We Were So Close To The Sexiest Star Wars Design

we were so close to the sexiest Star Wars design

I personally never shipped Din and Bo. BUT…

“To be honest, it means nothing to me or my people. Nor does station or bloodline. What means more to me is honor, and loyalty, and character. These are the reasons I serve you, Lady Kryze. Your song is not yet written. I will serve you until it is.”

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

Ao3 writers are the strongest Avengers

Just Be Gentle

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

Words: 3,589

Rating: Teen+

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

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

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

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

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

Read on A03

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

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

"THeRe you are.."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paz greeted her with his immediate sense of concern.

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

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

"I'm just fine."

"Paz."

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

“You need to be seen to!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You know his name."

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

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

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

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

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

"In there is fine.."

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

"Secret ingredient?" Song pried.

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

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

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

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

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

She shrugged, a little tone in her voice. 

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

Her eyes twinkled and she smirked at what happened next. 

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

–And thank the MAKER for that sweetheart on Sorgan.

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

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

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

“So Djarin was wooed.. by a farmer.”

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

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

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

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

"And you? Anyone else on Sorgan?"

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

"Is that so?" 

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

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

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

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

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

Paz chuckled.

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

How dare her heart give her that much hope…

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

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

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

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

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

"--hey, easy!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How's that. Better?"

The helmet nodded back and its voice hummed a little.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

bunnelbie's commissions!

art, prices, and details under the cut <3

what i'll draw: pretty much anyone/thing—your fave, your ocs, you, fic art, friends, family, pets,... if you're unsure, just ask! commissioning gifts for friends/family is fine. view my commission art tag: #requests.

waitlist: join the waitlist (currently at 20+, view the waitlist). for multiple pieces, please add yourself to the waitlist multiple times.

note: i work on commissions one at a time (outside of my demanding full-time job and personal work) so please note there may be a long wait. if you change your mind later about wanting a commission, no worries! you’ll have the chance to express that (or to postpone your slot); this does not force you to commit.

when i get to you, i'll ask you to fill out this typeform. feel free to preview it by clicking the up/down arrows at the bottom, but please wait to fill it out!

my process: step-by-step documentation

price calculator

per character: $60 bust / $70 half / $85 full body

background: $80–$100 depending on complexity and zoom

extras: other things can complicate a piece. the more complicated, the costlier the piece

still have questions? ask a question or direct message me.

give this a ❤️ to save it and any reblogs/signal boosts are appreciated ^—^b

"Renewed shall be blade that was broken, The crownless again shall be king."