#paz visla fanfiction

[certifiedskywalker]

I Don’t Care - Paz Vizla

Anonymous said: I loved you paz vizla story!! Can we have another reader one? Your writing was SOOOO gooood for that one so I just had to request another!

AN: This is a Mandalorian!Reader fic! I hope I did the big blue boy justice!

Paz Vizla is rude, cold, and reckless. But around you, his ‘I-don’t-care’ attitude melts away. 

You couldn’t see who drew the first vibroblade but the moment you heard the familiar hum, your body tensed. Muscles you hadn’t used in ages readied to launch into action. Your teeth clacked together with grit, the sound filling your ears as it resounded in your beskar helmet. Battle had hardened your bones and it had been too long since your last skirmish.

You were hungry for it.

Before you could get to it, dive right into the fray, the fight came to an end. The Armorers smooth voice rung out with the words of the Creed.

“This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.”

“This is the Way,” you echoed, letting your braced shoulders fall. Curled fists relaxed into open palms and you had to bite your tongue to keep from grumbling. You stood still as the others in front of you watched the Armorer and Din Djarin. As you were trying to listen out for what they were saying, the sound of heavy footfalls reached your ears. 

The crowd of your tribe, fellow Mandalorians, parted slightly then, suddenly, all at once to make way for the hulking form of Paz Vizla. A smile spread under your helmet and you too started to push out of the crowd. Not long after you started moving, you could sense Paz’s presence behind you. Shadows cast in front of you, bulky and large, only confirmed the feeling. 

Finally, you and Paz were free from the gathering mass of people. Heat from the forge trailed you both as you filed into the main tunnel. The smell of it made its way to your tongue, tarnished the taste buds with steel and sweat. Flames and metal were your only memory of home.

“This is coward’s way of the Mandalore,” Paz snapped when you both were far enough away from the beskar forge. “Djarin is a mercenary wearing our armor.”

“Paz,” you looked past him, to the side to eye at the cluster of people still lingering around the forge. “Careful.”

“I’m done being careful. I’m going up.” 

Your eyes widened and your felt your heart lurch in your chest. Warningly, scared, you whispered, “Paz, that is not-”

“I don’t care.”

His words were cold, harsh, and unnerving. His words set you on edge, teetering on a cliff, balancing in the darkness of a night sky. If you fell, the plunge could kill you. If you stayed, you never would get the chance to fly. You took a collecting breath and crossed your arms over your chest.

“You should care,” you fired back, “because I’m going with you.”

Paz jerked his head back and you could only imagine his wide eyes glued to you. Smug and closed-lipped, a grin spread across your features; one that Paz could not see. Part of you wished he could. Maybe then the words lodged in your chest could be said easily. Maybe then, finally, Paz could truly see you, in the way you longed for him to see you.

“Let’s go then.”

Before you could respond, Paz was already making his way towards an intersection of tunnels. You followed after him quietly as to not alert the others to your intentions. With each step, your excitement, your nerves, grew. It had been a long time since you had stepped out from the sewers, too long. You were just hungry for freedom as you were a fight.

So you followed Paz outside, into the dusk of Nevarro. 

His blue armor looked dark against the orange-pink sky. Not as dark as his silhouette, which resembled deep pitch. Your eyes were glued to him so intensely, you nearly tripped up to the surface. To catch yourself, you reached out and gripped Paz’s shoulder. Instincts, hardened through traditional Mandalorian training, the same training you had endured, kicked in. Paz reached and wrapped a thick arm around your waist, pulling you to him. 

“Watch it,” he said gruffly. Something in his tone was teasing though.

You rolled your eyes and punched your fist lightly against his chest plate. The beskar elements clanged together like tiny echoes from the forge. He caught your wrist, his gauntlet knocking against the metal on your forearm. You both stayed still, your body almost completely flush with his. It was sight you had longed for. Even though you couldn’t see his eyes, you could feel them intently focused on you.

“That’s not very nice,” he said lowly. You felt your stomach twist at the deep sound. Perhaps Paz seeing you was something you were not yet ready for. Wanting to relieve the feeling, the tension, you pulled away slightly.

“Spar?” You knew that Paz could sense your nerves. Your voice made it clear at the sky above you. The smell of ash and smoke was getting to you. Or perhaps it was how close Paz was to you that made your head feel light. “Paz, I-”

“No,” he replied softly. Even with his helmet’s voice modulator, there was something terribly gentle, human, in his voice. “I want to see you.”

You tried to think back to the last time Paz had been so tender, so careful. 

It could have been when you were both foundlings in the Clone Wars. You could still remember the boy you met all those years ago. Or maybe it was on your first few missions together. He had saved your life and you had saved him; you worked together well. How long had it been since you had been so close to him? You had been starved of Paz’s softness, the caring nature he only showed sparingly. Just as you were hungry for a fight, for fresh air, you yearned to see Paz and for Paz to see you.

“Paz, we’re out in the open. Anyone can-”

“I don’t care.”

Unlike the first time the phrase left his mouth, this time it was desperate. The arm Paz had around you waist slipped away and, for a moment, you were scared that you were going to lose him. So you reached out, gloved hands gripping his chest plate. Instead of falling away from you, Paz lifted his hands to yours only to move them upwards. Up and up until your gloves rested on the sides of his blue helmet. Your breath hitched at the touch.

“You care,” you whispered, find your voice, “I know you.”

Paz let out a small grunt as he lifted his hands to your helmet. There was a silent, mutual agreement between you in that moment. Then, and in the next moment as you and Paz lifted each other’s helmets off your heads. It was like a breath of fresh air.

Literally, it was. Nearly as gentle as Paz’s touch, a breeze kissed the skin of your cheeks, then your nose, then, finally, your forehead. Relief, it was a relief. Then you saw him.

“Paz.” His name come out in a whimper as you met his bright eyes. 

Carefully, you both let the other’s helmets fall into the sand. Nevarro, it’s sands, it’s heat, everything, faded away until all you saw, all you cared about, was Paz. His sharp features seemed to call your name. You couldn’t tear your eyes away.  

His brows, his chin, coaxed your hands into motion. Even his own hands gripped you, pulled you close. His jaw, and his lips: “Y/N.”

Your hands found their way to his thick neck and you leaned up towards him. He met you in the middle, his nose knocking against yours softly. Paz’s hands tightened on your waist as his lips met with yours. Sweat, he tasted like sweat and something sweet. He parted your lips with his and deepened the kiss until you were so close your chest plates clanged together. 

The sound made you smile into the kiss. Slowly, you pulled away. Your smile turned into a grin, one that Paz could see; one that you would only ever show to him. 

A sudden shout down the way, most likely a fight breaking out near the cantina, made you jump. Nerves flooded your system and you tore your gaze from Paz’s. “We should go, before someone-.”

“No,” Paz whispered, pinching your chin between his thumb and finger to pull your eyes back to his. “I don’t care who sees.”

He pulled your lips back to his and your eyes closed on instinct. In the dark behind your eyelids you saw a future. A future with Paz, where he could kiss you like this whenever he, whenever you wanted. That was the way you wanted to go. That was the future you wanted to have and share with the man you love.

[colehasapen]

(PART 2) Out To Sea  STAR WARS

First //

The ocean is not a merciful mistress; it’s unforgiving and violent, with a temper that could be stirred at any time.

His papa had been a whaler, and had told Din tales of the cruelty of the sea and her creatures, of the overwhelming desire to follow the whims of the waves on some great adventure, but he’d also always warned him to always be wary. He’d speak of great waves that could flip ships and sink them without a care, of massive beasts that could tear boats apart, and storms that could come out of no where and take even the most experienced of seamen by surprise. His mama, a basket weaver, had told him sweeter stories when he’d go to sleep, of mythical creatures who would come to the pure of heart, of rainbow scaled mermaids who sang sweet songs of true love and turned to sea foam. His mama had been a dreamer, his papa a realist, and his Buir was neither. Din had been taught to read the wind and the waves at the same time as he was learning to walk and talk, taught how to translate the positions of the stars and the thickness of the clouds to find his baring.

He’s not so arrogant, however, as to believe that he knows the ocean; he can read it better than most, but no one is truly fluent in the languages of the sea. Even the most knowledgeable of sailors end up as less than an obstacle in the path of the tides if their luck gives out.

Din has never considered himself a lucky person, only lucky to survive and unlucky to be the survivor, and eventually, everyone’s luck runs out.

Today seems to be that day for Din.

They don’t manage to outrun the storm.

The world is a dark nightmare of lashing rain and massive waves that drag his small boat further and further away from the cove that could have been their salvation. Thunder rumbles above them, the lightning is the only thing that illuminates the world around him, and Din scrambles to try to keep the boat under control as he squints through the rain. As his small ship bucks and dips in the overwhelming waves, Din can’t help but remember the story his papa had once told him, the memory foggy with age, of a massive whale that could tip ships with only a wave of its flukes.

He wonders if this is how he dies, not in battle like his Buir did, but drowned and crushed during a storm because his employer had been too arrogant to listen to him. Ka’ra, maybe he should have listened to Paz and stayed with the crew; but it had been so awkward after their fight, something had broken between them, something neither of them knew how to repair.

Would his inability to communicate with the man he had once loved get his ad killed?

He had wanted to give Grogu a chance for a better life, he had wanted to try to help the little boy find the homeland he could barely remember, the home and the people he had been stolen from for some bastard’s profits. In saving Grogu from a life of slavery, in not letting another family take in the Foundling, had he doomed him to an early death because he couldn’t give him up?

Din’s curse is lost to the storm as the ship buckles, and, desperate, he abandons the wheel, using his sword to jam the rudder and hopefully keep them on course. He needs to be with Grogu. The closer he is to his ad, the more he could do to protect him. He could make himself believe that he could keep the child safe.

He slips as he moves across the ocean-slicked wood, but his determination keeps him moving, lets him fight against the howling winds to get below deck. If nothing else, Din doesn’t want the boy to die alone. As much as he’d like the little one to live on to find his people, Din knows that it’s not likely to happen now, and the least he can do is be there to comfort him for as long as possible.

Taglist: @a-mediocre-succulent @yellowisharo @spoofymcgee @roseofalderaan @honeysuckletook

[maul-antics]

Summary - Din finds a stowaway on board the Razor Crest.

[honestlywrites]

Clan of Three | Chapter Two (Din Djarin x Mando!Reader)

Summary: After the events of last night, you wake up to find yourself being called to the throne room to talk with your employers, the King and Queen of Hapes. Your fears take over as you wonder about the security of your job and what impact that may have on your as time continues on. 

Clan of Three Masterlist

- 

Waking up on Princess Illena’s couch was comforting. It had been one of the best nights of sleep you had gotten in a while even with the vision of the unknown Mandalorian scarred into your mind. 

Lifting your head up, you see the Princess sitting at her table and eating breakfast by the large window that overlooked the city. There is a place set for you in front of her with a steaming plate of breakfast cakes. Fondness fills your entire body as you know that you cannot eat with her but the idea fills your heart with joy. You were lucky to have such a gentle and kindhearted client, it made the job much easier.

Getting up and walking over to the Princess, you see her turn to you and smile.

“Did you have a good night of sleep?” she asks, popping a berry into her mouth.

“I did, your highness. Thank you for letting me sleep in your room,” you nod your head in respect, grabbing the tray of your food to bring to your room. As you begin to exit, her voice stops you in your place. 

“My parents requested your presence after breakfast,” she states softly, a tone of disdain layered on thick. “They want to discuss the events of last night.”

You turn your head and are frozen in place for a moment. What if they wanted to fire you? Was your tie to the intruder too much for them to let you stay? Various questions ran through your head and you push them aside, hoping for the best-case scenario. 

“Of course, I will see you later then,” you state and rush to your room, tugging your helmet off once you know that the door is secure. Your chest tightens and you sit down, placing the tray on your ornate desk. This job was everything you had, your entire covert was dead. The memories of the explosion run through your head and the tears begin to fall before you even see your vision cloud. The cry of your buir, your mother, calling out for help echos in your skull, unable to escape. You were the only one who walked away from that explosion, it was by pure luck that you had gone out to gather some food. 

Wiping away the tears, you breathe a breath of fresh air in deeply, hoping that you were worrying about nothing. Perhaps they simply want your report on the events of the night prior, at least that is what you continue to tell yourself. 

After eating the sweet breakfast cakes, you gear up, pulling on all of the armor. It was like a second skin, your training allowing you to carry the weight with no effort. You exited your room, and briefly poke your head into Princess Illena’s room before making your way down to the throne room. Nodding your head at the two guards taking their station in front of the doors, they open them up to reveal a beautifully decorated room. The ceilings were so high, you feel like they touch the sky. Gold covers anything and everything, the marble floors so shiny that you could see your reflection in them. Being in the throne room would never bore you. 

Walking forward, you see the King and Queen sitting on their respective thrones, waiting to address you. Once you arrive in front of them, you drop into a bow as a sign of respect.

“You may stand, Mandalorian,” King Isolder’s voice booms, echoing throughout the large room. You take to your feet and look up at the King and Queen. The beating of your heart seems to be the only thing you can hear but as you look through your visor, the body language of the King and Queen speaks a million words. There would not be a happy ending for you here on Hapes. 

“If I understand, another one of your kind attacked our daughter last night and you saved her,” you nod and the king continues. “We are forever grateful for the work you do here, but unfortunately due to the circumstances, we are unable to allow you to continue working for us and for our daughter. She will be placed into hiding due to the attempt on her life, but you stand out far too much to be around when we do so. Also, the fact that you are a Mandalorian and a Mandalorian attacked our daughter raises suspicions within the royal court. We know that you remain loyal to her, though. You will be compensated tremendously for your work and we thank you for your work here.”

A servant comes forward with a large satchel full of credits and you take it, nodding as the tears roll over your cheeks. For a moment, you are thankful for the helmet for concealing your face. While the sadness overtakes you, you can still remain the warrior that you were trained to be.

“I thank you for this opportunity,” you state as best as you can as the tears cloud your vision. You march straight out of the throne room, planning to pack your few things and find a way off the planet with your old ship, Teara I. It was old and beat up, but it would do. 

Finding your way back to your room was much difficult because you found solace in the room of Princess Illena who welcomed you with open arms. Mandalorians were not an unfeeling culture, they very much took care of their own. So, leaving Princess Illena would be difficult. 

“I have to leave,” you mutter, your voice cracking as the tears continue to run down your cheeks in streams. 

“What? Why?” the Princess stands from her table and walks over quickly.

“To keep you safe. Like I told you, that Mandalorian will be coming back for you and it’s safer that I’m not around so that he cannot find me. Your parents will be sending you into hiding, and I will be leaving the planet.”

“The planet? This is unfair, I am safest when I am around you,” she contradicts and reaches forward to grasp your hands in hers. 

“This is for your safety, Princess. It is for the best,” you pause for a moment, feeling the warmth of her hands through your gloves. “I will miss you.”

Tears begin to roll down Princess Illena’s cheeks and you let out a sigh, leaning your head forward to gently touch her forehead. The two of you are silent, relishing in your last moments together. It had been a friendship that resembled a sisterhood and you could not be more thankful for the experience. 

“In my culture, this is called a kov’nyn, and is used as a way of showing endearment,” you tell her as the two of you separate, both of you pausing to sniffle. “I wanted to share it with you so that one day when we meet again, you will know what to do.”

Princess Illena smiles through teary eyes and gives you one last hug before allowing you to leave. When you finally return to your room, you take your helmet off for a brief moment to wipe away the tears. After recovering, you gather your few items into a bag and head to the docking bay filled with various ships. Finding your personal ship was not a challenge and getting back on allowed you to reminisce in the bittersweet memories. As you turned it on, taking off into the vast ocean of space, one thought remained. 

You would teach that Mandalorian a lesson. 

[certifiedskywalker]

Who Are You? - Paz Vizla

Anonymous said:

Could you do a Paz Vizla x reader cause I haven’t seen any

You weren’t a native to Nevarro but you had spent much of your life working with the smugglers that filtered in and out of its shipyards. The pay wasn’t good, the people were worse, but it was...well...home. Nevarro was the only real home you had ever known. So, you were surprised to find that there was an entire covert of Mandalorians living within the sewers. Surprised, shocked, but grateful when one Mandalorian, in blue armor, saved your life.

AN: I hope our blueberry-big boy is still alive and that I characterized him well! 

You had spent your whole life running from war. Maybe it was the startling sound of ion cannons or the constant fear of having your life cut short. Hell, it could’ve have been the sight of blood but you didn’t dwell in any part of the galaxy long enough to figure it out. Eventually, your planet hopping led you to the Outer Rim, to Nevarro.

The steaming sand planet was perfectly horrible.

It grew terribly cold in the darkness of night but was always hot during the day, unbearably so. Sunlight never once faltered and the lava fields produced a heat and stomach-twisting carbon stench that carried on every fleeting breeze. The stink of sweat was so strong it could never be washed out of your clothes but the shady characters that supplied you with work didn’t seem to mind. They didn’t ask questions; you were paid to move shipments and glance at manifests and that was that.

Granted, it was those smugglers and the crippling heat that kept the war out of Nevarro. The phoenix of the New Republic would never risk associating with smugglers and what was left of the Empire had a rather haughty past with lava planets. You were safe from the reach of both sides. Felt free and untethered, you had no inkling of what was bubbling up towards the surface until it was much too late.

Now, you were paying for the few, precious years you had away from the cries of battle.

Now, you were stuck in the thick of it.

Sharp and metallic, the scent of blaster fire was all around you. You tried your best to focus on that scent in particular. If you let your sense of smell wander past that and the mud, it would eventually find the reek of charred flesh. Perhaps that was why war never suited you: you never had the stomach to handle the stench.

“Y/N!? Is that you!?” You glanced over to see a familiar, scaly face. At the sight, a strange sense of relief twisted your guts. You felt as sickly green as the smugglers skin.

“Carniv, you’re still here?!”

“Yes,” the Trandoshan smuggler hissed between bolts of blaster fire. “These metal-heads started up before I could get outta here.”

You nodded in understanding before peeking your head out from the barrier you had hidden yourself behind. Soldiers, in armor that you had never seen before, were lasting waste to people you had seen filing in and out of the cantina. Prior to the fight, you heard heard Greef Karga’s voice bellowing out orders to a Mandalorian. Were these Mandalorians? You had only seen the one taking bounties from the Guild. 

“Where did these guys come from?!” You shouted over the blaster fire to Carniv whose amber eyes were flecked with fear. His slit pupils were thin as he studied the band of armored warriors. “They’re not Imperial, right?!

“Mandalorians!”

A blaster bolt whizzed with a fiery hiss past your head. White-hot, adrenaline rushed through you and you ducked back behind the storage unit you were using as a barrier. Carniv tucked himself back into the alleyway he had claimed just as a rain of fire hit the stone. He screeched, all high-pitched and lizard-like. You peered down the alley the cowardly smuggler was hiding in and felt a twinge of hope in your chest. Working in the shipyards required that you know the spice running routes; that included the alleys and sections of the sewers. Where Carniv stood, there was a path cut to the far Western side of the settlement. An easy escape.

“Carniv! The alley!” The Trandoshan glanced behind him and, when he looked back at you, he shook his head. His mouth, all toothy and forked tongue, opened but a peppering of blaster fire drowned him out. “What?!”

Another wave of gunfire ripped through the air. You screwed your eyes shut at the horrendous sound. When you opened your eyes, you looked back to Carniv. He was tense, his feet spread and knees bent. He was going to run towards you, you realized, the fool!

The Trandoshan pulled out his blaster with a shaking hand. “No, Carniv! Don’t-”

Just as the reptilian smuggler stepped out, ready to dash to where you sat in relative safety, a shock of blaster fire tore through the air. It was so loud, so close, that you shut your eyes and covered your ears with your hands. Dulled but still echoing in your skull, the shots blended into the sound of your pumping blood and pounding heart. However brief the blasts were in reality, it felt like a lifetime until you pried your palms from your ears. Even longer until you opened your eyes.

Warily, you glanced over to the entrance of the alleyway. Carniv no longer stood there and, for a moment, you were hopeful. 

It was only when you glanced down at the well-packed earth did the urge to vomit rise up in your throat. Carniv, his towering, scaly form, was riddled with holes. Steam, smoke, what it was exactly you were too distraught to tell, wafted up from the open wounds. With it the scent of charred flesh carried over and up into the air around you. You pinched your nose shut and tried with all your might to pull your gaze from his body. But the sound of blaster fire still excited the atmosphere of Nevarro and Carniv had found himself victim to it. 

What somehow managed to stay untarnished was Carniv’s blaster. It was only a few precious inches away. One good reach and you could grab it. It was a tempting thought, perhaps too tempting for your own good. Carefully, you peeked over the storage unit you were tucked behind, nose still pinched shut. The warriors, the Mandalorians had turned there attention to different group of pinned smugglers.

One larger one, in blue armor had stopped firing; although his heavy-loaded weapon was still pointed in your direction. Smoke rose from the tip of the huge blaster and it hit you all at once. He had killed Carniv. Though, to you, Carniv had killed himself. The alleyway was the way to safety, you knew that. You had tried to tell him that!

Taking advantage of their distraction, you ducked down and focused on Carniv’s blaster. It was close to his hand but not quite under it. You could reach it. What other choice did you have? Stay where you were, defenseless and waiting to be gunned down did not spark any pleasure in you. No, if you were to get out alive, you would have to fight. 

In a flash, you spread out your arm. Cool against your fingertips, your hand landed on the blaster. As you leaned over to it, you were hit with the copper stink of blood and carbon scoring from missed shots. It didn’t matter though, not as you darted back to your hiding place with the blaster in your hand. You glanced towards the alleyway, your heart pounding at the thought of escape. You were close.

As you tried to gauge how long it would take you to dart into and down the alley, the blaster fire stopped. An eerie silence fell over the settlement. It created the perfect surroundings for you to feel your visceral fear. Your stomach was tight, your hands clammy and your fingers itched to do something. Anything! You weren’t a smuggler or a crook! You had not quarrel with the Mandalorians! You needed to get out of there!

Before you could think clearly, you were standing up and running. For a fleeting second, you felt free. You would survive war yet, this would not be your last stand. For a fleeting second, you felt victorious.

The second later, a burning, furious pain ripped through your leg. With cry, you crumpled to the ground with the top half of your body falling behind the wall of the alleyway. Tears welled up in your eyes as you fought back a scream. With wild kicks, you propelled yourself into the alleyway for better cover. When the shadows covered you completely, you looked down at your leg. Thankfully, in the darkness, it was hard to see how bad it was; you could only feel it. 

“By the Maker,” you hissed, reaching down to feel the edge of the wound. Wet, thick blood coated your fingertips and you pulled your hand back so swiftly it was as if you had touched a still-running engine. In a vain attempt to stifle the pain, you squeezed the handle of Carniv’s blaster. The metal was now warmed by your hand and the pressure did little to dull the searing streaks of pain that raced up and down your leg.

As you wormed around on the ground of the alleyway, blaster fire died out. Once more, that unsettling quiet fell over the settlement, over the alley and filled you with a rebranded fear. You tried to push yourself further down the alley. With each movement, a new wave of pain rushed through your body and a few sharp cries slipped past your lips. 

With a final huff, you laid back against the cold ground. At least the dirt felt cold against your flushed skin, warmed from the heat of battle. Before long, the orange-purple tint in the sky would turn its signature greyish blue and bring Nevarro’s beating fever with it. You cringed at the thought of bleeding out and being left to cook in the alleyway. To die this way…

If I don’t get shot first, you thought dryly.

It were as if fate had been cast against you because in the quiet you could pick up the soft crunch of booted feet against the mushy ground. Sets of two feet, you realized. Sweat slipped down your brow as you tried to prop yourself up on your elbows. As you moved, your fingers tightening around the handle of the blaster, two looming shadows crept into the alley.

“Hold it!” The voice was altered, almost droid-like. Instinctively, you, just barely, lifted the blaster. “Don’t do it.”

With gritted teeth, you pressed the blaster to the ground and stared up at your prospective executioners. One was in bolt-riddled, brown armor the other was lumbering forward in heavy blue armor. Anger ran through you at the sight. You could not, would not, die by their hands; you had survived too much already.

“I don’t work with the Guild,” you snapped, “not a smuggler or hunter.” The two warriors stopped in their tracks. 

“You’re lying,” replied the brown one shortly. The voice was not the one you had heard before. Underneath the brown helmet, you imagined a woman with battle scars. 

“I’m not,” you said, softer than before.

“Get ready to die,” she ordered, raising her blaster and taking a step towards you. Your breath hitched and your grip tightened on the weapon in your hand. You knew you wouldn’t be able to draw fast enough, but it was worth a, literal, shot.

“Stop this,” the blue grumbled. “Look at this one. There’s nothing to them. They’re no hunter, that is clear.”

“Nevarro is home to scum,” the brown one snapped, the blaster’s scope never wavering in its aim on you. Nevarro, home? It didn’t feel like it. 

The blue one, the one with the deeper voice, lifted a hand. He pushed his partners’ blaster down and out of your face. A shaking sigh of relief rattle through your chest. Despite the momentary peace, your body remained tense and ready to fight.

“Go back to the others, tell them we have a civilian.”

“Civilian?!” The warriors, the Mandalorians, stared at each other. “They fired on us, every one of them. Killed us like their Imperial cousins.”

“Does this look like an Imperial to you?” A gloved hand moved out to you, finger extended as the blue-armored Mandalorian pointed at you. “Killing the innocent, that is not The Way.”

Something in his small speech set the brown-armored Mandalorian off. She stomped out of the alleyway, leaving you and the blue one alone. His helmeted head turned to you, the t-shaped visor almost peering into your soul. It was like looking death in the face.

On instinct, you raised the blaster and fired. 

The shot barely moved him. It left a black pot mark in his blue armor before the blaster-bolt lost its power. Your eyes widened and mouth opened in shock. 

“I told you not to do it.” 

You let the blaster fall from your grasp. Suddenly, the pain in your leg was overwhelming and your heart was pounding. Small gasps roared up your throat but no air filled your lungs. Panic, you were feeling pure, unadulterated panic. Before your vision went black, you saw the blue Mandalorian rush towards you, reaching…

You woke with a start. The moment your eyes opened, you jolted with your legs kicking out slightly. A shock of pain, not as powerful as before, run up your leg. You winced, reaching down to peer at your wound. A bacta patch was placed over it, mending your broken flesh.

“It will heal.”

You looked up and saw the blue-armored Mandalorian. Bars, metal and cold looking, nearly blocked your view of him. You were in a cage. Once more, fear rolled through you and you were on your feet. The jail cell was cramped but you could stand and face him. 

“Let me out.”

“You shot me,” the Mandalorian grumbled. “If I let you out, you’ll get killed.” You scowled but knew he was right. The other Mandalorian, the one in brown armor, she wanted to kill in the first place. You turned your back on him and thought back to the shoot down. Carniv.

You spun on your heels and gripped the bars. “You killed my-”

“The Trandoshan. Was he your friend?” You cringed at the word friend but opened your mouth to agree. Then, you thought back to the battle, you remembered Carniv for what it was. He was a smuggler who dealt in spice and bounty hunters. He was partnered with Greef Karga and the Guild, the people the Mandalorian had targeted. 

“No,” you replied softly, “he was...just someone I knew.” The Mandalorian shifted and leaned toward you as you were still pressed against the bars.

“And who are you?”

You stared dead into the t-shaped visor of his helmet. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I asked first,” he snapped. You pulled back from the jail cell bars and shook your head.

“Well, then, I guess this interrogation is getting no where fast, huh?” The Mandalorian remained close to the bars, watching you watch him. 

“Who said this was an interrogation?” You swallowed hard and shifted on your feet nervously. What was his game?

“I’m in a jail cell,” you said, the statement almost sounding like a question. “What else could this be?”

“Protection. Now, who are you?” He pressed it again and you stepped back unconsciously. “If you’re not an Imperial or a smuggler or a bounty hunter, who are you?”

“Nothing worth sharing,” you snapped, still stepping back into the depths of your cell. Your open palms pressed against the sandy walls of structure. 

“I doubt that,” the Mandalorian replied, not missing a beat. You felt your breath leave you at his words. “Who are you?”

“Y/N.” The Mandalorian stepped back from the bars and you watched his shoulder relax. The heavy armor around his neck knocked together. “I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he echoed your name and it sounded strangely nice coming from under the Mandalorian’s helmet. “You don’t have anywhere to go? No one to miss you?”

“Well, that’s personal,” you countered. The Mandalorian shifted and leaned towards you to enforce his point. “No, I don’t.”

“There is no limit to the age of foundlings,” the Mandalorian stepped aside and you lost sight of his visor, of him. “If you leave this cell you can leave free or as a member of the Mandalorian creed. The choice is yours.”

“What?” The Mandalorian stayed silent and you moved inside your cell to meet his eye line. “What do you mean?”

“You could be something more,” the Mandalorian said, “you showed courage on the battle field. We need more like you.” He stepped away before falling quiet. You let yourself ingest his words, your eyes never leaving the man’s visor. Your legs ached slightly and you had to shift your weight to get comfortable again. Though, it was impossible to get comfortable. You had been running all your life. Maybe it was time to stop.

“How do I get out of here?”

“You know The Way.” You cocked your head to the side and met the Mandalorian’s gaze. You couldn’t see his eyes but you could feel them. It was a test. He was pushing you, making you run one last time. Maybe with the Mandalorian’s there would be more fighting than the war with the Empire and the Rebellion. Or maybe, it was the chance at another life.

“I know The Way,” you murmured and stepped out of the shadows. Limping forward, you extended your hand and pressed your palm against the metal bar door. With a little push, the door swung open. You took a step out and felt your wounded leg buckle.

You fell to the ground, or at least you almost did. Two strong hands caught you and pulled you back up to your feet. Your hands, shaking slightly, gripped at the coolled, blue armor of the Mandalorian that saved you, that offered you a new life. 

You looked up into his t-shaped visor and you could feel his eyes again. They were softer now, not as calculating as it was before. 

“Welcome home, Y/N.”

And, for the first time since you landed on Nevarro years ago, it felt like you were truly home. Or maybe it was because you were in his arms. You weren’t sure but you were ready to find out. 

[auty-ren]

Hi! May I please request 66: “I’m going to keep you safe.” with Paz? Thank you!! ❤️

@starflyer-104 also asked: "can I request some Paz fluff? I just want him to hold me in his big ol arms and be soft and tell me he loves me (it’s sad bitch hours over here). Also I love you and your writing 🤍"

A/N: Thank you both for sending these in! Hope you don't mind I decided to combine them. I love Paz and I feel like he doesn't get enough attention. Enjoy💕

Warnings: Mentions of sex. Hurt. Comfort. Fluff. Slight smut.

Alone

He never questioned when you barge into his room in the middle of the night, still shaking and breathless from the aftershocks of a nightmare. This wasn't the first time you had sought him out, both of you had made an unhealthy habit of releasing tension by fucking it out of each other.

The first time it happened was unintentional, but when you found yourself in the middle of Paz’s room, staring at him as he waited for an answer, you realized you wanted nothing more than to feel him. You wanted him to melt away every ounce of hurt you were feeling with his touch, and he was more than happy to oblige. He served as a distraction, temporarily relieving your mind and body of stress and worry. When he was inside you it was the closest thing you felt to bliss, the rock of his hips served as a gateway to a haven that was entirely too intoxicating. He was addicting, which was why you kept coming to him night after night, hoping to forget.

You crossed the threshold of his room, whispering his name and slinking under the sheets of his bed to lay beside him. He just wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tight against him.

“Don't cry, Mesh'la.”

You hadn't even noticed you were crying, too focused on finding Paz to even process what you were thinking. A sob escaped your lips and you buried your face into his chest. He ran his fingers through your hair, coaxing you until your breathing evened out. There was no need to ask what was wrong, he had this sixth sense that allowed him to see straight through any facade you could conceive. It's part of the reason you hated him, it was so easy for him to understand and it infuriated you. Maybe because you desperately needed a reason to hate him, but he never could provide one.

“I'm going to keep you safe.” He whispered a promise he had made to you many times before and never once failed to keep.

You felt more tears well in your eyes again, but not from fear or panic. You had really done nothing in your life to deserve Paz. He was nothing but kind to you and never asked for anything in return. You felt yourself fall for him more and more each day and it made your heartache. You longed to be in his arms even when you didn't have a nightmare. After bringing each other to the brink of oblivion, you lay beside him wishing you could stay but never did. If you let yourself be consumed by him -if you stayed and allowed yourself to be so vulnerable with him- there would be no turning back. There were times when you thought it possible, that your relationship could be more than a way of carnal release. Sometimes you dreamt that maybe he wanted the same thing from you, but you didn't dwell on those thoughts for too long, afraid you'd just end up hurting yourself. You knew it was never meant to be, so you took these moments together and cherished them with every part of your being. Storing them away in the far corners of your mind and reliving them when the loneliness was too much to handle.

You pulled away from him, bringing your face to be level with his. With the dim light of his bedroom, you could barely make out his features, just a breath away from yours. He moved his hand away from your back to cradle the side of your face, his other wrapping around your middle and rubbing circles into your back. His hands were warm and comforting, you felt yourself melt into his touch, your eyes slipping closed as he brushed away the tears that slid across your cheek.

“You'll never be alone again.”

“Don't,” you squeezed your eyes, more tears threatening to fall from the implication of his words, as you pulled away slightly from his grip. He was just trying to comfort you, but you wouldn't allow him to lie so blatantly, no matter how much you craved for him to say it.

“Not unless you mean it.”

He was taken aback, the softness in his eyes turning sharp as he looked at you. His brows knitted slightly in concentration, his eyes darting across your face.

“Of course I mean it.”

He didn't wait for you to respond, his lips crashed into yours with a hunger that was incorporeal to any other time he kissed you. He pulled you impossibly close, his entire being enveloping you in his warmth. His hand moved to the back of your head, his kiss deepening as he held you against him.

Your hands finally reached out to touch him, your fingers tracing lightly across his chest, nails scratching lightly against his skin. He groaned and maneuvered you to lay on your back, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress. Settled in between your legs, his hips slotted against yours as he ground into you. His hands traveled down to grip your calves, hitching your legs to rest around his waist. You broke the kiss as a moan erupted in your throat, his lips moving to suck on that heavenly spot where your jaw met your neck.

“Promise?” You whispered into the skin of his shoulder, your arms wrapping around his neck.

His actions stopped for a moment as you held him, your fingers moving to thread through his hair. He moved his face away from your neck, his nose nuzzling into your cheek.

“So long as I live and breathe, Mesh'la.”

Taglist:

@on-the-razor-crest @readsalot73 @roxypeanut @ben-is-a-hoe @vintage-silk @talesfromtheguild

(Let me know if you want to be added or removed💕)

[honestlywrites]

Clan of Three | Chapter Six (Din Djarin x Mando!Reader)

Summary: Bounty hunting soon becomes an enjoyable profession as you find yourself wanting to take on jobs without the help of your companion. This proves to be a more difficult endeavor as you get injured on the job, coming back to the Mandalorian in a state of disarray.

A/N: Canon typical violence, including descriptions of blood and wound cauterization. 

Clan of Three Masterlist

-

Bounty hunting soon grew to become a likable job, it was muscle memory the more jobs you took on. The same type of people consistently appeared in the cache of bounties, an array of bail jumpers, and wanted criminals. Any fears and hesitancy toward the life of bounty hunting were far gone which made your life much easier. Your relationship with your fellow Mandalorian still continues to be very much stagnant, though, mostly from the two of you still lacking the trust and ability to open up. It became a routine.

The Mandalorian would go into Nevarro to turn in your current bounties and to accept new ones. He would then return back to the Razor Crest and the two of you would shoot off into space on the search for the next bounties. At least you were able to explore the galaxy much more than before, seeing planets and experiencing new cultures. Whenever you were not hunting for bounties, you were in the marketplace, looking for items to spruce up the ship. There was a small bedroom just off the cockpit reserved for the pilot and the two of you switched off when you were in hyperspace to catch some sleep. You find new blankets in the market and buy them to replace the thin sheet that provides little to no warmth in the cold reaches of space. The marketplace also supplies you with rations and drink, both of which you would consume during your private time. It seemed so odd to not eat with your counterpart, but the action had become so normal with this way of life that you thought nothing of it. 

During one round of bounties, you find two criminals in the same city, probably entertaining black market deals and illegal gambling. This prompts you to ask the Mandalorian for the chance to search for a bounty by yourself for the first time.

“I’ll take one and you can take the other,” you state, taking a look at the fobs laid out in front of you. The silence of your partner makes you glance up at him, watching in anticipation.

“Are you sure?” he asks and you can feel his gaze boring into your helmet as if he could actually see your face rather than the exterior of your Beskar.  

“I found two bounties by myself before we were partners, I think I can handle one spice runner,” you tilt your chin boldly, taking the tracking fob in your hand to slide into one of your holster pockets. 

“You got lucky,” the amusement oozes off of the man in front of you and you can tell there is a slight smile on his lips from the tone of his voice.

“You just don’t want to admit that I’m as good as you,” you smile and take a few blasters off the wall to slide into the remainder of your holsters, opting to forgo your compound blaster due to the shorter ranges that you would be dealing with. The Mandalorian in front of you remains silent, slightly shaking his head as he lets out a small laugh. Once the two of you are ready, the ramp opens up and you part ways.

“The last one back gets pilot duty,” you state and watch as he takes off into the city, disappearing into the crowd. Following behind him, you split off down a series of alleyways that would funnel into the opening of the underground tunnel system. There, various illegal activities occur and you assume this is where your spice runner would be looking for his next opportunity.

Once you find an entrance, you slip into the tunnels swiftly, attempting to move with enough confidence to fit into the scene. When you enter, you notice that surrounding you there are various groups of people gathering. A fighting pit here and a game of Sabbac there, the amount of criminals gathering could not be counted on both of your hands combined. You decide not to pull out your tracking fob in the open for everyone to see, settling on the slow surveillance of the underground life. The bounty was a Trandoshan man, wanted for illegally selling spice to be transformed into recreational drugs rather than medicine.

The flow of the space makes it easy to get lost and there was a lot of entertainment to be found in the underground. It does not stop people from staring, though, and you fear that your position may be compromised through the spread of your presence in this area. Slipping into an alcove, you take the fob out to examine your proximity to the target. The red light flashes quickly and you assume that you are close. Promptly, you slip the fob back into a hidden pocket and continue to make rounds through the underground area. When you find yourself lurking around the Twi’leks, you find the man you are looking for. You try not to make a direct path to him out of excitement, but you slowly wiggle through the crowd and arrive at the couch where the Trandoshan appears to be entertaining a cluster of female Twi’leks.

“A Mandalorian. Didn’t know there were any of you still around,” the man comments and you remain silent, standing in front of the bounty where he sits behind a table. “A female one at that. Do your people reproduce?”

He looks you up and down and it takes all your willpower not to reach across the table and punch the teeth out of his mouth. The women around him giggle and you reach into your pocket and slam the puck onto the table, an image of the man appearing in the air.

“A bounty hunter? Well, you picked the wrong smuggler,” he instantly reaches for a blaster underneath the table and takes a cheap shot at you, the bolt shooting past you and burning a mark in your side. You let out a hiss of pain but do not hesitate to shoot your grapple at the man as he attempts to escape. Pressing the button, your vambrace reels him back in and you clamp a pair of binders onto his arms. 

Helping him to his feet, you are now painfully aware of the crowd that has seemed to gather around you. Pushing through, you hold the bounty’s arm in one hand and press down on your wound with the other. You make quick work of getting out of the tunnels, finding your way back to the Razor Crest quick enough. The wound continues to bleed and your mind blurs as the sun beams down, making you sweat in your layers of armor and clothing. When you arrive, your partner sits on a crate at the top of the ramp and you feel the arrogance coming off him in waves. Yet, the loss of blood makes your vision blur and you stumble onto the ramp. Instantly, the Mandalorian is on his feet, making his way down to you and the bounty.

“Shit,” he mutters when he sees the blood glistening on your gloves, grabbing the bounty and shoving him into a carbon freezer before tending to you. You found a seat on the crate that once occupied your partner, attempting to make quick work of the armor that seems to weigh you down. The ramp closes in front of you and you let out a sigh of relief when the rays of light stop attacking you with heat. 

“Do you have bacta?” you ask, the sweat dripping down your forehead and into your eyes. The temptation to rip your helmet off is strong so that you can wipe the salty droplets out of your eyes but you cannot in the presence of another.

“No,” he responds, wrapping an arm around you when you stand to move. 

“I’ll have to cauterize it then,” you state and move to a panel in the ship where you know there is a string of wires that you can attach to a soldering iron. 

“Stop, let me,” the Mandalorian sits you down on a stray crate, quickly opening the side of the ship to attach two ends of a circuit to a soldering iron. You grab the tool out of your partner’s hand, moving to begin to cauterize the wound when you shake out of fear, the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“I can’t do it, you’ll have to,” you hold the tool out to him and he gingerly takes it from you, holding it near your wound. He hesitates, looking up at you as you feel tears escape your eyes from anticipation. 

“Just do it!” you practically scream the words out and take your glove off to shove in your mouth to quiet your whimpers. The pain is gutwrenching, making you bite down onto the soft leather of your glove. Never before had you experienced such horrible pain, not since the Great Purge. Flashes of imperial stormtroopers play in your head, marching on your home and destroying everything in sight. Your buir screams your name as the enemy freely shoots, getting you in your leg. She takes you in her arms and runs to the ships, making an effort to escape the chaos with others of your kind. The memory plays like a dream as your limbs grow heavy, your eyes fluttering shut as you succumb to the lull of unconsiousness. 

Waking up in the bedroom jars you as you sit up and wince at the pain in your side. You could hear the silence of hyperspace and assume that the Mandalorian took off after you had passed out. Slowly, you get up from the bed and notice your lack of armor. It sits in a pile in a corner of the room and you smile and the gesture of him not wanting you to be uncomfortable as you slept. A warmth appears in your chest and you can only describe it as a yearning for whatever the relationship was growing to be. The fear that he might have looked at your face while you were asleep lingers in the air but you know that he would never do so, especially because he too understands the creed. At least, this is what you hope to be true. 

The increasing sentiment that grows between you and your partner continues to become an issue that you do not know how to navigate, you have not known friendship since Princess Illena but even that was prompted because of the nature of your job at the time. This experience is different because of how much you both know and do not know about each other. The two of you understand the creed, the way of life that you both adhere to but beyond this, you can only begin to put together the pieces of his personality and experiences. Your mind runs rampant and you decide to escape the darkness of the room for the companionship of your fellow Mandalorian. Standing from the bed is a slow process and you gently press your hand to your wound as pain shoots through your side. Slowly moving out of the small room and into the cockpit, the door slides open and you smile as the Mandalorian turns in his chair.

“You’re awake,” he muses and you nod, moving to sit in the co-pilot seat. There is silence as the two of you stare at each other, unfamiliar with the fondness and intimacy you had experienced.

“Thank you for doing that,” you state and sigh, looking out as the stars streak past in lines of light.

“Of course, you would do the same for me,” he turns to man the ship once again and you feel the conversation come to an end, sitting in the comfortable silence that you had grown accustomed to. “You had me worried for a moment, there,”

The words come out in a soft mutter and you think that you imagined them somehow, but find a growing warmth in your chest that had not been there before. 

“I’m stronger than I look,” you smile and he turns to look at you, hesitant to explore this newfound friendship.

“I know that now.”

[maul-antics]

Summary - On an island in the middle of the sea on a water planet, Din hears something that changes his view on Paz Vizla.

[maul-antics]

Summary - Paz through a series of actions ends up back in time where the Clone Wars was in full swing. Only he doesn't know that and is trying to get his husband's child back so that they can reunite.

[maul-antics]

Summary - Paz through a series of actions ends up back in time where the Clone Wars was in full swing. Only he doesn't know that and is trying to get his husband's child back so that they can reunite.

[certifiedskywalker]

Okay, so I’m working on a Paz Vizla request and another Din Djarin one; but I want to be able to each one justice.

So I’ll be posting one of the requests I have done already and a spare draft I’ve been sitting on, on Friday. Sorry for the wait if you requested one of the two things I’m working on. I want to flesh them out for you all!