Paz Vizsla was a man of pride, a true Mandalorian, born to the great Vizsla clan. He took immense pride in his size, strength, and battle prowess .
He wasn’t the covert’s beroya, it had bothered him for a long time. But over the years, Paz had come to realize that Din Djarin was extraordinary, fast, precise, and capable in ways even he couldn’t deny. Din had even bested him more than once, his ruthless efficiency on the battlefield spoke louder than words.
For a long while, Paz had resented him. The quiet man who followed the Creed so devoutly he hadn’t even painted his armor, it had rubbed Paz the wrong way. But when Din had asked for help rescuing a foundling, Paz had agreed. Foundlings were the future of their people, after all. They had so lost much that day, and Paz had been angry… yet something inside him shifted when he saw Din risk everything for a child.
A provider.
A caretaker.
A father.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, Paz Vizsla found himself thinking, a man like that would make a good partner. Strong. Determined. So karking caring. Ready to die for his child. It was the kind of loyalty Paz respected above all else.
Then Din Djarin had become Mand’alor — wielder of the Darksaber. Paz had challenged him and lost, to a man who was no longer a true Mandalorian because he had removed his helmet for his child. But Paz could respect that. He could respect a father willing to sacrifice everything, even the Creed, for love.
Time passed. The covert relocated to Concordia. Paz’s own foundling was nearing the age to swear the Creed. When Din returned, his foundling no longer with the Jedi, Paz had been quietly glad. The child belonged with them, among Mandalorians.
When Din declared his intent to bathe in the Living Waters of Mandalore, Paz had thought it a fool’s errand. And yet, part of him believed: if anyone can do it, it’s Din Djarin.And he had. The man had returned from the depths of hell, proving their world was still alive, its air breathable, its soil fertile.
Since then, Paz hadn’t been able to take his eyes off him.
Dinner had been served, and now they sat in the calm before nightfall. The covert busied itself with quiet tasks. Din sat by the firepit, his foundling on his lap, softly singing an old Mandalorian war song. The two were bathed in warm light, father and child glowing against the flickering orange flames.
Paz found his gaze drawn to the sight, the curve of Din’s shoulders, the broadness of his back, the way he curled protectively around the child, the angle of his helmet tilted down in tenderness.
When Din leaned forward to feed another log into the fire, Paz caught a glimpse of his nape, a sliver of tanned skin, dark curls escaping the edge of his helmet. The sight struck him like a blaster bolt. For a moment, all Paz could think was how warm the skin of the other would feel against his lips, of how he would run his tongue over the other neck making the smaller man writhe in his hold, he yearned to bite, taste. The dangerous pull he felt toward Din, was one he didn’t quite understand and had festered for so long Vizla could no longer hold his hunger.
He might not have the man tonight… but tomorrow, tomorrow would be different.
The next day, Paz’s plan worked. He’d asked Din to spar in the privacy of the indoor training hall, even requesting the Alor to watch the foundling. The woman had simply stared at him for a long moment and replied, “This is the Way.” Perhaps she knew more than she let on.
The sound of metal on metal filled the air. The spar was fierce, neither of them held back. Heavy breaths echoed throughout the chamber. Paz landed a few hard blows, but Din, quick as ever, struck at the unguarded joints in his armor, every hit sharp and precise.
“You keep dodging, Djarin. Stop running, you look like a scared tooka,” Paz taunted.
Din dodged another swing and circled behind him. “No,” he replied calmly. “I’ll just wait until you tire.”
“I’ve got bad news for you, Din’ika,” Paz rumbled, the endearment slipping out before he could stop it. “I’ve got great stamina.” or the lust.
Din froze for a moment at the nickname. He wasn’t small, not really, Paz was just massive. That heartbeat of hesitation was all it took. Paz pinned him against the wall, armor scraping against armor. They were visor to visor, chest to chest, breathing hard.
Something inside Paz broke loose. He pressed their foreheads together, the faintest touch of beskar against beskar, an intimacy between warriors. A kiss.
“Stop running from me, Din,” Paz murmured, his voice low, rough. “I know you want it.”
Din’s breath hitched. “Do I?” he asked softly.
For a moment, the air between them thrummed with tension, charged. Neither moved. Then, with an impressive show of flexibility and coordination, Din wrapped his legs around Paz's neck and twisted the bigger man onto the floor with Din sitting over him. Vizla almost moaned at the movement, the feeling of the other legs around his neck electric, with such flexibility he could only think of how good din would bent over, of all the ways he could manhandle the small man.
“I’m not going to roll over, Vizsla,” he said, voice sharp but breathless. “If you want me, you’ll have to earn it.” Din was taunting back, enjoying the game.
With din sitting on his stomach like Paz was his throne, like he owned that spot, like he could own him. Had paz growling in desire with the need to dominate the other, cock hardening under his codpiece.
Paz let out a deep laugh that echoed through the chamber. “Oh, Cyar’ika, I intend to.”
The fight resumed, fiercer this time, less about skill, more about primal need as they fought on the ground. When Paz finally pinned Din again, both were shaking, movements slowed by exhaustion. Paz held Din’s wrists above his head; he only needed one massive hand, the smaller man’s legs braced against his sides. He warped his free hand around din waist covering half of it and wasn't that a thought, being capable of wrapping the entirety of dins waist with just his hands, Din keened at the contact, he brought the other hips to his, crotch's meeting and gave a small trust that had the other moaning.
They stayed like that, breathing in sync, the silence thick between them. Paz lowered his head until their visors almost touched.
“I’m not letting go,” he said quietly, almost a growl.
Din’s voice softened, almost teasing. “Then don’t.”
And so he didn’t.
The next moments blurred not a battle, not quite a surrender, but a desperate need to be together. As soon as they crossed Paz's door, they were in each other's space, pushing their helmets together, panting, din fingers digging into Paz's shoulders as they tried to get the other's clothes off.
“Why the rush, Din'ika? I’m not going anywhere,” Paz muttered playfully, helmet resting on the crook of Din's shoulder. His right hand coming up to squeeze the smaller Mandalorian's neck, eliciting a whimper.
“Let me take care of you, Din. You deserve this and so much more,” Paz whispered lovingly, massaging the other's neck.
Din's body relaxed into the embrace, now gently tugging at Vizla's armor. "There we go, Cyar'ika," he said softly.
With his right hand, Vizla took off Din's cape, dropping it onto the ground, and pressed his fingers to Din's cuirass, allowing him to remove it. Vizla reluctantly separated to remove his own armor. The two of them neatly arranged their armor side by side, down to their fight suits. Paz couldn't look away from Din's lean body.
The need that has been brewing inside him for so long finally bubbles over, and he grabs Din, pushing their bodies together. His gloveless hands sneaking into Din's shirt, marveling at the soft, smooth feeling of the skin beneath and its warmth. Din gasped into his helmet and pulled his shirt off.
“You too,” Din demands, his chest heaving, breathless. The only thing Vizsla can think of is to mark him up, to love him.
Paz undid his shirt and pushed Din against the wall, hoisting him up by his ass. Din's legs wrapped around Paz's waist, and their visors meet with a resounding clang. Paz kneaded the flesh of Din's ass slowly, savoring the plump muscle. Din gasps and moans, arching his head back against the wall, his neck exposed for Paz. In a daring move, Paz pushed his head into the crook of Din's shoulder and slipped off his helmet, edging the law of their creed until he could bite Din's Adam’s apple, sucking a bruise there. Din's legs tightening around Paz, moaning loudly.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this, Cyar’ika,” Paz murmurs, licking the mark tenderly. “To finally hold you in my arms.” he grunted, starting to rut against Din ass, the smaller man whined softly in his embrace.
Din felt the way Paz rutted against him the way his hard cock pressed against his ass, hot and big, feeling the drag of it under his own cock was delicious, his own desire overwhelms him, he wants nothing more than Paz's hands on his body caressing him pressing him down on the mattress or wall, he wants the other man with a passion he didn't know, their years long rivalry boiling over into a need so raw, it had Din doing thing he never thought he would do.
“Let me help you, Paz,” Din gasps, jolted by Paz’s movements. Paz can’t suppress the whimper that escapes him when Din says his name for the first time in so long. My name belongs on your lips, Paz thinks, enamored by the rough cadence of Din’s voice when filled with arousal.
One hand braces against the wall while the other trails down from Paz’s shoulder to his groin. Din’s touch is slow and reverent, caressing each defined muscle along Paz’s chest and stomach. Vizsla shudders at the tender contact, halting his movements to allow Din to undo his pants.
Din’s hand slips into the waistband, gently petting over Paz’s cock before wrapping his fingers around its thick base.
“You feel big,” Din pants.
“I´m a big man, Din,” Paz whispers, nipping at Din’s neck and giving a small thrust into the other’s fist, ensuring the smaller Mandalorian feels every inch of him. Din keens in response.
Finally, Din frees Paz’s cock from the confines of his pants, moaning at the sight, his hand covering only half of its monstrous length.
“You lied… it’s massive,” Din breath hitched.
Paz lets out a rough laugh, surprised by the reaction. “Don’t worry, Cyar’ika, I won’t hurt you. I’ll open you up with my fingers first, nice an slow.” He nuzzles the side of Din’s helmet affectionately. “Is it the biggest you’ve ever taken?”
“Biggest I’ve ever seen,” Din admits, voice trembling, it's too much and he wants it all inside.
Paz rumbles in appreciation at the statement. Resuming his slow rutting, he kneads the soft flesh of Din’s ass. Din gasps and relaxes against the wall, one hand gripping Paz’s shoulder while the other strokes Paz's cock.
Din guides Paz’s cock to his ass, pressing back so the other can feel his burning desire. He pants, desperate to have Paz close, to have Paz inside.
Paz feels like he’s going to die from the way Din is grinding against him, pressing his ass to his cock keeping it there with his hand, not letting go, rutting with need. Heat floods through him; electricity surging where their bodies meet. Even with Din's pants still on, Din’s flesh molds perfectly to him, making Paz’s control slip with every movement. He needs to be inside the other, he snarls into Din's throat mouthing at the previously made mark.
Din holds on for dear life onto Paz's shoulder with his free hand, the other dead set in keeping Paz against him.
Paz’s desperate he needs Din like he needs air, his hands slip into the smaller Mandalorian’s pants, the fabric slipping easily. Paz is momentarily mesmerized by Din’s clean appearance, his pubic hair trimmed neatly, his cock hard, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the rosy tip. Din sights when his aching arousal is freed.
He ruts harder against the smaller man, he is panting like a dog in heat, pressing him against the wall even harder, growling with desire. Slowly, Paz’s fingers drift lower, massaging around Din’s tight entrance, coaxing the muscles to loosen. Cock brushing against Din´s, his sanity leaves him the more he grinds on Din's warm hole.
“I have lube, but I don’t want to let go of you, Mesh’la,” Paz growls against Din’s neck, desperation in his voice. .
“I’m not going anywhere,” Din grunts breathless, pressing their visors together in a soft kiss.
Slowly and reverently, Paz lets go of Din. Din shaky legs find the floor as he brings their helmets together once more before stepping to the bedside for the lube. Behind him, he hears Din shuffle around; when he turns, Din is already on the bed, surrounded by the soft furs on his bed, completely naked, braced back on his hands, legs open, head tilted shyly but eager. Displayed for Paz to see and enjoy.
Paz has never seen anything more exquisite or arousing.
“I’m going to make you mine, make you moan so loud on my cock, Din’ika,” Paz growls, caging him beneath his larger frame until their chests almost touch.
“I’m waiting, Verda,” Din replies. And just like on the spar, his strong legs wrap around Paz’s waist, toppling him. Din straddles him again, both their cocks pressed together, drawing a low moan from Vizsla. He loves a strong man, the quiet defiance, the confident control, it makes it all the more appealing.
Din leans forward, their chests flush. He stretches like a tooka—long, languid, graceful—and pries the bottle of lube from Paz’s hand. The bigger man is stunned by the boldness, frozen, a spectator in this new play unfolding in front of him. Din stays on top of him as if Paz were his personal seat, his throne, small hip movements grinding their cocks together. Paz hold onto Din´s hips feverishly.
Opening the lube, Din coats his fingers, the slick sound mingling with their ragged breaths.
He lies against Paz again, one hand gripping both their cocks while the other moves lower to his own entrance. Paz feels dizzy with desire, overwhelmed by the sight of Din trembling in pleasure above him.
Din’s strokes quicken, and Paz knows the exact moment Din pushes a finger inside himself, the sharp little gasp, the tremor that runs through him, the way his muscles tighten and flutter beneath his hands. Paz grips his ass, spreading him open, his large hands massaging the soft flesh to ease the stretch.
“You’re incredible, Cyar’ika… you’re doing so well,” Paz´s voice is a barely contained snarl. His heart feels ready to burst with love, wishing he could kiss Din properly. A thought crosses his mind.
“ Din I could turn off the lights…” he says breathless, I could kiss you then. Paz doesn't say but Din moans like he knows what he means, like he needs it, and Paz is on a mission. Gathering Din against his chest, one arm around his waist as he twists and hits the light control with too much force.
The lights are out. So is his helmet.
Paz cradles Din’s face, thumbs brushing along Din´s jaw, waiting for permission.
“Do it,” Din whispers—desperate, just like him.
Paz removes Din’s helmet, and before he can set it aside, Din crashes forward, kissing him. He tastes as sweet as Paz imagined. Din’s hands curl around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging. Their tongues meet and it doesn’t matter who wins, only the feeling of din supple lips on his, Din's taste, Din's warmth, and all the unfiltered little noises Din is making, a cacophony of little gasps and whines that are driving him absolutely insane, damn the helmet for covering all those beautiful noises.
They kiss until Paz is lightheaded and breathless. When they finally part, Din follows him, chasing for more. Paz dives back, tugging at Din’s bottom lip, rolling it between his teeth, wishing he could see him. Din pulls free and kisses him again harder, this time licking into his mouth with feral hunger and entwining their tongues.
“Din, Cyar’ika, I can’t—I need to feel you,” Paz grunts into the kiss.
“Prepare me,” Din whispers, taking one of Paz’s hands and guiding it to his wet entrance. “Your fingers are bigger.”
Paz snarls and pushes Din down onto the bed, settling him in a position that will make stretching easier. He strips off his pants before they become a hindrance, then searches for the lube. When he finds it, he coats his fingers generously and reaches for Din’s bent knee.
Paz imagines how Din must look—sprawled across the furs, body slick with sweat and flushed with arousal, chest heaving, eyes wild with pleasure as he tracks every one of Paz’s movements like a hunter. How he wishes they could do this face to face, looking into each other’s eyes.
His other hand finds Din’s other knee, equally bent. Paz slides his palms down slowly, squeezing and mapping every line of muscle, memorizing the texture of his skin, Din breath stutters. When he reaches Din’s inner thigh, he squeezes hard enough to mark him. Din keens, legs trembling. Paz lifts Din’s left leg onto his shoulder and kisses the inside of his thigh tenderly, mouthing at the sensitive skin. His right hand finds Din’s balls before sliding lower, smearing lube over his entrance and massaging the area. Din gasps.
He pushes his first finger in slowly, marveling at how easily Din takes him. He moves in and out a few times until he’s in to the knuckle, then crooks his finger, drawing a sweet sound from Din’s lips—tiny moans and whimpers of pleasure.
“Paz… another,” Din pleads, his voice rough with arousal.
“I want to make sure you can take me, Cyar’ika,” Paz murmurs, biting playfully at the soft flesh of Din’s thigh.
“You’ll give me another finger, Vizsla—or I’ll take your cock as mine. Do you understand?” The unfiltered growl in Din’s voice makes Paz obey immediately, cock throbbing. This man is going to be the death of me.
When the second finger enters, Din moans and falls back against the bed.
“That’s it… enjoy what you’re given, Din’ika,” Vizsla whispers, nuzzling into Din’s leg. He pumps his fingers in and out slowly, testing the stretch before scissoring them apart once Din relaxes. Din moans louder, surprised, his hips starting to move in sync with Paz’s motions.
Growing eager—and a little desperate—Paz pushes a third finger in. Din whimpers and clings to him. Paz leans down and kisses him deeply to soothe the ache, the kiss slow and full of feeling. Din hums against his lips, arms wrapping around Paz’s neck, melting into the larger man.
Paz stretches him patiently slowly, methodical, pumping and scissoring his fingers until Din is trembling in his hold, gasping and bucking against him.
“Paz—ahh—I’m ready. Stop teasing,” Din whines.
“I’m not teasing you, Cyar’ika,” Paz rumbles, licking up Din’s throat. “I’m just making sure you can take me.” He spreads Din wide on his fingers, watching the smaller man moan helplessly at the onslaught.
Paz finally pulls his fingers out, wiping them on the bedding. Din’s leg lowers from its perch on Paz’s shoulder, settling more comfortably on the bed. Paz grabs him by the waist and pulls him closer.
“ Din…. “ Paz chokes” You are so small i can hold your waist fully with both my hands” Din whines, Paz punctuates his statement by squeezing din waist, a belt of heat and pleasure around his middle, din back arches a moan escaping him, the possessive hold making the heat in his gut boil. Paz's mind is going hazy; he can't believe the things he can do with this man.
Paz rubs the head of his cock against Din’s slick entrance. Din pushes back, trying to impale himself, Paz grunts, holding him still.
“Hold still” Paz growls the command. Slowly, carefully, he presses in—the thick head popping past the tight ring of muscle. The sound Din makes is primal—a deep, guttural moan of pleasure that has him bowing forward, clutching at Paz’s shoulders.
Paz moves slowly, not wanting to hurt him, but Din is letting out a stream of curses and broken moans that are driving him insane. Paz kisses him hard, swallowing the sounds before they push him past control.
“Kark you are big” Din grunts.
When Paz finally bottoms out, Din is trembling, breathless, nails digging into his shoulders. Paz grips Din’s hips tightly—so tightly he knows there will be bruises shaped like his hands later—and the thought only fuels his desire. He’s panting, overwhelmed; he’s never been inside anything so hot, so wet. Din’s body grips him like a vice, drawing him in. Every instinct tells him to move, but he waits for his mate’s command.
Paz leans forward, urging Din to lie back for comfort. Din still clings to him, until his back meets the bed.
Paz sucks at Din’s neck, making constellations out bruises, biting his shoulders and liking his chest, distracting him. He trails downward, biting and sucking marks wherever he can, until he reaches one of Din’s nipples. Wrapping his lips around it, he licks gently before rolling the small nub between his teeth. Din arches beautifully beneath him, overwhelmed by sensation.
he moves to the other niple laving it with as much love, while he rubs the other, keeping din grounded in the more pleasurable sensation, the nails edged into his back slowly ease and start to pet the indentations in silent apology, Din mouth searches his, the kiss is sloppy and wet, Din pulls back with a mewl.
“Move…” a whisper against his lips, Paz does so.
Slowly, Paz moves—pulling out just an inch before sliding back in, just as slowly. Din moans, wrapping his legs around Paz’s waist, nails digging into his back again. The mix of pain and possession spurs Paz on. Breathless, he repeats the motion, a little faster, dragging his cock just a bit more before driving it back in.
“You’re gripping me so tight” Paz groans, forehead pressed against Din’s, their noses touching.
“More…” Din’s plea is a gasped whisper, wrung out from pure pleasure.
“Yes, love.”
Who is Paz to deny his lover? He grabs Din’s hips, lifts them off the bed, widens his stance, and begins to truly move—thrusting deep and hard into the smaller man. Din takes him beautifully, the slick glide punctuated by the sound of their slick bodies meeting, the rhythm messy and intoxicating.
Curses spill from Paz’s lips as Din clings to him, nails raking down his back, leaving red marks where he holds on for dear life. The air is filled with the sound of skin on skin, the filthy music of their shared pleasure.
Paz is pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in so hard he has to grab Din and drag him closer with every thrust. Din is getting tighter, louder moans and curses slipping from his bitten lips—his orgasm drawing near. Paz’s only purpose now is to make Din come before he does.
With his head buried in the crook of Din’s shoulder, Paz bites down, and Din moans—his legs tightening around Paz’s waist in a vice-like grip. Paz can barely move. He changes his pace, thrusting much deeper but shorter, each movement sharp and brutal. He knows he’s being rough, but Din doesn’t complain; if anything, the rougher Paz gets, the more Din seems to love it. He’s clenching around him so hard that Paz feels he might explode if this continues.
It only takes three more hard thrusts before Din comes, crying out against Paz’s shoulder, nails digging deep into his back—leaving marks that will last. A forever memory of their first coupling.
Paz can’t hold back. Two more thrusts into that impossibly tight heat, and he’s coming—spilling deep inside Din, growling.
Din whimpers at the sensation, the hot rush filling him to the brim until he feels like he might burst. Before it becomes too much, Paz stops and carefully pulls out, cum slipping from his abused hole. Both of them are panting, slick with sweat and heat, but Din doesn’t let go. He stays pressed against his Cyar’ika, nuzzling into Paz’s side, utterly content. Paz gathers Din close against his side, settling comfortable against the bed nuzzling each other.
They spend the next few minutes regaining their breath and trading soft kisses.
Din’s hands wander to Paz’s face, trailing over the slope of his nose, the dip of his cheeks, and his supple lips—swollen from kissing. His fingers move down along Paz’s jaw, tracing the short beard that feels softer than he expected.
“Mmm… what color is your hair, Paz?” Din murmurs, petting Paz’s beard gently.
“Dark brown,” Paz says, bringing Din’s hand to his lips and kissing it softly.
“The beard…I didn’t expect it,” Din admits with a small smile. “But it suits you.”
Paz rumbles appreciatively. “I didn’t expect you to have a mustache and a scruffy beard,” he chuckles, rubbing Din’s cheeks affectionately, his thumb drawing gentle circles along Din’s cheekbone. Din hums contentedly at the touch.
“What color are your eyes, Cyar’ika?” Paz asks, a note of tender wonder in his voice. Din wishes he could see Paz’s face too.
“They’re dark brown,” Din replies softly. “My buir used to say they had specks of green, but I don’t really look in mirrors much. There’s not much time to keep up appearances when you’re on the run and raising a kid.” He laughs quietly, his hands massaging Paz’s temples.
Paz melts into the contact, bringing their foreheads together. They can kiss now, but somehow it doesn’t feel as intimate or precious as this. Paz’s hands move to Din’s head, fingers tangling in his longer hair.
“You’re an excellent buir,” Paz murmurs. “Your ad’ika is growing so strong—he even beat Ragnak.” There’s warmth and pride in his voice. “You’re such a good provider, the best beroya we’ve ever had. Always bringing beskar for the little ones. Your soul is beautiful, Din Djarin, and so is your being. I don’t need to see you to know it. You’re a beautiful man, my Cyar’ika.”
Din chokes on his breath, words trapped in his throat, eyes wet. He’s never felt this loved—this reassured that he’s doing the right thing. Ever since taking that job from the Imps, it’s felt like a slow descent of wrongdoings—showing his face for his child, endangering the covert, becoming Mand’alor.
A broken, wet sound escapes Din, half sob, half whimper. The noise cracks Paz’s heart. He gathers the smaller Mandalorian against his chest, holding him close. Din grabs his head and kisses him, achingly soft—each movement slow and full of love. Paz kisses him back like he could pour all his devotion into every touch. When they finally pull apart, Din’s voice trembles.
“My Yaim,” My home, he whispers.
Paz gasps.
“For the first time… since the Razor Crest, I feel like I’m home. Like I belong. Thank you, Paz. Thank you, Cyar’ika.” Din’s tears soak into Paz’s chest, and Paz goes speechless, frozen by the beauty of this confession. He presses their foreheads together, seeking even more closeness.
“You will always belong with me, Din,” Paz murmurs. “Let me be your Yaim. Forever… please.”
“My… riduur?” Din whispers.
“Yes,” Paz breathes. He doesn’t dare say more, afraid of breaking the fragile moment.
“I… I need time,” Din says, voice shaking. “Court me, please.” He swallows hard, overwhelmed. “I want you, but the kids, the galaxy—it’s too much sometimes.” His voice breaks as he clings to Paz, trembling.
“Of course, dear. Anything,” Paz assures him softly. “I know we haven’t always had the easiest relationship, I’m amazed by you—by everything you’ve done, everything you are giving me.”
“Thank you, Cyar’ika,” Din whispers, his tone full of gratitude and love.
“Sleep, love. You deserve it,” Paz murmurs, pressing a kiss to Din’s forehead before pulling the blankets over them both.
After watching The Mandalorian Season 3, I couldn’t stop thinking about how Paz and Din would make such a great couple. The size difference alone had me in a chokehold! I told @Lykostherium about it, and she was just as into the ship as I was.
We hyped each other up so much that we made a deal: “If you write the story, I’ll do the art.”
That was all we needed. And just like that, “Love Behind a Visor was born”
The artwork she’s created is absolutely fantastic, and I couldn’t be more proud of what we made together.
A three-part story exploring the development of Paz and Din’s relationship.
It takes place mid–Season 3, after the events at the Living Waters of Mandalore.I’ll be ignoring canon and the continuation of Season 3 to better fit my own narrative and the events I want to explore.
Act 1 Confesion
Act 2 Courtship
Act 3 Our forever
Thank you for reading, comments and kudos are highly appreciated, I have tmlbr if anyone has questions or wants to talk about this 2.
Thank you for the collab and art Lykostherium, you can follow her on. Twitter Instagram BlueSky
Paz Vizsla was a man of pride, a true Mandalorian, born to the great Vizsla clan. He took immense pride in his size, strength, and battle prowess .
He wasn’t the covert’s beroya, it had bothered him for a long time. But over the years, Paz had come to realize that Din Djarin was extraordinary, fast, precise, and capable in ways even he couldn’t deny. Din had even bested him more than once, his ruthless efficiency on the battlefield spoke louder than words.
For a long while, Paz had resented him. The quiet man who followed the Creed so devoutly he hadn’t even painted his armor, it had rubbed Paz the wrong way. But when Din had asked for help rescuing a foundling, Paz had agreed. Foundlings were the future of their people, after all. They had so lost much that day, and Paz had been angry… yet something inside him shifted when he saw Din risk everything for a child.
A provider.
A caretaker.
A father.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, Paz Vizsla found himself thinking, a man like that would make a good partner. Strong. Determined. So karking caring. Ready to die for his child. It was the kind of loyalty Paz respected above all else.
Then Din Djarin had become Mand’alor — wielder of the Darksaber. Paz had challenged him and lost, to a man who was no longer a true Mandalorian because he had removed his helmet for his child. But Paz could respect that. He could respect a father willing to sacrifice everything, even the Creed, for love.
Time passed. The covert relocated to Concordia. Paz’s own foundling was nearing the age to swear the Creed. When Din returned, his foundling no longer with the Jedi, Paz had been quietly glad. The child belonged with them, among Mandalorians.
When Din declared his intent to bathe in the Living Waters of Mandalore, Paz had thought it a fool’s errand. And yet, part of him believed: if anyone can do it, it’s Din Djarin.And he had. The man had returned from the depths of hell, proving their world was still alive, its air breathable, its soil fertile.
Since then, Paz hadn’t been able to take his eyes off him.
Dinner had been served, and now they sat in the calm before nightfall. The covert busied itself with quiet tasks. Din sat by the firepit, his foundling on his lap, softly singing an old Mandalorian war song. The two were bathed in warm light, father and child glowing against the flickering orange flames.
Paz found his gaze drawn to the sight, the curve of Din’s shoulders, the broadness of his back, the way he curled protectively around the child, the angle of his helmet tilted down in tenderness.
When Din leaned forward to feed another log into the fire, Paz caught a glimpse of his nape, a sliver of tanned skin, dark curls escaping the edge of his helmet. The sight struck him like a blaster bolt. For a moment, all Paz could think was how warm the skin of the other would feel against his lips, of how he would run his tongue over the other neck making the smaller man writhe in his hold, he yearned to bite, taste. The dangerous pull he felt toward Din, was one he didn’t quite understand and had festered for so long Vizla could no longer hold his hunger.
He might not have the man tonight… but tomorrow, tomorrow would be different.
The next day, Paz’s plan worked. He’d asked Din to spar in the privacy of the indoor training hall, even requesting the Alor to watch the foundling. The woman had simply stared at him for a long moment and replied, “This is the Way.” Perhaps she knew more than she let on.
The sound of metal on metal filled the air. The spar was fierce, neither of them held back. Heavy breaths echoed throughout the chamber. Paz landed a few hard blows, but Din, quick as ever, struck at the unguarded joints in his armor, every hit sharp and precise.
“You keep dodging, Djarin. Stop running, you look like a scared tooka,” Paz taunted.
Din dodged another swing and circled behind him. “No,” he replied calmly. “I’ll just wait until you tire.”
“I’ve got bad news for you, Din’ika,” Paz rumbled, the endearment slipping out before he could stop it. “I’ve got great stamina.” or the lust.
Din froze for a moment at the nickname. He wasn’t small, not really, Paz was just massive. That heartbeat of hesitation was all it took. Paz pinned him against the wall, armor scraping against armor. They were visor to visor, chest to chest, breathing hard.
Something inside Paz broke loose. He pressed their foreheads together, the faintest touch of beskar against beskar, an intimacy between warriors. A kiss.
“Stop running from me, Din,” Paz murmured, his voice low, rough. “I know you want it.”
Din’s breath hitched. “Do I?” he asked softly.
For a moment, the air between them thrummed with tension, charged. Neither moved. Then, with an impressive show of flexibility and coordination, Din wrapped his legs around Paz's neck and twisted the bigger man onto the floor with Din sitting over him. Vizla almost moaned at the movement, the feeling of the other legs around his neck electric, with such flexibility he could only think of how good din would bent over, of all the ways he could manhandle the small man.
“I’m not going to roll over, Vizsla,” he said, voice sharp but breathless. “If you want me, you’ll have to earn it.” Din was taunting back, enjoying the game.
With din sitting on his stomach like Paz was his throne, like he owned that spot, like he could own him. Had paz growling in desire with the need to dominate the other, cock hardening under his codpiece.
Paz let out a deep laugh that echoed through the chamber. “Oh, Cyar’ika, I intend to.”
The fight resumed, fiercer this time, less about skill, more about primal need as they fought on the ground. When Paz finally pinned Din again, both were shaking, movements slowed by exhaustion. Paz held Din’s wrists above his head; he only needed one massive hand, the smaller man’s legs braced against his sides. He warped his free hand around din waist covering half of it and wasn't that a thought, being capable of wrapping the entirety of dins waist with just his hands, Din keened at the contact, he brought the other hips to his, crotch's meeting and gave a small trust that had the other moaning.
They stayed like that, breathing in sync, the silence thick between them. Paz lowered his head until their visors almost touched.
“I’m not letting go,” he said quietly, almost a growl.
Din’s voice softened, almost teasing. “Then don’t.”
And so he didn’t.
The next moments blurred not a battle, not quite a surrender, but a desperate need to be together. As soon as they crossed Paz's door, they were in each other's space, pushing their helmets together, panting, din fingers digging into Paz's shoulders as they tried to get the other's clothes off.
“Why the rush, Din'ika? I’m not going anywhere,” Paz muttered playfully, helmet resting on the crook of Din's shoulder. His right hand coming up to squeeze the smaller Mandalorian's neck, eliciting a whimper.
“Let me take care of you, Din. You deserve this and so much more,” Paz whispered lovingly, massaging the other's neck.
Din's body relaxed into the embrace, now gently tugging at Vizla's armor. "There we go, Cyar'ika," he said softly.
With his right hand, Vizla took off Din's cape, dropping it onto the ground, and pressed his fingers to Din's cuirass, allowing him to remove it. Vizla reluctantly separated to remove his own armor. The two of them neatly arranged their armor side by side, down to their fight suits. Paz couldn't look away from Din's lean body.
The need that has been brewing inside him for so long finally bubbles over, and he grabs Din, pushing their bodies together. His gloveless hands sneaking into Din's shirt, marveling at the soft, smooth feeling of the skin beneath and its warmth. Din gasped into his helmet and pulled his shirt off.
“You too,” Din demands, his chest heaving, breathless. The only thing Vizsla can think of is to mark him up, to love him.
Paz undid his shirt and pushed Din against the wall, hoisting him up by his ass. Din's legs wrapped around Paz's waist, and their visors meet with a resounding clang. Paz kneaded the flesh of Din's ass slowly, savoring the plump muscle. Din gasps and moans, arching his head back against the wall, his neck exposed for Paz. In a daring move, Paz pushed his head into the crook of Din's shoulder and slipped off his helmet, edging the law of their creed until he could bite Din's Adam’s apple, sucking a bruise there. Din's legs tightening around Paz, moaning loudly.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this, Cyar’ika,” Paz murmurs, licking the mark tenderly. “To finally hold you in my arms.” he grunted, starting to rut against Din ass, the smaller man whined softly in his embrace.
Din felt the way Paz rutted against him the way his hard cock pressed against his ass, hot and big, feeling the drag of it under his own cock was delicious, his own desire overwhelms him, he wants nothing more than Paz's hands on his body caressing him pressing him down on the mattress or wall, he wants the other man with a passion he didn't know, their years long rivalry boiling over into a need so raw, it had Din doing thing he never thought he would do.
“Let me help you, Paz,” Din gasps, jolted by Paz’s movements. Paz can’t suppress the whimper that escapes him when Din says his name for the first time in so long. My name belongs on your lips, Paz thinks, enamored by the rough cadence of Din’s voice when filled with arousal.
One hand braces against the wall while the other trails down from Paz’s shoulder to his groin. Din’s touch is slow and reverent, caressing each defined muscle along Paz’s chest and stomach. Vizsla shudders at the tender contact, halting his movements to allow Din to undo his pants.
Din’s hand slips into the waistband, gently petting over Paz’s cock before wrapping his fingers around its thick base.
“You feel big,” Din pants.
“I´m a big man, Din,” Paz whispers, nipping at Din’s neck and giving a small thrust into the other’s fist, ensuring the smaller Mandalorian feels every inch of him. Din keens in response.
Finally, Din frees Paz’s cock from the confines of his pants, moaning at the sight, his hand covering only half of its monstrous length.
“You lied… it’s massive,” Din breath hitched.
Paz lets out a rough laugh, surprised by the reaction. “Don’t worry, Cyar’ika, I won’t hurt you. I’ll open you up with my fingers first, nice an slow.” He nuzzles the side of Din’s helmet affectionately. “Is it the biggest you’ve ever taken?”
“Biggest I’ve ever seen,” Din admits, voice trembling, it's too much and he wants it all inside.
Paz rumbles in appreciation at the statement. Resuming his slow rutting, he kneads the soft flesh of Din’s ass. Din gasps and relaxes against the wall, one hand gripping Paz’s shoulder while the other strokes Paz's cock.
Din guides Paz’s cock to his ass, pressing back so the other can feel his burning desire. He pants, desperate to have Paz close, to have Paz inside.
Paz feels like he’s going to die from the way Din is grinding against him, pressing his ass to his cock keeping it there with his hand, not letting go, rutting with need. Heat floods through him; electricity surging where their bodies meet. Even with Din's pants still on, Din’s flesh molds perfectly to him, making Paz’s control slip with every movement. He needs to be inside the other, he snarls into Din's throat mouthing at the previously made mark.
Din holds on for dear life onto Paz's shoulder with his free hand, the other dead set in keeping Paz against him.
Paz’s desperate he needs Din like he needs air, his hands slip into the smaller Mandalorian’s pants, the fabric slipping easily. Paz is momentarily mesmerized by Din’s clean appearance, his pubic hair trimmed neatly, his cock hard, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the rosy tip. Din sights when his aching arousal is freed.
He ruts harder against the smaller man, he is panting like a dog in heat, pressing him against the wall even harder, growling with desire. Slowly, Paz’s fingers drift lower, massaging around Din’s tight entrance, coaxing the muscles to loosen. Cock brushing against Din´s, his sanity leaves him the more he grinds on Din's warm hole.
“I have lube, but I don’t want to let go of you, Mesh’la,” Paz growls against Din’s neck, desperation in his voice. .
“I’m not going anywhere,” Din grunts breathless, pressing their visors together in a soft kiss.
Slowly and reverently, Paz lets go of Din. Din shaky legs find the floor as he brings their helmets together once more before stepping to the bedside for the lube. Behind him, he hears Din shuffle around; when he turns, Din is already on the bed, surrounded by the soft furs on his bed, completely naked, braced back on his hands, legs open, head tilted shyly but eager. Displayed for Paz to see and enjoy.
Paz has never seen anything more exquisite or arousing.
“I’m going to make you mine, make you moan so loud on my cock, Din’ika,” Paz growls, caging him beneath his larger frame until their chests almost touch.
“I’m waiting, Verda,” Din replies. And just like on the spar, his strong legs wrap around Paz’s waist, toppling him. Din straddles him again, both their cocks pressed together, drawing a low moan from Vizsla. He loves a strong man, the quiet defiance, the confident control, it makes it all the more appealing.
Din leans forward, their chests flush. He stretches like a tooka—long, languid, graceful—and pries the bottle of lube from Paz’s hand. The bigger man is stunned by the boldness, frozen, a spectator in this new play unfolding in front of him. Din stays on top of him as if Paz were his personal seat, his throne, small hip movements grinding their cocks together. Paz hold onto Din´s hips feverishly.
Opening the lube, Din coats his fingers, the slick sound mingling with their ragged breaths.
He lies against Paz again, one hand gripping both their cocks while the other moves lower to his own entrance. Paz feels dizzy with desire, overwhelmed by the sight of Din trembling in pleasure above him.
Din’s strokes quicken, and Paz knows the exact moment Din pushes a finger inside himself, the sharp little gasp, the tremor that runs through him, the way his muscles tighten and flutter beneath his hands. Paz grips his ass, spreading him open, his large hands massaging the soft flesh to ease the stretch.
“You’re incredible, Cyar’ika… you’re doing so well,” Paz´s voice is a barely contained snarl. His heart feels ready to burst with love, wishing he could kiss Din properly. A thought crosses his mind.
“ Din I could turn off the lights…” he says breathless, I could kiss you then. Paz doesn't say but Din moans like he knows what he means, like he needs it, and Paz is on a mission. Gathering Din against his chest, one arm around his waist as he twists and hits the light control with too much force.
The lights are out. So is his helmet.
Paz cradles Din’s face, thumbs brushing along Din´s jaw, waiting for permission.
“Do it,” Din whispers—desperate, just like him.
Paz removes Din’s helmet, and before he can set it aside, Din crashes forward, kissing him. He tastes as sweet as Paz imagined. Din’s hands curl around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging. Their tongues meet and it doesn’t matter who wins, only the feeling of din supple lips on his, Din's taste, Din's warmth, and all the unfiltered little noises Din is making, a cacophony of little gasps and whines that are driving him absolutely insane, damn the helmet for covering all those beautiful noises.
They kiss until Paz is lightheaded and breathless. When they finally part, Din follows him, chasing for more. Paz dives back, tugging at Din’s bottom lip, rolling it between his teeth, wishing he could see him. Din pulls free and kisses him again harder, this time licking into his mouth with feral hunger and entwining their tongues.
“Din, Cyar’ika, I can’t—I need to feel you,” Paz grunts into the kiss.
“Prepare me,” Din whispers, taking one of Paz’s hands and guiding it to his wet entrance. “Your fingers are bigger.”
Paz snarls and pushes Din down onto the bed, settling him in a position that will make stretching easier. He strips off his pants before they become a hindrance, then searches for the lube. When he finds it, he coats his fingers generously and reaches for Din’s bent knee.
Paz imagines how Din must look—sprawled across the furs, body slick with sweat and flushed with arousal, chest heaving, eyes wild with pleasure as he tracks every one of Paz’s movements like a hunter. How he wishes they could do this face to face, looking into each other’s eyes.
His other hand finds Din’s other knee, equally bent. Paz slides his palms down slowly, squeezing and mapping every line of muscle, memorizing the texture of his skin, Din breath stutters. When he reaches Din’s inner thigh, he squeezes hard enough to mark him. Din keens, legs trembling. Paz lifts Din’s left leg onto his shoulder and kisses the inside of his thigh tenderly, mouthing at the sensitive skin. His right hand finds Din’s balls before sliding lower, smearing lube over his entrance and massaging the area. Din gasps.
He pushes his first finger in slowly, marveling at how easily Din takes him. He moves in and out a few times until he’s in to the knuckle, then crooks his finger, drawing a sweet sound from Din’s lips—tiny moans and whimpers of pleasure.
“Paz… another,” Din pleads, his voice rough with arousal.
“I want to make sure you can take me, Cyar’ika,” Paz murmurs, biting playfully at the soft flesh of Din’s thigh.
“You’ll give me another finger, Vizsla—or I’ll take your cock as mine. Do you understand?” The unfiltered growl in Din’s voice makes Paz obey immediately, cock throbbing. This man is going to be the death of me.
When the second finger enters, Din moans and falls back against the bed.
“That’s it… enjoy what you’re given, Din’ika,” Vizsla whispers, nuzzling into Din’s leg. He pumps his fingers in and out slowly, testing the stretch before scissoring them apart once Din relaxes. Din moans louder, surprised, his hips starting to move in sync with Paz’s motions.
Growing eager—and a little desperate—Paz pushes a third finger in. Din whimpers and clings to him. Paz leans down and kisses him deeply to soothe the ache, the kiss slow and full of feeling. Din hums against his lips, arms wrapping around Paz’s neck, melting into the larger man.
Paz stretches him patiently slowly, methodical, pumping and scissoring his fingers until Din is trembling in his hold, gasping and bucking against him.
“Paz—ahh—I’m ready. Stop teasing,” Din whines.
“I’m not teasing you, Cyar’ika,” Paz rumbles, licking up Din’s throat. “I’m just making sure you can take me.” He spreads Din wide on his fingers, watching the smaller man moan helplessly at the onslaught.
Paz finally pulls his fingers out, wiping them on the bedding. Din’s leg lowers from its perch on Paz’s shoulder, settling more comfortably on the bed. Paz grabs him by the waist and pulls him closer.
“ Din…. “ Paz chokes” You are so small i can hold your waist fully with both my hands” Din whines, Paz punctuates his statement by squeezing din waist, a belt of heat and pleasure around his middle, din back arches a moan escaping him, the possessive hold making the heat in his gut boil. Paz's mind is going hazy; he can't believe the things he can do with this man.
Paz rubs the head of his cock against Din’s slick entrance. Din pushes back, trying to impale himself, Paz grunts, holding him still.
“Hold still” Paz growls the command. Slowly, carefully, he presses in—the thick head popping past the tight ring of muscle. The sound Din makes is primal—a deep, guttural moan of pleasure that has him bowing forward, clutching at Paz’s shoulders.
Paz moves slowly, not wanting to hurt him, but Din is letting out a stream of curses and broken moans that are driving him insane. Paz kisses him hard, swallowing the sounds before they push him past control.
“Kark you are big” Din grunts.
When Paz finally bottoms out, Din is trembling, breathless, nails digging into his shoulders. Paz grips Din’s hips tightly—so tightly he knows there will be bruises shaped like his hands later—and the thought only fuels his desire. He’s panting, overwhelmed; he’s never been inside anything so hot, so wet. Din’s body grips him like a vice, drawing him in. Every instinct tells him to move, but he waits for his mate’s command.
Paz leans forward, urging Din to lie back for comfort. Din still clings to him, until his back meets the bed.
Paz sucks at Din’s neck, making constellations out bruises, biting his shoulders and liking his chest, distracting him. He trails downward, biting and sucking marks wherever he can, until he reaches one of Din’s nipples. Wrapping his lips around it, he licks gently before rolling the small nub between his teeth. Din arches beautifully beneath him, overwhelmed by sensation.
he moves to the other niple laving it with as much love, while he rubs the other, keeping din grounded in the more pleasurable sensation, the nails edged into his back slowly ease and start to pet the indentations in silent apology, Din mouth searches his, the kiss is sloppy and wet, Din pulls back with a mewl.
“Move…” a whisper against his lips, Paz does so.
Slowly, Paz moves—pulling out just an inch before sliding back in, just as slowly. Din moans, wrapping his legs around Paz’s waist, nails digging into his back again. The mix of pain and possession spurs Paz on. Breathless, he repeats the motion, a little faster, dragging his cock just a bit more before driving it back in.
“You’re gripping me so tight” Paz groans, forehead pressed against Din’s, their noses touching.
“More…” Din’s plea is a gasped whisper, wrung out from pure pleasure.
“Yes, love.”
Who is Paz to deny his lover? He grabs Din’s hips, lifts them off the bed, widens his stance, and begins to truly move—thrusting deep and hard into the smaller man. Din takes him beautifully, the slick glide punctuated by the sound of their slick bodies meeting, the rhythm messy and intoxicating.
Curses spill from Paz’s lips as Din clings to him, nails raking down his back, leaving red marks where he holds on for dear life. The air is filled with the sound of skin on skin, the filthy music of their shared pleasure.
Paz is pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in so hard he has to grab Din and drag him closer with every thrust. Din is getting tighter, louder moans and curses slipping from his bitten lips—his orgasm drawing near. Paz’s only purpose now is to make Din come before he does.
With his head buried in the crook of Din’s shoulder, Paz bites down, and Din moans—his legs tightening around Paz’s waist in a vice-like grip. Paz can barely move. He changes his pace, thrusting much deeper but shorter, each movement sharp and brutal. He knows he’s being rough, but Din doesn’t complain; if anything, the rougher Paz gets, the more Din seems to love it. He’s clenching around him so hard that Paz feels he might explode if this continues.
It only takes three more hard thrusts before Din comes, crying out against Paz’s shoulder, nails digging deep into his back—leaving marks that will last. A forever memory of their first coupling.
Paz can’t hold back. Two more thrusts into that impossibly tight heat, and he’s coming—spilling deep inside Din, growling.
Din whimpers at the sensation, the hot rush filling him to the brim until he feels like he might burst. Before it becomes too much, Paz stops and carefully pulls out, cum slipping from his abused hole. Both of them are panting, slick with sweat and heat, but Din doesn’t let go. He stays pressed against his Cyar’ika, nuzzling into Paz’s side, utterly content. Paz gathers Din close against his side, settling comfortable against the bed nuzzling each other.
They spend the next few minutes regaining their breath and trading soft kisses.
Din’s hands wander to Paz’s face, trailing over the slope of his nose, the dip of his cheeks, and his supple lips—swollen from kissing. His fingers move down along Paz’s jaw, tracing the short beard that feels softer than he expected.
“Mmm… what color is your hair, Paz?” Din murmurs, petting Paz’s beard gently.
“Dark brown,” Paz says, bringing Din’s hand to his lips and kissing it softly.
“The beard…I didn’t expect it,” Din admits with a small smile. “But it suits you.”
Paz rumbles appreciatively. “I didn’t expect you to have a mustache and a scruffy beard,” he chuckles, rubbing Din’s cheeks affectionately, his thumb drawing gentle circles along Din’s cheekbone. Din hums contentedly at the touch.
“What color are your eyes, Cyar’ika?” Paz asks, a note of tender wonder in his voice. Din wishes he could see Paz’s face too.
“They’re dark brown,” Din replies softly. “My buir used to say they had specks of green, but I don’t really look in mirrors much. There’s not much time to keep up appearances when you’re on the run and raising a kid.” He laughs quietly, his hands massaging Paz’s temples.
Paz melts into the contact, bringing their foreheads together. They can kiss now, but somehow it doesn’t feel as intimate or precious as this. Paz’s hands move to Din’s head, fingers tangling in his longer hair.
“You’re an excellent buir,” Paz murmurs. “Your ad’ika is growing so strong—he even beat Ragnak.” There’s warmth and pride in his voice. “You’re such a good provider, the best beroya we’ve ever had. Always bringing beskar for the little ones. Your soul is beautiful, Din Djarin, and so is your being. I don’t need to see you to know it. You’re a beautiful man, my Cyar’ika.”
Din chokes on his breath, words trapped in his throat, eyes wet. He’s never felt this loved—this reassured that he’s doing the right thing. Ever since taking that job from the Imps, it’s felt like a slow descent of wrongdoings—showing his face for his child, endangering the covert, becoming Mand’alor.
A broken, wet sound escapes Din, half sob, half whimper. The noise cracks Paz’s heart. He gathers the smaller Mandalorian against his chest, holding him close. Din grabs his head and kisses him, achingly soft—each movement slow and full of love. Paz kisses him back like he could pour all his devotion into every touch. When they finally pull apart, Din’s voice trembles.
“My Yaim,” My home, he whispers.
Paz gasps.
“For the first time… since the Razor Crest, I feel like I’m home. Like I belong. Thank you, Paz. Thank you, Cyar’ika.” Din’s tears soak into Paz’s chest, and Paz goes speechless, frozen by the beauty of this confession. He presses their foreheads together, seeking even more closeness.
“You will always belong with me, Din,” Paz murmurs. “Let me be your Yaim. Forever… please.”
“My… riduur?” Din whispers.
“Yes,” Paz breathes. He doesn’t dare say more, afraid of breaking the fragile moment.
“I… I need time,” Din says, voice shaking. “Court me, please.” He swallows hard, overwhelmed. “I want you, but the kids, the galaxy—it’s too much sometimes.” His voice breaks as he clings to Paz, trembling.
“Of course, dear. Anything,” Paz assures him softly. “I know we haven’t always had the easiest relationship, I’m amazed by you—by everything you’ve done, everything you are giving me.”
“Thank you, Cyar’ika,” Din whispers, his tone full of gratitude and love.
“Sleep, love. You deserve it,” Paz murmurs, pressing a kiss to Din’s forehead before pulling the blankets over them both.
After watching The Mandalorian Season 3, I couldn’t stop thinking about how Paz and Din would make such a great couple. The size difference alone had me in a chokehold! I told @Lykostherium about it, and she was just as into the ship as I was.
We hyped each other up so much that we made a deal: “If you write the story, I’ll do the art.”
That was all we needed. And just like that, “Love Behind a Visor was born”
The artwork she’s created is absolutely fantastic, and I couldn’t be more proud of what we made together.
A three-part story exploring the development of Paz and Din’s relationship.
It takes place mid–Season 3, after the events at the Living Waters of Mandalore.I’ll be ignoring canon and the continuation of Season 3 to better fit my own narrative and the events I want to explore.
Act 1 Confesion
Act 2 Courtship
Act 3 Our forever
Thank you for reading, comments and kudos are highly appreciated, I have tmlbr if anyone has questions or wants to talk about this 2.
Thank you for the collab and art Lykostherium, you can follow her on. Twitter Instagram BlueSky
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