#Paz Vizsla x reader

[maybege]

Lessons Learned

Summary: Someone accuses you of the most horrendous crime possible. Paz makes sure to prove them wrong.

Pairing: alpha!clan leader!Paz Vizsla x omega!fem!Reader

Wordcount: 6.0k | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, marriage of convenience, enemies to lovers vibes (but really it is just idiots to lovers), (unfounded) accusations of child harm, fluff, yearning, scenting,

Big shoutout to @mostly-megan who helped me bring this story to life! I am so excited to share more about etl!Paz, it really is one of those AUs that I constantly think about but very rarely do I actually write about it. I hope you like it as much as I loved writing it! Please let me know what you think in a comment or a reblog – they are the best things about sharing it with you. Happy Sunday!

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

Had anyone ever told you that you not only would wed Paz Vizsla, leader of your enemy clan, but you would live a somewhat happy life in the covert, you would not have hesitated to call that person a liar. Yet here you were, living a somewhat solitary but not necessarily unhappy life.

Sure, the mountain halls had needed some getting used to. You missed the sunshine on your face whenever you roamed the hallways, but the tunnels and rooms carved into the mountains kept you nicely cool in the summer and allowed the nature above to grow freely. You had heard from many people, independent of their clan, that the Vizsla territory was well-kept and well-protected. The flora and fauna were thriving and you had never seen so many butterflies as when you spent a few minutes outside.

Sadly, the glimpses you got from nature were through carved windows or courtyards that allowed you to gaze at the colours of the sky. You could not remember when you had simply lain down in a meadow, allowing the sounds of nature to soothe you to sleep. Your guards were quite strict, and though you had a feeling that they would not keep you from going outside, surely, they would report back to your husband and you were not ready to have to justify your comings and goings.

It was a pleasant surprise, then, when Maudii from the foundlings’ nursery asked you if you would like to help out in the classrooms. Teaching little ones was something you knew from your time back home and you enjoyed reading stories to them, teaching them the old legends and helping them improve their reading and writing.  

However, your favourite part by far was when Maudii announced an excursion out of the covert and into nature. The trips to the outside were an absolute success. You got to wander through the meadows, along the edge of the woods, carefully crossing small streams as the children took in everything with big eyes and even bigger grins. You knelt down in the bushes, showing them the difference between the delicious berries you could put in cakes and the ones that were only meant for birds.

Each night, you lay in your little guestroom, tired out from spending the day in the fresh air and sunshine and finally felt like you had found a place where you could belong. Your husband might not love you and your body might betray you whenever you saw him, but finally, you had people in the covert who did not sneer at you whenever you crossed their paths.

Of course, that was only wishful thinking.

“What is going on?” you asked the guard who had suddenly appeared in the midst of your lesson the next morning. Kroks was not a stranger to you. Dieko had introduced him as one of the warriors in training and the young man was always very cordial towards you. Which is why his worried gaze set you on alert.

“Will you come with us, please?” Kroks looked uncomfortable but the guard next to him did not wait for your reply. His grip on your arm came as a surprise and it hurt, the physical pain overshadowed by the betrayal that even after months in this clan, you were still treated like an enemy. Maudii looked on with helpless fear and shock as you passed her, but you knew there was nothing she could do.

The walk to the throne room was not an unfamiliar one but it felt longer than usual now that you were dragged through the hallways like you had committed murder. No one spoke to you, no one told you why you were summoned and you could not help the panic that rose in you. If you were summoned by the guards, it could only mean that Paz knew about it. And what could possibly cause your husband to summon you like a common criminal?

Images flashed in your mind of wars and battles, all of them involving Paz and your family at home. What if your sacrifice had all been for nothing? What if it had not been enough to broker peace between your clans and now you would be the first victim of the new wave of battles?

But even as you thought it, there was a trust in you that Paz would not harm you.

The heavy doors to the throne room were pulled open, and your eyes immediately settled on him. Your husband was sitting on his throne, legs spread, chin resting on his hand and your heart skipped a beat at the memory of how, not too long ago, you had joined him there.

The moment he spotted you was clear because he sat up, back straight and a deep frown on his face. Like he had not expected to see you. That was a good sign, right?

You were not the only ones in the room, of course, and after you finally ripped your eyes away from your husband, you recognised a few council members and some guards standing around the room. Right in front of your husband was a man you did not recognise.

“You interrupted my council meeting with empty accusations and now you drag my wife here,” Paz’s voice boomed through the room, sounding very bored, “Please enlighten us to what end you interrupt my very day, Roalm.”

“I am here because our guest,” Roalm spat out the word, “has committed the most treacherous and spiteful of acts.”

It took you a minute to realise he meant you. You were the guest. You were the one who had committed something so horrible, you had been dragged here to face the consequences. The frown on your face did little to also cover the anxiety that surged up. Your heart beat loudly in your chest and you got nervous.

What did he mean? What had you done? You were more than aware that although you were all Mandalorian, there were differences in your culture that you had not caught up on completely. All in all, though, you got the impression that you hadn’t done something completely stupid. Yet.

“It brings me no pleasure to say this,” Roalm continued gravely before pointing his finger at you, his eyes full of hatred, “She has poisoned the foundlings.”

His accusation sat in the empty room for a moment, the shock following soon after. His words kept echoing in your head as you tried to determine if all this was real or if maybe you were still dreaming. Maybe you were still asleep, curled up in your bed with blankets, and at any moment, you would hear one of Paz’s advisors enter his room, updating him on his daily schedule. Maybe you were close to your heat? You always had the most absurd and scary dreams then.

None of that happened, though, you were still standing on the stone floor, your eyes wide as you watched Paz sit up straighter, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. The guard behind you seemed to understand what had been said earlier than you, because your knees suddenly met the floor as you were pushed to kneel in front of Paz.

“What?” you breathed, wincing through the pain, “No, I – I would never – I haven’t …”

“She's been taking the foundlings out to the fields for weeks now,” the man interrupted you, sounding so sure of himself, “And several of them have said they were being fed berries by her. Poisonous berries! Clearly, she has been sent here by her pack of traitors to cause us the most possible harm. Not only is she infiltrating us by being married to our leader, she is jeopardising our entire future.”

Tears gathered in your eyes. You wanted to be strong. You needed to be strong. But stars, you were so tired. You had done everything to make a good impression, to make sure that you were polite and kind to everyone. And you had been so happy to finally find a place where you could do something. Where you could be happy and useful and –

“I would never …” you sobbed, “I would never harm them. I didn’t harm them. Paz, please,” you looked up, finding your husband’s gaze on you, "Please. Please, believe me.”

Your husband always looked imposing on his throne. It was hard to believe that it had not been too long ago that you had joined him on his lap, letting his fingers explore parts of your body that resulted in ecstasy and now you were kneeling on the floor, teardrops forming a little pool in the grooves of the stone beneath you. Oh, how the mighty could fall.

“You know,” Paz’s voice was cool but it had an edge to it that you could not identify, “One might say that everything my wife does is a reflection of me. Would you suggest that your own clan leader has been conspiring to kill foundlings?”

“N-no, no! Of course not, m’lord. I was merely suggesting. I-it was –“

“Then you had better have proof of such things,” you watched with baited breath as the alpha rose up, towering over everyone in the room, even more so now that you were kneeling, “I hope you’ll be able to back up those claims when me and my guards join the trip tomorrow. Or else you’ll have not only insulted my wife, but you’ll have threatened her well-being. Now, everybody leave.”

*

You had never slept so badly, tossing and turning all night as you tried to give your panicked thoughts a rest. Not even the night before you had snuck out of your clan’s quarters to offer yourself to the scary enemy alpha, you had been this nervous. Maybe because you knew there was nothing keeping you from being killed if people thought you actually poisoned the foundlings.

You frowned, staring at the dark ceiling. None of the foundlings had been sick in the last few weeks (with the exception of one case of a cough which had turned out to be from too much dust in a carpet) and you trusted your abilities enough to know poisonous from edible berries.

Surely, your excursion today would prove your innocence.

Because if it didn’t …

Tears threatened to spill onto your cheeks again.

Hearing Kroks enter Paz’s room, greeting up, felt like a relief then. The day was starting and so was your chance to prove yourself.

You chose your prettiest dress to wear, made of long linen that had been dyed with flower petals. The children loved to find the flowers in the wild that had been used for the colours on your dress and with all the excitement of today, you wanted them to have as much fun as possible.

The sun was shining as your larger-than-usual group finally reached one of the hidden exits of the caves. There was not a cloud in the sky and you were greeted with a cool breeze that rustled the trees and made the meadows look like green oceans. Everyone was in a good mood, chattering happily as you made your way along the edge of the woods.

Well, not everyone.

The only people who were more serious than you were the few council members and guards that Paz had ordered to accompany you. Roalm was one of them.

You tried your hardest to ignore the man as you knelt in the grass, letting the children explore and run around to their heart's content. You had been scared that the unannounced guests on your trip would throw them off, but you should not have worried. The little ones were very happy with the extra attention they got, running this way and that way and picking berries to show the guards which ones were for them and which ones were for the birds.

The council members stayed back but you did not let yourself be tricked by their silence. You knew they were watching every move you made and listening intently to every word that left your mouth. There was no room for mistakes. No room for ambiguity.

Luckily, the children did not share your predicament and instead let themselves be distracted whenever they deemed the lesson too boring.

One of the distractions they found was their clan leader.

You would not have expected Paz to be as relaxed as he was. He let himself be tugged along by tiny hands, climbed on by the toddlers, all with the biggest smile and a deep laugh. You watched in awe as he carried them on his shoulders, making sure they did not fall, even as they hung from his arms with happy squeals.

Paz Vizsla, for all his talks about the importance of foundlings, had not made a particularly child-friendly impression on you. Clearly, you had been wrong.

The sight of him surrounded by the children made your heart flutter and you found yourself able to take one deep breath after another as you and Maudii pointed out new plants to your students. Your eyes met your husband’s on more than one occasion and there was a strange expression on his face, with just the hint of a smile on his mouth.

Maybe everything would turn out to be okay.

*

Lunch was taken on a meadow. No one had arrested you yet, which you counted as a win and when Maudii and some of the guards opened the baskets full of food, you had the first moment of today to just relax.

You were all alone when you sat back against a tree, right underneath the shade, and bit into a delicious berry bread. In front of you, you watched the children play with Paz, their little forms almost hidden by the tall grass as they tried to escape from the “monster”, a role your husband impersonated surprisingly well.

His roars and laughter and were interrupted by the children’s giggles as, one after the other, they were plucked from the ground and put on his shoulders. You could barely see him by the end, with all the children clinging to him as he slowly made his way to where all the adults were waiting. Maudii greeted them with a smile as Kroks helped her distribute the packed lunches the kitchen had prepared for them.

“But we are not done,” Lia pouted, “The monster hasn’t caught us all yet.”

“Of course, I did, little warrior,” Paz laughed as he lifted another kid off his shoulder, “I caught all of you hiding in the grass, didn’t I?”

Lia took a big bite of the bread, her words muffled. “You need to chase her, too,” she pointed to you and you could see Paz’s gaze darken as he followed her arm.

“Um, I don’t know …” you trailed off, highly aware of him now mustering you.

But Paz did not seem to share your worries. Your husband stood up, seeming taller than usual. “C’mon, ‘mega,” he chuckled, putting his helmet on, “It could be fun.”

Chancing a glance at the council members, you realised that no one really was paying attention. And it did sound fun, it certainly sounded like a distraction. Maybe that was exactly what you needed, right now?

You carefully stood up, smoothing a wrinkle out of your dress and looked up to find Paz's face fixed on you. Through the black visor of the helmet, you could not see his eyes, but you knew he was watching you. You could feel it, the tingle in your spine whenever this alpha focused on you.

One tentative step backwards by you was followed by one step from him, following you. The grass was soft under your shoes and the sun was warm on your skin as you left the shade of the tree.

There was something stuck in your throat that made it hard to swallow when he took another step.

Before you could debate your decision, you hurled around and ran.

The children cheered, and you swore you could hear one or two of the guards whoop as you raced around the meadow. You could not remember the last time you had run around freely, much less because you were playing catch. The wind in your hair felt freeing and you could feel a laugh forming in your chest.

However, you weren’t as fast as you thought you were because only seconds later, you could hear thundering footsteps behind you. And they were getting closer.

Paz really was chasing you and although you had simply wanted to indulge the foundlings’ wishes, you could not bring yourself to just … lose. You wanted to make him work for it, maybe even win, and you certainly did not want to put on a weak performance before the council.

Your hands gripped your skirt tighter as you lifted it higher, allowing you to lengthen your strides and you could hear Paz’s puffs of air as he ran behind you. Chasing you. Hunting you.

A shiver ran down your spine as you tried to ignore how your body reacted to him. Panic and something thrilling coursed through you when you could feel him at your back. The anticipation made your pussy pulse which had nothing to do with the fact that it was your husband behind you. Nothing at all.

There was a brush of fingers on your back and your heart lurched.

I’m not ready to go back, your head screamed, I’m not done yet.

And so, you did the only sensible thing: You stopped suddenly before sprinting to the sharp left, right into the woods.

Paz’s chuckle behind you made you feel all sorts of things (most of them which you tried to ignore because, again, your husband had no effect on you, whatsoever).

“You’re really making me work for it, huh?” he called behind you as you twisted around the trees, the trunks getting thicker the more you ventured into the forest.

Your response was only a laugh, jumping over a little stream that Paz must have just stomped through from the sounds of it. If you could just stay in this moment forever, maybe then everything would be alright. The kids would be safe and so would you because even if the council decided against you, there was no way they would find you here in the midst of –

“Oof!”

All the air left your lungs as you crashed against a tree trunk. You waited for it to hurt but nothing followed the slight discomfort of your sudden stop. Your back was against the tree but there was something between your head and the wood. His hand.

Paz had cushioned your crash, crowding you in with no means of escape while also cradling you to him like you were the most precious thing in the world. His body was huge, shielding you from your surroundings but instead of intimidating you, all you felt was safe.

Like this had been the goal of your run all along.

“Got you,” he rumbled and you watched as his chest rose and fell evenly. He wasn’t even out of breath, that bastard.

“And now?” you asked, your voice trembling.

He tilted his head and you hoped he would not ask you to elaborate. You didn’t want to admit that you like being this close, that you wanted to stay like this for as long as he would allow. The embarrassment would kill you, surely.

But then he tilted his head the other way and you realised he was listening for something.

When he heard (or didn’t hear?) what he wanted, you watched with baited breath as he leant back, putting an unacceptable amount of distance between the two of you, and lifted his helmet.

You knew what your husband looked like. You always had. For the longest time, you had convinced yourself that he was as ugly as your family had made him out to be. That his evil personality translated into an appearance that made him just as repulsive.

But now that you had spent time with him, that you endured his teaching and his cocky self-assurance and witness his joy with his friends and the foundlings and had him touch you – intimately – in ways no one ever had, you had to admit: Your husband was the most handsome man you knew. Inside and out.

(He was still annoyingly cocky, though.)

Watching his face be revealed to you once again, made your heart switch to an unusual pitter-patter, skipping every second beat and pumping so string, it almost hurt. The lines on his face, the crease between his brows, the crinkles next to his eyes, it all made your pulse run faster. And then he smiled at you, so softly, you were done for.

“Seems like I caught my prize,” he rumbled, his nose brushing against yours, “Wonder what I’ll do with her.”

“Oh,” you gasped, shifting against the tree, your hips bumping against his. His scent washed over you and you wished he hadn’t worn his full training get-up. You wished he had worn the soft pants he had worn that night, the ones you had been able to feel his hard flesh through.

Your husband seemed to be just as unhappy with your position because his helmet landed on the ground, cushioned by the grass, and his hands grabbed yours, lifting them above your head.

“Stay still and let me scent you,” he rumbled, one hand closing around both of your wrists, the other landing on your hip. His touch was hot, making you squirm even more. When his nose brushed over your scent gland, coating you in the smell of pines and smoke, you had a whole-body shiver. The kind that made you very aware of how wet your underwear was getting.

“Paz,” you gasped, tilting your head back so he had more access.

The only response you got was a growl. His hand around yours tightened and then his mouth opened against your neck and he sucked.

Was it possible to come from just this?

You wanted to touch him, you wanted to be closer to him, but his grip on you was steadfast, only letting you move however he wanted you to.

“You smell afraid, omega,” he praised you, the tip of his nose brushing all the way up to you just under your ear, “Am I scaring you?”

“No!” you protested quickly, eyes widening with fear that you had just pushed him away, “I’m not – not of you, I promise!”

“Shh,” he calmed you, dark eyes looking at you so warmly, “I know the only person you’d ever want to kill is me, love”, he whispered against your neck, “You’d never hurt any of the children and I believe you.”

You hadn’t realised how high-strung you were until his words registered in your head. Paz believed you. He had never doubted you. Even if everything went horribly wrong now, he was the one person in your corner whom you could trust.

The knowledge that he believed you lifted a weight off your shoulders you had not quite realised you were carrying. But now that it was gone, you could feel the fear and panic of the last 24 hours crashing over you.

“Oh, ‘mega,” he breathed as your body started to shake with tears. Paz did not loosen his grip. He stepped even closer, his front completely pressed against yours until he was close enough that you could tuck your head into the crook of his neck.

His hold on your hands went away and seconds later, he had you wrapped up in his arms, holding you while you sobbed into his neck.

“I didn’t do it,” you whimpered, “And I – I don’t understand what else I need to do to get them to trust me. I – they’re kids, Paz! I’d never hurt the kids.”

“I know,” he rumbled, “Let it all out, love. You’d never hurt anyone, I know. We’re proving him wrong today, you’ll see.”

“I’m just so tired of it,” you admitted, feeling your chest calm down, “I’m so tired of having to prove myself and no one believing me.”

Paz started moving and you realised he was slowly swaying you back and forth. “I believe you.”

And in that moment, it was enough.

*

This time, when you were called to the throne room, you felt hopeful.

Paz was sitting back on his throne, dressed in more casual clothes, and you could feel your cheeks warm at the heat in his gaze.

“Omega,” he greeted you, his voice filled with fondness that made your heart clench, “I called you here to convene with the council before Roalm comes in.”

You looked up, realising he had spoken true. The only people here were the council members who had accompanied you on your trip and Paz.

“Do,” you swallowed and shifted your feet, “Do you want me to defend myself now?”

“I see no reason for you to defend yourself,” Dieko said, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “The children seemed to have fun and were quick to identify which berries were good and which ones weren’t.”

“And when they were unsure, they approached you or Maudii to consult,” another one added, “And received the correct answer. You did a good job at teaching them, m’lady, and I am sure I am not the only one who would support our foundlings to have more trips to our lands.”

It was one thing to know that you would not be in danger of execution from the council; it was another to actually be praised by them. You were so stunned, all you could do was look at him, trying to find words of gratitude.

“C’mere, omega,” Paz called and you turned around, “I want you here for this.”

His hands rested on his thick thighs and you hoped no one noticed how nervous his request made you. Sitting on his lap wasn’t that extraordinary for them. You had learned from Maudii that that was how previous leaders had held court in this clan.

For you, it felt oddly intimate.

“This is less fun than the last time we sat like this,” he joked quietly as he helped you settle on his lap. Your ears burned at the memory of how his fingers felt inside you. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh, hush,” you hissed and he chuckled, his big arm wrapping round your back until you sat sideways on him. It was so much easier to focus on him than on the rest of the room.

“Let me tease you, love,” he rumbled, his nose brushing over your jaw, “It’s my favourite part of the day.”

You were about to retort something very smart, you were sure of it, when the doors opened and you were faced with Roalm. He looked worse for wear than the first time you had seen him in this room but his presence still made you tense, your spine stiffening until Paz’s nose was on your neck again.

“Oh,” you breathed, pines and smoke filling your nostrils, “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, love,” his mouth moved against your sensitive skin, “Anything to keep you calm and happy, hm?”

You ignore the flutter in your heart in favour of melting against him, fully relaxing against his chest and letting yourself be encompassed by his scent.

“M’lord Vizsla,” Roalm started, his voice wavering as his eyes darted between you and your husband and the guards surrounding him, “I am so –“

“Since you did not give my wife the benefit of speaking in her defence, I will return the favour,” Paz’s voice cut through the hall and you flinched in surprise. Where did all that anger come from?

Your hand settled on his chest and you could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady. But there was something sharp and acid tickling your nostrils and you swallowed. Paz wasn’t only angry. He was furious. And all of this on your behalf.

“Did you see my wife poisoning the children?”

“Uh … well, not exactly, but that doesn’t mean –“

“Did any of the children feel unwell?”

“No, but …”

Paz’s hand squeezed your hip gently and you heard his sharp inhale, breathing you in. “So, you mean to tell me that my wife has been trying to murder innocent lives without having seen anything, without having any proof and even after seeing how beloved she is by them?”

“I am so sorry,” Roalm whimpered, cowering before you. You knew he must be scared. Stars, you would be, too, if Paz were this furious with you. Still, you couldn’t find it in yourself to feel sorry for the man who had accused you of the most heinous crime.

“It’s too late for apologies,” Paz hissed, “You implied my wife deserved to be executed for her crimes. Do you think you deserve that same fate?”

Your head whipped around, seeking your husband’s gaze. You were angry, yes, and you were not ready to forgive him yet. But did you want him to die in your name? No. You didn’t want anyone to die because of this.

Paz met your gaze, his frown softening. “He’ll be unharmed, my love,” he whispered, quiet enough for only you to hear, “But he will regret the day he dared to put you in danger.”

The determination in his voice made your heart sing and you turned around just in time to see Paz motion for the guards. “A few days in a cell should give you enough time to think about the consequences of your actions,” he announced, “Now leave my sight.”

Roalm’s wailing lasted only for a few seconds before the heavy doors closed behind him and the guards and suddenly everything returned to its usual business. People filtered through the doors, talking in small groups and you could see a few of the guards leave while the rest took their posts by the entrances.

Everyone acted like nothing happened at all but you could not bring yourself to it.

“Can … Can I stay here for a while?” you asked, not trusting yourself to look at Paz to face his rejection, “Just for a bit?”

His response was immediate. His hands pulled you even tighter to him and you could feel him shift in his seat until your head could comfortably lie against his chest. The way your body relaxed into him was not lost on you.

“You can stay here however long you wish to,” his fingers gently circled your scent gland, “And you can return tomorrow, too, if you like.”

*

“I want you in my bed tonight.”

The announcement came after dinner when you both had retired to your rooms. You were sitting on your bed, trying to subtly arrange the many blankets into a nest, discreetly sneaking your dress in there as well. Only because it was soft, of course, and not because his scent still clung to it.

You squeaked at his appearance in your doorframe. Paz usually spent his evenings in the parlour, sitting by the fire and reading notes before going to bed in the bedroom that was meant for the two of you.

Ever since you had married, Paz had made it clear he wouldn’t force himself on you. But maybe after the excitement of the day, he had changed his mind? Maybe his protecting you was bound to some sort of expectation that you now had to fulfil?

The fear on your face must have been obvious because the grin he sent you made your knees weak. “Not for any marital duties,” he winked, “Though I’m not opposed to it if you decide you want to know what a knot feels like.”

Do not think about taking his knot. Do not think about what taking his knot would feel like. Do not think about how he would praise you for taking his knot.

“Why then?” you asked, hands folded in your lap as you avoided his gaze, “Why do you want me … with you?”

Silence followed and you prayed to the stars that he could not smell how wet you were for him.

“I need to know you are safe,” he said, finally, “I would sleep better when you are close by.”

You would never admit it but it was the first time someone had voiced genuine concern for your well-being. The thought of it made your heart ache. After all, you had lived your entire life trying to serve your family’s – your clan’s – best intentions and all it got you was their rejection and life in a covert that you had been taught was enemy territory.

It was easy, then, to follow him back to his bedroom and carefully settle on one side of the giant bed while Paz settled on the other.

Despite its size, it did not take long until you reached your hand to the side and found him under the blankets.

“You probably need to visit the foundlings more often after today,” you said, a smile on your lips as you remembered how they had used him as a playground, “they really enjoyed themselves.”

“And did you?”

You turned to the side, finding him already looking at you. There was something so gentle about seeing him in the dim light of the embers, the lines on his face all smoothed over, the thin sheet pulled up only to his waist. “I did, too,” you confirmed, feeling out of breath for no reason at all, as you looked over his broad chest, “Although the thing you said today …”

“Which one?” he enquired, his hand reaching out to pull you closer. A warm feeling started in your chest when you cuddled up against him, his large hand swooping up and down your back, “I say many things when the day is long.”

You smiled. “You said, uh, you said that you know the only person I’d want to kill in the covert is you,” you recalled, rubbing your feet together for warmth, “Do you really think that?”

“Is it not true?”

The casualness with which he said it broke your heart. Did he really think you thought so little of him? Had the past few months not affected him at all, so he thought they hadn’t affected you either?

“I wouldn’t want to kill you,” you said firmly, needing him to hear you. “Maybe there was a time when the thought brought me comfort but it’s been a long time since then. I … feel comfortable here. With you and the foundlings and Kroks and Maudii.”

Hu hummed in acknowledgement and in a matter of seconds, you went from feeling like you needed to share your feelings to feeling like you had overshared once again. Paz may not be interested in you in that way … Were you even interested in him in that way?

The answer to that was clear.

“Can I scent you?”

“Yes.”

He rolled you around so he was on top of you, his eyes serious. Just like in the forest, his hand found your wrists, pinning them into the soft mattress. Your foreheads rested against one another and your breaths mingled-

His eyes searched for something and you wondered what it was, wondered if you could give it to him.

“I need you to know, little wife,” he murmured, his thumb brushing steadily over the scent glands on your wrists, “Everything I do these days is so you feel safe and comfortable. If I can’t offer you that,” you watched his throat bob, “Then maybe I do deserve to killed by you.”

Your brows furrowed in protest. Trying to free your hands was futile because his grip was so tight, so you did the only thing you could. You lifted your face up, right to his jaw and started scenting him. The shudder that went through his body made you smile and you continued, brushing your nose to the point right behind his ear.

His entire weight was resting on you now, making moving impossible but you didn’t care. You didn’t want to move anyway. You wanted to stay here and breathe him in – the familiar scent of pines and smoke making you feel at ease.

“I am right where I want to be,” you admitted into the quiet of the night, your eyes drooping closed, “And I want to be here with you, alpha.”

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Star Wars

➼ Kino Loy ‣I Want You to Show Me Weak by tarabyte3 Kino Loy x F!Reader

➼ Din Djarin/The Mandalorian ‣Still of Your Hand by moonlight-prose Din Djarin x F!Reader ‣Sleepy Sex by saradika Din Djarin x F!Reader ‣Home Is Wherever I'm With You by saradika Din Djarin x F!Reader

➼ Boba Fett ‣Dance of the Desert Snake by seriowan Boba Fett x F!Reader ‣Maybe I Just Wanna Be Yours by saradika Boba Fett x F!Reader ‣Ex Libris by daimyosprincess Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader

➼ Paz Vizla ‣Bold by flightlessangelwings Paz Vizsla x F!Reader

➼ Cad Bane ‣Expensive Tastes by eloquentmoon Cad Bane x Rich!F!Reader

➼ Crosshair ‣Insufferable by thrawns-babygirl Crosshair x F!Reader [Part One] [Part Two] ‣Show Me by thrawns-babygirl Crosshair x F!Reader ‣Keeping it Casual by clonecyare Crosshair x F!Reader

dividers by saradika-graphics

[outercrasis]

Welcome Home

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x F!Reader (reader is petite, with no other descriptors)

Word Count/Rating: 3.3k / Explicit 18+ only

Notes/Warnings: Western!AU, Paz & Reader are married & both are hot heads/combative (but they love each other v much), size kink, oral sex (m receiving), penetrative sex, v light amount of spanking, more or less make-up sex, I have my own image of what Paz looks like and you all have to deal with it

Summary: Your husband finally comes home after 3 weeks. Surely you're going to welcome him home with open arms?

You don't turn when the door opens. Not for the familiar chime of his boot spurs, nor for the shuffle of his jacket and hat. You act as though you haven’t heard him – facing the window, focused on the same plate you’ve been washing since you heard the first footstep on the porch.

It's irritating how perfect this moment should be. Golden light streams through the dusty windowpane, bathing the kitchen in warmth. The enticing smell of dinner still lingers in the air. There’s plenty left for Paz. Even after three weeks you found yourself unable to adjust your portions to one.

You can feel his large presence behind you – waiting for you to turn and greet him. He probably expected a big homecoming. Fantasized about you running into his arms, kissing him desperately, crying tears of joy. It's happened before. Unfortunately for him, the Henderson boys ran by ten minutes ago to let you know they saw him riding back into town. Their warning ruined any surprise, not that you would have given him the satisfaction anyway.

Paz crowds behind you, placing his hands on your hips. You hate how quickly you want to melt into his warmth. To fall backwards into his broad chest and let him sweep you off your feet. It’s infuriating what he can do with a single touch.

You manage to find your resolve, slapping at his hands. "Get off me, you brute."

Paz chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in tighter. "Why so full of venom, ner riduur'ika?"

You let go of the plate to push at his arms. It’s futile, but you're unwilling to give up the fight. "You know damn well why. Now get off me."

You struggle further, trying to escape his vice-like grip. It's all for nothing. Paz spins you around to face him, an arm still firmly around your middle. Even through layers of clothes, you can feel the shift of his muscles.

Upon seeing his face, you gasp. Some is as you expected it. That annoying self-sure grin, the healthy start of a beard, the playful shine in his bright eyes. Some is not. There’s a new, healthy scar forming along his cheek to match some old ones from long ago.

"What did you do?" you demand.

"Now why do you automatically assume I did something to cause this?" 

"Because that's always the case. I'll bet Din doesn’t have a single scratch on him."

"Thanks to me he doesn't." He says it with a strong hint of pride and that only sets you off more. 

You push and shove at Paz, but he's still unwilling to let you go. In a further act of humiliation, he picks you up with ease and sets you on the counter. You're directly face to face like this. Nowhere for either of you to hide.

"Darlin’, would you please tell me what's gotten into you?" Paz asks. His voice is gentle. You know he's trying to calm you and you hate that it's even slightly working.

"You." 

Paz laughs. "That can be arranged if that's what you're mad about." You try and fail to kick him.

His hand wraps around your calf, a harder look settling into his eyes. It would scare you if you didn't know him so well. Hell would sooner freeze over before he did so much as pluck a hair from your head.

"I didn't come home to be name-called and kicked, so you're going to tell me what's the matter or I'm not letting you leave this counter. That clear?" 

You resent the heat you can feel pooling low in your stomach at his command. Even worse is that he knows it too. All your buttons have long since been discovered and Paz knows just how to press every one. 

There's no getting out of this. Paz stares at you expectantly, willing to wait this out. The anxious soup churning in your stomach rolls and the fire burning in your veins dies only a little at the realization of there being no escape. He has you pinned.

You're not ready yet to talk. Instead, you reach out towards his face, inspecting the new cut that mars it.

You're happy to note it's clean despite the thin layer of dirt and grit that otherwise clings to the fine lines of Paz’s face. It doesn't seem as deep as his other scars and may even fade in due time. All in all, it's not as bad as it could have been. That doesn't make it any better.

You hate this feeling in your gut. The knowledge that your husband lives a dangerous life. Today it's a small cut, tomorrow it's his guts spilling on the cold, hard ground and becoming food for vultures. Paz doesn't know the terror that seizes you when Din crests a hill before he catches up. The thought every time that this is the time he doesn’t come home.

Your voice is small, half mumbling. "You promised."

Paz leans in towards you. "What was that?" he asks, voice still this side of mean.

You take a deep breath, resteeling yourself. "You promised."

Hot tears well at your lashline unbidden. Paz's face becomes wobbly, but you can see the confusion and concern written across it. The anger deep within your chest is reignited. It’s worsened when a tear finally falls and Paz gingerly wipes it from your cheek.

"You said you would talk to me before you took another job."

"I said I would try to."

You punch him hard in the shoulder. It doesn't hurt him in the slightest, but it's satisfying all the same. "Don't play word games. You promised me. You said you would and the next thing I know you're off with Din again."

"I left a note," Paz says, his chest puffing slightly. 

"And what a note it was," you spit back. "Gone on a bounty hunt. Be back soon. You'd think you went out to the saloon for the night with all the information you shared."

"I'm getting tired of going over this with you."

"That's why I asked you to talk to me before you leave,” you shout. 

Paz leans down to get directly in your face. The gray of his irises darken, like clouds before a thunderstorm. “You want to watch that tone, little miss?”

“I'll watch my tone as soon as you stop being an asshole. Oh wait, that'll never happen.” You try to push him away only for his arms to circle around you, pulling you flush against his body. 

Your legs are spread wide to accommodate his frame. You swallow a moan as your center is pressed against the bulge in Paz's trousers. Refusing to allow your baser urges to control you, you feign disgust instead. “You're a pig.”

Paz pulls you impossibly closer. One of his hands finds its way to the base of your skull, effectively scruffing you like a cat. “You had better find your manners real quick or I'm going to find them for you,” he grits out.

“Good luck.”

His lips are rough on yours. The kiss is more a clash of teeth and tongue than anything romantic. You detest the way your body easily betrays you and yields to his advances, but it has been a long three weeks without your husband. And there's no need for you to make things easy on him either.

You hook both your legs around his and pull them tight. He can't get any closer, but you still feel the way the pressure makes him stutter. You mimic his hand, pushing your fingers into his toffee colored locks, and pull him into you. He moans but then moves back from your embrace.

“Clearly this isn't teaching you any manners. I'm going to have to do a better job.”

Without any warning, Paz then lifts you up in a fireman's carry and hauls you off to the bedroom. You shout and pointlessly drum on his back to put you down. He responds with a smack to you ass that you can feel through your skirts.

Paz drops you onto the bed without ceremony and quickly positions himself over you. His large frame fills your vision entirely. The fabric of his shirt is pulled tight against his muscles, providing you with a delightful show, and you notice the obvious flush running down his neck. 

“Now I'm going to give you one more chance here, darlin’. You get yourself undressed right now and with no fuss, or I'm going to tear that pretty dress right off you.”

A rush of desire courses through you. As tempting as that sounds, this is one of your newer outfits and you'd rather not spend tomorrow trying to mend it back together. 

You shamelessly start to undress. Paz's gaze is heavy and eager. He looks exceedingly pleased with himself, convinced that you've decided to show him some manners. Poor cowboy doesn't know what you have planned.

Paz removes his vest and shirt, pulling back from his position over you. It provides the perfect opportunity. As he leans back over your now bare form, you quickly kick your feet up and plant them firmly on his chest. Despite Paz's size, your legs are powerful enough to keep him at bay.

His eyes widen in surprise for a moment before clouding over again. “Just what do you think you're doing, mesh'la?”

Your smile is wicked. “Nothing, riduur.”

You trail one of your hands along your body – Paz's eyes tracking them like a bounty that's close to getting away. You can feel the rumble in his chest as you slowly wind downwards.

“Don't you dare,” he warns as your intentions become clear.

You disregard him entirely and continue your path, not stopping until you've sunk a finger into yourself. The noise Paz makes is choked. Your pleasure doesn't last very long.

After only a few strokes, Paz makes his move. He backs away from your legs, quickly catching one under his arm and tearing your hand away from yourself. You would think the way his chest heaves is purely due to anger if it weren't for the obvious tent at the front of his jeans.

His large hand cups and covers your sex. You wait with bated breath to see what he'll do next. “Looks like I've got my work cut out for me,” he says and plunges one of his thick fingers into you.

Another day and you'd be embarrassed by how wet you've gotten. It's an afterthought at the moment. One of his fingers feels better than any and all of your attempts to feel full while he was gone. The noise he pulls from you is wanton and needy. 

“This what you need?” Paz asks. “Something to fill that little pussy of yours? Will that stop making you act like a goddamn brat?”

As good as you feel, your anger hasn't been snubbed out. “You think that's filling me?”

You watch as that comment makes something bigger within him snap. It makes your heart race with anticipation. In a flash, Paz has taken a seat on the edge of the bed and stretched your body over his knees. You hardly recall the feeling of his grip around your ankles.

His hands are greedy – touching and grabbing at every inch of your flesh. Just as you're about to make another comment, his hand comes down hard on your ass. You jump, hissing at the sting.

“Is this what happens when I'm gone for too long?” Paz asks. His hand cracks over your ass again. “You forget your manners?” 

You anticipate another sharp smack, but he surprises you with a soothing touch. His hand then glides over your curves and he presses two fingers into your pussy. The slight burn of the stretch is perfect. “Forget who this cunt belongs to?”

There's nothing gentle about the pace he sets. It's punishing, making your arousal drip down your thighs. He adjusts his fingers to find your clit, nearly overwhelming you completely. There's nothing you can do in this position but take it.

Your orgasm inches ever closer. Paz’s fingers glide over that spot you can never seem to find yourself, making you clench around him. His demeaning tsk glides past your ears. He changes his rhythm slightly and just as you're about to make that final leap he stops – going so far as to remove his hand from you entirely.

You whip your head around to glare at him over your shoulder. The look on Paz's face makes you finally understand Din when he calls it punchable. “Only good girls get to cum,” he says, punctuating his words with another light spank. You could really kill him now. Unluckily for him, you are capable of much worse.

You're not blind when it comes to your husband. You know his virtues just as well as his faults and although it has improved, his pride is still easy to take advantage of.

“Do you want to be good for me, mesh'la?” Paz asks. It's sweet that he thinks he has the upper hand.

You don't answer. Instead, you crawl off his lap and move to take off his trousers. Paz thinks this is a good sign. He really ought to know better. Maybe three weeks away made him forget who he belongs to.

His position on the bed is perfect for you. The self-sure grin tells you he doesn't suspect a thing. It's easy to further distract him by trailing gentle kisses along his body. You're relieved to see no further injuries he may have been stupidly trying to hide. It wouldn't be the first time.

You smile as Paz's eyes slip closed. He's so predictable.

Rather than settling yourself between his legs or on his lap, you turn around. He doesn't even catch on until you have his wrists pinned with your feet. You wrap your lips around his cock, humming as you hear Paz growl with frustration. In this position he's only able to look – not touch.

The pace you set is just as unrelenting as the one he used on you. He can do little more than moan as you overwhelm him with pleasure. 

Although there's no way to know for certain, you know Paz can't take his eyes off of you. Even if he wants to, the temptation is too strong for his eyes to close. You're so tantalizingly close, so fully on display, that he's powerless. It's not long before his bravado crumbles.

“Dar- darlin’ please. You've made your point, just, ah, let me touch you.”

You don't give into him just yet. As sweet as he sounds when he begs, you aren't satisfied yet. His hips jolt as you redouble your efforts. You missed the weight of him on your tongue and the ache in your jaw. 

“Please,” Paz continues to beg. “I can see the way you're clenching, let me take care of that for you.”

You can feel your wetness dripping down your leg at this point. Paz tenses beneath you, his breath hitching. You're finally able to take your revenge. 

You pull off of him, only leaving your hand to lightly squeeze at his base. You even sit up slightly, hiding yourself from his view. You sacrifice your pin, but it's worth it with your objective already achieved.

Paz wastes no time. You're flipped onto your back, his large frame once again filling your vision. “Are you going to be a good boy for me?” you ask, throwing his words back at him.

Thankfully he looks more amused than annoyed. “Can't help yourself can you?”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to you. “Just shut up and fuck me already.”

His lips muffle your moans as he pushes into you. He groans back in response, relishing the way you open up to him. Despite his size there's no resistance. Neither of you will last long like this.

Words are beyond you both. Your nails dig into the meat of his shoulder – the other hand tangled into his hair. Paz holds you steady with one of his big hands on your hips. He trails hot kisses down your neck and onto your chest, no doubt making bruises rise. Normally you'd care more about making him stop. You do have an appearance to uphold in town.

Pleasure overwhelms you, your face twisting with it. There's no time or point in giving him warning. Paz lets himself go as you do, your peaks combining into one.

You miss his weight as soon as he rolls off. He lays back onto the pillows and you're quick to follow, using his chest as yours.

It's quiet as you both come down from your highs. There's a tension that still lingers in the air.

You trace idle loops above his heart, taking note of a few more grays making themselves known in his smattering of chest hair. You're unwilling to burst this small bubble just yet. Paz does it for you.

“Care to tell me what had you all worked up?” he asks. “I'm smart enough to know it wasn't just this.”

“What makes you think this had anything to do with it?” you challenge. 

Paz squares you with a truly incredulous look. “I'm not that stupid, neither.”

You sigh. He could have at least given you both a moment longer in the afterglow. “I already told you in the kitchen. You said you'd talk to me before you left again.”

He scrubs a beleaguered hand over the uninjured half of his face. “S'not like I really had the time, darling. We have to move fast when a trail gets picked up or we'll lose ‘em. Either to distance or other hunters.”

“I am not asking for much, Paz. A bit more of a warning. A kiss before you saddle up and ride out. Nothing more.”

You wish you could ask for more. Ask him to never take another job – to never leave you again. To hang up his holster and spurs to live out a nice, quiet life with you until you're old and gray. You can't though.

Asking for him to change would be asking for a different man. All you can do is sit by, pray to any higher power that might exist, and hope that he'll come home to you. A moment's more time with him before he leaves again doesn't feel like too big a request. It's not too much change.

Paz still looks frustrated. He pulls you off of his side and onto his body so that you're on top of him. His hand reaches up, thumb brushing over your cheek. You do the same, but make your best attempt to smooth away his worry lines.

“I can't have you asking me to stay,” he finally says.

“What?” You don't understand what he means.

“If I agree- if I tell you when and where I'm headed, you can't ask me to stay.”

“Paz, I don't-”

“If you ask me to stay, I won't go and I can't have that. Din can't have that. He needs a partner to make sure he'll come home to his boy and I'm the only one dumb enough to join him every time. So I can't have you asking me to stay.”

Your anger finally dissipates as his words sink in. He's still not completely forgiven, which you'll be sure to let him know, but you can allow yourself to soften. There's a look in his eyes you've never seen before. It's almost fearful.

“I won't ask you that,” you promise. “I just need you to share a little more with me.”

You run your fingers through his hair, noting that the curly ends are starting to become just a bit too long. Maybe you'll convince him to sit down for a trim tonight before he takes matters into his own hands and shaves it all clean off.

“Thank you, riduur.” Paz smiles. “Now, can I get my proper welcome home?”

You scoff and swat at his chest, this time far more playful than before. “There's some dinner on the stove for you,” you tell him, pointing to the kitchen.

Paz grins, wide and sharklike. “I've already got my meal here.” 

A/N: Yeah I'm aware this being a Western AU wasn't a major component here but that's why this is my fic so ya know, I can do what I want

[whiskeynwriting]

Carnal Conviction

Paz Vizsla x Female reader

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Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Alcohol consumption, sex work/stripping, size kink, spanking, hair pulling, hickies, voyeurism, f|f activities, female masturbation, oral (m receiving), unprotected vaginal sex 

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A/N: I enjoyed this way too much, WAY TOO MUCH!!! Thank you always to my amazing beta-reader @thesleepingmusicneek (she’s literally the BEST)

Verd - Soldier/Warrior. Pronounced (vaird)

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Paz Vizsla Masterlist

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At this point, it’s comfortable for him. The surrounding setting has become a place he prefers, an establishment he can relax in. Above all other patrons, Paz and his brothers were favored. The owner respected the creed, and that respect also radiated to the employees. Whatever the Mandalorians needed, the owner gave. There was also the small expectation of protection that came with this type of treatment that the Mandalorians were more than happy to provide. But tonight, Paz didn’t have anything like that on his mind. 

When he first began to frequent this place, the lights and music were easily overbearing. It became difficult to see at times and this coupled with the loud sounds disoriented him. This, on top of the drinks being served, dulled his senses. But these drinks also helped to calm him, and arouse him. 

Instantly, he’s greeted by multiple women working this particular night. Their pretty smiles, the way they nibble their lips and reach for his pauldrons, it did wonders to him. How amazing it was to be so utterly wanted, and wanted by many. 

“Hey, Big Blue.” One woman greets, grinning up at him. 

Glancing down, his head rolls to the side a bit, hand coming up to gently tap her chin. She always was so flirtatious. 

“Elara.” He returns kindly, that deep voice shivering down her spine. She knows all too well the type of pleasure he can bring. 

“You sound tired,” She pouts, running a hand down the armor covering his chest. “Why don’t you come relax with me?”

Beneath his Beskar, he grins. “Let me get a drink.”

Her moue expression does nothing to stop him as he walks off, sure that she’ll return to her stage. When he’s ready, he’ll come find her. But for now, he wants to watch. 

This was something relatively new to him, these voyeuristic tendencies. It only began when he entered the club, and never occurred outside of it. The dancers here didn’t just strip, they were usually active with each other, too. Seeing two women kiss, touch each other, it made his body run wild. And within the club’s private rooms, he’s even had women touch themselves in front of him. That was something incredibly new for him. He never was one to have sex with multiple women at once; when he was ready to take someone back to a room, it’d always be just one. But on the stage? He loved watching those women interact with each other. 

Free of payment, as usual, Paz grabs his choice drink before walking toward the area where the women perform. Usually, he’ll drink it in private before engaging with one of the girls. With a short grunt, he takes a seat, spreading his legs and leaning back against the comfortable chair. 

Tonight, he can identify each woman by name. Helia and Vega, two dancers who frequently touched each other, Nova, with her long brown hair and curvy body, Trina’s gorgeous red hair and tight body. And then there were his favorites, girls he’s taken in private rooms many times. Venus, Cybele, and of course, Elara. It’s been years since a new girl has appeared, but it’s not like he minds.

He can feel his heartbeat rise as he watches with intent, Nova eyeing him as she dances. Sliding down the pole, she spreads her legs for him, trailing a hand down her thigh. Visibly, his head tilts in her direction, breaths becoming deep as he eyes the dainty piece of fabric keeping her modesty. It’s been quite some time since he pulled her aside, maybe she’ll be the one for him tonight. But this thought is fleeting, his attention now turning to the back curtains. Venus appears from behind the shades, grinning brightly with a certain excitement jumping through her veins. And then, she’s turning back around, reaching through the drapes of fabric to pull on a small pair of hands. 

And then, you.

Paz has never seen you before. 

Immediately, he’s intrigued, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. You look heavenly, so feminine and sweet. He’s already imagining your taste to be just as pleasant. The way your body wears your little costume, it’s taking his fucking breath away. The top holding your breasts together crosses over your chest, looping up around your neck. And leading his eyes down the path to your cleavage is a thin, silver chain long enough to touch your ribs. Thin fabric is looped around your hips, holding up a longer cloth that drapes between your legs. A teasing piece of fabric, incredibly thin, but just enough to hide your sex. Two silver chains also hang around your attractive waist, twinkling beneath the stage’s many lights as you sway. 

Paz has yet to see a woman in this space wear something like this, and he’s sure no one would wear it as well as you; nobody here has your body type, and he’s already dying for a taste of it. The pieces cradling your plump breasts and what he’s sure to be heaven between your legs, are almost like petals to him. Petals covering the true beauty of the newest and brightest flower. One he’s ready to pluck from the garden. 

In what appears to be a comforting gesture, Venus brings you in, cupping your face as she delivers a graceful kiss. Instantly, Paz feels himself fully harden, adjusting his position as he takes in a heavy breath. He watches as you smile against her lips, hands lifting to her upper chest, sliding down along her breasts. As you trail down her body, Paz witnesses you squeeze her chest, and outwardly groans from it. And when your hands land on her hips, curling around to cup her ass, he all but loses it. 

“Ready for me?” 

Turning, he’s forced out of his sultry haze as he now faces Elara once again. 

“Who is that?” He asks, avoiding her question. 

Pointing in your direction, Elara follows his hand, sighing dramatically as she rolls her eyes. Hands on her hips, she stares at him. “Of course, you want the new girl.”

“How could I not?” Easily, his visor returns to you. “Where did you find her?”

Watching the way you kiss Venus, your tongue sliding out as she leads you toward the center of the stage, Elara releases another breath. “Coruscant.”

“There’s no way you found her on Coruscant.” Paz scoffs, eyes unwavering.

“We did!” She claims, continuing with, “But she’s originally from Naboo.”

“There we go.” Paz responds smugly. ��That makes much more sense.” 

“So… you want her?”

“Fuck yes.” His response is instant, voice full of lust and anticipation. But then, his tone becomes stern, authoritative and demanding. “Bring her to me.”

For as demanding and cocky as he was, the girls were surprisingly taken with Paz. Maybe it had something to do with his height, his large body, his bulging muscles, his heroic armor. 

As you reach for the nearest poll, Elara hops up onto the stage. While approaching you, she watches as you slide onto it with ease, your lean muscles flexing as you move over the smooth, tall metal. And beneath his Beskar cover, Paz is wetting his lips at the sight of it, the sight of you. The way you dance is elegant, seductive, swaying your hips to each note swirling through the club’s current song. 

When the older woman walks up to you, she easily grabs your attention. Leaning in with a smirk, she whispers into your ear. And then, your eyes are flickering over to him, going wide before a bashful smile takes over your pretty features. And then, Paz sees you blush. Oh maker, he’s going to wreck you. 

Elara speaks to you again, her mouth moving though Paz can hear none of her words. Turning back in her direction, your smile doesn’t leave, now nodding eagerly. There it is, he has you.

Observing you from a distance, Paz soon sees you close that gap. Slowly, you make your way down the stage steps, strutting languidly in his direction. And as you make your way over, he eyes every inch of you, taking his time roaming your body. He can’t wait to feel you pressed up against him, grinding over his lap, your pretty face just inches from him. 

“Hi,” Your demure nature only serves to heighten his want for you. “The girls say you’re interested in me.” 

“Very much so.” Exhaling the words, he leans back in his chair, arms resting up on either side of him. 

An air of confidence just radiates from him, his large stature quite intimidating. But not daunting. And as you move closer to him, the excitement of it all continues to heighten. Standing between his spread legs, you lean in, hands resting on his pauldrons as you begin to situate yourself over him. 

“I’ve never had a Mandalorian before.” And that admission sends him. 

“I’ve never had you before.” He easily returns, voice airy and raspy. 

While climbing onto his lap, Paz restrains himself from moving, allowing you to get comfortable on him. Your knees bend, resting on either side of his hips as you situate yourself, hands sliding down to his chest once you’re settled. 

“Guess we’ll both have a first tonight.” 

Mere inches away, your chest now rests before him, taunting him. Your thighs tighten on either side of him, now lifting yourself to grind over his crotch. The action is slow and soft, gentle, hips swaying in graceful circles while your pretty face holds that enticing grin. 

“Can I have your name?” Your voice is sweet as you say it, hands rising to either side of his helmet. 

In the blink of an eye, this man’s hands are on your own, quickly dropping his drink onto the side table. Paz witnesses your movement pause, your face full of caution. Amidst his bruising grip, the Mandlorian’s low voice rumbles, “The helmet stays on.” 

At this, he expects you to run, to curl in on yourself and completely regret the action. It’s happened with the other women here, they all reacted that way when it first happened, before they got… used to him. And it’s not that he meant to scare you, it was just his natural reflex.

To Paz’s utter shock, you smirk, leaning in to kiss the space you’re sure his lips are beneath his outer, metal skin. And it fucking melts him. At this very moment, he knows all you want to do is please him. With his chest tightening, his fingers do the opposite, loosening their hold on your much smaller wrists. 

“So,” Returning to your seated position, you wiggle your hips over him, grinding your bare clit down onto his codpiece. “Your name?”

He’s genuinely stunned by your casual response, but takes it in stride, nonetheless. For a beat, he thinks on this name business. No one here knows his name, not the girls, not the owner, no one. And honestly, nobody’s ever cared to ask. Mando was tossed around to pretty much every Mandalorian to ever walk a planet’s surface. 

“Verd.” He finally decides on, wanting to give you an actual name. Although, the Mando’a word isn’t exactly a name, more of a title. But it’ll do for this scenario. 

“Verd.” Repeating the word only prompts your grin to grow, hips rolling over his. “I like it.” 

When you repeat the word, something is set alight within him. Hearing you speak Mando’a makes his pulse quicken, his throat running dry while he watches you dance. And suddenly, he feels your hands on his own, guiding them toward your angelic body. Even though his gloves are rough and worn, in desperate need of conditioning, you place them on your hips. Inside, Paz’s heart pounds against his ribs; he wants to explore you further.

“Do you want to touch me?” 

“Will you let me?” He questions in response, fingers tightening ever so slightly.

“Yes.”

As soon as you say it, his hands are on your ass, fingers pushing aside the cloth to grab at your bare skin. It makes you gasp, feeling him haul you forward, shoving you back and forth over his lap. Appearing strong wasn’t any type of facade with him; Paz’s muscles were clearly capable of moving you in whatever way he wanted. And you move with him, leveraging yourself on his shoulders while rubbing your chest against his. Your breasts press against the smooth firmness of his armor, head dropping down to the cowl around his neck. 

“I want to see you…” Breathily, you beg for him. “Some of you… can I?”

Paz can feel your fingers fumbling around the cloth, slow and careful as you wait for his answer. Disrespecting someone’s religion or creed was never a trait you harbored. 

Swallowed thickly, he decides yes. “Yes, you can.”

Once he gives you permission, you find a loose piece of fabric, pulling it down to expose his skin. Leaning in, you press your lips to him, tongue poking out to drag a simple, sultry lick. And the way he groans makes you feel like you’re on fire, his head tilting back when you bite into him.

“Mm… pretty thing.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Curling into him with a bashful grin, you giggle, the sound flowing through him. 

“Gorgeous.” He grunts, flattening his feet on the ground as he grinds up into you. Although, he can’t feel much through his codpiece. He’s going to need a room with you. “Perfect body…” 

Leaning upright again, you sigh, taking both of his hands away from your ass and lifting them up to your chest. Lazily, his head lolls to the side, chestplate rising and falling with vigor as you guide him to cup your breasts. 

“Fuck…” Squeezing them with a groan, his helmet moves side to side. “Tell me what you like.”

“You.”

“Yeah?”

Nibbling on your lip, you nod. “Yeah… big, tall…” And then you’re reaching for his arm, hand sliding down his bicep. “Strong.” 

With a disbelieved scoff, Paz questions, “When the hell did you get here, huh? How the fuck did I miss you?”

“You haven’t missed anything; it’s my first night.” 

Again, that familiar shiver down his spine. It prompts him to further massage your chest, head tilted up as he admires you.

“Is this your drink?”

Turning to the side, he eyes his still-full glass. “Yes.”

“Not too thirsty?” 

This small observation provokes a certain thought in his mind. Reaching for it, he hums thoughtfully, lifting it to your lips. “Drink it.”

And you do so without hesitation.

While Paz holds the drink up to your mouth, his free hand continues to touch your glorious chest, trailing down the center of it and through your cleavage. 

“Yes…” Listening so well already. 

“Maybe I can return the favor sometime.” Comes your suggestive response, watching as he sets the glass down once again.

“Not likely, sarad’ika.” He replies, easily dismissing your comment. (Little flower)

“Hm… I like the way you speak.” 

But then, all too abruptly, you’re standing. Rising from his lap, you take one last look at him. 

“Maybe I can hear it again sometime.” 

*

*

*

The way you left Paz had him wanting for more, and that’s exactly what you were going for. Throughout the night, you watch as the other dancers approach him, wanting to rub themselves over his armor and sit on his large lap, not dissimilar in the way you moved with him. To your surprise, though, he was having none of that. He spent his time watching you.

After you left him, he approached the bar once again. Ordering another glass of his favorite liquor, he then went to a private hall to down it. Here, he eyed the back rooms, listening to the gentle moans already flowing from the intimate spaces. He thought about what you’d do in those rooms, what he could do to you. He’d kill to see you naked, watch your tiny little fingers slither down to your sex, parting your lips for him, rubbing yourself for him. He imagines you’d spread your legs wide before coming to sit on his lap, riding his cock until he painted your insides white, staining you with his remnants. 

He could feel it in his veins. He needed to have you, and he needed to have you tonight.

Returning to the center hall, his eyes immediately find you. Multiple men watch as you dance, some of them his own brothers, too. You’re sliding down one of the poles, leaning back against it as you squat and spread your legs. And then, one of your hands is sliding down through your hair, over your shoulder, and onto your breasts. 

Taking his seat, your warrior watches as another girl brings you to her lips. Holding your cheeks, she kisses you, your hands lifting to touch her chest. He can see the way your thumbs stroke her barely covered nipples, the way you prop up your thigh between her legs. And when your tongue lays out, he finds himself wishing for a kiss. He’d love to feel your lips, your tongue, and on any part of him. Maybe tonight, you’ll be gracious. 

All at once, you’re making him feel special, walking in his direction with your eyes on that intimidatingly dark visor. Staring into his eyes, into his goddamn soul, you squat down, thighs parted as your hand lowers to rub yourself. 

Did she read my fucking mind?

Promptly, he stands, turning to find the owner. With his sudden movement, you’re worried you did something wrong. It dulls the excitement of the night for you, watching him strut off down the hall again. 

But once he’s in the office, he’s dropping a sack of Republic credits onto the desk. 

“I want her.”

“Who?”

“Your newest girl.” Paz presents with confidence. 

“You don’t have to -”

“I want to pay for her.” He insists, knowing you deserve it. “I’ll be in room six.” A lucky number of his. 

“How quick?” The owner calls out after him, listening to Paz’s gruff, “Quick.” 

Again, Elara is tasked with pulling you aside. And your internal excitement is once again set ablaze. Knowing you didn’t scare him off makes your smile glow, your stomach fluttering with butterflies. And now, he wants a private room with you? Maker, you can’t get to that room quick enough.

“He’s already there.”

“In room six.” She smirks, hands finding her hips. “What do you think?”

“Are you kidding?” Baffled she’d even ask, you scoff. “Of course I’m going!”

“He’ll be quite a treat.” Your coworker offers a knowing look, with only a pinch of jealousy. “Have fun.” 

“Wait,” Reaching out for her arm, your shyness appears once again. “What, um, what is he like?”

Instantly, her smile blossoms. “Demanding, and rough.”

A wave of anticipation rushes through your limbs, tongue poking out to timidly lick your lower lip.

“And he likes when you show off a bit.”

With that, she’s leaving, returning to her place on stage to satisfy the other men in the crowd. You wonder what that means, showing off, but you’re sure to find out. The only place you can go to now, is room number six.

There is power in this, you do have a choice. You know exactly what goes on in those rooms, and if you didn't want that, you’re more than allowed to reject him. The owner made sure of this; the safety and comfortability of his employees were among his top priorities. But honestly, you’d be a fool to reject this. To not enter this room, to not indulge carelessly in this man… would be a genuine waste. 

The club’s rhythmic sounds begin to fade as you walk throughout the establishment, making your way to the back hall. The curtain covering room six’s opening has been pushed to the side, its warm yellow hue pooling into the dark corridor. He’s expecting you. And with each step, you can feel your excitement, can feel the rush of adrenaline in your veins, your ears ringing with a wild heartbeat. You’re meeting with a man you met mere hours ago, and you’re going to let him take you. 

“Hi again,” With a cheeky grin, you tilt your head, eyeing the large, blue man.

That visor of his noticeably tips, analyzing your stance. The way your hips sway could convey nervousness, or excitement. And he chooses the latter, that grin of yours exposing your playfulness. 

“Will you join me?” 

The tips of your teeth find the thin skin of your lip, nodding as you step in. But only once or twice, just enough to be inside. Your timid nature entices him, your innocence. 

Standing, this bulk of a man makes his way over to you. Reaching out, the warrior’s gaze holds your own as he closes the curtain, sealing off the room. And his towering form, that stoic expression, steals every word from your lips. It seems all you can do is stand beside him, watching his every advance. 

With gentle motions, Paz undoes and removes his codpiece, revealing to you the black underclothes that lie beneath. The immediate movement of your eyes, and the quick expression you give, flatter him. Beneath the metal mask, he proudly grins, a single hand dropping to grip the tent you’ve given him. But before you can even truly admire him, he’s turning, walking back to the wide couch so he can take his seat once again.

“Come.” He then commands, voice soft but stern. Patting his thigh, he completes his request with, “Show me what you can do.”

His words offer encouragement, power, traits you snatch from the air as you approach him with interest. And once you’re close enough, his dominant hand reaches out to you, finding the delicate slope of your waist. But you reject this small advance, turning in his grasp. With your back facing him, you sit, sliding your backside along his lap. 

All too easily, those covered eyes watch your hands. Slender fingers begin to undo the top tied around your neck, exposing your breasts once it falls. With a huff of arousal, he leans forward, pressing his armored chest to your back while reaching for your breasts. Warm, smooth metal presses to your cheek as he fists your tits in both hands, visor peering over your shoulder to gawk at them. And then he releases a groan, a sound that quickly turns into a growl.

Rough, just like Elara said.

A gasp escapes you when you’re pulled backwards, this warrior now resting back against the couch. Both of those meaty arms stay wrapped around you, gloved fingers plucking at your perked buds. And then, one is leaving, lowering to loop behind your knee so he can pull your leg up.

“Show me.” He demands breathily, voice already ragged. “Show me how you like to be touched.” Slinking your legs over his knees, he parts them wider, only a single piece of cloth hiding your most sacred parts. 

“I like how you’re touching me.” Smirking devilishly, your eyes close, body squirming on his lap as he rubs your chest. But then, his most dominant hand is grabbing your wrist and yanking it down between your legs.

“I said show me.”

Demanding.

“Verd…” And for a moment, he’s confused. That is, until he remembers the name he’d given you.

“Ner verd.” Paz corrects, “Say it that way.”

Without question, you do, wanting to satisfy him. “Ner verd…” (My warrior…) 

And for some reason, the fact that you don’t even know what you’re saying excites him that much more.

Leaning over your shoulder, he watches with hunger as you pull aside the last remaining piece of fabric. Though, he can’t see as much as he’d like at this angle; in the past, he’d had women sit across from him on this couch. Paz would have them spread their legs, exposing themselves to him while demanding they get themselves off for his entertainment. And when they were done, he’d run a hand down their sex, fingers playing with their overstimulated lips. Later, in the privacy of his own home, he’d taste it. And regardless of your current position, he knows he’ll do the same with you. 

“That’s it…” Now, he approves, watching two little fingers tap against your clit. “Beautiful, sarad’ika.” (Little flower)

With a small, confident chuckle, you continue, the two of you watching as you pleasure yourself. Both of Paz’s hands stay on your chest while you do it, covered eyes witnessing the way you rub your reddened bud, the way your fingers play with your lips. 

“You’re a teasing thing, aren’t you?” He hums, helmet rubbing against you softly. Giving you a single nod, he then suggests, “Tap it again… I love to see you twitch.”

On command, you do as he says, chest rising and falling beneath his hands. And the blue warrior groans when he sees it, this ginormous man shifting beneath you. 

“Yes,” Paz huffs harshly in your ear, adrenaline and arousal mixing within his body. “You listen perfectly.”

“Baby…” It comes out as a whine, and it drives him wild inside. 

“Pretty thing,” He hums contemplatively. “Pretty noises.”

“Touch me,” Unexpectedly, you begin to beg, turning your face to look at him. It’s as if the anticipation building inside your chest has burst, body unable to harbor any remnants. “Please.”

“Oh…” Regardless of whether or not you’re aware, Paz holds your gaze, lowering a hand from where he’d been massaging your breast. “Like this, mesh’la?” He inquires, entirely sarcastic as he knows this is the spot, he knows this is just what you like. (Beautiful)

“Yes,” Arching back against him, your hips thrust up into his touch. While reaching for his forearm, he begins to rub you faster, listening to the soft squelch your center begins to emit. “Yes - yes.”

Writhing in his arms like a fish from the sea, you’re surrounded by nothing but blue, fiercely entrancing blue. Every sound you make goes straight through him, radiating into his chest, his pelvis, the throbbing shaft between his legs. Collectively, your actions brew a sense of pride in his belly, knowing he’s brought this out of you. Like a seductive siren, you’re singing a song, reaching out to consume him entirely. 

“Maker, you moan like such a fucking whore.” Spitting the words through gritted teeth, he grunts behind you, the tips of his fingers rubbing through your entrance. The hand still on your chest, grabs at you firmly, metal face pressing against your flesh. Oh, how desperate he is for it, for touch. You can see it so clearly, and you wish he’d let you give it to him. 

“Ner verd…” Gloved fingers brush over the peak of your breast, caressing the pebbled flesh. “Let me touch you, please.” (My warrior…)

“Come here,” Paz complies, finding a new weak spot with this name.

Strong hands gravitate to your hips, guiding you up from his lap. Moving with his momentum, you turn, completely naked for him. And to his utter shock, he pauses, breath caught in his throat. While his face is hidden, you can practically feel his amazement, one hand sliding up to caress your stomach. 

“Just like that,” He coos quietly, admiring your advancement in the absence of his own. “Get on top of me.”

Settling over his broad thighs, your hands find his helmet, bringing him in. Unknowingly, you offer an incredibly intimate sentiment; you touch your forehead to his. It’s as close to a kiss as Paz is going to get, as close as he’s ever come to it. 

“Please…” Dominant hand grazing his metal chest, it follows a line down to his pelvis. And when you settle over his lap, finally palming the stiffness of him, his hold on you tightens.

Harshly, thick fingers dig into your skin, his hips rocking up into your hand while releasing a soft moan. Something tingles inside your belly, listening to this gentle sound. Not a grunt or harsh groan, but a sweet release of breath.

“Hm…” Lips quirking into a grin, you express to him, “I want it.”

With bated breath, you wait for him, now feeling a particular wetness seep through beneath your hand. The moment stills, seconds now confused with centuries. Though, it’s not agonizing, this wait; it’s thrilling. 

The pads of his covered digits then rub circles along your skin, his chest dipping with a breath as he finally says, “Then take it.”

Nimble movements unzip his covering, length hot and stiff against the knuckles of your hand. Without losing his gaze, your fingers move to his base, slowly sliding around his girth and feeling the coarse hair littering his skin. Paz’s own hands move, too, still on your hips as he helps lift you above him. Resting up on your knees, the two of you glance down, eyeing the treats you’ve each been given. 

Helmet tilting up, Paz grins upon seeing your amazed expression. You’ve never seen a man like this, so veiny and thick, tip bulging and prominently crimson. The hairs around his shaft and base are damp, from either sweat or prespend but truthfully, you’re hoping for a mixture of them. You can practically smell it, him, his sweat and natural musk taking over your senses. And your mouth waters from it, wishing desperately to crawl down his body so you can put your lips on him. 

“Sarad’ika,” Paz calls gently, finger prodding beneath your chin and tilting it up toward him. “Don’t make me wait.” (Little flower)

“Can I…” Trailing off, your gaze lowers again. Paz sees the way you lick your lower lip, the way your eyes widen from the sight of him.

With a chuckle, he encourages you. “Be my guest.”

Once he allows it, you scramble down from his lap, falling to your knees while settling between his. Mesmerizing is the look in your eyes, eager is the movement of your lips. Leaning in, you’re immediately licking him, tongue flattening as it drags up the underside of his cock. It surprises him, just how quick you are with it, a startled gasp easily spilling from his lips. And while your mouth begins to pleasure him, your hand pumps the rest of his leaking length. 

“Perfect…”

Pulling back, your hand slides up, thickest digit thumbing over his slit. It forces a jolt of pleasure through him, a single hand coming down to grab the back of your head. The other, however, falls to his base. 

“You like this?” He asks lowly, stroking himself. And when you nod, curiosity overtakes him again. “What about this?”

Smacking his dick against your mouth, he watches you moan. Those gorgeous eyes of yours flutter closed, lips parting as  he continues. 

“I like it…” Grumbling, the timbre of his voice prompts a small wave of pleasure to rush through your hips. “Just like that, smacking it against your pretty doll face.”

Truthfully, you’d stay like this as long as he asked. On your knees between his spread legs, naked body on display while he tapped his dick against your face. Some taps are harder than others, and then there were softer hits, ones that allowed him to smear his precum over your lips. 

“Take it.” Applying pressure to the back of your head, he guides you onto him once again. “Ngh, ri-right there, right down your throat.”

The ridges of your tastebuds can feel every inch of him, every vein that throbs beneath the weight of your tongue. And now, he feels himself fully thicken within the hot cavern of your mouth. But you can’t take the entirety of him; all around, he was more than sizable, his width stretching your lips to your limits. Already your jaw aches, and he hasn’t even started thrusting yet. Simply, he holds you there, keeps you pressed as far down as you’re willing to go. As the seconds pass, you can hear him grumble, hand petting lovingly at your hair. Violently, he throbs against the hot suction of your mouth, his tip entering your throat. Every pulse that runs through his erection is powerful, the pound against your mouth prompting a moan from the depths of your chest.

“You’re drooling.” He notes casually, head cocking to the side.

Just barely, you’re able to look up at him, tears already dripping from the corners of your eyes. It’s a wonderful sight, especially when you reach up to stroke the remaining length. Every bit of skin he shows has been touched, kissed and licked and sucked on until he just couldn't take it. And that’s exactly how he likes it.

The tiny fist you wrap around the base of his dick makes him grin, continuing to stroke your hair as he says, “You’re so pretty like this.”

For how rough he could be, this man also seemed to have a sweet side. Maybe he was like that with everyone, or maybe he was just like that with you.

Streaks of mascara run over your cheeks, lipstick smeared from the spit dripping down your chin. The makeup you’d worked so hard on, ruined. All from him, and it’s been done in his perfect vision. Just how he’d pictured you - on your knees, crying for him, mouth stuffed to the brim. 

“Pretty little mess.” And with the way he says it, you’d think it was an insult.

The hand once petting your hair now grips it at the crown, shoving his hips up toward your mouth. Forcefully, you gag, the motion completely unexpected. But you take him as best you can, the hand around his cock now joining the other atop his thigh. It’s done to brace yourself, but he isn’t having any of that.

“No,” Paz growls, shoving your hands away. “Keep your hands down, keep them off of me.” 

Obediently, you lower them both, resting loosely behind your back. And now that your hands are gone, both of his find the back of your head, repeatedly forcing you down onto him. Every thrust is accompanied with a harsh grunt, cock stiff and hot as it repeatedly punches into your mouth. His tip, red and dripping, strikes the back of your throat with every rut, every erratic and animalistic movement. 

There’s nothing else for him, not in this moment. Right now, every bit of his attention is given to you, to your body and mind and everything you can bring him, everything he can bring you. Since the moment he laid eyes on your mesmerizing form, he knew he’d have you. One way or another, he was going to make you his; add you to his collection of girls. And this is just how he pictured it, even better, really. You’d already touched yourself for him, and so willingly dropped to your knees, too. He can’t remember the last time a whore sucked him off. Usually, sex was just sex; even here. Sure, he’d have his fun, but oral was never part of the deal. After a little bit of teasing, every woman here immediately got to business. But not you, and he’s liking that. You’re taking your time to satisfy him.

“Ugh,” With a wet gasp, you pull away, but only once he’s allowed it.

Every breath is ragged and hoarse and Paz’s are nearly just as rough. Allowing you this reprieve, he expects you to take it. But you’re full of surprises tonight, almost immediately diving right back in.

“Sh…” He says to you softly, gloved hand grabbing your jawline and chin. And when you look up at him, your expression is filled with such a sweetly sickening innocence. “Up.”

Climbing up his thick thighs, you find yourself wanting to meet his mouth. As if he’s thinking the same thought, his fingers move across your chin, sliding upward a bit. Using his thumb, he parts your lips, watching as you grin. With a single, simple shake of his head, he murmurs, “What I wouldn’t give to taste these lips…”

“Would you give your creed?” Teasingly, you return, mere inches from his metal skin.

“Not a goddamn chance.”

And with that, he’s reaching down and hauling you up and onto his lap. Your giggle is mixed with a tasteful gasp, hands reaching for those broad shoulders once again. Although you can’t kiss him, you can kiss his helmet, which you find comfort in doing. Pressing your lips to his metal cheek, you sigh blissfully against him. Somehow, it brings you closer to him.

Both of your warrior’s hands find the wonderful expanse of your backside, fisting it with a satisfied hum. Rocking you forward, he’s successful in brushing your smooth cunt against his shaft, another rapturous noise coming from him. 

“Are you ready for me, hm?” It doesn't take long before you’re moving of your own volition, grinding against his tip and rubbing yourself all the way down his length. 

“Mhm,” Forehead rubbing against the side of his helmet, you sigh, something similar to a tiny whine. 

Pulling you forward onto his chest, he grunts, lifting you enough to slide his tip against your entrance. Using your hold on him as balance, you take the lead, reaching down to angle him as he begins to slide in. Easily, Paz sinks inside, every single inch slowly but surely becoming enveloping by your welcoming walls. It’s almost unfair, the expectation of this. He’s monstrously thick and pounding against your thin, sensitive skin.

“Oh,”

“Yes.”

Dragging hotly against your inner walls, he’s already stretching you to tears halfway in. Painted fingernails dig into the cowl covering his skin, wishing to touch him, to kiss and mark him. You’re certain if you pushed it away, there’d already be beautiful discolorations from your lips. 

“Don’t worry, ner sarad’ika…” Paz grumbles, his hands moving over the curve of your waist. One finds purchase on your hips, while the other rises to the back of your head. With gentle force, he pulls you into him, feeling your arms loop entirely around his neck. “We’ll make it fit.” (My little flower)

“Verd,” Whimpering, your arms shake as he lowers you even more. “Ner verd.” (Warrior, my warrior)

“There you go,” Your correction forces a sense of pride to grow within his chest. “So good…”

“Fu-uck,” The cry is broken and breathy as it spills from your lips, sitting firmly on his lap.

He’s entirely inside, your ass resting against his scrotum. Even through his Beskar, he can feel the heavy rise and fall of your chest, can feel the shift of your thighs as you spread even wider to accommodate him. But then, you’re wincing, something that quickly concerns him.

“What?” Rubbing your back, he sighs, feeling your walls clench hotly around him. “Tell me.”

“Mm,” Timidly, you whimper, one hand dropping to press against one of his tassets. 

“Oh,” He realizes, hands dropping down to remove the armor that must be pinching at your sweet skin. And once the tops of his thighs are uncovered, you shimmy against him, rubbing over the black fabric still covering his bulky body. 

Once he’s set the plates aside, his hands run up and down your arms. “There…” He says comfortingly, hips rocking up into you. “Keep going, keep going.”

Shifting your hips, you gather yourself enough to sway against him. With both palms pressing against his cuirass, you steady your breaths in order to find a rhythm. And quickly, you do, alongside your warrior’s own eager movements. It brews inside him, the need to have you, to stretch you out and fuck you in a way you’ll remember; mold your insides to him, steal your breath and captivate your complete attention.

“That’s it, sweet little whore.”

“Baby,” His words do something ungodly to you, mixing with every ounce of exciting sin. 

“Look so fucking good,” His words are breathy, body moving with yours quite smoothly. “Impaled on me.”

“Yes, yes.”

The man beneath you is big enough to lift you entirely before dropping you right back down, cockhead hitting the deepest parts of your sex. His ridges rub along your insides in the most delightful way, pressing up against the spot that makes your eyes roll and your hips sway. 

“Can, can I, please…” Pawing at the covering around his neck, Paz becomes impatient, reaching up to rip it off completely. 

With a breath of relief, he continues, hand returning to your ass with a harsh spank just as you move to his neck. Your body shakes with his force, the motion repeated as soon as your lips attach to his neck. You’re bouncing down on him, ass slapping against his clothed thighs. 

“Fuck,” Growling, he almost can’t keep himself from doing it again, slapping your cheeks just to watch and feel them jiggle. “Fuck yourself onto me, just like that.”

His voice is deep and demanding, yet sincere and encouraging. Adrenaline rushes through your body every time you hear him speak, that slightly muffled and almost staticy voice doing wonders to your aroused state of being. 

“Ner verd,” Digging your teeth into his skin prompts another quick spank, one that sends a shrill giggle straight from your chest. “Yes.”

The slightly muted sound of your naked thighs against his covered legs begins to reverberate through the room, skin against skin echoing when you bring yourself down to his pelvis. He seems to enjoy it when you mark him, sucking on his skin with a fierce sense of determination. And when you’ve deemed one spot complete, you lick it sweetly. More than you can even fathom, it satisfies him.

“Sweet thing,” The smile in his tone is evident. “My new favorite girl.”

Wrapping both arms around you, their strength prevents you from any more movement. Instead, he pulls you onto him, pistoning his hips up against your sex. The pure power and force behind his working muscles leaves you fighting for breath. And alongside his flattering words, you find yourself smitten with him. 

The overwhelming sensation of him claiming your weeping cunt makes you see stars, makes you cling to him like you’d die if you didn’t. His panting breaths even fan out beneath his bulky mask, brushing over your skin and giving you a subtle taste of him. Floating through your head is the thought of his tongue, how he’d taste if you ran your own across it; how would he kiss you? How would his lips feel? How would they move?

“I want to claim you.” Voice deep and rumbling, he goes on to say, “Fill you to the brim with nothing but my seed.”

“I want that,” Nodding, you cling to him, his body firm and strong and Maker, how did you get him? “I want it.”

“Fill this sweet cunt, plug it with my cum.” It’s almost like he’s rambling, talking himself up to the point of an earth-shattering orgasm. “Say it to me.”

“Hm?”

“Th - my name. Say my name.” Amidst his excitement, his clouded mind, he’d almost forgotten. 

“Ner verd.” And the way you say it makes his entire existence float away with something akin to yearning, longing. (My warrior)

Inside, you feel fuzzy, needy and tingling with overwhelming bliss. The way he fucks up into you is sloppy, desperate to cum inside the warmth you’ve given him. You feel like a toy, nothing but entertainment for him. And you’re more than fine with satisfying that expectation. 

Driving his hips upward, something in him seems to break. Choking on his own breaths, he grunts, seeking out your wet warmth as he releases inside. 

“Soft fucking insides, so warm and welcoming - fuck. I’m gonna cum in it,” Squeezing you in his arms, his hips stutter, jerking against your core. “I’m gonna cum inside…”

“Y-Yes,” Dragging your nails down his neck, you witness the evidence of your own pleasure painting his skin red. 

The force of his high brings on your own, rutting over his lap as you try desperately to rub your clit onto him. It brushes over his pelvis, over the coarse hairs littering his base as you shake in each other’s arms, wanton moans floating freely through the room and out into the hall. Rope after rope fills your channel, the white liquid flooding your most sensitive space. And it milks him for every drop, clenching around his girth as your own high wrings every bit of pleasure from your limbs. Shivering through your body, he holds you through the overwhelming pleasure of it, listening to your feminine moans and reveling in the fact that he’s caused them. 

One hand then drops to your backside, squeezing you kindly once again. Giving you an easy tap, he clears his throat, sighing into relaxation. It’s obvious when he calms, body slumping slightly into his seat. Resting back against the cushions, he urges you to lay on his chest, smiling to himself when you do. It’s always comforted him, this brief sense of intimacy after sex. 

His next words are genuine, a promise he intends to keep. “I’ll be seeing you again.”

[freakrenaissance]

A lil alpha paz is always a delight 🤤 I love that dash of protective alpha mixed in before the breeding... fabulous fic

Kinktober Day 5- Breeding

Pairings: Alpha!Paz x AFAB!Omega!Reader (I don’t think there’s anything specifying a female reader, just an AFAB one. If you catch one let me know!)

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, some Alpha’s are jerks, fingering, knotting, Paz is soft for his Omega

Word count:2k

Summary: Your heat hits early and Paz helps you take care of it

You’re walking through the halls of the compound, heading to speak to the Armorer about making new weapons for the foundlings when the camp’s Alpha’s start acting weird. They’re shooting you sidelong glances and inhaling deeply. You can only assume they smell your desperation for your own Alpha, Paz Vizsla, and they’re itching to take advantage. He’s been gone for over a week, two months after you bonded during his rut.

An Alpha approaches you, a new one to the compound, and asks about where Paz is but you brush him off. Everyone in the compound knows that he went on a scouting mission, trying to find more food and weapons for the clan. He snarls, you can hear it from under the helmet, as he sniffs at you and grabs you by the arm.

“I asked you where your Alpha is, Omega,” he snaps, fingers digging into the softness of your inner arm. The way he says ‘omega’, like it’s some kind of insult instead of a biological term pisses you off.

“Fuck you, where my Alpha is at is none of your business,” you snarl at him, wrenching your arm out of his grasp. You can smell him, rage and arrogance rolling off his frame in waves. “We don’t put hands on our Omegas here. Omegas are highly respected in this compound and if you mistreat one, especially one that’s already bonded, you’ll be out on your ass in a heartbeat,” you say, trying to send out a scent signal that you weren’t to be messed with.

“You should learn how to hold your tongue, Omega, it’ll get you into trouble. If you were my mate-“ he starts but a strong and familiar scent washes over you, relaxing you. It’s your own Alpha, back from his mission, and your own scent immediately mixes with his. His big strong hand wraps around your waist, pulling you against his armored chest.

“She’ll never be your mate, so it doesn’t matter what you think a mate should be,” he snaps, his scent as sharp as his tone and a tiny cramp hits your stomach. The other Alpha is helmeted, so you can’t read his expression, but you can smell it. He’s annoyed, angry, and defensive. He’s disrespected the clans head Alpha and his mate, he’s expecting a fight. Normally Paz would challenge him, he doesn’t allow newcomers to disrespect the clan, omegas specifically and definitely not his own bonded omega. You’re sure he’s getting ready issue a challenge when another cramp hits your belly. Paz smells your distress first, head snapping over as he looks at you. He sniffs again, a deeper sniff as he tries to decipher the other scent. He must find what he’s sniffing for because a low growl comes from deep in his chest and his scent turns red hot with anger.

It’s about the same time you realize what’s happening, because a third cramp hits your stomach and you realize what kind of cramps these are. Your heat is two weeks early and it explains the way some of the Alpha’s have been acting around you today. You try to rack your brain to figure out why it would be so early but you come up blank as the first waves of desire hit your core. Your oncoming heat is probably the reason this Alpha decided to try and strong arm you as well.

“I’ll deal with you later,” he growls and you can feel the anger in his voice. Another cramp hits your belly, stronger than the last three, and it almost doubles you over. Paz’s strong arms wrap around your waist and ushers you down the hall, back to your shared quarters. You pass Din Djarin on the way and vaguely hear Paz mumble something to him, but another cramp hits and you don’t hear what it is.

The two of them have formed an unlikely friendship since Paz started courting you and they’ve gotten closer since the two of you bonded. Later you’ll realize it had something to do with the Alpha who threatened you, but the first waves of desire are hitting your system and all you can think about is getting back your room. The scent of your heat must be getting stronger because Paz has to tell several other clan members to back off before you finally make it to your room.

As soon as the door shuts behind your bodies, you’re on him, clawing at his armor and his helmet while he chuckles and moves your hands so he can do it himself. The cramps have gotten worse and you take to rubbing your face on any part of him you can reach until he gets his helmet and undershirt off and he thrusts the cloth material at you. You inhale deeply, taking in the scent of your bonded mate as he fully undresses. It’s a brief reprieve from the pain as you soak in the scent of your Alpha. You’re mewling, a whimpering sound that shoots straight to Paz’s cock as he finishes undressing. Once he’s finished he works at your clothes, doing his best to get them in fewer motions than usual.

Finally, Paz has you both fully undressed and he’s on you immediately, scenting you and providing some relief to the ache in your belly. The waves of desire take over your body and you grind on his thick thigh to get some friction against your clit.

“My little Omega,” he groans, his full lips pressing against the mark he’d placed months ago, “you smell so good.” You sigh, pressing yourself against him as he works your shirt and pants off. One hand slips between your legs, large middle finger stroking your clit and you nearly collapse with relief.

“Alpha. Paz,” you cry out as he continues to stroke, “why is my heat early?” You cry, nearly sobbing with relief when he slips two fingers inside you. The relief is so intense that it brings you to the cusp of an orgasm immediately.

“It’s your first heat since we’ve been bonded,” he explains. “It makes sense that your heat would come early,” he drags some of your wetness around your clit with two fingers and you come undone, clutching to his shoulders as you come.

“I need more Alpha, please I need your knot,” you beg, grinding yourself on his thigh again. His chuckle reverberates through your body as he pushes you to the bed, grabbing some of your favorite blankets as he goes. He tosses them on the bed as he gives you an order.

“Present, Omega,” he commands, allowing the Alpha to drip into his voice. You scramble to obey, on your elbows and knees on the bed, back arched for him to see the slick between your legs. “Good Omega,” he purrs, sliding his fingers along the backs of your thighs and over the round of your ass. You preen at the praise, spreading further for him so he can dip two fingers inside you.

“Anything for my Alpha,” you croon, the submission in your voice prevalent. His fingers work your pussy, smearing the slick all over your clit as he preps you for him. Paz isn’t a small man and he wants to make sure he won’t hurt you as he slides home but your heat is hitting hard and you don’t want to wait.

“Alpha, please. Want your knot. Need it,” you plead, wiggling your hips and making your ass shake. You hear him start to protest but you whine, deep and needy in your chest. Whining for your Alpha to take you, fill you with his knot and his pups and his need for you takes over.

“I’ll be gentle, precious Omega,” he promises but you don’t care. You just want him to mount you, fill you, knot you. You whine again, pressing back against him as his hands grab your hips and his cock nudges at your pussy. “Tell me if it hurts,” he says, pressing the head into your slick-soaked entrance. You mewl, just the one small motion giving you intense relief and you press back, needing more. Paz growls, your need pressing primal desires deep in his chest as he pushes forwards.

“Pussy feels good, mesh’la,” he groans once he’s fully inside you, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. He drags himself back out, slow and steady, the head of his cock catching as he pushes back in. His pace is steady but it’s not enough for you, deep in the need of your heat. Your hips start moving, pressing back against him, fucking yourself on his cock. You’re panting, the word Alpha rolling off your tongue with the punch of his cock into you. You’re close again, pussy clenching on your Alpha and his heavy breaths let you know he’s close too. His fingers slip around to your front, wet from his mouth as he strokes your clit and begs you to come.

“Come for me, my pretty Omega, so I can give you my knot. Fill you with my seed, breed you full with my pups,” his words are like electric shocks to your clit as he strokes but he doesn’t let up. “Wanna see your breasts heavy with milk, see my younglings nursing from you with another heavy in your belly,” the idea of being full of his pups, his offspring, sends you over the edge. Your pussy clamps down, milking your Alpha as he reaches his own end. He groans your name, not Omega your actual name, as his knot swells and pops and locks the two of you together. He collapses on you for only the briefest moment before he rolls, pulling you into him as he spoons you, cock still buried deep inside you.

“I hope this takes, my precious Omega, I’d love to see your belly swollen with my pups,” he muses, hands stroking your belly softly. You mewl, hands and face searching out for your soft blankets that smell like your Alpha. Paz grabs them, covering your bodies with the softest and warmest blankets he can reach while still being connected to you. You rub your face over his arm while it’s tucked under your head, scenting him as much as you can from your position.

“Sleep my precious Omega, you’ll need your rest for the next few days. Your heat will be stronger since we are bonded now,” Paz explains, curling his body around you. You nod, eye closing with exhaustion as you dream of the future with your Alpha.

You wake in the morning, alone in your bed but surrounded your favorite blankets, with one of Paz’s shirts tucked right up against your face. Desire is the first emotion you feel, exhaustion from the night before is the second. The third you feel is love because when you raise up to find your Alpha, you realize that he built your nest for you in the middle of the night, finding the softest and best smelling items in your small home to surround you with. It’s not perfect but that doesn’t matter because your big, strong, scary Alpha built a nest for his Omega in the middle of the night. He comes in a half second later as tears fill your eyes at the sweet gesture.

“What’s the matter, my Omega?” He asks, dropping the caf and breakfast on the side table.

“You made my nest?” You sniffle and he chuckles.

“Of course, my sweet,” he offers,” our pups will want a nest and I need to know how to build one just in case.” He’s so kind and thoughtful and it makes you cry and forget about your heat for a moment. “Are these good tears?” He asks, a little hesitantly. You nod, digging your face into his neck and knowing that there’s no better Alpha out there in the world for you.

Tags: @darkhairedmenrule @starlitnotes @rexandechosandwich @lacroix-qblog @grinningnexu @firstofficerwiggles @too-manyfandomstocount

[lilhawkeye3]

Kiss prompt 24 with Paz 😍😍😍

24. Kiss of Life • from this prompt list

Paz Vizsla x Reader • prompt masterlist • divider by @saradika-graphics

You hate Mandalorian armor. Sure, you can admit it’s usually helpful. Sexy even. But right now, faced with Paz’s large, unmoving form, all the armor currently does is keep you from being able to tell if he’s breathing.

The explosion had a bigger blast radius than you’d both expected, and the debris had hit his back hard as he lunged to try and cover you.

Kark, you can’t tell if he’s breathing.

You crawl to kneel next to his head. You know you can’t look at his face, so you hurriedly tear a strip of your dust-covered shirt and wrap it around your eyes. Knot secure tight in the back, you slip his helmet off reverently and set it quickly but gently to the side. Your fingers brush his face until you find his mouth and nose and pause for several heartbeats, waiting.

He isn’t breathing.

His armor gets in the way of any attempt of CPR. You can only think of one option in your desperation.

You tilt his head forward slightly to open his airway, coax his jaw open, take a deep breath, and bend down to slot your mouth against his. Your breaths will become his as you force air into his lungs.

He has to start breathing again. You’ll kill him if he doesn’t.

When he gasps under the touch of your lips, you immediately pull away.

His fingers find your chin and guide you back to continue what you’ve started.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Some paz vizsla x sith male reader?

Paz Vizsla x Sith male reader

Headcanons

Because of my love for fanfic and the Kotor games, theres a lot of headcanosn in this. I will find a way to involve Revan when I can, so he’s also there, in the background. Theres also a single Revan x Canderous mention.

Theres so much about Kotor in this, it really took a life of its own, so I hope you enjoy.

I missed writing star wars so bad, can yall tell?

First of all, being Sith doesn’t immediately make you evil. It just means you follow a specific religious groups way of teaching and practice their rituals to some extent. This means you use the dark side, and have nothing against harming others to reach a goal.

You aren’t as power hungry as other sith in this time, and you aren’t under Palpatine’s thumb. Far from it actually. The dark side is to some extent fueled by your hate for the empire and anyone involved with it, as you were once a jedi youngling when the purging happened.

You were a padawan at the time, and your master had always been very interested in holocrons and the past. Their most prized possession was the holocron of Darth Revan, or one of his many holocrons that had been left all over the galaxy.

So, after you saw them gunned down by the clonetroopers you thought you could trust, you ran, taking an escape pod to get as far away as possible. It just turns out you had been carrying Revan’s holocron in your bag at the time, and after landing on a smaller less populated planet, you had hidden away in its vast cave system.

You feared going mad for a while, as you were just a padawan, one who had lost everything. You were almost consumed by this anger and rage, so uncontrollable as you cracked at the edges and fell.

Revan’s force presence must have felt this inside the holocron, as he appeared before you, and guided you through it, keeping you from completely shattering your mind and becoming a beast hellbent on revenge.

From then on, Revan became your new master, leading you around the galaxy to find his other holocrons and artifacts as he taught you everything he knew, and to the best of his ability.

He was kinder than any sith you had ever heard of or met, and he taught you a lot about the sith empire and how not all sith had been power hungry madmen, that before the rule of two, they had been more on the stable side, to a certain extent.

He never claimed they were good people, but you didn’t need that, you appreciated his honesty. Along these journeys, you even found holocrons of some of the other sith of his like, like Malak, who was Revans old friend.

Malak hadn’t been happy about you in the beginning, but he had ended up begrudgingly taking some kind of master role to you, almost like a standoffish uncle. But thanks to their training you are able to stay completely hidden from the empire, and live the life you want to live.

You go where the force leads you, which just so happens to be places that Revan and other great sith of made themselves at home in the past. You had almost started cheering and singing when you found what some would call the tomb of Darth Nihilus, much to your masters embarrassment, as Malak looked at Revan with a lifted brow.

Your interest in the past had been something you had picked up from your first master as a padawan, and it stayed. It was something Revan had to accept as his force ghost watched you fanboy over a mummified hand of Darth Sion, or leftover notes left over by Darth Malgus on saber forms.

Your greatest achievement was your helmet. Or rather, your master’s old helmet. Palpatine had pretty much ransacked the jedi temples after culling them all, stealing whatever he wanted, and the jedi had owned Revan’s helmet for many years, locked away far away from prying eyes.

With your master, and uncle-masters help, you were able to sneak in and steal it right back, taking it from right under Palpatine and Vader’s noses. The helmet barely looked like a helmet with how old and worn it was, but the power inside it made it clear. It was Revan’s helmet.

Revan had gifted it to you, almost beaming as you teared up at the trust he seemed to put in you. You were sith alright, and your emotions were what fueled you, and your love for your master and his love for you was the strongest there could be between family.

You were able to create a new helmet, using what was left of Revan’s and other materials, one of those materials being Beskar you stole from the empire. You even painted in similarly to Revan but added some of your own touches.

Little did you know, this helmet is what caught your future lovers attention first. Mandalorians love a strong partner, and those that follow the creed love some good armor, so Paz couldn’t keep his eyes off you when he saw you the first time.

You pretty much just bleed raw power into the air around you, letting it swirl around you like a second armor and letting everyone around know you were a possible threat if crossed. That was the kinda person that had Paz sweating and his blood pumping.

You would meet because you found yourself on the same planet as the covert hes with, hunting down something left by Canderous ordo, some piece of armor, like a pauldron he had left behind for Revan as some kind of marriage declaration.

Its after finding these pauldrons that you meet Paz, and some of the other older members of the covert. Apparently, words of a guy in scary black and red armor skulking around was enough to have them weary.

In the beginning they might think your Mandalorian, from the style of your armor and the new unpainted pauldrons you have added to your armor, making them hesitate, but that moment of hesitation if all you need to launch an attack.

You don’t kill any of them, wouldn’t want too, but by the force do you kick their ass, another thing that has Paz feeling hot under all that armor. He almost wants to drop to his knees to say the marriage vows right then and there when you fling him over your head using one hand, the other reflecting blaster bolts with little difficulty.

What can he say, mandalorians fall hard and they fall fast, blame it on living such dangerous and hard lives. So, when he sees you aren’t actually trying to kill them, Paz hopes there’s a chance you might stick around.

You end up getting away, ignoring the cackling of your master and the glowering of your uncle-master. The tables turn when Malak starts mentioning Ordo and the love declaration through the pauldrons, leaving your master quiet and mumbly as Malak smirks. They are definitely the reason you don’t fear the sith of old as much anymore.

Paz grieves a little as he doesn’t see you again for a while, even though he tries to keep an ear and eye out for you in your black and red armor and that flexibility that has him gripping the wall when he thinks about it too hard.

In the end its Ragnar, Paz’s son, that brings you before them again. He had ended up in some trouble, and the force had almost screamed for you to help him. Listening to the force was what you did, so you helped the helmet wearing kid out.

Ragnar was smart, and had heard his dads dreamy mumblings and the other mandalorians teasing, so he could immediately tell who you were. One way or another, and though it’s extremely against the rules, he gets you to where the covert is hiding.

Paz shows up and starts worrying about Ragnar, cuz he loves his son and doesn’t wanna see him hurt, and when he hears its you who saved him, he starts feeling hot under the armor again.

On the insistence of the force, you stick around the covert. Paz takes the time to go about romancing like mandalorians do, by peacocking and challenging you to spars. He never wins, not even the ones where you don’t use the force.

Its humorous to see that large hulking back being wrestled to the ground by you, or thrown around like he weighs nothing. You can tell how he feels about you, but you fear acting on it, even though Revan keeps bugging you to do so, much to Malaks annoyance.

In the end you two end up getting together like how many mandalorians do or did. During a fight. Things were getting tough, and a couple of your allies had gotten hurt, even Paz was down for the count.

You needed him up and at em though, so you had reached down and pulled him into a keldabe kiss, pressing your helmeted foreheads together and told him if he got out of this alive, you’d let him take you on a date.

That immediately had him standing, even though his leg wanted to buckle from a stab wound. The enemy were taken out in record time.

Your first date goes a little awkwardly, as neither of you actually have any experience dating. You spending all your life as a jedi and then sith, and Paz being part of a pretty hard covert. But you two work it out, and it ends with you sparring and scuffling in the sand, which maybe lead to something more. The helmets stay on the entire time.

No one is surprised when you two start dating, or when you start becoming a permanent fixture in the covert. Sure, they’re weary in the beginning because you are an outsider and because you are sith, but they come to appreciate you.

They really start welcoming you when you can use your dark presence in the force to hide them away from anyone searching for them, or to take out possible threats. You even start teaching some of the force sensitive members. You don’t force them to use the dark side, but you do end up teaching them about the balance between both.

When Din shows up again, he doesn’t fully know what to do with the information that Paz went and got himself hitched, and to a sith of all things, but he sees you well you fit into It all and their creed, and who is he to judge.

You get on well with Ragnar, as he was pretty much the one to bring you to his dad, and the kid grows attached to you. Who else but him can brag about his powerful dark sider warrior dad? That gets him some brownie points from the other foundlings.

When you and Paz marry there is no big ceremony, its just a vow spoken between you and that’s it. You always find yourself cackling at the memory of how jittery he had been to see your face for the first time, now that you were married.

During all this time you hadn’t been against taking your helmet off, but you just hadn’t had a reason too.

Paz spends a lot of time just holding your face in his hands and taking you in, with you doing the same to him. Expect many kisses from then on, every time you are alone. He is really bad at kissing in the beginning, since he has zero experience, but he makes up for it with his enthusiasm and willingness to learn.

Paz is still stoic around others and is a big presence, taking care of the dirty work and keeping people safe. But with you he gets to be soft, he gets to be weaker for once, which only fuels his feelings for you.

He never makes you feel like a monster for using the dark side, and he had marveled and just stared at your glowing yellow eyes for a long time the first time he had seem them, barely believing it was possible for them to look like that, just because of the force.

You are still a sith after all of this, and you still leave now and then to hunt down artificacts and other types of knowledge left by the sith of old, but you don’t feel as much urgency as in the past.

You even bring Paz and Ragnar along for the less dangerous ones, as a family trip. You can’t bring them along for most artifacts though, since you don’t wanna lose them to ancient sith traps or mind tricks.

It’s the stability you’ve needed for many years, and though you are still fueled by passion and emotions, it isn’t the same anger that you had harbored all these years. It was more the love you had for your husband and your son, and the fact that you would tear apart the galaxy for them if they asked.

The feelings are returned from Paz of course, and Ragnar too, as you guys’ care about each other deeply, as any family should. They do get a bit freaked out, even years later, when you tell them about force ghosts and how Revan is always present. Sometimes you say it just to see them subtly looking around, it’s hilarious.

[javier-pena]

permission

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader x Paz Vizsla

Word Count: 3.3k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You belong to Paz ... but there's something about Din Djarin. He's on your mind constantly.

Warnings: threesome (m/f/m) | I’m taking great liberty with the Death Watch’s rules (Din takes his helmet off in front of Paz) | Din and Paz have a difficult relationship | mentions of alcohol | semi-public sex | voyeurism kink | oral (f receiving) | use of a blindfold | use of restraints | mentions of breasts (no size though) | overstimulation | multiple orgasms | unprotected p in v sex | masturbation (m) | a bit of spanking | a bit of anal (f receiving) | creampie

Notes: I had the idea for this fic somewhere toward the end of Mandalorian S3 and then it took me a while to find the time to write it but here it is 🤭 shoutout, as always, to Dani @alexturner for reading this in advance even though she definitely isn't a Paz girlie.

***

The air in the private booth is stuffy, filled with laughter, with cries and music, with the sounds of metal jugs hitting wooden surfaces, spilling their contents over tables and hands. The only thing separating you from the commotion beyond is a thin curtain, only there to give the occupants of the room a semblance of privacy.

It’s just you and Paz tonight – he sits perched on a wooden stool that groans under his massive body every time he shifts. You sit on his lap, cool beskar steel pressing into your thighs through your thin pants. And then there’s Din Djarin, whom you have known for as long as you’ve known Paz, maybe even longer. Memories begin to blur when you hop from planet to planet, from system to system.

With one hand, Din lifts his helmet so his chin and bottom lip are exposed, and takes a sip from his drink. Paz mirrors him, shifting his weight and you with it. You lean closer to him for some purchase against his hard chest, looking at a spot just behind Din’s head, at a brown stain on a gray wall, at a lamp barely bright enough to illuminate a little corner, at a small bug scurrying down from the ceiling. You look anywhere but at Din’s visor, anywhere but at the macrobinocular viewplate that hides his piercing eyes, those eyes he can’t keep off you, that have been on you ever since you all sat down. As long as you find other things to focus on, his gaze doesn’t hold any power over you.

“Are you’re sure they’re on this planet?” you attempt to make conversation, to distract Din and yourself.

Both men grunt, but that’s the only response they grant you.

You shift on Paz’s lap, you squirm, and he slings an arm around your waist, gloved hand coming to rest on your stomach. His other hand holds onto his jug while his eyes pin down the man opposite him.

“If I was running from the law, I’d try to hide somewhere warm, preferably with a beach,” you try to strike up a conversation for a second time.

“They’re not running from the law,” Paz answers, his thumb brushing against your stomach.

“No, I know,” you say. “I was just saying, there are nicer places to hi-”

The rest of the sentence is lost somewhere in the stuffy air as Paz’s hand glides lower, two fingers coming to rest at the apex of your thighs, pressing down. You can’t be sure, but you think Din’s gaze follows Paz’s motions … at least he lowers his helmet slightly. He could also be staring at your chest, you realize, your face hot with embarrassment.

“Where would you hide then?” Din asks, a metallic undertone in his voice, distorted by the modulator in his helmet.

“Niamos, maybe,” you answer. “I’ve heard Spira is nice –”

An insistent pull low in your abdomen makes you leave the sentence hovering unfinished in the air above the table. Two of Paz’s fingers are massaging you through your pants, the pressure enough to light up your core, not really enough for anything else. You grip the edge of the table, pretend you’re trying to get more comfortable on Paz’s lap, while Din raises his head, his gaze settling on the man behind you. There is a wordless exchange – you can see it in the way Din shifts his shoulders, hear it in the harsh exhale of breath coming through Paz’s modulator.

Suddenly, Paz slings his arm around your chest and grips your shoulder with his free hand. “Do you really think you’d be able to outrun us?”

Your vision blurs as you see yourself cowering in a dark air vent, as you imagine yourself crouching behind the trunk of a sturdy tree, laying low in a run-down motel, scraping together some credits to bribe an official to let you off a planet without papers. All the while, you’re looking over your shoulder, you scan every crowd for a flash of beskar, blue or brown, for the glint of a visor reflecting sunlight. You see them kick down the door to your room, tie you up, drag you back to their ship … No, you wouldn’t be able to outrun them.

You shake your head.

“No, you’re right,” Paz agrees, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath, even with the helmet covering his face.

He slips his hand past the waistband of your pants then, the coarse leather of his glove rough against the soft skin of your thighs and belly. He reaches down to where wet heat has begun to moisten your underwear, and holds you, his palm resting against your clit. Din’s chest is rising and falling so fast you notice it in spite of the strong armor covering him. You force yourself to stare directly at his visor, to imagine his hidden eyes on you, his mouth hanging open. Your own mouth is dry, you can feel your heartbeat in your throat.

“I think you’d like that,” Paz goes on. “I think you’d like being at our mercy like that.”

You nod, because he’s right. You nod, because the thought has crossed your mind once or twice, when you watched them bring someone in, when you watched them handle their bounty as if they weighed nothing, their captive’s pleas falling on deaf ears. You nod, because Din’s hand closes harder around his jug, the leather of his glove groaning.

Paz notices too, and you can hear the gloating in his voice when he speaks next. “Would you like to touch her?”

You belong to Paz, but Din – it’s complicated. It’s an open secret there’s tension between the two men, between these two brothers by creed, because Paz got to you first. It’s a well-guarded secret, hidden in a deep, dark corner of your heart, that you sometimes wish Din had been first, that you sometimes lie awake, imagining his hands on you instead of Paz’s. And it’s a fact that Paz likes to tease both of you because of that.

Paz’s question is followed by a shift of his palm, by increased pressure against your clit. You bite your lip to contain a whimper.

“Paz …,” Din says, and it sounds like a warning. Or a plea.

“You know what to say,” Paz responds, and a shiver runs down your spine at the commanding tone in his voice.

Your eyes are glued to Din’s visor, a silent plea written all over your face. Say yes, say yes, say yes. But Din only has eyes for his brother, his rival, purposefully avoiding your gaze. And then he speaks.

“May I touch her, please?”

The strain in his voice does make you whimper this time. Paz hears it, and so does Din. A big hand is grabbing one of your breasts now, squeezing it, rolling your nipple. You find purchase between the table and Paz’s thigh, but you can already feel the sizzling edges of an orgasm making its way toward you with greedy hands. Din watches, shifts in his seat, adjusts himself in his pants. And somewhere, far away, a man shouts, a glass bursts.

“Go on, then,” Paz says, letting go of your breast to spread your thighs with a sure motion.

Here? is your first thought. The second, much louder one, is Fuck …! as Din stands up, shaking hands balled into fists at his side, a visible bulge in his dark pants.

Paz pushes you off his lap, pulls down your pants and underwear in one quick motion, then pulls you back toward his chest. He spreads you open with both hands, an offering for Din to do with as he pleases. Or maybe not quite. Because when Din gets to work on pulling his cock out of his pants, Paz snaps, “No. Get on your knees.”

Din stops, uncoils his fingers, then balls them into fists again, a quick succession of small movements. His shoulders tense as he looks at you, spread open for him, as he wonders if the price might be too high after all. You know him well enough to know he’s weighing getting to touch you against following Paz’s rules. He can’t have one without the other. You want to whisper his name, you want to call out for him, but one wrong move, one wrong word, and Paz is going to take this away from the both of you.

Din stills his hands eventually, presses the open palms against his thighs, and makes up his mind. You feel the ground shake as he falls to his knees in front of you, then raises his helmet to seek out your eyes. The visor is too dark for you to be able to tell what lies beyond it, and you wish you’d be allowed to see his face, his eyes, just once, but before you can even ask for something as ridiculous as that, your vision turns dark.

“Take off your helmet,” Paz commands as he ties a piece of dark fabric tightly over your eyes. You squirm as your heart begins to race, but Paz presses you tightly against his body. “Stay still,” he whispers into your ear. “We’re going to take care of you.”

You feel a pounding between your legs at the hissing sound you hear next. Your breathing is too hard, too shallow, but with your eyesight gone, you have to rely on your other senses. The shouts from behind the curtain are louder than before – you can make out individual voices, certain words and phrases – and you are keenly aware of the fact that any second now someone could burst into the room to see you spread open like this with a man kneeling between your legs while another one holds you down.

That doesn’t stop your chest from vibrating with a deep moan when Din tentatively licks across the wet heat between your thighs. The first stroke of his tongue is a relief, the second kindles something within you, the third one and all the others following are torture. Paz starts to massage your breast again and your head falls back against his chest, relying on him and Din to make sure you won’t slide to the floor. Din’s licks become faster, more eager, as he buries his face between your legs, drinking you down like he’s starving and the taste of you is the only thing that can save him. His hands find their way to your thighs and he digs his fingers into your soft skin, spreading you even further, licking deeper and deeper.

“Don’t touch her,” Paz growls.

Din squeezes your thighs, but lets go quickly. You miss his touch, but know better than to say something. Instead, you twine your legs around his shoulders, caging him in with your thighs. He moans against your clit, and you shiver, pressing yourself harder against his chin and tongue and nose. Then his hands are on the back of your thighs, massaging your ass, pressing you even closer as he starts to feast on you, barely coming up for air.

“I said don’t fucking touch her.” Paz pulls you off Din’s shoulders, away from him, and stands while dropping you onto his stool.

It’s pathetic, really, the way you whimper, “Please,” but neither man hears you. You just hear sounds, a whirr, the sound of Din’s angry grunts of protest, armor clanging against armor. And then Paz says, “That’ll teach you”.

He picks you up again and places you back on his lap, and then Din’s face is pushed against you. He grunts his surprise and you hiss at the sudden return of his tongue. You hear the sound of leather tightening, and then Din’s head moves as if he has been shoved. A second later, both of Paz’ hands are on your body again, while Din’s remain absent.

Your entire body hums with the sensation of Din licking into you, each stroke hungrier than the last, while Paz holds you against him, watches over you, makes sure you’re okay. Sometimes, there are orders, “Not too fast. More pressure. Take your time with her,” other times there are questions, “Do you like how wet she is for you? Do you see how her legs are shaking?” and sometimes there are encouragements, “Yes, that’s it. You’re doing so well. Beautiful.” You’re not quite sure who the recipient of those is.

You come once with a surprised shout, spilling down Din’s chin, and hear all the sounds become wetter. Din doesn’t stop though, and Paz doesn’t tell him to either, and when you try to squirm away, raw and overstimulated, Paz makes sure you stay in place. You come a second time, moaning and panting so loudly Paz clamps a hand over your mouth until all you can taste is leather. Even after you’ve stopped shaking, even when you can’t do anything but hang limply between their bodies, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your heart beating so fast it feels like it’s about to burst out of your chest, blood rushing in your ears and pounding through your body, Paz still doesn’t let go, only says, “Another one.” Your feeble protest is lost between his thick fingers covered in hard leather.

You’re not sure you can come a third time, even though you can feel yourself flutter against Din’s tongue from time to time, even though there is an insistent throbbing there every time he sucks your clit into his mouth. Too weak to push him off, even if Paz would let you, all you can do is lie there and take it until they’re both satisfied. Paz squeezes your nipple again, but finally releases your jaw, and you breathe in deeply, gulp down air. The sweat running down from your brow mingles with a few stray tears pushing past the blindfold.

“Come on, girl, you can take it,” Paz whispers somewhere above you, and you nod, licking your dry lips.

The next thing you feel is Paz’s naked finger against your lips, tasting of Revnog. You lick it eagerly, tasting the sharp sting of the drink and the rich flavor of leather. As a reward, he grants you two fingers next, both coated in Revnog. As you suck them into your mouth, Din shifts between your legs, changing the angle slightly, and you’re pulled forward by a third orgasm, one that’s been building for a while now, one that catches you by surprise and refuses to let you go once it has you in its grasp. Your moans are choked by Paz’s fingers in your mouth; when you get too loud, he presses down against your tongue, making you choke. When you’re too quiet, he lessens his hold so he can hear you better.

Once you’re spent, ears ringing so loudly the sounds beyond the curtain seem muffled, far away, like you’re listening to them through a thick wall of water, Paz lifts you off his lap and places you on the stool where you slump, unable to keep yourself upright. A noise much closer to you, one that penetrates your exhausted mind, is the sound of Din trying to catch his breath, his shallow pants, his groans as he shifts on the floor in front of you. And finally, you can make out the hum of a vibroblade as Paz cuts him loose.

When Paz takes off your blindfold, he does it gently, careful not to touch you more than necessary. He strokes your cheek, his fingers cool and coarse against your heated skin. You blink a few times, waiting for your vision to become less blurry, and then look up at him hovering above you, taller than usual, his shoulders tense, his stance wide. You know what comes next.

Paz hands you his jug, lets you take a swig from it, then pulls you off that stool and pushes you against the table. You grunt as your chest hits the wood, try to push yourself up, but Paz pushes you back down, one hand sprawled across your back, kicking your legs apart with his foot.

“Hold her down,” he grunts.

When you look up, you see Din stand in front of you, his face already hidden behind his helmet again. The pang of disappointment you feel at that sight is quickly replaced by seething lust as he grabs both your wrists with one hand and holds them down against the wood. Between this and Paz’s hold on your hips, there is no chance of escape for you.

Behind you, the rustle of clothes cuts through the suddenly still atmosphere, laden with expectation. Then you feel Paz’s cock against your backside as he drags himself over your exposed skin before pushing into you with one quick stroke. You scream, nails digging into the wood – he’s so big, so heavy … you’re not sure you can take it. Paz gives you a moment to breathe, strokes down your back to calm you, even whispers, “Shhh,” (a hissing sound through the modulator). But then he pulls out and slams back into you so hard you see stars.

“Please,” you whimper, but he only tightens his hold on your hips.

You try to move but you can’t. Din, who feels you struggle against his hold, circles one of your wrists with his thumb in a soothing motion and you swallow hard as you try to relax. Paz’s palm lands against your bare ass with a slap and you’re being pushed forward, up the table. The sound you make is closer to pleasure than pain now.

“Do it, pretty boy,” Paz grunts between thrusts, and you glance back up at Din, watch as he pulls himself out of his pants, hope you don’t imagine the slight tremor in his hand. Your mouth turns painfully dry at the sight of his cock, completely hard, a dark red on the verge of becoming purple, its tip glistening invitingly. He begins to stroke himself fast, eyes fixed on you as he groans with relief, and you feel his hold on you become less hard.

Escape is now the last thing on your mind. You lick your lips eagerly as you imagine what it would feel like to have Din’s cock press against your tongue, spilling down your throat. And you hope Din has similar thoughts as he stares at you, chest heaving. Paz slaps you again. Then he closes his fingers around the back of your neck, pushing your head down. You push back against him in defiance, but he only slaps you a third time.

“You’re mine,” he growls.

Your fingers scrape against a bit of exposed skin on Din’s wrist.

“Come on, say it,” Paz orders, between three particularly vicious thrusts.

For a brief moment, you consider defying him, but there is something about the whimper you think you hear from Din’s direction that tells you he likes seeing you be used like this.

“I’m yours,” you give in.

“Good girl,” Paz praises. Then you feel a pressure between your cheeks, followed by a burning sensation as he pushes a finger past your muscles, taut with pleasure.

You don’t come, at least you don’t think you do, but you can feel yourself clench around Paz so hard his movements become erratic. Before you feel his hot release spilling into you, you hear Din hiss, “Fuck!” and feel him coat your bare arms, your cheeks, and the table beneath you in thick, white ropes.

While Paz fucks his seed into you with a few final, deep thrusts, you lick Din’s cum from the corner of your mouth, savoring its heady taste. And Din strokes your cheek, softly, like he’s savoring nothing more than this moment.

***

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[vodika-vibes]

Lost And Found

Summary: As a Private Detective, you get all sorts of clients. However, you never thought that a Mandalorian would hire you. And you never thought that his simple case would turn into something so important.

Pairing: Pre Paz Vizsla x F!Reader

Word Count: 1526

Warnings: Kidnapping, torture (though nothing detailed)

A/N: So this was going to be straight up romance, but I got bit by a wild plot bunny and this was made instead.

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

Nearly a year ago, Paz Vizsla stepped into your office intent to hire you.

You wish you had told him to take a hike. You wish you hadn’t been so desperate for credits.

But, well, if wishes were fishes you’d never go hungry, right?

The case had been simple, at first.

His foundling, Ragnar, had been kidnapped from right in front of the house. There had been no witnesses and no ransom demand, and while his people were still doing their own search, Paz reached out to you.

A missing kid is a big deal, and you always assume malice when a kid goes missing, so you accepted the case without thinking it through all the way.

At the time, your immediate instinct was that a rival clan was trying to use Ragnar to get revenge against Paz. After all, there are only Mandalorians on Mandalore, so it’s a logical conclusion to reach.

Paz swore, up and down, that no Mandalorian would harm a child to get to their parent. And while you wanted to take him at his word, you’ve seen enough evil in the galaxy to know that it’s not always the case.

Luckily, finding Ragnar was simple, once you dug up a lead.

He had been snatched by slavers connected to the Hutt Cartel. The slavers hadn’t made it off Mandalore yet, seeing as the search for Ragnar was going strong. So rescuing him had been a simple matter of coordinating with some of the warriors, and sneaking in to free him while the slavers were distracted by the, very angry, men and women.

Paz and Ragnar were reunited, and you got a very nice paycheck. Plus a bonus.

And it was a sweet reunion. You hadn’t known that a man as solid and dangerous as Paz Vizsla could be so soft with another person. It was, frankly, unfairly attractive. Which is a hilarious thing to think seeing as the only part of his body you’ve ever seen was a sliver of skin at his neck, when he moved his head.

Anyway, the case should have stopped there.

You should have stopped digging. You weren’t getting paid to keep digging, after all. And you had other cases that you needed to look into.

But this case was like an itch in your brain.

Something didn’t make sense.

And so, between cases, you kept digging. Subtly, at first. Looking into missing kids from isolated communities. Looking at the crime rates in refugee camps across the galaxy. Looking into the numbers of slaves available on the dark web.

You were following threads through a labyrinth of conflicting information and dangerous road blocks. And you were doing so without any support or back-up.

Eventually, the threads led to a dead end, and you realized you had to take a step back and reevaluate your case. At the time, you had a lot of information, but there was nothing connecting the information to each other.

So you thought and planned, and decided to go and kick some trees. Just to see what will shake loose. Asking the right people the right questions has always been a staple of your career, after all. And you’re good at what you do.

This time, however, you asked the wrong person the wrong question, and you ended up with a bullet in your shoulder—who even uses slug-throwers in this day and age—and locked in a tiny cell.

By virtue of your career being what it is, when people start shooting at you, or trying to torture you, you’re heading in the right direction. The only problem is, you aren’t really sure what rabbit hole you just fell down.

You’re not worried though.

You’ve always been a survivor. And this situation is no different than any other situation you’ve been in before.

You just need to bide your time until you can escape. After all, pain is a temporary sensation, and it’s a reminder that you’re still alive.

Still, you hope you get your chance soon.

Just because pain is temporary doesn’t mean you enjoy it.

“I appreciate you coming so promptly,”

Paz eyes the slimy looking man standing in front of him, grateful for the helmet that hides the contemptuous curl of his lip, “You said the matter was urgent.” He says instead.

“Yes, quite so.” The slimy man wrings his hands anxiously, “A woman was poking around, and we’re trying to determine how much she knows, but she’s very tight lipped. For a woman, at least.”

“Is that right?”

“We’ve tried everything. Burning, electricity, knives, guns—she still won’t talk.”

“Torture generally isn’t a good way to make people tell you things.”

“Which is why we called on a professional,” The man beams up at Paz, “Unfortunately, she might have something of a concussion at the moment—”

“How did that happen?”

“One of the boys got frustrated because she was being lippy and beat her with his blaster,” He shrugs, “It happened a few days ago, but she’s not quite back to herself yet.”

Any positive feelings Paz might have had to the people who work here, all of whom are slaves or former slaves, vanishes immediately. Anyone who would beat a woman just for being ‘lippy’ doesn’t deserve any mercy. “Show me.”

Paz follows his employer through the dimly lit halls and passed dozens of empty, but blood stained, cells. Until they stop in front of a solid metal door. The door slides open with a wave of a key card, and Paz has to physically stop himself from reacting.

Even badly beaten and covered in blood and dirt, she’s still recognizable as the detective who found Ragnar.

If he had known that the Detective was still looking into why Ragnar was kidnapped, he would have reached out and they could have investigated together.

He quickly shoves the thought to the side, and steps into the cell to crouch in front of her. She’s not conscious, and there’s fresh blood dripping from a cut on her temple. Suggesting to him that someone paid her a visit before he got here.

He exhales silently, and quickly starts coming up with a plan to get her out.

And, luckily, the half formed idea just might be enough.

“I’m taking her with me.” Paz says, as he shifts her so he’s able to sling her over his shoulders. It’s not the gentlest way to carry her, but he’s technically undercover, “I need someplace else to work, someplace where I can trick her into being comfortable.”

His employer blinks up at him, and then beams, “Oh! Of course! What a clever idea! You’ll keep me in the loop though, right?”

“That is what you’re paying me for.”

“Wonderful! Wonderful! I look forward to hearing from you.”

The next half an hour flies by, as Paz gets her back to his ship and gets the ship in the air, before he starts to tend to her injuries.

She’s hurt worse than she looks.

Cuts and lacerations, broken and dislocated bones. Not to mention the concussion he’s sure she has.

But he does his best to patch her up, cleaning and wrapping her injuries, before letting her sleep in his bed while he keeps watch.

She doesn’t wake for hours. For long enough that he started checking her breathing every fifteen minutes, just in case.

And when her eyes flutter open, he releases the breath he feels like he’s been holding since he saw her in that little cell all those hours ago.

Her unfocused eyes flicker over to him, and she stares at him for a moment, “...Paz Vizsla?”

“In the flesh,” He reaches out to gently push a bandage back into place, “How are you feeling, pretty girl?”

A, slightly loopy, smile crosses her face, “You think I’m pretty?”

He laughs softly, “You saved my son. I’d have married you on the spot.”

She hums, and Paz is pretty sure she has no idea what he’s talking about. But then she slowly nods, “Kay. But I want a necklace.”

“A necklace?”

“Yeah. Rings ruin my gloves.”

“Well,” Paz is trying, so hard, not to laugh at her, “We can’t have that.”

“So I want a necklace.” She finishes with a tiny nod.

“Noted.” Paz checks on another bandage that had slipped while she was sleeping, “Tell you what, when you no longer have a concussion we can talk about this more.”

“Yeah...my head hurts.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Carefully Paz slides his hand between her shoulder blade, “Let’s get you sitting up so you can take some pain medicine.” She doesn’t fight him as he pushes her into a seated position, though she does slump into him.

“...ow. My everything hurts.”

“I know. Here, two small pills, and then you can sleep some more.” Paz helps her with the pills and the water, before he carefully lowers her back down, “Then we can talk about the case, alright?”

“You’re good at this,” She mumbles as she pats his hand clumsily, “Even more attractive now.”

And Paz chuckles, “Thank you. Get some more sleep, pretty girl. We can talk more later.”

@heidnspeak

@justiceandwar98

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@thatforlornfeeling

[maybege]

Bathtime Adventures

Summary: You just wanted to use the nice bath tub …

Pairing: footballer!Paz Vizsla x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 5.7k | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: Modern AU, Football AU, marriage of convenience, pining, explicit sexual content, vaginal fingering, some dirty talk, some praise, idiots in love

This is just a little snippet of an AU I thought of with the ever wonderful @mostly-megan who is also responsible for a large part of the dialogue in this story, iirc.

Basically, it is set up as a marriage of convenience with Paz, a football player with sudden (visa? PR?) problems, and Reader, who works at the team’s headquarters and agrees to marry him so he can stay the season. Lots of mutual pining, lots of pretending to be in love but actually being in love, you get the gist. It was fun just delving a little bit into this idea and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! As always, please let me know what you think in a comment or a reblog.

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

When you first moved in, Paz had only set one rule.

(“That’s the bathroom,” he had said, opening the door to the most stunning bathroom you had ever seen, “The tub’s pretty good. It’s, uh, got all the jets and settings and stuff. You are free to use it whenever except after training.” At your questioning look, he had elaborated, “I like to soak in the tub for sore muscles after training. You have my schedule anyway so just …” he shrugged, “All I ask is that the tub is free when I am home.”)

And he had not lied. His schedule was sent to your work email like clockwork every Sunday and he shared his calendar with you so you were aware of any last-minute edits to his schedule.

It was all very straightforward, really, and under different circumstances, you’d say that Paz Vizsla was a reliable and considerate colleague.

Only he wasn’t your colleague.

He was your husband.

Pretending to be married to the giant football player was more difficult. For one, you got to move into his apartment. His giant, expensive, glorious apartment was somewhere on the upper levels of a skyscraper which meant that every single room in the two stories had a full view of the city's surrounding skyline.

He had readied the guest room for you and hired a moving company so you could move your belongings. The ones you didn’t need, you put into storage. All at his expense. Or rather, the team’s expense. Turns out a fake marriage for legal and PR reasons involved much more than just two people.

*

It was Tuesday night when you decided to risk it. You hadn’t seen Paz all day but since practice was scheduled to go until 5, you figured that would have left enough room for him to go and relax his muscles. You actively tried to think of something other than Paz sitting naked in the big tub.

Sure, not only would this marriage get you the corner office and permanent position on the team’s administration you always dreamed of. But while you endured your 24 months of marriage to the man, you could also take advantage of the amenities of your beautiful home. After all, he had actively offered them. And that tub was really nice.

So, you made your way to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of wine. Dressed in only your robe, you felt like one of these women in the movies. White fluffy robe, a glass of wine in hand, a few candles surrounding the tub and flower petals floating on the water. Yes, you could get used to this.

Just before you dipped your toe in the water, you turned on some slow jazz music and turned off the big light. Yes, this was perfect.

The glimmering city lights paired with the golden flames of the candles gave the room the spa feeling you wanted and when you rested your head against the edge, you allowed yourself to imagine what it must be like to live this life forever. Really, you could not fault Paz for this rule. If you had all this money, you also would want to spend all this time taking bubble baths.

You watched the sunset over the city, sipped your wine, and, at one point, even tried out the jets which made the bubbles even more prominent. It was fun and warm and you found yourself wishing you could stay in the warm water forever.

Until the door slammed open. You flinched, turning around to see –

“Paz!” you squeaked, frightened and shocked and you did. Your state of undress or his state of undress. The shirt was already lying in the hallway and he had just fumbled with his belt when he stepped into the room. He seemed … Well, he looked exhausted.

“Paz, what are you doing?” you stuttered out, watching as he made his way into the bathroom as if he hadn’t even realized you were right there.  

He grunted. “Taking a bath.”

“Are – are you okay?”

“No,” he replied, “Had the worst fucking day. Practice ran over.”

You glanced outside where night had taken over. Practice must have really run over. “I – I thought – I’m sorry, I can quickly,” you made to move out of the tub but you realized just in time that you were naked and your towels were neatly folded on the other side of the room.

“You mind if I join you, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice deliciously gruff as he undid his belt. The sight was more erotic than it should have been. “There seem to be enough bubbles to cover everything up.”

You pretended to think for a moment when, really, all you could think about was how handsome he was. How broad. How the little trail of hair led to the waistband of his pants and how you would not mind seeing a little more.

You shook your head. “Not at all,” you heard yourself say, “You – you can have some wine too if you like.”

Paz just hummed. He was all sweaty and from practice, probably. But your head made you conjure up images where he was sweaty from something else entirely.

You tried to look away from him, you really really did. But there was something almost hypnotic about watching Paz take off his clothes. It was not a slow affair, not something he savoured. He ripped his clothes off like he could not wait to get out of them and he did not seem to mind you watching at all.

So, you swallowed and allowed yourself to really look at him. Your eyes roamed over his face, from his dark curls to the stubble on his strong jaw, down his thick neck to his shoulders and big arms. Really, everything about this man was just two sizes bigger than average.

And you came to that conclusion before you looked over his torso, his belly, and finally his … his …

“Scoot over, sweetheart,” he instructed, voice hoarse and you ripped your gaze from his cock, cheeks heating up at being caught. But Paz seemed so tired, that he did not even acknowledge it. When his eyes met yours, they seemed hollow, pure exhaustion radiated off him and something in your heart clenched.

Watching Paz sink into the water was a sight to be seen. The tub was big but so was he and suddenly there was not all that much space left between you.

And you found that you did not mind it at all.

The sound that left him was almost obscene. A low groan from somewhere deep in his chest that had your thighs involuntarily clenching and you were glad for all the bubbles because it meant he could not see the effect his proximity had on you.

“Here,” you offered him the glass of wine, praying he did not notice your shaking hand.

He peeked one eye open as he grabbed it. “Thank you.” He took a little sip before placing it with a quiet clink on the edge of the tub.

Silence followed.

He had his eyes closed again and he already seemed a bit more relaxed. A bit more at home.

“So,” you started carefully, “Practice ran over?”

He groaned again, though this time it sounded almost amused. “I swear by the stars that Fett wants to see one of us dead by exhaustion by the end of the season,” he joked, opening his eyes and looking at you, “Dreks came late to practice so he made all of us stay longer.”

“Five hours?” you asked incredulously, “Is that even legal?”

He laughed, a warm sound that echoed in the tiled room. “I am not sure Fett cares about legal as long as it gets us winning against the Jedis.”

You weren’t sure what it was. Maybe the wine or your own sleepy haze that had you stretching your hand out until it landed on his shoulder. “Do – I can rub your shoulders? If you want?”

The dark-haired man blinked at you and you opened your mouth to apologize for the offer, clearly having overstepped the line. But to your surprise, he nodded and a deep rumble in his chest followed. “Sure,” he murmured, “That – That would be really nice, actually.”

It was quiet when he turned around, facing the windows with his back to you and you took a deep breath. Carefully, you cupped your hands and let some water run over his back before your palms followed.

“Stars,” you whispered as your hands slid over his shoulders, “You must be so sore.”

Paz hummed and you dug your fingers a little deeper. You were by far no trained masseuse but, selfishly, you just wanted to make him feel good. So, you carefully moved your hands over his shoulders, kneading them slowly and marvelling at how much muscle one man could have in his back.

He turned his head to the side, just enough to meet your gaze over his shoulder and you found. “You can dig a little deeper, you know?” he said with a teasing edge, “You are not going to hurt me.”

“It's not that, at all. You're just … you're very strong,” you breathed, allowing your hands to slip from his shoulders down his back. You could feel the muscles begin to relax beneath your palm and Paz shifted, “And to get you so tense … you work so hard, Paz.”

He did not say anything but that did not stop you. Because the words had left your lips and now that you had this sudden courage, you could not hold yourself back any longer.

“I bet you find hardly any chance to relax,” you whispered as you rubbed over the particularly sore spot again, “You deserve to relax, Paz.”

That got him moving. He groaned again, the sound shooting straight to your core, and stretched his back. “I have an idea or two on how you can get me to relax, sweetheart,” he said, rolling his shoulders and leaning back.

It took you a moment to realise what he just said.

The same amount of time it took him to realise what he just said. What he had implied.

To be clear, the implication itself was not the problem. What was a problem was how your body reacted to the idea of making it your job to relax him after a hard training session. Of kneeling between his string thighs and laving at his cock until he was groaning and spurting his come into your mouth. You could feel your nipples harden, your core clenching, and suddenly you could think of nothing else but wrapping your hand around his cock and see whether he was as big as he was everywhere.

Paz, on the other hand, just looked sheer horrified. “Oh shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to suggest –“

“Oh look, you’ve got some massage oil!” you exclaimed like it was the solution to tide over this moment of awkwardness. Without thinking you leaned over him, reaching for the oil and before you knew it, your chest was brushing against his back, the touch sending shivers all through your body.

He groaned and shit could he feel your pebbled nipples? Could he sense how turned-on you were? Oh fuck, oh fuck, this was so inappropriate of you, the poor man just wanted to relax and … what was that?

You leaned back into your original position slowly, trying your hardest to keep a bit of distance between your chest and his back when you saw his legs move and saw something that certainly was not his leg.

The fire in your cheeks rose to your ears as you quickly averted your eyes. It was none of your business what Paz’s cock looked like and it certainly wasn’t any of your business to know what it looked like hard. But now that you had seen what it looked like, you also knew there was no way you would ever forget the sight.

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed, other than that it was dark by the time you stepped out of the bathtub and right into a giant towel that Paz held open for you, his eyes demonstratively closed.

“Thank you, that was just what I needed today,” he said, “Gotta return the favour at some point.”

You looked up at his words and he winked at you, before swaggering out of the bathroom, leaving you clutching the towel to your chest and pondering whether it would be very suspicious if you took a shower now.

*

When you had moved in, Paz had set himself one rule.

Don’t fuck the assistant. (Though the voice in his head suspiciously sounded like his retired-colleague-now-coach, Boba.)

And he had set you one rule too.

Leave me the tub after practices.

Those were not related at all. But when you accidentally broke the rule he had set, he found himself thinking that maybe he could break his too.

Because he wanted to. Stars. How he wanted to.

You were kind and beautiful and so funny and just the glimpse of your smile made his entire day. Which is how he adopted Kitten. Or how his fridge was now full of actual groceries and the pantry was packed with your favourite snacks.

The more time passed, the more he found himself wanting to be closer to you. It was pathetic, almost, how scared he was of asking out his own wife but it was you and he did not want to do anything wrong. Slow and steady won the race and all that.

What he had not taken into account was how annoying your colleagues could be.

He was chilling on the couch, Kitten curled up right next to him, happily purring away, when he heard the front door slam. That was already unusual because, for some reason, you always wanted to be as quiet as possible when you arrived home. You explained it away with not wanting to scare Kitten but the cat had lived with you for months now, so that could not be it. Sometimes he thought that maybe you needed a few minutes to herself before joining him for the rest of the day.

He tried not to let that hurt him.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked, both he and Kitten watching you with curious eyes as you started to tear off your outer clothes.

“I need to relax,” you stated, throwing your keys onto the sideboard and hopping out of your shoes. You said nothing more than that.

Not used to you being short with him, or in a bad mood in general, Paz did not know what to say. His hand was buried in Kitten’s fur as he considered whether offering to beat up the person who had displeased you was a normal thing to do.

“Oh, uh,” he watched as your fingers undid the tiny buttons on your dress, right there in the hallway, in front of him. “Bad day at the office?”

“Yup,” you said, your brows furrowed as you made your way to the bathroom in nothing but your underwear and he swallowed hard at the sight of your ass jiggling, “And I think you owe me at least one back rub, big guy.”

Kitten yelped when she was thrown off the couch and onto the soft living room rug, not hurt but clearly insulted at the sudden stop of scritches. “Sorry,” he murmured as he stumbled to the room, already hearing the water run, “If you could talk, you would understand.”

He found you in the bathroom, underwear strewn on the floor and the tub half-full, with your back to him as you stared out of the windows, completely silent. The fact that you loved the view from the apartment was not lost on him, he often found you gazing out the windows whenever you thought yourself alone, but your anger was surrounding you like a dark cloud.

“You want to tell me what’s going on, sweetheart?”

You paused for a second, clutching the towel to your chest and at that moment he wanted nothing more than to wrap you in his arms and kiss you senseless.

“I really don’t,” you finally replied, sounding resigned, “Is that okay? I just – I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

His heart hammered in his chest. “We can do that,” he nodded, a thousand thoughts running through his head as he tried to figure out how to turn this day around for you, “How about you get in the bath and I get some candles and maybe a glass of wine?”

“Ginger Ale, please?” you asked sweetly, “I just know wine is going to give me a headache today.”

He smiled, “Ginger Ale it is.”

His little mission not only found him getting your drink of choice but also collecting some tea lights and another set of bathrobes from the linen closet. Paz returned to find you already sitting in the bath, half submerged under a mountain of bubbles and the hand in his chest seemed to grip his heart even tighter.

Turning off the big light and carefully arranging the candles around the rim of the tub, he silently wished he had some flower petals somewhere. You looked like a dream in his home and he wanted to make sure that the surroundings matched. That you felt as comfortable here as he felt seeing you in his home.

The slope of your neck beckoned him to plant some kisses there but he bit back the urge to touch you and instead focussed on not getting hard as he took his clothes off. He had not missed the way you had ogled him last time and he knew that he had nothing to be ashamed of. But he did not want to presume that the appreciation in your gaze from a few weeks ago would return.

“Alright, lean forward, love,” he instructed you gently and you followed his words, resting your chin on your knees, “Just like that, perfect.”

A bit of warm water splashed onto the tiles as he stepped in behind you and he spread his legs, letting you scoot in until your back was barely grazing his chest.

In a matter of seconds, his mantra of don’t get hard turned into don’t let her notice you’re hard.

Which was harder than expected. No pun intended.

So he did the only thing he was good at – putting all his focus on your pleasure.

Dipping his hand in the warm water, he made sure his palms were warmed up before he softly trailed the drip of water up your spine. He could see goose bumps rising on your skin but you did not say anything, only letting your head rest once again on your knees.

“Let me know if I hurt you, ‘kay?” he asked quietly, his hands resting on your shoulders. His hands were huge – paws, Boba sometimes jokingly called them – and he found himself confronted with a sudden insecurity that his rough hands might not feel good for you at all.

This train of thought did not seem to occur to you because you turned your head, looking at him through exhausted but dreamy eyes. “You could never hurt me, Paz,” you stated, so sure of yourself, “Besides, I might need it a bit rougher today.”

Don’t let her notice you’re hard don’t let her notice you’re hard don’t let her notice you’re hard don’t let her notice you’re hard.

He had never really massaged anyone but he had had enough physical therapy sessions to know what not to do if he wanted you to relax in the bath. And so, he just touched you the way he wanted to touch you. Gentle caresses of your shoulder and back, carefully kneading the muscles of your shoulders and neck until he could feel you relax under him, digging his knuckles the tiniest bit into the space next to your spine, relishing in the soft sigh you let out.

“That feel good?” he asked, his voice rough like sandpaper. He could not resist the urge to run his hands down the sides of your torso, his fingertips grazing over the swell of your tits and his heart gave a little stutter.

“It feels so good,” you confirmed quietly and with your head turned to the side, he could see you had closed your eyes, “Why can’t every day be like this?”

“Every day can be like this,” he found himself saying, “You can demand a backrub anytime, sweetheart, I’ll be happy to help.”

“Your hands are magic, Paz,” you sighed and he watched your back slowly fall and rise with your deep breaths, “Maybe I will do that. Fuck work and anyone who thinks I am your glorified secretary. Maybe I should just embrace the trophy wife's life.”

There were so many things to unpack in what you just said. Who thought you were his glorified secretary? Who made your life harder now that you were his wife? He made a mental note to check with Boba if there was anything he could find out. He would have to have some strong words, it seemed.

“’m glad to hear it,” he whispered instead, dragging his knuckles alongside your spine down down down until his hand were submerged in the water and he could feel where your back met your ass. “You would make a gorgeous trophy wife,” he rasped, “Kitten would feel very lucky to collect pets at all times of the day.”

You hummed again, his fingers brushing the side of your chest once more and fuck, he was hard and there was no way you did not notice. Especially not when you were shuffling so you were closer, your lower back pressed against his erection in a way there was no way you did not feel him twitch.

“But I know you wouldn’t enjoy it, love,” he continued quietly, his palms running back up to your nape, “You love your work and you love seeing me in the office, all sweaty and handsome.”

You chuckled at his joke, your head tilting to the side. “You’re right,” you sighed, “Don’t want to let them win by enjoying life and spending your money for the next three years.”

The reminder of your agreed deadline let a sour feeling erupt in his stomach which he ignored in favour of enjoying the rare proximity to you.

 “C’mon,” he murmured, “Lean against me … there we go.”

“That was wonderful,” you sighed, looking completely blissed out, “Thank you. Your hands are magic, Paz.”

“No need to thank me, sweetheart,” he replied, stoically trying to ignore the erection that he was not able to hide, “Just returning the favour.”

“Maybe we should do this more often,” you suggested, slowly stretching your arm up to the sky and your chest rising out of the water and fuck what wouldn’t he give to reach to your front, cup those gorgeous tits and –

“What do you say? Maybe what happens in the tub, stay in the tub?” you joked breathlessly, your lips brushing over his jaw and a shiver ran down his entire body.

“Sounds like a plan,” he murmured, “Anything that happens in the tub, stays in the tub.”

“Anything,” your confirmation was but a whisper just when his mouth landed on yours and fireworks exploded in his chest. This was it. This was the moment of no return for him. There was no way he could go back to living life like usual when he knew how soft your lips felt against his.

“Now, let me show you how magical these hands really are,” he whispered.

*

Paz really had the most magical hands. Hands that were currently busy spreading your thighs apart in the warm water. Your head fell back against his massive shoulders and you sighed, allowing your body to completely melt into him.

“There we go,” you could feel the rumble of his voice in his chest, “Good girl, all relaxed for me.”

You were the most relaxed you had been in a long time. So relaxed, in fact, that you had not even noticed how on edge you had been, how stressed, until Paz hands had massaged away your troubles and you could feel your muscles loosen, your jaw unclench and your brain all fuzzy.

Sadly, you pussy felt very neglected and empty. A feeling made all the more prominent when thick hands spread your legs apart, inching closer to your core.

“Do you know how much time I've spent thinking about this pussy?” he asked you, his calloused fingers circling your clit and you squirmed. Considering you were sitting in a bathtub, you technically couldn’t get any wetter than this, but you still felt like there was a waterfall between your legs.

His finger was thick as he slowly eased it into you and your eyes were half-open, barely taking in the dark skyline of the city. “Oh,” you sighed, spreading your legs wider for him, trying to get him deeper than just the first knuckle.

With how the day had started and kept going, spiralling into a nightmare you could not have conjured up in your dreams, you certainly had not expected for it to end like this: In the bathtub with Paz slowly fingering your pussy, circling his thumb over your clit to get you to open up.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he whispered hot against your ear, his teeth scraping over that spot on your neck that made you do anything, “How am I supposed to get my cock in there, hm?”

The thought of feeling him inside you, of crossing that line between friendly (married) roommates to … something more, made you clench. “Just take it,” you gasped over the splashing of the water, “Just … just take me, Paz, just take whatever you want. Please.”

Paz rewarded you with his finger going deeper and you could feel your walls closing around him. His thumb steadily circled your clit and you could feel his cock right at you lower back, spiking the flames in your blood. He must have felt your eagerness, there was no way he did not, but Paz went at his own pace, stimulating and playing with you until all you could do was lean back fully against him and just … enjoy.

Enjoy the steady and carful thrusting of his finger, enjoy the way his rough fingertip brushed over your clit, making your pleasure climb and climb without making you desperate. Enjoy the way he played with your wetness and planted hot kisses on your neck and shoulder as you took in the glittering skyline through the windows. Really what was there not to enjoy?

“Are you so spaced out?” Paz’s teasing question pulled you out of your haze and you blinked, turning your head slightly to meet his dark eyes roaming over your face and landing on your lips, “My wife looks so pretty for me.”

The pet name did something to you, you could not quite explain. Your core clenched around him but your heart clenched too and you wanted to run your finger down his big nose, over his plush lips and down his stubbled jaw and tell him how pretty he was. How handsome and sexy and desirable and – oh, if he pinched your clit one more time you were sure to fall apart.

“Stars,” he groaned, “This pussy is just sucking in my finger. Maybe I should add one more?”

Stars, how could one man be so cocky and so hot at the same time? Heat rose into your cheeks at the realization how vulnerable you were, how easily he could tell how this affected you. But weren’t you in the same position? Could you not feel his leaking cock against your back?

“Oh, someone likes that idea.”

The dark-haired giant of a man curled his finger, you moaned, gripping the edge of the tub and arching your back. “There it is,” he chuckled, his mouth hot and open against your throat,” That’s the spot, hm? Oh no, don’t move, sweetheart, I’ll get you right where you need to be.”

The loss of his fingers made you pout but then he raised your leg, pulling it over his and doing the same on the other side until you were spread open by him and his hand could return to your core, now having so much more control over you. You loved it.

His other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you tighter against him and the gasp you let out was not because he was circling your clit so deliciously (though, maybe that, too) but because you could feel him between your legs. Hard and so very close to where you needed him most.

Paz Vizsla was hard for you and the tip of him was nestled right underneath your entrance. If you could just –  

“Paz,” you wiggled and squeaked when his hand on your belly squeezed your tit, two fingers sharply pinching your nipple.

“No moving,” he grunted, “This is for you, sweetheart.”

And with that he pushed in two fingers, stretching you more than you were used to with your own. Your body grew slack and your walls stretched to accommodate him, the sudden change in pace bringing you to the edge even quicker.

“There we go,” he cooed, “That’s it, just take it, love, just take my fingers. ‘s a big stretch but we’ll get you ready to take my cock before you know it. I just know you will take me so well. Your pussy is just begging to be filled, poor thing.”

Stars, you wanted his cock so bad, it was not even funny anymore. And when his two fingers found that spot that had already driven you crazy when it was just one? You were gone.

“Paz, I’m –“ your hands floundered helplessly until his hand on your side moved up to your neck, gently closing around the base of your throat. Your hands, desperate to hold onto something, anything, gripped onto his forearms tightly.

“That’s it,” he rumbled, his thumb swiping over your clit, while his fingers worked you into a frenzy, “Come for me, come all over my fingers, sweetheart.”

You tried to swallow past the words stuck in your throat and you were pretty sure that you lost your breath. Waves and waves and waves of pleasure crashed over you, making you lose all sensation as your mind floated somewhere above you.

Maybe you blacked out for a moment when your pussy tried to milk his fingers, you weren’t sure. But you also would not be surprised. What did surprise you, however, was that even through the haze of your orgasm, you noted how you wished for him to fill you up. Huh. Interesting.

“There it is,” he whispered all the while continuing his movements, “Look at that. Look at what a good girl you are, hm?”

After what felt like the longest orgasm of your life, you felt like you were underwater. You could not hear properly, and your breath was so loud in your ears, you wondered if you would be able to hear your own words. Not to mention the way your heart pounded in your chest or how your muscles all seemed to be lax all of a sudden.

His hips bucked once, his tip brushing against your clit and you whimpered, still a little too sensitive. “Sorry, sweetheart,” Paz apologized immediately and there was a strain in his voice you could not unhear. How good had he been to you, how generous, when he had concentrated his efforts only on you and your pleasure. You were sure he must be close to going mad with lust if he was just half as aroused as you had been (and still were, to be honest).

Unable to ignore his need, you reached down, taking his length into your grip. He was thick and even bigger now than he was hard than when you had first seen him. Feeling him so close to you, made a new wave of desire wash over you as if you hadn’t just come the hardest you had in months. But now that you were in this position, there was no way you could not press him between your pussy lips and buck your hips, stimulating both him and yourself.

“Stars,” he cursed, “We can’t, sweetheart, I’m too –“

“Big,” you breathed, keeping one hand on his grip on your throat, “I know, Paz, you’re so – oh! So fucking big, we need to work me up to it. But I … I can’t wait until I can feel you inside me, it’s gonna be so good.”

Paz groaned, “Then what are you doing?”

“You didn’t come yet,” you pouted, “I need you to come, too, Paz. Please, I want to feel you come.”

Your husband did not reply verbally but his hand on your throat tightened a little as your slickness eased the movements of his cock against you. It was a quick and hot affair, both of you still worked up from when he had been focussed solely on you.

All it took were a few strokes later and Paz groaned so loudly that the sound echoed in the tiled room.

Paz’s orgasm erupted with the tip of his cock pressed against your entrance. He wasn’t fully inside (he really had not been kidding when he said he was too big) but you could still feel the twitching, the pulsing. The sensations made you shiver as a much smaller orgasm but still oh so great orgasm ran through you, made even better by the knowledge that you had made him come.

“Feeling better, sweetheart?” Paz asked, sounding slightly out of breath. His chest rose and fell rapidly behind you and you leaned back into it, seeking out his body heat now that the bathwater had gone cold.

You nodded, turning your head so you could brush another kiss over his jaw. “Yeah,” you mumbled, still in awe over what had happened, “I – Wow. Thank you, Paz.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” he replied, his fingers under your chin keeping you close to him, “I will repeat this anytime you want.”

Somehow, you were sure this repetition would happen sooner rather than later.

[court-jobi]

Sneak Peek: Just Be Gentle pt 2

Gif credit by @javier-pena

I am SO delayed in this, but WIP Weekend it is! Recommended by the lovely @djarins-cyare, thanks friend!

I have not visited my drafts folder in sooo long, but I'm coming out of an unintentional writing hiatus and have fresh motivation to open the ole lappytop back up for a little sample to share. Part 1 of this fic was much beloved by yall apparently, so it continues here!

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x reader

Words: 1.9K (for now)

For my Star Wars | Mandalorian Masterlist, check it out here!

Paz watched the scene before him unfold; the heat of compassion bloomed in the gut like stoking a fire…

Din Djarin swore on the deed of his ship that he wasn’t exaggerating. He placed a flag solidly in her camp, and would go to arms for her as a returned gesture of loyalty. From that first meeting when the Hunter came back through the alcove to Nevarro’s covert, he spoke on his companion’s competence on several fronts. Namely, in all the ways that resonated with his people: creative thinking, handy know-how, and something more: empathy- a gift not to be ignored when it came to caring for others -himself included- in moments of high stress. 

He praised her talents ‘all across the board’, citing moments in their brief stint together on the Razor Crest as testimony to his Mandalorian clan for her to remain there in shelter– to be the exception to their rules regarding outsiders. Aruetti. 

A surprise to none, Paz Vizsla deemed that it would be up to him to judge such loyalties for himself; as a man more inclined to view actions as proof rather than words. 

But then he met her. Every bit of what Djarin said was true. Better yet, she proved every assumption of his wrong: allowed her to take him by the crook of his arm, surrendered her best vote of confidence, and let him lead. Acquiesced to his strength, protected it, and encouraged him at every turn. Saved him the first of her meals, the best of her scavenged findings. Took to tending to his wounds herself, because he wasn’t gentle enough to do so on his own.

A few weeks have passed since that day, but his fondness for her didn’t wane like the moon’s phases did. Paz Vizsla made it his mission from that moment forward to carry an extra ounce of gentleness, just for her. 

Then, the refugees came pouring in. Her arrival couldn't have been timed more perfectly, Paz thought; he’d only begun to see the full measure of little Song’s magic the moment he saw her skills at work. 

A smaller covert made a quick exit and raced to safety after a raid depleted their stores a few systems over. There had been some rumors of their hunter clans taking the bait of Guild membership in order to make ends meet, as they’d seen in Djarin’s success. The Way instilled a sense of belonging wherever Mandalorians crossed paths, so merging on his covert’s territory for the upcoming season out of necessity was a given.

But now, in light of Nevarro’s storm season, it seems their numbers would be doubling indefinitely. The situation proved to be a strain and test of everyone’s flexibility and resilience, to keep everyone content and organized on such short notice… but with a Vizsla as Alorad, they flourished with the change in plans and watched on as Paz steeled himself against Fear, and made everything suitable. Supplies were rationed and rooms were stuffed to the brim, but they would make do.

While they may not have resources with them in tow, they more than made up for it by pulling their weight in preparation for the underground shelters. And that, would benefit all. 

Song made herself indispensable, true to what Djarin had said. Moreover, she did so with caring smiles and solemn assurances to the migrating Mandalorians -young and old- who felt very out of place. To those men who lost their way in the bustle and found themselves turned around in the tunnels, she would give quick pointers about where to go– and thanked them for their service to the clan, each and every one. 

Learning fast. Paz was grateful.

Upon nightfall, there was less commotion than normal. As the common spaces gradually funneled down, bedchambers were lit and sealed for the night. For the most part, it was the heads of families -adults- who went to rooms for the night as a chance to let down and get their heads on straight after such a sudden move. Surely not all slept right away, but took to tending to their armor and delving into their meditation practices.

 Meanwhile, their children under ten or so were sent off to the creche where they could be watched over. The community room was next to the medstations, and as kids are often ones to complain of very little bout of aches, pains, or simple snotty noses, it was the logical choice. 

Two crechemasters stayed in the spacious alcove of the Medbay annex overseeing the creche, as well as one of the resident tribe’s kitchen aides, a few men as guards near the entrance and supply doors… and a certain someone -with a voice like the Coming of Spring- that Paz Viszla could never refuse pausing for a minute to listen….

Clearly tugged by the soft spot within him, Paz volunteered to serve first watch over the children for their first night, which made their parents feel that much more assured of their protection. So with blankets pulled from every corner of spare storage, canvas mats laid this way and that, and with juvenile excitement despite the circumstances, the children all got to sleep and the staff interchanged periods of rest until all was quiet by the early waning hours of morning. Even the covert’s local young ones came to join this slumber party of sorts. For the sake of welcoming and strengthening bonds, the crechemasters allowed it. 

Right after the 0300 guards changed out, Paz heard it. Inside the alcoves inset bunks, one of the smallest boys -nearly four years old- was making a steady and increasing amount of noise, until he startled himself awake and clearly didn't know where he was. He was calling for his babuir in their native tongue; but by his aimless flailing about, it’s clear he’s looking for just about anyone bigger than him that might come to his cry for help.

Before Paz could overstep one of the sleeping children nearest him to respond, he caught the woman he'd know to know as the 'Songbird of the Covert' slipping out of the window jumpseat like a sparrow off its perch, flying to the child's stuttering form up on the riser.

"Well hi honey, g'morning to you too~ Pretty early, isn't it?"

Seeing a soothing figure coming to his call, little threadbare arms immediately shot out and spoke brokenly in bits and pieces of a particular Sundari dialect. Basic wasn't his strong suit. Then again, it gave way to crying in minutes anyway, so his distress was clear and the language barrier mattered little.

"Hm?-- ohhh, aw c'mere bub..” the woman set the child on a hip as he clutched to her. She set them in a sway, “Yeah, you can stay up with me– I can always use some snuggles, too."

The toddler nuzzled in but by his whimpers, Song moved towards the open atrium with more room to walk around and hopefully not disturb the sleeping of any others. 

Paz met her there. She'd looked his way with a pitiful expression, traipsing about with the little one in her arms and keeping his little shoulders pressed in close.

"Bad dreams, I'd say," she murmured low to Paz, in Basic. "But I can't tell if anything else is wrong. Doesn’t feel too warm, not coughing. Seems trusting though, poor thing. " she shrugged, motioning to how easily the child was settling.

Through his careful watch of her across the room, he’d caught her sneaking the back of her hand to his forehead earlier in a move masked as just fixing his curls, but fortunately, he must not have been found feverish to warrant more worry. 

Paz came to bring a big, steady hand on the child's back. The kid turned his head from her neck to find the new Alorad tilting his helmet to match, and  made a big sniff to put on a brace face. Shy and no doubt aware of this elder’s importance, he snuck out a little wave back in acknowledgement.

"//Be at peace, young one. You're safe in the Reliable one's arms, that you are.//"

Whatever Paz said to this "adika" -as he seems to have called him- brought relief to the child, as he hugged her neck tighter and made himself comfortable again in her arms.

An amused whisper graced his ears as she looked up at him,

"What'd you say?"

"That he has nothing to worry about," Paz shared kindly. "He seems to like you."

 "I wouldn't think these kiddos would trust strangers so easily after what they've been through," she smoothed back the child’s hair gently- thankfully, his breathing evened out into sleepy sighs.

 "They've had quite the eventful last few days."

She kept humming away for a minute, trying to subconsciously lull the child the rest of the way. She looked absently over the nursery if other young ones, but Paz was captivated by her alone.

This instinct must have been what Djarin was talking about. She hadn't hesitated to jump right in, even though she must have been on the edge of sleep herself- if her state of dress was any hint. Shed opted for no outer protective layers for this reason perhaps- a source of comfort for the little ones, and though perhaps it was also to signify to them she was not a warrior or someone too formal for them to shy away from.

Finally seeing the child dozing back fully, Paz offered to take the child from her and set him back on his bunk above them.

 She let him, adjusting her loose cardigan back onto her shoulder. Shed opted for that over her cropped black body glove that acted as a breastband, and the loose comfy pants that honestly have fit Paz better, but she made do with her current wardrobe and didn't bother worrying about outfits too much.

Here, just over his shoulder, she watched the Big Blue tuck -yes, tuck- the child in. Stepping away only when he saw the child try to settle into his new sleep position did he step away and back towards her retreat to her watch corner.

"Teacher and carer? You're the dual package, Mr. Vizsla."

"I do what I can. It's not often I get to see our children be children- I would preserve that wonder in them if I could."

Childlike innocence: to hear the hardest-working, stoic soldier speak on such tender things was a thing of wonder itself. 

“I’ve only ever seen the little ones work their drills here– recitations, history lessons.” She looked about the room. “I haven’t seen kids this young in a year, much less so many crammed into one room.”

“Well, the rooming arrangement is common practice,” Paz explained, his trademark patience a soothing constant- even through the helmet, “You’ll find a nursery like this in every covert across the galaxy.”

Then, a more sobering thought, one that brought pity to the forefront of her mind:

“If– you weren’t all living down here, would they be going to a normal school? Making other friends? At least while they’re young?”

As if she expected any other answer, Paz’s reflex came through the form of his gentle whisper: “This is the Way.”

“That it is,” she firmed up a knowing smile. “There’s so many of them, going through so much newness at their age.”

Paz agrees, though knows no other way than the community that sleeps before them. To watch the woman’s empathy radiate from her being -those angel eyes- was to know the warmest ray of sunshine in the pit of winter. Such a calm presence… that’s what these youth need, after all. She’s exactly where she should be.

[notsentimentalll]

Paz Viszla Masterlist

NONE OF THIS FANFICTIONS ARE MINE!

I've been reading for a while and I want to keep track of the best things I've read, while also sharing-so, I will be upgrading this constantly!

Paz with a pregnant riduur by sprout-fics

Just a big boy being all happy and protective over his wife, while she's pregnant. 

Warning: Possessive, protective, mentions of pregnancy, f!reader.

Welcome home by outercrasis

Your husband finally comes home after 3 weeks. Surely you're going to welcome him home with open arms?

Warnings: Western!AU, Paz & Reader are married & both are hot heads/combative (but they love each other v much), size kink, oral sex (m receiving), penetrative sex, v light amount of spanking, more or less make-up sex, canon divergent Paz's physical appearance. 

Reacting to your lingerie by sprout-fics

A Mandalorian being soft and horny for their S/O in lingerie is something that can be so personal

Warnings: allusions to sex, Paz Vizsla x reader. Boba Fett x reader. Din Djarin x reader.

Series 

What if by maybege

Your clan is involved in the reclaiming of Mandalore. To ease the clan dynamics, an age-old tradition is brought back to life and you get assigned to an alpha that fate already has plans for.

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, canon divergent. Alpha!Paz x Omega!F!Reader. Tags vary.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

Kinktober 2023 - Day 7 (Din Djarin & Paz Vizsla)

For Manda'yaim

Din Djarin x f!reader, Paz Vizsla x f!reader, other unnamed COTW Mandalorians x f!reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Now that they have reclaimed their homeworld, the Children of the Watch resurrect an ancient ritual to secure the future of their people. Reader is one of the volunteers chosen to bear the next generation of Mando'ade.

Warnings: Dub-con, CNC, Reader is consenting but unable to withdraw consent, Bondage, Gangbang, Drugged sex, Unconscious sex, Anonymous sex, Children of the Watch are a cult, cult behavior, ritual sex, breeding, breeding rituals, creampies, unrealistic amounts of cum, vaginal plugging, p in v, gratuitous use of Mando'a, religious imagery, no y/n

Inspired by @absurdthirst's Kinktober 2023 prompt list

also on ao3

The chamber is cold. It is deep in the belly of the mines, and not even the fire in the hearth can warm the small waiting area. Your beskar’gam, save for your helmet, is tucked away in the wardrobe, and you’ve donned the gauzy black shift left folded neatly on the shelf. Now, all you can do is wait.

You don’t have to wait long. The door to the main room slides open. The Armorer stands in the doorway, intimidating as ever, though you do not fear your alor. She says nothing, but you follow her out into the ceremonial chamber.

It’s domed, completely crafted of smooth, dark stone. She brings you to stand on the bridge before the chamber’s enormous entrance. The bridge rises from the hall outside but is seamless where it turns to obsidian. Even the stone dais in the center looks like the room was carved around it.

Stripped away to reveal the greater purpose beneath.

The bridge leads into the water rather than over. The slow flow of the stream encircles the center platform, but to cross, one must enter the shallow pool at the foot of the path.

The Armorer stands at the edge of the water. Your heart is pounding so loud you think you can hear it echo in the chamber.

“Do you wish to proceed?” she asks, lilting voice as commanding and regal as you remember.

“I do.” You hope your faith rings solid beneath the waver of your voice.

If she doubts you, she does not show it.

“Very well. Do you willingly offer your vessel to the Ka’ra, to accept the manda within you, for Manda’yaim?”

Will you let the kings of old grant you the very essence of your people for the good of Mandalore? Of course. “Oya manda.”

“Oya manda,” she agrees, something warm seeping from under her cold, unmoving composition. “Step forward.”

You do, bare feet brushing softly against stone, until you are within reach. Her hands find the lip of your helmet and unlatch the seal, lifting its heft from your neck. Frigid air creeps up, but you shiver more from being exposed than the cold.

She holds your helmet in one arm and steps back into the water. You follow, surprised to find it generously warm. As you settle on your knees, the water lapping up to your waist serves as a balm to your nerves.

You take the curved pot from her other hand when offered and drink of the hot tea within before sinking it below the stream at your knees. The water rushes into it, desperate to fill the gap it left behind. When you raise it, the excess flows over your fingers.

The drink has settled in your core, warmth flooding your veins. You will leave the fears behind there, to be swept from the chamber on the ebb and flow.

The Armorer takes it and holds it aloft. “None shall see your face but I, and when you leave these waters, you will be granted cin vhetin.”

She tilts the pot, warm water rushing down your face.

“Vor entye,” you pledge as the last rivulets drip down, looking at the Armorer through sodden lashes.

“You owe no debt,” she corrects. “It is the reward for your sacrifice. Rise.”

You stand and follow her onto the platform. A thick pad is laid atop the tall stone table. You shed the robe and take comfort in that she sees your bareness as devotion and not transgression.

The haze of the tincture that laced the tea nestles around you. Like when your buir used to carry you to bed after long days of training, when you didn’t last through the songs around the fire past twilight. You climb onto the table, and your body is pliant as she secures it into place.

The thick straps are for your safety, not imprisonment. They keep you tethered to the table and to Manda’yaim while your soul drifts between realms. You pray the Ka’ra won’t find you lacking.

You are secured on your knees, spread wide, and your arms forward in supplication. Your head is held bowed, and the veil is secured to the restraint.

The expanse of the galaxy is settling in around you. You don’t fight it when your vision fades.

There are two men in the room. Two of your vod. They wear no helmets and will be cleansed in the pools before returning to the surface. But no barriers can be permitted between you, and the chamber is sacred.

They don’t look at one another out of respect. They will come and go in pairs, taking turns to feed your womb and ensure your safety.

The Mand’alor is the first to give sacrament at your altar. When the doors are shut, he lifts his helm and anoints himself from the sleek pot. Behind him, Paz remains concealed. He will not shed his helmet until it is his turn, and so he will remain on the bridge to stand guard.

As Din crosses the waters, he pauses to take in your prone form. The swell of your ass in the air, the arch of your spine. The sweet, tender core of you, softly parted for him. He reaches up to run his fingers through your folds. There’s a light dew, there, but you are not ready.

“Don’t tell me this is your first, vod’ika,” Paz calls.

Din disregards the taunt, stroking through your lips until he finds the gem at your apex. With one hand gently rubbing your cheek, he spreads you open a little more and tastes.

“I don’t think that’s generally part of the process,” Paz notes.

“Shut up, vod,” Din sighs. “Should we not be grateful and ease the passage? Besides, she’s sweet. You’ll miss out.”

“I’ll have my turn,” Paz says gruffly.

“Ah, but only after she tastes of me.” Din grins smugly when Paz groans.

“Get on with it. I want to spend as little time with your naked shebs as possible.”

Din returns his lips to your cunt. He could admit he was being a little selfish, but he truly did want to shoulder some of your burden. Couldn’t leave his martyr to suffer. You or the others who had volunteered to bear the future of their planet.

When he’s certain you can take him without difficulty, he withdraws his mouth and fingers, though savoring the way you linger on his tongue.

When he sinks into you, the pleasure he had coaxed from your body eases his way. You accept him, welcome his offering, and he can’t help but devote his attentions to your pliant flesh. Soft moans slip through your peaceful exhalations. Your warm cunt clenches around him, your hips gently rocking back to meet him. You serve your Mand’alor even in sleep, and he bathes you in praise.

You’re submerged. You swim in the Living Waters, and breathe it in as easy as the air. The voices on the surface are low and rumbling, and you drift lower, free to explore, knowing your vod are on the shore. They won’t let you drown. The water is so dark, but when light breaks through, the beskar veins beneath you are all alight.

There is pressure all around you, like a cradle. And you are so, so full. You think maybe the Waters will keep you, consume you. The current fills you, and you let it sink you down, down, down.

Back in the pool at the foot of the dais, Din cleanses his cock of you, but not his soul.

He slides the helmet back over his head and gives a nod to Paz. “For Manda’yaim.”

“For Manda’yaim,” Paz dips his head to Din. When the Mand’alor turns to respect his vod’s wishes, he removes the helmet.

They are both grave now. Bare, but more encumbered than while clad in full beskar'gam. All teasing and taunting has been swept away in the meandering stream.

Not to be outdone by Din, Paz also brings you to your peak with his lips and tongue against your clit. He doesn’t dare lick into you, not out of an aversion to his vod’s taste, but to preserve as much of the Mand’alor’s seed in you as possible.

Paz is broader than his vod’ika in all ways. He expects to find some resistance when he enters you, but the tightness and heat almost make him spill early. That wouldn’t do, not when he would have to hear about it for all of eternity.

He’s brash and impulsive but never uncaring, so his fingers seek your clit as Din’s had. But as he finds a steady rhythm, an unbidden sadness blossoms in his chest.

He’s fairly certain he knows who you are, though he shouldn’t dwell on it. And though he holds no anger to the rest of his vod who will make their tributes to you today, he does wish you’d told him. Or Djarin.

They could have had you, just the two of them, if that’s what you wanted. And who better to gift you a life than the Mand’alor and his General?

Despite the undercurrent of regret, he feels proud. Proud that his vod’ika would give herself to the tribe, would sing the oldest song of their people, and receive nothing less than pure manda in reward. And the image of you, belly round beyond your beskar, sends him over the edge, fingers digging into your hips as he fills you.

It’s long after the sun has set when the Armorer and the Mand’alor return to the chamber. It matters not, as no light can reach you in the depths under the sacred city. This time, when Din approaches the dais, he is fully armored, helmet in place. He takes a box from the Armorer and opens it to reveal the sizeable, solid beskar plug and lifts it from the silky cushion.

You’re overflowing, your body simply unable to contain the twenty or so loads you were offered, their consecrations dripping obscenely from your red, swollen cunt. You jerk against the bonds and moan, half pleasure and half agony, when he parts your lips with one hand—the only part of him left bare.

The plug finds no resistance, but it does displace some of the cum, oozing down your leg. No matter, Din thinks. Most of it remains, and he’s certain he will not have been spilled, not with his seed at the deepest of your core. When the plug is in place, he uses the pot to cleanse you, to bring you back to the surface.

When you begin to stir, he leaves.

Mando'a translations (in order of appearance): Manda'yaim - the planet Mandalore Beskar'gam - Beskar armor alor - leader Ka'ra - the stars/ancient Kings from Mandalorian mythology Manda - the collective Mandalorian soul Oya manda - a Mandalorian saying showing eternal solidarity cin vhetin - a blank slate (here used to indicate that the removal of the helmet is forgiven for this ritual) Vor entye - formal "thank you" carrying a debt of gratitude buir - parent Vod - brothers/sisters (in arms/loyalty, not literal) Mand'alor - the ruler of the Mandalorians Vod'ika - little brother Shebs - ass (Source: mandoa.org)

[gatorbites-imagines]

Paz vizsla x FTM reader please? :3

Paz Vizsla x ftm reader

Headcanons

A shorty but a goody, some Mandalorian culture headcanons mixed in here.

I always had a headcanon that the true mandalorians didn’t have much issue with gender, you just presented however you wanted, and it was no one’s business but your own.

Now, deathwatch and the new mandalorians I think are different, deathwatch were just extremists in most ways, and the new mandalorians were trying too hard to be like the core worlds, so they might have looked at gender more judgingly.

But after the purges and mandalorians having to go underground, they didn’t have time to judge others self-expression, since everyone worried too much about surviving.

That means that Paz doesn’t treat you any differently because of your gender, not at all. In the beginning it probably causes some doubt inside you with how little he seems to care about it, since he doesn’t ask questions or act confused.

Hes just immediately accepting, doesn’t ask why you feel a certain way, or makes you explain your discomfort or experiences to him. If you say you are a certain gender, who is he to judge or decide.

The amount of treatment you get done doesn’t matter either, whether you get hormone treatments and surgeries, or get nothing done at all and don’t wear binders. You’ll still be his boyfriend, how you look doesn’t matter, all that matters to him is that you are comfortable with who you are.

Because of the whole thing that mandalorians don’t have time to worry about anyone elses gender, it also means every other part of the covert just treats you how you present yourself, no questions asked.

The only one who seems to give a shit, is the medic or doctor, as its their duty to know these things and make sure you are healthy, or gives you your hormone treatment if you need it. If you need surgeries, you probably need to get it done somewhere else, as they don’t have the resources for that stuff.

This causes some stress in Paz, and he would want to go with you, but he also knows its dangerous if he does. If Din is still around at this point, he goes with you and brings you back to the covert as quickly and safely as possible.

Paz is the best caretaker in the recovering period if you need it, as he treats it like any type of battle scar, since that’s what it is to him. He just sees it as a symbol that you are becoming who you want to be, plus, scars are very attractive to him.

You can expect him to be able to switch pronouns immediately if you tell him, as pronouns don’t carry much meaning or importance to him since mando’a is pretty gender-neutral language-wise.

He will find a way to get you a binder if you need one, but you must also accept that he is gonna nag you about it and make sure you never wear it longer than necessary. If you as much as dare to sleep in it, he’s cutting it right off you and taking away binder privileges because you are harming yourself.

Paz is also great when you have dysphoric days, as there is no chance of him misgendering you or treating you in ways that make you dysphoric. He goes out of his way to help you out in whatever ways you need, wanting to make you happy and safe.

All in all, he’s a great partner to have as a trans person. Paz can be quite stoic at times, and doesn’t speak a whole lot, but he cares deeply, and finds ways to show it.

[vodika-vibes]

Different Worlds - Part 1

Story Summary:  A chance meeting between you and a man you had no right ever meeting might change the face of Mandalore forever. Of course, you have to survive first.

Chapter Summary: As one of the few traditional blacksmiths who live in Sundari, it's not unusual for you to work long days and even longer nights. There is honor in your position, even though you can't forge the traditional tools of your people without being arrested. A long night turns even longer when you're "invited" to a one-on-one meeting with Duchess Satine.

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x F!Reader

Word count: 2038

Warnings: I have opinions about the New Mandalorians and none of them are good. Just, FYI.

A/N: So this is a self-indulgent project that I'm slowly working on, that's going to involve a lot of Mandalorian characters, including Boba Fett, Bo-Katan Kryze, and Satine Kryze. It's also solidly an AU. I won't be tagging anyone in this, because it is going to be very different than my usual stuff. Well, unless you specifically ask. This story will be posted under my Mandalorian masterlist, with it's own masterlist.

Clang

Clang

Clang

There’s something peaceful about working the forge. When you’re creating, there’s nothing else in the galaxy. It’s just you, your hammer, and the metal you're forming under your hands.

When you’re working, there’s no civil war. There are no politicians making things worse. There’s no worry about food or housing.

All you have to worry about is where to strike next.

If your parents had elected to move anywhere other than Sundari or had backed anyone other than the New Mandalorians, you would be rolling in money.

But they didn’t.

And what use does Sundari have for an Armorer?

“Sister?”

You wince when you hear your younger sister’s voice. She’s only eight, it’s not her fault that she doesn’t know any Mando’a. Mother and Father refuse to teach her, and they refuse to let you teach her.

If only babuir was still alive. 

“What’s up, kid?” You ask as you stop hammering for a moment, to critically eye the cane you’ve been working on for the better part of a week.

“Mama wants to know if you’re coming to dinner?”

“What’s for dinner?”

“Um…Nerf burgers and fried tubers, I think. Papa was firing up the grill.”

You push your goggles up off your eyes to eye your younger sister critically, “Father can’t grill, Nymmie.”

She scratches her cheek, “Well, he wants to try.”

“I’m going to pass, I think. I need to finish this tonight.”

Nym ventures further into the forge, carefully lifting the hem of her skirt so it doesn’t drag against the soot-covered floor. You really should invest in a cleaning droid.

“What are you working on?”

You glance at her, and then shift to hold it up for her to examine, “What’s it look like to you?”

Nymmie tilts her head to the side as she scans the metal in your hand, “Um…a cane?”

You favor her with a bright smile, “Good job! That’s exactly what it is. Maybe you have the makings of a blacksmith too.” You tease.

Nymmie scrunches up her nose, “No, thank you. It’s too messy.”

You laugh, “You should have seen grandfather’s forge back in Keldabe, the floor was dirt.”

She gives a dramatic shudder, “I’m going to work in a building. With climate control.” She announces, “And then I’m gonna get rich and you’re never gonna have to work again.”

You flick a gloved finger at the smaller girl, “Don’t let Mother hear you say gonna or she’ll tan your hide.”

“I’m not stupid, sister,” Nymmie pauses, “Are you sure you don’t want to come to dinner?”

“Positive.”

She pauses again, “Mama didn’t mean what she said.”

“Then she shouldn’t have said it.” You counter as you pull your goggles back over your eyes, “I’m not working this weekend, if you want you can pop over and we’ll go to the botanical garden.”

Nymmie’s face brightens, “Alright! That sounds fun!” She turns and runs towards the door, pausing once she’s on the street, “Love you!”

“Yeah, yeah. Love you too. Beat it, kid.”

As soon as you’re alone, you turn towards the fire and add more air to make it flare back to life.

Time to go back to work.

You work through the afternoon, and well after the sun sets. In fact, you don’t stop working until you put the final touches on the cane. It’s only then that you lay the cane on the workbench and send an automated message to the man who commissioned it, informing him that he can pick it up at lunchtime the following day.

Seeing as it’s nearly midnight by this point, you seriously consider leaving your mess to deal with in the morning. But you also know better. If you leave it for the morning, it’s never going to get cleaned.

So, grudgingly, you grab a rag and start cleaning.

By the time you finish, properly finish, it’s nearly 2 am and you’re practically dead on your feet. Your entire body aches from all of the work you’ve done today. Strong as you are, overwork still makes your muscles ache.

Finally, you step out of the shop and lock the door behind you while you roll your aching shoulders.

All you want is to go home, have a quick dinner, an even quicker shower, and sleep until 11 am.

So, the ugly curse you release in Huttese when three members of the Sundari Royal Guard approach you and greet you by name is not only totally understandable, but you’d even argue that it’s acceptable.

“What?” You’re too tired to be polite.

The leader of the group, a tall man with a full blonde beard, bows respectfully, “I understand that it’s very late, Armorer—”

“It’s 2 am, don’t you people sleep?”

The Captain’s polite smile doesn’t even twitch, “Duchess Satine would like to speak with you.”

You stare at him blankly, “Now?!”

“Yes.”

“I’m covered in soot. I haven’t eaten. And it’s 2 in the karking morning.”

“A fresher, clean clothes, and a full meal will be provided for you.”

You stare at him, unimpressed, “This is one of those situations where what I want doesn’t actually matter, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so, ma’am.”

You rub the back of your head, annoyed. “Fine. But I don’t wear dresses.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Grudgingly, and deeply annoyed, you trail after the three guards.

Well, two of them. The third, a young woman a little taller than you, apologetically offers you a bottle of water as she walks next to you. “Let me guess, you’re here to make sure I don’t run off?”

“No ma’am,” She shakes her head, “I’m here to make sure that you don’t collapse.” She beams and taps the red medic symbol on her arm, “Everyone knows that you normally start your day before sunrise.”

“They do?”

“You are the best blacksmith in Sundari,” The third guard, another man, pipes up. “My mother has a set of decorative goblets you made for her for Life Day one year, she adores them.”

You…vaguely remember those. It was one of the first commissions you did when you took over the shop from the previous blacksmith. “Well, I’m glad she likes them.” You finally reply, awkwardly.

The conversation stalls after that, you’re just too tired and too exhausted to be much of a conversationalist. Luckily, the people who are escorting you don’t seem to mind.

Soon enough, you reach the palace of Sundari and you hide your revulsion with practiced ease.

You hate this place. 

No Mandalorian should be living in a palace.

The guards pass you off to a servant, who leads you to a small room. There’s a brand-new outfit spread out on the bed. It’s not a fancy outfit, just a pair of brown pants, a cream-colored shirt, and a pair of sturdy boots.

Clean, but simple.

“Miss, would you like me to clean your jacket?” The servant asks.

You glance at him over your shoulder, and then you glance at the jacket hanging from your hand. You had been too warm after everything to put it on, so it doesn’t have any soot on it at all. “That’s alright. It’s clean.” You toss your jacket on the bed to join the rest of the clothes.

“As you say, Miss,” The servant bows, “The Fresher is through that door, shampoo, conditioner, soap, and lotion have all been provided. There are also clean towels and hairstyling tools for when you finish showering. I will be back in an hour.”

And then the servant is gone, and you find yourself alone in a room nicer than your entire apartment.

“This is fine,” You say to the empty room, as you turn towards the fresher while stripping your soot and sweat-covered clothes off, “I’m sure that this meeting won’t be anything serious.”

An hour later, you find yourself sitting at a small-ish table, the nicest meal you’ve ever eaten in your life spread out in front of you, a mug of caf in your hands, and a glass of the richest fruit juice you’ve ever tasted near enough that you could grab it if you wanted it.

The only people at the table are yourself and the Duchess, though there are guards positioned around the room.

Despite the late hour, Duchess Satine looks completely refreshed. She doesn’t look tired at all, and you kind of hate her for it, especially since the only thing keeping you going is the mug of caf that the wait staff keep filling for you.

“I appreciate you agreeing to come on such short notice,” The Duchess says as she sets her fork down on a napkin, “I understand you must be exhausted.”

“Well, so long as you keep the caf flowing I’ll be alright, your Grace.”

The older woman flashes a polite, close-mouthed smile, “And how is your meal?”

The meal is pancakes, bacon, sausage, toast, eggs, and fresh fruit. You’ve only eaten a few pieces of sausage so far.

“Very good, though the amount makes me think that this is going to be a long meeting.”

“Well, you’re not wrong.” Duchess Satine sits back and folds her hands, “Tell me, what do you know about the state of the galaxy?”

You blink at her, “The galaxy?”

“That’s right?”

“Well, I know that slavery has gotten more prevalent with the return of the Zygarian Empire, and I know that the Hutt Cartels are pushing in on other Cartel territory. But other than that, I don’t know much.”

She nods as if she expected as much, “And what do you know of the situation on Mandalore?”

“A lot more.” 

She gestures for you to continue.

“Uhm, right. Well, I know that Mandalore is in the middle of a Civil War and that four different factions are vying for power. There’s you, of course. And then there’s Boba Fett up in Keldabe. The Covert is farther to the east, near the ocean, though I don’t know who leads them. Finally, there’s the Death Watch up on Concordia. They’re led by…uhm…—” You trail off.

“My sister, yes.” She seems completely unbothered by the fact that her sister is a terrorist, or maybe she just doesn’t care. “I have no qualms about the Civil War, I know that I will come out on top.”

You highly doubt that.

“However, I do need your assistance.”

“...mine?”

“You are an Armorer. That position is highly respected in the more traditional sects of Mandalore.”

Well, she’s not wrong.

“I would like you to go to the Covert and negotiate with them. Try to bring them under my banner.”

And, you have a moment of startling clarity. This bitch is absolutely insane.

“With all due respect, your Grace.” You say slowly, “But I make vanity pieces. I’m more of a blacksmith than an armorer.”

The Duchess stares at you with cold eyes, “Could you craft armor?”

“If I had blueprints and a month, maybe. But it wouldn’t be good.” You might as well be trying to negotiate with a wall for all of the good it’ll do. In fact, you’d probably have a better chance of negotiating with a brick wall.

“Good enough.”

Maybe you should move to Naboo. Their child Queen has to be more sane than this, right?

“The ship leaves in half an hour.”

“I don’t have any—”

“Everything will be supplied.” She makes a motion and the servant is at your side again, “I do wish you the best of luck. Remember, all of Sundari is depending on you.”

And then the Duchess is gone. Slowly, grudgingly, you decide to eat the rest of the meal that was provided for you, before allowing the servant to drag you to the ship.

Maybe you’ll be able to get some sleep on the ship.

However, you do take a moment to shoot a message to Nymmie, asking her to go to your shop the following day and make sure your client gets his cane. And you also apologize for having to scrape the plan for the weekend, since you won’t be in Sundari.

You know she’ll understand, she’s a smart kid.

Then, as the ship powers up, you drift to sleep on a cot in the back.

It’s what you deserve.

[maybege]

First Impressions Are Everything

Summary: Adjusting to life after prison is hard, especially when you alienate the pretty neighbour.

Pairing: ex-con!Paz Vizsla x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.5k | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: Modern AU, Dreks makes an appearance, so brace yourself, other than that just yearning

I just felt so inspired for some yearning and softness, lately, that I thought ex con!Paz deserve to make another appearance! This serves as a prequel to Heat Waves, obv, and gives us more of a glimpse into how Paz and Reader first met. I hope you like it and have a lovely Sunday!

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

Considering that he had waited years for this exact moment, the instance he finally walked through the prison gates was quite underwhelming. The clothes he had been given back in a little plastic bag, neatly folded like he had done the first day he had arrived here, no longer fit him. His shoulders were too broad, now, his arms too big and his thighs grown with muscles. Which was why he was wearing something from the lost and found, the fabric scratching against his skin.

An older man had waited for him at the gates, casually leaning against a black car. His face was severe, clearly making him one of those men who had little tolerance for bullshit. That made two of them.

He had introduced himself as Briggs, his parole officer, and before long they were both in the car, driving down the highway to the city.

 It had been years since Paz had taken the same route, towards the place he was now finally leaving, and the skyline had etched itself into his mind during the nights where sleep had eluded him. Yet It looked so different now. Like the uncanny version of a place he had known his entire life.

“It’s actually pretty easy, Vizsla,” the older man next to him said, “All I want is for my parolees to stay on track. I don’t want to cause you any problems and the best way to achieve that is to not cause me any problems.”

They stopped at a red light and Briggs turned to him, “What are the three main rules?”

Paz knew the answer like the back of his hand, “No drugs, no alcohol, no contact with other ex-cons.”

Briggs nodded, steering the car into another lane. “I want to add a fourth rule: No contact with your ex-buddies. Leave that gang life behind, once and for all.

The reminder of his past life made the corners of his mouth turn down. “No worries,” he grit out, “I left it behind long ago.”

Paz knew that he had lucked out with getting Briggs as his parole officer. He had a reputation that preceded him far beyond city limits and while he was tough, he had heard rumours that the ex-cons under his care had the most success in later life. And he really needed a little bit of success at the moment.

The day had started weird enough, knowing that he would finally get out, but what he had completely forgotten about (or maybe even suppressed) was that if he wasn’t sleeping in his cell, that meant he had to sleep somewhere else.

“It is not much but –“

“It is enough,” Paz finished Briggs thought as he looked around the little studio apartment. The brick apartment building was not necessarily run-down but it also was not in the best part of town. Or a good part of town, for that matter.

Still, the thought of having a whole apartment to himself made his heart soar. The furniture was … not great, but he knew as soon as he would get to buy new sheets and put some fruits (stars, how he had missed fresh fruit), life would look a whole lot different.

“The first month’s rent is on us. After that your job should be enough to keep you going,” Briggs explained as he peeked a look at the vomit-green tiled bathroom. “Did they already tell you which job you got?”

They meant the administrative folk at the rehabilitation department. The woman who had been his case worker had been friendly, if completely overworked. When she had asked about his skill sets and he pointed to his carpentry assignment, she had almost cried from joy.

He still had to wait 6 weeks until he had gotten his job assignment.

“Yeah,” he nodded, looking around the furnished room, “Construction work.”

Briggs nodded, “Sounds about right. It’s a good thing, you’ll find, spending time outside. Fett is a good man, keeps his people in line.”

Paz wondered if that would be his future. Always being surrounded by someone who could keep people like him “in line”.

“All right,” Briggs turned to the door, “I am going to let you get accustomed to your new pad. Job starts tomorrow at 9. Don’t be late, I’ll hear about it.”

*

You were pretty.

He was ashamed that that was the first thing he noticed about you. The second was that you smelled nice.

It had been three weeks of night shifts with a day off every week and he felt like a dead man walking. At the same time, he felt accomplished. Working with his hands was exhausting, yes, but also rewarding and his colleagues were nice enough, quickly integrating him into the group.

It also helped that he slept through most of the day, only leaving his apartment in the safety of the night, allowing him to get used to being around people and noise again. Living alone was hard, especially when you were used to having the entire day structured from dawn till dusk.

Now it was his turn to structure his waking hours and, after some struggle in the beginning, he was proud to say that he managed it quite well.

He even got to know one of his neighbours, Mrs “Call me Mary, young man” Beauchamp. Mary had the habit of doing her shopping early in the morning, as soon as the shops opened, and insisted on carrying her bags up the six flights of stairs whenever the elevator refused to work. Which was more often than not.

Paz had met her towards the end of his first week. When he arrived from his last shift before his day off, he had been faced with an older woman, clearly out of breath, trying to carry her bag up the stairs. They had not even reached the first floor.

Without saying anything, he had reached his arms out, taking the heavy bag from her and offering his free arm which she accepted with a smile, “You’re one of Briggs’ new projects, hm?” she had asked him, no judgement in her voice.

“Uh, yes, ma’am,” he had confirmed, feeling his palms get sweaty from the immediate fear of rejection as they slowly took step after step.

She had looked at him, cool blue eyes mustering him up and down, and nodded. “Good, the guy before you was a nice fellow but he had a habit of blasting his music day in and day out. You won’t do that, will you?”

“No, ma’am,” he had grinned, “I won’t.”

Their little stairwell friendship had continued every Monday, Tuesday and Thursday – the days when Mary did her shopping. Around noon, she would wake him with a few knocks and present him with a plate of her leftovers (“It is so boring cooking for just one person and look at you! You are all skin and bones, young man, you need a homecooked meal and I will not accept a no.”) which he would put in the fridge before returning to bed. He was the coolest kid at lunch break with his colleagues.

Safe to say, Paz felt like he was slowly settling into his new life. Nothing exciting was happening and that was good. It was exactly what he needed.

What he did not need was to come face to face with his next-door neighbour for the first time just after he had taken a run in the park (also a first time), his shirt off and in his hands, as he tried to dab the sweat on his forehead.

He was blindly reaching for the keys in his pockets when he heard a sound (a squeak from a mouse maybe?) and looked up to see … you.

And you were, he swallowed, shit, you were stunning. Wearing a loose summer dress, feet dressed in sandals, clutching a sunflower yellow bag, you looked at him with big eyes and he could not help but return the stare.

Your chest rose and fell with your breaths and his eyes followed the slope of your throat, down your chest to where your hand was gripping the handbag like a lifeline.

Paz knew that his presence could be overwhelming. He had spent years in jail bulking up and making sure his body remained as healthy as could be (that, and there was nothing else to do except to focus on exercise) and the years had seen his skin accumulating several tattoos on his chest, his arms, even his hands, that resulted in a sight that people did not exactly find … friendly.

But for some reason, he had hoped that if he smiled at you, he could signal he was a non-threat.

When his smile felt more like a grimace and his voice was all scratchy as he tried to utter a friendly “Hello”, he cringed at the flinch you made in response.

Embarrassed by his clear lack of control over his own body and flustered by the presence of someone so beautiful, he quickly unlocked the door and fled into his apartment.

With his back pressed against the door, he tried to ignore that his pulse was quicker now than we had done his run and that his heart was too loud in his ears than what he was used to. Stars, all it took was a glimpse of you and he was a goner.

“Have you met our new neighbour yet?” he heard Mary ask and even though he knew better, he decided, for some reason, to remain standing in front of the coffee machine, right next to the door. Which so happened to enable him to hear your response.

“I have.”

“Oh, isn’t he the sweetest?” he smiled when he heard Mary’s exclamation, “Such a polite young man. He always makes sure that I get up the stairs safely with my groceries, you know?”

“I don’t know,” he heard you say, “He’s uh, he’s quite intimidating, to be honest.”

He did not know why your words hurt him so much but he finally felt that wave of insecurity that Briggs had warned him about once. He was, no matter how hard he tried, always going to be a man that was in jail. And you saw that.

Who could blame you, really? He knew objectively that he was not the most desirable neighbour in town but despite this knowledge and his trying to rationalize that he could not expect to be welcomed with open arms, he could not explain the breaking sensation in his chest.

“Oh, you just gotta give him some time, dear,” he heard Mary again, “That man might look like a grizzly bear but he’s a teddy bear deep down.”

Your voices were hushed after that and no matter how hard he tried, he could not focus on anything else until he heard two doors fall into their locks, signalling the definite end to the conversation.

*

“So how are you adjusting?”

“Great. Everything is going great.”

Briggs looked at him like he didn’t believe him and Paz couldn’t blame him. He hardly believed himself.

They were sitting in a little diner, located in the city centre and Paz had been proud of himself for how he had navigated the public transport without having to check ten times that he was on the right train in the right direction. Yeah, he still had to use the little map on his phone to navigate his way to the diner but a win was a win nonetheless.

Given that the past weeks had consisted of more losses than wins, Paz really needed this.

Work was going great and he sometimes joined Mary for lunch which was both entertaining and helpful as she pointed him to places he needed to know. (“What do you mean you have never been to the library? Paz, dear, that is unacceptable, when you have your next day off, we shall go together. They have a new romance section that I have been dying to browse.”

But his spontaneous day trips with Mary or the fact that the cashiers at the grocery store now smiled back at him when he greeted them were not enough to cover the fact that he had seen you two more times and both times you had hurried to get inside your apartment. As if you were afraid of him.

Paz was not a stupid man and he knew that not everybody in the world wanted or needed to be his friend. There would always be people you did not get along with and that was not the end of the world. What was the end of the world, for him, at least, was the knowledge that he made you feel unsafe.

And he could not live with that.

To prove himself to you, he did it the only way he knew how. He was the perfect neighbour, adhered to the quiet hours, made sure to leave the laundry room in excellent condition (sometimes even cleaner than how he had found it), took your trash out with his when he saw you put it out the night before and practised what Din called his “soft smile” in the mirror so the smile-slash-grimace debacle would not have a repeat.

So, when Briggs mustered him critically, clearly sensing the bullshit he was trying to sell, Paz caved in. In a few sentences, he told him all about your first meeting and the conversation he had eavesdropped on.

“Hm,” the old man lifted his sandwich (turkey club, extra mayo) to his mouth and spoke between bites, “That woman you met … is she beautiful?”

“She’s, uh,” Paz thought of your smile, his heart skipping a beat, “yeah, she’s pretty.”

“You like her?”

That had his hackles raising and he leant back. “What’s that have to do with anything?”

Briggs sighed, putting his sandwich back on the plate. “I understand you have been cut off from society for quite some time. If this is the first woman in 5 years that you find attractive, of course, it is bringing up some … heavy emotional baggage.”

“You saying I am traumatized or some shit?”

“I am saying that emotional maturity is a concern you should be aware of, Vizsla,” Briggs stated, his voice not wavering, “Have you talked to the lady I was recommending?”

“The therapist?” he scoffed, looking out the window at the people on the sidewalk, “Not yet.”

“You should,” Briggs insisted, “You are making a big transition back into life in society. That is hard enough as it is. She has office hours all day, you should be able to visit here before the start of your shift.”

“I switched shifts, actually,” Paz revealed, “Boba has me on the day shift now. Down by the harbour.”

“Already? He must be happy with your work then.”

Paz nodded, remembering the way. Boba Fett did not strike him as a man who dished out a lot of praise so he clung to the words of encouragement like a lifeline when his boss had promoted him to the new project. His new buddy, Din, had been promoted with him and it was fun, living life in the same rhythm as most of the city now.

Not one for distraction, Briggs returned to the topic at hand. “Then make an appointment for after your shift, Vizsla, I don’t care. Give it a try for three sessions and if you are as well-adjusted as you think you are, then I promise to drop the topic.”

(Briggs did end up dropping the topic but only because after three sessions, Paz now had a standing appointment every Tuesday, meeting with his therapist. He hated it when the old man was right.)

*

The next time he heard you through the door, it wasn’t Mary you were speaking with.

“I said no.”

“Oh c’mon, darlin’, we were having such a good time, why don’t you invite me in?”

Paz looked up from the instant ramen he was about to make after an exhausting day of construction work followed by therapy. He was ready to just flop onto his bed, inhale as much food as possible, and then fall asleep.

But at the sound of a male voice he did not know, paired with how anxious you had sounded, he was suddenly wide awake, all his senses on high alert.

“Dreks, just –“ you grunted, “Leave me alone.”

Before he knew it, Paz almost ripped his door off the hinges, the doorknob creaking under the strength of his grip.

“Is there a problem?”

He was so angry it took him a moment to assess the situation. You were standing with your back to the door, discomfort evident on your face. He knew what you had looked like when you had been intimidated at your first meeting. This was worse.

There was a man standing in front of you, plastered to your front, with slicked-back hair that made him look the sleazy kind of wealthy. He was wearing jeans and a brand-new leather jacket that fit him just as little as did the self-assured grin on his face or – Paz gulped – his hand on your hip.

This was a date, Paz knew. If he hadn’t figured it out from the snippets of conversations, he would have realized it from the pretty dress you wore.

“Nah, not a problem, bud,” the man waved him off, “We were just having a good time, weren’t we, darling?”

You scowled, “No, we were not. I want you to leave, Dreks.”

If it had not been so infuriating, it would almost be impressive how little Dreks seemed to value your words (if at all) because he did not move an inch. Which meant Paz was ready to make him move.

Not taking his eyes off you, he stepped forward, his fingers closing around the back of Dreks’ shirt and yanking him off you. The man stumbled, a surprised sound leaving his throat, but Paz did not care. “I suggest you find your way home now,” he growled, making sure to insert himself between you and Dreks.

The weasel whimpered, clutching at his neck as if Paz was choking him. But there was no way, he would risk going back to prison for a nobody like him. Though if he tried to touch you again, Paz made sure Dreks would have to try harder to shake him off.

“Hey!” he called, watching with a little bit of amusement as the man flinched and turned to see him, “Next time I see you here you won't leave so lucky, understood?”

Dreks hurried down the steps without a word.

He remained standing there until he heard the entrance door fall shut behind him. Only then did a big breath leave him and his shoulders fell. He could not remember the last time he had gotten into a fight and the adrenaline that pumped through his body made him uneasy. It made his fingers tingle, like he was getting ready to throw a punch and he did not want to be that person anymore.

Paz turned around, letting his eyes roam over you from the tips of your hair down to your shoes, making sure that you weren’t hurt and that Dreks hadn’t –

“He touch you?” he asked, “If he did, I can …” he trailed off, grimacing that his first thoughts turned to violence. But the truth of the matter was he would get violent if Dreks had crossed that line. He would make sure that it couldn’t be traced back to him, sure, but his promises of leading a non-violent life would be out the window if he were confronted with someone who hurt women.

“Thank you,” you said, crossing your arms in front of your chest, a small smile on your lips, “No, he didn’t … he was just being rude and refused to read the room.”

His throat felt oddly dry upon hearing your voice and he gulped, “I don’t think he’ll be back any time soon, to be fair.”

“Thanks to you,” your smile grew, “You, uh, … have you been taking my trash down?”

Any confidence he had at making it out of this interaction without embarrassing himself or coming off as a creep dissipated the moment he realized that you knew. You knew he had been trying to help.

Shit.

“Uh,” his hand rubbed the back of his neck, as he tried to explain himself, “Well, the chute has been broken for a bit and I know Mary struggles with the stairs and if I make the walk I might as well take yours down, too, right? I am sorry if it made you feel un–“

The touch of your hand on his forearm made the words die in his throat. You were touching him. You were touching him and you were smiling and stars, you were beautiful.

“Thank you,” you said again, “That’s a very kind thing to do.”

He gaped at you, his brain still circling all his attention on where your fingers brushed over the hairs on his arm. When he didn’t find the words to reply, he decided his best course of action would be to simply take this win and leave while he was in your good graces.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he mumbled, “Have a good night.”

“You too, Paz,” your response followed him to his door and he could not contain his grin.

That was the first time you had ever used his name.