unburden himself.

Izuku finishes quickly—too quickly, you note, but you’ll let him off tonight and make him shower again in the morning.

He steps past you sitting on the edge of the tub and carefully slips beneath the steam and heat of the water with a hiss. You turn off the spout before the water overflows and sit back on the edge, eyeing the new cuts he’s received, scattered across his shoulders and chest. They’re nothing major, but you’ll clean it off for him after the bath. He didn’t properly wash his face, you note; there’s still some lingering remnants of a fiery, collapsing building on his cheeks and chin.

“Tsk. You still have soot and dirt on your face.” You dip your hand in the water and then rub your thumb against his problem spots. “Water’s okay?” you ask.

He nods, sighing as he leans his head back, eyes fluttering closed.

"Okay, good,” you hum. “I’ll go heat up some food, and you can just eat in bed and then sleep.”

Your announcement instantly breaks the drowsy spell of the bath. “I’m not hungry,” Izuku clarifies quickly.

“How do you expect to hold up the entirety of Japan without proper daily meals?” you challenge, and just before he can grab you, his movements slowed by the creeping fatigue and heat, you get up and move away from the tub. The water splashes, dipping over the side. “I’ll be back, needy,” you tease, throwing your old towel onto the tiled floor where the water seeps past the mat.

Izuku crosses his arms over the edge. “I thought you were getting in the bath with me,” he remarks, frowning.

“I’m not getting in,” you tell him. “I already showered.”

He eyes the soot smeared onto your shirt. “Well—your clothes are dirty,” he observes.

“Then I’ll change clothes after putting your food in the microwave.”

You reach the door, hand on the knob, but then you hear your name fall pleadingly from his lips and still.

Seeing that he’s gotten your attention, he proposes, “I’ll eat two breakfasts tomorrow?”

“That’s not how that works,” you note.

“[Name]…” His voice has lost the cheeky and teasing pitch, replaced with a small desperation, a tiny bit of melancholic longing.

You narrow your eyes, your grip on the door loosening. “You really should eat tonight,” you say, but your voice hesitates.

“Please?”

You look back to him. He’s resting his head on his crossed arms, gazing up at you from beneath long and dark lashes, his eyes a beseeching and somber green—and you know it’s just a tactic he uses to get what he wants; you know that he knows that you can’t resist reaching out to him when he’s like that, that you can’t resist pulling him into your nest of heart and breath when he looks like that.

You click your tongue, and then let go of the door, reluctantly walking back to sit on the edge. “I’m not getting in, though,” you resolve.

But, just as you catch the lightning quick, mischievous brattiness in his eyes—it’s too late. He splashes you, drenching you thoroughly.

“Izuku,” you hiss, “what the fuck.”

Deed done, he shrugs innocently. “Guess you need to bathe again?” It ends in the lilt of a question, but you know it’s an audacious statement.

You stare down at him, debating if you would be able to drown him before he overpowers you. He smiles at you with a seemingly virtuous head tilt—but you see the smug satisfaction in the corners of his smooth lips, the often-overlooked trickery in the wrinkles of his honest eyes.

In the end, you sigh and strip, ignoring the feel of his eyes roaming your body as he waits patiently. You throw your soaked shirt at him, but he catches it easily and, with a laugh, tosses it to the floor. As soon as you are submerged, his hands immediately grasp your waist, pulling you to him as though he had been waiting all night—all day—to have you skin to skin.

Izuku pulls you to his lap where you straddle him. You feel him hardening under you alongside your own growing arousal—but he doesn’t try anything, only keeps you tight against him. You arms are around his shoulders, but it’s more for you to have a place to hold. This isn’t for you—this moment, this attentiveness, this is all for Izuku, the little you can do help relieve him of his burdens, if only for the night. You make sure to shift in tandem to his wants, to the way he rests his chin on your shoulder, or how he hides his forehead into your neck or noses up and down the path of your pulsing vein, sweetly and slowly, less searching and more solidifying whatever thought is in his head.

Moments pass by in that intimate position. You are hyper aware and hyper sensitive to every gossamer touch of his breath, every sliding droplet of water, every press of his skin against you.

“You want to mess around?” you ask softly.

You feel him smile into your skin, cheeks and neck and chest flushed from the steam and your words.

“No,” he answers just as quiet.

You trace abstract shapes into his back.

“You want me to suck you off?” you whisper, breaking your position to press a heated kiss against the underside of his jaw.

He shudders and sighs under you, but he only holds you tighter, brings you closer and shifts you higher so he can press his face against your chest, hear your heart thudding out a secret message for him.

“No,” he murmurs, “I just want to hold you.”

You can’t change his mind; you can’t take his guilt or share his weight; but you can do this—you can offer a safe and warm space, away from whatever makes him cold and mournful in the dark. You curl over him, his hair pressing ticklish kisses to your chin; you press him further into the heated nest of your body, until all he can smell is your skin, until all he can hear is your heart, thrumming, humming, crooning—you’re enough—you’re enough—you’re good enough.

#╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ titled「 snapshot series 」#╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ reader「 no pronouns used 」#╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ fandom「 bnha 」#╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ character「 midoriya 」#╰【 FILED UNDER … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ 18+ 」#╰【 FILED UNDER … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ novae writes 」#bnha x reader #mha x reader #deku x reader #deku x gn!reader #midoriya x reader #izuku x gn!reader #izuku x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #bnha fanfic #mha fanfic #bnha fluff #izuku fluff

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coopigeoncoo · 10 months

Note

Hello love~ I am still relatively new to tumblr so I had a question. There are obviously so many talented writers on tumblr but lately I have trouble finding new writers. Searching by tabs doesn't usually help and atleast for bnha I can't find any good fic rec accounts. I wanna shape my dash with writing I enjoy pls help TvT

Hello, Friend!

Despite being on this site for well over a decade, I've only really started dipping my toes into actually posting and exploring the fanfic side of things here very recently, so we're sort of in the same boat in that regard!

I'm going to make that bold assumption that since you're asking me, you're looking for MHA x Reader, which is great! We have so many talented writers creating content that I'm sure you'll be able to find a bunch of favorite new stories in no time! I'm not sure about dedicated fic recommendation accounts, but if you're 18+ I can definitely point you in the direction of some authors I really admire (who also have excellently curated fic recommendation tags for you to check out)!

@sipsteainanxiety is dedicated to crafting some absolutely amazing Bakugou x reader works and is pretty much exclusively writes SFW stories. I'm always amazed at how Shay can make you fall in love with the same man in so many different ways.

@andypantsx3 Andie's readers are always so relatable and it's an pleasure to step into their shoes. Her depiction of Shouto is the best I've found, and all of her stories manage to leave me breathless in one way or another.

@shibaraki Monty writes so well for so many different characters, and has a good number of villain stories to choose from, if that's where your interests lie. But for me, Monty's Aizawa is unparalleled. Open up any of their Aizawa works and prepare to be dazzled.

@ofmermaidstories is an absolute legend, so I'm sure you've already run across their works; but it would be a crime not to mention them. Merm's world building is incredible and the depth of emotion they're able to not just convey, but summon up from within you is absolutely unreal. Their works are incredibly heavy and dense though, so I find myself having to stop reading and just think sometimes.

Everyone above is fairly active and post recommendations that never fail to please, so if you follow their accounts you're going to find some incredible stories.

And if you want to message me with what sort of pairings/genre's you're interested in, I'm sure I'll have more recommendations to throw your way!

#ask pigeon

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asirensrage · 5 months

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6, 8, 13, 14, 21 and 27 for the writing wrapped!

Sure! Thanks for asking!

6. Favourite line of dialogue this year?

hmmm... I really love this line from The Sacrifice (my unpublished Demon Slayer fic).

“Are you kidding? Look at yourself. You’ve been asleep for weeks! You lost an eye! You got lucky that I showed up and got involved! If I hadn’t caused enough of a distraction, you would have died!” "Then I should have died! As I was meant to!" The sound she lets out is somewhere between a scoff and a huff of laughter. "Wow. You have no idea, do you? Do you know how many people have thanked me for being there, for helping, all because it ensured that you lived? People I've never met before have thanked me. Your brother begged me to watch over you as you recover and you think you should have died? Out of everything I've heard about you, Rengoku-san, no one has said that you're selfish. I guess they are wrong.”

8. Did you find yourself repeating a word or phrase in your writing this year? If so, what was it?

I repeat myself a lot, to be honest. @vixenofcourse could probably tell you better because I don't remember.

13. Who was your favourite character to write for?

ALL OF THEM! I can't pick just one.

14. Did you have a song on repeat while writing this year?

I have playlists for all my fics that I usually listen to on repeat when I'm writing that fic. Otherwise, sometimes it's specific songs. It all depends on what I'm writing and the mood, so it's nothing on repeat all year.

21. Were there any ideas you wanted to work on this year but you didn’t?

No, because I don’t limit myself and my muse wanders off regularly, (as we all know). If I want to write something, I just write it. I will leave it and come back to it later, which is why I have so many WIPs.

27. What was your favourite fic to read this year?

Hmm... I have so many. Here are some that I've reread multiple times this year.

no one is what they were before by ohmytheon The world broke when Gojo Satoru turned on jujutsu society. It's not the hopeful place it was before, but Utahime has never been one to give up. Until she's placed in a dangerous position directly in his path, and she finds herself trapped in a web that doesn't seem intent on ever letting her go.

Echoes by YanderexBabydoll There’s a sadness that hangs thick and heavy in the air around you. Grief and pain etched into the very foundations of this house. But you’re broken, too – hollowed out with emotions still too raw to touch. Maybe that's why you were drawn to it.

(Tokyo Revengers. Sano Siblings x Reader. involves ghosts)

surrender (whenever you're ready) by OfMermaids (@ofmermaidstories) You first meet Ground Zero when he’s thrown, unceremoniously, through the glass window of your florist shop. (Bakugou Katsuki x Reader, Pro-Hero AU; in which Bakugou cannot stand flowers but finds himself coming back, anyway)

Plunders of war by MaryaMorevna "You for Shouto's life." Ivory-haired villain continued, his tone saturated with wicked delight. "I'll let him live, promise-" he made the obscene gesture of crossing his heart and laughed again. "What do you mean me?" my voice was barely above a whisper, afraid of its own sound. "You..." he stood up straight, as tall as Shouto. "Willing," -first step, "Pliant," -another step, "Wanton-" Dabi closed the distance, his rough hand lifting my chin up. "-In my bed." ... Villains win the war AU. Very dark so be warned.

The Pack Survives by ihopethelightwillshineupon When a simple C-rank mission turns into a straight-up nightmare, the members of Team Seven narrowly escape with their lives. They end up stuck in the middle of nowhere, each of them injured and forced to rely on one another for help. They’ve only been a team for a couple of weeks, still distant from one another, still trying hard to prove themselves. But when they’re all hurt and struggling desperately to survive, they have no choice but to lower their walls. Stranded far away from the village, Team Seven fights to get back home safely – but with help impossibly far away, with their food supplies shrinking and with their injuries slowing them down, their journey becomes more difficult with every step. In the wake of their struggle, though, their bonds grow steadily stronger.

fingerprints by andypantsx3 (@andypantsx3) When you’re outed as pro hero Shouto’s soulmate on national television, there are really only two sensible things for you to do: blame someone else and run. (Deceiving the Duke and in cinders by andypantsx3 are also on the list of ones I've reread. They're so much fun, omg. But I'm trying not to expand this list too much lol) you can tell where my mind has been this year...

and, of course, any fics that are tagged under my "fic recs" tag.

Thanks again!

FANFIC WRITER WRAPPED 2023

#fanfic writer 2023 wrapped #fanfic writer wrapped #fanfic writer asks #fic recs #asks #mariedemedicis

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tiphandoms · 1 year

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Behold! My work laptop~

@ofmermaidstories people have been asking about your drawing and said it's super cute!

Everyone ignored dynamy. Poor guy.

#tiph yaps

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acerathia · 9 months

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RU! RU! Us here at the erika press have a few questions we wanna ask you!! 🎤

18, 32, 46, 56!

Tumblr user acerathia aka ru, will answer these very important questions!!

Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

Hmm, it rlly depends on the fic!! But often before or during the writing process. I actually enjoy coming up with titles, bc it's a chance to foreshadow the fic in a way!! And again, it depends on the fic, sometimes i take inspiration from songs, which resonate deeply with the idea of the fic, or it's some kind of symbolism, again foreshadowing the fic itself.

Name three of your favorite fanfic writers.

Wahh, this is a rlly difficult question!! I love the writing of all of my mutuals and the authors i follow!! But if I gotta pick, uh, i guess @/andypantsx3 and @/ofmermaidstories as their fics inspired me to actually start writing!! I enjoyed their fics a lot, especially in the pandemic, so i guess they're definitely up there! But ugh, i love your writing, nikus writing, modas writing, and the writing of my mutuals sm, i never am patient with reading them!! You're serving meals and who am i to be picky?

How would you describe your style? (Character/emotion/action-driven, etc)

Hm, i would say emotion-driven? I work a lot witj the inner workings and the human psyche, and i guess everything rlly depends on the emotional state of the character? But also very prose heavy, to the point a lot of people dont enjoy reading my stuff, simply bc it lacks a lot of action

What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

Uhm, that's a difficult question. I guess the prose? Idk, i guess i like the way i describe things? Not sure tho lmaooo

!! This was very heavy on the mind, but lots of fun!! Thank u sm for sending me these questions <3

#little spider friends: erika #spider chit chat

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ofmermaidstories · 5 months

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I’m thinking about coming home to see father bakugo and your daughter sitting in the living with her doing his make up 🥹 and I wanted to share that with you

and it’s your best makeup too. 😒 maybe you have like, idk, one of those hobbyist metal toolboxes that opens in tiers—katsuki bought it for you one year and at the time you had laughed. it wasn’t originally for your makeup—it’s so utilitarian, in it’s dark green. but it matches the black one katsuki had bought for himself, filled with the fine-tipped tools he uses sometimes, to repair his gear at home. 🥺 and you had liked that. 🥺 you liked that he had used something and liked it enough to want to share it with you, too. and now it’s yawning open, pilfered, your expensive eyeshadow in it’s heavy lacquered case in your daughter’s hand, your favourite lipsticks rolling around on the floor like bullet-shell casings.

and you’ve got to give them credit!!! katsuki would never let her be careless with your stuff, even if he thinks the prices you pay for some of them is ridiculous. your daughter is careful, using light fingers even as she frowns at the shimmer she’s smearing under your husband’s brows. they have the same clear, fierce gaze—when you drop your bag they both swivel to look at you, the two of them similarly glittering and rosy and your heart tightens and swells like a balloon, too full for it’s own good.

it’s so funny. your little girl is so like katsuki in moments, standoffish and assessing but when she sees you her face lights up and she’s bounding from her spot, your eyeshadow compact still in her hand as she flings herself at you, letting you pepper her face with kisses.

“you’ve done such a good job,” you tell her, brushing back her hair from her face as she grins, wide and sharp and exactly like her father.

there’s a clatter; katsuki, scooping up your errant lipsticks before standing, the leopard haul of his weight as he squints, moving to you both.

“very pretty,” you tell him fondly, reaching out to touch his jaw. his lips are shinning—a nude lip, widely applied. he bites at your palm, even as your kid makes a small, annoyed noise between you as his hand settles on her head, and when he leans in to kiss you, you smile into the taste of your lipstick.

#ofmermaidstories-asks #tbh i would be like WHY are u letting our SPAWN into my EXPENSIVE MAKEUP?????#bawl them both out 😒#i rearranged my makeup yesterday 😌 decluttered some older pieces that had seperated #i have too much for someone who rarely rarely wears it 💀

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andypantsx3 · 1 year

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Andy, I love you and everything you write but having to read "mineta is fuckable" wasn't expected. Why would you say something so true yet controversial 😂

I had to weed out the weak ✨

Those who can't handle me at my "mineta is fuckable" don't deserve me at my soulmate Shouto lmao.

#really though this had a lot to do with ofmermaidstories' post(s) last night #i want to hang out in a shared community space with people who have senses of humor and generally interpret things in good faith #so thank you if you stuck around!! you're the kind of person i wanna hang with here!!#ask andie

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134340am · 2 years

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Yuna 💕 I love seeing you on the dash again 🥺 if your askgame is still going, 3 & 9 please

(also omg I ADORE augustinewrites’ Hirugami stories too!!!!)

sweetest nana!!! it’s hug time indeed ✧⁺⸜(●′▾‵●)⸝⁺✧ i’m squishing u to me and rubbing my face on u like a little cat because i missed u : (

#3_a fic that makes you cry

oh man, i’m a big crybaby so i cry at a lot of fics 😞 but!!! the first fic that came directly to mind when i saw this ask was on my way (to you) by @/ofmermaidstories. it’s a time travel, kinda soulmates!au fic but less like we-are-meant-to-be-in-every-lifetime and more like i-will-choose-you-over-and-over-again-in-every-lifetime which is a thousand times more meaningful to me. this is a fic i’ve only read once but it’s impacted me deeply, so i’ll rec it over and over and over again!!! this fic moved me in ways i cannot describe. the characterisation is impeccable (as always) and it seems like every word in the fic is meant to be there, y’know?

also, the part that pushed me from crying to full on snotty sobbing. i got my whole shirt wet, hehe:

#9_a fic that reminds you of summer

ah!!! this would be heaven can’t help me now (i think that’s the title? :O) by the talented @chimielie but lia left/privated her blog T^T (miss u bb i’m wishing the best for u and thinking of u always!!!) i love this fic because it screams first love and the thrill of getting to know someone bit by bit and falling in love tho you don’t quite know it’s love yet… it reminds me of my fave coming of age movies and it reminds me of sticky summers when i was younger sob sob

but when it comes to summer i also really like somewhere only we know by @/wanderwithme on ao3! partly because these X times and Y times kinda fics were pretty popular in the fanfiction community years ago (now, not so much… i think) and it makes me nostalgic, and partly because much of this fic happens while kuroo and reader are still growing up. it’s a sweet proposal fic overall, but under the copious amounts of fluff lies the emotional torment of growing pains and navigating the world when everything is strange and unpredictable. but that’s what makes the fic so relatable and enjoyable, and the payoff sooo insanely worth it.

let’s chat — fic rec ask game!

#thank you for asking bby!!! i hope you like these recs >o<#sorry this took me a while to get to 😭#ask yuna #beloved nana

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kedsandtubesocks · 1 year

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this is for @acerathia who caught my plans for the next installment in our little universe, for @procrastination-artist who made my entire world yesterday and as always for @ofmermaidstories to help bring some good deku vibes

here’s our introduction to Jedi!Deku x reader 💚

(also here’s a lovely and fancy Naboo hallway for reference)

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Naboo is something out of a dream. It is all the stories and mythical children’s tales he used to read as a boy come to life. It truly is the beautiful elegant planet sitting among the wild edge of space.

Now as a man, as a Jedi, Izuku of course can appreciate how splendid and awe striking the planet is. But a deep grim reality peeks out from the back of his mind. The investigation into the attack on the Jedi temple has brought him here.

“There are unfortunate rumors now coming out about one of the Naboo senators has been very vocal against us.” Older and gauntly in appearance yet still incredibly legendary, Jedi council member Toshinori told Izuku of his assignment.

“We are not sure about how serious the allegations are but at this point we need to investigate any rumor. And…funny enough this actually works out perfectly. Naboo has been requesting us for some time to possibly send a knight as an extra guard to help with the political unrest going on in the system.”

Izuku nodded at his mentor’s request but he still needed to ask. “Why send me?”

Toshinori smiled kindly and patted Izuku’s shoulder. “You still seem to forget you are now the hero of this generation my boy, a true honor to the title of jedi knight. They will trust you.”

So Izuku took on this assignment with honor.

“Ah! Oh my goodness there he is, a Jedi knight!” His resolve of course is already getting.

Izuku has only been on Naboo since this morning and he has awkwardly had to laugh and greet so many civilians rushing up to him with eager awestruck eyes. Now finally away from the main city and safe within the palace’s grand hallways, Izuku finds a bit of peace before he has to face his assignment.

The Monarch of the planet has requested his presence. He thanks the force for already setting this into motion. As if to bless him even more a breeze flutters into the open walkways and provides a beautiful sense of peace.

He turns the corner. There, at the edge of the steps to a bottom corridor, he finds someone sitting. Izuku’s curiosity peaks up so fast.

The robes and mostly covered face…

“You’re a royal handmaiden.” He breathes out in awe.

He’s never seen one in person and he’s surprised seeing you alone. Shouldn’t you be with the Crown?Now he flat out stares and it’s like two terrified lothcats waiting for the other to move first.

That’s when Izuku spots it. A pack of various breads and sweet baked treats sitting right beside you, one of them is already half eaten.

“Don’t tell anyone you saw this!” Your voice, so fast and panicky, suddenly blurts out like you’ve been caught red handed and Izuku can’t help it.

He laughs as his stomach growls at the sight of the beautifully baked goods.

“I won’t…Just as long as maybe I can get a bite of one of those?” Izuku asks shyly.

Your shoulders drop surprised. He’s even surprised. But what surprises him more is that even with the robe’s hood hiding most of your face, your welcoming grin shines out from under the covering.

“Sure, I’ve never eaten with a Jedi knight before.”

Izuku gladly takes a seat besides you and warmly thanks you as you hand him a piece of your stash. He takes a bite and his evergreen eyes go wide.

“This is amazing!” He gushes.

“Right? A lot of people don’t know this but Naboo actually has a knack for baked goods.” You tell him friendly.

“I would’ve never known! Now I’m really glad I got to try some and on my first day here.” Izuku means his words. He’s grateful to experience Naboo this way before he has to dig deep into its dirt.

“We heard there was going to be a new guard around. I just didn’t expect to see a famous Jedi knight.” You comment.

Izuku coughs embarrassed as he tries to still enjoy the next piece of the bread you’ve given him.

“Well, I’m just a knight. Nothing too special.”

You hum a teasing type noise at him and your lips twitch amused. A wave of heated embarrassment crawls up his skin. But he also thinks it might just be the mid afternoon heat of the planet itself. Izuku never expected Naboo weather to be like this.

“Is it always this hot?” He can’t help but ask.

“Not normally. This spring is just turning into summer faster.”

“I bet. In all those robes I’m impressed you’re handling this better than I am.” He replies to you a bit sympathetic. He couldn’t imagine being in so many long and layered robes along with having most of his face covered.

“Oh I’m used to it.” You snort. “And besides, this always helps.”

Suddenly you reach to draw the robe’s hood back and he sees you for the first time.

Your face is a bit sweaty from being under the hood for so long. A sigh of relief escapes you and your eyes mirror that. Turning to him you smile a weak almost bashful thing.

You’re stunning. Izuku justifies his blatant staring as simply appreciating the new beauty this planet has greeted him with and you so far are his favorite.

“I thought royal maidens couldn’t reveal their identity?” He asks so curious and even a bit stunned.

“Eh.” You tell him so casually with a shrug he almost snorts. “The Queen is the only one who’s identity is hidden. We’re just the entourage, nobody really cares or notices us.”

A small pang now hits inside of Izuku.

“Wait that’s not true!” He suddenly tells you. “I’ve read so much about the Naboo and of course I came across the role of a royal shadow! I remember reading that they have to know so much! The issues of Naboo, anything else going on with the Galaxy, they need to be aware of it all just in case they have to refresh the Crown’s knowledge. It’s all so impressive!”

Izuku watches your eyes go wide and oh no he’s rambled on too much like he always does.

“I’m sorry!” He’s quickly stammers out now so very embarrassed. “I just…I’ve never been here before funny enough, so this is all kind of exciting for me.”

You laugh, but it’s warm and friendly making his heart do an interesting spin. Izuku watches you break off another piece from the dwindling snack stash and hand it to him. He flings it into his mouth quickly to shut himself up from rambling any more.

“Our queen is going to love you.” You tell him with a gentle nod as you munch on the sweet bread. “There’s a lot going on and hearing someone like you speak so excited about this place…it’s wonderful.”

A bright electricity spreads from his chest down to his finger tips as if the force had just ran through his veins. “O-oh! Well, t-thank you!”

He feels like he is back to being a a nervous boy in training when Uraraka used to hand him an extra training saber. Izuku knows those feelings however, this rush of being flustered, needs to be fluttered away.

So he turns the tables. “I am excited for the meeting too. I’m sure the royal court is going to interested to hear how I found a handmaiden hiding away and snacking.”

You gasp horrified. He laughs and finds he enjoys seeing how fast your face scowls hard at him.

“I thought Jedi knights were suppose to be peace keepers, not little shits like you!”

He laughs even harder. “I’m definitely telling the Crown how vulgar and rude you are too.”

“I’m going to be the one talking to everyone first and I’m warning them about how awful you are!” You childishly fire back but it’s without malice because your voice cracks. Suddenly you’re laughing too. You and him simple simple and enjoy this fresh feeling of meeting someone new.

You sigh settling yourself down and look out to the stretch of the empty palace hallway.

“Everyone, even our beloved ruler, would understand if you told them you found me like this though…we all know sometimes we just need a moment to ourselves.”

Your voice grows wistful and even a bit vacant.

A sudden wave of understanding leaks in him. He has mediated alone often because this life, this path he’s taken, sometimes needs to be sorted through. Just sitting here now he already feels as if he is teetering between that duality of being both Jedi knight and a man simply enjoying the company of someone lovely.

“Well. We ate all my snacks.” You suddenly snort. As you stand to leave, Izuku finds he’s already missing you. “Guess my break is over, plus I’m sure you have places to be Sir Jedi.”

The title…it is indeed who he is, but right he just wants to be-

“Izuku.” He clarifies. “My name’s Izuku.”

You repeat his name and his body goes light. You freely give him your name and he holds onto it so precious.

“I guess I’ll see you later then, Izuku.”

And he does see you later.

In the grander of the Crowned One’s thrown room, the entire royal court including senators sits in a circle around the sovereign. He however looks past that. A small circle of royal handmaidens surround the monarch from the back like silent all matching shadows. Izuku can’t help it. His eyes scan the matching robes hoping to find your familiar face or even just a small knowing grin being sent his way.

“Jedi Knight Izuku. Welcome to the planet of Naboo.” Then the monarch’s voice, so commanding and hauntingly even toned, greets him. His eyes go wide for a moment.

How did they know it was him coming?

Then a soft fondness fills his chest. Of course, you really did tell everyone about him first didn’t you.

#maybe it’s my og deku heart or maybe it’s because of how much I love Naboo but this one is dear to me #also wow this got long again I hate my ass #I really want to already say so much more about this but I can’t bcs plot! twist!! BIG TWIST!! my favorite twist!!#but alright i need to shut up now omg #Jedi!Izuku or pls no more st*r w*rs erika #in a galaxy far far away: a sw bnha universe

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