#paz visla x reader

[0funkyducky0]

𐐪𐑂 Paz Visla 𐐪𐑂

𐐪𐑂 Smut 💕 - 𐐪𐑂 Fluff 💝

[lesbii-enne]

Di’kut

(Part three)

I am so sorry, this is taking a lot longer than expected.

Part one: Part two:

Translations below

“I appreciate the hospitality of your covert but I do have a job I must get back to. Hod knows if Jawas stripped my ship already.”

I said to the armorer.

She nodded but insisted I stay the night as it was becoming dark. I agreed to stay the night and she summoned alor Vizsla to show me to my temporary quarters.

Neither of us talked as we walked the way to my quarters, once we made it I thanked him. He simply nodded and left, I opened the door walking into the undecorated small dormitory.

Locking the door behind me I began to strip my armor off of my body. I saw another door in the small room, opening it there was a small small washroom equipped with a small tub. Stripping my flight suit I turned the water on and slipped in the warm water soothed my aching muscles. Taking my helmet off and setting it beside the tub I began to wash up, soon after I put a clean set of clothes on.

Dimming the lights I sat on the cot, thinking about all that has transpired today I soon felt tired and laid down, falling asleep quickly.

Waking up I felt a familiar dull ache, it did in fact hurt like Mustafar. Pulling on my flight suit and attaching my armor I made sure to tidy the room before leaving. Walking the halls of the caverns I made my way to the forge. Seeing the Armorer already working, I stood by. Soon enough she put her work aside and turned to me.

“I thank you for your hospitality and kindness, but I must get back to work.”

I bowed my head and turned to take my leave.

“Wait.”

I paused and turned back to face the Armorer.

“You are a mechanic are you not? We have use for your skills if you will have us. We will compensate you handsomely and you will be treated with utmost respect.”

I took a moment to think, I could stay and be with my kind once again, have my work respected, and finally have a home. However, I would lose the excitement and thrill of traveling to far off planets seeing so many beautiful sights.

“I have made my decision, I will stay and work for the covert under one condition-”

She cut me off

“You will be free to leave the covert on trips for most anything.”

She nearly read my mind.

I bowed my head once again and said

“Thank you for accepting me into the covert and for this opportunity.”

She nodded.

“Have you any experience in repairing and cleaning weapons as well?”

“I do.”

“Excellent, your help will certainly take some of the stress off of some of the other mandalorians.”

What I didn’t know was that ‘some of the other mandalorians’ was the one and only alor Vizsla.

Several cycles passed since had decided to stay and work for the covert. You were nearly always covered in grease, grime, and oil. alor Vizsla had begun to warm up to me; acknowledging me when I entered a room, letting me clean some of his grimy weapons when they started to work improperly, and allowing me to call him by his first name; Paz.

After working nearly all day on most of the coverts’ weapons including Paz’s overly large and weighted blaster my back was aching. Crazy enough but sitting hunched over a desk cleaning and maintaining weapons all day really makes your body ache. Rolling my shoulders for what felt like the twelfth time in a row on the way back to my dormitory ,I arrived. Walking into the washroom I drew the bath water and began to strip my armor off; my cuirass, pauldrons, shin guards, and other miscellaneous parts, laying them gently under the vanity. Peeling my sweat drenched flightsuit I made my way into the bubble filled tub. Getting ready to take my helmet off I hear the door to the bathroom open. Snapping my head towards the door I saw alor Paz Vizsla. He didn’t move, quickly realizing what had happened he adverted his gaze. I spoke up.

“I will be out in a minute please close the door.”

He swiftly turned away and left, leaving me alone with my thoughts as I removed my helmet and finished bathing. Quickly throwing on slightly more appropriate attire I stepped out of the washroom with my helmet on my head. He stood in the middle of my dormitory looking at his shoes. He heard the door open and slowly looked back up. Stepping out into the halls, he said

“The Armorer requests your presence.”

I nod to him and he begins to walk alongside me. After a painful silence he says

“You’re a woman?”

I tilt my head at him

“Yes, I figured you would have realized rather quickly.”

He said nothing further the rest of the walk, arriving at the forge I walked in

“You needed to see me?”

I said, she turned around with a case of whistling birds

“Yes, while overseeing the target range I heard of a few faulty whistling birds, would you mind taking a look at them for me? The foundlings are to start practice with them soon.”

She spoke

“Oh course, I can take them to the workshop and examine them now if you don’t mind.”

She agreed and thanked me

I took the case in my hands and headed to the workshop. Paz accompanied me to the workshop, making sure I arrived he turned and left to his dormitory not far from the workshop. Observing the weapons for quite some time I couldn’t find anything wrong with it. So, testing it was my next step. Putting the vambrace on, I aimed and fired. As quick as I fired I let out a scream.

The whistling bird wasn’t able to shoot out as it was intended to instead it went the only other way it could go; into my arm. Blood began to seep into the fabric of my shirt. Pulling the vambrace off I could see scorch marks and a hole in the clothing and my arm.

The door slammed open as I stood there holding my arm in pain, Paz Vizsla stood in the doorway, he rushed over to me and took hold, albeit more gently this time, of my arm. Sitting me down on the work table he quickly got gauze, forceps, and bacta-spray from an aid kit. Using the forceps he pulled the painful piece of beskar from my forearm, wincing as he did so he set it aside and whispered to me

“Gar atin’la cyar’ika, gar tayli’bac.”

I recognized most of the words, one I couldn’t quite remember

‘You’re tough —- , you’re okay.’

Pulling the cap off of the bacta-spray he dressed my wound, I clenched my teeth. Once he had finished with my arm he insisted he take over and work on the whistling birds. I tried to protest but he demanded I not work on them any further. I obeyed but refused to leave the workshop, we stayed in the workshop throughout the night and well into the early hours of the morning.

I eventually fell asleep on the counter of the workshop with my helmet still on. Waking up a few hours later I noticed a small bit of extra weight on my back, lifting my head up I noticed it was animal furs. It was rather warm but I didn’t own any animal furs. Looking over I saw Paz still working on the whistling birds. We’re these furs his? He noticed that I was awake and nodded to me.

My face felt suddenly hot, odd. Getting up I stretched and made my way over to Paz I said

“Thank you Paz, you really didn’t have to do this for me.”

He faltered for just a moment and shook his head to me, I assumed he meant ‘no problem’

I figured I may as well bring him food as he helped me out the night before. Warming up a stew in the dorms was harder than you’d think. Walking back to the workshop people started to stir awake, it must have been later in the morning than I realized.

Stepping into the shop I see Paz still working on one of the last whistling birds. Setting the stew down he looked up at me and said

“Thank you cyar’ika.”

My face went hot for a moment again, what did that word mean again?

“Was that an insult?”

I asked

He looked back up at me and said

“What?”

“Look it’s been a while since I’ve seen or been around other mandalorians, I can’t remember some words, I remember the basics, some words have just been lost to time.”

I laughed nervously, soon after I left to go back to my dorm. Trying to collect my thoughts I paced around the room

‘What is wrong with me?’

‘Am I attracted to Paz?’

I thought

‘Oh no, this is not good.’

‘I should distance myself until I figure out what is going on.’

For the next few cycles I tried my best to avoid alor Paz. Working during the night instead of the day, staying in my room for most everything other than reporting to the Armorer. I tried everything to dissuade myself from him, but I couldn’t seem convince myself that I wasn’t attracted to him.

I groaned into my cot, getting up I would continue to work during the night. It was almost dawn when I left the workshop to head to my dormitory, when I suddenly had my back pressed to the walls of the cavern. Looking up I saw the familiar blue of Alor Paz’s beskar helmet.

“Why are you avoiding me, Verde?”

I swallowed

He leaned his helmet closer to mine, pressing the front of his helmet to mine trapping me in a keldabe kiss. My face ran hot once again, He pulled back.

“I apologize for that, that was inappropriate of me.”

He paused

“Why are you avoiding me cyar’ika?”

There was that word again, I mustered up my courage and said

“I believe I may be attracted to you.”

I realized my words and quickly sputtered out

“ I am sorry I shouldn’t have said that.”

He cleared his throat awkwardly

“Do not worry, that certainly makes things easier.”

Quickly he produced a blue pauldron, the same color as his own armor, from a pocket of sorts.

“I would like to begin courting you, if you’ll allow me to. As a sign of my devotion I offer you a new pauldron with my clan signet.”

I looked at him in shock quietly whispering out

“Yes, I ,, I would appreciate that.”

Heyy, it’s finally done! Look at that I’m so productive! Possibly more to come in the future like the armorer.

Translations:

alor: leader, boss, basically anyone of higher ‘rank’ than oneself

Gar atin’la cyar’ika, gar tayli’bac: you’re tough darling, you’re okay

Cyar’ika: darling

[sprout-fics]

I know you’re not thinking about Paz right now, but I reread Reverence for like the thousandth time now so I’m gonna throw this NSFW Saturday Thot at you so it gets out of my brain—

Paz’s bride in Reverence was a virgin— and since mandos typically try to avoid divorce; Paz isn’t just her first, but he’ll be her only. Which means 2 things.

1. That notion alone, of being the only person she’ll ever be with, feeds a million desires for him— it’s something primal, possessive and loving.

2. When it comes to literally any sexual activity, he’s going to have to teach her/they learn together, which again, feeds into some unintelligible primal feelings for him. The moment she’d ask to blow him for the first time he’d absolutely lose his mind.

The main point is, there are many firsts they get to experience together, which by itself is already profound and beautiful. But, it also made me think of the other side of that sort of dynamic— just how vulnerable it makes someone— having to entrust their entire breadth of experiences in another person, in the hopes that they have your best interests in mind— BUT also how you’ve written this man to show how good he is, how trustworthy and safe he could be, so much so that that vulnerability can offer intimacy rather than insecurity.

Just. Outstanding. Truly. You’re very good at writing these nuanced relationship dynamics.

Anyway, apologies for that out-of-pocket nonsense; I think about these metal men too much

Did not expect to tear up on this fine Saturday morning but here we are.

Anon I could write essays on these two, mainly because Reverence is a reflection on how I wished my first time could have gone (sans the arranged marriage part) and having a partner who is so open, so gentle, so patient and tender with you that it makes my heart bleed warmth.

Paz has so many feelings about his wife. Guilt over her not entirely having a choice, regret that he didn't properly court her first, that she didn't get to have many experiences before they married. Yet he adores her more than he can manage, more than there are stars in the sky. He wants to do anything and everything for her, and that primarily includes ensuring he's completely and totally receptive to her pleasure.

You're totally right though, man definitely has a virgin kink when it comes to his riduur. The idea that he's the first and only person to touch her life that does indeed make something primal in him go absolutely buck wild. She's so innocent and untouched that every time they're together is a new experience for her and he literally has to restrain himself from going wild at that thought. At the same time he's endlessly gentle with her when she wants to try new things. There's something about her shyness that makes him want to protect her, cherish her, hold her down by her hips and go to town on her pussy for days until she can only remember his name and then cuddle her

I just...have so many feelings about this series it's difficult to put into words. Paz is over the moon for his wife, and as scary and battle hardened as he is he's still unbelievably gentle with her, to the point where it brings me to tears. He's her only, he's her safety, her protector, her lover, her beloved, her riduur.

[ramblers-lets-get-ramblin]

Fic Recs: "Special" Edition

All of these recs are crossovers, have multiple pairings, or group...stuff

As always, you are 100% responsible for the media you consume. Please check warnings before proceeding

Waiting Game (oneshot) din djarin x f!reader x ezra- by @northernbluess

Muddy Waters (series, ongoing) Joel x f!reader x ezra- by @bonezone44

Sharing Is Caring (oneshot) Frankie x f!reader x santi- by @walkintotheriveranddisappear

If You Wanna Be Wild (series, ongoing) javi p x f!reader x santi- by @romanarose

Catalyst (series, ongoing) Frankie x f!reader x Joel- by @ezrasbirdie

Caught On (series) Frankie x f!reader x santi- by @something-tofightfor

Homecoming (series) Frankie x f!reader x santi- by @astroboots

What Happens on Coruscant, Stays on Coruscant (series, complete) Din Djarin x Cassian Andor x Poe Dameron x f!reader- by @beskarandblasters

Friendly Competition (series, complete) Triple Frontier Boys x f!reader- by @absurdthirst & @storiesofthefandomlovers

Do I Really Have To Chart The Constellations In His Eyes? (mini series, complete) frankie x f!reader x Santi- by @moonknightly

Push & Shove (one shot) frankie x f!reader x Santi- by @ozarkthedog

Better Than A Date (one shot) frankie x f!reader x Santi- by @absurdthirst & @wardenparker

Lever de Soleil Cerise Mûre (mini series, complete) Din Djarin x f!reader x Paz Visla x Boba Fett- by killerbananas on a03

Me’dinuir (Share) (one shot) Din Djarin x f!reader x Paz Visla- by @absurdthirst

As always this list is ongoing. Feel free to recommend any fics you'd like to see on the list or any others!

[corrupt-fvcker]

All Cuffed Up (Paz Vizsla x fem!Reader)

All Cuffed Up ( Paz Vizsla x fem!Reader )

Warnings: explicit, fingering, bondage, blindfold, brat!reader, naughty words

Word Count: 2.2K

Author’s Note: me? write paz smut instead of working? no, no... well, maybe.

"Up." It was a demand, undebatable. And it should've annoyed you, you wanted it to annoy you because you weren't some obedient toy that he could play with whenever he pleased. You were more dangerous than him, and somehow even more stubborn. But despite the lingering sense of defiance the nagged at your brain, the words melted from your mind as soon as you felt the pressure of his rough palms, dragging you up the mattress when you hesitated longer than he would've liked.

The skin of your clammy back stuck to the fitted sheet clinging to the mattress, the fabric consequently being tugged along with you as the bottom left corner became unhinged.

The back of your skull met the pliable pillows, sinking somewhat into the plush material as Paz claimed both of your wrists in one palm, twisting them above your head as they met the coolness of the headboard.

His body cast a large shadow over you as he leaned forward, looming over you as he diligently latched your left wrist to the headboard with a sharp click of the cuffs. Magma-hot arousal flooded over you, clouding your mind and twisting your stomach, your breaths emerging in short pants as the sound of the metal colliding with wood echoed in your ears.

"Good girl," he rasped contently as he snapped your other wrist in place, the rumbling of his modulator causing another wave of want to overwhelm your trembling body. He leaned back on his knees, the mattress shifting under his weight as his visor focused on you.

You were so fucked.

You quirked an eyebrow, your eyes narrowing into a glare that rivaled the burning of his gaze. The insult of calling him a kriffing bastard threatening to spill from your lips as the curse danced temptingly on your tongue.

"One more thing," he purred, snaking his hand around the crook your neck and he carefully lifted your head off the pillow.

The world was suddenly concealed in darkness, the thick fabric of a blindfold fastened around your head to shield your eyes. Quickly following your loss of sight, you could hear Paz discard his helmet, the equipment hissing before thumping to the ground. A breath hitched in your throat at the lack of sight, Paz's surprisingly soft lips meeting your earlobe.

"You've been a brat," he spoke lowly, his breath fanning over the shell of your ear.

Fuck, you wanted to hate him. But that never stopped a single sweet moan from slipping through your parted lips. Needy and desperate, an embarrassingly as well as unintentional high-pitched whine that forced its way from your throat.

"Needy thing," he rumbles smugly, his head dipping down for his lips to meet the soft skin of your neck, his teeth nipping at the flesh until your hips jerked up in a frantic attempt to meet him. "Stay still," he orders, his lips moving against your skin. An unspoken threat of stopping attached to his demand, his tongue darting out to trace the column of your throat to emphasize his point.

His hand wanders up your body, running over your stomach and through the valley of your breasts before tightening around your throat, hands warm compared to the cooling trail of saliva he had left on your neck. His grip isn't alarming, though it's snug and firm, forcing you to stay still.  

You could feel his hungry gaze wandering over your exposed form, your modesty only being protected by a lacey bra and panties. His hand drops from your neck, sliding down to hook his fingers under the fabric of your bra before ripping it off your trembling form.

He's draped over you, his body shielding you as his head drops even lower. His calloused hand reaches up to grope the flesh of your chest, fingers rough in comparison to your soft skin. His breath ghosts over your nipple, already hard from the cool air of the hotel. His mouth is deliciously warm, his tongue flicking over the hardened bud. Another moan is ripped from your throat, unable to stop your hips from jolting up to meet his. You can feel his aching cock, still restrained in the confinements of his trousers before his hand forcefully pushes your arching hips to mattress with unforgiving strength.

"What did I say?" Paz taunted, his lips parting from your skin, drawing a frustrated sigh from you.

Kriffing bastard.

"To stay still," you breathed out through pants, chest heaving as you struggled to draw air into your lungs. You wanted to tear out of these cuffs and tell him to go fuck himself, but fuck, he was going to kill you. "Paz, I need-- oh, fuck."

He rolls his hips against you, the length of his aching erection rubbing against your core, the thin panties sticking to your skin from arousal. He pulls back sharply, depriving you with ease as you strained against the metal cuffs.

You whined, forgetting your shame as your eyes squinted shut, the blindfold soaked with unwilling tears.

Paz lifted a hand to cradle your face, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your cheekbone. "Pretty girl," he coos, his chest vibrating with each syllable. "Use your words."

"Touch me," you gasp, quickly stumbling over your words to correct yourself. "Please touch me. I need... I need--"

"I know," he utters, his voice almost soft if it wasn't for the teasing undertones. He leans forward and his hand tilts your chin up, sucking wet open-mouth kisses along your neck and collar, appreciating the hasty rising and falling of your chest.

You whine, your muscles straining as you force yourself to stay still. "I'm sorry," you slur desperately, willing to give him anything he wants as long as he gives you what you need. "I'm so sorry. I won't do it again, I swear."

Your intentions were never to piss Paz off when you openly flirted with a bartender with the hopes of scoring a free drink. You thought he wouldn't mind anyway, money was a little tight and you hadn't pegged Paz as the jealous type-- which was apparently your first mistake.

"I know," Paz repeats nonchalantly, his lips still sucking dark marks into the skin of your neck. You groan, entire body shaking as another wave of frustrated tears flood your eyes. Paz murmurs softly into the crook of your neck, something about you being pretty that doesn't fully register in your scattered mind.

"Paz, please," you try again, begging. "I won't do it again. I know I'm yours, only yours."

You swear you hear his breath stutter, but he recovers so quickly that you think that you could've been imagining it.

"So needy," Paz sighs, though his fingers follow the curves of your torso before nudging at the waistband of your lace panties.

Touch me, you silently beg.

But instead, Paz tugs the panties down the length of your legs. You instinctively flinch, his rough palms meeting the skin of your thighs as he gently pries your legs apart.

Fuck, your pussy is throbbing for attention.

"Whose are you?"

You whine at he continues to neglect your needs, entire body thrumming with want as you force the words from your lips, telling him what he wants to hear. "Yours, Paz. I'm yours," you promise in a broken voice between pants.

That seemed to be enough to sedate him, his fingers dipping into the heat of your core, dragging out a few sweet careless moans from your parted lips. The coil of heat in your belly winds impossibly tighter as his fingers continue their assault, pumping in and out of you with sinful sounds while you moan out his name with each breath. The fire inside you flares up and spreads throughout your entire body like a wildfire, your muscles tensing and your walls clenching around his two fingers as you seek out the release you so desperately need--

And then he rips away from you, robbing you of the pleasure of cumming. Even through thick tears and the foggy haze of your mind, your lips part to whine out a complaint, but then he flips you over. Your wrists are both still restrained by the cool metal of the handcuffs, which were kinked in an awkward angle now that you've been rotated to get on all fours.

Paz's hand pushes down on your back, arching you up for the plush of your ass to meet his hips as your face meets the bed. His hand shifts to rest between your shoulder blades, stifling your squirming as his free hand swats the meat of your ass. It's sharp and biting, but you can't help but allow a needy moan to heave from your chest.

You whimper out his name, pleading. "Please."

Paz growls, the feral sound rumble through his chest as you hear him push his trousers down his thighs. You gasp as you feel the tip of his cock prod at your entrance before he pushes into your soaking pussy. You mewl at the intrusion, crying out when he bottoms out, feeling deliciously full as he stretches you.

"Mine," he groans, so faint that you think he's speaking to himself. Though nevertheless, your heart flutters before lurching when Paz nearly completely pulls out with a wet sound before he starts fucking you hard and strong.

His hand on your back is pushing down, almost his entire weight driving down to settle between your shoulder blades, nearly suffocating you as he sets an unforgiving pace. He's slamming into you, his hips ramming into the plush of your ass so fiercely that it hurts, but you can only focus on his cock rubbing against your g-spot with every thrust.

"So tight," Paz grits through rhythmic slapping of his hips. "Take me so well."

You want to moan out in unadulterated bliss, but you only have enough air to whimper out a single word.

"Harder," you gasp, fingers curling into your palms to form crescent-shaped indentations. Your eyes euphorically roll into the back of your skull, your lips parted as small airy moans puff through your mouth with each thrust.

Your body tenses and you squeeze, Paz suddenly lurching forward harder and deeper than before. Several incoherent sounds tumble through his lips as his hand traveled higher to claim your hair, fisting it in your messy locks.

A strangled cry left you, climbing dangerously close to the high you had been chasing after ever since Paz cuffed your hands to the bed. Your eyelids squeezed shut in ecstasy as your nails dug even deeper into your palms.

"I'm gonna-- I'm gonna cum," you warn, walls squeezing tightly around his cock.

Paz grunts, your words only spurring him on. "Make it good for me, sweet girl."

"F-fuck," you stammer, the clenching sensation in your walls borderline painful as you violently came undone, shaking and stuttering. Your back arching, his grip on your hair tightening as you scream out his name like its the only thing your mind knows and flood his cock with your cum.

"Good girl," he praises in a strained voice, still rocking his hips into you as his cock pulses inside of you. His muscles tensing and grip tightening as he cums, his ruthless thrusts stuttering as he loses control over himself for the first time tonight. His seed spurts deep inside of your twitching cunt, moaning out your name like a prayer.

He caves in on top of you, letting out a deep groan as his high lingers, enveloping him in pure bliss as he presses a kiss to the clammy skin of your back. You collapse beneath him, wobbling legs finally giving out as they turned to goo. Paz follows in pursuit, continuing to balance his weight above you as he peppers open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your spine.

"Fuck," he rasps, using the remaining of his strength to push himself up to unlatch your wrists. You hear metal clinking together before both your wrists fall free, a sigh of relief racking your chest.

You turn to lay on your back, legs shaking painfully as you settle against the softness of the pillows. You were still panting breathlessly but as you relax further into the mattress the stickiness between your thighs began to grow more and more noticeable.

"You okay?" Paz utters lowly, his hand resting on the dip of your sternum.

You offer him a nod. "Need to shower," you reply, voice hoarse.

You hear him chuckle, clear as day without his helmet, mischief dripping from his tone as his hand wanders to grope the flesh of your breasts. His other hand then wraps around your ankle, tugging you closer before hiking it over his shoulder. He shifts, tilting his head to plant heated kisses along the inside of your leg, starting at your knee before inching higher.

You swallow thickly, scrambling breathlessly hands clawing at the sheets to brace yourself as the heat in your stomach swiftly returns. "Uh, Paz?"

He nips at the soft skin of your inner thigh. "Shh. I'm not done with you yet."

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

Just a Little Poll

I’m still working on Monument Woman, but I have had this bang up ass idea for a fic where you get to choose your own adventure for The Mandalorian?  Like you have options on who rescues you, if you fuck or not, blah de blah blah.

If I were to write this, I’d have to do it all at once, so the options can be properly linked or maybe even on a separate tumblr dedicated only to that fic?

I guess the question is would people be interested in that?  It will be a lot of fucking work on my part and not be an ego bitch on main, but I don’t want to put all the effort into an interactive story for like 5 notes.

Feedback, y’all?

[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. 

[slutsofren]

MASTERLIST

all works can also be found on ao3 here

requests are currently: open

Kylo Ren x Reader masterlist

Joel Miller (The Last of Us) x Reader masterlist

Din Djarin / Mandalorian x Reader masterlist

ACoTaR Reimagined - reader!Feyre x Rhys/Cass/Az polyamorous FMMM reverse harem

[0funkyducky0]

𐐪𐑂 Mandalorian🌌💣

𐐪𐑂 Bo-Katan Kryze

𐐪𐑂 Boba Fett

𐐪𐑂 Cara Dune

𐐪𐑂 Dr. Pershing

𐐪𐑂 Greef Karga

𐐪𐑂 Grogu

𐐪𐑂 Mando

𐐪𐑂 Paz Visla

𐐪𐑂 The Armour

[lesbii-enne]

Di’kut

(Part one)

You didn’t mean to stumble across the covert, you merely meant to find new parts for your star cruiser and maybe a new gig as a mechanic.

Part two: part three:

Translations below

You stepped out of your cruiser onto the desert planet. The scorching sun met your helmet as you stepped out and surveyed the land. The sketchy buildings and market were the first to catch your eye.

“This looks like a shit hole,”

Looking back at my star cruiser you say

“Guess we’ll fit right in then, huh shit box?”

Walking through the market of the secluded planet people gawked, not exactly surprising considering most mandalorians have previously been wiped out. Only a few left to scourge the planets and do kriff knows what. You overheard some of the towns people speak of the ‘other mandalorians’ you nearly stopped right there and begged to know where they were. But you didn’t, you had to keep it together, no matter how much you had longed to be with your own kind. You were fine on your own. Kriff sake you hadn’t even seen another mandalorian since the purge. You continued walking; looking through the market you found some parts for your ship, though you did have to haggle a bit since you were a bit cheap.

“500 credits? Kriff no that part is barely worth 200 credits! I could get a better deal on kamino!”

Your voice modulator hummed

The shopkeeper mumbled something like ‘can’t have shit on Kamino.’ but you ignored it. You were lying your ass off but you were good at it.

“Fine I can do 400 credits.”

“300.”

“350.”

“Fine.”

You handed over the credits and took your parts back to your ship. That part was worth 500 at the least but you got one hell of a discount for it. Seeing your ship in the distance you sped your walking. In a moment you heard shuffling and whipped around to a tall mandalorian in shiny beskar armor charging you. You flung your parts away from you and grabbed hold of your vibroblade and blaster. Aiming the vibroblade towards him swinging at him and catching his breastplate with a screeching noise. Leaving an ugly scar in his armor. Kicking his leg out you fell back landing on the ground with a ‘thud’ and had the air knocked out of you. He kneeled over you and demanded

“Who are you?”

You raised your leg wrapping it around the man’s torso you rolled the both of you over. Now you kneeling over him with your blade held at his throat

“A stormtrooper obviously.”

You could feel the glare of the man through his helmet. You began to get up grabbing him just above the wrist you pulled him up.

“We’ll if you don’t mind, I’m going to get back to repairing my ship so I can get out of this shit hole thanks.”

You could feel his confusion and you turned back again

“Look I’m not trying to hunt you or the ‘other mandalorians’ that I heard about in the market. I just came to this planet to get parts and get back to work fixing ships.”

You began to walk again

“Come to the covert.”

You looked at him quizzically, tilting your helmet a little as you stared.

“I do not really have a choice in the matter do I?”

“No.”

“Well may I at least put my parts in my ship?”

He agreed. You hauled your various parts back to your ship and put them in a storage unit in your ship. You debated ditching him and getting away from this planet but your ship was in no shape to escape with. You ultimately left your ship and followed the large burly man and you rejoiced at the thought of seeing your kind once again.

The two of you navigated the market and past the small village to wherever the ‘covert’ was. You decided to speak up

“Do I get to know your name or must I call you tin can ?”

He glanced down at you

“Din Djarin, but you may call me Din.”

“Alor Din Djarin?”

“You may just call me Din, what clan do you belong to?”

“I am of the Verde clan, though it isn’t much of a family now as I am the last of the Clan Verde.”

He nodded and the rest of the walk remained silent. You came to the top of a dune and saw the encampment below just past a large glittering lake. You saw children playing in their oversized mandalorian helmets. You two began to descend from the dune and towards the camp. Mandalorians began toward you, alor Din began to push through them until there stood a large man clad in Blue beskar.

Oh look another fic and it’s Paz Vizsla! Yay I have most of part two as a draft right now so it should be out soon. If there are a lot of errors let me know it’s a little late and I just wanted to push out something before I went to sleep lmao.

Translations:

alor: leader, boss, basically anyone higher ‘rank’ than oneself.

[pazvizslaplasmathrower]

a pleasant request - a paz viszla x reader drabble

Requests are open!

Genre- Fluff

Warnings- intimacy

Characters- Paz Vizsla, Reader

Typing away on your datapad, you looked over the logistics for your next journey across the galaxy. To provide for your clan it was necessary to take on jobs as a mercenary; of course there were standards that you adhered to in order to sleep somewhat peacefully when you could. But this was your job and you were more than seasoned and quite acclaimed in the field. For your next mission, it was undoubtedly going to be quite arduous. Some corrupt New Republic officials had grown accustomed to taking advantage of the bounty reaped from farmers on one of the moons of Naboo; they would not go down willingly or easily and their resources would be bountiful. Sighing, you cast the pad on your bed, laying down, covering your face with your arms. While providing for your clan was a source of pride and joy, it was utterly exhausting and more than stressful. 

Feeling a presence close in, your focus sharpened and you sat up, immediately relaxing at the sight of the love of your life. Shoulders untensing, you leaned back on the headboard, giving the man a inquisitive look as to his rather meek posture. 

“Is there something wrong?” You asked, tilting your head to the side. 

    The Mandalorian Paz Vizsla paused, before shaking his head. Slowly he made his way to the edge of your shared bed, taking a tentative seat. 

    “I can’t help, if you keep so quiet.” Smiling, you gestured for him to come next to you, though he remained where he was. 

    “Would you,” he started, “Would you...humor me for a moment?”

Your smile faltered, mixing with confusion, but you nodded    . Paz’s presence became palpably more at ease as he moved closer, shifting your body so you were laying down with your head resting comfortably on soft pillows. His large hands grabbed something from the shared nightstand, a blindfold which you frequently donned as not to see your beloved’s face, not yet at least. (There were vows to be had before that should happen) A giddy smile broke out across your face, as you could feel the leather of Paz Vizsla’s gloves brush against the skin of your face as he tied it snugly behind your head. 

“You may not believe me,” he chuckled, you could hear his voice clearly now, “but I think I am far more thrilled than you are now.”

“Oh?” You retorted. “I highly doubt that, my- PAZ!”

The mountain of a man had moved to just below you, moving so that he fit right between your legs. A bit roughly, the man tugged your plush thighs flush against the sides of his head, making you a cushion of sorts. Admittedly, you expected something much more heated, something that required much less clothing than the both of you currently had on, but this was extremely enjoyable in its own right. 

“Paz?” You asked. “Where did you ever get this idea?”

He grunted in response, but you would not let it slide. “I saw a video on the holonet.” The Mandalorian admitted. “It seemed like a good idea so I wanted to try it.”

“Well, I am very glad for it.”

Laying there in your bed, you could feel Paz Vizsla turn his head to the side and press a soft, kiss and a gentle nibble to the inside of your thigh. Grating him a satisfied sigh, the both of you remained close together, forgetting every worry, relishing in the feeling of being so intimately interlocked, of being connected to the love of your life. 

[equalstrashflavoredtrash]

so... Let's just say if I posted something like the first chp of a alpha!paz fic thats pretty soft, and I've been writing, would anyone be interested?

[djxrxn]

lady of the house

paz vizsla x reader

warnings: explicit sexual content! cursing, oral (female recieving), consentual loss of virginity, unprotected vaginal sex, some edging, breeding kink, creampie, slight cum play, paz is a little rough

word count: 3.7 k

a/n: okay !! thank you to the anon who suggested this !! so this is a au of sorts - it’s definitely inspired by @magichandthing’s clan au in terms of how the houses and elders work, but i sort of envisioned this as like the empire never took mandalore so all of the major clans and houses are still around au !! this is also sort of a trial run - lady of the house is going to be a series ! i really want to like elaborate and expand on how the two met and how their relationship grows so yeehaw !! thank you AS ALWAYS to my loves miss k ( @jangofctts​ ) and miss e ( @bobafctts ) who are extremely supportive and kind and helpful ugh my QUEENS!! ily so much !! okay enjoy !

The sky looked like it was on fire. Gorgeous oranges and vibrant yellows streaked across the great vast that hung over your head. A soft pink danced among clouds, a soft violet hung around the stars that started to show above the small moon you were on. The two suns were almost done slinking behind the horizon, and you could feel the last beams of sunlight graze against your face before the cool night settled down.

You were glad you had chosen to wear something that revealed more of your back tonight - you felt his hand trail down your spine and settle on the small of your back. 

Paz Vizsla pulled you closer to his chest. Another gloved hand went to cradle your shoulder, his touch gentle and reverent. 

“It’s getting dark - I don’t want you to be cold,” he said. Paz held out his hand to you. “I, uh, can I escort you inside?”

His hand held yours - it always surprised you how large his hands were compared to you, how little you were in his shadow - he guided you through the plush courtyard and ushered you inside before the cold could catch up to you two. 

As he lead you through the long hallways and twisting corridors - stairways that lead to sections of the estate you had never seen, Elders who crossed your path with a respectful nod, Mandalorian warriors clad head-to-toe in Beskar steel, all of it a complete distraction - the request you had spent all day carefully wording began to slither up your throat. 

It had been a few months since the announcement of your betrothal to Paz Vizsla, leader of Clan Vizsla. You were comfortable with him, you enjoyed his presence immensely, so it shouldn’t be so krifing hard to ask him if you were allowed to sleep in his bed - or, yours, you supposed. It didn’t really matter, as long as you were with him.You just wanted to sleep in his arms, to feel his body curl around yours.

You swallowed your nerves. It was time to ask him - now.  “Clan Leader Vi-”

“Paz,” he said, squeezing your hand. “You’re my wife to be, you’re allowed to call me Paz.”

You looked away, your smile breaking apart your mouth, the blush on your cheeks growing almost too warm. His hand moved to guide your face back to his direction. Your eyes flicked to the black void of his visor. 

Wife. 

For weeks, the word made your stomach turn. For weeks, the idea of being the Leader of Clan Vizsla’s wife made your whole world spin. Hearing Paz’s name fall from your family’s mouths send you into a rage. You through fits and had tried every way possible to get out of this arrangement. 

But meeting Paz Vizsla was entirely different than what you had envisioned. You had anticipated a huge brute, a rude man who gave no regards to what you thought or what you wanted. 

Well, you got a huge brute, but -

“I didn’t mean-“ Paz stumbled over his words, not quite sure whether to apologize or to explain. “I only meant-“

“It’s okay,” you said, a soft smile finding its way to your face as you gave the word a try: “I don’t mind the idea being called your wife.”

A choking noise echoed from under his helmet. He faltered, not knowing what to say or do. Paz seemed stuck. He stopped walking. 

“What, not interested in me anymore?” Your voice echoed, clearly teasing him.

Paz’s hands hesitated as he reached for you - pausing slightly before surging on to hold your face. “I don’t think I could want you more,” he brushed his thumb over your cheek before tugging your head towards his. Your foreheads tapped together in a Keldabe kiss.

“What changed?” He asked softly.

“I mean - it’s not that I -“ 

You let out a frustrated noise, your brow furrowing up. You weren’t really sure how to word it correctly to him - you had been struggling to find a specific word, to pin down a specific emotion that you could explain. 

“I wanted to be married,” you said, chewing up the words, slowly getting your point across, like any syllable had the potential to hurt Paz if you weren’t careful. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt your betrothed. “And I wanted a family, I just… I just wanted everything to be on my terms.”

He nodded. “I understand that…”

A smile - sweet and genuine and adoring - crossed your face. “You’ve been patient, I appreciate it.”

Paz shrugged. “I wasn’t lying when I told you I wasn’t going to force you into something you didn’t want.”

“And…” You said, “What if I want something now?”

He laughed, tugging you along. “You know I’ll give you whatever you want. All you have to do is ask.” 

You arrived at your room too early for your liking - there was still so much you wanted from him, more touches, more affection. You didn’t want the day to end just to be alone for the whole night. 

He cleared his throat. “This is you.”

“Right…”

You waited a moment before looking at the ground. “Would…”

Paz lifted a finger to your chin, guiding your gaze back to his visor. “Ask me anything - I’m serious, whatever you want -”

“I just want you,” you said, your confession slightly taking you aback with how sure you sounded, how confident your desire for him was. “Will you… do you want to come in?”

He nodded immediately, brushing your hair back behind your ear. “Sure - I wouldn’t mind.”

“Okay, but do you want to come in?”

This helmet cocked to the side, and you had a feeling that if he wasn’t wearing a helmet, you would have seen Paz roll his eyes at you.

“Of course I want to come in.”

You stopped in front of the door. It slid up with a shink, revealing your room.

Lavish barely begins to describe your room. A dark blue theme echoed throughout the room, an obvious reminder of the clan you would belong to. Couches draped in soft fabrics littered the lower half of your bedroom. They were adorned with elaborate embroidery, trailing around the cushions and armrests - more time had been spent into these couches than another furniture you had seen before. The bed, larger than any you had ever slept, begged to be inhabited by two bodies. You wanted Paz to lay with you in the silk sheets, to cradle your body as you admired the murals sewn into the canopy. 

“So,” he said “You got me in your room - now what?”

“Oh, uh…” You glanced over at the bed, but thought better of it. “I, uh, mostly just wanted some alone time with you.” 

“As opposed to the time we were just spending?” 

You gave him a nervous smile. “I just thought we could use some privacy-”

“Oh, you mean you weren’t having a great time standing outside while every other member of the Clan watched us?” He poked your sides, and you giggled, swatting at his chest for him to stop - “You mean you didn’t enjoy that?” 

You pushed at his shoulder - he barely moved. He held his palm up to your cheek, and you leaned into his touch. 

 “You look nervous, what's wrong?” His hand dropped to rest near your neck. Your heartbeat felt uncomfortably loud in your own ears - you were almost positive he could feel it too. 

“I, um, I want to-”

Now. Now was the time - he had never rejected your small advances before, whether it was to dine with him, or inviting him on your daily walks. And even if he did refuse you, Paz had given you no reason to think that he would be cruel about it.

Right?

“-Sleep with you.”

He paused. He dropped his hands away from you - your stomach dropped and no, no, no -

“Was that it?” Paz asked flatly. “That’s what you were trying to ask me?”

You scoffed. “Yes, that was it.” 

He shrugged. “I just figured the request would be a lot, uh, worse?” 

“Well, I mean, we aren’t exactly wed yet, and -”

“Oh.” He paused for a moment. “Baby, are you asking to sleep in my bed or…?”

You stopped. You hadn’t considered the option to actually sleep with your betrothed. 

Fuck, it sounded so nice.

“I’m-“ You lowered your voice. “I was asking to just sleep in your bed, but, uh, now I’m asking to sleep with you.”

Paz did say anything for a moment. You felt your pulse spike, and your chest felt tight,

“I just wasn’t sure - that’s why I never brought it up, and I didn’t want to, uh…” You swallowed. “Assume, you know.”

“I know.”

Paz gave a small hum, tracing the curve of your cheeks with a single digit. 

“I don’t want to disrespect the Way,” you rambled on, twisting at your fingers. “I’m- I’m not really sure how that works…”

His finger traveled across your jaw. You let out a short huff when his finger moved to tease your lips. “I really just want you.”

“I was hoping you would ask me.” His voice was low and dark - you have never heard it like this before. It went to the pulse between your legs, stoking a fire in you.

You were so willing to burn for Paz.

He tugged at your clothes. “Take these off, and lay down on the bed, pretty.”

You swallowed, your nerves spiking you with your blood. Your steps towards the bed were nervous and unsure - you almost tripped as you moved up the few steps to the upper half of your room. 

Your face felt like it was on fire. You slipped out of your garments, your hands trembling over your skin until you were stark naked - 

A rip cut through your nerves. Your head whirled around to see that Paz had ripped off a piece of the thickest blanket from one of the couches. 

His visor moved up to graze your naked form. 

“Maker, you’re gorgeous, you know that?”

You let out a small, nervous laugh. “You’re just saying that because I’m naked, Paz.”

“Mm.”

He took a few steps towards you, but he didn’t ascend to the upper half of the room.

“I, uh,” he started. “I can’t take off the helmet.”

“Right…”

Paz held up the piece of silver fabric. “If you wear this, and cover your eyes up, we can have, uh, a little leeway.”

“Leeway?” You raised an eyebrow. “Is this… is this a loophole?”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Are you complaining?”

“No,” you said quickly. 

He gave another light laugh, and finally stepped up to you. 

He was still wearing so much armor, so much clothing. You supposed you never noticed it until you were standing in front of him with nothing on.

Your lips parted as Paz held the fabric up to your eyes, a small noise escaping as he tied it in a knot behind your head. His fingers brushed away any stray hairs, tucking them behind your ears, and then his touch was gone.

The sound of leather being pulled, the soft scraping of metal against cloth, a sharp clank of metal colliding against metal - 

A thud echoed to your left, and you jumped back. You really couldn’t see anything - you felt vulnerable, everything familiar to you became unknown and cold to you. 

You jump again when two hands - large, rough, sturdy, warm - graze your rib cage. 

Then his body moved closer to you, and you felt his bare face come closer to yours, and his soft lips were moving over yours, and then you felt his hot tongue on your bottom lip, and you couldn’t help the small moan that left you.

“Eager, are we?” You felt him smirk against your mouth.

“I’ve thought about this before,” you mumbled. 

“Oh, baby, so have I.” Paz nudged you back and back until your ankles were bumping into the frame of the bed. “Want me to show you what I’ve been thinking of?”

You nodded. His hands moved over your skin to push down on your shoulders, guiding you to sit down on the bed. When you attempted to crawl backwards, he held your knees and pulled you back to the edge of the bed.

“No, no, no,” he hummed as you heard him lower to his knees and spread your legs apart. “Like this - and lay back.”

Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest. Maker, you were so wet. You could feel it dripping down your pussy and onto your thighs. You laid back, did as he said - 

And then you felt his hot tongue swipe over your cunt, and you melted down into the sheets.

Everything felt so hot - you clit was throbbing when he circled it, begging for more touch than he was teasing you with. 

You mumbled his name and reached out for him. Paz pulled away - you gave a pitiful whine - and he guided your hands to the top of his head. 

Your fingers wound themselves in his hair - soft, it was so soft, was it curly too, you weren’t sure, because you felt the muscle of his tongue press against your hole, and every thought suddenly didn’t fucking matter to you.

His thumb rubbed a rough circle into your bundle of nerves. You felt your release coming quick, roaring up behind you, threatening to overwhelm everything.

“I’m close,” you choked out. “Paz, please, I’m close.” 

You felt his tongue be replaced by two of his fingers and you felt the wave of pleasure finally crash. 

He built you up so quickly - a feeling that you should almost be embarrassed with how fast he got you off graced your foggy mind only for a moment. Then the bed shifted as Paz crawled up over you.

“Do you want to keep going?” 

“Yes,” you breathed. You didn’t need to think about it. “I want, I want you inside -”

You heard him swallow. His hand gently traced the curve of your breasts, slowly trailing down your chest. 

“Can I ask you why?”

“You want to know... why I want you inside of me?”

He snorted. “You know what I mean.”

You did. 

“I’ve been thinking…”

“Oh?” 

“About younglings, actually,” a warm feeling bloomed in your chest at the thought of carrying Paz child, and the overwhelming urge to mother his children, to bear the heirs of Clan Vizsla overtook any other desire. “I was being serious earlier - I want this.”

He stretched out his hand over your stomach. “You really want younglings?” 

“Paz, I want your younglings,” you said. “I know nothing is official-”

“You’re already mine,” his voice rumbled. “What we do now is up to us.”

You felt your heartbeat race a little as his hands left you to stroke his cock - you heard him grit his teeth and the words flew out of your mouth.

“I want this… and I want you, and- and I want you to use me-“

Paz growled your name, and your words turned into a tiny whimper.

His hips twitched forwards as he lined himself up with your entrance. You breathing started to come in as shallow pants, your heart was racing, everything felt too much, too fast, and - 

Paz looked up at you. You heard a low chuckle echo from his vocal modulator. “Doll, you gotta breath.”

You inhaled - he rubbed circled into your thighs with his thumb, and let out a soft hum. And there it was - Paz welcomed calm in between you, settled your nerves like he always did with you. He wouldn’t let you fall, now or ever.

“Just relax,” he hummed. “You’ve… have you ever done this before?” 

You shook your head - you almost gave an excuse, but Paz just squeezed your thigh. 

“Okay,” he said, “Okay, we can start, uh, slower.”

“I want you,” you repeated meekly, reaching out your hands to grip his shoulders. You could feel the scars from his battles and sieges, could feel his warmth skin, and Maker, fuck, you wanted to see him.

You heard him grit his teeth as the head of his cock nudged into your cunt. You opened your mouth in a silent moan as his girth stretched you out, opened you wide to take him. Your head tipped back onto the bed, your legs already shaking. He stopped short, not quite sheathing himself inside of you.

Good girl,” he mumbled, “You’re such a good girl.”

The first thrust was shallow, almost inquisitive - simply testing the waters with how much you could handle. Not that you could see, but you squeezed your eyes shut, the resistance your body gave him giving way to fire you had never felt before, a burning the felt new and good and terrifyingly vast. Each thrust grew deeper, pushing into you more, until his hips were nudging against yours. 

“Fuck, Paz -“ You breathing came in as pants, your lungs were on fire, like no amount of air would ever be enough. “This f-feels - you feel, M-maker, so fucking good.”

“Oh, honey,” he purred, “Don’t I know it.” 

He snapped his hips. Your breath was knocked out of your chest as he started his actual pace, rough and brutal, leaving no air to scream his name like you wanted to. His hands flew to your wrists, prying them away from his skin to pin them over your head. .

The pleasure in your stomach felt sickenly tight, threatening to snap. 

“Paz-” You shrieked, your voice high and strained. “Paz, I’m close.”

“What’s that?” You didn’t see him smirk as his thrusts slowed. “Did you say something?”  

You whined his name again. “I’m- I’m gonna cum, Paz, please don’t stop.”

And then Paz stopped moving completely. He leaned down to nuzzle his face against our sternum. Your whines were pathetic, and they only made him smirk more. 

His breath fanned over your chest, pulling up goosebumps and shivers as he nipped at the taught skin over your sternum. Then he tilted his head to drag his hot tongue along the sides of your breast, moving to kiss your peaked nipples. 

Then his mouth clamped down, biting over the curves of your chest. You let out a small yelp.

“Paz.”

Paz tugged at your nipple before moving to your other breast, kissing and biting, biding his time patiently as the fire he had so quickly built up in you died down. 

You clenched your jaw when you felt your eyes sting. An emptiness settled in your hips and you were almost upset at him for taking your orgasm away from you. Then Paz mumbled your name against your collar bone as he made his way up your neck. His hands went down, down, down, until they almost connected with the bundle of nerves he had neglected. You whimpered as he teased around it.

“Aw, honey,” you felt him smile against your skin. 

“You look so cute when you get all needy… Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you said, your hands reaching up to his face.

“What was I just doing?” 

“No, I- “

You let out a whine as you swallowed whatever pride you had brought before him.

“Paz, please, Maker, please make me cum - I want to cum,” you choked, desperate for him to do anything.

“Baby girl,” his hips rocking back into you - your head tipped back and you let out a high pitched wail as you felt his cock brush against your cervix.

His new pace was more - it was faster, rougher, you felt him fucking you in your bones, threatening to shatter you into tiny little pieces. 

Forget fire. This was sharp and bright, absolutely catastrophic to your cunt. It was white hot and it was eating up your skin, tearing apart your chest, and leaving you a simmering body of ashes.

“Cum inside,” you shrieked suddenly, taking both you you by surprise. “I want you to fill- fill me up - use me, Paz.”

“That what you want, doll?” Paz gave a low groan as you clenched around him at the time of his voice. “You want me to give you a youngling? You want me to get you pregnant?”

“Yes,” you shrieked. Your nails dug into the muscle of his arms. “P-please.”

“You want me to fill you up with my cum?” His laugh came out in a breathless bark as your hips tilted up to his. Paz lifted up your legs to push them against your chest. “Nasty- filthy girl.”

And just like that, the tension snapped, the coils of heat finally breaking. You screamed as you came, your spine arching up, your legs shaking against you. Your blood roared in your ears - if you weren’t wearing the blindfold you were certain you wouldn’t be able to see anyways.

One of Paz’s hands left your legs to grab your shoulder as he gave an another thrust, and another, and -

He started to growl out your name before it became a garbled, low groan when he came. You felt him spill inside of you, his hot cum coating your walls. You echoed Paz’s groan, the feeling of his seed sending you back into your bliss. 

Paz didn’t move for a good moment. You could feel him softening inside of you when he pulled out. His thumb brushed against your hole - you twitched as you realized his was pushing whatever cum had spilled back into your fluttering cunt.

Everything was silent in the room, the only noise was yours and Paz’s breathing. Your heart started to slow. You finally caught your breath, your breathing moved as deep breaths. 

“Okay, so, your first time,” he spoke after a minute. “How do you feel?”

“You know, I’m probably just never going to have sex again - it was pretty terrible,” you teased as he nestled up besides you. 

“Oh, sure, sure, sure,” he laughed. “No, I could tell - you were having a horrible time.”

“I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings, you know,” you giggled. Paz tugged the makeshift blindfold off of your eyes. He had shut the lights off - nothing in the room was visible. You wished again for a moment that you could actually see your betrothed, but then his hands were guiding your face forwards to meet his lips, and the thought vanished.

“It was- I was being dumb, Paz, it felt so fucking good,” you whispered, your eyes started to droop.

“I know, baby girl.”

You sighed. You laid your head against his chest, his steady heartbeat pulling you into sleep. Before you closed your eyes, you mumbled against his skin, “I think I love you.”

Paz let out a small hum. He nuzzled his face against the top of your head - he couldn’t help the small sigh of relief that left him. 

“I think I love you too.” 

[corrupt-fvcker]

Brat (Paz Vizsla x fem!Reader)

Brat ( Paz Vizsla x fem!Reader )

Warnings: ahem... suggestive themes

Word Count: 890

Author’s Note: paz vizsla really is the answer to everything, especially my size kink :) requests are open

He is smothering you. Flooding all of your senses until you're on the verge of forgetting how to fucking breathe, drowning in everything that's him. His hands are calloused and strong and huge, seizing both of your wrists with just one of his hands before grabbing you by your jaw to force you to stare into the opaque visor. You’re crying, tears obscuring your vision as tears line your thick lashes and streak down your face. He's unreadable, a goddamn enigma with beskar-strength walls that you're desperately trying to infiltrate.

"Good girl," he coos through the raspy vocoder, though you can hear the traces of mockery lacing his words.

You helplessly wanted to hate him, though you knew that you were guilty of the exact opposite. And what was even worse was that he knew it too. Which only goes to prove that you're both a horrible liar and Paz is much better at reading people than others are at reading him.

"Fuck off," you sneer, the curse scrapping through you, rough like sandpaper.

A noise of amusement faintly huffed through the beskar, barely audible through the thrumming of your heart. His hand that had been strongly grasping your jaw sunk lower, resting on the delicate skin of your throat before firmly wrapping his long fingers around your neck and squeezing.

You could barely breathe, Paz only giving you enough freedom to not pass out from asphyxiation. But even if he didn't suffocate you, surely Paz would be the death of you one way or another. And you hated yourself for being okay with that.

Either way, you were in trouble.

Paz had been very strict about you not leaving the ship while he was away for the next two days to find a bounty. He had told you numerous times to stay aboard while he was gone, maybe because he just knew that you weren't going to listen to him. He told you as he left the ship and disappeared off the ramp into the foggy climate, and he told you again through the comms when he was sure it was safe to contact you.

Maybe it was because he was so adamant about telling you not to leave the ship that made you desperately want to leave. Whatever the reason, you were itching to leave the flying coffin to go explore. You were trembling with restlessness, you needed to leave.

And you were certain that you had gotten away with it, wandering through the city for the entire evening before making your way back to the ship. But then your streak of luck was abruptly cut to an end, resulting in getting jumped by some goddamn thugs that stole your shoes.

Honestly, you weren't too mad about getting your shoes stolen. If they needed shoes so badly that they were willing to go through the trouble of mobbing you, they could have them, you had other shoes anyway.

What, however, did not sit as well with you was the fact that you had a fat, ugly bruise blossoming on your cheekbone. What had been a faint red mark on your face now a vibrant purple that was certain to catch the eye of anyone that wasn't completely blind.

His helmet tilted. "What did I tell you?"

Oh, fuck off.

His grip tightened around your throat, leaning impossibly closer until you could feel every plane of the beskar plating his body.

"Not to leave the ship," you spat out, voice coarse from lack of air.

"And what did you do?"

You weren't going to play this game. "I didn't listen because you aren't the kriffing boss of me."

He was still, a huff of amusement lifting his chest, pressing him closer. You could feel his eyes burning into yours, though you weren't exactly sure what the fuck was going on in his head, you decided it'd just be all-around smarter to glare into his visor.

Maybe you weren't known for your brightness.

"No?" He taunted, his voice absolutely crushing whatever remains were left of your brain. Maker, you wanted to hate him so bad.

You struggle to swallow the lump in your throat, tears no longer falling from your eyes. You don't remember why you were crying, maybe so he wouldn't get too angry with you when you forced out a practiced apology for directly disobeying him. Which, needless to say, Paz saw through immediately.

"No," you reply as strongly as you can muster.

He scoffs, shaking his head disapprovingly as his thumb runs over your collar absentmindedly. "You're such a fucking brat," he growls, using his hand on your throat to tilt your head so that he can admire the softness of your face. "I should teach you some manners."

You'd like to think that he's only being a complete asshole because he cares about you and he's undoubtedly absolute shit at showing affection due to being cooped up in armor his entire life. You want to think that he's not actually mad at you, but rather the fact that you were dumb enough to get yourself hurt.

But no matter the reason, you're not backing down. And you can't restrain your eyes from narrowing into a glare, burning through his visor. "Do your worst."

[madhyanas]

here be dragons

Part 1 of the Hospitality series

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x fem!Reader

Rating: T/PG-13

Word Count: 4.6k 

Warnings: One use of a slur, aimed at the reader.

A/N: ahhhhh it’s a little late, but i finally finished this. now i can finally start posting this series in the RIGHT order, oh my god. check it out on ao3 here, if you want.

It’s late.

You lie in your cot, staring into the darkness. Unable to sleep, surrounded by the vicious tempest outside. It’s raining heavily; pelting down so hard you can hear it through the roof and feel it through the floor. Occasionally, you hear a boom of thunder, and the inn doors rattle and shake.

You’re glad you fixed the waterproofing this morning.

In a storm like this, you hold some half-hearted hope that a traveller will stop by. Someone soaked and freezing; desperate enough for you to hike up the price of lodging without turning away business.

Swindling a tourist here and there can’t hurt, in the grand scheme of the galaxy. You have to eat, after all.

The rich scent of waterlogged earth fills the room, and something about it seems unfamiliar. You’ve accustomed to the occasional downpour by now, having lived on Takodana for many years. But the lingering air of petrichor reminds you just how different home was — all dry deserts and salt flats, the odd dust storm. Certainly no lush greenery or blue skies.

As a lump settles in your throat, you miss the mechanic stand from your childhood. The slick smear of oil on your mother’s cheek as she gave the speeder a tune-up. The stripes on your father’s montrals above the welding mask as he soldered wires back together. When he was done, he’d always squish your little face in his palms. Smoothing his thumbs over the white markings on your face, near identical to his. The only symbol of your Togruta heritage, contrasted on a face of your mother’s colouring.

You sigh, and sit up. Now, you’re stuck here. Running an inn by yourself, out of business and in denial about it. You miss the feeling of freedom that came and left with youth; running through the streets, being swept up in warm, protective arms. Your mother rolling her eyes. Your father’s laugh.

Suddenly, a bang. You hear front doors slide open, and your heart leaps into your throat. The sound rings in your ears for a moment with its violence. Blindly, you grab the vibroblade from the table and scramble to the entrance. You’ve never used it before, and you pray the doors are just malfunctioning.

As you skirt through the narrow passageway, your stomach drops. No such luck. A large, silhouetted figure stands before the main desk, looming ominously as the wind howls outside. Maker, they’re huge. Far bigger than you, and a small, nagging part of your brain says they could kill you in a heartbeat.

It’s still dark. Frozen as you are, you haven’t turned the lamp on. In vain, you hope they might leave if no-one arrives. A bolt of lightning flashes outside, and the glare arcs off the stranger’s helmet.

Your eyes widen at the glimpse of a smooth, glass t-visor. A Mandalorian.

Oh, you’re fucked.

In that moment, they turn to you directly. The back of your neck tingles, and you realise they can see you. Their helmet turns down to the vibroblade in your hands, before returning to your face calmly. Of course. You don’t think you’re a very threatening sight, cowering in the doorway like this.

You feel remarkably stupid.

Hesitantly, you step forward and switch on the lamp at the desk with your free hand. Light pours out softly between you, doing nothing to calm your nerves. You squint, eyes adjusting to the brightness, trying to control the pounding of your heart.

“I am in need of lodging.”

You blink. The voice, low and rumbling, is scrambled by a vocoder. Male, from what you can tell, and the static scratches at your ears. He’s covered from head-to-toe in deep blue armour; rivulets of water drip off the steel, puddling on your floor. Some kind of pack rests on his back, and you try, fruitlessly, to ignore the glint of a trigger and scope.

Towering over you, you’d have to crane your head just to look him in the visor. You don’t have the nerve, in any case.

It occurs to you, faintly, that you could die tonight. It also occurs to you that the chances of an untimely demise would be significantly higher, if you keep gawking at him like this.

“Uh…”

“Lodging,” he repeats, sounding distinctly impatient. “Is there a vacancy?”

Maker, when is there not.

“Yes! Yes, there’s a— there’s a vacancy.” Fumbling for the log-holo, you set the vibroblade down in a cubby under the desk. Still within reach, and your receptionist autopiloting kicks in. “Uh, single room, how many nights?” You glance up at the shiny helm. The usual questions, but it feels… impertinent, asking for information. Like you’re violating his sanctity, or something, just daring to wonder. Especially about someone so clearly hostile. How does a faceless sheet of beskar manage to make your stomach churn?

“One.”

Of that, you’re grateful. One night, and you’ll be done with this. “Okay,” you reply, dragging out the sound. You sound nervous. He must be able to tell. “And, uh, name?”

He stares you down. It suddenly feels cold, frigid, even though his visage most definitely cannot change. It strikes you, in that moment, that even your sensitive nose can’t detect anything on him. The rain has washed it all away, except for a stubborn, smokey hint of blaster ammunition. Recently fired. A shiver runs up your spine.

Acerbically, he snaps, “Pick one.” There’s a rising heat behind the words, you don’t push your luck.

“I’ll— I’ll just put ‘Mando’,” you mutter, entering the moniker into the log. Once again, in the span of less than five minutes, you feel like a moron. Heat rushes to your cheeks.

But there’s one more caveat. You should probably forget it, just this once, but for some reason: “You’re not allowed to bring weapons inside. While— While you’re staying.”

A golden rule. One of the conditions upon which you were even allowed to run this place was your responsibility to maintain peace. (You often wonder what the Pirate Queen was thinking, believing you capable of breaking up any kind of violence.)

To your relief, the Mandalorian doesn’t explode with rage, or any such violent gestures. His shoulders are tense, but this — dealing with irritated, tired travellers — is familiar. He’s no different, you tell yourself.

“The weapons stay.”

“I can’t let you—”

“I’m a Mandalorian. Weapons are part of my religion.” You blink, and your silence seems enough for him to continue. “I won’t be using them on you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Keep your distance, and there won’t be a problem.”

A threat. Perhaps he’s trying to reassure you, in some strange way, but it doesn’t stop the cold fist of dread from closing around your heart.

“I’m… not supposed to—”

“You have my word.”

A muscle in your jaw ticks. Despite the nerves wrenching your stomach, there’s an urge to stand your ground. To defend the principles of Maz’s territory. (Or, more selfishly, to rebuke how easily he’s trampling all over you.) You shift, ready to argue.

But then he moves, one hefty arm lifting upwards, and you flinch. He pauses, before fishing a leather pouch out of a pocket and dropping it on the counter. You hear the familiar clink of credits. The sound elicits an instinctual reaction, a lurch of hope. You lean forward with a frown, inspecting the offering.

You gingerly pluck it by the drawstring, and its weight is a pleasant surprise. The contents are promising — a fee far exceeding the cost of one night’s stay.

A prickling mixture of shame and embarrassment heat your cheeks. Oh, how quickly your righteous anger fades at the promise of payment. Again, the back of your neck tingles. A reminder, that the Mandalorian is watching.

Taking a steadying breath, you bring your eyes back to the visitor. “Should I… show you to your room?”

A beat, then he nods.

You step to the side and flick the overhead lights on, waiting for him to go first. But he continues staring, and your skin itches with the weight of judgement. You realise he’ll only follow behind.

You swallow thickly, keeping your gaze averted as you lead him inside. Your little bungalow inn doesn’t have that many rooms to begin with, so you keep them all clean and ready for a guest — that’s not the issue.

But you have to go the night knowing there’s an elite warrior, perfectly capable of silencing your heartbeat, staying two doors down. You have to sleep with that knowledge.

You realise the vibroblade still rests in your palm. It feels clunky. Foolish, in your inexperienced hand. The Mandalorian’s heavy footsteps thud behind you, accented by the clank of metal armour. You clamp down the urge to rub the back of your tingling neck, and in some peculiar urge to reconcile, you half-turn to him as you walk. Slowly, showing him the weapon.

“Ah, I wouldn’t use this, you know. On you.” He’s crushingly silent, appraising you. He has to duck his head slightly to fit in the passageway, nearly filling up its width with his bulk.

You blather on, blindly spitting out words to fill the silence. “It’s just— all sorts pass through here, you know? This place has Kanata’s stamp of approval and all, but better safe than sorry.”

Still, no response, and you wince at just how green you sound. You swallow, having reached the doorway; you’ve led him to the quarters with the largest bed, having figured he’ll need it.

“There’s instructions to set the passcode inside. If you need anything,” you say, hoping he won’t, “I’m that door over there.” For one, awkward moment, you stand, feeling horribly out of place with the brooding figure at your side. “Well. Goodnight, then.”

You turn around, credits and blade in hand, ready to step into your quarters and get some kriffing rest, when the crawling, fuzzy feeling on the nape of your neck intensifies.

With one foot through the doorway, you hear him call out to you. “I thought no weapons were permitted.” A coarse noise crackles through the vocoder, and you realise it’s a laugh. You feel a cold sweat run down your back. “Is that blade just for show, then, little innkeeper?”

He— he sounds amused. Finding entertainment in your clear disadvantage. You feel sick, sick to your stomach, and slam the button to close the door behind you. Wetness springs to your eyes like clockwork, but the tears don’t fall even as you collapse on your cot. You’re pathetic, you think. Unable to stop him from belittling you, never mind barring him entry.

Sleep, though it eventually comes, is fitful and disturbed. Phantom helmets and mocking, modulated laughter fill your head.

In the morning, his room is emptied out. Bed made, fresher tidied.

No trace of the Mandalorian, at all. You’ve never been more grateful.

———

The second time you meet the Mandalorian, you’ve got your hands full.

“I’m not running a charity here.”

A Zabrak man has his hands planted on the desk, leaning into your space uncomfortably. Maker, guests like these test your patience.

It’s a poor attempt at intimidation. He’s taller than you, certainly, but gangly in a way that screams awkward, rather than lean. Scrawny, drawn out. Even the spikes protruding from his yellowish face are lumpy and faded. You wrinkle your nose at the faint, rank odour of sweat and booze. Overall, you’re unimpressed.

Besides, imposing figures don’t phase you much anymore. Not since that fateful encounter, nearly a cycle ago. You’d feared for your life that night.

Few were as large a threat as that Mandalorian.

The Zabrak hisses in your face, “Maz Kanata owes me a great debt. I’ll take it out of my bill.”

In your periphery, you can hear the telltale sounds of landing gear outside — a new arrival, but you can’t deal with that right now.

You blink slowly, and sigh. “Listen, this shtick you’re trying to pull? I’ve heard it before.” So, so many times. You’re not the only cheapskate in these parts. “You have a problem with Maz, you take it up with her. She doesn’t control my inn any more than I control the Castle.” That’s… not exactly true. But you doubt it matters to him.

Twisting his face unpleasantly, the man snarls, “I demand recompense, innkeeper. Return my credits, and we won’t have a problem.”

You recall being browbeaten at similar words. That night you cowed, frozen by the weight of mortality hanging over your head. But you have since hardened in the months that passed, and you steel your resolve.

Leaning close to the Zabrak, getting in his face, you speak through bared teeth. “You’re right. You get out of my inn, and we won’t.” Curling your lips into a disgusted half-sneer, “So I’ll be keeping my credits.”

“Insolent fool,” the Zabrak growls, and he moves to reach for something concealed behind his back. You jaw clenches — how did you miss that he was armed? — and you flinch backwards as he reveals a blaster. Before you can reach for your trusty vibroblade, the doors slide open with an innocent ting.

Standing there in the doorway, is your Mandalorian.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him, huge as ever, ducking his head to step over the threshold. Armed to the teeth, as per usual.  He saunters forward slowly, purposefully. The swagger, the presence in his gait impossibly makes him seem… bigger? Somehow even more bulky than last time?

The Zabrak whirls round, only to balk at the steely-blue cuirass his chin comes to level with. He’s harmless compared to the warrior before him. You can only imagine how tiny you must seem. The Mandalorian keeps his head inclined down to the horned man, who’s now gripping the desk behind him, but his words are for you.

“Trouble, innkeeper?”

Maker, it’s been months since you heard that rumbling voice. It still knots your stomach, but less so, you think, than it did. You’re surprised he remembers you.

Your confidence with the pesky guest has not dissipated, however, and you find your words. “I don’t know.” You address the Zabrak calmly, “Is there any trouble, sir? It’d be a shame if things got… unpleasant.”

The wilting man cranes his head to you with a frantic look in his eye, and you feel a flash of pity. Ah, kriff. You’ve made your point.

Glancing at the Mandalorian, you make a subtle ‘back-up’ motion with your palm, half-wondering if he’ll take offence. But thankfully, he does as you request, and the Zabrak’s wheeze of relief is audible as he deflates.

“Takodana Castle,” you start, a little gentler than before, “Is three miles that way.” You thrust a thumb to the side. “One path, cuts through the forest. Can’t miss it.”

The Zabrak stumbles his way around the Mandalorian, never taking his wide eyes off the helmet. The armoured man steps aside silently, and it’s a wonder how he makes such a simple gesture seem so mocking. Saying that he’s the one in control, even if it’s temporarily at your behest. All in the way he shifts, the dangerous glint of his blasters in the light.

The memory of his laugh, hearty and sinister, echoes in your brain. Your toes curl in your boots.

Once he’s out of the door, the Zabrak gains some ill-founded sense of security. His wiry frame tenses, and he glares at you, spitting, “Watch yourself, halfbreed.” With a single, fleeting glance to the Mandalorian, he runs off towards the forest.

…ah.

You purse your lips, and look to the floor out of habit. Heat rushes to your cheeks. The slur is not unfamiliar to you. Your lack of montrals and lekku allow you to blend in, to lie low. But your markings reveal who you are. It’s strange; you think you’re proud of them. What they represent, who gave them to you. But the wave of shame that crashes over you sends blood roaring in your ears. For the Mandalorian to witness this? It’s a pitiful sight.

In the corner of your eye, you see him clench a fist, and you quash the sickness of your heart down with a vengeance. There are more pressing matters at hand.

“So. It’s, uh, been a while.” You cringe at the heavy-handed attempt to change the subject. Now that cursed Zabrak has left, it’s like all your bravado has sputtered out. And, really? Last time you saw the Mandalorian, a man from a culture of elite warriors, you thought he was going to murder you in your sleep. Been a while, indeed.

He plays along. “Well, I was in the area. Figured I should save the damsel in distress, while I had the chance.” He leans an elbow on the counter, resting his weight on it, and for a moment you’re perplexed.

The Mandalorian is… teasing you. Relaxed against your desk, standing close but not enough to be invasive. It’s a far cry from that shadow in the pouring rain, haunting your doorstep. “Although, from where I was standing, you didn’t seem to need much help,” he continues smoothly.

Compliments? Maker, if it were anyone else, you might even think he was making a pass at you.

But it’s him, and you give the helmet a strange look. It’s a little freaky, in all honesty. “I… see. What business do you have here, then, Mandalorian?”

The helm sags slightly in what you can only describe as a falter. It’s jarring. So incongruent with the persona you have crafted in your mind.

“I can’t just drop by?” You imagine your disbelief is evident on your face, because he sighs, a deep and raspy thing, before his voice sobers a fraction. “I have business with the Pirate Queen.” Your shoulders slacken. Of course. It’s a relief, in some way, to know that the purpose of his visit is so normal.

You ready the holo-log at your side. “Ah, sure. How many nights?”

He straightens and rubs a hand to the back of his neck briefly. You stare at the offending limb, entranced by such a normal, hesitant movement. It’s… It’s so very human, for lack of a better word.

“I’m not looking for lodging.” You blink up at his visor, frowning. “My work should only take a day, at the most.”

“Then…”

“I told you. Just wanted to drop in.” That doesn’t answer anything at all, and he elaborates, “I rarely visit Takodana, innkeeper. I thought I’d say hello while I was here.”

Your lips part. What? How… how can there be so much lost in translation? You’ve been afraid of this man, or a barebones idea of him, for months now. Like some kind of boogeyman, under-the-bed horror to spook children into good behaviour. And he comes to you with something like friendliness, with a smart one-liner and warmth in his tone?

You shake your head, dazed; reluctantly, you decide to give it to him straight. “I… I wasn’t under the impression that we were friends, Mandalorian.” He stills, and you keep going. “Honestly, uh, last time. It wasn’t great, for me. You— You scared me.”

‘You still do’ sits on the tip of your tongue. In the disarming haze of his amicability, you can’t tell if it’s true or not. You ramble in the face of his silence, if only to quiet the conflict in your mind. “I thought that you’d— I mean, I thought that I might. Y’know. Die, that night. I was tired, okay, and— and I didn’t know what to think…”

You trail off.

The Mandalorian stands before you, wordless. Your knees aren’t trembling, but there’s a worry seated deep in your chest. It’s interesting, maybe, that you don’t know who it’s for. Guilt begins to creep up on you, bitter at the back of your throat. Kriff. Just as you open your mouth to say something, his voice comes through the vocoder.

“I apologise. I was not… I did not know. It was never my intention to scare you.” His voice sounds hoarse, like the very thought of your fear repulses him. His words are not clumsy, per se, but there’s a rawness there that makes you notice how eloquent he usually sounds. The visor does not stray from your face. “I am sorry. Truly, I am sorry.” His shoulders are slumped, and he’s curling in on himself slightly. Making himself smaller, you realise faintly, and he presses a gloved hand to his chest. The helmet bows. “Ni ceta. I apologise, innkeeper.”

You blink rapidly, not knowing what to say. That’s… an awful lot to take in. You can’t remember the last time someone really begged for your forgiveness like this. You swallow thickly. Don’t cry.

The air seems muggy, somehow. Heated. As if all the truth that has burst forth carries a flame with it, burning the space between you. Hesitantly, you place a hand on his vambrace. The metal is cool against the warmth of your palm, and you’re careful not to touch any of the buttons on the control panel.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “I appreciate that. It’s— it’s alright. I think.” You nod determinedly, as if to reaffirm your words.

Heartfelt apologies don’t spill out so easily from heartless men, surely. He’s worth more trust than you give him. And his stance — defeated, ashamed — no, it doesn’t suit him at all. The helm tilts back up to your face, and you shoot him a small smile. Some kind of impulse lurches in your chest; to comfort, to come together. It’s genuine, and there’s a rosy warmth to your cheeks that feels pleasant.

You slide your hand away from his arm to offer it in the air. It hovers boldly, an attempt to bridge the abyss. It takes him a second, but he clasps your hand in his. You shake firmly, and his grip is strong, yet not painful. Reassuring, in a way. You suspect he’s controlling it for your sake.

“Let’s start fresh, huh?” You give him your name, and he repeats it.

His baritone resonates in your ears; it sounds like molasses, dripping into chest and heart. To hear your name uttered with respect, reverence, in that clear-cut way he speaks. It is nothing short of a miracle, in a moment.

You reassure him immediately, “I don’t need yours, if you’re worried about that sort of thing.” You lick your lips nervously. “But I do need something to call you. Got a preference?”

He hums, and you’re grateful how at-ease he sounds. It’s better this way. “What was it I told you that day? ‘Pick one’, I believe.”

So. This is the Mandalorian. He’s got jokes.

You snort, more at the realisation than anything else, and his posture brightens. “If you’re sure.” You press your lips together, thinking of a name. The back of your neck tingles all the while, and the weight of his stare is welcome for the first time. “We could just keep simple? ‘Mando’ would work.”

“Original,” he drawls, not unkindly. “But fine by me.” You have no idea, but it sounds like he’s smiling.

“Alright, then, Mando.” It’s so surreal, chatting with your own personal nightmare after months, just to find out he’s kind of… sweet. Nice to talk to, in a way you didn’t know you needed till now.

———

You two make small talk for a while over the counter. Mild, lighthearted. You learn that Mando’s a much more nuanced soul than you first assumed. Thoughtful, contemplative — careful in the way he speaks to you. You’re not used to that kind of consideration, and it’s appreciated. He’s funny, too, in a crooked kind of way. Like a mismatched puzzle piece fitting in the wrong set, bringing a bemused, entertained quirk to your lips. He conveys wry amusement surprisingly well, despite wearing no facial expression to back him up.

Now that you’re not quaking at the sight of him, your curiosity emerges. Is it a pain, lugging so much armour around? Does he sleep with the helmet on? When did he get that ship, parked just outside? Is it painful, having such a pensive heart, but evoking fear with every step?

Mainly, though, you’re just happy. The blue of his beskar is softer to the eyes, now. It’s the feeling of dipping your toes into chill, crisp waters. Testing the mood of the current, of this new depth you have yet to discover.

Being friends. What a novel idea.

Mando turns to look out the window. The day is well into the afternoon; there’s still time before sunset. “I should get going,” he states, but makes no move to shift off the desk.

There’s a twinge of disappointment. “Oh. Right, your work.” You scuff the toe of your boot against the floor. What can you say, really? One day of budding friendship doesn’t give you the right to impose.

“Yes. The Castle is… eastward, you said?”

You hum in agreement with where his finger is pointing. A shame. You thought you’d have more time with him. “Three miles through the forest,” you intone glumly. “Can’t miss it.”

Would you have to wait a cycle to see him again? More? Would you be waiting here, stuck in your idyllic, but oh-so-small corner of the galaxy, waiting for your Mandalorian to return? You purse your lips; the image doesn’t agree with you. You don’t agree with it, rather.

Finally, he straightens, and the height difference doesn’t startle you, this time. (Impresses you, maybe. Makes something giddy flutter in your chest. But you can’t afford those thoughts, can you?)

Mando tilts his helmet side to side slightly, as if he’s considering something. Weighing the pros and cons, and the action is somewhat exaggerated. You pay no heed, picking at a nail bed idly. It’s childish, sulky.

“Three miles can be travelled by foot. No need to waste the fuel.” He turns to you. “Never been through these woods before, though. Might get lost.”

In your disgruntlement, you don’t catch the leading inflection. You sigh. “I don’t think a Mandalorian would have much issue with an uninhabited forest. You’ll be fine. Just one straight path; don’t stray and it’s easy—”

Mando bends down a little, and says your name seriously, prompting you to look up. "I might get lost. Could use a guide.”

Your lips part in realisation, forming a small ‘o’. That’s what you say, too, and heat blooms in your cheeks at his static-filled snicker. He thinks he’s clever.

“So,” you start swiftly, attempting to recover your dignity. “Is it my turn to save the damsel?” He turns to the door, and you step round the desk to join him.

“I can slay my own beasts,” he snarks, and the mirth you hear is lilting. “You can return the favour, for the dragon I just scared off.”

You huff. “Hardly a dragon, I think.” With finality, you flick off the electric lights and step outside into the clean Takodana breeze.  “Wasn’t really a rescue so much as pest control.” You detect the light, spiced scent of the fragrant tree bark nearby. It grounds you to this moment. Taking in a hearty breath, you do your best to put that stinking Zabrak out of your mind.

A few hours off would be good. You barely get any guests anyway, and Maz is the understanding type. Living for millennia must do that to you.

Mando says nothing as you punch the lock code digits into the door, and start to make your way towards the forest. You know the path to the Castle like the back of your hand, like the strokes on your face, but you have never walked it with company. You smile, unabashed.

There’s a first time for everything.

———

[note: if there’s any warnings you think should be mentioned, please let me know.]

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[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.