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stubbychaos · 4 years

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Mind Over Matter

Part 1

Pairing: Paz Vizla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: A particularly rough day at the infirmary leaves you exhausted and dead on your feet, but a familiar blue Mandalorian decides to make it a habit to walk you home--a habit that you think you can get used to.

Rated: M for darker themes. Please read with caution if you have any past experiences with abusive relationships or grew up in a toxic environment.

Word Count: 6.5K

Warnings: Descriptions of abuse, injuries and broken bones, though I tried to keep it pretty non-detailed. Extremely brief mention of drug use. Other than that, this is mostly heavy angst/hurt/comfort, with a dash of tooth-rotting fluff and tenderness.

I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

You see the blue Mandalorian four weeks and five days after your initial meeting.

Not that you’re counting or anything.

The heavy-infantry warrior is waiting for you after a particularly rough day where you don’t leave the infirmary until almost three in the morning, though he seems unfazed by being awake at such an ungodly hour, lazily leaning against the side of the building with thick arms crossed over his broad chest. Your wild mane must be an absolute mess after a sixteen hour shift, long locks fighting against the elegant braids you styled your hair into over half a day ago and your vision is borderline blurry as you almost walk past the Mandalorian without noticing him.

You’re not even aware of the way his visor slowly follows you as you tiredly stumble out of the infirmary, hellbent on getting home in one piece so you can get a couple hours of sleep before your next grueling shift.

You’re only a few steps past the massive warrior when he clears his throat loudly and you finally register his presence as you slowly turn around on your heels with narrowed eyes. You’re blinking owlishly at him to confirm he’s actually there and not some figment of your wild imagination, or some fatigue-induced hallucination, and you perk up a little when you realize that he’s really there. The vivid moonlight seems to emphasize the lighter blue in the hollows of his steel cheeks and you think his armor looks far more polished and less dingy than the last time you had seen him.

“You uh, hey--you--”

‘Way to speak so eloquently,’ You chastise yourself, realizing you’re making a fool of yourself when he cocks his helmet to the side as he seems to notice how fatigued and incoherent you are. Perhaps a cock of the helmet is the equivalent of a raised brow and you think he must be amused by your delirious state, though he doesn’t point it out and allows you to be a bit of a mess without making you feel bad about it.

“Saviin’ika,” He greets you with a polite nod, hands falling limply to his sides as he slowly approaches you, seeming completely docile and passive while he observes you through the guise of his shiny visor.

“Mandalorian,” You mumble blearily through a mighty yawn and you hear him sigh a little when you rub your burning eyes, though you remain as diligent as ever and force yourself to focus on any new wounds he might have obtained, “You’re not injured again, are you? I can go get my supplies if you need stitches again? I might even have some bacta pa--”

“No, saviin’ika, I’m not hurt,” He chuckles and you notice the way his visor seems to scan your face closely, making you feel self-conscious of the deep bruise on your flushed cheek and your sore bottom lip that is split in the middle and currently healing, “Had some business to take care of in the village. Thought I would check up on you.”

“Ch-Check up? On me?” You raise your brows at him and tiredly rub your eyes, suppressing another yawn before speaking, “At three in the morning?”

“It is only safe for me to come out when it’s dark and there are less people wandering these streets at this time,” He informs you, offering you his elbow, just as he had a month ago after your initial meeting, and you take it this time without any hesitation, “Because of the Empire, our kind are now nearly extinct and we have been forced into hiding; because I am the strongest in the tribe, I am usually the one chosen to go on hunts or provide supplies. When I come out of the enclave, it is solely to provide for my people and protect them.”

“And walk me home?” You add inquisitively, wincing when your little smile tugs at your sore bottom lip, “Which you really don’t have to do by the way. I appreciate it, but I don’t want you to have to feel obligated to check up on me. I know you may not think so, but I’m tougher than I look.”

“I never believed you to be weak, saviin’ika, and I do not feel obligated to do anything,” The huge warrior observes closely as you struggle to keep your heavy eyelids open and you think they must weigh as much as his armor; you wonder if the metal ever weighs down his body after an exhausting day and you can’t even begin to imagine how heavy that cannon must feel on his back, “I heard talk earlier of raiders wreaking havoc on shop owners and villagers. Wanted to make sure they didn’t steal shit from the infirmary again; you were already low enough on supplies as it was.”

You shudder when you think of the robbery from a couple months ago and you hate the feeling of helplessness that washes over you when you remember how overpowered you had been at the time.

Of course you still had the vibroblade that the Mandalorian had let you borrow, but you weren't exactly skilled when it came to wielding any kind of weapon and the raiders probably would have laughed at any feeble attempt to protect yourself. Still, it didn't stop you from carrying the weapon inside of the pouch you normally kept your credits in and you hoped that if the situation ever called for it, you wouldn’t hesitate to use the beautifully crafted weapon.

“You...” Your cheeks are burning at the way his tone softens a little when he confesses his worry, “You were thinking about me? About the infirmary? But you’re...”

“I’m what?” He huffs, stepping a little closer and towering over you in a way that you think is supposed to be intimidating, though you have to force your giggles away as he tilts his helmet downwards to regard you properly. For some reason, you find it difficult to find him imposing when he had once offered to let you stab him if you had simply felt threatened by his presence. You think that any hopes the Mandalorian had of intimidating you flew out the window the moment he surrendered and gave you one of his weapons, something so incredibly rare for the fearless warriors.

“Grouchy? Stubborn? Kinda cold and rough around the edges?” Your answers come out as more of a rapid fire of questions and when he cocks his helmet further, you quirk a brow up at him in a challenging way, “Besides, you were the one that said after you walked me home, I would never have to see you again.”

"Were you hoping for that?"

"No," You reply earnestly, still gazing up at him with a fond expression, "I'm glad you're here. Especially since I just got off from a sixteen hour shift and can’t even see straight," His helmet jolts to the side a little to get a better look at your face and you know he sees your newest injuries, along with the glossiness that shines in your unfocused eyes. His modulator picks up a strange noise that seems to get caught in his throat and you wonder what must be going through his head as he closely observes you, his helmet dropping a little bit.

You knowingly smile.

“You do care, don’t you?”

He huffs a little as you latch onto his elbow with both of your hands instead of just one and you’re surprised that he seems to miraculously remember the way back to your shoddy hut, easily guiding you through the bleak village where very few linger in the deserted streets. You’re grateful for the way his body is built like a brick wall, easily supporting your weight whenever you sway or sag from exhaustion. The blue warrior doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest by your vulnerable state, remaining diligent and cautious as he gently tugs you past a shady looking group of five or six men that barely spare you a glance, most of them glaring at the heavy-infantry warrior with disdain.

After working fifteen hour days--sometimes longer--every single day for the last three weeks, you find that your grueling job is catching up to you and you wonder if he had somehow sensed your extreme fatigue from wherever he had been working, though you don’t entertain the silly thought.

He had informed you that his main priority upon leaving the enclave had been to provide for his tribe; you had been nothing more than a lingering thought scratching at the back of his mind. Either way, you’re grateful that he had waited for your shift to end, knowing that tonight was probably the most you had ever been exhausted in your life. You can’t even see clearly or think about anything other than your uncomfortable bed and you’re certain that you’re in no condition to be walking home alone at such a dark hour where only the cruel emerged from their hiding places to prey on the innocent.

“I wanted to make sure those lowlife criminals didn’t steal medical supplies,” He insistently repeats, though something about the terseness laced in his deep, softer baritone makes you think he’s lying, “Besides, you don’t make for bad company, saviin’ika. Probably the only one I’ve met in this village that I don’t want to kill.”

The way he rushes through the last sentence has you grinning tiredly up at him, his visor barely glancing at your soft features before taking in your surroundings and scanning for any threats that linger in the sparsely populated village “So you were thinking about me, Mandalorian.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, little nurse,” He scoffs and you try to imagine the huge man underneath all the metal blushing or sweating from nerves, though you highly doubt there’s much that gets under his armor, let alone his skin, “Like I said, I already had business to take care of and happened to be in the area. Wanted to make sure you haven’t gotten yourself killed or accidentally stabbed yourself with my vibroblade.”

You roll your eyes, “If I recall correctly, you were the one that got stabbed, not once, but twice, in the same day. Besides, even if I was a fool that managed to stab herself, at least I have the mental capacity to fix my own wounds.”

He shakes his helm at the sass that suddenly fills your quiet voice, “For someone your size, you’re a ballsy little thing.”

“Only around people I know won’t hurt me over it,” You murmur, brows furrowing a little when you process his words a little more thoroughly, wondering if you’re starting to cross the line with him, “You did not strike me as the kind of man who would mind it.”

“I don’t,” He confirms your suspicions and squashes your worries, then for good measure, adds in another sentiment, “I am glad you do not fear me anymore, saviin’ika.”

You wince as a smile pulls at your split bottom lip, though you find it’s well worth the pain, “Me too, Mandalorian.”

He grunts and you wonder if all Mandalorians are bad at expressing their emotions with words, though you don’t think you mind as he urges you a little closer against his side when a cold breeze has you shivering. Perhaps he prefers speaking through little gestures and you think you prefer that over useless words and promises that can easily be broken.

You decide to stop teasing him then, not wanting him to grow uncomfortable around you and despite your better judgment, you can’t stop yourself from pressing your cheek tiredly against the small pad of dark brown leather that peeks out from underneath his pauldron. The cold sensation from the leather and metal feels good against your bruised cheek and you hope he doesn’t push you away, though you suspect he would have done so already if he was uncomfortable by your close proximity. Perhaps he senses that you need some sort of close contact with another human being where it won’t leave you feeling broken and absolutely terrified and for whatever reason, he’s willing to entertain your pathetic request.

You wonder if he enjoys the intimacy of someone who isn’t covered from head to toe in thick armor, if he ever craves skin on skin contact after spending an entire life surrounded by cold metal. Briefly, you remember the way he had tensed and how his chest had heaved a little the first time you touched his hot skin when you had been stitching up his stab wound and rubbing that bacta salve into bruised skin; you wonder how long it had been since he felt someone else’s skin against his own.

Does he ever crave it? The warmth of another human being? Does he ever long for a tender embrace after an unbearably long day of carrying the weight of heavy blue armor and massive weapons?

You aren’t even covered in metal, yet you often find yourself craving such intimate touches whenever you find yourself falling asleep at the end of the day, all alone and cold without the comfort of another. It isn’t necessarily something sexual that you yearn for, but something deeper where you can bare your soul and scars to another human without fearing their judgment. You aren’t sure if it’s love or companionship you wish for--perhaps it’s both--and you wonder if you would ever find someone who would accept you for everything you are and all of the hardships that came with loving someone like yourself.

“Keep your eyes open, saviin’ika.”

His deep baritone jolts you awake and you didn’t even realize you had stopped walking, your eyes closing as you sag against him and Maker… how long had it been since you slept more than one or two hours a night? Your eyes feel drier than the Tatooine deserts and your feet ache from all the blisters that had formed on your soles and the back of your heels after walking in ill-fitting boots nonstop for weeks.

Your back and neck both throb in pain from the position you constantly have to sit in whenever you’re patching up a patient or filing paperwork and your fingers feel horrifically stiff as they curl tightly into the blue Mandalorian’s elbow. There’s a horrible pin and needles sensation prickling painfully in each of your shoulder blades and you think you must have pinched nerves there--just another check mark on your seemingly never-ending list of afflictions.

You try to ground yourself before responding to your unlikely companion, willing yourself to not slur your words as you quietly speak up and ignore the fog that clouds your mind and makes it hard to think straight.

“S-Sorry,” You murmur even though his tone hadn’t been admonishing in the slightest, but more concerned than anything, “Just a little tired.”

“A little?” He scoffs again and for a moment, you fear he’s going to inform you that you are a fool for not taking care of yourself properly, “You look like you haven’t slept more than a few hours since the last time I saw you and… you look thinner--almost malnourished. Have you not been eating? Your body needs nourishment, saviin’ika.”

“I--” Your cheeks flush when he turns his helmet down to look at you and you sheepishly avoid the expressionless gaze of his shiny visor, “Credits have been a little sparse lately but uh, I’m fine, really! I’ll have a ration bar or something when I get home.”

You’ve always been a terrible liar and you’re certain he easily detects the slightly higher pitch of your tone and the way you gnaw on your bottom lip as you avoid his intense gaze. His visor is still pointed at the way your cheek is pressed half against his dull blue pauldron and half against the leather padding that pokes out from the metal and you wonder what he must think of you clinging so desperately to his arm, though you barely know him. Despite his huge, intimidating stature and his reputation as a fearless Mandalorian, you think that there must be something so soft and warm that lingers somewhere deep inside of him--far beneath the cracks of his metal armor--that he doesn’t get to display often.

Perhaps he’s just like you, having grown so accustomed and desensitized towards the cruelty and violence of others that he’s willing to take any soft touch and sweet, intimate moment that the Maker will allow him to have. It’s a peculiar thought--that you could have possibly anything in common with the massive warrior--but as he supports the majority of your weight against his side, you feel like you’ve never related to anyone more than the blue Mandalorian, despite your stark differences.

“I could…” He lets out a strange sound that sounds distorted and garbled as it gets stuck in his modulator; it sounds like a groan of frustration, though you think it’s directed more towards himself, rather than you, “I can carry you the rest of the way home, that way you can get some rest. You look like you’ve been on your feet all day.”

The sweet offer knocks the breath out of your lungs and while you’re utterly touched by his kindness, it also fills you with guilt that he would feel the need to go out of his way just to give you a tiny amount of reprieve, “Y-You really don’t have to do that. I just--I can walk--I’ll try to be faster, I-I promise! Besides, I’m sure you already have enough weight to carry around, what with all that armor and your weapons; I wouldn’t want to weigh you down anymore.”

“I’m used to the armor and weapons,” He insists, visor pointed at your pale face as he drops his tone into something gentler, though the deepness of it warms your cold cheeks, “You haven’t been eating or sleeping and you can barely stand up. Just… let me carry you home, saviin’ika. I don’t mind.”

“But--”

Before you can weakly argue with him, he easily slips his elbow out of the gentle grip of your hands and he’s bending down at the waist to slide a thick arm underneath the backs of your bare knees, efficiently knocking you backwards into the safety of his other arm. A graceless squeak escapes your mouth and your arms scramble to find purchase around his shoulders and neck as he effortlessly scoops you up into his arms, suspending you high above the ground and you think this is the most awake you’ve felt in the last month as you peer down at the rocky terrain beneath his big boots. Your stiff fingers painfully curl against the cloth that’s bunched up at his nape as he hikes you up a little higher up his chest so you can comfortably rest your head between his pauldron and the lip of his helmet.

“A-Are you sure about this? I don’t want to tire you out and--”

He huffs out an amused noise and you think you feel his chest rumbling a little, though it’s hard to tell with his cuirass in the way, “Do you think I would be doing this if I wasn’t sure? You don’t weigh anymore than my armor or weapons, little nurse.”

“‘M not little,” You mumble tiredly, giving in and nestling your face into a more comfortable position against his neck so his armor isn’t digging into the black and blue skin that’s covering nearly half of your face; your eyes grow unbearably heavy when you inhale his clean, spicy scent, “You’re just a big brute.”

He barks out a laugh then, making you pout a little against his neck, though you decide quickly that you like the unfamiliar warmth of his laughter, “You're not little? Sure, saviin'ika, and the sky isn't blue, water isn't wet, I'm not a Mandalorian, you're not a--"

"Okay, okay," You huff, trying your hardest to sound annoyed, though his sarcasm has you smiling against the soft material of his tunic, "Hush, Mandalorian, I am trying to get the rest you were so hellbent on me having in the first place.”

“Fine,” He grunts and you think he’s done antagonizing you for the rest of the small journey, but then he speaks your name softly and you think it’s the first time he’s ever used your real name, rather than some sort of nickname, “One more question and I’ll leave you alone.”

You make an inquisitive humming noise, barely paying attention, though his following question has your heart plummeting into the pit of your stomach, making you feel sick and nauseous.

“The bruise on your cheek and your lip… was that him? Your father?”

You’re actually kind of surprised it’s taken this long for the Mandalorian to say something, especially with how quickly he had called your father out on his deplorable actions during your initial meeting. For a moment, you contemplate just closing your eyes and pretending like you’ve already fallen asleep, but something tells you that the warrior is far smarter than most would think and you know he would be able to easily detect your facade.

You remain silent for a few seconds, thinking of the circumstances surrounding your painful punishment and you remember how you had initially told the Mandalorian that the bruises inflicted on you were for your own benefit, so you could be better. You think of how angry your father had grown at you two nights ago for no rational reason other than coming home high off of spice and already in a bad mood after a long day of work. Your eyes fill with tears and your chest heaves when you remember the weight of his palm colliding with your cheek and how hard you had hit the ground from the heavy blow; it had completely thrown off your equilibrium and the only reason you had stood up right away was because you had been forcefully yanked up by your bicep.

You remember forcing yourself not to scream later that night as you forced your aching shoulder back into its socket, not wanting him to wake up after he’d finally pass out.

“Saviin’ika…”

His voice is a low growl, but you swear you hear a soft twinge from somewhere beneath his helmet and something about it has tears burning your dry eyes.

Perhaps it’s just your imagination or wishful thinking.

“Does it matter, Mandalorian? It’s done and over with.”

“You say that, yet you know it’s only going to get worse,” He mutters and you feel the way his leather-clad fingers curl lightly against the inside of your knee, as if he’s trying to ground himself, “It may just be bruises and split lips now, but how long before it turns into broken bones and concussions? What will you do then?”

“Same as always,” You whisper, eyelids growing impossibly heavy as your body finally starts to give into exhaustion; you decide not to tell him you’ve suffered plenty of broken bones in the past and you’re more than capable of patching yourself up after a particularly painful punishment, “Survive… it’s the only thing I know how to do, next to helping others.”

“It is not what you deserve though,” He insists just as quietly and you think you hear the natural baritone of his voice from where your ear is pressed just underneath the lip of his helmet, “You would let him break your spirit so easily? Let him hurt you so badly without putting up a fight?”

“I think my spirit was broken long ago, Mandalorian.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever confessed such a thing and it leaves you feeling exposed like a livewire, terrified of anyone getting too close because you don’t want anyone to suffer because of your own trauma and emotional baggage. Something tells you that the blue warrior is all too aware of the atrocities that one can experience in a lifetime and you think it wouldn’t weigh down on him if you explained to him everything you’ve been through and everything you fear. You would like to think he would remain unwaveringly sympathetic and kind if you recounted the horrible torture your father had put you through since your mother’s death, but a tiny part of you fears that the powerful warrior would believe you to be weak--at least weaker than he already sees you as.

“I think you are wrong,” He argues quietly, sounding as calm and soothing as ever, “I don’t think you are broken, saviin’ika. Maybe a little lost and confused, but not broken.”

A tear trickles from your eye and you pray to the Maker that he doesn’t feel it soak through his thick cowl, though you know better and the Mandalorian is far more perceptive than most give him credit for, “Do you remember when you were walking me home the first time and you said I should fight for a better life? Do you truly believe there is any way I could possibly feel happy and safe on a planet like this, Mandalorian?” Your voice cracks a little and you tighten your arms around his muscular shoulders, thinking that even though you’ve only met this dark blue warrior twice, he’s been the only good thing to happen to you since long before your mother’s death, “I have come to terms with my fate long ago and I no longer feel sorrow or pity for myself, nor do I want you to feel it for me.”

“It is not pity.”

He’s repeating the same words you had spoken to him when you gave him that jar of salve, knowing he had nothing to give you in return and you nearly sob into the crook of his neck at the realization that he seems to remember everything from your initial run-in with him.

Most people forgot about you as soon as they left the infirmary.

“Then what is it?”

“I… I don’t know,” He answers honestly and you’re grateful he doesn’t come up with a lie to make you feel better; you didn’t take the big blue warrior for a dishonest man, “I just know I don’t like the way he treats you--the way he looked at you like you were nothing more than a burden than to him. Has he always treated you that way?”

You hum a little and bury your face further into the slope of his neck, “Please don’t make me talk about this, not when I already live with it every single day, Mandalorian.”

“Ni ceta.”

You don’t know what it means, but you take it as an apology by the regretful tone in his modulated voice.

Tears form at your waterline and you don’t have the strength to force them away when he lightly strokes your kneecap with a leather thumb. You don’t sob or make a show of your sadness and exhaustion, but you let his warm cowl soak your tears as they fall from your eyes on their own accord. It’s been a while since someone has held you while you cried--at least over a decade--and something about the way he comfortingly caresses your knee or says something in his sacred language every now and then brings you an overwhelming sense of catharsis that you have never felt in your life.

He’s murmuring something to you in that low baritone, but you find yourself being pushed under a massive wave of exhaustion after such a long day and it’s suddenly difficult to focus on his what he’s saying when all you long for is some rest and peace of mind. The taut slope where his shoulder meets the bottom of his neck is surprisingly comfortable and even though you had never been much of a drinker, his warm, comforting scent leaves you feeling delightfully intoxicated.

There’s a soft pressure rubbing circles against your ribs and he’s still murmuring, but everything is so hazy and his warm body isn’t doing anything to keep you awake or coherent of your surroundings and you realize just how much trust you’re putting into this man that you’ve only met twice. He could easily take you to some unknown location and take advantage of you, but you have no fears of him doing so and find yourself growing completely limp against his broad chest, your fingers unfurling from the bunched up material at his nape.

You’re trapped in a strange limbo between wanting to fall asleep completely and wanting to savor his warmth and deep baritone, but every now and then, you feel the Mandalorian curl his big arms tighter around you or you hear a deep murmur from underneath his helmet--always something in his native tongue.

If you ever see him again after tonight, you promise yourself that you’ll ask him what all of these words mean--what he’s calling you when he refers to you as ‘saviin’ika’--and you pray that you see the big blue Mandalorian again. You never thought that you would find solace in the massive warrior’s company or that he would have surprisingly gentle hands whenever he touched you, especially after all the stories you had listened to as a child. Since meeting him, you no longer fear the Beskar-clad warriors that live underground, but more so those who live above and torment and prey on innocent people for no reason other than to satisfy their own sick desires.

You childishly wonder what the Mandalorian thinks about you--what he feels for you.

Perhaps you’re just acting like a fool who has a crush on someone you don’t even know, someone whose face can’t even see, though you’ve never cared too much about physical appearances, especially when someone has a kind heart. You think that despite his cold disposition, the Mandalorian has a warm soul buried underneath all those weapons and armor and you wonder if he only displays it when he’s surrounded by his tribe and others he deems worthy.

Does he deem you worthy of exposing such vulnerability, despite only knowing you so little? Is there something different he sees in you that he’s never felt with anyone else in the village? Does he see something familiar and comforting whenever he looks into your eyes through the safety of his expressionless visor?

You wonder if you’ll ever find out the real reason as to why he sought out your company tonight, if he truly wanted to check up on you or if he genuinely enjoys your company.

His voice barely trespasses the fogginess that’s clouded your mind and you’re more than half asleep when you feel yourself slowly being lowered, dizziness washing over you as he attempts to remain utterly gentle. Realizing that you have been restlessly sleeping in his arms the entire way home, you turn on your stiff mattress until you’re curled on your side, the uninjured side of your face pressed into your flat pillow as you slowly convince yourself to give into exhaustion.

The Mandalorian, however, isn’t finished taking care of you and you barely hear him shuffling around as he pulls something from one of the pouches attached to his utility belt.

You think you’re dreaming when you feel something cold and tingly rubbing against your flushed, bruised cheek, though it’s not enough to cause any excess pain. You can feel rough calluses covering his thick fingertips and they promptly freeze on the apple of your cheek when they graze a particularly tender spot, causing a small whimper to expel from between your chapped lips.

The Mandalorian’s modulated voice is gently shushing you and you know you’re having some sort of sweet dream when you realize his hand is bare, simultaneously coarse and soft and so deliciously warm as it caresses your cold cheek and soothes the intense pain there. Eventually, the pain gives way a warm, numbing feeling and your breath catches in your throat when you feel that coarse skin glide along the bottom of your lip, stroking gently along the thin gash in the center.

A soft cry pierces through your lips, louder and sharper than the previous one, and you don’t know whether it’s from the dull, throbbing pain or from how tender the warm pressure is against the tender wound. Another hush has you slowly turning on your back and you force your eyelids open, realizing that you’re definitely not alone in your little bedroom. The blue Mandalorian is slightly hunched over you as he tentatively swipes a slippery thumb along your injured lip, though you feel the rough digit lightly graze your upper lip once or twice, despite it being completely unscathed.

You realize he’s using the salve you had given over a month ago for his ribs and when your eyes flicker to the jar that he’s holding in his gloved palm, you’re surprised to find that it’s barely been used, maybe only a quarter of it missing. The bright moonlight that pierces through your window emphasizes the bright blue gel and hesitantly, you let your eyes wander back up to the hollows of his cheeks and you find that the color is almost similar to the healing ointment in the glass jar he holds so gently.

He must not realize you’re awake because his helmet jolts a little when you speak in a breathy whisper, lips barely moving so you don’t ruin his skilled fingers that are tending to the minor wound.

“That salve was for your ribs, Mandalorian.”

“The pain in my ribs was annoying, but not unbearable,” His thumb continues to lightly rub the healing ointment against your plush bottom lip until it’s fully absorbed into the tiny gash and you can already feel the immense relief that follows in the wake of his rough digit, “There were others in the tribe who could have used it more than me.”

You smile sadly when he lightly strokes the apple of your cheek, inspecting the severe bruising there, “Yet you waste it on the nurse that gave it to you in the first place. My pain is not unbearable either, silly man.”

“It is not a waste,” He says in a cool, deep rasp and your eyelids slip shut when he strokes the tail of your brow soothingly, “Besides, it will be good for it to heal faster.”

“Mm,” You’re mind is growing hazy as he moves to the end of the bed to untie the laces of your worn boots and gently tugs them off, as well as your socks, “Why’s that?”

“The faster it heals, the less tempted I’ll be to leave the same marks on your father--or kill him,” The gruffness of his deep voice nearly makes you chuckle, but then you hear him utter something in his native tongue and he promptly speaks up again, “Your feet are covered in bruises and blisters; how long have you had these boots? The soles are completely worn out.”

“I’ve been living off of ration bars,” You tiredly remind him, gracelessly flopping onto your stomach and lightly kicking his hand away when you feel his thumb graze an intense blister on the back of your heel, “New shoes aren’t exactly high up on my list of necessities.”

He grunts his displeasure and you hear him shifting around a little before you feel his hand between your shoulder blades, followed by his deep voice; you think you hear something nervous brewing in his usually calm tone “Do you want me to take out your braids so your hair doesn’t get tangled?”

You pray to the Maker that he doesn’t notice the way you shudder a little at just the thought of more close contact with your unlikely companion, though you’re certain he hears the shakiness in your voice when you quietly speak, “S-Sure, if you don’t mind.”

He doesn’t say anything and you hear a bit of shuffling before the mattress next to you dips and creaks underneath his weight; it nearly makes you giggle at how massive he must look sitting on your little bed. The Mandalorian is endearingly gentle as he unclasps the tiny silver cuffs that hold your two thick Dutch braids in place, setting them aside on the nightstand next to your little vase that contains your beloved violets. You don’t have many belongings nor are you materialistic by any means, but your plants and your mother’s hair beads are items that you cherish and value over anything else that you own.

After plucking the wildflowers from the weaves in your braids and carefully dropping them next to your mother’s hair beads, his hands deftly unwind one of your long braids, slowly and carefully, as if he’s worried of tangling your thick waves. The feeling of his fingers gently carding through your unruly mane has you closing your eyes in bliss and you shiver a little when you feel his blunt fingernails lightly scraping against your scalp to undo the braiding at your crown. You’re grateful that the bacta salve you concocted seems to be healing your split lip, because you can’t stop yourself from smiling so softly when he unweaves your second braid and combs his bare, thick fingers through your long hair.

“Pel,” He breathes, his vocoder barely picking it up as he strokes down the length of your hair before picking up a lock of it and bringing it up to his visor, inspecting it with seemingly great interest, like he’s not used to handling longer hair.

It’s deathly quiet for a few moments and you think he’s going to simply stand up and leave, but then you feel the rough pad of his index finger gliding up along your bruised cheekbone, though his touch is so achingly soft that you don’t even feel an inkling of pain in his wake. Your eyelids squeeze together tightly as you try to commit the sensation of his skilled fingers to your memory, though you fear you won’t even be able to remember it even in the sweetest of dreams that the Maker would kindly bless you with.

A shaky exhale wracks your body when his index finger continues it’s sweet ascent up to the cartilage tip of your ear before he rotates his hand a little so he can run all of his fingers through your hairline, coming to a blunt stop at the base of your skull to affectionately stroke your scalp. After having your hair in braids for such a long amount of time, the relief that his fingers rub into your tender skin nearly lulls you to sleep and you have no idea how long he sits there, merely massaging your scalp and stroking your long waves.

As if realizing what he’s doing is wrong or selfish, the blue Mandalorian is quick to drop a thick, wavy lock of hair that he had been inspecting and awkwardly clears his throat a little. The mattress rises when he stands tall in your little room and even though you’re sleepy and drowsy as hell, you dread the thought of him leaving you in solitude until your father arrives later in the morning right before you leave for work.

“Mandalorian.”

You’re surprised he hears your muffled voice as he slowly makes his way to the curtain that separates your room from the rest of the hut, turning to you before leaving, “Saviin’ika.”

You smile softly at the nickname, despite not knowing what it means, and you turn your head so he can hear you more clearly, “Will I see you again?”

“Are you always going to ask that whenever we part ways?”

“Depends.”

His helmet cocks to the side inquisitively as you turn back onto your side and curl your knees up to your chest, peering at his dark silhouette with soft eyes and shivering when his strong baritone pierces through the silence of your little bedroom.

“On what?”

You wonder if his visor somehow allows him to see the smile tugging at your lips that are still slick with salve, along with the pink tinging your warm cheeks.

“If we’ll keep finding our way back to one another.”

You see the outline of his broad shoulders and how they seem to deflate from the vulnerability in your bashful voice.

“Goodnight, saviin’ika,” His voice is raspy and you wonder what it must sound like without the old modulator in his blue helmet, “I’ll see you sooner than you could wish for.”

Somehow, you doubt his words, but it’s the first time you can remember falling asleep with a smile stretched across your face.

Saviin’ika=Little violet

Ni ceta=Sorry (lit: I kneel)

Pel=Soft

Author’s Note: I wanted to put this at the end of the chapter, since it’s kind of long, but I sincerely want to thank you all for your kind words; it’s really encouraged me to write more. You guys are all a bunch of sweethearts and I really appreciate it!

I honestly wasn’t expecting to get such positive feedback on the first chapter, especially since Paz doesn’t play a super huge role in the Mandalorian, but I’m glad we’re all still thirsting over our big blue grouchy boi and I’m so excited to continue with this story!

Taglist: @parabatai-winchester @auty-ren @theocatkov @oloreaa

#paz vizla x you #paz vizla x reader #mandalorian #my writing #the mandalorian fanfiction #why did it take me so long to find a gif for this chapter #even then #I still don't like the one I chose #that's what happens when you stan a character that has less than a minute of screen time lmaoo #anyways #EVERYONE IS TOUCH STARVED AND PAZ HAS HEART EYES UNDERNEATH HIS STUPID BLUE HELMET

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whatanoof · 3 years

Text

OKAY HOT TAKE

So we know that Din and Paz are part of an extremist cult that dictates that they never remove their helmets. Part of their creed is that they shall never been seen without it(except by their lifetime partners or something), as referenced by the Armorer in Season 1 Episode 3: The Sin.

BUT CONSIDER

A masquerade. That’s it. A Mandalorian masquerade if Paz and Din’s code was slightly altered to “none shall ever see your face”. They could wear stylized versions of their helmets, hell all Mandalorians would attend this as a social event but also as like searching for partners. Everything would be super utilitarian, normal armor would be worn, and masks would by functional variations of their helmets. The social event would have activities for people, and food, but like the main point is to meet others.

Imagine getting swept off of your feet at one of these masquerades by one of our favorite Mandalorians like....

---

“Hello.”

You jump at the sudden appearance of the man at your elbow. His mask is a deep blue, curling over the top three quarters of his face and accentuating his strong jawline with silver and black metal strips. He wears his armor with a regal bearing, the dark blue shining in the dim lights of the great room. Those are the first few things that you notice about him. The final is that he’s massive. Of course Mandalorians are warriors, and men tend to be built more thickly and set with muscle, but this man towers over the rest of the attendees.

“Dank fu--” You restrain your tongue at the last second, but the amused tilt of his head and the glint of dark eyes through the mask means you didn’t fool him. You compose yourself marginally. The smooth metal of the mask is cool against your cheeks, though it does little to calm the raging blush that you can feel spreading over your face. “You scared me.”

“I can tell. No one has approached you all night.” There’s a silent question in his tone.

“I guess I’m not the most approachable warrior here.” You never have been the most approachable. Your amber armor stands out among the normally muted colors of Mandalore, and marks you for your fiery fighting style. Your mask reflects your armor similarly, and you were pleased with the final product that your armorer presented to you. It gleamed like the last rays of sunset in the evening. You lift your chin defiantly, almost daring him to challenge your statement. He doesn’t.

“It’s hard to approach a beautiful warrior without personal doubts.” Is he... flirting with you? You don’t know how to respond to that, though you do want to reciprocate. Being raised a Mandalorian didn’t exactly teach you how to flirt with others, so how was this one so natural about it? He misinterprets your silence, “If I am unwanted, I can leave.”

“No!” The word bursts out of you much more strongly than you intended. You clear your throat, carefully repeating the word, “No. I would like you to stay.”

He chuckles, and the low rumble washes over you like a tidal wave. “It’s good to know that I am not the only one who is nervous right now.” You dare to glance at him, and he’s smiling at you. He has a beautiful smile too.

“No, you are not.” Pausing, you choose your next words carefully. “I don’t really know how to... mingle all that well.”

“Ah, well that’s understandable.” You both turn to look at the rest of the Mandalorians, all talking in groups and sharing food, relishing the rare night where they could eat without obstruction but socialize without fear of violating the code. “I’ll admit, it’s not easy to meet new people. My friend also has trouble socializing normally, he’s so used to having the full helmet on his head.”

“You seem well adjusted.”

“I’ve been to my fair share of these. Never seemed to turn out in the end, so it takes some pressure off.” A nonchalant shrug accompanies these words, but you catch an underlying implication.

You turn and finally face him. The mask covers most of his face, but it can’t hide that he is undeniably, devastatingly handsome underneath the mask. Bright eyes flicker behind the dark blue like stars in a night sky. Plush lips are quirked upwards in a halfway smirk, and you feel your heart pound when he looks back at you without fear.

On a whim, you introduce yourself.

“Paz Vizla. Nice to meet you.”

#word vomit #paz vizla x reader #this probably isn't going on my masterlist I just had the urge to write something for this idea

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imagines-to-quench-thirst · 4 years

Text

Imagine explaining to your man Kdramas:

This is a small drabble like a story for each man on my main roster. I love Korean dramas and I wanted to pair some dramas with one of the guys.

Enjoy and if you like some of the dramas mentioned here they are all on Netflix where I watch them.

Enjoy ❤️

Victor Creed:

This man lived some time in Korea and lived along with the Korean Empire in great secrecy but seeing you so immersed in your drama he is ready to roll up his sleeve and talk about his tales of Korea.

'And that's how my friend at that time Jeon helped me escape the death penalty.'

'But you don't have friends. You said that.'

'...'*modem ringing*

'Sorry.'

'You know what? You don't get to hear my other story that includes stealing a golden elephant with a secret clan of widows.'

'What?!'

'Noooooo.'

His favorite pick is: Nokdu

Loki Laufeyson:

Loki is frazzled to say at least when he saw you cocooned in your blanket with your coffee as you glued your eyes to the TV screen. It took a few good episodes to pass and an empty cup of coffee for you to notice a presence on the couch. Loki was a little mad since you absolutely 100% rooted for the good muscular actor as he played his part and you did yours which may or may not include some drooling and whistling. He waited for you to finish to hear the explaining he wanted to know so much.

'There is a special girl who is a Samjang and she meets a locked up God when she was a kid and then... They fall in love.'

'Can-can you repeat my love?'

'Oh, and one of the gods sells ice cream!'

'Once again darling... Repeat but slowly.'

His favorite pick is: : A Korean Odyssey

Thor Odinson :

You already know that this man is already on the drama-wave and he is nothing but a bigger fan than you. He lives to talk about the whole drama when you two finish it.

'This Drama! Was the peak of entrainment. The suspense, intrige, and oh soo more.'

'Oh and don't forget the secret brother twist.'

'Of course, when Tae-ho's ex-girlfriend boyfriend is his enemies secret younger brother that he sent to America to be super smart and zo come back so they can avenge their father.'

His favorite pick is: Last

Bucky Barnes:

Bucky is hella confused at the start but later he is on it and not letting go. His Netflix list is as long as his hair. And most of all he loves to draw parrel when you do a brief summary of the drama you two will watch.

'So you are telling me a rich girl paraglides into North Korean and falls in love with a stoic soldier.'

'Yes, but not by choice, a tornado swooped her out of South Korea.'

'So, like us.'

'Yes, minus the parachute.'

His favorite pick is: Crash Landing on You

Steve Rogers:

For Steve, it's a little hard to get adjusted to with you being all over the TV as you root for the main underdog girl that tries to win over her boss's heart who can recognize people's faces. Especially when he saw the main charted hovering over his on-screen ladylove. So he tries to copy-paste it.

'Y/n...'

'Yes, Steve?'

'Jagiya~~~'

'...HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH No.'

'Okay, sorry.'

Bless his heart.

His favorite pick is: The Secret Life of Secretary Kim

Jagiya is a Korean word for honey. I think so don't kill me if I'm wrong.

Bruce Wayne :

Y'all know my boy is ready to leap if you say you find an actor or location great in a drama he is ready to pick up his phone and call a few people to arrange a fan meet or travel to the location.

'I saw that the actor who played Park Hun in your favorite drama is landing here for a contract meeting.'

'How do you know that? I don't think that's public information.'

'... I-i just know.'

His favorite pick is: Doctor Stranger

Clark Kent:

This cinnamon roll is the best one to cry with more like on him. He is a great boy that will hear your cries over the deaths of the characters. He just radiates comfort.

'It's okay, Y/n. He avenged his brother's death and got a chance to reincarnate.'

'But-but his mother... I just want to hug her and make her tea.'

'I know sweetie.'

His favorite pick is: Along with the Gods

Not a series but a damn good movie I always ball my eyes on it. Highly recommend.

Arthur Curry :

Arthur is very much in the middle of it. Very well knows that being on your good side means appeasing your needs and wishes. But hooking this Fishman on your drama was easy as sinking the same hook.

'I like this one. When will the next episode come out?'

'Next Tuesday.'

*GASP*'Shut up.'

'I'm serious Arty.'

'Damn you scheduling system. Damn you!'

His favorite pick is: W

Orm Marius:

The ex-King himself finds weird comfort in the unsung heroes of Imperial Korea with the misunderstood King. And he is ready to sneak into the bathroom to gasp in secrecy at the episodes.

'Orm, come on lets go!'

'Just- 32 minutes until it ends, my world. I need to know if Prince Lee Hyeok will win the hear of the commoner Sunny. Like us.'

'What?!'

'Sorry, my darling I'm coming.'

His favorite pick is: The Last Empress

Joker(Suicide Squad):

This clown is frazzled by your state when you start your dramas but know very well not to touch the tiger when watching point of interest. But him being the needy person he will mostly sneak under your arm and as you to pay attention to him with no avail as your eyes still gaze at the action scene. His mild distaste is only that you pay much more attention to them rather than him.

'Y/n, why do you watch this police drama. It's not even that good.'

'You take that back my woman Ha Na and my boy Hyuk gave their all to capture the killer that killed her father and his wife with a kettlebell in the first episode.'

'Kettle ball you say? Maybe it's not that boring.'

His favorite pick is: Voice

Duncan Vizla:

This agent of absolute peace and carnage loves to watch them with you it reminded him if the times he was in Korea undercover killing a corrupt minister. He loves the thrill of the police dramas with the time travel twist as his top one drama and as well as yours.

'This actor Choi Jin Hyuk really knows how to act with the time travel twist.'

'True that's hard to act through. That's not everyday stuff. Do you think that time travel is real?'

'Of course, it's. I know it first hand.'

'How?'

'Well I got to be with you and I think the only plausible explanation is time travel.'

'Awww, Donut!'

His favorite pick is: Tunnel

Kdramas are a big part of my life and each of the dramas and movie listed I have watched and much more. Not to blabble long enough I hoped you liked it.

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certifiedskywalker · 4 years

Text

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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kunoichi-ume · 5 years

Photo

May Drabbles, Day 13

Prompt: "If you'll excuse me, I need to create a hangover to nurse" (Duality)

Characters: Magdalena Vizla and Khomo Fett

Word Count: 1390

EDIT: I totally forgot, again. I meant to link to these fics from earlier in the month for contest: Part 1 Part 2

“You have to tell him.”

Magdalena sighed at her mother’s tone. She knew she had to tell Khomo about the baby, and that it was better to do it before he found out on his own. That didn’t stop her from being afraid of his reaction. She might doubt he would deny the child and pretend they didn’t exist but his reaction to her being the mother of said child? That had the potential to hurt.

“Mags are you listening to me?”

Turning she met Shae’s stare with an annoyed one of her own. “Of course I am, and I will.”

Shae folded her arms across her breastplate. “When? We are going to be landing on Darvannis in a few days and you have to know I don’t plan to allow you in the field.”

“I know.”

Dropping her arms, Shae crossed the room to place her hands on her adopted daughter’s shoulders. “If he falls in this battle he deserves to know what he is leaving behind.”

Irritation deflating, Magdalena nodded. Shae was right, of course she was. The older woman usually knew what she was talking about but that didn’t make it less aggravating to admit. “Right, I’ll go now.”

Smiling proudly, Shae patted her painted cheek. “That’s my girl.”

Despite knowing it was the right thing to do, it was still a struggle to make her way through the large ship to Khomo’s quarters. It was early and there had been quite the party the night before so she figured there was a good chance he was still there. It was that stupid party’s fault she was in this mess. Shae hadn’t missed that her daughter had both avoided the brawls and the booze, two of the young woman’s favorite things. It hadn’t taken much for her to put it together.

Though the surprise on Shae’s face when she revealed the father’s name was a memory Magdalena would savor for a long time.

Khomo, unaware of the changes in their life, had been in high spirits as usual. Always in the middle of things and the loudest most rowdy of all the crew. He had still be going at it with a large zabrak she didn’t know when she left the party, neither willing to admit defeat in a friendly fight. Hopefully he had drunk enough to still be in bed, making him easier to find, and even more importantly she hoped he was alone.

Magdalena had no ideas that she had a claim on the man, and had seen him with plenty women over the years, she just didn’t want anyone witnessing this. Reaching his door, she knocked quickly before she lost her nerves. At first there was no reply then the sounds of someone cursing on the other side of the door could be heard.

“What?” Khomo snarled, glaring down at her when the door finally opened, before realizing who was there. Expression turning into a smug smirk, he leaned against the door jam. “Back for more already are we?”

Of all the ways Magdalena had imagined this going, him opening the door buck ass naked wasn’t it. She was so stunned by the sight of his body, something she sorely regretted not getting that fateful night, that she couldn’t speak.

Khomo sighed, dropping the smirk. “Look Mags, I am down for another go but not right now. I have a hangover to nurse.”

When he started to close the door Magdalena was stirred from her silence, putting her hand out to stop him. “Wait, that isn’t why I am here.”

“Then what? Mandalore want something?” He asked, scoffing when she shook her head. “Just spit it out.”

Magdalena would have preferred to do this in private, but the hall was deserted enough now it would just have to do. She could tell his patience was thin, as it usually was when dealing with her. Betting on the direct approach being the best course, she did just as he asked.

“I’m pregnant.”

For a moment that seemed an eternity she waited for him to respond, expecting angry rebuffs or insults but instead was startled when he started laughing loudly.

“That’s really funny, but you need to practice lying more. You have far too many nervous ticks to be believable.”

Instinctively Magdalena laid her hand on her stomach as she watched him laugh more at her ‘joke’. She could see the progression of his thought process on his face, from amusement to suspicion and finally ending on shock.

“You aren’t joking.” He didn’t phrase it as a question.

“I’m not.”

Khomo moved from the door and picked up his discarded pants. Pulling them on he glanced over his shoulder hopefully, “and you’re sure it’s mine?”

Hesitantly, Magdalena stepped into the room and let the door close behind her. “There’s no one else it could be. Sorry, I know it’s not ideal.”

“Of course it’s not fucking ideal,” Khomo growled, rounding on her after getting his pants secured. “How were you not taking any precautions?”

“I was,” she snarled, angry as his insinuation that she was to blame. “Those pills are only 99% effective and guess what baby? We are the lucky one percent!”

“Haar’chak Mags don’t call me that.”

“Fine, whatever. I just thought you’d want to know, you don’t have to be involved if you don’t you want to.” Turning, Magdalena went to make a hasty exit. Despite expecting him to be angry it hurt that this was his reaction to learning he was going to be a father.

A large hand wrapping around her wrist stopped her retreat. “I never said that,” Khomo said when she looked back at him. “I just need a moment to process this.”

Nodding, Magdalena let him lead her to the bed to sit together. He released her arm once they were settled.

“Does Mandalore know?”

“She figured it out, said it was the only reason I would be a wallflower at the party last night.”

Khomo nodded, “I did notice you weren’t in your usual spirits.”

Magdalena’s breath caught in her throat. She never imagined she caught his attention when she wasn’t vying for it. “No more parties for me, not for a while at least.”

“You know this child will be a Fett right?” Khomo fixed her with a serious glare, “you may be a Vizla through adoption but there are blood ties to my clan.”

“You don’t have to remind me that I lack blood relatives Khomo, I know the score.”

Khomo sighed at her tone, rubbing his head like he was in pain. “I didn’t mean that, just that any child of mine is just that, mine.”

Magdalena smiled. It was satisfying to know she was right that he wouldn’t deny her child. “It’s early days Khomo, we have time to work all of that out but you should know I would never deny my child their family name. I know what it’s like not to have one, I wouldn’t do that.”

Khomo nodded. “Thanks, that’s good to know,” he said, pushing off the bed and opening a drawer to get a shirt. “Fuck this hangover, I I need another drink. Join me?”

Smiling sadly, Magdalena stood. “I wish I could, it will be a good while before my next drink.”

Finishing getting dressed, Khomo frowned before he realized what she meant and smiled. “I am sure we can find something safe for our baby.”

Magdalena’s heart swelled at his words. It was the first time he had acknowledged that this baby was going to be theirs, not just his. They weren’t together in the traditional sense, but in that one word he had given her hope that at the very least they could be partners in this new chapter of their lives. “Okay,” she said, smiling brightly, “in that case I’d love to join you if only because I am famished. Eating for two starts now.”

Opening the door and gesturing for her to go first, Khomo sighed. “You’re going to have weird cravings, aren’t you?”

“Probably,” she said with a playful shrug, “I craved you after all.”

His laughter at her jab eased what was left of her worries. She would probably be anxious about this whole situation again but for right now the future looked like it was going to be okay.

#Swtor #Khomo Fett #OC: Magdalena Vizla #May Drabbles '19 #whydidwedothis

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imagines-to-quench-thirst · 4 years

Text

NURSE

Sam Bridges x reader

Warning: SMUT, fxm, few curse words, synonyms for penis (hehe)

Fair warning I wrote this while I'm on my period (still am, sorryTMI) so you know I'm a horny mess. Sorry about it.

Anon asked:Hello there! A bit strange, but I just want to give it a try! I was listening to Weeknd - After hours, and strangely it somehow really fits to Sam Bridges struggles/life in game etc.(minus the romantic interst). May I request a music imagine/smut with this song, if it is a thing for you? Please tell me what you think! Thank you for everything that you do🖤🖤🖤

Hey, anon, I used the lyrics but I didn't go step by step with the lyrics I used the one that suited the paragraph best. I hope that is okay.

✨I recommend you listen to Weeknd's song After Hours as you read it for an experience.✨

I also have a similar lyric fic with Mako's song Breathe paired with Duncan Vizla (Polar) so if you want you can give it a read

-Where is she?

Thought I almost died in my dream again

Fightin' for my life, I couldn't breathe again

-Mama, where is she for fucks sakes?!!!

-Her com has been turned off 20 minutes ago.

-What was recorded?

-Just some static and...

-And fucking what?

-... A gunshot...

Sam feels his legs give in as he kneels dangerously on the floor thinking of every worst possible in the book. His arms thinking rationality as they pull Mama down with him on the harsh floor

-Give me the location of-of... The gunshot. I will find her.

Mama wanted to pull him up and lock him in the room knowing that the place where Y/n was last heard no one could easily survive that. His head gawked up and she saw how his ombre pupils cracked in half fearing that he lost his hope of survival in this crazy sphere.

I'm fallin' in too deep

Without you, don't wanna sleep

'Cause my heart belongs to you

-Please...

With a heavy sigh, she responded with

-Port Knot City.

He knew that Y/n was alive. His psyche told him of every possible scenario that could happen as his soul pulled him up and hurled him on the motorbike as he speeds onto the rocky routines. The wheels speed over the hills hitting his legs and balls that will surely punish him later on. The sky started to change into the ominous charcoal sky as he saw the empty streets his eyes catching wandering BTs as their wails echoed through the deserted buildings. Looking down onto his arm he sees on the small screen where was Y/n's last seen signal boost. Looking at the spot a glimmer of silver he rushes to it picking it as he remembers he bought them for her knowing that you had a fascination with his own as they always his toned chest.

Dog tags.

Y/n L/n

I just wanted to call you and say, and say

-What's your problem with my dog tags?

-No problem. Maybe a kink.

-Well, you are in luck little lady. I have something for you.

Oh, baby, where are you now when I need you most?

Clutching the tags in his hand he looked above and beyond feeling his soul battling every negative thought. Sam rears his head up feeling a rumble close by. Turning over his shoulder he sees the lion-shaped BTs walking past him in a slow stride as if on a leash walking a designated path. Throwing his luck in the air he drives to near it following in adequate silence. The beast stepped one last time as he halted in front of a heap of bouldering tar, as the bubbles around it fall showing a victim changed into it gasping for air as if never inhale the rotten air. A caped person declines from the sky down standing in front of the victim Sam only hearing their voices.

-Where is the package?

-In your ass, asshole.

Sam's eyes brightened as he heard the insult finding the silver lining. His girl. His badass girl.

I'd give it all just to hold you close.

The kidnapper removed his cap and Sam immediately knowing who it was... Higgs. Fucker Higgs. Sam waited for a opportunity as Higgs walked away as Sam started revving his bike with only one goal-saving his girl and getting her back. Letting go of the break the motorbike roared like a beast as he drove under the lion-like BT as Sam's left hand reached for his girl as he started to the right as he grabbed her by the waist as she held onto him for dear life leaving Higgs to take a second what just happened.

-Bridges!!!!!

Higgs yelled as he jumped on the beast tailing the two lovers. Sam felt the weak arm around his waist bare and cold but thankfully alive and conscious.

-Princess. Are you okay? Just hold on.

Y/n felt the warmth from his body as he drove away as her eyes found Higgs starting to lose speed and distance eventually giving up.

-This is not the end! I will get that package!

I know it's all my fault

Made you put down your guard

I know I made you fall

The engine roared down into silence as Sam grabbed this love into his arms carrying her into the HQ to get her healed. Her body stiff and bleak nearly like a washed corpse as Mama examined her.

-Her lungs are at its limit, a wonder she is alive.

-What do you mean?

-Her lungs were excessively deprived of air. Wonder how she managed that.

Sam chuckled down at his girl mumbling proudly

-Easy. She's too stubborn to die.

Didn't wanna wake up 'less you were beside me

Cause this house is not a home

Days passed and Y/n came back to life as Sam held her like a drop of water in his palm. Not letting her to grab or carry anything god forbid walk to the bathroom to pee. As much as she came back to life her hormones came as well to say hello. She became sexually frustrated but knowing Sam he will say

"You need to heal."

But she is stubborn and she will get what she wants. Grabbing a neat pager she presses the red button on it that Sam gave to her to call her when she needs help using it only this once. She remembered him saying.

-Press this button and I will do anything to help you.

As she pressed the button the doors slammed open as Sam asked out of breath

-What? What's wrong? What do you need?

Y/n put on a smile on her face as she patted the space near her.

-Sit down.

Seeing her in good shape he sat down as he said

-You seem fine.

Y/n shook her head to negate his words

-Oh, I'm most certainly not. I'm in pain.

-Where?

Y/n extends her legs over his lap sitting on him facing his face as she putting his hands on her waist.

-Sexually.

-Oh.

-You are wounded and you ca-

Y/n placed a finger on his lips to hush him as she replies proudly

-You said that when I press the button on the anger you will ANYTHING to help me. Right?

Sam shook his head up and down as her fingers stayed put.

-Then help me. I want to feel you. You surely want to feel me. Right???

He shook his head again as his hands dive under her shirt.

I want you next to me

This time, I'll never leave

-Help me, Bridges. Make me feel at ease.

She commanded and he obeyed as her hand flew to his har as their lips connected in the touch starved manner that clashed together. Tongue peaking out, saliva dribbling down their chins.

Cause I want you baby

It was definitely a blessing, wakin' beside you

Sam felt his cock aching against her clothes core pulsating to feel the warmth he craved at this moment

I'll be livin' in Heaven when I'm inside of you

-No foreplay today. I need you, Sam.

He needed nothing more as her hand removed the pants and underwear as her slick dropped her juices over his cock. The juice sliding down his erection as the puddle nestled itself on the bottom of his groin into his dark pubic hair. Her body melted at his soft touch as she slides down his shaft eating him up feeling her walls provide the tight passage for him. Sam let his head fall seeing his friend disappear in her warmness not wanting to get out like ever. His hips snapped back and slammed her onto him feeling the zing of pain and the heap of pleasure.

-More, Sam. Please me.

Sam obliged for his best girl as his hips found her center again and again and again and again as his climax reared close his veins waiting for the delicious moment of persecuting to course his veins one last epic time. Y/n felt her hips snap in place Sam's cock still in her as she felt the warm cum release around him. Sam's cock felt the warm ooze and he came as well in her womb mixing the two together. Her lungs gasped for air and her hips cursed at her for the position but nothing felt better than this. Sam watches her chest fill with air as his thighs gave her the hard cushion support she needed for now. His gleaming eyes found hers as he asked

-Feeling better now?

I'll hold you down and not let you go

I'd give it all just to hold you close

Y/n smiled as she answered

-No more pain.

Her lips found his once again thanking him for being the best nurse.

I hope you enjoyed it🌺

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