Paz Vizsla X You - Tumblr Posts

Can I ask about two things? Blue Mando-Paz Feels and The Touch Barrier? Feel free to only answer one! This is @newpathwrites btw.

Hekk yeah I'll answer both, @newpathwrites!!! Let's goooo~

The Touch Barrier | Ver. 1 under the cut

Ah my lovely fic headcanons with no real name... The Google Doc I have my drabbles about Paz Viszla are on just a funny sheet called quite literally Blue Mando Paz Feels. We had so little Paz content at the time I began writing these in 2019, but when I tell you my mind went wild...

Big blue boi Mando had my heart from the get go, and I quickly envisioned a nameless little OC (that I have yet to get onto paper). I paired him with a gentle soul who has a heart bigger than her head, and shakes the moment a gun is put into her hands-- but I think that brand of softness may be just what he needed in this harsh lonely world Mandalorians are so used to. He's big, he's blue, and it's cuffing season.. all I gotta say on that.

Now that I've seen more of Viszla in Season 3 I HAVE NEW SOURCE MATERIAL MUAHAHAHA but (ach-hem) I really do think the newest episodes helped me figure out his 'voice' so I might pick these little stories back up!

//psst my favorite of these is one where oc/reader's helping him clean up after a yucky, muggy recon mission, seeing him scrub himself really hard and she fusses over how rough he's being-even with himself. I go into how to care for your beskar, some Din Djarin rivalry-ish backstory, and how SWEET Paz can be when he's treated gently... Perhaps I'll flesh this one out if there's interest?

But also... my beloved:

I answered a bit on my different directions on The Touch Barrier here... But I imagine you'll be most interested in the first iteration of it, so here's a snippet!!

"Are we ok?"

The helmet straightened up, fixed to you again from its nervous evasion. "What?"

"You look like a caged lothcat right now.." you shared, unable to hold back a smile. "And here I thought we were on hugging terms~"

Inside the beskar suit, Mando’s neck flared with heat. And before he could silence himself,

"..we are?"

You hummed noncommittally- betraying your whole-hearted desire.

"I hoped so. At least I thought we might be, based on how you boarded the other day. Unless you didn't necessarily want me there. After all, I know you were kinda having a hard time staying upright."

Only then did Mando's beskar curves slide more naturally into place. No longer bolted to the wall but angled catty corner to you. 

He recalled the 'hug' referenced, but he also remembered how he'd cupped your head to him after you'd brought him up to the cockpit-- that one was for comfort. Not stability.

"I was. But that's not why I .."

–but before he fully finished his train of thought, the baby in the hold let out a frustrated garble of calls as a rolling ball clinked out of his reach. Each plunk echoed down the rungs until it rolled off to parts unknown. You snorted, wondering what on earth he was getting into up there.

"Gosh, that little guy. Sorry, what were you saying?" you recentered from your distraction.

With a lag in his shoulders, the Mandalorian thought the truth to be the best answer. But still wanting to answer to the Child, he nodded his head on for you to continue down to the hull, and he'd follow,

"I was just going to say," he answered, "I didn't do that because I couldn't stand on my own. i-i mean I couldn't, true, but the thing is, I 'wanted to'..." 

His heart was thundering, some cracks in his words were audible,

"I was bleeding out all over the floor. But really, l I could think of was just how grateful I was that you hadn't been hurt. You were safe, and seeing you? I was relieved."

Now side by side in the open air cargo space you smiled, feeling a bit like the silly girls in the holonovels when they pushed their hair behind their ears.

"Well... For one, I'm glad you're not bleeding all over the floor."

That earned you a breathy laugh, "Thank you."

"And for two, I'm- glad you wanted to. Because I may or may not have been wanting to, myself.." 

Mando paused in his strides. which you matched. Even though you were unable to read his expression, you gave a satisfied little smile with your answer, 

"So… it sounds like we're on the same page."

"Sounds like we are."

The Child whined again, making both tip their head off to the side, perfectly in sync.

"I can go get him-- meet you back up top?"

"Okay." He nodded and they split.

Back in the cockpit, you wrangled the bouncing little potato sack. Mando turned when you came in, hearing you corral the kid trying to jump out of your arms to get a better view from his pram.

"Ok ok kiddo, good grief– your seat's but going anywhere!" You shrilled. Planted into his blankets, he sat back in content, swaying side to side, taking in the stars and clusters they were passing in awe.

"Handful?"

"More like tryin'a be a hand-empty, the little wiggle worm." you sassed. His playfighting was all in good fun.

The Mandalorian spun to meet you. First and foremost, you know he'd set the locks on the overhead panels on the side wall, but then he surprised you when he faced fully after you readjusted your clothes the kid had tugged every which way.

"You're good with him. He seems happy to have someone else around." He complimented, stepping into your space. 

Then- finally- meeting your sparkling eyes with all their silent anticipation of his arms, he wrapped around you to pull you in. You locked him in by the waist. 

Then, slightly softer, he nearly whispered, "and.. he's not the only one."

Smushed slightly into his flight suit padding above his chest plate, you smiled. The pats you gave him back passed assurance and as much comfort as you could manage in this relatively tiny hunk of metal in the vast black dust of space. 

"Feeling's mutual, hon."

Hope you liked it!! More of this may come one day...

...dangit.. now I wanna finish this. (le sigh)

Just Be Gentle

Pairing: Paz Viszla x reader (fem!reader, 'Songbird' for the use in the fic)

Words: 3,589

Rating: Teen+

Warnings: post-mission, light banter, mutual pining, mild!grumpy/sunshine, FLUFF, tender touching, teaching self-care, injury care, washing up- (not spicy yet, sorry loves) cuddles if you squint

Summary: He is a Cornerstone in his own right. The moment the Hunter dropped her off to him, she knew instantly by the reactions of everyone around her that this was a leader they respected, followed into the grittiest of scraps, because he’s the man with the biggest gun and equal fire. They call him Al’orad, their Top gunman, and always, brother. And brothers, well– he sure fought to protect them as only family would.

Paz Vizsla is the storm itself. Only now, it seems he got caught in the crosshairs and succumbed to the hurricane of the skirmish. It didn’t worry him, he’s patched up his own scrapes before.An immovable Mandalorian he may be, but she his Songbird– gentle soul who’d sooner see to his wounds herself than watch him treat himself so roughly any longer.

A/N: Special thanks to @newpathwrites for the original ask! Here's to you~ The response to my Paz thoughts inspired me to finish this one out the rest of the way, and was a joy to write. If you're like me and still reeling from the episode which must not be named, then you'll be glad to know PAZ LIVES ON IN FIC! This was written in third person as a practice for me, but please put yourself in Songbird's shoes in whatever race, kind or creed you claim. It's a big galazy, so imagine along with me~ edit: @newpath3432!

For my Star Wars | Mandalorian Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on A03

She could tell by the slight limp: Big Blue was hurt. He walked the earth with a strong presence, and now that presence hobbled with a case of the hiccups. It would be funny, if it weren’t stemming from a place of clear pain. Wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it, but he can’t avoid the obvious. 

When he started walking into a lean towards the pillar in the dank entrance to the covert, she walked even faster. The heavy artillery strapped to his back in coils was slipping. Speeding up to a light jog, she caught him fast by the elbow– flitted past the other sentries like the little Songbird she is, straight to his side to corral him by the arm.

"THeRe you are.."

Her name flowed off his tongue when he realized she’d snuck up on him; not that the Mandalorian ever really used it. By the way she’d been caught humming at all hours of the day and night, she’d come to earn the nickname ‘Songbird’ around the dank halls of Nevarro’s underground lava flats.

There’s barely a point trying to hide someone as tall, broad, and vast as him; as her blue-armored warrior claims the attention of everyone in any room he enters… but perhaps for just a minute, she could manhandle his form so that he’d blend into the support column on the other side. To keep him behind it, and out of sight for only a quick once-over.

He is a Cornerstone in his own right. Both a buoy in the sea and a lighthouse on a hill. The moment the Hunter dropped her off to him, she knew instantly by the reactions of everyone around her that this was a leader they respected and would gather arms with him into the grittiest of scraps. They call him Al’orad, their Top gunman, and always, brother. ‘You couldn’t be in better hands,’ the one she’d later call Din Djarin had said:

Paz Vizsla is the storm itself and brings the fire befitting a Mandalorian. Only now, it seems some of the fire has caught him.

He halted at her first call to him, yet followed into her tug willingly. A testament to their unexpected orbit; Paz found himself biting his tongue and falling into her draw whenever she sought him out even though he’s twice her size– just as she could pick his boisterous call out of a crowd and would come to stand alongside him as if no one were watching. For her, stepping out under everyone’s helmeted attention took an uncharacteristic flare of courage- one that Paz brought out in her.

Under the arch, the Alor’ad was quite literally pulled from the roster of tasks in his mind to her will. That stern look in her usually tender eyes siphoned his full attention.  How they never failed to stare right where his would be.

Paz greeted her with his immediate sense of concern.

"--shouldn't you be inside?" he braced an arm against the pillar ledge, relaxed.

"Shouldn't you be in the med tent?" Her eyes flickered across him: around his belt, to holster, and up again.

"I'm just fine."

"Paz."

He pressed a hand over hers, where she’d gripped the lip of his chest plate. "I will go when the others are seen to.”

“You need to be seen to!”

“Our healers are few; they’re overwhelmed.” Paz’s firm words -though delivered peaceably- commanded this conversation. “Those who suffered entry wounds receive attention first. My injuries are not urgent."

"You're limping; I could see it a mile away, and that's no good to anyone if you're ignoring your own problems,” she stressed again, “Play ‘Mr. Defender’ to your tribe all you want, but you’re fooling yourself if you think you can serve them at your best in this shape..."

He paused, looking back to her again and winced internally at the level of quiet care she was pleading to him.

"In my experience,  I know you Mandos tend to shrug off anything short of a lost limb when it comes to pain,” Songbird’s a natural at this; making a case. She spoke her peace with a rein on her temper. “I'd prefer to see it not get to that point. You're no exception… and you're the strongest one I know." she admitted.

Against impropriety’s warning bells in his bucket, Paz cupped her cheek, mindful of the rough leather to not irritate her. It’s indulgent, but he risks it.

"I'll be there soon,” he promises, “I give you my word, if you'll believe it."

"I want to, Blue," she offered with a gentle warning.

"Then keep me accountable. You’ll find me sitting in that alcove in ten minutes. If I'm not..." His head quirked with a little show of amusement, "You have my permission to drag me by my shebs there."

Sure enough, he did– true to his word, once his offloading task was completed. 

The covert’s Song remained under the awning of the covert’s med tent in the karyai as she watched Paz’s still-armored self being seen and treated on the left triage station. There she waited for him, until he reemerged with a hand to her shoulder in greeting. She squeezed it, asked if he was good to go, and he was all too ready to agree to some downtime. To seal the deal, she offered an arm around his back and he willingly outstretched his across her shoulders. 

It would be pointless to assume she’s honestly bearing any weight, but her offer to help was received kindly, as if he did. Then again, the way Paz spoke of her to the others in his faction, she knew he believed her capable of heart.

Then, with every grace like a nesting dove, she moved independently in his space like it was second nature, despite her only having been here one or two other times as emergency demanded it. A sealed bacta patch had been applied to the slope of his neck on one side, but after inspection, they’d hardly cleaned him up much. She'd located clean handcloths and a pitcher since they were ready and prepared at a moment’s notice on Paz's galley counter.

The question of what the case for water was at the front table lingered at her tongue, but it left her completely as she heard Paz grunt on sitting, one leg extended further than the other. He busied himself with smaller huffs of effort trying to get his armor off.

"Do you need help?" She offered gently, not wanting to coddle the grown man before her.

“M’fine. It's-- (ah) tricky, anyway. Faster if I do it." 

But even as he turned to wince and release the back plate with no success, she’d stepped over to him and released the clasp with a few well-placed fingertips. It unlocked easily and loosened into his lap. He turned a bit -until the woman he’d come to adore came into his visor’s view- to see a smile finally eased across her features.

"I've watched Djarin work it enough times, I could wear a kit myself. May I?"

Just the sound of that one word alone sunk a ballast into Paz's stomach worse than the fight did. Not even the clan he was folded into–she knew his first. His low tone shared such, though she took it as tiredness at first,

"You know his name."

"Hm? Oh, yes! I do know," she piped up. "It was the two of us drifting out on the Belt for so long, I think he took pity on me. Only so many times I would say 'hey you' before he felt bad for me, I think. Just calling him ‘Mando’ like everyone else seemed odd after a while– especially since he said I’d be meeting more soon; even that was never going to last as a nickname around a covert of them."

Paz only hummed. The clear picture of familiarity came to mind, how their months were spent  in the time before him buzzed around his jealous thoughts uncomfortably. That nasty inkling of jealousy seeped into her sharing of stories of him. 

But her lightness never wavered as she kept speaking–she simply moved her way to take care of his shoulder pauldrons next.

"--but he did tell me that's not the case everywhere, telling a non-mandalorian their name... He asked for discretion, so I never speak it around anyone else. Said it was fine here though, that you would call each other by clan name or given, so. Uhm.. where do you keep these?"

Paz turned to see her cradling one piece under each arm, one contoured to her breast, and the other gently in the crook of her elbow - hands full with the inner paddings of both. He leaned forward a touch, drew up a bottle of some solvent from the crate nearest him, and squirted some into the basin of water. 

"In there is fine.."

She emptied her arms, and noticing he made no move to continue disarmoring himself, she kept going in his stead. She imagined he'd probably never had someone tasked to do this for him, and perhaps enjoyed the doting behind closed doors. 

"Secret ingredient?" Song pried.

"It's an old recipe; cleans the armor without stripping it." He leaned back to where he was before, widening his legs for her to step between if she needed. “The alchemical reaction requires a tub to dilute the concentrate. Too strong and potent on its own, it would oxidize on contact without water."

“You’re on the wrong planet for that.” She grimaced with a jerk towards the window, the lava flats beyond.

“All the more reason for us to keep sentries by the reserve tanks. It is precious.”

Huffing a bit, she chuckled. "I can tell. oof- but that smell would be strong on a ship."

He hummed back to agree, and in a rare show of comfort as the weight of beskar was taken from him piece by loving piece, spoke, "...You're good at this."

She shrugged, a little tone in her voice. 

"Yeah, Din came back half dead after a run-in with a pack of Trandoshans on Ord Mantell, so that was a trial by fire I won't forget. I had to do it all myself. He could barely talk, his concussion was so bad- oh gods, I was terrified the whole time, because I knew I needed to check to see if any bits were cutting into him between the plates. But also figured because of the Creed, I thought he might have to kill me once I was done. Had to weigh the options for a sec, but really, he was too passed out to notice. When he woke up the next day he was mortified, poor baby.. Felt bad that I had to manage on my own, but he didn't care at all that I had seen actual skin." 

Her eyes twinkled and she smirked at what happened next. 

"I told him I was flattered of course, but I wouldn't have peeked.. if for no other reason, then out of respect for that sweetheart he's got on Sorgan."

–And thank the MAKER for that sweetheart on Sorgan.

But rather than scream his relief, Paz laughed it out to cover up his anxious nerves. 

"Sorgan, huh? Isn't that planet just a bunch of fishing holes?"

“Farms of them, apparently.” His elbows were now exposed, and next, the vambraces.

“So Djarin was wooed.. by a farmer.”

"Mhm," she removed the second, slipping out the lining and gloves to wash. "Widowed, with a cute little daughter who has eyes for the nugget- sweet guy was done for. She started leaving him his meals out for him on a hot plate the first night, so he wouldn't have to eat it cold. He still denies it," she rolled her eyes, "--but he said if he had the chance, he'd love to 'teach the little ones how to hunt one day’. Tell them more stories since so much has happened since we last stopped there. He'd make a good retiree. Deserves someone like her." 

She seemed full of nothing but pride as she spoke. However, soon the sentimental coles turned impressed.

"And hell, she's a real catch if her shot is any indication. No wonder he was so gone on her. So... Who knows?"

She busied herself with turning the gloves back inside out to wash and knelt to start on his boots, but froze looking up when Paz asked, 

"And you? Anyone else on Sorgan?"

"No. Not into farmers." she didn't look up, but shrugged, "Nothing Sorgan could offer me." She leveled out her mouth oddly, “...Might find it here, though."

"Is that so?" 

"mhm..." She finished loosening one and yanked it off with a little give before moving to the hurt one, more carefully. 

"If I can get 'im to quit getting banged up," she groused adorably, "maybe, just maybe I might find a Mandalorian to put up with me long enough…." 

Attentive as always, Song remained mindful of his breathing to ensure she wasn't jostling too much. 

"Might have to learn how to shoot better though. Those weapons are everything to you. I doubt anyone around here would take on a civvie like me as I am." She looked up and leaned into deprecating humor with a shy look. "M'not exactly the strongest either even though I’m light on the feet. That won’t do much good around here.. And I have a pretty bad mouth to get myself in trouble enough as it is."

This worry under the surface– not unlike a turtleduck spending its days furiously pedaling under the water, but looking ever too graceful on the surface. Naturally, the covert’s Songbird herself made counting her faults look like preening.

Paz chuckled.

"That's hardly a bad thing." He eased her worries. "Shooting can be taught. It's things like that ‘smart mouth’ that draw someone in. Catch someone's eye and ear."

How dare her heart give her that much hope…

"Y'think so?" She loosened his knee braces, doing her best not to ogle the strength of his legs in such close proximity. Surely he’s being too kind.

"I listened to you, didn't I? The list of those who can manage that feat is very short– ask anyone here…”

This seemed to humor her at least, if not outright pleasing her, and she shuffled back up to her feet, taking the cloth he'd been wiping his hands with and taking it with the dirty clothes. 

He'd shed his shirt too in the space while she talked-- and she hid her surprise the moment her back turned and her ears burned with the sight. 

Thick arms matched his thicker-than-durasteel legs, and strong ones– they’re downright gorgeous like the rest of him… but when she looked back, a tremor of panic surfaced, seeing how rough he was wiping along his patches from the nurses station, and she hurried back to his side right away to remedy that,

"--hey, easy!"

Paz looked up with surprised and she second guessed her urgency, coming back calmer.

"Y’just-” the poor thing braved a word of careful guidance, “You shouldn't be so rough, when the edges are still healing.."

Although intimidated by his size and what foul response he may have for being chastised, Paz surprised her with a simple 'by all means' and surrendered the cloth. She dampened it, and dutifully stood before him again.

To her surprise, Paz patted his leg and prompted her to sit: just as she had by the fire.

Yet while she took the spot, she didn't fall into his arms with the same comfort as that night a few weeks back. A wine-drunk flirty version of herself sunk into the embrace of her protector to chat him up, at his invitation. She’d not even been that nervous then, or even days after when they’d both been sober. There was a shortage of chairs in one of the meeting rooms, one glance turned to another, and he patted his leg in just the same way. She’d hardly shied away from his attention– enjoyed it, actually, to the point of craving. The top-of-the-line thermal compression pajamas she’d seen spread around on all the midwinter advertisements around the market could never warm her through like he could. She’s ruined for life if this trend turns into a habit…

But this was hardly the time for a cozy rendezvous– not while he was hurting. 

Unaware of any of these inner ramblings, Paz laid a hand on her waist to train her to relax anyway. His free hand simply held her to his lap, thumbing along her far thigh. To ensure she didn't slip, of course. 

Starborne’s Grace and Favor… this man is a delight for the eyes. For a man brimming with muscles, the cushioned fat layer made Paz quite comfortable– and quite the sight with blossoming tattoos along his chest and ribs.

While she set to cleaning the remaining blood the nurses missed first, Song also freshened the cloth, waving it a bit to introduce cool air, and dabbed off his collarbones and along either side of his neck, swiping along where his lean indicated. 

Gods it felt good. He'd be asleep in minutes if she kept this up. Paz bit his tongue to keep from moaning outright.

Attention trained towards his comfort, the Songbird asked softly, "You must be hot under there."

His words slurred a tad in response, "I'm used to it."

She frowned a little but just tipped the chin of his helmet up just a touch, wiping up his throat to catch some sweat. She was interested to find dark, auburn stubble to hint at a full beard under the seal, but evaded from peeking too much and jerked her sights up to his visor instead. 

"I don't say that to pry about what's under there, but I'd reckon to say a beard does make it warmer y'know…"

"I count on it during the cold seasons here." He murmured just as low as the first time, tilting whichever way she wanted. She could feel his true voice hum along his throat by the bob of his Adams apple. " I didn't plan on going to a damn swamp for the last week, or else I woulda shaved it."

"Poor thing." She mimicked, caressing the back of his neck. She spaced out at some point over him as she worked along his shoulders and passed the hand towel back and forth, registering only through touch how warm he felt beneath her. Warm and pliant and dangerously close to stealing her heart away and ruining her for other men… 

It felt incredibly good, but Paz had half a guilty heart; she must be getting tired. The helm faced her head on,

"You don't have to do all that..." he cupped the fleshy inner part of her palm with utmost care– care that he typically never treated himself with.

"I want to.” she hummed back easily. “You deserve it.”

At his encouragement, she swept broader strokes down his back and up again with one hand, bracing on his shoulder with the other. It was so contoured, sweeping hills of strength along his spine where muscles built up over years of use. A landscape worthy of some special attention.

Paz just sat there –calm on the exterior, but a swirling pool of doubt and bewilderment, and unworthiness weighting down his chest into heavy breaths. This girl was making him into mush by the minute.

"How's that. Better?"

The helmet nodded back and its voice hummed a little.

He’s growing more in love by the minute, too. Just keep talking, sweet sparrow.

She sat back and propped up in his lap, crossing her ankles.

"I can warm up that food if you want; or you can shower up and I'll have it inside for you before I go." 

His hand caught hers, "--You don't have to go."

"Not even so you can eat?" She clarified, curiously.

"I can wait on that. You..." He tipped the helmet down so their joined hands were in view. "...Food can wait."

The Paz Vizsla was holding her hands in both of his now, and she let him. These hands– the ones that made it their mission to treat him kindly when little mercies in this galaxy ever did…

She smiled, even though he was hardly watching: his big blue helmet is trained on feeling how soft hers must be by comparison. She’s finding it adorable that the big, strong Mandalorian seemed fascinated by her hands of all things. Song couldn't imagine she was the first girl to be perched on his lap like this, but by the way he rubbed over her like something precious, she secretly hoped she could be the last.

" ‘Food can wait.’ “ she repeated in a tease, “Since when would any fiery Mandalorian say such a lie– stalling a meal just because you found a little bird on your lap, huh? You want me to start singing for you next?"

Nudged from his trance, the visor lifted to her again making him lean back more comfortably, 

"I wouldn't say no to that." Paz flirted right back. 

With outstretched legs once more, Paz brought one up to be elevated as advised while guiding her in by her waist to relax in his lap again and take a break herself. 

The Songbird followed his lead this time– and resumed her trademark humming with the knowledge of a job well done.

Tigaane - Touches

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x Reader

Summary: Space cuddles in the dark. Face reveal (but not really.) ((because it is dark.))

Rating: General Audiences

Additional Tags: Earthling!Reader, Fluff, Non-Sexual Intimacy, self-indulgent semi self-insert, there's hugs and scritches and they're very comfortable with each other, part of the Mando'a for Beginners!verse

Wordcount: 1.6k

Cross-posted to AO3 (link in the comments).

(Chapter 2: on tumblr and also on AO3)

---

You sit on your side of the sleeping compartment of the little spaceship Paz had… "acquired" a while ago. The room holds nothing more than a double sized cot where both of you fit in comfortably, and some shelves on the wall, and after an initial hesistance you found that co-sleeping and cuddling while zipping through hyperspace was something you both were looking forward to.

You have your headlight on, a hand carved crochet hook in your hand, and you just fasten off another square that you want to attach to a blanket-to-be - as the door opens and the door frame fills with the equally wide frame of your companion.

"Course all set," he grumbles. "If all goes well, we'll have a quiet eight hour trip ahead."

"And if not?"

"Oh you know. The usual. Suffocating and freezing to death in the vast and empty void of space."

You raise an eyebrow. "You think you're funny, Paz Vizsla, but I'll be laughing the loudest if this really happens one day."

He chuckles in response. "Won't hear it, Laar'ika," - he stretches with a groan and several joints pop into place - "Space is not only dead cold and dead empty. It is also dead silent."

You roll your eyes and smirk. "You're an insufferable big blue tin can man sitting in a tiny rusty tin can sham, you know that."

"I do!" he exclaims cheerfully. "And the only thing to make it sufferable is that you're on board, too."

You huff and laugh and switch off your light as he stretches again and starts taking off his beskar'gam. Now the only thing you see is the dim glow of the HUD in his buy'ce, and not for the first time you wonder how he sees you with it - and how he looks without it.

He follows his routine - taking off a piece of his armour, wiping it with a damp cloth, inside and out, and then placing it gently under the bed. You sit in the dark and listen, and by now you can recognize the parts by sound. Or maybe it's the never changing order in which he takes them off. It's probably both.

First thing to leave is the utility belt.

Then left boot, and right boot.

Left shin guard, right shin guard.

Left thigh guard, right thigh guard.

Left side, right side. Like a clockwork.

It's mesmerizing.

Eventually the last metal clonks gently as he puts it on the ground, flak vest and flight suit also rustle into their nightly place on two hangers for some air running through them during resting time.

You chew on the inside of your mouth, unable to keep the curiosity at bay but also unsure of how to approach the matter.

"Paz?"

"Hm?"

"Do you think…-"

"Sometimes, yeah." He chuckles.

"No di'kut, I wanna ask you something."

"Ask then." He sits down beside you against the wall, reaches up, and takes a soda can from the shelf, opening it with a cold crack.

"But you can always say no," you insist.

He takes a long swig, swallows and "ahhh"s the content sound of quenched thirst.

"You know I love to say no."

"I know.. but maybe… eek!" A surprised squeak escapes you as something cold taps your knee twice. You reach to take the offered can and a sip from it. It gives you the courage you needed, and you try again.

"Can.. Could I…Would you…? like… Ugh! Look! I know we're kinda working with a loophole here already, sitting in pitchblack and all, and I don't know if there's any more wiggle room. But if there is, can I… can.. See, I just… really wanna touch your face? Kinda like seeing it with my hand?"

He doesn't answer immediately, and you sit in the dark without the slightest indicator of what he's thinking, and it's a little torture, if you're being honest. And just as you're about to accept his neverending scorn that this bold question inevitably will result in, he clears his throat, takes the can from your hand and empties it in one go. Apparently he needs the courage, too.

"You wanna see my face?" he rumbles tentatively

"Well, technically we're not even talking about "seeing". Just… feeling it."

"Right now?"

"If.. if that's okay? or, you know, never… whenever you like. Or not! it's your ch-"

- "Okay."

Truth be told, he had longed for your touch ever since the Cave Incident, just never managed to work up the courage to ask. And what would he have said anyway? "Excuse me friend from another galaxy, please touch here." No. Nononono. Better to marinate in his own yearning. That is much better, right?

His thoughts get interrupted by your movement as you shift around to look at him (or at least in his general direction).

"Are you sure? I don't want you to get into trouble just because of a silly aruetii and her curiosity."

He also shifts around to sit opposite of you and gently takes your hands, completely enclosing them with his.

"You're not silly, Laar'ika, far from it. And you've proven more than once that there's a mando heart beating in that chest of yours."

He is so soft and earnest that it leaves you speech- and breathless so you just blink stupidly into the darkness.

He lifts your hands up to his lips and presses a very gentle kiss on them. A hot and cold shiver runs down your spine and all you can do is hope that your breathing starts up soon again or you will faint and this moment will end rather abruptly.

With a soft "Ke'haa'tayli" he places your hands on his cheeks.

Your mind spins and you start to see black dots in the darkness and finally you remember to breathe.

You exhale and breathe in and the fresh air into your brain breaks your stupor so you can scoot closer, and end up sitting cross-legged between his opened legs.

You know these scruffy cheeks, you've cupped them before, but never ventured further. Now you relish in running your hands over the scruff of a chiseled chin and jawline and his cheeks that are soft and round, and as you slowly feel your way up you notice the wrinkles and laugh lines around the eyes. His eyes are shut but the lashes flutter involuntarily is you gently travel over the eyelids and eyebrows.

He scoots closer, leans into your touch, tension leaving him with a little sigh.

You go further up, fanning your finger across his forehead. There's more wrinkles there but they soften under your touch. Once more your fingers glide across the forehead, brushing into his hairline. There's a cowlick there, a few stubborn strands standing up despite the constant pressure of his buy'ce and the flight suit's hood.

You scritch, and he can't help a groan, and then you travel back down again to the ears to trace them. Then back over the cheeks to his nose, and you find that it is somewhat crooked, like it was broken a few times. A scar spreads horizontally over the bridge. You massage it with gentle circles before stroking over the eyebrows again a few times.

Paz sighs again, and relaxes even more into your discovering touches. Brain empty, there's only you, enveloped by velvet darkness and the spaceship's hum.

His hands find purchase at your sides, digging into your supple hips as if he wanted to make sure you don't suddenly float away and disappear. As if he anchored himself to stop his spinning head.

At last he can muster a croaked whisper.

"What do you see?"

You smile and scoot forward and gently bonk your forehead to his. "A handsome face with a history."

He laughs. "I'd debate the handsome, but…"

"Oh that's entirely /not/ up for debate, mister!"

"Not?"

"Mh-mh. Don't talk yourself down. That's what you told me. And this includes you, too."

There's not much room left between you but it's still too much, so he wraps you up into his arms, pulls you closer and you detangle your legs and wrap them around him.

He rests his head on your shoulder and you lean yours against his and revel in his warmth and his faint smell of gun oil, blaster residue and lanolin (from the woolly flightsuit), tied together by the soap made by the covert's own soap works into what has become your favourite smell of comfort.

You hear his heartbeat, his calm breathing. The hum of the hyperdrive reminds you of the deadly cold outside, but right now you couldn't care less because if you do crash somehow this very instant, you'd die happy, content and calm.

You start running your fingers through his hair, gently scritching the scalp with your fingernails. Paz can't help a groan escape, and you are not sure if that one was a content or a pained one, so you stop.

"You okay?" you whisper.

Another groan is the answer, but he nods into your shoulder, so you continue your ministrations of slow, languid scritchy circles across his head.

After a while you notice he's completely slack, snoring into your shoulder. You chuckle to yourself, carding through his tousled hair with a small, affectionate smile.

You would have continued like that for a little longer, but he's getting too heavy, just hanging on your shoulder like that, so you try to lower him down as carefully as you can. You search for and pull up his blanket and tuck him in. Then you get your own blanket and place yourself behind him. For now, you're the big spoon, and you use it to your advantage to press a little kiss to the back of his head.

"Jate ca, ner ori'kebiin di'kut," you whisper. "Sleep well."

Soon you drift off into sleep yourself undisturbed, warm, and content.

---

Translations and pronunciations (if available) from www.mandoa.org, and The Total Guide to Mandalorian Language by Tal'jair Rusk:

Tigaane - made up from: tigaanur -- [tee-gah-NOOR] - to touch. The "-e" is the plural suffix.

Laar'ika from laar -- [lar] -- song. "-ika" is the diminutive suffix, making this "Little Song"

beskar'gam -- [BES-kahr-GAM] -- armour

buy'ce -- [BOO-chay, BOO-shay] -- helmet

di'kut -- [DEE-koot] -- idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on). But, like, it's affectionate here, okay? xD

aruetii -- [ah-roo-AY-tee] -- traitor, foreigner, outsider. obviously used here in the sense of "foreigner, outsider".

Ke'haa'tayli from: haa'taylir -- [har-tie-LEER] -- see, look. Prefix "ke-" turns a statement into a command.

"Jate ca, ner ori'kebiin di'kut": Good night, my big blue idiot from: jate -- [JAH-tay] -- good ca -- [kah] -- night ner -- [nair] -- my, mine ori' -- [OH-ree] -- big, very (used as a prefix) kebiin -- [keh-BEEN] -- blue

[Also, for the record: All Mandos smell a little bit like sheep because the flightsuits are made of Special Space Wool that saves them from smelling like hell after spending basically their entire time enclosed in a tin can.]

✨ send this to ten bloggers you think are wonderful. keep the game going ! hope you're having a beautiful day darling, sending lots of love your way✨

@evenstaredits you are just the best 🥰🥰🥰🥰

As a life update, I have not abandoned writing!! Between fun summer travel and then two back to back surgeries for my poor puppy (15 month old, but he's still Baby), it's been a wild and unexpected few months. Work's also gearing up with changes all around, so while it's exciting, it's been zapping my time and brainpower-- and coffee writing hours 😭

Here's my current slate of WIPs for any and all interested:

LotR: Thorin WIP (sequel to Want for Nothing by request!)

LotR: Thorin WIP // some lovely storm comfort with our King~

LotR: Fili one-shot // my first for him that I'd love to make a full one shot!

Star Wars: Boba Fett // one shot that I might make a lil series? Techy Reader and delicious Daimyo!BoBF era Boba ❤️‍🔥

Star Wars: Paz Viszla (sequel to Just be Gentle by request; perhaps taking relationship to next level-- goobs of sweetness) + maybe it's sequel?...

Star Wars: (2) Din Djarin stories that are mostly complete! Just gotta format, land the plane, and make pretty for Tumblr 🤩

LoZ: one shots, bc Tears of the Kingdom got me in my Hyrule Brainrot Era... So many thots, so little time~~

My Star Wars content tends to do the best here and on Ao3... But I have loads of ideas so that there's something for everyone!! I hope to share more fandom goodness with y'all soon... Major kudos to my Discord family (y'all mean the world to me) for being so supportive -here, and on the interwebs- and for loving me through this unintended hiatus! I have so much reading, replying and reblogging to do...

Perhaps if I take a pure PTO day, I can catch up on everything!

Pic of my sweet puppy for good vibes-

Sneak Peek: Just Be Gentle pt 2

Gif credit by @javier-pena

I am SO delayed in this, but WIP Weekend it is! Recommended by the lovely @djarins-cyare, thanks friend!

I have not visited my drafts folder in sooo long, but I'm coming out of an unintentional writing hiatus and have fresh motivation to open the ole lappytop back up for a little sample to share. Part 1 of this fic was much beloved by yall apparently, so it continues here!

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x reader

Words: 1.9K (for now)

For my Star Wars | Mandalorian Masterlist, check it out here!

Paz watched the scene before him unfold; the heat of compassion bloomed in the gut like stoking a fire…

Din Djarin swore on the deed of his ship that he wasn’t exaggerating. He placed a flag solidly in her camp, and would go to arms for her as a returned gesture of loyalty. From that first meeting when the Hunter came back through the alcove to Nevarro’s covert, he spoke on his companion’s competence on several fronts. Namely, in all the ways that resonated with his people: creative thinking, handy know-how, and something more: empathy- a gift not to be ignored when it came to caring for others -himself included- in moments of high stress. 

He praised her talents ‘all across the board’, citing moments in their brief stint together on the Razor Crest as testimony to his Mandalorian clan for her to remain there in shelter– to be the exception to their rules regarding outsiders. Aruetti. 

A surprise to none, Paz Vizsla deemed that it would be up to him to judge such loyalties for himself; as a man more inclined to view actions as proof rather than words. 

But then he met her. Every bit of what Djarin said was true. Better yet, she proved every assumption of his wrong: allowed her to take him by the crook of his arm, surrendered her best vote of confidence, and let him lead. Acquiesced to his strength, protected it, and encouraged him at every turn. Saved him the first of her meals, the best of her scavenged findings. Took to tending to his wounds herself, because he wasn’t gentle enough to do so on his own.

A few weeks have passed since that day, but his fondness for her didn’t wane like the moon’s phases did. Paz Vizsla made it his mission from that moment forward to carry an extra ounce of gentleness, just for her. 

Then, the refugees came pouring in. Her arrival couldn't have been timed more perfectly, Paz thought; he’d only begun to see the full measure of little Song’s magic the moment he saw her skills at work. 

A smaller covert made a quick exit and raced to safety after a raid depleted their stores a few systems over. There had been some rumors of their hunter clans taking the bait of Guild membership in order to make ends meet, as they’d seen in Djarin’s success. The Way instilled a sense of belonging wherever Mandalorians crossed paths, so merging on his covert’s territory for the upcoming season out of necessity was a given.

But now, in light of Nevarro’s storm season, it seems their numbers would be doubling indefinitely. The situation proved to be a strain and test of everyone’s flexibility and resilience, to keep everyone content and organized on such short notice… but with a Vizsla as Alorad, they flourished with the change in plans and watched on as Paz steeled himself against Fear, and made everything suitable. Supplies were rationed and rooms were stuffed to the brim, but they would make do.

While they may not have resources with them in tow, they more than made up for it by pulling their weight in preparation for the underground shelters. And that, would benefit all. 

Song made herself indispensable, true to what Djarin had said. Moreover, she did so with caring smiles and solemn assurances to the migrating Mandalorians -young and old- who felt very out of place. To those men who lost their way in the bustle and found themselves turned around in the tunnels, she would give quick pointers about where to go– and thanked them for their service to the clan, each and every one. 

Learning fast. Paz was grateful.

Upon nightfall, there was less commotion than normal. As the common spaces gradually funneled down, bedchambers were lit and sealed for the night. For the most part, it was the heads of families -adults- who went to rooms for the night as a chance to let down and get their heads on straight after such a sudden move. Surely not all slept right away, but took to tending to their armor and delving into their meditation practices.

 Meanwhile, their children under ten or so were sent off to the creche where they could be watched over. The community room was next to the medstations, and as kids are often ones to complain of very little bout of aches, pains, or simple snotty noses, it was the logical choice. 

Two crechemasters stayed in the spacious alcove of the Medbay annex overseeing the creche, as well as one of the resident tribe’s kitchen aides, a few men as guards near the entrance and supply doors… and a certain someone -with a voice like the Coming of Spring- that Paz Viszla could never refuse pausing for a minute to listen….

Clearly tugged by the soft spot within him, Paz volunteered to serve first watch over the children for their first night, which made their parents feel that much more assured of their protection. So with blankets pulled from every corner of spare storage, canvas mats laid this way and that, and with juvenile excitement despite the circumstances, the children all got to sleep and the staff interchanged periods of rest until all was quiet by the early waning hours of morning. Even the covert’s local young ones came to join this slumber party of sorts. For the sake of welcoming and strengthening bonds, the crechemasters allowed it. 

Right after the 0300 guards changed out, Paz heard it. Inside the alcoves inset bunks, one of the smallest boys -nearly four years old- was making a steady and increasing amount of noise, until he startled himself awake and clearly didn't know where he was. He was calling for his babuir in their native tongue; but by his aimless flailing about, it’s clear he’s looking for just about anyone bigger than him that might come to his cry for help.

Before Paz could overstep one of the sleeping children nearest him to respond, he caught the woman he'd know to know as the 'Songbird of the Covert' slipping out of the window jumpseat like a sparrow off its perch, flying to the child's stuttering form up on the riser.

"Well hi honey, g'morning to you too~ Pretty early, isn't it?"

Seeing a soothing figure coming to his call, little threadbare arms immediately shot out and spoke brokenly in bits and pieces of a particular Sundari dialect. Basic wasn't his strong suit. Then again, it gave way to crying in minutes anyway, so his distress was clear and the language barrier mattered little.

"Hm?-- ohhh, aw c'mere bub..” the woman set the child on a hip as he clutched to her. She set them in a sway, “Yeah, you can stay up with me– I can always use some snuggles, too."

The toddler nuzzled in but by his whimpers, Song moved towards the open atrium with more room to walk around and hopefully not disturb the sleeping of any others. 

Paz met her there. She'd looked his way with a pitiful expression, traipsing about with the little one in her arms and keeping his little shoulders pressed in close.

"Bad dreams, I'd say," she murmured low to Paz, in Basic. "But I can't tell if anything else is wrong. Doesn’t feel too warm, not coughing. Seems trusting though, poor thing. " she shrugged, motioning to how easily the child was settling.

Through his careful watch of her across the room, he’d caught her sneaking the back of her hand to his forehead earlier in a move masked as just fixing his curls, but fortunately, he must not have been found feverish to warrant more worry. 

Paz came to bring a big, steady hand on the child's back. The kid turned his head from her neck to find the new Alorad tilting his helmet to match, and  made a big sniff to put on a brace face. Shy and no doubt aware of this elder’s importance, he snuck out a little wave back in acknowledgement.

"//Be at peace, young one. You're safe in the Reliable one's arms, that you are.//"

Whatever Paz said to this "adika" -as he seems to have called him- brought relief to the child, as he hugged her neck tighter and made himself comfortable again in her arms.

An amused whisper graced his ears as she looked up at him,

"What'd you say?"

"That he has nothing to worry about," Paz shared kindly. "He seems to like you."

 "I wouldn't think these kiddos would trust strangers so easily after what they've been through," she smoothed back the child’s hair gently- thankfully, his breathing evened out into sleepy sighs.

 "They've had quite the eventful last few days."

She kept humming away for a minute, trying to subconsciously lull the child the rest of the way. She looked absently over the nursery if other young ones, but Paz was captivated by her alone.

This instinct must have been what Djarin was talking about. She hadn't hesitated to jump right in, even though she must have been on the edge of sleep herself- if her state of dress was any hint. Shed opted for no outer protective layers for this reason perhaps- a source of comfort for the little ones, and though perhaps it was also to signify to them she was not a warrior or someone too formal for them to shy away from.

Finally seeing the child dozing back fully, Paz offered to take the child from her and set him back on his bunk above them.

 She let him, adjusting her loose cardigan back onto her shoulder. Shed opted for that over her cropped black body glove that acted as a breastband, and the loose comfy pants that honestly have fit Paz better, but she made do with her current wardrobe and didn't bother worrying about outfits too much.

Here, just over his shoulder, she watched the Big Blue tuck -yes, tuck- the child in. Stepping away only when he saw the child try to settle into his new sleep position did he step away and back towards her retreat to her watch corner.

"Teacher and carer? You're the dual package, Mr. Vizsla."

"I do what I can. It's not often I get to see our children be children- I would preserve that wonder in them if I could."

Childlike innocence: to hear the hardest-working, stoic soldier speak on such tender things was a thing of wonder itself. 

“I’ve only ever seen the little ones work their drills here– recitations, history lessons.” She looked about the room. “I haven’t seen kids this young in a year, much less so many crammed into one room.”

“Well, the rooming arrangement is common practice,” Paz explained, his trademark patience a soothing constant- even through the helmet, “You’ll find a nursery like this in every covert across the galaxy.”

Then, a more sobering thought, one that brought pity to the forefront of her mind:

“If– you weren’t all living down here, would they be going to a normal school? Making other friends? At least while they’re young?”

As if she expected any other answer, Paz’s reflex came through the form of his gentle whisper: “This is the Way.”

“That it is,” she firmed up a knowing smile. “There’s so many of them, going through so much newness at their age.”

Paz agrees, though knows no other way than the community that sleeps before them. To watch the woman’s empathy radiate from her being -those angel eyes- was to know the warmest ray of sunshine in the pit of winter. Such a calm presence… that’s what these youth need, after all. She’s exactly where she should be.