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#winston duke fanfiction

chaneajoyyy · 2 years

Note

Do you know of any Halloween/fall M’Baku or T’Challa fics?

M'BAKU / T'CHALLA HALLOWEEN/FALL FICS

M'BAKU HALLOWEEN/FALL FICS

shadows in the closet- @supersizemeplz

risky dreams- @eerythingisshaka

wakanda as warewolves imagines, wakandan supernatural au’s/imagines, willing heart, your worst nightmare- @youreallyshouldtalkmore

the arrival series- @muse-of-mbaku

girl of his dreams- @tchallasbabymama

T'CHALLA HALLOWEEN/FALL FICS

three king of dreams (ft. erik and m’baku (for christmas but still a little spooky), a single prick series- @supersizemeplz

fictober 27 “remember, you have to remember”; “fictober 29″ at least it can’t get any worse”- @eerythingisshaka

wakanda as warewolves imagines, wakandan supernatural au’s/imagines, your worst nightmare, noble intentions- @youreallyshouldtalkmore

ever after- @wakandan-flowerz

crossroads blues @tchallasbabymama

howl- @hearteyes-for-killmonger

***IF YOU HAVE OR KNOW ANYONE WHO HAS M'BAKU AND T'CHALLA HALLOWEEN/FALL FICS PLEASE HIT MY LINE SO I CAN ADD!!!***

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umber-cinders · 11 months

Link

Title: 𝐼𝑓 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑆ℎ𝑜𝑒 𝐹𝑖𝑡𝑠

Pairing: Alpha!M’Baku x Black!OmegaReader

Summary: It has come time for Alpha M’Baku to cede his father in the role of packleader. You're well were aware of the so-called prophecy that was was given to Alpha M’Baku’s parents before he was born: To keep their lineage and pack strong and successful for generations to come, their first born son would have to find and mate with his soulmate. The entire concept is only vaguely interesting to you. You're not fond of the idea of prophecies and fates, but they sure are fond of you.

Rating: MATURE (18+)

Warnings: 🔞Dub-Con Elements🔞, ABO/Omegaverse Dynamics, Threats and talks or violence/murder, Implied Sexual Content, Asshole Family

❥MasterList❥

You honestly don’t understand what all the fuss is about. M’Baku is lord and leader of Pack Jabari; he throws parties and formal events all the damn time. And yet your stepmother, Ifeoma, and her daughters are all in a tizzy as if the world was about to end when they received word of this one. It didn’t take long to find out why. As you were sweeping the floor between the kitchen and dining room, it took about five seconds for Ifeoma’s eldest daughter, Ngozi, to run her mouth.

“Lord M’Baku is looking for a mate!” She squealed excitedly. “This is going to be the biggest party of my entire life!”

“Yeah, but all omegas of the pack are invited.” Uloma told her sister serenely.

Ngozi narrowed her eyes. “So?”

“So—” Uloma smiles. “I’d hate for my only sister to get her feelings hurt when he ends up choosing me instead.”

“In your dreams, Lolo!” Ngozi snorts. “He doesn’t want a little girl, he wants a woman—An omega that will be able to stand by his side and rule the pack with him!”

“I am twenty-one! That is hardly a little girl! I am of mating age! Besides, a lot of alphas like fresh omegas to shape into their wives.” Uloma declared.

“We’re two years apart! I’m not stale goods yet!” Ngozi snapped.

Your face visibly scrunched up into an annoyed grimace. Not only was their bickering headache-inducing, but the subject matter was cringeworthy.

❥Read The Rest On Ao3 ❥

#M'Baku #M'Baku x Black!reader #m'baku x reader #m'baku x oc #Black Panther #Wakanda forever #black panther wakanda forever #bpwf #fanfic #fanfiction #winston duke #a03 #My Fics #boxofbonesfic #Fairy god mothers are actually assholes #alpha/beta/omega dynamics

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devnicolee · 1 year

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Impure thoughts were most certainly thought when I saw this pic on Lupita’s Instagram 🥵

#winston duke #why is he doing this to us #m'baku x oc #m'baku x reader #black panther fanfiction #black panther imagines #black panther fics #m'baku imagines #black panther fandom

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attoye · 3 months

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Okoye Takes M’baku and Attuma’s order 🤣🤣💀

✨boke ✨

#attoye #attuma x okoye #okoye x attuma #fanfiction #attuma #okoye #fanart #black panther #danai gurira #marvel #Mbaku #mbaku imagine #Winston duke #alex livinalli #mcu okoye #mcu

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 2 years

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Jupiter Brain Snare

A quick, QUICK something. Happy Spooky Szn! I usually avoid pairing two real people so there's no smut because that could be weird for them and awkward. Anyways... lol

Pairing: Winston Duke x Lupita Nyongo

Tags: Hypnosis, Sex Pollen

Winston was a humble plant dad searching Lowes for the perfect plant to take home while his wife Lupita searched for perfect shade of green paint to go in the study. Winston needed a unique and impressive plant that could thrive without direct sunlight. Lupita suggested a peace lily, but as he explained, it was too basic. Lowes' selection in itself was basic. He was getting frustrated.. until he noticed a wet pink flyer between two plants. A nearby grower was boasting of unique crossbreeds with a business called Rare & Cool Plantz.

He called the number first to make sure the sellers were home before heading the 10 minutes in their direction to view their selection. They were a dodgy European couple from a city he hadn't heard of in Austria. He made it a mental memento to google Hallstatt when he left. There were all sorts of odd and unique looking plants, one in particular catching his fancy. It was a white jellyfish plant. It looked like something that would be found deep underwater but it also seemed to be thriving.

"That's a Jupiter Brain Snare."

"What's the maintenance?"

"It's so bland, what about these orange ones," Lupita stood next to large flower bulbs shaped like stars.

"Those are Tiger Scratch," the man pointed but Winston had made his decision.

"I'll take this.. Jupiter Brain Snare.

"Water every other hour."

Every other hour? It was high maintenance. That would be an impossible task. Still, he wanted it. He paid $50 to sit it the computer desk and admire it constantly watering the soil every hour until he was sleepy, his head nodding. He couldn’t be vigilant all the time between work and sleep. He went nine hours without watering his plant to find it drooping. A little stream woke it up, but it wasn't the same so he sat as he intended to do with his laptop and worked away, only stopping when his head began to drop. He'd jolt and keep typing as if she weren't just asleep and then he'd be out again.

He opened his eyes to his wife standing before him in bright orange lingerie he'd never seen and an orange feather boa. She dropped her matching orange strappy heel on the desk and yanked him up by his collar. He watched her full red painted lips as she whispered something he did not hear and she pushed him backward, back into his seat. His heart was pounding as she rounded the desk and sat on it parting her thighs and wrapping his neck with the boa. He was in heaven when she pulled him in, motorboating between her thighs.

"Hnn," he woke with a start wiping his drool and steadying himself in his chair. "LULU."

"What," she appeared wide-eyed. "I'm on the phone." She was in brown overalls, her locs tied back with a scarf. He shook his head and she left him sitting still clinging to the dream. He woke his computer and began to type again, mumbling to himself.

"Now what did you want," Lupita reappeared in a bright red bodysuit with red patent leather thigh high boots. His jaw dropped. "You called me for a reason," she approached sweeping everything off the desk and shutting the laptop. She sat it on the lounge chair. Then she climbed over the desk and stood watching him as he gazed up at his giantess, enviting her size 8.5 stilleto boot to his face. She was stepping on him like a little submissive bug and he was growing hard watching her taunting red lipped smile. "Are you a good boy, Winston?"

"Yes my Kenyan-Mexican goddess," he whimpered feeling the cold water when he snapped awake seeing his wife's concerned face at the entrance of the study in the same brown overalls with an oven mitt.

"Winston," she stared, "Are you okay? You've been acting weird." She approached and he hid his erection with his hand. "Winston.. are you having sex dreams," she grinned now close to his face. He didn't want to admit something that made him feel like a pubescent boy again. "Winston," she teased poking at him.

"Maybe I should take a break, this work is making me delirious. I'll be in the room."

"Rawrr," Lupita growled after him smiling as he turned the corner to head to their bedroom. He couldn't sleep. Away from the desk he was wide awake. He decided to go bother his wife in the kitchen, tasting the food and horseplaying until she kicked him out. He hung around instead making kissy faces in her peripheral. "WINSTON," she marched back to his desk. "You're driving me crazy, what about your work.."

"I'll finish dinner and youu.. finish reading through that report for me, I can't focus."

"Don't burn my rice!"

"I am African, I don't burn rice!"

Lupita settled in the desk chair and woke her husband's laptop finding a document with a lot of text. He had four windows open and then outlook and teams. "Okay," she sighed looking at the white jellyfish plant that sat in front of her. It looked bigger than usual. It had little white vines that weren't there before. She did a double take and started to read aloud. About 8 lines in her eyelids began to droop. She smelt something distinct. It was that plant! "WIN- wins-," she slurred seeing him re-enter the study sweaty all over, glowing and oiled in loincloth with an axe over his shoulder.

"Sweetheart I'm going to chop wood in the forest. A man's nature calls." His voice was deep and very un-American. His pecs danced as he headed out the door.

"I'm coming," she scooted behind him grabbing her keys. She watched his juicy ass and powerful thighs from behind reaching out for a handful when she heard a loud smash and fall. She was back in the desk chair salivating and staring dead ahead. She wiped her mouth and Winston was standing fully clothed with a ladle in hand. The plant was a mess on the floor. He jumped on it stomping it like a snake.

"It's the plant," he swallowed.

The End

@dashhoney25 @lettidarawest @soufcakmistress @ljstraightnochaser @princessstevens @eye-raq @thiccdaddy-mbaku @destinio1 @iamrheaspeaks @hidden-treasures21 @bidibidibombaclaat @forbeautyandlife @blowmymbackout @misspooh @thotyana-in-this-hoe @localtrapgod @purplehairgawdess @thegucciwaffle @miyuhpapayuh @ladymac82 @harleycativy @goddessofthundathighs @nobodybaby93 @theegoldenchild @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @thadelightfulone

#original #winston duke #mbaku imagine #mbaku #m'baku #black panther fanfiction #lupita nyong'o #lupita nyongo fanfiction #nakia black panther #nakia fanfiction

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supersizemeplz · 2 years

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HomeCooked Meal To Ease

Winston Duke x Black PlusSized Female

Another #supersizedfic mini. Just something random. Please excuse typos.

Blurred vision turned to clear with each slow blink of her eyes. Lashes somehow still set in place. The modern styled lamp that sat on the nightstand of her boyfriend’s side of the bed was on, casting just enough light to see faint silhouettes of things farther from the bed.

She swung both her legs to the side of the bed, bringing her upper body to sit up straight. Lifting off the bed, she reached towards the ceiling for a deep stretch before adjusting her t that had ridden up. With a quick glance to the left, the green LED of the clock read that it was half past seven.

The soft fur of her slippers cushioned her steps as she headed out of the room. Her fingers danced with the silk of her scarf to retighten what her sleep had loosened. A slow stride down the stairs granted her with the soft words of Frank Ocean. A soft smile graced her full lips as she followed the flow of music to the kitchen.

Winston had his back turned to her, moving his shoulders to the rhythm. He mumbled along with the artist as he lifted the top of the pot on the stove. A swift stir of the spoon in his right hand followed the movement of his hips.

“Something smells amazing.” Her voice caught his attention, stiffening his shoulders for a brief second. “I didn’t mean to startle the chef.” She chuckled as he closed the lid with a grin.

“You didn’t. I heard you once you came down the stairs.” He fibbed with smirk, coming around the island to come to her. “But let’s not focus on me.. You feeling any better?” His hands rested on her arms, giving a soothing rub as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“Yeah. I didn’t realize how tired I was.” She relaxed into his arms, taking in the faint scent of his cologne. “I also didn’t expect to wake up to a full course meal. You must be in a good mood? Do I smell cookies?” Looking up at him, he chuckled.

“Yes ma’am, you do.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead before leaving her to head back to the counter. She watched as he opened a tupperware container and brought it to her. “Fresh baked cookies made with love for my love.”

She grabbed a cookie with happiness, taking a bite into the soft treat. With a satisfied hum, she grabbed another for when she finished the first. “Thank you, babyy. You always know how to make a girl feel good.”

He laughed at that, throwing her a wink. “It’s no problem. I enjoy keeping my lady happy..” She watched as he moved around the kitchen with ease. A plate balanced in his hand as he worked to perfect the plate he was fixing. A perfectionist when it comes to any of his dishes. “And if white chocolate chip cookies and a full course meal will please my baby? Who am I to go against that?”

She looked up to him with sincerity. “I really appreciate all this. And I can’t wait to taste whatever you made.” He smirked at the excitement in her voice. For the past hour and a half, he worked away in the kitchen to make sure everything was perfect. His woman was stressed from the day and he vowed to ease her mind. Taking a paper towel, he wiped a lone drop of sauce that was out of place.

He went back to the stove to fix his own plate. “It’s a recipe that I’ve been perfecting. I’m hoping you love it.” With a lick of his lips, he glanced back to her. “After you’ve eaten, I’ll treat you to a nice foot rub and one of those massages you like with all the oils. I’ll be on my best behavior, this time.”

She let out a laugh at that. “We’ll see how long that lasts.” He held back a smile as he took a seat beside the amused woman. Thinking that she knew him too well.

#oneshot #black reader #supersizedfic #winston duke fanfiction #winston duke

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sisterwifeudaku · 6 years

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hey everybody

i posted 3 imagine thingys and i want you all to check it out and leave me some feedback on how i can improve please!! I just want to know y’alls thoughts!!!!

Here’s the masterlist

#black panther fanfiction #chadwick boseman fanfic #Winston duke fanfiction #t'challa #m'baku #killmonger #Michael b Jordan fanfiction

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essaysbyciara · 4 years

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@essaysbyciara x archive/masterlist

Peace, family! First, welcome to this here Tumblr! Secondly, did I say “what up?!” I’ve accumulated a gang of new followers (again, heeyyyyyyyyy!) so I wanted to put together a masterlist of all of my writing stuffs on this here app.

I do chapter fanfic and shorts about love, relationships and the BS that comes with it. I specialize in what the streets have called “smut thoughts”; I don’t write smut but I get somewhat close to the line so if you’re looking for an alternative to smut fic, I might be your girl. I typically write about whatever fine-ass Black man is warming my spirits at the moment. Right now, I’m lusting over Trevante Rhodes, Y’lan Noel, Michael B. Jordan (and Killmonger), Yahya Abdul-Mateen II and Dave East.

Enough with the intros ... below is my stuff. I’ll update with every new work. Peace and blessings.

THY NEIGHBOR [COMPLETE] Trevante Rhodes/Y’lan Noel; Michael B. Jordan, Yahya Abdul-Mateen II (recurring)

Thy Neighbor tells the story of two neighbors, Trevante and Ciara, who meet after a moment of tragedy. As their friendship - and maybe more -- blossoms, Ciara wonders if she can keep up with her new love life -- and her vow of celibacy.

[Chapter 1][Chapter 2][Chapter 3][Chapter 4][Chapter 5 + 6][Chapter 7 + 8][Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11][Chapter 12] [Chapters 13 + 14][Chapter 15] [Chapter 16] [Chapter 17][Chapters 18 + 19] [WATTPAD]

THY NEIGHBOR II: LOVIN’ THE CREW [COMPLETE] Trevante Rhodes/Y’lan Noel/Winston Duke; Michael B. Jordan, Yahya Abdul-Mateen II (recurring)

Ciara and Trevante’s journey continues with cameos from her past and maybe her future.

[Prologue] [Chapters 1 + 2] [Chapters 3 + 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapters 7 + 8] [Chapters 9 + 10] [Chapters 11 + 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapters 14 + 15][Chapter 16] [Chapter 17] [Chapter 18] [Chapters 19 + 20] [Chapter 21] [WATTPAD]

IT’S BEEN A LONG TIME [IN PROGRESS] Nebraska “Brasco” Williams (Trevante Rhodes)

It may be time to create some new memories with your old high school crush.

SOUNDTRACK | PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

OLD HABITS DIE HARD [COMPLETE] Yahya Abdul-Mateen II/Dave East

Last summer, you and Dave, a friend of the family and “guy from the neighborhood”, had a sweet-and-sexy fling. Things end abruptly and in the weeks that followed, you would meet Yahya, a civil rights attorney and later your fiance. Now it’s time for him to meet the family and a reunion with Dave looms in the horizon. What could go wrong?

(1) NEW MESSAGE [COMPLETE] Yahya Abdul-Mateen II

“But this one gives a damn about me but doesn’t want to meet me in person because, I think, he doesn’t want anything to do with a woman that looks like me. And it’s all conjecture and it kills me. He doesn’t even know me.”

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

LAYTON ROAD: A KILL x READER SERIES [COMPLETE] Erik “Killmonger” Stevens

He’s known to you -- and Instagram -- as ‘Kill’. A double-tap and a DM introduces you to Erik.

SHORTS

YOU AIN’T HER; Erik “Killmonger” Stevens (Michael B. Jordan) | PART TWO | PART THREE

You can tell that Erik loves his girlfriend. But she ain’t here right now. So why do you care?

ME & HIS OLD SCHOOL; Inspired by Big KRIT

The cars swerve slow, swang and crawl. Enough time to peep who’s in the captain’s seat. Enter Justin.

PLAYING GAMES; Erik “Killmonger” Stevens (Michael B. Jordan)

Honestly, you’ve been dreaming for Erik to push all of your buttons.

RED AND GREEN SPRINKLES; Erik “Killmonger” Stevens (Michael B. Jordan)

Erik doesn’t want to be alone on Christmas Eve and he can sense through your tone that you feel the same way.

FRESH MEAT; Erik “Killmonger” Stevens (Michael B. Jordan)

You have a thing for the neighborhood butcher.

THE NERVE; DeCourcy Ward (Aldis Hodge)

You’re in a work meeting. DeCourcy can’t stop texting you. What could go wrong?

ATTENTION WH*RE; Yahya Abdul-Mateen II

You and and your husband, Yahya, have a beautiful morning routine.

HAPPINESS OVER EVERYTHING’ (H.O.E); Yahya Abdul-Mateen II

Yahya knows he’s a slide but he’s not having it.

ROOM FOR TWO; Yahya Abdul-Mateen II

Your favorite seat inside of your neighborhood coffee house is taken but you’re not mad at its thief.

#essaysbyciara #masterlist #yahya abdul mateen ii #dave east #trevante rhodes #y'lan noel #winston duke #erik killmonger #erik killmonger fanfiction #michael b jordan

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lilhawkeye3 · 3 years

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Black Coffee & Sugary Sweets - Part 1

Paz Vizsla x OFC (Bri)

Rating: T |||| Word Count: ~800 |||| The Mandalorian Café Modern AU |||| Masterlist

A gift for @maybege 💕

Summary: A construction worker walks into a cozy café one morning...

A/N: I picture Paz as Winston Duke, and I describe him with those characteristics. Totally fine if you picture a different fancast, but please don’t be surprised if I use certain terms that apply more to Duke than to other fancasts.

[hi I couldn’t wait to post this so here we are! I’m thinking five parts, some long and some short, but hopefully you’ll enjoy them! It’s just a lot of fluff. This fic will remain T. The gif is a place holder until I find something more fitting haha]

“Hiya, Bri!”

Bri smiles widely at the tall woman who’s stepped away from the register to watch her mix drinks over the counter. Brunette hair neatly in a bun, designer sunglasses, freckles dotting her nose: this is Andrea, and her coffee mix is the one currently being heated up.

“Good morning, Andrea! I got your usual just about ready to go,” Bri replies cheerfully. Andrea is some sort of executive in one of the buildings just down the block and never misses a morning stop in for coffee. Bri’s always in awe of her business attire: she manages to make professional outfits look so effortless. Meanwhile, Bri isn’t sure if she even owns a set of jeans without a dash of paint on them.

“Always on time, you are,” Andrea teases before briefly glancing down to where her phone buzzes in her hand. There’s always something urgent claiming her attention in the morning and having her hustle off to work, something that’s easy to empathize with in the routine chaos of the cafe. Bri simply pours the now-ready drink into the refillable thermos Andrea had set on the bar, seals it up tight, and slides it back her way with a wave before moving onto the next order. Andrea calls a farewell over her shoulder as she leaves, but it’s lost in the growing chatter of the other patrons in the shop.

She’s working on the next pair of orders– Tom: frappuccino with whipped cream and Gabby: chai tea with two espresso shots– when Max calls her over to the register. Her curiosity is piqued: Max is one of her fellow seasoned employees and almost never needs help with a customer, unless… could there truly be a newbie, this early on a Wednesday?

Bri finishes the two drinks in a timely manner and sets them on the counter and calls out the names she’d scrawled on the sides as she turns to help her friend. Max gestures his hand under the counter towards the register, and she turns eagerly to see who’s order she’ll be adding to her mental list next–

Oh. It’s him. The very reason she’d been staring out the window all morning!

He’s tall and broad, flannel shirt buttoned tight across his chest (part of her wonders how the buttons haven’t popped off yet) and covered by a worn leather jacket to account for the morning chill. His hair is covered by a navy blue ball cap, but his dark eyes observe her curiously from underneath the brim as she gazes up at him. Something in her expression– or maybe it’s just her face?-- seems to take him by surprise, and his stare darts towards the floor while he awkwardly shoves his hands into his jacket pockets.

“Oh, you came in the other day at lunch!” Bri declares, more for Max’s benefit than her own. “Sorry, I haven’t had a chance to learn your name and order yet, otherwise Max would’ve sent you right along.”

“S’fine,” the man assures them both, tilting his head back up again. From the angle, she can tell he’s reading from the menu that hangs above the bar.

Max seems to take pity on his indecision. “Don’t mind the menu: just tell Bri whatever it is you like, and she’ll make it! She’s the best barista here.”

She does have time to do more than grip Max’s wrist in silent thanks before the man returns his attention to her, tips his head slightly to the side, and speaks up in his low, rumbling voice. “Just a black coffee is fine. Large, please.”

Simple, polite, and straight to the point. She’ll take it.

“Got it!” She hustles off to fill his order, and since she saw Mr. Trant in line behind him, she starts on his regular tea blend as well. The new man finishes paying with Max and then moves off towards her side of the bar, hovering quietly while he watches her work. She doesn’t mind his presence; most of the customers remain nearby if they’re waiting for a to-go order.

When his coffee is ready, Bri doesn’t set it on the counter. Instead, she holds it up and raises an eyebrow in question, beckoning him closer. Their fingers just brush against each other as she hands him the large disposable cup over the divider, and she tries to hide the butterflies that take flight in her stomach with a friendly smile.

“You never did give me your name, y’know. How else will I remember your order for next time?” She teases.

His eyes widen and he looks ready to bolt, if Mr. Trant hadn’t overheard from where he stood and sighed loudly.

“Just tell her your name, son. She knows us all around here!”

The man glances between Mr. Trant and Bri incredulously for a moment before he offers her a shy quirk of his lips in return. “It’s Paz. Thank you, miss.”

Bri waves. “Nice to meet you! I hope you have a good day–” and because she knows Mr. Trant only has so much patience for such frivolous behavior, she quickly passes over his order as well, “--and it’s all ready for you to go too, Mr. Trant.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she spies Paz at the coffee station, dumping a packet of sugar into his opened black coffee. Three empty packets already lay discarded next to his cup, before he sweeps them all into the receptacle.

Paz: black coffee and an unhealthy amount of sugar. She won’t be forgetting him.

~~~~~

When she proclaims his order as such the next morning as he waits hesitantly from his spot over the counter, Paz unwittingly grants her a full grin. It’s like the sun coming out for the first time after a long winter, and Bri can’t wait to draw another one out of him.

#paz vizsla x oc #Paz Vizsla #the mandalorian #modern au #café au #star wars #fanfiction #heavy infantry mandalorian #Winston Duke #construction worker!Paz #fluff

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stubbychaos · 4 years

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Saviin’ika

Part 2 Part 3

Pairing: Paz Vizla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: You grew up hearing terrifying tales of Mandalorians and the atrocities they were capable of inflicting upon innocent people, but when a grouchy heavy-infantry warrior offers to walk you home after you treat his wounds, you think that perhaps they aren’t the scariest monsters that reside on Nevarro.

Rated: M for mature themes, though there’s no smut in this part.

Word Count: 6.1K

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, graphic injury involving intestines (not detailed at all, I literally just use the word ‘intestines’ to describe the injury), Paz gets stitches and hates needles just as much as I do, brief mention of an armed robbery.

Notes: This is so self-indulgent it’s not even funny lol. I just wanted more fluffy Paz fanfic since he only got like thirty seconds of screen time and I’m still thirsting over him. I plan on this being only a few chapters, but knowing me, I won’t know when to stop.

You’re not sure how you ended up in this position, currently taking care of a massive Mandalorian that had somehow been injured in some sort of intense scuffle, though you find it difficult to believe that anyone in the galaxy could get the upper hand on the intimidating warrior that absolutely towers over you by more than a foot.

You can’t even imagine anyone with the guts to try to take on someone so intimidating.

You’ve never seen a Mandalorian before, but you have heard old tales of vicious warriors made of metal that lived underground and took what they wanted without much regard for others, not caring if they had to hurt women or children to get what they wanted. Judging by the way he had stormed into the tiny infirmary, angrily demanding that you be the only one to tend to his wounds, you think the rumors must be true and you had accepted immediately, not wanting to be on the receiving end of the huge warrior’s wrath should you deny him. He hadn’t even asked where your office was, merely stalking past you after you had scrambled to get up from the front desk where you had been working on the reports you had been asked to work on and file.

Currently, you watch in awkward silence as he slowly detaches his massive weapon from his back, breathing a little harshly or grunting whenever he moves in a way that causes pain. You step forward and raise a hand to help him, but his helmet whips threateningly to where you’re standing and you immediately back up, fear turning into slight irritation because you’re a nurse and you should be helping someone who’s clearly uncomfortable. After a few painfully quiet moments, the Mandalorian finally props his massive weapon up against the stiff cot in the center of the room and moves onto removing his chest piece, though it seems to be a harder task for him.

“W-Would you like some help, sir?” Your question comes in the form of a meek murmur and he immediately freezes at the sound of your voice, his intimidating visor staring you dead on, “I-It just seems like you’re in quite a bit of pain. I don’t mind helping, really.”

His black gloves fall to his thighs and you watch with disdain as a few droplets of blood drip onto the white tile, though you take the defeated gesture as a sign that he’s willing to let you help him. You remain as professional as possible as you approach the huge warrior and bashfully reach up to undo one of the latches that rests above his collarbone before repeating the action with the other one, though you find it’s broken and slightly trickier to unlatch. Deciding it’s not a good idea to mention his shoddy armor, you remain silent as you stand on your tippy toes to remove the heavy piece of steel, a hand reaching around him to catch the back piece.

His helmet cocks to the side at the small huff you let out, not prepared for how heavy the piece of armor was.

After you help him remove the rest of his heavy cuirass and the extra padding covering his ribs, he surprisingly obliges your meek request for him to lay down on the stiff cot before you cautiously untuck his tunics from his utility belt that he refused to take off. Even with two dangerously deep knife wounds and several intense bruises, you think it makes him no less scary and you’re certain he can easily deal out some serious damage if he so desires, even in such a compromised position. The Mandalorian has over a foot on you and even before removing all of the padding and layers of clothing, you had been able to tell that he’s still a big guy, more muscular in certain spots than others and you force yourself to stop thinking about the softly defined abs that are currently exposed to you, both his gray and black tunics pulled up to his sternum. His skin is a beautiful, rich shade of brown, you notice as you briefly inspect the severity of his wounds and you can feel the intense heat that radiates from him, as if he’s a human furnace.

‘He is your patient,’ You remind yourself as you quickly stand up to gather a few things, including your thoughts, ‘A massive, terrifying patient that could easily crush you in the blink of an eye.’

You have your back to him, thoroughly washing your hands when you clear your throat and speak up quietly, “Can you tell me what you were stabbed with?”

“Does it make a difference? I’m injured, that’s all you need to know.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as you gather all the supplies you need before sitting in your chair and pointing your bright lamp at the severe injuries; you gain a little courage as you pull your surgical mask over the lower half of your face and slip on your glasses so you can see better, grateful that you can now focus on the injuries rather than the stubborn Mandalorian. The gashes are both several inches long and though they don’t seem critically deep, you can tell that he’s lost quite a bit of blood and will suffer severe consequences if you don’t help him soon.

“It just helps to know what weapon was used to cause the injury. If it was rusted metal, it can be more prone to infection--if it was glass, there could still be shards in the wound. I’m not asking about the circumstances involving how you got these injuries, just the weapons involved.”

He grunts and you pretend not to notice the way his fingers curl against the cot when you begin to flush out the wound. Something tells you that he’s not used to being the one getting injured during a battle and you can’t imagine a warrior bigger than him catching him off guard; you force yourself not to ask about the circumstances revolving around his injuries. You had learned long ago not to pry into the lives of criminals and bounty hunters, understanding that it always put them on edge and made them wary of you.

“It was a dagger--few inches long and definitely not rusty.”

“Does your left shoulder hurt at all?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

You huff a little, cheeks burning and you can’t tell if it’s from frustration or embarrassment, “The less critical wound is located in a spot where your spleen could have been affected if contact was made with the dagger, though it doesn’t seem to be deep enough to cause any trauma to the organ. A sharp pain in your left shoulder is oftentimes a sign of a ruptured spleen.”

You reach up to lightly dig your fingers into his firm shoulder, only pulling away when he shakes his helmet a few seconds later, “No, there’s no pain there.”

“Thank you. The wounds didn’t seem deep enough to cause any injury to any organs, but we don’t really have the proper technology to know for sure,” His visor tilts towards your face, though you don’t notice it as you remain concentrated on cleaning the nasty wounds before pulling out your suture kit, “The infirmary is low on supplies at the moment--a couple of raiders broke in a few weeks ago and took a lot of machines and medicine from us. I’m afraid I don’t have any bacta patches, but stitches should stop the bleeding just fine. You’re lucky the dagger wasn’t very long.”

“I got stabbed and you’re calling me lucky?” He doesn’t sound angry and something about his lighter tone makes you think it’s disbelief that his modulator hides.

You raise your brows and you’re grateful for the surgical mask hiding your amused smirk as you get to work on stitching up the deeper wound first, “Considering I had a Twi’lek come in earlier with his intestines practically falling out of his stomach, I would certainly say you’re one of the luckier patients I’ve ever gotten. Stab wounds and blaster shots I can handle, guts and brains are another story.”

“You’re a doctor, that stuff shouldn’t bother you.”

“I’m a nurse, actually. The infirmary only has one doctor and he barely works here since he’s always traveling,” You correct him, eyes trained on the way the curved hook of the needle pierces his skin, nylon thread bringing the torn flesh back together, “Sorry if you expected to be treated by an actual doctor when you stormed into the the infirmary asking for my help. There’s not really a huge need for medical professionals in the village--most people are dead before they even make it here.”

He makes a small noise from the back of his throat, “Makes sense. Surprised this place even has an infirmary in the first place.”

“Yeah, it’s not exactly the flashiest hospital in the Outer Rim,” You say sarcastically, tilting your head to the side as you lean over his torso to get a better look at what you’re doing, “Why did you ask for me?”

“You were the only one that actually looked competent,” He huffs, stretching his arm behind his head when you gently nudge his bicep a little, “Everyone else was standing around doing nothing. You were the only one actually working.”

You’re not sure if it’s a compliment or some sort of backhanded one, but you take it for what it is and continue your work, being as swift and precise as you possibly can. The Mandalorian, however, makes it difficult when he keeps shuffling around and you would have thought for such a big warrior, he’d be used to pain by now. If you were in any other situation, you might have found amusement at the thought of a huge Mandalorian hating needles, though you suspect it goes deeper than that and judging by the scarce amount of scars scattered on his torso, he must not get hurt often.

Men in this village tend to have quite a big ego and usually hate having their pride bruised; you think that maybe Mandalorians are no exception to that notion, especially when they are rumored to be the galaxy’s fiercest warriors.

You let out an exasperated sigh when he shifts for the umpteenth time and his helmet immediately jolts to stare at you through that unforgiving visor, “What? Something wrong?”

His tone is condescending and you wince a little.

Of course he’s just like the rest of your patients--rude and probably cruel.

“You just…” You cringe at how shaky your voice is and steel your nerves, “Could you stop moving so much, please? It’s slowing down the process and causing more unnecessary pain.”

You try to ignore the fact that there’s a vibroblade just inches from your face.

He grunts a little and turns his helmet to stare back up at the ceiling, growing deathly still underneath your skilled hands.

“Fine. Just hurry up.”

You bite your tongue and continue without so much as a nod. You’ve learned long ago that when it comes to patching up criminals or bounty hunters, they have no qualms about harming people smaller or weaker than them and this Mandalorian is quite possibly the strongest patient you’ve ever tended to and you’d rather not anger him. So, instead of rolling your eyes at the childish man, you continue to stitch the second wound that comes to a blunt end on the right side of his hip, just above his utility belt. After tenderly wiping the dried and fresh blood away from his torso, remaining mindful as you clean around the sutures, you begin to unroll a thick wad of gauze as well as some medical tape.

“The bruising on your ribs looks pretty intense,” You murmur after finishing with the stitches and lightly wrapping it with a bandage; you tilt your head a little at the way he jolts when you tenderly press a cool hand against his warm, bruised skin, “Did you hear a pop or crack when you were hit?”

“I don’t know,” He admits brusquely and you are all too aware of how bothersome bruised or broken ribs can be. Despite your better judgment, you think that perhaps that’s why he’s so cranky, “Couldn’t hear shit over the gunfire.”

You swallow the lump in your throat when you think of the massive weapon propped up against the cot, just inches away from your thigh, and you shake your head a little, “I think I might have a jar of bacta salve that could help with the soreness. If you apply it twice a day, it should speed up the healing process a considerable amount.”

“I don’t have enough credits for anything with bacta in it, so don’t even bother,” He grunts as he stubbornly sits up and lowers his helmet to inspect your work before turning to you, watching as you stand up.

You ignore his words as you approach the cabinet where you keep several clear jars filled with all sorts of vibrant, colorful liquids and gels and you think you feel his eyes on you as you stand on your tippy toes to reach the small jar on the top shelf. You were grateful that your little supply of homemade remedies and salves had remained untouched, for the most part, after the infirmary had been raided. You try to forget about the scary situation, though you still found yourself having nightmares of a Trandoshan pressing a blaster between your eyes, all while threatening to blow your brains out if you move an inch.

“Please, take it,” You insist, unscrewing the lid as you approach him and gathering the cold salve onto your fingers, “Something tells me you get injured a lot.”

His leather-clad fingers wrap gently around your wrist and stop you from rubbing the healing ointment into his skin; if you weren’t so terrified, you would have marveled at how massive his hand was compared to your much tinier one, “I don’t want your pity.”

Much to your dismay, your voice shakes a little when you speak in a whisper, and you feel the way he loosens his grip on you, though it hadn’t been painful or caused discomfort in the slightest; you’re somewhat surprised that he’s capable of gently handling someone so much smaller than him.

“It is not pity, Mandalorian.”

“Then what is it?”

“Kindness,” You murmur, feeling ridiculous when he scoffs at your answer and you just know that your cheeks are an angry shade of pink, “I do not wish to be as cruel as everyone else on this planet. I would like to think I would be shown the same kindness if I was as injured as you are, though I doubt one would help me. Besides, I don’t like seeing people in pain and I know broken ribs can be bothersome and painful.”

He silently stares at you for a few tense moments, his helmet giving you no indication as to what he’s feeling.

“Fine,” He lets go of your wrist and you let out a sigh of relief, hand shaking terribly as you begin to rub the salve against the worst of the bruising; you ignore the way he tenses under your hand and how he cocks his helmet to the side as he observes you closely, “That kind of attitude will get you hurt in a place like this.”

“I know,” Your cheeks flush and your eyes burn as you refuse to meet his gaze, your voice growing thicker and quieter when you speak again, “I know, but sometimes it doesn’t.”

He’s still staring at you as you finish up and he grunts a little when you offer him the deep, dull blue cuirass you had helped him remove earlier, carefully helping him put it back into place. After sheathing his huge canon against his back, he accepts the little jar of salve from you and tucks it into a little brown pouch attached to his utility belt with a disgruntled ‘thanks’. You’re not sure why you do it, but you instinctively trail behind him as he leaves the room and makes his way into the lobby; it’s not like he needs your assistance, but he doesn’t say anything to make you think he’s annoyed with you or doesn’t want you there.

It’s not until a deep voice calls out your name that you freeze in your footsteps and turn around with dread, the Mandalorian tilting his helmet to stare at you and an older man over his broad shoulder. Your own shoulders tense and are nearly touching your earlobes as your boss approaches you, looking angry and irritated with you even though you haven’t said a single word to him in hours.

His face is a deep shade of crimson and you can smell his putrid breath as he yells at you, “I thought I told you to have those reports done today by sundown and it’s almost kriffing midnight. I’m tired of telling you how to do your job! Am I not punishing you hard enough? Is that why you’re too stupid to understand how to do something as fucking basic as filing reports?”

“N-No sir,” You panic and instinctively flinch when he harshly grabs your bicep and violently rattles you, “Something came up, sir. I had a patient that had two stab wounds and I just uh, I figured that took priority over a few reports that aren’t crucial. He was in pretty bad condition and I just thought--”

“I don’t give a shit what you think takes priority over my demands,” He hisses, lowering his head to get in your face and intimidate you and you absolutely loathe that he succeeds in frightening you, “When I ask you to do something, you fucking do it without hesitation. I need a nurse that will do her job, not a useless pathetic excuse for a human being that can’t file a few reports by the deadline I give her. Is that understood?”

You blink away the tears and nod fervently, ignoring the bruising grip he has on your arm, “Good. Now get the fuck out of here. I can’t handle having you around fucking everything up right now. Go home.”

"But I--" You're cut off with a harsh squeeze and you try to keep the pain out of your voice when you speak in a quiet, shaky whisper, "Y-Yes, sir. I’m sorry."

When you turn around, lightly rubbing what you know is going to be a painful bruise in the morning, you're surprised to find the blue Mandalorian still standing near the entrance of the infirmary looking extremely tense--more so now than he had been earlier when you’d been stitching his wounds. His visor is trained on you and he's firmly holding the handle of his vibroblade; your eyes widen a little when you realize he had been seconds away from causing a scene and you wonder if the warrior would have actually killed your boss.

You remain frozen in place until his hand eventually falls from the handle and you skittishly brush past him, his visor following your quick pace as you leave the infirmary and hastily make your way down the empty street, your face flushed and tears burning your eyes.

You just want to go home and lay down and forget about everything that--

"Nurse," The Mandalorian’s deep voice immediately makes you freeze again and your shoulders hunch up when you hear his heavy footsteps slowly approaching you, slow and precise, like predator stalking its prey. Your eyes squeeze shut as you fear the worst case scenarios, knowing all too well of the kind of pain men of his size and strength could inflict on someone like you.

Oh Maker, were you all too aware of what cruel men were capable of.

When you apprehensively open your eyes, you find it impossible to look at his helmet and stare straight ahead at the center of his chest that’s protected by dull blue metal. You’re paralyzed with fear as you wait for him to strike--to shoot you or perhaps drag you behind the infirmary to have his way with you.

You prayed that he would kill you, rather than robbing you of that innocence that you still weakly held onto.

You’re frozen to the sidewalk when he finally comes to a stop about half a foot away from you, fingers clenching against his thighs and you feel ridiculous when a tear escapes the corner of your eye and slowly travels down your cheek. You’re not sure if the tears in your eyes are from your previous encounter with the older man who constantly made your life a living hell or the fact that there’s a possibility that you’re about to be brutalized by a terrifying Mandalorian.

His helmet cocks to the side when you take a tentative step backwards, your hands wringing together as vicious waves of nerves threaten to suffocate you.

“P-Please don’t--”

"It’s late and dangerous to be walking alone. I'm going to walk you home."

You flinch when he gently grabs your elbow and he's quick to drop it instantly, much to your surprise, "Y-You really… that's not necessary, really. I do this every night and usually don’t have a problem."

He grunts a little and holds out his own elbow for you to take, "It wasn't a question. You helped me and gave me medicine even though I had no credits to spare. Let me return the favor by walking you home,” You stare at his thick arm with distrust carved into your soft features and he must notice it because he eventually speaks up again, “If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it long ago, nurse. I have no desire to harm someone who doesn’t deserve it, especially you, of all people. Besides, even if you’re capable of protecting yourself, you’re clearly shaken up right now and not thinking straight.”

“I don’t know you,” The Mandalorian is still holding out his elbow for you to take as you argue with him in a weak murmur, “How am I supposed to believe you’re not just like the rest of them?”

He scoffs a little at your words, shaking his helmet as if he can’t believe you just compared him to a bunch of amateur criminals and bounty hunters, “I don’t like these people anymore than you do. I hate criminals that hurt others who don’t deserve it or can’t defend themselves. Let me walk you home this once and you’ll never have to see me again. You have my word.”

Something about the sincerity in his deep baritone leaves you a little breathless and you no longer feel as threatened by the Mandalorian and you think he’s being utterly genuine with you. There had been disgust in his voice as he spoke of ruthless criminals and perhaps you had misunderstood him and his intentions all along.

“Still don’t believe me?” He sighs when he mistakes your thoughtful silence for hesitance towards his insistent offer to walk you home, “Here, take my vibroblade and if you feel uncomfortable, I’ll let you stab me.”

‘I’ll let you stab me.’

It’s quite possibly the most ridiculous words that a man has ever said to you and your eyebrows shoot up at the nonchalance in his modulated voice, like this is something he says every day. You quickly stop him as he reaches for the handle of his weapon, though you’re not afraid of him hurting you with it, but more incredulous that this huge warrior would give you the chance to do such a thing.

“Haven’t you uh, been stabbed enough for one day?”

His chest heaves and you’re surprised by the deep laugh he lets out at your innocent question, adamant about placing the heavy weapon in your palm, “Yes, I think I have. Now let’s get going.”

“O-Okay,” Your heart is still frantically beating from the initial fear of him taking advantage of you, along with the strange feeling of such a sharp weapon in your hand, “It’s just--it’s kind of a long walk and I’m sure you have better things to--”

“I don’t,” He firmly interjects, almost sounding exasperated with you, “C’mon, tighten your grip on that vibroblade. The later it gets, more rats come out of hiding and target people like you.”

Hesitantly, you curl your fingers into the crook of his elbow just above his vambrace, testing the thickness of the fabric there and squeezing until your fingers stop shaking. You can feel the heat radiating from his skin underneath his tunic and relish in it a little, the atmosphere of Nevarro quite brisk this late at night.

“Thank you for doing this,” You whisper, cheeks burning brightly at how close you are to someone so powerful while holding one of his weapons,“I-It means a lot to me.”

“You said you do this every night.”

You gnaw on your bottom lip as you think of all the bad run-ins you had whenever you had to walk home this late without the protection of a Mandalorian, “It doesn’t make it any less scary when these bounty hunters and criminals find out I’m nothing more than the village nurse.”

You pretend not to notice the way he tenses next to you.

As you lead him to your little hut on the outskirts of the quiet village, you remember all the stories of how Mandalorians were vicious savages and you wonder just how accurate they are. You can't imagine someone with an inherently violent disposition offering you his arm and blade while he walks you home and perhaps your initial impression of the Mandalorian was made in too much of a haste. A few late night stragglers sneer at you and the unfazed Mandalorian and even though you should feel frightened to be walking home alone with a fierce warrior, you find that his presence has quite the opposite effect as people move out of his way to avoid any confrontation.

You can’t remember the last time you actually felt safe walking home so late and you’re barely aware of the way you push yourself closer against his side.

"That man," The Mandalorian's deep voice startles you and you notice him drop his tone in the slightest, "Does he always treat you that way? That roughly?"

You're surprised that he's actually starting a conversation with you, as he seems to be a man of very few words, but you think over his blunt question and carefully choose your words, "It is for my own good. How am I supposed to learn and become a better nurse if I can't follow simple orders?"

"He shouldn't put his hands on you like that. It’s not right when he’s larger than you and you can’t defend yourself properly."

You smile sadly and gaze up at the twinkling stars dotted in the night sky, "He is my boss and my father. He can do whatever he wants as long as I'm working for him and living under his roof.”

“Father?” He cocks his helmet to the side, as if he’s confused by your words, though all you hear is disgust in his modulated voice when he speaks, “A father should never lay a hand on their child the way he did with you earlier. Parents are supposed to protect their family, not hurt and bruise them. He should feel ashamed of the way he treats you and how he talks to you--it’s dishonorable.”

“I am an adult, not a child,” You lazily give him a single-shouldered shrug and sheepishly turn your attention to your worn out boots and your bruised knees that peek out just from the hem of your dress, “It doesn’t bother me. Like I said, it’s better for me to learn this way and he only does it because I’m always messing up.”

“It should bother you,” The Mandalorian shakes his helmet and you think he must be pitying you or judging you, “You should stand up for yourself and leave. Make a better life for yourself.”

You huff out a small laugh, though there’s nothing funny about his words or yours, “Tell me, Mandalorian, where would I go? There is only one infirmary in the village and it’s owned by my father and I have no other useful skills that would help me thrive in a village overrun by bounty hunters and criminals. The nearest city is hundreds of miles away from here and I do not make nearly enough to afford transportation nor to start my life over; my father made sure of that.”

You’re smiling, but it’s bitter and wistful, wondering why this Mandalorian wanted you to fight for a better life when there was no such thing that existed for you on this planet, “It is easy for you to tell me to fight for myself when you are covered from head to toe in impenetrable steel. My father could ruin my life if he so desired and I would not give him reason to punish me more than he has already.”

“That is no way to live, orikih baar’ur. The way you are treated is no better than the way an owner treats their slave.”

You don’t understand the language and wonder if he’s judging you in his native tongue, and even though you try to shrug it off, you still feel the pain on your shoulders and arms from your last punishment.

“It’s not living,” You agree, lightly squeezing his arm to reassure him that you’re fine, though you think you’re trying to reassure yourself more, “But I’m still surviving and doing what I love the most, helping others. It would be selfish of me to ask for more.”

The Mandalorian grows silent and you wonder what’s going through his head as you lead him through the village, where clustered buildings eventually give way to smaller houses and huts that could do with some renovation and patching up. You think of your own hut that could do with some fixing up, what with all the holes that have been punched through the walls in your father’s fits of rage, or the way rain trickles through cracks in the ceiling and oftentimes leaves you feeling sick with a fever after a night of tossing and turning on a wet mattress. Thinking of how you grew up so poorly and in a hostile environment, it makes you think far more of the Mandalorian’s blunt words and something awful churns in the pit of your stomach.

‘That is no way to live…’

You lift your head up to the stars again and wonder what lingers beyond this forsaken planet, what beauty exists in the galaxy. You had once heard tales of planets covered entirely in oceans or jungles and as you peer at the rocky and volcanic terrain that surrounds the two of you for as far as the eye can see, you wonder what beautiful sights the Mandalorian must have experienced during his years of travel. You remember a patient of yours describing the beauty of Naboo and all of the sights she had witnessed during her weeks of residing on the planet. Even in your wildest dreams, you couldn’t envision massive rolling plains of emerald grass, or glimmering sapphire oceans with waves just as violent as the most fearsome warrior you’ve ever met, the man walking next to you.

You wonder what it must feel like to have a cool, fresh breeze kiss your flushed skin.

You try to imagine tasting ripe, fresh fruit, rather than bland ration bars, or the scent of sweet flowers tickling your nostrils, rather than the putrid scent of some poor creature being roasted alive.

“My place is just up ahead.”

He must hear how forlorn you’ve become, voice slightly high-pitched and crackly, as if you’re trying your damned hardest not to break down in front of him, because he tilts his helmet to gaze down at you.

Your cheek is nearly grazing his bicep and you don’t even realize how close you are to him until you smell blaster fire and something spicy on the fabric of the long-sleeved gray tunic he wears underneath a short-sleeved black one. He’s warm, you realize, despite being covered in cold blue metal, and you wonder how such a huge, cold man could make you feel the safest you’ve felt in years, before your mother had passed away and your father was a little less cruel, though not by much.

You swallow the lump in your throat when the hut you share with your father grows closer and dread threatens to send you fleeing in the opposite direction, though you’re willing to stay next to his side just to enjoy a few rare moments of serenity. Your father won’t be home for another few hours and you hope by then, his anger will have dulled into harmless embers, though you won’t get your hopes up.

“Thank you again for walking me home,” You clear your throat when you two come to a stop in front of the sad excuse for a home and you reluctantly pull away from him, fingertips grazing the crook of his elbow before falling to your side, “They don’t speak too kindly of Mandalorians around here, you know?”

He cocks his helmet downwards and to the side, seeming all too comfortable to speak with you before parting ways, “What do they say?”

“My father used to tell me tales of your people being savages,” You sound shameful as you confess this, tilting your head upwards the tiniest bit to gaze at the geometric emblem embedded into his cuirass, “That Mandalorians would kill innocent people and steal from them with no remorse, that they wouldn’t hesitate to kill women and children, or even torturing them. My father told me your people were worse than the monsters that plagued my dreams.”

You don’t back off when he steps a little closer and reaches out to lightly touch the little violet you always keep tucked behind your ear or in the soft weaves of your braids when it’s too hot to wear your hair down. It was something you wore in your hair every single day since your mother’s death, as she would always stick violets in your thick braids whenever she would style your hair in the morning when you were younger. You remember how she would explain the several medical uses for violets--how it was versatile and could be used for compresses, salves, soothing teas, poultices and much more.

You hadn’t even realized it had become a habit to constantly wear the pretty wildflowers in your hair until the Mandalorian unknowingly pointed it out.

“And what do you think about my people?”

“I used to believe the stories,” You hesitantly crane your neck backwards to peer into his t-shaped visor, wondering if he has warm, soft eyes that betray his cold, modulated voice and you watch as his hand promptly drops to his thigh before he can touch your ear, “Now I think the monsters in my nightmares are far more terrifying than the Mandalorian who walked me home tonight. If your people are anything like you, then I think the rumors are just that--silly rumors that should be ignored.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” His voice drops into a cool rasp that sends shivers up your spine and for what reason, you’re not so sure, “You don’t know what I can do.”

“I don’t need to,” You murmur just as quietly, eyes desperately searching everywhere on his dull blue helmet and you count the number of scuffs created from blaster shots or perhaps sharp daggers like the one he had been attacked with earlier, “You told me yourself that you have no desire to harm innocent people. I think you are the first man on this planet to show me any form of kindness.”

“I don’t doubt it,” He reaches for your arm, just as he had done earlier when he’d first insisted on walking you home, however, this time you don’t flinch and he cocks his helmet a little as he lightly strokes the inside of your clothed elbow with a leather thumb, “Good night, saviin’ika.”

“W-Wait!”

He tilts his helmet to the side when you quickly hold out his vibroblade that you had loosely been holding onto the entire walk home, almost forgetting that he had let you borrow it in case you felt the need to protect yourself against him.

You hadn’t--not once.

“Keep it, at least for now,” He reaches out to gently curl your thin fingers back around the handle, speaking up quickly when you part your lips to protest, “You shouldn’t be walking around without anything to protect yourself, especially this late at night.”

“But wh-what about you?”

Immediately, your eyes land on the heavy cannon attached to his back, along with the blaster on his hip and you cringe, knowing that this warrior would undoubtedly be able to take care of himself without his small blade. Still, you think the Mandalorian is amused as he straightens up and places his hands on his hips, just above his utility belt, and tilts his head backwards and to the side.

“I think I will somehow manage,” He sounds just as amused as you figured he would, “Anything else?”

You hesitate, cheeks still burning like hot coals, “Will I see you again?”

“What? Want to see me get injured again?”

You can’t stop yourself from smiling when you detect a twinge of amusement in his deep voice, “You don’t need to go and hurt yourself to come visit me, Mandalorian. I would prefer to see you in one piece and those ribs all healed. Don’t forget to use that salve--”

“Twice a day,” He finishes and shakes his helm a little at the bright smile you give him, “Take care of yourself, saviin’ika. Don’t hesitate to use that vibroblade if anyone threatens you.”

“Thank you, Mandalorian. See you soon.”

orikih baar’ur= tiny medic

saviin’ika=little violet

#so like #I thought I was done thirsting over our big blue boi #but I just watched Us and all I can think of is thick Winston Duke playing Paz Vizla and YALL #I'm thirsty all over again #Sorry Jon Favreau #anyways #I'm a sucker for those ships where person A is soft AF and person B is a big old grouch #paz vizla x you #paz vizla x reader #Mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #my writing

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devnicolee · 1 year

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Once again… he knows what he is doing 😭 now I want to write a fic based on this lol

#black panther fanfiction #m’baku #winston duke #why is he doing this to us #I wanna see what precise and gentle feels like #my godddddddd

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theeblackmedusa · 1 year

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m'baku as your husband

Nakia, Okoye, and Shuri all had to individually talk him out of proposing within the first three months of your dating (on three separate occasions). Eventually, they had to push him to do it because he'd been holding off as not to scare you away.

Jealousy is his middle name. Not because he doesn't trust you, but because it gives him a good excuse to mark you up as much as he possibly can. That way when anyone ogling you can know you're off the market.

You don't lift a finger. You've rarely touched a door handle since you've met him and he makes sure you have everything you need.

He's always busy overseeing the tribe as well as aiding royally. He makes sure to have time for you, though. Even if it's thirty minutes listening to you ramble as you try to stay awake.

...breeding kink

"My love, why do you insist on bossing me around?" when you put him in line.

Jabari soldiers snicker when he comes back into rooms because he'll still somehow always smell like your perfume after being near you.

He's constantly talking about how amazing your children will look.

breeding kink

He enjoys pampering you. Foot massages, cooking, doing your hair for you. You name it and he's happy to do it for you.

Breeding Kink

#just my headcannons #marvel #mcu #m'baku #winston duke #fanfic #fanfiction #black panther #black panther wakanda forever #wakanda forever #theeblackmedusa

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corrupt-fvcker · 4 years

Text

Caf (Paz Vizsla x fem!Reader)

Caf ( Paz Vizsla x fem!Reader )

Warnings: digustingly domestic fluff, shirtless paz, two (2) crazy kiddos, hints of a breeding kink, pyromania at its finest

Word Count: 2.0K

Author’s Note: your newborn daughter myra is quite a handful, just like her older brother. and of course, winston duke portrays the lovely paz vizsla (apparently not paz vizla)

You were still half-asleep when Myra began to fuss, heart-wrenching cries of hunger ripping the serenity of your bedroom to shreds in an instant. So with eyes still droopy from slumber combined with yesterday's exhaustion, you dutifully fed your three-month-old daughter. You quickly learned that your newborn baby was already taking after her father, meaning she most certainly was not a morning person.

Her lovely father was still snoring rhythmically beside you, a fluffy pillow thrown over his head to shield his eyes from the bothersome sunlight peeking through your parted curtains and Myra's occasional coo or cry.

Most mornings you would've smiled at the endearing sight — Paz's bare torso on full display, his arms casually flexing as he presses the muffling pillow over his face — but Myra's diaper was full and you had tended to her throughout the night. Maybe now you'd get a few extra minutes of slumber while Paz dealt with his children.

Still cradling a particularly fussy newborn, you gently rest your palm on the warm skin of Paz's ribs and softly shake him. He stirs groggily for a moment or two, a gravelly groan rumbling his chest before he sluggishly plucks the pillow from his face. His eyelashes flutter as he blinks once and then twice, his dark brown eyes finally training on your expectant features.

"Your turn, big daddy," you quip swiftly, watching with a tint of an amused smile as Paz gathers his sleep-ridden mind and reluctantly swings his legs off the edge of the bed. He runs a hand over his face, a tired sigh swelling in his chest before he pads over to the wardrobe and tugs on a robe so that poor Sev doesn't have to watch his dad make him breakfast in just his underwear. He ties the robe low at his hips, the majority of his abdomen still on display as he treks over to take Myra from you.

You softly pass her off to Paz, smiling sweetly as he gently cradles her to his chest. Before he can step away your hand darts out to hold him by the nape of his neck, your nose brushing against his cupid's bow as you place a chaste kiss on his bottom lip.

"Thank you," you murmur sweetly before separating from him, already pulling the covers up to your chin because the fantasy of managing to catch a few extra minutes of sleep is somehow more tempting than kissing Paz (which is saying something because that is without a doubt your favorite pastime activity).

He hums in a appreciation before disappearing into the nursery to change Myra's dirty diaper. It doesn't take him long, he's got it down to a science at this point but by the time he returns to the bedroom you're already fast asleep.

He glances over at the digital chrono on the bedside table and frowns, at best you could get another fifteen minutes of sleep before you'd have to get ready for the day. A twinge of guilt pinches his chest, you had stayed up all night with Myra and stubbornly insisted that he caught up on sleep. He figures the least he could do was make you some caf and start getting Sev ready for training.

"Buir?" The three-year-old's small voice echoes throughout your home as if on cue, and Paz finds your son standing helplessly in the hallway, his head stuck in the narrow collar of his black polo neck shirt.

Paz huffs out in amusement, slowly approaching his defenseless son. "Need help, ad'ika?"

Sev's tiny chest heaves with a humbled sigh before he nods, both his arms and his head stuck in the deathtrap of a shirt. Paz can't help but smirk, shifting Myra to rest in the crook of his elbow before using his free hand to tug the collar over Sev's head. Paz tries his best not to snort at the expression of absolute defeat that deflates his three-year-old's features.

"Thank you," Sev says dutifully as he finishes adjusting his shirt.

Paz nods in response. "You're up early," he notes as he peers into Sev's bedroom. Discarded on the floor was a matching pair of pajama pants and shirt, the sheets of his bed were still in a crumpled mess.

Well, at least he changed his clothes on his own.

"Are you hungry?" Paz questions, closing the door to Sev's room before looking down at his son.

Sev doesn't hesitate, nodding his head eagerly. "Starving," he assures, his bottom lip pouting as his two tiny hands grasp at his stomach like he has been neglected.

Paz snorts, already familiar with his son's usual early morning dramatics. "Alright, ad'ika. Let's make you some breakfast then."

Sev's eyes glisten, racing down the hallway. By the time Paz enters the kitchen, Sev's already sitting at the dining table, little feet dangling off the edge of the wooden chair.

"What would you like for breakfast?" Paz inquires, Myra still nestled between his bicep and forearm as he retrieves two caf mugs from the cupboard — your favorite lavender-colored cup and Paz's Galaxy's Best Dad ceramic mug.

Sev hums, dark eyebrows furrowing as he feigns concentration acting like he doesn't eat the same thing for breakfast every morning. Corn flakes with chunks of dried jogan fruit, Paz was already pouring the cereal into a bowl by the time Sev chirps out his usual answer.

Paz adds bantha milk to the cereal before passing the bowl to his son. "What are you learning in training today?"

Combative training wasn't offered to younglings that hadn't exceeded their sixth birthday, so Sev's training mostly consisted of lessons of safety, history, culture, and basic academics.

"History," Sev informs with a slurp, corn flakes flying in all directions due to his mouthful of cereal.

Paz's eyebrows furrow, but he continues to gently rock Myra in one arm as he begins to brew some dark roast caf. "History?" He repeats skeptically before turning away from the kitchen counter to face Sev. "How'd you manage to set the curtains on fire during a history lesson?"

Sev wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, bantha milk smearing across his face and sleeve. "'Cause yesterday was safety," he explains simply.

Paz offers his son a considerate nod. "What'd your instructor do?"

Paz already partially knew the answer to his question, Sev's instructor held a sit-down meeting with the two of you with the singed curtains billowing slightly behind her. Although Paz hadn't really been paying attention during the meeting because he was too busy stifling his laughter beneath his bucket.

"Go crazy," Sev replies casually with a half-hearted shrug.

Sounds about right.

Paz pours caf into each of your mugs, carrying both cups in one hand while his other is occupied with Myra. Before retreating to the bedroom he turns his head and shoots Sev an authoritative look. "Brush your teeth and make your bed, don't make your mother have to ask you."

Sev nods, a spoonful of corn flakes stuffed in his mouth. "Yes, buir."

Much to Paz's surprise you're awake when he enters your bedroom, still lounging in the sheets.

"Morning," you hum, stretching your arms above your head before accepting the mug of caf Paz offers to you along with a mumbled good morning. "Thank you."

With a small grunt of appreciation, Paz slips off his robe and lays down beside you, sinking into the mattress. Once you take a few sips of your caf you set the mug down on the bedside table and nestle into Paz's side. He's warm like a natural furnace, radiating heat that makes your eyelids feel especially heavy.

Myra's lying with her back against Paz's stomach, observant brown eyes gazing up at the ceiling with innocent curiosity as her pudgy fingers play with the drool dripping down her chin.

"Hey, ik'aad," you purr with a goofy grin, your fingers tickling lightly at the skin of Myra's tummy. She gurgles in response, a toothless smile cracking her concentration as she tries to fit her entire fist in her mouth.

The huff of laughter the shakes Paz's chest startles her and she jumps at the sudden movement. You can't help but smirk, craning your neck to look up at Paz who's grinning ear to ear as his eyes focus on his daughter. Myra's only three months old but you know that Paz is immensely proud of her, just like his strong pride for Sev (supposedly accidental fires 'n all).

Your head is resting on his shoulder and you can hear his heart flutter every single time Myra makes some incoherent baby noise. His arm is wrapped around your waist as the other holds Myra in place on his abdomen.

Kriff, he's such an amazing father. You would've never guessed that the ever-intimidating Paz Vizsla would be a complete softie when it came to his family. The way he cherishes the three of you makes warmth swell in your chest and your eyes teary.

"I love you," you utter, hand rising to run your fingers through the curly, dark facial hair that frames his jaw. His eyes flit away from Myra to meet your stare, lips curling into a small smile before pulling you closer to press a kiss to your temple. You sigh, tucking the top of your head beneath his chin and burying your face into the crook of his neck. "You're such an amazing buir."

Paz's arm tightens around you, dragging you impossibly closer but he remains silent. You can tell he's thinking, his fingers absentmindedly drawing figure eights along the skin of your waist. And for several moments he's quiet, the only sound being the occasional coo from Myra.

"Do you think we could have another?" He abruptly asks, continuing to holding you close to him. He doesn't see your eyes widen, head still tucked beneath his chin.

Another child? It took three years for the two of you to decide to have a second kid. It's only been three months since Myra was born and he already wants another?

It takes you a moment to formulate an answer.

"Well," you start, eyes trained on Myra who's completely oblivious to the conversation happening just a few inches above her nearly bald head, "while my ovaries do hurt just from the thought, I do suppose that it is entirely possible to have another kid."

Paz huffs out a breath of amusement but doesn't pry, satisfied with your answer for the time being.

For a few moments the three of you lay in comfortable silence, but as soon as Myra's eyes begin to droop shut the bedroom door slams open. All three of you jump from the intrusion but don't say anything as the sound of Sev's feet padding closer to the bed fill the silence.

"Uh, Mom?"

You arch an eyebrow, traces of guilt lacing his tiny voice. "Yeah, Sev?"

"You know that caf maker?" He prompts, peaking over the edge of the bed to look at you.

"Yes," you drawl out cautiously.

Sev scratches the back of his neck, glancing at the floor before meeting your gaze. "It's sorta on fire."

Of course it is.

━ ━ ━ ━

Mando’a Translations: - ik'aad = baby, child under the age of 3 - buir = parent, mother, father - ad'ika = kid, lad, boy, sweetie, darling, son, daughter, child

Tags: @tiffdawg @hdlynn @anxiety-riddled-mando

#paz vizla #paz vizsla #paz vizla x reader #paz vizsla x reader #star wars #the mandalorian #fanfic #fanfiction #corrupt-fvcker #my writing #self insert #reader insert #winston duke #dad!paz #dad!paz vizla x reader #dad!paz vizsla x reader

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