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certifiedskywalker · 5 years ago

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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,” 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.

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certifiedskywalker · 5 years ago

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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.

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